Stumbled On This And Its Been On Repeat In My Brain For Days! Such A Fun Glimpse Into A What-if World

Stumbled on this and it’s been on repeat in my brain for days! Such a fun glimpse into a what-if world where heroes have time on their hands 😸

Thinking again about how Aizawa saw the greatest tragedy of his life as a cautionary tale about hero work. Thinking about how losing Shirakumo propelled him to teaching in order to save Shirakumo in ways he hadn’t been able to by teaching his students how to survive. Thinking about how in the end he always believed that death was the ultimate ending for anyone in herowork. Thinking about how this changes when he starts getting too invested in his class and has to believe that there’s a bright future for them that doesn’t end six feet under. Thinking about how he takes up Shinsou and suddenly the greatest tragedy of his life that turned into a cautionary tale has flipped once again and becomes a story about how his friend helped and inspired him to be a hero and how he wants to do the same for Shinsou. Thinking about how when he gets Eri suddenly death as his ultimate ending is no longer an option and now there’s a future he needs to actively stay alive for and maybe love was the ultimate ending. Thinking about how Aizawa’s character arc is going from “passive resignation to cruelties of life” to “desperately clinging onto hope and love despite his better judgements and the pains of his past.”

I love love love this co-worker vibe for Deku and Aizawa!!!!

@/chida_ryou0: クソダサセンス

(※最終回のネタ含みます)

you know the drill, op disabled reblogs etc etc etc

Inevitable Things : chapter ten

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks. Mentions of drug use

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You kick yourself for leaving your room a mess. Your fluffy pajamas are strewn across the blue sheets of the bed, your makeup bag is scattered across the bathroom sink. The sheets are fluffed up from when you threw your luggage on them and the remote is nestled in your pillow-

But Aizawa doesn’t notice. 

He’s too busy kissing you like he can’t get close enough. On the greediest of movements, his teeth click against yours and he whimpers into the plush of your tongue, desperately pushing into you. His body follows suit, cornering you against the backside of the door, crowding you until your heart rate spikes-

Then his lips travel down, down, to the curve of your neck, the spot that makes your knees buckle a bit with his tongue drags across the skin. He must feel it too, because he does it again. Snd again. The sensation rips through your body the way fire rips through oil and you fear that you may combust before the fun’s even begun.

“Ah-hh-a-” Your body punches out without your permission. He growls in return and sucks at the same spot again- “Jesus, Shouta-”

“Say it again-” Aizawa demands.” Say my name again.”

And you do.

This time, he sucks you skin into his mouth until you whine for him to stop. He does and you can feel the blossoming pain of a bruise in his wake, throbbing for less and more concurrently.

You can feel how hard he is against you. It presses through the thick cloth of his pants, right into your lower stomach. It's thick. It's hard. He wants you-- unbelievably so. It takes every firing synapse in your skull to reach down and paw at his cock, to feel it beneath your fingertips.

 Heated desire flows through you, thrums, hot and totally overwhelming in every way. You barely notice how you’re sinking, down the smooth plane of the door, down until your knees hit the floor. He follows you the whole time, hunching over you as to not break the contact for even a moment. Tickles of hair and breath and simply him touch your cheeks. Somehow you end up supine, Aizawa slotted between your legs, carpet catching against your hair as he sinks lower, lower-

“We shouldn’t do this.” he whispers and you kiss him deeper, because no, you shouldn’t, but there’s something inside you that needs this, needs him. You press into his shoulder and off of the ground, flipping both of you around so he’s splayed on the floor. Gravity grinds you down against him and he groans - pained, wanted-

“We shouldn’t do this.” He’s firm this time, even with those dark, wet eyes that seem to be begging for it- “You’ve been-”

“I thought you wanted me.” You grip his shirt and you aren’t sure why. You aren’t going to disobey his wishes, but you wish you could, just to derive some pleasure from him, from tonight. “I thought we were past this hot and cold thing.”

“I do,” he says. “I am.”

Gently, he places a hand on your thigh. The cuts on your feet thrum in the silence, the pain sharp and demanding, just like the ache in your chest.

“But, not like this. You’ve been crying, drinking…”

Your grip loosens.

“Do…do you even want this?” he asks.

Do you? You let him sit up and you fall away and try to process it all. This whole drama between the two of you has you upside down; the fighting, the truce, the spark that's just lit between you- it all came together tonight. He waited for you, he was here- 

You want everything that Aizawa could be to you- but do you want him?

You barely know who he is. Even after all these years, Aizawa Shouta is basically a mystery to you. You don't know his favorite color or food or anything-- hell, you didn't know he owned cats until today! The emotional high you’ve been riding starts to waiver. You don’t think you’d regret sleeping with him, but…

“I don't know,” you say,  carefully, because you don't. Not really. You know you need someone new, but you aren’t sure if that’s Aizawa.

