#and Shouta going from tolerating him to reaching for him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr.com is the 103rd most visited website in the world.

#and Shouta going from tolerating him to reaching for him

thecuriousquest · 7 months

Note

Aizawa - T - 3 ✏️

A Stressful Punishment

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, vaginal sex, fingering, nudity, mild spanking, brat taming, stress position punishment, sexual punishment

Prompt: “Patience is a virtue. We’ll keep going until you learn.”

Checkout my Master List here.

Yandere Alphabet Prompt here.

—————————————————————————

Shouta roughly yanks the last item of clothing on your body over your head. He lets your shirt fall to the floor, leaving you feeling manhandled and a little cold from being completely naked.

“Did you really think you could get away with acting like an absolute brat all day? Fine, you want my attention? I’ll give it to you. Up against the wall. Move your hands farther apart. Take some steps back. Even more. Now, feet apart. More. Come on, more. There you go. Now,” Shouta smacks you harshly on the ass. “You’re going to stay like this while I have some fun with that pretty pussy. Understand?”

Sniffling from being talked to like this, you respond exactly how he has trained you to respond to his questions. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

He smacks your ass one more time to really let the message sink in of what’s about to happen. His hand journeys down to your bare sex, feeling around for something specific. You gasp sharply when his two fingers slide over your little pearl, and he’s found what he’s looking for.

Shouta pinches and rubs your clit. You rise up on your toes, moaning from the stimulation until he pulls his hand away and lines up with your wet pussy.

As he pushes himself inside of you, you’re beginning to feel a soreness spread through your arms and thighs, reaching your hands and calves. You want to stand up and shake out the uncomfortable feeling settling into your muscles, and then it dawns on you: your sir put you in this position for a reason.

“Wait, Shouta, it-“ you’re cut off by a rather harsh thrust of his hips and an even harsher spank to your thigh.

“It’s ‘sir’ to you.”

Of fuck, you don’t know how to feel. His cock feels so good, but you can’t take the position he has you in.

Your breath hitches. “Please, sir, it hurts! Can we lie down and do this?”

You hear him chuckle in your ear, low and dark. “This is called a stress position for a reason, Y/N. You’re going to stay like this until I’m done with you, and I won’t tolerate any arguments, so be quiet and take your punishment like a good girl.”

You mewl out of frustration and rise up on your toes again when you feel him rub against a place on your walls that’s so close to making you come all over him.

He builds it up, making that little ball of pleasure turn into something bigger and bigger. The pitch in your voice shoots up two octaves, and then there’s nothing.

It’s takes you a second to register that Aizawa has removed his cock from your premises, leaving you hanging just as you were about to orgasm.

What’s worse is the added pressure from the stress position mixed with the yearning for his ministrations. You feel empty and confused, spun in different directions.

You look over your shoulder at him with knitted brows. “Sir…please?”

You feel a sharp spank to the inside of your thigh, and it has you bending at the knees from the pain.

“Face the wall and get back in position. Don’t even think about looking at me again until I say so.”

You bite your trembling lip. “Yes, sir…”

“Aw, what’s the matter? Are you upset, brat? Are you angry because I’m not letting you come? You sound like you’re about to cry. Don’t worry. Daddy’s gonna stuff you once you’ve come down.”

He waits until your breathing evens out before he does as he promised and “stuffs” you with his hard cock.

What’s even worse about this round is the fact that he’s strumming your clit with an arm wrapped around your waist. He strokes your sex while pumping you from behind, and it’s beginning to infuriate you.

As if to rub salt in the wound, once he builds himself up over time, he lets himself finish all over your ass. You’re coated with his seed, but you’re left unable to climax.

Everything hurts, everything burns, and everything throbs from your neck to your pussy to your toes. You feel so sensitive in this moment, every one of your senses heightened and being taken advantage of.

Fuck whomever taught Shouta this position.

Now that he has come, you’re hoping he’ll let you up now.

Shouta, however, squashes your hope like a pesky little insect. He stands behind you, fully erect cock sliding past your velvety folds.

You can’t take it anymore.

You fall out of position and scream at the wall in sexual anguish and from all of the stress your body has endured. “I’m sorry, Shouta! Please, I’m so sorry! I can’t take it anymore!”

“Hm, calling me by my name again? You don’t have that privilege. You know what they say though. Patience is a virtue. We’ll keep going until you learn.”

161 notes · View notes

shinkamishenanigans · 2 years

Text

My Hero Academia: Shenanigans Rising!

I am a fellow admin on a My Hero Academia server from discord. We’re all 18+ and we ask any potential newcomers to be at least 18+ before asking to join. No minors will be allowed. The basic plot is set in the 1-A students' third year at UA, all canon characters are welcome! We’re a very friendly and energetic group, so we welcome everyone with open arms! A few general rules that we have are as follows:

1. Please treat everyone nicely. No harsh comments, derogatory terms, or hatred of any kind will be tolerated.

2. Be respectful of characters who are already paired up. If you have any issues politely DM any other admin or if they’re comfortable, the people you’re having problems with.

3. Double ups are allowed with canon characters, but if someone comes in asking for someone who is not your original character please be respectful and allow them to take over.

4. We have a list of triggering topics for all fellow members, please pay attention to anything on the list and steer clear!

5. Have fun and make friends!

Now for the more fun topic! We have quite a few characters that are already taken. Some are being doubled up as for plot purposes, but you’re more than welcome to take over! The more people the merrier. Here’s a list of all taken characters (keep in mind teacher, pro heroes, and villains are all acceptable characters):

Taken:

• Katsuki Bakugou

• Denki Kaminari

• Kyouka Jirou

• Eijirou Kirishima

• Hanta Sero

• Hitoshi Shinsou

• Momo Yaoyorozu

• Izuku Midoriya

• Shoto Todoroki

• Tenya Iida

• Ochako Uraraka

• Fumikage Tokoyami

• Mezo Shouji

• Toru Hagakure

• Neito Monoma

• Inasa Yoarashi

• Tamaki Amagiki

• Mirio Togata

• Neijire Hado

• Fuyumi Todoroki

• Nemuri Kayama

• Shouta Aizawa

• Yagi Toshinori

With so many characters being used, we also have an interesting list of ships going on! Any and all ships are acceptable as long as any/all people included are in agreement. Please do not force ships.

Ongoing Ships:

• Bakugou x Izuku

• Denki x Shinsou

• Kirishima x Jirou

• Aoyama x Iida

• All Might x Aizawa

If any of this is appealing to you, please interact with the post or reach out to one of the users listed and join the family!

@dltsandwich is our server creator, his DM’s are always open so shoot him a message!

@red-sneakers is one of our admins, he also will accept DM’s and has already found so many friends to join us and our idiocy

@shinkamishenanigans is my handle! As stated before I’m also an admin for the server and can help you with any questions/concerns you have when wanting to join us!

I can guarantee that all of our members are polite and one of the best groups you can ask for. I hope to hear from any of you that are interested! Have an amazing day/night!!

14 notes · View notes

kurasutaa · 7 months

Text

@eclipsemuses asked: "will it always be like this?" mic @ shouta

memes from long ago

even though he knows the dates coming. that facing that day will always be inevitable even though the permanent hole in both their hearts feels like it should be punishment enough. it still seems to hit him out of nowhere.

its almost like theyre both trying to avoid the subject until something inevitably reminds them of what day it is. of what they lost. as if it hasnt been quietly buzzing in the back of their heads for days. weeks.

mics idle chatter throughout the day is more comforting than shouta thinks he realizes. unsure how well he'd be doing if he was stuck alone with his thoughts.

it was something innocuous this year. the flavor of some soda brand that was oboros favorite he picked on a whim without realizing. so mundane and yet his hearts plummeted into his stomach.

neither of them pipe up about it until later when theyre both sitting under the kotatsu finishing some homework.

will it always be like this

"I hope not." his tone is soft. quiet. its nice hearing mics voice. reaching over to take his hand with a gentle squeeze. human comfort is a foreign thing to him but for hizashi he'll go the distance. "these things are supposed to get more tolerable with time but they always seem to leave out how long that's supposed to take."

#[aizawa]#[answered]#eclipsemuses

0 notes

firein-thesky · 3 years

Text

COIN TOSS– PART II

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, a little Shouta Aizawa x Reader

SUMMARY: As you fall asleep, you wonder faintly, almost sadly, if you’re the first thing he’s fully touched without losing in a long time.

You are Eraserhead’s troubled protege with a Quirk that cancels out others the moment they touch you. Tomura Shigaraki takes great interest in you.

(Enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, some hurt/comfort)

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, age gap/power struggle, violence, gore, Tomura’s trauma specifically, (in later chapters) murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut, some blurred lines, rough sex, a smidge of a spit kink, a smidge of somnophilia (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading or interacting with this!

A/N: again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing!! and thank you guys for the support and comments on the first part! here is your part two!! it's tomura heavy, but for those who love shouta, there's a lot of him in the final part! i hope you enjoy! let me know what you thought!

i also am obsessed with making playlists for when i write and i spend far too much time organizing it all and making sure the songs blend together so if you'd like to take a look at the playlist i made for this fic, it's here!

Read on Ao3

***

Shouta, like the responsible adult he is, soothes things out with you. Well, it doesn’t feel very soothed to you, but Shouta’s made his position clear and you’ve both returned to some semblance of normalcy.

He keeps his distance.

You try not to overstep, but you’re aching and furious.

(You’re holding a secret, too, letting it tear apart your insides, letting it turn circles in your mind until all you can think about is the chill of rain, the bite of a desperate kiss).

You hate that Shouta has retreated from you now. You hate that he’ll stop his hand before reaching out to touch you, like he always has to make sure, like he has to decide if that will be good for you. If you can handle it.

You feel shockingly alone.

You lash out at him more, bicker and argue over things you never used to. You don’t even know why you do it, can’t stop yourself from trying to dig into him. You regret it every time when all he gives you is impassiveness, levelheaded coolness. An adult speaking with an unruly child. He’s good at that, unfortunately.

Some days you want to beg him for answers. Why can’t you love me the way I love you? Is it me? How would you have me? If I was older? I can be more mature, I can be better and better and better–

His undercover work grows greater, draws him away from both you and Shinsou more. Shouta seems to ghost around your life now, drawn away from you, keeping a very careful space between you both.

But there are nights where he tells you to train with Shinsou alone now. You feel responsible. Mature. You glow with pride that he can trust you with one of his students, that you could be a mentor to Shinsou, too.

You grow closer to Shinsou because of this, too, when it’s just the two of you in the gym.

There is one evening in particular, when you’re both sprawled out on the floor taking a too-long water break because Shouta isn’t around when he admits that he used to be– still is sometimes– feared for his Quirk.

He tells you everyone expected him to be a villain.

“I used to be a thief,” you admit, “I was a petty villain, I guess.”

Shinsou looks at you and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t entirely show it, except for the lifting of his brows. You don’t sense judgement from him, though, when he asks, “Really?”

You take another swig of water, humming in affirmation. You swallow, “I was homeless, had no money, nothing. I was stealing from a supermarket when Shouta caught me.”

“You were just trying to survive,” Shinsou adds, like he’s trying to justify the crime, like it soothes him to know there was a good reason for a misdeed.

“Sure,” you reply, fiddling with your water bottle, “But I stole things I didn’t need, too. Just things I wanted.”

“But you’ve changed,” Shinsou says and you can’t tell if he’s trying to reassure himself or you more. “You’re a hero now.”

“Only because my circumstances changed. I was given a roof over my head, food to fill me. Clothes of my own that fit and weren’t torn. I was accepted.” You explain, “If it hadn’t been for Shouta, I would never have become a hero.”

Shinsou is silent, watching you.

“I’d probably be in jail. Or still a thief, in the least, if any other hero would’ve caught me.”

You don’t know why, but you think of Shigaraki suddenly. You think of how young some of the League of Villains are. You wonder if it had been them who offered you food and a home, if you’d be with them now, and not here, sitting on the floor of a nice, sparkling gym attached to U.A.’s dorms.

Something strange grows inside you, something a little bitter. It simmers with sympathy for them, for their lives. For kids like Shinsou with their villainous quirks. You wonder if he’d been poor, if he’d been alone, would he be here, too? Or somewhere else?

“But you were good before,” he says, and it almost feels naive, “I know you’re good.”

You shrug, “Good is relative, you know? I thought I was good because I didn’t kill people, I didn’t steal from other poor people, but society didn’t think I was good. I was still a thief.”

“But you were only a thief because you needed to survive.” he says again, “When given the chance, you changed and became a hero.”

“Exactly.” you say, “How many villains do you think just needed a chance?”

Shinsou goes silent now. His brows furrow in thought, pinching together in a way that makes him look a little too old for his age. You think all of the kids at U.A. grow up too quickly, all of them with too much on their small shoulders.

They’re only kids.

You’re barely older.

Shigaraki is barely older than you.

You push him out of your mind, toss your water bottle aside, and rise to your feet again. “C’mon,” you offer Shinsou your hand to help him up, too, “Shouta would kill me to know I let you lay around so much.”

This seems to pull him from his thoughts and he snorts, taking your hand.

You pull him up. And you both stare at each other a moment. You think he looks at you in a different light now and it isn’t bad, no, he seems to be pondering you more.

(And you’ll realize later that he’s become more sympathetic, that he sees you in villains now, reminds himself they’re people, too, with lives and needs and wants–)

It gives you a strange hope, as you begin to train with him again, to know that he’s the future of hero society.

***

Tomura spots you while he’s out stealing with Toga. Usually it’s Twice or Magne with her, but Twice was onto something else and Toga had decided to latch herself onto him for the day. He’s grown to tolerate her.

Besides, she’d managed to steal him a jean jacket, dark, rough, and worn with holes but it keeps him warmer while still being able to keep the hood of his sweatshirt up to hide himself. To blend in. She’d stolen herself something, too, as the weather begins to get colder and they still don’t have a base, wandering aimlessly.

(He feels stupidly responsible for them. But he’s learned good leaders are, in some way, responsible for their people. They don’t have to care in any way that is emotional, but they have to care in some way, make the group feel important to them. And begrudgingly, they are important to him–)

You’re with a boy around Toga’s age. Wild violet hair. You’re laughing at something he’s saying and you’re sharing street food, he thinks, something that’s warm, steaming up into the air.

He feels a vicious surge of jealousy for a moment. It’s so sharp and jarring that he reaches up to scratch at his neck, tearing into his skin.

But the boy looks too young and you tousle his hair like he’s a younger brother, not someone romantic. While there’s familiarity between you two, it’s not overly intimate.

Toga, unfortunately, follows his line of sight.

She looks between him and you. She tilts her head and Tomura can practically see the gears turning in her strange little mind.

“Do you know them?” she asks, almost innocently.

He doesn’t know why, but he says, “Just her.”

Toga looks back at you. She watches as you talk with the boy– the sun through the autumn leaves cast you in tangerine light, all golden and warm.

When she looks back at Tomura, a smile creeps onto her face. One that he knows is going to give him a migraine.

“She’s so pretty,” she trills, eyeing him too closely.

Tomura scratches at his neck again, harder, wincing a little when he feels a cut reopen.

“Do you have a crush, Tomura?” Toga sings, dancing in front of him to force herself into his line of sight.

“No,” Tomura snaps, bristling, which only seems to encourage her.

“Let’s say hi!” she says, about to bound off and Tomura catches her by the scruff of her jacket like a kitten. He’s wearing his partial gloves, but he still keeps a finger away from her.

“No,” he hisses, firmer now, pulling her back towards him. “They’re heroes. Don’t get distracted.”

Toga twists in his hold, wide-eyed for a moment, before her face settles into another enormous and excited smile. “You’re in love with a hero, too?!”

Tomura grits his teeth, snarling out, “I’m not in love with anyone.” He shakes her then and she yelps a little, “Now focus. We need food and I don’t want to deal with them.”

Toga finally squirms her way out of his hold, pouting at him, “You’re no fun.” she whines and all he does is shoulder past her. He stalks ahead, trying not to look at you again, if only to not draw your eye.

“Do you want to starve?” he asks waspishly, glancing at Toga over his shoulder.

She huffs, rolling her eyes, before hustling to catch up to him. She hums a strange little tune the rest of the time, knocking into his side, throwing him new looks as if to suggest they share some sort of commonality or secret. He grits his teeth but suffers through her torment.

When they return to the rest of the League with what they’d stolen, Toga announces to the whole group, “Tomura is in love with a hero, too!”

The migraine that had begun earlier in his temples reaches full force now. He doesn’t bother trying to deny it. He decides he doesn’t care.

Dabi’s laugh grates on him, though, “Is that so? Which little hero?” he asks Toga, and just as she’s skipping past him, he snags her, snatching the granola bar she’d had in her hand from their little raid.

She turns to grab it back and he pulls it out of her reach, “I don’t know! Give that back!” she squawks, clawing at him.

She must really dig at him because Dabi hisses, “You little twerp–” Just before Magne snatches the outstretched granola bar from Dabi’s hand. She hands it back to Toga, who quickly rushes off with it now.

And thankfully, for Tomura’s sanity, you’re not brought up again.

But he hadn’t noticed you– hadn’t noticed the way you’d seen him with Toga, too. Just a girl Shinsou’s age, following after him like an eager puppy.

Shinsou had trailed beside you like that, too, when you’d both walked back to U.A. with full bellies and new coffees in hand, warm and content.

***

There is a night where Shouta is out doing work undercover and you’re left to patrol on your own. You can’t take Shinsou yet, since he hasn’t earned his provisional license. You don’t mind these nights, by yourself, when you stick to shadows and rooftops, watching the city from above.

It’s cooler now and you tuck your face into the high collar of your hero uniform to hide from the wind that brushes past.

It’s been a quiet night so far. There are other, flashier heroes patrolling, too, meandering around the sidewalks to deter petty crime.

You check the time on your phone, noting that you have a little less than an hour until your shift is over, until you can go home and take a hot shower in an attempt to warm yourself up– especially your fingers, the tips of your ears.

You stretch, standing on one of the low roofs of a building. You’re stiff from crouching, so you decide to move around, change position. You use a grappling tool to shoot it onto a higher roof of the next building. You scale the bricks easily and once safely up, retract your grappling hook.

You look out over the quiet city, the golden light of lampposts, the meandering of cars through the streets. Some restaurants and bars are still open, their windows look warm and inviting with the flush of people inside.

You waste most of the last hour of your shift trying to remain warm, keeping a careful eye on the world below.

Towards the end, you notice a familiar figure in one of the alleyways down below. You don’t even see his face, just the back of his hoodie, just the angle of his shoulders.

Just the way he walks.

The thought should frighten you– that you know him like this, that you’re familiar with just the movement of his body.

Shigaraki Tomura walks away from the soft light of the main city, slips away into alleyways and darkness. You glance at the time. Your shift is nearly over.

This counts as hero work, doesn’t it? Silently following after him?

You drop down onto a fire escape– leap off to latch onto a lower window sill, until you’re dropping silently on to the ground a distance away from him.

You are careful to keep away from him, to use everything Shouta taught you about stealth to remain hidden. And you know Shigaraki is observant, you know he’s always looking over his shoulder so you have to stick to hidden places– behind dumpsters, ducking into alcoves of buildings.

He heads back to the part of the city you grew up in, where everything is falling apart, where there are plenty of abandoned buildings for hiding, plenty of places for runaway teens and homeless to sleep. The cheapest apartments, the streets that are the least patrolled by heroes and police alike, where parts of the Yakuza groups are bolder.

These streets are familiar to you. It’s a strange trip down memory lane.

You think of the last time you saw Shigaraki and flush darkly– it was around here, too, what happened that night.

Still, you follow him because you think you still have some upper hand. Maybe he’ll lead you to the rest of the League of Villains. For a heartbeat, you wonder if you’ll tell Shouta, if you’ll tell the Hero Commissions– you’d have to, right? That isn’t some little squirmish. That’s important information.

But he doesn’t lead you to the rest of the League.

He leads you to an apartment building, small and falling apart on the outside. A window is boarded up poorly. There are stray cats that linger around the side, where the trash is. You’re sure there are rats and bugs, too. You’re sure the building is one bad day away from falling apart.

Shigaraki pauses by the door that is nearly falling off its hinges.

He glances over his shoulder, “Are you following me in, too?”

Your heart kicks up, hammering against the inside of your chest. You swallow hard, internally cursing.

For all your effort of stealth, he still noticed you?

Well, there’s no use lying about it now.

You step around the corner you’d been hiding behind, moving towards the glow of a street light that flickers in and out of power to reveal yourself fully to him.

“When did you notice me?” you ask, peering at him, at the shape of him in the dark.

You catch the lifting of his scar when he smiles, just a baring of teeth, “I saw you on the roof.”

Damn, you curse again, you’ll have to work on that, “That bad, huh?”

He shrugs gracelessly, lifting of his shoulders only for them to fall unevenly, “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known. You were silent otherwise.”

It feels like a compliment– a generous one, coming from him. You don’t know why you have to hold off a smile.

He turns back to the door, shouldering it open. He walks through the archway without another word. He leaves it open and it seems there is no light on the inside, just a blackness that swallows up your vision. He disappears inside.

You stand there, beneath the light that flickers in and out, eyeing the doorway. You could go now, run back home to Shouta, to the Hero Commission and tell them you think you know where he stays, you have a lead on him. You look behind you, glance at the alleyway you came from with it’s’ dull, fluorescent lights that splash against the concrete, that barely fight against the shadows.

You look back towards where Shigaraki had been, the entrance to the building.

You’d probably even get extra little hero points for it from the Commission.

Shouta would be proud of you.

For bringing them to this dilapidated, shabby little apartment complex that rests on the streets of the place you used to call home.

You swallow hard, flex your freezing fingers.

Then you step towards the doorway, peer inside carefully. You hold your breath and the door creaks quietly when you cross it’s threshold, into the darkness.

Tomura is mildly surprised when he hears the door creak behind him. He can feel you, even in the dark of this hallway, the tentative steps you take after him. They’re almost shy.

But you followed him, didn’t you?

You followed and followed and followed him– and of course you did, he thinks, you had kissed him back, hadn’t you?

He supposes you could be playing a part, trying to get close to him but his intuition tells him differently, not with the genuine reaction you’d had. Your sudden guilt for giving in to him. Still, he’ll be careful around you.

He’ll probably have to move again, which would be a shame, since he has already killed the tenant of this apartment– he’d been sure they wouldn’t be missed by anyone, made sure he’d have time. He did the work to get it, thought he’d have it for just long enough until the League made another move.

He almost wants to test you, see if you’re going to run and tattle on his location. He wonders how far you’re willing to follow him.

Tomura walks steadily down the hallway, to the apartment he has taken claim to. He unlocks the door, hands in his partial gloves, shoving it with his shoulder to then enter. He leaves it open for you.

The apartment is a studio, shabby and the heat isn’t amazing, but it has hot water and a lack of bugs in this particular room. It has furniture– a bed, specifically, was all he had cared about. There’s empty wrappers of food and cans of energy drinks on the counters because he doesn’t really bother to pick up after himself but otherwise, the space isn’t his. There’s nothing else of his, besides some spare clothes on the floor.

