#shota aizawa x male!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dabisbratz · 1 year ago

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𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

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

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

You’re back home for the summer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s fucked.

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

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart could almost burst.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep. He’s fucked.

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

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

“I think you got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can see that.”

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

There’s always something in your mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

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

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

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

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

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

Shouta is avoiding you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmph.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only it were his cock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were holding hands.

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

And that isn’t even it.

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

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

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

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

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else would I say?”

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

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

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

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

“Show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

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

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

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

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

But it does.

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

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

Delayed gratification.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

“Sweet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

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

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

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

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

And that’s all you need to hear.

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enbyenvy666 · 6 months ago

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i just can't

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

based on something i discovered about myself recently 🤭

CONTENT WARNINGS - 18+ MDNI, gn!reader x various, vibrator, reader takes medication (brief implication of poor mental health), reader has trouble coming, no beta we die like men w/c - 0.4k

“I told you, I can’t cum.”

It felt like it was the umpteenth you had to repeat yourself. You loved your partner, you truly did, and you knew he was coming from a good place when he asked you if you finished. He just wanted you to feel as good as you made him, but you couldn’t through no fault of your own. It was a medication you had taken for years, one of the side effects being the inability to orgasm. Sure, it was frustrating at times but it was a necessary evil in exchange for better mental health.

“Are you sure?” He would ask again, already reaching down to touch between your thighs.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you would always respond, silencing his next argument with a kiss. “You still made me feel amazing baby.”

It was always sweet of him to try, you had rubbed yourself raw many times before, but it was all in vain. That was until he came home and proudly presented a vibrator. It was shaped like a long bullet and hot pink in colour, by twisting the bottom of it the vibrations became stronger, and despite its simplistic design, the way it strongly buzzed in your hand had you impressed.

Eager to use it, he quickly had you on the bed, naked and moaning. The stretch of his cock had a familiar feeling burning inside you, but you never wanted him to stop. He almost got lost in the moment, fucking into your tight hole and savouring your sweet whimpers made him forget his goal. On the lowest setting, he ran the vibrator over your nipples, giving you a taste of what was to come—down your belly and between your thighs, touching it to every sensitive spot on your sex.

Every jolt of pleasure the toy sent through you had your back arching, tightening around his fat cock still thrusting inside your slick hole. Feeling you squeeze him particularly tight, he held the vibrator on that bundle of nerves that had you breathless, nails clawing down his back. Before you even realised what had happened, you were crying his name as your body tensed and legs shook, feeling as if something in your core snapped and released, your body now sticky with your cum.

His hips stilled, still balls deep inside your guts, and drew the vibrator away, staring down at you with wide eyes. Your eyes were equally as wide, panting to catch your breath. His lips stretched into a smirk, keeping his eyes locked with yours and he turned the vibrator up, bringing it back between your legs.

It was time to make up for all those years.

𓍊𓋼𓆏𓋼𓍊 Katsuki Bakugo, Eijiro Kirishima, Izuku Midoriya, Dabi, Hawks, Shota Aizawa, Shoto Todoroki, Lucifer (OM), Satan (OM), Mammon (OM), Solomon (OM), Diavolo (OM), Lucifer Morningstar (HH), Asmodeus (HB)

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bloody-night · 3 months ago

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Midnight sweats

Aizawa Shouta x reader

you and your husband finally have time together

nsfw

Aizawa was always in U.A. either grading papers or teaching, helping his students who only he could control best. You were a known hero around Japan, working everyday to maintain a reputation as you climbed to make it to the pro heroes.

You both never had time to be together, only once in a while you’d have a few minutes or sometimes an hour or more to spend time with your darling love. Paying Aizawa a visit with gifts or food, maybe also to chat and catch up.

Until recently you finally had a day off, paying a visit to your dear husband.

The dorms for Class 1-A were empty, the students were still with the pro heroes working by their side. The building was ominously quiet, that is until the sounds of the bed creaking and the headboard hitting the wall loudly could be heard throughout the building.

“Fuck…” Aizawa huffed loudly, his teeth biting his pillow, wetting it with drool, his hands gripping the sheets. Your thrusts weren’t helping him think, that way your hips snapped onto his, his ass recoiling from the way you thrusted so roughly inside him.

“You love me fucking you like this?” You asked, chuckling breathlessly before continuing to fuck him in place. Your hand pushing his face onto the pillow, fingers gripping his long hair. Your other hand groping his ass, occasionally giving it a slap. Aizawa would let out a groan of pain, but immediately moan afterwards from your thrusting. The smacking of his cock hitting against his stomach as it leaked sticky pre-cum, it made him slightly embarrassed, though those thoughts were pushed back as you gave him a life time of a fucking.

His ass was up, back arched beautifully as you fucked him eagerly, hungry for him, hungry for his hole and warm insides. You groaned as you leaned down, hands moving to press down and lower your husbands’s ass, before holding his hips in place, keeping them still as you fucked him like your living and tight fleshlight. Your teeth latched onto his shoulder, before quickening your pace. Practically pounding him at this point. You behaved like a feral wolf, eager to fuck and breed Aizawa. It was well deserved after months without being together like this.

Your husband moved his head to the side, moaning loudly as your cock was thick and long enough to reach his sweet spot. Tears pricked his dry eyes, before squeezing them shut. “Fuck… keep fucking me, please..” He whispered desperately. His body covered in glistening sweat, seemingly glowing as the moonlight shone on him. He was so hungry for you, he missed you so much, he missed your touch, your gaze, especially your fat cock that fucked him dumb.

Aizawa whimpered as he felt you quicken your thrusts more, pounding his insides, literally reaching his guts and arranging them, making Shouta breathless with each thrust you gave him.

His face was red, drool escaping his lips and pupils blown from so much lust. You pulled away from him shoulder, leaving it bruised and drooled on, before grunting loudly. “‘M gonna fill you up so good, so fucking good you’ll remember about me everyday when you feel your ass leak with my cum.” You promised him, gripping his hips harder, earning a hiss from him.

Your thrusts were rough, before finally giving a final one, warm cum covering your husband’s walls. Shouta gasped before he himself also came, his dick spurting out ropes of milky cum, audible grunts coming out his throat. Aizawa whimpered as he felt you fill him up, also feeling your dick twitch inside him.

You huffed, both of you trying to regain your breathing, chests rising and lowering frantically. Aizawa sighed as he tried moving, before feeling you thrust again, starting out slow. “W-wait… you’re going again?” He asked, his eyes wide, staring at you through his hair.

“I told you I’m going to leave you full, you’re gonna bare my children, you’re going to be fucked dumb my love.” You whispered into his ear, earning a silent whimper from him.

Aizawa was screaming at this point, his voice pitch high as he cried. You weren’t letting go of his hips and you were frantic about breeding this man. “That’s it baby, scream all you want, tell everyone how good I’m fucking my husband.” You whispered, kissing his sweaty neck. Aizawa whimpered as he sobbed, tears streaming down his face as drool escaped past his lips. His own cock was red and swelled up from all the moments he came, it was still standing and releasing needy beads of pre cum.

You were practically sandwiching Shouta between the bed and you, your figure giving him so much warmth. Your cock pounded his insides, his hand feeling it poke through his skin, it was so overwhelming it made him tremble.

This was the ninth or tenth round, you were sure tired but this final load you were about to release was coming close. “I’m close baby, I’m close.” You whispered, latching your teeth onto his neck so tightly, afraid that if you let go you’ll lose him.

Your canines dug deep into Aizawa’s skin, it made him bleed a bit. Your husband groaned so eagerly, loving the stinging feeling you gave him as he felt your tongue lick his blood. He felt your hands arch his lower back, before drilling your cock into him one more time, loud moans of pleasure and pain left him throat, his hand gripping his pillow.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” He released a string of curses, before curling his toes and letting out a long and dragged out moan, releasing onto his already stained sheets. Shouta’s body shook as you continued, before not long after you finished inside him a final time. You panted as you stayed still, filling up your endearing husband, hearing him whimper quietly.

“That’s it baby, take in my kids, you’re gonna be a great husband for me, a holder of my kids, a vessel.” You whispered, keeping your dick in him before laying behind him, your hand feeling his tummy. “You will remember me better this way, when I’m gone for heroic reasons, you’ll have my cum as a reminder of what I’ll do to you when I’m free.” You whispered into his ear, earning a groan from him, before feeling you move his hair out of the way to make access of his neck, kissing and sucking on it.

“Thanks.. but you ruined my chance of walking for a couple of days..” He mumbled, panting quietly. “Oh please, you can take sick days.” You let out a chuckle, continuing to care for him. “Right… I hope they don’t worry about me.” He sarcastically said, rolling his eyes that you sensed without seeing him.

You both stayed silent, stayed still as you held him close to you, naked bodies pressed against each other as your cock was warm snuggled deep inside Aizawa.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up, baby.” You whispered,

before hearing a faint snore.

#x top male reader #bnha x male reader #bnha x reader #mha x male reader #mha x reader #mha aizawa #aizawa shouta #bnha aizawa #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shōta #aizawa shota x you #aizawa x male reader #aizawa shota x male reader

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boykisser4 · 3 months ago

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Tangled Souls

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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adabird · 4 months ago

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-MHA TEACHER’S + HERO’S

-PREFERENCESES + HEADCANNONS

Within the following story, there may be PROGRESSIVE or NSFW moments. Please be aware, you are responsible for your own internet consumption.

MDI

I was thinking about doing like LOV members preferences and headcannons!

ALSO thinking about writing singular headcannons for mha teachers? LET ME KNOW!

SHOTA AIZAWA - ERASERHEAD

-THICK THIGHS-

Shota is really into thick thighs.. He especially gets feral after a long day at work, when he’s come home to see you in panties and his t-shirt.. because you ‘missed him too much’ while he was away.. He’s always taking the seat next to you, needing and squishing your thighs while he talks. He also enjoys it whenever you sit infront of him, facing him while you drag your stocking clad feet up his legs.. Drives him ABSOLUTELY insane whenever he’s driving and you take one of his hands, into one of yours placing it on your thighs while caressing one of his fingers. And don’t even get started when you start to feel a little insecure. PAL. HE LOVESSSS your thighs so NO, he’s not going to leave you and he doesn’t want you to change. AT ALL!! you’re his baby ❤️

HAZASHI YAMANDA - PRESENTMIC

-BUBBLE BUTT-

Hazashi is freakyyyyy. Like, he’ll invite you to his studio while he’s recording, just to have you sit on his lap. shh you can’t make any noise though! He loves to look at your butt, admiring you, telling you that ‘it was looking at him first’ that’s why he was practically eye-fucking you.. (WOW MB) Anywho! He also loves pinching your butt whenever you two are in elevators, walking up stairs, standing next to each other, literally anytime.. He’s always on you or touching you, even in non-sexual ways. He’s just that kind of person, and that’s how he shows his love for you ❤️

TOSHINORI YAGI - ALLMIGHT

-TINY BOOBS-

Toshinori really has a size kink. LIKE. No matter how gigantic your jugs are, or how tall you are, you’ll look small standing next to him. And he also really has a thing for hands 😻.. LIKE! He’s always guiding you through walkways or hallways with a hand on your shoulders.. If you ever have makeout sessions he’s sure to lift you up, having you stratal his hips while he pushes you up to the nearest wall. AND BRO. I really feel like he has a secret wife/husband. AKA YOU. You would walk into U.A., going to his office to find him becuase ‘he forgot his lunch this morning’. It was really just a plan to have all his kids meet you. He’s also the one to get really horny really easily!! Especially if you run your hands through his hair..❤️

NEMURI KAYAMA - MIDNIGHT

-LIPS-

GIRL. GIRL. GIRL. GIRL. She’s always got some part of her, touching you. She’s the type of person to just sit there and admire the way you talk, watching as your lips change shape to form whatever story you’re telling at the moment. She loves watching the blush crawl up your neck after she crashed your face into hers, pushing you to make out with her. She also gets jealous really easily, which causes her to constantly grab at your hips and neck.

RUMI USAGIYAMA - MIRKO

-ARMS-

OKAY! Rumi is definitely the dominant one in the relationship.. She has a thing for arms, but her own..? Like she loves wrapping you into hugs, tugging you into her like a pillow. She’s also really into your confidence.. The number one thing she enjoys to do with her arms would probably be pushing you up a wall while making out. It gets you both really turned on and gets the situation all steamy.. Before the two of you started your relationship, and were ‘just friends’ she was really into cornering you in the bathroom stalls, before making her way to kiss up your neck. (IN A CONSENSUAL WAY!!!) ❤️

TAMAKI KEIGO - HAWKS

-HIPS-

Keigo is really like a bird, so when his ruts come up, he has to consider your body, in terms of, ‘are you able to hold his baby’s’ ‘are your hip’s wide enough’ ‘are your hips narrow enough’ ‘do you want little birdies’? all really good questions. But he really loves to hold and to kiss your hips. Whether they’re wide, narrow, or if they carry love handles or not.. He doesn’t care! He loves YOU and your body, no matter what! He’s definitely always searching for your validation, and he’s always grooming himself to your standerds.. He makes sure you take care of yourself too , and are always feeling comfortable in your own skin..❤️

TAISHRIO TOYOMITSU - FATGUM

-TUMMY-

GAWD!!! My man, my man.. OKAY! Taishiro is really all about body positivity, and imidetly attracted to someone with a funny personality. Personally, I believe he tends to find chubby, and thicker people more attractive! But, he does go for personality!!! So dont be discouraged! He really likes laying on your tummy, and squeezing it.. He makes sure you love your body too! and makes sure you feel confident in your own skin! He eats a lot, and so will you.. But he also makes sure that you feel safe whenever you go out. He’s definitely the type of walk on the outside of the sidewalk, and the type to take the seat faced by the door in case of any attacks! ❤️

I hope you enjoyed! And PLEASE!!! Message me any ideas for any MHA characters you would like to see!! I don’t judge!

Later tonight I will be releasing a Monoma x Reader reaction! So stay tuned!

- ONIE OUT!

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loveriotss · 2 months ago

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Yo! I was wondering if you could do some headcannons for Shigaraki, Aizawa, and Dabi with a male reader? I also thought it would be cool if reader had a quirk that had the abilities of a wendigo or skinwalker, and he would be really tall (around 6”6 or 7ft maybe?). I think it would be cool to see them with a guy that has a creepy quirk and personality, but really he is a gentle giant.

Anyway, have a great rest of your day/night! Thank you!!

HIM WITH A SKINWALKER QUIRK USER ⸻ tomura shigaraki + shota aizawa + touya todoroki

# tomura shigaraki + shota aizawa + touya todoroki INCLUDES — male! reader, fluff(ish), headcannons

main masterlist — mha masterlist ༊*·˚

[🎭] TOMURA SHIGARAKI . . .

when you both first met, he thought you were some kind of nomu.

was surprised to find out that you're a human but he respects you nonetheless.

he's intrigued by your quirk's eerie and supernatural nature.

very very curious about the details of your quirk but he won't ask you about it, he will just stare at you a bit creepily.

as you two grow closer, he's drawn to the contrast between your menacing appearance and your gentle demeanor.

he’s used to being misunderstood and understands the feeling of being seen as something to fear rather than to be understood.

he likes how your personality doesn't undermine your abilities.

if you're in the lov with him, he will rely on you a lot.

he trusts you, even if he doesn’t always express it verbally.

when it comes to missions or plans, shigaraki values your input and abilities.

your quirk’s versatility and your understanding of the darker side of things often make you a crucial ally in his schemes.

he respects your contributions and sees you as an essential part of his plans.

despite your imposing stature and fearsome quirk, you have a way of creating a soothing environment.

shigaraki treasures the quiet moments you share, where you can both escape from the chaos of the world and simply enjoy each other’s presence.

he's an odd guy who likes odd things and trust he will yap to you about it.

you just stare at him like '😀' while he casually talks about some gruesome thing that he's hyperfixated on.

