#it's so sentimental and soft and tropey

[crepe-of-wrath]

Intergenerational Solidarity (Class 1-A & Mr. Aizawa, Aizawa x Fem Reader)

Summary: A famous (and pretty!) Quirkless author and combat expert comes to share her wisdom with Class 1-A. She is quite smitten with both the boisterous students and their homeroom teacher, so she asks Aizawa on a date and offers to take the students on a big shopping spree if they help her get ready. Most of the students go with her, but a few stay behind with their teacher...

Notes: This is a long, very fluffy, sentimental piece that actually started as a goofy chat thread. Set shortly after the Sports Festival, it looks at the dynamic between Aizawa and his students. Aizawa is shy and a bit awkward--definitely not Daddyzawa. Shinsou is in Class 1-A. Fair warning: this is an atypical Reader fic on two counts: a) it's in the third person and b) Reader is essentially off-screen for most of it, as it's really about the lads helping Mr. Aizawa get ready for his big date with Reader. There will be a follow-up describing said big date in the more traditional second person Reader format.

Continued in: To Have His Back

Class was over for the day, but 1-A was in no hurry. The students stared hard at Mr. Aizawa, mentally willing him to not mess this up.

Unfortunately, instead of, say, telling this stunning woman who somehow wanted to go on a date with him that he looked forward to seeing her later that evening, or anything else that even they—literal dumb hormonal teenagers—knew you should do, he started padding over to the yellow bag in the corner.

Shinsou was first to try to avert disaster: “Mr. Aizawa, can you—"

Their teacher just stopped, gave him the I’m-not-answering-a-question-from-you-how-stupid-do-you-think-I-am? look that everyone in Class 1-A had quickly become accustomed to, and crouched down to tuck himself in. 

Thankfully, this had bought Jirou and Satou enough time to hustle [Name] out into the hallway before she realized that yes, he was climbing into a sleeping bag. They were soon followed by most of the rest of the class, who were excited for the shopping spree.  

Iida stayed behind because it was his duty. Bakugou was making noises about sparring, so all the boys who were desperate for any chance to best each other, but were trying to pretend they were chill and nonchalant—that is, Todoroki, Midoriya, and Shinsou—stayed. So did Kaminari and Tokoyami, who apparently wanted to see how all this was going to play out more than they wanted to spend [Name's] money.

Yaoyorozu was last out the door, glaring at Iida as she backed into the hallway. She pointed with one hand at the sleeping bag, making a fist in her hair with the other, and mouthing, “HELP HIM!”  Iida nodded vigorously, but said nothing until the rest of the class had been gone for about five minutes and the now-familiar sound of snoring was radiating from the yellow sleeping bag, like a demented purr. 

At that, everyone who was still in class turned back to look at him. He shrugged.

“What should we do?” It was an uncharacteristically hesitant question from the class representative.

“This is pretty fuckin’ hopeless.”

All the heads turned toward Bakugou. Someone softly said, “A bit harsh.” 

“I didn’t say we don’t do something. He got broken in pieces keeping us alive. We at least have to try to help him. Somehow.”

That Iida and Bakugou had allowed uncertainty to seep into their voices underscored the severity of the situation.

“OK,” said Shinsou. “So, he’s not going to wear anything that isn’t black, right?”

“I think that’s a safe guess,” replied Tokoyami. 

“We should get him to, like arrange his capture weapon differently. I’ve been trying to experiment with some new looks myself…” 

While Shinsou continued, Todoroki stared at him in a quiet and unnerving way. Both he and Midoriya were taking notes and occasionally glancing at one another Then, they started whispering.

It kind of pissed Shinsou off that they were doing this because was he was like, right there. 

“Do you have something to say to me?”

Midoriya held up a notebook that had some kind of shitty sketches of Shinsou and Aizawa and a lot of arrows randomly arcing over the page. 

“Do you have any proof” said Todoroki, as nonchalantly as if he were asking what you were having for lunch, “that the man you live with is your father?”

