Chapter 1: Aizawa?
Chapter Text
On the edge of a stiff lobby chair, you waited, foot tapping a nervous rhythm against the linoleum floor.
Neji 💙
9:19 AM
FIRST DAYYYYY ✨ GOOD LUCK!!! I’m so proud of you 😭
You
9:20 AM
thank you I’m gonna try not to throw up lol
Neji 💙
9:21 AM
NOOOO you’ve got this!! 💪 You already made it through interviews. this part’s the fun part!! Don’t stress! I’m so excited for you!!
You smiled as you tapped back a stream of heart emojis, before letting out a slow, steadying breath.
“Hey hey heyyyyy, you the new intern?!”
You jumped a little, looking up just in time to catch a woman barreling toward you, her grin wide and unapologetic.
A patterned scarf held her green hair out of her face, and she wore sneakers and a hoodie with Step Forward Foundation printed across the front, sleeves pushed to her elbows like she’d been moving nonstop all morning.
“I’m Emi Fukukado! You can call me Emi, or , Your Highness, your choice.” She winked as she held out a hand. “Welcome to the shark tank.”
You shook her hand, trying to catch up to her energy.
“Uh—hi, yeah. That’s me.”
“Don’t look so nervous, rookie!” Emi beamed, already pivoting on her heel. “Worst case, someone hurls a chair through a window again. No big deal. C’mon, I’ll give you the tour!”
You hurried after her, nearly tripping over your own feet to keep up.
The hallway you entered was a riot of color—walls covered in hand-drawn posters and marker-scribbled flyers. College App Bootcamp Friday! Therapy Dogs Visit Thursday. GED? EZ. Drop-in tutoring daily 2–6 PM.
Emi moved like she had three conversations happening in her head at once. You weren't sure if she was showing you around or just letting you chase her.
“Okay, real quick—this place’s kind of a mashup, half community center, half alt school. We work with teens and young adults who’ve been out of school for a bit—help them finish their GEDs, apply to college, figure out what’s next. Your background’s social work, yeah? You’ll do some group stuff, a little one-on-one mentoring, some cheerleading, maybe the occasional crisis de-escalation. Sound fun?”
“Sounds like a party,” you said, eyeing a penciled-in note someone had left under a poster: “Step Forward can suck my—” The rest had been scratched out, but someone added a little heart next to it.
Emi flashed you a thumbs-up. “Love the attitude. We’ve got a couple kids prepping for the GED and one who’s supposed to be writing a personal statement but would rather chew glass. You’ll love him.”
She swung around a corner, then paused with one hand braced dramatically on a doorframe, glancing back at you solemnly.
“But before I toss you to the wolves,” she said, “I’m gonna pass you off to our program coordinator. He’ll run you through the fun stuff—forms, expectations, intern rules, the usual snoozefest. He also handles orientation and… whatever else he does back there in his crypt of an office.”
She leaned in a little, voice lowering like she was sharing a secret.
“Now—tiny heads-up—he’s a little… intense. Dry. Grumpy. Anti-fun, if you ask me. You might think he hates you. He doesn’t. Probably. But I do love annoying him! It’s so easy, it’s basically half my job.”
Emi threw open the last office door at the end of the hall without knocking. “Don’t pretend you’re busy—I know you were taking a nap in here!” she called out.
You trailed behind her, curiosity piqued, until you actually saw him.
He sat at a desk with stacks of papers and a lineup of mismatched cat coffee mugs, sleeves rolled up, a black pen poised in his hand. His dark hair was tied back loosely, a few strands escaping, streaked with more gray than you remembered.
“Hey, Mr. Grumpy Pants,” Emi announced, waving her hand like she was introducing royalty. “This is our new intern! New intern, this is—”
“Aizawa?” you breathed, the name tasting foreign and familiar all at once.
He looked up.
And the moment your eyes met, everything crashed down around you in a tidal wave of memories you’d tried so hard to bury.
They flooded back with cruel clarity—late nights in his office, the way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you, the way his touch had burned into your soul.
How he had shattered your heart clean through.
You remembered the week after he disappeared, in your haze of grief and confusion, how you let Touya have you, and the way your hands had shaken when you made that trip alone to the pharmacy the day after, shame clinging to you like a second skin.
His expression didn’t change—not much—but you saw the surprise just beneath the surface.
Emi slowly shifted her gaze between the two of you. “Wait, do you two already know each other?”
Your legs wobbled, and you took a shaky step back. You weren’t ready for this. You never thought you’d see him again.
“I—I’m sorry,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper. “I—I need a second.”
You turned and fled without looking back, stumbling blindly toward the hallway like the air had been ripped from your lungs.
The world pitched sideways as you ran.
Your foot caught on the edge of a fraying carpet, and you lurched forward, catching yourself against the cool wall with a choked gasp.
You pressed your forehead to the smooth surface and finally let go, letting the tears spill free.
You’d known loss before, but Aizawa was your first teenage heartbreak, the one that shattered something you never knew was fragile.
How small you were. How human. How devastatingly breakable.
You wiped at your face frantically, the sting of humiliation prickling sharp beneath your skin.
Then footsteps echoed down the hall, quick, steady, approaching with purpose.
They stopped just behind you, but you didn’t dare turn around.
Instead, you kept wiping at your tears, and for a long moment, silence stretched between you, broken only by your ragged breaths.
Then, quietly, Aizawa’s voice came. “It’s okay. You don’t need to hide.”
He stepped a little closer, but you flinched back. “Don’t touch me!”
He froze instantly, holding his hands up like a peace offering. “Alright, alright,” he said.
More footsteps came rushing down the hallway. “Hey! Save some drama for daytime TV, people!”
It was Emi. She circled around to you, eyes bright with concern. “You okay?”
You forced out a shaky smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry.”
Emi turned to Aizawa with a sly grin. “Shouta, seriously? You can’t scare the new intern like that on day one. Play nice, or I’m dragging you into my office for a personal attitude adjustment—again.”
You caught her wink at him over your shoulder.
That had you whipping around to face him, eyes blazing.
Of course. Of course he had women flirting with him at work.
Were they dating?
Jealousy flared in your chest—sick, hot, and ugly.
“Don’t do that,” Aizawa snapped at Emi. “Not now.”
Emi blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Whoa. Okay.” Her eyes flicked between you and him, and something clicked. “Oh. Ohhh.”
“I swear to God, Emi,” he warned. “Drop it.”
Her smile faltered, thrown off by an even harsher side of him. “Okay, okay, message received.”
Silence settled thick between the three of you, heavy and crackling with everything unspoken.
Aizawa exhaled slowly, but the tightness in his shoulders didn’t ease. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go outside.”
You hesitated. You should say no. You wanted to say no.
Your eyes flicked to Emi, who had the decency to look away, suddenly very interested in the hallway ceiling, clearly realizing she’d stumbled into something messy and private.
Then, you met his gaze and held it.
Those same tired eyes, worn, but they gentled when they found yours, just like they always had.
It felt like no time had passed at all.
And it felt like lifetimes had.
You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, chest tight with the ache of everything you never got to say.
“Fine,” you exhaled. “Outside.”
Chapter Text
6 Years Ago…
Subject: Introduction to Law and Society - Immediate Action Required: Missing Assignments and Attendance
You are receiving this email because you have failed to submit two assignments due this week and missed two class sessions.
The attendance policy requires a minimum participation rate to pass this course, and you are currently below that threshold. Consider this your formal warning.
I expect all work to be completed promptly. If you are having difficulty managing your time or workload, it is your responsibility to communicate in advance - not after the fact.
If you cannot manage the bare minimum expectations of this class, do not waste my time or your own.
Aizawa Shouta
Department of Law and Public Policy, U.A. University
You stared at the email, rage twisting sharp and hot in your chest.
The audacity of him, after everything, you could barely believe it.
He was your favorite professor! Or at least, he used to be —before this whole shitshow.
Most students in his classes were terrified of him, but you ? You always sat in the front row, hand shooting up to answer every question—sometimes guessing, sometimes wrong, but always the only one willing to speak when everyone else stayed silent.
Most students had already checked out and given up on his class, resigned to the rumor floating around that Professor Aizawa just didn’t give A’s. But you never believed it, after all, you’d always aced every assignment.
Until this week.
All your participation, all your perfect work—it didn’t mean a single thing.
Because in the one week your world was falling apart, he kicked you while you were already on the ground.
Subject: Re: Introduction to Law and Society - Immediate Action Required: Missing Assignments and Attendance
Dear Professor Aizawa,
Thank you for your urgent attention to what I’m sure are the two most important assignments of my entire college education.
I’ll take the fucking zeros. If that’s an issue, feel free to drop me from your class.
Not that it’ll matter much. The university is demanding $3,000 from me by the end of the week, money which I do not have, so odds are I will be kicked out anyway.
I foolishly assumed scrambling to prevent my own expulsion took precedence over attending class. Clearly, I should’ve prioritized your lecture instead. My mistake.
At least you won’t have to waste your precious time sending me emails like this anymore.
Warmest regards.
You got the notification from U.A. one and a half months into the semester.
Apparently, there’d been a mistake with your financial aid package, and now, the university had decided you owed them $3,195.
If you didn’t pay it by the end of the week, they’d shut down your student portal. Just like that.
But you didn’t have the money.
You spent the entire week in a haze of meetings, emails, and loan applications, trying to figure out if there was anything, anyone, that could help. Spoiler alert: there wasn’t.
Maybe college just wasn’t meant for people like you. You had given it everything you had, and now that it all had run out, it felt like the universe was telling you to just stop pretending this was ever going to work out.
You were tired. Tired of pretending you could do this on your own. Of clawing your way through every crisis alone, without a safety net, without parents to call.
Subject: Re: Re: Introduction to Law and Society - Immediate Action Required: Missing Assignments and Attendance
Come to my office today. We need to talk about your situation. Room 314, Harrington Hall.
Aizawa Shouta
Department of Law and Public Policy, U.A. University
When you saw his response, the anger had already dulled into a quiet numbness.
Exhaustion weighed heavy in your limbs, but something made you get up anyway, dragging your feet to head to his office, more to see what the hell he wanted than anything else.
“I don’t see why you’d be subject to dismissal from your program. You’re one of my top students. I’d expect your other professors feel the same.”
Aizawa leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desk and folding his hands together, his eyes fixed on you with that usual intensity.
The late afternoon sun filtered softly through the blinds of Harrington Hall as you sat tensely in the chair across from Aizawa. Outside, the distant chime of the school bell tower echoed faintly.
His praise was measured and rare—he didn’t dole out compliments to just anyone—and that made your chest tighten with a strange, giddy warmth.
You took a shaky breath and explained, “The financial aid office told me they gave me too much money. Now they’re demanding I pay it all back by the end of the week.” You looked down at your hands, twisting your fingers. “I’ve already used it, though… so I don’t have the money to pay it back.”
Aizawa nodded slowly, expression unreadable.
“Honestly, the only reason I’m even here is because of my scholarship.” You hesitated, then added bitterly, “It would take me three months at my part-time job just to make that kind of money.”
“You know what’s funny?" You gave a small, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "It rained yesterday, you know? On my way here, I saw someone walking through the mud in their... Gucci shoes? While I was waiting for you, I looked up the price. Those shoes cost more than the money the school is asking me for. More than three months of my paycheck. They were stomping through the mud in $4,000 shoes.”
Your voice cracked. “I just… I don’t think I belong here anyway.”
And then the dam broke. Tears spilled over, your body trembling as you finally let yourself break down.
Aizawa reached into his desk drawer and passed you a tissue box.
You took a tissue, sniffling a quiet “Thanks,” as you wiped at your eyes and nose.
He regarded you steadily. “I’m sure you bring the same attitude and dedication to all your classes as you do mine. And if you’re working a part-time job to support yourself in addition to your coursework, that only makes it more impressive.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Here’s what I’m thinking. I can offer you a position as a teaching assistant for my class. TA’s get stipends. I’m willing to front you thirty-five hundred as a stipend, enough to cover what you owe the school.”
Time seemed to slow as you processed his words.
“And you can work with me for as long as it takes to pay that off.”
Still, you hesitated. “But… I’m a freshman. And this is the only class I’m taking with you right now. I can’t TA for a course I’m enrolled in.”
He nodded, unbothered. “I also teach another course, Criminology. It’s not a heavy lift.”
You frowned. “But… I’ve never taken Criminology.”
A faint shrug. “You’re smart. You’ll pick it up.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Then opened it again. “But… you can’t TA for a class you’ve never—”
“Look,” Aizawa said, adjusting his posture, arms crossing loosely over his chest. “All you’d really be doing is grading some papers. Maybe help clarify things when students get confused. Bridging the gap between what I’m saying and what they’re actually hearing.”
He paused, then added dryly, “If my email didn’t already prove it, I’m not exactly gifted at... tone.”
A stunned laugh bubbled up before you could stop it.
“It’s just a couple hours a week,” he continued. “And once you’ve paid off the stipend, you’re free to walk. I’m not trying to trap you into anything.”
You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “You’re serious?”
Aizawa nodded again. “I’ll have the university send over the official offer. You’ll get the stipend up front.”
Your breath hitched, and before you could stop it, the tears came again—grateful, exhausted, overwhelmed.
“Thank you,” you whispered. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“You are repaying me,” Aizawa’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “This is a job. You’ll do the work.”
You nodded, covering your face with one hand, the other gripping the edge of your seat.
“Next time,” he said, his tone softening, “reach out, before you threaten to drop out. There are people at this university whose job is to help students like you. Let us do that.”
You looked at him through watery eyes. “Okay.”
You both stood, the scrape of your chair loud in the quiet office. Aizawa moved to open the door for you, but before he could reach the handle, you threw your arms around him.
“Sorry,” you said into his shoulder. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”
He hesitated for only a second before patting your back, awkward, but not unkind. “I expect you to be back on track with your assignments after this week.”
You nodded against him, fighting to keep your voice steady. “I will. You—you saved my life. Just… thank you. Thank you.”
He exhaled through his nose. “Go on,” he said. “Get out of here.”
You stepped back, wiping your face one last time before you slipped out the door.
And as you walked away down the hall, a little dazed, the one ridiculous thing that stuck in your mind was how absurdly good he smelled. Like smoke and winter air. Like safety. Familiar in a way you couldn’t quite place.
You shook it off like a stray thought, however, and kept walking.
Notes:
This chapter is dedicated to the person I saw walking in the mud in $4,000 gucci loafers when I was at university
Chapter 3: Alert the media! We found the one!
Notes:
Disclaimer: I’m not an expert in law or higher education, but please enjoy anyway 🫶
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was just past 8 PM when you found yourself standing outside Professor Aizawa’s office again.
You’d come directly from your last class, running on the residual adrenaline of a long day and exactly two granola bars.
Your heart raced from nerves. It was stupid, you’d already been here before, already talked to him alone, but something about being here after hours, in the quiet hush of the nearly empty academic building, made it feel different.
You adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder, but before you could work up the courage to knock properly, the door swung open.
“Oh—hi—” you started.
A tall blond man in a sharp blazer and bright orange specs beamed down at you like a sunrise with teeth, and his energy hit you like a soundwave.
“YOOOO!” he shouted, startlingly loud for how quiet the hall had been. “So this is the new TA? Finally, someone’s here to save Shouta from his paperwork grave!”
From behind his desk, Aizawa’s voice cut through. “I can handle my own workload. Close the door now, please.”
The man in front of you stepped back to make room, and you followed him inside apprehensively.
When the door shut behind you, the room felt smaller.
“Don’t be nervous,” the blonde said with an exaggerated stage whisper. “I know he’s got the energy of a haunted library, but he’s not actually that mean.”
You let out a shaky laugh.
“She’s nervous because you’re hovering, Hizashi,” Aizawa said, shooting him a disapproving look.
“Nuh-uh!" Hizashi responded childishly. "It’s ‘cause you scare the hell out of your students! You’ve been tanking the faculty ratings for five years straight, my guy."
You glanced at Aizawa automatically, but he merely rolled his eyes. Still, something about what Hizashi said tugged at you.
Because you’d always looked forward to Professor Aizawa's lectures. You liked how direct he was. How he never dumbed things down. He cared about teaching, even if it didn’t always look like it.
“Well, I think you’re a great professor,” you spoke up.
Both men turned to look at you.
Hizashi let out a low whistle. “Whoa-ho! Would you listen to that? Someone who actually likes Professor Aizawa. Alert the media! We found the one!”
“Enough,” Aizawa said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I thought you were leaving.”
“I am, I am.” Hizashi grinned, entirely unfazed, and reached for his coat slung over the back of a chair. On his way out, he tossed you a wink. “Don’t let him scare you off, little listener. Good luck!”
Aizawa didn’t even look up. “Goodnight.”
“Night, Shouta.”
The door shut with a soft click, and the room instantly felt heavier for it.
Without Hizashi’s presence, every small sound seemed louder—the rustle of papers as Aizawa turned a page, your own breathing.
Aizawa reached for a folder on his desk, then held it out to you. “Criminology syllabus.”
You took it with both hands, trying to steady your grip so he wouldn’t see how jittery you felt.
He nodded toward the chair opposite his desk. “Sit.”
You obeyed without thinking, the strap of your backpack slipping off your shoulder as you lowered yourself into the seat. It hit the floor with a thud that felt much louder than it was.
“Let’s go over it together,” he said, settling back into his own chair. “The course is structured around three core units: criminal behavior theory, legal systems, and investigative practices. Most of the students won’t retain half of it, but they still need to pretend they’re learning, so we test weekly.”
“Weekly?” you echoed before you could stop yourself.
His brow lifted slightly. “Something wrong with that?”
You shook your head quickly. “No—just… seems like a lot.”
Aizawa looked at you evenly. “This is a senior-level course. They should be used to this kind of rigor by now.”
He tapped the syllabus lightly. “You’ll mostly be grading the short response sections on these topics. Don’t bother correcting grammar unless it interferes with clarity. And no pity points. If they can’t support their arguments, the answer is wrong.”
You scribbled his instructions in the margins like they were gospel.
“You’ll also be responsible for running two review sessions before each exam,” he added. “Midterm and final.”
You glanced up, surprised. “Me? Teaching?”
“It’s not teaching,” Aizawa corrected. “Only clarifying. You’ll be answering the questions they’re too lazy, or too scared, to ask during lecture.”
You nodded slowly. It was a lot more than you expected.
He flipped to a specific page and pointed. “The final project is a group case study. Students pick a real criminal case and analyze it through one of the theoretical frameworks. You’ll oversee their proposals and track their progress. I’ll handle the final grading.”
You sat on your hands, resisting the urge to bite your nails. “Is this all stuff you usually handle by yourself?”
“I don’t delegate much,” he answered. “I'm usually more efficient on my own.”
“Then… are you really comfortable passing it on to me?” you asked.
“It’s fine," he said. "You’re an exception.”
Your heart thudded, pulse quickening.
You weren’t sure exactly what he saw in you.
He studied you for a moment before leaning back in his chair, eyes expectant. “Any other questions?”
You took a breath. “Honestly? I’m... a freshman, and this is a senior-level course. I’ve never even taken Criminology before. And now I’m supposed to lead review sessions and grade students who are older than me? I just…”
You shifted again, unable to hold his gaze.
“I’ve read every paper you’ve handed in,” Aizawa said. “I know your writing and how you think. You’re more than capable of grading short answers.”
A subtle softness edged his voice. “Don’t be the one to doubt your own potential.”
You swallowed, feeling the lump rise in your throat. “Okay. I-I’ll do my best.”
He gave you a small, almost imperceptible smile. “I know you will.”
You were just about to stand and gather your things, but the way he was watching you, almost calculating, halted you mid-motion.
“Would it help,” he asked, “if we graded a few short answers together now?”
“Oh!” you blurted, your voice louder than you intended. You quickly swallowed and corrected yourself. “Um—yeah, actually. That would be really helpful.”
He nodded, tilting his computer monitor toward you. “Come here.”
Your heart sped up as you rose and reached for your chair behind you. Carefully, you pulled it around, mindful of the rug beneath his desk.
Sitting down close enough to see the screen clearly, your knee bumped against his.
He didn't pull away and neither did you, and the contact lingered.
As he leaned in slightly to scroll the mouse, the fabric of his black shirt brushed lightly against your sleeve.
Your eyes caught the question on the screen: “Explain the broken windows theory and provide a real-world example of its implementation.”
He glanced at you and asked, “Are you familiar with these theories?”
You bit your lip sheepishly, “I… no.”
Aizawa didn’t seem annoyed. Instead, he tilted his head, voice calm. “That’s okay.”
He explained, “Broken windows theory suggests that visible signs of disorder, like vandalism, loitering, or public intoxication, can lead to more serious crime. The idea is that strict enforcement of minor offenses helps prevent major ones.”
He clicked once, highlighting a line on the rubric.
“It formed the basis of aggressive policing in places like New York in the ’90s and zero-tolerance enforcement. Things like stop-and-frisk, high arrest rates for misdemeanors. The theory assumes that order equals safety.”
“So like… it targets symptoms, not causes?” you asked.
With a small nod, he said, “Yep. And it’s controversial. You’ll find students repeating the textbook version without considering the consequences. You need to make them break the habit and dig deeper.”
He pulled up a student’s submission on the screen.
“Go ahead. Read it. Then tell me how you’d grade it.”
Anxiety knotted tight in your chest. “W-wait, you're putting me on the spot? Before telling me how you’d grade it?”
Aizawa raised one brow, unimpressed. “Why would I tell you first? I want to see what you'd do without me handing you the answer.”
You let out a weak, nervous laugh. “Is this a test? Is it possible to fail me as a TA?”
Your palms suddenly felt slick, clammy.
“You’re not going to fail,” he said flatly. “So stop panicking and just read the damn thing.”
That blunt certainty in his voice hit you like a punch to the gut. “O-okay... I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Just do it.”
“You’re a sadist, you know that?” you fired back.
That, somehow, made him chuckle. “If you mess up, I’ll go easy on you.”
He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on you. “Just do your best. One answer. That’s all I want.”
One answer. Right. You could do that.
You shifted your gaze back to the screen, forcing yourself to focus.
“The broken windows theory is about making sure people don’t break laws by arresting them for smaller crimes before they commit bigger ones. Like, in New York, they cracked down on graffiti and homeless people, and crime went down. It works because people learn not to mess around.”
You read it twice, lips parting slightly as you processed the words. “Okay, so…” you laughed a little. “This one is kind of missing the point, isn’t it?”
“Grade it,” he said. "Out of 10."
“A... 6 out of 10?” you asked. “Meets the prompt, but no depth. And there’s no real critical awareness of how the theory plays out in the real world.”
He weighed your judgment. “Your reasoning’s sound, but you’re being too generous. I’d have given this one lower. Maybe a 2.”
“A 2?!” you said, wide eyes. “That’s so harsh!”
He leaned back in his chair, “Why? You want to challenge that?”
Scrambling for an answer, you said, “Well… technically, they answered the question. Explained the theory, gave a real-world example. That has to count for something. At least a 5 out of 10, even if they skipped any real analysis. Maybe the question should’ve said, ‘and provide your own analysis.’ ”
The corner of Aizawa’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “I’d expect analysis to be an implicit requirement in a senior course. But fine, call it a concession. We’ll give it a 5 out of 10. And I’ll change the prompt for next semester.”
You shook your head quickly. “Oh, no, no, don’t change it just because of me.”
His eyes softened just a fraction. “Why not? You stood up for yourself and convinced me.”
You felt heat rise to your cheeks.
“Do you want to go over another one?” he asked. “Or do you feel confident enough to handle the rest on your own?”
The truth was, you weren’t entirely confident. Not yet. But with his chair so close, your knees still barely touching under the desk, you weren’t sure how much longer you could stay in this room without losing it.
So you straightened your back and forced a small smile. “I think I’m good.”
“Alright. You know where to find me if you need help.”
You stood, trying to keep your cool as you gathered your things, but your heart hammered loudly in your chest and your breath felt shallow.
You needed fresh air. Fresh cold, cold air.
“Goodnight,” you said quietly, then hurried out the door before you could overthink it.
Notes:
Please don't think the fake student submission was too dumb… I've seen worse as a TA! lmao
Also I feel like Aizawa would be one of those no laptops, no phones professors. makes everyone write short answers in class and then uploads them by taking blurry screenshots on his phone 😭
Chapter 4: Daddy Issues
Summary:
You didn’t have a crush on Professor Aizawa. You didn’t.
Notes:
It’s never stated outright in the story, but I decided that Aizawa does, in fact, ban laptops and tablets in his classroom. He makes everyone take notes by hand, with stone and chisel.
Chapter Text
You sat tucked into the back corner of the lecture hall, scribbling notes, doing your best to blend in with the rest of the class.
Technically, you didn’t have to be here. Aizawa had explicitly told you that you weren’t expected to attend the course you were TA-ing, especially as a freshman. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d do a better job if you actually understood the material.
So here you were.
You’d only skimmed the class’s assigned chapter yesterday at work. Your textbook stayed tucked under the bartop, and you’d sneak it out whenever there was a lull. It was a quick read, barely enough to count as studying, but you hoped it’d be enough to follow along.
You figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit in the back and keep your head down.
That was, of course, until Aizawa asked the class a question.
“Someone tell me the three conditions required by routine activity theory.”
Silence.
He stood at the front of the room in his usual half-slouched posture, one hand leaning on the podium, the other wrapped around a coffee mug with a faded cartoon cat on it, ears perked, tail curled into a heart.
No one answered.
You kept your head down, pretending to write something in your notebook. You weren’t supposed to speak. You were the TA, not a student. Just here to observe.
“Did anyone do the reading?” he asked, his voice as dry as desert heat.
His eyes moved across the room, stare dragging over every face like a silent threat. “Anyone at all?”
You could feel the discomfort curdling in the air.
God, you hated awkward silences. Especially his awkward silences. Aizawa wasn’t the kind of professor who’d rush in to save the moment. He’d let it fester. Let the silence rot the room from the inside out until someone, anyone, broke.
And unfortunately, that someone was always you.
Your hand crept up. Slowly. Almost like you were hoping he wouldn’t see it.
But he did.
One of his brows lifted, barely. “Sure. Go ahead.”
You felt the air shift and dozens of heads turned toward you in unison, the weight of the room’s attention landing squarely on your shoulders.
You cleared your throat. “Um… a motivated offender, a suitable target, and the absence of a capable guardian?”
A beat of silence.
Then, “Correct.”
You could’ve sworn the temperature in the room rose a few degrees as everyone exhaled, the collective tension easing in a single breath.
But Aizawa wasn’t done. “That doesn’t count for the rest of you.”
A few students groaned. Someone muttered something under their breath. Aizawa ignored it.
“You might’ve noticed we have a new face in the room today,” he said.
Your stomach dropped.
“This is your TA,” he continued. “And she won’t be answering every question for you.”
And just like that, the whole class swiveled in their seats to look at you again, craning their necks to find you.
You sat up a little straighter.
“Go ahead,” Aizawa said. “Introduce yourself.”
You shot him a look. Or tried to, anyway. It was hard to glare with your face on fire and the weight of sixty-something students staring directly at your very unprepared soul.
“Um. Hi,” you started, already cringing. “I’m… yeah. I’m the TA.”
A few blinks. More silence.
“I’m actually not in this class,” you added quickly. “I’m just… sitting in. Voluntarily.”
Someone in the front row gave you a sympathetic smile. Someone else coughed.
“Okay. Yep. That’s it. Thanks.”
There was the beginning of a stir, murmurs rising before Aizawa cut back in, cool and even, “She’ll be the one grading your assignments and holding office hours before the exam. Please treat her with the same respect you’d treat me.”
You sank a little lower in your seat, and the rest of the class passed by in a blur. You were too busy reeling from the embarrassment, your face stayed warm long after the stares had passed.
At the end of class, Aizawa glanced at the clock and spoke over the low rustle of students packing up.