Aizawa nods, solemn, swallowing the news. He takes it better than you thought he would; he seems thankful to have a chance more than anything. 

“I don’t want you to almost want this.” He adjusts himself awkwardly, pants still tight at the front. It’s funny- you don’t even think you’ve seen a man use both heads at once. You don’t laugh, though, or even smirk; not while Aizawa looks so utterly defeated. “I want to be more than that.”

The two of you untangle from each other, you fixing your shirt, him fixing his pants. His hair is disheveled, wild from your touch and the carpet, and his lips are freshly kissed red. The hotel clock changes to the top of the hour, blinking its deep red pattern as you both sit there, silent. You find spaces against the door, side by side. Occasionally you can hear the elevator ding in the distance of the hall.

Fucking would be easier than this. Sex doesn’t need pretext or explanation, it just is what it is. You could just do it and move on, let tomorrow’s problems stay unaddressed, but instead you have to percolate it your emotions, decide exactly how you feel-

“It’s not that I don’t not like you.” You interrupt your own thoughts. “I do, I think. Like you.”

You shrug, still avoiding his gaze even as your shoulders slim each other. “At least, you make me do some stupid shit that no one else makes me do, other than--”

You don't want to talk about Touya. Luckily, he seems to understand. Aizawa just nods back to you, eyes lowered, expression tight.

“You also make me do some things that I regret,” He speaks so carefully.

“Like firing Denki?” You try to joke. “And moving the coffee machine?”

“I only fired Denki because he was abusing your good will and pushing his work off on to you.” Aizawa shifts a bit again with a sigh.  “I don’t regret that. I do regret making you so upset over it all.”

You guffaw. “You knew I did his work?” You thought you had been secretive about it!

“Of course I did.”  He shifts to turn your way, face so close to yours you can feel his breath against your cheek. You watch from the corner of your vision and try not to let that fluttering in your stomach take over. “No one else double staples like you do.”

You throw your hands up in frustration at the thought. “I never get the angle right the first time!”

And he smiles back at you with only his eyes, soft and sweet.

“I know.”

Since when did he start looking at you like that?  And since when did you start to like it?

Did Touya ever look at you like that? Maybe a long, long time ago, before the pills and heroin, back when you were both human and young. The attention is so sweet that it aches to bare, and yet you still do, maybe even smiling back. 

 You try not to shatter the moment.  “You really do like me, don’t you?”

He nods.

“Then why were you always so-?”

Aizawa opens his mouth, then closes it, Then, he does it again, seemingly finding no answer. His bad leg curls up to his chest and he loops an arm under his thigh to hold it in place. Silver peeks out from under the cuff, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The shape is very calf like, but utilitarian- no real design other than smooth curves. You try not to stare, especially when he speaks up again.

“I don’t know.” Shouta pulls himself tighter. “It’s like I’m still some stupid twenty year old when I’m around you.”

You remember the feeling of being twenty: the turbulence, the love, the fear. You think about your ink stained hands, the ones so desperate to hold and be held. Ones so young and yet so, so wounded. Against your better judgment, you reach out with those hands and grab Shouta’s free hand, giving it the lightest of squeezes.

“I feel that way too.”

And, when he squeezes back, you think, just for a moment, that maybe you do want this. 

The time he’s granting you is so appreciated and you almost want to try and fuck him again-

“Where do we go from here?” Aizawa asks.

“I think I’d like to try… whatever this is,” you say. A thrill and a fear thrills inside you. Something new, something unknown. The mystery of it all is terrifying. 

“It’ll be a lot of paperwork though.”  Aizawa, of course, brings you back to reality. That’s right, as coworker’s, it’s probably not the most smiled upon thing to date-- especially since Aizawa is so high up in the company. Bakugo and Izuku are together, but they had to disclose that fact before they were even hired. 

God, you’ll have to tell Yagi that you’re seeing Aizawa, won’t you? You can’t decide if he’ll be proud or alarmed. 

“We don’t have to jump right into dating,” you say, quickly. “We can just.. Go on dates.”

Aizawa’s scowl makes a return. “That’s dating.”

“No, it’s going on a date.” You stay firm. “Very different. Much less commitment. Nothing to tell the company about. Or Hizashi.”

“Hizashi can never know.” Aizawa groans. His hands fly to his head in mock pain. “He’d be insufferable about it.”

“The whole town would know if we told Hizashi!”

A giggle escapes you, then Aizawa follows suit. His laugh is crackling, low, rumbling, but it makes your hands vibrate with something you don’t recognize. Before you can stop it, you laugh harder too, then he follows, until you’re both nothing but laughter and tears, crumbling over almost nothing at all. Your head rolls onto his shoulder so you can feel how he bounces with joy, and it only fuels you more. It takes a full minute to pull yourself together again, core aching from the exertion.