Shinsou clearly brushed the question off as a failed attempt at teasing and was about to start talking again when the meaning of his classmate’s query finally sunk in. 

“WAIT, WHAT?”

Everyone else’s mouth was just sort of agape. Well, almost everyone’s. 

“This is the dumbest conversation…can’t you sidekicks do basic math?” hissed Bakugou. 

“Thank you,” Shinsou replied. 

“Don’t speak to me, extra.” 

Kaminari patted Shinsou's shoulder and scowled at Bakugou.

“Uh, you guys?” said Midoriya, the pitch of his voice floating all over the place like it did when he was exceptionally nervous, “Shouldn’t we be focusing on how to help Mr. Aizawa?”

“Well, while you morons were being super weird, I actually came up with a solution,” said Bakugou. “All we have to do is get him to wear his hair up. There, we’re done. Now that I’ve handled this for the rest of you, it’s time to fight!” 

“Oh, that’s what Momo was referring to! Of course!” exclaimed Iida. 

Bakugou actually let his head hit his desk. “What else could she have meant, idiots? Don’t you remember how horrible it was, that day when Mr. Aizawa came to class with his hair in a ponytail?”

“I heard the second and third years say things at lunch that day that I can never unhear,” said Tokoyami. Dark Shadow popped out to nod and added a plaintive little whimper. 

“People hounded me asking if I had taken pictures of him,” said Kaminari, whose face had settled into a thousand yard stare. “Why? Why would I take pictures? Even the assistants and interns on staff, grown adults, were asking me. Why?”

The zipper on Aizawa’s sleeping bag seemed to fly open of its own volition, and a surprisingly animated “WAIT, WHAT?!” emerged from the bag’s depths. 

Midoriya and Todoroki exchanged glances and nodded as the latter scrawled in his notebook. Shinsou sucked in an irritated breath. 

Aizawa had completely emerged from his cocoon. “I think I asked a question?”

All the eyes drifted back toward Iida. Tenya loved falling on his sword on behalf of others: why deny him such an absolutely exceptional opportunity? 

He stood up, a portrait of dignity so long as you weren’t close enough to see the beads of sweat. “Mr. Aizawa, it is true. When you wore your hair in what people usually call a ‘man bun,’ it seems to, ah, have met with approval, and we were indeed asked for pictures.”

“I got asked for strands of your hair by a third year girl from General Studies,” continued Kaminari, in the tone of voice one might expect from someone whose calm afternoon has just been shattered by the sudden recollection of a particularly unsettling nightmare. 

There was the most distressing silence. Mr. Aizawa’s eye may have twitched.

“Sir?” Iida asked.

No response. No one even cleared their throat. Was it possible to actually hear time passing? 

Finally, Mr. Aizawa heaved a large sigh. “Well, if that is the response that people have, I guess it would be the rational thing to wear my hair that way. I do want to make a decent impression for the lady.” 

Every single student blinked slowly. Oh boy, was there some work to do. 

“Well, uh, maybe you should wear a suit,” said Kaminari. “Those folks asked me if I had any of those pictures too.” 

Mr. Aizawa blinked slowly a couple of times and shook his head. “I think I’ll just wear my gear.”

“But Ms. Nemuri and Mr. Yamada say you clean up so nicely in a suit!”

“You can’t just tell him that,” said Iida, aghast.

Mr. Aizawa sucked in an irritated breath. Behind him, Shinsou could hear what was clearly the sound of Midoriya slapping Todoroki’s hand to get his attention. 

He sucked in an irritated breath of his own, immediately followed by slamming his fist on the desk and muttering, “Damn it.” 

Aizawa shot that general corner of the room a look that made it clear that, whatever it was, he did not want to know. 

“Why can’t you wear a suit, Mr. Aizawa?” asked Midoriya.

“Why do you think, assholes? First, she couldn’t take her eyes off his pro gear most of the time she was in this room. It was really annoying. Second, if you’ve got a low-key costume like Mr. Aizawa’s, why wouldn’t you wear it if you were taking out a famous and gorgeous lady who literally everyone on earth knows is Quirkless? Wouldn’t you want to be extra prepared in case you needed to protect her?”

