#aizawa shota x reader

[doumadono]

EMERGENCY REQUEST

Hii, i was wondering if you could write platonic Aizawa emergency request in which hr has a daughter ho has veen strugling with self harm and su1cidal thoughts, please.

I had been really low latly and i relapes after 7 months of not self harming.

Thanks love 🩷

A/N: I'm so sorry to hear that you've been struggling lately, Nonnie. Remember, setbacks are a part of recovery, and it's okay to ask for help when you need it. You've made progress before, and you can do it again. Sending you love and support ♥

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Aizawa is incredibly protective and caring towards you, his precious daughter.

He always makes time for you, even with his busy schedule as a pro hero and teacher at U.A.

Aizawa is observant, noticing even the slightest changes in your behavior.

One day, he accidentally walks in on you wrapping your wrists in bandages after harming yourself, and he's filled with terror.

Despite his fear, he immediately approaches you, sitting down beside you on the bed. "What's going on?" he asks straightforwardly, his voice laced with concern. "Why are you doing this to yourself, sweetheart"

You look up at him, your Y/E/C eyes filled with pain and uncertainty. "I... I just can't handle it anymore," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You explain that the pressure of hero studies and internships has been weighing heavily on you, and you don't know know how to cope anymore. "One day, I accidentally hurt my hand... and... it felt so good... like all my stress was relieved," you begin, tears streaming down your flushed face. "So I started doing this... from time to time... and... I couldn't stop... I was punishing myself for not being perfect, daddy," you say, your sobs becoming uncontrollable.

Aizawa listens attentively, his heart breaking at the thought of his daughter struggling alone. Without hesitation, he offers his unwavering support, reassuring you that you're not alone in this, his strong arms wrapping tightly around your trembling form as he offers you the tightest hug he can.

You hug him back tightly, whimpering, "I'm sorry, daddy, I'm so sorry!"

As you're held in his arms, you don't notice the tears streaming down Shota's face as he comforts you. He soothes you with gentle words and his presence, rocking you back and forth in his arms. "You're perfect just the way you are," he assures, clearing his throat to hide the hoarseness in his tone from the tears he shed for you. "We're in this together. You're not alone. We're a team. Always remember that you can come to me with all your problems, even the ones that seem small or irrelevant. Your problems are mine too. I'm your dad, and I'll do whatever I can to help you. Always."

You nod, listening to your dad's words. "I didn't want to bother you with..."

He interrupts you, shushing you, gently cupping your wet cheeks in his hands and making you meet his gaze. "You are never a bother. Never. You're my entire world, babygirl."

Aizawa makes sure to prioritize your well-being, adjusting his schedule to spend more time with you and offering words of encouragement whenever you need them.

He often says sweet little things like "I love you, sweetheart" or "you mean the world to me." He also praises your efforts, saying things like "you did very well on this test. I know you worked hard for a good grade, but even if it's not what you expected, remember that grades don't define your skills, knowledge, or spirit."

Through your journey, Aizawa learns to open up more to you, strengthening your bond and creating a safe space for you to express all of your feelings.

Even though Aizawa is hesitant at first, after realizing the seriousness of the situation, he doesn't hesitate to ask his friends for help.

And of course, they respond.

Hizashi visits Aizawa's apartment every day, bringing groceries and always having a little sweet snack for you that he knows you enjoy.

Despite the challenges you both face, Aizawa remains by your side, ready to support you through every step of your recovery journey.

#emergency request #aizawa x daughter reader #aizawa shouta #bnha aizawa #shoto aizawa #aizawa sensei #aizawa x reader #aizawa x you #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x female reader #aizawa fluff #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shota x you #bnha x fem!reader #mha aizawa #mha fluff #bnha fluff #aizawa headcanons #mha headcanons #daughter!reader

[tojisun]

the first time it happened, he’s rendered speechless.

big man, known for his indisputable strength, and yet there he is – bundled in the softest blanket you own, tucked in the sofa while you warmed up some soup that frankly got his stomach grumbling.

he is still overwhelmed, slow blinks and quiet rasps of breath replacing his usually sharp focus. the clamour on the coffee table would have usually yanked him out of the fog, and yet there he remains, drowsy as he turns his attention to you.

he tips his head up just enough to watch you place a bowl of soup in front of him, your furrowed eyes shifting towards him in to check if he is still awake, and he doesn’t know what it was that you saw to have the worry fizzle into something tender. replaced with something so soft it almost made him ache.

a pretty smile graces your lips, and his lungs burn. he tries swallowing the lump lodged in his throat as he ducks his head down to avoid your eyes, unusual shyness thrumming underneath his skin, because this can’t be real.

you can’t be real.

“c’mere, baby,” you whisper, falling beside him with a tiny hum, shorter arms reaching towards his bulk to pull him towards you.

his eyes flutter close at the first brush of your fingers through his hair; the tips of your nails – pink acrylics, he catalogues – scratching his scalp just as gently.

he ignores the way his lips wobbled when he feels you press a kiss on the side of his temple. it was a quick brush, just another reminder of your softness, but it was enough for his senses to pick up on your scent. he doesn’t know what it is exactly but it is something so familiar. something that feels like home.

