#aizawa shouta imagine
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what's love got to do with it?
The students and teachers alike at UA High can't help but notice the strange behavior of the typically stern and stoic teacher of Class 1-A. They come up with all sorts of theories but soon discover the even more surprising truth: Aizawa-sensei is simply falling in love.
Fluffy Aizawa x fem!reader drabble. SFW. 2,828 words.
The way everyone looks at him when he walks in, you’d think he’d grown a second head or something.
Aizawa glances up from his phone after reading a sweet little text from you, greeting him good morning and wishing him a good day at work, only to find every student's wide-eyed, unblinking attention focused solely on him.
One second, they were all happily chattering, and then, the next…
"Hmm? What?" He asks his class offhandedly, throwing his things on the table and taking his usual seat.
But instead of answering him, the whole room erupts into a whispered frenzy.
"Did you see that? Did he just...?"
"No way! Must have been a trick of the light or something."
"What the heck? I feel so unnerved. Llike we just spotted a UFO or there’s been a glitch in the matrix."
“You guys saw it too, right? Are we all just collectively hallucinating?”
"Oi!" He calls their attention. "Would anyone care to tell me what it is exactly that's gotten all of you so worked up this morning?"
Stunned silence falls over Class 1-A again, and Aizawa can’t help but cross his arms and sigh. “Iida? Yaoyorozu? What’s going on?”
He doesn’t miss the way the class president and vice-president exchange a hesitant look before Iida answers him.
“Apologies, sensei!” He hastily gets up to bow. “I will personally make sure everyone quiets down.” He zooms around the room and gestures frantically at his noisy classmates to settle down.
Bemused by their commotion, Aizawa observes them all carefully. What could’ve caused such a stir? He wonders. And why are they all so reluctant to tell him? Did he have a piece of spinach in his teeth or something? A quick glance downwards tells him he didn’t forget to wear pants or shoes or anything, so what was it?
“If I may, sensei?” Yaoyorozu raises her hand and he nods at her. “I think everyone was just a little distracted by your change in demeanor today."
He furrows his eyebrows at the young girl. "What change?"
"Well, we’ve never seen you smile before. Or at least, not like that.”
He blinks in surprise. He’d been smiling when he walked into class this morning? "What about it?"
"Well, sir," Iida adds, taking his seat once everyone's finally settled down. "It's quite an uncommon sight. Naturally, they were taken aback."
“You usually only smile when you’re giving us a tough time in exams or training exercises, sensei.”
The corners of Aizawa’s mouth twitch upwards at that, which he quickly covers up with a small cough. “Well, enough of that. Let’s get on with today’s lesson, shall we?”
Everyone straightens up to listen as their homeroom teacher goes over a few important announcements. And although he isn’t smiling anymore, Class 1-A doesn't miss the way his usually sharp gaze has grown soft and almost...fond as he speaks to them.
As soon as the homeroom bell rings, Aizawa dismisses them with an absent-minded wave of his hand and takes out his phone to text you: Do I really never smile?
You smile when you’re rounding up bad guys sometimes. You reply almost right away. Or when you see a cat.
He chuckles. Apparently I also do it when I’m torturing my students. Then…Or when I’m texting you.
You send back a little cat emoji, and the grin you get after reading that doesn't leave your face for the rest of the day.
_________________________________________
“Shouta! Helloooo? I said Earth to Shouta?” Kayama waves her hand in Aizawa’s face.
It seems to snap him out of whatever trance he’s in. “Sorry, what?” He blinks up at her.
She gives Yamada a look. “What’s with him today?”
“Dunno,” he shrugs, then turns to his friend. “Hey buddy, didn’t get any sleep again last night or something?”
You could say that, Aizawa thinks to himself with a smirk, then hastily scolds his features into their usually stoic expression. “No. Why?”
Kayama raises an eyebrow at him. “You've just been acting a little...off. Distracted, maybe?”
"Nothing to worry about," Aizawa reassures them, dismissing their concerns with a wave of his hand. He goes back to observing his students closely in the hopes of them moving past the subject, but Kayama and Yamada aren’t convinced. Anyone looking at him could tell something was different today.
“Sensei?” Kirishima hesitantly calls out to him. “I’m having a little trouble with my balance. Could you show me that move again?”
Aizawa nods, and everyone’s jaw just about drops to the floor when he demonstrates the proper stance with uncharacteristic patience.
"Remember to be mindful of where you shift your weight," He guides Kirishima through the motions with a supportive tone, a stark departure from his normally gruff and no-nonsense approach. "And keep your focus. You'll get it."
Kirishima does as he’s told and looks to his teacher for feedback.
"No, adjust your stance a bit like this. Yes, that's it. Great improvement," Aizawa says, offering a rare compliment.
Flabbergasted, the red-haired boy manages a stuttering, "Th-Thank you, sensei," before Aizawa moves on to help the next student.
Observing everything from afar, Kayama leans over to Yamada and whispers, “He didn’t get a concussion on that last mission, did he? I've never seen him like this."
“Check what was in his coffee a while ago. And if he still has more — oof, it was just a joke!”
_________________________________________
“Okay, enough is enough!” Mina bursts into the room, dramatically crying. “I have to know!”
“Know what?” Kirishima asks as the others start to gather around her.
“What’s going on with Aizawa sensei? I saw him on the way here — he’s wearing a buttoned up shirt.”
There’s a collective gasp.
“Are you sure?” Momo asks.
Mina nods frantically. “And it was freshly pressed, too!”
Another round of gasps.
“And his hair was tied up!” The pink girl all but weeps, throwing herself onto the nearest desk.
“What do you think is going on with him?” Deku rubs his chin thoughtfully.
“He’s been acting so weird lately!” Uraraka whines.
As if on cue, Aizawa walks in. “Good morning, class,” he greets them without his usual gruffness.
Everyone hurries back to their seats, but Mina leans over to grab Kaminari’s sleeve, screaming under her breath, “He said good morning!”
“Look at his eyes!” He points frantically. “No puffy, dark circles or redness at all! He actually looks well-rested for once!”
“That’s where I draw the line!” Kirishima almost slams his fist on his desk. “We have to get to the bottom of this.”
Sero joins them, “Do you think Mic sensei and Midnight sensei know anything?”
Kaminari shrugs, “It’s worth asking.”
“Maybe Aizawa sensei has a secret twin and he’s pulling a prank on us?” Deku contemplates.
Uraraka shakes her head, “Sensei? Pulling a prank? I doubt it. What if there’s a new teacher at UA with a shape-shifting quirk?”
“Or Shinsou brainwashed him into being in a good mood?” Jirou chimes in.
As they huddle and murmur, Todoroki and Tokoyami shoot them curious glances, and Iida has to shush them discreetly.
They snap back to attention every time Aizawa faces them, pretending to listen to the lesson. But as soon as their sensei turns away again, the room buzzes with whispered speculation.
And though he acts none the wiser, seemingly engrossed in the topic they're supposed to be discussing, Aizawa can't help his amusement listening to their outlandish theories. A small, smug part of him relishes stoking the fires of their confusion.
He knew he'd have some explaining to do, but for now, he’s more than happy to just let them wonder.
_________________________________________
“Oh, look who finally decided to show up!” is the first thing Mic says when he spots him. The colorful cocktail in his hand is practically empty, but he happily sips the fun loopy straw for whatever dredges he can anyway.
“Are you going to make me regret it?” Aizawa grumbles, taking his seat next to his friends.
But Mic and Midnight just snicker, unfazed. They’ve had years to get used to his grumpiness after all (and a few drinks to put them in a better mood).
"We have to admit, Aizawa," Midnight smirks up at him. "We had an ulterior motive for asking you to come hang out tonight."
"Don't you always?" He deadpans, lazily chewing at the gyoza they ordered without him. Although he doesn’t show it, he’s pleased to see there’s already a whiskey neat waiting on the table for him.
Midnight rolls her eyes as she slides it over to him, "Yeah, but aside from just getting you to lighten up as usual."
"And getting you to sing karaoke with us, which I still can't believe—"
"You promised me we'd never talk about it again,” Aizawa groans as he rubs his hand over his face. “And that you'd never let me get that drunk again.”
"Awww, come on, buddy," Yamada slings his arm around him. "What's the point of having a good story you can't tell?"
"Fine, but I'll deny it, so no one will believe you anyway."
"I don’t know,” Midnight sing-songs, swirling her margarita in its glass. “With the way you’ve been acting lately, they just might.”
He frowns at her. “Meaning?”
Mic grins, leaning forward with an impish glint in his eye, "Meaning we heard you've been keeping secrets from us, Aizawa."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh really? Then would you care to tell us why you’ve been smiling so much lately?”
“Or who you’ve been trying to look nice for?”
Realizing they weren’t going to let this go easily, Aizawa sighs and takes a deep sip of his whiskey, the familiar warmth sliding down his throat. He's not one to discuss his personal life openly, even with his close friends, but there's something about their teasing that doesn't quite irk him tonight.
Aizawa tilts his head slightly, thoughtfully. "I'm just...happy, I suppose."
“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
“Come on, buddy, you can tell us!” Mic nudges him playfully.
“We want to know what’s got our favorite grump acting like a—" Midnight’s hands quickly fly up to cover her gasp.
“Like a what?” Mic gives her a puzzled look, but Aizawa’s shoulders tense up at the glint in her eyes. That look usually meant very bad things for him.
“Like a lovesick puppy!” She grabs Mic’s arm, excitedly slapping it before shaking Aizawa’s shoulders and squealing into his ear. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re in love!”
Aizawa chokes on his drink, and Mic pats him on the back to ease his coughing fit.
"Real smooth, Kayama,” he teases her.
"Sorry, but I couldn't resist," Midnight pouts, the twinkle of amusement still shining bright in her eyes.
Aizawa wipes his mouth and sets his glass down with a sigh. “Well, if you must know…There is…someone I’ve been spending time with.”
"Someone!" His friends chorus, delighted.
Mic nudges him gently. “Well? Don’t leave us in suspense!”
"Who is it? Do we know them?" Midnight leans forward, giggling.
Aizawa looks down at his glass for a moment, contemplating how much he should reveal. Although he feels a little overwhelmed by their excitement and their scrutiny, he also secretly relishes the joy of sharing this part of his life with his closest friends.
It feels good, he thinks, to be around them and to know that they care so much about him. And though he’s never been one to discuss his personal affairs, he trusts these two enough to share the parts of himself he usually kept guarded.
Seeing the expectant looks on their faces, eagerly awaiting his answer, Aizawa's ears turn the faintest shade of red.
“Do you want to meet her?”
_________________________________________
"Had a fun night?" You greet your boyfriend with a hug when he shows up at your door well past a reasonable hour.
You don't miss the small smile on his face when he takes off his shoes. "Actually, I did. But Yamada and Kayama were pretty insistent on meeting you."
"You told them about me?" you respond, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.
He nods, not quite meeting your gaze. "I think they'd like you."
"Really?" You plop down on the couch with him and stretch your legs atop his lap.
"Yeah," He gently grazes your thigh. "They were wondering why I've been acting so differently lately."
"Like what?"
"Apparently I'm smiling more and acting nicer and" — He air quotes — “Stopped looking homeless."
You laugh. "And what did you say?"
He shrugs, “That I guess my girlfriend just makes me really happy.”
“Awww,” you pat his cheek playfully. “What’s next? You gonna tell me you’re in love with me or something?”
"Yes? I thought it was obvious?"
"What?" Your heart skips a beat at his nonchalant admission.
“Hmm?” He looks over, and seeing the evident surprise on your face makes Aizawa chuckle. "I thought I'd been making it pretty clear, but I suppose I should say it outright. Yes, I'm in love with you."
Your heart flutters at his words, a warmth spreading through you. "Well, for someone who's known for being so straightforward, you sure took your time saying that."
He brushes a strand of hair from your face and leaves a soft, lingering kiss on your temple. “I’ll say it as many times as you want to hear it, baby.”
You lean in closer, your lips almost touching his. “Alright,” you look up at him with a sleepy smile and half-lidded eyes. “I’m waiting.”
"I love you," he whispers, his voice low and tender. He places a gentle kiss on your nose. “I love you,” and then another on your cheeks…“I love you.” Before gently brushing his lips against yours, cupping your jaw so you can’t help but gaze deeply into his dark, smoky eyes before he finally closes the distance between you.
“Mhhm.” You smile, contentment washing over you like a gentle wave. "I love you, too, baby."
#aizawa shouta#bnha shouta aizawa#shouta aizawa x reader#aizawa x reader#mha aizawa#bnha aizawa#aizawa sensei#eraserhead#aizawa imagine#aizawa shouta imagine#aizawa shouta x you#aizawa shouta x reader#aizawa shouta x y/n#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#chloe writes#chloe's fics
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Over the years following his early retirement, Aizawa has developed a dad bod.
He is no longer the pale and lanky man you've fallen in love with– all these years ago, and his once prominent dark circles and tired demeanor are long gone and replaced with a more relaxed aura.
You love the little changes he's unknowingly flaunting: the soft tummy protruding under his shirt, the thickness of his strong arms and thighs, the healthy glow adorning his rounder cheeks, and most of all, that cute plumpy butt filling out his bottoms perfectly.
You can never help the heat pooling into the pit of your belly when seeing him dressed lightly, and you get consumed by an uncontrollabe desire to strip him off of whatever sleepwear highlighting his seductive frame at the moment.
That hungry look in your eyes does not go unnoticed as he knows you too well to miss it, and gladly grants your undeclared wish without a second thought.
With an amused smirk on his face, he kneels down between your legs and pushes in slowly while watching the way you breathlessly utter his name and run your hands over his plump chest, and it's a heavenly view that you cannot get tired of seeing, although you really want to feel him pressed against you as well.
You desperatly claw at his forearms demanding to have him closer, and encase him in your embrace when he finally is.
His thrusts quicken and his lips devour yours in a sloppy kiss, while your nails rake his broad shoulders and travel lower and lower until reaching his bum and clutching onto the luscious buttocks you so much adore, squeezing his fleshy globes to mimic the erratic pace of his hips.
He goes mad everytime you do that, singing your praises and grunting promises of making you lose your mind soon.
His words and relentless plunges are what drive you over the edge with a broken cry of how good he's making you feel, and he follows suit in a matter of seconds, stuffing you full of his milky seeds before collapsing onto your quivering body with a soft "I love you" whispered to your ear..
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
#aizawa shota x reader#aizawa shota x you#aizawa shota smut#aizawa shouta smut#aizawa shouta x reader#aizawa shouta x you#aizawa headcanons#aizawa x reader#aizawa x y/n#aizawa x you#aizawa shouta fluff#aizawa shouta imagine#aizawa imagine#aizawa fluff#aizawa shouta headcanons#shouta aizawa smut#shouta aizawa imagine#mha smut#bnha smut
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𝘓𝘖𝘚𝘛 𝘛𝘐𝘔𝘌
wc: 2.01k
pairing: aizawa shouta x male reader
a/n: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY WHOO!! BEFORE THE DAY ENDS WHO WANTS TO CONFESS THEIR UNDYING LOVE FOR ME i hate this so bad
Love is in the air, a thickening aroma that’s much too sweet for your liking. It sticks to the peeling wallpaper within your room, it clings to your goosebump ridden skin, it’s plastered to every screen you turn to. It’s excruciating. It’s exhausting. There’s something wary, deeply injected into your bloodstream, that dims your eyes and dampens your expression when you catch another enamored by the undeniable paradox of love.
