Aizawa's bunny chan

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The chair I’m strapped to is stiff and uncomfortable at my back. I haven't been able to move for awhile and it’s driving me fucking insane. My back aches, my thighs are sore, I can literally feel my pelvic bone, not to even mention the cracked rib still throbbing and I’ve started to remember the broken nose I gave myself. It’s hard enough to keep my head on straight, I can’t really seem to focus on the questions I’m being asked, let alone my answers. I’ve been here for hours, maybe days. I have no clue. I have absolutely no fucking clue. This dumbass, Detective Aiko just comes and goes, sometimes followed by a short man with a clipboard and glasses. He just asks a few questions and leaves, I’ve lost track of how many times he’s entered and left as quickly as he comes. This time he comes in dragging another metal chair and flips it around on the other side of the table, sitting on it backwards, like he thinks he’s fucking cool or something. He’s large, I’ll give him that. His thighs swallow up the chair easily and I’m surprised he can actually sit on the thing.

I look at him with my tired eyes. We’ve been at this too long, I’m so fucking tired and I can hardly hold his eye contact. My lips are so unbearably chapped they feel like they might split open at any moment, they might have actually, I can taste iron. I’m parched. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. I’m about to crack, I can feel it. “Water.” My voice is tiny at this point, crackly from the dehydration. “I need water.” My eyes start to sag and I press forward slightly, straining against the straps on my torso, skin raw beneath them after so much of my writhing.

Detective Aiko blinks at me from across the table and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He easily taps one forward and plucks it from the box between his lips. I can tell it’s a practiced movement, he does it without thinking. His habit has become muscle memory. He shoves the pack into his pocket again and retrieves a zippo lighter. If I was more conscious I probably would have rolled my eyes, if it didn’t feel like they might fall out of my head if I did. Of course he has a zippo, ugh. It’s like he learned how to be a cop from watching cheesy cop movies. He flicks it open and closed in a split second and the cigarette is lit. He takes a deep breath, sucking down the entire thing, inhaling so deeply that his chest puffs and swells almost double. He holds that breath for a long moment, releasing it slowly. I expect the smell of burnt tobacco, but there is none. The smoke pours from his nostrils in thick swirls, but it dissipates quickly, without a single trace that it had once been there.

I can see his eyes go glassy from the nicotine high, his shrouded eyes have barely left me. He stares at me like I’m a caged panther; cunning, dangerous, volatile. All things I might have been if I could possibly think straight. “You’ll get your water after you cooperate.” He shifts in the chair slightly, flicking the used cigarette butt to the side. It falls to the ground unceremoniously and I can only imagine how often he flings those things haphazardly and how many thousands he has personally littered into our environment. I’m instantly seething again. A moment ago, I had no capacity for anything really, and now I’m filled head to toe with rage towards this stupid fucking cop. This man withholding my fucking water, my fucking life source.

The thought that he’s actually killing me passes and I pull at the cuffs around my wrists. “Fucking water.” The chains scrape across the table and I can feel the blood on my mouth, my lips have definitely cracked in multiple spots, blood pooling between my teeth. “I fucking need water!” Now I’m just shaking the chains, trying to make enough noise to get him to give in, annoy him into submission. “Water!” His eyebrow twitches, he seemingly has a very short tolerance for my behavior now, no longer amused by my sass and antics.

He quickly rises from the chair and kicks it to the side, it goes clattering against the wall and loudly falls to the ground, tipped on its side. The sudden jolt silences me and the room is tense with the lack of sound. “Who do you work for?!” He yells at me, full chested. The same question Eraser Head asked me in the alley. Where my allegiances lie. There’s another moment of silence before I bust into intense, manic laughter. They still really think I work for someone?

My throat threatens to give out on me, but I can’t control the laughter. “Me, motherfucker!” I shout back, only not as full, my voice is dying quickly, my laughter soon falling with it, replaced by a hacking cough that I’m pretty sure just shredded the dry skin inside my very dry throat. That doesn’t really seem to satisfy him though. He just grunts and picks the chair back up, setting it upright, but not sitting down in it like before. He just stands there, so tall and trying to be intimidating.

He crosses his arms over his chest and scoffs at me just once. “So we’re gonna keep playing this game, huh?” He pulls out another cigarette and huffs it down just as quickly as the first, barely even savoring the drag. His eyes close and he shrugs. “I guess you don’t want that water.” He quickly strides out of the room, leaving me alone and tortured. I can’t move, my body is giving out, I can’t speak because of my hoarse, abused throat, I can’t do anything at all, but sit here. My mind flashes back to when I felt this way before, tied to a dining chair in front of my drunk birther. My eyes start to water and I am amazed that I even have the moisture left in my body to cry. The parallels are too similar and I can feel myself reverting back, the whimpering that’s beginning in the back of my throat. A couple tears start to fall and I’m slowly slipping into that mindset when I hear the door open again.

I try my best to harden my face, trying to mask the depravity that I had just been wallowing in, refusing to make eye contact with Detective Aiko as he rounds the table again and sits in that chair. He sets something on the table and I’m surprised when I look up, to see Eraser Head sitting in that chair across from me instead. There’s a water bottle on the table and I honestly have nothing to say. I’m overwhelmed by this change of events and the tears come faster now, silently streaming down my face. I feel so vulnerable and this man that I have only prodded and teased is the one here to help me. It’s like the universe is laughing at me, it feels like a trick, but one I’m knowingly and willingly letting myself fall into. I suck in a deep breath, hoping he won’t say anything about my tears. “They haven’t cleaned you up at all, have they?” His voice is low, but he honestly sounds concerned. I lamely shake my head, unable to tell him that I’ve been sitting strapped to this chair since the moment he left. He grunts shortly then stands, slowly grabbing the water bottle and cracking the lid open.

My tears lessen as I watch him, he’s looking at me like I’m a wounded animal and deep down I can’t blame him. All I’ve done since meeting him is lash out and hurt him. In spite of all that he reaches out to me slowly, the cold water bottle in one hand, the other gingerly gripping the side of my neck and tilting my head back. I look at him hesitantly. I’m just supposed to let him pour water into my mouth? That feels too weird, and intimate, and needy, but I can’t really pour the water into my own mouth, so I part my lips for him. He gently presses the rim of the water bottle onto my bottom lip, easing the cold, fresh water onto my sandpaper tongue. His fingertips graze the skin on my neck as the pad of his thumb softly wipes away my tears. It’s so gentle and intimate that I can’t help but cry harder. I’ve never felt such a sincere caress and it’s like my heart is breaking into a million pieces, astounded by the tenderness that I haven’t allowed myself to even realize I was missing. The silent resentment falling away for a moment and letting something new replace it. Adoration? Sympathy? Genuine gratitude?

