#aizawa imagine

[sil-writes-fiction-too]

Imagine a cozy Autumn day with Shouta...

You two are laying in a lounging chair together, in the comfy little nook next to your big bookcase.

His large body is stretched all the way across the chair like an oversized cat, and you are laying comfortably between his legs, with your back propped up against his front.

All you have to do is reach over and pick a book off the shelf, barely even needing to move from your position.

The hours slowly trickle away as you read quietly between his arms. Sometimes you think he might've fallen asleep, but then his arm reaches over to hand you your mug of hot chocolate whenever you make a move to grab for it.

Each time you smile, and each time he kisses your hair.

Your entire body is enveloped in this fuzzy, warm feeling that almost feels like sleepiness, but that never pulls you into a slumber.

The house is pleasantly warm, and the light from the lamp casts a yellowy glow over your little corner of paradise.

All is well, and you are happy.

[destinyintomadness]

I am so close to finishing Part 2 and I’m really excited about it. Ngl I’ve rewritten it now about 4 times but I’m happy with how it’s ended up. I just need to finish it up (which is always the hardest part) and get it proof read 🫶

Dark Eyes & Second Chances Pt 1

Pairing: Aizawa x Villain!Reader

Summary: After a mission gone wrong you have been caught. What you thought was going to be an integration might have become a second chance.

Tags: angst, villain/criminal reader, no use of y/n, non gender specific reader, adult reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, strong language, anxiety/panic, rough childhood, abandonment, gambling (if I missed anything let me know)

Authors note: I really enjoyed writing this one. I've played around with this idea for a while and I have a plan on how I want this to play out. I decided to make a part 2 because I didn't want this to drag out too much. I wanted to get the tone and then in part 2 explore your relationship with Aizawa a lot more. So in a way this is mostly getting the context without it dragging into a massiive fic.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to MHA or the characters. This writing is for self entertainment and not profit

Masterlist

————————————————-

The situation was well and truly fucked.

The metal hand cuffs that bound you to the wooden chair wasn't the most uncomfortable, nor was it the white jumpsuit that felt like it had been washed one too many times with how stiff the fabric was. The room was bare, the only decoration being the dim lightbulb that hummed above you and the table that separated you from the man who had been intently staring at you since he'd joined.

This was not the first time you had met him. This guy had been a thorn in your side ever since you started working for The League. Eraserhead was the biggest pain in your ass. This was especially considering how much you relied on your quick during situations in the field. You weren't much of a fighter, close combat wasn't your thing. Your quirk gave you the ability to warp materials in your general surroundings, causing anyone within range to become confused and disorientated which allowed you to either rob them or flee. You had been told people by people you had effected that it wasn't too dissimilar to being under the influence of alcohol or very strong pain killers. During one instances Toga had told you it was "trippy".

When you were given your first contract by The League one of the first pro heros they warned you about was Eraserhead. As long as he could see your physical body, he could stop your quirk from working. Over the months this became a game of cat and mouse. Every run in you had with the pros it was your first priority to find him before he found you and hide before he could stop your quirk from triggering. He got you the first couple of times but practice does make you perfect.

Things got out of control in the last mission. It wasn't even a hard mission, something you had done countless of times even before The League. It was a robbery. You were suppose to enter a small bank on the outskirts of the city, get the money and flee. You and Mr Compress had done this several times together with no issues. But of course this time there was issues. Some pro heros who were off the clock unfortunately recognised you which had caused things to break out into a fight. If that wasn't bad enough, fate decided your time was up and the building had collapsed. Under custody you were taked to the local hospital and treated for your injuries. Couple of fracturs and nasty bruises. You had sustained much worse in the past but that didn't reinsure you. You knew you were caught. Discharged meant prison and you knew it.

You had accepted that long before you put the jumpsuit on. They were going to make an example out of you. You were the first member of The League they ever had in custody, the guards who collected you from the hospital mentioned that. It was how you found out Compress manage to give them the slip. You were on your own. They weren't your friends, more like your employers. They weren't going to risk losing more members to get you out this, you had to stick this one out on your own. Although you weren't directly responsible for anyone's deaths, you believed that didn't matter. You were going to be an example of what the Commission will do to anyone who had a relationship with The League.

So you sat there and faced the pro who had given you mutual grief. You weren't sure what to make of him. Eraserhead didn't have the same demeanour as other heros. You ran into the cocky ones, the arrogant ones and ones that seemed to have far worse anger management than you. Eraser was none of those. You didn't expect him to be warm and welcoming but you weren't expecting the calm either. He wasn't tense, he had slumped to the back of the chair and crossed his hands over his chest. He even let out a small sign as he sank down. His dark eyes just stared at you like you were already in deep conversation. You didn't break the stare, you were transfixed on the colour of his eyes. You had only ever seen them whilst he used his quirk, never crossed your mind they could be any other colour than the glowing red. He almost looked wrong and unfamiliar.

"I'm not going to lie you to," His voice wasn't you expected, it was low and gruff yet smoothing, "They're looking at putting you away for a long time,"

You didn't grace him with a reply. What could you say? It was no mystery to you how the world saw you. It did not matter how small or big your role was working with Shigaraki, guilty by association was still guilty. Regardless you had no intention of begging for mercy, pleading with them of your innocents. You would not subject yourself to that humiliation. You would rot long before you submitted to the likes of hero's.

Eraser leaned over his seat and picked up a yellow file from under it before placing it on the table. As he did so he brought his chair closer making a scraping sound that went through you. He opened it presenting a copy of your out of date mug shot with lines of script. You remembered getting that photo taken, it was your mid teens after you had been caught shop lifting one too many times and you'd been labelled a nuisance. You fought back a smile. Not because you found this amusing, it was a difficult time in your life. Your father, you're only present parent, ran off in the night with no warning and left you to fend for yourself. It was actually an act of kindness in it's own twisted way. At least your messes were your own after that. Here you sat ten years after that photo was taken potentially facing a life behind bars.

The man before you half heartedly flipped the few pages within the file, skimming over the words. He seemed disinterested. You imagined he was already aware of what was written inside. He let out a sign before propping his elbows onto the table and clasping his hands together, bringing his eyes back to yours. You didn't move.

"These records show you have an extensive history with the police. Even though they were petty crimes, they were still crimes none the less," He spoke clearly, matter-of-fact, taking his time with each word, "That being said, how does a petty thief find themselves working for The League?"

"You didn't bring me here to get my life story," You retorted. Maybe it was the uncomfortable cell beds or the long stay at the hospital, you did not have the patients.

"No," He slumped back into his original position, "The hope was to understand how someone like you ended up working with such a dangerous group of people," You clicked your tongue. It wasn't rocket science. You did what you needed to do to survive, money was money and Shigaraki paid. If you had to be honest you would likely admit you never intended to get deeply involved. They promised you a cut of each successful job and you were good at what you did.

You shifted your gaze to the locked door, the closest thing you had to freedom. You had no chance. Eraser knew you well enough to recognise your patterns before your quirk would trigger. Even if you got that far you weren't convinced you could outrun everybody.

"Maybe I'm just as dangerous," You lacked any confidence in your words but it was an amusing thought, "I gave you self-proclaimed heros a run for your money," Your turned your attention back to him, smirking at the memories of the many times you escaped him.

"Brave statement from someone currently handcuffed,"

The laugh came out before you could stop it. He got you there. His sharpness shouldn't have come as a surprise but you welcomed it. You finished your outburst with a sign but something caught in your throat. Something in his gaze that shifted, it was softer. Any tension in his features appeared to have smoothed out. You swear the corner of his lips were slightly turned upwards but maybe it was the trick of the light. Between the hospital and this meeting you had spent days staring at the same walls, maybe you were just craving some human interaction. Perhaps you had gone a little stir-crazy. You could justify it as much as you wanted until he spoke his next words.

"You're not a bad person," All the air left you. The rush that shot through you made you aware of everything. All of a sudden the underwhelming room was too much. You could feel everything. Your pulse was at your finger tips, your palms warm, your shoulders felt like a great weight was placed on them. Your tongue and gums became uncomfortable with how dry your mouth had become. You were uncomfortable in your own skin and you hated it. What you hated more than losing control was that there was nothing you could do about it. Eraser must have picked up on the newest tension, how your body language had shifted. "I don't believe you belong in here,"

"What would you know?" You snapped through gritted teeth. You could feel the burn in your cheeks as you tensed your jaw. You contemplated breaking out of your restraints and taking a swing at him. It wouldn't help your situation but it might make you feel better. He may be able to stop your quirk but he might not be able to stop your fist. You new harshness didn't seem to phase him. You can't imagine you were that intimidating or maybe he understood where it was coming from.

