Shouta Aizawa x Reader - Dishes

The sweet, pungent smell of rotting vegetables filled your nose. A rustle, followed by a shrill squeak made you jump, and you whipped your head around to look at the darkened dead-end of the narrow alleyway. Small skittering noises. Your shoulders slumped. Just a rat.

'Really? This is where you chose to hide?'

You froze. The voice came from right in front of you. Male. Deep. Instinct overcame thought and you rolled to the side, just in time to avoid the scarf whipping out to ensnare you. Air whistled past your cheek. Legs pumping, you tore out of the alley and around the corner. This area of town was deserted at night. High-rise buildings turned the sky into a grid of star-dotted black, like a giant game of Pacman.

And you had your very own Ghost.

Gotta collect that cherry, you thought. You didn't spare the breath to laugh at your own joke. He would be right on your tail, or circling around to cut you off. A cross-section approached. Left, or right? No. Straight on. He'd expect you to veer off, to double-back and try to lose him.

Unless he called your double-bluff. No time to be second-guessing yourself. If he found you again, you'd just have to get away before he could snag that damn scarf around you.

There was one way to keep track of him, if he was careless. Small, intermittent bursts of your Quirk. The moment it stopped working, you'd know he was near. If he chose not to use his Quirk on you? You'd have to rely on your training. The night air filled your mouth with the taste of car fumes and recent rainfall. Puddles still gleamed in the streetlights.

'You're so out in the open.'

'Shit.' You leaped, escaping a loop of his scarf. You were like a wild horse he was trying to lasso.

'I was close, then.' He was above you, on the roof of some houses. He squatted on the edge, hair standing up, goggles down. His eyes gleamed red between the bars. 'You're slowing down.'

'You ass,' you said, exasperated.

Whirling, you pelted down the side street. The sound of swishing cloth and light, booted feet clattering across roof tiles followed behind you, growing closer, just as he'd said. Damn it, you weren't going to let him win. If he caught you, it was game over.

Whoever lost had to pay the ultimate price.

Doing the dishes.

'Can't wait to see you in those yellow rubber gloves, Eraserhead!' you called back.

You put on a burst of speed. The street blurred; you became a streak of dark cloth and flashing limbs, flying down the road at full speed. You pivoted at the corner, taking the narrow road. Out onto a broad thoroughfare, the shutters down for the night. A blinking neon vacancy sign above a seedy hotel. A drunk businessman shambling home.

You saw it all in the blink of an eye. Abruptly, your Quirk winked out, like it had never existed. Fuck. You skidded to a halt, scanning the rooftops for a silhouette, a gleam of gold metal. Nothing. The alleys? Crouching under a bush?

'Why did you stop running?'

A chill shot up your spine. You turned. Dangling from a streetlamp like spider on a string of nanofibres and metal alloy, was Aizawa Shouta. His black hair hung down, his goggles had slipped, and his eyes burned like twin red embers. The orange glow of the streetlamp painted his upside-down face in eerie, Jack-o-Lantern shadows.

You backed away, one step after another. If you could get to the alley-

'If you run,' Shouta said in a low monotone, 'I'm adding the vacuuming to your penalty if I catch you. Give up while you’re ahead.'

'A plea bargain?' you said in disgust. 'What do you take me for?'

'Come closer and I'll show you.'

That tone pricked up the hairs on the nape of your neck. You shot him a wary look. His eyes were black once again, his mouth tilted at the corners. A hint of teeth. Oh.

'Why should I trust you?'

'Frightened?'

'Of an Aizawa-piñata? If only I had a nice big stick-'

'____.' The dark way he said your name made your pulse jump far more than the running had. You took a cautious step closer. His gaze stayed fixed on yours, half-lidded, luring you in.

Oh, to hell with it. You walked over, hands on hips. 'What.'

He was hanging just about level with your head. You had the absurd urge to give him a push and watch him sway, but you wanted to see what his game was. That tiny grin returned, sly and sharp. Oh, so that's what he wanted. Of course he wasn't the kind of man who'd just ask. Everything was reading between the lines with him. You caught his head, fingers curling into his unruly, dangling hair.

'This what you're after?'

'Mm.'

You huffed, and leaned up to slant your mouth across his. It was different, him being upside down, but still good. His mouth was always surprisingly soft. A stroke of tongue across the seam of your lips. You opened them, sighing through your nose. Your fingers tightened in his hair. He tasted of orange juice and the tempura takeout you'd ordered. (To avoid doing the dishes, ironically.) His scruffy facial hair tickled your cheek.  His quiet grunt weakened your knees.

Your arms snapped straight to your sides, bound by coils of scarf. Aizawa flipped right-side-up and landed in a light crouch, grasping the scarf in both hands. His counterweight hauled you up, strung over the arm of the lamppost. And you dangled six feet in the air, feet kicking wildly.

He gazed up at you. You stopped struggling and narrowed your eyes.

'Don't say it.'

'It was a logical ruse.'

'It was downright sneaky.'

'Exploiting the known weakness of my target in order to lure them into a trap.'

'Oh, because you make out with most of the villains you arrest?'

He didn't dignify that with an answer. 'Dishes.'

You sighed. 'Fine, dishes.'