Visceral ~無智~
TITLE: Visceral ~無智~
RATING: General / SFW ~ Mature / NSFW
PAIRINGS: Mainly EraserMight / Mic & EraserMight / NaoMight / DaveToshi
WARNINGS: Unrevised. Unrefined. Dull writing. Some suggestive/explicit themes later on.
NOTES: Drabbles. Writing exercises and experiments. Spur of the moment randomness. Because I project onto fictional characters too much. Sporadic updates.
12/31/22 - x 1 drabble
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....
#18 (Aizawa ← Yagi)
(Inspired by this article: https://www.demilked.com/unknowingly-developed-habits/)
Yagi wanted Aizawa's friendship.
So he strove to seek out opportunities for conversation. Not allowing even chances at small talk to escape (even though the brunet was never one for that kind of pointless exchange). He practiced being more attentive, even though his self-consciousness hindered his efforts at times. Because when you're aware of yourself and how you appear in the other's eyes, at that moment, your focus on the other person becomes discounted. And perhaps he's missed out on many changes in the other's microexpressions, his subtle attempts at reciprocating in his own particular way and signs that Aizawa, a master of logic, was changing under Yagi's influences.
But maybe the cues he failed to catch weren't significant enough to impact the outcome. Since the two of them could now comfortably share a space and converse, be the subject frivolous and mundane or complex and profound.
Yagi wanted Aizawa's friendship.
Eventually, Toshinori wondered of the possibility of an expansion, of their relationship evolving into something more.
Yet, he's not the type to be naturally gifted with a vivid imagination. No matter. Where imagination fails, experience may substitute. But he can't say he has an advantage there either.
So continues this vague yet indisposable, nagging desire. It's so intangible, so new that Toshinori isn't even sure if he really wants what he wants. Only the intensity of the craving, the yearn, and how it presents in a constellation of physiological symptoms, the way his chest swells, the dizziness, the electrical wave washing down his spine...could he prove the potential of something not yet materialized. Something he wants to bring to fruition.
Toshinori wants to further develop his relationship with Shouta.
Yet.
The way Shouta turns his back and walks away after their conversations tells him: No, you don't want it.
Whenever Toshinori looks in the mirror and sees his own disheveled mane, his slight hunch, the bag of bones known as his body marred with scars and imperfections, he thinks: No, I don't.
He thinks of his age, another one of their glaring gaps: No, I don't.
He coughs and red explodes against a palm and seeps through the cracks between his fingers. Mortality's friendly reminder echoes: No, you don't. ....
慣犯 (少年炎俊/安歐)
"我想擊垮你,消滅你,抹殺你! 如果我可以打敗你，是不是就可以從我腦海中抹去你身影？”如果眼神能殺死一個人，那炎司尖銳的眼神早已要了他的命。 但，那紅髮少年眼裡的一抹傷痛又成了他最後的寬恕。 轟炎司逼近他。 “八木...” 背對著牆，俊典無法再後退。金髮少年忍著不適無畏的瞪他。”你想幹嘛？” 他看到他宿敵眼裡聚集的狂暴。他觸碰到他熾灼的下身。 “我想幹你。” 語畢，炎司的牙齒沒入了他的脖頸。
....
Rumors (Hinted Shouta x Toshinori)
"…I think I saw the CEO and his secretary… um…" A cough. Followed by an awkward pause. 😐 "Oh, you're probably not used to it 'cause you're new here. We've all just accepted as a norm." 😄 "So it is true then. That Mr. Aizawa's sleeping with his secretary?" 😳 "Yup." 😁 "B-but I saw that he has a wedding band on… I mean… What if his significant other finds out…You know…about him banging his secretary?" 😧 "They're already aware." An amused tone. 😏 "What?!" 😨😬 "After all, he's banging his own husband." 😌 "…!" 😳😯
....
接吻 vs. 做愛 (相歐)
消太看向盯著他的俊典。
「...怎麼？」
「...就是。覺得相澤君像是比起做愛，更喜歡接吻的人...」
消太壞笑：「是哪位經不起激烈運動的？」
....
#5 (Aizawa)
Shouta discards, renounces material possession as if he's compensating. He's making up for the relationships, for the friends, colleagues, his students. Toshinori. All, who, try as he may, he could not, would not, was never able to let go of.
....
Cat Café (Shouta + Toshinori)
They went to another cat cafe today.
Even though Shouta is more of the type of individual who feeds stray cats in the park or in abandoned alleys during his downtime while on night patrol duty, he didn't entirely shun establishments such as these. After all, a good portion of them ran with rescues and the intention of fitting them with potential adopters.
"Hm, how strange..." Toshinori trailed off, watching a tabby stare down his hand like a threatening intruder. The feline's body tensed, and he withdrew his hand before it could swipe his skin with its sharp claws.
"What is?"
"The cats here... They seem less friendly compared to the ones at the last cafe we visited." The tabby made off before Toshinori would dare to attempt another interaction. It neither hissed nor growled. Yet, the message of rejection had been clear in its display of its rear end.
Of course, being more experienced at cat handling, Shouta had already gauged that upon their entry into the carpeted play area. But, he didn't warn his companion about his impression. After all, Toshinori had to learn for himself. Besides, it was entertaining to sit back and observe the small beasts disregard the good will he offered clumsily upon an opened palm.
Taking pity on his multiple rejections, Shouta told him. "These cats must be recent rescues."
"Huh? How do you know?"
"They're rather timid and withdrawn to human advances, which means the haven't yet been socialized to people. Some are even aggressive towards others of their kind. Many of them don't know how to engage in play with the toys we bring them and play is a big part of socializing. The cat that can't effectively engage in play with another human being fails to exert its charm and thus has a lower likelihood of getting adopted. Same goes for the cat that refuses the human touch. "
"..." Toshinori became quiet. He didn't chase him with curious questions like he usually did.
Maybe his words triggered memories of his stay at the orphanage in the past.
Shouta chose to console him with his brand of comfort.
"It'll take time for them to lax their defenses. It's a natural process that can't be rushed. Don't feel down. At least you're not the only one they're ignoring. "
They watched a tortoise shell land a hit on an overly friendly interloper's wrist a few feet away. ....
Make Out * (Shouta x Toshinori)
They make out like they're making love.
Because Toshinori is frail now. His stiff and achy joints couldn't take much harsh impact. His atrophied muscles, unable to bear much weight. And even the rate at which his heart could beat had to be contained within strict parameters.
They make out like they're making love.
Because it's one of the few acts of intimacy that Toshinori could handle. It's a low intensity exercise, one that doesn't push his body beyond its limit, nor require days of recovery. Shouta's tongue penetrated his mouth. His tongue poked, prodded at his; it swept at his teeth, grinded against the side of his mouth, and intertwined their tongues together.
