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thedarkeside · 3 years ago

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Yandere Vigilante Aizawa Imagine + drabble

Reader Gender: Female

Word Count: 15,731

Tags: Light smut, mentions of kidnapping, and non-consensual touching. Shouta is still a sweetheart, though; I promise. Eraser-daddy calls himself daddy, but no ddlg.

Author's Note: Did a thing, decided to share it. As always, my works are never coded, so everyone is welcome to read.

[Note: regardless of how old you are, Aizawa is at least five years your senior. I'm also going to need you to suspend disbelief that you can’t somehow fit into a cabinet.]

Synopsis [The catalyst that started this]: Sadly, Aizawa can't save everyone. But he's determined to save a specific someone. The world is cold and cruel. He may not have central heat, but he can keep you warm in his chest. He’s barebones, with little to no material possessions. His apartment is a decent place to rest his head between missions, but it's no home. It's cold and lifeless, lacking any personal touch as he never bothered to decorate. Shouta is frugal. He has money but never had a reason to spend it. Shouta isn't someone to splurge, especially not on himself, still carrying the guilt of Oboro’s death. His harsh living conditions are a form of self-punishment. However, he's amassed a pretty sum of money from his hero work, now equipped with a reason to spend it.

Shouta is scandalized. How dare this new neighbor move in and inconvenience him? How is he meant to sleep with all that noise? Begrudgingly, Shouta learns to enjoy her music alongside her. Interesting because he's never cared much for the added noise. Not even Hizashi could sell him on the pleasures of music. He doesn't like it, but he comes to find he likes hers. He falls asleep to it, and the sounds of her moving above him upstairs. Aizawa doesn't know when he started to find comfort in the extra sound she brought. Or when the knowledge that she was safe above him began to calm his heart. It brought him solace. He can't sleep if he doesn't hear her above him. The hero will sit up late at night and wait for her with red-rimed eyes that burned from lack of rest. His heart is chaotic. He’ll throw on his capture weapon and go searching for them. He's never seen them, but he needs them to be safe--his dream catcher with no name. Shouta’s nightmares have all but vanished since she moved in. The tired shadow under his eyes has lessened.

Imagine how intense vigilante Aizawa would be as a yandere. Shouta never had the privilege of meeting his problem children, and as a result, he never adopted the tender characteristics that came with being an instructor and working with youths. This Aizawa is severely lacking in the empathy department.

His kitten doesn't want to go home?

Too bad.

He's come all this way, and he knows what's best for you.

You need a protector, a provider, and he intends to be all that and more.

Shouta is ruthless about tracking you down and stalking you as if you were one of his bounties. He isn't above breaking into your home while you're unaware, nor does he have any qualms about creeping into your bedroom at night. He’ll have you right there on the floor before bothering to bring you home.

You wake to hot-blooded kisses, roused to consciousness by ravenous lips. An odd weight settles atop your sleep-addled body. It's oppressive, and it whispers possessiveness. The soft, still voice of your conscious warns that you'll never shake it.

The repeated fervor against your lips is unmistakable. Someone is kissing you.

Someone is in your house.

The scream on your tongue dies out, and so does the rocking above you. Shouta deepens his kiss with a soft grunt. Coming into consciousness, you become aware of the hands roaming everywhere. Another shriek teased the back of your throat, and he rolled forward a few times. You catch onto his game quickly. If you want his hips to remain still, then you'd better stay silent.

Though, if you’d like to be unreasonable and cause a scene, he'd be more than happy to oblige you.

You aren't behaving like a good girl for daddy, are you? But he’ll make you cum like a good girl.

You'll do it together.

Your modesty is unnecessary. “It’s not like we haven't been in this position before.” The cheap grin he wore sickens you to your stomach. That sick curl taunted--teased with an air of conceit, as if it knew something you did not, widening at the corners in reaction to the epiphany unfolding in your eyes.

Anguish beads the corners of your eyes with unshed tears. Heartache settles above you like a storm cloud threatening rain. Painfully, your chest tightens as you recall mornings where you've awoken, only to find yourself soaked through your underwear, a curious vibration in your softness as if something had rubbed it the night before. A strange phenomenon you couldn't make sense of until this very moment. The pang was from all the times he rutted against you, squeezing your hand while he groaned his release into your neck.

The unexplainable bruises are uncovered as love bites.

Aizawa stifled the sinful outcry of his boiled-over passion by sinking his canines in your skin. Light, airy moans and sweet whimpers catch in his throat, ghosting across the sensitive flesh. Little sounds he desperately yearned to voice for you when the time came.

His seed was the lubricant used to tease your clit out of more orgasms while he overstimulated himself with the warmth of your thigh.

Rubbing salt in obvious wounds, Aizawa hovers near your ear, breathing every sinful, pleasurable act he performed on your unconscious body. You yearn to lash out at him, so you won't have to hear him go into horrid, painful detail about his disgusting deeds. His words are vocal vitriol, burning your eyes and tightening your chest to where any breaths you manage to catch are hard-won. Despair closes your airway, and the monster above you has the gall to shush you, petting your hair with offending appendages, calling you kitten. He had the nerve to talk you down with infuriating tenderness as if he were a lover.

Shouta regales you with all the times he’d made you fall apart for him. The touch of pride in his voice as he did tears you up the most.

His hand travels up your thigh, carving a heart-pounding path toward the intimacy fiercely clenched legs block him from--uncaring that it's private and off-limits.

He enlightens you on how he touched you, where he touched you, and how much you enjoyed it. Aizawa decided to show as well as tell. He silently flaunts that he could do it again, regardless of how much you pretend to hate it. His intrusive fingers are bold and arrogant.

You scoff at the notion he presents that your body knows what it wants.

The only thing you want is for him to get the hell out of your house.

Well aware that you’ll fight him, he holds a chloroform rag to your nose to avoid your claws. The irony? It's one of yours, stolen from your washroom.

Aizawa tells you it could’ve been worse should you complain upon waking.

He could have used your panties.

Shouta’s darling goes nowhere without her invisible chaperone. If you think you're going out by yourself, you've got another thing coming, princess.

Perched on rooftops high above the city, Eraserhead keeps close tabs on his unsuspecting kitten. His intentions are admirable; Everything he does, he does to protect you. Yet, the primal edge to his gaze as he tracks the contours of your outline suggests you need protection from him. A rabbit he couldn't wait to have between his teeth.

You practically beg him to swoop you up and take you home with how often he has to accompany you late at night.

Vigilante Aizawa is one hundred percent the type of yandere to give his darling a reason to stay tucked in her home after nightfall.

Honestly, kitten, you should know the dangers of traveling alone at night. The unfortunate victims of kidnappings have their faces plastered over the news daily.

Do you want to be a statistic?

Shouta, or rather, Eraserhead shadows you one evening. He’s no teacher in this universe, but he's intent on teaching you a valuable lesson you should have already learned. A run-in with a ‘creep’ who matched you step for step is the reason you no longer participate in your midnight strolls. You're warm, and snug at home, where you should be.

The day he ‘saves’ you is the day you met. Well, the day you met him, he's known you for what felt like an eternity.

You don’t stand a chance with all the nifty quirk suppressants available. To ensure it's never an issue depending on the nature/strength of your quirk, he might take it away completely. The loss of one’s quirk can rival learning to live without the use of certain motor functions, but Aizawa will be there to comfort you through it all. Let the security of his arms nullify the empty pangs inside. He promises it'll go away if you squeeze him tight enough.

Escape is a folly you'd best keep a rueful daydream. With Shouta’s bounty hunting expertise, he'd track you down faster than a bloodhound. The slight taste of freedom wouldn't be worth the consequence when he inevitably found you, which he will. If there's one thing you can count on, it's Aizawa bringing his wayward kitten home, even if it means hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Imagine a feral Aizawa hunting you with a knife. He's in full hero gear: combat boots, army camouflage pants, and a blank tank top. Eraserhead bets the fortified soles of his boots you’re feeling the discomfort of your substandard 40-50 dollar sneakers. Reinforced footwear means he can stalk his bounties for hours.

Shouta is all too aware that you'd sooner run as if Hell itself was at your feet than come into his embrace. Crazed didn't do him any justice, couldn't come close to the unhinged look in his eye; it was an understatement, a nicety the angry whip of black tendrils and eyes red as smoldering coal didn't deserve. Shouta promises there's no cause for concern. The tactical pocket knife gripped in his palm won't touch a single hair on your precious head, little one. Its purpose is to cut down vines and whatever else stands in his path; Eraser viciously tore down every obstacle that separates him from you.

The odds aren’t in your favor. You don't know the terrain as he does; Shouta knew it like the back of his hand.

Although he didn't need to rush, Aizawa is desperate to get you home and warmed by the fireplace. The climate was unforgiving this late in the year. It won't be too much longer before you're safe in his furs; his panicked heart finds solace, for this chase won't carry on much longer. After all, you don't have the stamina he's cultivated in his years of underground hero work.

You're no doubt frightened, cold, and exhausted. Shouta can only hope you aren't injured.

Foolish girl--running away from home, from the arms that want nothing more than to love and nurture you. You aren't thinking clearly. The negligence of your getaway is proof of that. Blinded by terror, you neglected to cover your trail. Your tracks led him right to you.

Unreasonable girl--making him trek through the woods for you.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty.” Aizawa clicks with his teeth.

You don't realize he's behind you until it's too late for even a startled yelp to leave your throat. Shouta pulls you back into his chest. The hand over your mouth muffles your fright.

“Shh, it's okay, kitten.” He soothes, planting his nose in your hair.

“Daddy’s sorry for scaring you.” Eraserhead skillfully kept you in place. The deep inhale against your skin furthers your efforts and adds kerosene to the fear overworking your heart.

