#pray for aizawa

[haleingstorm]

I've just gotten back into the mha fandom after such a long time apart. I have devoured so. many. fics. It's filling up my head, so many ideas, so many head canons. But no one to share them with :(

Anyway! Let's talk Naruto x mha because clearly I can do only two things, crossovers and time travel.

Listen Aizawa has no idea what's about to hit him. He really doesn't, send prayers because if you thought izuku was bad, Naruto!Izuku is so so much worse.

This izuku knows how to fight, how to grit his teeth through the pain and carry on like nothing is wrong. This izuku has lost a limb and still smiled. You would never know he's hurt until he collapses from blood loss

At the quirk apprehension test izuku breaks his toes and carries on like normal. Because what's another broken bone? It'll heal eventually.

Ochako watches in horror but then again she ruthlessly trips the person next to her so that she can win.

Both of them tried teamwork first because duh, teamwork is always the answer. But aizawa threatened to expell them both because 'heroes have to be able to fight alone and not rely on a team to keep them alive' (honesty a fair point, especially considering oboro and what happened with him. But drives home how different heroes are from Shinobi particularly Konoha Shinobi)

Anyway Shoto is watching these two idiots with a sinking feeling of realization and familiarity. (Because you can not tell me that the ashura/indra reincarnation thing did not have any effects on Naruto and Sasuke. They'll recognize each other anywhere, the only question is can they understand what is going on)

Shoto is FREAKING OUT because holy fuck his team is alive and now he has to remember the past instead of pretending it never happened. Izuku is FREAKING OUT because holy fuck he's going to fail and there has to be a trick somewhere that he can find, look underneath the underneath but he cant. Ochako is FREAKING OUT because Izuku has broken at least 7 toes and she can't help him and Sasuke has to be around here somewhere but she doesn't know where she it she doesn't know where. Oh look izuku broke his finger that time.

(aizawa is not having a good time. Send prayers and large amounts of alcohol. He was expecting an arrogant kid who never learned to control his talents, or potentially one that was too scared to because it broke ALL HIS BONES. he was not expecting a kid to just SMILE AT HIM as he broke his fingers as if it didn't hurt at all. Aizawa has broken toes before they hurt, it's not something you can just walk off

[mcr0wave]

thank god he got a concussion 🙏🙏🙏 can't STAND HIM!!!!

epic ref i used

[plusultraetc]

another snippet from the next chapter of ‘now i’m glad i get forever’ that I’m pretty sure is surviving the chopping block 🤞

[evergreen-endo]

i’m thinking about a man laying next to you to finger you, keeping his mouth pressed to your ear to moan and dirty talk and chuckle so you can’t ignore that it’s him making you feel good.

and then when he gives you the type of orgasm where you just cannot shut up, moaning blabbering twitching thrashing around, he shushes you and pats your head with his free hand as you come down.

he stares while you twitch and pant before sucking your slick off his fingers and being like “sooo, are you a virgin?”

and you’re not, so you huff and say no, a little annoyed that he asked.

and he goes “oh sorry, were you a virgin? before I put my fingers in you, i mean.”

[ao3feed-erasermic]

Close your eyes cover your ears hold your breath and pray that your god can hear you

Use the related link post to read Close your eyes, cover your ears, hold your breath, and pray that your god can hear you on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/52223818 by Kerpoom Izuku Midoriya was 3 when he noclipped, he was 3 when Lori Miyazaki adopted him, he was 5 when the training began, he was 6 when he found out his father was apart of M.E.G, he was 8 when he started to learn secrets, he was 8 when he joined M.E.G, he was 10 when he killed a man and ran, he was 11 when he found them, he was 12 when he found out he had a quirk, he was 13 when everything started to fall apart, he was 14 when he lost him, he was 14 when he fell into that level, he was 15 when he escaped. Izuku Lori was 15 when he died. TLDR: Izuku gets trapped in the backrooms and has to escape before he gets killed. Words: 728, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga), The Backrooms - Anonymous on /x/ Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: Gen Characters: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Nedzu (My Hero Academia), Midoriya Izuku, Class 1-A (My Hero Academia), Shinsou Hitoshi, League of Villains (My Hero Academia), Chisaki Kai | Overhaul, Eri (My Hero Academia), Original Characters Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic Additional Tags: Midoriya Izuku Has a Quirk, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, BAMF Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Does Not Have One for All Quirk, Vigilante Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Has PTSD, trauma trio, Original Character(s), No beta we die like Lori Miyazaki, Parental Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead | Dadzawa, Mutual Pining, Chaotic Nedzu (My Hero Academia), Based on The Backrooms (Creepypasta), Alternate Universe, OOC, Whump, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Author Regrets Everything, Oh God What Did I Do, God have mercy Use the related link post to read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/52223818

[seaborgium-dazies]

Ugh, what a perv!

perv!aizawa... that's all. requested by anon.

Perv!aizawa is drawn to you like a moth to a flame because of your chirpy and upbeat nature. He tells himself that it's a simple preference but in reality hes obsessed with being able to observe the effect he has on you in maximum detail.

His favorite past time is gently pushing your boundaries and trying to coax a reaction out of you.

Perv!Aizawa brushes past you in the teachers lounge and in the halls. Somehow whenever he gets a cup of coffee you feel his tall body pressing into you from behind. And the oddly pleasant sensation only lasts for a moment, just for a split second but it's enough to induce a small gasp. The story you're telling another teacher is interrupted by it and while you're praying that they didn't notice perv!aizawa can't help but smile in satisfaction.

Other times he teases and provokes you until you explode. Perv!aizawa riles you up until you blow up on him. He pushes you until you lose your temper and it drives him wild to see you unravel. It truly takes EVERYTHING in him to not bend you over his lap and spank you red and raw.

You could be having the most innocent conversation with perv!aizawa and I promise you he's imagining you sucking on his cock or begging for his cum. And he does it without a single change in his demeanor! He's truly a skilled perv who knows how to get what he wants.

©️ seaborgium-dazies 2025

buy me a coffee?

[yukioos]

HIIII 💕💞💓💗💖

can I pretty please get literally anything with whipped/love sick denki. I love him and hes such a loser and I AHHHHHHHHH

denki is absolutely whipped for you and open about it

denki has always been so in love with you, especially throughout your relationship. he’s always daydreaming about you during class, having to get smacked in the back of the head by mister aizawa to focus again. often times, denki gets off track in conversations as well and somehow, the conversation always leads back to you.

so during class, he has his chin in the palm of his hand, and of course has a giddy smile on his face. he loves the idea of marrying you, having a few kids, maybe two or three. he wants at least one boy and one girl in his family with you as their mother, and a decently sized house, though one where there’s enough space to put all their trinkets from vacations across the world.

and he wants to get closer to you, wants to be so emotionally close that you’re considered to be one person, never seen without each other. you’re so perfect, and every morning and night, he prays that you’ll never leave, and you’ll stay with him forever. it’s clear he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. after all, he’s down bad for you, and he makes it everyone’s problem.

so when he turns around during class to ask you a question, his pupils are dilated and he’s already blushing. he pathetically whispers, “are you free after school so we can go on a date?” although it isn’t much of a whisper, more like quieter talking.

you grin, and your cheeks puff out, making him let out a cute chuckle. you’re so adorable, but then your eyes go wide, and you focus on your textbook. denki, however, still keeps on talking to you, not noticing that mister aizawa is standing right in front of his desk.

the whole class is silent besides denki’s desperate whispers, but he’s interrupted with a scolding, “kaminari,” from his teacher. denki’s eyes widen and his blood runs cold, so he turns around and smiles at mister aizawa.

denki responds, “yeah— huh?” but slightly stutters, sweat already dripping down his forehead.

“answer the fourth question, please.” mister aizawa requests, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed. after a few minutes of just staring at the board in confusion, the teacher announces, “we already answered the question, kaminari. detention after school for another hour.”

“huh?! but i’m already staying for one hour—“

“i’ll add another one to make it three if you keep disrupting my class.”

denki ashamedly keeps his eyes on his desk, now semi-trying to pay attention to his teacher and the topic they’re learning.

however, he turns back to you, and you shake your head immediately, but he loudly whispers, “i think our date will have to wait—“

“three hours, kaminari.” aizawa speaks with a sigh, then continues writing on the whiteboard.

now, denki is silent for the rest of the class, but he’s still thinking about you in the back of his mind.

this is my first time writing for denki alone, so i hope you like this!

[prettylilyanime]

Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 06

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Authors note: Ochako we love you

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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Tradition and the cultivation of exceptional talent are what keep U.A. alive.

Which is why, the moment you and your classmates return from your extended weekend break, you’re sent straight back to the dorms.

To pack.

Why? Because the annual Forest Training Camp trip has been sprung on you without warning!

Normally, you'd have at least a week's notice to prepare—time to plan outfits, sort through your skincare, and mentally brace yourself for the grueling training ahead. But this year? This is insane. You've been given one hour to pack before you’re expected to be on that bus, ready to go.

Which leads to your current predicament—fighting for your life in your very own closet.

"Curse these dorms and their shitty allowance of space!" you mutter, aggressively shoving hangers aside in search of anything remotely practical.

This is ludicrous! How are you supposed to fit five days' worth of outfits, makeup, hair tools, and your entire skincare routine into that flimsy, school-provided duffel bag?

It's simply not possible.

Well… maybe if you really tried, since most of your clothes aren't exactly bulky. Miniskirts and lacy tops are easy enough to fold down. But still!

You make an executive decision, tossing the school-issued duffel aside and swapping it out for your personal one—a soft baby pink travel bag with your initials delicately embroidered near the bottom. A cute, sparkly bow charm dangles from the strap, catching the light. Perfect.

This is your third and final training camp in that damn forest, and yet you still haven’t figured out a proper packing system.

You start with the essentials: hair tools, skincare, and makeup. That makes up the bulk of it, anyway.

Next, a pair of pretty designer flat sandals (because looking good in that hellscape is non-negotiable) and a comfortable pair of sneakers. Then, your activewear—cute, color-coordinated gym sets that scream Pilates Princess—followed by a few soft pajama sets.

On a whim, you toss in a swimsuit. You doubt there'll be time for swimming, but... who knows?

Finally, your usual outfits—little skirts, cute tops, the essentials—go in last. After a moment of struggling, you justmanage to zip up your duffel.

With that, you rush outside, praying you aren't the last one to board the bus.

And yet, to your utter mortification, you are.

Heat creeps up your neck as dozens of eyes land on you the moment you step onto the bus. You instinctively check the dainty watch on your wrist. Damn. You're still five minutes early—how is everyone else already here?!

Thankfully, after a brief glance, most of your classmates return to their conversations, their voices blending into a dull hum of excitement.

Except— "Overpacked this year too, didn’t you, Y/N?"

The familiar dry drawl pulls your attention to the front of the bus, where Aizawa sits, arms crossed, a single brow raised in silent amusement.

You roll your eyes but can’t fight the small, sheepish smile that tugs at your lips. "Sorry, Sensei."

He exhales through his nose—his version of a chuckle—and shakes his head.

The man has known you since childhood, and it shows in the subtle ways he goes easy on you. There’s a soft spot there, one that means you rarely get in trouble for the little things.

Like showing up last. Like swapping out the school’s standard-issue duffel for your own monogrammed one.

But Aizawa’s patience isn’t infinite, and before he can usher you along with one of his signature unimpressed stares, you force yourself to move.

Which brings you to the next big hurdle.

Where the hell are you going to sit?

Your palms begin to sweat as you hover near his seat, scanning the rows ahead.

You’d sit with him if you could—he’s been a family friend for years, and his presence is at least familiar—but it’s only a matter of time before Present Mic barrels onto the bus and claims that spot for himself.

Your usual refuge—the very back of the bus—is also out of the question.

The space is crammed, especially with the guys, who have somehow doubled in size over the summer. Normally, you’d have a quiet seat to yourself, maybe with Tokoyami or Todoroki nearby, but not this time.

You hesitate, fingers curling tighter around the strap of your duffel as your gaze drifts over your classmates. Sun-kissed faces, relaxed smiles, the easy cadence of laughter filling the space around you.

There’s an undeniable lightness in the air—stories exchanged, inside jokes tossed back and forth, remnants of shared vacations and group outings you weren’t a part of.

A familiar sinking feeling settles in your chest.

If it weren’t for your own shyness, your inability to reach out first, maybe you would’ve been invited. Maybe you’d have a story to tell, too.

Your eyes flicker toward the back of the bus, landing on a particular blonde.

Bakugou Katsuki sits a few rows back, next to Kirishima, his broad shoulders squared, arms crossed over his chest as he stares out the window, scowl firmly in place.

Even slouched, he commands attention—the sharp angles of his face, the tousled strands of light hair catching the sunlight, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Something about him—his presence, his quiet intensity—draws your gaze before you can stop yourself.