Toshinori broke free to chug some oxygen to refuel his single lung. A stream of saliva trickled down the side of his lips traveling along the sharp angle of his jaw to his pointed chin. Shouta passed his tongue over the wet surface, slowly, deliberately. As if he's laving his skin and cleaning off the residue of his sweet release.
....
Nemesis (Endeavor & All Might) (During manga chapter 166)
"I don't hate you."
"P-pardon?"
Endeavor figured the other was probably too caught up with the scene before him---the license trainees attempting to pacify the rambunctious Masegaki Municipal Elementary schoolers.
He crossed his thick arms, making a conscious effort to restrain his impatience. He hated repeating himself, but he did anyway. Louder.
"I don't hate you." He added. "It was never a personal grudge. You've done nothing wrong."
"...Should I be thanking you for the exoneration?" Yagi tried.
The present Number One snorted, then continued. His tone and pace, unfaltering. Because he didn't deem the subect matter to be a sensitive one. Albeit the opening could have fooled anyone.
"If anything, I should be the one to extend the gratitude. I wanted to be the best, in terms of skill and power. I wanted to be the hardest man alive. And I had determined from day one that what I needed to attain my goal was not a friend, but an enemy. And you fit that role perfectly. You were that constant reminder of my shortcomings, that I could neither depend on luck nor the good will of others to reach my potential."
"But what of friends, of comrades who fought alongside you and shared your ideals? Surly they supported you on your ascension someohow."
"I didn't care for friends or comrades. After all, they make you soft, vulnerable, and you can never predict when they'd become envious of your accomplishments to stab you in the back. I'm not speaking from speculation alone."
Yagi could not wholly agree with Endeavor's statement of absolution. But that was not to say the Todoroki's argument lacked validity---after all, defeating All For One and avenging Master drove him to become as invincible as possible. When he single-mindedly obsessed about revenge, he had no room left for other pursuits. Especially luxuries such as companionship.
"Be honored that you---All Might---were my nemesis."
The past tense he used was a low blow on his part, a petty way to get revenge on a (former) rival currently at his weakest. But he expected the one man worthy enough for him to regard as his rival to be tough enough to take any hit, despite any handicap he had.
....
Missing (Hizashi + Shouta x Toshinori)
"Aizawa-kun, have you seen my phone?"
The brunet's finger tapdance on the keyboard continued without a hint of hesitation or pause. With his eyes glued to the screen of his laptop, Shouta stingily spared. "No."
Toshinori ran a hand through his wild mane, then smacked the side of his head a couple of times. As if he could miraculously produce the device from his head just from unwavering thought alone.
The other offered a better, more sound solution.
"Here. Just call it." With an arm outstretched, he thrusted his smartphone in Toshinori's direction. Of course, he did so with bloodshot dry eyes still stuck to the report on his screen.
"Thanks, Aizawa-kun. I should have thought of that sooner." Accepting, he speed-dialed his own number.
Half an hour later, after countless attempts and turning both his and his lover's dorm rooms upside down, he aborted his search. He sank onto the couch, dejected and defeated. His shoulders sagged and his back hunched as disappointment weighed down upon him.
And perhaps it was his unusual quietness that Shouta too halted his work. He turned to him from his seat at the low coffee table.
"Did you try tracking your phone with mine?"
"I didn't have the location feature turned on." After all, given where he spent the night last, he didn't want to leave even a crumb of data to feed the others' imagination. Albeit their colleagues probably have all gotten a whiff of their intimate arrangements.
"The worst case scenario is that you really lost your phone. You could just replace it with a new one. After all, it's ancient."
"But some things are irreplaceable." Toshinori cast his gaze down to his open palms. The gaps between his fingers. The space, the emptiness all so tangible though abstract. "I had tons of pictures, videos, voice messages saved on there. Many of them included individuals who are important to me. Some individuals who aren't even..."
He tried swallowing. The lump in his throat was coarse, dry, like the sands of a parched desert. The sands, each tiny grain, though appearing microscopic and insignificant, could cut so painfully like hard truth itself. The sands, as formless and fleeting as the physical memories of those he tried holding onto.
"I could feel my memory failing me from time to time. These days, those instances seem to reoccur more often. If I am to lose my memories to time, then what do I have to prove I met the people I met and lived the life I lived?"
Before Shouta could reply, a series of loud bangs on his door interjected instead. When neither of them made a move initially, the banging continued, accompanied by spurts of muffled shouting.
The brunet rolled his eyes when he stood to answer. There could only be one person obnoxious enough to engage in this behavior.
Shouta opened the door and snapped. "What do you want, Mic?"
The intruder's fist stopped in midair. "Eraser!"
"Yes?" Crossing his arms, his fingers tapped impatiently on hs bicep.
"I'm looking for All Might-san. He left his phone behind on his desk and I see you've been trying desperately to find him." He referred to the hundreds of missed calls on the screen. All from him.
Shouta was relieved Toshinori maintained Aizawa-sensei as the contact on his phone instead of some cringy nickname with the development of their relationship. He had no intentions of being teased for such or becoming the laughing stock of the faculty, given Hizashi's loudmouth.
"I can return it-..." The figure whipping past him cut him off.
"Thank you for finding it, Mic-sensei!" Gratitude poured out of Toshinori's bear hug.
"Good morning, All Might-san! Fancy to see you here! It's nice to see you so happy to see me! So happy that... You're crying...?" ....
吃掉 ** (相歐)
「別...別這樣，相澤君...」他用手掌緊捂著發燙的臉。 消太沒回應他。他有其他專注的事。 他用手掌固定高瘦男人的臀部，用舌尖開發狹窄的通道。時不時因他舌頭進的太深而導致他的虎牙尖摩擦穴口。 俊典顫抖著哭求, 「拜...拜託，相澤君... 請別-...」 「叫老公。」 他的臉紅到快要滴血,聲如蚊蚋。「老...老公...」 「嗯。」消太大發慈悲應他一聲，牙尖繼續摩擦穴口的皺褶。 「別... 老公...! 小屁眼...要被吃掉了...嗚!」 「就是要吃掉你的騷屁眼。」消太壞心眼的說。「省得別人惦記。」
....
Beasts (Shouta x Toshinori)
Toshinori thought Shouta's cat disliked him---it always kept its distance watching him as if daring him to make the wrong move. It never allowed him to pet it for long.
It was only when it offered him a mouse's carcass one day out of the blue that proved his assumption otherwise. After all, Shouta had told him, as proud as they were, even when domesticated, cats didn't offer the spoils of their hunt to just anyone.
