#bnha 18

[hkartincolor]

Ch 18: Kids to the rescue

[all-panels-of-uraraka]

[greenhappyseed]

MHA Chapter 18 (USJ) vs 386

[dabisbratz]

𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

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

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

You’re back home for the summer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s fucked.

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

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart could almost burst.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep. He’s fucked.

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

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

“I think you got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can see that.”

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

There’s always something in your mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

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

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

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

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

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

Shouta is avoiding you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmph.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only it were his cock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were holding hands.

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

And that isn’t even it.

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

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

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

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

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else would I say?”

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

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

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

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

“Show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

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

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

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

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

But it does.

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

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

Delayed gratification.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

“Sweet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

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

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

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

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

And that’s all you need to hear.

[3dmanswhore]

do you? | k. bakugou

3.2k words

content: nsfw, mdni, aged up characters, fem!reader, established (ex) relationship, friends w benefits, fluffy smut, unprotected sex, unedited & lowkey badly written

tbh didn’t even plan on writing this as smut but it just kind of turned into it as i kept writing it 💀, might have to go on another 2+ year hiatus over the embarrassment

other than fucking with no strings attached, Katsuki and i hadn’t seen each other much since our last year at UA. especially at ungodly hours such as right now.

when he would sneak into my dorm after a big fight, silently cuddling up to my half-asleep figure. i would mindlessly stroke his hair and fall back asleep, sometimes waking up to him, or just after he had left.

but here he was now.

at 3am, in my apartment.

only having had the key to unlock the place because i gave it to him for the sake of convenience. for when he calls on me in the middle of a drunken night.

he’s standing at the foot of my bed and staring straight at me, the lit up screen of his phone which he used as a flashlight illuminating his tired features in the dark.

“the fuck are you starin’ at”, he says in his usual bitter tone.

i grimace at him, “the fuck are you doin’ here?”, i say in a slightly softer tone, only because i was too tired to try to outmatch him in a field he was far too experienced in: yelling.

“what do you think?”, he says matter-of-factly. and while i usually don’t mind the booty calls. in fact, sometimes i even seek them out, i’m definitely not up for it right now. not without warning, at least.

i groan as i prop myself up on my elbows, “the hell is wrong with you? i told you i’m not fucking you unannounced, especially not when you just let yourself into my apartment.”

he lets out an annoyed groan, pulling his phone up to his face as he starts to vigorously type on it.

a few seconds later, i hear a ping from my own phone. picking it up, i see the far too familiar text message pop up as a notification: i’m coming over.

“you’re already over, dumbass”, i groan as i scoot to the far end of the bed, making space for him.

he shuts his phone off, laying it down next to my own one.

he takes his shirt off, flinging it to some dark corner of my room.

he gets into bed, his hand brushing against my shoulder as he pulls the sheets over us both.

and he…

turns around?

his back facing me?

my eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “what the fuck are you doing?”, i ask in a slightly raised whisper.

without even turning around to face me, he answers, slightly muffled as he talks into the pillow. “what the fuck does it look like?”

“i have no idea”, i answer honestly, “did you seriously just come here for a sleepover?”

i hear him shuffle in the dark as he turns around to look at me, propped up on his elbow as he glares down at me. “you just said you didn’t wanna fuck. i’m tryna sleep”, he looks at me expectantly, as if waiting for a nod of approval before he can go back to sleeping.

“is this like reverse psychology? you think i’m gonna wanna fuck if you suddenly don’t?”, i’m still confused on why he even came over.

he tsks in response, flinging my forehead, “you think you’re all that”, he says harshly but i can sense a playful undertone in the words. “i can’t fall asleep in an empty bed, you should know that from our failed relationship.”

i stayed silent and he turned to lie on his back, facing the ceiling with his hands clasped over his bare chest. his eyes were open but he didn’t say a word, just steadily breathed as he waited for a response from me.

“i didn’t know that”, i said softly as i adjusted my position, scooting a bit closer to him as my face was now mere inches from his shoulder.

he hummed as he kept blinking at the ceiling. “why do you think i always came back to you”, he said just above a whisper, as if he didn’t even want me to hear it.

“well, i would like to think it’s due to how amazing of a girlfriend i was”, i said sarcastically as i copied his posture, studying the ceiling with him as if we were stargazing.

he snorted sarcastically, which admittedly, slightly hurt.

“what was that for!? i wasn’t that bad”, i said in disbelief, sitting up slightly as i stared at him with a shocked expression.

he side-eyed me, and i could almost notice a smirk playing on his features. “you were fuckin’ psycho, y/n”

i hit his chest, rolling my eyes as i laid back down, accidentally resting my head on his shoulder.

i thought he might shrug me off, but instead he extended his arm around me.

we were now cuddling.

i can’t remember us cuddling much even when we dated.

he said he hated the unnecessary heat coming from my body, though i would always wake up to him spooning me, or squeezing me to near death like i was his plushy.

“i was only psycho because you gave me reasons to be”, i retorted, knowing it was only partly true.

it’s true that, in my reckless and hormonal teenage-hood, i could be extremely jealous and possessive. but he could have worked out less, or gotten a bad haircut, or done something to get the girls to stop fawning over him.

the only thing that pushed away the flocks was his shitty attitude, but i’m sure some were even more turned on by it.

“despite your beliefs, i never cheated on you once”, i know he didn’t. “hell, i never even looked at another girl besides you”, he must have meant ‘while we were together’, but i guess it was common sense that didn’t need to be specified.

still, it made my heart churn: the possibility that i was the only one who managed to capture his attention, ever.

the idea gave me a disgusting sense of importance. one so suffocating it might throw me into old habits of trying to get his approval at all costs.

instead of saying something that would ruin the moment and push him away, i hummed in response as i turned to wrap around his warm, and slightly sweaty torso.

thankfully, because of his quirk, he never smelled bad. if anything, i think the sweet-scented sweat made him just that much more intoxicating.

the hand he had wrapped around me rubbed soothing circles into my shoulder, and i could tell by his quickening heartbeat and uneven breath, that even the great Katsuki was capable of feeling nervous.

“i miss this”, he says softly, and i’m sure it is a sentence he will regret muttering in the morning — when he’s not affected by the drowsiness and hypnagogia.

my heart skips a beat as i continue tracing the lines of his muscles, “you do?” is all i can say to not reveal my own feelings on the matter.

“do you?”, he asks instantly, so much so i’m not even sure he meant to say it aloud.

he grabs my tracing hand with his free one, bringing it up to his face as he kisses at my palm, and each section of each finger, the kisses becoming more hungry as he digs his face into my touch like an abandoned hound.

i can only utter his name, my voice shaky as i mindlessly inch my face closer to his.

his usually angry eyes almost look like they are pleading now.

his arm has now moved to my waist as he tries to pull me closer, our chests touching not being enough.

his other hand moves to the back of my neck as he pushes my face down on his. he hungrily nips at my lips, and if i wasn’t so used to his touch i would think he was trying to devour me whole.

we hadn’t kissed like this in such a long time. even during this weird arrangement of ours that had been going on for months, we’d only lock our lips for the sake of muffling the moans and gasps.

as he pulled me in even closer, my shirt now having ridden up almost completely — my chest the only thing stopping it in place, i was now straddling him as he moved his hand to somewhere more interesting than my bare waist.

he squeezed my ass and i let out a gasp to which he only deepened the kiss, stealing the air from my lungs.

i wasn’t sure whether i was feeling lightheaded because he was so inebriating or because of the lack of oxygen going to my brain.

but my judgment was clouded, that was for sure.

i didn’t even want to think of what would happen between us in the morning. perhaps he really was just using psychological tricks to get me to sleep with him tonight. i definitely wouldn’t put it past him.

but i couldn’t care enough right now. i just wanted his touch. i needed it. i had missed it for so long. not the lustful, mindless one i’d been feeling recently, but this — the hungry, desperate touch that leaves bruises in places no bruises should be.

he detaches himself from my lips and moves to nipping on my jaw, and my neck.

i hung my head in the space where his neck and shoulder connect, breathing heavily and whining right into his ear as he teeths at that sweet spot he knew so well of.

he bucks his hips up, searching for even the slightest friction as he continues working on my collar area.

i close my eyes, trying to stop the dizzying feeling in my head. but breathing him in while listening to his quickened heartbeat doesn’t do much to help.

he pulls away, forcing my hips down onto his own and causing me to sit up as i use his heaving chest as an anchor.

he squeezes my bare thighs, his fingers hooking themselves around the waistband of my underwear. he pulls on it softly as if testing the elasticity, his red eyes gleaming at me hungrily.

“did you know i was coming? is that why you only wore this?”, he gruffly said, still playing with the waistband of my panties as his other hand rubbed my back, riding up my tank-top even higher.

i think he knew this was just how i always slept, that it had nothing to do with him. but in this moment, he must have just needed to hear me say it: yes, katsuki, all of this is for you.

so i did, ignoring the fact that it wasn’t true.

he closed his eyes for a moment before sitting upright, holding me to his chest so i wouldn’t fall off as he readjusted us both.

“i’ll make it worth your while”, he said reassuringly, cupping my face with his calloused hand, giving my cheeks a squeeze as he planted a kiss on the tip of my nose.

melting at his touch as i always did, i rested my forehead against his as he looked down at his boxers, trying to pull them down with my legs still straddling him.

i lifted myself up to allow him space as he finally managed to kick them off.

i sat back down, his sprung up cock twitching between our torsos.

he stroked it once, the precum leaking onto my bare stomach as he slapped it against me.

i felt myself leaking on his lap, grinding on him, desperate to feel him inside me, but playing it off as just readjusting myself.

but he knew the truth.

he knew i needed him just as badly as he did me, maybe even more.

he slowly pulled my top off, admiring the way my tits bounced at the motion.

he squeezed my waist, muttering a curse under his breath as we locked eyes again.

