qtvi0let

[qtvi0let]

„Dad, Im scared.“

a/n; been feeling a little sad lately so i wrote this.

Major Character Death, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Found Family, Reader is a Minor (16-17), Villain to Hero, Traumatized Reader, Mentally Ill Reader, Suicidal Thoughts, Death Wish, Rehabilitation, Emotional Pain, Protective Aizawa Shouta, Aizawa Shouta Adopts Reader, Reader Dies, Reader Has No Family, Unspoken Feelings, Last Words, Parental Bond, Flashbacks, Reader Calls Aizawa “Dad”, Aizawa Grief, UA Under Attack, Crushed to Death, Heavy Angst, Tragic Ending, Couldn’t Save Them, Soft Moments Before Death, Parental Angst

//// “You Were Mine Too Late” ////

Smoke.

Dust.

Screams.

The sky above U.A. was burning.

Shattered steel bent like paper. The buildings that once held dreams and futures now crumbled into tombs. The heroes scattered, their voices barely heard over the roar of destruction.

Aizawa was bleeding.

But he didn’t stop.

His legs were moving before the smoke had even settled. His eyes scanned every crumbling hallway, every cracked pillar. Something inside him had snapped the moment he’d realized—

You weren’t there.

You.

His student.

His child.

⸻

It had taken months—months of careful words and silence—for you to even look him in the eye.

He’d found you in the middle of winter, hidden in a house that smelled like blood and rot, tucked behind a flipped table, shaking. You were sixteen. Half-starved. Eyes wide with a fear he hadn’t seen since Oboro died. You didn’t speak when he found you—only flinched when he moved too fast. Your arms were covered in old scars. The kind no villain had put there.

You didn’t cry. You just stared at him with hollow eyes and whispered:

“Kill me.”

He didn’t.

He knelt down instead, set his scarf aside, and said:

“No.”

⸻

You never knew family. You had grown up with villains who taught you violence, not kindness. Who taught you that your life only had value if you made others suffer. You were broken long before Aizawa found you.

And you wanted to die.

You always had.

Because death, to you, was peace. Silence. A release.

But Aizawa refused to let you go quietly. He didn’t chain you. He didn’t scold or push. He gave you space. A room. Training. Routine. Safety.

And slowly—like a wound scabbing over—you let yourself live.

Some days, you’d stare at your reflection for hours, trying to see who you were becoming. Some nights, Aizawa would find you curled up on the common room couch, clutching a pillow with silent tears on your cheeks. You never told him what you dreamed about.

He never asked.

He just draped a blanket over you and stayed nearby until you fell asleep again.

He trained you. Believed in you when you didn’t even believe in breathing. And little by little, you stopped waiting to die.

You began to want things. Small things.

Warm tea.

Sunlight.

A quiet voice calling your name without anger.

You wanted… him to stay.

And he did.

⸻

Just yesterday, the adoption papers came through. Aizawa had walked into the dorms, quiet as always, but there was something unreadable in his eyes.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

You followed him. Nervous. Always nervous.

He handed you the file. You flipped through it slowly. Eyes shaking.

You looked up, confused. He hadn’t said a word.

Then finally, he spoke—softly.

“You don’t have to say yes. But… if you want, I’d like to make this official.”

You blinked.

“…Me?”

He nodded. “You don’t have to change your name. Nothing has to change. I just thought… maybe it’s time.”

You stared down at the papers.

Then whispered:

“…Okay.”

It was the first time you’d ever said that word with hope in your voice.

⸻

Now he was running.

Through flames. Through rubble. Through screams and falling ceilings.

Because his child was gone.

And he couldn’t breathe.

⸻

“(Y/N)!”

No answer.

His lungs burned.

He turned another corner, and something cold wrapped around his heart.

A hand.

Small. Pale.

Reaching from beneath a collapsed wall.

“NO.”

He was on the ground in seconds. Throwing debris aside. Ignoring the pain in his ribs, the gash on his leg. Blood covered his fingers as he uncovered your body, and he felt the same terror he had once felt when Oboro collapsed, limp and gone, and there had been nothing he could do.

But this was worse.

This was you.

You, who had finally learned how to smile. Who had finally slept through the night. Who had finally started leaving notes like,

“Training early. Don’t wait up.”

And

“Made extra tea.”

You were barely breathing. Blood poured from your stomach and your mouth. Your limbs were twisted beneath the rubble, one eye swollen shut. Dust caked your hair.

You looked up at him, tears falling freely.

“…Dad,” you rasped, voice broken and weak. “I’m scared…”

His throat closed.

“I’m here. You’re gonna be okay. We’ll get you out, I swear—”

You reached out. Your hand shook violently as you touched his arm.

“I’m tired… i dont want to die. Please.. please”

He shook his head, heart breaking. “Don’t. Don’t you dare give up. You made it this far. Stay with me, just a little longer—”

But you smiled… because deep down, a small part of you still craved this— craved the sweet release of death.

It was soft. Peaceful.

you whispered. “Thank you… Dad…”

Your hand slipped from his.

Your eyes closed.

Your chest stilled.

The rubble was quiet now.

The sky was still burning—but to Aizawa, the world had already ended.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until his tears hit your cheek.

He held you close, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I couldn’t even call you my child,” he whispered. “I thought I’d have time. I thought I’d get to say it when you were ready.”

His arms tightened.

“But I was ready. I just… never said it.”

He broke then. Silent. Alone in the middle of the wreckage, holding the only student who ever made him hope again.

You had wanted to die for so long.

And just when you wanted to live—just when you chose him—

He lost you. Lost you like he lost Oboro,

Failed you just like he failed him.

[qtvi0let]

Hey I just want to tell you, your written is so fck YUMMYY, love the way you write Aizawa, when you feel good please give more! Hope you doing fine <3

Thank you, precious 🩷🩷! I’ll most definitely write more Aizawa! I’m also currently working on some Dadzawa fluff :) I’m really glad you like my writing — I tend to be a little insecure about it, and I sometimes worry that people might think I use some sort of writing AI, especially since I use em dashes quite often, which are common in AI-generated texts. But that’s just how I naturally write.

Still thank you alot for your kind words and i will be dropping more aizawa in the future! <3

[qtvi0let]

Aizawa secretly likes being called daddy

A/n; u guys only love me when i post aizawa 😔😔

— Aizawa x Reader, D/S, Dom!Aizawa(hes a meanie), Headlock Kink, Daddy kink, Consensual Rough Sex, Reader Loves It, immobilization, Creampie, Hair pulling. //F!reader

idk the artists @, if u do please tag them for credits.

////// In his hold /////

The night was thick with heat, the sheets tangled and soaked with sweat as Aizawa’s hands roamed your body, rough but tender at first. His lips pressed soft kisses along your jaw, breath warm against your skin, that rare softness in his tired eyes making your heart flutter. You bit your lip, teasing, and whispered breathlessly, “Daddy…”

The word hit him like a shot to the gut. His eyes snapped open, darkening instantly, lips twisting into a growl. But instead of pulling away, you felt him press closer, cock already hardening, straining beneath his pants.

“Don’t say that,” he snarled, voice thick with warning—but there was something else underneath. A hungry, dark fire blazing in his eyes.

You smiled wickedly, loving the effect you had on him. “Why? You like it?”

The warning turned into a low, guttural growl as he grabbed your hips, dragging you flush against him. His breath hitched, and you could feel the growing hardness pressing relentlessly against your thigh. “You wanna play with fire, brat?” His voice was rough, dangerous, and you knew you were already burned.

Before you could answer, his arm shot around your neck, sliding under your jaw, locking you in a tight, possessive headlock. The pressure made your breath catch, a delicious mix of control and need exploding inside you.

“Punishment,” he growled, voice thick with lust. “For calling me that.” And all you hear is him unbuckling his belt.

His hips slammed forward hard, pounding into you with brutal force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixing with your gasps and his harsh, ragged curses. The headlock held you perfectly in place, every thrust controlled, every movement violent and precise.

You cried out, fingers tangling in the sheets as he fucked you like he was fucking away every ounce of frustration bottled inside him. The heat of his body, the tight grip around your neck, and the filthy words dripping from his mouth pushed you higher and higher.

“Say it,” he demanded between hard thrusts. “Tell me you’re mine, brat.”

Your voice was ragged but desperate. “I’m yours, Daddy. Fuck me harder, please.”

