I'd Give Eraserhead

Most of the time, he's more heavy than rough. He doesn't grab, or take. He weighs you down. An arm across your chest as he kisses up the side of your neck, or a hand with comforting weight on the back of your head.

When you had first gotten together, he'd put much more effort into it, drawn by anxious energy he will not admit to. But now, things are calm, and he has learned that what works for you both is his casual, cat-like affection.

You hear him shift before you feel it, the blanket being pulled tight across your waist as he squirms. Most people would assume that he was still, but that was during the day, when he was making up for the hours of sleep he'd missed. Which he misses by wallowing in the bed like a pig.

You know he can't help it, which is what makes it worse. You can't be mad at him. In fact, he's suffering from this far more than you are.

You feel his breath on the back of your neck, and you can hear his sinuses whistling.

"I'm keeping you up." He says, voice its usual low grumble. He sounds congested from laying down so long.

"Yeah." You mutter, voice muffled in your own pillow. You grab the blanket pulling you by the waist, trying to pull more slack. Instead, you free it out from under you and it flies off, exposing you to the cold of the room and leaving a small pile on Shōta.

Shōta makes no move to help, instead nosing into your hair. You can feel him scrunch his nose, and he blows out a rushed breath from his nose. It warms your neck for only a moment, before leaving it feeling cold and clammy. "Tickles," he mutters, as if he doesn't care much, and pushes a kiss to your neck.

He does this a few more times, making increasingly frustrated noises as your hair brushes his face.

"Will you turn around?" He eventually snaps, like any of this is your fault. But you'd finally fixed the blanket and started to drift at the heat on your neck.

"I'm almost asleep." You whined into your pillow. You felt lucky that your Shōta was intelligent and could decipher that, because it was pure gibberish.

In retaliation, he threw an arm over your side, landing hard. You let out a tired, "oof," and felt a bit more awake. Still, you stood your ground, curling farther up into your pillow.

Shōta just began to pull his arm back towards himself, hoping he would bring you along with it. It worked, strangely enough, and you let out a loud sigh as you flipped over to face him. It took some grunting and your elbow pushed into the mattress, which made you even more frustrated with the situation, but you managed.

Plus, Shōta looked adorable. His hair fanned out on one side and sticking out on the other, his mouth squished into an o as he rested his cheek against the mattress. When he couldn't sleep he'd typically throw his pillow off the side at some point, seeing if the cold sheets would be what did it. They rarely were, but it had happened a few times.

"What do you want?" You grumbled. He'd call it bratty if he wasn't bone-tired and frustrated. Instead, he pushes his face into your neck, his hair coarse against your chin.

You decide to be merciful, sliding your hand into his hair. It gets caught in a few tangles from his tossing and turning, but the pads of your fingers eventually reach his scalp, and he grumbles. You’re sure it's positive, a good rule is that Shōta enjoys anything a cat would, including looking disgruntled. But it's hard to tell from how he sounds.

He presses kisses to your neck, unhurried. After a few kisses he changes spots, the previous one a little damp. Once he's covered all of your neck avaliable, he huffs, and you're well aware of what that means.

You gently scratch his scalp one more time as a goodbye, and slip your hand out of his hair. He makes a breathy noise, but doesn't otherwise complain, so you scoot down.

Once you're both at eye level, you can see his eyes closed, and feel more of his slow breaths fanning over your face. He cracks one eye open to see you, and you blink right at it. In turn, he pushes forward. His nose connects with your chin awkwardly, and he makes a sound again, opening his eyes and deciding to make an effort to actually meet his target.

His lips are chapped, but you quickly solve that as you always do, running a tongue over them. Shōta pushes forward, a little more energy in his movements. He ends up slightly on top of you, each kiss pulling on your bottom lip. He doesn't seem to be satisfied with that, making one if his small noises as he slips his tongue past your lips. You think, briefly, about being a dick and keeping your jaw clenched, but you decide you don't have the energy.

His tongue tastes like tongue. Like most tongues do. It tastes like warmth, and that little bit of acidity from coffee, mint from his toothpaste long gone. Shōta doesn't fight you with his tongue like some people do, he doesn't explore, poke or prod. He just seeks out your tongue with his own, constantly. It feels like a game sometimes, shoving your tongue behind your molars, feeling his tongue hit your teeth in its search, eventually rubbing up against the side.

There are a number of things about Shōta's tongue that is different from your past partner's. It’s not rough, textured. It's smooth, warm, and his saliva is of concerning thickness. Well, not concerning, just something you hadn't experienced before him. It makes his tongue feel smooth and glide against yours easily, and you can tell where he's touched for only a moment with how his saliva sits on your tongue.

