I Literally Graduate In 36 Days With My Master's Degree 🙃

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

Ch 3: Hail To The Queen

Several weeks have passed now, and fall is in full swing, bringing with it a bite to the air that has you bundling in sweaters. This is your favorite time of year, when the leaves begin to change, the air shifting in such a manner that feels as if it’s taking you to the distant past; somewhere that ghouls and goblins roamed free, someplace where quirks were witchcraft and the world was made of magic. It always hits you with this sense of nostalgia for a time you never even lived in.

With Halloween now upon you, this meant that Musutafu was celebrating with a festival—something you had pre-planned to beg everyone to attend with you—but to your surprise, you didn’t really need to. Since this was a costumed event, everyone had agreed after your first “please” to go. You had assumed it was because there was such little risk of them being identified as villains when they were thoroughly disguised, and in that sense, you had assumed correctly. However, there was another underlying reason that they were all so eager to go to the festival tonight. 

They wanted to see you all dressed up. 

Dabi is already waiting on pins and needles for you to exit Toga’s room. He usually would find dressing up for Halloween to be pretty childish, and, well, lame. But with you so excited, he had to swallow his pride and throw something together. He didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard, so he grifted himself a set of vampire fangs, then added two dots on the side of his neck with a red marker. It was subtle enough to show he totally didn’t spend the last twelve hours trying to decide what to do, but still had that sexy edge to it.

Everyone had agreed to share you equally, but he knew better than anyone else that as soon as you walked out in your costume, even if it was you dressed as something stupid as hell, all of those promises would be out the window. That meant he needed to be the best of the best tonight. The coolest, the hottest, the most desirable. With his alt Lestat look, Dabi was convinced that he had this in the bag.

He was even more sure of himself when Twice entered the room dressed as a black cat with a moon on his forehead. Still donned in his typical suit, he was wearing a headband featuring two pointed ears, a tail, and even little paw gloves. 

“You look fucking ridiculous,” Dabi chides him.

“Oh yeah?” Twice has a haughty air about him that leaves Dabi worried, “Well I just so happened to have the thought to ask what her theme was. She wouldn’t say the exact person she’s going as, but she and Toga are dressing as characters from Sailor Moon. I’m Luna,”

“No, you’re a stupid asshole. She’s not gonna take you seriously dressed like that. Fuck, it’s like you’re trying to give the rest of us a leg up or something,”

“We’ll see how you feel when this gets a laugh out of her. Women love funny men,” Twice holds out his hand to check the nails of his paw, still confident in his decision, contradicting himself in the next breath, “I could take it or leave it no matter what she thinks,”

“Whatever, cat-boy,” Dabi sneers under his breath. 

The next to enter the room are Shigaraki and Spinner, both of whom also appearing to have gone with a humorous costume. Shigaraki’s costume looks to be about as low-effort as Dabi’s, having taped a blue construction paper “e” to his hoodie and circled his eyes with what was more than likely Toga’s eyeliner. 

“Are you.. what the fuck, Shigaraki? A dead E?” Dabi asks, tongue occasionally grazing his fangs. 

“Tss,” Shigaraki replies, crossing his arms and casting his eyes to the floor, “Stupid guess. And like I’m telling you. Find out when Yumemi gets here,”

Spinner is in a white button-up shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. Dabi opens his mouth to roll a snide comment off of his tongue, when Toga flounces into the room wearing full Sailor Moon attire. 

“I am the pretty guardian who fights for love and justice!” She announces, the heels of her boots clicking against the hardwood. She seems to have really gone all out, the buns on her head having each a tendril of hair let down to resemble Usagi’s classic hairstyle, the Spiral Heart Moon Rod being waved around as she speaks to Twice about what a good Luna he makes. 

“Toga, you’re Sailor Moon?” Compress questions her as he walks through the door, already deflating, “I thought Yumemi was Sailor Moon. That’s why I’m going as Tuxedo Mask,”

His shoulders slump visibly beneath his suit, the disappointment palpable as he wistfully drops the rose he's holding down at his side, red petals unceremoniously scraping his trousers.

“Wait, so you and Twice both knew she was doing a Sailor Moon thing?” Spinner looks as if he’s about to throw up. He runs his hand nervously across the back of his neck.

“Well of course. We’ve had a week to properly coordinate, thus, I acted accordingly and asked for her plans myself,” Compress regales this information with the flick of his wrist. 

Twice’s face becomes animated within his mask, “All you had to do was think about what she wanted to do,”

The feeling washes over Spinner, Dabi, and Shigaraki simultaneously. 

They had greatly underestimated the lengths the others were willing to go to for your hand.

Shit a brick through a fucking window, how did they not think to communicate with you? They’ve been outsmarted by both of these assclowns. Bested by a wannabe circus ringleader and some himbo with a traumatic brain injury. And now they’re going to look thoughtless. They didn’t even consider what you were doing. At least Toga would've had the excuse of obsessing over her crushes had she dropped the ball like this, but them? No. You’re their crush. There’s no excuse for that. They’re going to have to step up their game. 

The clicking of heels upon the floors catches the group's attention. When you walk into the room, you’re beaming, the atmosphere electric with your excitement—and burning with the heat coming off of you. You’re not one of the sailors, or a cat, or some other cutesy little character they expected. 

You’re dressed as Queen Beryl. 

Your hair is tucked back behind a bright red wig, eyes winged with black liner, lips painted a vibrant shade of ruby. Atop your head is the crown Beryl wears, and your shoulders are horned with a homemade prosthetic on each side. And that fucking dress… It’s floor length and purple, tastefully low-cut, hugging the absolute hell out of your waist and hips. With a giggle, you point your scepter at the room. 

They hadn’t even noticed it. 

“Doesn’t she look so hot as the Queen?!” Toga is the first to bring it up, sparing any decency she’s ever known, gazing up at you as if you really did have dominion over them all. She nudges you until you turn to the side and then, emphasizing your bottom, declares, “Your ass is killer in that dress, Mimi!” You blush deeply at her praise. 

The men, having what is essentially permission to look, fix their collective eyes to your ass. 

Yeah. 

It’s fucking killer.

“Oh God,” Spinner mutters to himself, and Mr. Compress elbows him, a reminder to be polite around a lady such as yourself. He picks his jaw up, “Y-you look just like her. Seriously, great job,”

“Absolutely stunning,” Compress adds.

“Atsuhiro, you’re Tuxedo Mask!” You clasp your hands together at the recognition, and he bows with a grin, “And Twice, I can’t believe you actually went as Luna! You’re hilarious, like I am weak, you even have the tail,”

Twice lifts his mask to mouth “told you” at Dabi as you buckle over with laughter. 

“Let’s see, Shigaraki…” He tenses at the sound of his name leaving your lips, “You’re not the ghost of an E are you?”

“No, but good guess,” Shigaraki mumbles, and Dabi tosses an offended look his way.

“When I said that you fuckin’ told me—!”

“I’m Internet Explorer,”

Shigaraki looks proud, smug even, when you bounce up and down I'm a fit of giggles. 

‘That’s so smart, oh man! I can’t believe you thought of that!”

Heat blooms across his face, keeping to himself about how he’d looked up clever Halloween costumes to impress you. 

“Spinner, I love mundane Halloween. Can I guess or do you wanna tell me?” You ask him with a grin. 

He watches your cleavage as you bring your hands to close, arms pressing at your chest. God, the room feels so incredibly small. And since when is he the type to get an eyeful of someone like this? It’s making him feel kind of scummy, but fuck, you’re just so perfect. 

Oh shit, you’d asked him a question. 

What was it again?

Right. 

“Go a.. g-go ahead and guess,” he stammers, forcibly removing his eyes from your body, his cheeks now covered in a smattering of pink. 

You tap your finger to your chin, “Are you… waiting for your slacks to get done drying?”

“That’s close.. But I… I’m a work from home business man,” the explanation feels hot on his tongue with the way you’ve focused your attention on him. 

You bark out a laugh, ecstatic and all too pleased with his answer. 

“You guys absolutely kill me. I like all you guys so much, seriously. Are we all ready to go?” 

The group nods emphatically, all of them following behind you like ducklings in a neat little row out the door. On any other day, it would be a fight for who got to walk beside you. Today, though, they would be fools to squander this view from behind. You look delicious. 

All of you are cloaked in the darkness of night for a majority of the walk to the festival, lead by the light of the moon, warm splashes from lanterns lighting up patches of your skin when you reach the grounds. Harvest glow seeps through the bare, knobby branches of the trees. The smell of confectionaries, caramels and sweet kettle corns alike, waft on the breeze. 

“Smells like candy apples,” you exhale these words, somewhat hazy. 

“Do you like those?” Shigaraki asks, making certain he won’t miss a single thing about you from here on out. 

“Well, yeah, doesn’t everyone?”

All ears seem to perk up, then the group disperses, the lot of them hurrying to the food stalls. 

Your eyes dart around frantically for any familiar face that still lingers, and you watch as Toga books it to the goldfish scoop, chirping about how she’s going to win so many prizes for Ochaco and Izuku. 

“Hey, wait!” You lurch forward, but are pulled back by your arm, a hot grasp keeping you in place. 

