#Shota aizawa

[linktoo-doodles]

aizawa didn't warn shinsou at all

[needtoloveoutloud]

Chapter 48 is online!

Cockatoos, Weaklings, and Fuckers

Todoroki's lap is in high demand, the task force has their first meeting, and Yoru enters the Yomi. Or: A four-year-old Yoru called Hizashi a cock and doo!

The new chapter can be found on AO3 >> here <<.

Haven't read the >> prequel << yet? No problemo, the whole series can be found >> here <<.

Shadows Of Our Past, Present, and (possible) Future — Series

Join the Discord Server! :)

My Hero Academia — Female!OC Fan Fiction on AO3

Part One (Completed — 93k words):

The one where Shota Aizawa stumbles upon a back alley full of stray cats and ends up adopting a child

“Fine, then a cat? We both know how much you love those little furry…things.” At this, Shota paused the game and turned to the pushy blonde next to him. “I actually have considered that.” “And?” “And: also, no. It makes no sense.” Hizashi looked almost scandalized. “Makes no sense?” “I made a pro and contra list.” “Of course you did.”

When underground hero Shota Aizawa, twenty-two years old, is out on patrol one Friday evening, he doesn't expect that a single meow from a cat would lead him to find a homeless girl called Yoru. From then on, Yoru and Shota grow up together, make mistakes together, and try to overcome every obstacle life throws at them.

>> Read on AO3 <<

Part Two (Ongoing, regular updates — growing long fic — 583k words so far — READ PART 1 FIRST, PLEASE AND THANK YOU):

The one where Yoru Aizawa tries to navigate through life at U.A.

Two days after her fifteenth birthday, Yoru decides to drop the bomb on him. “I want to go to U.A.” “You want to go to U.A.” Her Dad puts the book he's been reading down on the glass balcony table.  “Yes, I want to go to U.A.” She slumps down on the outdoor couch next to him, grabbing the discarded book. “What are you reading?” ‘A Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi — The classic guide to strategy ’. She raises an eyebrow. “Reading that for fun, huh?” “Why do you want to go to U.A.? You never cared much about heroes. Besides Edgeshot, that is.” Yoru smirks up at him. “What, jealous?” “As if.” “You know, even if they sold Eraserhead posters, I wouldn’t hang them up. It would be super weird.” “Good to know where your loyalties lie.” He rolls his eyes. “Back to the topic at hand, why do you want to go to U.A.? Because Shinso wants to go?” “No.” Pause. “Okay, that may be part of it. But I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and I really want to go.” “That might be so, but you still neglected to tell me why you want to attend there.” Yoru plays with her hair, noting how it’s time for another hair cut when she finds some split ends. “I wanna be a hero.” Her Dad blinks. “A hero?” “Yes. Well, I want to help people and do some good with that shitty quirk of mine.”

When Yoru tells her Dad that she wants to attend U.A., she expects it to be a difficult path. She didn't expect all the awkwardness, blossoming friendships, confusing feelings, and near-death experiences, though.

>> Read on AO3 <<

Please heed the warnings/tags (TWs in the author's notes of chapters where they apply to).

Also: because someone asked this before - you can read it as a reader insert if you want. I don't mind at all. Feel free to imagine yourself as part of the story. Just know that Yoru (the OC) will have descriptions of her visual appearance.

This story is a mix of:

Slice of life

Hurt/Comfort

Angst/Fluff

Humor

Dadzawa

SLOW BURN Romance — Enemies to Lovers (Bakugo x Yoru)

SLOW BURN Romance — EraserMic (but it's a subtle slow burn)

Growing up, coming of age (hopefully lol)

Teenage awkwardness

Mixed media (pictures, music, chat screenshots (later on in Part 2), etc. — chat screenshots will always have the written text below, to make it accessible for visually impaired folks or people who use screen readers)

and more...

Author: NoBecksPleaseNo on AO3

Please don't copy or plagiarize the work, the character, the premise, etc. Also, no cross-posting anywhere, please and thank you.

Disclaimer: Yoru's image is AI generated and then edited/adjusted by the author - I did not know better at the time of making that header picture, and will hopefully get around to re-designing the whole thing at some point. The other character images in the header are from Pinterest (besides the one of Present Mic/Midnight, that one's from the light novels) — unfortunately without a source. If you're the artist, and you're not okay with me using them, please message me and I will remove them. If you're the artist and are okay with me using them, please tell me, so I can credit you.

Besides the OC characters, I don't own any already existing characters from the My Hero Academia Universe — that honor belongs to Kohei Horikoshi.

