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dabisbratz · 10 months

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𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

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

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

You’re back home for the summer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s fucked.

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

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart could almost burst.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep. He’s fucked.

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

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

“I think you got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can see that.”

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

There’s always something in your mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

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

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

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

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

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

Shouta is avoiding you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmph.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only it were his cock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were holding hands.

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

And that isn’t even it.

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

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

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

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

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else would I say?”

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

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

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

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

“Show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

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

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

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

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

But it does.

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

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

Delayed gratification.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

“Sweet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

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

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

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

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

And that’s all you need to hear.

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sugarplumz100 · 15 days

Text

“Sit still baby”

Character: Aizawa

Synopsis: He’s always so gruff but what will people think of him when they realize he’s your submissive baby, always listening to mommy

Disclaimer: Mommy kink, heels 👠 kink, M!sub (Sub Aizawa), F!dom(dom reader), stepping, dry humping, edging, handjob, oral(licking), hair pulling, CUMMING

MDNI

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It’s been too long of a fucking day. Closing the door to your guys apartment you turn around to face your boyfriend. You’ve been teasing him all night. Tracing your finger around his dick print under the table at the bar you guys went to with some friends. You’ve been eager to get your hands on him and he knows it, he knew what he was doing when he started kissing your neck at the bar. But look at him now, barely able to make eye contact with you.

You put your hands on his broad shoulders and gently pushed him onto the floor. He grunts at the force and looks up at you from his hair. “You’ve been such a naughty boy Shota…” you pause as you walk closer to him and bring your blood red heel clad foot towards his groin. Gently rubbing the soul of the heel on his now very obvious boner. “Do you know what happens to boys that are naughty?” He nods his head desperately. “Say. It.” You demanded, “they get punished” you feel the way he humps up into your foot when he’s forced to speak.

Shotas gaze follows your foot as you remove it from his groin, he whimpers at the loss. You harshly grab at his hair and force him to crawl to the couch and demand him to sit.

Separating his jean clad legs, you gently run your fingers up and down his dick print. “Off, take them off baby” Shota quickly removes his pants and boxers, his pretty cock standing at attention. The heavy weight of it causes it to slap against his abdomen and bounce back up. You tug at his shirt “this too baby” he nods his head “yes mommy” his voice comes out in a breathy tone.

You run your hands up the sides of his torso and gently bring them back down, your delicate touch tickling him ever so slightly. He whimpers as he thrusts into the air. You giggle, returning you hand to where it was previously. Taking the tips of your fingers you drag them along the shaft of his cock. “A-ah…mommy please”

You say nothing, only responding with giggle. You bring your index finger to the tip of his cock, gently twirling it around his head. You tap it and watch as the precum sticks to your finger. Bringing your fingers back to his tip you gently squeeze it between your two fingers. His hips shaking from the amount of effort he’s using to not thrust into the air.

Continuing your movements you decide to wrap your hand tightly around his girth. Squeezing down on it, you know he loves the pressure. You loosen your grip and begin to slowly stroke his throbbing cock. Running the palm of your hand over the tip once you reach it, Shota stiffens as he unintentionally tries to lift his body up, the slow motions of your hands tipping him closer and closer to the edge.

“F-fuck-Mommy PleAse…” you release your hold on his cock and his whimpers grow louder as his hips harshly thrust into the air. Giving him a second to breathe, you bring your tongue to the base of his shaft and gently lick your way up to his tip. Giving gently kitten licks at his raging tip, the salty taste of his pre cum making your pussy throb.

You spit on his cock for extra lubrication as you quickly pump his cock. The speed of your hand causes him to lean forward, you feel him close to you so you slap his flexed thigh. Shota leans back as his back arches. The sounds of his moans egging you to continue. “I’m s-so cloSe…Mommy- ahh- please let me CuM!…” he begs.

“C’mon Shota baby, cum for mommy” you say as your pace quickens. His back arches as you use your other hand to squeeze his balls. His body convulses as he releases. The sounds of his loud moans fills your apartment along with your coos.

You rise from the ground and lean over, moving the hair away from his face and gently giving him a loving kiss. “You did so well for me” you walk over to the kitchen to wash your hands and grab some paper towels to clean him up.

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I think this is the first non hc thing I’ve posted

I HOPE YALL LIKED

MASTERLIST

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boykisser4 · 1 month

Text

Tangled Souls

pairing: demon!Shōta Aizawa x male!reader, nsfw/dc so minors begone

warnings: male reader, smut, monsterfucking, biting, slight blood play, tailfucking, multiple orgasms, male masturbation, breeding kink, creampie, degradation, reader is a virgin but it's not central to the plot

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: your mother has always told you to be wary of the woods. Boys get lost in there, only to wind up dead, their bodies and faces twisted in pleasure and agony. you've followed that rule diligently your entire life—only to find that belief shaken when a beautiful demon appears on your doorstep in need of your help.

In the quiet town of Shibuya, nestled between the bustling neon lights and the whispering whispers of the ever-expanding urban sprawl, there was a rumor as old as the cobblestone streets themselves. It spoke of a set of ancient woods that lay just beyond the outskirts, a place where the line between reality and the supernatural grew as thin as a thread. The townsfolk had long ago learned to keep their children close and their doors locked when the moon was high, for it was said that the forest was a playground for creatures that were better left to the imagination.

You, a young man on the cusp of adulthood, had heard the stories countless times. Each time, your mother's voice grew a little more tremulous, her eyes a shade darker with fear. Yet, as you grew older, the whispers of the woods grew louder, beckoning you with secrets and promises of adventure. One evening, as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows that danced with the sway of the autumn leaves, you found yourself standing at the edge of the forest, your heart thudding a rhythm that echoed through the trees.

The demon that appeared before you was not what you had expected. He was not the monstrous creature of your nightmares, but rather a being of such ethereal beauty that it seemed as if the moon itself had taken human form. Shōta Aizawa, a man with sharp, angular features and hair as black as the abyss, emerged from the shadows with a grace that seemed to defy the very fabric of reality. His eyes, piercing and red, bore into yours with an intensity that made your knees wobble and your breath hitch in your throat.

He spoke to you, his voice a velvety caress that seemed to wrap around your very soul. "I am lost," he said, his words tinged with a hint of desperation. "Can you help me find my way?" There was something in his gaze that made you feel as if you could trust him, despite the whispers of your mother's warnings. Without a second thought, you nodded, and together you stepped into the enigmatic embrace of the woods that had called to you for so long.

The journey was a blur of moonlit paths and whispers of leaves that seemed to carry secrets of their own. Aizawa walked with purpose, his tail swishing gently behind him as if it had a mind of its own. You couldn't help but feel drawn to him, as if there was an invisible thread connecting the two of you. As the night grew deeper, you began to feel a warmth building in your loins, a need that you had never experienced before. It was as if the very air was thick with a scent that called to your most primal instincts.

You stumbled upon a clearing, the light of the moon casting a silver glow upon the dewy grass. Aizawa paused, his eyes scanning the area before they settled on you, a smirk playing upon his lips. "You're brave," he murmured, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down your spine. "But I require more than just your guidance." He stepped closer, his tail curling around your leg, sending waves of pleasure through your body. "I need...companionship."

The air grew thick with tension as he reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. You felt yourself lean into his touch, your body betraying your mind's attempt at rational thought. He leaned down, his breath hot against your neck, and whispered, "I can give you what you've been craving, if you let me." His teeth grazed your skin, and you felt a sharp sting followed by a pulse of exquisite pleasure that had you gasping. It was then that you realized the extent of your folly—you had entered the demon's domain, and now you were his to claim.

The smirk on Aizawa's face grew wider as he stepped closer, his body pressing against yours. You could feel the heat emanating from him, a stark contrast to the coolness of the night air. His tail slithered upwards, coiling around your waist before it dipped lower, teasing the fabric of your pants. Your cheeks flushed with both arousal and embarrassment as you felt yourself growing hard against his thigh. He chuckled darkly, his hand moving to cup your erection firmly, his claws digging into your skin just enough to make you wince.

"You're so eager," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "But before I give you what you want, you must do something for me." His grip tightened, and you whimpered, the pain adding to the confusing mix of emotions swirling within you. "You must accept me—all of me," he continued, his other hand moving to the base of his tail, revealing the swollen tip. It was then that you understood the full extent of what he was asking for—what he needed.

With a flick of his tail, he unzipped your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear. The cool breeze kissed your exposed skin, making you shiver. He knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours as he took you in his mouth, the sensation so foreign yet so intoxicating that you couldn't help but moan. His tongue danced around the head of your cock, teasing the slit before taking you deeper. You watched, entranced, as he swallowed you whole, his eyes fluttering shut in pleasure.

The demon's tail slid between your legs, the tip probing at your entrance. You felt a moment of fear, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the all-consuming need that had taken root in your core. He pushed in gently, the sensation of his tail entering you unlike anything you had ever felt before. The pain was there, but it was muted by the sheer ecstasy that flooded your body with each thrust. His mouth never left your cock, sucking and licking as he claimed you, his tail moving in rhythm with his mouth.

The pleasure built, wave upon wave, until you could no longer hold back. You came with a cry that was part pleasure, part fear, your seed spilling into his eager mouth. Aizawa pulled back, licking his lips with a satisfied smirk. "Now," he purred, his tail still buried deep inside you, "we are truly connected." He began to move again, his tail working in tandem with his mouth, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of another orgasm.

You felt yourself being filled, the pressure inside you growing unbearable. His tail swelled, and with one final, powerful thrust, he released his own essence deep within you. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever felt before—a mix of pleasure and pain that left you trembling and gasping for air. As he pulled away, his tail slipped out of you with a wet sound, leaving you feeling both empty and utterly claimed.

Breathless, you looked down at him, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "You are mine now," he said, his voice a dark promise. "And together, we will uncover the secrets of the night." With that, he rose to his feet, pulling you along with him. The woods seemed to close in around you, the whispers of the trees growing louder as you took your first steps into a new, darker chapter of your life.

The moon cast a cold, pale light over the clearing as Aizawa led you deeper into the woods. The sounds of the night grew more sinister, more alluring, with each step you took. You were no longer the same person who had ventured into the forest; you were now a part of it, bound to this demon in a way that transcended simple companionship.

The demon's hand was a vice around your wrist, guiding you through the underbrush with a sense of urgency that sent your heart racing. His eyes gleamed with excitement, his sharp teeth bared in a predatory smile that made your stomach twist in anticipation. You knew that there was no turning back now—you had made a deal with the creature of the night, and you would see it through to the end.

As you stumbled through the woods, the air grew thick with the scent of lust and power. It was a heady perfume that seemed to coat every leaf and branch, making your head spin. Aizawa's grip on your wrist was the only thing keeping you grounded, a reminder of the bargain you had struck.

The clearing grew wider, revealing a hidden grotto bathed in an eerie blue light. The walls were slick with moisture, and the ground beneath your feet was soft and yielding. Aizawa pushed you against one of the damp walls, his eyes burning with desire. His hand snaked down to your now-bare cock, stroking it back to life with a skill that seemed otherworldly.

"You're mine now," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck. "And I will take you, in every way imaginable." His tail slithered around your waist again, this time with more urgency, the tip grazing your throbbing member. "But first, you must learn to crave it."