“Hold on,” Dabi croaks, and you turn to meet his gaze over your shoulder, “We can go do stuff on our own. I’ll get you a treat or something later,”

Dabi saw the opportunity and took it, swooped in like a stalking vulture. He was more than grateful that the others all bolted to those long as hell food stalls. Now he has you all to himself.

“O-okay, yeah. You wanna go play Katanuki?” Your voice comes out shy and girlish in a way you weren’t quite anticipating. 

He starts toward the Katanuki tent, and you quicken your stride to keep up with him, lights and sounds bleeding into the air around you on your way. The stands are all lined in neat rows, their coverings colorful and bright, people both in and out of costumes manning the front to accept payments. You can tell when you've reached the Katanuki tent by the smell of the sugar sheets. The two of you offer up two tickets when you reach the stall, and take a seat at a wooden bench to poke at the sugar wafer, the lines of his face harsh as he needles the shapes. He looks somewhat irritated that the sugar is melting a bit in the heat of his fingertips, hissing in vexation.

“I gotta say, I’m surprised you wanted to hang out with me,” your tone is hard and half a whisper. 

He lifts a brow, “Why?”

“You just always seem like you don’t want to be around me,” you confess, and he cracks the little heart he was needling at. 

Pain flashes briefly in his eyes before he flattens back to his baseline, lips sloping gently into a frown. 

“That’s.. that’s fucking stupid. I don’t not want to be around you, I…” the words feel impossible to pry from his mouth.

“You can tell me if I’m irritating you,” your voice plays at being content, but the way your eyes are getting all welled up and glassy says otherwise.

A lump forms in his throat. 

You care so much about his opinion of you. 

“No, I… you’re not. I wanna be around ya, doll,”

Dabi thumbs nervously at the Katanuki sheet, his stomach coiling, heart fluttering behind his ribs. You're so beautiful in this moment. Even when you've dressed yourself up as a Sailor Moon villain, you're prettier than any flower he's seen. You’re pale, shrouded in the moonglow, lantern light flickering in your eyes, which has a peculiar feeling curling within him. And like the little ghost you are, you’ve been haunting the chambers of his mind, each nook and cranny there having previously been devoid of anyone to occupy it. What does he even do with this? Why can’t he stop thinking about you? He’s horny for you, sure, but this feels like more than just wanting to sleep with you. This feels like it's coming from somewhere deeper. 

You sense how unsettled he is in such a way that’s only so intuitive due to your quirk, having honed pulling the true emotions from people more times than you can count. It’s easy to tell he’s nervous. Maybe you shouldn’t have made an assumption like that. You place your hand atop his, tracing your fingertips gently across his knuckles, your touch soothing and soft. His breathing is stutter-stopped, pulse pounding rapidly. When he locks his turquoise eyes onto yours, he feels like he’s going to be sick, something winding him up until he’s positive he’ll snap. 

“It’s okay,” the comfort you give him is simple, but warm, the smile spreading over your face so genuine and kind. 

Those dinnerplate eyes of yours tug at his heartstrings, dry up his mouth, have him impulsively curling his fingers around yours which drape so delicately into his palm. He can’t recall a time when someone touched him so sweetly, so purposefully. He couldn't wrap his mind around why your own impulse isn't to recoil. Look at him. He's covered from head to toe in burn marks, more monster than man. This combined with his checkered past had him writing off the odds of someone actually liking him. Why do you seem like you care so much, then? 

As you brush your thumb over the marred heliotrope skin that joins to his hand, he shudders as if he’s cold, the look you’re giving him settling into his bones like radium, and you glow all the same. He’s thought so many times about how he was going to kiss you the second he had the chance. But now that the opportunity has risen, he can’t will himself forward. He can’t breathe. He’s drowning, sinking, watching you through the dreamlike lens that you’re always covered in.

“Would you.. would you want to..” The words won’t come out, the plush strokes of your hand a distraction, “There’s a ferris wheel…” He gets to his feet abruptly, gathering up how to say, “Let’s get on the ferris wheel,”

You grin brightly, “I’ve never been on a ferris wheel before,”

“First time for everything,” he states plainly, already heading in that direction. 

You’re expecting it this time, so you catch up with him quickly and tell him, “Well I’m glad my first time will be with you, Dabi,”

He stops in his tracks, and you run into his back, the tiny gasp you let out only adding to the shiver that racks through him. You were being serious when you said that, he could tell. It wasn’t something you were teasing him with, but it still felt taunting somehow, the words echoing through his head: I’m glad my first time will be with you, Dabi. His toes curl at the thought, the curve of his cheek visible as he casts a moon-eyed glance over his shoulder. He studies your face, the gentle slope of your shoulders, the swell of your hips, eyes tracing the length of your legs. You’re too gorgeous. It shouldn't be allowed.

“Let’s go, then,” he turns and continues to lead the way. 

You two wait in line for a few minutes, him having to snarl at several other men who were eyeing your figure, flashing a blue-flamed fingertip at some asshole who pointed you out to his buddy. Not that he blamed them. You are hot, after all. But they needed to do a better job at sneaking looks, lest he have to lay someone out, which he was not above doing in the slightest. The man taking the tickets gulps as you two approach. And it's kind of weird, but he seems to be flat out refusing to make eye contact with you, despite your friendly demeanor.

The cab of the ferris wheel is roomy, a space on each side for people to sit, and you choose to sit right next to him. When you’re seated, the little stall shaking back and forth, you reach out for him without thinking. He goes stiff as a board, so tense he can feel every muscle in his body as you grasp his shirt in your fist. He sucks down a breath when you return your hand to your lap and separate yourself from him. He hates how much enjoyment he gets from knowing your first instinct was to cling to him for safety. Dabi wasn't someone who people tended to think of as safe. He was strong, and he was skilled, and he was sturdy--but he couldn't think of a single other time another person had reached for him like that. He touches the place on his chest where your hand had landed, whole body buzzing. 

“Sorry, I, uhm—I didn’t know it would—ah!” The stall moves again, tilting as it begins to take the passengers in a circle, and you press your weight against him. 

Dabi is sweating like a sinner in church when he tries to seem calm, “’S alright, doll, you can hold on to me,”

Now would probably be the perfect time to ask you out. You’re cuddled up to him, watching the festival lights flashing from up here in the sky. But you’re also trembling like a little leaf being blown around in the wind. You’ve got your arms wrapped tight around his waist, face nuzzled into his chest, heart beating so hard that he can feel it hammering through you. 

“S-sorry,” you apologize once more, a lilt in your voice that resembles the way you shake, “I don’t mean to ruin the fun,”

Your fingers dig into the flesh of his back, nails grazing him slightly through the fabric of his shirt, and he mirrors this for you as best he can, rubbing small circles where the dress exposes your crystalline skin. 

“You’re not ruinin’ shit,” his voice is barely audible in the crisp wind that whips past the two of you. 

“I’m glad you don’t hate me,” you chuckle nervously. 

“Yeah?” Dabi sounds a bit surprised. 

“Yeah,” you say softly, “I really like you,”

He fumbles this information around in his mind, flounders with it, completely and totally short circuits. You’d just told everyone how much you liked them not an hour ago. This could mean anything.

As a friend?

As a lover?

As something more than that?

How exactly do you like him?

He can’t figure out how to ask you that without seeming pathetic and desperate, though. So he does the next best thing and sits there with it like a fucking loser. Lets it eat away at him. 

This totally won’t keep him up every single night for the foreseeable future. 

It’s then that he resigns himself to pulling you closer to him, syncing his breaths with your own, relishing in the way you let out little gasps and squeaks when the wind rocks the ferris wheel. The time with you goes by much too quickly. You’re being lowered and let off of the ride before he knows it, the other members of the league waiting on the ground, hands full of candy apples—aside from Toga, who’s struggling to hold onto all of the toys she’s won. Dabi pulls a self-satisfied face at everyone while you step off of the ride, pierced tongue poking from his teeth, both of his middle fingers extended. 

“Jesus, that thing was scary! You guys, it just kept moving, it was like—!” You make a swaying gesture with your hands, puffing out your flushed cheeks, pinched dark with wind and exasperation. 

Dabi smirks when he realizes some of your lipstick has smeared. 

Did you guys kiss?

No.

But they were all going to think you did, and that was a close second to actually getting to kiss you. 

Toga shoves a bear in your face, explaining to you the names of all these stuffed animals, and who they’re assigned to. You smile down at her, happy to be a part of her antics. 

“This is from me,” Shigaraki boldly interrupts the conversation, handing you the treat he's acquired, “It’s got chocolate and caramel on it,”

“Well mine’s covered in marshmallow fluff!” Twice pushes the apple in your face, “Looks like it sucks,”

“Yeah, but the one I got has special almonds on it. They were grown right around the corner,” Spinner wiggles his as he speaks. 

Mr. Compress holds his apple as if it’s on display, “This one is a classic candied apple. You can’t beat the classics, I’m afraid,” 

You’re incredibly overwhelmed with all of the options, “Woah, I cannot eat all of these. We should get a plate and cut them up. That way, we can all share,”

Shigaraki rolls his eyes. He does not like sharing. Not even a little. 

But everyone else has begrudgingly complied, so he will, too. 

You all gather at a picnic table, Spinner slicing all of the apples with Toga’s pocket knife, showing off his skills in the process. You press your hands to your cheeks with excitement. 

