#shouta aizawa imagine

[juviabrainrot]

IT'S BABY SEASON !

PAIRINGS... k.bakugo, i.midoriya, d.kaminari, s.aizawa

a/n: should i be doing requests for my event? yes. do i feel like doing them? no. did this randomly pop into my brain and give me the boost i needed? yes. also FINALLY doing smth for aizawa omfg guys i don't think u understand how bad i need that man.

k.bakugo

i.midoriya

d.kaminari

s.aizawa

©juviabrainrot - please do not copy/repost any of my work on any platform <3

[sugarwarachan]

aizawa shouta: A—Z nsfw headcanons

andy's notes: here's to my favorite super-sleepy hero, and to the people on this app who are as obsessed with him as i am.

cws: smut nsfw, 18+, many many warnings lmao but some highlights: breeding, oral (f and m receiving), dirty talk, brat taming, dom/sub, masturbation, sex toys, Daddy/sir kink

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

One of the best at aftercare in terms of emotional check-ins. He’s rerouting your synapses every time you fuck, so he makes sure to bring you back down to earth gently. He always confirms with you that you liked everything (and if you didn’t, what to do next time) while holding you close and playing with your hair.

B = Body part (favorite body part, their own or their lover’s)

Ass. Man. 👏 Loves smacking it, laying on it, watching it jiggle when you walk or popped high in the air when you suck his cock.

On him? Probably his hands (mostly because you won’t stop drooling over them and begging him to choke off your air supply).

C = Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Big ol' breeding kink for this man, so expect him to cum inside you CONSTANTLY. He's also not big on masturbating, so when he cums, he cums a LOT.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory)

Loves to cum on your face. A part of him feels guilty, but the primal side of him wins out every time he sees his creamy seed all over your pretty lips.

E = Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

I don’t see him as much of a one-night stand kind of guy, but he’s had a few serious partners and learned what he likes.

F = Favorite position

Doggy or missionary. (He’s an old man and he likes what he likes.)

Doggy because he likes to manhandle your hips and ass while he's grunting into your cunt.

Missionary for the intimacy and the eye contact. He loves to say the nastiest shit while you looking you right in the eye.

G = Goofy (how serious are they)

He’s not cracking jokes by any means, but he loves to tease you and make you blush.

H = Hair (grooming habits)

Y'all, this dude is a MAN. Constant five-o-clock shadow that scratches at your inner thighs until he grows it out enough to be soft. Dark hair on his chest that tapers down to the yummiest happy trail. Well-maintained pubic hair. If he’s not dating someone, he’ll let it get a little crazy, but cleans it up as soon as he has someone.

I = Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

He’s a mixture of both, and you never know what you’re gonna get *faints* You'll be in the middle of the filthiest fuck of your life, and Aizawa will randomly start telling you how beautiful you are and how much he wants to marry you.

J = Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

I don’t know why, but I do not see this man masturbating unless he’s as down bad as he can go. Like he feels insane because he’s twisting his cock like a teenager over you.

K = Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

I think he’s experimental and willing to discover kinks with you BUT his main ones: breeding, breath play, edging/overstimulation, brat taming, D/s, daddy/sir kink, somnophilia

L = Location (where they like to get it on)

Prefers to fuck you somewhere private.

Within your own home, though, any room is fair game. If he had to pick, he would say the bedroom first (he's a romantic), and the kitchen second (because of how many times he’s eaten you out on the counter).

M = Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

Intelligence/competency. If you're really good at your job/super knowledgeable about a subject, he's grabbing the back of your neck and dragging you off to the bedroom.

Otherwise, he’s a pretty simple guy: lingerie, red lipstick, his old shirt... doesn't matter. He’s into YOU.

N = No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

Don’t really see him being into pegging. no matter how much I might want this

O = Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

He’s a giver!! Loves nothing more than making you go dumb on his tongue over and over again. He’s patient, too, so he always winds you up to the edge and holds you there until you’re wailing at him to let you cum.

When you return the favor, he’s the most appreciative motherfucker on earth. Raining praise on you about how well you suck his cock.

P = Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

Strong, measured strokes. He doesn’t like to go fast unless he’s worked you up and you’re begging him to.

Q = Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

He doesn’t hate quickies but he certainly doesn’t love them.

R = Risk (do they like to try new things)

Depends on his partner. If you want to try new things, he's happy to oblige. But I don't think he would be disappointed if you weren't naturally willing to take risks or try new things all the time.

S = Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

Okay, I love him, but he is tired. I think on a good day, he can do two or three rounds if you give him some time to recover, but he usually prefers one long session and a long cuddle after.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

Definitely the type to see sex toys as an important addition to the bedroom and not as competition.

however

Say he's out on a mission and specifically tells you not to use your vibrator until he gets home... and you ignore that? expect to be denied your orgasm for hours

U = Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

Literally all he has to do is rest his hand on your lower back and whisper into your ear that he wants to go home and you're ready for him.

V = Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

King of talking you through it. Once he finds out you like his voice, he uses it to his advantage (see above lmao). Can get you wet just by saying a few key phrases. Tends to grunt and groan during the act itself. Whimpers only when he’s really sensitive and you suckle the tip of his cock.

W = Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

Maybe this is just me projecting, but CNC 🤭

X = X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

7 inches and girthy. Like you need prep every time kind of girthy. Nice little curve to the tip. Uncut.

Y = Yearning (sex drive level)

When he’s not in a relationship, it's almost nonexistent. The man has a lot of shit on his plate!

When he's in a relationship, though, his sex drive slowly builds back up and when you’re alone together, he's almost always touching you.

Z = Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

He’s a tired man!!! He always makes sure you’re comfy and taken care of before he drops off, but once he does, he’s OUT.

2025 © all works belong to @sugarwarachan. do not repost, translate, or steal any of my works pls. reblogs and comments always appreciated <3 If you'd like to be added to my general taglist, let me know bbys!!

taglist: @cielito--lindo, @one-scarred-mofo, @uekarashi

[tired-teacher-blog]

Aizawa teaches you how he likes it..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[dabisbratz]

𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

warning: dbf!shouta, age gap, (sho in his early 40s, reader is 23), bottom!reader, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, feminization, mentions of gettin ‘knocked up’ regardless of anatomy, sneaking around, creampie, unprotected sex ( wear condoms ! ), praise/degradation, brat!reader, jealousy, mutual teasing, reader has an oral fixation, improper use of lollipops, mentions of exhibitionism, blowjobs, cumming untouched/hands free orgasm, ‘ taboo ’

sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! she’s all done !! ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝T ˘ T⸝⸝꒱ྀི১ ♡ m’a lil rusty, forgive me !!

You’re back home for the summer.

Well— not entirely. You’re back at your family’s summer house for the season. Gifted from your grandparents, it teeters at the beginning of a beach, crystal sands and clear, blue waters that stretch out into the horizon. You’ve been looking forward to it since you’d graduated, even if it did come with a set of overbearing parents and a sinful amount of sunscreen.

The air is hot and thick, sticking uncomfortably to your skin through the windshield as you watch an everlasting stretch of greenery and trees pass you by. The road has stretched on for miles, every upcoming exit and street sign blending into one as each hour passes by. You’ve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But it’s the trip you enjoy more than the destination. Traffic and all, you prefer it over the muggy air and parental scolding. Though, the beach is nice. . .

“You’re sure you’re taking the right route?” It’s your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. You’re sure she’d smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but she’s not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this for years,” You have— it’s true. Though you’re only twenty-two, you’d driven this distance since you’d left for college. There’s a sound akin to the sucking of teeth through the radio, and you have half the mind to turn around and restart your road-trip all over again.

“Why’s there so much attitude in your voice?” Her cheerful, smiley voice suddenly sounds much more shrill, to your chagrin. You thrum your fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, biting back a long, drawn out groan.

“There isn’t any,” Gravel crackles under the weight of your rubber-tire car, snapping and popping into the air as it makes a smooth halt into the driveway. Shifting gears to park, the radio switches off with the twist of your keys. And, perhaps with more force than necessary, you’re slamming the door to your car and face to face with your mother. Her phone is still in hand, eyebrows pinched at the thought of her very own son hanging up on her. “. . . attitude, Ma.”

She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood ‘home.’ It’s almost exactly like you’d left it— save for a few recent porch decorations and repainted walls. You hope the years have been kind to it, with the irregular weather and constant pipe problems. Floorboards creak under your weight, welcoming you home after a few long years of studies. There’s an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but there’s already so much to take in.

The air is fresh and salty, hints of beachy winds flowing upstream through the doorway. It smells like home, and looks like it too, as you situate your small duffel bag by the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Your room. You hadn’t packed much— there was still a dresser overflowing with old clothes in your bedroom, after all. And now that you think about it, you should probably change into something more fitting for the weather.

“I know you just got here,” The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. “But could you bring these out to your father?” She’s holding a tray of decorative glasses— or at least, you’d always thought they were— full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipops— one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone, with the way she’s put so much effort into the drink’s presentation.

Your lips curl to form a playful ‘no’, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffs— as if she already knows what you’re about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, “Let me change first.”

In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasn’t a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectly— before your growth spurt— are now much too short, like they’ve been tossed around in the laundry one too many times. You feel almost naked, moving the pink hem down with the shake of your legs.

Your mother insists they look just fine, a dramatic downturn to her lips as she rambles on and on about how fast her boy has grown up. Still, as you walk through the sliding glass doors parallel to the open patio, the sunlight bathing your legs does nothing but make you feel stuck under a rapidly growing spotlight.

It all clicks as you walk outside— the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone she’s trying to impress, someone other than your father. Maybe both of them. On a good day.

Wiping the bead of sweat from your brow, your eyes squint at the man in front of you. Around your dad’s age— maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. There’s age in his face, and worry between his brows as if he’d spent most of his youth grimacing. His hair is long and black like charcoal, save for a few streaks of gray and a salt and pepper ensemble of stubble littering his chin and jaw. Two scars— forming a cross of sorts, one beneath his right eye, horizontal and thin. But the other is much longer, starting below his brow and ending at his cheekbone. It draws your eyes to a milky gray iris— heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. It’s pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.

His silhouette— tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. He’s standing in the way of the sun, and yet, it peeks through his long hair in small, short leaks. And, surprisingly, his waist is small in his black tank top. If you feel hot he must be scorching, draped in black— down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His hands— they’re big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.

And— right, you’re here to help, not gawk. But you can’t help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. He’s like sex on legs, and if you can squint enough to get the sun out your eyes, you swear you can see the imprint of his cock through his black shorts.

“Uh,” You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray you’re holding is weightless. “Ma made these. I’m supposed to help. . . or something. . .”

“Or something.” The man echoes, but it’s quiet and you barely catch it. His voice is deep, way deeper than your own, rumbling in your ears and smooth like butter. Almost husky, with a dark edge to it as flames roar in his face. But it makes your father laugh, hearty and jubilant as he bounces over to where you stand. He gives you a small pat on the back as a greeting, ushering out a small, “son.”

The heat emitting off the grill is enough to make a grown man cry, but neither of you wince when you walk by it. Cold glasses of lemonade are handed out, fingers imprinted on cold condensation painting the surfaces of each glass as they’re passed around— one for you, one for your dad, another for him. You watch rivulets of water drip from his fingertips, down his wrist, past the collection of veins adorning his forearm.

“Mr. Aizawa,” There’s a beat of silence, but it’s quickly filled once you’ve been introduced. “World’s cruelest teacher.”

“Shouta Aizawa.” Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where he’d touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that he’s accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.

“An old friend of mine, we go way back.” Your parents have an odd habit of rambling, it seems, because you and the handsome stranger make exasperated eye contact as your dad begins to reminisce on old memories. “You met him a few times— remember? He’ll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?” His gaze seems to dip for a moment, down your lips and straight to the extra exposed skin of your thighs, then settle back to the ocean before you can comment.

But those five minutes must start now, because after a firm squeeze to your shoulder your father heads inside, leaving you alone with his. . . friend. He’s awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shut— occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s obvious you’re staring, maybe a bit too hard, but he’s the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.

And maybe it’s wrong to think this way— but he’s hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.

“So you’re staying with us, huh?” You eye the juicy meat he’s been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. It’s rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding and— you can’t help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?

“Don’t make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.” It’s not entirely clear if he’s serious or not, but he’s certainly assertive. Like a firm, guiding hand placed at the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, but before you can ask what he means, it clicks. You’d said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesn’t seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.

“You’re not strange.” Is what you conclude, slamming the tray down hard enough to rattle its contents, and the man notes your lack of regard. Even with a slight spill you don’t bother to clean, you’re already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentioned— but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. There’s an arrangement of seashells hidden beneath the coarse mounds of the glimmering seaside. Different sizes and colors, different textures and shapes. Where some would scrape the soles of your feet, others would glide across them. But as a kid you’d liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though you’re much older now, you’re not afraid to say you miss it.