Toshinori stared down at the still small furball. Besides the splotches of dried blood around the dead rodent's distorted and now flaccid neck, it was evident it had been a clean and quick kill. Proof that the feline retained its natural predatory instincts of going in with a single death blow. The tabby sat on its hind legs, its back erect and its forelegs straight, propping up its upper body. With such a proper posture, it posed as a true gentlecat. Docile. Tamed. Civilized.
It gazed up at him. Toshinori saw his reflection in its blue-green eyes. When he reached out tentatively to scratch its chin, its eyes squinted shut and Toshinori could feel its purrs reverberating through its small body.
Shouta peered at the gift his pet had given to his lover. "Try as we may to domesticate cats, but their natural instincts won't be suppressed so easily. Even when they seem prim and proper, they're only just hiding their claws."
"Kind of like us humans, no? We like to think that the thousands of years of evolution had rid us of our animalistic nature. That as more and more of us are born with these special gifts, quirks, we're also breaking from our ancestral past, thread by thread..." The blonde ex-hero cocked his head like a curious child considering the world of possibilities. In doing so, he exposed his neck. The skin there, once pale and pristine, now blemished with red and purple blotches after their intimate night.
"Tell me, Aizawa-kun, do you think we've progressed further than the beasts we used to be?"
Shouta didn't answer. For, the raw red streaks on his arms and down his back and the puncture wounds on his shoulders and neck had already done the talking.
....
Collar (Shouta x Toshinori; hinted D/s relationship) (related to "Cat Café")
The two of them stood, side by side, in the middle of the play pen, focus jumping from feline to feline as the cat café staff introduced each one. The denizens and the nouveau-arrivé. The friendly and the shy. The seniors and the babies.
"Last but not least, that one, over there by the window, is Sunshine. He's pretty chill."
At first, Sunshine, with its white and orange coat, drew neither of their attention. Unlike its peers, it did not cross their path as they roamed the small enclosed area---neither to approach them with guarded curiosity nor to seek a hiding place in a corner or on a platform out of reach. The quiet and well-behaved cat perched on a chair cushion staring out the window. Though the level of bustling activity may be comparable inside and outside, it seemed more interested in the unfamiliar vastness beyond the glass than the familair coziness of its residence.
From the fellow's mellowness, Toshinori figured interacting with this cat probably wouldn't earn him a scratch or a cold shoulder. But he still held his breath when reaching out.
When the small beast neither withdrew nor leaned into his touch, he grew more bold and confident. He directed his scratches at the cheeks. He concentrated his efforts underneath its chin, until he practically supported the weight of the cat's head with one hand as it leaned into his touch intoxoicated and languid.
Toshinori felt an inexplicable connection to the animal, though at that moment he couldn't pinpoint the exact reason. Was it its name? That it shared his gender? Or simply because it yielded to the affection he demonstrated?
"Do you see that?"
Toshinori blinked. His lover's voice saved him from his own mind now cluttered with unanswered questions.
"W-what?"
"That mark. The indentation around his neck." Shouta pointed to the unnatural creases in its white fur. "He had previously worn something there. Most likely a collar."
Leaning in, he saw what the keen-sighted observer had referred to. The tiny detail was small enough to be negligible, but significant enough to titillate one's imagination of the worst case scenario. Of how this particular cat found temporary shelter here.
Was that why it dedicated itself to becoming the sole guardian of the window? That perhaps if it stared long and hard enough, it'll pick up and recognize a familiar face?
Was that why it welcomed the touch of a human being however foreign it may be? That perhaps the fleeting gentleness and warmth reminded it of the affections it was showered with only yesterday?
Thinking, he felt a slight tightening of his wrists and ankles and around his neck. Dull pain arose in those areas reminding him of lingering invisible threads even though his lover had removed the bondage last night after their session.
Though the other's superior technique guaranteed little to no traces or marks upon his skin, unlike the way a wound left a scab or scar in its wake, Toshinori found no comfort in his supposed fortune.
"Yagi-san."
It's only when Shouta reached out, his warm fingertips brushing against his bony hand, his wrist, that Toshinori realized he was frozen with fear. ....
Father Figure (Shouta + Kid!Toshinori)
"I can fulfill your deepest desire for a day."
Before he recovered from his initial shock, before the phantasmagoria of faces---most of them he held dear, most of them deceased---flashed before his eyes and he opened his mouth to make his wish, to grasp at hope however it appeared in the disguise of a radiant illusion, the other interjected.
"But my quirk has its limitations. I can neither bring back the dead nor bestow world peace nor alter one's natural quirk. What you desire must pertain to you personally on a tangible level. So, it boils down to your physical appearance and your intellectual capacity."
While his mind questioned the identity of this passerby he encountered out of the blue and gauged the validity of her claim, his wish, once dormant within him, awoke and absconded before he could contain it.
Slimly sidestepping his awareness, his wish rolled off his tongue. ____ Shouta blinked lazily up at him from his supine position in his sleeping bag. Even with his cleared vision and shorter height, Toshinori could not detect an ounce of shock, disbelief or perplexity. The only glint in the other's dark eyes displaying subtle curiosity and intrigue.
His lover was obviously not intersted in the how, but the what and why.
"I ran into someone who offered to grant me a wish." He cough and cleared his throat. He still have not yet adjusted to his voice that was not the postpubescent bass. He opened his short stubby arms awkwardly to display his change to the other. "S-so, this is what I asked for."
"To relive childhood; to return to innocence?" The brunet guessed. "I didn't expect your seniority bothered you this much."
Of course, he let no opportunity pass when he could tease him about the creative ways he employs dodging direct inquiries of his age.
Toshinori blushed and insisted. "I-it's not entirely that I'm bothered by it."
"Then, what is it?" Shouta asked, voice mischievous and teasing.
He always regretted not having a father figure. Not that he discredited Gran Torino's contribution to his growth. He wanted a father figure who may scold him, rebuke him with cold abrasion, but would be willing to comfort him, console him with warm tenderness he needed it most. Then he'd willingly, wholeheartedly endure any agony that came with growth if only the other would offer his embrace as his harbor. From the way the brunet instructor handled his class, Toshinori had seen him in the light of an ideal father figure.
Though, he would be too shy to come clean about his thougts.
Instead, Toshinori crawled into Shouta's sleeping bag and snuggled up against him. Though it got more crammed with the plus one addition, the other doesn't protest or push him out. His round face smothered against the now older man's chest.
With the constant reminder of the glaring difference between their age, he had dreamed about becoming the younger, the smaller of them two. To experience and know that he too could curl up and fit so snugly in his lover's arms.
