#quirk!reader

Unfiltered, playful, mischievous—with a penchant for getting into trouble just for the fun of it.

An orange cat in human form.

And it drove him insane.

But what was worse?

It also fascinated him.

From the very first week, you had made it your personal mission to test his limits.

You frequently showed up late to meetings, claiming you got “distracted by something shiny.”

You napped in the most inconvenient places—on top of file cabinets, across the teachers’ lounge couch, even once on top of Aizawa’s desk (which had earned you the deadliest glare of his life).

You stole his coffee. Regularly.

You pounced onto his shoulders from above, just to “see if his reaction time was as fast as everyone said.”

(It was. But he still nearly had a heart attack that day.)

And yet—

Despite your absolute disregard for personal space and normal social conventions, you were a damn good teacher.

Your students adored you, your battle tactics were sharp and effective, and you had a natural talent for handling even the most rowdy kids (cough Bakugo cough).

And somehow—despite all your antics—Aizawa found himself growing used to your presence.

To the way your ears twitched when you were listening intently. To the way your tail flicked when you were irritated. To the way you always tried to get a reaction out of him, even when he refused to give you the satisfaction.

And then, one day—

He realized he had a problem.

Because he liked it.

It was late one evening, long after most of the staff had gone home.

Aizawa had been grading papers, exhaustion creeping into his bones, when he heard the softest footfalls outside his office.

No one else would have noticed them.

But Aizawa knew exactly who it was before you even poked your head inside.

“Still working?” you mused, stepping in without an invitation, tail swaying lazily behind you.

Aizawa sighed. “Obviously.”

You hummed, moving closer, perching yourself on the edge of his desk—a habit he had long given up trying to correct.

“You know,” you mused, eyes glinting in the dim light, “you’re always telling me I should take my job more seriously. But when was the last time you actually took a break?”

Aizawa didn’t respond.

Because the answer was too damn long ago.

Your lips curled slightly, as if you could read his thoughts.

Then—before he could react—you reached out, plucked his red pen from his hand, and tossed it across the room.

Aizawa stared at you.

“…Did you just—”

“Yep.”

“…Why?”

“Because you’re done for the night.”

His eye twitched. “I still have work to do.”

“Nope.” You grinned, tail flicking playfully. “Work is done. I have officially declared it.”

Aizawa exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t have time for your games, Y/N.”

But you weren’t backing down.

Instead, you tilted your head, ears twitching slightly, and for the first time since you had met, your voice was softer.

“I mean it, Shota,” you murmured. “You do too much. Just… take a break. Just this once.”

Something in his chest tightened.

Because no one ever told him to slow down.

No one ever took the time to worry about him.

But you?

You had been paying attention this whole time.

And that was the moment he knew.

That he was completely and utterly doomed.

Ko-fi / Masterlist

The world adored him. Red Riot, the unbreakable hero, the unyielding shield of the people. His name was spoken with admiration, his face plastered across magazine covers, and his victories replayed on news channels daily. To everyone else, he was an inspiration—fearless, indomitable, and shining like a beacon of hope.

But to you?

He was just Eijirou.

And he looked exhausted.

You stood in the back corner of the bustling hero agency, watching as Kirishima smiled and waved at reporters, his signature sharp-toothed grin never wavering. He was answering questions about his latest battle, a takedown of a villainous group threatening civilians in Shibuya. They called him a "symbol of resilience," the hero who never backed down.

But you saw the stiffness in his shoulders. The way his hands clenched behind his back. The way his eyes, bright and determined for the cameras, dimmed the moment he thought no one was looking.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders as you observed the scene. Your own hero name—Tempest—wasn't nearly as famous, though your quirk was nothing to scoff at. Stormweaver, a powerful wind manipulation ability that allowed you to control air currents, pressure, and even summon small bursts of lightning in high-energy states. It made you fast, unpredictable, and a nightmare in aerial combat.

But fame wasn’t your thing.

Unlike Kirishima, you weren’t a headline hero. You worked best in the shadows, handling recon, quick interventions, and crowd evacuations. People appreciated you, but they didn’t worship you.