When Shōta pulls back, he doesn't care about the string between you. He cares more about his heaving breaths and getting his hands on you. You, however, watch it closely as he pulls his head back to adjust himself. You grip his wrist, his attention turning to the thin line.

It breaks, hitting your chin and neck in a cold, wet line. You make a displeased sound, and Shōta immediately grabs up a handful of the blanket to wipe it up.

Effectively saved, you turn to him, almost straddling you and moving his arms to see what puts less pressure on his elbows.

"Keep this up and I'm sending you to lock the door." You grouch.

Some of those students become closer to the teachers. What was once a student-teacher relationship blossom into friendships. Despite how much Nemuri and Hizashi tease Aizawa about adopting all of his students, they’re both just as bad. Nemuri alone has been named God Mom to no less than 8 former students' children and Hizashi is honorary uncle to 12.

Aizawa has always extended an open door policy at school, which for some of his former students, translates into an open door policy for his home. They come to him with wounds that need patched, or a place to crash for the night if exhaustion after a long patrol makes it unsafe to travel further than his front door. A few times, he’s had to work them through panic attacks or episodes of self doubt after a particularly bad fight. Usually if he sees on the news one of his former students involved in an attack where civilians are killed, he preemptively sets out what he knows will bring that particular student comfort before they even stumble to his front door.

Every once in a blue moon, some of his former students (who are all little shits, he swears) will come knocking with no other purpose than to check up on him bother him. They’ll breeze past him once he opens the door, bags of groceries or piles of take out in hand. They’ll mumble a half hearted “I was in the neighborhood” not convincingly at all and set about guilt tripping persuading Aizawa to eat a proper meal with them (because you don’t spend three years with Aizawa as your teacher without learning he’s horrible at caring for himself).

You’re one of them. Despite having been in the first class Aizawa had ever taught as a teacher, you still reach out constantly show up several times a month, the same excuse falling from your lips as you slip past him and into his apartment with a cheeky grin. Aizawa always grumbles as you replenish his fridge with actual food instead of jelly packets before cleaning up parts of his apartment all the while cooking him dinner, filling the air with polite talk and the smell of food that never fails to make his stomach rumble.

So he isn’t surprised when you knock on his door one evening even though you were just over two nights ago. He is surprised when he opens the door to find you standing there with nothing but a file in your hands, face flushed, and gaze averted.

“Y/N,” he grunts, eyebrow raised.

“Uh. F-fancy seeing you here.” Your eyes dart everywhere but his face. This was not the cool confident person that he knew. Your shoulders are dragged up to your ears, the folder held in front of you like a shield, while you shift your weight back and forth on the balls of your feet.

“I live here,” Aizawa responds.

“Right! Right…” you trail off, before blurting. “I need your help and you’re the only one I could think of!”

He looks at you, taking in your uncharacteristic stance, before sighing and moving to the side, holding the door open for you to come in.

After the both of you are settled at the dining room table, cups of fresh coffee steaming in your hands, he clears his throat. “You needed help?”

You jump slightly and bite your bottom lip, before sliding the folder over towards him. He picks it up and begins to flip through it, eyes raking the pages as his eyebrows begin to steadily climb his forehead. “The Commission wants me to go undercover in a sex trafficking ring. There’s been a recent uprising in human trafficking and the ring they want me to go undercover in has a massive influence in Japan. At least 27% of all trafficking happens due to them and another 36% happens through connections with them.” Aizawa grunts, reading through the same information that you were providing verbally.

“This operation has been in the works for years now and my part in the mission could destabilize the human trafficking in Japan and provide us with some breathing room to put some contingency plans in place for the next trafficking ring that pops up.” You tap the side of the mug with your perfectly manicured fingers.

Aizawa let out a breath. “That’s a lot. Jesus kid. Congratulations.”

An operation like that would rocket you into the top 100 easily, if not the top 50.

You hum in reply, a bouncing leg joining the rhythmic tapping of the mug in what he recognizes as a nervous tic. You’ve never been one to be nervous so immediately his concern and curiosity is piqued. His eyes slid to your face over the top of the folder calculating.

“What do you need my help with then?” He asks. If they wanted to bring him in for information or as a hero on the case, why send you and not someone from the Commision? Before he can start processing this enigma, you reach over, pulling the folder from his hands and flip through to the back, taking out a section of the folder once you find what you’re looking for. You slid it to him.

He takes it into his hands, looking down at it briefly to read the information, and then raises his gaze to meet yours.

“Your undercover identity?”

You nod. “They want me to go in as one of the victims. It would be easier and less time consuming than trying to infiltrate as a villain. But sources think they’re subduing them with drugs to make it easier to hold and transport the victims as well as prevent them from fighting back. With my Quirk, I’ll be able to infiltrate easily and find their base or bases of operation without being inhibited. We’re confident they’re bouncing the victims around several locations to make it harder to track. While I’m in, I can tag the locations for a future raid so the heroes can hit them all at once and minimize the chance of escape or loss of life.”

