Pro Hero Eraserhead

pro hero eraserhead

“Get in the car.” One would suspect that Aizawa’s here to kidnap you with the face he’s pulling.

“I didn’t order an Uber.” You joke, holding onto the railing for dear life. The world’s spinning quite fast today.

“Sucks.” He grunts, holding the door open with a pointed look. “Now get in the car.”

“I can totally get home on my own, Aizawa.” You insist.

“And I’ve told you to call me Shouta. Now get in the car.”

“Where did you even get the car?” You eye it carefully. It’s not Hizashi’s Mustang that he spray paints every season - you quite liked the green and purple theme he had going on last time you saw it - and it’s not Nemuri’s sleek black sports car either. 

“I bought it. Now get in.” 

“You bought it?” You ask, now curious enough to take the last few steps away from the stairs. Your walk is wobbly, but that’s expected when your cane is in your bag in favor of holding onto the railing. 

Aizawa’s left arm is outstretched, he’s not gripping you but allowing you to grip him however you need it. Less than a heartbeat later you’re sitting inside and to your surprise, the seat heater is on.

“Warm enough?” Aizawa asks as he slips into the driver’s seat. The car smells nice, not brand new, but like him. You’re familiar with his scent from the few times he draped his jacket over you, sometimes pretending to use you as a coat rack, other times foregoing the pretense and just admitting that you looked cold.

“Since when do you have a car?”

“I bought it last week. I wasn’t sure which one to get, though, so if Hizashi tells you anything stupid, ignore him.”

“Why? What could he tell me?”

Aizawa - Shouta, you remind yourself - scowls as if he hates being asked the question, but he still answers even though he doesn’t have to. He always does that and you’ve caught on ages ago. It’s kinda fun to pretend you’re avoiding questions you’re willingly answering.

“I made him get in and out of various cars. He’s the best actor out of all of us. You should see him pretend like he’s got a bad back.”

You laugh. “It’s nice to look out for your friends. I assume he played All Might?” 

The car stops at a red light. Shouta throws you a look that tells you to stop kidding. 

“Do you see me driving All Might around? Also, next time you’ve got so many blood tests scheduled, call me beforehand. I hate learning about it from Nemuri.”

“Sure, sure.” You say, surprised to see his scowl deepen.

You’re even more surprised when he takes a sudden left.

“Where are we going?”

“Getting groceries for you. You need to eat after losing that much blood.”

He parks the car only a few minutes later, mustering you for a second before he speaks up again.

“Do you want to come inside? I’m not holding you hostage if you insist, but the heating stays on and you could take a nap. I’ll be quick about it.”

“Well, if you’re asking like that…” You cuddle into the warm seat with a smile. “I’m gonna stay behind then.”

“Very well.” He slips out of his jacket and drapes it over you like a blanket - he even tucks you in - before winking at you.

“Snacks are in the glove compartment. I’ve got my phone on me if you need me.”

You only dare to open the compartment when you’re sure he’s disappeared into the store.

You’re not surprised to see your favorite snacks there, even a bag of the cookies you like, the brand you only get on the other side of the city.

There’s a new warmth now, filling you from the insides and bubbling in your heart.

Despite all of Hizashi’s teasing, all of Nemuri’s needling, all the pictures of Eri that are hanging on your walls - little Eri holding hands with you and Shouta - there’s no label for what the two of you are. What you have been growing into.

In a few minutes, he will come out with groceries, fresh produce for vitamins, and meat for strength. He will drive you to your apartment, fuss over you on the way up, and pretend he doesn’t mind that your cat’s still a little cautious about him. He will cook, like he always does, asking you questions the whole way through because he knows you love to cook but rarely have the energy to do it properly. 

And after all of that, the good food, the warmth of his presence, he will lay down next to you - just for a quick nap, he says - and fall asleep with his arms around you.

You might not have a label, not a word for what the two of you are, but maybe you don’t need that anyway.

Most certainly not on a day like this.

@alienaiver

Delicate

pairing: aizawa shouta x fem!reader

word count: 1.1k

summary: sometimes you just need to be taken care of

warnings: just fluff. reader has long hair.

a/n: this is so self indulgent. i don't even care.

Something is wrong the moment the door opens. Actually, something has been wrong since 1:28 p.m. when you didn’t respond to his text message. You never leave him on read, even on your busiest days. Shouta listens as the door locks behind you, as you slide your shoes off your feet. His eyebrows raise when your bag drops to the floor with an echoing thud. His gaze follows you as you amble to your shared bedroom where you disappear out of sight.

