Archive of Our Own

" All Smite Strikes Again!"  

The ticker ran across the bottom of the tv screen on every channel. It rode the words of radio announcers and common citizens. It even glared back in bold, angry lettering from the newspaper headline in Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi's hands. He growls and folds it back up roughly, shoving it into his trench coat pocket. After an angry tirade made up of heavy stomps and a slew of frustrated cursing, he rips the door open to the police station and walks up to the chief's desk, slamming the wrinkled story atop.

"He's back AGAIN!" He shouts, balling his fists until his knuckles turn white. "This guy is practically unstoppable!"

"The greatest villain the world has ever seen." The balding, overweight chief of police replies, sipping his coffee. "Put your best pros on this case."

"They'll all end up like the last group. Broken, beat, and scarred."

He pauses, setting his mug atop the paper and smearing the ink. "They weren't your best, were they?"

Tsukauchi gapes. "Excuse me? Are our forces that expendable to you?"

He throws up his grubby hands in defense. "Not at all! We just need to find someone capable of facing this monster without letting his emotions get the best of them."

"Those heroes did NOT let their emotions get in their way!" He slams his fist down. "They were manipulated by their opponent's cunning."

"Hah! Good luck finding one that won't be, then." He moves the coffee and takes up the paper, reading opposite of the side where the stain was. Naomasa shakes his head and pushes off the desk, making his way to his own office. 

He collapses into his chair, taking a moment to calm his rage before turning his attention to his answering machine. 

"You have 33 unheard messages."

"Jesus christ…" he presses the button down hard and props his chin up on his hand while he listens, tapping the button over and over to erase the many meaningless calls from telemarketers and mystery fanatics claiming to have evidence on certain cold cases. When he nears the last few, a familiar voice crackles through. 

" Naomasa, Sansa Tamakawa here! I heard, well I'm pretty sure EVERYONE heard about the newest development with All Smite. Listen, I've got info on a pro hero who just might fit the bill on who the Chief is asking for on this case. Gimme a call and I'll get you the details. Thanks for your time!"

The resounding end-of-message beep draws out, and he cancels the voicemail menu immediately, picking up the receiver and speed-dialing his deputy. The feline cop answers after one ring. 

"Meet me at the coffee shop for lunch. I'm bringing him with me."

"Gotcha."

*****

At twelve noon, he treks the two blocks to the brewery and enters, bracing his hat against the wind. The cat-like officer waves a paw from the corner booth and the detective approaches, seeing the disheveled top of a man's head as he nears. He sits, greeting his friend before turning his attention to the seemingly exhausted hero across from them. His costume was worn, but free of holes, and the scarf around his neck and shoulders was slightly frayed at the edges. His long black hair blended in with the color of his costume, and his equally dark eyes studied the newcomer with bored intent.

"Hello, I'm Naomasa Tsukauchi. I'm a detective with the police department."

"Shota Aizawa." He replies gruffly, cupping his mug with his weathered hands and taking a drawn out sip of tea. The heat adds just a tinge of color to his pale complexion, though it wanes quickly and he appears even more lifeless to Tsukauchi than before. He presses on. 

"Sansa here told me you were interested in the All Smite case. Could you tell me what qualifications you have that would prove your usefulness to us?"

"Well, you see," Tamekawa interrupts, "He works on the down low. He is a fully licensed professional hero, but opts to stay free of the spotlight. I have a file here with his accomplishments, and I'm sure he could attest to any and all cases listed here."

"Let me see." Naomasa takes the folder and reads through them. The mysterious man sits patiently all the while.

"Hmm, you helped with the Hawks case?"

"Indeed. Bastard was flying illegal drugs across district lines. Had a ring going for eight years and raked in millions before they brought me in. I took him down in less than a two weeks."

The detective raises his eyebrows. "Impressive."

"He's stealthy, reliable, and emotionless." The feline adds. "He'll be perfect for going against our number one crook!"

Tsukauchi closes the file, clasping his hands atop it and studying Aizawa, who had his arms crossed and was staring back expectantly.

"Can you be at the department office tomorrow morning for a briefing, 0800?"

"Yup."

"Good." He gestures for Sansa to let him up, then grabs his coat and hat. He removes a note from his wallet and slips it across the table to him. "For the tea. See you then."

Tamekawa salutes him and he departs, head hung low in thought. 

" Who is this guy? Can he really get us All Smite? Will our possessions finally be safe from him after so many years?"

*****

Naomasa arrives at the station at 6 am sharp, blowing the steam from his takeaway coffee before raising the styrofoam cup for a sip. He pauses, hesitating a few feet from the entrance as a shadow cast by the pale morning sun catches his eye. He rounds the corner and sees Eraserhead propped against the side of the building, cocooned in a yellow sleeping bag and scrolling through his phone.

