i despise my rotten mind - Everyone in the LOV and PLF knows you're Dabi's girlfriend, but it seems a certain little bird can't help but want what he can't have. SFW. 2k words.
💜 Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead (Boku No Hero)
read your mind - You’re a newly minted pro-hero with a quirk that lets you to read the mind of anyone you touch. So imagine your surprise when you accidentally read a certain stoic, brooding hero's mind and find out he doesn't hate you like you thought. but rather, something dangerously close to the opposite. Slightly NSFW, 5k words.
guilty as sin - You're a dedicated nurse who loves their job even when it means taking care of stubborn, battle-worn pro-heroes (or maybe especially then). Fluffy, SFW, 2k words.
when you know, you know - You and Shouta start a secret relationship that turns into something more than he imagined. Fluffy, SFW, 1.4k words.
only love can hurt like this - You and Shouta get into a fight. Slightly angsty drabble. SFW, 300 words.
love you like oxygen - Your boyfriend Shouta Aizawa has barely been home the past few weeks because of his hectic schedule, so you decide to surprise him when's patrolling one night and steal some of his time (as well as a few kisses). Slight NSFW, 1.3k words.
what's love got to do with it? - The students and teachers at UA High can't help but notice the strange behavior of the typically stern and stoic Class 1-A adviser. They come up with all sorts of theories but soon discover the even more surprising truth. SFW, 2.8k words.
what would you do? (baby, if you only knew) - When Eraserhead saves you one night, you insist on buying him a cup of coffee to say thank you. To his (inner) delight, you happen to work at a cat cafe nearby. SFW, 2.4k words.
say yes to heaven (say yes to me) - Aizawa finds out you, the new teaching assistant at UA, have a crush on him. SFW, 1.9k words.
hyperfixation please stay with me long enough to complete the project. hyperfixation do not fade. hyperfixation finish what you started for the love of god
You’re a newly minted pro-hero with a quirk that lets you to read the mind of anyone you touch. So imagine your surprise when you accidentally read a certain stoic, brooding hero's mind and find out he doesn't hate you like you thought, but rather, something dangerously close to the opposite.
Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead x fem!reader. NSFW but not very explicit. 5,002 words.
“Your form was sloppy,” he says in lieu of a greeting.
You used to cringe when he’d tell you things like that, become sheepish and apologetic. Now, after months of knowing him, you'd simply smile and quip, “Awww, you watching my saves on the news again?”
You hated bumping into him. He was the reason you tended to leave mission briefings early: the ever-stoic, perpetually unimpressed Pro Hero Eraserhead.
As a relatively new hero working in the same city, you were thrilled at the chance to learn from someone as experienced as him. But your excitement quickly dimmed the first time you met as you noticed his gruff demeanor and critical, scrutinizing gaze.
You knew he was tough on everyone, but there were times when it felt like his criticism was directed at you more than anyone else. And no matter how hard you tried or how much praise everyone else gave you, he always found something to correct.
So, for the sake of keeping your self-esteem intact, you’ve resorted to treating his criticism like a game, teasing him back whenever he dropped one of his classic deadpan remarks. It was either that or crumble under the weight of his seemingly endless disapproval.
But today, all you can muster is a grunt in response, head throbbing from fatigue and chronic sleep deprivation.
“That’s my line,” he says flatly. Because apparently, someone always has to be the cheeky one between the two of you.
“Can we just…” You rub your temple, wincing as the pain spikes. "Can we just not do this today?”
“Are you feeling alright?” His voice loses a bit of its usual sharpness as he steps closer, eyes narrowing in concern. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“I’m fine,” you huff, waving him off. "Just tired. We can't all function on only ten shots of espresso a day."
"Seven actually. I'm not a maniac. And you don't sound fine."
You roll your eyes, feeling too drained to banter with him. "I said I'm fine. Can you spare me the lecture?"
You mean to walk past him when you feel his hand wrap around your wrist, startling you. Suddenly, there’s that familiar buzz in your mind — your quirk activating with the skin-to-skin contact. The headache momentarily takes a backseat as his thoughts flood in.
Is she really okay? She looks like she’s about to collapse.
Why does she always push herself so hard?
You look up at him, eyes wide and unblinking.
He yanks his hand away as if he’d been burned, the flood of his thoughts abruptly cut off. His dark eyes flicker with something—surprise? Guilt? He takes a step back.
“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice rougher than usual. “Didn’t mean to…”
You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. How are you supposed to respond to that? All this time, you thought he was just cold, that he only ever saw your flaws. But just now, he…
He was worried about you?
“I—” you start, but your voice falters. He’s still staring at you, his expression carefully guarded again.
“I’ll see you around. Feel better." His voice is clipped, betraying none of the thoughts you just heard. The words sound so casual, so dismissive, that for a moment you wonder if you imagined it all.
You want to say something to break the tension between you, but you're suddenly nervous. Your heart races, pounding with the weight of this new knowledge. Before you can compose yourself, another hero calls his name, and he mutters a quick response before leaving.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
You promised yourself you were going to avoid him like the plague.
Later that day, when you were tossing and turning in bed, still overthinking your last encounter — you promised. You even came up with (what seemed to you) a solid game plan: You were going to focus on hero work so much that you won’t even have the time to think about him, much less see him.
But the mission had gone from bad to worse in a matter of minutes.
What was supposed to be a simple recon had turned into a full-on chase through the streets when the criminal you'd been tracking for weeks unexpectedly showed up at the deal you were sent to bust. Orders be damned, you vaulted over the rooftop ledge and ran after them.
You leaped across buildings, adrenaline spurring you on. Your mind was focused, heart pounding in rhythm with your footfalls. You’d chased this villain twice before, and both times, they’d slipped through your fingers. You weren’t about to let that happen again.
The villain was fast, but so were you. With each bound, you closed the gap, watching as they darted into a narrow alleyway below. This was your chance. Your heart surged as you prepared to drop down and cut them off.
Suddenly, a figure descended from the shadows, blocking your target from your sight. Your stomach dropped.