With that, he sank to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. He took your cock in his mouth once more, sucking and licking with an intensity that had you bucking your hips against the cold stone. His claws dug into your thighs, leaving trails of fire in their wake, but the pain only served to heighten the pleasure. His tongue flicked against your slit, tasting the pre-cum that beaded there, and you couldn't help but moan his name.

The demon's tail grew more insistent, sliding between your cheeks to press against your tight hole once again. You felt yourself opening up to him, your body betraying your fear and welcoming the intrusion. He pushed in, the feeling of fullness making your eyes roll back in your head. His movements grew faster, his mouth and tail working in perfect harmony to drive you to the brink of insanity.

The walls of the grotto seemed to pulse with an ancient power, the very air vibrating with it. You could feel it in your bones, a call to the darkness that now lived within you. The demon's eyes glowed brighter as he brought you closer to the edge, his tail swelling even more within you.

You came again, your body convulsing with the force of your climax. Aizawa's tail pumped into you, filling you with his essence as he swallowed down your seed. The world around you spun, colors swirling and colliding as the power of the woods claimed you fully.

As the aftershocks of pleasure subsided, you slumped against the wall, panting and spent. Aizawa's tail slid out of you with a wet sound, leaving you feeling both violated and oddly satisfied. He stood, his own arousal evident in the bulge of his pants. "Now," he said, his voice a low growl, "it's time for you to truly understand what it means to be with a demon."

Without another word, he tore open his own pants, revealing his engorged cock. It was monstrous, a twisted mix of human and demonic, and it throbbed with an unnatural hunger. You stared, both terrified and fascinated by the creature before you.

He stepped closer, his claws digging into your hips as he lifted you off the ground. "You will take me," he growled, his eyes never leaving yours. "And you will scream my name as I claim you."

You had no choice but to comply, your body responding to his command even as your mind rebelled. He positioned you, your legs wrapped around his waist, and with one powerful thrust, he filled you completely. The pain was exquisite, a scream ripping from your throat as he pushed deeper, stretching you beyond what you thought possible.

His movements were relentless, his hips pistoning into you as his claws raked down your back. The demon's teeth grazed your neck, the promise of a bite that would seal your fate hanging in the air. The pleasure and pain melded together, creating a symphony of sensation that had you begging for more.

With each thrust, you felt yourself slipping further into the abyss, the boundaries between reality and the supernatural blurring. The whispers of the woods grew louder, echoing the chant of your name on Aizawa's lips.

And as he claimed you, as his teeth sank into your flesh, you felt a transformation begin. Your vision swam with the taste of iron as your blood mingled with his saliva. Your nails grew sharp, your skin prickling with the beginnings of a furious power that seemed to resonate with the very earth beneath you. The demon's cock filled you to the brim, each movement sending shockwaves through your body. You could feel yourself changing, evolving into something more, something primal and dark.

The bite grew deeper, and the pain subsided, replaced by a white-hot need that consumed every part of your being. You bucked against him, desperate for more, for the release that only he could give you. His hips met yours with a ferocity that had you seeing stars, his claws digging into your skin as he held you in place. The demon's breath was hot and ragged in your ear, his voice a snarl as he whispered sweet, dark promises of eternal pleasure and power.

The ground beneath you trembled as your climax approached, the trees around you seeming to lean in closer as if to witness your fall from grace. The creature inside of you grew stronger, its hunger matching that of the demon who claimed you. Your body was no longer your own, a mere vessel for the dark desires that now ruled you.

With a final, brutal thrust, Aizawa came within you, his seed mixing with the power of the bite. You felt it, a fire spreading through your veins, setting your very soul alight. You howled, the sound echoing through the woods, a declaration of your new allegiance. The demon pulled away, his teeth releasing your skin, and you slumped in his arms, panting and trembling with the aftershocks of your transformation.

#bottom male reader #x male reader smut #male reader smut #male reader #anime x male reader #anime x male reader smut #mha x male reader #mha x male reader smut #mha x sub male reader #shōta aizawa #shota aizawa #shota aizawa x male reader #Shota Aizawa x male reader smut #dark content #dark blog

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slutfactory · 1 year

Text

: ̗̀➛ shouta aizawa thirst !

[cw// m!reader, heavily implied erasermic, adultery, slutty aizawa.]

alright, so aizawa being a cheating bastard—going from spur of the moment, to when/wherever possible.

it wasn't aizawa's intention at first, but after having sex with you for the first time, he felt.. dissatisfied with his husband's performance. now, it wasn't that hizashi was bad in bed, it was just that he was too vanilla for shouta's (newfound) tastes. after experiencing being fucked like a cheap whore, he found himself wanting more.

hizashi, who had no knowledge of this, asked if you could come over to fix the washing machine while he went out to do god knows what, and that shouta would let you in.

you of course fixed the appliance with relative ease, but before you left, you had to claim your payment for your services. aizawa was so quick to submit to your advances, it was almost enough to make you feel bad for his husband. almost.

effortlessly bending the pro hero over the newly fixed washing machine and making him beg and cry for you to breed him like the cheating slut he was,, it felt quite nice. even more so, to just leave him a cum filled mess against the washer as you took your money and left.

shouta made sure to dispose of all the evidence of your encounter before hizashi returned home. hizashi, the poor bastard, was of course still oblivious, but he did find it strange that aizawa's legs were trembling slightly.

#🎥 slutfactory shorts #top male reader #seme male reader #x male reader #male reader #top reader #dom reader #dom male reader #bnha smut #bnha x male reader #aizawa smut #shota aizawa smut #sub bnha

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dabislilbaby · 2 years

Note

First off, I would just like to say that I LOVE the way you write smut 😍

Do you think you could do a Husband Aizawa one where he comes home from work and y/n "helps him relax" if you know what I mean?👀

Thank you😌❤️ I'm so glad you like my writing, it means a lot.

I wasn't planning on writing for Aizawa, BUT this seemed like an opportunity I just couldn't pass up🤭 Maybe I'll write more for him in the future, who knows👀

I'm dipping my toes into some Dom!fem energy for this one so I hope that's okay :) I actually had a lot of fun writing this so, enjoy <3

@haru-x-ren

Welcome Home

Aizawa x f!Reader

Warnings⚠️: 18+, smut, established relationship/married, hand job, Aizawa having multiple orgasms, kinda Dom fem and a needy Aizawa, praise kink (m receiving) and a tiny bit of edging.

Word Count: 1k

Nick names: (from Aizawa) Kitten. (From y/n) baby, honey, good boy

From the living room, you heard the front door open. As Shota set his keys down and took off his jacket, your cat slinked thru his ankles to welcome him home. "Shota honey, is that you?" He heard you call from the other room. He started to routinely kick off his shoes and tie his long hair into a loose ponytail. "Yes kitten, it's me" he answered as he rounded the corner into the room. He saw you laying on the couch with a blanket and holding a mug. You set it down and held out a hand, signalling for him to come sit with you.

He settled in between your legs and you brought your hands to his shoulders. "How was work?" You softly massaged your thumbs into the nape of his neck. "Mmm...tiring." he grunts and closes his eyes, relaxing into your touch with a sigh. "This feels nice." He says quietly. You smile and continue to work the tense knots out of his shoulders.

A small groan escapes his lips. "You're so good at this." You let out a small laugh. "Well when your husband is constantly tired and stressed, you learn to get good at this kind of thing." And he returns the laugh. "It helps that I have you to help me unwind." He rubs the side of your thigh comfortingly as you continue to massage his shoulders.

After a few short moments, you heard the quietest moan come from him, and his head tilted to the side, exposing his neck to you. You took this opportunity to kiss his skin softly and run your hands down his chest. Your arms wrap around his torso and his breathing becomes a bit shallow. You kiss his neck again and goosebumps form all over his body from how gentle your being. You smirk against his skin. "You're always so sensitive baby" you whisper as you kiss his neck a third time. A shiver runs down his spine as you do this, your words making his erection start to grow and twitch in his pants. He tried to hide it but failed miserably.

You reach your hand down to the growing problem and cup it in your palm. He sucks in thru his teeth slightly when he feels you touch it. "Don't worry honey, I'll make you feel good." you whisper and kiss his neck again. Both hands now are slowly unbuckling his pants. He groans when he feels your soft fingers wrap around his shaft, squeezing softly and pulling him out for you to play with. He was already completely hard and leaking pre cum, you let out a small gasp when you saw the clear liquid drip down his length. He lazily bucks his hips into your warm palm, mind going blank as you work him with an agonizingly slow pace. He moans softly and throbs in your grip, he was already getting close.

"ah ah ah, not just yet" you let go of him and he whimpered, thrusting into the air and doing his best to stifle his orgasm. You watched him twitch as more pre cum pooled at his slit. You took your thumb and coated his tip in it and continued to work him slowly. Another small moans left him when you kissed his neck again.

He wanted to be good and hold back his climax, but as soon as your teeth touched the soft skin of his neck, his body couldn't resist its much needed release. A strangled moan escaped his throat as he exploded all over your hand, his head leaning back against your shoulder. The heat is radiating off of his dick and he throbs and pulsates with each rope of hot cum that pours out of him. You softly kiss the scar on his cheek but keep stroking him slowly, despite how sensitive you know he is. He's panting lightly in your ear. "you wanna give me another one?" You cooed. He nods slowly, nuzzling his head into your neck. You smirk and strokes him a little faster. "You're such a good boy for me Shota." You praise him and feel his face get warm against your neck. You know he likes it.

He squeezes your thigh gently while you get him fully erect once again, giggling that you were able to do so so easily. He lazily bucks up into your fist again and you pepper him with soft kisses. "You're so cute when you're needy." You praise him again and hee breathes out a low groan. "Fuck~" you pick up your pace a bit, giving him more friction. Your free hand comes to play with his hair and scratch as his scalp just the way he likes it. You nibble gently on his ear lobe, coaxing another moan from him. He starts to throb again. "Please kitten" it's quiet when he speaks, but his words are filled with desperation. "You gonna cum for me again?" He nods and thrusts his hips a little. You smirk. "C'mon baby, show me that pretty cum you make for me." Another strangled moan leaves his lips when stream after stream of cum rolls down his length and all over your fingers while you milk him dry. "That's it baby." You kiss his neck and slow down your pace. "You did so good for me." He breaths heavily and opens his eyes, giving you a glazed-over look. You smile at him lovingly. "How are you feeling?"

"mmm...much better, thank you." He kissed your cheek. "I'll go make dinner while you take a nap okay?" He nods sleepily. "Love you, kitten"

"I love you too Shota."

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missmilkie · 3 months

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hunter!Shota Aizawa/Eraserhead x fem!Reader

This is my first ever request, so I hope this is satisfactory.

Warnings: harem boy, gagging, humiliation, semi-public, handjob, blowjob, orgasm denial, spitting, nipple play, ball fondling, cumeating, pussyeating

WC: 1.3k

“I hate you, you know that?” The dark-haired man glowered down at you. You could tell he was annoyed, but you were letting your eyes glaze over his body.

