#aizawa thirst

[shiganshinaslut]

18+||MINORS DNI

The way I need Aizawa deep in my guts tbh..

He’s on top of you, almost enveloping you with the way his arms cage you in as he sleepily thrusts into you. His cock pumps in and out of you slowly, dragging along your walls and filling the room with lewd squelching sounds that would be embarrassing if you weren’t so lost in him already. The feeling of his body on top of yours, his comforting scent filling your senses, the warmth twisting in your core as his cock nestles deep inside you, making you feel so full...

It’s all too much and you mewl and whine, a quiet “daddy..” leaving your lips in a pathetic plea for him to acknowledge you. He places a sloppy kiss on your cheek before leaning down to your ear, soothing you with his gruff, sleepy voice “Shh, shh...it’s okay...daddy’s here..”

[suguru-getos]

୨・┈﹕✦﹕ Kinktober Day 31﹕✦﹕┈・୧

-> event masterlist

aizawa shouta x f!reader -> bdśm

a/n: happy buurfday 🙈🩶 erazerheaddo! i really don’t like him that much aka personally. but he’s fun to write nonetheless. <3 i hope ya’ll enjoy it & please heed the warnings mkay? have a lovely day & don’t forget to stay hydrated 😡

warnings: bd$m, dom!subDynamics, spanking(using a whip), buttplugVibrator, cl!t-spanking, edging, doggy!style, aftercare.

shouta has waited impatiently for you, ever since you had gone out with your friends. a sigh escaping his lips because somehow, it’s also his birthday. must you do this to him? its his special day, doesn’t feel as special anymore. why do you have to be so fucking busy on his special day — hey he’s all about tolerance and letting you do whatever you want, but this peeves him out a tad.

so when you ring the doorbell, he’s on the door within seconds. opening it for you and leaning back when you lean in to huggle him. “happy birthday, sho.” you coo, smiling softly but he raises a brow of annoyance. “thanks.” he scoffs, closing the door on your end and letting you come inside. the aura he has is enough to scream that he needs spoiling.

“what would you want as a birthday present?” you croon, watching his brow raise up at that prospect. maybe this would work just fine. shouta clears his throat, looming over you and bending over a little to whisper against the shell of your ear. “i want you to be my little slave tonight.” the way the warmth of his words say something so sinful has you cowering beneath him already. you gulp, contemplating — then again, it’s aizawa shouta. your husband, your confidante and your soulmate. he wouldn’t take things where you don’t like to. maybe this would also ease his mind from the looming loneliness you’ve subjected him to.

you nodded, biting back a smirk. “words, little one.” shouta daunts, tilting your chin up & forcing eye contact. “yes- yes sir.” you fumble a bit, it’s the scruffy voice he has that can get so authoritative which makes you feel small in the best of ways. and oh, shouta loves every bit of it.

“go upstairs to the bedroom, strip naked & kneel. wait for me patiently.” he commands, and you’re off immediately. when you’re taking off your clothes, anticipation bites your stomach. thinking about all the things he can do to you.

he comes in upstairs, shirtless with his scars and abs on display. a little smirk plastered on his face at seeing you knelt down so eagerly to please him. it’s written all over your face you wanna be good for him. “hmm, look up and say you want to submit to me. that you’re nothing but my property to use as i see fit.” shouta’s grim yet sinful reminder has you aching. you nodded, repeating the same words with flushed cheeks. “good girl.” he balms any anxieties that might’ve arisen.

“on the bed, ass up.” he hums, smirking with a little leather whip in his hand. it’s the kind of the pom-pom. lots of leather strips attached to the handle. shouta wouldn’t use a bull-whip on you just because of the impact might causing skin breakage. he is particularly against seeing blood. that makes him think it’s too far and shouldn’t be done. a personal preference.

the strands of the whip caress your naked skin, your spine, your neck, your inner thighs. he chuckles when he tries to shove the handle into your sopping wet cunt and watching you squeal. it was before you could expect, the whip cracked right on the curve of your ass. a scary intensity but still palpable, a shrill whine echoed through the walls of the bedroom, before another one came right at the same spot.

“who’s going to fucking count?” shouta scoffed, acting a little unhappy. “two- t’was two sir.” you whimpered, waiting for another one land right on the other ass cheek with an intensity which was higher than the first two.

“three!” you squealed out, and that makes shouta massage the spot just a little. “hmm, let’s make this a little more fun. yeah?” he thinks out aloud, “of course, fun for me. you’re just here to please me.” he reminds, walking away and bringing some items from the bedside drawer. you want to peek and see what it is, but you know you’d be punished for being too eager.

shouta walked in back to you, spreading your ass cheeks apart and squeezing some of the lube onto your rim, spreading it with his index finger and smirking at how your asshole puckers up for more. “nasty little thing.” he taunts, shoving a metallic butt plug vibrator inside you. the fullness has you gasping, along with the dull vibrations & the shape spreading your walls and contracting at the rim. it was uncomfortable, it was amazing, it was exhilarating.

shouta spanked your splayed out pussy, while you jerk forward in delight. “we begin again, from the beginning. don’t miss a single fucking count or we start again. you’ll get ten.” shouta tells you beforehand what to prepare for, so you know how much you’re truly in for.

the next three whips crack on your ass immediately, giving you little time to adjust especially how hard your ass is contracting. “agh- fuck, three! sir.” you manage to mewl out between gasps. part of you wants to break the counting, just to piss him off a little, the other part of you wanted to please him.

another one landed right on the middle of your ass, distracting you from your thoughts and making you scream out. “OUCH FOUR!” you cried out, “aww, maybe you’d have trouble sitting down tomorrow baby.” shouta cooed, while your vibrating ass was causing a problem. you felt so deliciously close to the edge without any stimulation on your clit.

“sir, don’t think can- handle this, gonna cum.” you remind him, not wanting to tip off the edge without his permission. “oh? is it?” shouta raised a brow, spanking your clit just once as you jumped your thighs together at the impact. “you can’t cum anywhere but my cock. hold it.” the words had so much bite & intensity you whimpered at the stance; just nodding along.

“words.” shouta spanked your ass again. “AGH- five, sir- yes.” you struggled, the pleasure overwhelming along with the pain on your rear. your skin was definitely bruised and a little swollen, but not too bad. shouta knew exactly what to give you to leave you dancing at the edge of pain and pleasure.

“six!” you cry out, tears brimming at the edge of your eyes at this hit, a weak sniffle escaping you. oh you were so bloody gone, shoved into subspace so wonderfully without feeling anything negative. “thank you, sir.” you hum, and shouta smirks. “aww, you’re turning more good? what’s that for? want me to stop spanking?” he chuckled, leaning in and kissing the spot where he’d just hit.

“SEVEN!” the next hit landed right where the previous one was. you screamed this time, wiggling your ass in air at the sting. “please please please sir, i’m so close.” you cry out.

shouta spanked your ass thrice, medium intensity but still firm, while you slumped forward, “t-ten.” by now you were sniffling in pure bliss. “cum.” shouta commanded, holding your waist and shoving it right at the leaky tip of his thick cock.

you screamed at the feeling, you felt so wonderfully stretched out. feeling shouta balls deep, along with the butt plug that stretched you out so good. immediately cumming pathetically on his cock & massaging his ridges and veins. “aw, good girl, good little girl. just like that.” shouta stayed still, letting you adjust to him & tip off the edge completely. you gushed all around him, panting heavily at the mess you’ve created.

he started thrusting into you, deep strokes without much break. the speed picking up to borderline rail you into the mattress. all you could manage was to break out broken whines and moans. it felt so good, it felt so good- so good. his balls slapping your clit, his cock kissing your cervix deliciously at every snap of his pelvis on your hips. the bruises of your sensitive ass toyed with every little thrust which felt like a spanking on it’s own.

“s-sir- so- close again.” you mewled out, while shouta’s thrusts also got sloppier, twitching inside you. “good, cum at the same time as me. let me fill you up.” he groans, “going to stuff you so full of my cum like my little cum jar you are. gonna give me babies, yeah baby? going to give me babies?” he almost crooned at the thought of it, slipping his seed inside you & painting your walls full of him while you spasmed around. brutalised orgasm ripping through your sanity as you opened your mouth in a silent scream. “shit- shit- shit.” you cried out, every single clamp of your pussy around his cock was borderline hurting.

“atta girl, good girl.” he smiled, pulling himself out and watching his cum gush out of you. the butt plug came out after, and your ass looked so cute a little puckered up. “so cute.” he hums, while you laid down shoved into little space/sub space for your dom. shuddering and spasming at the orgasm after effects. “oh little one your legs are shaking.” he smiles, noticing how your body vibrates in exhaustion.

“was that too rough?” he asks gently, kissing over your spine and turning you on your back.

you shake your head no, biting your lip. “next time add clamps too.”

shouta chuckled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a nod. “of course kitten. you did so well for me though, took me like a little champ i’m so amazed by how strong you are. how wonderful you are.” he whispered soft nothings into the shell of your ear, rubbing your pelvis soothingly, rubbing your ass soothingly. “let me put some numbing cream onto that cute bottom.” he cooes, wiping your tears and kissing your forehead deeply. you were still sniffling and sobbing a bit. but that was to be expected — he’s wrecked your mind and body both to submission after all.