And you were fine with that.

Kirishima, though? He had no choice.

The press conference finally ended, and he turned, heading toward the agency’s private wing. The second he crossed the threshold away from the public eye, his shoulders slumped, and the weight of the world crashed down on him.

“Long day?” you asked, arms crossed as he passed you in the hallway.

He jumped slightly before chuckling, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… but, y’know, just another day in the life of a hero.”

“Bullshit,” you said flatly.

His crimson eyes widened slightly before he laughed again, this time more tired than amused. “You’re always so blunt, Tempest.”

You shrugged. “I just don’t like fake smiles.”

He tilted his head, studying you with quiet curiosity. “You’re the only one who calls me out on it.”

You leaned against the wall, watching him carefully. “Because I know you, Eijirou. You don’t like this, do you? The attention, the expectations.”

He hesitated.

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to deny it, to flash another grin and insist he was fine. But something in your gaze held him in place.

Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his messy red hair. “I wanted to be a hero to help people. To make them feel safe. I never wanted… all of this.” He gestured vaguely toward the closed doors behind him, where reporters had just been shouting his name. “I mean, I get it. It comes with the job. But sometimes… I feel like I’m just playing a role instead of being myself.”

You nodded, your own expression softening. “Then stop pretending.”

His eyes flickered to yours, uncertain.

“You’re strong, Eijirou. Not just because of your quirk or your title, but because of who you are. People admire you, yeah, but you don’t have to be their unshakable hero 24/7. You’re allowed to be tired. You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed.”

He looked down, gripping his hands into fists. “But if I stop, even for a second… what if I let people down?”

You stepped closer, your voice quieter now. “Then let me hold you up.”

His breath hitched, and for the first time, the unbreakable hero looked like he was on the verge of cracking.

You weren’t sure what compelled you to do it, but you reached out, taking his hand in yours. He stared at the contact, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. His hands were warm, calloused, steady… but they trembled slightly under your touch.

“You’re not alone, Eijirou,” you said softly. “You never were.”

And for the first time that day, he smiled—genuine, quiet, and meant only for you.

---

Kirishima didn’t let go of your hand right away.

For a long moment, he just stood there, his fingers curled slightly around yours, as if grounding himself in the reality of your words. Then, with a deep exhale, he finally released you, rubbing the back of his neck in that sheepish way he always did when he was unsure of himself.

“Thanks, (Y/N),” he muttered, eyes flickering to yours before glancing away. “I… don’t really know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied. “Just… be honest with yourself for once.”

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Easier said than done.”

You understood that. More than he probably realized.

The two of you had worked together for years now, first as classmates in U.A., then as pro heroes navigating the chaotic world of villain takedowns and public expectations. But unlike him, you never embraced the spotlight. You operated in the background, handling missions that didn’t come with flashing cameras and screaming fans.

And yet, despite your differences, you and Kirishima had always been close. You had each other’s backs on the battlefield, sure—but this? This felt different. Deeper.

A sudden knock on the nearby office door made both of you straighten.

“Red Riot?” a voice called. It was one of the agency assistants. “There’s another interview request. They want to do a feature on your hero origins. The director asked if you’d be available to—”

“Tell them I’m busy,” Kirishima interrupted, surprising both you and the assistant. His voice wasn’t harsh, but it was firm.

The assistant blinked. “Oh. Uh… sure thing.”

As the door shut, you turned to him with a raised brow. “Look at you, setting boundaries.”

Kirishima sighed. “I dunno. Maybe you got in my head.”

“Good,” you said with a small smirk. “It’s about time.”

He chuckled, but there was still tension in his shoulders. You could tell he wasn’t used to saying no. After all, his entire identity revolved around being there for others—protecting them, saving them, never letting them down. But heroes weren’t indestructible.

You glanced at him, debating whether to push further. Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed his wrist.

“C’mon.”

Kirishima blinked. “Huh? Where are we—”

“You need a break,” you said simply, dragging him down the hallway. “And I know exactly where to go.”