Your heart stutters.

The last few days don’t make you friends. Not even close.

But still…

When everyone else was gone, when the dorms were practically deserted, he was there. With you.

Well—with might be a stretch. But he hadn’t left.

And it’s a little pathetic, honestly, how your mind keeps clinging to those moments, replaying them like they were something out of a movie instead of just fragments of real life.

You still can’t believe it happened.

You. Of all people. Fell into his lap.

Not just that, but in your robe, of all things, and those stupid glasses. And instead of shoving you off or snapping at you like you expected, he helped. He hauled in every last one of your boxes—without being asked, without a single complaint—just brisk, efficient movements, like it was no big deal.

He, Bakugou Katsuki, taught you how to use the damn train!

And he didn’t just rattle off directions and leave you to figure it out—he took the time, went out of his way to make sure you understood, grumbling the entire time like you were the biggest inconvenience of his life.

And yet, the entire experience had been exhilarating for you.

Standing next to him on the train, surrounded by strangers, your designer clothes and stiletto boots wildly out of place, you almost felt… normal.

Maybe, to him, it was ridiculous—having to explain something so basic.

But to you? It was everything.

And realizing that—that you’ve spent the last three days replaying the scenario over and over in your head—is just fucking sad.

In less than a week, you’ve spoken to him more than you have to the rest of the class in the last three years.

Now, standing frozen in the aisle, you force yourself to look away before he catches you staring.

To him, last weekend was probably nothing. Just another day, another minor inconvenience, already forgotten.

But to you, it was monumental.

You remind yourself not to dwell on it. He was just being nice. You were just—quite frankly—helpless.

Forcing yourself to move, you scan the seats, hoping to find an open spot before you make things any more awkward for yourself. Your pulse climbs as your eyes dart between rows—until finally, you spot an empty seat next to Ochako.

She’s sweet. She wouldn’t say no, right?

And for once, luck is on your side.

“Hi, Y/N!” Ochako waves you over before you can even open your mouth, smiling warmly. “Do you wanna sit with me? The bus feels so much tinier this year.”

Relief swarms you, your shoulders dropping as you eagerly nod, trying not to look too grateful.

“Oh! Yes, that’d be great.”

With that, you slide into the seat, settling your duffel at your feet. A deep breath escapes your chest, your nerves finally loosening their grip.

“I love your duffel,” Ochako chirps. “It’s so cute!”

The sudden compliment catches you completely off guard. You jolt slightly in place, blinking at her in surprise.

“O-oh! Thanks! I travel with it all the time.”

You offer her a small smile, feeling warmth creep up your neck. Shit. Should you have told her where you got it? Should you have complimented something on her?

Your mind scrambles, juggling potential responses, overthinking every possible outcome—

But Ochako just gives you another sincere smile, then effortlessly falls back into conversation with Tsuyu and Mina, who are seated in front of you.

Another breath leaves you, longer this time. You cross your legs, pulling out your phone and earphones, deciding to drown out the chatter with one of your favorite shows—a baking competition.

As the drama of a woman’s collapsing cake unfolds on your screen, you settle in, letting yourself relax.

Well.

At least that didn’t go terribly.

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Once you step off the bus, you’re immediately swept into the middle of the group, caught in the current of excited voices and shuffling footsteps.

The crisp air outside is a welcome contrast to the stuffy warmth of the bus, and for a moment, you inhale deeply, letting the fresh scent of pine and earth ground you.

You're wedged between several of the guys who apparently decided to hit some insane growth spurts over the summer. They loom around you like moving skyscrapers, broad shoulders and towering heights making you feel even smaller than usual.

And right in front of you—Kirishima.

Rather than getting a clear view of Aizawa, you’re met with an eyeful of Kirishima’s massive back. He’s built like a damn boulder, all muscle and impossible proportions, standing firm and unmoving like a human shield.

It’s honestly a little terrifying.

How the hell did he get so tall and muscular?!

Before you can dwell too much on it, a voice rumbles behind you, far too close.

“Sure you can see Aizawa from back here, Sad Eyes?”

You quickly turn around and you almost—almost—crash straight into Bakugou’s chest.

Your breath catches, your body stiffening as you realize just how close he is. The heat of him is immediate, radiating off him in waves, and the scent of his cologne—rich caramel laced with something fresher, sharper—fills your senses before you can even think to stop breathing it in.

And okay. Not that you would really mind...

But oh dear lord, ohhh dear lord, hold it together.

Why is he so close?!

And why does he smell so good?!

You blink rapidly, trying to process what just happened—what he even said to you.

“Sad Eyes?” You stare up at him, confused.

What happened to Princess?

It’s crazy how much you already miss him calling you that.

Bakugou smirks, eyes sharp with amusement as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “New name,” he grunts. “Considering the way you look at me every time we speak.”

Your jaw drops. Sad Eyes?!

Is he joking?!

Well. No, he isn’t.

The truth is, the more Bakugou’s gotten to know you—which, granted, isn’t a lot, but enough—the more he’s found himself stuck on your damn eyes.

Big, glossy, practically shimmering under your long lashes and whatever glittery eyeshadow you always seem to wear. And always looking up at him like he’s supposed to help you somehow.

That last bit might be all in his head, but he doesn't think too hard on it.

Point is, You have the saddest fucking eyes he’s ever seen.

Like some cartoon baby deer.

Maybe the right term is doe-eyed, but that’s way too cute, way too soft.

So Sad Eyes it is.

“I don’t know if I like that new name…” you mumble, your glossy lips naturally curving into a pout. Then, after a beat, you scowl. “Scratch that—I actually hate it.”

Bakugou snorts, arms still lazily stuffed in his pockets.

The unimpressed look on your face, the slight downturn of your lips, the way your eyes shimmer just a little too much for someone supposedly annoyed—yeah, you’re only proving his point.

“Ha? You’re telling me you like Princess better?”

Is he being sarcastic? Because quite frankly, you loved princess-

You bite your lip, debating if you should just admit it—if you should tell him outright that yes, you preferred it when he called you Princess, because at least that felt sort of… nice. And not like you were some pathetic little creature he’s found amusing enough to nickname.

But before you can gather the courage, before you can even respond,

“Ooh, what’s going on over here? I didn’t know you two were in cahoots.”

A new voice interrupts, effectively shattering the intense staring contest you and Bakugou had unknowingly fallen into.

Denki—noticeably taller this year, his blonde hair a little longer, framing his face in messy waves—sidles up next to Bakugou, bumping shoulders with him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You blink, caught off guard. “Cahoots?” you echo, tilting your head slightly, the word sounding almost foreign coming out of your mouth.

“We aren’t in anything, Dunce Face,” Bakugou deadpans, his voice flat, his signature scowl settling back into place. Whatever amusement had flickered in his expression moments ago is gone, replaced with sheer irritation.

Denki grins, entirely unbothered by the hostility, rocking on his heels as if Bakugou’s anger is nothing more than white noise.

Meanwhile, Bakugou’s ruby gaze shifts away from both of you, fixing straight ahead—staring over the crowd like he can see something neither of you can.

Damn.

He could probably see Aizawa from up there…

Before you can dwell on that thought, a whisper cuts through the hum of voices around you.

“Psst, Y/N!”

Between the slivers of space between bodies, you catch sight of Ochako waving you over, her eyes bright with warmth. Your brows raise slightly in surprise, a small flicker of something light and pleasant blooming in your chest. She’s calling you over?

Ochako is quickly becoming hero of the day in your books!

You hesitate for a split second, instinctively glancing back up at Bakugou. But he’s not even looking at you anymore, his sharp profile angled away, entirely uninterested. Denki, meanwhile, is too occupied pestering him to notice your fleeting look.

Deciding not to dwell on it, you gingerly push your way through the crowd, muttering apologies to some of the guys you have to brush past before finally reaching the brunette.

Oh wow.

There’s so much more breathing room out here!

Ochako grins as you settle beside her. “I saw you back there, and it looked suffocating,” she laughs lightly, tilting her head toward the crowd.

A breath of laughter escapes you, and heat rises to your cheeks as you nod. “It was pretty bad, I won’t lie.”

She giggles again, and for a moment, everything else fades into the background—the swarm of voices, the shifting bodies, even the lingering warmth where Bakugou’s presence had been just a moment ago.

But in the back of the group, Kaminari persists.

Because seriously. Bakugou talking to you? And at that proximity? Since when!?

Bakugou, meanwhile, keeps his eyes forward, his jaw tight, making it a point to seem unbothered by Kaminari’s relentless poking and prodding.

“Oh, don’t be like that, man,” Denki drawls, nudging him. “Why don’t you invite Y/N to the lake today? I didn’t even know you knew her like that.”

“I don’t.”

“Now that I think about it, you two were the only ones who didn’t come to the beach house with the rest of us.” Kaminari squints at him, curiosity brimming in his expression. “Have anything to say for yourself?”

“No.”

Denki clicks his tongue, undeterred. “Oh, come on, Bakugou. She’s one of the hottest girls in class and doesn’t even look at any of us! What do you two have going on?”

Bakugou doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t acknowledge the question beyond the slight twitch of his fingers in his pocket. Even if he did have an answer—which he doesn’t—he’d rather drop dead than entertain Denki’s idiotic curiosity.

“Nothing. Pay attention to Aizawa. This is why you’re always lost, dumbass.”

Denki groans dramatically but finally lets up, deflating in defeat.

For now.

But something he said lingers in Bakugou’s head, annoyingly persistent.

Inviting you to the lake.

Would you even go? Hell, do you even know how to swim?

You seem like the type who’d scream at the sight of a bug, let alone willingly step into lake water.

No, you strike him as the kind of person who only steps into crystalline water, the kind that shimmers under the sun, untouched and impossibly blue. Pristine hotel pools lined with marble, warm tropical beaches where the waves roll in soft and predictable.

And from what he’s gathered, you don’t seem to go out of your way to interact with the others. He can’t really picture you in that kind of setting…

And yet—

The thought won’t leave him alone.

Because for some godforsaken reason…

He kinda wants you there.

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Aizawa had been merciful today, keeping things simple with straightforward training—no surprise exercises, no unexpected curveballs. Just good old-fashioned endurance and technique work.

The others naturally paired off into their usual groups, sparring and strategizing together, while you, as always, remained on your own.

You had spent the afternoon seated on the forest floor, your fingers brushing over damp earth as you tested the limits of your quirk.

Delicate blossoms unfurled across tree trunks at your command, creeping like veins of color against the rough bark.

You had been experimenting with different types of pollen, watching how they interacted with the environment, but the solitude had begun to weigh on you in the back of your mind.

By the time training wrapped up, exhaustion settled into your limbs like a heavy cloak, and the entire class trudged back toward the inn.

The moment you stepped inside, Aizawa announced that room assignments had been made—completely randomized.

A relief. And also… kind of terrible.

On one hand, it spared you from the awkwardness of seeking out a roommate yourself, the silent dread of being the leftover option no one wanted.

On the other, the idea of sharing a space at all made your stomach twist. You could already imagine the other girls hoping to be paired together, the unspoken wish that they wouldn’t get stuck with you.

Bracing yourself, you pushed open the door to your assigned room—

And nearly exhaled in sheer relief.

“Y/N? No way! What are the odds?”

Ochako’s cheerful voice greeted you, her eyes sparkling as she sat up from her twin-sized bed. Her expression was warm, welcoming—genuine.

Your shoulders immediately eased.

You weren’t necessarily close, but after today’s unexpected interactions, she probably ranked the highest on your (admittedly non-existent) social list. And while she might not have been hoping to room with you, at least she didn’t seem disappointed.

Your gaze flickered over her outfit, catching on the pastel pink of her swimsuit, the way her little shorts covered the bottom half.

Noticing your stare, she perked up. “Oh! I just got ready a little early,” she explained, smoothing out her top. “Everyone’s going to the lake in a bit—just to hang out and relax. We’re doing a bonfire after.”

Whatever lingering comfort you felt immediately plummeted.

Another group outing.

You turn away, setting your duffel bag down on the neatly made bed. The weight of what she just said lingers between you, pressing against your ribs, winding itself into the knots of doubt tangled in your stomach. You scramble for a response that won’t make you sound completely pathetic. Because the truth is—that’s exactly how you feel.

Out of place.

Another night of lying in bed and watching some over-the-top baking competition it is…

“Why don’t you come with me?”

You freeze.

Your head snaps up, startled. Ochako is still smiling, her expression open and easy—like the idea of including you isn’t strange at all. Like it isn’t some grand act of charity or obligation, but something as natural as breathing.

You should say no. That’s what you always do. Politely decline, make up some excuse, retreat into the safety of your own company, where no one can reject you because you’ve already rejected yourself first.