[💤] SHOTA AIZAWA . . .

when you and aizawa first met, he was a bit cautious of you.

the appearance your quirk gave you was something he had never seen before.

that paired with your personality began to intrigue him.

feel like it would be funny if he had a pet cat who never really warmed up to everyone but the first day you visit his house he finds his grumpy little cat on your lap in minutes as you happily pat it.

will apologize on your behalf if you accidentally startle someone.

(which is like everyday 😓)

however if anyone tries to be rude to you because of your appearance he will defend you firmly.

has tried erasing your quirk which takes away whatever additional abilities you have but you appearance remains as towering as ever because of it being a physical quirk.

aizawa finds your quirk fascinating and is eager to understand it better.

will occasionally request training sessions with you where he will face you with scenarios that challenges you to use your quirk in different ways.

he values the calm and thoughtful conversations you two have.

you're one of the few people who can match his vibe since he is mostly surrounded by loud extroverts 🙏 (a/n: looking at you present mic).

if you were a hero, he would be one of your biggest supporters and will not tolerate any disrespect towards you from other heroes or even civilians.

[🔥] DABI . . .

when you and dabi first met, he was intrigued by you but still kept his distance.

your towering height and the unsettling nature of your quirk made him cautious.

if you were introduced to him through the lov he wouldn't really speak to you much in the first few days, opting to just observe you from the sidelines.

your personality was bit of a surprise to him.

it made him suspicious of you as he thought you were hiding your true personality and whenever he tried to bring it up with the other members they just laughed at him.

eventually he decided to 'investigate' you on his own and found his assumptions about you terribly wrong.

as you two grow closer and become 'friends', he starts teasing you.

will call you the most oddest nicknames but it's okay because you call him odd things back.

friendly fire between the two of you is common but a very fun sight to see as whenever the argument get's a bit heated, dabi tries to look menacing but compared to you he looks like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

despite his jeers and sarcastic remarks, he genuinely respects you.

he acknowledges your strengths and doesn't doubt your abilities.

he is a horror/supernatural freak so seeing someone who looks similar to the creepy books he snags from corner bookstores in front of him makes him fanboy internally.

he occasionally lets his guard down around you, sharing bits of his past or personal thoughts.

is also a very good listener. during your rooftop conversations he will patiently listen to your stories or whatever struggles you've faced.

NOTE — posting this embarrassingly late, really sorry to the anon who requested this 😓😓.

#loveriotss #anime #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #shigaraki #tomura shigaraki #tenko shimura #aizawa #shota aizawa #eraserhead #dabi #touya #touya todoroki #x reader #male reader #x male reader

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butterfly-writer · 2 months ago

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Yo! I was wondering if you could do some headcannons for Hawks, Aizawa, and All Might with a Pro Hero husband reader? I think it would be really cool if reader had a quirk that gave him the abilities of a skinwalker. He could be able to shapeshifter into his beast form, mimic voices he hears, regeneration, etc. Maybe he could be really tall (around 7ft) even when he isn’t using his quirk, and he looks creepy but is really sweet? I think it would be cool to see the medias reaction too. Sorry for the length. Thank you!!!

Shapeshifter!

Keigo Takami; Shouta Aizawa, Toshinori Yagi x ProHero!Husband!Reader Summary: A character is married to a scary looking hero who’s actually a sweetheart. How does the media react? How did they meet?

★☽A/N: It’s been a while since I wrote headcannons! I really hope I improved! Oh! I had my birthday a couple days ago! September 4, hehe! So I consider this a bit of a gift to you guys for my birthday!

Contents: FLUFF – Headcannons Quirk: Skinwalker The user can alter their physical appearance to mimic any living creature, including humans and animals. This ability allows them to change their voice, size, and even mimic specific characteristics, such as muscle structure or hair. The transformation can be partial or full, depending on the user’s control. However, maintaining a transformation for extended periods drains energy, and extreme changes may lead to temporary exhaustion or loss of control.

ˋˏ-༻❁༺-ˎˊ

Keigo Takami (Keigo)

The number 2 hero probably met Y/N when he just started his agency at 18 years old. He was on patrol when he saw a thief stealing an old lady’s purse. As the fastest, he immediately got to action, chasing the thief with lightning speed. Just before he could reach the purse, a cheetah suddenly ran into him, blocking his path and swiftly grabbing the thief by the collar with shark canine teeth.

The moment the cheetah ensured that it had disabled the thief, it suddenly changed into a tall male. He was towering over everyone who walked past, staring at him with a scared glare. Keigo figured he was perhaps 7ft (213cm) tall which practically towered the hero. He looked up at the figure, watching as he looked around for the owner of the purse.

He had to admit.

The male was tall and menacing. He had piercings around his ear, colors similar to his outfit. Takami figured he was a pro hero like himself. ‘But how did I not know him?’ he wondered. ‘Maybe an underground hero?’ he thought. Keigo just shrugged it off and walked over to him.

“Hey, big fela!” A shiver went down the hero’s spine when he saw the tall H/C haired man turn to look at him, eyes piercing through his soul. “J..Just wondering if you want me to give the purse back to its owner? I’m sure she’ll be very happy to get it back!” he managed to utter with a slight stutter.

The H/C haired tilted his head in confusion, but then his eyes widened in realization. “Oh- right!” The blonde couldn’t stop the chuckle from coming out of his throat. ‘I didn’t expect him to be so awkward!’ And he had to admit, he judged the hero too soon. His menacing looks were the total opposite to his sweet personality.

“Name’s Hawks. You?” he asked, receiving the purse from the tall hero. “Chimera.” He smiled. Hawks’s heart almost exploded!! His smile was so gentle and soft, a total contrast to his terrifying aura and looks! “So… What’s your Quirk? It’s hella unique!” Keigo commented. “Uhm… like a skinwalker..” Chimera mumbled. Takami was impressed. “A skinwalker? How cool!” he complimented.

“Thank you..” Chimera smiled.

And now they’ve been married for maybe two years? And Keigo is probably one of the happiest birds ever!

In his free time with Y/N, he would play a guessing game with him where Y/N had to transform into a person or an animal and Keigo had to guess who the person was or what animal it was! (He lost most of the time since he didn’t know much about animals… but he was excellent at recognizing people!”

The media would always talk about how scary the hero was, how he would turn into the scariest things just so he could fight. But Keigo? Total opposite! He is infatuated with how amazing Y/N’s Quirk is! Imagine being able to transform into a cerberus?!

Despite his terrifying and frightening aura and looks, he was such a sweet man! Whenever Keigo and Y/N went out together, he would scare almost everyone who laid eyes on him! The rest just glared at him with disgust, which Keigo hated.

One time, Keigo and Y/N had just got out of the 7-11 where he found himself staring at a hungry kitten. Y/N looked at him with an excited face. “Wait here!” he said before rushing back into the store. Keigo didn’t know what he was doing until he came out of the store with a small packet of cat food. His heart ached out of affection when he watched Y/N give the food to the young kitten. His soft gentle smile, a rare sight, brought joy and love to Keigo’s heart.

Shouta Aizawa (Eraserhead)

Both Y/N and Shouta probably met when they were in high school! But Y/N was in a different class which made them meet extremely late. During their 1st year, around their second semester, both class 1A and 1B were going to have their joint training. This is probably the first time he met Y/N, teaming up with him to go against another team.

Shouta looked over to his side, watching the boy who was much taller than he was. He was broad and frightening to look like. He honestly believed their team would immediately win just by having the H/C look at their opponents the way he was staring at Shouta–

‘Wait-’ He realized Y/N was looking right back at him. He instantly blushed and looked away, silently cursing himself for staring at the male. “Sorry…” he managed to mutter. He heard Y/N respond with a hum.

He turned back and found the tall male walking forward before jogging, and then sprinting. Before Shouta knew it, Y/N was sprinting and quickly turned into a peregrine falcon and flew off. Shouta noticed how he was flying so fast, as if he was flying 5km per minute which was impressive to the ravenhead.

And in a matter of minutes, their team had won!

Y/N had rendered the other team’s members unconscious and had won for his team. Shouta was speechless! Even Hizashi and Oboro who were watching from the viewer room were just as speechless as their best friend!

Shouta walked up to Y/N with an embarrassed look. Despite Y/N’s spine-chilling presence, he managed to utter a “thank you..” to Y/N. Y/N smiled at him, thanking him with a gentle voice. Shouta didn’t stop the shivers going down his spine. His gentle voice and smile was different from his looks and presence, a feeling of comfort from the H/C’s gentle voice.

And now they’re much older! Like… 12-13 years older.. And their love never faded! It even grew when they got married!

Shouta had just started the year with his new students, thankfully not expelling them like the last batch of students. He genuinely saw potential in all of them and Y/N noticed and did not regret teasing Shouta about it, much to his protests.

Y/N was seen as a creepy person by the news, for his towering height and his death glares. But Shouta knew it wasn’t true. Y/N was actually a big softie and sweetheart. He was a gentleman to all women, growing up with a mom who made sure he treated women with respect.

Like one time, they were out to eat and they saw a woman walking alone with a scared expression. Y/N, with no hesitation, walked over to the lady. She was about to scream for help because of how scary he looked, but she was calmed down by Y/N’s gentle and soft voice. He ended up guiding her to her car with no troubles.

Such a gentleman! No wonder Shouta is obsessed with his husband!

Toshinori Yagi (All Might)

The number one hero! A symbol of peace! Toshinori was proud of himself for finally making his dream come true after being Quirkless and being given One for All by his mentor. Not only that, but the blonde was happy he would’ve made his mentor, Nana, proud, bringing a soft smile to his face.

During one of his missions, he had to go to America and was partnered with one of the underground heroes named “Chimera” who would accompany him.

He had to admit. Out of all the villains he had to face, including All for One— Chimera was the most terrifying. As a tall man himself, he wasn’t scared of him due to his height, for he was taller by 3 inches but his eyes… The way he practically stared into Yagi’s soul was already bone-chilling to him and made him even terrified by thinking what sort of Quirk the H/C could have.

He was impressed by Chimera’s quick thinking and fast agility, making things a breeze. And the way the hero switched between animals was impressive! And it was on the go as well! The blonde couldn’t help but appreciate the hero more.

After the mission, All Might went up to Chimera and gave him the brightest smile. “You’re really good with your Quirk!” he complimented. Chimera turned to him with a threatening stare, giving shivers down Toshinori’s spine. “Y-You’re really impressive..” The blonde managed to let out. “I-I’m All Might.” He extended his shaking hand towards the hero with a crooked and forced smile.

The blonde was surprised to see Chimera smile. He thought his smile would’ve been terrifying and bone-chilling– So he was shocked to see such a gentle smile. It was a small one, almost non-visible, but his smile was still there, gentle and soft. And in his voice, as gentle and as soft as his smile, he said, “Thank you” with his tender smile.

ALL MIGHT IS SMITTEN! By now, in his 20 year marriage with Chimera, he had gotten used to Y/N’s horrifying appearance and eventually loved how scary he looked, with his tall appearance and hostile stares.

The public, around 10 years into his marriage, was shocked to hear that the number one hero was married to such a creepy underground hero! And Toshinori did not care, he loved the way he was!

The public, until now, are still terrified of the hero, even after he retired before his husband. Toshinori didn’t care much about how he retired, or that he still had his scary reputation. He loved Y/N and that was that.

After Toshinori retired and used his real form, he realized how short he was compared to Y/N now. It was shocking but he didn’t mind it.

Husbands for 20+ years and they’re happy as the day they first met.

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slutfactory · 1 year ago

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: ̗̀➛ shouta aizawa thirst !

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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simping-overload · 4 months ago

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ᴀ/ɴ: getting back into mha! If anyone wants to commison a fic dm me <3

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: fluff, cuddling, headcanons, all comfort no angst. not proof read

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ: gang orca(kugo sakamata), hawks(keigo takami), hound dog(ryo inui), miriko(rumi usagiyama), eraserhead (shota aziawa), gunhead

ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ: ヾthis is a multi-fandom blog that is designed for mlm/nbmlm identifying readers! so if you're female or fem, she/her, she/they please do not follow or interact with my mlm related post!! Please respect this! ゛

kugo is rather reserved when it comes to affection, unsure of how to ask for it, and hopes you can simply pick up on hints. cuddling with you brings great comfort to him, especially when you're the one holding him. he's a little spoon all the way, regardless if you're smaller than him. he can find himself sleeping like a baby whenever it's you holding him. However, he likes holding you, too. lay your head on his chest as he rubs soothing circles on your back to lul you to sleep. he likes intertwing his hands with yours as he sleeps, for him its a very grounding and comforting feeling.

keigo clings. as soon as you lay next to him, he's latching onto you. curling his arms and wings around you and keeping you there. he's not picky when it comes to positions, but he really likes laying on top of you. due to his wings, he's a natural stomach sleeper, and resting on your chest is both comfortable and convenient for his wings. the mix of your heartbeat and you running your hand through his hair makes him sleep like a baby. he whines a lot when you try and pry him off, in the mornings he always tries to keep you in bed with him.

ryo loves cuddling, anytime, anywhere. he's, unironically, a lap dog. he's quick to make himself comfortable in your lap, whether he'd be sitting fully in it or laying down. your electricity bill is unbelievably high due to the fact he's an absolute heat box. having ac on is a requirement, especially during the summer. during the winter months, he's your savings grace in the cold. he's a big fan of spooning. curling his large body around you and nuzzling his snout in your hair. his arms as strong as they are very comfortable pillows to hold onto as you sleep. oh, and watch out for the drool.

rumi is a cuddle bunny and likes being held. she likes resting her head in between the hallow of your neck and shoulder, her strong arms curled around your torso. Hsr grip on you is like iron, and unless she's awake, she won't let go. you'd often find yourself carrying her around in the mornings since you literally can't pry her off. she'll wake up once you start cooking, though. she is a vivid dreamer, and her body is reactive when she's in a deep sleep. more often than not she'll accidentally kick or hit you while she sleeps. she apologizes for it in the morning. she likes to cuddle under loads of blankets with you, as hot as it gets its very comfortable.

shota loves to sleep, so it'd make sense he loves to cuddle, too. despite his complaining, he likes waking up in the morning, your arms and legs entangled around each other. he runs cold when he sleeps and loves spooking you awake with his cold hands or feet. shota likes to sleep facing you, waking up to your face is his favoriate thing ever. he likes holding you, embracing you in his arms holding you tight to his chest. his grip is surprisingly strong but its easy to break out of with a few tugs. when its his nap time snf your around he'll simply drape himself over you, whether hes in his sleeping bag or not.

gunhead is a cuddle monster, he loves pyshsical affection with you in general. he likse holding you when he reads, letting you rest on him with his hand on your hip, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. not picky about sleeping positions at all, its not like you'd wake up in the same spot anyway. sleeping with him is comfortable but chaotic as he moves often. its often that he wakes up drapped over your stomach or torso. hes another heatbox man but- its mostly bearable in contrast to the others. he's like warm spring heat, somewhere right in the middle of being hot and cold. his arms are the most comfortable things ever.

