#eraserhead x reader

[dayabelle]

Whatever this is

Pairings: Mha!Shota Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Oneshot!

-

Shes in her twenties, the night soft with the hum of city life outside her window. She’s dozing on her couch, the flicker of a late-night movie casting shifting shadows across the walls. Then, a faint knock—hesitant but urgent—cuts through the quiet.

She startles awake, blinking into the darkness. It takes her a moment to realize it’s coming from the window. Her pulse quickens as she moves toward it, pulling aside the curtain. There he is, slumped against the frame, his face pale, a gash above his brow leaking crimson. His knuckles are raw, his shirt torn, and the faint glint of pain dances in his eyes.

Her heart leaps into her throat. “Oh my God,” she gasps, fumbling to unlock the window. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He tries to smile, his voice hoarse. “Bad night.” But his knees buckle as he climbs inside, and she catches him, her hands shaking as she helps him to the couch.

She doesn’t ask more questions, not yet. Grabbing her first aid kit, she works with a single-minded focus, dabbing at the blood, her voice soft but firm as she tells him to stay still. He winces but doesn’t complain, watching her with a mix of gratitude and something else—something quieter, more profound.

When the cuts are cleaned and the bandages are secured, she sinks onto the couch beside him, her breath shaky. “You scared me,” she murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice low. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

And that’s when it happens—the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, the way he lets his guard slip just for a moment. She sees him not as the tough, unflinching guy she thought he was, but as someone who’s been carrying too much, for too long.

The hours pass, and he stays. They talk in whispers, his defenses softening as he tells her bits and pieces of what led him here tonight. She listens, her own walls crumbling as she begins to see him more clearly.

By the time dawn breaks, painting the room in soft hues of gold, she realizes she’s falling for him. It’s not just the way he looks at her, or the quiet strength he carries despite his pain—it’s the way he makes her feel, like she’s someone worth leaning on. Someone worth knowing.

The living room is cloaked in a warm, muted glow, the faint hum of the city outside their only soundtrack. He leans back against the couch, exhaustion etched into his features, the adrenaline fading and leaving him raw. She sits close, the first aid kit still on the table, her fingers resting idly on her lap as she studies him. His face is pale, the bandage on his brow stark against his skin, but his lips curl into a faint, tired smile when he catches her gaze.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says, his voice low and hoarse. There’s a vulnerability in the way he says it, a hesitation she’s not used to seeing in him.

“Of course, I did,” she replies, her voice firmer than she expected. “You were bleeding on my fire escape. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t?”

He chuckles softly, but it fades quickly, his eyes dropping to his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t mean to drag you into… whatever this is.”

Her heart twists at the way he says it, at the shame laced in his words. “Stop,” she says, her tone gentler now. “You don’t have to explain. I’m just… I’m glad you came here.” She hesitates, then adds, “I’m glad you trusted me.”

For a moment, silence settles between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. His eyes meet hers again, searching, as if trying to understand why she’s not angry, why she hasn’t pushed him away. The look they share lingers, and something unspoken passes between them—an understanding, a connection that neither of them can quite put into words.

“Sometimes, it feels like I don’t have anyone,” he admits quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “Like I’m just… out there, on my own.”

Her chest tightens at his words. “You’re not alone,” she says softly. “Not tonight, at least.”

He looks at her for a long moment, something vulnerable and raw flickering in his gaze. Then, almost hesitantly, he reaches for her. His arms wrap around her, tentative at first, as if unsure she’ll accept the gesture. But she does, slipping into his embrace like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She feels his heartbeat against her cheek, steady but slightly erratic, as if he’s as uncertain about this moment as she is. His body relaxes by degrees, the tension melting away as her arms tighten around him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against her hair, his voice barely audible.

She doesn’t reply, just lets her fingers trace soft circles on his back. The weight of the moment pulls them both under, and before long, the rhythm of their breathing syncs, their exhaustion catching up to them.

They fall asleep like that, tangled together on the couch, her head resting against his chest, his arms securely around her. In the quiet of the early morning, with the world outside just beginning to stir, everything else fades away—the worries, the pain, the distance. For a few precious hours, it’s just them, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like enough.

.

The soft glow of morning sunlight filters through the curtains, painting the living room in shades of gold and amber. The city outside is slowly waking, the distant hum of cars and faint chatter of early risers drifting through the cracked window.

She stirs first, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of him still asleep. His face is relaxed, the tension she saw the night before melted away in the quiet vulnerability of slumber. His arm is still draped loosely around her, and she can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.

For a moment, she doesn’t move. She studies him in the golden light, noticing things she hadn’t before—the faint crease between his brows, the way his jawline softens when he’s at peace, the faint stubble catching the light. He looks so different from the man who had stumbled through her window just hours ago, battered and broken. Here, he looks almost... boyish, as if the weight of the world has momentarily lifted from his shoulders.

Her heart swells with something she doesn’t dare name yet. It’s too soon, too fragile. But as she lies there, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the blanket draped over them, she knows she’s crossed a line. She’s fallen deeper than she intended.

He stirs beneath her, his breathing shifting as his eyes flicker open. For a moment, he looks disoriented, his gaze darting around the room before landing on her. His expression softens, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“Morning,” she replies, her own voice quiet. She shifts slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him more clearly. “How are you feeling?”

He chuckles softly, wincing as he sits up. “Like I got hit by a truck. But... better. Thanks to you.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t pass out on that fire escape,” she teases gently, though her eyes betray her lingering worry. “What happened last night, anyway?”

He hesitates, his gaze dropping to his hands. “It’s... a long story,” he says finally. “One I’m not sure you want to hear.”

“I wouldn’t have let you in if I didn’t care,” she says, her tone firmer than she expects. Her hand brushes his, a small but deliberate gesture. “You don’t have to tell me everything. Just... don’t shut me out.”

He looks at her then, his eyes searching hers as if trying to decide whether he can trust her with the pieces of himself he’s been guarding so tightly. After a long moment, he nods. “Okay. Not now, but... soon.”

The tension eases between them, replaced by a quiet understanding. She rises from the couch, stretching and offering him a small smile. “I’ll make coffee. You look like you could use some.”

He watches her as she moves toward the kitchen, the corners of his mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles. For the first time in a long while, he feels something unfamiliar—a sense of belonging, of safety.

As the rich aroma of coffee fills the air and the morning light grows brighter, they settle into the rhythm of the day, both knowing that something between them has shifted. They don’t name it yet, but it lingers in every glance, every word, every shared silence. Something fragile, yet undeniable, has begun to bloom.

The week passes in a blur, but she finds her thoughts constantly drifting back to that night. She catches herself glancing at the window more often than she’d like to admit, hoping for another knock, even though she knows it’s foolish. He has his own life, his own battles to fight. But the way he held her, the quiet sincerity in his voice, lingers like a warmth she can’t shake.

Then, one evening, just as the city begins to settle into its nighttime rhythm, there’s a soft, familiar tap at her window. Her heart skips, a mix of surprise and anticipation surging through her as she pulls back the curtain.

There he is, standing on the fire escape. This time, there’s no blood, no torn clothing, no pained expression. His face is softer in the faint glow of the city lights, the faintest trace of a smile playing at his lips. His black hair falls in loose, unkempt strands around his face, framing his sharp jawline and tired eyes. He wears his usual dark attire—fitted black pants, a black shirt clinging to his lean frame, and that ever-present scarf looped loosely around his neck. Even now, there’s an intensity about him, a quiet strength that draws her in.

She quickly opens the window, her voice a mix of surprise and worry. “Shota? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, stepping inside with a fluid grace that feels so distinctly him. His dark eyes meet hers, and the faint smile grows just a little wider. “I just… needed to see you.”

His words take her breath away. She watches as he steps throughthe window, his gaze softening as it roams over her face, taking in every detail like he’s memorizing her. Before she can say anything, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a firm, almost desperate embrace.

Her breath hitches as she feels his warmth, the steady thrum of his heart against hers. “I missed you,” he murmurs against her hair, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I missed your laugh, your voice... everything. It’s been a hell of a week, and I’ve been so damn busy, but I couldn’t stay away.”

She melts into his arms, her hands clutching the back of his shirt as if afraid he’ll disappear again. For a moment, neither of them speaks, the silence filled with unspoken emotions that hang heavy in the air.

When he finally pulls back, his hands linger on her shoulders, his dark eyes searching hers. “I know I didn’t leave things the way I should’ve the other night,” he says quietly. “But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. About... this.”

Her cheeks flush under his gaze, but she doesn’t look away. “I thought about you too,” she admits softly. Her eyes flick over his face, taking in every detail—the faint dark circles under his eyes, the slight curve of his lips, the way his hair falls messily into his face. He’s tired, but there’s a softness to him tonight, a vulnerability she rarely sees.

“You look like you’ve been running yourself into the ground,” she says, her voice tinged with concern.

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Comes with the job. But being here... with you... it’s worth it.”

She can’t help but smile, her worry easing as his words settle over her. “Well, since you’re here, I guess you’re staying for coffee this time?”

He smirks, a rare glint of humor lighting up his expression. “Only if you’re making it.”

She rolls her eyes, but her heart swells as she heads to the kitchen, his presence filling the space in a way that feels both comforting and exhilarating. As the night stretches on, they settle into easy conversation, their laughter echoing softly through the apartment.

For the first time in what feels like forever, she feels like they’re finally moving toward something real, something they both desperately want but are too scared to name. And as the hours slip away, she knows one thing for certain—this time, she won’t let him go.

The air between them feels different tonight—charged, alive. There’s an unspoken understanding that neither of them cares to question anymore. Labels, reasons, boundaries… they’ve stopped mattering. What’s forming between them has a rhythm all its own, one they’ve surrendered to without hesitation.

She sits cross-legged on the couch, her face glowing under the warm light of the lamp. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders as she gestures animatedly, recounting the absurdity of something that happened earlier in the day. He listens, his body turned toward her, one arm draped lazily along the back of the couch, but his eyes never leave her. The way her lips curve when she laughs, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear—these little things ignite something deep in his chest, a warmth he didn’t know he could feel so intensely.

“...And then I told him, ��Sure, because cats definitely know how to use a spreadsheet,’” she finishes with a grin, leaning back with a playful toss of her head.

He chuckles, the sound low and rare, like a secret only she’s allowed to hear. “That’s your response to workplace chaos? Mock the guy?”

“What can I say? I thrive under pressure,” she teases, her eyes sparkling. “Besides, someone’s gotta keep things interesting. Not everyone can be all serious and broody like you.”

He smirks at her, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.” But there’s no edge to his words, only affection.

She notices the way the corner of his mouth quirks when he smiles, how his eyes soften in a way that makes him seem less like the stoic man the world knows and more like the Shota she’s come to love. It’s in the small moments—his hand grazing hers as he reaches for his mug, the way he unconsciously leans closer when she speaks. Every touch, no matter how brief, feels like a spark, warm and grounding.

Her heart burns at the realization: He’s here. He’s hers. A man like Aizawa Shota—reserved, rational, and always tethered to duty—is sitting on her couch, laughing at her jokes, holding her like she’s the one constant in a chaotic world.

As if sensing her thoughts, he reaches out, his hand resting lightly on her knee before trailing up to cup her cheek. “You’re staring,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes.

She laughs softly, her cheeks warming. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About?”

She hesitates for a moment, then leans into his touch, her voice soft but steady. “About how crazy this all feels. How someone like you—” Her words falter, but she pushes through. “—how you’re here. With me.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying her, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. “And what’s so crazy about that?”

She shakes her head, smiling. “You shouldn’t be. You’ve got a million things to do, responsibilities that are way bigger than me. But you’re still here.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “You’re mine.”

His expression softens, the faintest smile curving his lips as he leans forward. “I’m here because I want to be. Because you make it worth it.”

The words hit her like a bolt, warm and overwhelming. She doesn’t know how to respond, so she just smiles, the kind of smile that makes her cheeks ache, and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He holds her tightly, his chin resting on her shoulder, and for a moment, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

They stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other, their breaths synchronized, their hearts pounding in time. When they finally pull apart, she feels lighter, like something inside her has shifted. They talk about their days, their words easy and natural, punctuated by her silly jokes and his dry quips.

But it’s in the quiet moments between the words—the way his fingers trace lazy patterns along her arm, the way she leans into his side without thinking—that they both feel it. This is more than fleeting. It’s something that’s settling into the marrow of their lives, warming every corner of their being.

By the time the night deepens and the city outside quiets, they’re still together, his arms wrapped around her as they sit in comfortable silence. Aizawa Shota, the man she never expected to fall for, has become her anchor. And as her head rests against his chest, she knows without a doubt—this is where they both belong.

The past four weeks had felt like an eternity. Each passing day without a knock at her window or a call from him had chipped away at her resolve, leaving her with an ache she couldn’t shake. Her mind spiraled into overthinking—was she just a convenience for him? A distraction from his responsibilities? Did he grow bored and decide to disappear without a word? The doubts gnawed at her, and the quiet nights without him felt colder, emptier.

She tried to convince herself she didn’t care, but every time she caught herself glancing at the window or checking her phone, the truth hit her all over again. She missed him. She missed the way he’d smile just for her, the warmth of his arms, the quiet strength he carried with him. She missed him.

Then, on a night like any other, she heard it—the knock. Soft, almost hesitant. Her heart leapt and froze all at once, her legs moving before her mind could catch up. She opened the window, and there he was. His face was drawn, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, but the moment he saw her, his entire body seemed to give out. He stumbled forward, falling into her arms like a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been waiting to catch.

Her breath hitched as she wrapped her arms around him, steadying him. “Shota,” she whispered, her voice a mix of relief and confusion. “What happened? Where have you been?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. He just held her, his grip almost desperate, as if he were afraid she’d vanish if he let go. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and raw. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his words muffled against her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to leave like that. I didn’t want to. I had to go undercover—mission came up, no time to explain.”

She felt the tension in his body, the way his breath hitched as he tried to keep his composure. “You don’t have to explain,” she said softly, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. “I was just… worried. I didn’t know if you were okay.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, his dark eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite name—guilt, relief, maybe even fear. “I’m back,” he said simply. “That’s all that matters. I’m back.”

She nodded, her heart aching at the weariness in his voice. “You’re here now,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s enough.”

They moved to the couch, and the night stretched on as he let everything out. The stress of the mission, the toll it had taken on him, the way he’d thought about her every night he was away but couldn’t risk contacting her. She listened without interruption, her hand resting lightly on his arm, her presence a quiet reassurance.

Eventually, he rested his head on her lap, his eyes fluttering closed as her fingers gently threaded through his dark, messy hair. It had grow longer, just how she liked it. The tension in his body began to ease, his breaths growing steadier. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, a small gesture of comfort.

But the moment her lips brushed his skin, his eyes snapped open, and he shot upright, their faces suddenly inches apart. Her breath caught, her heart pounding in her chest. His dark eyes searched hers, intense and unreadable, the air between them charged with something she couldn’t name.

She froze, unsure of what to do. The closeness, the way his gaze seemed to pierce straight through her—it was almost too much. But he didn’t look angry. If anything, he looked... conflicted, like he was weighing something in his mind, making a choice.

Her lips parted, a soft exhale escaping her. “Shota,” she began, but her voice faltered.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand rose slowly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. The touch was featherlight but burned all the same. His gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes, his jaw tightening slightly as if fighting some internal battle.

Neither of them moved, the moment stretching on endlessly. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable—just charged, electric. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, the intensity of his presence making it impossible to look away.

And then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough, like he was confessing something he couldn’t hold back anymore. “I don’t think I can keep holding back,” he murmured.

"... then dont" she smiled, and less then a second later. One last lingering gaze.

The tension broke like a dam, and before she could say anything more, he leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was soft, lingering, but filled with an unmistakable intensity. His lips moved against hers with a quiet certainty, as though he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long. She felt the weight of his emotions in the way he held her face so gently, the way he kissed her like he wanted to memorize the feel of her.

When he pulled back, his gaze was on her, and her breath caught. He looked at her with such raw, unguarded tenderness that it nearly broke her. His dark eyes softened in a way she rarely saw, and there was a quiet vulnerability in the way his thumb brushed her cheek.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he murmured, his voice low, almost shaky.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but stare back at him, her heart thundering in her chest. Instead, she reached up, her fingers grazing his jaw, her touch featherlight but filled with meaning.

He pulled her into a hug, burying his face against her neck, his arms wrapping around her as though he couldn’t bear to let her go. She felt his weight against her, the way his breath shuddered as he exhaled. His body was warm, grounding her in the moment, and she closed her eyes, letting herself melt into him.

Her back pressed against the couch as he shifted, settling against her with a quiet sigh. His head rested against her chest now, his arms wrapping around her tightly, almost like a baby sloth clinging to its favorite tree. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought, her fingers instinctively finding his hair again, stroking it in slow, soothing motions.

“You’re not leaving again anytime soon, right?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, his voice muffled but firm. “No. Not if I can help it.”

Her heart softened even further as she leaned her head back, staring up at the ceiling while her hands continued their gentle rhythm in his hair. She felt his body relax fully against hers, the tension he’d been carrying for weeks finally melting away.

For a long while, they stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s presence, the world outside forgotten. Every rise and fall of his chest against hers, every small shift of his fingers on her waist, burned itself into her memory.

She smiled to herself, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “You’re not as stoic as you pretend to be,” she teased lightly, her voice filled with affection.

He let out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly to look up at her. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

She laughed, the sound soft and warm, and for the first time in weeks, the ache in her chest disappeared entirely. He was here, with her, holding her like she was his entire world. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

... 5 years before.

They met when they were 18. Their last year of U.A. High.

In high school, they couldn’t have been more different—at least on the surface. She was the girl everyone knew, her warmth and laughter a magnet that drew people in. Her smile was infectious, her kindness unwavering, and she had an uncanny ability to make even the shyest people feel seen. People adored her, but she was never the type to let the attention go to her head.

He, on the other hand, was the quiet one who preferred the background. Aizawa Shota was sharp, observant, and fiercely independent, but he carried an air of solitude that made him unapproachable to most. It wasn’t that he was disliked—he just didn’t care for the trivialities of high school life. He moved through the halls with a quiet confidence, his dark eyes unreadable and his messy black hair perpetually in his face.