It’s silent as he stands in the kitchen, cup of tea in hand. Brows no longer raised, but furrowed. Only slightly relieved when he hears the bath water running. He knows it when he sees it—half the time it’s from his own reflection. Odd being on the other end. Very rarely, if ever, do you get burnt out. Worn down, exhausted, dragon your feet. It never matters, that’s just how you are. But there are times, like today. Shouta sighs, leaving his tea to go cold before trailing after you.

You stand next to the tub staring as you wait for the water to warm up. You’ve got your bra, panties, and one sock on. Your fingers dance under the faucet. It’s been a long day. The only thing that’s kept you going is the man you left in the kitchen. You rub at your chest, pain scraping along your ribcage. Your heart rattles for the comfort only your husband can bring you. It’s not fair, you know that. There’s no way you want him to see you like this. Your temper flares as you think of the prick who ruined your day.

The door opens silently. So caught up in your frustrations you don’t feel the presence of Shouta until cool fingers are wrapping around the back of your neck. You start, turning to look at him over your shoulder. His eyebrows are raised as he takes you in; a peculiar expression on his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You never jump.” He murmurs before shaking his head.

You follow without a thought, no fuss even though you frown when he pulls you into him. Skilled fingers undoing the clasp at your back. The tension leaves you when Shouta drops to his knees before you. His warm breath against your skin causes goosebumps to erupt. Always so responsive, even to the little things. But that’s not what this is about, not what you need. Shouta peels your underwear down your legs. Teeth digging into your lip to keep yourself from giggling when he pulls off your sock.

A heat spreads through you. Warm and comforting. No, this doesn’t happen often. Where you’re unsure of yourself, overworked, and burnt out. But as you watch him, Shouta, your Shouta, your husband. The one person you never have to hide from. He knows you better than you know yourself, sometimes it’s downright terrifying. He sees you for everything you are and everything you’re not. You feel silly now, trying to hide yourself away from him.

The atmosphere in the bathroom changes then. Shouta gives you a soft smile accompanied by a kiss to your inner thigh. He doesn’t say anything; doesn’t have to. Getting to his feet he moves to the cabinet and grabs your favorite scent of bathing oil. Your bottom lip wobbles a bit. He kisses your forehead as he helps you into the tub. You can’t bite back the moan that escapes you. Your muscles have been coiled so tight all day. The warm water is a welcome balm. Tilting your head back you watch him as he drags the stool over closer to where you are. Shouta gives you a wink, sitting down before pulling your hair out of your face.

It’s silent in the small bathroom, comfortably so. The only sounds coming from Shouta’s hands dipping into the water as he washes your hair. It’s the most relaxed you’ve felt in weeks. Who knew the weight of the world would come crashing down off your shoulders on a Wednesday afternoon? But was it really? Blunt nails scratch at your scalp and you sink a little further into the water. What’s a rough day when you can come home to this?

Your lips tilt up, Shouta’s voice cutting through the silence, your name floating with the steam from the tub. A soft hum of acknowledgment is all he receives.

“Are you going to tell me what happened today?”

A wet shoulder raises and falls, water rippling around you. You stare at your feet, wiggling your blue polished toes.

“There’s a guy at work who’s gunning for my position.”

His hands pause. “You have relations with every hero in the city.”

“I know. It’s not like my position is up for grabs or anything. He’s just a real piece of work. Drives me up a damn wall.” It’s silent for a moment, you sigh. “He’s a misogynist, doesn’t think I’m qualified.”

You can feel Shouta’s glare. Never one to fight your battles, you’re good at doing that yourself. That’s not to say your husband isn’t protective of you.

“Should I stop by for a visit at lunch tomorrow?”

You can’t help but laugh. “I don’t even think he knows what my last name is.”

Shaking your head with a small sigh. You have to admit you do feel better after talking. But you don’t want to talk about it anymore. You don’t want to waste any more of your time on it. That’s tomorrow’s problem. Tilting your head back, you look up at Shouta who looks down his nose at you. Dark eyes swirling with adoration and amusement. He raises an eyebrow when you reach up and tug on his dark locks.

“Will you read to me?”

“I can. Anything in particular?”

“No, just want to hear your voice is all.”

Shouta hums, rising out your hair one final time before drawing out the water and letting it hang over the tub behind you. His footsteps are quiet as he leaves the bathroom, only to return a few moments later. The sound of pages turning makes your eyes fall shut. You give it maybe another five minutes before the water runs cold, or you turn into a prune.

“You’re going to have to let me return the favor, Sho.”

“Not tonight sweet girl.”

Your toes curl at the term of endearment. Sinking a little farther into the tub, you doze off lightly in the comfort of your home, and the warmth of your favorite person wrapping around you with every word he reads.

nyaizawa

say yes to heaven (say yes to me)

Aizawa finds out you have a crush on him. Fluffy, slightly suggestive Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead x reader drabble. Slight age gap, teaching assistant!reader. 1,937 words.

