Chapter Text
Goosebumps formed across your skin as the floor chilled your legs. Purple and yellow bruises marred your skin. Your legs received most of the beating. The majority of the swelling was finally going down almost a week after your fight.
You placed a gauze pad to your arm before wrapping a bandage firmly around it, fixing it in place. Soon these cuts will simply fade into scars to match all the other mars. But these cuts didn’t happen from your recent fight or the controversy that came with it. It was the emotional aftermath of it.
You had been hoping sleep would finally find you tonight. It was either restless sleep or none at all. If you managed to get some shuteye all you saw was blood and fire. And a poor man’s body, dead on the floor.
Two weeks ago a villain invaded a bank before dawn. He killed people on his way there. Killed the people inside. You were the closest hero, tired and weak, coming off an intense night patrol, and through blood and fire, ended up taking the villain’s life. You had no other choice. You tried to find a way to stop him, maybe even help him. He never deterred. You couldn’t contain him. Or hold him down. Bodies kept dropping. So you killed him.
It was after the smoke cleared that you finally saw your enemy clearly. He looked to be barely twenty years old. He was just a kid.
Heroes tried to subdue and detain. The police and other law enforcement would handle it from there, deciding on the fate of the villain. Killing an enemy was an absolute last resort for heroes on the front lines- and it was something you never wanted to do.
Your agency had given you time off in response. When you refused, saying you wanted to keep busy. Having free time to think about what happened wasn’t going to help you. They then insisted, in a warning tone, you to take the time, veiling it as ‘even the best heroes need some time after these things.’ Handing you resources for physical therapists, psychiatrists, and support groups for heroes, both pro and retired, they sent you home.
It wasn’t until after their insisting you realized why. The press was going crazy. Some vilified you; saying you needed your license revoked or that you didn’t try hard enough. Some supported you; they said you did everything you could in the heat of the moment; others pointed out that if it was a more famous hero, like All Might or Endeavor, the public would still support them and their impossible decision.
Others took a neutral tone to discuss the choices heroes make and that the ley person may never truly understand them. Also mentioning how heroes are constantly overworked, to the point it feels like their bodies will give out at any moment. Sometimes, there’s just too many villains and not enough heroes, and as sad and scary as that is, not everyone will be saved. But it seems the public started to turn their ire towards the heroes for not doing enough instead of denouncing the villains for acting out in the first place.
You appreciated the neutral ones, despite how much you agreed with the first group. What if you didn’t try hard enough? What if he could have been saved? Maybe you just weren’t good enough.
Family and friends reached out to you with well wishes and offers to get together to try and cheer up. All you responded with were transparent reassurances you were fine and asked for a raincheck, blaming your injuries on wanting to stay in. Pro Heroes, close ones you considered friends, also tried connecting with you. Hawks and Fat Gum brought your favorite sweets. Present Mic and Midnight made a quick stop after a school day. They tried to bring Aizawa but he declined, citing his other duties took precedence. You hid the ache you felt after hearing that. There truly was no one else who could give you a blunt, necessary, and painful pep-talk (sans the pep).
You hurt a little less after he texted you later: Call me if you need anything.
A week passed. The days filled with emails and calls from the press who somehow obtained your personal information. Questions repeated into your ear over and over. News stations and websites blew up with new debates. The main focus was, thankfully, off of you. However, every station, reporter, agency, and Hero was now weighing in on the new discussions. One was the ethics of a Hero and the other being the burdens placed on their shoulders. Is it too much pressure? Will Heroes crumble under it? Fail expectations? Who's watching the Heroes? Checking their mental health? When w ill they fall?
A shot of whiskey might help. Hopefully, stop the nightmares just for tonight.
None of this is what you wanted. Sure, they were important questions that should be talked about. But all this clutter stems from you. What you did. What you failed to do.
You took another shot with a need to stop thinking about it.