You are your own self-sacrificial lamb. And you hate that about yourself.

But before you can even think, before your instinct to run away kicks in, the words tumble out.

“Can I?”

Ochako’s eyes widen in surprise—then brighten with excitement, her whole face lighting up like she just won the lottery. “What? Of course you can!” she beams. “You never come to these things! I think you’d have so much fun!”

Her enthusiasm chips away at your usual barriers, that high, impenetrable wall you’ve built brick by brick over the years. Maybe—just this once—you can ignore the nagging voice in your head telling you to back out.

A hesitant smile tugs at your lips. “Y-yeah. I’d like that.”

You glance down at your duffel, then back at her, shifting from foot to foot. She’s patient, waiting, completely unaware of the anxious thoughts spiraling in your head, screaming at you to get this interaction right.

“Um, I don’t know if I packed the right thing for this. Do you wanna see?” You hesitate as soon as the words leave your mouth. Is that… normal between friends? The immediate internal reminder that you two aren’t really friends comes unbidden, and your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag.

Ochako doesn’t seem to share your doubts.

If anything, her eyes sparkle with intrigue, and she bounces over to your bed with ease. “Of course! Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Your heart pounds a little too fast as you unzip your duffel, rummaging through neatly folded clothes before finally pulling out the swimwear you’d packed.

Ochako lets out a gasp so dramatic that you physically flinch, wide-eyed at her reaction as she takes the pieces of fabric in your hand.

Her face is red—redder than any strawberry you’ve ever seen—as she holds up the bikini.

The one you barely thought twice about when you packed.

Of course, it’s designer—baby pink, delicate, with an even lighter monogram of the brand subtly woven into the luxurious fabric.

The kind of vintage luxury that isn’t just worn but collected, straight from a coveted '90s archive, impossible to find anywhere but the most exclusive resellers. It’s sweet, undeniably cute—Y2K perfection. Something that once graced the pages of glossy fashion magazines.

It’s also, well…

Tiny.

“Y/N!” Ochako practically shrieks, holding the stringy top between her fingers like it might disappear if she lets go. Her wide, warm hazel eyes flicker between you and the delicate scrap of fabric, her entire face turning a shade deeper.

Oh dear lord, is she even breathing properly?

“This—this is what you’re wearing to the lake?!”

Your neck heats at her reaction, embarrassment creeping in as you awkwardly scratch at the back of your head.

“Oh… is it not cute?” you ask, suddenly second-guessing yourself. “I was in such a rush, I just threw it in there.”

You dig back into your duffel, fingers brushing against smooth fabric before pulling out the matching baby pink skirt—a dainty little cover-up that, in hindsight, is your one saving grace.

“Oh, thank god I packed this. It totally completes the outfit,” you sigh in relief, smoothing out the material. “Oh, and I think I have some cute sunglasses to go with it too!”

Ochako gawks at the skirt before practically smacking a hand over her face, her other hand waving frantically in front of her cheeks as if trying to will the blush away.

“I haven’t even seen you in it yet, and I’m already blushing.”

You tilt your head, blinking in confusion, entirely too naïve to fully grasp her reaction.

“O-oh… that means it’s good, right?!”

Ochako lets out a breathy laugh, shaking her head fondly. “Good? Y/N, you always look good. This is gonna be incredible!”

She holds up the bikini again for emphasis, her eyes flicking over the delicate fabric before meeting yours with absolute certainty.

“Seriously, you could wear a paper bag and still somehow look put together.”

Your face warms at the unexpected compliment, and you duck your head slightly, smoothing a hand over your wrist as if to distract yourself.

You don’t really think about how you look—it’s not like you go out of your way to be noticed. You just wear what you like, and what you like happens to be straight off the runway, sparkly whenever possible, and always perfectly coordinated.

But… was that really how people saw you?

“I don’t know about that…” you murmur, glancing at the bikini in her hands.

“Well, I do.” Ochako grins, nudging your arm playfully. “You’re gonna turn heads in this, I promise.”

You blink at her, lips parting slightly. Turn heads?

You’re not sure how you feel about that. Your style has always been on the extravagant side—frilly dresses, designer miniskirts, monogrammed handbags—but it’s not like it’s ever made your classmates pay much attention to you.

You’ve always just… existed in your own little world, wearing what made you happy.

Why would this be any different?

You chew on the inside of your cheek, fingers brushing over the soft fabric of the cover-up skirt. “Okay,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything. “I’ll try it on.”

Ochako practically beams. “Yay! Oh my gosh, I’m so excited to see!” She waves her hands, backing up a little to give you space.

You gather your things and make your way to the bathroom, nerves piquing—not necessarily about the swimsuit itself, but about everyone else.

The entire class would be there, chatting, swimming, joking around. You’ve always been on the quieter side, more of an observer than an active participant.

Would Bakugou be there?

Would he talk to you at all? Probably not—he’d be with his friends...

You shake off the thought as you step into the bathroom, slipping into the bikini with practiced ease.

The silky material molds to your figure perfectly, the baby pink hue soft and delicate against your skin. The designer monogram catches the light as you adjust the straps, the matching skirt sitting just right on your hips, fluttering ever so slightly when you move.

You glance at yourself in the mirror. It’s cute—your usual style, really—so there’s nothing to feel nervous about. With that in mind, you step back into the room.

“I’m dressed,” you announce rather casually, brushing your hands down the sides of your skirt. But the moment you look at Ochako, you falter.

She’s frozen, jaw slack, eyes impossibly wide.

“…Um,” you start, confused by her reaction. “Does it look okay?”

“Y/N,” she mutters, taking two quick steps forward before placing her hands on your shoulders. The sudden contact makes your eyes widen in surprise.

“If you ever wanted to drop the whole hero dream,” she breathes, shaking her head in disbelief, “you would make an incredible model. Seriously. You look insane—in the best way.”

Your face instantly warms, heat creeping up to your ears. “Ochako…” you mumble, shifting your weight slightly, unsure of what to do with the praise. You weren’t expecting this kind of reaction.

She just beams at you, completely unbothered. “No, like, I actually feel honored to witness this. This is next-level, Y/N. You look like you belong in a magazine.”

You tug at the hem of your skirt, flustered. “thank you, you look great too” lame response really, but you're trying to match her energy!

As you fasten a delicate bracelet around your wrist, the lingering warmth of Ochako’s words settles over you like a cozy blanket. It’s… nice.

Not just the compliment—though that was sweet—but the way she talked to you. Like you were already friends. Like this was normal.

She hums happily beside you, typing away on her phone before tossing it onto the bed with a satisfied sigh. “Okay! The girls are gonna freak when they see you.”

You let out a small laugh, smoothing down your skirt. “I don’t know about that…”

“I do.” She grins, nudging you playfully before hopping to her feet. “Alright, you ready?”

You take a breath, then nod. “Yeah. Ready.”

And for the first time in a while, you really feel like you are.

As you follow Ochako out the door, the giddy warmth in your chest blooms even further. Maybe this is what it feels like to finally—finally—start making a friend.

[kanyerealdaughter]

— ★ MHA MEN IN THE MOTHERLAND

characters - bakugo , deku , todoroki , kirishima , denki , sero , tenya , shinso , monoma , hawks , dabi , shigaraki , aizawa, all might , endeavor. | all around the world event! |

—————————————————————————

KATSUKI BAKUGO - walks like the land is testing him, and he welcomes the challenge. sun beating down, dust in his sandles, and still he moves like fire doesn’t fear heat. but the way he watches you? that’s the softest part of the whole damn trip.

safari reaction - mutters “ tch.” at the first elephant. but doesn’t look away. lions gets a grin from him. “ they know they’re kings. i respect that.”

secretly takes a photo of you with the giraffes. keeps it in his phone forever.

food experience - grumbles at first. then devours everything. “ spicy. i like it.” compliments the chef with a firm nod.

ends up cooking one dish himself. “ don’t say shit, but this stew’s better than what we make at home.”

cultural experience - he joins a drum circle. plays so hard the locals cheer. kids cling to him, call him random nickanme besides him telling them his name millions of times.

he pulls you aside that night. “ thanks for bringin’ me. i needed this.”

—————————————————————————

IZUKU ‘DEKU’ MIDORIYA - touches everything like it might vanish. gentle, grateful, glowing. he’s a student again here, wide-eyed and full of wonder. and when he looks at you under the stars? he swears he’s the luckiest man alive.

safari reaction - takes detailed notes. names every bird. asks a hundred questions. cries quietly when he sees a baby elephant. “ it’s so pure.”

you wipe his tears for him. he whispers, “ i’ll never forget this.”

food experience - tries very bite with reverence. “ the spices… they tell a story.” he says you look at him and his whole face is red. he jots down recipes to try back home with you. helps clean up and thanks everyone personally.

cultural experience - joins a dance with awkward energy. kids absolutely love him. gets a painted symbol on his forehead from a village elder. later tells you. “ this place… it feels like hope.”

—————————————————————————

SHOTO TODOROKI - walks like the land cools for him, the sun touches but doesn’t burn. he doesn’t say much, but his eyes drink in everything. africa strips him down to the boy he once was curious, cautious, and quietly in awe of the world… and of you.

safari reaction - stares at a cheetah for too long. “ they move like fire.” holds your hand tighter when the hyenas laugh. doesn’t say why. the sunset was so beautiful,

“ my mother would love this view.” he murmurs.

food experience - eats thoughtfully. sensitive to spice. drinks lots of milk. asks for the meanings behind dishes. thanks the cooks sincerely.

shares every bite with you. “ i want you to taste what i taste.”

cultural experience - watches children play soccer. joins in quietly. wins, then lets them win. a local braids a thread into his hair, he leaves it there. that night he says. “ i feel different here… freer.”

—————————————————————————

EIJRO KIRISHIMA - moves like the world is made for joy. every step in the red earth is a celebration. he laughs loud, hugs hard, and makes everyone feel like family. with you? he’s a volcano of warmth.

safari reaction - gasps at hippos at how big they are. climbs a lookout rock with you on his back.

“ for the view, babe!”

records when an elephant splashes in a river.

food experience - dives into everything soon he’s gonna be on the toilet praying he didn’t. “ THIS is flavor, bro!” cheers for the cook. asks to learn one dish himself. brings you the best bites like a proud caveman.

cultural experience - dances until his knees give out. kids copy all his moves. joins a woodworking session. craves a tiny lion for you.

tells you. “ this place made me stronger. in the best way.”

—————————————————————————

DENKI KAMINARI - lands like it’s spring break, but quickly tunes into the rhythm of the land. he cracks jokes, but his wonder is real. and the way he clings to your arm at sunset? he’s never been more grounded.

safari reaction - screams when a baboon jumps out. pretends it didn’t scare him. tries to get a selfie with every animal. ends up with mostly blurry shots. almost falls out of the jeep, but he still manages a perfect one of you smiling.

“ this one’s going on my wall.”

food experience - loves the grilled meats. spices hit him like lightning, he cries. “ i’m suffering, but i love it.” accidentally volunteers to help and ends up peeling over 50 onions.

cultural experience - plays tag with local kids until he collapses. tries drumming, fails still gets applause. he pulls you aside grinning and says. “ this? this is living.”

—————————————————————————

SERO HANTA - walks like the breeze carries him light, laughing, and adaptable. he greets strangers like old friends, slips into rhythm like he belongs, and somehow always ends up with kids hanging off his arms. with you, he’s even brighter.

safari reaction - dangles off the jeep for better views. “ check that giraffe’s neck!” gets chased briefly by a curious baby zebra. laughs the whole time.

“ this is wild, babe. literally.”

food experience - tries street food without hesitation. loves the grilled plantains. accidentally bites into a chili pepper, cries with pride.

“ worth it.” he wheezes, sweating.

cultural experience - gets roped into helping paint a mural at a community center. leaves his handprint in the corner. he joins a weaving circle and actually gets good at it.

“ this isn’t just cool, it’s humbling,” he says, eyes soft. “ i feel lucky.”

—————————————————————————

TENYA IIDA - walks like he’s trying to be the best guest possible. polite, respectful, deeply observant. but when he sees how alive the land is, how untamed, he lets go. just a bit. and you see the man beneath the rules.

safari reaction - names each animal like a textbook. his eyes lit up once he saw a black panther. pulls you into a shaded spot, lets himself breathe.

food experience - first asks if everything is clean.. like everything before learning proper etiquette. eats slowly, respectfully. writes a thank-you note in the local dialect. sneaks you extra fruit under the table.

cultural experience - watches a dance before joining. perfects the rhythm after three tries. kids imitate his serious posture, he laughs for once. he tells you seriously at night. “ i’m glad i came… with you.”