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 5 months ago

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❝ Good boy. ❞

Touya Todoroki x ftm!reader x Tomura Shigaraki x Taishiro Toyomitsu x ftm!Shota Aizawa x ftm!Keigo Takami | AU, Dabi & Tomura works as a body piercer & tattoo artist. Taishiro and Shota work as college professors | nsfw, smut, p**n with plot | vers. bttm. reader | wc: 8.7K | NOT PROOFREAD

warnings: most likely inaccurate description of getting pierced, D/S dynamics, T4T (Shota Aizawa x r! x Takami Keigo), infinity collar (Keigo Takami), markings, blowjobs, handjobs, anal sex, orgy, minor daddy kink, overstimulation, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick though), squirting, Aizawa has had top and bottom surgery, Keigo has had top surgery and bottom growth

masterlist: pt1; pt2; pt3

authors note: this is for @thatone1diot and @kaycesspade! I could not resist writing more for these horny idiots! * song on repeat when writing this: sugar by sleep token & LA FAMA by ROSALiA ft. The Weeknd

Oh fuck.

Taishiro, with those warm honey eyes, catches the apprehension on your face. He lifts a hand, his smile soft and dimples filled with nothing but kindness; "There's really no need for that. The offer is really cool and all but, we're practically strangers, so there's no need for — " Tomura scoffs as he folds his arms across his chest.

"Strangers? You put your dick into our boy, wouldn't think that counts as something strangers do," he snaps out. Dabi is slipping a hand into your back pocket, the other reaching for the back of Tomura's neck.

"Alright, alright. Nobody is a fan of the fivesome. No need to get all macho about it," Dabi said. Taishiro offers an apologetic grin that makes your lips pursed. "It's fine, really," you pull away from your boyfriends — they watch with cocked brows — and stand between the duos. "It wasn't offensive, it was just a lame joke Dabi likes to make." Dabi didn't think his jokes were lame, his frown reflects his thoughts but you elect to ignore it as you turn to face Taishiro and Shota. Out of the club, they're dressed so...handsomely. You suppose they could be wearing nothing but a potato sack and still make you salivate but it was nice to see their personal styles.

Shota was wearing a black turtleneck that was tight in all the right places, his coat hung over his arm and sleeves rolled up to show the dark ink on his cool-toned skin. On the other hand, Taishiro is in white and creams — his button-up crisp with his coat made his skin glow. His hair slicked back showed off those mixed metals decorating his ear lobes and cartilage.

God, he was huge. Not just his tall frame but the softness of his tummy and the way his sleeves seem to struggle to hold onto all of him. Memories of that night flood in and you shouldn't be surprised at your perverted brain doing what it does but there's a sense of shame that comes.

"A - anyways, what brings you two here?" Shota gives a glance over your shoulder, you wonder where he got that facial scar. Your thighs tickle in memory of his beard, before he answers.

"A friend recommended the place." You nodded and motioned for them to go towards the glass counter. Tomura huffs behind you but follows you as well. There were several other tattoos and piercing parlors around here. It was just the area for it. Still, Villain's Hideout was a crowd favorite for its beautiful tattoos along with their masterful piercing techniques.

"You're getting a tattoo?" You wonder, grabbing the store's iPad and peeking at Shota through your lashes. He shakes his head, stroking over the curved cartilage of his ear.

"A piercing. Helix." He wonders why your eyes sparkle. Shota watches the silent exchange between you and Tomura with mild interest.

"...Would you be willing to get pierced by him?" Tomura says after a quick exhale. Shota pinches his brows.

"Is he trained to pierce people?" You nod enthusiastically and it reminds him of the night you were downing tequila shots with ease whilst leaning against the bar with a giant grin; looking oh-so handsome when you glanced back at him with a wink.

He isn't sure if that memory helped his confidence in your ability to stab a needle through him, but he nodded either way.

"I don't see why not, if I die at least you'll know who to sue, Taishiro." The joke manages to wring a chuckle from your lips. It loosens your boyfriends shoulders. You hope it’ll be an indication that things can goo by smoothly between everyone today. There really was no need for any drama — you’ve had your fill with the months leading up to the three of you finally making it official. You’ve earned some peace in this lifetime.

Dabi's usual spot is too much of a squeeze for everyone. So you're in Tomura's; it's more spacious, less private.

"So, are you guys a couple?" Dabi is sitting on the swivel chairs, watching you idly as you and Tomura set and sanitize things up. Taishiro smiles, putting his phone away after he had taken a photo of Shota sat on the chair. "We're colleagues, actually." Dabi scoffs, inching in closer to them before Tomura can wheel him back.

"At like a BDSM club or something? Seem pretty coordinated. Is it an open relationship kinda deal?"

"You're so interested, I'm almost flustered," Shota drawls out. "We're coworkers who fuck each other with no romantic aspects in our relationship."

Shota isn't usually so open about himself and his private life. Although because he ate you out with Taishiro's dick in your cunt, he supposes he should offer your boyfriends some courtesy.

"Hm, fair enough." Dabi says with a shrug. Taishiro finds it befuddling how casually Dabi seemed to ‘approve’ of their status. It was a bit strange, but he seemed like the eclectic type anyways.

Enigmatic? Was that a nicer description?

Tomura hooks the toe-point of his boots to the steel bars of the swivel chair and tugs Dabi back. "You got it, babe?" Tomura murmurs. You nod, humming along as you recount the steps in your head.

"Will Shota be your first?" Taishiro wonders as you turn around. Tomura snickers but a quick elbow from you silences it into a pleased grin. "No, I pierced Dabi's ears before and did Tomura's lip piercing. A few lobe piercings too!"

"He's good, we taught him everything he needs to know," Tomura holds the back of your nape, twisting your head to place a quick kiss on your lips.

"Isn't that right, baby?"

That look is still in his eyes. That possessiveness from the night in the club. His vermillion eyes are hooded with a desire that's entirely out of place. Still — your cheeks warm from the public display and irritation is beginning to show in the twitch of your brows.

"Yeah," you reply, darting your eyes elsewhere which makes Tomura's moisturized — you've made it a habit to do it for him for his sake — lips stretch. Dabi gives you the chair he'd been sitting on and you're unaware of the heavy gazes of the other men in the room.

That night of passion, unfiltered and raw and rough; your bedroom eyes from across the room that made embers of lust roar into a flame. Shota and Taishiro had come to the club to get drunk after a particularly harrowing round of marking their students exam papers. They had no intention of visiting the private rooms above despite the club owner excitedly informing them he had saved one just for them.

"Hizashi, we're only here for the drinks. Not the boys," Taishiro chuckles out, cheeks red and lips sweet from the drinks Hizashi had so graciously poured into his mouth. Straight from the bottle, standing over him while he was sitting on the couch. Shota was chugging the rest of it down after he had tapped the blonde's side for mercy.

"Really?" Hizashi scoffed. "You come to a club called Boy Toys for the drinks? Don't even wanna get your tips wet? You're fucking with me!" Taishiro whines when Hizashi slings an arm around his neck, forcing him to lean down a bit. "Your pretty little blonde pet still busy?" Shota sighs as the last drop trails down his chin, wiping it away with the back of his hand and placing the bottle down.

"When he isn't, we should arrange another play session! The both of you made him so good at eating ass out! My ass still has ghostly sensations!"

See? Absolutely no intention of finding someone to fuck. Until you bumped into him at the bar — tequila shots — and suddenly he just couldn't keep his eyes off of you. Taishiro's interests were obviously piqued because of Shota's and then, well....

You remember what happened next, don't you?

Stumbling into the private room, Shota's talented mouth working you open and Taishiro’s cock splitting you open...

“Ready?” Shota nods and you murmur a thank you as you reach for the alcohol swabs. Wordlessly, Shota brushes his long bangs back and into a ponytail, revealing the streaks of white hairs he has and Dabi blinks as he spots the way your fingers wrinkle the poor swab.

Shota straightens his back and you carefully feel the spot. He wanted it higher, a quick touch to the curve of his ear tells you it’s because of space as you felt the dips of his other piercings. Shota focused his gaze on anything but you; staring at the floor and his lap. Unintentionally catching the sliver of skin the oversized shirt collar shows him.

You’re marked up. That doesn’t surprise him. It’s the amount of marks that do. If it wasn’t the hickeys, it was the traces of what was probably a collar. Shota holds himself back from commenting on it. It wasn’t his place to tell you there were nicer, padded, collars that won’t leave such marks on your skin. Even if he was dying to ask if you have any moisturizer or gel to soothe it.

The coolness of the wet pad cleaning the spot feel numbed out for him. If he could muster anymore attention to anything but the remnants of sex on your body, he'd applaud you for how thoroughly you're sanitizing the area and how steady your fingers are as you mark the spot.

A mirror breaks his train of thought and his wide eyes blink back at himself.

“What do you think?” Shota focuses on the mark, clearing his throat. This was not appropriate. The situation was unusual but his behaviour was entirely inappropriate. Dabi stands behind you, bending at the waist as he regards the placement. The sight of him makes Shota’s interest pique despite his moral protests.

Dabi had offered — No! It was an awful joke! That’s all!

“I like it,” Shota nearly strains out. Seeing your lips curl proudly only fuels his guilt. And lust. “Good job, baby,” Dabi presses a kiss to the side of your temple and his hands squeeze your nape once again.

It must be a comforting touch for you. Twice now it’s done and each time, both Taishiro and Shota note how your eyelids flutter. Threatening to close but being kept open through sheer will and — if your reproachful glare to them is of any indication — slight embarrassment.

Bit too late for that now if they’re being completely honest.

“D’you need me to hold your hand, Shota?” Taishiro teases from his side. Shota snorts, tilting his head as he looks down at Taishiro. “You’ll be the one squeezing my hand until it breaks if I do that. So no.”

“Big guys a scaredy cat?” Tomura is staying in his corner. Content as he watches you prepare the jewellery for Shota from a distance. Dabi is hovering and you’re tempted to elbow him too if it weren’t for the grip he had on your waist.

“Hah, not really,” Taishiro snorts, “Shota’s just teasing. He’s the more edgy one compared to me.” Tomura’s brows raise at that.

“I just like poking fun at him,” Taishiro adds.

At the moment, you're feeling something else poke at your behind. God, the both of them were like animals in heat. There's a pinch of amusement at this but you push it down. Dabi and Tomura laugh along to Taishiro's words — they were little shitheads too. Taishiro was just in nicer packaging.

He was so big. The mere memory of him makes your dick twitch. What did his parents feed him to make his body so perfect?

You chastise yourself in your head. Bad enough your boyfriends already have some weird beef with these DILF's, you cannot be calling them DILF's in your head and lust over them. You were a whore but you weren't an adulterous whore!

You pick up your piercing instruments, tilting your head to switch gears from horny fantasies to a more professional mindset. Dabi's boner can wait.

The gloves are making his thoughts run wild. Feeling you but not all of you, the pressure of your touch and the concentrated scrunch between your brows are making him feel like a teenager.

Was that just the effect you had? Making queer men go stupid after one taste of you?

It's like some sort of supernatural power. A mutation or a quirk, hes's sure of it. Because Shota was not some horny dog that ran after any pretty boy, especially not ones who were already in a relationship. These emotions of rabidness was not meant for someone like him, it was meant for his student not him. He had a goddamn tenure.

Shota tenses as the sharp tip of a hollow needle presses onto his skin. He dares to flick his eyes upwards and he instantly regrets it. You look at him and that memory of the night he met you flashes again.

"Deep breathe in."

He can definitely do that.

His shoulders raise and drop. The needle pierces through with a sharp yet familiar sting. It’s soothing. The rush is minuscule but it’s the exact pinch he needs to rid his filthy thoughts of you. Shota is impressed with how smoothly your motions are. You’ve clearly got the routine down. Hands steady as you slip the hoop through his flesh and gently fix the jewellery. Dabi is still behind you, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed while Tomura is sneaking a video of your process.

You nod, backing away with a proud grin. It’s Dabi’s cue to inspect the product and Tomura holds up a mirror for Shota.

“Looks great,” Dabi’s praise practically makes you bounce off the balls of your feet. Taishiro approaches, so Shota turns his head for him to get a look. It was perfect. The placement was exactly where he wanted it to be and there was no blood spilt —

Why is this making his craving for you heighten?

The payment process that follows is oddly methodical. Taishiro likened it to a mechanical process. The air was so thick with sexual tension despite the inappropriateness of the entire situation. Or perhaps, because of the inappropriate situation. The blonde’s cheeks were red and all that was shared was just heavy gazes, coy questions and teasing.

It ends so abruptly. He kneads at his neck, as if physically feeling the effects of whiplash instead of metaphorically. Shota bids you and your boyfriends, thanking you for the piercing and Taishiro offers a polite nod and grin. The door closes behind them and they both walk in silence for a minute or two.

“...He’d honestly love the three of them,” Taishiro casually mentions. “Didn’t he say he wanted a new piercing?”

Shota and him exchange a look. Taishiro then slips his phone out and begins texting their obedient little pet. They did promise him a good surprise for when he returned from his trip overseas — new playmates sounds perfect. They were already on some thin ice with Tomura, Taishiro thinks. Their pet would be an olive branch, an offer of peace, so to speak.

Toga and Spinner tilt their heads at the closed store. She rattles the front door with a quizzical expression while Spinner is balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder, rummaging his pockets upon pockets of his pants for the keys. Twice was keeping "lookout" behind them while he held the canned drinks they got from the grocery store a train ride away.

"Spinner, are you messing with us?" Toga pouts. Thankfully, the weather was cool and breezy. But it wasn't exactly good for business for them to be loitering in front of their own store. They looked dumb too, Twice whined out at some point.

"We look like losers!" the taller of the three huffs.

"Give me a goddamn second! I know I brought the keys with me, okay?" Spinner hisses out. Toga and Twice watch on, unimpressed.

The rattling of the door makes him shiver. That's what he'd say if you asked. It was your tongue and tongue piercing but telling you that would just make you way too smug about your headgame. Tomura's spot was hidden away by a wooden divider, the dark red colour of it popping out brightly against the cooler tones of the shop. Dabi's spot was a small room with one door tucked in the hallway at the back of the store.

Tomura's spot was a corner. Not a room, no door.

The only thing separating it from the front area was that wooden divider and some big plants whose leaves needed a wipe down.

Fucking in Tomura's spot is always a rush considering how the shops front is basically a fish tank. That, and the CCTV in the corner provides Tomura — and Dabi and you — with grainy, noir-esque, replays.

Tomura knows Spinner doesn't have the keys. He left his fanny pack — or as he calls it, his Utility Belt — behind the glass counter. He thinks that deserves a bit of punishment and ignores his buzzing phone while you're working on his cock. He half-regrets teaching you how to use that damn barbell piercing. It flicks under head, dragging itself up to his slit and Tomura curses as you grin.

"I'll cum all over your face if you keep teasing me," he warns.

"Hm, promise, baby?" you push your lips out, relishing in the salty taste of his precum while he tosses his head back. Dabi watches from the side, sitting on the same spot Shota had been on, while he looked at the stores iPad.

His dick was so hard and begging to be let out from his pants. His usual impatience's was not present in this romp. It couldn't have been from their three dumbass apprentices outside the door. He relishes in peoples — small — sufferings.

You roll your eyes internally at him brooding. Focusing on Tomura as you squeeze his dick just how he likes it. The contrast of your hold, wet, tongue and that cold, smooth, piercing — the swelled tongue and soft food diet you had to go through was worth it. Tomura was close, you could feel the way he's twitching in your mouth and you pull back with just the slightest hint of teeth.

It makes him grunt, gripping the back of your head in warning and you flutter your eyes closed to simply avoid looking at him.

"Fuckin' brat." He wasn't wrong. It wasn't his lose. He liked you like that way.

You take him into your mouth again, humming, and Tomura hates how good it feels. The incessant buzzing is making Dabi's eye twitch and so he crouches next to you to reach into Tomura's pants. You ignore him completely while he answers the call, simply going further down on Tomura.

"Shit — !"

