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You really don’t want to call him.
If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t have thought twice about it. You’re strong, you’re capable, you’re a goddamn Pro Hero for fuck’s sake. You might not exactly be in the Top 10, but you’ve carved out enough of a name for yourself in your home city that most villains flee on sight when you arrive on scene. And, unlike certain other heroes you could mention, you’re not above asking for help when you need to.
But you really, really, really don’t want to call him.
If you’d been out scouting with anyone else tonight you wouldn’t be so embarrassed to be found in this predicament. But, as you try again in vain to wiggle free of captivity, you realise with a clench of your teeth that there’s no way of getting out of this situation without the certain help of a certain hero. Not without potentially bringing down the entire structure upon your head in the process.
You let out a frustrated little hiss as you tap the earpiece nestled in your right ear canal, and the line begins to ring.
“Everything alright?” He answers almost immediately, his calm baritone vibrating in your ear in a way that usually sets your body alight. But this time the sound of his voice sends blood rushing to the surface of your skin for a different reason.
“I, uh–” You swallow hard, far too aware of the blood pooling fast in your cheeks as you admit, “I’m stuck.”
There’s a beat of silence, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head.
“You’re stuck?” He responds, still sounding utterly calm and unruffled. “Are you hurt?”
“Not hurt just...” You let out a heavy sigh of frustration and embarrassment. “Stuck. In a wall.”
“In a wall?” You catch the tiniest hint of amusement in his voice, a subtle emotion that he rarely shows, except to you. You pinch the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger, already feeling a headache coming on.
“Some stupid villain with some stupid phasing quirk. I was chasing him when he pulled me through a wall and left me stuck halfway whilst he escaped.” Your jaw clenches again at the memory, at how the weak cowardly opponent who would normally pose little threat to you managed to outsmart you so utterly and so humiliatingly. “I can’t get out by myself, not without risking bringing the whole building down anyway.”
“Are you safe?” Now he sounds at least a little concerned, another emotion he typically saves for you.
“I think so, there doesn’t seem to be anyone around and my upper body is still free, but I don’t exactly fancy hanging around like this for too long.” You bite back the small fear in your throat. You’re being brave for him but the truth is if another stronger villain happens by and decides to take you out, there will be very little you could do to stop them. “So get your ass over here, I’m hoping you can undo whatever this quirk is.”
“Okay.” You hear the familiar pwipp of his scarf and an even more familiar grunt of pain as it finds its target, confirming that he too has been busy hunting his own prey. And, apparently, having more success than you. “I’ve got your location, I’m not far. I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”
“Will you–” The words escape your mouth before you can stop them, but pride wins out over fear for a moment and you bite your lip to silence yourself.
But, as usual, you don’t have to ask. Because he already knows what you want to say.
“I’ll stay on the line.”
“Thank you.”
And you try not to admit that he may be doing so as much to quell his own fears as to soothe yours.
You don’t speak whilst you wait, and neither does he. No point risking giving away your position whilst you’re so vulnerable. No point in him wasting the breath he’s using to get to you. So you just wait there, leaning your body weight awkwardly on your stomach in the uncomfortable position, listening to the soft huffs of his breathing through the mic, the hum and the swirl of the midnight city around you.
You got lucky, in a sense. You had been chasing the villain through a building when he tried to escape by phasing through an exterior wall. In a foolish attempt to stop his retreat you grabbed him and he pulled you headfirst with him, shaking you off once you’d passed almost exactly halfway through. Then he left you stuck there – balancing on your tiptoes with your lower half on the inside, leaning hard on your stomach with your upper half facing out into a quiet alleyway between two office blocks, dark and empty at this time of night, your midriff almost entirely encased and held fast by the surrounding concrete.
This was going to be absolute hell on your back.
So you got lucky, in a sense. You could have ended up with your head stuck halfway through, your mouth trapped inside the plaster, unable to call for help. Actually, scratch that – you got really lucky. Because the wall holds you in place but doesn’t crush you, which means that whatever quirk your opponent used on you must still be active, your body and the surrounding concrete existing in phase with each other, your molecules meshed together so that you pass through without it crushing you, without it suffocating you.