Of course it was him.
"Stay back. This is too dangerous for you to handle alone.” His voice was firm and authoritative. Even with the goggles on, you could feel his dark eyes trained on you with that same stern expression you’d come to dread.
"Dangerous? I've been on this case longer than you have!”
You stepped forward but so did he.
“I said stay back,” he warned you. “Don’t be reckless. He’s already evaded you twice, and now he’s cornered. Desperate villains do desperate things.”
“He’s getting away! You’re ruining my chance to finally catch him!”
“And you’ll get yourself killed,” Aizawa snapped. “I’m not going to let a rookie run into a trap.”
Anger flared in your chest. You knew he didn’t respect you, hadn’t from the start. Always criticizing, always watching with that disapproving scowl. You try to push past him, but it’s no use. He’s stronger than you, and maybe even more stubborn.
“Wait here and let me handle it,” Aizawa growled, his voice low and commanding. His scarf moved like a serpent around him, a silent warning that he wouldn’t hesitate to use it if you pushed any further.
You clenched your fists but did as you were told. Much to your frustration, the villain was apprehended quickly after that. You watched from the rooftop, fuming as Aizawa cornered them with ease, his scarf tangling around the villain's limbs like it was second nature. Within minutes, the situation was over, and backup arrived to escort the criminal away.
You stayed put, your heart still racing with the adrenaline of the chase and the frustration of being sidelined once again. The cool night breeze did little to calm your heated emotions. It wasn’t fair. You’d been so close, only for him to swoop in like you were some rookie who couldn’t handle their own mission.
Now, you watch as he finishes giving his statement to the police and then make his way towards you.
You cross your arms tightly, readying yourself for whatever critique he’d throw your way this time. But when he stops in front of you, he doesn’t say anything right away. He simply takes off his goggles and looks at you.
His silence is almost worse than his usual condescending remarks. When he finally speaks, his voice is gravelly, strained. More measured than you expected.
"Are you okay?"
You blink. "I…I'm fine," you answer, maybe a bit too defensively.
Aizawa's eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he’s about to call you out for your tone. But he just stares at you, his expression as unreadable as ever.
You shift on your feet, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. The silence stretches between you both, heavy and awkward, until he exhales and rubs the back of his neck.
"Good," he mutters, his voice softening just slightly, but there’s something behind his eyes—a flicker of something you can’t quite place. His hand lowers back to his side, and as it brushes yours for the briefest moment, something happens.
Skin contact.
Before you can stop it, his thoughts are bleeding into yours, loud and clear.
I should’ve handled that better. She probably thinks I hate her…
Dammit, I don’t want her to hate me.
Your breath catches in your throat. A rush of emotions flood your mind: frustration, concern. Genuine fear.
She doesn’t need to prove herself to me. She’s already good enough. More than good enough.
Heat floods your face, your pulse quickening. He… cares? Before you can process it fully, the connection snaps. A sudden coldness washes over you as your quirk is forcibly erased.
Aizawa’s eyes lock onto yours, his irritation visible in the sharpness of his gaze and the tight line of his mouth.
"I…I didn't mean to," you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper.
Something like uncertainty flickers in his expression, and his hair falls down in waves as he shuts off his quirk, too. His jaw tightens but his brow furrows as though he’s trying to decide what to say.
“I...know you didn’t,” he finally says, his voice low and rough.
You flinch, guilt bubbling up in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you murmur again, dropping your gaze to the ground. You didn’t want to invade his mind, but now you couldn’t unhear what you’d discovered.
Just like before, he turns to leave.
“Wait—” you blurt out, reaching for him instinctively. You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you can’t just let him leave like this. Not again.
He pauses, half-turning to glance at you over his shoulder. Your heart is pounding in your ears. The words are there, but they feel jumbled in your throat, tangled up in the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling through your mind.
“I—I didn’t know. About any of it.”
Your eyes search his face for any sign of what he’s thinking, but his expression remains impassive. You fight back the urge to touch him.
“I thought you couldn’t stand me,” you admit in a small voice.
Aizawa heaves a sigh. His hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose, and for the first time, you notice how tired he looks; exhausted, worn down in a way that makes him seem more human, less the untouchable figure you’ve always seen him as.
“I’m not trying to be hard on you,” he says after a long pause, his voice softer now, the anger draining away. “But you don’t always think things through, and that’s dangerous. You’re talented. You don’t need to prove anything to me or anyone else.”
His words surprise you, and you look up, meeting his gaze again. There’s no scowl, no biting critique, just honesty. You swallow hard, feeling an odd mix of warmth and discomfort settle in your chest.
Before you can think better of it, your hand moves instinctively, brushing against his arm. You freeze, realizing what you’ve done, but this time, he doesn’t pull away. And though he has every opportunity to, he doesn’t erase your quirk either.
I’m too close to her. The thought is faint, hesitant. She’s already in my head… and it’s getting harder to push her away.
Your breath catches in your throat. He’s not just frustrated with you — he’s frustrated with himself.
You pull your hand back, not wanting to intrude further.
You don’t know what you expect to see on his face; surprise maybe, or even anger. But for the first time since you’ve met him, you see something warmer in his eyes — something that sends a flutter through your chest.
Aizawa takes a half-step closer and your pulse quickens at the proximity. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost a secret, he murmurs, “Don’t make me worry like that again.”
“I won’t,” you manage to whisper, your heart caught in your throat.
He takes a step back, as if remembering himself, and his usual stern demeanor slips back into place.
“Go home. Get some rest.”
You nod, still too flustered to speak. The warmth of his touch lingers long after he's gone.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
It’s well past midnight, the city quiet except for the soft hum of distant traffic and the occasional sound of wind rustling through the streets. Your patrol route brings you to the edge of a quiet park, where you catch a familiar figure standing in the shadows, keeping watch.
“You really like brooding in the dark, don’t you?" You smile at him from over your shoulder, though your usual sarcasm is gone.
“It's my favorite pastime,” he deadpans, but you don't miss the way his dark eyes hold yours a beat too long.