“Quick reminder. Class is canceled not this Thursday but next. I’ll be out of town attending a conference that weekend.”
He snapped his folder shut with finality. “Alright. Dismissed.”
Chairs scraped. Backpacks zipped. Chatter rose through the room as everyone stood to leave.
You let out a slow breath, shoulders sinking with relief. It was over.
You hoped to slip out unnoticed, but a voice piped up beside you.
“No way, you’re the TA?”
You turned and found a boy with dark hair grinning down at you.
“I’ve never had a TA in any of Professor Aizawa’s classes,” he said, clearly delighted by your existence. “And I’ve taken, like four. One was a repeat. What crime did you commit to get roped into this? Blink twice if you’re being held hostage.”
You instinctively glanced toward the front, where Aizawa was still standing at the podium, tucking papers into a folder with his usual slow, methodical calm. No reaction. Maybe he hadn’t heard.
But once again, something curled defensively in your chest.
“Professor Aizawa’s one of the best professors at this school,” you said, more sharply than intended. “Why wouldn’t I want to TA for him?”
The boy opened his mouth to laugh—but paused, blinking. “Oh shit. Wait, you’re being serious?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” you asked.
He placed a hand over his heart. “Damn. I misread you. Good luck,” he said, extending his other hand for you to shake and you took it. “You’re brave as hell.”
“Shindo Yo, by the way,” he added. “I’ve TA’ed for a bunch of classes before, nothing as intense as Aizawa’s, but if you ever need help figuring stuff out, I’m around.”
“Thanks,” you said politely. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He gave you a mock salute, spun on his heel, and sauntered off, very pleased with himself.
From the front of the room, Aizawa finally shut his folder and looked up, his eyes finding yours.
You hesitated for a second, then walked down the aisle toward him, the last of the students trickling out behind you.
“I wasn’t prepared for that,” you said, still a little breathless. “Do you just enjoy watching me embarrass myself?”
He slung his bag over one shoulder. “You survived.”
“Barely,” you said, rolling your shoulders like you could physically shake off the awkwardness still clinging to you.
“If I really wanted to embarrass you,” he said. “I’d have let you keep talking.”
Your jaw dropped. “Wow, you jerk.”
Aizawa let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost a laugh, but not quite. “It’s fine. You get used to talking in front of students quickly.”
You couldn’t possibly imagine being comfortable speaking in front of a room full of people.
“I was going to ask if you wanted help prepping for the midterm, since you’re holding office hours…” Aizawa leaned against the podium. “…But looks like you don’t need help retaining the material.”
“Oh, no—no, no, no,” you stammered. “I couldn’t possibly handle that by myself. I barely understood half of what I read. I’d love to start earlier and—yes. I want your help. Please.”
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll email you the topics. We’ll set a time next week.”
And with that, he walked out without looking back, but your pulse kept fluttering long after he left.
·𖥸·
You had just kicked off your shoes and collapsed face-first onto your bed when Mina flopped down beside you, bouncing you as she landed.
“Okay. Spill.”
“Spill what?” you asked, cheeks still smooshed into your comforter.
“Oh my god, you know ,” Mina said. “Shindo told Mido, who told B, who told Kiri, who told me—” she paused, pointing a finger at her chest. “—that Professor Aizawa, literally the most evil, emotionally-dead-inside professor on campus, has a TA for the first time ever, and that TA is you.”
“Ugh,” you groaned into your bed, then turned your head toward your roommate. “Why are you acting like it’s some kind of illicit gossip? Students TA for professors all the time. What’s the big deal?”
“What’s the big deal!” Mina exclaimed. “Isn’t he literally evil? Denki told me he submitted a reflection two minutes late because a thunderstorm knocked out the dorm’s crappy Wi-Fi and the portal still accepted it, but Aizawa gave him a zero. Then he wrote back—” She dropped her voice comically low, “‘Time doesn’t bend for your convenience.’”
You sighed, sitting up a little. “I get why Aizawa’s strict. Isn’t part of college learning how to balance real life with school?”
“Oh my god, you’re such a teacher’s pet!” she accused. “Seriously, something’s wrong with you. Is this because of your daddy issues?”
You rolled your eyes. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with being a TA.”
Mina grinned wickedly. “So you do have daddy issues! It’s totally relevant. Aizawa’s like, the ultimate daddy figure. Strict, no-nonsense, keeps everyone in line. You probably secretly love that he gives you structure. Your psyche’s been craving that kind of discipline since forever.”
You shoved her. “You’re so gross, Mina! He’s like forty!”
“Thirty-two, actually,” she said. “Denki and Kiri looked it up after he unironically used ‘sus’ during class.”
You paused, chewing on Mina’s words. Eighteen wasn’t that big of an age gap from thirty-two, right?
Wait. Why were you even thinking about that?!
You were being ridiculous.
“Ooooh, you were thinking about it, weren’t you?” Mina teased.
“What! No!” you blurted. “Mina, don’t be stupid! Thirties is still way too old for us. Plus, he’s a professor. Isn’t that illegal or something?”
“It’s not illegal,” Mina said. “You’re of age. Probably against university policy though.”
“But that only matters if you get caught~” she sing-songed.
“Okay, you know what, Mina?” you asked. “No. I’m not entertaining this train of thought.”
Mina grinned knowingly. “It’s okay to admit you’ve got a little crush. Everyone’s got a type, right?”
“Mina, I’m done talking about it. Get off my bed.”
She pouted then flipped her hair as she hopped off your bed, clearly not done teasing you, but giving you space for now.
You didn’t have a crush on Professor Aizawa. You didn’t.
Sure, he wasn’t bad looking. He had a deep voice and hair that somehow looked good even when messy.
And okay, maybe there was something about the way his voice dropped when he was being stern that for some stupid reason your brain decided was... kind of hot?
But no. You didn’t like him. You didn’t like him.
Probably.
You groaned and rolled back onto your stomach, burying your face in your pillow.
Chapter 5: Old, tired, and ugly.
Chapter Text
“I know it’s a little early to start midterm prep,” Aizawa began, “but I figured it might help ease your anxiety.”
“Thank you. I am very anxious, actually,” you admitted.
“Why?” Aizawa had a way of watching you when he talked, like he was measuring your reactions against some invisible scale.
You were back in his office for the second week in a row, trying not to fidget in front of him. Being alone with him hadn’t gotten any easier. If anything, it had only gotten worse.
“I’m just… worried I’ll say something stupid,” you said. “Or worse, something wrong. And then all the students fail because of me.”
That actually made him laugh. Rough, but rich.
“If it’s any consolation,” Aizawa said. “Many students do fail my exams.”
The idea of that stung. Who wants to fail?
You didn’t think professors wanted their students to fail either. Not really. Not the ones like Aizawa. You wondered how often he'd done everything he could but watched it happen anyway.
“To be frank,” he continued. “For those at risk of failing, a wrong answer coming from you would still demonstrate more reasoning than most of what they manage to produce.”
“That’s… morbidly reassuring, I guess,” you said.
“Usually, during exam reviews, most students show up just to listen. They’re too burnt out from studying for other classes to ask much of anything.” He gestured toward your laptop you had brought with you. “If you write down what I tell you, you won’t be at risk of giving out the wrong information. And we’ll go over it enough times that, when someone does raise a question, you’ll be more than capable of answering it.”
You nodded, some of the tension in your shoulders easing.
“You’ll be fine. You’re too young to be this stressed, you know.” He leaned back with a sigh. “If you keep this up, you’ll end up like me. Old, tired, and ugly.”
“You’re not ugly!” you said, and then immediately regretted how fast it came out.
But he wasn’t ugly. Not even close. Even with the stubble and his hair down, he looked... rugged and unfairly good, to be honest.
“Tired and old, then,” Aizawa corrected.
“Well… I can’t argue with that.”
“Exactly,” he said, rubbing the heel of his palm into one eye. “Speaking of tired… I need caffeine before my brain gives out. You want some coffee?”
“Oh, sure!” you said. “Thank you very much.”
He gave a worn-out smile as he pushed to his feet and shuffled over to the little coffee station tucked in the corner of his office.
You listened to the hiss of the machine as you clicked through a few emails on your laptop, pretending to read while sneaking the occasional glance toward Aizawa.
In class, he always wore his shirt buttoned up neatly, professional. But here, during office hours, he pushed his cuffs back and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the lean muscles and faint blue veins tracing along his forearms.
After a few minutes, Aizawa returned, handing you a steaming cup.
The mug had a picture of a cat in a pinstripe suit, standing upright and clutching a tiny knife in its paw.
You stared at it.
“Careful,” Aizawa said, already settling back into his chair. “It’s hot.”
You lifted the cup to your face slowly, letting the steam warm you before taking a small sip.
Your eyes widened the moment the coffee hit your tongue. “Wait, hold on,” you said. “This is really good.”
“Then you’ve been drinking garbage,” Aizawa said.
You took another sip, closing your eyes. “I’m a broke college student. I eat like garbage, too.”
“Should I be concerned?” he asked.
“What? No—I mean… it’s like… functional garbage. Ramen. Granola bars. Sometimes toast.”
A low hum rumbled in his throat. “That’s not a meal.”
“Okay, Gordon Ramsay,” you said as you set your mug down on a coaster he pushed over to you. “Didn’t realize you moonlighted as a chef.”
He didn’t answer. Just leveled you with a long stare over the rim of his mug.
Your heart stopped.
“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, sitting up straighter. “That was rude.”
His expression remained infuriatingly neutral. Silence stretched. You could feel your face heating, and you were preparing to spiral into a full-blown panic—
“I’m not offended,” he said at last. “But I do know how to cook. Like a real adult.”
“I am a real adult,” you protested immediately.
“Sure you are.” His voice held just enough sarcasm that it made you oddly defensive. He rolled his office chair closer to his monitor. “Now if you’re done trying to sass your professor, I suggest we start with social disorganization theory.”
Aizawa continued outlining the rest of the exam logistics: the key topics you’d be expected to know, when each unit would be covered in class, and which readings you should prioritize. You tried to keep up, hands flying across your keyboard.
“The final will have short answer questions, but the midterm will be multiple choice only," he said.
Surprised, you said, “That’s really nice of you!"
“No, it’s just easier to grade. I don’t have time to wade through half-assed essays mid-semester.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Also, there’s no need to overload yourself with extra reading on top of your full course load,” Aizawa said. “If you want, you can come by my office and I’ll walk you through anything you need.”
You looked up from your notes. “Thank you,” you said softly. “That means a lot.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, draining the rest of his coffee.
You were about to return to scrolling through all your notes you had taken this past hour when he spoke again. “By the way... are you busy next weekend?”
Your brain short-circuited.
What.
What?
Was that a casual question? Was this a trap? Were you hallucinating?
You managed a strangled, “Um… no?” before clearing your throat. “Why?”
“I need someone to check on my cats while I’m at the conference,” he answered, tapping the end of his pen against the desk in an idle rhythm. “Normally I ask Hizashi, but he’ll be there too. I’d pay you, of course.”
You nearly collapsed from the relief and residual adrenaline warring in your bloodstream.
For some reason, you had been bracing for something wildly inappropriate, but you banished the thought.
Cats. He meant cats.
“I love cats!” you said. “I didn’t know you had any.”
“Two,” he said. “Indoor-only. They just need a quick check every other day—refill their food, maybe play with them if they let you. We can count it against your TA hours, if you prefer.”
You smiled. “I would love to get paid for hanging out with cats.”
“You say that now," he said. "Wait until they decide the inside of your backpack is their new litter box.”
Before you could come up with a witty reply, Aizawa was already pulling out his phone from the inside of his back pocket.
“Here,” he said, holding it out to you. “Put your number in. I’ll send the address and instructions.”
For half a second, you were frozen before you snapped out of it and took the phone from his hand, still warm from his touch.
You typed your name and number in slowly, thumbs moving a little more careful than necessary, as you tried not to think too hard about the fact that you were quite literally entering yourself into his contacts. And to you, with your very inconvenient crush that you totally didn't have and your very traitorous heart, it felt borderline indecent.
“I’ll message you at some point,” he said simply when you handed his phone back, not even glancing at the screen as he slid the device back into his pocket. “If anything comes up while I’m gone—call.”
“Okay,” you said.
Another brief nod. Decision made. Mission assigned.
Then, without fanfare, Aizawa got up to hold the door open for you, dismissing you with a goodnight.
Later that night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your phone screen lighting up every so often with notifications that weren’t from him.
Chapter 6: Barely Legal
Summary:
Yo, pops! You better be gentle with my girl! She’s fresh meat!
Chapter Text
The bar was quieter than usual tonight, but not empty. The kind of low hum that came with the regular after-hours crowd: off-duty nurses, truckers halfway between cities, a few local regulars hunched over their drinks.
It wasn’t trendy enough for the college aged kids since there were no neon lights, no EDM thumping through the walls, and no sticky dance floor to grind on each other.
Tonight was one of your longer shifts, but you didn’t mind. Exhaustion was easier to manage than overthinking, and at least work kept your hands busy and your thoughts occupied.
Still, your shoulders ached, and you hadn’t stopped yawning since ten.
As you rounded a corner to wipe down the counter for the third time in as many minutes, you stopped cold.
There, tucked into the shadows of a corner booth, was Aizawa.
Your heart jumped like it had something to hide.
How long had he been sitting there? Had he seen you?
You didn’t remember serving him, but a half-empty glass sat on his table. Maybe Touya had taken care of it.
You slowly walked back over to the other end of the bar where Touya was restocking the lower shelf.
“Hey,” you said under your breath, leaning in close. “That guy over there—how long’s he been here?”
Touya didn’t even glance up, but his voice carried. “What guy?”
You gritted your teeth, lowering yours even more. “Corner booth. Dark hair. Kind of broody.”
He finally straightened. “You just described half the bar, sweetheart.”
“Touya,” you said, the edge of frustration softening into pleading. “Please just be serious for once.”
He finally followed the subtle tilt of your head toward the booth. “Oh. That guy. No clue. Didn’t card him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
You groaned. “You’re useless.”
“Why? You wanna take his table?” He asked. “Be my guest.”
Your stomach flipped. “No! No, that’s not—”
But before you could finish, he tapped the POS screen. “Too late. Table 12’s yours now. Go say hi.”
“Touya!”
He offered you a lazy, two-finger salute and wandered off without a care in the world.
“I will actually kill you,” you hissed, but he was already halfway across the bar, whistling to himself like an idiot.
You spun back toward the tablet, frantically pulling up the tab. Just a whiskey. No food. No notes. No time stamp. Classic Touya. Half the time he forgot to close out properly.
You snuck another glance toward the corner booth.
Aizawa hadn’t looked up. He was still hunched over the same glass, one elbow braced on the table, fingers curled near his mouth, phone in the other hand, thumb lazily scrolling.
You didn’t know if he’d already eaten. Or if he was planning to. Or if he was just here for a quiet drink and solitude and now you were about to go ruin it.
Great.
You hovered behind the bar, trying to will yourself forward.
Okay. Maybe if you just did a quick check-in, nothing serious. Just enough to make sure he didn’t need anything.
You tucked in your shirt a little tighter at the waist, before squaring your shoulders and crossing the floor, heart hammering, mouth suddenly dry.
When you reached the edge of his table, he finally looked up.
His gaze found yours and held it. For a moment, neither of you said a word.
Then his eyes flicked behind the bar counter, then back to you.
“Aren’t you a little young to be serving drinks?” Aizawa asked.
“I’m legal,” you replied quickly, too quickly. “To serve. Not to drink.”
“Barely legal, then,” he said, lifting his glass and taking a sip, eyes still on you over the rim.
Your breath caught. You knew he didn’t mean it like that, not really. But the words hung there, suspended between you, and the way his eyes lingered for a beat too long made heat rise uncomfortably in your chest.
“Uh—can I get you anything else?” you asked, trying to sound normal. “The kitchen’s still open for another hour, or I can grab you another drink if you want.”
Aizawa’s expression shifted, softening, just slightly.
“I’m good,” he said. Then, after a pause, “You working ‘til close?”
“Yeah. I usually do on weekends.” You tugged at the hem of your apron, suddenly all too aware of how messy your hair probably was. “Try not to be too jealous.”
Aizawa snorted a half-laugh at that.
He glanced around the bar. Most of the regulars had cleared out, and the ones still hanging on were too deep in their drinks to pay the two of you any mind.
“Place is practically empty,” he said. “You on break anytime soon?” He gestured toward the empty seat across from him. “You could sit for a bit. If you want.”
…Was Aizawa tipsy? No, he couldn't be.
...Was this inappropriate? Did you care?
Your eyes quickly looked for Touya and found him at the end of the bar, laughing at something on his phone, totally oblivious. He’d probably vanish for another smoke soon anyway, leaving you to hold down the fort like always, even though you weren’t technically supposed to man the bar solo at eighteen.
Before you could overthink it, you slid into the booth across from Aizawa.
When you caught his gaze and held it and for a moment, the rest of the bar just… faded.
There he was, sitting in front of you—scruffy hair and dark eyes, that faint five o’clock shadow casting just enough to make his already sharp jawline look even more carved.
How could someone look so effortlessly cool and intimidating at the same time?
You saw him scan the remaining patrons again, this time more deliberately, observing the faces of older men whose cheeks were reddened and voices slurred from the night’s drinking, their empty glasses scattered as evidence of too many rounds—before locking back onto you.
“They really shouldn’t be putting a pretty, young girl on closing shifts at a place like this alone,” Aizawa said. “You holding up okay?”
“Oh, I’m not alone,” you started. “My manager—”
Your words stalled as you looked back toward the bar where Touya had just been a minute ago.
Nobody was there.
“…is probably out on his smoke break again,” you finished.
You rolled your eyes. “Touya’s a shitty manager, but he watches out if anyone tries anything with me.”
Aizawa’s gaze sharpened. “And how exactly are you getting home tonight? You’re not planning on walking alone this late, are you?”
You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “I take the bus back to campus. The bus stop’s only about a ten-minute walk from here.”
His eyes narrowed, the concern deepening. “Ten minutes? At this hour? That’s way too far for you to be walking alone.”
“I do it every Saturday. Don’t worry, Dad.” It was just a joke, but the word slipped out before you could stop it.
You glanced away, cheeks flushing.
Aizawa let out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair. Leaning in slightly, his voice dropped. “Assaults have been picking up in this area. Most of them targeting local students.”
“Oh, no one’s ever mistaken me for a university student around here. Not unless Ivy League girls started wearing chipped nail polish and duct-taped sneakers to work. I’m not exactly a high-value target.” You gave a small, hopeful smile, but Aizawa’s unimpressed glare told you the joke wasn’t going to fly.
The corners of his mouth tightened in clear disapproval. “Doesn’t mean it’s safe.”
Your smile faltered, but you kept your voice steady. “I picked this shift because of my classes during the week. Plus, bars with tips pay the best. I need the money.”
“Where else would I go?” you asked. “Campus jobs barely pay anything, and I’m not exactly qualified for much else.”
“I get it,” Aizawa said. “I’m not here to lecture you or tell you to quit your job. But I worry about your safety. That’s all.”
“Is there anyone—a friend, family—who could pick you up?” he asked. “Drive you home safely after your shift?”
You hesitated, chewing lightly on your bottom lip. “Asking someone to pick me up at two in the morning every Saturday just… feels like a lot,” you said. “Some nights I get off early. Some nights it’s closer to three, depending on how busy we are or how long people linger.”
You gave a half-hearted shrug, trying to downplay it. “It’s a huge favor to ask someone and it’s not exactly convenient. And I love my friends, but college students aren’t exactly the most reliable, you know?”
“Oh, trust me. I know,” Aizawa snorted. “What about your manager? Can he give you a ride?” He didn’t press on the part you’d left out about family.
You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “Touya’s… a good guy. Really. He looks out for me when it counts. But he’s always stoned. Like, always. I don’t really feel comfortable getting into a car with someone when they’re high.”
You glanced back at Aizawa, hoping that explained enough. “It’s just easier to take the bus. Less hassle.”
But he didn’t look reassured.
“If you want, I can drive you home tonight,” he offered. “It’s late, and I don’t like the idea of you walking alone.”
“Oh—no, no, no. I couldn’t ask you to do that,” you said quickly, waving your hands in protest. “There’s still almost two hours left until close, and you’d have to drive all the way back to campus after. It’s too much trouble. Seriously, it’s way out of your way.”
“I don’t care about trouble,” he said, final in that way that didn’t invite arguments. “You’re not walking home alone. End of story. It’s either me driving you, or you find someone else. And I’m not leaving until you do.”
You stared at him as your heart kicked you in the ribs.
“…O-Okay,” you conceded. “Okay. Thank you. I’d really appreciate that.”
Then, before you could stop yourself, you added, “I can pay you back for gas—”
“Forget the gas,” he said, clipped. “Now get back to work.”
You stood up as soon as the words left his mouth. “Okay,” you said. “Thank you… really.”
Aizawa lifted his glass in a silent acknowledgment, and you took a step back, pulse thudding in your ears. You all but fled to the bar counter.
The rest of your shift went by quickly. You moved on autopilot, cleaning glasses, topping off drinks, wiping down the bar, eyes now and then drawn to where Aizawa still sat. Waiting. He was going to drive you home.
Once all the chairs were flipped onto tables, Touya slid behind the register, counting the till with a yawn. Then he grabbed the keys and shot you a sidelong look.
“You know that guy?” he asked casually, chin-tilting toward Aizawa without taking his eyes off you.
“Oh… yeah. He’s driving me home,” you mumbled.
A slow, wicked grin spread across Touya’s face. “Ayy, look at you, pullin’ a sugar daddy at the bar now? Mad respect.”
“Touya, not so loud!” you snapped.
But he was already shouting towards Aizawa. “Yo, pops! You better be gentle with my girl! She’s fresh meat!”
“Touya! Shut UP!” You shoved him hard, horrified. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
Touya stumbled back, clutching at his sides with laughter.
Aizawa stood and started walking over, his expression unreadable.
Touya squinted at him like he was trying to decide whether this man was trouble or not.
“If she don’t come back smiling,” Touya said, wagging a finger, “I’ll come find your ass with a tire iron. Respectfully.”
“Touya, for the love of God—”
“I’m making sure she gets home safe,” Aizawa stated. “With the kind of incidents happening around here lately, I’d rather not take any chances.”
Touya blinked, processing, then snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah! No, for real—some girl got jumped by the gas station last week. Freakin’ scary, man.”
Aizawa didn’t reply. He just turned to look at you and gave a subtle, pointed gesture—like, see what I mean?
You sighed, shoulders sagging. “Yeah, yeah. I get it.”
You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder. “Touya, we’re heading out. Have a good night.”
“Night, little gremlin,” he called after you with a grin. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
You didn’t dignify that with a response. Just walked toward the door and pushed it open, the cool night air hitting your face like a reset button as you and Aizawa stepped out of the bar.
The streets were mostly empty now, washed in the yellow glow of streetlamps and the occasional flicker of a neon sign.
You trailed a few steps behind Aizawa as he led the way to his car, an older black sedan parallel parked at the curb.
He unlocked the doors with a soft beep, and you slid into the passenger seat. The leather seats were warm, still holding the heat from earlier in the day.
The engine rumbled to life and Aizawa adjusted the AC with one hand, the other resting on the wheel. “What dorms are you in?”
You shifted slightly, pulling the seatbelt across your chest. “Uh—the Magnolia building. On East Campus. I think the address is—”
“I know where the dorms are,” he said, cutting in—but not unkindly.
“Oh. Right.” You gave a soft, nervous laugh. “Duh.”
The car hummed softly as he drove. You stared out the window, streetlights flickering across your reflection, your fingers picking at a loose thread on your sleeve.
“Sorry about Touya, by the way,” you said.
“Why are you apologizing for someone else’s mouth?” Aizawa asked without looking at you.
You didn’t have an answer for that.
He added, “If I got offended every time someone implied that I was old, I’d be behind bars.”
You gave a tiny laugh. Aizawa didn’t address the other things Touya implied. The worse ones.
“Thirty-two’s not that old,” you pointed out.
His eyes slid toward you, just briefly. “I don’t recall ever telling you how old I am.”
Shit. Mina, this was all your fault. “Oh—uh—I didn’t mean—I wasn’t stalking you or anything—”
His lip twitched into a half-smile. “Mm. Didn’t say you were.”
You forced your gaze away from him and back out the window, staring straight ahead.
You watched the passing lights flicker over the dashboard until your face no longer felt warm from embarrassment.
After a while, you said, “You know… I wish I was thirty. That’s when life really starts, right? No more school, a stable job, full independence. Nobody thinks you’re too young or too stupid to make your own decisions. I can’t wait to be thirty.”
Aizawa hummed thoughtfully, eyes still on the road. “Don’t rush it. Life’s hard, I get that. But you only get one shot at being this young. Try to enjoy it, as much as you can.”
You let out a bitter snort. “Getting into a school like this is a rare opportunity, I’d have been stupid to turn it down. But between work and classes, I barely scrape together enough to cover the living expenses after my scholarship. Meanwhile, everyone else parties like they don’t even care, and they don’t actually, because they’ll just land a job at their daddy’s company, even if they barely graduate. My grades actually matter. So… what’s there to enjoy? Honestly, the sooner this is over, the better.”
Aizawa was quiet for a long moment after your outburst, the only sounds were the steady hum of the engine and the rhythm of the tires on asphalt filling the car.
“That’s a heavy weight to carry on your own,” he said, finally. “Do you have anyone to help lighten it? A support system?”
“Uh…” You hesitated. “My parents aren’t in the picture. And honestly… even if they were, I think they would probably just make things harder for me, not easier.”
“So yeah… thirty sounds pretty great. I’m a little jealous, actually,” you finished.
“You’ll get there," Aizawa said. "Time passes, whether you want it to or not. Listen, you’ve got what it takes. You’re strong, you’re capable, you’re smart. Most people your age don’t have your maturity. You’re already miles ahead. You’ve got a path, even if it’s hard to see right now. Trust me, you’ll get to where you want to go, no question. Just don’t lose that drive.”
Your eyes brimmed with sudden, unexpected tears. No adult in your life had ever spoken to you like this before. You hadn’t realized how starved you were for acknowledgment, for affection.
“Thanks,” you said softly. “That means a lot… coming from you.”
“Coming from me?” he scoffed. “I’m hardly the authority on success or stability.”
“Well… you’re the strictest professor at the school,” you said. “Everyone says so. And you’re… hard to please. So when you say something like that, it means a lot.”
“I’m only strict because most of your classmates think—what was it you said?—that they’ll land a job at their daddy’s company even if they barely graduate.”
You laughed, but then turned toward him to ask him seriously. “Does it ever bother you? Hearing that students don’t like you because you hold them to a higher standard?”
“Being liked isn’t my job,” Aizawa remarked. “I’m not here to be everyone’s favorite.”
You rolled your eyes. “I knew you were going to say that.”
Eventually, the car eased to a stop in front of your dorm building, its brick facade dark except for the yellow squares of windows where other students were still awake.
When you stepped out and you turned to close the door, Aizawa leaned slightly across the center console and said, “Goodnight. Be safe.”
“Goodnight… Professor,” you replied.
You shut the door and then watched the red taillights fade down the empty street.
For a long moment, you stood there, hugging your arms against the chill, still watching the street long after he was gone.
Notes:
My years of trauma as a scholarship student at an ivy are finally paying off. And I’m not talking about just any kind of scholarship, I Haruhi Fujioka’ed my way into that bitch. I was living Ouran High School Host Club in real life… except there was no host club… and no hot guys… so maybe it wasn’t like ohshc at all…
Chapter 7: Me? Or the cats?
Summary:
Shouta exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being observant,” Hizashi countered. “Just saying, man. You might want to be careful. That’s not just a picture of your cat anymore.”
Chapter Text
You stopped at the front steps, your phone’s dim light illuminating the tangle of potted plants that turned the porch into a shaded alcove.
