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Reacting to their s/o telling them they’re pregnant.

Warnings: Sooo much fluff and sweetness I apologize. A tiny bit of angst.

For my soft, tired looking boys. 

Dabi

He could feel you holding your breath every minute he was around, for days and weeks before you finally let it out.

“Dabi…” you called, taking his attetion off of a coffee mug so he would look at you.

He already knew, ofcourse he did. He was very attentive of you. And knew you’d missed two periods already, he also noticed that you had put in a little belly weight. That and the fact that he felt like he knew it in his heart -if he had the right to say he had one- was enough.

“I’m pregnant” you had said with a hand over your belly, his expression was unreadable at first. But when he put the mug down a relief like emotion washed over his features as he embraced you in the warmest hug.

“I know… I thought you’d leave me.” he had confessed.

It actually scared him more than the spawn currently growing inside of you. He knew you did not love the lifestyle he lived, even if he tried his best to keep you uninvolved. And since you’d been keeping the pregnancy to yourself since finding out, he couldn’t decide wether to think you would run away with your child or get rid of it. And deep down, even though he initially thought he would end up walking out of your life for good years from now, he was glad you’d decided to share this with him. 

“You know I wouldn’t! I could not… I love you. But Dabi …” that’s when the tears came, and you held him tighter. It needed to stop, you could not raise your child in a warzone. Much less when their father was one of the people causing it. 

“I know y/n, I know. You don’t worry about a thing.” he said caressing your hair. “I have a plan.”

He comforted you in his arms for what felt like an eternity. And he did indeed have a plan. Since he found out that there was a piece of him and you, full of innocence and love, he knew he wanted better for this child than the life of a villain. He was worried for the life to come, but that didn’t mean he’d show it. He was going to protect you both with his life until his last dying breath, and that was a fact not even the League of Villains, or his own vindictive desires could ever change. At least he hoped so.

Bonus

You two had a girl, and this made him weak to his knees.

She (Daia) has his mesmerazing blue eyes.

The first and only known time Dabi has cried -by cried I mean he shed like two tears before he roughly wiped his eyes-, was when she went missing at a mall for an hour or two. She was two at the time and Dabi couldn’t shake away the thought that the League had taken her from her as a punishment for leaving them.

When she was found he literally didn’t let go of her or you until all three of you were back in the safety of your home.

Daia was, as he would call her, the fire of his eyes. 

Shinsou

To be honest your relationship with him wasn’t… formal. It was more of hookups and benefits, but he trusted you like no one and same thing with you. You knew of his dreams and aspirations, so you felt like you’d betrayed him by getting pregnant. A child could only get in his way, so you panicked. You also had your own dreams to follow and you were both still young.

“We’re fucked, I fucked up, I’m sorry Hitoshi.” tears already sprinkled down your cheeks and he just frowned deeply at the other side of the phone.

“What is it?”

“I need you to come, meet me by our place.”

He was confused alright, you never had acted like that with him so it was an unsettling feeling. He cared for you and he hoped you wouldn’t break up whatever the two of you had, but he mostly hoped you were okay.

“Y/N” he found you sitting on the floor, face between your knees and a shaking frame. “Y/N  what..?” you looked up, and it hurt him to see you in such a despaired state.

“I- I I’m sorry Hi- Hito-shi” you choked out and he bent his knee to put a hand on your shoulder.

“What’s up?” he always had this calm demeanor that most of the time pissed you off, today was no exception.

“YOU DAMMNED…!” before you could finish your sentence a fog clouded your mind and you felt dizzy. Had he just?

“Calm down” he commanded, sending a chill down your spine. When your mind obeyed him, he let go and as quickly as you regained control you slapped his face.

“Let that be the first and last time you use that quirk of yours on me.” he chuckled, taking your hand in his.

“I’m sorry, what happened are you okay?” he says while looking down at your hand, he was absently drawing nonsense in it with his finger and you smiled.

“I hope this doesn’t ruin us Shinsou” you said intertwining your hand with his. He was stiff now but you didn’t dare look at him.

“Why would it?”

“I- I’m, We…” unable to find the right words, in a desperate move you pulled his hand down to your stomach and pressed his palm on your belly, hoping he’d get the message.

“Y/n what…” it took him a minute, you looked at his confused expression and as realization dawned on it you took a hand to your mouth. “You’re pregnant.”

And there came your tears again. “I’m sorry Hitoshi! I don’t know how this happened I…” he chuckled interrupting your rant and you looked at him bewildered. His eyes were still on your belly and it made your face flush.

“I have a pretty good idea about how it did” he says with a smirk and you swat his hand away.

“HITOSHI!! THIS IS SERIOUS” you say hiding your face on your knees again.

After a second or two you feel him grab your face, and you are reluctant to open your eyes even as he wipes the tears off your cheeks.

“You don’t have to be sorry. We both made a mistake and we’ll have to deal. But I can’t see you like this.” His final comment made you look at him, only to find his purple eyes staring back. He was never this sweet. “I guess this is a bad time to ask you to become my girlfriend huh.” he says taking a hand to the back of his neck as he smiles.

“WHAT, Hitoshi are you even thinking straight!? We’ve got a situation here!!”

“I am, and I can’t tell my parents I got just some girl pregnant… she’s gotta be my girl.”

“Tell your… so you, you’re not angry? But we’re so young, and what about becoming a hero?”

“My parents were young y/n, and I can handle it.” he said taking your hand in his to kiss it. “You need to trust me, I’ve got your back.”

“I didnt think you’d want this” you say in a whisper.

“Y/n, we created something, and it’s already by far the best thing I’ve ever done.” he says taking a hand to your belly again, making you flush deeply. “It isn’t ideal, but I don’t think I’d rather have it any other way…. Or with anybody else.”

“Hitoshi…” tears prickled your eyes but this time, these were the happy kind. And you smiled as you threw body into his arms. “Thank you!”

You felt him smile as he rested a hand on your back “I’ve got you… both of you.” And with that he pressed a light kiss to the top of your head.

Bonus

Shinsou held on to his word, and he was a really big help with telling your parents.

It really wasn’t easy, but he worked hard until your baby boy was born and even harder after that. He worried so much he wouldn’t even let you study too much.

Whoever dared say something mean to you at school about your state had to deal with a very scary Hitoshi, on a really bad day he’d brainwash people into doing things for you for the rest of the week. Which led to a few fights between you two until he stopped it.

Now, you were glad to say that it had all paid off. Shinsou and you married, had your own house and jobs and your boy was a happy little purpled hair spawn.

There was another bundle in the making, and Shinsou was thrilled, getting to enjoy your pregnancy this time around with a lot of belly rubs, pampering and when he thought you weren’t paying attetion, lots of talking to your unborn child.

Aizawa

You had been happily married to Shouta for three years before you got pregnant.

You guys weren’t trying to get pregnant, but you had talked about kids.

And you knew that, being a teacher, Shouta had mixed emotions about becoming a father. 

That did not stop you from being excited as hell though. You admired your husband so much, how strong he was after being through so much. You felt he finally deserved something to go right in his life. And with the League of Villains long forgotten, the time was more than perfect. You wanted Shouta to feel the same way you did, so you prepared him the cutest little surprise you could think off.

Since he was a very private person you knew including people on this was beyond the question. But that didn’t stop you from telling a few of his closest coworkers, just so that they could lead him on during the week. And they also had to keep him occupied until everything was ready the day you would tell him.

It was very simple, you would greet him with a nice date night prepared. Then you would give him a box full of things, things that belonged to the two of you in your early years. You knew it would annoy him if it took him forever to get to the end of it, but that is exactly how you wanted him to be by the end of it. You put in there everything and anything imaginable, like for example the clothes he had left the hospital in as a baby, both ot your childhood photo albums, a blanket your mother said you used to love, some used baby shoes and the list went on. 

All this so that when he got to the bottom of the box and found an empty photo album, he would be confused as hell. There was only going to be one picture inside it. It was your first sonogram picture.

 On the back it would read “Newest addition to the Aizawa’s.”

You were preparing everything for when he got home that day, you were planing to get everything on video so you could rewatch the moment forever. You cooked him his favorite meal, you even found his favourite childhood movie so that you guys could watch it afterwards. And you were almost finished with the box.

But you fell asleep.

Just five minutes before Mic texted you that Aizawa had just gone home you had fallen asleep in bed after taking a break. You couldn’t blame yourself though. You had a very hard time finding all those things and preparing everything. And apparently growing a human being was already taking it’s toll on you. You were exhausted.

And the only thing that woke you up was a cold hand and a peppered kiss on the cheek. While you slowly opened your eyes you realized Shouta was laying next to you, a dumb smirk on his face while his tumb was massaging circles on your exposed tummy. You smiled, still half asleep and completely oblivious.

“Welcome home” you greeted him in a soft voice.

“Dinner was great” he said and you smiled, closing in the distance and resting your face on his chest.

“Thanks, I made it specially….” and theeen you realized, you had messed up. “Fuck” your eyes were wide open now and your husband chuckled. “Did you see?” 

Dumb ass, dumb ass. Dumb. Ass. Y/N

“I did.” there was a small smirk on his face. “So… Im gonna be a dad huh. No wonder everyone at work was so… bubbly” 

“Fuck, Shouta!” you slapped his chest “You weren’t suposse to see that! I had a plan and I screwed it.” you pout and whine laying on your back and rubbing your face. “I missed your reaction…”

Shouta chuckled, his cold hand caressing your pouty lips and pulling himself closer to you. You then realized he was holding up the sonogram picture, wich you were writing in before falling asleep. “I love you, and this…” he waved the small picture “makes me very happy” he leaned in giving you a deep kiss.

He grabbed the sides of your face, and you could feel the sides of his mouth beginning to curl up. You chuckled into the kiss and you both pulled away.

“Nothing has ever been as precious to me as you are in this moment, I don’t need a surprise to make this any more special. You have made me so happy Y/N. ” he said just before kissing you again. 

Your heart felt as if it was going to burst from all these things Shouta was making you feel. And actual tears spilled from your eyes. Shouta made sure to wipe each one of them away with his lips. 

“I think this is the sweetest you have ever been in our whole marriage.” you joked and he huffs. 

Aizawa wasn’t very expressive that was no lie. But he was a very passionate man, and you knew that what he didn’t say in words he showed in actions. And you were completely okay -and in love- with that. 

Bonus 

Aizawa went to every single one of your doctors appointments, and as much as he denied it, he always got teary eyed when he heard his child’s heartbeat.

He became the softest person when he was around you in your late months, he never argued or raised his voice or made sudden movements. It pissed the fuck out of you to the point where you hit him with a book once, because he wouldn’t let you near the stove.

This didn’t change when your babies were born. Just 3 months before giving birth the doctor had some news for you. TWINS! When he had heard the news, Shouta almost literally fell from his chair. 

The day of delivery came early, and that man almost died in the hospital room with you. Everything you felt, he felt like he felt it. He gave you every little drop of his support and held your hand for the whole 10 hours.

When his babies had finally made their way into the world he was the happiest person alive. Two little black haired boys, completely healthy, incredibly small and perfectly healthy. Everytime they had to be taken away for test and evaluations his heart broke a little. 

He never once left the hospital building until you and the babies did, he looked very very tired but he refused to leave your side. And when all three of you could finally leave, he rushed up and down so that you guys had everything you needed when you got to your home. Because you were all his precious gift and he would treat you as such.

Boy, do I wanna take you home

Request:

Aizawa x reader with the prompt “How many drinks would it take you to leave with me?”

Pairing: Aizawa x reader

Type: fluff 

It was late; far later than you had expected to be. 

Hizashi and Nemuri had somehow managed to convince you to get drinks with them after work. You didn’t go out often, especially if it was after work. Teaching a ragtag bunch of heroes-in-training tended to leave you more exhausted than you had ever thought was possible. 

Today had been an exception, however. It had been a fairly normal day of teaching, you had gone over the basics of hero training and the basics of emergency medical treatment if there was a scenario in which it would take a while for a first responder to reach you or a team member. You had, by the end of the day, felt as though you could stay up a bit later and grab a few drinks with your friends. 

“Y/n,” Nemuri slid over to where you were sitting at the bar, resting her head loving on your shoulder as she looked up at you, her eyes appearing larger and more doe-like than normal, “Did you tell Shouta where you are?” 

“Nope,” You hiccuped before giggling, twirling a strand of hair around your finger and reaching for your glass. Much to your disappointment, Nemuri had reached out before you, knowing what you were about to do, and moved the glass towards Hizashi and out of the way of your extended arm.

A pout overtook your once cheerful expression and Nemuri sighed, turning to face Hizashi, “We definitely should call him.” 

Your brows furrowed at this information and you tilted your head, glancing curiously between your friends. Just who were they planning on calling? Squinting, you debated with yourself if it truly mattered or, if getting another drink mattered more to you. 

It wasn’t often you let yourself get loose. Not since you graduated U.A, went through your young twenties as a hero, and became a teacher. You found yourself more focused on making sure you were going to bed early, drinking enough water, eating healthy meals, anything to keep up with the kids you were training. 

Yes, one more drink couldn’t hurt. 

Sneakily looking both ways, and making sure that Hizashi and Nemuri were both occupied, you lifted your hand towards the glass that Nemuri had moved earlier. Wriggling your fingers, you watched in utter awe as your glass slowly drew towards you–it were as though an invisible rope was pulling it. 

A giggle escaped your lips. You were so, incredibly proud of yourself for completing that task. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for you to forget your quirk when you were drunk. Bringing the glass to your lips, you froze, your eyes widening as they caught the gaze of a tall man with dark hair and a bored expression. 

Well, hello handsome. 

Your brain seemed to kickstart as the man started to walk towards you and you placed your glass on the counter. Glancing towards your friends, a puzzled look crossed your face as Nemuri’s snickers floated around you and Hizashi shook with laughter. 

However, you shook yourself out of your stumper. You had more important matters to deal with at that moment. 

The matter being that greek god who was walking towards you. Your heart nearly burst with excitement as he stopped in front of you. Oh, today really was your lucky day.

Putting on your most charming smile, you held out your hand, “Hello, I’m Y/n.”

The man raised his brow at your introduction and you watched, confusedly, as he turned to Hizashi and Nemuri. 

“How much did you guys give her?” You almost started drooling at the sound of his voice. It was a deeper baritone, rough, but gentle enough. It reminded you of cotton sheets on a summer day or a fire crackling during the first snow of winter. 

You wanted him. 

“How many drinks would it take for you to leave with me,” You deadpanned, getting straight to the point, and, it was at this moment that Hizashi and Nemuri roared with humor. Your friends were slumped over, their body’s shaking uncontrollably as laughter coursed through them.   

The man, however, gave you a soft smile before fondly shaking his head. 

“None, we’re leaving right now and going home.” 

Today really was your lucky day. 

Nemuri and Hizashi, on the other hand, would never let you live down the fact that you hit on your own husband. 

Hi it's me again! XD in for another request if that's alright. So I've been on tiktok recently and have been seeing this kind of videos. Some bnha characters as parents with their s/o,

'Parents embbarrasing their daughter/son'

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ elle's note: sure! ahah, why not? just request and request, idrc if u requested even more since i'm starting to like writing! n e ways, starting lezgo! oh and r u rly sure that i get to choose the characters? not you?

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ pairings: aizawa shouta x reader, keigo takami x reader, denki kaminari x reader (separately)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ another note from elle: so i decided to do characters that i rarely write for. i just realized i made a bit too much, shouto, midoriya and bakugou. so have this!

aizawa shouta

i really think he would be more of an overprotective dad than a dad that embarrasses his daughter. nobody messes with his baby girl. no-fucking-body. periodt.

but sometimes he would though-

there was one time when his daughter always tripped at literally nothing causing her to. he assumed she got it from her mom's clumsiness.

but he still loves her though, no matter what the clumsiness she has, he loves her so much. but he loves her mom more though.

but now, her baby girl grew up and was officially learning in ua. when he first found out, he got really worried.

"y/n, honey, do you think we should really let shiora go to ua? don't you think it's dangerous?", he asks worried, you pulled him into a hug and said "love, you don't always have to be with her. she needs to get trained to protect herself too y'know?", you reassure him "but-", "shh, don't worry. you're gonna be her homeroom teacher right? what's the harm in that?", ".....oh, right".

he smirks at the thought, he knows what he's gonna do to her daughter now.

"i'm aizawa shouta, your homeroom teacher for the full semester until you graduate and go to the second semester.", he greets groggily, getting out of his sleeping bag shocking her baby girl.

"d-dad?! wH-?!", "shiora, do your best because i'm not gonna go easy on you even though you're my daughter doesn't mean i'm gonna play favouritism". he smirks while saying that, the whole class looking at the both of daughter and father right in front of their eyes.

"aizawa-san, that's why you have the same last name with aizawa-sensei! you're his daughter!". they start murmuring making shiora flustered and red. "shut up, let's start."

and as the class goes on and on, aizawa decides to make shiora embarrassed for a bit

"hey, shiora, do you still remember the times you always trip over nothing? or the time when you-", "DAD C'MON! WE PROMISED TO NOT TALK ABOUT THOSE MEMORIES EVER AGAIN! STOP IT!", she blushes as everyone stares at her.

"what? i'm just remembering times i spent with my baby girl with a naked butt running all around the ho-", "DAD, STOP!", and the teasing goes on and on and on.

resulting to shiora telling her mom what his dad did at the very first day in her class.

well, for shouta, he was punished for the night.

keigo takami

now this cocky bastard right here would embarrass the shit out of his son.

"how is your dick so small, kian?! mines ten times bigger! how the fuck would you pleasure a woman with that small of a dick then?!", he asks his son the tone of disappointment heard on his voice.

"daAAD! don't talk like that! it'll grow i promise!", kian whines as he puts his dick back into his pants and walking away from his nagging dad to go to his mom, his father following him, sighing.

"ma! is my dick small?!", kian asks worriedly making you look at him concerned. you took a glance over your husband, sighing over and over.

"wh-what?!", "i said is my dick small?!", "it's small! eight inches is so damn small kian!", his father cuts him off. "isn't eight inches big too?", you ask as you eye the both of them bickering.

"yeah it is! i have 11 inches and he has only 8? i'm disappointed in you kian.", he sighs loudly.

"el-eLEVEN inchES?!", his son chokes in his saliva while staring at his father.

"YEAH! well how do you think we made you?!", keigo murmurs making you hit him. "don't say things like that keigo! even though you have 11 inches you don't have rights on doing that to your son! got that?!", you tell him while pulling his ear harshly.

"oW OW OW! STOP! OW!", keigo yelps in pain

now keigo was the one who was quiet.

"mom! tell me is 8 really small? i'll just buy-", "KIAN TAKAMI, DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE BUY ANYTHING THAT YOU THINK WOULD MAKE YOUR DICK GET BIGGER, SO SHUT UP."

and keigo smirks at the back ground. like father like son, i guess.....?

denki kaminari

okay but he will make his son embarrassed. i know he will. this one's a cocky bastard too.

"daishi, make sure to clean up your room after okay?", you ask him while eyeing him and his father, looking suspicious. daishi was blushing while his father looked like he was suppressing a laugh.

"should i tell your mom, daishi~?", his father teases him making him red even more. "nO DAD NO-", daishi said, cutting his father off with a worried tone.

"tell me what? huh? what're the both of you hiding?", you ask them, glaring at the both of them. "dAIsHI PI-", "DAD NO!", he covers his dad's mouth before his father could say anything weird that would embarrass him.

"tell me, you idiots. before i make you.", now you were standing right infront of them, activating a bit of your quirk, making your hair glow.

"mOm NO WE'LL TELL YOU! YOU DON'T HAVe tO DO THAT!", daishi defends. "fire away then."

denki on the other hand was red from suppressing his laughter, until he couldn't hold it anymore. "AHAHAHAAH, DAISHI PISSED ON HIS BED".

now, daishi was a blushing mess.

"i-i'm sorry, i didn't mean to do th-", "it's okay, honey. you didn't, i know.", you reassure him while cupping his cheeks and kissed him on the forehead.

"WHAT?!", denki suddenly yells making you jump out of shock. "WHEN I PISSED MY BED, YOU SCOLDED ME!! WHY NOT HIM TOO?!", "ah, so you wanted me to scold my son too?"

"nO", his voice cracks, "i-i realized i have so-somewhere to go! catch ya later loves!", then he got out of the house running away from his wife ready to scold him even more.

fin.

EXCERPT FROM EDEN ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: the further you delve into the forest the farther you find yourself from your village's good graces—subsequently pushed into the arms of a creature you were warned to stay away from.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, fantasy au, naga aizawa, human reader, childhood friends to lovers, mention of violence (reader has bruises), reader is an outcast, bathing together, nesting, monsterfucking, mating bites (not A/B/O), aphrodisiac venom (so no prep needed), dubcon (for the venom) but v enthusiastic consent, non human genitalia (hemipenes), grinding, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasm, creampie, aizawa carries reader (he is big n strong)

wc: 7.3K

There are monsters in the night.