And still, you follow him here, too. But you stand at the doorway, peeking inside.

He glances at you and is reminded of a fox, something with clever eyes but wary, a little skittish– would bite if he got too close too soon.

So he gives you space, just like he let you leave.

If there’s one thing Tomura has learned, it’s patience. Any good plan takes patience. The reward is always sweeter. The longer and harder the level, the greater the wins.

He ignores you, puts even more distance between the two of you as he wanders further in. He flicks on lights. He takes off his shoes, shrugs off his jean jacket and throws it over the couch. He gives the appearance of carelessness, of letting his guard down. Non threatening.

And you take your fist shy step inside. The door behind you remains ajar, though, for escape.

Tomura has to fight a terrifying smile, fight the sudden twisting in his heart, the inhale of his breath.

“I don’t know how wise it was of you to bring a hero to your home.” you finally speak, cutting through the silence. You’re trying to be witty, but he can tell you’re nervous.

“This isn’t my home,” he answers.

Home, with it’s round and warm syllabus, is not what he thinks of this place.

You eye him some more, but before you can respond, he says, “I don’t know how wise it was of you to follow a villain into his home.”

“I thought it wasn’t your home,” you quip and he only gives you a dry look.

Your bravado is wavering, especially when the door clicks shut behind you, your hand finally falling to your side.

And the two of you are sealed away from the outside world.

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask him and your voice is deceptively quiet. Small.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks in return.

You inhale like you’re trying to steady yourself, “Because I’m supposed to.”

Tomura smiles now, something lazy, almost amused. He knows it’s a lie, can feel it slide along his skin, can see the floundering, desperate look in your eyes.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks again, forcing himself not to move, not to step towards you in his budding excitement. Patience, he tells himself, be patient.

“Why did you kiss me?” you ask instead and the question is raw, as if it’s plagued you, haunted you like an insistent ghost. Crept around in the back of your mind, growing teeth and fangs and spindly, lampshade bat wings large enough to terrify you.

The idea that he’s taken root in your mind in the same way you have infested his is near dizzying.

Tomura weighs his answers carefully. He’s silent for a long moment and it’s heavy, charged with something that he can’t name– has never felt before.

When he speaks, his voice is just a rasp of breath, a little more honest than he’d like, a touch annoyed with the truth, “Because I wanted to.”

Another long stretch of silence where you watch him carefully, where he can see your chest rising and falling too quickly. He can see that frightened look in the rounding of your eyes, the high flush in your cheeks.

And when you speak again, it’s hardly louder than a whisper, like it’s all you can manage,“Do you want to kiss me again?”

It is far too gentle of a question for what he wants– it almost feels innocent, juvenile. Out of place between the two of you. But he’ll take it, he’ll take whatever you give him and then some.

He takes a step towards you. You don’t flinch away so he takes another, then another, until he is standing in front of you. You’re close now– so close that he has to force air into his lungs. He reminds himself of patience, of waiting–

He could take whatever he wanted from you now, he supposes, but he doesn’t want to have to wrestle you for it. He wants it given freely, he wants you to kiss back, like you had before. He wants you to willingly submit and it’s taken longer but it’ll be sweeter, so much sweeter.

“Are you going to run away again?” he asks and he can feel his heart quicken, the squeezing of it awful and tight.

You look up at him in a way that reminds him of his dreams, the ones he pretends to hate, where you make those small, soft noises. Where you let him touch you and taste you and have you.

And you shake your head no, just fractionally, the barest hint of movement but it’s enough for him.

The force of his kiss slams you back against the door. You make a surprised noise against him as he crushes himself to you. It’s just as violent as the first, but this time you take back what he gives. You get your bearings quicker, like you’ve learned a lesson already. He grins into the kiss, opening it, when he feels your little hands clawing at his shoulders, at his back.

He groans when you part your lips for him, when you lick tentatively into his mouth. He possesses you, bears onto you, pinning you to the door as his hands, still gloved, curl around your sides, your hips.

Your hero costume is tight, fits the curves of you snugly and in a way that’s making him nearly insane. He isn’t careful, doesn’t care if he’s moving too fast now as his hands roam and grab and squeeze. There’s layers between you, he naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

One of your hands tightens in his hair, pulling when he bites your bottom lip.

But you don’t seem to mind, either, with the way your breath is hitching, with the way you’re trying to pull him closer, desperately fuse him to you.

Your lips are so soft, he notices, even with the forcefulness with which you’re kissing him back.

It feels surreal for a moment, like one of his dreams, when he parts from your mouth only to slot his lips against your jaw, your neck. A whine is loosened from you, which breaks when he sets teeth to the vulnerable line of your throat.

Your hands are in his hair still, body arching into him eagerly. Youthful in your earnestness.

You’re better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, so alive and rosy and warm beneath his hands, beneath his mouth, which is making a mess of your neck. A particular hard suck over the sensitive line of your pulse makes you pull at his hair.

“Don’t leave a mark,” you hush and he thinks you meant to sound more threatening, but it’s softened by the desperation in your voice.

He scoffs into your throat, dragging teeth roughly along your skin.

“Shigaraki–”

“Tomura.” he corrects without thinking, finally pulling away to look at you, which is almost a mistake because you–

You’re flushed, lips kiss stung and pink, all swollen. Your head is tipped back, exposing the column of your throat, hair mussed with being pressed to the door so roughly. Your eyes are hazy and fever pink with your Quirk activated, like spring flowers, glowing in the low light.

He thinks of paintings and colors and dreams, something like beauty, if he knew anything about that.

And he’s so hard it hurts, teeth grinding together as he looks at you because he can’t even fucking stomach this feeling.

Then you repeat his name for him, “Tomura.”

He’s never heard his name like that, bedroom soft, more of a lullaby and less of a tragedy. He feels like he’s going to shake apart, his body to become just old ruins– he feels as if it’ll collapse inwards, topple over to crush his heart.

Where he’s usually seething and livid and clawing ruthlessly, the festering feeling in his chest is replaced with a new energy; something bursting and squirming and warm. His Quirk lies dormant and docile inside of him with your hand in his hair, your other now at his neck, fingers pressing lightly at his jaw.

It’s terrifying, he realizes, to not feel his Quirk at the edges of his fingers.

(It’s freeing, too, he’ll come to find, to not feel it’s weight, it’s demand that had been encouraged and shaped in him.)

You’re both trying to catch your breaths, looking at each other now. His fingers, still gloved, flex and squeeze at your waist, like he’s scared you’ll run off again.

You inch forward instead, rock onto the tips of your toes to press your lips to his again– softer this time, but no less heated, no less desperate.

He thinks you must be starving, too, with the way you pull him close. His mouth slants over yours, demanding more, a little rougher.

You squirm against the door, the slightest rocking of your hips– he can feel it against his thigh, against his waist. It makes him hiss out a breath against your lips, makes him grab harder at your waist, force you to do it again, harder this time.

You whine and it’s the snapping of his patience.

He reaches for the zipper at the back of your hero uniform, gives it a rough tug, pulling it down some. And then you’re pushing at him, nudging him away from the door and it’s a flurry of movement as you yank at his hoodie while he pulls at your clothes. You’re both stumbling further into the room, towards the bed pushed back into the corner.

Tomura feels young suddenly– feels his age. He feels like a twenty something year old with a girl in his apartment who wants his hoodie off. Who's kissing him hard in between every article of clothing that manages to come off.

He sits back on the edge of the bed to ease the rest of your cat-suit down. He watches with interest as you wiggle your hips to help him get the fabric down over you– and it’s nothing romantic, he doesn’t kiss the newly revealed skin, he doesn’t gently run his fingertips over you, but you grow shy under his gaze.

You’re still in undergarments, athletic slips of fabric, but his eyes fly over your face. You’re nervous, he can nearly feel it, with the way you shift, with the way you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and worry it.

A thought strikes him.

“Have you done this before?” he rasps, hooking his hand in the crux of your knee to drag your forward so you nearly fall into his lap.

“Yes,” you grit out, arms coming up to his shoulders to steady yourself. “Once.” you then shakily exhale.

He doesn’t particularly care– your answer wouldn’t have changed how he’d treat you. He’s not going to be gentler nor slower because you’re less experienced.

“Have you?” you ask, eyeing him, fingers nervously toying with the ends of his hair.

“Yes,” he says, perhaps too sharply, but he gives no other information and you don’t press him, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t have the patience for useless questions.

Rather, he pulls you down harder, so your bare thighs finally settle into his lap. He slides his gloved hands up the notches of your ribs to hitch beneath your bra. That comes off, too, and then he’s got his hands on you more. You gasp, arching into his touch when his fingers curl around a breast, fingers roughly brushing over the peak.

He doesn’t think anymore, just acts, just moves and does as he pleases. All the things he’s done in dreams or in his mind– he sets lips and teeth to your breast, tongue laving over your nipple. He forces your squirming still with an arm banded around your torso, keeping you flush to his eager mouth.

You yelp in pain when he uses his teeth too roughly, trying to jerk away from him but you can’t with his hold on you. He grins, mouth opening, spit slick and wet against your breast again. He groans against you when you pull on his hair.

But then he twists you, throws you down onto the bed only to crawl over you. He yanks at your panties just as you pull him down for another kiss– maybe to distract yourself, to settle your nerves. When you pull away, you’re on your back and he’s over you, your legs hitching over his narrow waist. His hands are on your thighs and you–

You suddenly grab for his hands.

“Take off your gloves,” you get out, breathless, and before he can respond, your fingers are sliding against his wrist, up to his hand, beneath the glove and against his palm.

It makes him shiver, makes him grit his teeth. You pull off one, then the other.

For a moment, he just looks at you all spread out and bare for him, his hands now open and uncovered, too.

You squirm under his scrutinizing gaze.

“C’mon,” you coax and he thinks you’re trying to find your bravado, “Touch me.”

There’s nothing between his hands and your skin now and he settles his palm on your stomach, beneath your breast.

He naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

“Tomura,” your voice is pitched, almost pleading, “You’re not going to hurt me– c’mon.”

He tenses for a moment, eyes flashing over your face. For a moment, his heart stumbles, he grows wary. He thinks of you slipping away beneath his touch, falling away into nothing and all he’d have is a bed of ashes.

But your eyes are bright with your Quirk.

His final finger comes down. Nothing happens, except you smile a little, except you arch up into his touch– alive and vivid and furiously warm.

He feels like he can’t breathe, can’t even function.

He catches a groan behind his teeth, falls forward as his hands become feverish and possessive, suddenly confident, suddenly brash– touching and squeezing and grabbing at you.

His teeth clank with yours as he tumbles into another kiss. You’re needier now, making those higher pitched noises that used to haunt him.

It drives him insane, makes him feel half feral, overeager and desperate. His fingers wander lower, seeking and searching, just as the kiss grows in intensity again. It’s messier, all open mouth and tongue.

When he pulls away, a string of spit connects the two of you and he lets more of the saliva pooling in his mouth drip down with it, letting it fall between your open lips, some on your bottom lip, too. It’s depraved and dirty and his eyes simmer as he gazes down at you.

Your face scrunches up as you go to wipe at your mouth, and he hates it because all he can think of is how cute that face is.

“Gross,” you mewl, but his fingers finally move between your legs and–

And all he finds is that you’re hot and slick for him.

He has to grit his teeth to keep from moaning.

But you nearly cry at the touch, a pathetic little noise, hips jolting like you’re not sure if you want to go towards his touch or away.

“Gross, huh?” Tomura asks, voice low, the pad of his finger sliding easily, teasing you slowly before he goads, “Why are you so wet then?”

He sinks a finger in suddenly– just because he can. Just because he wants to watch your face screw up again, which it does, your mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hm?” he hums, amused with the way you’re gasping beneath him. He starts a slow but deep rhythm and–

And he’s had sex before, a handful of times, but it’d always been for him. He hadn’t cared how the other person felt, hadn’t cared to try and get them off. But now he suddenly wishes he had learned, if only for you, now. He wants you as obsessed as he is, wants you to feel as maddened as he feels.

Thankfully, you’re so expressive. And he doesn’t have to worry about his fingers. He can find the spot inside you that makes you toss your head back into the sheets and moan for him, he can focus on the way you keen when he finds your clit with his thumb.

You’re a sensitive little thing, clawing at his bare shoulders, whining into his neck. He forces in another finger and you start rocking your hips, growing more desperate until–

“Fuck,” you gasp, “Fuck, I’m going to–”

He curls his fingers harder, watching your face as you fall apart, as you try and twist and squirm beneath him. He forces you through it, isn’t gentle, but selfish, wringing everything he can from you.

And when he’s finished watching you whimper and feeling you flutter and gush around his fingers, he takes them out only to force them between your lips.

Once more your face screws up, but you close your mouth around them and he groans low and raw. You look hazy, drooling all over his fingers, lashes fluttering prettily.

He uses his other hand to fumble with his belt, to work his pants down low enough for his cock, aching so bad that he swears he’s going to go insane–

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, watching the mess that comes with it, so wet and slick and shiny. He can’t help the growl he gives, before covering his mouth with yours again.

As you kiss, sloppy and desperate, Tomura slides the head of his cock against you and you’re so slippery and soft and molten for him that his next moan tapers off into a whine.

You pull away fractionally, “Shouldn’t we–”

He thinks maybe you were about to ask about protection of some kind, but he shoves inside you hard, breaches your body and watches as your eyes roll back, just about to cross as your nails turn sharp against his back.

You moan, low and drawn out.

He can’t help the absurd laugh that is wretched from him, his head dropping onto your neck as he snaps his hips forward. He can’t believe he’s actually gotten you here, in his bed, beneath him– let him inside where you’re so warm and soft.

“Fuck,” you gasp, maybe laced with pain, clawing at him, raking your nails down his back.

“Does it hurt?” he hisses, excited, his teeth coming down to close over your exposed neck.

“Yes,” you get out, almost a whimper, “Feels good, too.”

He snaps his hip forwards roughly, grinding deep as he laughs again when you just about sob into his shoulder.

You latch your teeth onto the vulnerable juncture between his neck and his shoulder, where you’d already laid claim to him once before.

He wrestles for your wrist, the one he broke, and forces it down onto the bed.

“Look at you,” he almost snarls, voice low and gravely, “Little hero letting me fuck her.”

You gasp when he angles his hips, when his other hand reaches beneath you, to fist a hand in your hair and pull so your neck is arched and exposed to him.

“I used to dream of this,” he admits roughly, the confession like a curse being spit out of his mouth, “Wanted to stalk you or possess you or–” he groans because he can feel how you’re throbbing around him, how slick you are for him, “Wanted to fucking ruin you–”

He pulls at your hair more, tries to get you to look at him through your wet lashes. The flash of pink meets red and his smile is more a cruel bearing of teeth.

“And you feel so much better than I dreamt– fuck, so much tighter–” he babbles as he ruts into you hard and quick. You keen, high and broken, just as he feels you flutter around him again and he almost loses his mind because–

“Are you going to fucking come again?” he growls, pulling harder on your hair.

“Yes,” you groan, “Please, fuck, please, c’mon–” your voice is high and wrecked and all he has to do is angle his hips a few more times before you’re shattering, nearly breaking apart, squeezing down on his cock so tightly that he shudders, that he let’s go of your hair just to focus on his own pleasure.

He doesn’t even realize he’s drooling into your neck, not as he loses his rhythm, as he shoves himself as deep into you as he can and comes hard. Pleasure races up his spine, turns him white-hot and sensitive, making his eyes roll back into his head, too.

You’re both breathing hard when he collapses on top of you. Your fingers, which were once scratching down his back to cause sharp shooting pain, are now surprisingly gentle, slipping back into his hair.

You squirm, fussing slightly– no doubt sore, no doubt aching with him still inside you but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t want to.

He mouths at your neck, feels you sigh, before he moves to cover his mouth with yours again. He kisses you languidly now, slow and deep.

You’re making breathy little noises against him, content and surprisingly soft, your other hand tracing over his side.

(He doesn’t like how much he enjoys this part, the afterglow, all that violence slipping away, expelled from you both–)

Tomura feels his cock twitch inside of you again, feels your hips arch up a little, and before he knows it, he’s moving his hips again. It’s a slow rocking, your lips still attached to his, heated and gentle.

“Gross,” you say again, just a breath against him as he fucks his cum further into you, feels himself harden, feels the mess he made of you. But you still hitch your leg over his hip, pull him deeper into you.

He grins lazily against your lips, “You like it,” he says and it’s not a question, rolling his hips until he gets you to shut your eyes and moan against him.

“Yeah,” you reply, nudging your cheek against his, rubbing like a cat until he returns the gesture. Until he’s humming because he’s sensitive and you feel so good, better than anything he’s ever felt in this miserable fucking life–

You whine a little, ‘Touch me again?”

He doesn’t deny you for whatever reason, doesn’t even have something smart to say as he slides his hand down your torso, down to where you’re both slick and connected. He rubs unpracticed, messy circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re sighing.

He’s no expert but he doesn’t really care and you don’t seem to mind this time, either. It’s unhurried now, lazy.

This time your peak is a fluttery, soft thing, and he watches as you gasp, as you blink away tears. She’s pretty, he thinks, feeling stupidly young again, she’s pretty like this. Like his dreams.

Tomura spills inside you again soon after, groaning against your collarbones, and this time you force him to slip out of you. Force him to lay beside you as you both catch your breath again.

And he’s not expecting it, but he has the vicious need to be close to you, desperately wants to feel your skin against his. It’s a new feeling– usually after sex, he wants to be as far away from someone as possible. Usually he can’t leave or kick them out fast enough.

But there’s something about you now, hazy and pleasure-drunk, fucked out and dazed, that makes him want to stay close. Maybe it’s just that you’ve soothed all the festering that usually squirms in his chest. Maybe it’s just that you’ve made everything in him quiet for once.

He expects you to find some sort of your regret now, he’s sure that you’ll feel guilty, collect your clothes and go. But you don’t. You stay in bed with him. And it’s strange but he knows he wants to touch you, so he does. He doesn’t deny himself, why would he? He’s always taken what he wanted.

He curls around you, shivering a little with the skin to skin contact after the fog of sex has cleared from his mind. His hands slide over you, touch you fully and without restraint because he can, because you won’t disappear beneath his touch.

And for a moment, as he traces along the dips of your waist, he thinks maybe you were made for him– cut from his rib, isn’t that how the story goes?

He doesn’t know, only that there’s no one else in the world he can touch like this.

You’re surprised.

You’d figured after Tomura had his fill of you, he’d kick you out, send you away. You figured you’d feel guilty, that you would rush out of here and try to wish the whole thing away. But your hero suit stays on the floor and you’re still in his bed.

You didn’t think he’d be a cuddler, you assumed that he wouldn’t want nor care for any sort of contact after. But his arms are wrapped around you now, one of his hands sliding curiously over the curves of your body. All five fingers down, pressing into your skin.

But you suppose, for someone who has to be so careful with touch, that he would like this. That he might want this. You wonder if he ever gets to touch anyone like this, if he ever allows himself intimate touch like this– tender and for no other reason than to soothe or comfort.

You get the impression that he doesn’t, that touch is just a means to an end for him; sex is probably just an itch to scratch. You can’t imagine that he’s very relaxed or enjoying himself when he’s worried about decaying the person he’s with.

But all his crackling, restless energy now seems subdued, sated, as he walks his fingers over you. His hair tickles your bare skin as he nudges closer, nose running along your jaw.

Once more, you feel your age. You don’t feel like a hero, but just someone young, maybe on the cusp of being old. He looks young now, too, with his vivid eyes shut and relaxed, nothing to crease his brow. He doesn’t seem like a villain, either.

You brush a finger over his cheek, touch lightly at the scratches beneath his eyes, drag your thumb down to touch the scar at the corner of his lips.

His eyes flutter open to watch you, half lidded, squinted almost like a cat.

But he allows you to run your fingers over his face, doesn’t protest or jerk away from your touch.

No, his eyes fall shut again. He lets out a deep sigh that you think he has held inside him for years.

He doesn’t have a gentle face, but one that shows it’s angles and sharp edges, the scars and cuts that trail down onto his neck. You’d noticed some on his chest, too. Proof of an uneasy life lived, proof of violence and pain.

You imagine he’s seen horrors, kept them trapped inside for fear of letting them spill out, like maybe it’ll be as gruesome as the memories.

His body hasn’t been handled gently, you can tell, with it’s indents and scars and scratches. You don’t know who was the last person who touched him without wanting to hurt him. And you shouldn’t but you think of yourself when you were a child– desperate for love and affection, desperate for any scrap of attention like the scavenger you always were.

Maybe still are.

So desperate that you’d end up in the bed of your enemy– all because you couldn’t end up in the bed of your ally. So hungry that you’d eat out of a hand that has harmed and killed and destroyed.

Hands that haven’t known gentleness, a body that hasn’t known peace. But he’s being gentle with you now, isn’t he?

So you try to give gentleness to him now, too, with your careful touch. You keep your fingers kind and sympathetic.

Even your own eyes drift shut for a moment, still tracing idle patterns into his skin.

You only slip away from him for a moment, to use the bathroom, to clean up. Your reflection in the mirror looks strange; raw and flushed with color. Honest in a way that makes you turn away.

You slip back into bed with Tomura, let him latch onto you again. You drag your fingers gently over his ribs, over his sides.

You let your eyes fall shut, too.

There’s a sudden, loud buzzing from the floor that cuts through the quiet, which makes your eyes startle open. It’s insistent and you realize after a moment that it’s your phone, caught up in your hero suit on the floor.

You never came home after your shift. You curse softly, almost certain you know who's calling.

You squirm out of Tomura’s hold again, which he huffs at in irritation, but eventually allows you up.

“Where are you going now?” he asks, annoyed, when you climb out of bed to find your phone. Once found, you hold it up to him.

It’s still buzzing in your hand, lit up with Shouta’s contact.

You think the guilt should hit you now.

It doesn’t and that’s what you feel worse over. You swallow hard, frown down at your phone.

(Horribly, you even feel somewhat spiteful, as if you’re trying to prove something to Shouta. Maybe to yourself.)

You don’t answer.

And then you see the several texts from him, wondering where you are. They’re all bland, but you can tell he must be worried. It’s unlike you to not tell him where you are.

“Are you going to leave?” Tomura asks and there’s something strange in his voice, something you can’t place.

“Do you want me to?” you ask in return.

He doesn’t answer right away. But he does eventually give an annoyed drawl, “Do what you want.”

You take that as a no, don’t leave, since you’re certain if he wanted you gone, he would’ve told you.

You send a text to Shouta;

Sorry. Staying with an old friend for the night. Be back tomorrow.

It’s not unheard of, for you to spend time with an old friend from the foster care system.

You get a dry “okay” from him in response. You fight the urge to roll your eyes for some reason, tossing your phone away again.

You end up staying the night with Tomura Shigaraki, one of the most wanted villains in all of Japan.

Its not romantic— he isn’t sweet or funny or caring. But he holds you tight, leaves no room for distance. And it is the first time you’ve ever slept with someone like this, tucked away into a bed, bare, and wrapped up in each other.

Is this what it always feels like? You press yourself into the crooks of his body. You wonder if you’re supposed to fit this well together.

