Chapter Text
When the tree leaves rustled in the quiet mornings of his life, it was something Aizawa had never noticed. All of these mundane things that he had brushed aside, scoffed at countless times before are now things that make his heart sing and dance inside of his chest. All the things he had considered bland once before are now the most interesting, spectacular sights to behold. The sounds he had so fiercely detested before are now the most melodic of songs.
He loathed everything he deemed monotonous.
But that was before he met you .
You, with your long locks cascading down past your slim shoulders, a soft brown with hints of vibrant streaks of violet through them. Your bangs were curled around, creating the perfect combination of unruly yet tamed, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of them whenever you were in his vicinity.
His head felt permanently cloudy whenever you were around and he wasn’t sure what it was, but it frightened something deep inside of him. The way you destroyed all of his senses of level-headedness and always rendered him at a loss of words. Something about you made him weak in the knees, a feeling he had never experienced before he laid his eyes on you. It almost felt like a crime to even think about someone like you, let alone spare a glance in your direction.
Something twisted in his chest and he clutched the area with slender fingers, before shaking his head, his own long black strands falling dully around his face. He stared out the window of the classroom he was old friends with, fingers tapping impatiently against the mahogany wood of the table he sat at.
He was waiting for you, and the more he thought about you and your inevitable arrival, the more anxious, impatient, excited he became.
He felt like his body took a screenshot.
Excited? He thought with a hint of sharp surprise. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had even been excited before he was thrust into the world of teaching way too eager, too loud UA students. Aizawa felt himself tense before he exhaled deeply, trying to steel his nerves.
Just as he had begun to feel himself relax, he heard your laugh before he even got the chance to peer up at you from beneath his hair. His breath caught at the sight of you.
You were dressed in a cropped black tank top that rested snugly against your frame, subtle and confident, dipping just enough to hint at the curve of your chest without revealing too much. A sheer fishnet layer peeked out from beneath, tracing your arms and torso in delicate patterns, stopping just at your neck trailing all the way down to your midriff, where your pale skin met mesh in the most maddening of contrasts.
He had to tear his eyes away from the soft indentations of your hips, the way the fabric seemed to curve along with you, teasing, never flaunting. With quiet restraint, he let his eyes travel upward again, all the way to the soft lines of your collarbone, to the way the light brushed over you like it, too, couldn’t look away. His breath stalled, digging his fingers into the edge of the wooden table until his knuckles turned bone white.
Your black pleated jean skirt swayed slightly as you moved, catching the faint breeze from the door behind you. His mouth felt dry. The fishnets, one a muted violet, the other classic black, clung softly to your thighs, a contrast that felt… so you . The little star chain you wore as a belt gave a delicate jingle as you took your seat across from him, a sound so small yet somehow grounding. It shouldn’t have been that distracting.
And then, your eyes met his. They were warm, open, full of quiet curiosity. You gave him a small smile, the kind that held something more behind it. Something that made the air around you feel just a little bit different.
He found himself looking at you the way he might look at the sunrise. You were an unexpected addition to his already small circle, and you were so undeniably beautiful. And for a moment, all the noise in his head faded into stillness.
Aizawa averted his gaze for a brief moment, trying to compose himself, this feeling, but it was too late. This image of you was already burned deep into the darkest parts of his mind. Every flicker of movement, every line of your silhouette, every sound you made, it all felt like sensory overload. His usual stoic defenses weren’t just cracked, they were disintegrating.
He caught your deep brown eyes with his own black ones, then took a moment to flick his gaze down to your lips. They were glossy and pink, and he dumbly envisioned in the back of his head how they would look swollen after harsh kisses and soft bites. He shuddered at the image.
He almost jolted up and out of his seat behind the seat as your hand settled on top of his, a concerned look flitting across your sweet face.
“You okay?” You asked innocently, unknowing of how tight his black dress pants were becoming and he cleared his throat, shuffling for a second before scooting forward in his seat, his knees bumping against his desk.