Adults would spin tales about them when you were young. You were warned not to go near the forest. To never stray from the path. If a voice calls to you, do not answer. Look at your feet and cover your ears. Thoughts filled with blood-steeped, ugly stories of such creatures: half man half serpent taller than an ogre swallowing impious people up whole. Naga, the true tempter, the harbinger of misfortune.

Children spent idle time feigning courage and taunting the so-called beasts in spite of it; playing at the treeline, skittering over the border and rushing back with a surge of adrenaline, as if the creature had been right there awaiting a meal. But above all they liked to frighten you, the runt of the litter. Snakes like to eat mice, they would jeer. Little mouse they would call you. Perfect bait.

It had been dewy that fateful afternoon. You were chased deep into the unknown. Petichor hung thick around the trees after a sun shower. Summer was drawing to a close. Shorter days, darker mornings. Your elders would call the weather ‘temperamental’ and you liked that. As though the Gods were children clinging onto those last dregs of heat, unwilling to let go.

Grass flattened wet under your bare feet, you ran from sharp stones and sharper words. Ran until the only voice left in your head was your own. Lungs tight and spasming for oxygen. You felt eyes on you the moment foliage snapped under another tentative step—but the figure before you did not move. He remained on his stomach, arms folded beneath his head, body stretched long and bare across the narrow clearing to bathe in the sunspot. Lower, right at the base of his spine, pale skin faded seamlessly into black scales that made up the thick, sinuous tail of a snake.

Your knees stung where small open wounds touched the air. A gentle breeze flowed in through the underbrush, took your slight apprehension and whisked it into the thinning redwood canopy. As a child you simply couldn’t connect something so non threatening and lazy to the monsters of old.

You approached the naga with slow, telegraphed movements. Thin pupils drenched in vermillion glow observed behind a half lidded stare. Closer then, trembling hands tugged and stretched the hem of your shirt, popping the old stitching. “Hello,” you said, voice small even to your own ears. “I—I’m not a mouse. Just so you know”.

Something flickered in his expression; a stifled inhale, a brief shift, the naga sighed. It rolled through his body, belly turning toward the sky. Sunlight reflected on the exposed underside and shimmered iridescent, stealing your breath. “That much is obvious,” he replied tiredly.

“Then, you won’t eat me?” before he had the chance to answer, you’d already been emboldened. You tottered toward him with a surge of energy and sureness. “Thank you. Can we be friends?”

“No,” he muttered, retreating into his coils.

A familiar sensation stung behind your eyes and your bottom lip trembled fiercely. It built up in your body and collapsed. Loneliness, shame, the incessant, throbbing ache in your limbs after sprinting so far. You tried again, a quiet warble. “Please?”

But a stern voice rumbled from the layers of muscle, uninterested in your swelling emotions. “Go away kid,” the naga demanded. “It’s not safe out here”.

“M’not a kid,” then you kicked the dirt in a burst of wounded anger. While bigger than you, this naga wasn’t even close to towering an oni, so you bluffed petulantly, “You’re a kid too”.

“While that may be true I am still older than you,” came the disgruntled remark. Then, faster than you could register, an arm shot out from between the dark coils and took you by the throat.

Reflexively, you gripped the naga’s wrist with both hands. But you didn’t flinch. Rather than fight his hold you waited, rabbit-footed heart beating in your chest. Violence was nothing new to a runt like you. The hand slid up to your chin and forced you to keep his gaze. His eyes flickered strangely there in the darkness. Red like fresh blood. The ire in them faltered at your spiritless reaction.

“Annoying human. Your lack of instinct will get you killed,” the creature stated. You said nothing. He continued, “You’re far from home. Follow the river to your settlement. Do not come back here”.

You recall how abruptly your senses sharpened at his mention and latched onto the distant sound of running water. He freed you from his grip, pale limb slinking back into the recesses of his twisted tail. He reminded you of a snail receding into its shell. Boring, lazy and slow moving. Naga were not so frightening, you concluded.

You returned with reluctance, following the riverbank until the end of your new world where it broke into a wishbone shape and wound around the village. Adults frowned at the dry mud caking your feet, ankles and calves. Their calloused fingers squeezed roughly around your wrists and dragged you to the springs to scrub you raw.

“Where on earth have you been?” one asked, mouth set in a frown. Another held you by the shoulders, thumbs pressed into your collarbone with intention to bruise. “Your stupidity is going to curse us all,” they shook you in place and their strength only grew the more you fought. “Do not provoke the naga. Understand?”

Faces twisted in disappointment haunted you all through the night. Eyes sore and puffy. Tears soaked into your shirt; you could taste them in the back of your throat. Oval-shaped bruises adorned your collar yet your throat and your jaw remained unblemished, if not a little tender. You were hurt, but not by the one you were warned against.

Your second excursion into the forest to see the naga was of your own volition. He was not where you first met him but nearby, curled up beneath an ancient tree, right where her bole has spread and warped to create a small depression in the trunk. The wind billowed. Branches swayed and bent their spindly fingers, pointed at you, almost accusingly.

He appeared to be sleeping. Again. Arms folded atop his tail, chin rested on the cradle it made. Perhaps there was something wrong with you—as the elders often stated—but you were not entirely stupid. You kept your hands to yourself, letting only your eyes wander as you crept close enough to see the soft curve of his jaw, the sloped nose, the youthful cheeks.

Long dark hair draped loosely over pale shoulders, expression serene while he rested. You thought he was lovely. Not at all beastly. Right down to the dip of his stomach, where skin vanished into bony hips and an obsidian tail.

A guttural hum startled you where you stood. Unmoving, the naga murmured, “Do you have a death wish?”

That voice untied every knot in your body. “N—no,” you held strong. “I told you, I want to be friends”.

“And I told you that’s not happening”.

When he peeked at you through dark curtains into those dim eyes there came a softness, as though atoning for his harsh words. Under that gaze your stomach started to rumble. “You’re hungry,” you shrunk, palms pressed flat as though to snuff out the sound. “Humans need to eat multiple times a day, do they not?”

“…Sometimes,” your agreement was barely a mumble. “If there is enough for me”.

The naga scrutinised you and your answer, displeased by it. After a long silence he unravelled and asked, “Do you want food?”

Hope filled you from root to stem. You bloomed. Stretched for the open sky like a flower seeking sun, bouncing on the tips of your toes. “Food?” you echoed excitedly. You trailed after him and nearly tripped in your haste. He caught you with the end of his tail and sighed. It coiled tightly around your middle and inched you along with him.

Having glanced surreptitiously in his direction, your warm human hand swept across the cool dark scales. They were glossy and smooth, unlike anything you’d ever felt. As he moved you sensed the power in his limb.

“What do naga eat?”

“Anything. Fish, birds, insects,” he told you. The coil around your waist flexed as if to check you were there. Hearing your trepidation his tone lilted as he added, “But what you’re really asking is if I eat humans, aren’t you?”

You rubbed where you thought his belly might be and pondered aloud, “Would you, if they deserved it?”

He scowled over his shoulder and came to an abrupt stop. “What kind of a question is that, kid?”

You wilted at the sharp verbiage, feeling scolded, though unable to understand his offense. After all, that is exactly what the villagers would say of you if ever he decided to.

That only seemed to fuel his frustration. You worried in the face of it, for a weak moment. Warnings you’ve clamoured in your conscience, soon chased by immediate guilt. Your new friend had offered kindness and there you were, assuming the worst of him.

Sensing your turmoil the naga cautiously brought his hand to your head. Front to back, pausing at a vulnerable, unmarked nape. He attempted to pet you. Wide eyed, you stared ahead until every leaf in the grove coalesced into a green blur. His touch had been deliberate, soft and soothing despite the tension set in his face.

Laid in the palm of his other hand was a pile of plum red berries. The coils relaxed to recline you into a comfortable position and wordlessly, you shared the small treat together. Teeth glinted sharp in the daylight, made to rend flesh from bone. They sank tender into thin skin until it burst and he hummed at the flavour enjoying a simple pleasure like any human boy would.

Their fruity tang clung to your tongue. You took your fill and more. “Thank you…” your voice lost strength, no name to fill the blanks.

“Aizawa,” he muttered. A rough swipe of his thumb across your lips wiped away the citrus. “It’s Aizawa Shouta. And don’t speak with your mouth full”.

The sky darkened on the eventide. Aizawa bid you a flippant farewell, your name at home in his mouth, and you erred on caution, changing course to wash the dirt and foliage from your body. Loud was the pounding of your heart against your ribs, a frantic beat. But nobody batted an eye at your presence, nor the absence of it.

Those short excursions continued for some time. Be it a stroke of boredom, or loneliness, you would find yourself treading back through the banks, to Aizawa’s territory. There was never a discernible path leading to him. Your legs would simply take you there, heart magnetised like the arrow of a compass. Whilst the village raised you with harsh, inattentive hands, he became your North. Years passed together and eyes turned as your insatiable curiosity grew, along with your carelessness.

And with that carelessness came consequences.

Fate is a funny thing. You are sprinting through the forest, feet pounding against the dirt alongside the ghost of your childhood self. The enraged shouts have long since tapered into silence yet you can’t allow yourself to slow. Your limbs ache, a bone deep permafrost, fatigued muscles clenching.

They’d followed you yesterday. Unexpected, given how deliberately people avoided the village border. Everything collapsed in one fell swoop. A single misstep and your life was upturned. You heard their plans to confine you in the shrine and knew—you’d never be able to see Shouta again.

Lost in your muddied stream of consciousness your foot is caught in a bundle of jagged roots. Mossy fingers coil around your ankle. You stumble, taking impact to the knees. The sting is muted as it knocks the air from your burning lungs.

You gasp, a wet and raspy breath; an apocalyptic spring fills your chest. The trees are in bloom. High above the blossoms are pale pink, like branches covered in snow. Ash flowers fell slowly to coat the ground. They get in your hair, your clothes and your eyes.

Shouta finds you there. He has always had the uncanny ability to sense you in his territory, as though the forest were an extension of himself. Your neck strains to lift your head, looking through lashes to see his silhouette. Red eyes flash in the distance, and in a mere blink he is at your side.

“Shouta—”

A low, guttural sound reverberates in the back of his throat. You’re scooped into his embrace. He is gentle with you, always aware of the difference in size and strength, and your heart beats harder for it. “You’re early,” he says. “What happened?”

You exhale through the fresh tenderness searing, “They know”.

Shadows shift above you. A curtain of hair hangs in your periphery. Shouta sinks until your eyes are level. Big. He hit a frightening growth spurt after his juvenile shed. A broad chest, shoulders corded with muscle, his long tail heavy enough to disturb the natural topography of the forest floor. Uneven scars littered across his skin from territorial disputes that you were not privy to. The most recent curves along his right cheekbone, fresh and pink.

Your gaze lingered as you took in his expression. Mouth downturned in obvious discontent but eyes dark, pensive. Beautiful even when he is doing nothing at all.

Shouta’s irises flickered in the softening light of the afternoon sun. Fingers drumming on lacquer scales. “They know?” he repeats. Irritation coated the words, as it often did when speaking of your village. “They should have realised years ago”.

Like him, you had shed your own urgent adolescence. The world became smaller and you preferred it that way. It spun around Shouta as if he were your own axis. When you were with him there was something much bigger than childlike wonder.

“That’s different. I wasn’t anything important. But now I’ve… been slacking on my duties to see you,” embarrassed, you tear up the thinning grass, seated at the foot of his coils. “I’m old enough to be of use, so my absence is noticeable,”

“You were a child. Running off God knows where. You’re lucky an orc didn’t decide to pick his teeth with you,” the snap in his voice almost hurt, but there was no bite nor true anger aimed at you. You’ve had these arguments before.

“I’m lucky because I had you to protect me,” you amended gently, a small smile curled at the corner of your mouth. It took a while for you to realise that he tailed you home each time you visited, just to be sure. His scales shift at your back, carrying the praise through his body. “I know it bothers you, Shouta, but this is just how things are. Don’t worry, I’ll be more careful from now on”.

“This is not about you being careful,” Shouta mutters, though you get the sense he has no energy to truly argue. You hesitate in the brief silence. He takes you by the wrist, not the hand, and you pout about it.

He encourages you to come. You tread through the thick, clammy air as the sun beats down on your shoulders. Shouta takes you up the valley. Where the treeline ends the mouth of the river funnels south, surface glittering softly as the currents part around a large rock in the centre; top smoothed down flat for sunning. You watched while he sunk into the water, tail disappearing behind him as it submerged and disturbed the silt.

“Come on,” he coaxes begrudgingly. You dither by the edge, picking at your sleeve.

“I can’t get my clothes wet”.

Shouta reaches the rock, bracing an arm against it. Draped in open sunlight he turns to level you with a flat look. “Then take them off. Don’t bother giving excuses. I already know you’re wounded, I can smell it”.

Shit. You wince, resting a hand over the marks across your ribs and hip. You were so sure he hadn’t noticed anything.

Anticipation churned in your stomach. You’ve never been nude in front of him before—though not for lack of wanting, and you suppose he himself has always been naked in human terms. You swallow down trepidation and lift your shirt over your head, gaze resolutely pointed away from the river, which rippled with every minute shift Shouta’s tail.

The currents are a cool caress against your body as you step into the river, soothing the bruises. Tentative, you wade further, arms folded over your breasts for some semblance of modesty. Once you’re standing in waist high water something hard, smooth—Shouta’s tail wraps around you and pulls you close.

“Deep water,” he mutters softly. You’re pressed skin to skin. His throat bobs and he looks away. “Can’t have you drowning”.

“Right,” you say, left breathless by the proximity. You can feel his chest rise and fall. Sinew and muscle expands. Rigid scales dotted along his navel press against your abdomen as he sprawled around the sunning rock. “Thank you”.

He hums in lieu of a response. Small waves lap up your spine as he adjusts his grip, holding you with one arm around your lower back. Shouta traces his thumb over the large mark on your pelvis, the claw tip catching. “You said they found out. So this is the result?”

You grimace weakly at the subject. It was naïve to hope he would let it go. “It’s my fault. I was careless,” you tried, slumped in his embrace as though filled with wet sand. “They’re just afraid of what they don’t understand. I should’ve tried to explain years ago—”

“You and your misplaced guilt,” Shouta’s jaw ticks. He inhales deeply, his next words quieter on a long exhale. “Stop rationalising their mistreatment. They’re stuck in their ways”.

“Maybe. But I…”

The truth was that an ugly part of you had never wanted them to change for the better. You wanted Shouta to yourself for as long as he’s willing and their ignorance made it so. Fear kept them away. But it also stoked their anger.

“I can’t help but wonder why they're so against it,” you tuck your chin and smile despite the lump lodged in your throat, suddenly feeling naked in all manner of ways. “They treat me like a curse. And I know it’s natural to fear what you don’t understand, but if they just knew you—!”

“Humans should fear my kind,” Shouta interrupts, a bite to his tone. Your eyes dipped low, and you traced your fingers over the intricate mosaic of scales across his clavicle to avoid his sharp gaze. A short moment passes. “Your association with me doesn’t make you a harbinger of ill omen,” he murmurs, sweeping his hand along the planes of your back in silent apology. “If anything you’ve been protecting them from one”.

You lift your head. His pupils dilate, soften. “I have?”

A broad palm wraps around the nape of your neck, the other resting over your bruised hip. Shouta’s thumb brushes over your pulse. “If not for your insistence and naïve altruism I would have killed them for neglecting you,” Shouta admitted, bringing you tighter to his front. You’re taken deeper, until your feet no longer reach the riverbed and the cold no longer bites.

“When will you prioritise yourself?” he continues. “I’m starting to think you would pull out your own teeth if it could guarantee you’d never hurt anyone”.

You smile, a little dazed by how favourably he regarded you. His skin is cool under your fingertips. “That’s not quite true,” you trace the scar beneath his eye and he slows, turning into your palm. The pad of your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. There you find those monstrous teeth, large and sharp behind his lips. The touch feels momentous, like something only lovers do. “And either way, I’d still have yours to protect me”.

Shouta rumbles at that. The vibrations loosen up the tension in your chest and satisfaction gathers warm in your belly. “Lean back,” he murmurs. Anticipation swoops through your belly as you recline in his arms, cradling you above the ripples to wash your body with his own hands.

“This water has healing properties. Further down the mountain the river splits and forms a hot spring,” Shouta’s claw-tipped fingers brush your nipple, pert under his attention. Your breath hitches. He pays it no mind, palm sliding over each breast and along your shoulders, wiping down the sweat and dirt. The pressure remains delicate around your waist, careful not to agitate the bruises.

Shouta kneads the soft parts of your body even after the filth is gone. You hum, allowing yourself to enjoy his attention. Everything feels heavier. Gravity bears hard on your arms as they lift to brush the wet hair back from his face and you marvel at how his eyelids flutter closed, one after the other. You comb through his roots, scratching lightly over his scalp before working loose the knots at the ends.

Something is beginning to swell beneath you but a quiet contentment overwhelms the reciprocal arousal stirring in your gut. Watching the tension in his face trickle away, eyes falling closed so dark lashes fan over pale cheeks. Your fingertips trace along the smattering of scales by his temple and notice a new vivid sheen to them.

“You look brighter,” you murmur, curious.

Awareness flies over his features. You almost miss it given how swiftly he buries it, taking on that familiar monotonous air. After years spent detailing the subtleties in every fleeting expression and spoken word you’ve become quite accustomed to Shouta concealing his embarrassment.

Turning away from your prying eyes, the line of his jaw becomes sharper as he swallows. “It’ll soon be my seasonal rut,” he tells you, feigning indifference. “My scales are more vibrant for the purpose of attracting a mate”.

“A mate?” you echo uselessly. Dread churns in the pit of your stomach. You knew well what having a ‘mate’ entailed. A white hot sensation prickles at your nape that not even the cool water can quell. In your naivety—and perhaps, selfishness—you’d never considered that he might find somebody else. Somebody suitable. “That’s… really great, Shouta. But who? I thought you chased off the last bed of naga that passed through?”

At this, a frown etched into Shouta’s brow. “You’re making a few unnecessary leaps in that head of yours,” he mutters. “At what point did I say my mate needed to be a naga?”

There’s something in his voice that gives weight to what he’s doing. It echoes an unspoken proposition. Unbidden from the recesses of your mind rose the wishful thoughts you’d imagined so often they were practically dogeared. A shiver trickled down your spine, caught in a gauzy yet comfortable silence as Shouta continued to clean your body.

The tip of his tongue peeks out to taste the air once he’s done. You fruitlessly will your body to temper its desire, to feign some semblance of control as you lift your head, no longer denying him the answer written plainly on your face.

“…I want that,” you confess, picking up the thread he left. You rub across his shoulders and bring your palms together in the middle of his chest, folded over his heart. “I can't go back. Take me home with you. Keep me”.

Shouta looks surprised—a microexpression, if anything; imperceptible to anyone but you—as though he hadn't expected you to accept. You’re warmed by the idea that he might’ve been hoping for more without expectation.

That’s all you’ve ever known, failed expectations.

A beat passes. You think he might be giving you a grace period—allowing time for a regret that never comes. When he realises you’ve no intention to take it back he sucks a hiss through his teeth, and you’re close enough to see his thin pupils spill into his irises until they’re inky black.

The river breaks around you, water foaming at the surface as Shouta unwittingly guides your knotted bodies to the shore. “I see you’re still as reckless as you were when we were children,” he says, sounding hoarse. “You have no idea what you’re agreeing to”.

“I’m saying yes to you, Shouta,” your voice strains, desperation creeping in when you feel his arms loosen and your feet brush the wet bank. “Teach me what I don’t know because I hate leaving. I hate missing you”.

The rough sensation of Shouta’s scales against your inner thighs rippled through your body, core tightening as he retained his grip around your waist. “This is not a conversation we’re having in the open,” he takes you both out of the water and you shy away from the cool air.

He bends over to collect your clothes and drapes them in your naked lap. You clutch the fabric close, “Where are we going?”

“To my den. No questions until then”.

The journey to Shouta’s den is long, deliberately so. Caught in his coils you go, without trepidation—like a willing little mouse, your mind whispers. Only on the third cycle do you realise that he is purposefully traveling in circles to cover his tracks. Aside from the occasional birdsong and cicada you don’t hear anything for miles. It’s so peaceful that you forget that a world exists outside of this vast, sprawling forest.

In time he reaches the den. The sky has darkened to an early dawn, the gloaming orange light casting shadows over Shouta’s face as he leans over you to shield you from the overgrowth to get to the entrance.

Arched tall and gaping, the bumpy outer walls of the cave are fissured with fingerlings of old tree roots. Shrouded in darkness, Shouta slithers around the stalagmites protruding from the floor with ease. Inside the air is thick, humid as he carries you deeper, metres further down, refusing to release you from his coils.

Meandering into a broader section, Shouta spreads out easily in the cavern. You blink around as your vision adjusts and notice narrow streams of light threading through the stalactites hung on the ceiling. Twinkling are various trinkets, tied around and dangling from the spikes. Jewels, chainmail, rusted daggers, cutlery.