The moment you called him that, something inside him snapped—his grip tightened, his cock throbbed painfully, and he slammed into you even harder, fucking you so fiercely your head spun. You were gasping, moaning, utterly fucked stupid by the raw force of his need.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he growled, teeth grazing your neck. “You’re mine. You’re my fucking brat, and I’m gonna fuck you so stupid you won’t remember your own name.”

He pulled your hair roughly, forcing your head back as he pounded into you with ruthless intent. The headlock didn’t loosen; it held you captive to his every filthy thrust. You felt every inch of him, hard and relentless, driving deeper and deeper until your whole body trembled with need.

Your climax crashed over you like a storm, body shaking violently as he kept fucking you through it, relentless and unforgiving. Your mind went blank, every thought wiped away except for the overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure.

He growled low, his own release ripping through him as he fucked you hard one last time, sweat and heat mingling in the small room as he spills his warm seed deep inside you. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark and heavy with satisfaction.

“You’re mine,” he hissed, voice rough and possessive. “And don’t you forget it.”

You smiled breathlessly, feeling spent and utterly owned, already craving the next time he’d fuck you stupid like this.

[qtvi0let]

ur aizawa work is so fucking good im literally shaking convulsing screaming crying moaning

Saw this at work yesterday and i burst out laughing😭 i love u anonymous person

[qtvi0let]

Dabi — finger-fucking you in front of heroes was not on your, this years, bingo list. — MDNI

a/n; this ones a lil dark. I wanted to experiment a bit. Dont read if u dont like.

— Dubcon (Consensual Power Play), Exhibitionism, Hostage roleplay?, Public Humiliation, Degradation, Power Imbalance, Praise/Dirty Talk, Slight Fear Kink // F!reader

—-Smoke and Ashes—-

The city’s on edge — sirens wailing in the distance, broken glass crunching under the boots of heroes trying to push the crowd back. Every spotlight is trained on the ruined entrance of the bank, where Dabi stands like he owns the place — blue fire flickering lazily in his palm, licking at the marble floor.

And pressed tight against his chest — his so-called “hostage” — is you, trembling in his grip, but not nearly as afraid as you look. Your wrists are pinned above your head by a single burned hand, your breath coming quick as Dabi’s lips graze your ear.

“Poor little thing,” he drawls, voice dripping heat and cruel promise. “All these heroes out here — all these good little cops — and you’re stuck here with me.“

You shiver when his nose brushes your neck, but there’s no mistaking the way your thighs press together, desperate for more friction. He feels it — grins against your skin.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, loud enough for the nearest heroes to hear. “You want them to come save you?”

Your eyes flick over the line of heroes crouched behind cars and makeshift shields. Their faces are tight with rage and embarrassment — and something that makes your stomach flip. You feel Dabi’s hand tighten on your hip, the heat from his quirk licking at the waistband of your ruined skirt.

“Answer me,” he says, more growl than words now. His free hand slips lower, dragging up the inside of your thigh. “You want them to drag you away from me?”

You swallow, lashes fluttering. The answer’s there — in the way you push back against him, breathless, mouth falling open when his palm cups you over your panties.

“N-no,” you whisper, just loud enough to carry. Dabi laughs — a raw, low sound that makes the nearest rookie hero flinch.

“Atta girl.” He turns his head, eyes flicking over the line of flashing blue lights. “Hear that? She’s not yours anymore.”

Someone yells “Dabi! Let her go! This is your last warning!” — but Dabi’s already hooking his fingers into your waistband, tugging the scrap of fabric aside.

“Keep watchin’ then,” he calls back, voice mocking as he slides his fingers through your slick heat. You gasp — sharp, shocked, hips bucking right into his touch. He grins against your temple.

“Look at you,” he purrs, voice rough. “Drippin’ for me where everyone can see. Think they’re gonna be able to save you when you’re grinding all over my fuckin’ hand like this?”

You try to bite back a moan but it’s too late — his fingers are sliding inside, curling deep, thumb rubbing circles that make your knees buckle. He keeps you pinned tight against him with an arm around your waist, the blue flames dancing at your feet like a taunt to any hero brave enough to step forward.

“Please— Dabi—” you gasp, eyes rolling back when he pumps his fingers harder. Your words carry over the quiet horror of the police radios and the angry shouts from the line of pro heroes.

“Say it louder,” Dabi growls against your ear. “Tell them who you belong to.”

Your head drops back to his shoulder, lips parted, sweat sticking your hair to your cheek. “You— I’m yours— please— Dabi—”

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he snarls, grinding the bulge in his jeans against your ass as he fucks you on his fingers. “You’re mine — you hear that?”

Someone yells “Take the shot—!” but no one dares fire when his flames whip up in warning, searing the ground around you in a blue ring of heat.

“Go ahead, heroes,” Dabi spits, fingers curling deeper, the wet slap of it echoing obscenely in the tense street. “Try and take her from me.”

You cry out when you come — legs trembling, slick dripping onto his knuckles as your whole body shudders against him. Dabi licks the sweat off your jaw, eyes glittering with that dangerous light.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he purrs, dragging his wet fingers over your lips before licking them clean himself. He presses his half-hard cock against your ass, the threat clear in the way he ruts slow against you.

“You wanna show ’em more, sweetheart?” he whispers, low and filthy. “Or should I drag you inside and finish what we started?”

You whimper, nodding, hips rolling back to meet him — like you don’t care at all that the whole city’s watching.

Dabi smirks at the line of frozen heroes, blue fire sparking at his fingertips.

“Better luck next time, heroes.” He sweeps you off your feet like you’re nothing, carrying you back into the ruined bank — the shadows swallowing you both, leaving only the heat of his flame and the echo of your soft, desperate moans behind.

Might write pt2 if you ask me nicely. Hehe

[qtvi0let]

Older men do it better ~ ! MDNI

a/n; good lord i NEED HIM. Another erasermic smut coming soon chat<3 thank you for all the love!!

— Older Man/Younger Woman (reader is in her 20‘s), Age Gap, Praise, First Squirt, Fingering, Oral (F Receiving), Gentle Dom, Creampie, // F!Reader

I couldnt the artists @, if you do please tag them for credits.

— First Time, For You —

It started with a cat café — of all places. You’d gone in because you were lonely, wanting warmth and soft fur and maybe the quiet hum of other people’s lives nearby. You hadn’t expected him.

A tired man in black, hair half-tied, dark eyes following a stray kitten batting at his zipper. He looked… exhausted. But when he’d glanced at you, something warm settled in your stomach. He’d given you a polite nod — nothing more — but when you’d both reached for the same rescue cat, your fingers brushed.

A conversation. A cup of tea. A few more nights — then one late evening, back at your tiny apartment, your knees tucked under you on the couch as he traced lazy circles on your thigh.

You’d never dated someone older — not really. Boys your age had fumbled with you, gotten themselves off quick, and left you unsatisfied, half-numb, wondering if maybe it was your fault. But Aizawa — Shouta — was older. Experienced. And when you’d confessed, shyly, that you’d never really… finished — his eyes had darkened, thumb brushing your lips like he could pull the truth from your mouth.

Tonight, he’s proving you wrong — with patience you didn’t know you craved so badly.

⸻

“You’re tense,” he murmurs, voice low, gravel thick in the hush of your bedroom. He’s lying beside you, propped on one elbow, hair spilling around his shoulders as his hand slips beneath the waistband of your soft shorts.

You squirm at the first drag of his fingers over your panties — so wet they stick to you, heat pooling in your belly at just the light pressure. He chuckles when you gasp.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “Let me see what you look like when someone really takes their time.”

You whimper — he peels your shorts off, panties following with a slow tug. He spreads your thighs with firm, unhurried hands, the scrape of his stubble against your inner thigh making you shiver.

“Have you ever squirted before?” he murmurs suddenly, mouth ghosting over your hipbone.

You freeze — flush hot. “N-no. I don’t think I can—”

He lifts his head — that lazy smirk tugging at his mouth. “Oh, doll. You can. You just need someone who knows how to pull it out of you.”

Your protest melts to a broken sound when his lips wrap around your clit — warm and wet and focused. His fingers ease inside you, thick and slow, crooking just right until you’re gasping, thighs trembling around his head.

He works you open until your belly tightens, the tension sharp and hot — but when you come the first time, it’s not quite enough. Not yet.

When he finally slides his thick, meaty cock inside you, you’re already dripping, stretched and ready for him. He presses close, one big hand under your thigh, pushing your knees to your chest — folding you into the bed.

His pace is slow at first — teasing, deep, each roll of his hips dragging you closer to that dizzy edge again. He leans over you, voice rough against your ear.

