#shota aizawa headcanon

[tired-teacher-blog]

Aizawa teaches you how he likes it..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[nekoo3001]

Aizawa and his emo hairstyle . I'm bad at explaining but I hope it's clear what I mean (kinda cringed but I think it would be even weirder if I didn't explain why Eri is here)

[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.

[kur-ooz]

๋࣭ ⋆｡ °✩ - babydaddy texts with Aizawa

๋࣭ ⋆｡ °✩ - prt two

@cafekitsune (for dividers)

PART 2 FINALLY!!! This one didn’t take to long, but I was thinking of how to arrange it, a lot of yall are asking me to make this an smau, and I might!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 🏷️:: @sleepyk0dyz @djlance-rock @naladrawssss @stoned-anime-babe @sunolls @amansabastris @mirophobic

(Ask to be on the taglist!)

[sundeathh]

Spicy Headcanons 🌶

MASTERLIST

Featuring: Shota Aizawa • Words: 1.3K+

CW: NSFW | 18+ only. MDNI. Kink description, explicit sex language, implied heterosexual dynamics.

Shota has a sensitive neck and ears. All it takes is a kiss on his neck or a lick on his ear to make him melt. He's also weak to nibbles or whispers - it turns him on a lot, and if you dare to do any of those things, you better not stop there.

Shota is a switch. He likes to take control in bed and enjoys being dominant, but he also likes to be on the bottom and be taken care of from time to time.

Shota can be quite the demanding one, but when he's not dominating, he likes to be gentle and sweet. He can act pretty much vanilla when he's stuck in a rough routine. (It doesn't mean it won't be good, though.)

On the other hand, he can engage in hard-core stuff as well. Gotta a rough, BDSM kink? Talk it out – he's in the game.

He likes to spank you and punish you when you're being a brat. (You're always a brat just so he has an excuse to punish you). 

Aizawa didn't have toys of his own aside from ropes he bought to use on you. He's not against using toys, though – if you have them and want to use them, he'll do so; if you'd like to acquire a new one, he'll buy it, too. It's just something he didn't have before you asked for it.

He sometimes lets (or explicitly asks) you to take the lead. Sometimes, he's just so tired and stressed out from work that all he wants to do is get home to have you ride or go down on him.

And how he loves your lips there! Don't get me wrong – he loves to give you oral, too. (In fact, he'll drive you mad and have you begging whenever he eats you out). But honestly, if he had to choose, he'd say he would rather receive it than give it. Your mouth is just too good. 

He has high stamina and can go on for hours, but oral is something that can bring him to climax and wear him out quite fast if you're not careful enough to let him last longer.

When he feels like himself, he usually goes for the second round. But when he's exhausted from work, he'll want to finish after the first. Sometimes, he goes for the third one, but it's rarer. He feels rather tired after the second one. Usually, when he goes for the third, it's way quicker than the other two.

Aizawa has a praise kink. He likes pet names, little compliments, and to be told about how good he is and how great he's making you feel. He wants to prove his worth, and hearing you praise him makes him feel good about himself. 

He loves your thighs. He'll squeeze them, nibble them, suck on the inner sides, and kiss all the way up to your core to have you squeeze his head between them.

Hair pulling is a must. Both yours and his. If you do it the right way (mild force but firm grip right above the nape), you might even yank a moan out of him. 

Shota likes to be marked and to mark you. He'll make sure to leave at least one hickey somewhere in your body every time you're intimate (usually, he leaves more than one). He doesn't like to show it around, of course. But he likes knowing he has a mark you left on his skin under his clothes. 

He didn't know this, but he has very sensitive nipples. Once you find out about this, it's a whole new world of pleasure you can unravel on his body for him. But be careful! It's a new sensation to him, and he can become easily overwhelmed at that spot.

He's not opposed to pegging. In fact, he likes it – but only if it's done with care and gently. He won't let you do that if he doesn't trust you enough for fear of getting hurt.

Shota LOVES to tease. To make you beg for mercy. To have you whimpering his name, hoping he'll grant you what you so desperately need. It makes him feel powerful to hold your pleasure like that. He'll let you reach your peak afterward, but not without a long road of pleading. 

However, when it's you who is teasing... God forbid the punishment you'll get once you're done with him. He is an absolute BRAT when he's getting teased and will misbehave a lot. (Still loves it in the end).

Aizawa doesn't care much about giving you anal – he'll probably never ask for it. He doesn't see much sense in putting unnecessary strain on your body, especially that you might not be comfortable with. So, if you actually like it, you'll have to ask him directly. (Maybe even talk to him beforehand, to let him know clearly that he won't hurt you).

Because, yes, he's terrified of hurting you unintentionally in that sense. He'll immediately stop if he senses that you're uncomfortable at any point.

And when he does inflict pain on you intentionally because he knows you like it, he'll always start gently and progress slowly to see your level of comfort. He will always check on you.

Talking is another must. Shota takes sex very seriously, and that's not something he does with just anyone. So, before you get to that point with him, you'll have to make things clear and set boundaries for the both of you to be comfortable.

Shota is not very vocal when he's on top since he gets too focused on pleasuring you. Usually, he only makes some low grunt sounds, depending on the intensity of the moment. When he gets closer to climaxing, he'll hold back his moans, but you'll still know he's getting close because his breathing gets a lot heavier and louder. And sometimes, he growls when he finally comes.

However, if you're the one on top, he can relax further and it becomes easier for you to get a moan out of him. Still, they're usually low and breathy. 

On the other hand, he LOVES to hear your voice. Whether you're moaning, whimpering, or whispering, it gets him really aroused and makes the whole experience a lot more enjoyable for him. He will also praise you for that quite often. 

Shota also has a breeding kink. The thought of getting you pregnant with his child makes him excited, but he'll never push it if you're not into the idea. Still, he likes to come inside you and will ask your permission for him to do so once you become regular with each other. He'll stop asking once you two get close (he tends to let you know when it's coming, though). If you don't like having him spreading his seeds inside you, he'll pull out and finish on your belly, back, or thighs. 

Shota is not open about which position he likes the most, but you can tell which ones he enjoys since he often goes with the missionary or horizontal cowgirl positions. He likes to have your bodies pressed together and to see your face when you're intimate. He loves the sense of intimacy and connection it gives him.

He's not very talkative during aftercare. However, he'll always ask you how you're feeling and if you need anything (like water, for example). He'll get up to provide you with whatever you ask him and will help you clean up, but afterward, all he wants to do is cuddle with you in silence and stroke your hair or rub your back. 

He also loves it when it's you the one caressing, but he might fall asleep pretty fast that way, so he doesn't always let you do that because he feels guilty for leaving you awake.

In general, Aizawa believes that sex is not something banal one does with just anyone but rather an activity to do passionately with someone he trusts and cares about.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!

[pseudowho]

Aizawa Shouta x Reader

18+, MDNI, suggestive fluff

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The school bell rang, a prelude to the rising tide of teenage shouts in the corridor. The stream also carried the tired-bedraggled past the office door, and your particular tired-bedraggled snagged upon the office door, like black river weed upon rock, and the door swung open with a quiet huff.

"Hey, stranger." You glanced briefly up from marking papers, as Shouta stepped in, looking to all the world as though he wanted to turtle inside his own capture scarf.

"Long-ass day." Shouta grumbled, hooking the door shut behind him. "Teenagers are demons."

"You used to be one."

"Don't remind me. Hey-- move over."

You scooched sideways, and Shouta lay down on the couch with a huff, the back of his head landing with a rustle on your papered lap. He heaved out the sigh of a much older man. You berated him, tapping his nose with a pen, and tired eyes smiled up at you until you had rid your lap of papers.