“Right,” you snicker. “The city’s most stoic hero. I bet you even scowl in your sleep.”
Aizawa’s lips twitch, the tiniest of smirks threatening to break through. “You can’t prove that.”
"Oh?” You smile sweetly, batting your eyelashes for good measure. “Something tells me I can.”
His gaze sharpens slightly, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s about to call you out on your teasing. But instead, he steps closer, his tall frame looming over you.
“You’re bold tonight,” he says, his tone somewhere between amused and intrigued. “Careful, I might start thinking you’re actually enjoying my company.”
You bite your lip to keep from smiling any wider. “And what if I am?”
He steps just a fraction closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off him in the cool night air. His voice is low and smooth when he says, “Then I’d have to wonder what it is you think you’re getting yourself into.”
The air between you thickens, the playful banter now laced with something a little more dangerous, a little more exciting.
“You know, I could buy you a coffee sometime,” you offer, hoping to diffuse some of the tension, keep the conversation light. “To say thanks for helping me out with that last mission.”
He pretends to mull it over but, before you can react, he reaches out and grabs the coffee cup you’re holding. He takes a deliberately long sip, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle.
When he lowers the cup, he meets your gaze with a half-lidded look that sends your pulse racing.
“Consider it done.”
Your face feels impossibly warm now, and you’re sure your blush is painfully obvious, but you manage to keep your voice steady as you quip, “An indirect kiss? Maybe you’re the one who needs to be careful, or else other people will start getting the wrong idea.”
With a low laugh, he hands the cup back to you, and the subtle brush of his fingers against yours sets off another wave of his thoughts.
I wonder if she realizes how much I want her.
Your breath catches.
For a split second, you think you might’ve misheard it, but the heat in Aizawa’s gaze as he watches your reaction tells you otherwise. The cup is back in your hand, but your fingers are numb. Your focus is entirely on him, his thoughts still rattling around in your mind.
His lips twitch again. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden,” he teases, his voice low, almost a purr. “What’s going on up there? Something I should know about?”
You swallow hard, trying to gather your composure. He’s looking at you like he’s daring you to admit what you heard.
You take a deep breath and decide to play along. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if you always flirt this shamelessly.”
“Maybe I just wanted to see how you’d react.”
Your heart is racing now, fingers trembling around the cup in your hand. His gaze is dark and intense. Unwavering. He's looking at you like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you and he’s enjoying it.
Your quirk had always been a double-edged sword; sometimes it revealed things you wished you hadn’t known, and other times it brought clarity to situations that seemed hopelessly opaque.
This time, it left you with a dilemma.
“Go ahead,” he murmurs, as if sensing your thoughts. He’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth of him, his presence overwhelming but not uncomfortable. “Since you’re already in my head…why stop now?”
Your breath hitches. His invitation is dangerous, yet impossible to resist. There are a dozen reasons why you shouldn’t — you work together, it’s an invasion of privacy, you hated his guts just a few weeks ago — but the temptation is too strong, his presence too intoxicating.
Hesitantly, your fingers brush against his once more, and his thoughts flood in again, more intense and vivid this time.
She’s braver than I thought. I like that.
I shouldn’t be doing this. But damn, I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she looks at me…
“Good girl,” he cooes, his voice a low rumble that sends a flutter of excitement through you.
You feel lightheaded, dizzy with the weight of his thoughts, the tension between you at a boiling point. You swallow hard, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the way Aizawa’s eyes are fixed on you — dark, intense, hungry — it’s making it hard to think straight. He wants you to know. He wants you to feel what he’s feeling.
And you do.
You feel everything.
His desire is a palpable thing, hanging in the air between you, electric and heady. You can see it in the way his gaze lingers on your lips, the way his breath hitches ever so slightly when you lean in.
“Hardly seems fair. I don't get to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.” His voice dips lower, enough to send another wave of heat crashing over you. “Are you going to keep me guessing?”
Your voice wavers slightly, but you manage to respond, “I’m not sure you’re ready for what’s in my head.”
He chuckles, a dark, low sound that makes your stomach flip. “You might be surprised.”
You can barely breathe as he brushes the back of his hand against your jaw, his thumb pressing lightly on the corner of your mouth. You feel his thoughts ripple through you again, even stronger this time.
I want her. God, I want her so badly…
Your knees feel weak, and it takes everything in you not to lose yourself completely in the moment, in him. The tension between you feels unbearable now, as if one wrong move could send you both over the edge. And you’re not sure how much longer either of you can hold back.
Aizawa smirks, just a hint of satisfaction flickering in his expression.
I could kiss her right now. It would be so easy.
The thought lingers between you, thick and heavy, and you can’t tell if it’s yours or his anymore. All you know is that just the idea of his lips on yours is making your entire body hum with anticipation.
Aizawa watches you carefully, as if waiting for your reaction. He knows you heard him, and he’s not backing down.
You swallow hard, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place. “Go ahead then,” your own voice sounds small and distant to your ears, but it’s enough to tip the balance.
His lips are on yours in a second.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if he’s testing the waters, but it quickly deepens as the tension that had been building between you finally breaks. His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel his thoughts rushing through you again.
God, she tastes even better than I imagined.
Your knees nearly buckle, and you can barely focus on anything except the way his lips feel against yours — firm, warm, demanding yet tender. He’s kissing you like he’s been holding back for far too long.
When you finally pull back for air, your heart is pounding, your breath shaky. Aizawa’s forehead rests gently against yours, his eyes half-closed as he catches his own breath. His thumb brushes lightly over your cheek, a small, affectionate gesture that has you smiling up at him in a tizzy.
“Still think I hate you?” he murmurs, his voice low and full of heat as he slides his hands into the curve of your waist.
You laugh softly, pulling him closer by his scarf. “I think I might need a little more convincing.”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
The days that follow your little late night tryst at the park are deliciously unbearable.
It’s as if you don’t know how to be around him anymore. There's tension during training sessions. The gym hums with its usual energy, but you can’t focus. Not with him in the room. You’re sparring with someone, half-heartedly dodging and throwing punches, but your mind is elsewhere, replaying the feel of Aizawa’s lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you.