“You’re gonna come for me like this too,” he groans, hips snapping harder. “Gonna squirt all over my cock. Ever done that for anyone?”

You shake your head — babbling his name as his thrusts get sharper, rougher, hitting something deep inside that makes your eyes roll back.

“That’s right. Only for me,” he snarls, sweat dripping from his hair onto your chest. “Good girl — let go for me. Give it to me.”

The wet slap of skin fills the room — your gasps mix with the rough, low curses he presses to your neck. His thumb finds your clit, circles it tight and fast, and the world shatters behind your eyelids.

You cry out — voice cracking when the orgasm rips through you. Heat rushes out in a gush you’ve never felt before — soaking his stomach, his thighs. He groans low and filthy, hips stuttering as you squirt around him, dripping down to the sheets.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, pressing you open wider as he fucks you through it, hips pounding harder. “So beautiful — so fucking messy for me.”

He stays buried deep when he spills inside you, thick and warm, growling your name like a promise against your throat. He doesn’t pull out right away — just holds you pinned, shivering under him, the mess of slick and sweat sticking you together.

When you finally catch your breath, trembling, he kisses your temple — soft and possessive.

“First time for everything, doll,” he murmurs, voice raw but warm. “Next time, you’ll show me how much more you can give me.”

[qtvi0let]

Fake ass bitches GO READ MY GUTS SEX FIC NOOOOOOOWWW😔😔

Teasing guts is never a good idea ~ MDNI

a/n; guys we really need more guts smut fics

— Rough Sex, Doggy to Mating Press, Hybrid!Reader, Tail Play, Size Kink, Dom/Sub, Praise + Degradation, Creampie, Outdoors/Nature Risk, Guts is a Meanie /// F!Reader

//// Only You Tonight ////

It’s a cold night — colder than any you remember. You’re hidden deep in the forest, curled up in a hollow of dead leaves and frost. Every tiny shift of your tail sends pain through your numb limbs. You’ve been running for days — chased by hunters who wanted your pelt, your ears, your blood.

You don’t even hear him at first — the heavy boots crunching through the underbrush. But then his shadow falls over you, huge and dark, and a deep, rough voice growls, “The hell’re you?”

You flinch — ears flattening, claws half-bared — but you’re too weak to fight him. When your eyes meet his, you whimper instead, fingers reaching for the warmth of his cloak.

“…Tch,” he mutters, not unkindly. His hand is big and calloused when he cups the back of your head. “Alright, c’mere then. Don’t fuckin’ bite me.”

Weeks later, you’re pressed up against him again — but this time you’re warm, soft, alive. You’re draped half over his chest beneath a battered cloak, the stars cold overhead, but Guts’ body heat hotter than any fire. You wiggle closer, your tail flicking over his stomach.

“You don’t even realize what you’re doin’ to me,” he rasps, voice so deep it rumbles under your cheek.

You blink sleepily up at him, lips parting in a soft, curious murmur. “Doing what, Guts?”

He grits his teeth. Big fingers curl around your bare hip. “Press that sweet little body against me again and I’m not stoppin’ at just holdin’ you tonight.”

You shiver — but you don’t pull away. Instead, your tail flicks teasingly over his belt buckle as you mumble, “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”

That’s it. That’s all it takes to break him.

“Hands and knees. Now.”

His voice snaps the night in half. You scramble onto all fours, heart pounding, your claws digging into the old cloak beneath you. Your tail flicks high — but a startled yelp escapes you when his big hand wraps around its base.

“Stay fuckin’ still,” Guts growls, dragging your tail up and out of the way, the rough tug sending a rush of heat straight through your belly.

“Ah— Guts— that feels—” You bite your lip when his other hand slides down, two thick fingers slipping through your slick folds. You’re already wet — embarrassingly so — and the way his calloused thumb circles your clit makes your arms shake.

“Yeah? Feels good, huh?” He leans over your back, teeth grazing your ear. “Feel what you do to me?”

You whimper, arching your back as you nod frantically. “Please— need you— inside—”

Guts chuckles — low, dark. “Say it louder.”

“Please! Please— I want you to fuck me—”

You gasp when he finally frees himself — the thick head of his cock dragging through your soaked folds before he pushes in, inch by thick, brutal inch. His hand tightens on your tail — tugging it just right so every thrust drags another cry from your throat.

“Goddamn— so tight— look at you,” he snarls, hips snapping forward. “This pretty little pussy squeezin’ me like that— fuck—”

“Guts— s’too deep—!” you whimper, trying to claw at something as your thighs tremble. But you don’t pull away — you push back, desperate for every rough thrust.

When your elbows buckle under the force of him, Guts growls low in his chest. In one brutal motion, he pulls out, flips you over, and shoves you flat on your back — your legs pinned up over his broad shoulders.

“Thought you could handle it, huh?” he spits, voice wicked as he lines himself up again. “Then fuckin’ take it.”

Your tail curls helplessly around his thigh as he thrusts back inside — deeper, harder, the new angle punching gasps and cries out of you.

“Guts— please— it’s so good—” Your voice is wrecked, trembling, but your hips keep lifting to meet his.

“Look at you,” he snarls, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping onto your chest. “My sweet little beast— takin’ every inch—. Who owns you?”

You sob the answer out through your tears. “You— you do! I’m yours— only yours—!”

“That’s fuckin’ right.” He pins your wrists above your head, grinding so deep you swear you see stars. “Mine — forever.”

Your claws curl tight in his cloak as your body gives out — trembling around him while he fucks you through your peak, hips slamming down in a brutal, possessive rhythm until he snarls your name and spills deep inside, filling you so full it leaks out around him.

When your gasps soften to quiet whimpers, Guts stays buried to the hilt — one huge hand cradling your cheek, the other stroking your trembling ear.

“You’re not runnin’ anymore,” he murmurs, voice a low promise against your lips. “You’re mine now. My warm little thing… ’til the end.“

And under the cold stars — pinned under the beast of a man who saved you — you whimper a soft “Yes… yours…” before he kisses you again.

Its safe to say that you two gave puck life long Trauma. Guts had forgotten that puck was slumbering in the grass near you two.

[qtvi0let]

Teasing guts is never a good idea ~ MDNI

a/n; guys we really need more guts smut fics

— Rough Sex, Doggy to Mating Press, Hybrid!Reader, Tail Play, Size Kink, Dom/Sub, Praise + Degradation, Creampie, Outdoors/Nature Risk, Guts is a Meanie /// F!Reader

//// Only You Tonight ////

It’s a cold night — colder than any you remember. You’re hidden deep in the forest, curled up in a hollow of dead leaves and frost. Every tiny shift of your tail sends pain through your numb limbs. You’ve been running for days — chased by hunters who wanted your pelt, your ears, your blood.

You don’t even hear him at first — the heavy boots crunching through the underbrush. But then his shadow falls over you, huge and dark, and a deep, rough voice growls, “The hell’re you?”

You flinch — ears flattening, claws half-bared — but you’re too weak to fight him. When your eyes meet his, you whimper instead, fingers reaching for the warmth of his cloak.

“…Tch,” he mutters, not unkindly. His hand is big and calloused when he cups the back of your head. “Alright, c’mere then. Don’t fuckin’ bite me.”

Weeks later, you’re pressed up against him again — but this time you’re warm, soft, alive. You’re draped half over his chest beneath a battered cloak, the stars cold overhead, but Guts’ body heat hotter than any fire. You wiggle closer, your tail flicking over his stomach.

“You don’t even realize what you’re doin’ to me,” he rasps, voice so deep it rumbles under your cheek.

You blink sleepily up at him, lips parting in a soft, curious murmur. “Doing what, Guts?”

He grits his teeth. Big fingers curl around your bare hip. “Press that sweet little body against me again and I’m not stoppin’ at just holdin’ you tonight.”

You shiver — but you don’t pull away. Instead, your tail flicks teasingly over his belt buckle as you mumble, “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”

That’s it. That’s all it takes to break him.

“Hands and knees. Now.”

His voice snaps the night in half. You scramble onto all fours, heart pounding, your claws digging into the old cloak beneath you. Your tail flicks high — but a startled yelp escapes you when his big hand wraps around its base.

“Stay fuckin’ still,” Guts growls, dragging your tail up and out of the way, the rough tug sending a rush of heat straight through your belly.

“Ah— Guts— that feels—” You bite your lip when his other hand slides down, two thick fingers slipping through your slick folds. You’re already wet — embarrassingly so — and the way his calloused thumb circles your clit makes your arms shake.