“Okay,” There’s still a hint of levity to his voice. “Let’s move slow then. Figure out what you want on your own time.”

“Okay,” you say.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

The fact that you’re so intertwined with him sets in. Your head is on his shoulder, leg popped over his, hands clasped so tightly you think you might never let go. It’s juvenile, like two kids behind the bleachers, savoring the moments before they get caught. You… like it. Dopamine receptors that haven’t been tickled in years are alight in your brain, giving you this tickling, quantifiable satisfaction. 

You stay there until the carpet burns your ass. 

“Do you want to sit on the bed?”  you say, peeling yourself from him and rising to your feet. Exhaustion is already aching under your eyes and in your joints. “It’ll be comfier.”

“I shouldn't stay too long.” He's already standing and walking towards the bed. “I have to present in the morning.”

You quickly throw your mess to the slide and then slide on top of the sheets.  Aizawa follows, stiffly flopping beside you. His bad leg kicks out a bit when he falls and you can’t help but wince at the thought. Another mystery about him that you haven’t been about to uncover: his leg is his business, but you can’t help but be curious, especially since it’s related to his speech tomorrow. Tensei or Hizashi could probably tell you, but that seems like a violation of Shouta’s privacy.

“I need to sleep,” he says, drifting along to your silent siren’s song.  He’s already slotting himself against you. “It’ll only be for a couple minutes.”

“Okay,” you say.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

For a  while in comfortable silence, you listen to the way he breathes; its rhythmic, tempo only hitching when you move at all-- especially when you drape an arm across his chest. His eyes are bloodshot from work and the late hour, but you almost like how it looks, how the red deepens the brown until it’s past inky, almost bottomless.

Aizawa suddenly sighs, expression downturned.

“Can I say something?” 

You nod.

“I don’t want you to watch the presentation tomorrow.”

“Oh.” You clear your throat to buy time. How are you supposed to react to that? You want to lash out with anger - after tonight, he turns you away? Again?- but you try to swallow that down. Jumping to conclusions hasn’t helped either of you.  “Did I do something?”

“No.” He’s quick to correct. “My leg will be on display and--”

Aizawa sucks in his peach slice lips. “It’s different when it’s strangers looking at me with a scientific eye. You-- you’re different.”

Oh.

“You feel vulnerable,” you guess.

“Perhaps,” he all but confirms. Now, he won’t meet your eye, his gaze stuck to the ceiling. You try and find where he’s looking, try to pick one dot out in the uneven ceiling that makes sense, like you’re watching stars instead of plaster. 

But there isn’t anywhere to look.

Maybe you’ll never see things completely from his perspective or see what he sees. Maybe that’s okay, as long as you’re here to listen. Your hand finds his once again, just as his started looking for yours.

“How did it-?” you try.

“Car accident.” Aizawa cuts you off.  “Head on collision with a drunk driver. I was twenty.”

So young. You wince as you remember your fight for the front of the car that morning; he probably does need it, both for his leg and his mental well being. You try to imagine him, twenty, unscarred, no little crescent scar on his cheek and no hitch in his gate-

“That must have been so scary.”

He hums an affirmative. “Not as scary as the recovery.”

You squeeze his hand in yours, as tight as you can muster. “I’m so sorry.”

 “Me too.”

You almost talk about Touya, how your twentieth was hard in a different way, but the words don’t come. As close as you two have allowed yourselves to become, there’s still a wall between you-- double sided. Behind yours is years of loving a man who is set on destroying himself, loving someone that’s forgotten how to love you back-

Behind his, his own traumas. 

“I’ll hang out with Hizashi tomorrow,” you say after a very long time. “We’ll go slow.”

“Thank you.”

His nose presses into your cheek, followed by the plush of lips. When it draws a giggle from you, he does it again, slighting closer to your lips. His hands are trying to loop around you, under you, through the warmth of blanket to grab handfuls of your waist and thigh. When he squeezes, he laughs too, something low and grumbling that gets caught in his throat. If he weren’t about to kiss you, you probably wouldn’t have caught it.

“You said we should move slow,” you curl your arms around his neck and drag your body closer, until you’re pressed right against him-

“I think-” He presses his lips to your temple. “A kiss-” He does the same to the other. “-or two-” There’s a pause before he hits your lips. “Is alright.”

You oblige.

You never imagined being here, with him, would be so incredibly gentle. Not that you ever thought you’d be here, having a slow, meticulous kiss with Aizawa Shouta. He just seems so rough, so uncaring from a distance; who could have guessed he had such a capacity for the saccharine? Who could have guessed that he’d hold you like he needs you, that he’d suck on your lip like he’d die without you? 