I take in this new feeling hesitantly as I try to gulp down the water as quickly as he’s pouring it into my mouth. I relish in the feeling of the cool liquid on my tongue and into the back of my throat, soothing the burning I had endured for so long. The tears continue to fall even after the water bottle is empty and I realize his hand is still gently stroking my cheek in an attempt to calm my tears. He tosses the empty water bottle aside and peers down at me. I stare back up at him, my eyes starting to puff up from the tears I had just shed, cloudy with the residual moisture on my lashes. He’s even more beautiful now than ever before, caring for me so tenderly, and I think I understand now. I love him. I must love him. The way I was drawn to him before, it all makes sense. I’ve never felt anything like this before, no one has ever given me even a sliver of a second thought, but here he is. This man I don’t even know caring for a tortured criminal that’s done nothing, but awful things. It must be love. It must be... something at least.

I realize the moment’s been too long and I turn my gaze away, squeezing my eyes shut. I can’t help but feel embarrassed. Here he is helping me, giving me the water I so desperately needed and I can’t even choke out a ‘thank you’. Should I? Would he want me to? His hand falls away and I hear him start to shuffle to the door. Dammit. I’m breathing heavy, trying to catch my breath from the way I gulped down water like a dying horse. “I’m going to get a first aid kit.” I almost don’t hear him, but my eyes snap open. He’s coming back? To help me even more? Eraser Head is… going to tend my wounds… that I got fighting… HIM. This is all so bizarre and my head spins a little, but I can’t help the trace of a grin that tugs on my lips and the slight twinge of heat in my cheek.

I hear that knock on the door again, but before it opens I mumble out a small, drained. “Thank you.” My throat is still destroyed, but it’s enough that I hope he heard me. I guess I’ll never know if he did or even cared because the door opens and closes with no acknowledgment that I had said anything. Once again, I am left by myself, in this too bright room, strapped to a metal chair. As I sit here, it’s hard not to fall back into my miserable thoughts. Self loathing and what if’s come easily. What if that really was a trick? What if he’s never coming back? What if I just imagined the whole thing? What if he’s disgusted by me and just taking pity? I internally cringe at myself. That one is probably closest to the truth. He thinks of me like a charity case, someone who can’t help themselves. He’s a hero after all, that good ole savior complex will always rear it’s big, nasty head at some point. He’s helping me to make himself feel better, not to make me feel better. I sneer at myself. I almost fell into his trap, but no. I’m better than that. I was almost that dumb cunt I used to be, trusting people, needing others help. Fuck no. I promised myself I would never be that person again. I’m better now.

But then the indignation fades and all I’m left with is the reality of the situation. I do need his help. I’m broken and bleeding, strapped to a chair in an interrogation room. I start to cry again. It’s not a heavy cry, just one that makes you realize so much in such a short period of time. I cry as I realize I do need help. I need more help now than I’ve ever needed before. I’ve probably needed help this entire time and refused to see it, refused to ask for it. Asking for help never seemed like an option, it seemed like a burden. Yet, Eraser Head isn’t even offering me help, he’s giving it. Willingly. Of his own accord.

I continue to struggle with my thoughts on the situation far longer than I would deem necessary before I admit to myself it doesn’t matter because he’s simply not coming back. It’s been too long for him to have actually been going to get a first aid kit. He’s gone forever now. Poof. Might as well stop thinking about him. I can’t though. Can’t stop thinking about his perfect face, the way he touched my neck, the tenor of his voice, the scruff on his chin, the scar under his eye, the heat of his body behind mine. It all sends a thrill through me, but more than that, just a deep sense of longing. I yearn for him. I just want him to come back to me, I don’t care if he has the first aid kit he left for or not. I just want him to be present with me because everything just hurts less when he’s here. The open wounds mean nothing when he’s here. He’s the only reason any of my pain has ever been eased. I need him. I love him.

I start to allow fresh tears to fall, but my eyes are already welded shut from the fat tears I had shed earlier, too heavy to open and crusted over with dried tears because I still can’t wipe my eyes. The new ones gently come and allow me to crack open my eyes just slightly. I’m honestly on the brink of exhaustion, but my body has miraculously found a way to push forward. I’m taking a deep breath, trying to re-center myself. Get a grip on reality. Stretch my fingers and toes, get some feeling back in my aching body, crack my neck as best as I can. It’s not much, but it helps. I’m the only one that can do anything for me now. I start trying to survey the room to a closer extent than I had before, but honestly it’s still the same, too bright, all white room. I guess I can see a vent in the top right corner, but it’s too small for me to even think about escaping from. Not to mention, I can’t see a camera, so it must be in the corner behind me, watching, recording my every move. I grumble. There’s also the two way mirror, that I assume has had at least three people on the other side of it at all times. I’m completely under thumb.

I sigh, there’s not much I can do in this situation, and this dumb collar is still canceling my quirk. I’m chained up and defenseless. Fucking great. The door scrapes open again and I startled to see Eraser Head quickly invade the room, that wild look in his eyes again. The tips of his hair are flicking back and forth angrily, but not like it was before when he was erasing my quirk, more like… he’s just worked up. He’s breathing deeply, standing up straight and crossing his arms, a full 180 from his calm, gentle demeanor he had earlier. He’s actually quite intimidating like this and I start to shrink into myself, not knowing why his mood has changed. I didn’t do anything. He looks to the door and reaches out to flick his wrist in a ‘get the fuck over here’ motion. Detective Aiko comes into the room and unlocks my cuffs, releasing my arms from the table. He seems reluctant and I’m insanely confused by this sudden turn of events. My eyes are wide and I look to Eraser Head again, confusion evident on my twisted up face. “I’m taking you to the hospital. The collar will stay on and I will cuff you down when we get there.” He says it all so blankly and I’m even more confused that I was before he answered.

Detective Aiko doesn’t look up, he just grumbles out a gruff, ‘bad fucking idea’ before moving onto the straps at my torso, allowing me to pull away from the chair just a little bit. I struggle to force my muscles to keep myself upright, wanting to slump over and crumple to the floor. He undoes the one at my lap and I barely feel it because my entire bottom half has gone numb at this point. He lowers down further and unlocks the cuffs at my ankles, fully freeing me from the chair. I’m immediately elated to be liberated once again, getting overzealous and springing from the chair. Blood rushes to my head and my numb legs remind me how bad of an idea that is because I tip forward, falling into the metal table, the wind knocked from my lungs. I let out a wheeze and feel strong hands pull me back up onto my feet from my shoulders.

