Aizawa Oneshots and More

Litter of Kittens (NSFW)

HI GUYS!!! I should probably mention that I absolutely do not proof-read my works so if there's a mistake or something.... you didn't see it. 

Similar to the other chapter with Aizawa turning into a cat... you're a cat this time!

I hope I didn't make this a weird one as I didn't know how to transition the fic into a smut (sweats nervously) 

Requested by Jessicaiscute123! 

Fem! Cat/Neko! Reader!

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Crash!

Aizawa's eyes snap open.

For a moment, he isn't sure if he actually heard it or if it was a remnant of his half-formed dreams. But then comes the distant clatter of something heavy hitting the floor, followed by a sharp, almost human-sounding yowl.

His body moves before his brain can catch up.

In a fluid motion, he pushes himself up from the bed, already reaching for the capture weapon coiled on the nightstand. His fingers close around the familiar fabric, and he swiftly loops it once around his wrist, the motion practised and automatic.

Adrenaline surges through his veins, sharpening his senses as he scans the room. The space is dimly lit, the early morning light just barely seeping through the blinds, casting slanted lines of faint grey over the rumpled sheets.

His eyes instinctively flick to the other side of the bed.

You're gone.

The covers are half-pulled back, still faintly warm with your lingering presence. His chest constricted slightly, his fingers tightening around the scarf.

Where the hell are you?

The brief fog of sleep vanishes instantly, replaced by a cold, clinical awareness. His mind immediately catalogues the possibilities. Villain attack? Break in? He didn't sense anything out of the ordinary last night, but he also was exhausted from the back-to-back patrols he's pulled this week.

He silently curses himself for sleeping so deeply.

Another crash echoes from somewhere down the hall, followed by a sharp thud.

His jaw clenches. He moves swiftly toward the sound, steps silent and purposeful. The scarf is loose and primed, ready to lash out at the first sign of danger.

As he rounds the corner, his eyes narrow, scanning the apartment. Everything seems in place – the bookshelves, the small table by the window, the coat rack – all in place and untouched. The faint morning light makes the space feel distorted, casting angular shadows along the walls.

Then he hears it:

"Mrow?"

He freezes.

A cat?

Aizawa's brows furrow slightly. He doesn't own a cat. You didn't either. But he definitely just heard the distinct sound of a feline.

His grip on the scarf doesn't loosen as he silently approaches the bathroom door, which is slightly ajar. The sound comes again – a soft, pitiful meow, accompanied by the faint scrape of claws against tile.

Claws.

Aizawa's gut tightens. His first thought isn't a cat – it's you. You. FIghting back. Your nails scratching at the floor. Maybe you've been dragged—

He doesn't hesitate. With a sharp, silent push, he flings the door open, prepared to strike.

But there's no villain. No struggle.