Fractured Bonds
Shota Aizawa x Reader x Toshinori Yagi
Chapter 1
Synopsis: Once known as All Might’s second sidekick and the younger sister of the late Oboro Shirakumo, you return to U.A. High School as its apprenticed nurse, working under Recovery Girl’s guidance after a five year hiatus from the Pro Hero spotlight.
Old friendships resurface. So does your former high school sweetheart, Shota Aizawa. And the man you were never able to fully define your relationship with, Toshinori Yagi.
In the end, returning to U.A. will not only reopen old wounds, it’ll decide who you’ll become when everything falls apart.
Overall Story Tags: Romance, Love Triangles, Friends to Lovers, Opposites Attract, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, Second Chances, Not Beta Read, Angst, not a poly fic, Porn With Plot, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Fluff, Boss/Employee Relationship, Age Difference, Reader Has a Healing Quirk
Words: 7k
Chapter Two: Part One || Masterlist || AO3
Disclaimer: I use a placeholder name for the reader (Yan) since I absolutely despise (Y/N) or any equivalents but it’s brought up like twice at most. Physical features are left ambiguous.
Lastly, this is not a polyamorous fanfiction. There will be no romantic interaction between Shota and Toshinori.
P.S: not beta read so I apologize if you catch any errors.
OG Readers, I’ve archived the first version of this fanfic under fractured bonds archived if you want to reread that version instead! (On Masterlist too)
That’s all! Happy reading! 📖 ❤️
————————————————————————
The sterile smell of antiseptic fills the air as you stand by the entrance of the U.A. infirmary. Once you step foot, you’re met with white walls and clinical cleanliness.
Recovery Girl sits at her desk, scribbling away at a stack of medical reports, her short figure barely visible behind the pile. “Welcome, dear! So glad to see you doing well after all these years!”
You offer a small smile, though your nerves twist tighter as you approach her desk, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your buttoned lab coat with your hero uniform underneath.
Recovery Girl stands, her cane tapping softly against the floor as she moves towards one of the examination tables. “Your healing abilities with that fox spirit of yours intrigued me the moment you enrolled, but you need to learn how to harness them properly in this kind of environment.”
You nod, in all cases, healing was something you did on the sidelines or in the heat of battle, never in a controlled setting like this.
“And one more thing,” Recovery Girl adds, her voice softening, as she gestures for you to come closer. “I know you’re carrying a lot from your past, my dear. You’re not just here because you’re talented. You’re here because you need healing too.”
——
Shota leans back against the wall of the security room, his silhouette half-swallowed by shadow, the glow of the monitors washing pale light across his tired eyes. Fatigue settles deep in his bones, but his attention never drifts. His gaze stays locked on the screens as the real time footage cycles through the testing grounds.
The same routine every year.
Observe. Analyze. Reflect.
He tracks posture, reaction time, restraint. He notes hesitation, recklessness, adaptability. Even the smallest misstep earns quiet scrutiny. U.A. does not reward potential alone.
As he tallies performances in his head, one feed switches, drawing his focus back to the screen.
Izuku Midoriya lies sprawled on the concrete, his body twisted unnaturally, steam still rising from ruined limbs.The boy had saved another student. Selfless, courageous, yet utterly irresponsible.
Shota exhales through his nose. Excessive power. No control. A liability to himself and others.
Then the frame changes again.
A familiar figure steps into view, a fox-shaped spirit gliding beside you, serene and steady as it guides you straight to the injured boy.
For a second, the room falls quiet.
Five years.
It’s been five years since you disappeared without a word. No statement. No sightings. No rumor. No confirmation of whether you were recovering, retired, or simply dead.
Shota turns his head just as Nemuri begins to glance his way, Hizashi’s hand moving in slow circles along her back. She catches only the subtle shift of Shota’s posture, the way he leans forward so his hair falls and hides his face.
Then he hears it.
A small, fractured breath.
All Might lifts a hand, covering the bottom half of his face as he watches the screens.
Shota refuses to let himself remember watching that battle unfold on the other side of the world, powerless to do anything but witnessing it.
The room settles again as you kneel beside Midoriya, your movements steady, unhurried. Recovery Girl speaks, and you nod along, listening closely, already reaching into your pouch. Ofudas slide free between your fingers, each one landing along the boy’s battered limbs.
Light blooms beneath the paper charms, soft but powerful waves as it knits his shattered bones and torn muscles back together. Midoriya’s pained expression eases as the warmth of the healing takes hold.
You rise to your feet, Kitsune curling around your shoulders once the students begin to gather, murmuring in awe and relief as you greet them with a practiced smile.
So different from the shy, quiet girl he used to know.