"Uhhh…." he says loudly enough for the scruffy hero to hear, but his attention does not wander. "What are you doing?"

"Checking the reports. Part of my routine during my night patrols."

"It's 6 am."

"I know. They just ended."

He raises an eyebrow in question, looking over the condition of his makeshift bed before waving his hands in confusion. "Did you get any sleep at all?"

"'Bout an hour or so."

He clicks his tongue. "That's really not very healthy."

The hero raises his head and affixes him with dry ebony eyes. "No different from the norm. Besides, I had breakfast already." He gestures to an array of squeezed-out protein packets neatly lined up to his right. 

Tsukauchi shaies his head. "C'mon. We've got a coffee maker and some oatmeal bars inside. Besides, it's colder than hell out here. You can't possibly be comfortable."

He stands and unzips himself, carefully stepping from the sleeping bag and folding it over his arm, bending to collect his trash. "Eh, I'm used to it."

The detective holds the door open, practically shoving the underground hero ahead of him and making quick work of turning the lobby lights on. The night crew typed away mindlessly at their desks, too busy trying to make sense of Smite's latest barrage of crime while the chief slept away his latest consummation of donuts at the counter. Naomasa growls and taps the surface, stirring the giant man from his nap. 

"Excuse me sir," he tries politely, albeit through gritted teeth, "Eraserhead is here for his briefing."

He sits up, groaning and stretching, the buttons of his shirt straining against his very pronounced stomach, and rubs his eyes. They crack open one by one and settle upon the disheveled newcomer, who was staring back, unimpressed, from behind his scarf.

"Hey!" He protests, pointing at the clock on the wall. "He's two hours early!"

"You can't be serious." Naomasa pinches his brow. "This has got to be the biggest case Musutafu has ever seen, and you're concerned about getting more nap time?? "

"Everyone knows humans operate better with a full eight hours." He defends, letting his head sink into his palm.

"He hasn't had a wink all night!" He gestures to Aizawa. "And he's still here because he has a job to do!"

"Yeah, you're right." the chief reaches into his desk and procures a file, sliding it across the granite top and into his hands. "Since you think you can do my job better than me, have at it."

"Hold on-" 

"Detective!" He holds up a meaty palm to cut him off. "That's an order!"

He growls, grabbing up the folder and waving his hand in frustration. "C'mon Eraserhead!" He retraces his steps and the black-haired man follows, seeing no difference either way.

" You bet your ass I can do this better than you."

*****

The two end up back at the coffee shop where they'd met the day before, and Aizawa stares down at the sandwich Naomasa purchased for him while he sifts through the classified information. 

"Sorry to confuse you so much, Mr. Aizawa."

"Shota, please." He corrects. "And I don't really care. Just tell me what to do and I'll get it done."

He looks up from his analysis. "Wish I had the pleasure of working with you before now. You'd do a better job than most of the current force on your own."

Shota's eyes turn up at the corners as he smiles behind his scarf. "Hm, you sure you can say that so soon?"

"Well, your reputation clearly precedes you. Sansa seemed to have nothing but praise for your work so far, and you've resolved some pretty big cases in your few years as a licensed pro."

"Well, aren't you a flatterer."

"Heh," he blushes, holding the folder up to hide it. "Just recounting what I heard."

"So, since you're now the boss, maybe you should construct a plan?"

"Yes! Absolutely!" He opens his briefcase and removes his notepad and pen, setting them atop the file. Eraser watches as he titles the page, then draws a chart with three columns.

"Isn't this a little junior high?"

"Yeah, way to prove the teachers right, eh?" He replies sarcastically. "No, this will actually help us greatly. You see, thanks to All Smite's high profile, it's been easy for us to detect patterns in his criminal activity over the past few years." 

He writes words above each column, and Aizawa leans in for a better look.

"Here, I'm going to write every type of crime he's been tied into. Here, the timeframes, and here, the locations. After that, I should be able to chart them all and plot where he's going to hit next."

"Impressive. You're true to your title, Mr. Tsukauchi."

"Glad someone finally noticed!"

He goes back to his task while the tired-eyed hero finally takes advantage of his offered grub. He watches him write intently, carefully plotting out every point of Smite's calamitous rampage. When he's finished, they have a web of firmly pressed ballpoint ink etched through three layers of paper. Naomasa holds it up, his smile almost maniacal as the fruitless years of searching finally feel worth his frustration. "He'll be hitting the Kyoto National Museum next."