Aizawa Shouta
6:57 PM
Keys are under the large fern in the blue pot by the door.
You found them exactly where he said, and you slid the key into the lock, hinges groaning softly as the door eased open.
You stepped inside.
The air was faintly warm, touched with the scent of clean laundry and the familiar ghost of his shampoo.
You couldn’t believe that you were in his house.
It felt both intimate and unfamiliar. The space was tidy without being stiff, organized but unpretentious. Books were stacked in loose towers on a low shelf; a few cat toys lay abandoned near the couch; and on the coffee table, a lighter and a small ashtray sat side by side.
You reached out and flipped on a nearby lamp. Out of the dimness, a black cat suddenly appeared, perched silently on the edge of the couch.
You jumped slightly at the unexpected presence. Its bright, curious eyes locked onto you, unblinking and intense.
The cat let out a soft meow, almost as if it were demanding an explanation.
“Yeah, I know, I’m not your papa. But I’m a friend, here to feed you. Want some dinner?” You extended your hand slowly, palm open and inviting.
The kitty meowed again, this time a bit louder, a clear answer. Cautiously, it stepped forward, then leaned into your hand and began to purr.
You gave the cat a gentle scritch behind the ears before turning toward the kitchen to look for its dinner.
The countertops were mostly clear, save for a few stained mugs scattered near the sink, but your eyes were drawn to a small cluster of photos hanging on the fridge.
You recognized the blonde in the photos immediately—Hizashi. Or Yamada, to you rather. You learned he was your department’s student counselor. In one picture, he grinned widely, his arm casually slung over Aizawa’s shoulder.
Another photo showed Aizawa with a woman you didn’t recognize. A striking figure with long, dark hair spilling over one of her shoulders and a neckline that plunged so dramatically her ample cleavage was impossible to miss.
Did Professor Aizawa have a girlfriend? A sudden twist of jealousy curled in your chest.
You blinked quickly, forcing the feeling away. It was none of your business if he did.
The black cat wound itself around your legs, eyes fixed intently on the food bag as you pulled it from the cabinet, meows growing more insistent.
Just as you finished filling the second bowl, a fluffy gray tabby appeared, padding softly across the floor.
Both cats converged on their bowls, their noses twitching eagerly as they began to eat.
Quietly, you pulled out your phone and snapped a photo.
You
7:15 PM
[1 attachment]
Dinner’s served!
Aizawa Shouta
7:16 PM
Don’t let them beg for more. They’re little monsters.
You smiled when he replied immediately, and your thumbs hovered above your keyboard.
You wanted something else to say, anything that might keep him talking to you, but then some self-awareness settled in.
He didn’t give you his number just so you could text him like you were friends. It was strictly for business purposes.
You needed to squash your crush on him right now.
But… it was only a crush. That was harmless, wasn’t it? Just a private flicker of feeling you’d never act on. Nothing was going to happen. The line between you was carved in stone.
The urge to reach for him was too strong to ignore. You typed the safest thing you could think of and you hit send.
You
7:20 PM
Hope the conference is going well!
Immediately, doubt rushed in. Was the text too formal? Too friendly? What if he was busy, actually busy, and your texts were pulling his attention away from something important? Or worse, what if it sounded like you were trying too hard?
No reply came.
What did you expect, anyway?
You scolded yourself at your disappointment. He was a grown man. Your professor. Having a crush was one thing—harmless enough, maybe—but expecting him to indulge it? That was crossing into dangerous territory, even if it was only in your own head.
The phone went facedown on the couch cushion, a small barrier between you and your own impatience.
Instead, you focused on the cats, who were now lounging beside their food bowls, happily grooming themselves.
And then—your phone buzzed.
Against your better judgment, your hand darted out, flipping it over, and an uninvited rush of adrenaline spilled warmth through your chest.
Aizawa Shouta
7:29 PM
Sitting through endless crap here. Missing the cats.
Inside, you almost squealed, the sound catching in your throat as you bit your lip to keep it contained.
This was bad. You were so far gone it was embarrassing.
You should never have agreed to watch his cats. You should never have stepped foot in his home, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne clinging to the furniture, imagining what it might be like if he was there with you.
Now look at you, acting like a total fool, using the cat-sitting gig as a paper-thin excuse to text him like some lovesick teenage girl who didn’t know any better.
You
7:30 PM
Need a distraction? I’m happy to bombard you with cat pics whenever you want 😊
A mischievous grin curled at your lips as you hit send. Despite the voice in your head urging restraint, you were doing the opposite, deliberately dangling the conversation in front of him, hoping he’d take the bait.
Aizawa Shouta
7:31 PM
Good luck. Snitch is the black cat. She doesn’t like strangers. I’d be impressed if you managed to get a pic with her.
Your grin widened.
You glanced down at the black cat sprawled near the kitchen doorway, her golden eyes still watching you with cool suspicion.
Tilting your head, you crouched low, phone already in hand.
“Come on, Snitch,” you said, keeping your voice soft. “Let’s make your grumpy dad proud.”
·𖥸·
Shouta shifted in his seat, wincing. Cheap chairs like this always did a number on his circulation, the leg below his bad knee was already starting to go numb.
His phone balanced in one hand beneath the table, thumb tapping through messages while the speaker droned on about data and charts that were little more than buzzwords and pointless academic posturing.
The only thing keeping his mind from completely zoning out was the slight buzz of incoming messages.
Beside him, Hizashi was making himself impossible to ignore, noisily sipping from some iced coffee sugar monstrosity he’d smuggled in, the straw clicking against the plastic lid with every chew of ice.
He couldn’t exactly judge. Shouta, for his part, had slipped a flask of whiskey into his water bottle that morning, which he was quietly thankful for now as he took a slow sip. After a full day of sitting, his knee was throbbing, the burn creeping up the back of his leg becoming unbearable.
“Alright, spill it—who’s got you sneaking texts?” Hizashi’s voice lowered conspiratorially.
“No one,” Shouta replied flatly, eyes still on his phone.
Hizashi’s tinted glasses slid down his nose as he squinted, clearly unconvinced. “That’s not a ‘no one’ face. That’s your ‘I’m definitely hiding something’ face.”
Shouta resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If his face betrayed anything, it was ‘desperately trying to ignore the pain shooting up my leg.’
“You’re imagining things,” Shouta said, but he didn’t put his phone away. “I asked someone to watch the cats. She’s over there now.”
“She?” Hizashi repeated slowly, then more pointedly: “ She? ”
Shouta didn’t flinch. “My TA.”
Hizashi sat up straighter, the teasing gone from his voice. “Shouta. Tell me you didn’t give your house keys to your student.”
“She’s responsible,” Shouta said, his tone sharpening slightly. “And I needed someone. You’re here.”
“Yeah, but I’m not eighteen, pretty, and look at you like you hung the damn moon.”
That got Shouta to snap his head around, eyes narrowing. Hizashi held up his hands, “I’m just saying.”
“I’m not—” Shouta started, but the quiet buzz of his phone cut him off.
He glanced down.
It was a selfie. You, crouched on his kitchen floor, holding Snitch up under her front legs like some disgruntled baby.
Snitch’s mouth was open mid-meow, caught mid-scold, ears pinned back as if she couldn’t believe the indignity. You, on the other hand, were grinning straight at the camera.
Shouta stared at it for a beat longer than he probably should have.
“…That better not be what I think it is,” Hizashi said carefully.
“It’s just a picture of Snitch,” Shouta replied, quieter this time.
“As your friend,” Hizashi said. “I need you to think about what this looks like.”
Shouta exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being observant,” Hizashi countered. “Just saying, man. You might want to be careful. That’s not just a picture of your cat anymore.”
Shouta said nothing. He just stared at the photo, taking another sip from his bottle, the liquid burning his throat on the way down.
·𖥸·
On Saturday night, well, Sunday morning, technically, you finally reached Aizawa’s house, lungs burning from jogging over as fast as you could.
As soon as you pushed open the door, Snitch and Poe were there, a furious blur of fur and meows. They greeted you with loud protests, clearly upset you hadn’t fed them dinner yet.
“I know, I know, babies,” you said, heading straight into the kitchen, pulling open the cabinet. “I’m feeding you now.”
As Snitch and Poe eagerly ate, you noticed you had a couple of missed texts from Aizawa.
You
2:32 AM
I’m so sorry, work was so hectic. I didn’t get a chance to feed the cats during my break. I’m at your place now.
Seconds later, his reply popped up.
Aizawa Shouta
2:32 AM
That’s fine. But you should stay there tonight. I don’t want you going back out.
You
2:33 AM
Are you sure?
Aizawa Shouta
2:34 AM
Yes. I’d feel better knowing that you’re safe. And the cats would appreciate the company anyway.
At this point, you were too tired to argue.
You
2:34 AM
Okay, thanks. I can sleep on the couch.
Aizawa Shouta
2:35 AM
No need. Take my bed.
You reread the message three times, as if the words might change if you looked hard enough.
Did he really just tell you to sleep in his bed?
Awkward excitement bubbled up inside you, and suddenly you were no longer tired.
You knew he had a spare bathroom he had told you that you were free to use, but feeling a little bold (and maybe a little stalker-ish), you chose to shower in the master bath connected to his room.
It was astonishingly clean, every surface pristine, nothing out of place. The boy’s dorm bathrooms were literal biohazards (okay and maybe the girl’s, too), and it was just another small reminder that Aizawa had crossed into manhood long ago.
It wasn’t until after you stepped out of the shower, that you realized you hadn’t grabbed an extra towel beforehand.
Did you just… use his towel?
You wrapped his towel around yourself quickly, telling yourself it was nothing, and that the flush on your face was from the steam from the shower and nothing else.
Usually, you kept a spare change of clothes in your work bag. Sometimes you’d shower and change at the gym on campus if you had class or wanted to study at the library afterwards.
Today, you only had an extra pair of jeans for pants, so you’d set those aside and crawled onto his bed wearing only a t-shirt and your underwear.
So there you were. In his bed. On top of his sheets, a little too afraid to get under the covers.
It felt both intimate and oddly thrilling.
Okay, calm down. Just sleep. Lay down under the covers and don’t make a scene.
But inside, you were buzzing.
The cats wasted no time in joining you. They both circled you like they owned the space, which, of course, they did.
Snitch padded over first, brushing against your leg as she pressed her head into your hand, demanding pets. Poe wasn’t far behind, leaping up to settle on your lap, purring loudly.
You
2:52 AM
The cats are all over me lol
Aizawa Shouta
2:53 AM
Yeah, they sleep with me. Sorry if they bother you. They usually avoid strangers.
You
2:53 AM
No bother at all. I told you I love cats, remember?
You snapped a quick photo. Poe curled up in your lap, Snitch beside you, both cats purring softly against your skin and sent it off with a smile.
Wait.
Bare thighs. Bare feet. No pants.
You had been dangerously close to sending a photo that included your underwear, something you’d only just realized after the message was already out there, completely not unsendable.
A frantic wave of embarrassment crashed over you as your mind raced.
Your phone buzzed almost instantly.
Aizawa Shouta
2:54 AM
🤔
Aw, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
You were just about to start typing back, I SWEAR I’m not naked in your bed, when your phone buzzed again.
Aizawa Shouta
2:54 AM
cute.
You blinked at the screen, before a goofy, uncontrollable smile spread across your face.
There was no pretending anymore. Your crush was officially, undeniably, totally out of control.
You didn’t want to go to sleep. You wanted to text him all night.
Was that wrong?
The texts about the cats, those felt safe. Innocent, even. Telling you that you didn’t have to sleep on the couch was just a common courtesy, wasn’t it?
And that “cute.” reply? He wasn’t calling you cute. He was calling his cats cute.
But if you kept texting now, chasing the warmth his words stirred in you, you knew it would be something else entirely.
Your body thrummed with a need you couldn't ignore.
You wanted to masturbate.
You wanted to masturbate in your professor’s bed while texting him.
You stole a glance at his pillows, wondering if they too held his scent.
No, stop. This was wildly inappropriate.
But… one more text couldn’t hurt, right?
What should you say to him?
Your fingers flew over the keyboard before your brain could catch up.
You hit send, heart already pounding.
Aizawa Shouta
2:54 AM
cute.
You
2:59 AM
Me? Or the cats?
Immediately, your stomach flipped.
Oh god, what did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?
You tossed your phone onto the bed and buried your face in the pillow. Poe leapt off your lap with a disgruntled meow, but you were too anxious to care.
That was so inappropriate. What were you thinking???
Your phone buzzed once. Then a second time.
He responded. You were in so much trouble.
You cracked one eye open and glanced at the screen.
Aizawa Shouta
3:00 AM
Both.
Aizawa Shouta
3:00 AM
Obviously.
Oh my god.
Did he just—? No way.
Both? Both?!
You forced yourself to take a deep breath, but your cheeks flamed hot, fingers trembling as you stared at the screen.
God, you were so screwed.
But… why was this so exciting? Why was your heart flipping and fluttering?
A warm, unmistakable sensation radiated outward from your core like spilled honey. Curiosity compelled you to reach down, and when your fingertips brushed against the thin cotton of your underwear, you found the fabric already clinging to your skin, darkened and slick with evidence of your arousal.
You
3:01 AM
Oh, obviously, huh?
Aizawa Shouta
3:01 AM
Next time, maybe give me a little plausible deniability before calling me out.
This was happening.
He was flirting with you. Real, actual flirting.
You kicked your legs beneath the covers like the lovesick teenager you were.
You
3:02 AM
What exactly are you trying to deny, Professor?
Without thinking, your fingers curled around the edge of one of his pillows, tugging it down between your thighs as you rolled onto your stomach.
Aizawa Shouta
3:03 AM
Careful. If you keep this up, I might forget which one of us is supposed to have the self-control.
Aizawa Shouta
3:03 AM
Now go to sleep before you get me in real trouble.
What? No! You didn’t want to go to sleep. You two were just getting started!
You
3:03 AM
No! Please? 🥺 I’m not ready to sleep yet!
Aizawa Shouta
3:04 AM
It’s bedtime, you little brat. Lights out and no more texting.
You
3:04 AM
Awwww, you’re no fun 💔
The way he was talking to you was making you act more like a brat, you thought.
Aizawa Shouta
3:05 AM
Fun’s overrated. Goodnight.
Boooo.
Okay, he was probably right.
You two shouldn’t be pushing it.
But you had wanted to—oh, how badly you had wanted to.
You rearranged the pillows back behind your back and slipped under the covers. Your fingers fumbled for your phone to set the alarm for the next morning, then you finally rested at your side.
But as sleep finally began to pull you under, with the gentle purring of the cats beside you, your eyes snapped open.
The next time you’d see Professor Aizawa would be Monday morning, front row of your freshman intro class, as his student.
This wasn’t just some silly crush you could flirt with the next time you saw him.
Oh no. What had you just gotten yourself into?
Chapter 8: Don't push it, kid
Summary:
“You were taken advantage of,” he interrupted, voice calm but firm. “By someone in a position of power over you, almost twice your age.”
“No!” You yelled, your eyes stinging as tears welled up. “That’s not what happened.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
You arrived early to class like always.
The lecture hall was mostly empty, a few students were scattered among the rows, and you slipped into your usual seat near the front.
Sunday night you had barely slept. You’d tossed and turned until morning, replaying every moment from Saturday in your head.
Nothing bad had happened, right? Just… a little flirting.
It was harmless. Friendly. He probably hadn’t even meant anything by it.
No reason to feel awkward now. No reason to even acknowledge it.
Students began trickling in, the low murmur of voices growing alongside the shuffle of footsteps and the metallic creak of seat hinges.
“Yo!” Denki dropped into the seat behind you, his backpack hitting the floor with a dull thud. “Did you do the reading? Be honest.”
Kirishima slid into the seat beside him, tugging off his hoodie before raking his fingers through his messy red hair. “Yeah, seriously. What was it even about?”
You glanced over your shoulder, grateful for the interruption. “I always do the reading. You guys are hopeless.”
“Do you always have to sit this close?” Denki gestured toward the empty rows behind you. “We’re right in the danger zone for getting cold-called.”
You flipped open your notebook. “Sitting up front keeps me focused.”
Denki slumped forward until his forehead rested on the desk. “Focused on what? Trying not to pass out when Professor Aizawa makes eye contact?”
You let out a short laugh, but your chest tightened. Honestly, the thought of meeting his eyes now was enough to send your heart skittering.
“Guys seriously, what was the reading about?” Kirishima asked again, leaning in. “Y’know, in case he calls on us.”
“The role of media in public policy,” you said. You were beginning to think these two only talked to you because you were the only one who did the assigned readings beforehand. “It was about how certain issues get national attention and then lawmakers act like it’s their number-one priority.”
“Okay, okay, but what kind of questions is he gonna hit us with? I need to mentally prepare.” Denki tapped his pen against his notebook.
“I don’t know,” you said. “I can’t read his mind.”
Denki pouted. “Aren’t you his TA, though? Shouldn’t you know?”
“Not for this class,” you said. “A different one.”
Kirishima was about to say something else when the door swung open. Aizawa stepped inside, a stack of papers in hand, hair pulled back into a low bun, and—holy hell—he was clean-shaven. You’d never seen him without stubble before.
“Pop quiz on the reading. Starting now,” he announced, already moving down the aisle to pass them out.
A chorus of groans rippled through the lecture hall.
Denki’s was the loudest. He threw his hands up dramatically. “Noooo, seriously?!”
You watched Aizawa close the distance between you. When he reached your row, you braced yourself, but he simply slid a stack of papers into your hands without a word, then pivoted back toward the podium.
“You have fifteen minutes to complete the quiz,” he said, voice flat as he set a timer on his phone.
Oh. Okay.
You handed the papers back to Kirishima, who passed them to Denki.
Glancing down, you noticed it was surprisingly short, just two questions. Barely a quiz at all. Anyone who had even skimmed the reading could do it.
- Explain how media coverage influences which issues become priorities for lawmakers.
You chewed on the end of your pen for a second, then started writing.
An issue becomes a national priority when media coverage brings it to public attention, which pressures lawmakers to act. For example, extensive reporting on the opioid crisis exposed its widespread impact, prompting Congress to enact legislation focused on prevention and treatment.
The next one came faster.
- Describe one way that media can shape public opinion about a policy issue.
The media can shape public opinion by framing an issue in a certain light. During climate change debates, some shows put scientists front and center to raise concern. Others gave the same airtime to skeptics, fostering doubt and impeding policy advancement.
Within minutes, you finished and looked up.
You were the only one already done.
Everyone else remained hunched over their quizzes, brows furrowed as they scribbled furiously.
Glancing sideways, you caught Aizawa’s gaze. He was now leaning back in his chair, feet casually propped on the desk in the corner of the room. With a subtle, almost lazy flick of his hand, he signaled for you to come forward.
Sliding out of your seat, you made your way to the front of the room.
Every step felt heavy, and you felt his eyes tracking your movement like a predator’s.
When you reached his desk, his hand extended, palm open. You handed over the paper.
He gave a small nod before turning back to his stack of papers, effectively dismissing you.
You hurried back to your seat, your heart still thumping loudly enough to drown out the scratching pens and pencils around you.
God, you’re pathetic, you thought, silently scolding yourself.
Sitting back down, you pulled out your phone and began scrolling aimlessly, killing time while the others finished.
Every so often, your eyes flicked up to Aizawa, who was on his own phone, completely unbothered.
Suddenly, his eyes locked onto yours. He raised an eyebrow, almost knowing. Your cheeks flamed, and you dropped your eyes back to your screen, caught red-handed.
You could text him, you thought. Right now.
Your phone buzzed in your hand.
Aizawa Shouta
9:12 AM
Don’t even think about it.
You froze. Busted.
You looked back up at Aizawa, but his eyes never left his phone.
You
9:13 AM
I wasn’t going to try anything 😇
Aizawa Shouta
9:13 AM
Sure you weren’t.
When Aizawa finally looked up from his phone it was to call out, “Five more minutes, everyone.”
Behind you, Denki groaned dramatically, like he was about to collapse from the stress.
You turned to him with a little sympathy. You knew how timed tests rattled him, and you knew they made his dyslexia harder to deal with.
You offered a small, encouraging smile. “It’s alright, Denks. It’s only two questions. Can’t be worth that many points.”
“Front row. No talking during the quiz. One word, and it’s a zero.”
Your head snapped toward Aizawa. 'Seriously?' you mouthed at him.
You pulled out your phone beneath the desk and started typing.
You
9:15 AM
Mean. I was just trying to be nice 😔
Aizawa Shouta
9:15 AM
Be nice silently. Talking during a quiz is cheating.
You
9:16 AM
You think I’d cheat?
Aizawa Shouta
9:16 AM
Not you, specifically. But the rule applies to everyone.
Then, after a pause, a new message popped up, its tone unexpectedly serious.
Aizawa Shouta
9:17 AM
Speaking of rules, meet me in my office after class. We need to talk.
Your heart lurched.
Were you in trouble? Had the texting been too much?
You stared at the screen as the words fully sank in: We need to talk.
The most terrifying sentence in any relationship. Or situationship.
Your anxiety swallowed every detail of the rest of the class.
Normally, you’d be keyed in, ready to answer when the usual awkward silence followed one of Aizawa’s questions. But today, none of it registered.
Your thoughts looped over every text you’d sent that weekend, replaying your responses with growing dread.
At one point, the silence in the room stretched so long, Aizawa did in fact cold call Denki when no one else volunteered.
Like a deer frozen in headlights, Denki launched into a rambling, half-formed answer that made it obvious he hadn’t even glanced at the material.
Normally, you would’ve winced or maybe even offered a follow up answer. But today, you didn’t even care. Your mind was miles away.
The end of class finally rolled around.
You packed up slowly, your movements stiff with nerves.
Since you were both headed the same way, you figured you might as well walk with Aizawa to his office.
Kirishima and Denki bolted the moment the class was dismissed, like most of the others, relieved to escape the tense atmosphere that always clung to Aizawa’s lectures on Monday mornings, when no one bothered to do the assigned readings over the weekend.
Especially today's class. Usually, you acted as a buffer, the one who jumped in with answers to spare your classmates from the full weight of Aizawa’s scrutiny.
You slung your bag over your shoulder and hovered at your desk.
Aizawa lifted two fingers, beckoning you forward.
Your steps were slow, and you couldn’t read his expression.
You flinched despite yourself when he spoke. “You’re not in trouble,” Aizawa said.
“I’m not?” you asked as your fingers nervously tugged at the straps of your backpack.
“No,” he said. “I just wanted to speak with you privately. That’s all.”
Your lips parted, unsure how to respond.
“Come on,” Aizawa sighed through his nose, shifting his tablet under one arm. “We’ll talk in my office.”
You fell into step beside him, heart still thudding in your chest.
Casually, as if discussing the weather, he asked, “Did Poe and Snitch give you any trouble?”
“Oh, no!” you assured. “They were actually really sweet.”
“That’s suspicious,” he said. “Snitch usually hates everyone.”
“She slept on my stomach,” you said. “I was kind of honored.”
“She was probably trying to assert dominance.”
“No way! We snuggled! I think we’re friends now.”
After a few more steps, you cleared your throat. “So… how was the rest of the conference?”
“Boring,” Aizawa sighed. “Too many people. And no coffee strong enough to save it.”
You bit back a grin. “Sounds like a nightmare for you.”
“It was.”
Trying to lighten the mood, you asked, “Did you learn anything there that might make you a better professor?”
He snorted. “No.”
“But… then what was the point of the conference?” you asked.
“It was the National Symposium on Inclusive Criminal Justice Education,” Aizawa said. “Lots of workshops about diversity, equity, new teaching models, making the curriculum ‘more accessible’—all that academic social justice theater.”
You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Isn’t that… supposed to be inspiring?”
“If by inspiring, you mean a lot of talking without actually saying anything, then yeah, it was inspiring.”
Your brow furrowed. “Are you not a fan of accessible curriculum?”
Aizawa’s mouth twisted. “It’s not that I’m against accessibility. But these conferences? They’re mostly focused on optics and looking good rather than actually helping students.”
“Case in point—you.” He shot you a sidelong glance. “The university would’ve let you drop out quietly, yet they’ll blow thousands flying us to some out-of-state conference that’s nothing but a waste of everyone’s time. That’s what pisses me off. Honestly, it's crap like this that makes me rethink if I even want to keep doing this.”
You were startled by his bluntness, it was the first time you’d heard him speak so plainly, but before you could respond, he stopped in front of his office door.
He pushed the door open and gestured for you to enter. “After you.”
You stepped inside, and he followed, choosing not to take his seat. Instead, he leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossing in a way that seemed less defensive than deliberate.
You looked up at him, uncertain.
Up close, you could see the deep exhaustion etched into the lines beneath his eyes and the slight slump of his shoulders.
“What happened over the weekend,” Aizawa started. “Those texts—I let the conversation drift into a place it shouldn’t have. That’s on me.”
Your breath hitched. No. No, no, no.
You wanted to protest, but no sound came out.
“You’re eighteen. You’re my student. It’s my responsibility to set the boundary. I didn’t. That’s my failure.”
The admission struck harder than you were ready for, knocking the air from your lungs.
‘Don’t say that. Don’t take it back. I liked it. I wanted it. I thought you did too. Don’t make this a mistake.’
But the words caught in your throat, stuck somewhere between your heart and your tongue.
He continued, “It was… a lapse in judgment. One I won’t repeat.”
On the surface, Aizawa looked calm and composed, his usual guarded self.
“If you feel it’s necessary to report me,” he said. “I’ll understand. You have every right.”
Your eyes widened in shock. “What? No, I—”
Before you could finish, he raised a hand, not dismissive, but gentle. “I’m not saying that to scare you,” he said. “I’m saying it so you know I’m not above consequences. If someone reported this, I could lose my job.”
“And look,” Aizawa added, voice rougher with sincerity, “I’m not just talking about losing a paycheck. None of that matters if you felt uncomfortable or taken advantage of. That’s what matters most to me, that you don’t walk away from this thinking you have to protect me. You don’t.”
Your heart pounded, not from fear, but from the aching weight of rejection.
You weren’t sure you could say anything at all. Because all you could think was: But I wanted you to text me.
Your silence seemed expected. Aizawa nodded slowly, as if he’d rehearsed this moment. “You don’t have to say anything. Nothing will change in class. I won’t hold it against you.”
He paused, the briefest hesitation. “If you’d rather not TA for me anymore… I’ll understand.”
Your head snapped up, urgency flooding your voice. “Wait!”
You scrambled for words, heart tight in your throat. “I don’t want that. I want to keep TA’ing for you. I don’t want things to just… go back to normal like nothing happened. I… you like me, too, don’t you?”
Aizawa’s eyes briefly closed, and he exhaled through his nose, the tension tightening around his jaw.
“I hear you,” he said, low and serious. “But you need to hear me, too.”
“You’re young. You’re still figuring things out. I remember what that feels like. And I would never forgive myself if I let something happen that left you confused or hurt.”
“I’m not that young,” you said, your voice trembling with defiance. “And I’m not stupid.”
“I know you’re not.” Aizawa’s expression shifted, a little more tired, a little pained. “That’s not what I meant. But there’s a difference between eighteen and thirty-two. A big one. And even if we were the same age, you’re still my student.”
“I—I know I’m your student,” you said. “And I knew it was bad idea… but I liked talking to you like that. I didn’t feel uncomfortable. I felt—”
“You were taken advantage of,” he interrupted, voice calm but firm. “By someone in a position of power over you, almost twice your age.”
“No!” You yelled, your eyes stinging as tears welled up. “That’s not what happened.”
Aizawa’s tone softened, but his resolve didn’t waver. “I’m not trying to shame you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But,” he went on, “I don’t think we should text anymore. Or have one-on-one meetings. If you want to keep being my TA, meetings have to be in public spaces, and we stick to university communication only.”