"I know enough," He sounded apologetic, "I know the difference between a bad person and a person who does bad things. You're the latter. You have been backed into a corner and did what you believed you needed to do,"

"Fuck you,"

He was unfazed by your interruption which only fueled your annoyance, "I am here to offer you an out,"

"Bullshit," You scoffed. There was no way there was an 'out'. It was a trap and you knew it. Your worlds may be very different but you weren't stupid. As much as villains had their fault, so did The Hero's Commission. They were just as secretive and double-crossing. They rug swept more problems than they solved. They didn't uphold the values they claimed. There was a catch and you could come off worse.

He ran a hand down his face and covered his mouth before letting out a long breathe. "Look," He placed both hands faced down on the table, locked his eyes with yours. You looked for anything, a sign he was lying but you found just him, "You go to a treatment program. It's six months long. If you were to successfully completely the program in the time given to you, you will be released under the supervision of a pro hero. There will be another agreed upon timeline of what will be expected of you,"

You pursed your lips together, rolling your tongue over your teeth, "That doesn't sound like an out to me,"

"They're never going to agree to let you wonder the streets tomorrow. You are too much of a risk," He flicked through your file again, "However, I don't believe you belong in a cell for something we could have prevented,"

You frowned at that statement. For a very long time, mostly when you were younger, you were angry that heros who never came to your rescue. Everyone talked about how amazing they were, as long as heros were around nothing bad would ever happen, they were there to save the day. Those statemnets played in your head as you wondered the streets looking for your next meal. You should have been in school like any other child your age. You should have been learning to read but instead you were learning to survive. It wasn't the heros fault you were in that situation, that blame was on your father and his nasty gambling habit, but you did resent the heros for never rescuing you. You would ask yourself why you weren't worthy of it, why had you been left behind. As time went on you learnt it wasn't you who was the problem, the heros had just been painted in a false light and only the privileged saw them that way.

So it had stumped you that Eraser saw this. Granted hind sight was a beautiful thing when it was written in front of him. He had read your file, the dates going back over a decade. He had seen the pattern. You had been missed by the system designed to protect people like you. He couldn't say you have fallen between the cracks because there was too many. You didn't stand much of a chance on your own. He could see the choices you had and the decisions you had to make. It wasn't fair you group you in with other criminals. He had encountered those who did what they did because they got a kick out of it, they enjoyed the chaos they brought. It was obvious to him you got no nothing out of it, it was the only survival you knew. He was determined to show you a new way to live and to show everyone else it was possible to save someone even when it felt like it was too late.

"If I refuse?" You're voice came out small, unsure why you asked as you already knew the answer but you needed to hear it. You needed to know that you hadn't just folded as the first chance, that you didn't just give in. You thought back to that teenager again coming home to that deserted apartment. You remembered the desperation, the thoughts of becoming homeless and fading into the city. You wanted to live a life. This all couldn't be for nothing.

It was like he could read your thoughts. They must have been written all over your face, in your eyes. You felt exposed under his gaze, your confidant and defiant front fracturing. You weren't sure if this opportunity could come back, if this was the chance you had spent late nights praying for. The stubbornness inside of you wanted to turn your nose up at it, tell this pro exactly where he could shove his offer. Yet you could feel it. The clammy hand itching to reach for him. It wouldn't exactly been the open door you imaged but maybe it wouldn't be locked anymore. Before you could back out, you gave your answer

"Deal."

[tired-teacher-blog]

You coax your six year old daughter into telling her father about the bigger-than-herself crush she's been harboring for the cute little boy who sits next to her in class, just so you could see the mortified look on your husband's face as he struggled to control his temper while listening to his girl's sweet voice bashfully recounting the story of how they exchanged their first love notes today..

And he's now thinking of a proper plan to intimidate the poor boy and keep him away from his little angel, and probably even make him switch schools.

_ "Come on Shouta, something like that is bound to happen sooner or later." your giggles fill the air as you strive to smooth out the frown plastered across his face with gentle pecks and touches.

_ "Yeah! When she's like thirty or something, not now!" his grip on the thick book tightens as his frustration grows, and you ignore him for a second to try steadying your legs on each side of his waist, "I don't understand why you're not more upset about this, she's your daughter too." and he carries on complaining when you fail to respond.

You sigh contentedly after settling on his lap, snatching the book away from his grasp and reaching out to set it on your nightstand, " well I think it's cute that she's exploring some new emotions, don't you remember when we first met? We weren't much older than her."

His scowl deepens at your words and his stare shifts to the side in contemplation, he does not seem to care for the reminder as it only worries him further.

You bite down on your lip in a futile attempt to swallow your giggles, pushing his soft locks back to carefully remove his glasses and trail soft kisses on the scars adding to his beauty.

_ "That's not comforting you know?" he groans in protest against your statement and holds you closer to himself, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and allowing you to kiss him as you please, "I don't want her developing romantic feelings for anyone, not now not ever, she just needs to be my little girl."

Your heart swells with adoration for your man, the same person who used to dislike the idea of having kids of his own, saying that all he ever wanted was to settle down with you and you alone, to have a little peace of mind after his early retirement, away from the troubles bound to come with children.

However, all of it has changed the moment you were greeted with a lovely surprise that you both shared its creation.. your little angel and source of happiness.

_ "She'll always be our little girl." you murmur against his cheek and kiss him there again, "but if you want, we can always have another." you sit back and watch the expression on his face slowly switching to an amused one as he presses you down on his bulge.

_ "Yeah, and maybe this time we'll have a boy."

[sugarwarachan]

if aizawa sees the outline of your pussy through your underwear, expect him to get ballistically horny in 0.2 seconds

he clocks the curve of your pussy lips and immediately scoops you up in his strong arms to straddle you over his thigh. oh he wants her drooling, gummy and swollen and so sensitive he can just blow on your clit to make you cum. fisting the hair at the base of your scalp, he crushes you to his chest, chuckling into your mouth as you grind down on the bulging muscle of his thigh

[ilxlita]

｡ﾟ(｡ﾉωヽ｡)ﾟ｡ 𝙞 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚, 𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙨, 𝙞 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙩.

SYNOPSIS: a headcanon of how bnha boys (and toga) are whenever they miss you. PAIRINGS: various bnha boys x reader, also toga is included because it'd be fucked if i used her as an image and she weren't. like she is literally the definition of "i miss my wife tails". TAGS: pure fluff. so sweet. bakugou does have a VERY VERY small section of nsfw if you squint. all characters are aged up for my own mental health. in my head toga is also a pro hero but i guess you could picture her as a villain if you're a monster /j. AUTHORS NOTE: literally toga is not beloved enough. she is the literal defintion of "I LOVE MY WIFE SO MUCH". like hello, what?

IZUKU MIDORIYA ♡ the man that he is. izuku for sure misses you as SOON as he leaves the house whether that be for a pro hero mission or for work, he is missing you. ♡ 100% is texting you as soon as you or he leaves the houses. like he is such a needy husband. he will conjure up a reason to send you a cute little text whether that be asking what you want for dinner or sending you a picture of a feral cat. ♡ izuku, when you guys are married, is not shy about how much he misses you. whenever people ask him what he's doing after his mission he will announce "me and my wife are doing..." like even if you're not a pro hero other pro heroes KNOW YOU because of how much izuku gushes over you ♡ heaven forbid he ever goes on a multiple day long mission or else he might actually call you all the time. asks you to send him voice messages of your day, asks you to call him so he doesn't fall asleep alone. sends you little videos of him going throughout his day. ♡ when he gets back it is 100% date night !! he will take you to a fancy resturant he saw, or he will take you to a cute little store and insistenet you purchase as much as you want no matter how expensive it is. he really just loves his wife.

KATSUKI BAKUGOU ♡ katsuki bakugou never misses anyone ever. if you ask him he will say he does NOT think about you during his missions because he is locked into his mission. if anyone brings up the fact that katsuki DEFINITELY stares at a photo of you when he's away HE WILL DENY. ♡ katsuki shows that he misses you never through words, but always through words. he will text you randomly throughout the day just things like "what are you eating? has to be better than this garbage ass food" or "found this candle that you would like since you like spending money on useless crap i bought it for you." ♡ KATSUKI FOR SURE GETS BUTTHURT WHEN YOU LEAVE HIM ON READ. like you're working and cannot text him back immediately? he'll respond with "guess we're just leaving each other on read then" or something like "damn guess i should've married a wall at least im not expecting a text back from it." like katsuki is the sassy man apocolapyse. ♡ he 100% buys trinkets for you that reminded him of you. a little stuffed bunny from the store? that's literally you so usually when he comes home it's with a few cute gifts depending on how long he was away for. ♡ the day he comes home is reserved for "miss you" sex and him pampering you and treating you like a princess. he will cook you a beautiful gourmet meal, present his gifts and brush little kisses on your face.