[chaeuvy]

HEY can i request.. literally anything with aizawa (i am starved for aizawa content like literally)

like literally just write whatever you feel like as long as its him😛😛😛

- 😼

⸝⸝ ＃┆ 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆! ⎯ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐀 𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀

summary: While getting ready for another early-morning class, Aizawa Shouta is pulled back into bed by the one person he can never say no to — his loving, dangerously persuasive wife.

warnings: soft seduction, morning sex, explicit content, wife!reader, whipped husband Aizawa, domestic fluff, lazy pacing, lots of kissing & touching, slow & sweet smut, playful dialogue, mild swearing, suggestive teasing, reader gets what she wants, pro hero neglecting duty (for good reason)

wc: 0.6k words.

😼: hi sweets, you’re lucky i just finished my aizawa Drabble <3

The sun barely peeked through the curtains when Aizawa stirred. You felt it — the way his body shifted under the sheets, muscles tensing, that signature sigh he always gave when he knew it was time to get up.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes, hair a wild mess around his face. His voice was low and gravelly when he muttered, “I have class in an hour.”

You reached out lazily, arm wrapping around his waist. “Mmm… no you don’t.”

He glanced down, already skeptical. “Don’t start.”

“Too late,” you whispered, pressing soft kisses to the base of his spine, your fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt. “You work too much. Stay. Just… this morning.”

“You said that yesterday.” His tone was dry, but his body wasn’t pulling away. “And the day before. And the—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted with a giggle, now pressing your body against his back, “But I’m persuasive. And you’re weak.”

“Not weak,” he mumbled as your hand trailed lower, teasing over the waistband of his boxers. “Just… married to a menace.”

“A menace who loves you,” you purred, nibbling on the shell of his ear. “And really wants to make slow, sweet love to you before you go pretend to hate people for eight hours.”

He turned toward you then, hair falling into his face as he looked at you with that half-lidded, utterly whipped expression.

“You know what happens if I stay.” His voice had dropped, deeper now, heavier with want.

“Exactly,” you murmured against his lips.

And he gave in — again — like he always did. He let you pull him back down into the covers, bodies tangling together, kisses lazy and full of heat. The kind of sex that wasn’t rushed or rough — just warm, slow, and intimate. Like you were the only thing on his to-do list that day.

Somewhere in the distance, his phone buzzed with a reminder. He ignored it, choosing instead to bury his face in your neck, groaning as you smiled smugly beneath him.

“You’re going to make me lose my job,” he said into your skin.

“You’re a teacher. You’ll just save someone and they’ll forgive you.”

“Tch. I really should punish you for this.”

You arched into him with a grin. “Then don’t go. Stay. Make me pay for it properly.”

And so he did.

Again.

← MHA ┆ NAVI →

a/n : thanks for reading..

© 2025 chaeuvy ; ━━ do not copy or translate my work !

[dee-writes-anime]

"Vanilla Cupcakes" was so good I actually teared up a little😭 any chance u can do a part 2/ aftermath fic? Nothing to special, just how aizawa sort of deals with the aftermath of it all. I can see him still trying to make it up to her in small gestures (small talk, buying her snacks, offering to go out, etc.), but they all feel out of place and painfully obvious he's trying to make up for her birthday. She catches on but doesn't say anything, just stops responding to his attempts all together until he eventually gives up.

Left on Read

FEATURING Shouta Aizawa x Reader (PLATONIC)

SUMMARY Aizawa is trying. But some things don’t get fixed with a granola bar and small talk. After forgetting your sixteenth birthday, he fumbles through awkward attempts at connection and you stop answering before it even starts to feel real.

CONTENT WARNINGS parental neglect (emotional), forgotten birthday, emotional distancing, subtle depiction of burnout and loneliness, communication breakdown, strained parent-child relationship

AUTHORS NOTE and we're still riding the angst train. I don't know if you're the same anon or not, but my question still stands T-T

Hello reader, this is a two part fic! For context here is part one: Vanilla Cupcakes

Aizawa doesn’t mention your birthday again.

Not the next morning. Not the next week. Not even the weekend after that, when you’re both home at the same time for once, crossing paths in the hallway like two people renting separate rooms in the same apartment.

You think maybe he’s embarrassed. Or maybe he thinks saying sorry once was enough.

Maybe it was, technically. But that doesn’t undo the rest of it.

It doesn’t undo the part where you waited all day.

It doesn’t undo the silence.

He starts acting… different.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing you could really point to in a conversation with someone else.

But it’s there.

He checks in more often now — weird, stilted check-ins that feel rehearsed, like he’s repeating advice from a parenting article. “You get enough sleep last night?” or “Need anything for school this week?” And once: “You hungry?” while standing in front of the open fridge like he didn’t know what answer he wanted.