Shota’s broad chest was exposed, the pale skin pebbled with goosebumps and littered with scars from being a hunter. The pants he wore hung low enough on his waist that it exposed a generous amount of his v-line and happy trail. His defined muscles were on display for your viewing pleasure.

“Hey, you’re the one who lost. It’s only fair.” A smug grin on your face as you held out your panties. The ones you were wearing not five minutes ago.

“But this is ridiculous!”

“But you agreed.”

Shota looked away, blushing and glaring at the wall. He muttered,

“Yeah, but it’s embarrassing.”

“Calm down, you’ll be wearing a veil, remember?”

“Have I told you how much I hate you?”

You snickered before taking his jaw in your free hand. Squeezing his cheeks, you stuffed the underwear in his now open mouth.

“Mmph!” Shota’s eyes widened in surprise as he tasted the traces of your juices. You became serious, his instincts putting him on edge.

“Don’t you dare remove those.” Your sudden dark aura turned back to normal. “Now for the veil!”

He couldn’t meet your eyes as you positioned the accessory on him. The black mist covered his face.

“Let’s go now. We have a lot to do today.”

You had a nail appointment first thing. Instead of letting Shota sit in the waiting area, you had him stand by your chair. He was hyper aware of the looks he’d get, and you paid them no mind at all. Worst of all, he couldn’t tell you off.

“Shota, pet,” you looked up him with a patronizing smile, “would you fetch me a drink? I saw a vending machine down the corner. You know what I like.”

You could feel Shota glaring at you through the veil. He still walked out the door and down the corner nonetheless, barefoot and everything. Soon enough, you had your beverage in the hand that wasn’t getting worked on in the moment.

Your nails were long and (fav color). You would need them later.

“Come in, Shota.”

The man flinched, but walked in. You closed the door to the changing room. Your deft fingers lifted the veil to reveal his flushed face.

“You’ve been a good boy, keeping my panties in your mouth.”

Shota made a sound akin to whimpering. Shopping with you had worn him down. It would be much easier to break him now.

“What’s wrong? Nothing more to say to me? Not going to remind me how much you hate me?”

“Noh…oo wehn…” he groaned, the fabric distorting his speech.

“Then come and undress me. I don’t have all day.” You altered your position to help with his task.

Shota moaned in obedience as he rid your torso of your shirt. Then your skirt dropped to the floor. He paused while you stepped out of it, nudging it to the side with his foot. Your bare pussy was exposed to him. For the first time that day, Shota felt overdressed.

“My bra too. I have some that I need to try on.”

“Mphmm!”

Shaky fingers unhooked your last article of clothing. You could feel his sweaty hands hovering over your back.

“There we go. That’s a good boy, Shota~” you turned around and let your hand slide down his abs. He gasped at your touch. The sensation of your nails was magnetic. “And good boys get rewarded.”

“Leehs.” His pupils had dilated with lust.

You dragged your fingers down, taking his loose pants with them. He closed his eyes out of embarrassment when his hard cock sprang up.

“Look at you~” you knelt down to examine. “He’s more flushed than you.”

“MmMmph!” Shota whined as you jerked him with your manicured hand.

“Now, we are still in public. You might wanna keep it down.”

With that you spit on his dick. Once. Twice. Thrice for good measure. Some of it dripped off to the floor while you spread it along his length. You could see him trembling as your hand went up and down.

“Play with your nipples.” Shota’s eyes shot open at your sudden command. “Now.”

His twitching arms moved to bring his hands to his hard nipples. Tentatively, his fingers pinched and rolled at them. You heard him hold back a deep groan.

Deciding not to give him a break, you took him in your mouth. Your sticky hand went down further to caress his balls. That was the last straw for him.

Shota moaned loudly, his mouth wide open so that the panties fell to your shoulder.

“Well, now the whole store knows how much a slut you are. And now they’re gonna hear me punish you.”

“Punish me?!” His voice was shaky.

“You spit my panties out. I specifically told you not to remove them.”

“It was an accident, (Y/n)!”

“And there you go breaking another rule. Do you remember what you’re supposed to address me as?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very good. Now for your punishment.” You dove back down to suck his dick.

Heavy gasps and whimpers sounded from Shota as your mouth sucked him in and massaged him. It was obvious to anyone outside what was going on. And you didn’t hesitate to remind him.

When his dick starts twitching, you keep going until he’s about to cum. Then you slip off of him, keeping him from his high.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Because only good boys get to cum.”

With that, you stuffed the panties back into his mouth and went to town on him.

Three more times, you denied him his orgasm. He blinked away the tears that began collecting in his eyes after the second time.

This time, when you felt him approach his high, you showed no signs of stopping. The pleasure kept building painfully until it was too much to bear. And then he was cumming hard with a loud airy moan, spurts landing all over your face, neck, and tiddies.

“Look at the mess you’ve made. Clean it up with your tongue.”

Without a word, Shota dropped to the floor to begin licking up your boobs. He moaned at the taste of himself and sucked his essence of your skin. He traveled up until he reached your face. Then he started kissing his cum off of you.

“Very good. Now, how do we thank those who make us cum?”

“Let me eat your pussy, ma’am.” He asked breathlessly, a hint of desperation in his voice.

You stood up and leaned back against the wall with your legs spread.

“Eat it, Shota.”

He crawled over to kiss up your legs starting from your ankles. The further he went up, the more wet and sloppy his mouth became. His tongue flicked out to taste you at the apex of your thighs.

It wasn’t long before he was making out with your cunt. His face was sticky with your slick and his spit. Shota moaned and groaned into you, vibrating your clit. You took it all with labored breathing, but you didn’t make much noise.

Even as you felt yourself climbing to the finish line, you kept quiet. Albeit your hips grinded against his face roughly. He never stopped, only kept thanking you for letting him cum in the dressing room of the store. Your nails left angry red lines on his shoulders.

You climaxed with a deep sigh. Shota let your juices cover his chin and slide down his throat. Panting, you let him eat you through your high.

“Very good, Shota. Let’s try on the clothes now.”

Without skipping a beat, he was offering you one of the bras you had picked out. You smiled as he hooked it together in the back.

#x reader #fem reader #shota aizawa #eraserhead #alternate universe #hunter x hunter #smut #sub Eraserhead

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rumisgf · 1 month

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“ YOUR BEST EATER ! ” (MHA EDITION)

ꕥ summary: rating how well mha men would eat you out ! (this is canon cause i said so)

ꕥ includes: keigo takami, mirio togata, touya todoroki, shota aizawa, katsuki bakugou, denki kaminari, enji todoroki

ꕥ warnings: dom/sub implications, oral f!recieving, dirty talk, crack ofc this is for fun, slander (sorry lol), black!reader as always, timeskip chargebolt and dynamight

KEIGO TAKAMI - ♾️/10

⊗ he’s a REAL eater.

⊗ you have to cry and beg for him to pop his mouth off you because he has an addiction

⊗ he thinks you taste so good

⊗ there’s not one morning his head doesn’t end up between your thighs

⊗ and at events, he’ll find a way to pull you to the nearest bathroom and get a quick one out because you just looked too good

⊗ he loves having you sit on his face

⊗ “imma eat it. AHHHHH”

⊗ he doesn’t care if you just got off of work or if you’re tired he needs your pussy on his tongue stat.

⊗ he’s such a slut.

“please- ‘s too much~!”

“c‘mon i know you got one more, i got you~”

TOUYA TODOROKI - 3/10

⊗ you thought he was an eater…?

⊗ you’re funny.

⊗ yeah unfortunately mr. long dick over here doesn’t like eating pussy

⊗ his ego is bigger than his dick

⊗ however,

⊗ on the rare occasion that he’s feeling extra nice, he’ll do more than plunge his fingers into you before he makes you take him from the back

“o-oh~..!”

“couldn’t help myself…too fuckin’ wet…”

ENJI TODORKI - 0/10

⊗ like father like son (he’s much worse)

⊗ he’s not particularly a…. giver

⊗ he’s a meanie he’d rather manhandle you instead

⊗ he don’t even like his wife and kids so what makes you think he likes you enough to eat you out

⊗ besides….even if he tried…it wouldn’t be…well…good.

⊗ he’s too rough he might bite your shit i don’t know pookie

⊗ if you beg him enough he’ll do it for like a split second

⊗ you immediately regret your decision

⊗ help him.

“wait- it’s ok it’s o-ok. nevermind…”

“what’s wrong?”

SHOTA AIZAWA - 7/10

⊗ he likes to pretend he doesn’t like giving head

⊗ but you catch him on one of those days….

⊗ he becomes a different man

⊗ and he’s mean with it, too

⊗ your thighs will have bruises from the way he forces your legs open

⊗ he likes eating you out before just because he feels satisfied having you weak before he even fucks you

⊗ he’ll edge you and tease you just to have you begging him to cum

“stay fuckin’ still, or you’re not cummin’. understand?”

MIRIO TOGATA - 10/10

⊗ yes i’m sneaking my man in here. i do not care.

⊗ he’s a certified munch y’all hate to say it

⊗ he gets it from fatgum.

⊗ (i would put him in here but then imma get nasty)

⊗ please just sit on his face and give him three minutes you will be dripping before he even puts it in

⊗ he massages your thighs and kisses your clit ‘cause he really is just so in love with you

⊗ not only will he shove his head between your thighs before he fucks you just to get a quick taste

⊗ he’ll clean you up after he fucks you, tastes himself and you

⊗ he’s a huge giver

⊗ please marry him

“such a pretty pussy, baby…’m gonna clean you right up~”

BAKUGOU KATSUKI - 9/10

⊗ oh give him five minutes

⊗ put him between your legs and he’s done for

⊗ he’s a nasty FREAK and he cannot hide it in this predicament.

⊗ he swears up and down ‘he doesn’t eat pussy’ to all his friends and every girl who brings it up

⊗ but if it’s his baby? someone he’s really into?

⊗ you see a completely different side of him

⊗ and he makes everything so messy

⊗ he’s so focused when he does it and when he looks up at you… you are done for

⊗ he can make you cum quick to get you wet enough to just slip in– then he gets right to business

“kats~…”

“taste so good…so fucking good..”

DENKI KAMINARI - 11/10

⊗ y’all thought i wasn’t gonna put him here?

⊗ he refers to himself as an eater

⊗ he has no shame

⊗ he’ll eat it in the morning, for lunch, after dinner, for dessert- he really doesn’t care

⊗ he definitely can get off just from giving you head

⊗ the feeling of you dripping down his chin and the sound of your moans is enough to get him up

⊗ you will be orgasming more than once

⊗ and he can go on for hours if he really wanted to

“my messy baby…you sound so pretty~

©𝑹𝑼𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑮𝑭

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mindless-existence1 · 20 hours

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Imagine on your wedding day with Aizawa you gift him spicy pictures throughout the whole day.

Now stay with me. It's the after party and you slip him one before walking away to see a distant relative. He can feel the blush creeping up his neck and reaching his ears. He stuffs the Polaroid into his pocket quickly to make sure no one else saw, your body is only for him.

Imagine you just had cake and now everyone's eating at their own table, you and Aizawa sitting at one table alone. Imagine you slip him another picture, this one even more risky, and he has to cover his face and cough to cover the whine pulling st his throat.