Your Quirk neutralized drugs, poisons, and other toxins on yourself and other people. You were primarily a rescue hero that took care of things like toxic spills, gas leaks, and exposures. He recalls one time a child who suddenly got their Quirk (a simple but powerful ability to change the structure of molecules at will) and wound up turning the air in a grocery store to carbon monoxide, poisoning everyone inside. While emergency workers and other heroes wore gas masks, you simply waltzed inside and gave the scared kid a dose of Quirk suppressants to temporarily nullify his power until he saw a Quirk counselor and learned to control it. All the while you sat there with him in your arms agreeing with him that space was very cool, not at all affected by the deadly gas while you went about ventilating the place. Aizawa could see why the Commission reached out to you for this assignment versus someone else with more experience in infiltration.

“And where do I come in?” He asks again.

“Sensei… I’ll be going in as a victim. I’ll be undercover for a while. Best guess is several weeks, worst is several months. I’m under no illusion that I’ll be able to walk away with my…,” you purse your lips. “… dignity still intact. I’m… not ok with it per say… but I’m willing to do it to save lives. Besides, I've already been set up with mandatory therapy before and afterwards.”

“Y/N… that’s a lot.” Aizawa’s eyebrows furrow together in concern.

You nod your head. “Yeah. But I’m the only one. I can neutralize the drugs and leave me in the right state of mind. Not to mention that bacteria and viruses count as a toxin to my Quirk so I’m at no risk for picking up anything. And I’ve already started on long term birth control. Nobody else can fill these parameters.”

He got that. It sucked, but he got it. “So when do you leave,” he asks, sliding the paper back to you, which you tuck neatly back into the folder.

“In two weeks.” His eyes widen and he sat up straight.

“So soon??”

You look up at him, something simmering beneath your gaze. “For you maybe. This has been in the works for a long time now on my end. I’m only telling you for two reasons. I… uh… got permission to explain it to you.”

His eyes narrow. “Why?”

“The first is to ask you to look after my cat, obviously.” You give him a cheeky grin. He nods, well used to former students asking him of this when missions took longer than a day to be completed.

“And the second thing?”

You avert your gaze again, back to fiddling with the mug in your hands. “Sensei… do you remember the night of the typhoon nearly a year ago?”

He nods, heat rising to his ears. Of course he remembered. How could he forget?

You showed up on his doorstep halfway through a typhoon that hit Japan and effectively shut everything down. The only people out were emergency workers and pro heroes that could handle the rampaging storm and assist in relocation of citizens who’s homes had been destroyed or help them towards hospitals.

He had pulled you inside, soaked to the bone, and helped you dry off while grumbling about how illogical it was for you to be out in this. Despite offering you a change of his dry clothes, you were still freezing, so he got to work on setting up the heater for you. It ran for four minutes before the electricity in his building cut out.

He debated for exactly ten seconds before pulling you into his bed with him, limbs tangled together, while he attempted to rub feelings back into your skin.

All the while, he was hyper aware of how you had taken off your underwear, leaving your breasts squished against his chest, while your legs were tangled together. He fought against the growing erection in his pants, diligently thinking about everything that would turn him off like the statistics of cats that die in shelters year round.

Your shivers die off slowly which leads to your eyes flickering up at him, gaze too wide, lips parted into a soft sigh. “Aizawa-sensei…”

And then he was taking your lips into a slow deep kiss, lips parting slightly. He drew your bottom lip between his teeth, mouth slanted across yours. One arm snaked behind the small of your back tugging you closer, while the other trailed under your shirt, fingers lightly caressing your skin in a way that had you arching, as he settled his fingers under the curve of your breast teasingly.

You sighed under his touch, as he deepened the kiss, tongue darting out. He moved, positioning himself over top of you between your legs. The hand that was behind your back was suddenly cupping your face in a way that seemed to sear your flesh in its intimacy. His other hand cupped your breast, fingers dragging along your hardened nipple in a way that had you moaning, pushing up into him, pelvis grinding into his hard on in a way that made him see stars.

His hands trailed down to your hips, tugging at the waistline, and just as you lifted his hips to give him access, the lights flashed back on, freezing Aizawa in place.

Shame flooded every ounce of his body. Here he was, taking advantage of you when you needed his help. What kind of pro hero was he? What kind of teacher? What kind of friend-?

“I-“ he started, eyes dancing around to avoid look at your flushed face. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He untangled himself from your limbs, unable to fully look at you through his guilt. Before you could even say anything, he was gone.