——
You can’t seem to shake the image of Izuku Midoriya from your thoughts. The unchecked sheer strength he wielded reminds you too much of Toshinori’s. Too much of the stories he once shared of One for All and the brutal cost it demanded from its wielder.
It didn’t help that the boy launched into a breathless ramble the moment you finished healing him. Words tumble over one another in an eager rush. In the middle of it, a name surfaced, one you had not heard in years.
Fox Face.
All Might’s second sidekick. Sir Nighteye’s ally.
You had buried that title.
Still, the thought presses in.
Had Toshinori truly passed One for All on? Had he finally chosen a successor?
Or had he grown weak enough to let it go?
“Dearie,” Recovery Girl’s gentle voice interrupts your spiraling thoughts, “why don’t you head to the breakroom and grab something to eat?”
“Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry,” you answer quickly, turning away as you busy your hands with a drawer of neatly stacked bandages.
She hums, unconvinced. “A bit of advice,” she says lightly, stepping closer with the help of her cane, “you refill the tank while you have the chance. You never know when you won’t get another.” Then she lowers her voice, a glint in her eyes. “Besides, I hear there might be some sweets waiting in the breakroom.”
Before you can respond, Kitsune springs free from your chest in a flash of light, darting through the doorway with a mischievous flick of her tail. Her fading glow trails behind her, leaving you sputtering in surprise.
“Kitsune, wait!” you call, already moving after her.
Recovery Girl quietly chuckles as you hurry into the hallway.
Your footsteps echo through the empty corridors, catching sight of Kitsune slipping through a door just a few strides ahead on the right. You quicken your pace, reaching it just in time to slide it open.
“Well,” a familiar, velvety voice drawls as you step inside the softly lit breakroom, “look who finally decided to show her face.”
Nemuri rises to her feet, arms opening wide, her hero uniform redesigned since the last time you saw it, sleeker, fairly modest, but unmistakably hers.
You let out a tired laugh as you cross the room and into her embrace, holding on a second longer than usual.
“Nemuri,” you say with a small smile, “you set me up! I didn’t know you work here!”
“Babes, it’s been forever! How‘s everything? I didn’t see you at the faculty meeting!” She eases out of the hug as she gestured toward the sofa.
Laid out on the low table in front of it sits a small box of donuts, the lid already folded back. Kitsune perches proudly beside it, tail swishing with barely contained excitement, urging you to take the first bite before she willingly retreats back into you.
“I accepted the offer this morning,” you sit, taking a bite, a soft hum slipping from you as the familiar warmth blooms in your chest, a subtle but visible glow tracing along your skin.
“I’m going to guess the last minute thing was because of…” Nemuri lets the sentence hang as she lowers herself into the seat beside you.
When you nodded slowly, lips pressing thin and eyes fixed somewhere distant, she understood. Not today.
“So…” Her tone shifts, lighter now as she nudges a little closer, shoulder brushing yours. “What exactly did I miss in the last five years?”
“Well…” you start, “I got into a nursing school. I just need to finish a year long apprenticeship, and then I’ll be able to graduate and get my nursing license.” You brush the crumbs from your fingers, finishing the last bite as the aura dissolves.
Nemuri lightly flicks her hand, politely dismissing the gratitude you were about to give. “Anything else besides that?”
You shake your head.
“No boyfriend? Husband? Anybody?”
You shake your head once more, “After everything, I can’t see myself with anyone else. Why?”
“No reason…” Her voice lifts as her attention suddenly shifts to her painted nails.
Before you can pry further…
“YAAAAAANNNNN!!”
The breakroom door slams open, The shout detonating through the room, your hair whipping wildly along with Nemuri’s as loose objects rattle. An empty plastic cup skids across the floor. Miraculously, the donuts stay put.
Before you can fully recover, Hizashi drops down beside you, hauling you into a crushing hug, his arms locked tight around your shoulders.
“Hizashi…” you squeak, tapping frantically at the leather of his jacket as your breath gets squeezed out of you, his excited rambling pouring on uninterrupted.
“Oh, hon,” Nemuri laughs, “you’re gonna choke her!”
“Oops!” He releases his hold as you catch your breath, “Sorry, Rockstar!” He pats on your shoulder instead, “We just miss ya that’s all!”
“I miss you guys too but,” You clear your throat before turning to properly embrace the Voice hero, “I didn’t know you work here too.”
“The one and only! And I gotta tell ya!…” He pulls away before beginning his exhilarated storytelling, arms flailing dramatically with every word, You couldn’t help but smile at his antics. He hadn’t changed one bit.
“Hizashi,” you hear a light rip of fabric before Nemuri extends her arm beside you, lifting her wrist towards him.