As the sounds of realization echoed throughout the room, Mr. Aizawa and Bakugou shared something that neither of them had imagined sharing when they woke up that morning: a look of solidarity. 

Things were descending into chaos. Iida and Tokoyami were huddled in the back, Todoroki and Midoriya were doing, well, whatever their thing was, and Shinsou, uncharacteristically, had a lot to say: 

“How could he not know that his hair thing drives everyone crazy?” Shinsou was hiding behind his capture weapon to try and keep his voice low. “I thought he knew everything. I thought he never made mistakes. Is this a crisis of faith? Kaminari?!”

Kaminari’s mouth opened and he really did try to say something, bless his heart, but all they heard was Todoroki muttering, “This is how I acted when I became disillusioned with my own father.” 

Just as Shinsou was about to get out of his chair and just start pummeling his classmate, damn the consequences, all the boys became aware that Mr. Aizawa was speaking again.

“Well, according to what you all have heard, should I shave, or not?”

Once again, it became pin-drop silent in Class 1-A. His voice had been completely sincere, with no trace of distance or defensiveness. And there were his eyes. All the boys saw the change: it was as though they were the eyes of a much younger man. Sure, they were still bloodshot, still had the bags, and carried great sadness, but the outright suspicion and exhaustion with life had receded and made room for something rather unexpected: Mr. Aizawa’s eyes were just a little excited. A little hopeful. They were the eyes of a boy who had once been, or maybe still was, more like them than they could have ever imagined before this moment.

If one was paying careful attention to the boys’ facial expressions, it became clear they were having a series of individual, but interlinked, realizations. 

He’s nervous.

He’s, like, as nervous as we would be.

He’s still here because he’s reasoned that we’ll actually understand best.

He wants to talk to us because his adult friends don’t remember how this feels. 

He’s decided we’re least likely to laugh at him.

Midoriya’s lip actually trembled a bit and something seemed caught in his throat. A new surge of collective resolve charged the entire room.

“What I have heard around the school suggests ‘shave’” Tokoyami volunteered. 

“I agree, “said Iida. “It is a sign of honorable respect.”

“Shave,” said Todoroki.

“100%” added Kaminari. 

“Yeah, just shave and put your hair up. It’s not hard, geez” Bakugou’s voice lacked any of its usual contempt. 

“We were saying earlier, while you were napping, that, you know, maybe you could kind of, maybe drape your capture weapon like so…?” Shinsou modeled the look he’d shown off earlier. “It’s supposed to be stylish.” 

To their absolute collective shock, their teacher fumbled about with his capture weapon until he had replicated Shinsou’s look. Everyone murmured in approval. 

“That’s good,” said Iida. 

“It really does make a difference,” said Tokoyami. 

“You’ve got this, Mr. Aizawa,” said Shinsou. 

Their teacher cast his eyes down for a moment and then looked back up at them, having apparently summoned a bit of his usual stoicism.  “Well, now that we’ve settled all that, I guess I should take a shower and get ready. I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but I appreciate your willingness to help. Go ahead and spar, but don’t actually hurt each other. If you do, I’ll have to cancel my date, and you won’t want to deal with me if that happens.” 

And with that, he shuffled out of the room. 

“Maybe it will go well, guys!” said Midoriya.

***

Class 1-A, now fully reconstituted, was walking back from dinner when they spied Mr. Aizawa walking toward the main gate with a particularly unreadable look on his face. 

“Good, you idiots got him to wear his hair up and shave,” said Mina. “But why does he have such a weird expression?”

“I think we may have accidentally destroyed his entire worldview,” said Tokoyami. “I bet he’s not missing how people are acting around him now.”

“Yep,” said Midoriya, “he totally clocked that guy who just tried to take a stealth picture.” 

“And that girl,” added Hagakure.

“Wait. Wait—he didn’t know that people go crazy for the hair?” said Tsuyu.