The next morning you were gone too. You stayed away for several weeks, the longest amount of time for you, to the point where he had convinced himself he had ruined that relationship you had with him. He hated himself for it. Sure, he had thought about you in that way before. Sure, he had had dreams of you before (starting after Nemuri teased him, saying you were always acting like Aizawa’s wife so when was he gonna make it official?) that spilled over into fantasies when he touched himself or even when he entertained other women. But he had never let himself act on those thoughts because he was respectful and responsible. And he didn’t want to risk driving you away. Until now.

So when you showed up a few weeks later, arms full of groceries, breezing in and acting like nothing had happened, he nearly collapsed in relief. And then proceeded to follow your lead and never talk of it again, even if it meant the fantasies became more frequent and intense.

“Of course I remember.” He shifts in his seat, this time averting his gaze. This was the first time you had brought it up.

You brought the mug to your lips and drank deeply from it, before settling it back down between your two hands. “You asked me why I was out in such a storm and I never answered you, but the truth is, that was the day I officially learned of everything this assignment detailed. And because of that I… I wanted to see you immediately. Enough to risk the wrath of Mother Nature herself.”

“Why,” he murmurs.

Fingers tap the side of the mug again as your eyes shifts. “I knew what I would eventually have to do. But the truth is…I came here that night with ulterior motives. Because I haven’t… done that kind of thing before. You were the furthest I’ve ever gone with anyone, that is. And I was willing to go further. Of course your guilt complex and morals had to get in the way of that.” You give him a cheeky grin, before the smile falters. “And in the end I was too embarrassed and too much of a coward to explain that to you at the time. What you must have thought of me… I became convinced you were disgusted and believed I was indecent. Therapy has helped me overcome the idea that salacious desires are wrong, but I grew up in an area where we were taught carnal wants were misguided and bad. So you can imagine the internal war I was waging with myself.”

A blush stains your cheeks as you become interested in the whorl design of the wooden table.

“I’ve never thought that way about you,” Aizawa says in a way that leaves no room for argument.

You smile softly up at him. “I know. You’re much too kind.”

He looks away at that, unable to find the words to say to counter your statement. He swallows hard, his mouth too dry. “So you‘ve never….”

“Had, uh.” You clear your throat. “Sex. I’ve never had sex. With anyone. There’s only ever been one person. That I’ve been interested in, that is. But I’ve never gone further than holding hands. And kissing. But mostly just holding hands. After that night, I tried to find someone else… but I could never go through with it.”

“I still don’t understand what that has to do with your mission…” he trails off suddenly, as he connects the dots.

Oh.

Oooh.

He swallows hard again and straightens in his seat. He gets it now. But he needs to hear you say it.

You bit your lip, continually tapping at the mug with your fingers. “I don’t want my first time to be with some sleazy guy in a dingy back alley room. I want it to be with someone meaningful, someone I trust. Someone I respect and admire and care for deeply.”

“And who is that,” he says, voice lower than normal.

“You,” you whisper, tapping at the mug like it’s your lifeline.

He could feel his restraint failing him and his knuckles turn white with the effort to not… do something, anything. “Y/N… do you know what you’re asking?”

Your eyes find his obsidian ones. “Of course. It’s always been you. It wasn’t until that day, when I became aware of all that my assignment truly entailed, and I knew I needed to be with someone else first so I had that memory not be tarnished by this mission… that’s when I understood then that I’ve liked you for a very long time, when I realized I could think of no one else but you to go to. That there was no one else I wanted but you and that I’ve subconsciously been wanting you this whole time and why I’ve never entertained another man in my bed even after overcoming my views on sex or had relationships that lasted longer than a few dates. It has always been you.”

There’s a blush glowing on his cheeks. He falls quiet and the silence lasts for so long, that with nothing but the sound of a clock ticking in another room and the frantic tapping of your fingers, your mind begins to wander in panic and you slowly begin to doubt, wondering if maybe you’re asking your former sensei too much. You had thought after that kiss that maybe he felt the same way as you, but perhaps you’ve just been deluding yourself this whole time. The silence eats at you and your stomach turns, causing you to swallow and clear your throat. You need to speak now, to salvage this before it’s too late. “If this is crossing a line… if this is crossing a boundary, I understand. I recognize I’m asking a lot of you.” You try not to let the disappointment in your voice show.