"Yo, Spinner. What's up?" Dabi moves to stand behind you as he boxes you between him and Tomura. He guides Tomura's hand to his crotch, and he stifles the moan in his throat as he feels it jump from underneath the layers.

"Are you guys in the store?" Spinner sounds hopeful.

Dabi almost feels bad for them...

"Nah, we headed out to buy some food. There's no appointments until later today. You want anything to eat?"

Tomura manages to whip his dick out and you felt it tap the back of your head. Pulling away, you wipe the spit away from your lips as you look at Dabi in disbelief.

"What the fuck is your problem?" you mouth at him.

Tomura chuckles, pushing himself off the wall and closing in on you.

"What the fuck's your problem?" you hiss.

He simply gestures to their dicks and you sit back on your calves in disbelief.

"Well, ah, no...we're at the store and I kinda..." Spinner trails off.

"Yeah?" Dabi caresses your ear, trailing his touch down to your chin. That wavering glare on your face...fuck, nothing gets him harder. His cock twitches again and you curse out the both of them as you jerk them both off.

"I left my keys inside the store," Spinner admits with a sigh.

"Seriously?" Dabi laughs when you leave petty kitten licks along his cock.

"Man, I swear I thought I got it on me before I left," He elects to ignore Toga whispering/hissing at him that she told him so to instead strain his ears to hear his bosses response.

"You gotta do better than that," Tomura says. It makes Spinner's shoulders droop; "I know, man. I'll double check before we leave next time."

"Yeah, that's good," Tomura praises as you spit onto his dick, the friction alleviating.

"Yeah, so, where are you guys eating at?"

"What?" Dabi sighs when you bring both of their tips together, kissing them while your hands jerk them both.

"Uh, said you were at eating lunch?"

"Shit, yeah," Tomura groans when you take his dick in again. Dabi clenches his jaw when you cup his balls and squeeze them gently. He wonders for a moment if you did the same with that Taishiro and Shota that night. It tightens his expression into a sour one.

"Huh?" Spinner's voice pulls him away.

"We took Tomura's car. Might take awhile. Why don't you guys chill out at that cafe nearby," Dabi bites out.

"Uh — Oh —"

The line is disconnected.

"'Kay...?"

The air is biting. Despite the layers he has on him. The tropical temperatures had spoiled him and his winter coats were annoyingly heavy as they pressed against his body — his shoulders feeling particularly heavy. Winter was just horrible, really. Other then the hot drinks and using it as an excuse to find a body to curl up with.

There was also the added bonus of covering up and hiding your face too. This time, without the humidity of a facemask during a warm day.

Keigo lets the pros and cons of snow flurry in his mind as his long legs guide him to The Villains Hideout. This side of town had a less intimidating aura when everyone was bundled up. It made him chuckle from behind his neck scarf. These tatted up men and women just looked like emo grandma's — those titanium piercings must be frigid.

He stops in front of the store and spots a few people gathered around a glass coffee table and low couch, the neon words hung above the couch shining a comforting yellow as all of them share a laugh.

Keigo presses on, the door sensor going off and immediately turning heads.

You honestly hadn't expected to get any customers. It wasn't a snow storm, but the streets were somewhat bare. Toga and Twice greet the bundled up man, standing as they held onto their warm mugs of tea/coffee. Dabi and you sat next to each other and instantly noticed the clothes he wore.

They were branded. Expensive. New.

The both of you shared a glance.

Tomura briefly mentioned of Dabi coming from a pretty affluential yet shitty family. You weren't sure if you should feel glad you were right about Dabi having parental issues, but it explained a lot. You leaned into Tomura to flutter your lashes up at him and he deliberately stands to ignore you.

"I didn't make an appointment. I hope that's okay," Spinner's ears twitch. That tone of voice. Where has he heard it before?

"Oh, sure. That's cool. You in here for ink or for piercings?" Toga takes a page out of your book and blinks rapidly. She's been dying to stab someone a million times with her needles. Tomura would tell her to stop saying it like that, but he finds it too amusing to do so.

Keigo approaches the counter after offering everyone else a polite nod. With his back to the waiting area, the four of you — Dabi, Spinner, Twice, and you — shamelessly eye him from top to bottom. When he removes the beanie, Spinner nearly jumps into the air.

"Holy shit," he slams a palm onto Twice's knee. The man flinches, bewildered. You're still squinting, leaning back into Dabi's shoulders as you sip on your drink. "What? Ya' know him?" Dabi is acting like the man isn't a feet away from him. You elbow him to remind him to keep his volume into a whisper.

"That's Takami Keigo. The model."

"Whoah? Really!?" Twice is smacked on his shoulder by Spinner, making him yelp.

Tomura offers Keigo a lipless, pursed, smile at the commotion behind him. "Don't mind 'em. They're fucking dumbasses," Keigo laughs. It's practiced. Something you'd hear from a guest during some late night show.

"Nah, it's alright." Takami Keigo, model. He was easy on the eyes. Strong brows, deep double eyelid crease and a nice curve to his nose. Tomura can see why he's plastered on nearly every mens magazine and interviewed for the womens magazines. He wasn't much a gossip — everyone in the store would disagree — but Tomura is active online.

Takami was private. He had interviews and posted semi-actively on his social media accounts, sure. But outside of what he allowed to be known, he was practically a hermit crab.

"So, piercing?" Toga hides her disappoint as Takami nods. He had nice lobe piercings but nothing too unconventional. Comes with the profession, Tomura supposes. Your body is no longer really yours.

"Is it okay if we discuss this in a more private setting?" Takami was straightforward. Yet, the tone he said it in just makes you loosen up. It's those honey coloured eyes.

Or maybe Tomura was just gay.

Toga and him share a glance but he nods and motions for Takami to the hallway. Dabi cocks a brow as Tomura curls his finger for him to come hither. He cocks his brow again when you're suddenly standing with him.

"What? I just wanna get more experience," you defended.

"D'you have some sort of piercing fetish? You do know it's illegal to make people unknowillingly participate in your kinks, right?" Dabi swings an arm around your shoulders to catch your head between his bicep and chest, smiling at your grunt as he messes with your hair.

It simultaneously irritates you and soothes you.

Curse him and his delicious muscle mass.

Takami is dressed down now. His goose-feathered padded jacket, and branded beanie neatly folded over a chair in the corner. You pause in the doorway. Dabi slips past you and Takami eyes him for a moment then you.

You smile and lean against the doorway, curling one leg over your ankle as your boyfriends prepared the consent form.

"It's pretty straightforward," Tomura says, "honestly though, doing it while it's cold out isn't the best choice."

"Hah, I know, I know," he waves a hand around and tugs at his cashmere scarf, "I meant to do it when it was warmer but I've never gotten around to it. Might as well bite the bullet and just get it over it. No shirtless photoshoots during winter either."

Takami pauses for a moment then ping-pongs his eyes between the three of you once again.

"Actually, uh. Like I said, my friends told me about this place. They mentioned a (Y/N)."

Your name sounded pretty coming from him. It made blood rush to your cheeks and you straightened up considerably.

"Me?"

You're hot. You, and your boyfriends. Keigo can see why Shota and Taishiro told him about you. Though he hasn't exactly understood the whole kink vibe they were talking about. Polyamory wasn't kinky — just a relationship dynamic. He knew his dominants knew that better than anyone, so Keigo just nodded and waited for it to unfold.

He trusted his doms and their choices, but he did appreciate them giving him a chance to scope the scene, so to speak. The three of you were strangers after all, to him and his dominants. Plus, they didn't even know if you'd be down for mingling private parts as a group.

"I heard you're good at what you do," Takami tilts his head, leaning back on his hands on the bench. A husky laugh erupts from the dark-haired man. The iPad is dwarfed as his long fingers as he precariously holds it like a tray over his shoulder, his other hand cupping his elbow.

"He's good, but he isn't ready for a nipple piercing. Not yet."

"But he'll be more than happy to watch."

Ah. There it was. Introduced to him with such a charming smirk. It's entirely wolf-like. You nod eagerly, eyes twinkling as you settle next to Tomura. Instantly, he reaches to wrap an arm around your waist. His usually cold fingers were warm from the hot mug of tea and you relished in it as he 'sneakily' slipped them up your sweater. It was casual PDA, perhaps a bit too much in a closed room, but Keigo didn't mind. He signed the consent form, ignoring the slow drips of fire down south.

Dabi looked over the consent form once it was signed. "Hope you don't mind taking off your shirt in front of people," the jokes makes Takami chuckle. He reaches for the hem of his sweater and pulls up.

It glints in the light, catching your eye instantly. Takami folds his clothes on his lap and sets it aside. It's titanium, looking like a complete circle with no ridges or bumps. There didn't seem to be any sight of a way to unclasp it, other then a thin — barely noticeable — slit. It rests comfortably around his neck, not tight enough to be a choker and instead demurely laying on his collarbone. Tomura instantly recognizes it, while you were intrigued. Dabi sets everything up, knowing one of you would ask.

"Nice collar," Tomura's words make Takami...bashful. His lips curl into an appreciative grin and you're prompted to ask; "What is it for?"

"It's an infinity collar, (Y/N)." Your boyfriend answers, Takami nods in confirmation. Takami strokes the front of it, his wine-red polished nails looking oh-so-pretty.

“It’s different for every dynamic, but my doms and I enjoy the permanent collar aspect. It’s soothing in a sense. Plus, it looks good on me.”

“Anything looks good on you, you’re a model,” you say light-heartedly. His laugh is airy this time, less talk show and more casual. “So, it’s an ownership thing?” Dabi slides over the cart of instruments. “For us, yeah. We’re busy people and it’s just a nice reminder outside of our scenes.” He lands his sights on you and Tomura, contemplating for a brief second.

"You've actually met my doms before. Aizawa and Taishiro."

You cough. A shoulder jerking, curling over, coughing fit kinda cough. Tomura rubs your back, using your surprise as a way to hide his. It’s been a couple of weeks since that encounter. Other than Dabi’s possessive scenes and dissuading Tomura from stalking their socials, you’d almost forgotten all about them.

"They have a thing for pretty boys, don't they?" Dabi’s smooth with his reply. Shitty bastard. You find your composure. Extremely glad that you weren’t gulping down any water at that moment. Jesus, talk about a small world. Your boycunt and asscheeks still ache from your boyfriend's bout of possessive sex.

Takami smirks. Those golden eyes look at you again, swallowing you up.

"Guess they do, but to be fair — you three made quite the impression."

“These two were bizarre, I’m sure Sho — your doms were just being nice.” Nice recovery, Tomura thinks with a small scoff. You were glad to know they didn’t think you and your boyfriends were complete weirdos, finally, you could sleep easier at night.

“Don’t listen to him. (Y/N) is just embarrassed we fucked him in the hallway while your old men were listening in,” Dabi motions for him to sit up straight, placing his hand on Takami's chest.

“Oh, they weren’t just listening,” Takami replies.

You’re dreaming. You’ve had some pretty sexy dreams before, this must be one of those extremely realistic ones. Tomura is going to wake you up with his fingers inside of you while Dabi’s licking at your chest because of how you were moaning at this dream orgy. Yeah, that’s it.

There is no fucking way this just falls onto your lap.

Takami's collar glints, the light catching your eye and you feel envious. That must be nice, that nice weight on the base of your neck as a constant reminder. You could definitely plan an outfit that’d go with it.

“My doms and I, we’ve been humouring the idea of an orgy. They seem very interested in the three of you and I wanted nipple piercings. One stone, six birds.”

Dabi and Tomura don’t even need to land their sights on you to know you’re wide-eyed and expecting. Threesomes were their wheelhouse; orgies? That takes a bit more coordination, trust, discussions, and condoms — Oh god, so many more condoms.

“You don’t have to answer right away,” Takami assures with a wave of his hand. “Just a suggestion. I don’t want you to be trembling while piercing me.”

“They’re still sensitive after your top surgery?” Dabi is pleasantly surprised by his nod. “Not as sensitive as they used to be but I’m grateful the old doctor who did it still had it in him to preserve them.”

His chest was the envy of all men. Firm and filled out, the scars he had nearly all the way gone. Still, you wonder if he’d enjoy the sight of you licking them and telling him how sexy he was.

Tomura squeezes you again. As if he knows the filthy thoughts your brain is conjuring.

Dabi warns Takami about the pinch he’d feel. “You honestly don’t feel the first one at all, the adrenaline helps. The second nipple is going to hurt a bit more, need anything to squeeze, Takami?”

“Call me Keigo, please. I offered all of you to get into an orgy with me, might as well get into the first name basis.”

Keigo calls out your name and Tomura’s. He holds out a hand and you slip yours in while Tomura stands by his legs, placing his hold there. Keigo’s not sure if this will turn into a new fixation but seeing three handsome men stare down at him was making his crotch feel all sorts of things.

Primarily, it’s feeling the urge to be used, but Keigo’s a good boy.

A very good boy.

You, on the other hand, are not. Keigo was a messenger with gold wings and you were raised right, dammit. A guest should not leave with nothing — ignoring the fact he is getting a piercing — and so you lean down and brush the hair away from his face.

His eyes widen as how close your face is. This is familiar. Your first encounter with Dabi flashes through your mind and you smile as you cup his face.

“A distraction great for piercings. Need one?”

“Or two?” Tomura’s hands are resting on his knees now.

Dabi shakes his head as he laughs under his breath. What else did Keigo expect, offering such a scandalous proposition to you? He supposes he deserves this and, really, he should get to know you three to some degree.

Just to test the chemistry.

“I’m not allowed to cum,” he says as Tomura’s hands travel to his thighs. You coo as you tease him with your lips hovering over his. Your grip on his hand loosens and tightens, mimicking his racing heart. His throat is closing up like it always does, but Keigo pushes through to speak.

“But I’m allowed to make three of you cum.”

“Tell us your colours when you need to,” Dabi reminds him as he sanitizes the piercing spot. “That means, no kissing, (Y/N).”

Keigo and you turn to look at Dabi, eyebrows furrowed in despair. He simply stares ahead.

“It isn’t fair that Keigo’s the only one with rules. You’re not allowed to kiss him, Tomura’s not allowed to suck his dick —”

“What the fuck!?”

“And I’m not allowed to participate. I’ll just watch.”

Tomura is aghast. Bewildered. Shocked. Bamboozled.

Him? Shigaraki “I Give The Best Head” Tomura, not allowed to go down on a man’s penis?

He wants to smack Dabi but the man is prepping to pierce and Keigo needs a distraction. Dabi doesn’t need to open his stupid fucking mouth, but Tomura connects their gazes and he knows what that raised brow means.

‘Can’t get someone off with your fingers? Lame.’

Dabi is lucky Tomura is his boyfriend.

Keigo gasps when he undoes his pants, pulling them down to his knees and squeezing the flesh of his thighs. Keigo is smooth, clean-shaven, and so soft. His cunt is warm, his cock big and twitching under the layer of his boxers and Tomura’s mouth salivates.

Dabi simply hums as Tomura cusses him out.

“That’s too bad, Keigo,” you whisper. “Tomura, his mouth is fucking amazing. You’d love it, baby.” Keigo is not even looking at his chest. Torn between your lips or Tomura’s fingers cupping his crotch.

“Fuck, what a big cock,” Tomura can feel it. It was half the length of his thumb. He so badly wants to see Keigo and your cock frotagging together. So badly wants to see it fuck into your boycunt.

The first piercing happens and you press a kiss to Keigo’s forehead while Tomura jerks him off through his boxers.

“O-oh, fuck.”

Taishiro and Shota weren’t joking. He definitely understood their point now. His half-on pants were limiting his ability to widen his legs but Tomura sees it as a non-issue. Simply providing the pretty model with his services while his thighs pin his hands between them.