“d’you have a condom?”, i asked as i ran a finger through his hair, watching as his eyebrows knitted at the pulling sensation.

“fuck”, he said more clearly now as his head fell, and i knew what the answer was. at least i was now sure he didn’t come here just to fuck.

i shook my head reassuringly, “i’ll get the morning-after pill tomorrow” i knew it was a dumb idea. even in that drunken passion haze, i knew it. i knew it was too risky, and that those things were only about 90% effective — and that is if i remembered to take it on time.

but i couldn’t pass on this opportunity. i couldn’t let him just go home after all of this.

Katsuki was smart, he knew it was a dumb idea, too. but he stayed quiet, nodding silently as he once again started playing with the band of my panties.

i planted soft kisses on his temple, nipping on his ear knowing it was one of his many weaknesses.

he let out a long sigh, mumbling something about ripping off my underwear.

they were an expensive pair, so i’m not sure why i agreed to it, nodding vigorously as i mumbled his name desperately.

like it was just a piece of string, he ripped them off swiftly, pulling them out from under me and throwing them somewhere to the side.

i once again rested on his forehead, watching as he slowly pumped his thick cock against my folds, squealing at the sensation.

we both knew there was no need for further foreplay. maybe when we were younger, we would take hours getting each other off with just our hands and mouths before finally sealing the deal.

but now, there was no need. not only because we were both as horny as one could be, but because we were also so exhausted. unsure whether it was due to the fact that it was nearly 4am and we were running on almost zero hours of sleep, or simply because we were getting older and didn’t have the same stamina we did when we were eighteen or nineteen.

he grabbed my thigh with one hand, lifting me off slightly as i grabbed his shoulder for support, squirming as he rubbed his tip all over my leaking pussy before finally sliding it in completely.

i let out a loud whine, hiding my face into his hair as he kept both hands on my ass.

i wrapped my arms around his neck and he kissed my shoulder, “you good?” he asked as he moved one hand to rub my upper arm in comfort.

i nodded as i let out a sigh, mumbling his name and a pathetic command to fill me up.

he listened, of course, rocking his hips up into me as he simultaneously lifted me off himself, trying to create a rhythm between the two movements.

“c’mon baby, ride me. you know how well you do it”, he almost begged. praise wasn’t something Katsuki practiced in our bedroom life, ever. if anything, he did the opposite. but i think in this moment, he was too exhausted to carry both our loads and get himself off at the same time.

i obliged, lifting myself off him slowly and dropping back down. he desperately bucked into me, unsatisfied with the speed i was going at.

i swirled my hips on him, as if i was tracing patterns with the movement. he let out a broken whine, sinking his head into my chest as i finally picked up the speed.

the sound of skin slapping skin echoed around the room, and i was sure i would get noise complaints from the neighbors in the morning.

he left wet kisses on my chest, breathing heavily as i continued bouncing on him.

i was starting to get tired, my pace faltering as i whined nonsense into his ear. “you fill me up so good, ‘tsuki”, i knew the effect my dumb nicknames had on him.

he always pretended to hate it, and only wanted me to call him by his name. but i always noticed the way his eyes would glint when i’d throw a petname into our conversations.

he suddenly wrapped his arms tightly around my torso, stopping my ability to move as he started pounding into me. the bed was creaking, and i’m pretty sure we even managed to push it from its position as i tried to grab onto the wall behind it.

i let out a loud moan as i wrapped myself around him again, feeling his thick cock fill me up as it pulsated inside of me.

his length hit the deepest part of my insides, and the rhythmic pounding of that sweet spot overwhelmed me with pleasure as i heaved desperately into his ear.

“don’t stop, Katsuki”, i whimpered into his ear, letting out more moans as i dug my fingernails into his back to try and suppress the feeling, but to no avail.

he groaned, holding me tightly as he suddenly turned us around so i was lying underneath him.

he kept up the pace, resting his forehead against mine as he stared into my eyes.

i let out a cry of pleasure, my breath hitching as my heaving mixed with the mumbling of his name and pleads to keep going.

he didn’t stop, but over time his thrusts became sloppy. i watched his face distort in pleasure as he closed his eyes to focus on the thrusts, resting his head in the crook of my neck.

“don’t stop, baby, i’m so close”, the only words of encouragement i could think of in this moment. i ran my hand through his hair, pulling his head up so he could see how good he was making me feel.

he let out a desperate whine, coating my chest with peppered kisses as he kept thrusting into me.

now the sound of squelching and mixed liquids filled the room, along with our desperate wails of pleasure.

“fill m’up with your cum, baby. ‘want to feel you inside”, i whimpered incoherently, pulling him in closer as i wrapped my legs around his hips.

he let out a groan as his pace quickened once more. he held one arm besides my head, propping himself up — while he slithered the other one down to my heat, rubbing my clit until i couldn’t tell whether i was moaning out of pleasure or pain.

the combined sensation of his sex filling me up and his rough fingers overworking my clit proved to be too much as i unraveled all over him, crying out his name desperately as i clung onto him.

his breathing started getting heavier as he kept pumping into me, trying to bring himself to a finish as he rode out my own.

i moaned words of encouragement into his ear, peppering kisses on his jaw and neck until i finally felt his cock twitching inside of me.

he let out a prolonged moan as his semen squirted inside of me, Katsuki pumping himself inside a few more times to ride out the orgasm.

i felt the juices leak out of me as he tiredly pulled out, still lying on-top of me as he tried to pull the blanket over us.

he kept his head sunken in the crook of my neck, his breathing easing as he muttered something incomprehensible.

i brushed through his hair, listening to his calm breathing and feeling his heartbeat slow down to a normal speed.

“i missed you too, ‘tsuki”, i spoke softly, not even sure whether he was still awake to hear it.

[hotch33tos22]

Tomura Shigaraki X reader

“Stupid Questions.”

You were sitting on the bed, your back rested on the backboard. Tomura laid in between your tights as he played his most rageful games.

"Tomu..." you softly spoke as you twirled and played with his soft puffy hair.

He groaned as he felt your gentle fingers play with his locks, but he didn't dare move. In his mind he was more focused on the game, and he did not want to lose.

"..What..?"

"Can I ask you a question?..." you almost whispered as you looked down on him.

He grumbled under his breath as you questioned him mid-game. He felt annoyed, but he decided to answer in the end.

"What."

"What do you like about me?.." you spoke out as your heart thumped patiently waiting to hear what he had to say.

The question surprised him as he paused his game, giving you a side-eye glance.

He remained silent for a few seconds as if thinking, before he finally spoke.

'...Why do you ask...?"

He tried to maintain his usual emotionless demeanor, but the fact he paused the game spoke volumes on his genuine curiosity.

"just wondering..." your took a strand of his hair as you twirled it letting it go to turn into a somewhat curly spiral

He watched you play with his hair, your soft touch feeling nice on his head, and his usual stoic expression softened a bit.

"...Don't ask me stupid questions when I'm in the middle of a game."

He grumbled, his focus shifting to the game as he un-paused and continued playing.

"Oh..." your heart stopped thumping fast as your lips quivered,

"right..." you replied as you looked up to see him play to distract your mind instead.

He could feel your disappointment, and a tinge of guilt tugged at him. He was never one for sweet words, but he hated the thought of disappointing you in any way.

He took a sidelong glance at you, noticing your sad expression, which made him feel even more guilty. He grumbled under his breath, hesitating before he finally spoke again.

"I like... how gentle you are with me."

Your face quickly lid up , You tried to hide your happiness at his response as you looked down at him waiting to hear what else he had to say.

He felt a subtle blush creeping across his cheeks, uncharacteristic for him. He was clearly not used to this but continued nonetheless, trying to keep up his indifferent appearance.

"You... You know how to deal with me when I'm angry, you... don't push me too hard, and you..."

He stumbled over his words for a moment, searching for what to say next.

“..You know how to deal with me and you... tolerate my bullshit."

He muttered, his usual stoic veneer cracking a bit. He hated being vulnerable like this, but he also hated not giving you what you wanted.

He kept his eye on the game, avoiding your gaze.

If it was anymore possible your lips widen at his words, it felt nice being told that he liked about you...it was rare to see this side of Tomura... and you love it.

He could feel your eyes on him, and it was driving him insane. He hated being scrutinized like this, it made him feel vulnerable and exposed.

He wanted to look at you, but at the same time he didn't. He was torn between his usual grumpy indifference and wanting to give you the attention you wanted.

He grumbled under his breath, his grip on the game controller tightening.

'..Stop looking at me like that."

"Can't help it..."

His breath hitched at your response. He tried to maintain his composure, but he could feel his heart racing as he heard the playful tone in your voice.

He kept his focus on the game, but he was starting to lose his concentration. He was now more focused on how you were looking at him, and it was making him feel all sorts of things he didn't expect.

'..You're such a pain in the ass."

He grumbled, his hands feeling slightly sweaty against the controller.

"You wanna know what I like about you?"

You hummed as you took your eyes off him and watched him play.

He huffed in annoyance, but he was still paying attention to your words. He continued playing, albeit more distracted now due to your question.