Still, there’s a twinge in your chest that you can’t quite place. Of something forlorn, something distant. Your jaw aches as you unclench your teeth and search for the remote tangled in your bedsheets. You assume your neighbors face the same tiresome debacle, with the sound of a creaky headboard smacking into the wall that separates your apartments. You’re not jealous, the thought of brushing your fingertips against warm, bare skin is almost nauseating. Of that, you are sure.
Valentine’s day, you deduct, is equal parts Heaven and Hell. Sweets are discounted, customers of your average, 9-5 job are a tad bit more relaxed— it’s the personal conquests you have to battle. Even the little things, like remembering how you left the remote in your living room.
You sigh, practically sinking into the floor as you drag yourself past the safety of your bedroom.
Quietly placing your feet on the ground, cold floorboards moan in protest with every painstakingly slow step you take. Your feet drag behind, making a humiliating mural out of your already pathetic appearance. The doorknob feels heavy as you twist it, sliding into the dimly lit living room with strained ease.
The impenetrable force of gravity pulls at your limbs as you search plush cushions, stress racking your body as a blanket of sudden tremors. The loud knocking at your front door startles you awake, your hunched back suddenly straightened uncomfortably. The idea of your friends (or maybe, lack thereof?) prepared to bother you into the night slows your stride, but something about the persistent knocking is unfamiliar. Not nearly as annoying.
Swinging the door open, you stretch the collar of your shirt with your pointer finger. The fabric doesn’t protest, loose enough to distort your silhouette to your liking. Leaning against the doorframe, you take in the piercing eyes staring back at you. The man, whoever he is, looks excruciatingly tired, with dark circles that cast shadows down the entirety of his chiseled face. Though, surprisingly enough, his stubble is cleanly shaved, not a hair out of place. Long, dark hair frames his face in two symmetrical strands, though they seem to have come loose from his low ponytail. Despite the styling he looks disgruntled, as if the crisp white button up is too tight at the collar, and his slacks are clinging to his strong thighs. Suspiciously your type.
“If you’re here to ask about how often I pray—“
“I’m not,” He blinks, slow as his eyes open and close. They look rather dry, heavy lidded and sleepy. His voice catches you by surprise, deep and smooth— but nonetheless warm and comforting. Still, he shifts in the doorframe, crinkling the gift wrapped bouquet of flowers in one hand, and nearly smacking the heart-shaped tin of chocolates in the other. Then, almost hesitant, he holds them forward, pressing them against your warm chest. “I’m your boyfriend… For the day.”
Suspicious rises in your throat, and your eyebrows furrow. Whatever that means, you don’t like it, even if he does wear the uniform to the overwhelmingly busy and overbooked ‘boyfriend-experience’ café downtown. He sure doesn’t look the type.
Plus he seemed much too eager to add in that last part.
You grunt, ready to slam the door in his flawless face before he opens his mouth to speak again and uses his foot to catch the slamming door. He doesn’t flinch, instead sighing as if this isn’t the first time he’s had his toes (and shoes) crushed beneath the weight of wood, “I was hired as a gift. From your….friend.”
Something tells you his lack of enthusiasm is highly against protocol.
You can’t help but discreetly laugh at his dryness, slowly opening the door to stare him down. Friendly enough, considering he’s being paid to be here, and you have to admit— the chocolate was a nice touch. Maybe your friend paid for that too. He lets you take the gifts from his hands, finally, with warm fingers brushing his knuckles. Admittedly, the contact is nice. Maybe even more than that. “You can keep your shoes on, I don’t care.”
You allow him to step into your apartment, disregarding the lack of emotion in his face as he takes in the sight of your house. Homely, clearly lived in— but bone chillingly lonely. His posture straightens at that, eyes settling on your back as you disappear into your bedroom. To change, he presumes, as you’d opened the front door in just boxers and a t-shirt. Cute.
He watches you waddle back out, socks padding against the floor as you scratch the nape of your neck nervously. What were you supposed to say? What do boyfriends who aren’t-really-boyfriends… do?
“Shouta Aizawa,” He— Shouta introduces himself, bowing his head in your direction. He clears his throat, listening to your voice chime in his ears as you introduce yourself in return. He lets you speak, though he was already told your name. While it’s a bit chilly outside, he considers the sight of you on a ferris wheel, watching as the Sun sets below the horizon, yellow light dancing on your face and across your eyelids. He remembers your interest in reading, and how you have an embarrassing passion for romance storylines. “Where do you want to go today? My treat.”
It really was his treat, the books you’d shyly bought despite assuring him time and time again that you didn’t need anything, resting in a cutely designed plastic bag that he held for you. Sure, it came out of his paycheck, but your shell was cracking. The previously hard and standoffish demeanor from your initial meeting was melting away. And, really, you just seemed very lonely. Aizawa falls into the boyfriend role much faster than he’d like to admit, sometimes clasping his hand around yours to get your attention— he’s a man of very few words. Each and every time, without fail, your face would brighten, as if the missing pieces of your puzzle were found and completed.
You get a few comments from strangers with genuine smiles, very polite and quiet responses of how cute you are together, how well you compliment each other. There’s a twinge in your chest that you can’t quite place whenever you hear it. Something forlorn, something distant.
Finally, Shouta lets you pay for the freshly made, heart-shaped meat-buns that happen to be twenty five percent off for the holiday, your cold hands curling around the warmth of the treat. He opts for a cat-shaped one, absentmindedly trailing his fingertip across the scored whiskers as he takes a bite. Your heart catches in your throat, beating loudly in your ears as you take note of the endearing habit. Your gaze must linger, because the same dark eyes from before are staring back into yours, almost looking right through you.
You laugh nervously, sinking your teeth into the warm dough before he can comment.
Selfishly, you don’t want the day to end.
He listens to you talk about your hobbies, interjecting more often than not with grunts of engagement. Your voice was nice, a smooth tone that made his heavy eyelids even heavier, and had it not been for the high pitched meow that interrupted your train of thought, he’d surely end up asleep in the middle of the sidewalk.
The two of you swivel around, sharing a silent glance as a stray cat scurries across the street. You’ve seen it before, a black and white tuxedo cat with lime eyes and a flat attitude. Its walking is tired and sluggish today, as if it’s had a particularly long one, and you quirk your head to the side, “He kinda looks like you.”
He tilts his head in the opposite direction, narrowing his eyes at the cat. He settles by the grass, sleepy and disgruntled eyes closing quickly after curling in on himself. The pattern of his front legs make a poorly drawn heart, and he wonders if you got him to look so closely solely because of that. Heat rises in his cheeks, but he buries his face into his sleeve, clearing his throat. Warmth floods the man’s stomach, planting sunflower seeds and blue skies. He turns his face away from your survey, clearing his throat as the air suddenly becomes much too humid. It seems you take his silence for an answer in itself. Very funny.
“No, really! I feed him sometimes, his posture’s crazy and he’s always tired.”
Ignoring the potential dig at his posture, Shouta takes a moment to imagine you feeding stray cats, snaking your fingers at them and running your hands through their soft fur. Your presence must be so comforting, so kind. You remind him of a prince, with warm features and a soft smile, albeit a little awkward.
Heart fluttering in his rib cage, Aizawa starts to feel like maybe he was the one who rented a boyfriend.
Continuing down the streets of Musutafu, Shouta doesn’t mind the way your shoulders brush. The way your cold hands brush against his, or the way your pinkies find themselves locked together. Comfortable warmth blooms from your body, and he wants nothing more than to hold it in his hands, cherish the comfortable silence and bathe in your body heat, hidden away from the chilly air that signifies winter’s overstayed welcome.
And, like clockwork, his deep eyes make contact with the bright star occupying the setting sky. Difficult to see through the trees and amalgamation of branches and leaves, but it shines through the cracks and into your hair. The smell of your skin lingers in the air, Aizawa’s mind empties, and his thoughts simultaneously erode whilst coalescing into a serene hum stuck in the far back of his head. The bittersweet tranquility floats above him for just a moment, descending as soon as sunlight leaks out of the trees. It stares back into his chestnut eyes, taunting him.
With a makeshift, golden halo, you speak. Unknowingly shining brighter than the brightest star in the sky. He can’t afford to fall in love on the job.
Shouta breathes, ragged and rushed and oh, so rocky as his heart hammers in his chest.
“I’ve always wanted to adopt a cat,” You start, nervous embers igniting in your lungs and smothering you from the inside out. It shouldn’t matter, maybe you’re crossing a boundary. This was his job, to make you feel cared for.. loved. Just for the day, he’d said it himself. Just for the day, which was nearing a close with every step closer toward your apartment. “A stray, I mean. I think the one we saw earlier has a partner, though.”
Aizawa raises an amused eyebrow at that, briefly thinking about his cat at home, “And?”
“Do you think on their first… date… That probably, honestly, wasn’t really even a date and happened on, uh, circumstance…was really a date? Like, did he ask his partner for a second one—could there be a second one? But… Without the…circumstances?”
“I think he speaks in circles,” You wince at his flat tone, nodding deprecatingly as you wait for him to continue. Your keys feel much heavier in your pocket, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip. “Did he think his partner would say no?”
“Would he?” You ask, carrying yourself up the steps to your front door.
“No,” Aizawa stays where he is, watching as the gray stone sits unbothered beneath your feet. When you look back, it’s the first time you’ve seen him smile with teeth, pink lips quirked upward, and a bit wobbly from lack of use. “He’d agree to a second one. Free of charge.”
want more? —
MASTERLIST
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'are you done?' (1k)
shouta aizawa x female reader
warnings: impact play, brat taming, spanking, paddle use, flogger use, light bdsm (restraints), degrading, sir kink.
➼ 'kinktober 2022 masterlist'
Discipline.
It had always been engrained hard into the undercover pro hero. The hard regimen of keeping himself well-trained, keeping himself on top of his game and never giving up his secret weapon when on missions.
And his relationships were no different, it was no secret that Shouta was always the dominating one. He had no time for nonsense, but he always chased the thrill of being able to tame someone. To fuck the brat out of them until they were nothing but a crying mess on the end of his cock.
So tonight, you were on the receiving end of some very much-needed taming.
Your heart was racing, each time the man passed in front of you had your stomach lurching in excitement. You had finally managed to get under his skin after a long day of pestering him whilst he worked in his office. You just wouldn't listen to him, prancing around in those shorts that you know are far too small and show far too much beneath them (not that he ever means it when he complains, he loves to see your ass on show for him).
He looked stunningly sexy tonight, you had suspected as much when he told you to get onto the bed and sit there like a good girl whilst he got everything ready. He wore his hair back in a ponytail, exposing the deep tired lines on his face every time he glared at you, but there was no heat behind it—just pure lust. The black shirt he was wearing was tight, you think you've seen him in it before in an interview. He looks too good for his own good, and just maybe this would all be worth it if you could get him looking so fuckable.
A quick clap on your ass has you jolting forward, as much as you could anyway in the restraints he had put you in. He bound your legs together and forced you onto your hands and knees, presenting yourself as a perfect target to use a paddle on. You hated this paddle however, it had the word 'Brat' cut out of it and the corners were sharp when you got spanked with it a few times. It was bought as a gag joke, a little jab at you for always being a brat for Shouta but after he used it on you for the first time weeks ago, seeing the way your body reacted to the pinching yet pleasurable pain. It had his cock stirring beneath his tight pants.
"Are you done being a brat now?" his voice is deep, low and in that tone where you know, he's struggling to keep himself in check. The need to climb up behind you and fuck you senseless is making his mind foggy. "Or do I need to bring out the flogger?"
The thought has your toes curling, back arching a little more to show just how soaked you were to the man. You shouldn't love the leather flogger he owns as much as you do, but the way he drags it over your already sore ass and thighs before spanking you with it is heavenly. A type of sensitive pain that just feels good, one that could definitely push you to an orgasm if you were needy enough.
He stops behind you again, and you realise he may be onto you already. "Oh? Does the slut want the flogger?"
"Please Shout—". A harsh smack to your right thigh has you squealing, body arching away but to no avail. "Please, sir, wan' the flogger."
He hums, seeming in deep thought as to if he should even really give you something you want. You were being a real pain in his ass today but he also knows how easy it is to have you brainless once he uses the flogger on you, how you babble for his cock and cry about how you'll never interrupt his phone calls again by flashing your tits at him from his office door.
You listen intently as he steps away, grabbing at something that was on the dresser off to the side before you feel it. The soft stroking of leather tassels dragging along the raised skin that had been spanked previously. It has you shivering, thighs tensing and urging you to back away from the pinchy pain. The moan that slips past your lips is dirtier than the previous ones, genuine deep pleasure being heard before the feeling vanishes.
Then it's replaced by a quick burning sensation, the tassels spreading out across the back of both your thighs, catching against your puffy clit that Shouta was insistent on torturing today with his fingers. You scream into the covers, your body shuddering in aftershocks at the jolt of pleasure and pain that shot up your spine and settled into the back of your skull.
It continued like that for some time, the gentle touches before the harsh sound of the flogger cutting through the air before it slapped against your skin.
"And now?" He finally asks, putting the flogger down to use his hands to soothe your skin. His hands were always naturally cold, making you whine at the difference in temperatures between your tortured skin and his calloused hands. "You gonna finally be a good girl and let me fuck this pretty pussy, hm?"
You sniffle into the sheets, looking over your shoulder at him and he has that gooey soft look in his eyes. One that shows he thinks he might've gone too far this time, maybe he pushed a little too hard in his punishment but it's always wiped away when you say "Yes sir, ready to be your good girl now."
He may love his discipline, and his strict routine but he can't deny the guilty pleasure that comes from making you submit to him, to let him fuck the brat out of you until you challenge him again in the near future.
➼ 'kinktober 2022 masterlist'
#aizawa smut#shouta aizawa smut#shouta x reader#aizawa x reader#aizawa x you#bnha smut#mha smut#aizawa shouta oneshot#aizawa shouta imagine#bnha oneshots#bnha x self insert#vampyrsm kinktober 2022
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BNHA Boys Headcanon Sleepy
Author’s note: In no particular order I present you: Kirishima, Bakugo, Aizawa and Izuku are in this list. This is a 500 followers gift from me to you! Thank you all so much for your support!
Words: 482
Warning: Cute stuff. None other
Masterlist OG Work Masterlist
Kirishima Eijiro:
Ah, Kirishima would whine if you tried to move from his arms while sleepy cuddling. He'd snake his arms around your middle tighter and pull you into his chest, mumbling 'five more minutes with every intention of not respecting that time limit.
Kirishima is one of the boys who will say what he thinks and wants. If he wants to spend time with you, he'll say so.
When Kirishima gets sleepy around you, he's more clingy and lovey in public, so if you're on the couch on the common grounds, don't get embarrassed when he wraps his arms around you in front of everybody in class 1-A. Usually, he gets bolder and says things like how much he loves you and how comfortable he is with you.
Bakugo Katsuki:
We know that Bakugo has a tight schedule he indulges in, so it's not likely often he'll do cute things while sleepy because he'll more likely already be asleep. But as a grown-up, if you both are pro-heroes and come back from a mission or a patrol later than expected, then we can talk about it.
He'll probably open his eyes when you open the bedroom door, looking insulted that you woke him up. He'll notice the tired look you have on your face right away. He'll grumble a little for good measure, but honestly, he will scoot over to give you the warm part of the bed. One hundred percent will cuddle you while saying, 'you better sleep soon because he has to work early in the morning.'