“But I’m old?” Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. There’s a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.

“Yeah. Old enough.” Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skillet— just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?

There’s a divot where the tightness of your shorts dip into your skin, pressing against the plush skin of your ass whenever you bend over. Even as you’re upright, Shouta can’t stand to look for too long— you’re a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and round— shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious you’re not wearing anything underneath.

He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, that’s not right, you’re simply just minding your own.

“Ugh!” You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa can’t help but watch you scramble in the sand, presumably after whatever sea-creature that had the pleasure to pinch you right on the finger. But you seem happy once it’s retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, you’re not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. He’s always known them to be dramatics.

Still, he has half the mind to drag you over by your ankle, or maybe to press your handsome face into the sand while he fucks you from behind. Ever since you’d brought out that damned lemonade— tugging on the hem of the fabric as if you’d suddenly grown conscious of just how short they were— he’d been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friend’s son, his presumed pride and joy.

He’s fucked.

From where he stands, slightly elevated, he can see the bulge of the sweet protruding from your cheeks, stuck afore your teeth. Cute, as it swishes from side to side, stuck in your mouth as your occupied fingers caress the diaphanous shell in the palm of your hand. Your lips move, puckered, around the sucker, curled and glossy with molten sugar— it’s hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesn’t think he’d be able to listen anyway.

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

Shouta learns this at dinner, the day’s hard work shared on plastic platters and glass

bottles in the middle of the beach. There’s a roaring flame between the four of you, it casts golden embers along your skin every so often, crackling into the air. Cicadas chirp with the night’s welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.

You’re all sipping on beers, some more than others, but it’s enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. He’s not incoherent, he never is. If anything he’s observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this evening’s lollipop, it seems, as you have it situated between your fingers like a cigarette. Sometimes your grip around it tightens, like when your mother wraps her hand around his bicep, squeezing the flesh in small, sporadic rounds. And though neither of you want to say it, let alone think it— you’re jealous. That’s the second thing.

Even with Shouta’s knee brushing against your own, you can’t help it. He’s so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner that’s almost electrifying. You want it all to yourself, to suffocate in his heat and capable hands.

You zone out of the conversation, blinking at the fire with reserved eyes until a thick screwer pokes at the flesh of your shoulder, leaving behind a tiny dimple. Jet black hair invades your vision for a moment, smelling of faint seasalt and warm cologne, until you turn, “What?”

“You want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?” Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. It’s tossed to you in a flash, to which you catch, but not before stealing a glance at the man beside you. His jaw sets, poking out from the mass of stubble. Like she’d stolen a precious moment away.

“Right,” You mumble, stabbing the skewer through the excessive amount of sugar. The stick hovers above the fire, the sweet melting to a crisp, flaky brown. Sticky and gooey, it slowly begins to lose its form. Through all the conversation you can’t help but glance at the older man to your left, taking in the glow of yellow and orange caressing his tan skin. His silhouette is bold and broad, legs spread wide as he sits on a thick log. What was once brown turns a deep, dark charcoal. “Oh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.”

You’re not supposed to swear in front of your parents— Aizawa’s paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesn’t quite get. Either way, your expression. . . it’s sickeningly cute. It’s cute to watch you fumble. With lips pursed into a tight line, cheeks bitten and eyebrows pinched with apology despite how obviously uncomfortable you are with the piping, burnt sugar spreading along your tongue.

His heart could almost burst.

“You’re fine, kid.” Shouta’s voice is a gentle whisper, airy like the waves brushing against the shore. With his eyes caught on the sticky white lingering on your cheek, he's desperately aware you’re not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like they’re something else. He’s never been one for dirty jokes or subtle innuendos but. . . yeah, this is doing something to him. His fingers twitch with want, the desire to wipe it away and rub his thumb along your lips. He should really get it together.

And maybe the fact that he’s more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that they’re your parents proves that.

But they’re pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. It’s steaming, hot and fluffy after twirling around the fire. Looking at it now, it looks comically small in his large hands, much bigger than your own. His lips part, cool air leaving the ‘o’ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, “Here.”

There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesn’t let go of the skewer despite the light squeezes you press along his knuckles. Instead he holds on tighter, lifting and reaching until the desert melts in your mouth and sticks to your lips. Messy on purpose, your heart plummets into your tummy when dark eyes watch marshmallow fluff pull away from between your teeth. Hungry, starving.

“I can do it myself.” You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.

“Can you?” His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. It’s odd, the way you’re so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossip— ‘that boy just doesn’t know what to stop,’ ‘why’s he such a smartass?’ — spoken about you directly by you.

“Yeah,” There’s a shine in your eye that isn’t just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. “I don’t break that easily.”

Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. It’s the first thing that pops into mind as the two of you stand in the dark, dimly lit kitchen. Your parents had gone off to bed almost an hour ago, and with the clock approaching half past midnight, it leaves you two alone. So, yes, he’s considering who would win in a brawl because he can’t stop staring at his best friend’s son and his pretty, kissable lips.

They’re sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterday’s dirt from the kitchen counter. It’s a noncommittal motion, your arms wiping suds and heavy contents of water along the granite surface. Yet you seem absolutely dead-set on getting that one stain. The stain that has your ass brushing against his side, bare skin rippling the harder, lazier, you scrub. Not that there’s even a stain to clean.

Yep. He’s fucked.

You suppose he should be focusing on the dishes— not that there’s much of those either— but his attention strays.

It carries him through the motion of leaning over, his body practically draping your own as you bend at the waist. Black hair again, wisps of it, lightly pressed against your back as he leans down, lips by the shell of your ear and an arm trapping you in. His cock is pressed right against the swell of your ass, and he may have to consider slipping it between his waistband.

“I think you got it.”

“Oh, really?” Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. “Double check for me?”

A low groan sounds behind you, big hands at your thighs that squeeze enough to have the plush skin bruised and tender in the morning. His hand travels, snaking up your thighs to meet the silky skin of your ass. Spread nicely with the way you’re bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.

It’d be so easy, perfect access to slip his thick cock into the warm, tight walls of your hole and pound you against the counter. You could sit on his dick for the whole day, drooling and dumb the more the head kisses your prostate again and again and again. Your Daddy could fuck you on your dad’s favorite sofa, make it squeal and whine under the weight of him filling your fucked-out and used cunt over and over.

Dark pupils blow wide as he pulls the fabric away, watching your hole flutter around nothing. He coos, sweet and deep. Just give him a minute, he’ll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until you’re a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Until—

You’ve slipped past his arm, twisting as your growling stomach makes itself known. You inhale a quivering breath through your nose, eyes wide and expecting and waiting. His best friend’s son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.

He’s almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distraction— you’re a real, honest brat. “You’re still hungry.”

“I’m a growing man, Sho.” It’s almost consequential how your voice cracks, breathy and teetering the edge of a whine as he releases his grip on your body. Light from the fridge illuminates your silhouette in a yellow, halo-adjacent glow, and once again Shouta is staring a little too hard at his best friend’s son as he bends forward at the waist.

Aizawa weighs the juxtaposition between the middle of that sentence for a moment before his breath catches in your throat. Sho. You’d called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) you’re now sinking your teeth into. You’ve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once you’ve returned to face him. It’s obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shorts— but he’d honestly have preferred to see that.

“I can see that.”

Rough palms press into your jaw— firm, but not aggressive, until fingers close and clasp at your cheeks. A dissolving layer of baby fat at your cheeks spills between his stern fingers, and you blink as the older man turns your face from left to right, then reverse. Seems he’s got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you down— bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.

There’s always something in your mouth.

Dark eyes flicker to the lump appearing and disappearing in your throat as you swallow, sweet sugar dotting your lips, “You’re hard.”

“Yeah,” It earns a dark chuckle, though there’s not much light humor in it, “So are you.” His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.

“Usually,” your gaze drops to his lips. “When two men,” Then up to his deep, dark eyes as you press against him, chest to chest. His cock twitches against the heat of your body, you can imagine it now— thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. “Make eachother. . . hard, they—”

A door slams upstairs, the air going still as your breath catches in your throat. As if that single disturbance has stolen all the oxygen in the world, your body goes rigid and stiff, and the sound of tired steps make their way descending down wooden stairs. The candied grapes are swapped for thick fingers, with light peppers of hair at the knuckles, and you can’t help but suck the seasalt right off.

“Behave.” He takes a single step back, dripping with indubitable authority that makes you feel light and airy. Ready to bend at his will with lazy eyelids and hazy eyes. It’s not a question, not a suggestion— it’s a demand.

“You’re still up,” Your father, shameless as he walks by the two of you with barely any coverings, makes a sleepy gesture in your general direction as he opens the fridge. “Both of you, huh?” He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man who’d just stepped away from you.

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t tell me I’m being replaced!” He’s always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. It’s just a joke, the both of you know it, but you can’t help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. You’re pulled in by the back of your head, your father’s hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, “Rather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. “Are you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?”

Then, his eye twitches, “When I want to be.”

Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. There’s a lot of things you’d like Mr. Aizawa to be— rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? It’s laughable, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but they’re most definitely not the same. If only he knew.

“I’m sure you’re the best,” He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesn’t quite meet your eyes— but it’s convincing enough. “Better than your other friends, right Dad?”

Shouta is avoiding you.

You know it, you can tell! He’s always gone nowadays— a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. You’ve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and there— he may as well have disappeared. He’s out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You don’t want to say it, but you know you’re the reason why. You’ve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that night— even before then, it’d become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.

And, now, he’s grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast they’ve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwave— as if you’d want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. There’s your mother, who leaves lingering touches and bats her eyelashes like some sort of schoolgirl. You feel almost evil for the rage that sears your blood— even more so when your first thought is she’s pushing fifty.

Then there’s your father. Who is and always will be, not if you can help it, closer to Shouta than you ever will be. They drink together a lot, the guest more in moderation, but it still hurts to see them laugh about old times— over, and over, and over again. Even when you’re the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. You’re right here.

So you mope, lounging around in your swim trunks. Your skin sticks to every surface, humid and thick as your mother complains to you about getting some sun, stepping out the house, then something about how you need to fix the look on your face. She says the warm rays on your skin will do you some good, the salty water of the sea against your body will toughen up your bones and loosen your muscles. But there’s really only one thing on your mind.

It trickles into about an hour and a half when Mr. Aizawa finally comes back. Your father too, you suppose, with flushed cheeks that only sake can replicate. It’s once you’ve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shore— that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.

“There’s my boy!” No one’s boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shouta’s face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.

Or at least, you think so. It’s hard to see with the sun in your eyes, yellow and orange flakes of the gold star percolating your vision.

It dances along the surface of the ocean, pretty and shimmering the closer you step, the further you go, until you’re submerged in water from your knees—down. There’s a shout, something akin to a ‘catch!’, and you have barely any time to react to the ball that’s flying to you with an oddly precise amount of speed and velocity. You gasp, whipping your head back to catch the ball between two sea-soaked hands.

“What the hell?!” Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasn’t even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And what’s so good about that? Of all things to look at— you’re right here! You don’t leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. You’re a constant, and you know you don’t hurt to look at.

So you throw the ball back, all your force behind it with a smug look on your face until it smacks Shouta in the leg— right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.

“Fuck,” You shout in horror, despite it all. Despite the desire to maul him the last few weeks, rushing forward into the water with the cutest tremor to your brows. “Fuck, okay, shit, my bad!”

And it seems you can’t move fast enough to wade through the rippling waves, where schools of tiny, nipping fish and textured shells had twirled and danced about through the currents of pellucid water. But Shouta seems just fine, almost as if he’d forgotten how to react to the feeling of getting punted with a ball at full force. He picks it up, waves it in his large palm, and throws it back. You can hear it tear through the air, just as it smacks you in the shoulder with so much force you don’t register it at first.

Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. It’s quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. It’s more contagious if anything, a wheeze of sorts, but your lips still curl into a petty frown regardless. You can make out a huff of “Your face!” broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.

“I’m not laughing.” You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.

There’s an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your body— boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dock— Aizawa’s presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.

You’re left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutes— his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way you’d only just noticed his prosthetic leg— at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You can’t help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.

It’s only been a month and you’re smitten. He’d left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.

There’s not much you know about the man— now that you think about it. There’s been a brief drunken mention of him having kids of his own, a little girl, you think. Maybe a son? Despite his affliction for quiet, Aizawa looks as though there’s more he wants to say. To share, to tell. Your father must know it all, seeing as they grew up together, and part of you can’t help but feel a bit jealous.

Hmph.

“What’re you sulking for?” His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hour— Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.“That ball bounce off your head, too?”