HIMIKO TOGA ♡ as stated previously. himiko is quite literally the definition of "i miss my wife" along with izuku. like she HATES going out of town for missions because she is constantly thinking of you, what you're doing, if you miss her as much as she misses you. ♡ pro hero toga would NOT take your blood and drink it to comfort herself (but villain toga for sure would), my girl is for sure bringing things that remind her of you. if you bought her cute little hair ties she will only wear those! told her one of the necklaces she wore was cute and she will wear it always. ♡ toga for sure goes harder in battles when she's away from you because she HAS TO GET HOME TO HER WIFE OBVIOUSLY. like she will not be dying today, her wife misses her :/. furthermore she is also constantly calling and texting you even if she's in the middle of battle, like she will have you on a phone call in her ear buds while in battle. ♡ "how's your day, cutie patootie?" and all you hear is an explosion in the background before you go on about your day. it is very rare that himiko is not only given out of town missions but also takes them because she hates being away from one of the few people who loves her genuinely. ♡ himiko is absolutely putty in your hands when she does get home, like literally whatever you want. she'll cuddle you close to her chest and if you see a cute pair of high heels you want she is buying them for you INSTANTLY.

HITOSHI SHINSOU

♡ due to the nature of his work hitoshi will not be texting you or calling you during his missions. he is very rarely on his phone because he is often doing undercover spy work, but please do not take that to mean he does not miss you. ♡ hitoshi is very soft; he is not used to missing someone so he is not quite sure what to do with the feeling of wanting you next to him and that usually manifests in him doing things that remind you of him especially while he's undercover. ♡ your favourite meal becomes his favourite meal while he's away, your favourite colour is now his, your favourite scent is now his. hitoshi will always leave you with a hoodie that smells the most like him but in return he's taking one his shirts that you always sleep in so he can smell you while he sleeps. ♡ because hitoshi does undercover work, he is often by other people. often surrounded, but if he's not and he's going on a mission with aizawa or another undercover pro hero he is bringing you up so often in casual conversation, someone definitely has to tell him to stop because he doesn't realise he does it. ♡ when he gets home you are not leaving the bed. he is cuddling you close to his chest, explaining the mission to you and absolutely forcing you to tell him how your days were when he was gone. he will buy take out and pay that twenty dollar delivery fee just so you two can stay wrapped in each other at all times.

SHOUTA AIZAWA ♡ shouta, much like hitoshi, is usually constantly doing cover work which means that it would be dangerous to constantly be in contact with you and he tells you this each time before he leaves just so he can remind you that he is not ignoring you; he simply has to be locked in. ♡ shouta does not text you or call you, but whenever he's alone on a rooftop or in his hotel room he will look back at the photos and videos of you two especially your wedding photos where you are just glowing. ♡ shouta for SURE has a printed out photo of you laughing at him candid on the wedding day. he has it in a little necklace that he can look at whenever he misses you too much. feel like if you have stuffed animals he steals one so he can sleep with it (not cuddle it), but for sure sleep with it. ♡ shouta also likes to buy little knick knacks for your shared home whenever he is gone. it's usually like a little special magnanet, a teddy bear to add to your collection, a snowglobe if he goes to another country, just little things. ♡ shouta when he gets home is usually dog tired so he will insist that you take a nap with him regardless of the time of day afterwards he drowns himself in domestic tasks; cooking, cleaning the home, doing laundry. all things to try and pick up the slack that he left when he was gone.

KEIGO TAKAMI ♡ keigo is in the very awkward position of missing you immensely on his missions and having absolutely no idea how to express it because he has never been in the position to miss anybody ever. like he is used to a solitary life and now he has a wife that he is missing? he has no idea what to do with himself. ♡ the first day of him gone he is playing cool and nonchalant. each time he thinks he won't miss you, but it's always something little and stupid that triggers him spiraling and missing you (usually a song or a smell) and he is spam texting you. ♡ keigo also constantly wants to do phone calls, especially at night when he is calming down and relaxing becase he thinks of you the most when he is at ease. call you up so you can fall asleep to the sound of his voice and so he can fall asleep to the sound of you talking about your day. ♡ he is also definitely indulging in buying you trinkets, but it's usually not cute little one. it's usually expensive necklaces, beautiful earrings/bracellets, and if you have any body modifications he is 100% buying expensive body jewlerry. he is a bird and showers his partner in expensive and shiny things. ♡ usually when keigo gets back it's late so he will tuck himself into you and sleep. the next day he is taking you to an expensive fancy brunch or if you want an amazing homemade dinner. literally he just wants to feed you and take care of you, he wants you to know that there was not a single moment of the mission where he wasn't thinking of you (without actually just saying it.)

[dabisbratz]

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.

[redr0sewrites]

"loser dabi" "loser tomura" "loser hawks" what about loser AIZAWA. what about old and awkward and bitter Shouta Aizawa who thought he'd never find love- until u appear in his life, pretty and a bit younger and full of brightness, the type of partner he'd never thought he'd have, and suddenly all of his nonchalant and quiet personality is torn away as he becomes an awkward and flustered mess. he doesn't know how to handle it, this influx of new feelings and attraction, and we all know he's not the best at people skills... not that you mind of course, to you, it's just endearing to see the strong willed and so called icy Eraserhead mumbling like a teen just because he's asking you to go out and get coffee with him <33

[specialagentlokitty]

Aizawa x reader - newfound secrets

I've been a sucker for that man. Like reader is a pro hero too, probably in the top ten ranks with some sort of magic like quirk(mage?) And reader just randomly opened a portal while he's in class to drop him lunch or forgotten paperwork or his precious sleeping bag. And 1-A is shocked to find out their teacher has a lover, much less a hero who's a complete opposite of him. Either gf/bf/neutral or married is completely fine! - Anon💜

You were wondering about your apartment doing some cleaning now that you had a few free days from work.

You were slowly making your way from room to room, doing what had to be done in each room, and as you got to the kitchen you paused as you looked at the kitchen table.

With a small laugh, you shook your head slightly and picked up the bright yellow sleeping bag that was on the table.

You had warned Aizawa time and time again if he kept leaving it on the table he’d forget it one day, and true to your word he had.

Holding it under your arm, you activated your quirk, a purple orb appearing in your hand as you tossed it at the wall, opening a small doorway which you walked through and in less than a second you were in his classroom which was bustling with chatter of the students.

“Hey it’s Druid!” One of them shouted excitedly.

Immediately all of the teenagers turned to you with curiosity, some with excitement.

“Hey guys, where’s your teacher?” You asked.

“He’s behind his desk sleeping!” A stern looking blue haired boy called out.

You beam brightly at him, walking over to the desk and looking behind it, and just like the student said, there was Aizawa fast asleep propped up against the wall.

With a gentle sigh, you walk over and crouch down in front of him.

“I wouldn’t wake him up, he gets pretty annoyed when someone wakes him up…” a girl mumbles.

You wave your hand dismissively.

“It’ll be fine.”

Setting the beanbag down, you reach out, gently tapping on his forehead with the back of your knuckles.

“Hey, wake up for a moment…”

Aizawa lazily opens an eye, looking at your tiredly.

“Why’re you here…?” He mumbles.

“Missing something?” You grin, holding up the beanbag.

“Was wondering where I put that…” he mumbled.

Aizawa took the sleeping bag from you, climbing inside of it and laid down again on the ground.

Reaching out, you zipped the sleeping bag up for him, and pat his forehead a few times which earned you a slight huff from him as he closed his eyes again.

“Thought you had work…”

“That’s next week, I’ve got a few days off this week. Seriously Shouta how you actually manage to function is beyond me. Have you eaten?”

“Yes…”

You raise a brow, standing up to look at his class.

“Has Aizawa had lunch?”

“No!” They called out.

From the ground you could hear him grumbling about them being traitors, and one of the girls raised her hand.

“Yes…?”

“My names Mina! Why did you have Mr Aizawa’s sleeping bag?!” She asks almost a little too excited.

With a small laugh you rubbed the back of your head slightly, ignoring Aizawa’s warning glare he sent you.

“Well, that’s because we’re married, and he left it on the kitchen table.”

Immediately the class burst out in shouts of shock, confusion and disbelief that their grumpy, almost emotionless homeroom teacher had actually managed to find somebody to marry him.

Aizawa gave you a slight glare, but you could still see a small bit of softness behind his tired gaze.

Everybody was shouting out questions to you, wanting to know everything and you laughed a little bit, raising your hands to try quiet them down.

“Hey, hey quiet down. You’ll get your answers, but for now I have to go, but I’ll be back soon and then we can talk, promise!”