“So many to choose from,” you whisper to yourself. 

“Allow me, Yumemi,” Atsuhiro removes his glove to take a slice with well-manicured fingers, “I wouldn’t want your hands to get sticky,” 

You tilt your head, unsure of the expectation he has of you. Upon seeing your confusion, Compress pinches your cheeks together, carefully coaxing your mouth to open. 

“That’s it, there you go,” he breathes while placing an apple slice on your tongue. 

Your whole body heats up. Something about this interaction feels sexually charged. Perhaps you just weren’t used to this much attention from men your own age. Older men tended to be very straightforward and brash, telling you upfront that they wanted to have sex with you; so surelysomeone would’ve mentioned it by now if they wanted to. You’re just overthinking things. Atsuhiro is a really old-fashioned guy. He more than likely really doesn’t want you getting your hands all gross from the candy apples. Still, you feel a tightness in your belly with the way he watches you chew, his finger and thumb still languidly idling on either side of your jaw.

Shigaraki sucks down the slice he had picked for himself, nearly choking, coughing as Dabi grits his teeth. Twice and Spinner simply blink in utter disbelief. Toga unhinges her mouth like a baby bird expecting to be fed, her canines gleaming.

Finally, things click. 

Everyone is picking up apple slices, offering you bites from their own hands, overwhelming you once more. 

“Guys,” you sigh, somewhere between exasperated and flattered, “One at a time,”

How To Make Two Lovers Of Friends

Words: 11,569

Synopsis:

Aizawa is taking a much-needed break after the war with Shigaraki and All For One. He isn't looking for anything in particular; that is, until he spots you in a goth themed coffee house. A whirlwind romance ensues in this one shot, filled to the brim with sexual tension, fluff, and smut.

Alternative/goth fem! Reader

Fair warning, this one is the first fic I'd ever written, so it isn't my best work. It does hold a special place in my heart though and I hope it's enjoyable for someone!

Morning light came dappled through the windows as you took your favorite seat at the coffee house, just like you did every morning to start your day. This coffee shop went by the name Bauhaus; probably a nonsequedor to most, but a familiar homage to a band for you. It had this witchy aesthetic, filled with books and old vinyls that made you feel at peace. You never really saw places like this when you still lived in America, at least not in your neck of the woods. How absolutely lucky that you lived just a few blocks away!

You ordered yourself the special for this month: The Headless Horseman, an iced pumpkin and caramel breve to celebrate the upcoming fall season, a welcome respite from the August heat. Smoothing away the creases on your black velvet dress, you thanked the barista, who you typically made small talk with but were not quite on a first name basis with just yet, and took your seat once again to finish reading your book. The leaves rattled in the wind outside and rapped against the building like old bones in a wooden sarcophagus.

"A storm is coming soon," you say quietly to yourself.

Gentle thunder thrums in the distance like the soft beating of a lambskin drum, and a small grin makes itself at home on your lips.

Perfect reading weather.

Adjusting yourself on the bench beneath your legs, your mouth curved at the edges, eliciting a slight hum from your lips. 

Ah. 

Spooky, scary peace.

Outside the confines of the coffee house, though, the weather was much less enjoyable. The heroes Eraserhead and Present Mic both trudged through heavy raindrops, soaked like wet dogs, caught off guard by the sudden change in weather. Aizawa scowled at his mess of dark hair getting drenched.

"Damn, this weather is nasty!" Said Mic, voice unintentionally booming.

He looked around and scouted for shelter as the thunder rolled, and settled on the closest bit of light he could see, pointing his finger at Bauhaus so as to motion for Aizawa to head that way.

They stopped at the overhang to dry off a bit before entering when Aizawa got a peek inside the shop. He took note of the band posters and bookshelves littering the walls, the violet-hued plants hanging from the ceiling and shelves, the generally alternative vibe that exuded from the place.

"I don't know, Hizashi," he stated hesitantly, shifting his weight to his good leg.

"What's the big deal? It's not like you'll look out of place," Hizashi was frank, opening the door with no apprehension. He gave a quick chuckle that sounded like taps on a hot microphone.

It was true, Aizawa typically dressed in all black. Now that he was taking a break, though, he didn't always have his capture weapon on him. He was instead accompanied by a patch over his eye and a prosthetic leg. He felt like he usually stood out like a sore thumb these days, which was problematic for someone who had always tried to keep such a low profile in the past.

Aizawa fiddled with his eyepatch and thought about how nice it would be to blend in once more. He had always tried to stay out of the spotlight, but after the intense battle with Shigaraki, it was harder to avoid the media. Maybe a place like this wasn't such a bad idea. He continued to zone out as Mic spoke much too loudly for the space they were in, as usual, and talked (mostly to himself) about if he should get a coffee or a smoothie.

Aizawa grew slightly embarrassed by his friend's actions as he looked around the room to see if his boisterous voice was bothering the other patrons. It was 6am, still early, so Bauhaus was lingering with the vestiges of sleep, waking with the rest of Musutafu. There was a green haired person on their laptop in the back corner, tucked away, uninvolved in the rest of the shop and seemingly unbothered. Empty seats. A full cup on a table that meant someone would be right back.

Then there was you.

Right beneath the window seat near the front of the shop, a purple vining plant hanging above you, crushed velvet bell sleeves rested upon the table as your fingers gripped the pages of a well-worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. Your face was aglow like the moon, scattered with a few freckles that danced across rosy cheeks, long lashes that arched over your half-lidded eyes. The bass of the music swelling over the speakers seemed to engulf Aizawa, thumping in his head, your silken locks being brushed to settle behind your ear as his mouth suddenly dried.

Then, as if on que, you looked up at him just in time for him to hear "oh Lucretia, my reflection", and everything seemed to stand still. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips. You had these gorgeous doe eyes, these pouty little lips that gave a gamine smile to him while he held his gaze for much too long, he was sure of it. You were a vision. A blooming Queen Of The Night. A siren out in the storm.

"Quit staring at her and tell me what you want to drink!"

Aizawa was snapped out of his delusion. Flustered at the comment, he groaned, his eye twitching. Unwilling to break the eye contact with you just yet, your smile grew, and you exchanged glances with him again, causing pink heat to bloom over his face. You sat down your book and made your posture more swanlike as you maintained eye contact with him. His breath hitched at this.

You snuck looks at him for the rest of the time the two were in the shop. You weren't enough of a go-getter to approach him--nor were you brave enough to blatantly ask him out--but you really hoped that maybe he would come in again.

————

As mortified as he was by Mic's statement, he knew he had to try to see you again.

Not because he wanted to get to know you or anything.

No.

You just seemed... interesting. You seemed interesting and he felt very comfortable in Bauhaus. In fact, it probably had very little to do with you at all. He was more than likely just transferring these feelings of comfort onto you. After all, it's been a while since he's been able to go out and not feel like he was the one being stared at.

Yes.

This is rational.

This is why he needed to go back. You were just there by happenstance.

Every single weekday morning--and on weekends when he wasn't watching Eri--for an entire month, he was at the shop.

That's just how comfortable he was there. That's how good their plain black coffee was. That's what it meant to have a routine.

It was just a coincidence that he couldn't help but to notice you.

You were always there in that same cozy nook. Some days you were dressed in a band t-shirt and jeans. Some days you were in a plaid skirt and combat boots. Some days you were in a mossy green dress that went to the floor. Some days you wore causal yoga pants that were surely comfortable but made him sweat like a sinner in church. He never knew what exactly he would see you in next, but it was usually the same kind of style. And you always had a book to read, which Aizawa greatly admired. You were studious and attentive with your literature, but also a little bit goofy, judging by the laughter between you and the barista when you picked up your drinks.

But he had also come to find that you were very kind. Although you didn't appear to be a hero, you helped in other ways. You would pay for people's orders if they didn't have enough to cover their purchase. Twice, he watched you pay for the food of a homeless man, and then you sat with this man as an equal, outside on the curb, as the two of you ate breakfast sandwiches and talked. You were softspoken and gentle in your manner of speech, making him feel as though you were reading him to sleep as you talked between bites of food.

He noticed you had the biggest soft spot for animals, though.

You would watch out the window at around 6:15 to see if your little cat friend would show up that day. You would give them a drink of water from your own bottle and cap, offer them bits of bread and meat, and coo at them in a lovely sing-song voice as they ate. The cat didn't want to be touched, they were scarred and matted all to hell; but you were patient every single time. What a beautiful soul you seemed to have.

Aizawa was normally pessimistic, but you made him feel hopeful in humanity. He was certain that you had flaws, as people do, but your acts of kindness always made sure he had a good start to his day. He was always ready to protect you if you ever needed it. The world could use more good people, after all.

One morning in particular, as Aizawa picked up his drink, he noticed a man lazily stroll up to you at your regular nook. This happened to you every so often now that you were in Japan. You were approached by men, and very occasionally other women, maybe a handful of times in your entire life back in the United States. Your best guess is that here you were considered "exotic" since you looked different from most. You almost never saw someone with features like yours, and you were certainly taller than most of the women here, with noticeably longer limbs; all things that weren't exactly beauty standards in America but seemed to garner attention in Japan.