“Oh wow, you look like you’re burning up, Aizawa.” You continued, your voice gentle, tinged with concern. Your eyes, soft and caring, studied him with an intensity that made him feel vulnerable, like you were trying to read something he didn’t want to show.
You stared up at him under long lashes, the hint of black eyeshadow on the outer corners of your eyelids making your gaze even more piercing. He felt a sudden lump form in his throat as he gulped, a knot tightening in his chest.
This is not the time to act like a fool, he scolded himself internally. Get it together,
He forced himself to cool his mind, pushing aside the rush of heat that had flooded his face.
He cleared his throat, trying to sound nonchalant despite the way his pulse was racing. “No need to worry, just a little under the weather,” he lied, and even as the words left his mouth, he could feel the guilt twisting inside him. He almost felt bad for lying to you, but he couldn't tell you the truth, not the real reason for the flush creeping across his face, the sweat that dotted his skin, the racing thoughts in his mind.
You didn’t seem to buy it, but you didn’t press. Your fingers remained on top of his, warm and light as a feather. It anchored him back down to reality, helping his hazy mind become clear again, but at the same time, his heart was about to beat out of his chest. He stared at his hands for a second too long, wondering how something so simple could feel so private, so intimate . His skin tingled beneath your touch and a breath caught in his throat again.
He absolutely knew this was dangerous. Getting so emotionally involved in you like this when he wasn’t even sure of how you felt? It felt like a gross invasion of your privacy and likeness to even have these impure thoughts of someone like you. This was getting too messy, distracting, and unpredictable. He had a job to do, students to shape into heroes which was harder than it sounded, and he couldn’t lose focus of his goal. And yet… he hadn’t pulled his hand away from yours.
You tilted your head slightly, studying him in a way that felt like you were picking every word he said apart, picking up on all the things he refused to say out loud. He felt too exposed, too raw .
"You sure you’re not overworking yourself again?" you asked softly, your thumb brushing across his knuckles like you didn’t know you were driving him insane.
He let out a weak chuckle and leaned back, trying to create space, space he didn’t really even want. He was just trying to have a sliver of self-control, to stay within the boundaries he’d drawn for himself when he first laid eyes upon you. You were making this impossible.
“I’ve been worse,” He said with a slight smirk, though the edge in his voice betrayed him. “This isn’t exactly new territory.”
“Still, you look like you haven’t slept in days.” You leaned forward, closer, hair falling across your face in soft waves. “You really should take better care of yourself.”
He wanted to laugh, bitter and amused all at once. If only you knew how often he thought about you when he should’ve been sleeping, how he gripped his sheets as he got himself off to the thought of your eyes, your lips, everything about you. How your face haunted his most quiet nights, how your voice echoed long after you both parted. You were an insomnia he wholeheartedly welcomed.
“Maybe I would,” He said, meeting your gaze, “if I had the right kind of reason.”
You blinked, lips parting in a small, surprised ‘oh.’ He hadn’t meant to say it, not like that, not in that tone. But something sparked in your eyes, but he couldn’t decipher it and he felt like this was a mistake all of sudden, like he should’ve just backed off from the very beginning instead of forming this.. Routine with you. He couldn’t tell if the look in your eyes was revulsion, or if it was something else that was stirring within them.
The tension between both of you shifted, charged now, like the static hum before a summer storm. Something electric and it made the back of your neck tingle, a spark of heat coiling deep in your stomach, your own heart beginning to race.
You didn’t move your hand from his.
Instead, you turned your wrist, lacing your fingers through his slowly, deliberately, like you were testing the waters, biding your time to see if he would yank his away in annoyance, to see if you were really imagining the tension between you two.
He stayed still.
“ Y/N… ” He said, almost like a warning, yet soft.
You leaned in a little, not enough to cross the line, but enough to blur it. “You know,” You murmured, “I’ve never really noticed the way you look at me, until now.”
You both sat there, wrapped in silence that pulsed with everything unsaid. Your thumb kept brushing against the side of his hand, steady and slow, perhaps a challenge. The corner of his mouth tugged upward into a teasing smile.
He arched a brow, the smirk growing just a fraction. “So you have been watching me,” he murmured, voice low. “I was beginning to think it was all in my head.”