"You know Y/N has a crush on you, right?"

You nearly choke at that, freezing up against the wall. You had been taking a phone call outside the faculty lounge when you overheard Yamada and Aizawa make their way inside, oblivious to your presence. 

"I thought I told you to drop it already, Hizashi," Aizawa grunts.

"Wait, you know?" A third voice, Nemuri, asks incredulously, followed by a noise that sounds suspiciously like Aizawa elbowing Yamada mid-laugh.

You feel your face heat up, mortified at their discussion. Of course Aizawa knew you had feelings for him, you all but slap yourself. How could he not when you clam up and turn into a stuttering mess whenever he’s around? 

You're well aware that plenty of the girls of Class 1-A (and even 1-B) harbor a not-so-secret crush on their sensei, and you're embarrassed to admit that you're not much better. You're always suddenly breathless and flustered to be near him.

Always a little too eager to help during training or classes. Always tripping over your words whenever he spoke to you. He must have tried to brush it off at first, but it just kept happening too many times for him to ignore.

"The only thing I know," Aizawa answers gruffly, "Is that this conversation is bordering on entirely inappropriate."

"What? Why? It's not like she's a student here or anything," Yamada retorts.

"She was, just a few years ago."

"Yeah, and now she's my teaching assistant," Nemuri counters.

But you can practically see Aizawa shake his head. "See? Same difference."

"Oh, lighten up! So you have a bit of an age gap—"

"I wouldn't call 8 years a bit of an age gap, Hizashi."

"Who cares about that? I think she could make you happy, Shouta, and you deserve to be happy."

“Now that I think about it," Nemuri adds. "You two would be good together. You need someone who can make you smile and stop being so serious all the time, and she..." She chuckles playfully. "For some unexpected reason, really likes that about you."

"Don't tell me you haven't at least thought about it?" Yamada teases. “I see the way you look at her, too, you know."

Nemuri squeals, "Just imagine, the two of you being all lovey-dovey. It'd be so cute!"

Your heart catches in your throat, but Aizawa is quick to interject.

"It doesn't matter. None of those things you said matter. To do anything about Y/N's feelings for me would be taking advantage of her."

"Fine," Nemuri huffs. "But the least you can do is talk to the poor girl about it. You can't keep giving her the cold shoulder forever."

There's a beat of silence before Aizawa dejectedly responds, "You’re right.” And you hear the door knob lock behind them.

______________________________________________________________

You pretend not to notice that Aizawa's awkwardly been standing behind you for almost five minutes now, hoping he'd eventually leave if you looked busy enough typing away on your laptop.

And he almost does. If it wasn't for Midnight and Mic, who you can see out of the corner of your eye, gesturing at him quietly but frantically to go on. 

Your heart races when he clears his throat. "Uh, Y/N, do you have a minute?"

"Um..." You consider saying no but can't think of a reason fast enough. So you take your time closing your laptop instead, bracing yourself. "Sure."

You get up from your seat and turn to face him, but neither of you can meet the other's gaze, which just makes everything feel all the more mortifying. 

"I'm aware of...Er, I mean...I apologize if I've seemed a little standoffish lately."

"You mean more than usual?" You smile weakly, trying for a bit of humor.

When you look up, you're surprised to see that his expression is serious but gentle. He almost smiles for a second before he seems to think better of it.

"It's been brought to my attention that you might…” He sighs, then starts over. “If I’ve ever given you the wrong impression, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention. I want you to know that I respect your feelings, but I think it’s best that we maintain a professional relationship."

“Of course! I-I never – You never – Um,” you swallow thickly, feeling your face burn up. “I agree.”

“Good. I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us.”

Like it could get any worse? You bite back the retort.

You take a deep breath, attempting to regain your composure, and plaster on another half-hearted smile. “It’s fine. We can move past it.”

“Glad to hear that.”

_________________________________________________________________________

But you do not, in fact, move past it. 

At least not for a few weeks. 

In the days that follow, you find that you can't shake off the conversation. The way he looked at you, the vulnerability in his voice — it all lingers in your mind. The air between you feels heavy with unspoken words and a shared discomfort. The many days at work that follow are filled with lingering silences punctuated with stilted conversations, and a constant awareness of each other’s presence.

Even more embarrassing is the fact that everyone seems to know about your unrequited and inappropriate crush now, if they didn’t already. You notice Mic and Midnight's sympathetic glances, All-Might's whispered concerns.

Their attempts to act normal around you are agonizingly obvious, so you make it a habit to be the first one to leave every afternoon and spend most of your days alone at your table, with your eyes glued to your laptop screen or your nose buried in a mountain of paperwork. 

So how, exactly, did you find yourself in this position? Alone with Shouta in his apartment and sitting in his lap with your fingers tangled in his hair and his tongue practically down your throat?