You tried to object, your words falling flat as his eyes drifted closed, cradled on the plush of your thighs. Disgruntled, but smiling, you marked papers on the arm of the couch while your other hand scratched softly through his raggedy beard.

You did not think too deeply of the actions of your fingertips, creating lush scratching patterns through his bearded cheeks and chin, as though creating samon through zen garden gravel . Shouta released satisfied hum after hum.

You hadn't noticed his hums becoming longer, lower, gravelly, as they did when your hands moved softly over other parts of him. When your fingernails trailed idly down to the bristles over his throat, swirling over his flickering Adam's apple, it bobbed up, releasing a low curse entrenched in a moan.

Your eyes flickered down to Shouta, to his heavy drooping eyes, the way his jaw clenched as you caressed his beard...and to the heavy, thick tenting in his black trousers, the involuntary miniscule upwards humps into the air as you stroked him. You released an ah! of realisation, and removed your hand from his face.

In one brisk movement, Shouta gripped your wrist in one hand, and flicked out his capture scarf in the other, looping around the door handle and holding it shut, flush to the frame, white knuckles on white bands.

Shouta's eyes burned into yours, lowering your hand back to his face. He shifted with a grunt, his lap tight and trapped and aching.

"I didn't say stop."

[sanipoyo]

“USE YOUR QUIRK ON ME, HITOSHI”

note - this is edited! i changed some of it :3, shinso drabble, enjoy cuties!

SHINSO kneeled, trying to catch his breath after sparring with his mentor. “when you’re ready, let’s go again. i want you to use your quirk this time”, mr. aizawa instructed and shinso nodded.

a minute later, shinso leaped towards aizawa in attempt to sneak attack him. the old man dodged to no surprise and continued dodging all of shinso’s attempted punches and kicks.

“i’m surprised your still so agile, guessing your age hasn’t caught up to you yet, huh?” hitoshi taunts, trying to get a verbal reaction out of aizawa. instead, he got tied up with mr. aizawa’s binds.

“you’re pretty stubborn, erasure”, hitoshi huffed, chest heaving while he stood in front of mr. aizawa, immobilized and trying to buy time so he could think of a plan. “these villains aren’t gonna be any better, you know.” eraserhead replied and shinso sighed.

“ya think so?” hitsohi asked, causing aizawa to shoot a glare at him. was shinso doubting his teacher? a pro hero? “i know s-“ mr. aizawa began to say getting cut off by shinso’s brainwashing. the binds loosened, freeing him from being unable to move. shinso couldn’t believe it at first, he commanded mr. aizawa to surrender the binding cloth as a whole and he did it. shinso approached his teacher, pushing his shoulder slightly and he snapped out of the brainwashing.

“i won this time.”

Ⓒ all published work belongs to sanipoyo! do not copy/plagiarize.

[animeaandp]

MHA Prompt

.

.

“Need something..?”

You hesitate hearing the exhaustion in his voice; maybe this was a mistake. It’s the middle of the night but there’s no one else to turn to, so you try not to grip the doorknob too tightly or fumble your words. “I’m sorry, I know it’s past lights out and you’re busy…u-um…” Aizawa picks up the conflict in your voice and fully turns towards you. Dragging his hand over his face to wake up, he gives you his undivided attention. “No it’s alright. What do you need?” His voice had softened but it’s difficult to hold his eye contact. "I…If-.."

"...?"

"..If it’s not asking too much; may I sit in here? I swear not to distract you. Everyone else is asleep and, I don’t want to be alone right now...please.." Aizawa studies your face, noting the drained complexion with raw and puffy eyes, and understands that this isn’t a simple request. “Of course. Come in.” You close the door behind you “thank you” then hurriedly find a spot on the floor against the wall and curl into your knees. Aizawa watched your movements but left you to your devices and turned back to his work. Occasionally he steals a glance but you stay true to your word and don’t make a sound or move an inch.

Thankfully, being in his presence helps how you hoped it would. Every breath you take smells like him and knowing he’s here makes you feel safe, like nothing can hurt you now. Hopefully you’ll calm down enough to go back to your room soon. Aizawa sets his pencil down though, and comes to offer you his hand. “The bed is far more comfortable than the floor. Fresh sheets I promise.” You lift your head for a moment considering his words but “I’m okay right here. I’m imposing enough as is..” He smiles turning away, “you could never impose” and grabs a box of tissues to give you “but holding in whatever is troubling you this much.,.I don’t like that.”

“…”

You accept the tissues and your tears finally break free. "I’m sorry" you try hiding it as he takes a seat beside you. "It’s okay. It’s safe to cry here." He wraps an arm around your shoulder and welcomes you to let it all out. You wanted to stop but “I don’t know what’s wrong with me…I-I don’t know why I’m so sad all the time-but, I’m empty. I feel this ache when I’m alone and more and more when I’m not…it’s starting to scare me; I don’t know how to cope anymore…that’s why I came here. I needed to run away somewhere…I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do..” Aizawa's heart grows heavy with every confession and he holds you tighter. "Always run to me-always. Never let this fear talk you out of that. Understand.?"

“You have so much to deal with; I don’t want to become a burden. But, I appreciate all of this. I feel better.” He sighs and presses a kiss to the top of your head. This would take one step at a time, so tonight was plenty for step one; he'll let it go for now. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“…Can I stay until you’re done working?”

“Of course, get some rest.”

As the night goes on the atmosphere settles. The steady rhythm of Aizawa’s pen scratching against paper and his soft sighs of concentration creates soothing background noise. When he looks up again you’re fast asleep. He smiles and is careful not to make a sound walking over and crouching down in front of you. Little did you know he finished his work quite some time ago and was hoping this would happen before he ran out of paper to scribble over. His finger traces lazy circles over your cheek, drying the last of your tears. He shifts your body to rest in his arms “I won’t lose you to such nasty thoughts..” and carries you to his bed, then tucks you in. It felt like sleeping in a cloud and you curl into his pillow. He chuckles, “Is it really that comfortable?” Aizawa sorts the work on his desk then lays down himself, and after such a long day falls asleep easily. Hopefully you'd seek him out again the next time this happened, but maybe skip the floor, his knees weren't what they were.

[shigarakisdumbwhore]

Skirt - Shigaraki X Reader Smut

A/N: this is HEAVILY inspired by this post here. Highly recommend you read it. It was so short I just had to write more in my own vision

Words: 841

Warnings: HEAVY TRIGGER WARNING!!! if you can't handle anything non-con related, please scroll away. Shigaraki touches the reader while she sleeps

He laid you down on to the bed in your drunken state. You were barely conscious, body limp and almost numb. Almost...

He couldn't help but take you all in, the sight of you in your slutty club dress. So tight and short. He could see right up your skirt, but it was too dark to actually notice anything. Your nipples, hard and cold, poking through the fabric. How he so badly wanted to touch and fondle them, run his thumb with a soft touch over your nipple and pinch it. His boxers got tight at just the thought of it. Oh, the things he would do to you.

You moaned in your unconscious state as you shifted your body over. Shigaraki could feel his cock twitch at the sound of it. He wanted to hear more, wanted to hear you moan for him.

He crawled onto the bed, kneeling just before your legs. They were hitched up and spread slightly. His hands caressed the outer part of your thigh. So soft and smooth. He wanted to squeeze them and feel them fill up his hand. He couldn't control himself anymore. He lifted your dress up, revealing your tight thong. He could see the fabric clinging to your cunt, giving a beautiful view of your silhouette. There was a dark, wet spot right in the middle.

He hooked his fingers in it and slid it over to reveal your beautiful sex. So wet, glossy, and pretty. His body shivered at the simple graze of his finger touching you. He left your panties pushed to the side for a bit as he admired it, staring at it. Staring at it for what seemed like a strangely long time.