But his nose is placed deep in the crook of your neck.
Izuku Midoriya:
If he could wrap himself around you 24/7, Izuku would.
But he's not that whiny about it. Izuku has a lot of self-control, let's be honest (probably because of all his self-depreciation tendencies, that's another debate).
Sleeping with you is the best of the best. It means warmth, human touch, love, your perfume all around him, human touch, the perfect amount of pressure he needs to feel secure, human touch... Yes, it's just the best.
When Izuku is sleepy, he says things that don't make much sense about how he would do everything to make you proud and will interrupt you if you try to convince him that his best is already making you proud.
Aizawa Shouta:
Honestly, he's always in a state of 'need-to-sleep' so he's pretty normal. He does get irritated if you delay the cuddle period he gets before shutting down completely. Would most likely ramble about his day and demand to hear about yours too. Your voice is very soothing to him.
Shouta is the type of person to tell you he cannot stay awake anymore by gently tugging on your sleeve or hand, And if you don't get the message by the third time, you'll be in bed in minutes anyway.
That man is a menace.
#boku no hero academia#boku no hero academia headcanon#boku no hero academia x reader#boku no hero headcanons#my hero academy imagine#my hero academy#bnha kirishima#kirishima eijiro#kirishima eijiro x reader#boku no hero academia kirishima#bakugo katsuki x reader#bnha bakugo katsuki#izuku midoriya#midoriya izuku x reader#aizawa shouta x reader#aizawa shouta imagine#x reader imagine
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Opposites Attract
Aizawa Shouta x Reader
The two of you were so different.
Shouta was quiet and reserved while you were loud and outgoing. He hated to go out, you loved it.
He was a teacher while you worked for a big company, going from meeting to meeting while he slept in class.
And although you loved going out, and meeting new people, you loved Shouta more.
He was grumpy from time to time, he was lazy but at the same time, he was your everything.
When he announced that he will need to live with his students, you knew it would affect your life and marriage greatly.
You wanted to go with him, live with him at the school, but he couldn't agree.
Your house was close to your job, and he would never ask you to move out.
So, you stayed, but you started to miss him.
You missed your husband greatly. He wasn't there anymore when you arrived home. He wasn't rolling his eyes when you ordered food instead of letting him cook. He wasn't there to hold you during the nights.
You missed your husband greatly. He wasn't there anymore when you arrived home. He wasn't rolling his eyes when you ordered food instead of letting him cook. He wasn't there to hold you during the nights.
The two of you did meet a couple times and went on a couple dates, where you were able to tell him about your day and he did the same.
But it wasn't the same, you missed him every time you went home and he wasn't there. Even if you called him in the middle of the day, you just missed your husband.
What you ended up doing is that you decided to go to the principals office and ask if you could stay with Shouta in the school.
You were surprised to find out that the principle was actually really happy about your request, and you were allowed to move in within the next few days, now you just had to tell your husband.
But you decided that instead of telling him about it you're just going to surprise him. So after making sure that your home was secure, you left headed to your car and off to the school you went.
You stopped in front of the building which held all of the students from his class, 1-A.
You heard voices coming from inside, kids talking and you smiled before you got your bags and headed for the door.
You knocked on the door and a kind brown-haired girl opened it for you.
She smiled at you.
"Hi, my name is Aizawa Y/N. Is my husband here?" you asked her as she let you inside, you saw all the kids in there, all looking at you. "I asked the Principal, he allowed me to live here with all of you."
"Miss!" a boy ran up to you, you assumed he was Iida, you heard about him before. "It's nice to meet you! My name is Iida Tenya. Let me give you a quick tour."
"Oh, it's okay, I rather meet everyone." you put your bags down and looked around, they all started to walk over to you, introducing themselves and their quirks. They all mentioned how weird it was that their usually stoick and lazy teacher had you as a wife.
You noticed just how exepctional they all were. You were sitting at the table, still talking when the front door opened.
"I hope you all are already in bed." he stopped in his tracks as he saw you sitting at the table surrounded by the kids.
"Hi, Shouta."
"Y/N...what are you doing here?"
"I'm moving in. I asked the Principal who said yes. So, I'm meeting my new roommates."
You could tell he was happy. He didn't show it to his class, but you saw his eyes, you know him.
Soon, you two moved to your new bedroom.
"Oh, you even have a balcony! How nice." you said taking a look out when he came behind you and hugged you, with his head in the crook of your neck.
"I missed you."
"So did I, that's why I decided to move here. I couldn't sleep without you, Shouta."
He was a very affectionate and gentle person, mainly in private, as he liked to keep these kind of things to himself, but you appreciated it none the less.
Little did you know at the time, that it now only began, your life with class 1-A was only about to begin. And all it took was for the to realize just how good of a cook you were.
#Aizawa Shouta x reader#Aizawa Shouta imagine#Aizawa Shouta imagines#Aizawa Shouta x you#aizawa shouta fluff#aizawa shouta fanart#Aizawa Shouta scenario#my hero acedamia#my hero acedamia imagine#my hero acedamia imagines#my hero acedamia x reader#my hero acedamia fanfic#my hero acedamia scenarios
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Aizawa Shouta
Алфавит
B, D, K, W
#my hero academia#my hero academia imagine#my hero academia x reader#my hero academia headcanons#boku no hero academia#boku no hero academia imagine#boku no hero academia x reader#boku no hero academia headcanons#mha#mha x reader#mha imagine#mha headcanons#bnha#bnha imagine#bnha x reader#bnha headcanons#aizawa shouta#aizawa shouta imagine#aizawa shouta x reader#aizawa shouta headcanons
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Beneath the Surface
Head-canon | Masterlist
Pairing: Aizawa × GN!reader | Words: 684
Fandom: BNHA | MHA | Tags: Cute & fluffy. Romantic stuff.
Summary: Aizawa falling for a coworker.
A/N: Another one because I'm feeling inspired.
He would undoubtedly try to hide his feelings, burying them beneath his stoic demeanor. Unaware of his own emotions, Aizawa would subconsciously put some effort into spending more time around you, offering assistance, or engaging in casual conversations without realizing the underlying reason behind it.
He would start lingering a bit longer in shared spaces, finding excuses to be near you without consciously acknowledging the reason.
And, being a master at suppressing his own emotions, he wouldn't even realize he had a crush on you for quite a while - this is unfamiliar territory for him and the realization that he might have feelings for a coworker would create a sense of discomfort and confusion.
His internal monologue would turn into conflicting thoughts. He's used to keeping his emotions in check, and this unexpected surge of sentiment disrupts his carefully maintained equilibrium.
So he uses his dismissive responses as a shield, concealing the internal conflict and preventing others from prying too deeply into his private thoughts, since his fellow teachers may notice the shift in his behavior before he would.
Because, well, he may be a master at hiding his emotions, but not at controlling his body responses. A subtle tightening of his jaw would surge if your name were mentioned in a dangerous scenario, a rare fidget if he didn't see you arrive at your usual time at work, or a faint furrow of his brow if he wanted to say something else to keep the interaction going between you two without knowing which words to use. He would absentmindedly adjust his capture weapon when you would make eye contact with him, or absentmindedly rewrite notes on his clipboard during moments of teasing when you were around.
Because for sure, the others would tease him about it. Maybe a lot. But Aizawa would dismiss it with his usual nonchalance every time.
And his internal struggle would intensify as he grapples with the urge to distance himself from you and the conflicting desire to stay close. He would question his motives and attempt to rationalize his actions, all while maintaining a calm exterior.
On the other hand, his dichotomy between his logical mind and budding emotions creates moments of awkwardness, occasionally showing a subtle vulnerability that peeks through his stoic facade, visible only to those who pay close attention.
It's a fleeting expression, a brief flicker in his eyes, a glance that lingers for too long, or a pause in his typically composed demeanor that hints at the emotional turmoil beneath the surface.
During missions, Aizawa's natural protective instincts would intensify toward you without him consciously acknowledging it. He'd find himself gravitating toward you, subtly ensuring your safety without overtly expressing concern.
His vigilance would extend to the point where other heroes and coworkers would notice his increased attention to you, potentially raising a few eyebrows.
And regarding the possibility of you getting severely injured, Aizawa's usual calm facade would immediately crack, revealing the depth of his worry. He might withdraw emotionally, silently blaming himself for not being able to protect you better. Or if it were really bad, he would not be able to hide it any longer for fear of losing you without being honest with you first. The thought of confession might scare him to death, but the fear of losing you beat that easily.
However, if you got injured from recklessness, Aizawa's concern would manifest as a stern scolding. He'd be frustrated - or pissed, even - that someone he cares about would put themselves in unnecessary danger.
Since he struggles with expressing his feelings directly, it would be possible that someone else, like a perceptive colleague or friend - Hizashi, let's be honest - would notice his affection and encourage him to confess, even though it would come out as a teasing first.
Alternatively, Aizawa might inadvertently let it slip during a vulnerable moment while you were alone together, surprising both himself and you with the admission. His confession would be sincere but perhaps lacking in the typical romantic gestures.
Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! Check the fixed post for requests & more details!
#aizawa shota x reader#aizawa x y/n#aizawa x you#bnha aizawa#my hero academia aizawa#aizawa x reader#mha aizawa#bnha fanfiction#bnha headcannons#mr aizawa#aizawa shouta imagine#aizawa shouta x you#aizawa shouta x reader#mha#mha x reader#mha headcanons#mha fanfiction#bhna headcanons#aizawa shōta#aizawa sensei#eraserhead x reader#aizawa fluff
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𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader
w.c: 12.4k
warning: dbf!shouta, age gap, (sho in his early 40s, reader is 23), bottom!reader, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, feminization, mentions of gettin ‘knocked up’ regardless of anatomy, sneaking around, creampie, unprotected sex ( wear condoms ! ), praise/degradation, brat!reader, jealousy, mutual teasing, reader has an oral fixation, improper use of lollipops, mentions of exhibitionism, blowjobs, cumming untouched/hands free orgasm, ‘ taboo ’
sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! she’s all done !! ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝T ˘ T⸝⸝꒱ྀི১ ♡ m’a lil rusty, forgive me !!
You’re back home for the summer.
Well— not entirely. You’re back at your family’s summer house for the season. Gifted from your grandparents, it teeters at the beginning of a beach, crystal sands and clear, blue waters that stretch out into the horizon. You’ve been looking forward to it since you’d graduated, even if it did come with a set of overbearing parents and a sinful amount of sunscreen.
The air is hot and thick, sticking uncomfortably to your skin through the windshield as you watch an everlasting stretch of greenery and trees pass you by. The road has stretched on for miles, every upcoming exit and street sign blending into one as each hour passes by. You’ve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But it’s the trip you enjoy more than the destination. Traffic and all, you prefer it over the muggy air and parental scolding. Though, the beach is nice. . .
“You’re sure you’re taking the right route?” It’s your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. You’re sure she’d smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but she’s not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.
“I’ve been doing this for years,” You have— it’s true. Though you’re only twenty-two, you’d driven this distance since you’d left for college. There’s a sound akin to the sucking of teeth through the radio, and you have half the mind to turn around and restart your road-trip all over again.
“Why’s there so much attitude in your voice?” Her cheerful, smiley voice suddenly sounds much more shrill, to your chagrin. You thrum your fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, biting back a long, drawn out groan.
“There isn’t any,” Gravel crackles under the weight of your rubber-tire car, snapping and popping into the air as it makes a smooth halt into the driveway. Shifting gears to park, the radio switches off with the twist of your keys. And, perhaps with more force than necessary, you’re slamming the door to your car and face to face with your mother. Her phone is still in hand, eyebrows pinched at the thought of her very own son hanging up on her. “. . . attitude, Ma.”
She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood ‘home.’ It’s almost exactly like you’d left it— save for a few recent porch decorations and repainted walls. You hope the years have been kind to it, with the irregular weather and constant pipe problems. Floorboards creak under your weight, welcoming you home after a few long years of studies. There’s an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but there’s already so much to take in.
The air is fresh and salty, hints of beachy winds flowing upstream through the doorway. It smells like home, and looks like it too, as you situate your small duffel bag by the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Your room. You hadn’t packed much— there was still a dresser overflowing with old clothes in your bedroom, after all. And now that you think about it, you should probably change into something more fitting for the weather.
“I know you just got here,” The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. “But could you bring these out to your father?” She’s holding a tray of decorative glasses— or at least, you’d always thought they were— full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipops— one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone, with the way she’s put so much effort into the drink’s presentation.
Your lips curl to form a playful ‘no’, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffs— as if she already knows what you’re about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, “Let me change first.”
In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasn’t a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectly— before your growth spurt— are now much too short, like they’ve been tossed around in the laundry one too many times. You feel almost naked, moving the pink hem down with the shake of your legs.
Your mother insists they look just fine, a dramatic downturn to her lips as she rambles on and on about how fast her boy has grown up. Still, as you walk through the sliding glass doors parallel to the open patio, the sunlight bathing your legs does nothing but make you feel stuck under a rapidly growing spotlight.
It all clicks as you walk outside— the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone she’s trying to impress, someone other than your father. Maybe both of them. On a good day.
Wiping the bead of sweat from your brow, your eyes squint at the man in front of you. Around your dad’s age— maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. There’s age in his face, and worry between his brows as if he’d spent most of his youth grimacing. His hair is long and black like charcoal, save for a few streaks of gray and a salt and pepper ensemble of stubble littering his chin and jaw. Two scars— forming a cross of sorts, one beneath his right eye, horizontal and thin. But the other is much longer, starting below his brow and ending at his cheekbone. It draws your eyes to a milky gray iris— heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. It’s pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.
His silhouette— tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. He’s standing in the way of the sun, and yet, it peeks through his long hair in small, short leaks. And, surprisingly, his waist is small in his black tank top. If you feel hot he must be scorching, draped in black— down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His hands— they’re big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.
And— right, you’re here to help, not gawk. But you can’t help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. He’s like sex on legs, and if you can squint enough to get the sun out your eyes, you swear you can see the imprint of his cock through his black shorts.
“Uh,” You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray you’re holding is weightless. “Ma made these. I’m supposed to help. . . or something. . .”
“Or something.” The man echoes, but it’s quiet and you barely catch it. His voice is deep, way deeper than your own, rumbling in your ears and smooth like butter. Almost husky, with a dark edge to it as flames roar in his face. But it makes your father laugh, hearty and jubilant as he bounces over to where you stand. He gives you a small pat on the back as a greeting, ushering out a small, “son.”
The heat emitting off the grill is enough to make a grown man cry, but neither of you wince when you walk by it. Cold glasses of lemonade are handed out, fingers imprinted on cold condensation painting the surfaces of each glass as they’re passed around— one for you, one for your dad, another for him. You watch rivulets of water drip from his fingertips, down his wrist, past the collection of veins adorning his forearm.
“Mr. Aizawa,” There’s a beat of silence, but it’s quickly filled once you’ve been introduced. “World’s cruelest teacher.”
“Shouta Aizawa.” Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where he’d touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that he’s accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.
“An old friend of mine, we go way back.” Your parents have an odd habit of rambling, it seems, because you and the handsome stranger make exasperated eye contact as your dad begins to reminisce on old memories. “You met him a few times— remember? He’ll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?” His gaze seems to dip for a moment, down your lips and straight to the extra exposed skin of your thighs, then settle back to the ocean before you can comment.