Imagine he starts getting hard and the only thing keeping it from the family is the long table cloths decorating your table. Imagine he wants to beg you to let him have you but he has to stop himself.

This day is so important and he doesn't want to ruin how perfect it is by having a quickie. (Plus he knows he literally can't with all the people around and all that). Imagine the last one you slip to him is the dirtiest of them all.

You're now in the car driving to your honeymoon location. He takes one hand from the wheel to palm himself.

"Honey common, why are you teasing me?" He practically whines.

"Oh poor baby. Maybe I just want to egg (is that how you spell it????) you on a little. I mean tonight is very.....special right?" You tease. He grins a love sick smile, oh you are both in for a loooong night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is inspired by a fiction I saw about a different character in this scenario. Also requests open for any fiction and Fluff and Kinktober!

#Marriage au #sub shota aizawa #mha #my hero academia #aizawa x reader #mha aizawa #Aizawa x reader smut #Aizawa x reader suggestive #Aizawa wedding #Mha wedding au #Mha x reader

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mytheoristavenue · 1 month

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Premature Ejaculation with your Favs!

Summary: You pity your incel classmate and pay his dorm a visit. Little do you know is all it takes is few French kisses to finish him off.

Warnings: college!au, modern!au, incel!character, virgin!character, misogyny, premature ejaculation, degredation, dom!reader, fem dom, sub!character, male sub

"O-Oh, fuck, please no, fuck-!" He hisses, shifting away from you, stiff as a board. "Oh my fucking god, shit, I'm so fucking sorry!"

All you can do is giggle at the wet spot on the front of his sweats and the humiliated crack in his voice. "Did you seriously jizz your pants?" You snort cruelly. "We were barely even making out!"

"D-Don't laugh! Fuck!" He scolds, covering himself as he awkwardly maneuvers off the bed. "Fuck's sake, cut me some slack, I've never done this before!"

"Awe, don't get all pissy!" You snicker, watching him waddle to the bathroom. "It's fine that you're a no pump chump, really! It's cute, actually!"

"I'm so glad you find this amusing," He grumbles, cleaning himself and dropping his sweats, walking out in just boxers and an old t-shirt. "'Cause I sure as hell don't." He ranted while tossing through a hamper to find a clean-ish pair of pants, having to do the sniff test on nearly everything.

"You really should clean your room, ya know? Maybe you'd actually get girls that way." You joke, lounging on his bed. "Girls don't like nasty rooms, dude."

He rolled his eyes, cheeks still pink. "Are you saying I don't get bitches?" He asked, stepping into a pair of pajama pants.

"More or less," You smirk at the irritated scowl he presented. "Also, don't call women bitches if you ever plan on changing that."

"All women are bitches," He says, turning back to you with a cocky grin. "And if I don't get any, why are you in my bed?"

"I felt bad for you, you're like a wet cat." You deadpan, hiding the fact that his last words dripped with more sex appeal than even he intended. "And I like messing with virgins."

"Shut up," He grumbled, the wind taken from his sails. "I don't need your pity, I could pull if I wanted to. Just got better shit to do."

"You mean like edging to hentai while all your friends go out to party?" You sneer, eyes flickering to his computer, pump bottle of lotion sitting beside the monitor so obviously.

"Oh my god, I hate you, is there a point to all this torment?" He finally asks, pacing the room, ready to throw you out.

You smile sweetly, catching his eye. You look so inviting as you lean back in his bed on your palms. "Hey, creep?" You coo and he gulps. He used to hate when you called him that, but now it melts him. He's already crawling over you nervously, shaking like a leaf.

"Y-Yeah?" He asks through quivering lips, hard on painfully obvious. You smirk at his short refractory period.

"Let's try again, yeah? I won't tell anyone you're a minute man if you try and hold out as long as you for me can this time m'kay?"

"O-Okay!"

Mezo Shoji, Katsuki Bakugo, Shihai Kuroiro, Neito Monoma, Mashirao Ojiro, Kosei Tsuburaba, Togaru Kamakiri, Shoto Todoroki, Shota Aizawa, Toya Todoroki, Enji Todoroki, Denki Kaminari, Sanemi Shinazegaua, Obanai Iguro, Giyuu Tomioka, Guytaro Shabana, Inosuke Hashibira, Zenitsu Agatsuma, and whoever else you like!

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bonkwrites · 2 years

Text

Baby

Warnings: PIV, afab!reader, slight dom!Aizawa, slight sub!reader, a little bit of uniform kink, some choking, overstim, dirty talk, begging, praise, breeding, wanting a baby.

Relationship: Shota Aizawa x wife!reader

Shota thinks you're irresistible. He knows you think lowly of yourself, that sometimes you get up in your own head about your body, your personality, your skills… people have put you down, hurt you, but never him. Shota doesn't care if he spends his whole life making you realize you're the best woman on planet earth, he'd do it all over again.

It's your anniversary tonight. During the day, it's work. You're subbing for Mic in English, his gorgeous wife drilling vocabulary and grammar into their heads until their brains hurt. He sits with you at lunch, watches you eat the lunch he made for you while you laugh at his jokes. You play with your necklace, dragging the pendant up and down the chain, and Shota might sound like a degenerate when he says this but… seeing you in your teaching uniform really does something for him.

He's thought about before, why he always thought you looked so good while teaching, and he wants to think it's because you're in your element, teaching the kids, doing something you love, but in reality it's because your teaching clothes involve form-fitting clothing and not your normal sweatpants and big shirt combo. He thinks that's sexy too but seeing you in a button down… in a skirt and a short heel… wearing earrings and makeup? He's been thinking about dragging you to the supply closet on the fourth floor, the one isolated from the rest of the school, and hiking your skirt up like the dirty man you've turned him into.

"Shota? Baby?" You regard him with a confused look in your eye and you giggle when he makes eye contact, "you okay?"

"Of course," Shota replies, "just.. thinking about tonight."

"I'm so excited to go out," you smile across at him, excited to finally get to dress up and go out, "it's gonna be so fun, we haven't been out in forever and I-"

Shota fully admits to losing focus on what you're talking about, staring at you as you talk about your dress for tonight while a happy smile on your face. He's lost for words, truly, he's fucking speechless and all you're doing is talking about how happy you are to get to go out again.

You've talked to him about kids before, but he's thinking tonight has to be the night. He reaches across the table and holds your free hand, thumb rubbing across the back of your hand. You smile at him sweetly and keep talking.

–

"This place is fancy," you whisper across at him, glancing around at the tables and decor of the restaurant. Shota takes a sip of his red wine, your hand in his on the table. He smirks.

"Only the best for you, sweetheart," he replies. You blush but roll your eyes. Shota knows you would have been happy with takeout on the couch but you shine when he treats you like this, like a princess, like you deserve.

An impulsive thought pierces through his mind, the image of what you'll look like later, bent over on the bed, his chest pressed to your back, his hands pinning yours to the mattress. He knows you like it slow, like to feel every inch of him, and he can almost hear the sounds you'll make.

"You're…" You start to say something but then you stop yourself, rolling your eyes again and running your hand through your hair nervously. Shota likes watching you squirm when he compliments you.

Sometimes it's like you're a new couple again, blushing at every compliment, holding hands and smiling to yourselves.

"What am I?" Shota fixes you with a sharp stare. You bite your lip and avoid his gaze, legs crossing under the table.

"Fuck off," you mumble. The waiter approaches, main course in hand, and tops off your wine before he leaves.

You eat, the squirming dying off after a while, and once dessert is done you're both heading home. Shota pays, walks out with you, and of course he opens your door for you. He gets you home, riding you up the whole drive with his hand on your thigh. Your hands grip his arm, leaned into him the whole ride.

"Shota," you whine at some point, his fingers digging into your inner thighs, you're about ten minutes from home, "Wh-What do you think your doing?"

"Having fun, sweetheart. Don't act like you don't like it," Shota's fingers dip in and his cock twitches in his pants when he finds out you're wearing lace, "I can feel how much you do."

You whimper, legs spread open under the skirt of your dress. You grip onto the door and take it, face hidden away from him, as he rubs your clit through your panties. God, the way he wants to make you beg for it.

He doesn't let you cum, not in the car, and you tighten your legs, rubbing your thighs together to try and ease the ache. Shota feels your mouth, hot and wet, wrap around the tips of his fingers and lick them clean. You know what you do to him, of course you do.

He's been so unbelievably horny all day, from the second he woke up and saw you dressed in your substitute teacher uniform, from when you bent down and kissed him and wished him a happy anniversary, baby. He pins you to the door of your bedroom, he can't stop, he needs you, his mind swims with every sound you make.

"God, oh god," you gasp, hands in his hair, neck leaned to the side to give him more room in marking you. His hands grip you tightly, pull you against him.

"Please," your lips move against his when you talk, "please put a baby in me, please,"

"Can I put a baby in you? Tonight?" He thinks he feels your knees go a little weak when he speaks. You nod and kiss him, heart beating so hard he can feel it in your hands where they touch him. Your touch burns his skin, sets it all on fire through his suit jacket and button down.

Shota turns you around from the door, his hands searching for your zipper on the back of your dress and then your dress is on the floor. Shota's eyes are still closed, he's kissing you after all, but when his hands make contact with the lace he pulls away and opens them to look at you.

It's all black and red lace, not an inch of support, made just to be taken off. It's like is painted onto you with how it hugs your skin. You sit down on the bed and wiggle off the panties as he pulls his suit jacket off. You watch him undo the buttons of his shirt, eyes following his hands down… until his shirt is open and he's taking off his belt. Your hands skim over your nipples through the lace of the bra. Shota's in a trance, watching you, he can't take his eyes off you, can't believe he got such a perfect fucking wife.

He nearly reached for the bedside drawer in his haze, looking for a condom, before he remembers what he's doing. Naked, he crawls between your open legs, and you gasp when you feel his cock slide between your folds. Your hands reach for his, he takes them and pins them above your head.

"S-Shota-" you whimper, "please fuck me."

"Let me take care of you, yeah?" Shota whispers in your ear. You nod, breath shaking. "Good girl."

"You want it?" He takes himself in his hand and pushes in just the tip, you nod and spread your legs farther, moaning at the feeling.

"P-Please-!" You cry out, "I-I need it, I need you,"

Shota watched the way your face crumbles with pleasure when he sinks himself into you slowly, inch-by-fucking-inch. He groans when he finally bottoms out, your hips twitching. You wrap your legs around his waist, hold him there, as you lift your hips and fuck yourself on his cock.

"That's it, baby," Shota moans, "use it."

"Fuck," you curse, back arched, hands fighting to break free. You're just as pent up as he is, you’ve been just as horny as him all day, you had to be. Shota releases your hands and grips your hips, he helps you along, until you’re reaching for his shoulders and pulling him down over you.

“Sh-Shota- oh god,” you sob, back arching, a hand snaked between you to touch yourself, “please don’t stop,”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby,” his voice is deep, growling, and he can feel you cumming around him. You slap your hands to his back, dig your nails in, and Shota groans as pain mixes with pleasure.

“Good girl, give it to me,” he whispers, one hand moving to tweak your nipple through rough lace. You gasp, cry out his name, and arch your back impossibly higher. Shota slows his hips down, he doesn’t want to cum so soon, so quickly, and the way your thighs shake when he gives it to you slow like this makes him go crazy.