You always answer simply. "Yeah." "No." "I'm good." You’re not cold about it, just… detached.

Like turning off the light when you leave the room.

One night, he comes home with a plastic bag from a convenience store and leaves it on the kitchen table.

You glance inside and find a pack of your favorite chocolate-covered biscuit sticks and a bottled iced coffee you haven’t had since middle school. It would’ve made you happy a year ago. Maybe even a few months ago.

Now it just makes you tired.

You leave the coffee in the fridge. You don’t touch the biscuits.

The next day, they’re gone.

It builds from there.

Aizawa starts offering things in small, awkward bursts. “Want me to walk you to the station?” or “I’ve got next Friday off—if you wanna do something.” He never says it’s because he forgot your birthday. But it’s obvious. It all feels like an apology.

You don’t confront him about it.

You just stop accepting.

Not in a dramatic way. You just say “Nah,” or “I’ve got plans,” or “Maybe another time.” And when he suggests a movie night on a random Wednesday — some old detective film he liked when he was your age — you don’t even look up from your homework.

“Can’t. Big test Friday.”

He pauses in the doorway for a second. Then nods once and leaves.

The more he tries, the weirder things feel.

He’s always been distant — not unkind, but distracted. Work-heavy. Tired. You learned early on how to manage things yourself: permission slips, dinner, rides home when the trains weren’t running. He was never cruel about it. Just busy.

You never expected parties or surprises. But you expected… something. Some sign that he noticed.

This version of him — this trying-too-hard version — feels like a stranger.

You almost prefer the silence.

At least then, you knew where you stood.

A few weeks go by like that.

Until one Monday afternoon, you’re at the kitchen counter doing some half-finished trig homework when he gets home early. The sun’s still out. He smells like street air and a bit of smoke — probably from patrol.

You don’t say anything. Just keep working.

He sets his keys down. Opens the fridge. Stands there longer than necessary.

Then, casually, he leans against the counter across from you.

“There’s a parent-teacher thing on Thursday,” you say without looking up. “I left the flyer on your desk.”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Then: “Thanks. I’ll be there.”

You underline something in your notebook.

“You don’t have to. I already filled out the form in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t forget.”

“Okay.”

He shifts a little. You can hear the stiffness in his shoulders even if you’re not looking.

“I’ve been trying,” he says finally. Quiet, like he’s not sure how much he’s allowed to say. “I know it doesn’t change anything. I just— I know I messed up.”

You let your pencil roll out of your hand. Finally glance up at him.

“You forgot my birthday, Dad. Not just the cake or the dinner. Like… the whole thing. The whole day.”

“I know.”

“I waited for you.”

He looks away. Not out of avoidance, exactly. But like it hurts to look directly at you.

“I thought maybe you’d at least say something before you left that morning. Anything.”

Silence.

“I remembered the next night,” he says eventually. “I saw the note on the fridge and— I felt like someone kicked me in the chest.”

You don’t answer.

“I’ve been trying to make it up to you. With the snacks. The talking. I thought maybe if I just—”

“Yeah,” you cut in. “I know.”

You sigh.

“I’m not mad,” you add. “Not really. I just stopped expecting anything. That’s worse.”

He doesn’t argue.

Because he knows you’re right.

Thursday comes.

The parent-teacher meeting is short and mostly good. Your grades are fine. One teacher says you don’t speak much in class. Another says you’re responsible and easy to have around.

Aizawa nods a lot. Doesn’t say much.

When you leave the building together, it’s already dark. He offers to walk you home. You say sure.

Halfway there, he asks, “You still like those vanilla cupcakes?”

You shrug. “I guess.”

He doesn’t press it.

But later, when you get home, there’s a box on the kitchen counter. Two cupcakes inside. Vanilla with a little swirl of chocolate on top. From the corner bakery near the station — the expensive one you used to drag him to once a year for your own birthday.

You don’t say anything. But you take one and go to your room.

The other one is still there the next morning.

Half-eaten, with a bite missing from the frosting.

He doesn’t say anything either.

But he takes it to work with him.

Maybe that’s enough for now.