“I’m not sulking.” You watch him walk around the perimeter of the shore, slow and calculating, with his hands balled up in the fabric of his black t-shirt. He pulls it overhead, tummy contracting and biceps rippling— it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle he’s hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of ooh’s and ahh’s, unable to tear your gaze from the light rise and fall of his chest.

Your eyes trail back up, past the bend of his collarbones, up the display of stubble on his throat— he’s staring right at you.

“Uh — I wasn’t. . anyway. . What’re you looking at?”

His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. He’s slow, hair rippling just as smooth as the ocean, the further he moves forward. And, despite that, he slowly curls a finger to and fro, as if he’s talking to a small kitten. “C’mere.”

You’re frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. “Mr. Aizawa,” you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shouta’s frame stiffen— the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. It’s not like you call him that when you’re in a particularly good mood. “You didn’t seem to want me around earlier.”

“Quiet,” He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game you’re playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. “Your parents were always around earlier.”

Oh.

You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skin— such rough palms that cover your body — but you’re not desperate. Not entirely, not even when he fixes the twist of your face with a quick look to your furrowed brows. You settle for a sigh, grumbling, “They don’t have shit to do with me.”

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

“Twenty three.” You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.

“Twenty three,” He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think it’s the interruption— he’ll work on it later. Maybe he’s been struck by just how much younger you really are. “They have everything to do with you. You’re still their kid, I doubt they’d be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.”

“But they did,” You look around, as if to prove your point. Shouta’s never been one for dramatics, let alone those fueled by snappy attitudes and rolling eyes, but it looks cute on you. Maybe even cuter if it were accompanied by tears. “They left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..”

“I get it. We’re alone,” Shouta’s voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when he’s irritated. “Drop the attitude.” It’s different in a way. Leaves no room for argument, though you still feel the overwhelming need to stomp your foot and keep on pressing. You can’t help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. It’s just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.

It’s not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heart’s content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throat— and it’s almost eerie. You can’t help but feel

like you should be anticipating something, even as you stand flush against his thick body in lukewarm ocean water and he looks at you with contentment.

Then it occurs to you. . . He’s letting it build up.

“And you’re not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.” Obviously you’re softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. You’re just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smile— albeit sly. He can’t stay mad forever. It’s not fair, how cute you are, with lips stretched out and teeth on display, with the apples of your cheeks rising, and the cutest little twinkle in your eye. He wants to kiss you. . . He wants to kiss you so bad it’s starting to hurt.

Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your body— painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. It’s been a while since he’s felt his skin against your own. Since he’s run his large, calloused hands along your body.

“What happened to ‘Daddy’?” He asks, absentmindedly.

“What?” You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta can’t quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. It’s odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniest— tightest— clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.

That’s not it. You look smug. You’re playing him for a damn fool.

“Nothing.” Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s wrong— it’s cliché, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friend’s son stupid. The man he’d just shared parenting advice to, the man he’d spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. It’d been so innocent when he’d visit— maybe he should’ve never stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.

“ ‘Nothing,’ ” You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shouta’s voice. If you weren’t sulking before you definitely are now, readying yourself to push past him like some spoiled brat who was just denied their favorite candy after being caught trying to steal it nonetheless. So He holds onto your bicep, squeezing the flesh as it flexes with your feeble attempt at struggling.

“Are you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?” He shifts his weight, voice calm and level as he holds you still despite the straining. Not a single hair on him is out of place, his tranquility almost alarming.

“Let go, old man!” He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives him— the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.

“Hey,” You watch his lips curl to coo, a tone somewhat akin to a parent shushing a fussy child. Your face is turned to face him directly, “How many times do I have to talk to you?” Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, “What’d I say about the attitude?”

“I don’t care what you say about it.” Your face is squished against his palm as you go to squirm your way out of his hold, but with the way his head angles down toward your face— you can barely get the words to sound convincing. There’s a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.“You like it, don’t you? Forget strange, you’re dirty!”

He’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, “Stop fuckin’ playing with me, little boy.”

“Dad never lets me drive the boat,” Though the man can sense your whining from miles away, it still manages to catch him off guard. Shouta quirks a brow in questioning, hand hovering a polite foot away from your calf as you stand to walk along the wading boat floor. “Destroyed his last one when I was a kid,” (He doesn’t have to know you were actually nineteen when you did.) You speak in a tone that makes him think just maybe you consider it more your father’s fault than your own. “This one’s nicer anyway.”

“That’s wasteful.” Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that it’d be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldn’t be proud of telling either. Through the corner of his eye he watches you dig into the cooler, scrabbling past the beer bottles and iced hennessy, to pull out an ice cream.

“To you,” You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passenger’s seat with much more force than necessary— especially when sitting on a boat. “I did him a favor.”

The cooler did a poor job— your ice cream is already melted and soft once it’s unwrapped. Thick, velvety cream that you lap up with your tongue dribbles down your knuckles. He should find it gross, but your pretty eyes flickering upward to meet his own as you take one long, slow lick up each bend of your fingers has done the complete opposite. Fuck. It’s hot— your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.

If only it were his cock.

Shouta’s thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, he’s sure you’d feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. You’d probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongue— how much it’s stuffing you full when it hasn’t even slid down your throat yet. You’d cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.

“Want some?” You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shouta’s lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. “You’re staring pretty hard.”

“Sit up,” The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man can’t find a reason to look away. “Before you hurt yourself.”

Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. They’re long— healthy, strong, clipped haphazardly— big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his own— and though he remains with all five fingers up, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the urge to close them around your much smaller ones. Shouta clears his throat while you hum, lapping at your ice cream before pressing your lips against his knuckles, “Want you to hurt me instead.”

“Hush,” There’s a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. It’s evident he wants to say more— in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. “You hardly know me.”

Your foot nudges his upper thigh, pressing into the firm skin as the boat moves further toward the horizon. It feels more secluded that way.. Private, even. As if there’s only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like you’ve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit it— it’s cute.

“I know you grew up with my dad,” He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. “I know you have two kids— adopted, right?”

“Hitoshi and Eri.” He interjects, voice soft and fond. You’d never noticed it before, but now you’re acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shouta’s relaxed face is much sweeter, still creased with age but not quite as deep. The cute, pinched dips between his brows are gone, but you know how to bring it back.

“Lucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,” Aizawa isn’t sure which word he’s more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his words— but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaft— he doesn’t like it. You talk entirely too much. With lips much too sweet and sheen with cream. With a tongue that flicks and presses against your teeth when you smile. With a pretty voice he could listen to, all day. Something that’d sound better through choking and gagging—ragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. “How old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .You’re just—“

“Listen to me,” Perhaps it’s not very characteristic of him, but he just can’t stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “For as long as I’m here,” he offers a squeeze. “For as long as your father is here,” then another, “Turn. It. Off.”

Your face melts into something floaty and distant, the smirk melting right off your face into something much more preferable. His thumb is so close, so close to your pretty lips. You blink once— twice, even— before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.

“I’ll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.”

The persistent comment nearly knocks him over, straight off the boat and plummeting into the cerulean depths of the sea. Instead, Shouta finds it better to step on the gas. . . To ignore the prickling heat in his blood, to ignore the easy taptaptap-ing of your fingers against the screen of your phone. It’s so easy for you to say anything around him— like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesn’t miss (not even for a second) the glance you give him through the corner of your eye.

The silence is almost painful. The motor speaks for you, loud and rushed and heavy. Aizawa’s jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You can’t help but stare, watching his hair whip in the wind, dreamy and mellifluous. Not a moment of eye contact is shared, and you feel yourself slinking back into the white leather of your chair for the first time this evening.

Come the wooden dock just adjacent to the shoreline, Shouta’s throwing away wrappers (they’re all yours) and unbuckling his seatbelt. Your arms cross, a pout heavy in your lips as your eyes flutter closed. . Almost as if you being unable to see him makes him unable to see you.

“C’mon, baby.” You both miss the nickname, and despite the tension, it feels so natural dripping from his tongue.

Still, you whine. Mind occupied by your nearly offset tantrum prior to getting back at the dock. “I’m staying outside.”

“You’ll get heatstroke.” Shouta sighs, stepping back to lift you into his arms not even a moment later. You consider it ironic, for a moment, he always wears black despite the scorching heat. Bent at the waist as he leans over the open inside of the boat to unbuckle your seatbelt, his face remains stoic as your arms flail and fly to push him away. Your pretty face morphs into a nasty scowl, grumbles and mumbles toppling from your lips— you’re embarrassed.

He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you upright— in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.

You just won’t budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearm— hands, wrists. Your last attempt at pushing him away ends up in stumbles, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stomp down the polished dock, eyes hardening with the contact of deep, dark pools in Aizawa’s irises.

You were holding hands.

It’s been days. You haven’t left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesn’t worry. He doesn’t think twice about it, doesn’t question why you don’t come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it it’s always the same thing— ‘That’s just how he is when he doesn’t get his way,’ or ‘He’ll come around.’ The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why he’s so enamored by their son— even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.

And that isn’t even it.

He starts to worry, to feel bad, on day six. Not a single sound that even points to your presence. No creaking floorboards, no music playing from your old, antique and overpriced record player, no sounds of muffled laughter. It makes him feel out of his skin, like a bystander watching the inhabitants of this very beach house go about their day like nothing is wrong. But this wrong, so very wrong—

He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friend’s son. It’s wrong and it’s taboo, but so help him, he yearns.

His feet had carried himself upstairs before his mind could, following after you a good half-hour later. You heard him on his way in, the shuffle of his slipper-clad feet from the outside of your door. Still, you’d made no effort to move, no effort to free yourself from the cocoon of your childhood blankets, no effort to open the door despite his gentle knocking.

“You ready to talk yet?” He was willing to brush it all aside. The pushing, the persistent flirting, the slight disregard for his feelings, the mentions of his son. Really, he was jealous. Maybe it’s unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldn’t think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, there’s nothing there— he’s only ever competing with himself. He just can’t help it.

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

“I don’t like being ignored.” Your voice was small, but he could still hear it through the door. He heard it all, every implication. His sweet boy, his spoiled brat. You froze, just briefly, before he let himself in. The door creaked slowly with its open and close, a gentle click of the lock as the air grew thick.

Your old bed is small and creaky. Almost as much as the underused floorboards, your old bedroom screams with just as much personality as it does neglect. There’s tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabilia— but it’s all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. There’s a few scattered photos— awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naive— but you nonetheless. It even smells like you, just with a hint of sea salt and warm, summer-y vanilla. Shouta wants to bury his nose in it.

“None of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe ‘Toshi would.” You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. There’s something left unsaid between the small string of words— and it’s sour. Twists on Shouta’s tongue, like he’s bitten into old bread, and it’s not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, that’s not exactly what he’d call this. . . relationship, but it’s not like it’d feel wrong. And he’d certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. “Guess my sheets weren’t silky enough. Can tell you what was, th—”

“I like it.” It’s simple. The admission— simple and sweet, like it’s obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when you’re caught off guard, glancing to the side and shifting your weight onto your palms as you sit in the comfy middle of your bed. He knows what you’re doing— redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, he’ll admit it)— and it makes you seem softer, almost.

He watches you sniffle for a moment, a quiet sound as you shift your knees with exuberating coyness. Your eyebrows furrow, cheeks puffed into a pout because, “That's it? You just ‘ like ’ it?”

He’ll give it to you, you never give up. He’d been warned, he was skeptical, and he’s been proven wrong. And, in the brunette’s head, you’d tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.

“What else would I say?”

“That it’s nice,” You cock your head to the side. “That you’ve never seen a room so nice. Which m’sure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I can’t imagine what it’s like being a single father of two— or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.”

The older man takes a breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pretty irises flicker down to meet the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, like the tidal wave of emotion has washed away back into shore, his voice is level as he speaks, “You spoke to him.”

“You ignored me,” You say it as if it’s obvious, simple, that if you can’t have Shouta you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. And though it’s not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you don’t think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawa’s chest. “Wanted your attention, Daddy.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, cold air rattling the bones as he watches you stare up at him. Your eyes look softer, boyish, wider at this angle. His pink tongue darts over his equally pink lips, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

“Shh, sh, sh,” Shouta’s cock slips down your throat with a low grunt, the slippery walls clench around the fat head of his cock. Just as he imagined it, cutting off pretty whines and gasps, head bobbing back and forth— like you can’t tell whether it’s too much or too little. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throat— but it feels good, heavy and throbbing in a way that makes your brain shut off so quickly you drool. It sticks to his shaft and slides down his balls, painting your chin in a syrupy-sweet layer of saliva, but you’re too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.

He must’ve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. There’s a loud, sticky sound coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, obscene in a way that makes you whimper around your heavy mouthful of cock. He’s quick to correct himself— you only ever seem to behave when you’re stuffed with his dick, and he can’t have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gag— tight throat convulsing and quivering around his shaft.