At any rate, you’re hoping he can use his special quirk to allow this one to release you from its grasp, to let you slip the rest of the way through and fall out of phase again. Or at the least, wait with you whilst you call for an extraction team. The alternative, well that doesn’t bear thinking about.
You decide to stop thinking about the very real potential of crushing or suffocation, because it suddenly does feel quite hard to breathe.
“Shōta?” You whisper into the earpiece, surprising yourself with how that spike of fear makes itself known in your voice.
“I’m almost there,” His low drawl soothes you. Even in the midst of battle he always sounds so calm, so unbothered, so much so it’s hard to feel fear in the face of his tired steady presence. “Don’t worry.”
The spike loosens. And, against all logic, you do feel less worried.
You close your eyes and let out a heavy lungful of air. And force your breathing to slow, to deepen. You force yourself to focus on the feel of the floor beneath your feet, how your tiptoes grind down into your boots, the slight strain as you balance just a little too high off the ground. The cool pressure of the concrete surrounding your waist, the complaining tug of muscles in your shoulders as your arms hang loosely on the other side. The slightness of the night breeze against your cheeks. As your breathing calms, and your heart rate slows.
And before you know it, you hear rapid but almost silent footsteps approaching, followed by a soft low chuckle.
A familiar soft low chuckle. One which comes both through the tiny speaker in your ear, and out of the darkness surrounding you.
“Are you laughing at me?” You speak with your eyes closed as you tap again on the earpiece, closing the line. You try to keep your voice light but the burn is back in your cheeks and in your stomach. Funny how he still has that effect on you, even after all these years.
You open your eyes again, and see him standing there.
“This is so undignified.” Shōta Aizawa answers softly as he steps out of the shadows into the dim light cast through the tunnel of the alleyway from the main street not too far away. The gloom of the night makes him cut an even more ragged silhouette than usual, plain black clothing beneath layers and layers of a thin wrapped scarf, yellow goggles pushed up around the crown of his head, pulling his long hair away from his face.
“Just shut up and get me out.” You grumble back, but it’s hard to fight back the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth when you see him. His eyes glint at you above the smudge of the dark circles which make their permanent home beneath them, above the crescent moon scar on his right cheek. The constant friction of untamed stubble peppering his chin. The wilderness of dark hair flowing around his shoulders. The harsh line of his mouth as he appraises the situation.
But he surprises you when he doesn’t return your slight smile, doesn’t immediately continue making fun of you for the undignified position you’ve found yourself in. When instead he says,
“I can't do that.”
Your mouth hangs open stupidly for a moment before you respond,
“What do you–”
“Think about this for a second.” He cuts you off with typical seriousness plastered across his face. “The quirk is holding you in place within the wall right now. If I release it–”
Oh.
If he releases it and your body comes out of synchronous phase with the wall, if your body and the concrete running through it begin existing again in the same space at the same time–
Oh, now it really feels hard to breathe.
“Fuck this,” your voice trembles ever so slightly as you flex your fingers, drawing power into your muscles. “I’m tearing it down–”
“Hold on.” He steps closer and is beside you in an instant, catching your right hand in his. “Don’t panic. If you do that you could bring the whole thing down on top of us.” He squeezes your fingers tight with his own, though his calm steady tone doesn’t waver for a second as he says, “I’ve already called for an extraction team, they’re about 20 minutes out.”
“20 minutes!?” Despite the warm pressure of his hand over yours, the prospect of spending another 20 minutes stuck here doesn’t exactly do much to calm your fears.
“It’s okay.” He slides his other hand to cup your cheek, turning your head so you’re looking into his dark, composed eyes. “You’ve been here, what, almost 10 minutes already? You’re fine, you’ll be absolutely fine. I’m here. I’ve got you, I won’t let anything happen to you.” He promises and, despite the frantic skipping in your chest, you believe him. You always do.
“Okay. Just–” You take a deep breath. “Can you please just distract me till they arrive?”
“Distract you?” He murmurs as his fingers stroke along the curve of your jaw, a familiar soothing motion which brings you back to reality a little. “With what?
“I don't know!” You snap, “I’m not an expert on what to do when you’re stuck in a fucking wall!” You hiss at him as quietly as you can, but there’s a tiny hint of amusement in your voice despite the fear bubbling in your chest.