[diviedrawn]

Finished old mha wips while deciding if I wanna do a rewatch

[tumbleweedrider]

Doodle of Erasermic playing cards in my AU

Just while I get the motivation to actually draw

[all-horikoshi-sketches]

[skywalkerrtno]

Aizawa in my style

@arstineey_ on ig and tt

[myheromedia]

Horikoshi illustration for the final Team Up Missions volume

[dynachan]

[g00miato]

Happy birthday to this beautiful man 💖

[etherealangell1]

. ♡ MY LITTLE DOVE

Shota Aizawa x Fem!reader

sypnosis: Bereaved mother reader who after losing her own daughter, starts developing a bond with little Eri. And newly formed dad Zawa who starts to notice this and follows his heart and goes for it.

notes: Most likely a oneshot! Wc: 3k. some pre.written past lore but it backs up the story's plotting. Kiss scene yay. Tension, deep tension.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Eri's eyelids grew heavy, her small head beginning to droop as you gently combed your fingers through her damp hair. The strands, soft and pale blue, clung together in loose waves, curling slightly at the ends. Curious, you gave them a light scrunch, wondering if the curl would hold once dry. You doubted anyone had ever taken much notice of her hair before—but you were happy that you could. That, for her, you would.

"Almost done," you murmured, sweeping a few stray strands into place and draping her hair delicately over her shoulder.

"Are you sure I can sleep like this?" she asked, her voice laced with innocent curiosity as she turned her head slightly to look back at you. You sat cross-legged on the carpet behind her, at eye level, your presence calm and steady.

"Mhm," you hummed, gently guiding her to face forward again. "I do it all the time when I don't have the patience to wait for it to dry. You'll be just fine." You ran your hands lightly over the crown of her head, smoothing the hair into place. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you caught sight of the exhaustion swimming in her wide crimson eyes. Such a pretty girl, you thought.

"Need anything before bed?" you asked, rising to your feet and offering her your hand. She clasped it with her tiny fingers, peering up at you and shaking her head, too sleepy to speak.

"Did you go potty?" you asked gently. She nodded again, her bare feet padding softly across the room toward her bed.

"Will you tuck me in?" she mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled and nodded, lowering yourself beside her bed. You lifted the blanket, tucking it securely around her small frame, snug just at her shoulders. “If you wake up and need anything, you remember which door is mine?” You whispered, tilting your head as you admired her calm exterior. She hummed, already giving into sleep.

She did in fact have a long day of training with Aizawa, which you were proud of her for. You know how scared she was of her quirk.

"Goodnight, dove," you whispered, but only after her breathing had deepened and your fingers brushed slowly over her forehead, lulling her into peaceful sleep.

You hadn’t called anyone that name in so long. Not since your dove had left. It had only ever belonged to Dory. Just a nickname, but one heavy with memory and pain. And yet, somehow, saying it again—saying it to little Eri—mended something deep inside you.

Something that had been broken ever since you lost Dory.

An empty space, now not quite so hollow.

There he stood—Aizawa—leaning silently in the doorway, unseen until you flicked the light off. Stealth had always been second nature to him, a skill honed over years of experience, and tonight it served him well.

He watched quietly, eyes steady as you sat beside Eri’s small bed—the same one you had practically dragged him out to buy. You'd spent nearly an hour at the store, carefully scanning each mattress, frame, and sheet set, trying to imagine what Eri might love most. Something soft. Something safe. Something hers.

Now, he stood back in quiet observation as you gently stroked the child’s damp hair, your fingers making slow, soothing motions across her forehead and into her scalp. She'd begun insisting that you give her baths lately, choosing your presence over anyone else's. Aizawa had initially assumed it was because you were a woman—a maternal figure she trusted to give her baths. But watching you now, with how seamlessly you’d grown close to her, he knew there was more to it than that. He was grateful. Somehow, this—all of this—came naturally to you.

You instinctively knew the things he never did. What to do when she spiked a fever. What remedies to prepare. How to distinguish one type of illness from another with nothing more than a glance and a palm to the forehead.

You handled her school registration like you’d done it a dozen times—paperwork, checklists, supplies, and outlining the routine she would need to feel secure in a world that once terrified her.

You held her when she sobbed until she couldn’t breathe. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t panic. You simply knew—knew how to carry her trembling body, how to whisper through the storm until it passed. How your fingers instinctively knew all the different types of patterns you could rub on her skin in order to smooth her.

You connected with her in a way he hadn't managed yet. In a way that made him realize he had a lot to learn. He had never envisioned himself as a father. But now, he found himself hoping he could pick up a few things from you along the way.

After several quiet minutes spent watching her chest rise and fall in slumber, you finally stood, casting one last fond glance down at her sleeping form. As you turned, you jumped slightly—startled to find him in the doorway, arms crossed, watching with an unreadable expression.

He was dressed in his usual late-night attire: a grey V-neck and black sweatpants, relaxed and simple. You weren’t much different—an oversized, deep-purple long sleeve paired with slightly mismatched blue shorts. Not the most stylish pairing, but undeniably comfortable.

