#_shouta aizawa

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa NSFW Profile

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of dub-con, masturbation, stalking, kidnapping, voyeurism, toys, clothed sex, hair-pulling, this one is actually kind of soft and feels less yandere-y to me so sorry that this one is a little less creepy than normal, Shouta is a pleaser and lives for your praise, he gets off with a blanket you gifted him, very mild somnophilia, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

HABITS

In general, Shouta isn’t that perpetually horny. He’s a busy man with constant stress weighing on his shoulders; working as a pro while being a full-time teacher leaves him drained during the few times he gets to relax, and it’s a lot of work to get himself hard, to get off, and to clean up afterwards.

It’s just not worth it to him – especially because it’s a bit sad to be left with just his fist and some low-grade, unrealistic porn as a man in his thirties, isn’t it?

He doesn’t have a partner, and hasn’t had one for quite some time – there was a girl a decade or so ago, but she didn’t last long, and the sex was subpar at best. And so, Shouta finds himself neglecting any sort of sexual activity most nights that he’s off work, not bothering to get himself all worked up and fuck away some of that pent up stress.

Except, then you show up.

His feelings for you form, and although it takes a long time for them to solidify, it takes an even longer time for them to turn lewd, any sort of sexual thought involving you not really taking root into he’s much further into his obsession.

This is for a few reasons – firstly, he just doesn’t have that high of a libido, and while seeing you naked when he’s watching from outside your window certainly gets him hot and bothered, he isn’t constantly fantasizing about bending you over and fucking you until you’re screaming his name.

(Not never, just not constantly – and at inopportune moments, sometimes. Moments where he really should be focused on the mountains of paperwork on his desk, not focused on how the desk is the perfect height for you to be standing on your tiptoes, ass poised out and your chest pressed against the hard wooden lacquer, your soft skin glistening in the dim light and your pretty thighs twitching and quivering as his fingers press deeper and deeper and deeper -)

Secondly, Shouta’s already feeling such crippling guilt regarding his infatuation with you that adding on overt sexual fantasies for you would push him too far. He already hates that he thinks of you constantly, that he’s always idly worrying about your safety, wanting to know your location and who you’re with and what you’re doing.

He already dislikes that he can’t stop himself from swinging by your apartment at the end of his patrols, making sure that you’re in your bed asleep, safe and sound and looking so fucking pretty in the moonlight. He doesn’t like how wrapped around your finger you have him, so how could he justify wringing himself dry to you, depraved fantasies running through his mind as he imagines the way you’d cream on his fingers, how you’d clench down on him so, so tightly when he fucks you just right?

Shouta can’t – it would breach too many protocols of trust, the friendship formed between the two of you precarious enough as it is with Shouta’s obsessive, disturbing feelings. He doesn’t think of you sexually, banishing every thought from his mind the moment it appears.

Or, at least, that’s what he wishes could be true – unfortunately, his hormones get the better of him sometimes, leaving him rolling around in his bed, cock painfully hard and his mind insistently flashing images of you changing behind his eyelids.

He’s embarrassed, more than anything, that he doesn’t have enough self control to successfully halt any lewd thoughts of you – it’s pathetic, really, because is he so desperate to touch you that he literally can’t stop himself?

Is he really so painfully, pitifully aroused by you that just the mere idea of you licking your lips or smiling at him can get him breathing hard, thankful for the bagginess of his pants?

He hates that the answer is yes, that his body is really that pent up and eager to get you under him, naked and soft and pretty, all for him and only him. It’s demoralizing, but Shouta only has so much restraint – he tries to hold out for as long as he can, really. He swears.

It’s torture at first, popping melatonin and chugging Nyquil, hoping he’ll be able to pass out and sleep off the horniness, but it never quite works. Instead, his dreams are full of you – on your knees, sucking him off so well that your cheeks are literally hollowing, drool spilling down your chin, a string of saliva and precum connecting your puffy lips to his swollen tip when you pull off for air.

He’ll dream of you on your hands and knees, peeking back at him with glassy eyes and biting your lip, clearly embarrassed as you ask him to touch me, please Shouta, I need you…

He always wakes up with soiled sheets, his entire pelvis sticky with now cold cum, and it becomes very, very difficult to look you in the eye that day, only able to conjure up the image of you all tied up in his scarf, your breasts perfectly framed and your thighs spread, slick covering them as you whine his name, desperate for him.

And though he tries to stave off, not letting himself actively fantasize about you sexually while he’s conscious, a particularly rough day of teaching and patrol have him giving up, throwing caution to the wind as he decides that he needs this, that a release is the only way he’ll be able to stay sane.

In the past, the few times he’s masturbated he’s always just fucked his fist, not needing anything too fancy. But for you, something about that feels disrespectful – it’s stupid and he knows it, but the idea of just thrusting into his hand over and over until he eventually spills all over his knuckles seems tacky, low-class, almost offensive to your image, like he’s tarnishing you and the way he idolizes you.

So, he relies on the next best thing he can scrounge up – you’d given him a blanket a few months ago, a birthday present that he’d tried desperately to cover his blush at receiving.

(Hizashi had pitched in, helping you decide which color and texture, having an expert’s opinion so that it would be perfect for the dark-haired man – a level of detail and attention to his desires that still, to this day, makes his heart flutter to think about. You cared, wanting him to be happy, and just that thought leaves his chest swelling with pride, his palms getting a bit clammy and his cheeks feeling too hot.)

He’s kept the blanket on his bed, using it every single night for the limited sleep he manages to get, making sure the material is always, always touching his body. It’s the only way he really feels close to you – the blanket was for him, sure, but you’d touched it, picked it out, held it in your arms while Shouta was dumbly gaping at you and struggling to utter out a strained thank you.

(If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can even smell you on the fabric – it’s not as good as if you were actually here with him, laying in his arms, touching him, but if he strains enough and pretends hard enough, there’s the faintest whiff of you.)

He’s gulping, throwing his uniform off and leaving it crumped up in the corner, before gently, daintily grabbing the edges of the neatly folded blanket (a stark contrast to the harsh pulling and tugging at his costume he’d thrown off moments earlier) and laying it out on the bed.

He lets out a shaky breath, gulping, before tying his hair back into a messy, low ponytail, excitement flitting through him because he’s really about to do it. He’s really about to touch himself to the thought of you, allowing himself to fully indulge in the fantasy that is you, the fantasy that is imagining the way you’d feel against his body, your lips against his own, your hands in his hair and your thighs around his waist.

He’s moving slow as he settles onto his knees on the bed, staring down at the blanket with furrowed brows. This isn’t quite right – the image of you laying before him, body nude and your legs clenched together in anticipation feels very, very right, but there’s something missing.

A thumb comes down to idly rub at the blanket, tracing small circles against the material as he wracks his brain. What’s missing? How can he make this feel like you, like it’s your body he’s touching, like it’s your perfect little cunt he’s fucking?

He’s not sure, but suddenly it hits him – your body, just as he’d been dreaming about.

The blanket doesn’t look enough like you – it’s two dimensional, flat and having no surface area to grip onto, nothing for him to fondle and touch and squeeze.

It needs to have more of your shape – quickly, methodically, he’s reaching down, grabbing handfuls of the blanket and bunching it up, forming a shape that vaguely resembles your torso. He’s careful to get the exact shape of your waist and hips, making sure to leave mounds of crumpled blanket to represent your breasts, even creating a little space between your thighs that represents something soft, something warm and wet and tight – your precious little pussy, something Shouta would literally kill to feel.

He gulps as he looks down at his work, the atmosphere suddenly seeming much thicker, heavier, hotter, because now, the solid colored blanket seems like you, at least having your body shape and your vague proportions. Aizawa lets his hand run down what would be your side, pausing right over your pretend hip.

Fuck, he mutters under his breath, before shifting forward slightly, letting his weight rest on his knees and one hand as he carefully guides his cock to the space between your crafted thighs.

He’d been careful to leave a fold in the fabric, a pouch of sorts – a place for him to push into, slowly spreading the two layers, trying to mimic the way your pretty lips would part for him, your walls sucking him and clenching him nice and tight, wanting to keep him inside and never let him pull out.

Shouta curses as he rubs his tip against the fabric, noting with a small, far-away sense of disdain that there’s precum smearing all along the fabric, certainly leaving a stain that he’ll have to scrub out later. His thumb comes up to gently swipe along where he imagines your cheek to be, even feeling phantom sensations of warmth, of softness, just as you’d be.

He leans down slowly, throat bobbing, before letting his eyes flutter closed, his lips pressing against the blanket – right where he imagines your own to be. The kiss is soft, gentle, heartfelt, his tongue flicking out to lick against the blanket material, groaning and wishing it was your own tongue meeting his, your own spit coating his lips.

As he gets closer, body inching further down until his chest pressed up against what’s supposed to be your breasts, he shuffles his hips forward, pushing past the fabric fold and into you. He groans, pulling back from the kiss to rest his forehead against where he imagines yours to be, letting his eyes shut tight, nearly squeezing them closed as he slowly rocks his hips.

The friction of the blanket feels a bit strange, not how you’d feel, but it’s better than nothing – and it’s so, so very easy to imagine you instead; your warm, slick walls, the way you’d squeeze at him when he brushes up against your spot, the way your legs would wrap around his hips, hooking your ankles and pulling him in closer, begging him to go deeper. He sighs out, biting his lip and furrowing his brow, the pleasure slowly beginning to mount.

He imagines the way you’d moan his name – he bets you’d be airy, a soft sound that gets his hips stuttering ever so slightly because he knows the way his name would sound spilling from your lips would be heaven, the sultry Shouta upturned at the end as he fucks into you just the slightest bit faster.

His hips pick up their pace at the thought of you crying his name, back muscles flexing as he slowly gets faster and faster, the slow, sweet, intimate pace he’d set blown to dust in the wake of his thighs propelling him forward, hips flying and smacking into the blanket so quickly and harshly that the mattress is shaking, bedframe slightly pounding against the wall.

Shouta groans, low and deep, imagining the way you’d beg him to go faster Shouta please, please please please you feel s’good, wanna come for you! Memories of seeing you touch yourself flash behind his closed eyes, seeing the way your face screwed up in pleasure, how you gripped at your pillows and bucked your hips and trembled and arched your back and gasped and came –

Shouta’s chanting your name, his hips sinking into the fold of the blanket over and over, and quickly he’s bringing a thumb down to rub frantic, uneven circles where he imagines your clit to be, desperate to get you coming, wanting to time your orgasm with his.

Fuck, come for me baby, give it to me, god you’re s’damn tight fuuuck - !

His eyes fly open as spurts of warm, milky cum spray from his tip, getting all over the blanket and making his hips stutter and jerk, the sensation of coming in something leaving his arms feeling weak.

He’s panting, still saying your name under his breath, dark hair falling around his face as his thighs flex and clench, the last bits of cum dribbling from his tip and leaving him feeling spent. He can’t help but imagine the way you’d take him, if you’d thank him for giving him everything he has to offer, if you’d hold onto him until you both caught your breath, if your walls would still flutter and clench sporadically even after you’d come down from your high.

He closes his eyes again, heart practically in his throat as he leans down once more to kiss the blanket, tongue sneaking out and wet noises filling the room as spit and drool get slobbered all over the fabric.