“Completely clueless,” replied Shinsou. Kaminari patted him on the shoulder. “It’s OK man, no one can be perfect.” 

[Name] emerged into their field of vision. “Holy shit, there she is,” said Kirishima. 

“Her and Mr. Aizawa,” said Sero. “Wow.” 

As the two of them came closer together, everyone in Class 1-A held their breath. It seemed as though they awkwardly looked at each other forever, and then Mr. Aizawa clumsily took [Name’s] hand, and some students gasped or winced, but then he brought it up to his lips—sure, it certainly wasn’t the most graceful version of the gesture, but still—and gently kissed it. 

“Yeah, Mr. Aizawa, you can do it,” said Midoriya softly. Other students were gently clapping or letting out little cheers. 

There was a huge sniffle behind them. The class wheeled around to see Ms. Nemuri, who had a pretty tear falling down her face. 

“Thank heavens someone told him to wear his hair up,” she said, laughing weakly, trying to make things feel light. “You—you—you’re all sweet,” she said, sniffling one more time and speeding away in the direction of her rooms as fast as she could. 

There were a few squeals of surprise when Dark Shadow popped out and fluttered his wings as though he was just completely done. “This has been the strangest day,” said Tokoyami. “The fact that she asked out our homeroom teacher, who usually looks like something a cat dragged in from an alleyway, is somehow the least weird thing about it.” 

“Our shopping spree was crazy,” said Tsuyu. “They closed stores for us and everything.” 

“Whatever. It wasn’t half as weird as the conversation we had with Mr. Aizawa,” said Bakugo. “He was so incredibly not cool, but that somehow made it cool.” Tch. “Fuck it, I don’t know.” 

Kaminari nodded solemnly. “It was a totally weird conversation. I mean, did you that Todoroki and Midoriya think Mr. Aizawa is Shinsou’s dad?”

*** A loud chorus of “WAIT, WHAT?” rang across the UA grounds, and it might have caught Mr. Aizawa’s attention, might have made him distracted or anxious, except for the fact that he and [Name] were already on their way, hidden by tinted windows and privacy screens in a fancy car.

If the students had thought ahead or been better spies, they would have been able to see how, at that very moment, [Name] was beaming at their teacher—much in the same way that one smiles to try to calm and coax a terrified kitten—as she gently rested her hand on top of his and said (with a bit of a blush on her cheeks!), “Your hair looks really nice.” 

[givemestories-givemelife]

Blueberries, Lavender & Hot Matcha Tea 

A SasuHina Oneshot.

Part 1 / Part 2

AN: Why? Because someone @muzikaldove  asked and I obliged . It came to me relatively easy in all it’s tropey goodness. I think you can tell how much ao3 I’ve been reading lately from this. My apologies over the fact I have no idea how to properly use a comma.

Summary: Sasuke has a run in with a certain blue haired girl and he’s confused.

                                       ------------------------

Blueberries

Sasuke glares at a punnet of blueberries, a memory of wide lavender eyes flashing in his mind. He pinches the bridge of his nose and grits his teeth. Fuck. Things like this weren’t suppose to happen to him. He forces himself to take in a slow calming breath and attempts to sigh out all his current frustrations.

He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about that damn blue haired girl and her stupid embarrassed blush and the way she just couldn’t make direct eye contact with him, and how for some fucking reason that made his heart twist in some weird foreign way.

Because he wanted her to look at him.

He really wanted her to look at him.

Sasuke wasn’t used to the desire of wanting attention from women.

In fact Sasuke was used to women throwing themselves at him since that appeared to be the only way to receive any sort of regard from the aloof Uchiha. Sasuke didn’t have time to engage in such frivolous affairs and was mildly thankful he didn’t have to put in much effort.

But there he was for the first time ever, looking at a woman and instead of thinking the word ‘annoying’ he thought of the word ‘cute’ and that in it’s self should’ve been an indication of hell freezing over because Sasuke is Sasuke and he definitely doesn’t fucking think about anything as cute. Especially not short blue haired women with shy dispositions who spill burning hot tea all over him and his expensive new suit when he’s already late for an important business meeting.