And it’s the first time since his Quirk developed that he hasn’t needed to wear his partial gloves to sleep in fear of decaying something.

He won’t admit it but it’s the best he’s slept in a long, long time.

You won’t admit it, either, but you think you could get used to this, too; this closeness, being held as if you’ll slip away, being held like he doesn’t want you to.

The morning brings rosy sunlight that slants through the windows. Neither of you talk much. You try to tell yourself this won’t happen again, can’t happen again.

But you had kissed him goodbye before you’d left, like he was a boyfriend and not a criminal, and you’d been in a surprisingly good mood for the rest of the day.

Like you had a crush, puppy love you never got as a teenager because you were too busy trying not to starve, only to realize you’d been starving in other ways, too.

But you’re sugar soft and excitable, dropping into bed that night alone, and allowing yourself to admit, in the quiet and privacy of your own thoughts, that you wish you were in his again.

***

One time turns into two which turns into three which turns into so many times you’ve lost count. That little, rundown apartment that isn’t really Tomura’s has turned into another world entirely, some harbor away from the rules of society. It’s almost too good to be true, a dream, a place for a secret as bad as this one.

When you’re here, you don’t talk of heroes and villains. You urge him not to; you think you’ll keep some part of your innocence in this affair if you don’t actually know anything about him or the League of Villains. You’ll feel too guilty, if you know any part of their plans and don’t tell Shouta. And telling Shouta anything about Tomura is beginning to feel like a betrayal, too.

You don’t know anything substantial about Tomura Shigaraki and that’s the way it needs to stay.

You know he likes sour candy, though, and drinks too many energy drinks– they’re sickly sweet and you think kissing him might make your teeth ache. You know he likes video games but no longer has a console. He has trouble sleeping at night. You’re familiar with the scars on his skin, the jagged ones across his neck, the one on his lip. The beauty mark on his chin. You know his moods; from the prickly ones to the downright vengeful ones. You even know the calmer ones, the quiet, contemplative ones.

(In this way, he seems like a normal twenty-something-year-old. In the quiet moments, when you’ve convinced him to watch a cheap horror movie on the tiny, staticky TV in the apartment, he could be anybody. When he’s got his bare hand up your shirt as someone onscreen screams and begs for their life, he’s not the heir to an underground empire. He’s just Tomura, with his face buried in the crook of your neck).

He pretends to get annoyed with you, huffs and scoffs against your lips when you’re being cheeky. You wear his worn down hoodies, slip your thumbs in the holes at the sleeves. He eyes you when you wear them, pulls you to him by the collar.

(He likes to fuck you in them– pushes the hoodie up your stomach to watch you ride him. But he likes things bare and raw, too. Skin to skin. So close it’s terrifying, so close you feel like he’s trying to tear you apart from the inside out. He likes it dirty, you think, because it makes it more intimate.)

You soothe him. You know you do because when he’s festering and angry, all it takes is your hand on his wrist, pulling it away from his neck. Sometimes, when he can’t think straight and there is too much on his mind, he forces you to lay on top of him until his breathing slows and his head is clear.

He can’t talk to you aloud about what’s plaguing him, but you must quiet some part of him. He likes to use you to think, runs his long fingers through your hair as you lay atop him. He pets you until his thoughts aren’t as jumbled, but smoothed out and sharp. Or until he doesn’t want to think anymore at all and he drags you into languid makeouts that always end with him surrounding you, inside you, possessing you.

You bicker sometimes, flash your teeth to make his eyes spark ruby and excited. Mostly, you act your age with him.

You don’t know when his birthday is or where he grew up. You don’t know what his childhood was like or what memories shaped him, don’t know where he’s been or where he’s going to be. You only know him now, in this moment, in this little world you’ve created for each other.

He’s what you imagined first boyfriends are supposed to be; excitable and often immature but fun and new. You never had the luxury of first loves, just odd first kisses with strangers and an uncomfortable loss of virginity with a friend of a friend of a friend who jammed his tongue too far down your throat. You hadn’t had anything stable until–

Until Shouta.

Shouta has grown suspicious of this old friend of yours and how much time you now spend with him.

He questions you about him and you wish you felt worse for lying. The rebellious part of this affair is thrilling, though. Feels like you’re sixteen and sneaking out from under your dad’s nose to be picked up by the boyfriend you’d know he’d hate. Feels like swiping liquor too young and getting sick off it, smashing the bottles and laughing with your friends because sometimes things just need to break.

“Will you at least tell me his name?” Shouta had asked one morning, when you’d let yourself into his apartment after another night at Tomura’s. You had your own hood pulled up around your face to hide the rose blossom hickeys against the skin of your neck.

He’d still poured you a cup of coffee. You’d watched his careful, large hands as they made it the way you liked it.

You’d given him a lie, fed it to him the way he feeds you breakfast, “Shinta. Are you happy?”

He’d slid the mug to you, let you catch in the cradle of your palm. He’d shrugged, but you think his eyes had flashed to you, “You know you can bring him around, right? You don’t always have to go to him.”

You’d had to bite back a painful laugh. It wasn’t funny. It had hurt strangely in the pit of your chest.

You had shaken your head, tried to brush him off, “It’s not like that.”

“Alright,” he’d said, but he hadn’t believed you. “You’re training alone with Shinsou again tonight, I’ll be busy with a job.” Then he’d given you a stern look, “And don’t cut it early to go see Shinta.”

“I’ve never done that!” you’d protested, perhaps a little too defensively. But it was true, you’d never do that to Shinsou, wouldn’t dream of it. The only time you’d cut training early was to share takeout with Shinsou, not ditch him for–

This comment had rubbed you wrong, scratched up against something abrasive and surprisingly fragile inside of you. Maybe because he was questioning your dedication which already felt so flimsy, even if he hadn’t been entirely serious, even if maybe he’d just been trying to take a dig at you. At this new boyfriend.

Shouta had grown cold then, shrugged impassively, took his mug of coffee and brushed past you to keep getting ready.

It had angered you enough to bring it up later to Tomura, when you’re falling into his lap and he’s squirming his cold, fluttery hands beneath your shirt to touch skin, to make you hiss through your teeth.

His lips tilt into a small smile as you fidget while he warms his frigid fingers on your body.

“Eraserhead asked about you yesterday,” you tell him, letting your nose brush against his, “Told me I could bring my friend around– don’t always have to go to him.”

Tomura snorts, eyes falling half-lidded when your lips skim over his. The night is plum dark, presses into this little apartment that’s tucked away from the world.

“How’d you get out of that one?” he asks, fingers walking over the dips of your spine. He likes tracing the bone beneath your skin, likes making you shiver.

“Told him it’s not like that.” you respond, your own hands wandering to his neck. You're careful over the ridges of flesh there, skim lightly to get to his jaw.

“No?” Tomura asks, pulling you closer, pressing his chest to yours, “Don’t want to bring me home to meet Eraserhead?” he sneers and there’s something underneath his voice, lurking, with its hackles raised.

You think maybe it’s jealousy, the same flash of his eyes like Shouta’s when he’d said Shinta.

But then he kisses you deep and drags your hips against his, forces a warbly, surprised little moan from you.

Most of your thoughts melt away then, most turn to something base and desperate, all desire and need. You can’t help but think about it, though, how you can’t ever take him home to Shouta. You can’t ever expect anything more than whatever stays in this room. He kisses you hard, your teeth clinking against his like clashing with the truth of it all.

There’s no happy ending here.

It’s like smashing bottles because sometimes things just need to break.

***

Tomura thinks you would be a good edition to the League of Villains.

You’re clever and capable. He comes to find you’re not just a good thief and pickpocket but an excellent one. You swipe everything from his pockets, right from under his nose, just to play with him. You’re stealthy and sharp; he could use someone like you at his side.

Your Quirk could be useful, though he doesn’t like the idea of you getting so close to people while in battles. You have a reckless streak, but he thinks he could temper that. All you need is a little guidance.

You were a thief once. You give him clues of your past; you didn’t grow up like the other heroes, didn’t come from a warm home with dreams of saving the world. Your head wasn’t filled with fantasies of rescuing the downtrodden. You were the downtrodden. And you learned that there was no one who was going to save you, except yourself. So you stole and fought and survived a world that was willing to forget you.

You’re like him, a very quiet part of him thinks, no one saved you. Not until you were too old, all grown up with sharpened teeth and claws, eyes that see in the dark. That could be now used and extorted by the heroes.

He thinks they’ve leashed you, taught you how to sit and stay and sic ‘em.

He wonders if he’d have gotten to you first, if you’d be with him and not your heroes.

Tomura doesn’t dwell on it, though. He refuses to imagine it. What would be the point? It didn’t happen.

Besides, he is certain he is capable of slowly swaying you to them still. You possess a startling amount of compassion for villains which, perhaps wouldn’t help you as a villain, but that’s fine.

(You’d have him. No one would touch you if you were at his side. You could be as stupidly compassionate as you wanted.)

You meet members of the League with him by accident, times when Toga and Twice’s meeting with him overlap with you arriving. Toga goes on endlessly about you, it seems. Dabi drops by once in the middle of the night, bloody and demanding a place to sleep because he’s tired of sleeping on the streets.

It’d been one of the more insufferable nights, perhaps one of the worst ways for Dabi to find out about you. You’d already been asleep, cocooned beneath blankets and Tomura’s body, just in one of his loose shirts.

Tomura had already been lying awake, listening to your even breathing when he’d heard the handle of the door shake roughly. He’d gotten up then, slipped into clothes, melted into the darkness by the door and waited for the intruder to try and step inside.

The lock had been picked.

He had nearly decayed Dabi by accident before realizing it was him.

A ridiculously quiet but terse argument had ensued then, before Dabi had asked, in a regular speaking voice, “Why the fuck are we whispering?”

Tomura had almost winced when he heard you stir from the bed before your small, sleepy voice had murmured into the darkness, “Tomura?”

You’d said it too soft, too sweet. It’d been for his ears only and something about Dabi hearing you, seeing you, being in this space that had been for you and for him had made Tomura suddenly livid.

He had watched Dabi’s mouth fall open in shock before you’d switched on the bedside lamp to flood the room with artificial, golden light.

Dabi’s face had been near horrific in the light, one side of it all bloody, the stitches mangled or falling out. Part of his face almost looked like it was melting, his eye squinted shut with the damage.

But he’d thrown his head back and laughed when he’d seen you, sitting up in the bed, blinking sleepily at them. Tomura hated a lot of things, but he’d hated nothing more than the sound of Dabi’s rasping laugh in that moment.

You’d narrowed your eyes when you had realized who it was.

“I had no idea you had it in you, Tomura.” Dabi had said.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Tomura had hissed instead, fighting the urge to tear into his neck, fingers twitching agitatedly.

Dabi had gestured to his face with a lazy flourish, “I need medical attention and I’m crashing on your couch.”

Tomura’s teeth had ground together, “Get. Out.”

“No, I’m sick of sleeping on the streets when you’re here playing house with your little hero bitch–”

Before Tomura could even react, though, you had found the small supply of first aid from beneath the sink in the tiny bathroom. You had come up beside them near silently and offered it up, asked, “Do you want help?”

And there it had been– that compassion of yours. Even for the likes of Dabi.

In that moment, he’d wondered how you had ever survived with it. He’d thought that you’d lose your hand if you kept extending it.

Dabi hadn’t let you touch him but you’d gotten a cool rag for him to clean up the blood, watched as he tried to patch up the wound. It was made worse by a mangled staple in his cheek, jutting out strangely.

“Does it hurt?” You’d asked but with the way you were looking at him, at his marred skin up close, Tomura could tell that you weren’t just referring to this one injury.

Does it hurt? You’d asked, like you were asking if it all hurt. You weren’t just seeing a singular part of Dabi, but a series of tragedies that was proudly presented in large, rippling scars against his skin.

“Of course it fucking hurts,” Dabi had spit out, all venom and bitterness. But you hadn’t even flinched.

Tomura had tried to kick him out again once his wound had been treated.

“It’s fine,” you’d said, resigned, tired and rubbing at your eyes.

(Later you’d shrug and tell him, I know what it’s like to not have somewhere to sleep).

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Dabi had drawled, already pulling off his heavy boots, prying the coat from his body to toss onto the floor. “Just don’t do any weird shit.”

And you’d gotten back into bed with Tomura, fit yourself against him, ducked your head down beneath his chin and pressed your hands against his sides, felt the notches of his ribs.

Sometimes he wonders if you can feel the missing one, the one you took from him, the one you’d been made out of.

It had occurred to Tomura that either you didn’t fear Dabi or you trusted him enough to know he’d never let Dabi harm you while sleeping.

Both were acceptable to him, both would aid him in converting you. And they were true, too. You shouldn’t fear Dabi, especially not with him around.

Tomura had brought his hand up then, suddenly covered your mouth with his large palm, letting all five of his fingers come down against your pretty face.

You’d furrowed your brows in confusion, not fear, which made something inside of him grow warm and hungry.

Then he’d slid his other hand down your body, between your legs, just to spite Dabi.

He’d watched as your eyes went wide in the dark, cheeks flushing beneath his hand. He could feel his smirk, smug and sharp, fitting across his teeth like a muzzle.

You’d tried to shake your head, tried to squirm away from his touch, but he’d been persistent and soon enough you were sighing against his hand, melting into the bed he pressed you into. Soon enough you were trying to hold back whimpers, all slippery and soft beneath his fingers, silently begging with your eyes.

He hadn’t denied you that night; no, you were being good, walking the steps he wanted for you. You were moldable and sweet beneath him so he’d give you what you wanted.

He watched in satisfaction as you came hard around his fingers, face scrunching up in that way he loved, fingers easing you through it. He was gentle with you then, taking his hand away from your mouth slowly, letting you nudge closer and cling to him.

(He loved when you clung to him).

You’d wanted so much affection that night and he had indulged you, letting your nose brush against his, or rubbing your cheek against his chest while his fingers wound through your hair.

You’d fallen asleep all tied up in him.

The next morning, you were gone before Dabi even woke up.

Dabi had asked, “What the fuck are you doing with her?”

“Mind your business,” Tomura had snapped, fingers already seeking out his neck again when they couldn't find you. He hated that he wanted your presence so badly now. (Hated that he missed you, but he would never say that, never even dream of it). Then he’d added,“And find someone else’s doorstep to show up on.”

Dabi had scoffed, “Whatever. Just don’t get distracted.” He’d pulled out a cigarette from his jacket still on the floor then, much to Tomura’s annoyance, and lit it with a spark of his fingers. Smoke curled into the air with his first drag. “I’m not about to watch all our efforts fall apart because you wanted to play Romeo and Juliet with some braindead little hero.”

He’d torn into the skin of his neck then. Wished he could tear into you instead.

“Violent delights and violent ends and all that shit,” Dabi had said then, his smile just a curled stitch, smoke pouring from his lips, evidently amused with himself.

But Tomura has never read that play and he doesn’t know anything about poetry in the same way he doesn’t know anything about art or beauty, just that you’re the only thing he’s bothered to compare to a painting.

***

You put Tomura into your phone as Shinta and when you’re too busy to visit him between missions and training, you text him. Though short, he is surprisingly witty over text, something that has you biting back grins and distracted, feeling like a schoolgirl as you try to hide the screen of your phone from the rest of the world.

You grow distracted with hero work, with Shouta. You pay less attention to your life at U.A. You don’t visit Shouta for lunch as often. You haven’t spent a quiet night with Shouta in weeks. You tell yourself you don’t care.

It’s better than fighting with him. It’s better than trying to beg for his love and affection.

Early tomorrow morning you’re supposed to shadow Shouta on a brief mission.

The Hero Commission is trying to train you into espionage and underground work, trying to mold you in the shape of Shouta.

But at night, when you’re alone in your bedroom, tucked away into your own apartment and not with Tomura, he calls you.

You let yourself say his name into the receiver of your phone, hushed and excited.

He doesn’t say I miss you or when will I see you again?

He says, “Touch yourself.”

And you don’t say I miss you, too, or hopefully soon.

You do as he says, let your fingers fan out over your stomach like they might be his. You listen to his breathing turn ragged over the phone. You moan softly for him.

You do what he says in the navy dark of night, bite back frustrated whines because you’ve gotten too used to his touch.

“–Wish it was you, fuck, it’s not fair,” you gasp, tilting your hips up into your fingers desperately.

You can hear the hiss of breath he takes, “Did I ruin you?” he croons into the phone lowly, his voice slithering through to you, making your thighs clench. “Can’t even touch yourself without needing me?”

You groan, high and defeated, fingers slipping against yourself. You’re aching and empty and bereft without him, “Yes, yes–”

He rambles about what he’s done to you, almost seething by the end, when he demands you tell him that you’re his, that he’s the one who made you this way. He’s the only one who can soothe you now. You need him.

He isn’t wrong, you realize, when you still aren’t satisfied after your climax. When it doesn’t feel as good as when you’re with him. You realize you hate sleeping alone now. You miss the press of his body to yours. You coo into the phone about it, lay on your stomach, arms curled around your pillow with your ear still to your phone.

It never gets overly sentimental. You don’t want to scare him, especially as you grow terrified of your own feelings. It doesn’t feel as fun anymore, you realize, only because your attraction to him has now grown serious.

Your crush has grown teeth and claws, ready to tear apart the vulnerable, fleshy parts of you.

But he talks with you until you fall asleep, phone still in hand, heart still on the line.

***

There’s a stray kitten that hangs out around Tomura’s apartment– he thinks there must be a colony of strays in the area, since it’s not the only one. But this one is scrawny, just a messy tuft of grey fur. It’d be sleek and pretty, if it wasn’t so malnourished, if it wasn’t missing clumps of fur or full of scars and scratches.

The kitten likes Tomura a great deal for some reason. It rubs itself against his legs, follows him around outside of the apartment, much to your utter delight.

You coo and fawn over it, scoop the little thing up into your arms and hold it up to Tomura’s face.

He hates it, the face you give him. The face the kitten gives him. He hates that the corner of his lips twitch upwards.

“He’s so cute,” you gush and he can hear now that the little thing is purring furiously in your hands. You wiggle the cat a little bit in front of his face and Tomura finally reaches up to stroke the back of his knuckles against the kitten’s head, if only to appease you.

Your smile is crooked– an excited curve of your lips, your eyes alight.

You’re always so expressive and he used to be livid about it, wanted to teach you a lesson in the worst way possible, but now he just wants to keep you from learning them.

He has to turn away from you at the thought, heads towards the door of the apartment building. You follow after him dutifully, coming up to nudge against his side. He’s become too comfortable with you there, knocking into his elbow.

You’re still smiling down at the kitten in your arms and he wants to look away because some part of this is starting to sting.

The kitten is excitedly looking around, green eyes all round and bright. It’s purring happily.

“Put it down, it’s not coming in with us.” Tomura tells you, his voice rough and soft.

You stop in front of the door with him. Your bottom lip pulls out into a pout. Your eyes get round like the kitten’s.

He gives you a cold stare.

You hug the kitten tighter to your body, “C’mon,” you whine, “It’s just a baby.”

“I’m not taking care of a cat.”

“I’ll take care of it!”

“No,” he responds, harsher, voice a little sharper.

Maybe, in the beginning of this little affair, you would’ve headed the warning in his tone, but now you don’t even bat an eye at him.

“Yes,” you respond indignantly.

You both glare at each other. The kitten’s purr still rumbles on.

Tomura can tell you’re not giving this one up, he can tell by the set of your jaw, the way you’re clinging to that little creature. There’s a determined flush to your face. Your eyes are bright and fiery.

All over this little stray.

“You’re a brat,” is all Tomura says and you take that as a win, because your face immediately morphs, brightens up completely. You duck past him, into the apartment building with the kitten cradled in your arms.

He heaves a deep sigh, following in after you. “I’m kicking it out when you leave.”

“Don’t be mean,” you reply, waiting at the door, and the irony is not lost on him. He comes up behind you, his chest to your back, crowding you against the door.

“I think you need to remember who you’re speaking to,” he says, his voice just a rasp against your ear and maybe at some point, it would’ve sounded threatening, but now you just lean back into his chest. His heart beats against the curve of your back.

Something soft is growing between the two of you, he can feel it. It has no place here, though, in this world. In the two of you. His ugly infatuation with you, all that anger and vitriol he had for you has melted, turned spring soft inside of him after an unforgiving winter.

He unlocks the door, he lets you in.

The kitten ends up coming and going. He opens the window to let it in and out, let’s you feed it. You call it Ryuji. It lives partially in this new little world the two of you have built.

He thinks of it like the pause screen in a video game, somewhere to return to when he’s frustrated or tired or done. Idle, soft music and the freezing of his screen. A moment away from the turmoil or struggle of the game.

But he’ll have to unpause eventually.

He can’t stay here forever, he knows it, but he just has to be sure he plays it right– he doesn’t think he’ll be able to start over this time, with you.

And he wants you there at the ending, at his side like in his dreams.

The ones where it’s all in ruins, the world nothing but his, destroyed, but he gives you his hand to have, and you take it in yours to hold.

***

The distance between you and Shouta stretches and grows until it snaps in the form of a blowout argument. Which, is mostly just you, shouting, crying furiously, and Shouta stone-faced and cool.

It had started with an offhand comment from him about how you’re not focused anymore. You’re getting sloppy. You’re distracted. And usually, you take his criticism with a stiff upper lip and a determined glare.

But you and Shouta haven’t been the same since you tried to kiss him.

You blame yourself, maybe, but part of you feels angry with him, too. Bitter. You thought, in some way, he reciprocated your feelings. He’d acted like it. And when he’d rejected you, he’d pulled away, been more careful with you.

(You wonder if this proves your point, that he was toeing a line with you then.)

And maybe your lies are starting to eat at you, too, starting to rot away on the inside of you. If you focused on them too hard and all that Shouta’s done for you, you think you’d start crying every time you looked at him.

But Tomura has also thrown all you know into question. And you’d already been critical of the life you were afforded by becoming a hero.

You look at all of Shouta’s students and you just get angry. You look at Shinsou, so determined to prove he can be a hero, that he’s good and you are livid. You look at Toga, with her villainous Quirk. She’s near Shinsou’s age and something about it just makes you ache, it makes you sick.

You look at her and see who she could’ve been as a hero– you wonder if they would’ve stuck her in espionage, with the likes of you and Shouta. You wonder if she would’ve gone to U.A. You wonder what it would’ve taken to change her fate.

Even Tomura, you look at him and in the safety and privacy of your own heart, you dare to wonder what he would’ve been like if he hadn’t been a villain.

(He could’ve been a rescue hero, you think, and he could’ve decayed debris to save people. This version of him lives in the quiet, tentative parts of you. It grows soft and underground, a seedling that has sprouted on the inside of your chest, and one day you think this little dream of yours will grow so large inside of you that it’ll breach skin and show the world it’s horror.)

It feels like a coin toss, almost, like the difference between a hero and a villain sometimes is one flip away from changing.

You don’t bother to wonder what would’ve happened if it hadn’t been Shouta that found you, but someone like Tomura. Or All For One. You know if you’d been given somewhere to sleep and a warm meal, you would’ve done what they wanted.