He’s still out of breath, panting when he pulls back, but it’s not until he leans back onto his knees and takes a good look at the blanket that his high begins to fade, the reminder that you’re not really there making a sharp feeling dig into his gut.

He stares for a moment, before sighing, slowly pulling out of the blanket and grimacing when he feels cooling cum sliding across his cock, the white mess all over the material and smeared across his skin.

He brings a hand to his forehead, covering his eyes and sighing. What was he doing?

He’d just fucked a blanket – a gift, from you no less – while pretending it was you, his desperation to get you naked and in his grasp strong enough to make him lose him mind.

Pathetic, he was truly pathetic.

He’s ashamed as he throws the blanket into the laundry, hoping the cum stains will come out with all the bleach he’d thrown in alongside it, and as he chugs his coffee, deciding to get to school early and try to collect himself, Shouta can only sigh.

You make him such a fucking fool – a freak, perverted and creepy and gross, and as soon as he catches sight of you in the staff loungeroom, looking all pretty in your simple blouse and slacks, he knows he’s a lost cause, every bit of self-respect falling by the wayside.

 Because as soon as he looks at you, all he can think of is how you’d look underneath him, stuffed full of his cum and a dazed, fucked-out expression scrawled across your face. All he can think of is how you’d be absolutely perfect to sink his cock into – and as he darts off to the nearest restroom, desperately trying to get rid of the insistent, raging erection in his pants, he can only sigh, letting his head hang.

He really is a fucking creep.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS

Your thighs

Shouta isn’t one to sexualize women’s bodies. He’s a man with urges, sure, but he’s never had trouble separating sexual attraction from respect for his female friends, even for strangers in the streets. A body is a body, and they aren’t made to be stared at and ogled.

Except where you’re concerned, of course, because while Shouta tries his hardest to not sexualize every thought of you, it’s difficult to hold himself back when he’s so utterly attracted to every single part of you.

It’s hard to not fixate and stare and want when he looks at you, and so while he gives a valiant effort to not obsess over your figure in a less than innocent way, eventually he can’t help himself.

And Shouta discovers that while he loves every inch of you, there’s something about your thighs that drive him absolutely fucking crazy.

Maybe it’s their shape – pretty expanses of your skin that look perfect to grope and squeeze, the soft curves making him salivate in a way that feels almost predatory.

Maybe it’s the way they feel – your skin is so soft, especially if he moves his hands further up, between them, nearing somewhere warm and wet and throbbing.

Maybe it’s the way they feel when they’re around his waist, caging him in and keeping him right where he wants to be, and when they’re around his head?

(Don’t mention the instances where he’s orgasmed just from simply eating you out – it’s embarrassing, and while he won’t deny it, he will change the conversation and pray you don’t see the soft, barely-there pink blooming on his cheeks.)

Maybe it’s even the way you respond when he touches them – how you jump a little bit, his calloused hands feeling a bit cold as they skim along the sides, thumbs pressing into your inner thighs, a comforting finger brushing along the juncture of your legs and pelvic bone.

He’s not entirely sure, but one thing he does know is that just seeing your bare thighs is enough to get him gulping, his dark gaze struggling to move away as he watches the area jiggle and flex while you walk, every step you take only making him want you more and more.

Even before he’s stolen you away, he’s fantasizing about your thighs – he’s bought more pairs of stockings and thigh-highs than he’d care to admit, keeping them neatly organized in a specific drawer in his closet, often fingering the material and biting his lip.

(The image of you wearing them makes him drool, the idea of the top hem squeezing your thigh and making a little bulge appear right above the socks getting his hand wandering down his torso, his fingers making quick word of his belt buckle because fuuuck, would you keep them on while he throws your legs over his shoulders and absolutely destroys you?)

He’s always taking extra time and care to properly worship them when he’s got his head between your legs, letting his lips and tongue trail all along the soft skin, leaving teasing bite marks and hickeys and feeling the way you tremble under his touch because he’s so close yet so far from where you need him.

He’s always got a hand on your thighs when he’s fucking you, his fingers clutching and digging into the skin while he shuts his eyes tight and wills himself to last longer, to prolong the moment, to give you more more more, just like you deserve.

He just really, really likes your thighs, so don’t be surprised when he’s got his hand casually placed on one when you’re watching a movie together, his gaze purposefully not looking at you because you can’t see how flustered he is from touching your clothed thigh in a non-sexual context.

You can’t.

His hands

In general, Shouta lives to please you in bed. He’s by no means submissive (though he could be persuaded if you really, really wanted to be in charge for a night), but he’s a caring partner in every possible sense of the word – sex is about you, and any pleasure he gets from it is just a fun bonus.

And because of this, he takes every opportunity to learn new ways to please you, trying everything from teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, buying a collection of vibrators, even letting you grind against the expanse of his thigh.

But his favorite method by far is using his fingers on you. They’re thick, with scars and callouses dotting the rough skin, but they’re so gentle with you, always touching you like you’re something fragile and delicate and breakable. He's careful with you when he’s rubbing circles over your clit, the pressure consistent enough to feel good but not too hard, sometimes even teasing you. He’s gentle when he’s running his fingertips over your folds, occasionally dipping in just a hair to feel the warm wetness he wants so very badly to sink into.

(He often sucks in a short, nearly inaudible gasp when he does this, his Adam’s apple bobbing because god you’re wet, and he’ll pull back to lick off his fingers, letting his eyes flutter closed as he tastes you.)

He particularly enjoys fingering you – he’s dexterous, and he always goes slow and purposefully, learning quickly exactly where you like to be touched. He’ll angle the pads of his fingers against that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl, his lip caught between his teeth as he watches your face twist up, hearing your pretty sighs and moans, feeling the way you clench around him, your hips twitching a bit as if to get him deeper, to get more of him. He keeps his pace sensual, the come-hither motion slow and controlled, all the while keeping his thumb pressed firmly against your clit, drawing shapes that stay just consistent enough to get you closer and closer.

All the while, the other hand is gently working at your clit, his fingers expertly getting the exact pressure and pattern you like, making your thighs twitch and your little gasps and mewls louder and more insistent.

And when he’s not actively working between your legs, Shouta’s always got his fingers pleasuring you in other ways – gently kneading at your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between a thumb and index finger, groping and squeezing at you like a man starved as his tongue flicks and sucks at your clit.

They’re grasping a handful of your thigh and squeezing reassuringly as he’s fucking you, his pace slow and deep, making sure you feel every possible inch of him as he folds you in half.

He’s even slipping a thumb against your tongue when you take a break to breath, your chest heaving and your fingers wrapped around his girth, a groan slipping from his lips because god, the sight of his precum dribbling down your chin is enough to get his cock twitching on its own. He’ll press down on your tongue, his lip caught between his teeth as you stare up at him, the sight indescribably erotic, a few praises falling from his mouth about how good you look, how pretty you are, how well you take care of him.

(All the while, he’s feeling you suck on his thumb, eagerly running your tongue along the skin and even swallowing around it to give the extra suction. Shouta curses under his breath, and suddenly stands, grabbing you by the hips and forcing you to bend over the chair he’d previously been sitting on, roughly spreading your legs and immediately diving in to lick and suck against your clit, a finger slipping inside of you because he just can’t not touch you after watching you drool all over him.)

He just likes to make you feel good, and while he enjoys pleasuring you with his mouth, nothing can beat the way you moan and shake when he’s working his fingers on you, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re incoherent, your poor body trembling, the only thing you can think of him him him.

DRIVE

Though you inspire more sexual desire and drive within him than he’s experienced for the last twenty years, Shouta is still not absolutely desperate to fuck you at all times.

Sure, the idea is nice – being intimate with you is something he craves, but nine times out of ten this intimacy takes the form of simply holding you. Sitting beside you with your head resting on his shoulder, a blanket covering the both of your bodies as you snore softly and cling to him in your sleep, showing that you feel safe with him, that you trust him to protect you.

(Shouta is normally able to keep his staring in check and not be too terribly overt with it, but in times like these he allows himself to openly gape at you, those dark eyes of his examining every detail of your face. Every small wrinkle, every hair and mole, even every lash and baby hair that frames your cheeks. You’re just too damn pretty, and like this he can commit every last detail to memory – as if he hadn’t already, as if he doesn’t sleep at night with your face dancing through his dreams, as if he sees flashes of you in everything he does. As if he isn’t thinking of you as unconsciously as he breaths.)

He generally imagines sleeping with you (and genuinely just sleeping – curling up with you in his arms and his face buried next to your neck, the scent of your body and shampoo filling his senses and making him breathe out something that walks the fine line between a sigh and a moan), the peacefulness and tranquility of just having you close to him in the safety of his protection and home.

It’s a type of intimacy that gets Shouta red in the face, the idea so domestic and taboo and foreign that he comes to crave this on a near constant basis, serving as motivation and a way to calm himself when his students are out of control or a villain is being particularly difficult.

But of course, Shouta is only a man, and men have needs – no matter how he tries to keep his obsession with you as innocent as it possibly can be, sexual thoughts trickle in through the cracks of his mental fortitude and leave him with a phantom wonder of how you’d taste – would you be sweet, like the jellies Hizashi had gotten him? Would you be rich and savory? He hopes you’d have a strong musk to you, a smell that he can breathe in and think of you, something that gets his salivating and his body growing hot and his fingers restless and his breath heavy and labored and god –

He’s hard before he knows it, immediately covering his face with his hands because it’s equal parts embarrassing and terrifying how easily you manage to affect him, just the simple thought of you getting his entire body on edge.

And so he eventually takes up masturbation with you in mind, feeling dirty and disgusting each time he recovers from his orgasmic high, making it more and more difficult to look you in the eye without thinking of all the depraved things he’d imagined doing with you mere hours before.

But Shouta thinks he can survive – sure, he wants to fuck you, needs to kiss you, has to see the face you make when you’re coming, but he can control himself. He won’t succumb to the urge to break into your (frustratingly poorly protected) apartment to run his fingers along your pretty skin and fuck his fist mere inches from your face, no matter how badly his body yells and begs him to. He won’t cross this boundary – it’s hypocritical to think of himself not as a pervert at this point, but it’s the only way he confidently resists you.

Except, then you go and force him into kidnapping you – and now you’re with him nearly all moments of the day, your scent in his bedroom (though he knows you never willingly enter there, and he doesn’t force you to), your body always just a heartbeat away, the idea of holding you and kissing much, much closer now.

And even with the constant temptation, Shouta manages to hold out – it’s torture, really, forcing himself to be a good man and giving you privacy, to not touch you, to not press himself against you and feel the contours of your body against his own, but it’s worth it to him. He can’t force anything – he doesn’t want to scare you, and he has this horrible, sneaking suspicion that if he propositioned you, you’d feel too afraid to say no.

And just the thought is enough motivation to keep him from touching you, to keep him celibate from you purely by his choice – even if it starts affecting him physically.

(He’d never, ever admit it to you, but his lust for you becomes so extreme that if he’s gone more than a week or so without having touched himself to the thought of you while you’re under his care, his cock starts physically hurting when he sees you, his hips involuntarily twitching when he hears your voice, his throat feeling dry and his cheeks blooming bright red because god, he’s never wanted to fuck something so bad.)

