Stains of Hero -MaleReader x MHA-

1st pov

Aizawa's Household

The quiet hum of a ceiling fan filled the house as I stretched out on the couch, staring endlessly at the ceiling. I'd barely unpacked my things after the airport, and it already felt like a century ago. Mom and Dad were probably over the Pacific by now. Meanwhile, I was here, figuring out how to survive with my new guardian. This hero was somehow a complete stranger and my only anchor to reality.

"Still on the couch?" A voice called from the front door.

I sat up as he walked past, arms full of groceries. From the kitchen, his voice carried back to me. "Are you going to answer, or just keep staring?"

I sat up, looked at him, and tilted my head, "Why you Aizawa? How did my parents get a hero to take care of me?"

Aizawa closed the fridge, staring at me, "It's because I owed them a favor," he answered before going up the stairs.

"Must have been a hell of a favor," I scratched my head, wondering what that implied.

"Do me a favor, and make use of your time here. I don't expect you to stay on the couch forever," he said before disappearing upstairs and closing the door of his room.

I sighed, looking at my unpacked bags. I stood up, dragging my bags up the stairs and into my room. I gazed at the empty room, planning in my head where everything should go before I got to work putting my room together.

As I moved into my room, my thoughts drifted to school. Everyone at Aldera High was oblivious to my new living situation, except for Bakugo and Midoriya.

Bakugo, of course, was there when I moved out. So he obviously knew.

Midoriya was supposed to help me move, but that whole thing with the sludge villain happened, and his mother had to call him home early in worry.

However, I didn't tell them that I was living with a hero. Even I had a hard time believing that. I would always avoid their questions when they asked me who I was living with. I think I did Aizawa a favor by not introducing those two into his life.

There was one thing I couldn't avoid though, my own training. Or, more accurately, the lack of it. With the U.A. entrance exam looming, my quirk felt as clumsy as ever. With school ending soon, I could use the time to train. If I wanted a real shot at becoming a hero, I'd need to step it up.

The next morning, I took matters into my own hands. If I wanted to become a hero, I had to start taking responsibility. Out in the small yard behind the house, I set up a makeshift training area. Nothing fancy, but it worked. I had a stack of cans to shoot down and a couple of random bricks I found to try and stack together with my ink.

"Alright, here goes nothing," I muttered. Taking a deep breath, I extended my hands, feeling the familiar tingle of my quirk activating. I envisioned the goop of the sludge villain, imagining my ink to move the same way.