Pro Heroes + Stealing Their Clothes
Ok wow I’ve been gone for like two months. But I made u some content. Here is something no one asked for, and only one point five people will read.
Characters: Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic), Shouta Aizawa (Eraserhead), Toshinori Yagi (All Might), Emi Fukukado (Ms. Joke), and Keigo Takami (Hawks)
Word Count: About 600 per person
Warnings: None as far as I’m aware. In Toshi’s it mentions that the shirt is huge on reader. But that’s bc it’s an All Might shirt and that man is canonically like seven feet tall even when he’s not muscle boy. Hmm. Besides that I think we good! Reader is referred to with gender neutral (they/them) pronouns.
Genre: Fluff
Hizashi Yamada
- This bitch. I just know he actively encourages this.
- He thinks he’s being subtle, he really does.
- But when he bounces into the room holding an armful of his various jackets, ranging from leather to denim, fuzzy to hoodies, you can’t help but think he almost definitely wants something.
- The something is for you to wear his clothes.
- He finally succeeds in his mission (affectionately dubbed in his mind as “Mission Impossible: Y/N In a Present Mic Hoodie) one day while he’s teaching.
- He had left his favorite hoodie, one he only really wore at home, yet usually took with him to work, on the couch, balled up from where he’d been cuddling with it (more on that particular subject in a later hc)
- This was, of course, the perfect opportunity.
Hizashi’s comfort item smelled just like he did. It was the melody of rain, or perhaps the taste of fresh kimchi. It was loud in a comforting way. Quite reminiscent of the energetic man you had come to love dearly.
You slipped the fabric over your shoulders, letting the feeling of it settle against you. A small sigh escaped you at the warmth of it. Even though it had been left on the cushion a few hours ago, it felt like it had been pulled straight from the dryer.
Laying down against the uncomfortable decorative pillows on the couch, you felt your senses dim. You were entranced by the sweater, and you let it invade your mind. Images of Hizashi wearing the sweater on various dates and excursions danced around your closed eyelids. You felt yourself falling into a pleasant sleep. Not a full sleep, but a gentle doze, much like one might have by putting their head on their desk after they finish a standardized exam. The quiet lull of the room around you, the memories of your lover, the comfort of the sweater; they all worked to pull you into a dreamlike state.
Hours passed unnoticed, and before long, you were aware in the back of your mind of the door to your home opening and closing. Energetic footsteps moved in the general direction of the living room, stopping a few times in other rooms. Methodical, like a hero should be.
Hizashi finally got to the room you were in. He was going to call out to you, to say a silly greeting like he usually did. But before he could, he saw your sleeping shape curled up on the couch. Wearing his favorite hoodie. Of all the jackets and things he’d offered (including his socks on one occasion) he’d never thought to let you wear this one. But here you were, lying in it. And he swore he’d never seen a more perfect sight.
He walked carefully over to you, his breathing purposefully gentle so as not to wake you. Coming to the couch, he sat as delicately as a 6’1” behemoth of a man can, especially when the man in question is a DJ who bases his entire public identity on being loud as hell. All this to say, he immediately roused you from the depths of your peaceful slumber.
You weren’t particularly bothered. You smiled at him softly, placing a soft hand on top of his own, which was currently resting awkwardly next to you.
“Hi, ‘Zashi. I think I heard you come in…” Your voice was heavy with sleep, and he felt a little bad for waking you. Or, he would have felt bad, had you not sounded absolutely adorable with your brain foggy like that.
“Hi, angel. Nice sweater you’ve got there.” He grinned while he said the last part, gesturing to his clothing zipped around you. You giggled, snuggling back into the couch and attempting to pull him with you. He followed happily, sighing as he settled against your side.
“Yeah,” you said. “It belongs to my favorite person.”
Shouta Aizawa
- So fun fact! Shouta is quite conflicted about you wearing his things
- On the one hand, cute partner wear him clothes!! Cute partner v cute!!!!
- On the other hand, pls don’t fuck with his stuff.
- To combat this constant mental dissonance, he has a box of Designated Stealable Items
- Anything you can find in the box is free to steal and wear.
- He often puts things in the box as an experiment, like “well, maybe it’s okay if they wear my favorite black sweater” but then takes them out after a few days because he doesn’t actually like that.
- But some things are permanent box items. These are items that he wears frequently enough that they retain his scent and general feel, but also you wear them often too.