—————————————————————————

HITOSHI SHINSO - blends into the shade like he’s always belonged there hoodie up, hands in pockets, voice low. but when he speaks, people listen. not because he commands it, but because he respects the silence that came before.

safari reaction - watches the predators move in near silence. doesn’t flinch when a hyena comes close to the jeep. quietly murmurs. “ it’s peaceful, in a primal way.”

food experience - tries everything once, always polite. compliments the chef with sincerity.

“ it’s different.” he says, “ but its good.”

cultural experience - observes before acting. kids braid his hair while he listens to elders tell stories. leaves a handmade bracelet on a statue as thanks. “ you learn more when you’re not trying to be the loudest.”

—————————————————————————

NEITO MONOMA - walks like he’s filming a personal documentary, overdramatic, hand gestures sharp, words theatrical. but there’s sincerity in his awe, and when he quiets down, you catch him actually moved.

safari reaction - gasps at every new animal like it’s a magical creature.

“ behold! nature’s royalty, the cheetah!” trips once running from a bug. plays it off like performance art.

food experience - narrates each bite like a gourmet judge. “ the spice! the soul! the seasoning!” actually helps with dishes, humming joyfully.

cultural experience - joins in traditional dance. does the most. somehow nails it. practices greetings in the local language until perfect.

says with misty eyes. “ they treated me like i belonged.”

—————————————————————————

KEIGO ‘HAWKS’ TAKAMI - glides through space like he was born for it wide skies, wild laughter, sharp eyes on everything. he’s charming without trying, but it’s the still moments your hand in his, your laugh echoing, that make him stay quiet.

safari reaction - stands on the jeep roof with wings spread wide. “ feels like freedom.” dives to stop a hat from flying away, returns it to a kid with a wink.

watches a hawk in flight, eyes soft. “ cousin.” he jokes.

food experience - he eats quickly, noisily, happily. loves the grilled meats. flirts with the cook and gets extra servings.

“ they really cook with love here.” he grins.

cultural experience - dances with kids barefoot, feathers catching the sun. he also flying kites with the children. later whispers to you. “ i don’t want to leave.”

—————————————————————————

TOUYA ‘DABI’ TODOROKI - moves like heat mirage, real and unreal all at once. eyes half-lidded, voice dragging, but nothing escapes his notice. he doesn’t talk much to others, but he lets you lean into him like he’s solid ground.

safari reaction - stares at vultures circling above. “ guess we’re not so different.” chuckles watching a lion laze in the sun. “ that’s the life.” hold your hand tighter than usual. says nothing about it.

food experience - pokes at unfamiliar dishes but ends up liking them. like the fire-cooked stuff best. gives his food to a kid without being asked.

cultural experience - sits by the fire long after everyone else sleeps. let elders paint a symbol on his arm, doesn’t flinch.

—————————————————————————

SHIGARAKI TOMURA - doesn’t fit in, and he doesn’t try to. fingers twitch, eyes wary, always on edge. but when no one recoils, when kids smile up at him instead of running, you see something break quietly behind his scowl.

safari reaction - doesn’t like how open the plains are. “ too exposed.” but stops cold at a black panther slinking through the grass. “…beautiful.” touches a tree bark gently. he doesn’t destroy it.

food experience - eats reluctantly at first. “ it’s weird.” but takes seconds of roasted meat. quietly admits. “ tastes real.” lets you wipe his mouth clean like he’s a kid again.

cultural experience - watches kids dance with a blank stare. a local grandma calls him “ haunted but good.” he almost smiles.

“ they don’t know me..” he says later. “And they still… liked me.”

—————————————————————————

AIZAWA SHOUTA - steps like the wind might carry him off soft, careful, always watching. he’s not here to be seen, but somehow ends up respected by everyone without trying. the kids call him “sensei” before he even speaks. perhaps he just gives off the vibe.

safari reaction - lies back and watches birds with binoculars for hours. names constellations in the sky while you rest against him. “ everything here works in balance,” he murmurs. “ no need for flash.”

food experience - eats what’s given. no complaints. quiet thank yous. makes tea with locals and shares stories in exchange. “ simple is best,” he tells you, content.

cultural experience - fixes a broken wheel with kids in a dusty village. teaches a few stretches to an elder who has back pain.

“ good people.” he says. “ you can feel it in their hands.”

—————————————————————————

TOSHINORI ‘ALL MIGHT’ YAGI - carries sunshine like a second skin. his smile is softer, his voice humbler, but out here, among the people and the stories, he becomes something not larger-than-life, just purely human.

safari reaction - marvels like a child at the elephants. “ incredible strength… but so gentle.” helps lift kids into the jeep one by one. they cheer.

“ this.” he tells you, eyes bright, “ is what peace feels like.”

food experience - praises every dish. asks for seconds and thirds. mearns how to roast maize from an elder and does it wrong. laughs at himself.

“ it’s the company that makes it delicious,” he says.

cultural experience - joins in a storytelling circle, voice rich and warm. gets asked to bless a new community garden, takes it seriously. also becomes the neighborhood playing and helping with the kids.

“ this is heroism too.” he says. “ lifting lives without fists.”

—————————————————————————

ENJI ‘ENDEAVOR’ TODOROKI - walks like fire held in check rigid, intense, commanding. but in this place, where no one knows his name or shame, he lets himself breathe. and somehow, he’s quieter when holding your hand in the sun.

safari reaction - watches lions in silence. “ hm they lead through presence, not volume.” kids are somewhat scared of him first, until he helps one up from a fall. holds your waist in the front keel, steady even as the road shakes.

food experience - grills meat over fire with practiced hands. adds his own twist. accepts praise awkwardly. “ it’s… edible.” but you catch him smiling at the compliments.

cultural experience - works side by side with village builders. doesn’t say much just lifts, hammers, helps. a child draws flames on his hand with markers. he leaves it on all day.

he becomes the neighborhood father for the rest of the trip. “ they don’t care who i was.” he mutters. “ just who i am here.”

𖣂 KANYEREALDAUGHTER SPEAKS - i don’t watch mha like thatttt soo yeah..

words - 2.1k

» , ᴀ ᴋᴀɴʏᴇʀᴇᴀʟᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

copyright ©️. ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ . «

[mzzledmutt]

thinking about shōta aizawa…

cw: teasing, jerking off, cunnilingus (i mean that’s pretty much it, he likes to eat)

m.mutt — so sorry for the long break, things are going on in my personal life but, i’m working towards posting regularly soon!!

early morning rays of heated sunlight pour through the windows of your dim bedroom, coating everything in a golden glow. as if a spotlight descended from the heavens to illuminate you itself, glimmering as you laid on display.

a sight for sore eyes, you were, a picturesque figure of perfection and sin combined into one. a figure anyone would be a fool to not stare at, to not worship at, to not appreciate the craftsmanship of such a beauty.

shōta aizawa, was certainly no fool. simply crumbling to the floor after opening the bedroom door, mouth agape. he didn’t utter a word, eyes fixated upon you. your soft skin, tousled hair, skimpy nightgown, your legs perfectly spread apart exposing the wetness collecting between them.

the bruises and scrapes littering his skin didn’t even matter then.

after any other grueling late shift he served, where in he stumbles into your apartment in the early mornings, usually waking you from a peaceful slumber. he’d be absolutely exhausted, stripping himself to crawl beside you in bed and rest his aching body.

this morning, he silently removed his gear and shirt. carefully, he knelt before you as if he were praying.

he basks beneath the warm rays of sun pouring into your bedroom, lighting this moment between you two in golden glow. his muscled form kneels before you, hands caressing the skin of your thighs as he kisses your calves.

it’s agonizing, how he slowly trails kisses along your soft, illuminated skin.

a sigh leaves your spit soaked lips, swollen and wet from the heated makeout you greeted him with. he sighs against your skin, cock throbbing beneath his dark sweats. you brush your fingers through his hair, moving his bangs and smiling down at him.

a soft chorus of moans slips through your parted lips as his tongue finally makes contact with your throbbing clit. you writhe in his grip, fingers coiling in his hair to steady yourself.

aizawa’s attention is solely focused upon you. his midnight eyes trained on your facial expressions, internally grinning each time your visage contorts into pleasure. he adjusts his grip on your thighs, hoisting them on his shoulders to allow his hands more access.

you’re unable to stop yourself from lurching forward, the feeling of his warm tongue pressing into the tightness of your cunt was electrifying. your muscles taut as your eyes roll, soon falling back and indulging in the moment.

he hums against you, sensitive nub pressed carefully between his lips. aizawa hands pinch and prod at your skin, grasping at your hips and waist to steady himself. “sho—“ the words are stolen from your mouth as his tongue trails down to your leaking hole.

your thighs quiver as he repeats the sensual motion, dragging his heated tongue up and down your clit, flicking perfectly against your clit. shōta’s teasing doesn’t last for long though, he soon finds himself pulling away to catch him breath.

nibbling and kissing at your skin, unwilling to deprive you of his attention. he adjusts you, titling your hips to allow him easier access to your cunt. a loud whine leaves you lips as you hold eye contact, watching as he slowly traces along the pink flesh.

you can already feel yourself ruining the sheets, molasses like slick leaking from your aching cunt. aizawa hesitates no more, pressing his tongue into your warm walls.

your sweet nectar pooling onto his tongue revitalized him enough to tend to your needs. delving deeper to lap at your core, his silver tongue skillfully pressing against your velvety walls. the cartilage of his nose bumping perfectly against your clit.

he pulls away, catching his breath and staring down at you. you’re a spread buffet for him. ready to be devoured and played with however he pleases.

“my love,” his fingers trail up and down your slit. “you’re divine.” shōta licks his lips, his free hand gliding down his torso to stroke his aching cock.

“i could eat you all day.” he lies between your legs once more, pulling you down for his comfort. “stay in bed and just please you, baby.” you’re a panting, flushed mess above him yet, he still stares at you as if you had hung the moon and stars yourself.

“thank you, my love,” he grumbles from slick covered lips. “thank you so much, f’lettin’ me taste you.” shōta’s praises melt you from the inside out. fluttering off his lips and nuzzling into the pit of your stomach.

you’re slow, raveling his hair around your fist before tugging him up to face you. “you…” you’re flushed, out of breath and certainly in no position to be barking orders. his predator like glare meets yours, blurred and full of lust.

“need you to fuck me.”

“yes, ma’am.”

[corporalswhore]

— react (shota aizawa)

pairing: shota aizawa x student!reader

summary: snippets of yours and aizawa’s relationship over time. quiet yearning, love, and a little bit of toxicity.

warnings: major age gap (aizawa is like 35 & reader is around 20). teacher/student relationship. nsfw (v small smut at the end).

a/n: this has been in my drafts for almost 3 years now. paragraph here & there within those years so if the writing is off it’s bc i’m rusty as hell i’m sorry y’all this is just word vomit.

if anybody were to ask shota aizawa if he’s ever been loved — he would say no, mainly because the concept of love has always been foreign to him — he had never thought of himself as someone you’d choose to fall in love with. 

his class? they’d have a different answer.  

because there’s you — you who has been silently screaming your love to him for years.  

it’s in the way you’d bring a cup of coffee for him on your early morning training sessions — you had engraved the sight of him brewing a cup the last time he visited your dorm and subconsciously memorized his order.  

your classmates would call you insane when they spot you in the kitchen — with sugar, coffee beans, and measuring utensils splayed all out on the counter. you hovering over the measurements as if an unneeded speck of sugar falling into his cup would lead to your demise.  

to you, it would.  

aizawa, oblivious to it all, accepts your coffee graciously every time. a small smile gracing his lips  as his palm clasps around the mug. a soft thank you is muttered — voice still laced heavily with sleep but sincere. 

and it’s his sincerity, his appreciation for you going out of your way to make him this every morning — that gets you through your training every time.  

mornings to you, with him — always feels like possibility and hope, the day still untinged — so many things can happen.  

and as you take your first sip of coffee, your heart goes warm — but there’s a bitterness on your tongue — a reminder, as you lose yourself in this pitiful fantasy every morning, that this small gesture — is one he doesn’t understand and probably will never. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

it’s in the way you go above and beyond — doing things you’ve never done before just for him. you heard through the grapevine that aizawa shota likes cookies.  

you have never baked in your life. 

sato, is as kind as ever to indulge you when you bring up the subject of baking cookies just for fun — he ends up giving you his most prized recipe and wishes you luck.  

and you have to wonder to yourself, how hard can it be?  

it takes you two hours to bake an edible batch. 

it’s 11pm and you’re in the dorm’s kitchen — counter littered with parchment paper, sugar, butter, eggs — and god, there’s flour everywhere.  

everything’s a mess.  

you’ve made almost six batches so far — some either too burnt or not baked enough. shoto, who has been sitting in the living room the entire time, has smelt the distasteful scent of burnt chocolate too many times tonight. 