And so, Shouta forces himself to be an outstanding man – but no one can be alert every moment of every day, and it’s only a matter of time before you catch him in a moment of weakness. Because really, while Shouta was suffering, you were certainly undergoing a struggle of your own – you’ve been stuck with him for a few months at this point, trapped in his modest apartment with everything you could ever need with one glaring, important exception: human touch.

You don’t necessarily want to be physical with your kidnapper, but as the days pass and you slowly come to accept the fact that you won’t be escaping Eraserhead, things start changing. You’re still understandably frightened of him, worried that although he’s not harmed you in any way and hasn’t forced you into much aside from your captivity, he’ll show his true colors and make your life even more of a living hell.

But that doesn’t happen, Shouta staying that familiar presence you’ve become accustomed to; steady, quiet, consistent. Except the more days that pass, the more you start noticing other things about him – he’s strong, isn’t he? You see it when he walks from the bathroom to his bedroom with the towel tightly fastened at his waist, showing off the lean muscle of his arms and torso.

(He can feel your eyes sometimes, but tries not to dwell on what your staring at his naked chest could mean because getting his hopes up means getting them inevitably crushed.)

He’s awfully attentive, isn’t he? He listens when you speak, those dark eyes boring into you and your every wish – aside from escape – granted without so much as a complaint.

And sometimes, he’s a little attractive, isn’t he? In a rugged, man-ish way – a way that makes you gulp and press your thighs together a bit, because something about the stubble that coats his chin and the veins that litter his hands and forearms makes it difficult to breath correctly.

And then the daydreams start – little thoughts about how it would feel for those hands to touch you, for those lips to brush against your own, for his hair to tickle your neck as he hovers over you, his hips moving slowly and rhythmically against you, gruff grunts of your name filling the air between you.

They scare you at first, really, but soon you can’t stop yourself – you know it’s the lack of human contact that’s influencing you, but as time passes and you grow more desperate to know if he’s as attentive in bed as he is everywhere else, you’ll stop caring.

And Shouta can sense that something’s changing – he feels you watching him, notices the way your eyes follow him through a room, how you suck in the sharpest, smallest breath when he nears you, how you grow stiff when he has to flex a muscle in front of you to lift something heavy. Shouta knows that something is different – but it’s not until you grow brave one day that everything is confirmed.

It’d been a long, tiresome day for Shouta – his class had been especially rowdy today, with a simulation villain attack that the teachers participated in, and of course he’d ended up assigned to spar with Todoroki – meaning he’d been moving about, his muscles tired and sore from multiple hours of repetitive fighting. Then he’d had an extra patrol directly after, the villains particularly restless and causing more trouble than normal. Coupled with a nasty rainstorm that had him half freezing to death, Shouta wanted nothing more than to melt into bed, ideally with you beside him but knowing better than to wish for foolish things.

And when he’d stepped in the front door, you’d been waiting for him, sitting nervously on the couch. You’d stood up, but Shouta – despite feeling slightly more awake and alive at the sight of you, like normal – was still exhausted, already on the brink of unconsciousness as he gruffly greeted you. You looked nervous, twiddling your thumbs and biting your lip, but Shouta was too tired to properly ask about it, only mentally noting to check on you tomorrow.

Slumping towards his bedroom, he was abruptly stopped with you grabbed his hand, his entire body going rigid. Your voice was quiet when you asked him why he always seems to avoid touching you, asking if he didn’t want to, if he was repulsed by the idea of touching, if he was repulsed by you.

And Shouta, still half delirious with exhaustion, let the truth slip from his lips before he could help himself – explaining just how badly he craves to feel you, imagining you in every lewd position he can think of, noticing the way your pajama shirts sometimes grow tight when you sleep and roll over, exposing the outline of your breast and nipple and making him physically stop in his tracks and nearly drool like some horny teenager.

Every secret was spilling out of him, his voice still tired and coarse but making your jaw drop, the admission that he’s been fantasizing about making you a mess on his fingers and tongue and cock stunning you. You’d known Shouta harbored some sort of feelings for you, but this?

When he finishes detailing the fact that he regularly fucks his fist to the thought of you at least twice a week after you’ve fallen asleep, you release his hand, immediately missing the warmth of his skin.

Shouta rubs at his eyes, still not facing you, but muttering a small goodnight and retreating to his room, only realizing what’s happened the next morning. His hands shake and he bolts from his bed, his eyes wide and his heart racing, something horrible and feeling like shame and dread sitting in his chest because why the fuck had he told you that?

Facing you the next day has anxiety sitting in his every nerve, his actions jerky and on-edge, an he’d nearly bolted back to the safety of his room when he sawy you sitting at the kitchen table, but then you’d done something unexpected – you’d walked up to him, stood in silence for a moment, then grabbed his hand. Shouta had been confused, unable to ignore the way your hand fit into his own and the softness of your skin against his, but you’d not given him a chance to even ask questions – soon your lips were on his, and your hand had placed his on something warm and soft and squishy –

Shouta gasped against your lips, the feeling of your breast in his hand and your tongue swiping at his lips nearly making his knees buckle. He didn’t respond to your kiss for a few moments, forcing you to pull back and stare at him, something like worry and rejection reflected in your eyes, but it’s not until you whisper in a very small voice that he snaps out of his stupor.

I want you Shouta, and I know you want me.

You were in his bed moments later, his hands frantic and eager and shaking as he practically ripped off your borrowed pajamas, fingers moving fast and settling over every part of your body, seemingly unable to decide on where to stay.

It was rushed, desperation clouding both of your senses, but as Shouta threw your leg over his shoulder and pressed wet kisses against the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his whispered affirmations of his love for you only had you pulling him closer, adoration and shock and something so happy it nearly hurt filling his chest.

Perhaps, just perhaps, something in you loved him as he loved you.  

MAIN THREE KINKS

Clothed Sex

It’s about convenience for Shouta – he’s not lazy in the bedroom, but although he finds you irresistible and is normally willing to expend what very little energy he has on sex with you, he’s willing to take any shortcut he can.

Of course, sex with you in an ideal world sees the both of you completely nude, your bodies pressed as close together as physically possible so that not a breath of space lays between them. He likes being close to you, feeling every inch of you, the intimacy of it unmatched and making Shouta revel in the fact that you’re really there with him, that he’s really getting to touch you, that he’s really getting to kiss you and touch you and fuck you, just as he’s been fantasizing of for months.

But that said, there’s a strange allure to clothed sex – it’s taboo and a little dirty, something that makes him feel a little warm, his palms growing a bit sweaty because it could happen at any time. Whenever the mood strikes him or strikes you, he could simply unzip his pants, shuffle them down a bit and fish out his cock, and he'd be ready to go – already half-hard, the eager anticipation of your touch exciting him from nearly the moment you entered the room.

And it’s easy access to you, too – not that he’d ever take advantage of that fact, your consent still something he asks for every time he touches you. It’s easy to slip your panties to the side, sinking you down onto his lap as he groans and his head lolls back, the feeling of your warmth making his toes curl. He just likes how easy it all is – no time is wasted with struggling to get off your shirt or his pants, and the desperation to be inside you that always seems to overwhelm him at the most inconvenient of times can be attended to that much faster.

He just thinks there’s something so hot about it – he’ll specifically stock you with clothing to wear that makes this easy – flouncy skirts and shorts that make shoving everything to the side and bunching his fist into the cloth to get better leverage while he pounds into you.

He’ll get you tank tops and things that make fishing your breasts out of your top easy, so that they can freely hang and jiggle as he bounces you up and down on his lap, your nipples hardening and shivers racing down your spine as he flicks his tongue at one.

He’ll buy underwear that doesn’t chafe when he shoves it to the side, the pretty sight of lace against your skin making him feral, making him fuck into you harder and more frantically because you almost look like some sort of lewd present when you’re wearing that lingerie – like his very own present, the one thing in the world he wants more than anything else.

And he’ll wear clothing that makes this easy, too – pants that can be unzipped and boxers he can tuck underneath his balls, making sure that nothing gets in the way. And although having sex without clothes is much more common than with clothes, Shouta will surprise you and suddenly press up behind you in the kitchen, telling you that you look too good, that he can’t help himself, that he needs you, and has to fuck you right here, right now, I can’t wait.

And so when you nod, he’ll flip up that skirt of yours – the main culprit for the throbbing between his legs, of course, because the clear view of your legs and thighs makes his mouth water – and slip aside those panties, his cock already out and hard and dripping for you.

It’s spontaneous, more than anything, and it’s one of the only ways in which Shouta is a little carefree with sex – one of the only times that he isn’t serious, or at least as serious.

The main way Shouta likes to engage in clothed sex, though, is through cockwarming. He just likes being close to you – he’s touch-starved, and although he doesn’t have the energy to actually fuck you, he still wants to be inside you, to have your body against his, to have you near and be smelling your scent and hearing your voice.

And so, it’s not a rare occurrence to have him pull you into his arms on his modest leather couch, your frumpy sweatpants and t-shirt (both his, of course, a fact that isn’t lost on him – he will not be washing either of those items when they eventually are off your body) covering your form and his own loungewear covering his.

He’ll shuffle up behind you, pulling you against him so that he’s spooning you, and before long you’ll feel something poking at your ass – something hard and insistent, something that seems to be bobbing and moving every few moments.

Truthfully, Shouta couldn’t say what got him hard – perhaps it was just being with you, or maybe smelling you, or the sight of you in his clothes. It could be any number of things – but his breath hitches as you swallow and carefully tug down the hem of your sweatpants, pressing your exposed ass back against him.

He makes a sound like a low whistle, and then he’s fishing his cock out of his own pants, the tip already wet with precum as he shifts his hips to slip between your legs, propping your leg up over his so that he can push inside. He does so with a small groan, resting his forehead against your back, and he feels you clench down on him.

He’s content to lay there – the warmth of his clothing and from you almost too much, but seeing the way you snuggle deeper into the shirt sending something warm and hot and possessive through his chest. He’ll just pull you against him tighter, the slight shift making the both of you hiss at the small burst of pleasure. He’s content to fall asleep that way – relaxed, his cock still nestled inside of you and hard as a rock, the feeling of your cunt lulling him into dreams filled with you naked and moaning his name, all bouncing breasts and desperate hands and begs for more.

(Don’t be surprised, when this happens, to wake up feeling something dripping out of you – yes, it’s cum and yes, that wet dream was enough to get him there. Don’t mention it, either, because Shouta’s always disappointed that he wasn’t awake for it - after all, call him old-fashioned but finishing inside of you is arguably his favorite selfish part of sex.)

Overstimulation

Shouta is not a stingy lover. In the bedroom, he lives to see you enjoying yourself – it soothes this primal, horrible ache in his chest that yearns or your approval and happiness. A lot of his obsession is born out of a desire to please you and keep you happy and safe, and this translates into making absolutely sure you’re satisfied in every possible way between the sheets.

Sex isn’t really sex until you’ve had at least two orgasms, whether that be because of his fingers or tongue, and only then will he throw your pretty legs up over his shoulders, sinking into you with a sharp exhale and letting his face rest against your sternum as he wills himself to not get too excited, to keep his cool and not rut into you like wild animal. He wants you to enjoy sex with him – he craves intimacy with you and he needs you to crave it too, and he’s hopeful that by giving you the best attention and care in bed, you’ll be more inclined to kiss and hold him, to touch him and whisper those three little words in his ear.

