Aizawa Oneshots and More

Valentine's Day

HI GUYS!! Here's a short chapter for Valentine's Day!

Might write a part two, might not, depends on how well this chapter is received by y'all. 

Enjoy!

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The first thing you feel when you wake up is warmth. Not the kind from sunlight filtering through the curtains or the thick blankets draped over you, but something better. Something steadier.

Aizawa.

His arm is draped lazily over your waist, his body pressed flush against yours, his breathing slow and even. It's rare for him to sleep this deeply – he's a light sleeper, always attuned to the smallest shifts in the world around him. But today, he's still. Peaceful.

You shift slightly, just enough to stretch – but the moment you do, his grip tightens.

"Don't," comes his groggy, sleep-roughened grumble..

You blink, half dazed with sleep. "Shota—"

"No."

His voice is hoarse, thick with drowsiness, but his hold doesn't waver. Instead, he pulls you closer, tucking his face in the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, slow and deep, and you can feel the way he exhales, like he's already halfway to drifting off again.

"It's morning," you murmur, but he just lets out a long, heavy sigh.

"Exactly. Means I should be sleeping."

You huff out a laugh. "We should get up."

"You should stop talking."

"Shota—"

"Day off. Stay."

You try pulling away again, just to tease him, but it's pointless. Aizawa is ridiculously strong even when he's not fully awake, and he easily drags you back against him with a quiet grunt.

"You're warm," he mutters.

You roll over in his arms until you're facing him, fully expecting to see his usual grumpy morning expression. But instead, you find something softer.

His black hair is an absolute mess, falling in loose strands over his barely-open eyes. His breathing is slow, his face relaxed – none of the exhaustion or sharp-edged tension he usually carries. He's... comfortable.

Vulnerable, in the rarest way.

It makes your chest ache.

"I could make coffee," you offer, reaching up to brush some of his hair back from his face.

Aizawa grumbles, shifting so his forehead presses against yours. "Later."

"Breakfast?"

"Later."

"You're just going to lay here all day?"

"That's the plan."

You snort, shaking your head, but before you can protest further, he shifts – lifting his head just enough to press a soft kiss to your forehead. It's quick, barely more than a brush of his lips on your skin, but it sends a warm, fluttering feeling through your chest all the same.

"Stay," he murmurs again, quieter this time.

And really, how can you say no to that?

So you stay.

Wrapped in blankets, tangled in each other's warmth. You listen to the slow, steady rhythm of his heart, to the way his breathing evens out again, to the tiny, almost imperceptible sigh he lets out when you settle against him.