God, he was a kid! A villain, but a kid. Not someone who should be attacking a bank. You shouldn’t have killed him. You should have found another way. What if he had a mother? A friendly old woman baking cakes who supported her son with everything she had. You could have killed her child. The only person she had left. You failed. You could have done more…
Another shot felt good.
But he killed so many people. No one that young should be that horrid. His round face, filled with resentment, a vile furor, was something you've never seen before. He was driven by pure emotion. An animal killing, but not to survive. For something else. He could have been talked down if you tried harder. You could have done more, so much more…
Another shot down.
Thinking logically, you know you did what you could, given everything that was happening. He killed all those innocent people. He wouldn’t stop. And he ended up dying as a result. But emotionally, you feel like you were the villain in this situation.
A large gulp stung your throat.
Smoke filled your lungs constricting your ribs. Loose money floated all around you, getting blown up in the brawl. Metal melted into the floor. Bodies piled against the wall. Charred and indistinguishable from one another. You stared down the villain’s face, twisted, broken, laying in the dirt. You burned with instant regret. Boiled, seared. You killed someone... You killed a kid. All strength left you. You weren’t sure if you screamed or if those were sirens. You felt anguish and misery. Agony and blood. Resentment and-
Blood.
Blood was running down your arm. Here. Now. The kitchen knife clanged loudly against the floor, red splattering the pristine floor. The white overhead light stung your eyes. The hairs on the back of your neck stood alert.
You reached for the paper towels, clumping them against your skin. Mechanical legs took you to the bathroom. Keep the pressure until the bleeding stops enough to apply a dressing. Butterfly bandage. Gauze. Medical tape. You did it enough when you were younger, you can do it without thinking now.
You firmly pressed your back flat to the wall, trying to find your breath again. The wall chilled you. After a couple of deep breaths, you pulled your knees up to hug yourself. You don’t remember grabbing the knife or taking it to your skin.
You hated this. You didn’t want any of this. You did what you could and so many hated you. But what if you could h ave done more? You just didn’t try hard enough because you weren’t good enough. Or trained enough. Or smart enough. And if you can't handle this, what else can’t you handle? The public was right; your Hero Licence should be taken away. You’ve failed.
A deep voice said your name.
Every muscle in your body tensed. You didn’t look up.
He called out to you again. “Can you look at me?”
You did, despite not wanting to. Aizawa stood in your bathroom doorway in his hero outfit, sporting messier than usual hair. Slight red marks were around his eyes from his goggles. He must have been out on patrol.
He didn’t say anything. Neither did you.
Aizawa sighed, abandoned his scarf and goggles by the door, and stepped into your, as you now realize, small bathroom. He rolled up his sleeves to wash his hands in the sink before wetting a cloth he pulled from his belt. After he knelt beside you, still wordless, and started to wipe off the blood on your arm.
His hands were comforting. A firm grip. Long fingers. Warm. They held your arm, grasp tightening every couple seconds. Pale scars scattered across his skin. Some harder to see under his arm hair. Muscles and tendons shifted as he worked the cloth rather roughly against the dried blood.
The stillness in the air was becoming too distressing despite his eyes looking nonjudgmental. But with Aizawa, sometimes what he said was a little too crass for delicate situations. He could come off insensitive even with words of sympathy. Handling the mortifying judgment from the press was feasible. They were distant cries, painful and overwhelming, but still somewhat beyond your reach. It made them a little more tolerable. If Aizawa judged you, it would be downright disabling. Paralyzing.
“What happened?” He asked, finally breaking the silence.
“I don’t really remember.” You half-lied.
He stopped his ministrations. Dark eyes looked at you. “What happened?” He repeated with a slightly softer voice.
Feeling small and criticized under his gaze, you looked away. You weren’t going to get out of this conversation. “I wanted to sleep so I tried some whiskey. I apparently wasn’t ready for it after everything.” You lamented.
“You hurt yourself because you weren’t ready for whiskey?” He asked.