“That's a good girl,” Shouta breathes. His praise warms the nape of your neck, the hero’s lips press flush against the skin.

“There, there, kitty. Daddy's got you,” Dread grips your spirit, not from his words, but from the promise they carried. “and he's never letting you go again.”

Shouta calms the calamity in his chest with your delicate scent; its usual sweetness mixes with pine from the outdoors, possessing a slight tang from the sweat cooling your worn body.

Unconcerned about the setting, Shouta flips you around and pushes his lips to yours. You stagger from the force behind it. His mouth works urgently, desperately, as if he needed an outlet for the anxiety your escape caused him when the hero came home, only to be greeted by an empty cabin. Or perhaps, he was expressing his uncontrolled relief from locating you before his worst nightmares came to pass.

Releasing a needy breath, Aizawa forces you to the grass-covered floor with the unrivaled weight of his person, joining the two of you together. The dirt and grime on your respective outfits be damned. Shouta burrows as close as anatomy will allow until all that separates you is skin.

Aizawa sips the gasp you gave up for him and all the sweet noises that came after it. Snuggling up against your pulse point, the erasure hero takes you into his senses like an addict.

His pocket knife hurriedly rips through the fabric of your shirt, and true to his word, it doesn't so much as nick you in his pursuit to hear your heartbeat.

He needs this. His heart won't settle until he hears that you're alive and well.

Shouta tames his kisses as much as he can to assuage your terrified yips; they simmer down to long, savoring presses but retain their blatant frenzy, rough and terribly hasty. His lips return like clockwork as if they were reluctant to part with yours.

You had him so worried. “Bad, kitten. Don't scare me like that again.” The chastisement comes as he’s nestled in the heart of your chest, listening to the rhythm of life played, the unsteady ballad of your soul.

“Kitten, why did you run from daddy?”

You squabble beneath him. Why does he insist on calling himself that?

Shouta gently catches your unruly hands. You whimper quietly, unsettled as he delivers delicate kisses to each of your fingertips. “Why-why are you...” The question hangs in the air as he nuzzles into them. You whine in distress, leaving him to his unsettling affections.

Your silence won't do. Shouta needs answers.

He cants forward, gentle as always with you. While he enjoys the small hum it brings, the hero isn't currently after your moans as much as he appreciates them. No, he sought your words.

“Tell me, kitty.” He prompts, slipping a hand below your waist. “I can fix whatever it is.”

“S-shouta, I-I...” God, you can't think with his finger swirling around your clit.

The vigilante is more than aware of your plight. “I know, princess.” He comforts in his soft baritone.

“Will you be good and relax for me?” Aizawa leans in to kiss your neck.

“Be a good girl and cum for me.” The husk in your ear slicked his finger.

“Mmph-!” Shouta softened the moan you breathed as he shoved your lips together. You're already being so good for him. “Wet these fingers for me, [name].” Aizawa praised, his voice a breathless growl. The wet ‘shick’ of his fast-working hand is all you can hear aside from the heartbeats in your ears and the excited pants from yourself and the man poised above you.

Burning from the pleasure of Aizawa kneading your kitty, you failed to heed the warning signs right in front of you. The hero called you by your first name, something he never does outside of punishments.

Whatever chance you had of noticing his slip was dashed when one of Shouta’s fingers sank into your heat, a slow descent that let you savor his thickness. The tightness he encountered put up a decent amount of resistance.

You felt the familiar building of tension before he’d finished working you open.

You realize a second too late when you're a breath away from orgasm, the one he encouraged you to reach, only for Aizawa to draw his fingers out cruelly.

“Silly girl.” Aizawa admonished, pecking your lips sweetly in response to your tears. “Did you think there wouldn't be consequences for your actions?”

You shook your head, not in reply to his question, but from your sorrow and frustration.

“Is daddy being mean?” You nod as he expected, shielding your teary face.

“Come here, [name].”

You stiffen despite his gentle tone; your heart launches into your throat regardless of the loving arms that open to welcome you, comprehending what he called you, recognizing what it meant.

“Kitten,” His tone sharpens. The emphasis on your name is a warning. “Come. Here.”

You shiver underneath him, contemplating behind the darkness of your palms if upsetting him is worth the few extra seconds of peace.

“I won't ask again.”

Your hands slip away, and a disappointed Shouta greets you. You're shocked to find that he isn't disgruntled with you, and even more so by the sadness lingering in his eyes.

“The sooner we get on with your punishment, the sooner we can get you home and in clean clothes, sweet girl.”

He tugs at his scarf, and you know by now it's your cue to get the hell out of dodge.

In a bizarre turn of events, Shouta lets you. He lifts himself from your waist, allowing you to scamper off so that he can snatch you up again.

You haven't the sense to contemplate why; you're moving on pure survival instinct.

Unfortunately for you, you don't get very far.

Before you can speak, his capture weapon shoots out in every direction, tying you up in intricate strings. With a sharp tug from Aizawa, you're strung from the treetops.

Suddenly you see topside. Your arms are bound above your head, suspended a few feet from the ground, with your legs spread painfully wide. You can already feel the blood rushing to your head, adding to the disorientation from how quickly everything happened.

“Shouta, please let me down!” You fight against your bindings immediately, devastated as you discover the weapon securing you tightly offers no leeway. “I don't like this!” Your vulnerability shrieked and thrashed like a caged animal; you felt exposed and humiliated.

The hero hasn't so much as seen your bare claves, and suddenly he's seeing everything.

“It's a punishment, [name]. You aren't supposed to like it.”

The last of your clothing lay in useless, irreparable tatters on the ground. His combat boots crush them into the dirt; Shouta came to stand in front of you, bound and naked, a suitable punishment for your transgressions.

“Here’s what's going to happen, princess,”

Princess.

As with your birth name, that nickname only comes out to play when you've upset him.

“I'm going to stroke my cock to the gorgeous sight of you,”

Shouta frees himself in seconds.

Your eyes zero on a familiar rosy head that he teases, swirling the sensitive organ with the same attention he'd shown your clit, already blushed and sobbing pitifully. “and I'm going to watch that sweet cunt drip from how neglected it is.”

Your breath catches—a gush of arousal journeys down your thigh from his smutty statement.

“You're going to cry me a river, and I'm going to moan so filthily for you--just for you.” Aizawa starts at a rough pace with his hand, grunting from the delicious friction that burned so wonderfully; the sap he gathered from your core is the only softener for his harsh grip and merciless strokes. The brisk motion of his wrist suggested the hero intended to get off as quickly as possible.

“gonna-” His sentence is interrupted by a soft gasp, cuter than it had any right to be. “gonna show you exactly what you do to me--how much I crave you…”

You clench as you observe the flush warming his cheeks, carefully spreading to the apex of his nose. Your breathing deepens while listening to his labored pants--open-mouthed and luscious enough to leave you aching. Suppressing a desperate keen, you eye the helpless driblet of his cockhead, unable to keep from biting your lip with how his length jumped in his grasp.

“how much I need you,” The whine you slew is alive in his sigh.

“And you're going to watch.” Aizawa managed to pry his eyes open to glare up at you weakly.

“Maybe then you'll understand how much I...” His voice thins, tapering into something needful and unguarded, hushed and affected. You weren't aware his warm voice could reach such heights, but here you are, watching him whine before you--‘for you,’ your mind corrects, recalling his earlier words.

“how much I love...fuck.” Shouta cursed, a fragile whisper as he tugged his hypersensitive tip, and it only seemed to become more susceptible to touch the longer he toys with it. Despite his heavy lids wishing to fall closed, he kept them open to make sure he had your undivided attention.

Don't you dare look away. You're going to see firsthand what you do to him.

His delicate gasps turn reckless. Shouta fought for air. The pre-cum running in uncontrollable rivulets down his shaft heightened his sensitivity; the added lube made the furious workings of his hand easier to keep up with. It was too much, and the erasure hero couldn't repress his strained whines had he wanted to, but that's the thing, he didn't.

If he hasn't made his adoration clear enough, then Aizawa is going to show it in each blinding spurt and every whimper of your name.

It becomes difficult to continue. Shouta felt so painfully sensitive--as if the layers of his skin peeled back and the vulnerable tissue beneath was unveiled, leaving him exposed and defenseless against each paw as Shouta grabbed himself, giving his balls light squeezes that set fire to his lower abdomen.

And knowing that your eyes are on him...

The hero can't help but groan; the wet noise of his fervor fills his ears, and he never thought it possible, but the sound excited him further, made him even wetter.

Kitten, you've made such a mess of him.

How can you possibly claim he doesn't love you? All the sleepless nights he spent watching over you, keeping you safe, after everything he's done for you.

The bags under his eyes are a trophy. Whereas most individuals who suffer from the condition would find it an imperfection, Aizawa regarded them as a fruit of his labor, a symbol of his sacrifice. The hardened cock in his grip, it's for you, it's because of you. Nothing gets him there quicker than you do. It doesn't take long for him to become fully erect when your name is on his lips--your face the image his hand desperately chases. The cum on his fingers is a physical manifestation of what you do to him.

You and Aizawa pant with the same set of lungs. Your core throbbed almost as violently as the balls he gently fondled with his free hand.

Shouta can only take so much, and he can't stave off his release any longer.

“Kitten--gonna cum for you. Don't you want me to? Tell me you do.

Yes. Yes, please do; your cunt begs. “Yes, Shouta, please cum.” The plea is nothing short of a whisper, but Aizawa caught wind of it where you hadn't expected him to. The underground hero even moaned from it.

His hectic pace sped as a result, and you silently praised him as he dropped to his knees, his legs incapable of supporting himself.