“Yeah? Feels good, huh?” He leans over your back, teeth grazing your ear. “Feel what you do to me?”

You whimper, arching your back as you nod frantically. “Please— need you— inside—”

Guts chuckles — low, dark. “Say it louder.”

“Please! Please— I want you to fuck me—”

You gasp when he finally frees himself — the thick head of his cock dragging through your soaked folds before he pushes in, inch by thick, brutal inch. His hand tightens on your tail — tugging it just right so every thrust drags another cry from your throat.

“Goddamn— so tight— look at you,” he snarls, hips snapping forward. “This pretty little pussy squeezin’ me like that— fuck—”

“Guts— s’too deep—!” you whimper, trying to claw at something as your thighs tremble. But you don’t pull away — you push back, desperate for every rough thrust.

When your elbows buckle under the force of him, Guts growls low in his chest. In one brutal motion, he pulls out, flips you over, and shoves you flat on your back — your legs pinned up over his broad shoulders.

“Thought you could handle it, huh?” he spits, voice wicked as he lines himself up again. “Then fuckin’ take it.”

Your tail curls helplessly around his thigh as he thrusts back inside — deeper, harder, the new angle punching gasps and cries out of you.

“Guts— please— it’s so good—” Your voice is wrecked, trembling, but your hips keep lifting to meet his.

“Look at you,” he snarls, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping onto your chest. “My sweet little beast— takin’ every inch—. Who owns you?”

You sob the answer out through your tears. “You— you do! I’m yours— only yours—!”

“That’s fuckin’ right.” He pins your wrists above your head, grinding so deep you swear you see stars. “Mine — forever.”

Your claws curl tight in his cloak as your body gives out — trembling around him while he fucks you through your peak, hips slamming down in a brutal, possessive rhythm until he snarls your name and spills deep inside, filling you so full it leaks out around him.

When your gasps soften to quiet whimpers, Guts stays buried to the hilt — one huge hand cradling your cheek, the other stroking your trembling ear.

“You’re not runnin’ anymore,” he murmurs, voice a low promise against your lips. “You’re mine now. My warm little thing… ’til the end.“

And under the cold stars — pinned under the beast of a man who saved you — you whimper a soft “Yes… yours…” before he kisses you again.

Its safe to say that you two gave puck life long Trauma. Guts had forgotten that puck was slumbering in the grass near you two.

[qtvi0let]

Hello guts lovers… currently working on a guts x fox demi reader smut. Anyone want to get tagged?

Good lord hes so fucking sexy

[qtvi0let]

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ：JEALOUS AIZAWA ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ： MDNI!

a/n; a jealous Aizawa a day, keeps the doctor away or smth like that… first time posting a smut fanfic pls be nice otherwise ill cry💔 this is inspired by a bot i saw last year.

— Public/Exhibitionism (semi-public), Domination/submission, Teasing/edge play, immobilization, Risk play. // F!Reader

Art made by me

/////// The Scent of Jealousy ////////

Affection and Shota Aizawa rarely show up in the same sentence—especially when it comes to you. Everyone at U.A. knows it. Between hero work, grading stacks of papers, and training the next generation, he keeps things strictly professional. And sometimes, that same stiff boundary sneaks into your nights at home, wrapping around him like a barrier you can’t always break through. You’re the only one brave enough to poke at it—teasing him about “love languages” like it’s a joke he’ll never quite get. He pretends he doesn’t hear it, but the truth is, it sticks in his head more than he’d like to admit.

He wonders, sometimes, if he’s been falling short. If maybe he should surprise you with dinner out, or just carve out a few hours where the world can’t touch you both. But patrols run late. Emergencies pop up. Papers pile higher than sleep ever does. He’s grown too used to the distance—the empty spaces in conversations, the nights spent shoulder to shoulder but feeling miles apart.

You’re both so used to people touching you that it shouldn’t faze him at all. Pinning, grabbing, blocking blows for a classroom full of wide-eyed students—it’s second nature. But the part he can’t shake is the way something tightens in his chest when he sees someone else’s hands on you. He tells himself it’s irrational. It’s part of the job—nothing more than muscle memory.

Still, some people don’t know when to stop. A hand that drifts too low, a shoulder pat that lingers, laughter too close to your ear. And today you had to wear that dress—the one he can’t ever quite get out of his head. The one that makes him want to lock the door and remind you exactly who you belong to. But instead, you’re standing in the bright hallway at U.A., catching everyone’s eyes in his favorite dress.

And then Present Mic—loud, shameless, with that grin that never shuts off—plants himself at your side. One arm thrown around your shoulders, voice booming right next to your ear like you’re his personal audience. Hizashi tosses you winks like candy, laughs too loud at jokes only he’s telling. And Shota knows it’s just Hizashi being Hizashi—he probably has no clue you’re already spoken for.

But when you’re standing there, smelling like Mic’s cologne, wearing that dress that should be just for him—something in Shota burns.

And for once, he’s done pretending it doesn’t bother him.

————————————————————

Aizawa wasn’t just looking for you—he was hunting you, stalking the halls like a predator with your name carved into his mind. His eyes flicked through classrooms and empty corridors, cold and sharp, until he finally spotted you slipping past the janitor’s closet.

A shiver ran down your spine—like your body sensed him before your eyes did. You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see Shota closing the distance between you with that silent, lethal calm he wore like a second skin. You offered him a soft smile, lifted your hand to wave. He didn’t smile back. He didn’t slow down.

“Oh—Shota! I’ve been looking for yo—”

Your greeting died on your tongue when he grabbed your wrist, yanked you into the closet, and slammed the door behind you. The cramped space smelled faintly of disinfectant and old mops, but there was enough room for exactly what he had in mind.

Your back hit the wall with a dull thud, a startled gasp leaving your lips as he pressed close—so close you could feel the warmth rolling off him in waves. His hand tangled in your hair, turning your face toward the cold plaster.

“Shota—? What are you—”

You barely got the words out before his hips pinned yours to the wall. You felt him—hard, insistent, pressing through his pants against the curve of your backside. A tiny, helpless whimper escaped you, muffled against the wall.

“Shota… what if someone—what if we get—”

Your protest cut short when his voice growled low in your ear, rough with something feral and possessive.

“I can smell him on you,” he hissed, lips brushing your skin. “You know you’re mine, don’t you?” His teeth grazed the shell of your ear. “I won’t have you walking around reeking of another man’s cologne.”

He pressed harder against you, hips grinding just enough to make you squirm.

“I’m going to fuck his scent off you,” he murmured, each word dripping with dark promise. “Until all anyone smells on you is me.”

“What’s wrong?” you murmur, your tone teasing, wicked. You grind your hips up harder, feeling how solid he is behind you. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Shooo~…”

The nickname cuts through him like a spark to dry tinder. His fingers dig into your hips, enough to bruise. His breath ghosts hot over your neck as he snarls out, “Shut it.” His voice is rough, cracked open with that dark rasp that makes your stomach flutter.

You shiver when his stubbled jaw grazes your throat—sharp and scratchy, a stark contrast to the slow drag of his hands. He maps every inch of you, big palms sliding down your sides, gripping your thighs like he’s testing how far they’ll spread for him. Then he slides back up, dragging heat under your clothes until his fingers slip under your dress—tracing circles just beneath your belly, inching closer.

You can’t stop the tiny sound that slips out—half a gasp, half a plea. It earns you a low chuckle against your skin, his lips brushing your pulse. His hands creep higher, ghosting over your ribs before cupping your breasts through the fabric, thumbs flicking over your nipples until you’re squirming against him.

When he’s had enough of teasing, he bunches your dress up around your hips, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties. He pauses, breathing heavy against your ear—waiting for you to say it’s okay. You nod, just once, your cheek scraping the wall. That’s all he needs.

He drags the flimsy fabric down your thighs, lets it drop around your ankles. You hear the metal click of his belt unbuckling behind you, the soft rustle of his zipper. Then his cock—hot, thick, already leaking—nudges between your soaked folds. The blunt head slides through your slit, smearing slick along your thighs until you whimper at the drag.

You start to moan, but his hand clamps over your mouth—rough, calloused, claiming. “Quiet,” he growls into your ear, that possessive rasp curling hot in your gut. His hips shift—one solid push, and he’s inside. All the way, thick and heavy, stretching you open with that slow, merciless pressure that has your knees going weak.

Your muffled moan vibrates against his palm as he bottoms out—he’s not long, but he’s so wide you swear you can feel every ridge, every throb. He holds still for just a heartbeat, savoring the way you pulse around him, then pulls back just enough before driving in again—slow, deliberate, each thrust hitting deep enough to knock a breath from your lungs.