You slurp loudly, choking and gasping as you struggle to pull back. His balls hit your chin, heavy and sticky and so fucking good as tears stream down your face. You’re starting to get into it now, making a mess of yourself as you stick out your tongue to lick along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, eyes focused on the rings of saliva holding you together. Shouta pulls out to let you breathe, his cock quickly liding upupup your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit as you chase after what you’ve been wanting for the past month.

“Stop fuckin’ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,” The bulge of his fat cock shows in your throat, in and out, in and out, in and out.

You want to whine, to beat your fists against his thighs, and kick your feet— it’s all so much. He has you by the hair, big hand pulling and tugging, lifting you on and off his cock like a warm, tight fleshlight. You fail to bite back a growl, though it emits more as a cute, pathetic sound, glassy eyes focused on his cock being shoved down your hot, wet throat. It’s so easy to press your lips against the darkness of his pubes, to smear pre along your pouty lips and cheeks. His cock jumps in your mouth, thick and long and curved, leaking at the tip.

It’s hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. You’re getting ahead of yourself, eager, tongue lapping at the achy underside of his dick, pressed against his balls. And, with a gasp, Shouta pulls out, huffs and unintelligible groans filling the air. The blushing head of his cock taps against your cheek. Once, twice, again and again. “C’mere.”

And yet, despite all that bark, your eyes barely make contact with the ones above you. Instead they trace the pulse of his shaft, how heavy his cock hangs between his legs, how it makes his long fingers almost smaller in comparison. The way pre dribbles from the tip, sticky and warm and oh, so inviting. It’s as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, “You can do better than that," and you almost can't believe it.

Better? Your eyes flicker to the saliva dripping from your chin, suddenly aware of the slick pre smeared across your pretty cheeks and the heavy pants leaving your lips. What gets better than this? You let him use your throat like a new fleshlight, cried on his cock and muffled the sounds in his pubes. Ignored the aching of your own cock just to focus on his own, absentmindedly bucking your hips into nothing, even if it made you look like a pathetic puppy. Fine— you can show him better. You can break him first.

You blink rapidly, tears clumped in your pretty eyelashes, lips parting to, indubitably, sass the older man. “What, need help gettin’ it up? Fuck you, can do it m—”

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

“— I wasn’t asking.” You really fucked up now, eyes wide as you’re lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shouta’s strong arms. He smells good, and just as strong, as your face is pressed into his chest and your tiny, tiny shorts are pushed past your thighs. The air is cold, it spreads goosebumps along your skin, and you’re sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard ‘Hey! I wasn’t done!’, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.

Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, you’d expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, there’s nothing for you to latch onto but the bundles of his hair as he hands out sporadic, random, and hard smacks along each globe of your ass. There is no back and forth, no favoring one over the other— it’s just where he wants, when he wants. If he wants to watch your thighs convulse and jiggle beneath his heavy palm he will, and if he wants to smack your hands away from his wrists as you tug and tug— he will.

Shouta groans when you let out a particularly pathetic cry, biting your lip and whimpering into his warm skin. You can feel his big hands part your cheeks, squeezing the skin until it spills over each finger and your ass has turned tender and sensitive. He coos, feeling you squirm and wriggle against his hold, “S’it too much? Daddy’s poor baby.”

It shouldn’t sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when it’s condescending and rough, even when he’s cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.

But it does.

“Da—ddy. . !” your voice quivers, hips rocking to an uncoordinated tune. So little contact and yet it feels like so much, his hot palms against your warm skin. . . The tears rolling down your darling face. . . The way your cock throbs against your tummy, your mouth aches with emptiness, your hole twitches beneath the weight of his fingers. The thought makes you want to whine all over again, body squirming and trembling as he holds and kneads the flesh of your ass.

“Quiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,” Shouta murmurs, so unnecessarily mean, kissing the dampness of your forehead before his hand cracks down against your plush ass three, four, five more times. You try to keep up your resolve, pretty legs trembling and knuckles clenching— but it’s just so hard. Being a brat is easy— it’s fun— you’ll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you won’t break and give him what he wants. He’ll have to work for it, get a taste of his own mean, mean medicine.

Delayed gratification.

Wet llips open to speak, something smug and almost smart, but it’s reduced to a wet moan. You feel it—fingers spreading apart the globes of your ass, and more cracking down between them, on your empty, pretty little hole. For a moment your brain slips out of your body, thoughts static and turned to mush, fuzzy and convulsing where you lay. You process the sound of hushing, the feeling of wetness, the sound of slick spit against your skin. . . Thick, merciless fingers rubbing and tapping and sliding against you.

“Oh, god,” You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds and— oh, a finger slips inside. “Fingers— that’s, oh god..” Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick you’re beginning to see stars. Whatever you had your mind set on earlier flies straight out the window, your brain short circuits as your sopping hole flutters around his fingers, sucking them in.

“Fuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddy’s fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?” If you could see his face you’re sure he’d be smiling— an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. “C’mon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.”

You can’t help it, hole throbbing rhythmically along his long fingers, squelching and gushing with stickiness. The swell of your ass ripples as you wiggle your hips, rising and falling to grindgrindgrind. “Fuck me already, c’mon, old man.”

“That what your little ‘boyfriends’ do?” Your lip quivers— he hadn't even flinched at the sass— and instead used your own words against you. “Oh, baby. They didn’t give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?”

Your hand finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around thick and strong limp just enough to get his hand moving, trying to guide him deeper, faster, harder. He should reward bratty behavior, but the words spill from his mouth almost immediately, “That’s it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.”

It’s ironic— he says it just before pulling out his soaked fingers. And, at your nightstand, opens the drawer to retrieve lube. You watch him pause, eyes scanning the contents of the drawer until his lips quirk downward. Lollipop wrappers. An ungodly amount— you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?

“What am I gonna do with you.” He sighs, but grabs a sucker regardless, tearing open its pretty, pastel blue packaging to reveal its red, shiny hard candy. He pops the treat into his mouth, holds it on the right side with his teeth, and squirts a generous amount of lube over the globes of your ass. His hands slip and slide as he guides it around, watches it dribble down your thighs and relishes in the way your hole opens up for him, soaked and sticky.

Your eyebrows pinch, hips wiggling as he pulls the lollipop free from his mouth and directs it against your own, “Suck,” He murmurs, but it’s forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, “Daddy?”

“It’s okay, I’m here,” He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, there’s no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. “Keep sucking, atta boy.”

His thumb feels like a lot, makes you squeal and shiver as he presses it inside, and something hot and wet accompanies it. That's good, the heat of his tongue licking and sucking at your throbbing rim, bubbly spit dribbling down his chin and caught in his stubble. One hand is focused on fucking your boyhole raw, till your brain goes numb and you’re incoherent. His palm presses into the small of your ass, tongue working hard until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your mouth flies open in a silent scream. He takes the opportunity to snatch the lollipop back, keeps his tongue pressed against your walls until—

He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. “You can take it,” He growls, eyes trained on your fucked-out face. He can feel it, the tightening of your balls, the way your hole aches and pulses with the treat inside you. “That’s it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it t’me. Let Daddy have it..”

He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that he’s popping back into his mouth, there’s the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole and—

Oh.

“Sweet.”

You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shouta’s cock as it’s worked inch by inch into you and— you can’t fucking believe it. You fought for so long, put on a bratty attitude and stomped your feet. Why would you ever push Shouta and his cock away for so long? Your breaths are short. Tiny little gasps as his large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs open to get a better view of the thick dick pumping you full. Your pretty little hole, sheen with spit and lube, exposed and on display for him and his cock. And, yeah, this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.

“You’re— fuck, you’re so gross, Daddy,” Shouta grits his teeth, “Ohh, havin’ your best friend’s son on your fat cock, fuckin’ my pussy so full. . !” You’re straight up babbling, cross-eyed as each thrust knocks coherent thoughts out your brain. A real, proper slut, desperately humping upupup to fuck yourself on his dick. With this position— knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to move— but it’s cute to watch you try anyway.

“Shut up and take it,” He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. “Don’t want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?”

“Daddy— Daddy, my pussy—“ You’re babbling, it’s all you can do since Shouta is all force with his thrusts; takes what he needs, feeds you his cock good and so, so deep. Over and over, you let out broken whines, desperate for it, looking down as best you can to watch your own cock bob and jump against your tummy, thighs sticky with spit and lube. You can hear the sound of your slutty, pathetic moans, the wet plaplaplap of skin, lube trailing and frothing between your bodies as Shouta fucks into you. You can’t stop twitching— your legs, your hole, your cock.

“This is Daddy’s pussy,” He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot you’ve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall you’ve got wrapped around him. “Just like that,” You’re gagging for it, pouty lips parting with open-mouthed pants as he continues to watch your hole tighten around his thick, veiny cock. He has to swallow down his own drool, reaching deeper into you, your body jerking back as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds. You may not be a good boy, but you’re a damn good slut.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. . .” Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, you’d scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest — stickiness shooting out your spent cock until you’re twitching, handsfree and body set ablaze. Shouta shows no signs of stopping, instead keeping his cock inside you as he flips you around, eyes narrowed. He fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, leaky hole milking him for all he’s got.

“Dumb sluts love cock, baby. S’that what you are?” His voice is a low purr, pressing your face into the mattress, watching your ass fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you.

“Yeah, mhmm,” You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. You’re desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. “Daddy’s slut, s’me!” For a minute you think you’ve passed out, everything going dark as you ride out his hard thrusts, offering tiny movements of your own, up and down to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, to feel his balls slap against your thighs.

“Good sluts take Daddy’s cum,” Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. “Take it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.” It’s messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. Shouta’s cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are erratic and sloppy, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. You never want it to stop, not the groaning or moaning, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move.

He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when you’re limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.

“Da— Da—ddy,” You sob, eyes squeezed shut as strong arms pull you up and into even stronger thighs. Sitting on his lap now, Shouta coos hums, basks in the sight of his pretty boy’s afterglow.

“Daddy’s here. I’m here, I got you.” He whispers into your shoulder, and that’s all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts away— you’re more than that. You’re not just his best friend’s son. . .

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

There’s a seasonal chill in the air and it’s getting dark in the early afternoon. The beach has switched its course, currents changing direction and fish disappearing from the shoreline. The weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up, and the clouds have yet to dissipate into the sky. . Shouta helps you pack, grumbles when you press chaste kisses against his skin the whole time— shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, “I don’t wanna leave.”

“Spring break,” Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, “I don’t want you to, either.”

Your body visibly straightens, giddiness painting your boyish face as you smile wide and big. The older man almost regrets saying it, huffing with you lean impossible close to hug him tight. “Will you call me?”

“Whenever you want,” He says, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. You watch as he throws your large bag of lollipops into your carry-on backpack, but not before plucking a treat free from the others. “You know I will.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

[m1stm3]

older bf! aizawa fixing all of my daddy issues. yeeeea. yeeeeeeeeeea.

i don’t even mean sexually!! like imagine opening up to him for the first time. you’ve been dating for a while and he knew some of your familial relationships were… strained to say the least, but he didn’t know the extent of it. you’re recalling some of your experiences — maybe a specific event, maybe just an overview — and he’s humming and nodding while listening to your words, his brows knitting together in a pitying expression. you think he’s pitying you anyway, you’re kind of avoiding his eyes as you speak.

your voice starts shaking after a moment and you’re internally cursing yourself for tearing up because why are you still so affected by the actions of your father? you pause for a second, swallowing against the lump in your throat and it’s so humiliating to fall apart in front of your boyfriend like this and—

and shota places a hand over yours. his hand is rough and calloused from hero work but so warm. he’s gazing wistfully at where your skin meets, his thumb so gently grazing over your knuckles before giving your hand a small squeeze. “i’m so sorry that happened to you, baby. you didn’t deserve that.” oh and his words are just barely there, but they ring louder than what anyone has ever told you in response to your past.

your eyes meet his after he speaks. you want to snap back out of some deep seated need to defend yourself (to make yourself seem less vulnerable, less pathetic, perhaps). of course you didn’t deserve what happened to you, that’s a dumb thing to point out. that’s what you’re about to say when your lips part, but only a small, shuddering breath leaves you.

you don’t even notice the tears rolling down your cheeks until shota brings up a warm hand to wipe them away, his body leaning closer to yours to press his lips against your forehead. you want to curse at him, to push him away and storm off for even daring to see you in this state… but you don’t.

instead you wrap your arms around his middle and hide your face in his neck (shame, maybe?) and cry. you’re not sobbing, but you can’t help the hiccuped breaths that leave you when his hand slips under the hem of your shirt to run his warm palm up and down your back. he doesn’t say anything after that.

