Aizawa Oneshots and More

Sleep

HEY GUYS!!! Sorry for my inactivity, I just started (drumroll) manga school! I'm gonna be a cool manga artist one day hehe (I learned they are called mangaka!)

Anyways, here's a new chapter for y'all! Let me know if you guys want a part two to this one (considering I made the other deity chapter a longer one with a steamy ending)

Worshipper! Aizawa x Deity! Reader!

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The shrine sits at the edge of the forest, nestled between the shadows of towering trees. It's a place of quiet reverence, seldom visited by others. Aizawa's steps are steady as he approaches, the faint crunch of leaves beneath his boots the only sound in the stillness of the morning. He's accustomed to the solitude, to the ritual of tending to the place – an unspoken agreement, one that has settled into his bones like second nature.

There's no grand ceremony here, no bustling crowds or burning incense. Just the simple, humble act of maintenance: sweeping the stone steps, tidying the offerings, ensuring that the wooden beams of the shrine are free from dust. It's always just him, alone in the quiet, keeping the place in its tranquil state.

He runs a hand over the smooth stone altar, where faded carvings seem to flicker in and out of focus, as though they're too ancient to be understood fully. Aizawa's eyes linger on the carvings, a subtle unease creeping up his spine. He has never quite understood the significance of this place, not fully. Yet, he comes back to it, year after year, as though something drew him here – something familiar yet beyond his comprehension.

He adjusts the simple offering bowl at the base of the shrine, setting it in the exact position he has always placed it. Every day, he follows the same routine, and every time, it feels just a little more... personal. He doesn't know why. He never asked. It just became part of his life.

The faint rustle of wind catches his ear, stirring the leaves of the trees above. He pauses, his gaze lifting toward the shrine's wooden doors, which stand slightly ajar. He frowns. The doors are never left open. But today, there's a quiet invitation in the air, an unspoken beckoning that makes his heart beat a fraction faster.

Shaking off the sudden discomfort, Aizawa closes the doors and turns to leave. But as he does, a fleeting sensation washes over him, like something had brushed against his skin – a soft, almost imperceptible warmth that lingers just out of reach.

With a deep breath, he turns on his heel, heading back down the path to the outside world. But as he leaves, a subtle feeling in the pit of his stomach remains.

—

Aizawa's apartment is still, eerily so. The only sounds are the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant buzz of city life outside, muffled by thick walls. It's a familiar silence, one that's settled around him like a second skin over the years. But tonight, it feels heavier, as though the space itself is a reflection of the quiet ache inside him.

He sets his keys down on the counter, his fingers brushing over the smooth surface as if expecting something – or someone – else to be there. But no one is. His apartment has always been his own, the silence his only companion. Yet tonight, it feels like the absence of an other person echoes louder, tugging at his chest in a way that he can't shake.

His coat slides off his shoulders as he moves into the living room, the motion automatic, like a routine he's done a thousand times before. He has a habit of getting lost in the smallest of details, like rearranging the pillows on the couch or turning on the lamp by the window, trying to fill the emptiness with something familiar.