They all nod excitedly, and as you walk back to your portal you hear Aizawa mumble something out about bringing him some jelly pouches and coffee which makes you roll your eyes.

You closed the portal as you stepped back into the apartment and quickly work on making a simple and easy lunch for Aizawa, putting on a pot of coffee as well.

While you were there, Aizawa had to deal with the unfortunate consequences of you telling his class you two were married, and he zipped his sleeping bag fully up covering his face knowing his students weren’t stupid enough to try and unzip it.

After about 15 minutes, you open another portal and step through, setting a box of food on Aizawa’s desk, along with a cup of coffee, and dropping a few jelly pouches on his sleeping bag.

He let out a grumble, but unzipped his sleeping bag just enough to grab them and put them inside, it was like watching a squirrel hiding its food in a tree.

Sitting on the floor next to his desk, just slightly behind it so you could still keep an eye on your husband, you turned to his class.

“Okay, questions one at a time.”

Immediately they all raised their hands and you picked them out one by one, answering their questions and learning their names along the way.

While you talked with them, you saw Aizawa out the corner of your eye sit up in his sleeping bag, grabbing the coffee and the food from the desk.

He then shuffled over, resting his back on his desk as he ate still half asleep.

Every so often his head would droop, and you’d have to slightly nudge his knee to wake him up.

When he finished half the food, he set the box in your lap, handing you the chopsticks as he focused on drinking his coffee now, watching your carefully.

“Eat…” he mumbled quietly, just loud enough for you to hear.

With a small smile, you start eating while still talking to his class while he kept a watching eye on you, rummaging through through your pocket, pulling out whatever you had in there.

His class seemed very invested in their teachers love life and carried on spilling out questions, and you knew for a fact Aizawa wasn’t going to be living this down any time soon

[kayentokk]

Hey :) How are you doing?

Okay so, i wanted to request a platonic father Aizawa in which he is out patroling and he finds his teen daughter doing something ilegal with her friends or something like that.

Please and thankss :)

A/N; I’m okay thanks for asking! Love this idea, I’ve gotten many requests somewhat related to this lately actually! I’ll be posting those throughout the week. Also sorry it’s taken me a while to get to this! 🥲 I truly believe Aizawa is a girl dad and a softie parent. 

Pairing; Platonic!Father Aizawa x Fem!Daughter Reader

Contains; a little ooc Aizawa, fluff, soft, drug mentions, reader is about 16-17 like mha characters, quirk-less reader, death mentions, bad friends, comfort

wc; 1,763

You weren’t supposed to get caught. In fact, you didn’t even think you would. It wasn’t a big deal anyways, you only did it because you thought it’d be a way to relax with your friends. Plus, if you guys did get caught your backup plan was your father. It wasn’t like he was going to detain you…right?

Wrong.

You were very wrong to believe that your father wouldn’t take you into custody over a little weed with your friends. You just wanted to have fun! Besides, you didn’t want to be the ‘perfect heroes daughter’ who’s a buzzkill. Why couldn’t he understand that? 

There was just so much pressure that came with being the child to a hero. Your friends already joked about how you were too ‘good’ to do anything remotely illegal. Which is part of the reason you were in this situation in the first place. 

Of course he just happened to be patrolling around the alley you and your friends decided to get a little high in. That was just your luck, he didn’t seem mad though. So you thought he’d just tell you guys not to do it anymore, and move on. Nope. Leave it to Aizawa to want to teach you a ‘lesson’ all of a sudden. He was normally just a “don’t do it again,” kind of parent. Mostly because you had never done anything of this caliber before.

“Did you really have to bring me in?”

Silence.

“I mean come on, none of the other heroes care. They’re too busy thinking about protecting the city, shouldn’t you be too? Nobody cares about a couple of kids getting a little buzzed, besides everyone does it nowadays-“

“That doesn’t make it okay y/n.”

You’ve rarely seen him like this, so tense. He didn’t look angry, but you couldn’t shake the feeling you got that he was. It was almost….scary. 

So you resigned to a simple, “Okay, I’m sorry.” Were you really sorry though? Not that much, you still didn’t see the big deal. 

He let out a low grunt, “This is serious y/n, I know you think I’m making a big deal out of nothing,” well he said it first, “but you could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“Hurt? From getting a little high?”

“Criminals lace that stuff all the time, whether it’s with poison, more drugs, or whatever else they decide-“

“Yeah sure, but we got it from a trusted source-“

“And who’s that?” He said crossing his arms. 

Oops.

You decided it’d be best not to respond right now. Especially since the source wasn’t technically trusted, just another kid who got it from someone else. Who probably got it from someone else too.

Sensing your apprehension he decide to drop it, “we’ll revisit that later,” he said waving a dismissive hand. “I’ll drop you off at home, you’re grounded.” 

You internally groaned at that, grounded? That’s a new one, you were starting to really regret your decision. You should have just told your friends no, even if it meant being the ‘buzzkill.’ Then you remembered, your friends-

“What about my friends?”

“We’re working on calling their parents to come pick them up soon.”

“No!-“ you said sharply, “I-I mean, can’t you just let them off? Or something?”

“You know that’s not how this works, they are already getting off with a minor offense. The worst they’re going to get is their parents’ scolding.”

“Dad! You don’t understand-“

“I understand perfectly fine, a bunch of young kids wanted to ‘have fun’ and thought this was the best way to do it.”

Okay maybe he did understand, but not your side. He didn’t get that now you’d officially be the outcast, the top 10 ranked hero’s daughter who gets everyone in trouble. Does he get how embarrassing that is? 

“Come on, let’s get going.”

You stood from the chair leaving the comfort of being shielded, by the small desk separator, from your friends’ piercing gazes. They thought your dad would let you all off too considering the chaos the city’s currently in. 

You nervously waved and mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to them before rushing out the door trying to follow closely behind Aizawa. 

You guys didn’t speak the whole way home, you opted for silence mostly because it wasn’t that big of a deal and he just didn’t know what to say. You had never done anything like that before, or had he just never caught you? When did that start?

He remembered when you were little and you’d give your vegetables to stray animals so you didn’t have to eat them, or when you tried to sneak out at night and he caught you. But those were all pretty minor things, and he was only always concerned with your safety.

You’d never done anything this bad, and in terms of the worst thing you could do of course this wasn’t horrible but he still didn’t get why. It couldn’t have just been for fun.

He entered the house after unlocking the door and opening it for you. Before you could make it to your room, where you’d probably go to sulk, he decided he’d ask.

“Why did you want to do that y/n?”

You stopped and turned around to face him. He was standing in front of the door, and now that you actually took in his appearance he looked tired. His dark circles more prominent, eyes a light pink most likely from his quirk, and his black pants had small patches of dust that had been hastily patted off on them. 

You replied after a moment, briefly forgetting his question, “For fu-“

“And don’t just say for fun, because I know you and there are plenty of other things you would do for fun.”

You huffed resigning to just come out with it, “it was a bet.”

“A bet?”

“My friends bet me that I wouldn’t get high with them since I’m a hero’s daughter.”

“And you decided to take them up on that?”

“Yes, I know it was stupid okay?”

“I know you know, you’re smarter than that. So why’d you say yes?”

Why’d he have to be so persistent? “Maybe because I thought I’d finally get some friends.”

“What do you mean y/n? You do have friends.”

“No, I don’t. Momo, Tsu, and Uraraka only hang out with me out of pity, since you’re their teacher, if they even have time-“

“Pity? Y/n no they don’t, there’s nothing pitiful about you at all-“

You scoffed, “don’t lie. I get you’re my dad and all but be honest with yourself, truly honest.”

“I am being honest. I’d never lie-“

Guess you’d just have to spell it out for him then. “The only daughter you had killed your wife, was born quirk-less, and there’s nothing special about her!” You were shocked at the admission of your own feelings but kept going, “I don’t have a talent, I’m not exceptionally smart, I’m not breathtakingly pretty, and I can’t even make friends!” You listed raising a finger for each reason, “Now tell me what about that is not pitiful?”

After that question there was silence, and Aizawa was just looking at you. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until the first tear slid down your nose crease and hit the corner of your lip. Before touching could even wipe your tear or register the sound of footsteps approaching you, you were being hugged. Fully covered by his arms, your head grazing the bottom of his chin where stubble had began to grow, face buried partially into his scarf. 

You heard high pitched wailing, which you hadn’t even registered was you until his hand began to rub up and down your back with quiet ‘shh’s to try calming you.  

“Don’t cry, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, none of it okay?” He began whispering in your ear.

“Your mom and I both knew the challenges she’d have if she gave birth to you. We were well aware, and she wanted to have you. She didn’t care if she’d die in the process, you are our child.”