When you were a young you’d spend sleepless nights imagining where Shouta lived, conjuring possibilities only a child could. Despite that curiosity you never asked to see his home—you knew, innately, as an avid observer of creatures big and small, that it would be an invasion of his privacy. But of everything you imagined it had been nothing like this.

There’s a wide alcove at the back of the cavern, housing what appears to be a nest near an extinguished fire pit, still carrying the faint scent of smoke. Shouta lowers you into it and slinks away for a moment to discard your clothes. Warmth engulfs you, insulated in the structure. There are branches both large and small intricately woven and padded with an assortment of pelts, lichen and moss. Most notable is the snakeskin used to hold together the joints of the nest.

You pinch a piece delicately between your thumb and forefinger. It’s thick, smoother than expected. “Is this yours?”

Though far off his voice reaches your ears, “Is that your first question?”

Shouta returns holding what looks to be a blanket. His tail drags behind him. The sound ripples around the space. When shaken out and draped over your bare lower half you discover that the blanket is actually the rest of his shed. It’s beautiful, inexplicably silky while being heavy and tough.

You tug the snakeskin higher up your body and note how fervently he tracks the movement. “Yes, it’s mine. It strengthens the nest,” Shouta explains, beginning a languorous dance circling the nest as though he were adding himself to it. Your attention does not stray as his tail coils upon itself, lap after lap until you’re entirely surrounded.

“You’ve been planning this,” you comment. How long had it taken for him to craft it? Did he imagine what you’d think? “It’s beautiful”.

Pleased with the height, Shouta’s upper body slinks down into the centre where you wait. Home. Not simply a place but an extension of his body, like the forest. You’re directly in the heart. A place that you alone have been allowed to see.

Your mind drifts to the feckless creatures and travelers who’ve wandered this way only to be killed. But rather than fear, or sorrow, a distinctive emotion welled up inside you. You felt special.

“It’s mainly instinct. Not much planning,” he says.

You reach to cup his cold face in your hands. Cheeks flush, like all the blood in him had rushed to the surface to greet you. He rumbles as your thumb traces an arc along his newest scar, tucking his chin to nuzzle into your palm. It’s cute, though you wouldn’t dare say that.

A content hum vibrates behind his ribs, “You’re so warm”. Then you feel the tentative press of lips and of fangs underneath. He kisses your heartline. You falter at the uncharacteristic show of affection, clutching his snakeskin tighter. His dark gaze falls to your partially covered chest. Low and supple he asks, “Do you know what it means to wear a naga skin?”

You slowly shake your head.

“Naga gift their sheds to be used in nests or as armour for their mates,” propped onto his arm Shouta presses closer, forcing your thighs to bracket the thick of his tail. “It’s viewed as a public claim,” he stops short a hair's breadth from your wanting mouth, sharing a shallow inhale.

Filled with intrepid awe, your fingertips walk the slope of his throat, hands laying flat to his chest. A hummingbird’s wing, a pulse belying his nerves. You reach for your voice, “Does this make me yours?”

Shouta blinks, pupils dilating. The distant trickle of water dripping from the stalactites echoes throughout the cavern. You feel his stomach clench where your touch slips lower, “Are you sure you want to be?”

“Since you fed me those berries in the east valley”.

“You were a child,” Shouta huffs, doing a poor job at appearing unaffected.

“Children sometimes imagine falling in love, you know,” a small, sad smile comes unbidden to your lips. “I never had anyone to play pretend with,” you tell him softly, meeting his eyes. “You always took care of me. Back then I wondered if that’s what it’d be like to have a husband when I came of age”.

With a furrow in his brow, Shouta cradles your jaw. He tucks his thumb against the corner of your downturned mouth, “A husband?”

“The human equivalent of a mate. A husband or wife,” you say. “Marriage is a promise to be together for the rest of your lives”.

“And you want that. The rest of your life,” Shouta’s words are hoarse, they sound thick in his throat. He brings your foreheads together, almost reverential, and dark tendrils of hair fall around you. “With me?”

You swallow. “Yes. I want…”

Your wandering hand stills at his navel, right in the bend where skin turned to scale. You’re reminded that he isn’t a human man. What you’ve been taught about sex and the parts that go along with the act—that knowledge is mostly worthless here.

Curious, you palm the growing bump where a cock would be, index finger tracing the thin slit along the middle, teasing him as you would tease yourself. Shouta grabs your wrist, arm braced above your head to rock into the touch, a frisson of iridescence rippling through his scales.

The airy groan in his throat quells your anxiety and feeds your longing. Chin tilted, your mouths aligned, a petal-soft brush that shakes him from his reverie and draws him back. You complain and curl your arms around his neck, missing him. He huffs a short laugh but doesn’t retreat any further.

“Careful,” he lifts his upper lip and pushes the tip of his tongue to his left fang. A pinprick of his blood wells there. “You’ll catch yourself”.

“Are you venomous?” and you pout, noticing the mirth flickering across his face. “What?”

“Not in the way you’re imagining. Pay attention,” he answers, and bends to tuck his nose into the hollow of your throat. His jaw unhinges, tasting you with a deep inhale. Oh. Your pulse rockets when he drags his fangs there in suggestion of a bite—breath held as they barely break skin and an abrupt heat tingles around the scratch.

“Wh—what does it do?” you gasp in wonder, poking the blooming mark as Shouta hums, descending to drag his lips over the peaks of your breasts.

“Humans call it a lot of things. An aphrodisiac, drug, relaxant,” he says. Each word is a kiss left everywhere but the one place you need it. Blood rushes to your ears. “A mating bite eases the burden. Makes sure your body ready for me,” you watch on with bated breath while he reaches lower, and jolt, ensnared in his half lidded gaze as he lightly drags his knuckles through your wet folds. His thumb finds your clit, massaging a few light circles around the swollen bundle of nerves. Your hips twitch, and Shouta grins at your soft whine, “Though you’re already doing that beautifully on your own”.

Desperate, you grapple at his shoulders. He rises with an indulgent smile and you lean to kiss him. A clumsy thing, open mouthed and needy, receding enough to make room for protest before kissing him again, and again, nipping the seam of his lips. Hair stands on end as the world suddenly tips on its axis and your positions are reversed.

You’ve no chance to mourn the loss. Shouta lay on his back. He sinks into the nest and draws your knee over his hip. A shiver licks up your spine as you sit low on his navel, entirely bare and wet; with him being so sensitive to his surroundings there’s no doubt he can feel the beat of desire between your thighs.

The flesh spills between his fingers as Shouta squeezes your waist. “I can feel you throbbing,” he murmurs. His own heat is swelling between you. Sticky arousal smeared on your inner thighs. Shouta’s vent pulses in time with his heart—and yours. You exhale a shaky breath, relieved and exhilarated that he wants you too. The growing pressure pushes against your clit and your hips twitch, a fleeting stutter to relieve the ache.

Shouta groans. Large hands find purchase at your hips, appreciating how your body yields to his touch, and encourages you to move. “Oh,” comes a soft gasp, feeling his swollen slit flower open beneath your cunt, leaking arousal. The friction, or lack thereof, is incredible, and you repeat the motion, seeking it again.

It’s slick where your bodies meet. The obscene wet sound of you rocking together leaves you dazed. Shouta’s lower half shifts as arousal zips through him and the nest creaks. “Fuck, feels good. More,” you demand breathlessly. Something else nudges against your clit with every pass, two heads budding from the vent, and your eyes screw shut—

Two?

A groan falls from Shouta’s mouth and your frantic realisation dissolves. You can hardly think. He licks the curve of your throat, nuzzling the barely-there-mark he’d left. Infinitesimal and yet it hasn’t stopped throbbing. An ache spreads through your hips, his hands rutting you against the swell with a desperate rhythm.

“Shouta,” you say, overwhelmed. “Do it. Bite me, fuck me, please. Please. I want—I want to—!”

The sharp pain is dulled so quickly you’re not sure it was ever there. Shouta sank his fangs into the juncture of your neck, a hand firm at your nape to keep you still. Vision blurred, your mouth drops open around a silent scream as your orgasm rips through you—the venom close behind, forcing your seized muscles pliant and stoking your arousal until it’s burning from the inside out.

Shouta releases your neck and trails his fingertips along the length of your back. You whine, a helpless and confused little sound, when the heat allays under his affections. Your thighs are trembling, slipping down his hips as you use the last of your inertia to curl into his chest.

He cradles your limp form amongst his coils, creating a protective barrier around you in such a vulnerable state. “I have you,” he says, the shaky baritone of his voice coaxing your eyes open. Half-cognisant, not quite in and not quite outside of yourself.

“…It’s too much,” you pant.

“I know,” Shouta kisses your temple, paving his way to the corner of your mouth, “You’re doing so well”.

You turn lazily into the kiss. Your thighs have fallen open further, and you subconsciously raise yourself up to better the angle. The blunt tip of one of his cocks nudges through your folds and a white hot sensation prickles over your skull. Shouta lowers you onto his cock with care, muscles corded tight in obvious restraint, wanting to ease you into the stretch. He’s thicker than a human, subtle soft ridges lining the sides, caressing you in places your fingers could never reach.

You begin to tremble and the air is pushed from your lungs with a gasping sob as he splits you open. The sensation is hard to decipher through the haze. Your ears ring, the sound high and metallic. It isn’t numbing—no, you can feel everything, every minute shift, pulse and ridge. It’s an intrusive, satisfying ache, an insurmountable pressure. There’s no part of you he isn’t touching. You consider, the thought vague and half-formed, that when Shouta bit you something in your brain must’ve rewired itself. Synapses crossed, addled by venom, convincing you of pleasure where there would otherwise be pain.

Your small world grows ever smaller. Shouta is all encompassing. His dark hair is tickling your face, smooth scales rippling under your cheek. He’s saying something—he must be, because his mouth is moving above you, murmuring what sounds like sweet incantations of your name.

An immaculate red glow pools into his irises as they roll skyward, brow furrowed in concentration. His second cock drools across his belly, where it lay trapped by your bodies. The slick underside of his cock wet and pulsing against your clit, fully sheathed.

“Do you have any idea how you feel—fuck,” Shouta’s jaw clenched as his cock recedes, leaving only the tip kissing your folds, before he fucks into you again. A shudder quakes through his coils. They constrict around the nest and Shouta pins you to his chest, thick arms held firm around your shoulders and back, tightening with every squirm. “Mine. Knew it had to be you,” came his hushed babbles, composure finally fraying at the seams.

With the surety that you’re not in pain, his pace grows, his rhythm earnest. Laved in shared arousal, you’re so wet every ingress is indelibly easy. To call yourself helpless would be to imply that you wanted to escape. You surrender to the unending, overbearing rapture, sprawled over your Shouta’s lap like a pile of loose skeins with a drunken smile. Chest heaving in exertion despite doing so little. The atmosphere is so oppressively humid that it’s hard to catch your breath.

It feels like he’s carving out something irreplaceable inside of you. A space that only he can fill, a craving only he can sate. Your hips stutter uselessly, grinding your clit against his other cock. Rather than building to a climax it feels as if you’ve toppled into one that never ends, only ebbs and flows without ever ceasing.

Shouta pulls you impossibly closer, so close your could feel the long stretch of his torso, every raised scar and curve. He nudges your temple until your head lolls back against his shoulder, and you’re looking at him. “Soft. You’re so—shit. You’re so soft. Human,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to your forehead. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow, short tendrils of hair sticking to skin. You flutter around the flared head of his cock as it pulls out, “Look. I can feel you sucking me back in. Made for me, weren’t you?”

You follow his gaze, watching the dark, inhuman length of his cock disappear between your folds again and again. “Shouta,” his name feels thick in your mouth. You blink, air cool against your wet cheeks. “I need—I need you to—”

Nodding deliriously, his bruising grasp on you shifts. Shouta fucks into you feverishly, with an intensity that you fear might engulf you.“Fuck—!” a tremor quakes through his coils. Something audibly snaps in the nest. Shouta’s hips stutter, a long, breathy moan pulled loose deep in his chest, drawn out as a wet, sticky heat fills you—so much that it leaks between your thighs—and the immediate relief of his release has you clawing crescent moons into his shoulders.

Tipping over the crest, a final wave crashes over you. The convulsions force your eyes shut, so tight that pinpricks of light pierce the solid darkness, transforming into a kaleidoscope of vivid colour. The world falls away for a fleeting moment and you only feel yourself clamping around his cock, soaking his lap.

You resurface slowly, as does the sensation returning to your limbs. Venom remedied, easing in your system. You inhale, wince at the tenderness making space beside the contentment in your body, and Shouta runs a smoothing hand down your spine. It sweeps back up to your nape to gently trace the bite on your neck. “How’re you feeling?” he asks. “Did I hurt you?”

You press a kiss to his collar, another under his jaw, “I’m sore and sticky. I’ve never orgasmed that hard in my life. But you didn’t hurt me”. Shouta purrs at that. It’s a noise you’ve only ever heard in the golden hour, when he’s sunning himself. Pure contentment.

You cup his cheek and gently turn him to face you. You kiss him, mouth bruised, fangs peeking through parted lips. Dark eyes soften. He’s no longer inside of you, noted with a weak clench, and his second cock remains half hard between your stomachs. Free to move, you wiggle in his embrace until it lines up, the suggestion kindling to the now twinging emptiness.

Shouta huffs, a loving admonishment, and carefully guides his second cock inside you. You hiss at the sensitivity but it isn’t unpleasant. Satisfaction balloons in your chest and you curl up against him with a pleased hum; no urgency, together for the sake of closeness.

“I’ll feed you and help you wash after I’ve calmed down,” he says. There’s no sign of discomfort or regret in his voice as he stares toward the mouth of the cave. Just a primal need to be alert, to stay vigilant for his mate. “I’ll be a little overbearing for the rest of the night. Be patient with me”.

Your gaze too lingers at the maw, recalling those blood-steeped, ugly stories of monstrous creatures. Indeed there are monsters in the night. But none of them are here.

A wide smile pulls at your lips, “We’ve got all the time in the world”.

SUMMARY → when a bright and loud girl comes into the 1-A classroom many old repressed memories already arise. even though aizawa praises himself for being a clear and logical thinker, he knows it can’t be him even with how quirks have evolve. yet all that logical reasoning gets thrown out when she shows her clouds at the quirk appreciation test. in the same moment aizawa promises himself he will not let history repeat itself.

PAIRING → aizawa shouta x student!reader

GENRE → platonic!relationship, hurt/comfort

WARNING → none

WORD COUNT → 1.5 k

MASTERLIST → an assortment of other fics

A/N → i read this hc about a kid in 1-A with the same quirk as shirakumo and wanted to write a scenario for it, but for the life of me i can’t find the headcanon anymore. if you can, PLEASE tell me who wrote it so i can give them the proper credit they deserve!

WHEN YOU FIRST STARTED U.A. you thought it would be fun. Hard work but fun; studying how to be a hero. Learning and working under others that have already gone pro. Not to mention walking down the halls where most of your greatest inspirations and the current number one hero had walked and harnessed their quirks so many years before you.

Something you had not expected was the constant reprimanding; “Stupid Aizawa-sensei, stupid gross tables.” you grumble annoyed, as you continue to clean the desks in the 1-A classroom, while everyone else is happily enjoying their lunches. Trying to wipe away Kaminari his smug face as he got off scot-free, making you subconsciously scrub the table harder. 

What had happened wasn’t even big enough to warrant such punishment. You had put your shoes on your desk and instead of just telling you not to do it or to put your feet down, Aizawa-sensei gave you a blank stare and said; ‘if you can’t respect the desk, you should clean them.’ completely ignoring Kaminari, Tokoyami and Bakugou who had their feet on the table and where now silently putting them down.

To add to that it was not the only punishment you have gotten in the last few months, and most likely will not be the last. It started the first week of school. Laughing at Kaminari short-circling in class? Make a presentation about the benefits of laughing. 

Got below an 80 in English, a subject you could not seem comprehend as well as the others, but did not do too bad at. Get singed up for cram classes. You don’t even know how he knew, not to mention how you are in the top five and definitely did not need cram classes.

Which let you to now; the final bell ringing, Aizawa-sensei dismisses the class and let’s you all go on your marry way to the dorms. Slowly packing your stuff in Kaminari, Bakugou, Sero, Ashido and Kirishima stay at the door.

“We don’t have all day, dumbass.”

Making a small smile tuck up your lips that he still took the moment to wait for you even when he pretends like it’s such a burden, “Go a head, I still have to ask a question.”

“We can wait.”

“It’s okay.” you reassure, and with that last wave and a little hesitation they left the room. Leaving you with your teacher, “Aizawa-sensei.” you say uncharastically softly. Trying to gain your teachers attention that is fully focused on his desk work, “I’m busy.”

Ignoring his dismissive words, you take a deep breath, word vomiting your question out, “Do you hate me?”

Your question seem to make the man freeze in his state. Before he slowly looks up from his work, “No.” he says simply. Nodding slowly you let the answer sink in, yet it only makes more questions come up, “Then why do you always reprimand me?”

“I give punishment where I see fit.”

Making your stomach twist into a more confused and annoyed state then it already was, “Yesterday I got punishment for having my feet on the table while I wasn’t the only one.” you point out. Shaking your head at the lack of integrity, “Kaminari, Bakugou, and Tokoyami had theirs on the table. They always do, and the one time I do it I get cleaning duty.”

“I don’t care what they did, I gave you a punishment.”

Without even realising it a cloud came up above your head, “But you always do. It’s like your breathing down my neck, waiting for me to fail!”

The cloud above your head darkening from it’s usual pale white state to a dark grey, “I wasn’t even at Cameno, and I got lunch duty for not telling you what they had planned while the rest of the class got free off. You’re singling me out and you can’t even be honest about it.” you snap, your voice louder then you ment it to be, but in the heat of the moment you could not make yourself apologise for it.

“You have a lot of potential, (l/n), but if you don’t get the proper guidance you might never be able to show the world that.”

The sincerity in his voice and the unusual soft expression on his face that you had never seen before on your teachers face made you want to believe him, but then again he lied like it was breathing air. And each time you and your entire class fell for it again.

The dark cloud had faded into oblivion as you let out a deep breath, “Well, I asked Hatsume to help me figure out what type of support items might work for me. We found someone who had a quirk like mine and they used a staff for fighting. So, now we are developing one.”

“How do you develop a staff?

“We send in a sample of my hair with the design. That was it should be more durable and be able for me to manipulate into my clouds when necessary for the element of surprise. In the meanwhile I have a wooden one,” you tell him, making him hum as he turns back to his work.

Twiddling your fingers you turn your face away, “which you would have know if you were also in All Might’s face.” you mumble, quickly looking back to your teacher if he heard what you said, but by the way his face didn’t change he didn’t hear it.

“Your cleaning duty is over.”

As soon as you arrive at the dorms you got bombarded with questions from your friends; before Iida demanded you ( and the others who hadn’t either ) to go upstairs, change into your home clothes, and help prepare dinner.

It was something you all would do every Friday, while on any other day it was devided into groups to make it for everyone else. Instead of everyone making it separately. 

Soon dinner passed and it bleed into the evening as the sun went under, the blankets got pulled out as everyone went under them. Getting settled and ready for the weekly movie night; “We should watch Banana Fish, I heard it was super sad and that rocks.” Present Mic purposes.

“No, no, Dumb and Dumber, that is what the kids like…” All Might trails off, his suggestion dying on his tongue as he sees our unimpressed faces, “Right, Midoriya-shonen?” he asks the boy, trying to find anyone to agree with him… kinda a bad move to ask his super fan.

“Maybe, I don’t know- some kids like it… But, it is kind of old. We- we could watch your film.” he panics, vastly waving his arms around as his entire face blooms red.

Smiling at the sweet interactions. Ashido groans loudly, rolling her head onto your shoulder, “Just pick a movie.” she wines, “Dark Knight has always been a favourite of mine.” Tokoyami offers.

At the end Midnight offered a rom-com and it might have been the headache of listen to more suggestion and not knowing a better pick, but it got put on and it was moderiably enjoyable yet your attention was pulled outside.

Glancing outside your eyes quickly find a frame sitting alone in the dark. You quickly identify the frame as your moody teacher. Standing up for your position under the blankets you move away, “Where are you going?” Ashido mumbles.

“Just taking a breath of fresh air.”

Making a plate, you make your way out into the garden. Placing it infront of him, before taking a seat next to him. It stays quite for a moment as he takes a bite of the food you had plated. Letting the silence continue; “Why are you sitting out alone, sensei?” you ask softly, breaking the silence as he takes a sip of his drink, most likely a cup of coffee.

Glancing up at the cloudy night sky, you aren’t quite sure what you are suppose to see… Everything is just gray and very bleak, no star to be seen, “Like cloud watching?”

“It reminds me of a time I couldn’t help someone that needed me.”

“Well... my M.O. is whenever you screw up, you should just keep smiling like usual.” you tell him, making a small smile tuck up his lips as he takes another sip of his drink.