Unfortunately, the attention wasn't usually the kind that you enjoyed, and this guy was no different. He was dressed in an athletic shirt and basketball shorts. Not that you were one to judge, because hell, sometimes you showed up in pastels if the mood so struck you. People weren't bound to the confines of fashion. However, in your experience, men dressed in this clothing who came into Bauhaus tended to be... unsavory. Usually someone looking to fulfill their fetishes.

"Ooo, Cara Mia," he taunted as he approached you.

An Addams Family reference would have otherwise been right up your alley, but when he said the quote, it felt icky somehow. You knew he had to have kept this line in his back pocket regardless of who he came across, anyway. You were in a long sleeved sheer top with a lavender camisole and pair of black bell bottoms. More Stevie Nicks than Morticia Addams. So you did the rational thing and ignored him. You weren't there to be someone's Big Tiddy Goth Girlfriend.

He didn't like that much.

"Hey. I'm talking to you," he spat his words at you with barely concealed contempt.

"I heard you," you flicked your eyes up at him sharply.

Aizawa's body tensed in preparation to spring into action, taking a step forward in your direction. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

"I was just being nice. Not like anyone else is going to talk to your ugly old ass," his words were meant to bite at you, but you didn't budge.

"Old? Why, because I dared to live past 16? God, you are disgusting," you sat down your book and shook your head disapprovingly, "creeps like you are always projecting your own insecurities. How sad for you. Fuck off,"

He looked shocked, furious, like he was about to scream something in your face--but stopped abruptly when you started to hum. It was a haunting melody, something akin to a nocturne.

"I think you should go now," you stated plainly.

With this, the man walked out the door in what appeared to be a fugue-like state. And you calmly went back to your book.

Huh. Maybe you didn't need Aizawa's protection.

You just kept getting more and more intriguing.

On his fourth straight week of coming in, a Friday in early September, you decided to finally talk to him since it seemed like you were both regular patrons of the shop now. You made sure to finger-comb your hair before you turned to look at him. He was in his usual black on black sweatpants and sweatshirt, this time with his hair pulled back to reveal his jawline. He was very handsome, you thought.

"Hey there, you," you said after he placed his order of a single black coffee.

He turned around, a bit shocked at the sudden start of such a casual conversation.

"I see you in here a lot lately. I'm not sure if you have the time, but would you like to come sit with me?"

You smiled delicately in an attempt to seem welcoming.

"It would be nice to have some company for a change," you say.

His dark eye bore into you like a bullet coming straight for your gaze. After a moment of collecting his words, he finally settled on replying back:

"Yeah, sure. That would be fine,"

Aizawa tried his best to remain calm and cool, stoic even, refusing to let something so nonchalant shake him.

However, truth be told, you felt a bit shaken yourself. You weren't sure if he would accept your offer or reject it and then stop coming in. You could be so straightforward sometimes, and you felt like you could accidentally make things awkward. But you had a feeling he might at least be interested in getting to know you after your initial interaction with him.

You introduce yourself as you stirred your latte with a tiny silver spoon.

"Shota Aizawa," he gave in return.

"Nice to finally meet you," you say with a slight tease in your inflection and a mischievous look.

A blush crept across his face. God, of course you remembered when you two first saw one another. It felt as if he were sitting on pins and needles thinking about it.

"Do you like sitting under the stars?" You ask to cut the silence.

Aizawa looked perplexed. It seemed like an odd thing to ask him. Maybe you liked the outdoors?

"I've never actually been camping. Never really seemed that fun to me," he was eager to continue talking to you, though he wasn't sure exactly why.

You had this glint in your eye, like you knew the punchline to a joke you hadn't even told yet, along with a playful smile. Setting down your cup, you pointed up. That's when he noticed that the ceiling was matte black and painted with silver glittering stars.

"It's one of my favorite things about coming here," you disclosed this information to him, almost as if it were a secret.

It was then that he knew for sure that you weren't like most people.

You two met like this, discussing books and hobbies and music, for another month and a half. Every morning at 6am you could expect to see him waiting at Bauhaus for you, rain or shine. You would get some kind of breve or latte and he would get a strongly brewed black coffee. Sometimes you spoke for an hour before one of you had to go, sometimes you two were there until you were both hungry for lunch. Although the days all started at Bauhaus, occasionally, the day would take the two of you to a nearby ramen shop, a corner store, or a short walk down the block. Anywhere you wanted to go, he was there.

————

He now knew that you liked horror movies and would read just about anything you could get your hands on, that you loved animals, you moved here two years ago to help with the mental health crisis in Japan as a grief counselor, and you thoroughly enjoyed humor.

You came to know that he liked cats, was a teacher, liked the smell of rain, he was generally pretty introverted, read comic books as a kid, and had a liking for dark jokes. He had mentioned that he was a hero, a pro hero actually, when the shop was empty one morning. You said that was "so cool" and beamed with pride that you knew him, but you seemed unfamiliar with the Erasure Hero.

You continued to treat him exactly the same.

This was mesmerizing to Aizawa.

Today was one of the days that stretched on like a sleeping cat in a sunny patch. You'd already met once in the morning, breaked for work, and then met again in the late evening. The golden-hour sun was pouring in its warm light, backing you like some kind of seraphem, and painting him in a spreading halo of honeyed peach. The way the flecks of rainbow from the slanted glass flitted over his skin bewitched you.

And you, there at your place, drenched in marigold light that kissed down upon your flawless skin, made him shudder. Your eyes nearly glowed in the light. You appeared fragile, breakable, like spun glass; though he knew you were sturdier than your languid demeanor would let on.

He stuffed down the feelings he was starting to have for you like a snake eating a too large mouse. This was more than just lust, infatuation, or attraction. As scary as it was, he liked you. The butterflies stirred in his belly when you called his name from your window nook and the moths fluttered in yours when he said "I thought I might find you here, y/n," with the slightest upturn of his mouth. You were both nervous about this tension that was building between the two of you, but he was more reserved, whereas you tended to wear your heart on your sleeve. You knew that you would have to be the one to address it.

"Aizawa," you say to him, circling the rim of your cup with your fingertip as you place your other hand in front of his on the table, "I have some errands to run tomorrow... would you maybe want to come with me? It can be hard for me to carry heavy things all the way into my place on my own, and I really want to get some pumpkins to carve,"

This seemed utilitarian enough that he might feel more at ease accepting the invitation, but still deliciously domestic.

Aizawa felt the breath leave his lungs. Going to a pumpkin patch? Carving pumpkins? Like a cute little date?

"You don't have to, if you don't have the time," you stated reassuringly.

"Oh, no. It's nothing like that," His voice broke as he uttered out an answer, "I can go. I'll make the time if I don't have it,"

"Great! Can we meet up around 10?"

"I'll be there,"

"You always are,"

The air hung around the two of you with a lightness for a few seconds. Aizawa could see his reflection in your big glass-like eyes, causing his heart to beat wildly in his chest. You gave a small laugh, crinkling your nose, very aware of the closeness of your faces. He felt like maybe he should kiss you. But did you even like him that way? You could just be friendly and kissing you would be a huge mistake. Everything would come crashing down if he did that. Your trust would be gone. You would be gone. He couldn't take that risk.

But oh, how you wanted him to lean in and touch his lips to your own. You wondered how his stubble would feel against your skin, and if he would taste like that black coffee he was always sipping on. A knot formed in your stomach, this familiar aching, a longing, a fear of the unknown feelings he had for you, and excitement that he might feel the same way. How long had it been since you felt this way? Was it ever this intense?

You bit your bottom lip in anticipation, your heart racing. You could feel that something was bubbling up. Something was about to happen. You were going to lean in closer when the door to the coffee house flew open, and in walked Hizashi.

"I thought I'd find you here, Eraser! You sure love this place lately!" His voice nearly shook the entryway.

Tension gone.

Goodbye, mood.

Aizawa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, fully aware that Mic was about to say something daft.

"Watcha got here?" Mic asked enthusiastically, gesturing toward you with a gloved hand, "Shota, do you have a girlfriend you never told me about?"

Fucking Mic.

Aizawa looked pale, sick even.

Of course he wanted you to be his girlfriend. Especially when he was about to go to sleep, or saw some stuffed animal he knew you would like, or when he was in the shower and thinking of how he'd like to see those sultry eyes looking up at him as you put your mouth on his...

"Hizashi, for someone who's entire Quirk is based on sound, you are so damn tonedeaf," Aizawa cut his thoughts loose with this retort.

"Woah, easy there," Mic continued, "I didn't mean to ruffle any feathers. If you guys aren't hooking up, how about I shoot my shot then?" He waggled his brows at you.

Aizawa gritted his teeth and his eye twitched. Like a deer in the headlights, stunned at this brazen show of complete and total assclownery, he sat still in his seat as Hizashi made fools of them both. The lanky devil just didn't know when to stop tap dancing on his last nerve.

Present Mic leaned over the table as you furrowed your brow in response.

"Wanna see why they call me Magic Mic?" He gave a wide grin with this question.

You made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

"Why, did I pique your interest when you saw me bathing on the roof? Did my beauty and the moonlight overthrow you?"

"Bathing on the roof, you say!" Another waggle.

"Careful there, Sisyphus. That boulder's heavier than it looks," you chime back, scribbling something on a napkin.