Aizawa's eyes widen. He almost questions his companion's conclusion, but the sincerity in his eyes proved he spoke no lie.

"Alright. Let's get him."

*****

The first step in his plan was recon. Aizawa stayed back at the temporary headquarters, a renovated tractor trailer, as an observator. Tsukauchi and Sansa made quick work of accessing the museum's security systems and checking every nook and cranny for possible break-in points.

"As you can see, a number of guards are posted at every level of the building already, even in places deemed unnecessary to watch. They're allowing ten of our men to infiltrate the sewer systems as well to have an eye on all possible points of entry."

Shota scratches his head. "Okay, where do I mix in to this?"

"The night All Smite is scheduled to hit is based off of what I gathered over every one of his burglaries over the last five years. He tends to give himself twelve days to recoup before striking another place, and his last attack was five days ago."

"I see your logic, I suppose." He replies, rubbing his chin in thought.

"Whether or not he's posing these patterns as a diversion to distract us from any accomplices he may have working with him, I'm not sure. We have police keeping tabs on him as well during this experiment. I'd say we're fairly capable given the new amount of information we were able to obtain."

"Indeed. Am I going to be your last resort in this case, or am I going to be sent in guns blazing once your squad runs him into a corner?"

Tsukauchi ponders a moment. "You're a master of stealth. I'd say your best bet would be to make your move as soon as I give the signal for my men to go inside."

A shrill sound resonates from his pocket. He grabs his phone, greeting his deputy cheerfully. "What you got for me, Sansa?"

" Sorry Naomasa, it looks like there's some special event happening the night Smite's supposed to make his appearance."

"Man, he's clever. He's gonna try to blend in by dressing down."

" Right, what should we do? It's some sort of fancy black tie thing being thrown for the donors to the place."

"Get us an invitation. We're sending Aizawa."

The underground hero pipes up. "What??" 

" Roger that."

He clicks the phone shut, staring the hero down. "We'd better get you cleaned up."

Eraserhead follows Tsukauchi, hands thrust in his pockets in anger. "What kind of plan is this? Getting me into a suit and tie won't change the fact that I'm a pro hero, just like he will still be All Smite."

"On the contrary," he raises his finger, "Smite has only ever been seen under a mask wearing his villain outfit, but we can presume from the few photos taken that he is a very large man, probably pretty easy to pick from a crowd. And you," he prods him in the shoulder, "are going to go through a drastic enough transformation that he won't suspect a thing."

He grits his teeth and groans at the thought. "I'm not saying he'll recognize me or anything, hardly anyone ever does, but those other heroes you sent in, he could practically smell the heroism emanating from them. That's how they ended up so hurt."

"That's why you'll be different. Your alternate ways of doing things can be used to our advantage. Tell me, are you or were you ever a social butterfly?"

He drops his shoulders, raising an eyebrow incredulously.

"Right, look who I'm talking to." He shrugs, "Can you try?"

He heaves a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I suppose. You hired me for this job, so I'll do my best not to let you down."

"Just remember, use any means necessary to take him down."

He rolls his eyes. "Alright."

*****

Over the next week, the detective sends the scruffy hero to alter his appearance enough for the high tier event, and at 7 o' clock that night he stands at the entrance, posing as an usher, and watches the rented limousine pull up to the curb. Sansa exits the driver's seat and fixes his bowtie, sauntering to the rear door and opening it. Aizawa exits, clean shaven and long hair slicked into a half bun, grimacing as he fixes his collar and his cuffs. Naomasa nearly chokes. 

"S-Shota! You look so nice!"

"Take a picture it'll last longer." He replies gruffly, reaching into the pocket of his black tux to retrieve the elegantly-scripted cardstock. Tsukauchi marks it and bows, opening the door to the museum. "Enjoy the party, sir."

"Thanks." He steps off with a polished oxford shoe and weaves his way uneasily through the crowd of Japan's most wealthy. Once at the center of the lobby where a chandelier hung low and a fountain bloomed dyed purple water, he places the earpiece and presses the button. "I'm in."

" Good." He replies. " Blend in. Introduce yourself to people, get a glass of champagne."

"I hate champagne."

"You have to fit in." 

"Fine." He waves down a waiter, procuring said glass of the fizzy beverage, and begins to mingle. He passes a group of young ladies who immediately make eyes for him, and speed walks to the other side of the crowd to the older attendees. 

"Good evening, I'm Shota Aizawa." He purrs, taking the hand of one of the women and kissing the back of it. 

"Natalya Romanov." She replies in a thick Russian accent. "We don't see many patrons your age in places like this." 