But for some reason, she noticed him.

It started with a random moment in their last year. She’d seen him sitting alone under a tree during lunch, his nose buried in a book, entirely disconnected from the buzzing chaos of the school courtyard. Something about him intrigued her—his quiet demeanor, the way he seemed so at peace on his own. On a whim, she approached him, her bright smile disarming him immediately.

“Hey,” she said, plopping down beside him without an invitation. “You always sit alone. Don’t you get bored?”

He looked up from his book, startled by her sudden presence. His brow furrowed slightly, but there was no annoyance in his tone when he replied, “Not really. I like the quiet.”

“Well, that’s boring,” she said with a teasing grin, resting her chin in her hand. “I think you need a little chaos in your life.”

From that day on, she seemed to make it her mission to be that chaos.

She started dragging him along everywhere, whether he wanted to or not. Behind the school, where they’d sit on the steps and talk about nothing and everything. To her favorite café after school, where she’d insist on buying him coffee despite his protests. She was the one who developed his taste for coffee, even to his throties ot just stuck with her in mind. To the park, where they’d sit under the trees and watch the clouds.

What struck him most was how, when they were together, everything else seemed to fade away. She didn’t care about his lack of popularity, about what anyone else thought. She saw him—not his reputation, not his stoic exterior, just him. And he liked that.

Then came graduation. The reality of moving on, of leaving behind the little bubble they’d created, hit them both harder than they expected. They promised to keep in touch, but life had other plans.

For 5 years, they drifted. Life pulled them in different directions, their once-frequent conversations growing fewer and farther between. She missed him more than she wanted to admit. And he, though he didn’t show it, thought about her often, wondering if she’d moved on, if she even remembered the quiet boy she used to laugh with behind the school.

Then, at age 23, fate brought them back together.

It was a chance meeting, the kind that felt almost too perfect to be real. She saw him first, across a bustling street, his familiar messy hair catching her attention. She called out to him, her voice cutting through the noise like a lifeline. When he turned and saw her, the surprise in his eyes melted into something softer, something closer to relief.

Then came the nights—the nights when he’d knock on her window, looking like the world had been weighing on him. She’d let him in without hesitation, their conversations stretching into the early hours. Slowly, those visits became a constant, a quiet reassurance that they were no longer just ships passing in the night. The nights they spent in their twenties, every knock on her window.

And as they spent those nights together, something deeper began to grow, something neither of them had the courage to name just yet. But they both knew—what they’d found in each other was far from ordinary. It was rare, it was real, and it was theirs.

But life of course, had other plans. He became a teacher, and became even more busy. And as he grew he started distancing himself. Afraid to hurt her with the reality of their different lives and how it would never work.

.

7 years later. 30 years old.

.

In the years they spent apart, both carried the weight of their unspoken words, their unfinished story. She, in the comfort of new routines and distractions, tried desperately to forget him, to put the memories in a box and lock it away. But every time she laughed, every time she saw something that reminded her of him, his name would sneak into her mind like an uninvited guest. Shota—the word tasted like both a balm and a wound. She had tried, for so long, to push him out of her thoughts, but there he was, always lingering, a shadow in the corners of her mind.

It wasn’t that she wanted to forget him. She couldn’t. How could she? He had been her world, once. But she tried to move on—she had to. Her life demanded it. She started to date, to build new connections, but no one ever felt right. The way he’d kissed her forehead, the weight of his hand on her back when he held her close—it was a ghost she couldn't shake. She loved the idea of moving forward, but in the back of her mind, there was always him, Shota.

For him, it was worse. He never stopped thinking about her, not for a single moment. Her name felt like home—a strange, bittersweet home that he couldn't return to. When the memories came, they came like floods. He’d hear her laughter in his mind, her smile flashing in his memory, and everything inside him would burn with regret. Why did I leave her? It was the question that haunted him every night when he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He had told himself it was for the best, that he was protecting her by walking away. But that reasoning had never quieted the ache in his chest, the guilt that gnawed at him.

He couldn't even say her name. It felt like betrayal. Each time he thought about her, it hurt like a raw wound, and so he buried it—shoved it deep, hoping it would disappear. But it never did. The thought of her lingered, twisted, and became a silent weight he carried with him everywhere.

His friends, even those who knew him best, never dared mention her. They saw the way his face would tighten whenever her memory surfaced, and they respected that unspoken silence. They knew it was better to avoid it, as if talking about her would make the pain real again.

But with every passing year, that pain grew only sharper, harder to ignore. He would see a woman laugh in the same carefree way she used to, and his chest would tighten with longing. He’d hear a song they used to listen to together, and his stomach would flip with a sense of loss. Every memory, every moment spent with her, was a reminder of how much he had left behind.

As the years wore on, he tried to fill the void. He threw himself into work, into missions that demanded his attention, but none of it could distract him enough. Every victory felt hollow. He never dated date anybody, he rarely made friends, so dating anybody was out of the question. None of it filled the space that she had occupied in his heart. She was the one I let go, he would tell himself. And in those quiet moments, he couldn’t help but feel like he had failed her.

But she had moved on, or at least, she had tried to. She built her own life, filled with things and people who were kind to her, who made her laugh. And yet, every time she found herself at a quiet moment, alone, she would think of him. Her heart would ache in a way she couldn’t explain. She forced herself to keep going, but in the back of her mind, Shota was always there.

And now, seven years later, as he knocked on her window, she realized how little had truly changed. He was still the man she had known, and yet he was so different—scarred, haunted by his own regrets, and carrying a pain she knew all too well. And he still had that same power to stir something deep within her, a feeling she had buried for far too long.

She didn’t know what to say, how to make sense of this moment. But looking at him, seeing the bruises and blood, she knew that despite everything—the time, the distance, the hurt—they were still connected in a way nothing else could touch. His presence, even broken and raw, still felt like home. And for the first time in years, she allowed herself to feel that comfort, that quiet longing.

Seven years had passed since the last time their lives had intersected, seven years since he had walked away without a word, leaving her heartache and confusion in his wake. Time had done its work, and both of them had moved forward, building their separate lives. She had her own world now—new friends, new routines, and a heart that had learned how to heal, even if the scar he left behind would never fully fade.

He, too, had changed. He had grown into the man he had always been on the inside—stronger, more grounded, but still carrying the weight of his own demons. He had tried to bury the memory of her, to keep her in the past where he thought she belonged, but the truth was, she had never fully left him. He thought about her often, his mind haunted by the days they spent together—the quiet, stolen moments behind the school, the laughter, the closeness. But he had left, had to leave, because he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her.

Now, at 30, he found himself at her window once again, but it wasn’t a planned visit. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He hadn’t meant to end up bruised and bloody, his body aching from whatever fight or mission had left him shattered. He had no idea how he found her new apartment, but somehow, some instinct led him to her.

The knock on the window was weak, desperate. He didn’t even know why he was there, why his feet had brought him back to her. He hadn’t spoken to her in so long, had convinced himself that he was doing the right thing by staying away. But now, standing outside her window in the dead of night, all of that seemed like a distant memory, a mistake.

She stirred from her sleep, groggily blinking into the dark room. The night was quiet, almost still, and it took her a few moments to register the sound at her window. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him—his figure shrouded in shadow, but unmistakable.

At first, she thought she was dreaming. The figure was different—more mature, older, with a weariness in his posture that hadn’t been there before. But when he looked up and met her gaze, her breath hitched. Shota.

Her mind was still racing, but her body moved without hesitation. She rushed to the window, pushing it open as quickly as she could. She didn’t even say anything; her hands were already reaching for him, pulling him inside. He collapsed into her arms, unsteady on his feet, and she guided him to the couch without a word.

His appearance struck her immediately. His face was older, more defined with the years. His eyes, though, still held that same familiar vulnerability, the same depth she remembered. He was bruised, battered, and covered in blood, but there was something in the way he looked at her—an apology, a quiet desperation, and something more.

She quickly moved to get her first aid kit, trying to ignore the way her heart was beating faster than usual. This moment felt unreal—like they had both woken up from some long, drawn-out dream, and now here they were, face to face, with the years between them suddenly irrelevant. She knelt beside him, her fingers trembling as she cleaned the blood from his face.

His voice was raspy, hesitant. “I didn’t mean to come here... I just... didn’t know where else to go.”

Her fingers stilled for a moment, her heart catching in her throat. “I’ve heard this before .... Shota,” she whispered, as if saying his name aloud could make sense of everything. She had thought of him so many times over the years, wondering what had happened, if he was okay, but she never imagined that one day, he’d show up like this.

He met her gaze, his eyes full of regret. “I shouldn’t have left. I just... I was too scared. I thought I was protecting you, but I was only hurting both of us.”

Her heart twisted. The familiar ache from all those years ago surged within her, but now, she couldn’t find it in herself to be angry. There was too much between them, too much unspoken, but the years of silence didn’t change the fact that she knew him. She always would.

She finished cleaning his wounds in silence, the moment stretching on, neither of them knowing what to say. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, a history neither of them had fully processed. She was stunned, and maybe he was, too. They both had changed, but in the quiet of the room, it felt like nothing had changed at all.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she broke the silence. “What happened to you?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. It was a simple question, but it carried so much weight—so many years, so many unasked questions.

His eyes flickered with pain, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I... I didn’t mean to drag you back into my mess. But I couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t be alone.”

She let out a breath, her hands gently pressing against his shoulders, grounding him. The words were there, but the timing wasn’t right. So, she didn’t push.

Instead, she reached up and cupped his face with both hands, her thumb brushing the bruise along his cheekbone. “You’re here now,” she said softly. “And that’s all that matters.”

For a long moment, they just stared at each other—two people who had been apart for so long, yet in this moment, were exactly where they needed to be. The room felt smaller, the distance between them nonexistent. The years, the pain, the silence—it all melted away in that one glance.

And for the first time in seven years, the weight that had hung between them seemed to lift.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the heating system, the sound of the snow falling softly outside, and the occasional crack of the fire in the corner. It was winter now, colder than they both remembered, but warmer in ways they hadn't expected.

They sat together on the couch, just like they had so many years ago—before life had pulled them apart, before time and distance had stretched their bond thin. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that came with familiarity, with shared history. But now they were different people, adults with lives they had built separately.

She glanced at him, her gaze soft but searching, and couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in him. He looked more weathered, more worn, as if the years had taken their toll on him in ways she hadn’t anticipated. Yet, despite the bruises on his skin, despite the exhaustion in his eyes, he was still her Shota—the one who had stayed in the back of her mind, the one she never truly let go of.

After a moment, she asked softly, "Do you want to go to my bedroom? This couch is too uncomfortable for you." She had noticed how much he towered over her now, and God she liked it.

He hesitated, unsure of how to answer, feeling like he was intruding in some way. His chest tightened with the overwhelming need to protect her, to not impose on her life any more than he already had. But she didn't give him much room to protest. She looked at him again, with that familiar, determined spark in her eyes, and said, "You don’t have to be so polite. Please, just let me take care of you."

With a sigh, he relented. She helped him to his feet, supporting him gently as they walked to her bedroom, the soft shuffle of their feet on the hardwood floor barely audible in the stillness. To anybody else, this would have seemed dirty and inappropriate, but to them, it didn't matter.

Once inside, she settled him on the bed, pulling the thick, warm blankets over them both, a comfort that made the weight of everything outside the room seem so far away. There, tucked under the covers, it felt like time had folded in on itself. The ache from all those years apart seemed to dissolve, replaced by something different, something softer. He lay there, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his body unwilling to let her go, as though he had spent too many nights alone, too many years trying to survive without her.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax into his embrace, but tears slipped down her cheeks nonetheless. She didn’t try to hide them. She couldn’t. The years of trying to forget him, of convincing herself that she was better off, were crashing over her like a tide she couldn’t fight. The pain of missing him, of the uncertainty, of the questions that had lingered without answers—it all flooded back in an instant.

Without a word, he pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her like he was afraid to let her slip away. She could feel his warmth, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. His embrace was like a promise, a silent apology, and it was so familiar it almost made her ache even more.

He held her tight, as though he were afraid that if he let go, she might disappear again, like she had seven years ago. "I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I never should have left you."

She giggled softly, trying to hold back her tears, but they spilled over anyway. “You’re squeezing me so tight, Shota,” she murmured through a watery laugh, her back nearly cracking from the force of his hold. She didn’t mind. In fact, it made her feel more alive than she had in so long.

His grip loosened slightly, but not by much. He brushed his lips against her hair, the quiet comfort of the moment settling over both of them. It was different now, more fragile but no less significant. They were no longer two young people trying to figure out what it all meant. Now, they were two adults, broken by time and life, but still clinging to something that neither of them had fully understood until now.

The snow outside began to fall harder, and they stayed there together, wrapped up in the warmth of each other’s company. She played with his hair, the same messy strands she had once found so charming. Her fingers traced the scar under his eye, the one that marked him as someone who had been through battles—literal and metaphorical.

“You’ve changed,” she whispered, her fingers stilling for a moment, tracing the curve of his ear. “But I can still feel you. I still recognize you, Shota.”

He smiled at that, the first real smile she’d seen from him in what felt like forever. It was soft and honest, a quiet acknowledgment of the distance they had traveled, the years they had spent apart. But in that moment, they were closer than they had been in a long time.

“I’ve changed,” he admitted, “but maybe that’s a good thing. I’m different now, but with you, I can still be…me. The me I was with you.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel the need to protect herself from the emotions that rushed to the surface. She leaned up slightly, kissing his cheek softly before resting her head back against his chest.

They stayed like that for a long time, finding their way back to each other in the quiet. No more words were needed. Everything they hadn’t said over the years hung in the air between them, but it no longer felt heavy. They had time, now. Time to heal, to find new answers, to rebuild what had been broken.

She closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his breath, and for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they had finally found their way back home.

As they lay there together, the world outside seemed so far away, the cold winter air forgotten in the warmth they shared. Her skin, soft and delicate, radiated a warmth that enveloped him in a way he hadn’t known he needed. He could feel the heat of her body pressed against his, the way her heartbeat fluttered gently under his touch, reminding him that she was real, that she was here with him. His hand, which had once been so unsure of where to place itself, now found its way to the small of her back, cradling her as if she might slip away at any moment.

Her warmth, the feel of her skin against his, was a balm to the aching part of him he’d buried for so long. His heart had hurt for years—ever since the moment he walked away—but now, in this quiet space, in the tenderness of her touch, that pain seemed to fade, just for a moment. Her skin was like a living, breathing reassurance, a reminder that some connections never really break. The heat of her skin, soft and comforting, wrapped around him like a quiet promise. It soothed the hurt that had nested in his chest for so long, making him feel whole again in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing her in—the faint scent of her shampoo, the warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of her chest. It was so familiar, so deeply entwined with everything he had ever known and wanted. Her warmth was a contradiction to the chill that had haunted him, a promise that maybe, just maybe, the years apart hadn’t broken them entirely.

For her, the feeling of his embrace was no less powerful. She had spent so much time convincing herself she was fine, that she had moved on, that life had continued in the absence of him. But with him here, with his strong arms around her, she couldn’t deny how much she had missed this—the way his presence filled up the spaces inside her that she had let go empty for so long. His warmth made her feel alive in a way she had forgotten. She felt the strong beat of his heart beneath her ear, steady and sure, like the constant rhythm of a song she hadn’t realized was playing in the background of her life all these years.

But it wasn’t just warmth in a physical sense—it was deeper, something that ran through the both of them like an unspoken thread. He could feel her warmth reaching deep into the scars in his soul, the ones he had left untouched for far too long. Her touch was a healing salve, drawing him back into the present, into this moment with her. Her skin against his felt like an unspoken apology from the universe itself—a reminder that the pain of the past could be soothed, that what they had lost might be waiting to be found again.

As they lay there, so close, so warm, the world outside might have been cold and distant, but inside this room, they were exactly where they needed to be. Her warmth against him made his heart hurt in the best way, a sharp ache that told him they had never been fully apart, that they had always carried a piece of each other. He wasn’t sure if this was the beginning of something new or the continuation of something unfinished, but for now, he didn’t care. Her warmth made him feel whole again, and for the first time in so long, he allowed himself to believe that they might just have a chance to heal together.

Her breath, soft and even, was a lullaby against the storm inside him. He closed his eyes, pulling her even closer, as though to make sure she was really there. The ache in his heart, the one that had been a constant companion, started to feel different. It wasn’t pain anymore. It was something new, something raw, but something he could hold onto.

She felt him tighten his grip, his fingers tracing the line of her spine, and she shivered slightly, not from the cold but from the intensity of the emotion that hung between them. She didn’t need to say a word. She could feel the way his heart was in his chest, beating steadily against her. He was scared, just like her. But the warmth between them, the connection they had once shared, was something that no amount of time could erase.

And as they lay there together, he kissed the top of her head softly, whispering the words neither of them had dared to speak for so long: “I’m sorry... I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Those words, warm and steady like the heat of their bodies pressed together, were all she needed. In the moment, they didn’t need to ask for more. They didn’t need answers. They just needed each other. And in that warmth, wrapped up in the quiet stillness of the night, they found a place to heal.

"Shota.."

"Y/n"

She slowly lifted her head from his chest, her breath shallow, her pulse quickening. Her gaze met his, and in that moment, she saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen in a long time: care. Deep, raw care. It made her heart skip a beat. His eyes softened as he gazed at her, and it felt like he was searching her face, trying to find the right words, or maybe just trying to reassure himself that this was real—that they were really here, together, again.

She hesitated, her lips parted as if unsure whether to move or to stay suspended in the moment. His eyes never wavered from her.

She felt the pull, the old connection drawing her in, and before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in slowly, closing the space between them. Her lips brushed his, a light and tentative kiss, soft and almost fragile, as if testing the waters after all this time apart. The sensation of his lips against hers stirred something deep inside her, a flood of memories and feelings that she had kept locked away for years.