“are you sure you’re following the recipe correctly?” he chirps from afar one time, and the frustrated glare you give him shuts him up for the night.  

the seventh batch in the oven right now holds all your hopes and dreams — if it ends up being inedible, you’re quite sure you’d break down.  

surprisingly (to you and shoto), it is a success. 

it’s thick and chewy — a golden brown color adorning the edges whilst the center remains soft.  and shoto, in all his childlike stupor, gobbles down a few immediately. 

“good job. i didn’t think you could do it.” he says earnestly whilst chewing.  

you roll your eyes at him as you clean the kitchen, packing away the ingredients used and ridding the counters of flour stains — you’re exhausted but absolutely thrilled at your mediocre baking skills. 

now, all that’s left to do is deliver it to him.  

after making sure the mess you made is thoroughly cleaned up, you grab a small brown paper bag and gently place the cookies inside — praying to god that none breaks or gets smushed.  

you opt to write a small note for him — nothing borderline creepy but something sincere — but the only thing that’s in your mind right now is how you’d wish to be the one sweetening his thoughts rather than these cookies. how you wish you were the one to make him feel so light and warm with each taste, rather than these cookies. 

you wish you never made them — they’re just a harsh reminder that shota aizawa is an unattainable person for you.  

and gosh, you’re breaking down over fucking cookies now — you thank god shoto returned to his room when you were cleaning.  

thanks for being a great teacher! xo  

short, simple & sweet. 

(it’s not even close to what you really wanted to say). 

you know he’s awake right now, most likely correcting papers but, you’d rather remain anonymous — not wanting to get caught trespassing in the teachers’ dorm building at this ungodly hour.  

plus, you don’t think you can handle explaining yourself to him right now.  

cookies? out of the blue? to your teacher?  

weird.  

you know it’s fruitless doing all of this but — shota aizawa is your idealized daydream, and you are empty without this.  

so alas, you leave them by his door — knocking gently then full-on sprinting out of the building.  

unbeknownst to the fact that as soon as aizawa opens his door, he’s met with a handwriting he knows all too well. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

it’s in the way you stay back after class on days when aizawa looks like he might pass out if he lifts his pen the wrong way. 

the way a quiet adoration seeps through you as you help him tidy up his desk — placing pens and pencils back into his stationery holder, stacking his papers neatly in a corner, and throwing away crumpled-up paper into a dustbin nearby.  

and aizawa indulges you — doesn’t have the energy to shoo you off as he’s too engrossed in the file he has been rereading for over ten minutes.  

“wanna hear a joke about paper?”  

his head rises — eyes locked on you as his eyebrows raise quizzically.  

he motions for you to continue. 

“nevermind, it’s tearable.”  

and aizawa huffs, his distaste for the joke showing evidently — until he sees a small grin forming on your lips, and suddenly he’s mirroring your expression — a soft smile gifted to you.  

he feels lighter now — after that lame joke cut through whatever tiredness he was feeling.  

and you can tell by the way he straightens his posture just a bit — then flips the paper to the other  side, eyes skimming through it quickly and snatching another paper from the stack you cleared up.  

you’re relieved — already reaching for your bag and on your way out of the room, not wanting to  disturb him anymore.  

but before your two feet are out the door, a soft mutter is heard from behind. 

“thank you.”  

and it melts your heart.  

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

and if anybody ever asked shota if he had ever loved someone before, he would say no — he’s never allowed himself to indulge in something like that. 

hizashi? he’d have a different answer.  

because there’s you.  

you, who he has been quietly loving without even realizing it. 

it’s in the way aizawa subconsciously shifts his schedule. he remembers the one time you mentioned, in passing, that you train alone at USJ after lunch on tuesdays. and suddenly, he’s found himself pacing his steps alongside yours every tuesday.  

even though it’s out of his way and he knows he’s cutting it close to his next class. 

he tells himself it’s nothing, just a change of scenery, a breath of fresh air until he’s locked between four walls. but there’s something in the way he lingers a bit longer than he should, his steps slowing as you near the training grounds.  

you mutter a small thank you to him as usual, offering your kindest smile.

and aizawa revels in it each time, bidding you farewell with a nod before he locks eyes with hizashi atop the staircase.  

and the blonde is thoroughly confused.  

shota aizawa? walking?  

with a student? 

it has his gears turning, but it doesn’t take long for him to catch on.  

it’s reoccurring, consistent. the look in his bestfriend’s eyes each time you smile at him, and it’s no mistake — since you’ve started to reside in his eyes, they seem to be brighter, more vibrant.  

but he knows it’s something shota will never admit to himself.  

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

it’s in the way aizawa pays attention to you — has learned your little quirks and habits unknowingly throughout the years, and knows how to satiate them. 

the second he sees you walk through his door with your hair undone — tangled in minute knots —  he knows you’re stressed — absolutely running yourself to the ground about something.  

but he never pries, only offers a soft, “you’re doing great, kid,” before you exit his class — and the way your eyes light up at his small praise leaves his stomach in knots. 

it’s the way he knows you always forget to bring your gloves when training on a monday — the way he watches you ruffle through your bag, brows furrowed as you search for them — and before you can even admit your blunder, he’s already tossing you one from his desk.  

and it’s always brand new — as if he has a pack of gloves stashed in his drawer for this exact moment. 

(he does). 

“thank you,” you mutter sheepishly — eyes full of warmth and a hint of heat in your cheeks. aizawa brushes it off as usual, with no admonishment on his lips, just a small sense of pride. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

it’s in the way shota’s a bit more protective of you, without realizing it. 

he’s already on his feet the second the lights turn red — emergency drill? invader? — he’s not sure exactly what’s happening but the alarm blaring over the intercom has his teeth on edge.  

his first instinct, unfortunately, is to look for you across the field.  

and there you are, sitting on a bench, bottled water between your legs as you glance around confusedly.  

shota shouts for everyone to stay calm and await instructions.  

but he’s already bolting in your direction without realizing it, his focus narrowed in a way it shouldn’t be. something in his mind telling him that having you within his line of sight is better for you. that he’s just trying to keep his students safe. 

the intercom crackles, something about a small fire in the main building and students should gather at the muster point — and aizawa’s shoulders loosen slightly, tension easing at the  announcement.  

no immediate threat.  

but he can’t shake the feeling, the way his chest constricted — seeing you in a red hue. panic coursing through his veins, rivaling only the strongest rivers at the thought of you alone, vulnerable, left to your own devices. 

and he shouldn’t feel this way. no — you’re a hero in training. you’re very much capable of  handling yourself — he quite literally trained you so he knows you pack a punch.  

so why does aizawa feel as if the thought of leaving you alone is synonymous with him giving away his breath? 

something’s not right here — but that thought is buried deep, completely hidden. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

three months after you graduated, shota receives an email that catches him off guard — the message is polite — simple, even. you’re just asking how things are and if he’d be able to grab a cup of coffee sometime to catch up.  

it’s innocent, no harm in coffee — right? 

wrong. 

because the minute he enters the cafe, he knows you and him have begun to blur — that the world has shifted beneath his feet. 

it’s hesitation oozing out of him as he makes his way towards your table, but not the kind that comes from doubt, the kind that comes from knowing. 

from knowing that the minute he sits across from you, something will begin to unravel — something he isn’t sure he’ll be able to put back together.  

his heart. 

shota knows better than this — to wrap himself up in such forbidden affairs. regardless if you’re no longer his student — the age gap is huge.  

but the second he locks eyes with you, nothing else matters. you’re different now, standing on your own, no longer his student. and yet, you’re still you. 

you, who has been silently screaming your love for him for years.  

“hi!” you chirp out, warmth radiating from the ceramic mug in your hands. you almost move to hug him, but he’s already settling into the seat across from you — eyes unreadable. 

you take a sip of your drink before speaking again. “it’s been a while.”  

aizawa nods, “around 3 months.” 

you raise an eyebrow. “counting, are we?” 

and a smirk tugs at his lips. 

the conversation flows easily from there — updates about work, about your old classmates, about anything that isn’t this.

but there’s an undercurrent beneath it all, something unspoken lingering between each exchange, thickening the air. 

and finally, you decide to address it. 

you set your cup down, tracing the rim absentmindedly as you meet his gaze. “i wasn’t sure if you’d actually come.” 

and aizawa stills, flexing his fingers around his cup — he feels like an angsty teenager. “i wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to.” his voice is low, steady, but there's a hint of uncertainty laced within it.

your breath catches slightly.

“then, can i ask you something?” you lean forward just slightly, watching the way his eyes snap back to you. 

he nods.  

“can we date?” 

and oh my god, aizawa has never thought he’d be in a situation like this — being asked out so directly by his former student.  

he is stunned – but he’s not a fool, everything then had prepared him for the now.

his fingers tap against his cup, his jaw tightening. “you’re young.” 

you tilt your head, challenging. “i’m not a kid.” 

shota studies you carefully, as if weighing his next words. “no, you’re not.” 

and that’s the problem, isn’t it? you’re not a child. you’re not his student. you’re standing in front of him as your own person, asking for something real. 

asking for him. 

aizawa leans back in his chair, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “you should want someone who-” 

“don’t do that,” you cut him off, voice firm but not unkind. “don’t tell me what I should want.” 

for years, you’ve known exactly what you wanted — never faltering once. it’s one thing to reject you but, deciding for you? that’s just cruel. 

he exhales, long and slow. “this isn’t to be taken lightly,” 

“i know.” because god, this is all you’ve ever wanted, something serious with him. not a daydream.  

“if we do this,” he murmurs, voice lower now, rougher. “i’m not going to pretend there aren’t challenges.” 

you nod your head. that’s obvious, but you’re willing to put in the effort.  

“you might change your mind.” 

“i won’t.”

aizawa watches you, searching, waiting for something — a flicker of hesitation, a sign that you don’t fully understand what you’re asking. but all he sees is certainty. 

and maybe that’s what undoes him. 

he looks defeated.  

as if he’s wrestling against something in his mind, something that sprouts from his heart — but its vines constrict his throat. it’s almost as if he feels like he needs to disagree.  

to say no.  

that this isn’t right. 

but how long will he fight with himself?  

when will he allow himself some solace? 

now.  

and when he glances up to meet your eyes, he realizes that, yes — he has won over the whole world, but he’s lost himself to you.  

the effect you have on him is so strong, something he has never felt before — it’s as if he takes your name with each breath he breathes.  

what have you done to him? 

his fingers tighten once more around his cup, a slow exhale leaving his lips.  “sure.”  

you blink at him, lips parting slightly, “sure?” 

the corner of his mouth lifts, barely there. “you heard me.” 

and just like that, the world shifts again. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

and it was as if shota aizawa was made specifically for you. 

from the way his calloused fingers grasp yours — the way you can trace constellations on them for days — to the way his clothes drown you with a warmth you’ve never felt before. 

to the way he’s never stopped trying to woo you since you’ve both made it official. 

“you’ve become my destiny and destination.”  

stupid sappy words whispered between the two of you – as if it's your first time in love, and for the both of you, it is.

the minute he locked eyes with you, he’s everything you ever wanted — older, wiser, the kind of man who doesn’t let insecurity cloud his judgment, who doesn’t feel the need to mark his territory or stake his claim. he trusts you, respects you — and unwaveringly loves you. 

something you’d never get with a man your age. he’s in check with his emotions. a mentally stable man. a walking green flag.

and god he’s perfect for you in every way, but sometimes you’d wish he’d just — show some type of reaction to things. 

you’re young, generations apart, you get that but — sometimes you’d wish he’d be possessive, get a bit jealous — throw you up against a wall and ask you are you sure wanna wear that?  

it’s your naivety that craves a bit of toxicity. a thrill. nothing huge, just a small bit of possessiveness is hot, it’s able to rile you up.  

and so you try to do just that.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

trial one.  

you know he’s watching you.  

observing as you gulp down not one, but three shots back to back — but he’s not watching for the right reasons. no, you know he’s only monitoring your alcohol intake, making sure you’re not overdoing it.  

you know his gears aren’t turning, not wondering for a second why katsuki has his arm slung lazily around your shoulder, fingers interlocked with yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

no, your boyfriend sits quietly in the booth, fingers tracing the rim of his glass as hizashi yaps about something he isn’t the slightest interested in — but his eyes never leave you.  

yet, they don’t narrow, his jaw doesn’t twitch, grip on his glass doesn’t get tighter when he sees his past student dropping his head just enough to murmur something low against your ear which makes you giggle.  

and maybe that makes him swallow a bit hard but, it’s not enough for him to get up off his seat to break you both up.  

and you let that thought fuck with your head as you down another shot — because why does he refuse to throw you a bone? 

any normal boyfriend would not let another man casually lock fingers with their girlfriend — why is he always so composed? it’s boring.  

you start to wonder if he’s just too secure. if he’s convinced you’ll never cheat, never stray — and while he’s right, couldn’t he at least pretend to worry? 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦ 

trial two.  

that is not your jacket. 

shota knows that, you know that.  

and yet, he doesn’t budge when he sees todoroki shrug it off and drape it over your shoulders. doesn’t even blink when you slip it on like you’ve done a million times, and maybe you have — the  way it fits you like a glove.  

the moment is soft, nostalgic, oozes with familiarity. almost too gentle to interrupt. 

it’s only natural, shota thinks — obviously you both have a bond, you literally grew up together. been through war together. but it’s all platonic, all brotherly-sisterly. 

shoto tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear — no hesitation, no second thoughts, almost as if it was pure muscle memory. you don’t check for shota’s reaction. you already know it. neutral — stoic, not a hint of possessiveness in sight. 

and it kills you. 

because shouldn’t this rattle him? shouldn’t the idea of you wrapped in someone else’s jacket — his own former student’s jacket — be enough to spark something? 

man, how hard is it to get a bit of toxicity here? just one glare, one shake of his head, some signal to tell you to take that shit off right now.  

but it never comes — because the man you love isn’t like that.  

he’s quiet. he’s patient. he has complete, unshakable trust in you — in your choices. you chose to be with him, and not the boy you stayed up numerous nights with to study for math.  

no, you made your bed, and he knows you will sleep in it.  