“M-move me?” you ask, voice high and weak. Shota rakes his eyes up and down every inch of skin he can see, he holds your hips still for you, and considers moving you to your stomach.

“P-” you take a deep breath, bat your eyelashes up at him, “please?”

“Fuck,” he groans, hands tightening on your hips before he pulls out and moves you onto your chest. You get up on your knees and arch your back, presented to him like a goddamn present. He puts his hands on your ass, kneading the skin there, and you gasp at his touch.

“Fuck, baby, you look so fucking good right now,” Shota groans when you arch your back farther in response.

“Fuck me.” you whimper. Who is he to deny his wife when she asks him so nicely? Shota guides himself in, slow, and watches the way your body relaxes and just takes him in.

“It’s like you’re made for me,” Shota says as he leans over you to gather your hair up in his hand. He tugs, gentle, and your neck bends back to leave you gasping and gripping at the sheets.

“I-I was,” you moan, clenching around him, “I w-was made for- for you,”

“Damn right you were,” he growls, taking your hip in his free hand and finally starting to fuck you. He snaps his hips, thrusts hard and slow, and relishes in the way it makes you sound. You were fucking made to take it, you had to be.

“Take it,” he demands, as if you could do anything else, and you sob his name, “fucking take it,”

“Y-Yes, sir,” you whimper. Shota feels like his whole body is on fire, chasing his orgasm, losing his fucking mind. He raises a hand to spank you just to hear the way you cry out. When he lets your hair go you collapse onto the bed and fuck yourself back on him.

“Fuck, fuck, shit, baby,” Shota groans out every curse word he can think of as he buries himself deep inside you and cums. You gasp, legs spread wider, back arched lower, gasping for air. Shota lets you come down, he can feel your heartbeat through your back where it’s pressed to his chest, before he reaches beneath you and takes your throat in his hand and grinds his hips.

“Cum again,” the hand not wrapped around your throat touches your clit and you shake, “cum one more time around my cock, sweetheart,”

“Shota!” you sob, oversensitive. Shota’s just as sensitive as you are but he’s putting a baby in you tonight and he’s going to make sure it sticks.

“I-I can’t,” you sob, “p-please, I can’t,”

But your breaths are already coming out faster, you’re already pulsing around him. Held under him like this, pinned like this, you’ve got nowhere to go and no way to fight back. He could make you cum five, six, seven more times before he lets you go. His cock, spent and sensitive, twitches at the image his brain brings up for him.

“One more, baby, that’s it,” he encourages, lips by your ear, “good girl, gimme one more,”

You scream, absolutely scream his name, and he feels the way your whole body gives into your orgasm. Shota stays there but he pulls his fingers away from your clit. You pant, thighs still shaking, and when he pulls out you don’t move. He reaches for a towel in the laundry basket and helps you turn over. He presses kisses to your cheeks, your lips, until you’re giggling and pulling him down to cuddle with you.

“Love you,” you whisper against his chest. Shota holds you tighter.

“Love you, too, baby.” he replies. He rubs slow circles on your shoulder and wishes silently for a baby.

#aizawa #shouta aizawa #aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #aizawa x reader smut #mha smut #bnha smut #my hero academia fanfiction #my hero academia #my hero fanfic #my hero academia fic #my hero acedamia #bnha aizawa

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melancholymegumi · 8 months

Text

melody’s current thoughts..💭

eraserdust ddlg/ddlb :((

warnings; ddlg/ddlb (?), yandere, tomura still doesn't accept the fact that he's under shota , reader was caught masturbating, spanking , idk what else

yes, eraserdust but instead of switch reader why not make reader and tomura a sub? you being the hyperactive one, jumping around and running around, almost always bent over his lap.

Meanwhile, Tomura thinks you're absolutely ridiculous. Of course he's not shocked that you were getting cuddled by Shouta again. After taking 20 spanks for breaking a vase.

Other than that, Tomura doesn't think that Aizawa should have control over him. Who is he to order him around? Why does he babytalk so much? It's annoying. Well, that was until he found out that he needed to get permission to even jerk off.

“And I thought you're supposed to be a good girl this week. Really?” your face went pale. What's he doing at home? Wasn't he supposed to be outside with your daddy? “I- I am! don't tell daddy please..” “Fine, but what's in it for me?”

God, he's gonna have so much fun with you.

“I’ll..give you a blowjob..?” “why would I want an impatient whore on my dick? Seriously, you'd rather have a plushie against your cunt than a dick?” he scoffed out, rolling his eyes and fidgeting with his phone that show your daddy’s number on speedial. “I'll do your chores too! please please please tomura, don't tell daddy?”

“Twenty bucks and I'll get to fuck your ass.” “deal.”

Well, I mean now you're both in trouble at least. He knows you're fucked as soon as the car pulled into the driveway anyways.

taglist : @honeybunnxo @adoresizuku @dcsiremc @notalwaysa . +(Some of these tags don't work, so please check your tagging settings.)

#mha smut #mha x reader #bnha smut #bnha x reader #yandere bnha #yandere mha x reader #shigaraki tomura smut #shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader #tenko shimura x reader #aizawa smut #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta smut #melody's current thoughts

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enbyenvy666 · 7 months

Note

For my request, can you write a oneshot featuring Aizawa and a cis male reader with exhibitionism please? In the story, the two go out to the city with Aizawa wearing a long trenchcoat, a face mask and barefooted. In truth he'd be butt naked underneath with his cock in chastity, a vibrator and his mouth tape gagged. He's challenged by the reader to keep his cool and not orgasm throughout their city date. What do you think?

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓆏𓋼𓍊

hope you enjoy :)

CONTENT WARNINGS - 18+ MDNI, cock cage/chastity cage, public nudity, exhibitionism, sub Aizawa, implied reader isn't always dom, gags, vibrators, orgasm denial/edging, w/c - .6k

Aizawa shivered as a frigid breeze travelled underneath his trench coat, leaving goosebumps over his bare body. His hand squeezed yours as he tried to brace against the cold, avoiding the curious gazes from another couple when they noticed his bare feet on the pavement.

“Brr, it’s getting chilly.” While to anyone else your comment seemed like basic small talk about the weather, to Aizawa it was just more teasing. “Isn’t it, Sho-ta?”

The gag in his mouth muffed his grunt, but you could see the way his eyebrows pinched together. As much as he wanted to deny it, he enjoyed your teasing.

“Hmm? Could you speak up?” Your curious tone matched the sly smirk on your lips. Reaching into your pocket, you retrieved your phone. Aizawa’s dark eyes hesitantly looked down at you beside him, those same bloodshot eyes widening when he saw your phone screen.

Your thumb slid up the screen and the vibrator buried deep inside him, which had just been softly buzzing, began to vibrate and pulse. It massaged all the right places, or more so the wrong places considering you and Aizawa were approaching a crowd. He bit down on the gag as he felt his cock twitch painfully in its cage, a cage he had initially bought for you that you somehow convinced him to wear for the night.

As your thumb traced figure eights and random letters and symbols on your phone, Aizawa stopped in his tracks, feeling his knees start to shake as the vibrator started to teeter him closer to an orgasm. His body felt hot on the inside and cold on the outside, the pain of the cage only heightened the pleasure from the vibrator and the risk of being caught doing something so filthy, so debaucherous made everything feel stronger.

He squeezed your hand as if pleading for you to give him a break. Thankfully there was a bench nearby, which he stumbled over to, practically falling onto it. He couldn’t contain his moan as sitting caused the vibrator to shift and press harder against his prostate, sending wave after wave of pleasure through his veins.

When you turned to stand in front of him and saw his red cheeks and sweaty dotted forehead, even on this chilly night, you relented. With the toy now only giving him a teasing murmur, he took in a deep breath through his nose, glaring threateningly up at you. But it only made you giggle as you reached down to cup his chin, lifting his head to look at you.

“Now now Shota, if you can get through tonight without coming, I’ll let you do whatever you like to me,” you bargained. Either to comfort himself or you, you were unsure, but he gripped your hips as you stood before him, considering your offer. People walking on the path behind you made him slowly turn away from you, brought back to the realisation that you were still in public.

Squeezing his jaw, you roughly turned his attention back to you, quirking your eyebrow as if to reiterate your question. He almost couldn’t believe what was happening. His boyfriend, who up until this point he couldn’t believe could be dominant, had him walking around the city, completely naked underneath a trench coat, with his cock in a chastity cage, a vibrator nestled deep inside him and a gag in his mouth, covered only by a mask.

With a blush spreading down his neck, he nodded. You grinned happily, leaning down closer to his face. In a quick swipe, you pulled down the mask and pressed a kiss to the gag, as if it were his lips. He gave a muffled grunt of surprise, eyes darting around the people around you. Thankfully no one noticed before you pulled his mask back up, a cheeky grin on your face. Grabbing his hands from your hips, you helped him stand from the bench before continuing your walk through the city.

“We just have a movie and dinner to get through.”

#bnha x reader #bnha x male reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #aizawa x male reader #shota x reader #shota x male reader #eraserhead x reader #eraserhead x male reader

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dhorrl · 11 months

Text

NNN-Shota Aizawa

Shota Aizawa/FemReader

Trigger Warnings: sub/dom dynamic (Daddy/Kitten honorifics), spanking, edging, overstimulating, choking, fingering (I think that’s all? Feel free to point out anything else I missed)

Did you love the fic? I made a bot to go with it!

Happy Birthday, EraserDaddy! ❤️

Shota is nothing if not disciplined. So when Mic begged him to do 'No Nut November' with him, he shrugged, only commenting, "As long as my girl is fine with it." At first, you were, finding the whole thing rather comical and thinking, 'What's thirty days?' As the month progressed, however, it became harder and harder to hold out. It just wasn’t as good doing it yourself. You needed Shota... You needed Daddy.

Eight days in... his birthday, to be exact. You hoped and prayed you could make him break. You needed him so much it hurt. Walking into the living room wearing an innocent-looking set of pajamas, you sat on his lap as he relaxed after work. Shota eyed you suspiciously, putting his hands on your hips. He had already told you not to bother doing anything for his birthday; he rarely bothered to take the day off anyways.

"What's on your mind, Kitten?" His voice was low and gravelly, his exhaustion setting in, ready to go to bed.

Smirking mischievously, you pull the barely-there tank top over your head, revealing a black lace bra with a big red bow. "Oh, nothing. Just thought I'd give you a little birthday present, Daddy." You feigned innocence, hand creeping up his shirt further to expose his stomach, softly placing little kisses and nips across his neck. You worked your way to his ear, whispering in your best seductive tone. "You should see the panties… you can unwrap that gift now if you want, Daddy."

Shota's grip tightened around your waist as your lips pressed against his skin, the heat from your body and the feather-light nips sending a trail of electricity down his spine. Lifting your chin with his fingers, he locked his black eyes onto yours, a hint of playful menace mixed with desire. "Kitten, do you know what you've just started?" He let out a deep breath as he imagined the gift that lay hidden beneath your shorts.