“You think about me?” You breathed out, cheeks turning a soft pink.
“Every single part of my brain is consumed by you. The thought of you, your touch, your words.” He confessed, words falling out of him and he couldn’t stop.
You blinked, lips parting slightly in surprise, the blush on your cheeks deepening into something richer, warmer. For a heartbeat, you said nothing, only stared at him like you were afraid moving too suddenly would shatter the fragile moment blooming between you.
“I… I didn’t know,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “You always seemed so distant.”
His eyes softened, the smirk fading into something quieter, something that looked far too much like longing.
“I had to be,” he said, gaze dropping to your intertwined hands. “You don’t know what it’s like, standing in front of you every day, pretending none of it matters. Pretending you don’t matter. When all I want is to reach out and-”
He stopped himself, jaw tightening just slightly.
You ran your hand delicately up his forearm, fingers pressing just a bit as you settled your grip on his arm, every action you made deliberate. Your voice was gentle, but laced with something bolder beneath the nerves.
“Then don’t pretend anymore,” you said. “Not with me.”
His breath caught in his throat. He looked up at you through strands of his dark hair, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes — part restraint, part desire, part something deeper he hadn’t let himself name until now.
“I don’t know how to do this the right way,” he admitted, voice rough, honest. “But I don’t think I can keep my distance anymore.”
You smiled, shy and radiant all at once, your fingers tightening around his forearm. “Then don’t.”
And for just this one time, he let himself believe that this wouldn’t all go up in flames.
His free hand lifted, hesitating just for a second, fingers grazing the side of your face as he leaned in ever so slowly. His breath mingled with yours, warm and steady, and the space between them seemed to shrink with every heartbeat.
Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, then opened again, meeting his gaze, soft, searching, full of silent invitation. Your faces drew closer, inch by inch, the world narrowing down to the point where your lips would meet.
He paused just before your mouths touched, breath hitching, before finally closing the distance.
Your lips met with his softly at first, a gentle brush that sent a thrill through both of you, but that softness quickly deepened, growing into something more urgent and needy. His hand slid from your cheek down to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while your own fingers lifted from their place on his forearm and tangled themselves in the strands of his hair, anchoring yourself to him.
The kiss was a collision of restraint and desire, cautious yet hungry. Your breaths mingled, shallow and fast, as if neither of you wanted to break the connection even for a second.
When you both finally pulled apart, your foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, hearts pounding in perfect sync. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to, because the kiss had said everything. His eyes snapped open, dark with something wild and unspoken, and before you could even take another breath, he growled, a low, visceral sound that rumbled against your chest. In one swift motion, he pulled you over the desk, scattering papers and pens in a forgotten flurry. His hands found your waist, grounding you, claiming the moment.
Then he kissed you again, harder this time. It wasn’t just passion; it was something more desperate, like he was trying to make up for lost time. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer to him like you were the only solid thing in a world spinning too fast.
Every movement between you carried weight, meaning. There was no hesitation now, no uncertainty. Just two people, caught in a moment that had been building for far too long.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers weaving into his tangled hair, tugging him closer until his face pressed softly into the warm hollow of your neck. A shiver ran through you, unexpected and electric, as he breathed you in deeply, as if trying to imprint your scent into his memory. Then, his lips traced a slow, tender path across the smooth expanse of your skin, scattering kisses that sent sparks flickering beneath your flesh.
“You don’t have to treat me like I’m going to break,” you whispered, voice low and breathless. “You can do what you’d like.” Your legs curled instinctively around his waist, muscles tightening as you pulled him impossibly closer, desperate for every inch of him.
For a heartbeat, he froze, caught in the fragile vulnerability between you both, then bit down into your soft skin.
“Aizawa!” you cried out softly, your hands trembling as they tangled in his dark locks. A soft whimper escaped your lips as you pressed your cheek against the side of his head, eyes fluttering shut as the jolt that rang through your body went straight to your core.
As he pulled back almost reluctantly, he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, eyes glinting with amusement.