“Okay.” He pauses for a moment, as if turning something over in his mind. “I’m going to leave you for a minute–” He sees you open your mouth to protest and shushes you quietly, still stroking your face like a trapped animal. Which is exactly how you feel right now. “Only for a minute. I’ll stay on comms, I’m just going to go inside and see if there’s any way to get you out from the other side. Is that okay?”
You swallow hard, pushing down your fear.
“That sounds like a crappy distraction.” You mutter petulantly, “What do you think you’ll be able to do from there?”
“I’ve got a few ideas.” And now a subtle smile creeps across his face. A smile that you recognise. A smile that makes the heat jump all across your skin, but this time it’s not embarrassment but something wilder, something which burns much brighter. So bright it almost tears through your fear.
Almost.
“Trust me.” He asks. And you do, you always do.
So you don’t freak out when he releases your face, when his grip leaves yours, and he begins to walk away, assessing his surroundings as he looks for an entry point. He finds one almost immediately in the form of a slightly open window on the next floor up and gives you one last pointed look, asking without words – is it okay? You answer with a sharp little nod and then, with the aid of his long flexible scarf, he’s gone again, scrambling up the side of the building and in through the open window in a flash.
The earpiece pings in your ear almost immediately as he leaves your sight and you accept the call, tapping it to open the line between you and him again.
You bite the inside of your cheek, flexing your nails into your palms and listening hard, focusing on the small slight pains, the soothing sound of his breathing.
“Still with me?” His voice rumbles in your ear as you hear him open a door inside and begin to make his way downstairs towards you.
“I’m okay.” You respond, keeping your voice as low as possible now that you’re alone again. But still, you trust him. You know you’re safe as long as he’s nearby. Though it would be a lot easier to keep your cool right now if you could just still see him.
And then, a sudden unexpected sensation from the other side of the wall.
You almost scream in fright, nearly jumping out of your skin when you feel a hand suddenly slide down the curve of your right hip. All your muscles tense and it takes every last shred of restraint within you to resist the impulse to kick back towards the person touching you, because you know exactly who it is.
Or at least, you hope you do.
“Fucking hell!” You hiss through your teeth as your heart rate spikes towards the sky above. “Shōta please tell me that's you.”
“Don't worry,” Aizawa chuckles softly through the earpiece, clearly amused by your unfamiliar reaction to his familiar touch. “It's me.”
“Fuck you,” you whisper as low as you can with the fresh rush of embarrassment flooding up your throat. “That’s not funny.”
"It’s a little funny. Besides, you said you wanted me to distract you...” He hums low in his throat as the hand on your hip slides lower, his fingers skimming dangerously down the curve of your ass as he digs his fingers into the soft yielding flesh through your uniform. “And I know a foolproof way to take your mind off things.”
“I didn’t mean like tha–ahh!” Even as you lean into the pressure of his fingers you try to protest but he cuts you off as he brings his left hand down on the other side of your ass, a short sharp spank which sends electric heat sparking up your body.
“So undignified.” He repeats as he rubs his hand against your singing skin, but his voice sounds different now. Darker, deeper, heady and full of promises of dangerous but oh-so-intoxicating delights.
Another side he shows only to you.
“What are you doing?” Your whisper becomes a tremble as his right hand slides lower, fingers pressing delightfully into your skin aided by the almost frictionless spandex–like material of your hero costume.
“You really expect me to just pass up this opportunity?” His voice comes steady in your ear, but you can already detect the subtle tremor in his tone which you know means there’s no stopping him now. The quiet righteous stoic man with hidden depths as dark and as mysterious as the ocean itself.
“What opportunity?”
Through the mic, his voice reverberates in your ear so deliciously it sends shivers all across the burning heat of your cheeks,
“To tease you.”
As his hand slides around the front of your body, finding the home of its target between your legs.
You whine a little too loudly, unable to bite it back when you feel his long strong fingers press insistently into you, stroking soft little circular motions through the fabric into the most sensitive part of your body.
“Shh now,” He hums through the earpiece, “Better keep it down. Imagine how embarrassing it’d be for someone to come along and find you like this.”
