A Bunch of Stories And Roleplay @sulli1361 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
A Bunch of Stories And Roleplay
@sulli1361
Just something to keep me amused! 28 y/o female, Demon Slayer, GISHer, Writer. Status: And so, we have brought the folkmore cabin to UA! Well, I have a model one on my desk in the staff room…right?
You’re right there, just on the other side of his walls, yet his self imposed exile makes you feel lightyears away.
The sound of your laughter filtering through the balcony, the smell of your jasmine tea. He hoards these quiet moments like a thief, convinced this is the absolute maximum he is allowed to possess.
You were his proof that there was a point in living. Just knowing you were breathing just next door made the daily grind feel manageable.
It was past three in the morning. His joints ached with the familiar, dull throb that followed a protracted stakeout. He dug his keys out of his pocket, but his hand paused.
Instinctively, his gaze flicked to the left.
Your threshold was dark, save for the pale, amber sliver of light bleeding from beneath your frame. You were still awake. Or, more likely, you had left the entryway lamp burning on the off-chance he would bother to come over. It was an understated, persistent act of grace that Shota felt entirely unqualified to receive.
He slid his thumb into his pocket, his fingertips brushing the cold screen of his phone. A knot of lead settled in his stomach. He hadn’t answered your text from 08:00 AM.
“Bruhhh don’t be stubborn and lemme make that dish for you. Ik you liked the tiny itty bitty portion I made you try. Lmk when u got time.”
It was casual, and entirely devoid of demand of an answer. Yet, it had paralyzed him. He had stared at the glowing characters in the faculty lounge until the screen went black, his thumb hovering over the keyboard before he ultimately locked the device and thrust it away.
To acknowledge it was to accept the warmth behind it, and warmth was a luxury his spartan, utilitarian lifestyle had no practical use for.
“You’re doing it again, Eraser.”
Yamada’s voice, uncharacteristically stripped of its radio-host theatrics, echoed in the hollow spaces of his skull. They had been sitting in a late night diner post patrol. Yamada had watched him staring at his phone once again with that heavy lidded gloom.
“Doing what?” Shota had muttered, eyes fixed on the his glass of water.
“Walling yourself off. She’s not the liability you think she is man. She’s literally pronounced herself your friend multiple times. Do you forget she’s a full blown pro hero same as you? Your gonna lose whatever ya got with her if you keep it up.”
“That’s not the main issue,” Shota had replied, his voice flat, devoid of inflection. “She has a trajectory that lines up with the top rankings. An impeccable record with adoration from people solely for her existence. Pulling her into my orbit is an illogical indent to her life.”
Yamada had let out a long, frustrated sigh, the neon signs of the diner reflecting off his yellow glasses. “You think you’re being rational, but you’re just being a coward, Shota. You look in the mirror and see a weapon that’s only good for breaking things. But she looks and sees what you can’t. Which is an amazing guy! You’re so busy deciding you aren’t worthy of her that you’re completely ignoring what she actually wants.”
The memory tasted bitter. Shota turned the key in his lock with a heavy sigh and pings of regret. Regret for himself and for ever bothering you.
He stepped into the suffocating quiet of his apartment. His apartment wasn’t much. Really, it was almost empty and highly minimalist. He was a man who viewed his own existence as a depreciating asset. Eroded by time, injuries, and the relentless psychological toll of his exhausting mindset of martyr.
You possessed an innate, luminous gravity. To see you navigate a crowded room was to watch someone who belonged to the world, someone whose very presence lent validity to the idea that humanity was worth protecting.
You were magnificent, not merely because of your striking elegance or your formidable quirk, but because you looked at the jagged edges of his personality, the exhaustion etched into the lines around his eyes, and didn't recoil in disgust.
For four years, you had quietly occupied the margins of his life, never pushing nor demanding that he dismantle the fortress he had spent a lifetime building. You simply sat outside his walls, offering him an unconditional companionship that he craved so intensely it terrified him.
He wanted you. The admission was a phantom ache in his chest. An irrational, unruly variable in his carefully calculated universe.
He wanted to cross that short expanse of concrete balcony, knock on your glass door, and pull you into his arms and have the phantom taste of coffee in his mouth was replaced by your jasmine tea.
But he wouldn't.
To love you openly would be an act of supreme selfishness. How could he offer a broken, cynical thing like himself to someone so pristine? He wasn’t anything great. He was a man who viewed his own value only through the metric of how many lives he could shield from disaster before he eventually broke entirely.
He had nothing to give you that wouldn't eventually stain you.
He had convinced himself that his silence was the only thing he could truly offer you, protecting you from the inconvenience of his affection.
But as he sat in the dark, Yamada’s words refused to leave him. He wasn't protecting you. He was just hiding.
*ding*
His phone. This late at night?
He expected a dispatch from the agency, a sudden villain breakout, or an emergency summons to U.A. High.
Instead, your name illuminated the glass.
Y/n: come plss
No punctuation or context. Empty of your usual characteristic warmth or lighthearted emoji.
For a man who prided himself on absolute unshakeable rationality, Shota’s heart suffered a violent, irrational spike against his ribs. The cold logic he used to ‘protect you’ vaporized instantly.
Within three seconds, he was heading towards the back of his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him as his boots ate the short distance across the concrete walkway of the balcony. You and Shota’s apartment wasn’t necessary a normal one.
It was two rooms on the second floor that has the appearance of a regular one story house, that connected by the balcony. The balcony was in the back, it connected to the stairs that lead people into the gated courtyard so both his and your apartment wasn’t directly connected by this balcony. The balcony that acted more as a walkway to each other.
The night air was freezing, biting through his dark jumpsuit, but he didn't feel it.
He didn't knock, you had normalized that. (Thankfully) and because you knew him, the lock was already disengaged.
He pushed the sliding door open, his hand instinctively dropping to the fabric of his capture weapon, eyes darting through the gloom of your entryway, immediately scanning for a threat.
"Y/n?" His voice was a low gravelly rasp, cutting through the eerie quiet of your apartment.
The space was the antithesis of his own; it smelled of cinnamon candles and the comforting trace of sweet vanilla fragrance. But the ambient warmth felt disrupted.
He found you in your bedroom, illuminated only by the pale, ethereal wash of the moonlight filtering through the window. You weren’t under attack. There was no blood, no shattered glass. But to Shota, the sight of you was infinitely more jarring than a physical threat.
You were sitting on the floor at the foot of your bed. Your back pressed against the base of it. Your knees pulled tightly to your chest. Your hair fell in loose, disordered strands around your face.
When you lifted your head at the sound of his footsteps, the moonlight caught the wet sheen on your cheeks. You looked smaller than he had ever seen you. The vibrant, influential pro hero who could sway public opinion with a smile looked entirely hollowed out, stripped of your armor.
You looked fucking exhausted. Your head was swaying from the lack of strength you had to keep your head up.
Shota’s hand slid away from his capture weapon. "What happened?" he asked, stepping into the room. He kept his voice intentionally soft, modulating the tone to the exact frequency he used when comforting his students.
"Y/n, focus," Shota said, his grip tightening on your hand as your head rolled back against your comforter. Your eyelids fluttered slowly, thick and leaden like fighting against an invisible, suffocating weight.
"I'm... so tired, Shota," you mumbled, your words slurring together like ink running on wet paper. "The villain... a chemical dispersal. A soporific quirk. Feels like... like the world is made of wool."
Shota’s eyes narrowed, his mind instantly diagnosing the symptoms.
Your eyes closed completely, your breathing turning slow and shallow.
"Hey. Stay with me for a minute," Shota commanded.
“If it's just a sedative quirk, you need to sleep it off. But you shouldn't be trembling like this."
"Can't..." you breathed, your hand limply gesturing toward your midsection. "Couldn't... look at it. Too heavy to move."
Shota’s gaze dropped. He hadn't noticed the way you were cradling your right side, your arm folded defensively over your ribs. He leaned closer, his hand gently parting the fabric of your dark jacket.
The white linen shirt beneath was ruined. A jagged, ugly tear in the fabric was saturated with a deep, blooming crimson.
A laceration. Under normal circumstances, you would have patched yourself up with the efficiency of a seasoned pro. But with your cognitive functions entirely blunted by the drowsiness quirk, you hadn't even been able to unbutton your vest. You had crawled into your apartment, bleeding and utterly paralyzed by the chemical fog in your brain, capable of nothing more than sending a two-word plea to the one person you trusted.
A spike of cold adrenaline pierced Shota’s chest, entirely burning away his own exhaustion.
"I need to look at this," he said, his voice dropping into that absolute, unshakeable tone that brooked no argument. "I'm going to move you Y/n."
You gave a faint, barely perceptible nod, your head lolling against his shoulder as he carefully shifted you onto your back, supporting your head with his forearm. You were practically dead weight now, completely at the mercy of the quirk running through your veins and the man handling you right now.
Shota stood, retrieved the medical kit from your bathroom once found and knelt back at your side. He cut away the ruined fabric of your shirt, his breath catching slightly as the wound was exposed.
It was a deep, jagged gash across your upper abdomen. It was still oozing, the blood stark against your skin.
"This needs stitches," Shota muttered, his jaw tightening. "But I need to clean it first. It's going to sting Y/n. Try to stay still."
As he pressed a sterile, antiseptic-soaked gauze pad to the wound, your body instinctively convulsed. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, and your eyes flew open, filmed over with a heavy drug-induced haze, but wide with sudden pain. Your hand reached out blindly, your fingers clawing into the fabric of his jumpsuit.
"Sh-Shota..." you whimpered, a tear leaking from the corner of your eye, your breathing turning erratic.
"It’s okay, I've got you," he murmured.
For a man who viewed himself as a blunt instrument, his hands were incredibly tender. He used his left hand to pin your fingers gently against his chest, letting you feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart, while his right hand expertly cleaned the laceration.
He worked in silence, the only sound the ticking of the wall clock and your soft whimpers. Every stitch he placed was meticulous.
Look at you, the cynical voice in his head whispered. You’re magnificent, and you are bleeding on the floor because you were saving people. And the only person you had to turn to was himself.
The old, familiar wave of unworthiness tried to rear its head, but Shota violently suppressed it. There was no room for his self-pity here. You needed him. The man who didn't flinch at blood, and who would stay in the dark with you until the poison cleared your system.
After what felt like an eternity, he tied off the final suture and pressed a clean bandage over the neatly closed wound.
Your grip on his shirt finally relaxed, your fingers slipping limply to the floor. The spike of pain had passed, and the heavy, narcotic drowsiness immediately reclaimed its territory, dragging you back down into the depths of sleep. Your breathing stabilized sooner than he expected.
Shota didn't stand up. He remained on his knees beside you, his chest heaving slightly. He carefully packed away the medical supplies, then reached over to smooth a few stray, sweat-dampened strands of hair away from your forehead.
Your face was peaceful now, the lines of pain entirely erased by sleep.
For the first time in years, Shota let the armor drop completely. He didn't look at you through the lens of logic, or ranking, or his own perceived worthlessness. He just looked at the woman who had chosen to trust him with her life when she was at her most vulnerable.
"Stupid," he whispered softly into the quiet room, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely permitted himself to feel. "You could have called anyone. You should have gone to a hospital."
But as he carefully lifted you into his arms to carry you onto your bed, feeling the weight of you against his chest, Shota knew the truth. He didn't deserve you. He might never believe he did. But as long as you kept reaching for him, he would try his best to keep you there.
. . .
The gold gradient of dawn filtered through your pink linen curtains, casting the room and all of its occupants under a glowing pink.
You awoke slowly, the suffocating wool that had blanketed your mind now mostly evaporated. The terrifying, leaden paralysis of the quirk hadn’t entirely broken its hold of your body though. Leaving your thoughts clear, but body fragile.
As you tried to draw a deep breath, a sharp white-hot line of pain flared across your abdomen, drawing a soft, involuntary hiss from between your teeth. Along with the ache of the stitched laceration, a brutal, throbbing headache hammered against your temples. The inevitable, dehydrating hangover of the chemical sedative.
You squeezed your eyes shut against the morning light, letting your hand drift instinctively toward the ache beneath your shirt. The stitching was tight, and neat? Nothing like yours.
When you opened your eyes again, you looked down.
There, sitting on the hardwood floor with his back braced against the wall beside your mattress, was Shota.
He was still wearing his dark uniform, his capture scarf lay pooled around his lap like a coiled, sleeping serpent.
His head was tilted back against the wall, his chin shadowed by a rough trace of stubble, and his dark, unruly hair fell over his closed eyes. Even in sleep, his posture retained a stubborn vigilance. He had stayed the entire night, refusing the comfort of his own bed to keep watch over you on the uncomfortable draft of your floorboards.
The sheer weight of his devotion made your chest ache far more than your physical wounds.
At your slight shift on the mattress, his eyelids instantly fluttered open. There was no groggy transition for Shota; his dark eyes were instantly alert, scanning your face, your posture, and the bandage on your stomach in a single sweep.
"Don't move," he muttered, his voice a dry gravelly rasp. He slowly shifted himself up, his joints popping in protest after hours of confinement on the floor, though his face remained an unreadable mask. "You'll tear the sutures."
"Shota..." Your voice was quiet, barely a whisper, thick with the dryness of your throat. "You stayed."
"I wasn't going to leave you to choke on your own tongue if the quirk had a secondary reaction," he said flatly, though the sheer lie of his pragmatism was betrayed by the gentle, searching look in his bloodshot eyes.
He reached out, the back of his hand briefly brushing your forehead to check your temperature. His skin was cool against your skin. "Your fever's down. How's the head?"
"Like your friend Present Mic is practicing his quirk inside my skull," you admitted with a weak, self-deprecating smile, though the movement made you wince. "And my stomach feels like it was put through a woodchipper."
"It was a deep laceration. It took twelve stitches," Shota said, lowering his hand. He slowly rose to his feet, a brief, barely perceptible grimace crossing his features as his stiff muscles protested.
He walked out of the bedroom, and returned a moment later carrying a glass of water and two small white tablets.
"Painkillers. And a mild anti-inflammatory," he said, kneeling by the bedside. He carefully slid his hand behind your shoulders, supporting your neck with a gentleness that contradicted his gruff demeanor, helping you lift your head just enough to sip the water and swallow the pills.
As you drank, you looked at him over the rim of the glass. Up close, the dark purple smudges of exhaustion under his eyes were stark. He looked entirely worn thin, yet he was handling you willingly.
"Thank you," you murmured, leaning your head back onto the pillow as he withdrew his hand. "For... last night. For everything. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come."
Shota stared at the empty glass in his hand, his thumb tracing the rim. The old, familiar armor tried to settle back over his shoulders, the voice that told him he was merely performing a basic duty, that any hero would have done the same.
That he had no right to feel this fterritorial need to keep you safe.
"You should have gone to a hospital, Y/n," he said, his voice dropping into a serious register. "You have a big family. You have resources. A hospital would-“
" I didn't want a hospital," you interrupted softly, your eyes locked onto his, refusing to let him retreat like always.
"I wanted you."
The silence that followed your admission was heavy, thick with the unsaid. Shota remained kneeling by the bedside, his dark gaze fixed on the empty glass in his hand as he thought of what to say.
You shifted slightly, a soft gasp catching in your throat as your core muscles protested the movement. The pain in your stomach was a hot throb, but the leaden weight in your limbs was worse. There was dried blood in many area of your skin and hair leftover from the fight you fought.
You looked at her hands, then up at him, your gaze entirely devoid of your usual radiant luster.
"I need a bath, Shota," you said softly.
He nodded once, thankful you didn’t pressure an answer out of him and changed the topic. "I’ll run the water. I can help you to the door, and-”
"No," you interrupted gently, your voice barely above a whisper. "I mean... I can't. My arms feel like lead. I can barely lift the glass.”
You didn't embellish or offer a flurry of sheepish excuses or blush, because you had never been a woman of fragile sensibilities or artificial shame. You looked at him, asking for what you needed without the burden of pretense.
Shota froze.
The air in the room suddenly felt very thin. For all his years of triage, medical emergencies, and the detachment he maintained in life, this was entirely different. The boundary between you, the carefully maintained distance of the neighbor, suddenly felt fragile.
His usually hyper efficient mind, suffered a catastrophic system error.
To bathe you. To hold you in your most vulnerable state, to touch you with the absolute intimacy of a caretaker, was to cross a line from which there was no returning.
Every instinct he possessed to protect you from himself, to keep his pathetic, cynical world from bleeding onto your pristine canvas, screamed in protest.
He didn't belong in the quiet, soft space of your vulnerability. He would be an intrusion. An inconvenience.
Yet, beneath the roaring panic of his self-doubt, his deepest instinct overrode the noise: Your hurting, and you asked for him.
"Right, okay." Shota muttered.
His lack of outward awkwardness was his only shield. He didn't look away or flush with schoolboy embarrassment. If he allowed even a sliver of hesitation to show, it would make you feel like a burden, and that was the one thing he refused to let happen.
He stood up and walked into your bathroom. The sound of rushing, warm water soon reached your ears. And you felt your heart patter irregularly.
When he returned, he knelt beside your bed once more. He didn't ask if you were sure. He simply slid one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your shoulders, cradling your back.
As he lifted you, you let your head fall naturally against the crook of his neck, your soft breath warm against his collarbone. You felt so light to someone with his strength, yet you felt like the heaviest responsibility he had ever carried.
"I've got you," he murmured, to steady his own racing pulse and reassure you.
He carried you into the steam wreathed bathroom. The tub was half full, the water swirling with a soft, soothing lather. Shota set you down on the wall outlining the tub, his hands resting on your shoulders for a moment to ensure you wouldn't slip.
His fingers hovered over the hem of your oversized shirt, the one he had carefully put you in after stitching you up. He did that with his eyes closed. So he could do it now too.
You met his eyes, and there was no hesitation in your expression. Instead, there was a profound trust that made Shota’s throat feel dry. You raised your chin slightly, a silent “yes.”
With closed eyes, Shota began to help you slide the shirt over your head. Though he struggled, and after fumbling with your shirt, you spoke.
“Shota, just open your eyes.” You whispered. Almost teasing him.
He listened. “Right, okay.”
His eyes focused entirely on the task, treating you with a deep, reverent gentleness that he didn't even realize he was displaying. You made sure to hold your hands over your breasts once your shirt was gone, the white bandage across your abdomen being exposed. Though he did close his eyes when removing your lower clothing.
"Don't let the water submerge the stitches," Shota instructed. He carefully supported your weight, helping you lower yourself into the warm tub. "Keep your torso slightly elevated. I'll handle the rest."
Fuck. He gave you such a fuzzy feeling. This entire event was sending you over the moon. He’s willingly stitching you up, staying over to watch you, bathing you? You couldn’t help but look at him like he was your man.
As the warm water hugged your aching body, a long, trembling sigh of relief escaped your lips. You rested your head back against the wall, your eyes closing as the heat began to coax the stubborn chill from your bones.
Shota knelt on the bathmat beside you. He picked up a soft washcloth, soaking it in the warm water, and began to gently wash the dried grime and sweat from your shoulders and arms. His touch was incredibly light.
He kept his gaze steady, focusing on the curve of your shoulder, the line of her collarbone. His mind fighting a silent, desperate battle. You shouldn't be here, the voice whispered. You aren't the man for this.
But as he rinsed the cloth, you leaned your head slightly to the side, your eyes opening just a fraction to look at him.
"You're very gentle, Shota," you whispered, your voice soft from the warmth of the bath. "For someone who tries so hard to look like they don't care."
Shota paused. For a fleeting second, the walls he had built over four years felt remarkably thin, threatened by your gaze.
"Someone has to make sure your okay," he muttered, turning back to his work, his throat tight with a feeling he still didn't dare to name.
He was careful to avoid the right side of your torso entirely, keeping his movements predictable so you wouldn't instinctively tense your core to protect the stitches.
Every time his fingers brushed against your damp skin, a low pull thrummed beneath his ribs. It was an irrational, volatile reaction, one he tried to suppress. He measured the interval of your breathing. He reminded himself not to cling to this moment, you only needed his help.
But logic was a poor shield against the reality of you.
You watched him through a fringe of damp lashes. The water had brought a healthy flush back to your cheeks, though your posture remained entirely limp. You weren’t focused on the water, or the pain in your stomach, or even the heavy remnants of the sedative. You were looking at the tightening of his jaw, the hard line of his shoulders, and the way his dark eyes seemed to look right through you, fixed on some internal bleak landscape.
You knew that look. It was the look of a man retreating into his own fortress, reinforcing the barricades because he believed he was a danger to anything he cared about.
You’ve known him for years. You know.
"Shota," you murmured
He didn't pause his hands, his fingers continued smoothing the damp cloth over your knee. "Keep your legs still. I'm almost done."
"Look at me," you requested gently.
Shota’s gaze shifted, lifting from the water to meet your eyes directly.
You knew the one thing that could always drag Shota Aizawa out of his own head was his own fierce, unyielding sense of responsibility for the people under his protection.
"How are your students doing?" You asked quietly, your expression softening. "The kids in Class 2-A. You've been working them hard lately, haven't you?"
The abrupt shift in topic caught him off guard. He let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders dropping just a fraction.
"They're idiot brats," he muttered, though the rough edge of his voice lacked any real bite. He rinsed the cloth, his movements returning to a more natural, rhythm. "Midoriya still doesn't understand the concept of self-preservation, and Bakugo's temper is an administrative nightmare. But... their reactionary times are improving. They're learning how to look at a situation logically instead of relying solely on raw power. They might actually survive graduation if they stop trying to get themselves killed."