You start to stand, draining the last of the now-cold coffee from the mug in an effort to not cry in disappointment in front of him. “Ah. Sorry to ask this of you. I know it’s inappropriate, and I can only hope this doesn’t change things between us. I’ll… uh, get going then. I’ll be back with my cat before I leave. I’ll be bringing her supplies, and some actual food for you too. It’ll be a lot this time- think of it as a prepayment for cat-sitting before I’m able to actually pay you properly. That being said, please clean out your fridge before I come over. I think I saw yogurt in there that expired two months ago, the other-“

“Where are you gonna go,” Aizawa’s voice cuts off your nervous rambling. “If I don’t…”

He trails off, but you know what he’s trying to convey. You shrug in reply, placing the mug in the cupboard after washing it and head back towards the front door. “I don’t know? The bar probably. Any random college kid would take me up on my offer-“

A heavy hand wraps itself around your wrist and yanks, spinning you around and slamming you against the wall. It takes you a second to realize Aizawa’s body is hovering over yours, hands on either side of your head caging you inside. You blink up at him and oh… you recognize that look. He’s angry. Why is he angry?

“A college kid.” He drawls, unimpressed.

You shrug at him again. “It’s my only option and they’ll be better than some sleazy guy in a dingy back alley- ”

He moves closer and your voice dies a swift death in your throat as you can feel his body heat through your clothes. You stare down at his chest, not willing to meet his eyes, suddenly finding your mouth too dry and your palms too sweaty with nerves. A finger snakes under your chin and forces your head up to look at him. Your eyes dart to the side, unable to find the courage to look him in the face.

“Y/N… look at me.” He murmurs. “Please.”

The desperation in his voice when he says please is what causes you to look at him and you something dark in his gaze. The hand under your chin slides to the back of your neck, causing your skin to prickle.

“What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t help out one of my students when they need me,” He says and it’s enough to cause you to almost laugh and or collapse in relief. “Especially when it’s you.”

He dips his head, kissing you desperate and hungry, pulling you into his arms with a frantic sense of urgency. His kiss is sloppy and needy, nothing like the slow kiss you two shared a year ago. He hands slide down, gripping your thighs and pulls, wrapping your legs around his waist. You gasp into his mouth and his tongue almost immediately pushes past your lips with a swirl.

You kiss back with a feverish frenzy as he walks the two of you back towards his bedroom. His hand snakes up through your clothes, snapping off your bra, and drags it and your shirt off. You break the kiss long enough for him to pull your clothes over your head and toss them somewhere off to the side.

“Especially when it’s me?” You question, panting against his lips.

He draws back, eyes still dark. “Me too. It's always been you, to me.” He echoes your words from earlier and deposits you into his bed, climbing over top of you, while he drags his own shirt off.

Your mouth waters as you take him in. You always knew that Aizawa was fit, as a pro hero he had to be, but his baggy clothes really do hide how ripped he is. He bends his head, teeth dragging along the pulse point on your neck, latching on to the heated skin.

“Tell me if it’s too much and you want to stop. I won’t do anything you don’t want to do. Promise me, you’ll tell me.” He rumbles in your ear.

“I trust you,” you tell him.

“Promise me.” He demands soft but deliberate.

“I promise.” You answer him.

His hands slip down to your waistband, unbuttoning and unzipping your pants, while his teeth nip and suck open-mouthed kisses on your clavicle causing you to shudder. You moan, leaning into his touch, and dear God, nothing has happened yet but you’ve never been so turned on before in your life. Your head rushes at the surge of adrenaline that hums beneath the surface of your skin.

He drags his lips up to your ear. “Lift your hips for me.” You oblige, allowing him to grasp your pants and underwear and rake them down over your ass and thighs. He sits up, peeling them from your legs, and tosses them aside. You stare up at him, body flushed, and eyes wide, suddenly self conscious of the way he’s dragging his eyes over your figure admiring every single inch. You’ve never felt so exposed.

He must sense that because he leans over again, capturing your lips into his, distracting you from your embarrassment while he explores your mouth. He breaks the kiss, scraping his teeth along your jaw, down your neck, and across your chest. He nips and sucks at your breasts in a way that has you aching and rocking your hips to drag against the growing bulge in his pants.

He moans, gradually working his way down your stomach, biting at your hips, before he settles between your legs. Teeth and lips leave marks at the sensitive skin on your inner thighs that cause you to pant and tremble under his touch.

“Tell me if you want to stop.” He says again, looking up at you. You can do nothing but nod weakly at him, breath erratic, heart pounding in your ear drums. Every single nerve in your body feels on fire.

He smirks at your disheveled appearance, before he dips his head and licks a stripe at your glistening cunt. “Oh!” Your voice sounds so surprised, hands flying to his hair immediately, hips bucking up to meet his mouth. Your fingers have never made you feel like that. You need more.

He licks and sucks at your mound, going slow and hard in a way that has your entire body quivering beneath him. You whine, muscles straining, as electricity and heat swirl through your entire body making your toes curl. Every motion he makes with his mouth is molten pleasure seeping through every vein in your body. Just when you think he can’t get any better, he moves in a different way, and the crest of euphoria drags you up and up and up leaving you delirious and intoxicated from the feeling of teetering on the edge.