After, he decided to pull them down. His thumb wrapped around the thin string on each side and slid them down your thigh. Now he could see it all. His heart was pounding in his chest as his thoughts raced. Ugh, the things he would do to you. All the things he wanted to do to you.

With a hesitant and shaky hand, he reached for you. At first, his touch was just tickling you. Barely making contact. He was much too afraid of you waking up, angry at him for what he was doing. Eventually, the fear wore off once he saw you spread your legs more and moan at the contact. He couldn't help himself.

He pressed harder, really feeling your wet pussy now, and it felt amazing. His finger slid up between your lips, collecting your wetness and glistening in the low, warm light. He wanted to just play with the outside first and cherish this moment. As he went back down, his thumb parted you this time instead. Then, he took his index finger and middle finger to part your pussy.

He laid down on his stomach and crawled forward until he was face to face with it. He couldn't believe it. You smelled so sweet.

At first, he laid a gentle kiss on your clit. Your legs twitched as you moaned, giving Shigaraki the go-ahead. His lips wrapped around it, sucking with gentleness. You tasted just as sweet too. He let out a moan of his own once he indulged in you. His tongue swiped between your folds. Up and down, up and down, before stopping. There was more he wanted to see than just that.

He straddled you, placing his two hands on your breasts. So plump and round. Your nipples seemed to have gotten harder since the stimulation. He did exactly what he thought of before. His thumb rubbed over the little bump. He wanted more.

Shigaraki slowly pulled the top of your tube dress down. The fact you weren't wearing a bra made this so much better. Right in front of him were your completely bare breasts. His hands cupped and squeezed them. They perfectly filled his hands. His fingers pinched your nipple, rubbing it between his fingers.

He leaned down, taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirled in circles as he sucked. He didn't suck too hard to disturb you though, just enough to enjoy himself. His clothed dick was rubbing against your bare cunt.

Once he was done, he pulled away and went back down on you, slipping his finger between your folds and entering you. You were so tight and warm, he yearned to feel you around his member, clenching and massaging it within your walls. His fingers slipped in and out as he watched, then curling his fingers. He waited for a reaction. You moaned and arched your back, still barely unconscious though. With that, he continued curling his fingers, getting lost with the idea of you.

Eventually, he had enough. He had his way with you, but didn't want to take things too far. Shigaraki readjusted your dress back to the way it was, except your panties. The next morning you woke up confused, not remembering when they got taken off but remembering the pleasurable feeling Shigaraki gave you.

[keigos-wings]

aizawa is too pretty to eat pussy. the sight ALONE would kill you.

just making eye contact with him while he hikes your legs over his shoulders would have you six feet under.

he’d eat you out like a man starved, and he’d do it all while looking up at you through thick eyelashes; ripping orgasm after orgasm from you until you’re so sensitive it hurts. he’d take pity on you for a moment, untangling himself from your limbs, letting you believe you’ve earned a rest.

but he is an evil, evil man.

he’d slip two fingers into your cunt, chuckling darkly to himself all the while, and he’d pump them mercilessly.

that man wouldn’t stop until you’re crying and begging for mercy.

god, just the THOUGHT of it is enough to send you to the grave.

[blkluci]

MHA boys and the reader fighting p2 please!!

Aizawa Shoto

Sero Hanta

Denki Kaminari

Shinso Hitoshi

Shigiraki Tomura

You don't have to do all but if ur able to, TYSM!<3

𝑴𝑯𝑨 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔/𝒎𝒆𝒏 and you fighting pt.2...

CHARACTERS )) hanta sero, denki kaminari, hitoshi shinso, shota aizawa, tomura shigaraki.

PLOT )) a headcanon of the boys seeing you fight.

A/N )) thank you for your request @thisisxli!! i'm glad that you enjoyed the last part :) hope you enjoy this one and to everyone thanks for all the love on my other posts, i truly appreciate it. feel free to send in more requests guys! reader is a pro-hero in aizawa's hc!

[ 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 ] sero is a laid back guy; which is one of the reasons you decided to date him (on top of his charm). when he was there to experience a random girl from ua, get into an argument with you, he stood and analyzed everything. he made sure to not let anything go overboard and pull you away when things got intense. "how 'bout we avoid her from now on, yeah?" now two days later when shawty pulled up talkin' bout fight me, he let you have her.

... hanta's eyes watched every movement intensely

... he made sure that no one jumped in while you handled that

... you were on top of the flailing girl

... knuckles meeting her face every time

-> "keep punchin' bae."

... when some friend of the girl try to jump in, he taped them up

-> "it's a fair fight, back up."

... when he seen that you've got girl leaking he pulls you off

... strong frame holding you in place

... his lips curve into a smile while watching you yell at the girl

-> "BET YOU WON'T DO IT AGAIN!"

... he's proud of you standing on business

... makes sure that you avoid all fights after

... there for you when you get scolded by aizawa

[ 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐊𝐈 ] this boy kaminari loves the drama as long as he's not a part of it. and most definitely wouldn't want to hear his beautiful girl's name out of anyone else mouth, even ms kendo from 1-B. he brings the situation to your attention. nonetheless asks you to no fight, in school at least, and tells you to let him know if she say anything else. "I'll put on a wig if needed." it turns out he'd need to for the next day.

... when you texted denk to let him now you beating her after school

... he made sure to pack it up real quick after class

... you catch the girl outside, asking her wassup and she dropped her stuff

-> "dayumm!"

... denki winced when you punched her jaw

... the sound echoing along with the other heavy hits you planted on that head

... his capturing everything he screamed from behind the camera

-> "WORLDSTAR! beat her 'ah babe!"

... possibly tased the girl while you beat her

-> "QUIT PLAYIN' WIT ME!"

... just then cementoss pushed into the fight to break y'all up

... denks acted like he wasn't videoing and helped out

... was sent to the principal with you

... makes sure to zoom in on the girl bloody face on cam

... denki most def seems the type to post it to twitter

[ 𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 ] shinso ain't bout all the confrontation. he will totally brainwash the person to walk away. that's how much he doesn't care. hearing you tell him about some girl antagonizing you, he asks you if you want him to brainwash her. you told him it wasn't necessary because she wasn't gon do anything. "even if she does try something, walk away." easy for him to say.

... toshi looked for you during his bathroom break

... your class was in the gym for combat practice right now

... opening the door to peer his head in, hitoshi spots you

... however, you're soaked with water

... next thing he knows you jump on this girl

... you pull her hair and knee her face

-> "damn."

... people crowd and alert ectoplasm

... toshi decide to brainwash him just to give you extra mins

... the pent up annoyance in you fueled your punches

... when the girls friends start pulling you off

... toshi wastes no time rushing to you and breaking the brainwash on ecto

-> "IMA KEEP CATCHIN' YOU! I SWEA'!!"

... hitoshi pulls you away at takes you to the nurse to ice your hands

... softly kisses them while smiling because of how you handled her

-> "i think you be her enough baby. she can't take no more."

... keeps a keen eye on your every move from that day forward

[ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐀 ] aizawa told you about ms. joke being obsessed with him when you first coupled up. and he knew you wouldn't be fond of hearing that. saying the day she gets too comfortable, you'd smack her up. "that won't be necessary hun." oh but it is. she really thought showing up to his job was a good idea. toshinori being a real one, hit you up and let you know.

... you walked down the ua hall and looked for the teacher lounge

... nearing the door you heard a woman laughing

... your blood was boiling

... in an instant your eyes fall upon shota being cornered by ms. joke

... all he heard was rapid footsteps when he turned and seen emi get punched

... eyes widen at the culprit; YOU

-> "y/n!"