“Thank you, ( y/n ).”

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | TAGLIST → @tsukkisbae

Mha Aizawa x female wife reader

Reader has a quirk that is literally her just being a cat magnet. Reader finds out she’s pregnant and decide to tell Aizawa in the cutest way possible with cats.

Fluff plz

Could you add me to your HXH , mha , aot and BSD tag list plz

The Cat’s Out of the Bag

Warnings: none!

Word count: 3,104

A/N: this has got to be my favorite request I’ve gotten so far! I kind of went a little above and beyond the request but I think it turned out rly cute :)

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Posted: October 23rd 2021, 1:30 PM EST

Since you’re quirk had first developed when you were a child, it had been drawing things closer to you; cats, specifically. It had started as the stray you passed daily on your way to school following you home, everyday being shooed away by your parents and everyday returning. Eventually one cat turned to two, and two to two dozen. It got to the point where they would be littered outside your house simply waiting for you to step outside, some even working their way inside and happily curling up next to you.

After some time of this continuing and the number of cats growing, your parents had taken you to a quirk doctor who confirmed that it was in fact your quirk attracting all of them. Despite the slight frustration it caused you all had no other choice but to accept it and learn to live with it.

The cats, especially the ones that consistently appeared, became your best friends. Because they refused to separate from you, you spent most of your time with them and thus went through your everyday life with a feline friend by your side. They were a constant company and ensured that you were never alone, even as you went to sleep at night as they took the available spots on your bed and lulled you to sleep with gentle purring.

By then nearly everybody who knew you knew of your quirk. It was well known that wherever you went at least one cat would follow and if there was a random sighting of a cat - or more frequently multiple - in a place they didn’t belong, you were somewhere nearby. Despite how the cats provided you endless company, they isolated you as well. The other kids at school found them as a sort of annoyance and began avoiding you, even your best friends eventually fading away as your quirk persisted. You were alone, ostracized from everyone else; that is, until you met him.

With a book in hand you sat with your back against a tree, your hand every so often leaving the pages to stroke the head of one of the dozen or so cats around you. Many of them bathed in the late summer sun with faces of contentment, an occasional breeze rustling their fur as well as your hair. It’s relatively silent as you lose yourself in the imaginary world of your book - or it was silent until the gentle sound of footsteps caught your attention. You look up to find a cat rounding the corner of a nearby building and walking towards you, shortly followed by a boy. Upon further inspection as he neared closer you were able to make our his appearance. Long black hair obscured his face and despite his taller frame he hunched over, you assumed to look at the cat he tailed behind. He appeared about your age and is adorned in a uniform; not one from your school but one you oddly recognized.

Eventually he worked his way up the hill you sat atop, his eyes widening upon seeing the crowd of cats the other had led him towards. You can’t help the small laugh that passes your lips, the boy finally seeming to realize you’re there as his eyes meet yours.

“Sorry about all the cats.” You say, watching as he takes in the sheer number of them.

“I was just trying to get the one I was following…” He says, “Why are they all right here?”

He kneels in front of the cat he had followed, a tortoiseshell kitten with a half missing ear, and scoops it into his arms with a small smile. You smile as well as an older gray cat nudges your hand, forcing you to put down your book to pet it.

“They just like me.” You reply, “You could say I’m a cat magnet.”

He hums as he moves to sit on the grass a few feet away from you, the kitten in his arms now playing with the loose strands of black hair that fell past his shoulders.

“Do you like cats?” You ask, though the answer already seemed obvious.

“Yes. It looks like you do, too.”

You breathe a small laugh, the boy giving one as well.

“I’m Y/n, and you?”

“Aizawa. Shouta.”

“Nice to meet you, Aizawa.”

After a few minutes you expected him to walk away, to return to where ever he had come from and that would be the first and last time you met, but as more time passed he stayed. You looked at him curiously and noticed he had taken out a laptop from his school bag and begun silently working. After staring for a few moments you returned to your book, both of you silently sitting in each other’s presence.

It became a daily occurrence for Aizawa to show up after following a cat to you, the two of you sitting under the same tree and either working or simply sitting together with the plethora of cats around you. Overtime the distance between you closed, going from Aizawa sitting a few feet away to a foot to a few inches until you eventually sat shoulder to shoulder. The closer he sat the closer the two of you became, small, short conversations turning to long and animated ones filled with laughter and light banter. Despite how your quirk had once isolated you, it had led you to, or more specifically led to you, the person who became your best friend.

“You know, your uniform looks really familiar.” You start, looking at Aizawa out of the corner of your eye before returning your gaze to the sky.

The two of you lay beside each other under the tree, peering through the bare branches at the pure blue sky above. Despite the cold chill of midwinter and the snow that blanketed the ground you lay on you both remained outside and so did the cats that cuddled close to your sides for warmth; much like you did with each other.

“I think all of Japan would know it.” Aizawa replies, moving his arm under his head as the tortoiseshell kitten curls up on his stomach.

“Oh really?” You laugh sarcastically, “What school do you go to then that’s so famous?”

“U.A.”

You pause for a moment before propping yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him with a look of disbelief.

“Are you joking?” You ask to which he shakes his head.

“I just started my second year.” He says nonchalantly, “You seriously didn’t know until now?”

“How would I know if you didn’t tell me? But seriously, you? In U.A.?”

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“I’m not saying it like that.” You say while gently shoving his arm. “It’s just surprising that you’re training to be a hero; it’s cool. What’s your quirk?”

He explains his quirk and how it works all while you stare at him in amazement, Aizawa occasionally making eye contact though quickly looking back away.

“That’s so cool!” You exclaim when he’s done, “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

He shrugs. “It’s never been brought up. I like your quirk better, anyway.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want my quirk.” You sigh while lying back down, “Everyone else thinks it’s annoying.”

“I don’t.” He replies, “I like it, all the cats.”

“You only hang out with me for the cats, huh?” You joke to which he rolls his eyes.

“I like the cats, but I like your quirk because it’s what brought me to you.” He says, voice quieter this time though tone softer and more serious.

“Aizawa…”

“Sorry.”

You blink in surprise for a moment before turning your head to face him.

“Don’t be.” You say quietly. Aizawa turns to face you as well, your faces a mere inches apart from each other’s. A rosy color tinted both of your cheeks that you hoped you could play off as the cold weather, your eyes meeting and refusing to look away despite the part of you that urged you to for the sake of your own embarrassment.

“I like you.” You whisper, catching yourself by surprise as the words pass your lips. Aizawas eyes widen in seemingly shock before he smiles, a small puff of air emitting from him made visible by the cold.

“I-“ He starts, though is cut off by the kitten letting out a loud mewl and plopping itself down in the space between you. Both of your laughter breaks through the silent air as some of the previous tension is lifted, the fluttering of your heart the only notion of what had taken place before.

-

After Aizawas hero debut, despite how quiet it had been in order to keep himself more hidden from villains knowledge and his despise of the press, you had made it your job to congratulate him. He had worked as a sidekick at a smaller agency for a few years before this debut which, in your opinion at least, made it only that much more exciting.

A smile tugs at your lips as you hear the door to your shared apartment open and close shortly followed by heavy footsteps that made their way towards you. As Aizawa rounded the corner into the kitchen you stepped out from behind the wall you hid behind and pulled the string to the confetti popper in your hand, laughing slightly at the slight shock on his face.

“Congrats!” You exclaim as confetti fell to litter both of your hair.

Aizawa looked to you before looking around the room, a banner reading “Congratulations Eraserhead!” Strung across the middle of the ceiling the first he sees before the small cake on the counter and floor now coated in colorful confetti. The cat you had taken in as your own, the tortoiseshell with the half missing ear, adorned a small white scarf and makeshift yellow eye covers like the ones Aizawa used and it meowed at him as if to say it’s own congratulations. Aizawa smiles while taking off his own scarf and eye covers before setting them on the counter.

“Thank you.” He says with a small, genuine smile.

You return it with a wide, adoration filled grin. “Of course! You deserve it, I know you’ll make a great hero, Shouta.”

He doesn’t reply, only steps closer and pulls you into a hug and rests his chin atop your head. You happily accept it and wrap your arms around his torso, giving him a small squeeze as you let your eyes slip shut. To you, this was the most comforting place you could be; wrapped up in each other’s arms and letting the rest of the world slip away until it was just you and him left. This is where you belong. This is all you needed.

After a few minutes Aizawa pulls away slightly to face you, his expression softer than usual as it settles on your face. You keep your smile but draw your brow together, one of your hands coming up to rest against his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask with a slight tilt of your head.

“Because.” Is all he answers.

“Well come on, we have to eat the cake before it dries up.” You say, pulling away and walking towards the counter. You’re stopped, however, by Aizawa reaching out to hold your hand, preventing you from walking away. You turn back around and look between your hands and him, giving him a confused look as his grip persists.

“Shouta? What’s-“

“Do you want to get married?” He asks, cutting you short and effectively making you fall silent. Your mind runs blank as you try to process what he said, part of you not believing it as your mouth opens and closes trying to find something to say.

“Are you- did you mean- I…” You stutter, trying and failing to somehow reply to the sudden question. Your eyes met his, kind and waiting laced with nervousness and anticipation as he waits for your answer. His thumb brushes over the top of your hand where they still joined in the space between you, drawing your attention there before your eyes trail up his arm and back to his face. In that moment it all seemed to click and you smiled, fully turning so you now stood in front of him.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

He flashes you one of his rare toothy smiles before pulling you back in by the hand, a laugh escaping you before it’s cut short by him placing his lips on yours. You melt into the kiss and smile slightly as the stubble on his face scratches yours, Aizawas hand gently cupping the side of your face as yours rests on his shoulder.

“I don’t have a ring.” He says as he pulls away, “That was a spur of the moment thing.”

You laugh softly, “It’s okay, it’s perfect the way it is.”

-

A nervous breath escapes you as you twist the golden band on your finger, your cat happily tucked against your body as you carried it through the halls of U.A. Highschool. As you made it to the hallway holding classroom 1-A you set down the feline in front of you, crouching so you were now about level. You let out a small sigh as you stroke its head, a small smile crossing your face as it purrs.

“Remember, all you have to do is walk up to him, okay?” You say quietly, making sure you couldn’t be heard through any of the open doors. You rolled up a piece of paper and tied it together with a small ribbon before looping it through the cats collar, tying it in a small bow before double checking it’s secure.

“Are you excited, too?” You ask, breathing a laugh as the cat meows. “I hope he is.”

After taking a moment to collect yourself you stand up again, looking down at the tortoiseshell cat and gently nudging it with the side of your leg. It seems to get the hint and happily strolls down the hall with you following behind up until you make it to the classroom door. You stay out of sight though the cat continues, letting out a meow as it spots Aizawa at his desk.

“Hm? How did you get here?” Aizawa asks, swiveling his chair around as the familiar cat approaches him.

As soon as it’s close enough he picks it up and sets it in his lap, smiling slightly as it nudges his hand for a pet.

“Did you come to visit me at work?” He asks, “Why would you leave Y/n… what’s this?”

He reaches out to the small scroll on the cats collar, his brow drawing together as he pulls the end of the ribbon and releases it from the collar. Though confused he proceeds with untying the ribbon and unrolling the paper it held.

“This new baby doesn’t have fur…?” He reads aloud, “Did Y/n find a hairless cat?”

You laugh silently to yourself as you wait for him to unravel the rest of your message, anticipation making you antsy as you peak around the door.

The note was now fully visible as Aizawa holds the top and bottom apart, his expression still displaying confusion as he scans over the black and white picture.

“An ultrasound…?” He says, pausing as he realizes what he said. His eyes widen in surprise as he reevaluates the picture that held the undeniable shape of a baby. “An ultrasound.”

You step into the doorway and smile as Aizawas eyes meet yours, glancing between you and the ultrasound in his hands.

“Surprise.” You say, trying to hide your nervousness behind a smile.

You walk closer until you’re standing a foot away from his chair, fingers still twirling your wedding ring as you wait for him to say something.

“This is yours?” He asks and you nod. “You’re pregnant?” Another nod. “This is our baby?”

“Mhm.” You hum, still trying to figure out how he felt as his tone, as well as his expression, had been next to emotionless.

After a few seconds of staring at the ultrasound he sets it on his desk before lifting the cat in his lap and gently placing it on the floor, wordlessly rising to his feet. He blinked a few seconds before pulling you into an abrupt hug, his grip tighter than usual as he buries his face in your shoulder. You lace your fingers through his hair while your other arm goes around his back, slightly reluctantly as you try to decipher his reaction.

“Are you mad?” You ask nervously, feeling as if a weight is lifted off your shoulders when you feel him shake his head.

“It’s just…” He starts, his sentence trailing off as he seems at a loss for words. “A baby. Our baby.”

You laugh slightly, your fingers combing through his hair as you feel a wave of joy wash over you.

“Yes, it is.” You reply, “So I take it you’re happy about this?”

“Of course I am.” He says as he pulls back just enough to be able to face you. “I love you.”

He leans in for a short-lived kiss that’s broken apart by both of your wide smiles, the two of you opting for letting your foreheads rest against each other’s instead. One of Aizawas hands leaves it’s spot where it rested on the small of your back and trailed towards the front of your body before cautiously resting on your lower stomach.

Aizawa looks up temporarily to look over your shoulder, breathing a laugh through his nose at what he sees.

“Looks like they’re excited, too.” He comments, directing your attention to the cats that trot into the room before looping around your feet.

A laugh escapes your lips as you turn to look down at them, your head resting on Aizawas chest as well as your hand as his hand lays on your shoulder. A warm feeling blossoms in your chest and settles in your stomach where your baby was growing, a strong sense of family surrounding you and enveloping the room in comfort. This, you believed, was the perfect moment which you owed all to your quirk and the cat you silently thanked as it pawed at Aizawas arm from its spot on the desk.

“You know, between all the cats, the students, and now this, I’m starting to think I have too many kids.” Aizawa says.

You laugh, “I think there’s room for one more. And maybe one more cat.”

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Aizawa, Taishiro, Toshinori, Sir Nighteye, and Hawks

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead

Despite him being that kind of nonchalant, I don’t give a shit about anything kind of person.....he’s a family guy

Loves kids

He just wants you to have a huge army of kids following alongside you hand in hand to visit him at work.

Looks forward to being able to relate to someone else with his quirk

Doesn’t care if they are all girls, all boys, a mixture of both, or even fostering or adopting, he’s for everything

Was kind of afraid to open up about that side of himself when you two got married, but you are all for it too

Feels that he can handle it with your help thanks to having some experience with dealing with his students

Is slapped in the face with shock when you two have your first 2 or 3 kids because infants are, you guessed it, nothing like teens who are all emotional about becoming a prohero

Guess he would be prepared for whenever they would get to their teenage years

Except for periods because he didn’t know anything about them but he’ll probably take the time to learn about it from you

Still happy over his growing army though

Still loves the chaos of it all, plus it’s good to have Aizawa to control their quirks when they start to develop

The chaos also reminds him of his own time in school with his few friends he had....they were always so vibrant and loud unlike him and he kind of envied it (secretly)

Yamada and Kayama (Present Mic and Midnight) loves to visit his little army and spoil them with toys and snacks even if Aizawa disapproved of it

You helped hand out the toys and snacks.....Aizawa could suck it up

Napping piles are normal in this household, so don’t be freaked when you see all of your children curled up or around Aizawa under a pillow fort in the living room.

It breaks his heart everytime though when his kids beg to take a stray cat home and he has to say no....but he’ll end up going back on patrol to feed it and then probably cave in and bring it home anyway

He’ll just shrug off his children’s accusations of him being a ‘hypocrite’ for saying no to their pleas earlier and say something like ‘Well I said you couldn’t do it, nothing about me though’

The tea parties are lit and he’ll crush anyone at a video game

Taishiro Toyomistu/Fatgum

Really never thought about having his own kids until meeting Kirishima and Tamaki

Life was changed FOREVER since meeting them, now he would like to have his own family

It was kind of confusing to finally have the talk of having kids a couple of years into your marriage, but your views on having kids were changed too after meeting the two UA students

He let you on thinking just one or two kids were great, but you didn’t know if you should have been surprised that you were in the hospital room pushing out your 5th child

It was kind of funny to see Taishiro freaking out even if it was his 5th time next to you in labor

Your kids were so use to it they just sat out in the hallway doing their schoolwork or playing games on their iPads as Kirishima and Tamaki watched over them (your labor would always catch them while they were out on patrol)

I picture that all his kids are girls

He uses the excuse “just one more kid, maybe this time it’ll be a boy”, It’s NEVER a boy

I feel that he’s the dad to sneak home McDonald’s fries or ice cream to his kids despite you not liking it

Will take the blame when you catch one of your daughters munching on fries on the way back to her room (daughters will also try to take the blame, but how the heck could girls 13 and younger sneak out all the way to McDonalds)

He’ll also get all his daughters together to bake a cake and also decorate it. The creativity shown by his daughters will always amaze him.

He and his daughters would even clean up the kitchen together...mostly so that you wouldn’t get mad upon seeing the kitchen as a disaster

Gets way into watching Barbie’s Life in the Dream House and secretly really loves our queen Raquelle

All Might/Toshinori Yagi

Just wants one little girl

To spoil her ROTTEN!

Seeing his friend David Sheild’s daughter Melissa grow up and look so happy always made him envious. Young Midoriya also played a huge role in his desire for at least one kid

One child was enough for the two of you and thankfully your first and only child was a girl

Gran Torino will also spoil her rotten along with Sir Nighteye

Will not be embarrassed to be caught sprawled out on the ground with your daughter playing with dolls

He’s actually quite proud of the fact that he doesn’t mind getting down and dirty when it comes to playing with ‘girly’ things with his young daughter unlike other dads

Loves to play Studio Ghibli movies for your daughter.....but Yagi is way more into it

I say this because Toshinori will try to hide his tears while watching My Neighbor Totoro as your daughter is fast asleep on his lap.

He will also sneak in a rated pg-13 hero movie from the United States in when your gone too....and then he’ll act surprise when your daughter would repeat the fowl language she heard in the movie

He would and WILL spend hours on YouTube to learn how to braid hair and put bows in and ribbons

He would bring her to work a lot too to see class 1A in action

Daughter will forever be his ‘baby’, so he HATES the thought of her starting to date and get married.

So when she admitted that the boy ‘Todoroki’ in his class was handsome while heading home one day from his work, he swore off boys....

He wasn’t surprised though, she was always managing to get Todoroki to hold her hand while Toshinori would have class 1A doing scenarios in teams and showing off her hair to him and asking if he noticed anything different.

Todoroki is a good sport, he held her hand and always complimented her hair...

Yeah she was mad at Toshinori and you made him unswear off boys, especially Todoroki

Brings your daughter to work just to brag about how he did her hair to EVERYONE

Mirai Sasaki/Sir Nighteye

Eh....he didn’t want kids, never had the desire tbh

Though something about UA students’ charming personalities making these heroes want families. Mirio got him thinking one kid couldn’t be so bad

You were shocked when he asked to have a kid, but you agreed....after discussing it for awhile to make sure he wanted this

I picture him having one cute, little shy boy

Like the cute little boy with glasses who wears those cute shorts with a bug related shirt that just wants to search for roly-poly in the dirt and grass in the back yard

Very quiet and a bit shy around new people, but is literally the most polite little boy in the WORLD

Nighteye will use his quirk on his son when out looking for bugs to just see if he missed something in the grass or dirt, but that’s as far as he’ll use it

The reason why Nighteye thinks he’s so funny is because your son (and you of course along with mirio) are the only ones who laugh at his jokes, especially your son

Your son finds ANYTHING his dad says or does hilarious. His dad made a gasp of excitement along side his son upon finding a millipede? Instant laughter will follow

Those bouts of laughter from his son is the best feeling in the world to him

Tried to make your son an expert on All Might, but gave up when he came to his conclusion that your son just wasn’t into it.

It was kind of weird at first to find out his son was just simply NOT into heroes, but now he just loves the fact that his son likes what he likes and doesn’t let himself get swayed by others, even his own mom and dad

If you can’t make his little boy, his pride and joy, laugh? Sorry, but don’t talk to Nighteye or his son ever again

He will sit and listen to his little boy go on and on and on and ON about anything and never get bored (or show it). He will sit and listen intently about the cool facts about the bug he found or a plant.

He’d even listen to the longest explanation about a tiny little squiggle on a piece of paper that he drew on if it was being told by his little boy.

Will even put a meeting on hold just to answer a FaceTime from his son from your phone just to listen to him talk about a leaf he made a pressing of....and will sit there with the volume all the way up on his phone too so the others in the room can hear as well.

Will spend all night pinning bugs to a board to frame and label just for your son

Keigo Takami/Hawks

He didn’t even want to date tbh

Though when he met you? The cliche ‘love at first sight’ happened and soon the two of you were married pretty quickly and boy was he a happy man

He didn’t really even want kids either. He just didn’t want to have kids and somehow they end up with a childhood like his that’s not the greatest or most normal, plus he was happy with the little domestic life with you.