“Fuck, Aizawa.” You moan, head tipped back, as your fingers dig into his scalp to find purchase, anything to hold on to as he strings your body along hard. He can tell you’re getting close already, and slips a finger in your cunt, pumping it slowly, before dragging another one in. He curls them, finding the bundle of nerves that has you lifting off the bed chasing the pleasure you desperately crave. You fold into him, wailing as you cum, spasming around his digits so tightly, his cock throbs with want and need. He doesn’t stop sucking and fucking his fingers into you until your wails turn to sobs, thrashing in his iron grip as he drags your orgasm along for as long as possible.

You collapse back on the bed, huffing, body twitching as you come down from the high. Aizawa pulls himself up, dragging his pants off in one motion. “Good girl.” He coos, and oh- doesn’t his words just send sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine? Aizawa’s praise always did make you preen.

“That was better than anything I’ve ever imagined.” You breathe.

He pauses and slowly a smirk spreads across his face. “Better than anything you’ve imagined?”

“Yes.” You pant. “Do you think I haven’t touched myself to thoughts of you?”

Aizawa leans over you again, dragging your knees up to your chest, and settles himself between your legs, his cock bumping against your slick folds. He hovers, leaving a few centimeters between the two of you, and looks you deeply in the eyes.

“Still not too late to back out and go have your first time with someone else,” he mutters, wanting to hear you consent one last time before you never get this moment back. This is the last time you can ever claim to be a virgin and he needs to know you’re ok with him taking this from you. It makes you fall for him more to know that despite him not caring about concepts of virginity, he’s still taking this seriously because you do care about it.

You shake your head. “Only you. I want- no I need it to be you. It’s always been you.”

“Ok.” He breathes out through his nose. “I’m going to go slow. We can stop at any time. Tell me if you want to stop.”

“Aizawa, please,” you whine, aching with need.

“Tell me.”

“I will.”

And then he’s entering you, breaching your entrance leaving you both gasping and moaning. The self restraint on him is admirable as he thrusts into you shallowly and slowly, inching his way in bit by bit, ignoring the primal urge to just slam into you so rough and fast that it has you screaming. He wants to do so many other things, wants you in so many other positions, wants to whisper so many filthy things in your ear; but he doesn’t want to scare you away. He’s patient, he has to be, if he wants you to come back for more.

Even though he worked you open, you're tight, so impossibly tight, that he has to grit his teeth against your neck and fight against how much your silky walls are sucking him in too fast and too soon.

He hears you whimper and that has him freezing, eyes snapping to your face. Your eyes are shut tight, hands squeezing around his biceps, as you let out shuddering breaths.

Just as he’s about to ask if you’re ok, you open your eyes and look at him with so much adoration that has him feeling raw and exposed, choking on emotions that threaten to squeeze his throat shut. He sucks in a breath through his teeth when you reach up, curling your arms around his head and pull his face down to yours, whining. “Don’t stop. Oh please don’t stop.”

His mouth smashes against yours, wanting and needy, as you gasp against his lips, your begs tasting delicious on his tongue as he rolls his hips again, sliding the last few inches in. His forehead falls to yours as he moans in your mouth, stilling flush against your pelvis to give you a moment to adjust, stretched out and impossibly full. You feel so hot and warm, gripping him so firmly, that Aizawa rapidly recalculates his worldview, and comes to the conclusion that this is what pure happiness feels like, this is nirvana. He never wants this moment to end, wants to live in this brief period of time forever, buried to the hilt in your pussy that feels like the Gods personally formed it just for him and his cock.

He looks at you, brushing your sweat slicked hair out of his face and returns to the look of veneration. “You’re so perfect, so beautiful. You’re doing so good. Look at how well you took me.” He praises causing your cunt to squeeze him.

His eyes, more awake and alert than you’ve ever seen them, flutter for the briefest of moments at the increased pressure, before he looks at you again. “I’m going to move now, ok?”

You nod and so he starts with a slow and steady pace. You shake beneath him, back arched, chin tilted as fireworks explode behind your eyelids. He watches your face, adjusting his position or depth or speed anytime the look of pleasure starts to turn into a grimace. He wants this to be as good for you as it is for him, doesn’t want to be the cause for any discomfort or pain. Your pants are mixed with moans and you bring the back of your hand to your mouth to muffle the sounds. In any other circumstance, he would pull your hand away and demand you let him hear every sweet noise you make. But he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so for just this one time, he lets you cover your mouth, to provide an ounce of comfort.

“Aizawa, I-“ you whine.