“i love you babygirl.” he cooed, kissing all over your tear-drenched face. “mm, i love you too, happy birthday sho.”

“thank you kitty.” he smiled tenderly.

[sweets-library]

care and consequence

Shouta Aizawa/reader. hurt/comfort. wc: 7.9k.

READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. DO NOT READ THIS IF THEY DO NOT APPEAL TO YOU. 18+ content warnings: spanking, improper use of a hairbrush, punishment, heavy use of daddy as a title, heavy themes of discipline and D/S dynamics

a/n: holy shit guys, the reception on that last one was actually insane, thank you all so much! i hope you guys like this one too, I'm sorry it took so long! i have a lot of personal life drama going on rn, plus I'm sick again :/ anyways, enjoy and strap in, its a long one! ao3

-

You had regretted coming to the bar about an hour ago, though you’d never admit it. The music thrummed in your chest, matching the relentless pounding in your head. Around you, people were dancing, drinking, and laughing, lost in their own worlds. As much as you wanted to join in, your body felt like it was rebelling against you. Still, you clung to the idea that one more drink might just do the trick.

Navigating through the chaotic sea of heroes, you pushed your way to the bar and ordered a vodka cranberry with a shot on the side. Your last drink had taken a while to finish, but this one? This one needed to count. The bartender turned away, and just as you started to feel the room sway, the door flew open with a booming, "WHAT IS UP, PARTY PEOPLEEEEE!"

Ah, Mic made it!. He had been unsure if he could, with the radio show’s schedule, but he must’ve handed the reins to someone else to show up fashionably late. You watched as he carved a path through the crowd, greeting everyone with that infectious energy, before you turned your attention back to your drinks. Downing the shot in one swift motion, you grabbed your cocktail, setting your sights on Nemuri.

You found her in conversation with Kamui Woods and Mount Lady, her laughter carrying over the din. Sliding up beside her, you felt the brush of her nails as she pinched your side with a knowing grin. Without missing a beat, she continued chatting, but you knew she had clocked you. You were happy to wait, sipping your drink and letting its warmth spread through you, barely tuning into the conversation until Nemuri said her goodbyes.

She grabbed your hand, giggling as she pulled you onto the dance floor, and you let her lead—hoping the music might drown out how unwell you felt.

As the tequila and vodka settled into your veins, the world around you softened into a hazy blur of neon lights and pulsing bass. The club was packed, bodies moving in sync with the heavy beat that rattled the floor beneath your feet. Strobe lights flickered overhead, casting quick flashes of colour across the writhing crowd, while smoke machines filled the air with a thin mist that clung to your skin. The music was loud, so loud that it vibrated through your chest, matching the heat rising in your cheeks.

You finally started to feel it, the carefree buzz you’d been chasing all night. The alcohol loosened your limbs, and you let yourself get lost in whatever dirty, hypnotic rhythm Nemuri was dragging you into. Around you, people shouted over the music, laughed too loudly, and clinked glasses at the bar. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and the faint hint of perfume mingling with something more electric. It was the kind of energy that pulled you in deeper, making everything else fade away.

A few songs passed in a blur of flashing lights and sweaty bodies. You floated from partner to partner, dancing with Thirteen, Snipe, and Nemuri again, before you found yourself twirled straight into the arms of Present Mic.

“Zashi! Hi!” you practically shouted, grinning at him with the same excitement that buzzed through the room. It felt like he was the only one who hadn’t made it to the party yet, and now, everything was perfect. You could imagine him being stopped by every person on the way in, catching up and spreading his contagious energy.

“Heya, baby, how’s it hangin’?” he grinned, pulling you in so close you could feel the bass rumbling through his chest. But even here, his voice cut through the noise effortlessly.

“Soooo good! I love dancing, I’m so happy you came! Thought you’d get stuck at the station,” you gushed, letting the sway of the music carry you from foot to foot.

He laughed and gave you a playful dip, sending you squealing in delight as the room spun for a brief moment. But when he pulled you back up, his smile faltered as you coughed into your arm, the noise cutting through the music like a reminder that not everything was as smooth as the party felt.

“Gave one of the interns the mic for the night. She was over the moon to take it,” Hizashi said with a chuckle, leaning in closer to cut through the pounding music. His usual energy seemed slightly tempered, though his voice still carried effortlessly. He lowered his tone as he added, “Didn’t think you’d make it out tonight. Shouta told me earlier you weren’t feeling so hot.”

At the mention of your boyfriend, you scanned the room out of habit, already knowing he wasn’t there. This kind of scene was never his thing; too loud, too crowded. Besides, he had patrol tonight.

“Sho’s just paranoid. I’m fine, see?” you replied, brushing off the comment with a lighthearted twirl under Hizashi’s arm. The movement made your head spin a bit, but you ignored it, flashing him a grin as you let go of his hand, intent on heading back to the bar for another drink. Before you could get far, his arm looped around your waist, pulling you back gently but firmly. 

“Hey, you trying to leave me all alone out here? This party’s not even close to over,” Hizashi laughed, his voice rising just above the thrum of the bass. You joined in his laughter, not noticing how, with each song, he subtly steered you away from the bar. The colours around you swirled in a kaleidoscope of neon lights, flickering across faces and catching in the smoke-filled air. Every beat seemed to vibrate through your body, keeping you in a daze of music, movement, and heat.

As the hours blurred, so did the people. Dance partners came and went, their faces brief ly illuminated by strobe lights before they disappeared back into the crowd. But through it all, Hizashi never left your side, keeping a playful hand on your shoulder or at your waist as if he were your lifeline in the chaotic sea of bodies.

Then, a slower song melted into the speakers, and the mood shifted. The lights dimmed to soft blues and purples, and the frenetic energy on the dance floor calmed. Hizashi took the opportunity to pull you close, his arm wrapping around you with a gentleness that felt comforting against the heat of the room. Your head fell naturally onto his shoulder as the world seemed to slow down for the first time that night. The sway of the music was soothing now, and the chatter around you dropped to a murmur.

Couples paired off, holding each other close, moving in time to the slow beat, while others used the moment to catch their breath. The heavy scent of spilled drinks, sweat, and perfume lingered in the air, but here, in Hizashi’s arms, you felt an odd sense of calm. You giggled softly as he whispered in your ear, making quiet jokes about the unlikely pairings that had formed on the dance floor. His voice was steady and warm, grounding you.

But then, he stopped abruptly. The sway of his body stilled, and you blinked, the moment interrupted. Confused, you lifted your head to look at him, but his attention was no longer on the dance floor.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I think your song’s been played out,” Hizashi said softly, his voice taking on a tone that felt more final than playful. You lifted your head to question him, confusion crossing your face, but before you could get a word out, he spun you around; right into the arms of someone new.

Or rather, someone far more familiar than you would have preferred.

“Shouta!” you gasped, looking up to find him staring down at you, his dark eyes narrowed in that way that instantly made you feel small. His gaze wasn’t angry, exactly, but there was a sharpness in it that cut through the fog of your drunken haze. You straightened up, biting your lip as emotions flashed across your face, impossible to hide in your current state.

“I thought you had patrol?” you asked, voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I finished early,” he said, his tone even but firm as he wrapped an arm around your waist. His grip was gentle, but the intention was clear as he began guiding you through the crowd and toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, wait, I gotta-” you started to protest, trying to twist out of his hold. But Shouta cut you off before you could finish, his voice leaving no room for argument.

“I paid your tab. You can see everyone another time,” Shouta said curtly, his voice as firm as his grip around your waist. The finality in his words made your chest tighten, but you huffed anyway, stubbornly digging in your heels.

“I promised Nemuri another dance, and I was gonna get another drink!” you protested, though the moment the words were out, you knew they were a mistake. Shouta’s gaze sharpened, his eyes darkening as they bore into you. It was a look that made your heart skip a beat and sent a nervous tremor down your spine. Your feet shuffled on instinct, your earlier defiance wilting under the heat of his stare.

“We are leaving right now, little girl,” he said, his tone low and deliberate. The words slid over you like a command, impossible to ignore. His hand drifted down to your ass, the touch firm and possessive, sending a shiver through your body. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he continued, “Unless you’d like to get a head start on your punishment in the bathroom. Here. And. Now.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, your breath catching in your throat. The heavy atmosphere of the club seemed to fade, the sound of the crowd growing distant. All that remained was the heat of his presence and the weight of his words. The tension coiled in your stomach, leaving you unsure whether to push back or submit.

“No… m’sorry. Let’s go,” you mumbled, your voice barely rising above the pulsing music, but your regretful look and the way you let him pull you along seemed to say enough. Once outside, the sudden quiet enveloped you, your ears ringing from the absence of sound. The contrast was jarring, but it was nothing compared to the weight of Shouta’s disappointment radiating off him like an invisible force.

He guided you to the car, and without even a hint of protest, you slid into the back seat. The cool leather felt grounding against your skin as he buckled you in silently, his focus unwavering. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable, as he leaned in, resting his hand on the headrest. His expression softened slightly, a hint of concern breaking through his earlier sternness.