Eraser Head wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me flush to his hip to support my weight. I can feel his hero muscles swell as he pulls me off the table, shifting so we can shuffle towards the door. I’m still dazed and weak, trying to work with his movements instead of against them, but my legs can barely hold myself up and he ends up dragging me along with him more than anything else. My head is right next to his shoulder, tucked tight to his body and I press myself closer, nuzzling my cheek onto his collarbone. He feels so good against me. I’m so woozy, I feel like I’m dreaming. This all could be a mirage, I am dehydrated as hell. But it feels so real and so good that I just submit to it immediately. I press even further, trying to get up to his neck. Trying to be closer. The moment crashes around me in an instant as cuffs fall around my wrists. Damn. It’s Detective Aiko standing behind me, cuffing my wrists together and ruining the moment I was just having with Eraser. I glare up at him and he just ignores me, squeezing the cuffs tighter, too tight. I yelp, but he just looks over to Eraser Head like, ‘Really?’. Eraser grunts and holds his hand out for the key, he still has that wild look in his eye and I realize now that it’s pointed at Detective Aiko. HE’s in the doghouse, not me. Well, I am still arrested, but it doesn’t really feel like it when Eraser Head is personally escorting me to the ER, cuffs or no cuffs. Detective Aiko drops the key into his outstretched hand with an eyeroll.

Eraser Head spins me around, so I’m facing forward. My head is still dizzy, but my legs are starting to get some feeling back and I’m able to stand on my own now, even if I am a bit wobbly. He pulls me close to him again, gripping my bicep with one hand and supporting my weight with a hand on my hip. He’s taller than I remember him being. Glancing over my shoulder, I have to look up at him. His jaw is set, clenched with the anger he’s trying to hold back, silently seething. He’s still eyeing Detective Aiko with a menacing nature, I know his quirk is eye related, but it seems he also has a natural affinity for staring anyways. I watch him tuck the key into his front pocket, then grip my arm again, his hands are so large. I gulp, now realizing my ass is basically pressed up to his hip. He’s still taller than me, it's more like his thigh, but that doesn’t change the fact that my ass is on this man. My mind goes crazy as he holds me there, having some kind of stare down with Aiko. Neither of them has moved, but after a moment the detective shifts back with a grumble. Eraser Head grunts and guides me forward, supporting me as we exit the interrogation room.

Eyes follow us as Eraser Head leads me out of the room and down the hall. The receptionist at the front desk gasps when she sees me walking (semi) free. I can tell they all know who I am. I can tell they’re all scared of me. I don't need my quirk for that. I take advantage of the tense scene before me and grin, lurching forward at the woman sitting at the desk. Eraser Head is still gripping me firmly, so I don’t make it very far before he yanks me back to his body, but I do make it far enough to scare that bitch gawking at me. She screams and drops the phone receiver in her hand, stumbling backwards. I didn’t really expect such a dramatic reaction, did she really think I was gonna rip her head off or something? I’m fucking handcuffed… and doesn’t she fucking work at the police station? She should be used to this by now, why is she so fucking scared? Dramatic bitch.

Eraser Head pushes me forward, obviously still riled up from previous events. I stumble forward a bit, but his grip on me is so firm I couldn’t fall if I wanted to. We continue walking through the waiting lobby, until we reach two large glass doors. Outside the doors, it’s day time, probably late afternoon by the look of the sunlight. I take a deep breath, ready to take a step out those doors, ready to leave this awful fucking place, full of these awful fucking people. Eraser presses the handicap button and the door swinging open, the air is warm as we step out and it’s a little joy in this shitty situation that I bask in for a moment. When we step onto the sidewalk, I look up at Eraser Head. This protective stance, the hand on my hip, if I just ignore the handcuffs it’s like we’re a couple on a stroll. I smile up at him, thinking about how sweet he looks with his hair catching the late afternoon light. It’s golden hour and it settles on him nicely, highlighting his stark features. His eyes flick down to me and an expression of genuine surprise passes his face for a split second. He looks away quickly, a blush coating his cheeks, but his face returns to its stoic default.

We continue like this for a moment until we come up on his vehicle. I’m not sure what I expected, but a small wave of sadness washes over me as he opens the rear door, shoving me into the backseat. I didn’t really think he would put me in the front with him, but this feels so… impersonal. I guess that’s what we are. Impersonal. I mean, I don’t even know his last name. I slouch into the black leather of the car and pout to myself, feeling defeated. Eraser Head buckles me into the seat, leaning over me with his whole, big body. Heat floods my stomach and suddenly I’m feeling something… else. I huff, breathing in his scent, I can still smell the bergamot on him, but the other scent on him still eludes me. It’s sweet and musky, almost earthy. He pulls away before I can breathe in again, shutting the door on me, boxing me into this car alone again. He’s in the driver’s seat about 4 seconds later, but the silence of being alone again still stands out to me. I shake my head, and try to focus on the sounds of the car as he roars the engine to life and pulls out of the parking lot.

Thank you for reading! :)

I love reading yall’s comments so please leave a note for me! (see that double entendre hehe im so smart) 

but seriously, thanks for the love and the followers especially for only one fic

I wake up sore. The lights are impossibly bright and I groan, trying not to open my eyes all the way. I try to reach up and rub my eyes, the pulsing behind them growing intense, but there’s a sound of metal on metal and a pinch at my wrist when I do. I actually open my eyes, wincing at the brightness and see my hands cuffed down in front of me. They’re secured to a large metal table in a very bright, open room. No one else is near, but I can see the mirrored observation glass to my left that I can only imagine is full of cops, detectives, and quirk handlers ready to pounce on me if I so much as sneeze the wrong way. I shift my head to gain some slight comfortability, only to feel a heavy collar around my neck. I can’t see it, but it feels like solid metal. A ring encasing my entire throat. lt’s humming softly, it’s on, whatever it is. I’m still trying to get used to my surroundings when there’s a ‘click’ and a loud scraping noise from behind me. It must be a door, because the air pressure changes in the room and I can immediately feel two people enter the tight quarters.

Their eyes are on me and I can feel the bile rising in my throat. I want so badly to disappear from existence, just to remove the pressure of their gaze on the back of my head. I slink down into my chair as much as I can. My restraints are tight and barely allow me to so much as breathe, my ankles cuffed to the chair, and a seatbelt type strap across my lap to keep me pressed into the metal seat. There’s another across my shoulders. My chest tightens and I wiggle a little bit, being strapped to a chair isn’t exactly one of my favorite things. 

A tall man in a black suit jacket rounds the table and drops a manila folder on the table. His white button up shirt hangs open at the collar, no tie, but there’s wrinkles around the top button. He must have disregarded his tie at some point. What time is it? Has he removed his tie because it’s too early or too late? He crosses his arms across his chest and focuses his tired eyes on me, his jaw clenched and lips set into a hard line. He looks like every disgruntled detective in every buddy cop movie ever. I stifle the urge to groan and roll my eyes. This is gonna be excruciating. 