(The three little words that make him gasp and shudder, cum immediately spurting out of his red, swollen tip, his knuckles turning white as he grips onto your thigh and the bedsheets tightly enough to keep himself grounded through the pleasure.)

And so, Shouta finds that there’s something darkly pleasing about being the one to get you orgasming, being the source of your pleasure – seeing your face twist up, your mouth forming that pretty ‘o’ and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Shouta develops a bit of a sick fascination with seeing just how often he can make you come for him, and from what. It stems from a good place; a genuine desire to make you happy and get you shaking with pleasure and incoherent enough that all you can say is his name.

 He likes to choose how you come – will it be his fingers? Will he draw pretty circles on the inside of your thighs, teasing you and feeling the way your breathing picks up a bit, a whine of his name telling him that you’re growing impatient, that you need more, that you need him?

He’ll get closer and closer to your folds, pressing a thumb against them and dipping in ever so slightly, the dull pleasure making you bite your lip, embarrassment eating you alive because it feels so dirty to be teased like this, to keep your legs so wide open for him, to feel the way his eyes are staring at you so fully and intensely, the adoration and lust swimming in those dark depths nearly too much for you handle.

He’ll press two fingers against your clit and get to work, rubbing with light pressure and slowly increasing it, feeling the way the nub gets harder and more swollen, fingers swiping down to collect a bit of your slick to make things easier, the pads of his fingers gliding along your sensitive skin and making your hips jump and twist.

He’ll use his other hand to finger you, rough calloused skin dragging against your walls and pressing right into the spot he knows you love – the one that makes your back arch up, your head pushing back against the pillow, your nails digging into the bedsheets and tangling through his hair. Working you through an orgasm with his fingers is his favorite and what you’ll most likely get – he gets a front row seat, watching with rapt attention as you fall apart for him, feeling the way your thighs tremble and close in around him when you’re right on the edge.

There’s this feeling of power, pride and desire making him light headed and only work harder at his ministrations, ignoring your yelps and gasps of overstimulation because he needs to see that again, to feel the way you clench down onto his fingers so tightly that he has to work to pull them out to thrust back in. You’re just so damn sexy, the sight of you laying before him with your pretty legs spread wide open making him swallow so hard you can hear it.

But of course, Shouta also loves using his mouth to get you off – pink lips attaching to your nipple, sucking and running his tongue over your areola to make you squirm, your little keens making his cock twitch against your thigh.

He’ll kiss at your hips, making a trail down to your clit, giving you little kitten licks while his eyes flick up to look at you, seeing the way you sigh and bite your lip, the rising and falling of your chest making him near feral.  

He wants to see you moan and writhe, to feel you grasping at him and needing him, and so his patience wears out and he dives between your legs, slick coating his nose and chin as he licks and sucks and thrusts his tongue against you, eyes closed in concentration and hair getting in his face but he doesn’t care – how can he, when you sound so pretty moaning his name like that?

How can he, when your thighs are clenching around his head and you’re just so fucking wet for him, showing him exactly how much he’s affecting you?

It's euphoric, and soon you’ll be crying out his name and creaming all over his lips, shaking in his grasp so hard that he has to hold you down by the hips to help you ride out the pleasure, the taste of you making him so hard that it hurts.

And god, there’s something about the way you respond to voice and his commands in bed that makes Shouta curse under his breath. You look up at him all wide-eyed, pleasure written across your face as you look to him for guidance, his voice gruff and thick with lust as he tells you to let go, come for me, want to see you come for me.

You immediately furrow your brows and bite your lip, grinding yourself harder against his fingers, feeling the pads of them brush against the spot that has you seeing stars, his name a prayer as you chant it over and over, only stopping to moan or gasp.

The sight is intoxicating, leaving Shouta gaping like a fish with parted lips and heavy breaths, staring at you like you’re something heavenly, divine, unable to tear his gaze away because he still can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re moaning his name, that you’re letting him touch you and oh, he knows what that change in your facial expression means, how you’re blinding grasping at him, how you’re stuttering out a rushed ‘m coming, Shouta ‘m coming fuck-!

Watching you come undone right before his eyes has Shouta’s cock throbbing, his hips subtly moving against your thigh because he needs friction, the sight of you and the knowledge that he made you this way nearly too much for him to bear.

And when you finally calm down, your breathing wild and your eyes a little glazed over, he’ll just swallow and quickly situate him hips between your legs, gripping himself at the base and impatiently prodding at your entrance, his words dark as he tells you that you’ve got another one in you, give it to me.

When he pushes in – slowly, so as not to hurt you – he lets out a groan, only muffled by the way he leans down to kiss you, feeling the way you tense up and eagerly return the gesture, wrapping your ankles around his waist and pulling him deeper, showing him that you need more more more if you’re going to finish like he wants you to.

And Shouta’s happy to oblige – snapping his hips into you until his muscles are sore and screaming, a thumb relentlessly toying with your clit, his lips against your neck and whispering praise tainted with curses.

He’s encouraging you to feel good, telling you to tell me how it – fuck, how it feels, you’re so goddamn tight, tell me how to fuck you – o-oh…

Because really, while he loves to get you coming and falling apart on his terms, Shouta’s pride flies out the window where you’re concerned – he’d do anything to get you clenching down on him and begging him to finish inside you.

Anything.

Voyeurism

Honestly, it’s a byproduct of having stalked you for such an extended period of time. Watching you was the only way to feel close to you – he wasn’t able to hold you and kiss you, to feel you and lay with you and make you whine his name, and becoming your shadow was the only possible substitution.

And even then, it wasn’t enough – all the guilt he harbors from watching you in your more intimate moments never fades, not even after years of having stolen you away, your pretty body and mind fully his to do as he pleases. He’s still ashamed, but some things he just simply can’t unlearn – and so, even once your sexual relationship begins, Shouta finds himself still utterly excited by the prospect of watching you pleasure yourself.

It’s dirty, horrible, something that makes him feel so guilty he can hardly stand it, but he can’t not stop and watch through the crack in your door when he hears what sounds suspiciously close to muffled whimpers.

He can’t not press his ear against the wooden door, closing his eyes and imagining what you’re doing to yourself – maybe you’re playing with that cute little clit, rubbing it in circles and biting your lip because it just feels so damn good, mimicking the way that Shouta works you up slowly and steadily, getting you so sensitive that your hips jump and twitch at just the slightest bit of pressure against your sensitive nerves.

(He’s had dreams about the way you taste – he thinks you’d be musky, something natural and strong and savory, a taste he wants in his mouth at all hours of the day. And the way you’d tremble and gush for him if it was his fingers and mouth toying with the nub, how you’d tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him closer and closer to you, needing as much of him as possible, needing him him him…)

Maybe you’re sinking your fingers inside of you, working up from one to three, stretching yourself out and imagining it’s him instead, that he’s the one filling you up and making your toes curl, that he’s the one causing all those pretty noises to fall from your lips.

(He knows just how much bigger his own fingers are – he’ll imagine the size difference, his eyes shutting tight when he thinks of how much more he can stretch you out, how much better he can make you feel, how the texture of his fingers must send pleasure up your spine in a way that your soft, comparatively dainty fingers can’t.)

Maybe you’re perched up on a pillow, straddling it with your cunt pressed snugly against the fabric, slick smearing across the cotton as you grind your hips back and forth, hunched over so that the angle is just right, imagining it’s him underneath you and it’s his thigh or cock you’re rubbing against.

(He’s had wet dreams about this sight, always hoping and fantasizing that you’re just so desperate for him that you’re imagining it’s his face you’re riding, his mind conjuring up the sound of your voice moaning out his name and telling him yes yes o-oh fuck yes, Shouta ‘s so good, you feel so good! He’d never seen you riding a pillow during all those months of stalking, but the idea’s just too graphic and wanton and lewd for him to not fantasize about, the idea satisfying the part of him that’s embarrassed and ashamed of just how badly he craves you – because surely if you’re humping some piece of cotton and pretending it’s him, then what does he have to be embarrassed about? Lots, really, but it makes him feel slightly better.)

Or maybe you’ve decided that you want something a little more physical, something to really mimic him – he’d seen you using your vibrator many, many times before he stole you away. His face always turned pink at the sight, his throat going dry and his grip on his capture weapon a little loose as he simply stared, the sight of your pretty body contorting and the plastic held against the crest of your pelvic bone making everything else fade away.

You’re so damn pretty – the way you moan and sigh, how your legs twitch, how your breasts sway and jiggle with every motion, making his fingers ache to reach out and squeeze, to knead and touch and grope, like some sort of pervert.

And this fantasy and mental image has stayed with him long after kidnapping you – once your physical relationship begins and Shouta no longer feels it would make you even more uncomfortable and scared of him, he’s buying you a replacement for that trusty vibrator you used to use to death. He’d left it on your nightstand one morning with a hasty note simply saying I’m gone a lot, I don’t want you to get lonely.

Of course, this is only half the truth – he does want you to be happy, and he doesn’t want you to grow resentful of the times when he’s too exhausted to give you proper sex. But of course, the unspoken portion of this gift is that he wants to watch you use said vibrator – and badly.

He wants to sit in a chair at the side of the bed, legs spread wide as he grips the base of his cock, absentmindedly squeezing at his balls while his dark eyes stay trained on your figure. He wants you to be spread out for him, perhaps a skimpy set of lingerie covering your pretty body (or perhaps none at all, if you’re comfortable with it) with your legs spread wide, the vibrator in your hand hovering against your clit. He wants to hear the steady, dull buzzing sound mixing with your whimpers, to see the way your body tenses up and you whine, feet flexing and shaky breaths slipping past your lips as you slowly work towards your high.

He wants to see the way you eventually grow impatient, changing the vibrator’s setting and immediately crying out, the feeling much more intense and making your orgasm hurtle towards you, getting slick all over the bedspread as you cry out his name and writhe.

And Shouta doesn’t want you to look at him – he doesn’t want you to acknowledge that he’s there. Ignore him, just as you would have back when he was simply watching from outside your window – he wants to watch you, not have a show be put on for him.

You’re just too pretty, and there’s something about watching you that gets him hard as rock, his fist twisting and flicking so quickly it’s nearly a blur as he watches you transition to fucking yourself with the toy, your cries loud and wanton as Shouta grunts and curses under his breath. He wants to finish with you this time, his hips thrusting against his hand in an effort to match the pace you’ve set for yourself. It’s a dirty secret of his, and while Shouta won’t force you into it, just know that he would love to catch you masturbating – just the sight of you pleasuring yourself is enough to get him hot under the collar immediately, hand rushing into his trousers to cup himself because god.

He just likes to watch you, and even during regular sex when he’s folded you in half, those eyes are alternating between watching your face, your bouncing breasts, and your cunt swallowing his cock again and again and again, his cheeks a rosy pink and a bead of sweat dripping from his brow.

You’re just too pretty, he can’t take it – how can he not immediately want to get something of his on you, staining your lovely skin and gorgeous face with his cum?

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE

Hair Pulling

But not on you – unless you like it, in which case he might consider but will only ever do it lightly. He doesn’t like causing pain in general, and would only be willing to do it in very specific scenarios – and even then, it will be as gently as he possibly can.