You stayed rooted to the spot, every muscle taut.
“God,” you whispered, voice thick. “You’re horrible.”
Aizawa looked down, finally breaking eye contact. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
Then the tears came, real ones. Not just the sharp sting behind your eyes, but the flood you couldn’t hold back, hot and sudden and overwhelming.
You turned your head slightly, biting the inside of your cheek, desperate to stop the tears from falling. But it was useless.
You were crying right here in front of him, again, and it was disappointing and humiliating.
The kind of crushing awful that made your shoulders tremble and left you feeling small, exposed, and unbearably alone.
You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, as if you could somehow hold the pain inside.
Then, unexpectedly, arms were around you.
Aizawa pulled you close, his chest warm against your cheek. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other settled firmly between your shoulder blades.
Your fingers clenched the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline, pressing your face into him as the sobs came harder, heavier.
He didn’t say a word or pull away.
His hand rose slowly, fingers threading gently through your hair.
You mumbled into his chest, voice barely audible through the tears. “You’ll never have to see me again. I’m going to drop out.”
Aizawa’s fingers tightened in your hair. “You’re upset. You don’t mean that.”
“Yes I do!” you snapped. “What’s even the point? I don’t belong here. I’m drowning. All I do is work, and I’m so—” your voice cracked, “—so tired. I thought this place was supposed to be the one place where I mattered, where I could be something.”
Your chest heaved, tears spilling freely. “You were my favorite professor! And now? Now you don’t want me either. I don’t care anymore. I’m dropping out. I’m serious.”
“I’ll just end up back at that trailer where my dad drinks himself to sleep. That’s all I’m good for anyway.”
“It’s almost funny, isn’t it?” you laughed, smiling big and wide and broken through the tears streaking your face. “He always said I was a whore, just like my mother. In the end, I guess he was right.”
You pulled away suddenly, hands fumbling as if his touched burned. Wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, your breath shuddered. You had said too much. “I should go.”
“Stop.”
Aizawa reached out and caught your arms—not harsh, but firm enough that you couldn’t pull away. His tone sharpened to a razor’s edge. “Don’t you. Ever. Call yourself that again.”
Your gaze drifted past his shoulder, glassy and distant, but he wasn’t finished.
“You will not talk about yourself that way. Do you understand me?” he demanded.
You stayed silent.
Aizawa’s grip tightened just a fraction. “Look at me.”
Slowly, your eyes met his.
“I said. Do you understand me?” he repeated, eyes blazing.
“Yes, sir.” The words slipped out before you could stop them.
“Are you going to call yourself that again? Call yourself a whore?”
You shook your head, voice barely a whisper. “No, sir.”
Aizawa exhaled, releasing some of the tension in his hands but not letting go.
“Good girl.” Then, his arms closed around you, stronger this time, protective and sure.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
He pressed a gentle kiss to your hair. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. None of this is your fault.” Then, “And I can’t possibly be your favorite professor. I know you’ve got Yagi. And I know he bribes students with donuts during his office hours.”
You let out a watery laugh. “Professor Toshinori?” you asked. “You get an A just for showing up to his class. That’s why everyone likes him. You don’t actually learn anything.”
“Figures,” Aizawa muttered, reaching up to run his fingers through your hair again.
You bit your lip, heart pounding. “You’re my favorite professor because you actually teach. I’m paying thousands of dollars for a class. I should at least learn something from someone who’s serious about their work.”
“…Thank you,” he said.
Aizawa studied your face, expression mellowing. “I never meant to hurt you by suggesting we put space between us. I still believe it’s the right thing to do.”
But even as he spoke, his hands slid to your waist, thumbs brushing along your hip bones.
“I don’t want space between us,” you argued. “Would it really be so bad if we… just let it happen?”
His fingers flexed lightly against your waist, betraying the tension within him.
“…It would be reckless,” Aizawa said. “Unprofessional. Unethical.”
“But…?” you prompted, sensing there was more he wasn’t saying.
His eyes darkened for a moment. “But you make following the rules a lot harder than it should be.”
Relief fluttered in your chest, and a shy smile curved your lips.
Before you could respond, his gaze sharpened and his tone clipped. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. There are rules.”
Your heart sank again.
“I’m not saying no,” Aizawa clarified. “Just that this isn’t simple.”
His voice was firm but caring. “This can’t become a distraction from why you’re here. Your education always comes first.”
You nodded eagerly, desperate to show you understood.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, serious and unwavering. “I’ll be watching you closely. If I think you’re losing focus in class, it’s over. No second chances.”
You swallowed hard, a rush of nerves and excitement twisting in your stomach.
“Understood, Professor,” you said cheekily.
“Behave,” he warned.
You grinned, feeling bold. “I know you’re being noble and all, but isn’t this every man’s fantasy? To bend a schoolgirl over his des—”
He cut you off, “When we’re together in class or outside in any official capacity, we’re just professor and TA. No special treatment. No slipping up.”
You tilted your head, smiling sweetly. “And in your office?”
“Don’t push it, kid.”
“This isn’t a game,” Aizawa said. “There’s a line, and you need to respect it. Got it?”
“Sorry,” you said, mollified.
He let out a sigh. “I’m not going to rush this. We’re going to take it slow. For your sake.”
You bristled immediately, crossing your arms defensively. “You don’t have to slow down just for me. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. Don’t treat me like I need protecting.”
Aizawa raised an eyebrow, challenging you. “Oh really? So you’re all grown up, huh? And how many men have you been with?”
“W-what?” you stuttered in shock. “I—That’s none of your business!”
He didn’t back down. “Don’t get defensive on me now. I’m just trying to see how ‘grown up’ you really are.”
“I…" Your throat tightened, the truth heavy on your tongue. "None. I haven’t been with anyone. I’m… a virgin.”
For a brief moment, his expression softened. “See,” he said, “that’s why we take it slow.”
Your chest constricted, and though you wanted to be angry, a sudden surge of vulnerability broke through.
Tears welled in the corners of your eyes, betraying you despite your best efforts to stay strong. The emotional strain of the day made them come easily again.
“Okay, I get it,” you said. “I haven’t been with anyone, but that doesn’t mean I need to be treated like a child. You don’t have to make fun of me.”
“Hey.” Aizawa lifted his hand to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away an errant tear. “This isn’t about making fun of you. You deserve respect. That’s all. I don’t think you’re a child. Not in the slightest.”
“I just don’t want you to see me as a little girl,” you said. “I want you to see me as someone you could actually want.”
His thumb lingered on your cheek and his gaze drifted down to your lips.
“Don’t mistake caution for lack of want,” Aizawa said. “If I let myself, I’d have you right now.”
Your eyes searched his, wide and burning with something you couldn’t quite name.
With a slow sigh, like he’d just weighed the consequences in his mind, Aizawa shook his head. “Alright. Get to your next class before you’re late.”
You were caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. “Oh. Okay.”
He stepped back, releasing the space between you.
You grabbed your backpack but paused at the door, turning back for one last glance.
“I’ll be at my place tonight,” Aizawa said, leaning on his desk, still watching you. “If you want to come by…”
A shy, hopeful smile tugged at your lips. “Really?” you asked.
He nodded once. “If you want. No pressure.”
“Yes, okay… I’d like that.”
You gave him one last shy smile before slipping quietly out, the door closing softly behind you.
Notes:
not meant to be yagi slander, he’s a good professor too!
Chapter Text
You stood at the edge of your bed, staring down at the piles of clothes you’d been cycling through for the past half hour. Nothing felt right.
You didn’t want to look like you’d tried too hard—Aizawa would definitely notice if you did—but you also didn’t want to look like you hadn’t tried at all.
The dorm room door banged open, and Mina swept in. She spotted the mess immediately.
“Fashion emergency?” she asked, grinning.
“Something like that,” you said, nudging a sweater out of the way with your foot.
Her eyes lit up, full of exaggerated suspicion. “Ooooh, is this a date? It's totally is a date, right? I’ve never actually seen you put thought into an outfit before.”
You gave her a flat look. “Gee, thanks.”
Mina bounced over to her closet. “Well, if you’re trying to impress a guy, I can totally let you borrow something of mine.”
She flung the door open with a dramatic sweep, digging through a rainbow of fabrics before yanking out the skimpiest crop top you’d ever seen. It barely qualified as clothing.
“Ta-da!” she said. “This one screams confidence. What do you think?”
You tried to picture Aizawa’s expression if you showed up to his place practically in a bikini. “Thanks, Mina, but… that’s not really my style.”
“I know,” she said breezily, “you dress like a homeless person half the time.”
“Oh, Mina, that’s not—”
“Ooh!” she gasped, pulling out a soft pastel sundress. “What about this?”
You took it from her, feeling the lightweight fabric slip through your fingers.
It was simple, a floral print with a fitted waist that flared just enough to feel playful without being too much. It was cute but not flashy.
You didn’t usually wear dresses, your closet was more hoodies and worn-out jeans than anything else, but as you held the sundress up to your frame in the mirror, a question stirred in your mind: What would it feel like to wear something like this for a man? To wear something soft and pretty, to catch the eye of someone you wanted to impress.
“Try it on!” Mina urged.
You shucked off your jeans and T-shirt in front of her, slipping the sundress over your head. The fabric slid over your skin like cool water. It fell just above your knees and settled against your waist in a way that made you straighten unconsciously.
“It’s so cute!” Mina squealed, clapping her hands.
You turned back to the mirror—and stopped.
For a moment, you didn’t see an overworked college student who lived off of granola bars and four hours of sleep. You saw someone feminine. Soft. Young.
“It actually fits you better than me,” Mina said, tilting her head in annoyance. “I never got around to getting it tailored. Guess you’re just blessed with factory-sized boobs.”
Truth was, you’d never really been that aware of trying to show off your cleavage, or the size of your breasts, period. Between sports bras, hoodies, and burying yourself in work, there’d never been much reason to think about it.
But now… the dress hugged you in all the right places, the curve of your breasts filling out the bodice. You did a slow spin in front of the mirror, watching the fabric shift, and well, Mina might actually be onto something.
“Hey, can I do your hair?” she asked, already eyeing you like you were a makeover project.
“Oh no, Mina.” You shook your head quickly. “The dress is enough, really.”
“Just a soft curl!” she said. “You’ll look sooooo cute. He’ll definitely want to bang you.”
You nearly choked. “Mina, I don’t—I don’t think he’s gonna bang me.”
Her eyes went comically wide. “What!? Why not? Don’t you want to him to bang you?”
“Um… I mean… I guess? But—”
“Then let me do your hair, please?” Mina clasped her hands under her chin. “It’s always up in that stupid ponytail.”
“Yeah, for work—” You started but then you sighed, defeated. “Oh, fine.”
“Yesss!” Mina clapped. “And a little bit of makeup, too! You’ll be all dolled up.”
You glanced at the mirror again, dread settling in your stomach.
What did you just agree to?
·𖥸·
You stood at Aizawa’s doorstep and pulled out your phone, sending him a message before you could talk yourself out of it.
You
6:47 PM
I’m here 😊
Mina’s handiwork had your hair falling in loose, glossy waves that framed your face and a faint shimmer catching on your eyelids when the porch light hit.
You’d never been one for making yourself “pretty” on purpose. But tonight, you actually felt pretty.
Mina had been less thrilled about your shoe choice, but you’d refused to swap out your sneakers for heels. Pretty or not, you weren’t about to break an ankle on the bus ride over.
The door swung open, and there he was—Aizawa, barefoot in a black t-shirt that clung to his shoulders and loose grey sweatpants.
Your gaze snagged on the defined curve of his biceps, and a thought burst unbidden into your mind: Since when was he this ripped?? You could practically make out the faint lines of his abs beneath the snug fabric of his t-shirt.
He must’ve been hiding muscles like that all along underneath those dress shirts and jackets.
You tried to keep your eyes on his face. Don’t look down. Don’t look down.
Panic flared when you caught the outline at the front of his pants which you were absolutely not going to acknowledge.
Forcing your attention upward again, you found Aizawa watching you, his gaze sweeping from head to toe in a slow, measured pass. Heat prickled along your neck.
“Cute dress,” he said at last, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. “Suits you.”
“Thanks,” you murmured, suddenly shy.
His smirk deepened as he stepped aside, holding the door open wider. “Come in.”
The moment you stepped inside, a soft meow welcomed you. Snitch appeared, weaving between your legs and rubbing against you.
“Hi baby,” you said with a smile, crouching down to scratch behind her ears as she purred loudly
“She only acts like this with Hizashi. How’d you pull that off?” Aizawa asked.
“Um, maybe it’s because I slept in your bed?” you asked.
Aizawa just hummed in response and headed to the kitchen.
You followed, still feeling warm from his earlier compliment. He grabbed a mug and began making coffee for himself.
“You want something?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Coffee’s good for me too,” you said.
“Young people like you shouldn’t need as much caffeine as I do.”
“You also count as young people,” you said. “Just because you’re always tired doesn’t mean you’re old.”
Without turning, he said, “Sit down, you brat.”
You hopped onto one of the barstools near him.
Aizawa leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, assessing you like always.
“So, you’re not dropping out, right?” he asked. “You’re sticking with school?”
Your cheeks flushed. “I’m not dropping out… I was just frustrated earlier. I’m sorry. For what I said.”
His eyes narrowed just a bit. “Hm. Maybe I should punish you for that.”
Your pulse quickened. “Punish me?” you asked.
He tilted his head ever so slightly. “I have a few ideas.”
Beep-beep.
The coffee maker’s cheerful ring cut through the moment.
Aizawa straightened, unfazed, and turned back to the counter, pouring two mugs of coffee as if nothing had happened.
You stayed seated, eyes wide, his words replaying in your mind while you watched him stay cool and utterly composed.
Punish you? How exactly would Aizawa punish you?
He handed you the mug without a word. This one featured a grumpy tabby giving you the finger. You took it and brought it slowly to your lips. The coffee was strong and bitter, just the way Aizawa liked it.
“You mentioned your father,” he said. “Tell me about him.”
Your body stiffened, fingers tightening around the mug. “Uh… he’s not… a good man. Never was.”
You lifted your eyes to meet his. His expression held nothing—no judgment, no pity—just a quiet patience that made it easier to speak.
“He drank all the time. Started in the morning, and only stopped once he passed out. Most days, he forgot I even existed. Other days, he remembered just enough to get angry. And when he was angry… it was always my fault.”
A shaky breath escaped you. “So when I said I’d go back there,” you said. “I didn’t mean it like it’s my plan. But he’s just… always there, waiting. If I fail here, that’s where I’ll end up. Back in that trailer.”
“You won’t fail here,” Aizawa said.
You stared down into your coffee, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thanks… but you don’t know that.”
“I’ve been teaching for six years,” he said evenly. “I’ve seen hundreds of students walk through my door. You’re the best I’ve had.”
He didn’t rush, letting his words settle before he added, “And I don’t say that lightly. The school was right to offer you that scholarship. You belong here. No matter what you tell yourself.”
“I just—” Your voice caught, faltering. “I don’t know. I—I don’t fit in with anyone here. I’m just so tired of feeling like I don’t belong.”
Aizawa stepped in closer, his presence filling the space between you. Standing over you while you perched on the barstool, he reached out and smoothed down a loose strand of your hair, fingers lingering for a moment as they toyed gently with one of your curls. "The school has resources. Hizashi’s a student counselor. If you want, I can set up an appointment for you.”
You reached up to wipe your eyes, smudging the glitter onto your fingers. “So… you invited me over just to set me up with a school counselor?”
“No,” he said. “But think about it, alright?”
“Sure, Dad. What’s next, bedtime stories?”
“Only if you promise to behave. Which you’ve been pretty terrible at so far.”
“Oh great, now you’re starting to sound like my real dad,” you teased, half-joking but with an edge. “What was that about punishment? Should I be worried you’re gonna beat me with a belt like he did?”
Aizawa’s eyes darkened just a fraction. “If I used a belt, it’d be for something else entirely. But I’m not above other methods to keep you in line.”
Your pulse thudded and you fought to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was spinning.
Aizawa caught the flicker of unease in your eyes and softened immediately. “Relax.” He lifted one hand, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly at the base of your neck.
He only held his thumb there for a moment and when he began to pull his hand away, you caught his wrist lightly. “Don’t stop… that felt good.”
Aizawa's fingers returned and moved in slow, careful circles, coaxing away some tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding. “Jesus, you’re wound tight.”
A small laugh slipped from you. “Well, I’m stressed all the time. I hold it in my shoulders, I think.”
“Want me to help with that?” he asked.
“What—like, now?”
Instead of answering, Aizawa stepped behind you. Warm, steady hands settled over your shoulders, the heat of his palms bleeding through the thin fabric of your dress.
His thumbs pressed in just enough to make your muscles protest.
You flinched. “Ow—not so hard.”
He stilled, a faint crease forming between his brows. “That wasn’t even hard. You’re this sore from nothing?”
His touch softened, his fingers easing into a slower rhythm. “Better?” he asked.
You nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah.”
Aizawa shifted his stance, one hand gliding from your shoulder down to the center of your back. “I’ve felt concrete with more give than this. Do you ever relax?”
“No,” you said. “I told you. I hate my life. I hate school.” There was no heat in the words, just a tired truth.
“I know it’s rough, kid. But you’ve got to find some time to calm down, or you’re going to burn out,” Aizawa said.
You scoffed. “I’ll calm down when I’m dead, probably.”
Aizawa’s hands stilled abruptly. “I have to ask…” he began cautiously.
You cut him off. “I’m not going to kill myself.”
“Good.” His hands resumed massaging up your spine. “Because if you were, I’d have a mountain of paperwork to deal with.”
“Oh?” you asked. “And how much paperwork do you think you’d have to fill out if a professor got caught messing around with a student?”
Aizawa’s hand slid from your back, moving around to the front of your neck. His fingers curled lightly around your throat, enough to squeeze but not hurt. “Brat,” he said, shaking you slightly.
You giggled and Aizawa’s hands slid back to your shoulders.
After a while, you shifted uncomfortably. “Uh… that’s kind of hurting,” you admitted.
He didn’t ease up. Instead, he pressed a bit more firmly. “You’ve got lactic acid built up in your muscles,” he said. “I’m going to keep going—it’ll help loosen you up faster.”
You let out a small, helpless whine, shoulders twitching.
“Stiff… all the way from your neck down to your tailbone,” Aizawa said, tracing down your spine. Then, without warning, his hands drifted lower, thumbs sweeping just beneath your butt.
You jumped slightly.
He squeezed, palming some of your ass before easing his grip back up.
“That’ll only make me more tense, you know,” you said. “If you keep copping a feel like that.”
“So dramatic. I barely touched you,” Aizawa said, thumbs digging into your hips. “You saying you want me to stop?”
You tried to laugh it off, but it came out breathy and uneven. “I—I’m not—” you stumbled over your words.
He softened instantly. “Hey, it’s alright. I’m just messing with you.”
“No, I know,” you said quickly, spinning around on the barstool to face him. “I just… I don’t know…”
Aizawa’s lips curved into a rare, teasing smile. “I think I like seeing you flustered.”
You shot him a look—half pout, half glare. “You’re always so mean to me.”
“Mean?” he asked. “This is me being nice. You haven’t seen me mean.”
“Yes I have,” you argued. “Remember that horrible, awful, threatening email you sent me because I missed two assignments? You were so mean.”
“Still holding a grudge, huh?”
Crossing your arms, you tried to look stern but you were sure you failed.
“Alright, alright.” Aizawa slid onto the barstool next to you and turned yours to face him. “I’m sorry for how I treated you that week. I didn’t mean to make things worse when you were already having a hard time.”
“Honestly… I cried when I read that email,” you said.
He reached out and took your hand in his. “Sometimes I forget what it’s like on your end, I’m sorry,” he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "It's been a while since I've been a student."
You smiled softly. “I can’t even imagine you as a student.”
“I was a bad influence back then,” Aizawa said.
You nudged him with your elbow. “So, basically the same as you are now?”
He chuckled low. “Maybe. I had a bad smoking habit I couldn’t kick. Took me years.”
You tilted your head, curious. “Cigarettes?”
“Weed.”
You laughed. “Okay, never mind. I can totally picture you as the campus stoner.”
He wrinkled his nose but shot you a pointed look. “Don’t follow my example.”
Without breaking eye contact, Aizawa reached out and pulled your stool closer until you were sitting right between his thighs. You wobbled slightly, your hands gripping the stool’s edge for balance.
“Even if we’d both been students back then,” he said, his hand sliding to your thigh, fingers tracing just beneath the hem of your dress. “I’d still feel like I was corrupting you.”
You watched, wide-eyed as he pushed the fabric up an inch. “Corrupting me, huh…”
He gave a small, knowing smile. “I could get used to seeing you like this.”
“You’re only saying that because you can sneak your hands under my dress,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.
His grin deepened. “Maybe… but it’s not just an excuse. You really do look cute.”
“Careful what you wish for,” you said. “What if I showed up to class dressed like this?”
“In a room full of teenage boys who don’t know what to do with their hands or their mouths?” Aizawa scoffed. “Don’t expect me to save you when they start tripping over themselves.”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. I don’t get that kind of attention in class.”
He arched a brow. “Oh? Then why do Denki and Kirishima always sit right by you? Pure coincidence?”
“They just want me to fill them in on what’s going on,” you said. “You know as well as I do that they never read.”
“Boys that age aren’t exactly subtle,” he said. “They’re there for a reason.”
Your gaze flicked down to his hands resting lightly on your thighs. “Well, you’re not exactly a master of subtlety yourself.”
Aizawa’s hands inched a little higher. “This isn’t subtle?”
You swallowed hard, your heart pounding loud in your chest. He gave your thighs a gentle squeeze before lowering his hands to rest casually on your knees.
“Have you eaten yet?” he asked calmly, as if his hands had never wandered.
“No… I came straight here after classes,” you said, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. He kept doing this to you and it was giving you whiplash.
Aizawa let out a soft sigh and rose from his spot, moving to the fridge with purpose.
“Be honest,” he said without looking at you, rifling through the shelves. “When was the last time you had a real, home-cooked meal?”
You rubbed the back of your neck. “Uh… middle school, maybe? A friend’s mom used to make Sunday dinners. That’s about the closest I ever got.”
You watched him start to pull out ingredients from the fridge.
“Oh—wait, you don’t have to do that for me,” you said quickly, pushing yourself up from the stool. “Seriously, I’m fine. I didn’t mean for you to—”
“Sit down.”
You sank back onto the barstool.
“You’re here. You’re hungry. And so am I,” he said, setting a pan on the stove. “Let me feed you.”
He cracked an egg with one hand, the motion effortless like he’d done it a thousand times before.
“…That’s really kind of you. Thank you,” you said.
“I figure one hot meal can make up for a nasty email,” Aizawa said.
“I guess that’s a fair trade.”
When the plate landed on the counter before you, you took a tentative bite.
It was, without question, the best meal you’d had in a long time.
Notes:
the slow burn ends here, next time you and Aizawa meet, it’s going to be 🌶️!
Chapter 10: ...Fuck
Chapter Text
“So, Shouta recommended you see me?” Yamada smiled warmly, the corners of his green eyes crinkling just slightly.
You shifted uneasily in your seat. “Yeah… I guess.”
Yamada’s smile mellowed into something gentler. “Sounds like you might not be entirely sold on this, huh?”
“I’m just not sure if counseling is really for me," you said.
“That’s fair,” he replied, tone free of any judgment. “If it doesn’t feel right, you’re under no obligation to keep coming back. I won’t take it personally. I’m just here to help, if you feel like you’re struggling.”
You crossed your arms, instinctively putting up a wall. “I get straight A’s in all my classes. I’ve never gotten in trouble with the university. I’m not sure what there is for you to help with,” you said, sharper than you’d intended. “You can’t pay my tuition for me.”
“You’re right," Yamada agreed kindly. "Shouta mentioned that finances have been a source of stress for you, and that you’ve been working an off-campus job to cover expenses. That’s a lot, alongside a full course schedule.”
“My scholarship only covers tuition,” you said. “Not groceries, textbooks, phone bills, or when my laptop breaks. Not housing over the summer when the dorms close and I have nowhere else to go. The financial aid office said a part-time job is the best option if I need help with the rest.”
You weren’t sure if your tone sounded bitter, but it probably did.
“So you’re working off-campus and assisting as a TA here at school?” Yamada asked.
“Professor Aizawa let me TA because I needed the money,” you said. “There was some mistake with my paperwork and the office accidentally over-awarded me funds, then realized the error and asked for it back. It was stupid... When the extra money hit, I should’ve known something was off. But I didn’t. I used it to cover summer housing. And when they wanted it back, I didn’t have it.”
Yamada shook his head gently. “You’re not stupid. When extra money appears, especially with real needs to cover, it’s natural to feel relief. Securing summer housing ahead of time was a smart move.”
“No, I should’ve checked the amount against my award letter,” you said, upset with yourself all over again. “Should’ve matched it to the deposits in my account.”
“The mistake was on the university’s end, not yours,” Yamada said. “It’s behind you now. There’s no use in dwelling on what could have been done differently. Your tuition is taken care of, and your summer housing is secured. Those are all positives.”
“Yeah, but… you were just telling me off because I have a full course load and two jobs, weren’t you? I can’t help it,” you said, defensiveness creeping in.
“No, not at all," Yamada said. "I’m sorry if it felt like I was scolding you. That’s never my intention. I’m here to understand your situation, not to judge it.”
“Whether it’s ideal or not,” he said, “carrying a full course load and two jobs is a heavy burden for anyone. As a student counselor, my role is to see how things are going for you and find ways to help ease some of that stress.”
“No offense,” you said, not wanting to sound rude but doubtful nonetheless. “I don’t really see what a student counselor can do.”
“Well, one thing I can do is advocate for you,” he said. “Reach out to your professors and explain your situation if needed, if that’s something you’d be comfortable with. Sometimes students find it easier when I speak on their behalf. There’s usually less pushback that way.”
Yamada leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Shouta told me he made the mistake of scolding you about missed assignments without knowing the full story. He feels pretty bad about that, by the way. I know he comes off as a grump—okay, he is a grump—but he genuinely cares about his students. More than he lets on.”
Yamada probably didn’t realize just how much Aizawa cared about you.
Clearing your throat, you said, “Professor Aizawa already apologized to me.”
“Oh? He did?” Yamada asked, surprised.
He had apologized to you with a home-cooked meal in his living room, the two of you curled up together on the couch, watching some old detective show. With Poe and Snitch shamelessly trying to sneak bites off your plate, and you both fending them off.
“Well, that’s good to hear,” Yamada said. “I hope there are no hard feelings.”
“No,” you said, smiling at the memory. “Professor Aizawa’s been really kind to me.”
“You do realize you might be the first student in school history to call Shouta ‘nice,’ right?” Yamada laughed, eyeing you skeptically. “You sure we’re talking about the same guy?”
You felt your cheeks warm. “I mean, yeah, he’s nice. More than nice, actually. He worries about me—like, making sure I get home safely from my job, checking if I’m actually eating. Stuff like that.”
Yamada tilted his head, his smile tightening. “Hmm. And how exactly has TA’ing been going?”
You brightened, eager to defend him. “It’s been great! We work around my schedule, so it’s not stressful at all. Honestly, it’s probably the easiest part of my week. I actually look forward to spending time in his office. Plus, Aizawa makes the best coffee.”
When Yamada’s expression shifted, you caught the change. “Is… that a problem?” you asked cautiously.
He quickly recovered, another smile spreading across his face. “No! Not at all. I mean—hey, it’s good to have someone in your corner, right? That kind of support can really make a difference.”
Then he eagerly added, “And hey, if you’re ever looking for more resources—like, I don’t know, peer support groups—let me know. I could even connect you with a female mentor, if that’d feel more comfortable. Someone closer to your age, maybe?” The tone felt slightly off, overly enthusiastic, too specific.