He clears his throat and presses an index finger to the folder on the table in front of me, it’s surprisingly thin, probably only 2 or three sheets of paper between the cardstock, the tab has my name printed on it in big, black lettering. Their file on me is minuscule, they must not know much about me at all. I fight the urge to grin, I can’t get ahead of myself, they do still have me chained to a chair. “You’ve been causing quite a stir.” His voice is gruff, but it conveys something almost… impressed. 

“Really?” I deadpan. “I wasn’t aware.” The atmosphere is thick and I can feel the person behind me grow tense. My throat is sore and my voice comes out ragged. I cough, choking on my own spit and trying to suck in another coarse breath. I can feel my cracked rib stinging as I try to breathe slowly, evenly. My heart rate pumping loudly in my ears definitely isn’t helping my cause. This won’t go well for me if I get too worked up. I pinch my eyes shut, trying to refocus myself. 

“Two disturbances in one day.” He continues, ignoring my bratty attitude. “That’s more publicity than you’ve been raking up lately. Feeling bold?” He raises an eyebrow at me. I try to grip at what he’s thinking, what interest layers beneath these rudimentary questions, but there’s something stopping me. A fuzzy mental block that seems to have my quirk contained, not gone like when Eraser Head had ripped it from me, my brain isn’t empty, just slightly muted, held only within me. I glare up at him, confusion and repulsion evident on my face. “Oh, that? Your quirk is being restricted. That collar on your neck is emitting a neutralizing frequency. One of our tech support faculty designed it especially for you.” He uncrossed his arms and leaned against the wall, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. “You should feel special.”

His taunting only serves to piss me off and I lash out, still strapped to the chair. “Let me the fuck OUT OF HERE!” I howl even though my dry throat protests. “What do you even want from me?” I’m trying desperately to break free, but this only results in a pitiful wiggling in the chair. I’m wheezing now, my ribs and lungs burning. The detective looks down at me from across the room, seemingly amused by my display. This only sends me into more of a fury. I fling myself backwards, the chair tipping with me. With no way of stopping myself from falling, I feel myself lose balance, no control over the way my wrists yank forward, still cuffed to the table. 

I’m suspended in what feels like thin air, only two legs of the metal chair still connected to the ground and the handcuffs on my wrists digging into the skin. My head falls back and I see him. He’s standing next to the door behind me, hands shoved deep into his pockets, a look of absolute lack of interest on his face. He’s still upside down to me, like the last time I witnessed him, but there’s something so different about him now. I want to see that wild look in his eye again. I want him to lash out at me. “Oh! You’re here!” Something in me shifts, a smile breaking onto my face. I no longer care that I’m held captive or under the scrutiny of the law, all I care about is this brooding man before me. “Y’know, I think you broke my ribs.” I let my head lull to the side slightly, lost in daydream about our last encounter. His black, unruly hair frames his face perfectly for me to see his jaw clench. “Of course, I don’t mind a little pain.” I let the last syllable warble on my tongue, it comes out flirtier than I meant it to, almost seductive. 

Eraser Head doesn’t move from his stoic position at the door, and I can hear the detective clear his throat again, trying to regain my attention. My eyes don’t move from Eraser Head’s face, studying his heavy lidded eyes and the scar on his cheek. “Let’s cut to the chase. You’ve held up 6 different locations in the past month and all of them have had criminal activities facilitated through them, but all from different crime rings.” He sighs. I can’t tell if he really has a question for me or if he’s just going to summarize all my endeavors. “There’s no way that you’re part of so many crime rings, half of them are at odds anyways.” My gaze is still fixed on Eraser, his eyes locked onto mine, staring so deeply into me, taking my soul and giving me nothing in return. I feel consumed by the need to provoke him. “So my question is this: How? How did you know about all these locations?” His voice is slightly raised, obviously frustrated by the fact that I’m barely paying him any mind with Eraser Head in the room. 

“I had a dream about you.” I continue to ignore the gruff detective, solely focused on the pro hero that has infiltrated my deepest sentiments. Eraser Head releases a slow breath, trying hard not to betray his cool demeanor. “I can tell you all about it if you like.” The flirtation is still heavy on my tongue, but it comes out breathy and with reproach because of my dry, crackling throat. He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, staring me down even harder than before, the spark from before starting to return to his eyes. “Or show you.” I wiggle my eyebrow a little, cackling at my own emboldened state even as I’m being interrogated. 

Eraser Head rips his eyes from mine to look up at the detective of whose name I still don’t know. “I’m leaving. This is obviously going nowhere.” He starts to turn to the door, hand slipping from his pocket to knock on the heavy sealed door for the person on the other side to open it and let him out. My eyes widen, desperate to keep him in this room with me. He can’t seriously be leaving. He just got here, besides that, I’m not done toying with him yet. If he leaves now there’s no guarantee I’ll ever see him again. I can’t be sent to prison without even a semblance of his desire. Furthermore, I can’t be left with this stuffy stereotypical cop. 

A whine falls from my lips. “Nooooooo…” I lean forward in the chair and let it fall back onto all four legs. “Fine! Fucking FINE! I’ll answer your fucking questions, but HE stays!” I nod towards the door that had just started to open, Eraser Head halfway out the door already. “I’m ONLY talking to him!” My eyes flick back to the detective, observing the way that he looks to the hero, then back to me, and up to the hero again. His eyes are wide and he looks caught between a rock and a hard place. They must really need my information if they’re even considering taking my demands to heart. 

I hear the door close again, hoping that Eraser is still on my side of it. I know he is when his dark body starts rounding the table, standing next to the detective there. They exchange a hushed word that I can’t quite hear, both of them giving me a harsh side eye. When he turns back to face me, he glares down at me, one hand still in his pocket. My heart jumps out of my chest as he approaches me. He starts to lean towards me, across the table, still lording over me, his free hand pressing into the cool metal of the table, it looks so large there, it could easily fit all the way around my neck. I shiver at the thought. “Unfortunately, you are under no circumstance to be making demands. You will answer Detective Aiko’s questions.” He stands tall again, pushing a stray hair out of his face. “Goodbye.” He says it with finality, ending the conversation, there’s no room to argue. I do anyway. 

He begins to walk towards the door again, leaving my line of vision. “You can’t leave already!” I start to lash out again. “You can’t just leave!” I flail back and forth as best as I can. “You can’t!” The shouting is leaving me dizzy and I toss myself back again, the chair tipping like it had before. However, unlike before, I am stopped before my wrists are pulled forward by the cuffs. I look up to see him standing behind me, free hand on the back of the chair, propping me up. I stop struggling immediately, enthralled by the way his hair dangles around his face as he looks directly down at me. My mouth hangs open, he looks like my guardian angel, the way the fluorescent lights display the edges of his tangled hair, he looks wind swept and dangerous, a warrior if I had ever seen one. 