“Do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?” he inquired, his voice steady yet laced with a quiet urgency. You shook your head, trying to muster a reassuring smile, though the flutter of anxiety in your stomach made it hard.

“Okay,” he replied, his gaze steady on yours. “Start drinking this.” He handed you a bottle of water, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I want at least half of it gone by the time we get home. And if you think you’re feeling sick, just tell me, and I’ll pull over.”

The seriousness in his voice made your heart race. You nodded, taking the bottle from him, the cool plastic a small comfort in the heated moment. As you unscrewed the cap, you could sense the shift in his demeanour. He was looking out for you, but there was a firmness in his words that reminded you of the line you’d crossed.

“Okay.” you mumble, staring at his chin to avoid the intensity of his eyes. He sighed and closed the door before climbing into the driver's seat and starting the journey home. The ride wasn't long but it was dead silent and it gave you enough time for some of the alcohol to wear off and the reminders that you were sick to kick in. 

Shouta, of course, knew you at the very least, had a bad cold. That morning, he had taken charge, insisting you call off work and ordering you to stay in bed. He had been so sweetly concerned and caring. He had meticulously arranged everything, ensuring you had enough food and medicine at hand. You could still picture him moving around the kitchen, checking in on you with a watchful eye, his brow slightly furrowed in that familiar expression of worry.

Throughout the afternoon, he had kept in touch, sending periodic texts to check on your well-being. Each notification was a reminder of how deeply he cared. The messages were gentle nudges, urging you to rest and take care of yourself. You could almost feel his presence with each ping, as if he were there beside you, coaxing you to indulge in soup and reminding you when to take the next dose of cold and flu medicine.

But as the hours slipped by and daylight faded into evening, the excitement of your friends celebrating the end of the semester began to tug at you. The allure of laughter and music beckoned from the outside world, tempting you to leave the cocoon of blankets and soothing remedies he had encouraged you to embrace. You hadn’t mentioned your plans to Shouta, knowing full well the firm stance he had taken. He had told you when he left for his night patrol that you were to be doing nothing for the rest of the night but resting and getting better. 

In a moment of weakness, you had chosen to ignore his guidance, allowing the crippling fear of missing out to get to you. Now, as the consequences of your decision loomed large, you felt a heavy weight settle in your chest, a blend of regret and dread creating a terrible cocktail with how awful you were already feeling physically.

As Shouta pulled into the driveway, the rush of emotions overwhelmed you. The tears welled up, unbidden and hot, as the guilt of your choices crashed over you like a wave. You hiccuped, desperately trying to swallow back the sobs, but it was futile. When he parked the car and came around to your door, you barely registered his movements, lost in your own turmoil. As soon as he opened the door, he unbuckled you and gathered you into his arms, cradling you against him. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, as he felt you trembling against him. “I know you’re not feeling too hot. Come on, let’s get you inside and into some comfy clothes. Does that sound good?”

You nodded against his shoulder, the gesture almost instinctual as the weight of your exhaustion settled in. With a gentle yet firm motion, he hoisted you out of the car, his strength reassuring. You instinctively wrapped your limbs around him like a koala, seeking the comfort of his embrace. He adjusted his hold, securing you against him effortlessly as he maneuvered to get the door open with one arm, not even considering putting you down for a moment. The night air was cool against your skin, but Shouta's warmth kept the chill at bay. As he carried you inside, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him.

He took care of you mostly in silence, his hands moving with a practiced ease as he guided your movements. Gently, he slipped off your heels, his touch tender against your tired feet. Without a word, he helped you out of your dress, replacing the once-glamorous outfit with the softness of your favourite pajamas. His fingers were careful as he wiped away the makeup you'd used to hide the ruddiness in your cheeks and the shadows beneath your eyes, his brow creasing slightly as he worked, focused but gentle.

When he pressed the cool glass of water into your hands, you drank obediently, the quiet rustle of him preparing the medicine a comforting sound in the background. As he handed you the pills, his eyes softened, a silent reminder that he was looking out for you. After you’d swallowed them, he guided you to sit down at your vanity, still working methodically, brushing away the remnants of the night.

The makeup wipe brushed over your nose, tickling slightly, and despite the exhaustion and the lingering tipsiness, a small giggle escaped your lips. You leaned up, catching his eyes in the mirror, and smiled mischievously, asking for a kiss. He indulged you, pressing a brief, soft kiss to your lips before continuing, his attention shifting to your hair. The tender motions of his hands as he brushed it through were almost hypnotic, lulling you into a sense of calm as he completed your nighttime routine for you.

A thought bubbled up, slipping out before you could stop it. “How did you know where I was? Thought patrol didn’t end till 4?” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur as he turned you to face the mirror. Catching his eyes in the reflection, you saw a flicker of irritation still lingering there, and the weight of it made you shy away. You broke eye contact, your gaze dropping to the clutter of items strewn across the vanity from earlier in the night.

“Hizashi texted me when he got there,” he replied quietly, his voice steady but tinged with that edge of disappointment. You couldn't help but pout at the mention of it, feeling the sting of being caught, of letting him down. The weight of his gaze lingered on you, but you felt his concern just as deeply, even in the silence between you.

“Tattle-tale,” you mumbled under your breath, but before you could sink too far into your pout, Shouta’s fingers tipped under your chin, gently but firmly, guiding you to meet his eyes in the mirror.

“He wouldn’t have to tattle if you hadn’t been misbehaving, would he?” His voice held that familiar grumble, a mix of irritation and concern that made your heart skip. You swallowed, feeling the weight of his gaze and the undeniable truth behind his words.

“No, sir,” you murmured, looking as contrite as you felt. His expression softened slightly, and he let out a quiet puff of air, almost a sigh, before pulling you up from the vanity.

With his hand steadying you, he guided you toward the bed, but your legs still wobbled beneath you. Dizzy, you tumbled onto the mattress, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you sank into the plush blankets. Shouta rolled his eyes, but there was a tenderness behind it, and with practiced care, he shifted you to the other side and tucked you in properly, smoothing the covers over you.

“Wait, Sho... you’re not... are you mad at me?” you asked, your voice suddenly small and sincere, cutting through the haze of your tipsiness. His brow furrowed at the question, and for a moment, you held your breath, waiting for his answer.

“No, baby, I’m not mad. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he assured you, his voice softer now. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingering for a moment before he straightened up. Rounding the bed, he moved to his side, slipping in beside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that conversation tomorrow wasn’t going to be a pleasant one. But as Shouta’s strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you close against his chest, the heaviness of the night melted away. His familiar scent, the steady beat of his heart, and the warmth of his body drowned out any lingering bad feelings. For now, wrapped up in him, everything felt right, and you let yourself drift into the comfort of sleep.

-

The morning greeted you with a vengeance, leaving you feeling every bit as awful as you feared. Your head throbbed with a dull, relentless ache, your sinuses were stuffed to the brim, and your body felt clammy and weak, so much more wrung out than you had been jus the day before. Groaning, you burrowed deeper into the blankets, hiding from the sunlight streaming through the windows. Despite the warmth of the covers, a bone-deep chill had taken root, making you shiver as you curled in on yourself.

“Wake up, baby. You have to take some medicine.” Shouta’s voice, calm and resolute, pierced your cocoon of self-pity. You whined in response, a pitiful sound muffled by the blankets.

“M’sleeping. No thanks,” you muttered petulantly, half-hoping he’d let it slide. Usually, this was when you’d hear him chuckle softly, maybe feel the comforting weight of his hand on your thigh as he gave you a few more moments to stir.

Instead, the covers were suddenly pulled back from your face, exposing you to the cool morning air and making you gasp at the loss of warmth. The sudden brightness forced your eyes to flutter open, though they quickly squinted against the light. Before you could protest, Shouta’s hand was on your face, gentle and deliberate, as he smoothed the strands of damp hair plastered to your clammy skin. The touch sent a shiver through you, the tenderness soothing away your irritation.

His expression hovered between stern and soft, his dark eyes scanning your flushed, pale face with an almost clinical precision. You could feel the weight of his worry as he brushed his thumb over your temple. Despite your exhaustion, guilt pooled in your chest, mingling with the sickness that had you pinned to the bed.

“It wasn’t really a request. Come on, sit up.” His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the firmness behind it. Before you could muster a protest, his strong hands slipped under your back and shoulders, lifting you with ease. The sudden shift left you disoriented, and before you knew it, you were propped up against the headboard.

Two pills rested on the palm he held in front of your face, his dark eyes steady and expectant. “Open,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. Something in the commanding gentleness of his voice had you obeying instinctively, parting your lips without hesitation. He placed the pills on your tongue, and you grimaced as you swallowed them with a few sips of the water he pressed to your lips.

Just as you moved to push the glass away, his hand caught yours, steadying it. “Finish this,” he said firmly, guiding it back toward your mouth. The weight of his worry lingered in the way his fingers stayed wrapped around yours, ensuring you drank more.

You managed another sip, your movements sluggish and reluctant, before he spoke again, his voice softening. “Are you hungry?”