You offered him a small, knowing smile as you stepped toward him. “Hey, stranger,” you whispered, your voice soft so as not to disturb Eri.

A quiet hum left his throat in response, low and tired. You could hear sleep pulling at him too.

“Why aren’t you asleep by now?” you asked softly, crossing your arms and tugging your sleeves over your hands to fend off the hallway’s chill. The dorms were quiet, bathed in a hazy silver light spilling in from the moonlit windows. You and Aizawa walked in step, your footfalls soft against the floor as the shadows followed at your heels.

“When have you ever known me to sleep like a normal person?” he murmured dryly, voice low and rough around the edges.

You let out a soft chuckle. “Never.”

He glanced sideways at you, subtle but watchful. Your eyes were forward, heavy with sleep but still alert. You were clearly tired—your eyes carried that heavy kind of fatigue—but still present, still functioning

Your hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail—half-slipping out, strands sticking out everywhere. It should’ve looked careless. Yet somehow, he thought it suited you. There was something about this version of you—unpolished, relaxed, a little sleepy—that felt... genuine. Endearing. He liked this version of you. He realized he liked a lot about you.

This version of you—calm, unguarded, moving gently through the quiet of the night—was one he was starting to treasure. There was a domesticity to you like this. A warmth. And whether or not you meant to, you had settled into this role of caretaker so seamlessly, like you had always belonged in it.

“I’d ask why you’re still awake,” he said after a beat, his voice steady but laced with something else, “but I think I already know.”

You turned to him, brows knitting with mild curiosity. “Elaborate.”

He nodded slightly, hands tucked into his pockets.

“You’ve been spending most of your free time with Eri,” he said plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You paused. Had you really? You hadn’t noticed—caring for her had simply become part of your routine. Part of you. Life felt normal again. It hadn’t felt like effort—it had just felt… natural.

“Aww,” you teased, giving him a sidelong look. “You jealous, Eraser?” you teased, a quiet laugh escaping you, your voice cracking slightly from weariness, but your smile was genuine. You reached the common room together without consciously deciding to go there. It just made sense—like everything else tonight.

He scoffed under his breath. “No. I’m saying I appreciate everything you’re doing for her. She needs that kind of consistency. That kind of care.”

He turned toward you now, slowing to a stop. The moonlight cut across his face just enough for you to see the sincerity in his expression—quiet, measured, but there. You had to squint to make him out fully, while he saw you clearly: your tired posture, your slightly cracked lips, the way you hugged your arms to your chest as if to hold something inside. He liked how the moonlight highlighted your face.

You looked away and shrugged, your voice lowering. “Yeah… maybe I need it too.”

Aizawa studied you more closely. You weren’t just tired—you were carrying something. Something deep and quiet and fragile.

“You should get some real sleep,” you said, trying to shift the mood, meeting his gaze again. Your expression was soft, almost apologetic.

He tilted his head, dark eyes steady. “But not you?”

You shook your head gently, the corners of your lips twitching into a small smile. “Nah. I feel like being awake right now.”

“So do I,” he murmured.

And there was something about the way he said it—quiet and gravelly, with just the slightest rasp—that made something stir inside you. You didn’t respond right away. Just turned your face, a bit flustered, your cheeks warming from unfamiliar thoughts.

He noticed. But he didn’t comment.

“I meant what I said,” he added after a moment.

You blinked. “Meant what?” Your voice soft and slightly curious, your sweet voice was adorable.

“When I said I appreciate you.” He shifted his weight, rubbed the back of his neck—like a teenager speaking words that had sat heavy on his chest. “You’re not required to do any of this. You don't owe Eri anything at all.—but instead you just… gave all of yourself. Why?”

Your breath caught a little. The way he said it, the way he meant it—it felt like more than gratitude. It also meant he'd been observing you, noticing these things. But the question itself? That was the part that stopped you cold.

Because how could you tell him the truth?

How could you say ‘my daughter died and Eri fills that space’ without sounding like you were using the little girl to mend your own broken pieces?

The words stayed trapped in your throat. You dropped your gaze.

You had needed someone to protect again. Someone small who could lean into you when the world was too big. You missed brushing damp hair behind little ears. You missed lullabies and bandaids and warm blankets tucked beneath tiny chins.

You missed being needed.

And Eri… she had needed you. Just as much.

You lifted your eyes slowly. Aizawa was watching you patiently—not pushing, just waiting the way he did with students who needed time. You exhaled a shaky breath.

“I dunno,” you said. “I just… need her. In the same way she needs someone. I know that probably sounds selfish.”