Across the room, he’s speaking to a group of trainees, the same unreadable, stoic expression in place. But there's a flicker of something else in his eyes when they briefly meet yours, a look only you recognize.
Your opponent lands a hit on your shoulder and you nearly stumble. You grit your teeth and bring yourself back to the present moment. When the sparring session ends, you grab a bottle of water and try to catch your breath.
He walks over to where you’re sitting off to the side, seemingly doing the same. His voice is low enough so only you can hear. "You're distracted."
You flush, struggling to keep your expression impassive. “And what if I am?”
“Focus, or I’ll have to give you some private training later.”
His words are a promise, dripping with intent, and your blood sings. You can’t find a response quick enough before he’s already pulling away, leaving you flushed and even more distracted.
It’s not much better during night patrol, when the city streets are dimly lit and mostly empty. Although the two of you are supposed to be overseeing different sectors, you know when you turn a corner into a dark alley that he's following silently, closely behind.
You walk deeper into the alley, pretending to scan the area, but the quiet crunch of his footsteps has your heart racing. Just as you’re about to turn back, a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you into the shadows, away from prying eyes.
You open your mouth to say something, but he’s already on you, crashing his lips against yours.
“You’re making—it hard—for me—to concentrate,” he murmurs between kisses, each word punctuated by the soft graze of his mouth against yours. His hands press against your hips, pinning you gently yet firmly to the wall, and a wave of heat spreads through you.
Suddenly, an image flashes in your mind: him trailing his mouth downwards until he’s on his knees, hooking your leg over his shoulder and eating you out. A thought that isn’t your own.
“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, though there’s no real bite to it. If anything, your voice is barely steady. “You’re supposed to be patrolling your own area.”
He runs his fingers along your jaw. "And let you wander into dark alleys alone?" He leans in, lips brush against your ear, nibbling. "Not a chance."
He crooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head up, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his teeth and lips lingering just enough to make you gasp.
I want to taste you. All of you, he thinks. I want you to make a mess on my face, on my fingers, and then lick it clean.
You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. He presses you harder against the wall, and it’s dizzying, intoxicating—
Until the sharp crackle of comms cuts through the haze.
“Report. Any activity?”
You both freeze, breaths mingling, still pressed close. His eyes flick to yours, and there’s a hint of amusement dancing in them.
“Nothing to report,” he says, voice calm and collected as if he hadn’t just been kissing you senseless a moment ago.
You look up at him, dazed and wanting, heart pounding. He tilts his head at you and you realize they’re expecting a response from you, too.
“N-no activity here either,” you manage despite the tightness of your throat.
The comms fall silent once more. Aizawa is looking at you through half-lidded eyes and a self-satisfied smirk. You hate him as much as you really don't.
“We should get back to our routes before someone decides to check on us," he murmurs.
“Oh, so now you’re concerned about protocol?” You arch an eyebrow at him, though you’re sure your flushed cheeks betray any semblance of teasing bravado.
"For now." He leans down to brush the shell of your ear with his lips. "But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just break a few more rules.”
A few days later, you find yourselves seated across from each other during a mission debriefing. The room is full of other pro heroes, but it might as well be empty for all the attention you’re paying to anyone else.
Your thoughts scramble every time Aizawa's knee brushes against yours beneath the table. He, on ther hand, is the picture of composure, listening to the debrief with his usual detached focus.
This meeting’s dragging. I can think of better ways to pass the time with you.
You try to focus on the mission details, but half way through, he moves his hand atop your thigh and you shiver.
How long do you think it’d take if we just slipped out, right now?
You steal a glance at him, and there’s the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes when they meet yours.
You force yourself to look down at your notes, but your mind is elsewhere, his presence impossibly distracting. Fuck it, you think before you slide your foot up his calf.
He sputters a cough, a rare crack in his usually unshakable composure, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. Under the table, his hand tightens on your thigh, his grip firm, almost possessive, and the thrill of it has you biting the inside of your cheek.
Keep doing that and I won’t be responsible for what happens after this.
As the meeting draws to a close, everyone rises to leave, and Shota gives you a barely perceptible nod toward the hallway. You follow at a careful distance until you reach his office, entering a good few minutes after he does so as not to arouse suspicion.
He backs you gently against the door as he locks it behind you, his gaze pinning you in place. His eyes are dark and stormy, with that half-focused look you’ve come to love so much. When he speaks, his voice is soft, a murmur meant only for you. “You’re going to get us caught, you know that?”
You smile up at him sweetly then tip-toe to give him a soft, lingering kiss. "You’re the one who can’t seem to keep things professional,” you coo, your fingers tracing along the collar of his shirt, teasing.
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Is that so? Funny, I don’t remember you objecting."
“Of course not,” you confess breathlessly, head thrown back in pleasure as you tug at his hair. You can’t make out the sound of your own voice over the blood thumping in your ears. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined us doing inappropriate things in your office?”
Your words seem to snap the last of his restraint.
A low growl escapes him, and before you know it, he’s gripping your hips and lifting you just enough to press the hardness of his length against you. You gasp. His mouth finds yours with a raw, pent-up hunger that has you clinging to his shoulders, heart racing wildly.
“And here I was, thinking I was the only one losing sleep over this,” he murmurs between kisses, tugging your bottom lip gently between his teeth.
He pulls you flush against him as his tongue explores your mouth, and you trail your hands down his chest and the ridges of his abdomen just as eagerly. You grind your hips down on his erection and he lets out a deep, guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
“Fuck, baby,” he pants, his warm, rough hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “You’re lucky we’re alone.” His tone is half-warning, half-promise, and you can feel his heartbeat racing beneath your hands.
"I know somewhere we wouldn't have to worry about being interrupted," you tell him breathlessly. “My place. Tonight. If you’re up for it.”
He lets out a quiet chuckle, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "I'll clear my schedule.”
We as a society must begin to recognize the dangers of Fandom. Like I’ll watch a new show and stop caring about my friends and family for a few weeks afterwards?