You shook your head, too weary to form words, and he nodded in quiet acceptance. “Okay,” he murmured, taking the now half-empty glass from your hands and setting it on the bedside table. His fingers brushed against your knuckles briefly, grounding you in the moment. “You can sleep a little longer until the meds kick in. We’ll talk when you’re feeling a bit better.”

You gulped and cast your eyes downward, unable to meet his steady gaze. The words he didn’t say lingered in the air, unspoken but heavy, a reminder of the talk you’d hoped that you might avoid. Shouta, ever composed, didn’t press. Instead, his hand smoothed over your hair, the motion tender and familiar, as if to reassure you that his frustration didn’t mean he cared any less.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss between your brows, a soft, lingering gesture that made your chest tighten. It wasn’t fair how easily he could dissolve your guilt and stubbornness in a single moment of care. You couldn’t even summon the faintest trace of upset, not when his touch was so gentle, so grounding. Instead, your eyelids grew heavier, the pull of exhaustion impossible to resist. With a quiet sigh, you let yourself drift, surrendering to the lull of warmth and safety he left behind.

Time passed in a haze, unmeasured and weightless. When you woke again, the pounding in your head had dulled to a faint, manageable throb, and though your limbs still felt heavy, they no longer ached with the same intensity. The room was empty now, sunlight spilling through the windows in soft golden streaks that painted the walls and the rumpled sheets beside you. If Shouta hadn't insisted on taking some medicine earlier, the light would probably be giving you the worst of headaches, but instead, you were able to enjoy the warmth. Of course, Shouta was right, as always. It was no wonder you let him take the reins so often; he had a knack for knowing exactly what you needed, even when you couldn’t see it yourself. It went beyond simple intuition, it was deliberate and unwavering care. It was why you trusted him so deeply.

If you didn’t know that, if you couldn’t feel it in the way he cared for you, you wouldn’t be in this dynamic with him in the first place. You wouldn’t be sitting here now, heart pounding in the quiet aftermath, debating whether pretending to sleep a little longer might save you from the punishment just a little longer, or if it would only make things worse.

But even as your thoughts tangled with uncertainty, you knew you wouldn’t trade this for anything. For all the moments like these, where guilt and the weight of your mistakes pressed down on you, there was always the unwavering reassurance that Shouta would steady you. He’d take you in hand, reminding you in no uncertain terms just how much you mattered to him.

He wouldn’t tolerate behaviour that diminished your worth, not in his eyes, and not in your own. It wasn’t just discipline; it was care, deeply rooted and uncompromising. And when all was said and done, forgiveness would follow, that was never an uncertainty. With Shouta, there was no lingering doubt, no unspoken resentment, only the quiet, steady rhythm of love in its most honest form.

It was about more than letting go; it was about giving that trust to someone who cherished it, someone who didn’t just take care of you but found joy in doing so. And in turn, you found joy in being cared for. It could be terrifying sometimes, to put that kind of trust in someone, but with Shouta it had always felt worth it. 

You sigh and slide out of bed, resigned to your fate. The chill in the air bites at your skin, and the sickness still clings to you making you shiver. You rummage through the closet until your fingers find the familiar softness of one of Shouta’s sweaters. It’s an old crew neck, worn and slightly stretched out, big even on him and perfect for wrapping yourself in his warmth.

Pulling it over your head, you pad out to the living room on bare feet. The sight that greets you stops you in your tracks, drawing a soft, dreamy sigh from your lips.

Shouta is perched on the couch, papers spread across the coffee table in neat stacks. A faint furrow creases his brow as he grades with careful precision, the rhythmic scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. One of the cats is curled in his lap snoring, and a ray of sunlight streams through the window, bathing the scene in a golden glow that feels almost unreal. For a moment, you wonder if you’re still dreaming.

His sharp eyes flick up, catching yours as you linger in the doorway. Before he can say a word, you shuffle over and flop down beside him, burying yourself against his shoulder and letting your eyes drift closed again. The familiar scent of him wraps around you, as grounding as the weight of his presence.

“G’morning baby.” you sigh, and his arm curls around you to tug you to his side properly. 

“Good morning, my love. Feeling a little better?” he murmurs, his voice soft and low, vibrating gently against your ear. You nod, nestling closer into his shoulder, letting the comforting rhythm of his breathing soothe your lingering unease.

The two of you sit in companionable silence, the occasional scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. He finishes grading the last test on his stack, and you catch a glimpse of his expression as he marks something on the page. Oof. Poor kid.

You might have dozed off again if not for the fluttering unease in your stomach, a familiar mix of guilt and anticipation. The thought of the looming punishment makes it impossible to relax entirely, though Shouta’s calm presence keeps you from fully spiralling.

And then, as if he could read your mind, he sets the papers aside with a quiet sigh. The finality of it settles in your chest like a stone. He turns his face into your hair, his lips brushing against your temple as he speaks softly, a warmth and firmness interwoven in his tone.

“We need to have a talk, little girl.”

You bite your lip, the weight of his gaze settling heavily over you. A sigh escapes your lips as you try to find the right words. “I know. I’m sorry,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Shouta doesn’t immediately respond. He pulls back slightly, his eyes scanning your face, assessing. The silence stretches just long enough to make you squirm.

Finally, he exhales deeply, sitting back and crossing his arms. His posture is relaxed, but the intensity in his eyes keeps you rooted in place.

“Why?” he asks, his voice calm but piercing.

Your stomach churns. You know the answer, of course, you do, but the way he asks makes your guilt multiply. He doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. You glance down at your lap, your fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on your pajama pants, anything to avoid the weight of his disappointment.

“For… for not listening,” you whisper, each word sticking in your throat. “And going out when you told me not to.”

“That’s correct,” he says, his tone steady but no less cutting. “But more broadly, I’m extremely not thrilled with your complete disregard for your own health and well-being.”

The words land with a precision that makes your chest ache.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his voice softening but still firm. “I love taking care of you. But part of that is making sure you take care of yourself when I’m not there. I need to trust that when I tell you to rest and recover, you’ll actually listen. Instead, you put yourself in harm’s way, and for what? A few hours of fun?”

His gaze locks onto yours, and the weight of his disappointment has you nodding mutely.

“And,” he continues, his voice sharpening, “I have never, and will never, tolerate you lying to me.”

Your head snaps up, a reflexive protest bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t lie—”

The glare he fixes you with stops the words dead in their tracks. It’s a look that leaves no room for negotiation.

“What did you say,” he asks, his voice low and measured, “when I told you to spend the night resting and recovering before I left for work?”

Your cheeks burn as you break eye contact. His stare feels like a spotlight, illuminating every guilty thought you’re trying to suppress. You shift uncomfortably, your voice trembling as you admit, “I… I said, ‘Yes, Daddy.’”

The silence that follows feels deafening. You dare a glance up at him, but his expression is unreadable. The weight of your admission hangs heavy in the air, and you shrink under the judgment you can feel emanating from him.

Finally, he sighs, the sound carrying more disappointment than anger. “You know what you did,” he says, each word deliberate. “Now it’s time to face the consequences.”

Your stomach twists, dread pooling in your chest. His tone is calm, almost gentle, but it carries a finality that leaves no room for debate.

“I wouldn’t normally punish you while you’re sick,” he continues, leaning back against the couch, his voice even. “But since you seem to think that being sick has no bearing on your decisions, I won’t let it affect mine either. Stand up.”

Your knees feel weak as you scramble to obey, rising unsteadily to your feet. Confusion flickers across your face- why not just pull you over his lap like usual? Why make you stand?

“Go and get the wooden hairbrush,” he says, his voice low and dispassionate, the command sending a shiver down your spine. “The flat, square one. And lose your pants on the way.”

Your gasp escapes before you can stop it, your hands instinctively clutching at the waistband of your pajama pants.

He doesn’t budge, his expression firm, his gaze unwavering. “You heard me.”

The room feels colder as you move, your steps hesitant. The gravity of the moment weighs heavily with each step you take toward the bedroom. Your heart races as you reach for the brush, the smooth wood cool against your palm. Sliding your pajama pants down your legs, you feel your cheeks burn with a mixture of shame and anticipation. You decide to take off the sweater as well, knowing Shouta would have you sweating soon.  

When you return to the living room, brush in hand and pants abandoned, Shouta’s eyes meet yours. His gaze softens slightly, a flicker of care visible beneath the stern exterior, but it does nothing to ease the butterflies raging in your stomach.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, gesturing for you to come closer. You obey silently, beyond arguing at this point. There would be no getting out of this, Shouta cares too much about you to let you get away with this. You hand over the brush and he places it on the arm of the couch, and then you fold yourself over his lap obediently. Without another word he folds your shirt up to expose the entirety of your backside, and places his hand on it, making you squirm with dread.

“Safeword?”

“Red” you whimper, accepting your fate.

He doesn't hesitate any longer, steadily applying his hand to your ass with all the restrained muscle of a pro hero, just hard enough to make sure you know exactly where you belong. The first few swats land on your bare ass, and you already want to start crying. And then he starts talking. 

“Let's go through each unfortunate choice you made yesterday, shall we?” he says, and you try not to tense up at his disappointed tone.