[thehouseofurmotha]

Hiyaaa! This is a second part loud blonde! <3

(This can vry much be read stand alone though! Thank u @i-bitch-you-bitch for the request <3)

Pt. 1 here! Pt. 3 here

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x aizawa's daughter!reader, a lil bit of present mic x aizawa 🤭

Summery: Y/n has an accident with her quirk and in her panic runs to U.A. to find her dad. And well she happens to also see the certain blonde who has stolen her heart. As well as the rest of her dad's class..

Basically Y/n's quirk is she can grow thorns all over her body, but sometimes when she's sick or really stressed they can start growing inside her digestive track.

Warnings: swearing, some angst at the beginning, reader has a dangerous quirk that malfunctions,

You wake up from your nap instantly knowing that something is wrong. There's a sharp sting in your mouth that shouldn't be there. A sting that only appears when your quirk malfunctions. You had stayed home from school because you hadn't felt well. With what you and your father figured was just a stomach bug.

Your quirk hadn't fucked with you like this since you were a child. You and your father figured that by training your quirk and giving you control of it, that it had stopped. But now you're doubting this information.

First you taste the blood, and then you feel the stabbing in every part of your mouth. It hurts, so bad and so much worse than you remember it hurting as a child. It feels like it's being stabbed from the inside out, and well in reality it pretty much is. Through the pain you know that you need your father. He's the only one who can get it to stop.

You grunt as you reach to grab your phone to call your dad. You struggle to put your password in with shaky hands, once you finally succeed your hit with another wave of pain as the thorns slowly make their way down your throat. Fear starts to set in as your father doesn't pick up. The first call goes to voicemail, then the second, and the third. You start sobbing just wanting your father.

Through the pain you force yourself to get up, you manage to make your way to your desk and grab your student ID. You painfully make your way out of the house, a line of blood making its way out of your mouth. As you start your walk, you're so extremely thankful that your father decided to live so close to the school that you managed to make it there in under 10 minutes.

Opening the front doors with your ID the pain starts to get worse as the thorns make their way to your stomach. You know that you'll be throwing up blood soon. You need to find your dad, you just want you dad.

With blurry, tearful eyes you manage to find your way to your dad's class room. You pound on the door as hard as you can. The pain starts to become suffocating. It hurts so bad, all you want is for it to end.

Aizawa opens the door with an unimpressed look before he takes in the sight in front of him, and all he feels is straight panic. In front of him is his daughter sobbing with heaps of blood coming out of her mouth and staining her shirt a gross shade of red. He had left you this morning thinking you had simply just had a stomach bug, and he wonders how it escalated to this so quick. And then it hits him as he sees the thorns start to grow out of your arms.

He immediately activates his quirk and with this, the students in his class are looking around at each other in confusion. With the sudden relief you feel you collapse into your father's arms. And then 1-A's confusion is quickly increased by the question of who is this girl, except for one certain blonde who could recognize you anywheres.

Aizawa quickly looks up at his class and practically yells, "Someone go get recovery girl, and the rest of you get out." Every student in that class can hear the fear in his voice. Yet, the sternness as well. And they quickly listen all walking out of the classroom, as Iida speeds away to go get the nurse as he can get there the fastest.

Everyone has left the room except Bakugo and Aizawa looks up at him and glares. "That meant you too Bakugou." Aizawa thinks his voice came off harsher than he meant, but he's too worried about his daughter to care.

Bakugou huffs, "I'm not fuckin leaving her. You'd have to pry my cold dead body away from her." As he says this is crouches next to where Aizawa had sat you against the wall. And well Aizawa seems to take this answer as he doesn't push Bakugou anymore. Instead allowing him to hold you and rub your back as you sob.

You're so out of it you can barely register that your boyfriend is with you too, and that the entire class has left. But before you know it, you're gagging on the blood in the back of your throat and your father had placed his trash can in front of you. You can register that someone is holding your hair back so gently.

Bakugou has never felt so much fear in his life as he watches you choke and throw up on your own blood. He has no idea what's going on, but he figures it has to do with your quirk, as since your father saw you he has had his eyes on you canceling your quirk. He just wishes he knew what it was, why it was happening, how it happened, anything.

You hadn't told him much about your quirk, but he knows that it's something similar to your mother's. He looks at his teacher and then back to you. He really does wish he knew what to do, but your father seems to. So for right now, he'll let himself trust the older man once again. But this time with the thing that's more important than anything to her.

Finally after what feels like forever recovery girl arrives. She gives you a look of pity and then immediately gets around to healing you. The older lady wishes she could say this is the first time she's had to heal the damage caused by your own quirk, but it isn't. But she'll continue to do what she does best until she's sure the most major injuries that you could have are taken care of.

Outside in the hall the class is even more confused than they had prior. A random girl, that none of them have ever seen just showed up in their classroom. Obviously seriously injured.

"What if she was attacked by villains?" Kaminari says this to nobody in particular.

"Well then how would she have gotten here? She's obviously not a hero course student. And why would she immediately go to Aizawa?" Momo was the one to answer Kaminari's question.

"I wonder if she's like his girlfriend or something!!" Mina says with a smile, she's always managed to be the more cheerful one out of the class.

"I'm not sure about that.. she seemed like she was around our age." Todoroki softly puts his input in, and he doesn't really think the girls relationship with Aizawa matters, just the fact if she's okay or not. Well, she's obviously not okay he things.

Todoroki's thoughts are quickly interrupted by Kirishima, "Uh has anyone else noticed that Bakubro didn't leave the classroom?"

"Oh my god, he didn't! Maybe he knows her and that's why she came to our class? But that doesn't answer the question as to how she got into the school.. cause she didn't have a uniform on."

"Woah woah, what are all of y'all doing out here unaccompanied." Present Mic's loud voice beams grabbing everyone's attention.

"Some girl came into our class! She seemed really ill and there was blood coming out of her mouth and thorns growing on her body!!" Mina practically yells at him.

"Woah alright listeners. From what I've just heard I can deduct that the girl is probably Mr. Aizawa's daughter." Mic wonders if he should be sharing this information, but the students have a right to know. To ease their confusion.

"Ewwww and you thought they were dating Mina!" Kaminari send a funny look around Mina.

"Alright alright but what's more important is what's her relationship with Bakugou?" After Kirishima says that he kind of regrets it thinking that might have not been the most important question right now.

"Oh! That's Kacchan's girlfriend- We all went to middle school together.." Midoriya mumbles, but everyone still manages to hear him. And even though it might be wrong Mic's happy he's not the one who had to reveal that information.

"BAKUGOU GETS BITCHES??" The comment from Kaminari causes everyone to laugh.

"Kaminari. Language." Mic says giving him a small glare.

"My bad sir will not happen again!" It definitely will happen again he thinks.

Everyone's attention is drawn to the door being open. You're being carried in Bakugou's arms, you're unconscious due to recovery girl having to use the rest of your energy to heal you. Bakugou glares at his classmates as they stare at the two of you.

"Stop fuckin lookin at us you damn nerds." Bakugou yells this at him and nobody challenges him on this. They all turn around allowing him and you to make your way to recovery girls office with no one seeing your fragile, broken state. Your father and the nurse follow quickly behind.

Mic tells the students to stay there so he can go get Midnight to cover the class. He needs to be there to comfort the man he's happy to call his boyfriend.

Finally, he finds Nemuri in the teacher lounge. "Hey, can you go cover Shouta's class?" He sighs, looking at her silently pleading.

"Of course, can I know what happened first Hizashi?" He guesses this reaction is valid. So he obliges her.

"His daughter, she showed up to his class. Pretty sure from what I heard her quirk malfunctioned, and she was in pretty rough shape." This a very sad tone in his voice. He really does care about the girl, as far as he's aware though she doesn't know about his and her father's relationship. And he supposes that's for the better right now.

He finally makes his way to the Recovery girls office and it doesn't take much searching for him to find his boyfriend.

Shouta looks up at him, "who's watching the class?" Even in a moment like this, where he's struggling so much. He still cares about that class like his own.

"Nemuri is don't worry." Hizashi sits next to him taking his boyfriend's hand in his own.

Bakugou is curled up on the bed with you with his face shoved into your hair. Hizashi thinks he may be crying, but he knows if he were to say anything he'd be threatened by the loud blonde. So he chooses to stay silent. They just sit there, in a comfortable silence waiting for you to wake up. And, eventually you do.

A quiet mumble comes from your lips drawing everyone's attention to you. As you open your eyes you're greeted with the sight of your wonderfully handsome boyfriend. It makes you giggle, and you think you may be woozy from recovery girls quirk.

"What ya laughin at pretty girl?" Your boyfriend ask with a smile on his face, not particularly caring that your father, his teacher and his other teacher are in the room with you guys. He just wants to make you feel better. He was so fucking worried.

"Just how handsome you are," you slightly slur your words. Then a second later Midnight enters the room, with a smile on her face.

"Hey kid, how are you feeling?" She asks you, and it seems so genuine you can't help but answer honestly.

"Um not great right now, but better than I was so.." You trail off being slightly embarrassed of the situation.

"Well I'm glad your at least doing better. You know your father's class really wants to meet you now, when you're doing better." This brings a smile to your face. You'd be happy to meet Katsuki's classmates.

"No, she's not meetin those fuckin losers."

"Katsuuuu, why notttt?" You look at him with pleading eyes. You know it'll work, it always works on him.

"Ugh fine but if any of them are weird to you I'll blast them to fuckin hell." Aizawa recognizes that he's probably referring to the absolute creep that is his student Mineta.

"I suppose I could let you meet them one day after classes when you're better." Aizawa says with a grunt, he's also not to keen on introducing you to the rest of his problem children. He already has to worry about the influence Bakugou has on you.

"Thank you guys so much you're the best!" You smile at both of your favorite people. "Oh, by the way, why is Hizashi here? Doesn't he have classes to teach?" It was an odd appearance because he should be teaching your general studies class English right now.

"Oh, yeah me and him are dating. He wanted to make sure he would be here to comfort me I suppose. You really scared the shit outta me kid." He says this so casually that you almost don't question the dating part.

"Oh? Good for you guys!" You had mildly started to suspect something was up between them. And you had seen what your dad meant when he could see how in love you were on your face, because you had been able to see it in his recently.

You look at your boyfriend and he looks mildly astonished, but you can tell he doesn't intend to say anything. Opting instead to keep his mouth closed, which is rare but he is around your father so not entirely unexpected.

"Bakugou you don't speak a word about our relationship to anyone else." Your boyfriend just nods in response, you knew he didn't intend to.

"M'going back to sleep." You tiredly smile up at your boyfriend before nuzzling your face into his chest.

"Okay hun, I love you." Your father says walking over to plant a kiss on your forehead.

"Love you." And with that you allow yourself to drift back to sleep. Knowing you're safe with your father and boyfriend.

Class 1-A's day continued uneventfully after that point. Just missing a certain loud blonde and tired teacher.

Though they return the next day. And Aizawa informs his students that you are doing okay. He explains to them what happened. How your quirk can be very dangerous. And what it can do to you. He also confirms to them that you are infact his daughter

"Why aren't they in the hero course Aizawa-Sensei? Wouldn't that help them learn to control their quirk? And it seems pretty powerful they would make a great hero!"

Bakugou responds to this before Aizawa can "Shut the hell up shitty hair, she doesn't want to become a hero. So she doesn't fuckin have to." His tone comes out harsh, he doesn't like hearing people talk about his girlfriend. Especially not his shitty classmates.

"Bakugou. Language." Aizawa knows how Bakugou feels but he still has to correct him. "What happened to her has nothing to do with control of her quirk. She can control it just fine, but it's her bodies stress defense. It mostly happens when she's sick, but until yesterday it hadn't happened since she was a child." It had plagued him with guilt. Especially after he saw the three calls from you that he had missed shortly before you showed up at his classroom. He knew you were sick, he should have been paying more attention to his phone. So he could have there as soon as you needed him.

"But on a better note, she has agreed to meet all of you one day after class when she's better. I will give you all know at least a day in advance." This causes the class to erupt in cheers. They had all really wanted to meet you, to see for theirselves that you're okay.

"I bet she's a total babe!" Mineta says this to Kaminari, but it obviously comes out much louder than he intends.

"Yo, so something about my girl again, I'll blast your fuckin head off. You know what, don't even fuckin look at her you weird headed freak." Bakugou says setting off small explosions in his hand as he does.

Aizawa chooses not to say anything, knowing that Bakugou has it handled. "Alright now shut up, class is starting."

"Yes sir!" They all say in unison, Aizawa thinks it's kind of freaky but he ignores it.

A few days later his class finally gets to meet his daughter. Properly at least. They're all so excited they barely focus on class for the day. Which only results in him pushing them harder. But they don't mind, too excited to meet the girl who's managed to soften both Aizawa and Bakugou.