But those five minutes must start now, because after a firm squeeze to your shoulder your father heads inside, leaving you alone with his. . . friend. He’s awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shut— occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s obvious you’re staring, maybe a bit too hard, but he’s the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.
And maybe it’s wrong to think this way— but he’s hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.
“So you’re staying with us, huh?” You eye the juicy meat he’s been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. It’s rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding and— you can’t help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?
“Don’t make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.” It’s not entirely clear if he’s serious or not, but he’s certainly assertive. Like a firm, guiding hand placed at the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, but before you can ask what he means, it clicks. You’d said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesn’t seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.
“You’re not strange.” Is what you conclude, slamming the tray down hard enough to rattle its contents, and the man notes your lack of regard. Even with a slight spill you don’t bother to clean, you’re already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentioned— but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. There’s an arrangement of seashells hidden beneath the coarse mounds of the glimmering seaside. Different sizes and colors, different textures and shapes. Where some would scrape the soles of your feet, others would glide across them. But as a kid you’d liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though you’re much older now, you’re not afraid to say you miss it.
“But I’m old?” Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. There’s a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.
“Yeah. Old enough.” Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skillet— just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?
There’s a divot where the tightness of your shorts dip into your skin, pressing against the plush skin of your ass whenever you bend over. Even as you’re upright, Shouta can’t stand to look for too long— you’re a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and round— shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious you’re not wearing anything underneath.
He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, that’s not right, you’re simply just minding your own.
“Ugh!” You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa can’t help but watch you scramble in the sand, presumably after whatever sea-creature that had the pleasure to pinch you right on the finger. But you seem happy once it’s retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, you’re not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. He’s always known them to be dramatics.
Still, he has half the mind to drag you over by your ankle, or maybe to press your handsome face into the sand while he fucks you from behind. Ever since you’d brought out that damned lemonade— tugging on the hem of the fabric as if you’d suddenly grown conscious of just how short they were— he’d been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friend’s son, his presumed pride and joy.
He’s fucked.
From where he stands, slightly elevated, he can see the bulge of the sweet protruding from your cheeks, stuck afore your teeth. Cute, as it swishes from side to side, stuck in your mouth as your occupied fingers caress the diaphanous shell in the palm of your hand. Your lips move, puckered, around the sucker, curled and glossy with molten sugar— it’s hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesn’t think he’d be able to listen anyway.
Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.
Shouta learns this at dinner, the day’s hard work shared on plastic platters and glass
bottles in the middle of the beach. There’s a roaring flame between the four of you, it casts golden embers along your skin every so often, crackling into the air. Cicadas chirp with the night’s welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.
You’re all sipping on beers, some more than others, but it’s enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. He’s not incoherent, he never is. If anything he’s observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this evening’s lollipop, it seems, as you have it situated between your fingers like a cigarette. Sometimes your grip around it tightens, like when your mother wraps her hand around his bicep, squeezing the flesh in small, sporadic rounds. And though neither of you want to say it, let alone think it— you’re jealous. That’s the second thing.
Even with Shouta’s knee brushing against your own, you can’t help it. He’s so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner that’s almost electrifying. You want it all to yourself, to suffocate in his heat and capable hands.
You zone out of the conversation, blinking at the fire with reserved eyes until a thick screwer pokes at the flesh of your shoulder, leaving behind a tiny dimple. Jet black hair invades your vision for a moment, smelling of faint seasalt and warm cologne, until you turn, “What?”
“You want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?” Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. It’s tossed to you in a flash, to which you catch, but not before stealing a glance at the man beside you. His jaw sets, poking out from the mass of stubble. Like she’d stolen a precious moment away.
“Right,” You mumble, stabbing the skewer through the excessive amount of sugar. The stick hovers above the fire, the sweet melting to a crisp, flaky brown. Sticky and gooey, it slowly begins to lose its form. Through all the conversation you can’t help but glance at the older man to your left, taking in the glow of yellow and orange caressing his tan skin. His silhouette is bold and broad, legs spread wide as he sits on a thick log. What was once brown turns a deep, dark charcoal. “Oh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.”
You’re not supposed to swear in front of your parents— Aizawa’s paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesn’t quite get. Either way, your expression. . . it’s sickeningly cute. It’s cute to watch you fumble. With lips pursed into a tight line, cheeks bitten and eyebrows pinched with apology despite how obviously uncomfortable you are with the piping, burnt sugar spreading along your tongue.
His heart could almost burst.
“You’re fine, kid.” Shouta’s voice is a gentle whisper, airy like the waves brushing against the shore. With his eyes caught on the sticky white lingering on your cheek, he's desperately aware you’re not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like they’re something else. He’s never been one for dirty jokes or subtle innuendos but. . . yeah, this is doing something to him. His fingers twitch with want, the desire to wipe it away and rub his thumb along your lips. He should really get it together.
And maybe the fact that he’s more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that they’re your parents proves that.
But they’re pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. It’s steaming, hot and fluffy after twirling around the fire. Looking at it now, it looks comically small in his large hands, much bigger than your own. His lips part, cool air leaving the ‘o’ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, “Here.”
There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesn’t let go of the skewer despite the light squeezes you press along his knuckles. Instead he holds on tighter, lifting and reaching until the desert melts in your mouth and sticks to your lips. Messy on purpose, your heart plummets into your tummy when dark eyes watch marshmallow fluff pull away from between your teeth. Hungry, starving.
“I can do it myself.” You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.
“Can you?” His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. It’s odd, the way you’re so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossip— ‘that boy just doesn’t know what to stop,’ ‘why’s he such a smartass?’ — spoken about you directly by you.
“Yeah,” There’s a shine in your eye that isn’t just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. “I don’t break that easily.”
Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. It’s the first thing that pops into mind as the two of you stand in the dark, dimly lit kitchen. Your parents had gone off to bed almost an hour ago, and with the clock approaching half past midnight, it leaves you two alone. So, yes, he’s considering who would win in a brawl because he can’t stop staring at his best friend’s son and his pretty, kissable lips.
They’re sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterday’s dirt from the kitchen counter. It’s a noncommittal motion, your arms wiping suds and heavy contents of water along the granite surface. Yet you seem absolutely dead-set on getting that one stain. The stain that has your ass brushing against his side, bare skin rippling the harder, lazier, you scrub. Not that there’s even a stain to clean.
Yep. He’s fucked.
You suppose he should be focusing on the dishes— not that there’s much of those either— but his attention strays.
It carries him through the motion of leaning over, his body practically draping your own as you bend at the waist. Black hair again, wisps of it, lightly pressed against your back as he leans down, lips by the shell of your ear and an arm trapping you in. His cock is pressed right against the swell of your ass, and he may have to consider slipping it between his waistband.
“I think you got it.”
“Oh, really?” Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. “Double check for me?”
A low groan sounds behind you, big hands at your thighs that squeeze enough to have the plush skin bruised and tender in the morning. His hand travels, snaking up your thighs to meet the silky skin of your ass. Spread nicely with the way you’re bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.
It’d be so easy, perfect access to slip his thick cock into the warm, tight walls of your hole and pound you against the counter. You could sit on his dick for the whole day, drooling and dumb the more the head kisses your prostate again and again and again. Your Daddy could fuck you on your dad’s favorite sofa, make it squeal and whine under the weight of him filling your fucked-out and used cunt over and over.
Dark pupils blow wide as he pulls the fabric away, watching your hole flutter around nothing. He coos, sweet and deep. Just give him a minute, he’ll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until you’re a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Until—
You’ve slipped past his arm, twisting as your growling stomach makes itself known. You inhale a quivering breath through your nose, eyes wide and expecting and waiting. His best friend’s son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.
He’s almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distraction— you’re a real, honest brat. “You’re still hungry.”
“I’m a growing man, Sho.” It’s almost consequential how your voice cracks, breathy and teetering the edge of a whine as he releases his grip on your body. Light from the fridge illuminates your silhouette in a yellow, halo-adjacent glow, and once again Shouta is staring a little too hard at his best friend’s son as he bends forward at the waist.
Aizawa weighs the juxtaposition between the middle of that sentence for a moment before his breath catches in your throat. Sho. You’d called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) you’re now sinking your teeth into. You’ve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once you’ve returned to face him. It’s obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shorts— but he’d honestly have preferred to see that.
“I can see that.”
Rough palms press into your jaw— firm, but not aggressive, until fingers close and clasp at your cheeks. A dissolving layer of baby fat at your cheeks spills between his stern fingers, and you blink as the older man turns your face from left to right, then reverse. Seems he’s got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you down— bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.
There’s always something in your mouth.
Dark eyes flicker to the lump appearing and disappearing in your throat as you swallow, sweet sugar dotting your lips, “You’re hard.”
“Yeah,” It earns a dark chuckle, though there’s not much light humor in it, “So are you.” His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.
“Usually,” your gaze drops to his lips. “When two men,” Then up to his deep, dark eyes as you press against him, chest to chest. His cock twitches against the heat of your body, you can imagine it now— thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. “Make eachother. . . hard, they—”
A door slams upstairs, the air going still as your breath catches in your throat. As if that single disturbance has stolen all the oxygen in the world, your body goes rigid and stiff, and the sound of tired steps make their way descending down wooden stairs. The candied grapes are swapped for thick fingers, with light peppers of hair at the knuckles, and you can’t help but suck the seasalt right off.
“Behave.” He takes a single step back, dripping with indubitable authority that makes you feel light and airy. Ready to bend at his will with lazy eyelids and hazy eyes. It’s not a question, not a suggestion— it’s a demand.
“You’re still up,” Your father, shameless as he walks by the two of you with barely any coverings, makes a sleepy gesture in your general direction as he opens the fridge. “Both of you, huh?” He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man who’d just stepped away from you.
Shouta’s eyes narrow.
“Don’t tell me I’m being replaced!” He’s always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. It’s just a joke, the both of you know it, but you can’t help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. You’re pulled in by the back of your head, your father’s hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, “Rather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. “Are you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?”
Then, his eye twitches, “When I want to be.”
Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. There’s a lot of things you’d like Mr. Aizawa to be— rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? It’s laughable, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but they’re most definitely not the same. If only he knew.
“I’m sure you’re the best,” He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesn’t quite meet your eyes— but it’s convincing enough. “Better than your other friends, right Dad?”
Shouta is avoiding you.
You know it, you can tell! He’s always gone nowadays— a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. You’ve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and there— he may as well have disappeared. He’s out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You don’t want to say it, but you know you’re the reason why. You’ve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that night— even before then, it’d become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.
And, now, he’s grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast they’ve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwave— as if you’d want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. There’s your mother, who leaves lingering touches and bats her eyelashes like some sort of schoolgirl. You feel almost evil for the rage that sears your blood— even more so when your first thought is she’s pushing fifty.
Then there’s your father. Who is and always will be, not if you can help it, closer to Shouta than you ever will be. They drink together a lot, the guest more in moderation, but it still hurts to see them laugh about old times— over, and over, and over again. Even when you’re the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. You’re right here.
So you mope, lounging around in your swim trunks. Your skin sticks to every surface, humid and thick as your mother complains to you about getting some sun, stepping out the house, then something about how you need to fix the look on your face. She says the warm rays on your skin will do you some good, the salty water of the sea against your body will toughen up your bones and loosen your muscles. But there’s really only one thing on your mind.
It trickles into about an hour and a half when Mr. Aizawa finally comes back. Your father too, you suppose, with flushed cheeks that only sake can replicate. It’s once you’ve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shore— that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.
“There’s my boy!” No one’s boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shouta’s face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.
Or at least, you think so. It’s hard to see with the sun in your eyes, yellow and orange flakes of the gold star percolating your vision.
It dances along the surface of the ocean, pretty and shimmering the closer you step, the further you go, until you’re submerged in water from your knees—down. There’s a shout, something akin to a ‘catch!’, and you have barely any time to react to the ball that’s flying to you with an oddly precise amount of speed and velocity. You gasp, whipping your head back to catch the ball between two sea-soaked hands.
“What the hell?!” Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasn’t even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And what’s so good about that? Of all things to look at— you’re right here! You don’t leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. You’re a constant, and you know you don’t hurt to look at.
So you throw the ball back, all your force behind it with a smug look on your face until it smacks Shouta in the leg— right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.
“Fuck,” You shout in horror, despite it all. Despite the desire to maul him the last few weeks, rushing forward into the water with the cutest tremor to your brows. “Fuck, okay, shit, my bad!”
And it seems you can’t move fast enough to wade through the rippling waves, where schools of tiny, nipping fish and textured shells had twirled and danced about through the currents of pellucid water. But Shouta seems just fine, almost as if he’d forgotten how to react to the feeling of getting punted with a ball at full force. He picks it up, waves it in his large palm, and throws it back. You can hear it tear through the air, just as it smacks you in the shoulder with so much force you don’t register it at first.
Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. It’s quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. It’s more contagious if anything, a wheeze of sorts, but your lips still curl into a petty frown regardless. You can make out a huff of “Your face!” broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.
“I’m not laughing.” You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.
There’s an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your body— boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dock— Aizawa’s presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.
You’re left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutes— his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way you’d only just noticed his prosthetic leg— at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You can’t help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.
It’s only been a month and you’re smitten. He’d left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.
There’s not much you know about the man— now that you think about it. There’s been a brief drunken mention of him having kids of his own, a little girl, you think. Maybe a son? Despite his affliction for quiet, Aizawa looks as though there’s more he wants to say. To share, to tell. Your father must know it all, seeing as they grew up together, and part of you can’t help but feel a bit jealous.
Hmph.
“What’re you sulking for?” His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hour— Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.“That ball bounce off your head, too?”
“I’m not sulking.” You watch him walk around the perimeter of the shore, slow and calculating, with his hands balled up in the fabric of his black t-shirt. He pulls it overhead, tummy contracting and biceps rippling— it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle he’s hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of ooh’s and ahh’s, unable to tear your gaze from the light rise and fall of his chest.
Your eyes trail back up, past the bend of his collarbones, up the display of stubble on his throat— he’s staring right at you.
“Uh — I wasn’t. . anyway. . What’re you looking at?”
His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. He’s slow, hair rippling just as smooth as the ocean, the further he moves forward. And, despite that, he slowly curls a finger to and fro, as if he’s talking to a small kitten. “C’mere.”
You’re frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. “Mr. Aizawa,” you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shouta’s frame stiffen— the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. It’s not like you call him that when you’re in a particularly good mood. “You didn’t seem to want me around earlier.”
“Quiet,” He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game you’re playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. “Your parents were always around earlier.”
Oh.
You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skin— such rough palms that cover your body — but you’re not desperate. Not entirely, not even when he fixes the twist of your face with a quick look to your furrowed brows. You settle for a sigh, grumbling, “They don’t have shit to do with me.”
“You’re, what, twenty-five—“
“Twenty three.” You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.
“Twenty three,” He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think it’s the interruption— he’ll work on it later. Maybe he’s been struck by just how much younger you really are. “They have everything to do with you. You’re still their kid, I doubt they’d be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.”
“But they did,” You look around, as if to prove your point. Shouta’s never been one for dramatics, let alone those fueled by snappy attitudes and rolling eyes, but it looks cute on you. Maybe even cuter if it were accompanied by tears. “They left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..”
“I get it. We’re alone,” Shouta’s voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when he’s irritated. “Drop the attitude.” It’s different in a way. Leaves no room for argument, though you still feel the overwhelming need to stomp your foot and keep on pressing. You can’t help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. It’s just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.