“I know, kitten. I know.” His chest rumbles. “That’s my good girl. You’re doing so well. Fuck, you feel amazing.” He can feel how wetter you’re getting with each passing thrust, how much more you’re squeezing him to the point where it’s almost painful to not just fuck into you with a fervor.

The growing pleasure is almost uncomfortable for you. You’ve gotten yourself off on your fingers before, but this is a whole new level. Everything is blurring together, swallowing you whole, drowning out every thought until there’s nothing left but Aizawa.

The growing pressure is agony, making you sob, hot tears splashing down your cheeks that he quickly kisses away, as the tension pulls tighter and tighter. You don’t know how much longer it can last, you’re sure the next second, the next thrust is the one that sends you over the edge, but it never does. It builds and builds and builds, the desperation leaving you trembling under his touch, babbling incoherently, lips slicked with drool, fingernails digging into his flesh as each roll of his hips brings you to a new high.

Your senses are heightened and dulled at the same time. You can feel his hands wandering your body, exploring the valley of your breasts, feather light on your navel, and bruising on your hips. His mouth kisses and licks and sucks and bites every bit of skin he can reach. He praises you in words that sound too distant, too far away, too soft to be heard over the roar of blood in your ears. It feels incredible. It feels like too much. It makes your head swim.

“Please, Aizawa, please, I need- I need.” You blubber, willing to offer up your soul to this man for the relief you so frantically chase.

His tempo changes as he moves a hand between your folds, fingers finding your clit. “I wanna spoil you so much more kitten, but I’m not gonna last much longer. Cum for me. I wanna feel you cum on my cock.” He circles his finger once, twice, three times and the thread inside you snaps, finally tumbling you over that edge.

Your arms wrap around his neck as waves of euphoria crash into you, gripping him like a lifeline as your mind threatens to smother you in it. He groans into your neck, hips thrusting erratically, as your walls clench around him, milking the cum from his dick. You’ve never felt so good before. Your body buzzes, head on cloud nine, toes curling, as he rocks a few more thrusts into you to prolong your orgasm. Your whole body sings, amplified by lightning that flutters in your cunt.

Your senses return as the pleasure ebbs away. You’re hot and sweaty, muscles aching and sore, tangled in Aizawa’s arms while he lays beside you (how did you not notice him move?) and strokes your hair. He mutters praises in your ear telling you what a good job you did and he’s so proud, while he peppers your face with feather light kisses.

“How are you feeling,” he asks when he can see your eyes clear and awareness flood back in.

“Amazing, actually. I had no idea I could feel that way. I can see why people like doing it so much.” You smile up at him drunk on the happiness while he peppers a kiss to your forehead and runs his hands up and down your shoulder.

“Good.” He hums, before sitting up on the edge of the bed. He looks at you with soft eyes and reaches out, smoothing your hair down once more. “Stay here and relax, kitten. I’ll be right back with water and something to clean you up with, okay?”

He grabs his pants and pulls them on as he stands before leaving the room. You watch him disappear around the corner and a tenseness you hadn’t known was bound in your shoulders suddenly loosens. This was better than you ever imagined. You feel so fulfilled, so happy, so so in love.

But…

You also feel…heavy? Satisfied and overwhelmingly happy to the point where it makes you giddy.

But you’re still heavy.

The feeling is enough to cause your chest to convulse suddenly from the weight, pulling a sob from your throat that you hastily try to stifle by shoving your fist into your mouth. Something in you breaks unexpectedly and despite fighting to swallow the wails, you collapse in on yourself, white hot tears rolling down your face as you gasp, gulping down spasming breaths, never quite able to pull enough air into your lungs. Dark spots break out in your vision as you try and fail to stop this emotional storm that rolls over you. Why? Aizawa is everything you ever wanted, and you’ve been dreaming of this moment for so long. It’s always been him. So why?? Why does it feel like your heart is breaking?

A hand suddenly slides under your shoulders and knees, pulling you into a broad chest, arm wrapping around your body in a way that makes you feel so safe and protected. Aizawa runs his hand up and down your back, making soothing noises as he works you through your panic attack. A blanket appears in your peripheral, wrapping around your body, tucking you into his large frame. Your sobs start to subside, leaving you with little shuddering breaths.

“I-I’m sorry.” you hiccup, looking up at him apprehensive, worried he’s going to think you’re ridiculous for crying after you two just had sex. There’s no such judgement on his face though, just concern and worry.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He assures you, reaching to his side to produce a bottle of water that he hands you. You drink from it, draining the whole thing in nearly one go, not realizing just how thirsty you were until then. The few seconds the action grants you, allows you to relax against him, suddenly so exhausted from all the emotions you’ve felt since you knocked on his door.