... you were about to attack the girl again but used his bands on you

… you shouted for him to let you go

… the lady charged at you in that instant

… ngl, she got you one good time on your eye

… now you felt mad

… aizawa sighed as he loosed his grip and let you go

… you started wallin’

… your first was like super smashing her face in and aizawa sipped the coffee that he made

… eventually he decided to break them up as students that passed by were whispering and some even videotaped

… when he pull you off, all might walked in helped the joke get up

-> “NEVER THINK ABOUT PUSHIN’ UP ON HIM AGAIN”

… aizawa wrapped your lips up

-> "i told you that wasn't necessary. but thank you."

[ 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 ] i feel like shigaraki wouldn’t be to fond to seeing you fight. more so over petty things. he doesn’t have a care in the world about people fighting being that he has hatred in his own heart. but to know you wanna fight over him, he thinks it’s stupid. “fighting over me is a stupid idea when i’m already yours. but knock yourself out.” his response wasn’t what you wanted but he gave you permission so cool.

… there was a new girl member added to the group

… she was young too

… but her attitude stunk

… so during the meeting you asked her if she wanted to fight

… little miss attitude stood up

… and you popped her

… y’all was going at it and she tried to pull you to the ground. ultimately failing

… kurogiri tried to help break y’all up

-> “no. let 'em fight. that's what she wanted right?”

… hearing him say that made you a bit more angry

… you used that on the girl

… pulling hard at her hair and repeatedly thumping her face in

… hit after hit, the girl was giving up

… when you knocked her out, shiggy allowed kuro to interfere

-> “WE COULD GO ROUND FOR ROUND! IM NEVA TIRED”

… shiggy walked over to you and pulled you away to a different room

… he takes the hand off his face and stares you in the eyes

… his face serious

-> “did you get it outta your system?”

… you grumble and he tells you that you got her good and no more fighting

… or else he’ll get you

in every situation [no matter what the circumstances] be thankful and continually give thanks to God; for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus. (‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭5‬:‭18‬ ‭AMP‬‬)

[tired-teacher-blog]

On the off chance that Aizawa manages to get you mad at him for whatever reason, your initial reaction would be to let him know, because as quick witted as he is, things like that can easily go over his head if not pointed out clearly.

Surely he hates upsetting you, so when it happens it's usually no more than a misunderstanding, but it's also not in his nature to flat out apologize or ask for forgiveness, that's why he'd do his utmost to lighten the mood and win you back in other ways, and it's a sight to behold.

First he would simply invade your personal space, taking a seat by your side while making sure to bump his knee or shoulder against yours and see if you're willing to have him near.

Obviously you do not react to his advances, but wouldn't push him away either– too intrigued by your own curiosity to dismiss him just yet, so you sit back and enjoy the view of him struggling internally.

He then carefully leans some of his weight on you, will probably even rest his head against yours or place a hand on your thigh, depending on the mood, to which you still say and do nothing.

That's when his patience starts running thin, or rather, when he realizes that he has truly messed up and needs to swallow his pride and apologize properly, and so he does.

_ "I'm sorry I was out of line, but it won't happen again I promise." his voice would be small and anxious as he cautiously takes your hand in his big calloused ones, fiddling with your fingers while gazing at you with a tinge of worry, and that's the only thing he seems capable of doing at the moment.

You immediately give in to a smile that's been threatening to creep across your face this whole time, because in reality, you were never actually upset with him, you were just relishing a side of your boyfriend that you rarely get to witness, but maybe you should cut him some slack already?

_ "It's okay Shouta, let's just forget about it." and you jump in his arms without a warning, giving him no time to react while moving to straddle his waist and watch as his stunned expression slowly switches to an amused one.

_ "Done," he nods in agreement, wrapping his arms around you before nuzzling your cheek to whisper seductively, "now kiss me."

And it doesn't stop there, not with a kiss, never with just a kiss, and his greed for you starts to show when he shamelessly slides his hands lower and lower until reaching your butt cheeks, squeezing your flesh teasingly as a sign of what awaits you, and if that's not enough to tell his intentions, then the smirk curving his lips as they mold perfectly with yours, sure is.

[kleftiko]

❦ FAMILY MEN

ft. aizawa, hawks, bakugo, dabi

MASTERLIST

—aizawa

your daughter looked up at eri as she taught the younger girl how to style hair clips and accessories. your daughter was just over a year old, curious about things but not good with coordination, so eri enjoyed being the big sister and teaching her all about fashion. and who was the model for her cosmetology lessons? none other than your husband, shota. there was nothing his girls couldn’t get away with, so he sat patiently as he graded work on the floor as they tugged and pulled on his black locks. every once in a while there was a wince or grimace on his face because they weren’t that gentle, but he didn’t say anything. you silently laughed watching them from across the room, thinking that you couldn’t have chosen a better man.

—hawks

the habitual babbling of your little boy rang through the kitchen. you looked up at the clock because you knew your boyfriend would be coming home around this time. it seemed your son was starting to get a sense of time by figuring out when his dad came back everyday. and just as planned, the front door flew open, and a rush of red flew in front of you, straight to the highchair as keigo lifted your son. the air was instantly filled with giggles and kisses as the hero greeted his pride and joy. for a minute you were an afterthought, going back to your work until he gave you a few sweet kisses in greeting, son still in his arms.

“can we have a girl next?” he asked and you smiled at him sarcastically.

“can i have a ring?”

—bakugo

you heard him shouting from the other room.

“don’t put that in your mouth! give me that!”

your daughter babbled in the same tone right back at him. despite not knowing how to speak yet, she gave her dad the exact same amount of attitude that he dished out. you were curious and apprehensive to see when she grew up.

“don’t talk to me that way!”

“katsuki!” you called. “keep it down.”

your husband emerged from the room, holding a freshly changed daughter on his hip who was muching happily on a clean diaper.

“she started it.” he grumbled and you rolled your eyes at his beef with an eight month old. “anyway, i—ow, shit!”

your daughter had bit his shoulder, obviously preferring her dad over the diaper.

—dabi

“i’m home!” you called but got no reply. you kicked off your shoes and went searching for your boys, only to find them in your bedroom. both were napping on the bed, dabi curled his body around his son as if to protect him from the world. your little boy had one hand grasping his dad’s shirt tightly, the other grabbing at dabi’s mouth, some fingers having pulled his lip down a bit. your heart melted at the sight, and you immediately sighed. your instinct was to curl up with them and hold them, but you couldn’t bring yourself to disturb them so you just watched fondly for a couple minutes before dabi’s eyes naturally fluttered open. he blinked a bit before noticing you.

“if he doesn’t get his hand out of my mouth i’m burning him.”

“toya, no.”

[444sluz]

What’s It Like Dating Shota A. (HC)

• Nap cuddles

• sleeping is a date to him

• stress sex/angry sex due to his students

• driest texter outta them all

• you guys have cats due to the fact that he doesn’t want kids minus Eri as his students traumatized him

• if you work at UA definitely blowies during lunch

• people know your dating but won’t brag about it

• date nights are hard

• lets you style his hair if you want

• matching hair clips SOMETIMES

• accidentally came to school wearing your hairclip and suspends anyone who talks about it

• if you’re asleep when he gets home he’ll just flop onto of you

[kur-ooz]

Texts with babydaddy Aizawa.

Hey Lovie could I get some more babydaddy Aizawa Por Favor He’s so yummy

A/N - This is the last part! I really enjoyed doing this series with him :(

TAGLIST - @sleepyk0dyz @djlance-rock @naladrawssss @stoned-anime-babe @sunolls @amansabastris @mirophobic @hanta-seros-wifey @moonchild701 @allukaed @angeliicheartt @lover-no-lover61 @sugarplumz100 @chickenlvr123 @sukunaspillow @spammzz @villxinmiixx @suki0 @randomveyn @frosted-flakes @kcch-ns

Tenyasblkwife ™

[nikki0606]

my man | aizawa shouta X reader

[oneshot; (part 1) . (part 2 will be out soon)]

.