After the last bell rings they're all pretty much bursting with excitement. And then you walk through the door. In your uniform, since you had just arrived from your own classes for the day. You are quickly surrounded by students asking you all sorts of questions.

"Yo assholes give her some fuckin space would ya?" Your boyfriend interrupts all of them pushing through them and gently wrapping his arm around your waist. You look at him and smile a thank you to him, and you swear he see a small one back. Not that he would ever allow himself to smile like he does with you around his class. And you don't mind.

"Hi! I'm Y/n I'm Mr. Aizawa's daughter as you already know!" You look at all of them with a smile.

"OH MY GOD HII! I'm Mina!! You're absolutely so pretty oh my god!" You giggle at this, she seems like a sweet heart.

"Aww thank you so much! You're so pretty too!!" She hugs you at this response and you keep giggling and hug her back.

"Hi! I'm Kirishima I'm one of Bakubro's friends!" He says reaching his hand out to shake yours and you gratefully except it.

"Oh! Katsu has mentioned you before!" You remember him telling you about the kid he normally chooses to spar with. And even though he would never admit it you know that he sees the boy as a friend.

"Aww katsuu you talk about us! How cute!" This response comes from a blonde boy with a streak of black in his hair.

"DIE I'LL BLOW YOU BRAINS OUT DUNCE FACE." You once again giggle at his reaction, you think it's endearing in a way.

"Bakugou calm down." Your father says giving him a glare and your boyfriend just grunts in response.

"Oh hi Midoriya! How have you been?" You ask the boy with a smile. It really had been awhile since you had seen the boy.

"O-oh! I'm good it's great to see you again!" He knew that talking to you was risky and it might piss Kacchan off but he chooses to anyways.

"Leave my girlfriend alone nerd." And just as he expected it did piss Bakugou. He didn't mind though, he was used to it.

"S-sorry kacchan."

"Katsu be nice." You swat his shoulder in respond.

"Tsk. Whatever." You smile at him in response, because you know you've gotten your way.

Overall it was an extremely positive experience and you came out with many new friends. You like your dad's class and you're definitely gonna force him to let you hang out with them more often.

Alrighty chat I hope you enjoyed it!! I definitely fear I got a little carried away and it definitely does relate that much to the first part but it's alright :)! Requests are open so feel free to send me anything you'd like to see me write <3 happy reading!

[m1sa22aman3]

If you don’t think Aizawa would adopt a older cat that nobody else would take home because he wants to let it live the rest of its life outside of a cage you’re wrong btw (especially if it’s black because of the superstition)

[pinkteethmarks]

just saw the valentines event ooo

aizawa with “can’t get you” by jaehyun 💗

a million times yes!! (btw this song is so fucking good omg) gosh lowkey had fun writing this but wtv, i hope you like it, sorry it’s quite long 🙁 (2.4k words…) but yeah! gender neutral pronouns and no mention of any anatomy or anything like that. reader is hella cheery and giggly. mention of age gap and mention of hawks bc i love him. i use first names for everyone bc like idk makes it more intimate (maybe im crazy idk). fluff only, lots of mentions of aizawa being old(and one all might old joke) (also implied all might x inko sos thought it was funny)i think that’s it, if you really don’t like this or wasn’t really what you thought it was don’t hesitate to tell me and i will happily rewrite! just put it in the requests so i can see it ❤️ thank you for this again!!!

can’t get you; shouto aizawa

in which this old man cannot stop fawning over you and your glow, you’re stuck on his mind and etched into his soul - thank goodness his friends can help him finally confess.

glimmering rays peaked through class 2A’s windows, the summer heat circulating through the room making the students and their teacher groggy alike. the petals of cherry blossoms could be caught wafting around aimlessly, as if looking for a host to reside on. the chirps from the birds indicated that it was an early morning, their melodies playing a symphony for U.A.

shouta wanted so badly to crawl into his sleeping bag, but he knew that he, at least, had to get through one lesson before rewarding his fatigued body.

“the science behind your quirks is very important for executing them, for instance, someone like-“

a knock from the door interrupted him, he looked from his position into the sliver of glass in the door, only to see you.

shouta freezed up at your appearance, why were you are his door? is this it? are you coming here because you feel the same way he does? does he smell? do his classmates smell?

as his head filled with uncharacteristically ridiculous notions, you had already opened the door, saying a quick hi to his students, you were always cheerful like that, never failing to flash a smile and a wave to anyone.

that smile has been ingrained into his being, if you were to rip out his heart and dissect it, the matter of his soul would be like a mosaic of you, fragments your of that included your smile, your eyes, your cute yet hard to miss laugh. shouta’s mind was a documentary about you, one that he binged religiously in hopes of reliving his desire to be with you, even if it’s only for a minute, even if it’s only a figment of his imagination.

“-outa? hello, did you hear me?” you laughed, snapping him out of his daily programmed thoughts of you.

“h-huh? y-yeah sorry, what did you say?” shouta slightly stuttered, a small blush on his cheeks which he hide as he turned his head away in embarrassment.

i mean, for god sakes he was damn near forty and was blushing heavily because you were standing a little too close for comfort. he’s acting like he’s 16 again, but even then, he never acted like this around anyone else.

you really were special to him.

“i was just asking if i could take some paper for 3A, we’re doing a mind map project!” you asked, already making your way to his drawers on the side - you knew shouta would say yes, he’s never said no to you.

“yeah sure, do what you want. you baby that class too much though, they should be patrolling.” shouta feigned nonchalance, even though he would run the ends of the earth just to give you anything you’ve ever wanted.

“oh stop! i want them to be comfortable with their identity as a hero first before going onto the streets.” you giggled, a wad of A3 sheets in your arms now.

“you damn hippie, by the time they get onto the streets, they’ll be too lazy to do anything.” shouta sighed, while he respected you as a teacher and the love of his life with an ethereal face, gorgeous body and flamboyant personality that contrasts his doom and gloom, he truly was worried of the third years not understanding the importance of patrolling with you prolonging it.

“it’s not like they’ve never patrolled, i still make them do it once a week. it’s just, an incident happened with one of the students which made them lose their confidence in their skills. so i’m making them do a self love mind map!” you beamed.

shouta starred at you, amazed at your emotional intelligence and your ability to make everyone feel better within seconds. maybe that was your quirk, being the face of positivity and making old men become love sick fools that would kiss your feet.

“wow y/n! you’re so cool!” ashido laughed out.

“we never get to do anything like that!” grumbled denki.

“literally all we do it’s train.” hanta sighed

“i wanna be as positive as you when im a hero!” izuku called out.

“silly, you guys already are hero’s!” you giggled.

“stop making this so positive, they’ll get complacent and think that this is the peak of hero life.” shouta grumbled, pretending that your radiance wasn’t the reason he fell for you in the first place.

“you grumpy old man! anyways, i need to go before my class starts causing mayhem, bye 2A, bye shouta.” you smiled before leaving the class, shouta’s eyes never once leaving you as you walked away.

his heart was beating faster than ever before, his hands became clammy as hell- fuck, was it that hot in here? he’s now tugging on the cloth around his neck.

“sir, you’re blushing like crazy.” denki giggles, causing the class to start laughing at their teacher.

shouta turns more red in response, rolling his eyes to cover his embarrassment but his students could see right through them.

“shut up y/n- wait, i mean-“ sadly, after he said that, it was over for him.

the class’s laughter rose to volumes even present mic couldn’t reach, with a mixture of whistling and ‘oooh’s thrown in to further taunt him.

“quiet down.” shouta used to his quirk, his eyes turning red and his hair flying around.

the class immediately quieted down, they know that shouta was not the one to be played with.

shouta, kayama, yagi and yamada sat in the staff room, the three of them joking about whatever nonsense their kids were up to while shouta stayed listening, pretending to annoyed by the chatter while a small smile rested on his face.

“-and then, out of no where, young bakugou punches young midoriya, and i was just shocked because where the hell did he even come from?!” yagi’s face looked dripped in stress as he told this story, kayama and yamada laughing along heartily while shouta chuckled softly as he remembered that story.

“lord, class 2A sure is something! i honestly thought something naughty was going on between them.” kayama smirks as she says that.

“dude what, they literally go at each other heads all the time! ever since they came back from summer holidays, izuku has been hurling back all of katsuki’s insults!” yamada rebutted.

“enemies to lovers, bully to lovers and rivals to lovers is all im hearing right now!” kayama says in a sing-song tone.

“trust me, if you want something that may happen, you should look between young uraraka and young midoriya” yagi says with a lower tone.

they all (minus shouta whose been knowing this would happen) gasped.

“you guys haven’t noticed? izuku always starts blushing like hell and stuttering anytime ochako comes around him.” shouta adds on.

“i’ve never noticed it!” kayama says disappointedly.

“it’s hilarious, she could come up and say hi and he freezes up while looking down at his work or some shit.” shouta laughs.

“who freezes up?” you came out of nowhere.

shouta freezes up again, it’s honestly like he can’t escape you from both his mind and real life.

a pink dust starts sprinkling itself on his cheeks as he looks straight ahead, not trusting himself to look at your beautiful face without having a full on panic attack.

“u-um we were just talking about izuku and ochako.” shouta mutters while leaning back in his chair, pretending he was simply relaxing instead of panicking over you speaking to him.

yagi, yamada and kayama all look at each other before starring between the two of you, looking at shouta suspiciously with his sudden ‘wannabe cool boy’ demeanour.

“oh! not to be a gossip but you wouldn’t believe the things i’ve heard about them.” you giggled, talking a seat. next to shouta.

you were so close, your mouth was practically next to your ear (you were not that close, he’s just imagining things).

“well you better spill!” yamada cackled.

“you’re so loud.” shouta rolled his eyes.

“i think it’s nice how loud he is, no room for confusion!” you smiled, there you go again, making the best out of everything.

shouta looked at you, smiling at you as you spoke about how you heard about some party and izuku taking ochako somewhere or whatever, he really didn’t care for that, seeing you speak with so much passion, joy and compassion really just made him fall in love with you even more.

“but who knows?” you innocently say as if you didn’t drop the biggest development for the izuocha-teacher-movement.

“young midoriya has game!” yagi laughed

“you’re an old man, respect yourself.” shouta replied.

“he’s right though, i didn’t know he had it in him to make a move at a party nonetheless!” kamaya smiled.

“well anyways, i really want to try this lunch place, will anyone come with me?” you asked.

“i will.” shouta said almost immediately which didn’t go unnoticed by the others.

“are you sure? it’s quite far and i don’t have my car so you would have to drive.” you mentioned, knowing that shouta was lazy as hell. getting him to do a task not listed in his job requirements usually needs an army.

“it’s fine, i’ll go anywhere with you.” shouta spoke softly, causing everyone, including you, to look at him skeptically.

“shit, as in, well- i just meant that uh…” shouta fumbled over his words, his face turning even redder than before. he truly believes this is karma for making fun of izuku.

“alright honey, i’ll meet you by your car in 10 minutes, still got a few things to set out.” you laughed it off.

shouta’s eyes widened at the nickname and stared at your figure as you walked off, admiring your every move as though you were magnetic, his heart beating ferociously with every step you took.

“ok, now, what was that!?” yamada asked demandingly as soon as you were out of sight.

“oh my god, you’re so loud.” shouta deflected.

“you aren’t getting out of this one aizawa sensei, you’re in love with them!” kamaya’s eyes glistened as she said that.

“no i’m not, can a man not have friends?” shouta sighed and lied like nobody’s business.

“LMAO, nice one, you defo wanna bang them sho!” yamada teased, causing shouta to blush like crazy.

“i’m actually just speechless, i’ve never seen you get so… pathetic.” yagi stifled a chuckled.

“who the hell are you calling pathetic? do you not remember the incident with izuku’s mom?” shouta smirked.

“my bad.” yagi kept silent as the others looked at him skeptically once more.

“we will definitely come to that later, but gosh can we get back to how he was blushing like crazy when they first came!” kamaya spoke with an amazed tone.

“oo! or when he stuttered and stared at them the whole time?” yamada added on.

“or even when he said ‘ill go anywhere with you’ as though they were leaving forever?” yagi cackled.

“you guys are annoying, i don’t like them or whatever you guys think. i think of them just like anyone else would.” shouta replied, rolling his eyes.

“alright then, hawks did mention wanting to ask them out. makes sense as well, they are more closer in age than you two are.” yamada smugly replies.

“what? where did you hear this?” shouta replied instantly, his eyes widening.

“LOL got you!” yamada laughed loudly.

“yeah alright whatever, you chronically online fool.” shouta huffed out in annoyance.

“you should ask them out! they are always talking about you anyways.” yagi advises.

“they do?” shouta looked at yagi curiously.