His hearing too was restored to its youthful, keen state. He heard the other's heartbeat louder, clearer.
The steady rhythm lulled him to sleep. And though he had a limited quantity of time to enjoy this rare gift, he willingly traded the precious resource for a true moment of serenity. .... Masks (Aizawa ← Yagi; Masked!Aizawa x Yagi) (Inspired by Duchess Debauchery)
It was his first time entering the club. Masquerade. What a fitting name for the spot, Toshinori confirmed when he ventured into the dark. Literally. The whole place inside had been dimmer than the night outside. Even though the chandelier above the foyer near the front desk guided his way, he still had to blink a few times to adjust his vision.
He presented the membership card to the attendant. Of course, the card did not belong to him. For one, he frequented enough alike clubs in his younger days. But most importantly, he needed to conserve his limited energy now. Though, he thought, indulging just this once shouldn't be a problem. After all, Midnight had taken pity on him and slipped him the membership card because he looked like he "desperately needed to get laid."
Upon entry, he was shown to a small private single room comparable to a fitting room in a clothing store. But more posh. As the club interior consisted mostly of black and white marble. There, he selected his simple Colombine mask, the disguise he would maintain, as club policy, for the rest of the evening even (or rather, especially) during mutually agreed upon intimate activity with other individuals.
Toshinori picked up a black one. Its shade that contrasted so much against his light and bright physique appealed to him because the law of attraction already dictated the gravitation of two opposites. Highly likely, he might also find his complement tonight.
He tried to picture his match. Shorter. Younger. Long, dark hair, ideally one that flutters with the breeze and blends in with the night during which he's most active on duty. Calm onyx eyes. And maybe he's being too particular with even the minutest detail, but he just can't see the other with the color mask other than gold.
Then, this individual whose image his mind uncreatively forged from his existing memories challenged the boundaries of fantasy, won and became reality.
Toshinori was stunned when he spotted the man, the exact person (minus what's hidden behind his mask) strutting out of his mind. Was this a trick? The influence of another's quirk? Or a doppelganger? Or the actual subject of his deepest desire? His logic dismissed the last possibility instantly. There's no way he would set foot into an establishment like this.
Catching his eyes, the other froze him on the spot with one unwavering gaze. Try as he may, Toshinori had no chance of escape. After all, even his fantasy pursued him in reality, didn't it?
The duo quickly abandoned the scene flooded with all the masked singles searching successfully or unsuccessfully for their own companion. Their masks, no better than blindfolds.
They rode the elevator to the upper floors. When the double doors parted with a ding, the two trotted down the dimly-lit hallway. The carpeted floor concealed their position and destination. The doors lining the sides of the hallway locked away trysts, fetishs, plays, as well as the identities of those engaged in them.
Toshinori half-coughed a chuckle.
"What is so amusing?" His companion threw a glance over his shoulder.
"It's ironic, isn't it? In reality, we already wear a mask. And then we come here just to put another one on."
"Everyone wants to be authentic. Yet, when one reaps benefits from his alternate identity, when he attains his objective through effectively playing his particular role, who would want to shed his mask to revert back to his genuine self?"
"You're right." Toshinori agreed. The other's statement appealed to his logic, but bludgeoned his heart. "Who would want to wear a mask if wearing one in no way benefits him? Perhaps, it is only a fool then who wears a mask to hide his true self yet still retains the restrictive thoughts and conduct of his perceived authentic self. That even when he's wearing a mask, he fails to exploit the perks associated with this acquired identity."
They stopped in front of a door. Beyond, is an empty, unoccupied space that promised only liberation and privacy.
As if finally committing to a certain conviction, Toshinori unlocked the door. They stepped beyond the threshold.
"No need to cling to modesty or propriety in a setting like this."
Before the door creaked close, they collided into each other, bodies crushed together becoming one inseparable mess of tangled hair and half-shed clothes.
Though, even the heat of passion could not melt away his preoccupation. His mind lurched between the haze of pleasure and shame. His sensitive flesh craved another's warm caress, and indulged in the way the callouses on the stranger's fingers seemed to instinctively know where and how he liked to be touched. Yet, his conscience upbraided him for enjoying this crude, animalistic act and scorned him for his cowardice---that he could neither admit to his need nor ask the one person on his mind to fulfill it.
The man sipped on his sweat and drank in his cries, sighs, whimpers and moans; he sank his teeth into his flesh, and lapped at each freckle and scar and wrinkle.
How strange that a perfect stranger, someone who he'd never encountered before, who he'd met only today in an completely casual setting like this, would hunger and thirst for him as if Toshinori was his single water source, his sole sustenance. The other's fervency directly invited his reciprocation. So he could only close his eyes, wrap his arms around the other man with all the strength he could muster, and cling to him like he's his lifeline.
"I would never tell him this but... As much as I want him, I'm afraid he won't want me, won't need me the same way." Toshinori muttered, then buried his face into the man's raven hair, as if he submersed himself in a cool dark waterfall to shed some heat from embarrassment.
Though, the other's husky voice rendered his efforts meager and useless.
"...How do you know you're not what he wants or needs?" His hot breath tickled his ear.
The man lifted a hand to his mask.
....
Story (Shouta x Toshinori) (For R&X)
When Toshinori displayed happiness through a grin, his eyes crinkled and the loose skin at the corners of his deepset eyes sunk to fine lines of wrinkles.
More than his bright toothy grin, Shouta found himself more captivated by the creases, the crow's feet, the evidence of fleeting youth... These lines told more stories, spoke more truths, unlocked more secrets than Toshinori would ever feel comfortable about revealing.
And he, wanting nothing more than to know him clearly, completely, thoroughly, studied these telltale marks fervently.
Yet, instead of it flattering him, Shouta's intense gaze evoked his self-consciousness.
Lips quivering, his smile fell. Toshinori blushed and tucked his chin to his chest. Though the cover from his long bangs was, he determined, inadequate. His hands shot up to block his flaming face from view.
But Shouta wasn't done reading. So he took his hand and pried it from his face. What was once a shield became the book cover he reopened. Now he just has to trace back to where he'd left off... Or start on a new chapter, he glanced down to the hand he held captive.
"What's wrong with you...?" Toshinori trailed off, turning away. This time, it wasn't to hide his age-afflicted complexion, but the ruddiness from embarrassment.
"Yeah." Shouta laced their fingers together. He pressed his cheek to the back of his lover's bony hand, where flecks of tan and brown slowly surfaced year by year. He drained the warmth that the sun had left on the other's skin. "What is wrong with me?"
'What's wrong with me wanting to know your everything?' ....