It’s not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heart’s content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throat— and it’s almost eerie. You can’t help but feel
like you should be anticipating something, even as you stand flush against his thick body in lukewarm ocean water and he looks at you with contentment.
Then it occurs to you. . . He’s letting it build up.
“And you’re not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.” Obviously you’re softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. You’re just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smile— albeit sly. He can’t stay mad forever. It’s not fair, how cute you are, with lips stretched out and teeth on display, with the apples of your cheeks rising, and the cutest little twinkle in your eye. He wants to kiss you. . . He wants to kiss you so bad it’s starting to hurt.
Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your body— painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. It’s been a while since he’s felt his skin against your own. Since he’s run his large, calloused hands along your body.
“What happened to ‘Daddy’?” He asks, absentmindedly.
“What?” You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta can’t quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. It’s odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniest— tightest— clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.
That’s not it. You look smug. You’re playing him for a damn fool.
“Nothing.” Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s wrong— it’s cliché, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friend’s son stupid. The man he’d just shared parenting advice to, the man he’d spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. It’d been so innocent when he’d visit— maybe he should’ve never stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.
“ ‘Nothing,’ ” You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shouta’s voice. If you weren’t sulking before you definitely are now, readying yourself to push past him like some spoiled brat who was just denied their favorite candy after being caught trying to steal it nonetheless. So He holds onto your bicep, squeezing the flesh as it flexes with your feeble attempt at struggling.
“Are you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?” He shifts his weight, voice calm and level as he holds you still despite the straining. Not a single hair on him is out of place, his tranquility almost alarming.
“Let go, old man!” He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives him— the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.
“Hey,” You watch his lips curl to coo, a tone somewhat akin to a parent shushing a fussy child. Your face is turned to face him directly, “How many times do I have to talk to you?” Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, “What’d I say about the attitude?”
“I don’t care what you say about it.” Your face is squished against his palm as you go to squirm your way out of his hold, but with the way his head angles down toward your face— you can barely get the words to sound convincing. There’s a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.“You like it, don’t you? Forget strange, you’re dirty!”
He’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, “Stop fuckin’ playing with me, little boy.”
“Dad never lets me drive the boat,” Though the man can sense your whining from miles away, it still manages to catch him off guard. Shouta quirks a brow in questioning, hand hovering a polite foot away from your calf as you stand to walk along the wading boat floor. “Destroyed his last one when I was a kid,” (He doesn’t have to know you were actually nineteen when you did.) You speak in a tone that makes him think just maybe you consider it more your father’s fault than your own. “This one’s nicer anyway.”
“That’s wasteful.” Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that it’d be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldn’t be proud of telling either. Through the corner of his eye he watches you dig into the cooler, scrabbling past the beer bottles and iced hennessy, to pull out an ice cream.
“To you,” You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passenger’s seat with much more force than necessary— especially when sitting on a boat. “I did him a favor.”
The cooler did a poor job— your ice cream is already melted and soft once it’s unwrapped. Thick, velvety cream that you lap up with your tongue dribbles down your knuckles. He should find it gross, but your pretty eyes flickering upward to meet his own as you take one long, slow lick up each bend of your fingers has done the complete opposite. Fuck. It’s hot— your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.
If only it were his cock.
Shouta’s thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, he’s sure you’d feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. You’d probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongue— how much it’s stuffing you full when it hasn’t even slid down your throat yet. You’d cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.
“Want some?” You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shouta’s lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. “You’re staring pretty hard.”
“Sit up,” The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man can’t find a reason to look away. “Before you hurt yourself.”
Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. They’re long— healthy, strong, clipped haphazardly— big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his own— and though he remains with all five fingers up, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the urge to close them around your much smaller ones. Shouta clears his throat while you hum, lapping at your ice cream before pressing your lips against his knuckles, “Want you to hurt me instead.”
“Hush,” There’s a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. It’s evident he wants to say more— in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. “You hardly know me.”
Your foot nudges his upper thigh, pressing into the firm skin as the boat moves further toward the horizon. It feels more secluded that way.. Private, even. As if there’s only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like you’ve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit it— it’s cute.
“I know you grew up with my dad,” He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. “I know you have two kids— adopted, right?”
“Hitoshi and Eri.” He interjects, voice soft and fond. You’d never noticed it before, but now you’re acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shouta’s relaxed face is much sweeter, still creased with age but not quite as deep. The cute, pinched dips between his brows are gone, but you know how to bring it back.
“Lucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,” Aizawa isn’t sure which word he’s more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his words— but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaft— he doesn’t like it. You talk entirely too much. With lips much too sweet and sheen with cream. With a tongue that flicks and presses against your teeth when you smile. With a pretty voice he could listen to, all day. Something that’d sound better through choking and gagging—ragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. “How old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .You’re just—“
“Listen to me,” Perhaps it’s not very characteristic of him, but he just can’t stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “For as long as I’m here,” he offers a squeeze. “For as long as your father is here,” then another, “Turn. It. Off.”
Your face melts into something floaty and distant, the smirk melting right off your face into something much more preferable. His thumb is so close, so close to your pretty lips. You blink once— twice, even— before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.
“I’ll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.”
The persistent comment nearly knocks him over, straight off the boat and plummeting into the cerulean depths of the sea. Instead, Shouta finds it better to step on the gas. . . To ignore the prickling heat in his blood, to ignore the easy taptaptap-ing of your fingers against the screen of your phone. It’s so easy for you to say anything around him— like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesn’t miss (not even for a second) the glance you give him through the corner of your eye.
The silence is almost painful. The motor speaks for you, loud and rushed and heavy. Aizawa’s jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You can’t help but stare, watching his hair whip in the wind, dreamy and mellifluous. Not a moment of eye contact is shared, and you feel yourself slinking back into the white leather of your chair for the first time this evening.
Come the wooden dock just adjacent to the shoreline, Shouta’s throwing away wrappers (they’re all yours) and unbuckling his seatbelt. Your arms cross, a pout heavy in your lips as your eyes flutter closed. . Almost as if you being unable to see him makes him unable to see you.
“C’mon, baby.” You both miss the nickname, and despite the tension, it feels so natural dripping from his tongue.
Still, you whine. Mind occupied by your nearly offset tantrum prior to getting back at the dock. “I’m staying outside.”
“You’ll get heatstroke.” Shouta sighs, stepping back to lift you into his arms not even a moment later. You consider it ironic, for a moment, he always wears black despite the scorching heat. Bent at the waist as he leans over the open inside of the boat to unbuckle your seatbelt, his face remains stoic as your arms flail and fly to push him away. Your pretty face morphs into a nasty scowl, grumbles and mumbles toppling from your lips— you’re embarrassed.
He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you upright— in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.
You just won’t budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearm— hands, wrists. Your last attempt at pushing him away ends up in stumbles, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stomp down the polished dock, eyes hardening with the contact of deep, dark pools in Aizawa’s irises.
You were holding hands.
It’s been days. You haven’t left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesn’t worry. He doesn’t think twice about it, doesn’t question why you don’t come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it it’s always the same thing— ‘That’s just how he is when he doesn’t get his way,’ or ‘He’ll come around.’ The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why he’s so enamored by their son— even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.
And that isn’t even it.
He starts to worry, to feel bad, on day six. Not a single sound that even points to your presence. No creaking floorboards, no music playing from your old, antique and overpriced record player, no sounds of muffled laughter. It makes him feel out of his skin, like a bystander watching the inhabitants of this very beach house go about their day like nothing is wrong. But this wrong, so very wrong—
He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friend’s son. It’s wrong and it’s taboo, but so help him, he yearns.
His feet had carried himself upstairs before his mind could, following after you a good half-hour later. You heard him on his way in, the shuffle of his slipper-clad feet from the outside of your door. Still, you’d made no effort to move, no effort to free yourself from the cocoon of your childhood blankets, no effort to open the door despite his gentle knocking.
“You ready to talk yet?” He was willing to brush it all aside. The pushing, the persistent flirting, the slight disregard for his feelings, the mentions of his son. Really, he was jealous. Maybe it’s unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldn’t think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, there’s nothing there— he’s only ever competing with himself. He just can’t help it.
Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.
“I don’t like being ignored.” Your voice was small, but he could still hear it through the door. He heard it all, every implication. His sweet boy, his spoiled brat. You froze, just briefly, before he let himself in. The door creaked slowly with its open and close, a gentle click of the lock as the air grew thick.
Your old bed is small and creaky. Almost as much as the underused floorboards, your old bedroom screams with just as much personality as it does neglect. There’s tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabilia— but it’s all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. There’s a few scattered photos— awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naive— but you nonetheless. It even smells like you, just with a hint of sea salt and warm, summer-y vanilla. Shouta wants to bury his nose in it.
“None of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe ‘Toshi would.” You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. There’s something left unsaid between the small string of words— and it’s sour. Twists on Shouta’s tongue, like he’s bitten into old bread, and it’s not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, that’s not exactly what he’d call this. . . relationship, but it’s not like it’d feel wrong. And he’d certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. “Guess my sheets weren’t silky enough. Can tell you what was, th—”
“I like it.” It’s simple. The admission— simple and sweet, like it’s obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when you’re caught off guard, glancing to the side and shifting your weight onto your palms as you sit in the comfy middle of your bed. He knows what you’re doing— redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, he’ll admit it)— and it makes you seem softer, almost.
He watches you sniffle for a moment, a quiet sound as you shift your knees with exuberating coyness. Your eyebrows furrow, cheeks puffed into a pout because, “That's it? You just ‘ like ’ it?”
He’ll give it to you, you never give up. He’d been warned, he was skeptical, and he’s been proven wrong. And, in the brunette’s head, you’d tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.
“What else would I say?”
“That it’s nice,” You cock your head to the side. “That you’ve never seen a room so nice. Which m’sure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I can’t imagine what it’s like being a single father of two— or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.”
The older man takes a breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pretty irises flicker down to meet the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, like the tidal wave of emotion has washed away back into shore, his voice is level as he speaks, “You spoke to him.”
“You ignored me,” You say it as if it’s obvious, simple, that if you can’t have Shouta you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. And though it’s not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you don’t think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawa’s chest. “Wanted your attention, Daddy.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, cold air rattling the bones as he watches you stare up at him. Your eyes look softer, boyish, wider at this angle. His pink tongue darts over his equally pink lips, “You don’t know what you do to me.”
“Show me.”
“Shh, sh, sh,” Shouta’s cock slips down your throat with a low grunt, the slippery walls clench around the fat head of his cock. Just as he imagined it, cutting off pretty whines and gasps, head bobbing back and forth— like you can’t tell whether it’s too much or too little. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throat— but it feels good, heavy and throbbing in a way that makes your brain shut off so quickly you drool. It sticks to his shaft and slides down his balls, painting your chin in a syrupy-sweet layer of saliva, but you’re too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.
He must’ve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. There’s a loud, sticky sound coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, obscene in a way that makes you whimper around your heavy mouthful of cock. He’s quick to correct himself— you only ever seem to behave when you’re stuffed with his dick, and he can’t have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gag— tight throat convulsing and quivering around his shaft.
You slurp loudly, choking and gasping as you struggle to pull back. His balls hit your chin, heavy and sticky and so fucking good as tears stream down your face. You’re starting to get into it now, making a mess of yourself as you stick out your tongue to lick along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, eyes focused on the rings of saliva holding you together. Shouta pulls out to let you breathe, his cock quickly liding upupup your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit as you chase after what you’ve been wanting for the past month.
“Stop fuckin’ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,” The bulge of his fat cock shows in your throat, in and out, in and out, in and out.
You want to whine, to beat your fists against his thighs, and kick your feet— it’s all so much. He has you by the hair, big hand pulling and tugging, lifting you on and off his cock like a warm, tight fleshlight. You fail to bite back a growl, though it emits more as a cute, pathetic sound, glassy eyes focused on his cock being shoved down your hot, wet throat. It’s so easy to press your lips against the darkness of his pubes, to smear pre along your pouty lips and cheeks. His cock jumps in your mouth, thick and long and curved, leaking at the tip.
It’s hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. You’re getting ahead of yourself, eager, tongue lapping at the achy underside of his dick, pressed against his balls. And, with a gasp, Shouta pulls out, huffs and unintelligible groans filling the air. The blushing head of his cock taps against your cheek. Once, twice, again and again. “C’mere.”
And yet, despite all that bark, your eyes barely make contact with the ones above you. Instead they trace the pulse of his shaft, how heavy his cock hangs between his legs, how it makes his long fingers almost smaller in comparison. The way pre dribbles from the tip, sticky and warm and oh, so inviting. It’s as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, “You can do better than that," and you almost can't believe it.
Better? Your eyes flicker to the saliva dripping from your chin, suddenly aware of the slick pre smeared across your pretty cheeks and the heavy pants leaving your lips. What gets better than this? You let him use your throat like a new fleshlight, cried on his cock and muffled the sounds in his pubes. Ignored the aching of your own cock just to focus on his own, absentmindedly bucking your hips into nothing, even if it made you look like a pathetic puppy. Fine— you can show him better. You can break him first.
You blink rapidly, tears clumped in your pretty eyelashes, lips parting to, indubitably, sass the older man. “What, need help gettin’ it up? Fuck you, can do it m—”
Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.
“— I wasn’t asking.” You really fucked up now, eyes wide as you’re lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shouta’s strong arms. He smells good, and just as strong, as your face is pressed into his chest and your tiny, tiny shorts are pushed past your thighs. The air is cold, it spreads goosebumps along your skin, and you’re sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard ‘Hey! I wasn’t done!’, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.
Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, you’d expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, there’s nothing for you to latch onto but the bundles of his hair as he hands out sporadic, random, and hard smacks along each globe of your ass. There is no back and forth, no favoring one over the other— it’s just where he wants, when he wants. If he wants to watch your thighs convulse and jiggle beneath his heavy palm he will, and if he wants to smack your hands away from his wrists as you tug and tug— he will.
Shouta groans when you let out a particularly pathetic cry, biting your lip and whimpering into his warm skin. You can feel his big hands part your cheeks, squeezing the skin until it spills over each finger and your ass has turned tender and sensitive. He coos, feeling you squirm and wriggle against his hold, “S’it too much? Daddy’s poor baby.”
It shouldn’t sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when it’s condescending and rough, even when he’s cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.
But it does.
“Da—ddy. . !” your voice quivers, hips rocking to an uncoordinated tune. So little contact and yet it feels like so much, his hot palms against your warm skin. . . The tears rolling down your darling face. . . The way your cock throbs against your tummy, your mouth aches with emptiness, your hole twitches beneath the weight of his fingers. The thought makes you want to whine all over again, body squirming and trembling as he holds and kneads the flesh of your ass.
“Quiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,” Shouta murmurs, so unnecessarily mean, kissing the dampness of your forehead before his hand cracks down against your plush ass three, four, five more times. You try to keep up your resolve, pretty legs trembling and knuckles clenching— but it’s just so hard. Being a brat is easy— it’s fun— you’ll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you won’t break and give him what he wants. He’ll have to work for it, get a taste of his own mean, mean medicine.
Delayed gratification.
Wet llips open to speak, something smug and almost smart, but it’s reduced to a wet moan. You feel it—fingers spreading apart the globes of your ass, and more cracking down between them, on your empty, pretty little hole. For a moment your brain slips out of your body, thoughts static and turned to mush, fuzzy and convulsing where you lay. You process the sound of hushing, the feeling of wetness, the sound of slick spit against your skin. . . Thick, merciless fingers rubbing and tapping and sliding against you.