You applaud him, offering weak encouragement, ‘yes, please keep going,’ ‘please don’t stop.’

Aizawa hastened in reply.

Shivers barrel through him whenever your soft voice calls out, shaky and unsure, implying you've never coached anyone through an orgasm before.

The tension builds and builds before--

Your pussy laments, crying from heartbreak when he suddenly goes limp, not because he's spent from a powerful release, but because he's stopped moving.

The emptiness in your core begged him to keep going. And before your voice could implore him, a voice that would surely crack with how distraught you are, another voice, breathless and thick as molasses, cut the silence ringing in your ears.

“Tell me how.” Aizawa urged after a still pause, pleading as he waited on the edge of eternity. From his tone, you're able to hear the thick swallow he struggles with.

The fingers around his length squeeze firmly, but aside from that, Shouta remains motionless.

His words stop your heart yet send your pulse racing all the same.

“Tell me what to do; tell me how you want me to touch myself; how do you want me to cum for you?”

Your mind draws a blank. Although you want him to continue, you don’t know what to say.

“I..I don’t know how.” You admit, shame burning your face, singing even the tip of your ears.

In his desperate state, Aizawa doesn’t catch on. “Kitty, I’ll do whatever you tell me to, I promise.” He all but whines. The hero is so tightly wound, his body trembles with the effort of holding himself still.

“Kitten,” He whines again, husky and aching, prompting your body into action. However, you still had no clue what to do with yourself despite the urgency he planted in you.

“S-Shouta, I don't, I've never...” You stammer, suddenly feeling small and childish from your lack of experience. “I don't know how that works.” You shamefully admit.

It takes a few seconds to click, but finally, blessedly, your meaning dawns on him, and it only makes Shouta harder.

Innocent thing. Painfully naive and honest. Aizawa groans, imagining all the firsts he’ll give you, all the things he’ll teach you.

“Tell me anything.” He offers. “There aren't any wrong suggestions.”

“Um, maybe do whatever feels good?” You feel less silly for your tentative suggestion when Shouta raises his hips, thrusting into his loose fist, almost as if he were teasing himself with the sparse grip that couldn't possibly please. Even with your limited knowledge, you know such a slack hold wasn't doing him any favors. He desperately nudged the tight ring he made, humping softly like he was asking for entrance.

“Kitty, I need you. I need so badly; please let me fuck you.”

Warmth rushes to your cheeks, and you clench sorrowfully for the umpteenth time today in under five minutes.

You can't manage more than a vigorous nod, a shy ‘yes’ on your lips.

A needy hum fled his throat as he began a languid rhythm that rapidly intensified as Shouta built himself back up.

“My,” He fought his way around the groan building in his throat, “my hand is you.” Shouta shakily clarified.

You catch the unspoken, ‘for all intents and purposes.’

He fucks into his fist, using every ounce of strength his loose-fitting clothes did an excellent job hiding. And you can only imagine being on the receiving end of those impassioned thrusts. It's easy to forget that he’s a seasoned, well-toned ‘hero’ versed in hand-to-hand combat, sporting rock-hard abs to prove it when his build is swallowed by the baggy outfits he chose to wear. Nevertheless, the way his toned thighs flexed under his ministrations as Shouta forced himself to meet the grueling pumps from his fist said nothing but power.

With a naughty shiver, you wonder if he'd ever use that strength on you.

“I’m...I'm tighter than that.” You whisper, heart thundering in your chest as you dangerously play into his fantasy.

Aizawa tightens around himself from your admission.

His husky whine becomes strangled, getting caught as he arches, shuddering as if the tightness is too much for him.

At this point, he's so sensitive he's damn near drooling.

“How am I?”

The confidence boost you receive from his trembling exhale is unprecedented.

‘And wrong,’ your mind interjects.

Shouta made you feel more desirable than you have in your twenty or thirty-odd years with nothing but the unbidden noises coming from his chest.

“Warm.” He says, surprising you.

Shouta inhales sharply through his nose, holding his breath for a few beats as he reigns his tremulous skeleton.

You're so delightfully warm--the heat his barebones apartment was sorely lacking. You're stability--the family he's always envied, one his lifestyle barred him from.

You're a heavenly heat that beckoned him to rest his heavy head. A warmth Aizawa craved to curl up against and never leave.

“Tight.” He growls somewhere from his diaphragm.

“Perfect,” The fever inside of him reaches its melting point. “so perfect for me, kitty.”

His words shouldn't affect you the way they do.

And yet, your heart skips a few steps, effectively taken by his flattery as he calls you perfect when the world has been outlining your imperfections since kindergarten.

“You feel incredible.” As much as Aizawa would love to avoid rehashing cliches, he can't think of anything more fitting. You're remarkable around him. Perhaps if he were even half as gifted in the art of dialogue as his English teaching colleague, the erasure hero could come up with something a little more poetic, original. However, the two of you don't need flowery language. He's speaking from his soul, and if his moans aren't doing the job of conveying how you burn him from the inside out, then Shouta doesn't know what else can.

But as he palmed himself, Aizawa speculated you'd be a lot softer than his calloused hand, much gentler than the hardened thumb circling his dribbling slit.

The hero strains, envisioning walls as smooth as silk, housing a warmth with the capability of ruining him--spoiling him.

Thinking of the delicate heat between your legs is what does him in; it proved too much for the hero who was already toeing the edge. It was a risque thought he shouldn't have fostered, but a fault Aizawa knew he’d readily repeat given a chance--just as he'd done a thousand times before.

Shouta jabbed his hips high into the air, a reflex that allowed you to view his twitching length in all its glory as he furiously jerked his blushing cock. He did so until he could manage little more than weak pumps into his slackening grip. In between the continuous deep, throaty groans, Aizawa whined, moaning your name. He mercilessly wrung his balls of every last drop of euphoria as he melted into the ground.

Shouta spilled his heart as he spilled his seed.

“Kitten-[name] I love you...!”

You have no justification for the throb below. You can feel your heartbeat in your vagina. Neither could you explain the reason your heart soared--the perverse warmth in your chest as Aizawa fondled himself into a panting, gasping mess, stammering his love.

“I love you, kitty! I love-hnng!” Shouta gasped like a fish out of water, desperately attempting to regulate his breathing--almost as desperately as he squeezed his release for all he could before he was left whimpering on the moss-covered floor from overstimulation.

The last thing he saw before his eyes closed, unable to withstand the onset, is the spillage of ecstasy trickling down your sex.

Pleasure washes over you like a thief in the night--an unexpected tidal wave of repeated carnal joy that your flesh gorges on. It delights in the physical euphoria without shame as your orgasm crept up on you. The violent contractions deep in your center catch you off guard. The display was so powerful that it sent your hurtling over the edge along with him.

Stammered cries fly from your lips as you ride out your unusual release. Your thighs flex, wanting to come together.

Intense as he might be, Shouta would never harm you. It would defeat the purpose of him bringing you home. As long as he can help it, pain will never find you under his roof. That said, Shouta isn't above giving you reasons to evaluate your behavior.

You're cautiously munching on your favorite takeout, a rare treat Aizawa brought home for you as the hero prefers that your diet consists of primarily home-cooked meals when Shouta comments on how difficult it would be to enjoy your favorite foods without all ten of those darling fingers you're attached too. It's spoken offhandedly, but you hear the threat behind them.

Don't run from him again.

This is your home, and you need to get used to it. You'll never become familiar with your surroundings if you’re constantly running off when his back is turned.

Assuming you didn't have one before, now you have a reason to stay.

If you think you aren't getting interrogated while Aizawa gets to the bottom of this, you can think again.

He doesn't raise his voice to you, nor does he abuse or strike you. Shouta respects your boundaries and has allowed you the comfort of your personal space regardless of how it torments him—the urge to have you against him.

The hero provides all of your needs. You don't want for anything. So then why?

Aizawa thinks you're being needlessly difficult. Is a life of soft, pampered hands such a terrible one that you feel the need to run?

It's no secret that our dear vigilante is overworked and terminally exhausted, and frankly, kitten, this game between you and him is growing tired. The daily post-work game of hide and seek where he discovers little hideaways in his home he hadn't known existed—uncovering all the nooks and crannies you use to hide away from him. He longs for the day you'll greet him at the door, and no longer will he have to trek through his home in search of the warm welcome he sought; even just a few hugs would do. His search never lasts more than ten minutes. You don't know this, but you have a distinct smell Shouta can detect and pick apart from the rest. His nose is a valuable tool in determining whether you've run from home or are simply in hiding.

Aizawa is left with no alternative to shortening this daily occurrence other than latching doors you and he seldom use, one less avenue of escape. Shouta hates doing it, and he can understand feeling trapped, perhaps even caged in, but you've left him no other options. He’d love for every door in your shared home to be open to you, but apparently, that isn't very realistic.

Moreover, the hero is forced to beckon you out of hiding with gentle calls of your name. You act no better than his whiskered companions, but at least they greet him at the door. You certainly live up to your pet name.

His calls morph into frantic demands if he finds you haven't eaten in the time he's been gone. Aizawa can be absent anywhere from early morning to midnight, and that's far too long without any sustenance.

“Kitten, please. You need to eat something.” Shouta knows where you are, but he'd appreciate it if you came out of your own accord for once.

“Just a few bites, and you can go back to whatever you were doing.”

Usually, he's forced to leave your dinner sitting out somewhere. And if you want to avoid a seat in his lap as he gently feeds you, you’ll eat it before he comes back to collect it.

Lately, however, he's stopped leaving your meals out, hoping it will encourage you to sit at the table with him so you two can finally have a meal together.

Your antics have compelled him to keep stock of everything in the kitchen down to each slice of bread to determine if you've eaten or not. Combing through the kitchen inventory is first on his list of chores before he can unlace his boots and take the hot shower he's craved since mid-afternoon.