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

trial three. 

midoriya is sentimental. 

so, when he places a pair of earrings on your lap — muttering something along the lines of, oh this reminded me of you, you can’t help but burst into tears. 

it’s too cute — everything about it, the thought, the earring, the boy you grew up with.

and next to you, shota remains quiet.  

not because he’s seething, not because he’s pretending to keep it together, but because he truly isn’t threatened. in fact, his eyes are soft, as if he’s watching a memory play out that he’s not a part of — but respects nonetheless.  

and maybe a part of you thinks you should count your blessings, that he’s just that type. any man your age would’ve flipped the entire table, start a fight, or even insult your friend.  

thank god you got a good guy.  

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

trial four.  

and keigo is a breath of fresh air. 

the minute he spots you at his gala, he makes a beeline your way — a warm smile, sharp eyes, and a voice like silk. 

“so glad you made it,” a grin tugs at his lips as he pulls you into a hug, his cologne brushing your senses just before his voice dips closer to your ear. “you look stunning.” 

and your breath hitches, cheeks colored in sacred hues of surrender — like a little girl absolutely smitten by your high-school crush. but reality dawns the second you feel his presence behind you — the air thickening with the weight of his aura. it’s silent, heavy. 

a large hand presses to the small of your back, grounding, and anchoring you in place. 

“oh, keigo — have you met mr. eraserhead?” you question, ignoring the way your voice jumps an octave higher. 

shota thinks, what happened to boyfriend? when did you two become so well-acquainted? 

and keigo’s smile doesn’t falter when he sees shota’s arm wrap around your waist — almost protectively, possessively. thumb rubbing circles absentmindedly into your side, like a warning. 

“nice to meet you!” he says, extending his hand. 

and shota shakes it. 

but he doesn’t miss the way keigo’s eyes linger on you, nor the way you tuck your hair behind  your ear — almost shy.  

and then it starts clicking for him — you have a little crush, and it makes you look stupid.

“mr. eraserhead, huh?” shota murmurs, after keigo walks off to greet someone else. 

shota is not dense. he knows when to be concerned and when not to be. his past students he will never be envious of — but keigo, who is just a few years older than you — young and talented and someone of your generation has shota straightening his back a bit, chest puffed. 

almost like he has something to prove. 

“hm? that’s your name,” you say matter-of-factly — eyes still loosely trained on keigo. effortless charm oozing out of him as he works the room. you’re starstruck. 

“you might as well have called me aizawa-sensei.” he monotones, pulling you in closer to his side. you frown a little, “what do you mean?” 

“you forgot a small title,” he mentions, giving you a pointed look. that’s when you glance up at him, and shota can see the cogs turning now — he knows you’re smart, sees you playing with the idea of acting coy or not. 

“oh.” 

“oh?” he repeats — he has to laugh. 

shota thinks that little crush of yours has you forgetting who you belong to — has you thinking you’re still on the market, ready to be swooped away.  

and maybe that’s when you see a sprinkle of jealousy on his features. the way his hand on your waist tightens, stance solid and eyes narrowed on the winged hero in a way that’s not friendly. 

how fun — finally a reaction. 

and when you murmur, “he’s so pretty, though.” your boyfriend doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink — but the look in his eye screams don’t test me. 

his grip tightens almost imperceptibly, and his lips brush your ear, “keep playing with me, baby. see what happens.” 

and that’s all you ever do.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

and shota tries to be gentle, he always does. but the second the door clicks shut at home, his patience runs thin.  

before you can even turn around, he’s on you — slamming you up against the wall — mouth claiming yours in a kiss that’s all give and take. muttering something along the lines of i fucking own you and it makes your pussy drip as he slides down — hands already discarding your underwear.  

shota hikes your legs over his broad shoulders and wraps his arms around your upper thighs firmly. his tongue makes slow orbits around your pussy, teasing your clit and slipping sinuously into your cunt, repeatedly — and you can’t keep quiet.  

“you think fucking keigo can get you wet like this? have you moaning like this?” it’s all rhetorical. you both know the answer to these questions.  

shota knows you’ve been fucking with him all this time. knows you were just itching for a reaction from him, wanted him to stake his claim on you.  

make you his.  

he pulls back just enough to glare up at you — lips wet with your arousal, eyes dark and glittering. “look at you,” he rasps, breath hot against your folds. “dripping for me. only me.” 

you whimper, one hand fisting the fabric of his shirt. and that’s all it takes — within seconds he’s up on his feet, throwing you over the sofa — legs spread wide, he has a couple of ideas on how he can mark you.  

and the moment his dick slips into your cunt, he knows exactly how to remind you who you belong to — how to brand you forever.  

“mine,” he hisses through gritted teeth, driving into you with bruising force. “say it.” and all you can manage is a soft whine, a plead, “y-yes yours!” 

he smiles — something sinister in his grin as he slams into you harder, setting a brutal pace that leaves you sobbing into the cushions. 

shota knows now that all you wanted was to be put in your place. 

and now you know to stop fucking with him – you got what you wanted.

[hamzfreak]

i pray that i can learn to be funny, im watching every stand up comedy.

__

Tonight everyone in class 1A was meeting up at a fancy restaurant. Aizawa was doing something nice for the class because he knew all of you worked hard when fighting villains.

So you put on your skims dress and a dark blue sweater. You slipped on your new, black converse, grabbed your purse, and walked downstairs to wait.

The bus ride was long and you were next to tsu and ochako because you offered to take the middle seat. They stared at your screen as you scrolled through tiktok, giggling every once in a while.

When you finally got to the restaurant, the workers looked like they were gonna pass out after they saw all the people, pushing tables together so that all of you could fit.

You sat next to Bakugo.

"UGHHHH. Do i have to sit next to her?" Bakugo groaned, looking at Aizawa.

"Not if someone is willing to switch with you. Anyone?" Aizawa asked, looking around. No one made a peep because they wanted to sit close to their friends. I was next to ochako but she was way too busy talking to izuku so i was stuck talking to Bakugo, i don't mind, but he might.

He stared at you, red eyes reflecting the dim light.

"If you're gonna stare, at least buy me dinner first." You chuckled, watching him quickly move his eyes to the waiter. "Shut up, i would never go on a date with someone like you." He murmured, looking at the menu. "Oh cmon, you love me don't you?" You groaned, looking at his beautiful blonde hair. He looked at you, eyebrows furrowing. "Oh you wish you could have me, y/n." He croaked. "Wow you remembered my name? Im flattered." You chimed. You saw a small smile on his face.

"You want gum?" You whispered. He turned his head. "We're about to get our food. " He growled. "It's gonna be a long wait though." You shrugged. "What's the catch?" He replied. "No catch babes." You said, taking out a pack of gum and holding it out for him to take a piece. He looked at the gum, then at you, then back at the gum. He grabbed a piece, opened it, put it in his mouth, and began to chew.

You looked at his mouth for a minute then spoke. "I put something in the gum." You added, knowing damn well you put nothing in the gum.

His eyes widened. "What?" He growled. You tried to keep a straight face as he looked shocked, but you couldn't. So you began to laugh.

"You should've seen the look on your face!" You said as you kept laughing. He rolled his eyes and looked at the table, a few chuckles coming out his mouth.

"Did you just laugh? I made you laugh, didn't I!" You reported, grabbing his shoulder. You felt the blush come onto your cheeks. He didn't push you off his shoulder, he just smiled at you.

[specialagentlokitty]

Aizawa x reader - even after months apart

You stood in front of the hero commission, a heavy heart in your head, but a blank look on your face as you stare at them.

“So you want me to infiltrate a gang of villains, and gather as much information as you need?”

One of the men nods, clasping his hands together.

“Yes, with your quirk, your heightened sense you are the perfect candidate for the job, we need to know everything regardless of how small it may seem.”

You nod again, looking down at the engagement ring on your finger before looking back up at the ground who had gathered in front of you.

You didn’t exactly have a choice in this, these people controlled your whole career, and if you didn’t thousands of people could be hurt.

“What about my family…? Friends…?”

Someone else sighs and she speaks up.

“They’ll be told that you went missing on a mission, which means we’re going to need your ring, and your phone.”

You hand over your phone, and hesitate to hand over your ring, and they were patient while waiting.

After what felt like forever, you slowly slide it front your hand, pressing a kiss to it, whispering a quick sorry before handing it over to start your uncover mission.

It was going to be long, dreadful, and it would take a while to earn the villains trust before you could start gaining valuable information that’ll help the other heroes when the time comes.

Every night you would sit on your bed in the room they had eventually given you, just staring up at up at the ceiling, thinking about the man you loved.

The man you left behind so you could do this.

The same thoughts always rushing around your mind.

Would he be okay?

Would he be safe?

Is he still looking for you?

Has he moved on?

Will he hate you if this all ends?

Would he still love you?

Would he forgive you?

You sigh, burying your face into the capture scarf of his that you had managed to take from the apartment months ago before you left for this mission.

He didn’t use this one anymore, it was ripped and had some holes, but it still smelt like him, reminded you off him and brought you comfort.

With another sigh, you sit up and cross your legs as you close your eyes, focusing on your hearing while you activated your quirk.

You listened to everything going on around the villains base, moving from sound to sound to find anything that could be of use to the hero commission.

Sometimes you would linger on a conversation to just listen to what villains spoke about when they weren’t committing crimes before you moved on after a few minutes.

Everything of interest you heard you would pick up a book and underline certain words.

More months slipped by, and you dropped the book off in a post office with an address written on it, before going back to the villains base.

They only send you out on small run missions, dropping things off at the post office, each time you changed the address to the hero commissions office.

On the way back you grabbed a new book, and carried on walking down the street with your hood up.

“Stop walking now.” A cold voice demanded.

Your whole body tensed up, and you stopped, recognising the voice.

He was standing in an alleyway just behind you.

“So this is what you’ve been doing? Hiding?” He snapped.

“Shouta please….” You whispered.

“You just disappear without a trace, leave your engagement ring with the hero commission without saying a single word. Is that really how much how relationship was worth to you?” He asked lowly.

You sigh a little bit, keeping your gaze turned towards the ground.

“No….”

“Then what the hell was it?!” He snapped quietly.

You let out a heavy sigh again.

“I think about you every night…” you whisper.

Aizawa carefully looks at you, you wouldn’t even turn to look at him.

“I just… I pray that after all this ends I still have a place inside your heart…. When you see what I’ve become I just… I want to know if you’ll love me for who I am…”

You take a small breath.

“I’ll be back some day… I just hope when that day comes you won’t hate me…”

With that, you slipped into the crowds before he could even think about saying something else to you.

That was all you saw off him, and even then you couldn’t bring yourself to look in his eyes, you felt so ashamed for hurting him the way you had, breaking his trust, leaving him alone.

The mission went on for a few more months before everything was in place for the heroes to move in, and you were immediately taken back to the hero commission and here you spent hours in and out of meetings.

When they were all finished, you stepped outside of the building into the morning sun and took a small breath, looking around.

Your phone was dead, and had been for months, you weren’t sure about going back to the shared apartment, you didn’t even know if Aizawa would even still be there, so you headed to a hotel instead and booked a room for the week.

Getting a shower, you went back out to buy some clean clothes and a charger and went back to the hotel room for sleep and to charge your phone.

What woke you up a knocking on your hotel room door, and with a grumble you got up and walked over to answer it.

“Room service…?” You asked half asleep.

“Guess again.” A gruff voice spoke.