“Oh, god,” You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds and— oh, a finger slips inside. “Fingers— that’s, oh god..” Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick you’re beginning to see stars. Whatever you had your mind set on earlier flies straight out the window, your brain short circuits as your sopping hole flutters around his fingers, sucking them in.
“Fuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddy’s fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?” If you could see his face you’re sure he’d be smiling— an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. “C’mon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.”
You can’t help it, hole throbbing rhythmically along his long fingers, squelching and gushing with stickiness. The swell of your ass ripples as you wiggle your hips, rising and falling to grindgrindgrind. “Fuck me already, c’mon, old man.”
“That what your little ‘boyfriends’ do?” Your lip quivers— he hadn't even flinched at the sass— and instead used your own words against you. “Oh, baby. They didn’t give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?”
Your hand finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around thick and strong limp just enough to get his hand moving, trying to guide him deeper, faster, harder. He should reward bratty behavior, but the words spill from his mouth almost immediately, “That’s it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.”
It’s ironic— he says it just before pulling out his soaked fingers. And, at your nightstand, opens the drawer to retrieve lube. You watch him pause, eyes scanning the contents of the drawer until his lips quirk downward. Lollipop wrappers. An ungodly amount— you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?
“What am I gonna do with you.” He sighs, but grabs a sucker regardless, tearing open its pretty, pastel blue packaging to reveal its red, shiny hard candy. He pops the treat into his mouth, holds it on the right side with his teeth, and squirts a generous amount of lube over the globes of your ass. His hands slip and slide as he guides it around, watches it dribble down your thighs and relishes in the way your hole opens up for him, soaked and sticky.
Your eyebrows pinch, hips wiggling as he pulls the lollipop free from his mouth and directs it against your own, “Suck,” He murmurs, but it’s forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, “Daddy?”
“It’s okay, I’m here,” He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, there’s no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. “Keep sucking, atta boy.”
His thumb feels like a lot, makes you squeal and shiver as he presses it inside, and something hot and wet accompanies it. That's good, the heat of his tongue licking and sucking at your throbbing rim, bubbly spit dribbling down his chin and caught in his stubble. One hand is focused on fucking your boyhole raw, till your brain goes numb and you’re incoherent. His palm presses into the small of your ass, tongue working hard until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your mouth flies open in a silent scream. He takes the opportunity to snatch the lollipop back, keeps his tongue pressed against your walls until—
He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. “You can take it,” He growls, eyes trained on your fucked-out face. He can feel it, the tightening of your balls, the way your hole aches and pulses with the treat inside you. “That’s it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it t’me. Let Daddy have it..”
He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that he’s popping back into his mouth, there’s the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole and—
Oh.
“Sweet.”
You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shouta’s cock as it’s worked inch by inch into you and— you can’t fucking believe it. You fought for so long, put on a bratty attitude and stomped your feet. Why would you ever push Shouta and his cock away for so long? Your breaths are short. Tiny little gasps as his large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs open to get a better view of the thick dick pumping you full. Your pretty little hole, sheen with spit and lube, exposed and on display for him and his cock. And, yeah, this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.
“You’re— fuck, you’re so gross, Daddy,” Shouta grits his teeth, “Ohh, havin’ your best friend’s son on your fat cock, fuckin’ my pussy so full. . !” You’re straight up babbling, cross-eyed as each thrust knocks coherent thoughts out your brain. A real, proper slut, desperately humping upupup to fuck yourself on his dick. With this position— knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to move— but it’s cute to watch you try anyway.
“Shut up and take it,” He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. “Don’t want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?”
“Daddy— Daddy, my pussy—“ You’re babbling, it’s all you can do since Shouta is all force with his thrusts; takes what he needs, feeds you his cock good and so, so deep. Over and over, you let out broken whines, desperate for it, looking down as best you can to watch your own cock bob and jump against your tummy, thighs sticky with spit and lube. You can hear the sound of your slutty, pathetic moans, the wet plaplaplap of skin, lube trailing and frothing between your bodies as Shouta fucks into you. You can’t stop twitching— your legs, your hole, your cock.
“This is Daddy’s pussy,” He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot you’ve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall you’ve got wrapped around him. “Just like that,” You’re gagging for it, pouty lips parting with open-mouthed pants as he continues to watch your hole tighten around his thick, veiny cock. He has to swallow down his own drool, reaching deeper into you, your body jerking back as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds. You may not be a good boy, but you’re a damn good slut.
“Uh-huh, uh-huh. . .” Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, you’d scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest — stickiness shooting out your spent cock until you’re twitching, handsfree and body set ablaze. Shouta shows no signs of stopping, instead keeping his cock inside you as he flips you around, eyes narrowed. He fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, leaky hole milking him for all he’s got.
“Dumb sluts love cock, baby. S’that what you are?” His voice is a low purr, pressing your face into the mattress, watching your ass fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you.
“Yeah, mhmm,” You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. You’re desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. “Daddy’s slut, s’me!” For a minute you think you’ve passed out, everything going dark as you ride out his hard thrusts, offering tiny movements of your own, up and down to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, to feel his balls slap against your thighs.
“Good sluts take Daddy’s cum,” Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. “Take it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.” It’s messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. Shouta’s cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are erratic and sloppy, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. You never want it to stop, not the groaning or moaning, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move.
He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when you’re limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.
“Da— Da—ddy,” You sob, eyes squeezed shut as strong arms pull you up and into even stronger thighs. Sitting on his lap now, Shouta coos hums, basks in the sight of his pretty boy’s afterglow.
“Daddy’s here. I’m here, I got you.” He whispers into your shoulder, and that’s all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts away— you’re more than that. You’re not just his best friend’s son. . .
You’re Shouta’s boy.
Summer is coming to an end.
There’s a seasonal chill in the air and it’s getting dark in the early afternoon. The beach has switched its course, currents changing direction and fish disappearing from the shoreline. The weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up, and the clouds have yet to dissipate into the sky. . Shouta helps you pack, grumbles when you press chaste kisses against his skin the whole time— shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, “I don’t wanna leave.”
“Spring break,” Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, “I don’t want you to, either.”
Your body visibly straightens, giddiness painting your boyish face as you smile wide and big. The older man almost regrets saying it, huffing with you lean impossible close to hug him tight. “Will you call me?”
“Whenever you want,” He says, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. You watch as he throws your large bag of lollipops into your carry-on backpack, but not before plucking a treat free from the others. “You know I will.”
And that’s all you need to hear.
#₊˚⊹♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓎 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝑔𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒#mgonna be outta commission for 18-20 business weeks#kiddin.#shota aizawa x reader#aizawa shota x reader#shouta aizawa imagine#aizawa headcanons#shouta aizawa x reader#aizawa imagine#aizawa smut#aizawa x reader#anime x male reader#x male reader smut#bnha x male reader#x male reader#x bottom male reader#bottom male reader#x sub male reader#aizawa x y/n#shouta x you#shouta x reader#mha x male reader#mha x trans reader#mha x y/n#mha x reader#mha x you#aizawa x you#aizawa x male reader
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say yes to heaven (say yes to me)
Aizawa finds out you have a crush on him. Fluffy, slightly suggestive Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead x reader drabble. Slight age gap, teaching assistant!reader. 1,937 words.
"You know Y/N has a crush on you, right?"
You nearly choke at that, freezing up against the wall. You had been taking a phone call outside the faculty lounge when you overheard Yamada and Aizawa make their way inside, oblivious to your presence.
"I thought I told you to drop it already, Hizashi," Aizawa grunts.
"Wait, you know?" A third voice, Nemuri, asks incredulously, followed by a noise that sounds suspiciously like Aizawa elbowing Yamada mid-laugh.
You feel your face heat up, mortified at their discussion. Of course Aizawa knew you had feelings for him, you all but slap yourself. How could he not when you clam up and turn into a stuttering mess whenever he’s around?
You're well aware that plenty of the girls of Class 1-A (and even 1-B) harbor a not-so-secret crush on their sensei, and you're embarrassed to admit that you're not much better. You're always suddenly breathless and flustered to be near him.
Always a little too eager to help during training or classes. Always tripping over your words whenever he spoke to you. He must have tried to brush it off at first, but it just kept happening too many times for him to ignore.
"The only thing I know," Aizawa answers gruffly, "Is that this conversation is bordering on entirely inappropriate."
"What? Why? It's not like she's a student here or anything," Yamada retorts.
"She was, just a few years ago."
"Yeah, and now she's my teaching assistant," Nemuri counters.
But you can practically see Aizawa shake his head. "See? Same difference."
"Oh, lighten up! So you have a bit of an age gap—"
"I wouldn't call 8 years a bit of an age gap, Hizashi."
"Who cares about that? I think she could make you happy, Shouta, and you deserve to be happy."
“Now that I think about it," Nemuri adds. "You two would be good together. You need someone who can make you smile and stop being so serious all the time, and she..." She chuckles playfully. "For some unexpected reason, really likes that about you."
"Don't tell me you haven't at least thought about it?" Yamada teases. “I see the way you look at her, too, you know."
Nemuri squeals, "Just imagine, the two of you being all lovey-dovey. It'd be so cute!"
Your heart catches in your throat, but Aizawa is quick to interject.
"It doesn't matter. None of those things you said matter. To do anything about Y/N's feelings for me would be taking advantage of her."
"Fine," Nemuri huffs. "But the least you can do is talk to the poor girl about it. You can't keep giving her the cold shoulder forever."
There's a beat of silence before Aizawa dejectedly responds, "You’re right.” And you hear the door knob lock behind them.
______________________________________________________________
You pretend not to notice that Aizawa's awkwardly been standing behind you for almost five minutes now, hoping he'd eventually leave if you looked busy enough typing away on your laptop.
And he almost does. If it wasn't for Midnight and Mic, who you can see out of the corner of your eye, gesturing at him quietly but frantically to go on.
Your heart races when he clears his throat. "Uh, Y/N, do you have a minute?"
"Um..." You consider saying no but can't think of a reason fast enough. So you take your time closing your laptop instead, bracing yourself. "Sure."
You get up from your seat and turn to face him, but neither of you can meet the other's gaze, which just makes everything feel all the more mortifying.
"I'm aware of...Er, I mean...I apologize if I've seemed a little standoffish lately."
"You mean more than usual?" You smile weakly, trying for a bit of humor.
When you look up, you're surprised to see that his expression is serious but gentle. He almost smiles for a second before he seems to think better of it.
"It's been brought to my attention that you might…” He sighs, then starts over. “If I’ve ever given you the wrong impression, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention. I want you to know that I respect your feelings, but I think it’s best that we maintain a professional relationship."
“Of course! I-I never – You never – Um,” you swallow thickly, feeling your face burn up. “I agree.”
“Good. I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us.”
Like it could get any worse? You bite back the retort.
You take a deep breath, attempting to regain your composure, and plaster on another half-hearted smile. “It’s fine. We can move past it.”
“Glad to hear that.”
_________________________________________________________________________
But you do not, in fact, move past it.
At least not for a few weeks.
In the days that follow, you find that you can't shake off the conversation. The way he looked at you, the vulnerability in his voice — it all lingers in your mind. The air between you feels heavy with unspoken words and a shared discomfort. The many days at work that follow are filled with lingering silences punctuated with stilted conversations, and a constant awareness of each other’s presence.
Even more embarrassing is the fact that everyone seems to know about your unrequited and inappropriate crush now, if they didn’t already. You notice Mic and Midnight's sympathetic glances, All-Might's whispered concerns.
Their attempts to act normal around you are agonizingly obvious, so you make it a habit to be the first one to leave every afternoon and spend most of your days alone at your table, with your eyes glued to your laptop screen or your nose buried in a mountain of paperwork.
So how, exactly, did you find yourself in this position? Alone with Shouta in his apartment and sitting in his lap with your fingers tangled in his hair and his tongue practically down your throat?
_________________________________________________________________________
Last thing you remembered, you were walking home when he suddenly fell into step beside you.
"Hi," you managed, giving him a weak smile. It must've been the first time you've ever been alone together since the talk.
"Mind if I join you?" He tilted his head to ask, his hands in his pockets and looking as tired as ever.
"Not at all," You tried to reply coolly, even though your heart just about dropped to the floor.
A familiar awkward silence fell upon both of you.
You bunch up your skirt in your fists, acutely aware of the way he’s looking at you. His usually stern face seemed almost…unsure. Finally, he broke the silence. "How have you been?”
“Oh, you know…” You waved your hand dismissively. “Just trying to get through each day.”
He nodded solemnly. “Listen, y/n, I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings last time we talked, because that’s the last thing I’d want.”
You shook your head. "No, not at all. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for the position I put you in."
"I just want you to know that...It's not that I don't..." He trailed off meaningfully, his eyes downcast. "I just don't think it would be appropriate or fair to you to pursue anything because...Your feelings for me…they’re not real.”
You felt your heart skip a beat. “What?”
"I understand that you might be confused by...that the dynamics of our relationship might have clouded your judgement and made me seem…”
“Stop.” You level him with a fierce gaze and he does. You do your best to sound firm despite the sting of his words. “It’s one thing for you not to return my feelings. That I can understand. But don’t patronize me by telling me what I do or don’t feel. It’s clear that you think otherwise, but I’m not a child, Shouta.”
Aizawa, surprised by the intensity in your voice, leaned back slightly. He doesn't say anything, which gives you the courage to speak your mind, telling him off before you can think better of it.
“I don’t like you just because you’re older than me or I see you as some sort of authority figure. I like you because you care a lot but pretend you don’t. And it makes me want to get to know you more. I admire your dedication and hard work at being a hero and a teacher here.”
He looked at you thoughtfully for a few moments, then nodded, a flicker of realization crossing his features as he absorbed your words. “You're right. I shouldn't have assumed or tried to define your feelings for you. I apologize."
"Thank you."
"And as long as we’re sharing…” He rolled his sleeves up, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think you’re a child, you know. I think you’re intelligent and perfectly competent. In fact, I think you're amazing."
The irritation and hurt you felt just moments ago was quickly chased away by the warmth that spread within you at his surprising admission.
He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I was hesitant because I didn't want to take advantage of you, given our age gap—"
"It doesn't bother me," you said with newfound confidence, and he couldn't help but chuckle at your boldness.
"But maybe... I've been too cautious."
You tilted your head, smiling up at him softly, sweetly, like you used to. "What do you mean?" You asked even though you already knew, you just wanted to hear him say it.
He ran a hand through his hair again, rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous habit, you’ve noticed. "I mean, perhaps I've been so focused on maintaining professional boundaries that it's made me overlook the possibility of a genuine connection between us."
You bit the inside of your cheeks to keep from smiling any wider. "Are you saying...?"
He nodded, a hint of a blush tinting his face. "Would you consider having dinner with me tomorrow?"
_________________________________________________________________________
Fast forward to now, hours after dinner and one glass of wine too many, and you’ve somehow managed to muster up the courage to kiss him good night.
It catches him by surprise, but once he leans into it, he doesn’t let you pull away. He responds with an almost bruising eagerness, kissing you again, and again, and again, until you find yourself pressed up against the door of his apartment.
He jams his keys into the doorknob, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck.
But instead of swinging the door open like you expected, he puts his hand up against it instead, next to your face, and presses his forehead against yours.
“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” he says breathlessly, his eyes screwed shut.