“y’r okay,” you tell him. he breathes in deeply, holding it, before exhaling with a tremor. your arms tighten around him. “y’r okay,” you repeat.

he remembers the tiny box hidden in his drawer, stuffed underneath his clothes, and promises, soon.

— simon (ghost) riley, toji fushiguro, aizawa shouta

#suns.hc #back to vague yearning posts (i might be getting sick) #simon ghost riley x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #aizawa shota x reader #simon ghost riley #toji fushiguro #aizawa shouta #suns

[dabisbratz]

𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

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

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

You’re back home for the summer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s fucked.

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

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart could almost burst.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep. He’s fucked.

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

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

“I think you got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can see that.”

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

There’s always something in your mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

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

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

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

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

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

Shouta is avoiding you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmph.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only it were his cock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were holding hands.

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

And that isn’t even it.

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

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

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

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

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else would I say?”

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

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

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

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

“Show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

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

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

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

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

But it does.

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

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

Delayed gratification.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

“Sweet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

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

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

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

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

And that’s all you need to hear.

#₊˚⊹♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓎 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝑔𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒 #mgonna be outta commission for 18-20 business weeks #kiddin. #shota aizawa x reader #aizawa shota x reader #shouta aizawa imagine #aizawa headcanons #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa imagine #aizawa smut #aizawa x reader #anime x male reader #x male reader smut #bnha x male reader #x male reader #x bottom male reader #bottom male reader #x sub male reader #aizawa x y/n #shouta x you #shouta x reader #mha x male reader #mha x trans reader #mha x y/n #mha x reader #mha x you #aizawa x you #aizawa x male reader

[kleftiko]

❦ PRO HEROES/VILLAINS FAVOURITE POSITIONS

cw: mature, gn!reader

—aizawa

you on top. 100%. no debate. not only because he’s always tired, but because he wants to look up to you like the deity you are. he wants you to take control, use him to make you feel good. he does not think he deserves you, but he would do anything to keep you happy and satisfied. that’s his favourite position, but if you want anything else, he moves in a snap.

—hawks

missionary. now, this position is incredible when you’re in love, for hook ups its meh. despite his flirty attitude, he absolutely adores you. he wants to hold you close, admire your pleasure stricken face, and kiss you all over. he wants you all to himself, all day, every day. and when your fingers trail up his back, dragging across his shoulder blades and wings meet, it has him shaking.

—dabi

doggy style. man has trust issues, commitment issues, intimacy issues, you name it, he has it. he can’t look at your face, the haze in your eyes from pleasure and love are too much for him. give him time, be patient, and he will come around. but there’s nothing like the jiggle of your ass as he thrusts into you that will always hold the title of his favourite thing.

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #shoto aizawa #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #mha hawks #hawks x reader #hawks smut #keigo takami #dabi x reader #dabi smut #touya todoroki #todoroki x reader #mha smut #takami keigo x reader #todoroki toya x reader

[fixmyfeathers]

5’ clock. golden hour. orange light through the blinds. the sun was kissing your skin so beautifully.

bending down, giving your glowing forehead a warm kiss. he blinked, brows lifting in silent confusion when you moved your head away.

“nooo, i have a boyfriend.” oh. his eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth involuntary lifting up into a small teasing smile.

“i see.” two can play this game. “he doesn’t have to know, my love.”

you tried not to be to affected, but him calling you ‘my love’ always made your knees weak.

he bent down again, lips moving to your neck - mouthing the place between your shoulder and neck, teasing it with small bites.

“are you sure?” your voice was small, his actions leaving you lightheaded.

tilting your head to the side to give him more space, he kissed up your neck, nose nudging behind your ear before moving his mouth close to yours. he mumbled something about being very sure about it, lips touching yours with every spoken word. before finally, finally closing the gap between you two and giving you one passionate kiss.

iwaizumi, osamu, suna, mattsun, makki, bakugou, sero, shinsou, aizawa, suguru, sukuna, megumi, toji, neteyam

#anime fluff #anime #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu iwaizumi #neteyam x reader #bakugou x reader #mha imagines #neteyam imagine #iwaizumi imagine #imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #megumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #sero x reader #sero hanta #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa x reader #shinsou x reader #shinsou imagine #suna x reader #hq suna #osamu x reader #osamu fluff #drabble #jjk x reader #toji x reader #mattsukawa x reader

[tired-teacher-blog]

Over the years following his early retirement, Aizawa has developed a dad bod.

He is no longer the pale and lanky man you've fallen in love with– all these years ago, and his once prominent dark circles and tired demeanor are long gone and replaced with a more relaxed aura.

You love the little changes he's unknowingly flaunting: the soft tummy protruding under his shirt, the thickness of his strong arms and thighs, the healthy glow adorning his rounder cheeks, and most of all, that cute plumpy butt filling out his bottoms perfectly.