You watched the subtle change in his expression, the way the distant, haunted look in his eyes replaced itself with the deep caring focus of a teacher.
You loved that about him.
"And Eri?" You asked, your voice dropping into a tender, maternal register. "Have you seen her this week?"
The ghost of a softer line appeared around Shota’s mouth, so faint anyone else would have missed it.
"She's fine," he said. "Mirio took her to the packaging district yesterday to see the festival lanterns. She's... adjusting. The nightmares are less frequent. She spent three hours on Tuesday trying to teach me how to braid hair because she saw an upperclassman doing it. It was an inefficient use of afternoon training hours, but her emotional stability is a priority.”
Your heart swelled, a warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the temperature of the bath. You looked at this man, this fiercely protective, deeply compassionate soul who genuinely believed he was nothing but a broken tool. Yet, he was the sole anchor for a traumatized little girl, and the unyielding mentor for a class of twenty children who looked at him with absolute reverence.
"You're a good teacher, Shota," you whispered, your eyes locking onto his.
"And you're a good guardian. You give everything you have to those kids. You make sure they have a future, even when you don't give yourself one."
Shota froze. He realized then what you had done. You hadn't asked about his day to pass the time; you were dragging him out of his thoughts by reminding him of the good he actually did in the world.
He looked down at you, his throat tightening with an emotion so raw it terrified him. He wanted to tell you that the only reason he could be any of those things for them was because you were the one who kept him whole enough to do it.
He finished washing your hair before lifting himself up.
"The water is getting cold," he said flatly, though his chest rose and fell in a ragged rhythm. He stood and grabbed a large, plush towel from the rack. "We're done here. The longer you stay in, the more your core temperature drops, which slows the regeneration around the sutures."
You let out a soft, breathy sigh, your eyelids turning heavy again as the residual effects of the bath relaxed you completely.
"Okay," you murmured, leaning forward slightly. "Help me out?"
Shota stepped closer to the lip of the tub, leaning down to slide his arms beneath you once more. As he lifted you from the water, he immediately wrapped a towel around you, cocooning you against the sudden chill of the bathroom air. You collapsed against his chest, your forehead resting against his collarbone, completely spent.
He carried you back into the bedroom. He laid you down gently onto the fresh sheets, before moving to your closet.
You didn’t close your eyes this time. Though your limbs were still incredibly heavy from the lingering sedative, the hot flare of pain from your stomach and the throbbing in your temples kept sleep at bay. You merely watched him.
The mechanical hum that usually droned in the background of your apartment had died. In its place, a heavy, suffocating warmth began to bleed through the vents, immediately thick with the midsummer humidity. The air-conditioning unit just broke.
You let out a weak, frustrated sigh against your pillow, your voice tight with your headache. "It finally died... I’ve been trying to get a technician out here for three days. No one was available until Monday."
Shota stopped in his tracks. He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger as a dull ache of his own began to bloom behind his eyes. A broken AC in the dead of summer was something he didn't need, especially not when you were recovering from a deep laceration and a narcotic quirk. If you stayed in this rising heat, you would sweat, which would irritate the sutures.
"Damn," Shota muttered under his breath.
He didn't waste time. He didn't need to search; four years of domestic proximity meant he knew exactly what you liked to wear in a home setting. He pulled open the drawer and grabbed a grey cotton tank top and a pair of soft shorts.
"Sit up slowly," he commanded quietly, sliding his hand behind your shoulders to bear the brunt of your weight.
“Yes boss,” you replied sarcastically. Your movements were sluggish as you slid your arms through the tank top. He was careful not to snag the cotton on your bandages as he pulled it down over your frame, he closed his eyes as he helped slip on your underwear, then the shorts. Throughout it all, you kept your gaze fixed on him, your quiet, unbothered confidence kept his own hyper anxieties at bay.
Once you were dressed, Shota didn’t pull away. Instead, he looked down at you.
"My apartment's unit is running," he said, his voice a rough rumble. "You're coming next door."
Before you could even assemble a reply, Shota leaned down and slid his arms beneath your knees and back once more. He lifted you effortlessly, bringing your back against his chest. You didn't protest; you simply looped your weak arms around his neck, resting your forehead against the crook of his shoulder as he carried you.
You tightened your grip around his neck, your fingers curling into the dark fabric of his uniform.
"You know,"you murmured, your voice a soft, raspy hum right against his collarbone, "if anyone sees the formidable Eraser Head carrying his neighbor across the hall in her pajamas at dawn, your terrifying reputation is going to take a serious hit."
Shota didn't break his stride. He kept his eyes locked on his own threshold just a few paces away. "Let them look. And I don't have a reputation to maintain for the neighbors."
"Mm. Keep telling yourself that," you whispered, a faint, genuine trace of amusement coloring your tone despite the throbbing headache. You leaned your head back just enough to look up at his profile, taking in the rigid line of his jaw. "But admitting you're doing something nice for me? Heaven forbid."
Shota reached his door, maneuvering to fish his keys out of his pocket with one hand while keeping his grip beneath your knees.
The lock clicked open, and he nudged the door back with his boot. The air inside smelled faintly the dark coffee he had brewed the night before. It was entirely unadorned, but right now, the drop in temperature felt like a physical relief.
"You're infuriating, Shota," you said softly, your eyes locked onto his as he carefully lowered you onto the edge of the mattress. You didn't let go of his neck right away, forcing him to remain hovering close, his dark hair falling forward to shadow his face. "You'll use every medical textbook definition in the world just to avoid saying that you care about me."
Shota froze, his hands still supporting your lower back. Up close, the unbothered, open honesty in your gaze was completely disarming.
"I'm here, aren't I?" he muttered, his voice dropping into a rough, defensive whisper.
You smiled. a tired, but incredibly beautiful expression that made his chest ache. You finally let your hands slip from his shoulders, resting them limply in your lap.
"Yes," you whispered, your voice softening until it was almost a confession. "You are. You always are."
HELLOOO can I request a one shot with reader saying the L-word to Aizawa without even thinking about it when they’re being domestic together (and freaking out a lil bit cuz like was it too sudden???)
domesticity
fluff | sfw | shouta aizawa x fem!reader
your beloved boyfriend bust through the door and walked with his shoulders rounded and his back hunched to place his keys inside the dish stood on your kitchen counter that you two had made in a pottery class taught by a spiritual white woman using a coupon you two had gotten from hizashi as a half-assed gift for shouta’s birthday.
in his haze of rubbing his calloused hands down his face after ripping his scarf from his neck and throwing it on the counter and starting to complain to himself about his annoying and tiring job— he almost didn’t notice his beloved girlfriend out on the balcony in a sundress, hanging their laundry to dry— only a living room between the two of them.
before you had noticed him, he noticed the way your hair was shaped softly in the light breeze and how the light reflected off of your supple skin. did he feel a little creepy staring at you without you knowing? yeah, a little; but he’s your boyfriend so it’s alright.
you two had split rent on a 1SLDK apartment together near his work, moving in after 5 months of being together— it was a little fast, you could both admit, but your lease was ending and he needed a better roommate than hizashi— who was an obnoxious snorer.
you were hanging up a damp blanket when you noticed him, so excited that you dropped it on the concrete floor of the balcony and ran up into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as his muscular arms wrapped around your torso, his hands smoothing the skirt part of your dress over your thighs.
you kissed his scruffy collarbone, working your way up to the apple of his cheek. “i’m not complaining— but why so happy to see me?” he spoke in that tone that others would describe as cold— but to you— to you it was the warmest sound you have ever heard
“jus’ feeling… oh i dunno, domestic?” you spoke that last word in a hushed tone, afraid of judgement from your beloved boyfriend who wouldn’t judge you even if you liked your coffee with a bunch of creamer and sweeteners— which he strongly detested.
“domestic, huh?” he teased, a sly tone lacing his voice as he repeated your words back to you; louder than when you said them.
you nodded, pouting your lip and shied your face away, which was met to his hand grabbing your chin to tilt your head back to meet his obsidian eyes. your lashes fluttered at him— something that made his heart skip a beat.
he started to carry you to the couch, where he sat, you staying tight on his lap but moving your legs to an m-shape position. “so are you gonna pick up that towel… or?” he teased once more, his voice lowering as he leaned his head back on your couch, his intense gaze keeping on you.
“mm… no. but is it cute and endearing and… domestic that i was doing our laundry? newly-moved-in-couple things?” you bit your lip and and squinted your eyes just the right amount to make his head shoot up and suck on his teeth.
his hands moved up from resting on your lower hips to running up and down the sides of your bodice, landing on your true waist and squeezing gently.
he breathed in through his nose, a small smirk splaying across his lips. “if your feeling domestic— why don’t you make dinner, too?”
“mm… i think you should order us chinese takeout instead.” you gave him your signature smile that always made him fold, and he looked down at both of your laps for a moment then looked back up to you.
“…and use my credit card, i’m assuming?” he flashed his teeth. if only his students could see him now— his pupils and coworkers saw him as a sleepy, overworked-underpaid, and an always annoyed person, everyone assumed he was a bachelor— just ‘cause of his ‘done with everyone’ attitude.
if only they knew that he had a cute girlfriend at home in a sundress waiting for him at home hanging up his laundry. “you know it.”
“i pay more of the rent, i always use my card when ordering takeout, and i pay for those little dresses you strut around in our apartment. if i didn’t know better— i would’ve thought you were using me for my money.” you giggled and laid your head on his chest, moving your hands from his outer thighs to rubbing your hands up his biceps and around his shoulders to wrap your arms around his neck.
“mm-mm.” you detested, your hands rubbing up and down his back. “you know i love you.” you both sat in awkward silence for a moment— your body tensed up against him.
you see, neither of you had said this specific phrase— i love you— to one another. it was such a big deal, and you didn’t know if it was too early. plus, you had thought that it was supposed to be in a special and intimate moment, not while he was teasing you about spending his money. did you even really mean it, fully and intentionally? were you leading him on? internally, you were freaking out.
“i love you, too.” he finally calmed your racing thoughts with four simple words. and even left no room for overthinking, as there was a subtle pause in between ‘you’ and ‘too’; see this mattered because it showed he wasn’t only saying it because you said it, but because he meant it.
“really?” you quietly whispered out, just loud enough for him to hear but not enough for your to hear it over your heart thumping in your chest.
“of course i do. now stop your overthinking and tell me what you want from taipei express.” it was so simple— but his words could quiet your racing mind with a quiet whisper from his lips. his touch could stop your shaking with the touch of his hand.
you did mean it. you loved him.
a/n : i am a em dash fein guys im sry ik its a lot😔🙏i need to cut down on my usage
Hellooo! I would like to make a bnha request with alpha Aizawa with a shy omega s/o. (This is my first time requesting omegaverse so sorry if I write something weird). What if his s/o is scared of alphas because of the rough things they hear from their omega friends? s/o was already hesitant getting into a relationship, afraid if Aizawa is the type to get possessive and rough.
Take the lead
Alpha!Aizawa x ShyOmega!Reader
I Masterlist
A/N: I haven’t done something for Aizawa in so long! He used to be my favorite character to write for and this makes me nostalgic for when I first started writing fics. This ask got buried in my drafts, so sorry it took so long to get to.
—————————————
You were soft.
That’s what everyone said at least. It’s not something you took offense to but it made life just a tad more difficult. As if being an Omega in a world full of pushy Alphas and Betas wasn’t enough. Some may have bristled at the fact yet you took it in stride, allowing your demeanor and presentation to give you an advantage.
It seemed only fitting when you began working as a daycare employee, helping others where you could and spending your days with the children- who were a lot less troublesome than adults. The others seemed almost jealous at the control you had over the rambunctious little ones, their eyes and ears tuning in the moment you called for their attention, listening with rapt attention. Any other time they could be found clinging to your legs, pleading to come look at their latest creation or join them for a game of one kind or another.
You were a natural at it. So much so that others began to question why you weren’t at another school. One with better funding that were more prestigious. Where the ratio of children to adults was much lower and less stressful. But you liked it where you were. The workers were kind and the salary wasn’t awful. There were times where it was stressful but what jobs didn’t have their moments?
Besides, it would be too painful to have to explain to the children why you were leaving. You often told yourself you would look for another position when the last class of kids graduated to going to grade school but by the time that rolled around you had already gotten attached to the new ones.
The children who ended up here tended to have their own difficulties. Oftentimes due to the emergence of quirks or troubled family backgrounds, the majority of the staff holding both psychology and early childhood development backgrounds in order to work here and be able to properly help those that came through the doors. It was a scary world out there, and if you could provide at least some comfort to them for even a few hours a day that would be enough for you to feel as if you were contributing something positive to their world.
Then, each day when you were done, you would go home to your apartment just a few blocks away, walking with the other teachers as they headed towards the train station. The proximity was another reason you refused to leave, less of a chance for anything to go wrong, for anyone to take advantage of you. The others knew enough of your fear not to tease you about it, kind enough to provide the comfort of numbers whenever you went out. You were the only Omega who worked at the center after all, and looked great on pamphlets to be able to say that there was one on staff with the decreasing numbers in recent years. Still, as much as you loved your job there were some things that were more difficult to get around.
It was a shameful thing that you couldn’t get rid of, your fear of Alphas. Not logical, as you had tried to convince yourself. There were hundreds of thousands of them in Japan alone, outnumbering Omegas but still below the number of Betas. It was impossible to completely avoid them, which is why you had taken the opportunity of the daycare. All the workers were either Betas or a few other Omegas, even run by a Beta couple. The children themselves were far from presenting and allowed you to live in relative peace. Only the stray mention from the others about one attack or another, some story or rumor they had heard about a nameless Alpha, shushed when they noticed you nearby. They didn’t need to. Your mother had done enough when you were younger. She and your father had both been Omegas and their pairing earned them a fair amount of scrutiny and ridicule. Alphas upset about the fact that two Omegas chose to pair with each other instead of an Alpha reducing the ‘dwindling supply’.
“Never. EVER. Trust and Alpha.” They had both warned you. “They’re not interested in anything beyond you being an Omega, no matter how sweet they talk.”
The fear had been ingrained in you from an early age as they enrolled you in schools specifically meant for Omegas, while in college you choose courses specifically taught by Omega and Beta professors. As much of your time was spent study and doing work as it was spent avoiding any Alphas on campus. Their words seemed to only be proven right when an Alpha from your philosophy class had begun following you around to the point one of your friends needed to be with you at nearly all times. He was aggressive and pushy, intimidating in the unique way only an Alpha could be, and you were thankful when you graduated that he moved away and you would never have to see him again.
Since then you’ve been living your life in relative peace, mostly going from work to home as your time was taken up by planning activities for the children and continuing your own education with some online Masters classes at a leisurely pace. There were a few dates here and there but nothing that ever lasted. While it wasn’t ideal, a part of you craving a connection that went deeper than being just friends, you were content for the most part, burying yourself in your work and supplementing yourself off the praise from your coworkers and boss. This in turn lead to volunteering for even more work activities such as you found yourself at now.
Orientation night for the new year. Full of nervous children and parents alike. Normally only a few of the teachers needed to be there but you had been asked to help and which you gladly agreed. Not like you had much else going on a Friday night. Tasked with working the craft area to keep kids occupied and help them get squatted with one another while their parents walked around and talked with the staff, you were making sand charms in little plastic bottles, helping them pick out colors and fill them up. Something easy and which you were more than glad to do, paid overtime to do essentially do crafts.
More than once you could feel eyes flicking towards you in curiosity, the only Omega at the function that wasn’t a parent, and even though the scent of some of the parents being Alphas out you on edge your teaching aid, a young man by the name of Shizu who was in school himself and would be shadowing you for the semester, helped to curve their attention when any approached. It seemed your coworkers had informed him of your aversion to Alphas and while a bit embarrassing you were grateful for the fact that they looked out for you in such a way.
It was towards the end of the night when the stream of students and parents ruined that you noticed her. A little girl standing by herself, clutching a doll to her chest like it was a lifeline. She hid behind the leg of a sharply dressed woman who was talking with one of the owners-Kori-her eyes curious as she watched the others at your table. The woman was vaguely familiar and you remember seeing her in the office a few times, each time with a different child. A no-nonsense Beta, though nobody ever had anything overtly negative to say about her. She was direct and competent, but not overly aggressive in the way others who came in could be. Once before she had even helped fix the copy machine, a sharp kick putting the machine into submission and back to spitting out papers for fear of the woman:
When the little girl noticed you watching she startled and quickly hid herself further behind the woman who looked down at the movement, following the girl's gaze to see you watching them. She seemed to try and encourage her to go over over but she wouldn’t budge, hiding behind a curtain of snowy hair.
Excusing yourself and leaving Shizu in charge, you made your way over to them. Kori smiled wide as she noticed you approaching, quickly introducing you to the woman.
“This is Cozue. She is the social worker who works primarily with us. I don’t think you’ve properly met yet.”
“I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” The woman extended her hand, the scent of Beta drifting off her. “I’ve heard plenty from both Kori and some of the students. All good things I can assure you.”
“Well that’s good to hear.” You smile,, exuding as much calming pheromones as would be deemed social acceptable as you crouch down to the little girls height. “And may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”
She hesitates, pressing the plushy of what you can only assume is some hero to her nose, eyes wide as she looks up at the adults above her. The Cozue gives a small nod, stepping aside so you can see her fully. She’s adorn in a cute dress, a bow tying her hair back away from her face, allowing you to see the brilliant red of her eyes.
“My….my name is Eri.”
“Eri. What a lovely name.” Extending a hand halfway towards her, she backs up just a step. “Would you like to come do a craft with us. I promise it’s a lot more fun than standing around with the adults.”
She looks between your smiling face and hand, outstretched to meet her halfway, palm up. After a moment she hesitantly takes it and you feel a rush of excitement, leading her back to the table with the others and helping her get set up.
Despite her earlier shyness she seems to open up around the other children, falling into conversation with them as they discuss the best colors to use. She fills one of the flow charms with swirling pinks and yellows.
“Can I make two?” She asks when you explain that she can attach the charm to her bag for school. There’s planets of materials and the night is already winding down. She perks up at your approval, reaching for one of the cat charms and organizing a tube of grey sand to contrast the yellow she clasps in her other hand.
Her placements seem even more deliberate than before, asking for some help to get the yellow placed for the eyes. It’s not perfect but passable, and the way Eri beams at the trinket after it’s finished assures you it’s nothing short of perfect.
When Cozue comes to collect her she seems more at ease, even waving goodbye as she follows the woman back towards the front entrance. As you help
Pick up for the night you can’t help but feel a bit lighter despite the hour. Hopefully all the kids you met tonight would have a good time in the coming year, though your thoughts lingered on Eri, remembering the way she had talked so enthusiastically with the boy next to her about heroes when he noticed her plushy. Maybe you could talk with Kori about getting them in the same class since they seemed to get along so well already.
———————————
It turned out that you would not have to worry about Eri and Cho, the boy from before, as both had been placed in your classroom. A fact you discovered when making up name tags for cubbies that weekend after being sent your class list. You took care to make sure her own tag was a cat, grey just like the one she had made.
Where Eri was timid at first Cho had no such reservations, the social butterfly of your classroom talking to anyone and everyone. You worried at first that Eri might feel a bit left out as he made new friends but it seemed she was brought along wherever he went, always looking for her. While it wasn’t abnormal for children to have an interest in pro heroes- the opposite in fact, with more outliers being in the category of not having any interest in them- it seemed your class in particular had many who adored them. There were commonalities among favorites in debates you sometimes had to step into to avoid tears and fights. All Might was a fan favorite of course, while Edgeshot had also taken a rise in popularity within the class. There were always debates firing snack breaks, recess filled with games of heroes and villains- in which you often found yourself taking part of the villain who was desperately trying to avoid being caught by a gaggle of heroes chasing you across the lawn- but despite it all Eri never wavered in her favorite.
“Eraserhead!” She proudly declared at circle time, the starting question of everyone going around and saying their favorite hero. It made sense given the plush she always carried around with her. What was a bit abnormal was the Ferber in which she defended him, nearly getting into a fight when one of the others called him washed up and boring, leading to nearly a fist fight as Cho got involved. After apologies were said and everyone was sent back to their seats to work on ways they could have handled the argument better you pulled Eri aside. It was unlike her to have such a temper so it seemed reasonable to check in that everything was alright.
“He was part of the group that saved me.” She admitted, limp trembling and eyes still red, clutching the plush to her chest, inhaling the scent to soothe her. Something she did often and you assumed it was .
regularly scented by someone close to her. You would sometimes catch the notes or crisp apples early in the mornings, and it clung to her at times on Mondays.
“He makes sure I have everything I need and promised to keep me safe.”
You felt your heart melt a bit at the teary confession. It wasn’t uncommon for the students here to be either surrendered or taken into custody by social services, and while you didn’t know Eri’s full story you had doubts that it was a happy one.
“I’m sure he will, and I’m so happy that you love him so much.” It was complicated, as you encouraged them to solve conflicts by themselves but sometimes an adult still needed to step in to avoid situations like this. That afternoon for story time you made sure to pick something about how everyone likes different things, and how that was a good thing and made everyone who they were. You also assigned them a project to write about someone on a more local level who is not a hero but does hero work.
“Not every good thing is big.” You explained as you passed out the slips with names. “Often it’s the small things we do that can help someone the most.”
While there is a bit of grumbling they take the slips without issue, and when you head home for the weekend you feel both anxious and hopeful about what will be brought in on Monday.
