There she was.
Sitting there with the confidence of the world.
Not the second-hand, cheap kind of confidence (Y/N) strutted around with ever since her license was revoked.
It was authentic sort. The one that demanded to be acknowledged and seen, despite its lack of a functioning quirk or an important position in society.
(L/N) (Y/N) had her legs crossed, her chin up and her arms spread out on the sofa's frame.
As if the spirit of a grand somebody had possessed her.
And it had.
Aizawa Shouta had possessed her body, giving her a flashback of what she once was because no mirror would've done it.
'How are you making me like myself?' (Y/N) had half a mind to profess.
Nothing stopped her from being honest, except this pounding heart and heating body were malfunctioning her circuits.
(Y/N) was in the body of a reserved man with few words and fewer reactions. He was the embodied representation of 'less is more' and it had a gripping affect on her actions at this moment; although, she did overcome it in some instances.
This time it put weights on her tongue.
(Y/N) didn't know if this was the sole working of Aizawa's body or a joint effort with her wavering feelings, but it was entirely new and strangely thrilling.
Eventually, a nervous chuckle lightened up her ability to speak, "thank you... for saying that. Um... about Pink's condition, it's a secret."
Aizawa raised an eyebrow in response to the timid reaction. He sat forward with his elbows on his thighs, eyes closing in and assessing, "you know me... a chatterbox."
The doll swallowed heavily at the close proximity and turned away. Her eyes swept the room for a distraction and noticed the hands of the clock. "Right! It's almost dinner time," she announced, standing up, "keep an eye on Tsubaki, will you?"
Before (Y/N) could successfully make her escape, however, a hand latched onto her wrist and drew her to a stop. Aizawa rose to his full height and even then he had to look up.
"I didn't think I could do it, but I'm through with this," his voice was low as he dove closer.
"What are you—" the question didn't carry through as lips layered steadily on (Y/N)'s.
Panic was spreading like a wildfire and all (Y/N) could think about was Tsubaki seeing this. Her abyssal eyes darted back to the child as her hands grabbed Aizawa's shoulders, pushing him gently away.
Aizawa shrugged her hands off and grasped her forearms, pulling her along with him away from innocent eyes. All the while his lips remained glued to hers as they stumbled to the corridor and he pushed (Y/N) against the wall with a bit of frustration.
If the attacker was lying about this, Aizawa would personally break into his prison cell and end his miserable existence.
The underground hero could never wipe away the smug look on the bastard's face when he was called for an alternative.
Other than waiting for almost an entire day, the attacker did reveal another solution. One where the two inflected individuals must have at least a speck of affection and translate it into touch.
Skinship.
At first, Aizawa brushed him off as rotten perverted scum, but a text from an acquainted detective's questioning and investigation on the case affirmed it as fact.
Still, the hero preferred to stay patient in hopes he would return to his body before 24 hours, but he can't take it anymore.
The more he remained in (Y/N)'s body, the more he felt what she felt. Like staring at life through her own lenses.
Perhaps it was a good sign. It probably meant they were due to return to their respective bodies soon and Aizawa was riding on that hope with all the tolerance he could muster. Yet, the instant the thought of how handsome he was crossed his mind, it was the red line.
So he succumbed to another narcissistic act.
Kissing a mirror.
Except it was warm, vocal and real.
And it had better work.
Pressing his lips harder on muffled protests, Aizawa's arms wrapped around (Y/N)'s shoulders to pull her down. Completely oblivious to how conflicted the woman was in this experience.
(Y/N)'s hands flailed around the frame of a woman— hers. If the roles were reversed, she would've been ecstatic, launched out of space and into some fantastical galaxy of a wondrous realm.
This, on the other hand, was a mean way of making dreams come true.
Ultimately frustration ran its course long enough to make Eraser peel his lips off hers and pant out the order: "kiss me."
"Wh—"
"Shut up and kiss me."
Has he gone mad?
The urgency in his tone was like the most effective of spells when her head automatically obeyed and dove in for a kiss.
Has she gone mad?
Perhaps the situation was wild enough to insure mental damage.
No one was thinking about damage at this point, though. Not when the two were truly blind, deaf and completely heedless to anything outside of a world they managed to construct with the contact of lips.
This, as opposed to before, was slow and felt and as grounding as it was ethereal.
Lips molded against one another perfectly while other forces came into play.
Slowly, life as they know it was blurring out of focus.
A vortex of abstract feelings whirled around them until (Y/N) was in her own skin. She took in the scent of a heart's skipping, feeling it resonating against her own.
The doll was panting softly, her lips tingling and the weight of two hands on her waist felt heavy and real. Her back wasn't against a wall anymore and when she looked up, she found the intensity of two abyssal eyes staring back.
Aizawa pressed his lips together in restraint, willing reason to possess him just as surely as he possessed his own body. Still his treacherous eyes dropped to swollen, tempting lips and he wanted to feel them this time.
"(N/N)! Where are yooooou?"
(Y/N) snapped out of her trance and stepped away from the man. She rang out her hands anxiously, smoothed out her hair and pressed cold palms to her cheeks as she took deep, calming breaths.
"I'm here!" (Y/N) breathed out, glancing briefly to Aizawa's face which was turned to the side. His hair obstructing the red colour visible from his profile. The doll parted her lips to say something but another call had her hurrying away.
( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°)Commercial break brought to you by: cherry-flavoured chapstick ( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°)
"Yes, that happened," Aizawa's voice, however low and measured, boomed through the kitchen and the stiffened doll's heart.
(Y/N) huffed, turning away from her task— collecting ingredients for dinner— to face the slouching man in front of her. Which was great, really, since she didn't know what she was doing... not with her brains scattered, "mind explaining?"
"That..." Aizawa started, his eyes shifting to the side and his hand fell on the back of neck, "was an alternative to waiting."
"And you didn't tell me, why?" the doll shot back with a hand on her hip.
"Were you that eager to kiss yourself?"
(Y/N) raised a finger to speak but kept her mouth shut and lowered the finger. "I guess you were," she mumbled haughtily.
"Only when it got unbearable..." Aizawa muttered in disdain.
If Eraser was talking about how she started to feel the slow monopoly of his body, thoughts and emotions over her soul, then yes, unbearable.
Frightening, enlightening and unbearable.
"Agreed, but it sure was an experience, huh?" (Y/N) sighed out a giggle and crossed her arms over her chest.
Aizawa's eyes briefly followed the action, assuming the doll was playing a cruel joke on him. On the dilemma of what a man must do to respect the borrowed body of a woman. He grinned cynically, "let's make sure it doesn't happen again."
"I hear ya. Can't imagine anything more comfortable than your own skin," (Y/N) agreed, enjoying this sight way more than her own face.