Depravation ** (Tsukauchi x Yagi)
There they were, on opposite sides of the double-sided mirror.
On one side, villain and law enforcement. Good versus evil. On the other, Yagi Toshinori (otherwise known as the number one hero, All Might) and Tsukauchi Naomasa. Good collaborating with good.
Or was it truly so?
The two of them were the only ones in the dark, crammed space. They stood, side by side, arm brushing against arm, as they spectated the interrogation beyond the glass. Good seems to be winning there; the lowrank villain cowered under the pressure that accumulated exponentially---the cutting glare of his interrogator, the barrage of pressing questions, the abrasive accusations.
Yet, on the opposite side, perhaps evil exploited their idleness and led their minds astray. That two of them, the two embodiments of pure good, succumb to their unrefined primitive instincts. As the officer shattered the last of the criminal's resistance and will, on the other side, the two surrendered the last bit of decency, of restraint. The brunet pressed against the lanky blond, prepped him hastily and entered him in the matter of minutes. Tsukauchi pressed him, fucked him as if he's trying to weld him to the glass. He seemed to be succeeding as Yagi melted to a sloppy pile of sweat, saliva, and semen.
The villain capitulated; the officer on the other side turned, glancing in their direction. His look signaled the end of the interrogation, the procurement of an easy victory. Another point for good, zero for evil.
But All Might took that look as complete repulsiveness at his shameless act in public. And perhaps he'll be shackled to shame, suffer eternal ridicule and sentenced to damnation.
As All Might descended, All Smite climaxed. ....
Reprimand (Yamada & Aizawa & Yagi)
Yagi spilled coffee on the documents Aizawa worked on.
Aizawa reprimanded him. Yagi hung his head, shoulders locked, his frame making him appear small, vulnerable. He bit his lips, and Aizawa could almost see a speck of red beneath his teeth.
He fell silent as suddenly as he exploded. Rising from his seat, he stalked out of the office. On his way out, he heard his friend comfort the rookie teacher, telling him not to take his abrasiveness personally, that he was actually big softie at heart.
He fought the urge to march back into the office to slap the voice hero behind his head. To tell him to stop spreading foolish false rumors about him. That he would never hesitate to dish out punishment where appropriate.
That he had only stopped rebuking All Might because he remembered he had backup of the documents on his USB flash drive. ....
Pampering (Service Top!Shouta x Toshinori)
"Give me your hand."
Toshinori stared at him as if he just ask for the moon. "E-excuse me?"
"Give me your hand." Shouta repeated. The rare generosity he experienced today fed him an abundant supply of patience. That he felt not an ounce of irritation for repeating himself.
"...W-what are you going to do?" His lover shrunk beneath the covers. Hesitantly, his hand slid out, like a small animal emerging warily from its den. He grasped it. The covers quivered.
Shouta chose his prey well, knowing how sensitive his hands were.
He raised the metal object, gleaming eagerly to be used. And aimed its tip at a fingernail. Click.
The covers shook some more.
Fighting the urge to chuckle, Shouta concentrated instead in the task at hand. He severed the white protrusions on his lover's fingernails, one by one. Afterwards, he took a file, sanding down the uneven and chipped edges. He stopped to examine and compare the length and shape of one nail to another from time to time. Until, their congruence satisfied his high standards.
By the time he finished with one hand, his lover had enough courage to poke his head out from beneath his cloth hiding place. Toshinori retracted his hand to admire Shouta's work.
"Your other hand." He demanded.
"Wow, Aizawa-kun, I don't think my nails were ever so neat before." His long, slender fingers twisted the covers. "T-thank you... I don't know what I did to deserve this care from you..."
"Do you always have to do something to deserve a bit of simple grooming?" He blew away the accumulated powdery residue from his fingertips.
Embarrassed, Toshinori hid his reddened face behind his hand, where Shouta's warmth lingered. ....
Potential (Kid!Aizawa & All Might)
His mother taught him not to talk to strangers.
But he's seen the man, the pro hero---a tall and buff blond with blue eyes---on TV enough times that labeling him as "stranger" sounded off. Though, as an eight-year-old, his vocabulary hadn't been developed enough for him to properly define him. Yet.
As they dangled on the swings beside one another, the blond prompted him. "So, boy, what's with the long face?"
Hesitantly, he told the other. Of the quirk he manifested four years ago. Of his desire to become a hero. Of his uncertainty now due to the nature of his quirk.
"Quite the precocious kid, aren't you?" The man chortled.
"What does precocious mean?"
"It means that you're too young to have the worries of an old man! Are you going to tell yourself, 'There are plenty of heroes in the world. The world may not receive me well. It may not need what I have to offer. So, I won't give. I won't be a hero.' "
"..." Shouta stayed silent. Though, the "yes" almost rolled off the tip of his tongue.
"You may think yourself to be insignificant. But that is because you're comparing yourself to others."
While listening to the man, he peered down at his small hands and stubby fingers. Then he glanced over to the other's hands---much bigger and wider compared to his. Enough to carry the weight of the world and its problems.
The blond hero gestured to a nearby orange tree. "See, if the tree thought, 'Oh, there are plenty of trees bearing fruits. What difference does it make if I don't bear any fruits?' Then it would influence the other trees to think this way. Before you know it, all the trees in the world would stop bearing fruits, and we would have no fruits to enjoy."
The passerby's words lit a fire within him. It was tiny. Insignificant. He didn't know if he had the determination to nurture it well.
"It's ironic how everything in their existence try their best to live to fulfill their purpose. And we, human beings, are still questioning it..."
Shouta heard enough. He jumped off the swing.
"Nice try, sir. But trees can't think. They don't have this." Saying, his index finger pointed at his temple.
The blond guffawed. "That may be true, boy! And it's probably better that way! It's maybe because they don't have brains that they can simply be the best trees they are." ....
1001 (Aizawa x First year UA student!Toshinori) (Extra story to Null: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885193)
"Tell me a story, Aizawa-sensei."
Toshinori asked, out of the blue, during his one-on-one session after class with his instructor.
Next to him, Aizawa continued his relentless conquest through the exam stack with a red pen. He dropped. "Focus on your homework."
"I'm almost done!" He insisted. Then added in a softer voice, close to a mumble. "...I want to hear your voice."
"So I can lull you to sleep?"
"Sensei!" He pulled on his sleeve. "Please?"
He paused. As if waiting for the irritation of being interrupted to be triggered and he would use it to rebuke the teen harshly.
It never came.
Though, his improved patience wasn't something he rejoiced in. He knew it only meant he had grown soft under the other's influences.