It always seems reasonable at the time but in retrospect it’s like dang I preferred staring at my ceiling and thinking about fictional characters over human interaction for a second there… yikes
i despise my rotten mind (and how hard it fell for you)
Everyone in the LOV and PLF knows you're Dabi's girlfriend. But it seems a certain little bird can't help but want what he can't have.
Keigo Takami/Hawks x gn!reader. Set between S5 & S6. SFW. 2k words.
"Hey pretty bird, whatcha doing out here all alone?”
Keigo’s face breaks out into an easy grin when he sees you on the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge, lperched on the edge of the rooftop, a solitary figure amidst the sprawling cityscape below.
“Oh, you know, just…” You gesture vaguely. “Enjoying the view.”
"It's a good thing I'm here then," he smirks, sitting down beside you.
You shake your head in wry amusement at his usual attempt at flirting.
“So, where’s that good-for-nothing boyfriend of yours?”
You snort, putting out your cigarette. Even though he’s the one who approached you, you know Keigo doesn’t smoke, and you don’t want him inhaling any of that acrid stench you love so much.
“Dunno,” you shrug, rubbing the butt of your cigarrette down into the concrete. “Out on an important mission, I guess.”
“You guess?” He rests his arm up on one knee and leans against his hand to look at you, that same old dopey look on his face. “Doesn’t he tell you what he’s up to?”
You shake your head. “I’d rather not know, actually. Helps me keep some peace of mind.”
He nods, seemingly understanding.
There’s been so many times knowing too much about Dabi has left you on the precipice of despair. He was complicated and intense, but also strangely intoxicating. And no matter how hard you tried — and god knows you’ve tried — you just can’t seem to quit him, not unlike the filthy habit you’re holding between your fingers.
But Keigo...Keigo’s a different kind of dangerous.
You met him by chance at a Liberation Front meeting, the last place you expected to run into the Number 2 Pro Hero. He introduced himself to you with confidence and ease, and you remember thinking you'd never met anyone quite as bold and abrasively charming before. He was playful, flirtatious, and easy to talk to.
And you're not proud of it, but you discovered that night that he could make your heart skip a beat with just a smile and a teasing tone. He had a way of making you feel like the center of the universe, showering you with attention and adoration.
Where Dabi was icy cold, he was warm and inviting, his effortless charisma a stark contrast to your boyfriend’s brooding darkness. As the weeks into months and your relationship with Dabi deepened, so did your connection with Keigo. The chemistry between you was undeniable, a force that pulsed with intensity. His presence in your life threatens to unravel all your carefully constructed boundaries more and more with each passing day.
Now here you are, alone with him when your boyfriend was away, the warmth of Keigo's attention a momentary respite from the shadows that chase you. A fleeting taste of something simpler and brighter amidst the chaos.
“Besides,” you smile. “I've got enough excitement in my life as it is.”
Keigo chuckles, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief. "But wouldn't it be nice to take a break from all that and let me fly off into the sunset with me?”
You snort at that, rolling your eyes. "You really do have a hero complex, don't you?"
He grins, leaning in a little closer. “Guilty as charged. But there's nothing I'd love more than to see that beautiful smile of yours, pretty bird.”
You feel the warmth of his breath, and your heart races a little. Your own voice sounds shaky and small even as you try to tell him, "You know I'm with Dabi."
"I know," he says but he doesn't pull away, the smile slowly slipping from his face. "But you deserve so much better than him. Better than what he can give you.”
His words hang in the air, swirling around you like lingering smoke, thick with unspoken implications. The tension between you is palpable, in the pounding of your heart and the blood rushing in your ears at his growing proximity, his hesitant touch.
You know you’re playing with fire, teetering on the precipice of something with Keigo. But even as you dance closer towards the edge, your heart still aches for Touya. Your relationship with him casts an inescapable shadow, one that not even Keigo’s eyes, though brilliant and golden as the sun, can extinguish.
“Touya...” you put your hand on Keigo’s chest, fingers curling into a fist but unable to muster much strength to push him away. “Touya loves me. Or at least, he tries his best to.”
Keigo laughs again, but this time it’s bitter and humorless. “You sure about that?”
“Don’t be a jerk,” you frown up at him. “It doesn’t suit you.”
His lips curl into a sarcastic smile. “Yeah? Does it suit Touya?”
“Fuck off.” You finally shove him away. His words sting, his bitter laugh like a poisoned arrow. But you’re determined not to let it pierce your heart. You make a point to light another cigarette and blow the smoke right in his face. “And here I thought he was your friend.”
The moment abruptly broken, Keigo slumps again against the leg he's propped up on and gives a non-committal shrug. “I don’t hate him, that’s all. Actually, I’ve come to understand him a little bit better the more I get to know him, and I even feel a little sympathy for the guy. But he’s a dangerous person to get close to.”
You twirl the cigarette in your fingers. “You should take your own advice then.”
“Fair point,” it’s his turn to snort at you. “But I'm serious. Dabi…he's like a wildfire. Unpredictable and chaotic. He could consume everything, including you.”
“He has a different side, Keigo. You've seen it, too.”
A faint shadow passes over his features. “I have. But I've also seen the destruction he leaves in his wake. I don't want you to get hurt.”
“I don’t need you to save me.”
“It’s not that. I know you care about him, but…” He swallows, and you ignore the fluttering in your chest. “I care about you too, pretty bird. More than you realize.”
You shouldn’t be with him. You should be with me.
You know what he means, what he’s not saying. The question lingers in the air, unasked but ever-present. It's a question you've been avoiding, one that could change everything. You know what he's telling you, but you’re still unsure of whether or not you should pretend not to.
The silence that drags on between the two of you feels like charged electricity. You’ve never known what to do with it, nor what to make of all the barely concealed flirting behind his playful banter. It's not like you haven't noticed the stolen glances and secret smiles he's given you over the past few months. It's just that it never seemed serious.
Until now.
You shouldn’t be with him. You should be with me.
Do you want to be with me?