“Um… I don’t think I need a mentor or anything like that,” you said, but then you thought about it some more. “Though… maybe talking to a senior could be helpful? I don’t know. If you have someone in mind.”
“That’s a good place to start,” Yamada said with a reassuring smile. “I know a senior who’s been through a lot herself and would love to help a freshman navigate all this. Her name is Nejire Hado. I think she could be a really good resource for you.”
“If you want, I can set up a meeting,” he said. “No pressure, just someone to talk to.”
You nodded slowly, feeling cautious. “Okay… yeah, that could be good.”
Maybe talking to someone who’s been through the same thing would help. Someone at the school who actually understands.
“Thanks,” you said quietly.
“I’ll contact her and have her reach out to you soon,” Yamada promised. “And, if you ever need anything else, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me.”
“Okay. Thank you,” you replied, standing up and gathering your things.
·𖥸·
“Shouta. We need to talk. Now.”
Shouta looked up from the paperwork scattered across his desk. Without a word, he nodded toward the chair opposite him, inviting Hizashi to sit.
Hizashi slumped into the seat, running a hand through his hair. “Look, Shouta,” he began carefully, “you know I’m not one to jump to conclusions…”
“But you’re about to jump to one, aren’t you?”
Hizashi’s frown deepened, lips pressing into a thin line. Shouta reached for his coffee, taking a sip, eyes never leaving Hizashi’s face.
“Are you fucking your TA?”
Shouta nearly choked, coffee spraying across his desk. He hacked violently as he leveled a glare at Hizashi. “Jesus Christ, Hizashi, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” Hizashi threw his hands up, exasperated. “I haven’t seen you act like this around a woman in years. Years! And she’s a student, for God’s sake!”
Shouta exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Nothing’s happened, alright? You know me better than that.”
Hizashi’s expression grew serious. “I do know you, Shouta. That’s exactly why I’m worried.”
Shouta’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re accusing me of preying on underage students?”
Hizashi held up his hands quickly, trying to diffuse the tension. “No, no! Not at all. I’d never think something like that about you. But, come on. You don’t get close to anyone. You’ve always said your office isn’t a daycare—your words, not mine. And now you’re spending all this time with a student… even letting her into your house?”
“She told you I had her over?” Shouta asked.
Hizashi’s eyes widened. “I’m talking about the cat sitting, Shouta! Was there… another time? Please tell me there wasn’t another time.”
Shouta sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Shouta, what's going on?”
Shouta rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I don’t know, Hizashi.”
“That’s it?” Hizashi asked. “That’s all you have to say?”
“Well, what do you want me to say?” Shouta’s jaw clenched, guilt flickering behind his tired eyes. “I know it’s wrong. I know how it looks. I’ve been trying, Hizashi. Really trying to keep my distance. We haven’t slept together. Hell, we haven’t even kissed. What else do you want from me?”
Hizashi held his gaze for a long moment.
“You say it hasn’t crossed a line yet. Fine,” he said. “But it’s right there, Shouta. And this could end really badly, for both of you.”
Shouta looked away, fist clenched. “You think I don’t know that? I’m not some idiot chasing after a student, Hizashi.”
“Shouta… you’re my best friend,” Hizashi said, the edge draining from his voice. “One of the best people I know.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I know you’d never intentionally take advantage of anyone. That’s just not who you are. But I worry, about you, about what this could become if it slips out of your control.”
“It’s nothing. Not really…” Shouta started.
“But…?” Hizashi shifted closer, the concern clear. “I’m sensing a but here, Shouta.”
“But I can’t lie and pretend I don’t feel something.” Shouta paused, letting his confession hang in the air. “I’m not asking for your approval. I just need you to understand.”
“I’m a student counselor, Shouta,” Hizashi said, shoulders sagging.
“I know.”
“Then what happens if you pursue a relationship with her and she regrets it? Reports you?”
Shouta’s jaw flexed. “She wouldn’t do that.”
“You know that for sure?” Hizashi asked, searching his friend’s face. “You’re willing to bet your career on it?”
“You’ve met her,” Shouta said. “You really think she’s the type to make a false accusation?”
Hizashi looked down, almost like he didn’t want to answer. “I don’t know, Shouta. I really don’t.”
“Does this make you think less of me?” Shouta asked quietly.
“No, Shouta. Never. I want you to be happy. I want you to find love. I just…” Hizashi exhaled slowly, searching for the right words. “…a student isn’t where you’re going to find it.”
“And I trust your judgment,” he continued. “I know you. I know you’re a good person… and I believe you’ll make the right call when it matters.” The last part carried an unspoken ‘and don’t prove me wrong.’
Shouta’s mouth pulled into a faint grimace, somewhere between gratitude and discomfort. “…Thanks, Hizashi.”
Hizashi rose from the chair, reaching out to give Shouta’s shoulder a firm squeeze and one last pointed look before he headed for the door.
Shouta sat there after Hizashi had left, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. His jaw tightened.
…Fuck.
Chapter 11: Enlighten Me
Summary:
“You act like I’m gonna bite,” Aizawa said, a crooked smile on his lips.
Nervous, you asked, “Are you?”
He hummed low in his throat.
Then his hand rose, gently grabbing your chin. His thumb ghosted over your lower lip, like he was testing the softness. Your lips parted just slightly under the pressure of his thumb.
“Not unless you ask real nice."
Notes:
The wait is over my friends, finally some action 🎉
Chapter Text
You stood behind the bar counter, wiping down the worn wood.
Across the room, Touya flipped the last chair onto its table, tossed his rag over his shoulder, and sauntered over to you.
He leaned against the bar, grinning as he jerked his chin toward the end where Aizawa sat. “He waitin’ out the clock for you again?”
You kept wiping. “Yeah. He’s taking me home.”
His grin widened. “You got yourself a boyfriend now? I’m proud of you.”
You shot him a warning look. “Shut up, Touya.”
You weren’t in the mood for his games today.
Touya leaned in, his smirk fading into something that almost looked serious. “Yo, real talk for a sec.”
You gave him a wary glance. “...What?”
“You cramp up mid-straddle, and it’s game over. Trust me.”
Your brow furrowed. “Wait—what—?”
“I hope you’ve been doing your squats, girl,” he said. “Glutes tight, core engaged. ’Cause once the backshots hit, it’s over for your lower spine. You’ll never walk straight again. Gotta train for that shit.”
Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again, but nothing came out.
Touya took one look at your expression and broke—bending at the waist, clutching his stomach as loud laughter spilled out of him. “Oh my god—your face—”
“You’re such an asshole!” you said, swatting at him with the rag in your hand.
“What? You want me to pretend I don’t care?” Touya asked, hand over his heart. “You think I could sleep at night knowing you got yourself scoliosis?”
You slammed the rag onto the counter with a wet smack. “Get. OUT.”
“Love youuuuu,” he sang, retreating through the back door before you could throw something at him.
You stood there, heat crawling up your neck—half from embarrassment, half from sheer irritation.
The room felt too quiet without Touya’s voice filling it, and that’s when you heard Aizawa get up.
“Ready?” His voice was mercifully neutral, though you swore there was the faintest shadow of amusement on his face.
You cleared your throat, willing the blush to drain from yours. “Yep.”
You grabbed your coat, shoving your arms through the sleeves a little harder than necessary, determined not to think about a single thing Touya had just said.
Outside, the night air was crisp and clean, and your breath puffed white in the yellow glow of the street lamps.
“Sorry about that,” you muttered, as Aizawa dug into his pocket for the keys.
He didn’t glance your way. “Should I be worried you’re not doing your squats?”
Your head snapped toward him. “Aizawa!”
With a ghost of a smirk, he tugged open the passenger door for you. You slid in quickly, wishing the seat could just swallow you whole.
Aizawa rounded the car and slid behind the wheel.
“Touya’s a dumbass,” you grumbled, buckling your seatbelt. “A filthy, unfiltered, sewer-brained dumbass.”
“Should I be lowering my expectations for how this ride ends?” Aizawa asked, starting the engine.
You groaned, sinking lower in your seat until your knees bumped the dash. “You’re actually worse than Touya.”
He pulled out of his parking spot without comment.
Streetlights blinked across his face in fleeting gold stripes, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
But you thought, if Aizawa could push boundaries, then maybe you could too.
You shifted slightly toward him, watching the quiet concentration in his profile. “So… you just going to drop me off and call it a night, then?” you asked.
Aizawa’s gaze flicked your way for half a second. “Aren’t you tired after your shift?” he asked.
Your pulse jumped. That wasn’t a rejection.
“I mean, I am tired,” you said slowly, “but… not that tired.”
The faintest curve pulled at his mouth. “Well, the responsible thing to do would be to get some rest.”
“…And the irresponsible thing?” you asked.
Without warning, Aizawa cut the wheel into a sudden U-turn, the tires squeaking against the asphalt.
You yelped, clutching the door handle. “Ahhh—what are you doing?!”
His face remained maddeningly calm, one hand loose but steady on the wheel. “Answering your question.”
“My question?” You were still gripping the handle like your life depended on it.
“Don’t look so scared,” Aizawa said, amused. “Ever been to the Observatory Hill?”
“No, I haven’t. I don’t really get out much,” you said. “Isn’t the observatory closed this late at night?”
“It is,” he said. “But the hill behind it overlooks the city.”
You turned your head, studying him, trying to read his tone. “What, are we going over there to make out in your car or something?”
He didn’t even blink. “You have to do this at least once in your college career.”
Oh my god. Was he serious? Was he joking?
Your pulse climbed another notch as you stared out the passenger window, buildings and trees rushing past.
You hadn’t even kissed him yet—
And now you were apparently on your way to the most infamous make-out spot in the city.
Streetlights faded behind you as Aizawa turned off the main road, the harsh glare giving way to the silvery wash of moonlight.
The further you drove, the quieter it became. You passed old wooden fences, their paint chipped and faded, and darkened trail markers barely visible in the dim light.
“If you’re about to murder me,” you said. “Could you at least make it quick and painless?”
“Lucky for you,” Aizawa replied smoothly. “I’m more interested in keeping you alive.”
The road curved once more, then opened up, the trees suddenly parting like a curtain.
The tires crunched against gravel as he pulled forward and eased the car to a stop.
Below you, the city stretched out like a glittering sea.
Countless lights scattered across the valley, flickering like fallen stars caught in the darkness, interrupted only by the steady, blinking red eye of a distant radio tower.
You glanced sideways at Aizawa, then back out over the view.
“It’s beautiful,” you said.
Aizawa reached forward and killed the engine, the sudden quiet making the moment feel even more intimate.
“Yeah,” he said, leaning back into his seat with a small, reminiscent smile. “Back in college, this was my spot to come smoke.”
“Wow,” you laughed. “How romantic.”
“You joke,” Aizawa said, completely deadpan, “but sex while high is the most romantic shit ever.”
You choked on absolutely nothing. “Oh.”
A beat of silence stretched between you, and before you could stop yourself, the question slipped out. “Do you… miss it?”
“Miss what?”
You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “Having sex high.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Relax. I didn’t bring any weed.”
Your eyes went wide. “That’s not—! I didn’t mean—oh my god.”
“Look,” Aizawa said, voice calm but firm, “if you ever decide to have sex—especially the first time—be sober.”
You groaned, sinking lower into the seat. “I hate you.”
“Not because I’m some stick-in-the-mud,” Aizawa said over your continued groaning as you realized he wasn’t done yet. “If you’re high, you might not be able to say no to something you don’t want, or even realize it until it’s too late. You don’t have the experience yet to know how it should feel, what’s okay and what isn’t.”
“Okay, Dad,” you said, exasperated. “Lecture received loud and clear.”
“What’s your obsession with calling me ‘Dad’?” he asked. “You trying to tell me something?”
You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “You’re the one who treats me like a kid.”
“Kid? Nah. Just inexperienced,” Aizawa said softly. “If anyone’s gonna touch you like that, it should be someone who actually gives a damn about doing it right.”
“Oh my god-uh,” you groaned again.
He chuckled. “See? I haven’t even done anything, and you’re already making noises like that.”
You let out a strangled sound. “Please stop talking. I knew I was out of my league, but I didn’t realize it’d be this bad.”
“Hey. Don’t say that.” Aizawa shifted, sliding his seat all the way back with deliberate ease, then patted his lap once, slow and sure. “Come here.”
“What—” You didn’t move, but every part of you sharpened, acutely aware of the space between you and the way he looked at you: patient, inviting, with a hint of amusement.
“I—I can’t,” you stammered. “I’m all gross from work. I haven’t showered yet.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” His hand patted his lap once more. “Now come here.”
Tentatively, you slid a hand over the center console, gripping it for support. With a shaky breath, you shifted, lifting yourself up and climbing over the gap between the seats.
Your legs wrapped around him as you settled into his lap, every nerve alive and electric. Your hands trembled as they came to rest on his shoulders.
It was terrifying and thrilling all at once, the new territory you were stepping into. Your eyes searched his face, looking for reassurance.
“You act like I’m gonna bite,” Aizawa said, a crooked smile on his lips.
Nervous, you asked, “Are you?”
He hummed low in his throat.
Then his hand rose, gently grabbing your chin. His thumb ghosted over your lower lip, like he was testing the softness. Your lips parted just slightly under the pressure of his thumb.
“Not unless you ask real nice,” he said.
Your fingers curled slightly against his shoulders, clinging.
You were hyper-aware of your appearance, the stiff fabric of your work uniform, the faint trace of grease and alcohol lingering on your sleeves.
“I’m still in my work clothes,” you said, glancing down at the rumpled white button-up. “I can’t possibly be sexy like this.”
“Why are you so hung up on that?” Aizawa tsked. “You really think polyester’s gonna scare me off?”
You opened your mouth to answer, but his hand was already moving.
In one smooth motion, he slid his fingers to the top of your shirt and popped open the first button.
Then the second.
And then the third.
Just enough to part the fabric and reveal the dip of your collarbones and the soft swell of your cleavage. His knuckles brushed lightly against your skin as he did it, the faintest edge of your bra now exposed.
“That better?” he asked, eyes trailing down the newly exposed skin.
You blinked, stunned.
His hand didn’t stray. It lingered near the edge of the fabric. “Tell me again how you’re not sexy.”
You shivered. And not from the cold.
Your body hummed with the weight of his attention, until—
Oh god. You were wearing that ancient, stretched-out bra. Bras weren’t something you replenished often. Your underwear was usually the last thing you spent money on because no one ever saw it.
“Wait—I—hang on,” you said, heat flooding your face for an entirely new reason.
Suddenly, your thoughts slipped back years, to middle school, the one and only sleepover you’d attended, in a neighborhood where you knew you didn’t belong.
You remembered the other girls lined up in front of the mirror, giggling and posing in delicate lingerie, snapping pictures to send to boys. You’d stood off to the side, clutching the hem of your oversized shirt, wearing your old, ratty sports bra.
You knew it was wrong, but you also knew you couldn’t join in. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you weren’t allowed to. You just sat there and watched.
One of the girls glanced your way, whispering loud enough for you to hear, “I don’t even want to let her borrow one of mine. She’d probably get dirt all over it.”
You squeezed your eyes shut in front of Aizawa, swallowing the rush of shame all over again.
He felt the tension shoot through you and pulled his hand away from your chest, lifting it instead to catch your jaw.
Aizawa’s thumb brushed along your cheek until you opened your eyes back up to look at him.
“You say stop, I stop,” he said. “No questions asked.”
When you didn’t say anything, he prompted, “Okay?”
You bit your lip, and then Aizawa slowly pulled his hand back, straightening in his seat.
“Alright,” he said quietly, voice firm but not unkind. “We’re stopping.”
That got you your voice. “Wait! No!”
“I don’t want to stop,” you said, small. “I just—I feel stupid. I’m in my work uniform, and—”
“I don’t give a damn what you’re wearing,” Aizawa interjected, exasperated.
But you kept going, “And I’m not even in a nice bra. It’s old and it’s gross, and I didn’t think this would happen tonight, I wasn’t trying to be—”
With a short breath through his nose, Aizawa brought his hand back to your shirt and calmly, purposefully popped open another button.
“What are you—”
Another button.
Then another.
“Aizawa—!”
He pushed the fabric open off your shoulders, baring the offending bra beneath. “There. Now I’ve seen it.”
You couldn’t even speak.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to care?” he asked. “Because I’m telling you right now—I don’t.”
To your absolute horror, your throat gave a tiny hitch.
“Shit,” you whispered, slapping a hand over your mouth as your eyes went wide. Wet. Stinging.
You twisted away slightly, like maybe if you didn’t look at him, he wouldn’t see.
Too late.
“I’m not—” you forced out. “I just—it’s been a long day and I—God, this is so stupid.”
Aizawa’s hands were on you again.
He tugged your shirt sleeves down your arms, peeled the whole thing off.
The bra clasp behind your back snapped free in a single motion.
He yanked the bra down your arms and tossed it into the back seat without a glance. “I’ll burn the stupid thing the second I get home. Happy?” he asked flatly.
A laugh burst out of you, startled and watery.
Aizawa’s hands slid up, palming your bare breasts, and you gasped loudly as his fingers kneaded the soft skin.
Then he pinched your nipple sharply, and you couldn’t help your startled squeak. “Ow!”
You watched it respond, hardening under his touch, more pronounced than you’d ever seen it before.
“You don’t even realize how good you look like this,” he said.
Your fingers twitched, wanting to reach for him but hesitating. “You’re just being nice.”
He leaned in closer, eyes dark and locked on yours. “I’m not nice.”
“Yes you are,” you said. “You just pretend you’re not.”
Aizawa tilted his head, gaze dropping briefly to your chest, where the cool air had already drawn your nipples taut, one red from his pinching. “Then I guess I’ll have to be meaner.”
He dipped his head, mouth closing around one nipple. You gasped, back arching at the sudden heat.
His tongue flicked, then he bit, enough to sting.
You jolted with a sharp gasp. “Ah—ow!”
Your hand flew up, catching his shoulder.
“Just a little bite but you’re so sensitive,” Aizawa said as you pushed him back.
“Well, no one’s ever… done that to me before…”
Curious, he asked, “Have you even had your first kiss?”
Your whole body stiffened.
“Yes,” you snapped, too fast. “Of course I have.”
“Good,” he said simply.
And then he kissed you. Hard.
Your protest died in your throat, swallowed by the sudden crush of his mouth on yours.
Hot and certain, his tongue licked into your mouth. The groan that rumbled low in his chest vibrated through you as he pulled you closer.
Your fingers clutched at his shirt, your whole body drawn tight with adrenaline. You felt everything at once, the way your lips parted helplessly under his, the way his kiss burned. It was nothing like the awkward, forgettable ones you’d had before.
Aizawa broke the kiss just enough to speak against your lips, breath ragged, his palm cupping your breast, possessive. “There’s no one else I want touching you like this.”
You nodded shakily against his lips, and he kissed you again.
His kiss was all teeth and tongue, hungry and unrelenting.
You whimpered softly, your head spinning.
You hadn’t known it was possible to feel so completely devoured.
His hand found yours, guiding your fingers downwards, until your palm met the hard press of his arousal beneath the denim of his jeans.
You instinctively pulled your hand back, uncertain.
But he was quick, catching your retreating fingers and drawing them back toward him.
Conflicting emotions surged within you, excitement sparking like electricity, but fear also curling tight in your stomach.
He released your hand, leaving your palm hovering over his pants. Aizawa’s hips rolled slowly upward, grinding against your hesitant touch as his mouth found yours again.
Your fingers trembled against him, frozen in place.
"I don't—" you glanced down at where your hand rested. "I've never..."
You looked back up, searching his face.
His pupils were blown wide, a thin ring of dark gray around bottomless black.
"Just touch me," he said, voice like gravel. "However you want."
You pulled back slightly, teeth worrying your bottom lip.
Aizawa reached up, his calloused thumb grazing the crease between your eyebrows, then trailing down to free your lip from your teeth. “You don’t have to figure anything out right now. Just be here, with me. There’s no right or wrong.”
“Yes, there is!” you protested.
“Oh?” He asked, a bemused expression on his face. “Enlighten me then.”
Frustration simmered beneath your skin. “If I mess up… you’re not gonna like it…” you trailed off.
Aizawa laughed, a low rumble in his throat. “Trust me, men aren’t that complicated. There’s really nothing to mess up,” he said.
With an affectionate sigh, he buried his stubbled face into your chest, inhaling deeply. His head rubbed back and forth over your soft skin, and you felt the coarse scratch of his beard against you.
Aizawa’s groan vibrated through your sternum, and his mouth left damp patches that cooled in the air as he worked his way up, kissing at the curve where your breast met your chest, the hollow of your collarbone, the pulse point at your neck.
By the time he reached your mouth again, his chest heaved against yours.
"You make it real hard to take things slow, you know that?" he asked
You'd never seen anyone look at you the way he did, like he was memorizing you, like you were something precious, and rare.
"...Sorry," you whispered.
"Sorry?" One corner of his mouth lifted. "For being irresistible?" His lips brushed your ear, warm breath making you shiver. "Bit late for that."
His teeth caught your earlobe, and another squeak escaped you. You swatted weakly at his shoulder but that did nothing to push him away.
Aizawa finally drew back, letting his palms drag slowly down your sides, tracing the curve of your ribs before exhaling and letting his hands fall away.
“Alright,” he said. “It’s getting late. We should get you home.”
“What? No! Already?”
“Weekends aren’t an excuse to wear yourself down,” Aizawa said, his fingertips brushing lightly over your ribs. “Get some sleep. Your brain will thank you.”
You wrinkled your nose and shifted closer, resting your weight against him. “Do we really have to stop already? I don’t wannaaa…”
He gave you an unimpressed look, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting something.
“Enough with the puppy eyes,” he said, reaching past you for the ignition. “It’s bedtime.”
You nuzzled your face into his neck. “Just a little longer?” you asked.
Your hand slid down to his, grabbing it and guiding it slowly back up to press against your breast again, anchoring him there. “Please?”
You felt his jaw tightened beneath your cheek.
“I don’t want to go back to the dorms anyway,” you said. “It’s Saturday night. Everyone’ll be loud and drunk, and I won’t get any sleep.”
Aizawa’s hand twitched on top of your breast, heat blooming under his palm.
“You that eager to wake up in my bed?” he asked, voice rough.
You buried your face deeper into his shoulder. “I know you’re joking.”
“Am I?” His breath was close to your ear.
You pulled back to meet his gaze, eyes narrowing, challenging him. “Would you actually bring me home with you?”
His tone darkened, but beneath it, a gentleness lingered. “Only if you’re serious about it.”
Your heart beat with a dull, heavy thud, each pulse rolling through your veins like warm honey.
There was something safe about Aizawa that made the idea of crossing this line feel less frightening than it should.
You wanted to trust him with this part of yourself, to let him take care of you. “Take me with you then.”
Chapter 12: Delicate little thing
Notes:
✨ This fic from here on out is now officially rated Explicit ✨
Chapter Text
You sat curled up in the center of Aizawa’s bed, knees pulled tight against your chest, wrapped in a clean spare T-shirt and sweatpants that kept slipping down your hips with every small movement.
Through the open bathroom door, you caught glimpses of Aizawa in his mirror, brushing his teeth, his hair tied back loosely.
A soft thump at your feet drew your attention, then another.
Two familiar shadows leapt onto the bed.
Poe flopped over dramatically onto his side, tail flicking. Snitch, sleek and smug, began kneading the fabric of your borrowed sweatpants, purring loudly like a tiny engine.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t consumed by stress or worry. You were simply okay.
And you’d never felt more certain that this was exactly where you were meant to be.
The bathroom light clicked off, and in the darkened doorway, Aizawa appeared. His padded footsteps were the only sound as he crossed the room.
You shifted slightly as the mattress dipped beneath his weight. He said nothing at first, just pulled back the blanket and slid in beside you.
Snitch hopped down with an indignant huff, clearly displeased at being displaced. Poe, still curled at your feet, twitched his ears in quiet acceptance.
Aizawa settled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, his eyes slowly roaming over you in the dim light from his bedroom lamp.
Small and curled up in his clothes, you shyly peeked down at him from beneath your lashes, your chin resting atop your knees.
He reached out slowly, his hand sliding beneath the blanket to rest on your shin. His thumb traced down the curve of your calf, then drifted back up again, an absentminded rhythm that soothed without demanding attention.
You pressed your smile into your knees.
“You tired?” he asked conversationally.
You studied his face, searching for what he wasn’t saying out loud.
His hand inched higher on your leg, just above your knee, never breaking eye contact.
You tucked your chin a little deeper. “No,” you said. “Why? Did you have something else in mind?”
The mattress shifted as he moved closer, his body radiating heat beneath the covers.
His thumb brushed against your inner thigh. “Have you ever been touched like this before?” Aizawa asked.
"I… No,” you admitted. "…Not like this."
“Alright," he said, his palm sliding higher over the fabric, right in between your legs, hovering just shy of where you ached for his touch.
The warmth of his hand seeped through the layers.
"Do you ever touch yourself?" Aizawa's voice dropped lower. "Do you know what you like?"
You ducked your head, unable to meet his eyes. The tips of your ears burned hot.
"I... I mean, I do... sometimes." Your fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt. "Not really with my hands, though."
"You use a vibrator, then?" His palm pressed gently against the thin fabric between your thighs, fingers curving slightly to match the shape of your mound.
A nervous laugh escaped you. "N-No. I've tried—once or twice. But it just made me feel... numb? I didn't like it."
Aizawa hummed softly. His eyes never left your face. "So what do you do, then?"
You pressed your thighs together beneath his touch. "It's stupid. I don't want to say."
There was a pause and you stubbornly kept your gaze fixed on his shirt.
"Ah,” was all Aizawa said, with quiet certainty.
Your head snapped up, surprise widening your eyes.
"I think I understand," he said. His fingers glided between your folds over the fabric, not pressing, just a slow, reassuring pass that sent warmth curling through you. "There’s nothing stupid about finding what feels good in your own way."
“What are you using? A blanket?” Aizawa asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.
You glared at him. “Don’t you dare.”
“Couch cushion?” he continued. “Stuffed animal? Pillow?”
With a mortified gasp, you shoved at his arm. “Stop!”
His lips curled into a knowing smile. "It’s the pillow, isn’t it?
You stared at him, feeling your cheeks grow hotter by the second, the flush creeping down your neck like a slow burn. How did he even guess that?
You felt an overwhelming urge to shrink into yourself, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from his gaze.
Was it weird? Humping a pillow at night before you went to bed? Childish?
These were questions you had never voiced, not even in the privacy of your own thoughts.
You had always thought maybe you should be doing something “better,” more “normal.” Something that wouldn’t make you feel so exposed if someone found out.
Aizawa squeezed your thigh gently. "Hey, you’re not getting off that easy. You gotta answer if I’m right."
You swatted at his arm again, a little harder this time, your voice rising in protest. "Why? You already know—you said it! You’re just gonna make fun of me…"
"Why would I make fun of you for that?" he asked.
"Because it’s so embarrassing! And it’s not… it’s not—" You hesitated, the word "sexy" lingering on the tip of your tongue, but you instinctively knew Aizawa wouldn't appreciate you saying that again.
"…I know it’s weird," you finally admitted.
Aizawa's voice was soft, carrying a hint of amusement. “What is? Humping a pillow?”
“Yes! That!” you blurted. “That exactly!”
“So what?” he scoffed. “You think I’ve never heard of a girl humping a pillow before?”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself.
“Look, it’s not weird,” Aizawa said. “That’s how a lot of women figure themselves out first. It’s actually pretty common.”
“Oh yeah? And how do you know this?” you challenged.
The truth was, you already knew the answer. Aizawa was older than you. He exuded sexual confidence that made your chest tighten and your stomach twist with a mix of admiration and insecurity.
He had probably been with more women than you had had birthdays.
Women who didn’t resort to getting off by humping a pillow like a desperate teenager.