So he told Toshinori the story of a king, who, after suffering the infidelity of his queen, withdrew all his trust in women. He made it his scheme to bed young virgins and have them beheaded the next day. Until, he encountered the vizier's daughter, who enchanted him with tale after tale, story after story, every night. And he had no choice but to delay her death. For she would begin a story one night but refuse to finish it until the following night. And she lived for a thousand and one nights.
Absorbed, Toshinori listened with his chin propped in a cupped hand.
Though, Aizawa's mind wandered as the story unfurled.
The other would be graduating in less than one thousand and one days. Even so, Aizawa could not be sure that he really had what it takes to keep the youth's interest before and after his graduation.
Perhaps, once passing his licensure examination, after he becomes a full-fledged pro, after he spreads his matured wings and takes flight into the world and witnesses its entire splendor, he, as his instructor, would become but a shadow of his past, banished to the dark, forgotten corner of his memory. He paused in his storytelling.
When he looked beside him to investigate the other's unnatural silence, Aizawa found Toshinori had lowered his head.
The youth used his forearms as a makeshift pillow. His closed eyes, the subtle rises and falls of his shoulders and his hunched back indicated the rhythmic respirations of slumber.
He sighed.
Instead of waking him, Aizawa studied his side profile, the strands of bright blond, his long bangs obscuring his face. He reached over to brush the golden tresses away.
The silk locks rested upon his palm like rays of sunlight. Warm. Brilliant. Uplifting.
They slipped through his fingers. ....
Raze (Shouta x Toshinori) (After manga chapter 282)
"Aizawa-kun, I'll cut an apple for you."
"No." His voice, gravelly. As if the knife that was supposed to cut the apple scraped his throat instead.
"Here, have some water instead." Toshinori offered him a cup of warm water. The straw sticking out of it, for easy access.
Shouta turned the other way. "Please leave."
He didn't need physical hydration. He just needed to drown in silence. And immerse himself in contemplations of the future after his injuries, and his lost limb. He was stingy about sharing. Regrets and ruminations alike.
"...Sorry, I must be disrupting your sleep... Let me be out of your way..." Even though he couldn't see his face, Shouta knew his lover forced a smile. "Rest well, Aizawa-kun."
His soft footsteps, his conscious effort to preserve the peace in the small, single hospital room.
Shouta's head whipped around suddenly. And as if possessed by a deep anger, out of the blue, he hurled at his retreating back. "If you leave now, then don't ever come back!"
The blond stopped in his tracks. He pivoted around. Shouta watched him through his one uncovered eye as he walked back to his side. The usual distinct, sharp contours of Toshinori's face and figure, now a blur of colors bleeding beyond defined boundaries.
One touch from his lover disarmed his hostility. When Toshinori bent to plant a kiss upon his forehead, it's as if spring thawed his wintry frost.
"I'm sorry, Aizawa-kun." He placed his hand upon his shoulder to comfort him.
He smothered his face against his flat abdomen, holding the tall blond in place with arms wrapped around his waist.
"Don't you ever fucking try to leave again." If his words forged a blade, he would have impaled him with it and taken his life.
"I'm sorry, Aizawa-kun."
Shouta clung to him in passive silence. As much as he wanted to fling his apologies back, and demand for assurance, a guarantee.
A promise he would never abandon him. Something more substantial than these hollow, dirt cheap apologies he uttered. ....
Undercurrent (David & Toshinori; Implied Shouta x Toshinori) (Related to Arts & Crafts)
"Now that I'm retired, I have nowhere to channel this crude energy. At least, I haven't yet found a productive outlet." Toshinori paused. He would have ended the conversation right then and there if it had been anyone else. Yes, anyone else. Including Shouta. But this was his trustworthy, open-minded confidant who was aware of his own dark side. And Dave wasn't so naïve to believe people to be as civilized as they present themselves to be. So he continued. "Often times, I could feel myself getting upset over the smallest things. But, I can't express that frustration because I don't want to be a burden to anyone. Not a physical burden. Not emotional baggage."
"You don't want to be a burden to Aizawa-kun."
Toshinori looked into his eyes. "Right. But I also can't deny having the urge to hurt him sometimes."
"Is it resentment? Because he's given you plenty of cold shoulders in the past?" Dave conjectured. "Or is it because animosity attracts the like, since he harbored disdain for All Might for his failures? That there were people whom he cared for that even the greatest hero could not save?"
"Maybe..." Toshinori lowered his head as if he's seeking answers from within, deep down. "Maybe it's a bit of both...?"
"You know, Toshi. Productivity is what happens when an individual effectively channels his aggression. If he cannot do so, then the aggression will be directed in one of two ways: outwardly, in which he lashes out at others, or inwardly, where it becomes self-sabotage."
"..."
"Not only are you currently dealing with civilian ill-will, but you're also suffering the sequelae of your former injuries on a daily basis. Your physical body is already at its limit. So, I believe, that urge you have to hurt your lover is the final effort exerted by your mind to protect itself. It's attempting to redirect that aggressive impulse outward, because it knows you cannot possibly withstand any more anguish."
"...What would people think when they find out that even the Symbol of Peace, the paragon of goodness, has a dark side and proclivity for aggression?" Toshinori lifted a bony hand to his face. His fingers rubbed at the nonexistent grime he thought had gathered along the edges of his eyes and stuck to his eyelashes.
"The same way they'll think when they discover their own dark side." The American scientist pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Nothing. Because they'll try to suppress and deny everything. Or they'll be completely repulsed and incredulous. Because we're supposed to have shed that along with our animalistic tendencies after millions of years of evolution."
The discussion he had with Dave replayed in his mind even after he got back to Shouta's apartment that evening.
Toshinori thought it worked to his advantage that the brunet felt especially affectionate that night. Yet, even after hours of lovemaking, with him being completely spent and hardly able to lift a finger, Toshinori still could not quell that low-resolution restlessness buzzing in the back of his brain.
In his sleep, his lover shifted towards him, attracted by his body heat. Shouta's soft lips and his whiskers tickled the back of his neck.
Toshinori closed his eyes and willed slumber to smother that unspeakable urge.
....
Relative Calculations (Shouta x Toshinori) (Inspired by Tim Urban's "The Tail End," Robert Greene's discussion about our common mortality and a certain cat's META 😏)
Evening. 2053.
In the warmth of his dimly lit austere dorm room, Shouta sat at his desk.
His laptop was on, its screen displaying a spreadsheet with rows and columns of cells of quantitative data pertaining to each of his students. Beside it, at 74% power and connected to a charger, his smartphone rested on a desk stand. He had just gotten off the phone after an 8 minute conversation with his mother, who, even knowing his hectic schedule, still calls him too frequently in his standards.