Rather, Shouta likes when you pull his hair – he doesn’t let most people touch it, and it’s a rare day that he actually runs a comb through it, so as a result his scalp is extremely sensitive. And so, when you tunnel your fingers through his dark locks and pull, Shouta audibly groans, the tingling pain sending pleasure racing down his spine.

There’s just something naughty about it – only you get to touch him like this, so only you get to run your fingers through his hair and tug at it.

He particularly likes when you pull it while he’s got his face between your legs. He likes how your fingers tunnel through it and scrape against his scalp, and he’ll often use it as an indicator of whether he’s doing a good job or not. If you pull often and hard, he knows he’s doing what he needs to do – he’ll keep the pace up and stay in that same spot, doing everything and anything in his power to keep you pulling at it, working through any pain in his jaw or tongue because he needs to make sure you’re feeling good even at his own expense.

When he’s got you perched on his face, your pretty thighs framing his head so that all he can smell and taste and feel is you, he likes to have you reach down and still pull lightly at the roots, your breasts squished together and nipples taut, the visual alongside your taste and the slight pain from his scalp making his eyes roll to the back of his head and precum dribble down his length.

When he’s hovering over you and thrusting into you, balls clapping against your ass and your legs wrapped around his waist, he likes to have you tug at his hair, moaning out and crying his name with each tug and letting his ego swell, each burst of light pain making his hips go harder, faster, deeper, anything to get you louder and clenching around him tighter.

Even when you’re just kissing – simple, innocent kisses full of smiles and his hands gripping you just ever so slightly, Shouta likes to have you running your hands through his hair and tugging lightly, keeping him on his toes and forcing his cock to life.

He just really, really likes to have you touch his hair – it’s something intimate and something he’ll only ever let you do, so really, you should count yourself lucky. Shouta sure does when he’s buried deep inside you, watching your face and feeling your hands in his hair as he gives you every last drop he has to offer.

Mirror Sex

In general, Shouta absolutely loves watching you in bed. He thinks you’re genuinely the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and when you’re gasping on his cock and moaning his name, you’re even prettier, even more breathtaking and lovely and perfect.

And while he prefers positions where he can see your face, he wants to be able to see your expressions always, even if he’s got you bent over while he presses his back to your chest and mounts you like some sort of wild animal.

And so, to solve this problem, Shouta invests in a modest, simple mirror that he keeps facing the end of your ‘shared’ bed – it’s roughly four feet tall and two feet wide, the perfect size so that when he’s got you on your hands and knees for him, your back arching and your arms threatening to give out, he can watch your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He’ll experiment with the pacing of his thrusts, going deeper and harder to see the way your brows scrunch up, how your jaw drops and the most depraved whine slips out of you, pride and arousal swelling in his chest because he made you make that noise.

He’ll go slower and keep his thrusts brushing against the spots that make you gasp just so that he can see the way your lips twitch.

He’ll speed up, fucking into you so fast that his balls slap lewdly against your ass, the noise filling the room alongside your pants and his groans, watching all the while how your eyes flutter and your back arches. He’ll sit you in his lap facing the mirror, spreading your legs and getting to work with his fingers curling and rubbing inside of you, a thumb circling your clit and his lips at your ear as he tells you to watch, pretty, see how good you look?

He’ll kiss a line from behind your ear, down your neck and over your shoulder, occasionally glancing up to the mirror to make sure you’re actively looking, whispering praises against your skin each time.

And he’ll bring you close to the mirror, too – sitting you only a foot away from the reflective surface, letting you get a nice view of Shouta’s favorite sight – your cunt, all spread out and wet, practically begging for something big, heavy, and throbbing to fill it, to stretch it out and make you see stars.

He’ll spread your lips, exposing your clenching hole, smiling at your reflection and making you tell him that you’re pretty, forcing you to grow comfortable with your body because he knows that it makes you insecure to see so much of yourself, and it drives him crazy.

He’ll even fuck you against the mirror – forcing you to watch your face from mere inches away, your hot breaths fogging up the glass, and he’ll make you come like that – holding your chin straight ahead and telling you to watch, sh-shit, watch, don’t take those fucking eyes off your face in a strained voice.

He just likes getting a good view of you during sex – you’re too pretty not to be seen, after all.  

BIGGEST FANTASY

In general, Shouta absolutely loves being intimate with you. While he’s no virgin, he doesn’t have an extensive amount of experience, and frankly he’s never been the biggest fan of sex – it’s too messy, too energy draining, and just a massive hassle.

However, when it’s with you, and when you moan his name just right and leave your nail marks down his back, Shouta will gladly strip his clothing at your beck and call, his lips already on yours before you can even finish your sentence.

And while he loves good, rough, passionate sex that’s full of smacking hips, gasps, moans and growls, there’s something to be said for slower, gentler sex, the kind that’s full of airy breaths and slow, meaningful kisses.

It’s the kind of sex where you can really feel him; every inch of him, the way his body covers yours as he hovers over you, the tickle of his hair against your jaw and neck as he buries his face in the juncture of your shoulder and collarbone, his hips rocking into yours and managing to grind against that one perfect spot that gets you sighing out a moan. It’s just more intimate this way, less of a wild, frantic race to get inside of you and more a slow, controlled love making, as embarrassed as he is to use to term.

Regardless, you’re most likely to get this type of sex from Shouta in two specific scenarios – the first of which being after a very long day, filled with a harrowing patrol where he maybe wasn’t able to save everyone, or things didn’t go according to plan. When this happens, he needs to just hold you, to feel you, to hear you whisper his name under your breath and tell him how good he feels, how he’s the best you’ve ever had, how he’s the only one you’ll ever want…

The second – and far more likely – scenario is in the early hours of the morning, when the sunlight is streaming into the modest apartment he keeps you in, your shared bed feeling warm with your bodies pressed against one another. Soft, sleepy morning sex is Shouta’s favorite, and something that he tries to incite as often as he possibly can.

There’s just something about it that gets him hot under the collar; maybe it’s the casualness of it all, the way it feels so natural, so human and so right, as if your bodies were made for each other. Maybe it’s the way it feels so intimate, like you’re both raw, yourselves in the most wonderful way.

Or maybe it’s the way you’re still just slightly sleepy, and you’re much more likely to be clingy at this time, touching him more and letting your real noises come out, not hindered by any shame or hate or embarrassment.

Regardless, Shouta loves it – so on the rare weekends where he’s off, expect to be woken up on the brink of an orgasm just as you deserve.

A yawn slips past Shouta’s lips, eyes peeling open and seeing the gray of his bedsheets. Everything is warm and soft, and as he shifts slightly, something moves next to him.

Nothing seems real for a few moments as he gazes down at you, your body curled up next to his own. It doesn’t feel real that you’re really here – in his bed without any clothing, happily sleeping without a care in the world. He swallows, something coming over him and moving him slowly – carefully – peel off the covers, moving down to where your legs slightly part.

He leans down, face mere inches away from the tufts of your pubic hair, his eyes fluttering closed as he inhales. You’re perfect – and as he gently pries your legs open further, Shouta can’t help but think of how often he’s fantasized about this very moment – how often he’s dreamt of what’s between your thighs, how he’d lay awake at night and press his fingers between two pillows, grinding his fingers against the cotton and pretending it was you, imagining how warm and wet you’d be for him.

He swallows, determination setting his brow as he lays onto his stomach, shuffling so that he can lightly lick at your inner thighs, eyes closing at the familiar taste of you. He takes his time, going slowly and softly, licking closer and closer to your pretty folds, eventually reaching them and licking his lips at the taste.

A thumb comes up to slowly press against your clit, knowing too much pressure would hurt and not warm your body up the way it needed. He continues his licks, before switching roles and starting to suckle at your clit as a finger dips between your folds, collecting the slick and rubbing it between his fingers.

Soon he’s pressing one inside, feeling the way your thighs twitch slightly, a small, sleepy moan ringing in his ears. God, you’re so damn perfect – even unconscious you’re enough to get his cock throbbing against the cotton sheets.

He keeps his pace slow, but as time passes you stir a bit, and when he hears your sleepy voice mumble out his name, Shouta curses, his fingers speeding up a bit.

That gets you more awake – soon your fingers are carding through his hair, sighs and murmurs of his name sounding like heaven.

“Mm, Shouta, that feels good…” You mumble, still dazed from waking up. Your hips are twitching now, a sign that the pleasure is slowly beginning to build.

Shouta groans against your cunt, the sound muffled.

Soon his fingers are picking up the pace again, his circles and licks at your clit growing more insistent, and the hands weaving through his hair start to tug – the sensation gets him humping at the bed for a moment, the morning glow still shining on you as he glances up at your face. You look like an angel – shining in the sunlight, your lips parted in a moan, head thrown back in pleasure.

Shouta pulls back for a moment, sending a kiss to your clit that makes your hips buck. He chuckles a bit, licking his lips.

“You’re so beautiful..” He whispers against your thigh, pressing open mouthed kisses against the skin. You hum at his compliment, and he watches as you smile, his breath practically punched out of his lungs.

“Shouta, you’re too good to me…” Your voice is soft, too, and soon he’s back to sucking at your clit, feeling the way your body jolts slightly, the pleasure making you sigh and swallow. He watches the movement of your throat.

“Feels good, mm yes, oh Shouta - just like that,” You start, eyes closed again, and Shouta finds himself abandoning the gentle pace he’d adopted, instead being more insistent, more pushy – suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to get you coming on his fingers.

You gasp lightly at the new change in pace, grinding your hips to match the new stimulation, and it makes Shouta dizzy. How can you be so attractive? How can you look so perfect in this moment; in his bed, moaning his name, looking and tasting and smelling like his own personal slice of heaven?

It’s cheesy and he’s almost embarrassed, but tears prick at the corners of his eye.

Soon your gasps have turned to moans, and all too soon you warn him in a slurred voice that you’re coming, your back arching up off the mattress and your moans light and airy as you gush against his fingers, white coating all the way down his knuckles and onto his palms. It makes him choke a bit, the feeling of your cunt rhythmically clenching down on him and your chest heaving, and with a final lick to your clit that makes you jerk, he’s moving up to kiss you.

The kiss is slow, his tongue brushing against yours and wet sound filling the room, but Shouta doesn’t mind. How could he, when he’s never felt this relaxed before?

His eyes slowly open as he feels your fingers wrap around him, a thumb brushing along his tip to collect a bit of the wetness there.

“Shouta, let me make you feel good.” You tell him, your voice just a whisper.

He looks at you, his lips parted for a brief moment, before a small smile quirks up the corners of his mouth. “Why would you do that?”

You trace the line of his jaw with your free thumb. The slow strokes of his cock have him a bit distracted, but he hears every word you speak to him. “Because I love you.”

He swallows, the words making something feel tight in his throat.

You laugh a bit at his silence and the dumbstruck look on his face. “What? Do you not love me too?”

And to answer that, Shouta scoffs, leaning down to kiss you again as he grasps himself around the base, pulling himself away from you and pushing into you, feeling your sharp intake of breath against his lips.

His pace is slow, soft, like he’s trying to tell you something – hips moving slowly and deeply, letting you feel every inch of him. He kisses your neck as your head falls back, your eyes fluttering closed.

Pressing a kiss against your collarbone, Shouta smiles against your skin, a groan falling from his lips.