Expect Shouta to go and count each individually wrapped slice of cheese and each sliver of lunch meat if you throw him some line about making a sandwich.

He’ll leave as you wanted, but your victory is short-lived when he returns with the sandwich you claimed to have for lunch.

You've, without a doubt, added to his already packed schedule. Yet, Aizawa has hope you’ll become more autonomous as you settle in. He doesn't mind looking after you, but he needs to know you're being fed and cared for when he can't be there to do it for you.

The worst moments are the rarer occasions Shouta insists on closeness. The hero is running on empty at the end of a grueling night of patrol, and desperate for intimacy. You're the only remedy for bred-in-the-bone fatigue. You have a theory that his ever-present exhaustion is hereditary--outside of his control, and completely undetermined by how little or how much rest he receives. There's a [name] sized hole in his heart, and it's one he aspires to fill as he runs a bath for the two of you. Shouta needs your company and general warmth. Somewhat of a gentleman, he never peeks. And when you've finally joined him in the steamy rose-scented water, his arms cover your nakedness as they bring you into an unshaven chest. Somewhat of a gentleman, seeing as Aizawa had these wandering hands that dipped below the water to simultaneously help you decompress and overwork your body to such an extent that you slept without medical intervention.

Drabble

“Kitten, could I borrow you for a moment?”

That patient voice calls for you again. Huddled in one of your secret cavities, you marvel at the complexity of it--soft, rich, and always gentle when it beckons for you. You marvel at how such a mellow voice could jump-start your heart, never once failing its job of driving an icy stake of anxiety through it.

His tall silhouette casts a shadow under the slither of wood where the cabinet door didn't quite meet itself, a fault of the manufacturer that enabled you to gauge how close he was as he stood outside the kitchen cabinet you’d crammed into. You aren't surprised he located you so quickly; it's one of your favorite burrows, and unbeknownst to you, Shouta knew just where to look.

There's no use in staying silent; he knows you're here, yet, you hold your breath, pressing tight to the back of the wall where the cabinet ended.

“It won't take long.” The voice reassured after a pause where you offered no response.

“I promise.”

Shouta’s tone remains calm as ever, but you detect quiet desperation beneath the surface as the hero gingerly coaxes you from your hiding spot.

Aizawa isn't leaving, and you know all too well that he’ll wait as long as it takes. It wouldn't be the first time he's sat outside one of your crevices. He often banished the stillness by making small talk, and on occasion, even read you a story from one of the ebooks that came free with his Kindle subscription.

Shouta knows how fond you are of them. On those evenings, the erasure hero would wait until he heard soft snores before gently carrying you to bed.

Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you prepare for the inevitable. You'd rather step out on your own than be overpowered. You can't handle the horror aspect; being hauled out of a safe-haven against your will by a man who needs psychiatric help is something out of a horror film.

The sound of creaking hinges is shattered glass in the tense silence. Once again, you send your resentments to the manufacturer.

You step out slowly, squinting from the bright fluorescents above you. Despite leaving your cramped space where cringing was necessary, you still fold into yourself as you stand before his daunting stature.

When your eyes adjust, you glance up at a patiently waiting Aizawa who has nothing but a kind smile and generous arms should you ask for them.

“Thank you.”

“What, um,” You clear your throat. “What did you need?” You ask after a painful stint where the man in front of you admired you longer than you deemed necessary.

Shouta notes how you self-soothe with the hand driving tiny crescent moons into the meat of your arm. It's the hand he asks for in reply to your question. You see that what’s inside him is warmer than you imagined it to be. And you decide to accept his hand.

“I could use your help with something.” He said, gently leading you to the living room with the hand you kindly offered.

As you fell into step beside him, Aizawa examined your lint-covered clothing. Cobwebs and dust bunnies decorate your hair. It would be fitting if Fall hadn't already come and gone, taking Halloween along with it.

He doesn’t know what comfort you find in his dusty cabinets when you have a soft bed all to yourself, but Shouta doesn't comment on it.

Hand in hand, you step over the threshold that crosses into the sitting room. You're met by the presence of cats who vary in age and coloration. Yet, despite their differences, they all have one thing in common: they all meow expectantly--walking over and circling empty food bowls to draw attention to their emptiness. And each carping feline agrees that it's the greatest treason as they raise their voices in unity to protest this blatant abuse.

‘Father and the new mother they hardly ever see are negligent. You don't love them, and you want them to starve.’ Their little voices bemoan, overly dramatic as they bellyache about how this house is unlivable.

Shouta has no idea where they get it from.

Curled tails brush your leg in greeting. You suspect their goal is to capture you like a lasso and steer you towards their still empty dishes since you aren't moving fast enough. One of the cats walks ahead of you, and you can't shake the notion that it's attempting to guide you; it even looks back at you at intervals meowing, asking why you weren't following.

As it turns out, there’s no need for a cat compass. A light tug of the hand Shouta clasped pulled you from your thoughts, and the hero led you further into the room--right into the maelstrom of cats and kittens.

Shouta perched himself smack-dab in the middle--immediately overrun with furry faces as they climbed into his lap and headbutted his face with wet snouts, scenting him as if he was a favored toy, or more accurately, a favorite scratching post as the kitties crowding his lap kneaded his thigh, purring from the warmth they gave out.

For his part, Shouta didn't seem to mind the soft paws climbing all over him--utilizing him as a stepping stool to greater heights. He made no fuss about the cat hair, and similarly, didn't oppose his new designation as a glorified doormat—the ravenette patted the space beside him, inviting you to sit as you stood there awkwardly.

You plop onto the ground like dead weight--careful yet clumsily. You obey like a dog whose master commanded them to sit.

The graceful felines hold their contempt for your lack of poise. More pressing matters are at hand—the tragic case of their rumbling tummies.

Curious noses sniff around your pretzel folded legs—the more rambunctious kittens of the group stalk toward you. Courageous legs led them to your side as they pad around you, curious but preserving caution.

You'd be hard-pressed to say you didn't experience a mood boost being surrounded by adorable cats. It's uplifting sitting amid playful frolicking felines who strut for attention, rolling over and showing their bellies in the desires of pets.

You're the victim of bait and switch when they shy away after you reach out to pet one.

The rejection stings.

The lighthearted sensation in your chest hardens, and your heart becomes heavy once more. There’s an anvil somewhere in your throat, heavy and impossible to dislodge.

This sinking feeling is absurd. The mist clouding your eyes is unwarranted. You know, but that doesn’t stop the embarrassing telltale soreness from settling in the back of your throat.

Aizawa witnessed your social faux pas and concluded you don't have much experience with cats. His rescued flock are amicable and lively, and Shouta would argue that they're a little too trusting with new visitors, but even the most friendly house cats would take offense to your forward behavior. In cat culture, touching them without introducing yourself is as good as skipping dinner and heading straight to bed in human terms.

In other words, it's highly inappropriate.

How would you react to a stranger running up to you on the street and hugging you? Not well, Aizawa imagines.

Shouta curbs his impulse to shelter you in his chest as you retract your hand, furiously wiping your eyes to erase any evidence of perceived weakness. His instinct to reach out and hold you is a knee-jerk reaction; it came as natural as breathing. The hero longed to hide you away--to provide a safe, private place for your tears, but he knew you'd incline toward allaying your emotions on your lonesome.

Today isn't the day for you to take comfort in him. His gentle arms wouldn't be well received; this he knows for sure. You're a tad closed off, but Aizawa has an idea of how to get you out of your shell.

An avid cat lover, Shouta has experienced his fair share of rejections. Therefore, he can relate to your turmoil on a surface level. It smarts undoubtedly, but it certainly didn't warrant any tears.

He heard from Nemuri that PMS could have some tearful side effects.

Although your cycle should still be a ways off, the hero makes a mental note to grab a few of your favorite snacks from the grocery store. The grievances of your monthly woes certainly merit a little indulgence. Your emotions are fragile, and Aizawa thinks you could benefit from some comfort food.

Even though Shouta is never anything but sweet-tempered and considerate, and despite how erroneous his theory is, he makes another mental note to be extra gentle by choosing his words carefully, and softly inquiring now and then if you need any special purchases in case you're shy about coming to him with any needs you're hugging to your chest.

Aizawa wants to supply all of your necessities. Please let him do that. No harm will come from speaking your needs. If you ask, he’ll provide.

A pointed cough draws your mind back to the man beside you. However, your hands remain stubbornly glued to your face, shielding your vulnerability from view as you dry the last of your tears. This pains the erasure hero who's metaphorically sitting on his hands to keep from pulling you towards him. Shame didn't suit you. And to be frank, there was no need for it. He won't think less of you for your fragile emotional state, nor will he judge you for displaying your humanity.

This is understandably a rough period for you. Aizawa isn't as aloof or calloused to your situation as you think he is. The pro hero is more empathetic than you give him credit for. He pays close attention to your mood to better understand your current mental health. Signs of depression are something he wants to catch early, and if you're sad about anything, he wants to be there to comfort you and fix whatever the problem is. Eraserhead liked to view things from your perspective to help rationalize your behavior. He couldn't stomach the notion of hurting you, let alone put such disgusting acts in motion. Vigilante-pro hero-Eraserhead has committed terrible sins in his quest to fulfill his version of justice, and he's seen even worse, but Shouta Aizawa, the man who needs your love more than he's ever needed anything, didn't have the heart to hurt a single follicle on your head. The man couldn't so much as take a tone with you without feeling like a complete P.O.S. However, Aizawa can understand why you’d side-eye the meals he brings you. Regardless, it hurt to know you thought so little of him. It hurt that you believed any part of him would wish harm on any part of beautiful, unbelievable you. If the roles were reversed, he'd react with the same misgivings, if not more. This is why he can understand how the added stress of your cycle combined with your uprooted life and adjustment to a new way of living could make you sensitive to heartache. It's a heavy load to bear, and Aizawa wants to help in any way that he can. You're still grieving, and a few tears are to be expected.