“yeah, always asking what you’re doing or just mentioning you in conversation. i tried to ask if they were into you flat out but they deflected the question so i dropped it.” yagi continues.

shouta looks straight ahead of him, his brows furrowing in confusion as he thought about what yagi was implying.

did you, want him?

fuck, just thinking about it makes his heart swell and turns the background chatter into a cheesy romcom song.

“look at how you’re blushing! come on, it’s clearly that you’re both into each other so ask them out! for once you can spend valentines with someone that’s isn’t a cat.” kamaya giggled.

“i enjoy my single life thank you very much, but i will ask them out.” shouta replied.

the three of them started cheering for him as he thought deeper about what was about to happen, in 10 minutes, you could either be his or a forced distant memory.

fuck, he really was too old for this shit.

you two finally arrived to the place, it was a fancy ramen place that looked as though it would be more popular during the night scene - however this made it so now, during the day, it was practically empty, more intimate.

honestly, it was like the universe was just egging him on.

even the interior had romantic undertones, with all the valentines decorations and romance inspired special dishes plastered everywhere that he lowkey wanted to try with you.

you both took your seat in a booth across from one another and you took a look at the menu already set out in front of you on your table.

“this place would be lovely for a date.” you hummed out cheerily

shouta looked at you confusingly, what the hell was that supposed to mean?

was this a date?

“well, if you want it to be then..” you answered back bashfully.

“shit, i didn’t mean to say that out loud. wait, what?” shouta was processing too many things at once.

“y/n, are you… do you..?” shouta couldn’t find the words to say it but you knew exactly what he was trying to say.

“depends on how you feel about me.” you leaned forward onto the table, more confidence slipping into your system even though you were a nervous wreck on the inside.

shouta’s eyes widened upon realisation, his breathing quickened slightly as he took in everything happening. this was it, this was the moment he dreamed for, this was his opening to finally get the dream - no - reality that was now within reach.

“alright, well here goes.” shouta clears his throat and puts down his menu, you follow suit.

“y/n, i’m gonna be honest here, you’re someone i cannot stop thinking about. it’s like, you’re in my system or something, it’s annoying as hell but i’m not all that bothered. i like thinking about you, you make me feel… i don’t know what the word is but it’s new, fresh and beautiful. i guess i’ve been into you for a while, which i think has been quite obvious and you’re honestly the only person i’ve ever felt like this for, so im not completely sure what im doing here. but when im with you, you make me feel fuzzy and warm and all the weird things that make you happy and shit. i guess, what im trying to say is that i… love you y/n. probably have for a good year or so. so, please, it would be my pleasure to take you out on a date or something.” shouta spilled all of his feelings in front of you, leaving you shocked with his proclamation.

shouta’s heart was there on a platter, beating violently as the inscribed words that he had just spoken out were spilled out like ancient secrets.

you reached over the table, grabbing his cloth to pulled him closer to you and pressed his lips onto yours, all in a flash.

at first, it was still, you both were absorbing each others warmth, until shouta finally started moving, his lips guiding yours as they stayed stuck onto one another. almost as though your lips were two opposite poles that stayed stuck together.

your lips matched perfectly, fitting like two puzzle pieces intricately designed to only accept each others shape. everything felt so right, the same feeling you get when you fit the last block in a wooden box - completion.

the sound of lips smacking as shouta gently put his hand of your face, both your eyes fully close and immersing in the moment.

after a hearty moment, you pulled away slowly whilst opening your eyes. shouta’s eyes were half lidded and drunk on you.

“i love you too shouta, my favourite grump.” you giggled.

he rolled his eyes in response but smiled because finally, everything was in place.

he got you out of his system, and into reality. you were finally his and his only.

[hisbitch101]

Waking up to shouta aizawa giving you kisses up and and own from your cheeks to your collarbone feeling the stubble on your soft skin with a plate of your fav breakfast telling you he's headed to his shift of saving the city>>>

[tsukiko26]

Shouta Aizawa Header

Free to use😊

[spicychaister]

Life was boring, boring, boring before you came along. Shouta’s days were monotonous and dull despite his rather packed schedule. Sometimes, he would pray to whoever was looking over him to bring him something to break up the tiresome cycle and when they brought him you, he could’ve cried then and there.

Before you, he didn’t understand how life was supposed to be lived. And when he found you…he couldn’t have been more grateful.

So he’d wake up in the morning with you next to him.

“Thank you,” He’d whisper as your closed eyes moved with the dreams of your subconscious. He’d stare for a couple of minutes, maybe more. His hand would draw lazy, faint circles on your arm. He’d hope you stay asleep a little while longer as you begin to stir, wishing to witness the fleeting peace of your body and mind for a moment longer.

But when your bleary eyes fluttered open, glossed over with the sleep and fantasies of your slumber, he swore he could feel his heart explode. you would let out soft groans as you try to let sleep take your hand once more as you scoot closer to him as the cold air of your apartment bedroom nipped at your skin and his mind would melt into a small puddle.

The sun would rise a few minutes later, forcing you awake only for your grip on Shouta to tighten like he was your anchor to the real world. He would pull you onto his chest, kiss your hairline and let out a soft grunt when you shove your face into the crook of his neck. Your lips would softly connect with his jaw and then tell him he needed to shave, and he’d mutter a small ‘yes, my love.’

He’d let out a quiet yelp when you playfully bite his neck and he’d nudge your head away from his neck but would be quick to guide your lips to his. His would linger a little while longer, he hoped you could feel his admiration for you through the tender act of affection. You’d smile into the kiss, an action that signaled you understood as you always do.

You’d melt further into his clothed chest with a soft sigh as he’d wrap his arms around you to shield you from all things unwanted. Selfishly, he’d hope his arms could hide you from the world, leaving only him to find solace in your being. It wouldn’t work, and you’d reluctantly slip off of him to get ready for the day.

He’d stare in awe as you meander into the bathroom, his eyes alit with a flame of envy for all the others that were bound to see you throughout your day. He’d wonder how you could hold so much grace in your presence. ponder about who you’d talk to during the day and what you’d speak about.

When you flash him a toothy grin, foam from the toothpaste of your toothbrush covering your pearly whites, his head would shake and his mouth would stretch into his own grin although he was sure it was merely a reflection of yours.

Shouta’s body would remain melted into the bed as his eyes follow you around your bedroom, admiring you as you threw on your outfit for the day. He’d speak up when his input was wanted and he couldn’t help himself as his eyes would stick to your curves like an ant in honey. A shirt would be thrown at his face as you catch his oglling.

Shouta didn’t know why you stuck around. He couldn’t fathom why someone as wonderful as you would have been gifted to someone like him. But he’d start the next morning as he did every morning, with a thank you to whoever led him to you.

A soft breathless “thank you…” as he wakes beside you.

A small utterance of gratitude for a life that you made anew.

Not proof read

[sugarwarachan]

hot for teacher

pairing: shouta aizawa x f!reader

summary: You’re not expecting your day to fall to pieces at 8:21 a.m., but life hasn’t really been going your way lately. A string of lackluster dates, followed by two dead vibrators (with missing cords!), and the only outlet left for your mounting sexual frustration—the smut blog you diligently update—has been discovered by the one person you never wanted to find it: fellow teacher Shouta Aizawa. Who might just be the inspiration behind most of the fantasies you post about.

word count: 1.3k

content warnings: coworkers-to-lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, forced proximity, there was only bed trope, explicit smut, phone sex, bondage, impact play, degradation, use of slut and whore, D/s, subspace, aftercare

There is nothing on this earth you hate more than Mondays.

You’re meant to be horizontal in bed, wearing fuzzy socks, holding a steaming mug of tea, and cuddling your cats. You’re not supposed to be blearily stirring sugar into subpar coffee and thinking about lesson plans.

“Ugh,” you groan under your breath.

Fellow teacher Shouta Aizawa's low voice sounds off behind you. “Bad morning already?”

Oh good god, you’re not ready to see him this early.

You’re fully aware that your crush on him is debilitating. You have no idea why you’re rendered incapable of speech the second he walks into the room, because you never have a problem with literally any other man. You can flirt easily. Hell, you’re good at flirting—when it’s low-stakes and there’s no risk of attachment.

But you like Aizawa. He's stern and kind and deliciously muscled, and lately every sexual fantasy sprinting through your head features him.

Which has occasionally bled into the characters you write about on your blog.

You turn over your shoulder. He’s wearing his usual combination of dark slacks and dark button-up. He’s taken to wearing it with the sleeves rolled up, which has been detrimental for your libido. “Something like that.”

“Hmm.”

He starts making coffee, which should not accelerate your heart rate the way it does. He’s standing next to you, you remind yourself, not pressing you up against the counter.

You shut that thought down instantly.

“Good morning for you?” You try for small talk to avoid focusing on the hammering of your pulse.

Out of the corner of your eye, you swear you see a hint of a smirk before it drops away.

“An interesting morning, I’d say.”

He slides his phone over to you with one finger, the pinned post of your Tumblr flashing under your eyes.

Your heart drops so far out of your stomach that it probably enmeshes itself in the earth’s crust.

“So. Which character is most like me?”

This cannot be happening to you.

You’ve never once used his name. You’ve never even described him (although he is the placeholder for nearly every dark-haired stoic man you write about).

But you distinctly remember a late-night confessional post about your crush on a colleague, and you almost vomit.

Your mind trips over itself, trying to find a denial or a lie, but all you can think, staring down at Aizawa’s phone, is that you want desperately to be back in your bed this morning and for this to not be happening at all.

“Ummm.”

He doesn’t even reward that with a blink while you keep standing there cramming your brain back into your ears.

“It’s not what you think,” finally tumbles out.

Oh dear fucking god, that’s the best you can come up with?

Aizawa raises one dark brow. He takes a sip of coffee, and you try your hardest not to notice the way his forearm tenses.

“It’s not?”

You really wish he was even the slightest bit easier to read, but as usual, his stoic expression gives away nothing.

Time to stall.

“This is an incredibly inappropriate thing to be discussing at work,” you say, surprising yourself at how annoyed you sound. You are, you realize, a little bit angry. He thrust your personal blog in your face and just assumed some of it was about him? When you finally bring yourself to look at him, he’s shocked, or as shocked as Shouta Aizawa gets. “Since it’s personal, I will discuss it with you after work. I’ll be at the cafe down the street, the one with the good scones. Don’t be late.”

You stomp out of the teacher’s lounge on shaky legs and pray you can keep it together for seven more hours.

By the time you get to the cafe, you’ve gone through more nausea medication than is perhaps healthy for the average human, but you don’t want to lose what little of your lunch you choked down all over Aizawa’s lap.

You rehearsed the conversation a hundred times—in your head, over the phone with Mirko, who needed to pause every ten seconds to wheeze with laughter—but nothing really prepares you for telling a colleague they inspire your smut fics.

As soon as he sits down, your curiosity wins out over your shame. “How did you even find it?”

“Oh.” He runs a hand along the back of his head. “Mic found it.”

You raise an eyebrow. Who?

“Yamada,” he answers. “We hosted a radio show back in college together. That’s what he called himself.”

“Did they call you something?”

His ears turn pink. “Um. Yeah. Eraserhead.”

“Eraserhead?”

“Just Mic being Mic.” He waves a hand, but the tips of his ears remain a cute shade of scarlet. You don’t know why that heartens you, but it does. At the end of the day, he’s just some guy, not a fucking deity.

“How did he find it?”

Aizawa clears his throat. “He’s a weirdo.”

You file away that non-answer for later.

“Why aren’t you freaking out at me?” you ask in frustration.

His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“I’m your colleague, and I’ve written filthy fucking shit while thinking about you,” you whisper heatedly, jabbing one finger into the table. What is he not getting? “Doesn’t that creep you out?”

“I know what you’ve been doing,” he says, and his eyes drop to your lips. Your mouth dries up. “And no, it doesn’t creep me out.”

You take a sip of water to restart your brain.

“I should apologize to you,” he says. “For bringing it up like that. You were right, it was very unprofessional. I was curious and not thinking straight.”

“What were you curious about?”

He takes a moment to answer. “If you’re satisfied, I suppose.”

“Satisfied?” you squeak. You’ve written smut that could make paint peel, and yet you're flushed and near trembling from the mere suggestion that Shouta Aizawa has considered whether or not you’ve cum recently.

“Mmhmm.” He taps two fingers in between you and before you know it, you’re laying your hand out for him to grab. He turns up your palm and starts to gently massage it with one thumb. “This okay?”

You nod. His touch is warm and rough. You fight not to sink into it.