You wish you could say you were a noble, starving person, that there was something shining and golden inside of you. But all you were was starving.

Shouta says you’ve been underperforming lately. He says he’s considering limiting the nights you patrol until you can get it together.

The Hero Commission was supposed to come observe you to see if you’d progressed enough to begin accepting your own missions. He tells you he doesn’t think they should come any longer. It feels like a dig, too, like he’s reprimanding you somehow.

And you snap, “Well maybe I didn’t want them to observe me!”

He looks taken aback for a moment, before he asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know! Maybe I’m tired of being observed and used and watching all of these kids be observed and sought after and–”

“Alright,” Shouta sighs, and it makes your teeth grit because he sounds like he’s trying to parent you, “It’s one thing to be upset yourself, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with these kids.”

Your nails dig into your palms as you try to find the words to get him to understand you.

But he speaks before you can, almost patronizingly, “Clearly, you’re struggling through something, so it’s probably a good thing we’ve put this off.”

Tears well up hard and fast. It hurts to be dismissed like this. It hurts to look at him, to think that he’s a part of the ever growing issue that has been itching beneath your skin. You’re a part of it, too, but you have the sudden urge to run. To get out.

Still, you swallow down all of that turmoil and say, “I hardly know what I want now, so how do you expect children to know that they want to be a hero?”

“What is this about?” Shouta asks.

“It’s about the Hero Commission and U.A. and the entire fucking system. That’s what it’s about.” you seethe, looking up into his eyes, trying to find something there.

“It’s not just about you?” he asks, unperturbed.

“Why can’t it be both?” you respond, trying to keep your voice from going high, from going hysterical. There’s so much you want to say, so much that it’s making you sick, that it’s turning your stomach. “I’m– I’m barely older than them!” you say, because all you keep thinking about is how they’re just kids. And you were just a kid. And at one point, Tomura was just a kid.

He’s barely older than you. Closer in age to Shouta’s students than to him.

“I didn’t invent the system,” Shouta says and he sounds weary, “I just try to give my students the best opportunity at surviving being a hero. I try to teach them everything to keep them alive.”

They’re just kids! You want to shriek, kids that were chosen or forgotten or accepted or shunned.

Looking in the face of the system now feels so massive that it’s hopeless; a system that produces shiny heroes from children with their perfect and acceptable Quirks and discards the rest. Even you and Shouta, with your Quirks that aren’t as flashy, are pushed into the shadows to do the Hero Commissions business. And what business is that? You have to wonder their intentions, too, with all the money that’s pumped into it. Into all of these heroes. A system that forgets anyone who doesn’t fit into it’s perfect mold.

“But you see how it’s wrong, right? And just because you didn’t invent the system doesn’t mean you get to throw your hands up!” You say, voice raising.

Shouta levels you with a cool look. He lets loose a sigh. “What would you like me to do?”

You don’t have an answer, it’s too big of a question.

(You see the appeal suddenly, in wanting to get rid of it all, in destroying it since it’s such a mess.)

But you hate his aloofness, you hate that he doesn’t care. You hate that you feel crazy.

“I don’t know!” you shout, tears finally falling down your angry and flushed face. “I don’t know!”

“Are you done?” Shouta asks and it makes you want to scream more. You just want a reaction from him, you realize, you want something more than his impassiveness. You think of trying to shout more, to try and say something cutting or powerful or enough to make him wince.

But nothing comes to mind and you’re just stubbornly trying to keep back a sob.

So you shoulder past him, rush out of his apartment, rubbing at your cheeks and trying to keep back your hiccuping cries.

You have every intention of going to Tomura’s.

But you realize when you’ve nearly made it to his door that it might be foolish to go to someone like Tomura with tears in your eyes. What is the leader of the League of Villains going to do? You have a feeling you might just get your feelings hurt more.

So you pause, rub at your eyes again, try to dispel all the turmoil inside you. It doesn’t work, so you turn away from him, too, and you start moving.

Your feet carry you to the train station, carry you across town, to a warehouse you used to vandalize and hide in when you were young and alone.

You haven’t been here in years.

It feels strange, loping around the side of the building. The alleyways are cast in garnet light with the fading sun. It makes it look prettier than it is. You enter through the same hole in the wall that you used to when you were young; you’re bigger now, though, need to duck lower, curl yourself up to get through it.

You think of yourself scurrying around, knowing the ins and outs of this dilapidated building the way most children know their childhood home.

It’s strange, stepping back into a place you haven’t been to in years. You know, in some way, it has to have changed. It’s falling apart more, there’s larger holes in the ceiling, letting in auburn light, setting everything ablaze. There’s a lot of debris; from torn tents to discarded sleeping bags to spare junk, it’s all spread out throughout the place. Graffiti covers every corner of the walls. You used to look for a face painted in pink, it’s eyes dripping down it’s face in the back corner of a wall. When your eyes slide along all the artwork, it’s nowhere to be found now. No doubt covered up by the years, but you know it’s there, somewhere beneath all that color and paint.

There are a lot of empty bottles, glass laying around that crunches beneath your shoe.

You pick up a glass by the spout, watch as it catches in the light, murky gold and sunkissed.

You feel small again, fragile like the bottle in your hand. You stopped crying at least, but all that’s left is the aftertaste. Just the lingering frustration, the bitter aloneness that settles over you as cold as Shouta’s stare.

Your fingers squeeze around the glass, curling tight, before you suddenly hurl it at the wall.

It bursts on impact, explodes into thousands of shining, glittering pieces that spark in the sun.

It feels good, so you pick up another glass– this one’s mint green, pretty like the sea, reminds you of spring and the stems of flowers.

It breaks prettily, too, the sound ringing and sharp in your ears, your eyes trying to catch all the splinters of it. It explodes in the light. It’s cathartic, letting all your aching frustration and hurt rush out with each breaking, with each smashing.

You don’t get through many more, not before you hear footsteps behind you.

You can’t say you’re surprised to find Tomura, but you can’t say you were expecting it either. Quickly, you turn away, try to school your features. You try to rub at your eyes again, as if this will somehow dispel damp lashes and splotchy cheeks.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask, but there’s no bite to it as he comes to stand beside you.

He doesn’t answer.

You think he might be, but you can’t find it in you to care.

The sound of the distant city is just a hum between you two. Glass sparkles on the floor like stars in the fading, ruby light.

You turn to face him, don’t bother trying to look up into his face, just shove yourself into his chest. You bury your face into his hoodie, rubbing your cheek against his chest. “Creep,” you mumble, “What are you doing here?”

His hands come up, one at the back of your head, the other along your back. He has his gloves on. Not that it matters.

“I followed you from the apartment,” he admits and his voice is quiet, but it seems to echo in this open space. Then he says, “You should be more watchful.”

“Don’t start,” you grumble, letting your fingers curl in his jacket, “Been scolded enough today.”

The hand at the back of your head tugs at your hair lightly, lifting your head from its hiding place against his chest so that he can look you over carefully.

The light casts him in maroon and russet, saturating him, making the dark of him stand out sharply. It makes the silver of his hair seem peach, brands him in all the sun’s honey and whiskey glory.

His eyes are vivid, maybe the most true shade of red you’ve ever seen in your life.

He takes in your face, perhaps your bloodshot eyes, your damp lashes. You aren’t a fool; you’re certain he can tell you’ve been crying. You have the urge to squirm away, to try and hide from his gaze.

But all he asks, in a surprisingly gentle tone, is “What happened?”

You shake your head fractionally, “Nothing. Got into an argument, that’s all.”

He hums lightly, tracking your expression. You want to glance away from him, but he holds you still for a moment longer.

When you can’t take his scrutinization any longer, you ask, “Wanna break some shit with me?”

He lets you go finally, let’s you step out of his arms despite not responding. You pick up another glass, this once an icy blue that reflects light that reminds you of the color of morning skies.

You watch as it explodes against the wall, flashing like a little firework. Glass rains down onto the ground, some of it flinging up into the air or back towards you. Tomura pulls you away from it by the back of your jacket, yanks you back into his chest as glass shards fly past you.

He glares at you somewhat and you can tell he wants to scold you, but he doesn’t. You squirm out of his grasp to do it again.

Glass showers down as you break another bottle. It rains in shards of tangerine and pale yellow, bright pops of cherry in the light. It feels good, to watch it all burst apart in the sunlight, like watching little stars burst and explode at your hands. It’s so pretty, for such a violent act.

You hand a bottle to Tomura, offering him the chance to also act out. Instead, he pulls off one of his gloves– tugs it off with his teeth, the glint of sharp white against flesh pink. You watch fascinated for a moment, catch his eyes, blazing and barbed.

When he takes it with all five fingers, you watch as it first cracks in your palm, before fluttering away into dust. Into nothing.

You make a face, “That’s not as exciting as breaking them.”

He rolls his eyes, but you catch the way the corner of his lips hike up. He takes another glass, this one icy silver, caught peach in the honey light, though. He keeps a finger lifted away delicately as he lifts it up to the beams of scarlet sun that flare through the rafters.

And in that fiery patch of dusk, with the glass reflecting iridescence onto the angular plains of his face, your heart gives a violent lurch, like it’s trying to burst free from your chest.

I think I love you, you think, unbridled, and so suddenly that it feels as if the thought has slammed into you the way a body might fall from the ledge of a roof.

I think I love you, you think again, because you can’t quite believe it, as he lobs the bottle at the wall. It fractures into a thousand little beams of glass and light, like an exploding comet. You feel as fragile as that, like he’ll do the same to you. Maybe you’ll be nothing but shards by the end of this, nothing but dust slipping through his fingers.

He turns to you, no doubt to say something snarky, but you’re already taking quick steps to him. He doesn’t get the chance to speak, not when you collide with him, hard and reckless, throwing yourself up onto your toes to kiss him with a new violence.

He makes a surprised noise, soft, but catches you otherwise. His hand is already up, worming beneath your clothes to press chilled fingers into the bare skin of your upper waist. He likes the way you hiss into his mouth, and you like the way they dig roughly into you. He forces you closer, melds his mouth to yours, rough at the edges, slick and warm at the center as the kiss blossoms into slow simmering heat.

And by the end of it all, when the light has given way to violet darkness, the press of indigo shadows that stretch tall in this abandoned warehouse, there is too much glass on the floor. Everything is shattered or decayed. Your lips are stinging from sharp-toothed kisses and the desperate press of his mouth to yours. You’ve turned molten, fallen apart the way glass does.

You walk home together, hand in seeking hand.

Your eyes flush pink with your Quirk, brightening up in the dark.

You knock into his side like you’re a kid, eagerly trailing beside him. He has the hood of his sweatshirt up, hidden, as you rush into the next train back to the part of town that holds the little, distant world of his apartment.

You sit beside each other on the train, knees pressing into each other. He leans over to crowd you against the cool glass as the world streaks past you in a wash of darkness. He ducks his face to yours, his hood hiding the both of you from any onlookers as he seers his mouth to yours again.

You feel like a teenager, kissing in front of strangers, beneath the flickering light of the train car. You feel young and reckless, letting him have you like this, while the city burns like a blurry halo behind you. But you feel older, too, older and in love, like you finally know the secret of the universe, the one that every adult knows and has only learned in the burn of a kiss, in the messy squeezing of your heart.

He licks into your mouth slow, you curl your small hand into his worn hoodie. If people stare, you don’t know, don’t care.

He pulls away from you, forcing you up when your stop is announced, leaving you a little dazed and dizzy, but you eagerly follow after him. Your hands bunch into the back of his jean jacket. You stumble behind him a little, feet tangling with his as you duck beneath his arm to come to his side.

Ryuji finds the two of you on your walk home the closer you get, follows you both inside, happily chirping at your coos. But he paws at the window to be let out again a short time later, after you’ve fed him something. Tomura opens the window for the cat, but not before you catch him rubbing a knuckle against the kitten’s fuzzy cheek, brief but gentle.

You think he likes Ryuji more than he lets on. You think he loves all this more than he lets on.

Tomura takes his time with you that night, surprisingly languid for once, like you’re not on borrowed time. Like this is an entirely new planet, a version of the two of you that is not bound by pasts and future expectations. No strings puppeteering you both, no invisible hands holding you both back.

He pulls you down into his lap, to sink onto him, fill yourself with him as you please. You twine your arms around his slender neck to pull him close, eyes half lidded and pyretic pink, fiery and soft with the way your Quirk reacts to his. It always hums somewhere inside of you, brushes against his until it quiets, until he’s soothed and relaxed.

“Do you feel powerful?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes flickering up to find yours.

The question takes you by surprise for a moment, pulling away fractionally from his parted lips. And with the way your heart squirms in your chest, looking down at him like this, you want to say no, I feel terrified and new and desperate.

But he drags nails down your back, makes you gasp and roll your hips down onto him, which startles a groan out of him. The sound of it turning your stomach in the best and worst ways, making you flush, making you squirm to try and sink lower onto him. Greedy and desperate, you wiggle your hips to make his breathing come out ragged.

It makes you realize you have one of the most dangerous villains beneath you, as desperate as you are.

You roll your hips again, slow, take what you want of him. You fist your hand in his hair, tilt his head back and watch as his eyes flutter. His cheeks are flushed.

Pretty, you think faintly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, gliding your lips along his, heart a storm in your chest to have him looking up at you like this, “I do.”

His lips tilt into a knife-sharp smile, enough to gut you.

And he lets you take what you please of him that night, and the thief that you are, you take and take and take. You steal from him with deft hands and a smile that he thinks he’d destroy the world for. You take all the love that you want from him, gorge yourself on it until you feel sick.

Until you feel as if you could rot with it, carrying your love for him in the pits of you, coveting in the safe, secret parts of you, for no one else to find.

Just you and him, like this, hand in seeking hand.

***

PART III

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x you #tomura x you #shigaraki x you #tomura x y/n #shigaraki x y/n #tomura shigaraki x female reader #tomura shigaraki fanfic #bnha x reader #bnha fanfic #tenko shimura #tenko shimura x reader #bnha

636 notes · View notes

kkusuka · 3 years

Note

Hello don't know if requests are open. ☺️ Let’s have hc’s of Aizawa, Shigaraki, Dabi, and Hawks with an s/o that has a terrifying pain tolerance. She could take fatal injuries and just go “Ow ” in the most monotone voice. The following may include; Falling from a big ass building and landing on their back on a jagged rock, everyone heard their spine snap, and she just crawls calmly to a teacher or ally and goes “Hello, I believe my spine broke. Can you take me to the hospital?”

High Pain Tolerance <3

OML THESE POOR MEN

Aizawa Shouta

He knew you had a pretty good pain tolerance, but he didn't register just how high it was

He trusted you in battles, you knew how to fight, so after when you tap him on the shoulder, he wasn't that surprised.

He wasn’t prepared to see your head covered in blood

He didn't even know what to do, he just looked at you and asked what happened, while calling over the paramedics

“Oh, one of them hit me on the back of my head with a steel bar. It’s not that bad. Doesn't even hurt.”

Hit you?

On the back of the head?

WITH A STEEL BAR?

You weren't crying, did they damage your brain?

The paramedics determined that a piece of your skull was cracked and you should be taken to the hospital immediately

It was amazing you were even conscious

And ever since then every night Shouta “examines” you

Which is just interrogating you about how you feel and looking at every inch of your body

You always tell him that he worries to much

But he just has to make sure your ok all the time <3

Shigaraki Tomura

( i can’t explain how hot this man is)

He couldn’t believe it, his baby was dead.

He's a mess, has no clue what happened or how to help you.

“Tomu? Are you ok?”

What? You were just dead, he heard the crack, no one could survive a fall like that.

“I’m- I’m hallucinating aren’t i? I’m sorry I couldn’t help you I-”

“I’m not dead, I just need to go to the hospital or something like that”

It was like you were planning lunch, did he just imagine you falling?

“Tomu, don’t worry this happens a lot, I'm ok. Just let me try to walk”

A lot? You walk around with severe injuries like nothing happened?

Their doctor (who they kidnapped) said that you should even be alive considering the fall almost severed your spinal cord.

It took months for him to let you leave his sight.

This poor baby was so paranoid that you could be walking around fatally injured and not tell anyone because you didn't realize it was that bad.

Just let him take time to build up trust

But he still makes you tell him if ANYTHING feels slightly off.

Dabi / Touya Todoroki

I'm not here to spare feelings

This man will laugh at you.

Like really really loudly

I mean who the fuck falls off of a building?

Yeah that’s until you roll over and try to get up, man is shook

You don't even say anything, you just reached behind you to rub where you fell

“Oh, i think it’s broken. I should try to get to a hospital.” is it, that’s all they got.

You were acting like you were going to get lunch, he was fucking scared

“What? Did you hit your head doll? You just fucking fell off a building and your not even crying?

You just…….looked at him, “oh, it kinda hurts but it’s ok” yeah your back didn't say so.

You're, you're a monster. But he did get you to their little makeshift hospital, where they found that you broke 4 of your vertebrae.

After that little incident, Dabi was aware of your habit of not knowing if you're badly injured. So he watched out for you a little more, but when he’s in the middle of a fight that was harder than it looks.

Until after when you tap him on the shoulder a shallow chunk of your gut missing asking if he could take you to get help.

He, was so fucking in love with you.

His little pain monster <3

(this also means he will push you down stairs and see if you get hurt, in love or not he’s an asshole)

Hawks/ Keigo Tamaki

Ok so you probably won’t be falling off any buildings with him around

So I'm just going to say that a house collapsed on you.

Everyone saw the support beam fall directly on your back, and everyone heard your back get crushed

What everyone didn't think they saw was you getting up after they removed the beam

Unsurprisingly, Keigo was the first one to get to you, and he had picked you up as soon as he got a hand on you

“Oh! Hey Kei!” what, you- and- but

He was in disbelief, you were clearly hurt, this wasn't your quirk, you should be passed out, or at least crying

But, nothing.

Imma be honest, he thought it was cute!

But that didn't ease his worry

No no no

His mind was a mess

Has this happened before?

Have you been walking around hurt all the time?

How can you just act like this wasn’t happening?

From then on he made you text him any kind of activity you were doing

If your near him, just relaxing, he’ll grab you and start pressing on random spot asking if it hurts

He just really wants you to be safe <3

#keigo takami #keigo x you #hawks #hawks x reader #shouta aizawa #aizawa x reader #dabi #dabi headcanons #dabi x reader #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki headcanons #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #dabi x y/n #hawks x self insert

1K notes · View notes

bealtaineneedscoffee · 3 years

Text

trapped here, sinking in deeper | aizawa shouta

characters: aizawa shouta, you

warnings: possessive behavior, yandere themes, dubcon, manipulation

synopsis: this isn’t his usual reaction to your disobedience. Shouta may be stern, but you’d never seen him like this and maybe he’d seem calm and composed had you been a stranger, but you’re not. Months of your constant ignorance to his warnings had finally driven him off the deep end.

a/n: prisoner // raphael lake

It's late, very late, and even though you're exhausted, you can't sleep. Incessant thoughts blared loud in the quiet and still room. Shouta's words echo in your head. "It would do you good to finally heed my instructions. Stay inside the house." And there was silence after that until he spoke again. "You understand, right? You'd been lucky the past several incidents, the next you won't be."

That was just an advice. He's just worried, just anxious, and how you wished that you weren't just trying to convince yourself to think of it as just that but there was something in the way he said it, in the way he looked as the words dripped from his mouth that that was more of a warning than a piece of advice — an instruction you must obey .

And maybe you're thinking too much into it but maybe the paranoia's getting to him because you couldn't stay out of trouble, and you'd been in and out of medical care these past few months, and the circles had grown under his eyes. You're probably overthinking it but something tells you you're not.

It isn't unlikely for him to change. After all, he loves you and it's driving him to a certain point — one he shouldn't have to be pushed into but he loves you, and that's why he's...

You close your eyes, a futile attempt to clear your mind. You really, really shouldn't be thinking like this, so you push yourself off the bed to make your way out of the bedroom, out of the house.

It's past midnight and you haven't seen Shouta since he left to go on patrol. It should be fine to take a walk, to be somewhere else other than the cold, cramped space the house seemed to feel like when you're alone and thinking. He'll hate you for this and he'll scold you and that will be it. Just like how he's always been.

So you go out, eager to breathe.

The evening breeze is cold but it is far more tolerable than the kind offered by the house's AC and it is quiet in the streets but the silence isn't suffocating, at all. This, this is what you need.

You stroll around the neighborhood, trying to empty your mind of all the unnecessary thoughts, and once you're convinced you'd already calmed yourself down, you head back.

You reach for the knob only to notice it's been unlocked, and the unsettling feeling was back again. The door rattles as you enter, signaling that you'd been out at this hour and you'd just gotten back.

It's just Shouta, you tell yourself. He must have just gotten back from his patrol. He'll be on the couch, resting, or in the shower, washing the exhaustion away.

But he isn't. A few steps in and you see him in his usual bedraggled look, standing just outside the empty bedroom.

"Shouta..." you say as you stand there, like a deer caught in the headlights. He turns to you, and for a split second, you get a glimpse of a pair of glowing red orbs, and he doesn't say anything but you immediately feel your body tense under his gaze.

You're seeing things, you must be. So, you breathe again, to speak, to explain. "I just went out..." you take off your coat "to take a walk." and you close the gap between you two, just enough so you'd see him better.

"At this hour?" he asks, his voice low and controlled. "Why? Do you not understand that you are endangering yourself just by going out? Must I drill the words into your head?"

"What are you saying?" Questions start to flood your mind. "I'm here, I'm safe -"

You start to defend yourself but he cuts you off. "You're not safe." His scowl deepened. "Not when you're outside. Not when you're not with me."

It hits you like a brick to the face when you realized the implications of those words. But that's ridiculous. He wouldn't.

You try to move, to back away, anything, but his gaze had you glued in place. He looks tired. The word exhausted wouldn't accurately describe the horrendously debilitated state of his features. But you've known him long enough to know that despite that, he'll catch you if you try to run.

He unspools his scarf and you know you have to try and convince him again. "I am safe. I'm alive," your hand reaches for his face. "See? I'm not hurt." You try to smile for assurance. For him, for yourself.

You know he won't hurt you. He's too protective of you to even lay a single scratch on your body. But fear and anxiety had started to creep up your spine like an insect the moment you got a glimpse of those red irises and you know he won't hurt you, but you feel like every silent second is leading him closer and closer to the edge and he will snap and he will --

"Yes," A hand grabs you by the wrist and something hits you. "And it will stay that way."

Then, you blackout.

When you awoke, you were begging. "You can't keep me here, you can't." Your voice breaks and croaks as you pace around, and Shouta only stares at you while he leans against the door of the bedroom, blocking any hope of getting away. At least he hasn't tied you up. Yet.

Shouta knows you have a life outside of all these. He knows that. But he doesn't know how much more he can take. Of finding you broken and on the edge of death.

He can't go through that again. Not another loss. No, this time, he will protect what is his. No matter what it takes.

"I told you, you can't keep breaking yourself" His voice is rough. "I had to do something... You urged me to. I just want you to stay safe" He pushes himself off the door to come to you, his scarf in one hand.

"Shouta, please." You beg again, desperate. He didn't want to do this. And he's tried to control himself but he loves you and this is better than you dying.