He continued comforting you, and when you eventually calmed down he let go and gently pulled your face out of his chest so you could look him in his tired, red eyes. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry if I don’t tell you that enough okay? It’s my fault I’m sorry. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and you’re perfect. I mean that, I’d never lie. You don’t need a quirk, to be super smart, or have a special talent. You’re perfect to me, okay? And that’s all that matters. You’re important to me,” he said firmly. 

“Okay?”

You sniffled, reaching a hand to wipe your nose, “okay.”

“Hey,” he said turning your face back to his, “I really mean it, I’d be no where without you. And how could you say you’re not beautiful? I know I’m not the best looking hero, but haven’t you seen the pictures of your mom? You take after her, gorgeous. Nothing I’d ever change about you, I don’t regret anything.”

“Okay,” you said slightly unused to him saying these things, “I’ve never heard you say something so corny dad,” you said chuckling trying to lighten the mood. 

At that, he gave a small grin which faded when he remembered your earlier point, “And Ochaco, Tsuyu, and Yaoyorozu do like being your friend. Not just because I’m their teacher, trust me I’m more of a supervisor if anything. I let them figure most stuff out on their own. They wanted to meet and hang out with you. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, you make friends just fine.” 

“I know, I know, it was just heat of the moment stuff dad.”

He let out a sigh of relief, hugged you once more, and pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead.

“I still have about another hour of night patrol, but I’ll stay here if you want me to?”

“No dad, it’s fine go.”

He looked at you once more as if saying, ‘are you sure?’ 

“Yes I’m sure I’m fine, it’s only an hour anyways.”

“Okay, call me if you need anything, I’ll be back soon,” he said headed towards the door.

“Okay,” you said starting to walk to your room. 

But just before he shut the door you dashed for it and started, “Hey! does this mean-“

“No you’re still grounded,” he said. 

And with that the door shut.

@/cafekitsune for the divider!

[kleftiko]

❦ A PIRATES REWARD

“you expected to fuck some guy in the bathroom at the halloween party, not get absolutely railed by someone you don’t even know”

cw: age gap, mask kink(?), choking, cream pie, unprotected sex, semi-public sex

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

When you're young and you finally get the taste of freedom that comes with showing your ID (the real one) to the bouncer, and instead of a stare down, you get a pleasant "enjoy your night", you tend to go overboard.

Dressed too skimpy for the weather, with the promise that alcohol will help you warm up, you and your girlfriends set your goals for the night. Get someone to buy you drinks, make it to the DJ booth, or hook up in the bathroom with someone you'll never see again.

A jaegerbomb or two, vodka soda, and whatever drink the guy next to you swore was worth it—you think it's a pornstar—and you were blinking with a drowsy smile on your painted lips as you looked around for someone of interest. Halloween was the perfect excuse to let loose and indulge in some wild, anonymous fun. As the night progressed, the music got louder and the crowd became more vibrant, making it the perfect hunting ground. With each drink, you felt a heat in your cheeks and between your legs that you wanted to indulge in.

"And what are you supposed to be?" You looked up at the man beside you.

From across the room, you noticed him in a black compression shirt, one that defined his obviously muscular arms and toned chest. He was tall, even from afar, dark hair that you could see pulled back into a bun, and a mask from a movie your tipsy mind barely recognized covering his face. He was mildly intriguing, and you admired him for a bit, but was only when he lifted it slightly to drink, showing off his sharp jawline and rough stubble, that you beelined for him.

You couldn't see his eyes looking down at you, but his deep, rumbling voice made you shiver. "A guy in a mask."

"Wow," you deadpanned with obvious sarcasm. "so creative."

He turned his head to you and leaned down a bit, and he asked, "Pirate?"

"Aye." You giggled with a curtsy, then nodded your chin at his drink. "What's that?"

"Rye and ginger," he held it out to you. "Want?"

You purposely brushed over the rings on his fingers as you took the drink. "You think I'd like it?"

"It’s a little hard, but sweet."

So you took a sip, eyes locked on his mask as you licked your lips to clean them off.

"I like the harder stuff," you said, and handed it back to him.

He lifted his mask to take a sip, unbothered by the lipstick smudge you left on the rim, then smiled slightly.

You decided that this was the guy. There's something about his nonchalant demeanour and the way he effortlessly hooked you in that had you wanting him in a less than innocent way. The fact that you didn't even know what he looked like only added to the excitement of wanting those gorgeous fingers inside you.

"Wanna take this somewhere else?" You cut him off from whatever he was saying, deciding you've done enough flirting.

"Well, aren't you an eager thing?" He chuckled a bit and took another sip of his drink.

You gulped, shamelessly checking him out as you started to feel the pulse of anticipation. When he finished off his rye and ginger you grabbed his wrist and led him through the crowd. Down the hall, there were a couple people loitering, probably trying to escape the loud music to have a more intimate conversation. The bathroom was even more deserted, and you thanked the fact that drunk people never wanted to leave the fun.

You immediately pushed him against the wall, not waiting for the door to close beside you, and your fingers clawed to his mask eagerly before his large hand wrapped around your throat to still you.

"Ah, ah, ah," he reprimanded you. "Didn't anyone teach you manners?"

You grinned, your lips instead going to his neck, where you playfully bit his skin. He let out a low growl, a mixture of pleasure and warning. His grip on your throat tightened slightly, this time not in caution, but as a reward.

"That's it, baby." He praised, and hooked his free thumb under the mask, pulling it off to reveal the most attractive man you've ever seen. Dark, tired eyes that looked at you with nothing but lust. He was obviously older than you, and the realization made you feel even more vigour at the thought of the pleasure he could give you that you never seemed to get from guys your age. His lips curled into a malicious smile, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth. The intensity in his gaze made your heart race, as if you were the only person in the world that mattered to him in that moment.

You audibly whimpered, the heat between your legs intensifying as you grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss. Distantly, there was a soft donk as he threw his mask to the ground and grabbed you, switching places to pin you to the wall instead. The rush of adrenaline coursed through your veins, making you want to act out, but the firm grip he had on your throat had you compliant and submissive—only able to do what he wants. You had never been more happy to fall under the spell of some man, and you found yourself eager to accept anything he gave you. As the world around you faded into oblivion, all that remained was the intoxicating connection between your bodies and an insatiable desire.

Your leg hooked over his hip as you grinded into him, and he easily lifted you up, pressing his hard cock to your needy pussy through your clothes.

The noises of pleasure you made simply from making out and dry humping had him almost laughing.

"Such a cute little pirate." He growled and bit your ear. The hand around your neck moved to shove aside the fabric at your crotch and push two fingers inside you. "Already wet for me."

You squealed at the stretch, head hitting the tiled wall behind you as you threw it back.

"F-fuck." You whined and bucked your hips into him, too lost in the simple way he was giving you pleasure to care about how desperate you were being.

His skilled fingers continued to move inside you, hitting all the right spots and driving you wild. Even if it had just begun, no hookup had ever had you crumbling so easily, or had reduced you to a begging mess so skillfully. The intensity of the pleasure was overwhelming, causing your body to tremble uncontrollably as you surrendered completely to his touch, not bothering to hold back your cries.

Your legs started to shake, the pants you spilled out became high-pitched wanton sounds as you were about to cum; tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as your head knocked against the wall from you bucking into him. But before he could send you over into ecstasy, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you high, dry, and angry.

"What the fuc—!" You tried to scream, but he shoved his thick fingers down your throat. You choked instead as he laughed at you.

"Don't be a brat." He said. "Lick them clean, and I'll give you what you want."

You gagged as his fingers pressed against the back of your throat, feeling a mix of humiliation and arousal. Reluctantly, you obeyed his command, tasting your own essence on his fingers as you sniffled. The thought of finally getting what you desired pushed you to comply, hoping that this humiliating act would lead to the release you craved.

As he pulled his fingers out with a pop, you were rewarded with the sight of his hand undoing his pants and releasing his thick cock. The sight of his harsh pink tip dripping with precum made your heart race, fueling your craving for him even more and making you wiggle impatiently as he lined up with your cunt. With a deep breath, you braced yourself for the pleasure that awaited, ready to surrender completely to his dominance.

He didn't go slow. He thrusted into you with a force that took your breath away, causing a mixture of pleasure and pain to surge through your body.

The hand that gripped the fat of your thigh to hold you up tightened almost unbearably as he hissed.

"Fuck, you're so tight, little pirate." He said, and you whimpered a bit.

There was no more time to waste as he pulled out and thrust into you again.

You felt each unbearable inch of his cock bullying its way into your gummy walls and stretching you out passed your limits. No man had ever had you gasping from simply fucking you, but each powerful movement sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body. As he continued to pound into you relentlessly, you surrendered yourself completely to the overwhelming sensations, losing all sense of control.