“I- I have no idea why I started crying.”

“Well, what are you feeling,” he asked, tucking your head under his chin. “Talk to me. Maybe we can find the answer together.”

You looked down at your hands, flexing them around the bottle. “I- I feel…” you trailed off, unsure on how to put it into words. “I’m so overjoyed that it’s making me giddy. I’m exhausted from everything that happened but I’m so blissful that I can feel an energy buzzing under my skin despite that. I want to smile so hard it hurts. It’s always been you, probably since the first time I saw you walk through the doors of homeroom all those years ago and expel five people on the first day because they weren’t taking hero work seriously. You were only a couple years older than me, and yet already so confident and sure of yourself. It drew me in like a moth to a flame. I knew deep down, in that moment I would follow you to the ends of the earth. Everything you did was so breathtaking and it always pushed me to be better, to be the kind of person that could someday stand next to someone on your level. I wanted you to be proud of me. It’s why, even when I graduated, even when I debuted as a hero and became established in the pro hero world, even when I was no longer the naive child that wore rose tinted glasses about the world around us, I still came over whenever I could, because I still chased after you, still wanted you. I was captivated- enamored by you even back then. It was love at first sight, I just… didn’t realize it at the time.”

You smile softly, lost in thought. “And now that we’ve done this, I finally feel like I’ve gotten my dream. This is the happiest moment of my life. But…” the smile falters as you drag your hand to your chest. “Right here. It feels so heavy.”

Aizawa hums. “Well first, I’m happy you see me that way. It means a lot to me, truly. Second? I’ve always been proud of you. I’ve always thought you had potential. I didn’t expel you because I saw that, right from the beginning. I always knew you would make a fantastic pro hero, it was illogical to think otherwise. And I’ve always admired you. No matter what happened, you always remained kind and compassionate. I watched you calm down a terrified little boy who developed a scary new Quirk and accidentally hurt everyone around him, by only talking to him. Any other pro hero would have knocked him out, but you sat with him while his parents were treated by doctors and enthusiastically talked to him about rocket ships and astronauts. I guarantee that kid has never forgotten your patience and understanding in that moment. And even though it’s been almost a decade since you graduated, you still continue to show up to check on me. You still talk to the other teachers at UA regularly which means a lot to them. And every time one of your former classmates or teachers winds up injured in a fight, you show up. You say you were drawn to me like a moth to a flame but I don’t think you give yourself enough credit to how truly radiant you are. I think I fell for you a couple years after you graduated when you knocked on Mic’s door, lying horribly about being in the neighborhood, bringing him take out for no other reason than you found out he was injured in a fight and was concerned he wasn’t taking care of himself properly. That type of kindness is rare in this world.”

He takes a deep breath and loops a finger under your chin so you look at him, see the raw emotion in his eyes. “And I’m honored that you trusted me enough to want your first time to be with me. I didn’t take it lightly and I never will.”

Tears begin to mist in your eyes. Your throat squeezes and your nose burns. Oh… now you understand why you feel so heavy. Why you cried hysterically earlier. “It’s not fair.”

Confusion flits across his face but you let out a shuddering breath. “I’ve wanted you for so long and now that I have you, it’s almost time to go. It doesn’t feel fair. Suddenly, I wish I didn’t have this Quirk, that I wasn’t best suited for this mission. I want to be selfish and stay here with you.”

Aizawa is quiet for a moment, because what can he even say to that? To make this situation better. “I’ll be here. I’ll wait. For however long you take. I’ll be right here waiting for you when you come back.”

“I might come back changed.”

“I’m expecting it.” He already knew. At minimum he was expecting PTSD. It’s why the Commission already started you on therapy. This is the part of hero work that nobody talks about and scares him when he looks at new students. He seems them in situations- on missions like this- and it terrifies him to the bone. He would rather expel them than send them out unready for the reality, expecting big flashy fights on TV, only to find themselves mentally broken when faced with scenarios like this.

“It might be a while before I want you to touch me again, when I come back.” You point out.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” He assured you.

Your eyes flicked up to him. “Why?”

He studied your face. “Only for you. I’ll wait forever if I have to, because you’re worth the wait. It’s always been you.”

You let out a chuckled sob and lean up, kissing him with bittersweet emotions, full of longing and regret. You memorized the way his lips fit against yours, the feel of his hands on your skin. You want this day to be the moment you thought about during your mission, to push you to keep going when you want to give up. Coming back to him is your new goal and you grasp it firmly in your heart, stubbornly refusing to let it go. He’s the reason you became a hero, the reason you kept going when the mantle was too much to bear sometimes. And now, right now, wrapped in his arms, you try to convey with your kiss that he’s the reason you’ll come back.

“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.”