But then IT happened. You know, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much and poof, a baby? Yeah....

He was TERRIFIED, but once your first child came into the world, a new sense of happiness sparked within him, like his own eyes opened for the first time to the world

This happened twice more, ending up with his happy family consisting of you, his two boys, and his little girl.

He’s the kind of dad to have his wallet FILLED with pictures of his kids and you. He will shamelessly show them off to fans while on patrol and also to Endeavor....even if he’s seen them a trillion times. Also his office is filled with framed pictures too

He also gets in trouble a lot along with his two boys for playing to rough and loudly within the house by you, especially for flying and being too competitive with video games and ANY activity he would take part in with them.

What can he say? His sons were like the best friends he was never able to have as a kid, he wanted to take in the beauties of having an energetic family

He doesn’t play favorites, but when it comes to his little girl? Sometimes he’ll catch a feeling of her feeling like she’s the odd one out when it comes to her two older brothers and he can relate to that feeling.

So he’ll set aside some dad and daughter time to do the things she likes, like read, color, and draw

He would even let her do his hair with tiny braids and color pieces of clip in hair and many butterfly clips. Keigo would also then wear it out proudly on patrol and check his reflection MULTIPLE times to make sure everything was in place.

He would then shout to the press and paparazzi that his daughter did his hair, showing it off in the process

When the picture would come out with the headliner ‘Hawks’ New Look Thanks to Daughter’ for the news the next day, the look of pride and awe on your daughters face upon looking at the front cover of the magazines and newspapers at the store you and his family would shop at would absolutely melt his heart melt

He’s the first one to pull back the covers to let his children climb in when scared by a thunderstorm or the spooky shadow in their room even if they may be getting ‘too old’ to be doing that...according to Endeavor however, so that information might be wrong

Bribes his kids not to tell you that he entered the house through the window and not the front door

i just know whenever you bend down to pick something up aizawa instinctively covers any table/ furniture edges with his hand so you wouldn’t hurt yourself on them

he’s super protective of you and wouldn’t let you get hurt ever, yet when you do walk up to him with a bruised knee or an injury in general he sighs but in his mind loses it at the thought of you actually getting injured badly

He’s just so afraid of losing you/ having you hurt :(

a/n: this inspired me so here's a lil drabble nonnoe bc u are so fucking right 😍

warnings: death and injury mention, body horror imagery i think, nightmares, kinda angsty but also fluff if you squint

gn!reader

he's seen it one too many times. his classmates when he was in high school. his friends when he's out on missions. his students now that he's a teacher.

he's seen broken bodies, smashed bones, what seems like gallons of blood that flowed across ground.

shouta can't help but panic a little when he sees a bruise or cut. his instinct to protect you, to make sure you're always safe kicks in. he can't help it that when you bend down to reach something, his hand automatically positions itself that you don't bump your head. or how he instinctively puts himself in between you and the road when walking down the sidewalk.

he knows that it might seem obsessive, but if you don't mind his protective instincts, than what does it matter? he just can't bare the thought of you, your perfect and wonderful self, torn to shreds. ripped apart. he can't bare the thought of a coffin and gravestone with your name engraved into it.

though a little bruise on your knee may seem minor, he holds you tightly for the rest of the day. images of you laying in a pool of your own blood flashing through his mind.

and you know. you understand. you let him hold you, whispering reassurances, cuddling him closer. you smile at him when he moves his hand after your head pops up. you comfort him when tears come in the middle of the night. when the nightmares are so bad he jolts awake, trembling in your hold with wet cheeks. you see all of that and you love him regardless.

you're all he has. he can't loose you.

this is a work of fiction that belongs to @/k0dzu1. do not copy, translate, or repost.

Eraserhead x Reader How Convenient!

There were perks to working the night shift at Al Deraan’s Convenience Store. You got to pick the music playing on the old stereo, because there were rarely any customers present or sober enough to complain. You can be on your phone if nobody else is around. All you really need to worry about is turning off the lights before heading home, and locking up. Most nights, you are alone with the smell of window cleaner and prepackaged pastries.

Sometimes, he stops by.

He’s a pro hero. A real one, with talent and history. Every time you see him, he exudes mystery and steadfastness. He is the coolest man you have ever seen, dressed all in black except for his scarf and protective eye-wear. You hang on every gruff word he speaks.

Which is usually limited to, “Keep the change,” or, “No bag is fine.”

Keep reading

EXCERPT FROM EDEN ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: the further you delve into the forest the farther you find yourself from your village's good graces—subsequently pushed into the arms of a creature you were warned to stay away from.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, fantasy au, naga aizawa, human reader, childhood friends to lovers, mention of violence (reader has bruises), reader is an outcast, bathing together, nesting, monsterfucking, mating bites (not A/B/O), aphrodisiac venom (so no prep needed), dubcon (for the venom) but v enthusiastic consent, non human genitalia (hemipenes), grinding, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasm, creampie, aizawa carries reader (he is big n strong)

wc: 7.3K

There are monsters in the night.

Adults would spin tales about them when you were young. You were warned not to go near the forest. To never stray from the path. If a voice calls to you, do not answer. Look at your feet and cover your ears. Thoughts filled with blood-steeped, ugly stories of such creatures: half man half serpent taller than an ogre swallowing impious people up whole. Naga, the true tempter, the harbinger of misfortune.

Children spent idle time feigning courage and taunting the so-called beasts in spite of it; playing at the treeline, skittering over the border and rushing back with a surge of adrenaline, as if the creature had been right there awaiting a meal. But above all they liked to frighten you, the runt of the litter. Snakes like to eat mice, they would jeer. Little mouse they would call you. Perfect bait.

It had been dewy that fateful afternoon. You were chased deep into the unknown. Petichor hung thick around the trees after a sun shower. Summer was drawing to a close. Shorter days, darker mornings. Your elders would call the weather ‘temperamental’ and you liked that. As though the Gods were children clinging onto those last dregs of heat, unwilling to let go.

Grass flattened wet under your bare feet, you ran from sharp stones and sharper words. Ran until the only voice left in your head was your own. Lungs tight and spasming for oxygen. You felt eyes on you the moment foliage snapped under another tentative step—but the figure before you did not move. He remained on his stomach, arms folded beneath his head, body stretched long and bare across the narrow clearing to bathe in the sunspot. Lower, right at the base of his spine, pale skin faded seamlessly into black scales that made up the thick, sinuous tail of a snake.

Your knees stung where small open wounds touched the air. A gentle breeze flowed in through the underbrush, took your slight apprehension and whisked it into the thinning redwood canopy. As a child you simply couldn’t connect something so non threatening and lazy to the monsters of old.

You approached the naga with slow, telegraphed movements. Thin pupils drenched in vermillion glow observed behind a half lidded stare. Closer then, trembling hands tugged and stretched the hem of your shirt, popping the old stitching. “Hello,” you said, voice small even to your own ears. “I—I’m not a mouse. Just so you know”.

Something flickered in his expression; a stifled inhale, a brief shift, the naga sighed. It rolled through his body, belly turning toward the sky. Sunlight reflected on the exposed underside and shimmered iridescent, stealing your breath. “That much is obvious,” he replied tiredly.

“Then, you won’t eat me?” before he had the chance to answer, you’d already been emboldened. You tottered toward him with a surge of energy and sureness. “Thank you. Can we be friends?”

“No,” he muttered, retreating into his coils.

A familiar sensation stung behind your eyes and your bottom lip trembled fiercely. It built up in your body and collapsed. Loneliness, shame, the incessant, throbbing ache in your limbs after sprinting so far. You tried again, a quiet warble. “Please?”

But a stern voice rumbled from the layers of muscle, uninterested in your swelling emotions. “Go away kid,” the naga demanded. “It’s not safe out here”.

“M’not a kid,” then you kicked the dirt in a burst of wounded anger. While bigger than you, this naga wasn’t even close to towering an oni, so you bluffed petulantly, “You’re a kid too”.

“While that may be true I am still older than you,” came the disgruntled remark. Then, faster than you could register, an arm shot out from between the dark coils and took you by the throat.

Reflexively, you gripped the naga’s wrist with both hands. But you didn’t flinch. Rather than fight his hold you waited, rabbit-footed heart beating in your chest. Violence was nothing new to a runt like you. The hand slid up to your chin and forced you to keep his gaze. His eyes flickered strangely there in the darkness. Red like fresh blood. The ire in them faltered at your spiritless reaction.

“Annoying human. Your lack of instinct will get you killed,” the creature stated. You said nothing. He continued, “You’re far from home. Follow the river to your settlement. Do not come back here”.

You recall how abruptly your senses sharpened at his mention and latched onto the distant sound of running water. He freed you from his grip, pale limb slinking back into the recesses of his twisted tail. He reminded you of a snail receding into its shell. Boring, lazy and slow moving. Naga were not so frightening, you concluded.

You returned with reluctance, following the riverbank until the end of your new world where it broke into a wishbone shape and wound around the village. Adults frowned at the dry mud caking your feet, ankles and calves. Their calloused fingers squeezed roughly around your wrists and dragged you to the springs to scrub you raw.

“Where on earth have you been?” one asked, mouth set in a frown. Another held you by the shoulders, thumbs pressed into your collarbone with intention to bruise. “Your stupidity is going to curse us all,” they shook you in place and their strength only grew the more you fought. “Do not provoke the naga. Understand?”

Faces twisted in disappointment haunted you all through the night. Eyes sore and puffy. Tears soaked into your shirt; you could taste them in the back of your throat. Oval-shaped bruises adorned your collar yet your throat and your jaw remained unblemished, if not a little tender. You were hurt, but not by the one you were warned against.

Your second excursion into the forest to see the naga was of your own volition. He was not where you first met him but nearby, curled up beneath an ancient tree, right where her bole has spread and warped to create a small depression in the trunk. The wind billowed. Branches swayed and bent their spindly fingers, pointed at you, almost accusingly.

He appeared to be sleeping. Again. Arms folded atop his tail, chin rested on the cradle it made. Perhaps there was something wrong with you—as the elders often stated—but you were not entirely stupid. You kept your hands to yourself, letting only your eyes wander as you crept close enough to see the soft curve of his jaw, the sloped nose, the youthful cheeks.

Long dark hair draped loosely over pale shoulders, expression serene while he rested. You thought he was lovely. Not at all beastly. Right down to the dip of his stomach, where skin vanished into bony hips and an obsidian tail.

A guttural hum startled you where you stood. Unmoving, the naga murmured, “Do you have a death wish?”

That voice untied every knot in your body. “N—no,” you held strong. “I told you, I want to be friends”.

“And I told you that’s not happening”.

When he peeked at you through dark curtains into those dim eyes there came a softness, as though atoning for his harsh words. Under that gaze your stomach started to rumble. “You’re hungry,” you shrunk, palms pressed flat as though to snuff out the sound. “Humans need to eat multiple times a day, do they not?”

“…Sometimes,” your agreement was barely a mumble. “If there is enough for me”.

The naga scrutinised you and your answer, displeased by it. After a long silence he unravelled and asked, “Do you want food?”

Hope filled you from root to stem. You bloomed. Stretched for the open sky like a flower seeking sun, bouncing on the tips of your toes. “Food?” you echoed excitedly. You trailed after him and nearly tripped in your haste. He caught you with the end of his tail and sighed. It coiled tightly around your middle and inched you along with him.

Having glanced surreptitiously in his direction, your warm human hand swept across the cool dark scales. They were glossy and smooth, unlike anything you’d ever felt. As he moved you sensed the power in his limb.

“What do naga eat?”

“Anything. Fish, birds, insects,” he told you. The coil around your waist flexed as if to check you were there. Hearing your trepidation his tone lilted as he added, “But what you’re really asking is if I eat humans, aren’t you?”

You rubbed where you thought his belly might be and pondered aloud, “Would you, if they deserved it?”

He scowled over his shoulder and came to an abrupt stop. “What kind of a question is that, kid?”

You wilted at the sharp verbiage, feeling scolded, though unable to understand his offense. After all, that is exactly what the villagers would say of you if ever he decided to.

That only seemed to fuel his frustration. You worried in the face of it, for a weak moment. Warnings you’ve clamoured in your conscience, soon chased by immediate guilt. Your new friend had offered kindness and there you were, assuming the worst of him.

Sensing your turmoil the naga cautiously brought his hand to your head. Front to back, pausing at a vulnerable, unmarked nape. He attempted to pet you. Wide eyed, you stared ahead until every leaf in the grove coalesced into a green blur. His touch had been deliberate, soft and soothing despite the tension set in his face.

Laid in the palm of his other hand was a pile of plum red berries. The coils relaxed to recline you into a comfortable position and wordlessly, you shared the small treat together. Teeth glinted sharp in the daylight, made to rend flesh from bone. They sank tender into thin skin until it burst and he hummed at the flavour enjoying a simple pleasure like any human boy would.

Their fruity tang clung to your tongue. You took your fill and more. “Thank you…” your voice lost strength, no name to fill the blanks.

“Aizawa,” he muttered. A rough swipe of his thumb across your lips wiped away the citrus. “It’s Aizawa Shouta. And don’t speak with your mouth full”.

The sky darkened on the eventide. Aizawa bid you a flippant farewell, your name at home in his mouth, and you erred on caution, changing course to wash the dirt and foliage from your body. Loud was the pounding of your heart against your ribs, a frantic beat. But nobody batted an eye at your presence, nor the absence of it.

Those short excursions continued for some time. Be it a stroke of boredom, or loneliness, you would find yourself treading back through the banks, to Aizawa’s territory. There was never a discernible path leading to him. Your legs would simply take you there, heart magnetised like the arrow of a compass. Whilst the village raised you with harsh, inattentive hands, he became your North. Years passed together and eyes turned as your insatiable curiosity grew, along with your carelessness.

And with that carelessness came consequences.

Fate is a funny thing. You are sprinting through the forest, feet pounding against the dirt alongside the ghost of your childhood self. The enraged shouts have long since tapered into silence yet you can’t allow yourself to slow. Your limbs ache, a bone deep permafrost, fatigued muscles clenching.

They’d followed you yesterday. Unexpected, given how deliberately people avoided the village border. Everything collapsed in one fell swoop. A single misstep and your life was upturned. You heard their plans to confine you in the shrine and knew—you’d never be able to see Shouta again.

Lost in your muddied stream of consciousness your foot is caught in a bundle of jagged roots. Mossy fingers coil around your ankle. You stumble, taking impact to the knees. The sting is muted as it knocks the air from your burning lungs.

You gasp, a wet and raspy breath; an apocalyptic spring fills your chest. The trees are in bloom. High above the blossoms are pale pink, like branches covered in snow. Ash flowers fell slowly to coat the ground. They get in your hair, your clothes and your eyes.

Shouta finds you there. He has always had the uncanny ability to sense you in his territory, as though the forest were an extension of himself. Your neck strains to lift your head, looking through lashes to see his silhouette. Red eyes flash in the distance, and in a mere blink he is at your side.

“Shouta—”

A low, guttural sound reverberates in the back of his throat. You’re scooped into his embrace. He is gentle with you, always aware of the difference in size and strength, and your heart beats harder for it. “You’re early,” he says. “What happened?”

You exhale through the fresh tenderness searing, “They know”.

Shadows shift above you. A curtain of hair hangs in your periphery. Shouta sinks until your eyes are level. Big. He hit a frightening growth spurt after his juvenile shed. A broad chest, shoulders corded with muscle, his long tail heavy enough to disturb the natural topography of the forest floor. Uneven scars littered across his skin from territorial disputes that you were not privy to. The most recent curves along his right cheekbone, fresh and pink.

Your gaze lingered as you took in his expression. Mouth downturned in obvious discontent but eyes dark, pensive. Beautiful even when he is doing nothing at all.

Shouta’s irises flickered in the softening light of the afternoon sun. Fingers drumming on lacquer scales. “They know?” he repeats. Irritation coated the words, as it often did when speaking of your village. “They should have realised years ago”.

Like him, you had shed your own urgent adolescence. The world became smaller and you preferred it that way. It spun around Shouta as if he were your own axis. When you were with him there was something much bigger than childlike wonder.

“That’s different. I wasn’t anything important. But now I’ve… been slacking on my duties to see you,” embarrassed, you tear up the thinning grass, seated at the foot of his coils. “I’m old enough to be of use, so my absence is noticeable,”

“You were a child. Running off God knows where. You’re lucky an orc didn’t decide to pick his teeth with you,” the snap in his voice almost hurt, but there was no bite nor true anger aimed at you. You’ve had these arguments before.

“I’m lucky because I had you to protect me,” you amended gently, a small smile curled at the corner of your mouth. It took a while for you to realise that he tailed you home each time you visited, just to be sure. His scales shift at your back, carrying the praise through his body. “I know it bothers you, Shouta, but this is just how things are. Don’t worry, I’ll be more careful from now on”.

“This is not about you being careful,” Shouta mutters, though you get the sense he has no energy to truly argue. You hesitate in the brief silence. He takes you by the wrist, not the hand, and you pout about it.

He encourages you to come. You tread through the thick, clammy air as the sun beats down on your shoulders. Shouta takes you up the valley. Where the treeline ends the mouth of the river funnels south, surface glittering softly as the currents part around a large rock in the centre; top smoothed down flat for sunning. You watched while he sunk into the water, tail disappearing behind him as it submerged and disturbed the silt.

“Come on,” he coaxes begrudgingly. You dither by the edge, picking at your sleeve.

“I can’t get my clothes wet”.

Shouta reaches the rock, bracing an arm against it. Draped in open sunlight he turns to level you with a flat look. “Then take them off. Don’t bother giving excuses. I already know you’re wounded, I can smell it”.

Shit. You wince, resting a hand over the marks across your ribs and hip. You were so sure he hadn’t noticed anything.

Anticipation churned in your stomach. You’ve never been nude in front of him before—though not for lack of wanting, and you suppose he himself has always been naked in human terms. You swallow down trepidation and lift your shirt over your head, gaze resolutely pointed away from the river, which rippled with every minute shift Shouta’s tail.

The currents are a cool caress against your body as you step into the river, soothing the bruises. Tentative, you wade further, arms folded over your breasts for some semblance of modesty. Once you’re standing in waist high water something hard, smooth—Shouta’s tail wraps around you and pulls you close.

“Deep water,” he mutters softly. You’re pressed skin to skin. His throat bobs and he looks away. “Can’t have you drowning”.

“Right,” you say, left breathless by the proximity. You can feel his chest rise and fall. Sinew and muscle expands. Rigid scales dotted along his navel press against your abdomen as he sprawled around the sunning rock. “Thank you”.

He hums in lieu of a response. Small waves lap up your spine as he adjusts his grip, holding you with one arm around your lower back. Shouta traces his thumb over the large mark on your pelvis, the claw tip catching. “You said they found out. So this is the result?”

You grimace weakly at the subject. It was naïve to hope he would let it go. “It’s my fault. I was careless,” you tried, slumped in his embrace as though filled with wet sand. “They’re just afraid of what they don’t understand. I should’ve tried to explain years ago—”

“You and your misplaced guilt,” Shouta’s jaw ticks. He inhales deeply, his next words quieter on a long exhale. “Stop rationalising their mistreatment. They’re stuck in their ways”.

“Maybe. But I…”

The truth was that an ugly part of you had never wanted them to change for the better. You wanted Shouta to yourself for as long as he’s willing and their ignorance made it so. Fear kept them away. But it also stoked their anger.

“I can’t help but wonder why they're so against it,” you tuck your chin and smile despite the lump lodged in your throat, suddenly feeling naked in all manner of ways. “They treat me like a curse. And I know it’s natural to fear what you don’t understand, but if they just knew you—!”

“Humans should fear my kind,” Shouta interrupts, a bite to his tone. Your eyes dipped low, and you traced your fingers over the intricate mosaic of scales across his clavicle to avoid his sharp gaze. A short moment passes. “Your association with me doesn’t make you a harbinger of ill omen,” he murmurs, sweeping his hand along the planes of your back in silent apology. “If anything you’ve been protecting them from one”.

You lift your head. His pupils dilate, soften. “I have?”

A broad palm wraps around the nape of your neck, the other resting over your bruised hip. Shouta’s thumb brushes over your pulse. “If not for your insistence and naïve altruism I would have killed them for neglecting you,” Shouta admitted, bringing you tighter to his front. You’re taken deeper, until your feet no longer reach the riverbed and the cold no longer bites.

“When will you prioritise yourself?” he continues. “I’m starting to think you would pull out your own teeth if it could guarantee you’d never hurt anyone”.

You smile, a little dazed by how favourably he regarded you. His skin is cool under your fingertips. “That’s not quite true,” you trace the scar beneath his eye and he slows, turning into your palm. The pad of your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. There you find those monstrous teeth, large and sharp behind his lips. The touch feels momentous, like something only lovers do. “And either way, I’d still have yours to protect me”.