He didn't respond, but he gave a small nod, indicating for you to continue.

"I like your protective...." You hummed with a smile plastered on you as you cupped his cheeks softly enough to not distract him.

His shoulders tensed slightly as you cupped his cheeks, but he leaned into your touch all the same. His heart thudded in his chest at your words, and he had to force himself to keep his focus on the game.

He grumbled under his breath, his cheeks feeling warm against your hand.

'Keep going."

You softly giggled at his words but even so you continued.

"I like it when although you're mad you still tell me to be careful or to take care when you have to go and never let me sleep upset..." your thumbs rubbed softly at his cheeks.

He tried to act nonchalant, but he couldn't stop himself from blushing. His face was turning redder by the second as you continued to praise him, and he could feel his heart beating faster and faster.

He grumbled under his breath, trying to disguise his growing embarrassment as irritation.

"...Shut up."

He muttered as he tried to concentrate on the game, but his fingers were starting to slip on the controller.

He was getting more and more flustered as you continued to praise him, and he couldn't help but feel a mix of annoyance and affection towards you. He knew he should pretend like he didn't care, but deep down he was loving every second of this.

"I love it when you act like you don't care if I'm upset or disappointed... but you still do little acts to cheer me up..." you giggled at the thought.

Tomura's heart thumped wildly in his chest at your words. He loved and hated the fact that you knew him so well. He tried to act like your praise meant nothing to him, but it was clear that it was affecting him greatly.

He tried to keep his focus on the game, but his fingers were now trembling slightly, and he was having a hard time controlling his character.

He grumbled under his breath, blushing even harder now.

'..Don't make me sound soft."

"Oh-!..I also love how cute you look while sleeping...when you pull me in to be closer...your face resting in between my chest."

You laughed as you continued rubbing on his cheeks looking down at his focused eyes on the game.

His face felt like it was on fire. No one had ever seen him like this before, and he was starting to feel overwhelmed.

He was struggling to retain his usual calm composure as you described how he acted when he was vulnerable, and it was making it all the harder to concentrate on the game.

He grumbled again, his voice betraying a hint of embarrassment.

'..Knock it off. I'm trying to play a damn game here."

As you fell silent, he finally had the chance to regain his focus. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. He was slowly starting to regain control of the game, but he couldn't completely ignore your presence next to him.

He could still feel your eyes on him, and he knew you were probably still smiling.

It was both annoying and endearing, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it.

He continued playing, but he was more aware of you than he was of the game itself.

"I love you.." you whispered softly as you watched him play

Tomura's fingers froze on the controller at your words. He wasn't used to hearing those words, and it always caught him off guard. He grumbled under his breath, feeling his cheeks heating up again.

He tried to act unfazed and continued playing the game, but his heart was racing.

He wanted to say the same, but the words just wouldn't come out. He was too embarrassed and too stubborn to admit it out loud. Instead, he just grumbled under his breath again and focused on the game, silently hoping you knew how he felt.

He continued playing the game, his mind preoccupied with your words. Your confession had left him feeling a mix of emotions, and he was having a hard time processing it all.

He kept his eyes fixated on the screen, but he was no longer really focused on the game. Instead, he was more aware of your presence next to him, the feel of your hands on his cheeks, and the sound of your voice.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't notice his character dying on the screen until it was too late.

"God damn it..." he cursed as the game over screen appeared. He grumbled under his breath and tossed the controller aside in annoyance, turning his attention back to you.

He looked up at you, his expression a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment.

You leaned down and nuzzled your nose with his,

"it's okay..." you whispered before pressing your lips against his to calm his frustrations

Tomura's heart nearly skipped a beat as your nose nuzzled against his. He was about to say something snarky, but your quick action shut him up instantly.

He froze for a moment, his mind going blank as he felt the softness of your lips against his. The shock of it all caught him off guard, and he couldn't even react at first.

He was still in a daze from your unexpected kiss, but he instinctively leaned into your touch as you played with his hair. The soothing feeling of your fingers against his scalp was calming, and he found himself relaxing against your thighs.

He closed his eyes, a subtle hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He tried to stay grumpy and act like this didn't affect him, but deep down, he was secretly loving every minute of it.

He lay there, letting you play with his hair and enjoying the feeling of your fingers caressing his scalp. He was tempted to say something snarky, but he didn't want to ruin the moment.

Instead, he just lay there in silence, his heart racing and his mind swirling with conflicting emotions. On one hand, he was annoyed at how easily you had disarmed him. On the other hand, he was grateful for the comfort and attention you were giving him.

"I love you..." you repeated your words,

Tomura's eyes opened at the sound of your voice, his heart skipping a beat as you repeated those three words. He hated how hearing those words from you made him feel so vulnerable, but at the same time, he couldn't deny that he loved it.

He grumbled under his breath, but this time, his usual bite wasn't there.

"...! love you too..." he muttered quietly, his voice barely audible.

[miss-jaye]

mdni, read at your own risk. (yes. i am of legal age. yes, it's on my page.)

you planned to just bring him lunch and meet up with some friends, but your lips looked so pretty with the lip gloss you put on today. shoto couldn't resist wanting them on his dick.

you sit under his desk, his legs spread, bulge showing through his suddenly too-tight pants. you start by kissing the bulge, hearing him exhale shakily.

you bite his zipper and slowly pull it down. shoto gulps as you kiss the top of his shaft and begin working your way down.

he lets out a quiet groan, placing his elbow on the desk and gripping his face. "o-ohh.. shit."

you take him in, swiping your tongue around the tip, just how you know he likes it.

shoto throws his head back and groans in pleasure, threading his hand through your hair, gripping gently. "that's it.. oh, you're doing s-so.. fuck.. so well.. my love."

you hum, sending vibrations through his cock, making him jolt. you bob your head up and down, sucking on it.

he lets out little whimpers and moans your name. suddenly, a buzz is heard, then a voice: "hello sir, pro heroes deku, dynamight, and red riot are here to see you. shall i let them in?"

your dual haired husband curses under his breath, forgetting about the meeting. he's always on time for work. he knows if he doesn't let them in, they'll make up some ridiculous reason or force their way in.

shoto clears his throat, leans forward slightly, and tries to cover his blush. "let them in."

you take his cock out of your mouth and place small kisses on it. your husband makes a small noise of protest when he can't feel the warmth of your mouth anymore.

you hear the door open and heavy footsteps follow. "what the hell, icyhot? why the fuck aren't you answering your damn phone?"

you're not worried; you're completely covered by his desk. "sorry, i was busy."

"oh no, it's alright, shoto-kun! we just came by because we were worried," deku says, waving a hand with a comforting smile.

"yeah, todo-bro! we'll catch you up!" kirishima grins. you smirk slightly and take him in your mouth again. you feel him grip your hair tighter, but he doesn't stop you.

you lightly squeeze the base as you suck, making him cough slightly to cover a moan. "thank you."

as they catch up the dual-haired man on what he missed, he's barely listening.

finally, the pro heroes notice his weird behavior. "you sick or something, icyhot?" bakugo raises an eyebrow, glancing at shoto's blush.

"do you need water? we can get some for you," deku asks, looking concerned. he's so sweet, not knowing what's happening under the desk.

"n-no, i'm fine. i-" shoto cuts himself off as he feels his climax rising. "fuck-" he grips your hair harder, hiding his face with his other hand, gritting his teeth.

you do your best to help him finish faster, squeezing his balls and swirling your tongue around the tip.

"woah, shoto, dude. you okay?" kirishima asks. shoto grunts, finishing in your mouth. he exhales shakily, clears his throat, and avoids his friends' gazes.

you clean him up with your tongue, then grin. you push him back slightly to make room and stand up.

you hear chokes and gasps as you place his length back in his pants. you mischievously swipe your thumb at the corner of your lips and lick it for him to see.

he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing. you giggle, grab your bag from under the desk, and smile at the other pro heroes. deku and kirishima blush brightly, while bakugo smirks behind his hand. you're aware your hair is messy from shoto's grip.

"gentlemen," you nod at them and walk toward the door. gripping the handle, you turn back and flash your husband a pretty smile, your lip gloss smudged, making him groan in frustration.

"see you at home, darling."

you leave, intending to freshen up, leaving the men in the room in silence.

"we do not speak of this."

deku and kirishima nod frantically while bakugo laughs heartily. "so bold, half n' half. didn't know you were like that," he snickers.

bakugo promises not to speak of it… in front of other people. he'll take any chance he gets to tease shoto about it when it's just them.

[hkartincolor]

Ch 18 - double page

[all-panels-of-uraraka]

[yammpi3]

𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀 𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 𝙀𝙉𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙆𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙤 𝙏𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙢𝙞 [𝙃𝙖𝙬𝙠𝙨]

synopsis. You were a former hero commission hero but when you made a simple mistake in a mission the commission sent you on they deemed you unfit and fired you, hence made you out to be a villain to the public. A few years later you meet your old partner Hawks out on his nightly patrol then you guys make up….made out .. :3

— content warnings. sorta plot with smut, eating out, p to v, kissing, sex sex sex, not really coordinated well? i think? dom/sub hawks

— W.C 2.3k

— authors note. This has been rotting in my drafts for like a year now but i thought i should post something…so..heres this!! Im rlly sorry if it’s formatted kinda weirdly, imo the smut is also written sorta weird but i think thats just me..overthinking it ANYWAYS enjoy reading <33 also Thank you FOR 100 FOLLOWERS?? i didn’t expect my blog would reach that much so TYTY.