You let out a quiet, nervous laugh, rubbing your thumb over your knuckles to ground yourself.

"You need her?" he echoed, his tone softer now, more contemplative than questioning. The weight of your words hung in the air, and he suddenly regretted asking. He could tell this was something deeper. Something he had no right to pry into.

You nodded faintly, twisting your fingers together, unsure how much more you should share.

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, no matter your reasons… I’m beyond grateful. For you. For everything you’ve given her.” He rubbed the back of his neck again, as though he were unsure whether the words should’ve been said aloud.

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, like he’d just said too much—but you didn’t stop him.

You leaned against the frame of the common room window, arms still folded loosely across your chest, the moonlight painting silver lines across your face. You were quiet for a moment, absorbing his words—“I’m beyond grateful. For you.” They echoed in your chest longer than you expected them to.

“Thank you,” you finally said, your voice a bit gentler now. “I love Eri, really. It’s not just… obligation or some need to fill a space. I genuinely love her. She’s easy to love.”

Your eyes softened as you spoke, as if even the mention of Eri warmed something inside you. Aizawa noticed. You weren’t faking this closeness with her—none of it was performative. And he’d known that. But hearing it in your voice, watching the way your body subtly relaxed at the thought of her, confirmed what he already suspected:

You belonged here.

Not just in the dorms. Not just at U.A.

But here. In his life. In Eri’s life. Somehow woven into the parts of him that were once so carefully guarded.

He looked at you now—not just with gratitude, but with something heavier. Something deeper.

Because this wasn’t just about Eri anymore.

You made things softer, warmer, easier. You had slowly become the kind of person he found himself unconsciously gravitating toward, the way plants leaned into the sun. He appreciated the help, sure—but what he appreciated more was you. The way you carried yourself through life, the way you made others feel seen, the way your laugh cracked in the middle and your voice quieted when you were unsure.

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud.

But it lingered.

He studied the way your hair caught the light, that messy ponytail barely holding together. He liked that about you too—how little you seemed to care about appearances when it came to comfort. You were yourself. Unfiltered, unarmored. And he was fond of that. Fond of you.

He wasn’t sure when it had started. Maybe it was the first time he saw you brushing Eri’s hair like it was the most sacred act in the world. Or the time you stormed into the teacher’s lounge, covered in pancake batter and furious that someone had let the stove burn. Or maybe it was quieter than that. Maybe it had happened gradually, as all the important things tend to.

“You’re easy to love too,” he wanted to say.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he just watched you in silence for a few seconds longer, his hands resting in his pockets, his mind already turning over the thought: Should I tell her?

He wasn’t a man given to impulsive emotion. But you weren’t just anyone.

“Eri’s lucky to have you,” he said instead, his voice low, deliberate. “We both are.”

The way he said we made something in your chest stir.

You tilted your head slightly, meeting his gaze again. His eyes were darker in the moonlight, unreadable, but focused—on you. Not on the room. Not on the floor. Just you.

You swallowed, your breath catching subtly at the weight of it all. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” you said, your tone lighter than your meaning. “Even if you never say it out loud, I know you trust me with her. That matters. I’ll stay as long as she needs me.”

There was a pause, thick with unsaid things.

His next words came slower. Like he was choosing them with more care than usual.

“And if I needed you?” he asked.

It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t heavy. Just honest.

You blinked. Your heart tripped over itself for a beat. “Then I’d stay even longer,” you said, smiling just a little.

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full. Weighted with everything that hadn’t been said—yet.

Aizawa hadn’t looked away from you. Not once. His expression hadn’t shifted, but there was something in his eyes now—an intensity that wasn’t there moments ago. It was quiet, controlled, but unmistakable.

You felt it too.

The way his words lingered—“And if I needed you?”—the way they hung in the air, making your pulse flutter just beneath your skin. Your back was barely grazing the edge of the window frame now, the moonlight pouring over your shoulder, painting you in soft, silver-blue.

His footsteps were nearly silent as he took one slow step closer. And then another.

You didn’t move away.

His hand lifted—hesitant, deliberate—and he brought it to the side of your face, his fingers brushing lightly against your jaw. You leaned into his touch without realizing it, eyes rising to meet his. His thumb swept gently across your cheek, and for a long, suspended moment, the world narrowed to just that point of contact.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

You felt your breath catch.

Your own eyes dropped—just for a second—from his to his mouth. And that was all it took.

Your mouths hovered as he closed in on you—a breath apart. Close enough to feel the heat. Close enough to count heartbeats. There was still a choice to be made, still time to pull away.

But you didn’t.

And neither did he.