Shouta rumbles at that. The vibrations loosen up the tension in your chest and satisfaction gathers warm in your belly. “Lean back,” he murmurs. Anticipation swoops through your belly as you recline in his arms, cradling you above the ripples to wash your body with his own hands.

“This water has healing properties. Further down the mountain the river splits and forms a hot spring,” Shouta’s claw-tipped fingers brush your nipple, pert under his attention. Your breath hitches. He pays it no mind, palm sliding over each breast and along your shoulders, wiping down the sweat and dirt. The pressure remains delicate around your waist, careful not to agitate the bruises.

Shouta kneads the soft parts of your body even after the filth is gone. You hum, allowing yourself to enjoy his attention. Everything feels heavier. Gravity bears hard on your arms as they lift to brush the wet hair back from his face and you marvel at how his eyelids flutter closed, one after the other. You comb through his roots, scratching lightly over his scalp before working loose the knots at the ends.

Something is beginning to swell beneath you but a quiet contentment overwhelms the reciprocal arousal stirring in your gut. Watching the tension in his face trickle away, eyes falling closed so dark lashes fan over pale cheeks. Your fingertips trace along the smattering of scales by his temple and notice a new vivid sheen to them.

“You look brighter,” you murmur, curious.

Awareness flies over his features. You almost miss it given how swiftly he buries it, taking on that familiar monotonous air. After years spent detailing the subtleties in every fleeting expression and spoken word you’ve become quite accustomed to Shouta concealing his embarrassment.

Turning away from your prying eyes, the line of his jaw becomes sharper as he swallows. “It’ll soon be my seasonal rut,” he tells you, feigning indifference. “My scales are more vibrant for the purpose of attracting a mate”.

“A mate?” you echo uselessly. Dread churns in the pit of your stomach. You knew well what having a ‘mate’ entailed. A white hot sensation prickles at your nape that not even the cool water can quell. In your naivety—and perhaps, selfishness—you’d never considered that he might find somebody else. Somebody suitable. “That’s… really great, Shouta. But who? I thought you chased off the last bed of naga that passed through?”

At this, a frown etched into Shouta’s brow. “You’re making a few unnecessary leaps in that head of yours,” he mutters. “At what point did I say my mate needed to be a naga?”

There’s something in his voice that gives weight to what he’s doing. It echoes an unspoken proposition. Unbidden from the recesses of your mind rose the wishful thoughts you’d imagined so often they were practically dogeared. A shiver trickled down your spine, caught in a gauzy yet comfortable silence as Shouta continued to clean your body.

The tip of his tongue peeks out to taste the air once he’s done. You fruitlessly will your body to temper its desire, to feign some semblance of control as you lift your head, no longer denying him the answer written plainly on your face.

“…I want that,” you confess, picking up the thread he left. You rub across his shoulders and bring your palms together in the middle of his chest, folded over his heart. “I can't go back. Take me home with you. Keep me”.

Shouta looks surprised—a microexpression, if anything; imperceptible to anyone but you—as though he hadn't expected you to accept. You’re warmed by the idea that he might’ve been hoping for more without expectation.

That’s all you’ve ever known, failed expectations.

A beat passes. You think he might be giving you a grace period—allowing time for a regret that never comes. When he realises you’ve no intention to take it back he sucks a hiss through his teeth, and you’re close enough to see his thin pupils spill into his irises until they’re inky black.

The river breaks around you, water foaming at the surface as Shouta unwittingly guides your knotted bodies to the shore. “I see you’re still as reckless as you were when we were children,” he says, sounding hoarse. “You have no idea what you’re agreeing to”.

“I’m saying yes to you, Shouta,” your voice strains, desperation creeping in when you feel his arms loosen and your feet brush the wet bank. “Teach me what I don’t know because I hate leaving. I hate missing you”.

The rough sensation of Shouta’s scales against your inner thighs rippled through your body, core tightening as he retained his grip around your waist. “This is not a conversation we’re having in the open,” he takes you both out of the water and you shy away from the cool air.

He bends over to collect your clothes and drapes them in your naked lap. You clutch the fabric close, “Where are we going?”

“To my den. No questions until then”.

The journey to Shouta’s den is long, deliberately so. Caught in his coils you go, without trepidation—like a willing little mouse, your mind whispers. Only on the third cycle do you realise that he is purposefully traveling in circles to cover his tracks. Aside from the occasional birdsong and cicada you don’t hear anything for miles. It’s so peaceful that you forget that a world exists outside of this vast, sprawling forest.

In time he reaches the den. The sky has darkened to an early dawn, the gloaming orange light casting shadows over Shouta’s face as he leans over you to shield you from the overgrowth to get to the entrance.

Arched tall and gaping, the bumpy outer walls of the cave are fissured with fingerlings of old tree roots. Shrouded in darkness, Shouta slithers around the stalagmites protruding from the floor with ease. Inside the air is thick, humid as he carries you deeper, metres further down, refusing to release you from his coils.

Meandering into a broader section, Shouta spreads out easily in the cavern. You blink around as your vision adjusts and notice narrow streams of light threading through the stalactites hung on the ceiling. Twinkling are various trinkets, tied around and dangling from the spikes. Jewels, chainmail, rusted daggers, cutlery.

When you were a young you’d spend sleepless nights imagining where Shouta lived, conjuring possibilities only a child could. Despite that curiosity you never asked to see his home—you knew, innately, as an avid observer of creatures big and small, that it would be an invasion of his privacy. But of everything you imagined it had been nothing like this.

There’s a wide alcove at the back of the cavern, housing what appears to be a nest near an extinguished fire pit, still carrying the faint scent of smoke. Shouta lowers you into it and slinks away for a moment to discard your clothes. Warmth engulfs you, insulated in the structure. There are branches both large and small intricately woven and padded with an assortment of pelts, lichen and moss. Most notable is the snakeskin used to hold together the joints of the nest.

You pinch a piece delicately between your thumb and forefinger. It’s thick, smoother than expected. “Is this yours?”

Though far off his voice reaches your ears, “Is that your first question?”

Shouta returns holding what looks to be a blanket. His tail drags behind him. The sound ripples around the space. When shaken out and draped over your bare lower half you discover that the blanket is actually the rest of his shed. It’s beautiful, inexplicably silky while being heavy and tough.

You tug the snakeskin higher up your body and note how fervently he tracks the movement. “Yes, it’s mine. It strengthens the nest,” Shouta explains, beginning a languorous dance circling the nest as though he were adding himself to it. Your attention does not stray as his tail coils upon itself, lap after lap until you’re entirely surrounded.

“You’ve been planning this,” you comment. How long had it taken for him to craft it? Did he imagine what you’d think? “It’s beautiful”.

Pleased with the height, Shouta’s upper body slinks down into the centre where you wait. Home. Not simply a place but an extension of his body, like the forest. You’re directly in the heart. A place that you alone have been allowed to see.

Your mind drifts to the feckless creatures and travelers who’ve wandered this way only to be killed. But rather than fear, or sorrow, a distinctive emotion welled up inside you. You felt special.

“It’s mainly instinct. Not much planning,” he says.

You reach to cup his cold face in your hands. Cheeks flush, like all the blood in him had rushed to the surface to greet you. He rumbles as your thumb traces an arc along his newest scar, tucking his chin to nuzzle into your palm. It’s cute, though you wouldn’t dare say that.

A content hum vibrates behind his ribs, “You’re so warm”. Then you feel the tentative press of lips and of fangs underneath. He kisses your heartline. You falter at the uncharacteristic show of affection, clutching his snakeskin tighter. His dark gaze falls to your partially covered chest. Low and supple he asks, “Do you know what it means to wear a naga skin?”

You slowly shake your head.

“Naga gift their sheds to be used in nests or as armour for their mates,” propped onto his arm Shouta presses closer, forcing your thighs to bracket the thick of his tail. “It’s viewed as a public claim,” he stops short a hair's breadth from your wanting mouth, sharing a shallow inhale.

Filled with intrepid awe, your fingertips walk the slope of his throat, hands laying flat to his chest. A hummingbird’s wing, a pulse belying his nerves. You reach for your voice, “Does this make me yours?”

Shouta blinks, pupils dilating. The distant trickle of water dripping from the stalactites echoes throughout the cavern. You feel his stomach clench where your touch slips lower, “Are you sure you want to be?”

“Since you fed me those berries in the east valley”.

“You were a child,” Shouta huffs, doing a poor job at appearing unaffected.

“Children sometimes imagine falling in love, you know,” a small, sad smile comes unbidden to your lips. “I never had anyone to play pretend with,” you tell him softly, meeting his eyes. “You always took care of me. Back then I wondered if that’s what it’d be like to have a husband when I came of age”.

With a furrow in his brow, Shouta cradles your jaw. He tucks his thumb against the corner of your downturned mouth, “A husband?”

“The human equivalent of a mate. A husband or wife,” you say. “Marriage is a promise to be together for the rest of your lives”.

“And you want that. The rest of your life,” Shouta’s words are hoarse, they sound thick in his throat. He brings your foreheads together, almost reverential, and dark tendrils of hair fall around you. “With me?”

You swallow. “Yes. I want…”

Your wandering hand stills at his navel, right in the bend where skin turned to scale. You’re reminded that he isn’t a human man. What you’ve been taught about sex and the parts that go along with the act—that knowledge is mostly worthless here.

Curious, you palm the growing bump where a cock would be, index finger tracing the thin slit along the middle, teasing him as you would tease yourself. Shouta grabs your wrist, arm braced above your head to rock into the touch, a frisson of iridescence rippling through his scales.

The airy groan in his throat quells your anxiety and feeds your longing. Chin tilted, your mouths aligned, a petal-soft brush that shakes him from his reverie and draws him back. You complain and curl your arms around his neck, missing him. He huffs a short laugh but doesn’t retreat any further.

“Careful,” he lifts his upper lip and pushes the tip of his tongue to his left fang. A pinprick of his blood wells there. “You’ll catch yourself”.

“Are you venomous?” and you pout, noticing the mirth flickering across his face. “What?”

“Not in the way you’re imagining. Pay attention,” he answers, and bends to tuck his nose into the hollow of your throat. His jaw unhinges, tasting you with a deep inhale. Oh. Your pulse rockets when he drags his fangs there in suggestion of a bite—breath held as they barely break skin and an abrupt heat tingles around the scratch.

“Wh—what does it do?” you gasp in wonder, poking the blooming mark as Shouta hums, descending to drag his lips over the peaks of your breasts.

“Humans call it a lot of things. An aphrodisiac, drug, relaxant,” he says. Each word is a kiss left everywhere but the one place you need it. Blood rushes to your ears. “A mating bite eases the burden. Makes sure your body ready for me,” you watch on with bated breath while he reaches lower, and jolt, ensnared in his half lidded gaze as he lightly drags his knuckles through your wet folds. His thumb finds your clit, massaging a few light circles around the swollen bundle of nerves. Your hips twitch, and Shouta grins at your soft whine, “Though you’re already doing that beautifully on your own”.

Desperate, you grapple at his shoulders. He rises with an indulgent smile and you lean to kiss him. A clumsy thing, open mouthed and needy, receding enough to make room for protest before kissing him again, and again, nipping the seam of his lips. Hair stands on end as the world suddenly tips on its axis and your positions are reversed.

You’ve no chance to mourn the loss. Shouta lay on his back. He sinks into the nest and draws your knee over his hip. A shiver licks up your spine as you sit low on his navel, entirely bare and wet; with him being so sensitive to his surroundings there’s no doubt he can feel the beat of desire between your thighs.

The flesh spills between his fingers as Shouta squeezes your waist. “I can feel you throbbing,” he murmurs. His own heat is swelling between you. Sticky arousal smeared on your inner thighs. Shouta’s vent pulses in time with his heart—and yours. You exhale a shaky breath, relieved and exhilarated that he wants you too. The growing pressure pushes against your clit and your hips twitch, a fleeting stutter to relieve the ache.

Shouta groans. Large hands find purchase at your hips, appreciating how your body yields to his touch, and encourages you to move. “Oh,” comes a soft gasp, feeling his swollen slit flower open beneath your cunt, leaking arousal. The friction, or lack thereof, is incredible, and you repeat the motion, seeking it again.

It’s slick where your bodies meet. The obscene wet sound of you rocking together leaves you dazed. Shouta’s lower half shifts as arousal zips through him and the nest creaks. “Fuck, feels good. More,” you demand breathlessly. Something else nudges against your clit with every pass, two heads budding from the vent, and your eyes screw shut—

Two?

A groan falls from Shouta’s mouth and your frantic realisation dissolves. You can hardly think. He licks the curve of your throat, nuzzling the barely-there-mark he’d left. Infinitesimal and yet it hasn’t stopped throbbing. An ache spreads through your hips, his hands rutting you against the swell with a desperate rhythm.

“Shouta,” you say, overwhelmed. “Do it. Bite me, fuck me, please. Please. I want—I want to—!”

The sharp pain is dulled so quickly you’re not sure it was ever there. Shouta sank his fangs into the juncture of your neck, a hand firm at your nape to keep you still. Vision blurred, your mouth drops open around a silent scream as your orgasm rips through you—the venom close behind, forcing your seized muscles pliant and stoking your arousal until it’s burning from the inside out.

Shouta releases your neck and trails his fingertips along the length of your back. You whine, a helpless and confused little sound, when the heat allays under his affections. Your thighs are trembling, slipping down his hips as you use the last of your inertia to curl into his chest.

He cradles your limp form amongst his coils, creating a protective barrier around you in such a vulnerable state. “I have you,” he says, the shaky baritone of his voice coaxing your eyes open. Half-cognisant, not quite in and not quite outside of yourself.

“…It’s too much,” you pant.

“I know,” Shouta kisses your temple, paving his way to the corner of your mouth, “You’re doing so well”.

You turn lazily into the kiss. Your thighs have fallen open further, and you subconsciously raise yourself up to better the angle. The blunt tip of one of his cocks nudges through your folds and a white hot sensation prickles over your skull. Shouta lowers you onto his cock with care, muscles corded tight in obvious restraint, wanting to ease you into the stretch. He’s thicker than a human, subtle soft ridges lining the sides, caressing you in places your fingers could never reach.

You begin to tremble and the air is pushed from your lungs with a gasping sob as he splits you open. The sensation is hard to decipher through the haze. Your ears ring, the sound high and metallic. It isn’t numbing—no, you can feel everything, every minute shift, pulse and ridge. It’s an intrusive, satisfying ache, an insurmountable pressure. There’s no part of you he isn’t touching. You consider, the thought vague and half-formed, that when Shouta bit you something in your brain must’ve rewired itself. Synapses crossed, addled by venom, convincing you of pleasure where there would otherwise be pain.

Your small world grows ever smaller. Shouta is all encompassing. His dark hair is tickling your face, smooth scales rippling under your cheek. He’s saying something—he must be, because his mouth is moving above you, murmuring what sounds like sweet incantations of your name.

An immaculate red glow pools into his irises as they roll skyward, brow furrowed in concentration. His second cock drools across his belly, where it lay trapped by your bodies. The slick underside of his cock wet and pulsing against your clit, fully sheathed.

“Do you have any idea how you feel—fuck,” Shouta’s jaw clenched as his cock recedes, leaving only the tip kissing your folds, before he fucks into you again. A shudder quakes through his coils. They constrict around the nest and Shouta pins you to his chest, thick arms held firm around your shoulders and back, tightening with every squirm. “Mine. Knew it had to be you,” came his hushed babbles, composure finally fraying at the seams.

With the surety that you’re not in pain, his pace grows, his rhythm earnest. Laved in shared arousal, you’re so wet every ingress is indelibly easy. To call yourself helpless would be to imply that you wanted to escape. You surrender to the unending, overbearing rapture, sprawled over your Shouta’s lap like a pile of loose skeins with a drunken smile. Chest heaving in exertion despite doing so little. The atmosphere is so oppressively humid that it’s hard to catch your breath.

It feels like he’s carving out something irreplaceable inside of you. A space that only he can fill, a craving only he can sate. Your hips stutter uselessly, grinding your clit against his other cock. Rather than building to a climax it feels as if you’ve toppled into one that never ends, only ebbs and flows without ever ceasing.

Shouta pulls you impossibly closer, so close your could feel the long stretch of his torso, every raised scar and curve. He nudges your temple until your head lolls back against his shoulder, and you’re looking at him. “Soft. You’re so—shit. You’re so soft. Human,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to your forehead. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow, short tendrils of hair sticking to skin. You flutter around the flared head of his cock as it pulls out, “Look. I can feel you sucking me back in. Made for me, weren’t you?”

You follow his gaze, watching the dark, inhuman length of his cock disappear between your folds again and again. “Shouta,” his name feels thick in your mouth. You blink, air cool against your wet cheeks. “I need—I need you to—”

Nodding deliriously, his bruising grasp on you shifts. Shouta fucks into you feverishly, with an intensity that you fear might engulf you.“Fuck—!” a tremor quakes through his coils. Something audibly snaps in the nest. Shouta’s hips stutter, a long, breathy moan pulled loose deep in his chest, drawn out as a wet, sticky heat fills you—so much that it leaks between your thighs—and the immediate relief of his release has you clawing crescent moons into his shoulders.

Tipping over the crest, a final wave crashes over you. The convulsions force your eyes shut, so tight that pinpricks of light pierce the solid darkness, transforming into a kaleidoscope of vivid colour. The world falls away for a fleeting moment and you only feel yourself clamping around his cock, soaking his lap.

You resurface slowly, as does the sensation returning to your limbs. Venom remedied, easing in your system. You inhale, wince at the tenderness making space beside the contentment in your body, and Shouta runs a smoothing hand down your spine. It sweeps back up to your nape to gently trace the bite on your neck. “How’re you feeling?” he asks. “Did I hurt you?”

You press a kiss to his collar, another under his jaw, “I’m sore and sticky. I’ve never orgasmed that hard in my life. But you didn’t hurt me”. Shouta purrs at that. It’s a noise you’ve only ever heard in the golden hour, when he’s sunning himself. Pure contentment.

You cup his cheek and gently turn him to face you. You kiss him, mouth bruised, fangs peeking through parted lips. Dark eyes soften. He’s no longer inside of you, noted with a weak clench, and his second cock remains half hard between your stomachs. Free to move, you wiggle in his embrace until it lines up, the suggestion kindling to the now twinging emptiness.

Shouta huffs, a loving admonishment, and carefully guides his second cock inside you. You hiss at the sensitivity but it isn’t unpleasant. Satisfaction balloons in your chest and you curl up against him with a pleased hum; no urgency, together for the sake of closeness.

“I’ll feed you and help you wash after I’ve calmed down,” he says. There’s no sign of discomfort or regret in his voice as he stares toward the mouth of the cave. Just a primal need to be alert, to stay vigilant for his mate. “I’ll be a little overbearing for the rest of the night. Be patient with me”.

Your gaze too lingers at the maw, recalling those blood-steeped, ugly stories of monstrous creatures. Indeed there are monsters in the night. But none of them are here.

A wide smile pulls at your lips, “We’ve got all the time in the world”.

PLEASE (if you feel like it) WRITE FOR AIZAWA! A SICK READER TROPE MAYBE?

Btw ur fics are so good and are part of the reason why I’ve gotten back into mha <333 I love ur writing style sm and ur hawks fics??? That was amazing

hi my love! thank you so much omg that’s so sweet, i’m happy i helped you rekindle your love for mha again lol! <3

sick (but never of you)

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ s. aizawa x fem reader. fluff. cursing. 997 words ★ your husband insists on taking care of you when you fall ill, despite your protests.

Not this shit again. 

You groan as your eyes flutter open for the second time after you said you were fine, then proceeded to dramatically faint in Shota’s arms in the middle of your patrol and sit up, hurriedly tossing the pile of soft blankets off your body.

You shiver despite the warmth radiating from the heater nearby. Shota must have brought it out for you after getting you home.

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

The disapproving voice of your husband floats over, and there he is, leaning on the doorway with a steaming bowl of something in his hands. You perk up despite yourself. Miso soup? 

“I don’t have time to sleep off a little cold, Shota!” Your arms tremble as you try to force yourself off of the plush king-sized bed. “It’s already past nine, I have to head to the agency.”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask.” Shota wraps his arms around you to trap you in place, ignoring your insistent budging. “You’re staying home today with the cat.”

“But—But they need me…” You weakly mumble in his firm grip. It was no use trying to break free, and you’re not sure if you even want to anymore with how nice he feels against you.

“And I need you here.” His stern gaze doesn’t waver, and his hand guides your head from the back of your hair, which you’re certain looks like a disaster zone right now, to rest on his chest. “It’s my job to make sure you’re safe, happy and healthy.”

Shota brushes a hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear. The little beads of sweat on your skin don’t bother him in the slightest.

“So let me do my job.”

“Are you using your teacher voice on me?” You grumble into the dark fabric of his sleeveless shirt. He smells warm and like all things good, as if he just came out of the shower. 

“I vaguely recall someone commenting that it was ‘hot.” Shota’s gravelly voice teases your ear and his stubble tickles your cheek as he smirks, knowing he’s won the battle when he finally feels you melt in defeat against him. 