"You know I'm not supposed to indulge this month, and yet you tease me like this?" He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just over yours, the warmth of his breath caressing your face. "But who's to say I can't enjoy unwrapping just a little of my present? Go on, show me." His request is soft but demanding, leaning back into the cushions, waiting for you to give him a show.

You giggle, standing up off his lap. Turning around so your ass was in his face, you bent over as you pushed down the shorts you had on, revealing a matching black thong digging into your hips and ass. You turned to face him, showing off the red bow on the front.

"See Daddy… it's all wrapped up for you. You want to open it up and have a taste?"

You knew you were asking for punishment; it was only the 8th, but you just couldn't stand it any longer. Besides, it was his birthday, so why shouldn't he give in? The sight of you in such scant attire, the way the lingerie hugged your curves with delicious tension, was pushing Shota to his limits. His fingers itched to tug at that teasing bow, to feel the lacy fabric against his calloused hands as he unwrapped his 'gift.'

Shota stood up, his height towering over you as the predatory look in his tired eyes intensified. He stalked closer, closing the distance between you both, his gaze never leaving the red bow.

"I should say no. It's only fair since I made that little pact with Mic," he murmured, though his self-restraint began to crumble. "But since it's my birthday, maybe just a taste... for now."

Swiftly and without warning, he spun you around, pulling your back flush against him, and whispered in your ear, his voice carrying a dark edge. "Just remember, Kitten, I'm the one in control here. You might try to break me, but you'll be the one broken in the end."

Shota leaned down, his mouth grazing your neck, and his hand moved to the front, fingers deftly pulling at the strap of the thong, snapping it against your skin. His touch was like a spark, igniting a reaction as he began to explore you with an expert touch, even as he mentally prepared for the burning punishment he'd have to devise for you later.

Your body shivered, eyes fluttering closed as your mind slipped into submission. "Yes, Daddy… please break me, I've been a bad Kitten."

Shota's rough hand trailed up from the delicate thong, running up your spine and sending shivers down your body as he indulged in the sensation of your skin under his touch. The urgency in your voice and the way you leaned into him fed the beast within, the dominant streak that loved to see you unravel.

With a firm grip, he guided you forward until you were bent over, your hands braced against the couch. The position presented you to him in a vulnerable and inviting way. His other hand traced the outline of your hips before delivering a sharp spank, the sound echoing in the room, followed by the sting that blossomed on your skin.

"You've been very, very bad, trying to tempt me like this," he growled, his voice saturated with a mixture of scolding and dark thrill. With each word punctuated by another spank, his hand alternating between cheeks, warming your skin. "But that's alright, I like my presents to be a little feisty."

Sliding his hand under the thong, Shota's touch became teasingly gentle against your wetness, his fingers slipping between the dripping folds of your cunt. His teasing was merciless, circling your clit in such a way that promised the fulfillment of deep, carnal desires. "You're soaking wet, Kitten. Is this what you wanted?" The rhetorical question carried a sense of sadistic delight. "You've earned every second of this punishment, and I guarantee you will feel it to your core."

Even as his fingers worked you over, he was plotting his next move, his mind already racing with thoughts of pushing you to your limits and beyond. The month was long, and this was only the beginning.

"Pleeeease, Daddy… I'll be good now, I promise." You begged for release, his constant slow motions not being enough to get you to where you wanted, to come all over his fingers. But Shota simply chuckled at your desperate pleas, feeling the heat and the slickness of your arousal coating his fingers. He continued to tease you, his digits barely dipping inside before withdrawing, building anticipation until your body was trembling.

"You'll be good?" he repeated skeptically, pressing a finger inside you only to pull it out again. "If you wanted to be good, you wouldn't have started this. But since you did..." With a sudden move, he plunged two fingers deep inside you, curling them to stroke a spot that made your insides clench and pull him in closer.

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he spoke. "Be a good kitten and take everything I give you. I'm going to finger-fuck you until I decide you can come, and that's just for starters. Understand?"

Shota watched as your body began to writhe under his control, knowing that every withheld orgasm now would only make the release that much more intense when he finally allowed it. And when he did, your screams would be the sweetest symphony, music to his ears and a balm to his self-imposed abstinence.

You gripped tightly onto the couch, bucking your hips back into his fingers. He continued to edge you, getting you close and then slowing down, over and over. "Fuck… fuck, Daddy, please… Please let me come. I'm begging you, please, I wanna come for you."

Shota's amusement was palpable through each buck of your hips and every desperate plea that spilled from your lips. He reveled in the control he had over you, the raw and unyielding authority that allowed him to dictate when you could experience the blissful release you so eagerly sought.

"Not yet," he whispered harshly, his fingers maintaining their relentless pace but never quite allowing you to teeter over the edge into orgasm. "You need to learn patience, Kitten. You need to learn the price of trying to make me break."

He withdrew his fingers momentarily, only to replace them with three, stretching and filling you even more. The added pressure and the slightly uncomfortable sense of fullness only heightened your arousal. Reaching around with his other hand, his fingers pressed hard against your clit, circles turning into purposeful strokes. He was utterly attuned to your reactions, to the quivering and the tightening that signaled how close you were.

"You can beg all you want. It only makes me want to tease you more. But when I decide you can come..." Shota leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke directly into it. "...you're going to explode. And when that happens, you'll scream my name so everyone knows who you belong to."

He pulled his hand off your clit and reached around your throat, resting it there as a reminder of his dominance. His fingers inside of you curled, seeking that spot that he knew would crack your resolve, stroking insistently. Shota was a master of this game, and you were his favorite toy to play with.

Your eyes scrunched closed, trying to control your face so he hopefully wouldn't sense you getting close. You were so needy, so desperate to come on his fingers. You felt it building up, so close, just a little more…

But Shota knew. He recognized every twitch and tremor of your body, each gasp and hitched breath, the way your inner walls clenched around his fingers. He could feel that precipice you were inching towards, the brink of pure ecstasy. With the precision of a surgeon, he slowed his strokes just enough to hold you there, on the edge, ready to fall over but still denied the final push.

"Not yet, Kitten. You stay right there, on the edge," he commanded, his voice a low rumble of authority, his fingers still moving inside you but with calculated restraint.

He gave you a gentle squeeze around your throat, a reminder that he was in control, that your body was his to command. He enjoyed the desperation, the way you fought to stay still under his touch, and he intended to push your limits even further.

"Remember who's in charge here," he growled softly, continuing the torturous edging. "I want to hear you beg properly. I want you to tell me exactly how much you need this, how much you need me. And maybe, just maybe, I'll let you come."

Shota held you on that razor-thin line, the perfect balance between agony and pleasure, teasing you with the promise of an orgasm that he had yet to grant. His own self-control was a testament to his determination; despite the heat and the sight of your trembling body, he remained steadfast in his decision.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, the edging becoming so painful yet exhilarating. You knew after he got done edging you, things only got worse; his desires would switch to over-stimming you endlessly, but you didn't care. You needed it, needed him.

"Please, please, Daddy, I need to come, I need it. Please be nice to your Kitten." Shota's resolve was iron, yet the sounds of your desperate begging and the pitiful sobs that laced your pleas were music to his ears. Knowing you were wholly at his mercy, he savored his power over you. Gripping your hips with one hand, he kept you pressed back against him, ensuring there was no escape from the relentless pleasure he subjected you to.

"Nice?" he echoed, a hint of a derisive snort escaping him. "You haven't wanted nice since you started trying to tempt me. But since you asked so pitifully..." He intensified the pressure on your throat, his fingers inside you curling into your gummy sweet spot. He gave you that final push you needed, coaxing you closer, closer, until...

"Cum for me, Kitten. Now."

Your body convulsed as the floodgates opened. Shota felt your pussy clenching and pulsating around his fingers. He didn't slow down, however, not even as your cries filled the room. He kept his pace, dragging out your orgasm, milking every shiver and wave that surged through you.

As your orgasm began to wane, he'd typically let you collapse into a heap of satisfaction. But this was just the beginning. Shota smirked, fully aware of the overstimulation phase you dreaded yet craved.

"You're going to be so sensitive after this," there was a promise in his voice. "And I'm not done with you. Not by a long shot."

His fingers continued their insistent movement within you, brushing another over your clit, now oversensitive from the orgasm. The mixture of pleasure and pain would be exquisite, the line between them blurred. He was pushing you further, shaping you into an embodiment of desire that knew no bounds, no limits, only the endless pursuit of pleasure dictated by his hand.

You bit your lip, pushing your hips back into him. Your legs shook, barely holding yourself up, but you stayed strong, trying to be good for him. He wanted you to fall apart and lose yourself for him.

"Fuck, Daddy. So much, too much…" Shota could feel the tremors running through your body, the tension in your muscles as you struggled to maintain any semblance of composure. Your determination to persist was admirable and only stoked the fire within him. He made you come again, and then again, pulling each one from you, his tired, bedroom eyes drinking in the sight.

"You're taking it so well, Kitten," he muttered, his voice gritty with pride and a touch of sadistic pleasure as he continued to push you beyond your limits.

Pinning you down with one arm wrapped around your stomach, he maneuvered you around on the couch, forcing your torso down. Your hips remained elevated, making sure you were presented to him in a most delectable and vulnerable state. His fingers never ceased their motion, each stroke deliberate and unwavering, even as your body began to quiver under the onslaught of continuous stimulation.

"This is what happens when you try to challenge me," he growled with a mix of warning and promise. "You think you can make me give in? I'm going to show you just how relentless I can be."

Now, with you in the perfect position, he withdrew his slick fingers, giving you a split moment of respite that was nothing short of torturous, given how your body was already humming for more. He smirked as you moaned at the loss of fullness, all too briefly, before he applied a sudden, firm slap to your already sensitive flesh.

"Count for me, Kitten. I want to hear your voice through every single one," his hand coming down again in another spank, harder this time, heat radiating from your tender skin after each impact. He was determined to brand you with his touch, to remind you with every throb and sting that you were his, and no amount of teasing or playfulness would change that fact.

You sobbed, crying out with each slap as you counted like he asked, thanking him with each reddening hand on your ass.

"1… thank you Daddy…"

SLAP

"2… thank you Daddy…"

SLAP

Through each count, his other hand would occasionally dip back, fingers slipping between your folds to stir up the fire he had stoked within you, keeping you at the edge of madness with pleasure and pain intermingling till they became one. Shota wouldn't stop until you were utterly undone, your voice hoarse from counting, your body spent from his attention — only then would he consider the lesson truly imparted. The rhythm of his hand was relentless, each sharp slap followed by your quivering voice counting and expressing gratitude, each word an affirmation of his dominance and your submission. Shota relished the spectacle, watching your body react and crave the sensations he elicited.

"Good girl," his praise would be scattered intermittently, his voice rough and deep, encouragement and domination interwoven in his tone. "Keep counting."

Throughout the ordeal, Shota's self-control frayed at the edges as his body ached to join with yours. But he remained steadfast, refusing to cave into the temptation. Instead, he reveled in the control he had over both of your desires, even as his rigid self-discipline began to turn torturous for him, too.

"Impressive how much you're willing to endure to make me break, Kitten," he taunted between spanks. "But you should know by now that once I set my mind to something, I see it through. You, however, are cracking beautifully under my hand."