A lot of his patience stems from his ability to push his own feelings aside and analyze yours.

Meanwhile, you try your damndest to choke back your shuddering breaths. With little success, you smother the wet hiccups lurching your frame involuntarily. Your palms dig into tender sockets spitefully upon each spastic movement. The pressure creates amalgamous blobs behind your eyelids. They refuse to listen to reason, and you curse your body for its rebellion. You're seconds away from Shouta grabbing your hands to stop their aggression against the woman he loves. He's making an effort to give you space, but Aizawa won't sit idly by and watch you mistreat her. He won't let you hurt yourself.

You hate crying in front of others. Crying is a weakness you can't afford to show.

These tears are nonsensical and foolish, and you can't help feeling childlike.

What was it about this man who made you feel so small, naive, and incompetent next to him? Perhaps it’s the way he kept you cloaked underneath his harsh shadow like some diminutive, helpless animal that can't fend for itself--a defenseless kitten that needs protection.

Maybe your feelings of inferiority stemmed from how the stoic hero of few words stared, and frustratingly, never said a thing. You can't read him; the rigid line of his lips is set in stone. His listless gaze betrayed very little. It offered no indications of the meaning behind his stare. Shouta Aizawa is watertight; you saw the emotions he allowed you to see, whatever sentiments he felt like sharing. It nearly felt like he was provoking you with his silence.

Perhaps, it was his maddening indifference to your discomfort whenever he felt the urge to have you in his arms and experience your weight against his chest. Nose tucked into your flesh, Aizawa took long, deep drags of whatever scent clung to your skin. Your heart thumped, beating so wildly it hurt as he fell into you--powerless against the aroma that's intrinsically you. His nose is in your neck, nudging one of the warm nooks your body offered. You shiver from goosebumps as it gently slides back and forth between the little cavity just below your ear. This man is an overgrown house cat with a proclivity for all things warm and soft. Aizawa burrows in search of additional warmth; he makes you feel like a misbehaving child who can't sit still when you fidget.

You're ‘overreacting’.

And possibly, it was the maturity he wore like a fine-fitting suit--the quiet fatherly aura he bled. His presence commands without the hindrance of words. Perhaps it’s the worn callouses on the palm of his hands and deep-set fatigue in his features that inferred wisdom and life experience you'd never graze with your fingertips should you outlive him, not even if you lived three times over.

Wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt, you speculate the age difference is to blame. The hero acted as though he knew better than you did.

You're ‘young,’ you don't know what you ought to know. You don't know what he does.

Or maybe, it‘s the level-headedness he kept in high-stress situations that rivaled apathy. He made you look immature by comparison. The slightest inconvenience and you blew like the fourth of July.

Aizawa affectionately dubbed you ‘kitten,’ something inherently weak and clumsy.

For the second time, Eraserhead vied for your attention. This time, however, under the guise of softly clearing his throat. You finally relent. Sniffling, you peer over at him with puffy eyes and clogged sinuses. Shouta’s hand is outstretched toward a twitching snout as the tabby investigates his smell. The cat appeared confused by his offer, unsure why its father was bothering with pleasantry when they were already acquainted. They bypass his unnecessary greeting, cutting the formality to rub their tiny pink nose against his fingers.

You mimic him, offering a hand to the throng of pampered paws, albeit far less confidently. The counsel of cats considers your submission with inquisitive sniffs. You gasp when they find favor with your offer, allowing you to brush the satiny fur atop their heads. You miss the smile Aizawa sends your way, warm and full of quiet affection.

You pet all the furry heads you could get your hands on, but their constant movement made it difficult. They walk over themselves in pursuit of the heat radiating from your palms. The litter rewards you with sweet purrs, all too pleased to be on the receiving end of warm hands. A few of them grow comfortable enough with your presence to make a home of your thighs as they'd done to Shouta, nestling themselves in the inviting gap your crossed legs created. Perfectly cat-shaped.

The overly-affectionate felines roll over and expose their soft bellies despite formally acquainting themselves with you mere seconds ago. In a home as modest as this one, you and the cats have indeed seen one another in passing, but you've never interacted with them before.

Aizawa shook his head. While the hero is pleased his cats have taken such a liking to you, their gullible nature is a bit outrageous. Everyone is a friend, and humans bring the promise of head scratches and treats. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, Aizawa supposes. They've forgotten all about the cruelty they encountered, and thankfully, it didn't make them any less affectionate. Shouta’s fingers entertain one of the cats splayed at his feet, using them as a teaser toy as he watches you befriend the only other family he had before you joined them in their home. The sprightly kittens welcomed you into the pack like you were one of their own, crowding your space to mark you as kin. Intuition speculated another reason for their quick bond had something to do with their human's high opinion of you. Cats are believed to be wise creatures, able to sense what we as humans cannot. Perhaps they picked up on Aizawa’s fondness and decided if their father likes you, then you must be someone trustworthy. He seldom tolerated visitors except for that loud blonde a vast majority of them recoiled from, but the ones who viewed loud noise and energy as an invitation to play jumped in excitement upon his theatrical arrival. Humans aren't the only ones Present Mic can hype up. Shouta is left with the aftermath of hyperactive cats who won't settle down, so his visits are far and in between.

Your heart is buried amongst the clouds--weightless and comprised of everything fluffy and sweet. Delight is irresistible when soft heads bunt against you, especially when a pink snoot nuzzles your nose. You're inundated with kitty kisses courtesy of the brown tabby rumbling contented purrs against the side of your cheek. Deep chocolate with swirls of caramel made up its coloration. They reminded you of a chocolate chip cookie.

‘Chocolate chip,’ as you named them, took a shine to you immediately: climbing up onto your shoulders and even attempting to take a nap in your hair.

Eraserhead is inclined to think his cats fell for you faster than he did. How could they not? They had the same affinity for warmth and downy things. Like father, like cats.

Gently, you push into the softness colliding with your cheek, head-butting the sweet kitten right back. The thatch of thick, cottony fur is delicate silk against your skin. It’s like planting your face in a blanket made of the smoothest velvet. You place a tentative kiss on CC’s head, and they steal your heart with the deep, joyful purrs and gentle kneading that follows. The former is a tad painful due to their claws, but you can easily overlook that with how sweetly they're cuddling against you.

Shouta melts like butter on popcorn as you socialize with his clawed companions. His heart has never been more full than it is now, watching them purr their approval of his choice of a life partner and seeing you love them as much as he does--as he hoped you would. It's simply unfair how cute you are, how adorable this whole scene is. The hero can't help but note how domestic it is. It's a warm atmosphere he's craved since day one.

“Coffee.”

Your head snaps up to gape incredulously at the man across from you. You squint at him, processing the word he said to you.

Coffee...?

Is he asking you to bring him some?

You bristle, insulted. A flush of indignation lit your skin afire.

First of all, rude. That isn't how you ask someone to bring you something—your lip wrinkled from the curt demand. Are you a servant now? Are you expected to wait on him hand and foot?

He hardly requested anything from you during your stay apart from soft petitions for you to eat and the scarce occasions he asked for your company. (I.e., the times Aizawa is unwilling to resist scooping you up and hugging you to his chest for therapeutic cuddles when he needs your warmth. The hero always wants your company. But it's on those occasions he insists on holding his love.)

You wouldn't mind looking after him a bit (like the hero so often does for you). He could use a home-cooked meal instead of those damned jelly pouches and the caffeine he relies on too heavily. Nevertheless, he could have gone about asking more respectably.

The look on your face is telling. Shouta repeats himself, fighting amusement as he nods toward the cat rubbing itself against you.

You glance at the cat in your lap.

Oh.

Coffee. Their name is coffee.

They meow in response to their name. You muttered it without realizing it. They aren't a chocolate chip cookie, but black coffee with notes of hazelnut coffee creamer.

Your cheeks warm. And just like that, you feel like a child again despite how impossible it was to interpret his ambiguous statement.

“Hi, Coffee...” Your voice is softer than your touch. You felt a tad silly for your shyness when they let out the strongest purrs under the gentle scritches your hand gave. Those soft ears were too cute to ignore.

With some gentle encouragement from Aizawa, you ‘formally’ introduce yourself to each cat, putting forth your hand for them to scent while Shouta tells you their names. There’s no way you’ll remember them all. You can’t count all the furry heads moving about, but there had to be at least fifteen.

The last cat studied your hand cryptically. They were black as night, and it was almost as if you could see their bright yellow-brown eyes studying against a black backdrop of fur. Their coat shined like the deepest darkest onyx, a shade of black so alluring you reach out to touch its magnificence. You just know it’ll be the softest thing you’ve ever felt. The cat’s shading made their heterochromia stand out against the sea of darkness that swallowed them. While they tolerated your greeting and even appeared to accept it, they shied from your hand, sprinting behind Shouta. You glance at him lost--confused.

Aren't they more receptive to touch when you introduce yourself to them?

Did you offend them somehow?

Scare them?

“Not all cats have the same temperament.” He clarified, answering your question.

“Mocha was especially skittish when he first came home, more so than the others.”

You peer around him, eyeing the feline who watches you with equal interest, albeit with an undercurrent of distrust.

“He didn’t start socializing until about a month in, and it took him longer to warm up enough for pets.” As he talks, Aizawa gingerly brings them out of hiding and into his lap with a bit of coaxing. “I’ve got a few scars to show from his early days.”