---

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you were sitting on the rooftop of the agency, legs dangling over the edge. The city stretched out below, lights flickering like fireflies against the early evening sky. Up here, away from the noise and expectations, the world felt quieter. Smaller.

Kirishima let out a slow breath, leaning back on his palms. “Man… I forgot how nice it is up here.”

You smirked. “That’s because you never take the time to slow down.”

He glanced at you. “And you do?”

You shrugged. “Sometimes. Helps clear my head.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. The wind brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of rain from the distant storm clouds. You could feel the shift in air pressure—a subtle tingle from your Stormweaver quirk telling you that a storm was coming.

Kirishima must have noticed the way you inhaled deeply, sensing the shift. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Just… thinking.”

“About?”

You hesitated before answering. “Heroes. Expectations. How people think we’re invincible.” You turned to look at him. “How you think you have to be invincible.”

Kirishima frowned slightly but didn’t deny it. Instead, he ran a hand through his red hair, exhaling through his nose. “I know I can’t be unbreakable all the time,” he admitted. “But it’s hard, y’know? People rely on me. They trust me to be strong.”

You nudged his shoulder. “Being strong doesn’t mean never breaking. It means knowing when to let someone help you pick up the pieces.”

His eyes met yours, something unreadable flickering in the crimson depths. “You really believe that?”

“I do,” you said firmly.

Silence settled between you again, but this time, it was more comfortable. Less heavy.

Then, after a long pause, Kirishima smiled—not the wide, toothy grin he always gave to the public, but something softer. More real.

“Thanks, (Y/N),” he said quietly.

You leaned back on your palms, gazing at the horizon. “Anytime, Red.”

And for the first time in a long while, Kirishima allowed himself to just be.

---

The sky darkened, painted in hues of deep blue and violet as night settled over the city. The distant rumble of thunder rolled through the clouds, a subtle reminder of the coming storm. Up on the rooftop, away from flashing cameras and screaming fans, Kirishima finally let himself breathe.

You sat beside him, the gentle hum of the wind filling the silence between you. Unlike most people, you didn’t expect him to fill every quiet moment with conversation. You didn’t push him to be something he wasn’t.

Maybe that was why he always found himself gravitating toward you.

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his messy red hair. “You ever feel like… people only see what they want to see?”

You turned to him, brow raising slightly. “All the time.”

Kirishima huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I guess you would.”

You weren’t flashy like some of the other pro heroes. You didn’t chase fame or crave validation. You did your job—Stormweaver was as reliable as the changing winds, fast and unpredictable, always one step ahead of disaster. People appreciated you, but they didn’t put you on a pedestal the way they did him.

And maybe that was why you understood him better than anyone.

Kirishima leaned back, bracing his arms behind him. “I don’t hate being a hero. I love helping people. I love making them feel safe. But sometimes… I wonder if they only like me because of the idea of me, y’know?”

“The unbreakable hero,” you murmured.

He nodded, jaw tightening. “Yeah. What if I wasn’t unbreakable? What if I cracked? Would they still believe in me?”

You shifted, moving so you were facing him fully. “Eijirou,” you said, voice steady. “You’re more than just your quirk. More than your reputation. And if people can’t see that, then that’s their problem.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you. There was something raw in his gaze, something fragile beneath the hardened exterior. You had seen it before—brief moments where the mask slipped, where the weight of his own expectations nearly crushed him.

But this time, he didn’t try to hide it.

“I don’t want to be a symbol,” he admitted. “I just want to be me.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his forearm. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, his muscles tense like he was waiting for something—permission, reassurance, maybe even acceptance.

---

The first raindrop landed on your cheek.

It was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of Kirishima’s skin beneath your fingertips. His crimson eyes flickered to the darkening sky, watching as storm clouds thickened above the city. The wind picked up, shifting unpredictably—an extension of your own unease.

You could feel it coming.

A storm, yes, but something else, too. Something heavier.

Kirishima hadn’t moved away from your touch. If anything, he seemed to lean into it, his tension easing slightly beneath your grip. His confession still hung in the air between you, fragile yet unshakable.