As usual, she nagged him about his unkempt appearance, his unhealthy eating habits and the hazardous conditions of his line of work and meager compensation and questioned why he doesn't quit professional heroism altogether to instead go back home to inherit his father's lucrative business. But, that's not all. She always saves the best criticism for the end, capping with the demand that he immediately "find a nice girl to take care of him." Someone who's ideal wife material. Oh, and make sure that she's from a prestigious family as well.
After the first few phone calls, Shouta had stopped correcting, attempting to reason with her. Nowadays, with the last bit of remaining fundamental respect he has for the one who suffered the excruciating pain of childbirth to bring him to this world (every person only has one in a trillion chance of being born as the individual he is), he mostly interjected with half-hearted perfunctory grunts throughout their mostly one-sided conversation.
After he had managed to finally end the call, terminate her interminable rants, he dove back into the work in front of him.
He settled into the quiet of solitude. He felt a sense of restored balance just by laying eyes on the numbers and figures, each sorted into a specific cell and with no intention of challenging their set boundaries. Being a master of logic, Shouta found relief in numbers and statistics and data. Because they gave ambiguities and mysteries definition, meaning. And meaning restored order to chaos.
Quickly gaining momentum, he tore through his curriculum planning and data organization on the spreadsheets. Within an hour and 7 minutes, he checked off all the boxes.
The time read 2200, and he neither had night patrol duties nor the urge to retire to his sleeping bag like he usually did.
In the rare moment of leisure, Shouta decided to conduct some simple calculations. Just to unwind. The white unlined paper he'd previously laid out tempted him with numerous possibilities.
His mind naturally rewinded the events of his day, beginning from the occurrence of the most recent: his 8 minute chat with his mother.
Which led him to think of his parents. Both were in their 50's. He jotted down their exact age. 55, his father. 50, his mother. He computed their age gap (5 years), the likelihood of his mother to outlive his father and by how many years (86.4%, 7 years), as well as their life expancy by gender according to the average statistics (80, for men, and 87, for women).
Then, he added himself in the equation. Due to the nature of his work, he assumed that he probably wouldn't be able to enjoy the longevity his parents would. Another number formed on the white plain that's supposed to be his own estimated life expectancy. 55 (if he's fortunate). That number seemed reasonable because he knows a pro-hero who beat the odds and retired at that age. So that number was special to him. Though the likelihood of him surviving till that age still remained questionable due to his inclination in acquiring serious injuries.
Given that he visits his parents about once a year, he would only be seeing his parents another 25 times. His mother calls him every week, so he has to endure her grumbling 1275 more times (he subtracts the weeks in which he has to actually physically endure the torture face-to-face when he visits her). Shouta's brows furrowed and he frowned. Unless, he could find a way to somehow reduce the calls.
He remembered her consistent push at him to procure a wife.
55. He recalled the number, the person who breathed significance to this otherwise odd, meaningless number. His dorm neighbor. His colleague. His lover.
55. His lover was a man. Aside from defying his mother's expectations, Toshinori is supposed to live till he's 80 years old. Supposed to. If he had been the average man. But he wasn't. Because of the brutal injuries he's sustained in the past, Shouta speculated a 10 year reduction in that average (though he also knows he's being willfully subjective). 70.
That means they have 15 more summers, 780 more weeks, and 5475 more days altogether. They'll develop about 4 more groups of young talents to become professional heroes. Though, given their work, they probably won't have all that time to themselves. They probably won't be able to meet on a daily basis. The more realistic assumption would be 7 years, or 364 weeks, or 2555 days.
Yet.
Sir Nighteye had foresaw his lover's demise. And maybe that's why he became so fixated on 55, because that was one of the few pieces of tangible information he grasped. As if clinging onto the number---a fact, set in stone---Shouta could freeze and perserve Toshinori at that exact age. That he would neither be subjected to the fate in Sir Nighteye's foresight nor be plagued by the glaring gap in their age because Shouta would catch up. Eventually.
But, that's all wishful thinking, wasn't it? It provided no relief, no comfort, no solace, because it defied the constraints of reality which only accentuated the impermanence of human life.
They may have only 1 day, 24 hours, 1440 minutes. And what a pathetic crumb they're spared on the span of eternity bestowed upon everyone else.
Realizing this, Shouta shot up from his seat, dropped his pen and bolted for the door.
He needed to see Toshinori. Now. ....
Titanium (David x Toshinori) (Inspired by a certain passage in Jordan Peterson's Twelve Rules for Life)
Toshinori stepped into the capsule.
With the press of a button, Dave watched the glass door fold over the top, shutting the blond in the tight space. And thus began his routine checkup, powered by state-of-the-art technology. The sensors inside the encasement would provide the most detailed and precise, real-time measurements, including but not limited to, the other's vitals, his serum electrolyte levels and the oxygen carrying capacity of his blood.
By this time, after enough exposure and deconditioning, Toshinori had gotten over the claustrophobia that had initially accompanied these sessions. The scientist allowed his eyes to wander from the large screen of the bright monitor slowly filling up with graphs and charts to the metallic enclosure behind him. Just look at him. See how still he lied in there, with his eyes closed. Rarely did he appear so much at ease. Relaxed. Cozy.
Though improving data collection had been his primary objective when he constructed this machine, he was unwilling to compromise his companion's comfort the leastest. Dave took pride in the insubstantial and perhaps extraneous features he had included in the design. He had perhaps put so much thought and consideration into even the tiniest screw, that when he finally finished, after toiling endlessly for a year, Dave realized what he built had stemmed from the same persistent demand to compensate for his shortcomings.
He was afraid for Toshinori's fragility. And he had unconsciously built a solid fortress out of an untold need to coddle him, to protect him in the guise of a diagnostic pod.
Because that was the only thing he excelled at. Building things. Building things that were durable and sturdy and shatter-proof and tamper-resistant. Because his lover was no longer so, and he, himself, had never been athletically gifted to begin with.
As he gazed at the gaunt, emaciated figure encased in the bulletproof glass, that single urge, that burning desire rose within once more.
If he could only artificially fortify the other, then Toshinori would be composed of titanium instead of flesh and bone, and he would have a heart of iron. If ever he fell victim to the arbitrary cruelty of man or nature, it would never require him months or years or decades to recover. And wounds would leave neither scars nor sequelae. If ever his lover became broken, he could simply replace his parts.
But then.
He would no longer be Toshinori. He would be a monster.
Neither human nor robot.
Dave's fists clenched. He knew that though it was the other's prowess that first captivated him, his strengths and limitations are inextricable parts of his complete being. That he could not celebrate one part of him and shun another. There was no way for him to love an ideal fragment of him, instead of the complete yet imperfect him. Because All Might is Yagi Toshinori. And Yagi Toshinori, All Might.