Aizawa was amused at your quip. It was impressive how quick on your feet you were in conversation, and how well you handled yourself. He knew that Mic was blabbering on in the background, something about alternative chicks and their spicy attitudes, but he couldn't concentrate on anything other than you.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Aizawa," you stated while getting up from your seat, "here's my number. Text me and I'll send you my address so you can meet me at my place, okay?"

Aizawa swallowed the lump in his throat and then nodded in agreement. He took the napkin in his hand and noticed you put a little heart next to your number.

Fuck.

Please let this be a date.

————

The next morning, at 10am sharp, Aizawa reached the front door to your apartment. He didn't even need to look at the number when he saw the fall wreath, covered in leaves and mini pumpkins, suspended from its metal hook. He slicked back his raven hair with his palms, attempting to keep his locks captured in a ponytail, all the while his stomach churned in anticipation. He gave a knock at the door, and you were there almost immediately. Had you been waiting for him?

In reality, yes, you had been. You were ready by 9:30 and then paced around your room before you sat by the door and waited for him to show up. You gave him a big grin as you greeted him, admiring his forearms with his sleeves rolled up. You looked him over, half covered in the shade of your awning, hair pulled back, his trim figure cut well in his dark jeans and gray sweater. Oh my god, he even shaved! That was so cute to you. He shaved for your pumpkin patch adventure. You swooned and felt that tension in your belly build back up. It made you feel like a teenager again, having a crush like that. You kicked at some rocks on your porch in a bashful display.

God how he wanted to put his hands on you when he saw you stepping out of your doorway. You were wearing a burnt orange sundress, a black cardigan with pumpkins lining the bodice, thigh high black pantihose, with black Mary Janes and a wide-brimmed felt hat. You always knew what flattered your figure, what colors brought out your eyes and complimented your skintone. He felt so typical, like such a stereotype, because that sundress was doing something for him.

"You okay with me driving?" You asked, taking a step closer to him.

He tensed at the prospect of being touched by you, and nodded in agreement. Grabbing your keyfob, you pressed twice to start your vehicle, a completely black car with darkly tinted windows. It was very bold, very dark, and very you.

"You can mess with the volume however you'd like. I don't mind," you told him as you started flipping through your music on the car's touchscreen radio.

Aizawa took note of how eclectic your music was. You seemed to like songs with lots of bass and rumble, and you listened to plenty of Sisters of Mercy, but you also had music that took him off guard: hyper-pop, musical numbers, heavy metal--a smorgasbord of songs on a hodgepodge of a playlist. He could never quite pin you down. As soon as he thought he knew your next move, you pulled an Uno Reverse card, and it was enthralling. He liked a challenge.

He was captured by you as you settled on Love Me by The 1975 and enthusiastically sang along to every word, miming exaggerated faces when the beat picked up. You rolled the windows down and threw your hat in the back seat to feel the wind through your hair.

You glanced over at him briefly as you sang, smiling, glowing, just letting loose with him in a way that felt more intimate than he would've imagined a car ride could feel. Your hair flipped, twisting around your face in the breeze.

He noticed how careful you were with your car, how gingerly you braked at stoplights, and joked "I think my grandpa might actually drive faster than you do,"

"Hey," you replied "I pay a lot of money for this car," you felt a bit embarrassed tagging on the next part of "besides.. it's important to follow traffic laws."

He couldn't help but admire how pragmatic you were about this. You were so soft. Willing to stand up for yourself, but always making sure everyone else was safe. You had a hero heart.

You went back to singing to music, this time Can't Hold Me by Emily King. You always seemed so in your element when music was involved.

"You have a really nice voice," Aizawa stated without thinking. It rolled off of his tongue in an easy sort of way that didn't normally come naturally to him.

"Oh, thanks. It's part of my quirk I guess,"

"You have a quirk?" It was more of a statement than a question. He was pretty positive he'd already seen your quirk in action.

"Well, yeah; but I don't use it much. It's one of those quirks that when you tell people about it they think you're a villain," your voice trailed off a bit and he looked at you with one raised brow.

A sigh escaped your lips.

"If I sing a certain melody, I can make people do whatever I want. They become really pliable and easy to manipulate. But I can only use it on one person at a time, and it's only the one song, and you would know if I was using it," you tried your best to make sure he knew you weren't using it to make him talk to you, or to make him come with you today.

"Quirks are what you make of them. And I don't think that you would ever purposefully hurt someone, y/n. You're better than that,"

On impulse, upon parking the car at the pumpkin patch, you grabbed his hand with Eat Sleep Wake by Bombay Bicycle Club playing softly in the background. The first real physical contact you two had that wasn't accidental. It was warm, and sweet, and electric. Breathing felt like there was a weight on your chest when you realized what happened, and it caught in your throat when he squeezed your hand back.

Eat.

Sleep.

Wake.

Nothing but you.

God, please just kiss me, you thought. Kiss me. Better yet, take me into this pumpkin patch and peel these pantihose off with your teeth. You were getting to the point where all of this constant winding you up had you wanting him to fuck you absolutely stupid.

Aizawa felt warm, feverish. Like he was going to melt through the seat of the car and burn to cinders on the ground. He was smoldering like a pile of ash in your hand. Goddamn it was hard to concentrate now. Where was he at? Was there a world around the two of you? Did he even care? He wasn't sure if it was right to think of you like this, though, and it happened nearly every day since meeting you. That part of him had been lying dormant for what felt like years and now suddenly these feelings were coming for him with a vengeance. He wasn't sure what to do.

"We should.. we should grab some pumpkins. Do you... like the lumpy ones?"

Shit. Did he really just ask you that? God, you must have thought he was stupid.

But you didn't. You were eating this up.

"Dude. I love me a lumpy pumpkin," was your reply.

The two of you took in the crisp autumn air and October's bright blue sky as you sipped on a warm apple cider from the drink stand. Much to his initial disapproval, you finally got him to take a sip from your cup. His heart skipped a beat drinking from the same spout where your mouth had been just a few seconds prior. You took two small pumpkins from the display they had on top of some hay bales, slipped them into a big burlap tote bag, and then headed to the field to pick out bigger pumpkins for carving.

"Do you think frogs have friends?"

"I... what?"

He wasn't sure if you were being genuine with this question.

"Well, cows make friends, and.. I don't know, I was just thinking about how maybe when frogs start to get ready for the cold weather, they find another frog that they like, and then they hibernate next to them in the mud," your statement was matter-of-fact, "or I guess technically the frogs we have here go into a state of topor, not full hibernation. But still,"

Aizawa was taken aback at this topic. You were actually wondering about the loneliness of amphibians.

"Y/n, I don't think frogs get lonely. I doubt they have high enough brain functioning to care,"

"Or maybe they do, and we'll never know, because nobody stopped to find out,"

He enjoyed that you always spoke your mind. Even if someone didn't like what you had to say, you just started a conversation based on whatever thoughts you had in your head. You were smart, but whimsical. It was so easy to talk to you and have a logical dialogue without feeling like it was getting stale.

You kicked at rocks, marveled at the fall leaves, and had this general sense of wonder. Aizawa found it fascinating how dichotomous you were. You were kind of mysterious, but you still had this youthful charm about you. He found himself to be more apathetic than anything. It wasn't necessarily that he didn't see the beauty in the things around him, he just didn't tend to pay attention at all. He was always burning the candle at both ends and pushing himself to his absolute limits, so what was the point? Who cared of frogs had friends?

"I wish I shared your passion for life," he commented.

"My grandparents were like this, and they raised me, so I guess it rubbed off. Actually, they're kind of why I came here. My grandpa always spoke about how beautiful Okinawa was. After they passed, I jumped at the opportunity to come see Japan for myself,"

You hadn't talked about anything that wasn't skin deep in what seemed like an eternity, and you felt like he was really listening, processing your words.

"Oh!" You stopped in your tracks, "I can't believe I forgot to give you this,"

From the bottom of your burlap sack, you pulled out a bag of salty black licorice.

"This is for you,"

His favorite snack.

Aizawa reached out his hand and took it delicately, as if it were precious to him.

"How did you know?"

"I saw you eyeing some once at a corner store. When I saw they had some here, I had to get it for you. They make it in house, so I bet it's delicious!" You sounded so excited over a bag of licorice.

Feeling a bit silly over frogs and candy, you blushed, cheeks already slightly ruddy from all of the walking.

"But we should probably go back to picking out some pumpkins, I guess," your words came out much smaller than you intended them to.

His heart swelled. You were paying attention to him, too.

The gourds were all shapes and sizes, all the colors from striking persimmon to pale yellow, from perfectly round to as lumpy as the night was long.

Clearly, you picked the lumpiest.

Loading your goods into the car, a flash of color at another stand caught Aizawa's eye.

"You stay here. I'll be right back," he commanded.

"Okay. Just let me know if you want any help,"

The stand was full of handmade trinkets: wooden hair combs, decorative mirrors with widdled handles, and silk kimonos. One garment stood out to him--emerald green with goldenrod flowers patterned over it--that, for some reason, made him think of frogs. This would do nicely.

Upon his return, he found that he really wasn't sure how to give you a gift. This was certainly not his forte. He couldn't even remember the last time he gave someone a present. Then again, he couldn't recall that last time he had received one before this day, either. Besides, you were worth the uncomfortability.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't form. You looked slightly amused, which made him even more nervous.