He brushes a soft kiss to your forehead. “Stay in bed, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” You say in a tiny voice, weakly slumping back into the sheets. 

Shota comes back with a spoon and a folded piece of paper. A hint of a smile tugs at his lips as he holds it out to you.

“Looks like I’m not the only one that wants you to stay home.”

Your eyes widen as you look at the get-well card in your hands.

feel beter soon!! lots of loove, eri it said, with millions of tiny hearts doodled around your name. You choke back a sob as your eyes fall onto the little stick figure drawings of you pushing the little gray-haired girl on a swing set. 

It looked just like the one from the playground nearby that you would often take her to on your days off.

us when youre not sick anymor! :D

“Shota, give me that damn soup.”

He chuckles deeply and scoots closer on the bed to feed you. You squeeze your eyes shut as a sharp throb suddenly pierces through your head.

“The room’s spinning again, that’s not normal is it?”

“No. No, it’s not.” Shota’s forehead creases in concern, bringing the spoon of warm soupy goodness up to your lips while his other hand holds yours.

You part your lips to drink it, letting the rich, comforting flavor of miso spread across your tongue.

Letting out a little sigh of relief, you’re about to lean back before Shota sets the bowl down on the nightstand to prop up the pillows behind you, making sure you’re comfortable before he picks it back up again and holds up another spoonful to your mouth.

“Come on, one more for me sweetheart.” 

“Not hungry anymore,” you huff, turning your head away from his outstretched hand.

He lifts an eyebrow. 

“We can cuddle after you take your medicine.”

“...Can you rub my tummy too?”

“You know I will.”

You sniffle and reluctantly open your mouth to sip a spoonful of the soup once again.

“Atta girl.” Shota smooths a kiss on your forehead, rubbing circles against the back of your hand. 

He reaches over to the nightstand to grab your medicine he picked up from the local pharmacy earlier, and hands a small cup of what he pours to you. 

You grimace at its cherry-colored contents and tilt your head back to drink it in one go like a shot.

“Good job. Now come lay on me.” He didn’t need to ask you twice, but Shota’s hands are already on your waist to gently flip you over him as he takes your previous position on the bed, setting you down to rest your head on your usual spot on his chest.

He strokes your hair gently, arm snug against your back while he presses you to him. “How are you feeling?”

“A little bit better,” you mumble, absentmindedly tracing the outline of his abs under his shirt. It's always been soothing to you.

Shota’s chest rumbles as he lets out a husky laugh. “Are you just saying that so you can keep tracing my abs?”

“Maybe.” You giggle against him, which turns into a cough and he firmly pats your back. His hand slides under your pajamas to rub gentle circles on your tummy like he promised. You softly squeal at the ticklish feeling of his hard-earned callouses against your skin, and Shota tenderly kisses your cheek once, twice.

All your senses are numb, but you can still feel the overflowing love behind them.

“Go to sleep, sweet girl. I got you,” he murmurs into your hair.

“Okay.” You comply easily this time, nuzzling deeper into his chest. “Goodnight, Shota.”

“Goodnight, angel. Love you.”

“Love you too,” you mumble before drifting off to sleep in the safety of his warm arms.

Maybe being sick wasn’t all bad.

How'd You Know (I Needed This)

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's (sleepy) characters/work))

Pairing: Aizawa x reader (American!Pro Hero fem!reader, set before the events of Season 1)

Words: 4.9K

Rating: T+

Warnings: Aizawa has feelings and doesn't know what to do with them, alcohol mentions, slow burn, he fell first she fell harder, the feeling is mutual TM

Summary:

Shouta Aizawa surrenders his capture weapon for the night in favor of humoring Hizashi, and is rewarded for his follow-through at his show. He wants to know you, more than he has from teaching the brats alongside you for the last few months. Wants to know the smile that reaches your eyes more intimately.

He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you -out from all their eyes inside- to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

A/N: I've been WAITING for this one, turn it up!!! Aizawa my beloved, I've wanted to write you for so, so long and can only hope I can do you justice. The man just has such a gentle side and I just wanted to give him something nice and self-indulgent~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Damn it, why was he thinking like this? He’s in public for goodness’ sakes, with only two sips of drink under his belt. Not two drinks- two sips of a drink.  So if that’s the case of his sobriety, why was he off in his own little headspace as if he were drunk?  

‘Put Your Hands Up Radio’ found its home recording studio attached to this lounge: a place Shouta Aizawa never frequented unless expressly invited- or when Eraserhead was needed to scout out trouble. Far too noisy, too chatty, and filled with too many grown adults losing their sensibilities for his liking. 

Through one round of begging or another, he’d been roped into joining some of the staff of UA to an evening out, in support of Present Mic. Naturally, Aizawa would go- as his presence would all but guarantee everyone else’s. Despite begrudging the plans that pushed himself out of his preferred rest mode, he kept true to his word for Hizashi’s sake.

Promise kept, and therefore, appears to have been rewarded. 

Once the show wrapped for the night, his best friend was over the moon at how things were turning into a party that Friday night. After a day of shrill, whinging teenagers he’d wrangled all week, this level of volume was honestly the last thing he needed. Yamada’s voice doubled the decibel of the entire room- and that’s without his quirk activated. He always managed to annoy Aizawa when he started fangirling about one duet matchup or another.

But truthfully? Every sound this tired hero registered around him fell to white noise while he looked at you…

Sweet Little Miss, you are; gracing the lounge with your presence. You’re a vision tonight. Insist with your lilting dip to your words they all call you by your first name, outside of school grounds and against what’s considered custom. No hero titles either, unless an emergency called for formalities- then you’d cave.

These Americans are too casual. Even down to these outfits. What’s this–  black turtleneck, necklace she won’t leave alone- moving it around her thumb like that, short skirt.. and those damn thigh highs and tights. How is it she’s driving that moped of hers, wearing something like this…

Everything on your person, down to the way you held yourself in perfect confidence and ease adorned you like a perfectly-styled pro hero. It couldn't be a more stark contrast to his tried and true wardrobe. Even this after-hours look sat perfectly around each bend and curve of you, as you listened to the group. 

You’re smiling, too. It’s subtle, but it reaches your eyes, which makes it all the more authentic.

A smile he shouldn’t want to keep all to himself. Curves he really should have no business noticing. Features that he’s actually surprised he’s labeling as ‘attractive’ in his mind because the last time he ever felt an ounce of attraction to anyone in that way, he’d barely been able to grow facial hair. 

Desire for a safe place to land his dizzying mind is driving his tired sights to look to you for relief again and again in the conversation– without you even saying a single word. 

The barely-touched drink in his hand is only a prop; something to make him blend into the scene and not something he’s actually tasting for pleasure… meaning, these are his thoughts. Nearly completely sober. Should be illegal. Just illegal-

"Yo Sho, you still with us, sleepyhead?" 

Yamada pulled him out of his thoughts. Disguising any flare of being put on the spot, Aizawa  flitted his absent gaze back to his blond friend–

"Be nice. He’s had a rough day and is a good enough sport by being here,” you chirped up catching Yamada’s pull for Aizawa to part from the fringes of your little gathering.

Now toward you? He’ll soften his edge. After all, with you sticking up for him with blind loyalty, he nearly felt guilty for spacing out and causing you to speak up in the first place.

“- yknow, I'm inclined to take a nap myself," you leaned forward to grab a few more calamari bites to tend to your seemingly insatiable appetite. Aizawa felt warm at the sweetness and straightened up at Yamada’s prodding.

From then on, he made sure to look in your direction more often when you spoke to help him pay attention. He still didn't say much, never did. But he liked the company well enough.

These nights were truly few and far between. Life as an in-demand hero left him jumping from role to role, daytime and midnight obligations. The routine split his waking hours and stretched them paper thin.  Now more than ever,  he typically shirked as much off time as he was offered. And yet, he had to remember to prioritize levity and breaks– and in this case, indulge his treasured friend’s interests and ‘take one for the team’. Good for morale, he reasoned, just this once. 

The occasion was also a way for you to integrate with the group in an informal setting– great for the transplant from the States. You’ve taken amicably to the group of alumni-turned-faculty at UA, though much still remained a mystery about you, presently being peeled back bit by bit through stories and slips of the tongue. There was only so much a dossier could truly reveal about a person- even one curated by S.W.O.R.D. to volunteer aid their Japanese counterparts in their hero work.

It couldn’t tell what kind of teacher you’d turned out to be. Even with no experience working with students, you tread the line between instilling team-centered outlooks and pushing their quirk’s limitations to their max benefit. A crafty, inventive counterpart to complement his blunt teaching style: better together, and even the principal agreed.

It couldn’t point out where your true ambitions lie or where your drive came from. There remained much to be explained as far as your hero status here in Japan– a red-tape nightmare Aizawa was still intrigued to learn about. So far, you’d shared some limitations about “immigration statuses are being vetted with a fine toothed comb, so they’re still trekking through the paperwork”, so your wings are essentially clipped down to a student’s provisional license. This doesn’t please you too much, but you’re driven as much as his finest students with the aire of a professional he’d love to see in full action.

It couldn’t explain the stillness you could dip into, that he only caught once or twice when you believe yourself alone. There’s a past was weighing your shoulders level and compliant in the eyes of the law… but an urge to push back and ‘play this out’  brought hypotheticals to your lips whenever you chatted about what hero life is like for him, and added a sparkle to the eye that he had yet to fully source.

It couldn’t give away the gentleness you hold behind a carefully guarded smile– even in this harsh hero world. Maybe it was that indomitable spirit that those foolhardy patriots overseas carried… or rather, maybe it was the way you fought against such a loud persona. So far, Aizawa has taken only a few notes, but each little mental post-it was cluttering up his headspace. You held a quiet love of tea, a comical passion for the oxford comma, and a mind to care for the little things in life– like the lizards you rescue in an inverted cup to take outside where they belong . 

Surely life must have treated you hard to elicit such softness. Something tenderized you to achieve the peace you carry around or else you’re wearing a damn good mask. No, he determines you had to have made a choice to continue on the path that’s brought you to the present– even to this table where you’re taking your fill of maki rolls while casting little caring glances his way. 

All smiles and calm surety, as he mills through his thoughts that are damn near obsessed with you.

An employee file could never record ‘heart’, anymore than it could expose anything you didn’t want to reveal.

The night progresses while Aizawa stews on these thoughts, and plenty of others… for the ones that drift to his co-teacher offer him more mental stimulation than that he finds in the club’s lights and music.

Yamada’s night of filling his social battery was made nearly perfect by the karaoke that just started. Several of the other teachers got preoccupied in round after round of song, so it left Aizawa with a moment's peace. 

Well, peace he was going to enjoy by laying back on the couch for a little shuteye–  when his gut jumped at the feeling of a hand trailing up his forearm to the elbow with a polite, companionable touch. 

Facing its owner, Aizawa caught your little smirk and nod towards the balcony. You didn't pull hard, yet he followed like a magnet out to the patio. 

From there, rather than stay by the door to listen in on their friends ‘releasing their inhibitions and feeling the rain on their skin’,  you took him to the right, where a matching lounge set positioned itself in a blind spot between the rooftop bar and the fire escape. 

"Thought you looked like you could benefit from some soundproofing~" you brushed your hair back over one shoulder to follow the breeze’s direction, and left an open spot next to you by the railing. 

Nightlife and neon didn’t hold magic for Eraserhead given as many nights as he’s spent perched on precarious heights, but through a newcomer’s eyes, he could see the appeal. This part of the city glowed at night from dusk to dawn, and you clearly loved looking out over it; Aizawa certainly didn't mind this view either. 

Your perception skills are spot on, and incredibly thoughtful as you’ve suggested some fresh air- for his sake. If he wasn’t drawn to you any of the other times he’s paid attention to the spastic moths a more romantic person might call ‘butterflies’ before…  this cements each and every one as valid. 

He likes you. He really likes you. 

Time passed with appreciative quiet until you spoke again, 

"The only thing is, you can't really see stars in the city... there’s too much light."

"The beaches have a nice view," Aizawa replied after some thought.

"Oh yeah?"

"Enough to stargaze properly,” he offered without much sentimentality. Right by the pier was the best spot he and his former classmates would go on the weekends, before their hero work took off.

"I'll have to remember to take a drive there. Y'know, sometime when I'm not in two-and-a-half-inch heels." you chuckled as you shuffled back to the rattan settee, sitting for a bit to stretch out your legs. "I don't know how Nemuri does it."

"Feet hurt already?" Aizawa snuck his hands from his pockets and came to the seat across from yours. “Night’s young.”

"Getting there,"  your laugh greeted him over, "But you know what they say, dress to impress and all that. Yamada really pitched some hype for this afterparty, so~"

Fashion was hardly something that ever swayed Aizawa’s decision-making. Utilitarian was the way to go for his wardrobe- then, as now. 

"If aesthetics are all that determine these pros’ attention, that’s horribly vain." 

You bristled in good humor, 

"He didn't mean it like that– I just meant, he said to look nice for fun instead of for work. Call it ‘girl code’ if you want. We know that means to– just– /doll up a bit/!"

Aizawa held back a snicker at how you still ran into difficulties finding the most apt Japanese equivalents in your (pretty decently executed) second language. English slang you reverted to in moments like these fell from your mouth with an odd drawl. Still couldn’t place the regional accent you carried, but it charmed Aizawa all the same. 

“//Doll up//?” he mimicked. 

"//I like dolling up//!"

Aizawa reached and pulled his glass to his lips, meant to look aloof but not hiding his interest altogether well. 

"You don’t need to put on airs to get people to notice you…" 

"Right, because the accent gives me away."

"No, it’s your-”

Finally, a coward’s streak flared deep in his belly to shut him up. A rare hesitation. Damn this. What the hell’s happening to me–

 “–nevermind."

"My what?" you’re fully  interested, knowing a secret when it's presented.

"Nothing important."

Thankfully you not-so-subtlety dropped it with a hummed ‘ok’, but kept a watchful eye for him in your peripherals. 

The pro hero mused. Better for him to be honest, right? 

Just choose your words carefully. You’ll have to look her in the eye after this, you know. 

Aizawa widened his seated stance so his knee barely breached your space. 

Your sights lifted to him while he put his best poker face on. It’s not really any different than what he’d give to a perfect stranger– the only difference here is he has to force it.

Shit shit shit you're in deep, Shouta.

"You're plenty noticeable as you are. Anyone who meets you can see that," Aizawa shared in his usual soft-spoken tone. "Give ‘em ten minutes, and you've got them wrapped around your finger. It’s a whole impression, not just the outer package. Doesn't matter if you're in a dress that costs a month’s paycheck or a black button down. You're welcoming, sincere..." 

He’s realizing he might be trailing off, but finding you listening with full attention led him on; no liquid courage required. 

"You're stunning from the inside out. Enough to get others to notice."

Aizawa heard your appreciation before he saw it, a hum preceding the a genteel smile. With the win of his walls coming down, he had to give an honest smirk back. It was only fair; you’d earned it just by being you. By your flattered look, you were touched– but your brain was still working beneath the surface, and soon showed by a fleeting expression that spit from him.

Then, you caught your bottom lip for a second, before daring to look in Aizawa’s eyes again. It’s a sneaky look– like he’d snuck a peek at a card he’d meant to hide.

"...You remember what I wore on my first day at UA."

It was half question, half amusement. So dear, but oh-so pointed.

Aizawa froze.

"Black button down. You noticed me, then?" you countered more, "And here I thought you didn't care about appearances~" 

"In professional circles, no. Personal… that's a different thing, entirely." 

He kept your  sights locked onto his, not unlike how he used his quirk in a challenge– only far softer and he could risk the occasional blink.

Even when you took his glass from his hand and placed it away on the table alongside yours, he still looked fondly after you, in fact tilting his head to the other side, studying the way one piece of your hair was caught by your neck. What he’d give to be familiar with you enough to ever-so-carefully brush it back, letting his touch send a wave of shivers across your skin and maybe even make you hum at the gesture. But he couldn’t trust himself to do it now, settling on stretching his arm around the back of the couch. Just an open move, letting you join him on the couch as close as you’d like.

Was he really doing this? He never has before, but this felt so natural. 

You smiled still– and as you sit, you’re leaning into it.  Well then. 

“What was I wearing, Aizawa?”

With free fingers, he risked some little brushes on your near shoulder, bringing a happy little eyebrow lift from you. He just took in your features in close quarters, settled in it, as he remembered that day:

Black button down, grey skirt. Biker boots -practical choice- and these damn tights.

Aizawa’s dazed in the head, but he knows he's listed it off aloud based on how your sights widen, impressed. 

"Hmmm, tights do it for ya?” you smiled, “I'm surprised you haven't jumped the darling Ms. Nemuri then."

"I know way too much about Kayama to ever consider her that way,”  Aizawa’s tempered hand twirled a finger along a blown-away section of hair, just absently enough. “You however, tease just enough." 

"Do I tease you?” you offer with a little depth, “I don't mean to."

It’s here he’s worry he’s stepping over a line- if it weren’t for the downright delicious look in your eye. You say it like you’re sorry for acting unprofessionally– but you’re urging him on, hardly apologetic for your sweet posturing.

"You may not mean it, but it's not unnoticed," 

He took second to swallow, and steps fully over it. 

"or unwelcome."

You’re pleased with this, but deflect with your trademarked humor- 

"Well now that’s saying something. You've seen me in my pjs, too- far from glamorous.  That didn't break the allure for you?"

Aizawa had to huff though his nose at that memory.

"I caught you at arguably your most real self, that first night you patched me up," His outstretched arm rubbed full circles onto your shoulder now, with the lightest touch. 

“Still have no clue why you chose me over Recovery Girl. For the harshest grader in school, that was a pretty dumb move.”

“You were closer than going to campus. It was the practical choice.”

“You didn't even know if I knew first aid.” 

“You do,” Aizawa smirked. “You're too nurturing to not have a knack for it.”

Your legs crossed over, deflecting both your words and refreshing your body movement. In doing so, you slid even closer- a move not lost on Aizawa. 

“Well, I'm still not happy about it. You needed more attending than I was able to pull off. Whatever you get into those nights,” you flitted a look to the underside of his arm that lays outstretched –where you know he sports a scar now- “It… looked like it hurt, ‘Zawa.”

Warm. Warm and cared form. Felt it then, feel it now. That's the life in his chest he gets when he’s around you. 

"Can't change the past, and I certainly wouldn't have changed that. Wouldn’t pass up seeing that sight of you for the world."

This connection, this dance, it all feels that it must be older than what it is, more rooted in a shared history than a short few months. 

Aizawa wants to ‘get’ you. Know the thoughts behind your eyes. Get you talking, even if it means he needs to give up his silent nights and muted text alerts so he can learn you.  He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you, out from other’s eyes, to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

His eyes narrowed playfully, "Are you embarrassed right now?"

Out of this entire teasing exchange, that note seemed to surprise you and turned you shy.  Short of clapping a hand onto your cheek, you just darted your gaze away- can you be cuter if you tried?

“h-Yeah, a little!" –though you tried to snark your way out of it, "you were hurt before, and blubbery- but now that we’re y'know– awake, and talking... Pretty faces make me nervous."

Nervous? Pretty? Aizawa doesn’t like the sound of either of those.

Aizawa raised a brow and gave a look, a touch more serious.

"Hey," He tapped your chin still with his free hand, "if you want me to lay off, you say the word."

Blindly, you hold his hand from retreating away– "No. You're good, I promise."

He’s drowning in you leaning into the cool touch offered to you–

“ Heh, I–uh… I’m pretty sure ‘friends’ don’t talk about each other like this, though.”

He couldn't be a coward now– not with you melting on the spot and giving him an insane amount of hope.

“Maybe not,” Aizawa reasoned gently, “-not if they’re content to stay that way.” 

–then all of a sudden his heart soared at her next words:

"Well… I like this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like you, like this.” With your insistence for touch, you cupped his wrist in your own chill-tipped hand.

Hell yeah. 

Aizawa huffs another win in his foolish heart, but then watches as you keep talking–  you don’t break from your softness, but look reflective off to an absent point on his chest.

“It’s funny, y'know? Most jobs, you’d be lucky to find someone you would actually wanna talk to outside of board meetings and quarterly reports… but here in our line of work, you count on each other to save your lives.”

“That’s right.” Aizawa breathes.

“I uh.. never thought I’d be workin’ with kids- trying to keep them alive too. Teach them how to do the same. But I wouldn’t feel nearly as confident to do it, rise to the challenge, if it weren’t for you, ‘Zawa. You’re just as special. Inside and out.”

And when you look to his eyes again, fully awake and still sober, he swears he’ll say yes to any night Hizashi invites him to if it means he can have you this close. Things with you just feel lived-in. Companionable. He’s drawn to you in a way unlike others before you, because he didn’t believe he’s had the right, desire, or time to even entertain it. 

But everything’s different now. It just works, in his mind. He wants to spend his respites, his missions, everything- with you at his side, having his back. For however long you’d let him.