He suddenly jerks me forward, the chair slamming back to a regular seated position. “Behave.” He says it like a command, his tone still dry. “And maybe I’ll come back.” With that his hand is gone from the back of the chair, the tiny contact points where his fingers had brushed the nape of my neck, still burning. There’s that knock again, the door opening and closing, then nothing. He’s gone. I’m left feeling stifled, like a cork ready to pop. 

I look up at Detective Aiko, already feeling snappy after that interaction. I sneer at his raised brow, like he had witnessed something telling. “ASK YOUR DAMN QUESTIONS!” I roar at him and he smirks to himself, now knowing I’ll answer. This is definitely going to be absolute hell.

~

Yah I literally had a fucking stroke trying to get myself to write that. BUt anyways, Im just gearing up for the nasty ass smut that is about to go down in this mfkr, also maybe I can get those of ya’ll that are interested a seat to the tamaki show imma be putting on very soon :”)

Eiji looked down at his partner. Her arms were raised above her head, massaging shampoo into her scalp. It smelled like coconut and the soap made soft bubbles that trailed down the side of her neck, she was facing away from him, enjoying the way that the warm water poured down her front. Eiji’s eyes took in the expansive nature of her entire body, his gaze caressing the delicate way that her muscles moved under the taut skin, the way she held her chin up to keep suds from stinging her eyes. She looked elegant, relaxed, regal. Eiji loved it when they showered together. It felt domestic and intimate. He loved that she trusted him enough to let him bask in her glory as she washed off the grime of a long day’s hero work. The soap started to slide farther than her neck as she continued to work her hair, making sure to lather as much as possible. It slid into the groove of her spine and flowed down, down, down and settled right at the curve of her ass.

She had let the soap lather into her hair and spun it into a simple updo, held together only by bubbles before she turned to look at him, rinsing the wayward soap off of her under the cascade of water now hitting her shoulders and rolling down her body. Eji’s eyes flicked back up to her face as she smiled up at him, it was a soft, sweet smile that had barely left her face since they stepped into the shower. It was her idea anyways, to shower together. Eiji always let her bring it up, the shower at her apartment was so small he didn’t want to crowd her, but there was no way he could say no to his little bunny hero, especially after the day they had just had. A huge recovery mission, an entire shopping district was practically leveled after a seismic attack. The streets were decimated and it had taken 6 pro heros to keep the few buildings that were still standing, well standing, not to mention the clean up or the actual recovery. She had been using her burrowing powers of her quirk to make tunnels for trapped citizens to escape. Eiji smiled back at her, soaking in the pleased look in her eye, the one that told him she wouldn’t rather be anywhere in the world, but looking up at him, even if they were both worked to the bone.

She pressed up to him and planted a gentle kiss on his hard chest, neither of them breaking eye contact. Eiji just continued to smile and prop himself up against the wall of the small shower, the space barely enough for him to stand up all the way without fully surrounding her. His heart started pounding hard in his chest when she slowly licked his nipple, just once, enough to get his attention. She smiled at him again, eyes squeezed shut, innocent, like she was absolutely oblivious to what she had just done, like it wasn’t even her. The grin only had his heart pumping faster when she pulled away, bottle of body wash and loofah in hand, grabbing it from off the metal shelf behind him. Eiji watched intently as she poured the clean smelling soap into the loofah and began rolling it in her hands, suds forming and tumbling from between her palms. It was sorcery, magic that kept her skin so soft and glowing even after countless battles and missions.

She sighed softly as she pressed the loofah up into her neck, scrubbing over her collarbones and shoulders, expelling the sweat and dirt that had settled there, the suds looking like a plush of gauzy lace, wrapped around her neck, slightly obscuring her from his view. Eiji drank her in as she moved her hands lower, scrubbing between her breasts, his hands flexing at his sides as she ran the soapy puff over each soft pillow of flesh, the hard peaks of her nipples poking out from behind the sheen of bubbles. He could feel himself twitch at that, seeing just the very tips of the dark, sensitive skin. He couldn’t help himself, he reached out and tugged on the right one between the second knuckle of his pointer and middle fingers, just slightly, just so she could make that little noise he loved. Not the breathy gasp from the contact, but the small, curt grunt she made after realizing he had caught her off guard.

He licked his lips and leaned back against the wall, watching her more and trying to ignore the chill that ran down his spine. She noticed the goosebumps forming on his skin and the way his lips looked a touch too cool and spun him around to be under the stream of hot water, gripping him by the shoulders and physically forcing him to switch positions with her. Luckly, Eiji was always docile under her touch, bending to her will and following her every command. He moved with her, letting her lead him. The heat of the water hit Eiji immediately, pulling a subtle groan from his throat as he relaxed into it, still staring down at his little bunny. She continued to wash herself, turning away from him so he could watch her knead her sides and the divots of her hips, running her hands over her ass and down into her sensitive areas, allowing the soap to expunge the day’s cruelty. When it came to her legs, she leaned back to use Eiji as a prop, pressing her back into his chest to lift one leg up and rub the foam over her thighs and calves, scrubbing the bottoms of her feet and in between her toes. Eiji loved that she used him as her sturdy rock, loved that she would lean on him at different times to prove that he would never let her fall or slip even just a little, pride coursing through his veins.

When the water ran clear she stood tall again, peeking over her shoulder to see Eiji’s lustful eyes glued to the focal point staring at him from between her legs. He was struggling with not forcing her up against the plastic wall and having his way with her and it splayed easily across his face, the absolute restraint he displayed only serving to turn her on, knowing he was holding back for her sake, she hadn’t even brushed out her hair yet. Spurring a desire in her as well, she made quick work of detangling her hair and running conditioner through it, the same coconut scent from before hanging heavy against her skin now as she brushed through her hair again. She grabbed her detangling brush and began to run it over the ends, fixing the frayed edges of her locks. As she started to reach the crown of her head, Eiji could see she was running out of steam, her arms were tired and she still had so much hair. He reached out, and gently took the brush from her hand, delicately running the brush through her silky, wet hair in the places she was struggling with. Eiji could feel her relax into him as he brushed her hair, again getting that domestic feeling that came with pampering each other with life's daily tasks. When he finished and all her hair was combed out and detangled, she dropped her head again, rinsing it off in the cool water.

Eiji peered down at her expectantly, he knew she wasn't quite done in the shower, but he was starting to get a tad impatient, watching her in such close quarters was a dangerous game to play. He hardened his will and continued to stare as she picked up the little black bar of soap and used it to clean her face and body one last time, rubbing grey soap residue in her palms and all down her chest. This was her finale, slowly massaging her own breasts and shoulders with the soap, never breaking eye contact, staring up at him with those brilliant, big eyes that swallowed him whole. It was a struggle for Eiji to drink in the sensual look she was giving him and the way that she worked her soft flesh in front of him, sliding her hands up and down her torso, winding them around her sides and around the swell of her ass. It was borderline torture to watch and not touch.