“I saw him. He was-” you stopped yourself. You didn’t know if you should tell him, though he probably had a good idea of everything already. “I guess I- I panicked. I don’t remember actually doing it.”
“I told you to call me if you needed anything.” He responded.
“I didn’t need anything.”
“Clearly nothing at all.”
“I was fine.”
“I would have come. If you need me here to avoid something like this fr-”
“I thought I was fine Shouta.” You shot back, too pointedly for your liking. You lay your head against the wall, taking more deep breaths. You weren't angry at him, he's trying to help, you reminded yourself, no matter how annoying it is right now.
He sighed again and looked to your bandaged arm. “Did you clean it? Use antibiotic cream?”
“I didn’t need to. Clean knife. Clean cut.”
“Even if the cut if clean, antibiotic cream can still help your body heal.” He pointed out while settling into a more comfortable position.
“I’ll be okay. This isn’t something my body’s a stranger to.” You told him, noting his small eyebrow raise.
Aizawa moved your leg, causing you to pull back in surprise. Before you could ask him anything he calmly explained: “There's blood on your leg. It seems you do fine at bandaging yourself but cleaning yourself up is another story. Let me wash it off.” You let him straighten your leg. His strokes were more delicate now as his hands carefully and slowly moved the cloth over your bruises.
You don’t know whether to thank the slight buzz you had or how tired you are for not caring about your current state: just a large t-shirt and underwear. In the past couple of days, clothing was nowhere near a priority of yours. But you’ve known Shouta for long enough, and this probably (hopefully) wasn’t the worst he has seen you.
Brushing off any embarrassment, you tried to relax into his warm hold. “Why didn’t you come over with Hizashi and Nemuri?”
“Mic had been yelling about the media all day. When he asked me to come with them my headache was far worse. Some of my students decided to scream particularly loud that day.”
That was believable. With his work schedule and the amount of time he spends around excessively loud people, it’s hard to imagine a time he isn’t overburdened. Which only led to his stress and headaches becoming worse.
“I tried to make it some other days but work was too busy.” He briefly looked up to you before refocusing on your leg. “It seems your altercation caused quite a disarray among many agencies. They’ve been reevaluating their Heroes and their workloads, trying to be part of the ‘new and improved’ system. Most of them just want this to go away.”
“I’m sorry.” God. It was your fault. Everything was. The drama and stress you caused was hurting everyone.
“Don’t do that. It’s not your fault. Agencies and Pro Heroes act like they live in a perfect system and ignore the parts that don’t quite work. Every time something like this happens, there’s a media blowup. People throw blame without thinking and in a few weeks, it’s mostly forgotten. Sometimes there are little changes. Sometimes there isn’t. You just happened to be the catalyst for this one.” He finished with a huff and stood to rinse the cloth.
You raised your eyebrows slightly. Was the most you ever heard him talk in one sitting?
Aizawa sat down again, much closer, to continue his slow care on your leg. You took note just how slow he was actually going. Tenderly holding your calf. Leisurely washing your skin despite the blood being long gone.
His body was so close to yours. And so warm. You could tell he hadn’t shaved in a while. The dark stubble was unusually long for his standards. His hair, thick and messy, covered too much of his face. Overworked eyes strained to stay open as he focused on the task. He licked his dry lips. His nice lips.
The cold cloth was on your face. Aizawa held a corner of it to your temple, letting it cool your skin. A water droplet fell down your cheek that he quickly wiped up and pressed to your other temple.
With your face inches from his, he spoke to you. “It’s not your fault. None of this is.”
You shook your head. “I should have tried harder.”
“He made his own choices. In the end, he paid for those choices.” One hand was still on your leg, messaging it. A small, comforting gesture.
“I could have done more...” You whispered. The guilt still gripped you.
“Everyone can do more. But sometimes, that doesn’t mean anything. We all make our own choices and he made his.” Aizawa threw the cloth to the side. He looked at your bandage and sighed, more disappointedly than tiredly. “You really should have called me.”