“You’re a bastard, you know that?” you manage to bite out the insult in a strangled whisper as he pulls your lower half hard against him, and you feel the insistent outline of his cock press into you through the thick fabric of his trousers.
“And yet you love me.” He muses darkly and you start to feel yourself losing all sense of reason, of rationality. Especially when he grinds himself harder against your ass, as his fingers continue to stroke you through the thin clothing separating his fingers from your skin and you feel a hot pulse between your legs already screaming for release.
“Shōta,” your mind spins as you try to convince him, try to convince yourself that this is a terrible fucking idea. “We're on duty right now–”
“That's right, we're on duty.” He hums softly as he slides his hands back up to your waist, fingers slipping nimbly between the waistband of your flexible clothing and your body, calloused pads sparking along your soft skin as he pulls the lower half of your uniform down around your knees. “So use my hero name.”
And you know you’ve already lost the battle against your own desire. A battle you were never really fighting to begin with.
“Fine!” You spit anger as convincingly as you can without raising your voice, glancing up and down the dimly lit alley as you do so to ensure there's still nobody there. “Eraser, this is such a bad idea–FUCK!!”
You slap your hand over your mouth but it’s too late. The curse leaves your lips in a half-cry, half-groan as Aizawa pushes your flimsy underwear to the side and you feel a warm velvety muscle swipe up through the slit of your cunt.
“Aah, Shō– Eraser.” You can barely bring your scrambled mind back together long enough to formulate words as you feel his tongue press gently against your pulsing hole, dipping inside to taste you for one long moment before swirling lower, stubble scraping gently against your sensitivity. “Don’t–”
Then the beautiful pressure releases as he pulls back, just a little. Just enough that he can murmur into the mic again, but still close enough that you feel the hot pant of his breath against your wet skin.
“Do you really want me to stop?” He asks as he replaces his tongue with his fingers, swiping upwards through your slick and pressing all-too-gently against your opening. “Cause this doesn’t feel like you do.” He’s right, you’re so wet. You have been from the moment you first felt his hand on you, so predictable are you to his touch. “But I will, of course I will. I’ll do anything you ask of me.”
“No.” You mutter, hanging your head even though nobody can see you as, once again, you wrestle with embarrassment. But this time it’s between embarrassment and desire and you both know which is going to win. “Don’t. Don’t stop.”
“Ask me nicely now.” He hums as he curls the pad of his forefinger around the bundle of nerves between your legs, as he uses his other hand to spread you open, exposing yourself entirely to him as his breath comes harder against you.
“Fuck, please!” You plead softly, already feeling tears of need prickling in the corners of your eyes. “Please don’t stop.”
So he acquiesces. Because it’s true, he will do anything you ask of him.
His tongue slides almost languidly between your folds, in no hurry to reach the destination, teasing out sensation as he goes. In your bent-over position he moves downwards rather than up, slowly lapping and drawing out soft little patterns across your skin with the tip of his tongue.
He circles your entrance, teasing out the promise of penetration without actually dipping inside. You clasp your hands over your mouth as he moves deeper, closer towards your core. Your breath is so hot and desperate against the palm of your hand and you’re sure he can hear your shallow kneeing little breaths through the earpiece, you’re sure of it because you can hear him too. Hear the wet sounds he makes as he increases his pace, as his tongue finds your clit and sucks it gently between his lips, tracing a figure-of-eight motion across the sensitive spot as you moan softly into your hands.
It sounds so utterly obscene, as the noises carry through his mic directly into your ear. You’ve never heard the wet desperate sounds of Aizawa devouring your cunt in such detail before. It all adds to the sensation – the dangerous undignified knowledge that this is happening almost in public, that anyone could walk by and see the flush on your cheeks, the moans you catch in your palm, the sweat on your forehead and the way your eyes flutter desperately against the sensations. The fact of the way his nose presses against your entrance as he kisses your clit and massages it with his lips, every so often adding the slight grate of teeth to bring sharpness to the softness of the sensation. The knowledge that you couldn’t escape from this beautiful torment even if you wanted to. The fact that you can hear his voice now too above the wet slick sounds of his mouth on you, the soft little moans of pleasure he lets out as he loses himself in the feeling, the taste of you.