Once she had returned her soap to its rightful place and rinsed herself one last time under the water she had now turned hot again, she turned to Eiji, his skin still dirty from the mission. “Let me wash you, Eiji.” Her voice was hushed, pretty and low, she didn’t want to talk too loudly and he was so close to her, he would hear her regardless of her volume. He leaned back, giving her access to his entire body as she reached for the loofah again, pouring more soap onto it and pressing it to his chest. He expected her to scrub him mechanically, like a car in need of washing, just to get the job done, but instead she pulled him close, molding her body to his as she caressed him with the loofah. Eiji had never felt so pampered as he did now, so taken care of by her love. She scrubbed his chest and stomach, running her free hand up and over his shoulder to steady herself, he wrapped a strong arm around her waist to hold her even closer as she moved to his hips, sending shivers through him.

She squatted down in front of him when she started on his thighs, coming face to face with his straining member, already twitching at the sight of her below him. She looked up at him again, softly licking the tip. Eiji groaned and closed his eyes, hoping she would take all of him into her mouth, but she didn’t, she just kept licking his head as she continued scrubbing down his long, toned legs. His muscles went rigid at the sensation, he could hardly hold himself back anymore, needing her, needing more. When his legs were clean, she rose and turned him by the elbow, his front now facing the water while she stood behind him, running the loofah over the expansive planes of his back. He was so large, so muscled. She just stared for a moment, his back was always one of her favorite parts of him. It just felt safe, like a giant shield protecting her from anything and everything life sent their way. His shoulders slumped slightly as she started to press her firm, but nimble fingers into his tight muscles. He was always so tense, always worried about others, she knew he deserved that tension to be released, knew he desperately needed it as his shoulders relaxed into her touch, eliciting small moans from the back of his throat.

Finally, she finished and let him rinse the soap off his body as well, both of them fully clean and ready to get out from under the running water. Eiji shut off the faucet with one hand and scooped her into his arms with the other, it was effortless, his weight training building him to the point of no return, he could lift a semi if he wanted to, his bunny was absolutely no hassle whatsoever. And that was shown as he carried her into her bedroom, still dripping wet from head to toe, and tossed her across the room into her bed. She screamed and giggled, hitting the bed with a light ‘fwump’, but the giggle died in her throat immediately when she caught a glimpse of Eiji, slowly stalking towards her from across the room, intent displayed on his face, lust dripping from his fox eyes. She squealed and tried to bounce out of the bed, but he caught her by the ankle, dragging her back down to him as he lorded over her, his gaze hot and heavy, his manhood held up by its own will, leaking down onto her. “Nowhere to run, little bunny.” He smirked down at her, flipping her onto her stomach, raising her ass into the air to see her little tail twitching with excitement. He dropped one good, hard smack on her ass right where it connects to her hip, knowing it was going to be a long night for them both.

-

Thanks for reading!

~

Sirens blare behind me as cops start to arrive at the scene. I pull the hood on my jacket up over my head and dip around the corner. I hadn’t tried to stick around long enough for them to show up, but left without a quick way off the roof after tossing that damn bat off the side, I had to take the stairs. It was a long way down, but the stairwell was entirely connected all the way to the ground floor, I would have been seriously pissed off if I had to find multiple sets of stairs. My face is mostly obscured by my hood, but I look down everytime a random citizen passes by. I can never be too careful about being seen. 

I reach into my pocket and feel for my marble, my anxiety is rising quickly as a group of four teen girls walks towards me on the sidewalk. I almost freak out when my pocket turns up empty, but then I remember that I threw it, that it’s the only reason I’m still walking free. This brings me slight peace before I hear giggling and sneer to myself. High schoolers. I look at their uniforms, even better, hero students. I pull the drawstrings on my hood and it scrunches around my face, hiding me further. Anonymity isn’t the only reason I prefer not to be seen, but it’s the most self preserving reason, the one that makes the most sense. The other is because I’m afraid. Afraid of what they could say, of what they could think. I’ve heard it all, but it never fails to sting a little when the unfiltered truth of others thoughts wash over me. 

Weirdo. What. A. Freak.

OMG what are they wearing?

Damn, why do I always have to walk on the outside? Don’t you all care at all if I get grabbed?

Please don’t rob us, please don’t rob us.

Look away. Just look away.

I pull the drawstrings tighter and walk slightly faster, trying to push their thoughts from my brain, but failing grandly as all I can focus on is how much I don’t fit in, how little the rest of the world cares for people that don’t fit in the cookie cutter mold of societal expectations. The girls are having a light hearted conversation amongst themselves as I pass by, a complete confliction to the sour, curdled thoughts that had just slipped out. My eyes are glued to my feet as I take one step after the other, my legs feel like lead as I fight the urge to scream at them and silence their brain functions. I’m so focused on getting myself away from those girls that I barely register the man walking in front of me, talking loudly on the phone. I thump into his back, my eyes still strained down at the tips of my boots. He looks down at me, surprised. I can feel his eyes on me, feel the shock as his words falter into the phone mic. 

Woah. All black, huh? 

Trying to avoid a conflict, I duck to the side and mutter a curt ‘sorry’ below my breath, already shuffling off. He reaches out to me though, reaching for my shoulder. “Hey, wait. Sorry to bump into y-” 

I jerk away without looking. “Don’t touch me… please.” I cough the pleasantry out, it’s hard to hold myself back when all I want to do is swear at him and rip his eyes from his skull, knowing full well this is only a minor inconvenience, not a stopping block for me. I slightly turn my head, looking up at him out of one eye, he looks down at me, stunned. 

Wait… Is this the one?

Who is this man? He looks slightly familiar, but I can’t quite place him. He’s got long blonde hair, pulled into a simple ponytail and a goatee that makes him look like he still thinks the year is 2008. My eyes fall back to my feet as I take quick paces away from him. I don’t know him, but it seems like he might know me, which is definitely a bad sign. My anxiety swells again as I feel the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. This really can’t be good. I can still feel him watching me as I retreat, but his focus shifts back to his phone as someone yells on the other end of the receiver. “Yah, yah! I’m right around the corner. Get off my back, Shouta… I said I’m right around the corner! … No! I’m not in ‘uniform’, it’s my day off!” I let my anxiety roll off my shoulders as I get farther away from him and can no longer hear his shouting. I’m not sure why he threw me off so much, but I’m happy to be crossing the street and leaving his line of vision, turning an extra corner, just to be safe. I can’t afford anyone following me right now.

