Aizawa Oneshots and More

Teasing

Hi everyone! Little bit of a short chapter, but I do have a question, so I didn't want to ask y'all without giving something in return. 

One: should I do a part two to this one? x3 

and Two ( I 'm not sure if I've asked this already but I'm going to ask again ): Do you guys want to see Satoru Gojo oneshots? I've been wanting to write for him, but I've nowhere to publish the stories yet. SoooOOOooo >:3 here we are! (I promise I'll actually write for him, unlike a certain demon butler that I keep off putting >_>) 

Let me know in the comments <3 thank you!

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The apartment is still, bathed in the muted afternoon light filtering through the curtains. You sit curled up on the couch, the faint hum of the city outside a comforting backdrop to your quiet day. Aizawa's old shirt drapes over you, its soft fabric carrying his familiar scent. It's one of your favourites – oversized and worn from countless washes, making it all the more comfortable.

Your phone buzzes on the cushion beside you. You sent him a picture earlier – a simple one of your legs stretched out on the coffee table, bare from mid-thigh down. It wasn't anything provocative, but it was enough to spark a reply.

"Focus on something else," his message reads, crisp and to the point.

The response is like a challenge, and you can't resist pushing his buttons just a little more. After all, he is always so composed, so controlled – it's satisfying to remind him that he isn't immune to you.

Your next text is a little more daring: a picture taken from your vantage point on the couch, the hem of his shirt riding dangerously high on your thighs.

"How am I supposed to focus on anything when you're not here?" you write, punctuating it with a heart emoji.

The reply comes quickly this time.

"Stop."

You smirk, imagining the slight furrow of his brows and the way he would sigh when he sees your messages. You can picture him perfectly – sitting at his desk, stacks of papers in front of him, one hand running through his dark hair as he glances at his phone.

But "stop" isn't in your vocabulary today.

"Stop what? Thinking about you? Can't help it, baby."

The pause before his next reply is longer, the typing indicator blinking on and off. Finally, his message comes through.

"You're impossible."

A quiet laugh escapes you. He doesn't know the half of it! Setting the phone down, you stretch your legs out and consider your next move. You aren't trying to be cruel, you just love to tease him, especially knowing how much he values his self-control.

The next picture you take is more... artful – his shirt ridden up over your thighs and exposing your stomach, just short of showing off your breasts.

"I'll be waiting for you tonight. Don't keep me waiting long..."

You hit send and toss the phone onto the couch, leaning back with a satisfied smile. The apartment feels warmer now, the air charged with knowledge that he'll be thinking about you for the rest of the day.

Minutes pass, then your phone buzzes again. This time, the words are different.

"Just wait until I get home."

Your heart gives a little jolt. The tone of that message is a departure from his usual curt responses. It's not a request or even a reprimand. It's a promise.