His scarf grabs at you and wraps around your neck, arms and chest, pulling you down to the bed and bounding you there. He crawls on top of you, brushing a stray hair to the side of your face and he feels you tremble underneath his fingertips. "I don't understand." You stare up at him. "This isn't you."

There was a pause, before he huffs out a low, sarcastic laugh. "Are you that oblivious to the constant state of worrying you put me in?" He tugs on the scarf.

"You keep breaking and breaking" His fingertips lightly caress your pale visage, like you're something soft and fragile.

His eyes are bloodshot - you notice, and you bite your lip, trying to ignore the welling guilt that seeps like poison in your gut. It's still hard to admit it, that the reason why he's becoming like this is you.

"And by some miracle, you recover, then you act as though you weren't just on the verge of death " His hands start to wander around your body and he lowers himself down to kiss you before pulling away.

"I love you" he says, needing you to know that. He kisses you again, this time deeper and rougher. And you could feel his touch become more desperate as it continues to brush against your cold flesh. As if he's trying to assure himself that you're here, alive, and whole. Yes, this method is wrong and yes, he is selfish, but he does love you.

And you love him back. You know this. He knows this.

As he continues to kiss and bite and caress your skin, you feel the fight in your body leaves you just a little more. You should say something, something sharp and snap him out of it. Instead, you mewl and moan against him, repeatedly reciting a broken version of his name, egging him to touch you more.

He spreads your thighs and they open invitingly. And you're going to hate yourself for the next few days, weeks, months but you give in to him.

You shouldn't, but you do.

#from the archive #letters to persephones #yandere #yandere aizawa #aizawa shouta #bnha aizawa #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #i hope you like it #tw: yandere #manipulation

270 notes · View notes

fromthedeskofelizabeththird · 3 years

Text

In the Middle

One of your boyfriends tries to rile up the other.

You get caught in the middle in more ways than one.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Explicit, minors BE GONE

Trigger Warnings: None really

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

There were pros and cons to having two boyfriends.

You fought a never ending battle pulling hair from the shower drain. You had double the texts to reply to; double the calls to return. No matter how comfortable you were when you fell asleep, you always woke up with a crick in your neck and someone’s elbow in your face.

Hizashi craved attention more than oxygen and sulked if he felt even slightly neglected. He spent just as much time chasing kisses as he did styling his hair. He sang in the shower, the bathtub, the rain and was only too eager to drag one or both of you in for a duet. You learned the hard way not to stand next to him in front of the bathroom mirror, for he would bump his hips against yours until you sang along to the radio with him and you’d ended up with eyeliner halfway across your face more than once.

He would spend the day pouting if no one gave him a good morning kiss and drew smiley faces in ketchup if left to plate up at dinner. He was a handful and a terrible influence; the polar opposite of your other boyfriend in every possible way.

Shouta was neither loud nor demanding. He could go days without talking, much less singing, and was happiest dozing off on the couch with his head in someone’s lap. His affections were subtle and easy to miss, while the emotions behind them were anything but. He met you halfway when you reached out to touch him and smiled in his sleep if you kissed him on the forehead. He would complain if you wriggled into his arms while he was working, but rearrange his position to accommodate you nonetheless.

Hizashi needed attention, while Shouta rarely sought it and nine times out of ten you and Hizashi were the ones who did all of the seducing.

Today was no exception to that particular rule.

Summer had hit Musutafu seemingly overnight. It was too hot to sleep or even snuggle on the couch. All you seemed to do lately was curl up on the floor in front of the electric fan in as many clothes as you could bear, while Hizashi stood on the balcony in a tank and shorts, stretching like a cat and mopping the sweat from his brow. It was too hot for leather and too humid for hairspray- sacrifices he had had to make, but was far from happy about.

Shouta remained relatively unchanged. He still went out at night to patrol the streets and continued to plan classes on his laptop on the couch, changing into thinner clothes, but remaining otherwise unaffected.

He was on his laptop, in fact, on this day in particular, drafting out a plan for 1-A’s future training exercises. In the meantime, Hizashi had opened up the box of popsicles you’d been keeping in the freezer and the pair of you took turns in front of the electric fan.

It was only a matter of time before the quiet, heat and lack of attention got to Hizashi and he had rested his head on your lap, golden hair splayed across your thighs. At first it was enough to snake one of his hands under your shirt and cup your breast, but before long that too lost its appeal. He shot side glances at Shouta every so often, sighing and running his tongue over the popsicle.

And so it was you found yourself caught in a battle of wills.

Hizashi waited for Shouta to look over before touching his tongue to the ice. If his gaze lasted longer than a couple of seconds, Hizashi would curl his tongue. Shouta made a point to catch his eye and not react.

Both sides were too stubborn to cave and, as usual, it fell to you to break the tension.

You took the popsicle from Hizashi and leaned back, running your own tongue over the ice. It was on the verge of melting and syrup dripped onto your shirt, causing you to gasp most theatrically and pull the shirt away from your body as if it wasn’t in the least bit planned. At first Hizashi had pouted when you stole his popsicle, but now he was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“It’s rude to take things without asking, (Name),” he said, sitting up. “The least you can do is share.”

You held out the popsicle and he sucked at the end, leaning back to allow you to do the same. You made sure to moan far louder than was necessary, as if it was something far less innocent than a popsicle.

“Ahhh, it’s getting all over my mouth,” you said, wiping the syrup from your lips and chin. “What am I going to do?”

“I can help with that,” said Hizashi, seconds before grazing his lips over yours, checking to see if Shouta was watching before deepening the kiss.

His lips were cold and he tasted of mangoes, the same flavour as the popsicle you’d been sharing. It was sweet, but the realisation that Shouta had stopped typing was far sweeter.

Shouta didn’t seek attention out, that much was true, but he sure as shit hated being left out of the action.

~~~~~

It was only a matter of time before you ended up on your hands and knees in the bedroom. You dug your nails into the bedcovers as Hizashi gripped your hips and took you from behind, all while Shouta bunched your hair in his hands, kneeling in front of you and thrusting into your mouth.

You barreled forward every time Hizashi slammed his hips into yours, moaning from the sensation of his dick hitting the one spot that made your toes curl.

The sounds Shouta was making were obscene. The vibrations of your moans against his dick combined with the way each thrust sent it deeper down your throat left him trembling. He could do little more than hold onto your hair and even then his hands were shaking.

Hizashi was absurdly quiet, all things considered, though you couldn’t turn your head to see why. You got your answer when he made a wet sound behind you and let out a moan, something icy landing on the small of your back.

“Hizashi...are you...are you still eating the popsicle?”

“No.”

More syrup landed on your back.

“Maybe.”

You heard the smack of his lips as he put it back in his mouth only moments before he took up such an ungodly pace that you took Shouta’s cock into your hand and jerked him off, grabbing onto the bed covers so tightly that your knuckles went white. The tension inside of you was too much to bear. You felt like you were going to explode.

You squeezed your eyes shut and squealed as you came undone, mind falling blank and legs shaking. It was like an electric shock burning through your core, leaving you unable to do anything but absorb each pulse.

Hizashi slowed down to enjoy the feel of you cumming on his dick, but the reprieve lasted only a few short moments. He guided you down onto the bed and over onto your back, shifting positions with Shouta, who lifted your knees over his shoulders.

He didn't have remotely the same stamina as Hizashi. You doubted any human did. He was, however, girthier and only too happy to torment you with it. He took you slow and deep, dragging sighs from your lips at the overstimulation. You were still having aftershocks from cumming the first time and saw stars each time his hips hit yours.

You turned your head to lick the tip of Hizashi’s dick, matching the pressure and speed of Shouta’s thrusts. Hizashi sucked in a deep breath, leaning over to grab Shouta by the hair and moan into his mouth.

The first time you had ever had sex with Hizashi, he shattered every window in your apartment building. You had laughed it off as an earthquake, though got the feeling no one believed you.

You had learned the hard way that he was loud when he came and the easiest way to prevent it was to stifle the sound before it could leave his lips, be it with a gag, by sitting on his face, preoccupying him with a blowjob or, as was the case now, with kissing.

You lay on your back and watched them nip at each other’s lips, waves of pleasure rushing through you. You were glad Shouta was holding onto your legs, for it felt as if the bones had left your body.

Hizashi was the next to come, whimpering into Shouta’s kisses as his dick twitched. He sat up and gave himself a final couple of tugs before spilling over your chest. Shouta followed suit, sitting up onto his knees and coming across your stomach.

Double the boyfriends, you considered fleetingly, double the mess.

~~~~

You stayed in bed for at least an hour after that, catching your breath and basking in the afterglow. It was still unbearably hot and no one was particularly enthusiastic about putting on clothes, even though the heat from one other’s bodies swiftly overpowered any relief from the electric fan.

“Why is it that whenever you two have shenanigans I end up in the middle?”

You could hear the fatigue in your own voice; the perfect compliment to how heavy your eyelids felt.

“I thought you liked being in the middle,” said Hizashi, only to squeak as you poked him in the ribs.

“I suppose I should take a bath,” you groaned, peeling Shouta’s arms from your waist and untangling your legs from Hizashi’s.

Your legs were more than a little floppy, but you disguised it by dropping to your knees to pick up your discarded clothes.

“(Name),” said Shouta, “wait.”

You turned to him, heart fluttering. Ordinarily he tolerated hugs at best, but on the rare occasions you managed to keep him awake after sex he was the biggest cuddler you’d ever met.

Maybe he wanted you to go back to bed.

Maybe he wanted to join you in the bath.

“Yes?”

“You’re blocking the fan.”

You turned to the fan behind you, heart sinking.

“And they say romance is dead,” you muttered, stepping out of the room.

Hizashi and Shouta closed their eyes, enjoying the feel of the cool air against their exposed skin. The peaceful moment was soon over, though, for seconds later you slipped your arm back through the doorway and flicked the off switch.

“Hey!!”

“(Name)!”

“Switch it back on, switch it back on!”

“Make me,” you said, sticking out your tongue and closing the door behind you.

“Oooooh,” Hizashi huffed, climbing out of bed. “When I catch you…”

He ran out of the bedroom and chased you through the apartment, paying little heed to the fact that you were both as naked as the day you were born.

Shouta turned over onto his side and fluffed his pillow.

He could sleep through just about anything; a fire alarm...hot weather...

...and, apparently, the sound of his two idiot lovers spraying one another with water.

#erasermic x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #present mic x reader #hizashi yamada x reader #erasermic #eraserhead x present mic

251 notes · View notes

echo-of-sounds · 4 years

Text

adhd

How Aizawa, Toshinori, and Hizashi would help and support their s/o who as ADHD.

Warnings: nothing incredibly explicit, but a couple of these talk about sex

Aizawa Shouta

Overstimulation is hard to explain to someone who’s never experienced it. The TV, that lavender candle, the taste of tomatoes, your own hair touching your shoulder overwhelms you to the point you’re crying. Every noise is too loud. Every smell makes you feel like throwing up. Anything that touches you scrapes your skin. Every sensation is just too much.

Aizawa pays attention to anything specific that may trigger you. That lavender candle that’s too strong? He’ll throw it away. Loud restaurants or sand on the beach? Eh, he doesn’t like going out that much anyway. He’ll ask what you can tolerate and will change his shampoo, detergent, or whatever else to help you, even if it needs to be odorless. He isn’t picky so the change is easy. He’ll also come up with a nonverbal signal for you to use. Like when you walk by that store that always smells like someone poured out a thousand perfume bottles. Squeeze his shoulder and he’ll lead you someplace safe.

He isn’t bothered by fidgeting, squirming, or overall restlessness. He’s been around Hizashi most of his life and now he’s a teacher. That stuff doesn’t faze him anymore. However, if you’re a pen clicker or a beat tapper, he may snap at you once or twice. Sometimes he just wants a silent room after a long day and hearing those noises could easily set him off. He’d apologize after but will also ask if you could find something else to fidget with, something that doesn’t make noise. When you keep going back to clicking and tapping because it’s mindless, he’ll buy you multiple fidget toys that are quiet.

He likes to think he’s pretty good handling mood swings since he can control most of his emotions quite well. But the keyword is most. His anger and frustration flare up every now and then. It all depends on his stress level and how tired he is. So when you can’t pass a level on that stupid phone game or when the bread tie is on wrong and it ignites your anger so much that you lash out to a simple question he asked, he might just snap back. An argument could brew quickly even though you aren’t actually mad at each other.

It’s in your best interest to take some time to calm down and gather your thoughts. When you’ve relaxed, you’ll have to be the one to approach him. He won’t since you snapped first and wants you to have space. He also won’t know when you’ve calmed. You’ll find him stewing on the couch with his little pouty face. After some apologies, he’s fine. He understands you have difficulty managing emotions. He just wishes you wouldn’t take your anger out on him.

He really tries not to get frustrated with your trouble focusing and poor planning/time management. He has to keep reminding himself it’s something you struggle with- everyone has things they struggle with. But you can hear his heavy sigh as he repeats himself for the fifth time this conversation. You don’t need to apologize. He knows you did nothing wrong. His sigh is more out of exhaustion than anything. More patience is something he’ll learn for you.

Hypersensitivity is somewhat daunting to Shouta when it comes to sex. He’s generally rough, fast, and quiet in the bedroom, often without realizing. It’s his go-to setting. If he ever looked up and saw you crying because his fingers and tongue hurt, he’d feel uncertain of himself next time. To help you, he'll train himself to go slower and be gentler. He’ll also start talking more during sex to be more open with you.

Yagi Toshinori

Chores and tasks can be difficult to remember. You’ll look right at the pile dishes and not notice it. Or you’ll say you’ll do them then forget for three days. Toshi won’t get frustrated. Instead, he’ll place bright sticky notes with reminders where he knows you will see them: on your laptop, bag, pillow, or shoes.

He’ll learn other ways to work with you. Any appointments go in your phone calendar with notifications on so you can’t ignore them. Whenever you get home, keys and wallet are placed on the counter in their designated spot. Since he has to plan his meals, he’ll set a dinner schedule for you so you don’t forget to eat. If something works, he’ll have you keep doing it. Soon, it’s part of your everyday routine and you do it without thinking.

He’s the best when it comes to handling emotions. After working as a Hero for so long, he’s built up a tolerance to people lashing out. However, if he’s having a bad day, specifically one where he’s insecure, one quick snap from you would upset him deeply. He won’t reply. He doesn’t want to fight. But he will recoil, leaving you alone. Find him when you’ve gathered yourself. If he’s ready to talk, apologize and explain why you were frustrated so he knows it wasn’t about him. Also cuddle him. He could use it.

Any fidgeting or clicking he’s fine with. It’s when you start to pull strings from your clothing, bend and twist something so much it breaks, or pick at your skin, that his concern rises. He doesn’t want you ruining anything, especially yourself. When he sees you fidgeting in a way that’s not exactly good, he’ll hold your hand, either to stop you completely or to let you play with his fingers. It’ll become second nature to him- every time you mindlessly pick at yourself, he’ll mindlessly reach for your hand.

If you’re ever out in public and become overstimulated, he’ll give you his jacket. It’s comfortable. It’s heavy. And it smells like him. He’ll let you wear it and direct you towards a quieter area to sit for a while. If he can’t leave with you, because he is All Might and does attract a lot of attention, he’ll drape it over your shoulders and tell you to go find someplace to rest while he talks to the people swarming you. He’ll find you after and ask what you want to do.

The ebb and flow of your sex drive isn’t a problem for him. During the times where sex has no appeal to you because it’s too many sensations at once, he takes care of himself. When you are in the mood, he’s very aware of your sensitivities. His hands remain light as they run over your skin. His fingers slip tenderly into you. His tongue is gentle with every lick.

Reaching orgasm is another struggle that’s beyond frustrating. You’re aroused, enjoying every sensation, almost there, then your mind is somewhere else entirely and you’ve lost the build-up. Any accommodations to help you focus, such as a dim room with no noise, he’ll do it. It’ll also let him hear every small sound that comes from you, creating a more intimate moment. It also helps that he loves foreplay- cuddling, kissing, caressing, anything he can get. It relaxes your body, making you in tune with intimacy rather than just reaching your orgasm.

Yamada Hizashi

Hizashi is a physical person. He loves hugging and cuddling. He also loves to talk and sing. All are great qualities by themselves. But if you’re prone to overstimulation, the constant noise and touching can be difficult to manage. Especially since he does it without thinking or telling you- he’ll all of a sudden plop down on your lap or hold your waist or start whistling right next to your ear. If he ever set you off, even if it was an accident, he’d feel terrible. He’ll begin to ask if you’re okay for some cuddling and he’ll tune down the volume of his singing. It might take some time however since he’s always done it without thinking.

Anything that helps you, he’ll buy. Seriously, he’ll buy you so much friggin’ stuff. Blankets, fidget toys, puzzle boxes, candles you find soothing, soft towels, the list goes on. You’ll need to tell him to stop when he brings home a ninth weighted blanket. He might protest and pout a little, saying he just loves you and wants you to know that. Explain that you do, in fact, love him and everything he does but there’s only so many anxiety bracelets one can wear before their arm weighs ten pounds. At least he uses the toys and blankets as well so it isn’t a waste.

You don’t need to hide your excitement and knowledge. If you want to ramble about the differences between Homotherium, Smilodon, and Dinofelis Hizashi will listen with a giant smile on his face even though he has no idea what you’re talking about. He’ll ask questions just to keep you talking because he adores seeing you so excited about and immersed in a subject. In his free time, he’ll look up whatever you were talking about so he can follow along better. And when you’re done, expect him to start venting about a new band he found or some weird instrument he really wants to get.

Being impulsive and blurting out your thoughts before someone else gets to finish their sentence can be annoying to some. It’s not to Hizashi. He does it too and understands that sometimes your mouth starts moving before your brain can consider if it was a good idea. Your conversations are a lot of back and forth babbling while the original context gets lost.

Disorganized? Cluttered? He’s right there with you. To keep your place from getting absolutely chaotic you will need to set aside days for cleaning. It’ll go great until you get distracted by the book you haven’t seen for ten years. And he’ll join you, playing the harmonica he thought he lost.

The desire for or needs during sex can suddenly change. That sex position you loved two days ago could be overstimulating today. Be open with him about where you don’t like being touched and whenever you feel too stimulated. He’s mindful and will focus on all the places you love. And since he likes talking during sex, he’s always checking if you’re comfortable with whatever position you’re in. If he sees your focus shifting, he’ll bring you back with deep kisses and a few tickles to your sides.

You know what? When you think about it, he probably has ADHD as well. Good luck trying to keep each other on track.

#aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #all might #all might x reader #yagi toshinori #toshinori x reader #present mic #present mic x reader #yamada hizashi #yamada hizashi x reader #aizawa headcanons #all might headcanons #present mic headcanons #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons

1K notes · View notes

cheeriecherry · 4 years

Note

Ty for answering that -w- I wanted to make sure of your comfort zones before I asked this. What are your HC for when some of our favorite UA teachers realize they have a thing for a student (who they may or may not have realized have a crush on them back)

Ofc! I should make an official list of thing I’m comfy writing/uncomfy writing <:3c

Anyhoo! I’m assuming our fav teachers are the same, but in case not, this post includes Aizawa, Yamada, and Yagi!

Warnings: Depictions of student x teacher! This is a work of fiction, and in no way represents how I feel about the matter irl. Please read at your own discretion.

AIZAWA SHOUTA|ERASERHEAD

-He has an ‘oh fuck’ moment XD

-At first you were just one of his most tolerable students; kind, hardworking, level headed. He sees a lot of potential in you, so he does his best to train you well.

-You have a habit of always wishing him a good afternoon when class is over and you’re headed out the door. He keeps a straight face, but deep down he finds it charming that you always take the time to say goodbye.

-Probably doesn’t realize how deep his feelings for you actually run until you’re older, maybe a second or third year. You come back to his classroom after summer break, and the moment you walk in the door, laughing with a few friends, his heart clenches in his chest. It fucks him up for the rest of the lesson.

-I think he’d let it stew for a while, anger and shame pressing at the back of his mind. Every day he sees you he falls deeper, whether you’re laughing and smiling with friends, or concentrating hard while studying, or even just meandering around the campus. Everything about you draws him in.

-He’d never act on his feelings, not while you’re a student. Besides the fact that he could lose his job if you got caught, he wouldn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize your future. He cares about you too much, and you’ve worked too hard to have it ruined.

-Until he notices you staring at him in class. The moment he catches your eye, you look away and pretend to be interested in something else, but that specific moment sticks out in his mind. It’s the first of many.

-Sometimes you fluster when you get caught looking at him, other times you’re so lost in thought that you don’t even realize he figured you out. It’s usually when you’re daydreaming that Aizawa gets a good look at you; pretty features, soft skin, cute lips wrapped around the end of your pencil as you think about him-

-The moment the bell sings and everyone starts leaving for the day, he beckons you over. Probably sprouts some kind of nonsense about how you’re distracted in class, and how you need to pay more attention or your grades will start to suffer. It’s complete bullshit, but coming from him it sounds serious.

-At least, it would to anyone else but you.

-You sit on the edge of his desk, leaning back casually and swinging your legs, and you look at him in a way that almost makes him feel like prey.

- “If my grades suffer, you could always give me some extra credit~” you say with a coy smile.

He’s deadpan as always when he replies, “Your grades haven’t dipped. Not yet, at least. This is a warning, Y/N.”

You pout a little, and sigh. You’re obviously dejected about something, but he’s got no idea why you’d be sad about having good grades...

“Pity,” you mumble, “a private tutoring session could have been fun.”

-You slide off his desk and make your way towards the door, and only then does it click for him. You like him, the same way he likes you.

-He calls out to you right before you slide the door open, and motions you back over. You huff and do as he says, and move to sit back on his desk, but just as you’re getting settled, he reaches forward and pulls you into his lap. It feels a little awkward at first, while you squirm and get comfortable, but once you find a good seat it’s actually pretty comfortable.

-You’ve got an arm tossed over his shoulders, and you’re leaning against his chest with your face tucked up by his neck. He resists a shudder at the feeling of your warm breath against his skin, instead looping an arm around your waist to keep you steady.

- “You’ve been flirting with me,” he says, and it’s not a question.

He can feel a smile break out across your face, before your lips press tenderly against his throat. “I have been for the past eight months, but thanks for noticing.”

He deadpans and pinches your thigh gently, earning a muffled squeak from you, a noise he decides he likes very much.

-But the overall question looms over him. What to do now? He didn’t want to put your future at risk, not to simply sate his own desires. He loved you too much to do that to you.

- “We can’t do this,” he says, and he feels you freeze against him. “Not yet, at least.” He feels you relax.

“I figured as much,” you grumble, but there’s no malice in your tone. “I’m gonna wait for you, you know that, right? The moment I graduate, I’m jumping you. I see the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching; you want me just as much as I want you.”

-He doesn’t deny it, simply holds you tighter.

-You smile softly and take his face in your hands. “If it’s gonna be a while until we can do this again, then...a kiss for the road?”

-It’s sweet, and warm, and a little bit desperate. It’s been a long time since he’s had anyone with him like this, and you’re spectacularly warm and pliant. It’s not a kiss he’ll soon forget, and will only serve to make you both yearn for more, but it’s worth it to feel your lips against his.