But then, as if he couldn’t help himself anymore, he responded. The kiss deepened, and his arms tightened around her. His hand moved to the small of her back, gripping her firmly, pulling her closer until there was no distance left between them. The kiss was no longer tentative; it was full of longing, of need, as if all the words they couldn’t say were wrapped up in every touch. His lips pressed against hers with an intensity that took her breath away, the urgency of his embrace matching the hunger in his kiss.

She melted into him, her body responding to his, her hands instinctively reaching to find his shoulders, her fingers curling into his shirt as she felt him pull her even closer, as if he couldn’t get enough. His warmth, his strength, his presence—it was all consuming, and she let herself be lost in it. The years apart, the pain, the regret—it all faded as their kiss deepened, leaving only the raw, electric connection between them.

When they finally pulled away, both of them breathless, the silence that followed was thick with everything they hadn’t yet said, but somehow, words weren’t necessary. They just stared at each other for a moment, the world outside the room completely forgotten, their hearts both racing. He didn’t let go, his arms still holding her tightly as if afraid she might disappear if he let her go.

And in that moment, neither of them cared about anything else.

The silence lingered between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, like a quiet promise that everything was going to be okay, even though they hadn’t spoken the words out loud yet. She looked at him, her heart still racing from the kiss, from the sheer intensity of the moment.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with sincerity. There was something about the way he said it—like he meant it, like it was more than just a promise. It was a vow, and for the first time in a long time, she believed it.

She searched his eyes, her expression softening. “Please don’t. I... I need you here.”

His hand gently cupped her cheek, brushing away a stray strand of hair. “I won’t leave. I swear,” he whispered, his thumb gently tracing her jawline, the contact grounding her in the moment.

She smiled at him, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “Good,” she said with a playful, teasing tone, her laughter bubbling up unexpectedly, bright and free. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed the simple joy of being around him, of laughing with him in the quiet of the night.

The sound of her laughter filled the room, and it was like music to his ears—familiar, comforting, and full of life. For a moment, he couldn’t help but smile, the weight of everything else lifting as he listened to her laugh. It was like they were back in time, in those carefree days of their youth when nothing else mattered except being together.

As the night wore on, the warmth of his arms and the peaceful quiet of the room made everything feel like it was exactly where it needed to be. She snuggled into him, feeling the pull of sleep wrapping around her like a soft blanket. The last thing she remembered was his steady breathing beside her, his presence anchoring her, making her feel safe in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

She fell asleep in his arms, her body relaxed against his, her head resting on his chest once again, just like it had all those years ago. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm beneath her ear, and she drifted off to sleep with a quiet sigh, her mind finally at peace.

And he, too, lay there, not wanting to move, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace that had settled between them. He watched her, the way her breathing slowed, the way she fit so perfectly against him, and he allowed himself a moment to just… be. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the weight of regrets or fears. He just felt... complete.

Soon, his eyes grew heavy, and the warmth of her body beside him lulled him into a peaceful sleep. They both slept soundly through the night, wrapped in each other’s presence, the kind of sleep that comes only when you know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

-

[mx-pastelwriting]

MHA Heroes HC - Celebrating Your Anniversary

MHA Heroes x GN! Reader

Summary: How they would celebrate your anniversary.

Warnings: Established Relationship, Fluff, Anniversary

Characters: Endeavor (Enji Todoroki), Gang Orca (Kugo Sakamata), Eraserhead (Shota Aizawa), Vlad King (Sekijiro Kan), Fat Gum (Taishiro Toyomitsu)

Endeavor (Enji Todoroki)

- Would have the date written down on his work calendar, working meetings, and training around it. Still having to go to the office on those days, leaving early to pick up your favorite things from the store.

- Having to celebrate yearly because of his work as the number one hero, but if you wanted to celebrate monthly, he would compromise. Taking you to a more extravagant dinner or even going to Greece for the day.

- Mostly leaves the plans for the anniversary to you, whether asking you what you want to do or giving you his schedule and credit card to plan. But if you left planning to him, he would panic. Asking around what you wanted, trying to remember what places you wanted to go in the past.

- Would miss your anniversary for work. Not because of overscheduling; it would be from a big villain destroying half the city and all other heroes struggling. Would try to wrap it up quickly, not wanting to miss the plans you had; even when missing them, he makes it up with gifts and dinners depending on how upset you are.

- The celebration would last a day or two, with him being busy and not a big celebratory guy. Some mornings, when it's your monthly anniversary, he brings you breakfast in bed or rents out your favorite place for the day. He just wants to see you smile when it comes to your anniversary.

Waking to the feeling of being showered with warm kisses, opening your eyes to see Enji's red hair as he leans down, attacking you with kisses.

Pulling away, succeeding in waking you. Seeing as Enji had a big closed-lip smile before watching as he turned to your nightstand, picking up the small bed table that presented a beautiful breakfast.

Waiting patiently for you to sit up before placing the table down in your lap, then sitting by your feet, allowing you to look over him fully. Enji was dressed for work, adding a bit of sadness to your morning. Taking notice of where your eyes took focus, he moves, cutting a piece of the breakfast, then holding it up close to your mouth. Smiling as you took a bite, though not being able to stay the day after your anniversary, he still made the day after a little special.

-

Gang Orca (Kugo Sakamata)

- Would definitely remember your anniversary. Teases you about his plans days leading before. Clears out his calendar as much as he can for the week that the date lands in.

- Celebrates your yearly anniversary as more of a bigger event than your monthly. For your monthly anniversaries, he would leave little surprises around your environment, whether it be jewelry, flowers, or your favorite snacks tapped with little notes that told how you took his breath away.

- Plans everything. Taking you on vacation to a private island or spending most of the week in the middle of the ocean on his boat. Anything to do with sharing a private moment with you in his home ocean.

- Very unlikely he would miss your anniversary, but if the city was under threat, then he would let you know before setting off to help the city. Making it up to you as soon as possible, just say where, and he will have the plane or boat ready in minutes.

- Celebrating the entire week the date falls in, even calling the month special for being your anniversary month. Would leave your monthly anniversaries to be a one-and-done thing either, doing something special for the first day and last day of each month. Especially through your first year of being together.

Laying on warm sand, soaking up the hot sun, hearing as waves crashed in the background—that was until a shadow was cast onto you.

Opening your eyes while lowering your glasses and seeing the Orca hero standing above you dripping with water. Scanning over his figure, seeing as Kugo's muscles simmered in the sun's light. Noticing your open, flawed reaction, Kugo laughs before extending a handout, inviting you to swim with him in the salty waters. Meaning really, "Would you like to ride me?" even though knowing your answer would always be a "yes."

-

Eraserhead (Shota Aizawa)

- Yes, he would remember, but only a few days before, making him pull something together in a short amount of time. Never meaning to do this on purpose, but with his sleeping schedules and teaching, the man is running on fumes most of the time.

- Only really able to celebrate yearly, though he still tries to do you something special every month on that date. Whether spending a late night with you instead of working late at the academy or buying your favorite things and placing them beside your nightstand early in the morning when he has to go to work. The man tires.

- For your yearly anniversary, he takes the day off, spending the whole morning with you in bed. Then, as lunch rolls around, he lets you take the reins, doing whatever you wish, but for dinner, he tells you to get ready. Takes you to an expensive restaurant, having saved up for the whole year for it.

- Shota missing your anniversary would be very likely, but it would never be on purpose. Being because of falling asleep or work, he would always make sure to make up for it days later. Dipping into his vacation days and savings to make it to you.

- After your anniversary, he would have to go right back to work, but for days after, he would spend his late nights watching movies or in your arms instead of working overtime. Knowing his co-workers would understand and help him with the workload.

Sat on the couch, Shota's warm arms wrapped around you. Watching the movie that played on the TV, Shota watched you. Scanning your features as if falling for you all over again, only stopping when you caught him.

Watching as his face burned red as he pretended badly to watch the movie. Laughing at his reaction, you cuddled closer, causing him to kiss the top of your head. Feeling his hand rest atop your arms, gently caressing it, acting as more comforting to your late-night cuddling section.

-

Vlad King (Sekijiro Kan)

- Totally forgets, but thankful always remember at the last minute. On his way home, he makes dinner reservations using his connections as a hero and drops by some expensive shops to get you something. When finally getting to you, he acts like he definitely didn't forget your anniversary.

- Yearly anniversary only, as he can barely remember them, but if you bring up it's your monthly anniversary, he will plan something for that night. Sekijiro's plans always come out sweeter than he expects, especially on your yearly anniversary. As much as he denies it, the man is romantic.

- If he actually remembers, with enough time, he plans a day off of work and rents out your favorite places with a dinner to end the day. A dinner made by him, refusing to let you help with anything, just letting you sit and watch him in his 'kiss the cook' apron cooking you a delicious meal.

- When making up for his lateness on your anniversary or even when he forgets entirely, he basically begs for your forgiveness in words and actions. Dinners, your favorite place, and vacations—you name it—happen, but you only want to stay in. He melts in a puddle, still apologizing.

- Celebrates your anniversary for as long as he can with work and all, whether it be ordering in breakfast for you, setting up a little lunch date, or having home-cooked dinners. Sekijiro tries to at least keep this extended celebration going for a week.

Arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you along out of the kitchen with the sounds of food sizzling in the background. Giggling as Sekijiro leads you out of the kitchen, not wanting you to lift a finger on your anniversary.

Letting you go with a kiss on the neck before turning back to the pan that let the aroma of your favorite food in the air. As Sekijiro cooked, he couldn't help but sneak glances at you. Risking injury just to look over your face little by little, with every glance soaking in your smile that adored him.

-

All Might (Toshinori Yagi) - Works for small & big

- In the beginning of your relationship would remember every year and monthly anniversary, but as he got old and with events of him retiring, he forgot the monthly anniversaries, but never misses your yearly.

- Would celebrate both, monthly and yearly, in the first year, but the monthly anniversary would die down after the first year. If you pointed it out, he would try and make sure he remembers, but if work came up, he would have to miss your little dinners instead of buying you a big gift to make up for it.

- For your yearly anniversaries, he tries to focus on the meaningful things instead of vacation or a big dinner, but if you would want all of that, he would still try to work some meaning to it all. Whether it would be a dinner overlooking the spot where you first met or vacationing at a place that reminds him of you.

- When he misses one of them, though, he takes days off, feeling terrible as you mean everything to him. Even if it's not that serious, you're the most important thing in his life, and he wants you to know.

- Your normal yearly anniversaries would last a couple of days before having to go back to work. Even when you had done everything exciting, he would stay with you snuggled up in bed or on the couch, spending the rest of his time off relaxing with you.

Warms arms and plush blankets wrapped around, breathing in the morning air while hearing Toshi snoring away. Turning in bed facing the hero's sleeping face, watching as his mouth was a gap, moving slightly with every snore.

Failing to hold back a laugh, waking Toshi, smiling at the sight of you giggling away trying to guess what was so funny. Finally calming, you snuggled closer, welcoming the close morning cuddles, kissed your cheek that rested atop his shoulder before falling back asleep, mouth a gap once again.

-

Fat Gum (Taishiro Toyomitsu) - Works for small & big

- Always remembers every monthly and yearly anniversary. The date is engraved in his head, having a framed photo of you and him with the date on it to remind him of sitting on his work desk.

- Celebrates both yearly and monthly anniversaries. Doesn't matter how many years you two have been together; he always celebrates them both, always finding something new to do for every single one. Even when you want to stay in for the night, he always finds ways to make something new happen.

- Mostly he would take you to a big dinner, not always an expensive place as they don't always have the best-tasting food. Bringing you to the best food shops in all of Japan, though, doesn't tell you that the food there reminds him of you having eaten at those places after the biggest milestones of your relationship.

- Would happen very rarely, but if he does, his blood runs cold. Racing to you with gifts of your favorite foods, pulling strings for a dinner at a really fancy restaurant where the food actually tastes good.

- The food feast that is your anniversary would last for as long as you wanted it to; he would even celebrate it for a year if that's what you wanted. Days later, he would come over at lunchtime with food and sit with you, allowing you to pick anything off his plate with a smile.

Bitting down on the delicious food, Taishiro held up to feed you, both smiling at the sweet moment. Knowing always what you liked to eat, he took you to a new place in the city, hidden away in the busy markets.

Thankfully, the place wasn't too busy, allowing you to eat without cameras sneaking a picture of you two lovebirds. Watching as he took a bit of his own while chewing, his eyes filled with love as if he were tasting the love he has for you.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI, or reposted on any other platform without permission.

♥ mx-pastelwriting does give consent to "reblog," sharing links to direct work, and being in recommend lists.

Taglist: @g0dwat3r @bimbo-bunni @lokis-right-femur

@urlocalfanficwriter @vaexox @needa-sum-luvn

[angel-sweets666]

making out with mr aizawa

shouta aizawa x reader one shot

aizawas never had a crush on a ex student, never. That’s inappropriate. But when you reach your 3rd year at UA and turn 18/19/20, his drunken self manages to blurt out his longing for you.

mentions of katsuki bakugo x reader

YOU ARE OF LEGAL AGE, A ADULT, NO PEDOS. I DONT WRITE FOR PEDOS

Warning: alchohol ,making out, Mentions of sex. age gap (ur 18-20 years old and he’s around 33

You nervously waited for your name to be called, heart pounding as you anticipated your moment on stage. Three long years at UA High School were finally paying off; soon, you would be a pro hero. "Mina Ashido," Present Mic's voice boomed through the auditorium, snapping you out of your thoughts. You watched as your pink-haired friend happily skipped up to the stage, her carefree demeanor hiding the same nervousness you felt about graduating and stepping into the world of pro heroes.

Mina shook hands with Principal Nezu, who, to be frank, looked like a knock-off, whitewashed Mickey Mouse. The sight brought a small, nervous smile to your face. Then, she turned to Mr. Aizawa, your homeroom teacher. To everyone's surprise, he looked quite presentable for once! His usual shaggy hair was tied into a neat half-up, half-down style, and he wore a sharp red and black suit. His genuine smile for Mina was a rare and touching sight, sending a wave of warmth through the audience.

Mina, grinning from ear to ear, skipped down the stage steps after receiving her diploma. As soon as she reached the bottom, she dropped her act and yelled excitedly, "I GRADUATED! I ACTUALLY GRADUATED!" Her happiness was infectious, and the crowd erupted in applause and cheers.

Your nerves momentarily eased, you couldn't help but smile wider. Watching your friends achieve this milestone was both heartening and exhilarating. Soon, your name would be called, and you would join them in this monumental step toward becoming a pro hero.

you looked up at mr aizawa, he was always an attractive man but seeing him like this. Cleaned up and neat, made you feel something for him. Was this a crush? Little did you know he’s had the same feelings for you since your 18th/19th/20th birthday despite you being his student.

Present Mic's booming voice filled the auditorium, "Name Last Name!" His quirk negated the need for a microphone, causing your breath to catch in your throat. Slowly, you rose from your seat, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes upon you. Yet, amid the sea of faces, a particular gaze from the stage seemed to linger longer than the rest.

With measured steps, you made your way toward the stage, nerves and excitement swirling within you. You approached Principal Nezu, who greeted you with a warm smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Congratulations," his soft but oddly unsettling voice praised, "I see you will be a fantastic hero. Will you come to the after party?"

"Yeah, I will," you replied with a smile, trying to shake off the unease his demeanor had stirred within you. Moving on, you approached Mr. Aizawa, towering over Principal Nezu at his impressive 6'1" height. His usually disheveled appearance was surprisingly neat today, accentuated by a red and black suit that seemed out of character but fitting for the occasion.

You extended your hand, which he clasped in a firm grip that lingered longer than with the other students. "See you later, kid," he said, his usual stoic expression softening into a genuine smile that held a hint of affection. It was a rare sight from the usually gruff teacher, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude.

"Yeah, see you," you replied, returning his smile as you stepped away from him. Walking off the stage, it finally began to sink in. You had graduated from UA High School, marking a significant milestone on your path to becoming a pro hero. The applause and cheers from the crowd washed over you, your face lit up as you stared at all the people who were once your classmates and you began

You slowly made your way back to sit next to Mina, noticing her cheeks were even pinker than usual. "Did you see the way Mr. Aizawa looked at you!? He's so into you!" she squealed excitedly.

"Eugh, he's our teacher!" you gagged playfully, though a part of you secretly liked the idea of your former teacher having a crush on you now that you were no longer his student.

"Well, former teacher, actually," Mina corrected with a mischievous grin. "We graduated, and some of us are 20 years old. It doesn't matter! He's so into you, babe," she added, nudging your shoulder playfully.

You chuckled nervously, unsure how to process Mina's teasing. Mr. Aizawa had always been a supportive mentor, but you never imagined there could be anything more between you. Still, Mina's insistence and playful encouragement sparked a flutter of excitement in your chest. As you glanced back at Mr. Aizawa across the room, you caught his eye briefly, and for a moment, you wondered if there might be some truth to Mina's teasing after all.

some time later at the after party

As the evening unfolded after the graduation ceremony, you found yourself at the after-party, surrounded by your friends and fellow graduates. The venue was lively, with upbeat music filling the air and colorful lights dancing across the walls. Mina, true to form, was the life of the party, dragging you onto the dance floor while laughing and cheering.

The atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed, with even the former teachers joining in the festivities. Mr. Aizawa, now dressed casually and looking more approachable than ever, was engaged in conversation with some other graduates near the bar. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him letting loose, a stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor in class.

You grabbed a drink from the bar and joined the circle of your friends, exchanging stories and jokes about your time at UA High School. Denki was showing off his dance moves, much to everyone's amusement, while Bakugo, surprisingly relaxed, recounted a particularly explosive training session.

Amid the laughter and chatter, you caught Mr. Aizawa glancing over at you from time to time, a small smile playing on his lips. It was a side of him you hadn't seen before, and it made you realize just how much he had cared about each of his students.