You tried to push the thought away, the image of him with someone else.
Aizawa laughed, pulling you back to the present. “Is that supposed to be a trick question?” he asked, apparently having followed your wandering thoughts.
"Yes,” you replied, attempting to maintain your composure. “The only right answer is because you’re a gynecologist.”
“A gynecologist,” he repeated under his breath, and you scowled.
"If grinding’s what works for you," Aizawa began, stretching out his long legs and pulling a pillow behind him to prop himself up comfortably, against the headboard.
"Then use me,” he said.
Your stomach clenched.
Use him? Use him?
Your mind raced with the implications.
Like, grind on him? On his thigh? Or his—nope. Abort. Abort.
“I mean it,” he said, his hand resting on his thigh, an invitation as clear as any.
Doubt crept in. You didn’t know what you were doing.
"But—what if I look—"
"Weird?" he interrupted. "You won’t."
Your body leaned forward instinctively, a slight shift that you halted just in time.
Aizawa’s voice dropped. "Come here."
Your eyes met his, wide and uncertain.
"Get on my lap," he instructed. "Now."
There was an edge to his voice that compelled your body to move without thought.
You crawled across the bed and straddled him, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.
"Go ahead." Aizawa's hands found their place on your thighs. "Show me how you like it."
Your fingers twisted in his shirt, knuckles whitening.
You shifted your weight forward—a tiny, halting movement.
Aizawa’s hands remained still, his breathing steady while yours came in shallow bursts.
"I—no. I can't," you whispered. "Do people actually do this?"
"People do this all the time." His fingers dug into your hip, pulling you an inch closer. "I’d prefer to be buried deep inside you when you move like this, but for now, I'll make do.”
A tremor ran through you. "That's... kind of terrifying," you breathed, pupils dilated in the dim light.
Aizawa reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Why're you so nervous, baby?"
You lowered your gaze to where your hands rested against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.
"I wanted you to..." Your shoulders hunched forward. "Can't you just touch me instead? I don't know how to… perform," You gestured vaguely between your bodies.
"This isn't a performance," he said. "This is for you to feel good."
"Yeah, but... can't you just, you know—finger me or something?"
Aizawa laughed, his hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back. "Show me first," he said. "Get yourself close..." His palm pressed on your tailbone, urging you forward in a slow, deliberate motion. “And I’ll reward you. Maybe with something a little more hands-on."
The thought of him touching your naked body had you backtracking a little from nerves.
“Okay fine," you conceded.
Aizawa pulled you toward him, guiding you to rest fully against his chest.
His arms enveloped you without hesitation, and you buried your cheek into the curve of his neck.
God, he smelled so good.
Still holding you with one arm, he reached for the blanket at your side and drew the covers up and over your back, as if he instinctively knew how exposed you felt.
His hands settled over your ass, pulling you even closer, until there wasn’t a sliver of space between you. His hands squeezed once, fingers flexing, keeping you pressed into him.
“You’ve been holding back,” Aizawa said against your ear. “I know I have.”
His hands slid beneath the waistband of your sweatpants.
Your underwear, the only barrier left, might as well have dissolved under his touch. A sound escaped you as your thighs clenched around his.
“I want you to come on me just like this,” he said, and your hips stuttered forward of their own accord, seeking more. “You think you can do that for me?”
The friction sent electricity arcing up your spine.
It was intoxicating. The moment you rolled your hips ever so slightly against his, the heat between your legs flared instantly.
“You like that?” His voice vibrated against your throat, deep and gravelly. “Rubbing your needy little pussy all over me?”
Oh my god. A whimper slipped past your lips before you could catch it.
His abdominal muscles tensed beneath you, you felt it distinctly how each muscle contracted as you moved, reacting to your every shift.
You couldn't believe how effortlessly Aizawa had undone you with only the timbre of his voice.
Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in.
He responded with a groan of his own, his hands steady on your backside, encouraging you to continue. "That's it, pretty girl. Keep moving for me.”
The next roll of your hips came without thought, your thighs quivering around his.
Each shallow breath released as tiny, helpless sounds you couldn't swallow back.
Aizawa’s thumb traced your jawline, tilting your face up until your mouth met his, soft at first, then hungry.
His fingertips slipped beneath the elastic of your underwear, one finger found slick heat, and you gasped against his mouth.
"Feel that?" he asked, his finger circling slowly. "So fucking wet already. Can't wait to fuck you wide open."
His fingertip grazed you—there—and your vision blurred at the edges.
You were dimly aware of the high, broken sound that escaped your lips, but you couldn’t stop it any more than you could stop the violent tremor that seized your body.
You collapsed against him, gasping for air like you've been underwater, your body still pulsing around his fingertip.
"You came that fast?" Aizawa's voice rumbled against your ear. "One touch and you're already shaking."
Your forehead pressed into his collarbone, sweat-dampened hair sticking to your temples.
His middle finger slid through the slickness between your folds.
Then suddenly—pressure—as his finger pushed in down to the knuckle.
The unfamiliar intrusion made your inner muscles clamp down. "Wait—I'm not—"
"It's alright. It's alright. Just breathe." Aizawa's free hand cupped the back of your neck, his thumb stroking your hairline.
"Shit, you're tighter than I expected,” he grunted.
Determined to calm yourself, you focused on slowing your breaths.
Lifting your head slowly, you began, "I’ve… never…”
"I know, baby girl, I know," Aizawa reassured, his eyes softening with understanding. "Does it hurt?"
"It doesn’t really hurt," you replied, shifting slightly. When you were still, his touch was almost imperceptible, but each slight movement pressed in new and unfamiliar ways.
"I didn’t… I didn’t expect to come that hard," you laughed.
"Such a delicate little thing," Aizawa teased. “With how you react to just a touch, no wonder you don’t use those damn vibrators.”
A small, shy smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, half embarrassed but mostly thrilled.
"You've been so good for me,” Aizawa said, scratching your hair at the base of your neck. "Think you can take a second finger?"
Your pulse hammered in your throat. The first hadn't been so bad, strange but manageable.
"Okay,” you nodded.
His ring finger aligned beside the middle one already inside you, the pad of it pressing against your entrance.
Your body seized, this time with white-hot pain that splintered through you, stealing your breath.
"No—wait!" Your voice cracked. "It hurts!"
His movements stilled but didn't retreat.
Tears sprang to your eyes. "Please, stop—"
When his fingers pulled out, the burning sensation followed, radiating outward.
"Hey, hey—" Aizawa's arms encircled you immediately. "We're stopping. Just breathe."
Your lungs stuttered through each inhale.
"It felt like something was tearing." A hot tear escaped, sliding down your cheek and onto his collarbone.
"You’re okay,” His lips brushed your temple, then your hairline. “This can happen, it's okay.”
You looked up, blinking through the wetness clinging to your lashes. "It can?"
"It’s like stretching a muscle you've never used,” he said. "It just takes time."
You inhaled shakily, your ribs expanding against his. "I'm sorry, I just—"
"Don't apologize." His hand found yours, uncurling your fingers from their tight fist. "I pushed you too hard. I should have been more careful with you."
Your forehead found the hollow of his chest, where his heartbeat steadied your breathing. "No, it's ok. I just… didn't think it'd scare me."
"I know it sounds dumb but..." Your voice dropped to a whisper. "How would something...bigger even...fit?"
You held your breath, preparing for the possibility of him laughing at your question. And when he does laugh, you smack his chest, instantly annoyed.
"That's what foreplay's for,” he explained, catching your hand, his thumb stroking your wrist. "To get you soft... Soaked. Begging to be stretched."
"I'm being serious," you complained.
"So am I." The tip of his nose traced the curve of your cheekbone. "One finger, then two... then three... You're going to learn to take it." His voice dropped an octave. "I'll stretch you open, until you're clenching and dripping all over my hand."
Your thighs clenched involuntarily, and your hips shifted against his before you caught yourself, going still.
“You don’t have to fight it,” Aizawa said, his hand gripping your hip again, nudging you insistently. “Let your body do what it wants.”
You listened, letting the world around you fade away, leaving only the friction beneath you and the steady pressure of his hand guiding your movements.
His solid form pressed hard into yours, grinding back in perfect sync with your movements.
You tilted your head up, seeking his lips, and met them in a fierce, hungry kiss.
You came undone again, your body surrendering more easily this time.
And still, even as the aftershocks rippled through you, the heat didn’t fade.
You lost count of how many times you fell apart against him.
Chapter 13: baby girl
Summary:
Heat rushed to your face. "God, you're such a dirty old man."
"Keep running that mouth." Aizawa's eyes darkened. "I might have to shut it for you."
Notes:
Wow, thank you so much to everyone who commented! It makes me so happy to see notifications in my inbox, and I love to read and respond, I shall make my way through them soon ❤️ As a thank you, here’s some more smut! ~~~ (and, of course, some drama)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The afternoon light sifted weakly through the blinds, casting thin stripes across the living room, and Shouta sat rigid on the couch, fingers curled tightly around his phone, knuckles white.
Shouta Aizawa
2:09 PM
I’m a cradle robber.
The thought felt absurd. Yet he hit send before he could second-guess himself.
Almost immediately, the phone vibrated.
Hizashi Yamada
2:09 PM
SHOUTA WHAT DID YOU DO???
Before he could even brace for what came next, the screen lit up—Hizashi was calling. A sharp exhale escaped him as he swiped to answer.
“Shouta, what the hell did you do?” Hizashi’s voice came through panicked, loud and frantic.
“Relax,” Shouta said, dragging a hand down his face, rubbing at the tension that had settled in his temples. “It’s not what you think.”
Hizashi’s usually bright voice turned deadly serious. “Did you sleep with her?”
“No.” The word was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “No, we didn’t. I wouldn’t—” He cut himself off.
The line crackled with silence. Finally, Hizashi’s voice broke through again, firm. “I thought we already talked about this. She is your student, Shouta.”
“I know,” Shouta said, his own voice tight. “I know exactly how old she is. You think I haven’t been tearing myself apart over it?”
“Then what happened?” Hizashi asked. “If you didn’t sleep with her, then what the hell did you do that’s got you texting me like this?”
Shouta exhaled slowly, turning away from the window. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hold it together.
“I… touched her,” he admitted finally. “Not sex. But… enough.”
“Shouta,” Hizashi breathed, disbelief and horror lacing the single word.
“I know.” His own voice was quiet with bitterness. “Go ahead. Say it. Tell me I’m a piece of shit.”
“You already know what I think,” Hizashi said. “You knew that before you did anything.”
Shouta didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, words caught somewhere between guilt and shame.
“So if you’re going to beat yourself up over it,” Hizashi continued. “Then tell me why. Why does this feel so bad to you if it’s what you chose?”
Shouta sighed. “Because I wanted her. I still want her. That wasn’t a mistake or a lapse in judgment."
“I knew exactly what I was doing. But she’s so young,” Shouta squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching tighter. “She’s… new to everything. Everything.”
His feet traced a restless path back and forth across the carpet as he got up to pace.
“She’s a kid, Hizashi,” Shouta said. “She was so damn sweet, so innocent. She didn’t even know what to ask for. And I liked it. I’ll always know I was the one who took that innocence from her. How fucked is that?” he whispered.
“Don’t forget, you only got this position because Yagi pulled strings for you when you were at your lowest,” Hizashi said, not loud, but cutting. “Imagine what he’d think if he knew what you were doing with one of your students.”
The words landed like a blow, forcing Shouta’s gaze down to the floor. His throat worked, but no answer came.
“Next time you see her, man… that’s it. You gotta end it,” Hizashi said.
Shouta closed his eyes. “She’s alone in this world, Hizashi. You know what that’s like. It’s not something I can just turn my back on.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to sleep with her. You’re lonely, you’re burnt out, and she’s there. She makes you feel something again. But do you actually like her? Or is she just filling a hole you haven’t dealt with in years?”
“Don’t reduce me to that,” Shouta said. “I didn’t go looking for her to fix something in me. She’s kind. She’s smart. She doesn’t ask for anything, but she still deserves everything. And yeah, maybe I’m fucked up, but I’m not using her.”
Hizashi let the silence breathe for a beat before answering, his tone calmer but still edged. “What she deserves is stability and guidance—actual adults in her life who genuinely care about her without any ulterior motives. She doesn’t need a boyfriend, Shouta. She needs support. She needs people who won’t twist the relationship into something confusing or conditional.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t make this out to be something predatory.” Shouta drew in a breath, and when he spoke again, the words were thickened with something close to pain. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to be alone? To have no one? I’ve been there, I know exactly what it means to be left with nothing.”
“I know you do,” Hizashi said softly. “I’m not calling you a predator. I know you care about her. That’s clear. But that guilt you’re feeling? It’s not coming out of nowhere.”
“If I walk away now, I’m just proving her right,” Shouta said. “Proving everything she’s been through, that no one’s really there.”
“Sometimes caring means stepping back,” Hizashi replied. “So you don’t cause more damage. You can’t be her whole world, Shouta.”
“I already offered her the chance to talk with peer support," Hizashi went on. "Someone her own age who is in school, who has had similar life experiences. That’s what she needs right now.”
“Look, Shouta… what other choice do you have? Keep this a secret forever? Hide it, avoid everyone, pretend nothing’s happening? You can’t live like that.”
Shouta remained silent, jaw tight.
“…I think we should tell Nemuri,” Hizashi said.
Shouta groaned, leaning onto the kitchen counter. “She’s gonna have opinions. And she’s not gonna keep them to herself. She’ll probably kill me in my sleep, no doubt.”
“Good,” Hizashi said. “That’s the whole point. You’ll survive it—probably. Now go set it up. Don’t think about it too much, just… do it.”
Shouta muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue further. “Alright.”
“Take care of yourself, Shouta.”
Shouta ended the call, letting the phone clatter onto the counter.
Grabbing his pack of cigarettes, he stepped out onto the back porch.
·𖥸·
Aizawa slid a stapled packet across the desk without lifting his eyes from his coffee. Steam curled around his face, long legs tucked under the desk.
You glanced down at the pages, then back at him. “What is this… a pop quiz during office hours?”
“It’s the midterm,” he said. “You’re taking it.”
“Now?”
He shrugged, as if the timing were obvious. “I finished drafting it last night. Before I finalize the version that goes out to the class, I want you to take it.”
“But I’m just the TA,” you said.
“You’ve been to every single lecture—even the ones I said you could skip. You've read every assigned chapter without me even asking. You do realize I didn’t even expect you to open the readings.” He took a slow sip of coffee, then added, “Honestly… I think you’re just trying to impress me.”
Your eyes went wide. “That’s not—! I just—! I like knowing what I’m talking about,” you stammered.
Aizawa hummed, unconvinced, and slid the packet a little closer. “Gauge if it’s fair. If it’s hell for you, I’ll dial it back. If you breeze through it… I might make it worse.”
Even after Saturday night, after staying overnight at his house curled up with him and his cats in his bed, sitting here in his office this week made you feel like an awkward, pining little girl all over again.
“Fine. But if this destroys my soul, you’re going to make it up to me,” you said, trying to sound confident.
“Mmm. Sure,” Aizawa said, amused. “Let’s see what you can handle.”
His voice was deceptively calm, but your mind betrayed you, dredging up the memory of how he’d sounded whispering filth against your ear.
You held the stack upright and straightened the papers against the desk a little too sharply. “Multiple choice. My favorite.”
Your pen clicked twice, more from nerves than necessity, before you finally hovered over the first question.
You could feel his eyes on you.
Focus.
- Which of the following best describes the core idea behind strain theory?
A. Crime occurs when individuals learn behavior through social interaction.
B. Crime is a result of a lack of capable guardianship.
C. Individuals commit crimes when they cannot achieve culturally approved goals through legitimate means.
D. Criminal behavior stems from personality defects present at birth.
You stared at the question for a moment before circling C. You remembered this one—he had told that story in class: “You tell kids to dress for success and judge them when they can’t. And then you’re surprised when one of them breaks into a store to steal the same shoes everyone else gets praised for wearing.”
You blew out a slow breath. Stop thinking about his voice. But it was impossible; it was there in your head, smooth and low. And then your mind betrayed you, drifting to the memory of how he had looked beneath you, how he had sounded…
You cleared your throat, forcing yourself upright, shoulders back, fingers gripping the pen just a little too tightly.
- Which of the following best summarizes the concept of differential association theory?
A. People commit crimes due to genetic factors.
B. Crime is learned through interactions with others who encourage deviant behavior.
C. Crime occurs when social bonds are weak.
D. Crime is a response to economic strain.
Recalling how Aizawa had once explained it in class, you circled B.
You pushed through the rest of the questions, and every so often, your mind drifted back to Aizawa and the way he watched you.
By the time you reached the last question, your fingers felt tense. You circled the final answer and let out a controlled sigh.
Careful not to knock over your own coffee, you slid the exam across the desk toward him.
Aizawa flipped through the pages quickly, scanning your answers.
“So… how did I do, Professor?” you asked.
He looked up, eyes calm. “The only ones you got wrong were the topics we haven’t covered yet.”
A smile broke across your face.
He tossed the exam back onto the desk. “Alright. I’m satisfied the exam’s doable.”
“Do I get a reward for doing a good job?” you asked.
He quirked an eyebrow. “What kind of reward are you hoping for?”
You leaned in just a fraction, feeling bold. “A kiss sounds fair, don’t you think?”
“You want me to kiss a student in my office?” he asked.
“Well, we could always wait until I’m sitting at my desk in your classroom,” you said.
He rested his chin in his hand, and allowed a reluctant smile to cross his face. “You’re a damn brat, you know that?”
You tilted your head, all fake innocence. “Me?”
Aizawa’s eyes flicked between yours and your mouth. “You gonna behave?”
You paused—just long enough to make him suspicious—then smiled sweetly. “Mmhm. I’ll be good.”
The chair scraped against the floor as he pushed it back. He stood slowly and rounded the desk, and the air between you seemed to hum.
His presence filled the space as he stopped beside your chair. “Stand up.”
You rose without a word.
Before you could ask what he was doing, his hands found your waist, lifting you effortlessly.
Aizawa set you on the desk's edge, and stepped in close, settling between your knees until there was barely a breath of space between you.
One of his hands trailed up your thigh, stopping just beneath the hem of your shirt. “Take this off.”
It wasn’t a question.
You reached for the end of your shirt and the cotton brushed past your face as you lifted it over your head and tossed it aside.
This time, you didn’t shrink away.
The day after you’d spent the night, you’d gone to Mina for bra advice. Her eyes sparkled like she’d been waiting her whole life for that question. The one you wore now was your favorite, black with laced edges, just the right mix of pretty and subtle.
Aizawa's eyes dropped to admire it for a moment. When he looked back up, the fire behind his gaze made your pulse spike.
Then his mouth was on yours.
A startled gasp escaped you as his fingers slipped behind your back, deftly undoing the clasp of your bra.
It slipped down your arms and landed on the floor.
He followed the line of your jaw with his lips, descending down your neck. When he paused at the swell of your breast, his other hand cupped you, thumb brushing over your nipple.
You squirmed on the desk, unable to keep still.
His mouth enveloped you, tongue flicking your nipple lightly, and you drew in your thighs tight together around him. It was a revelation, this newfound sensitivity you hadn’t been fully aware of until now. It zipped down your abdomen straight to your core.
“You’re driving me insane. Do you want to see how much?” Aizawa's mouth teased your nipple. “Tell me I can.”
Your gaze drifted down to where his hand palmed the front of his black jeans. The denim strained against his knuckles as he adjusted himself, the outline visible even beneath the dark fabric.
The zipper looked ready to give under the pressure, teeth straining at the seams.
“What if I told you I've been hard since you walked in here?” he asked.
Heat rushed to your face. “God, you're such a dirty old man.”
“Keep running that mouth.” Aizawa's eyes darkened. “I might have to shut it for you.”
Papers scattered as his arm swept across the desk.
The cool surface pressed against your back as he pinned you down, his weight following yours down.
His arms bracketed your head, the scent of coffee and clean skin enveloping you, and his mouth captured yours again.
Metal clinked softly, his belt buckle, followed by the rasp of his zipper being drawn down.
“Be good for me now,” Aizawa said.
He rose and crossed to the opposite side of the mahogany desk. Curious, you lifted yourself onto your elbow to follow his movement, but his hand pressed you back down before you could get a better look.
Both of Aizawa’s hands slipped under your armpits and he pulled. You squeaked as he brought you to the desk’s edge and pushed your head back.
Your head dangled off the side, sending your hair spilling like a waterfall toward the floor.
The world spun upside down, leaving you just disoriented enough that when your gaze refocused, you found yourself eye-to-eye with the heavy curve of his cock, already freed from the confines of his jeans.
He brushed the tip, smooth and warm, across your cheek before tapping it lightly against your face, once, twice.
You wrinkled your nose at the unexpected sensation but remained in place.
“Open,” Aizawa said.
Your jaw went slack, lips parting.
A faint tang of salt coated your tongue as he eased inside, filling your mouth until your lips stretched taut around him.
You froze, uncertain what to do, how to move.
Aizawa's fingers threaded through your hair, not forcing, just anchoring.
Then he rocked forward with shallow, controlled movements, watching your face.
“Stay still,” you heard him from above. “Let me feel how far you can take it."
Something pulsed against your tongue.
Your tongue flattened as you felt him pressing against the roof of your mouth. When he pushed in slightly deeper, your teeth grazed him.
Another inch and your throat constricted, a small involuntary gag that made your eyes water. You swallowed reflexively, throat tightening around him.
He withdrew, the wet sound obscene in the quiet office. His thumb traced your slick bottom lip, spreading the moisture.
“You good?” he asked. “You can take more, can’t you?”
You blinked away the blur in your vision. “I'm good.”
“Good girl.” His fingers tightened in your hair, almost hurting. “I like that answer.”
He guided himself back between your lips, inching deeper until he nudged the back of your throat.
Your nostrils flared, drawing air in measured pulls while your eyes watered at the corners.
Were you good? Your jaw ached from stretching to accommodate him. The edge of the desk dug into your shoulder blades. Your pulse throbbed in your temples, a dull ache as blood pooled, spreading down your neck as it hung suspended over nothing.
But then, Aizawa’s groan was deep enough to feel, and he was gone from you again.
He stepped even closer to you, his legs brushing against your shoulders as he straddled your head. Your world went dark as his thighs enveloped you, the rough fabric of his pants pressing against your cheeks.
He was palming your breast, his calloused hand squeezing almost to the point of pain. You couldn’t see anything, but you heard his breathing quicken, the sharp intakes of air growing more rapid.
His body tensed as he groaned again, and you felt the warmth of his release as it splashed onto your chest, the wet heat spreading across your skin.
You froze, shock coursing through you as you felt some of his cum slide down your neck, a slow, sticky trail that dripped into your hair.
You couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything—he had just cum all over you, and you could feel the evidence cooling on your skin.
Aizawa tucked himself away, and his hands found your neck, thumbs gentle against your pulse as he guided you upright. The room tilted, blood rushing from your head.
Your jaw hung slack. A strand of saliva connected your bottom lip to nothing.
“You look like you just saw a ghost,” Aizawa said. “Did I scare you?”
“It's in my hair!” you cried, the words escaping higher pitched than intended. Something thick caught in your throat—not him, but mucus from hanging upside down. A cough sputtered past your lips.
The wetness on your skin shifted with gravity's new direction, sliding down your collarbone, leaving cool trails across your chest.
"Oh shit," Aizawa's laugh rumbled in his chest as he reached for a tissue box behind him on his bookshelf.
His fingers brushed your neck, dabbing at the mess he'd made.
"Here." He pressed tissues into your palm, opening a drawer beside you.
You wiped at your sternum, the sticky residue clinging stubbornly to your skin.
Ew.
Hot, but ew.
Something tugged at your scalp. Aizawa tilted your head forward as the comb he retrieved worked methodically through your hair.
You sat perfectly still, letting him work, each drag of the comb catching faintly before freeing a tangle.
"You did so well for me," Aizawa said.
"You got it in my hair!" Heat flared in your cheeks.
The comb smacks against your crown, chastising. "Stop complaining, brat. I'm getting it out."
You couldn’t help wondering if it was the same comb he used on his own hair. It probably was, given that it had been tucked away in his desk drawer.
When he finished, he handed you your bra and helped you slip it back on.
“You got any classes after this?” Aizawa asked, holding out your shirt.
“No,” you said. “My last class was before this.”
You threaded your fingers through your hair. Some strands still felt… crusted. You grimaced.
He noticed. Of course he noticed. “You want to take a shower at my place?” Aizawa asked. “I’ll make you dinner. Call it an apology.”
Your hand stilled. “Really?”
“Of course, baby girl.” The corner of his mouth curved, soft but sure. “What do you want?”
You gave him a shy smile.
Later, as he drove you to his place, you kept your hand in his the whole ride home.
Notes:
Yamada: Next time you see her, you gotta end it.
Aizawa: 🍆💦
Chapter 14: Life’s cruel sometimes, huh?
Chapter Text
The booth was secluded enough that they didn’t have to worry about prying ears.
Hizashi’s voice was low but urgent as he ran Nemuri through the situation.
“So Shouta’s been… involved with one of his students,” he said, glancing at Shouta, whose arms were crossed and expression unreadable.
Nemuri’s eyes narrowed. “Involved?” she repeated, tone sharp. “Involved how?”
Shouta remained silent as ever, letting Hizashi take the lead.
Hizashi chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s—He’s been—look, they’re close, too close. She’s just a student, but he’s… letting himself get attached. I don’t know if he’s thinking clearly.” The man grunted in response. “And, uh, there’s been some physical stuff. Nothing overtly public, but private interactions that… you get the picture.”
“ Private interactions ,” she said slowly. Nemuri’s lips pressed into a thin line, exasperation clear in her voice. “Shou, you do realize how serious this is, right?”
“I’m aware,” Shouta said, tipping back his bottle of beer.
Nemuri’s eyes narrowed. “And how old is this girl?”
“She’s… well,” Hizashi exhaled slowly. “She’s a kid.”
Nemuri’s hand shot up to her forehead. “ She’s underaged?! ” Her voice was equal parts horror and outrage, and her glare cut straight to Shouta.
“She’s eighteen.” Shouta set his beer down with deliberate calm. “I’m not dating a child, Hizashi.”
“Dating?!” Hizashi leaned forward. “You are not dating a student! Do you even hear yourself?”
Shouta’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately, just let the words hang between them.
“Nem, tell him,” Hizashi urged. “Tell him he’s not dating one of his students!”
Nemuri groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples. “You men are all the same.”
“It’s not like that, Nemuri,” Shouta said.
“Oh, it’s not like that?” Nemuri asked. “So you’re with her because of her 'big' personality and decades of hard-earned life experience? Oh wait, sorry—a decade of life experience?”
Shouta’s stare cut through her sarcasm. “We’re not joking about this.”
“I’m not joking!” Nemuri shot back. “I—”
“Hi, welcome to Brass & Bottle! Can I get you—oh! Hi! …Professor Aizawa, Mr. Yamada.”
·𖥸·
The lunch rush had hit all at once, and of course, Touya was nowhere to be found.
You darted between tables with menus in hand, dodging chairs and weaving past a woman in a sequined jacket handing out scratch-off tickets to strangers.
“Hi, welcome to Brass & Bottle! Can I get you—oh!” Your voice caught. “Hi! …Professor Aizawa, Mr. Yamada.”
You hadn’t expected to see him here in the middle of the afternoon—especially not with company.
You spotted the last familiar face at the table, and for a heartbeat you thought you were imagining things.
“…Nemuri?” you asked.
She looked up, eyes going wide before she let out her own delighted gasp. The next second, you were in each other’s arms, laughter tumbling out.
It was only when you felt the silk of her hair brush your cheek that the second recognition hit you. Nemuri was the woman from the photo on Aizawa’s fridge!