Your noises started to get even louder and more shameless, and you couldn't imagine anyone outside the bathroom wouldn't be able to tell what was going on, especially coupled with the slapping sounds of his cock in your dripping pussy over and over.

His hand came up to your neck again, holding you back against the wall and cutting your airflow as he pumped into you. Your moans became choked gargles, and the lack of oxygen had you squeezing impossibly tighter around him, your own hand gripping his wrist to stabilize yourself as your eyes rolled back and your tongue fell out.

"You just go dumb, baby?" You vaguely heard his condescending voice. "Such a good girl."

The intensity of the moment heightened as he continued to fuck you, his words fueling your desire for him to have his way with you. Each thrust and restriction of breath only deepened your submissive state, pushing you further into a state of blissful surrender that you never wanted to give up. As his grip tightened and his pace quickened, you could feel yourself on the edge of cumming like you never had before, ready to be consumed by the ecstasy he pumped you with.

"Such a good girl." He repeated. "Maybe I should cum in your cunt as a reward for being so good."

The sound of his words sent shivers down your spine, intensifying the pleasure coursing through your body. You eagerly nodded, unable to form any coherent words as you yearned for him to fulfill his promise. You wanted everything he could possibly give you, in that moment, you wanted him to become yours. You wanted him to give you this pleasure over and over again. With each powerful thrust, you could feel the knot tightening, knowing that this release would be better than any one you've ever experienced.

As he continued to ravish you, you came without warning. Head spilling all thoughts from your mind besides the inexplicably pleasure you were feeling and this unknown man that has made you feel something you’ve never felt before. Without a doubt, this would be ingrained in your mind forever, but if the thought of that wasn't enough, the feeling of his hot cum spilling into a second later you would be. It overflowed from your cunt, staining your thighs with hot cum as you held him close.

The smell of sex and the wetness dripping down your hot legs brought you back to reality, and you just barely registered him setting you down onto the ground. Your wobbly legs couldn't hold you as you fell against his sturdy chest, still not in the right stated of mind as you panted and almost drooled against him. The man chuckled as he moved the fabric of your costume back to cover your pussy and keep all of his cum inside you. You whined and twitched when he patted your clit.

Then he gently placed you on the ground, and you were too fucked up to speak up and say that you wanted him to stay and at least hold you until your mind returned. The most you could do was weakly tug on his pants and whine, causing him to bend down and place a chest kiss to your forehead. As he walked away, a mix of emotions flooded your mind: a longing for his presence, a sense of vulnerability, and a lingering satisfaction from everything he gave you.

[tastelessleather]

WAIT WAIT, IMAGINE

Fantasy!Erasermic au

Where aizawa is a traveling merchant and often sleeps in or on top of his cart (bonus points if cart is pulled by either him or a giant cat.) He looks tired and unassuming but takes no shit from anyone trying to screw him over.

Hizashi would be a Bard that always seems to somehow show up, no matter where aizawa happens to be.

(even better if oboro, Nemuri, and Tensei are adventurers that frequently run into them)

[destinyintomadness]

Domestic Bliss

Paring: Aizawa x Reader (no use of y/n)

Summary: A drabble of your relationship with Aizawa and a peek into your life with him

Tags: Established relationship, f/reader, comfort

Warnings: mentions of violence, crying (both only slightly mentioned, nothing heavy or really described)

Authors note: So this is the first fanfic I have ever written and I wanted to do it as a soft, comfort, loving vibe. Something to make you go "awhh" and all in great fun. I always imaged what domestic life with Aizawa would look like and I hope I gave the write vibes. This has not really been proof read so I apologise for any mistakes. I welcome any feed back as I'm hoping to get into more writing so any tips would be apricated ❤

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to MHA or the characters. This writing is for self entertainment and not profit

Masterlist

----------------------------

Both you and he worked demanding jobs with even more demanding hours. Aizawa once described it was 'soul sucking' but you knew he understood the important roles you two played in society. In fact, you believed if it wasn't for these 'soul sucking' jobs your paths would have never crossed.

You had only been a nurse at the main hospital in the city for twelve months when you first met him. You had heard of the underground hero Eraserhead but you didn't have a face to the name. Actually, only a handful of people did. Despite his career he managed to stay out of public view. You admired that. Not that you didn't admire other pros, far from it. You had treated enough of them to understand what they put on the line to keep others safe. You had to have some hard truths with many of them, warning them of permanent consequences but they rarely took it to heart. It's not in their nature to worry about themselves. In some way that's what made them hero's, their ability to risk it all.

The evening you met Aizawa, it was beginning of your night shift. He had been admitted with a head injury and a couple of bruises. He had been on patrol all evening when a small group of villains had broken into a bank. He recanted the story of how someone snuck up behind him in a attempt to knock him unconscious but they were unsuccessful. Every other sentence he spoke was him insisting the visit was unnecessary and he didn't need to be made a fuss over. You weren't sure which one it was, his soft voice or his gentle demeanour, but you were drawn to him. You felt it. Although you did not dare act on it, that would be unprofessional and cliché.

Oh but how cliché it was. Six months after your first encounter with Eraserhead you swear not a week would pass before he blessed you with his presents again. This is how you learnt that he was also a teacher at UA on the hero course. Most of his visits was him accompanying a student who had managed to hurt themselves one way or another. On the odd occasion Aizawa was admitted himself, he was accompanied by his childhood friend Present Mic, although he insisted you called him Mic, who was always more than happy to tell you how much Aizawa actually cared for his students and was a big softie at heart.

True to Mic's word, you learnt yourself what a caring man he was. You had come across him in a bar during a staff Christmas party. You were several drinks in at that point and you suspected so was he. He had asked if you were free the next evening and such would fate have it, you were.

That was several years ago now. It was hard for you to imagine the life before him. Once you two begun to live together everything just fell into place. You'd be lying if you said it was all sunshine and rainbows, especially when you had the jobs that you did. But there were many times you felt close to heaven. Times like this.

It had been a long stint of back-to-back shift but finally you had a rare weekend free. A much deserved break. The timing wasn't perfect since Aizawa was on patrol for a couple of hours but the knowledge of him coming home was enough to motivate you. Wearing one of his black shirts that loosely hung on you, shorts and throwing your hair into a lose pony tail, you powered through cleaning and organising your shared apartment. It wasn't huge but that's what gave it it's charm. You two didn't do big and flashy, you wanted to share a home and the one bedroom apartment of the edge of the city was perfect.

Domestic cores brought you back down to earth. The stress and nature of the hospital had taken it's toll on you more than once. There have been a couple of times Aizawa has come home to find you in tears. He never panicked, never fussed or rushed, he would always hold you to him, stroking your hair and reinsuring you that you were safe. It would be when you calmed down that he encouraged you to talk but never pressed. Never made you feel less than for simply being overwhelmed. He never told you to quit either, he knew you loved your job and you were only human. Sometimes life gets on top of you and you needed to let it out.

You had been deep in thought whilst washing stray dishes you hadn't heard Aizawa come home. It slightly startled you when you felt his hands on your hips and his body pressed against your back as he rested his chin on your shoudler.

"Jesus, babe!" You exhaled through your nose as the jerk of your hands caused the soapy water to drench your front, "You scared me," You tried to sound annoyed but you couldn't help the subtle playful tone.

He let out a soft chuckle before pressing his lips against your neck, humming in content, "I'm sorry, I thought you would have heard the door," His hands moved to circle your waist, clasping together and resting on your stomach as you leaned back into his embrace.

"You got my shirt wet,"

He pinched the front of your now damp shirt, pulling the fabric off your skin, "I believe this is actually my shirt," The feeling of his breathe tickled your neck as he spoke, causing you to fidget in his hold, "It looks good on you,"

Even after all these years, you couldn't help the warmth that crept onto your cheeks. He never failed to make you feel attractive, feel wanted. Without being asked he had always reinsured your silence insecurities. Being a pro hero must have taught him how to read people well.

You turned your face in a weak attempted to hide your flustered expression. You should have known better. Aizawa trailed his hand your front before settling on your chin before turning your face to look at his, comforting dark eyes making contact with you.

"Don't hide that express from me," He smirked, "I earned that," He quickly pressed his lips to yours before you had the chance to smear his face with the dish bubbles knowing well enough your face went several shades of red. He let out a laugh when letting you go and making his way to the fridge.

"That was unfair," You whined, he knew exactly how to get the reaction he wanted out of you. You would never admit this to him but you enjoyed this game. It made you feel like a pair of youngsters flirting. "How was patrol?" You asked, turning back to finish the last glass.