As you spend time inside gathering the last of your things and making sure all the chairs are put up, Eri waits by the pickup area for her name to be called. When she spots a familiar face approaching around the corners she doesn’t wait, the attendant barely has time to call before she runs past towards the man at full speed. She barely manages to stop in time, bumping into long legs as Aizawa reaches down to steady her. He doesn't mention her excitement. It was the weekend after all, and that meant he got to stay with him apart from the rare occasion.
”Did you have fun at school?” He asks as they walk hand in hand. Eri nods enthusiastically, talking about anything and everything. All the stuff they did for the week in art class, new things she’d learned in her science class, her friends, and especially her teacher. Aizawa felt relieved at her excitement, remembering how nervous she had been when the topic of going had first come about. Even as her newly appointed legal guardian he couldn’t be there all the time with his work, his coworkers and students were more than happy to help when he couldn’t get the time away. He had done hours of research into choosing a school that would be good for her and he was relieved he had chosen correctly it seemed. The leaps and bounds she had made in coming out of her shell these past few months was nearly dizzying as she grew more social with her peers,
He had been a bit disappointed in himself for not bein able to make it to the ‘meet the teachers night’ but it had been unavoidable. The head of the school assured him that he could stop by any time to have a chat, though even then he found it difficult to make time in his schedule, wanting to spend what he did have outside of bureaucracy. He got enough of his taste of schooling from his own job at UA.
It was that night as he was making dinner that Eri presented him with the assignment, eyes bright as she asked him for help on the assignment, repeating your words from early back to him.
”She says we can all be heroes in our own way, even if we’re not flying around saving people.”
Ah, the teacher. Someone he had heard so much about yet had not met. Kori had seemed a bit nervous when he asked about you, though nothing to raise any concerns. It seemed you were just a bit skittish around Alphas and Aizawa couldn’t say he blamed you, especially given some of the Alphas he had dealt with in his line of work. Still he hoped to meet you eventually. Maybe the next event that the school had planned for the children to have the crowd as a buffer, though that wouldn’t be until Christmas. In any case, he wasn’t too worried about it. You were more than computing at your job if Eri’s words were anything to go by, as well as this latest project he was now presented with.
So he sat down, helping Eri narrow down who she could talk to and sending a quick ask to one of the workers on the disaster relief construction crew he knew.
_______________________
”Would you mind staying late?” Shizu poked his head in the door, interrupting you as you finished packing your things for the day. In one hand he held his bag and the other was laced with Eri’s.
”Her pickup is running a bit late and I have a date I have to get to.” He explained.
”Of course!” You replied, even as a part of you sighed, tired from the day and wanting nothing more than to go home and sink into bed. But he had been talking about this all week and you knew he was excited. Took him long enough to actually ask for the date, and you and your other coworkers had heard his woes until collectively you hyped him up enough to approach.
He perked up the cloying scent of vanilla filling the room despite the scent blockers he wore, bidding a goodbye to Eri and giving you a quick bow before running back down the hall.
“I expect all the details on Monday though!” You called after him, laughing as you beckon the girl further in.
”How about we go wait outside, hm?” You ask, gathering your things. “That way you can tell me when you see them. Besides, it’s such a beautiful day it would be a shame to waste it.”
A beautiful day indeed. One of the rare last warm spells as winter crept closer, just enough to justify going out without a coat but a gamble on if to bring a sweatshirt or not. The majority of the class day had been spent outside collecting different leaves, classifying them and identifying which species they were. Maybe next week you could go more into the growth process and get some plants to have them grow to help liven the classroom up when winter finally rolls around.
“So are you excited for the weekend?” You ask Eri as she hops towards the swings. A favorite of hers, laughing as Cho would push her higher and higher despite your warnings. There had been no incidents yet but each time she lifted from the seat you could feel your anxiety go through the roof.
“Do you have anything fun planned?”
Her eyes sparkled as she climbed up, pink hoodie drawn back, the same pale color as her shoes. It wasn’t always that she came in coordinating clothing, the articles sometimes clashing so much that you had to wonder if whoever picked them out was colorblind. It was really a coin toss on what it would be but then again so we’re half of the others, now at the age where they insisted on picking out their clothes themselves even if it didn’t match.
“Yeah! Aizawa and I are going on a trip to the mountains!”
“Oh really? What are you doing there?”
She talks on about how some of his students will be there, along with some of her friends. You had long ago learned that Aizawa was the name of her guardian after a quick glance at her paperwork. He worked at UA as a teacher from what she had told you, so her hero obsession only made that much more sense. She speaks very highly of him, though you are in no rush to meet him. Not after seeing the Alpha designation after his name. That would be better handled by Shizu, even if you did feel a bit guilty about avoiding a parent.
“And when we get there Mirio will-“ she doesn’t get to finish her sentence, a startled chirp sending you on edge as her doll flies out of her hands at the height of the swing, too excited to remember to properly hold onto it. It soars in a perfect arc, landing on one of the low branches of the oak that sits a dozen feet away. She jumps off the swing to follow before you can stop her, standing at the base of the tree as she looks up with tears in her eyes.
“It’s okay!” You attempt to comfort her, wracking your brain for a solution. The janitor had already gone home by this point and you were the last two in the building, everyone eager to head out for the weekend. There wasn’t anything to poke it with that was long enough laying about and leaving it there for the weekend wasn’t an option either as Eri was becoming increasingly distressed even as your scent poured out to comfort her chirps of distress.
In a vain attempt to get it down you take off one of your shoes and toss it at the branch, only succeeding in getting it stuck as well and increasing the problem, though the sight seems to give Eri pause as you both stare up at the branch.
With quick steps you approach the tree, grabbing the lowest branch and hoisting yourself up with a huff. Maybe you should get to the gym more, but with all the running around you did with the kids all day it seemed hardly necessary. Besides, there were no Omega only gyms close to your apartment, the nearest one being a twenty minute train ride. It’s not like this was overtly strenuous anyways.
Precariously you balance on the branch while inching further out as it dips under your weight. The limb sways and you freeze, waiting for the movement to settle. Logic says you should go back and find a different solution but you’re so close. Just a little bit further and then-
A rush of success floods you as your fingers close around the worn fabric, victoriously holding it up to the girl on the ground who cheers. No sooner had you done so than you heard a sharp crack, barely a moment to process before you felt gravity take hold as you tumbled towards the ground with a yelp. The reminding length of the branch remains just out of reach, fingers skimming the bark as you fall.
You brace for impact mentally cursing all the while, determined not to make Eri worry too much about your inevitable injury-hopefully nothing broken from the eight foot fall- only to feel another body under yours as they catch you. For a brief moment you fear you’ve landed on Eri but the thought is swiftly banished as it’s far too large. You also doubt the plausibility of the child to be able to hold your weight as this person currently does even if they given a huff at the sudden weight.
You tilt your head, looking into the face of a man you’ve never seen before. Surely you would have remembered him. He’s handsome in a rugged way, the bags under his eyes and scruff along his jaw standing in contrast to his pale skin. The scent of crisp apples tickles your throat and while you first think it’s the plush it’s much stronger than it had ever been before, accompanied by a new undertone of clove that stings your nose, lighting every nerve in your body. It’s with a start that you realize it’s coming from the man currently holding you. It might be a bit more embarrassing if you didn’t notice the way he inhaled as well, taking in your scent in great gulps of air as his lips parted.
“Shota!” Eri’s call breaks the tense moment, prompting you into action.
“I’m so sorry!” You scramble to get down and he sets your feet on the ground, allowing for the chance to put a respectable distance between you. To get away from the overpowering scent that wraps around your mind. It’s not difficult to connect the dots with your student’s quick fondness when she normally shys away from those she doesn’t know. Swallowing your nerves as etiquette wins out over fear, you turn to address him instead of slipping away as quickly as possible like you want to.
“You must be Eri’s guardian. A pleasure to meet you.”
Not daring to extend a hand in fear of him seeing it tremble you give a small bow instead. Your mind flashes back to the designation listed next to his contact info stack beside all the others in the office, a swell of panic rising. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to an Alpha in recent memory, both the nerves and his scent making your mind a bit scattered and fuzzy. Hopefully landing on him didn’t anger him too much. What if he talked with your boss about it? You knew she wouldn’t fire you but the thought of the reprimand was enough to make you shrink.
He says nothing for a beat, staring back as he scans you from head to toe with an analytical gaze that makes you stand just a bit straighter. Despite his authority to command the situation he seems to take a considerate step back, scent lessening just a touch though it’s difficult to relax. He’s an Alpha after all. They’re dominant and standoffish even when not outright aggressive. One wrong step could be enough to set him off if he perceives an Omega as making the wrong move.
“And you must be her teacher.” He says while kneeling. “I’ve heard much about you.”
Upon standing he offers you your fallen shoe to which you take gratefully, careful not to brush fingers. A stray touch could be seen as offensive, especially if he was mates or courting. You’re saved from a response as Eri comes rushing up to you, brows pinched.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. No harm done.” You smile in an attempt to sooth her, the purrs you would normally use stuck in your throat like a sticky bite of oatmeal.
Her attention turns back to the man- Aizawa if you recall correctly- who kneels to speak his own reassurances as he hands back her plushy. Your eyes dart between him and the doll, taking in the similarities as a jolt of realization hits you.
“Eraserhead?”
Aizawa’s attention returns to you, realizing you had said it out loud.
“I’ve heard much about you as well. It seems Eri is quite the fan.”
And you had, both when she talked about him as a hero and just as Aizawa. It’s his turn to hesitate, a tinge of embarrassment turning his scent sweeter as his brows rise. Despite the unease that sits on your shoulders it eased just a bit at the sight of him kneeling before you besides Eri.
“Good things I hope.” His lips twitch into what you think is a smile, though it looks as if it takes some effort.
“Of course. Eri is your number one defender whenever heros come up in class. And with the students this year it’s quite often.”
You chance a laugh, cutting short when you notice the way his shoulders tense. An awkward silence falls between you, filled only with the souls of passing cars on the other side of the fence and the rustle of leaves as the light turns to golden hour.
“Now that you’re here I’ll be heading off. Many things to do tonight.” You finally manage, grabbing your bag from the ground. The doors to the building are all locked, leaving on the playground fence open which you make sure is secure after leading the way out.
“I apologize for being late. Things at work ran late and-“
“Don’t worry about it.” You interrupt, successfully locking the gate and depositing the key in your bag before you drop it. It had taken four tries to even get it in the lock. “Eri is a lovely student. I would never object to seeing her more.”
You turn to the girl, budding her a quick goodbye before heading home. While you do your best not to run a brisk walk still gets you away from the pair quickly, allowing you to get around the corner with record time before you collapse against the wall, leaning on it for support as you take deep breaths. The street isn’t too busy but there are still a few passerby that give an odd look, likely taken aback by the sight of an Omega in such a state, forcing you to pull yourself together before any feel the need to help. That would really be the cherry on top for the night.
———————————————
It wouldn’t be the last time you would see Aizawa. He often appeared to pick Eri up at the end of the day instead of a blond boy by the name of Mirio. Her babysitter and best friend, she told you in the same tone of reverence she spoke of Aizawa with.
There were far and few days where you were charged with pickup duty, though you found yourself volunteering a bit more often if just to talk a few moments with Aizawa. Finally addressing your fear of Alphas, you had told yourself. He wasn’t wild or abrasive, and despite the aura he exuded it was softened through the lense of which Eri perceived him and to what you were quickly adapting. It helped that his scent wasn’t overbearing as most Alphas were, light and even a bit sweet.
The Alpha didn’t seem to mind your presence either, now a staple at school functions and you would often find yourself chatting with him. Always in a group or with straggling students at the end of the day. There was a bake sale around Christmas time, and the last thing you had expected was him to show up with Eri, a box of brownies balanced in one hand while his other remained clasped around hers.
While Shizu was supposed to be the one helping out at the table Aizawa remained there most of the time, the silence between you filled with the chattering of Eri as she told you about their holiday plans-she was going sledding for the first time that weekend, nodding when you told her to e careful- and showing off her nails, freshly painted by the Alpha behind her with little snowflakes.
Soon enough she ran off to meet with a few of her classmates that had shown up, leaving you to stand behind the table in silence, unsure as what to say and desperately hoping that he couldn’t detect the anxiety in your scent despite the blocking jell you had lathed over your glands, hoping it was enough to avoid the attraction of any Alphas in the area. You learned things often went smoother if they perceived you as a Beta, or at least they seemed a bit less chatty and in your space. It didn’t seem to be an issue now, the presence of Aizawa prompting them to quickly pay for their goodies and leave, the man fixing them with a glare that sent shivers down your spine whenever they lingered too long to chat. Out of the blue he offered a brownie, free of charge, and you swapped it with one of your own eggnog sugar cookies. He turned out to be a decently good baker, though he admired Eri did most of the work with him supervising.
”It’s the best way for them to learn.” You agreed.
”It’s difficult when you know they’re going to hurt themselves.” He sighed, reminding you that he was a teacher as well as a hero. His words seeemed to carry a bit more weight than he let on, and while you didn’t pay you could understand the sentiment. You could only tell someone so many time not to climb the slide the wrong way before they had to find out on their own why it wasn’t a good idea.
”Well, that’s why we’re here, right?” You asked, offering him a cup of coffee from the thermos stashed in your bag. You didn’t know how he took it but it seemed good enough as he accepted the cup, pointedly ignoring the way your hands trembled even with the warm gloves you wore.
”To help guide them and pick them up when they fall. Some a bit harder than others.” You admit with a small laugh in an attempt to break the tension. Your efforts were rewarded with a quirk at the corner of his own lips. Conversation flowed a bit easier afterwards, falling into a smooth rhythm as you talked about lighter topics and your own recent struggles with students. The shake in your voice slowly faded, emboldened as you grew more enthusiastic to the topics. It was only when you saw Shizu glancing at you from where he was talking with one of the other parents that you realized how enthusiastic you had gotten, embarrassed. To be so loud in public, and with an Alpha no less! If you had told yourself that morning that this was how your day was going to go you would have laughed and called in sick. He just made it so easy to forget your designations, feeling more on equal footing then you ever had with anyone before.
Still, your parents' warnings lingered in the back of your mind, keeping you from opening up to him completely. He could be playing nice just for now until he got close enough to sink his claws in like the violent creature he was, waiting for the moment you let your guard down. You tried not to let it get to you-you were a professional after all-but you couldn’t help the way you hesitated whenever he was near. You don’t know if he noticed, but regardless he never seemed to push boundaries, keeping a respectful distance and wearing scent blockers more than once when you ran into him, the sharp medicinal tang somehow distinctive as you had almost gone nose blind to it on yourself.
You began to see him more, often dropping back into the classroom to grab one thing or another that Eri had forgotten or to ask about how she was doing in class. More than once he brought something along with him. Things Eri had seen and wanted to get for you apparently. A coffee mug to replace your old chipped one. A new scarf for winter after you had told the class of how it had blown away that morning with the intention of bringing a bit more joy to the grey day. You had worn it with great enthusiasm, even when the scent of apples and spice had faded from the fabric. A scent you found yourself gravitating towards more and more, the candles you often lit to help relax at night carrying the familiar notes. Just to help you feel a bit less blue with the current cold weather, you told yourself, even when it wasn’t orchards and blue skys you imagined.
Some of your coworkers teased you about it though most were glad to see you coming out of your shell more. You took it all in stride. It’s not like you were courting him after all. You found yourself a bit less fearful of going out, unconcerned with running into an Alpha and not immediately set on edge by their scent, though you never grew as comfortable around any as you did with Aizawa.
It was easy to talk with him, even to the point you worked up the courage to ask him to come give a talk to your hero-obsessed class. The students had been enamored, Eri still surrounded by students at the end of the day, their attention shifting from him to her when you encourage them to give him a moment to himself.
“She seems to be enjoying her time here.” He commented as he packed up some of the things he had brought, the stragglers all still talking excitedly while you waited for their parents. It was raining outside so they would have to come to the classroom to find their kids.
“Yes. I’m lucky to have her. She’s very bright and kind to others.” You think back to the first time you’d met her, shy and hiding, compared to the girl you saw now. A sense of pride welled in your chest.
“I wish I could have her next year as well.” Come next fall she would go on to a different school, aging out of the current center. While you loved all your students you had grown especially close with her and it was disheartening to think about not seeing her again.
Aizawa paused at your words, staring vacantly at the tool belt he was holding, mind far away in a way that allowed you to observe him. The bags under his eyes hadn’t lessened in the time you’d known him, the scent of coffee lingering in a way about him that might as well have been a part of his scent.
The moment is cut as his phone chimes, making you both jump as he digs it from his pocket. Busying yourself with papers you only look up when you smell his scent become just a touch burned.
“Is everything alright?”
“Mirio isn’t going to be able to pick Eri up tomorrow." He growls, scowling at his phone as he digs through his contacts. “It’ll be a pain finding someone else to bring her to UA on such short notice especially with exams going on.”
You hesitate, the words mulling in your head as you watch his brows pinch while he types into his phone. He’d done you a favor today by coming in, so it would be common courtesy to repay it in any way you could, right?
”I could bring her. If you’re alright with that, that is.” Taking deep breaths, you forced yourself to keep your head high as you met his gaze. He seemed a bit surprised, if not confused. You had admitted once before that you were much of one for going out, always eager to get home and relax.
“If you’re sure.” He says slowly, giving you a chance to back out. His normal monotone held a pitch of uncertainty. Something you weren’t used to seeing him display. He was always at ease, a nonchalance in the air around him as if he couldn’t be bothered. “I’ll let the people at the gate know you’ll be coming. They should know Eri well enough to let you through.”
When they finally leave that evening, Aizawa checking once more that you were alright with the plan, you collapsed at your desk, head in your hands. What had you just signed yourself up for? Your head tilts to the side, spotting a picture frame sitting on the edge of the desk amount some other small trinkets students had made for you over the years. The edges were decorated with stickers and glitter, the frame holding a picture of Aizawa in full hero garb that Eri had drawn for you. It wasn’t the only picture like it on your desk but it was your favorite even if you would never admit it out loud.
The next day Shizu seemed to notice a bit of extra pep in your step, unable to hide the nervousness of seeing Aizawa outside of a school function or the building itself. Well, you would still be in a school, but not this one. He was able eek the information from you when you had to decline going out with the others after work.
“Oh, so are you making it official?”
“Making what official?” You ask, reaching underneath a desk to grab a rouge crayon that had rolled under. Thankfully it hadn’t been crushed under any feet and ground into the carpet. The janitor still hadn’t let you hear the end of it from the last time it happened.
“The courting? Honestly I’m a bit surprised given your fear of Alphas, but I can’t say he’s a bad choice.”
The table rocks as your head hits the bottom, yelping as Shizu rushes over. Rubbing at the area, you manage to glare as he smiles apologetically.
“We’re not courting.” You huff, getting up and heading to tour desk, grabbing the halfthawed ice pack from your lunchbox and pressing it to your skull. The last thing you need is to show up with a bump on your head. So much for first impressions.
“Sure seems like it.” He pointedly looks at your new mug.
“He’s just considerate.” You counter, feet shuffling in the slippers also gifted by the same person.
“He doesn’t strike me as the considerate type.” Shizu says. “He hardly talks to anyone at drop off and you’ve got him in your classroom half the time now, and he’s the only Alpha I’ve seen you not be jumpy around.”
You sigh, leaning back in your chair as you rub your eyes.
“If he were interested he would have asked.”
“Maybe he’s waiting for you to?”
What a laughable thing to ask. Alphas didn’t wait for things, hovering at the edges to be invited in. They made them happen. If they wanted to court someone they made their intentions clear. They took what they wanted with little regard for those around them. They were top of the food chain after all.
But Aizawa wasn’t like that. Sure, he was rough around the edges-or so you’d been told, not having experienced it yourself- but not bristling. Firm, but not unkind. Clam, cool, and efficient. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. Still, he always makes sure to get permission before entering the classroom. A room in which you ranked highest in the chain unlike everywhere else outside. And each time he arrived late he brought something as an apology. Nothing extravagant or attention drawing. Just simple things that added a bit more to your day, such as a snack you had offhandedly mentioned liking or a warm drink to carry on the way home.
You never complained even when it intruded on your own downtime in the evenings, a small part of you thrilled to see him.
The soft chime of ceramic rings through the class as your fingers tap against the surface, mixing with the approaching sounds of children as recess comes to an end.
“Just promise me one thing.” Shizu sighs, moving to open the door. “Don’t be scared to go for what you want.”
“I promise.”
He hesitates, as if trying to decide weather to believe you or not, before opening the door and letting the waiting students in. They clamor to their seats, still jittery with leftover energy from recess. Hands on things were always the way to go after lunch. Any attempt at writing or equations would be lost.
Your eyes drift to the mug again, still warm in memory more than temperature. And inconveniently, so is the thought of the man who gifted it.
——————————————
“-and that’s the gym where they all practice with their quirks!”
Eri pulled you along the paved walkway, easily navigating through the winding paths as if she knew them by heart. Maybe she did. All you knew was that after you had been let through the gates, a visitor pass clipped to the collar of your shirt, she had taken it upon herself to give you a tour. While you weren’t entirely sure you should just be walking around like this you didn’t have the heart to stop her. There wasn’t much harm in it, right? Aizawa had asked you to take her to the teacher’s lounge and wait for him there. It was still a half hour until your planned meeting time so walking around a bit until then should be fine.
The only thing was that you wished you’d earn something a bit warmer, the chilly breeze causing gooseflesh to erupt along your skin. A late cold front had hit the area as spring transitioned to summer, and while normally you’d have a jacket Eri was wearing it, worrying she may catch a cold. It didn’t help that you’d worn something a bit less practice than normal, wanting to make a good impression on any of Aizawa’s coworkers. Shizu had teased you about it, making you doubt the choice, but there was no time to go home and change.