“Good boy,” you murmur against his forehead. It makes Keigo’s throat close and he whines so sweetly, the sound coming out in a rumbly song that makes your eyes crinkle.

“Good boy.”

It makes Keigo whine again and Dabi fixes the jewellery in place.

“Hey, hey, no need to buck,” Tomura chides, pulling his hand away as he pins his hips down. Keigo freezes, wetting his lips as he stares at yours.

“So needy,” you purr out.

The second piercing goes through and Keigo gasps this time, tightening his hold on your hand and you soothe him with kiss on his cheek this time.

He wants to cum. The thought is shocking to Keigo. He doesn’t go against his doms, never even thinks too really. He relishes in rewards and praise.

But.

He wants to cum.

So fucking badly.

“All done, baby,” Dabi stands and Tomura fixes Keigo’s pants up. You still look down at him, like some devilish saint as you blatantly break the one rule imposed on you.

You kiss him and Keigo wants to cum.

But Keigo’s a good boy.

He takes a moment to calm down, the three of you are good at grounding him with easy-to-answer questions and squeezes to his bicep and featherlight touches to his face. When he gets his bearings, he pulls his phone out.

He wants to cum with you, (Y/N).

He’ll show you just how good he can be.

He pretends not to be excited in the taxi cab home when he realises his number was added into a groupchat with all of you.

Fuck, he needs to cum. This taxi cab is not fast enough. He needs to cum now.

Keigo appears in front of Taishiro’s home and the tall man smiles sweetly at his darling pet's flustered expression, Shota greeting him as Keigo walks in.

“Please, please, please.”

You can barely see past your nose. The blindfold across your eyes makes everything darker and fuzzier. This heightens your other senses. You can hear the shibari ropes creak as you breathe and squirm in the air. His beard tickles your thighs and your legs jerk but they don’t move. Your arms are tied behind your back, wrists bound together in a pretty pattern as Shota’s white rope digs into your chest and thighs. Being suspended in air is frightening, you feel like you’re constantly teetered on the edge.

You had no control. Completely defenceless and open. Hung from the ceiling like fresh meat.

It makes your cunt so wet, Shota’s lapping it up like a starved dog. The entire process of him tying you up has made you sink so deep into subspace it made Tomura fully intrigued. The sight of your body going lax as the ropes applied pressure. The sighs of pleasure you let out despite not being touched in any sexual manner.

Tomura has never been interested in shibari before but if he gets to see you like this again, he might talk to Shota way more often for tips.

Fuck, the white rope against your (S/C) skin made him so hard. The sheen of sweat against your skin, running down the curve of your back and thighs — Keigo gags on his dick and Tomura groans out his appreciation. Taishiro chuckles as he guides Keigo’s head up and down Tomura’s member.

“Easy, doll. Relax your throat,” Taishiro reaches under Keigo’s jaw and Dabi feels particularly empty as he sees the way the big man’s cock chubs up. Taishiro can feel Tomura’s dick in Keigo’s throat and he keeps the blonde boy snuggly against his pelvis, when Keigo begins to choke he carefully pulls his head back. Keigo coughs, lips shining with spit as he sticks his tongue out.

Keigo is quiet, Shota tells them. Though he is a confident man on camera — and off — when it comes to intimate moments, Keigo is quiet. He simply prefers to be, to just get lost in the feelings of pleasure. Taishiro told them Keigo will be a bit shy at first is all, that he’ll warm up soon enough.

Soon is now. He’s whining again, looking at the three men in slight distress. “What is it, doll? What do you need?” Taishiro strokes through his hair and Keigo twists his head to look at you.

Fuck. Look at you.

You’re sucking in a breath, back arching as your toes curl from Shota’s talented mouth. Your fingers are indecisive. One second clutching the air and the next, letting go. You’re tossing your head to the side, mouth open as your chest heaves up and down.

The lights in the room make your skin look good enough to eat. You’re a filthy angel caught in the net of a demon named Shota. He’s kneeled as he tastes you, his hair tied into a bun and so deliciously salt-and-peppery it makes Dabi grab at his dick.

Shota’s beard is soaked and you’re losing your mind in the best way possible. They can tell you’rs about cum. They can see it in the vein that threatens to jump out from your neck and the way you’re trying so hard to form sentences but your tongue is like lead and you’re simply saying; please.

Over and over again.

Taishiro tears his eyes away as Keigo paws at his thighs.

He desperately wants to fuck you. Taishiro stifles a laugh, walking past Keigo to sit between Tomura and Dabi, arching a brow as Dabi casually leans down to stroke his thick dick.

“You know the rules, doll. If you wanna fuck him, you gotta ask his daddies.”

“You? Fuck our baby? Think you can even make him cum? He’s very spoiled ya’ know, he’ll whine and kick and yell if you’re not pleasing him,” Tomura says as he taps his lap. Keigo crawls to him, kissing the skin sweetly as he looks up at Tomura.

“I...I can make him cum,” he says quietly. Taishiro reaches over to ruffle Keigo’s head, scratching under his chin. “Keigo’s a very good boy. Shota and I trained him well.”

Tomura pretends to think about it. Keigo begs between his legs, pumping his cock as he kisses up the sides, splattering precum on his chin when it bumps there but not losing a beat as he kisses Tomura’s cockhead.

Shota pulls away from you when he hears footsteps. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you catch your breath. Keigo kneels beside him and Tomura settles behind your suspended self. He laughs wickedly when you jump from his sudden touch to your sides.

“A-asshole,” you shakily hiss out. He kisses your arm as an apology while Shota guides Keigo to your dripping cock.

You can tell the difference between them. While Shota’s technique was intent on making you last long and your orgasms gut-punchingly good. Keigo just wants to cum on his face. You squeak at his hunger.

It’s messy. So fucking messy. Your slick is on his lips, his chin, practically dripping down his neck. He uses his fingers to spread your cunt apart and when he plunges his tongue inside, you moan like a true porn star.

Tomura has a hand on Keigo’s head, reaching from behidn your torso as he guides him. Setting a pace that isn’t going to wear out your poor cunt too quickly, despite how tempting the thought of fucking your oversensitive pussy is — Tomura purposefully pushes Keigo’s face in just to hear his muffled groans and your breath hitching as his tongue deeper slips inside at the risk of Keigo losing his ability to breathe.

“Keigo! Fuh - Fuck, feels — Tuh-tuh much! Ngh!”

Keigo looks concerned for a moment but Tomura just smirks.

“Keep going, doll. He can take it. C’mon, this is what you wanted. Right?” Keigo nods and your entire body shakes as you feel an orgasm rip through you. Keigo moans as you cum all over his face, panting beneath you. His hot breath makes you lift your hips, whimpering at the stimulation despite how light it was.

Tomura slaps your cunt and you squeal.

“Just one more time, baby. Keigo’s hungry for you.”

Shota settles next to Dabi, putting him between Taishiro and himself. Dabi lifs his head away from Taishiro’s dick, jaw aching the tiniest bit before he turns to the sight of Shota’s dick. He kisses Shota, licking away you from his lips and lightly sucking on his tongue before he leans down. He kisses the top scars, enjoying the feeling of his chest hair against his face before he goes further down and takes Shota’s hard dick into his mouth.

The man sighs, threading his fingers through Dabi’s inky black hair. Taishiro and him share a kiss, groaning into it for entirely different reasons though both related to Dabi. Shota can feel him pressing just under his dick, rubbing the spot that makes him bite down on Taishiro’s lips.

“Gonna cum?” Dabi purrs, so smug at Shota’s flushed face. It disappears when Taishiro rearranges himself, pressing his crotch to Dabi’s ass.

“Hey —”

“Relax. I’m not going to fuck you. Just grind against you. You’ve got a great ass...and a hot back tattoo.” Dabi shivers as Taishiro’s large hands run down his back. Every time he breathes, the dragons on his back do too and Taishiro wants to paint it with white.

“Colour?” Taishiro asks.

“Green, baby.”

You’re set down on the bed. The air conditioning in the room making your sweat feel a bit cold and uncomfortable but that’s hard to focus on when you feel Shota spread your thighs again.

Keigo is moaning beside you. Open-mouthed gasps and raspy groans as Tomura fucks his asshole. A rule that was implemented by Keigo’s dominants. His cunt was for them and his ass was for their guests. The blindfold that was still on you made it hard to predict his next move but you feel his cock tap onto your hole and you shakily open your legs further. Shota chuckles, sliding his dick up so you feel it rub against your swollen dick.

“Fuck me, please. Just fuck me already.”

“He doesn’t say please much does he?” Dabi laughs at Shota’s comment. It gets cut off by a groan as Taishiro rims his hole, so Tomura answers for him.

“He’s a fucking brat. But we like him that way. Makes us fucking — “ Keigo yelps at a rough thrust, his strap-on slapping onto his wet stomach — “work for it.”

You feel Keigo reach for your wrist and you clasp your hands together, wishing you could see just how wrecked he was. He sounded like he was being fucked within an inch of his life. You wanted to see, but alas, you were given this blindfold because Dabi once again thought it’d only be fair that both subs got some sort of rule.

“Poor Keigo,” he said during the discussion of rules and limitations.

You wanted to punch him in his perfect face —

“Ahh! Oh- oh fuck!”

Shota is fucking you with his dick. It’s thick, stretching your poor cunt out as you squeeze around it. Though not as long, the way he moves his hips as you baring your neck as you toss your head back.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Keigo wants to kiss you. He twists his torso and you gasp into his mouth, teeth briefly clacking against the other as you made out.

“You look suh-so pretty,” Keigo whispers. You grip onto his hand.

“I wanna see you, please...ngh! Fuck, please, Keigo.”

There you go again. Tempting good Keigo into breaking rules. He seems distraught by your pleas and Tomura grips his hair. He yowls, asshole stretching as Tomura pushes in deeper.

“Shota, turn him onto his hands and knees. Need to shut our darling (Y/N) up before he corrupts your obedient doll more.”

Dabi has Taishiro pinned to the end of the bed. Fucking up into him as he watches you suck Keigo’s silicone cock. It’s truly a talent you have. Slobbering over dick despite how good someone is fucking into your pussy.

Dabi is so proud of you.

“Dabi, guh-god, those piercings,” Taishiro chokes out. “Feels good, doesn’t it, big guy?” Taishiro nods, clutching onto the already soiled bedsheets.

Keigo is going insane. You’re sucking his dick and you look so fucking good. Licking his tip, kissing the sides and taking it into your mouth. He moans with each action, entranced by how sincere your actions are. He bucks into your mouth despite Tomura not moving and thrusts into your mouth and back into Tomura completely unprompted.

Ah, he wants to see you look up at him. He can feel you moan around his dick as Shota fucks into you and he wants to see your eyes flutter and go cross eyed. Tomura laughs as Keigo wretches his hands away to rip your blindfold off.

Youre disorientated for a minute. Adjusting to the lights as you struggle to breathe through your nose.

Keigo feels shame but vindication. You’re looking up at him and fuck you’re beautiful.

“Bad boy,” Taishiro reprimands.

But Keigo doesn’t care. Because you pull away, tongue stuck out and grinning.

You looked so proud of him.

Keigo cums around Tomura’s dick, you take his cockhead into your mouth and he’s grateful as he imagines himself cumming down your throat.

You’re kissing up Keigo’s chest, stroking his sides as all of you come down. Panting and soft moans echoed through the room as aftershocks of pleasure ran through everyone's nerves.

Shota is the first to get up, but Tomura forbids it as he circles his waist and pulls back down in the mess of sweaty bodies. “Stay,” he whispers and Shota nods as he cradles Tomura’s head to his chest. Taishiro lay on Dabi’s lap, he was itching for a cigarette but he remained on the large bed just watching over everyone for a moment.

“Baby,” he whispers to Taishiro. “I’m gonna get us water, can I do that?” Taishiro appreciates the gentleness Dabi is exhibiting. He lifts his head and Dabi slips out the room to get everyone some refreshments. He places it by the bedside tables, wiping down you and Keigo.

“Want Keigo’s dick in you?” you nod at Dabi’s question, curling your leg across his hips tighter and Keigo turns to kiss your forehead.

Dabi, Shota, Tomura and Taishiro chuckle at the sight. They slowly sit up, chatting quietly whilst wiping themselves down.

“We should definitely do this again,” Dabi says whilst Tomura cleans his back. Shota leans against Taishiro’s soft front, nodding as he strokes Keigo’s back.

“I agree. I’d love to teach your brat manners.”

You huff and simply hide your face in Keigo’s neck. The blonde smiles, simply allowing you too.

“And I’d love corrupting your doll,” you reply smugly.

“So, we’re all in agreement,” Taishiro coos out.

“Fuck yeah, we are, are you kidding me?” Tomura scoffs. “There is no way this is just a one time thing. B’sides, look at those two bottoms, they’re attached already.”

“Hm,” Dabi muses. “It’d be mean to pull them away. Poor Keigo, poor (Y/N).”

Your body is protesting the thought but, fuck, you cannot wait for the next time. Keigo can feel you clench around his cock and he thinks the same as you.

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #gay reader #male!reader #touya todoroki x male reader #tomura shigaraki x male reader #taishiro toyomitsu x male reader #shota aizawa x male reader #touya todoroki x reader #tomura shigiraki x reader #taishiro toyomitsu x reader #shota aizawa x reader #keigo takami x male reader #bnha x male reader #mha x male reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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subwaystragedy · 1 year ago

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His Kitten || Dom!Aizawa x Sub!Male Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Dirty Talk, Pet Play, Collaring, Praise, and Rough To Gentle Sex

"You like that kitten?" Aizawa demands, leaning forward with his hand in your hair as he continues to thrust into you, having set up a special intimate night for the two of you since he was off from all work for a few days. Never expecting such a pent up and aggressive man, in contrast to his usual intimate ways of sex. "You like my dick deep inside you? Hitting your pathetic prostate to make you cry, that what you like?" "Fuck! Yes Shouta!" you yell best you can with your face buried in the sheets of your shared bed. His nails dig into your hips as he uses your body for stability.

The bells attached to the fake cat ears you have on ring with every thrust, your ass in the air with your legs bent straight down so he can reach as deep as possible inside you, moaning wildly at the stimulation, "Taking it all so well kitty," he speaks in a low and silky voice, smooth yet rough as he lets out a small chuckle. "God that collar looks so pretty around your neck sweet boy," is all he has to say, angling his hips up just a bit more to make you scream out, "Th-thank you!" "Such a pretty kitten with my dick inside you, yeah?" He questions, the best you can do is let out a choked gasp, as he speeds up, thrusting quickly and almost erratically as he chances the high for the both of you.

Laughing lowly as he takes the leash of the collar you're wearing and wraps it around his hand, using the other to push you down so you're laying flat on your stomach, still managing to force your back to arch as he tugs on the leash and picks up the pace once more. "Sh-shit Shouta!” is all you can muster to moan at the new feeling of pleasure as he thrust deeply inside you. "So pretty under me, love hearing you scream out," he speaks softly. Chuckling to himself as he watch your ass bounce from his thrust, moving the hand without the collar to it as he holds your ass, "Love the feeling of you on me," followed by another low laugh.

"You look so blissed out kitten, does it feel good baby?" you nod vigorously at the question, biting your lip and whimpering lightly as he thrust slow and deep, jolting his hips forward harshly every time. "God you feel amazing baby boy," he says in a hushed tone before leaning down to kiss your shoulder over and over, soon leaving open mouth love bites on them as he stills inside you. Making you whine and wiggle under him in some form of simple hope for him to move, hearing him shush you before talking lowly, "Be still kitten, I wanna feel you around me," his words drive you wild, knowing damn well he's teasing you with his small laugh at your words and distress.