It's bittersweet walking through the gates of the school building you would run around in with your friends almost a decade ago now.

Not a thing has changed, you can still imagine yourself chasing Shirakumo to get back your lunch while the other girls leave you behind not wanting to deal with what comes next.

This 'next' is Yamada's loud calls. Obviously, the whole of the school would know who he is looking for during the breaks. His voice made it from one end of the school to the other and that, when U.A. covers a massive swathe of land.

One of the only unfamiliar places of the school is where you're headed now– the teachers' lounge.

It's going to go well.. relax.

You're nervous, not because you've now chosen to teach in the very school you yourself became a hero but because you will finally be in front of the faces you haven't seen in ages having needed to move abroad immediately after school for your mother's cancer treatment.

The door opens before you can hold the knob revealing the same principal from years ago, you wonder if he ever ages at all.

"Just in time, (L/n)-san. I just briefed the other teachers about you." his lips curve to the same smile you've known forever and instantly, one rises up your face, he continues, "How have you been?"

"I've been doing well." you smile and enter as he open the door thereby coming into sight of all the people sitting in the room.

"That's brilliant to hear." Nezu lifts his paw, but before he can say anything else, a way-too-loud call of "(Name)-chan! You're the new teacher?" cuts in.

Nezu doesn't hold you both back from having your moment. Instantly, Yamada hurries in for a hug, "You're back– wait, I should be mad at you for not keeping in touch!"

Midnight is next, she calls you her favourite Kohai from school times and brags to everyone about the fun you all would have fun after basically lifting you and swinging you around in the hug.

The others teachers chuckle and them and tell you they haven't been their chaotic selves in some time before this.

It is during the talk with the new people around that you notice Aizawa Shouta leaned against the wall in the corner of the room, his face turned to the ground in front and a conflicted look adorning it.

Your lips twitch– he hasn't even come to greet you despite you having returned after almost a decade.

Something tells you you shouldn't be surprised, however. He has always been his 'stay out of attention' self. Maybe he didn't want to draw too much of attention to the fact that he knows you too?

But he is a teacher here so he shouldn't be complaining about attention in the first place.

Oh, whatever reason it is.

You make your way to him while the fuzziness from years ago enters your chest again. It's alright– you know you feel exactly the same way for him as you did years ago.

Or maybe whatever this is more intense. You've longed for him for almost a decade now after all.

"Shouta-kun." his name sounds melodic as it leaves your lips, "H-How are you doing?" there is a small pause, "I mean.. y-you remember me, right?"

The indifferent, unfamiliar look in his eyes makes your throat fill up with an acidic doubt. You swallow hard.

"I don't have the memory of a goldfish, (Name)-chan." he sigh and turns his head to the side, "Of course I remember you. You were way to noisy to forget back then."

"I can't tell whether that's a compliment or an insult." the laugh that escapes your lips is more of relief than amusement.

He hums, then steps away from you, turning to say, "Go figure out." before he walks off.

You halt, blinking a few times at his figure leaving the room.

"It's time for class." Yamada's arm falls on your shoulder, "It's not that he's running from you or something, okay?"

You let out a snort, "As if I'd assume that." but you partially have.

"Lie to someone else." he shakes his head, then holds his hands in front of his face, "Shouta-kun's mind is tunnel visioned to his students like this during work hours here. All of ours are– minus Nemuri-chan because she's.. well forget it, you'll get to know –but, point is, you'll have to work hard here, (Name)-chan."

"Oh, hit me with anything, Hizashi-kun." your lips tug upwards.

He frowns, "But that day I hit you with the iron rod, you cried."

.

_______________________________________________

.

"What does go figure out even mean?" your head rests against the glass window. Classes ended half an hour ago and you're proud to say you did pretty well for a first time.

"It means go figure out." Yamada gives you company to act like an idiot in front of the departing students, "What do you think it is, a compliment or an insult?"

"Totally an insult." you deadpan at him.

"At least your retardation hasn't gotten worse over the years." Aizawa's voice walks past the both of you and you and Yamada immediately jolt straight and turn to see him walk away with test papers.

"A test on the first day of school after summer break?" you shiver, "Shouta-kun's the devil to his students."

"Oh," Yamada shakes his head pitifully, "he is. Before the last year, he always told the whole class they've failed and are expelled from the school just to give them a near death experience."

"That idiot.. " your gaze lingers on his figure walking further away in the corridor. The boy you knew was just nineteen when you last saw him.

He's a man now.

They both really did age well.

Your mind prefers to place Aizawa on the top of this 'aging well' hierarchy until Midnight comes into your mind and you have to readjust with a chuckle.

To celebrate your return, Yamada drags you all into a restaurant he owns for dinner later that evening.

Partially, you hope he would have given you time to get dressed pretty for a certain pair of tired black eyes but the other part argues you've lose your head in stress of what to wear and what to not if that happened.

Conversations drag on at the table while plates empty into all of your stomachs. Being heroes means a massive diet after all.

"And then there was this weird self-obsessed-ish kid." you did try to eat decently in front of the others but they remembered how rabid you are so it was no good.

"Who– wait, I know. It's Monomoa." Yamada laughs, "No one else in 2B fits under that terminology."

"He's not self obsessed, come on." Aizawa sighs and shakes his head, "Are you seriously considering teaching at U.A. a joke?"

"I mean.. " you shrug, "they took you in so it would be pretty lousy here, wouldn't it?"

Yamada and Kayama laugh.

"Oh?" Aizawa's eyebrows raise, "Says the girl who lost a Sports Festival match because a bug got into her costume."

"For your information, it was a worm." you gag at the memory, "And it reminded me of you and your yellow sleeping bags, Shouta-kun. Now tell me then, do you want something that reminds me of you to be wiggling around my boobs?"

Yamada snorts out a glass of water to the side. Aizawa scoffs though he clearly is surprised to see you're just as shameless as you were back then.

"When will you ever grow up?" he rolls his eyes.

"When you get your hair cut short." you place the glass on the table with full confidence, ignoring the way Yamada signals you to change your statement from the side.

"Tomorrow then." Aizawa nods, his lips pulling into his signature shit-eating grin, "If you don't grow up tomorrow, you're responsible for cleaning up all toilets in the staff room."

You realize he would definitely have his hair chopped if it means rubbing this into your face, "Don't you dare touch your hair, Shouta-kun." you life your knife up at him, "Those luscious locks must stay."

While Aizawa facepalms, Kayama laughs out loud in laughter. You tell her she's laughing at anything and she replies telling you you're hilarious.

"And," you turn back to Aizawa, "if that's your way of inviting me to your bathroom, Shouta-kun, I accept the offer." the way he rolls his eyes is enough to make you stop using the playfully seductive tone.

Yamada rubs his cheeks, "Man, living with Shouta-kun's going to give me depression. I haven't laughed much yet but my cheeks already hurt. I'm so glad you're back, (Name)-chan."

"Me too." your expressions melt like butter, you flash them all a beautifully genuine smile, voice getting the slightest bit heavy, "I missed you all so much."

"If you cry, I'll puke." Aizawa comments.

"If I puke, I'll make you lick it all off." you comment back, expressions stoic and staring into space.

Aizawa makes a disgusted face. Kayama has almost actually puked out something at the thought. This sort of talk while eating effects Yamada as little as it does you.

"You took general studies too?" Aizawa sighs and decides to change the topic before you say something more gross.

"Yep."