You don’t have an answer.
You laugh instead, a wry and sharp sound. “Yeah? You wanna save me, hero? You think I’m better off with someone living a secret double life, working for some very morally questionable people?”
He doesn't flinch at your words like some small part of you hopes. Instead, his expression softens, eyes flickering with something like somber regret. You've never seen him look like that before.
"You’re right. I'm not the hero everyone makes me out to be, the one you see on TV and in magazines. Sometimes I do things that keep me up at night."
He smiles ruefully, gazing at you with an intensity that's impossible to ignore.
"Like letting myself think about you."
The weight of his words settles over you, heavy and inescapable. He’s offering you something maybe Dabi never could — a chance at something real. But you know it’s not that simple. Your heart is entangled in a mess of loyalties and affections, and the thought of untangling it is terrifying.
“Keigo...” you whisper, carrying with it a depth of emotion you hadn’t realized you were holding back. It feels like an admission, a plea, and a confession all at once.
“Maybe I do live a double life,” he continues, “but at least it’s a life where I’m trying to make things right. A life where I can be honest about who I am and what I feel.”
He takes a step closer, the space between you dwindling to almost nothing. He lifts a hand and gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. The warmth of his fingers sends a shiver down your spine.
“I care about you, too,” you admit, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “But I don’t know if that’s enough.”
“All I know is I can’t keep pretending,” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with an urgency that makes your heart race. “I can’t keep pretending that I don’t want you. Every time I see you with him, it kills me a little inside.”
“But… Dabi…” you start, your voice faltering as you struggle to find the right words. “He needs me. And I—”
“He doesn’t deserve you,” Keigo interrupts, his tone firm but not unkind. "He can't make you happy the way I can."
Before you can overthink it, you find yourself leaning in, drawn towards him like a moth to a flame. His eyes widen slightly, as if he hadn’t dared to hope that you’d close the distance between you. But as your lips hover inches from his, there’s a breathless pause.
“Are you sure about this?” you ask softly. “Because once we cross this line, there’s no going back.”
Keigo’s gaze softens, his hand cradling your cheek as if you were something precious. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
You close the remaining distance, your lips meeting his in a searing, almost frantic kiss. Keigo responds with a hunger that matches your own, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. His lips are soft and warm, and the taste of him is intoxicating.
The kiss deepens, growing more urgent and messy, as if all the unspoken words and repressed feelings of the past months are pouring out through this single, electrifying connection. His hands move to your waist, fingers splaying across your back. There’s a raw intensity in the way he kisses you, a desperate need to convey everything he’s felt but never had the chance to say.
You respond in kind, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer. The world outside ceases to exist; there’s only the press of his lips against yours, the sensation of his breath mingling with yours, the feel of his heart beating in time with your own.
When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, chests heaving. Keigo rests his forehead against yours, fingers cupping your jaw gently.
“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this, about you," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.
You smile, a small, shy smile that feels like a secret shared just between the two of you. “I think I have some idea,” you reply, your voice trembling with a mix of exhilaration and relief."
Keigo's eyes search yours, as if looking for confirmation, for reassurance that this is real. “So, what now?” he asks softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a tender, almost reverent gesture.
“Now… we figure it out,” you say, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “Together.”
Keigo’s eyes light up with a mixture of hope and determination. He leans in for another kiss, this one softer, more lingering, as if savoring the moment. When he pulls back, his smile is as radiant as it is playful.
Even though Dabi was indifferent at first, the fact that he now knows and acknowledges Shigaraki’s, Toga’s and Spinner’s goals is major character development
You're a dedicated nurse who loves their job even when it means taking care of stubborn, battle-worn pro-heroes (or maybe especially then).
Aizawa Shouta x gn!reader. Set between S6 & S7. Fluff, slight angst with comfort. SFW, 2k words.
The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the air as you walk down the pristine white hallways of Central Hospital. The raid against the Paranormal Liberation Front had left the medical facility overcrowded, understaffed, and bustling with activity. You yourself had been working tirelessly for the last 24 hours straight to care for the numerous injured heroes and civilians.
Exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders, your feet dragging slightly with each step. Your shift was supposed to have ended hours ago, and you were more than ready to clock out and get some much-needed rest. However, there was just one patient left to see.
You knock at the door.
"Good morning," you greet the man lying down on the bed. You don't have the strength to muster a smile, but that's okay. He doesn't seem to either.
Instead, he gives you a familiar nod. "Good morning."
He was a brooding, reserved man of a few words. With dark hair and even darker eyes - well, eye, the other being wrapped in bandages - he looked more tired than you some days. You can't fault him for that though. You knew he had been at the front lines of the battle that day and had paid a heavy price for it.
He sits up as you come closer, approaching his bedside. The room is quiet, save for the soft beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals.
"How are you feeling today?"
He shrugs. "I've been better. I've been worse."
"I can see that," you nod, noting the way his complexion is less pale and his hair less unruly today compared to the past week. You open the blinds for him, warm light streaming into the dim room. “More sunlight ought to be good for you.”
“Mhm,” is all he says, blinking up at the bright, blue sky out the window.
You take that as your cue to go about your usual tasks silently, adjusting his IV, checking his bandages, writing down his vitals.
Then, out of the blue, he says, “You’ve been working long hours lately. You should get some rest.”
"Believe me, I will. Just as soon as you're taken care of first."
"I'm fine,” he responds in a clipped, dismissive tone of voice.
“Fine or not, it's my job to make sure you’re comfortable and healing properly. You went through a lot, losing an eye and a leg. Frankly, I’m not sure we should go through with discharging you tomorrow.”
He heaves a tired sigh, “Like I said, I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse, too.”
Frowning, you sit down on the bedside chair and take a moment to look at him. Despite his stoic facade, you can see the toll all those years of being a hero have taken on him, especially the past few weeks. The dark circles under his remaining eye, the weary lines and scars etched into his face. The worried, pained look that lingers even when he's trying to relax.
"You know, it's okay to admit that you're not feeling great. From what I've been told, it seems like you've been through hell and back."