“Careful,” he warned softly with a grin playing on his lips, “we’re supposed to be professional here..”
“Professional? Please, I didn’t drag myself across your desk.” You whined in reply, your voice breathy as you arched into his touch. His fingers ghosted over the hem of your skirt, making your heart race and your breath hitch. The tension between you thickened with every deliberate, teasing movement. You couldn’t help but press closer, eager for more, even as your words betrayed you. “You’re the one breaking the rules, aren’t you?”
You looked up at him, waiting, watching for a crack in his control, something to show he was as undone as you were.
He smirked, his eyes dark and intent on you. “You’re making it easy to,” he replied, his voice low and laced with a dangerous warmth that made your heart race. He leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead in a soft, affectionate kiss. The moment his lips left your skin, a soft breath left your chest in a shaky sigh, and you could feel the heat flood to your cheeks.
You bit your lip, the pull between you almost magnetic now. “You’re doing it on purpose…” you whispered, but the words lacked conviction, your body already betraying you. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers curling in the fabric of his button up shirt, as if trying to ground yourself in the reality of this moment. You lowered one hand to grab his tie, pulling him closer. His hands braced themselves on the top of the desk, caging you in, making you feel safe.
He let his gaze drop to your lips, just briefly, before meeting your eyes again. “I never said I wasn’t,” he murmured, his voice thick with a quiet intensity that made your breath hitch.
You leaned into him, drawn to the magnetic pull of his presence, but then with a sudden shift, he pulled back just enough to leave you aching with want.
“I’ve waited so long for this,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, sending a soft shiver down your spine.
“But you don’t have to rush. I want to make sure you’re ready.” The words were gentle, almost like a promise, and yet the distance between you felt unbearable. His hands rested at your sides, steady and comforting, but every part of you longed to close the space, to pull him closer. His patience, though, only made the wait so much worse.
“You don’t have to hold back with me,” you breathed, voice trembling with a mixture of frustration and longing. “I need you, Aizawa... please, don’t make me wait any longer. I can’t take this.”
His eyes darkened with something primal, something raw, desire mixed with something more dangerous. A flicker of something that made your pulse race. He took a step closer, leaning in as if to bridge the gap between your lips, then simply replied:
“ Okay. ”
His breath mingled with yours, and your heart raced faster as you felt the heat of his body inching closer, your chest rising and falling erratically with anticipation. You could feel the warmth of his hand hovering near your thigh, fingers twitching, as though they were fighting the urge to tear the fishnets near your inner thighs apart, to feel the soft skin beneath, to explore every inch of your body. You leaned in, almost desperate, your lips just centimeters from his, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. The world outside, the thoughts in your head, even the fear of consequences—all faded. It was just him, just the two of you in this moment.
And then…
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound shattered the bubble of intimacy like a cold splash of water. You froze. Aizawa tensed, his jaw tightening, the moment slipping from your grasp like sand through your fingers.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The persistent rapping at the door echoed through the room, cruelly breaking the spell. Aizawa's eyes flickered to the door, then back to you, his expression a perfect storm of frustration and self-restraint. He stepped back just enough to put some distance between you, but it wasn’t the distance you wanted. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he looked like a man on the edge of snapping, his restraint hanging by the thinnest of threads.
The knock sounded again, louder this time, and you felt the pressure in your chest, confusion, desire, and you could see the pure exasperation on his face. You couldn’t tell whether he wanted to cry or scream.
Aizawa ran a hand through his hair, the motion sharp and frustrated, as he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The fire inside him, the aching desire that had been building up, clashed violently with the reality of what was happening. He was so close to crossing a line, to finally giving in to everything he’d been denying. And yet, the knock on the door pulled him back to the harsh truth.
Not yet. Not like this.
His eyes fluttered briefly to yours, and he felt a tightening in his chest. The way you looked at him, in a way that was so open, so trusting, was making everything harder. It was like a magnetic force, pulling him in, threatening to break every ounce of control he had. He couldn't afford to look at you again, not like this. The tension between you was thick, suffocating, and he wanted nothing more than to continue, but rationale was taking over once again.