The closet is too small, too dark, but right now it’s the only world you know—just the smell of him, the rough drag of his hero uniform brushing your thighs, the obscene wet sounds where your bodies meet. He fucks you slow but unyielding, each roll of his hips a reminder—this is his, you’re his, and no one else gets to leave their mark on you.

And when your soft whimpers slip out under his palm, you feel him smile against your neck—dark and dangerous—before he murmurs low, “Good. Keep those pretty sounds for me only.”

Your breath hitches under his palm as his cock drags out slow, then sinks back in deep—again and again, each thrust a steady push that makes your thighs tremble. The cramped closet feels even smaller now, every creak of the door a reminder that someone could walk by, swing it open, see exactly what he’s doing to you. Maybe that’s why your pulse pounds so hard—why your walls flutter around him, clenching greedily on every deep stroke.

He feels it—of course he does. He grunts low, teeth grazing your neck, his free hand roaming your body like he’s memorizing every inch all over again. His fingers slide down between your legs, finding your swollen clit. He rubs it in slow circles, matching the pace of his hips, forcing you to feel every inch of him and then some.

Your muffled moan is swallowed by his hand, your back arching into the rough wall as pleasure curls tight in your belly. You feel him smirk against your skin, hear the rumble of a dark laugh that has your knees nearly buckling.

“Look at you,” he rasps, voice shredded with heat and a hint of jealousy that hasn’t faded. “Letting me fuck you like this. Anyone could hear… could see… but they won’t. Because you’re mine, aren’t you?”

You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut, a soft whimper vibrating against his palm as your hips rock back into him, desperate for more. His thumb circles harder, faster—your thighs quiver as you fight to hold in a cry.

“Be good,” he growls, pressing his forehead to the back of your head, breath ragged. “Be quiet for me. You wanna come, don’t you? Take it. Take all of it, sweetheart.”

He thrusts deeper, harder now—each roll of his hips making filthy wet sounds echo in the tiny closet. You’re so close your vision sparks, your body trembling under the way he fills you, the way his hand keeps you silent, keeps you his.

You feel it building—tight, sharp, unstoppable. He feels it too, the way you clench so sweet around him, your slick dripping down his cock. He bites down gently on your shoulder, muffling a groan as his hips snap forward one last time.

You come undone with a muffled cry, your walls squeezing him so tight he curses under his breath. He fucks you through it, rough and deep until his own hips stutter, his growl breaking into a low, wrecked moan as he spills inside you—filling you so full you swear you can feel him pulsing deep, marking you where no one else ever will.

When it’s over, he stays there—hips pressed flush to yours, chest heaving against your back. His hand slips from your mouth, only to tilt your head back so he can press a kiss to your jaw—possessive and soft, in a way that’s almost sweet if not for the mess he’s made of you.

“Mine,” he murmurs against your skin, voice raw, satisfied, still hungry. “Next time, don’t let him touch you. Or I’ll remind you again.”

His fingers slip down to gather his cum dripping from between your thighs—smearing it back inside you with a low, dangerous chuckle as he pulls your panties back up. His cum tucked in and deep inside your pretty cunt.

“Now go back out there,” he breathes, zipping himself up while his eyes drink you in—your hair messy, your dress bunched up, his scent clinging everywhere. “Let everyone see exactly who you belong to.”

meanwhile…

Down the hall, a few students paused, ears perked.

“Did anyone else just hear that?” one whispered.

“Hear what?” another shrugged.

“Like… weird noises? Like grunting and a ‘shh’ or something?”

“Maybe it was just the janitor dropping his mop again,” someone said, trying to sound logical.

“No idea,” the first shrugged. “But it sounded… intense.”

They all shrugged and kept walking, none of them any closer to understanding what just went down.

Good lord…

[qtvi0let]

Reblogging

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ：ERASERMIC FROTTING MNDI ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ：

a/n; bottom aizawa.. this is canon guys i was the wall i saw everything🙂‍↕️

— Frotting, Leather Kink, Light D/s, Dirty Talk, Public-ish Setting, Comeplay, Teasing/Degradation, Erasermic, Staff Room Shenanigans. Gays doing gay stuff <3

I couldn’t find the artist — if you do please, credit them in the comments.

// Pinned and Polished //

It’s well past midnight when Hizashi corners Aizawa in the staff room — papers stacked high, coffee gone cold, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. Exactly how Hizashi likes him: raw around the edges, easier to push until he breaks.

Aizawa glares when Hizashi crowds into his space, bracing his hands on the desk on either side of him. “Hizashi. I’m working.”

Hizashi hums, leaning in so close Aizawa can feel the grin against his neck. “Yeah? Looks like you’re about to pass out on these essays. Let me help you relax, Shouta.”

Aizawa starts to snap back — but Hizashi’s already hooking his fingers into his scarf, dragging him forward until he’s perched on the edge of the desk. The neat stacks of graded papers crumple under his thighs, but Aizawa’s too busy sucking in a sharp breath when Hizashi noses at his jaw.

“You’re insufferable,” Aizawa mutters, but it’s breathless when Hizashi’s teeth scrape under his ear.

“And you love me for it,” Hizashi purrs, warm fingers popping the button on Aizawa’s pants, pushing them open and down to his thighs. Aizawa’s cock is already half-hard, flushed at the tip and leaking onto his uniform.

Hizashi lets out a low whistle. “Look at you — all scary for the kids, but dripping for me the second I touch you.”

Aizawa grits his teeth, but when Hizashi slides closer, pressing his hips forward, the words crumble. Hizashi’s cock is still trapped behind tight black leather — snug enough to show every curve and bulge, the cool slick material dragging against Aizawa’s bare length.

Aizawa shudders at the first grind — the smooth, slick drag of leather delicious and maddening. “Fuck— Hizashi—”

“Aw, listen to you,” Hizashi laughs, rolling his hips slow and mean so the head of his cock drags right over Aizawa’s leaking slit. The leather creaks softly as he ruts against him, the friction raw and teasing.

“You like that?” Hizashi purrs, voice dropping low and wicked. “Grinding all over my leather like some needy thing? Bet you wanna feel it for real, huh? Skin on skin?”

Aizawa tries to glare, but it’s ruined by the way his hips jerk up for more. “Stop— ngh— stop talking—”

“No chance,” Hizashi grins. He shifts back just enough to pop open the fly on his leather pants. The zipper slides down with a rough sound, and he shoves the snug material down just far enough to free himself — cock flushed deep red, leaking precome that smears against Aizawa’s belly as he pushes back in.

“Better, yeah?” Hizashi growls, voice thick now. He grabs Aizawa’s hips, pulls him forward until their cocks are pressed tight together — bare skin-on-skin at last, the wet heat of it making Aizawa gasp, fingers curling tight in Hizashi’s shirt.

“Fuck— Hizashi—” Aizawa tries to scold him but all that comes out is a broken moan when Hizashi rolls his hips. The slick slide of their cocks together is filthy, head-on-head, precum smeared messily between their bellies.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Hizashi murmurs against Aizawa’s ear. “All spread out for me, making a mess of your desk. Maybe I should keep you here all night — just keep rubbin’ you raw till you can’t stand.”

Aizawa’s eyes flutter, hips jerking up helplessly. Hizashi grins, presses down harder, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing in the quiet room.

“Hizashi— please—” Aizawa gasps, voice cracking. His thighs tremble where they’re braced wide on the desk, cock twitching every time Hizashi ruts their lengths together.

“Yeah? Please what? Use your words,” Hizashi growls, his hand wrapping around both of them now, squeezing just enough to make Aizawa gasp.

“Need— need to come— please—” Aizawa stammers, voice rough, half-growled through grit teeth.

Hizashi nips his jaw, strokes them rougher, faster. “Good boy. Be good and come for me — make a fuckin’ mess for me, pretty boy.”

Aizawa breaks with a ragged sound, his back arching off the desk, cock jerking in Hizashi’s hand as he spills hot and messy between them. Hizashi ruts through it, groaning against his neck as he comes too, cock pulsing against Aizawa’s, spilling all over his lover’s belly and his own abs.

They stay there a moment — Aizawa panting, Hizashi leaning in to lap at the sweat and come slick on Aizawa’s throat.

When Hizashi pulls back, he grins down at the mess they’ve made: Aizawa spread out on the staff desk, half-undressed, uniform ruined, cock still twitching soft against his thigh.

“Guess I’m doing your laundry again, huh?” Hizashi says with a wicked grin.

