The fluorescent lights of U.A. High hummed, a lonely soundtrack accompanying Y/N as they hunched over a stack of hero regulations essays. It was late, the kind of late where the only other beings stirring were nocturnal animals and insomniac pro-heroes. Y/N, a fresh face among the seasoned faculty, had been at U.A. for a few months now, teaching Hero Ethics and Law.
They enjoyed the work, truly did. The students were eager, the curriculum fascinating, and the atmosphere…well, the atmosphere was unique, to say the least. But the sheer volume of paperwork was threatening to bury them alive.
A soft knock echoed through the quiet hallway, drawing Y/N's attention. They looked up, surprised, and saw Aizawa standing in the doorway, his perpetually tired eyes even more shadowed than usual.
"Y/N," he rumbled, his voice low. "Still here?"
"Yeah," Y/N sighed, gesturing to the mountain of papers. "Regulations essays. They're breeding, I swear."
Aizawa grunted in acknowledgement. "Mind if I stay for a bit? I can't sleep."
Y/N hesitated for a split second. They had always been…aware of Aizawa. There was something about his gruff exterior that masked a sharp intelligence and an unexpected sense of humor. And there was a certain…intensity in the way he looked at them, a flicker in his eyes that hinted at something more than professional respect.
"Sure," Y/N said, trying to sound casual. "Pull up a chair. Misery loves company, right?"
Aizawa moved a chair from the corner and sat beside Y/N, the space between them suddenly feeling charged. He didn't say anything, just observed the chaos on Y/N's desk. After a moment, he reached for a stack of papers.
"I can help," he offered, his voice surprisingly gentle.
"Really? You don't have to," Y/N said, feeling a warmth spread through their chest.
"I want to," he said, his gaze meeting theirs briefly before returning to the essays.
And so they worked, side-by-side, in comfortable silence. The only sounds were the rustling of paper and the occasional scratch of a pen. It was strangely domestic, a fleeting moment of normalcy in the otherwise extraordinary world of U.A. High.
As the minutes ticked by, Y/N found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Aizawa's presence was…distracting. The scent of his worn leather jacket filled their senses, and the subtle movements of his hand as he graded the papers drew their eye. They tried to focus on the task at hand, but their thoughts kept straying.
Then, it happened.
Aizawa's hand, which had been resting on the edge of the desk, slowly, deliberately, moved. Y/N barely registered the shift until they felt the light brush of his fingertips against their thigh, just above the knee. It was a fleeting touch, innocent almost, but it sent a jolt of electricity through their body.
Y/N bit their lip, trying to maintain composure. They forced themselves to meet Aizawa's gaze, and what they saw there sent shivers down their spine. His eyes were dark, intense, and knowing. A smirk played at the corner of his lips.
He didn't say anything, didn't move his hand. He simply held their gaze, a silent challenge in his eyes.
Y/N's heart pounded in their chest. They wanted to tell him to stop, to pull away, to maintain the professional boundaries they had so diligently established. But they couldn't. They were frozen, captivated by the intensity of his gaze and the tantalizing sensation of his touch.
He shifted his hand slightly, moving it higher on their thigh, lingering for a moment before pulling away completely. The absence of his touch was almost more agonizing than the touch itself.
Y/N swallowed hard, their throat suddenly dry. They looked back down at the papers, trying to regain control, but their mind was reeling. They could feel the heat rushing to their face, and their hands trembled slightly as they picked up a pen.
They managed to stammer out a barely coherent sentence about the student's misunderstanding of a particular regulation, but their voice wavered, betraying their inner turmoil.
Aizawa simply chuckled, low and throaty, and returned to grading the essays. But the tension in the room had shifted, becoming thicker, heavier, and undeniably charged with something more than just professional respect.
This became a pattern. Almost every other night, Y/N would find themselves working late, and Aizawa would inevitably appear, offering his help and his silent, tantalizing provocations. A casual brush against their arm, a lingering gaze, and most frequently, that slow, deliberate slide of his hand up their thigh, always stopping just short of…everything.
Each time, Y/N tried to resist, to ignore the growing desire that churned within them. They knew it was wrong, unprofessional, and potentially disastrous. Aizawa was their colleague, their superior, and a notoriously guarded individual. Why he was doing this, they couldn't fathom.
But with each passing encounter, their resistance weakened. The innocent touches became more deliberate, the gazes more intense, and the space between them felt less like a professional distance and more like a tantalizing chasm waiting to be bridged.
Y/N found themselves thinking about Aizawa constantly. They replayed their encounters in their mind, analyzing every look, every touch, every word. They dreamed about him, vivid dreams that left them flushed and breathless in the morning.
They were becoming obsessed, consumed by a desire that was both exciting and terrifying.
One particularly late night, Y/N sat at their desk, their fingers drumming impatiently on the surface. They hadn't seen Aizawa in a few days, and they realized, with a jolt of surprise, that they were actually looking forward to his visit. They were anticipating the thrill of his touch, the challenge of his gaze, the silent game they were playing.
The realization hit them hard. They were completely and utterly hooked.
As if summoned by their thoughts, a knock echoed through the room. Y/N's heart leaped into their throat. They took a deep breath and tried to sound nonchalant.
"Come in," they said, their voice slightly breathless.
Aizawa entered, his expression as stoic as ever. But Y/N saw a flicker of something in his eyes, a hint of anticipation that mirrored their own.
He settled into the chair beside them, and the familiar routine began. Grading papers, comfortable silence, the subtle tension that hung in the air.
But tonight, something was different. Y/N couldn't focus on the essays. Their skin felt hypersensitive, their senses heightened. They were acutely aware of Aizawa's presence, the warmth radiating from his body, the scent of his leather jacket.
And then, it happened again. The slow, deliberate slide of his hand up their thigh.
But this time, Y/N didn't bite their lip. They didn't try to maintain composure. They leaned into his touch, their breath catching in their throat.
Aizawa's hand stopped, hovering just below the hem of their skirt. He looked at them, his eyes dark and questioning.
Y/N met his gaze, their own eyes pleading. They didn't say a word, but their message was clear.
They wanted him. They wanted him desperately, completely, and without reservation.
The smirk returned to Aizawa's lips. He didn't hesitate.
His hand continued its journey, and Y/N closed their eyes, abandoning themselves to the intoxicating pleasure that followed. The regulations essays were forgotten, the fluorescent lights faded into the background, and the only thing that mattered was the burning desire that consumed them both. The game had changed, and Y/N was ready to play.