“This is my favorite spot.” Eri pulled you to sit on a bench that overlooked a small courtyard with a fountain bubbling in the center. While a number of flowers lined neatly planted beds a few stubborn dandelions grew outside the bounds, not yet plucked by the groundskeeper.
There wasn’t a large rush to get to the office, and Eri seemed content where she was, kicking her feet as she watched a bee dance among the flowers.
“Are you courting anyone?” Her question catches you off guard, stunned as she looks up in question. Most children her age hadn’t developed the olfactory senses need to detect scents yet, normally kicking in around late middle school, and scenting was the only way to tell if someone was courting before a bond mark was put in place. Of course she wouldn’t be able to tell, but the question is odd regardless.
Trying not to appear too shocked, and not wanting hr to think she'd said something wrong, you gently ask what had brought the question about.
”I heard some of the adults talking about it.”
That made more sense. Maybe one of them was about to attempt courting and were bouncing ideas around. You found yourself doing some of the same with your own coworkers, often the go-to when anyone was interested in an Omega. But something about it still struck you as odd. Something in the phrasing and answer, itching under your skin until it finally clicked.
Had they been asking about you? It would be a bit posthumous to think it was you specifically. But still your stomach fluttered at the thought.
”Eri, who-“ the girl jumps from her seat with an excited shout, running past at the speed of acceleration only a kid can achieve. A moment later a familiar scent hits, twisting in your seat to see a familiar head of blond hair.
“Mirio!” Eri ran to the young hero, who scooped her up with just as much enthusiasm, spinning her about as she laughed. Maybe in your younger days you could have done the same, and in fact you did, but just watching now made your back hurt.
“I tried my best to get out of my exams early but they ended up dragging late.” He fixed her with a hard stare. “You didn’t walk here by yourself, did you?”
“No, Aizawa talked with my teacher and she walked me here!” Setting her down, Mirio looked over to where you stood. One moment he was seven feet away and the next he was right in front of you, clasping your hands and shaking them with vigor.
“Thank you so much for bringing her safely!”
“Oh.” You stutter, trying not to cringe away at his scent as everything about him screamed alpha. From his physicality to demeanor, including the way the smell of mint and earth hit you full force. It was never too bad in the pickup line, even having a few decent conversations, but the scent blockers he normally wore were absent now.
‘Don’t be a coward. You know this kid.’
Still, it puts you on edge nonetheless, trying not to breathe through your nose as you take a step back. A voice is yelling for you to get away, to fall in with other Omegas and the safety of numbers, but it’s far more distant than it normally was. Easier to ignore as you grit your teeth and steady your breathing. Hopefully he doesn’t notice the way your hand grip the strap of your bag. If he does, he’s polite enough not to mention it.
“It was no trouble at all. Aizawa just wanted me to make sure I got her to the teachers lounge and-”
“The teachers lounge!” Mirio perked up, attention jumping back over to Eri. “I’ll race you there! Last one is a rotten egg!”
He takes off, Eri quick behind him even as he shortens his strides to give her a chance to keep up. You attempt to follow, already lagging behind and lacking their energy, but quickly lose them in the winding halls of UA even as you call out for them to slow down. It seemed as if the place had been designed to get people lost, unsure of where to go as every white wall and classroom looked the same to you. From the looks of it the majority of students had finished their exams, the steady trickle that had first greeted you upon arriving at the school now abandoned. All eager to go celebrate after success or wallow in failure you assumed.
Being lost wasn’t your main worry. Being lost without Eri was the bigger issue. While you were sure Mirio was more than capable of taking care of her- he picked her up from dropoff half the time for after all- the thought of Aizawa finding her without you made you panic. Though you had never seen him so, the thought of incurring the Alpha’s anger was daunting. Would he think you irresponsible or even stupid? What if he made a call to the school and complained? What if he never wanted to see you again?
The last thought put an extra pep in your step, fast walk increasing to a jog as you called out for Eri.
So concerned with finding her, you’re completely unprepared when you turn the corner and run full force into another person. It’s like hitting a freshly cleaned glass door with full confidence, the result just the same as you bounce back. While they only seem surprised, you’re left falling, a chirp of distress escaping before it can be stopped. The impact is sharp as your tailbone hits the hard floor, tears sprinting up immediately.
“Are you alright?”
In an instant the person you bumped is kneeling next to you, brows furrowed. Despite the scent of Beta dripping off him- something akin to a mellow red wine, fruity yet bitter- his cutting figure was enough to give you pause. Even in the looser clothes he wore the hardened muscle of his body was evident, making him into a rather effective wall. No wonder he hadn’t budged an inch. You were more lucky you hadn’t broken your nose.
“I’m sorry.” The words are second nature, apologies slipping for even the smallest inconvenience to try and soothe the situation. “I was looking for someone and got lost.”
“No, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Normally I have a bit better head on my shoulders.” His gravely voice isn’t boisterous but rumbling as he offers you a hand up, which you cautiously accept. He doesn’t seem the least bit angry about running into him even if there’s a perpetual hardness to the set of his face. In fact he looks rather concerned, expression softening just a fraction as he noticed you wince.
“Who were you looking for?”
You hesitate, unsure on what to say. It’s not like he would be trouble given his position at UA, and in fact he’s likely a known coworker of Aizawa’s. An ID badge dangles at his side, the name ‘Sekijirō Kan’ stamped below his picture.
“I was supposed to bring Eri to the teachers lounge but Mirio showed up and they ran off so quickly I couldn’t keep up.”
“Mm, that sure sounds like him.” Though he remains a respectable distance away, you notice the way his chest expands as he takes a deep breath, almost perking up as he catches your own scent which has now surpassed the blockers. A combination of potency from stress and the late hour of the day. If you’d been thinking you’d have applied more before leaving the school, however Eri was excited to give a tour of UA which had led to rushing out the door.
It seems a lightbulb goes off in his head, head tilting as he assesses you anew.
“You must be her teacher.”
“Yes?” How did he know that? Has Aizawa been talking about you with his coworkers? It was more likely Eri had mentioned something when recounting her day to the others, no doubt her presence was not uncommon, but still the small possibility had your stomach fluttering.
“I’m sorry, but I really must find Eri. I promised Aizawa I would make sure she got there.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. From the sounds of it Mirio has taken her there already. If you’d like, I could show you the way to make sure.” He offers an arm, seeming to shrink in on himself just a bit to try and appear smaller, or likely less intimidating. The image is amusing enough for you to gather enough courage to accept, allowing him to lead you through the endless halls.
As you walk the anxiety of the encounter eases, especially as Sekijiro asks many questions. He’s a teacher in the hero course just as Aizawa, though his feelings seem a bit mixed on the man. He doesn’t speak bad of him, even complicated on occasion, yet his words hold a tightness implying some tension. Not surprising considering the classes here are highly competitive from what you’d heard. It’s likely the teachers also held a level of animosity towards one another under the pressure for their students to perform well. While not overtly enthusiastic or overbearing, he seems keenly interested in your life, especially your opinion of Aizawa. It seemed your guide already had a good idea of who you were.
“Here we are.” He says as you stop, the door labeled with a plaque proudly stating it was the teacher’s lounge. You can hear voices coming from inside, muffled.
“Thank you. I-“
Before you can say anything else the door slams open, revealing Aizawa. His eyes flicker from you to Sekijiro, then to your still linked arms, narrowing as a low growl escapes. He was never the most expressive person, an air of nonchalance or mild indifference always seeming to follow, but the clear anger, even more than the annoyance you saw when others would intrude on your conversations, that pulled at his features was new to you. Behind him you could see the two runaways you’d been looking for.
“Aizawa!” You pull away, bowing your head so quickly the bones crackle in protest. “I’m so sorry! I got separated from Eri and got lost trying to find her.”
Swallowing thickly, the air was tinged with the scent of his displeasure and only intensifying the moment he saw you standing there with Sekijiro, serving to make you more nervous.
He was mad at you. Of course he would be. And now he likely thought you to be incompetent as well and-
“It’s alright.” Aizawa sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighs, taking a carefully measured breath. His scent lessens just a bit, though still overpowering and screaming that he was the one in charge of this situation. “I know how they can be. Kids hardly ever listen.”
A large hand grasp your shoulder, straightening you back out.
“No harm done.” Sekijiro says, though his attention remains on the Alpha in front of him. “If you ever find yourself here again don’t hesitate to drop by my class. I would be glad to help keep you from getting lost.” His eyes crinkle in muted amusement as Aizawa growls, louder than last time and making you jump. Normally it was a precursor to a fight and the last thing you wanted was to be in the middle of an Alpha and this giant man if they decided to get into it. Aizawa was smaller, lankier, but you’d watched the few videos of him that the press had managed to get online, having seen him take on opponents much larger and win. It would leave quite the mess, and Eri would be distressed.
Thankfully that’s not what happens, Aizawa stepping aside, pushing the larger man’s hand off your shoulder and replacing it with his own as he guides you inside.
“It was nice meeting you!” Sekijiro calls as the door is slammed once again, this time in his face and leaving you closed in the lounge.
Mirio and Eri shuffle away from the desk, already scattered with snack wrappers, having the decency to look embarrassed.
“Apologies. I got too excited and was careless. I should have been more thoughtful about my actions.” Mirio says, bowing deeply, rigid enough you could take a right angle to his posture as Aizawa glares. It seems the Alpha had given them a thorough dressing down, though you doubt it was very harsh considering how he seemed to dote on Eri the rest of the time. Likely Mirio had gotten the brunt of it for absconding with Eri as the older of the two. The girl approaches, shy as the first time you’d meet, shoes scuffing the floor and unable to look you in the eye. Her fingers worry at the edge of your jacket, the sleeves rolled up to make better use of her hands.
“I’m sorry for running off.” Eri apologizes, looking a bit sheepish as she bows her head, Mirio mimicking the stance. It’s difficult to be upset when she seems so sincere, and there was no harm done in the end. It’s not like she’d run off with a stranger. In fact is was mirio that she knew better than you.
Crouching, you got to eye level and place a comforting hand on her shoulder, your heart squeezing at the way her eyes line with tears.
“It’s alright. I knew nothing would happen since you were Mirio, but you still made me worry.” You extend a pinky. “Just promise you won’t go running off from adults again, yeah?”
She quickly locks her finger around yours, sealing the promise and looking a bit more at ease.
“Mirio.” Aizawa cuts in. “Why don’t you take Eri to the dorms and she can see the others.”
The two didn’t need to be told twice, saying their quick goodbyes before slipping out the door and away from Aizawa’s foul mood. From exactly what you couldn’t tell, likely a combination of all the small incidents, but the lingering burnt tang of his scent was enough to put you on edge He’d never been so overtly on edge during all your previous interactions apart from the way he sometimes seemed a bit more closed off. Even then you would have called him more grumpy than angry.
His head hangs back, staring blankly at the ceiling in contemplation, hands rest on his hips. He’s dressed down from the last time you’ve seen him, not in his hero uniform. Instead a tight black shirt clings to him, arms mercifully covered by a grey jacket. Unlike Sekijiro he’s not bursting with muscle, but instead lithe like a cat with fluid movements to match.
“I apologize about them.” He gestures to the couch along the wall, prompting you to take a seat as he moves to a kettle sitting on the counter, refilling it as he rummages through the cabinet. The scent of your distress must still cling like a second skin, noticing the way his nose wrinkled despite your best efforts to temper it. Would it be rude to ask if they had any scent blockers for the ride home? Surely they would have a stock of them in the nurses office.
His own scent permeates the air, overpowering the lingering traces of others and making your head swim. It wasn’t even that strong in comparison to how Alphas normally projected their scents- a competition to see who could peacock the most- but the familiarity of it wrapped around your brain like a blanket on a cold night, calming your anxiety and loosening your common sense. Maybe if a window had been cracked open you would have thought better of your words.
“I knew Eri would be alright with Mirio. I was more worried that you would be mad.”
Aizawa stills, staring at you from over his shoulder, caught in the middle of pouring two cups of tea. The same kind you kept in the drawer of snacks at your desk if the smell was anything to go by.
His silence has you backtracking.
“I mean, not that you would be wrong to be mad, I did break my promise to get her here, but, uh.” You mumble, trying to dig yourself out of the hole but only going deeper.
“It wouldn’t be the first time she’s run off from an adult. Kids like to cause trouble.” He sighs, and you get the feeling he’s had plenty of experience with it. Where you work they get into things enough as is. It must be even worse in a school full of kids training to be heroes with a penchant to throw themselves into danger.
Moving back over, he sets one of the cups down in front of you before taking a seat. There’s plenty of other room on the couch but he instead opts to take the chair across from you, letting himself settle into the cushions with a sigh. Even from here you can here his knees crackle. The ever-present bags under his eyes seem heavier, as if they carry a real weight to them.
“I’m sorry.”
He waves your worries away, rubbing at his eyes.
“It’s fine. They’re always running about. Honestly, I think it’s a bit good for Eri. Mirio is good at helping her be a bit less timid about things.”
“I meant about having you come in yesterday.” You clarify. “You’re very clearly tired and have a lot on your plate. It was selfish of me to ask in the first place.”
Aizawa pulls his hand away, brows drawn together- only deepening the perpetual wrinkle that resides there- as the scent of tea fills the space between you. Much more manageable than his own crisp scent.
“I would have come in any case. Don’t think it was a problem for me at all.” His mouth quirked in the corners, just a fraction. Anyone who didn’t know him might not have noticed, but with the increasing amount of time spent around the man you’d begun to pick up his quirks and mannerisms. “If anything it helped me relax.”
Relax? Around a bunch of overstimulating children? That was difficult to believe, and if he was just saying it to make you feel better it was in fact having the opposite effect, that much more guilty that he saw the need to soothe you about the subject.
“Still, you should push yourself so much. It’s important to get rest. I worry every time I see you so tired.”
Your voice is firm, as if talking to one of your students rather than a full grown man. An Alpha and pro hero no less, but concern overpowered any propriety towards designation or position. Maybe a mistake given the way Aizawa stares back, his gaze fixed in a way that makes you squirm in your seat. He may be tired, but the dark pools are no less piecing. Not intimidating, but consuming all the same in a way that you would gladly let yourself get lost in. And have, on more than one occasion.
”There's some construction going on near my apartment.” He finally says. “Makes it harder to sleep on my days off. The scaffolding has the wind whistling twice as loud at night.”
”Tell me about it.” You goan. Spring time was the start of construction season, everyone racing to get things done before winter hit and complete projects that had been waiting all through the freeze. Your own complex had decided to do some work on the elevator now that the snow had melted away and they could crack it open from the top, leaving you to climb six floors to your door. Not the worst that it could be but still a pain after a long day of running around and wanting nothing more than to relax.
Conversation from there progressed easily, as it always did with the Alpha who seemed to find the most mundane things fascinating. Maybe it was the fact that his own life was so full of excitement that the troubles of your painfully average and boring life entertained him. He never interrupted or complained, only commenting or making noises to show his agreement (moving your plants inside for fear that the sudden freeze may kill them and force you to start the beginning of your summer plot again) or disapproval (jumping the turnstile when your train pass wasn’t working and you didn’t want to be late getting to the school).
He listened, eyes half lidded as you spoke. Each time you apologized for talking so much he only waved it off, asking you to continue. Occasionally he would give his own story to go along with whatever you had said. Nobody had ever accused you of being overly chatty before- in fact you had the opposite issue of being too reserved with others due- but it was hard to stop around Aizawa, everything about him drawing you in despite others claims that his very presence was a ward.
The chirping notification of your phone lights the screen, displaying a reminder to pick up groceries tomorrow as well as displaying the late hour. With the gradual shift of the sun to remain just a little longer each day the sense of what was late and what wasn’t was harder to tell. With the amount of light left it could still have been four p.m. during the winter, but now the screen told a time of seven. Time had slipped away more quickly than you’d realized. Something that seemed to frequently happen around Aizawa, even as he dozed next to you, eyes half lidded. He didn’t seem concerned by the late hour and had yet to imply you should leave, yet you took it upon yourself to gather your things.
“I should be going before the train station. I would hate to take up any more of your time.”
Aizawa nods, following as you stand. It would be a losing battle to try and convince him you’d be fine, you already know, so instead you enjoy the lingering time together, walking through the halls just close enough that your arms would occasionally brush. He seems more at ease now than he was earlier, movements more relaxed and shoulders not quite as hunched.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but still held an unspoken tension. The chatter from before now feels far too intimate to be so loud about in public, giving others the wrong impression of your relationship. Occasionally one person or another would pass by, normally students. Their curious eyes quickly shifted away, though you could hear the occasional whisper. It likely reflected in a different way to see you walking together so late in the day, your face an unfamiliar sight. Hopefully no rumors would be spread about the situation, but you had been in high school before and knew better than to hope too much.
Stepping outside, the chill of the day has only dropped more. You shiver, already dreading the trek to the train station then home. At least if you got sick there would be the weekend to recover and not pass it to any of the children. The place was already a breeding ground for germs no matter how many times you wiped everything down and there was already a wave of the flu making its way through the school.
Rubbing your arms, you turn to say goodbye only to jump as Aizawa’s arms wrap around your shoulders. For a moment you think he’s giving you a hug, but notice the absence of his jacket now draped over your shoulders.
“Ah, I’m really fine. I let Eri borrow mine so you can just send it with her on Monday.” You assure him, moving to take the garment off. He won’t have it, batting your hands away and securing the garment firmly on your shoulders. It’s made of a luxurious soft material, or likely gotten to that point from regular wear. It’s difficult to tell which as it still seems to be in relatively good condition. Not that you would have minded if it bore a few loose threads and holes in the fabric. Not when it was warm and smelled so much like him.
“You’ll get cold.” Is all he says, even as gooseflesh erupts across his own pale skin. The muscle underneath flexes, your mouth going dry at the movement. “And in any case it’ll keep anyone looking for trouble away.”
He was worried about your safety. A lone Omega traveling at night with the lingering smell of fear would be enough to draw attention in any case. The jacket was enough to cover up most of it unless someone got too close for comfort, strengthened by the way he ran his wrist over the sleeves to refresh the scent until you were almost sure you’d be mistaken for an Alpha yourself.
“Aizawa.” You hesitate, fearing the words will destroy whatever thing between you there was. Something you enjoyed and didn't want to let go of. But you needed to know. “Are you trying to court me?”
He doesn’t say anything at first, his hands fixing the collar of the jacket to bring it up further around your neck before his eyes flicker to yours. The normal dark circles under them remain, yet an energy still seems to burn within. Apprehensive almost.
“Do you want me to?”
The air escapes your lungs, unable to find the words to properly respond.
“I know you’re not a fan of Alphas. That much is clear just by watching.” Ah, so he had noticed despite your best efforts. It wasn’t a big secret among those who knew you, but most others just considered it to be your shy Omega nature. “I can’t say I blame you. In a society that puts emphasis on power and strength, people are more willing to turn a blind eye to the actions that result from its overuse. It would be smart of you not to put yourself in danger.”
You pull the jacket around you closer, the soft lining reflecting your own burning heat back, shrinking into the garment as if it were a shell. It takes a considerable amount of effort to keep from scurrying away, accepting his opportunity for rejection.
“My parents warned me to stay away from Alphas. They always said they were prone to violence and trouble, and I can’t say I’ve had too many experiences to contradict that.” Aizawa sighs. A deep sound of acceptance, like the decision is already made. It’s his turn to be surprised as you grab his hand, clasping it between your own.
“But you’ve proven that things aren’t always what they seem. I tell my students all the time they shouldn’t judge someone before they know them, yet I don’t put my own words into practice.”
You swallow, trying to keep your voice even despite the way your legs shook, knees weak from just a glance from him.
“Will you help me set an example? To not let my own fear get in the way of happiness?”
Aizawa is silent, and for one terrifying moment you think he may reject you. The confession wasn’t the most graceful and you had practically admitted you held a bias towards him at the start. But when you go to pull away his grip tightens, sending tingles through your fingers as his hand grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him.
His eyes are sharp in the dim light, tired but unwavering as they search your face for any hint of uncertainty. You can feel the warmth of his palm even through the rough calluses along his fingers, the contrast strangely grounding.
The tension in your chest loosens slightly, though your pulse still stumbles when he leans closer.
"I know you don't like Alphas. Everyone who knows you that I've talked to has told me so." His thumb brushes once against your jaw before he exhales through his nose. "I never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable, yet I couldn't stay away. Of any Alpha, I'm the worst."
Your breathing stutters as he leans in closer, stoping just short and leaving mere inches between you.
"You don’t have to force yourself past your fear for my sake." he interrupts quietly. “I know what I am. I know what people think Alphas are capable of., and they're not entirely wrong.” His words hold no scorn, only a reluctant admittance of silent truth. Even shame, which has your stomach turning for a different reason, unable to think of him the way he says. At first maybe, but not now. Not your Aizawa.
“You make me feel safe.” The tremble of your hands and butterflies in your stomach when he got near wasn't because of fear. Quite the opposite, your body aching to be near him instead of getting as far away as possible. To have his scent and arms wrapped around you so tightly it was like you meld into one person.
Carefully you lean forward, placing a soft, hesitant kiss on his lips, waiting for the moment he pulls back and scolds you, telling you that you had gotten all the wrong messages and he wasn't interested. Except that never comes. Instead, he simply leans in further, deepening the kiss as a low rumble escapes him. Not of displeasure, but instead a thrumming content.
You could have stood there for hours kissing him, and you had all the intention of doing so, until he pulls away.
"Can I walk you home?" He asks, forehead resting against your own as he pants, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide. His shoulders heave as he swallows.