“I love you, more than you’ll ever know.”

And he means it – you’ll don’t know half of the things he’s done for you, and as he squeezes at your breast and hears your soft moan, he knows he’ll never tell you.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa General Profile

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa x fem! reader Tw: yandere, kidnapping, stalking, voyeurism, mentions of assault, breaking and entering, mentions of neglect, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of dub-con, sexual toys, masturbation, derogatory language (not said by our wonderful feminist Shouta), fem! reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

DARLING PROFILE:

Calm

Despite having tight friends who are much, much more energetic and easily excitable than himself, there’s a certain allure to steadiness and calmness that really calls to Aizawa.

Maybe it has to do with his tendency to be a bit low on sleep, or maybe it has to do with his own disposition - he isn’t sure, but he can’t deny the fact that a darling who isn’t constantly bursting with energy is something he would adore.

In order to catch his attention, his darling must be someone he is already comfortable with, and it’s much easier for Aizawa to let someone in if they’re more agreeable, less tiring, more his speed.

Of course, a healthy dose of excitement is something he would crave every once in a while from his partner, but to him the moments of blissful serenity, calm mornings spent in each other’s arms, peaceful nights spent sleeping or catching up on a good show or book mean more than daring, crazy adventures.

He wants to know that his darling will be rational, someone he can have a real conversation with, someone he can respect and trust.

A darling who is more calm and collected is much preferred for Aizawa, and with every situation that they handle efficiently without panicking, it only solidifies his view that his darling is utterly, completely perfect for him.

Smart

Aizawa himself is quite good at understanding and interpreting people, situations, and risks; he’s intelligent, and as a result he’s drawn to others that are similar in that way.

His darling doesn’t need to be a genius, or even someone familiar with the hero world - in fact, someone not associated with the messy, violent life of heroes would be preferred.

He just likes the idea of his darling being smart in their particular interests, of being curious and intelligent and always trying to improve their hobbies or areas of interest.

It once again stems from his want for a partner he can trust, can have logical, clean conversations with, and to say that knowing his darling can make their own informed choices (although Aizawa is quite reluctant to let them decide anything, if only because he knows that he has a better understanding of the world and his darling’s weaknesses) is a relief would be a massive understatement.

He doesn’t like to waste time on those who aren’t able to intellectually keep up with him, and while he’s never fault someone for being slower, he cannot handle ignorance.

His darling needs to be able to understand him, at least as much as they possibly can, and with every situation in which they show off this side of them, Aizawa honestly feels his heart fluttering in his chest.

His darling is just so wonderful, so perfect and amazing, that he literally wants to own them, to have his name claimed onto something so precious and rare.

Realistic

While Aizawa is, admittedly, a bit of a pessimist, he views himself more as someone who expects what’s most likely to happen.

He knows there are terrible people in the world, that things don’t always go the way they’re supposed to, that most of the time there are countless boundaries up against goals and dreams, and he’s simply preparing himself for the inevitable, so that if he turns out to be wrong he’s pleasantly surprised.

Pure optimism is something that Aizawa will never understand, and because of this he tends to prefer people who have more of an approach from the middle ground.

Of course, optimism isn’t a complete turn off for him, but he wants someone who approaches situations without those rose tinted glasses, who’s aware of how the world works and acts accordingly.

He’ll admit that he’s negative (Hizashi has told him as such, more times than he can count), but a darling that walks the fine line between too little confidence in the world and too much is immensely attractive to the underground hero.

He loves that his darling has such a clear, honest view of the world, and as a result he tends to favor his darling’s opinion over his, even if he believes his own is much more likely, much more truthful.

He’s entranced by his darling’s ability to remain honest about things, and he loves knowing they aren’t chasing far fetched ideals.

Aizawa believes his darling is the perfect mix of himself and other traits he wishes he possessed more of, and when his darling is so honest and realistic about the world around them, this only solidifies his view that his darling is so fucking perfect. 

Nurturing

Although he acts as if he detests his students at times, Aizawa does genuinely want his kids to succeed, to become pros and tap into their full potential.

He wouldn’t have become a teacher if he didn’t enjoy watching others grow, and he looks for this in a partner as well.

While he isn’t necessarily intent on having any children of his own (although he can’t deny the rush of possessiveness and pleasure that courses through him at the idea of knocking up his beloved), a darling who possesses the ability to care for, nurture and love others is something he deems as a necessity.

He has a quiet kind of support for others; unwavering honesty in their abilities and themselves, and while he views his own methods of nurturing others as productive and useful, a darling who has more of a mainstream approach pulls at his heartstrings.

Aizawa, despite his more rugged and apathetic appearance, has a massive soft spot for people who are just genuinely nice - when he sees the way his darling so easily comforts and helps others feel relevant, at ease, it only furthers his protective instincts, pushes him to believe that his darling needs to be cared for and protected at all times.

And really, who else can do such an important and time consuming task besides himself?

Only he is capable of being the hero his darling needs. 

He can be everything they need after all, if they just give him the chance.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Lucid

First and foremost, Aizawa is completely aware that the feelings brewing in his chest for you are far from normal.

He, despite having limited experience in romance and relationships, is completely positive that the degree to which he loves you, that the pure need and desperation that you inspire within him is very much not the standard, that there’s very much something wrong with him.

He’s sure that wanting to keep you trapped in his basement, keeping you completely alone and dependent on him so that the only person who will ever get to see you is him, is wrong.

He’s sure that the devotion and intense obsession he’s harboring for you makes him nothing sort of a creepy stalker, a freak that doesn’t deserve to have something as wonderful as a relationship with you.

Aizawa hates the fact that you make him this way, and while he tries to resist the descent of his feelings at first, he eventually just gives up. It hurts to not see you, to be away from you for long periods of time, so much so that he feels actual physical pain when he hasn’t laid eyes on you in the last twelve hours.

It makes his head spin to repress thoughts of you, feeling like he’s about to burst with every thought he shoves to the side, trying instead to focus on the book in his hands or the papers he’s grading.

He grows physical symptoms of heartbreak with every attempt to discard his feelings for you, and eventually he’ll stop trying.

There’s just something about you that he can’t let go of, no matter how badly he wants to be sane again, normal again - of course, he doesn’t blame you in the slightest; it’s not your fault that you render him a completely lovesick fool, that you inspire such intense need within his chest.

It’s not your fault he’s following you home every night, waiting and watching through your window as you wash your hair, cook yourself dinner, as you snuggle up in your warm bed that he’d give anything to be in with you.

It’s not your fault that he’s spending his every waking moment on either hero work or you, not willing to dismiss his hero duties but spending every waking moment he has free focused on you you you.

Aizawa has come to terms with the fact that his feelings for you likely make him a monster, that he’s no better than some petty criminal for stalking you, for obtaining every scrap of information he can get on you from public and not so public resources.

He’s disgusted with himself, if he’s being completely honest - it’s so fucking wrong for him to be so invested in you when it’s obvious you aren’t returning the weight of his feelings, though there’s a part of him desperately clutching onto the idea that you harbor some kind of romantic feelings for him, that you find him attractive or caring or strong.

(The thought of you complimenting him makes him uncomfortably mushy inside - it gets his cheeks reddening and his throat feeling scratchy, his palms growing wet and his weight shifting from one leg to another, your voice ringing in his head telling him he’s so handsome and strong, that he’s your dream man, that you’ve been dreaming of kissing you for so long, would you please?)

It’s so unfair that someone as kind, normal, innocent as you has to deal with someone waiting outside their window every night, hiding in the shadows and barely able to refrain from reaching a palm down to work at his trousers as he watches you writhe around on your bed, eyes squeezed closed while your thighs twitch as the vibrator between your fingers works its wonders.

It’s cruel irony that you have to worry about protecting yourself from him, the man who’s sworn to keep you safe for the rest of his life.

You make him a villain, really - and as much as it makes him hate himself even more, Aizawa knows that even as wrong as it is, he’ll never be able to stop. 

Protective

Although he seems apathetic and uncaring towards others and their well beings at first glance, Aizawa became a pro hero for a reason - not the fame or gold or glory, but rather because he genuinely wants to help others, to keep them safe.

And where you’re concerned, this natural drive is only increased astronomically, to the point where Aizawa is prioritizing your health and safety over everything else, everyone else, including himself.

He’d never be able to forgive himself if something were to happen to you, if he were to allow you to be injured, kidnapped, raped, or, heaven forbid, killed, and as a result he feels that he needs to keep an eye on you constantly, just in case some piece of shit decides to come along and test him.

He’s literally had nightmares about you being harmed by a villain; the image of you bloodied and battered, your lovely hair that has the most heavenly smell all roughed up, your eyes red, ugly bruises blooming across your delicate skin.

He always wakes those nights with a small scream, his heart pounding and tears running down his cheeks, if only because it feels so real, as if you were really in front of him crying and begging for him to save me, please please please Aizawa don’t let me die!

(He really can’t stop himself from heading to your home as quickly as possible those nights, his breathing rugged and uneven until he sees you sleeping peacefully through your window, safe and sound in your bed. He lets out a deep breath and lets a rare, oddly sincere smile creep across his lips, his thumb coming up to press against the window glass, slowly rubbing it along the material as if it were your cheek.)

Being so obsessed with your health is unhealthy and he knows it, but he really can’t stop himself - he’s making sure his patrol lines up perfectly with the times he knows you frequent the outside world, making sure the zones he’s supposed to be mostly in charge of always include your home, your workplace, anywhere you could be when he can’t keep an eye on you.

He can’t slack off on hero work even with his obsession growing stronger by the day, and so he enlists every possible resource to keep you safe and under constant surveillance.

He was nervous to do it at first, worried his longtime friend would call him out for his morally askew behavior, but Hizashi was more than happy to drop by your apartment every once in a while when long shifts or extensive teaching days keep Aizawa away from you.

(The blond was, of course, a bit shocked to hear that his best friend had found someone that got his heart racing, someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with - Aizawa’s words - but was more than eager to help out, willing to do pretty much anything to keep that smile on the man’s face.)

Aizawa, despite his conscious initially telling him not to, even ventures inside your home in the name of upkeep your safety, making sure to change your sheets or keep your refrigerator stocked with healthy, good foods.

(He’s especially concerned about your diet - he knows you eat like shit, and he absolutely cannot have you sustain a poor diet; you need to be eating a good balance of vegetables, protein and whole grains, and if you’re missing something? Well, having two jobs certainly comes in handy when he’s buying carts full of food at the grocery store for you, spending his hard earned money to make sure that you’re taken care of.)

He’s even going so far as to make sure that your feminine products you throw away in the small trash can in your bathroom are the right color, the right consistency, the right everything - your vaginal health is important, and he absolutely will bring your discarded tampon up to his nose, take a few deep whiffs, just to make sure everything is as it should be.

In all honesty, Aizawa is your guardian angel - you mean everything to him, and he genuinely believes that in return for being such an obsessed creep towards you, the least he can do is devote his time and energy into making sure that you’re as safe as can be.

So yes, he’s your guardian angel, but just remember - guardian angels see every little thing you do. 

Stalker

Aizawa swears it’s not out of any ill harm; he isn’t following you around town because he’s waiting to pounce, to hold a knife to your throat or to pin you against a dirty, damp alleyway wall and have his way with you.