As you looked back at bakugo you tilted your head to the side “I’ve never seen you so relaxed, how much did you have to drink?” You giggled “I’m on my 3rd vodka!” He chuckled and leaned on kirishimas shoulder, the red head laughed and and pushed bakugo “get off me man!” He said with a raspy voice and happy tone. However you just could not get peace with the idea of aizawa, he seemed so calm for once, so happy.. maybe even attractive? You leaned over to Mina who was busy flirting with kirishima “should I go flirt with mr aizawa?” You asked the lively girl “OH MY GOD YES. GO GO GO, but after that you gotta go out with bakugo so we can go on double dates” she insisted “yeah alright, don’t go making me an aunt with kirishima Mkay?” You grinned at her while kirishima blushed and began making out with Mina.

you walked over to the bar and sat next to aizawa, looking over at him “so what are you gonna do now that we’re graduating?” You asked the 33 year old “ahh.. start over, teach first years and watch them graduate too.” He grins to you, alchohol on his breath. “Right yeah.. that makes sense” you nodded and grabbed a bottle of vodka “shit.. can’t believe i actually grad-” you were interrupted by aizawa placing his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him “you know since your birthday I’ve been thinking about you” he cooed, getting close to your face. He’s obviously saying this because he’s drunk, but drunk words are sober thoughts right?

you gulped “you have..?” You asked him, going from between his eyes to his lips “yeah.. you look so kissable..” he chuckled, leaning to kiss the corner of your lips. You let him peck your lips and cheek, blushing deeply.. his deep voice grumbled in your ear “let’s go somewhere more private yeah pretty girl?”

And that’s how you ended up here, behind the building making out with your high school teacher. Aizawa pushed you against the wall as he held your face, kissing you deeper. Your tongue swirled with his, he pulled back with a wet noise “god your good at this..” he grumbled and grabbed a handful of fat from your thigh and smashed his lips against yours again, using his other hand to twirl with your hair. You two kept this up for a while, only parting for air when needed then going back in for a passionate make out, he leaned down to kiss at your neck and play with your hair. Leaving deep purple hickeys across his neck “god I wanna fuck you dumb…” he mumbled against the skin on your neck

“then do it”

[actuallysaiyan]

Can I please get #9 with Aizawa? 😫😫😫 I love you!

warnings: smut, suggestive themes, vaginal fingering, rough kissing

Dating Eraser Head proved to be interesting most times. He wasn’t one to spend much time in the limelight. In fact, it was always the opposite. He kept himself hidden from the public eye whenever he was able to.

And especially when it comes to matters about you. He kept that very private. So that meant barely any PDA. He didn’t want anyone to find out. And it wasn’t because he was embarrassed or ashamed. It was because he knew what the press and society and the world would do if they found out about your relationship. They’d never shut up. All the cameras and all the questions, it just made him feel so gross about the situation.

So things were always kept private, until one day…

He doesn’t even understand why he’s feeling this way. Shota Aizawa has pretty good self-control, but today you are looking just a little too damn cute. Having you work with him as a teacher at UA sometimes makes it harder for him to keep you at arms length in terms of hiding the relationship.

It’s just after school when he’s grading papers that it hits him even harder. He’s been having to see you in that damn cute dress all day and it drives him up a wall. He knows you’re not doing it on purpose; you’ve always loved to dress nicely. But fuck, did you have to give him an almost hard-on every time you pass by?

You knock on the door, smiling when you see him so hard at work. The minute he looks up at you, he’s done for. The man gets up from his chair, and then he grabs you lightly by the wrist to pull you into the teacher’s lounge. He closes and locks the door, pinning you to it so he can kiss you roughly.

“Wearing that fucking cute dress all god damn day,” he grunts as he nips at your bottom lip. He guides your hand to his crotch. “Do you fucking feel that? Feel how hard you got me.”

You squeeze teasingly, and Shota growls. He hikes your dress up over your hips and his long fingers begin to tease your pussy through your panties. He’s had enough of this. He’s going to have you at his mercy now. Your head falls back against the door as he slowly circles your clit with precision.

“Awhhh, how cute. Have I rendered you speechless?” 

You let out a cute mewl when he kisses your neck, followed by a loud moan when he bites down and sucks on the tender flesh. His fingers continue to press and rub on your swollen nub through the soaked fabric of your underwear. He chuckles at the way you’re moaning for him.

“You’re just trouble,” he breathes into your ear. “Causing problems for me all day in that cute little dress and those stockings. You wanted me to notice you, didn’t you?”

Your cheeks burn at his word, your tongue feeling tied. Shota has this very effect on you. He just knows exactly how to press your buttons to keep you on your toes. He smirks when he looks at your cute reaction. Then he pushes your panties to the side, sliding two of his fingers into your wet pussy. You let out a very loud cry, making him kiss you hungrily.

“Shhh! You don’t want to get caught, do you?”

You shake your head, but you’re just a trembling mess now as he pumps his fingers into you, hitting your sweet spot. Aizawa smirks at the way he’s rendered you absolutely weak.

“Better keep yourself quiet,” he grunts as his nips at your earlobe. “Or else I’ll have to make you grade those papers.”

dividers: @adornedwithlight

[simplyraeblue]

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

Professional (Shouta Aizawa x reader)

!afabreader x aizawa as a teacher, reprimanding wasn't uncommon for you to practice. you being reprimanded? only allowed by Shouta Aizawa. WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing, NSFW, MDNI, p in v, creampie (don't be silly wrap your willy!), somewhat public sex, sex on a desk, going commando (couldn't be me), no pronouns used, use of sweetheart, light bondage (gagged by a tie), punishment kink A/N: art above by ficel_art on instagram! I saw it on pinterest first but immediately deep dove onto their account. dadzawa was just too hot in this art to not immediately write something for him ( ´ཀ` ) word count: 1,930

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

you loved being a teacher at U.A. – but some days, it felt like the little future heroes were actually little devils. it was about the third time that little… twat waffle… named Katsuki Bakugo had interrupted your class just today to bully Izuku Midorya. while your mental nickname for him wasn’t very teacherly, the best you could do was to speak to his homeroom teacher.

after lunch had started, you marched your exhausted ass to Shouta’s classroom. someone needed to knock some sense into that kid, and you were very sure it wasn’t going to be you doing the job. if you tried… well, you’d probably lose your job with the words you’d use. and Bakugo could be even worse in return, you were certain of that.

you didn’t bother to knock at the door as you shoved it open to find Shouta sitting at the desk grading a stack of papers. he glanced up at your loud intrusion, an eyebrow arching up when he saw the look on your face, already knowing that you were ready to unload.

“who was it today?” Shouta hummed as he merely returned his focus to the homework in front of him without missing a beat. you slammed your hands on his desk, earning his full attention on you.

“I’m going to try very hard to speak in a professional manner, so listen up because I’m not repeating myself.” you warned him with a glare sharp enough to cut through steel. Shouta raised an eyebrow, hands up in a silent gesture to proceed. “I know you love your students – and don’t try to lie – but you need to reprimand Bakugo more often. he’s disrupted my class every day this week, and I’m seriously considering putting him on probation from participating in the sports festival.”

Shouta slowly stood, moving around the desk as he processed your words, nodding along. “so, you think he should be punished?” he asked, his voice even.

you nodded firmly. “and I’m asking you to help.”

he gave a small, knowing shrug. “and you’re trying to be professional about it?”

“well, I like to think of myself as a professional most of the time.” you chuckled dryly as you shook your head. in the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were getting close to the point where you might use your quirk on the brat a few times… but that would only happen if you were specifically asked to for training purposes.  

Shouta had made his way to your side by now, standing a few inches from you as he smirked. when you noticed his expression you raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know that I’d call you the most professional of teachers.” he told you as he looked down into your eyes.

“what’s that supposed to mean, Shouta?” you dared to ask, still confused as to where he was going with this. “are you going to give me an exhaustive list of the reasons I’m not professional, because it wouldn’t be the first time you have.”

“no, not an exhaustive list today.” he snickered before his hand drifted to grasp at your hips. you jumped slightly at the contact, sucking in a breath when he ruched the hem of your skirt in his fingers.

he’d been watching you since this morning, the black pencil skirt you wore showing off the plush of your ass as you walked down the hallway to attend to the students. his eyes followed you like magnets wherever you went – and he hadn’t been ignorant enough to miss the tiny little detail he was about to bring to your attention.

before he spoke again, he swiftly lifted you to sit on the edge of his desk, causing you to gasp. when he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, he whispered, “for now, let’s start with the fact that you’re not wearing any panties.”

immediately, a smirk crossed your lips. “ah, so you finally noticed?” you murmured, cheeks heating with his breath on your ear.

“I noticed long ago. I’m assuming this was for me?” he asked as his nose nuzzled your neck, making you groan. “you just couldn’t wait until we were home could you, sweetheart?”

“you’re always so tired when you get home, I just wanted you to know what you had to look forward to.” as you explained, you thought back to getting dressed this morning – you’d quickly thrown on your outfit, neglecting your panties while your husband was in the bathroom. Shouta had been none the wiser when he’d come out, simply giving you a morning kiss before the two of you left for work.

“I don’t know, I kind of want it right now.” you pulled back to study his face, seeing them dark with desire as his hands palmed your ass through your skirt. “we have some time while the students are at lunch, what do you say?”

you were reminded every day of how hot your husband was, and now was no exception. “lock the door.” you instructed him, to which he pushed off of you and secured the door. when he returned, he wasted no time in crashing his lips into yours.

“we should still be quick, sweetheart. don’t want any of the students roaming the hallway to hear us.” Shouta whispered between your lips, taking your lower one into his mouth and sucking harshly on it.

“then you’d better be quiet.” you teased, something that you always learned your lesson for doing later. you felt him smirk into the next kiss he gave you as he pushed your skirt up to your waist, cold air hitting your wetting pussy.

he knew how to be fast, and quiet. it was something Shouta learned very quickly within his line of work – but you’d figured out how to make that increasingly more difficult for him to put into practice. your hands all but ripped his belt off before shoving his pants and boxers down, revealing his cock standing at attention.

god, he’d thought about using his lunch time to find a secluded place and jerk off to the thought of you. after noticing your lack of underwear this morning, it was all he could think about, repeatedly having to clear his mind while working. but this was even better, he thought.

you watched in awe as Shouta pulled his tie off, and just as you wondered if he would throw it to the side, he instead pushed the fabric between your teeth and swiftly tied it behind your head. “now, you have to be the one to be quiet.” Shouta taunted as he placed a light kiss on your gagged mouth.

while he lined his tip with your seeping hole, you whimpered against the fabric muffling your words. Shouta was painstakingly slow in pushing inside of you, your walls stretching to accommodate his immense girth as you moaned at the feeling of his veiny cock molding your walls.

when he finally bottomed out, he let out a low groan of pleasure before placing a hand on your chest and pushing you back to lay flat on the desk. “I’m beginning to think your lack of professional is what needs to be punished.” Shouta teased as he leisurely rolled his hips into yours causing your eyes to roll back. “but I guess I’ll have to save your true penalty for tonight, since we need to be quick.”

 you nodded fervently as he began to slam into you, the desk creaking beneath you with every bullying thrust. “please.” your beg came out muffled, but enough for him to understand.

Shouta’s lips covered yours to add an extra layer of quieting your noises, his dick now repeatedly slamming into your walls with a fierce pace. he pulled away for a moment to spit onto your clit before his fingers began to work the sensitive nub. “don’t worry, sweetheart. tonight, you’re going to get a good punishment that I think you and I both will enjoy.” you whimpered at the thought, already knowing your ass would be bruised and sore come tomorrow morning.

“fuck I’ll never – mph – get sick of – hah – this pussy.” Shouta bit out with each smack of his hips into your ass, the noises the two of you were creating become filthier every second. as he brutally circled your clit, pinching it between his fingers, you moaned into the now wet fabric between your teeth. he always had been an expert at getting you close with almost no effort, and you could already feel the knot coiling in your stomach. “so perfect for me sweetheart. such a perfect wife.”

he was a little sad that he needed to be fast, wanting to savor every bit of you, but after looking at the clock Shouta realized that time was almost up. “gonna need you to – hmph – come on my cock now, sweetheart. need you to come before I fill you up.”

with his demand, he slapped a hand down onto your clit harshly, making your back arch off the desk in response. “Shouta!” your husband’s name barely passed your lips before he smacked your clit again, caressing it between each contact until you were coming undone beneath him. “m’ coming!”

Shouta swore under his breath as he watched your body convulse below, your pretty eyes rolling back just as your slick walls clenched around his cock. if he had more time, he’d keep going until you couldn’t walk for a week – but he’d just have to save it for tonight. for now, he allowed his release to barrel over him alongside yours.

his head fell down between your covered tits, the fabric of your shirt doing nothing to hide them as he muffled his own whines of pleasure before he was shooting ropes of cum inside you. he’d buried himself to the hilt to make sure you got every last drop, praying it was deep enough to ensure it stayed trapped inside of you for the rest of the day.

with perfect timing, he started to come down from the high just as the bell rang, echoing in your now almost deaf ears. Shouta slowly pulled out, hissing at the loss of warmth against his cock, before quickly pulling his tie from your lips. he used it to clean himself up before kneeling down to wipe away any mess he’d left between your thighs.

“maybe I should’ve brought a backup pair of panties.” you groaned as you slowly sat up. “now I’m going to have to worry that our unborn children are going to leak down my thighs the rest of the day.”

“you wicked woman, that foul mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day.” Shouta smirked as he kissed you softly. you watched as he walked back around his desk and opened a drawer, before he pulled out a pair of your panties. “it’s a good thing I noticed before we left the house and brought these just in case.”

your jaw dropped out as you snatched them from him. “you knew! and you let me think I’d seduced you.” a pout formed on your lips before you slipped the underwear on, praying it was enough to prevent any embarrassment.

Shouta only caressed your head, his lips meeting yours again. “you seduce me without even trying, sweetheart.” you grinned at the words until his hand gently wrapped around your throat. “but don’t forget, you’re still getting reprimanded later.”

you’d never been so excited to get punished.

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Link to Kirishima x reader here (word count: 902)

Link to Shoto x reader pt. 1 here (word count: 1,800)

Link to Kaminari x reader pt.1 here (word count: 2,680)

Link to Bakugo x reader here (word count: 2,328)

Link to Hawks x reader here (word count: 1,903)

[honeyxbee]

Lazy Mornings

Aizawa x gn!reader

Day 9 ― Morning Sex TW: NSFW, fluff words: 225

The golden rays of the sunrise stream through the blinds, bathing your bedroom in a warm glow. The familiar sound of an alarm going off breaks the previous peaceful silence of the room, making you groan in protest and push your face into your husband's chest. "Don't go."

Aizawa sighs from where he's lying beside you, stroking your hair as he lazily rocks his hips against yours. "I have to. Someone's gotta teach those kids," he murmurs, his voice gravelly from sleep.

"You could always call in, y'know," you suggest, making him chuckle quietly and rest his forehead against your shoulder.

"..You know I can't do that," he replies after a moment of silence.

You let out a short hum and wrap your arms around his neck, slowly shifting your hips to meet each of his slow thrusts. "..You're cute," you murmur after a few seconds.

"Huh?" he mumbles in confusion, causing you to laugh slightly.

"You're cute," you repeat. "It's sweet ― how dedicated you are to your students," you say softly, stroking his hair.

Aizawa shakes his head. "I'm just being responsible," he denies with a small tsk.

"Hmm..whatever you say," you muse, leaning forward to peck his lips. It causes his cock to twitch slightly inside you, a barely visible blush on his cheeks.

"I'm being serious."

"Sure you are."   

"..I am."

[sundeathh]

Spicy Headcanons 🌶

MASTERLIST

Featuring: Shota Aizawa • Words: 1.3K+

CW: NSFW | 18+ only. MDNI. Kink description, explicit sex language, implied heterosexual dynamics.

Shota has a sensitive neck and ears. All it takes is a kiss on his neck or a lick on his ear to make him melt. He's also weak to nibbles or whispers - it turns him on a lot, and if you dare to do any of those things, you better not stop there.

Shota is a switch. He likes to take control in bed and enjoys being dominant, but he also likes to be on the bottom and be taken care of from time to time.

Shota can be quite the demanding one, but when he's not dominating, he likes to be gentle and sweet. He can act pretty much vanilla when he's stuck in a rough routine. (It doesn't mean it won't be good, though.)

On the other hand, he can engage in hard-core stuff as well. Gotta a rough, BDSM kink? Talk it out – he's in the game.

He likes to spank you and punish you when you're being a brat. (You're always a brat just so he has an excuse to punish you). 

Aizawa didn't have toys of his own aside from ropes he bought to use on you. He's not against using toys, though – if you have them and want to use them, he'll do so; if you'd like to acquire a new one, he'll buy it, too. It's just something he didn't have before you asked for it.

He sometimes lets (or explicitly asks) you to take the lead. Sometimes, he's just so tired and stressed out from work that all he wants to do is get home to have you ride or go down on him.

And how he loves your lips there! Don't get me wrong – he loves to give you oral, too. (In fact, he'll drive you mad and have you begging whenever he eats you out). But honestly, if he had to choose, he'd say he would rather receive it than give it. Your mouth is just too good. 

He has high stamina and can go on for hours, but oral is something that can bring him to climax and wear him out quite fast if you're not careful enough to let him last longer.

When he feels like himself, he usually goes for the second round. But when he's exhausted from work, he'll want to finish after the first. Sometimes, he goes for the third one, but it's rarer. He feels rather tired after the second one. Usually, when he goes for the third, it's way quicker than the other two.

Aizawa has a praise kink. He likes pet names, little compliments, and to be told about how good he is and how great he's making you feel. He wants to prove his worth, and hearing you praise him makes him feel good about himself. 

He loves your thighs. He'll squeeze them, nibble them, suck on the inner sides, and kiss all the way up to your core to have you squeeze his head between them.

Hair pulling is a must. Both yours and his. If you do it the right way (mild force but firm grip right above the nape), you might even yank a moan out of him. 

Shota likes to be marked and to mark you. He'll make sure to leave at least one hickey somewhere in your body every time you're intimate (usually, he leaves more than one). He doesn't like to show it around, of course. But he likes knowing he has a mark you left on his skin under his clothes. 