"Of course." You whisper, steeling one more kiss before threading your arm through his, unable to stop the smile that hurt your cheeks. "You have to get your jacket back somehow."
"Keep it." He says, posture back to the relaxed slouch you knew him by as his eyes linger on the fabric. "It looks much better on you. And besides," He leans down, lips brushing your ear. "You can keep it for your nest."
His words have your skin heating, ducking in embarrassment as you walk. To anyone looking on they would think you a perfectly happy couple, and they wouldn't be wrong.
After the USJ incident, the new school counselor and recently hired pro at UA must determine whether her casual relationship with Aizawa means more to her than she lets on. Her new friends and family members have some strong opinions.
Genre: Some fluff, some suggestive language, and so much angst!
Word Count: 3k
A swarm of paramedics, police, and pro heroes surrounded the USJ as the sun descended. Class 1A should have returned home an hour ago, exhausted from a full afternoon of training, but otherwise unharmed. Instead, they stood in circles with their friends, as Recovery Girl made rounds between them. Principal Nezu and Toshinori spoke with the lead detectives on the scene.
Three staff members lingered by the ambulances. Paramedics slammed the doors on one van to transport Thirteen to the nearest hospital, but with his shattered limb, fractured face, nerve damage, and blood loss, they hesitated to move him through the busy streets of Musutafu City.
“He’ll be fine,” Nemuri murmured between the three of them. “We’ve found him in bad shape before.”
“Not like this,” Hizashi countered. He hadn’t looked away from his friend’s prone form. “The entire left side of his face looks caved in. His arm, too, did you see it? Whatever that guy did, it went right down to the muscle.”
“I’m going to puke.” (y/n) closed her eyes. As she braced her hand against her stomach, her mind flooded with memories from earlier that morning.
Aizawa stayed the night at her apartment. He slipped in, invited, after hours of patrol. He always came to her wary and exhausted, but instead of lamenting on the hardships of his day, he cradled her face in his calloused palms and pressed her hard into the mattress. Then, after just a few hours of rest, she woke with his arms wrapped around her, and his face pressed into the curve of her neck. His breath warm on her skin, his body a welcome distraction, she begged him to stay longer when his alarm went off. “Take a shower here,” she convinced him with a kiss. “Spoil me with another hour of your time.” He stayed, they showered together, had coffee in her designer mugs that he teased her for, then drove separately to the school. As if nothing had happened, they went their separate ways for the day, with the only sign of their night together being the smell of Aizawa’s oddly sweet shampoo.
“Hey.” UA’s secretary pushed in to join the group by the ambulance. She clutched at the beaded necklace around her throat. “Fatgum and Ingenium have their agencies looking for the guy that All Might threw through the roof. Hopefully, they can bring him in before he hurts anyone else. They have the other villains Shota took down ready for transport; most are already in the criminal database. How is he?”
A paramedic answered for the group. She leaned out the back of the van, her jaw clenched and her gaze downcast. “We called in a police escort, and we have a team on standby at Central Hospital. Are any of you family?”
“He doesn’t talk to his folks. I’m his emergency contact.” Hizashi stepped forward, and the paramedic leaned back to let him inside the ambulance.
(y/n) took a small step forward, but then stopped short when the paramedic turned to her with an impatient once-over. “Girlfriend? Wife?”
“No.”
“Then you’ll have to wait until he can have visitors.” The ambulance door slammed shut, and then the van drove away, with a hero fighting for his life on the inside.
In his absence, chaos erupted. Class 1A broke formation, abandoning their groups and interviews with the police, to approach their counselor instead. Tsu is the first to speak, well aware that her teacher is the only reason she survived the brutal encounter. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I don’t know,” (y/n) answered, but then she looked down at two dozen wide-eyed stares. Only a few months into the school year, she was still getting used to working with children, especially the first-years, who were just beginning to see what their futures held. Some part of her knew she should probably scold them for getting involved, or trying to fight off the villains spread throughout the USJ, but she was just glad that they had survived, and wanted to treat them as she saw them now: children who needed comfort. “What I do know is that Mr. Aizawa is tough. We’ve all known him a long time, and he’s taken some pretty good hits. I’m sure the doctors will do everything they can to get him back on his feet, and as soon as he is, he’ll be right back here to be with you.”
“He only got as hurt as he did because he was protecting us,” Mina responded, with some of her classmates murmuring their agreement.
“He got hurt because those villains chose to attack innocent students. You stood your ground, too. Some of you were forced to fight, others did what you could to make sure Thirteen and Aizawa didn’t die today. You did that. I know it was hard, and I know it was scary, but you’ve just taken a plunge into the hero world. Finish cooperating with the police. Take tomorrow to come to terms with today, and then when you come back, rest assured that the rest of us will be here to help you keep moving forward.”
“That’s quite the speech.” Nezu sat on Toshinori’s shoulder as he made his way through the crowd of students. He no longer looked like All Might, but a member of the staff who helped the administration. “We have more heroes coming to canvas the area, and we just received the all-clear to allow parents onto campus.”
“That said,” Toshinori offered with a smile. “I’m sure you three want to go be with Aizawa. Vlad and I can stay with the students until they make it home.”
“Thank you, Toshinori.” Nemuri placed a hand on (y/n)’s shoulder, and together the three women pushed through the crowd to reach UA’s parking lot.
—--
Thirteen woke up first. After the warp-gate villain forced them to use their Black Hole quirk against themselves, they not only lost part of their hero costume, but also part of their ribcage into the abyss. Modern medicine can only carry wounded heroes so far, but a missing rib and skin graft left Anan irritated, pained, and desperate for vengeance. At the very least, they wanted the men responsible for the USJ attack brought in for justice. Their colleagues agreed: UA’s security systems had never been bested before that day, and having their students threatened under their noses lit a fire in them so hot that none of them could relax as the hours went on.
After Aizawa’s operation, the hospital staff finally allowed visitors. The UA staff bid Thirteen farewell as they drifted into a drug-induced sleep before slipping into Aizawa’s room, where his body lay bandaged from the chest up, and his left arm hung in the air from a ceiling lift. Miraculously, he survived, but only by a hair. Not only had the attack fractured his face in several places, but it had also broken each of his arms, exposed his muscles, and ruined the nerves in his left arm. The doctors spoke of damage to his quirk, but they couldn’t be sure until he woke up.
(y/n) sat in the chair next to Hizashi. Her leg bounced sporadically as she stared at the bandaged man before them. He looked terrible, and her heart skipped a beat every time she replayed the moment the heroes broke into the USJ, just to find him screaming as that thing crunched his body into the floor.
“He talked about you,” Hizashi said.
(y/n) tensed. “What?”
“In the ambulance. He was totally out of it, but he mumbled your name a few times. I tried to tell him that you were fine, but it sounded like you were on his mind.”
“Oh.”
“He probably heard you screaming in the USJ.”
“Probably.”
Aizawa’s heart monitor droned on in the silence.
(Y/n) stopped listening to the sound when Hizashi continued to speak, in a low, accusatory voice: “He told me to stay out of it. It’s his business, but I don’t understand why you’re giving him the run around. He’s liked you for a long time, and just as he was ready to move on, you show up at UA and start up this fling again. Sho’s life has been messy and hard, and he needs consistency. I know you can see how much he’s changed. How good the school has been for him. You can be good for him, too, I think, but only if you stop messing around.”
“I’m not messing around,” (y/n) laughed. It drew the eye of the others. There’s heat in the sound, an exasperated anger that she can’t contain. “Shouta is my friend. I care about him.”
“A friend?” Hizashi pressed. “He’s my friend too, but he doesn’t come to work smelling like my shampoo.”
“Yamada-”
“-Sasaki. What’s stopping you from stepping over that line? We go to work every day, knowing it could be our last. We’ve all been fuck ups in some way since the beginning, since we met fifteen years ago, but we’re all still here, standing in this room together, around the same man that we love. He doesn’t care what baggage you have, he doesn’t care what mistakes you’ve made, or how messy you are. Trust me, I’ve heard enough about it to know. Just like when I heard you scream for him earlier today, I knew that you would take all of him, the good, the bad, and the ugly, in an instant.”
(y/n) sucked in a deep breath.
Her anger soothed; it simmered into an ache deep in her chest.
“He doesn’t deserve to be hurt like this,” she said, her voice tight. “That’s all.”
“On that, we can agree.”
“He could do better than me. We all know that. He deserves better than me, but I’m too selfish to let him go. I can’t stand the thought of him being with anyone else; it kills me.”
“Then do better.” Hizashi reasoned. “Be better. If not for yourself, then for him. He deserves that much, doesn’t he? At that point, it should be his choice on whether he wants to stay with you or not. Between you and me, though, he likes you as you are.”
“Paging Doctor Yamada?” Nemuri teased. “Should he take some of his own advice? When is the last time you went on a date?”
“That’s different. I don’t have time to date.”
(y/n) let the conversation drift. She leaned back in her chair and watched Aizawa’s monitor as his heart beat continued to climb.
—--
Coffee from the vending machine always tasted stale, but (y/n) threw it back like a bottle of Premium Malt. A lifetime ago, she might have fled the hospital to find the nearest bar, as the smell of antiseptic and the sound of squeaking gurney wheels brought back bad memories. Now she was prepared for her third night in the hospital, where she came after her school shift to sleep in the plastic chairs and watch as the nurses took Aizawa’s vitals.
The others came and went. Hizashi stayed with her the night before. Fae did the day shift, calling out of work just so her friend wouldn’t feel alone in the cold, sterile room. She took a deep breath as she entered the room again, before she took her spot at his bedside, and watched as the painkillers dripped into his IV. Her phone rang.
She answered without looking, not surprised to hear her older brother’s voice come through the line.
“Hey,” Mirai said. “How is he?”
“Same as yesterday.”
“How’re you?”
“I still haven’t looked. You don’t have to keep checking in on me, I’m too scared to do it… I think I finally understand how you felt when Toshinori left. I don’t know how you bounced back knowing that he was out there doing hero work when he’s as sick as he is.”
“Your memory’s foggy. I didn’t bounce back. Not at first. I watched every news broadcast as if it would tell me about the end of the world. He’s stubborn to a fault, and when I realized he would keep fighting for the good of humanity, even at the cost of his life, that’s when I looked into starting my own agency. I became a hero to help people, not to be in his shadow. I still hate that he endangers himself, but I know he’s at less risk when he’s at UA. At least, he was supposed to be. Grand Torino said that the fight with the creature took a lot out of him.”
“Everything takes a lot out of him.” (y/n) agreed. “When he’s stuck as Small Might, the staff and I take turns babysitting him. We don’t push him too hard.”
“Small Might?”
“Yeah, you know, Toshinori’s pretty… I guess you haven’t seen him, huh? He’s not looking good.”
“I’ve seen pictures. Does he know you call him that?”
“No.”
Mirai laughed. “That would be like calling Sorahiko Tiny Torino.”
“It’s nothing like that,” (y/n) said. “Toshinori has a sense of humor. Gran Torino would leave me dead in a ditch.”
“No, you’re his favorite.” Mirai corrected. “You’ve got guts. More like the rough-and-tumble heroes of his time, and you can outdrink him.”
“I still have a working liver.”
“For now.”
(y/n) grinned to herself, and as if hearing it through the phone, Mirai asked:
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“It’s what siblings are for.” He yawned on his side of the line. “Mother wants to know if you’re serious about the teacher. She doesn’t like his reputation; she took it upon herself to pull his records and reports. You know, aside from UA, he doesn’t have any showy rescues or Agency backings that put him in the spotlight.”
“So she doesn’t like him?”
“She doesn’t understand why you like him.”
“Did she miss the part where he singlehandedly held off some thirty villains, protected his students, and somehow survived an attack that should have killed him?”
“She’s frustrated that UA refuses to comment. At least, no one will give an interview about him. She asked me to ask you, and I took the liberty of telling her no.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Mhm. That will only work for so long. Once she catches wind of Aizawa waking up, I imagine she’ll have reporters showing up to visit the hospital. If she doesn’t show up personally, she’ll want to make sure he looks good for the family’s image. She tried to reach out to the Aizawas-”
“She what?”
“-But they said he’s estranged, has nothing to do with them, their wealth, or the family holdings. He gave up his inheritance when he graduated from UA, and hasn’t gone back to visit more than a handful of times. She didn’t like that either, but admitted that he sounds perfect for you.”
“You know that wasn’t a compliment, right?”
“Well, I think she’s right, and I do mean it as a compliment.”
“Mirai-”
“Don’t ‘Mirai’ me, I’ve watched the two of you interact for the past ten years. It’s my job to read people, little sister, and nobody makes you happier than the man you’re sitting beside right now. He makes you glow, puts some life into you. Like he’s giving something back that you lost a long time ago.”
“Okay, you feel very passionate about this.”
“I know what being in love feels like, and how much it hurts to lose. If you’re going to take advice from me, let it be this: Embrace the good thing before it’s gone.”
(y/n) leaned back in her chair. She imagined her older brother across the city, likely held up in his office at the Night Eye agency, clutching his phone and getting sentimental as he neared his forties. “You sound like Grandmama Rinu.”
“Great. I’m hanging up now.”
“Night-”
“Goodnight-”
The receiver clicked.
Silence filled the room.
(y/n) sighed and stared at the picture on her home screen.
Greedily, she had changed it to a blurry image of Aizawa holding her hostage on his couch. She’s tangled between his arms and legs, and an oversized throw-blanket. It’s late, and the light from the TV distorts their faces. She stayed later than planned, and an afternoon of grading papers turned into an evening of takeout, sly kisses, and a marathon of an outdated detective drama.
She loved that picture.
She wanted more nights like that.
—--
(y/n) brought paperwork with her on the fifth night. She flipped through student files and studied new intake forms for some of her newest patients when she heard a pained groan from the bed. Her heart stopped, and she sat up in time to watch Aizawa’s shaking hand reach for his bandaged face. The files get thrown to the floor, and she’s on her feet. In the days that passed, she watched the nurses change his bandages, so she slipped her fingers beneath the place where it hooked beneath his chin and slowly pried the fabric loose, slowly allowing him to see the hospital room.
Tears brewed in her eyes as she took stock of the smaller bandages clinging to his face, and the nasty, yellow bruises that littered his jaw. His left eye still swelled, so he only looked at her with the right. “What are you doing here?” He slurred out, his mouth barely moving to form the words. “Should be home.”
“Home?” (y/n) asked incredulously. “Shota, are you kidding? You almost died.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay! We’re so fucking far from okay. You’re in the ICU.”
He shrugged. The movement made him recoil from himself with another groan, and (y/n) reached over his head to press the call light beside his bed.
She said. “Do you remember what happened?”
“Most of it. I think. Is everyone else okay?”
“The students are shaken up, but they’re mostly worried about you. Anan is on medical leave, but they got to go home yesterday. Tsukauchi and Tai tracked down the guy who did this to you—the big one, not the kid. Snipe got a few hits on him; he was bleeding pretty good before he escaped.”
“I heard the gunshots. Hizashi, too…”
“So you were awake?”
“It’s hard to sleep when your best friend sounds like a siren.” He paused. “I heard you, too. I remember thinkin’ I should answer you, let you know that I was okay, but I couldn’t get the words out.”
“Honey,”
He laughed.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“You’re going to tease me right now? Really?”
“Can’t help it. You sound so… I dunno, but it’s just drippin’ out of your voice.”
For a moment, (y/n) considered reapplying his bandages. “I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to be an ass.”
“It’s the drugs.”
“Definitely the drugs.”
His call light turned off. Nurses were on their way.
“Hey, Sho?”
“Hm?”
“I’m really glad you’re okay.”
“Me too.”
“Can we talk when you’re feeling better? I think we have a lot to talk about.”
Aizawa reached across the bed, and his fingers gingerly intertwined with hers. “Your place, or mine? I’ll be there, either way.”
❛ what was your first kiss like .ᐟ.ᐣ ♡ ❜ — FLUFF
⤷ ft. izuku , bakugo , shoto , dabi , hawks
*all chars are 18 +
⋆ ˚ ꩜ izuku midoriya is terrible at acting normal around you when he is even a little bit drunk.
you find this out somewhere around your third time going out for drinks together.
the staff room had emptied out in waves earlier, all tired heroes turned teachers dragging their feet after a long week of classes. aizawa had grumbled something about paperwork, present mic had tried to convince everyone to go to karaoke, and somehow, in the shuffle and small talk, it ended up being just you and midoriya standing in the doorway, the evening sunlight turning the windows gold.
“there’s that quiet place near the station,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “the, um, bar with the drinks you like. if you’re not too tired, i mean. we could, you know. debrief. about the week.”
you raised a brow. “debrief. is that what we are calling escaping grading duties now?”
he laughed, that soft breathless sound that still felt way too boyish for someone who could punch holes in mountains, and nodded. “professional debriefing. sorry… it's very important.”
so now you’re here, tucked into a small booth across from him, your shoes off, legs curled up on the cushion. the place is low lit and warm, the hum of quiet chatter wrapping around you. grill smoke, apps, the clink of glasses. the kind of spot regulars haunt and new people only find by accident.
izuku has shed his jacket, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to make your brain unhelpful about it. he has a beer in front of him, and the tips of his ears are pink. so are his cheeks. they always get that way after a few sips. you pretend not to find that devastatingly cute.
“so...” you say, tapping your chopsticks lightly on the edge of your plate. “how’d your class handle your quiz today? anyone cry?”
he brightens immediately. this is his territory. “no crying. a lot of determination, though. they’re really trying. their notes are getting better, and, um, you know that exercise you taught me? about turning the lesson into a story so they remember the order of moves?”
your chest warms. “yeah?”
he grins, big and genuine. “it worked! they loved it. i think you might be a genius.”
you make a show of flipping your hair. “i know.”
he laughs again, softer this time, eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual. the table between you feels smaller. a little more crowded with all the unspoken things that have slowly piled up over months of shared drinks, shared lesson plans, shared late nights in empty hallways.
you take a sip of your drink and watch him thumb the rim off his glass. his fingers are calloused, knuckles nicked with fading scars. teacher hands, hero hands. he always holds his pen delicately, like he is still afraid of crushing things.
“what about you?” he asks suddenly. “how was your week? really, not just the ‘i survived’ version.”
you scrunch your nose. “it was fine.”
he gives you that look. the one that says he has read the manual on you cover to cover. “that... isn’t an answer.”
you huff. “fine-ish. they nearly blew up the training room monday. and i had to mediate a fight about who gets to sit by the window. and i’m ninety percent sure one of the kids is trying to set up their parents with each other and uses my class as a planning base.”
his eyes widen. “really?”
“oh yeah. they are committed, code names. everything. they act like i don't know.”
you laugh waving the memory off. he smiles, but it softens into something fond. “and you handled all of that by yourself.”
“that’s my job,” you point out.
he looks at you like it's more than that. like it's something precious. “you are really good at it.”
you feel your face heat. the drinks are not helping. “midoriya, you cannot just say things like that casually. i am defenseless. tipsy.”
he chokes slightly on his beer. “s-sorry.”
“you are not,” you accuse, laughing.
he ducks his head, muttering something that might be “maybe a little.” his fingers toy with his napkin, twisting the edge of it. the conversation spills into comfortable little streams, weaving between school gossip and hero stories and stupid inside jokes that only make sense to people who spend too much time in the same hallways.
by the time you leave, the air outside has cooled. the street is quieter, shops beginning to roll down their shutters. a light breeze cuts through the lingering warmth of the day, carrying the smell of rain that's priming to fall.
you walk side by side toward the station, shoulders brushing now and then. each touch sparks something small and electric in your skin.
“thank you for coming out with me…” he says after a moment. his voice is softer than the street lamps. “i know we are both busy and tired and… yeah.”
“izuku,” you tease, bumping your shoulder into his. “we’ve done this like, what, ten times now? are you going to thank me every time we get a drink?”
he tenses and then laughs, a little helpless. “i just… i look forward to it. that’s all.”
your heart somersaults, “me too.”
you reach the station entrance and stop at the bottom of the stairs. people move around you, slipping past with practiced city speed, but somehow there is still this small bubble of space where it’s just the two of you.
“so,” you say, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “this is me.”
“right.” he swallows, bobbing his head. “and i go… that way.”
he points, then seems to realize how ridiculous he looks and drops his hand quickly. his cheeks are that familiar pink again. the alcohol has worn off enough that he is mostly clear, but the warmth still lingers in his skin.
you hesitate. there is something buzzing under your tongue, a question you have been trying not to ask for months.
“hey, midoriya?”
“yeah?” he perks up, eyes bright, always so ready to listen when it comes to you.
“are we…” you lick your lips, suddenly very aware of his focus on your mouth. “do you think we’re… just friends?”
the words hang there, fragile, more vulnerable than you meant them to be.
izuku goes completely still.
you can see the thoughts whirring behind his eyes, the way he spirals inward to analyze, categorize, define. it’s like watching his quirk notes come to life again, except this time you know you’re the subject.
“i…” he starts, then stops. his fingers curl at his sides. “do you want us to be… just friends?”
you exhale, a small laugh escaping you. “that is not an answer.”
“i learned from the best,” he says, a little breathless.
your heartbeat thumps louder. “i asked you first.”
he looks at you like he is standing on the edge of a rooftop again, wind in his hair, whole future hanging off a decision.
“no,” he says quietly. “i do not.”
your pulse jumps. “oh.”
he steps a little closer. close enough that you can see the faint freckles under his eyes, the way they darken in the street lamp glow. his hands twitch, like he wants to touch you but is not sure where.