"Sh-shouta! Move!" He hums against your skin, rocking his hips into but not thrusting, kissing your back and neck, "But you feel good like this," he hums again, "With me deep inside you." His words make you whine, trying to lift your hips to encourage his future movements, letting a drawn out whine escape your throat as he holds your hips down and slowly rolls into you, his strength preventing you from doing anything. “Be still kitten, I want to go nice and slow now,” he talks in between kisses, taking the leash and tugging to the left, a silent suggestion for you to turn your head, and you do, being met with his lips on yours as he pulls out slowly further than before to slam back into you. Moaning into the kiss with you as he keeps up the pace, Shouta pulling away to speak tauntingly, “You like it slow kitty? You like how I fuck you nice and deep?”

A high pitched whimper leaving your throat as you nod, jolting forward with the force he used to thrust into you, Shouta letting go of the leash to hold your face instead as he kisses you once more, the intimacy of it all getting to you as you fuck. Moving with you to keep up with the now sloppy kiss, his tongue entering your mouth in a messy make out session. The noises lewd, both from the sound of skin against skin and the wet sounds of Shouta swirling his tongue in your mouth, exploring it depravedly like he has a million times before. The occasional sounds of ringing following with each thrust from the ear atop of your head, feeling your lover pull away gives you the sign to breathe once more, huffing after you inhale quickly. “Gonna come with me, huh kitten?” grunting in between his words, lowering his head after you nod as he focuses on pumping himself in and out of you.

Picking up the pace as he rests his hand on either side or you, the position making him arch his back to thrust his hips properly. The sounds of his hips hitting your ass becoming louder, along with both your moans, small huffs coming from Shouta as you moan out, feeling his dick stimulate your prostate as he moves to hold your hands resting against the bed. The sensation becoming more intimate from the small action, hearing his voice once more as he tells you, “Gonna cum kitty,”he groans, “Gonna come inside you.” He speaks for you, “Cum with me,” while speeding up his movements, leaning over you once more as he kisses the back of your neck.

Groaning slightly as he gives a final thrust into your ass, the feeling of his own cum inside you spurring your own orgasm on as you feel the cum covering the sheets being glad your fucking on just one side of the double bed you share with Shouta, feeling him lean atop of you again as you sigh. His arms sliding under you as he flips the both of you to your sides, simply laying on the other side of the matters as he kisses you neck, “Did so well kitten, so so well,” feeling his sigh on your skin as you close your eyes contently. Slowly but surely drifting off in the comfort of Shouta’s arms

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x male reader #mha x male reader #aizawa shota smut #aizawa x male reader #male reader smut #kinktober 2023

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dabisbratz · 2 years ago

Text

PLAY DATE (CHERRY)— aizawa shouta x male reader

wc: ~6.5k

cw: dilf!aizawa, babysitter!reader, sexual tension, slow burn, spanking/impact play, finger-sucking, d/s undertones, daddy kink, praise, manhandling, age gap (21 yr old reader, 41 yr old aizawa), porn with plot, size difference/kink, spit/drool, degradation, rimming, hand holding, full nelson, creampie, breeding kink, light feminization

a/n: yes i was listenin to lana while writin this! howd u know?!

The click of a mouse. The sound of a scroll wheel grinding against plastic— rubbery and restricted. A family of five, four, three..family oriented individuals with more kids on their hands than time. It was late, even for you. Who scoured the internet until the sky’s inky black atmosphere was painted a pacific blue. From there, you’d tend to sleep into the late hours of the evening, beneath the comfort of a heavy weighted blanket, until your phone went off or a nightmare pulled you from your slumber.

Your dry, tired eyes trace the blurry words of your computer screen, the bright white light beaming through the depths of your continuously darkening bedroom. The room is almost radio silent— save for the occasional crunching of chips between your teeth and the fan of your laptop working overtime. The text is almost hard to read, shying away behind a hazy glare.

‘One kid—6 year old girl. One pet— black bombay cat.’

Sounds promising. The letters are arranged in a blunt manner, straight to the point and even somewhat intimidating, but the clear boundaries and requirements listed are fair enough.. Maybe even tilted in your favor. Your cursor wanders, ready to further inspect the profile presumed to belong to the parent who created the listing.

Shouta Aizawa, a middle-aged man with a salt and pepper beard, long hair to match, and a distinctive scar below his eye— which looks milky and clear. The other, however, is a deep pool of brown, warm like melted chocolate. His irises melt into his long lashes, which remain straight and strict, much like the demeanor he emits in the headshot photo. It must be reminiscent of his ID, as his career is listed just below his picture.

Owner of Eraserhead Industries.

Huh.

Chewing the fleshy insides of your cheeks, your eyes dart across the screen, hesitantly inching the cursor over the bright, bolded ‘message’ button. Sparks ignite in your stomach, blooming in the expanse of your tummy as you type out,

‘When can I start?’

You hear yourself squeal, pushing away your mouse with your fingertips and hiding behind the warmth of your palms before your computer chimes in response. The message stares back at you, perforating into you as you read it over and over, trying to imagine how this—practicably— rich man would sound. You settle for a deep voice, giggling to yourself as you read out the message.

‘The sooner the better.’

The man is much scarier in person, and your imitation of his voice was nowhere near accurate.

His voice is much deeper than you thought, gravelly and not nearly as riddled with giggles like you’d tacked on. In fact, it only seems to deepen as he nurses a mug of black coffee, just one large hand completely shielding the cup in its entirety. He’d ordered it, busying himself with the sheets of paper he had placed upon the polished table as you explained just how much whipped cream you’d wanted in your milkshake to the waitress.

He takes up most of the space on his side of the booth in the homely café, his layers discarded and shed along the plush seating. The man with dark eyes, Shouta Aizawa, is a natural born leader. The physical embodiment of sticks and stones, seemingly stronger than Zeus himself, he seems to have no faults.

But that’s not what you should be focusing on, not now, when you’re preoccupied with narrowed, umber eyes. They look at you with nothing but impenetrable suspicion, remarkably intimidating despite belonging to someone who looks incredibly angelic. Tufts of frosty hair, unruly and disheveled and divine. The sun dawns down on Musutafu, framing his locks in a makeshift halo. He looks like a fallen angel, of sorts.

“I don’t trust my kids with other kids,” He says, watching the dark amalgamation of caffeine swirl in his porcelain cup. Does he consider his cat to be his kid, too? “How old are you?”

You perk up, straightening your back as you push your straw in and out of your sickeningly sweet milkshake. Whipped cream clings to the plastic, sticky and bubbly with foam, “Twenty-one, sir.”

Aizawa makes a face at that, steely eyes drooping further with the pinch of his dark eyebrows. They slot perfectly, intricate wrinkles firming between them. Did you… fuck it up? You’d consider yourself an adult— comparable to law, anyway. And you can be mature, especially when it counts, so there shouldn’t really be a problem!

It’s evident he loves his kids, despite the hard exterior that he’s showing off there’s a fatherly glint to his eye. A protective overlay to his words. It’s admirable, if anything. You’d even call it charming, the way his eyes bore into you from the outside-in and pick you apart, if it wasn’t so damn scary being on the receiving end.

“Do you drink?”

“…No?”

“Do you plan to?”

More of an interrogation than anything, you take an awfully long time to reply as you use his suspension as an opportunity to savor your milkshake.

“No.”

You make sure to sound more confident this time.

His questions have been asked before, over text and in a manner not as… blunt as you hear it now. But it’s all down to perception, and you’d managed to wrongfully pin Shouta Aizawa as a care-free, laid back guy. Though, from the looks of it, he seems to live up to the ladder. And, upon closer inspection, it does nothing to tarnish his looks.

“Mm,” Is all he says, humming in acknowledgment as a check is placed his way. “You’re young.”

“Young enough to be your son?” You ask, mouth faster than your brain, and suddenly you can’t stop. Your lips curl upward, a smile gracing your lips as you giggle, “People probably think you’re my sugar daddy or somethin’.”

He doesn’t seem to completely respond to that, letting the comment fly into the air as he shifts. Heat somersaults into your face, heating your body up until you find yourself unable to hold eye contact. Nice going.

You wrap your lips around the plump cherry slowly sinking into your drink, twirling the stem between your teeth. It explodes in your mouth, sharp and sweet along the expanse of your tongue, a nice distraction.

Something alien flickers behind his eyes, “Tech savvy?”

“I— Yeah! I play video games,” You almost forget this is an interview, not a date. The thought makes your brain a little fuzzy, cotton forming in your mouth as you stumble over your answer. “Not— Y'know, never on the clock.”

Shouta looks much more vulnerable with his head turned, his veiny hand reaching into the pocket of his inky pants, pulling out an equally dark credit card. No way. His handwriting is illegible, but the swooning waitress deems it acceptable, thanking him for the tip with a high blush on her cheeks. There isn’t a single ring on his calloused fingers, so it’s almost shocking he doesn’t jump at the opportunity

“Good. Eri likes games.” It’s the most praise you’ve heard all night, and hearing it from the deep rumble of his throat makes it even better. Your gaze must linger, because his dark eyes are staring back into yours, almost looking right through you.

“Eri? Your daughter?”

“I don’t like sharing personal information online.”

You laugh nervously, filling your mouth with the melting drink before he can comment.

“I—Woah, sir… your home is… beautiful.” It’s not just flattery, you genuinely, sincerely mean it. You’ve seen it before, sure, through text and under much more professional scrutiny, but the camera doesn’t do it justice. His house aches with love, wrapped up in kisses and enveloped in a sweet, cinnamon-scented embrace.

There’s a heavy amount of childish memorabilia, like crayon drawings hung up on his stainless steel fridge, miscellaneous toys littering the floor, and a pair of tiny shoes resting next to your own. They look comically small, glittery and pink and utterly, indubitably, reminiscent of a six year old girl. Especially in comparison to the sleek, black sneakers Shouta slips off next to them. Utterly, indubitably, reminiscent of a forty-one year old man.

Aizawa makes his way through the living room while you marvel in astonishment, taking in the sights of his house. Surprisingly, despite his not-so-settle display of wealth, his home is the opposite. It’s the real thing, with lived-in floors and comfy furniture..lively and bright. Sure, his sofa is a muted gray, but the portraits and polaroids and children’s drawings make up for it.

You follow along, nearly tripping over some misplaced barbies and action figures as you quickly remove your shoes and stumble forward. Like a newborn fawn, unfamiliar to its own legs, you walk forward with a bashful smile.

It was almost easy for you to forget that he’s human, and not some strong-willed work-machine designed to finish tasks and take care of children.

But the way his joints pop when he shifts a certain way, the way sweat trickles down his forehead after a long day of working in a stuffy office, proves otherwise. It was then, you realize, that he is all flesh and bones. Not pen ink or an indestructible force.

“Eri’s… picky. Try exposing her to different foods every now and then, there’s a list of recipes she likes on the fridge.”

Shouta’s leaning against the marble of his open-island kitchen, socked feet melting into the cold tile. You half-expected his socks to be just as dark as his clothes, so it’s a pleasant surprise to see cartoonish cat faces littering the fabric.

Right—anyway. You nod, though it’s mainly reserved for yourself, as your eyes rake up the words stuck to his fridge. Freshly printed out, not an inch out of place, you wonder how many times he’s done this. The gears turn in your head, clicking and grinding until your lips part, a breathless expression keyed into your facial features. Wait.

“Does that mean—”

“I’ll text you the extra details. Eri’s bedroom is upstairs, but you should wait for her to show it to you when she’s ready.”

Your apartment is a flimsy excuse of a home, nowhere near as intricate and thoroughly loved as Shouta’s. Walking inside, you realize just that, there isn’t even a hint of glitter or gleam as you walk through the front door. Even though you have yet to meet her, Eri’s already brightened up your life. Your walls scream with loneliness, the sound bouncing off each corner until you’re tucking yourself into bed and curling up beneath the sheets.

And though you barely know him, you can’t help but want to follow the childish urge to open up the website you found Aizawa’s listing on to study his headshot.

Eri, you’ve come to learn, is a very smart kid. Perhaps too smart for her own good, too observant, and way too excited to express said observations. You sit taut on the gray sofa, leaning over a sheet of paper as you carefully color between the lines of the thick, inky, coloringbook outline. But Eri’s got her own leaflet, vigorously coloring something she has yet to allow you to look at.

You haven’t known her long enough for the leaves to brown, to fall off and make room for winter. You haven’t known her long enough to see the leaves return, the chilly air slowly descending into something softer, quieter. Warmer with summer’s welcome. But she grew to accept you rather quickly.

It started soon after your first meeting with Aizawa, and to your dismay, you hadn’t really seen much of him after that. Only small traces and fragments, like the religious filling of Present Meow’s food bowl or notes tacked onto the fridge.

Admittedly, you kinda miss him.

You’ve become quite engrossed in Eri’s choice in television, watching the cartoon with just as much excitement as the six your old. It even makes you laugh, hearty and dinkum.

“How do you feel about niku-dofu for dinner tonight, Er-bear?” She barely moves, her tongue held between the corner of her lips as she furrows her brows in concentration. Whatever she’s coloring is much more important than dinner, apparently.

With outstretched limbs, you stand, reaching for the sky as a yawn is pulled from your chest and your eyes grow heavy. Being dragged along by a six year old all day is exhausting. The hairstyling, the nail-painting, the hero-pretending…the dolls.

(Eri quite enjoyed acting out soap-opera levels of dramatic scenes with dolls. And, of course, you could only be the man in these scenarios.)

But you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ve grown attached in the span of a few weeks.

“I’ll take that as a yes then!” You chirp, setting down your finished page with a sense of pride. Might even have to add a signature to it!

With Eri’s toys scattered along the floor, despite your constant advisory to clean them up, walking through the house has become quite the challenge. An obstacle course of sorts that Aizawa must’ve been a master at getting through.

Aizawa… With dark circles that cast shadows down his mature face. With stubble that’s cleanly shaved, not a single hair out of place.

Aizawa…With his long, dark hair that frames his face with thick bundles.

Aizawa… Who almost constantly looks disgruntled, faintly pink lips pulled into a tight line.

Him and his signature crisp, black button up that barely fights against his large chest and his matching pants that cling to his stupidly strong thighs.

It makes your brain a little fuzzy, the thought of his equally large biceps bulging in his shirt as he crosses his arms and stares down at you through the bridge of his nose. And his eyes— piercing and domineering staring straight into yours, lips curled as he berates you like some sort of misbehaving child.

(Which you’d spent a lot of time arguing with him about through sticky-notes…The fridge is powered evidence, covered in neon paper as you remind him you’re ‘not a kid!’ beneath his ‘not bad, kid’ post-it note.)

“Hey? Are you okay?” Eri’s small voice snaps you out of your haze, wide and virtuous red eyes blinking up at you. Clutching her drawing to her chest, she shifts her weight between each leg. Her small smile is gone, so you do your best to conjure up a frolicsome grin.

“Never felt better! Finally ready to show me what you’re working on?”

“Mhm,” She hums, reminiscent of her father.

Eri’s picture is nothing short of sweet. Advanced for her age, she’s drawn three figures that resemble the three of you— herself, Aizawa, you— sitting happily at the generously furnished dining table. On her lap sits Present Meow, a black ball of crayon-esque fur, who has small, wobbly hearts above his head. You all do, actually, some bigger than others (e.i: you quite literally have heart eyes that take up more than half your crayon face), but big nonetheless.

Is your crush on her father really that obvious?

“Oh, Eri, that’s—”

The front door trembles, the doorknob clicking and jingling as it welcomes silver keys. Before your eyes, Shouta’s welcoming himself in, strong right arm pushing the door open. His shoulders are draped in exhaustion, his gray scarf tangled around his neck as he shuts the door behind him.