- Also sometimes, he stops wearing a particular thing, just because he thinks you look way better in it, so it leaves the box and migrates to your closet.
- His favorite to see you in is a fuzzy black hoodie with cat ears on it that someone (probably Joke or Zashi) bought him as a joke. He never wears it outside the house, but he wears it on movie nights with you. And you wear it the entire rest of the time.
“Hey kitty-cat. What’cha doing?” He doesn’t look up when he hears you come in to the little office you guys put your computers in. He simply stretches his arm out and pats his thigh. You take this to mean “hey come here and sit on my lap please,” so you go do just that.
Curling an arm around your waist, he feels the soft material of the cat hoodie. He hums and smiles a small bit, finally looking up at you on his lap, eagerly awaiting your response to his question.
“Not much, love, just missed you. Still grading?” You ask, shifting a bit to sit more comfortably in his lap, running a hand through his hair. He nods, lifting the bundle of papers in his hand.
“I think if these kids cared any less about writing papers, they would just not come to class. For wanting to be professional heroes, they resist learning criminal law like the plague.” You laugh a bit, looking down at the papers in question. True to his word, it appears that under the question “What should a hero do when faced with a criminal committing petty theft?” Bakugou has written “Just kill them, obviously.” You point at the response with a single raised brow, looking to your lover with suspicion.
“Is he serious?”
Much to your disappointment, Shouta nods with a sigh. “He tends to say this on every question that asks what to do with a criminal. Moving on though, let’s talk about you. You look nice. I like your sweater.”
“Do you now? Thank you. It’s actually my partner’s. I’ll tell him you like it.” You smile down to him, watching the way he rolls his eyes, a fond smile playing at his lips.
“You should tell him I think his partner is hot and I’m gonna steal them from him.” He grasps your waist more firmly, pulling you closer into his chest. You go easily, cuddling into this sudden display of affection. While not uncommon, each of Shouta’s advancements come with a bit of anxiety on his part. You do your best to alleviate this by reciprocating with at least twice the attention he’s given you. He seems to appreciate this, as he’s now fully set aside his work, choosing instead to lift you up and carry you into the living room, setting you down in front of the television set.
You look at him rushing about the apartment, head tilted slightly in an indication of your confusion. “Sho? What, uh.. What’re you doin there bud?”
He stops in front of you, various items nearly spilling out of his abnormally large hands. “That’s the movie night hoodie. So it’s movie time now.” He says this as if it should be perfectly expected, finally plopping his collection of things down on the end of the couch, followed by himself directly next to you. “Ok quick…”
“Yes?” You inquire, still looking at him incredulously.
“What movie do you wanna watch?” He says this in the exact monotone he uses in front of his class, but the gleam of excitement in his eye says that he might be a bit more interested in this than he’s letting on.
You pretend to contemplate for exactly three seconds before saying what you always say, “The entire Pixar filmography, in chronological order that fits in accordance with the Pixar theory.”
He pretends to hate your suggestion for exactly five seconds before grinning widely, winking at you, and turning on the television to show it already connected to Disney+.
Toshinori Yagi
- So it’s kinda hard to wear most of his clothes, purely because they’re designed to be able to fit both civilian and hero Toshi. In other words, they look baggy on a tiny person and uncomfortably tight on a larger person.
- No matter one’s body weight/fat distribution, you will look like banana encrusted garbage in anything he owns.
- So if you’re going to wear his shirts, you do so at night. You can wear the All Might form shirts as night clothes. No matter your size, they will hang off your body like a nightdress because he’s fuckin huge in that form.
- He finds this adorable. He’s already prone to nosebleeds, but when you show up wearing his shirt, wrapped in a blanket, begging him to stop working and go to sleep already, his nose just… flood.
- You stopped finding that gross like two weeks into your relationship, so you kinda think that’s cute now.
- Anyway. He loves you in his clothes, but he loves even more sleeping next to you when you’re in them.
- Cuddling next to you while you’re drowning in soft fabric feels like a combination of an extra blanket and a large, human-sized plushie that is warm.
“Toshi.” He tenses up, hearing your ‘why tf are you working at eleven pm’ voice. He turns around in his chair slowly, meeting your gaze for just about half a second before his eyes snap down to the enormous shirt engulfing you. It was bright yellow, a color that you didn’t usually wear, but it was his favorite color. He blushed up to his ears, nose beginning to trickle a bit of blood down past his lips.
