A//N: Back again with yet another unedited shit post. If I'm honest, this really isn't my best writing but I wrote it at 3am when my cat woke me up so cut me some slack.
Anyway. These are my boos, my favs, my best boys. They deserve the happy ending they didn't get so.....OKAY I JUST REALLY LIKE WRITING THEM OKAY-
Anyway. Enjoy I guess (picture: left is Oboro Shirakumo, and right is Shota Aizawa)

Shota is dragged awake, a late night in mid December, by the sound of his cat crying loudly down the hallway— and likely at nothing but the mere idea of food. Sushi had really become a night owl lately. He sighs, shifting position to get up and check on his cat, when his husband whines, wrapping sculpted arms around shota's thin waist and pulling him flush against his chest.

"Oboro....the cat..." Shota murmurs, face squished into his husbands gargantuan physique. Oboro had been tall in high school, but that was nothing compared to him now, he was always surprising him in the craziest ways. "Sush's jus' being needy. 'M needy too— so stayyyy." Shota fights the urge to roll his eyes. He plants a quick kiss on Oboros chest and pulls away with a lazy pout.

Oboro reaches out with needy hands and a pathetic moan, "Shotaaa.... Baby, sweetheart, my love, my kitten" Oboro rattles off various pet names, eyes half-liddedly closed as they try to make out Shota's form in the darkness. Aizawa feels his face heat up despite himself, even after all these years, Oboro's never failed to make him flustered. "I know, i know, I'll be back in a few."

Oboro frowns, Shota has always been so stubborn. All he wants is some cuddles from the adorable love of his life. Is that too much to ask?

Probably— considering the cat that has drawn his husband in under a spell.

Disappointed with his new lack of Shota to snuggle, Oboro stretches, looking past the door and down the hallway to nightly darkness which his husband disappeared into. He sighs.

Ankles pop as his bare feet hit the wooden floor— cold and brash in contrast to his fluffy mattress. He wanders around his side of the bed, stepping through the doorway and feeling around for the light switch on the wall that correlates to the hallway. He finds it with a victorious— and totally not child-like— grin, and it flips with a satisfying click.

The yellow light floods down the hall and Shirakumo's heart nearly leaps out of its cage in his chest when he spots Shota, laying flat on the floor with Sushi perched on his back. His face is smushed against their floor, hair crowning his head like an inky halo, "who turned on th' lights." He mutters and Shirakumo can't help but chuckle with a willful eye roll. "The ghost of Christmas past, here to teach you a lesson" he says in a faux-ly low voice. Shota lifts a limp hand from the floor, "sounds good."

Shirakumo isn't exactly sure what got him here, standing against the doorframe of his Bedroom, teasing his Husband as their cat sprawls cockily on his back at sometime in the middle of the night that must be past 3. He smiles.

"Bad choices have been made by you Shota Aizawa-Shirakumo," he begins, nearly breaking his barrier of an accent with a choked laugh. "You must be punished for leaving the Handsome and dashin, Oboro alone in bed."

"Handsome and dashing," Shota choruses, and Oboro doesn't need to see his face to know he's smirking. "Oh, you're write, I forgot chivalrous. Thank you Shota." And his husband laughs, beautiful and crackly with his growing age, "I know I  did fuck, marry, kill with you all those years ago, though, when I said I'd marry Crimson Riot, this isn't exactly what I meant." Oboro grins because, it's been fifteen years and Shota still remembers things they did back then, to the smallest detail. Sometimes he wishes those memories would never fade. That they'd always stay so fresh and clear in his mind, like flipping through a picture book.

"Hey," Shota says, and it's only then that Oboro realizes that he's propped his chin up against balled fists, "don't think so loud, you'll hurt yourself." Shota's smiling at him with that love struck, wishy-washy face that he'll never admit to having. Shirakumo can't help but smile softly back.

"Yeah, yeah...."

He trails off, looking back into their bedroom which is lit lightly with a blue, white glow from Shota's phone, which flashes on with a notification, staying still for a moment before fading back to darkness.

"Obi, what's up?" Shirakumo raises his brow, gazing back over to Shota and blowing Sushi a kiss— they really should stop feeding him so much, he's gotten fat in his old age. Shota's weak against the cuteness of their cat, always giving him something extra when they eat dinner. "'M nothing. Just thinkin', ya know?"

Sushi gets up, trotting past Aizawa and curling against Oboro's legs as he passes into the bedroom and settles himself at the foot of the bed. Shota gets off the floor with a grunt, shuffling over with dragging feet. He wraps his arms around Oboro's mid-section, resting his head against his chest, ear pressed just tight enough to hear the way his heartbeat jumps against it. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Shota's never been particularly good at feelings, usually sitting back, awkwardly biting his lip as he searches for the right thing to say. Oboro laughs softly, placing a quick kiss onto the crown of Shota's hair. "Nah, 'just wanna cuddle my Sho."

Aizawa laughs, shaking his head just a bit, but not enough to leave the soft rhythm of Shirakumo's heart. He didn't think such a small sound could mean so much to him. But it did. He had his Oboro, and as long as that heartbeat continued, so would he.

"Okay." He finally says, beginning to pull away when Oboro grabs him by the legs and tosses him over strong, broad shoulders. Aizawa has to conceal a shriek behind his hand because neighbors. Shirakumo throws him down onto the bed with an equal amount of force, cringing with an apologetic face when Sushi is nearly sent flying. The cat simply gives his a short, unamused glance, sneezing snootily in his direction before hopping off and trotting out down the hallway— most likely to get a mid-night snack.

Shota rolls his eyes, but the humor and admiration behind them gives him away. He pats the bed behind him and Shirakumo catches him in a quick kiss before jump-rolling his way across it— not gracefully, may I add.

Shota gives him another half glare but Shirakumo just cuts it off by kissing the small area of crinkled skin between his eyebrows. Oboro's hair flutters like a baby blue campfire, billowing kindly in tune with his emotions. Shota crawls a bit closer, letting Oboro slide beneath the covers before curling up against his chest. His head tucked into the small crevice of Oboro's pecs, and  legs fold neatly against the others own. Oboro knows he will most likely wake up drowned in sweat from the shared body heat, but he can't bring himself to care. He's almost asleep, lips pressed against the top of Shota's head, when said man speaks up, voice hoarse with sleep. "Can you...hum something?" He asks, and Oboro can't help but smile.

The first song that brims the horizon of his thoughts is Heart Full Of Love from Le Mis— don't judge, he just watched the movie— and he settles on that, the beginnings of song brushing against is lips as they travel from his core. A heart full of love. No fear no regret. The words pass through his mind as he carries the tune. Oboro can feel Shota shift his position, prauding at strong arms with his nose, head nodding with the effort. Hold me, it says. And Oboro does just that.

WC: 1355