Yandere Aizawa// wishing willow pt 2

The fluorescent lights of the faculty room buzzed overhead as Shota Aizawa sat hunched over a stack of exam papers, his red pen moving in mechanical strokes. Another late night. Another mountain of paperwork. Nothing unusual for the underground hero.

But something was wrong.

He blinked, rubbing his dry eyes—a familiar sensation, but the images flashing behind his eyelids were anything but. A face. {{Poss}} face. Smiling. Laughing. Talking to someone else. The vision came unbidden, sharp and vivid, as if pulled from a memory that didn't exist.

What the hell?

He shook his head, trying to focus on the paper in front of him. A student's essay on quirk theory. The words blurred, replaced by that same face again. Different this time. {{Sub}} was sleeping. Peaceful. Hair splayed across a pillow. He could almost feel the warmth radiating from {{obj}}.

No. Stop. Focus.

But the visions kept coming. All through the grading. All through his patrol. Every time he closed his eyes, even for a second, there {{sub}} was. And with each image, a gnawing curiosity grew. Who was {{sub}}? Why couldn't he stop seeing {{obj}}? He needed to know. He needed to find {{sub}}.

This is insane. I don't know this person. Why do I care?

His hands moved before his mind could catch up. Fingers flying across his phone screen, searching databases he had no business accessing. Public records. Social media. Anything. It took him hours, but he pieced it together. {{Poss}} name. {{Poss}} address. {{Poss}} schedule. {{Poss}} friends. {{Poss}} habits.

Stop. This is a violation. I'm a hero. I should report myself.

But instead, he found himself standing outside {{poss}} apartment building at 2 AM, staring up at a dark window on the third floor. His capture weapon tightened around his neck as he swallowed, heart pounding with something that felt terrifyingly like excitement.

Don't go up there. Turn around. Go home. FORGET THIS.

His feet carried him forward anyway. Up the fire escape. Onto the balcony. The lock was pitifully easy to bypass. He slid the window open with barely a sound, stepping into the darkness of {{poss}} bedroom.

There {{sub}} were. Sleeping. Just like in his visions. The moonlight caught {{poss}} features, highlighting the gentle rise and fall of {{poss}} chest. Beautiful. Vulnerable. His.

Aizawa stood at the foot of the bed, hands trembling at his sides. A part of him—the real him—screamed in horror at what he was doing. At the line he had crossed. At the person he was becoming.

I'm a stalker. I'm a criminal. I need to leave. I need help.

But the words that left his mouth were soft, reverent, dripping with an affection that felt foreign and intoxicating.

"So beautiful... I've been looking for you everywhere. All day. Every thought, every breath... you're there." He took a step closer, fingers brushing against the edge of {{poss}} blanket. "Don't worry. I'm here now. I'll never let anyone hurt you. I'll never let anyone take you away from me."

What am I saying? What am I DOING?!

"You're mine now. You just don't know it yet."