“Yes, darling?” He tried the innocence approach, hoping that you would think he truly didn’t know what time it was. You noticed.
“It’s super late, Toshi. I’ve been laying in that bed for like four hours now, and I miss you. So if you don’t mind, please kindly get your ass to bed.” You spoke calmly, words turning sharp at calculated points. You see him pale slightly, which you would feel bad about, if you didn’t have to do this every single night.
He nods quickly, wiping the blood from his face as discreetly as possible. Which, to be fair, is not very discreet considering the blood had been running in streams down his chin. But he really does try.
He stands up from his chair, legs wavering and back making gruesome sounding clicks and pops. He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, muttering a quiet “woah” under his breath. You rush to his side, attempting to steady him. He takes hold of your shoulder, getting his legs to cooperate while his feet regain feeling.
“Toshi, did you eat since you got home? Or had water? When was the last time you stood up from that chair?” Your tone turns softly concerned, having not realized how much he had been neglecting himself. Come to think of it, before you had gone to lay down, he had been right there, in that exact position. Had he really not moved at all in those four hours?
He thought for a moment, which was already kind of a bad sign. “I did eat, I remember that. I had the stuff you made. The omelet thing.” You nod. “But I haven’t had any water. And I haven’t stood up since I ate that about three hours ago.” You nod again, slowly this time. While none of that was ideal, you didn’t want to berate him about it.
“Ok, my darling. Could you go into the bedroom and lay down? I’m going to get you some water.” He smiled at you, and turned to leave.
“Ah, wait!” He looked back at you quizzically. “Do you want ice in your water?” He laughed at how serious you sounded asking him that before walking back over to you, kissing the top of your head, and turning to leave again.
“Ice, please.”
You get the water and return to the bedroom to find a suddenly very sleepy Toshi. He has a little smile on his face when he sees you, and he sits up to drink his water, continuing to smile at you as he drinks.
“What? You’re looking at me funny.” you flick his arm, wondering what could possibly have him looking at you like a lovesick puppy.
“I love when you wear my shirts.” He responds simply, tugging you to sit next to him so he can wrap an arm around your shoulders as he finishes his drink. You feel your face heat a bit at his words, choosing not to say anything to that admission.
When the water is gone, the cup of leftover ice now abandoned on the bedside table, Toshi pulls you to lay next to him, wrapping his arms around you entirely, nudging ever closer whenever he feels the urge.
For some reason, you think you might wear this shirt to sleep more often.
Emi Fukukado
- To be honest, she used to hate when people wore her clothes.
- Something about knowing she wasn’t in control of her things, even if just for a moment. It bothered her
- But for reasons unknown to her and you alike, she actively encourages you to wear her things.
- Well, not anything. Just one in particular.
- She has a crew neck sweatshirt from back in her pre-heroism days. It looks kinda funny. It’s supposed to be bright orange, but the shoulders and top of the back are blotchy with bleach stains and blue-green hair dye.
- You found it in a box one time, and when you showed her, you could swear her laugh could be heard around the block.
- She had insisted you put it on immediately, saying something about the “inherent romanticism of sharing a hair dye shirt”
- Though you had rolled your eyes, you were not resisting when she pulled it over your head.
- And as a result, it was sort of your favorite shirt now.
- If not for the comfiness of the material, then it was the way that Emi blushed when you walked in wearing it.
Yawning, you walked into the kitchen, arms stretched up above your head. You threw open the fridge doors, sluggishly looking at the available options before grabbing eggs and a bell pepper. Emi liked omelets, right? Yeah. You were pretty sure she did. You couldn’t remember through the intense brain fog that comes with waking up early.
Across the hall, you heard the shower water turn off. You rushed to start cooking, chopping up the peppers into cubes as evenly as one can when one is in a hurry to feed one’s pro hero girlfriend before she leaves to teach a group of hero class kids. Luckily, you did not cut your appendages with the large knife you were using.
A pair of soft yet energetic footsteps pattered in the direction of the kitchen, and you were now a bit closer to having breakfast ready. Eggs were in the pan, peppers being sprinkled on top. A warm, damp set of arms wound their way around your stomach, and Emi’s face was now pressed in the crook of your neck.
“Good morning. You like omelets, right?” you turned your head slightly to try to catch her eyes, mostly only getting glimpses of her water-darkened hair on your shoulder.