“Why don’t you take a little rest?”
Before he could even process the words, she releases a soft wave of the familiar, shimmering pink mist curling lazily through the air. His words faded mid-sentence, eyelids drooping heavily until he slumps the other direction.
Nemuri rises to slide into the space right where Hizashi began to lean with a sleepy, lopsided grin still lingering on his face.
His head settles naturally against her thighs before she lazily trails her fingers through his hair, idly combing through the messy strands as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
“Honestly,” she murmurs, more to herself than anyone else. “You’d think he’d have learned by now.”
You blink, glancing between her and the now snoozing Hizashi.
“Am I missing something here?” you narrow your eyes between the two.
She flicks her hand dismissively, quickly changing subject.
“Anyway, there’s one—well, two more people working here you already know of!” Nemuri says, her tone a little too bright to be casual.
If she and Hizashi are here, then the odds…
“Shota?” His name leaves your lips carefully, unspoken for over a decade.
Nemuri nods eagerly.
That was all you needed for your appetite to vanish in an instant.
“Oh, come on, why that face? You two were adorable together!”
“We’re not fifteen anymore, Nemuri.”
“So?” She rolls her eyes, “Honestly, the two of you are just stuck in the past and pretending you don’t have a future.”
The bluntness lands exactly how she intends it to. Nemuri has never been one to soften the truth.
“Who’s the other person?” you ask instead, trying to steer the conversation somewhere safer.
Her hand props her chin as the other continues to idly combs through Hizashi’s hair with a knowing smirk.
“All Might.”
The tightness in your chest eases, The man behind the symbol. Even now, you still don’t fully understand how your lives tangled the way they did, how he ever came to love you in the first place.
And after what happened in America. The near fatal damage he suffered because of you, along with Sir Nighteye’s foresight of Toshinori’s fate because of your presence, you aren’t sure whether forgiveness is something he could offer, and you wouldn’t blame him one single bit.
“So… is it true? You and him had a little something going on?”
You go completely still before turning your head away, forcing a small cough as heat rushes up your face before you can contain it.
“I knew it!” She leans in instantly. “So? How was it? Is it—”
“Nemuri!” You throw your hands up in defense, fully aware of the direction her imagination is about to sprint toward. “If I confirm it, will you drop it?”
She presses a hand over her mouth, barely containing her laughter, then makes an exaggerated show of zipping her lips and tossing away the invisible key.
The two of you eventually exchanged numbers, forwarding you the faculty contacts as well, “just in case.” You almost let her finish before catching the black heart she starts adding beside a certain name.
When you finally leave with the box of leftover doughnuts in hand, Nemuri and Hizashi are left alone in the quiet break room. Only then do the gears in her mind begin to turn.
Of course, any proper plan requires consultation.
She glances down at the loud, blonde man currently asleep in her lap, completely at peace.
———
As the final days of break slip away, April arrives in full bloom. Cherry blossoms scatter across the sky, drifting between slow moving clouds while the warm sunlight pours over the city.
For Toshinori, pride had come easily that morning.
The moment he saw his successor’s name on the list of students who passed the entrance exam, something in his chest swelled. He had reviewed every name carefully, recording personalized acceptance messages one by one, but when he reached Midoriya’s, he had needed a moment.
Months of relentless training. Grueling drills. Forcing the boy to build a body capable of holding One for All. Watching him fall, rise, and try again.
Toshinori had never been more proud.
Though, he couldn't stop replaying the moment of your sudden appearance at the end of the exam that stolen the air from his lungs, halting his internal support for the boy.
He had not prepared himself for that. Not after five years.
It did not help that later that night, when he met Midoriya at the now pristine beach, the very place where he had pushed the boy beyond his limits, the questions began.
The ocean was quiet. The sand was clean. The past months of sweat and effort had transformed it completely.
“Did you and Fox Face ever have something?”
Midoriya asked carefully, hesitating through every word. Toshinori could hardly blame him. The media had asked that same question countless times, and it had always been shut down before it could fully form.
Toshinori found himself wondering, not for the first time, whether fate might have shifted if he had simply said yes. If he had found the courage to claim it openly.
He stopped walking.
After a long breath, he made his decision.
“Yes, but—”
He barely had time to react before Midoriya’s strangled squeal burst out. Toshinori clapped a hand over the boy’s mouth, urgently shushing him as he glanced around in mild panic.
Midoriya apologized profusely once released, though the curiosity in his eyes never dimmed.
Then came the question Toshinori himself had asked only hours earlier in that security room.
“Why not try again?”