"Anyone noticeable?"

"If you mean that purple turnip head boy with eyes as head as yours, yes. If you mean anything other than the fact that he's probably an insomniac, no." you shrug and take a bite of your food.

"That's Shouta-kun's son." Yamada snidely mentions. You choke and cough out the contents of your mouth.

"Stop it, Hizashi-kun." Aizawa tiredly leans in his chair.

"You know I won't, don't you?" he grins, "That's the kid Aizawa gives personal lessons too because the kid's quirk is brain related and– oi, he's not actually Shouta-kun's son."

"Oh?" you'd been moments away from hyperventilating and talk airily, "O-Of course.. I-I mean why would he be.. Shouta-kun's too young to have a kid that old."

"Shouta-kun wouldn't have a kid at all because he would sleep through the wedding." Kayama repeats an OG joke from the childhood and you and Yamada laugh nostalgically.

Aizawa's head lolls back tiredly, "So this is a one-sided bullying session against me?"

"Aw, don't be sad about it, Shouta-kun." you coo, "They say only the prettiest people get bitched about. I'm sure you wouldn't mind."

He turns to you, "What stupid romance novel did you read this in now?"

You blink, "What do you mean romance novel?"

"Considering your life outside fantasy is non existent." he tilts his head, "What was that fiction you would read back in the day? You remember it, Hizashi-kun?"

"Ah.. " his eyebrows raise as your ears glow red, "I'd totally forgotten.. don't remember what it was about, though."

Aizawa's grin returns, "A weird hero with silky black hair saves a girl from death and they fall in– " you cut him off before he can say something more to embarrass you.

Just as fucking oblivious about it now too, aren't you, Shouta-kun.

"You paid a lot of attention to me back then, eh, Shouta-kun." this gives you the responsive pause you need, "You even remember the details of the story. Oh my, you weren't jealous, were you?"

Take that, bitch.

The voice in your head says it in too adoring a way for you to be able to muster any sassy expressions. A soft look adorns your face instead.

Aizawa's expressions have dropped to zero. His ears well hidden under his own hair are radiating heat now, it's obvious by the unusual tint against his pale skin.

"Exposed." Yamada snickered, "Poor boy Shouta."

"Shut up, will you?" the man frowns and drops himself against the chair once more, "Fucking noisy, both of you."

"Oh my," your hand comes to your mouth, "did I just hear sensei swear? How dirty."

"I will kill you." he threatens, head turning away.

"Oh," you say in a dramatized tone, "don't you already?"

Aizawa huffs, his scarves covering his cheeks to hide the tint of pink. Kayama realises she wants to see the same colour on your face.

"First day back and she's already flirting with Shouta-kun." her snicker punches your guts, "How obvious you make your crush on him, (Name)-chan."

The effect is immediate, hot red pumps into your face. You pass her a betrayed look but she and Yamada are too busy grinning at each other to care.

Aizawa doesn't interfere or even choose to take a shot against you at this. He pretends to not have heard this at all.

Your lips curve low, it bothers you that he would not react in any way on hearing something like this.

Even if he is not interested in you, you still do wish to have some or the other sort of response from him whenever you gather the courage to confess to him but this firsthand scenario doesn't bring in much.

The cold look from the teacher's lounge appears in your mind momentarily.

You find the need to take a bathroom break.

.

_______________________________________________

.

It's been some time since you've been teaching at U.A., though it was mostly a behind-the-curtain work schedule.

Nezu has decided to make you an official homeroom teacher the next year which means you get teacher training.

"What are we doing?" you're not very sure about what Yamada is leading you into. Principal Nexu did say there is going to be a new task for you today and that your loud friend would take you to it but it definitely has nothing to do in front of Aizawa's classroom, right?

Yamada barges in, "Yeeaah!" he's just as full of energy as ever, "Good morning my lovely little listeners!"

There is a decently energetic response.

While Aizawa tells him to get out, Yamada makes an annoucement, "I'm going to introduce a new teacher to you all today! She's your sensei's very special friend."

You're not the only one who has facepalmed. Aizawa tiredly begs you to take him away with the look on his face.

The students beat you teachers to making a move, though.

"Are we talking about the new teacher you were standing beside with your head against the window with yesterday?" a girl asks.

"Bingo!" Yamada's hands point to her, "This new teacher is," you're dragged inside with one hand, "(L/n) (Name) sensei! The one person in the world who knows how to bully your sensei!"

Aizawa claps sarcastically, "Wow, what an enlightening introduction."

"You really could have done better, Hizashi-kun." you feel embarrassed to be pulled in front of everyone like this, "That's just.. "

"Whatever it is, out, both of you. Now." Aizawa orders.

You hold back from making a 'hot sensei giving orders' joke about him in front of the kids and choose to focus a little longer on the way his hair hangs around his face.

"Oi, her training session briefing is under your surveillance." Yamada tells him and Aizawa mutters something about wanting to be dead, "Take care of the both of them, you all!" he turns to the students.

They don't immediately understand.

"They could either A, fight and kill each other or B, make out and be kicked out from the– " you grab his arm and throw him out, then instantly turn to the class with a strict look.

"Don't you all dare get any funny ideas."

They all clearly push the gossip for later when they reply with a "yes ma'am".

Aizawa behind you looks like he's about to bang his head to the wall. Clearly, he isn't very eager to see his students get the wrong idea and thereby become a topic of gossip.

You honestly wouldn't step in that pit either.

"I'll only be joining you all for training session today." you have your strict face on, "If you think your sensei is bad, I'm a nightmare." but it just so happens that Aizawa snorts at that spoiling the seriousness behind your words.

When you turn to him, you find him trying to make a straight face through amusement. That, but the students can see because he's turned away from them and is walking towards you.

"Grab your suits and hurry down to training." he tells them, "And you, nightmarish teacher, come behind me."

Your jaw drops, "Are you ridiculing me, Shouta-kun?" of course the kids wouldn't mind some drama from you too, right?

Well Shouta's fault, not mine.

"Yes. I'm surprised your pea sized brain can tell." he walks out of the class leaving you behind but not any chances for you to cause the drama until the students turn to you.

"Good luck, new sensei." one of them says, "Go turn the look in your eyes to words and he'll say yes for sure.. maybe.. "

"Hey, what the hell?" you snap your head towards this blond boy with the black lighting bolt in his hair, "Behave." but he looks too conflicted to pay attention.

"Actually, he's definitely going to reject you." he speaks up a moment later, "B-But that's because Aizawa sensei has zero romance drive, not because you're not cool or something. You're super cute— ah, nevermind."

His face buries in his hands.

You don't understand whether to coo at the kid or just laugh out loud. Aizawa peeks in from the side of the door a moment later and you decide to just escape the odd situation.

Some strict nightmarish teacher you are.

.

_______________________________________________

.

"Oh, you fucking monster." your body is sore, "This was supposed to be training for the kids, not me."

"Right?" Aizawa lazily examines the papers, "It's such a shame you're so out of shape. How good you were back when we were kids."

"Says the guy who always defeated me in the sports festivals." you frown.

"You never even tried to fight." he hums, eyes focused on the training report sheets he made the students write, "Never understood that. I do remember how mercilessly you threw Hizashi out of boundaries."

"Couldn't hurt your pretty face, you know." you shrug, heat rising to your cheeks but you play it cool, "Plus Hizashi was just annoying during sports festivals."

"His quirk is being loud, (Name)-chan." Aizawa's eyes roll over to your for a moment. You find yourself admiring how well he has matured once again, "But that being put aside, how come you're this out of shape?"

I'm not out of shape, Shouta-kun..

"I was distracted by how handsome of a man you've become." you word it in a ridiculing tone but there isn't an inch of your statement that isn't true, "Oh, the jawline, the super pull-able hair and the muscles."