You wondered how you hadn’t made the connection sooner, though, in fairness, you’d been a little preoccupied at the time, wrestling with your jealousy and staring at her tits instead of her face. And besides, she was older now; you hadn’t seen her in… what, nine, maybe ten years?
You pulled back just far enough to take her in. “I haven’t seen you in forever!” you said, still holding onto her arms like you were afraid she might disappear.
“I know, baby. God, I almost didn’t recognize you—you’re all grown up!” Nemuri beamed, giving you a little squeeze. “So what’s going on with you? How have you been doing?”
She gave you one last squeeze before sinking back into her seat beside Yamada, but she didn’t let go of your hand.
You hesitated a second—still riding the shock of seeing her—before sliding into the empty spot next to Aizawa, Nemuri’s fingers still laced with yours across the table.
Aizawa and Yamada exchanged a glance.
“I’m a freshman at U.A. now,” you told her, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m here on a scholarship.”
“My sweet baby, look at you! I’m so proud!” She grabbed your hand with both of hers, giving it a little shake like she couldn’t contain herself.
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” you breathed. “You look incredible. Oh my gosh, you look so good! I can’t even… I’m so happy to see you again. What have you been doing all this time?”
“Oh, you know… this and that…” she said casually.
Aizawa snorted into his drink.
Nemuri shot him a sharp side-eye. “I run the sex shop down the street.”
“Get out.” You nearly fell back in your seat. “You run a sex shop?”
She laughed, clearly enjoying the shock she’d just delivered. “Yeah, baby, you should come by sometime. I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Yamada’s brow furrowed, and he leaned slightly toward her, voice low. “Nemuri, maybe don’t—She’s Shouta’s… uh… student.”
Nemuri blinked at him but otherwise stayed composed.
Aizawa lifted his beer just slightly. “How do you two know each other?”
You turned toward him, all bright smiles, excitement bubbling over. “Nemuri was my babysitter!”
“No way!” Yamada exclaimed, irritation vanishing with the surprise.
Nemuri chuckled. “Yep. Small world, isn’t it? I taught this girl everything I know.”
“So… nothing, then,” Aizawa remarked.
She gave a quick kick to his shin under the table, making him flinch slightly.
You said, “Nemuri was my neighbor. She watched me when my dad was… uh, out.”
Nemuri’s smile softened, and she gave your hand a gentle pat. “It’s so good to see you again, kid. I was wondering what happened to you all these years. I’m glad to see you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I’m proud of you.”
You returned her smile. “Thank you, Nemuri.”
Yamada leaned forward, curiosity lighting his face. “That’s so crazy. You two were neighbors?”
“Yep. Lived two feet away from each other.” She gave you a playful wink.
You laughed. “I was sad when you left… but I’m glad you got away.”
“Ah, well… it was a rough couple of years. Didn’t always make the decisions I should have. Not like you—going to school. That’s good.” Nemuri pointed at you, firm but warm. “You graduate, you hear me?”
“That’s the plan,” you said, grinning.
Her face brightened a little. “Then let’s all get drinks!”
Yamada waved a hand, uneasy. “Nemuri… she can’t drink.”
You gave an apologetic smile and rose from your seat. “It’s okay. You guys go ahead and order. I should get back to work anyway.”
Nemuri waved her hand dismissively. “I’ll just order two! Pick whatever you want, honey.”
Hizashi groaned beside her. “Nem, come on.”
“This girl’s been drinking since she was in diapers. She can handle one while she’s slaving away on the clock.” Sliding the menu across the table toward you, she grinned. “Pick one!!”
You glanced at Aizawa, uncertainty flickering across your face.
“You don’t need my permission,” he said.
You nodded shyly and accepted the menu from Nemuri. “Can I get anything for you, Aizawa? Or you, Mr. Yamada?”
“Just another beer,” Aizawa said.
“One for me too, please,” Yamada added.
You offered a polite smile before heading toward the bar.
·𖥸·
The three of them had migrated across town, leaving behind your cramped workplace for a place Nemuri insisted on. This one was all marble countertops, moody amber lighting, and crystal glassware that caught the glow like champagne bubbles. Even the air smelled different here, faintly perfumed with citrus and aged liquor.
They sat side-by-side at the glossy bartop, empty shot glasses lined up between them.
“Verdict?” Hizashi asked, drumming his fingers against the counter.
Nemuri didn’t look at him, her gaze slid straight to Shouta. She tipped another shot back with ease before slamming the glass down. “That girl’s been through hell and back. Don’t think for a second I’ll let some ugly old ass man like you sink your claws in.”
“Okay, well,” Hizashi said, wincing, “I wouldn’t exactly phrase it like that—”
Shouta’s mouth curved in a humorless smile. “Good to know what you think of me.”
Nemuri leaned forward, her eyes narrowing just enough to make the space between them feel heavier. “You’ve got no business touching her, Shouta.”
“Nemuri,” Shouta said. “You’ve been fucking older men the entire time I’ve known you.”
Nemuri’s eyes didn’t waver, and when she spoke each word was icy and deliberate. “You want to know why, Shouta? Because when I was fifteen, living in that trailer park, I thought I was special that I didn’t get paid in money. I got paid in liquor. Her daddy’s hand on the back of my neck, guiding the bottle to my lips while he told me how mature I was for fifteen. I’d wake up with my clothes inside out, not knowing how I got home."
“And that is why I am the way I am,” She leaned forward, letting her voice drop into a dangerous calm. “So leave her the hell alone.”
Shouta’s shoulders stiffened. Without a word, he stood, the scrape of his chair a screech of wood against tile, and he walked away from the bar.
Hizashi looked from Nemuri to Shouta’s retreating figure, his expression taut with both sorrow and frustration.
Nemuri let out a slow breath, fingertips pressing lightly to her temple as she stared at the polished stone of the bartop, eyes tracing absent patterns in the grain.
“Nem…” Hizashi said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She didn’t look at him. “I was too hard on him.”
Hizashi shook his head gently. “No, he needed to hear your perspective. You should never feel guilty for speaking your truth.”
Nemuri shrugged off his hand with a small huff. “Ugh, you know I hate when you do the therapist-speak with me, Zashi. Look, I got triggered. It’s not his fault. And it’s totally not the same thing. I should apologize.”
“Maybe,” Hizashi said, tone softening, “but it’s not wrong for him to see a different perspective. There’s a smaller gap between fifteen and eighteen than there is between eighteen and thirty-two.”
“Shouta isn’t a drunk rapist. I should never have compared him to one.”
“We’ll talk through it once he’s cooled off,” Hizashi said. “I’m sorry, Nemuri, I didn’t realize this would hit a nerve. I should’ve checked in with you before you came.”
“Relax, Zashi. It’s not on you.” Nemuri’s lips twitched into a faint, rueful smile as she looked back at him. “Life’s cruel sometimes, huh?”
“Yeah… yeah, it is.” Hizashi reached out and took her hand gently, letting their fingers interlace.
Chapter 15: Cinderella
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Monday morning came with its usual low hum of chatter.
Today, you were wedged between Kirishima and Denki in the front row, watching as they furiously copied down the notes you prepared from the assigned reading, clearly hoping this time they’d be ready if called on.
But when the door swung open just before 9 AM, the usual monotony of the lecture hall seemed to pause, as a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped inside.
Denki nudged you. “Uh… that’s not Professor Aizawa.”
You turned around and your chest tightened in a mix of surprise and… something else you couldn’t quite place. Impending doom?
A stranger stood before you, and for the first time, the front row didn’t feel like a safe harbor.
The man’s gaze swept over the room, and he cleared his throat. “Good morning, class,” he began, his voice carrying easily to the far corners of the room. “I am Professor Kan. I’ll be your new instructor for Introduction to Law and Society for the remainder of this semester.”
A ripple of surprise passed through the classroom. Whispers floated between desks, and you could feel the collective confusion.
“I’ve spent several years teaching courses on law, focusing on legal frameworks and social justice. My goal is for us to have engaging, thoughtful discussions, and I encourage questions, debate, and active participation from everyone…”
As Professor Kan continued, Denki leaned slightly toward you, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yo… what happened to Professor Aizawa?”
“I… I don’t… know,” you whispered back, your stomach twisting.
You were freaking out internally. Aizawa hadn’t said anything about not being in class today.
Your fingers fumbled as you pulled out your phone.
[Message sending…]
You
9:03 AM
Where are you??
You stared at the screen, watching the little spinning icon appear— sending…
Seconds ticked by. The icon didn’t disappear. You pressed again. Sending… still.
Confusion and panic gnawed at you. And then, after what felt like an eternity, the message blinked back at you with a harsh, silent finality:
Message not delivered.
A hollow pit opened in your stomach.
Denki nudged you lightly, sensing your distraction, but you barely noticed. Your eyes stayed fixed on your phone screen.
Did… Aizawa block you?
You pressed send again.
The little spinning icon: Sending… Sending… Sending… Message not delivered.
Aizawa wasn’t going to answer.
Without thinking, you yanked your backpack over your shoulder and shoved your notebook inside.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Kirishima whisper-called after you as you passed behind him, his voice worried, but you didn’t answer.
Professor Kan’s voice faded as you hurried toward the door.
You sprinted down the hallway, each step echoing like thunder in your chest. Bursting through the main doors, you crossed the courtyard, the wind whipping at your hair and backpack.
You didn’t slow until you reached Yamada’s office, and without thinking, yanked his office door open.
“Where is he?” you demanded, voice trembling despite yourself.
He looked up, startled, but the moment his eyes met yours, you could tell by the expression on his face that something was wrong.
Yamada shifted in his seat, clearly flustered. “I… I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, glancing at the clock on his wall. “I have an appointment with another student in five minutes—”
You let the door swing shut behind you, trapping both of you inside. “I don’t care. They can reschedule.” Your eyes bore into him. “Where. Is. He.”
Yamada ran a hand through his hair, uncomfortable. “What I can tell you is that Shouta— Professor Aizawa ,” he corrected. “He… ended up accepting another job offer elsewhere. He’s no longer working at the university.”
“Another job?” you asked. “Where? Why?”
Yamada shook his head slightly, his expression pained. “I’m really sorry… I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t.”
Liar.
You could feel the walls of the office closing in.
“No,” you said, taking a step closer, your voice rising. “No, that’s not enough. I know you two are friends. I know you know where he is. You have to tell me.”
The urge to scream, cry, or shake him into answering was almost unbearable.
“Look… I know you and Professor Aizawa had—well, a somewhat… complicated relationship,” he said carefully. “But as a student counselor, I have to follow university policy. A relationship between a student and a professor is strictly prohibited—not just because of rules, but because it can put both of you in a difficult, even harmful position.”
You took a step back, horror flashing across your face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No. Unfortunately not,” Yamada said. “I understand if you feel the need to escalate this, to report any situation. I will make sure everything is handled properly. I will back you up, 100%. Whatever steps you need to take to protect yourself or ensure fairness, I’m here for you.”
You wanted to scream. You wanted to scream in his face and demand answers. You wanted to know what was happening, but all you got was rules, policy, and bullshit concern.
“Fuck you,” you spat.
Without waiting to see his response, you whirled around and bolted from the office, your sobs catching in your throat as you ran down the hall.
You found yourself heading toward Aizawa’s house. It was far from campus, but you didn’t care, you had to see him.
Tears streamed unchecked down your face, as you climbed onto the bus, frantically pressing call on Aizawa’s contact again and again. You were sure you looked like a crazy person, but you didn’t care. Each time the call failed to connect, your heart felt like it had shattered into a thousand more jagged pieces.
You pounded and pounded on his front door, each thud echoing off the walls of the quiet building. No one answered.
You didn’t have a key anymore.
The thought of scaring Poe or Snitch, if they were even still inside, is what eventually made you stop.
So you stepped back onto the sidewalk, shoulders shaking, convulsing with sobs.
The cold air did nothing to cool the fire in your chest.
You hated your life.
You hated yourself.
You were never enough.
Never smart enough. Never good enough. Never pretty enough.
Never old enough.
Everyone always left you in the end.
Because it was so easy to leave you.
Because people’s lives went on without you.
They could all live without you.
But why?
Why.
Why.
Why.
Why.
Why?
If you could leave yourself too, you would.
You stumbled back toward the bus station, numb.
Aizawa had just left you. Ghosted you.
Yamada didn’t care enough to help you.
You got back to your dorm, dragging yourself inside. Mina wasn’t there.
You slid down the inside of your door, letting your back rest against the cold wood.
You curled in on yourself and stayed that way, rocking gently, letting the silence swallow you, lost in your pain, for God knows how long.
·𖥸·
You trudged into work, the dim, yellowish glow of the bar’s old hanging lamps doing little to hide your puffy, red-rimmed eyes.
“Woah… what happened to you? You look wrecked.” Touya asked in the middle of topping off a glass of beer.
“Not in the mood, Touya,” you said as you shuffled past him toward the wall-mounted tablet, tapping in for your shift.
You went through the motions without actually being present, taking orders, ringing up drinks, wiping down counters. You mixed up table numbers, poured the wrong beer twice, and left a plate sitting in the kitchen window long enough for the fries to go cold. At one point, you were pretty sure a customer walked out without paying, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
By the time you were stacking the last set of pint glasses, Touya leaned on the counter, drying his hands with a rag. “Your baby daddy isn’t here today,” he said.
“Just drop it, Touya.”
“You broke up?” he asked.
You didn’t look up. “He ghosted me.”
His head snapped toward you. “The hell? Is he out of his mind? He’s an idiot, then. And it’s his loss.”
You gave a small shrug, more to shut the conversation down than anything.
“You got a ride back to your castle tonight, Cinderella?” Touya asked.
Another shrug.
Touya eyed you for a long moment. “Gonna light one out back before I head off.” He tipped his chin toward the door. “You wanna join me?”
This wasn't the first time Touya offered for you to smoke with him. Normally, you’d shake your head, mumble something about not wanting to stink up your clothes.
But tonight, with your chest still tight and your hands unsure of where to put themselves, the thought of standing alone on a dark street at the bus stop felt more unappealing than ever.
“…Yeah, okay,” you said, surprising yourself.
You followed Touya out into the alley, the place where he spent the majority of his time instead of actually working.
He pulled out a small joint, flicked the lighter, and inhaled slowly, the tip glowing faintly in the dim light.
“Ever smoked before?” he asked.
You shook your head. “No.”
Touya smirked, like he’d expected it. “Alright. Don’t freak out. First, just take a small hit and hold it in your mouth. Don’t inhale into your lungs yet—just get a feel for it.”
He handed it to you carefully, guiding your fingers. You drew in a small amount, held it in your mouth, then exhaled slowly. It burned a little, but wasn’t unbearable.
“Good. Now, next time, take a slow breath in through your lungs.”
You tried again, this time inhaling properly, then exhaling.
“See? Not so bad,” he said. “Take it slow. You’ll feel it in a few minutes.”
You took a couple more small puffs, the alley quiet except for distant traffic and the faint hum of the back light above you.
You didn’t think you felt any different, really.
When you turned to hand Touya the joint back, the motion made the world tilt slightly. Your knees wobbled, and you gripped the brick wall to keep from swaying too much.
You let out a small, dizzy laugh, holding the wall with one hand as you extend the joint with the other.
“Careful there,” he said, taking it from you.
For a few minutes, the two of you passed it back and forth. You stood there, wondering if this was supposed to be doing anything other than making your head spin when you turned.
Touya broke the quiet. “You need a ride home?”
You looked at him. The smoke curled lazily around his muscular arms, the dark tattoos standing out against his pale skin. He was being nice to you, really being nice, and it made your chest ache all over again.
You wanted to say yes, wanted to cling to the kindness he was offering.
Instead, what came out of your mouth was, “Wanna fuck?”
Your tongue felt thick and dry, your mouth cottony, and the words sounded strange, like they weren’t even yours.
Somehow, you didn’t really remember how you got into his car.
Fast food wrappers crumpled in the back, crumbs scattered across the seats.
Pressed into the back seat, hands fumbling over him, lips colliding.
It was weird, the way your thoughts moved…
Every time you tried to finish one…
You wanted to think, to make sense… but…
Touya’s breath hot on your neck, and he…
Eep! That was cold air on your…
Your mouth opens to say something—what was it?
The words dissolve before they…
Your body rocked with his movements but you…
You're watching it all happen from somewhere else…
His grunts came in short bursts, like huh, huh, huh.
Like a dog panting.
A giggle bubbled up your throat.
"What's so funny?" Touya asked against your collarbone.
Your head lolled side to side.
"Touya, what’s happening?" you asked.
“We’re making love, silly girl.”
You shook your head, hair catching against the seat.
The movement made the car spin.
"No,” you protested, but you still laughed.
That couldn't possibly be.
You’re in love with Aizawa, not Touya.
The car ceiling blurred, then sharpened, then blurred again...
The pain is there and then not there…
Your fingers felt numb when they pressed…
You closed your eyes.
·𖥸·
You woke up to the glare of sunlight blasting you through open blinds, groaning as your head throbbed and your body felt heavy and disoriented.
You checked your phone. It was already three in the afternoon.
It took what felt like forever to pry yourself from the haze, to push past the fog in your mind and land somewhere near real life.
You didn’t remember how you had gotten back.
Didn’t even remember if Touya had… if he had even used a condom or not…
The details were slippery, fragments of a night you could barely piece together.
Physically, you seemed fine, but…
You weren’t sure if you were completely okay with what happened last night.
All you knew was that you had felt like shit before, and now you felt even worse.
Aizawa had been right.
You shouldn’t have been high your first time.
Notes:
This story has a happy ending, I promise!! There will be making up… and yes, some make-up sex too so please don’t be too sad!
Chapter 16: Shouta.
Summary:
You weren’t sure if Poe and Snitch would even remember you.
They did.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Present Day
On the edge of a stiff lobby chair, you waited, foot tapping a nervous rhythm against the linoleum floor.
Neji 💙
9:19 AM
FIRST DAYYYYY ✨ GOOD LUCK!!! I’m so proud of you 😭
You
9:20 AM
thank you I’m gonna try not to throw up lol
Neji 💙
9:21 AM
NOOOO you’ve got this!! 💪 You already made it through interviews. this part’s the fun part!! Don’t stress! I’m so excited for you!!
You smiled as you tapped back a stream of heart emojis, before letting out a slow, steadying breath.
“Hey hey heyyyyy, you the new intern?!”
You jumped a little, looking up just in time to catch a woman barreling toward you, her grin wide and unapologetic.
A patterned scarf held her green hair out of her face, and she wore sneakers and a hoodie with Step Forward Foundation printed across the front, sleeves pushed to her elbows like she’d been moving nonstop all morning.
“I’m Emi Fukukado! You can call me Emi, or , Your Highness, your choice.” She winked as she held out a hand. “Welcome to the shark tank.”
You shook her hand, trying to catch up to her energy.
“Uh—hi, yeah. That’s me.”
“Don’t look so nervous, rookie!” Emi beamed, already pivoting on her heel. “Worst case, someone hurls a chair through a window again. No big deal. C’mon, I’ll give you the tour!”
You hurried after her, nearly tripping over your own feet to keep up.
The hallway you entered was a riot of color—walls covered in hand-drawn posters and marker-scribbled flyers. College App Bootcamp Friday! Therapy Dogs Visit Thursday. GED? EZ. Drop-in tutoring daily 2–6 PM.
Emi moved like she had three conversations happening in her head at once. You weren't sure if she was showing you around or just letting you chase her.
“Okay, real quick—this place’s kind of a mashup, half community center, half alt school. We work with teens and young adults who’ve been out of school for a bit—help them finish their GEDs, apply to college, figure out what’s next. Your background’s social work, yeah? You’ll do some group stuff, a little one-on-one mentoring, some cheerleading, maybe the occasional crisis de-escalation. Sound fun?”
“Sounds like a party,” you said, eyeing a penciled-in note someone had left under a poster: “Step Forward can suck my—” The rest had been scratched out, but someone added a little heart next to it.
Emi flashed you a thumbs-up. “Love the attitude. We’ve got a couple kids prepping for the GED and one who’s supposed to be writing a personal statement but would rather chew glass. You’ll love him.”
She swung around a corner, then paused with one hand braced dramatically on a doorframe, glancing back at you solemnly.
“But before I toss you to the wolves,” she said, “I’m gonna pass you off to our program coordinator. He’ll run you through the fun stuff—forms, expectations, intern rules, the usual snoozefest. He also handles orientation and… whatever else he does back there in his crypt of an office.”
She leaned in a little, voice lowering like she was sharing a secret.
“Now—tiny heads-up—he’s a little… intense. Dry. Grumpy. Anti-fun, if you ask me. You might think he hates you. He doesn’t. Probably. But I do love annoying him! It’s so easy, it’s basically half my job.”
Emi threw open the last office door at the end of the hall without knocking. “Don’t pretend you’re busy—I know you were taking a nap in here!” she called out.
You trailed behind her, curiosity piqued, until you actually saw him.
He sat at a desk with stacks of papers and a lineup of mismatched cat coffee mugs, sleeves rolled up, a black pen poised in his hand. His dark hair was tied back loosely, a few strands escaping, streaked with more gray than you remembered.
“Hey, Mr. Grumpy Pants,” Emi announced, waving her hand like she was introducing royalty. “This is our new intern! New intern, this is—”
“Aizawa?” you breathed, the name tasting foreign and familiar all at once.
He looked up.
And the moment your eyes met, everything crashed down around you in a tidal wave of memories you’d tried so hard to bury.
They flooded back with cruel clarity—late nights in his office, the way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you, the way his touch had burned into your soul.
How he had shattered your heart clean through.
You remembered the week after he disappeared, in your haze of grief and confusion, how you let Touya have you, and the way your hands had shaken when you made that trip alone to the pharmacy the day after, shame clinging to you like a second skin.
His expression didn’t change—not much—but you saw the surprise just beneath the surface.
Emi slowly shifted her gaze between the two of you. “Wait, do you two already know each other?”
Your legs wobbled, and you took a shaky step back. You weren’t ready for this. You never thought you’d see him again.
“I—I’m sorry,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper. “I—I need a second.”
You turned and fled without looking back, stumbling blindly toward the hallway like the air had been ripped from your lungs.
The world pitched sideways as you ran.
Your foot caught on the edge of a fraying carpet, and you lurched forward, catching yourself against the cool wall with a choked gasp.
You pressed your forehead to the smooth surface and finally let go, letting the tears spill free.
You’d known loss before, but Aizawa was your first teenage heartbreak, the one that shattered something you never knew was fragile.
How small you were. How human. How devastatingly breakable.
You wiped at your face frantically, the sting of humiliation prickling sharp beneath your skin.
Then footsteps echoed down the hall, quick, steady, approaching with purpose.
They stopped just behind you, but you didn’t dare turn around.
Instead, you kept wiping at your tears, and for a long moment, silence stretched between you, broken only by your ragged breaths.
Then, quietly, Aizawa’s voice came. “It’s okay. You don’t need to hide.”
He stepped a little closer, but you flinched back. “Don’t touch me!”
He froze instantly, holding his hands up like a peace offering. “Alright, alright,” he said.
More footsteps came rushing down the hallway. “Hey! Save some drama for daytime TV, people!”
It was Emi. She circled around to you, eyes bright with concern. “You okay?”
You forced out a shaky smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry.”
Emi turned to Aizawa with a sly grin. “Shouta, seriously? You can’t scare the new intern like that on day one. Play nice, or I’m dragging you into my office for a personal attitude adjustment—again.”
You caught her wink at him over your shoulder.
That had you whipping around to face him, eyes blazing.
Of course. Of course he had women flirting with him at work.
Were they dating?
Jealousy flared in your chest—sick, hot, and ugly.
“Don’t do that,” Aizawa snapped at Emi. “Not now.”
Emi blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Whoa. Okay.” Her eyes flicked between you and him, and something clicked. “Oh. Ohhh.”
“I swear to God, Emi,” he warned. “Drop it.”
Her smile faltered, thrown off by an even harsher side of him. “Okay, okay, message received.”
Silence settled thick between the three of you, heavy and crackling with everything unspoken.
Aizawa exhaled slowly, but the tightness in his shoulders didn’t ease. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go outside.”
You hesitated. You should say no. You wanted to say no.
Your eyes flicked to Emi, who had the decency to look away, suddenly very interested in the hallway ceiling, clearly realizing she’d stumbled into something messy and private.
Then, you met his gaze and held it.
Those same tired eyes, worn, but they gentled when they found yours, just like they always had.
It felt like no time had passed at all.
And it felt like lifetimes had.
You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, chest tight with the ache of everything you never got to say.
“Fine,” you exhaled. “Outside.”
You didn’t wait for him—you just started walking.
Past the front desk, past the humming vending machines, past the rise and fall of kids’ voices bouncing off the rec room walls. The automatic doors hissed open, spilling you into the heavy August heat. The brightness stung your eyes, and you blinked hard, willing yourself to adjust.
His footsteps fell into place a beat behind yours.
The courtyard was nearly empty at this hour. A bench sat half in shade, half in sun; a few tired trees leaned over patches of brittle grass. An old cigarette tray stood abandoned in the corner. Nobody touched it anymore, kids vaped now.
You stopped at the edge, where concrete fractured into dry weeds, and only then—finally—turned to face him.
It was unbearable, how much older he looked. Not worse. Just… different. Softer under the eyes. Sharper around the mouth. Worn down in a way that was familiar, but heavier now, like the years had carved themselves into him while you weren’t looking.
He didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, watching you.
You were the one who broke the silence. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
Aizawa gave the smallest nod. “How would you.”
The words cut deeper than they should have.
“Oh.” Your reply came out hollow. “Right. Because you ghosted me. You wanted to make sure I’d never be able to find you again.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s not—”
“Don’t.” The last thing you waited for all these years was excuses. “Don’t stand there and pretend it was anything else.”
Aizawa exhaled slowly, like every word had to be weighed before it left him. “I thought it was better that way.”
“For who?” you asked.
Silence.
“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” you said, heat rising behind your ribs, flooding up your throat. “Quitting your job. Blocking me. Moving away. You could’ve just broken up with me like a normal person.”
“I couldn’t,” he said.
“What?”
“I couldn’t break up with you,” Aizawa repeated. “Because I shouldn’t have been with you in the first place.”
There it was.
“Oh my fucking god.” You laughed, more a sound of disbelief than amusement.
“I’m serious.” He cut through your rising anger. “You were my student. I was supposed to protect you. Guide you. Not cross that line. You were young. You trusted me. I couldn’t stay at that job. I couldn’t look at myself. At you.”
“You didn’t trick me,” you said. “I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted you.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” Aizawa replied. “I did what I had to do to protect you.”
“You think that protected me?” you asked.
“You may not see it that way now, but—”
“Don’t you dare talk down to me like I’m some fucking child!” The words ripped out of you, shaking. “Stop pretending you’re older and wiser—because you’re not.”
“You’re just older. Not smarter. Not more emotionally mature. Not noble.” Your throat burned, but you shoved the words through anyway. “You’re just a coward who made a mess and thought disappearing was cleaner than staying to face it.”
Your voice cracked. “You don’t get to rewrite what we were just to fit your guilt.”
You tried to hold onto your anger but it collapsed. Tears blurred your vision, and your chest heaved.
Aizawa stepped closer.
You instinctively pulled back, shaking your head, lips quivering. “No,” you whispered. “Don’t.”
You tried to twist away, but Aizawa was stronger, years of training still etched into his body, his dress shirt doing a poor job of hiding the flex of muscle in his arms.
He pulled you in hard, his grip solid as steel, and suddenly you were pressed against him, unable to escape.
His warmth wrapped around you, disorienting in its familiarity.
Your protests faltered as the ache in your chest began to unravel. Before you could stop yourself, your body sagged against him.
Aizawa only held you tighter.
You collapsed into him, the cries coming harder now, louder, unpretty and unrestrained. He said nothing, just kept holding you.
And then your hands balled into fists.