He didn't know this, but he has very sensitive nipples. Once you find out about this, it's a whole new world of pleasure you can unravel on his body for him. But be careful! It's a new sensation to him, and he can become easily overwhelmed at that spot.

He's not opposed to pegging. In fact, he likes it – but only if it's done with care and gently. He won't let you do that if he doesn't trust you enough for fear of getting hurt.

Shota LOVES to tease. To make you beg for mercy. To have you whimpering his name, hoping he'll grant you what you so desperately need. It makes him feel powerful to hold your pleasure like that. He'll let you reach your peak afterward, but not without a long road of pleading. 

However, when it's you who is teasing... God forbid the punishment you'll get once you're done with him. He is an absolute BRAT when he's getting teased and will misbehave a lot. (Still loves it in the end).

Aizawa doesn't care much about giving you anal – he'll probably never ask for it. He doesn't see much sense in putting unnecessary strain on your body, especially that you might not be comfortable with. So, if you actually like it, you'll have to ask him directly. (Maybe even talk to him beforehand, to let him know clearly that he won't hurt you).

Because, yes, he's terrified of hurting you unintentionally in that sense. He'll immediately stop if he senses that you're uncomfortable at any point.

And when he does inflict pain on you intentionally because he knows you like it, he'll always start gently and progress slowly to see your level of comfort. He will always check on you.

Talking is another must. Shota takes sex very seriously, and that's not something he does with just anyone. So, before you get to that point with him, you'll have to make things clear and set boundaries for the both of you to be comfortable.

Shota is not very vocal when he's on top since he gets too focused on pleasuring you. Usually, he only makes some low grunt sounds, depending on the intensity of the moment. When he gets closer to climaxing, he'll hold back his moans, but you'll still know he's getting close because his breathing gets a lot heavier and louder. And sometimes, he growls when he finally comes.

However, if you're the one on top, he can relax further and it becomes easier for you to get a moan out of him. Still, they're usually low and breathy. 

On the other hand, he LOVES to hear your voice. Whether you're moaning, whimpering, or whispering, it gets him really aroused and makes the whole experience a lot more enjoyable for him. He will also praise you for that quite often. 

Shota also has a breeding kink. The thought of getting you pregnant with his child makes him excited, but he'll never push it if you're not into the idea. Still, he likes to come inside you and will ask your permission for him to do so once you become regular with each other. He'll stop asking once you two get close (he tends to let you know when it's coming, though). If you don't like having him spreading his seeds inside you, he'll pull out and finish on your belly, back, or thighs. 

Shota is not open about which position he likes the most, but you can tell which ones he enjoys since he often goes with the missionary or horizontal cowgirl positions. He likes to have your bodies pressed together and to see your face when you're intimate. He loves the sense of intimacy and connection it gives him.

He's not very talkative during aftercare. However, he'll always ask you how you're feeling and if you need anything (like water, for example). He'll get up to provide you with whatever you ask him and will help you clean up, but afterward, all he wants to do is cuddle with you in silence and stroke your hair or rub your back. 

He also loves it when it's you the one caressing, but he might fall asleep pretty fast that way, so he doesn't always let you do that because he feels guilty for leaving you awake.

In general, Aizawa believes that sex is not something banal one does with just anyone but rather an activity to do passionately with someone he trusts and cares about.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!

[luxthestrange]

BNHA Incorrect quotes#36 Mini-Y/n

At The Aizawa Household

Secretary Y/n*Standing in awe at what you created*...Breathtaking...I shall call her~

Aizawa*Next to Hizashi drinking from his kitty mug coffee*...

Hizashi*Hands on his cheeks unable to contain his cuteness overload*aaaaaAAAH!~

Secretary Y/n:...Mini-Me!~

DRAMATIC MUSIC

Eri*Dressed in a mini-version of your regular outfit and doing a pose*!!!~

Part 10:

[bbunnyyy]

Desire

/dɪˈzʌɪə/ noun A strong feeling of wanting to have something or wishing for something to happen.

!! WARNING !! smutty themes f!reader x aizawa.

☁︎ Aizawa's touch felt like a fresh breath, your bodies flush against each other. ☁︎

Summary: You and Aizawa end up getting stuck in one of the storage rooms in the left wing- not frequently visited. The tension in the air and the lack of space result in something...more.

A/N: hehe :3

A song to enjoy while reading this: if u think i'm pretty ⚬ Artemas

Your eyes fixated on Aizawa's back as his shoulders moved slightly with each step he took. He wasn't in that same old hero attire for once, since there was a press event today. You admired his chiselled figure that was poking through the white shirt and tight pants he was wearing. You swallowed, noticing how much bigger he was than you. The classrooms were running low on paper, which made Aizawa sigh and beckon you to follow him to the storage rooms to grab a few boxes of materials he needed.

Biting your bottom lip, you thought about how the last few weeks with Aizawa had been. Each moment was so warm, yet strangely sensual. It came so easily between you two. Lost in thought, you bumped into a wall- the wall making an 'oof' sound. Since when did walls make those kinds of sounds? Turns out, what you thought was a wall wasn't a wall at all.

"Still sore from yesterday, L/N?" He said smirking, referencing your sparring session. "Maybe." You said dryly, pouting while looking away. Aizawa responded by resting his hand on the small of your back. Your eyes made contact with his inky ones. He maintained the contact, tilting his head as if asking you if something was wrong. Swallowing, he turned away and continued walking in silence.

Aizawa switched on the light, commenting on how dusty it was In there. "Hold the door open for me, need space to get the boxes out," he mumbled, moving to the racks stacked with various boxes labelled with markers in bold lettering. You held the weighted grey door open, waiting for him to grab the materials he needed. Aizawa walked right into a rack, making the boxes tumble.

"Aizawa!" You exclaimed as you lunged forward in an attempt to pull him away. His body stumbled into yours. "I could have taken care of myself, L/N." Aizawa stated, just as a soft click was heard behind you two. You looked at him, whose mouth was slightly open out of shock. Well, this was awkward. You laughed nervously- "Oops?"

"I hope you do remember neither of us have the keys to open this door?" Aizawa stated, rolling his eyes. He tried moving around, your body now facing the door. Aizawa grit his teeth, throwing his head back in frustration. All this moving wasn't helping. The air felt stiff and heavy, the smell of cardboard boxes filling the air. Your chest pressed against the door, and his body clung to yours from behind- no space to move around now. Looking at the floor, you breathed out trying to think while tapping your heels on the floor anxiously.

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. Aizawa breathed heavily into your ear, bringing you back to the present situation. "Stop moving." He commanded, his voice deeper than usual. You tried looking back to take a look at his face, but his fingers dug into the flesh on your hips. "I told you to stop moving." Aizawa breathed out, punctuating each word with a firm silence. He sounded like he was...out of breath? You didn't understand why, opening your mouth to say something sarcastic when you felt something poke your bottom half.

Aizawa pushed you forward, using his body. You pressed your hands on the shut door, trying to support yourself. He pushed into you, almost out of instinct, a moan slipping out of his mouth, smooth like honey. "I'm- sorry." Aizawa said, his hard-on pressed firm into your ass. "There's no space to mo-"

"You don't sound very sorry." You stated, trying to sound confident but just as nervous if not more than Aizawa. "L/NNhh-" Aizawa breathed into your ear, feeling around your pockets for your phone. "I think we're past last names now," you stated, out of breath yourself- unable to believe this was actually happening. Aizawa hummed, his hips pressed into yours as his hands patted your pockets. His breath was hot and heavy, the moment felt so intimate despite the awkwardness and lack of professionalism. Pulling your phone out, you rested your head against his chest as he switched on your phone. "Fuck." There's no signal here.

"I guess we're stuck here for a while then, aren't we?" You joked, pushing back at him.

[felinecyan]

I Still Believe

[Shota Aizawa and Student!Reader]

Synopsis: All it takes is one person. One person to tell you something you’ve done right. One person to believe in you when no one else will. And that one person could change everything.

WC: 1994

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Platonic, Dadzawa✨

I thought it would be beneficial to start of my Aizawa route with Dadzawa. Hurt/Comfort tropes align with me AND him so well.

『••✎••』

The door of class 1-A's dormitories swung open, the wood and glass making a loud banging noise as it collided with the wall, a cloud of dust appearing and a small dent created in the plaster. Your head hung low, your body leaning on the door, as you stood there, panting, with tears streaming down your face.

You avoided everyone's eyes as you made your way to the common room. You tried to hide your body, pulling your hoodie over your face as you shuffled over, trying not to look at anyone as if they could see right through you. None of them noticed, too preoccupied by your classmate Bakugou's daily tantrum.

You slipped past unnoticed, walking over to the staircase. The class chatter turned to a dull murmur as you went upstairs, your feet taking you to your dorm without a second thought. It was only when you opened the door and looked around your dark and dingy bedroom that the weight came crashing down on you.

Your body crumbled, your knees falling from underneath you as your tears stained the carpet. Your body shook as you sobbed, your hands clutching onto the fabric beneath you as if you'd fall off the earth otherwise.

You knew U.A. was going to be hard; you came prepared, but nothing could have prepared you for this. You felt absolutely horrible. Compared to everyone, it was a slap in the face to say that you weren't good enough. You weren't smart enough; you weren't strong enough.

You weren't good enough.

Everyone in your class was so much better than you. Midoriya was a powerhouse; his Quirk was so powerful it would've made you laugh. Bakugou was a force to be reckoned with; his intelligence and his drive were unmatched. Iida, Todoroki, Yaoyorozu... all of them had amazing Quirks and were incredible at fighting, and yet here you were, at the bottom of the class, not even worthy of being called a hero.

Your parents were right. You weren't fit for this. They had warned you. They told you that even if you were in the top ten in the exam, you weren't meant for U.A., but you didn't listen. You wanted to become a hero; you had the opportunity, so why wouldn't you take it?

You should've listened.

The day was awful. Aizawa had kept his entire attention on you, watching every single move, every single mistake, like a hawk. Being outside the classroom, working on techniques, and using your Quirk was humiliating. The more he watched, the more frustrated he seemed, and the more frustrated he seemed, the worse you were. Even when you'd wake up at ridiculous hours, practicing until your muscles screamed at you, the improvement was not visible.

How would you be a pro if you couldn't even get the basics down?

You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself. You were a mess. You couldn't even breathe properly; your head was pounding, and you felt light-headed. The tears were flowing down your cheeks like a river. Your arms shook as you tried to push yourself up. Your legs felt weak, and you were scared that you would fall again.

Then, a soft knock on your door. You froze.

"Go away," you croaked, your voice hoarse and scratchy. "Please."

The door opened, the hinges creaking softly. You looked over, trying to make out a figure in the darkness, and found yourself staring into two glowing red eyes.

Ah, shit.

You completely forgot about the roll call.

You quickly scrambled to stand, your legs wobbling beneath you as you struggled to stay upright. You tried to wipe away the tears and snot running down your face, not wanting him to see you in such a weak state, but he had already seen everything.

Mr. Aizawa stood there in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, a look of concern written on his face while those beaming red eyes stared into yours, preventing you from doing anything. Still, he said nothing, just waiting. Waiting for you to speak. Waiting for an explanation. Waiting for an excuse.

The silence was suffocating. You hated the way his gaze burned a hole through you. The tension was almost unbearable, and you weren't sure how much longer you could hold it together.

"I... I'm sorry," you managed to say after a few seconds, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

Your body began to shake as the tears started to flow freely again. You tried to hide your face in your hands, ashamed that you were showing so much weakness. You tried to calm yourself, taking deep breaths and wiping your nose, before looking back up to meet his gaze.

The red eyes dissipated, returning to their normal black color. The light from the hallway filtered in through the door and the window, and you were thankful. Now, you didn't have to see the disappointment in his eyes.

"What are you sorry for?"

The question caught you off guard. You blinked, unsure what to say because, truthfully, you had a lot of things to apologize for. You were sorry for your Quirk, sorry for not trying hard enough, sorry for being a disappointment, sorry for wasting his time.

"For... missing roll call." You figured this was a safe answer, the answer that he most likely wanted.

But, oddly enough, you could see a hint of annoyance flash across his face. His hands fell out of his pockets, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Oh, no. This wasn't the answer he wanted, and now you were really in for it.

"And why would that be a problem?"

"Because it's part of the rules, and it shows I'm irresponsible and disrespectful," you muttered, staring at the ground.

"That... might have some validity." He was clearly trying to be polite, but his words stung nonetheless. "However, that's not the real issue, is it?"

His voice was calm, yet it was firm and unyielding. He was expecting an answer.

"Well..." you started, not really knowing how to proceed.

"Do you want to be a hero?"

The question made you freeze, and you had to stop and think. Did you want to be a hero? Of course you did. That was why you were here. It was why you had left your parents, it was why you had trained so hard, why you had studied late at night, why you had worked so hard to be accepted into U.A.

But...

Did you deserve it?

No.

"Of course I do," you replied, nodding your head vigorously. "More than anything."

"Then why do you act like you don't?" He raised an eyebrow, his expression serious. "By your attitude, it seems as if you don't feel you belong here. As if you don't want to be here."

His words struck you harder than any punch ever could. The tears returned, and you fought the urge to sob. You felt so stupid. So pathetic. Here you were, crying when there were other students who had real issues, who had real problems, and yet you couldn't hold it together for a second.

"I..." You struggled to find the right words, the words that would convey just how much you wanted this. How much do you want to become a hero? How much it hurt. How much it killed you inside. "I don't know."

He frowned, his brow furrowing. "You don't know? What kind of answer is that?"

You shook your head, biting your lip. You couldn't bear to look at him.

"I don't... I don't deserve to be here." The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Your eyes widened, and your hands flew to your mouth. You couldn't believe you had just said that.

He looked surprised, but he didn't seem shocked. He seemed almost resigned as if he had expected something along those lines.

"Is that what you think?" he asked quietly. You tried your hardest to read his expression, but his face was completely unreadable.

"I..." You hesitated, unsure if you should say what you really thought, but the stern look he gave you pushed you forward. "Yes."

He let out a deep sigh. "Why?"

You didn't want to answer. You didn't want to tell him that you were afraid, that you weren't good enough.

He waited patiently, his expression neutral. He wasn't going to leave until he had his answer.

"I... I can't do this," you admitted, tears blurring your vision. "I can't keep up. Everyone else is so much better than me, and I just don't see why I should even bother anymore. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I practice, I just end up disappointing everyone."

Aizawa's expression softened slightly, and he uncrossed his arms. He walked closer, and you backed away, not wanting him to see how weak you were—not wanting him to see how vulnerable you were. But he followed, moving closer and closer until he was standing in front of you, inches away from your trembling form.

That's when he bent down, and his hands cupped your chin, forcing you to look up.

"You don't disappoint me." His eyes were kind, and there was a hint of a smile on his lips. "You're trying. That's more than I can say about many other students in this class."

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head. "That's not true! You saw today, I—"

"I saw a student who is willing to do whatever it takes to be the best they can be," he cut in, his voice calm and steady. "That's all anyone can ask for. If you're not giving your all, then what's the point?"

"But... I'm not good enough," you whispered, your lip quivering. "I can't do it."

"Who said that?" His gaze was intense, and his hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek. "Who told you that you couldn't do it?"

The only people who had ever told you that were your parents, but you couldn't tell him that. You couldn't bear to have him look at you with pity. You couldn't bear to have him look at you at all.

You didn't answer. You couldn't answer.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice dropping lower as he took note of your expression. "There's no such thing as not good enough. There's only enough. You are enough. More than enough."

"But-"

"Don't argue with me," he said, shaking his head. "I know what I'm talking about. If you weren't enough, if you weren't worth it, you would've never been accepted into U.A. to begin with. But you're here, and that means you're more than enough. You're worth it. Never forget that."

His words were like a knife through your heart, and the tears flowed freely now. You couldn't stop them even if you tried. You felt so overwhelmed. He was saying all the right things, all the things you had wanted to hear, and it was too much.

You let out a strangled sob, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. His hands ran through your hair, and his voice was soft as he murmured in your ear.

"I've seen potential in you from the start," he said, his words filling you with hope. "I still believe in you. I still see that potential. You just need to believe in yourself, and then you'll start to see that progress within yourself."

You clung to him, your face buried in his chest. His arms were strong, and they felt so safe like nothing could ever hurt you. Like you could never disappoint him.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. It was all you could say.

Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for not giving up on me.

Thank you for being the first one to tell me I was good enough.