He let out a sigh before closing the fridge after grabbing a bottle of water, "Nothing too exciting. Mostly reports of sightings," He pinched the bridge of his nose, "The commission has been getting tips about some villains that have been on our watch list for months but I am yet to see them myself," He slightly shook his head before opening the water bottle and taking a drink, "Even though they're not causing any real trouble right now it doesn't make them any less of a threat,"

You had drained the water out of the sink before drying your hands and facing him, "You can't help what you can't control," You took a couple of steps so you stood in front of him. Aizawa wasn't that much taller than you but he was tall enough that you had to tilt your head up to look at him. You cupped his cheek, rubbing your thump over this rough stubble. He was warm and despite his undergrown facial hair, the skin underneath was soft. "You do your best and that is all anyone can ask of you. As incredible as you are, you are only one person," You gave him a soft smile, "Don't run yourself into the ground. You can't be anyone's hero if you're burnt out. Besides, the kids will never forgive me if you get yourself unwell with stress,"

He closed his eyes, covered you hand with his and signed with content. His spirit animal had to be a cat with the way he practically purred at your affection. In the privacy of your home you found Aizawa craved physical touch. He wasn't demanding or overbearing about it but you could tell the relief he felt when he received it. You were always more than happy to give him what he needed.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" He asked, his voice coming out just above a whisper. He didn't open his eyes as he kissed the palm of your hand.

"Everyday," You brought up your other hand so you could hold him completely, bringing him down so you could return the favour. His arms came back around your waist, settling on the sole of your back to bring you closer so he could deepen the kiss. You hummed at the sensation. He felt like home. He tasted like forever.

You broke the kiss first feeling the the still wet shirt against yourself, the coldness startling you.

"My shirt is still-"

"My shirt,"

"The shirt is still wet," You said through gritted teeth but couldn't stop the smile, "I need to go change," The grin he gave you gave away his thoughts, "No, I don't need your help,"

His pout was half hearted. It was almost enough to make you take it back. You were still in his embraced, he didn't seem too bothered his own shirt was now slight damp but it didn't seem to bother him unlike yours.

"Go have have a shower," You raised an eyebrow at his comment, "I can smell the cleaner. I can only assume instead of resting, like you should be, you have been doing house work," His expression mirrored yours, "So go take a shower, go change and I'll start dinner," He gave you a quick peck on the cheek before letting you go and rolling up his sleeves.

"But you only just got home. I can shower later and make something now if you're hungry," You retorted. You may have been on your feet all day but so had he.

Whilst you protested Aizawa was already pulling out pots and ingredients. "It was a drag today, hardly anything difficult. You probably had more of a workout than I did. Honestly, I need to do something that makes me feel productive," You understood where he was coming from. You also knew him well enough. Aizawa saw sharing a home with you meant sharing it. This meant more than sharing a bed every night. He felt slightly guilty whenever you did house work and he wasn't home to share the responsibility. He knew that was never your intention and you did it out of your own will. But it was not in his nature to just take, he was more of a giver at heart. He was never going to feel like he could relax until he had done his part.

You smiled at his back. A genuine smile. This man was a dream. You don't know what you did in a past life to deserve him, all you knew was that you were strangely thankful that the villain decided to hit him on that day. You certain your paths would have crossed eventually but something about the events leading up to that day felt fitting. How a strangers choices led you to the life you have today, with the man who treasured you.

[tired-teacher-blog]

Aizawa teaches you how he likes it..

I don't even know what this is, but here, take it.

_ "Are you sure about this love?" he blinked a few times as a stunned expression took over the amused one he had on moments ago.

Your request was one that he has never heard you utter before now, and he had to make sure you meant every word coming out of your mouth.

_ "Yes! Yes I'm sure!" you grabbed onto his shirt as you finally settled on his lap, straddling and trapping him between your thighs, "I want to give you a blowjob." and your confidence and shamelessness were seriously baffling..

He needed to take a second and let it all sink in, you have never done this with him before, and he knows for a fact, that you have never done it with anyone else either, so what if it was too much for you to handle? He couldn't allow himself to hurt or overwhelm you in anyway.

However, the look on your face was one of determination and excitement for the experience, and he couldn't find it in himself to just say "no" to you, truth be told, he was instantly turned on the moment he heard the words leaving your mouth.

_ "Okay, fine, but there are a few things that you'll have to learn first, are you willing to do that?" he asked in a gentle tone as he placed his hands on your thighs.

_ "I'll do anything." and the smile brightening your features lured a loving one to appear upon his face.

_ "Alright sweetheart, first I need you to open your mouth slightly, can you do that for me?" he requested in a soothing voice while running his thumb along your soft lips.

You couldn't understand the meaning of his demand but didn't want to question him either, you trust him too much to doubt anything he does, and so, you nodded in agreement and did as he asked.

_ "That's it, that's my good girl," his sweet words filled you with pride, "now I'm going to put my finger in, and all I need you to do is close your mouth around it, is that okay for you?"

Heat was rising in your body, and the anticipation of what was coming sent a shiver up your spine.

You nodded fervently and watched as he slipped his index finger inside, before wrapping your lips around it.

_ "You're doing very well princess," you could clearly tell he was fighting the urge to let out a groan as he watched you following his orders obediently, "now, I need you to place your tongue on the tip of my finger and keep it there until I tell you otherwise, are you comfortable with that?"

Hearing him gently asking if you were okay with every step he took, warmed up your heart and made you want to learn quickly so you could make him feel as good as he always makes you feel.

You hummed around his digit and knitted your eyebrows in concentration as you twisted your tongue to press it against the tip of his finger.

_ "That's perfect, now stay like that for a moment."

Your eyes were shining in eagerness as they saw the amused smirk curving up his lips, and your heart was pounding in excitement as you waited for him to speak again.

_ "You're driving me out of my mind princess," he let out a frustrated sigh and licked his lips before carrying on, "listen carefully love, what I want you to do now is lick around my finger, is that okay?"

Your breath hitched in your throat while hearing his words, not because it was too much for you to follow, but because you weren't certain of your ability to handle anymore of this teasing.

You started moving your tongue carefully around his finger, covering every inch of the long digit inside your mouth while keeping your eyes on him the whole time.

He looked enticing as he coached you, with his luscious hair resting on his broad shoulders, his piercing eyes boring into you hungrily, and those lips– you wished nothing more than to have them on you, singing your praises and adding to your arousal.

_ "How lucky am I, fuck.. you really know how to rile me up don't you?" he chuckled amusedly and moved his other hand to squeeze your side before pulling you even closer to himself, letting you feel the forming bulge in his pants, and the discovery drove you wild as you unconsciously let out a muffled whine and pushed your hips against his, because you wanted even more of him.

_ "That's dangerous sweetheart, you know I'm already at my limit right?" he groaned the warning but did nothing to stop you, too bewitched by your advances to actually oppose you, "and now for the last step, I want you to start sucking on my finger like a lollipop, but be careful love, don't use your teeth okay?"

You followed his last command, eagerly sucking on it while moving your hips at the same time, you were going insane a little bit more each second that passed.

_ "Fuck sweetheart, do you have any idea how seductive you look right now?" he growled through gritted teeth before adding in a lower voice, "you do realize that the real thing is way bigger than just my finger right?"

You moand again as you sucked harder and faster, moving your fingers along his arm before clutching onto his hand to push it against your lips a little closer as you carried on.

He was in a daze watching you like that, and soon, his last ounce of self control slipped away as he suddenly pulled his finger out of your mouth, before holding your chin and staring at your reddened and swollen lips with an eager expression that aroused you even more, "I think you're ready for me love, so just remember what I taught you alright?"

It was going to be fun for both of you, you were certain of it..

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[sugarwarachan]

more thoughts on free use/aizawa because I need him biblically - mdni

wakes you up with his tongue between your legs or his cock slotting between your thighs. he’s not impatient; he actually likes not waking you up at first so he can gently lap at your clit or fuck himself between your legs until you finally start to stir.

when he’s home relaxing, he wants your snug walls wrapped around him any chance he gets. one of his favorite things to do is spread your legs obscenely wide and make you cockwarm on his lap as he’s grading papers, tutting occasionally at the way your pussy drools onto his slacks.

even when you’re begging and panting into his neck for release, he still holds off.

“you like being my little whore, don’t you, honey?” his voice is the only thing that gives away how wrecked he is. it’s ragged and low. his fingers tense on your hip. “like it enough to cum all over daddy’s cock just from sittin’ on it?”