Hawks sighed heavily, leaning back in his office desk chair, elbows propping on the armrests. He rubbed his tired eyes, tilting his head back, attempting to avoid eye contact with the stack of paperwork that lay out before him.

Every muscle in his body ached with exhaustion. It felt like he had been sitting in this same spot for days, poring over reports and documents in an endless cycle of busy work. As the number-two hero, the public demanded nothing but his very best. They expected him to always be alert and swift in responding to any crisis, dealing with volatile situations and dangerous villains with calm precision. 

But they didn't see this part. They didn't witness the countless late nights spent filling out forms, compiling statistics, and attending meetings after meetings. No cameras captured the headaches induced by mind-numbing bureaucracy or the frustration of dealing with petty politics. This was the hidden cost of his elevated rank—an incessant paper-pushing grindstone that wore him down more than any actual fight ever could. 

 

Slowly dragging his hands down his face, Hawks sighed again as the aches and knots of tension complained loudly in his neck and shoulders. For a brief moment, he considered using his feathers to shred just a few stray documents, to do less work. 

He stretched his arms over his head and rolled his tense muscles, his wings fluttering restlessly behind him. All he wanted at that moment was to forget. To spread his wings and fly through open skies, feeling the wind ruffle through his feathers as he left his troubles far below.

 

Tilting his chair back as far as it would go, he gave a long-suffering look at the piles of work that towered precariously around him, silently pleading with it all to spontaneously catch fire or simply vanish into thin air. With a resigned sigh, Hawks dropped all four chair legs back to the floor and reluctantly pulled the topmost file towards him once more, bracing himself for another grind of the ever-turning wheel.

Hawks rubbed his tired eyes once more, feeling his motivation drain away with each mundane paragraph he read. At this rate, he'd be here all night and well into the morning. With a groan, he tossed the file back onto the pile, temporarily defeated. Maybe a quick break was what he needed to recharge his focus. 

 

Pushing away from his desk, Hawks stood and stretched out his cramped body to its full height, his wings unfolding to their full span. A midnight flight around the city was just what he needed. The cool night air and darkened streets would do wonders for clearing his cluttered mind. 

Stepping out onto his office balcony, Hawks took a few steps back, then launched himself into the sky with his wings. He flew high, circling up towards the crowning heights of the skyscrapers that shone below. Closing his eyes briefly, he took a deep breath of the fresher air, feeling tensions beginning to melt away already. 

 

As he glided back down towards street level, Hawks scanned the sidewalks lazily while lost in thought. He was mulling over the options when movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. 

Your shadow slipped between alleyways, scanning for any civilians in the area. Suddenly flashes of red nearing a rooftop drew your eye—a familiar winged silhouette.

Going on a nearby rooftop, you spotted Hawks looking down, trying to find who or what he saw. 

You and Hawks used to know each other pretty well in your teen years when you dreamed of being a great hero. So when you were selected by  the Commission to become one, you were ecstatic. But from day one, Keigo Takami made things... complicated.

You two went way back to your training days, though you mostly kept your head down back then. Once in the pro scene though, Takami always found ways to rile you up during sessions, whether with sly taunts or risky stunts that pushed protocol to the limit. 

Part of you wanted to throttle that arrogant asshole, but another part couldn't deny the thrill he made you feel. 

Late nights spent training turned into more..private scenarios. For a time, it was nice to find solace in each other. But then came the ruling—you'd been deemed "not hero material" after one mistake, ruining your future. That's when Takami tried to connect with you again, but the hero commission wouldn't even allow him to be close to you to not damage the reputation he already made with the public. 

"You're up rather late for a hero," you whispered directly into his ear, barely suppressing a chuckle at his startled flinch. Golden eyes met yours warily, yet he made no move to escape our intimate embrace. 

"I'm off duty," was his measured reply. "And you?" Smoke clung thick to the memories in his eyes. 

Your fingers, carefully gloved, traced the proud arch of his wings, feeling tension bleed away slowly. "Care for some company, Keigo?"

He held your gaze steadily, considering. At last he nodded, extending a hand. “Not that I can shake you off anyway,” he replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

You sat together on the secluded rooftop, settling close against one another. As you caught up, you both couldn't help but feel deprived of each other's touch; it had been far too long since you'd seen one another face to face. Sure, he'd heard about you through others in the commission, but being here together was different somehow. 

When your voices at last fell silent, a gentle touch turned your chin to meet Hawks' searching eyes. "Y/N…" he murmured, leaning in so your faces were mere inches apart. One of his wings stretched out to block any view from the street below, enveloping you both in its feathery embrace. 

Hawks closed the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a soft yet insistent kiss.

One hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, as the other wrapped around your waist to draw you flush against his body. You felt even better than he remembered. 

 

When your lips parted under him, Hawks held back a groan as he rested his forehead against yours as you both panted for air. Wisps of steam rose between the two of you in the chill night. 

If he tasted you fully, it would undo his last shred of willpower.

“You're going to be the end of me.." Hawks murmured thickly. Already, he ached to have more, but taking you here against the railing would be too brazen, even for his recklessness. 

"Then take me somewhere more...private then," you shot back in a sinful whisper. 

With a sly smile, Hawks swept you into his arms in a bridal carry, wings already prepared for launch. "Hold on tight.”

 

Hawks kicked off from the roof of the building and took flight, relishing your tight grip around his shoulders. The thrill of having you in his arms sent adrenaline surging through his veins. 

He landed lightly on the balcony of his high-rise apartment, still holding you securely against his chest. Your masked face was turned up to meet his gaze.

"I.. I really missed you," Hawks murmured, pressing you back against the wall with his body. He caged you in with outspread wings, feathers gently ghosting your skin. 

 

"Me too.." you replied. Your hands came up to roam his body just as eagerly.

Hawks captured your lips in a searing kiss, conveying all his pent-up needs and desires without restraint. This was wrong on so many levels, and yet he'd never felt more alive. 

 

Kicking open the balcony doors, he swept you inside and laid you down on his plush sofa. His hands worked busily to remove your mask, wanting nothing between you and him; clothing fell piece by piece until nothing was left. 

 

"Say you want this," Hawks pleaded roughly, desperate for your answer. 

Your intoxicating laughter rang out as you pulled him against your body. "I want all of you, Keigo." 

Hawks' hands roamed your body eagerly, relearning every curve as his lips traveled along your jawline. You sighed contentedly, arching into his touch while undoing the fastenings of his hero costume with practiced expertise. 

 

Slowly, methodically, he kissed his way down the delicate column of your throat. Hawks lingered there to suckle your rapid pulse, eliciting breathy moans. His name falling from your lips in such a manner sent fresh spikes of arousal through him.

 

As you lay bare under him, Hawks paused to simply take in the sublime vision of your naked form, illuminated by the moonlight. "You're so..beautiful," he whispered in awe, tracing idle patterns upon your sensitized flesh.

 

Your hands delved into the downy feathers at his wings' bases, eliciting a guttural groan. The way you caressed his most sensitive areas, teasing but not quite enough, tested Hawks' faltering control. He nipped lightly at the swell of your breast in retaliation.

Tracing a tortuous path down your torso with wet kisses and love bites, Hawks' fingers dipped between your thighs. He chuckled at discovering your slick arousal, already swollen and desperate for friction. Slowly, he circled your clit, gathering your arousal onto his fingers.

 

"Please..." you begged wantonly, bucking your hips to chase more contact. But Hawks would loathe to grant your unspoken request so easily. He continued his maddening ministrations, coaxing you higher and higher with expert precision. Only when your keening cries bordered on anguish did he finally decide to sink two fingers deep inside.

 

The powerful rhythm he set drove you swiftly towards the peak. Hawks swallowed your hoarse screams of completion, savoring your intimate essence on his tongue.

"I've missed this..," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

 

Then his tongue delved into your slick arousal with deft, practiced strokes. Your responsive sighs and the way you grabbed Takami's hair only spurred him onward in his devotions. 

 

He alternated between broad, flat licks and focused flicks directly over your clit. When Keigo very lightly grazed his teeth along your folds, you keened and bucked again into his ministrations wildly. He hummed his approval, sending vibrations through your core.

 

It did not take long for you to climb once more towards the precipice, unraveling beautifully beneath his skilled mouth. Hawks drank deeply from your release, prolonging each aftershock with slow caresses of his tongue. Only when your quivering stopped did he withdraw, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he cleaned his glistening chin. 

 

As he swirled his tongue around his lips, savoring the last hints of you, you gazed up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Your chest still heaved in languid aftershocks of pleasure, your limbs boneless and slack upon the plush cushions.

"Come here," you beckoned hoarsely, crooking a finger. Your body cried out to be filled after such thorough worship, muscles reflexively clenching around nothing inside. 

 

Hawks obeyed without hesitation, crawling up to drape himself over your welcoming form once more. You gripped his shoulders firmly, flipping your positions with a playful show of wiry strength, and smiled down at him wickedly. 

 

Grasping his aching length and rubbing the tip of his cock had him seeing stars. Hawks groaned unabashedly.

Slowly, you let him inside, savoring each velvet glide. Hawks bucked helplessly, claws scrabbling for purchase against the cushions as your sensual walls milked his length.

 

The pleasure you drew from Hawks was exquisite torture. Each roll of your hips sent fresh shockwaves through his twitching member, shattering his composure. He was reduced to begging, his nails scratched weakly at your thighs as you rode him to the brink. 