[elssero]

being pro hero eraserheads full time babysitter.

when agreeing to take on eri full time he didn’t quite realise how often he would be forced to leave her alone- forcing him to drop her off with friends or call someone at all hours in the morning to pick her up.

the hours began to increase and he knew this situation wasn’t good for her- she shouldn’t be seeing a new face everynight.

he needed a babysitter. and off on the hunt he went.

it began after he took one look at your profile on some job app and decided you were the perfect fit, there was no picture on the photo- no age for him to go on.

your quirk was listened as a canceling quirk- having the ability to stop the use of a persons quirk by simply touching them.

it was incredibly strong- and perfect for the type of work you did.

you had specialised in teaching children with unstable quirks- often putting yourself in danger to be able to help those who needed it most.

you accepted the position immediately- it beginning as an on-call night job whenever he required.

you were beyond happy to help- it also helped that the hourly rate was nearly as much as you made in a day.

the first time you babysat you didn’t see him- walking into the house to find a man with blonde hair who you didn’t recognise-

after forcing him to prove to you his relationship with the family he quickly made his way out- face red and clearly impressed you had been so protective of eri already.

the nights you spent with eri were easy- it wasn’t until your third time babysitting you actually met eraserhead.

normally you would sleep in the quest room when you stayed over- leaving in the morning before heading to ur teaching job.

you found yourself never crossing paths with the man who seemed to go straight to bed after coming home in the early hours of the morning.

tonight however was different- he’d came home earlier than expected.

it was near 11pm when you heard the rattling of the door- immediately snapping you up from your place on the couch.

preparing for the worst you brace yourself when the door finally opens- only to reveal a very tired looking eraserhead.

he sounds surprised to see you- as if he’s not paying you an insane amount to be there.

the first meeting is awkward- he makes tired small talk before he sends you home early and thanks you for your hard work.

his mind is in shambles when you leave- yes mic had said you were pretty but holy shit.

your younger than him- maybe by a couple years. seeing your work history he had assumed you had been working with children for alot longer than he had.

you took his breath away. the way you were so ready to protect eri had his heart swelling and seeing you in comfortable clothes had his heart beating a little faster- he almost regrets sending you home.

he tells mic about it immediately in work the next day- his friend only laughs at his little crush on his babysitter. giving a quick “told you so.”

he makes an effort to get home earlier now- your asleep most of the time when he gets in, he begins going into the quest room to look at you check on you before he heads to bed.

you begin to realise that he has started doing handover with you- noticing how he struggles to keep eye contact with you, how the tips of his ears go a little red everytime you get closer to him.

you notice how his stare lingers a little too long on your thighs- how his eyes snap between your cleavage and the wall.

he can’t remember the last time he was intimate with someone- it’s been over a year at this point.

he tries to blame his current lack of a sex life for his infatuation with you, he excuses his teenage like crush on the fact it’s been awhile- he’s sure once he gets some this feeling in his chest when he sees you will go away.

it doesn’t though- he tries to sleep with someone! but he doesn’t get past awkward bar flirting before he’s heading home to you- the smell of alcohol on his breath.

he doesn’t know why he does it- why he invites you to have a drink with him- why he sits right next to you on the couch. it just feels right.

the feeling he’d been looking for all night suddenly explodes in his stomach when he sits next to you- attraction, intimacy, lust.

he can’t remember the last time he’s wanted someone this badly. he shouldn’t though- your eri’s babysitter and a perfect one at that.

you get increasingly drunk as the night goes on- drifting into conversation about your teaching jobs and his pro-hero life.

the atmosphere is intense- feelings sitting on the tip of his tongue as he looks at you- taking in the way your lips wrap around the beer bottle he’d handed you. god.

suddenly he’s inviting you to move in with him- it completely shocks you both as it leaves his lips. a moment of silence is created before he begins to stutter out his explanation.

your here almost everynight anyway? the spare room is basically yours- the drawers filled with your own belongings.

it would mean you’d see eri more- (and him)

it doesn’t take long to convince you in your drunken state- eyeing him suspiciously as he helps you put ur apartment up for sale- you’d probably regret this in the morning.

he celebrates you moving in with him with a kiss-

it doesn’t take you by surprise- your no idiot.

you’d seen the way the older man had looked at you the first night he met you- you’d noticed it straight away.

you had began wearing more revealing clothing around him weeks ago- putting on pretty sleepwear when you’d found out he had been watching you sleep.

he thinks he’s won here- he’s gotten you drunk and coerced you into moving in with him, you can’t back out now.

he doesn’t know that this had been your plan from the start- that your belongings in your home have been packed for days.

he’d played right into your trap- you had decided on the first night you met him you were going to have him- and now you finally did.

[starlitrays]

SAFEHOUSE

starring. shouta aizawa x gn!reader

summary. what happens when pro hero eraserhead, also an old flame, shows up on your doorstep, beaten and bruised and a little bloody, telling you he needs your help?

content. use of 'y/n' and 'l/n' for last name, blood descriptions, patch up descriptions bc i have first aid, emt & basic life support training, reader's quirk is 'total immunity' meaning the only way they can die is of old age although idk how relevant it is, reader and aizawa used to be kinda together, 'who did this to you?' but reader says it

a/n. can you tell yet that i'm an oxford comma lover?? | also part 2?? maybe?

navigation – masterpost

You should've gone to sleep hours ago. But you kept telling yourself, one more episode, which had become the rest of the second season of a show you were starting to hyper fixate on. You had the next day off, and whenever you did, you had a tendency to be more lenient with your bedtime, even when you regretted it in the morning with more cups of caffeine than even you deemed healthy.

Blinking hurt a little bit, your eyes dry from having been glued to you laptop screen. Your fingers mindlessly floated over to the trackpad, and you tapped it, pausing the episode. With a heavy sigh, you tilted your neck to either side, effectively popping the bones.

When you felt a dry tickle in the back of your throat, you looked off into the dimly lit space of your bedroom. The only light was from your laptop and a bedside lamp on your nightstand. Without the sound effects and voices of the characters in your new show leaving your laptop speakers, your home felt extremely quiet.

That tickle again came back to irk you again, and you realised you needed water. Setting your laptop aside, you pushed the bunch of blankets that lay over your lap to the side, swinging your legs over and off your bed. You yawned, reaching for your phone on your nightstand.

You blinked a couple times as your eyes tried to adjust to staring into the brightest light source in the room. 2:38 AM. Shaking your head at yourself, you pushed yourself out of your bed.

Using your lockscreen as a flashlight, you opened your bedroom door, shining the light down the hall. It seemed dimmer when you used it like this. Still, you stepped out of your bedroom, venturing into the darkness. It was still your space, and you trusted that you wouldn't be jump scared by anything.

You walked down your hallway, glancing into your bathroom out of habit as you reached the main area. To your right was the entryway and living room, and to your left, the kitchen and dining area. In quick strides you made your way into your kitchen, opening the cupboard just to the left of your sink. You reach for a glass and pull it down, setting it on the counter with your hand still around it while your other hand reaches forward to the faucet handle, turning it to set the water as cold as possible.

As you fill your glass, you start to feel that something is off. The air is so still, almost to the point you think you can see the dust floating around in the dark. You look around, but end up shaking your head, chalking it up to being up too late. You look down and see the glass just over half full and call it good, bringing it up to your mouth. First, small sips of the cold liquid, and then a gulp of it down your throat.

”Better.” You mumble into the air, staring at the closed sheer curtains that hang over the window over your kitchen sink.

Then there's a knock at your front door. Well, it's not so much a knock and more so a bang-like sound. Several bangs, actually. It made you flinch– jump a little bit where you stood. You set your glass on the counter and just stared at the door, unsure of how to proceed.

You heard words through the door, although you couldn't make out what they were with the distance you had from the entry point. But something persuaded you to go over to your door. You reached for the handle, and then paused when you heard a sound. A groan.

”Who is it?” You asked through the door, your hand hovering just over the lock mechanism.

”It's shit-” The voice is strained, but you recognise it immediately. ”Shouta.” It's your ex. Sort of. There was history, but you didn't end on bad terms. you both just outgrew your relationship at the time. You still cared for him deeply though, and the next bit was a no brainer.

You unlock the door and pull it open, your eyes taking in the entirety of the man before you, who's leaning against the frame of the door with his free hand clutching at his side. You knew he was a hero, Eraserhead, and how he was dressed reflected that he had just been doing something related to hero work. His dark hair fell just past his shoulders, and he looked tired, the scars on his face emphasising the exhaustion. Although bigger than anything, you could see he was bleeding. The hand holding his side had blood all over it.

”Sorry (L/n), I didn't have anywhere else-” He groaned, and your eyes shot up from his injury to his eyes. Shouta took a step forward, and you instinctively reached for him, helping him stay upright. ”to go.” He managed out, and you nodded. You guided the man inside and against the nearest wall, shutting the door behind him.

”Stay here. I promise I'll be right back.” You tell him, letting go of him. Despite the late hour and the shock of it all, you still had a moment of thinking about his blood staining your furniture. Just before you turn down the hall, you pause. ”And Shouta? It's (Y/n), you know that.” He smiles at your words as you disappear down the hallway.

You're quick to walk to the hallway's linen closet, pulling out two bath towels you save for guests and a sheet set that you can easily replace. Gently kicking the closet's door shut with your foot, you make your way back to the main area of your home and start to lay the sheet set over one of your sofas, the towels going down shortly after.

Then you stand upright and guide Shouta, one arm around his upper back, over to the sofa to lay down. ”I got you.” You repeat to him a few times when he resists letting go of you as you try to lay him down. When you feel his body tense and relax and tense and relax as he lets go of you, you sigh.

”Thank you (L/n)- (Y/n).” Shouta corrects himself, short grunts leaving his lips as he tries to readjust to get comfortable.

”Don't thank me yet, you're still bleeding out.” You dry laugh, before looking around the open space. The time you spent with the underground hero years prior had taught you some things. For example, to be aware of your surroundings. You stood up straight and double checked all of the windows were locked, as well as the front door, and you only turned on one lamp in your living room.

You were about to head back down the hall for the bathroom when Shouta spoke again, making you stop in your tracks to listen to him. When you realised he was speaking quietly, probably to himself, you moved on, taking quick strides in your bathroom. Your hands moved quickly to light switch, flicking it on, and then to the cabinet under the sink, reaching for your intensive first aid kit or, you supposed it would be better classified as a basic life support kit. Another thing you'd learned, or adapted from, your time with Shouta in the past. As you got upright again, you looked at yourself in the mirror. All sleep had disappeared from your eyes, your breathing was laboured, and your hands were, surprising stable. You weren't sure when you picked up the ability to make your hands stop shaking but if you had to take a guess? He was in your living room right now.

When you kneeled on the rug beside the sofa Shouta was on, you tried to steady your breathing, although it was a little difficult with how worrying the entire situation was.

”What happened?” You asked as you began to open the medical kit, your eyes moving to his for just second.

Shouta chuckled, and as strained as it was, it was comforting. After all, at least he wasn't dead.

”Was the hero get-up not enough of an indicator?” He asks as you begin to remove his hands from his injury, instead opting to press some of the dressing from your medical kit to his wound. From the times you'd patched both Shouta and some of his associates up before, you'd worked as a well oiled machine together. This time was no different. Right as you lifted one hand from the dressing, he took over, using his own hand to press the dressing.

”You're gonna give me a better explanation in the morning.” You tell him sternly. A man, an old flame nonetheless, shows up your doorstep bloody and about to croak and you're supposed to not want to know what happened?

Shouta's eyes fell to you. You looked worried. Worried about him. ”Of course.” He mutters, moving slowly as he tries to help you by raising his body to help him get his shirt and scarf off him. He still keeps his mouth mostly closed, his teeth grit together as he breathes out between them.

You begin to pack the dressing with more once you see that he's starting to bleed through the first set, and you start to notice that you aren't crying. You aren't tearing up like you used to on the occasion Shouta got injured. Of course, you could feel the warmth of tears behind your eyes, threatening to attempt a fall, but you were focused. The only indication of possible tears was how you sniffled every couple of minutes.

Reaching into the medical supplies, you pick up and move around various items until you find it. The needle and sterilised sutures. With those ready to go, you got up again, running to your kitchen for any kind of alcohol you had on hand. The first bottle you found was of an older scotch. A good one. Regardless, you didn't think twice before bringing it back to the rug you sat on.

Shouta's eyes followed you around as you moved. He tried to mentally prepare himself for the pain the scotch would cause him.

”This is gonna hurt.” Shouta can only nod along with your words, shutting his eyes momentarily. He purses his lips together as he releases the dressing and you begin to pour the alcohol around and over his wound.

As you tilt the bottle upright, you go to set it back down but hesitate.

”You want a sip?” You ask, and Shouta's eyes open. ”This next part is gonna hurt too.” You gesture over to the stitching equipment you have.

He smiles. ”Sure.”

You smile back at him for just a moment, and then you bring the bottle up to his face and tilt it over, only pulling it back and setting it aside when he used his hand to push at your hand.

Your hands go for the needle and sutures, and you shake your head. A mental way of making sure you weren't sleepy anymore.

When you cut the end of the stitch, you and Shouta both sighed simultaneously, and then you took a sip of the scotch yourself.

Next was the bandages. You had several types, but ended up with two kinds in hand. The first was easy to press on, it was just a large sheet of gauze with something tape-like around it. The other kind started with a sticky end so it could be applied directly on the skin.

”Alright.” You mumble, partially to yourself, partially to nobody, and partially to Shouta as you stick one end of the second bandage to his bare torso and you start to pull it around him. Shouta again lifts his body to help you, and you wrap it around him twice, cutting it with some freedom to tuck and tie the ends until you were sure it would stay in place.

You sit back on the floor with your legs tucked to the side, leaning against your coffee table at the same time Shouta lets himself relax back into the sheet and towel covered cushions of your sofa.

Through your heavy breathing, with your eyes on Shotua, you find it in you somewhere to laugh a little bit.

”Did you want a shirt now?” You ask, already about to stand up.

Shouta looks at you a little bit confused. ”Not be rude (Y/n), but I don't think your shirts are gonna fit me.”

”No, Shouta of course not. But you never came back for your stuff.”

”You still have it?” He's a little... confused? Baffled maybe? It's been years, why would you still have his clothes? Whatever the emotion is, it shows on his face.

”Have you ever known me to get rid of anything comfortable?”

Of course. He chuckles, sucking in air through his teeth at the end, his hand instinctively coming to rest just over his injury.

”In that case, would you also grab me a pair of my sweats?” He asked, smiling up at you. You only nod before you disappear from his peripheral vision. Why did you guys stop seeing each other again?

”Are you alright?” You asked when you returned to him, shirt and pants folded neatly over each other in a pile. To most, that question in this context seemed odd. But in the moment, it made sense. Shouta blinks a few times in the dimly lit room.

”I will be. Do you have eyedr-” He stops speaking when his eyes flick to you and you're already holding the familiar bottle of eyedrops out to him. It's the brand he'd told you forever ago that he preferred, and it'd sat in your mini surgery kit ever since then.

”Come to my room after you change?” You mean it more as a direction, and Shouta nods a yes to you. ”If you need help, call.” You tell him before scurrying back off to your bedroom.

Your eyes scanned the room up and down, from left to right, picking up the little messes scattered about the space. First a couple of socks that were strewn about, moved to a hamper. Then your laptop, you shut it down and put it on its charger. Third, you went to your linen closet and grabbed a couple of extra pillows for the other side of your bed.

”(Y/n)?” Shouta called out, and you turned to the hallway, getting back to him quickly.

Without exchanging many words, you helped Shouta sit and stand up, looping your arm around his middle and his arm around your shoulder. The walk back to your room felt slower, but you were still considerate as you could be.

When you get into your room Shouta stopped walking for a moment, so you do too. He looks around the bedroom, and you look at him. He's not judging it, just observing it. After all, it's your private space, your territory. Just as soon as the man picked up his feet again, you moved with him, walking him over to the side of the bed you don't sleep on.

He starts to let go of you, sitting down on the mattress. Carefully, you let him lie down on his own, still standing just beside him, just in case.

”You should consider being a nurse.” Shouta tells you with a smile.

You half-smile at him, a small laugh escaping you. ”I've got my hands full enough with you, Eraserhead.” You emphasise his hero name, which makes the both of you chuckle. ”Especially if these visits are going to become a thing.”

Shouta almost rolled his eyes, instead opting to wave away your words with his hand. ”I'll try not to make them a habit.”

”Good.” You respond, with a smile on your face as you help him get comfortable with the blankets and comforter on your bed. ”You good?” He nods and you retire to your usual side of your bed.

”Shouta?” He's always liked the way his name sounds coming from you.

”Hm?”

”I was serious about that explanation in the morning.” You remind him, and he smiles, although you can't see it with how you're turned towards your nightstand at the moment.

”I'll make sure to leave a note.”

You turn your head to face him with a frown. ”A note? Absolutely not. Even if I didn't want the explanation I have to replace your bandages.” You scoff.

At first he doesn't say anything, he just smiles. ”I'm glad you were awake. I missed you.” He says, and you just look at him for a moment, a little stunned.

You wanted to say more, but instead only hummed in acknowledgment. There was so much to say, to talk about, but the adrenaline was wearing off, and you were getting increasingly more tired as the late night turned early morning wore on.

You watched Shouta turn over. ”Thank you again, (Y/n).” His voice is quieter, and you smile before turning off your bedside lamp and trying to get some sleep yourself.

@ STARLITRAYS : please do not translate or repost my works without my expressed consent and permission. please do not copy any of my works.

[heartofjasmina]

Can you do 🐈 w/ Aizawa plz (*´ω｀*)

Aizawa knows he's not the kind of owner you were expecting. Most puppy hybrids are adopted by energetic owners who loved to play and tussle with their pups.

Aizawa wanted to curl up on the couch and watch movies while you played with one of your toys he got you. He wanted to be greeted with love when he came home and he wanted to be wanted. He felt guilty for adopting you at times, wishing he had more energy to play with you. But still, you looked at him with such warmth in your eyes.

You love your owner without reservations, and despite the weird faces he makes occasionally (you don't know what they mean), he's always nice to you. He tosses your toys across the room while he's laying on the couch, and he even lets you suck and drool on his fingers when you're cuddling together. But your favorite is when he lets you slobber all over his cock, drowning in his scent and humping his leg desperately.

He always looks so funny when you do this. His cheeks are always red and he covers his eyes like the sight of you having your fun is too much for him.

"That's it. You were good, so now you get your reward. Good pup." He breathes out, trying not to enjoy your clumsy technique too much. He wants this to last. But the way you're sucking him down your throat makes him realize he's gonna blow his load soon regardless.

Maybe it was time to teach you a new command: 'swallow.'

[solelifauna]

Yandere EraserMic x Reader (Commission for @ayn-yurbestie)

Thank You so much @ayn-yurbestie for supporting my page! I hope you enjoy the fic!!

You had always prided yourself on your instincts. As a former pro hero, instincts were what kept you alive during missions, during late-night patrols in the dark streets, and in confrontations with villains. It was the same instinct that had once guided you to victory, the same instinct that told you when to strike and when to retreat. It was also that very instinct that was now screaming in your head—telling you that something was horribly, terribly wrong.

You were no longer a hero; that life had been ripped from you the day All for One had taken your quirk. All for One was gone now, defeated by All Might, but the damage he had done to you was irreversible. Powerless, you were forced into early retirement.

Sure your power wasn’t flashy or explosive like some of the top pro heroes, but it was something. You had telekinesis, the ability to move objects with your mind. It wasn’t the strongest quirk out there, and you knew that. You couldn’t lift entire buildings or hurl debris the way some of your peers could with their brute strength. But your quirk had its uses, its purpose. In the field, you were invaluable in the smaller, more delicate moments, where precision and care were needed more than raw power.