Embarrassment wells up in your stomach, overflowing until you’re hiding Eri’s drawing behind your back. He doesn’t typically come home this early. Usually within the late hours of the night, into early morning, he can be seen rummaging through the fridge for a drink until he heads upstairs, straight to bed.

Instead, he’s stalking forward.

Did his steps always shake the house like this, or are you just imagining it? You must be, it must be your heart in your ears, because your face is flooding with warmth as he towers over you and peeks over your shoulder.

“What’s behind your back?” He lifts an inquisitive eyebrow, faintly smelling of cigarette smoke.

“What? Noth—”

“Look!” Eri snatches the drawing from your clammy hands and pushes it into Shouta’s abdomen. He hunches over, just slightly, before taking in the image.

“Jesus, kid,” He clicks his tongue with a tenderhearted sigh, looping his thumb around the waistband of his black slacks. “You’re somethin’ else...”

You’d have thought it was meant for Eri if his gaze didn’t flicker up to meet yours.

Dinner rolled around fast, and you’d found yourself nicking your finger on one of Shouta’s large, sharpened knives. Cutting up a small portion of potatoes shouldn’t have been so trivial, a pained gasp escaped your lips as you pinched the tiny wound. You wince, instinctively sucking on the skin of your mangled finger.

“I told you to be careful,” He took your hand in his, swallowing it whole with his palms, and went as far as to berate you, grumbling, “Watch yourself. Are you okay?”

Breathless as you watched him open a nearby drawer, he pulled out a kiddie bandaid, decorated with polka dots and even more cats. You held still, letting him wrap the bandage around your finger nice and tight. And then, only then, did he place a small kiss on top.

“There you go, all better.” It’s a passing comment, only pried from his lips because he was so used to saying it to Eri, and he didn’t seem to realize just how flustered it made you. So you coughed into your hand, secretly hoping the warmth permeating off his body would return to your skin.

Now, with dinner finished, Eri has no problem shoveling the food into her mouth. Must've been all the running around, gave her an appetite fit for a grown woman. It’s not like you have room to talk, you’ve almost choked on your side of miso soup a whopping three times. Shouta seems to be the only composed person at the table.

“You got a little,” Shouta points to the corner of his mouth, waving his willowy finger in a quick, circular motion. “Right…there.”

“Hm?” He watches your face contort, timid and self conscious. He can’t help but smile, just a small upward quirk to the corner of his lips, that slowly disappears as he leans in to wipe off a few grains of rice from the side of your mouth.

There he goes again, acting all domestic, as he raises the same finger to his own mouth. Your pupils blow wide, heat forming in your stomach as he sucks off the rice with disregard for how this might look to anyone besides a father.

Your eyes flicker to Eri, who’s too busy fighting off sleep with the handle of her silver spoon, her tiny head jerking and bobbing every so often, to notice the display.

“I guess—- guess it’s time for bed!” Your voice cracks embarrassingly loud as you stand, quick to stop in your tracks when Aizawa follows suit.

“I got it.”

Aizawa, you’ve learned, says that quite a lot. Despite his generous hourly pay and your obligation to take care of his child, he insists it’s best if he cleans after her. Too intimidated to argue, you simply nod, falling back onto his couch as he ventures back for forth— upstairs and back.

Each time he returns, he notices the droop in your eyes, the way they slowly fall with each step he takes. It’s late, he should be escorting you home, but he doesn’t want to disturb your well-earned sleep session.

As he sits to finally take a break, letting his joins snap and pop, you fall face-first into his shoulder, smashing your cheek against the firm skin.

Your lips pucker, pouty and almost fish-like. Your boyish face, soft and not yet worn down by the tiresome nature of time in itself, looks undeniably cute. Perfect for kissing and irrevocably inviting. Your eyes are shut, lashes resting against your cheeks. Time stops, minutes passing within hours, as Shouta takes in your essence and stares down at your innocent face. Stealing a kiss would just be… so…easy…

“Fix your face,” He says instead, clearing his throat and directing his gaze to the dimly lit, yellow-tinted lamp resting on the end table placed by his half of the sofa. “Or it’ll get stuck like that.”

“M’sorry.” You whisper, bashful as ever despite the slippery hands of sleep reaching back for you. Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?

It makes Aizawa want to retract his statement, press his thumb into the unobtrusive crease forming between your pretty eyebrows. But it leaves before it has time to arrive— to settle, as your body relaxes once more. He observes for a moment, the dip of the couch as you finally sink your weight into it, the debt collectors contracted with sleep finally having caught up with you.

Preserving himself through all these years, none being particularly good to him, he wonders if you’ve faced any similar endeavors. He’d hate to leave you alone, cold and barren as another side of his bed remains despicably untouched, only the ghost of what could have been keeping him company during this sleep-centric night. Your breaths are slow and steady, lips briefly parting to mumble something he can’t quite grasp. Shouta tries anyway, tucking his stubbly chin against his collarbone as he leans forward.

His face is dangerously close, a mere inch separating the gap between his lips and soft, supple skin. With your head nuzzled against his shoulder—broad and wide—your words dispel into the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Alongside a fine layer of drool, something he's all too used to, that slowly spreads the deeper you fall into undisturbed sleep. A heavy sleeper then, he presumes.

Shouta keeps you close, pressing your body against his as he loops his other arm behind your legs and hoists you up. He’s careful to avoid any furniture, holding you with an iron grip as he steps up the creaky stairs. His hair bounces with each step, curly and dark, flowing down his back and streaked with gray.

“..Zawa…” Nearly dropping you, his mismatched gaze locks onto your face. Blissed out and camouflaged with slumber, you stir in his arms. “Kiss me ‘lready.”

Aizawa clears his throat, neck constricting as it tightens around the air. It’s fine, just a baseless comment, he decides, as he slowly opens his bedroom door, careful of the noise. You don’t seem to move after that, dozing in his arms until he’s setting you down into his bed. He really hopes you don’t mind it— he doesn’t have a guest bedroom, after all.

It’s dark in his room, blackout curtains covering any sliver of radiance from outside streetlights. So he flicks on the lamp on his bedside table, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest as he lifts his arms overhead to remove his shirt. Something cold prods at his back, and before he can shed the clothing, Shouta redirects himself to look back at you.

Half asleep, your foot creeps under the comfortable fabric of his shirt. You must’ve discarded your socks in your sleep, because you’re rubbing your eyes with balled up fists as if you’d just woken up. Doesn’t stop you from speaking, vocal cords strained, “S’this the part where we cuddle?”

Aizawa watches you shimmy out of your pants, obviously groggy and irrational from having just opened your eyes, your warm skin slowly being exposed inch by inch. You must overheat in your sleep.

“No, it’s not,” He groans out, sucking in a sharp intake of air as he takes in the mural being painted in front of him. “Go back to sleep, kid.”

“Don’ wanna,” You mumble, much more awake as your eyes hone in on the skin of his back that he’s partially exposing. “And I’m not a kid.”

“Sound like one.” You hear him grovel under his breath, almost as if you were meant to hear it. Aizawa has quite the ability to be silent when he wants to, he can creep up on you without you ever noticing. So you suck your teeth, sitting up in his bed.

He expects you to respond with something witty, something he has to pretend he doesn’t find funny. But you don’t, instead staying uncharacteristically silent. Had it not been the dip in his mattress, he would have assumed you dissolved into thin air.

God, how you hope he won’t find you childish for this.

“Sir, I,” Shouta stiffens, his hair falling from behind his ear as he turns to fully face you. “Can I kiss you?”

“Can you..” He trails off, watching your bottom lip jut out. Plump and shiny, Aizawa resists the urge to sink his teeth into it. How soft would they feel? Would you cry into his mouth if he bit too hard? Anything in his hands becomes fragile, and he wants to know how far you can bend before you break. “Can you kiss me?”

He doesn’t give you time to respond, grabbing your ankle with his rough hands to drag you down into him. Your pretty eyes widen, large and unsuspecting as he crashes his lips against yours, feverish and desperate.

His tongue swipes over your lower lip and eagerly awaits yours, tasting faintly of cigarette smoke and cinnamon. Undeniably Shouta, you can’t help but whimper into his mouth, tangling your fingers into his disheveled hair. His mouth is warm and wet— almost searing hot, and you can’t help but choke on your own breaths. You sink into the kiss, floaty and dumbstruck by his urgency.

Like a starved man, he pushes you down on your back and tangles his big hands in the waistline of your boxers, tugging the elastic apart until it rips with a ‘snap!’. You’re exposed, legs instinctively closing to shield your half naked body.

“Aht-aht. Sit still,” Aizawa hand quickly latches around the base of your dick, sending shocks of electricity up your smaller (in comparison to his) body. You tug on his wrist, eyes burning with unshed tears as he stares down at you, predatory and famished. “When’s the last time you played with this pretty cock? Did you think of me?”

He doesn’t give you time to speak, instead spitting down onto your cock with a thick, shiny glob of spit. You can’t help but moan, watching it slide down and heat up through his fingers. His hand envelops you entirely, big and warm and squelching as he accentuates his words with particularly sharp pumps.

“Oh, sweetheart,” His voice sounds condescending and feignedly sweet, you swear you could cum just from hearing it. “S’been a while, huh? Yeah? S’why you’re leaking all over my hand?”

You feel yourself nod, quick and enthusiastic as you melt into his palm. Your legs turn into jello, numb against his warm sheets, as your toes curl and your back slowly inches off the mattress. Shouta’s eyes are lidded and heavy, drinking you in and burning you from the inside out. You keen, pulsating in his hand until the warmth is suddenly gone, and you’re blinking away frustrated tears.

“No—!”

“Greedy brat,” Shouta’s quick to shut you up, large hands sinking into the plush skin of your thighs as he spreads your legs open impossibly wide. “Fuck, got a greedy hole on you too.”

Your hole clenches in response, eager to have his attention. You can feel a trail of precum and spit soaking the area, warm and wet, not yet reminiscent of his cum. Soon enough, you hope, he’ll be filling you to the brim and then some. Your hands, somehow forgotten, scramble to unbutton his dress shirt.

Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, you gasp in retaliation to his big hand clutching your jaw with indescribable force and pressure. Trying to leave finger-shaped bruises. Your lips part, tongue pushed free from your squished cheeks as you blink up at him, eyes dancing between one milky-white iris and another, only chocolate brown.

“Go on, say it. Tell Daddy you’re a greedy boy with a greedy little hole,” He’s spitting into your mouth, a thin trail of saliva indirectly connecting his tongue to yours. “You can do it, sugar.”

Oh. Oxygen disconnects from your lungs, dumbly blinking up at him with a garbled moan. You can’t speak if you wanted to, not with his hand around your jaw like this, so you settle for swallowing down his spit with a feeble smile. All you can push out is a mangled ‘Daddy!’ but Aizawa seems to take that for an answer, groaning as he hikes your knees up to your chest, sighing when you squeal in response.

His big, warm body is pressed up against yours, much bigger and stronger, and it’s apparent in every movement he makes. He’s able to push you around, flip you over and push you down with barely a finger, and you’re sure his hand can cover the entirety of your face. You moan, wanton and sweet in his ears as he maneuvers your arms to keep your legs up.

“Gonna take real good care of you,” Shouta— Daddy sighs, hunched over and breathing dangerously close to your entrance. Almost like he’s talking to your hole instead of you, and you’d protest if it weren’t for the hot, wet stripe he’d just licked down from your perineum to your hole. Your body feels warm and tingly, legs twitching as his tongue prods and pokes deeper and deeper, slowly slipping inside. “Gonna let Daddy take care of you?”

He’s sure to make it messy, adding generous amounts of drool and spit along your sensitive hole, eating you out like he gets paid to do it. He makes you lay there and take it, holding your legs open like some cheap whore, settling between your thighs with feverish and hungry kisses. Making out with your hole, you watch with heavy eyes and a gaped mouth.

“Yeah, yeah..” You moan subconsciously, a constant stream leaving your pretty, parted lips. He takes the opportunity to fill your mouth with his fingers, long and scarred as his fingertips run along your pink tongue. His fingers taste vaguely of salt, and you can’t help but suck on them, eyes fluttering in content.

You barely catch it, a small kiss being placed on the curve of your jaw until he’s freeing his fingers from your mouth. He resists the urge to shove them down your throat, watch your eyes get glassy and wet as you gag on his fingers like you would his cock.

“Gotta get this cunt nice n’ ready. Watch me eat you out, boy,” His voice has dropped several octaves—if that’s even possible—thick and heavy and reverberating straight into your hole. It’s like he knows you by heart, even if this is your first time together, because he’s slotting his thick, scarred fingers in along with his tongue. “Such a pretty hole. Matches your face.”

Through the haze you’re still able to mumble out a quiet, “Thank you,” timid, small, and broken up between moans.

“Good boy, still remembering your manners,” He sounds just as breathless as you, pressing his fingertips against the special spot inside of you. Your body jolts, a shriek ripping from your throat as he puts pressure on it, bullies it with his fingers, and follows suit with his tongue. Too much. “Shh, I know. Try to stay quiet for me.”

For me. The implication has you whining, high in your throat and pitiful as you nod to no one in particular, wiggling in your boss’s hold. For me. The implication has you whining, high in your throat and pitiful as you nod to no one in particular, wiggling in your boss’s hold.

You want to be good, be the best boy you can be, but you just can’t help it. The complete opposite of what he’s told you to do, high off his fingers as your body clenches and your moans grow louder and louder, fingernails digging into the soft surface of the back of your knees. He just presses and presses and—

Stops. Abrupt and fleeting until his hand is back, but instead in the form of a harsh slap right across the back of your thighs. Your sit spots.

“Wh- mm-mm…! Waitwait..Daddy—!” You’re stunned, stuttering and stumbling over your words as you fail to recollect what just happened. You press your face into your knees, bunched up tight as tears spring in your eyes. “That hu—urts.”

The pout in your voice is evident, and Shouta can’t help but coo. Especially when your cock, lodged right between the thickness of your thighs, jumps and leaks more precum. His own throbs in his pants, leaking into his underwear and leaving him sticky. God, he can’t wait to feel your hole twitch around his dick.

“You’re a big boy. I know you can take it, you said it yourself, didn’t you?” And there it is again, the fog that casts over your brain as you can only think of being good. Good for Shouta. Good for your Daddy.

There’s a sharp smack right on top of your little hole, the entrance winking back in retaliation as you sob into your knees. The pain doesn’t last long, simmers down and is easily replaced by heat when his fingers rub soothing circles around your rim.

“Daddy,” Your voice comes out much sweeter and wet, letting out a small sniffle as you peek out to watch him place open-mouthed kisses against your hole. “Want you.”

“You have me, boy,” His heart melts, and a soft smile creeps up on his handsome face. His tie dangles as he shifts his weight, opening his bedside drawer to pull out a condom and cherry flavored lube. Ironic. “Now let me in, wanna make your pretty fuckhole cream around my cock.”

“Wait,” You rasp, watching him tear open the packaging with his teeth. You’re still breathless and shaky, but you’re trying your best. “Wanna feel you. Wanna feel you inside me.”

Aizawa’s deep groans are music to your ears, and your eyes threaten to roll back into your skull when he frees himself of his shirt and sheds his pants. His dickprint is big and thick, throbbing in the fabric and sticky with fresh precum. You want to taste it. His cock springs free as his briefs drop to the floor, slapping against his abdomen and weeping.

You watch him fuck his fist, pouring the slick lube down his cock and warming it up with his palm.

“Yeah? You want it? Gonna listen to Daddy so he can put his thick cock in that sloppy little hole? C’mere before I shoot into my fist.”