He leaned in, finally closing that final sliver of distance, his lips brushing against yours—light, tentative, testing. The kiss tasted like the cherry chapstick you liked. Rising onto your toes slightly, pressing back just enough to tell him yes. Yes to this. Yes to him.

And then it deepened once the hesitance disappeared and you'd both tested the waters.

His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck as he gently backed you into the wall near the window, careful but unyielding. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like you needed something to hold onto.

He kissed you like he was memorizing it. Like he hadn’t meant for it to happen but had been thinking about it for longer than he would ever admit.

When he finally pulled back, just slightly, his forehead rested against yours. Eyes half-lidded and dead set on yours. His breath was warm, his voice low and rough. It made you feel hot, especially in this moment.

“This isn’t just about Eri, y’know.”

You blinked slowly, still catching your breath, lips tingling, eyes half-lidded with the softness of what had just bloomed between you. A little giggle bubbled up unprompted, breathless and delighted.

“I was hoping so,” you whispered, grinning like a secret had just been made real between you both.

He huffed a quiet laugh, barely audible, but you could feel it against your skin. His thumb brushed your cheek again, slower this time. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were really here, letting him hold you like this.

Neither of you had to speak.

You’d already said everything that mattered.

---

[aizawasgay]

gay + transgender aizawa shouta icons

transparent sources: @eraserhead-transparents @bctransparents

[toshinorisbaby]

😶‍🌫️🥵🤯 my brain is ded

[dee-writes-anime]

I LUV YOUR AIZAWA STORIES SO MUCHHHH!

Could you do a Dadzawa x reader where the reader was S@‘d from the neighbor and when he arrived home at midnight he saw her getting comforted by Hizashi since she was too scared to tell Aizawa? LOTS OF COMFORT PLS.

(I UNDERSTAND IF THIS REQUEST MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. IM JUST REQUESTING CUZ I DIDNT GET COMFORT WHEN THIS HAPPENED TO ME.)

Erasure Lines

FEATURING Shouta Aizawa x Reader (PLATONIC), Hizashi Yamada x Reader (PLATONIC)

SUMMARY you thought it was fine. That if you just got home and locked the door, you could sleep it off. Oh how wrong you were.

CONTENT WARNINGS implied sexual assault (non-graphic), aftermath of assault, trauma response, dissociation, panic, crying, reader feels unsafe in their own body, protective Hizashi Yamada, protective Aizawa Shouta, heavy emotional themes

AUTHORS NOTE this story touches on sexual assault and emotional trauma. I know this stuff can be really hard to read, so please look out for yourself first—take breaks, skip parts, or close the tab if you need to. Your safety and mental health matter way more than anything else. Be gentle with yourself, okay?

It was just a knock. A quick, rhythmic thunk thunk thunk on the other side of the wall that separated you from your neighbor—the one who always smiled too wide, stood too close, stared too long. You never liked him. But you'd been trying to be polite. You were raised to be polite.

He said he just needed to borrow a charger. Five minutes, tops. He already knew you were home. You didn't want to seem rude.

You shouldn’t have opened the door.

By the time you got him out of your apartment, your hands were shaking. You locked the deadbolt, shut all the windows, turned off the lights. You scrubbed your hands twice. Then again. You changed your clothes. But your skin still itched. Like it didn’t belong to you anymore.

You sat on the floor of your bedroom for maybe ten minutes. Maybe thirty. Time stopped working.

You texted Hizashi. “Can you come over? Please.”

He didn’t ask questions. He was there in ten.

You didn’t realize you were crying until the door opened and his voice rang out.

“Hey, hey, I’m here—what’s—oh my god.”

You were on the floor. Back against the wall, arms wrapped around your knees, hoodie sleeves pulled down so far they covered your hands. The same hoodie Aizawa gave you when he noticed you’d been cold last winter.

Hizashi dropped to the floor beside you instantly.

“What happened?” he asked, voice soft at first—too soft. Like he already knew something was really wrong.

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “Don’t—don’t make me say it.”

He didn’t. He wrapped his arms around you without a second thought and pulled you close. “You’re okay now. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

And you broke.

The sobs that came out of you didn’t feel like yours. They felt too loud, too guttural, like they belonged to someone else in a different body.

Because you couldn’t feel your own.

Your arms felt too long. Your hands didn’t belong to you. Your skin was tight and itchy, like it was still holding his fingerprints.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” Hizashi whispered again, one hand on your back, the other combing gently through your hair. “You’re not alone.”

