𝐑𝐨𝐳𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞

Firstly, you and aizawa don’t fight a lot. whether it’s because you just agree on most things naturally or he’s just too tired to take things so far, you just don’t fight.

That means that whatever you’re fighting over would have to be something on the serious side.

This doesn’t mean you don’t have banter over smaller things, such as washing the dishes or cooking.

That 100% happens, but it usually ends with him relenting with a sigh, or you giving him a nice kiss and him deciding that whatever you’re arguing over isn’t worth you getting upset.

Now, when it’s something bigger, things change.

Shota will give you the silent treatment, but not in the usual way.

He won’t ignore you at home or never look your way like a child, because he won’t be there to.

An angry Aizawa means a man who purposefully works late at UA.

An angry Aizawa means a man who purposefully takes more missions than usual.

An angry Aizawa means a man who purposefully is never home with only work related excuses so you don’t have the “right” to be upset about it.

When he is home, however, he’ll just head straight to bed.

When Shota is upset, he distances himself.

But, he hates himself for it.

He distances himself from you out of fear. because, to him, maybe this is the last argument you’ll ever have. better to make himself “forget” or “hate” you so it doesn’t hurt as much when you inevitably leave him.

But he can’t quite focus on grading assignments when he can’t hear your subtle footsteps outside his study.

He can’t quite focus on finding grammar mistakes when he can’t smell the takeout from the night before being reheated in the microwave.

He can’t quite focus on deciphering Denki’s horrible essay when you’re not looking over his shoulder giggling at just how bad it was.

Fighting with Shota Aizawa is full of silence and distance, but it’s also just a waiting game.

He won’t fight to stay away from you, especially if you’re the more stubborn type.

The way your brows furrow and the way your eyes start to water when you finally talk to him don’t let him walk away.

That’s if you go to him first.

Most of the time, he’s the one coming to you.

Instead of coming home at 2am, he comes home at a reasonable hour.

You don’t look up from your phone as the door closes, but then you’re swooped up like a cat by a large pair of arms and carried to bed.

His apology isn’t anything big. It’s slow, soft, and overall, exhausted.

His eyebags are heavier than usual, and after pummeling you in kisses, he grunts out a low, tired apology.

“m’sorry. i was a dick. i love you.”

And you really fucking hate the man right now, but how can you say no when he looks so sincere?

The asshole smirks against your neck when you pull him into a deep hug.

That was when fear set in.

Slowly, your expression shifted. Your eyes darkened, and that devilish grin curled across your face… one that always meant trouble.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” you said softly, your tone changing in a way that made his shoulders tense.

You crossed the room, each step measured, predatory. Aizawa swallowed.

“Yeah,” he replied, already nervous. “For close stuff. Reading. Grading.”

He gestured vaguely to the papers. He really needed to finish these by morning.

You leaned over him, close enough that he could feel your presence, warm and distracting. “They suit you,” you murmured.

Before he could respond, you bent closer, your breath hot against his neck.

“I’m going to need you in the bedroom,” you whispered. “Right now.”

His hand tightened around the pen. “I—”

“Keep the glasses on,” you added, fingers curling around his wrist as you pulled him up from the chair.

That was it. That sealed his fate.

The exams were abandoned on the table, red pen uncapped and forgotten.

No exam was corrected that night.

2. Morning voice — Aizawa groaned softly as he felt you carefully remove his arm from around your waist, the sudden absence of your warmth making him grumble in protest. He cracked one eye open just long enough to see you slip out of bed, sunlight catching on your skin before you disappeared down the hall. Moments later, the bathroom door clicked shut, followed by the familiar sound of the shower turning on.

He loved sleeping in on the weekends; basking in the quiet, in the rare absence of responsibility.

But you always seemed to have other plans.

With a tired sigh, he rolled onto your side, burying his face in the pillow that still smelled like you. The steady rhythm of the water lulled him, and, he drifted back to sleep.

He wasn’t out for long.

The mattress dipped beneath your weight as you returned, and then your nails. Slow, delicate, patterns scratched along his bare back. He exhaled deeply, tension melting away almost instantly.

God, that feels good.

His eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, and he tilted his head to look up at you. Your hair was still damp, clinging to your neck, your expression soft and fond.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you whispered, brushing his messy hair out of his face, fingers lingering.

He hummed, voice rough and low as he tugged you closer with minimal effort. “Come back to bed.”

You stilled, watching him closely. Something sparked in your eyes, bright and unmistakable.

“Mm,” you murmured, smile curling. “You have such a sexy morning voice, Sho.”

A slow, lazy smile spread across his lips. “You think everything I do is sexy,” he said, chuckling quietly, eyes already sliding shut again.

“Because it’s true,” you replied easily.

You shifted from the edge of the bed, moving until you were straddling his hips. The weight of you pulled him fully awake. He opened his eyes again just in time to hear you add, “Talk to me some more, baby.”

He looked up at you, taking you in—the way the morning light traced your silhouette, the warmth of you settling against him. His hands gravitated instinctively to your hips, thumbs brushing slow, familiar circles.

“I like this view,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

That was all it took.

Your mood shifted instantly, undone by something so simple, so him. And Aizawa, for once, had no complaints. If anything, he tightened his hold on you, fully prepared to abandon any lingering plans of getting up.

After all, he’d managed to get you back into bed…

For a few more hours, at least.

3. Happy trail — You’d been gone for a week-long work trip. He hated it. You hated it. Being apart never got easier, no matter how busy life became. He still had school to manage, students to look after, and endless paperwork to drown in—but every night, without fail, he called you. Hearing your voice before bed was the only thing that made the distance bearable.

By the time he realized it, you’d be home in an hour.

That was all the motivation he needed.

Aizawa jumped in and out of the shower, towel-dried his hair halfway, and pulled on a pair of sweats. He moved around the kitchen with quiet focus, cooking one of your favourite meals from scratch. He knew you’d be exhausted, that travel-weariness clinging to you, and he wanted to give you something warm. Something familiar. Something that felt like home.

———

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” you said softly when you arrived, voice still tired but full of affection. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

But your smile—that smile was the entire reason he had.

You disappeared to clean up, and when you returned to the kitchen, you stopped short.

There was your husband, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed loosely, shirtless. His sweats sat dangerously low on his hips, and to your surprise—

A happy trail. It lead right to his—

Something inside you stirred instantly.

He caught you staring and raised an eyebrow before opening his arms, wordlessly inviting you closer.

You stepped into his space, fingers brushing his lower stomach. “What’s this?” you teased, lightly tugging on the newly grown hair.

He let out a quiet laugh. “Didn’t have time to trim before you got home. Dinner felt more important.”

“Never shave it again,” you said, suddenly serious.

He chuckled, amused but pleased. “Really? You like it that much?”

He already knew the answer. Your fingers had drifted to the hem of his sweats, toying with the fabric absentmindedly. The way you looked at him made him yearn for you even more—made him want you close.

You cleared your throat, suddenly very purposeful. “Let’s put the food in the oven for a bit,” you said quickly. “So it doesn’t get cold.”

And just like that, the exhaustion from travel faded, replaced by something eager and electric.

After a long week apart, you had every intention of making up for lost time…starting in the bedroom.