You draw a steadying breath of your own. “Why not?”
“Because,” he drawls in that frustratingly raspy voice of his. The one so low and deep you could practically feel it vibrating against your own chest, echoing off the walls inside of you. “You do something to me…to my self-control…”
You swallow thickly. “Do I?”
He nods.
“Good.” You link your hands around his nape, pulling at some of the hair there, and smile against the crook of his neck. “Then the feeling’s mutual.”
He puts his hands on your waist, gingerly, cautiously. “Doesn’t make it rational.”
You kiss his jaw. ”Why does it need to be rational?” And then his cheek. ”We’re both adults.” And then gently bite his ear, whispering, “Why can’t we let ourselves want what we want?”
“And are you sure…” He pulls away a little, his eyes still closed and his eyebrows furrowed. “This is what you want?” He finally opens his eyes to search yours, and his are so smoky and dark you feel as though you're falling through the night sky.
You take a moment to gather your thoughts, captivated by the intensity in his gaze.
"Yeah," you answer, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. "I'm sure."
His smirk is the last thing you see before your eyelids flutter closed and his lips are on yours again.
He doesn’t waste another moment.
#aizawa shouta#bnha shouta aizawa#shouta aizawa x reader#aizawa x reader#mha aizawa#bnha aizawa#amaya writes#aizawa sensei#eraserhead#aizawa imagine#aizawa shouta imagine#aizawa shouta x you#aizawa shouta x reader#aizawa shouta x y/n#my hero academia#boku no hero academia
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So, Aizawa's neck is extremely sensitive. Yup I called it.
There is a reason why he conveniently keeps it wrapped in his capture weapon most of the time.
Finding out about it was purely coincidental, it was never your intention to brush your fingers along the pale skin when you reached out to tuck a loose strand behind his ear, you couldn't help it either, he looked breathtaking in a simple black tank top and similar colored sweatpants as he emerged after his evening shower.
What was meant to be an innocent gesture, soon turned into something else entirely when his breath suddenly hitched and goosebumps appeared where your fingers had touched.
It was a new and unexpected sight that triggered something within you, and you needed more of the sensation it had evoked..
_ "So even the incredible Mr Aizawa has a weakness like the rest of us huh?" you teased for the nth time as you tightened your grip on his wrists and pressed down on his throbbing bulge before diving in to suck another bright red spot on his once flawless neck, "you've kept it well hidden this far, I'm impressed."
It's no wonder to be frank, he has always been dominant and well guarded even with you, and it is unusual of him to show any sign of vulnerability, which is why you held on to this rare instant with all your might.
_ "Alright that's enough, you've had your fun haven't you?" he huffed in apparent annoyance but did nothing to stop you, and how easy would it have been for him to free himself of your clutches, had he truly wished to.
_ "Just a little more, please." you whined a plea and kissed his delicate skin again, relishing the strangled groans he so desperately sought to muffle.
_ "Whatever.." but his feigned indifference couldn't fool you.
How could it, when his restless hips unveiled his growing impatience for something more?
Divider by : @/saradika
#Assal! we'll have to talk more about this 😉#aizawa shota x reader#aizawa shota x you#aizawa shota smut#aizawa shouta smut#aizawa shouta x you#aizawa shouta x reader#aizawa headcanons#aizawa x reader#aizawa x y/n#aizawa x you#aizawa shouta fluff#aizawa shouta imagine#aizawa imagine#aizawa fluff#aizawa shouta headcanons#shouta aizawa smut#shouta aizawa imagine#mha fluff#bnha fluff
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aizawa is too pretty to eat pussy. the sight ALONE would kill you.
just making eye contact with him while he hikes your legs over his shoulders would have you six feet under.
he’d eat you out like a man starved, and he’d do it all while looking up at you through thick eyelashes; ripping orgasm after orgasm from you until you’re so sensitive it hurts. he’d take pity on you for a moment; untangling himself from your limbs, letting you believe you’ve earned a rest.
but he is an evil, evil man.
he’d slip two fingers into your cunt, chuckling darkly to himself all the while, and he’d pump them mercilessly.
that man wouldn’t stop until you’re crying and begging for mercy.
god, just the THOUGHT of it is enough to send you to the grave.
#aizawa imagine#aizawa shouta#shouta aizawa#shota aizawa#aizawa shota#boku no hero academia#my hero acedamia#bnha#mha#my hero academia#bnha smut#aizawa x reader#bnha aizawa#mha x reader#mha headcanons#bnha fanfiction#aizawa smut#aizawa shota smut#shota aizawa smut#theo.writes
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NSFW content below, minors dni!!
[gender neutral]
tw!! thigh riding, daddy kink
Soft whimpers and heavy breathing fill the room along with noise of his long fingers typing on a keyboard. Your hands grip his bicep tightly, your face hidden in the crook of his neck, the noises you're making getting louder and louder. As it become impossible to hide your moans, one of his big, strong hands gently rubs your back and soft whisper meet your ear.
"Quiet, baby. We don't want anyone to hear you, do we?"
You bite your lip and close your eyes, pressing your head harder against his neck and slowing your movements a little. "N-No..."
"Mhm. That's right, we don't." his velvet voice gets louder as his hand finds the back of your neck and grips it tightly. "Then you have to keep your sweet noises down, little one."
You nod. "Y-Yes Daddy..."
"Good. Now keep going, sweetie. Daddy hasn't finished his work yet."
His hand lets go of your neck as he starts typing on his keyboard again. You continue moving on his thigh, riding it like an animal in heat, clenching your fists on his shirt. Your breathing become even heavier as you become lost in pleasure, getting close to release. You bite his neck to muffle your moans, sending shivers down his spine.
"Are you close, sweetheart?" velvet voice hits your ears again, his hands travel to your waist, guiding your movements now.
You nod, whimpering softly. Your teeth leave his neck, your head tilt back as you get closer and closer. His grip on your waist suddenly tighten and he speaks in stern voice.
"I need you to use your words."
"I'm very close, daddy!" you let out a desperate moan.
"Good. Go faster." you feel his fingers dig deeper into your flesh, his eyes focused on your face as he stares deep into your soul. "Make a mess all over daddy's thigh."
"C-Cumming! I'm cumming, Daddy!" you are about to let out a final loud moan but his mouth finds yours and muffle it by a deep, sloppy kiss. You bite his lower lip as your orgasm approach, making you quiver and squirm on his thigh, covering it with your juices. You close your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder, breathing heavily as you try to recover from your orgasm.
"Good baby." he whispers against your forehead and kisses it gently, his hands travel down to your thighs and massage them as you still twitch. "What do you say after daddy lets you make yourself feel good, hm?"
"Th-Thank you, Daddy..." your breathing is slowly calming down, head still resting on his shoulder.
"That's my good baby." his hands now squeeze your ass as he pulls away slightly just enough to make an eye contact with you. "But did I tell you to stop?"
His words caused you blush profusely and look down shyly. "You didn't, Daddy..."
He grips your chin tightly and forces you to look at him again. "Then?" he raises one eyebrow at you in menacing manner. "Why did you stop?"
"I-I'm sorry..." you look into his eyes and start grinding against his thigh again, watching his expression softening slightly.
He kisses your cheek and lets go of your ass then starts typing on the keyboard again. "Good baby. No matter how many times you cum, keep riding Daddy's thigh until he finish his work. If you do good, he'll reward you. Got it?"
"Y-Yes Daddy... Thank you." you bite your lip in pleasure as you ride his thigh again.
He chuckles. "That's a well trained baby."
✿
♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ MIGUEL O'HARA, AIZAWA SHOUTA, nanami kento, MODERN AU!ZEKE YEAGER, modern au!erwin smith + anyone who you think fits!! (comment/reblog your suggestions <33)
#aizawa shouta#aizawa x reader#aizawa imagine#aizawa smut#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel x reader#miguel spiderverse#miguel o'hara smut#erwin smut#zeke smut#bnha smut#jjk smut#aot smut#anime smut#spiderverse smut#zeke jaeger x reader#erwin smith x reader#nanami smut#nanami kento#nanami kento smut#kento nanami#erwin smith smut#zeke yeager smut
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catharsis || ──────── s. aizawa
day five — SOMNOPHILIA / VOICE KINK / DADDY KINK
『 synopsis 』 after a long patrol, your husband comes with an ache only you can sate, only to find you deep in sleep
『 warnings 』 — 18+. sm*t. minors do not interact. husband!aizawa. pro-hero!reader. p*orn with very little plot. that's why it's shorter than my normal fics. established relationship. she is a natural disasters hero. and he has his normal job. somnophilia. voice kink. daddy kink. he is very much in love with you. like borderline obsessed with you. and vice-versa as well. female reader. black-coded reader but anyone can read. he calls you a slut but you enjoy it. sweet aftercare. was this self indulgent? i plead the fifth, how bout that?
『 writers notes 』 honestly feel like i overdid with the daddy kink but here we are! hope you enjoy it and you won't get a new ktober fic until next week tuesday! check the masterlist!
『 word count 』 3.0k
previous fic in ktober | masterlist | next fic in ktober
The night had fallen upon your home before you had known it, the twinkling stars gazing down at you, the full moon’s brightness fully mocking your somnolence. You could no longer stay up for him, no matter how much you tried. You had waited for long before sleep was beginning to overtake your body, and you knew this was another night you’d go without being able to see your husband.
Your husband was Eraserhead to the world, but at home, he was Shouta to you. Your Shouta. The two of you were heroes, after all, that was how the two of you met. You knew the long nights that came with the job, especially with him being a teacher as well.
Dressed in a thin two-piece set, in a pale baby blue, you lay on your bed, covered in your warm sheets, with nothing but the sounds of your automated fan blowing cool air into your room, combatting the heated summer night outside. With school out, and your husband only getting a reduced check from his main source of income, he had no choice but to join up in nightly patrols, his main specialty when it comes to hero work.
The two of you found each other while working patrols late at night, you being a new transfer from a faraway city on the outskirts of Japan, where natural disasters were then likely to occur.
“Eraserhead, what kind of name is that?” Your smile was wide, contagious even.
The two of you stood in an alleyway, with him hanging upside down from it, his eyes obscured by the bulky yellow goggles he constantly wore.
“Trust me, I was definitely not the one to make it.” His voice was deep and grave, it slightly echoed through the alley.
“That means whoever made the name must have been pretty special huh?”
It was silent for a moment, and for a moment, you thought you hit a nerve, anxiety rising within you.
“Yeah, I guess you can say they were.”
You gleaned up at him, seeing some semblance of a smile on his face. This caused your own smile to widen slightly, standing up straight.
Your marriage was a private one, one with family and friends only, a short, quiet, and intimate event. The two of you only had a week off for your honeymoon, during the time of which students were out for school to not mess with his schedule. The two of you are extremely busy, with his job as a hero course teacher and of course your own as a rescue and natural disasters hero. The two of you barely had time for each other, easily taking what you could with each other. You knew what came with dating and eventually marrying another hero, especially with someone like your Shouta.
You lay across the bed, sighing as you relaxed into the comfort of the comforters, onto the softness of the mattress. Closing your eyes, hoping to bring a new day, hopefully with your husband’s arms comfortably snug around your waist.
— — — —
You heard a squeak first.
Your eyes barely cracked open, still heavy with sleep, as the squeaking sound got louder and longer for a moment and then stopped altogether. You didn’t move, your heart racing and beating drums within your chest as the sound of muffled footsteps got closer and closer to your bed. You could hear ruffling, like clothes were being moved before the familiar fresh scent of mahogany and lavender, your body relaxing as you did so. You opened your eyes a little bit further, being able to see the clock on your bedside table, seeing the number 2:34 glowing from the digital clock. This was a first, you never woke up when he came home from patrols, you always found yourself being wrapped up in his arms when you woke up in the morning. You tried to find the confines of sleep, hoping to easily slip into it, knowing you’ll wake up in your husband’s arms once more.
Creaakkk…
His footsteps got closer and closer, his scent slowly gaining intensity as something within went off, like chilling tingles crawling up your spine. You could feel his eyes staring holes into you, possibly scanning your entire form wrapped up in your blankets. A familiar tingling sensation began to erupt and spread through you. It had been months since the last time he touched you, the two of you being completely swamped with work. Suddenly, the bedframe creaked, as you felt the mattress underneath you slightly dip. He was so close to you, his knee grazing up against your back, the blanket being the only thing that kept the two of you lightly touching. Droplets of water, possibly from his shower that he took when you were still deep in sleep, dripped down onto you, feeling the cool, wet spots from your blanket. You kept yourself as still as possible, sleep still dancing in your eyes. And then, all of a sudden, he crouched down, the bed creaking along as he did.
It took all your self-control not to gasp as you felt his erection pressing up against you. Even with the blanket, you could still feel it. You held back the slight gasp out a slight moan as he pushed his hip in between your bottom. He let out a hefty groan, his head falling right beside your own, his lips right next to your ear as he did. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing, feeling yourself beginning to drip down your thighs and stain your thin shorts. All of your self-control was slipping piece by piece, your body aching and wanting for him. Your breathing became shaky, you know he could hear it, and yet he continued his actions. You could feel his lips slowly press up kisses along your cheek and jawline. His nose nestled itself in between your ear and your hairline that peeked from the night-time scarf you wore, before taking a deep breath in, taking your freshly washed scent, your body wash, as well as your nighttime hair products.
“You smell so good,” his voice wasn't strained, as if he was holding back as well.
“I missed you so much,” he spoke again, the bed creaking again as he moved, his hands beginning to move down, thumbing along the hemline of your shorts.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been here as much, snowflake,” he mumbled in your ear, his hand now officially slipping down into your shorts.
His fingers slipped in between your legs, two of his fingers easily spreading your lips apart, cool air hitting your clit, causing your body to tremble ever so slightly. Your mouth is slightly agape, drool slowly dripping out of your mouth onto your pillow. His fingers easily spilled into the mess in between your legs, pressing up against your clit. Carefully, he massaged circles into you, every movement slow and deliberate, as if he didn’t want to wake you. He probably didn’t wake you up. You had just gotten home from aiding a beach town devastated by a hurricane, pulling people out from rubble, and creating emergency service tents.
“I know you just got back, but I…” he trailed off on his words as his fingers slipped further down, sliding in between your labia.
“I can’t hold myself back, fuck.”
Your husband sounded so pretty, his voice straining every syllable as his hips ground more and more into you. By now, your shorts were a mess, and your underwear soaked with your juices. No longer able to hold yourself back, you softly pushed your hips back against his fingers, and hard-on. He most definitely felt your movements, letting out a massive groan as his dick twitched underneath his boxers.
“Naughty girl, such a slut even in your sleep…” his chuckle echoed against your bedroom walls, as his fingers dipped in even further, one of them pressing into your hole.
“Everytime I have to stay away from you, whether it be my job, or your own job, I can feel myself descending into madness–” his words suddenly cut off with a guttural groan, his hips suddenly giving off a sharp thrust.
“I am obsessed with you, you know that right?”
Tears dripped down your eyes, staining your pillows as his words enchanted you, sending great shocks of ecstasy through you. You could feel yourself trembling, only aching for him more and more. His own boxers were sticky with pre-cum, you could feel it oozing onto your satin shorts, slowly mixing in with your own soaked juices. His hand slowly pulled themselves away from your cunt, the sudden loss of pleasure causing your emotions to deflate before feeling that very same hand pulling at the hem of your shorts. You kept as still as possible as his large hands pulled your shorts down around your ankles, revealing your wet pussy.