After you reached the number he had set in his mind, he stroked your tender skin one last time, feeling the heat and raised welts that bore witness to their intense exchange. Leaning over you, he placed a soft, almost possessive kiss on the reddened flesh, a stark contrast to the rough treatment he had administered.

"Not a mark on you will go unearned, Kitten," his words sent a shiver down your spine. "And when you finally break me, let's just say I have plans to make this seem like a gentle warm-up."

Standing up, he gently ran his fingers across your back, allowing you to process the overwhelming cascade of sensations he had pulled from the depths of your desire. He knew it was only a matter of time before you tried again, and next time, he thought with a smile, he might not hold back quite as much.

#mha fanfiction #shota aizawa #aizawa smut #aizawa shouta #aizawa x y/n #shouta aizawa x reader #bnha shouta aizawa #bnha aizawa #mha aizawa #aizawa x reader #no nut november #nnn

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 1 year

Text

❝ Breathe through it ❞

warnings: dub. con. (the reader is mostly being a brat), daddy kink, d. penetration (one hole), overstimulation, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick though)

masterlist: pt1; pt2; pt3

They want you without the commitment, so you decide to show them the roster full of people you could choose from.

There's an incessant buzzing on your bed. The screen of your phone lights up with 'Dick for Brains' as the caller ID and you watch as it eventually fades, casually drying off the nape of your neck as the wisps of steam from your bathroom whisper against the small of your back. The screen lights up again. You roll your eyes, reaching down to turn it over. You drop the towel around your waist onto the floor, stepping over the puddle of cloth to open your closet doors. Standing there in all your naked glory, you begin humming as you eye the array of clothing before you. A ruffle of fur brushes your fingers and you fight a scowl as you realize what jacket it was. "Fuck them" you mutter distastefully "Treating me like I'm some goddamn prostitute". You rummage with sudden vigour, reaching for your neglected articles of clothing.

You, out of all people, should know that when it came to fuckboys there's no time to feel regret at their lack of commitment. Most would call you a variation of a fuckboy yourself - though you don't regret being your flirtatious self, ever. You were transparent in your disinterest in a relationship (with someone you weren't attracted to outside of the bedroom). But Dabi and Tomura? They were slutty fucking bastards. Perhaps they knew how well you could fit into their lives, which scared them. It didn't take a genius to know the two of them had a particularly strong case of abandonment issues. Anyone could claim you were being an armchair psychologist but the way they act has you itching to make an appointment with a therapist. Conniving, shitty, man-children. It was one thing to turn your less-than-innocent rendezvous into just...three dudes hanging out (truly, your standards had lowered because why did Dabi and Tomura sharing food with you make your heart race when they've swapped cum in your mouth?). It was another to chase off potential bedmates from you when you three were out in a club — of which prior, you had expressed your annoyance at their want to have you exclusively while they had more flings.

A sheer material flutters by your knuckles. When you pull the garment out it's a beautiful, oversized, button-up shirt. The cutting of the shirt was nothing special, however, the design was breathtaking. Holding it up to the light, you chew on your lower lip with a gleeful twinkle in your eyes. It was see-through though the darker colour of the design was meant to mimic a cinched waist while the outer lavender hue nearly disappeared in the light. You lay it down on your bed, grab your still buzzing phone and reject the call from 'Daddy Issues Central' before calling up your friends. "Well, well, well".

You land on your bed with an 'oomph' stroking the chosen top with a giggle pouring from your lips. "Look who came crawling back, your new boy toys finally bored you?" "Something like that" Your bed creaks as you roll onto your back, touching your lobes as you ponder which piercings to decorate it with. A thrum of musing came from the phone.

"They lasted a while, did they shatter when you left? I need details" they sang and from the sound of movement, you figured they were getting ready as well. "Haven't dropped them" Your sigh makes the sounds halt then a series of 'nonono'. They groaned, "God - (Y/N), don't tell me this is going to be another repeat of Mirai Sasa- whatever the fuck that guy's name was". "He wasn't that bad" you defended. "He quite literally got on his knees and begged for you to 'return back to your rightful future' with him" They shift the phone from their hand to their shoulder and your giggle makes them snort. "Trust me, these guys are not the grovelling type" an idea of a full outfit pops into your head. Raising from the bed, you bounce towards your closet. "Where are you going?" you ask. "Why are you assuming I'm going out?" "It's a Saturday night and you," a grunt leaves your lips as you toss a pair of unworthy shorts over your shoulder, "Just posted something about your boss' son getting the promotion you wanted on your Instagram story". "...Fine, I'm going to the Boy Toy Club in like 25 fucking minutes. You think you can get all dolled up in time, (Y/N)?" Your chuckle makes them roll their eyes fondly. "30 minutes? Pleaseee" "You better be glad I fucking love you". "Who fucking doesn't?" your friend groans and you end the call with a smile. Though it disappears as Dabi's calling you for what feels like the 500th fucking time. "Ugh".

Tomura's seen Dabi irritated before. Despite his cool-headedness, he knows better than anyone that underneath is a simmering beast that bares its teeth at the slightest provocation.

Right now, Dabi's lower jaw is jutted forward and Tomura sees his cheeks being sucked in as he chews on it, brows centred and hooding his eyes with a brewing storm. Tomura doesn't fare any better. He's been scratching at his neck, sighs of displeasure escaping him while he bounces a knee. The store had long closed, the humming of the AC muffling the men's obvious annoyance as it thickens in the air. "You pissed him off" Tomura accuses "He was the perfect fucking lay and your stupid mouth pissed him off!"

"Oh, can it, Shiggy!" Dabi warned, pushing himself off the couch and running his fingers through his hair. "They're other sluts, other 'perfect lays' Just get the fuck up and wear your jacket" Tomura's face scrunches in an incredulous expression as he throws his hands in the air. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" "It means we're going to a club, dick for brains" Dabi has his leather jacket over his shoulders, Tomura's jacket in his hand while the other was holding a box of cigarettes and a lighter. "You're a loser but you're still handsome" Tomura mocks him under his breath, eyes settling into a glare as Dabi holds firmly onto his chin to tilt his head up. Blue eyes flicker to his crotch and Tomura shoves Dabi away with his palm against his navel. "Cock's nice too - there'll be bitches slobbering all over it so come on." He turns to the entrance, lighting the cigarette and shouldering the door open while Tomura bounces the store's keys in one hand and slips the other in the arm of his jacket. "You're drivin' us there, we don't need him".

Dabi's sorely mistaken. Tomura's pressed against his side, cock being pleasured by a hand that's not yours while Dabi's was in a mouth that was, also, not yours. The only thing that was keeping both of them hard was the fact they were shoving each other's tongues down their throats.

"Shit" he hears Tomura hiss, peeking his eyes open to see him push the redhead away from his side. "What the fuck, dude?!" he exclaims. Tomura pants, pulling away from Dabi to stuff his dick back in his pants. "Who the fuck taught you how to give handjobs? A sheet of sandpaper?" Tomura sneered, making Dabi groan as he shoved the guy sucking his dick off, though keeping him drunk on its taste by letting their lips hover by the side with his thigh cushioning his cheek. "Fuck you, I've been jerking you off for 15 minutes — It's not my fault your dicks are broken!" Tomura tells him to fuck off and they do with a string of curses. Dabi taps the one on his lap, earning hazy eyes looking oh-so-sweetly at him. The problem is, they're not that fiery (E/C) colour framed by your pretty lashes and further complimented by your eyebrow shape that Dabi somehow finds attractive. As he looks at the tongue peeking out from lips that aren't yours he clicks his tongue at the lack of metal that's supposed to be there. "Get off" he pushes them onto the floor and Tomura only half-pities them as they yelp, wiping their wet lips and watching as Dabi coldly walks over them and towards the wall of windows. Seeing as Dabi's a regular and one that pays well, he's given privileges. These rooms, with a wall of windows that face each other in a circle and overlook the lower level of the dance floors, were a privilege he'd been given.

Tomura grabs the bottle of champagne and drinks a mouthful. They (Dabi) had been gifted this for free due to his long absence. The pale-haired man pretended not to see Dabi's cheek twitching while he suppressed the bitter taste of regret. The man leaves, scampering almost, and the only sounds left are the muffled bass of the song playing below. Tomura raises to stand next to Dabi who takes the bottle from his hand. "Your dick's still out" he comments. "So?" Tomura observes the clear views of the other VIP rooms around them. He sees bodies, bodies, bodies in all sorts of positions and if the lights weren't constantly shifting or so dim, he was sure they'd be able to lip-read their throes of pleasure.

"...Admit it" Tomura grunts. "You first" Dabi replies. "He put a fucking spell on our dicks" Dabi's eyes roll so far back it threatens to lose those striking blues. "M'not fuckin' joking. That boy sucking your dick was your exact type and you couldn't even get it up if I didn't suck you off first" Dabi turns to Tomura, whose brows are cocked up righteously. "That redhead was your type too, rubbed you fucking raw and for nothing". They stared at each other in silence but Tomura inched closer and soon their kissing. It turns steamier, with his pierced nipples now against the window as Dabi kicks his ankles apart.

This is good, this is great. They're familiar with each other, an unspoken bond stitching their lives together in a way that could never be undone. Both wouldn't say it but only because the words boyfriends didn't quite fit the bill — they were more. They didn't need others. Not in a way that would last. It just complicated things in the long run — so they'd have flings (the other fully knowing) and share their flings but never had trouble falling back into sync. Their sex was great. Their jagged pieces just fit. So Tomura groans and grasps at the smooth glass as Dabi's pierced dick finds a home inside of him. He lets his breath fogs the glass up, arches his back to meet Dabi halfway in his thrusts and kisses Dabi when he feels his breath on his cheek. But his dick only twitches when his red eyes catch the sight of you. You. You were across from them, in the same pose as Tomura was and in the same room but instead of Dabi behind you, it's a blondie with yellow eyes and a considerable size difference to you. He goddamn towers over you and with the way your eyes are squeezed shut he knows his dick is splitting you open just right. Another shadow lurks behind you and this time a guy with long black hair comes to your side, kneeling as he ties his hair into a bun and Tomura's tongue envies his when your eyes shoot open from his mouth. "You're distracted" Dabi gruffs, nibbling at Tomura's ear so he reaches to grab a fistful of Dabi's hair to let his eyes focus on you. His dick twitches inside of him. "Fuck" they moan.

They need you.

"Fuck, you're so fucking big," Taishiro chuckles at your whining which turns into a silent scream as Shota sucks your dick. Taishiro can feel Shota's fingers rubbing on whatever parts of his dick that still isn't sheathed inside of your writhing body. You've always known your body and soul were greedy creatures. A pair of hands weren't enough. You needed more love bites, more bruises; just more moremoremore — As Shota pushes the hood of your dick back to blow his hot breath on it your thighs twitch and Taishiro inches more of him inside of you. This is exactly what you need. These two were ever attentive — courteous despite the less-than-innocent club they were at. The cologne they had smelled expensive, and the watches they wore confirmed it.

You'd hit the jack-pot.

Taishiro and Shota were making you see stars with every flutter of your eyes. The sheer material of your top was now pushed up and bunched by Taishiro's fist as he used it to bring you back towards his hips. "Just like that, baby".

