[Aizawa Shouta x Reader]
One would think that having the word 'prison' on a resume would make the owner a wicked, dangerous character. However, that's definitely not the case with a doll-like, dramatic and very cheeky woman that goes by the name: (...
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"Oi."
"Oii."
"Oiiiii."
"Aizawa!"
With a slap on the shoulder, the man in question shot up from his sleeping position on the table.
"Don't you feel sorry for yourself?" the woman behind his previous attack croaked out in heartbreak.
"Haaaah?!" Aizawa hollered, blinking a couple of times and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
(Y/N) snorted, drunk and slurring, "you shouldn't be sleeping on this hard table," the woman stretched out her upper body on the table as she continued whining, "you deserve a warm fuzzy pillow."
"Fuzzy wha-" Eraser asked, his anger subsiding bit by bit as the reality of the situation dawned on him.
After getting into deep waters with the doll, she took it upon herself to down her drink in lieu of a reply.
Everything from then on was a mess.
(Y/N) was reeled in by Midnight's sinful beckoning and, thus, forever lost from being controlled by Eraser.
Sure Aizawa could've been the Saint who guides back the strayed souls of the Sinners, but what the heck? The doll probably needed a night of de-stress and all he could do is keep an eye on the obnoxious woman.
He couldn't recall when his eyes shut down, though.
"You need a warm bed..." (Y/N) mumbled, cheeks flushed and eyes teary as she blinked slowly.
Another slap landed on Aizawa's shoulder, the attacker this time being Present Mic. The blond wrestled with a hyperactive Midnight, "take care of (L/N)-chan! Signing out!" he saluted and threw the protesting female on his shoulder to the exit.
Aizawa checked the time on his phone: '02:46 am.'
The bar was close to deserted at this point, not a single one of his colleagues remained. They probably entrusted Yamada with the rest.
His black, red-shot eyes languidly gazed at the sleeping woman beside him. With a sigh, Aizawa stood up and stretched, preparing his back for the weight of dozing doll.
(¬‿¬) Commercial break brought to you by: cute, snoring piggyback riders (¬‿¬)
"Where are your keys?"
"My knees?"
"Keys," Aizawa pronounced more clearly as he had the woman pinned against the wall right next to her flat's door. His large hands squeezed her biceps, holding her up from sliding down. "(L/N)," he tried again, softly.
"Um..." (Y/N)'s hazy eyes drifted left and right as she pouted. "The keys?"
A resident passed by the two, giving them suspicious glances.
It would be common human decency to assure them he wasn't a villain or a pervert, but Aizawa couldn't be bothered since he's planning to use every ounce of patience on the whiny, adorable mess before him.
"Yes, the keys," Eraser pressed, gently, her purse was hanging from his neck.
(Y/N) finally leveled her gaze on black eyes and just like magic the sound of jiggling keys sounded. She raised the frustrating tones to Aizawa's eyes with a giggle, "here ya go."
"Finally," the man heaved a breath of relief and snatched them from her hands. While Aizawa fiddled with the keys and trying each on the door, the doll scooted closer, her beady eyes blinking at the impossible task.
When the lock turned, Eraser accidentally put a little too much force in pulling the handle. The consequences of his action was a bang and the sound a cat makes when you step on its tail.
"Fuck," the man rushed to the victim of a woman on the floor.
"Why did you do that?" (Y/N)'s voice was laced with utter, unforgivable sadness.
"It wasn't me," Aizawa started, feeling a tug at his heart strings, "it was the door."
As Aizawa helped the scowling woman up, she asked again, "why would the door do that? I've always been nice."
Before a cat fight can ensue between an inanimate object and a drunk, angry woman, Aizawa made hasty work of getting her through the threshold by grabbing her waist securely and pulling her in.
"The door needed to catch these hands," (Y/N) huffed, letting Aizawa guide her through a messy toss of their shoes and further in, "but I'll let it slide."
"Yes, be the bigger person," Eraser encouraged, mildly enjoying the comical performance. He ushered her into sitting on the dinning table— instead of the chair cause it was easier to lift her on a table than pull a chair. He turned away to pour a glass of water, "here."
"Thank you," the doll received the cup and instead of drinking it like a normal specimen of this planet, she proceeded to pour the whole thing on her head.
Aizawa's eyes almost bulged out of their pockets.
If he was sleepy before, he's wide awake now. As if that cold shower was poured on him and not the blissfully sighing doll.
"Much better."
"Better?! You'll get sick!" Aizawa scolded, his face gradually transforming into all hues of red at what a wet shirt could show.
"I'm actually sober and still want this..." (Y/N) mumbled, slowly levelling her eyes on the man before her for a second too long before her hand pulled him by the hem of his shirt, pulling him towards her, "kiss me."
"Wh-"
"Shut up and kiss me," the doll insisted, tossing the man into memory lane.
For some odd reason, after the fiasco of possessed bodies, Aizawa was able to recall the moment he said those very same commands.
Except instead of his bewildered expression, it was (Y/N)'s determined face. He remembered what the doll saw while in his body and he thought nothing could be more haunting.
Until now.
(L/N) (Y/N) ordered him to kiss her and he was ready to ask if she wanted a serving of stars along with her kisses.
The needy whimper and the subtle tug of his shirt was what stirred Aizawa into action, planting his lips against her wet ones.
A moan bubbled at the back of (Y/N) throat as her arms wrapped around his shoulder, bringing him closer and into the space between her legs.
Aizawa's hands pressed into her waist, the twist of his eyebrows evidence of every awakened sense in his body at this very moment.
The events escalated from embers to flames. A quick transition took place, starting with slowly taking in each other's lips to tongues, wandering hands, stripped clothes.
