shota aizawa
asking for a bicep pic at midnight
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your phone buzzes in your hand as you flop onto your bed. it’s late. way too late. which is exactly why you open your messages and type the dumbest thing you’ve thought of all day.
send bicep pic.you hit send before you can think about it. the typing bubble appears almost instantly, which is suspicious because aizawa should absolutely be asleep.
No.you grin and text back:
why not.there’s a long pause. then:
Because it’s midnight.
and?
Normal people sleep.
you’re awake.
Unfortunately.you bite your lip, trying not to laugh. you send:
so bicep pic?another long pause. you imagine him sitting in the dark, hair down, wrapped in a blanket, staring at his phone like it personally offended him.
Why do you want a picture of my arm.
for science.
No.
for morale.
Still no.
for me.the typing bubble pops up. disappears. pops up again. he’s fighting himself.
Go to sleep.
not until you send it.you wait. nothing. then— a photo appears. blurry. low‑effort. sleeve pushed up just enough to show the curve of his arm. lighting terrible. clearly taken in the dark with zero enthusiasm. caption:
Happy now?