“First, you disobeyed me when I specifically told you to stay in bed while you weren't feeling well, and second, you lied to me and said that you would be home for the night. Third, you disregarded yourself and your health, which we will be going into great detail about with the hairbrush.”

As he laid out your actions, your ass got steadily reddened, and the tears started falling against your will. You fisted the fabric of the couch and willed yourself not to squirm, knowing it would only make things worse for you. 

Shouta’s voice was calm but carried the weight of unshakable authority, each word landing like a stone in your chest. “Do you think I asked you to stay home for no reason? That I ask you to listen to me for my own amusement?”

Your stomach churned at his tone, the disappointment in his voice far worse than any raised voice could have been.

“You trust me to know what’s best for you, and in turn, I trust you to be honest with me. I specifically told you to stay home, to rest and recover. Instead, I get a text from Hizashi that you’re out, you’re drinking, and completely ignoring what I asked of you. What if he hadn’t messaged me? What if I had come home to an empty house, no idea where you were, and no way to ensure you were safe?” 

The image his words painted made your chest tighten with guilt. You could hear the strain in his voice, the quiet upset that cut deeper than anger ever could. You knew how much this dynamic meant to him—not just as a way to care for you, but as a source of reassurance in a life that was chaotic and dangerous. Being a pro-hero came with enough unpredictability; this was one area of his life he could keep steady.

Even with that realization weighing heavy on your chest, you couldn’t help it. Against your better judgment, a pouty response escaped your lips, soft and stubborn, laced with defiance that you immediately regretted. 

“I was gonna be home before you got back—” The sharp crack of his hand meeting your thigh cut off your words with a yelp, the sting blooming as tears welled in your eyes. His hand rested firmly on the offended area, grounding you.

“That is not the point and you know it. You dont get to have a bratty attitude with me about this, or the hairbrush is going to be followed by a long time out in the corner for you to fix it. Am. I. Clear.” 

“Yes- ‘m sorry, I'm sorry sir.” you cry, your face soaked and dripping onto the cushion. 

“Hm. As I was saying, this will not be happening again. You misbehave, you get consequences. For the next two weeks, you will be in this house and in our bed by 9 p.m. sharp. If I’m not home, I expect a picture of you in bed, and then you will put your phone in my bedside table.”

The shame of his words was almost as unbearable as the sting still radiating from your thighs. You sobbed into the couch, mortified at the level of supervision he felt you required. “Yes, Daddy,” you whimpered, your voice hoarse.

“I am not playing about this,” he pressed on, his gaze unyielding. “If I find out you’ve stepped foot out of this apartment, you had better have a damn good reason—or you’ll find yourself right back here, no excuses. If you can’t take care of yourself on your own, I will do it for you.”

You nodded again, your sobs turning into shaky, uneven breaths. The shame was overwhelming, and yet you knew he wasn’t done.

As the spanks land, the force behind them pulls a sharp gasp from you, and each strike feels like a wave of guilt crashing over you. His words pierce through the haze of pain. "I think this way you might begin to understand how serious your actions are. His disappointment lingers in your chest, making it harder to breathe.

The spanks stopped for a moment, and you gasped, your body trembling as you tried to catch your breath. Shouta’s hands, firm and unyielding just moments ago, softened as they rubbed soothing circles on your spine. His voice, low and steady, cut through the haze of your tears.

“Breathe, baby. Take a few deep breaths,” he murmured, his tone no longer sharp but filled with an unyielding care that made your chest ache.

You hiccupped, following his instruction as you sucked in shaky gulps of air. The relief of his touch warred with the knowledge that this reprieve was temporary. Your breath finally evened out, and your tears slowed, but they didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” he said quietly, though there was no warmth in his praise—just a steady, measured approval for doing as you were told. His hand drifted to your shoulder, squeezing gently before he continued.

“Now,” he began, his tone sharp once more, “let’s discuss the way you’ve been treating your health.”

Your stomach churned, and your heart thudded as the words landed. His hand left your shoulder, and you braced yourself for what was to come, dread building with every passing second.

The hairbrush came down with a crack, the sound cutting through the room and drawing a pained cry from your lips. Shouta didn’t bother to shush you; the punishment was meant to leave a lasting impression, and he doesn't want you to hide where you are at emotionally.  The strikes weren’t as rapid as the earlier flurry of his hands, but each one was deliberate, the wide, heavy impact sinking deep into your already tender skin.

You sobbed with each blow, your cries punctuating the rhythm he set.

“I will never, ever stand for you treating yourself the way you chose to last night.” His voice was calm, but the sharpness in his tone felt like another lash, hitting somewhere deeper than just your body. “You were sick- you are sick- and the fact that you thought you could just disregard that to go party makes me think you don’t understand how seriously I take your wellbeing. Not to mention how seriously I expect you to take it yourself.”

The hairbrush came down again, and you twisted slightly, though his firm grip kept you in place. The dull thud seemed to echo in your chest, a physical reminder of just how much you had messed up.

“Every part of you is important, mind and body,” he continued, the cadence of his strikes steady and unrelenting. “One of our biggest rules is that you don’t disrespect yourself, and you know very well I don’t just mean self-deprecating words. I expect you to take the same care for yourself when I’m gone that I do when I’m here.”

The words hit harder than the brush, and your quiet whimper turned into a full sob. His disappointment was unbearable, an ache in your chest that far outweighed the sting of your reddened skin.

“Clearly, you can’t be trusted to do so on your own,” he said, pausing for a moment to let his words sink in.

The tears streaking down your face weren’t just from the physical pain; they came from the overwhelming guilt of letting him down. You knew how much he valued self-care, and how hard he worked to instill that same value in you, even when he struggled to prioritize it for himself.

You sniffled, hiccuping through your tears, and a treacherous thought flitted through your mind. Hypocrite. He barely looked after himself most days. Your attitude almost made itself known again before the next blow snapped you out of your thoughts, and you yelped, realizing too late that the silence had stretched on too long.

“Every day until you are one-hundred percent better,” he said, his tone unyielding, “you’re going to sit at that table and write me fifty lines, telling me exactly how well you’re going to take care of yourself in the future.”

You let out a soft wail of protest at the thought, but he ignored it, leaning in to speak into your ear.

“And trust me, little girl, you do not want to have this discussion again.”

And then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. The punishing rhythm of the hairbrush ceased, and the room settled into a heavy, tear-soaked silence. Your sobs, however, remained steady, shaking your body as it lay slumped over his lap.

Shouta’s hands shifted, their movements no longer firm and corrective but gentle, smoothing up and down your back and thighs. He didn’t rush you, letting you cry as long as you needed, his presence grounding you even as your emotions spilled over.

When your cries softened to hiccups, he gently helped you upright, maneuvering you so you were straddling his lap. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you buried your tear-streaked face into his shirt, soaking the fabric with every breathy sob. He didn’t mind; his arms held you just as tightly, encasing you in a protective warmth.

“Okay, kid,” he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head as he swayed you gently. “Alright, you’re okay now. I love you so much, baby.”

His voice was soft, full of love and patience, and it was that tenderness that finally cracked the dam inside you. The moment you had enough air in your lungs, you blurted out in a desperate rush:

“I’m so sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry I fucked up—I didn’t mean to! I just—I wanted—I’m just so, so sorry,” you wailed, clinging to him like a lifeline. The words poured out of you like water from a broken dam, each one carrying the weight of your regret. You weren’t just apologizing for the mistake, you were apologizing for letting him down, for making him feel like his care wasn’t enough to anchor you. The thought of betraying the trust he put in you made the tears fall faster.

“Oh, baby,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he hugged you even closer. “Okay, okay. I know. Thank you, babygirl, I know you are. You’re forgiven now, okay? You did so good for me, you’re all forgiven.”

His words were a balm to your guilt, soothing and grounding you as you took shuddering breaths, gradually winding down. Your sobs quieted into occasional hiccups, and he gently tilted you back to examine your tear-streaked face. Shouta’s soft smile held no trace of the earlier sternness. He reached over, plucking a tissue from the side table, and methodically wiped away your tears, along with the snot and drool that added to your humiliation. He discarded the tissue without a second thought, his focus entirely on you.

“Let’s go take a bath, baby, clear up your sinuses,” he murmured, his voice warm and soothing. He hoisted you into his arms with ease and carried you to the bathroom, grabbing two towels along the way. Setting them on the counter, he gingerly placed you atop them, your seated position making you just a little taller than him. He stood between your legs, his hands resting gently on your thighs, and studied your face with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice earnest and patient.

You took a moment to check in with yourself, cataloging the aches in your body, the tenderness in your emotions, and the lingering sting of your punishment. Eventually, you nodded and murmured, “Yeah, ‘m okay. I’m just really sorry.”

His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. Leaning up, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “I know, sweetheart. I believe you.”

He didn’t push for more, understanding how fragile you felt. Instead, he gave you space, letting you sit quietly while he started filling the tub. The sound of water rushing against porcelain filled the room, and he quickly stripped down before helping you out of your oversized shirt. His movements were efficient but tender as if he were afraid to overwhelm you.