“Agh, fuck,” is all he could say as he suddenly sat up for a moment.
You could hear shuffling in the background, most likely him taking off his boxers, hearing some kind of fabric being thrown in the air and landing on the floor. You felt his hands back on you, before feeling the tip of cock press up against your cunt, slipping and sliding in between your lips, gathering some of your juices. With a final swipe, before you knew it, you felt him press the tip at your pussy, your body trembling as he began to push it.
“Baby, baby fuck–”
He pushed himself deeper into you, your eyes squeezed shut, your cunt throbbing around him.
“Missed you, missed you so fucking much,”
You had never heard him ramble like that, his usually deep gravelly voice seeped in desperation. His hands gripped at the meat of your thigh, holding your place as he rutted his hips into you. Your lips parted, and the entire area underneath them was drenched with sweat. Your hands tightly squeeze the comforter. The heat was overtaking you, a violent intensity grappling at you. Your thoughts that once ran wild soon became filled with one thought, Shouta. Everything about him was different, the way his voice hit your ears, each syllable easily ripping a new reaction out of you. It was only a matter of time before you lost control before he knew you were awake, feeling everything he was doing to you.
“My wife, my pretty wife,” he groaned, his hands moving up and about.
“How could I fucking stay away from you?”
With his strength, he moved you about with ease. You no longer lay at your side, but instead, your knees dug into the mattress, your stomach lying against the bed. He pressed his hand against your back, your back arching up against him. He never pulled his cock out of you, staying snug inside you as he positioned you to where he wanted you to be.
As soon as you were in position, he held no mercy towards you. Pounding away at you, like a man with nothing else to live for at that moment but to ravage you. Tears welled in your eyes as absolute euphoric pleasure took over you, it came as quick as lighting. With the sudden overload on your senses, your control over your actions snapped.
A moan slipped out of your lips, the sound causing him to falter for just a moment. With the wet sound of skin against skin, he leaned down once more, moving his long hair out of his face, finally allowing him to see the tears streaming down your face, your eyes slightly opened, rolled to the back of your head, mouth agape with spit dripping down.
One of Shouta’s hands stayed at your hips while the other suddenly reached down, wrapping around underneath your chin, pulling your body upwards with ease. Your hands propped you up as he pulled your head back, your eyes locking. The position allowed you to see just how frenzied your husband looked. His thick fat cock plunging mg into you, each movement only escalating him more and more.
“How long have you been awake sweetheart? Huh, liked what I was doing to you? Hmm?”
You tried to speak, but the only thing that could slip out of your mouth was pleas if you could even call it that.
“Daddy, Daddy-fuck, it’s too–fuck!” You screeched, gripping at the pillow as your eyes squeezed shut, overcome by the sudden frenzied thrusts your husband was sending your way.
“Dirty little slut, letting me think you were asleep ? How long were you awake for?”
For a moment, you couldn’t answer him, only focused on the effervescent volcano building up within you. All of a sudden, his thrusts slowed down, causing you to whine as you looked back at his teary eyes.
“I asked you, how long have you been awake?”
“Since the moment—ahh– you walked in! Since the moment, you walked in, please don’t stop fucking me, Daddy!”
Shouta suddenly pulled all the way out, your cunt only squeezing around the tip of his fat cock, before slamming it back into you, almost hitting and bruising your cervix. Both you and his own moans and groans echoed into the air, mixing together in a beautiful melody. His hand left your chin, your body flopping forward for a couple seconds before suddenly feeling your arms being jerked back. Your moans became scream-like as he grabbed at both of your wrists, suddenly pulling your arms back.
“Fuck,” he cursed, hissing as he pummeled into you, “so fucking tight–huh, you like the way I fuck you, huh?”
You could barely get any words out, shaking your head vigorously, clenching around him. Every plunge into your cunt devoured you, your husband’s moans and groans had your body trembling. His growls reverberated within your ears, only causing your body to curl in pleasure.
“I said,” he suddenly cut into your thoughts, your body jerking up even further, “you like the way I fuck you, slut”
“Yes, daddy!”
Shouta’s chuckle was deep, and his thrusts only overwhelmed you even further. You relished in the way your skin took the pain, feeling the bloom and sting tingle all over you. If you could blush, you knew the bottom of your thighs would be blooming red. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, your eyes rolling out the back of your head. All of a sudden, Shouta dropped your arms, your body flopping, back arching into the bed as his hands gripped at the flesh at your hips and butt. His thrusts became erratic in nature, his already broken-down composure crumbling even further. You could hear his breathy words, soaking in the neediness laced within them.
“Missed you so fucking much, my wife– my fucking wife.”
“Look so fucking pretty, so fucking senstive f’ me.”
“Missed this pretty fucking pussy, hate how much I have to leave you–fuck!”
Shouta’s body lurched, towering over your own. You could feel his sweat dripping down from his body, falling like light rain into your almost bareback, your thin night-top crumpled up at your bosom. Your hands crumpled up the blankets and sheets underneath you, the feeling of your tongue slightly grazing against the fabric. Your words soon dulled out, the only thing on your tongue was your monas and coherent words putting together the title you called him in bed. You could feel your cunt tightening up around him, like a ticking time bomb going off within you.
“Such a sweet fucking pussy– fuck–” his body suddenly lunched, the bruising grip he had on your hip tightening.
Your body convulsed, shaking in his hold as your mind went blank white, tears streaking out of your eyes as your climax ripped out of you, your juices spilling and ripping all over him.
“Daddy!—” your final words cut, your voice echoing against the white walls of your room.
With a final grunt, you felt your husband slump over, feeling his dick twitching inside of you, painting your walls white. Soon, the only thing you could hear was the sounds of your heavy breathing, both your and Shouta’s as well. You let out a whimper as you felt him pull out his cock out of you, leaving you with withdrawal. Without him letting go of your hips, your legs fully slumped onto the wet bed. With hands still around you, shrieking as he swept you up from the bed. You held onto him as your husband slowly got off the bed, turning your head to see him slip into your bedroom’s bathroom, using one hand to turn the light on. He placed you on the toilet, before walking to your sink. You couldn't help the soft smile that slowly appeared on your face as you heard the faucet turn on.
He walked back over with a rag, slowly opening up your legs as you both felt and saw your cum mixed with his, dripping down your inner thigh. He moved the warm rag against your skin, letting out a short gasp as he grazed the rag against your sensitive cunt, cleaning up the main source of the mess. You heard your husband let out a breath of a chuckle, seeing a ghost of a smirk etched on his face. Your soft smile turned abashed as your hand reached up, smacking him slightly on his shoulder. Your brick house of a husband didn’t even flinch from your smack, continuing to clean you up. Soon you could feel nothing but the touch of water on your legs. Once finished, your husband slowly pulled your soaked shorts down the rest of the way, before tossing them into your laundry hamper. With nothing else, he carried you back to the bed.
The two of you slipped underneath the sheets, his arm easily wrapping your waist as he pulled you close. You had no use of the pillows, using your husband’s naked chest, humming at the warmth that radiated off of his body. Before you knew it, you had laid a soft kiss against the beefy shoulder of your husband, before snuggling back into him. You both heard and felt him move, smiling as you felt a soft pressure against the top of your head, feeling the sensation of lips. With that, you drifted off to sleep, slowly hearing your own husband’s snores echo into her.
#aizawa smut#aizawa x reader#shouta aizawa x reader#mha aizawa#kinktober#kinktober 2023#angelshub#my hero academia#aizawa x black!reader#mha x reader#bnha x reader#mha x female reader#mha x poc!reader#bnha x fem!reader#black reader#mha x you#mha x y/n#bnha imagines#bnha smut#aizawa shouta#shota aizawa#eraserhead#aizawa shota x reader#mha smut#aizawa shota smut
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Hello how are you? can i ask you for an imagine or headcanons please with Aizawa (and Hawks if you don't mind) where his girlfriend who is a pro hero got in the way during the fight with Stain and the students of UA and s was found injured
Author's note: Hi, yes hello! You're so sweet!! I'm good, thanks. I'm so sorry it took so much time. I got stuck on Hawks, then I erased it all because I thought it sucked b*lls, then I worked like a bazillion hours at my job, then I started writing it again, so here it is !! Also, I decided to give this two types of ending, one with Aizawa and one with Hawks, because I'm a Libra and can't decide between them. Sue me.
Warning: Cheezy à souhait. More like a reaction/imagine than anything else.
Words: 901
Masterlist OGW Masterlist
It was supposed to be an easy 'take 'em away' mission.
Get the kids out of harm's way and wait for reinforcement in safety. Simple.
Not quite.
Trying to get one Iida, Midoriya and Todoroki were more complicated than it seemed over the phone as the three of them were in a rage you'd only seen in blood-thirsty villains before. Not teenager. Somehow, it became clear that fifteen years old and serial killers had one thing in common: the feeling of helplessness that usually lead to desperate anger and rash decisions.
Having retreated safely under your protective shield with an injured Iida, you were now trying to get to Midoriya and Todoroki, who was still going against Stain. Fools.
Sitting the boy against the wall, you waved one of your hands above him to check for injuries before standing to your feet. "Stay here." You said. Menacingly, hopefully. Anything to give you at least something not to worry about. Geez, you hated teenagers.
"'Take care of them'" you muttered under your breath, blocking one attack from Stain and just missing being cut in half by his blade. "'We won't be long' he said, 'It'll be easy' he said."
You weren't an action superhero, for Earth's sake. You helped during tsunamis, earthquakes, and forest fires. Not against stupid people with to-big-egos and somewhat helpful quirks. But no, he had to contact you because you lived close and could help immediately.
You weren't stupid. These kids had no chance to overtake Stain alone, and you were of no help to them. What could you do to help them otherwise to cure their wounds and create protective shields around them? Nothing.
Seeing the blade before the red and white-haired kid, you caught his arm and swung him behind you, effectively getting slashed in the back in his place.
Everything got loud for a while after that, then silence.
Aizawa:
Everything was fine. The quirk would soon fade, and you'd be walking. It was fine.
No, there was no need to go to the hospital. 'Yes,' you could see the three fingers Shouta help up to your face. And as you answered all of his questions, you could see the boys standing behind with mixed emotions on their faces.
But that could be because of Endeavor too.
And the night was still far from finished.
It took hours to finally get back home, cuddled up in blankets and munching on some food, whatever you'd caught first when raiding the kitchen. But Shouta wasn't finished with his sermon. And it went on and on again until it's very late and you're angry.
"You asked me to get there first." You accuse, a finger waving dangerously close to his nose while a blue light seems to shine from the tip. "I helped, 'cuz that's what I do best. I got him out of the way." You let out a sigh. "I'm not a fighter, and you know it."
He only blinks back at you, slowly, like a cat. His face is stoic, and no more words are falling from his lips. He considered your words quietly, and when he seemed to reach a decision, he hesitated again. His mouth moved as if he was choosing words carefully before talking again. In a final sigh, shoulder falling down as he did, Shouta finally talked, closing his eyes.
"Thank you for helping."
"Yeah," you respond, settling to kiss his chin, passing a hand on the front of his sleep shirt. "You're welcome."
Hawks:
He was standing with his back straight, his face grave as many reporters were flashing camera lights in his face. Questions were shouted all around, drowning him in the sounds as he just waited for you to get out of the emergency room. He doesn't answer most of the questions. 'What is Endeavor doing?' Is the only thought floating in his mind except: 'What's taking you so long? You didn't look that hurt...'
He was pacing back and forth, sometimes flashing forced smiles to the cameras when they passed through security and waving at them when they were dragged away.
Fucking children... Fucking egotistical children too prideful to admit they were in something way over their heads. And freaking messed up society with its messed up system too!
When your head popped out of the door, he was all over you, arms over your shoulders. He escorted you to your car before getting inside it with you. Fuck the Hero Commission. He'd deal with the pictures tomorrow. Tonight, he'd cuddle. It wasn't his fault you were found lying on the ground of a dirty alley with fucking children paralyzed on the concrete, while a full-grown adult villain was doing a speech on the same messed up hero society while beating up children and women.
Keigo would have committed murder, would have it him who'd found you.
"Seriously, I feel fine!" You said for the third time in the same hour, after you changed position in bed where you were now situated.
"Still..." Keigo's frown deepened as you shimmied into a (once again) comfier posture, the remote now closer.
You rolled your eyes.
"Stop it. I'm fine. And worry is not a good look on you." You tried to uplift his mood, but your laughter made you hiss. When he raised an eyebrow, you sighed again. "I'll tell you if anything changes. Now can we just relax?"
#bnha#bnha imagine#imagines#boku no hero headcanons#boku no hero academia#boku no hero imagine#boku no hero academia imagine#x reader#bhna x reader#Aizawa Shouta#Aizawa Shouta imagine#Aizawa shouta x reader#Hawks#Hawks Imagine#Hawks x reader#Takami Keigo#Takami Keigo imagine#Takami keigo x reader
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Text
Trying a new style of writing :>
There was no sound within your home, albeit the previous reverberations of you slamming the front door. The world was silent as you sat down on your front porch, back to the door with your knees to your chest. You sighed as you stared at the gently waving grass, blowing in the breeze.
‘Every couple fights,’ you think to yourself. ‘He can’t really think that... can he?’
In reality, he believes the far opposite of what he said. Your husband had just had the longest day of his career, and said some things that he definitely did not want to.
The sound of pattering raindrops suddenly filled your ears, and it didn’t take long for you to start to be splattered by the water. Your blossoming tears mixed with the precipitation as you buried your head between your knees.
Suddenly, the door opened and the rain stopped hitting you. When you lifted your head, you saw your husband standing next to you: holding an umbrella over your head as he was slowly being engulfed by the falling water.
“I couldn’t bear the thought of you getting sick especially not after what I said to you…” his voice was soft and full of remorse. “We don’t have to talk, just please come inside before you catch your death.”
𝑆𝑝𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑆𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑔𝑒𝑙, 𝐸𝑟𝑤𝑖𝑛 𝑆𝑚𝑖𝑡ℎ, 𝑆ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑎 𝐴𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑤𝑎, 𝑁𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑖 𝐾𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜, 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑚 𝑉𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑁𝑜𝑧𝑒𝑙 𝑆𝑖𝑙𝑣𝑎, 𝑌𝑎𝑚𝑖 𝑆𝑢𝑘𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑜, 𝐾𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑖𝑘𝑎 𝐾𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑎, 𝑇𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑛 𝑈𝑧𝑢𝑖, 𝐾𝑎𝑘𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑖 𝐻𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒, 𝐾𝑜𝑗𝑖𝑟𝑜 𝑁𝑎𝑛𝑗𝑜, 𝐻𝑜𝑤𝑙 𝑃𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛, 𝐾𝑎𝑒𝑦𝑎 𝐴𝑙𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑐ℎ, 𝑇𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑎, 𝐷𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑐 𝑅𝑎𝑔𝑛𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑟, 𝐴𝑙𝐻𝑎𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑚．
#anime x reader#anime imagines#anime imagine#spike Spiegel x reader#Erwin smith x reader#shouta aizawa x reader#William Vangeance x reader#yami sukehiro x reader#nozel x reader#Kurapika x reader#Tengen Uzui x reader#Kakashi x reader#kojiro nanjo x reader#howl pendragon x reader#Kaeya x reader#tartaglia x reader#Diluc x reader#al haitham x reader#Nanami x reader#Genshin x reader#genshin imagines#Genshin impact x reader#genshin impact imagines
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