“i told myself i was being professional,” he confesses softly, words starting to tumble. “we are colleagues, and the students look up to you, and you are so good at your job, and we work together all the time, and i did not want to make things complicated or uncomfortable or ruin what we already have, because it is really important to me, you are really important to me and i thought if i just… kept it to myself, it would be fine but it’s not fine and i keep looking forward to friday nights and your messages and the way your eyes light up when you talk about your class and and and–”
“izuku.”
you reach out and grab his sleeve. gently, but firm enough to halt the spiral.
he blinks down at you, breath stuttering.
“take a breath,” you say, smiling a little. “you’re doing the thing.”
he inhales, slow and shaky. exhales. “right. sorry. i’m just… really nervous.”
“why?” you ask, though you think you know.
his eyes drop to your mouth again. they linger there, heavy and shy.
“because…” he murmurs, “i really want to kiss you, and if you say no, i’ll have to pretend i’m completely fine with that for the rest of my life.”
the world tilts a little.
you could tease him. you could make a joke, deflect, stall. you have done it before with other people. but this is midoriya. the boy who grew into a man who carries entire cities in his hands and still says please and thank you to every person he sees. the man who always walks you to the station and waits until your train actually arrives before he leaves.
so instead, you take a small step closer, until his chest almost brushes yours.
“what if i said yes?” you ask.
something in his expression cracks open. hopeful, disbelieving, almost overwhelmed.
“then…” he says, voice unsteady, “i would ask if i could… if i could really… kiss you.”
“you’re already this far,” you murmur. “finish what you started, teacher.”
his breath catches.
slowly, like he is moving through a dream, he lifts his hands. one hovers near your cheek, hesitant, fingers trembling just a little. he is strong enough to break concrete, but he touches you like you are something that must be held carefully or not at all.
“if i am misreading this,” he whispers, “please tell me to stop.”
you lean into his palm, closing the last gap between his hand and your skin. “you aren’t.”
that is all it takes.
izuku leans down, heart in his throat, and presses his mouth to yours.
the kiss is not perfect. he bumps his nose against yours on the way in, and his hand on your cheek is a fraction too tense at first, like he is bracing for impact. but the moment your lips meet, warmth flares through you like a slow, blooming fire.
he tastes faintly of beer and orchard fruit and something you believe may be his cologne. there is a quiet desperation in the way he kisses you, like he's been imagining this for long enough that the reality is almost too much.
you sigh into him, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt, feeling the rapid throb of his heart under your hand. that seems to ground him. his shoulders relax, and the kiss melts from careful to tender, from tentative to sure.
when he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. his breath is uneven, fogging the small space between you.
“wow,” he whispers, voice a little wrecked. “that was… um. i’m going to be thinking about that in the staff meeting on monday.”
you snort quietly. “you better not blush when aizawa is going over the patrol schedule.”
“i probably will,” he admits, eyes crinkling at the corners. “and it will be entirely your fault.”
you feel his fingers, still curled in the fabric at your waist, flex slightly, like they aren’t ready to let go yet. his gaze flickers to your lips again, as if he is already wondering when he can do that again without inventing a reason.
✩ katsuki bakugo is already yelling before the door even slams behind you.
you barely get two steps into the locker room before his voice ricochets off the tiles, hot and sharp, shredding through the leftover adrenaline in your veins.
“what the hell was that out there?”
you rip your mask off, toss it at the bench. “wow. so specific. really narrows it down.”
his gauntlets are still on, fingers flexing like he is one second away from detonating the air itself. there is dried soot on his jaw, a cut at his temple, and his eyes are burning holes straight through you.
“you broke formation,” he spits. “i told you to circle left and you went right. you ignored a direct order.”
“your order would have gotten that hostage crushed,” you shoot back, ripping at the buckle of your bracer. your hands are still shaking. from the fight. from him. from both. “you were too busy trying to blow your way through the front line to notice the support beam was about to give!”
he steps closer. the floor hums under his boots.
“i had it handled.”
you laugh, disbelieving. “bakugo, you were one detonation away from bringing the whole damn warehouse down.”
“and you went in alone,” he snaps. “again.”
there it is. the real thing flickering under the smoke.
you yank off your other bracer and throw it harder than you need to. it clatters across the floor, skidding to a stop near his feet.
“someone had to,” you bite out. “you were pinned. the others were spread thin. i saw an opening and took it. that is called initiative.”
“that is called reckless.”
you walk right up to him, chin tilted, nose nearly touching his. the heat rolling off his body is ridiculous, like his quirk sunk under his skin and decided to live there.
“funny, coming from you.”
his jaw works. his eyes drop, just for a second, to your mouth, then snap back up like he refuses to admit it happened.
“why do you never listen?” he groans. “i'm not blowing smoke up your ass when i give you an order!”
“because i am not your trainee,” you fire back. “i am your sidekick, not some kid in your boot camp. i get to make calls too.”
“i am the one with the top billing on the damn agency,” he says. “responsibility lands on my head when shit goes sideways. so yeah. you do what i say.”
“i am not a weapon you get to point!” you hiss, frustration clawing at your throat. “ im not just here to fill in the gaps between your explosions. i think. i see angles you don't. that hostage would be dead if i just stood there and waited for you to notice they existed!”
his hands flare at his sides, tiny pops of light sputtering in his palms. not enough to hurt. enough to make your heart jerk.
“do you have any idea what it looked like,” he says, voice dropping, rougher. “turning around and realizing you were gone?”
you blink. that catches you off guard.
“i told you where i was going...!” you say, less sharp.
“you yelled ‘cover me’ and vanished into smoke,” he snarls. “you think that is a briefing? i saw that beam creak a second too late and you were right under it, and for a full three seconds i thought you were about to be pulp on the concrete.”
something twists in your chest.
“i am fine,” you say, but it comes out weaker. “i made it. we both did.”
“this time.”
the words hang there, bitter.
you throw up your hands. “what do you want me to say, katsuki? do you want an apology for saving someone? for not letting them die while you set up the perfect damn finishing move?”
his eyes flash.
“don’t twist my words.”
“then stop making it sound like i'm the problem whenever i do my job.”
you turn away, reaching for your locker, needing distance, needing something to put between you and that look on his face. your fingers barely brush the metal before his hand slams next to your head, palm cracking against the locker door.
you freeze.
he is right behind you now, chest to your back, heat rolling off him in suffocating waves. his other hand lands on the opposite side, caging you in. the locker room shrinks to the sound of both your breathing.
“bakugo,” you warn, though your voice is not as steady as you want it to be. “move.”
“no.”
you clench your jaw. “this is not how you talk to your sidekick.”
“good thing this isn't about my sidekick then,” he snaps.
you twist, glaring over your shoulder. you end up closer than you meant to be, your nose brushing his cheek. he's breathing hard, teeth bared, eyes fully blown wide, pupils dark and hot like a storm.
“what the hell is that supposed to mean,” you demand.
he stares at you like you're the stupid one. like you have missed something obvious. his fingers flex against the metal beside your head, the faint crackle of sweat igniting, dying just as fast.
“it means,” he grits out, “that it's not just my record that flashes before my eyes when you pull shit like that.”
your throat goes dry.
“cmon, you're being dramatic.”
“you're being dense.”
the words land between you, heavy. your heart starts to thud louder. you can smell smoke on him, and something underneath it that is just him, familiar from too many patrols sharing the same air.
“bakugo,” you say again, quieter. “you’re mad… because i scared you.”
he scoffs, but it is hollow. “i am mad... because you almost got yourself killed.”
“for the job.”
“for a random extra who will forget your name by next week,” he growls. “you don’t get it.”
you turn fully now, your back pressed to the locker door, his arms still braced on either side of you. he is so close it feels like standing in front of a furnace.
“then explain it,” you snap. “because from where i'm standing, you are acting like i betrayed you for doing the same crap you have done a thousand times.”
his mouth opens, then closes. his jaw tightens, then loosens, like the words are fighting to get out. his gaze drops again, unbidden, to your lips. lingers. comes back up, rawer than before.
“you are my sidekick,” he says, like that's the start and end of it.
“we have established that,” you say, irritation flaring again to cover the way your stomach flips at how hoarse his voice has gotten.
his eyes narrow. “that's not all you are.”
the room seems to tilt.
heat rushes up your neck and into your face. you hate that he can see it. you hate that he is close enough to see every tiny twitch of your expression.
“then what am i?” you ask, and your voice comes out so soft it is almost lost between you.
bakugo looks like he would rather swallow a grenade than answer, but he's already too far in.
“the person i am watching every goddamn second,” he grinds out. “the one i'm counting breaths for while i'm blowing shit up. the one i am keeping track of even when i'm not supposed to, because i'm supposed to be focusing on the fight and not on whether you remembered to reinforce your stupid suit before you charged headfirst into a collapsing building.”
your chest tightens.
“you don't have to babysit me,” you say, but your voice is shaky, the anger bleeding into something else.
“i know i don’t,” he snaps. “i know you can handle yourself. that isn't the point.”
“then what is the point?”
“the point is,” he fires back, louder now, “every time you pull some self sacrificial bullshit, i feel like my lungs are gonna blow out of my chest, and i can't do my job if i'm busy thinking about scraping you off the floor.”
you stare at him. his cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, like he' he'd just detonated something big and is still feeling the recoil.
“so you what. suffocate me instead?” you shoot back. “freeze me out of decisions? pull rank and expect me to salute?”
he snarls low in his throat. “i am trying to keep you breathing, dumbass.”
“by boxing me in?”
“by not letting you die.”
the last word tears out of him, rough, like it hurts.
for a second, neither of you moves.
your pulse hammers under your skin. his hands are still beside your head, braced, tense. the air feels thick enough to chew.
“you can't stand out there and blow half the block chasing a villain and then yell at me for taking a calculated risk.”
his eyes flick over your face, taking in every line of it, every crack.
“i can if it's your life on the line,” he says, quieter now, but no less intense. “i will every time.”
you swallow, throat tight. your fingers find the front of his costume without really thinking, grabbing a handful of the fabric just to anchor yourself.
“why?” you ask, and you hate how small it sounds.
his gaze drops to your hand on his chest. you can feel his heart under your palm, thudding hard, too fast. when he looks back up, there is nothing held back in his eyes anymore. it is all just there, raw and bright and furious.
“because i need you,” he says.
the words hit like a blast wave.
you don't have time to process them before something in him snaps.
one second you are staring up at him, chest heaving, words thick in the air. the next his hand tears off the locker to cup your jaw, fingers splayed along your cheek, thumb pressing in under your chin. he crowds you farther into the metal, body flush to yours, and crashes his mouth down onto yours.
the kiss is not polite. it isn't careful, or neat, or anything that could be called gentle. it's teeth and heat and the taste of residual smoke on his tongue as he drags you into it like another battle he refuses to lose.
you gasp into him, fingers tightening in his costume. that is all the opening he needs. he groans, deep and broken, like this is something he's been fighting himself on for a long time, and now that the dam has burst, there is no patching it up.
your back slams against the locker when you melt forward again, chasing him. the metal rattles. his other hand finds your hip, gripping hard enough to bruise, dragging you closer. every point of contact burns.
you kiss him back just as fiercely, all the arguments and frustration and late nights on stakeouts condensing into this one reckless, breathless moment. you taste copper from a split in your lip you didn't realize you had until now, and he swears against your mouth like he takes it personally.
when he finally rips his mouth away, it isn't because he wants to. it's because you both need air.
his forehead rests against yours, breaths harsh, shoulders rising and falling like he just run a marathon. his thumb still strokes the edge of your jaw, almost absent, like he can't think about letting go just yet.
“that,” he says, voice shot to hell, “was me trying not to watch you die.”
you huff, a broken sound that wants to be a laugh. your lips are swollen. “you have a messed up way of doing that...”
“shut up,” he mutters, but his eyes are on your mouth again, dark and hungry. “you piss me off. you scare the shit out of me. you make me want to blow up every building you walk into so there is nothing left that can touch you.”
you blink. “that's not how saving people works.”
“not the point.”
his hand on your hip tightens, dragging you forward a fraction more, like he's reminding himself you are solid, you are here.
“you gonna listen to me now?” he asks, quieter, but no less intense. “on missions?”
“depends,” you breathe, because you never know when to shut up. “you gonna actually talk to me like a partner, or keep barking orders and hoping i roll over.”
his mouth curves, one corner pulling up in something too sharp to be a smile and too soft to be a smirk.
“hah? we'll figure that out. ”
he leans in again, the space between you collapsing all over.
⋆˚࿔ shoto todoroki has a very specific problem, and the problem is you.
you are his sidekick. you are competent and smart and so cute and so annoying in the way that makes his chest feel weird. you fix his comm when it glitches. you tap his wrist twice before every mission “for luck.” you always order extra portion for the two of you because you found out his hobby is trying new foods. and he is in love with you about it. quietly. constantly. like a background app he cannot close.
he doesn’t say anything, of course, he just… watches.
he watches you tie your mess with your hair before patrol, fingers quick and practiced. he watches you fall asleep on the agency couch, curled under a blanket you claim isn’t yours (even though it always mysteriously shows up when you’re tired). he watches you laugh at something sero sends in the group chat, eyes crinkling, shoulders loosening like someone set you down somewhere safe for a moment. he files all of it away. carefully. respectfully. obsessively.
today has been long. nonstop villain reports, patrol, debrief. the usual. somehow it’s late again and you’re both still at the agency, overhead lights buzzing, the training room you insisted on “one last run” in still humming with residual heat and ice.
“one more simulation,” you said, fifteen minutes ago, hands on your hips, eyes bright. “we need to practice close quarters. you keep freezing the whole room.”
“that’s the point?” he answered, but you were already queuing up the exercise.
it’s supposed to be simple—close combat, minimal quirks, focus on teamwork. it’s going well for exactly thirty seconds.
then the floor moves.
“left!” you shout, darting as the tiles shift. “shoto, wall!”
he pivots, you pivot, and for half a second you’re both trying to read each other’s next step—but the room is faster.
your shoulder slams into his chest; his arm shoots out, catching your waist just as the floor tilts and your balance goes with it.
for one brief, suspended moment, you’re both weightless—falling, colliding, the padded wall slamming into his back and you stumbling full length into him, palms pressed to his chest.
and your mouth lands on his.
it isn’t a neat little movie kiss. it’s startled and off-center, a collision of lips and breath and a squeaky “mmph!” that’s mostly you trying not to yelp into his mouth. he makes a surprised “hn—” noise—more grunt than groan—and you exhale right into it, eyes wide.
for a second, neither of you move.
his hands are still on your waist. your fingers have twisted in his uniform without meaning to. your hearts are thundering loud in the quiet room, adrenaline and something sharp and tender tangled up in your chests.
you try to jerk back, scrambling for space, but he keeps you steady, eyes impossibly wide and blinking.
“ow,” he says softly, like he’s confused he can even feel pain right now.
you sputter, “oh my god. i’m— i’m so sorry, that was— the wall moved, i—”
“it’s fine,” he says automatically, because it is, because he’s only ever wanted to kiss you anyway, and now his brain has finally caught up to his heart and is lying face down on the padded floor, completely useless.
you’re still babbling. “that was— i wasn’t trying to— ambush you, or, or—”
he blinks, his cheeks glowing pink, and suddenly the room goes dead silent as the simulation times out with a cheery little beep.
the floor levels. the lights shift. you are still half in his arms.
it hits him, all at once, with brutal, simple clarity: his first kiss was an accident. with you. in the training room. because of a moving floor.
a frown pulls between his brows as he stares at you, completely earnest, a little lost.
“so…” he says, serious as a fire alarm, “...is that what they call a kiss?”
you stare, then choke, then laugh so hard you nearly lose your balance all over again.
“shoto—”
“i’m asking,” he insists, deadpan, his voice grave, but his face is pink, his lips still parted from the kiss. “for clarity.”
your face is burning. “i—yes? i mean, technically? that was a kiss. i guess? but it wasn’t—like, it was accidental, so—”
he cuts in, voice even softer. “it was my first.”
your brain stops.
for a moment you just gape at him, then burst into helpless laughter—half nerves, half delirious disbelief. “oh my god, todoroki, your first—? because of a training room malfunction? i’m so—!”
“do it again,” he says suddenly, completely, heartbreakingly serious.
you blink, thrown off your axis, but he’s already leaning in, cautious and slow, his hand finding your cheek this time. his palm is cool, his thumb gentle where it brushes under your jaw. he watches your mouth as if he’s a starved man.
“please,” he adds, low, like it matters more than anything else in the world.
so you do.
you kiss him properly this time, soft and sweet, still a little bit laughing. he returns it like he’s been waiting all year, mouth careful, then more sure, tilting his head, letting his hands find your waist again, pulling you close enough your toes almost leave the floor.
when you break away, breathless, he chases your mouth, kissing you again—quick, curious, like he can’t help himself.
you’re giggling, caught between his arms, cheeks aching from smiling as he kisses your jaw, your nose, your mouth again, and then again, like he’s got to check from every angle.
“todoroki— you’re— you’re not supposed to keep me hostage in the training room—”
“for— research,” he says, lips brushing your ear, totally deadpan. “i want to be sure—i understand.”
“you’re so silly—ah!—shoto—!” you laugh, and he kisses you again, a little off-center this time, smiling into it.
finally you try to wriggle free, still laughing, and he only holds you tighter, utterly sincere. “if we’re going to be a couple, i want to be the best at it.”
you lose it, howling with laughter as he keeps you pinned for “research,” dead serious about the whole thing, not letting you out of the training room until you show him “again”—and again—and again.
ᝰ.ᐟ you don’t talk much around toya 'dabi' todoroki
you talk a normal amount around everyone else. your friends at work, the bus driver, the old lady who always asks you to help carry her groceries up the stairs. with them, you are soft but steady, your voice a small river that moves when it needs to.
with dabi, though, your throat always feels a little tighter. not because you’re scared of him. if anything, it’s the opposite. he looks at you like you’re interesting, like you are worth paying attention to, like anything you say is going to be his new favorite thing.
which is exhausting. and a little overwhelming. and confusing in a way that makes you want to hide your face in your hands.
so most nights, you just sit beside him on the roof and let him talk.
it starts off as a weird sort of arrangement. you are not supposed to be here, technically. he is a villain. you are… not. you met on this rooftop by accident, one long weeknight where you needed air and he needed somewhere to smoke.
you remember the first time clearly. you had stumbled out onto the roof, hoodie too big, hands tucked in the pockets, ready to be blissfully alone.
instead, you got six foot something of stitched skin and bored blue eyes, perched on the ledge with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
you froze. he stared. the city hummed on below you both like this was completely normal. “well,” he said eventually, voice low, in a lazy drawl. “this is awkward.”
you should have run. screamed. called someone. instead you had just… lowered your gaze, mumbled a tiny “sorry” and started to back away.
a flash of blue flickered near the door frame, not close enough to burn, just enough to make you stop.
“relax,” he said. “i ain't gonna fry you, quiet girl.”
you had glanced up at him through your lashes. “…okay.”
“you come up here a lot?” he asked, flicking ash off the ledge.
you nodded. “sometimes...”
“hm...” his eyes dragged over you, not in a cruel way. just filing you, curious. “guess we're neighbors now.”
and that was that.
somehow, over the next few weeks, the rooftop became shared territory. most nights you climbed up there after work, shoulders tight, brain buzzing. most nights he was already there, smoke curling around him, blue flames dancing at his fingertips like bored pets.
you would sit a few feet away at first, hood up, knees pulled to your chest. he would talk at the sky, at the city, at you. nonsense, mostly. complaints about people. jokes that landed more than they missed. observations that were sharper than they had any right to be.
eventually, the gap between you narrowed. your knees started to bump now and then. his shoulder brushed your arm when he shifted. you stopped flinching when his flames crackled to life near your feet.
he flirted with you from the first week.
it was not the greasy, heavy kind of flirting you had seen too much of. it was a thin, sharp thing, wrapped in sarcasm, tossed out to see how you would react.
“so, quiet girl,” he would say, cigarette hanging between his fingers, grin tilting. “you come up here to stare at the sky or stare at me.”
you would duck your head, cheeks heating. “...the sky.”
“ouch,” he would chuckle. “cold.”
“you’re always here first,” you mumbled once. “so technically i'm the one invading your staring space.”
“mm.” he let his eyes drag slowly down your face, your tucked up knees, your bare ankles peeking out of your sweatpants. “you can invade me anytime.”
you had choked on your drink. he had laughed so hard he almost fell off the ledge.
you found out he was a virgin by accident.
it was late, even by your shared standards. the city was quieter, the sky a little darker. the neon sign across the street blinked in a tired rhythm. you were half leaning against the wall, half leaning toward him, somewhere in the middle of your usual companionable silence.
he had been on a roll that night. a steady stream of yaping from the city of yappington, easier than usual. teasing you about your hoodie, about the way you hugged your knees, about the way you never answered his flirty comments with anything more than a tiny laugh and a look.
“i think you like it...” he said, watching you through smoke. “me talking to you like this.”
you pressed your cheek to your knee, hiding a smile. “why?”
“you always look at me,” he said simply. “you get all pink and quiet. it's cute.”
you made a tiny noise, more embarrassed than irritated. “i'm always quiet.”
“not like this.”
he was right. you knew he was right. you hated that he knew he was right.
“you flirt with everybody,” you said, voice small but clear. “you call everyone cute.”