You peak at his hands, glimpsing the faint scarring along his palm, paper-thin white raised skin running from his wrist to the middle of his forearm.

You might keep a safe distance from Mocha. Some beauties are meant to be admired from a distance, like paintings at a museum.

“I got cocky. I wasn't practicing caution, and threatened cats do what they do best in stressful situations. I was at fault for not respecting their boundaries.” Shouta caught your wince, although you tried to hide it. While he can't stop you from forming a negative opinion of Mocha based on the scarring that’ll never heal, he hopes you'll at least give them a chance to open up. It wasn't their fault, and the whole thing could've been avoided. They're a sweet cat despite this singular hiccup.

“I became impatient, and we both got hurt because of my rash behavior.”

You shift uncomfortably.

This...sounds oddly reminiscent of an admission of guilt.

“These days, he’s a content lap cat.” Fierce purrs from the seat of his thighs validate him better than word-of-mouth ever could. Purrs as animated as those couldn't be faked, and Mocha looks right at home snuggled with the erasure hero.

“I’ll admit, it wasn't easy to keep my distance. I was eager to leave the pain of their past behind and, along with it, the injuries that made them distrustful. Not every hand wished for their misery, their grief, and sorrows.” Your gaze lifts from Mocha to find Shouta already looking in your direction. “There was a pair that longed to hold and love them, to take all of that away.”

You squirm under the spotlight you find yourself under. The spike of anxiety and the subsequent heatwave is wholly unappreciated. You’ve never been a fan of the limelight, and unfortunately, Shouta held your eyes with a gaze that felt like he was cupping your heart.

Is this still about Mocha?

“But they fought and refused them. It was understandable; they weren't familiar with being loved the way they should be. I'm convinced they didn't know how to respond to the sudden warmth when they've only known unkindness, so used to the cold.”

Shouta is optimistic you’ll come around, but God, if his arms didn't ache from wanting to hold you: to bring you near his chest, to bring you home.

“The wait was worth it in the end.” The payoff of his loneliness would be worth its weight in cozy afternoons spent in companionable silence. Although Aizawa didn't indulge in idle chatter, he still wanted to hear from you. How this man longed for quiet conversation with you. He might not say much, but that doesn't mean he won't hang off your every word. Your voice is the sweetest thing he's ever heard, and he has no issue with it being the only thing he hears for weeks on end. A soulmate to share his days with, someone who’d gently envelop him on nights his insomnia is at its worst: someone with soft fingers and gentler lullabies on their lips--someone he could dissolve into without needing to speak, who’d do all the talking for him as Shouta listens is worth the time he spent pining, touch-starved, and dying for your company.

You can't help but draw parallels between yourself and Mocha. Like any sane person, you fought him in the beginning. You declined meals (stressing Shouta beyond belief) and swore within yourself that you would never sleep in that room you refused to call yours. This led to sleepless nights for you and Aizawa both. The hero sacrificed his sleep schedule to put his worrisome kitten back on hers. He tried everything from warmed milk to weighted blankets. Maddeningly, frustratingly and concerningly, you kept awake.

Drugging the woman he loves didn't cross Shouta’s mind more than twice. Manipulating your body without consent is something he'd like to avoid repeating. But then again, you didn't have to know about it.

It's not like he didn't have your best interest in mind, his bone-weary subconscious whispered.

Aizawa hummed nursery rhymes under his breath (whatever harmony his out-of-order subconscious mind could come up with,) and he was a hair's breadth from begging when he glanced up from your favorite children's narrative to see you fast asleep. Grateful and beyond exhausted, Shouta nodded off curled in the armchair beside your bed.

When did you become so complacent? You certainly haven't stopped giving the erasure hero grief, but you also don't fight him as vigorously as you had in the past. What was the point? You weren't hurting anyone but yourself.

Wrong. Your vow of silence taught Aizawa true loneliness. He learned what it meant to be utterly disconnected from the one you love. The quiet was punishing. Isolating. Though Shouta would like to believe his sweet kitten wouldn't do something so malignant, he can't shake how penalizing it was. You were upset with him for some odd reason. You shut down--closed yourself off to him. You left him shivering in the cold. He’d begged and pleaded to be let into your thoughts; he couldn't fix what you wouldn't explain. The quiet was bitter, but it made him reevaluate his interactions with you.

You don't complain when he asks in that infuriating but strangely satisfying rasp if he can join you in whatever activity you happened to be doing.

You don't leave the room when he enters anymore. You stiffen instead. Your tense shoulders only relax after he's seated across from you, engrossed in his pastime of surveying you silently as you immerse yourself in whatever distraction lays at your feet.

You wonder if time will find you in his lap, similar to Mocha, happy for any attention when the solitude of avoiding the only other human becomes unbearable. When you inevitably softened from his mellow voice. You aren't prepared to deal with that, so you distract yourself with Coffee.

“Would you help me feed them?”

The gloss of peppy-colored packaging catches your eye. You notice the giant bag of dried cat food for the first time. To your credit, it was easy to miss, wholly outshined by the sheer number of cats.

You look from the bag to Aizawa, connecting the dots.

Is this what he wanted help with?

No wonder the cats are so antsy. Their stomachs are probably in their backs!

“You didn't need my help for this.” Stir crazy. That's gotta be it. The monotony is affecting your ability to reason, your self-preservation.

“Not necessarily,” Aizawa mused in that gruff mumble of his, the one that resembled a purring engine, the one that did confusing things to your insides. “but I’d appreciate it.” The sound came through his nose, resonating to make it even huskier. “Your company would be nice.”

Holy shit.

His voice is vocal serotonin, a luscious deep rasp that's so lethargic, it's comforting. He had a voice made for audiobooks and talking others to sleep. It has a second-hand somnolent effect.

With the flashes of Shouta reading you to bed fresh in mind, you self-destruct on the spot. There's nowhere for you to hide the nervous fluster baking your skin save for planting your face in your hands, and that's not an option.

“I like seeing you now and then.”

Anxiety rockets your temperature to worrying decimals. You aren't sure if these butterflies are good or bad.

“It's nice to see your face,” He has to have some idea of what he's doing to you. You can hear the smile in his words. “It's exceptionally cute today.”

Coffee meows, inquisitive, asking why you've stopped petting him. Your hand is poised over his body, shaky and useless, not providing his good boy pets.

“Devastatingly adorable.”

Your jaw drops.

He...he didn't. It's so out of character. This man has more layers than you realized. His tone is permanently flat, and you're left wondering whether he's being playful or if he's serious.

Playful banter isn't something you expected from the ‘hero’ who stole you from your bedroom. Who rescued you from your own home. But Neither did you anticipate his desire to build a relationship on such a rocky foundation.

Revelation aside, you aren't sure how to respond.

“I thought you could use something to occupy yourself with. It might keep you from exploring my cupboards for a few minutes.” Hopefully. That, and he'd be dense not to notice how anxious you've been lately. Kitten, it's not healthy. Shouta worries for you. All that tension is an accident waiting to happen. He has suspicions it's directly tied to your sleeping problems and nonexistent appetite. You're stressed, and luckily, Aizawa has fifteen fluffy sources of dopamine. He, of all people, knew the health benefits of owning pets.

“You came off bored--I assumed you might be interested in helping me please these aspiring little actors.” As if on cue, the kitties sound off like mini sirens. The sweetest sirens you've ever heard. They echoed off each other, giving those animal shelter commercials designed to dig deep into your heart a run for their money. So deep, you find your hand scraping the bottom of your pockets. That's how heartbreaking their cries are.

“They ate twice today, but their theatrics would have you think differently.”

As if they needed a reason to show off their idiosyncrasies. You'll learn soon enough. The number of times he's been urgently roused from a deep sleep with nudges and hysterical meowing just so they could be walked to their already filled food dishes is a common theme for them.

His dark eyes lock with yours, recognizing the look on your face. You're desperately wracking that fascinating mind of yours for a way out.

“Unfortunately, I'm going to have to ask that you indulge me, my love.”

The spike of adrenaline from his earlier comment--the one about sneaking around his cabinets as a terrified little mouse resurfaced with a vengeance at his newest pet name. This man is tiring. You can't handle the ups and downs. You've been in his presence all of ten minutes, and you're already drained.

“O-okay.”

Shouta feeds the kittens while you feed the cats mature enough for solids. Aizawa showed you how to measure their food; there was only one measuring spoon provided in the bag, but since he had no use for it, he handed it to you instead.

He completely ignored it. Shouta determined the proper amount simply by weight and eyeing the height relative to the bowl. For a hot second, you thought he was winging it. The comfort he demonstrated made you reconsider. His movement had a certain fluidity, and it's like he's moving on autopilot--as if he’d fallen into a well-worn routine. He sat out fifteen separate bowls, all aligned in single-file. There was one for each cat.

Of course, on their empty stomachs, the famished felines were all over the place. With Shouta’s assistance, you lifted the cats and placed them in front of their dishes as soon as they were filled. The erasure hero guided you through the first five or so and let you finish up on your own as he tended to the smallest of the kindle. He left you bewildered and blithe. It’s rare for Shouta to let you do menial tasks without gently shooing you off to do whatever it is [name’s] do while he handles it himself. (Shared responsibility for your cat children is no menial task in Shouta’s opinion!)

You're done in no time at all. Mocha found their way to the bowl without aid, and that's okay. He didn't need help, and you know all too well what being coddled is like. There’s levity in your chest--you feel light on your feet, and it's like you could levitate off them at any given moment. Taking care of something small and needful is awfully fulfilling. It's rewarding.

Feeling lost and out of place now that you've finished your assignment, you glance over to Shouta nursing the kittens.