“Fuck,” you gasp between your fingers as you feel the pressure build, as his sharp nose presses into you, as the dance between his mouth and your body reaches a crescendo between your legs. “Eraser, I’m–”
“I know.” He murmurs against your skin, but you barely hear him with his mouth buried so deep inside you.
Even though you warned yourself it was coming, it’s still almost a shock when your orgasm rips through you, heat bursting from the warm dark place between your legs and firing out through every limb, every nerve, every atom of your body. You shove your fingers into your mouth to muffle the cry you let out but it still curls outwards around your hand to burst pathetically into the darkness of the night sky as the shockwaves settle in your fingers and toes. Your legs shake as you balance on the other side of the wall, your abdomen tensing against the concrete holding you in place as you throw your head back and feel hot tears spill down your flushed cheeks, as the sensation slowly trickles out of you to join your cries into the midnight gloom.
You pant around your fingers, suddenly feeling sharp pain as you realise you bit hard into your flesh in an attempt to silence the wanton sounds of pleasure. But it doesn’t hurt, nothing hurts anymore. Not the stretch of your leg muscles as they hold you up nor the cold concrete against your waist nor the teeth marks in your flesh. All you feel is the fire of pleasure as Aizawa pulls back, removing his mouth from you and allowing you a small moment of respite.
Before he begins again.
You hear his breathing increase in pace through the earpiece alongside a familiar clicking as he undoes his belt buckle, and your entire body stiffens once more. But this time there is no fear, you barely care about the potential danger of your situation now, you barely care that someone could come along and find you like this, trapped and vulnerable and stripped right back to your bare nerves and base instinct beneath the touch of your lover. Right now all you care about is the clack of Aizawa unbuckling his belt, the rustle of him pulling down his trousers, the ragged desperate sound of his breathing, the wet slap of his cock against your ass as he allows it to spring free and nestle against your hot sweat-slick skin.
Right now all you care about, is more.
“Now darling, tell me exactly how I can distract you.” His voice purrs in your ear as he thrusts himself between your thighs, coating himself in your slick but not pushing inside, not yet, just teasing your clit with the head of his cock. “I could get off just like this, so you need to tell me.”
You let out a low groan from the base of your throat as you glance up and down the alley again, ears pricked to attention as you scan your surroundings for any potential approaching danger.
“I need you,” you admit somewhat begrudgingly into the earpiece, “Distract me, please. Fuck me so I can’t think of anything else.”
The words have barely left your mouth before he obliges your request. You let out a strangled squeal as he again simply pulls your underwear to the side and pushes himself into you.
“Shit, so tight,” he grunts as he buries himself almost to the hilt with his first stroke, your body welcoming him so easily as it has a hundred times before. “So wet. Does it turn you on that much, knowing someone could find you like this? Knowing you're totally at my mercy?”
You writhe against him as he pulls you back, hands scrabbling uselessly at the wall as your fingers beg to curl around something - his hair, his hands, his back, his cock. But you can't, there's nothing there, so you settle for burying them in your own hair instead, clamping your lips shut as hard as you can even as you press your hips back into him, wanting him, needing him as deep, as intimate as physically possible.
All in the name of distraction, of course. The pressure in the pit of your stomach. The push-in and the pull-out.
He recognises the motions in your body even with access to only half of it as he begins to move at a pace which betrays his own need. Betrays the fact that he is just as desperate to be inside of you as you are to have him.
“God, I wish I could see your face right now,” his voice pants heavy in your ear and you too wish you could feel the heat of his breath with it as he snaps his hips hard against you. “You look so good when I'm fucking you. But..." You can't help but let out a little yelp when he brings his hand down on your ass again, a sharp open-palmed slap which sends sparks firing through the muscle of your cheek directly to the warm throb between your legs. "This view isn't half bad either.”
“Shut up.” You try and fail to sound intimidating as you struggle to catch a breath, panting through your words. “I'll get you back for this.”
“I don't doubt it.” His voice buzzes low in your ear, his amusement almost lost in the static, but you know it's there.