“I know.” You agreed.
“Is this the only time you’ve hurt yourself this past week?” He continued after seeing your worried expression. “I’m not judging, just asking.”
“Yes. Though I’ve barely eaten. I don’t know if that counts.”
He nodded calmly. “It can.”
Sitting next to him, feeling his hands on you, made you realize how terribly isolating this past week had been. Everyone skirted around what happened; they tried to make you feel better by not mentioning anything about it. Using gifts and flowering words of comfort. Shouta was the only one that didn’t make you feel terrible about everything. And he was so warm. He offered relief. You wanted him here. “Will you stay?”
Shouta looked back at you, face closer than before. Goosebumps rose on your skin as he watched you, dead silent. His breath touched your lips. Your forehead touched his.
“What are you doing?” He asked, pulling back slightly. The soft moment was gone at his gruff tone.
It wasn’t him who was moving. You were. His body was much more welcoming than the bathroom floor.
“I‘ll sleep on your couch for tonight.” He proposed, moving on from your moment but remained next to you. He no longer looked at you. The side of his jaw and neck left open.
“Shouta.” You muttered. The stubble on his face was always one of his best features. You leaned in slowly, allowing him ample time to stop you, and pressed a kiss to his neck.
“It’s been an emotional couple days for you.” He tried to derail you while tilting his head further back, giving you more room.
“I don’t care.” You said between nips and kisses. The scruff grazed your lips perfectly. The muscles in his throat moved under your tongue when he swallowed.
He let you continue for several seconds before refocusing. Pulling back just enough to look you in the eye, he cupped your face and replied softly, “I do.”
“Why?” You wondered.
Shouta’s half-lidded eyes wandered to your lips. The rough pad of his thumb traced over them. Your tongue drifted out, wetting his finger as he watched you, before pulling it back into your mouth.
He grabbed your chin and vigorously kissed you. A moan came from your throat from the force. Your teeth pressed hard against your lips. Eventually, it turned into a more earnest kiss as Shouta relaxed, with his chapped lips moving firmly with yours. He wet the kiss as his tongue met your lips.
He nipped them, pulled them, abused them. Your lips throbbed against his own. His hand moved from massaging your leg to rubbing your thigh, not caring about the bruises anymore. More whimpers came from you then you cared to admit while he worked your body.
You scratched your nails along his stubble. Then through his hair, playing with his mane. Small knots tangled against your fingers. Gathering his hair in a fist, you tilted his head back. He indulged and pulled away from the kiss with a grin to give you access to his neck again. You kissed along his jaw up to his ear. The sensitive skin reddened under your bites.
Shouta groaned into your neck. He grabbed your leg and, choosing to ignore your slight hiss of pain, brought it to his other side so you were straddling him. More of his body was against you.
His hand was in your hair, pulling your head back now. A quick kiss to your lips then he went to your jaw, giving you what you gave him. The hold on your hair was unrelenting as he kissed along your neck down to your shoulder. Your shirt collar hindered him from reaching more skin. After frustratingly pulling on it, he opted to just slip the shirt off you. The air pricked your skin. You wrapped your arms around him and he did the same, securing you to his lap. Lips were back on your shoulder.
You moaned his name into his ear and felt his hips move in response. You smiled and whimpered it again. His hips repeated the action, trying to get more friction.
While this was nice you wanted more. This wasn’t supposed to be a lovemaking session. So you trailed your hands down his front, attempting to feel his chest. The costume’s material didn’t allow you to feel much beneath it so you tried to untuck his shirt to get to his skin. It didn’t budge. Was it a damn jumpsuit?
With a desperate groan, you pulled back, leaving your collarbone without his lips. You looked down to focus on his ridiculous belt, searching for some buckle or button to open it.