 

"Please...I need to come," Hawks gasped, moving his hips upward in frantic little thrusts. His cock throbbed painfully with the desperate need for release. 

You smiled down at him cruelly. "Beg for it." Your lips formed the words deliciously slowly, knowing their effect.

Hawks keened, wings fluttering uselessly. "Please let me cum p-please I wanna cum, I need..to please..” 

 

Suddenly, you bore down on him, grinding your pelvis against his in brutal circles. The new angle sent Hawks reaching his high with a raw cry. 

 

You quickly let him pull out as his cock pulsed and thick ropes of seed spilled forth, splattering his taut stomach in pearly ribbons. Hawks shuddered through wave after wave; your continued help milking every last drop from him. 

Breathless and spent, he could only lay pliantly as you leaned down to collect his essence on your fingers. Your wicked tongue flicked out to taste, making Hawks twitch anew in oversensitivity.

 

You smiled softly, your expression gentling as you gazed upon Hawks' flushed, panting form. His chest still heaved mightily in the aftermath of his climax.

 

Reverently, you traced light patterns on his ribs and pecs with delicate fingers, soothing away any last tremors. Hawks hummed appreciatively at your tender touch, grasping one of your hands to press a lingering kiss to the palm. 

 

"Come here, Birdie," you murmured, beckoning him into your open embrace. Hawks complied readily, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with a contented sigh. Your legs tangled together comfortably as his wings folded around you both like a feathery blanket.

No threats of capture or duty rules could penetrate the sanctity of that moment. There, held securely within your arms, Hawks felt at once protected yet free—freed from the shackles of self-doubt and expectation. He belonged, body and soul, to one who accepted him fully without judgment or demand.

 

Drowsiness began to take hold as your rhythmic caresses through soft-down lulled Hawks towards slumber. "Stay?" he mumbled into your skin, his voice blurred by oncoming sleep yet filled with gentle hope. 

You kissed his forehead, followed by a whisper, "I’ll stay, promise." was the sweetest assurance Hawks could wish for.

© yammpi3 2024. All work belongs to @yammpi3. You can repost if you want to support my blog/writing! Please don't modify, translate, or plagiarize in any way on ANY platform.

[hotch33tos22]

Tomura shigaraki x reader

“Shower” (smut)

“Y/n”

You poured cream and sugar into your coffee as you heard your needy boyfriend call your name.

“Hm? What is it tomu?” You softly smile at him as you lift the coffe cup and held it taking a sip.

“I want to shower together.” He demands as he looks at you with pleading eyes across the table.

You spit your your coffee as your eyes wide open in the shock.

“W-what?!?!”

“You heard me.” He looked at you with a serious expression.

“I’ve been playing with my.. “acquaintances” and they’ve informed me that they shower with their girlfriends multiple times.”

You look at him in disbelief he wanted to shower with you because he’s heard of if from his “friends”?!

“let’s go.” He stands up grabbing the coffe cup from your hand placing it on the table as he drags you to the bathroom.

“W-wait tomu-!”

“No I can’t wait.” He replies as he shoves you in the bathroom closing the door behind him locking it.

“C‘Mon hurry and take your close off” he tells you harshly as he starts stripping.

“T-“

“I said strip.”

You sigh as you did what you were told,he wanted to shower with you it couldn’t be bad…

You began to take off your clothes feeling insecure as you removed piece after piece.

“Stop hiding yourself…. You look…good.”

You blushed expectedly at his words, it true you’ve sleeped with tomura but this was a different type of vulnerability. You took of your last piece of clothing as you stood still covering your chest.

His sheepish eyes scanned your body as his cheeks were left with a small tint of blush, he opened the shower door as he turned on the shower head setting it to a good temperature. After some time passed and the water was set he got in signaling with his eyes for you to do the same.

As you got in you felt the lukewarm water touch your body it felt… good. You were turning away from tomura still ashamed before you felt him presses himself against your back feeling his cock touch your ass as his hands moved their way over to your chest.

“finally..” he let out as he began to groap your boobs in circular motion, kissing your neck softly.

You tilted your neck in order to give him more access to it as you moaned his name softly

“T-tomu..” you whined as you felt him place love marks on your neck.

“Turn around.” He commanded as you did what you were told.

You were now facing him as his cock pressed against the top of your pussy hard grinding softly as all you could hear was the water fall.

“Lift up your foot for me princess” he smirked as he lead his hand under your tight helping you lift it as it rested on his arm.

“Hold onto me.” He said in a husky voice.

you knew where this was going and you were here for it. You wrapped both of your hands onto his neck for security as you felt him press his cock on your entrance.

“M..Mhh..” you whined softly as you felt yourself become wet.

“shit. I dont know if it’s you or the water but you’re really turning me on.” He scoffed as he began to teased your entrance.

“t-tomura.. please..” you whined onto his shoulder.

“fuck..fine..” he panted as he slowly pushed himself inside you.

“fuckfuckfuck…” he groaned as he felt himself come harder inside your gummy pussy squeezing him tightly .

“You feel so tight are you trying to break my dick off..” he huffed as his face grew red moving in and out of you slowly.

“fuckkkk..” you whined as your back arched and toes curled by his cock inside you.

“please tomu..please...” you whined and moaned as your felt yourself want more.

He scoffed at your remark as he began to go faster in you.

“H-..heh.. I can see my dick outlined on your stomac..tsk..” he groaned as he pressed on the bump with his free hand.

You moaned loudly at his action as he fastened his pace

“S-so deep..!!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as tour tongue stuck out filling the room with pleasurable lewd moans.

He pressed you against the wall as his hand still held your leg up gaining deeper acces to your pussy.

“Look at me.” He demanded on a groan.

You couldn’t even keep eye contact with him as he thrusted deep inside over and over repeatedly. He leaned into your lips as he bit your lower lips softly pushing his tongue against yours dancing around inside your mouth sucking on it repeatedly.

“Feels so good.. that feels so good..” you moaned on his lips.

“To…-tomura..” you whined as you held onto him tightly feeling your leg give out.

“almost..there..fuck tight.!” He groaned as he felt his cock drop with precut inside your walls as they clenched around him so good.

“H-hng!!!…”

With a final thrust from his teasing cock you came undone on him.

“Ha..ah!!” You moaned out as you felt his cock throb inside you leaking its seed inside.

He gently let down your leg as you clung onto him for support.

“now lets shower..” he panted and smirked in satisfaction as he held onto you tightly.

[all-panels-of-uraraka]

[aangelkeii]

❝ 𝐃𝐀𝐁𝐈 ❞ | Hey - Luci4 ❦ ❀

Kinktober Day 2: Mutual Masturbation (k.tober 2024)

A/N: okay wow so i am currently writing this really late at night. this month is gonna ruin my sleeping schedule. anyway, more proud of this one right 'ere, so hopefully it hits the spot for everyone else. lemme know if i need to improve on anything. dedicated to the one i love. i love u, ho.

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

wc: 4.5k (that's what i'm talking about! hell yeah) | warnings: fem! reader, masturbation (m and f), fingering, jerking, li'l touch of praise, petnames (sweetheart, baby), uhhhhhh a large coke, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh a half dozen donuts.

You knew it would be a bad idea befriending a villain. 

You supported the cause against the heroes from the beginning, and you were always secretly rooting for the bad guys during every fight, but never in your life did you think you’d come face to face with a literal criminal. And somewhere as normal as a farmers market? You recognized him even with the medical mask that he had on, the discoloured scarring down his neck and on his ears weren’t hidden very well with the flimsy sweater he had zipped up. You’d expect the guy wearing the torn up, very well-loved black zip up to be the biggest prick at the market, but he actually paid the vendors. 

I’m a villain, not a monster.

That’s what he said to you. Corny ass.

Dabi could feel you staring, he knew he'd been found. He couldn’t decide whether he should run for it or confront you, but he saw that pin on your bag. It was some kind of internet thing that someone made, a cheap knock-off of the League of Legends logo, incorporating the League of Villains in with it. It was supposed to be an inconspicuous way of showing support for the villains without explicitly stating that you’d rather watch the heroes rot in hell before you agreed with their methods of operation. You knew yourself that it was stupid or whatever, but it was literally worth two bucks and a lollipop. 

When the two of you made eye contact, you saw something akin to fear in his eyes, like his attempt at trying to support himself during these dire times would be ruined because some prissy bitch decided to run her mouth. You stayed silent though, only giving him the tiniest of smiles and went back to browsing the stands. The next time you looked up he was nowhere to be seen, so you figured that he got what he needed and left before he fucked something up. 

Nope! That fucker followed you home. You lived maybe three blocks away from where the market was set up so obviously you just walked there and back. He came up behind you and put an arm over your shoulder, bending down a bit to your level, and told you to keep your mouth shut or you’d be toast. Literally. He questioned you about your pin, and told you how stupid it was to parade your support around in public, and you must’ve said something impressive because now you can’t get rid of him.

He found himself staying with you over the next few months, crashing at your house whenever his recruitment was going on, and you always covered for him if someone got just a little too curious. It was for their safety, not his. You’d rather not have the local authorities show up at your door because someone caught a glimpse of some man climbing onto your balcony. You let the others stay at your place, too, because you became someone that the League could trust (to a certain extent). Mainly, though, it was just Dabi.