Once the tub was full, he climbed in first and extended a hand to guide you in, settling you between his legs with your back pressed firmly to his chest. The warm water enveloped you, and his arms encircled your middle, holding you close.

“There we go, my good girl,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your temple. The praise made you shiver, the tension in your body melting away as you nestled further into his embrace.

“Always my good girl, no matter what,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I love you so much.”

His words wrapped around you like the heat of the water, comforting and secure, and you let yourself relax completely. This was where you belonged—wrapped in his love and care, forgiven and cherished.

[xfgpng]

“take it slow for me baby, go slow”

you’ve always been an impatient person. you move so fast that you feel yourself getting so frustrated and overwhelmed by everything.

he’s always there for you though, ready to remind you to relax and take a breather. it’s more than okay to slow things down and take your time, you’ll still get the same results and you’ll feel even better than you would’ve if you rushed things.

“that’s it baby, just like that” he grins, his large hands guiding your hips to move slowly. he’s so deep inside you like this. he loves when you’re the one on top, riding him and trying to take all of him at once.

it amuses him to watch your brows furrow in concentration as you bite the inside your cheek. it’s always the same determined look that gets him going no matter how many times he’s seen it.

“right there” you moan, arching your back beautifully as you feel him press up against your cervix. like this, you’re so close and he couldn’t go deeper even if he wanted to, and he does. he craves being apart of you, being inside you more than anything else.

“yeah?” he groans, slapping your ass when you clench around him. he doesn’t want it to end just yet. you have all night.

you nod, eyes tearing up at how good he always makes you feel. you feel him everywhere like this and you understand why he wants you to take it slow.

the drag of his cock against your walls feels heavenly and he wants to savour the feeling for as long as he can.

“so good for me” he praises, “my good girl”

| aizawa, hawks, erwin, levi, nanami&gojo

[melon-fodder]

Aizawa…………………………………….Oh to have a serious older man cooing at me while I ride the tip because he likes to tease and refuses to give me more 😭

BEKALFJEKSJR FFFFFFF

His hands that can be so so gentle are gripping your hips so mean now, holding you in place and fake pouting at you as he watches your face contort in legitimate agony. You want him so bad but all you can do is clench around his tip. It’s thick, yeah, but you need to feel it so much deeper. Whining and sniffling and begging, “please, sho—please I need it” but all he does is give a couple shallow upward thrusts and fake another look of sympathy when he hears how your wet cunt slurps at his cock.

“poor baby, i’m so mean, aren’t i?”

you nod and try to rock your hips, but he doesn’t loosen his grip, just leans forward to brush his lips against your cheek.

[the-grimm-writer]

Imagine getting split up in a haunted house with your friends. It starts off with the typical jumpscares as the actors do their job well.

You're wondering down a smoke filled hall full of flashing led lights. Fake blood is smeared on the walls and cobwebs are on the ceiling. You're still giggling from the way your friend shrieked the moment you all stepped in.

Looking around, you shuddered a little bit as you walked past a guy in clown makeup lying on the floor with a slash across his chest, blood pouring around him. Practical effects are getting so realistic these days, you thought to yourself.

You're so distracted as cheesy horror music still plays in the background that you don't notice a tall figure standing there until you run into them.

Tilting your head back, your eyes go wide as you see a man in a mask towering over you.

"Sorry." You smiled awkwardly as you took a step back to get away, and you see he's wearing black jeans, a white wife beater splattered in red, and holding on to what (you hope) is a fake axe. He easily towers over you.

The man stays silent, making the atmosphere feel more tense. He's tall and muscular, and you can only see his eyes peaking down at you from underneath the mask. He definitely fit the role of a haunt actor.

"Wow." You laughed nervously as you stepped to the side. "You're like, really in character, huh?"

The man stays silent as he turns and watches you rush past him, and you swear you can hear him chuckle as you turn the corner.

Chills ran down your spine as you started to wander around, feeling like someone was watching you, but every time you turned around to check, nobody was there. Frustration started to build up as you hut nothing but dead ends.

Sure, it was fun at first, with the occasional jumpscare popping out at you that would make flinch, then laugh at yourself for letting it get to you. But your phone had no reception and you were losing track of time.

This was getting ridiculous, you thought to yourself as you looked around for someone to ask for help to get out of there. You hoped your friends were having a better time than you were.

Once you reached the next dead end, you nearly screamed in frustration, ready to yank your hair out until you saw the same masked man from the corner of your eye.

"Okay." You sighed as you walked over to him. "Haha, you got me. Can you please help me get out of here now?"

The man stays silent, but his eyes are trained on you as he lowers his head to look down at you.

You rolled your eyes as he stayed in character, watching the blood drip off of the axe he was casually holding onto.

It wasn't until you got closer to him that the heavy metallic scent hit you. A chill ran down your spine, true terror running through your veins as you looked down at his weapon, noticing how sharp it really was. A real weapon, not allowed in haunts like this one.

Suddenly, the fun little jumpscares weren't so fun anymore. This man wasn't a haunt actor at all.

Your face paled as you remembered the dead clown that you'd passed by earlier. The actor that would've been the one to scare you a few times before helping you reunite with your friends at the exit. But he was really dead.

And now you were stuck here with him. An actual killer.

As if reading your thoughts, he grabbed your chin and pulled you against him. You were shaking as he leaned down, lowering his head to whisper in your ear.

"Run." He growled lowly before letting go of your chin and stepping back.

You didn't have to be told twice, immediately running away from him.

Suddenly, the smoke felt too heavy, the music was too loud, the deep red led lights that filled the rooms only added to your terror, and the animatronics they had to jump out at you only made you more overwhelmed.

You were nearly ready to cry as you turned around and saw the masked man casually walking towards you in typical horror movie slasher style.

Then you heard the sound of distant laughter. It sounded like your friends chatting with each other.

A wave of hope went through you as you ran over to the wall and started banging against it, screaming at the top of your lungs.

"Help!" You yelled out as loud as you could as you slapped your hands against the walls. "Please, help! He-"

You shrieked as a hand suddenly grabbed ahold of your hair and pushed you onto the cold ground.

The masked man throws his axe to the side as he climbs on top of you, making you look into his eyes.

He laughs wickedly, pressing himself against you as he tightens his grip on your hair. You screamed and cried, trying to push him off you as you feel his hard on rub against your thigh, cock straining against his jeans.

"Scream all you want." He grinned as he pulled his mask up, feeling his breath fanning against your lips. "Everyone will think it's all part of the show."

[myheroanalysis]

Season 3, Ep 5: Alone, Attacked, and Personally Victimized

Hey y'all! Join us as we discuss the My Hero Academia episode "Drive It Home, Iron Fist!!!", including Fae Izuku, the most terrifying MHA villain of all time, and an absurd amount of thirst for Parent Aizawa. You can find spoilers and TWs on our website, myheroanalysis.com. Thanks for listening!

Episode link

[nakedcleric]

incognithot (aizawa x student! reader)

♥ pairing: aizawa x fem!reader

♥ wc: 1,448

♥ synopsis: You're Aizawa's problem student. During Halloween, you dress up in a costume that hides your identity and get fucked by him.

tw: teacher-student relationship, age gap, reader is 18, daddy kink, choking, unsafe sex, alcohol, dubious consent (alcohol involved), fingering

Just the thought of going out with your girls to celebrate Halloween and getting fucked by your teacher, Aizawa, in the restroom of some bar while you're wearing a costume and he's too drunk to notice it's you.

It's Halloween, and you use the occasion as a chance to dress up as a slut, of course, opting for a tight, black tube dress and high heels that are definitely brought together by the cheap cat ears you stole from your bestie and the shitty nose and whiskers your friend drew on you while half-drunk. You slap on a venetian-styled mask, hoping to maybe elevate your trashy couture a little bit. It doesn't, but it at least hides your identity pretty efficiently when aided by the mirage of night time.

He is the last person you expect to see in the bar, dressed up as Dracula too, and you're glad that your girlfriends aren't part of the hero course, because it would be pretty embarrassing to confess how horny you are for your teacher, and have been for a long time. Usually, you wouldn't even bother saying hi to him in public, already knowing that he would probably just choose to ignore you or just sigh at you for daring to bother him outside of class.

But tonight, you're brave, sexy and most of all, drunk as hell, so you don't think twice of approaching him and hitting him with some random joke about vampires, probably an awful one considering how unimpressed he looks, but it's enough to distract him from the group of people he was hanging out with. You are glad you don't recognize any of them, so you can embarrass yourself with a little bit more freedom. You expect him to sigh when he realizes who you are, maybe entertain your bullshit a little bit and then tell you to go do your homework, but he doesn't. You quickly realize why: He doesn't recognize you. Holy shit.

You don't quite remember what the hell you blab about, and he probably doesn't either, because he spends most of the conversation just looking you up and down, which makes you nervous, as it could either mean that, option A, he is starting to realize who you are, or option B, he is checking you out. You don't know which one makes you dizzier.

You get your answer when he wraps his arm around your waist at some point, pulling you closer, his intoxicating cologne now invading all your senses, as he pretends to laugh at some dumb joke you spouted. He is pretending to laugh. He is pretending, so he can get on your good side. So he can fuck you. It makes electricity go right into your clit, your pussy throbbing around nothing. You look up at him, starry-eyed, absolutely enamored with your handsome teacher, too drunk to realize what you're getting yourself into.