He shrugs again, leaning back against the pillows with a wince that he tries to hide. "It comes with the job. If anyone deserves your concern, it's my students."
“It must be hard, seeing them fight in a war. They’re just children, after all.”
He nods grimly, his mouth a tight line. "And because of this—" he touches the bandages covering his eye "—my quirk is pretty much useless now, especially on the villains we’re up against.”
He doesn't say it, but you can hear it in the tightness of his voice, his clenched jaw, his hands fisting the bedsheet. You know what he really means: “I'm useless now."
You want to reach out to touch him, maybe place your hand atop his, but you're not sure if he'd welcome such a gesture, especially from someone he's only known for a short time. You settle for a few sympathetic words instead, folding your hands in your lap.
"Aizawa-san, do you honestly think your quirk is the only thing that makes you a hero? You've done so much for your students, for so many people. You're a mentor and a role model to these kids. I'm sure they trust and look up to you more because of this, not less.”
He looks at you for a long moment, that same unreadable expression on his face.
"I appreciate that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t protect them the way I used to."
"Maybe not, but even without your quirk, you have your experience, your wisdom, and a heart that cares deeply for them. That's more than enough."
Instead of responding, he stares silently up at the ceiling. You don't push him, resigning to let the moment simply stretch out. After all, this is the most you've ever talked to him the whole week.
As he gets lost in his thoughts, you find yourself mentally tracing the contours of his face, where the sunlight bathes his skin in a soft, warm glow. It accentuates the strong lines of his jaw, his nose. Softens the look in his dark eyes.
You take a quiet breath, surprised by the fluttering sensation in your chest. It's an odd time and place to notice something like this, but you can’t deny there's a certain rugged handsomeness to him.
You shift your weight, feeling a little self-conscious about your own thoughts. It’s unprofessional, you chide yourself, to think of a patient this way. But the inexplicable attraction you feel for the man before you is unmistakeable.
Aizawa turns slightly, catching you off guard as his eyes meet yours. When he finally speaks again, his voice is softer, almost contemplative.
“It's strange. There was a time in my life when I wouldn't have cared what happened to me in the line of duty, whether I lived or died. But now...I want to live for those kids. My kids.”
You manage a wobbly smile even as your heart aches at his words. "Your students are lucky to have someone who cares about them so much."
“You remind me of them a little bit.” He lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling softly in the quiet room. “Determined, stubborn, always insisting on helping.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.
The corner of his lips quirk up, and the realization that he might actually be teasing you sends your heart aflutter.
“Mostly good,” he murmurs. “A little bit troublesome for me though.”
“Yeah?” You bite back a smirk. “You’ve been a bit troublesome for me, too, you know.”
He raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the pillows. “Is that so? And how do you propose I make it up to you, then?”
Maybe it’s the huskiness of his voice, the quiet intensity of his gaze, or the faint smile tugging at his lips, but something about him in this moment makes your stomach freefall. And you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him, passionately and spontaneously, as if afraid to see sense.
You know you shouldn't indulge this, should put a stop to this train of thought before it gains too much momentum. You’re thankful you manage to keep your voice steady despite the rush of blood pounding in your ears.
“Well, Aizawa-san, you could start by taking me out to dinner. Dealing with a patient as stubborn as you has its price, you know.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake. But then his gaze flickers down to your lips before meeting your eyes again, and you feel your breath hitch. He tilts his head, his expression thoughtful yet guarded, as if trying to read between the lines of your playfulness.
“I suppose,” he concedes softly. “But you might find that I’m not as interesting as you think, Y/N. I’m just a man who cares about the people in his life and does what he can to protect them.”
"That's exactly what I like about you.” Your voice drops to a whisper, your hand lightly brushing against his.
He groans softly, and you feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the sound. He rubs his hand down his face, seemingly weighing his options.
It’s not too late, you assure yourself in a rush of anxious thoughts. You haven’t crossed any lines you can’t go back on, haven’t overstepped the delicate boundary between patient and nurse, between flirtation and something more.
“Will you let me kiss you at the end of the date?”
Oh.
The line is a dot now.
You swallow hard and — heart pounding in your chest, everything else spinning dizzyingly out of focus — you rush forward to close the distance between you, pressing your lips urgently against his.
The spark you felt before intensifies into an electrifying current now, racing down your spine as he tangles one hand in your hair and another holds you by the nape. He tilts your head back to kiss you deeper, his lips hungrily exploring yours, and you feel drunk on the pleasure of his touch, the intoxicating scent of his skin and his aftershave.
The softness of his lips contrasts with the roughness of his stubble, sending shivers of delight coursing through you. His mouth is warm and inviting, and you lose yourself in the sensation of his kiss, the way he breathes you in, the quiet sighs of pleasure that escape both of you.
Your mind spins with the realization of how much you’ve wanted this and how many ill-advised daydreams you’ve had of him these past few weeks. When you finally break apart for air, you keep your forehead pressed against his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. The sound of your blood rushing in your ears drowns out the rhythmic beeping of the machines around you, and for a moment, the world feels narrowed down to just the two of you.
“I-I’m sorry,” Your breath comes in ragged gasps. Your fingers gingerly touch your lips, which are pursed in surprise. “That was reckless of me. I shouldn’t have.”
Aizawa blinks at you, his dark eyes wide and dazed, like he’s trying to process what just happened. He licks his lips, a gesture that sends a fresh wave of warmth through your body.
“Do you…” His voice is husky, tinged with uncertainty. “Do you regret it?”
“No, of course not,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I only regret not doing it at a better time.”
His eyes widen slightly in surprise before softening, the tension in his shoulders seemingly melting away.
"Good," he murmurs, reaching for you, his thumb cradling your jaw and tracing small, soothing circles on your skin. “Because I’d like to do it again—”
He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek.
“And again—”
He brushes his lips teasingly against yours, feather-light and promising of more.
“And again.”
The admission sends a thrill through you, a rush of joy and excitement that makes your pulse quicken. "All the more reason to look forward to dinner, I suppose. After you get better, that is."