I’m still a bit rattled as I step down the stairs to the underground train tunnels. The tunnels are old, abandoned years ago after a train derailed and collapsed several tunnels. There were so many casualties, they shut down the entire train system after that, but by then technology had become so advanced compared to the subway that they didn’t even bother rebuilding. The city just closed off the tunnel entrances to the public. Citizens and tourists still come down to the platforms to take pictures and read plaques about the deceased. It’s ridiculous really. They didn’t know any of the people that died, had no connection to them, they would have no clue about the lives lost here if it hadn’t been all over the news. What the news wouldn’t tell the unsuspecting audience of sheep, is that it was actually a hero that crashed the train. The media told the world that a minor earthquake had derailed the train, which was only partially true. A minor earthquake had caused the crash, but a hero had caused the earthquake. A hero was the direct cause of so many shortened lives, innocent and corrupt alike, all dead within seconds. The media just swept that under the rug, not a single news coverage even mentioned his name as they described the tragedy. He continued his hero work as if nothing had even happened, as if he hadn’t murdered the very people he vowed to protect, as if he wasn’t the sole reason those people died. My sister was among those lost. She wasn’t my only family, but the only one I liked, the only one that made life even bearable. A tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it away in frustration, no time for emotions. No time for tears. No time to let myself wallow, because I know once I start on that path, I’ll never stop. I’ll cry until I can’t breathe, until my eyes are swollen shut, until my lungs give out. So I cut myself short. No tears.

The platform is empty when I reach the tracks, the silence echoing. This is the only place I’m free of everyone else’s trilling thoughts buzzing in my brain, the thick concrete walls jamming their signal from getting to me. I release a long awaited sigh, the anxiety finally subsiding and leaving a slight hunger in my stomach. I had been so worked up I forgot to get food. I pull the hood off my head and hop down onto the tracks, walking them like a balance beam, a habit I picked up in my free time. At this point, I don't even put my hands out at my sides. I’ve done this so much, I’m sure I could walk it with my eyes closed. I do close my eyes, basking in the complete silence that surrounds me. Silence that reminds me of the moments I was fighting Eraser Head, the moments where he took my quirk and my head was actually empty. Even now it’s not quite like that, there’s still a ringing in my ears and a hum in the back of my head like static over a radio channel. It’s never been completely quiet inside my head, it only ever fades to background noise, not like when I was with him, when he was staring at me so intensely. I know it’s because he couldn’t look away, because of his quirk, but part of it made me feel… wanted. No one has ever looked at me like that, with such incredible intensity in their eyes. I shake my head, feeling crazier than usual. There’s no way he could want me, no way that I’m not just pushing my own desires onto his actions, no way that I’m not just famished for someone to hold me in their arms like he had held me in his scarf. 

Now I know I’m acting foolish. His scarf? Really? He was attacking me, he was fighting me, he’s a hero goddammit. I should be hating him and working up ways to bring his demise, but instead I’m thinking about what it would be like to see him without his hostility, to watch his face as he slept, to see tears trail down his face, to see him begging on his knees. I want to see his vulnerability, surprisingly, without any intention of exploiting it. I just want to see him. I have to see him. I look down and realize I’m pacing. I shake myself again and head for a service tunnel that I’ve commandeered to become my little hideout. It’s really not much, but it’s all mine and 100% off the grid. Maintenance personnel don't even come down here. I’m completely alone and I love it. No prying eyes, no unwanted thoughts, just me and the cold concrete. It’s heavenly. 

I moved down here full time a few months after my sister died and it became clear that no one was fixing up the tunnels. My biological carrier, the woman I refuse to call my mother, had begun drinking immediately. Not that she was a stranger to alcohol before, but it had only gotten worse. Her drunk thoughts quickly became her sober thoughts and all of them had to do with me. Why my sister had died instead of me, why she was the one that had to be stuck with me, why she had to have been cursed with such a freakish child. One that cried all the time, one that split her head in two when they had a tantrum, one that couldn't even be put into daycare to protect the other children, one that put her husband in a vegetative state. I became nothing more than a burden to her, if there was any part of her that still loved me, loved me like a mother is supposed to, it was buried deeper in her mind than even I could find. 

The mental abuse wasn’t what broke me though, the neglect hadn’t done it either. It was the night she made me beg. She had drunk so much that I felt drunk, felt drunk off the vertigo thoughts she was pulsing out into the room. She stumbled into my room, slurring speech and telling me how ungrateful I was to have someone like her that would take such good care of me. I should have known better, should have been quiet like usual, but I scoffed at that. The wench barely even knew how to take care of herself, the notion honestly tickled me. That did her in. She lunged at me and threw me to the floor, smacking me in the face once on both cheeks. She rolled off of me and left the room as drunkenly as she had come in. I just layed there and cried, hoping she was done, but knowing she wasn’t. I heard the door creak and felt her grab me by the hair, shoving me into a dining chair. The confusion must have been evident on my face, because she hit me again and made quick work of tying me to the wooden chair. She left me there, tied up, for days. She made me beg for food. Beg for water. Beg to be cleaned after I had pissed myself. She made me apologize for everything I had ever done. She made me admit I was a monster, one that hurt people for fun, because I wanted to, not because I couldn’t control my quirk. I can see now how that narrative would be easier for her to stomach, having a person to blame instead of accepting the shitty facts of reality, but I was her child. I had been pure. She was supposed to love me, protect me.

I stop walking, letting my renewed hatred for that woman settle on my shoulders like a warm, heavy blanket. Resolve hardening my heart and warping the soft emotions I had just been there. I heave a sigh and reach into my jacket pocket again, feeling the flashdrive from before. This is what I need. File upon file of precious documents and information right here in the palm of my hand, information that now exists nowhere else. 

I start walking again, exhausted from today's events. There had been so many close calls. I’m still reeling from a couple of them, my head still not on fully straight. I make it to my little pad and flop down on the mattress I have tucked away in the corner. I unzip my boots and massage my feet a little, pulling them into my lap to sit lotus style. My laptop had been haphazardly tossed into my bed, so I reach over and plug it into the charging cable snaking from the wall, also pushing the little flashdrive into the side port and letting all the documents download. I curl into a ball on my mattress and flop to the side, I’m so tired and so hungry, I’m not sure what to do. I have no food here so I'm going to  have to go back up to the surface level, but it’s still too light out, I’ll wait until the sun has fully set then go stop by a street vendor. In the meantime however, I treat myself to a nap. I hadn’t realized how heavy my eyes were until my head hit the soft material of my bed. 

I’m not sure how much time has passed since I fell asleep, but I wake up to my computer beeping. The download is complete. I smile to myself and close the laptop, removing the flashdrive from the side, again not bothering to eject it. I push myself up into a sitting position and rub my hands over my entire face and into my hair, fully waking myself up some more. I look down at myself, still in my full clothes and sigh, I guess I had been far more tired than I thought. My mind drifts to the dream I was having before my eyes had peeled back open. I only really dream when I sleep hard, which isn’t often since I’ve basically ruined my REM cycles. In my dream, I was with Eraser Head again, but this time we weren’t fighting, not really. He still had me caught in that damn capture weapon, but I was completely naked, my body exposed at all the right points for him to reach out and grab me, hit me, bite me. The memory of how his scarf felt against my skin heats up my face, my body clenching tightly. How does he still do this to me? He’s not even near me. 