He whispers something in your ear, about wanting to get some privacy with you, talk more quietly. You agree enthusiastically, but are surprised when instead of leading you outside, he drags you into the restroom.

It happens.

Him pinning you against the wall and kissing you desperately, probably thinking you're just some hot slut he picked up at a bar rather than one of his students. You roll your eyes back at feeling of his tongue in your mouth, the taste of whiskey and nicotine quickly flooding your senses as you remember the fact that this is the same man who scolded you for smoking during breaks, who scrunched his nose and told you this was a disappointment coming from you. The same man who grabbed your wrist and made you drop the cigarette when you refused to do so.

The same strong hands now groping you desperately, slapping your ass and making it jiggle. You hug his neck with your arms, standing in your tippy toes as he has fun squeezing you, pinching you, abusing you as much as he wants, because in his mind, you're some whore who is going to let him do whatever he wants.

Him sliding a finger into you and loving the way you arch your back and moan at the intrusion, both in pain and pleasure, a smug smirk trailing on his lips as he sees you struggle to even take a mere finger. Making a nasty comment about how you feel like a virgin, about how he's going to wreck you and stretch you out real good, about how pretty sluts like you are begging for it. It makes your stomach flip, both from shock and arousal, as your mind struggles to process this side of him. You almost feel attacked at the rough treatment, wondering what you did to turn the barely interested man back in the bar into this mean, obscene version of himself, but then you realize it's because you look so fucking hot he can't stop himself. In his eyes, you're some dumb, young bitch he's going to use tonight.

He kisses your neck while he fingers your pussy, struggling to even get halfway in there, having to use the full strength of his arm to bury knuckle deep into you. Your eyes roll back into your head as your lips part open, breathless. He plants wet, sloppy kisses on your neck, and the prickling of his beard against his neck reminds you that you're being fingered by your goddamn teacher, who always refuses to give you the 10% in your final grade because of your "rebellious" behavior. You bite your lip, heart beating wildly, tangling your fingers in his long hair as he sucks a hickey into your throat, and wonder what the fuck is wrong with you.

You know he is very much drunk when he doesn't bother with protection, instead choosing to turn you around, pin you against the wall and bully his raw cock into your tight pussy. You want to object at this, but he slaps a hand on your mouth, and for the first time in the night, you feel a twinge of fear run down your spine. Would it be a bad time to make a joke about how you're disappointed in him? Before you can make the decision, you squeal at the sensation of his fat cock head stretching you painfully, bigger than anything you ever had before. He grunts, frustrated at the tight fit, as he forces the entirety of his thick cock inside you, inch by excruciating inch as you do your best to accommodate your dear teacher. You always imagined him to be big when he would star in your wet dreams, but you never imagined him to be this...overwhelming.

He fucks you slowly at first, enjoying the way your plump ass jiggles when he thrusts into you. You moan sweetly, hypnotized by the way the pain slowly becomes sticky pleasure, as you push your hips back, meeting his thrusts rhythmically, and you realize this is probably the first time you two have ever agreed on anything. He is always too busy scolding you for shit, acting like a disapproving dad. You giggle dumbly, as the words escape your lips before you can calculate them, "Nngh, harder, daddy."

Everything suddenly stops.

You blink, slightly sobered now, wondering if you freaked him out, or even worse, made him realize who you really are. What an unfortunate epiphany to have while being balls deep inside you. You slightly turn around, concerned, but a hand on your head forcefully pins you against the wall again.

Out of nowhere, he picks up the pace, it's brutal enough to make the cubicle shake. His hand viciously wraps around your throat, pressing down on your windpipe hard enough to take away any oxygen going into your lungs. Your eyes widen as he starts fucking you at a brutal pace, shifting your body so he can put your leg on his shoulder and fuck you even deeper. Your other leg dangles on the air, as he now effortlessly uses you as a little sex doll, and the mere thought of you is enough to push you into the hot, white edge. You moan a loud, obscene "Oh fuck, dadddyyyyyy~" as you cum, the waves of pleasure hitting you like a truck.

Your walls flutter and squeeze around his cock, pushing him into his own orgasm, as he finishes with a brutal thrust, and a broken grunt. You feel yourself being filled up your teacher's hot, warm cum, shot inside you one, two, three times, painting your insides white. You almost cum again at the exquisite feeling and the thought of being accidentally knocked up by Aizawa.

Drunk in the post-orgasm haze, and still as stupid as ever, you wonder if this will finally force him to give you that extra 10%.

[gamblersdoll]

fwb , agegap, (aizawa is 39 and youre 25) a little mean aizawa, sir kink

he could be a dick if he truly wanted to— i mean, he already was.

aizawa never made time, (which was somewhat true) considering the fact he were a teacher at a very prestigious university. sure, he always had these long, long hours that never would have been able to see you.

he also never replied correctly to your own messages— what did you expect? you both met at some bar and started fucking every other weekend or something like that. but.. thats why you stuck around, because you could be mad at him, but he could make you forget about it.

something about a man having a fat dick that wasnt cut was attractive.

“you never answer my calls, my texts, but when you want something from me—“

“am i supposed to answer twenty four seven?” he asks dumb, knowing the answer to that. “you get fucked for the first time in months and youre crazy for me.” he swirls his fingers around the zipper of his sleeping sack, just hoping and ready for you to stay quiet and he finally gets rest.

“you know what— fuck you shota. dont bother coming over again.” you grit your teeth, rolling your eyes. “you know, i couldve been having someone else fuck me, yet im stuck on you.”

he nods and sucks his teeth, knowing those famous last words.

“said not to come over again, right?” he has the most stoic face— only difference is he had his eyebrows knitted together and he bit his lip. “why cant you just be a good girl and know when to act right?”

“sir,” you mewled, toes curling and feeling them go numb from how tight of the curl, “so, so sorry!” youre so close, youve been close for the past thirty minutes. but hes pissed for whatever reason he had. “fuck—ing sorry!”

“bet you are.” he mumbles, spitting on your breasts and he presses his forehead against yours. “what was that last part you said.. something about having other men fuck ya’?” he nods, remembering those words. “just a pretty young thing, but imagine if someone else swooped you up.”

[sems-diarie]

nothing just thinking of being pissy w aizawa bc u haven’t seen him in so long frfr

“you never indulge me,” you whine, the hem of your dress falling back to your thigh. something about the harsh look he gives you has you stumbling back a step. shota has always been.. harsh, blunt—about what he wants, what he needs.

you’re starting to think you aren’t in that category.

not a want, nor a need—shota sits in his study all evening and slots his arm around your waist in the dead of night, an afterthought seemingly. the act of spending time with you, of talking with you about more than just…

“work is.. pretty shit,” he wheezes. he hasn’t even looked you in the eyes yet. the hem of your dress is nonexistent, the cups of your bra tantalizing. your shota knows it’s all his; he takes his time drinking in the plumpness of you.

“i come home to sit you on my face,” shota grunts. he almost pinches the bridge of his nose. he’d rather come closer to you, keep you trapped against this mirror, in this little corner of the dressing room. “but instead,” he sighs, almost disappointed. “you wanna torture me. drag me out into the shopping center, into this tiny fucking dressing room—,”

“i like wearing things to your taste,” you hiss, eyes flashing his way. “sue me, husband.”

you huff when shota fixes you a look. it makes you try pressing back away from him, and right into the mirrored wall behind you. no where to go, you sit—pretty, pliant, and soft—between a rock and a hard place.

“and,” you try nudging him back at the chest. shota’s tits fill your tender hands splendidly, but your brickhouse husband does little more than clasp his fingers around your persistent wrists. “with the way you’ve been fleeing from me, how was i supposed to know you even wanted this kitty cat anymore?”

despite the inevitable blow to your dented heart, that shota would have little time for your petty wiles and longing hands, your fingers reach for him. despite the tenderness settling in your spine, you twitch when he steps closer. you’re aching, aching to melt into aizawa shota the way you need—the way he needs.

“sit me on your face?” you scoff, “when’s the last time we even talked for more than thirty seconds?”

“there’s nothing scary enough about you to send me running.” you want to strangle him a little when his words swirl through your ears.

“i know that,” your eyebrows pinch. “do you?”

[hurlingdown]

I read a fic a while ago about Omega All Might.

It was the fucking hottest shit ever.

All Might is of course the No. 1 hero, he has all these responsibilities and secrets. He’s never allowed to get close to people, which means whenever he goes into heat he has no alpha to take care of him ☹️☹️

Toshinori thinks of a different Alpha every heat, he’s not close to anyone so he takes advantage and fantasises with the scents and appearances of Alphas that grab his attention.

It just so happens his latest Alpha is also the new teacher at UA. Just an absolute unit of a guy. And Toshinori is fucking embarrassed.

Not even 3 days before, he had been fucking himself to a whiff of your smell - imagining your fingers reaching deep inside of him, imaging your knot catching his rim as you fill him with babies he knows his injury forbids him from having.