She nodded, lifting her head a bit to smile at you. “I like everything you cook.” She stepped back from you, pulling herself up to sit on the counter beside you. Finally taking in your appearance, she noticed the orange sweatshirt you were wearing. Her face turned a light pink, but she kept staring. “You look good today.” she said, reaching out to toy with your sleeve.
You laughed. “Yeah? Glad you think so. You look beautiful.” You turned your head away a bit, not wanting her to see the dopey smile that had taken over your face. You always grinned like a teenager when she complimented you. Especially when it was about this shirt. It had some sort of romantic-psychological hold over the two of you.
When you turned your head back, she was closer than before. Her eyes were sparkling; the usual dark green turning a more seafoam color. Her face inches from yours. She was giggling, pleased by the expression of surprise that had fallen over you.
“Thanks for cooking for me.” she said, gripping your shirt to pull you in for a gentle kiss. When you pulled back, she glanced down at the pan of eggs with a grin. “Try not to burn them though.”
Keigo Takami
- There is no “he likes when you wear his clothes”
- That’s no longer a thing.
- Because he doesn’t just like it. It is required.
- If you aren’t wearing a shirt of his, or his sweatpants, or at least some merch of his, then it’s probably because he’s done something wrong.
- Which is not very frequent. He’s an incredibly attentive partner, and anything he does wrong is likely because he took a joke too far or because he didn’t know what to say in a particular situation.
- All this to say: you pretty much exclusively wear his clothes, so it doesn’t really faze him anymore.
- UNLESS
- Unless you wear this one shirt.
- It is flannel, and very large. It looks like he beat up a lumberjack and stole his shirt. It’s his favorite to see you in.
- When you wear it, he fully stops what he’s doing. Just scoops you up and tells you it’s cuddle time.
- And if you’re sleeping already, he lays down next to you and like,,, nuzzles into you.
- If you’ve ever seen birds do that puffy feather/preening thing. That is what he does.
Keigo has been walking in circles around your shared apartment for hours now. You’ve been gone all day, and he thought he would get to see you right after he’d finished patrols early that morning. But it appeared at this moment that he might not get to see you for a while.
He knows, logically, that you’ve just gone to work. That since it’s nearly five pm, you’ll be home very soon. But he’s not thinking very logically at the moment. In fact, he’s fully debating calling his agency and putting out an alert for you. Just as he’s about to pick up his phone to do just that, the door opens.
You aren’t three steps past the threshold of your home before you’re being swept up into the arms of your winged lover. You shriek, not expecting anyone to be home before you, and consequently thinking you were about to be brutally murdered. However, after a split second of panic, your rational thinking kicked in and you realized it was Keigo.
He sets you down, laughing a bit, before realizing what you’re wearing. It’s the shirt. You’ve put on the shirt that you only ever wear for sleeping or cuddling, and you’ve tied it in a knot where it meets your waist. He’s a bit stunned. It’s a new style, sure, but that’s not the cause of the warm blush creeping up his cheeks. The cause is that you wore that in public. You wore it to work. People have seen you like that. The thought makes him giddy.
“Your shirt…” He starts, attempting to talk about how nice you look, but instead just staring at you with a dumb smile on his face.
“My shirt, Keigo?” You smile back. Truthfully, you hadn’t had time when you’d gotten up that morning to put on a different shirt, after you’d slept in this one. But you had done your absolute best to make it look put together. You’d only noticed which shirt it was once you had gotten to work, and by then it was too late to pick a different one. So you’d decided to keep it, wondering what Keigo would think when you returned home.
“It’s uh… You don’t usually wear it that way, do you?” He knew the answer to that. You had never worn it that way. But he wasn’t really sure what to say besides that.
“Nope. Trying something new, I suppose. Do you like it?” You spoke nervously, afraid that maybe he thought it looked stupid, or he was upset you’d stolen his shirt outside of the house. But he nodded quickly, and his grin returned.
“Since you’re wearing it, I think that means it’s cuddle time.” He straightened his spine, puffing his chest in a very bird-like manner, ready to drag you to the couch as soon as you gave the word.
Once you nodded, he was off. You were placed neatly at the end of the couch, propped up on several throw pillows, and Keigo draped himself over you like a koala bear. It was comfortable. Warm. You could fall asleep like that if you just…