Your mind wanders for a second as you let yourself imagine all the ways you're going to pay him back for this, the little humiliations and power plays you can enact that he will enjoy as much as you. Just as much as you're both enjoying each other right now. He's been teaching you how to manipulate his scarf recently, you're not very good at it yet but you already imagine how pretty he'd look with the tables turned, bound by his own weapon, now wouldn't that be a–
Your thought is cut off when he slips a hand between your thigh and the cloth of your underwear, pulling the fabric towards him and using it to guide the movements of your hips as you push back against him, at the same time as he pounds into you with a particularly brutal thrust of his own, slamming so deep you're sure you'll still be able to feel the imprint of his cock against your cervix when you wake tomorrow, tender and bruised but utterly satisfied.
“Don't be scared,” his voice purrs low in your ear, as he tries to coax further pleas from you, as he pulls your legs further apart to allow him access to dive deeper inside. “I'll protect you no matter what, so let me hear you moan all pretty for me.”
You throw your head back and nearly crash into the wall behind you as you groan low in your throat, hands flailing harder now as you push back, scraping your palms and nails against the rough surface but you don't care, so long as the pleasure keeps outweighing the pain so intensely.
Right now you're not sure you’d even notice if the wall rematerialised and crushed your insides, so effective is the requested distraction.
His hips seem to snap faster and faster into your warmth as he pulls you back against him, clearly taking seriously your request to drive all other thoughts from your mind as his sharp hipbones crash into your soft parts, as he stretches you open and dives deep again and again in a way which brings all your pain and pleasure dangerously close to boiling point.
Through the earpiece, you hear yourself fed back to you just a millisecond behind the muffled panting of your desperate breath as it escapes your mouth. You hear yourself slipping through Aizawa’s mic from the other side of the wall, the slick sounds of his cock as he thrusts in and out of your wet cunt, the barely-muffled groans he lets slip in your ear as he, quite literally, fucks you through the wall.
You bite your bottom lip so hard you taste blood, bitter and metallic, but it’s not enough to silence the breathy moan that escapes your throat when you feel his hand release your panties in favour of sliding between your legs, two calloused fingertips immediately finding the target. You keep your teeth sunk into your lip but it’s not enough to stop yourself keening from the overstimulation as he starts to move his fingers in tandem with his cock, hips snapping even harder now, even faster, like he wants to cause you pain. But the pain becomes pleasure with every thrust, every stroke, every drag of the rough pads of his fingers against your clit.
“Aah, Shōta,” your mouth lolls open, forgetting to use codenames now. “If you keep doing that I’ll–”
He cuts you off with another sharp smack to your ass, a little zinging bolt which zaps straight to the pit of your stomach, joining his fingers and his cock as he works you quickly towards the periphery of sanity.
“I know, starlight,” his voice is almost shaking now, as he begins to reach his own limits, “that's why I’m doing it.”
If your blood wasn’t so distracted it would have all rushed to your face again. You can tell he’s close now too, it’s in his voice and it’s in the way he moves his fingers faster against you, because he knows how quickly you cum when he fucks you like this. He knows how quickly you lose all sense of composure, all manner of modesty. How you fall into him, as he loses himself within you.
“Filthy, obscene, undignified.” He pants as his control too begins to crack and fall away, as the motions of his hips become jerky and desperate. “God, how I love you.”
Your lips draw back over your gums as you whine louder in the night air, forgetting how to keep quiet. Forgetting where you are. Forgetting the inherent danger of your situation, the fear of falling out of phase with the wall you’re stuck halfway through. Forgetting everything but the burning in your stomach, the pulsing throb between your legs. The sensation builds, thrumming until it becomes in tune with your hammering heart, until the fire turns to supernovas, firing through your star-shot veins.
Suddenly, you hear a noise, like footsteps echoing off the brick walls of the alleyway.
“Fuck,” you whisper-hiss into the mic, breath shuddering in your chest as you try to catch it. “Sh–Eraser, I think someone’s here–”
“Don’t worry,” he chuckles dark in your ear and you feel the hairs all along your arms and the back of your neck stand on end, a delightful shiver across the surface of your skin. “It’s just the extraction team. I got a notification they were about to arrive.”