But that’s exactly what happened.

He was uncharacteristically running ten minutes behind schedule when he noticed his favourite coffee shop was obnoxiously overrun because of course it’s a goddamned Wednesday and they have that dumb promotion for half priced iced latte's. So he scoffed at the betrayal and hoped to find a less busy cafe on the way.

And once he crossed the threshold of some hole in the wall bistro he’d never before noticed called ‘Heaven’s little corner’ he looked up at the bell that rang when the glass door hit it and smacked into something oddly soft then suddenly felt pain-

Searing pain, wet and hot, burning his chest and trickling down his legs. Sasuke clenched his eyes shut cringing violently and hissed at the sensation, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“O-oh my god,” a sweet little voice squeaked and Sasuke snapped his eyes open to glare at the retreating form of blue hair, “no no no no no no no.” The quiet offender muttered to herself grabbing all the napkins she could muster from their dispenser and turning back to look at the soaked fabric covering his chest like a devastating problem she needed to solve and quick. Rushing towards him she started wiping at the creamy green liquid that smelled like matcha with quivering fingers. “I am s-so sorry so so so so s-sorry.” She said with reverence. “A-are you okay?”

Sasuke froze watching dainty hands meticulously rub huge bunches of paper napkins against him, slowly starting to feel his ire ebb when he took in the strange girls appearance. She had long soft looking blue hair, a milky ivory complexion, an increasing redness to her cheeks and pink chapped lips pulled in a gentle pout... And that damned troublesome word popped into his mind before he could stop it.

Cute.

Sasuke’s eyebrows shot up at the intrusive thought and snapped, “stop,”  grabbing her wrists and something twisted in his gut seeing her wince at his grip so he lessened the pressure of his grasp into something resembling gentleness and pushed her hands back as if returning them. “Before you embarrass yourself even more.”

Eloquent eyes pinched with mortification shooting to the ground, he realised that she actually looked like she was about to cry.

Which really should have pissed him off.

But for some reason he couldn’t fathom, it didn’t.

He let go of her wrists like he’d been burned a second time, raising his hands in  surrender, “ it’s fine, I’m fine,” and scoffed. “Are you... okay?” He scowled at the stupid question, she’s the one clearly in the wrong but for some reason he couldn’t ignore her current distress.

She buried her face into her hands. “Y-yes. I mean, of course I am.” She said throwing the napkins in the trash.  “Sorry. I-I have to go.” And she booked it out the door not even sparing him glance.

Sasuke had to resist the urge to run after her and demand she tell him her name which was a rather concerning sentiment.

And it dawned on him that she never once looked him in the eyes throughout their entire interaction.

Sasuke changes his mind.

She is definitely annoying.

Annoyingly cute.

Fuck.

This isn’t good.

And it doesn’t make any sense! The exchange lasted less than two minutes and there was literally nothing special about this girl but for some reason he couldn’t get her out of his mind and It’s starting to be a fucking problem.

“Why is Sasuke looking at the blueberries like they’ve personally offended him.” Shikamaru drawls, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his ripped denim jeans reminding Sasuke that he is in fact not alone on this grocery run.

It’s 7 pm on a Friday night and he and Naruto always have people over at their flat for drinks to blow off steam and bitch about the work week. Usually Sasuke would get snacks on his own but Shikamaru showed up early and Naruto asked if he wanted to go on an adventure like it was the most exciting thing and now here they are in the organic fruit section of their local super market.

“Oh, Sasuke’s pining.” Naruto says casually and Sasuke wants to punch him in the throat. Sasuke doesn’t pine, he only casually mentioned the interaction with the weird girl in passing this morning and Naruto hadn’t stopped teasing him since.

“Explain.” Shikamaru inquires with a lazy smirk.