He’s been spending the last couple of weeks at your place, his recruitment not going as he had planned, often coming back frustrated and ready to burn your shit down. He knows better than to actually set your place on fire because you’re the luckiest thing that happened to him and the League. Instead, he sulks in your guest bedroom and spends his time throwing a switchblade into the wall. He might be kind enough to not burn your pace down, but he’ll still cause destruction to whatever he can, his victim being your walls. You’d watch from time to time as he chucks the blade towards your wall like he’s training for the olympics. You’ll fix it when he eventually ditches you.

Even with a wanted villain seeking refuge in your own home, you still had a life to live, and you threw caution out of the window the moment you made eye contact with him that day. Isn’t the smartest idea to leave him alone at your place, but he hasn’t caused too much damage just yet, so you figure you have a bit more time. He’s definitely not the greatest roommate. Sure, he doesn’t leave a mess everywhere and he only occasionally eats everything in the fridge, but he’s loud and inconsiderate of the fact that you have your own routine. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s almost broken down your door because you lock it at night. You should’ve known he would go straight to your place when his mission went south.

It was the weekend now. No work, no plans, nothing to do but waste the day away doing whatever bullshit you can. You thought that maybe you should run to the store before everyone else would get off of work and ruin the peacefulness with traffic, so you yelled out to Dabi and told him you’d be back in a bit.

Dabi doesn’t have many ways to vent his frustrations. He stabs the walls, sets something on fire here and there, but he doesn’t have a healthy outlet. Well, unless you can call fucking his fist ‘self care,’ then he’s the healthiest bitch alive.

Looking down as his hand pumps his cock, pre-cum beading from the head as he thumbs over the slit and drags it downwards. The rough scarring of his hand gives languid strokes up and down the length of him, legs spread as he sits in the cheap desk chair in the room. His head is tilted to the side, royal eyes half-lidded and pierced lips parted with quiet grunts and huffs. He doesn’t jerk off to porn or anything. He has an irksome imagination that plagues him with vivid images of you; underneath him, legs on either side of his hips as he piston his dick in and out of you, head thrown back into the pillows with your throat bared. He’d lean down and lick your jugular from collarbone to jaw, the salty taste of your sweat spreading across his taste buds. 

His thighs twitch with every upwards tug of hand, twisting when he reaches the head again, sucking a breath through his teeth. The familiar tightness in his pelvis is the only form of pleasure he can find these days. His head lolls back, fist tightening around himself as his breathing turns choppy. His whole body grows overbearingly warm and a curse leaves his lips–

“Holy shit.”

Dabi let his guard down. His hand jolts away from his dick and he twists in the chair, the armrest barely blocking your view from it. He feels like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He sure looks like it, too.

“What the fuck?” He breaks out of his deer-in-the-headlights moment and yells. He covers himself up with his hand, brushing over the sensitive underside of his dick, hissing and shuddering. He was so close, so fucking close. 

You’re shell-shocked. Never did you think you’d walk in on a villain trying to get himself off in your home. The sound of his hitching breath meets your ears and something grows within your chest. He stares as you stare, dilated pupils meeting yours, nothing else but the quiet, ragged breathing from the scarred man to fill the space. 

His brain is all muddled from the intense pleasure that was prematurely ripped away from him, the frustrations that he’s been trying to cope with only bubbles back up with your stare. “You just gonna stand there?”

You don’t understand what he’s implying with his words, but since he’s never been the kind of guy to shy away from weird innuendos, you think he’s inviting you to finish the job. A part of him knows that his words can be twisted into something they’re not, he has this weird way of speaking in cryptic riddles that make no sense until you think about them. He’s confused when you carefully step into the room and close the door behind you. The lights aren’t on, and the sun isn’t facing this side of the building, so only the reflected sun from the adjacent building’s windows brings light to the room. It isn’t enough to see the expression on his face or yours, but it’s enough to see your silhouettes; his naked chest rising and falling unevenly, hand still covering whatever dignity he has left, and your unsure posture as you stand.

“Wanna help me out?” Dabi twists in his chair a bit more towards you, enough for your eyes to catch the glint of something shiny below his waist. It’s not his rings, it’s too tiny, but your eyes hone in on the barbells on the underside of his cock. Of course he’s got a fucking jacob’s ladder. The pre covering him in a thin layer of gloss below the belt seems to be the only thing you can see right now.

You manage to tear your eyes away from his dick to walk closer to him, sitting at the foot of the bed in front of him. The eye contact makes him twitch underneath his hand as he waits for you to finally speak. 

“What were you thinkin’ about?” Your voice breaks through the quiet, careful and calm. You must approach this situation with a level of professionalism, it’s not everyday that you’re invited to help a friend get off.

“Who do you think?” Not what, who. You could say that you had no clue, try to ignore the way his eyes shine through his lashes, but the truth is right in front of you - right in front of him. 

Ever since you took him in like some kind of stray cat, his appreciation turned into infatuation, and now he’s obsessed with you. He takes all of these recruitment missions as an excuse to spend time with you.

You shuffled forward, placing a hand just above his knee, feeling just how warm he is even through his sweatpants. Up close you can see the flush across the unscarred skin on his ribs, and it only gets darker with your touch. “I want you to tell me.”

Where did this confidence come from? Dabi’s brows raise slightly in surprise, lips quirked up into a teasing smile. “Look at you, sweetheart, ordering me around.”

The tension in his shoulders dissipates and he leans back, fingers flexing over his dick until he finally brushes the pads of his fingers upwards. He gets a good look at you, as well as he can with this lighting, and his thumb presses into the slit of his cock again. 

“Want me to get into detail?” The heat starts to glow through his bones again. He scoffs lightly at the meek nod you give him. “You were beneath me, heaving like…”

Sometime during his retelling fantasy, your hand moved off of his leg and snuck under the waist of your pants. You could feel your pulse between your legs and your knees flinched closer together when your finger met your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. The slight hitch of your breath made Dabi falter with his words for just a slight moment, quickly recovering with a new sense of pride in his chest. He so badly wants to close his eyes, but he wills them to stay open, needing to take in the sight of you as desperate as he is. 

“You ever think ‘bout me, baby? I bet you do,” his fingers run over the silver of his piercings. He keeps his pace slow and soft, building back up to where he previously was, allowing you to catch up with him. “Always complaining when I show up, running your mouth. I should shut you up one day.”

“You’re full of it,” your voice was just as broken as his, but the last thing on your mind is your appearance. You lean back on one hand to give you some more space, widening your view of him before you; cock slick with cum, barbels of his Jacob's ladder glistening with every jerk of his hand, florid skin growing ever warmer with your gaze. Dabi feels like an experiment under a microscope, your eyes studying and reading him for reactions. “It’s only fair if I daydream about you, too.”

His hand slows. “Pray tell.”

“Between your legs, letting you hold me down on your dick as you fuck my mouth.”

His head lolls back, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Electricity blooms through his body as he imagines you in that position. By the sound of it, you’d enjoy it. He squeezes his hand around the base of his cock to keep him from blowing his load prematurely. When his eyes open back up, he sees your hand moving a bit more under your pants, then a sigh leaves your lips as you’re finally skin-to-skin with yourself. 

Seeing you so hot and bothered makes his thoughts fuzzy, and before he’s thinking about his actions, he takes his hand away from his cock and moves towards you. You allow him to get closer, allow him to pull at your pants to rid you of them, and before you know it he’s sitting between your legs with your back on the blankets. His spread legs keep you from closing your own as he stares down. The both of you are naked save for your underwear, and the wet spot on the gusset of your underwear makes his mouth water. That’ll have to wait for another day.

He replaces your hand with his thumb, pressing into your clit over your underwear with tiny circular motions. This makes your hand flinch upwards to the pillows, nails digging into the skin of your palm. A cocky smile graces his lips and he applies a bit more pressure, eyes flickering between your face and the slick seeping through your underwear. 

His cock bobs between his legs, twitching with each pitchy huff of your breath. Pride fills his chest when your hips shift closer to his hand, your skin prickling with each circle of his thumb, something unspoken in your eyes as you stare up at him through your lashes. Dabi tilts his head to the side in question.

Silently communicating, your hand unclenches and moves down to your legs, motioning for him to take your underwear off, a plea for him to touch you properly. He laughs.

“I wanna make this last, baby. You gotta be patient for me.”

You know he’s just as desperate to get off as you are, probably even more, so you don’t understand why he’s trying to prolong his pleasure just for some slight teasing. It makes you want to do the opposite of what he’s asked of you. Still making eye contact with him, you reach for his neglected cock and pump your hand without a warning. That cocky smile is wiped from his lips.

He stutters and arches closer, abruptly bucking his hips into your hand. God, your hand feels way better than his. He watches the pre bead from his slit to your hand at the base of his cock, watches as you let it dribble over your fingers and swear it over his shaft. He moves closer to you, making your legs spread wider over his thighs, letting him press his thumb just the slightest bit closer to your clit. The building orgasm that’s been held in his pelvis all this time is growing rapidly and you can tell by the way his eyes threaten to roll into the back of his head. You speed up your jerk, no longer thinking about getting your way, more focused on making him finally come.

“Fuck, fuck, wait,” Dabi stammers when you show no sign of stopping. His muscles feel so tight, and they strain against his will of staying still. It makes him shake and pant. Brows turning up with the increasing tightness in his lower stomach. “G-gonna come, fuckfuckfuck–”.

At least he was kind enough to warn you. Your hand strokes over his piercings and the stimulation brings an intense shiver through his body until finally the pent up frustration of failed missions and loss of dignity is worth it. Cum spurts from his cock and slides down your fingers, lips open with throaty groans, hips bucking with the pull of your hand that doesn’t slow until a pitched noise leaves him. You’re staring at your cum-stained hand, mesmerized.