Aizawa scowls half-heartedly, hair stuck to his cheek. “Shut up. Clean me up first.”

Hizashi laughs, licking a stripe up his jaw. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

————————————————————————

@getoisinnocent @heyithinkilike @hell-upon-earth

[qtvi0let]

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ：ERASERMIC FROTTING MNDI ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ：

a/n; bottom aizawa.. this is canon guys i was the wall i saw everything🙂‍↕️

— Frotting, Leather Kink, Light D/s, Dirty Talk, Public-ish Setting, Comeplay, Teasing/Degradation, Erasermic, Staff Room Shenanigans. Gays doing gay stuff <3

I couldn’t find the artist — if you do please, credit them in the comments.

// Pinned and Polished //

It’s well past midnight when Hizashi corners Aizawa in the staff room — papers stacked high, coffee gone cold, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. Exactly how Hizashi likes him: raw around the edges, easier to push until he breaks.

Aizawa glares when Hizashi crowds into his space, bracing his hands on the desk on either side of him. “Hizashi. I’m working.”

Hizashi hums, leaning in so close Aizawa can feel the grin against his neck. “Yeah? Looks like you’re about to pass out on these essays. Let me help you relax, Shouta.”

Aizawa starts to snap back — but Hizashi’s already hooking his fingers into his scarf, dragging him forward until he’s perched on the edge of the desk. The neat stacks of graded papers crumple under his thighs, but Aizawa’s too busy sucking in a sharp breath when Hizashi noses at his jaw.

“You’re insufferable,” Aizawa mutters, but it’s breathless when Hizashi’s teeth scrape under his ear.

“And you love me for it,” Hizashi purrs, warm fingers popping the button on Aizawa’s pants, pushing them open and down to his thighs. Aizawa’s cock is already half-hard, flushed at the tip and leaking onto his uniform.

Hizashi lets out a low whistle. “Look at you — all scary for the kids, but dripping for me the second I touch you.”

Aizawa grits his teeth, but when Hizashi slides closer, pressing his hips forward, the words crumble. Hizashi’s cock is still trapped behind tight black leather — snug enough to show every curve and bulge, the cool slick material dragging against Aizawa’s bare length.

Aizawa shudders at the first grind — the smooth, slick drag of leather delicious and maddening. “Fuck— Hizashi—”

“Aw, listen to you,” Hizashi laughs, rolling his hips slow and mean so the head of his cock drags right over Aizawa’s leaking slit. The leather creaks softly as he ruts against him, the friction raw and teasing.

“You like that?” Hizashi purrs, voice dropping low and wicked. “Grinding all over my leather like some needy thing? Bet you wanna feel it for real, huh? Skin on skin?”

Aizawa tries to glare, but it’s ruined by the way his hips jerk up for more. “Stop— ngh— stop talking—”

“No chance,” Hizashi grins. He shifts back just enough to pop open the fly on his leather pants. The zipper slides down with a rough sound, and he shoves the snug material down just far enough to free himself — cock flushed deep red, leaking precome that smears against Aizawa’s belly as he pushes back in.

“Better, yeah?” Hizashi growls, voice thick now. He grabs Aizawa’s hips, pulls him forward until their cocks are pressed tight together — bare skin-on-skin at last, the wet heat of it making Aizawa gasp, fingers curling tight in Hizashi’s shirt.

“Fuck— Hizashi—” Aizawa tries to scold him but all that comes out is a broken moan when Hizashi rolls his hips. The slick slide of their cocks together is filthy, head-on-head, precum smeared messily between their bellies.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Hizashi murmurs against Aizawa’s ear. “All spread out for me, making a mess of your desk. Maybe I should keep you here all night — just keep rubbin’ you raw till you can’t stand.”

Aizawa’s eyes flutter, hips jerking up helplessly. Hizashi grins, presses down harder, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing in the quiet room.

“Hizashi— please—” Aizawa gasps, voice cracking. His thighs tremble where they’re braced wide on the desk, cock twitching every time Hizashi ruts their lengths together.

“Yeah? Please what? Use your words,” Hizashi growls, his hand wrapping around both of them now, squeezing just enough to make Aizawa gasp.

“Need— need to come— please—” Aizawa stammers, voice rough, half-growled through grit teeth.

Hizashi nips his jaw, strokes them rougher, faster. “Good boy. Be good and come for me — make a fuckin’ mess for me, pretty boy.”

Aizawa breaks with a ragged sound, his back arching off the desk, cock jerking in Hizashi’s hand as he spills hot and messy between them. Hizashi ruts through it, groaning against his neck as he comes too, cock pulsing against Aizawa’s, spilling all over his lover’s belly and his own abs.

They stay there a moment — Aizawa panting, Hizashi leaning in to lap at the sweat and come slick on Aizawa’s throat.

When Hizashi pulls back, he grins down at the mess they’ve made: Aizawa spread out on the staff desk, half-undressed, uniform ruined, cock still twitching soft against his thigh.

“Guess I’m doing your laundry again, huh?” Hizashi says with a wicked grin.

Aizawa scowls half-heartedly, hair stuck to his cheek. “Shut up. Clean me up first.”

Hizashi laughs, licking a stripe up his jaw. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

————————————————————————

@getoisinnocent @heyithinkilike @hell-upon-earth

[qtvi0let]

Erasermic frotting.. Fanfic coming soon. Comment if u wanna be tagged😛

[qtvi0let]

⭑ *•̩̩͙⊱••••••✩••••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*••̩̩͙⊱••••••✩••••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

𓏲 ˖. ✐ MASTERLIST ~ !

* ੈ✩‧₊˚— Mha fanfics

❥‧₊˚ AIZAWA SHOTA

- The scent of Jealousy (smut)

- Older men do it better (smut)

- In his hold (smut)

- A flower in the dark (dadzawa fluff)

- „Dad, im scared“ (extreme dadzawa angst)

- Pinned and Polished (erasermic smut)

❥‧₊˚ TOUYA TODOROKI/DABI

- Heartbeat(mild spice)

- Smoke and ashes (smut)

❥‧₊˚ HIZASHI YAMADA

- Pinned and Polished (erasermic smut)

* ੈ✩‧₊˚— Bsd fanfics

❥‧₊˚ DAZAI OSAMU

- The devil you follow (prehistory)

- Fragments of us

///// BERSERK /// (wip)

- teasing Guts is never a good idea (smut)

[qtvi0let]

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ：JEALOUS AIZAWA ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ： MDNI!

a/n; a jealous Aizawa a day, keeps the doctor away or smth like that… first time posting a smut fanfic pls be nice otherwise ill cry💔 this is inspired by a bot i saw last year.

— Public/Exhibitionism (semi-public), Domination/submission, Teasing/edge play, immobilization, Risk play. // F!Reader

Art made by me

/////// The Scent of Jealousy ////////

Affection and Shota Aizawa rarely show up in the same sentence—especially when it comes to you. Everyone at U.A. knows it. Between hero work, grading stacks of papers, and training the next generation, he keeps things strictly professional. And sometimes, that same stiff boundary sneaks into your nights at home, wrapping around him like a barrier you can’t always break through. You’re the only one brave enough to poke at it—teasing him about “love languages” like it’s a joke he’ll never quite get. He pretends he doesn’t hear it, but the truth is, it sticks in his head more than he’d like to admit.

He wonders, sometimes, if he’s been falling short. If maybe he should surprise you with dinner out, or just carve out a few hours where the world can’t touch you both. But patrols run late. Emergencies pop up. Papers pile higher than sleep ever does. He’s grown too used to the distance—the empty spaces in conversations, the nights spent shoulder to shoulder but feeling miles apart.

You’re both so used to people touching you that it shouldn’t faze him at all. Pinning, grabbing, blocking blows for a classroom full of wide-eyed students—it’s second nature. But the part he can’t shake is the way something tightens in his chest when he sees someone else’s hands on you. He tells himself it’s irrational. It’s part of the job—nothing more than muscle memory.

Still, some people don’t know when to stop. A hand that drifts too low, a shoulder pat that lingers, laughter too close to your ear. And today you had to wear that dress—the one he can’t ever quite get out of his head. The one that makes him want to lock the door and remind you exactly who you belong to. But instead, you’re standing in the bright hallway at U.A., catching everyone’s eyes in his favorite dress.

And then Present Mic—loud, shameless, with that grin that never shuts off—plants himself at your side. One arm thrown around your shoulders, voice booming right next to your ear like you’re his personal audience. Hizashi tosses you winks like candy, laughs too loud at jokes only he’s telling. And Shota knows it’s just Hizashi being Hizashi—he probably has no clue you’re already spoken for.