You nod so hard it hurts, squeezing your shaft to stop yourself from cumming to his words alone. Your cock twitches in your hand, hard and wet as Shouta walks forward to meet you at the edge of the bed and scoops you up into his arms like you’re weightless. It must be easy for him, seeing as he’s so much bigger than you in every way.

“Won’t fit—”

“Shh,” Like he knows what you’re going to say before you can utter it, Shouta lifts you into the air with ease, and you can feel his cock pressing against your puckered hole. “We’ll make it fit.”

Your back presses against his chest, upright as he loops his arms around the backs of your knees. You’re spread wide, and with Shouta’s strong grip, all you can do is sit there and take it. You can feel him twitch and throb from the inside-out, his cock gushing pre as you sink down onto his cock. Your eyes roll back, wanton moans and a chant of ‘DaddyDaddyDaddy’ filling the air as snaps his hips, barely letting you adjust.

His dick is stretching you open, thick and long, and pulsing and veiny as you feel it bulge in your tummy, pushing past your rim and filling you up.

“Thought about this for weeks,” Your breath catches in your throat, and suddenly you’re too far gone to answer. “I—yeah, should’ve fucked you in that café.”

From the… Start?

Heat pools on your stomach, his cock punching your insides and kissing each sensitive ridge with every movement he makes. Your moans are unintelligible, barely even coherent, as he fucks into you, lifting you off his cock again, and again, and again. Cock-drunk while his dick rearranges your guts, drool slips from your mouth and down your chest.

You look pathetic and ruined.

“So cute like this, pretty baby. You make the dumbest little faces when you’re fucked stupid on Daddy’s cock, but still so damn cute.”

His cock drags in and out of your plushy walls, precum and lube making a creamy concoction along his shaft with each thrust. Your face is stained with tears and drool, mouth open wide as you pant and whine.

The knot in your stomach tightens, your hole beating around his cock as Aizawa moans, and you feel your body go numb as you shudder and convulse. You’re cumming, and your smaller hands squeeze his big ones as he uses you like a fucktoy, bouncing off his lap with tiny, “Mm, mm, mm’s.” Your hole grips him like a vice, swallowing his cock deeper and deeper until you feel warmth flooding your stomach, your balls tightening by the second.

“Da—addy please, m’cummin’, m’cummin’!”

“There you go, smart little boy,” Shouta groans loud in your ear, twitching in your tummy when you clamp down on his dick. He wants to fuck his cum into you, you deserve it. You deserve his cock, you deserve his load, you deserve to be stuffed full until you’ve milked his dick for all he’s got— all it’s worth. “Just keep bouncin’, so fuckin good at it, gush on my cock. What d’you say, baby? What d’you say to Daddy?”

You wish you could see him, the grit of his teeth as his thrusts turn sloppy and messy. But you know he can see you, staring down at the cum painting your chest as it squirts out your cock in thick, rapid ropes. Mixing with your tears and drool, you know you look like sex on legs, eyes void of everything but the need for cock.

“Thankyouthankyouthank—fu-huck,” His cock is jackhammering so deep you can barely breathe. “Thank you, Daddy!”

“Gonna make you just like Daddy, gonna make you one too,” It must send him over the edge, the sounds of your hole squelching as he scrambles your insides, because he’s quick to shoot a creamy, hot load of cum straight inside you. “Wanna be a big boy so bad? Then—fuuuck— take it like one.”

He gives a few last slow, deep thrusts inside so his cum really takes, carefully freeing your legs as you collapse onto him with a breathy moan.

“‘Zawa…”

“C’mere, brat,” You’re quick to whine, weakly pressing your face into the expanse of his large chest, all tears and snot and cum as he cradles your head between his large hand and his even larger chest. You feel protected in his arms, shrinking even smaller into his lap as your eyes slip closed and his cum leaks down your thighs. “You’re a good boy. My good boy.”

Shouta’s hand is ablaze when he brushes it along your forehead, soon after replacing it with a gentle kiss. He means it.

“Let Daddy take care of you.”

3K notes · View notes

enbyenvy666 · 9 months ago

Note

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

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓆏𓋼𓍊

hope you enjoy :)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

156 notes · View notes

defectivevillain · 3 months ago

Text

like a villain

pairing: Shota Aizawa/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors used.

summary: For a few seconds, Shota and you stare at one another. From strangers to friends to partners to ‘enemies’… the two of you have a long history. At UA, you frequently talked about where you may end up after school. But neither of you pictured yourselves here, standing at opposite sides of a rapidly growing chasm. There’s a war on the horizon, and those who don’t take a firm side will be left to the dust and rubble.

word count: 2.1k | ao3 version

author's notes: The reader and Aizawa decided to become heroes after graduating from U.A. But somewhere along the way, the reader grew too powerful: and other heroes started to fear them. Before long, the reader was declared an enemy. Years later, the reader—fully embracing their prescribed villainy—runs into Eraserhead, the vigilante.

The reader’s villain name is Havoc; their Quirk is something to do with blood. I didn’t feel like fleshing the Quirk out too much, I’m not going to lie, so imagine that however you’d like.

I can't lie, I wrote this with the intention of focusing on Aizawa/Reader. But it morphed into a character study/commentary on heroes and villains, with some allusions to their past relationship. There is no explicit romance, ultimately. Also, this is not a happy story! You have been warned :3

The title of this fic is from Like A Villain by Bad Omens. I never said I was good at titles, lol.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, societal inequities, prejudice

You’re standing in the shadows of an abandoned alley, your nose scrunching in distaste as the pervasive scent of garbage and rot hits your nostrils. You make your way down the cracked pavement quickly, turning a corner and escaping the foul scent. Your every sense is waiting for what you know will soon come. Each minute sound is enough to make you survey your surroundings warily; each blur out of the corner of your eye makes you turn your head.

This will likely be the last time you meet with Shota Aizawa under amicable circumstances. And things have certainly taken an unpredictable turn since your prior encounter, all those years ago. After all, Shota and you promised to do everything together. You had plans to graduate from UA at the top of your class and build enough experience to form your own hero agency. And while you both graduated with top marks, your other goals never came to fruition. Despite the seemingly countless nights spent staring up at the stars and thinking about your shared future, your paths diverged. After that fateful day—the one you promised yourself never to think about ever again—Aizawa became a vigilante. You bite your lip as you’re forced to process everything that occurred between you—and the subsequent years of radio silence that dominated what used to be an unbreakable friendship.

You’re slightly doubtful that he won’t even show up tonight. It would be frighteningly easy. The thought distresses and comforts you in equal measure. Before you can fall down that slippery slope of logic, you’re drawn out of your thoughts by a familiar voice. “Havoc.”

You turn around, a maelstrom of emotions hitting you all at once as you lock eyes with the vigilante you’ve been waiting for. Eraserhead stands at the mouth of the alleyway, every part of his posture speaking to his wariness and apprehension. You feel a sardonic smile rising on your lips at the thought of your childhood friend regarding you in the same way an enemy would.

“Come on, Shota,” you say, making a show of removing your hands from your pockets and gesturing to the dirtied brick walls around you. “It’s just us out here. You don’t have to pretend.” You implore him.

Shota is silent. For several moments, he stands entirely frozen and unmoving. You’re mostly amused by the show he’s putting on; yet a small, traitorous part of you is sickened by the thought that the one person who knew you better than anyone is regarding you with such discomfort. You silence those whispers in the back of your mind and watch as he slowly takes a few steps towards you—closer but still a ‘safe’ distance from you. “You betrayed me.” Shota says, a note of something unreadable and uncharacteristic in his voice. You raise a brow, your throat burning at the accusation.

“I betrayed you?” You hum, maintaining a cool aura. Your blood is thrumming beneath your skin, an ever-present reminder of your Quirk and the pathetic justification for how you were treated all those years ago. After all, you were a hero, once upon a time. And your departure from that work was not your choice. “The hero commission wanted me in a cell in Tartarus.” You remind him pointedly. The thought makes you grip your upper arm tightly, desperate for an anchor to reality. Unsettlingly realistic images invade your thoughts, sending you to rot in a blinding white cell surrounded by some of Japan’s most dangerous villains.

“It was for your own good,” Shota recites. You regard him for a long moment, surprised that he still believes the lie he was spoon-fed. After all, Shota was there for you throughout your training at UA: he knew how well you were able to control your Quirk. The hero commission was not trying to protect you—they were trying to contain you.

“You would have me locked away for the rest of my life,” you say hollowly. “I was nothing more than an experiment, a liability.”

He shakes his head, a minute slip in composure hinting at his frustration. It’s gone in a flash. “We used to have the same dream.” To save those who can’t save themselves, you recall. To protect those in danger. “This isn’t the way to achieve it,” Shota gestures towards you.

“And heroism is?” You scoff wryly, unable to resist a broken laugh at the irony. “Come on, Shota. You’re barely a hero yourself.” The air falls silent at the accusation.

“Right, because I’m too self-serving.” Shota then recalls, with the practiced ease of someone who has constantly been questioned and unfairly scrutinized. You’re not surprised by the admission, but you are disappointed.

“You know I don’t believe that,” you squint at him. Shota blinks for a second, seemingly surprised by your argument. “But everyone else does. I don’t understand why you let them treat you as some sort of monster.”

That remark hits home. You see him flinch. You’ve uttered nothing slanderous—it is all the horrible, uncompromising truth. Yet he refuses to acknowledge it. “You’re the monster.” Shota says. You notice that he’s been steadily breaking the distance between you. You take a few steps forward, until you’re only one step away from him. You’re close enough to see the emotions warring in his eyes, the tension pulling his shoulders tight, the helplessness clenching his fists at his sides.

“Oh, Shota,” you whisper, reaching out to trace your finger along his cheekbone. He shudders. “You don’t even believe that.” You hum, studying his expression. Indeed, the remark was deflective, rather than accusatory. You both know it. But you’re not the one denying it.

The vigilante grabs your wrist roughly, pushing it away from his face. You let your hand fall back to your side, but make no move to enforce the distance between the both of you. Shota doesn’t budge either; you can’t help but wonder what he’s trying to do. Maybe, just maybe, your words are getting to him.

Suddenly driven, you continue speaking. “You’re many things: a hero is not one of them.” You remark. Coming from you, that statement is a compliment; to him, it is a great offense. “You’re an outlier, an outcast. You don’t subscribe to the politics of it all. You think that refusing to play will win you the game.”

There’s a constant, low hum from the cars driving past on nearby streets and the electricity powering the city’s brightness. The warmth is a contradiction, a façade that hides the griminess of the shadows threatening to weigh the city down. Beneath the starless sky, there are countless people suffering. Yet heroes are so quick to romanticize it—to look up at the sky as if existence is a gift. Perhaps to them, it is.

“But you won’t win,” you say with a sad smile. The night air seems to fall still around you, hanging in suspense as it awaits your words. “You can’t change the system by working within it and bending to its rules.”

Shota frowns. “Can’t I?” He argues. You squint and attempt to see things from his perspective. Sure, Eraserhead has made an impact. But one vigilante isn’t enough to change an entire society’s structure. Currently, Japan relies on Quirks to survive—it relies on heroes to serve as figureheads and villains to serve as enemies. Such a polarizing binary won’t bend to the whims of one single person, regardless of how determined that person may be.

Moreover, is his unrelenting vigilantism even sustainable? You both know it isn’t, even if Shota doesn’t wish to recognize it. You just shake your head, your chest heavy as you slowly start to come to terms with his stubbornness. It’s almost a lost cause. But something in you refuses to give up on him. It’s foolish, maybe. But you don’t want to see him break under the pressure. “They’re going to eat you alive, Shota,” you warn, “Bleed you dry, until there’s nothing left for you to give.” Your voice is deceptively calm.

“Poetic,” Shota remarks dryly. His voice is ever so slightly strained. If you didn’t have a long history with him, you wouldn’t have noticed. But you do notice, and the slight break of his voice only pushes you to continue.

“You know it to be true,” you assert. For a few seconds, the two of you stare at one another. From strangers to friends to partners to ‘enemies’… Shota and you have a long history. It’s ironic to think back to the conversations you had about life after school. Ultimately, neither of you pictured yourselves here: standing at opposite sides of a rapidly growing chasm. There’s a war on the horizon, and those who don’t take a firm side will be left to the dust and rubble.

You reflect on his words from a few moments ago. “I may be a monster.” You acquiesce after a few seconds. Shota’s brows drift up his forehead as he stares at you in poorly hidden surprise. You bite the inside of your cheek hard. “But at least I’m not lying to myself.”

Shota’s eyes flash a brutal crimson. For a moment, everything in you seems to fall still. The constant feeling of connection threading you together is fading. You stand there with your arms crossed over your chest, silently challenging him to do what he’s been told to do. Eventually, Shota sighs and deactivates his Quirk.

“Heroes only arrive after the damage has been done,” you murmur, trying to get through to him. “They don’t attempt to heal the society that has wronged many people—the society that has pushed them down and preyed on them until they have no other option but to resist. Heroes protest the existence of the same villains they create.”

Shota is quiet, but you can see the accusatory gleam in his eyes. You frown. “I don’t have a penchant for cruelty, Shota,” you maintain, sensing his argument even if he doesn’t utter it. “I only want justice.” The city bustles with life around you, yet in a nondescript alleyway, you are invisible to all. The heroes never venture this far south, and it doesn’t take long to realize why. The filthy walls, the discarded trash, and the disadvantaged people crowding the pavement are all a living contradiction to their comfort.

“But, maybe you’re right,” you admit. Shota’s eyes snap up to yours. A light breeze rustles your skin, blowing through Aizawa’s jet-black hair. Your hand twitches with restless energy. Your blood runs along your veins, crawling up your skin and threatening to burst. Even with your exceptional control over your Quirk, you feel its energy pushing back against you. “I have changed.” You admit.

Shota is silent. He has not spoken in several minutes. You can only hope he’s digesting everything you’ve said. You take a slow breath. “I grew up,” you state. Your next statement is spoken with an eerie tranquility. “You didn’t.” Indeed, past Shota’s lean stature and mature outlook, a naive hope for peace remains. The vigilante inhales sharply. The stiff air almost seems to ring in your ears and prickle along your skin.

You study him for a long moment, scrutinizing him. Shota looks exhausted—plagued by a fatigue that sleep can’t fix. He is often tired, but there’s an unfamiliar weariness clinging to his form. He isn’t tired from lack of sleep; he’s tired of fighting for a society that ostracizes him. He’s fighting a battle he was destined to lose. And even if he does manage to win, he will receive little to no gratitude. Shota is drowning in the expectations of others, forcing himself to fit into a black-and-white world. But he has always been overwhelmingly grey.

“When they push you past your breaking point, they will discard you and leave you to die,” you continue. Indeed, in a society filled with countless people with powerful Quirks, heroes are more than expendable. They are treated as tools and weapons. The moment they malfunction, misfire, or break… they’re scrapped. You stare at Shota, unable to stop yourself from noticing the signs of a hero who has overworked themself. Scars crawl across his face; his knuckles are bloodied; his eyes are shadowed by prominent dark circles. You swallow past the inexplicable urge to reach out to Shota, instead dragging your eyes to meet his gaze one last time. “And I’m afraid I won’t be there in time to pull you from the wreckage.”

Despite the unsettling quiet, there’s a buzzing feeling assaulting your ears and weighing your shoulders down. It feels remarkably similar to grief. Yes, you’re more than familiar with the feeling of horrid, inexplicable anticipation—death is always following on its heels. If Shota pushes himself too far, there will be nothing left to heal. You stare into Shota’s eyes and see nothing but his own demise reflected in them.

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