It slowly devolves. The heat between you burns brighter and brighter, a rolling core of embers right under the surface, but you start to drift. Maybe it’s the expensive bed and perfect pillows, maybe it’s the comfort of being held, but sleep starts to creep into your mind. He must feel it too; the pauses between yet peck grow longer and longer, each drag of skin against skin getting lighter, more fleeting-

The bed creaks as he rolls over. 

“Shouta?” you ask, unable to open your eyes. “Are you really okay with me not knowing what I want from this?”

There’s a pause. He shifts back to you, hand on your waist.

“Don’t sleep in your contacts.” Shouta mumbles into your temple, on the precipice of sleep himself. “You’ll be mad in the morning.”

You hum his worries away.

---

He’s gone in the morning. You awake to creased sheets, the peep of sunlight creeping through your blinds, and sticky, blurry eyes. He was right- you do regret sleeping in your contacts, but that doesn’t kill the butterflies that have hatched inside you, flitting about in sheer excitement. You (kind of) (sort of) (not really) have a boyfriend. At least, someone in the shape of a boyfriend, who holds you all night and kisses you deep and makes your pussy-

You shake that off.

As you prepare for the day - brushing your teeth, washing your face, stripping off your dirty clothes and replacing them with a fresh pair of undies- you keep thinking back to him, him, him. Aizawa’s right- you feel twenty again. Maybe even better. You have no qualms about walking around naked post shower, breasts out and pearled in the thrull of the AC.

You’re standing in the middle of the room, watching the news and googling ‘coffee near me’ when you hear the door. It beeps, then creeps open, Aizawa ducking back in. Gone is the outfit from yesterday, replaced with a nice top and… sweatpants. He’s also freshly bathed, raven hair barely damp against his shirt. His usually hooded eyes pop wide and he freezes when he sees you standing there, only your panties to save your decency.

“Hi!” you say, more surprised than anything else.

“Hi,” he says back, just as awkwardly. He’s trying not to stare at you; you quickly scurry back under the covers to hide yourself, shoving handfuls of sheets over your tits.

 “You look-- I didn’t think you’d be awake--- I brought breakfast,” he tries, holding a brown bag up for you in one hand and a cup in the other. “And a latte. Nice-- glasses.”

You look at him. Really, really look at him. Breakfast in bed? You didn’t even fuck him. Why would he--?

“Really?” you try not to sound skeptical.

He hums a yes. “I borrowed your key, hope that’s okay.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s-” You’re less concerned about that than breakfast. After not having a real dinner, you’re starving; he must have been too. Taking the bag, you quickly look inside. It’s a little bagel sandwich, wrapped in tin foil and a heavenly smell. “You really brought me food?”

“Stop asking me that and take this.” He places the drink on the nightstand. “It all seemed like things you would like.”

You aren’t sure if you’re hungry or if the sandwich really is good. All you know is that you unpeel it from its wrapping and take a less than demure bite, followed very quickly by a second. Your eyes actually flutter back into your skull for a moment; fuck-- that’s a good fucking breakfast. The coffee smells fantastic too. All of this while sitting in high thread count sheets? You might be in heaven.

“Don’t look at my breasts if they fall out,” you mumble through your food. 

“I will be looking,” he says, completely serious. “Maybe even praying.”

With your free hand, you scooch the comforter down, exposing your tits to the cool hotel air. His expression grows hard and you glimmer under the attention. It’s new enough that it still feels elicit, dangerous, wrong, to be topless in front of the man.

“There is a God.” Aizawa sits on the edge of the bed. His eyes never leave your body. “Remind me to bring you breakfast in bed again some day.”

He leans on to his palms to duck over you, catching your cheek in a rather sloppy kiss. 

“You aren’t going to eat with me?” you ask.

"I'd rather spend the morning eating you.” His flirtation merely has you choking on your spit.  “But we agreed to go slow.”

He dots your other cheek with a kiss again. It’s funny how soft he has become in such a short time. Has this always been there, hiding under that stupid yellow sweatshirt? Or have you broken through him this weekend?

Then, you process what he said. Fuck, that sounds-- you’re still a little wet from last night, riding the high of being touched. It would only take a couple licks for you to-

“Don’t look at me like that.” Shouta shuts down your train of thought. “I really should be going to prepare.”

That’s right- there’s only a little time before he presents.

“Hm, okay. Another morning, then.” You take another bite. “Good luck with your speech. I won't be watching.”

You’re still a bit conflicted about not going, but you respect his choice. The accident seems to be a huge scar on his past; if he isn’t ready to debride it, you can’t force him. Besides, you haven’t discussed Touya with him-- that’s probably an equally big trauma in your life.

Especially because you may still be in love with Touya.

That thought cuts the wind from your sails.

Rest