But when you’re standing there, smelling like Mic’s cologne, wearing that dress that should be just for him—something in Shota burns.

And for once, he’s done pretending it doesn’t bother him.

————————————————————

Aizawa wasn’t just looking for you—he was hunting you, stalking the halls like a predator with your name carved into his mind. His eyes flicked through classrooms and empty corridors, cold and sharp, until he finally spotted you slipping past the janitor’s closet.

A shiver ran down your spine—like your body sensed him before your eyes did. You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see Shota closing the distance between you with that silent, lethal calm he wore like a second skin. You offered him a soft smile, lifted your hand to wave. He didn’t smile back. He didn’t slow down.

“Oh—Shota! I’ve been looking for yo—”

Your greeting died on your tongue when he grabbed your wrist, yanked you into the closet, and slammed the door behind you. The cramped space smelled faintly of disinfectant and old mops, but there was enough room for exactly what he had in mind.

Your back hit the wall with a dull thud, a startled gasp leaving your lips as he pressed close—so close you could feel the warmth rolling off him in waves. His hand tangled in your hair, turning your face toward the cold plaster.

“Shota—? What are you—”

You barely got the words out before his hips pinned yours to the wall. You felt him—hard, insistent, pressing through his pants against the curve of your backside. A tiny, helpless whimper escaped you, muffled against the wall.

“Shota… what if someone—what if we get—”

Your protest cut short when his voice growled low in your ear, rough with something feral and possessive.

“I can smell him on you,” he hissed, lips brushing your skin. “You know you’re mine, don’t you?” His teeth grazed the shell of your ear. “I won’t have you walking around reeking of another man’s cologne.”

He pressed harder against you, hips grinding just enough to make you squirm.

“I’m going to fuck his scent off you,” he murmured, each word dripping with dark promise. “Until all anyone smells on you is me.”

“What’s wrong?” you murmur, your tone teasing, wicked. You grind your hips up harder, feeling how solid he is behind you. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Shooo~…”

The nickname cuts through him like a spark to dry tinder. His fingers dig into your hips, enough to bruise. His breath ghosts hot over your neck as he snarls out, “Shut it.” His voice is rough, cracked open with that dark rasp that makes your stomach flutter.

You shiver when his stubbled jaw grazes your throat—sharp and scratchy, a stark contrast to the slow drag of his hands. He maps every inch of you, big palms sliding down your sides, gripping your thighs like he’s testing how far they’ll spread for him. Then he slides back up, dragging heat under your clothes until his fingers slip under your dress—tracing circles just beneath your belly, inching closer.

You can’t stop the tiny sound that slips out—half a gasp, half a plea. It earns you a low chuckle against your skin, his lips brushing your pulse. His hands creep higher, ghosting over your ribs before cupping your breasts through the fabric, thumbs flicking over your nipples until you’re squirming against him.

When he’s had enough of teasing, he bunches your dress up around your hips, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties. He pauses, breathing heavy against your ear—waiting for you to say it’s okay. You nod, just once, your cheek scraping the wall. That’s all he needs.

He drags the flimsy fabric down your thighs, lets it drop around your ankles. You hear the metal click of his belt unbuckling behind you, the soft rustle of his zipper. Then his cock—hot, thick, already leaking—nudges between your soaked folds. The blunt head slides through your slit, smearing slick along your thighs until you whimper at the drag.

You start to moan, but his hand clamps over your mouth—rough, calloused, claiming. “Quiet,” he growls into your ear, that possessive rasp curling hot in your gut. His hips shift—one solid push, and he’s inside. All the way, thick and heavy, stretching you open with that slow, merciless pressure that has your knees going weak.

Your muffled moan vibrates against his palm as he bottoms out—he’s not long, but he’s so wide you swear you can feel every ridge, every throb. He holds still for just a heartbeat, savoring the way you pulse around him, then pulls back just enough before driving in again—slow, deliberate, each thrust hitting deep enough to knock a breath from your lungs.

The closet is too small, too dark, but right now it’s the only world you know—just the smell of him, the rough drag of his hero uniform brushing your thighs, the obscene wet sounds where your bodies meet. He fucks you slow but unyielding, each roll of his hips a reminder—this is his, you’re his, and no one else gets to leave their mark on you.

And when your soft whimpers slip out under his palm, you feel him smile against your neck—dark and dangerous—before he murmurs low, “Good. Keep those pretty sounds for me only.”

Your breath hitches under his palm as his cock drags out slow, then sinks back in deep—again and again, each thrust a steady push that makes your thighs tremble. The cramped closet feels even smaller now, every creak of the door a reminder that someone could walk by, swing it open, see exactly what he’s doing to you. Maybe that’s why your pulse pounds so hard—why your walls flutter around him, clenching greedily on every deep stroke.

He feels it—of course he does. He grunts low, teeth grazing your neck, his free hand roaming your body like he’s memorizing every inch all over again. His fingers slide down between your legs, finding your swollen clit. He rubs it in slow circles, matching the pace of his hips, forcing you to feel every inch of him and then some.

Your muffled moan is swallowed by his hand, your back arching into the rough wall as pleasure curls tight in your belly. You feel him smirk against your skin, hear the rumble of a dark laugh that has your knees nearly buckling.

“Look at you,” he rasps, voice shredded with heat and a hint of jealousy that hasn’t faded. “Letting me fuck you like this. Anyone could hear… could see… but they won’t. Because you’re mine, aren’t you?”

You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut, a soft whimper vibrating against his palm as your hips rock back into him, desperate for more. His thumb circles harder, faster—your thighs quiver as you fight to hold in a cry.

“Be good,” he growls, pressing his forehead to the back of your head, breath ragged. “Be quiet for me. You wanna come, don’t you? Take it. Take all of it, sweetheart.”

He thrusts deeper, harder now—each roll of his hips making filthy wet sounds echo in the tiny closet. You’re so close your vision sparks, your body trembling under the way he fills you, the way his hand keeps you silent, keeps you his.

You feel it building—tight, sharp, unstoppable. He feels it too, the way you clench so sweet around him, your slick dripping down his cock. He bites down gently on your shoulder, muffling a groan as his hips snap forward one last time.

You come undone with a muffled cry, your walls squeezing him so tight he curses under his breath. He fucks you through it, rough and deep until his own hips stutter, his growl breaking into a low, wrecked moan as he spills inside you—filling you so full you swear you can feel him pulsing deep, marking you where no one else ever will.

When it’s over, he stays there—hips pressed flush to yours, chest heaving against your back. His hand slips from your mouth, only to tilt your head back so he can press a kiss to your jaw—possessive and soft, in a way that’s almost sweet if not for the mess he’s made of you.

“Mine,” he murmurs against your skin, voice raw, satisfied, still hungry. “Next time, don’t let him touch you. Or I’ll remind you again.”

His fingers slip down to gather his cum dripping from between your thighs—smearing it back inside you with a low, dangerous chuckle as he pulls your panties back up. His cum tucked in and deep inside your pretty cunt.

“Now go back out there,” he breathes, zipping himself up while his eyes drink you in—your hair messy, your dress bunched up, his scent clinging everywhere. “Let everyone see exactly who you belong to.”

meanwhile…

Down the hall, a few students paused, ears perked.

“Did anyone else just hear that?” one whispered.

“Hear what?” another shrugged.

“Like… weird noises? Like grunting and a ‘shh’ or something?”

“Maybe it was just the janitor dropping his mop again,” someone said, trying to sound logical.

“No idea,” the first shrugged. “But it sounded… intense.”

They all shrugged and kept walking, none of them any closer to understanding what just went down.

Good lord…

[qtvi0let]

I lowkey forgot i still had this in my notes

Spicy!

jealousy is a ugly thing darling

„Heartbeat.“

Summary:

The reader is in a toxic relationship with dabi. The reader knows they shouldn’t be at Dabi’s apartment, but they can’t help themselves. Their relationship is a mess—full of fights, jealousy, and regret—but the loneliness without him feels worse.

As always, Dabi texts first, and the reader answers. Inside, the tension is thick. They talk in circles, taunting and testing each other, neither willing to admit how much they still care. One moment, they’re kissing like they can’t get enough; the next, they’re fighting again.

Dabi accuses the reader of flirting with someone else, his possessiveness sparking another argument. They both know their relationship isn’t healthy, but they can’t let go. No matter how many times they say they’re done, they always come back, trapped in a cycle of love, hate, and obsession.