Romance was not Midoriya’s area of expertise. The boy could hardly maintain eye contact with a girl without turning bright red. And yet…
Was Toshinori’s lingering affection so obvious that even the most oblivious student could see it?
“I am likely the last person she wants to speak to,” Toshinori cut in quietly, “And let’s leave it at that.”
He should’ve known that Midoriya's growing strength with One for All grew along with his confidence.
Toshinori, already in his All Might form, moved quickly toward the nurse’s office the second he witnessed his successor shatter his finger during the evaluation test.
Despite the injury, he could not suppress the small amount of admiration. Midoriya had improved. Dramatically.
If only he had a teacher capable of offering even a shred of reassurance along with discipline. From what Toshinori had observed, Mr. Aizawa did not appear to be that sort of instructor.
His confident strides begin to slow.
A soft voice drifts through the doorway.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
He stops just outside the entrance, positioned close enough that Midoriya looks up and locks eyes with him. The boy’s face lights up instantly.
“Oh! Hey, All Might!”
He blinked, and somehow, the boy had moved him fully into the room.
There you sat with your lab coat. Beneath it, the same hero uniform you once wore at his side. The sight alone threatens to pull him back in time.
He gathers himself before daring to meet your gaze, bracing for resentment, for distance, for something cold.
Instead, he finds warmth.
Your eyes meet his shadowed ones, and your smile grows, reaching all the way upward.
For a fleeting second, the Number One Hero felt ten years younger.
Then smoke clouds his vision.
His body folds forward abruptly, a violent cough tearing from his chest. Blood stains his hand as he struggles to steady himself, his suit already beginning to hang wrong on his frame.
You rise to your feet immediately.
A faint glow traces your hands as you cradle his jaw with practiced gentleness. Warmth seeps into his skin, drawing the blood away from his lips and palms as if it had never been there.
His breathing evens. His shoulders lift back into place.
He turns, intending to warn Midoriya for privacy from the sudden transformation, only to find the door already shut without either of them noticing, leaving the pair alone.
A small act, but one he’ll be grateful for.
Toshinori looks back, ready to speak.
The words die in his throat.
You have gone rigid beneath your own glow.
What stands before you now is not the towering Symbol of Peace.
But his true form,
A weakened form.
Slightly slimmer, hollowed shadows beneath tired eyes. Sharper features than you remember, no longer softened by strength.
The body that paid the price.
The body you cannot stop blaming yourself for.
“I’m okay,” he whispers.
His hands rise, hesitant at first, cradling the sides of your face. His finger brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
You instinctively cover his hands with your own.
“This is my fault.”
“Don’t say that.” His voice is firmer now, pulling you into his chest, arms wrapping around you as his fingers comb slowly through your hair.
You melt into him before you can stop yourself.
Then you breathe him in, his scent hitting you like a quiet ache.
Amber.
“You’re still using the cologne I gave you?” The question slips out before you can stop it. Surprise flickers across your features. After everything, you had assumed he would erase every trace of you.
“I only use it for special occasions,” he answers carefully, pulling back slightly.
“As in… you planned for this to happen?” Your brow lifts.
His eyes widened instantly. His hands lift in a flustered wave as he stumbles over his words, having to bite back a laugh at the sight of the Number One Hero unraveling so easily.
“But I’m guessing you were here to check on Midoriya?”
He clears his throat, scratching his cheek. “Yeah, I wanted to see how he was doing after being placed in Mr. Aizawa’s class.”
Your smile falls, recalling back to the slip Midoriya handed over earlier.
“Do you know anything about him?” He asks, catching the change in your expression.
“Not really,” you answer quickly, pushing your hair forward over your shoulders. “We went to school together, but we never really spoke. Why?”
“How would you feel,” he begins, “if I fired you from my agency on your first day because you failed to meet my expectations?”
Your first days in America. The overwhelming pressure. The way he as All Might had stood beside you in public, bold and unwavering.
And the way Toshinori had sat with you quietly at night, speaking softly, honestly, without an audience to entertain.
If that support had been replaced with rejection…
“I would cry,” you admit.
“And that nearly happened to young Midoriya.”
Your eyes widen. “What?”
“I observed from a distance. Mr. Aizawa threatened to expel whoever ranked last in the evaluation test.”
“But he just inherited One for All,” you say immediately. Recovery Girl had confirmed it this morning. His secret shared between you had also extended to the principal, and her.
His jaw tightens, “Exactly.”
He continues, frustration slipping through. “Apparently, it was a ‘rational deception’ meant to push them into competition instead of cooperation. What kind of teacher frightens their students like that?”
Your thoughts drift despite yourself.