He’s not laying in wait to catch you vulnerable or alone, holding ill intent and wanting to use you for some sick fantasy of his.

(At least, not the kind that most men who follow women have - there’s much less screaming in his fantasies, or at least screaming from terror and pain.)

He’d never hurt you like that - you’re too precious to him, too literally the purpose of his entire existence for him to ever consider doing something to you out of ill intent.

He’s only stalking you because he needs to make sure you’re safe, because he knows that without him being constantly vigilant when it comes to your safety and presence, you’d likely be dead.

There’s all kinds of despicable people in this world, people that would take one look at you and decide you’re their next victim, the next pretty little thing that needs to be tainted, destroyed and used in order to prove a point.

And really, that’s Aizawa’s nightmare - so when he’s trailing behind you on the busy streets of Musutafu, the night air nipping at his lungs while he shoves his face further into his scarf, his hands clenched in fists in his pant pockets, just know that no, the man following your every step won’t so much as lay a finger on you.

It’s likely that you’ll never even notice him, that you won’t ever be aware that a grown man has been stalking you for months - he’s just too good at staying in the shadows, at making sure that his presence goes unnoticed by you.

He’s light on his feet, silent and quick, able to keep those dark eyes fixed on your figure but staying perfectly out of sight, almost as if he was simply made to watch you, as if it’s his sole purpose to look out for you without you ever knowing.

And frankly, Aizawa is beyond grateful that you’ve never noticed him; he doesn’t know how he’d ever be able to man up to the fact that yes, he knows exactly how you look when you’re peacefully sleeping without a care in the world, that he knows the way you talk to yourself more when you think you’re alone, that he knows what you look like as you cry out incoherently, eyebrows drawn taught as your body convulses from the pleasure you’re giving yourself.

He won’t ever deny it, as lying about it would be another level of wrong that Aizawa, even as morally compromised as you make him, will never be, but he won’t openly admit it either.

It would be too embarrassing, too mortifying and heartbreaking to see the way your eyes would get all glassy and big, fear setting into your expression as you back away from him, on the verge of tears as you tell him to get away from me, please!

He doesn’t think he could take it; your blatant rejection of him, of everything he does for you - it would destroy him, send him even further into his shell, even more withdrawn.

So really, as you live ignorant of the fact that a pair of warm, chocolate orbs are staring at you from the corner of your window as you work on yet another dull project your boss is forcing you into, just know that Aizawa isn’t especially proud.

He’s not proud of the way his heart nearly beats out of his chest when you look out the window, when the fear that you’ve finally caught him rolls through him.

He’s not proud of the way his breath hitches when he sees you humming and gliding across your kitchen, hands flying as you make yourself dinner, his imagination all too easily conjuring up the image of you in a little apron, making two portions, setting the table and calling out to him that dinner’s ready, Aizawa!

He isn’t proud that it helps him sleep to watch you fall asleep, your cute little face nearly obscured by all those sheets and blankets you pull up in the winter, the way your expression melts into pure relaxation and calmness as you drift into slumber making him relax too, making him imagine the way it would feel for you to fall asleep in his arms.

He’s not proud of the way his eyes grow wide, a violent flush spreading across his cheeks as he watches the way you grind your hips against the toy, your lip caught between your teeth as you shake and tremble and spasm, his own cock straining desperately against his pants.

He’s not proud of any of it, but he’ll endure it. Really, he’ll endure fucking anything for you, just to see that perfect smile of yours, the one that makes him think that maybe, just maybe, becoming the lovesick, disgusting monster he is now was all worth it. 

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

In all honesty, jealousy isn’t something that Aizawa has to deal with that much; of course, he doesn’t like when guys come up to you, when they talk to you and put their filthy hands on your shoulders, over your own hand, or even on your waist if they’re feeling brave enough, but generally he won’t directly intervene.

He knows you don’t belong to him, that he has no real say in what you can or can’t do at this point, but he can’t deny the way utter and complete terror courses through him at the prospect that the man smiling at you so incessantly could be a villain, a thug just waiting to get you vulnerable and ready to be taken advantage of.

His protectiveness over you is quite honestly overwhelming – he’s so concerned for your safety, hyper fixating on your wellbeing so much that it forces him to neglect his own self-care even more, until every ounce of energy outside of patrol times is spent completely on you.

Every free moment is spent watching your every move, keeping an eye on you from the shadows with the excuse that he’s just preemptively keeping you safe.

Every moment is spent caring for you so that nothing can possibly hurt you, his mind constantly whirring so that nothing could lay a single finger on you with ill intent.

It’s like an itch that he can’t scratch - there’s this feeling of bubbling rage below the surface, eating away at him as he watches with narrowed dark eyes at the way you awkwardly laugh while the man who bumped into you in the coffee shop apologizes, making some lame pick up line that has Aizawa’s fist clenching in anger.

How fucking dare that man try and touch you?

Like you’re some common, average person, like you aren’t the literal light of Aizawa’s life?

He’s pissed, and while jealousy isn’t the primary feeling rushing through his veins (that spot is taken by anger, followed very closely by fear for your well being), he can’t just let the man get away with something so blatantly wrong, something that really should require the Erasure hero’s attention - so, while he isn’t proud, Aizawa does what he has to do in order to make sure you’re completely out of harm’s way. 

He’s always hated it when you walked while looking at your phone – too many opportunities for you to get hurt, to stumble and fall, to run into something, to just be generally unaware of your surroundings.

It makes him yearn to yank the stupid little screen out of your hands, to tuck you under his arm and escort you wherever you need to go – you should be headed to the supermarket, according to the schedule he’s memorized.

He’ll watch you buy a few vegetables, followed by much too many sweets, carbs, things he knows you know better than to eat, and yet you still do. He’s watching from the alleyway, the dark shadows letting him hide as his eyes stay fixed on your figure, unwilling to let you out of his sight for even a second.

His work as an underground hero has never come more in handy than when he’s following you, keeping a safe distance to make sure that you don’t notice him, but his cover is threatened to blow up the second he notices that man eyeing you up, the smirk crossing onto his features making Aizawa’s blood boil.

He’s on the other side of the street, this man, dressed head to toe in an outfit that immediately screams danger to Aizawa; a pressed dress shirt with a rather boring red tie, black slacks and scuffed up dress shoes, with way too much gel in his hair.

The briefcase in his hand bobs a bit as he adjusts his grip, gaze visibly traveling up and down your form as you cross the crosswalk.

Aizawa’s gripping at his scarf tightly, knuckles turning white from the force, the sense of impending doom slowly eating away at him.

And yet, he knows he can’t do anything until the man does something - until eh approaches you, until he touches you or insults you or hurts you -

The hero’s teeth are clenched, eyes narrowed, and he watches with baited breath as the man crosses the street (jaywalking, a crime that Aizawa could, technically, bust him for, but that would cause issues with local police and not be worth the hassle, even if it would get the man away from you), practically swaggering up to you with a smarmy smirk spread across his thin lips.

You still haven’t noticed him yet, eyes still glued to your phone, and for a moment the man seems discouraged that you haven’t noticed the way he’s fallen in step with you, roughly two feet away from your form.

He clears his throat and you peek at him from the side of your eyes, face visibly confused at why this stranger is looking at you.

He opens his mouth, some variation of hey cutie falling past his lips, and Aizawa sucks in a breath in both anger and worry. Would you like this man? Would you like his smooth confidence, the fact that he looks like he works in a bank, that he’s wearing enough cologne for Aizawa to smell ten feet away?

It’s insecurity and he knows it, a stupid voice in the back of his head, and yet he can’t help himself - which is why he suddenly feels like he can breath when you grimace and look back at your phone, walking a bit faster to get away from the man.

You don’t want him. Good.

Aizawa takes a moment to mentally praise you, happy that you’re standing up for yourself, before following even closer, watching to see what this creep will do next.

The man doesn’t take your obvious dismissal kindly, his face contorting into something ugly, and he angrily adjusts his tie.

Hey bitch, he growls, getting even closer to you, aren’t you a little too ugly to be so damn uptight?

And suddenly Aizawa’s seeing red, swooping in before he can even think.

His hands are on the man’s shoulder in seconds, pushing him to the side and staring with dark, enraged eyes that get the stranger staggering back, a small prick of fear dancing in his posture. Harassing women is a crime, you know.

Aizawa starts, and at this point you’ve turned around, watching with wide eyes as your friend (a loose term, but one you like to employ for your relationship with the dark haired hero) stares down the creep.

For a moment you’re confused, distantly wondering how and why Aizawa is here, but as the man scoffs and spits at the ground, muttering a damn heroes under his breath, the thought dies quickly.

Aizawa watches as the man turns around and stomps off, the weight of his gaze causing the man to quicken his pace, and after he’s a good thirty feet away, he merely sighs, his scarf coming back down around his shoulders as he turns to you.

He asks if you’re okay, and you blink but nod, smiling a bit at him and pocketing your phone.

Yeah, I’m good… thanks, Shouta.

He stiffens a bit at his name, swallowing harshly before nodding. He’s about to leave (retreating to the shadows, like always), but your voice stops him.

Since you’re my knight in shining armor, can I repay you with some tea or coffee?

A small dusting of pink settles across the bridge of his nose at your words, and before he can even think he’s muttering an agreement, letting you lead him to some coffee shop nearby that he knows you frequent.

He knows your order, even mouthing the words to himself as you tell the cashier, but when you sit down and tell him about your day in the cozy, dimly lit shop, Aizawa finds himself sighing, deciding that maybe he doesn’t need to chase down and intimidate that creep after all .

Or, at least, it can wait until you finish telling him about work yesterday.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Because of Aizawa’s lucidity in terms of his feelings for you, kidnapping you is something that is absolutely the very last resort for him, only something he would do if there was absolutely no other possible option, no other choice that wouldn’t result in your death or severe injury.

The idea of doing something without your consent like that - forcing you to essentially end the life you’re currently living in favor of being trapped in his home - is something that doesn’t settle quite right in his stomach.

He would never be able to forgive himself if he were to take you away, and he could never even try to pretend that what he’s done is right, moral, heroic.

That said, Aizawa lets his paranoia regarding you get the better of him all to often, and so under the right circumstances, Aizawa could feel backed into a corner, where the only possible option is to indeed steal you away.

He’ll be desperately searching for any other option, hating himself as the idea stands alone as the only choice, but when the villain in front of him has you gagged and trapped in his arms with a gun pointed out towards the ebony haired man, he’ll start panicking.

And when the scum holding you says how he managed to find out that you were the famous Eraserhead’s weakness, his blood goes cold.

His fingers itch to move when the man says that he’d seen him spend all those hours stalking you, watching you endlessly, that he’d told his subordinates, that even if Aizawa kills him now, they’ll keep coming until they kill you.

There’s nothing more I can do, he’ll tell himself as he disarms the villain and knocks him unconscious, watching as you look at him in fear and try to run away after the news of him stalking you comes to light.

And really, it kills Aizawa to see you looking so terrified, flinching and screaming as he wraps you in his scarf and carries you bridal style through the dark, cold city streets, but he’s resigned to the fact that while you may hate your new life and him, you’ll be better off under his care rather than still out in the real world, where villains would keep coming and never stopping until you’re splattered brains on a sidewalk. 