“Sasuke’s pining,” he repeats, picking up a fat orange, throwing it up in the air and catching it, “I know he is because he mentioned some girl who spilled tea on him and he has never brought up an interaction he’s had with a girl with me. Like. Ever.” Well... Hn, Sasuke hadn’t thought about it like that.

“No way.”

“Which obviously means he’s found the one.”

“What else he say about her?”

“Not much, but he’s been doin’ a lot of glaring at a whole lot of nothing. I’m starting to think he’s actually daydreaming.”

“Would you two shut up.” Sasuke grits indignantly, prompting Shikamaru to slap an antagonising hand on his shoulder.

“So what’s it going to be Sasuke; blueberries or no blueberries?”

Naruto slaps a hand on his other shoulder. “That seems to be the question.”

Sasuke frowns and grabs the damn blueberries, throws them in the basket swivelling out of their grip towards the checkout line, attempting to remain indifferent towards the fuckers. He grabs a few bags of chips on the way.

“Did I mention that said mystery girl has blue hair.” Naruto stage whispers and Sasuke scowls when he hears Shikamaru snicker.

~ ~

Twenty minutes later they’re making the short walk back to their apartment after picking up booze, “so do we know who’s coming tonight?” Sasuke asks.

“The usual; Kiba, Choji... Uh... Ino and Sakura.” Naruto kicks a stray rock on the pavement as they pass a streetlight. “Oh yeah! Sakura said she asked some girl from her photography class if she wanted to come, what was her name?”  

“Hinata, I think.” Shikamaru adds.

“So that should be cool, we never have new people over.”

“Hn.”

“I just hope she’s cute.”

Sasuke hoped she wasn’t.

                                      ------------------------------------

AN2: DUN DUN DUNNNNNN Is that a cliffhanger there? Well huh. I guess that means there’s gonna be more? Really I promise you I wanted to write the whole thing and post it as a longer-shot (Is that a term?) But I also just wanna start writing things and getting it out there so it doesn’t get trapped in my drafts. And It kinda works as a one shot... So hey... Maybe bug me for more? CHAPTER 2 is up.

[shippy-mcshipface]

I feel like I wouldn’t do so much (private and among friends, for the most part) complaining about headcanons and tropes I dislike in my fandom if the people who wrote/created them weren’t so... Like That about it.

Like That meaning making fun of anyone who dares to do something different than them. Like That meaning that I used to look forward to answering asks on my main about my own personal headcanons, but since these people have all but taken over the fandom, I dread it, as some vaguepost about people who headcanon character x as having character trait y or enjoying hobby z are stupid stupid stupid will inevitably pop up and make the rounds. And not even just me; if anyone posts a dissenting opinion, they’re all over it.

And it seems like the people who are Like That are all, canon be damned (a sentiment I normally agree with! That’s the point of fanfiction!), we get to decide what is and isn’t canon and is and isn’t acceptable. WE have decided who the authority is in this fandom, and YOU have no business even attempting to create if it doesn’t meet our standards. This IS canon, and your citations from actual canon mean absolutely nothing because we’ve decided canon, because we’re just Like That. And then it’s just this weird mix of pastel, watered-down boringness, and ultra-tropey romance stories about twelve-inch penises and men wearing pencil skirts to work — which, again, fine! Put that guy in some sexy business casual! More power to ya! Draw whatever the fuck you want too; feel your pastel soft boy fantasy, I literally do not care! Just don’t be so fucking Like That about it, act like it’s in any way, shape, or form canon, and go on a campaign against people who are like huh. I don’t think I’m gonna do that because I see it as OOC.

And then there’s this whole attitude of oh how DARE you sexualize children by aging them up and making them adults who fuck other adults — oh except in these specific stories because they perpetuate the tropes we, the Fandom Authority, want to see. I don’t have the spoons to fully unpack that right now since it’d take up another post entirely; but, in short, that whole issue is basically top/bottom discourse dressed up in a faux-woke hat.

I’m fully aware this is vague, which is deliberate. Sorry this is such a disjointed rant too, it’s really late... but I’ve been quite irked about the whole thing for a bit now and had to attempt to get it off my chest.