"I don’t want to be a symbol. I just want to be me."

You squeezed his arm gently. “Then be you, Eijirou. The world can wait.”

He exhaled slowly, letting his head tilt back as the rain started to fall in earnest. Droplets clung to his red hair, sliding down his jaw. “I don’t even know what that means anymore,” he admitted.

You frowned slightly. “You’re not just Red Riot. You’re not just ‘the unbreakable hero.’ You’re the guy who stays late after missions to make sure everyone else gets home safe. The guy who buys extra snacks because you know Bakugou won’t eat unless someone makes him. The guy who memorizes every intern’s name so they feel like they belong.”

Kirishima blinked, caught off guard. “You… noticed all that?”

“Of course I did.” Your voice softened. “Because I see you, Eijirou. The real you.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, before you could react, he reached up, his hand cupping the side of your face.

The warmth of his palm sent a jolt through you, like the first crack of lightning splitting the sky.

“You always do that,” he murmured.

“Do what?” you asked, voice quieter now.

“See past the mask.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, though you weren’t sure if it was from the cold rain or the way he was looking at you—like you were something solid, something grounding, something he didn’t have to pretend around.

The rain fell harder now, soaking through your hero uniforms, drenching your hair, but neither of you moved. You weren’t sure if you wanted to.

Then, just as Kirishima opened his mouth to say something else, your earpiece crackled to life.

“Tempest, Red Riot, we have an emergency downtown. Multiple hostages. High-powered villain. Report in immediately.”

The moment between you shattered like glass.

Kirishima pulled back, his expression shifting—not hidden, but focused. He was still him, still raw and uncertain, but this was what he did best.

You pushed your damp hair out of your face, standing up. “Let’s go.”

He hesitated for half a second before nodding, rising to his feet beside you.

Whatever had just passed between you would have to wait.

The storm had broken—and the world still needed its heroes.

---

The city was chaos by the time you arrived.

Neon lights reflected off the slick pavement, distorted by the rain. Civilians had been evacuated to the edges of the streets, their panicked whispers blending with the wail of sirens. The hostage situation was centered in a high-rise bank, shattered glass littering the ground outside.

You and Kirishima landed in sync, the rush of wind from your quirk kicking up debris as you scanned the scene.

“Tempest, Red Riot, we have three hostiles inside,” the lead officer briefed you quickly. “They’ve got a quirk-enhanced barricade, and we believe at least two of them have combat abilities. The hostages are being held on the upper floors.”

Kirishima cracked his knuckles, his expression sharp. “Got it. We’ll handle it.”

You nodded, raising a hand to the sky. The storm above rumbled in response, the air shifting as you pulled at the wind, gathering pressure in your palms.

A deep voice from inside the building called out before you could make a move.

“Well, well. Look who showed up.”

A figure stepped into view through the broken windows. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and covered in jagged, crystalline armor that pulsed with an eerie red light. You recognized him instantly—Breakneck, a high-tier villain with a strength-enhancing quirk that made his body as hard as diamond.

He grinned, his eyes locking onto Kirishima. “Red Riot. Been looking forward to this.”

Kirishima tensed beside you, his jaw clenching. “You know me?”

“Everyone knows you,” Breakneck sneered. “The unbreakable hero, right? Let’s put that to the test.”

Without warning, he lunged.

Kirishima barely had time to harden his body before Breakneck’s fist collided with his torso. The impact sent a shockwave through the street, cracking the pavement beneath Kirishima’s feet as he slid backward.

You reacted instantly, launching a powerful gust of wind to break the momentum, sending Breakneck stumbling. Raising your arms, you called the storm to you, lightning crackling in your fingertips.

“I’ll handle the hostages,” you told Kirishima. “You keep him busy.”

He nodded, shaking off the hit. “Be careful.”

You didn’t waste time responding—within seconds, you shot upward, weaving through shattered windows as you raced toward the upper floors.