You were never the front-line fighter, but you had saved people—so many people—because of that careful control you honed over the years. Whether it was pulling civilians out from under rubble with a gentle thought or stopping a speeding car just before it could crash, your telekinesis gave you purpose. It was how you helped, how you made a difference. And in a world where quirks often defined your worth, it was enough. Even though you sometimes envied the heroes with flashier abilities, you were content. You were proud of what you could do.

But when All for One took your quirk, it felt like a piece of your soul was ripped away.

The day you found out your powers were gone for good was like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from. It was surreal at first. You remembered trying to move a small object, something as simple as a cup, just to see if the connection was still there. But it wasn’t. You tried again, harder, focusing with every ounce of strength you had, but nothing happened. The cup sat on the table, unmoving. And that’s when it hit you—the horrifying realization that you would never feel that connection again. The subtle hum of your quirk, the pulse of energy that had always been there, was gone. Just–gone.

Losing your quirk felt like losing your identity. Without it, who were you? The world didn’t need a quirkless hero. You no longer had the power to save people, to help. The purpose you had lived for, the very thing that gave your life meaning, was stripped away from you in an instant. It wasn’t just the loss of your powers—it was the loss of yourself. You weren’t important anymore. You were just another powerless person in a world filled with those who could still make a difference.

The depression that followed was like a suffocating blanket, and for a long time, you weren’t sure how to keep going. You’d always known there was more to life than your quirk, but it had been your purpose. Without it, the world became dull, every day a reminder of what you could no longer do. You stopped seeing friends, stopped going out, even stopped answering your phone most days.

And that’s when Hizashi and Aizawa stepped in.

They were your lifeline. They stayed by your side when the world felt like it was crumbling. Hizashi, with his boundless optimism, never let you sink too deep into despair. He would show up at your door with takeout or coffee and insist on dragging you out of the apartment, forcing you to see the sunlight, to breathe fresh air. Aizawa, on the other hand, was quieter in his support. He never pushed, never prodded, but he was always there. Sitting with you in silence when words wouldn’t come, offering a comforting presence that made you feel less alone.

You had leaned on them more than you realized at the time. They were the ones who kept you grounded, who helped you feel like maybe, just maybe, you still had some value. They didn’t treat you like a failure, didn’t see you as “just quirkless.” They treated you like you. And for a while, it helped. It gave you the strength to start rebuilding your life, even if it was a life without hero work.

You had always been grateful to them for that—for helping you when you felt like you were drowning. 

You never imagined that same support would turn into something more sinister.

After that, life had become quieter, less exciting, but you'd managed. You tried your best to adapt, to live a "normal" life—though nothing about being quirkless in a society full of heroes was truly normal. But lately... something had changed.

It started small—little things you tried to dismiss. Hizashi insisting on accompanying you everywhere, even to mundane tasks like grocery shopping; Aizawa constantly checking in on you, dropping by unannounced, or sending texts at odd hours to make sure you were "safe." At first, you thought it was just their way of looking out for you. After all, you were quirkless now, they were probably worried that you were more vulnerable. So, you just called it off as the two being worry-warts.

But as time passed, slowly, their behavior became more suffocating. Hizashi would show up at your apartment early in the morning, coffee in hand, saying he wanted to "spend time" with you, his energy far too high for the early hours; Aizawa would come in the evening, staying late into the night, lounging on your couch like he lived there. They would ask questions—innocuous at first, but they slowly grew more invasive. 

“Where were you going?” 

“Who were you with?” 

“What time would you be back?”

Something about the way they looked at you had shifted too. Hizashi’s usual bright smile now seemed strained, the glint in his eyes unsettling. Aizawa’s gaze, once indifferent, had become sharp, always watching, always observing. You started feeling like prey under their gaze, and the worst part was, they acted like nothing had changed, like this was perfectly normal behavior.

You tried to distance yourself. You told them you needed time alone, space to process your new life. You even started lying about your whereabouts, saying you were out of town, too busy to meet. But it didn’t work. They were always there, lurking, like shadows you couldn’t escape.

It all came to a head one cold autumn evening.

You had decided to confront them. Maybe if you explained your concerns, they would back off. Maybe it was all in your head, and you were just being paranoid. After all, they were your friends. Right?

You invited them over to your apartment, hoping to clear the air. The moment they arrived, you felt the tension crackling in the air. Hizashi’s usual cheerfulness was there, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Aizawa was as stoic as ever, but his gaze was piercing, as though he could see right through you.

“So, what’s up, baby?” Hizashi asked, plopping down on your couch with a wide grin, using that affectionate nickname that you once found endearing but now grated on your nerves.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “We need to talk.”

Aizawa leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on you. “About what?”

You hesitated, unsure of how to put your feelings into words without sounding accusatory. But you couldn’t back down now. “I just–I feel like things have been different between us. I need space. I need to figure things out on my own, without you both hovering over me all the time.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Hizashi’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

“Hovering?” he repeated, his voice deceptively light.

Aizawa remained silent, his expression unreadable, but the air around him seemed to grow heavier.

“Yes,” you said, trying to stay firm. “I appreciate that you care about me, but I’m not a child. I’m not helpless. I need to be able to live my life without feeling like I’m constantly being watched.”

Hizashi’s grin twisted into something darker, something almost predatory. “We’re just looking out for you, songbird. You know the world’s dangerous, especially for someone without a quirk.”

“And who knows what kind of people are out there,” Aizawa added, his voice low, almost a growl. “We’re the only ones who can keep you safe.”

You took a step back, your instincts flaring to life. Danger. The way they were looking at you now—possessive, controlling—set off alarms in your mind. This wasn’t the reaction of concerned friends. This was something else entirely.

“I don’t need your protection,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts to stay calm. “I can take care of myself.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “No, you can’t.”

Before you could react, Hizashi was on his feet, moving faster than you anticipated. He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight and unyielding. “We’re not letting you go, baby! Not now. Not ever.”

Panic surged through you, adrenaline flooding your system.

“Hizashi, let go,” you said, your voice tight with alarm. You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, fingers digging into your skin with surprising strength. Your heart began to race as you looked over at Aizawa, who was standing silently near the door, watching the scene unfold with that same calm, emotionless expression.

Panic surged through you, adrenaline flooding your system. You yanked your arm back, managing to break free from Hizashi’s grasp immediately backing up towards the door, heart pounding in your chest. This isn’t happening. 

“Relax, baby,” Hizashi murmured, his voice unnervingly soft, “we’re not going to hurt you. We just–we need you to come with us.”

His words sent a bolt of fear through you. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. This was planned.

Your pulse spiked, adrenaline surging through your veins as the realization fully sank in. You jerked your arms free from Hizashi’s grasp, stepping back with wide eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?” you spat, your voice rising. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

Aizawa pushed off the wall, his expression cold, calculating. “That’s not going to happen, (Y/n). You’re coming with us, one way or another.”

Panic flooded your body, and you took another step back, your mind racing. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. They were your friends. You tried to reach for something, anything, to defend yourself, but before you could act, Hizashi lunged, grabbing you again—harder this time.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, twisting violently in his grip, but he was stronger than you. He always had been. Quirkless or not, you still knew how to fight. You swung an elbow back, connecting with Hizashi’s side, and he grunted in pain. The moment his grip loosened, you bolted. Instinct took over again, and you lunged toward the nearest object—a lamp on the side table. You swung it at Aizawa, who ducked just in time, but the distraction gave you enough time to bolt toward the door.

But Aizawa was faster.

Before you could even reach the handle, something whipped around your ankles, pulling you off balance. His capture weapon. You crashed to the ground with a sharp cry, your knees slamming into the floor. Pain shot up your legs, but you didn’t stop. You twisted onto your back, kicking wildly as Aizawa’s scarf tightened around you, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes were hard now, his calm demeanor replaced with a cold determination.

“Stubborn as always,” Aizawa muttered, pulling you back toward him with a slow, deliberate motion.

You struggled, kicking and clawing, trying to break free, but his scarf tightened around you, binding your arms to your sides. Hizashi was suddenly there, grabbing your legs and pinning them down.

“Fuck you!” you shouted, clawing at the scarf, trying desperately to loosen its grip. “Let me go!”

Aizawa’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t place—regret, maybe? It didn’t matter. His capture weapon tightened, and you could feel it constricting around your wrists, pinning your arms to your sides. “You’ll hurt yourself if you keep fighting.”

The anger bubbling inside you reached a boiling point. You thrashed in his hold, kicking and writhing as the fear and betrayal turned into a raw, primal rage.

Hizashi’s grin was gone, replaced with a look of dark satisfaction. “Come on now, baby. No need to fight us. You’re ours.”

“Please,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “Don’t do this.”

Aizawa crouched down beside you, his hand gently brushing your hair out of your face. “We’re doing this because we love you, (Y/n). You’ll understand soon enough.”

Before you could protest further, you felt a sharp prick in your arm. A needle. And just like that the world around you started to blur, your limbs growing heavy as whatever drug concoction coursed through your veins.

“No...” you whispered, your vision darkening. “No...”

The last thing you saw was Aizawa’s cold, calculating gaze and Hizashi’s too-bright smile before the world went black.

When your consciousness fully returned, you tried to focus, but the haze from the drugs still clung to you like fog. Your limbs felt sluggish, and your thoughts were scattered. As the seconds ticked by, awareness seeped back in, and with it, came the terror. You tugged at the restraints binding your wrists, but they didn’t give. The soft material was deceptively gentle, but they held you firmly in place. A glance around the room made the walls seem closer, the dim lighting barely enough to see. Panic set in as you realized the full extent of your situation. You were trapped. Kidnapped by the very people you had once trusted.

The memories rushed back—the confrontation with Hizashi and Aizawa, the struggle, the needle. They had taken you. Your stomach churned as the reality of it hit you with full force. These were the people you had once called your friends, comrades. You had trusted them, fought alongside them. Now they had taken everything from you, just like All for One had taken your powers.

That thought, the loss of your quirk, stabbed at you with an old ache. Your powers were gone, leaving you defenseless. You were no longer a hero; you were no one. Just a quirkless, vulnerable shell of who you used to be. Even worse, you had no family to notice your absence. You had distanced yourself from most of your friends after your forced retirement, trying to rebuild your life in isolation.

You were completely alone.

Nobody would come looking for you.

And who would even suspect them? Two beloved pro heroes, trusted by the public, adored by their students, respected by their peers. No one would ever believe that Present Mic and Eraserhead had kidnapped someone. That thought alone sending a chill down your spine.

Your breathing grew uneven as the weight of your situation pressed down on you. How had it come to this? You had always known something was off with their behavior, but you hadn’t imagined this. This betrayal felt like a physical blow, a deep wound that no amount of healing could fix.

And then it boiled over. The anger surged through you like a wildfire, burning away the fog in your mind. You yanked at the restraints, your muscles straining as you twisted in bed, trying to free yourself, but it was futile.

“Why?!” you screamed, your voice hoarse, desperation lacing every word. “Why are you doing this?! What is wrong with you?”

The door to the room creaked open, and they stepped inside as if on cue, as though they had been waiting just beyond the door. Aizawa was as calm and collected as always, his dark eyes expressionless, while Hizashi wore a soft, almost sympathetic smile that made you want to scream even more.

“You’re awake,” Aizawa observed quietly, his voice low and measured. “Good.”

You ignored him, focusing instead on the knot of betrayal and confusion that twisted in your chest. 

“Why are you doing this?” you repeated, your voice breaking now. “I trusted you! You were my friends!”

Hizashi stepped closer, hands raised in what he must have thought was a calming gesture. “We’re your friends, baby. We love you.”

“This isn't love!” you shouted, fury and fear colliding in your chest. “You kidnapped me! You drugged me! This is—this is insane!”

Your heart raced, the walls of the room closing in on you as the magnitude of what was happening sank deeper into your bones. Every breath felt tighter, like there wasn’t enough air, like the room was shrinking. You tugged at the restraints again, your body fighting against the impossible, but all it did was make your head spin.

Panic clawed at you, rising quickly, uncontrollably. It was a feeling you hadn’t had in a long time, not since–

Not since them.

The memories you had tried so hard to bury came rushing back. The League of Villains. All for One. The dark, cold rooms where you had been held captive for weeks, powerless and helpless. The suffocating sensation of being watched, manipulated, tortured, and toyed with. The feeling of having no escape.

It was happening all over again.

Your breath hitched in your throat as the panic attack overwhelmed you, your chest tightening until you couldn’t breathe. You could hear Hizashi’s voice, soothing, but distant, as though he was speaking from the other side of a wall.

“Hey, hey, easy now, baby. Breathe for me, okay? It’s going to be alright.”

His voice blurred with the rush of your pulse in your ears. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. All you could feel was the crushing weight of being trapped, of losing everything again. Your hands shook uncontrollably as you tried to pull in a breath that wouldn’t come. The room tilted, spinning, suffocating.

Aizawa moved closer, his presence steady, grounding. He reached out, his hand brushing gently against your cheek. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice calm, firm. “Breathe. You’re safe.”

Safe. The word felt like a mockery. Nothing about this was safe. You had been here before, in a different room, with different captors. But the feeling was the same—powerless. Trapped. Alone.

Tears streamed down your face, your body trembling with the force of the panic attack. You couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop the overwhelming tide of terror that drowned you. Your chest heaved, gasping for air that wouldn’t fill your lungs.

“Shh,” Hizashi whispered softly, kneeling beside you. “It’s okay, baby. We’re here. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Aizawa’s hand stayed on your cheek, grounding you, his gaze steady, but there was something in his eyes—a softness, a gentleness that contradicted everything they had done to you. It confused you. You had been prepared for cruelty, for punishment, for violence. But this?

“You’re not in danger,” Aizawa murmured, his voice still that same low, hypnotic tone. “No one’s going to hurt you. Breathe with me.”

You tried, gasping, struggling to follow his lead. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly–slowly, the world stopped spinning. The tightness in your chest eased just a fraction, but the tears kept coming, falling in silent streams down your face.

You were too exhausted to fight anymore, the adrenaline pumping in your body was beginning to crash, and your body too wracked with panic and fear to keep resisting. For a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, you let yourself believe them. You let yourself believe that you were safe, that they would protect you, that this was some twisted version of love.

Hizashi’s hand gently wiped the tears from your cheeks, his touch soft, tender. “That’s it. We’ve got you.”

You nodded weakly, your mind foggy, the weight of exhaustion settling deep into your bones. For a moment, you forgot that you were their prisoner, forgot that they had drugged you and taken you against your will. You forgot the gravity of your situation and simply let yourself be comforted.

But it didn’t last.

Reality crashed down on you again like a tidal wave, and the illusion shattered. You weren’t safe. You weren’t loved. You were trapped. You were their prisoner, bound to this bed, helpless, powerless.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice raw, broken. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Aizawa’s expression didn’t change. He regarded you with that same calm, detached gaze, as though the answer was simple. “Because we care about you.”

Hizashi nodded, his usual cheer replaced by a more serious tone. “The world’s dangerous, baby. You’re not a hero anymore. You’re vulnerable. We just want to protect you.”

“You’re lying,” you spat, your voice rising again with fresh anger. “You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing this for yourselves!”

Aizawa’s grip on your face tightened, just slightly. “It’s not that we don’t trust you,” he said, his voice low and measured. “It’s the world we don’t trust. You’re not safe out there. Not without your quirk. And we can’t risk losing you.”

Hizashi leaned in closer, his hand brushing your hair away from your face. “You don’t know how many people would love to hurt you, baby. We do. We see it every day. We’re just keeping you safe.”

The absurdity of their reasoning made your head spin. They spoke as if they were doing you a favor, as if they had taken you to protect you from some nebulous, unseen danger. But the real danger was right in front of you. It was them.

“I don’t need your protection,” you said, your voice trembling with barely restrained fury. “I don’t need you. I was fine on my own. You’re the ones hurting me.”

They exchanged a look, one that made your stomach drop. There was something unspoken between them, something dark and possessive that you couldn’t quite place.

“You’ll see, (Y/n),” Aizawa said, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it now. “In time, you’ll understand.”

Hizashi nodded, his smile returning, but it was softer now, more intimate. “We love you, baby. And we’re never going to let you go.”

You felt the bile rise in your throat. They weren’t going to let you go. You were their prisoner now, and nothing you said or did would change that.

—

Days bled into weeks, and the routine you found yourself in was both mind-numbing and soul-crushing. Every morning, you woke up to the soft clink of the shackles around your wrists and ankles, limiting your movements. The room they kept you in had become your prison, a far cry from the freedom you once enjoyed as a hero. The windows were bolted shut, their frames reinforced with unbreakable metal. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how desperately you searched for something—anything—you could use to break the glass, nothing worked. You were trapped, left to your own devices in this small, confining space while they continued their lives outside.

The chains only allowed you to move a few feet from the bed—enough to pace the room, to stretch your legs, but never enough to reach the door. Your muscles ached from the confinement, and your mind began to fray from the constant isolation. The soft clinking of the chains became a haunting lullaby, a cruel reminder of your captivity.

They were still pro heroes, after all. They had to leave for work, had to uphold their public images, and pretend to be the righteous, selfless men everyone believed them to be. During those long stretches of time when Aizawa and Hizashi were away, you were left alone in the suffocating silence, your thoughts spiraling as the reality of your situation weighed down on you like a crushing force.

You had no quirk. No allies. No one to help you.

Meanwhile, outside the walls of your prison, people were beginning to notice your absence. It had been too long since you last made contact with any of your old colleagues, and even though you had distanced yourself after your forced retirement, a few people still cared enough to be concerned. All Might had always kept an eye on you, even after you left the hero business. And Midoriya, who had once looked up to you as a mentor, had begun to voice his worries.

“Has anyone seen her recently?” Midoriya asked one day, his eyes full of concern as he spoke to All Might. “She hasn’t responded to any of my messages in weeks.”

All Might frowned, his brows furrowing in thought. “No… now that you mention it, I haven’t heard from her either. It’s not like her to disappear like this.”