He huffs. Chest heaving, one hand braced beside your hip, the other gripping your thigh. His eyes are clenched shut. He hadn’t even realized that he stopped touching you. He hisses when you retract your hand and spread your fingers, his cum stringing between them and snapping.

“T-that,” he catches his breath. “That was mean.”

“Should’ve gotten me naked.”

He scoffs at your bite and, almost like he hadn’t just come all over your hand, he pulls at the band of your underwear with a frenzied look in his eyes. The stitches strain against your thighs and some do snap from the tension, but you manage to close your knees a bit and hitch your hips up enough to keep him from destroying them entirely. You’ll probably never see them again anyway. Dabi is a freak.

With your legs resituated across his thighs, both of his thumbs pull at your lips and watch as your wetness slips from your hole, cock jumping back to life at the sight.

“You minx,” he grits. Not out of anger, but out of restraint. It takes so much of his power to not dive between your legs and eat you out like a man starved. “Getting off to me being pathetic. Should’ve known.”

His fingers on the underside of your thighs keep you from closing your legs. They dig into the plush between your thighs and hips, calloused hands metaphorically burning your skin in the best way possible. 

His thumb resumes its previous circles over your clit, and he practically giggles when your hips buck up. His head - the one attached to his shoulders - feels like it’s floating. He moves down and collects the slick, dragging it back up to make his motions smoother. The action makes you keen.

His eyes dart back up to your face, bashful and so clearly turned on that it almost looks unbearable. He feels bad, maybe, for working you up then stopping so suddenly earlier. A small, mean part of him says it’s payback. He’s not going to be mean, though. Not right now.

“I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for letting me stay here,” his thumb slowly moves away from your clit and his middle and ring finger replace it, sliding side to side before dragging down. “Let me show you just how grateful I am.”

“What’re you talking ‘bout?” The words barely leave your lips before his middle finger pushes into you, long and thick, immediately finding your sweet spot and pressing against it. You clench around him, and considering how easy it was for him to plunge in, he figures that you deserve one more. 

Adding his ring finger creates a slight burn, discomfort visible on your face. Your hand reaches out for his arm. He doesn’t push in any further, waits until the crease between your furrowed brows soften and your lips part with a pleased sigh. The bar is so low, but the moment is sweet compared to how he usually is.

Your hand on his arm loosens and slides down the scarred skin, the texture a satisfying contrast to his softer parts. There’s a sudden shift in the air with your touch, his fingers easing into you once again, your shoulders slumping against the pillows.

Wordlessly, Dabi leans forward. You think that maybe he’s just trying to get a better angle, but when the cold silver of his side labrets brush against your bottom lip, your eyes close and you chase after the feeling. His lips slot over yours, a perfect fit, destiny. He draws his fingers out and slides them back in, absorbing the quiet moan that you choke out. His free hand moves up your skin, warm palm cupping the side of your neck and angling your head to press his lips closer, forcing the kiss deeper. Your lips part at the same time that his does, a small startle when your tongues brush together.

Like you’re thrown headfirst into molten lava, your whole body warms beneath him, soaking through his skin and penetrating his bones. He shares the moan you give him, letting go on the side of your neck to join his other hand between your legs. His thumb once again resumes the circlet around against your clit and you clench around him once more. He smiles against the kiss, enjoying how you react to his touch.

With three points of contact, you’re starting to feel trapped beneath him. As much as you’re enjoying the soft touches and gentle caresses, you can’t just lay here and do nothing for him.

Your hand meets his cock again, tacky from the slowly drying cum, but still wet enough for a pleasing slide of your fingers down to the base. He groans against your lips and attempts to move away, but your other hand grips his hair to keep him close. Even as his eyes open just slightly to stare at your closed lids, the furrow of your brows and muffled sounds of pleasure eggs him on. If you want to touch him, he’s not going to stop you.

His fingers pump in and out of you, starting off slow and languid until they pick up the pace, matching the increasing flick of your wrist around him. He manages to pull his lips away from you despite your obvious protest. 

“Feel s’good, sweetheart,” he purrs, his piercing no longer a cold sting against your lips. He curls his fingers inside of you, pressing right up against your g-spot, chest tightening when you moan. Your hand tightens around him and your thumb smoothes underneath his cockhead. “Wanted to touch you for so long.”

“Yeah? Why didn’t you?” Your breathless voice cuts through to his muddied brain. 

“I’m a villain, not a monster.”

His vexing smile returns. You fail to push down the laugh, fisting his cock faster in return to his quote. His laugh joins yours, albeit stammered, speeding up the pumping of his fingers. The pads push up against your sweet spot with each ‘in and out’ motion, your knees bending and thighs falling open wider around him. He invites himself closer to you and licks your lips, groaning when your tongue reciprocates. 

“Gonna make you come on my fingers,” he slurs against your lips, mouth full of your combined saliva. “Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Be a good girl and come f’me.”

The sudden praise gives you whiplash, and the coiling tension in your stomach grows warmer and warmer, muscles burning and hole clenching around his fingers. His lips mutter soft praises and encouragements, bringing you closer to the edge. The non-stop pump of your wrist brings him closer, too, seemingly stronger than before. 

“Dabi, fuck,” his name on your tongue makes him want to burrow into your skin. His infatuation is growing into pure obsession. “Y’close?”

He feels you tense around his fingers, holding yourself back from coming before him, but he’s quick to reassure you. “Mhm, so fuckin’ close, baby.”

Your nod makes his lips brush against yours, but neither of you can pull yourselves out of the headspace you’re in to act any further on it. The ache between your thighs grows evermore hot and suddenly you feel that creeping pleasure morph into a rush of fire down your spine. You make a small noise in warning, not able to find the words, but Dabi knows exactly what’s happening because he feels it, too.

“Come for me. C’mon, sweetheart,” his gentle words turn into a desperate begging as he humps his hips into your hand. He nods along with your keening moans, joining in with pathetic pleas for your cum to soak his fingers in return. 

With a final searing fire through your body, your head falls back and your mouth falls open, breath hitching and thighs twitching against his bare hips. He doesn’t falter his fingers, staying constant with his speed inside of you and the circuit of his opposite thumb against your clit. Seeing you fall apart beneath him, mouth hung open with your throat bared to him just like in his fantasies. His next orgasm sneaks up on him, his cum shooting from his cock once more, landing on the crease of your thigh and hip bone. He can feel just how hot you are underneath his hands, and his praises just keep going despite how choked they sound.

Your own orgasm was prolonged with his unfaltering movements, the hot feel of his cum dribbling down your fingers, and the swift shift of his body towards yours. His tongue licks from the tip of your collarbone and up to your jaw, tasting that salty sweetness he’s been craving for so long, hinging his mouth open wider to suck at your neck. He’s careful of your pulse, he can feel it rushing under his tongue, but he’s responsible enough to stay clear. Only when your hips start to squirm away from him does he finally stop his hand, retracting it and bringing it up between the two of you. He spreads his fingers and watches as your cum strings and snaps. Now he knows why you did it.

Dabi sticks his tongue out without a second thought, licking his fingers clean like he’s done it plenty of times before, not bothering to comment on your attest of his actions.

“You’re nasty,” you wipe your cum-covered hand on your shirt, rolling your eyes when he smirks around his fingers. He wipes his spit-covered hand on your shirt and leans in closer until his forehead meets your shoulder.

“You get off on it,” he snarks back. He laughs at your weak attempt to push him off of you.

Your muscles cry out when you go to move your legs, ignoring it in order to pull your pants back on. Dabi stops you from doing so, standing up on clumsy feet over to the dresser, pulling out two pairs of boxers. He throws one pair to you and heads to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer for a pack of wipes. He shrugs at your look of question.

“You leave me here a lot, may as well use that time for something good,” he helps clean between your legs, apologizing when you buck away from sensitivity. He then cleans himself, disposing of the wipes, then flops onto the bed beside you. He pulls you close against him and traps you halfway underneath him.

You make the slightest noise of annoyance before you accept the new position, wrapping yourself around him. “Nasty.”

He bites into the meat of your shoulder, unyielding with your push against his head. “Get used to it.”

© aangelkeii - do not repost, translate, plagarize, or claim any of my works as your own.

taglist: @ggriwm @ppsucker3000 @cstandsforchaos @jakeyjakies @cphlo @dumbwaystolive

[hotch33tos22]

Tomura x reader (smut)

“Messaging.”

New message from -BRAT-

‘Hey’

‘Y/n I'm busy’

He texts back a few minutes later, his annoyance in the short reply was almost palpable. Sheesh.

‘What ya doing?’

Tomura groans reading your next message and rolls his eyes. Did you not understand the concept of him being busy? He was in the middle of something, he didn't have time to chat

‘I told you I'm busy.’

He quickly texts back, his patience was already wearing thin.

'Right haha sorry’

Tomura can't help but scoff at how quickly you gave up-annoyed that you apologized and didn't press further. He was expecting more of a back and forth but not even a minute later you apologized and backed down.

‘Don't be such a pushover’

He texts back with a bit of annoyance, but not necessarily at you, more so he wanted you to put up a fight

He sighs, tapping his foot impatiently against the floor as he glances around the small room. It's a rather boring room-grey walls, grey carpet, and a single bed in the corner. He was staying in a shitty motel for the night since it was already getting late.

