Sleepless lies ( AizawaxF!Reader)

Chapter 5

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The mission was back on track—on paper, anyway. With Haruki Botan in custody and the HPSC quietly combing through his connections, you and Aizawa returned to the illusion of peaceful suburban living. A pastel prison lined with floral hedges and fake smiles.

But the aftermath of Daichi’s scare lingered like a bruise.

Aizawa had been more present since that day. Not soft—not quite. But there was something about the way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking. Something that made your chest tighten and your thoughts spiral just a little too far.

You refused to name the feeling.

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It was Sunday, which meant the neighborhood was out in full force. The community center was hosting a seasonal potluck-slash-stage-show—the kind of thing that would’ve made you bolt in any other life.

But not today.

Today, you and Aizawa were the picture of marital bliss. Coordinated sweaters. Shared casserole dish. Hands intertwined under the table.

It was torture.

Mizu and Yuki were already seated at your assigned table, both waving like overexcited seals. “There you are!” Mizu gushed. “We saved you seats!”

“Sweet of you,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Yuki leaned closer. “You two always show up fashionably late, huh? Must be all that newlywed energy.”

Aizawa didn’t blink. “We were arguing about casseroles.”

You snorted. “He doesn’t know what the word ‘flavor’ means.”

Mizu laughed too hard. Yuki gave a knowing wink. You itched to change the subject.

Across the room, your eyes caught movement—a man near the back entrance, speaking quietly into his phone. Nondescript face. Unremarkable clothes. But his stance was too alert. His hand hovered near his pocket.

Aizawa’s eyes flicked there too. You didn’t speak—but you both moved at the same time.

You faked a trip with a dramatic yelp, crashing into the punch table. Glass and juice flew everywhere.

The man jolted, startled by the noise. Aizawa used the moment to intercept him.

“Need help?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes at the crowd that turned toward the spill.

Everyone’s attention swerved.

Except the man’s.

He bolted for the door.

But Aizawa reached him in time. The man tried to shove past, but Aizawa tackled him in a clean, low sweep. They both hit the floor with a grunt, the man cursing under his breath.

A few gasps. Nervous laughter. “Must’ve had too much to drink,” someone murmured.

You moved fast, slipping a tracker onto his belt under the guise of helping him up.

He tried to swat you away.

“Easy,” you said under your breath. “Wouldn’t want to get wine on the curtains.”

Aizawa hauled him to his feet. “Calling security,” he said to the room at large.

You followed them out of the hall, teeth clenched.

When the door closed behind you, the man struggled. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

“Funny,” Aizawa muttered, voice dangerously calm. “We say the same thing a lot.”

You activated the illusion again—a veil of darkness wrapping the hallway in shadow as Aizawa pressed him against the wall.

“Names,” you demanded. “Why the surveillance? Who else is in this neighborhood?”

He spat at your feet. “You’re too late.”

You flicked a beam of light past his cheek—close enough to singe.

He flinched. “They’re everywhere. Even your little PTA moms.”

Your blood ran cold.

Behind you, Aizawa's jaw tightened. “HPSC needs to extract him.”

You nodded. “I’ll create a diversion.”

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Back at the main hall, you reappeared with a laugh and a covered plate. “False alarm! He was just looking for the restroom. Men.”

The crowd chuckled. The show went on. Nobody noticed the absence.

But you and Aizawa exchanged glances from across the room.

One neighbor down.

Five more suspects to go.

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