Shota whispers, voice deliciously gravely as he looks at you with his gunmetal grey eyes. It slips out of your moan before you can stop yourself.

"Dabi" Taishiro pauses as he thrusts in while Shota cocks a brow from below you.

"T-Tomura" your eyes are hazy, Shota recognizes it even if you try your hardest to ground back to them. Taishiro pulls out and your knees buckle. His large hands hold you up while Shota stands so you can lean on his chest, gently stroking your hair out of your face as you babble on his shirt.

"Why", you gulp as your thoughts finally slither between your ears. Peeking up at Shota you frown, then turn to look at Taishiro whose offering you a glass of cold water. "Why'd you stop?" Shota presses the rim of the glass to your lips and you petulantly gulp it down. Your legs were still shaky so Taishiro effortlessly picks you up so you could sit on the seats instead.

Between that and here, mortification runs down your spine like ice. You curse, hiding your face in your hands as you curl in on yourself.

"Fuck, I'm really — I'm really sorry, guys" Taishiro rubs your shoulder, his sunny smile making guilt swallow you whole. This was a guy that would actually take care of you. Not lead you on with false expectations or monopolize you.

"Don't sweat it," Shota says as he wipes his mouth with the napkins in the room. Look at him, so reliable. So...responsible. Those broad shoulders were more than just for show.

These two would've made every worry you had to fade off. Probably spoil you rotten — but you don't feel anything with them.

You craved sweltering heat, the taste of metal in your mouth and on your skin - calloused, inked, hands and red-rimmed eyes staring you down.

You craved for those assholes.

"Exes?" Taishiro asks as you huff and try to calm your racing heart. "No, I guess? I dunno!" He offers you a grimace and fixes the wrinkles on your shirt while Shota gives you another glass of cold water.

"I really am sorry" Taishiro assures you but the knock on the door makes all three of your heads turn. Shota wonders if either of you had ordered another bottle of champagne but the dubious looks in everyone's eyes make him stand to open the door — he was the only one still fully clothed after all.

"Can I help you?" You're squeezing into your pants when Tomura's voice echoes.

"(Y/N), is he here? Just need to...talk to him" Shota's grey eyes ask you a silent question but you nod and stand so he opens the door wider.

Dabi's leaning on the wall across the door. Moody, disgruntled and cock so hard the tent in his pants casts a shadow on the leather. His arms are crossed over his chest, his biceps on display.

Tomura's half-dressed. Their shirt falls off one shoulder as his low-waisted jeans unabashedly show the happy trail he has. His messy hair is somehow even messier, his red eyes hungry.

"...Hey, baby" you could almost cringe at Tomura's words. You offer Taishiro a kiss on his cheek along with Shota as a way to ease them and thank them for your failed rendezvous.

The act has Dabi and Tomura's brow twitch.

The door closes behind you, The three of you stand in the hallway — tense.

A guy stumbles on the three of you, the drunken giggles die as he eyes you before he bursts into another fit as he stumbles past. Embarrassment dust on your face and you sigh, scratching the back of your neck in irritation. "What the hell do you want?" Tomura replies; "Those two made you cum pretty fast, huh? Or did they even manage to?"

His eyes widen as you snarl in his face, looking equally as handsome as you were scary. "Ugh! Why do I even give you two the opportunity to try and be anything but a dick!" taken aback, Tomura blinks as you shove him back before turning on your heels to stomp away.

Dabi grips your wrist and your yell gets swallowed by his lips. Tomura watches as he wrestles you to the wall, cushioning the slam with his body as he grabs onto your wrists to keep them from smacking Dabi.

"You — Mphf! Motherfuckers!" you mumble between the kissing, breath hitching as Tomura's lips trace your neck. Your hips buck between theirs and since Dabi's are free he grips your waist and spreads your ankles apart to put his knee right between your legs. The friction it creates has your heart racing all over again.

"Tomura" you whisper, head tilted back to let his pierced tongue in your mouth. You squeeze your eyes closed, hoping to push away that whisper of floating off to pleasure so you could at least show them that you weren't easy.

But all that resolve disappears when Tomura's hands sneak to unbutton your pants and Dabi's unzipping them. Their inked hands working in tandem, like a well-oiled fuck machine intent on making you lose all your senses in the goddamn hallway of a gay club.

"Daddy's got ya'" Dabi groans as he feels your wetness drip on his fingers. "Ain't that right, Shiggy?" Tomura mumbles that Dabi's daddy kink is dumb but unbuttons your shirt next.

"Yeah, yeah, daddy's got you, baby" Tomura plays along anyways. You would scoff in his face at his denial that he was totally into the kink himself but he's tweaking your nipples between his fingers and you're feeling your eyes roll back as your back arches away from Tomura but into Dabi.

He's between feeling impressed and annoyed at how easy you take three of his fingers. You can see it in the way he licks his teeth —

"Taishiro...fuck, his dick is so big, Daddy". It makes Dabi's eyes shine brightly under the dim lights. He's staring at you from his furrowed brows and Tomura grumbles as his magenta eyes glow in jealousy.

No — not jealousy. Envy?

Not quite, you think (how you manage to do that surprises even yourself) but something more primal.

Dabi slips another finger in and you sigh, breath hitching as Tomura's pierced tongue trails spit down your neck.

"Left me gaping, Shota made me so fuckin' wet too — He's so fuckin' good with his tongue".

Dabi is quiet "Couldn't fit him all the way but Shota helped - Ah, oh fuck, Daddy" Tomura's cupping your chest in his hands and grinding his hard-on on your ass.

"They felt so good" you groan.

When Tomura clicks his tongue and switches you around to face him you finally put a word on the emotions in their eyes.

Possessiveness.

"Yeah? They felt good, baby?" Tomura is forcing your jaw open with his hand and Dabi is pulling your pants down. Drool is slipping past your smudged lips and Tomura thinks you look like some sort of modern art piece.

A modern day Achilles or something.

"They did such a good job making this cunt ready for us, Daddy," Dabi says to Tomura as he pulls out his cock, leaning down to grab your leg and lifting it to the side, and thrusts his hip forward which makes yours jerk forward.

Glistening cunt twitching and inviting.

"Both of us could fit no trouble," Your eyes widen at the very idea but before you could speak Dabi's filling you up and all you manage is a whorish yelp.

Tomura watches as Dabi unbuttons his pants, moaning out his name as he strokes his hard cock then adjusts his stance as Dabi lines up his dick to your sopping cunt.

"Rub his dick a little," Dabi chuckles but complies as he rubs Tomura's cockhead to your dick which makes you shudder.

When Tomura does slip in, tears prick your eyes. Dabi shushes you as you whine and try to move your hips away. He rubs your swollen dick while Tomura licks your tears away.

"Don't hold your breath" he grunts. "Breathe through it, yeah, that's it — S'fucking beautiful".

The pressure of them inside you has your thighs twitching.

Anyone could walk in on you. Could just see you taking their dicks like some sort of sex toy with diamond tears running down your cheeks just like the slick running between your thighs.

"Feel us here, (Y/N)?" Tomura asks as he presses on your navel but you're too gone to respond. Your eyes are blanketed with nothing but pleasure and sin leaking from them.

"Daddy" Dabi calls out, hips shifting. He's calling for Tomura, calling him daddy as he tells him to set the pace.

Footsteps briefly register in your head, and a few startled gasps come from the group of men that walked in. They speak, laugh, probably leer even but you're just angry that their cocks make you feel this fucking good.

Taishiro had made you feel good — his dick was huge.

Shota's tongue and fingers that worked you open for Taishiro had made you nearly rip his hair from his scalp.

But Dabi and Tomura?

"Fuck!" you moan as Dabi thrusts into you. He's talking to the group of men walking past, panting through his words but that asshole has the gall to act as if he wasn't fucking you within an inch of your life.

Why was that so hot?

As Tomura's dick slides in, Dabi's pulls out - a steady but harsh rhythm that has your cunt fluttering and your brain fogging even more.

The men walk past, laughing as they give you a last glance. Somehow, their thrusting gets harsher as Dabi lifts you off your feet while Tomura spits on your cunt and rubs circles on your dick.

"Cuh-Cummin'! M'cumming! I'm - Ah! Shit! Shitshitshit" Tomura muffles your cries by kissing you, sucking on your tongue while Dabi's thighs tense as he shoots thick ropes of cum inside of you. Tomura is not far behind, the patch of pubic hair flushed against you as he catches his breath.

They carried you from the hallway. Your ragged breathing was the only thing being shared safe from a few murmurs of 'you alright?' the few seconds after they came.

You're in their private room now, sweat making your clothes absolutely disgusting against your skin. Thankfully, Dabi's there to strip you and Tomura's naked body is between your legs just as he's done.

"Wha —" you throw your head back as Tomura's mouth is licking the globs of cum escaping your abused cunt, squealing as he teases your asshole with his tongue. "Daddy!' Tomura hums, barely paying attention as he makes sure to erase any trace of that Shota-whatever the fuck his name is - from his hole.

"Daddy!" Dabi answers this time, somehow always knowing who you're actually calling just from the way you whine so there's no confusion.

"He's makin' you feel good?"

"Too muchhh" You try to push Tomura's head away but Dabi shushes you and holds your wrist to pin them on his naked thigh and makes you grasp onto his pierced dick.

"Our good boy can take it — If his daddies say he can, he can, right?" You sob but merely squeeze your eyes as Tomura's tongue piercing teases your dick.

"Missed our baby so much" Tomura pants out, licking his lips as he stares at your winking hole.

"Mhm, never gonna let him go...he's all ours now". Your fiery (E/C) eyes look up at Dabi so sweetly as he speaks despite how your sinful hand is teasing his cockhead like a true professional.

"All yours? Promi — Fuccck" Dabi chuckles as Tomura meanly sucks on your dick but nods, leaning down to kiss you.

"Promise, baby." He reaches to interlace his fingers with Tomura with one hand while Tomura does the same with your empty hand.

"All ours baby".

The sensor going off tells you that you should get off of Dabi's lap and greet the customer but he tightens his grip which makes you roll your eyes.

"Shiggy!" he's in the break room but responds with a 'I got it!'

He peeks in the room as he passes by, shaking his head at the sight of your boyfriend, Dabi, sketching on his iPad with you in his lap. "He's making a tattoo design for us" you muse as you reach for your boyfriend, Tomura, to plant a kiss on his lips.

"He sucks at that — I can do it better" and although it is true, the evidence quite literally on Dabi's skin, Dabi scoffs haughtily.

"Shut the fuck up and see who walked in" Tomura does so but not without an eye-roll.

He greets the customers but freezes as his eyes land on their figures.

Taishiro and Shota's eyes widen as well.

"Oh," Taishiro says. The sound of giggles comes from the hallway and suddenly Dabi and you are spilling into the room as well.

Taishiro and Shota couldn't hide the way their eyes look you over as they drink you in. They couldn't forget about you — they could hear every moan and squelch from your impromptu fucking in the hallway right in front of the door of their room.

All five of you shuffle a bit, cheeks warm.

Dabi chuckles and everyone's eyes are on him.

"We could flip the Open sign to Close and get to know each other better" he purred and you squeeze your thighs together as all eyes land on you.

Oh fuck.

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