“And you didn’t think to fucking tell me?” You bite back the groan in your throat, you try to bite back the boiling sensation in your stomach but you can’t, you can’t do anything but give into it. Especially when Aizawa purrs in your ear,
“But don’t you want them to see how fucking pretty you look when you come for me, darling?”
It’s too soon, it’s too soon since your last orgasm but it’s coming at you like a runaway fucking freight train and you couldn’t stop it if you tried. And you already know when it hits it’s going to strip you right back to the core, leaving you more exposed and vulnerable than ever before.
Just the way he likes you.
He groans at the sounds of your whimpers, at the sensation of your insides tightening around him, biting out tiny expletives into the earpiece mic, as the supernovas in your veins explode, and the fire of your orgasm rips through you again.
For a second you fear you have actually fallen out of phase with the wall, because for a second you can’t feel anything but the overwhelming force as it clatters through your limbs, legs trembling as your toes claw into the ground and arms shaking as you slap your hands over your mouth, a useless attempt to muffle your cry of pleasure as you cum again. Aizawa doesn't give you a second to spiral back to reality before he chases you into his own dream, thighs slapping against your ass as he rides out the impending waves of his orgasm, the delightful drag and push of the pressure in your cunt seeming to prolong your own, as you let your hands fall away and your tongue part the boundary of your lips as you pant pathetic and needy into the cool night air–
Suddenly, you hear that echoing noise again. Closer this time.
Suddenly, your mind spirals back to Earth long enough to realise that someone is calling your codename from further down the alley, from the sounds of it, not more than 20 feet away. You thank whatever twisted God has been watching over you that the streetlight’s glare doesn’t reach too far into the sliver of gloom filling the canal between the buildings, because otherwise they surely would have seen your eyes nearly roll back in your head, seen the way your body is shaking and swaying against the force of unseen thrusts.
“Eraser,” you hiss into the earpiece as quietly as you possibly can, “hurry the fuck up–”
You don’t even have time to finish your sentence before you clasp your hands over your mouth again, but this time you’re too far too late to silence the sharp squeal that escapes when Aizawa slams into you as deeply as possible, as you recognise the familiar sensation of warmth and the shallow deep thrusts of his cock as he pumps himself into you, the familiar shuddering moan as he releases his breath in the form of your name, over and over again until the remnants of his orgasm finish shattering through his body, and into yours.
“Are you alright?”
You didn’t even realise you’d closed your eyes until you hear that voice again, now coming from far too close to you. You snap back to attention and Aizawa groans deep in his throat as your insides tighten around him. You try not to admit to yourself how that sound makes you want to set yourself alight around him all over again, despite the fact that you are now faced with two concerned-looking extraction team workers, hard hats and a heavy-looking toolbox in hand between the two of them.
You smile weakly, and hope to God neither of them has an x-ray vision quirk.
“Are you in pain?” The one who spoke before pipes up again, worry clouding his vision at your lack of earlier response. As he steps closer. “Are you having trouble breathing?”
“I’m fine,” you huff out a heavy breath, trying to play off your flushed state as mere uncomfortable panic from being stuck in this position for so long. “Just get me out of here.”
“Eraserhead called it in,” The other rescue worker, a heteromorph with large fox-like ears and a pointed nose asks you as they open the toolbox and begin fiddling with a complicated-looking drill. “Where is he?”
“He, uh…” You hear him chuckle in your ear as you feel him pull out, and do your best not to wince as you feel hot sticky fluid drip down the insides of your thighs. Yours, and his. “He went to scout the area whilst we waited, make sure there were no villains nearby.”
“Ah, smart.” The other rescue worker accepts your explanation readily as they press a hand against the wall, clearly using their quirk to test something in the concrete. ”No need to worry, we've dealt with this particular quirk before, we’ll have you out in no time.”
“Shame,” Aizawa purrs in your ear as he pulls your clothes back up around your waist, hands lingering temptingly on your hips and squeezing ever so slightly. “This was a fun distraction.”
In the back of your mind, you make a silent vow to track down that villain from earlier. Next time, you’ll get him. Next time, you’ll bring him to justice and see him pay for his crimes.
No other reason.
And, well, if somehow he gets the better of you again, you know you can always call Aizawa.