Even if the vulnerable, frail Yagi Toshinori could not retain his invincible, superhero form forever.
Even if he's not made of titanium.
....
#25 (Toshinori) (Unfinished; Inspired by Murakami Haruki's "Scheherazade")
When peace is finally achieved to a certain extent, the former number one hero decides to settle. Open up a tea shop as a small business. Its goal not so much to make profit, but more to pass time, to stave off boredom.
His students would visit once in a while and bring along tales of their hero work.
Other guests would come for tea, and sometimes tea evolved to something else. And Toshinori allowed flings to happen without deterring or forcing them.
And if his companions were interested enough, he would tell them stories. Because as life goes on, age and experiences seem to be of the few things one accumulates. If he can't take pride in the former, at least he could do so somewhat with the latter.
....
#26 (Shouta + Toshinori)
Toshinori enjoyed films and books with backdrops in everyday, ordinary settings. Nowadays, because 80% of the world was extraordinary, evolved and equipped with quirks, books or films in that particular genre of daily ordinance were few and rarely produced.
If people were drawn to certain things, wasn't it because the thing---be it an object or book or movie---spoke to parts of themselves? Their dreams and aspirations? And their origins?
Toshinori thinks that the civilian protagonist archetype would probably be perceived as aliens especially by the youth of this generation.
"It's amazing how you can find your own reason to continue living while seeing another individual triumph over the challenges, be they significant or frivolous, life imposes on him." Toshinori murmured. "Amazing."
In the dark, when Shouta turns and sees the screen reflected in his lover's blue eyes as tiny glimmering squares, he could only agree. "Yes, truly amazing."
And he hope that speck of light would remain in the blond's eyes after the movie ends, long after they turn off the television and retire to bed.
....
Thief * (Aizawa ← Toshinori)
Toshinori suspected that perhaps he's watched too many puppy training videos lately.
He snapped to attention to an all too familiar click, only to find that it hadn't been a clicker the dog trainers used in the videos, but Aizawa's pen.
Though, it didn't make him less of a love sick dog. His eyes followed the black-clad figure out of the faculty office.
Alone in the deserted place, he let his focus wander, to track and then to cling to something, anything, left behind by his colleague.
He first spotted the pen on the other's desk. It was one of the few things left there, besides a small stack of ungraded assignments and a few paper clips. The brunet brought his minimalistic ways even to his work space.
It was an average retractable ballpoint pen. Black metallic barrel, with a convenient side clip for easy transport. Though the design was simple, Toshinori doubt that the other had heedlessly purchased it crammed together with its other clones in a pack from a hundred-yen store. Because he utilized the instrument on a daily basis, Toshinori knew careful consideration went into the selection of this pen. It's something that Aizawa carried with him.
…Only, it had been left behind today.
The object tempted him like a rare opportunity. When he reached out to seize it, the lingering warmth left on its body branded him a criminal.
He knew he was sick. How low he stooped to commit an act of theft of another's personal property. Because he was too afraid to come clean and confess his feelings to the other, that he instead resorted to stealing. All he could do was rely on something, an inanimate object that absorbed the warmth of the other's touch but failed miserably at retaining it.
Toshinori had Aizawa's pen. He had a piece of something that belonged to the other.
He had a piece of something that belonged to the other.
Because the pen couldn't feel, couldn't see, couldn't speak. So there was no way for it to judge, to criticize, to mock him. Him, in his rough, saggy, wrinkled, scar-infested skin. Him, with no voluptuous curves nor the right genitalia.
That, because he could not fulfill the basic, biological prerequisites, he was by default disqualified from being a potential candidate of the other's lover.
So, he surrendered his dream, comprised and settled for a bit of fleeting fantasy.
In the privacy of his dorm room, he carefully retracted the stolen treasure from his pant pocket. Then he discarded his pants, and with them, his dignity and shame.
His lips closed around the length of the writing utencil. In doing so, he breathed a bit of life into the lifeless thing. He coated the metallic barrel with his saliva and warmth.
Then, closing his eyes, at the same time turning away from reality and propriety, he pushed the hard object into his aching, puckering hole.
It's warm, he consoled himself, somehow like what he imagined Aizawa would feel like if he entered him. That despite his icy exterior and tepid responses, the brunet was warm.
Because he felt his lingering temperature when he pocketed his pen today.
....
Gold (Shouta x Toshinori; Buff!Might)
"Because you're not satisfied with the way you appear, it doesn't matter how many compliments or praises you receive, in the end, you're still doubtful. Distrusting."
"Is it not human instinct to want to appear as close to perfection as possible especially before the person you hold dear? So here I am."
Toshinori stood before him in his seven feet of rock solid muscle. All Might at his prime. Yagi Toshinori at his most proud, most confident. The perfection he most desired to display before Shouta and which he was showing off now. "But the question is, do you find this one attractive?"
On the surface, it's as if Toshinori sought for his approval, his validation on his ideal identity as an attempt to appease his vanity, his ego as the Number One Hero.
Yet, as Shouta studied his face, the glint of anticipation in his deep set eyes, he read otherwise.
Yagi Toshinori was offering him his world. Or whatever remained of his fleeting youthful spring. His last green, his gold.
....
以身相許 (Eraserhead x All Might)
超級英雄歐爾麥特被默默無聞的地下英雄橡皮頭解救了。
雖然這是讓人跌破眼鏡的事實。
歐爾麥特問: 大英雄，你要我如何報答你? 😁
橡皮頭聳聳肩：不用。😐
歐爾麥特調皮的提供： 那...你看我以身相許如何? 😏
橡皮頭: …. 😐
就當歐爾麥特要打破空氣中沉重的肅靜, 橡皮頭回答：…你要給，我就理當接受。😐
歐爾麥特：.... 😳
....
#30 (Aizawa Shouta)
Pack up your feelings, your memories. Pack up your vulnerabilities. If they won't fit neatly into that tiny box your mind has prepared for them, then you can always try to pound them down with some suppression. Kick the ponderous package to that corner of your mind where no light of consciousness could hope to penetrate.
Maybe from time to time the box might topple over and the contents would spill out. Then you'd get an ache, or tingling in your toes and fingertips, or your eyes may water more (and you can ALWAYS contribute it to you overusing your quirk).
No, you don't have psychosomatic issues.
You're overworked, sleep-deprived. That's all. Nothing out of the norm. Nothing a few stolen minutes, an extra hour of sleep wouldn't be able to fix.
There's nothing deeper. Nothing worth the investment of a thorough investigation. You never had such luxury.
....