He chuckles softly. "Shouldn't be a problem, seeing as how I have an excellent nurse taking care of me."
"Mmmhm. Speaking of, is there anything else I can do to make you…more comfortable before I leave?” You can't help but ask, a playful lilt in your voice.
He captures your lips in a delicate kiss, so sweet and tender, like a dream barely skimming the surface of reality. You've finally calmed down enough to hear the sound of his heart rising, betrayed by the loudening beep of the machine. His hand trails down your arm and he laces his fingers with yours, smiling against your lips.
Aizawa x Reader Established Relationship Headcanons
(Cannot, for the life of me, get over my writer's block but I've still got Aizawa brainrot thanks to s7 so here.)
I might be in the minority here but I don't think Aizawa would smoke. He eats healthy and works out to keep his body in shape. Why would he compromise his health by smoking?
His only vices are chronic snacking (he loves those jelly pouch things) and caffeine.
He's usually up 'til dawn most days because duh, he works two jobs (hence the 5-7 shots of espresso in his coffee).
Despite his sleep deprivation most days, he is soooo sexy when he wakes up in the morning. Messy hair. Baggy shirt and boxers. Or sometimes a body hugging tank top and sweatpants. And his voice — his raspy, sleep-addled voice. The feeling of his stubble against the smooth planes of your face waking you up.
He doesn’t usually cook breakfast but he does always brew a fresh pot of coffee for you. And he never leaves without a kiss goodbye, even when you’re still snuggled up in bed, asleep.
When you first start dating, Shouta talks to you pretty much the same way he talks to everyone else. So curt and succinct, you sometimes used to wonder if he was upset with you. He’d usually get confused as to what made you ask that, and then explained that he’s just a man of a few words, that’s all.
As your relationship becomes more established, you notice subtle shifts in the way he communicates. It's not a sudden change, but your conversations start to feel more like a secret code over time, filled with inside jokes that never fail to make him smirk.
Shouta’s love language is definitely acts of service. He’s a pragmatic, action-oriented person who values efficiency. So of course he’d think that actions speak louder than words when it comes to letting someone know your true feelings.
That’s why he loves it when he comes home to your cooking, especially when you surprise him with his favorite dish. Because after 16-hours or so of working two jobs, he usually just passes out on the couch the moment he gets home and you’re not around.
He feels so bad when he comes home too late sometimes and finds you already asleep and his dinner sitting cold on the stovetop or in the fridge. He always makes sure to make it up to you by preparing breakfast the next day or…other…pleasing ways…
Seeing you take care of Sushi, the cat his very-well-and-alive friend Nemuri sometimes asks him to babysit, makes him feel all warm inside, too (although he doesn’t actually admit it, you just catch him smiling softly at you sometimes and quickly looking away when you notice).
As for how he expresses his love for you, it mostly comes in the form of acts of service, too, as well as gifts and physical touch.
Shouta’s romantic gestures are like rare collectibles. They often come as a surprise, but when they happen, you cherish them dearly. He'll surprise you with a thoughtful gift and leave it on your desk with a simple, "Saw this and thought of you."
He won't serenade you under the moonlight or anything, but he'll make you a warm cup of tea when you're tired, or wrap a scarf around you when it's cold.
You don't really have time to go out on dates most weeks, but when you do, you're either at a quiet restaurant or taking a walk through nature in the parks.
His favorite thing to do is sit with you by the window sill on rainy days and just have you snuggle up to him, bundled in his arms, while you read or do your own thing in comfortable silence.
Fighting with Shouta was like having a verbal sparring match. He’s always strategic, although his patience wears thin sometimes, even with you. Still, he knew when to bring something up and when to back down.
He won't shy away from a disagreement, but he's not one to let it linger. He’ll tackle the issue head-on, find a compromise, and move on.
One of your favorite things about him was that he never held a grudge or took conflicts personally.
Shouta’s life is a constant juggle between being a pro hero, a UA teacher, a single dad, and being your boyfriend. But oh, does he master it.
At first you thought maybe he was just a really efficient and organized planner, but one look at him, his apartment, his phone, and his non-existent planner told you otherwise.
“How do you plan on getting all of this done?” You often ask him about his mountain of papers to grade and reports to submit, to which he just shrugs.
“I don’t know, the usual? Coffee. Eye drops.” He sucks on his second jelly pouch of the day and goes back to his cluttered desk, papers strewn about like fallen leaves. "Duct taping my eyelids," he grumbles the last part under his breath.
You laugh, watching him from the couch with a fond look in your eyes. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
He looks up, one eyebrow raised. “For what? Managing to stay awake?”
“For…everything,” you shrug, walking over to perch yourself atop the edge of his desk. “For being you.”
He hums appreciatively as he pulls you closer by the waist.
“I don’t know how you do it, but I’m grateful.”
He glances up at you, smiling a little. You scratch at the stubble on his chin.
“Ready to call it a night?”
“Not quite,” he smirks before leaning up to kiss you fervently, tangling his hands in your hair.
Both of you slept better than you have all week. Afterwards.
You occasionally surprise him by finding him when he’s out on patrol and checking up on him. You love seeing him like this, in his element. He’s so kind to all the people he helps…
(A lot of the time, you end up making out against an alleyway or with him hanging upside down from a fire escape, but that’s neither here nor there.)
But what would the heroes and AFO know about Twice offering to carry Tomura. What would they understand about Mr. Compress ripping his body apart for him. What would they know about Toga thinking she'd gladly kill for him and no other man in a position of power. What would they know about Spinner selling his soul to the devil to give his friends another chance. About Dabi following only Tomura's orders and no one else's.
They don't even know about Tomura saying "Do you think one of your subordinates can compare to our Magne?" "Do I look that heartless to you? I want them to succeed." Or when Gigantomachia couldn't go underground because that would kill the LOV and Tomura had ordered to bring them to him alive. They don't know about "The wishes of my comrades are separated. Do as you like" or "Playing around with people's feelings... I won't forgive you, Meta Liberation Army".