-You keep things on the down low after that, sneaking conversations here and there and whenever you can. He gives you his phone number in case you ever need anything, but you mostly use it to send him cat memes and suggestive texts.

-He scolds you every single time, but you both know his heart isn’t in it.

-He takes you out on an official date not three days after your graduate.

YAMADA HIZASHI|PRESENT MIC

-Unlike Aizawa, he does not have an ‘oh fuck’ moment. His feelings for you culminate slowly, and he’s quite aware of them, just the same as he’s aware of your feelings.

-He notices your lingering glances, small smiles, and cheerful greetings whenever he’s around. You’re not obvious about it, not being more than friendly from everyone else’s point of view, but he’s perceptive, especially when it comes to people.

-A little piece of him hopes you get over your crush on him, so that he in turn could get over you too, but the big emotions part of his heart wants you to keep loving him in hopes that he might have you some day.

-He tries rationalizing it when he’s on his own, telling himself that he’s really not that much older than you, and that he’s seen larger age gaps, and that after you graduate you’ll just be another hero. He knows he shouldn’t be harboring such strong feelings for one of his students, which is why he doesn’t tell anyone, but he figures that as long as he doesn’t act on it then no one will get hurt.

-But it’s very hard. By the time you’re in your third year, you’re openly flirting with him. He doesn’t necessarily encourage it, but he doesn’t dissuade it either. If anyone ever questions him on the matter, he’ll say that he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings or embarrass you so it’s best to let you work through your feelings on your own.

-He absolutely plays favourites, though. He only calls on you in class when he knows you know the answer to something, and always offers helpful advice about your classes when he’s able to. Some of your classmates grumble about ‘special treatment’ but none of them take it any further than that.

-It all comes to a head one rainy afternoon when he finds you curled up under a tree, looking very, very sad. He hasn’t got anywhere to be, but even if he did, he’d still come over. You’re still his student, even on weekends, and he cares about you a lot.

-You’re surprised when the rain suddenly stops dripping on you, and you look up to find Yamada holding an umbrella over your head, while the rain starts to soak him. You scold him lightly, complaining that you’re already wet so it doesn’t matter if you don’t have an umbrella. He has none of it though, and offers a hand to you.

-He pulls you to your feet and carefully arranges the umbrella so you’re both under it, and after a couple beats of silence, he finally asks what’s got you looking so down.

-You fidget a little, chewing your lip in consideration and wringing your hands. But you’re almost a graduate, you tell yourself, so it shouldn’t matter now if he knows. You’re pretty certain he likes you back, anyways, but on the off chance he doesn’t, you can cope with a month or so of awkwardness.

-You sigh deeply, and explain to him that your classmates were teasing the shit out of your earlier, on a subject that is very near and dear to your heart. You’d had enough of their antics, so you’d left to dorms to get some fresh air, and it had started raining. You’d hoped to get some respite beneath a tree, to no avail.

-He looks you up and down quickly, just now fully realizing how soaked you were. Your clothes cling to your skin in a way he never sees you dress, and it’s a little unsettling how something so mundane gets his heart racing.

-But he pushes through, and rests a hand on your shoulder, going on about how other people’s opinions can hurt but ultimately don’t matter, and that it’s most important how you feel about yourself. He tells you that you’re deserving of kindness and respect, and praises you lightly for being his favourite student and a bright young hero.

-Less than two seconds after he finishes speaking, your lips are on his. Soft and damp, and your fingertips are cool against his jaw where you’re holding him, but he doesn’t mind. Not in the slightest. He drops the umbrella in lieu of gripping at your hips, pulling you flush against him so he can kiss you back.

-You stay there for a few moments, rain soaking further and further into your clothes as your lips mold and slide against each other. He has half a mind to push you back against the nearest surface and deepen the kiss, but he remember that you’re still in public, and you’re still his student.

-He pulls away slowly, grinning inwardly when he sees how breathless and hazy you are. He presses one last kiss against your nose, before he’s grabbing the umbrella off the ground and tugging you along.

- “That can’t happen again,” he tells you, “Not while you’re still a student here. Okay?”

You begrudgingly agree, even though you know it’s for the best. you really do love him, and you don’t want him to lose his job -or worse- over something like this.

“Understood,” you mumble sadly. “I’ll try to get over it, and I’ll stop flirting with you in class.”

-He tilts his head slightly, a questioning gesture, and gently laces his fingers with yours. Just once, out here in the rain, where no one can see.

“I said ‘while you’re a student’,” his tone is playful. “Sweetheart, the moment you graduate, I’m wining and dining you like it’s nobody’s business.”

-Your heart soars after that, and your anticipation for what’s to come makes your last month of school -and your friends’ teasing- more bearable. That, and the fact that you get to text him whenever you feel like, and how your sweet private conversations. He chides you when you get too lewd about something, either in your words or in photos you send him, and tells you to be patient.

-By the time you graduate, you’re just about ready to say fuck it and dive on him, but he beats you to the punch. After the official ceremony, he scoops you up and spins you around a couple times, asking you how it feels to be an official hero.

-You simply kiss him.

YAGI TOSHINORI|ALL MIGHT

-Most concerned out of the bunch. He’s got one hell of an image to uphold, and he never wants to put any of his students in harms way. He probably notices really early on the way his heart flutters around you, the way his stomach twists up in knots when he hears you laugh, the way it’s hard to breathe when he watches you train. Ngl, it scares him a bit.

-Having feelings like that is one thing, but having feelings like that for a student? That’s got bad news written all over it. And it’s especially bad when he realizes you don’t treat him like you do your other teachers; you’re kinder, softer, more interested in lessons.

-Sure, you could just think he was a good teacher, but he’s had many a people crushing on him over the years, so he knows the signs. You like him.

-He hides himself away from you at first, keeping you at an arms length, a curt distance, a professional ways away. He realizes that he may be coming off a little harshly towards you, often keeping any one on one time to a minimum and overlooking you in class.

-You thought he felt bad for liking you? Look how shitty he feels when he realizes he’s made you sad. The day you seek him out after class and ask him why he dislikes you so much, it feels like someone has stepped on his heart and ground it into the pavement with their heel.

-The way you hold yourself to appear smaller and less threatening, the way you avoid his gaze like you’re afraid of his judgement. He decides then and there to be honest with you. You’re almost done your second year in school, so you’re a little more mature, a little more capable of handling what he has to tell you.

-And tell you he does. He explains the way you make him happy, how he enjoys your company, how your smile warms his heart. He also tells you about the guilt he feels for looking at a student in such a way, and how he wouldn’t be offended if you never wanted to speak with him again.

-You, of course, have not been subtle about your feelings towards him. Strange as the situation is, it’s comforting to know he thinks of you the same way. You take his hand gently, marveling a little at how it dwarfs yours, and assure him that you don’t think less of him, even if he thinks you should.

-You can tell that he’s genuine and serious about having feelings for you. You’d never want to put him at risk for anything, so you quietly ask him if he’d be willing to wait for you, until you graduate. After that, you’ll no longer be his student, there’ll no longer be any risk associated with your relationship, and you can be together.

-He’s got his reservations still, but you talk about it more throughout the months, convincing him by the beginning of your third year to pursue something more after you finish school. Once that’s decided, he finds it difficult to keep you at an appropriate distance, but he does his best. From time to time he’ll keep you after class to ask how things are going, how you’re doing, etc. almost always ending with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

-From the outside, it looks like you’ve patched up whatever hole was formed between you, with only the two of you sharing knowing and longing glances across the room. He tutors you and gives you extra lessons when he’s able to, wanting to make sure you come out of this with as much skill as possible.

-The year is long and every day is more difficult that the last, but the weekend after you graduate, the two of you are curled up on his couch watching a movie after eating dinner, sharing sweet kisses and basking in each other’s presence.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #eraserhead x reader #yamada hizashi x reader #present mic x reader #yagi toshinori x reader #all might x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #Anonymous

375 notes · View notes

justanotherlifeff · 4 years

Note

If you're not comfortable with this, it's okay to skip. Aizawa has feelings for an "old soul" type of student in her last year at UA (so they're 18), but doesn't want to act on it for obvious reasons. She's had a crush on him since day 1 but respects him too much and doesn't want to get him in trouble. He shadows her on her first real mission and she gets hit with a quirk that makes her horny af, and is a poison that can only be expelled via lots of sex, so he has to "help" her or she'll die.

Urges

Hehehehe guess who's also 18 and a simp for Aizawa sensei? 😏😏😏

Warning: NSFW, Smut, age gap, Teacher-Student stuff

Guilty was one way to put how Aizawa felt when he found himself checking you out yet again in class. You were the embodiment of perfection. You were smart, matured, quiet, you liked cats as much as he did, and ofcourse, you were the mom friend to all the rowdy students in his god forsaken class. Yes, that exactly was the only thing holding him back (besides the huge age gap). You were his student. Sure, you weren’t one of the big 3 in your class like Mirio, Nejire and Tamaki because your quirk wasn’t as strong as theirs. However, you were infact the one in class to get top grades in tests. Infact, you even helped Aizawa grade papers since you somehow understood the barely legible handwriting of some of the people in this class. You were this little ball of sunshine, bringing a bento for the students who always forgot to bring any, keeping everyone out of trouble, tutoring anyone who you felt was having a hard time studying... Hell, it seemed like your schoolbag had everything that a person could need in it. Anyone forgot a pen? Ask (Y/N). Anyone forgot their umbrella? Ask (Y/N). Anyone forgot to even bring themselves to school? ASK (Y/N) CAUSE SHE'LL PERSONALLY TAKE THEIR NOTES HOME AND GIVE THEM A LECTURE ABOUT MISSING CLASS unless they are sick. In that case, she'll take a bento full of healthy food. The entire class saw (Y/N) as this motherly figure who pretty much dealt with their problems on a daily basis with a smile. Aside from your extreme maturity, you were extremely creative beyond your age. When Present Mic was struggling to make the class read basic Shakespeare, you were already quoting Jane Austen's pride and prejudice, something that was not even in the syllabus. Needless to say, you shared various intellectual conversations with Aizawa while the two of you graded papers as the grumpy man also happened to have an interest on literature. While your friends went out to do random shit together, you were the one staying back home because ofcourse, messing around in random amusement parks wasn’t your thing. You liked staying in the background like an adult, watching the kids have their fun and guiding them. Could you really blame Aizawa for falling in love with you?

Then again, you were his student. That made all the perfects imperfections because he shouldn’t be looking at you this way. Little did he know that his feelings weren’t one sided. You had a crush on your teacher ever since you stepped into UA. Did you feel guilty about it? Yes, yes you did. Did you ever think of confessing to him? No, no you didn't. You were okay with loving him from a distance because you knew that you would only create trouble for him if you were to come out about your feelings. However, you couldn’t help but show that you cared through certain gestures. You'd go out of your way to help him grade papers so that he would get a few extra hours of sleep. Every morning, you'd buy an extra cup of coffee or his favorite jello drink for him on your to school just to make his day more tolerable. You never expected him to return your feelings, however. He was your teacher after all. This was wrong after all.

Things were going fine to be honest. Both of you admired eachother from afar, knowing that confessing wouldn’t lead to anything good either way. That was until you were sent on a mission for your work studies. Your employer was busy with a different mission and your quirk was compatible against the villain you had to capture which is why, you were sent alone, much to Aizawa's displeasure. It wasn’t that he didn't believe in you because he did. He knew that you were strong but you were still a student. You didn’t have the experience that a pro hero had and they didn't even consider the fact that there may be unprecedented situations. Hence, he found himself staring at you more than often, trying to memorize every inch of you visible to him so that if something goes wrong he'd atleast... No. Nothing was going to go wrong. Not when he had something to do about it.

Hence, after class was over, Aizawa found himself following you discreetly, making sure that you didn't notice him. Aizawa was excellent at hiding his presence since that was the type of hero he was, which is why, you had no clue that he was following you. You followed the plan laid out by your employer flawlessly and almost caught the villain until a second party decided to show up. Aizawa recognized the other villain from his hiding spot. She had been wanted for quite long time however, before Aizawa got out of his hiding place to aid you, the villain had already used her quirk on you. Now that Aizawa had to choose between going after the escaping villains or checking on you, he did the latter since that's what a doting teacher who totally didn't have feelings for a certain student would do.

You were panting on the ground, your hands gripping the fabric of your hero costume near your thighs tightly as you were avoiding Aizawa's gaze. "(L/N), are you alright? How do you feel?" Aizawa asked you, worried. You tried to answer to him but you only managed to let out a patheric whimper. Only if you could stop how horny his voice was making you... Your whimper suddenly reminded the erasure hero of the certain villain's quirk. Cupping your face with one hand to make you look at him, he met with an extremely flushed expression from you along with lust blown eyes. The view before him did nothing but create a certain straining inside his pants. The villain's quirk made people horny, he recalled. Not having sex would make their body overheat and cause a complete organ failure, he remembered.

"S-sensei... I can't... I'm sorry..." you half whimpered half moaned as you hugged your teacher, desperate for any form of touch at this point. You couldn’t help it. His musky scent was way, way morr prominent to you now and your body was betraying your mind relentlessly. "Shhh (L/N)... It's gonna be alright. We need to get out of this alley first though..." Aizawa muttered, a small amount of pink dusting his cheeks. He was at loss on what he should do at this point. He knew that there was no other way out of it without you having sex at some point. Was he okay with you doing the deed with someone else all while he was aware of it? A selfish part of him told him that no, he wasn’t okay with it. Honestly, this was the perfect opportunity for him to get a taste of you. If things got out, he could tell everyone that he did it to save you. If you didn't return his feelings, this would be that one chance at ravishing you.

Shouta Aizawa was a good teacher and an honourable man at most parts. However, he didn’t hesitate in being selfish when his actions clearly wouldn’t hurt anyone. Which is why, he took you to his home. On his way, in the cab he hired, he explained the quirk of the villain to you. You tried staying normal as you constantly held hid hand, squeezing tightly as your horniness only increased drastically. By the time you reached his home, your legs were shaking and you could barely walk. Aizawa helped you walk into his apartment, avoiding picking you up since that would look awkward in public. By the time you were in his living room, your legs completely gave out as you were engulfed by his scent, the feeling of his touch messing you up.

"Sensei... I'm sorry.. Please... I can't take this anymore... Help me please...." you whimpered into his chest, hiding your embarassed face from him as the two of you sat on the ground. You knew things would never be the same between you and your beloved teacher anymore. Hell, he'll probably hate you for this. You were scared. Very scared. On the other hand, Aizawa was turned on beyond belief. Your soft whimpers, ragged breathe was just as good as he had imagined for months and more. He couldn't keep his hands off you any longer. He didn't intend to either. "I'm sorry, (L/N). I'll help you. I know you probably wouldn’t want me in normal circumstances but you don't have to talk to me again if this ends up making things awkward for you." Aizawa muttered to you soothingly before kissing you, making you lose all control as soft moans elicted from your mouth into his. Your clothes were taken off skillfully and fast as Aizawa touched your twitching groins. A rather loud moan escaped your mouth at that making Aizawa smirk. 'How cute...' he thought as he proceeded to enter a finger into your sopping pussy. However, your reaction to that was not quite expected. You flinched and held him tightly, biting your lips. He immediately took his finger out only to find blood coating it.

"You're a virgin?" Aizawa asked with a grimace. You were always popular among the class thanks to your maturity and he assumed that you had some experience. "Yeah... I've been waiting..." you gasped at the lack of his fingers. "I'm sorry, (L/N). I wish I could avoid this because this must be something very special to you and..." Aizawa was contemplating his decisions but you stopped him with a teary smile. "I was waiting for you... Please take me... I'm so happy now..." you told him, surprising him. These mere words made him feel as if his entire body was on fire as he kissed you furiously, gently easing his fingers back into you, waiting for you to adjust. His passionate kiss distracted you from the pain as he made you sit on his lap comfortably while you wrapped your hands around his neck. Just when you started bucking your hips towards his hands, he started pumping his finger in and out of you, adding an extra finger with time and stretching you out as fast as possible so that he could move to the main event.

"Let's take this to the bedroom shall we, (Y/N)?" Aizawa asked you with a lazy smirk as he looked at your disheveled self. You already had an orgasm from his fingering since he surprisingly was rather skillful in this department. You only gave him a lustful gaze as he picked you up only to place you on his bed moments later. "I need you... Please sensei..." you whispered to him, making him harder than he had ever been in his entire life. "God you're so cute..." Aizawa hissed as he unbuckled his pants only to reveal his huge length, precum dripping from the tip. Taking a box of condoms from the drawer of the bedside table and putting the condom on hurriedly, Aizawa positioned himself over your entrance as he rubbed his length on you a few times making you squirm before entering you in one go making you yelp in pleasure and pain. He tried his best to stay still, letting you adjust to his length but damn it was hard since your insides were squeezing him so deliciously, almost making him lose his sanity. However, Aizawa was a patient man and he would never hurt you. Just as you began to move around under him, trying to grind against him, he started moving. While Aizawa was a patient man, the way your pussy made him feel could break even the most patient man in the world. Hence, Aizawa just couldn’t help it but pound into you for dear life. While it hurted you slightly at the begining, in a few moments, you started to enjoy it just as much as he did. Your legs were wrapped around his hips as you marked his shoulders with your nails while you moaned loudly much to Aizawa's delight. A string of incoherent words escaped your mouth including something similar to "please sensei" and "more", which only increased Aizawa's determination on pleasuring you. His mission to make you a blabbering mess was infact successful since at the end of it all, you just went through your third orgasm for the day, you were drooling as your eyes were rolled back. You could barely speak as you moaned loudly, not aware of how loud you were being. At this point, Aizawa was chasing his own orgasm and he had to say, your state infront of him made sure that he was close, very close.

When Aizawa finally had his orgasm, he could say that this was the best sex he ever had in his entire life. Your overstimulated body laid under him, completely exhausted and panting while he laid beside you trying to catch his own breathe. That's when it all hit him like a brick. He fucked his student. Someone who probably told him that she was waiting for him only because of the effects of the quirk. What if you regretted it now? How could he show his face to you again? As if you were reading his mind, he felt you cuddle up to him with a shy smile on your face. Wrapping an arm around you, Aizawa asked with a stoic expression, hiding the insecurities inside him, "(Y/N), did you mean it when you told me that you were waiting for me?". It seemed as if the question made you even shyer than you were already as you hid your face on his chest and he didn't know what to make of it. "I had a crush on you ever since you stepped into the classroom for the first time in my first year and it only grew. I never told you because I didn't want to be a bother or get you in trouble. I understand if you don't return my feelings." you answered, your voice sounding rather sad. "(Y/N), I feel the same way. The only problem is, you're my student. Would you be okay with me taking you out after you graduate?" Aizawa asked you in a soft tone. You looked up at him, surprise and adoration lacing your face. "I... Ofcourse sensei..." you answered with a blush. "It's Shouta for you when we're alone, kitten. Except maybe in bed cause you look absolutely sinful when you're calling me 'sensei' " Aizawa smirked at you making you blush and hide your face on his chest yet again.

"Shouta? Remember when you asked me out?" you asked your husband as you looked at the album in your hand as you sat on his lap on a rainy afternoon. "Hmm... We had good sex that day..." Aizawa muttered lazily as he took a sip from the cup of coffee in his hand. "Huh? That's all you remember?" you pouted. How could he not remember the extremely romantic cuddling session afterwards? "Mhhm... Would it be weird if I said that it was kinda hot that you were my student back then?" he asked with a lazy smirk. It was both of your day off and somehow, the weather was extremely romantic at the same time. That was until your husband decided to act like a pervert and ruin the mood.

"You really are a perverted old man you know..."

"And yet you still love me, kitten"

[Author's note: Guess I kinda went overboard huh...👀. Alright, so I REALLY appreciate long asks with more description cause they are SO FUN TO WRITE cause they give me a better idea on how to write the fic. This was my most favorite ask so far tbh]

#bnha aizawa #aizawa shouta #aizawa smut #aizawa × reader #aizawa x you #shouta aizawa x reader #mha shouta #bnha shouta aizawa

732 notes · View notes

corruptedconfessions · 4 years

Note

i— maybe.. beta!yandere!shōta aizawa w/ an omega!darling would be a nice concept(ृ°͈꒳°͈ ृ =͟͟͞͞)ु≡:*・.*

Ooo! I agree!

-Being a beta wouldn’t bother Aizawa at all, if anything he’s pleased about not being dragged into the mess of dynamics or having that itch to mate or be mated. He’s content by himself so why would he ever want to be an alpha or omega which would make him want someone else?

-That is...until he meets you. Then everything is flipped upsidedown. His entire outlook on life is just one big confused question mark

- As a pro hero he doesn’t interact with many omegas, its a very alpha driven profession, its near impossible for even betas to get into it (something he has first hand experience with), let alone omegas.

-You’re so...soft and small compared to what he is use to. You dont smell harsh and abrasive like alphas do to his beta nose. You smell...sweet. Soft, warm...like home. Your scent soothes his pain and takes him back to a simpler, happier time.

-He can’t help but feel attracted to you. Intrigue pulling him out of his bubble to get closer to you. And the more he learns, the more he sees, the more enraptured he becomes. It won’t take long before he is head over heels, blushing over your smiles and thinking about you all the day long.

-A lot of his yandere tendencies would stem from him being a beta and being unable to tie you to him forever like an alpha can. That and you being unsatisfied with him and leaving him for an alpha that can knot and breed you, claim you fully, fulfil all those base instincts that he can’t.

-He’d try and court you normally at first, taking the role of a dominant alpha even if he isn’t one. Gifts, bringing you food, later on gruffly offering you things for your nest with a dark blush on his face. It’s a 50/50 on if he’ll go full traditional and go ask your family to give you to him. I think he’d be hesitant, there isn’t many traditional families who would give an omega over to a useless beta, but if it was important to you or your family he would still do his best.

-If he managed to win you over and you accepted his proposal he would be over the moon. A dedicated partner that’s for sure. You would be spoiled silly, especially at first.

-Initially it will seem cute, to see a usually apathetic and cold hearted guy spoiled you so much and spend so much time fretting and fawning over you.

-That puppy love stage will quickly become soiled. It will become more and more clear to you that his attention comes not from a place of love, but a place of anxiety. He overcompensates, pushing too far since he feels like he has to make up for not being an alpha for you.

-Even if you try and reassure him, he’ll just brush you off and keep doing what he is doing, continue getting worse and worse.

-He’ll get aggressive and angry when you are around alphas, always automatically they are trying to take you away from him. He’ll start buying alpha hormone colognes and sprays, gets offended and upset when you don’t like them. You couldn’t stand the smell of an unfamiliar, fake smelling alpha being near you, so those end real quick, but you still will find him rubbing at his own scent glands (or lackthereof), clearly insecure about it.

-It comes to a head one night as the two of you are making love. In the midst of it he’ll bite down hard on the back of your neck, where your mating spot would be if he was an alpha. He’ll bite down hard enough to draw blood, ignoring your yelps and squirms as he keeps biting and biting and biting until your neck is bruised, raw and bloody.