It has been more than a decade since you last spoke to Shota. The boy who seemed detached from everything, wary of change, careless with his own well being. And yet there had always been something warmer beneath it.
Did that last bit of ember die out after your brother’s death?
The death that he could’ve prevented.
“Sorry,” Toshinori says quietly. “Didn’t mean to unload that onto you.”
“It’s okay,” you assure him, forcing the memories aside. “Just know that I’m here for Midoriya. Whenever he needs it.”
He nods in gratitude, glancing down at his watch.
“I should check on him again. So—”
“Toshi…”
The nickname leaves you before you can hesitate.
He stills.
“I’ll tell you everything one day. Just… not today.”
He studies you for a long second, then nods with a soft smile. In a burst of smoke, he shifts back into All Might, flashing you a bright thumbs up before striding out of the nurse’s office.
Only when the door closes do you release the breath you have been holding.
You return to your desk, preparing to document Midoriya’s visit for Recovery Girl before she returns from the last minute faculty meeting.
But your gaze drifts.
The slip of paper rests beside you.
Earlier, Midoriya handed it over sheepishly with his broken finger, saying he couldn’t read his teacher’s handwriting.
You pick it up again.
Your fingers trace over the familiar handwriting.
It didn’t change at all.
————
The walk to your fourth day of work was quiet in the way only early spring mornings can be.
Your steps follow the exact path you once took in your youth. The only true difference now is the extra layers you wore despite the fairly warm weather with a cap and a face mask to cover the lower half of your face.
Five years away from the public eye unfortunately doesn’t erase a face the media once chased relentlessly.
You take the same route as always. Down the slightly crooked street that slopes just enough to make rainwater gather along the curb. Past the small vending machine that hums louder than it should. Beneath the arching trees that are only beginning to reclaim their leaves.
At the block away from campus, the same crow perches on the streetlamp. It has claimed that spot for years. As a student, you used to pass it every morning.
It’s still there now.
Watching.
Some things, at least, have not changed.
Your thoughts eventually drift back to yesterday.
From Toshinori stepping in without hesitation and restructuring the entire training exercise for Class 1-A, moving with determination to give the students something better than fear.
You couldn’t help but reminisce the old hero uniform he picked out for the occasion.
One you remembered well.
Everything had gone smoothly until Midoriya injured himself again. This time, Recovery Girl had been present. And firm.
She had instructed you not to heal him.
If the boy was going to be a frequent visitor to the infirmary, she had said, he could not grow dependent on your Quirk.
You nodded despite the scolding she gave to Toshinori beforehand.
When she looked away, you pressed an ofuda against Toshinori’s back. Just enough to dull the ache you could see tightening his movements. After New York, he briefly explained how much time he had lost in his powered form. Days once spent effortlessly as All Might had shortened to hours.
Now even those hours seemed fragile.
Because of that battle.
Because of you.
“Excuse me, miss?”
You turn instinctively, only to flinch as a microphone is suddenly thrust inches from your face.
A woman stares at you with sharp determination, a cameraman hovering behind her, thin arms straining slightly beneath the weight of his equipment.
“Are you a student or faculty at U.A.?”
You clear your throat, forcing a polite shake of your head. “No, sorry. I’m just passing by.”
You attempt to step around them.
“Are you sure?” she presses, pivoting quickly to follow as you turn the corner.
And that is when you see it.
News vans idling along the curb. Logos plastered across their sides. Camera lenses already angled toward the gates of U.A.
Your pulse spikes.
You quicken your pace before the reporter can reposition herself, the familiar campus inching closer just as you approach.
If they recognized you, it would not end with one question.
It would be a swarm. A pursuit.
Microphones. Flashing lights. Headlines dragging Fox Face back into circulation before you could prepare for it.
Years of safety undone in seconds.
Faculty ID in hand, you step toward the scanner, ready to slip behind the safety of U.A.’s gates.
You stop short.
The steel barrier lies crumbled on the pavement.
Your gaze lifts slowly.
Two familiar figures stand near the damage, assessing the damage before you approach.
“Miss, you can’t be here,” Hizashi calls out in warning.
You reach instinctively for your mask, intending to lower it and reveal yourself, but your eyes pulled elsewhere.
To him.
Black hair, longer now, falling in faint waves around his face. The same capture scarf resting around his shoulders. The same dark uniform. The same hint of stubble. The same tired eyes.
Shota.
Before you can blink, his scarf immediately snaps forward.
You flinch, arms rising to shield yourself, but the fabric whips past your shoulder, hearing it tightening behind you before a small grunt rings out.
You turn, watching the reporter from earlier, her wrist bound tightly where the scarf has coiled. Her hand had been outstretched, fingers reaching for you before she yanked backwards.