"Just..." His voice was rough, almost hoarse. He finally let his eyes meet yours, and in that split second, he saw the need reflected in your gaze, the same need that mirrored his. His focus flicked to your thighs, to the way your legs were crossed so enticingly, your hips just barely brushing against the edge of the chair. Every inch of you was a temptation, and it nearly drove him insane to pull away.
With a shaky breath, he reached out to you, his hand settling on your waist, and helped you stand. The sensation of his touch lingered like a spark in the air, his fingers grazing your skin with an intensity that made your heart race. The moment you were on your feet, he guided you toward the door, his hand still resting gently on your back. He tried to focus, tried to keep his mind clear, but it was becoming impossible.
He turned away briefly, fixing his tie, his movements deliberate, as if it were a task he could focus on instead of what was happening between the two of you. He smoothed out his slacks and shirt, the act almost mechanical, but it didn’t fool either of you. The air between you was still thick with unspoken words, with the desire neither of you could deny.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper. "Meet me here after hours, okay?"
His words hung in the air like an unspoken promise, the weight of them settling heavily in your chest. You felt a rush of anticipation flood through you, a thrill at the thought of what could come next. Your voice trembled just slightly as you replied, a soft, breathless, “Okay.”
You nodded, your heart pounding in your ears as you tried to keep your composure. But then, his hand settled back onto the small of your back, and the simple touch sent a ripple of warmth through you. You could feel his palm, solid and grounding, a contrast to the chaos that was swirling inside you.
But then, just as quickly, his hand pulled away. The loss of contact was like a spark doused in cold water, and for a second, you nearly pouted, wishing for the warmth of his touch to stay. It was hard to mask your disappointment, but you quickly squashed the feeling down, pushing it down.
Aizawa didn’t say anything more, but the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment too long, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw—those were the things that spoke volumes. Without another word, he turned toward the door, pulling it open, but not before a final glance in your direction. It was brief, but it carried everything: the promise, the hunger, the need to get back to what had been interrupted.
You quickly walked past Present Mic, face still flushed red as he closed the door behind you. After you were gone, he glared at Present Mic, who was still grinning like he’d just witnessed a juicy drama unfold.
“So, you’re really just going to pretend that didn’t happen?” Mic leaned against the doorframe, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I know a couple of things about chemistry, Aizawa, and trust me, that was way more than a simple chat.”
Aizawa shot him a deadpan stare. “Mic, I swear…”
“Hey, I’m just saying,” Mic continued, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “You two were vibing — major vibes! I think you owe me a little thank you for not barging in earlier and ruining everything.”
Aizawa exhaled, rubbing his temples. “You really have no sense of timing, do you?”
“Nope,” Mic grinned. “But hey, I could teach you a few tricks about handling distractions—’cause man , she was a distraction. In a good way, of course.” He gave a dramatic wink.
Aizawa didn’t dignify that with an answer, opting instead to sort through a stack of papers with exaggerated precision, clearly trying to ignore the conversation.
God , he had a headache.
Mic, clearly not getting the hint, flopped down on the desk. “Okay, okay, but seriously. What are you gonna do about it?”
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Aizawa muttered, voice flat. “Just… mind your own business.”
“Mind my own business?” Mic laughed. “You’re acting like you almost didn’t get into her business on school grounds.”
Aizawa rolled his eyes, bristling slightly at being called out so brazenly. “You’re ridiculous.”
Mic grinned. “Yeah, but you’re still thinking about it. Admit it, I’m right.”
Aizawa just sighed deeply and gave him a look that said please, stop talking .
“Aright, alright, I’m leaving. We do have a meeting in twenty minutes though.” Mic said with a wide smile, standing up and heading for the door.
Aizawa didn’t respond, still sifting through papers.
“ See you later , Mr. ‘I’m-Not-Feeling-Anything-At-All,’” Mic called over his shoulder with a wink, leaving Aizawa alone to his thoughts.
The door slammed shut behind him, and for a brief moment, Aizawa let out a long, exasperated sigh.
He didn’t even know where to start with what just happened.