“nah.” he flicked ash over the edge, lips curling. “only the ones i want to tease.”
you hesitated. “do you… get far with that?”
his eyebrow arched. “what, you askin' about my success rate?”
you shrugged. “you act like you’re… really experienced.”
his grin broadened. “you interested in references, doll?”
maybe it was the late hour. maybe it was the fact that you had had a drink on an empty stomach. maybe it was just that you were tired of feeling like the only one being tugged around by the tension between you.
whatever it was, it made something reckless slip out of your mouth.
“i think you're all talk...” you said, as calmly as you could manage.
his head snapped toward you. “oh yeah?”
you nodded, hugging your knees tighter. “you say a lot. you… lean in. stare. say things. but you never actually… do anything.”
he narrowed his eyes, amused and offended all at once. “you tryin' t' call me out?”
“a little,” you admitted.
“careful, quiet girl.” his voice dropped, sliding over your skin like smoke. “i might take that as a challenge.”
you peeked at him. his eyes were half lidded, searching your face. there was a spark of something restless there, something almost nervous, buried under all the lazy bravado.
you swallowed. “if you were actually as experienced as you act… maybe you wouldn't have to talk so much.”
the words hung there, softer than a taunt, louder than anything you had said to him before.
for a second, his mask slips. it was quick. a flicker. but you caught it.
his fingers stilled on the cigarette. his mouth parted, then closed. the heat of his flames dropped a few degrees, leaving the air cooler than normal.
“huh,” he said.
you blinked. “sorry. that was… rude.”
“no.” he took a drag, exhaled slowly through his nose. his gaze stayed on the sky, not you. “just accurate.”
you frowned, confused. “what do you mean?”
he rolled the cigarette between his fingers. the ember glowed, dimmed.
“you're right,” he said. “i am all talk.”
you stared at him. “but you…”
“but me nothing.” he cut in, shoulders lifting in a lazy half shrug. “i flirt. i run my mouth. never took it anywhere.”
your brain tried to slot this into the image you had formed of him. it did not fit. dabi, with his sharp tongue and his heavy stare and his casual dirtiness, not taking it anywhere.
“never?” you repeated softly.
his smile twisted. “what, that so hard to believe?”
you opened your mouth. closed it. opened it again. “i just… assumed.”
“yeah.” he finally looked at you, head tilted. “everyone does.”
there was no pity in his voice. no shame. just a flat, simple truth, laid out between you.
you felt bad for a second. for poking at him, for underestimating the possibility that he had layers under the flirting, that some of it might be defense instead of hunger.
“…so you're a virgin,” you said, the word feeling strangely big in your mouth.
he snorted, smoke curling from his lips. “say it louder, why don’t ya?”
you flushed. “sorry.”
“relax.” he waved it off. “not a big deal.”
“it isn't,” you agreed quickly. and it wasnt. you meant that. it just… did not match the way he always acted. “so all those lines…”
“practice,” he said. “hypotheticals. wishful thinking. take your pick.”
something in your chest unclenched, slowly.
“so under all that,” you murmured, a tiny smile tugging at your lips. “you're just… kinda inexperienced.”
“wow,” he drawled. “really laying into me tonight.”
you risked another glance at him. “you started it.”
“by existing?” he shot back. “which, by the way, would be a lot easier if you didn't look at me like that when i say stuff.”
you blinked. “like what?”
“like i hung the moon or some shit.”
your cheeks burned. you hid your face against your knee again.
“i don't,” you mumbled, voice muffled.
“you kinda do,” he said, amused. “don't worry. i'm into it.”
you hesitated. the little seed of knowledge sat between you now, warm and potent. he flirted because it was easier than admitting he didn't know what came next. he poked at you because it made you react, because it filled the spaces where he didn't want to think too hard.
“so,” you said quietly, words careful. “all bark, no bite.”
he shot you a look. “keep talking, quiet girl. see what happens.”
“you wouldn't know what to do with me...” you replied before you could stop yourself.
the rooftop went very still.
his flames flickered higher for a heartbeat, then settled. he set the cigarette down on the ledge, crushing it out with deliberate, slow pressure.
“you sure about that?” he asked, voice low.
you swallowed. you felt small, tucked up beside him, knees pulled to your chest. but there was something buzzing under your skin now, some strange courage that only showed up around him.
“you're the one who said you've never done anything,” you said, keeping your tone soft, almost sing song. “just talking. no follow through.”
he stared at you, eyes dark in the low light.
“want me to prove you wrong?” he asked.
the words should have sounded like another empty line. they did not. there was a rough edge to them. a nervousness he was trying to smother.
your heart thudded.
you shifted, uncurling your legs, turning to sit cross legged so you were facing him more. your hands smoothed over your knees, something to do.
“how?” you asked.
his gaze flicked to your mouth. once. twice. he licked his own lower lip like it had suddenly gone dry.
“you really gonna make me say it?” he muttered.
you let the tiniest hint of a smile show. “maybe i like hearing you talk.”
he huffed, almost a laugh. his hand lifted, hovered for a second, then dropped, landing on the concrete between you. he scooted closer, slow, like he was approaching some skittish animal.
“come here, then,” he said.
you didn't move.
he quirked a brow. “shy now?”
“i'm always—” he cuts you off,
“yeah.” his eyes softened, just a fraction. “that's why i like you.”
the confession sat there, unembellished.
your chest tightened. you found yourself inching toward him without really deciding to. the distance between you shrank until your knees bumped his thigh, until you could feel the heat rolling off his skin.
his hand lifted again. this time, he didn't hesitate as much. his fingers brushed your chin, rough and warm. stitched skin dragged gently along the soft line of your jaw.
“last chance to back out and go back to calling me a liar,” he murmured.
you looked up at him through your lashes. your throat felt dry. your heart had gone all fluttery and delicate, like it was trying to escape through your ribs.
“you're the one who said you wanted to prove it...” you whispered back.
his mouth crooked. “smart mouth for someone who hardly talks.”
“only when it is you,” you said.
that did something to him. you saw it. the way his eyes flared. the way his breath hitched.
“yeah,” he said quietly. “me too.”
his hand slid from your chin to cup the side of your face, thumb resting near the corner of your mouth. he leaned in, slow enough that you could meet him, slow enough that you could pull away.
your eyes fluttered shut as the space between you shrank to a breath, to a heartbeat, to the barest brush of his lips against yours.
the first contact was tentative. unsure. he pressed his mouth to yours in a soft, careful line, test and answer wrapped together. you could feel the tension in him, the way his fingers flexed against your skin like he was holding himself back from bolting or grabbing you closer.
you tilted your head, just slightly, nudging more firmly into him. your hand found his wrist, not to push him away, but to hold on.
he made a small sound into your mouth. half surprise, half relief. it rolled through you like heat.
the second press of his lips was less careful. he angled in, closing the distance fully this time. the kiss stayed slow, stayed tentative, but there was more of him in it now. a hint of teeth when he caught your lower lip by accident. a tiny exhale when you sighed against him, relaxing in a way you had never managed in front of anyone else.
his thumb stroked along your cheek, clumsy and gentle. his other hand, the one on the concrete, crept closer until his fingertips brushed your knee.
you didn't realize you were shaking until he broke the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours. his breath fanned over your lips, warm and uneven.
“still think i'm all talk?” he asked, voice rough in the quiet.
your eyes stayed closed. you took a breath, then another, trying to get your thoughts to line up again.
“maybe,” you murmured. “need more data...”
he huffed a laugh, low and breathless. “yeah. figures.”
his nose bumped yours. his lips ghosted over your mouth again, a promise, an invitation.
“guess we have time to collect it,” he added, softer.
his hand slipped from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. there was a faint tremor in his touch, betraying the nerves he refused to admit to. you leaned into it, into him, into the strange, fragile space that had just opened up between you on a rooftop that was suddenly too small for how full your chest felt.
જ⁀➴ (fade to black) you should’ve known keigo 'hawks' takami was up to something the second he texted:
keigo: pack a bag, bestie. international. no questions!
it took three more messages, one very chaotic phone call, and a threat to cancel his hero ranking fanclub before he actually sent the ticket. first class, middle of the week, a hotel you absolutely cannot afford on a teacher salary. and, as the subject line of the itinerary, in all caps:
keigo: BEST FRIEND ANNIVERSARY TRIP!
like he had just invented friendship on his own.
the flight is all soft clouds and his shoulder under your cheek when you doze off. he hogs the window. you hog the blanket. he steals the lime off your inflight drink, winks, says it suits him better, and you throw your napkin at his face. it feels like every other time you've been together, just with more legroom and a language you don't speak waiting at the other end.
the city he takes you to looks like a jewelry box spilled open. sunlit stone in the day, gold threaded through the sky at night. the hotel is stupidly nice, all clean lines and calm music and staff who definitely know who he is but try very hard to pretend they do not.
your room has a balcony.
of course it does.
dusk drapes itself over the city by the time you both end up out there, door slid shut behind you, muffling the sound of the air conditioner and distant hotel tvs. the sky is streaked mauve and orange, the buildings below dotted with lights one by one, like someone is slowly plugging stars into sockets.
keigo is leaning against the balcony rail, wind tugging at his hair and feathers. he looks like he belongs in the air, not pressed against concrete and glass, but he is here, with you, in sweatpants and a loose shirt with the sleeves pushed up, wrists bare, throat exposed.
you are holding two glasses of whatever he sweet talked the concierge into sending up. something sparkling, something that catches the last traces of sun and throws them back.
you pass him one. he clinks the rim of his glass against yours.
“to us,” he says, easy, playful. “longest relationship of my life.”
you snort. “please. you flirt with everyone.”
“yeah.” he tips his head toward you, eyes sliding over your face. “but i only book international trips for one.”
“romantic,” you mutter, taking a sip to hide your face. your heart stutters like it is trying to jump off the balcony. “i feel so special.”
“you should!” he leans his elbows on the rail, wings shifting behind him. “not everyone is brave enough to deal with me this long. i'm a handful.”
“you are twelve handfuls,” you correct. “minimum.”
“wow. you think about my hands a lot, huh?”
you choke on your drink.
he laughs, bright and delighted, eyes gleaming in the low light. “oh, come on. walked right into that one.”
“you are the worst,” you wheeze, swiping at your mouth.
“you love me,” he says, so casually it hurts.
you swallow, throat suddenly dry. you aim for light. “i do...”
his gaze snags on your face at that. there is a tiny hitch, like he caught something he was not expecting. his feathers rustle, soft, unsettled.
“yeah?” he asks. quieter now.
you look out over the city, pretending you do not feel the weight of his attention like a physical thing. the breeze lifts your hair, cool on the back of your neck.
“yeah,” you say. “you're my best friend.”
there it is. the line you always nudge, never quite cross. the safe word you both hide behind. keigo takes a slow sip of his drink. his profile is sharp in the fading light, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.
“best friend,” he echoes.
“that a problem, kei?”
he shakes his head, smiling crooked. “nope. just funny.”
“what's funny?”
“how you say it like it explains everything.”
you frown, turning to face him more fully. “doesn’t it?”
he turns too, so your bodies angle toward each other. his wings shift to make room, red quills cutting the dim. he sets his glass down on the balcony ledge, fingertips lingering on the stem for a second longer than necessary.
“we flirted the day we met,” he says, tone light but eyes very much not. “do you remember?”
you roll your eyes. “you flirted. with everyone. you hit on aizawa.”
“i did not hit on aizawa,” he protests. “i complimented his hair. different!”
“you told him you liked a man with good bedhead.”
he grins, unrepentant. “and he glared at me. which honestly made it better.”
“you're lucky he didn't throw you out the window.”
“i would have flown back up for you.”
your breath catches before you can stop it.
his smile softens, something tender pulling at the edges.
“that first day,” he goes on, voice smoothing out. “you walked into the briefing room late, hiccupped mid sentence, and still had the guts to sass endeavor to his face. i thought, ‘yeah. i could get in trouble with this one.’”
“and you have,” you point out, trying very hard to sound normal.
“mhm.” he nods, lazy. “so worth it.”
the air between you feels different all of a sudden. thicker. charged in a way that has nothing to do with altitude.
“keigo,” you start, warning threaded through his name.
“what?” he asks, all innocence, stepping closer. “i can't talk about my favorite person on our anniversary trip?”
“you keep calling it that like it's a real holiday.”
“it is now.” his grin tilts. “we can make out under the fireworks every year or something.”
your brain snags on make out, sparks flying noisily inside your skull.
“there are no fireworks,” you say, a little too fast.
“not yet.”
you narrow your eyes. “you are being so obnoxious.”
“i am being soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo obvious,” he corrects softly.
you look up at him properly then. really look. the way his pupils have blown just a bit wider. the way his posture has shifted, easygoing slouch straightening into something almost sharp. the way his wings have gradually spread out, tips curving in a little, subtly hemming you in.
“you have been so obvious for years,” you say, heart kicking at your ribs. “nothing ever changes.”
he hums. his hand comes up, slow enough that you could move away if you wanted. fingers brush a strand of hair back from your face, knuckles grazing your cheek, lingering at the hinge of your jaw.
you don't move.
his touch is warm, calloused in places where feathers meet skin.
“are you sure about that?” he asks.
you swallow, the word stuck somewhere between your chest and your mouth. “you're my best friend.”
“i know.” he steps closer again. your backs nearly touch the balcony wall now. “annnnd?”
“and.” your voice thins. you hate that he can do this to you with just a look. “you're a flirt.”
“with you,” he says. “mostly with you.”
“you flirt with baristas.”
“to get free extra syrup!!” he counters. “you get entire vacations!”
your laugh comes out shaky. “this is extortion.”
“this is priority seating,” he says, lips curving. “don’t pretend you don't like it.”
his fingers slide from your jaw to rest under your chin, a light hook, tipping your face up. his other hand plants itself on the balcony railing beside your hip, caging you in even more.
you can see the tiny flaws in him from here. the small scar near his eyebrow. the faint dark circles under his eyes that the world pretends not to notice because he smiles so pretty. the way his gaze keeps dipping to your mouth like he is fighting himself and mostly losing.
your pulse thunders.
“keigo,” you murmur, and it sounds like a question and a warning and something halfway to a plea.
“yeah?” his voice has dropped, roughened
“what are you doing ?”
“collecting.”
you blink. “collecting what?”
his thumb strokes once along the soft line of your chin
“interest,” he says. “on all the things we never did.”
heat rolls through you in a slow wave.
“you're being dramatic,” you manage.
“you flew across an ocean with me for a made up anniversary,” he says. “you aren't allowed to talk to me about dramatic.”
his wings shift again. feathers brush the balcony wall on either side of you, a soft rustle. if you lean back even an inch, you'll feel their edges.
“you could have brought anyone,” you say, quieter now. “you know that.”
he studies you for a long, long moment. the city hums beneath you, lights blinking, traffic a distant ocean.
“no...” he says finally. “i really couldn’t.”
your chest squeezes around the words.
you look away, toward the skyline, because it feels too raw to hold his gaze. his thumb tips your face back insistently.
“hey,” he murmurs. “don’t go hiding on me now.”
“i'm not hiding,” you lie.
“you always do this,” he says. “we get close to the edge and you joke, and i joke, and we dance back. it's cute. i like the dance. but...”
he leans in, until his breath brushes your lips.
“i brought you here because i was kind of hoping we would jump instead.”
your heart flips clean over.
“and if i don't want to jump?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper
he smiles, small and crooked, nothing like the big public grin he wears for cameras. this one is just for you.
“then i'll tease you about it,” he says lightly. “and we'll watch movies in this ridiculously expensive room and eat too much room service and i'll pretend i didn't buy a stupidly nice dress in your size that's hanging in the closet.”
your eyes widen. “you did not.”
“check the tag later.” he shrugs. “or you know. stay in my hoodie. i am def good either way.”
his thumb shifts, brushing the corner of your mouth now.
“i love you either way,” he adds, slip soft.
your breath catches. he freezes like he did not mean to say it that plainly.
there is a tiny beat of silence where you could run. you could laugh it off, shove it back into the box labeled dangerous and pretend you did not hear that shit. it's what you've both done, in smaller ways, for years.
you don't move.
“say that again,” you whisper.
his eyes search yours, checking, double checking, more serious than you think you have ever seen him.
“i love you,” he says. no joke this time. no wink to cushion the blow.
your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt, grabbing at him. “then stop hovering,” you breathe. “and jump.”
something in his expression cracks wide open.
the hand under your chin slides back to cradle your jaw. the other leaves the rail, palm slapping against the wall by your head as he steps fully into your space, pinning you gently between his body and the cool surface. his wings flare and curl in, red and sharp and sheltering, blocking out the sight of anything that is not him.
his mouth finds yours in the next heartbeat.
the kiss hits like that first drop on a roller coaster, stomach swooping, air punched out of your lungs in a single, dizzy rush. his lips are warm, plush, tasting faintly of fruit and champagne and something that has lived in your imagination for far too long.
he kisses you like he's rehearsed it, in daydreams between patrols and in the quiet minutes before sleep. confident, sure, but with an edge of something hungry around the edges, like he's holding back more than he should.
your hands fist in his shirt, dragging him closer, swallowing the small sound he makes when you answer him with teeth, with the pent up push and pull of every flirt that never went anywhere.
his fingers flex against your jaw, angling your face exactly where he wants it. the wall is solid at your back. he is solid at your front. his wings curve around you both, feathers brushing your shoulders, your hair, a soft, enclosing rustle. the outside world blurs to city glow and distant sound.
when he finally pulls back, he doesn't go far. his nose bumps yours, foreheads touching. his thumb traces the swollen edge of your lower lip like he can't believe he did that, like he's already greedy for more.
his pupils are wide, “okay,” he breathes, a little laugh hidden in the exhale. “yeah. cool. that was… that was better than the versions in my head.”
you huff, feeling oddly unsteady. “how many versions are we talking?”
“classified,” he says, grinning, soft and shaken. “hero secret.”
his hand leaves your jaw to cup the side of your neck instead, thumb feeling for your pulse point, like he wants proof you are real and right here and his now, in a way you weren’t before.
“so...” he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing your cheek as he talks. “this mean i get upgraded from best friend to something with… more kissing?”
“you are still my best friend,” you say, and his smile brightens, quick.
“yeah?” he asks.
“yeah,” you confirm. your fingers toy with the fabric at his collar, tugging him just a little closer again. “just with… benefits.”
he groans dramatically, dropping his forehead to your shoulder for a second like he is overwhelmed by the gift he has been given.
you feel him smile against your throat, breath warm where it ghosts over your skin.
“no boyfriend? you're going to destroy me,” he says into your neck, words muffled,
you laugh, a little shaky. “you are sooo needy and for what? you need to be happy i even gave you benefits!”
he pulls back just enough to look at you properly, eyes half-lidded, pupils dark and wide. his thumb is still pressed over your pulse, like he can feel each skip.
“oh?” he murmurs, mouth curving slow. “is that an offer?”
your face heats. “keigo.”
“no, i just want to be clear,” he teases, leaning in until his nose brushes yours. “first kiss. first time we stop pretending we’re just flirting. first time…” he trails off, gaze dropping to your lips, voice dropping with it. “first time we see where this really goes. that what you’re putting on the table, princess?”
your fingers curl tighter in his shirt. he really is going to be the death of you.
“yeah,” you say, breath catching. “if ... you want it.”
he exhales, like you just handed him the keys to your city.
“been wanting it since before i knew what to call it,” he admits, soft and a little raw. then his grin tilts, wicked at the edges. “best friend anniversary seems like a pretty good excuse to start, don’t 'cha think?”
he barely waits for your huffed laugh before he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, all the careful edges burned away. his mouth moves against yours like he finally let himself be hungry. your back presses harder into the balcony wall, his body crowding in, wings curling tighter around you until the world shrinks to red feathers and the rasp of his voice between kisses.
“we should… probably not make out on an open balcony,” you manage between breaths, though you don’t exactly try to pull away.
he hums against your mouth, obviously not bothered. “worried about the view?”
“worried about you getting us both trending,” you whisper, nipping at his lower lip.
he laughs, low and pleased, and the sound goes straight through you.
“guess we better take this inside then,” he says.
he peels one hand away from your neck just long enough to slide the balcony door open behind you. the cool air from the room rushes out, brushing over sweat-damp skin. his wings shift, folding in enough to let him walk you backward, step by slow step, his mouth never quite leaving yours.
you bump into the little table, into the edge of the plush chair, into his chest when he hooks an arm around your waist and lifts you just enough to set you down where he wants you. each clumsy little collision makes you both laugh into the kiss, heat and fondness tangling up into a bundle of nerves
“finally, finallyyyy, ” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours for a heartbeat, his hand splayed warm and steady at your hip.
you look up at him, at the boy who became your favorite person without asking permission, the man who flew you across an ocean just for an excuse to finally stop running from the obvious.
“shut up and kiss me, keigo,” you say, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, feeling muscle twitch under your touch. “or are you all talk?”
his eyes flare, bright and hungry.