Does he get the same feeling of accomplishment after he ‘provides’ for you? Is his chest as warm and full as yours is right now? You sure hope not. You'll be the first to admit the serotonin boost is addictive. It feels oddly nice knowing something, or rather someone relies on you. If so, it wouldn't bode well for your hopes of returning home one day.

Back when you still had the naivety to plead with him to take you home, he’d respond the same each time without fail. Aizawa cringed as if your words had whipped him, falling into silence too somber to be eerie. The hero examines the nearest wall for a long period. When he eventually faces you again, his eyes are full of pain, an expression of profound sadness marring his features. “Don't ask me to be lonely.”

He must have caught you peering in his direction because the hero asked if you'd like to try feeding one of them as he brought a concerningly small kitten toward you. You panic as he makes to transition them from his arms to yours.

“Ah!” You step back, alarmed. Shouta drew them toward his chest, protecting them from the potentially startling noise. His brow furrowed as he studied your face, searching for the reason behind the deer-in-headlights look in your eye.

“N-no, they're...very teeny, aren't they?” Too small. You shouldn't be trusted with that kind of responsibility.

Aizawa accepted your response with a kiss on your forehead. His sympathetic smile implied he was able to piece together why you turned down the offer.

“It took a good while before I got used to their smallness.” He admitted, bringing the nipple to their lips again. “Maybe next time?”

“Maybe...”

Unsure what to do with yourself, you sit among the cats, listening to the soft crunches and quiet purrs accompanying their dinner. Coffee scoots his food bowl near your feet with his nose so he can eat beside you.

He's such a sweetheart.

Your index finger scratches behind his ear, and his purrs kick up a notch.

Absent-minded, you pet his smooth fur while watching the man ahead of you.

Aizawa cradles the kittens and hand-feeds them from a bottle. The scene he painted is criminally cute. He’s got some paternal instincts buried under all that facial hair. You refuse to acknowledge how naturally it came for him despite his unsociable behavior. And you absolutely refuse to let yourself wonder how those instincts could correlate to children. You will, however, begrudgingly admit that he has a talent for nurturing youths. The Shouta Aizawa cooed down at them as if they were a baby, for heaven's sake! Stoic is his middle name. He looks so soft, and you've never been more insulted. How dare this man make you fawn over him? This man who did those...those things without your consent. It's disgusting. This is offensive.

Shouta gently places the kitten on his shoulder. Patting its back with a firm hand, he encourages an adorable little burp to leave its mouth. He held them longer than necessary, simply donating his heat and offering them his company--a kind touch.

You can't pick your heart up off the ground. It isn't possible. It's melted right out of your chest.

“Is this the part where I say a picture will last longer?”

You look up, feeling like the kid who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Black eyes peer at you from their peripherals.

You weren't the only one doing a bit of spying. The lovesick erasure hero babysat kept a close watch on you in case you needed him. You didn't (obviously), and he knew you wouldn't. You're a fast learner--adapting to new situations and responsibilities easily. It's one of the reasons he loves you. Shouta effervesced with pride as you bustled about, scurrying so cutely to get each bowl filled as quickly as possible. His eyes shined with the light of a fiery hearth. You did an excellent job, and he couldn't be more proud. Aren’t you just a perfect little darling, helping him with the minutiae of everyday life?

Shouta feels you've earned a few kisses. Were his hands not preoccupied, he'd lift you into his arms and brush your lips together, illustrating his affection. He found your fluttery personality charming--terminally anxious energy that caused you to bustle about like an agitated little bee, that he couldn't help but adore and pity. His kitten is a volatile concoction of anxiety, clumsiness, and shyness. It caused more structural damage than the L.O.V. and all other organized crime in Musutafu combined. It's resulted in a shocking amount of scrapes and broken plates. Shouta is torn between astonishment and frustrated concern. Prone to accidents as you are, it's given the pro more than enough excuses to do everything for you. It had its upsides. Spoon feeding the love of his life is Shouta’s favorite pastime. It's his newfound stress relief.

You're made of sugar, spice, and everything he was looking for in a lover, but those elements are your chemical x. Again, however, Shouta doesn't adore you any less because of them. They give you character. Everything about you is darling and sweet--there are no exceptions.

Cute as he might be, a scruffy Aizawa cuddling with kittens couldn’t hold a flame to the darling pout you wore. It held the perfect amount of petulance, puckered to perfection with just enough brattiness to still be sweet. And oh, did it drive Aizawa crazy for you. How it teased and begged for his lips. You really shouldn't be tempting him like this. Shouta’s trying to stay on his best behavior, and heaven’s above, are you making it difficult.

It's unfair how adorable you are. It truly is.

You’re full of surprises, and he likes that about you. You surely give him more reasons to keep on his toes. While the hero appreciates how predictable you can be, there's always the odd instance where you crawl out of the neat box he placed you in. Just when the hero thought he knew everything there was to know about your makeup--when he thought he had you pegged to a perfect T, you ruined his perfect packaging and made him revisit everything. You prove him wrong almost spitefully. Shouta is starting to think it’s impossible when you drop your latest bombshell.

“Can I?” He’d expected more of your shy stuttering, not this boldness that came from thin air. Well, perhaps ‘bold’ is too generous. The question itself was tentative (and adorably hesitant) and Shouta can't believe you asked it.

Aizawa repressed the rising warmth in his chest until he could get a bit more clarification. Are you asking what he thinks you are?

“Are...you asking for a picture of me?”

Your reply is equal parts venturing. “Are you offering?”

Aizawa borrowed the cloak of shyness you'd seemingly shed, wrapping it around his shoulders like a shawl.

You wanted a photo. Of him. If this isn't a monumental development in your relationship, he doesn't know what is.

“Do whatever you want.” His response is muffled by the capture weapon obscuring the lower half of his face. It's not like he needs it. His skin is already heated. “I can’t stop you,” Shouta mumbles, looking off to the side, once again reminding you of a flustered tortoise retreating into its shell.

You're reminded of how oddly handsome he can be. Shy looks good on him, way better than the teasing Totoro grin you got when he decided to tease you over something trivial.

Your thumb traces over the digital photo trapped in glass. It's smooth and cool to the touch. Shouta glances off to the side looking soft, flustered, and warm as he looks at some mystery you, the viewer, can't see. Fluffy tufts of white fur press against his cherry-colored cheeks. He and one of the kittens are cheek-to-cheek, and somehow, both muses are camera shy. The dusting of pink on his nose makes it even more adorable. You had to retake it because, in typical dad fashion, Shouta pulled a face the first time around. The Sepia-tone filter made the homey scene even warmer; It's toasted caramel-butterscotch, and all too cozy.

Coffee meows, drawing your attention as he settles at your feet.

Snap!

Coffee tilts his head, curious about the chime that came from the strange, rounded-rectangle in your hands.

The too-cute kitty peering at you from your screen gave you an idea.

Snap!

Shutter!

In just a few clicks, you had panorama shots of the cats all lined up. Their little noses are furiously racing to the bottom of their dishes as though they haven't eaten in ages. You have shots of every adorable angle; you’ve definitely caught their good sides. You manage to capture the elusive Mocha, a feat in itself.

He reminds you a lot of Aizawa: standoffish, moody, and in need of a good pillow to counteract the grumpiness.

Shouta asks for a photo, conveniently forgetting that you don't have internet access--a sore point of contention you quickly remind him of. You get a bit of petty revenge by snapping a photo of his grimace as the erasure hero realizes he stepped on an active landmine. Ha. Forever immortalized.

Brooding is a vain pastime when you can't change anything, but a pastime you indulge in nonetheless as you throw yourself in front of the chain of nibbling felines. Petulant, your arms cross in front of you to create a bed for your chin. This infantile behavior doesn't help your sentiment of feeling immature compared to a considerably more mature Aizawa, but it makes you feel better, and that's all that matters. Sulking, you reach out to stroke the ones in immediate petting distance. Careful fingers comb through their fur--an ear twitches, but otherwise, they continue feasting.

You're placing festive stickers on the cats and drawing handsome little mustaches/top hats on their bowed heads when Shouta speaks up. “Would you help me look after them while I'm at work?” Your eyes lift from the phone to meet his gaze, thumbs pausing their artistic endeavors in favor of providing him your undivided attention. It zeroes on the kitten finishing up its bottle and settles on Shouta.

You shift in your spot on the ground.

You don't exactly want to get attached to anything in this house. Hands-on care and affection would result in attachment--a weak point that would tether you to the cats and Aizawa both, making it harder to leave. You don't want conflicting emotions where solid resolve once stood.

You return to the tiny kitten nestled in Shouta’s arms.

And...

“I-I don't think I should handle things--” living things, “so small and delicate. I mean-!” You cup your face in a makeshift hug, self-soothing and willing away this sudden fever. “I don't know the first thing about raising kittens--I've never had a cat.” You blurt unceremoniously. Panic and anxiety have word-vomit rising in your throat like the actual thing; it burns worse than stomach acid.

“I've never even held a human baby!” No one has ever trusted you with one.

Laying down becomes too much, and suddenly you're kneeling with your hand jammed into the valley of your breasts to still your hemorrhaging heart.

Your chest hurts. So much.

“I can teach you.” You're overpowered by spice and overtaken by heat. Warmth wraps itself around your midsection and presses gently against your back. His voice is the calm you need to start taking deep, measured breaths. Shouta talks you through them, annoyingly saying all of the things you need to hear.

Aizawa trades one kitten for another. You need his attention a little more right now.

His warmth is brief, and the hug lasts long enough for him to get your breathing under control before he relinquishes your personal space. He didn't want you to start hyperventilating, but God, if Shouta isn't currently kicking himself. Those minutes are personal and he shouldn't interfere unless you ask him to.