You beat them against his chest, hard and desperate.
“I hate you,” you sobbed, each word punctuated by strike. “I hate you—”
He didn’t stop you. Didn’t flinch. Just took it.
Your voice broke, and your fists went limp, caught in the folds of his white button-down, wrinkling the fabric.
“I hate you,” you whispered hoarsely. “I hate myself.”
Aizawa’s arms tightened suddenly, pulling you closer, almost crushing. “Don’t. Don’t say that.”
“I needed you.” Your hands tightened in his shirt, nails digging into the fabric as if you wanted it to tear. “I needed you and you left.”
“You didn’t need me. Hizashi—he made sure—”
“Don’t talk to me about that traitor!” you cried. “He knew where you were. And he wouldn’t say a word. He sat across from me, looked me in the eye, and lied. Just like you.”
“He was trying to protect you, too,” Aizawa said.
“From what?” you asked. “From the truth? From the fact that I meant nothing to you?”
“You think I left because you didn’t matter? I left because you did,” Aizawa said. “I couldn’t live with what I’d done. With what we were. You were a fucking child.”
“I was not a child!” you shouted, shaking against him, the raw edge of your voice echoing across the courtyard.
“You see those kids over there?” He turned, one hand lifting to gesture toward the far end of the courtyard, where a cluster of high schoolers laughed too loudly, all limbs and energy, half of them holding slushies instead of actually playing basketball.
“You see them?” he repeated, almost pleading. “That’s how old you were.”
You looked at them, and your stomach twisted, but your jaw clenched. “I was not.”
Aizawa cupped your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing along your cheeks where tears still clung.
“What was I supposed to do?” he asked. “What could I do but let time pass?”
You refused to look away even though it took every once of your pride to maintain eye contact.
“Time would’ve passed anyway,” you said. “We could’ve been together.”
A flicker of pain passed over his expression. “No, we couldn’t have.”
Your face crumpled again, a fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes and spilled down your cheeks, but Aizawa’s hands stayed where they were.
“You’re a mean, mean, old man,” you mumbled, voice thick with tears.
“I know,” he said quietly.
Your eyes were glassy, rimmed red. “And you’re graying now.”
“I was graying when you met me.”
“I’m graying now.”
Aizawa’s hands tilted your chin up. “You’re too young to be graying,” he said dryly.
You shrugged helplessly, blinking past the blur of tears.
You finally took a step back. He let you, his hands falling away from your face.
You rubbed at your eyes, trying to reclaim something of yourself.
“You okay to go back inside? Or do you need a minute alone?” Aizawa asked.
“I’ve spent my whole life alone,” you snapped, voice rough. “I’m fine.”
Aizawa raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. “Think you can manage to come back inside and get through orientation in my office?”
“I dunno… can you manage me in your office?”
“You never really grew out of being a brat, did you?” he asked.
“Fuck you.”
“Careful. Can’t say that to your boss,” Aizawa warned.
“Oh, you’re my boss?” you asked. “Great. Just great.”
He folded his arms. “Keep it up, and you might find the paycheck isn’t worth the attitude.”
You rolled your eyes, said nothing, and brushed past him, heading back into the building.
Aizawa kept the orientation straightforward, no fluff, just the essentials. He went over the daily schedule, explained the protocols for working with the teens, and laid out the rules for confidentiality and safety.
You tried to maintain some semblance of self-respect, forcing yourself not to linger on the veins running down forearms, and his thick fingers that had once… been inside of you.
You had always fantasized about the moment you’d see him again, the moment you could lay into him and make him regret what he’d done. But now, sitting here in close quarters, made you feel small, like a little girl again under the weight of his presence.
You sat down, shut your mouth, and tried to focus, though every subtle flex of his arms was impossible to ignore.
By the time the paperwork was done, and you’d met a few of the staff members—most of whom gave Aizawa wary glances—the day had already stretched long.
“Any questions for me?” he asked, eyes scanning you briefly.
You shifted in your seat, tapping your fingers against the armrest. “Do you like being a program coordinator better than being a professor?”
He paused, then nodded slowly. “I feel like I make more of an impact here. Being a professor was… babysitting privileged kids who already thought they knew everything. Here? It’s harder. But the wins… they mean more. I’d rather be useful than tenured.”
“Good,” you said. “I’m glad I didn’t make you give up your dream job.”
Aizawa snorted. “There’s no such thing as a dream job, kid. Just jobs that waste your time slower than others.”
“Wow, you're even more inspiring as a boss than as a professor. Has anyone ever told you that? I bet you get that a lot.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing in his face.
For a long moment he just stared at you. Then, without a word, he leaned just far enough over the desk to pinch the bridge of your nose between his fingers, holding you there.
Your eyes widened, and a startled squeak escaped you. The sting was sharp but brief, and mostly it was the shock of being caught and how impossibly calm he looked while doing it.
“You—hey!” you protested, swatting at his hand.
Orientation was finally over. Gathering his papers, Aizawa locked his office door behind you, and you walked with him down the quiet hallway. The late afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the linoleum.
“How are you getting home?” he asked.
“I was gonna walk to the train station,” you said. “Then take the train home.”
Aizawa didn’t answer right away.
“You should get a car,” he grunted.
“Perfect!” you said. “I’ll add that to my vision board! Right next to ‘affordable rent’ and ‘no graduate student debt.’”
He sighed, long and low, like he was regretting every decision that had led him to this conversation. “I’ll drive you.”
“Are you sure?” you asked skeptically.
Aizawa was already pulling his keys out of his pocket. “Unless you’d rather walk to the station and wait forty-five minutes for the next train.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, just turned and started down the hallway toward the exit. You hesitated for a split second, then grit your teeth and followed, matching his long strides as you stepped out into the humid afternoon air.
Sliding into the passenger seat felt strange, almost surreal. It was the same car, the one he had driven you home in after those late shifts at the bar, the one where you had shared reckless, stolen kisses.
Everything about it felt frozen in time.
Aizawa started the car. “Where am I taking you?”
You told him your neighborhood then asked anxiously, “Is that far from where you live?”
“No. It’s on the way to mine,” he said.
He turned onto the main road, and the car settled into a heavy, almost suffocating silence. You stared out the window, counting streetlights. One. Two. Three.
And then—because you couldn’t take it anymore—“Did you even miss me?”
Aizawa’s fingers tensed on the wheel. “Yes,” he said after a long pause. “I missed you.”
“And you and Emi…" you cringed as you dared to ask, "Are you two… a thing?”
Aizawa let out an exasperated sigh, eyes briefly rolling. “No.”
You pressed harder, heart pounding. “So you’re not… interested? Like, at all?”
“No. She’s like a goddamn fire alarm that never shuts up,” he said.
“I don’t know,” you said. “She’s definitely pretty enough to get away with it.”
“Well, I’ve never offered to drive her home,” he replied.
You let that settle, a small, smug satisfaction blooming in your chest.
Neji 💙
5:46 PM
DON’T FORGET TO GRAB FOOD ON THE WAY HOME
Oh shoot—
You’d asked Nejire to remind you because you knew you’d forget. Especially now, since you’d purposefully stopped your DoorDash subscription.
“Oh—uh… is it okay if we stop for McDonald’s on the way home?”
Aizawa glanced at you, eyebrows raised.
You added quickly, “I just moved in! Haven’t really had the time to unpack my kitchen or go grocery shopping yet.”
“You had a granola bar from the vending machine for lunch,” Aizawa said.
“I… wasn’t really hungry today,” you mumbled, shrugging.
“I’ll make you dinner."
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly ask you to—”
“Just come over.”
“O-Okay.”
The rest of the drive was silent.
When Aizawa pulled up to his house, you took it in slowly. The place was just as overrun with plants as his old brownstone by the university, pots of greenery lined every windowsill, trailing vines climbed the walls, and the air smelled faintly of earth and sunlight.
You weren’t sure if Poe and Snitch would even remember you.
They did.
The moment you stepped inside, Snitch practically leapt onto you, rubbing against your legs and meowing insistently. Poe followed, circling your ankles and letting out soft purrs.
“My babies! I’ve missed you!” you exclaimed, lunging forward.
Instant chaos. Poe skidded across the floor and Snitch bolted to the side, but she wasn't fast enough. You managed to grab her just as she let out a startled meow, clutching her to your chest while she wriggled and protested. Poe watched from a safe distance, tail swishing.
“Want to feed them while I get dinner ready?” Aizawa asked.
“Yes!” you said immediately. “I’d love to!”
You talked to them in a high, babyish voice as you scooped food into their bowls.
Afterwards, you lay on the floor, gently tossing toys, watching them pounce and chase. From the kitchen, you felt Aizawa’s eyes on you.
You sat down at his small wooden table with your plate of grilled salmon and roasted vegetables. It was leagues above the sad takeout you’d usually settle for.
You ate in near silence, the quiet broken only by the soft scrape of fork against plate and the faint hum of the refrigerator.
“I was going to reach out,” he said suddenly, not looking at you, just cutting into his food like it was nothing, like admitting it was casual. "After you graduated."
You froze, fork halfway to your mouth. “Why didn’t you?”
“I figured you’d moved on,” he said after a pause. “New city. New school. New people.”
“That’s it?” you asked. “You just figured, and let it end there?”
“I wanted you to go where your life took you,” Aizawa said. “To go out there and find something better. Figure out who you were.”
“Something better?” you asked. “Better than you?”
“I wanted you to find happiness… even if it wasn’t with me,” he said.
“You talk like it had to be one or the other,” you said. “We could’ve been happy together.”
Aizawa met your gaze now. “Tell me you really saw no problem with it. None.”
“What exactly do you expect me to say?” you asked, your voice dripping with resentment. “Thank you for sparing me the hardship of being with someone I loved?”
Aizawa’s voice was tired. “You didn’t love me.”
The words hit you, wrenching your soul out of your body.
“Excuse me?” you asked, stunned. “Is that really what you think? That I was just some dumb kid with a crush?” Your voice broke before you could stop it. “I loved you.”
Aizawa exhaled, resigned, and something inside you finally cracked.
You drew in a sharp breath. “Oh.” You nodded, as if the pieces were finally falling into place. Suddenly, it made sense. “You didn’t love me back.”
He said nothing.
Your throat tightened as the silence stretched. “Of course you didn’t.”
“You’re lucky it was me. B-because… It was easy, wasn’t it?” Your chest heaved as you fought to breathe. “To leave me. It’s always been easy.”
A hollow laugh escaped you. “What did I expect? Even my own mother couldn’t love me.”
It wasn’t just heartbreak anymore. It was the years of being left and abandoned. Of never being chosen. Of never being worthy of someone else's love.
You shoved your chair back; the legs scraped sharply against the floor.
You didn’t even know where you were going.
But the second you rose, so did he.
And then his mouth was on yours.
Aizawa backed you into the wall, pressing close, tongue sliding into your mouth with a demanding heat.
“It wasn’t easy,” he said, then he licked over your teeth and bit your upper lip. “Walking away from you… was the hardest goddamn thing I’ve ever done.”
Your heart stuttered painfully in your chest.
“You said I didn’t love you,” you whispered. “Take it back.”
“What I meant w—”
“Take it back!” you snapped.
Aizawa stared at you, breathing hard.
“I take it back,” he said hoarsely. “You loved me.”
“Love,” you corrected. “I love you.”
“Even though you’re a cold, cowardly bastard,” you added for good measure.
Aizawa closed the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was at once rough and demanding.
“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved," he said.
Before you could process his words, he lifted you effortlessly. The tilt and weight of him threw you off balance, you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist and clutched at his shoulders.
The closeness of your bodies made your chest pound, a mix of panic, desire, and relief.
Every instinct was to cling, to hold him close, to anchor yourself to the only thing that had ever made the ache in your chest feel bearable.
He carried you toward his bed, your back meeting the cool sheets as he lowered you.
Aizawa’s mouth never left yours, teeth catching your bottom lip, his tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made your breath catch.
You tasted salt—your own tears tracking silently down your temples and into your hair.
His fingers fumbled with the button of your jeans. You arched your back, lifting your hips to help him pull them all the way off, the fabric sliding down your thighs, the denim momentarily catching at your ankles before being cast aside.
The mattress dipped as he returned to you. This time when his lips found yours, they pressed more softly, lingering at the corner of your mouth where a tear had gathered.
Aizawa’s hand traveled down your stomach, and you tensed slightly when his fingers finally traced along the damp cotton of your underwear.
How long had it been? Probably years since anyone had touched you this way. Part of you worried that you'd be too tight.
But his finger slid inside with surprising ease, drawing a gasp from your lips, your body warm and ready.
Your eyes fluttered shut as he continued to kiss you, his rhythm steady and patient, your hips rising to meet each gentle stroke.
"I'm sorry," Aizawa whispered against your neck, his voice rough with emotion. "For everything."
Your fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging to him as if he might disappear.
"P-please don't leave me." The words came out childish and pathetic.
His weight settled more firmly over you, his heartbeat strong against your chest. "I'm not going anywhere. Not again."
You pressed your forehead against his, eyes searching his face. "Promise me."
Aizawa brushed a strand of hair from your damp cheek, his calloused thumb lingering there. "I promise."
He leaned back, eyes never leaving yours as he settled between your legs. He withdrew his finger slowly, then he began to undress.
Aizawa unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, then worked his fingers down the line of buttons at the front of his chest, before slipping the fabric from his shoulders. The shirt fell away, revealing the taut muscles beneath.
Positioned between your legs, you watched the scene unfold, and you thought it might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.
His middle finger re-entered you, and it slid in so easily it was almost embarrassing to you, your body even more ready for him than before.
With his free hand, he began to softly rub your thigh. As he leaned forward, he placed a kiss to your knee, his lips warm against your skin.
“Think you can take another?” Aizawa asked, his finger still moving inside you patiently.
“Okay, but—” you squirmed against the sheets. “Please be careful.”
“Hmm?” The corner of his mouth curved upward as he rested his cheek against your knee, eyes holding yours. “But I thought you were a big girl now?”
Your response was a sharp look that made his smile widen.
He withdrew his touch completely, leaving you empty for one aching moment before you felt the pressure of two fingers at your entrance.
Your body instinctively tensed, preparing for discomfort that never came.
Instead, there was only the careful, measured pressure of him working his way in, each shallow thrust venturing a little deeper than the last, until your head fell back against the pillow and the tension melted from your shoulders.
Aizawa's touch was gentle as he caressed your thighs, his fingers trailing a warm path up to your stomach. Then, on descent, his hand journeyed back down, and his thumb found your clit.
A wave of pleasure surged through you, and your body responded instinctively, twisting and arching against his fingers.
It felt so incredibly good.
Just as you felt yourself nearing the edge of climax, intense sensitivity took over. Your clit suddenly became too tender, and you let out a sharp gasp, pushing his hand away.
"I'm sorry.” Breathless and slightly flustered, you apologized, explaining, "I don't think I can come. It's too rough."
"That’s right, I forgot you're made of glass," Aizawa huffed but he wasn’t really annoyed. "You're like a walking porcelain doll.”
He pressed your trembling leg down with his palm, then lowered his head.
The first touch of his tongue made you jerk.
Where his thumb had been insistent, his tongue moved in velvet strokes. Your fingers twisted in the sheets as he continued working his fingers inside you, curling them slightly upward.
Your thighs began to quiver against his shoulders.
This couldn’t be real, you thought, gasping as warmth pooled deep inside you.
No one— no one —had ever made you come like this before, and never ever on your back.
You arched off the bed as the impossible happened.
It was strange, not having to work for it. A sudden, uncontrollable release ripped right through you.
The sensation hit more in your mind than in your body.
The two fingers inside you was still more than you were used to and the overstimulation made the orgasm ache sorely as much as it dizzied you.
Your body pulsed around his fingers, your oversensitive flesh still caught against the heat of his mouth.
Aizawa sat up, the back of his hand wiping his lips.
As he withdrew his fingers, he held them up between you, spreading them slightly.
The wetness glistened in the dim light, connecting his fingers like a gossamer thread.
Your eyes caught on a dark smudge streaking down to his knuckle.
“Oh god—” You bolted upright. “I'm so sorry, my period ended yesterday—”
"Relax," Aizawa said, his expression unchanged as he casually wiped his fingers across your bare stomach, leaving a damp streak.
"Hey!" Your hand flew to cover the spot, indignation momentarily replacing embarrassment.
He shifted his weight, crawling over you, his knees sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips.
Aizawa leaned down, lips meeting yours again. Your body was still tingling, your clit so sensitive that even the slightest brush of his body against yours sent waves of sensation coursing through you.
You whimpered against his lips, “I think I need to pee.”
He sighed, but his lips didn't leave yours, his hands still moving over your body.
“Aizawa, I said—”
“Go.” He leaned back, his eyes dark with desire. “Now. Before I change my mind about letting you.”
You scampered off the bed, the cool air of the room hitting your bare skin.
You sat down on the toilet, the porcelain freezing against the back of your thighs, the tile cold beneath your feet.
When you wiped, you felt the slickness between your legs.
Returning to the bedroom, you found Aizawa reclined on the bed, pants already kicked onto the floor. He lay back, languidly stroking himself, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin tingle.
He beckoned you to join him.
"Take your shirt off," he instructed.
You complied, slowly lifting the fabric over your head.
Aizawa’s hand continued stroking up and down, never breaking pace.
"Your tits got bigger," he remarked.
"You can tell?" you asked.
“I would never forget what you look like.”
Aizawa gently pressed you back down onto the bed, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss.
His hands, strong and sure, slid down to your legs, easing them apart. He stroked himself, his breath hitching slightly as he leaned back just a little.
He lifted one of your legs to his chest, his hand warm and firm against your skin. With the other, he guided himself to your entrance.
You bit your lip.
You'd only had sex a few times, and each time had been a mix of anxiety and pain, always having to stop midway because you were too sensitive, and it hurt too much. None of which your partners had been particularly happy about.
You braced yourself, expecting that familiar burn, hoping that this time would be different.
Aizawa’s discerning eyes caught your tension immediately.
“Relax, and keep your jaw loose.” His fingers brushed lightly along your jawline, tracing the muscle to encourage you to ease the tension there. “If your jaw’s clenched, the rest of you probably is too. Inhale—come on.”
You shakily nodded, trying to follow his instructions.
"And exhale steadily."
Your breaths came uneven, short little gasps that felt more like panic than relaxation.
“But... but what if it... hurts?” you asked.
“Maybe I want it to hurt a little,” Aizawa said, teeth grazing your earlobe. “But you're a big girl now. And you'll thank me for it after.”
He pressed forward, the thick head of his cock breaching you.
Aizawa kissed you deeply, swallowing your gasp, as his hips began a slow, shallow rhythm.
Each thrust pushed in a little deeper, a gentle rocking that was barely more than a sway.
It didn’t hurt, not like you feared it would, from his daring words. Instead, there was a slow, steady stretch.
His hands hooked your legs around his arms, supporting them.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathed, the words vibrating against your lips.
A whimper escaped your throat.
A strand of your hair fell across your cheek, sticking to the light sheen of sweat on your skin. His calloused fingers brushed it away, tucking it behind your ear.
"Doing alright?" Aizawa asked.
You managed a nod, the corners of your mouth lifting involuntarily. "Yeah."
Something shifted in his expression—a slight relaxation around his eyes—before he adjusted his angle, sinking deeper into you with his next thrust.
His head dipped to the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and you buried your nose against his skin, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. Against your throat, you felt Aizawa do the same.
The room echoed with wet sounds, and you could feel the slickness between your thighs. His hips moved faster, each thrust deeper than the last.
You started to feel that familiar ache that made you tense.
“Too fast,” you pleaded between broken kisses.
But he didn’t slow down.
Your inner muscles clenched against him, suctioning, as he groaned. The pain intensified, and you gasped, “Aizawa!”
“Call me Shouta,” he demanded.
“Shouta,” you complied immediately. “Shouta, please—it—”
“Hurts?” he interjected, finishing your sentence. “Let it stretch you. You can take it.”
“No!” you insisted. “No, I can’t.”
“Come on, baby girl,” he urged, his breath coming in heavy pants, “Try.”
You inhaled deeply, trying to calm the tension in your body and ease the discomfort. But with each rapid movement, the friction increased, making it feel as abrasive as sandpaper against your skin.
“It really hurts, I'm sorry, I—” your voice trembled, emotions teetering on the edge.
Before you could finish, he was already withdrawing.
“Too sensitive?” Aizawa asked.
"S-sorry, I—" you stammered.
"You don't need to apologize,” he said. “Turn around.”
“What?” you questioned, confusion lacing your words as you watched Aizawa begin to stack pillows beside you.
He patted them confidently. "Hop on."
“What?” you repeated
Without waiting for further hesitation, he maneuvered you around, lifting you and then placing you on your stomach atop the pillows, pressing you down.
“This is how you like it, right, pillow princess?” Aizawa teased.
“W-wait—” you protested weakly, but he was already positioning himself above you, mounting you and sinking in deep in one fluid thrust.
Your body yielded instantly, wet heat gripping him as he buried himself to the hilt.
His weight crushed you into the pillows, forcing your hips down until your swollen clit dragged against the pillows beneath you.
You braced yourself on trembling arms, a strangled cry tearing from your throat.
This—god—this was exactly how you'd touched yourself for years, grinding desperately against bunched fabric while imagining being filled completely just like this.
Now Aizawa's ragged breathing filled your ears as he growled against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, and each thrust forced another whimper from your lips, your body no longer your own.
Your consciousness narrowed to nothing but the overwhelming fullness stretching you, his thickness splitting you open in ways that bordered on unbearable.
"I'm—I can't—I think I’m—" you gasped, voice breaking as your orgasm came.
Aizawa wasn't gentle, he wrung your orgasm from your body against your will.
Your inner muscles convulsed around his punishing size, contractions deep inside that made the soreness flare.
Aizawa's rhythm faltered. His lips pressed against your shoulder blade, then your spine, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses.
He buried himself deep with a final groan, and you felt him throb deep inside you, once, twice, three times.
He pulled out slowly, the wet drag of his cock dragging against each of your ridges, and his breath fanned across your sweat-dampened skin as his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, his dark hair tickling your back.
Suddenly, you twisted beneath him as panic flared, your eyes wide. “Aizawa! I'm not on birth control!”
He lifted an eyebrow, pulling back just enough to reveal the thin latex ring at the base of his shaft. With practiced fingers, he rolled the condom off, knotted it, and held it up for a moment before rising from the bed.
"It's Shouta," he reminded you, voice low as he disappeared into the bathroom.
Heat crawled up your neck as you pulled the sheet over your chest.
When he returned, his dark eyes swept over you. “You always have sex with a disregard to your health and safety?”
You traced an invisible pattern on the sheet. "I haven't exactly... had much, to be honest.”
Shouta laid back with a quiet groan, dragging a hand down his face. Your fingers twisted in your lap, nervous, restless.
Then he opened his arm, eyes half-lidded. “C’mere.”
You shifted across the bed and tucked yourself against his side. His arm wrapped around you without hesitation, thumb stroking slow and steady along your spine.
“You okay?” Shouta asked softly.
You nodded, but he didn’t move on. He waited, because he knew you.
Your voice slipped out small, like you were admitting a secret. “Yeah. Just… I think that was the first time it didn’t hurt the whole time.”
His hand stilled on your back.
“And the first time I ever—” You hesitated, cheeks burning. “Finished during.”
There was a long pause. You could feel the tension ripple through him.
You heard the soft exhale through his nose, saw the way his throat moved when he swallowed.
“Don’t start,” you said quickly, cutting him off before he could even speak. “You were the one who literally just said you wanted me to explore and figure myself out.”
You scowled at the blanket, your voice rising, a bitter edge slicing through the heat of your embarrassment. “Well. I did. And it sucked ass. So congratulations, I followed your stupid advice.”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” he said.
You glared at the stitches in the duvet, your throat tight. “Then what did you mean?”
When he didn’t answer right away, you continued. “Oh, and I’ve smoked weed, too.”
“Oh yeah? How was that?” Shouta asked, mouth tugging into a crooked smirk, but you could see he wasn’t really amused.
You stared at the ceiling. “I got so high I asked Touya to fuck me.”
His smile vanished immediately.
“I don’t even remember most of it,” you said. “That’s how I lost my virginity.”
Shouta made a low, frustrated sound, like he was grinding his teeth, then reached over to cup your cheek, thumb brushing the line of your jaw with a restraint that felt dangerous. “Why did you do that to yourself?”
You shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter now, does it?”
You shut your eyes, and suddenly your throat ached.
Shouta sighed, turning to you, rubbing your arm gently. “Tell me what happened.”
“No, I—really, it’s okay—” you said, hating the way your voice trembled.
He gave you a look that made you pause.
“It was stupid. I was being stupid,” you said. “We were smoking after closing, out in the alley behind the dumpster. And… I asked him. I thought it would be funny, or cool, or just—I don’t know. I don’t think he knew I’d never had sex before. I tried to tell him to stop, but it was like my mouth wouldn’t work right. I—I’m sorry. You told me not to do it, and I did it anyway. I’m sorry.”
Shouta reached over, took your hand, and kissed it. “You’re not in trouble. There’s no need to apologize.”
You let out a little cry. “Yes, I do… because you’re disappointed in me.”
His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, grazing your knuckles. “I’m not. Everyone makes mistakes.”
The tears welled up again, and you pressed your face into his chest, hiding it.
You nuzzled against him for some time.
Shouta’s hand continued to trace gentle circles along your arm.
“I liked those things you said to me… during sex,” you said.
His brows lifted just slightly as he turned to look at you. “Which things?” he asked.
He let the silence stretch and your cheeks heated. “You know…” you said. “When you were… just the stuff you were saying!”
Shouta’s lips quirked. “I’ve forgotten,” he said. “You’ll have to remind me.”
“Never mind,” you groaned. “I know you know what I’m talking about!”
You buried your face against his chest again, and he simply wrapped his arms around you.
“So… does this mean we’re dating now?” you asked, voice edged with uncertainty. Then, sharper, “Or is this the part where you pull the ‘No dating your boss’ card and then you quit your job and move across the country?”
“I’m not quitting my job,” Shouta said.
“You didn’t answer the first question,” you pressed.
Shouta leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “If you think I’m going to let anyone else touch you…” A soft kiss traced your shoulder, warm and possessive. “You’re wrong. You’re mine. I’m not letting you go. And I’m in love with you.”
Tears pricked at your eyes before you could stop them. You’d waited years to hear those words.
Your fingers brushed over his stubble, tracing the line of his jaw. “I love you so much it hurts sometimes.”
“I don’t want you to hurt,” Shouta said.
You swallowed. “Then you have to make up for every single day you were gone.”
“Make it up to you every single day?” He asked as his lips brushed yours, purposefully misinterpreting your words. “Then you’ll never leave this bed.”
Even more heat flushed your cheeks.
“Blushing like that before I’ve even started…” he tsked softly. “Careful, or I’ll make it twice a day.”
“Twice a day?” you blurted. “That’s insane… I'd never walk again.”
“Can’t have you running off now, can I?”
You scoffed. “Where would I even go?”
“Don’t worry,” Shouta said, fingers tracing lazily down your arm until they tangled with yours. “You’ll be tied up so tight, the only thing you’ll be able to do is take me. Forget walking, you won’t even be able to crawl.”
Notes:
Thank you so much for making it to the end! 💛 I hope you had fun reading and enjoyed the story!
I feel like the story’s pretty much wrapped up here, though I could definitely see a continuation, like, what happens when you run into Hizashi again (lol). It's on site for me personally... 👊
Aizawa and Shinsou are my favorite characters, I wrote this story because, there should be more Aizawa stories 😈 I also have a few Shinsou x Reader ideas
Thank you again for reading and for all the sweet comments 💛
belle 💫
·𖥸·
Oh! And I have also have a personal tumblr which is mostly just a place for me to geek out about writing and books
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