“oh, that’s it,” he breathes, laughing, and then his mouth is on yours again, his weight braced over you as the balcony door swings gently shut on its track.
the city lights stay outside, blurred behind glass, while inside the room the world narrows to tangled limbs and soft, breathless sounds, to his hands roaming every part of you like he’s been waiting his whole life to get his dna on you. his hoodie ends up somewhere on the chair, your shirt joins it, the air sweet with hotel soap and his cologne and the warmth of two people finally, finally stepping over a line they drew themselves.
hey if this storm ends up being as it looks, you need to take it seriously, particularly if you're in a southern state and not used to storms like this. i'm not a professional but my new england experience for losing power/etc is:
fill your bathtub with water before the power goes out. in an emergency where the pipes freeze, you'll have semi-clean water. you can use this water for your pets, to wash dishes, flush your toilet, and other small important stuff. if you have no bathtub, fill as large a bin/pot/etc as you can find.
air is the best insulator. if you can tape plastic over your windows and major drafts, it will genuinely help. (they have kits for it, but i've used trash bags and duct tape). blankets/tarps/etc also work. leave space between the covering and the window - the layer of air protects you. shove towels under your doors.
in a true emergency, you can ball up newspapers and shove them into your coats/pants/etc between your base layer and your coat. it won't be comfortable but it does insulate a little better.
have an emergency plan for your pets, particularly animals like reptiles that need constant heat to survive.
the weight of the snow and ice will be an issue. plan accordingly.
black ice is a bitch. if it looks "wet", assume it is frozen. actually just assume everything is frozen for a little while.
if you do not have a generator or other emergency power source, DO NOT bring outside-use heat sources (like propane stoves) inside. you can gas yourself and die.
instead, if you truly have no heat source: focus on insulating a small amount of space in your house - a few rooms - and bring as many bodies and supplies in there as possible. do not break insulation if you can avoid it. you are a ~100-degree object. make your safe space into a blanket fort. you may go stircrazy but it is better than freezing.
if you have a fireplace you never use, check the flue and the chimney before the storm holy shit. i am not kidding about this. do not just start a fire willy nilly. you will burn your house down.
relatedly, if you start a fire and notice smoke is billowing back into the house: stop the fire immediately. your flue is closed or your chimney is backed up. you will burn your house down.
keep the fridge closed as long as possible; it lets the air out. but honestly like, my family has used snow as a fridge a lot. stuff that needs to stay cool will be less of an issue than things that need to get warm. plan accordingly.
most canned things can be eaten cold, but check the label. if you have a little sterno fire, it can go a long way.
if you develop a headache and feel weirdly sleepy, you may be forced to open a window. you might have carbon monoxide poisoning.
every year people die while shoveling snow. it is actually not very safe as a chore tbh. you need to go slow and take lots of breaks. you should also 100% wait until the snow has actually passed, only because when it starts shifting and undoes all your work, it will piss you the hell off.
have drinking water somewhere easily accessible. a lot more of it than you think completely necessary tbh.
fill your gas tank. it will help prevent your lines from freezing.
if you have a battery-powered light that's not very strong, put it under a water jug, it'll throw more light. idk why it works but it works.
just because you know how to drive in the snow doesn't mean other people know how to drive in the snow. better to just not.
your device probably has a "low power mode". probably best to just keep it on asap rather than be taken by surprise tbh. the battery will last longer.
great news to fanfiction writers: it really is better if y'all take one bed and huddle together for warmth. do not strip out of your clothes, though, i have no idea who the hell decided that was the smart thing to do. you want to keep at least a layer of leggings and a tight shirt on. the goal is to find the fine line between "warm" and "sweating" - you want to stay as dry as possible for as long as possible.
your hair, eyelashes, and nosehairs can freeze. just from personal experience: try not to rub or touch them, it can snap your hair off and then you'll be very sad.
hypothermia is a lot faster and more evil than most people expect. watch for shivering, confusion, and unexplained exhaustion. if someone stops shivering, that is not always a good sign. if you think you/someone you love has hypothermia, warm them up slowly. often this is through rubbing/friction (or a heat source if available). keep them awake and try to feed them something.
same for frostbite: don't just shove your hands into a fire. warm any affected area slowly. fair warning, as the blood recirculates, it will hurt :(
those blue rubber examination gloves under other gloves can help even very-cold hands stay warm.
liquor is not a good idea to drink right now, sorry beloved. but vodka/rubbing alcohol does work as an excellent de-icer if you need something small done quickly (like a lock/door handle). it's just, like, expensive in comparison to other things lol
"i don't eat that much anyway i'll be fine" that's the devil talking. you will not be. you will also probably be burning way more calories than normal. let the soft animal of your body eat a bunch of delicious snacks.
the 'stripping off your clothes' version of huddling for warmth, outside of spicy fictional scenarios, is for when you're putting one person whose body heat is fine in with a person whose body temperature has fallen dangerously low, so party 1 can serve as a sort of giant hot water bottle to bring party 2 up to the same level.
in this scenario, it can be beneficial to get some direct skin contact because you want to maximize heat exchange, and insulating layers just get in the way.
as op touches on wrt staying dry, stripping down to huddle under a blanket together also applies if the clothes are wet. especially if they aren't made of wool, which unlike most fibers continues to insulate even when wet. but wet wool is rude to wear into the cuddle pile because other people aren't benefiting from its insulation, only suffering from its dampness, so wool also.
if no one is having a medical emergency or soaked to the skin (which in extreme cold is an incipient medical emergency) then you want to max out insulation layers, and the clothes should stay on. especially socks.
additionally if you have a way of heating foods up (such as a propane or gas stove, which can be lit with matches and doesn't need electricity to work) hot beverages do wonders for keeping your core temperature up.
because you are literally dumping a supplemental heat supply into the middle of your torso.
♡︎ Sypnosis: You suddenly get strong pregnancy cravings in the early hours of the morning
♡︎ Includes : Bakugo, Izuku, Todoroki , Aizawa, Hawks
____________ ❤︎ _______________
_____________ ❤︎ _______________
(characters are aged up)
Bakugo
He shuffled in his sleep, while low grumbles and sniffles echoed from downstairs.
He guessed he was having a dream till the cries sounded way too real and familiar. He patted the space next to him, expecting to feel your warmth but it was empty.
He jumped up from his sleeping position in the warm blankets, shirtless and disheveled as he scrambled out of the bedroom in a panic. Concerns flooded his head but he had no time to stand and think.
Were you ok?
Why the hell are you crying?
He strumbled on various things in the dark, causing him to curse lowly but he moved on.
"Y/n!?" He half yelled, still hearing your sobs echoing through the house. The sound guided him to the kitchen downstairs, so he made sure to be cautious moving toward it.
He clutched a broom nearby, in case something bad was happening so he could prepare. Hell- he didn't even know why you were crying in the first place.
The kitchen was pitch black, although the pantry next to it was beaming with light. The alarm didn't go off which means you were safe.
He strolled into the pantry quietly and the sobs grew louder. He was temporarily blinded by the bright light but blinked repeatedly so his eyes could adjust.
And there you were, sitting cross legged on the floor while holding onto your big tummy.
"Shit-Whats wrong?" he rasped and squatted in front of you, holding onto your shoulders and looking over your features just to make sure nothing bad had happened to you.
"You hurt?" he asked and you shook your head no. "Is the baby ok?"
"Yeah" you cried. "The baby's fine"
Your face was tear-stained and your eyes a little puffy. The baby seemed fine, and you also seemed fine physically so what was the problem?
He positioned himself to sit behind you and placed his hands on your stomach from behind, rubbing it soothingly in hopes to calm you down. "Shhh," he cooed onto your nape softly.
Whatever he was doing seemed to work because, you had calmed down.
"This is gonna sound so stupid but-" you began talking "We don't have any of the food I'm craving!" You wailed in his arms.
Your husband's eyes widened at your mini rampage. He honestly didn't know where to start. "Listen I'll go get you some right now ok?"
He understood that your hormones were all over the place at the moment, so you couldn't control your emotions.
"I don't know why I'm crying so much over ice cream" you sobbed quietly "M'sorry Kat"
"Oi don't apologize for that alright?" He consoled you, still drawing soft circles on your enlarged stomach. "You've got our kid in there, and your hormones are all over the place right now"
He helped you up and guided you to the couch, wrapping a blanket around you and switching on the tv while he walked over to the door. " Call me if you need more stuff." he glimpsed back at you while searching for his cap.
He wouldn't want to be recognized by fans this late at night. Luckily there was a 24 hour convince store nearby your home, so he'd be back before you knew it.
He completed his look with a black face mask, not bothering to change out of his oversized tee and sweatpants.
"I'll be back" he stated, but before he left he made sure to glance at you once more to make sure you were ok but your eyes were glued to the tv screen.
He scoffed a smile as he closed the door and locked it. You had the spare key so it wasn't a problem. Off he was to the covience store.
He didn't take long, only about 15 minutes when the sound of his shoes and the opening of the door could be heard.
He headed over to you first thing and pulled out the food you've been craving the whole night.
"Thank you!" You beamed widely as you accepted it, already eager to open it. Katsuki exhaled a chuckle at your cuteness, flopping himself next to you on the couch and pulling out a tub of ice cream.
He brought another spoon for you in case you would want to taste some. You snickered at dramatic shows on the tv enjoying each others company.
Eventually Katsuki could feel the weight of your head on his shoulder. He peeked to the side to find you snoozing peacefully, some ice cream smeared across your lips and soft snores pouring from your nose.
He sneered back the grin that wanted to appear on his face, giving your stomach one last rub before getting you cleaned up and heading to bed.
_____________ ❤︎ _______________
Izuku
"If I can just figure this out" Izuku mumbled from where he sat on the bedroom floor, holding his chin while he stared at the various papers scattered across the carpet.
He knew that you were fast asleep on the bed. You needed the rest as your belly grew each day, nourishing the little bean inside of you.
A shuffle from the bed made him freeze slightly. He didn't want to make any fast movements that would wake you up.
Once you had stopped moving he continued, but as soon as he turned his head away you called out to him.
"Izuku?" You rubbed your eyes "You still up?"
"Um-yeah I just had some work I had to finish" He rubbed the back of his head. feeling a bit guilty if he were the reason you woke up.
"Did I wake you?" He stood up and walked over to your side, leaning down behind you to rub your back.
"No you didn't do anything I just-" you sighed, not wanting to sound silly by telling him that you were craving something at such an early hour.
"Is it the baby?" he asked with slight panic, pulling the blanket down so he could come eye to eye with your stomach.
"Well yes and no"
He raised a brow in confusion.
"This is going to sound stupid but I'm craving some food " you looked at him apologetically.
"Hey" he held your hands and you turned around so your body could face him.
"Nothing you say is stupid" he smiled At you softly. "It's completely normal to feel what you're feeling and I don't blame you because you've got a whole life growing in there" his hands made their way to your stomach.
You smiled at how reassuring he was. This is exactly why you fell in love with him in the first place, he was able to make your troubles vanish just by flashing a smile.
"I'm going to drop some paperwork off at the agency anyway, so I'll get you some by the store alright?"
You nodded.
"Alright then, I'll be back soon" he placed a kiss to your cheek. "Do you need anything else?"
"I need you to eat it with me when you get back". You glanced at his tired features, he was working hard to make his agency successful but it was taking a toll on him.
He's more stressed than usual, and you only see him for a few hours a day because of his messed up sleep schedule. He promised that it would only be for this week, but it's only been 3 days yet you've been missing him like crazy.
He misses you too. He calls you everyday from work and sends a caretaker to look after you and the growing baby in your tummy while he's not around.
"Okay I promise"
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Shoto
He could feel you shuffling uncomfortably beside him. He was half asleep but woke up to check if you were ok.
"Love are you alright?" he rasped sleepily, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your belly. His hot breath tickling your neck as he spoke
"Yes I'm fine Shoto" you stretched your legs.
"Are you craving something?" He asked and you looked at him in bewilderment.
"H-how did you know that?"
"You were staring at pictures at it all day, so I figured you'd crave it at some point" he rubbed his eyes and yawned "You also mumbled it while you were sleeping"
You squealed in embarrassment, covering your face with the blankets. Could you have spoken about food while you were sleeping? You could barely even remember what you were dreaming about.
This only made Shoto laugh lightly, you had such a cute reaction and he just couldn't help it.
"I can order us some right now if you'd like?" You heard him shuffle towards the nightstand, and the light from his phone blinded you temporarily.
"What store is open at a time like this Shoto?"
"There's a twenty-four-hour convenient store nearby that delivers," he said nonchalantly, tapping away at his phone "Looks like they have more than enough"
He proceeded to buy so much of the item that it was out of stock. You scolded him for that but he didn't have much of a reaction
Eventually the items you were craving arrived and you sat onthe bed together, devouring them.
"You are so amazing" you groaned in delight, taking another delicious bite.
"Anything for you," he said with a half-full mouth, also enjoying the delicacy.
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Aizawa
"Shota" you whined, shaking the sleeping man next to you.
"Hm?" he answered almost immediately, meaning that he was probably awake for the whole time this early hour. You knew his insomnia bothered him, but he refused to take pills or anything like that because of the side effects they gave him the next day.
"Trouble sleeping?" He inquired cuddling up to you.
"Yeah I'm having really strong cravings right now" you sighed into his chest. "Insomnia keeping you up again?"
He hummed an agreement at your question, It was a bit difficult to cuddle with the little human between the two of you, but you were excited that soon you could meet your cute little chunk. Who hopefully won't cry throughout the night and keep you awake. You heard a conspiracy theory once that children could inherit that from their parents.
"Did you cry a lot as a baby?" You asked suddenly, playing with his hands that lay on your stomach.
"Never let my parents sleep a wink" he huffed, recalling the stories his mom would tell him. "My mom often called me the pub crawler"
You snickered loudly at that name "Pub crawler....seriously?"
You went silent and he knew you were up to no good "Don't even think about calling me that" he cut your thoughts off.
"You're no fun Shota"
"How would I take you seriously if you called me a pub crawler?" He deadpanned.
"I think it suits you considering you're up at this hour"
"Then I'm calling you a incubator"
Now it was your turn to deadpan. "On second thought I think Shota suits you better"
Shuffles could be heard from him when he slowly arose from your intertwined position on the bed. You pouted your lips at the sudden emptiness next to you.
"Maybe I could get some sleep if I get some fresh air outside" he rasped slowly, stretching as he put on his shoes "I'll go get your cravings from the store nearby"
"Let me go with you" you also sat up from your position but he halted you, placing the blankets nice and snug around your body while a chuckle of amusement left his lips.
"I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you need to rest"
"Party pooper as always" you rolled your eyes.
"I won't be long" he stepped out of the room, stopping in the middle of the doorway to wait for your reply.
"I'll see you then pub crawler" you smirked sheepishly before he breathed a chuckle and swiftly closed the door.
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Hawks
He had never panicked so much in his life.
He didn't even have time to think when he jumped out of bed shirtless with pajama shorts. Your soft sobs echoing in the living room downstairs. Luckily his feathers sensed your discomfort and that's what woke him up.
He jumped down the staircase gracefully, his wings making it possible for him to land softly.
His eyes caught your figure, sitting on the couch while the tv playing in the background. He walked up to you slowly, calling your name to not scare you by suddenly appearing.
"Keigo?" You sniffled and the couch dipped slightly next to you from his sudden weight. He hooked his arm under your legs from where he sat beside you, his other arm gently making its way to your back. You couldn't feel a thing when he lifted you into his arms. Cradling you on the couch as he also tried to figure out what was going on.
He smiled softly, sensing that it was just your hormones making you feel this way. "Is nugget keeping you awake?"
You nodded your head pointing to the tv. At first, he didn't understand what you were implying till he saw delicious food being made and eaten on the screen.
"Ah I have just the trick" he yanked out his phone, typing for a while before placing it down. "It should be here in about 20 minutes Peach"
He was expecting to see you smile and thank him for being the greatest lifesaver ever but was surprised to see tears still spilling out of your eyes as you looked away.
"C'mon talk to me" he clasped your chin so you could look at him.
The truth was that you felt bad for waking him up at such an early hour just for some food. You know very well that he has work tomorrow and he has to be up early.
"Keigo, I feel bad" you whimpered. For some reason, having a baby was making you cry at every single inconvenience. "I know you must be really tired from work and I'm over here ruining your sleep schedule for cravings"
"You have nothing to be worried about, you're waaayyy more important than work," he said making sure to exaggerate the way. "And if anything you're doing me a favor, I haven't been getting much food in because of everything that's been happening lately, so thank you"
He made sure to order some for himself so you could enjoy it together. Spending time with you and nugget makes him feel unstoppable.
"Being with you and nugget gives me extra strength to face the next day." He pecked you on the lips.
"I also think that your cravings might have affected me 'cause now I'm hungry" he deadpanned and giggled slightly.
He would do anything if it were to see that sweet smile all the time.
I still think it’s objectively fucked how the world is built for morning people and if you wake up later than everyone else you’re seen as a malicious aberration of some sort. I am that but it’s not because I wake up at 11 fuck yourself
Don't look at me... Gifting this to @whisperofwonder
Looking back there had been moments, almost too many to count, when you’d wanted to kiss Mirio. But you didn’t.
-
That first meeting, when he sat on the other side of the huge table, looking so small despite his size. Grief hung off him like a heavy winter coat despite the heat of the summer.
As a student of U.A., in his third year nonetheless, he needed an internship to complete his studies. And he had had one. One that promised employment right after graduation.
But then…
“Of course, we’ll take you in,” your Mentor said like you’d hoped she would. She and Sir Nighteye had been friends, you knew. But there’s more, you can see it even with your untrained eye and she’s seeing it too. No lie has ever passed her sight.
So she asks and Mirio tells. That he no longer has a Quirk.
“I don’t know when I will get it back,” he argues, “Or if ever. But I don’t want to let that stop me. I can’t let that stop me.”
And there’s determination in his voice, as thick as his bicep or maybe even more.
His eyes, blue as the summer sky, darken and something in you coils, hot like the sizzle of a grill. And all you can think about is what it would be like… to kiss him.
-
During training, no Quirks, when you finally manage to get the upper hand on him and you’re both breathless, sweat trickling down your back and his eyes are dark and mindful.
And maybe you’d have kissed him, just a brush of sweat-slick lips, but someone outside coughs or scuffs their shoes and the tension is broken like a cord snapped through.
-
Doing paperwork and feeling your soul leave your body word by word until he cracks a joke so stupid you can’t help but wheeze with laughter.
The weight of the world feels lighter after that and his eyes are almost aqua when you turn to check. There’s a camaraderie there, in these hours spent together, where no Quirk helps to lighten the load.
Sometimes, when his joke is particularly bad and you almost roll out of your chair with laughter, Mirio’s hand coils around your arm, too warm in the humid heat and too strong not to notice and his eyes twinkle like he studded them with diamonds and you want, want, want nothing more but to kiss the laughter of his lips.
But you don’t. Because your Boss is sitting right on the other side of those thin grey walls and her secretary is just around the corner and… and all the other reasons you like to count on your way home.
-
When he gets his Quirk back and he’s so happy he spins you around, the world turning hazy around you.
It would be so easy to brush your lips over his cheek, to steal what you’ve been dreaming about for months, but you don’t.
Because this isn’t your moment but his and damned would you be if you took it from him.
-
Right after he joins your agency for good and you say your agency as if it’s your own already and not a faraway dream that has yet to come true.
It’s in those moments when you both get lunch at the same time at the little hot dog stand right across the street and he gets mustard stains on his cheeks or when you do coffee runs before the office meeting and he insists on helping you carry when he knows you can do it alone and easily too.
When you catch the elevator and it’s just the two of you, awfulyl sweet music in the background, and his aftershave wafts around him like a thick fog pulling you in.
-
When he mentions moving in with his best friend and you show up with two dozen cupcakes and a six-pack of beer because you didn’t know what else to bring and he almost upturns the Couch he’d been carrying (on his own!) in his eagerness to greet you.
When he devours ten cupcakes on his own and his nose is white tipped from the frosting and he looks at you like you’ve just explained the world to him.
But you don’t, because his roommate is groaning in the background, something about too many people and the brightness of the sun.
-
And it’s not your first fight together nor will it be your last, but there’s just something about closing death’s door after almost stepping through.
The air smells sweet with possibilities, a million colors in the dark grey smoke around you as you come too, Mirio crouching just out of reach.
“Hey,” he cradles your cheek, gently, like you could burst any moment, crumble under his touch.
“Hey,” you answer, at a loss for words when he kisses you, his skin grey from the dust, dyeing his lashes a snowy white.
And you’d lose yourself in this, the sweet fulfillment of something only dreamed of, if not for the cut in your lower lip, deep enough that you whimper in pain at the touch.
Mirio’s lips are red when he pulls back, your blood spilled, visible, touchable proof of what just happened.
“I’m so sorry, did I hurt-” You kiss him back, hungry and feverish and longing for something you didn’t know you could have until just now.
And when the dust settles, so do you.
- - -
There are moments, almost too many to count, when you kiss Mirio.
-
In the mornings, when you’re up before him and he sleeps with his blond hair like a wispy halo around his head. When his voice is scratchy like the stubble on his chin and he’s still warm from sleep when he pulls you in.
When he wakes you up instead, tasting like toothpaste and there’s just a hint of shaving cream left below his right ear when the air smells of fresh coffee and baked goods and you know he stopped on the way up to your apartment to pet the neighbor’s cat.
-
During workdays, when the elevator ride is just the two of you, sharing kisses and giggles on the way up before pretending to be all serious during yet another meeting.
When the paperwork won’t end and he tells you stupid jokes to keep you from quitting. When you have to be quiet because your Boss is next door and her secretary is nosy.
When he tastes like Lunch can’t come soon enough and those little packets of sweets they keep down at the Lobby for guests.
-
In the evenings, when you meet with your friends after work, when Tamaki turns his head for a second too long or Nejire won’t stop needling you, or when you just want to know how his drink tastes without picking up his glass to sip from it.
When work goes on for longer than it should and your walk is wobbly from exhaustion instead of a drink too many. When Mirio carries you up the stairs and giggles when you call him “the strongest, most handsomest Hero of ‘em all”.
-
After a fight, when the adrenaline leaves you, slowly and then all at once.
When you can’t fathom how you’re still alive and your heart lurches at the thought of losing him.
When you win. And when you lose.
Life’s too short to not be kissing him whenever you want to. So you do.
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