You do not hesitate this time. You hurry past Hizashi, lowering your mask as you cross the threshold.
“You can’t recognize your own friend?” Shota’s voice remained firm as you remember, more gravelly now with a trace of irritation beneath it.
“Oh shoot, sorry, Rockstar!” Hizashi calls after you, realization finally clicking.
You slip inside the safety of the school and pull the door shut behind you.
Only then do you rip the mask off completely and take in a steadying breath.
You had known you would run into Shota eventually.
But you never thought it would be so soon.
Within minutes of you retreating inside, the situation outside escalates.
Word had spread of All Might holding a position within U.A., resulting a hoard of reporters crowding the perimeter, desperate for a glimpse of the Number One Hero.
It explained the broken gate.
It does not explain the attempt to slip someone inside.
Shota remains near the entrance with Hizashi, methodically forcing the media back while the school remained in a soft lockdown. Yet, something continues to linger in his chest when none of the reporters brought up Fox Face.
“Hey…”
Shota barely had the chance to glance over before the blond leans in.
“How did you recognize her so fast?”
Shota remained silent.
He had almost doubted himself too. The layered clothing. The partially covered face. Anyone else might have missed it.
But one look at your eyes revealed it all.
The same color. The same warmth. The same quiet concern that never quite faded.
And beneath that recognition, irritation coils tightly in his chest.
You shouldn’t have to hide like that.
You shouldn’t have to suffocate under layers just to walk through a gate that once belonged to you.
He does not voice any of it.
—————
You finally caved in to Recovery Girl’s persistent requests to accompany Class 1-A on their USJ visit, given how often those students had already visited the infirmary, she claimed it would save her a headache later. She reminded you, pointedly, to keep an eye on Midoriya. Then she added that All Might would be attending as well.
That alone had eased some of your tension.
If Toshinori was present, you would not have to linger too close to Shota.
But when roll call ended with the students piled onto the bus in a wave of chatter and excitement, All Might was still nowhere in sight.
And somehow, by cruel coincidence, you end up seated in the same row as Shota Aizawa, just across the aisle from him.
Of course.
Your phone buzzes a few minutes into the ride.
A message from Toshinori.
You open it to find a screenshot of a news article posted that morning. He had rescued nearly fifty civilians within the span of his limited four hours. Beneath it is a heartfelt apology explaining he overextended himself and will be resting in the teachers’ lounge with Principal Nezu, hoping he’ll make it within an hour or two.
And you can already practically imagine him swimming in guilt while Principal Nezu rambles the day away about his philosophies.
You sigh quietly and tuck your phone away.
Which leaves you here.
Trapped on a bus, mere feet from a man who shares a history with you neither of you seem willing to address.
From the back of the bus, laughter erupts.
“So what if I got the lowest score on the Pretest? That doesn’t mean I’m dumb!”
“Alright then. What’s the capital of Egypt?”
Silence.
“Quickly!”
“Uh…” the boy stammers before blurting out, “The Pyramids!”
The bus explodes with laughter.
You press your lips together, fighting your smile.
“Okay, genius. Name a celebrity or Pro Hero that starts with Q.”
“Q?!”
“Hurry up!”
More frantic mumbling. Fingers snapping in desperation.
“Wolverine… uh, Q Jackman!”
The laughter doubles.
“It’s Hugh Jackman you idiot!”
This time, you fail to contain it.
A laugh slips free before you can cover your mouth, fortunately blending in with the students’ noise.
Across the aisle, Shota goes still.
He’d nearly forgotten what that sounded like.
Not the fake ones you forced out on interviews, not the practiced smile against the probing, inappropriate questions from the media.
But the laugh you shared on that rooftop.
Just the two of you.
He shifts slightly, tugging his scarf higher to conceal the faint curve threatening his lips.
He tells himself it’s just his students being ridiculous.
It has nothing to do with you.
When the bus arrives at the arena, the structure rises ahead of you like a contained world of its own. Steel, glass, and reinforced panels tower overhead, built to withstand any disaster. The students spill out excitedly, craning their necks as they take it in.
Inside, footsteps echo against the vast interior. Artificial zones stretch in every direction. Flood areas. Ruins. Collapse simulations. Practically an entire ecosystem recreated beneath a domed ceiling.
As you all enter, Shota informs that they’d be working with Thirteen, who soon briefs the students on the Unforeseen Simulation Joint and today’s focus on rescue abilities. She explains her Quirk, Black Hole. Dangerous, but capable of saving lives if handled correctly.
When the briefing ends, he steps closer to her, voice low.
“Let me guess. All Might booked an interview instead.”