A hand tilted your head back. Wet lips covered yours again. A calm kiss. Tongues passed swollen lips to gently play with each other. He cupped your breasts, messaging and occasionally pinching your nipples. You moved against him, feeling him in his pants. His hands moved to your sides. Thumbs rubbed circles on your skin. Both of you moaned, caressing each other, enjoying the soft contact.
Shouta’s palms left your sides as he adjusted himself under you. Deft hands worked himself out of his belt for you, allowing you to reach down to feel him, warm, thick, and ready. Pumping your hand worked him up more. When he groaned you took the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth, working his cock harder.
Big hands grabbed your thighs, pulling you as close to him as possible. His chest beat heavily against your breasts. He squeezed and raised you up off his lap. Moving your underwear aside, you guided him into you as he lowered you.
You moaned into each other’s mouths as you sat fully on him. It was a slightly uncomfortable stretch since you didn’t prepare yourself. Wrapping your arms around his body, you rested your head on his shoulder, nose buried in his neck.
Shouta rubbed your back. “Are you alright?” His husky voice asked right next to your ear. A shiver traveled down your spine to between your legs.
“‘M fine.” You answered with a weak moan. His scruff scratched your nose, then your lips and tongue as you kissed up to his mouth.
Both your bodies started moving at the same time, slow and unaccustomed to the other, desperately trying to sync. When he went up, so did you, unable to match his rhythm. But right now it was good enough.
The position hurt your sore legs but you tried to pay it no mind. Instead, you focused on the heavy breaths in your ear. His grunts started deep in his chest and settled in the back of his throat. Or the firm grip - pulling and pushing, clutching and massaging any skin he could reach. You clenched the back of his shirt. His back rolled under your hands while he thrusted into you.
You stopped bouncing and adjusted your legs to wrap around him, hugging each other for some support. Shouta still, fully inside you. He filled you just the right amount, hitting your front wall when you rocked your hips. The coarse fabric of his pants grated your clit and inner thighs.
Sweet pressure built with your movements. His forehead pressed to yours. Eyes intently watching yours. One hand found your clit, kneading it as you continued to grind. Shouta kept rocking, barely moving inside you.
A bite to your neck sent you over. You tightened around him, gripping his arms, nails clawing his back. You bit his shirt to hold in your moan.
He pulled you back. “Don’t.” He muttered before kissing you.
You moved with him to ride out your orgasm. Teeth clinked together, against lips and tongues, as his movements became more erratic.
Your hips moved frantically. You gripped him harder in every way. “Cum in me.” You demanded between wet kisses.
Shouta held you down on him. A painful grip on your thighs. A harsh groan came from his throat making you smile into the kiss. He released inside you. His body stiffed. His grasp on you was almost unbearably tight now.
You rubbed his back, relaxing him to let you go. Hands caressed your legs and sides. He was careful of your bruises again and the new marks he left on you.
You lifted yourself just enough so he could fall out of you. Sighing contently as he did. You remained seated on him, unwinding with your head on his shoulder. His neck was red and raw.
Shouta now rubbed along your spine to ease your breathing. The steady thump of his heart beat against your chest. The rough clothing grazed your skin. The warmth that radiated off him. It all felt marvelous. A little too marvelous.
Small pangs of guilt tingled in you. You had been lonely and emotional. You wanted someone. Aizawa just happened to be the one who was here. If it was anyone else who came to check on you, would you have done the same? Did you just use him?
“How are you doing?” His words were slightly slurred.
The pain in your body registered again. The throbs and cramps in your legs. The pain pulsing in your arm. Why all this happened. “Tired. And sore.” You croaked out.
Shouta kissed your temple. “It’s late. You should take some painkillers and get to bed.”
“Will you still stay?” You whispered into him, hoping this didn’t change his decision. Now, more than before, you wanted him here.
“Of course.”
A sigh of relief escaped you, not wanting this to ruin your friendship- relationship- or whatever you had- with him. “I need to clean myself up first.” You moved to get off of him.
“Let me do it.” He said