You clung to him like a child, shaking uncontrollably. “I didn’t—I didn’t let him in like that, I just—he said it was just a charger—I didn’t think—”

“He touched you without your permission,” Hizashi growled. His voice was still low, but there was no mistaking the fury behind it now. “That’s all that matters. That was his choice. Not yours.”

You nodded shakily, trying to believe it. Trying to stop feeling so wrong in your own skin.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to see your face.

“Do you want me to call the police?”

You froze. Your breath hitched.

“Okay,” he said quickly. “Okay. Not right now. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

You leaned forward again, and he let you. You felt small. Dirty. Hollow.

“He’s not gonna get away with this,” Hizashi muttered, one hand still on your back. “I swear to god, if I see that creep—”

“Hizashi,” you choked, your voice hoarse. “don’t be mad, it’s not—it wasn’t that bad.”

Hizashi pulled back just far enough to look you in the eyes.

“Don't say that.” His voice cracked like something barely held together. “Don’t downplay what he did to you. You don’t have to do that with me.”

You blinked fast. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts.

“I just didn’t want to make it worse—if I said no, I thought he’d get angry—I didn’t know if he would hurt me—so I just…” Your voice trailed off into nothing. A whisper swallowed by your own shame.

“You froze,” Hizashi said firmly, finishing the thought. “Because your body was protecting you. That doesn’t make it consent. That doesn’t make it your fault.”

Your lips trembled, and you finally let your head drop to his shoulder again.

“I want to take a shower but I don’t want to be alone,” you mumbled.

“You don’t have to do anything right now. You don’t have to be alone for a second.”

His arms tightened slightly, grounding you, his tone gentling again. “I’m staying right here, okay? Right here. You’re safe.”

You sat like that for a while. The tears came and went in waves—some sharp and gasping, others quiet and slow. Hizashi stayed solid next to you, talking only when you needed him to, keeping a steady presence.

Then— The front door clicked. Your whole body went still.

It wasn’t the neighbor. You knew that. The neighbor wouldn’t use a key. But your gut still flipped, and you shrank into Hizashi’s side on instinct.

Then came the sound of boots. The keys hitting the hallway table. A long pause.

“…Yamada?”

You heard the voice before you saw him.

Aizawa.

You closed your eyes, heart climbing up your throat.

A few seconds passed. “Hey, man,” Hizashi called out, calm but not casual. Protective. “We’re in the living room.”

You heard his footsteps approach slowly. Hesitant. A little sharper than usual.

Then he stepped into view.

And stopped cold.

You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear to see his face. You just pressed yourself tighter against Hizashi and tried to disappear into your own skin.

A beat passed. Then: “What happened?” Aizawa asked, low and level—but not cold. Careful.

“She doesn’t want to talk about it yet,” Hizashi said, his hand still running slowly along your back. “But something happened. With her neighbor.”

You felt Aizawa’s presence move closer—like a shift in the air. His silence stretched for a beat too long.

“Can I sit down?” he asked gently.

You gave the smallest nod.

He crouched beside you slowly, like you were a hurt animal.

When you finally looked at him, he was already looking at you. And he looked—soft. Not angry. Not disappointed. Just tired and worried and here.

“I should’ve told you,” you said hoarsely, not even sure why those were the first words out of your mouth.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” he said. “Not right now. Not unless you want to.”

You stared down at your sleeves. “I thought if I told you, you’d be mad. Or think I was stupid.”

His jaw clenched—subtle, but enough to see—but his voice stayed calm. “I’m mad at him. Not you. Never you. You did nothing wrong.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. You felt your mouth tremble again.

“I just—he didn’t look dangerous. He just smiled. And I didn’t think he’d—”

“You don’t have to justify anything.” Aizawa moved in a little closer. “He used your trust against you. That’s on him. You didn’t fail. He did.”

“I feel like my whole body’s… off,” you whispered. “Like it’s not even mine anymore.”

At that, Aizawa’s hand moved—slow, deliberate—and hovered just above your shoulder. “Can I…?”

You nodded.

He rested his hand there. Light. Warm. Steady.

“You don’t have to stay in that feeling,” he said quietly. “We’re gonna help you out of it. One step at a time. You’ll feel safe in your skin again. I promise.”

You reached out blindly and grabbed the front of his shirt like a lifeline. And without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms and held you tight.

Not suffocating. Not overwhelming. Just safe.

Hizashi rubbed your back, his voice softer now. “We’re not going anywhere. Okay? You’re not alone in this.”

You cried into Aizawa’s chest until your throat went raw. And both of them—neither let go.

You stayed in that cocoon of quiet, steady care for what felt like hours. And when you finally whispered “Can we just sit here for a while?”—

They both answered at the same time, “Yeah.” “As long as you need.”