"I'm somewhat of an aficionado." He replies confidently, clearing his throat. "For example, I am a seasoned researcher on ancient swordsmithing, particularly the Legendary Masamune." 

The woman and her clique gasp in interest and surround him, listening as he tells more. 

"He was the first to introduce blending hard and soft metals during the forging process to keep swords from getting brittle during heat treatment. This, in turn, created a unique pattern along the edge of the blade that denoted it as one of his works."

"Very impressive." Romanov replies. "Are you aware that some of his pieces reside in this very museum?"

"Really?" He asks, eyes trailing past her as something bright catches his eyes. There was a man, big and tall, on the second floor looking down at the milling guests. "I didn't know that…"

He begins walking away from her, and makes his way behind a pillar out of his line of sight to radio the detective. "Tsukauchi, I think I've got him."

" What? Where ?"

"Second floor, against the railing of the balcony. Blonde hair, blue eyes, looks about six…" he peeks up at the man. "Scratch that, seven feet tall."

" We've got eyes. Move in now !"

He takes a deep breath, downing the glass of champagne in one gulp and acquiring two new ones. He makes his way up the marbled spiral staircase, pausing when he reaches the top, seeing that the brute had disappeared.

"For you." A deep, baritone voice resounds behind him. He tries to feign a surprised reaction, attempting to calm his startled heart before turning to face the wall of a man. He was eye level to his chest, and that chest was broad. He trails his eyes up the navy blue overcoat, to the blood-red tie encircling his thick neck, and finally into those piercing blue eyes. He had bright blonde hair with two gravity-defying bangs standing above his head. He was-

Gorgeous. Aizawa thinks. 

"Do you drink champagne?" He asks, raising a golden eyebrow. 

"Uhhh…"

" Say yes!" Naomasa urges.

"Yes."

"Very well." He holds out the flute. "Take it."

He sets down one of the glasses he'd picked up to retrieve the offered beverage, holding out his other glass. "I suppose then I must offer this to you."

"I graciously accept." He booms, flashing a row of perfect teeth. 

The brunette extends his now free hand. "Shota Aizawa."

The blonde closes a great palm around his seemingly tiny one, bowing down to his height. "Toshinori Yagi."

He smiles, pausing as he hears Naomasa type in the name. " It's legit. Toshinori Yagi, born in Tokyo on June tenth of 1969. Says he enrolled at UA for two years before leaving the hero course and instead pursuing computer technology."

"What brings you to this event tonight, Mr. Yagi? 

"I've always had a knack for world history, especially of my own home country." He straightens, draping a hand across his chest. "You could say I am one of the most generous donors to the Kyoto National Museum."

He chuckles. "Is that so?"

"I don't mean to brag, I merely speak the truth." He smiles again.

Tsukauchi's voice crackles through the earpiece. " Ask him about his favorite exhibit."

"If you're a frequent donor, I expect you have a favored exhibit here. Would you tell me about it?"

"It'd be my pleasure." He gestures for him to follow, and begins descending the stairs. "Most people who visit museums have one thing in common: they are curious about world history. So, they gravitate toward the exhibits about culture and exploration and the like. I, and there are very few I have met who are the same, am interested in war."

A chill rushes down Aizawa's spine when he says that word, and the blue of the larger man's eyes seem to begin burning with an unidentifiable emotion. 

"You mean the weapons?"

"No, much more than that. The politics, the bloodshed, everything."

" This dude is dark. He has to be our guy."

Shota offers a conversation starter on the topic. "I heard there are some prominent battle weapons housed in this museum. They're said to be over seven hundred years old."

"Indeed, those of Masamune's crafting."

He gasps. 

"To have the opportunity to see the Honjo Masamune with my own eyes would be….cathartic."

More clacking. " The Honjo Masamune is the most legendary of that swordsmith's creations. It is said that it went missing after U.S. forces seized Japanese weaponry after world war two and was never found. Listen to me Aizawa, make him believe it still exists long enough for us to capture him. Do whatever you can to make him trust you."

"Right." He says out loud.

"Sorry?"

He looks up at Smite. "That sword is legendary. No one has been able to get close to it in decades."

"That's unfortunate. The opportunity to be in the presence of something so powerful would be almost frightening."

Shota shivers again. The man was speaking exactly of how he felt in that moment standing next to him. The most powerful burglar of all time, the world's greatest villain, was there two feet away lusting for a treasure so rare it defied all laws of time. It was enough to make him feel sick.

He doubles over, clutching at the railing of the outdoor balcony they'd stopped at. No one else was around.

"Are you alright?" The blonde grasps his wrist, fingers more than overlapping, and steadies him.

"I-i'm not sure…" he blinks his eyes, vision blurring as he looks down at his drink. They widen, and he raises his head slowly to look up at Toshinori. His smile now appeared more sinister than before. 

"Y-you s-s-spiked….me…?"

The world turns as he collapses, and his earpiece rings frantically, Naomasa's voice fading with his consciousness. 

" AIZAWA! AIZAWaaaa…"

*****

It's much darker when he stirs, and the first thing he sees is an analog clock atop a bedside table. It was past midnight. He struggles to sit up, the after effects of the drug making his limbs feel like jelly. He opens his eyes. His clothes remained on, and his hair was still up, but his earpiece was missing. 

"Dammit." He looks around the room, eyes settling on the blonde who was sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. He was still wearing his suit but his blazer was removed and his tie slack around his neck. "Where am I?"

"My hotel room." He answers, lips tight. 

"Why am I not tied up?"

"I have no reason to do that. You'd just escape anyway, Eraserhead."   

He jolts. "How did you-"

He laughs, running a hand through his slicked blonde hair. "I keep tabs on all the heroes. Got into that habit after I had a close call with Endeavor ten years ago. Can't be too careful these days!"

Shota rocks forward, rubbing his temples and feeling a headache coming on. He couldn't tell if it was from the drug, or the realization that now he had no idea what the hell he was going to do.

"Why do you need me?"

"No particular reason, really. I just want you to realize that your preparation for this undercover excursion was pointless. I'm much too smart to get caught by the likes of you."

"Pff," the underground hero's mouth turns up at the corners. "I have a feeling you did your research on me as well."

"As a matter of fact, I did. Maybe I misjudged you after all!" He rises from his seat, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing before him. "Shota Aizawa, born eleventh of November 1988. UA graduate, licensed pro hero, and former Kyoto Museum Curator Nyantaro Aizawa's son ."

His heart skips a beat. Smite lurches forward, grabbing his collar and yanking him inches away from his snarl. "You're going to take me to the museum and get me that sword."

"Or?"

"I'll kill you."

Shota stares up at his captor's face, studying his confidence-fueled expression, and begins to snicker. "You haven't killed a single person during your whole career. Would you really risk getting blood on your hands for a sword?"

Yagi smiles. "I plan on getting blood on my hands with that sword." He runs the back of his hand across his throat. "Yours will be first."

Shota's smile fades, and he grunts as the larger man lifts him from the bed and dumps him to the floor. 

"Go. Get the blueprints for the museum. I know your detective friend has access to them,  just like I know you have the key. You have twenty-four hours. Do not make me wait."

He scrambles to his feet and flicks the lock, straightening his appearance before attempting to walk normally down the hall and avoid breaking into a run. He exits the hotel and breathes in a deep gulp of cold, fresh air, settling his eyes to the ground where he sees the remnants of his earpiece ground into the asphalt. 

Son of a bitch. This guy is the real deal after all.  

*****

Shota tries not to draw attention to himself as he enters his home. He was sure with his technological background that Smite had set up cameras and wiretaps to trace his every move. For the first time in his six year career, he was sweating. He was... afraid.  

He gets his bearings, removing the tux jacket and thanking himself for not carrying any personal belongings. Not that it would have mattered anyway. Bastard knew pretty much everything about me. He discreetly removes a small blade from the side of his watch, ripping the seam on the inner lining of his coat. Well, almost everything. 

A small folded piece of paper resided inside, and he removes it, setting the jacket upon his bed and tucking it behind his ear as he removes the hair tie from his disheveled updo. He grabs a handful of clothes from the pile in the corner of his room and tucks it under his arm, leaving once again and beginning a trek down the street. He maintains a straight face and normal pace, waiting until he's among large groups of people in bustling downtown before discarding his formal garb and re-emerging in a black long sleeve shirt and jeans. 

After reaching the outskirts of town where the dilapidated buildings promised no prying eyes from cameras, he unfolds the piece of paper, reading over the instructions the detective had given him. He takes a train out of Kyoto and goes to Hosu City, stopping by a convenience store to purchase a prepaid phone in cash. Then, he positions himself atop an apartment  building and watches the foot traffic below, finger hovering over the call button readily. Suddenly, the familiar tan top of the detective's hat comes into view and he dials. Just as planned, the payphone at the corner rings and he steps inside to take the call.

" Aizawa, glad your safe ."

"Everything has gone to plan, Tsukauchi. You read Smite like a fucking book."

" I'm not the only one to praise. For a guy who hides from the spotlight you sure have a knack for conversation ."

"Hm, thanks."

" What did you find out?"

"He's after the sword. He wants to obtain it and use it as a status symbol. He plans to kill anyone who gets in his way."

" Jesus christ ." Tsukauchi sighs. " Is he going back to the museum?"

"Yes. He knows all about my background. He knows I'm a hero, and he knows my dad ran the place ten years back. He wants me to give him access to the vaults."

" This guy is good."

"Yes, better than we realized. "

He sees him punch the glass in frustration. " When is all this supposed to go down?"

"Tonight. Midnight."

" Alright. I'll have Sansa enlist some of the historians from the museum to produce a replica of the Hanjo Masamune. They're going to put it in the vault in a central display under heavy security. We know Smite will be able to breach it, and when he does, it will send a signal that will dispatch us at the station. I'm sure you understand that we can't just wait around on the rooftops because he will know we're there."

"Kyoto's station is fifteen minutes from the museum though." He realizes, remembering Yagi's threat.

" Yes. I need you to stall until we get there. You are more than capable, Eraserhead. You've proven that during this whole process."

"I'll try."

" Good. Meet me at the government office in two hours. I'll get those blueprints."

"Copy."

*****

Shota stands outside the entrance to the museum, watching as the hand on his watch ticks closer to 12. When it strikes, he looks up and sees Smite standing inside in his infamous armor. He clears the lump in his throat, grasping the roll of building plans tighter in his grasp before going to meet him. 

He slinks through the door quietly, looking over his shoulders as he walks. Smite laughs, his voice distorted through his mask. 

"No need for that. I've already killed off every camera in and around this place. No one knows we're here."

"Fine." He thrusts the blueprints toward him. "As promised."

He takes them, walking to the fountain and unrolling them on the steps. He lifts his mask and Aizawa sees that it Indeed was Toshinori Yagi under there.

"Vaults are several floors down in sealed concrete passageways." He looks up at him. "Did you bring it?"

Shota sighs, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and holding up a keyring. Smite smiles victoriously. "Good." He produces a gun, cocking it and pointing it at his head. "Lead the way."

He turns away, starting across the vast space of the foyer that seemed much smaller when it had been filled with people the night before. His jaw sours, and he tries to hide his visible fright as he convinces himself that he wasn't walking to his death. He looks back at him, appearing as if he was checking to make sure he was still following, but coming to the realization that he had never had an emotional reaction to any villain before. The chief's presumption was accurate. It was impossible to find someone capable of taking on All Smite without a problem.

The farther down they go, the dustier it gets, and the flashlight shining through the floating particles made the experience that much more creepy. Shota's heart calms just before they reach the vault, but once he raises his hand to slip the key in, it's racing again. The locks release and he grasps the wheel in both hands, turning it to the right and letting it fall open. He enters first, switching on the lights and watching All Smite immediately wander up to the central display, nose practically pressed against the glass as he admires his prize. Eraser watches intently as he reaches into a back pocket and removes a small remote, clicking a green button atop it and hearing the vault protection system power down.

"How did you do that?"

"Hah!" The blonde turns to face him, now holding the sword. "A good villain never reveals his secrets." He brandishes his new weapon, and the brunette had to admit that although fake, it looked good on him.

Smite takes a moment to eye his companion from top to bottom, before quirking his lips. "I suppose I'll let you live." He shoulders the sword and begins walking back to the door. 

"Wait!" Shota shouts, and the villain stops, looking back at him curiously.

Remember, take him down by any means necessary…

Tsukauchi's voice rang in his head, and he stood there, arm outstretched in silent urgency.

I can't just tell him to wait for no reason, and I'm sure he wouldn't want to hear another history lesson. He'd be too smart to fall for that. I need to do something...with him. Find something to distract his hands from that sword. 

He straightens, looking up again at Yagi standing tall at the door, eyes narrowed with impatience. 

He really is gorgeous, God damn it.

"I, uh, know why you brought me champagne yesterday."

"What?" The giant turns to face him, watching as he slinks toward him cautiously. 

"Not because I'm a hero, and not because I'm the curator's son." He ascends the steps. Smite stares down at him, neck craned because of the height difference.

"Honestly , you couldn't have possibly known much about me before the party seeing as we've never met before."

The taller man tilts his head. "How would you know?"

"Because I'd remember an encounter with All Smite for the rest of my life."

His mouth falls open slightly, and a tiny breath escapes. For once, there was no confidence, no hearty laugh and smile, just nerves and uncertainty.

"You want me, don't you?" Eraserhead encourages, slipping the helmet from his head. "Say it."

He refuses to speak, opting instead to reach out hesitantly and grasp a handful of black hair. He courses his fingers through the soft section, studying each strand and comparing its texture to the next. Shota watches with a small amount of satisfaction. "Well?"

"So soft…" he lets the section join the rest of his locks and drops his large hands to grasp handfuls of his shirt and tear it away from his ivory skin. Aizawa jumps a little from the sudden urgency he presents, quickly recovering his suave, flirty expression. 

"I'll take that as a yes."

Smite backs him into the wall, slapping a palm roughly beside his head and settling his face inches away. His piercing blue eyes burn with lustful intent, raking over his bare chest. He leans in, tilting slightly to the right with parted lips and ragged breath "I want to see if the rest of you is as soft." He courses his calloused palms gently down the planes of Aizawa's navel, stopping just before his pants line. The brunette pauses, looking into his hungry stare but the blonde has found distraction in another area. He's eyeing his mouth, and Shota meets him part of the way, brushing against his captor's lips shyly. A rush of heat courses down his spine at the contact. Toshinori tasted good .

Yagi moves in fully, pressing the back of the smaller man's skull into the concrete with a soft thud. The kisses quickly move from chaste and careful to rough and needy. Shota grunts against the pressure and Smite hikes him up the wall, making quick work of his jeans and tossing them aside. He spreads his legs and rests them against his hips, angling to lick at the smaller man's neck. The brunette moves to settle his fingers into the blonde's hair but his arms are immediately pinned back against the wall. 

"Y-yagi!" He cries as the larger man settles his mouth over one of his nipples. A resounding growl resonates from the giant's throat as he sucks the sensitive flesh until it puckers. He pulls away, mouth pink from pressure.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget we ever met." He assures, stroking over his growing erection through the fabric of his pants.

"Y-you really want to?"

"You called it. You're so observant, Aizawa-kun." 

"Well, then," he leans back against the cold concrete, surrendering to the larger man. "Have your way with me, Toshinori-san."

"I plan to, but first, I want you to wear this for me." He reaches into a pouch on his belt and removes a ruby necklace.

"You stole it didn't you?"

He chuckles. "I need you to be bad for me."

"I'm not getting my fingerprints on that."

"Then allow me." He sweeps his ebony locks away from his tensing Adam's apple and clips the pricey jewel around it. Eraser swallows hard, craning his neck and observing each facet of the red stone in the light. "You are quite beautiful, Shota. It's a shame really, that your memory of this night will be gone." He clasps his wrists together in one hand while slipping the other down to his groin. 

Eraser winces as he forces a thick finger through his opening. The blonde smiles at the appearance of discomfort washing his features. "I would say I don't want to hurt you, but I think you need to feel just a tiny bit of pain."

"Ah! Y-you're a sadist!" 

He adds another. "Indeed. Will you be a masochist for me?"

He cries out at the intrusion, bucking his hips as the large tips brush his prostate and send another wave of pleasure through his center. The villain nuzzles into his sweating throat, pink tongue peeking forth to taste. His eyes roll back at the sensation, each teasing nip causing heat to dive directly to his rapidly hardening cock. 

Smite presses himself against his small partner, jutting a monstrous thigh forward to keep him at his level. He releases his arms, guiding his small hands down to his erection and encouraging him to stroke it through the front of his pants. "I suppose I can't deny this desire any longer." He booms. "Do you wanna choke on it?"

"Of course not." He replies, wearing a frustrated expression. "I've already been bad for you. Stealing documents, wearing stolen jewelry?"

"Indeed." He raises a hand and cups his face, trailing his fingers over his cheekbone and jaw. "Perhaps another time then."

"How selfless. It's not like you."

 "Then you don't know me as well as you think. I've been told I'm a fairly courteous lover."

 Shota grits his teeth as he feels him enter, letting up on his hold and watching him sink down atop his lap. Toshinori wastes no time and begins fucking him roughly right away, settling each of Eraser's thin legs in the crooks of his arms. Shota cries out, watching the borrowed trinket swing to and from his body. It was almost hypnotizing. 

"Oh, fuck." The thief groans and the deep baritone fills the room. "You feel so good, Aizawa-kun."

He closes his eyes, breathing in deeply and exhaling with a loud moan. Yagi matches it with one of his own, trailing his fingers down his back and cupping his behind. He bends his knees, digging his boots into the floor and begins thrusting faster, causing the small brunette to press his palms into his sweating chest for leverage.

 His hands encircle his waist almost completely, pulling him down forcefully on his massive member. Shota nearly passes out from pleasure, leaning back to palm his leaking dick. The speed and desperation of Toshinori's movements are bringing their activity to an end rather quickly, and the hero begins to panic. What if they finished before Tsukauchi and his men got there? 

Just as the thought crosses his mind, he hears his much more well-hidden earpiece crackle to life. " Eraserhead, we are on the premises."

He smiles, wrapping his arms around Smites neck. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you, Yagi-san."

The blonde tilts his head slightly, too enamored by the heat of the moment to respond with words. Aizawa braces against the wall and pushes them forward. His larger partner topples to the floor and shakes his head, seemingly delirious from the whiplash. The smaller man squeezes his thighs tightly around his hips to let him know he was in control, and begins moving again, watching the villains face turn pink and begin to sweat as he nears his end. 

"I've been prepared for this the whole time. I was ready to take you down no matter the cost, and I must say, I'm enjoying myself quite a bit."

Toshinori grunts as he begins riding him at a new angle, his eyes rolling back as the pleasure makes him weak.

"We had it all planned out from the very beginning and you fell for our every move."

"D-damn you, A-aizawa…"

He gestures to the replica settled against the wall a few feet away, and bends down to his ear. "And that sword over there? It's a fake."

All Smite cries out as he grinds himself down on his lap one final time, eliciting an orgasm from the humiliated villain and smiling victoriously through his own. Naomasa enters then, followed by a team of police officers who immediately move in to cuff him. He holds out a gloved hand and Shota removes the necklace with a piece of his ripped shirt, dropping it into his palm. 

"Well done, Mr. Aizawa. You helped us catch the world's greatest thief, and with his pants down no less!"

"On that note, would you happen to have something I can put on?"

The detective blushes, side-eying his naked companion. "Your hero suit is in the van!"

"Thanks." 

He leaves, arms crossed behind his back and head held high. Smite yelled profanities at him but his head was buzzing too much with success and satisfaction to care. 

Tsukauchi stands before him. "Your days of villainy are at an end, All Smite. Kiss your freedom goodbye."

The giant begins to yell but is silenced by a gag. 

"Find something to cover that up with!" He orders, gesturing to his exposed groin. The villain shakes his head side to side, muffled protests spewing from his stuffed mouth as he's led away. 

Naomasa joins the now-clothed Eraserhead outside, and both watch as he is loaded into the transport vehicle bound for Tartarus Prison. 

"We make a pretty good team, it seems.

"That we do. I look forward to working with you again." The hero replies, offering a hand. 

"Perhaps we'll wait until you're able to wash that." The detective scratches his head with a chuckle.

"Ah, of course, sorry." He pulls it back to his side swiftly. "I hope that chief of yours will give you a promotion for this."

"Pah! I'm going to try to take his job!" It's pretty clear I'd be better. He spent the last ten years going after Smite while claiming he was the main one running the case when really he had all of us doing the dirty work."

 "And you brought him down in less than a month."

"Couldn't have done it without you. Thank you, Underground Hero."

Shota salutes, unwinding his capture weapon and swinging away into the night.

*****

A month into Smite's incarceration, Shota makes for Tartarus for his third visit. He eyes the villain through the small window in the concrete door. He sat with his arms cuffed behind his back, head hanging down. He taps a fingernail against the handle and the blonde's head shoots up, meeting his gaze through the thick glass. He smiles, and Aizawa returns it with one of his own. He unlocks the door and enters, letting it close and lock behind him. Toshinori watches as he removes a piece of cloth from his pocket and covers up the camera in the room, sauntering back to the middle where he resided. 

"What a silly thing to do considering that's all taken care of."

"Indeed. Figuring out how you disabled the museum's security was interesting. I just like to have an extra measure of protection." He folds himself down atop his lap. "Just to be clear, this is not an obsession, but merely an addiction I just can't seem to kick." 

"I'd say you're obsessed with my dick." The brute replies, flashing his smile. "Still better than hard drugs, I suppose."

"Indeed, and not illegal." 

The blonde smiles and leans forward, beginning to kiss and suck on the brunette's ivory neck. 

"Sorry I have to do all the work, seeing as your hands are preoccupied with being captive and all."

He chuckles in his deep baritone. "It's alright. I like that you're in control... for now . It will just make it all the more pleasant to wreck you for real when I get out.".

Aizawa presents faux sadness, jutting out his lower lip. "Too bad they gave you twenty-five to life! You'll be far too old to keep up with me by then."

He snarls. "Leave my age out of this!" 

The underground hero slings his head back and laughs, wrapping his arms around the villain's neck. "You're never getting out of here. Once you come up for parole I'll spill everything about your drugging and kidnapping and it'll be all over for you."

He cocks his head, raising a golden eyebrow. "Are you sure you're not a villain, Aizawa-kun?"

His dark eyes burn with lust, and he bends to his ear, whispering in a manner that makes All Smite tremble much like he had when he'd been caught. "Maybe I missed my calling…"