It's getting harder and harder to withstand the demand of his soul to bring you close. Aizawa reminds himself that it isn't time for you to seek shelter in him. Like before, it would be ill-received.

“I’d say I'm a decent instructor. I promise I won't expel you for not understanding a lesson straight away.” The playful inflection disconcerts you. It flirted with the sense of humor that rears its head at the most inopportune times. Similar to a heroic spider, you use satire to cope with awkward situations. While returning his banter seems rather attractive, you tuck into the elbow of the couch Shouta directed you to sit on. You guesstimate he was worried about your coordination--ever the fretter. Your feet are taken from you as always--Shouta took the possibility of harm from you. It's like the hero thinks you’ll collapse or something.

“Shouta, I dunno...” Your eyes can't stay away from the cluster of cats. They do look endearingly cute… They look like they'll be the death of you

“These are their hyperactive years, and they could use someone to play with.”

Shouta often felt guilty about leaving them for hours on end. Kittens need lots of one-on-one time and regular play sessions to expend their energy and sharpen their hunting skills. While Shouta can't always provide the company they sought, his home, with its soft furnishings and central heat, was a better alternative than cold streets. He had hope that with so many cats, they could find fellowship amongst themselves and fill whatever gaps his rigorous schedule created. And with your presence, he knew they'd receive all the love they needed and then some. Alternatively, Aizawa feels they could provide companionship while he's gone. He doesn't like how you're left alone for so long. It hurts his heart to leave you, but kitten, there's no getting around his hero duties. In a perfect world, he'd be at home cuddled up with you and the cats--maybe a kid or two if he allowed himself to entertain the thought of a family, but that's what he's out there fighting to achieve--a perfect, peaceful world for you and his children.

[In a perfect world where villains and quirks don't exist, he'd feel comfortable with you venturing outside without him. However, you know as well as he does that ‘perfect’ doesn't exist. Not outside of you, of course.]

The knowledge that someone's depending on you should motivate you to get up at a reasonable hour for once. Their day doesn't start until yours does. Meeting their nutritional and emotional needs will (hopefully) reintroduce structure and routine into your daily schedule.

“Could you promise to think about it for me?” Shouta sincerely believes this will have a positive impact on your mental health.

A familiar, friendly weight jumped onto the cushions; the spring effect was lighter than the fur covering their tiny frame. They scaled the treacherous mountain of Aizawa’s suede black couch, (predictable for the hero who crusades in all black) and braved the perilous cliffs of throw blankets to make it home to your thighs. This cat will be the catalyst to your doom. All that just to rub up against you.

“I’ll think about it.” Coffee tips his head at your soft retort and promptly gnaws your leg, attacking your sock-clad feet.

...You'll certainly get exercise in.

Your anxiety attack landed you a first-class seat on Shouta’s lap. The erasure hero makes you snug against him, clutching you tightly to assure your heart rate remains normal. He snapped off chunks of dark chocolate, breaking them into bite-sized pieces. His tone is soft and compassionate, even if uncompromisingly strict as he requests that you take a few bites. Aizawa begs your forgiveness in case you aren't a fan of the bitter substance. Yet, it's all he owns that reduces anxiety aside from the chamomile tea you're polishing off. (To his knowledge anyhow.) It sparks a conversation about what comfort foods you'd prefer as a substitute while Shouta dusts your outfit, shaking the soot from your blouse.

His smell is mulled cider: notes of cinnamon, cloves, allspice, and nutmeg. Even his scent is homey. He smells straight out of a holiday bakery and from his thrown-together fashion sense, you bet he hasn't worn cologne a day in his life. So where the hell is it coming from?

The topic of food begs the question of what you want for dinner. Aizawa is adamant he can make whatever you're craving. He hasn’t been the best cook, but he's been practicing for you.

“I’m not a child, Shouta.” You huff, eager to distract him.

There's an anxious moment where you think he’ll press the issue, aware you're deflecting. It wasn't often he let you squirm away from serious discussion.

“Of course you're not.” He answered flatly, snorting as if the notion was ridiculous--contrary to the hand pulling dust bunnies from your hair, like a hen grooming its chicks.

You‘re momentarily relieved and a little charmed by him. He was indulging you as you had done for him.

“Although. You are prone to getting into places you shouldn't. And becoming filthy as a result.” He pinched another cobweb, flicking it to the floor with a sigh. He mumbles something along the lines of, ‘you're going to need a bath later.’

You recall the couple's baths you were forced to take where Aizawa insisted on scrubbing you with the loofah himself.

“You're my kitten--my soulmate.” Warmth blooms on the side of your temple where the erasure hero kissed you.

“I'm not invalid.”

Your accusation gave Shouta pause. The conversation comes to a lull; a thoughtful silence overcomes him.

“What does kitten mean to you?” He asks, nosing the side of your neck. Shouta hid in its soft contours, tightening the arms around you. You're upset, but he doesn't know what he did.

“Something weak.” You fire back without sparing a thought. “Something incapable of looking after itself--something immature and irresponsible.” Now that you've started, you can't stop. “Something smothered and stifled.”

It hurts seeing the man you once guarded during patrols treat you like delicate china. Initially, you'd wonder if he got hit with a quirk that caused temporary amnesia, forgetting all the times you saved his ass. He watched you hold your own against thugs twice your size. It's insulting the way he coddled you. His spiel of ‘keeping you safe’ didn't have much traction when you were a pro hero, more than capable of protecting yourself.

The man behind you hums, letting you know he’s digesting the information you gave him. His thumb haloes the inner divet of your wrist as he does, an unconscious attempt to soothe you while he analyzes your thought process. Shouta places a swift kiss against your neck. You gave him a peek at the inner workings of your mind, and he couldn't be more thankful.

Once he's had a moment to consider your words, Aizawa nestles you snugly into his chest. His heartbeat is in your skin when his calloused fingers slide between your smaller pair. He kept that detail in mind as he gently squeezed them.

“Can I tell you what kitten means to me?” His breath is warm against your ear--a voice that's all rasp, that crackles like snapped twigs in a campfire, smoky like slow-burning firewood. You don't know if you'll survive it.

Shouta drew your conjoined hands to your fast-beating heart, and once again, he held it in his hands.

You can't listen to this. You have to get away. Dread ate a cavity clean through your chest. You knew his confession would obliterate your last trace of defiance--would undermine the rationale that kept you from falling into the lap of your captor. Nothing would be the same between you. Trying his hold, you twist to and turn. Aizawa crosses his legs over your waist, pinning you to him as gently as he could. He boxed you in, forcing you to sit still and listen. There's no telling what psychological impact staying indoors for months has caused, but he seeks to pacify as he cuddles into your back.

“A kitten is something sweet,” You gasp. Heat courses like wildfire through your veins. “something darling that inspires a need to protect, shelter, nurture, and provide.” Shouta strokes the side of your thumb using his. There's a noticeable difference in texture. Before you can plead with him to stop talking, he continues, “You inspire all of that and more. You make me so protective I can hardly function.” His body constricts around you. “It's irrational, I know. But that doesn't make it any less impossible to leave you in the morning.”

There's dizzying motion, and suddenly you're making eye contact--deep, intimate, and way too personal. The look in his eye is something deep-seated and heartfelt.

“And this is what you mean to me.” Holding eyes that are wide and shell-shocked, Aizawa places your hand at his throat, right up against his thundering pulse. Your hand trembles in his. He let you see how affected he was just from your proximity.

“I love you.”

Your lip wobbles.

Shouta leans in. You can only whine as a kiss lands on the corner of your lip. You dissolve when he pecks your cheek.

“I don’t think you're weak.”

Your airway closes.

“I wouldn't have you cater to me either. Not unless you wanted to.”

You blubber something unintelligible and wet, vision waterlogged. Aizawa yanks you into a strong embrace just in time for you to sob in his shoulder.

“How can I be a better husband?” He murmurs in your hair. Hugs release oxytocin, and the way you're shivering pains him on a visceral level. It made him want to hold you and never let go.

Aizawa ‘bumps into you’ as often as coincidence will allow. The encounters are never too frequent for you to suspect anything, but they always leave an impression.

Alpha Aizawa courts you by leaving gifts at your doorstep. The hero accompanied you on all your daily errands; he couldn't have another alpha encroaching on his territory. This sweet kitten is already taken.

From above, he glimpsed the starry-eyed glamor that entered your eye whenever you came across something you liked. You'd chitter happily, imagining the item in your nest, and Aizawa bought them for you as a good provider should.

His lifestyle is a fast one, and as much as the erasure hero wanted to take a pretty little chunk out of your neck and be done with it, he was willing to do things the old fashion way.

However, his patience is nonexistent. His alpha screams at him to claim you now. If you aren’t receptive to his courting attempts, Aizawa speeds things along. Your little game of coyly refusing his gifts is abruptly cut short. He can't have other suitors thinking you're still on the market. It's okay that you didn't necessarily choose him because, in Shouta’s mind, there's no better alpha out there for you than him.

When he eventually catches you by the neck, he purrs to offset the terrified bleats clawing from your throat. At the same time, your hands claw at the unnamed Alpha, who’s nuzzling and scenting you. He licks worrying stripes along the tender patch of your scent glands, cuddling up to them with his nose.

You aren't shocked when his teeth lacerate skin, but you howl as if the action took you by surprise. Although, it's less from the suddenness and has everything to do with the pain temporarily blinding you. Amidst the dreadful wails, his rumbling purrs pick up traction, soothing you the only way he knows how.

Aizawa nips things in the bud. You're moved into his home first, and courtship comes later. He's happy to do things on your terms after you're safe and tucked away.

“Can I be the one who takes care of you--the one you give your love to?”

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