The hostages were bound near the back of the room, their eyes wide with fear. Two more villains guarded them, one with a quirk that generated explosive pulses and another with enhanced reflexes. They turned the second you landed.

“You guys are really making this difficult,” you muttered. Then, with a flick of your wrist, the air pressure in the room dropped.

The sudden vacuum knocked both villains off balance as they gasped for breath. You surged forward, wind twisting around your form, striking with a precise kick that sent the first one flying into the wall. The second tried to counter, but you were faster, weaving through their attacks like a current slipping through cracks.

With a powerful gust, you slammed them both to the ground.

“Stay down,” you ordered, voice sharp.

You turned to the hostages, using the edge of a sharp air current to slice through their restraints. “Get out of here. Now.”

They nodded frantically, scrambling toward the exit. You ensured they were clear before rushing back down—only to find Kirishima locked in a brutal fight.

Breakneck was strong. Too strong.

Even with his quirk, Kirishima was struggling, his hardened body cracking under the force of the villain’s relentless attacks. But he wasn’t giving up. He never did.

You clenched your fists. He doesn’t always have to do this alone.

Summoning every ounce of your power, you reached for the storm. Thunder roared in response, lightning dancing between the clouds before you redirected it—channeling the energy straight into your fist.

Then, like a lightning strike breaking through stone, you struck.

The impact hit Breakneck square in the chest, sending an electric current surging through his body. He spasmed, his crystalline armor flickering with unstable energy before shattering on impact.

Kirishima didn’t hesitate. With a final, devastating punch, he sent Breakneck crashing into the pavement, unconscious.

Silence.

Then, as the rain continued to pour, Kirishima turned to you—soaked, breathing hard, but smiling.

“You really saved my ass back there.”

You smirked, the storm still humming in your veins. “Told you. You’re not unbreakable, Eijirou. You don’t have to be.”

Something flickered in his gaze—something softer than battle, stronger than words.

Maybe, just maybe, he was finally starting to believe it.

---

The rain had slowed by the time the fight ended.

The moment Breakneck hit the ground, the tension in the air dissolved. The villain lay unconscious, his shattered armor glinting under the city lights. Sirens wailed in the distance, signaling the arrival of backup. The civilians were safe. The job was done.

But Kirishima wasn’t moving.

You turned to him, breath still uneven, feeling the residual crackle of lightning in your veins. “Eijirou,” you called softly.

He was staring at his hands.

Knuckles bruised. Faint cracks running along his hardened skin. Evidence of the battle. Evidence that, no matter how much he told himself otherwise, he wasn’t unbreakable.

“I was losing,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the rain.

You stepped closer. “But you didn’t.”

He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Because you were here. Because you saved me.”

You frowned. “And what’s wrong with that?”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. “Heroes are supposed to be strong. People look up to us. They trust us to protect them, to be unshakable. And if I can’t even—”

“Stop.”

Your voice was sharp, cutting through the storm in his head. He looked at you, startled.

You met his gaze, firm and unwavering. “You keep saying ‘heroes are supposed to be strong.’ ‘Heroes are supposed to be unshakable.’ But Eijirou—heroes are just people.”

He inhaled sharply, as if the words physically struck him.

You softened slightly, stepping even closer. “People don’t follow you because you’re unbreakable,” you continued. “They follow you because you don’t give up. Because you care. Because you fight even when it hurts. That’s what makes you strong. Not your quirk. You.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, red eyes searching yours.

Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. He let out a breath—deep, steadying. Something in him seemed to shift, as if the weight he had been carrying for so long had finally begun to lift.

“You always do that,” he murmured, echoing the words he had spoken on the rooftop.

You tilted your head. “Do what?”

“See me.”

The rain had slowed to a drizzle now, the storm passing, but the world around you felt impossibly still. His gaze softened, his lips parting slightly as if there was more he wanted to say.

You felt your heart skip.

Then, with a small, quiet smile, Kirishima reached out—hesitant at first, then surer—his fingers brushing against yours.

Warm. Solid. Real.

Maybe he wasn’t unbreakable.

But standing here, beside you, he didn’t have to be.

---