Aizawa is arguably the best captor to have in the entirety of the My Hero Academia universe - he’s so painfully aware of how wrong it is to have you locked in his apartment, how evil it is to make you stay so completely dependent on him, and as a result he tries his absolute best to respect you as much as he can.

He’s given you an entire room to yourself, setting you up with as many things as he can recover from your old room, the things he’s seen you use most.

Your same bed will be there, along with the sheets, pillows and blankets intact and neatly arranged for your comfort.

All of the clothes he could fit in the closet are also present, along with a chest of drawers for your more… intimate items.

He’s got your favorite foods (his own healthier options are there, too - because even though the guilt he feels is overwhelming now, he still won’t have your health deteriorate), and while it absolutely kills him to give you the ability to access things like knives, razors, sharp and dangerous tools, he’s begrudgingly letting you.

(At least, until the first time you hurt yourself, in which case he will revoke that privilege in a heartbeat.)

It’s all in an effort to get you hating him less, to make you as happy as you possibly can be, because at the end of the day Aizawa truly, truly loves you.

You’re wonderful to him, a motivation to keep risking his life and teaching younger generations, a motivation to keep living, now that he has someone to live for.

He’s generally pretty respectful of your rights and desires (aside from the fact that you can’t walk out the front door, of course), but the kind, lenient captor you get when you first wake up in his modest, fairly clean apartment is not who you’ll continue to see if you begin being ungrateful, begin throwing tantrums and acting out as a means to anger him or rile him up.

Of course, he doesn’t blame you for being scared the first few weeks, for having a few breakdowns here and there because for fuck’s sake he kidnapped you – he’d be more worried if you didn’t freak out, but at a certain point the hero will begin to grow tired of your outbursts, disappointed in your childish behavior for something that he’s said time and time again won’t be changing.

Years of teaching has molded Aizawa into someone who is ruthlessly able to correct poor behavior, to instill a sense of fear that forces others to stop making stupid decisions.

And where you’re concerned, these natural traits shine brightly - the minute you start swinging at him, hissing and calling him such terrible names, his mouth is pressing into a thin line, his brows drawn taught as he stares at you, waiting for you to apologize and stop acting like such a brat.

He’s a forgiving captor, as long as you don’t cause any trouble - he only took you to keep you safe, and he won’t have you undermining his efforts by being reckless and childish once you’re trapped with him.

He feels guilty, but only to a certain extent - you’re a grown woman, and while Aizawa often treats you as if you were no more than a toddler, he expects you to act your age.

And, quite honestly, as selfish as it is, there’s a part of Aizawa that is devastated beyond words when you repeatedly refuse him, when you reject his kind words and gifts, when you tell him he’s a monster, a disgusting excuse for a hero, because hasn’t he spent the last few weeks giving you space, cooking you your favorite meals, having the patience of a goddamn saint?

Why are you being so ungrateful?

Does he not do enough for you?

Maybe he’ll have to start spoiling you more, making you happier, getting you more of those stupid plushies or your favorite movies -  anything to get you to look at him and smile.

Anything to get you looking at him with love, with joy or longing because god does he love your smile and god is he desperate to see you laugh and tell him you love him and please please please he needs you to love him so fucking bad please -

So really, just be his good girl, because that’s all Aizawa wants. 

PUNISHMENTS:

In all honesty, punishing you is something Aizawa fucking hates.

He derives no pleasure out of mocking you, out of making you purposefully miserable and seeing your teary, pained face – if anything, it’s something he actively tries to avoid, his poor heart clenching so harshly in his chest at the sight that he physically winces and grasps at the area.

He doesn’t like making you upset or any other negative emotion, but while this desire to keep you safe and happy and smiling is strong, it’s outweighed by the desire to keep you in line every single time.

It’s natural, in a way, for him to be discipling you – it’s his job, and while he very much doesn’t think of you like his students, some of the habits he’s acquired over the years die hard.

(Aizawa wants to throw up at the mere mention of doing the things he wants to do to you with anyone else – he most certainly does not want to pin anyone but you down and fuck them until they’re crying or eat them out until they’re a squirting, incoherent mess, or stuffing them to the brim with his cum, so much so that they’re leaking it out and making a sticky mess between their thighs. No one but you.)

And so, while he does genuinely wish for you to grow to love him, he knows that he needs to present himself as the dominant one in the relationship, the one whose word is law – and if doing so means making you cry or be even more afraid of him, he’ll begrudgingly do so.

He hates every moment of it, but he knows it’ll be worth it once you finally decide to stop ramming yourself at the front door in efforts of bringing it down, that you’ll finally stop digging around for the bottles of sleeping pills you know Aizawa keeps hidden around for nights when the guilt and stress of kidnapping you and being a hero eat him alive.

He just wants you to behave, and in all honesty it isn’t even you behaving for him – it’s for you, so that you stay safe and healthy and pristine, the exact reasoning behind why he stole you away in the first place.

He’s conditioning you to stay unharmed, and while you may not see it that way now (the crying and screaming about how he’s a sick monster, a fucking perverted freak who belongs rotting behind bars tell him everything he needs to know about your feelings on the matter), Aizawa is sure that with time you’ll eventually mellow out, that one day you might even come to understand why he’s so fiercely protective over you and so quick to punish you where you’re wrong – it’s out of love.

Even if it’s twisted, obsessive, wrong, it’s still love, something Aizawa never wants to let go of.

With that being said, Aizawa still absolutely refuses to physically harm you.

His whole reasoning for stealing you away, for plucking you up and out of your old life to stay with him irrevocably was all based upon the premise of keeping you safe, of making sure that you never lay victim to an accident, a villain, or even your own stupid decisions.

Aizawa wants you to be completely protected, and even the thought of raising a hand to you makes him wince, the idea bringing a sharp pain in his chest.

And so, he resorts to other methods to make sure that you understand what the exact behavior he’s trying to correct is – that is, relying on methods that are a bit more psychological.

He doesn’t manipulate you, as lying to you and twisting around your understanding of the world seems downright cruel to the underground hero.

The last thing he wants is for you to lose any sense of trust in him you may still be clinging to, and for the most part he wants you to remain yourself, unchanged and perfect and so very wonderful.

He fell in love with you, after all, and he has no sick fantasies of changing you, or molding you into another version of yourself. But when you’re crying and punching your already bruised and bloodied knuckles against the non-shattering, one way glass of the window in your bedroom, Aizawa knows that he needs to take action.

And so, the tray of food he’d brought for you (a can of warm soup, a glass of water and some crackers, as he knew your throat was still a bit sore from all the crying you’d done the day earlier) gets set down on your dresser, the dark haired man sighing with a small, genuine frown as he carefully walks behind you, wrapping his arms around you and demobilizing you while you thrash and kick around, yelling and cursing at him to let me go, fucking let me leave you sick fuck!

The words sting, his normally dry eyes feeling a bit damp at the way your insults seem to stab and poke at his heart, but it doesn’t stop him from carrying you down to the basement, the dark and cold area having quickly become one of your least favorite, most nightmarish locations.

Immediately you’re freezing up, realizing what’s about to happen, and though the compliments and sugar coated lies of how you’re so sorry, I don’t know what got into me, I promise I didn’t mean it! are nice to hear (and, if he tries hard enough, he can almost believe them), he can’t let himself falter now, lest you figure out his weakness when it comes to you and exploit it.

No, instead he’s setting his jaw, dark hair falling forward to hide his face as he carefully sets you onto the ground, watching as you reach out and clutch onto his pant leg, fingers trembling while you sob about how you don’t want to be left down here again, in the dark and cold and dirt, but Aizawa is merely staring down at you, before crouching down and running a thumb along your cheekbone.

You have to understand that your actions have consequences, (f/n). I’m not doing this for fun, I’m doing this so that you realize that you’re only hurting yourself when you act out like a child. I’ll be back soon, just wait patiently. Maybe next time you won’t be so quick to be such a brat.

And with that, he’s up and shutting the door behind him, the resounding click of the lock filling the empty space as the darkness hangs over you, the cold seeping into every inch of your body.

It’s a long two days – a small glass of water and a single apple slice is sent to you daily, no light or contact with anyone at all, not even Aizawa himself.

It’s just you and the grimy, slightly moist ground of the basement, time seeming to last forever as you wait and wait for him to eventually return.

And when he does, immediately you’re upon him, apologizing and crying and promising that you’ll never do anything bad again, just please please please never put me back down here, I’ll do anything, anything at all!

And while it’s a bit pathetic to see you groveling and crying so shamelessly, Aizawa only pulls you into his chest, soothing you and running his hand along the back of your head in comforting motions.

You’ll be treated like a princess for the rest of the day – the warmth, food and attention that your captor gives you suddenly feels like the most heavenly thing, as if you’d never been happier, as if Aizawa was the only one who could give you this intense of a relief and relaxation.

He isn’t especially proud of his methods, but as you start calming down, acting out less and less, he can’t pretend to not be pleased with the results – after all, he just wants to get to the point of you being somewhat happy, of you not wanting to kill yourself and him every moment of every day.

Progress is slow, but for you, Aizawa is nothing if not patient.

OVERALL DANGER:

5/10

In all honesty, Aizawa is a pretty mild yandere – he has no intentions of hurting you or imprisoning you unless necessary, and he has no delusions about the moral misguidance of his feelings for you.

He knows the way he loves you is fucked up, that how he expresses his emotions for you is questionable at best, and while he hates himself for it he just can’t stop. You’re too important to him, you mean too much.

You make him too happy, make him feel warm and fuzzy, this swollen feeling in his chest that makes his muscles relax, his eyelids get heavy, his arms feeling empty without you in them.

Because of you, he suddenly doesn’t feel so detached and bitter - like a whole new man, he could even say.

It’s pathetic and he feels like some creepy, villainous freak because of it, but he can’t help himself from watching you, from looking out for you at every turn.

Your biggest obstacle with Aizawa will be his overprotectiveness – his sole purpose in life becomes keeping you safe, dedicating as much of his time as he can to making sure not a single scratch befalls your pretty, perfect body, that not a single hair on your head is so much as touched by someone with any hint of an ill intent.

He’s maniacal in his dedication to your safety and health, and while stealing you away isn’t something he particularly wants to do, at least under his care you won’t be physically harmed.

You’ll be given space for the most part, and a general sense of peace because god, Aizawa would do anything and everything in order to keep you smiling, to keep you happy and healthy and so very radiant.

He loves you, and while he hates himself for it, he knows that he’ll never stop loving you.

[depravitycentral]

BNHA Masterlist

Quick reminder that all my content is yandere, so please proceed with caution! Themes including (but not limited to) violence, kidnapping, non-con, stalking, etc are found in the links below! Please be responsible; no one can police your internet intake but yourself.

ENJI TODOROKI

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HIZASHI YAMADA

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KEIGO TAKAMI

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RUMI USAGIYAMA

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SHOUTA AIZAWA

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NSFW profile

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TAISHIRO TOYOMITSU

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TOSHINORI YAGI

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CHIZOME AGAKURO

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DABI/TOUYA TODOROKI

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JIN BUBAIGAWARA

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KAI CHISAKI

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You're on your period

SHUICHI IGUCHI

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TOMURA SHIGARAKI

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Thirsts/miscellaneous