Aizawa rolls his eyes.

"And the eye rolls." this comes out a lot softer and warmer. You've missed his eye rolls for so long now.

"Uh-huh?" Aizawa takes half his pile of papers and gives them to you to check promising lunch if you help him with it, "What, has being single for so long started getting to you?"

An amused giggle leaves your lips, you cuddle into the couch ignoring the papers completely, "People think you're such a nice, serious guy, Shouta-kun. Me and Hizashi know."

"Know what?" his eyes linger at the papers for a little, then on a cut on your ankle.

"That's you're such a dirty little boy." you lean towards him, "Being single has gotten to me? Oh no, babyboy, you've gotten to me."

He makes a face, you immediately dramatize gag at your words to not make him doubt your words to be true.

"You're disgusting." he tells you.

"You're disgusting too. What was the need to toss me around like that in front of the students?" you frown, "I've got cuts and bruises all up my legs."

His eyes rest on the little cut on your ankle again, "Why didn't you go see recovery girl?"

"Recovery grandma?" your eyebrow raises, "She's still here?"

"Oh she is." he drops his pen and leans back into the couch too. Aizawa is tired, he needs his coffee. It's already the time of the day when Hizashi comes in with a cup of coffee for him, Aizawa doesn't understand why he's late today.

"There isn't much that has changed." you hum, head turned up towards him while leaning against the couch, "It's just you and Hizashi."

"We've changed?" his head rolls to you.

"Physically." you say, "Plus Hizashi-kun said he's seeing someone so that has changed.. are you?"

"Am I seeing someone?" Aizawa's eyes blink lazily, irises focused into yours, "The only thing I'm seeing is papers." he pulls his boots off, "So many of them."

"Do you not take breaks?" your eyes focus on the bags under his, finger going up immediately to touch the skin, "I'm worried you'll get too stressed like this and— " you're cut off by him.

"What are you doing?"

You blink, "What?"

"What are you doing? Your hand is on my face, (Name)-chan." there's a pause as he pulls his head away, "That's.. weird."

Your lips tighten, "R-Right.. sorry."

"It's fine.. " tension fills into the air, "Just.. don't do it again."

"Sure.. " your head droops along with your expressions. It's odd hearing this— it could still be him messing around with you but he'd give you an indication then.

You feel dejected, as though he's throwing you off before you even tell him how much you'd wish to drown into him.

Should I.. ?

But how can you indirectly relay your feelings to him just to make sure he doesn't actually with to reject you if you ever do.

It may just be under the tag of friendship, but there is still warmth in Aizawa's eyes when he looks at you. You know to not classify this as just friendship.

"Ah.. " your hands cover your face, "Life is moving forward, no?"

"Obviously." his head rests back.

"I knew you as a young boy, Shouta-kun. You were nineteen when I had to leave." a smile slips up your face like butter, your tone is adoring, "You've become a man now."

"What else do you expect me to become?" he shifts to the side to get better view of you.

You roll your eyes, "You probably feel what I'm talking about too, right? I was just a little girl when you last saw me."

"It just so happens that you've not grown at all." he shrugs, "Not by brains, not by height," his eyes lower from your face for a fraction of a second but Aizawa happens to have the best control over himself, he doesn't let his expressions show this at all, "so, no. I can't tell."

You, on the other hand, are shameless. Mostly.

"If what you want to say is that my boobs and hips have grown, don't be shy, Shouta-kun." you wave your hand at him, "It's not like I don't notice when you stare."

He makes an odd expression again, then turns away.

"That's weird, (Name)-chan. It's not right, don't say stuff like that."

You blink, "Not right?"

He shifts uncomfortably, gaze flickering in the air before he gets up and walks away muttering something about you stepping over boundaries.

You frown, instantly getting up and following after him.

"What's weird, Shouta-kun? What boundaries am I stepping? Let me know at least."

He doesn't stop, neither does he reply. When you don't stop following him, Aizawa just walks into the men's bathroom.

"Bitch." you cuss under your breath, eyes getting glassier for some reason. It's odd to see such behaviour from his side.

It's already been some time since the both of you have been spending breaks together, it's a coincidentally convenient schedule.

Every single time, however, there is either one or another moment where something odd crosses over Aizawa and he wouldn't talk to you anymore.

You hate it when he does this.

You hate him not talking to you and treating you like you're just any friend.

"Oh, (L/n)-san?" Toshinori Yagi steps out of the bathroom, "How come you're standing in front of the men's bathroom?" he chuckles, "Am I getting fangirling for going to the bathroom this time?"

"O-Oh.. nevermind." you're not in right headspace to pay heed to what he has just said, "Wait.. actually, please just drag Shouta-san out, sir."

He blinks, "What?"

There's only one way to end the whirlpool of anxiety in your guts.

"Just.. please drag him out of the bathroom. He's only waiting for me to leave, I'm sure."

All Might blinks but doesn't say anything as he turns and reenters the space restricted from you.

Luckily, he manages to succeed. A tired looking Aizawa steps out and sighs, "What?"

Your eyebrows twitch in annoyance, "What do you mean what, Shouta-kun? You— come with me." you grab his arm and drag him away into the pantry of the teachers' lounge.

"What do you want, (Name)-chan?" he wouldn't look at you now.

"I want to tell you you're a bitch." you huff, "A-And.. " your lips press tight, "I.. w-want to tell you.. "

"Hurry up, I have papers to check." he's clearly looking for excuses to avoid you but you don't intend to let him get his way.

"Shouta-kun.. I.. " it's so much harder than you thought it would be, you feel like crying.

Oh fuck, just let it out.

"I just.. I've always.. " a shaky breath leaves your lips, eyes closing to avoid your eyes from popping out with how fast your heart beats, "I love you."

Absolute silence follows.

When you can't take it anymore, you shoot your eyes open only to find a look of conflict and frustration on Aizawa's face. It's spontaneous– something stops in your chest and a loud ringing fills your ears.

"You.. shouldn't have said that." Aizawa's words are the only that make way to your ears though the buzz, "That's not good. It's– we're not doing this, (Name)-chan. You.. shouldn't be doing this."

Your lips shut tight, throat too dried up to speak all of a sudden.

Aizawa inhales, his face turning away and voice low and heavy, "I don't feel the same, (Name)-chan. It's concerning you feel this way.. it's hilarious of an idea in the first place."

His words act as daggers stabbing your heart.

"And.. I don't think.. I mean, of course you know I wouldn't fall for a person like you even in my nightmares." a hollow, dry chuckle escapes his lips before his head drops to the floor with his lips pressed in a thin line.

The worse they can say is no?

A voice inside you laughs at your stupid self.

" ..Right.. " your voice barely makes it out. The tear rolling down your cheek beats it, " ..Uhm.. I-I'm just gonna go.. " your feet drag you away silently.

It's hard to walk through the teachers' lounge without breathing at all. The moment you've stepped out into the empty hallways, a deep, broken exhale brings down streams of tears.

Your legs beg to give out, chest throbbing painfully making ripples of stress travel throughout your body.

Somewhere to your side, Yamada's voice calls out to you. The next moment you know, you're running out of the school building towards the teachers' dorms.

.

"How long is he going to take today?" Shinsou's feet tap against the ground, "Sensei's here around this timegenerally."

Yamada hums, his gaze focused on the ground, "You know.. I think there might be some connection to (Name)-chan and Shouta-kun's spoilt mood recently."

Shinsou blinks, "I'm not going to act like you saying that should mean anything other than them being on bad romantic terms considering there is no other sensible interpretation to your words."

The hero nods, "Yup."

"What?"