_________________________________________________________________________

Last thing you remembered, you were walking home when he suddenly fell into step beside you.

"Hi," you managed, giving him a weak smile. It must've been the first time you've ever been alone together since the talk. 

"Mind if I join you?" He tilted his head to ask, his hands in his pockets and looking as tired as ever. 

"Not at all," You tried to reply coolly, even though your heart just about dropped to the floor.

A familiar awkward silence fell upon both of you.

You bunch up your skirt in your fists, acutely aware of the way he’s looking at you. His usually stern face seemed almost…unsure. Finally, he broke the silence. "How have you been?”

“Oh, you know…” You waved your hand dismissively. “Just trying to get through each day.”

He nodded solemnly. “Listen, y/n, I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings last time we talked, because that’s the last thing I’d want.”

You shook your head. "No, not at all. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for the position I put you in."

"I just want you to know that...It's not that I don't..." He trailed off meaningfully, his eyes downcast. "I just don't think it would be appropriate or fair to you to pursue anything because...Your feelings for me…they’re not real.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. “What?” 

"I understand that you might be confused by...that the dynamics of our relationship might have clouded your judgement and made me seem…”

“Stop.” You level him with a fierce gaze and he does. You do your best to sound firm despite the sting of his words. “It’s one thing for you not to return my feelings. That I can understand. But don’t patronize me by telling me what I do or don’t feel. It’s clear that you think otherwise, but I’m not a child, Shouta.”

Aizawa, surprised by the intensity in your voice, leaned back slightly. He doesn't say anything, which gives you the courage to speak your mind, telling him off before you can think better of it.

“I don’t like you just because you’re older than me or I see you as some sort of authority figure. I like you because you care a lot but pretend you don’t. And it makes me want to get to know you more. I admire your dedication and hard work at being a hero and a teacher here.”

He looked at you thoughtfully for a few moments, then nodded, a flicker of realization crossing his features as he absorbed your words. “You're right. I shouldn't have assumed or tried to define your feelings for you. I apologize."

"Thank you."

"And as long as we’re sharing…” He rolled his sleeves up, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think you’re a child, you know. I think you’re intelligent and perfectly competent. In fact, I think you're amazing."

The irritation and hurt you felt just moments ago was quickly chased away by the warmth that spread within you at his surprising admission.

He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I was hesitant because I didn't want to take advantage of you, given our age gap—"

"It doesn't bother me," you said with newfound confidence, and he couldn't help but chuckle at your boldness.

"But maybe... I've been too cautious."

You tilted your head, smiling up at him softly, sweetly, like you used to. "What do you mean?" You asked even though you already knew, you just wanted to hear him say it.

He ran a hand through his hair again, rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous habit, you’ve noticed. "I mean, perhaps I've been so focused on maintaining professional boundaries that it's made me overlook the possibility of a genuine connection between us."

You bit the inside of your cheeks to keep from smiling any wider. "Are you saying...?"

He nodded, a hint of a blush tinting his face. "Would you consider having dinner with me tomorrow?"

_________________________________________________________________________

Fast forward to now, hours after dinner and one glass of wine too many, and you’ve somehow managed to muster up the courage to kiss him good night.

It catches him by surprise, but once he leans into it, he doesn’t let you pull away. He responds with an almost bruising eagerness, kissing you again, and again, and again, until you find yourself pressed up against the door of his apartment.

He jams his keys into the doorknob, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

But instead of swinging the door open like you expected, he puts his hand up against it instead, next to your face, and presses his forehead against yours.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” he says breathlessly, his eyes screwed shut.

You draw a steadying breath of your own. “Why not?”

“Because,” he drawls in that frustratingly raspy voice of his. The one so low and deep you could practically feel it vibrating against your own chest, echoing off the walls inside of you. “You do something to me…to my self-control…”

You swallow thickly. “Do I?”

He nods.

“Good.” You link your hands around his nape, pulling at some of the hair there, and smile against the crook of his neck. “Then the feeling’s mutual.”

He puts his hands on your waist, gingerly, cautiously. “Doesn’t make it rational.”

You kiss his jaw. ”Why does it need to be rational?” And then his cheek. ”We’re both adults.” And then gently bite his ear, whispering, “Why can’t we let ourselves want what we want?” 

“And are you sure…” He pulls away a little, his eyes still closed and his eyebrows furrowed. “This is what you want?” He finally opens his eyes to search yours, and his are so smoky and dark you feel as though you're falling through the night sky.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, captivated by the intensity in his gaze.

"Yeah," you answer, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. "I'm sure."

His smirk is the last thing you see before your eyelids flutter closed and his lips are on yours again. 

He doesn’t waste another moment.

origin trio in europe: the 2nd movie