❝ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭. ❞
❝ 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭? 𝐈'𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ❞
╰┈➤ 𝐘/𝐍 𝐋/𝐍, known to some as simply the 'cat hero,' will do anything to get more out of her hero caree...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃ ══════ ∘◦ ᓚᘏᗢ ◦∘ ══════
"Mh, shit," Aizawa hissed a low groan as your sharp nails massaged against his skin. It wasn't piercing, but the pain was this constant dull pressure that kneaded further as you dreamed.
Grey cat ears twitched every once in a while, it wasn't legal how cute it was. Neither was your tail that coiled around his thigh and refused to let go of its grasp or your quiet purrs. He always thought your cat features were cute, it nearly drove him insane since day one, but the rest of you?
Well, you just looked perfect under the blanket of dawn. Drops of sun on your lashes and the peace of morning falling over your pretty face. The way your hair spilled over freely and you rested purely with the trust that nothing would happen. He wouldn't let anything happen to you, not with the way you buried yourself into a hug on his arm. The right side of him had gone numb yet you made him feel like some kind of superhero when you held onto him like that.
Technically, he kind of was one—a hero—but he never really looked at himself that way.
"What are you doing to me, Y/n?"
The moment blood raced to lower regions was the same moment he realized your breasts were flush against his forearm. Cupped in that innocent lace, he didn't dare look down at the rest of your body—your hiked-up skirt especially. A deep sigh left his lungs, you were putting the man through hell.
He would have hidden his half-hard erection already if the movement wouldn't wake you up. That was a risk he wasn't willing to take when you needed rest.
He controlled his breathing. This was wrong and far from the reserved image he set for himself, he knew it, but he also couldn't help it regardless of his efforts. Trust that he tried. It was still wrong. Almost as devilish as the way you were making him start to think this sweet respite was something real. Like dangling his hopeless crush on you in front of his face. Goddamnit you looked so beautiful laid next to him.
He was just your old overly cautious coworker who had temporarily become a foolish man for one night. He didn't deserve to think of you like that when he could hardly admit to himself that he liked you. Now there he was thinking inappropriately of the situation, hormones taking their own liberty to work into overdrive.
"Act professional when she wakes up," he told himself, covering his forehead behind his left hand.
You made a mistake in being here by morning, didn't you? Not that he wanted that to be true, it was just what he was expecting.
Listening to the whispers in his chest made him feel like a teenage idiot, but some part of him begged you to prove him wrong with every beat of his heart. As if you could want him too.