By morning, they’ll pretend it meant nothing. But they both know the truth: they’ll keep coming back, no matter how much it hurts.

HEARTBEAT

“I wanted you to know that I am ready to go, heartbeat…”

The rain beat against the pavement, a steady rhythm that drowned out the chaos in your head. You stood outside the run-down apartment complex, your fingers tightening around the cigarette you didn’t even want to smoke. Just something to keep your hands busy, something to stop them from trembling.

Dabi was inside. You knew that much. You also knew you shouldn’t be here.

You had broken up. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You should’ve walked away for good. The fights, the jealousy, the reckless nights that blurred into mornings filled with regret—none of it was healthy. But here you were, heart racing, legs frozen, waiting for him to make the first move.

You hated how easy it was to fall back into him. Your phone vibrated in your pocket. You didn’t need to check. You already knew.

Dabi: You outside?

A sharp inhale. The cold night air burned in your lungs, mixing with the nicotine you didn’t even taste. You typed back with numb fingers.

You: Yeah.

Dabi: Then get in here. Stop being stupid.

A part of you wanted to throw the phone across the street. Another part was already moving up the stairs.

The apartment smelled like cheap cologne and cigarettes. The same scent that clung to his clothes, his sheets, your skin whenever you woke up next to him. It was familiar. It was dangerous.

Dabi leaned against the kitchen counter, shirtless, scars catching the dim light. His eyes—icy and unreadable—raked over you like he was trying to figure out what the hell you were doing here. But he didn’t ask. He never did.

“Didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” he muttered, voice lazy, rough, like he hadn’t slept in days.

“You texted first,” you shot back, closing the door behind you.

A smirk. “You always text back.”

You hated how right he was.

There was a silence, thick and suffocating. You wanted to say something real, something that would explain why you were standing here after months of pretending you were done with this. With him.

But all that came out was, “You still smoke the same brand?”

Dabi huffed a laugh, reaching for the pack on the counter. “You still act like you don’t care?”

And just like that, you were back where you started.

You broke up because you couldn’t take it anymore. The nights spent waiting for him to come home, not knowing if he’d be alive or dead. The smell of burnt flesh on his clothes. The bruises—on you, on him—some from fights, some from the way neither of you knew how to love without hurting.

You broke up because he never said the words you needed to hear. Because he was cruel when he wanted to be, because he knew exactly what buttons to push, and because he always made you feel like loving him was a mistake you should be ashamed of.

But you came back because…

Because the silence without him was worse. Because you missed his voice, the rasp of it when he said your name. Because, no matter how much he hurt you, he was the only one who made you feel something. Even if that something was pain.

“Are you staying the night or what?” Dabi asked, his tone flat, like he didn’t care either way.

Like he didn’t already know the answer. You swallowed, shifting on your feet. “I shouldn’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “You never should.” And yet, when he took a step closer, you didn’t move away.

His fingers traced your jaw, the touch light, teasing. His breath was warm against your lips. “You gonna run again in the morning?”

You should’ve said yes.

But his mouth was on yours before you could answer, and you let him steal the words right off your tongue. “You missed me,” Dabi murmured against your skin, his lips trailing down from yours, grazing that spot on your neck that always made you shiver.

You hated how easy he could read you.

“Shut up,” you muttered, hands fisting in his hair, yanking him closer.

He chuckled, low and dark, the sound vibrating against your throat. “That a yes?”

You didn’t answer, just pulled him into you, letting his hands wander, letting his mouth remind you why you kept coming back.

The couch creaked beneath you both as he pushed you down, pressing against you like he wanted to crawl inside your skin. His hands were rough, scarred, warm—tracing every inch of you like he had to memorize it all over again.

“You think you can just show up whenever you want?” he murmured, his lips brushing over your collarbone.

You arched against him, breath hitching. “You texted first.”

He laughed—really laughed this time. “You always text back.”

And just like that, you were back where you started. Again.

After what was like 15 minutes of making out, you noticed how dabi’s mood shifted slightly, you knew that there was something on his mind. Something has been bothering him all day. The heat between you hadn't even settled before it turned to fire again. Not the kind that kept you warm, but the kind that burned everything in its path.

You were still catching your breath from the rough kissing, when his hand slid off your waist, reaching for the cigarette pack on the nightstand. The glow of the lighter flickered across his face—jaw clenched, eyes sharp, something dark swimming behind them.

You recognized that look, that look of wanting to argue.

“You had fun talking to him?” The question was calm. Too calm.

Your stomach twisted. “Him?”

Dabi scoffed, exhaling a slow drag of smoke. “Don’t play stupid.”

Your heart sank. “Dabi, it was a conversation.”

“Yeah? Funny, ‘cause from where I stood, it looked like he wanted to fuck you.”

You sat up, gripping the sheet around you. “Jesus Christ, not this again.”

“You think I don’t notice? The way he was looking at you? The way you were smiling back?”

“It was friendly.”

He laughed—cold, hollow. “Nothing between us is ever friendly.”

“Us?” You snapped. “What even is us?!”

Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The frustration, the exhaustion—it all hit you at once, crashing over you like a tidal wave you had no way to escape.

For a second, there was silence. Then—

“Are we dating?” The words hung heavy between you. Your chest tightened. “Are we fucking?” he continued, voice low, taunting. You swallowed hard, heat rising to your cheeks. “Don’t—” “Are we best friends?” His lips curled into something bitter. “Or are we something in between that?”

Your nails dug into your palms. You wished you had an answer.

“I wish we never fucked.” You tried to sound as mad as possible. You turned your gaze to the ceiling like you were trying to convince yourself. “And I mean that.”

Dabis teal eyes stared at you, it felt like he was looking into your soul. For a second You thought you had managed to hurt his feelings.

But then—he laughed. Dark. Rough. And when his eyes met yours again, they were full of something dangerous. „huh“ was all he said. You knew what was about to happen.

One second, you were glaring at each other. The next, he was flipping you over to your stomach, pinning you down on the couch with his entire weight as he slammed your face into the pillow.

Your face hit the pillow with a soft thud, Dabi’s hands gripping your hair and waist like he wanted to bruise you, to leave something behind so you wouldn’t forget who you belonged to—even if neither of you could say the words.

“You piss me off,” you spat out, your voice muffled by the pillow.

He smirked, his hand sliding up your sides, slow and deliberate. “Right back at you, sweetheart.”

“I bet You only argue with me because it turns you on, doesnt it? It wouldnt surprise me, you sick fuck” you panted out, your voice muffled by the pillow. He knew you were right but he would never admit it.

Then, he let go of your hair and grabbed your face from underneath, lifting ur chin up from the pillow, forcing you to look at him. His grip was firm, fingers digging into your skin just enough to make your breath hitch. His eyes—sharp, glowing in the dim light—searched yours, watching every little reaction, every flicker of anticipation.

“You act like you hate me,” he murmured, tilting your face up further, his thumb brushing over your lips. “But you’re still here.”

His free hand moved, slow, teasing, ghosting over your pants. down your thigh, then back up. Not touching where you wanted him to. Not yet.

Your pulse pounded. “Dabi—”

He clicked his tongue. “Shh. Let me take my time.”

You shivered as he dragged his fingers down the waistband of your pants, playing with the fabric, slipping under it just enough to make you want to scream.

“You are an asshole,” you muttered.

He just grinned. “And yet, you’re still here.”

It was messy. It was angry. It was everything you hated about him, about you, about whatever the fuck this was. You were ranting about how irresponsible and annoying he is, how mean he is for doing this to you, yet he paid no mind to your words. He put the cigarette, wich he lit earlier, into your mouth to shut you up as he continued teasing you. You roll your eyes and mutter out “finally something good.“ as you take a long drag of the cigarette

He loves it when You‘re mad at him. Its cute in his eyes. And you cant help but also like it, no matter how much he pisses you off, you still love him.

The way he kissed you earlier was punishing, like he was trying to hurt you, to mark you. Like he needed to prove that no matter how much you fought, no matter how much you swore you were done, you would always end up right here.

Together, breaking each other apart. Morning would come, you’d pretend it meant nothing but you both knew the truth.

You Both are drawn to one another like a moth to a flame.

And the rest shall be up to ur imagination!🤗

My obsession w this song is so bad i had to write a whole fanfic😭

[qtvi0let]

a :readmore: is a break in a text post so it’s not as long. writers typically put a read more after an intro or something like that and the story is below the cut of the read more

OOOHHH I DIDNT KNOW THAT TYSM LEMME DO THAT

DID IT WORK??