He glances at his phone, seeing you hadn't replied yet. He was hoping you'd respond but was starting to think you didn't feel like it. He didn't think he had been too rude earlier...

"Tch..."

He mumbles quietly, scrolling through a shitty phone game to pass time. The more time that passed with you not replying, the more he started to overthink.

Usually you'd keep pushing him, yet for some reason today you hadn't. It was annoying how much you were suddenly acting so passive.

He checks his phone one more time to see if you had answered yet but sighs seeing the last message was still his.

Tomura puts his phone down on the bed, running a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. He felt a small pang in his chest— something akin to guilt or regret. Was he being too rude earlier? He didn't think so but he was used to you being feisty and pushing back...

He rolls over onto his back and glances up at the ceiling, staring at a stain in the corner as thoughts start swirling around in his head. He really was overthinking this.

'Sorry I was taking a shower’

Tomura feels slight relief at finally getting a response from you, but also gets strangely annoyed all of a sudden. He can't understand why you apologizing again irks him this time—he just feels pissed at the fact that you're being so submissive, so obedient. Why weren't you pushing back?

‘Didn't ask’

He texts back quickly with a scoff, his response sarcastic and bitchy

'Bitch.'

Tomura doesn't expect that kind of response. His eyes widen a little in shock and he slowly sits up on the bed. He smirks at your words and laughs quietly to himself — there you were, finally putting up a fight.

‘Good to know you haven't lost your attitude’

He texts back, hoping to get some type of conversation going. It was boring as hell and he was starting to be antsy.

‘Whatever I was trying to be nice but all I see is a pissy boyfriend’

Tomura is a bit taken back at being called "pissy". He was more annoyed and bored if anything, but you were right about the boyfriend part. He was being a bit sour.

‘Shut up. I'm not pissy I'm just busy and your ass kept messaging me even though I told you so. You're the one being a pain in my ass right now.’

He texts back, a tinge of irritation in his words even though he's kinda amused

'Two messages are you dense?'

‘Doesn't matter how many times you texted. I still said I'm busy and told you to knock it off.’

He rolls his eyes, getting a tad more annoyed that you're being a smart ass but not too annoyed to not entertain it. As much as he can't admit it, he did miss your little back-and-forth. It was interesting. Plus having someone to chat with distracted him from the boredom currently taking over his thoughts.

‘Whatever are you still busy? Or are you with your side piece?'

Tomura can practically feel himself getting more irritable by the minute. How little did you trust him? Why would you automatically assume he'd go and see another woman? The fact that it kinda stung that you'd think that pissed him off

‘You know damn well I'm not with a side piece. Besides who in their right mind would even put up with me?’

He texts back, leaning back against the headboard of the crappy motel bed with a huff

‘Unfortunately me.'

‘Shut up. You make it sound like putting up with me is a chore’

He grumbles, not amused at your sarcastic comeback. He wants to say something harsh to you to get you riled up but can't find the words that won't make him sound like a jackass. So he keeps it short and simple, and thankfully his next message from you pops up on his phone before he has time to think too much on what to say next. He looks at your response and huffs, shaking his head as he types back.

'It is babe.'

Tomura can feel himself get more worked up by each text from you. You were really being a sarcastic ass today. He couldn't even deny the fact that you were correct in what you said. It was usually a chore to put up with him and he knew that... but that didn't mean it hurt any less to be reminded of it— by his own partner no less.

‘Shut it. Be nice to me damnit’

'I tried to be and you called me a pushover.'

Tomura's hands clench into fists as he reads the last message. You were right, you did try being nice and he essentially just told you to shove off. He's starting to feel guilty... but of course he can't show that

‘That's 'cause you'd been acting like one by apologizing and backing off so damn quickly’

‘I forgot you like it when I get all bitchy'

Tomura has to bite back a grin at your last message. The fact that you were fully aware of how he liked it when you were snarky and challenging was amusing to him. It was also a slight turn on too...

‘You damn right I do. I like you better when you're biting back.’

'whateverrr. Hurry up and get home.'

Tomura feels a small sense of giddyness at your next message. You wanted him to come home. You missed him? He can feel the corners of his lips tug up into a small, uncharacteristic grin

‘I will. I'm almost done up here then I'll be back. Still can't believe you're being so clingy though.’

'well I miss you and your dick.'

Tomura nearly drops his phone as he reads your message. The grin on his face grows wider into a smirk and he can't help the flush that's creeping across his cheeks. Out of all the responses he was expecting... that wasn't one of them

‘You miss my dick huh? What happened to you being so innocent I gotta remind you to watch your language?’

'Oh please you don't say that when you stuff it down my throat'

Tomura's dick twitches slightly at your last message, immediately imagining you on your knees for him. He groans quietly to himself, quickly typing a response back as his free hand comes up to run through his messy hair.

‘Watch it babe. Keep talking like that and I might never make it back’

He gets a sudden idea, one that he's not sure you'd like but it's worth a try

‘Hold on, gimme a sec. I have and idea’

‘Oh?’

Tomura quickly opens the camera app on his phone, setting it to the front camera

‘I'm gonna send you something but I want you to promise that you won't freak out.’

‘I swear if it's another one of those videos where you torture someone I'm losing it.’

Tomura rolls his eyes, not surprised that you'd think that. He can't help but laugh a little at how wrong you can be sometimes.

Although, in all fairness, he was unpredictable and the videos of him 'messing with' unsuspecting heroes probably didn't help

‘No, I'm not sending you a murder video. I'm not stupid.’

"Good.'

He scoffs, typing his next text

‘You gotta have more faith in me babe’

He holds up his phone so his face is visible, and with his free hand, he reaches under the hem of his shirt, his palm coming to rest just above the waistband of his sweatpants. He smirks into the camera, his eyes locking on the phone as he clicks send. He's anxious to see how you respond to the picture, since the only thing visible in the picture are his face, bare stomach, and his sweatpants that are being tugged down slightly

'Fuck.’

‘That was hot.'

Tomura reads your response and he can't help but smirk, feeling a wave of pride at how you reacted to the picture. He was so damn right to send it and get you worked up. He texts you back within the minute, the smirk still plastered on his face

‘Ya like it?’

As you viewed his picture repeatedly you quickly send him a picture of you in his favorite langire as you set the camera showing off your curved body as you stroke a sexy pose on his bed.

Tomura's eyes widen at the picture that suddenly pops up on his phone. You were in his favorite underwear that he bought for you. You were laying on his side of the bed in a seductive pose and it looks like you've already spread your legs a bit...

“Goddamn...”

He whispers, feeling his sweatpants get tighter as he stares at the picture

He quickly types another message, his breaths a little shorter as he stares at the picture you sent as he takes it in slowly

‘You're trying to kill me aren't you?’

‘You started it, Do you have any idea how much I need you.?'

Tomura feels his chest tighten a bit at your words, wanting nothing more than to be able to touch you himself. His hand that's above the waistband of his sweats dips a little lower, a frustrated huff leaving his lips

‘I'll be back soon. That's a promise’

He sighs and glances away from the phone and back up at the ceiling of the crappy motel. Part of him is tempted to send you another picture but he stops himself, thinking it'll be better if he waited until he got home to get his hands on you himself.

As he tried to dose off he got another notification. You had send him a video of you folding your tits together with one hand as you looked up at the camera with those stupid lustful eyes.

Tomura's dick twitched as he watched, his need growing with every second. He could feel his pre-cum already starting to dampen his boxers as he saw his girlfriend’s naked body. You’re beginning to explore your body, cupping your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples, which stood erect and begging for attention. Tomura imagined it was his mouth working on those nipples, sucking and teasing them with his tongue.

Tomura couldn't take it anymore. He needed release, and he needed it now. He stripped off his clothes, his hands already working on the button of his sweats. As he threw his clothes aside, his cock sprang free, hard and dripping. He grasped it tightly, pumping it slowly as he imagined your mouth wrapping around his length, your lips kissing and sucking the tip.

He closed his eyes, letting the video play in his mind, feeling the warmth of the room and the tight pull of desire in his balls. He imagined you were there, your mouth working its way down his body, tasting every inch of him, your hands teasing his balls, playing with them, squeezing gently as your tongue flicked and teased.

Tomura's breathing quickened as he stroked his dick, faster now, a steady rhythm as the head of his cock glistened with pre-cum. His imagination was on fire, he pictured your mouth taking him deep, your throat working as you took him to the back of their mouth, sucking hard, your eyes looking up at him, full of desire.

Fuck he needed you so badly. He was this close to waiting it out, to not touch himself while he was away from your aching body. But you had to send him the most sexy video.

His hand bucked up and down his needy cock as his thump bullied his pink top just how you would.

“F-fuck-..” his voice rasped lowly as he tried to hold in his moans.

“Need you so badly.. s-shit..” he groaned as you continued his movements his balls becoming sloppy bouncing up and down his movements and his tip dripping with pre-cum.

He tilted his head back from all the lent up frustration as he groaned softly.

“H-haa..” he muffled out as he felt himself come closer to his release. His hands gripped around his cock as he hurried his movements rapidly.

“S-shit shit shit y-y/n..” he groaned and grunted as he felt his cock twitch rapidly while he released. As he continued his movements rising his high his breath rasped and hitched.

His cum oozed out his twitching cock dropping down his hand to his sloppy balls. He quickly picked up his phone snapping a quick picture of the sight sending it straight to you.

‘You’re such a damn brat. You’ll get that when I get back, You want me to get you pregnant huh? You want me to come back home and knock you up. Is that what you want?`