“He didn’t,” you answer quickly, lifting your phone to show the article Toshinori sent.
“He did hero work this morning, enough for him to tire out. He’ll come back once he’s done resting.”
Shota barely glances at the screen.
“That man is the height of irresponsibility,” he mutters.
“Irresponsible for saving lives?” you counter, returning the phone back in your pocket. “He’ll be back.”
“Too bad,” he replies flatly. “Clock’s ticking.”
Before you can argue further, the air shifts.
Kitsune slips from your body without prompting, spectral ears twitching as a low growl vibrates through her form.
You glance toward Shota, who’s already on alert, his eyes scanning the perimeter with Thirteen immediately on guard.
A dark, swirling portal materializes at the center of the USJ, figures beginning to emerge…
Not one or two.
Dozens.
More than you have ever seen gathered in a single place.
The students freeze, their confusion quickly turning into fear.
Shota steps forward, his scarf already unraveling as he places on his goggles.
Your brother’s goggles…
The goggles he refuses to replace.
“You two stay back with the students!” Without hesitation, he leaps forward, his capture scarf trailing behind him like a shadow.
You clench your fists.
Every instinct in your body screams to follow him despite knowing he’s right. The main priority is to protect the students, and you're the only medical support.
Kitsune begins to circle around the students protectively as you turn toward the group of wide-eyed, frightened students.
“Stay close,” you instruct calmly despite your pulse pounding as Thirteen ushers you all toward the back exit.
You glance back, watching as the portal continues to spew out villains as Shota darts into the fray. He’s a blur of calculated strikes, his scarf snapping out like a whip, binding wrists, crushing limbs, disabling the quirks of those who dare get too close. But the numbers are overwhelming, and despite how significantly he improved, he can only handle so much at once.
“It’s locked!” Thirteen calls out as the emergency doors refuse to budge despite the both of you forcing against it.
Before you can command Kitsune to permeate through, a sickening sound cuts through the air.
You whip around, blood turning cold.
Shota’s still standing, but barely. His balance wavers, boots scraping against the floor as he forces himself upright. His scarf lashes desperately, knocking several attackers unconscious, but another blow lands.
He reaches up, his hand pressing against his head as blood spills between his fingers, dripping against the ground.
You freeze, torn between staying with the students, or rushing to his side.
If you leave, the students are exposed.
If you stay, he’ll—
“Fox Face!”
Thirteen's voice slices through your spiraling thoughts, her hand firm on your shoulder.
“I’ll handle the students. They’re safe with me,” she says, “you were All Might’s sidekick after all."
The students nod in agreement, their eyes wide with a mix of pleading and trust.
It has been years since you fought like this. Years since you stood in the center of violence instead of waiting at the end of it.
“He needs you,” she adds.
That’s all it takes.
Without a second thought, Kitsune retreats back to your body, her strength surges through you, her aura radiating from your body as your pupils sharpen into slits.
You close your eyes for half a second…
…and vanish.
Shota flinches mid breath.
The pain tearing through his body begins to dull without warning. The burn in his muscles eases. The sharp throb in his head softens, the blood dissolving between his fingers, replaced by a spreading warmth that steadies his stance.
Spectral petals drift past his shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snaps, forcing himself to blink before locking onto you through his goggles, "I told you to stay back with the students!"
"How are you supposed to fight like this?" you counter as you approach, unfazed by his outburst, raising your hands toward his temples, ready to soothe the strain building behind his eyes.
"I’m fine," he growls, swatting away your hand. "You should’ve stayed with the students. This isn’t—"
Before he can finish, a villain charges at you both. Your arms immediately wrap around his torso, solid muscle beneath the dark fabric catching you off guard for a split second before instinct overrides everything.
Light erupts and petals spiral after the two of you teleport meters away, leaving the villain to stumble through empty space where you once stood.
Shota regains his footing, activating his Quirk before whipping his scarf out, coiling and slamming the villain down with ruthless precision.
But his scowl remains.
"You’re reckless," he mutters as the fight continues, frustration lacing his words.
"And you’re stubborn," you shoot back, pulling a kunai strapped from your thigh, letting Kitsune’s aim guide you before throwing it with precision, hitting a villain dead-on, but soft enough to knock them out, "I’m not letting you do this alone."
His eyes narrow beneath, but he doesn’t argue this time. Instead, you both end up falling into a familiar rhythm, each of your movements complementing the other.
He stays close, his scarf whipping through the chaos, disabling any villains who try to flank you as you continue to throw ofudas at him.
You chance a glance toward the evacuation point, watching as the students’ earlier fear momentarily replaced with awe as they cheer the two of you on from a distance.
