It’s late evening in your shared apartment. The kind of quiet that only settles after everything’s done, no patrols, no students, no villain reports, just dishes in the sink and soft jazz humming from the record player in the corner. The living room is dim, bathed in warm golden lamplight. Aizawa’s sprawled on the couch in loose sweatpants and a faded tank top, hair tied back, legs lazily spread like he owns the whole damn space.

You, meanwhile, are draped dramatically across him like a lazy cat, your head pillowed on his thigh, one arm flopped over his knee. Aizawa’s flipping through a book with one hand and absently running the fingers of the other through your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp. He’s warm and unguarded. Which is, of course, the perfect time to bite him. You turn your head ever so slightly and sink your teeth gently into the side of his thigh, not enough to hurt, just enough to surprise. There’s a distinct chomp sound, muffled by sweatpants and your smug delight. He freezes.

“Did you seriously just...", Aizawa cut himself off, looking down at you. He frowns. A long pause. Then, without warning, the hand in your hair disappears, and a second later, he bites you. Right on the curve of your shoulder, through the oversized collar of your sleep shirt. It’s not hard, but it’s very deliberate. Slow. Intentional. And definitely territorial.