And he can’t help it.. he’s fantasising about you while he helps you plan and teach. He’s watching your lessons from the hallway, aching when your sleeves roll up and you preform the sexiest villain takedown move he had ever seen - it had him checking his pants to make sure he hadn’t leaked clean through.

Though he’s pretty sure when Midnight shoved you both into the janitors closet you can smell him going into pre-heat.

There’s something so sexy about both versions of all might, the big buff version that isn’t used to giving up control - blushing terribly when you kiss his neck, outright refusing to sit on your face in fear of breaking your neck (BREAK MY NECK YAGIII) and you have to pull him onto your mouth to finally shut him up.

And his skinny version, he’s self conscious,he thinks he’s disgusting and wrong and worthless.. and you kiss away his worries, slow and meaningful sex that makes him feel as good as saving people does. You make him feel loved without having to prove himself..

And even a darker thought.

Villain reader catching him off guard, seeing him leave All Mights office - thinking he’s someone close enough to warrant the number one hero’s attention - and Yagi is torn between transforming and getting the hell out of here and just playing along to not reveal his identity.

Though you’re not actually hurting him? You’re quite kind, musing to him, feeding him, petting his hair and loosening his ropes only slightly when you see him wince in discomfort. He’s thoroughly confused.. until you start fantasising out loud of what you’d do to All Might - how you’d fuck him, how you believe he’s taste on your tongue, how you’d test to see how many fingers he could fit inside of him, maybe your whole hand!

You’re a creeper, hellbent on fucking the life from the number one hero. And Toshinori is sat there, slack jawed, and embarrassingly hard.

I just. I just want him so bad 😭😭😭

Don’t even get me started on the weird Student/Teacher dynamic (18+ I’m not a weirdo) I want with Mr. Aizawa 😩😩

- 🐉

Thank you for letting me get that out Hurly Swirly

i'm going to be needing that omega! all might fic you found. i swear, all of you are opening my eyes with these thirsts.

all might practically drooling and leaking uncontrollably in his underwear watching you being busy out there taking down villains is so hot. toshinori is no small guy (lmao) but you make him feel small. seat him on your lap or face with your cock nestled deep inside or your tongue shoved into his rim, and show him that all of this is light work. you can take him easy, it doesn't matter if you're sparring or fucking. grab his hair while you're pounding into him from behind, and whisper in his ear all the dirty, brutal things you want to do to him. fold him in half, bend him over the couch, spank his ass till it bruises, make love day and night till he's all sore and overstimulated.

he might be the strongest hero out there, but in your arms, he needs that vulnerability only you can give him.

[shiganshinaslut]

I’m so stupid & sensitive I need to be treated softly by Aizawa T-T m his little babie kitty ok..

Wanna be enveloped n held in his safe arms.. wanna feel his warmth while he strokes my hair and soothes me quietly (T ^ T)

[suguru-getos]

Thoughts on Aizawa? The skrunkly eraser man?

Ahahaha oh my god Aizawa huh? I wanna write something about him now

Aizawa hcs (nsfw/sfw):

Quiet, thoughtful, introverted and serene man. He carries all the characteristics of being perfect in his own way. Gives his work and the people close to him an assertive prioritiy and also shows that. For his s/o he would definitely do the same. They come above his work sometimes because that’s who he is. Hardwired to be a genuine caregiver.

He doesn’t put much thought into dressing up, but does take care of himself physically. Regular workouts and trainings, helping his students train with him. Appearance wise I think he couldn’t care less. However that doesn’t mean he does not understand the significance of dressing appropriately at a given situation. He would put a lot of effort when there are planned outings, dates, press conferences. It’s his regular attire that he prefers not to mull over into much.

He loves coffee of course, as an underground hero he doesn’t have much energy to cope up throughout his day except with a stronf espresso. He would be completely hypocritical and chid his s/o about not drinking much coffee and how it overstimulates your already tired brain & makes it even more tired. “It will have high stress hormones, Cortisol. Then you��d be unable to rest. It will give you anxiety.” Yes sure Aizawa sensei, sure -_-

He loves bringing his partner flowers, he is a hardcore gentleman and wants to behave that way. Even when there’s the smallest of occaisions, you’d have huge bouquets for yourself. Your period? You had a good day? Anything and everything.

Is possessive in a caring way, “Oh you’re going out, great! Have fun.” Would text you every two hours about it though ;-;

He can’t cook for shit but is happy to do that when required and would methodically follow the recipie and everything. He just prefers in acts of service as his love language and is very keen to show it.

Uses $$ like a sugar daddy to spoil you. <3

He can use his words to comfort you during bad times and he is pretty good at it, hugging you, craddling you close to his chest and kissing you. Telling you how proud he truly is of you. This man is the standard, mkay?

Nsfw hcs 😏:

Hardcore pleasure dom, he gives a fuck only about your pleasure which inturn, gets him hard. He loves having you by the lap and cockwarming you though, like to see you struggle and try to buck your hips against him.

Funishments is where it’s at. He loves to use his capture weapon to tie you up with your legs spread apart, eat your cunt for hours if needed (of course giving you enough breaks) but it’s his hobby to make you squirm and whine & cry.

Aftercare king and would soothingly rub any areas that are bruised, would draw out a bath for you, order your favorite snacks, tell you how much you are loved. Have you on his lap while he kisses your forehead, plays with your hair. All the cutesy stuff UnU

His favorite position is to bench press you because he just wants to see your face when his cock destroys your cunt with his railing thrusts.

Nipple play king and has once made you cum just from playing/toying with your titties.

Aizawa also loves to edge you, he just loves to be in control and what better than controlling the very desire and need of your body? Your orgasm? He’d stop, or have you asking/begging for permission as he pounds your sweet pussy.

[sweets-library]

Tw: nsft, punishment, spanking, brat taming

I’ll write another one about this later but Aizawa is definitely the man that lets nothing slide ever. You would think no, he’s tired he’s chill and you’re right! Until the end of the night. My man eats brats for breakfast you are so cooked seasoned and plated. He has mentally noted every eye roll, every ignored question, every not so subtle attempt at teasing him, and by the end of the night? You’re fucked. My man will know exactly what punishment you don’t want and that’s the one he’s picking, you don’t have to tell him. You thought you were in for a fun little spanking? NAUR girl he’s got you kneeling in rice cock down your throat while he IGNORES YOU.

He’s so mean (you love it) he will lay out every wrong doing and assign a specific portion of punishment one by one. 5 spanks for per eye roll, 2 with the belt per backtalk, a denied orgasm for every time you tried to distract him from his work, your punishment tab by the end of the day is FULL. Good luck babe bc listen, he doesn’t seek out a brat! But he certainly knows exactly how to handle one, and if you want to keep the skin on your ass unbruised for more than a day you kinda accept that you might not wanna be a brat anymore!

[bitthisweekend]

Gojo and Aizawa Fucking the udder shit out of you

Warnings: Overstim, 2 doms/1 sub, oral (f &m receiving & giving), pure uncut smut😁

MDNI 🔞 (your welcome sinners😉🤫)

You absolutely have no idea how or what got you in this situation but as you’re desperately grasping for the desk and sanity, these two godly men are having turns fucking you into oblivion.

You were aimlessly talking to Itadori and Deku, at an exchange event, about the best strategies taking down villains and exercising curses. When these two ask to talk to you… privately. One thing led to another, and here you are Japan’s strongest sorcerer eating you out while you sucking class 1A’s home room teacher’s cock like a lollipop.

“Oh my god she tastes so good” Gojo says, coming up for air, shortly before going back to eating you out. “ You keep that up” Aizawa groans as you moan and whine around his length as you cum again just from Gojo licking your sensitive clit, “Imma cum all the way down that pretty throat of yours, kitty cat.” Aizawa grabs a handful of your hair starts forcing you back and forth on his cock, meanwhile Gojo is beginning to get restlessly horny just from the sight of you spread out in front of him. So in retaliation, he says “Get ready, baby” as he slowly pumps his cock in his hand a few times before teasing your entrance with his tip “because I’m not holding back any more.”

With a final shove, Gojo’s cock was in and Aizawa was immediately cumming down your throat, due to you screaming on his cock, and jealous, “Gojo” he says through gritted teeth “put her on her side and you Fuchs her pussy and I fuck her ass.”

“sure” was all you heard before being flipped on your side and fucked relentlessly by the two senseis and you knew damn well that weren’t walking out of this period. As they both abused your holes all you could was moan for the pleasure, whine from overstimulation, and mumble nonsense and say their names while panting. In all and all, this is normal, but what caught you off guard was that they were working together to fuck you up. It was until Gojo said “ She’s clamping down for me” that you knew you fucked up…..

“N-n-o — nnghh— it’s me. Right ki-t—Ty” Aizawa moans struggling to keep it together. Thru their arguing and interrupting moans, they both buckle their hips and are praising you for doing an “amazing job” and not passing out

(AN: this my first ever smut. So please show me where I need improvement in writing and stay horny sinners😏)

[the-faceless-bride]

Hello! So I already have one (two kinda) Yandere/creep READER but it’s for COD would anyone be interested in Yandere Creep reader but BnHa?

Lemme know 😀🎀