“I asked because I’m attracted to you, and I believe you’re attracted to me, and we have similar interests.” His gaze is a direct contrast to his touch; you’ve never seen him look uncertain, but there’s a hint of it in the way he softly holds your eyes. He looks down and lets go of your hand. “If what you write is merely a fantasy, and I’m being presumptuous—“

“You aren’t. It’s not just fantasy.” Your cheeks feel like they’re 110 degrees. “I just—I never expected this.” You flap your hands in between the two of you.

“Yeah,” he laughs, and the sound knocks the air from your lungs. “I wasn’t either." He looks at you far longer than is appropriate in the middle of the day in a cafe, but you can't look away. Of all things, you want to hold his hand again.

His phone rings loudly. He sighs at the caller ID. "I have to run, but I’ll call you later, if that's all right with you." You shoot for a nod that does not come off as extremely eager, but your shit-eating grin gives you away. "We’ll talk more about what to do about us, too.”

The bell to the cafe rings as he leaves, but you barely hear it over the thundering of your heart.

(･ω･)つandy's notes: this is so self-indulgent and delicious and I really hope you all enjoy 😘 the posting schedule for this will be Mon/Fri. let me know if you want to be on the taglist <3.

[tired-teacher-blog]

Stubborn

Characters : Aizawa/ Fem reader

Warnings and Genre : NSFW/ 18+/ Food!Play (kind of, Idk)/ Sexual intercourse/ One shot

Summary : You and Aizawa have been ignoring each other for days over a stupid argument, but you've had enough of it and decided to force him to yield in a special way.

Masterlist|Second Masterlist|Third Masterlist

While sitting up in bed, back leaned against the headboard and a book in hand, Aizawa adjusted his reading glasses to a more comfortable position atop his nose, before turning the page to continue reading.

You were in the bathroom at that moment, a mischievous smile on your lips, and a devilish glint in your eye as you finished putting on one of the sexiest lingerie sets you own, which has proven time and time again its ability to bring your man to his knees.. and boy did you need that right now.

The thing is, you and him have had a heated argument a few days ago, and ever since then, he's been purposely avoiding you, probably to push you into apologizing first. It was a silent challenge between the two of you, to prove who's more stubborn and less willing to break in front of the other.

You stepped out of the bathroom and strode into the kitchen with quick and light steps, pulling an ice cream box out of the freezer, before scooping two large servings into a sundae glass and topping them off with a squirt of chocolate syrup.

You carried the frozen sweetness in one hand while switching the kitchen's light off with the other, before bouncing your way towards the bedroom and walking in with feigned innocence that could easily fool anyone, but not him.. definitely not him, because he knows you too well to fall for your ruse.

He glanced your way and raised an eyebrow as you plopped down onto your side of the bed next to him, before quickly turning his full attention back to his book..

"Let the game begin.." you thought to yourself.

Smirking slightly, you brought a spoonful of the strawberry and vanilla flavored ice cream to your lips, letting out a soft satisfied sound as the chill goodness melted in your mouth and slid down your throat, giving you a slight shiver that did not go unnoticed by him.

He shifted slightly and cleared his throat before turning the page in his book, other than that, he carried on ignoring you, although it was obvious by then how distracted he'd gotten.

His reaction spurred you further, and your attempts started getting bolder and bolder by the second. You took another spoonful and brought it again to your mouth, but this time instead of devouring its content, you simply licked it, still with those same satisfied noises that were pushing him to madness little by little.

He was still playing hard to get, but the words on the page started to mingle into an incomprehensible smudge, so there he was, fighting the urge to throw the damn book across the room and pin you down onto the bed before having his way with you.

You wanted to push a little further, glancing his way briefly before "accidentally" tilting the spoon and dropping the thawing sweetness onto your breasts with an over exaggerated gasp.

_ "Oh no! my favorite bra is now ruined." you placed the glass and spoon on the nightstand near you, before trailing your fingertips along your cleavage and delicate lace of your bra, effectively smearing the melted strawberry and vanilla treat all over the fabric and the swell of your bosom.

_ "What the hell are you doing?" and so, at that exact same moment, he finally relented and addressed you after days of silence, though his tone was almost thunderous with obvious irritation as he slammed the book shut and tossed it aside before shifting his weight slightly so he was facing you with a glare.

_ "Oh, so now you're talking to me?" you scoffed with barely concealed amusement, bringing your cream coated fingers to your smirking lips, and licking them with deliberate enticement while batting your eyelashes at him.

He gritted his teeth, to the point where you could swear you heard his jaw clicking, and before you could mockingly comment on the matter, he ripped off his reading glasses, throwing them God knows where, and jumping on top of you, pinning you with a brute force and fixing you down with a blazing stare.

You were taken aback for a brief moment, your bravado almost evaporating, until you saw the barely contained self-control reflected in his usually chill demeanor.

_ "So I take it you're ready to apologize, right?" you carried on shamelessly taunting him, arching off the bed slightly until your bodies were almost touching, but the only response he had for you was a deep growl rumbling in his chest before silencing you with a desperate kiss that bordered on obsession.

You tensed up for a moment, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat as he devoured your lips and invaded your mouth, you were expecting a little more resistance from the composed and dog-headed man whose stubbornness is usually unmatched, but then again, you were ignoring each other for days, and the built-up tension had to snap at some point.

You immediately regained your composure, kissing him back with the same fervor, messily, intensely, sloppily, in a battle of dominance.

You gasped and whined as he swiftly ripped your lace bra and cupped your breasts, pushing him slightly and breaking the kiss briefly to voice your protest, only to be interrupted by a husky: "be quiet, you said they were ruined already, didn't you? I'll buy you new ones," and his lips were devouring yours once more.

His large hands kneaded and squeezed and pinched your mounds relentlessly, before tracing your sides and moving lower and lower until they reached the delicate trim of your panties, hooking his thumbs in the garment, and pulling them down and off of you, to expose you fully to him.

He suddenly broke the kiss, leaving you flushed and gasping for air as he sat back to admire the view with an almost predatory stare, "alright princess.. since you enjoy games so much, let's play one."

His gaze shifted to the forgotten sundae glass on your nightstand, leaning forward to pick it up before kneeing your legs apart to settle comfortably between them.

_ "Shouta.. w-what are you going to do?" and for the first time that evening, your confidence and smugness seemed to falter.

He didn't reply though, at least not with words, he did however smirk delightfully while swirling his thick index and middle finger into the melted ice cream before bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean without breaking eye contact with you.

He scooped another generous amount of the strawberry and vanilla flavored delight in his fingers, smearing it over your hardened peaks, your stomach, and then lower.. a little lower.. almost where you needed him most, but not quite..

_ "Shouta.. stop teasing me already damnit!" you whined and writhed and glared up at him, but he was clearly enjoying your frustration.

_ "Shhh, stay still, and keep your lips parted," he demanded in a smooth tone that made you follow his wishes obediently, "that's my good girl," he added huskily and moved his ice cream coated fingers to your mouth, rubbing the melting delicacy over your parted lips before slowly leaning in to lick and suck it off, leaving you stunned and breathless.

He sat up afterwards, looking down at you with an intense stare and a pleased grin as he licked his lips and gathered his long, dark, luscious hair in a messy bun before diving in again, but this time to devour the rest of the sweetness off your lower belly first, nibbling on your flesh teasingly while doing so, and then higher, his stubble grazing your soft skin as he glided his hot wet tongue along your stomach, slowly, agonizingly slow, to the point where your breath got caught in your throat until you felt his warm mouth on your breasts, and that was when a broken whimper– something between an eager moan and a whiny protest, fell from your lips, "Shouta.."

_"What is it princess? impatient already?" he chuckled against your skin, still licking off the remainder of the ice cream. He took one of your perky nipples in his mouth, sucking on it hard and nibbling teasingly before moving to the other teat to give it the same treatment.

You arched off the bed, threading your fingers through his soft tied strands, messing them up in the process while tugging on them with every teasing graze of his teeth against your flesh.

He sat up again to regard you with a pleased grin across his lips as your body trembled uncontrollably, your chest heaved sharply, and your cheeks turned a deep shade of red, and without a word, he peeled off his black t-shirt and lowered his sweatpants and boxers in one swift motion.

Your eyes widened as his hard cock bounced back against his abdomen, raging, throbbing and already leaking, and that's when you realized that he was actually as impatient as you were.

You instinctively spread your legs further for him, his gaze darkening at your silent invitation, and without wasting another second, he grabbed your thighs and pulled you towards him before slamming his thickness into your glistening core with no warning or preparation, eliciting a gasp from you and a growl from him.

He stilled for a little while, giving you a moment to adjust to his thick shaft before pulling out slowly and thrusting back in just as hard as the first time, setting an unforgiving pace from the get go.

You arched off the bed and grasped onto the soft bedsheets underneath your twisting body, his fingers dug into your sides in a bruising manner, and his gaze pierced into your soul as he kept pounding into your pussy mercilessly.

You moaned his name over and over and over again with every brutal snap of his hips that effectively grazed your sensitive walls deliciously.

_ "You like that princess?" he hissed with an amused expression, but the intensity in his stare betrayed his lust.

_ "Yes! don't stop.. don't stop please.." you replied shamelessly, no longer caring about maintaining that cool façade you were portraying at the beginning.

Your fingers released the crumpled bedsheets to sink into his wrists as he kept pounding into you, and suddenly everything came to a halt, his hips pressed against yours but no longer moving, you whined and winced at the unfulfilled spark that was starting to burn inside of you.

You looked up at him, frustrated and puzzled, to find a smoldering gaze boring into your hazy eyes, and before you could even open your mouth to speak, his strong arms snuck under your back and pulled you up so you were straddling his lap instead.

You gasped, eyes widening and a rush of heat running throughout your body as the new position drove him even deeper inside of you.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck to keep yourself balanced. Lips parted, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, and legs trembling slightly, but he gave you no time to adjust to this new position, and immediately crashed his lips against yours in a dominating and bruising kiss that you couldn't keep up with.

His large hands cupped your butt cheeks as he started bouncing you on his throbbing shaft, he swallowed every whine, every whimper, and every broken moan leaving your throat everytime his raging tip hit your cervix.

You suddenly broke the kiss, arching into him and throwing your head back with a loud cry, "Shouta! I'm cumming! don't stop please!"

He growled at your desperate plea, feeling himself nearing his own release, "go ahead princess, don't hold back, I want to feel you falling apart around me." he demanded through a clenched jaw before leaning in to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your exposed neck, and that was when it happened..

Your eyes rolled back, and your body tensed up for a split second before an overwhelming feeling of pleasure washed over you in waves, sending an uncontrollabe tremble to every cell of your body. You drowned into the sensation, his name leaving your mouth in an almost unintelligible slur.

He didn't relent, not until he finally reached his own orgasm, lifting you up slightly and pulling out of you seconds before bursting all over your tummy with a deep gravelly 'fuck' leaving his throat.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, and watched through hazy eyes as thick ropes of his pearly seeds painted your skin, and deep satisfied groans tickled your ear as he slowly came down from his high.

You two remained quiet for a long moment afterwards, heavy breathing and thundering thumping of your heartbeats were the only things that could be heard.

_ "Apology accepted." he finally spoke, a hint of teasing in his tone.

Your body stiffened momentarily, and your mouth hung open in disbelief at his shameless remark, and in an instant, your head snapped up and eyes bore into his own as you replied, "I never apologized though.. plus, that argument was your fault to begin with."

His expression turned even more amused as he pressed on, "so you weren't seducing me earlier huh? I must have misunderstood then."

You tried to swallow your embarrassment and remain as composed as he was, before counterattacking, "seduce you? if I recall correctly, you were the one who kissed me first!"

_"True, but why do you think I did that?" he spoke with a smirk playing on his lips while glancing at your shredded lingerie and the glass of melted ice cream, the evidence of your ruse.

You followed his gaze and scoffed before firing back, but with a hint of playfulness in your voice, "well, it's not my fault you find me extremely irresistible that some ice cream and a little revealing outfit were enough to make you lose your mind."

He let out a deep chuckle and sighed in resignation before purring, "alright you win, you're irresistible.. now shut up and give me a kiss."

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[bunniidrawsstuff]

Those damn kids stressing this man OUT

(I have no idea if I like this or not-)

[m4ya3den]

teenage aizawa!!

first time posting 😛

[zairene]

this wasn’t the first time you had to pick up shouta after a long night out. every morning afterwards he would claim that it was just one drink after another, then he just couldn’t hold himself back after that. he would also spend that morning apologizing for the fact that you had to take care of him because he decided to not take care of himself. that made him feel guilty. he felt that he owes you this.

yet he didn’t owe you anything. you understood why he would do it and you were never mad at him. you always encouraged him to go out with his friends and take a break from his heroic duties for once. sure, it was a hassle getting him into clothes that didn’t reek of alcohol, but at the end of the night, he would always end up in your arms and satisfied.

“you’re lucky i love you, shou.”

“mhmm. love you too.”

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