"I have something for you. To repay you for the gift you gave me earlier," his voice uttered out much smaller than he remembered.

The joy that spread from cheek to cheek was practically tangible for him as he handed you the paper bag. Your eyes were alight like fireworks.

"You got me a present?"

You felt a fluttering in your chest. You didn't even care what it was, he explicitly thought of you, and that made you happy in earnest.

The container was compact enough that you figured there was some kind of candy to be retrieved from it, but you opened it to see green and yellow fabric. You were stunned when you recognized it from the stand you two had passed on your way out. It had to have been expensive.

"Aizawa.. this is too much. I-I can't accept this," you stammered.

"Yes you can. Like I said, it's for the licorice,"

"This isn't exactly in the same category as candy, though, I--"

"Just try it on," he interrupted you, his hand raised as if to stop any further protesting.

And you thought about protesting--you really did--but caved, knowing he wouldn't give up until you accepted it. Your attempts to dispute his gift would be futile. So you marveled at the silk garment, feeling its slick material between your fingers. You'd never owned something like this before. You took off your cardigan and draped the kimono over your body, savoring how soft and airy it was on your skin, feeling like a princess.

"I'm not sure if this is a color you like, so if you don't like it, we can go exchange it," his voice had a hushed tone.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

"No. No, it's perfect. I absolutely love it. Thank you so much, this was so sweet of you," your words rang out like a bell.

The breeze picked up and blew the soft locks of your hair as you stood there in your gown, picturesque, cottony clouds lining the skies.

You looked like a painting.

"Alright then," you said with vigor, "takoyaki is on me!"

————

When you returned home, you carved Aizawa's pumpkin together (a very classic orange pumpkin, perfect for Jack O Lanterns), swatting your cats off of the counter as they came to sniff at the seedy innards laid out on a sheet of parchment paper. You felt at home like this. You felt safe, content, like this is how life was meant to be.

You watched him as he placed the carved Jack O Lantern out on your porch, and took notice of the strands of raven hair that were falling out of his messy bun, delicately sweeping over his strong jaw and neck. The knot in your stomach returned, and with it came a sensation like you were on the downhill slope of a rollercoaster. It was a feeling of passion welling up inside of you, ready to tear open at your seams.

And you wanted more.

You wanted him to want you.

Worried that he might go home now that the sun had set, you asked if he would want to watch a movie with you. He was elated at the idea of cuddling up with you on the couch. How could he say no to that?

"Okay. What did you have in mind?"

"Have you ever watched Hocus Pocus?"

"No, never heard of it,"

"What?! It's a Halloween classic! I'll change into some house clothes and then we'll get started. Be right back, Shota,"

A chill ran down his spine, prickling the back of his neck at the sound of you saying his name. You called him Shota. And now you were comfortable enough with him to change into pajamas. He felt almost floaty.

Aizawa was expecting you to come out in sweatpants and a t-shirt, something comfy, something plain. He enjoyed the prospect of you coming out in soft pants and fuzzy socks. There was something so heartwarming and cozy about it that he--holy fucking shit.

You came out, as casual as humanly possible, in a pair of tiny little sleeping shorts and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt with no bra. The shirt was soft, but snug, and showed off every curve of your body through the semi-sheer fabric. He had already gotten a good look (or ten) at your ass in a nice pair of pants, but this.. were you trying to kill him? You were already all legs, and now the shorts... Aizawa scanned your body to see that you were wearing stockings that hugged your legs and made divots in the plush flesh of your upper thighs. They were Ninja Turtle green and woven like a tubesock.

Of course you were wearing these fuck me socks. That way, you could definitely say that you were completely covered from head to toe, that these were normal house clothes. Nothing here but regular old pajamas. And look, see, you totally did like green!

Your couch was small, but Aizawa sat on one end, hoping that you would sit alllll the way on the other end so that he could curl up as much as possible and you wouldn't see... things. But you weren't having it. You wanted to be able to cut the tension with a knife. You wanted to make sure this sexual frustration was palpable until it drove him to action. So you snuggled up next to him and rested your head on his chest.

He took notice that the shorts nearly disappeared when you sat down, and thought about what they might look like if you were bending over. Your tits looked great through your clothes, but your ass drove him wild. He wished for the TV to mess up somehow so you would have to get down on all fours to fix it, maybe even spread your legs just enough that your sex would peek over the side of the material, sopping and messy and begging for him.

Oh lord Jesus, Vishnu, Thor, whoever the fuck was up there just give him strength. Give his waistband extra elasticity and give his poor heart a rest so that maybe you wouldn't hear it pounding through his chest. But you did hear it. You knew exactly what you were doing when you placed your hand on his thigh and traced your fingertips down to his knee while you stared ahead at the TV screen.

Under the guise of laughing at a witch riding a vacuum cleaner, you squeezed his leg, and he jumped in his seat.

Oh.

This was torture for him.

And you liked that.

A lot.

He made a pathetic attempt to stealthily lean into you, just enough so that he could get a better whiff of your hair. You smelled like vanilla and something a little floral and spicy, like a jasmine rice desert. The thought crossed his mind that you might taste just as sweet.

"Doing okay, Shota?" Your voice this time was chesty, sensual, almost like an invitation rather than a question, and you could feel him shudder in response.

There it was again. Shota. He fucking loved the way his name dripped from your lips like honey. He nodded in agreement and you patted his leg to let him know you felt the nod.

You could feel your shorts heating up and your breathing changing pace when you heard him let out little sputters of air at your touch. It was intoxicating, hearing him get excited, smelling the sweat building between the two of you in this blissful hell of your own making.

Small beads of liquid made a wet spot up near his waistband while he took in your body heat, trying his best to focus on the screen and not the friction of you against him, or the fact that he could see your nipples plainly through your shirt. Readjusting yourself, you stretched and let out a whine in the process, and your elbow brushed up against something in his lap.

With a quick grunt, he stood up suddenly, and said "I need to use the restroom. I'll be right back,"

You gave him an "okay", and paused the movie for him. Maybe it was just in your imagination, but you could swear you saw a tent in his pants when he got up.

What you wouldn't give to toy with him for just a little while longer.

He shuts the door behind him slowly, calmly, before he's pawing at the buttons of his pants. A curse leaves his lips as he wrestles his leaking member from the confines of his boxers. 

"Little fucking cocktease," he grits, burying the words into his lower lip. 

God, he just couldn't take it anymore. He thought about you moaning, whining, mewling into his ear, your bodies entangling. How would he take you? If he had the option, he thinks he'd really like to watch you ride his cock, see the look on your face when you take all of him inside of you.

"Gonna have you begging for it. Fuck, do you even know what you do to me?" His voice trails into a groan, and he folds forward, bucking into his hand and holding onto the sink to steady himself.

A few whispers of your name fall from his lips, and he swipes at the slit of his aching length, smearing his precum along his shaft for lubrication. He's close. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, he's already feeling that knot within him frayed, about to snap. Just a few more strokes and he's jerking back his head, ropes of his release now dripping across his palm.

He finished in record time, expecting to have a sense of relief, but only finding that he craved more. Guilt took ahold of him when the thought crossed his mind that he shouldn't be thinking of you this way. This was so shameful, what he just did, making his hand all sticky from thinking of you. He rinsed his face with cool water to get rid of some of the sweat, and exited, stating that he needed to head home due to not feeling well.

Your heart sank, and the realization hit you that you may have made him uneasy with your forwardness. Maybe he didn't like you that way after all. You hoped that you hadn't just ruined things between the two of you.

Aizawa didn't want to hurt your feelings, and he could tell that he probably did; but he needed to get out of your apartment before he bent you over the couch.

So he left your place after an entire 12 hours together, beating himself up for not making a move, harboring resentment for his own lack of initiative. He was used to coming after villains, but this whole "love" thing really scared him. Love? He mulled the word over in his head. Worried it between his teeth. You two hadn't spent a single day without seeing each other in like two months. And he sure as hell didn't see himself picking out pumpkins with Hizashi any time soon.

He laid there in bed, trying his best to fall asleep, but the day just replayed in his head on a loop. His mattress was normally soft and welcoming, something that could easily lull him to sleep, but tonight it felt empty. Tonight, he felt alone. Until his phone buzzed from his nightstand.

You: is it too soon to text you?

Him: it's never too soon for you to talk to me.

You: good :) I was worried when you left in such a hurry.

You: and I miss you already.

Aizawa sat up in bed after reading your most recent message. You... missed him. He wasn't sure if he was reading that right. The blue light from his phone illuminated his face, now standing apart from the inky blackness of his room. He could feel you radiating from it.

Him: maybe you should stop by my place tomorrow afternoon then.

You: I'd really like that.

You: good night, Shota. <3

Him: see you soon.

————

He made sure to take care of himself in the shower before the next afternoon, not wanting a repeat of the previous night. Best case scenario, now he would last longer if you two ended up fooling around. He even double checked that Eri was in the dorms at UA again today. That was just wishful thinking, though. Sex these days would probably only come from pity for him. Poor washed-up hero, missing an eye, missing a leg. That's the last thing he needed right now.