-That will be the first time you’ll ever see Shouta cry. He’ll collapse ontop of you, harsh sobs wracking through his entire body. You’ll hold him, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead for hours as you let him cry it out, the stress, the fear, the anxiety of it all. He just wants to love you so badly, why does everything have to be wrong with him?

-You’ll spend the whole night whispering into his hair how much you love him, how much you love dating him, how you would never leave him for another. A night filled with constant reassurances, feelings finally coming out into plain view instead of suppressed and hidden from each other. For the first time you saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes when you tell him you didn’t date him hoping he would be an alpha. He was perfect the way he was, beta and all. His second gender changed nothing for you.

-You walked away from that night with a weight lifted off your shoulders, hope filling you that you could move past this, that Shouta could move past this and the two of you could just...love each other. For the first time you felt like that could actually happen.

-Oh, how wrong you were.

-It gets worse from there.

-It will devolve into an obsession, regardless of how much you try and comfort or soothe him. You’ll find him staring at other omegas mating marks with a far off distant look. His computer and phone will be filled with searches and research of a beta turning into an alpha, naturally or through unnatural means.

-You’ll try to get him to reach out and get help, finding him therapists that specialize in beta/omega relationships. He’ll refuse, brushing you off and ignoring you until you can’t take it anymore. The aggression, the violence, both towards other people and you. You didn’t recognize the man you once loved anymore.

-You go to him with an ultimatum: He either goes with you to therapy and gets help, or you’re gone. You will pack up your bags and leave and it will all be over. You won’t tolerate dating a man who treats you like this.

-Wrong move

-You’ll go to bed on that, telling him you expected a decision in the morning. You crawl into bed with a heavy heart yet fall asleep almost instantly. Dealing with him, during sex, during family visits, just dealing with him was draining you, physically and emotionally. You sleep deep that night

-When you wake up in the morning the first thing you see will be Shouta, standing at the food of your bed, staring at you intensely. The look on his face sends an almost primal reaction through you, terror gripping you tight.

- “You can’t leave me...I won’t let you”

-You tried to ask him what he meant, moving to sit up only to find that you couldn’t. Your arms were restrained to the headboard of the bed, and when you shifted in place you could hear the jingle of a chain around your ankles as well.

-He explained everything then. You wouldn’t be able to leave him, he wouldn’t let you. He knew that your “omega instincts” didn’t like not having an alpha around, not having a protector. ( you tried to protest but he just spoke over you, ignoring you completely) but he would figure something out, he would show you he could be a good provider, a good protector. He couldn’t let you go out where other alphas could trick you and snatch you away from him. So you would stay here, with him. And be a good little omega and let your alpha take care of you.

-While you slept he had worked, every window, every door, covered in locks, secured and bolted down, unable to be opened at all. You were trapped. Even if you got out of your restrains, even if you somehow managed to open a door or a window, how were you meant to escape the trained pro hero who was staring down at you, tensed and ready to snap at the slightest of movements.

-You should have gotten away while you had the chance.

#yandere #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x reader #reader insert

154 notes · View notes

shibarirobot · 3 years

Text

Aizawa fic - CH 5 - Entrapment

18+ ONLY! SFW (for now)

Shouta Aizawa x Villian!OC/Reader(?)

CH1

CH4

Okay this chapter kinda fucked me up. I got very emo while writing this lmfaoooo, but again sooooooo sorry that I’m so inconsistent, I care about this story and I want it to actually be good before I post ((also I have the shittiest laptop on the face of the planet so I can barely use it)) more like I just dont have the patience to deal with it XD, mais oui! le chapter is done! Please enjoy! x

The chair I’m strapped to is stiff and uncomfortable at my back. I haven't been able to move for awhile and it’s driving me fucking insane. My back aches, my thighs are sore, I can literally feel my pelvic bone, not to even mention the cracked rib still throbbing and I’ve started to remember the broken nose I gave myself. It’s hard enough to keep my head on straight, I can’t really seem to focus on the questions I’m being asked, let alone my answers. I’ve been here for hours, maybe days. I have no clue. I have absolutely no fucking clue. This dumbass, Detective Aiko just comes and goes, sometimes followed by a short man with a clipboard and glasses. He just asks a few questions and leaves, I’ve lost track of how many times he’s entered and left as quickly as he comes. This time he comes in dragging another metal chair and flips it around on the other side of the table, sitting on it backwards, like he thinks he’s fucking cool or something. He’s large, I’ll give him that. His thighs swallow up the chair easily and I’m surprised he can actually sit on the thing.

I look at him with my tired eyes. We’ve been at this too long, I’m so fucking tired and I can hardly hold his eye contact. My lips are so unbearably chapped they feel like they might split open at any moment, they might have actually, I can taste iron. I’m parched. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. I’m about to crack, I can feel it. “Water.” My voice is tiny at this point, crackly from the dehydration. “I need water.” My eyes start to sag and I press forward slightly, straining against the straps on my torso, skin raw beneath them after so much of my writhing.

Detective Aiko blinks at me from across the table and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He easily taps one forward and plucks it from the box between his lips. I can tell it’s a practiced movement, he does it without thinking. His habit has become muscle memory. He shoves the pack into his pocket again and retrieves a zippo lighter. If I was more conscious I probably would have rolled my eyes, if it didn’t feel like they might fall out of my head if I did. Of course he has a zippo, ugh. It’s like he learned how to be a cop from watching cheesy cop movies. He flicks it open and closed in a split second and the cigarette is lit. He takes a deep breath, sucking down the entire thing, inhaling so deeply that his chest puffs and swells almost double. He holds that breath for a long moment, releasing it slowly. I expect the smell of burnt tobacco, but there is none. The smoke pours from his nostrils in thick swirls, but it dissipates quickly, without a single trace that it had once been there.

I can see his eyes go glassy from the nicotine high, his shrouded eyes have barely left me. He stares at me like I’m a caged panther; cunning, dangerous, volatile. All things I might have been if I could possibly think straight. “You’ll get your water after you cooperate.” He shifts in the chair slightly, flicking the used cigarette butt to the side. It falls to the ground unceremoniously and I can only imagine how often he flings those things haphazardly and how many thousands he has personally littered into our environment. I’m instantly seething again. A moment ago, I had no capacity for anything really, and now I’m filled head to toe with rage towards this stupid fucking cop. This man withholding my fucking water, my fucking life source.

The thought that he’s actually killing me passes and I pull at the cuffs around my wrists. “Fucking water.” The chains scrape across the table and I can feel the blood on my mouth, my lips have definitely cracked in multiple spots, blood pooling between my teeth. “I fucking need water!” Now I’m just shaking the chains, trying to make enough noise to get him to give in, annoy him into submission. “Water!” His eyebrow twitches, he seemingly has a very short tolerance for my behavior now, no longer amused by my sass and antics.

He quickly rises from the chair and kicks it to the side, it goes clattering against the wall and loudly falls to the ground, tipped on its side. The sudden jolt silences me and the room is tense with the lack of sound. “Who do you work for?!” He yells at me, full chested. The same question Eraser Head asked me in the alley. Where my allegiances lie. There’s another moment of silence before I bust into intense, manic laughter. They still really think I work for someone?

My throat threatens to give out on me, but I can’t control the laughter. “Me, motherfucker!” I shout back, only not as full, my voice is dying quickly, my laughter soon falling with it, replaced by a hacking cough that I’m pretty sure just shredded the dry skin inside my very dry throat. That doesn’t really seem to satisfy him though. He just grunts and picks the chair back up, setting it upright, but not sitting down in it like before. He just stands there, so tall and trying to be intimidating.

He crosses his arms over his chest and scoffs at me just once. “So we’re gonna keep playing this game, huh?” He pulls out another cigarette and huffs it down just as quickly as the first, barely even savoring the drag. His eyes close and he shrugs. “I guess you don’t want that water.” He quickly strides out of the room, leaving me alone and tortured. I can’t move, my body is giving out, I can’t speak because of my hoarse, abused throat, I can’t do anything at all, but sit here. My mind flashes back to when I felt this way before, tied to a dining chair in front of my drunk birther. My eyes start to water and I am amazed that I even have the moisture left in my body to cry. The parallels are too similar and I can feel myself reverting back, the whimpering that’s beginning in the back of my throat. A couple tears start to fall and I’m slowly slipping into that mindset when I hear the door open again.

I try my best to harden my face, trying to mask the depravity that I had just been wallowing in, refusing to make eye contact with Detective Aiko as he rounds the table again and sits in that chair. He sets something on the table and I’m surprised when I look up, to see Eraser Head sitting in that chair across from me instead. There’s a water bottle on the table and I honestly have nothing to say. I’m overwhelmed by this change of events and the tears come faster now, silently streaming down my face. I feel so vulnerable and this man that I have only prodded and teased is the one here to help me. It’s like the universe is laughing at me, it feels like a trick, but one I’m knowingly and willingly letting myself fall into. I suck in a deep breath, hoping he won’t say anything about my tears. “They haven’t cleaned you up at all, have they?” His voice is low, but he honestly sounds concerned. I lamely shake my head, unable to tell him that I’ve been sitting strapped to this chair since the moment he left. He grunts shortly then stands, slowly grabbing the water bottle and cracking the lid open.

My tears lessen as I watch him, he’s looking at me like I’m a wounded animal and deep down I can’t blame him. All I’ve done since meeting him is lash out and hurt him. In spite of all that he reaches out to me slowly, the cold water bottle in one hand, the other gingerly gripping the side of my neck and tilting my head back. I look at him hesitantly. I’m just supposed to let him pour water into my mouth? That feels too weird, and intimate, and needy, but I can’t really pour the water into my own mouth, so I part my lips for him. He gently presses the rim of the water bottle onto my bottom lip, easing the cold, fresh water onto my sandpaper tongue. His fingertips graze the skin on my neck as the pad of his thumb softly wipes away my tears. It’s so gentle and intimate that I can’t help but cry harder. I’ve never felt such a sincere caress and it’s like my heart is breaking into a million pieces, astounded by the tenderness that I haven’t allowed myself to even realize I was missing. The silent resentment falling away for a moment and letting something new replace it. Adoration? Sympathy? Genuine gratitude?

I take in this new feeling hesitantly as I try to gulp down the water as quickly as he’s pouring it into my mouth. I relish in the feeling of the cool liquid on my tongue and into the back of my throat, soothing the burning I had endured for so long. The tears continue to fall even after the water bottle is empty and I realize his hand is still gently stroking my cheek in an attempt to calm my tears. He tosses the empty water bottle aside and peers down at me. I stare back up at him, my eyes starting to puff up from the tears I had just shed, cloudy with the residual moisture on my lashes. He’s even more beautiful now than ever before, caring for me so tenderly, and I think I understand now. I love him. I must love him. The way I was drawn to him before, it all makes sense. I’ve never felt anything like this before, no one has ever given me even a sliver of a second thought, but here he is. This man I don’t even know caring for a tortured criminal that’s done nothing, but awful things. It must be love. It must be... something at least.

I realize the moment’s been too long and I turn my gaze away, squeezing my eyes shut. I can’t help but feel embarrassed. Here he is helping me, giving me the water I so desperately needed and I can’t even choke out a ‘thank you’. Should I? Would he want me to? His hand falls away and I hear him start to shuffle to the door. Dammit. I’m breathing heavy, trying to catch my breath from the way I gulped down water like a dying horse. “I’m going to get a first aid kit.” I almost don’t hear him, but my eyes snap open. He’s coming back? To help me even more? Eraser Head is… going to tend my wounds… that I got fighting… HIM. This is all so bizarre and my head spins a little, but I can’t help the trace of a grin that tugs on my lips and the slight twinge of heat in my cheek.

I hear that knock on the door again, but before it opens I mumble out a small, drained. “Thank you.” My throat is still destroyed, but it’s enough that I hope he heard me. I guess I’ll never know if he did or even cared because the door opens and closes with no acknowledgment that I had said anything. Once again, I am left by myself, in this too bright room, strapped to a metal chair. As I sit here, it’s hard not to fall back into my miserable thoughts. Self loathing and what if’s come easily. What if that really was a trick? What if he’s never coming back? What if I just imagined the whole thing? What if he’s disgusted by me and just taking pity? I internally cringe at myself. That one is probably closest to the truth. He thinks of me like a charity case, someone who can’t help themselves. He’s a hero after all, that good ole savior complex will always rear it’s big, nasty head at some point. He’s helping me to make himself feel better, not to make me feel better. I sneer at myself. I almost fell into his trap, but no. I’m better than that. I was almost that dumb cunt I used to be, trusting people, needing others help. Fuck no. I promised myself I would never be that person again. I’m better now.

But then the indignation fades and all I’m left with is the reality of the situation. I do need his help. I’m broken and bleeding, strapped to a chair in an interrogation room. I start to cry again. It’s not a heavy cry, just one that makes you realize so much in such a short period of time. I cry as I realize I do need help. I need more help now than I’ve ever needed before. I’ve probably needed help this entire time and refused to see it, refused to ask for it. Asking for help never seemed like an option, it seemed like a burden. Yet, Eraser Head isn’t even offering me help, he’s giving it. Willingly. Of his own accord.

I continue to struggle with my thoughts on the situation far longer than I would deem necessary before I admit to myself it doesn’t matter because he’s simply not coming back. It’s been too long for him to have actually been going to get a first aid kit. He’s gone forever now. Poof. Might as well stop thinking about him. I can’t though. Can’t stop thinking about his perfect face, the way he touched my neck, the tenor of his voice, the scruff on his chin, the scar under his eye, the heat of his body behind mine. It all sends a thrill through me, but more than that, just a deep sense of longing. I yearn for him. I just want him to come back to me, I don’t care if he has the first aid kit he left for or not. I just want him to be present with me because everything just hurts less when he’s here. The open wounds mean nothing when he’s here. He’s the only reason any of my pain has ever been eased. I need him. I love him.

I start to allow fresh tears to fall, but my eyes are already welded shut from the fat tears I had shed earlier, too heavy to open and crusted over with dried tears because I still can’t wipe my eyes. The new ones gently come and allow me to crack open my eyes just slightly. I’m honestly on the brink of exhaustion, but my body has miraculously found a way to push forward. I’m taking a deep breath, trying to re-center myself. Get a grip on reality. Stretch my fingers and toes, get some feeling back in my aching body, crack my neck as best as I can. It’s not much, but it helps. I’m the only one that can do anything for me now. I start trying to survey the room to a closer extent than I had before, but honestly it’s still the same, too bright, all white room. I guess I can see a vent in the top right corner, but it’s too small for me to even think about escaping from. Not to mention, I can’t see a camera, so it must be in the corner behind me, watching, recording my every move. I grumble. There’s also the two way mirror, that I assume has had at least three people on the other side of it at all times. I’m completely under thumb.

I sigh, there’s not much I can do in this situation, and this dumb collar is still canceling my quirk. I’m chained up and defenseless. Fucking great. The door scrapes open again and I startled to see Eraser Head quickly invade the room, that wild look in his eyes again. The tips of his hair are flicking back and forth angrily, but not like it was before when he was erasing my quirk, more like… he’s just worked up. He’s breathing deeply, standing up straight and crossing his arms, a full 180 from his calm, gentle demeanor he had earlier. He’s actually quite intimidating like this and I start to shrink into myself, not knowing why his mood has changed. I didn’t do anything. He looks to the door and reaches out to flick his wrist in a ‘get the fuck over here’ motion. Detective Aiko comes into the room and unlocks my cuffs, releasing my arms from the table. He seems reluctant and I’m insanely confused by this sudden turn of events. My eyes are wide and I look to Eraser Head again, confusion evident on my twisted up face. “I’m taking you to the hospital. The collar will stay on and I will cuff you down when we get there.” He says it all so blankly and I’m even more confused that I was before he answered.

Detective Aiko doesn’t look up, he just grumbles out a gruff, ‘bad fucking idea’ before moving onto the straps at my torso, allowing me to pull away from the chair just a little bit. I struggle to force my muscles to keep myself upright, wanting to slump over and crumple to the floor. He undoes the one at my lap and I barely feel it because my entire bottom half has gone numb at this point. He lowers down further and unlocks the cuffs at my ankles, fully freeing me from the chair. I’m immediately elated to be liberated once again, getting overzealous and springing from the chair. Blood rushes to my head and my numb legs remind me how bad of an idea that is because I tip forward, falling into the metal table, the wind knocked from my lungs. I let out a wheeze and feel strong hands pull me back up onto my feet from my shoulders.

Eraser Head wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me flush to his hip to support my weight. I can feel his hero muscles swell as he pulls me off the table, shifting so we can shuffle towards the door. I’m still dazed and weak, trying to work with his movements instead of against them, but my legs can barely hold myself up and he ends up dragging me along with him more than anything else. My head is right next to his shoulder, tucked tight to his body and I press myself closer, nuzzling my cheek onto his collarbone. He feels so good against me. I’m so woozy, I feel like I’m dreaming. This all could be a mirage, I am dehydrated as hell. But it feels so real and so good that I just submit to it immediately. I press even further, trying to get up to his neck. Trying to be closer. The moment crashes around me in an instant as cuffs fall around my wrists. Damn. It’s Detective Aiko standing behind me, cuffing my wrists together and ruining the moment I was just having with Eraser. I glare up at him and he just ignores me, squeezing the cuffs tighter, too tight. I yelp, but he just looks over to Eraser Head like, ‘Really?’. Eraser grunts and holds his hand out for the key, he still has that wild look in his eye and I realize now that it’s pointed at Detective Aiko. HE’s in the doghouse, not me. Well, I am still arrested, but it doesn’t really feel like it when Eraser Head is personally escorting me to the ER, cuffs or no cuffs. Detective Aiko drops the key into his outstretched hand with an eyeroll.

Eraser Head spins me around, so I’m facing forward. My head is still dizzy, but my legs are starting to get some feeling back and I’m able to stand on my own now, even if I am a bit wobbly. He pulls me close to him again, gripping my bicep with one hand and supporting my weight with a hand on my hip. He’s taller than I remember him being. Glancing over my shoulder, I have to look up at him. His jaw is set, clenched with the anger he’s trying to hold back, silently seething. He’s still eyeing Detective Aiko with a menacing nature, I know his quirk is eye related, but it seems he also has a natural affinity for staring anyways. I watch him tuck the key into his front pocket, then grip my arm again, his hands are so large. I gulp, now realizing my ass is basically pressed up to his hip. He’s still taller than me, it's more like his thigh, but that doesn’t change the fact that my ass is on this man. My mind goes crazy as he holds me there, having some kind of stare down with Aiko. Neither of them has moved, but after a moment the detective shifts back with a grumble. Eraser Head grunts and guides me forward, supporting me as we exit the interrogation room.

Eyes follow us as Eraser Head leads me out of the room and down the hall. The receptionist at the front desk gasps when she sees me walking (semi) free. I can tell they all know who I am. I can tell they’re all scared of me. I don't need my quirk for that. I take advantage of the tense scene before me and grin, lurching forward at the woman sitting at the desk. Eraser Head is still gripping me firmly, so I don’t make it very far before he yanks me back to his body, but I do make it far enough to scare that bitch gawking at me. She screams and drops the phone receiver in her hand, stumbling backwards. I didn’t really expect such a dramatic reaction, did she really think I was gonna rip her head off or something? I’m fucking handcuffed… and doesn’t she fucking work at the police station? She should be used to this by now, why is she so fucking scared? Dramatic bitch.

Eraser Head pushes me forward, obviously still riled up from previous events. I stumble forward a bit, but his grip on me is so firm I couldn’t fall if I wanted to. We continue walking through the waiting lobby, until we reach two large glass doors. Outside the doors, it’s day time, probably late afternoon by the look of the sunlight. I take a deep breath, ready to take a step out those doors, ready to leave this awful fucking place, full of these awful fucking people. Eraser presses the handicap button and the door swinging open, the air is warm as we step out and it’s a little joy in this shitty situation that I bask in for a moment. When we step onto the sidewalk, I look up at Eraser Head. This protective stance, the hand on my hip, if I just ignore the handcuffs it’s like we’re a couple on a stroll. I smile up at him, thinking about how sweet he looks with his hair catching the late afternoon light. It’s golden hour and it settles on him nicely, highlighting his stark features. His eyes flick down to me and an expression of genuine surprise passes his face for a split second. He looks away quickly, a blush coating his cheeks, but his face returns to its stoic default.

We continue like this for a moment until we come up on his vehicle. I’m not sure what I expected, but a small wave of sadness washes over me as he opens the rear door, shoving me into the backseat. I didn’t really think he would put me in the front with him, but this feels so… impersonal. I guess that’s what we are. Impersonal. I mean, I don’t even know his last name. I slouch into the black leather of the car and pout to myself, feeling defeated. Eraser Head buckles me into the seat, leaning over me with his whole, big body. Heat floods my stomach and suddenly I’m feeling something… else. I huff, breathing in his scent, I can still smell the bergamot on him, but the other scent on him still eludes me. It’s sweet and musky, almost earthy. He pulls away before I can breathe in again, shutting the door on me, boxing me into this car alone again. He’s in the driver’s seat about 4 seconds later, but the silence of being alone again still stands out to me. I shake my head, and try to focus on the sounds of the car as he roars the engine to life and pulls out of the parking lot.

Thank you for reading! :)

I love reading yall’s comments so please leave a note for me! (see that double entendre hehe im so smart)

but seriously, thanks for the love and the followers especially for only one fic

(also I hope u all can tell how much I fucking despise the cops for this chapter)

21 notes · View notes

pinkjeanist · 4 years

Text

“atop a hill of gold” || shouta aizawa

desc.: A pro hero comes to your shop for four shots of espresso after a long night. He leaves with just that, and then some. [1.6k words]

a/n: this fic has the soft energy that this song has. i named the fic after it but the title was weird so i named it after one of the lines. it’s from one of my favorite lgbt+ movies so theres that. i also havent written for aizawa so sorry if it’s eh. [navigation]

Coffee shops were for people who woke up at five in the morning, people who depended on coffee, and people who depended on coffee because they had to get up at five in the morning. They were also for the occasional tea-drinker, though as exam season rolled around, you were seeing significantly less of those people, or you watched those people become addicted to caffeine just to keep up with their studies.

It wasn’t often you saw heroes when you were working, though. The shop was nestled between two taller buildings, and the only people who noticed it at all without a map were the shop’s regulars. So when the pro hero Eraserhead sulked through the doors that fateful early morning, you couldn’t help but be surprised.

The sun had just peeked over the buildings across the street, the last of the storm clouds from the night before making way for its grandeur, and the morning dew still clung fresh to the window. The unfamiliar man that had walked through the doors seemed so strangely out of place. Black hair, black outfit, a white scarf wrapped loosely around his neck atop of slouched shoulders. His whole being collided with the golden glow of the morning seeping past the hanging vines outside and above the shop window, as if he were the parallel to dawn.

You recognized him, but you hadn’t seen much of him on the news- mostly because he worked primarily at night, and because he almost always managed to hide his face from the cameras with the cover of darkness. Because of this, you weren’t expecting him to be so handsome, nor so thoroughly exhausted-looking. The fatigue rolled off him in waves and nearly put everyone else in the shop to sleep.