You stared at Aizawa half asleep, and stepped aside to let him in.

“I’m too tired to argue with you right now…”

You walked back over to the bed and laid down, resting your head in your arms as you laid on your stomach.

Aizawa closed the door and walked over, standing at the end of the bed.

He just stared at you with narrowed eyes, and his gaze slowly moved to a few scars on your arms.

He knew you, he knew your body, and he knew that before you just up and left you never had those scars.

He slowly walked over, sitting on the edge of bed, carefully leaning over slightly, getting a better look at them.

“What the hell happened while you were away…?” He whispered.

You just grumbled, still exhausted and rolled on your side with your back to him, your shirt rose up, and he could see a few smaller scars on your lower back and he looked to the bottom of your shirt, slowly reaching out.

Within an instant you grabbed his wrist, now sitting up and looking at him with a warning look.

“Shouta don’t….”

“(Y/N) what the hell happened…? What have you been doing all these months…?”

You took a deep breath, loosening your grip on his wrist but not fully letting go as you looked away.

“I can’t tell you… I’m sorry…”

He nodded, he had a feeling it was something to do with the mission he was sent on with a lot of other heroes to a group of villains base, but he wouldn’t push you to talk about it.

Aizawa sighed gently

He glanced to his scarf that you had taken which was sat on a chair in the corner of the room, then back to you.

“I’m sorry for everything…. For leaving you the way I did… if I could go back and change it I would…”

“I think I understand… but I just… I wish you would have reached out (Y/N) to tell me you were okay… that you were alive…”

You looked away, and he slowly pulled his hand back until his palm was pressed against yours, and he slowly laced his fingers with yours.

You still couldn’t meet his gaze, and his face softened.

“Hey… hey look at me…”

You raised your gaze to meet his, and he brought the back of your hand to his lips, softly kissing your knuckles.

“Whatever happened then.. you’re safe… now come home?”

“You… want me to come back…?”

Aizawa rolled his eyes, leaning forward to kiss the top of your head.

“Yes, the bed is empty without you and I can’t find anything, come home.”

This made you laugh a little bit, and you grabbed what you had to go back to the apartment with him.

The moment you were through the door Aizawa placed his hands on the sides of your face, gently leaning down to kiss you.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds and he dug through his pockets before finally pulling out your engagement ring, putting it back on your ring finger before kissing it.

“Mine…” he mumbled.

He rested his chin on your head, still holding your hands in his, and you closed your eyes in content.

This was all you wanted, to be back here with him, to be back with your future husband knowing you were safe and loved

[tannedalien]

summary: a shinsou x fem!reader. NSFW!! reader sends her nudes instead of the maths homework she needed help on.

warning: may include graphic sexual content, 18+ readers only, characters are aged up, part 1, part 2

It's four in the morning. ITS FOUR IN THE MORNING AND you have not done ANY of your maths homework that has been sitting by your bed for weeks now. It's due in 4 hours and your already stumped on the first question.

"..I think it's algebra" said the voice on your phone.

you're on a call with denki as he's the only person in 2A who DARES to be awake at this time. You decided your maths homework was a lost cause without a little help from someone and the first 3 people you called where already fast asleep. Considering denki is the only person awake, he was your last hope.

"y-yeah! I think its algebra!!"

"do YOU even know what algebra is?"

there's was silence after that, you facepalmed at the fact you've only just realised you are asking for help from dunce face himself.

"YOU asked for MY help! be grateful that I'm willing to stay awake for your ass"

you rolled your eyes playfully. looking at the empty papers in between your lap, deciding its no use to even try with denki, as sweet as he is, he isn't going to be the one to help you tonight unfortunately.

"hah, it's alright denki, I'll just say I forgot about it tomorrow"

you said, saying your goodnights and letting the poor boy get some sleep. only god knows what he put on his homework.

you decided scrolling through your phone for a bit would calm your nerves from aizawa's lecture in the morning. you where usually a bright student, always handing assignments in early and being polite to everyone around you. but something had caught your eyes recently. instead, SOMEONE has caught your eye.

A certain purple haired gentleman had been on your mind recently, since he had been placed in 2A you had seen him a lot more than you had hoped.

You originally saw him in the sports festival and you thought he was pretty cute then but now... this was unfair. Why did they have to sit him right in your eyes view, you could see him no matter what when sitting in that maths class and GOD was he GORGEOUS.

you smiled thinking about him "..shinsou......."

...

"SHINSOU"

the realisation hit you, of course, you had been looking for a reason to start a conversation with him and its a pretty common fact that shinsou is a night owl so maybe he could help.

You opened your contacts on your phone and went straight to his number.

Y/N: hey! sorry to bother you but I was wandering if you could take a look at my homework for me? I have no clue what any of this means and you're my last resort :)

you waited for what felt like forever, staring at your screen and biting the top of your thumb nail.

Shinsou 💋ྀིྀི: yeah sure, send it over :)

you automatically sent the photo, tapping quickly on your phone to get the interaction done and over with, not actually looking at what you sent.

as you went to look if the photo had actually sent through the dorms shitty wifi, you noticed something. that wasn't a picture of your homework, it was of you. naked.

You almost had a heart attack there and then, you wished you could crawl up into a hole and die.

You instantly try and delete it but for some reason your phone was buffering out and wouldn't let you delete your photo, your phone had just crashed at this point and the only way of resolving this would be to reset your phone, delete the photo and pray to All Might he didn't see that one.

you turn your phone off and start the process of waking it up again, your hands where shaking and it felt like you couldn't breath, you cannot believe you have just done that. to SHINSOU of all people.

As your phone turns back on, you're flashed with a *ding!*

"Message from Shinsou 💋ྀིྀི"

your heart sunk as your raised your phone to enter the password, thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.

....

what.

please let me know if this was dog this is only meant to be a little test draft to see if I still got my fan fiction mojo, thanks guys :)

[thebunnednun]

30 Minutes

Warning: Extreme Angst, Comfort, family issues. Found Family. Gn reader Wc: 3.8k

Guidance Counselor Midnight, who knows the sound of your footsteps by heart.

You’ve walked this hallway too many times, enough for her to recognize the rhythm of your steps before you even reach the door.

Today, they sound heavier, slower—like your body is carrying a weight too great for one person to bear.

Nemuri stops typing mid-sentence, her breath catching just slightly. She steels herself, sitting up straighter, smoothing the front of her blouse.

She hopes—prays—that maybe, just maybe, you have good news this time. That today won’t be like all the other days where she watches you sink deeper into something neither of you have the power to control.

You weren’t always like this.

The first time you came to her office, three years ago, you sat in the corner of the waiting room, head bowed, hands frantically scribbling answers onto a crumpled worksheet, trying to finish before Aizawa finished speaking.

You hadn’t wanted to be there. Not really.

You didn’t come from a place that believed in this sort of thing—therapy, guidance, help. In your world, struggle was something to be endured, not spoken about. Problems weren’t things you solved with a conversation; they were things you got over.

Nemuri had seen it before, but something about you stuck with her.

Aizawa had meant well, sending you to her. He saw your walls, the way you’d built them brick by brick, shutting out anyone who tried to get too close. He knew he couldn’t give you the time and space you needed—not with so many students to look after—so he handed you off to someone who could. Someone he trusted.

And so, for months, she was just a name in your inbox. A quiet presence in the background of your life, checking in with casual emails, keeping the door open for you to walk through when you were ready.

And eventually, you did.

Now, three years later, she’s the only one you let see the cracks.

She watches as you walk through the door, shoulders hunched, hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket—probably clutching one of those little rocks you always carry. There are always rocks. Smooth river stones, jagged crystals, tiny pebbles with chipped edges. She’s never asked why, but she imagines they must bring you comfort. A weight in your hands when the weight in your chest becomes unbearable.

You sit down in the waiting room, quiet. You used to be a little ball of light, someone who found joy in the small things, who gifted her handmade cards on holidays and birthdays, carefully decorated with stickers and intricate little doodles. She still has them all, tucked away in her desk, tear-stained from the nights she sat at home, reading and rereading your words, wishing she could fix things for you.

But that light in you has dimmed.

You’re struggling. You’re drowning, and she doesn’t know how to pull you back to shore.

School is hard, but that’s not what’s breaking you. Not really. It’s home. The place that was once your foundation, your support system, has become something suffocating. The weight of expectation, of culture, of disappointment—it’s pressing down on you from all sides.

And there’s no escape, no dorm room to retreat to, because you lost your job and can’t afford to move out. Your student refund barely covers transportation, and the schools near your parents’ house wouldn’t pay for your tuition the way this one does.

You’re stuck.

And the comments at home—those sharp, cutting remarks disguised as concern—don’t help. The whispers of you’re not trying hard enough, you’re lazy, you should be better than this. They seep into your skin like poison, and she can see the way they’ve begun to take.

She doesn’t know what to do anymore.

But for thirty minutes a week, she can offer you something no one else does.

Peace.

So she takes a breath, pastes on a gentle smile, and calls your name—soft, warm, careful. You lift your head, eyes tired, body worn, and shuffle into her office. She closes the door behind you, shutting out the world for just a little while.

Because here, in this space, you don’t have to carry everything alone.

Nemuri watches you settle into the chair across from her, and despite the lighthearted smile she flashes, she can already tell—this is going to be one of those talks.

You start with the good things, like you always do. It’s a habit, trying to soften the blow, trying to convince yourself that everything isn’t as heavy as it feels. You tell her about something funny that happened in class, or a random cat you saw on the way here. She listens, nods, lets you have that space. But then, the shift comes. Your voice gets quieter, the air feels heavier, and she watches your hands fidget with the hem of your sleeve, picking at loose threads like they’re holding all your stress.

You’re tired. 

Not the kind of tired that a full night’s sleep could fix—if you were even getting those to begin with—but the kind of tired that’s been sitting in your bones for almost two years now. You tell her about the missed math classes, not because you don’t care, but because sometimes getting to class feels impossible. 

Transportation is a mess, and last week you were out with the flu, which only put you further behind. You’ve already failed two exams.

You know how bad that is, how it puts your financial aid on the line.

You know, and yet, fixing it feels like climbing an endless mountain with bricks strapped to your back.

You’ve been looking for another job. You can’t find one. You don’t even have time for one. But you miss working, because having your own money felt better than having to ask for it, knowing there were always invisible strings attached. That sense of control, of independence—it’s gone, and the absence of it stings.

Your hands tighten in your lap, and Nemuri doesn’t say anything yet. She just listens.

Then, you talk about your family. And this, this is where she really feels the weight of it. She already knows—she’s known for a long time now—but hearing you say it makes her want to shake someone, to hold you, to do something. The mixed messages, the constant expectations pressing down on you until you feel like you can’t breathe. Your parents think they’re helping, but all they’re doing is making you feel like you’re running a race with no finish line.

And you’re exhausted.

She’s noticed the way your energy has dipped, how you come to school but don’t really seem there. How your hair has been in the same style for weeks, and she knows—she knows that means something deeper. You always used to switch it up, experiment, take pride in it. Now, it’s just one more thing that feels like too much.

Depression does that. It creeps into the small things first, turning basic tasks into battles. She knows you’re still washing your clothes, still putting effort into dressing yourself, but she also knows that’s one of the last things standing between you and the void.

She’s scared for you.

You tell her about the fights at home. How they used to roll off your back, how you used to just push things down, but now… now you’re holding onto them. The pressure is too much, the cracks are showing, and you don’t know where to put it all. You know bottling it up isn’t safe, but in your household, keeping quiet is the only way to survive.

Nemuri grips the underneath of her desk, nails pressing into the wood.

She knows you need to get out. The longer you stay in that environment, the harder it will be to crawl your way out of this fog.

You miss the things you used to love. You still have writing, still have fanfiction as an escape, but everything else feels impossible. The burnout is crushing, suffocating, and the major you chose—one you refuse to back down from—only adds to the weight.

She knows you aren’t asking her to fix it. You know she can’t.

But that doesn’t stop her from thinking about you late at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering what else she can do. Because she cares. More than she probably should. And she’s scared that one day, you’ll hit a breaking point you can’t come back from.

The familiar scent of her jasmine tea fills the air, but it does little to settle the weight in your chest. Her office is warm—cozy in a way that most school offices aren’t. The walls are lined with books, framed photos, and awards, but your eyes keep drifting to the small, well-loved cat plushie on her shelf. The one you gave her a year ago as a valentine, telling her it reminded you of her—soft but a little mischievous. She had laughed, promised to take care of it, and now it sits proudly beside her plaques and certificates because it belongs there.

You wish you felt like you belonged somewhere too.

“I mean, they still let me stay at home,” you say, but it doesn’t sound like much of a comfort. You let the words hang in the air for a moment, then sigh, bracing yourself for what comes next. Nemuri leans in slightly, careful not to push but making sure you know she’s listening. 