Touching your cheek, cursing the helmet you’d have to wear on the way home that would hide this angelic face from him once again– Aizawa curls towards you, barely tipping his head which screams ‘kiss her you ass’. You notice, and follow his lead almost halfway. 

“Yeah, I like you like this…” you sighed lightly, “--and I’d like us like this, too.” 

"Hm. Good."

...the door to the patio swinging open from around the corner startles you both. Present Mic doesn’t know his strength as he projects for the block to hear, swaggering about in his search.

You looked flustered sitting back up, but Aizawa was characteristically unphased at the sight of Hizashi finally rounding with a singsong cry of his name. 

Dammit.

"Hey kids, been looking for YOU, Miss America! There's some stateside artists on the karaoke lineup with your name on iiiiit- c’mon! I hyped you already to Nemuri– she didn't believe me that you sang with me for my English midterms!!"

"What?!” you blanched, “ Who said I was doing that?"

"I did!!” Yamada thumbed at his own brilliance, “ C’mon I'll do the first one with you!"

"First one– Dude, I don't need to be touting my Southern-ass self to a bunch of pros before I even make a name for myself here."

"This is HOW you'll do it! Come n’ wow them, break the ice- you’ll do amazing!" Yamada came to your side of the settee, tugging you up to your feet with little fight. "Tch, Sho, you're rubbing off on her, aren't you? Turning our sweet teach into a wallflower as we speak, huh?"

"She was doing me a favor- has an eye out for me when I needed an escape, unlike you." Aizawa droned, to your amusement.

"Yeah yeah fair enough. Now pleeeeeease, would you come inside?  It would be so much fun!"

From the way you’re freshening your jacket collar, you’re warmed from the neck up, caught between what just almost happened and the current situation Yamada is putting you in.

You look to Aizawa just like you did inside– a  glance, but it lingers longer than before. Like you are waiting to see what he thinks. If he’ll stay or go, should you leave. 

But Aizawa isn’t so selfish like before. He doesn’t feel it necessary to keep you to himself, because he sees your affection so clearly in your eyes now. He hosts butterflies in his stomach, yes, but they aren’t frantic and flitting about wondering what you may or may not think of him- chronically tired and a contrast to the breath of fresh air you are. You see him as a companion, too. Someone he might just get the chance to study, and learn, and adore in return.

No, he knows you like him as he is. Knows you’ll choose to meet him where he stands. He can share you, and will simply watch on as you stun him even more...

The Pro-Hero is desperate for some eyedrops in all this wind outside, but he would grin and bear it if you choose to deny Yamada’s pull on you. So instead, he merely leans forward to perch on his knees, with a hand on the lip of both your drinks. What Aizawa says in his non-answer left it open to what you wanted to do.  Stay or go, he’d follow suit.

Returning to the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed fellow teacher, you breathily gave in with your ‘ok’. 

"YEAAAAAUHHHH!"

"Damn peer pressure."

"You said yes," Aizawa smirked.

"Oh if she’s going, you're coming in too!" Hizashi was already whisking you away, and Aizawa rose on his own, following your knowing smile over your shoulder and matching it. 

With many forced karaoke and radio show nights, it’s Aizawa who braves the crowd and comes up behind you at one of Present Mic’s shows,  stepping in from the balcony where you wait by its door. He’s fresh off of work, sporting a new scar across his cheek courtesy of his day job, this time.. but you greet him with that familiar scrunch of the nose that he still finds adorable.

It’s rare he leaves campus nowadays, because he feels the stakes are higher than ever for him to remain vigilant. His students are his life, and as proud of them as he is, they are a constant effort of his mind and strength. Rest doesn’t come easy, and his rewards for a job (passably) done aren’t found in many places. 

One constant he has found helps, has been you. 

You, still alluring as ever, but who makes sure he doesn’t fixate on giving and giving of himself until he breaks– but to take his rests, reset, and even take a little jaunt over to these radio shows when he has staff coverage back at the dorms. Gives you two some time to get nostalgic, sentimental– or as close as he can get to those mushy spots in his heart about the club where he wrestled out his feelings for you for the first time.

He smooths a hand across your lower back now, when he joins you. He’s held onto your hands when they're cold, giving you whatever warmth he has. He knows each and every gap on your resume, partnered with you out on the streets, tag-teams in his classroom with this plucky 1-A Class he now leads, and is content to let you fill his thoughts when he wants to rest his eyes.

He doesn’t fight his affections now. Still would rather not simper in public too much because he’s quite averse to being the center of tabloids’ attentions, but stands by you all the same. 

"I'm surprised to not see you up there,” Aizawa greets, cool as ever. 

You lean on a hip, closer to him. 

"He's got his sets lined up today, didn't ask me-” You speak a little louder over the crowd, “I swear, your cockatoo still acts like I'm some gift from the heavens, just ‘cuz I can sing!"

"It's earned. You deserve every bit of it, and not just from Hizashi."

You turned over to him shyly, drawing his attention further– your tendencies to melt under his words encourages Aizawa to compliment you directly. Often. Whatever it is about his voice that you say you’re obsessed with, he still doesn’t understand– but he uses it to full advantage as he robs your drink from your hand,

"I happen to think you have a gorgeous voice," Aizawa speaks low to your ear. “You should sing at home more often.”

“Please. As if the kids would ever let me live it down.”

You refer -of course- to the twenty shared students between you, taking them all in stride since you’ve sufficiently bonded through fire alongside them. 

“That’s teaching for ya. Gotta push yourself beyond, plus ultra and all that.”

You chortle back in your throat, risking a kiss on his etched cheek to counter his snide remark, 

“You’re off the clock, ‘Zawa. No more hero talk, huh?” 

Aizawa cocks a brow, stealing a sip, “Sorry we can’t all turn it off like you, dear.”

The comment has you biting the inside of your mouth at the tease, and allows him a quick moment to press the glass’ condensation against his eye. 

“Want some air, hon?” you try again, softer than this atmosphere should allow.

Looking back at you -your hold on his elbow ready to guide him outside just like the first night- and Aizawa doesn’t need any more sips of the whiskey he holds.  

The retreat to ‘your couch’ is one he looks forward to any chance he gets. Bass boosted from the speakers inside becomes background noise that dulls his senses, doubled by the way you cozy up under his arm watching the skyline shift in light and color in comfortable silence. You trade roles with him: taking watch while he shuts his eyes for some restorative hydration. 

But before he gets too terribly relaxed by your weight settling his aching muscles to stillness, he registers a warm press to his mouth that he’s quick to chase after. That’s a satisfying thought, too: he doesn't have to imagine what it'd be like to kiss you anymore. 

Title : The end

Characters : Aizawa shouta/ gender neutral reader

Genre : angst/ imagines

Note : The events occur after the Jaku hospital raid.

Masterlist

AO3

Okay but imagine..

Shōta is sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, a vacant look on his face. He has just lost an eye and a leg in the last battle, and probably the ability to use his quirk any longer.

He hears a commotion outside of his room before you storm in and stand a few feet away from him:

_ "Shōta, you're finally awake. I thought I lost you. You were unconscious for days."

You sob, still not believing that your man is finally back.

He says nothing, the vacant look still present on his face. You walk up to him and hug him lightly, careful not to disturb his fresh wounds. But he doesn't hug you back like he always does..

You pull away and look at his face, he says nothing..

You understand that what happened to him can be too much to bare, so you don't question him and simply smile reassuringly.

You lean in for a kiss, but before you could reach his lips, he speaks: "Leave."

You stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide and a lump growing in your throat: "Shōta.."

He finally looks at you before continuing in the same monotone voice:

_ "It's over for us."

...What?

_ "I'm breaking up with you if that's not already clear."

...No it can't be. Is this a joke?

_ "To tell you the truth, I've never really loved you to begin with."

...That's not true, he's lying right?

_ "It took me a near death experience to finally realize that I don't want to waste what's left of my life with someone I have no feelings for."

You're trying to speak, to say anything, but your mouth is dry and your thoughts are foggy. You search his expressions for any signs of wavering but you find none.

He presses the nurse call button and asks the lady to escort you out.

You say nothing, you're unable to anyway. The only thing you can do is cry as the woman drags you outside.

Little did you know, his words tortured him more than they did you. He loves you too much that it made more sense to let you go than to burden your heart. Because in his own disturbed mind, he's not even half the man he used to be...

He breaks down right after you leave his room.

I may or may not have broken my own heart a little bit with this one.

On the off chance that Aizawa manages to get you mad at him for whatever reason, your initial reaction would be to let him know, because as quick witted as he is, things like that can easily go over his head if not pointed out clearly.

Surely he hates upsetting you, so when it happens it's usually no more than a misunderstanding, but it's also not in his nature to flat out apologize or ask for forgiveness, that's why he'd do his utmost to lighten the mood and win you back in other ways, and it's a sight to behold.

First he would simply invade your personal space, taking a seat by your side while making sure to bump his knee or shoulder against yours and see if you're willing to have him near.

Obviously you do not react to his advances, but wouldn't push him away either– too intrigued by your own curiosity to dismiss him just yet, so you sit back and enjoy the view of him struggling internally.

He then carefully leans some of his weight on you, will probably even rest his head against yours or place a hand on your thigh, depending on the mood, to which you still say and do nothing.

That's when his patience starts running thin, or rather, when he realizes that he has truly messed up and needs to swallow his pride and apologize properly, and so he does.

_ "I'm sorry I was out of line, but it won't happen again I promise." his voice would be small and anxious as he cautiously takes your hand in his big calloused ones, fiddling with your fingers while gazing at you with a tinge of worry, and that's the only thing he seems capable of doing at the moment.

You immediately give in to a smile that's been threatening to creep across your face this whole time, because in reality, you were never actually upset with him, you were just relishing a side of your boyfriend that you rarely get to witness, but maybe you should cut him some slack already?

_ "It's okay Shouta, let's just forget about it." and you jump in his arms without a warning, giving him no time to react while moving to straddle his waist and watch as his stunned expression slowly switches to an amused one.

_ "Done," he nods in agreement, wrapping his arms around you before nuzzling your cheek to whisper seductively, "now kiss me."

And it doesn't stop there, not with a kiss, never with just a kiss, and his greed for you starts to show when he shamelessly slides his hands lower and lower until reaching your butt cheeks, squeezing your flesh teasingly as a sign of what awaits you, and if that's not enough to tell his intentions, then the smirk curving his lips as they mold perfectly with yours, sure is.

The light creaking of your bedroom door is what wakes you from the light slumber you found yourself in. The lamp next to your bed casts your bedroom in a hazy yellow glow, and you rub your cheek against your pillow with a contented sigh. It still smells like Shouta.

Speaking of your boyfriend, he glances at you from where he stands in front of your dresser.

“…didn’t mean to wake you up, baby.”

His voice is deeper and more grainy than usual, telling you how tired he is from his patrol tonight.

“Wasn’t asleep. Waited for you.”

He hums in response, and you can tell by his tone that he doesn’t believe you. He turns around to look at the grumpy glare he knows you’re sending him- and he’s right. You’ve brought your blanket up to your nose and only the top of your head is visible, sleep crusted eyes narrowed his way.

Shouta can’t hold the huff of laughter that builds in his chest. He feels his heart beat harder, and he marvels at how you still make him feel like he did the first time he met you, even all this time later.

He’s lifting his arms to put on a sleep shirt when you see it. There, on his ribs is a smudge of black covered in something that looks like plastic. You’re wide awake now, and you quickly jump out of bed to head towards him, shivering slightly at the chill of the room.

At your sudden movements, Shouta lowers his arms and looks at you quickly, scanning your body to make sure you’re ok. You tug the shirt out of his grasp and pull his left arm back up straight in the air. The look he gives you is one that you’re quite used to: bemused and endeared.

“Oh, I was going to show you that in the morning.”

Shouta had talked to you about how he was going to eventually get a tattoo, though he wouldn’t let slip what he was getting or where. Looking at it now, you know exactly what it is, because it’s a drawing that you look at every day whenever you go to your fridge. Only, you noticed this morning that it had gone missing.

Three messy stick people are outlined on Shouta’s ribs holding hands, two significantly bigger than the one in the middle. The one on the left is tall, and has a shock of black, long hair falling over his face. The middle is a little girl, with long hair and a horn growing out of her forehead. And the person on the right is you. It’s a picture Eri drew for you just a year after being taken from Overhaul and into protection.

Shouta is observing you quietly, obediently keeping his arm in the air as you lightly run your fingers over the shiny plastic wrap covering it. It’s only when you start sniffling that he moves, pulling you into his arms.

“Knew you’d react like this.” He says, amusement lightening his voice.

He’s still warm from the shower, and the hair that covers his chest tickles your cheek as you press your forehead against his collarbone. Your tears hit his skin whenever he runs his large hand over your head, his own cheek pressed against your crown. His stubble is prickly and uncomfortable against you, making you sniff loudly and say meekly, “You need to shave.”

“I will.” Is his only reply. He rubs his cheek against your hair, the same way you did to your pillow only moments before. You lean back slightly in his arms and look up at him tearfully. His eye is so dark, yet it gleams beautifully as it stares back at you. He’s taken his eye patch off, showing you the large scare that runs across his other eye. A callused thumb swipes under your own eyes softly.

“I love you.” He says before you can speak, which only makes you tear up again.

Shouta huffs again, a small grin forming on his face as he mumbles “silly baby” at you. He decides to forgo the shirt, and pulls you back to the sleep rumpled bed. You snuggle under the covers, still sniffling, and wait for him to finish taking off his prosthetic before sliding in next to you.

Immediately, you sling your leg over his and press as close as possible to him as you can. Shouta wraps his arms around you with ease, barely moving whenever you decide he isn’t close enough and move half your body on top of his. Under his chin, where his jaw meets his neck, he smells like his body wash and home.

“Get in the car.” One would suspect that Aizawa’s here to kidnap you with the face he’s pulling.

“I didn’t order an Uber.” You joke, holding onto the railing for dear life. The world’s spinning quite fast today.

“Sucks.” He grunts, holding the door open with a pointed look. “Now get in the car.”

“I can totally get home on my own, Aizawa.” You insist.

“And I’ve told you to call me Shouta. Now get in the car.”

“Where did you even get the car?” You eye it carefully. It’s not Hizashi’s Mustang that he spray paints every season - you quite liked the green and purple theme he had going on last time you saw it - and it’s not Nemuri’s sleek black sports car either. 

“I bought it. Now get in.” 

“You bought it?” You ask, now curious enough to take the last few steps away from the stairs. Your walk is wobbly, but that’s expected when your cane is in your bag in favor of holding onto the railing. 

Aizawa’s left arm is outstretched, he’s not gripping you but allowing you to grip him however you need it. Less than a heartbeat later you’re sitting inside and to your surprise, the seat heater is on.

“Warm enough?” Aizawa asks as he slips into the driver’s seat. The car smells nice, not brand new, but like him. You’re familiar with his scent from the few times he draped his jacket over you, sometimes pretending to use you as a coat rack, other times foregoing the pretense and just admitting that you looked cold.

“Since when do you have a car?”

“I bought it last week. I wasn’t sure which one to get, though, so if Hizashi tells you anything stupid, ignore him.”

“Why? What could he tell me?”

Aizawa - Shouta, you remind yourself - scowls as if he hates being asked the question, but he still answers even though he doesn’t have to. He always does that and you’ve caught on ages ago. It’s kinda fun to pretend you’re avoiding questions you’re willingly answering.

“I made him get in and out of various cars. He’s the best actor out of all of us. You should see him pretend like he’s got a bad back.”

You laugh. “It’s nice to look out for your friends. I assume he played All Might?” 

The car stops at a red light. Shouta throws you a look that tells you to stop kidding. 

“Do you see me driving All Might around? Also, next time you’ve got so many blood tests scheduled, call me beforehand. I hate learning about it from Nemuri.”

“Sure, sure.” You say, surprised to see his scowl deepen.

You’re even more surprised when he takes a sudden left.

“Where are we going?”

“Getting groceries for you. You need to eat after losing that much blood.”

He parks the car only a few minutes later, mustering you for a second before he speaks up again.

“Do you want to come inside? I’m not holding you hostage if you insist, but the heating stays on and you could take a nap. I’ll be quick about it.”

“Well, if you’re asking like that…” You cuddle into the warm seat with a smile. “I’m gonna stay behind then.”

“Very well.” He slips out of his jacket and drapes it over you like a blanket - he even tucks you in - before winking at you.

“Snacks are in the glove compartment. I’ve got my phone on me if you need me.”

You only dare to open the compartment when you’re sure he’s disappeared into the store.

You’re not surprised to see your favorite snacks there, even a bag of the cookies you like, the brand you only get on the other side of the city.

There’s a new warmth now, filling you from the insides and bubbling in your heart.

Despite all of Hizashi’s teasing, all of Nemuri’s needling, all the pictures of Eri that are hanging on your walls - little Eri holding hands with you and Shouta - there’s no label for what the two of you are. What you have been growing into.

In a few minutes, he will come out with groceries, fresh produce for vitamins, and meat for strength. He will drive you to your apartment, fuss over you on the way up, and pretend he doesn’t mind that your cat’s still a little cautious about him. He will cook, like he always does, asking you questions the whole way through because he knows you love to cook but rarely have the energy to do it properly. 

And after all of that, the good food, the warmth of his presence, he will lay down next to you - just for a quick nap, he says - and fall asleep with his arms around you.

You might not have a label, not a word for what the two of you are, but maybe you don’t need that anyway.

Most certainly not on a day like this.

@alienaiver

Late Nights aizawa x reader

it's my birthday so im writing about the man i share it with (-ε-)

content: post war au, fluff, established relationship

"This isn't good for your health, Sho." Today marks the 5th night he's stayed up past 11 pm grading papers or doing something else for his job.

"How do you think I managed before I met you?" His small sigh meets your ears, and you really want to help him. Seeing out of only one eye is most definitely slowing him down.

"You looked dead on the outside when we first met. Do you want me to help grade papers?"

"I'll finish before one, go back to bed, honey." His eyes meet yours once he hears you scoff. He's draining himself by staying up this late, every single night. His face is lit by the warm kitchen light, one of his hands tugging at his long black strands of hair in order to keep himself sane.

"Shota. I'm not taking no for an answer." You say firmly, crossing your arms to indicate that you mean business.

"I knew you'd say that, come sit down." He gives in every single time. He knows he needs the help, he just doesn't want to admit it.

"Can you read through these essays?" At first you're confident, there's only a few papers on the table.

"Can you?" You nod diligently. You confirm you're willing to help, and your husband gets up from the table and slowly walks toward your shared bedroom. When he does return there's a large stack of papers in his arms. They drop on the table with a thump. He chuckles at your horrified expression.

"Just get through as many as you can. Write feedback on them too, hon." No wonder he's always so tired, you forget that 1-A isn't his only class. If you can remember right he has six periods of classes.

"Is this pile all your class or.." He's sat back down by now and started going through papers with red pen.

"That's 3rd and 4th period. I'm finishing up with 1st and 2nd right now." You click your tongue. It's hard to get started, you don't have any motivation unlike Shota. His only motivation is probably the fact he has to do this.

"Why don't you have an online classroom? It would make grading so much easier." He's probably going to say something about not knowing how to use it..

"I prefer for my students to write manually, because it helps with remembrance." Sounds like something an old man would say. You'd voice your opinion but he'd have a comeback for sure.

-----

"Shotaaaaa, I don't wanna do anymore." Your head is resting on the table, the cool wood on your cheek. He doesn't even spare you any sympathy either, laughing at you quietly. His rich chuckles sound like comfort more than mockery in your opinion though.

"Sweetheart, you've only graded four essays." The huge stack of papers looks back at you from it's side of the table.

"Yeah and each essay had like four to five papers in it. I feel bad for your students." The two of you are going to cuddle. You're determined to make it happen, so before he could even reply, you bounce up from your seat, grab his hand, and tug him towards your bedroom.

"We're going to sleep. I'm not taking any other answers besides "okay" or "yes my love." He clicks his tongue at your statement, but finds no reason to oblige.

-----

"Do you want to know something?" He whispers into your ear cuddling you close enough to feel the warmth of his chest on your back.

"What?" At this point you're only half-conscious, struggling to register what your husband's just said.

"I'm actually ahead of schedule. I can grade those papers loosely throughout this week." He admits with no guilt or shame in his voice at all. What a workaholic.

"Are you serious? So I could have been cuddling you all this time?"

"Yeah, I just do work to get out of my head." You wonder how many times you'll have to remind him that you're his strength and that you'll help him through anything, before he actually believes it.

"If you were having trouble sleeping, you should have told me." His big hand rests in your hair playing with it slowly.

"Didn't wanna bother you." His hand is so comforting that you almost fall asleep.

"You're never a bother to me Sho." Your voice is so soft and sincere that he almost breaks out into tears of joy. He's so happy to have met you.

"Oh." It has finally clicked in his brain, even though you've been married to him for quite some time.

You are his light.