Your back straightened as he approached the counter. “Can I just get a black coffee? Four shots, please.”

“Ah. The worst combination of liquids in history for the best effects. What size?”

“Large.”

“Of course,” You smiled. You put his order into the register. “You look like you’ve had a long night. No time for rest?”

“I’ve got classes to teach,” The hero sighed. You gave him his price and he handed over his money.

You turned and started on his drink, but spoke before he could walk away from the counter: “Is it too weird to ask what you were doing all night?”

“Uh...a little, but I’m used to weird,” He replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “It was just a villain. Took all night to track him down.”

“Wait, are you talking about that ‘Shadow Dweller’ dude? The one with the weird little mask?”

“Yeah, that one. It’s kind of hard to arrest someone who can just vanish into the shadows. Took a lot longer than I’d hoped but there’s not much else I could have done, I suppose.”

“His quirk kind of makes it seem like cheating. Pretty OP if you ask me.”

“I mean, you can’t really cheat at life. That’s just his quirk.”

“Look, I’m just saying, if I were a villain, I’d be throwing my manifesto pamphlets from the rooftops instead of sneaking around at night all the time. Kind of a dick move on his part.” The hero chuckled at that. You finished his shots and poured them in before adding some coffee from the pot. You added a few drops of honey to make it a bit more bearable to drink.

A thought suddenly popped into your head with a heavy feeling on your chest. “Oh, fuck, you get a hero discount. I completely forgot, I’m sorry-” You apologized, hurrying to the register and setting his finished coffee on the counter in front of him, but he stepped forward to stop you.

“No, no, don’t- I don’t really care for the discount. Actually…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet again, taking an unknown amount of cash and sliding it into the jar by the register. “...I should probably give you more.”

“Uh-” Your eyes widened at the numbers on the bills in the jar. “-I mean- thank you so much, but why?”

He looked at you as if you should know. You gripped the edge of the counter. “It was nice to have a conversation with someone after a long night. And I had some cash to spare.”

“I don’t normally get tips for chatting with people. Usually I get some from old ladies when I put extra whipped cream on their drink.” He chuckled at that, and you smiled at the sound. “But really, it isn’t necessary. I don’t think I can accept this much money, as much as I’ve enjoyed talking to you-”

“-but you will. I’ve got no reason to take it back.” He sipped at his coffee and grimaced. You wondered how it didn’t scorch his tongue. “God, that tastes like shit…”

“I warned you,” You laughed, nearly giggling. He took another sip and seemed a bit more tolerant of it, that time. Your grip on the counter tightened as you leaned forward on it. You didn’t mean to look him up and down after that, but the side of you that was going crazy thirsting over him at the moment hoped that he noticed. “You should really try to find some time to rest. I can tell you do this often, and it’s really not healthy.”

“I think I can go a few sleepless nights if it means keeping villains off the streets. And I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.” You met his eye, and he seemed intent on keeping your gaze as he took another drink. You swallowed. Yes. He was really handsome. “I mean, if it ends up getting in the way of your teaching, that could reflect back on your students. Where do you teach, anyway?”

He leaned his side on the counter and took another sip. “Yuuei.”

You stuttered for an answer. “Oh- like. Like the school? For heroes?”

“That’s the one. You seem surprised.”

“Oh, it was just like, uhm...a dream of mine to go there. When I was a kid, I mean. But I never got a quirk, and I started drinking coffee when I was a teen, so...thought I’d just get a business degree and do what I love. Or what I’m addicted to, anyway.” Most people gave you a pitiful look when you told them that little story, but he gave you a look of understanding, oddly enough, though you weren’t sure what someone with a quirk could understand about someone without one.

He looked down at his drink. “I thought you might have had some sort of manipulation quirk. Altering flavors, something like that. I can kinda taste honey in this.”

“Oh, I did that, sorry. I used to add honey to those drinks all the time when I was cramming for exams in college. Makes it a bit more tolerable. You know.”

“I know pretty well, yeah,” He agreed. He turned around to make sure there was no one in line before asking, “What’s your name?”

It took you a moment to register the question before you answered it and asked in return, “What about you? Or do you just go by ‘Eraserhead?’”

“‘Aizawa’ is fine,” He smiled. You weren’t gonna tell him how much that name suited him. You were still on duty, after all.

After a moment of silent decision, he asked, “Can I have my receipt?”

Your eyes widened. “Oh! I’m so sorry I forgot to ask, I’m just-” You pulled the receipt from the register and handed it to him. “-I’m a little distracted today, is all. I’ve been forgetting everything,” You laughed with an airy nervousness.

“Can’t imagine why,” He smirked at you. He set his drink on the counter. “Can I borrow your pen?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” You answered, turning around to the machines behind you to start on your own coffee. You were packing another shot when you heard the pen click closed.

“I’ll see you around. Thanks for the coffee.”

You turned around just to watch him leave for the doors before you could say anything. You noticed the receipt still laying on the counter. “Aizawa, your receipt-!” But he was already through the doors. If he heard you, he didn’t bother. You sighed and finished making your coffee.

Grabbing a rag, you quickly wiped down the countertops before even looking at the receipt. You thought it was kind of a dick move of him to ask for his receipt and then just leave it behind for you to pick up. But when you did pick it up, you noticed the numbers scrawled at the bottom, along with the message: “I get off work at five. Don’t forget to call me” and a little doodle of what looked like a cat next to it. You guessed that was his signature. You made it his icon in your phone contacts.

You supposed Aizawa fit somewhere outside the lines of someone who came to coffee shops because they woke up at five, or because they depended on it, or because of a mix of both. He seemed like someone who came to coffee shops for reasons beyond that of coffee itself. And he definitely wasn’t the first- you’d seen people come to your shop and leave with someone else after a long chit-chat, or leave with someone’s number. You didn’t think you’d ever become one of those people, but you couldn’t complain. Especially when the person who gave you their number signed it with a cat doodle.

taglist: @keigos-dove @knifeewifee @hanniejji @katsukis-sad-angel @wesparklebitch @bvnnyclouds

- dm or inbox to be added/removed from a taglist.

#shouta aizawa #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa imagine #eraserhead x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #reader insert #coffee shop au #bingo event #bnhabookclub

183 notes · View notes

velvxtparadise · 3 years

Text

JUST FOR THE SHOW

katsuki bakugo ice skating au!

pairing; katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

type; ice skating! au, fluff

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! HERE

JUST FOR THE SHOW

(Y/N) was always one to dazzle the crowd. She always suprised everybody, making almost impossible spins and jumps, but she always was at the top on her category.

Until they changed her category. She was now placed on duos, and nobody wanted to dance with her, everyone wanted to beat her, to be the best of the best. The news were sour for her, she wanted to share that victory, but she didn’t had someone to dance with.

Her skates marked the ice under her, as he moved freely, but at the same time, following her solo routine. She was angry, and anyone could notice it. Her impeccable jumps now were full of anger, making them look forced and out of place. Drips on sweat were in her face, and she had a frown on her face.

Her final jump and finish position came, and when she did it, she realized that nobody was there to cheer her on. She was so used to the cheering and the applause, that when they were absent she felt like she did everything wrong.

The silence of the place disappeared when Bakugo Katsuki made his was to the rink. His skates sounding lightly as they moved on top of the ice. That’s when she saw him, Bakugo Katsuki, the media said that he was his male version, and only looked up for the first place.

“Thought I heard someone in here.” He said as he circled around you, watching you recover for air as the frown stayed in your face “(Y/L/N) am I wrong?” He started as he abruptly stopped, making little pieces of ice fly.

“Bakugo, i believe?” You replied with a small nod as you looked at him in the eye, seeing his dark red eyes.

“It appears our couch found each other a partner for the duos.” He said as he looked over at me, while my expression was the same, I felt an ocean of emotions within me. “Your coach wanted me to meet you today and also tell you that if you’re late tomorrow he will make your day hell.”

“There’s no practice tomorrow.” I said as I started skating around him to keep my body warmed up.

“We’ll be keeping up with my schedule. So I hope to see you tomorrow morning, 6am sharp.” He said as he started to get away from me.

That was only the first time she saw him. The next morning she was at the rink at 5:37am, warming up and practicing different jumps. That blonde guy was her best opportunity to win, and she needed to get the best from him. She made research on him, and almost watched all his choreographies. That guy could keep up with her, and she was ready to get to the top.

The door opened revealing her coach with a man by her side. Nemuri, her coach smiled and waved at her, while the man at her side only gave you a short glance. “Get of the ice, (Y/N)! I hope you’ve rested well. You seemed down yesterday.” Nemuri smiled at her as she handed her the cover for her skates. “This is Shouta Aizawa, your partner’s coach.” You bowed slightly and gave him a small smile as you adjusted your jacket.

That’s when the doors opened, and the blonde guy barged in. He had a frown in his face, and when he looked at you he analyzed you for a few seconds. When he saw you yesterday, he thought you would click, but seeing you now made him realize he was wrong. He thought you were explosive like him, but you were calm, and that made him roll his eyes.

“Bakugo! Nice to see you again, come on get on the ice!” Nemuri talked with a smile as she pointed towards the rink, ready to start training.

Minutes later we were both near the left edge of the rink, waiting for Nemuri and Aizawa to start talking. “Oi! I don’t have all day you old man!”

You looked over at him for a second and then looked at your coach. “Your theme for this season will be Love.”

The smile Nemuri had made me want to throw up. Love that is something unexpected and impossible for me to present. “No.” I said as I looked at her with a stoic face.

“Yes! Come on it will be unexpected for everyone!” Nemuri said with a smile as he moved her arms excitedly.

“Both of you have action styles, you always have risky jumps, risky choreographies, and I think it will be good for both of you a-” The man with tired eyes started saying but he stopped when Bakugo screamed.

“I will not do some romantic shit!” He said as he stomped on the ice below us.

“Sucks for you, because you will have Love as the theme for this season.” Nemuri said with an angry tone, making me stiffen.

“It’ll be a great change for you guys. I’m sure it will leave the crowd amazed.” Aizawa said, making the blond guy calm slightly.

“We will win?” He asked with his face down and gritted teeth.

“That’s up to you guys, but I’m 100% sure this two choreographies are for the first place.” Aizawa said with a twisted smile, knowing what will make Bakugo give in.

“Fine.” The blonde said as he looked to the side.

“(Y/N)?” Nemuri asked as she looked at me with a hopeful smile.

“You better make it up to me, Kayama.” I said as I looked up to her serious.

“YES!”

The first time Bakugo and (Y/N) presented the choreography to their coaches they both hated it. There was no sentimental attachment in it, that’s when they forced me and Bakugo to spend more time together, replacing trainings and rehearsals with ‘fun’ activities for me to do with Bakugo.

That only made the situation worse. We went from tolerating each other to wanting to kill each other, making the choreography worse. The first time we presented the choreography on a competition, everybody knew and saw the touch, and how forced it was, the jumps were perfect, but the duo jumps were totally off. The choreography points were low, but the technical points made up for that. The won first place getting a pass the the other round, but when they arrived to training the other day they were received by two angry coaches.

“You guys need to find what love is for you.” They left after the said that, making the pair groan.

(Y/N) walked away from Bakugo, wanting to be alone in that moment, knowing that she couldn’t something that means love to her. Her family was on the picture, but they didn’t really support her in ice skating.

“How about we go eat something?” Katsuki said as he sat at her side. “Since Aizawa and Kayama are making us spend time together, I don’t want to run tomorrow morning.”

“Let’s go then.”

That day, Bakugo knew what was love to him. You were. He noticed it when an old lady said that to him while (Y/N) was on the bathroom. The next day at practice, the choreography changed. Bakugo had more passion, and the touch wasn’t forced from his part.

But (Y/N), was the same. She wanted that to be perfect, but when the choreography was getting better, her jumps started to get worse. That they she ended up in the hospital, she passed out during training due to exhaustion. Nemuri and Aizawa thought it was all the stress she had accumulated, but in reality it was her that stayed up all night, practicing to get that routine perfect.

In the next competition, the choreography was better from Bakugo’s side. But the moment made (Y/N) fall in two of the jumps. After the presentation, she ran away to hide. She messed up her opportunity. She was crying, letting her self give up, but Bakugo found her.

She was on the hallway, on a corner, crying. When Bakugo saw her, he felt his heart almost stop. He had never seen her cry, and now that she was he knew he needed to make the situation better.

He took her hands, and caress them softly as she looked up just to see him. His frown was no longer there, he had soft eyes and a worried expression. “I’m sorry.” She said as she let her head fall on his chest. “I messed up any chance for us to be in Nationals.”

“Just shut up.” Katsuki said as he patted the girls back and tried to calm her down. “We should get going.”

(Y/N) sat at Bakugo’s side. They were at a restaurant, celebrating their third place and the pass for nationals. She was tired, but still gave a smile to the two coacher and her partner. The night was starting, and that’s when Aizawa made Bakugo and (Y/N) go out and relax, and they didn’t need to be together. The other day they had a very heavy training waiting for them.

You walked alongside him, after you both decided to walk through the city together, watching the city lights. You finally felt calmed after all those months of training. Now you didn’t feel pressured to spend time with Bakugo, and you were slightly smiling.

“I can help you.” Bakugo said, making you look up to him. “I can help you find something that represents love to you. Just for the show. I really want to win. Even if it means helping you out.” Bakugo’s voice was rough, but his showed the opposite.

“Thank you.” You said with a soft smile as you kept walking with him, and he asked you different questions to help you find something that means love to you.

That same night, you realized that he was love to you. You saw him by your side, while the city lights reflected con his eyes and you knew. If you just looked at him in the eye, you will know and feel love.

Nationals were here, and you were the last duo to perform, watching some amazing choreographies presented by Shoto Todoroki and Momo. You were against the best in Japan, and that always made you nervous, but now you had Bakugo.

You got rid of your jacket revealing that beautiful costume that Nemuri got you. It went perfectly with Bakugo’s and it made you stand out on the rink. You gave a smile to yours and Bakugo’s coach, as you turned around and got rid of your skates protectors.

You got in the ice and waited some instants for Bakugo. When he got inside he gave you a nod and extended his hand towards you. You took it and gave the circled the rink three times to get warmed up.

You stopped by his side, and breathed in as you got rid of your nerves, waiting for the song to start. When it did, you moved with the song, in sync with Bakugo. Your eyes met for the first time during the choreography, and you reached for his hand.

For the first time, you were trusting him completely. You let yourself fall, and he catches you as part of the choreography. You get near to him and looked at him in the eye as you spinned. You parted your ways, and seconds later you were by his side again but this time he got you from your waist. You moved around the rink, getting ready for the first jump, and when you both nailed it screams erupted from the crowd.

In matter of time you were finishing the choreography, that’s when you both got on your knees and he leaned over you. Your hand were on his neck, and his wands were wrapped against your waist. His face was burried on your chest, and you felt his accelerated breathing.

You guys got appart, he helping you stand up first. When he was standing in front of you, he hugged you, while the cheers from the crowd didn’t cease. You backed up a little, giving him a smile, and then you bowed towards the judges and the crowd.

You were holding hands with Bakugo, as you were waiting for the results. Nemuri and Aizawa were behind you, while you were all in front of the cameras. You had a bouquet of flowers in your lap, while Bakugo had a little sushi plushie on his right hand.

“I have to say that performance was impeccable, I even got goosebumps!” One of the men conducting the event said. “We already got the score here, so let’s see how Katsuki Bakugo and (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N) did.”

All was in silence for one second, until in the screen in front of them appeared the score. 234.53. You were frozen in place, and your grip on Bakugo’s hand disappeared.

“Their score was of 234.53! A new world record!” When Nemuri and Aizawa heard that they were screaming at the top of their lungs, while the hugged each other.

You couldn’t believe it, your short program and your free program got you to make a world record. You looked over at Bakugo, who was moving his head to look at you. The cheers from the crowd started, and that’s when the first tear roamed through your cheek.

You standed up hugged Katsuki while you cried, you bother were laughing. You felt his grip on your waist and then you backed away a little bit. “Can I kiss you?” He blurted out. You cleaned your tears and then gave him the biggest smile you had. You didn’t answer as you pressed your lips against his for a few seconds.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Katsuki.”

#bakugou katsuki #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia x reader

38 notes · View notes

sadwentz · 4 years

Text

relax

pairing: aizawa shouta x reader warnings: drug use, mariJUANA, stripping? who knows, fluff maybe? yes thats a warning indeed word count: 1.2k a/n: im sorry im very late at this and my writing is NOT GOOD, so bEWARE.,,, and oboro is alive,,, ofc,,, enjoy!!!!

...

“We just graduated! We are pro-heroes!” Hizashi squeaked, Oboro chuckled walking behind him.

“Yes, we know.”

“We should celebrate.” “Did you forget we are actually going to the graduation after party?” Shouta rolled his eyes and Hizashi genuinely gasped, Oboro cackled.

…

“C’mon!” “What did you say?”

“I said, let’s go!”

“No, you didn’t said that.”

“The music it’s too loud.” The blond pouted.

Shouta rolled his eyes for the hundred time in that day, with a drink on his hand, he walked to the backyard of the house, Oboro and Hizashi followed him. The house was big, someone with a lot of money lived there, it wasn’t his usual space of hanging with his friends but who cared about that.

He sat on the grass near the pool of the house, he gulped the strawberry vodka on his hand and Hizashi wheezed.

“You’re totally not having fun,” Oboro smirked. “We should smoke something to relax you.”

Shouta stared at the cloud man, he had a beautiful smile while he was talking pure trash.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m absolutely not doing drugs tonight.”

“OBORO SHIRAKUMO.” A head emerged from the other side of the backyard, across the pool.

“Y/N! How are you?” Oboro smiled and your cheeks turned pink.

Your relationship with Oboro Shirakumo was something you appreciated with every inch of your soul, he was a precious human being and his loud and lovely personality was something you liked a lot about him. He was sitting across your pool with two boys beside him.

“I’m doing fine, no one is trashing my house,” You paused to pose like you were thinking, “Yet.”

Shouta’s eyes widened, it was your house?

“Thank you for the invite, we are having a good time here.” Oboro gave you a warm smile and you walked towards his group. Besides him was Shouta Aizawa and Hizashi Yamada, both Oboro’s best friends. You recognize them instantly, being them in the hero course 3-A and you on the 3-B.

“Y/L/N!” Hizashi smiled and waved, you sat in front of Shouta.

“How are you, Yamada?” You felt Shouta’s intense but discreet gaze on you but your attention was now on the blond boy. Your relationship with the Eraser hero was not the greatest, but thanks to Oboro it was getting better, a lot better.

“I’m great! Your house is so nice! I kind of want to jump into the pool.” He rambled and you smirked, yeah, your house had his perks.

Shouta didn’t took his eyes of you and Oboro noticed, he searched something in his jacket pockets, only to take out a very good rolled joint. You gasped at the sight and Hizashi snickered. “I have one too!” You exclaimed and took yours out of the top of your ear, Shouta scoffed. “Do you have a problem, Aizawa?” You raised your eyebrow, he shook his head and looked away for the first time.

The drink he gulped down ten minutes ago was hitting him, his alcohol tolerance was not… the greatest skill he had, Oboro and Hizashi knew this and that’s why they were teasing him before you arrived, unbeknownst your knowledge.

“So, let’s do this?” Oboro nodded smiling and Hizashi laughed, affirming too. The joint now in your lips, the three boys were staring as you lit the paper with a little lightning bolt that came from the sky, startling them.

Pro-hero Y/H/N

Quirk: Atmokinesis

She can manipulate the weather by mixing water, ice, fire, earth, air and lightning/electricity.

A very overpowered quirk if you ask Shouta.

“You didn’t have to flex like that.” Oboro scoffed playfully.

“Did she just-“ Hizashi’s jaw dropped. ”That’s dope.”

You took a deep hit, then Oboro extended his hand, asking tentatively.

Shouta stared at his cloud friend, he was a natural, he didn’t coughed, unlike you. You were coughing like it was no tomorrow and your eyes were bloodshot instantly, not a natural at all.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly in your direction, maybe you didn’t hear him, he was watching with his peripherical vision how Hizashi was hitting the joint and coughing too because he swallowed the smoke, making his face all red.

“Yeah, thanks.” He looked at you for a few seconds then the joint arrived to his place.

“I don’t know…” The now halfway joint was crumbling on Shouta’s hand.

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want.” You said, Hizashi barely nodded and Oboro giggled. You and Shouta made eye contact for what seemed like hours, then he looked down on the paper on fire and put it in his mouth, he took a deep breath and his face remained stoic while he was doing it.

“A natural.” Oboro added, smirking.

A few rounds passed, your joint rolling, then Oboro’s joint rolling, then Hizashi deciding it was a good idea to strip and jump on the pool, being followed by the loud cloud, both splashing on the water, stoned as fuck.

You were left ‘alone’ with Shouta, so you decided to scoot over him, and now you were seated besides him instead of in front of him. “They’re a case.” You started smiling.

He groaned, “I’m the mom friend apparently.” Your face showed clear confusion as the man keep talking to you like nothing, “Oboro is just a rebel baby and Hizashi is the baby himself.” He rolled his eyes and you giggled, his head turned to your direction vaguely and he could appreciate your features while you laughed.

You could see his red eyes while he was talking, maybe the filter he had always wasn’t on when he was stoned, well, you couldn’t think clearly either.

“You’re a baby too, you know.” You added, he raised an eyebrow. “A cute one, even I don’t want kids, you’re the cutest.”

His cheeks turned red, inhibitions down. “Shut up, Y/N.” You gasped.

“Rude.” You watched how Oboro and Hizashi had a water fight, yelling to each other things, ignoring the two of you seated outside the pool. “I only speak facts, Shouta, let me be.”

His name coming from your lips was amazing, he thought. “No, you don’t, you’re just a person with an overpowered quirk.” He argued, grinning.

“Oh,” A wicked smile showed on your face and his eyes widened, “You want to see the real overpowered?”

He could, he really could just use his quirk when a mini tornado formed below him, but he couldn’t bring himself to let your smile fade. “Don’t drown please, I need to ask you something later.” He heard when he was flying in the air, a few seconds later, he was on the water with his two friends.

He reached the surface of the pool, his clothes underwater as his friends laughed at him. “You look wet, Shou.” Oboro wheezed and Hizashi jumped on top of him.

“I'm wet,” He stated confused. “What do you-“ “Wow, kinky.”

His head snapped, to follow the sound of your voice like a puppy, you cackled and started to strip, only your underwear on, you could see the blush spreading on Shouta’s face. You jumped on the pool making the boys choke with the water.

You appeared behind Shouta, jumping on his back, hugging his neck with your arms and your legs across his waist.

“We should go out sometime.” You said on his ear, giggling.

He gulped and saw how Oboro was smirking at him, knowingly.

“Oboro, you’re a genius,” He heard Hizashi.

Maybe relaxing wasn’t that bad.

#shouta aizawa #Shouta Aizawa x reader #aizawa #aizawa shouta #Aizawa Shouta x reader #bnharem collab #my fics #masterlist #oboro shirakumo #shirakumo oboro #Hizashi yamada #yamada hizashi #eraserhead #present mic #loud cloud #fem!reader

150 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs