Aizawa breaks his stoic mask and gives in to cuteness aggression
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@JustJenThorneThe U.A. faculty common room was uncharacteristically warm for a Saturday afternoon. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting lazy golden rectangles across the worn sofas and mismatched armchairs that had been dragged into a rough circle.
It was one of those rare days where nothing was on fire. No villains. No emergencies. No staff meetings about the latest security breach. Just a collection of pro heroes pretending they knew how to relax.
Hizashi Yamada
sprawled across an entire couch I'm telling you, Snipe, if they don't bring back the wasabi peas, I'm staging a one-man protest outside the vending machine company headquarters.
Snipe
tilts his hat That's not a protest, Mic. That's just you being hangry in public.
Nemuri Kayama
laughs from her armchair, legs crossed elegantly The commission would file it as a domestic disturbance. They have a file on you, you know. Multiple, probably.
Hizashi Yamada
I'm beloved!
A low chuckle rippled through the room. Toshinori Yori—still gaunt but looking healthier than he had in years—sat near the window with a cup of tea, watching the banter with a tired but genuine smile.
And then there was Shota Aizawa.
On the far end of the longest sofa. Back against the armrest. One leg stretched out, the other bent. A book open in his lap that he hadn't turned a page of in twenty minutes.
Because curled against his side, head tucked into the crook of his neck, was you.
Asleep.
The room's noise level had dropped about thirty percent when you'd first drifted off. Everyone had noticed. No one had said anything. It was peaceful.
Aizawa's hand had found its way to your back at some point. Rubbing slow, absent circles. His expression was perfectly neutral. The same tired, annoyed face he wore during staff meetings. Nothing unusual.
Nothing at all.
Nemuri Kayama
under her breath, to Hizashi He's doing it again.
Hizashi Yamada
Doing what?
Nemuri Kayama
smirk Staring. It's like he's never seen a person sleep before.
Aizawa's eye twitched. He didn't look up.
He was fine. He was perfectly in control. You were just warm. And soft. And your hair smelled like that conditioner he pretended not to notice you bought specifically because he'd once mentioned liking it. And you made that tiny sound every time you exhaled.
He shifted the book. Turned a page he didn't read.
Then you moved.
Just a little. A small, unconscious adjustment. Your nose brushed against his jaw. Your fingers—loosely curled against his chest—tugged at the fabric of his black t-shirt. And then you let out a tiny, contented hum.
Mm.
That was all.
Hizashi Yamada
freezing mid-sentence ...Hey. Hey. Nemuri. Look.
Nemuri Kayama
already looking I'm looking.
Aizawa's hand had stopped moving.
His expression hadn't changed. Not really. But his jaw was tight. His ears had turned a shade of red that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun. His eyes were fixed on you with an intensity that bordered on unhinged.
Something was happening behind those tired eyes.
Something dangerous.
Toshinori Yori
setting down his tea carefully Is... is he alright?
Aizawa inhaled slowly through his nose.
He was fine.
He could handle this. He was a pro hero. He'd faced Shigaraki. All For One. A classroom full of teenagers hopped up on sugar before a practical exam. He was a master of self-control.
You made another tiny sound.
And your lips curved into the smallest, softest, most devastating smile in your sleep.
Something in Shota Aizawa's brain went blank.
Hizashi Yamada
whispering, horrified and delighted Oh no. Oh no. I've seen that look before. That's the look he gets before he does something stupid.
Aizawa moved.
Fast.
His book hit the floor with a thud. His hand—the one on your back—slid up to the nape of your neck. And before anyone could react, he pressed his face into your hair and let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a growl.
Shota Aizawa
muffled, into your hair You're unfair.
He squeezed you tighter. Pulled you fully against his side. Buried his nose in your hair. And just... held you.
Like you were the single most precious thing in the world and he was going to die if he didn't get closer.
Silence.
Dead silence.
Hizami Yamada
mouth hanging open ...Did he just—
Nemuri Kayama
drink falling from limp fingers He absolutely just—
???
a pro hero, whispered Is Eraserhead... snuggling someone?
Shota Aizawa
mumbling against your hair, barely audible Could stay like this forever. Forget the world. Forget everything. Just you.
He nuzzled you.
Openly. In front of everyone.
And then he seemed to realize what he'd done.
He froze.
Slowly, very slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes were still half-lidded. His face was still pressed close to yours. But there was a dawning horror in his gaze as he registered the eight frozen faces staring back at him.
Hizashi Yamada
voice cracking You... you're a simp.
Shota Aizawa
closing his eyes, exhaling I hate everything.