[ilxlita]

「 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 」

SYNOPSIS: just a compliation of cute nicknames various BNHA boys would give you

PAIRINGS: various BNHA boys x the cutest person in the world (a.k.a you)

AUTHORS NOTES: i am correct about these headcanons. you will OBEY my headcanon opinions, bitch /lh

TAGS: fluff, light teasing, some cursing because bakugou tings

izuku midoirya's cutesy nicknames are all, very awkward, but can you blame him? he has never been in a proper relationship before you and of course he's had crushes, but he has never gotten this far in his crushes. babe, is something he says pretty regularly, but it still falls out a bit awkwardly. he definitely has a shortened version of your name that he calls you (or a longer version, depending on the length) but that is not as appealing to him as just saying your full first name. he says it with so much revereance that genuinely, you would want him to say anything else?

katsuki bakugou does not do cutesy nicknames. in fact, if you called him anything too cute then he would for sure give you a look of disgust and refuse to respond. whoever came up with the idea that katsuki calls his s/o "teddy bear" should be jailed, because the most romantic he gets is babe and that is rare. it's more frequently him calling you dumbass, but in a softer tone that he has never used with anyone else.

shoto todoroki does not even think of any cute nicknames. it's first name basis like normal until YOU start coming up with cute nicknames for him and honestly he is ABSOLUTELY SHOCKED that people actually call each other cute nicknames outside of silly romance movies and can you blame him? this man has literally never seen a normal romantic relationship in real life. he does call you love if you call him cute things, but that's about it. although, if you have a nickname that you have expressed a liking for he will call you that. he does not detect sarcasm that well so do not give him a cringy name because he will unironically call you that IN PUBLIC.

shouta aizawa, the man that he is, will sometimes just call you lover. sometimes as a greeting or if you're trying to get his attention he will just respond with "lover?" and if you two are married then he will say wife/husband/spouse instead of just lover. and if he is especially exasperated or stressed out at work he will say love, but he does not do shortened versions of your name or cutesy versions of them or anything along those lines, but that does not mean he does not like when you shorten his first name to "shou", he thinks it's extra cute.

keigo takami, out of everyone on this list is the most liberal with his nicknames and not all of them are good. in fact most of them are bad. of course, he says them all (mostly) ironically. here is a list of a few he has called you in the public chat; the love of my life, apple of my eye, cutie patootie, baby, baby bird, the wind under my wings, everything i need and more, hot wings, my man (regardless of gender he will call you this), and song bird. have a fun time guessing which ones he says genuinely and which one he says as a joke.

should i add anyone else?

[callsignavalon]

wine and dine?

aizawa x teacher reader (oc-ish) ✨ I give some descriptions of the reader, including hair color, pointed canines and eye color. ✨

tw: reference to sex that already happened, blow jobs, reader is afab, aizawa being a horny guy

You were a young new teacher at UA when Aizawa first noticed you. The bright wave of excitement still beamed in your face; the tortures of being a high school teacher hadn’t hit you yet. With your vibrant lilac hair and sparkling golden eyes, you exuded a contagious enthusiasm that contrasted sharply with Aizawa’s more reserved demeanor.

Assigned to the same department as Aizawa, you were responsible for Class 1-A. By the end of the school year, you had faced more challenges than you ever did as a pro hero. From students nearly dying to being targeted by villains, you endured many late nights and terrifying experiences. It was no surprise that you had become a more exhausted version of yourself. Your lilac hair had faded to a darker purple, and your golden eyes held a dimmer shade, though they never lost their excitement. Dark under-eye bags had become your signature look, along with your bright smile, pointed canines pulling your face together.

Shota had initially been uninterested in making friends with you, especially when he noticed how excited and happy you were. That was many months ago, before he had spent countless sleepless nights working with you. He found himself growing to appreciate the tired attempts at jokes you would make. He realized he had been quick to judge you.

Though almost polar opposites in teaching style, hero work, and demeanor, Aizawa saw the soft moments you shared. Living on campus meant frequent encounters, but the most recent one left him flustered as he prepared for your first date.

You were both adults, and it became very evident to Shota when you had dropped to your knees in front of him. Fuck.

He adjusted his jeans, hands moving to fix the tie around his neck. At first, he wasn’t even sure if dating was necessary, fucking you senseless had been fun enough. But that just wasn’t his style, he wanted to be a gentleman. He wanted to have you drooling over his cock after he took you out on a nice date.

Aizawa was almost sure he wouldn’t be able to make it through the date without wanting to leave and ravage your body all over again. You had been so willing, initiating all the first moves, asking for his permission to have your lips around his cock. As if he would’ve denied such a thing from your pouting, swollen lips in that moment.

Shota would say he was very good at self control, never letting women or anyone interfere with his work. He didn’t believe in distractions, but then one finally came along, bright eyed and begging for him to fuck you, well he lost every ounce of dignity he convinced himself he had. The events leading up to the two of you fucking in his classroom had become a blur.

All he knew is there had been a ton of mindless flirting going on, and you had said he would never be man enough to kiss you, to which he firmly stated he could easily do. Not much longer you were bent over his desk and begging him to stop teasing and fill you with his cum. He huffed out a heavy sigh of air, where had his control gone?

Yeah, you may have been younger, less experienced in teaching and even being a hero compared to the well achieved Eraserhead, but you were not lacking when it came to being a pretty whore for him. No, he was almost positive your pussy was a quirk of its own.

Though a small part of him was fine with just having casual sex, the deeper, more sensible part of him knew asking you on a date was the better option. That very morning he lazily trotted to your classroom, asking you to go out to dinner with him. Your sharp canine teeth sent a chill down his spine as you grinned at him, nodding in acceptance.

He finally finds himself again, clearing his mind. Stop acting like a fucking high schooler, you don’t need to jerk one out before you even meet for the date, he thought as he shrugged his suit jacket on. Your rooms weren’t far from each other and it didn’t take long before you were hearing a soft knock on the other side of your door.

“Shota.”

His name sounded so blissful coming from your lips, and he stuck his hand out, admiring you. “Ready for our date kitty?” He asks, his signature smirk showing up as he called you the nickname he had given you months ago. The man couldn’t stop himself as he took in the black midi dress that adorned your body. He eyed the slit that cut up your thigh, your soft curves prominent in the silky dress.

“More than ready.” You state, following the man out of your room. It wasn’t long before the two of you found yourself at a popular Japanese restaurant, and it was no surprise Shota had a private room reserved for just the two of you. Of course, he always wanted his privacy. Part of you was hoping it wasn’t just because of his introverted style but because he had other plans for the evening.

“I hope this is okay.” He states, pulling your chair out for you. “It’s more than okay Shota, you could have taken me to a mcdonalds and I’d be just as happy..” to ride on your cock again, you think to yourself, but before you continue blabbering you shut yourself up, a blush crawling across your face.

“Not to compare this,” you motion around the beautiful restaurant. “To a fast food place.”

The night continues almost too easily, both of you getting along extremely well. You were thankful for having chemistry with him beyond being coworkers, or the obvious sexual chemistry you had already discovered. Shota was different, he was such a stark contrast to yourself but it seemed to work.

He asked you about your classes, how you felt about your first year of teaching and the crazy challenges everyone had been through. Questions shifted from work, to personal life and soon you two were talking about nothing and everything in between. Hero work, hobbies, his pet cat and your 18 fish who were each named after your favorite pros. You talked about how nice he looked without his hero outfit on or snuggled into a sleeping bag.

You both shared a few drinks, and really just learned more and gained a new perspective on each other. Of course you made a few teasing suggestions about the night you two had shared, but quickly shut up at the mans firm stare.

Eventually you both make your way out of the restaurant, taking your time walking back to the apartments. He kept his warm and around your waist, letting you lean into him as you admired the sounds of the city. For the first time in a while, it had a peaceful feeling over it. No police sirens wailing, people screaming or anyone being in immediate danger.

It was comforting for the moment, knowing you could enjoy being an actual person without the immediate danger hero work caused. You noticed Aizawa seemed to think the same thing, the tenseness in his body not looking so rigid for once.

It didn’t take long for you to get back to the dorms and he was keeping a respectful distance as he walked you to your room, it was clear he wanted to show you he wasn’t just in for the sex, even though you were pretty sure that’s what you both had originally wanted.

“I had an amazing night, Kitty. Maybe we can do this again sometime?”

You grinned up at him, “Of course Sho, I’d like to take you to my favorite bakery for breakfast next Thursday before class.” You hummed, lightly gripping his suit jacket to pull him closer. He chuckled a bit, leaning a hand against your door frame as the other gently held your waist.

“You wanna take me to breakfast?”

“Mhm..” you answer, leaning forward to let your lips brush over his ear. “But right now I’d like to take you to my bed.” You whisper, nipping lightly at his ear. God, he wanted to be respectful. He had really tried, but when his eyes met yours he knew he was done for.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”