They weren’t the only ones who noticed. Rumors had begun to spread among your former colleagues, whispers that something was wrong. Even the students at U.A. began to ask questions. It was only a matter of time before someone started digging deeper.

Aizawa and Hizashi, of course, played their roles perfectly. They acted concerned, pretending to be as worried as everyone else. When people asked if they had seen you, they would exchange concerned glances, shake their heads, and say things like, “She’s been through a lot. Maybe she just needed some space.”

But behind the facade, they were always watching, always planning. The more worried your former colleagues became, the tighter your captors’ grip grew. They couldn’t risk anyone finding out what they had done.

Your days were a cycle of monotony, designed to break you down piece by piece. Every morning, Aizawa would come into your room and release the chains just long enough for you to stretch and shower. He never left your side during those moments, his eyes always on you, making sure you didn’t try anything. Hizashi would prepare breakfast, cheerful as always, as if this were all perfectly normal.

Afterward, they’d leave for work, securing you in the room with a soft kiss to your forehead as if they were tucking in a beloved pet before heading out for the day. You hated how a part of you craved those small gestures, the human connection that you were so starved for. It was shameful, disgusting, but in your darkest moments of isolation, you clung to it.

When they returned, it was time for what they mockingly called “dates.” They acted like nothing had changed, like this was just the old days when the three of you would hang out, laugh, and enjoy each other’s company. But now, the dynamic had shifted, warped beyond recognition. You weren’t a friend or an equal anymore. You were their captive.

They would sit you down on the couch, unlock the chains, and put on a movie, as if you were simply unwinding after a long day. But the suffocating reality was always there, lurking just beneath the surface. You couldn’t enjoy the moments like you used to. Every second felt like a mockery of your previous life, like they were taunting you with what you had lost.

Believe it or not, here had been a time, not so long ago, when your relationship with Hizashi and Aizawa was far different from this twisted, suffocating nightmare. Back when you were still a hero, before your quirk was stolen and your life unraveled, they had been a source of comfort and light during some of your darkest days. It was hard not to feel drawn to them. They were both so different, yet their presence in your life had filled a void you hadn’t even realized existed.

Hizashi, with his infectious energy and boundless enthusiasm, always had a way of making you smile, even when everything around you seemed bleak. His bright eyes and easy laughter made you feel like maybe—just maybe—there was still something good left in the world. Aizawa, on the other hand, was quieter, steadier. His calm, rational demeanor always grounded you when the chaos of hero life threatened to overwhelm you. And though his face rarely showed emotion, there was a kindness in his gaze, a subtle protectiveness that made you feel safe.

It wasn’t long before those feelings of safety and comfort started to morph into something deeper, something you hadn’t anticipated. You found yourself looking forward to the moments when you could be around them, even if it was just sharing a cup of coffee or talking about missions. There was a time when you imagined what it would be like to be something more with them—what it would be like to let yourself fall in love with them.

But you never said anything. How could you? At the time, there was an all-out war brewing with the League of Villains and All for One. Every moment was tense, every mission a risk. There simply wasn’t room for anything as fragile as romantic feelings, not when the world could come crashing down around you at any moment.

Besides, you had always thought that Aizawa and Hizashi were more interested in each other. You saw the way they interacted—the unspoken understanding, the way they moved like two parts of the same whole. They had a bond that went far beyond what you shared with either of them, and you didn’t want to complicate things. So you buried your feelings, locking them away in the deepest corners of your heart. The feelings lingered, simmering beneath the surface, but you convinced yourself that it was enough just to be their friend. It had to be enough.

Over time, you learned to live with those unspoken emotions, content with the friendship you had built with them. You never expected things to turn out like this. You never imagined that the same men who once brought warmth and light into your life would twist that affection into something possessive, something terrifying. The betrayal stung even more because of those old, lingering feelings, and now you were trapped in this nightmare, bound by the very people you once thought you could trust.

And as you lay there, shackled and helpless, a small part of you couldn't help but wonder how everything had gone so horribly, horribly wrong.

It was almost laughable—almost—when you thought about it. If they had just asked you out, if Hizashi or Aizawa had come to you one day and expressed their feelings like normal people, you probably would’ve said yes. You’d spent enough time with them, trusted them enough that, had things been different, a romantic relationship could’ve blossomed naturally. You even caught yourself daydreaming about it once or twice—a casual date, coffee in the city, a lazy afternoon curled up on the couch together after a long mission.

But that was the thing about your life: nothing good ever happened the way it was supposed to.

Instead of a sweet, tentative romance, they had chosen to twist their affection into something dark, something that suffocated rather than nurtured. They didn’t ask for your consent, your interest, or your desire, they didn’t give you the choice. They had taken that from you, just like All for One had taken your powers. That was what stung the most—the loss of your autonomy, the fact that they didn’t believe you could love them without being forced into it.

It was ironic, really. The same men who had once brought comfort to your life had stripped away the last semblance of control you had left. And now, bound by chains—literally and figuratively—you couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at the thought.

A normal life? A healthy relationship? Maybe in another world, in another life. But not this one.

In this one, you were always destined to have everything go wrong, to have the things you cared about twisted into something ugly. Whether it was your powers, your career, or even your heart, you were cursed to lose it all in the most painful way possible. And now, here you were, shackled in a room by the very people who could have been your salvation if only they had given you a choice.

Now, you just had to bare this taunt–taunt of domesticity and of what could have been.

Sometimes, Hizashi would cook dinner, setting up a romantic atmosphere in the dining room, as though you were on a real date. Aizawa would pour wine, speaking softly about his day, his eyes never leaving yours. They acted as though this was love, as though this was how things were meant to be.

And slowly, painfully, you began to understand. You began to realize that the only way to survive, to have any hope of escape, was to play along.

So you did.

You forced yourself to smile during their twisted “dates.” You laughed at Hizashi’s jokes, even when your stomach churned with revulsion. You leaned into Aizawa’s touch, allowing him to pet your hair, to hold you like you were his most prized possession. It was excruciating, but it worked.

Over time, they started to trust you more. The chains became looser, the supervision less strict. They allowed you more freedom within the house, slowly granting you access to areas beyond the small prison of your room.

And one day, they made their first mistake.

The window was cracked just slightly, a minuscule error in Aizawa’s otherwise meticulous preparation. It was late, and the two of them had returned home exhausted from their day as heroes. Hizashi had fallen asleep on the couch, and Aizawa, for once, had let his guard down, leaving you alone for just a little too long.

It was all you needed.

With trembling hands, you wedged a piece of furniture under the window and managed to pry it open just enough to slip your body through. The adrenaline pumping through your veins pushed you forward, giving you strength you hadn’t felt in months.

The night air hit your skin like a shock to the system, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you were free.

You ran.

Your bare feet pounded against the pavement as you sprinted down the dark, empty streets, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You didn’t know where you were going—just away. Away from the nightmare that had consumed your life, away from the men who had taken everything from you.

But you didn’t make it far.

A dark figure appeared in your path, blocking your escape. Aizawa. His capture weapon lashed out with deadly precision, wrapping around one of your ankles and yanking you off your feet. You hit the ground hard,stars blurring your vision.

Before you could even attempt to get up, Aizawa was on you, his hand pressing down on the back of your neck, pinning you to the cold ground.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured, his voice frighteningly calm.

You struggled, thrashing beneath him, but he didn’t budge. His grip was ironclad, his body heavy against yours. “Let me go!” you screamed, tears streaming down your face. “Let me go!”

“You know we can’t do that,” he said, tightening his hold. “We gave you freedom, and you tried to run. You betrayed our trust, (Y/n).”

Before you could respond, you heard footsteps approaching, and then Hizashi was there, his face pale with shock and fury. His usual cheerfulness was gone, replaced by an expression of raw, hurt and anger.

“Why, baby?” Hizashi asked, his voice trembling with emotion. “We trusted you. We thought you were starting to understand.”

Your chest heaved with sobs as you lay pinned to the ground, Aizawa’s hand still pressing down on you. “I… I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I just–I can’t do this. I can’t stay.”

Aizawa’s grip on you loosened slightly, but he didn’t let you up. “You don’t have a choice anymore.”

Hizashi crouched beside you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We gave you everything. We’ve taken care of you, kept you safe. And this is how you repay us?”

You closed your eyes, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. “I never wanted this. I just wanted my life back.”

Aizawa’s grip tightened again, and his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Your old life is over. You belong to us now. There is no going back.”

They dragged you back to the house, back to the prison they had made for you. The fleeting taste of freedom you had experienced was gone, and in its place was the cold, hard reality that they weren’t going to let you go. Not now. Not ever.

As they secured the chains around your wrists once more, you felt the weight of their anger and disappointment settle over you like a shroud. This time, there would be no more illusions of trust, no more moments of freedom. They had made that mistake once, and they wouldn’t make it again.

Hizashi helped you to your feet, but the restraints remained in place, a constant reminder of their control over you. The night air felt colder now, your escape attempt now a fading dream as you were led back toward the house, their grip on you firmer than ever before.

After the night of your failed escape, everything changed. When they brought you back to the house, it was as if the last thread of trust they had given you had snapped. Whatever illusion of freedom they had let you believe in was gone, and in its place was a harsher, more suffocating control.

The chains no longer came off. Not even for the brief moments when you had been allowed to stretch or walk around the room. Now, they kept you bound at all times, the cuffs around your wrists and ankles rubbing raw against your skin. The shackles were short, giving you just enough movement to sit or lie down, but not much more. The freedom to roam the house, to take cautious steps beyond your bedroom, was gone; in its place was a constant reminder of your failure: the cold, unforgiving weight of the chains that kept you in place.

Aizawa and Hizashi no longer trusted you with the smallest liberties. No more solo showers, no more time alone without supervision; every aspect of your life was now micromanaged, controlled by them. When Aizawa brought you food, he would sit nearby, silently watching you eat, making sure you didn’t attempt anything. Hizashi had stopped his usual playful banter, and now his cheerful facade was replaced with something darker—a quiet disappointment that lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive.

As a punishment, they kept you isolated for longer stretches of time. They would leave for work early in the morning, locking the door behind them with the chains still in place, and the hours stretched into agonizingly slow days. You had once been left alone for shorter periods, with moments of relative freedom, but now they kept you confined to this room for nearly the entire day, the windows remaining bolted shut, and the darkness outside became a reflection of the suffocating isolation that filled every corner of your mind.

At first, you tried to resist, clinging to your anger and resentment. You reminded yourself of what they had done, what they had taken from you. They had betrayed your trust, warped their love into something controlling and manipulative. But as the days passed, the isolation began to wear you down. There was no escape, no reprieve from the constant silence, the never-ending loneliness.

Without them, there was nothing. No sound, no presence, no life. You spent hours staring at the walls, your mind circling endlessly around the same dark thoughts. You tried to distract yourself, tried to hold onto whatever fragments of sanity you had left, but it was impossible. The isolation gnawed at you, piece by piece, until all that was left was a hollow ache that you couldn’t ignore.

And then, something worse started to happen.

You began to miss them.

It wasn’t like before, when their presence had been a reminder of your prison. Now, after days spent in silence, you found yourself waiting for the sound of the door unlocking, for the moment when one of them would return. You hated yourself for it, but you couldn’t deny the twisted relief that washed over you when Aizawa stepped through the door after his patrol, or when Hizashi’s bright voice called out a greeting from the hallway.

It wasn’t that you forgot what they had done. You didn’t. You could never forget. But the need for human interaction, for any kind of connection, had become overwhelming. Your mind, starved of contact, began to cling to the smallest scraps of attention they gave you. You were so, so utterly alone, that even their possessive touches and controlling words felt like something you could hold onto. Anything was better than the crushing loneliness of your room.

You tried to fight it. You tried to remind yourself that they weren’t your saviors—they were the ones who had taken everything from you. But it became harder and harder to maintain that anger when you were trapped in that room for days on end with nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company.

But the loneliness warped your emotions, twisting them into something unrecognizable. You found yourself anticipating their return, eager for those moments when they would sit with you, talk to you, touch you. Even if their affection was twisted and wrong, it was still something. And in your isolation, even that “something” became precious.

You hated how your body responded when Aizawa gently stroked your hair, the way your heart skipped when Hizashi smiled at you, even if his smiles no longer carried the same warmth they once did. It was disgusting, shameful, but you couldn’t help it. You were human, and humans weren’t meant to be alone. Not like this.

It became your routine: waiting. Waiting for the sound of footsteps outside the door, waiting for the moment when they would come back and break the silence that was slowly driving you mad. You didn’t want to feel this way—you wanted to resist, to fight back—but how could you fight against something as basic as the need for human connection?

When they finally came back from work, you found yourself relaxing in a way that scared you. The familiar weight of their presence in the room brought a twisted comfort, even if it was accompanied by chains and control. They would sit with you, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking as if nothing had changed. Hizashi would brush his fingers through your hair, and Aizawa would sit beside you, his quiet presence grounding you in ways you hated to admit.

There were no more "dates," not after your escape attempt. Instead, they kept you tethered to your room, the shackles around your ankles and wrists reminding you of your place. But they still tried to give you affection, as if they believed they could make you love them again.

And in your darkest moments, you wondered if they already had.

You hated how you looked forward to the simple touch of Hizashi's hand on your shoulder, or the rare moments when Aizawa would sit close enough for you to feel his warmth. It was twisted, and you knew it. They had stolen your freedom, taken your life, and yet, your body craved the attention. It was sickening.

You had nothing else. No friends, no family, no life outside these four walls. Aizawa and Hizashi had become your entire world, and no matter how much you wanted to resist, you couldn’t deny that part of you—some deep, desperate part of you—needed them now.

It was a slow, agonizing process, but as the days turned into weeks, you began to accept your new reality. The loneliness was unbearable, and the only relief came from them. You found yourself smiling at Hizashi’s jokes, leaning into Aizawa’s quiet presence, not because you forgave them, but because it was the only way to survive.

You told yourself it was a strategy, a way to make them trust you again. You needed to play along, to make them believe you were starting to accept this life, so they would loosen the chains, and give you more freedom again (yeah, like they'd fall for that trick again). And maybe, one day, you would find another opportunity to escape.

But deep down, you weren’t sure if that was the truth anymore.

Sometimes, in the quiet moments when you were alone, you wondered if you were starting to lose yourself. If the isolation and control had finally broken something inside of you. You despised the chains, but the thought of being left completely alone again terrified you.

So you played along. You smiled when they came home, you laughed at Hizashi’s jokes, and you leaned into Aizawa’s comforting presence. 

You were losing yourself, piece by piece, but you couldn’t stop. It was the only way to survive.

And the worst part? A small, shameful part of you almost didn’t mind anymore.

[nightfall-kachiniko]

“Babe, babe.” He calls to you, grabbing your face to look at his. His eyes glaring into yours as he soft whispers. “look.”

he says, slighting raising his eyebrow as he stares at you with love and lust in his eyes.

He swiftly thrusts harder, going faster and deeper as you roll your head back, shutting your eyes as you let out a moan.

His eyes glare you down as you squeeze his arm, softening like putty as you melt into him . ༯

[cherryblossombankai]

Day 1: Phone Sex with Aizawa Shota

Warnings: fem!reader, masturbation, lingerie, frustrated aizawa, mentioned oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk

Tag List: @pixelcafe-network, @actuallysaiyan, @helloiamadrawer

Wanna be on the tag list? CLICK HERE!

You were always so naughty with him. After a while, he thought he’d learned how to tell when you were just trying to rile him up, but he was wrong. No matter how well he thinks he knows you, there are still ways you surprise him. 

Not that he should complain. If it wasn’t for your little surprises he’d be stuck dealing with the press instead of sitting on the bed in his hotel room, large hand rubbing his bulge as he thumbs through the photos you sent him during his meeting of all places. He’d been gone for a superhero convention just for a couple of days, but already he knows he’ll be needing you for the rest of the week. When he gets home you probably won’t make it to the couch, much less the bedroom. 

He sends back a heart and fire emoji, and in just a few seconds you’re video-calling him. He squeezes his cock before answering with a strangled, “Hey.” Only Aizawa would try to seem indifferent while his cock is harder than steel. 

“Hi baby,” you grin devilishly. You tilt the camera down just a bit to reveal that you’re wearing some lace lingerie. 

“What have you got there?” he asks, his eyes focused on your scantily covered lingerie. You looked delicious. 

“Oh, nothing. Just a special little outfit I picked out,” you smirk. “Do you wanna see more?” 

“Yes ma’am,” he smirks. 

You angle the camera even more. He realizes you’re sitting in front of the mirror. He can see your peachy ass cheeks in the mirror. 

“Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” he groans. He unbuckles his pants and pulls out his cock. He makes sure to angle his phone to show you when he starts stroking himself. 

“Mm, you miss me a lot,” you giggle. 

“Of course I do…” 

“I miss you too, baby,” you coo softly and spread your thighs. You’d planned this all so perfectly. You reach beside you to get your vibrator. As you watch him stroke his fat cock and the tip dribbling precum, you press the vibrator to your clit. His cock twitches when you let a soft, needy moan escape.

“I can’t wait to be home and replace that toy with my tongue,” he growls. 

“Oh yeah? Want me to sit on your face?” you ask, obviously egging him on. You know how much he loves having you sitting on his face, being surrounded by the smell and taste of your arousal.

“Fuck, yes,” he squeezes his cock as he drags his hand from the base to the leaking tip. “I’ll eat it ‘til your legs are jelly.” 

“You’re so naughty,” you whine. Your hips buck against the vibrator. 

“I know,” he growls softly. “You just drive me insane, baby.” 

He watches with hungry eyes as you work your body with the vibrator. He jerks off his leaking cock, wishing it was any part of you in place of his hand. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you moan. 

“Let me see you,” Aizawa goads. His eyes are fixated on his phone screen, watching you arch your back as you cum all over the vibrator. A few seconds later, he’s crying out for his release. Thick strings of stick cum cover his fist. 

“That was pretty good,” you say as you come down from your high. “I still can’t wait for the real thing though.” 

Aizawa smirks as he leans back and wipes his cum-covered hand on the front of his shirt. “Me neither.”