He cleaned up around his apartment, wiping down the counters and making the area look welcoming for you. Why did he want to impress you so badly? Ugh, this was so embarrassing. He never worried about what people thought of him in any other scenario, but now, here he was, fluffing his brand new throw pillows and applying cologne to his neck and chest.

You knocked on the door, straightening the skirt of your dress, the same one you were wearing the morning you two first met. Aizawa answered the door in a gray t-shirt and black sweatpants, his hair loose and his eyes heavy-lidded when he looked down at you. That dress again. Clingy, short, nipped at the waist to show off your curves. Christ, you were beautiful. He welcomed you in, the smell of bergamot wafting from him.

His apartment was bigger than yours by quite a bit. It had a floating island in the kitchen, slate colored walls, a black sectional positioned in the living room atop a white shag rug, and circular lights that were recessed within the ceiling.

"Wow, your place is so nice. Shit. I'm sorry I made you come to my hovel last night," you partially joked, impressed with how well his home was put together.

"That's stupid. I liked being at your place,"

You saw something moving out of the corner of your eye through the doorway of the other room.

"Is that a punching bag?" You asked with a wry smile.

"Gotta keep myself in shape. Want to give it a go?" His voice was low, almost challenging you to take him up on the offer.

"Oh, I don't know. I lift weights but I don't really do a lot of cardio. I'd just end up humiliating myself, honestly," you said sheepishly.

"Come on, y/n, spar with me. I'll go easy on you,"

"Okay, okay," you gave in and walked toward the next room, which you could see upon closer inspection was full of gym equipment. You felt out of your element, but you were willing to make yourself look like a fool if it meant he was enjoying himself.

You gave the bag a light punch as Aizawa held onto it, half afraid that you would mess it up somehow, or maybe even break your damn hand. It felt like it was full of some kind of particulate. Maybe sand? Oh god, you probably looked like some kind of lazy sack, not even knowing how to punch a fucking bag.

"I know you can do better than that. You've got more power in you. Come on,"

You punched again.

"Harder. Don't hold back!" He growled.

That was really fucking sexy, actually, and now you were a little distracted. You balled your hand into a fist, made sure your thumb was facing outside, and used all of this pent up frustration to wallop the daylights out of the bag. Your knuckles made contact with a padded thud, and you let out a small grunt.

"Atta girl," he praised you, his voice like whisky.

God, hearing him say that was like a dopamine hit. You were disoriented. You were already clumsy, and now your brain felt like a can of cranberry sauce splattered out onto a plate.

Aizawa stepped away from the bag, a terse expression plastered onto his face.

"Now act like I'm coming after you and try to pin me. Remember, it doesn't matter that I'm bigger than you. Use strategy to overpower me,"

You mustered up all of your strength, all of your courage, and leapt toward his torso. He didn't try to block you, so you knew he was going easy on you... but you also knew you didn't do it right when you went off to the side and started to veer straight for the wall. He grabbed you by both wrists and wedged himself between your legs in order to cushion your fall, and you landed upright, straddling him as he lay on his back.

You were both panting, eyes dilated, a wildness boiling within you like animals. He let go of your wrists and your hands softly found their rest on his chest as it heaved.

"Y/n," he laughed, "that was awful,"

You rolled your eyes and shifted your weight into less of a stiff position.

"I told you I was bad at this. I am a lover, not a fighter," you pressed your hand to your chest as you spoke. 

Moving ever so slightly on top of him, you saw his eye widen, his lips parted to let a small gasp escape from them. Panic has set in. 

"Get up. Please," his tone is highly-strung and fearful.

He looks genuinely terrified, scrambling beneath you, the only reason you're still in his lap like this due to his apprehension to hurt you by accident.

"Shota, wha--" your question is cut off by the feeling of something poking against your clothed sex.

Oh. 

Oh.

A red hue painted his entire face at the realization of the situation he was in, his blood pulsing through his body rapidly, the sound of it rushing in his ears.

"Why," you said breathily "don't you want me?"

Overstimulated, his brain didn't process what you'd just said to him.

Your lungs feel like they're about to lunge straight out of your chest, your core aching to be filled. You'll have to make sure that he really gets the point. Now was the time to be honest with him, maybe even be a little dirty. It's now or never.

"I want to know.. I mean.." talking felt hard. Your blood supply seemed starved from your brain.

"Do you touch yourself when you think of me?"

He was trembling like a leaf beneath you, caged in by the plush of your thighs. Was this a trick question? Yes, he just fucked himself to you this morning, AND last night in YOUR bathroom. Is that what he was supposed to say? He swallowed thickly, clamoring to gather up some kind of sentient thought to say to you.

"I do," you filled the gap of silence, "I think of you that way. A lot, actually,"

You ground your pelvis up and down his length, the fabric of his pants rough against him, eliciting a grunt through his gritted teeth.

"I.. f-fuck, I-I dunno how to.. answer that," he's been reduced to this mumbling mess on the floor, that silver tongue suppressed by the sweet press of your warmth to his cock.

You took his shaking hand and placed it between your thighs, right on the dampness that was spreading at your center, sopping through what little material covered them. 

"I want you, Shota. I want you bad," your words were like poetry spouting from your lips.

He rubbed you through your wet panties, soaked and clinging to you like a second skin. Were you this wet for him? He delights in the way your breath hitches, how you squirm atop him, your eyes heavy and lustful. Shota gives one last languid stroke up the lace and then pulls them to the side for easier access to your clit. He rubs light circles around it and watches you writhe, taking in the noises you were making, so painfully hard he felt as though he would cum in his pants just from watching you. He stopped his teasing and placed both hands on your hips, the pair of you frenzied for more.

You crashed your lips to his, both of you giving in to a hungry kiss, passionate and blistering with heat, tongues swirling and teeth clashing. You cupped his face in your hands, pulling him into you, starved for his taste. He keened into your touch as if it would soon disappear. Leaving the rough stubble of his cheeks only to grab a handful of his mussed hair, you tugged at it, causing him to moan into your mouth, and you swallowd down each noise greedily. He explored your body with haste, grabbing your ass, sinking the pads of his fingers into your skin. You could feel him throbbing underneath you, so you palmed him through his pants, and with a swift jerk, he threw his head back onto the floor, not even caring to register the pain of it.

"Fuck. Y/n. If you keep going..."

You tugged at the waist of his pants, then dragged featherlight touches across his exposed cock teasingly. He felt you smile against his skin as you nuzzled the crook of his neck, and he lets out a muffled groan that tapered off into a high-pitched whine, desperate and needy.

He let out an involuntary whimper, almost pitiful with how much yearning was within it.

"You gonna cum for me already? Hmm?"

That was it.

He couldn't fucking take it anymore.

Something within him snapped and a growl poured from him, rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest.

With hurried hands, he pulls your dress over top your head, revealing that you were wearing nothing but lacy black panties underneath. You were stunning. Like a Greek statue of Aphrodite herself. He was never able to fully imagine your naked form before, and this was a perfect frame of reference for later. He wanted nothing more than to get absolutely drunk off of you. And he gets you all to himself. He can't hardly believe his luck.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you," his voice was raw and saturated with desire, a gravel to it, burning like whisky.

"I want you to touch me," you murmur, suddenly feeling shy in the sweltering heat of his gaze.

"Touch you?" Aizawa said with a chuckle, "I'm going to devour you,"

Before you were given the chance to react, he bucked into you, then slid you from his lap and onto the floor, gripping your underwear and throwing them off on your way down. He took off his shirt expeditiously to reveal his muscular form, and you admire the lines that bisect his abdomen, eyes nearly rolling into your skull when they land at the tent in his pants. He looks big. Like, concerningly big. You ran your fingers across the scars on his chest, which gave an almost tickling sensation, all the way down to the hair that trailed from his naval to his pants. He was beautiful. So fit that he looked like he could play himself in a movie.

Casting the clothing aside, he lays you flat onto the floor, kissing from your lips, to your neck, to your nipple where he sucked and flicked his tongue, using his free hand to caress the other, groping hungrily at your plush flesh. You moaned, breathy and meek, at his touch. Separating from you, his pupil was blown out as your pheromones hit him in the face, and he pulled your legs apart to fully expose you.

"Look at your pretty little pussy,"

He slipped a digit inside of you and did a curling motion until he found the spot that made you whimper underneath him, watched as your face went from shocked to a look of pleading for more, lashes fluttering.

He clicked his tongue.

"And look at you. So fucking needy. So ready for me to take you,"

He removed his finger and used it to play with your clit, making waves of pleasure shoot through your body, a white-hot coil tightening in your core just above where he was touching.

"Sh-Shota... please, fuck me," you begged, nearly mewling.

He hissed through his teeth, peering down at you as if you were prey. The look on his face is wolfish, starving, nearly pained to be holding himself back. There's a wilderness within him that begs to be let loose. You want nothing more than to be destroyed by it, left a carnal mess upon the floor. 

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you until you can't even sit without thinking of me," he taps your clit with his fingertips, "But first, I'm going to make you cum on my tongue," he was serious with his words, meticulous, making sure you knew exactly what he had planned for you. Sweet, slow burning anticipation sent tingles up and down your spine.