I run a hand down my neck, trying to calm myself. I can’t get all riled up because of some hero. Can I? Another flash from my dream breaks through to the forefront of my mind. Eraser Head has me by the jaw, his mouth so close to mine I would be able to feel his breath on my lip if it had been real. That’s when he sensually licks my plush bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and biting down softly, just enough to drive me crazy. Just enough for me to want more, to feel it in real life. I yell and pound my fist into the mattress. GET!! IT!! TOGETHER!! I launch myself onto my feet, tugging on my boots, determined to get his imagined ministrations out of my mind. I still need to eat anyway. The hunger tugging on my stomach and making it growl loudly, protesting the nap that had zapped away the rest of my evening. I look at my watch and groan, it's already past 9pm. 

I head back down the service tunnel that leads to my little crash pad, there’s a small, unpopular ramen stand I like to go to when it’s late. It's not the best bowl of ramen in the world, but it gets the job done and I’m not too picky when it comes to noodles in warm broth. The stand is right outside one of the stairwells into the underground platforms. The lights from the neon sign flicker dimly, it reads ‘OPEN to Business’. I slink down onto one of the stools and drop my money onto the counter, ordering a beef bowl. The man on the other side of the counter pours the broth and cuts vegetables before serving me the bowl with a small bow of his head. I return his formality before delving into the bowl. The soup smells better than usual, or maybe I’m just insanely hungry, either way the first bite leaves me melting into the bowl, hunched over, consuming the food at such a rate it would appear as if I hadn’t eaten in days. I hit the bottom of the white bowl in record time and slam down a few coins demanding more. The chef raises his eyebrow, but complies, almost over filling another bowl for me.

Hungry, ha? Good! Eat more!

I smile at him, actually warmed by his slight kindness, but it is soon forgotten as I begin slurping down noodles, beef, and cooked vegetables. I finish the second bowl almost as quickly as the first and slouch back, patting my very full belly. I was definitely hungrier than I realized. I sigh, content and sluggish as I slide off the side of the stool. I can’t help the light feeling in my chest as I shove my hands into my pockets. The moon is high in the sky and the night air is cool on my cheeks, it’s almost serene. I decide to take a little stroll, there’s another entrance to the platform a few blocks down, connecting to the other side of the service tunnel. I start my walk with casual steps, I’m not in a rush and I just want to breathe in the fresh air a little bit longer. There’s an empty orange soda can on the ground and I kick it with the inside of my foot, sending it skittering forward a few paces, stopping in a perfect place for me to kick it again. I continue kicking the can along with me as I walk, until I kick it a little too hard and it goes tumbling down into a storm drain. I shrug and round a corner, the can just a distraction anyways, something to fiddle with. I reach into my pocket and forget again that my marble isn't there. A prickle of nerves climbs up my arm and to the back of my neck, making my hair follicles stand on end. 

Suddenly alert, I tense my shoulders and scan the area, looking above me as well this time, I won’t be taken out from the rooftops again, but still I see nothing. The air around me has shifted. It’s no longer peaceful and delicate, it’s eerie and cold, sending a shiver through me again, the anxiety making me even more jumpy as I hear little sounds around me. Nothing out of the ordinary, city sounds, but it all gets to me, sending my heart rate in an upward spike. I start to run, unsure of where to go. I can feel someone, but where? It’s driving me crazy. I know there’s someone. I know it, but the absolute lack of a presence is what’s really fucking me up. An ubiquitous white flash darts out at me from the dark. I dodge quickly, leaning back so far my head barely misses slamming into the concrete below me. There’s another flash and I throw my legs out from underneath me, catching myself in a near handstand before flinging myself backwards again, still unsure of where the flashes are coming from. 

Before I can land back on my feet, I see it, a dark figure blur by me from the corner of my eye. I don’t know what or who it is, but my first instinct is to whip around and try to use my quirk, still only barely sure of the figure’s location. When I spin around, I’m immediately bombarded by two sensations. First, is the clarity in my brain that only comes when Eraser Head is muting my quirk. The second, is the heat that grows in my stomach when I realize exactly who I’m up against. My chest flushes, and my thoughts flash back to my dream, the way he had halfway kissed me. That’s all the distraction he needs to scoop me up in his capture weapon and have me dangling upside down from the nearest street pole. 

Seeing him from this angle is different as the blood starts to rush to my head, making me feel dizzy. I thrash around a little, to no avail, before allowing myself to give up, feeling too sluggish from my meal anyways. Even if I manage to get out of this coil I could barely expect to actually get away. Eraser Head slowly saunters up to my upside down body, rocking from side to side, he looks menacing and my body clenches tight again. Gezzus fuck, this man is hot. “You wanted to see me again. That’s what you said, isn’t it?” He pulls the goggles covering his eyes up unto his forehead and I can see his whole face. There’s a scar underneath his eye that I hadn’t seen before, it marks his skin beautifully and I can’t help but imagine what he looked like with the fresh wound, blood running down his face. I bet it was gorgeous. He’s a striking figure on his own, but covered in blood? I gulp heavily, the downward gravity making it hard. Eraser bends his knees, squatting down so we’re on an even eye level, his are still glowing red and I’m reeling from the proximity. He’s so close. He’s right there. I could reach out and grab him if my arms weren’t strung up to my sides. 

I can’t touch him, but he’s still close enough for me to throw my head back, letting the momentum force me back down to collide my skull with his. I hear a crunch and feel warm blood trickle up my face from my nose, it's in my mouth too. Eraser stumbles back, not prepared for a headbutt. It’s true what they say, no one wins in a headbutt, but it feels like a win as I see a small trail of blood coming from his forehead, it’s so much hotter that it’s my blood. He looks even better than I had imagined, of course he does. My skull is pulsing already and my quirk is returned to me as he tries to steady himself. He does, quicker than I had hoped. My head is still splitting and I don't have enough time to regain myself before he’s taking my quirk again. Damn, he’s good. I chuckle to myself, licking the blood from my lips. This is actually kind of fun. Eraser Head looks down at me again, gripping my hair tightly now to keep me from moving again. His eyes are wild, his jaw tight. It’s taking all of him not to beat the living shit out of me. I can tell. 

Then his expression changes and he looks mischievous, teasing even. The slight confusion I have is short lived before he yanks my head forward, my neck craned at an awkward angle to look directly up at him. “My turn.” He says, dropping my head so I’m swinging back and forth again, only able to see him every couple seconds. He takes a step back and I see him poise himself for a second, spinning into a roundhouse kick that connects with my temple and knocks me out cold.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!