“But?”

You exhale slowly. You never cry in public—ever—but you trust her enough to let yourself unravel, just a little.

She remembers the first time it happened, how you had been talking about school and home and how you felt less than. She hated it. Hated how your bright smile—the smile that lit up the room, the smile that was often the highlight of her and the other staff’s day—had started to disappear.

She knows your parents love you. She truly believes that. She’s seen it before—the way they call you randomly just to check in, the times they tell you there’s food at home and that they love you. She’s seen them at your award ceremonies and community events, pride in their eyes. There is love there.

But you’re all too close, too tangled up in each other’s expectations and disappointments, and none of that love is being seen or communicated properly.

“Well,” you start, voice quieter now, “My dad was offering me dinner the other night, and inside, I was like, ‘Oh cool, he loves me.’ And of course, he does, but I was still reeling from the therapist stuff, y’know? And then he just—casually—starts talking about me self-isolating in my room and how he shouldn’t have to take my devices—”

Nemuri frowns. “Was this when you texted me?”

“Yeah, they cut my WiFi and took everything but my phone.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you know how it still had cellular?”

“Nope.”

Her lips press into a thin line. She can agree with consequences, sure—but you’re too old to be treated like a young teenager. Too aware of what’s happening to be punished into submission.

“So, he was going on about that,” you continue, fingers picking at a loose thread on your sleeve, “And inside, I was just like, ‘I don’t wanna hear this. I can’t take it.’ And then—”

You swallow hard. 

“Then he says to me that he just accepts that he won’t have peace in his life or house until I move out.”

Her stomach drops.

She watches you carefully as you speak, as you try to hold yourself together, but she can see how much those words cut you open. You don’t even realize how much your hands are shaking.

You keep talking, explaining how after that, you barely wanted to eat. How the food didn’t even taste like anything. How later, your parents decided they weren’t going to give you a ride to school anymore on your dad’s way to work—because, in their words, you hadn’t been doing anything to justify it.

Nemuri clenches her jaw. She knows how far you live. Knows dorming might be too expensive. Knows you’re backed into a corner.

Then you say it—your voice breaking just slightly, eyes glassy.

"I’m scared they’ll be happier without me and not want me to move back."

Nemuri feels like the wind has been knocked out of her.

She sees how much this is weighing on you—the way your siblings are already asking if you’re going to leave, how your mom wants you out. You’re afraid your stuff will get thrown away because you won’t be able to take everything with you.

She grips your hand. “Dorming isn’t year-round. What will you do if they don’t want you back?”

And you smile. That tired, knowing smile that makes her heart ache.

“I don’t know.”

The words are quiet. Defeated.

You look at her with glassy eyes, and the floodgates open. You explain how you feel like no one wants you—how you want to stay, but they want you gone. How they tell you that you won’t make it on your own but then turn around and say that you’re strong and that they can see you’re breaking—but the only way to fix it is to submit.

To them. To religion.

To everything you’ve already been suffocating under.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

There’s so much more. So much you don’t even have the energy to put into words. But she knows because you text her updates. She talks to your favorite professor. 

Nemuri doesn’t realize she’s gripping your hand a little too tightly until she sees you rubbing your thumb absentmindedly over the back of hers. A small gesture. A grounding one.

She exhales slowly, forcing herself to focus. She doesn’t want to cry, doesn’t want to scare you with her anger, doesn’t want to make this about her. Even if she would like to slap your old therapist. 

So Nemuri asks, carefully, “What do you want to do?”

Because you’re miserable at home. You’re miserable at school. And if you don’t do something, she knows you’ll regret it in the spring.

She watches as you try to come up with an answer, but you’re exhausted. She can see it in your slumped posture, the way you keep rubbing your temples, the way your lips part and close again like you’re trying to find the right words but keep coming up empty.

She glances toward her shelf, where the small cat plushie sits—squished and a little worn but still standing tall next to her awards. She thinks about the way you had given it to her with a grin, how you had laughed when she immediately named it something ridiculous.

She misses that smile.

And for the first time in a while, she realizes that you probably do too.

You wipe at your face, sniffling as you try to collect yourself. "I think I’ll just have to talk to them again about moving onto campus," you say, voice small. "Probably have to take out another loan."

Nemuri nods, but she’s studying your face, and she sees the way your shoulders sag, how your fingers tighten around the fabric of your sleeve like you’re holding yourself together by a thread.

She tilts her head. "What’s wrong?"

You shake your head at first, but then you let out a shuddering breath and stare at your hands. 

"I feel like a monster." 

Nemuri’s brows knit together, concern flooding her face, but you press on before she can speak.

"I ruined everything," you say, voice cracking. 

"I know—not everything can be my fault. You and my new therapist have told me that. But holy shit, it’s so hard to feel that way. I feel like I’ll never live outside the shadow of my past. My mistakes are just hanging over my head—"

You try to take a deep breath, try to steady yourself, but something shifts inside you.

Your chest tightens, and suddenly, your vision blurs. You don’t even realize how wide your eyes have gone until the first gasp for air tears through you.

And then you just cry.

It’s not quiet. It’s not controlled. It’s not one of those times where you blink away the tears and pretend you’re fine. It’s raw. Ugly. A choked-out mess of grief and exhaustion.

And then you hear her sniffle.

Through the haze of your own tears, you see Nemuri’s eyes glossing over, her lips pressed together in a trembling line as she tries and fails to keep it together.

Because she doesn’t understand.

She doesn’t understand how anyone could look at their struggling child—see them drowning, see them breaking apart—and still say such terrible things. How they could watch you pull away, see the changes in your personality, see the light dim in your eyes, and think that kicking you out is the answer. How they could dismiss the weight of their words, brush off your pain, make you feel so small.

Maybe they don’t know they’re being abusive. Maybe they think they’re doing what’s right.

But you’ve told them. You’ve told them so many times when they hurt your feelings. You’ve tried to make them see.

And still, they call you too sensitive. A snowflake.

She doesn’t hesitate—she pulls you in.

Warm. Steady. Safe.

She smells like good soap and elderberries, like the cranberry wine she swears by, like the dark chocolate she keeps hidden in her desk. But it’s not just that. It’s the way her arms wrap around you, firm but gentle, the way she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to fix it, just holds you.

Because she knows.

She knows she’s the only one you can come to with your heavy heart. The only one who gets the whole truth. The only one who listens without conditions.

And as you bury your face into her shoulder, tears soaking into the soft fabric of her blouse, you let yourself believe—just for a moment—that you are not alone.

The two of you stay wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time, the weight of the moment settling between you like a quiet understanding. Your breath hitches as you press your face into the warmth of her shoulder, and Nemuri’s own shoulders shake as she holds you just a little tighter.

Neither of you speak—there’s nothing to say yet, just the shared grief of knowing that some things cannot be undone, only endured.

Eventually, you feel her pat your back in that reassuring way of hers, and you sniffle as you finally sit up. Your head feels heavy, your throat raw, but Nemuri doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead, she rolls backward in her chair, still holding onto you with her left hand as she grabs a box of tissues with her right.

"Here, sweetheart," she murmurs, passing you several tissues before taking off her glasses and dabbing at her own wet lashes. You wipe your face, trying to breathe through the remnants of your tears as she steadies herself. Then, she looks at you with all the certainty in the world and says, 

"You are NOT a monster."

You shake your head weakly, but she won’t have any of that.

"You are kind," she continues, voice firm. "You are strong. And I know this because I’ve seen it."

She grips your hand a little tighter, grounding you.

"I’ve seen how you check in on the people around you, how even when you’re struggling, you still have it in you to care—genuinely. You succeed when you put your mind to it. You may be shy, but you have never let that stop you from being kind. I remember the time you complimented that girl wearing the same sweater as you as she was being loaded into an ambulance. The time you thought a student had jumped from the roof, and you pushed through the crowd to help, even though you had no idea what you were walking into. Even if it meant you might get traumatized, you still went forward. Because you just… you want people to have another chance."

Her endless blue eyes lock onto yours, full of conviction. You swallow thickly, unable to look away.

"I would never sugarcoat something for you," she says softly. "I would never lead you astray."

You nod, waiting for her to continue, because somehow you know she has something important to say next.

And then she says it.

"You have to get out of there."

The words settle deep into your bones.

She squeezes your hands tighter. "I will do everything in my power to help you, okay? I need you to know that. I’m glad you’re here. You matter. You have a purpose." Her voice wavers slightly. 

"And I love you very much."

Your chest tightens, but this time, it isn’t just grief or exhaustion—it’s something else. Something warm.

Something that makes you feel seen.

Nemuri gives you a small, wobbly smile of hers and whispers,

"Sometimes, family is tough. And not all family is blood. Sometimes, we find our family."

You take a shaky breath and nod, gripping her hands like a lifeline.

"I love you too," you whisper.

She smiles, eyes glistening.

You sniffle and clear your throat. "I… I have to do what’s best for me. I don’t want to get hurt anymore—not emotionally, not mentally."

She sighs softly, but it’s not disappointment—it’s relief. "Okay, sweetie." She cups your cheek for a second, her thumb brushing gently over your skin before she pulls back. "I just worry, you know? You get into your head sometimes." You huff out a weak, teary laugh. 

"Yeah… I do."

"Just… promise me you’ll stay above water for me, okay?" she says, tapping your hand lightly. "At least until spring break. Then we’ll figure something more permanent out."

You nod, inhaling deeply, feeling just a little bit lighter. 

"I promise."

"Good." She leans back and reaches for something on her desk, then holds it out to you—a small container of blueberries. "Want some?"

You shake your head, smiling faintly. "I’m good, but thanks."

She nods and stands up, stretching slightly. "Alright, then. Get your coat on, sweetheart. It’s cold out, and I want you to get some fresh air before heading back." You grab your coat and slip it on, and as soon as you’re ready, you link your arm with hers. The receptionist at the front desk smiles at the two of you as you walk out. 

"Stay safe, you two!"

Nemuri waves, and you nod in acknowledgment as the cold air hits your face. But somehow, it doesn’t feel quite as heavy anymore.

Because sometimes, she’s the only person who gives you a hug all week. Sometimes, she’s the only one who says something encouraging.

Sometimes, you think of her as a mom.

Which is strange, because Nemuri doesn’t have kids. Not many would call her ‘motherly’ at first glance. And you aren't trying to replace your own mother.

But she’s so kind.

So warm and lovely. 

…Maybe it’s because you miss your mom right now.

But that can’t be fixed. 

Not now. Maybe never. 

So instead, you focus on this—on walking arm-in-arm with her for these next twenty minutes, on holding onto this small, good moment with everything you have.

The winter sun hits your face and she pulls her hair into her hood to keep it from becoming too wild in the wind. She's gotten new purple highlights and you ADORE them. You sometimes wobble when you walk and she adores that too.

Because Nemuri lives in the garden of your heart.

And you know, without a doubt, that she has a picture of you in hers.

If you enjoyed this make sure you leave a like, comment, and reblog!

I am taking requests for the series though dm's or anonymous asks.

You can choose anyone you'd like and even characters not listed.

MHA Guidance Counselor AU Masterlist

Taglist: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, @icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz, @1chaerry, @valscodblog, @willnetries, @shortie-chocolate

Part 2 is up.

I also have a ko-fi now if you'd like to support me. :3 Not mandatory but always appreciated.

Pssst, my ao3 is alive and open for all readers.

See you soon!

-Angie (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[carlislefiles]

will they let you to come in the bathroom if they're taking a shit?

listens to you talk about your day as you sit on the counter, completely unfazed that he's quite literally shitting (absolutely shameless, takes you everywhere) ╰►fushiguro toji, gojo satoru, ino takuma, inumaki toge, yuuji itadori, aizawa shota, kaminari denki, kirishima eijiro, shinso hitoshi, takami keigo, bokuto kōtarō, hinata shōyō, kuroo tetsurō, matsukawa issei, oikawa tōrufu

thought it was weird at first that you wanted to continue talking to them while they used the bathroom, but hey, if you don't care, they don't care ╰►hiromi higuruma, ieiri shoko, kamo choso, nanami kento, yuta okkotsu, midoriya izuku, sero hanta, kozume kenma, sawamura daichi

takes them months, if not years, and they're never fully chill with it, but whatever makes you happy...right? sometimes, when they're really going through it, they still kick you out (how evil :/) ╰►fushiguro megumi, geto suguru, kong shiu, shigaraki tomura, todoroki touya, ushijima wakatoshi

absolutely never happening, doesn't even entertain the idea, prays for the day you stop asking ╰►ijichi kiyotaka, sukuna ryomen, amajiki tamaki, bakugou katsuki, ida tenya, todoroki shoto, kageyama tobio, tsukishima kei