He put your legs on his shoulders and went back to the spot inside of you that made you cry, this time sucking on your clit in tandem, fully encapturing it within his lips. Your mouth was now agape in a breathy scream as you clamp down on his fingers, moving your hips in time with him, riding waves of pleasure as he brings you closer to the edge. He lets out an appreciative groan as you say his name, the noises coming out of you so lewd and sinful that you hope the neighbors don't call someone for a wellness check.

Aizawa absentmindedly pressed himself against the floor, nearly frantic for some kind of touch while he watched you squirming beneath him, but it does little to quell the ache he has in his center. You tasted like sweet tarts and made these lustful gasps, and it drove him absolutely mad to know he was doing that to you, that these reactions were from his own touch.

"Say my name," he speaks this phrase into the throbbing bud at your apex, and you shiver, close to careening off of the edge he'd just brought you to. 

"Shota.. fuck, keep going, please," you mewl, rolling your hips. 

He nips at your inner thigh, velvet flesh pillowing between his teeth, and then drags the length of his tongue up your clit in one torturously long stroke. 

"Louder. I want everyone to know who's about to make you cum," the steel in his gaze is sharp enough to slice you. 

So you oblige him, moaning his name, chanting it like a mantra as he continues to lap at you once more. You can feel the pressure building, building, building until it finally spills over like a dam. He moans at the realization, feeling your pussy spasm under his tongue.

"Oh my god.. Oh fuck, Shota!" You cry out for him as you melt into his mouth.

He's breathless as he pulls himself away from you, mouth slick, still slipping his fingers in and out of you in an allowance to ride out the rest of your orgasm. He looks feral. Like he could tear into you. Destroy you.

He drags his cheek across your thigh.

"Good girl," he grunts, "good fucking girl,"

You look up at him with your mouth partially open, your eyes heavy with want, and with one fell swoop you sit up and pull down his sweatpants to reveal his throbbing cock, wet and dripping from the tip. You take the whole thing into your mouth, sucking, swirling your tongue, cranking your hand around his shaft like you're ready to milk the soul straight out of him. He gasps, moving his hips to pump into your mouth as you open wider, holding out your tongue so you can take in as much of his length as possible. He brought you closer until you were practically flush against him, all the while you were committing the look on his face to memory.

You can tell this is about to break him, so you tighten your grip in a pulsating pattern, moaning on his length to send vibrations through him. His movements are becoming erratic, fervent, and you cannot fucking wait to see him come apart at your doing. You run the flat of your tongue across a particularly sensitive spot along his shaft, your arousal building once more when you see the way he pinches his brows together, how he ruts into your mouth like some inexperienced virgin. You just feel too fucking good.

Suddenly, he pulls himself from your mouth with a vulgar pop, and you're gasping for sweet breaths of air after some of the sloppiest head you've given in your life.

"I knew you'd be good at that," Aizawa chokes out, his dick bobbing in front of you, "but we're not done yet,"

He lightly pushed you back onto the ground and placed your ankles up onto his shoulders, putting his tip right up against your entrance. His muscles twitched in anticipation and you reveled in his godlike form.

"Is this okay?" He asked you, gently.

You laughed a bit at the question.

With all the heat and want you can channel, you look up at him from your place on the floor and rasp "ruin me, Shota,"

He gives you a wicked smile, one you've never seen him wear before, and pushes himself inside of your aching pussy, holding onto your leg for leverage. You can feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, a bit unprepared for his full girth inside of you. It doesn't take long for you to start moving along with him though, and he begins to thrust harder, pounding into you like his life depended on it.

Biting your lower lip, you throw your head back, attempting to keep from screaming as he delves into you. He removes his hand from your leg to grab your jaw, and locking eyes says, "Eyes on me. I want to see the fucking look on your face when I make you cum,"

This coaxes a moan from you, and he gives a gutteral response to his cock being squeezed.

"Good girl. You're taking me so well. God, you're so tight, fuck," his voice is husky and deep.

Your cunt hugs him tighter with every word.

He needed more.

Aizawa takes his free hand and starts to rub your clit in circles, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and you can feel that knot in your stomach forming again. You're about to come undone already, and he can feel you clamping around him like a vice.

"Fuck that feels so good," your voice is heady and needful.

His pacing became erratic once more and his ministrations on your clit became almost desperate. He was barely holding on, whimpering, sweat dotting his brow.

"I knew you were fucking teasing me. Coming out in those tiny shorts. Know what I shoulda done? Should've fucked you right there on the couch. Should've bred your tight little cunt," he leans down to fill some of the gap between you, a few tendrils of his raven hair falling to cling to his face.

He pistons into you harder, "Swear to god, I'm gonna fuck every single thought out of that pretty little head. Wanna tease me like that? Take your fucking punishment. I.. f-fuck!" He feels you come unraveled all over his cock as you ride him from there on the floor, making sounds that hitch in your throat like ragged bleats. He made note of your blissed-out expression and then let out a sharp gasp, your walls almost too snug for him to handle.

You whined in a small voice, still finishing, your gaze not breaking when you tell him, "make a mess in me,"

That's all it took for him to lose it, giving into his pleasure and allowing himself to fill you up with what felt like gallons of cum, letting out strangled moans as his entire body throbs.

Panting, he pulls out of you, watching as his release leaks from between your legs. He wasn't usually interested in sex at all after getting off, but seeing you like this, glowing with sweat and hormones, covered in him. It made him weak. He pulls apart your cunt with his thumbs, watches your glistening sex twitch, cum dripping. He's going to remember this if he ever needs to get off in two seconds flat.

The two of you lay in the floor together, floating, riding the high in a breathless haze.

"Be my girlfriend, y/n," Aizawa was the first to speak.

You were taken aback.

"What?"

You never thought him to be the type to be alright with labels.

"I like you. Not just in the way that I want to have sex with you. I want to make love to you. And I want you to be my girlfriend. Will you be with me?"

You ran your fingers across his jawline as a warm smile spread across your face.

"I'll be your girlfriend. But there are stipulations,"

"Anything. Whatever you want, it's yours," Aizawa hopes that his longing isn't too obvious, that he isn't too eager, but another part of him doesn't even care anymore.

"You have to be my boyfriend," your words are like a breeze through a windchime.

His eye takes purchase in your face as he leans into you, the kiss he offers you this time languid, lazy, loving instead of a mess of teeth and lips.

I love you, he thought, pulling away enough that your foreheads touch. God, how I love you. Just allow me to worship at the altar of your body once more.

Before you can stop yourself, and as if you can read his mind, you speak to him in a voice that's almost a whisper, "I think I love you,"

He looks dumbfounded, awestruck.

He finds his voice enough to say, simply, "I love you," followed by a kiss pressed to your nose.

The day that follows is soft and halcyon. You bask in one another like the afterglow is your lifeline, here in your own private world, all stardust and warmth. You don't know what the future holds. You stopped living in a world of 'what ifs' a long time ago. But you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, you'll be there with him.

And he'll be there with you.

Like he always is.

All the fic ideas fighting to the top of my brain over who gets to escape next

Saw this crocs trend on Tik Tok and…

Papi💕 wip

Might delete later to post full version

Time for another controversial opinion:

You cannot convince me that Levi Ackerman doesn't have sub tendencies.

This man has had probably very few sexual encounters, little experience, and would more than likely fucking lose it over you taking charge of him. Guarantee he'd be an absolute moaning mess.

He's never really had the time to give in to temptation, to allow himself something as frivolous and carnal as this. Sure, he's had sex before, but it was nothing like sex with you. He respects and reveres your prowess, finds himself weak over the look in your eyes that says you're going to devour him. As soon as you tell him to let you take care of him, he's melting, totally willing to give you whatever you want of him.

You offer to suck him off, but he's never had a blowjob, so there's no frame of reference for the stars you want to make him see.

"I don't think that's something I'd enjoy," he explains, low in his chest, "Seems like it'd be disgusting,"

It takes some convincing, but when you've finally gotten him to understand that you actually want that gorgeous cock in your mouth, he agrees to try it, despite how self-conscious he's feeling about it. He's totally fucked-out not even two minutes in, tossing his head back, gripping the sheets, high pitched whines flitting from his throat like pretty little bird's songs.

"F-fuck, I.. Ngh, s-stop, I'm gonna--" the statement is more groan than anything else, his eyes pinched shut so he doesn't immediately finish from seeing your face as you pleasure him.

When you have sex, you're on top, and he gasps as soon as he enters you, babbling under his breath about how good you feel, curses mumbling from his lips every time you constrict around him. You have to pry his hands away from the mattress so he'll touch you, and once you do, he's touching everywhere, relishing in every last soft span of skin you have to offer him.

He grits through his teeth, raspy and worn out, "God, ride my cock, baby. Ride it,"

He tries to bury any moans which he deams too loud or whiny into his bottom lip, caught between his teeth--but with the way his breaths hitch, he can't keep from letting you pull these sounds from him. Levi ends up reduced to saying your name as he becomes more and more pussy drunk off of you, whimpering now with each twitch of his cock in your velvety walls.

It's too much, it's not enough, it's got him right on the precipice of emptying himself into you.

He wouldn't usually beg, not even if his life depended on it. And yet, "Please. Mmff, lemme cum inside,"

Me looking at myself in the mirror and seeing all the shit that still needs to come off of my face at the end of the night

what I think will happen if I message my mutuals