Work Text:
It wasn’t usually this bad. It wasn’t usually this bad. You’d been known to struggle with your anxiety now and again—it seemed to come naturally to you, worrying over a variety of things that popped into your mind—but it was the worst when you had deadlines and your body had decided now was the time to be rebellious.
You’d always been the reassuring kind. Your compassion and your quirk made you well suited to counselling, and your love of people kept you engaged in your work. Today was just so, so hard. You’d woken up stressed to begin with. You’d been working on this presentation for weeks. You’d been invited to speak at a local counselor’s conference about different methods of quirk counselling for young adults, particularly for those with quirks that made life more difficult than it otherwise should be given society’s standards.
You’d made it through your day well enough—your appointments had gone well, your lunch was simply you pretending you were eating while tapping away at your computer, and now—now your lights kept going out in your office because of how still you were, eyes glued to your screen as you barely dared to glance away for fear of the distractions your office held. It was a shame your quirk wasn’t working on you.
Your quirk gave you the ability to help calm others through physical touch. It would’ve been a blessing now, with your stomach in knots, abdomen so tight you couldn’t keep your “late lunch” down if you ate more than a few mouthfuls. Your head was starting to feel increasingly foggy. There was some hope. You could see the end of your presentation and corresponding paper in sight, but it felt so far away when you were struggling to find the words to adequately describe the frustration that came with expectation and social norms and lived realities—especially for those with mutation quirks that society at large hadn’t deemed “pretty” enough to be widely accepted.
Your lights flickered on as you pressed your forehead to the edge of your desk. There was a part of you that just begged you to go home and sleep—your inner counselor that knew how hard you were working, and how much you’d gotten done, and how there would be ample time tomorrow to complete the work. It was too bad your inner perfectionist kept talking over her.
Frustration forced heat to your eyes. If you could just get the words out, you could be another page in. You could move on to finalizing this presentation. You could put those final little touches on the rest of your paper, but your brain was so foggy and your mind would not stop pushing—
Soft rapping came from your door. Your head snapped up. “Come in.” Why did you say that? You still had so much to do—
“Y/N.” Tired, dark eyes seemed like they were staring into your soul. “You’re still here.”
You gave your signature pleasant smile. “Ah, Eraser Head. I’m just working on something. I should hopefully be done soon.”
Aizawa stepped into your office. “I would’ve thought you’d be home by now.”
You laughed, fingers itching to move across your keyboard at breakneck speed. “I’m… almost at the finish line. Just a little stuck.”
Aizawa hummed. “Haven’t you been working on that for the last two weeks?” You nodded. “And basically all of today?”
“I work on it when I can,” you said. “I’m just struggling with some of the more nuanced bits right now.” Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “I want to get this done in the next two days; it’s just been trying.”
“If you push yourself too hard you won’t get anything done,” he supplied, slowly walking over to your desk. “It’s getting pretty late. I think it’s time for you to get some rest in. You have a few more days, don’t you?”
You bit at your lip slight, head tilting. “I really want to get as much done as I can now. Things might come up later that get in the way.”
“Sweetheart, I think you’ve done enough for today.” You raised your eyes from the screen, brow furrowing.
“I can get another two pages done,” you said, fingers beginning to slowly type away at your keyboard. “I’m just—not going as fast as I want to right now.” Aizawa’s hand pushed down on the top of your laptop. “Shouta!”
“Baby, it’s time to get some rest.” You frowned again, eyes narrowing as frustration rose to the surface again. “You’ve pushed yourself so hard the last few days. It’s almost eleven, and you’ve gotta be up for work again at seven.”
“I can do with a little less sleep.” You saw how poorly that one landed the second your mouth began to move. Aizawa’s hand pushed the lid down further.
“Save what you have. It’s time to go home, Y/N.” The only thing that kept you from pushing the screen back up was the clear warning on Aizawa’s face. “You need to rest.”
Your walk home was decidedly tense. Although Aizawa was never one to have big shows of PDA, your frown kept him from grasping your hand in his. It seemed the better option was to let you try and work through your own frustration first. He’d clearly interrupted your process, but how could he let you, the love of his life, run yourself into the ground?
Your frustration had mostly faded to exhaustion by the time you’d made it to your apartment. Your head felt heavy, your shoes somehow heavier, and it was a blessing, you supposed, that you’d left your laptop in the office because there was no way you could’ve talked yourself into working on anything now that you were in the familiar, sleepy warmth of your home.
You’d had all of five seconds to get your shoes off before Aizawa had slung you over his shoulder. You yelped, air knocked out of your stomach, before bracing your hands against his back. “Shouta! At least warn me!”
“I did,” he said. “You weren’t listening.” Heat rose to your cheeks for a moment before the gentle back and forth of Aizawa’s thumbs against your skin soothed it away. “You’re always pushing yourself so hard, baby. It’s important to take breaks and rest, too.”
You pouted,mouth opening to reply when you were flung onto your bed. “Shouta!”
“Okay, maybe I should’ve warned you about that one,” Aizawa murmured, his mouth forming a gentle curve. “But I mean it. You need your rest, too.”
You sighed. “I just—I know expecting perfection is a lot, but I know how important this is and I want to do it justice. Quirks have such a big impact on people’s lives, after all.” Aizawa hummed, gently pulling your blazer from your shoulders before unbuttoning your blouse. “I can’t afford to fudge this—especially not with quirk discrimination.”
Aizawa pulled off your bra before tugging your sleep shirt over your head. You poked your arms through the sleeves before standing and unzipping your skirt, stepping out of it carefully. Aizawa handed you your shorts before collecting your work clothes. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on anyone’s shoulders, let alone your own, sweetheart.” You sighed.
“I know I can do it—” Aizawa’s soft stare silenced you.
“You’re going to do your best, like you always do,” he said gingerly. “You’re smart, kind, compassionate, articulate—you’re also human, Y/N. It’s okay to rest. It’s okay to take a break. You aren’t giving up. Just recharging.”
Another sigh escaped you before you flopped back onto the bed. Aizawa pulled the blankets back for you, letting you wriggle under them before he changed and joined you beneath them. The mattress had never felt so soft against your tired muscles. You’d had all of thirty seconds to enjoy it before Aizawa pulled you to his chest.
“You’re doing amazing just as you are,” he murmured, the rumble of his voice reaching you through his chest. The sound of his heartbeat encouraged you to close your eyes. “You are capable, and you are worthy of rest.” The hand tracing up and down your spine lulled your body to relaxation.
As dreams pulled you under, you swore you felt the soft press of slightly chapped lips against your hairline. “I love you.”