Soon be Dadzawa

The mountain air was crisp, scented with pine and the faint, sulfurous promise of the mineral springs—a stark contrast to the smog and sirens of the city. Shota Aizawa didn't do "vacations," but he did do results. And the doctor’s orders had been the only mission briefing he needed: Zero stress. Total relaxation. After the scare of a premature labor threat that had them both white-knuckled in a hospital room weeks ago, Shota had done the unthinkable. He’d actually filled out the PTO forms, ignored Hizashi’s teasing, and packed a bag. He pulled the car to a smooth stop in front of the traditional ryokan, the engine ticking as it cooled. He didn't move to get out immediately; instead, he turned in his seat to look at his wife. His gaze softened, lingering on the heavy swell of her bump—their child, safely tucked away for a few more vital weeks. "We're here," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that usually commanded a classroom, but now held a rare, protective tenderness. "No phones, no agency business, and definitely no 'just checking in' on work. For the next three days, your only job is to let the water take the weight off your back." He reached over, his hand resting gently atop hers. "How are you feeling? If the drive was too much, we can head straight to the room and I’ll have them bring dinner to us."

The drive into the mountains had been long, quiet—just the low hum of the engine and the occasional glance Shota stole toward you in the passenger seat.

He’d insisted on driving slower than usual.

No sudden turns. No rough roads if he could avoid them. One hand rarely left the wheel—while the other kept drifting back to rest over yours... or the protective curve of your stomach.

Ever since the near-premature labor scare, he hadn’t let himself fully relax.

Not at work. Not at home. Not even when he slept.

So when the doctor had folded their hands and said, “Reduced stress is critical right now—for both mother and baby,” Shota had filed PTO that same hour.

No hesitation.

No arguments from anyone brave enough to question him.

By the time the car rolled to a stop in front of the secluded mountain hot springs inn, evening snow had begun to fall—soft flakes catching in his dark hair as he came around to your side of the car.

“Stay put,” he muttered automatically when you reached for the door.

He opened it himself, offering his hand like you were made of glass—firm, steady, careful as he helped you step out.

His gaze dropped instantly to your stomach.

You were showing heavily now... enough that every movement made his shoulders tense on instinct.

“...You feeling okay?” he asked quietly, thumb brushing your knuckles.

Inside, the inn was warm—cedar wood, lantern light, the distant sound of gently flowing spring water. The staff kept their voices hushed, guiding you both to a private suite overlooking an outdoor bath carved directly into the mountainside.

Steam rose into the cold air outside, glowing faintly under hanging lights.

The moment the door slid shut behind you, Shota exhaled—long and slow—like he’d been holding that breath for weeks.

“...Finally.”

He moved closer, hands settling instinctively at your hips before sliding around to cradle your stomach from behind. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, eyes fixed on the reflection of you both in the window glass.

For a moment he said nothing.

Just breathing.

Just grounding himself in the steady rise and fall beneath his hands.

“We’re staying here as long as you need,” he murmured. “No hero work. No patrols. No stress triggers. If anyone needs me—they can survive without me for a few days.”

One hand rubbed slow, soothing circles over your belly when the baby shifted beneath his palm. His expression softened immediately—tension easing from his jaw.

“...Hey there, little one,” he muttered under his breath. “You behave while we’re here, yeah? Doctor said you scared us enough already.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head before stepping back just enough to guide you toward the open air bath.

Snowflakes drifted down into the rising steam... melting before they could touch the water.

Shota kept a steady arm around you the entire walk.

“No slipping,” he said quietly. “I’ve got you.”

His voice lowered once you reached the edge of the springs—warm mist curling around you both.

“...This trip isn’t about me,” he added, softer now. “It’s about keeping you calm... keeping you safe... until our kid decides it’s time to show up the normal way.”

He squeezed your hand gently.

“...So for the next few days? You rest. You soak. You breathe.”

A faint, tired smile tugged at his mouth.

“And you let me worry about everything else.”

The mountain air was crisp in a way that felt almost unreal after the chaos of the past few weeks—cool, clean, and quiet enough that even the wind seemed to move gently, as if mindful not to disturb the peace.

Shota kept one hand steady at the small of your back as the two of you walked the stone path leading up to the secluded hot springs inn. His touch was careful—more careful than usual—fingers splayed protectively as though he could shield both you and the baby from anything the world might dare throw your way again.

Doctor’s orders.

No stress. No long missions. No late nights buried in paperwork. And absolutely no hero work unless it was unavoidable.

He’d put in his PTO the same day as the appointment—no hesitation, no argument—ignoring the raised brows from staff who had never seen Eraserhead willingly take time off before.

Your safety came first. You and the baby. Always.

The memory of the near-premature labor still lingered like a shadow neither of you spoke about for long. The hospital monitors. The forced bed rest. The way his scarf had trembled slightly in his grip while he stood beside your bed, trying—and failing—to hide how shaken he was.

Now, though... he exhaled slowly, shoulders easing for what felt like the first time since then.

The ryokan was tucked into the mountainside, warm lantern light glowing against the early evening snow. Steam curled lazily into the sky from the outdoor springs, carrying the mineral scent of the water through the air.

Shota slid the door open and stepped aside for you, voice softer than usual.

“Careful on the step.”

Inside, everything was quiet—tatami mats, low tables, the faint sound of water somewhere deeper in the inn.

He set the bags down without fuss, then turned back to you, dark eyes scanning your face—not out of suspicion, but concern.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, thumb brushing your hand. “No dizziness? Pain? Anything?”

It wasn’t clinical. It was worry. The kind he didn’t show anyone else.

When you reassured him, some of the tension finally left his posture. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple before resting his forehead there for a moment longer than usual.

“...Good,” he murmured. “Then the only thing you’re allowed to do this week... is relax.”

A faint smirk tugged at his mouth.

“I’ll handle everything else.”

Outside, the hot springs steamed invitingly beneath the mountain sky—waiting for the two of you to finally breathe again after everything you’d been through.