"A few days ago, I saw her running away after crying outside the teachers' lounge. I chased after her and talked but she didn't say much. Shouta-kun was gloomy that day."

"What did he say?" Shinsou throws his mask to the side and hurries to sit in front of Yamada, "You did try to talk to him, right?"

Yamada shrugs, "He wouldn't talk. Quietly walked away. He hasn't been talking much to anyone since then."

"He wouldn't even say much in class." Shinsou's head falls to his lap, "What do you think could have happened?"

Yamada turns to the side, "I know them enough to say this, I'm sure either one confessed or proposed and the other said no."

"But Aizawa sensei– (L/n)-sensei was crying, you say?"

"Yeah." the man sighs, "Two of my best friends getting off with each other. What am I supposed to do?" the both of them share looks for a moment.

Shinsou nods, catching the signal Yamada has been trying to give him all this while, "You're right, what are you supposed to do?"

It takes a couple of days to set everything up but he manages to "coincidentally" make Aizawa and you end up together for dinner with Yamada.

Neither of the two of you are happy with this, it doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

"Sit, you both." Yamada knows you both are hiding whatever happened from him so wouldn't refuse now that you both are already only so he wouldn't know.

"So you planned dinner?" your voice lacks any emotion at all, it is hollow and low, and is addressed only to Yamada as if sarcastically commenting on his decision.

"I did." he smiles, "Hope the both of you don't mind. I realised we need to have a talk over something."

Neither you nor Aizawa look up. Over a week of avoiding him does nothing at all to ease the pain, and you don't wish to increase the weight in your chest by catching sight of his unaffected expressions.

Yamada doesn't speak up for some time, he allows the tension in the air settle to the ground until there is more of pain, guilt and longing at the table than suffocation.

"We met first in the sports festival of the first year." he begins once the waitress has left. He's hesitant to bring this up but there's no other way, "Shirakumo-kun was against (Name)-chan. She lost but was introduced into class A and shifted from class B."

"Yeah.. w-we know the story.. " you look to the side, eyes glassy and fingers fiddling with each other.

Clearly, you're not in the mood to get nostalgic.

"It was funny to see you fall for Shouta-kun while Shirakumo-kun flirted with you all day long." Yamada lets out a chuckle as Aizawa's head snaps up at you.

You, on the other hand, widen your eyes at him in shock– you'd never expected him to bring this topic up. It feels like betrayal.

Yamada inhales, then exhales deep, "Shirakumo-kun had a crush on you, you know."

"What?"

"Yeah.. " he gives you a small smile, "He did, but he noticed your feelings for Shouta-kun and then his behaviour changed. You remember when– "

___________ May, Second year at U.A. High ___________

"Hey Shouta," Shirakumo says, "It's just ice cream. Stop licking it as if it's Yamada's popsickle."

You begin giggling, drawing attention to yourself. Aizawa feels his lips twitch into a small smile, he loves it when you laugh though this isn't something he wishes you find amusing.

He composes himself immediately and turns to Shirakumo with a frown, "Don't open your dirty mouth like that in front of a girl at least. Have some shame, Shiro." but he is ignored.

"(Name)! (Name)!" Shirakumo is busy coming up with more nonsense, "Okay, I got an idea." the rest of you turn to him, while still licking all your ice creams.

"How about you give us some advice?"

"What sort of advice?" you ask and he smirks.

"We're all poor little dreaming boys who all definitely have some or the other crush on some or the other cute friends of ours, don't we, Shouta-kun?" the boy in questions freezes, "Why don't you rate us.. or give us an overview from a girls' angle? If we're in luck, it might help some oblivious idiot see through".

"That's random." you hum, "But," there is a pause, "I'll say.. Hizashi-kun is bright, awlways optimistic and loud one. You're gonna be probably.. well, charismatic, energetic and you know what, there's some girls in our class who call you husband material."

"They do?" Shirakumo is pleased, "Did you hear that, guys?"

"Go on, bitch some more about your friends, (Name)-chan." Aizawa rolls his eyes at Shirakumo's smug expression, "You're snitching on them."

"Sometimes you should take that stick up your ass out and try some fingers." you close your eyes and give Aizawa a firm nod. Shirakumo and Yamada burst out laughing.

"What about Shouta-kun, though?" Shirakumo elbows the boy and turns back to you when his laughs dies down to chuckles.

You hum, "To me, he's like.. the definition of manliness. If testosterone is something, it's him. You know what, it's not my choice at all– Shouta-kun in general looks like a sexy tsundere guy who the girl would call daddy or something, you get what I mean?"

"Boy boy, someone's all red." Shirakumo laughs at Aizawa who just grunts and looks away. You don't have the confidence to look towards his face after all you've said either.

"He'll get lots of options for wives.. only if he didn't doze of mid-wedding." you crack the OG joke and everyone other that Aizawa snorts.

"Ay, don't be too rough with him (Name)-chan." Shirakumo exaggerates scolding you, "Our sweet sugar daddy is blushing. He might just burst if you keep this up."

Aizawa turns to him instantly and mutters a "what the fuck?" under his breath.

But Shirakumo isn't the only cheeky bitch in the group.

"Come on, sweet daddy.. " you exaggerate a coo, "Don't get mad. I'm scared you'll be too rough." and as you do, you realise Shirakumo isn't lying when he says Aizawa might burst.

His ears are steaming, cheeks blood red already. You doubt he'd be able to take another tease.

"Little kitten's blushing." Shirakumo laughs, "If I were gay, I'd be totally into him. It's too sad I'm not a single girl among us four who can crush on him."

Shirakumo gets a glare from you, you're thankful Aizawa hasn't heard him well.

___________ - ___________

"Why would you suddenly bring that up today?" Aizawa understand your behaviour from back then now only now that he has been confessed to, "Things of the past should stay in the past."

"Misunderstandings of the past should stay in the past too." Yamada looks up, "Shirakumo realised (Name)-chan's interest in you too early on. He liked it, actually. He always thought you were perfect for her and the other way around."

Aizawa's expressions drop to zero at the revelation.

"Actually.. " Yamada clears his throat, "He'd always known you push your feelings for (Name)-chan down because of his crush on her."

Your head snaps up at what you've heard.

..Shouta-kun had feelings for me back then.. ?

"He'd been trying to set the both of you up for over an year already before he.. died." silence spreads at the table, "You don't need to reject your feelings for (Name)-chan anymore, Shouta-kun."

Aizawa stares hard at the table, you look between him and Yamada. Nothing seems to set properly in your brain, you don't know what's going on.

"You don't need to reject her in loyalty to our dead friend. He didn't die loving her, he died hoping the both of you would give each other a chance.. "

Aizawa doesn't know what to say, his lips part to speak but no voice leaves.

"She's not his, dude. Don't label her like that.. just.. free yourself from this burden. Shirakumo-kun didn't die loving her."

Silence prevails at the table for far too long. Yamada looks uncomfortable with this silence. He keeps on looking between your and Aizawa's fallen faces.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Aizawa's voice is so low it barely feels the words have left his mouth.

Yamada sighs, "I thought you knew.. " he waits for a little more time before getting up with an "enjoy dinner, you two. Talk it out." and leaves.

Neither you not Aizawa says anything for even longer– you're losing your patience now. Tears build up in your eyes.

You do understand that he needs time to digest the revelation as much as you do but the past week of heartache has barely left anything for you to stay silent with.

The only desire you have is to know how he feels about you now. That, but you don't know how you'll ever talk to him again after all he has said.

Aizawa looks up a moment later, his eyes unusually and surprisingly glassy, "I'm sorry.. " he begins, " ..for everything."

And though you did not think this could ease any of your pain, you find yourself crying into your hands a moment later. This time, he's there to calm you.