Before you can reminisce, your eyes shift back toward the edge of the arena, locking onto a trio standing near the center of the USJ.
A beast stands, assuming to wield a mutation quirk from its mere appearance, and the second, a white-haired teen with multiple hands covering him as he observes the battle with chilling detachment.
And one man, appearing to have no physical form, swirl with the same dark color as the portal that brought the villains into the facility.
Kitsune wavers inside, a sharp tug pulls from her; Toward the direction of the warped man before he vanishes from sight.
“Nomu…”
The voice catches you off guard, unexpectedly high-pitched coming from the white-haired teen. His red eyes lock onto yours behind the decayed hand.
And for a brief moment, everything else fades into the background. The battle, the noise, the chaos… it all blurs, and you’re left staring into the void that seems to echo within him.
Your breath catches as something deep inside you stirs, a compelling pressure inside your chest that twists uncomfortably, almost suffocating, as if an invisible chain tightened around your neck.
Instinct screams at you to move, to run, to do something. But you’re rooted in place, eyes locked with him, his gaze never leaving yours. Your fox spirit trembles, and for the first time, you feel her power falter as your pupils return to normal.
The man tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as a twisted smile hinted beneath the hand.
"Her."
A sharp metallic clang rings out across the arena.
Your kunai.
Shota's head snaps toward it, breath catching in his throat at the sight before him.
Your feet dangle as Nomu's iron grip closes around your neck, squeezing the air from your lungs.
Your lips part in a silent gasp.
Shota moves before the mind does.
He tears through the remaining villains with reckless force, bodies hit the ground as he shoves past them, screaming out your name that fell in deaf ears.
Kitsune fights inside you to keep you conscious, but the lack of oxygen was already starting to blur your vision.
The Nomu hurls you back, your body skids to a stop near the edge of the shipwreck zone, water sloshing against broken steel. The white haired boy stands waiting, exactly where he was before, as if he knew you would land at his feet.
His gaze locks onto yours as you shakily reach over your throat, struggling to catch your breath.
He crouches to your level, one finger hooking into the fabric of your uniform to force you upright.
“Aren’t you going to save your little friend, Eraserhead?”
Friend.
The word felt hollow for Shota.
His scarf lashes out, slicing through the air in a clean, precise arc toward you. Years of rigorous training to guide it, the trajectory flawless, the fabric seconds from coiling securely around your waist and retrieving you back to safety.
The teen’s hand snaps up.
Five fingers close around the scarf.
The metal alloy begins to crumble beneath his fingers. The portion inches from wrapping around you disintegrates, turning to dust that scatters across the sand.
His heart sank.
The target was not him, nor his students.
It was you.
The ground shudders beneath, a massive shadow swallows his line of sight before he can fully turn.
His goggles fly into the air before crashing down into the spreading pool of blood beneath him.
The Nomu pins him down before grabbing a fistful of his hair, smashing his face to the ground over and over, leaving him to watch helplessly as your head leans forward, Kitsune’s aura flickering.
"And before we go,” Shigaraki’s red eyes lock onto your slumped body.
“Let’s make sure the Symbol of Peace is shattered.”
“But still…” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself. “I don’t get why he’s so fascinated with you, not that I care.”
Each of his fingers slowly unfurl.
One by one.
They stretch toward your face, hovering inches from your skin, casting shadows across your closed eyes. The decay crawling along his fingertips. Eager, waiting.
At that very moment, Shota was eighteen again.
Watching his best friend, your brother, Oboro, vanish beneath falling debris.
Taken too soon.
Because he was not fast enough.
Because he hesitated.
And now Oboro’s sister lies only meters away.
Moments from being reduced to nothing beneath a stranger’s hand.
The girl who once hovered her bright patterned umbrella over him.
The girl who stayed after training, who persisted after he pushed everyone away.
The girl who found him and took him in with open arms…
…who taught him what it meant to be loved without asking for anything in return.
His first home.
His high school sweetheart.
The only person he never allowed himself to let go of.
And the only one he cannot lose again.
Shigaraki could already see it, the decay of All Might’s former sidekick, presumed lover, all in ashes.
But none came.
A low chuckle leaves him, “You really are so cool.”
Pinned beneath the Nomu’s crushing weight, Shota, with all of his remaining strength, forces his head up. Muscles scream. Blood runs down his face, dripping from his brow and into the pressure building behind his eyes. Clusters of veins stand out against his reddened sclera, his Quirk holding you in place.
Breathing or not, conscious or not, he refuses to live another tomorrow without you in it.
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Behind The Writing || Chapter 2 part one (entirety of chapter 2 is Aizawa x reader) || Chapter 3 🚧 || Masterlist || AO3