You can never help the heat pooling into the pit of your belly when seeing him dressed lightly, and you get consumed by an uncontrollabe desire to strip him off of whatever sleepwear highlighting his seductive frame at the moment.

That hungry look in your eyes does not go unnoticed as he knows you too well to miss it, and gladly grants your undeclared wish without a second thought.

With an amused smirk on his face, he kneels down between your legs and pushes in slowly while watching the way you breathlessly utter his name and run your hands over his plump chest, and it's a heavenly view that you cannot get tired of seeing, although you really want to feel him pressed against you as well.

You desperatly claw at his forearms demanding to have him closer, and encase him in your embrace when he finally is.

His thrusts quicken and his lips devour yours in a sloppy kiss, while your nails rake his broad shoulders and travel lower and lower until reaching his bum and clutching onto the luscious buttocks you so much adore, squeezing his fleshy globes to mimic the erratic pace of his hips.

He goes mad everytime you do that, singing your praises and grunting promises of making you lose your mind soon.

His words and relentless plunges are what drive you over the edge with a broken cry of how good he's making you feel, and he follows suit in a matter of seconds, stuffing you full of his milky seeds before collapsing onto your quivering body with a soft "I love you" whispered to your ear..

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

#aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shota x you #aizawa shota smut #aizawa shouta smut #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta x you #aizawa headcanons #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #aizawa shouta fluff #aizawa shouta imagine #aizawa imagine #aizawa fluff #aizawa shouta headcanons #shouta aizawa smut #shouta aizawa imagine #mha smut #bnha smut

[luxthestrange]

BNHA Incorrect quotes#4 SPEED-

UA Secretary+Assistant Quirkless Y/n kicking the door to 1A classroom to Mic teaching English...Shota sleeping like

Secretary!Y/n*bursts into the classroom out of breath* Everyone… Everyone get on the fucking bus!

Hizashi: Y/n, you can’t just kick the door off its hinges and scream at us!

Secretary!Y/n: There’s a new buffet in the city! And I got us…*pulls out a piece of paper* a coupon for FREE EVERYTHING!

Shota & Hizashi: …

Class 1A:...

Shota*Crawling out of his sleeping bag motioning the kids to pack up* Everyone gets in the fucking bus!!!

Hizashi*Running out of the classroom*IM GETTING ERI!?-

...being "parents" to a bunch of kids makes for fun tiny adventures-

sequel to:

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #mha x y/n #mha x reader #eraserhead #present mic #secretary y/n #quirkless y/n #aizawa shouta #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shota x y/n #aizawa x reader #yamada hizashi #mha incorrect quotes #bnha incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #eri aizawa

[sandiaarts]

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

#yandere aizawa #aizawa shouta #bnha aizawa #shoto aizawa #aizawa headcanons #aizawa sensei #aizawa x reader #aizawa x you #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x female reader #aizawa bnha #aizawa hcs #aizawa fluff #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shota smut #aizawa shota x you #aizawa fanart #aizawa fanfiction #bnha smut #bnha fanart #anime #bnha x fem!reader #mha x reader #aizawa smut #shota aizawa #mha aizawa #mha smut

[raitonsfw]

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Aizawa wasn't really the one to keep you tied up like one of his captives, his scarf only delicately wrapping your wrists every now and then– but when you just wouldn't keep still...

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, tired!aizawa, bondage (aizawa's scarf), positions: missionary & riding, p in v intercourse, slight dirty talk & praising, mentions of cunnilingus, creampie, bit of frustration (reader squirms and he slips out), aizawa fucks reader after a mission basically (he's v blunt).

a/n: haven't thought about him for a minute so i took the liberty of watching a couple scenes of him in action and- yeah i'm still obsessed haha. wc: 600ish. v-day m.list | m.list

thirst count: 1

divider credit: @hitobaby & @firefly-graphics

Aizawa had you pinned– binded up in his scarf with his cock driving you up a wall. He was still in his pro hero get up, his goggles pushed up into his hair so he could see you properly and his hands tightened their grip on the scarf as he picked up his thrusts. You had your legs wide for him, trying desperately to keep up with his stamina, but the idea of his scarf wrapped around you made you squirm. 

You felt like you were one of the villains he’s captured, completely immobilized in a way that made you so fucking wet. Your pussy squelched every time he fucked into you, your legs shaking around him as you tried to wrap them around his waist– but you just couldn’t and ended up arching your back a little too much, causing him to slip out.

A sharp groan escaped him, his grip falling away from the restraints and you fell back onto the bed with an exasperated sigh. You wanted to be closer to him, but he made it difficult with his scarf. “Sho–” 

“I won’t say it again, Y/N.” You heard Aizawa say above you before flipping you both over, forcing you to straddle his waist. “Stay still this time.” 

Sometimes you needed to fuck the tiredness out of him– not this time though, his body was reeling for more of your dripping cunt and you were making it nearly impossible for him to get anywhere with you. Not with the way you squirmed at every little thing he did, your pussy so incredibly sensitive tonight that it made him huff in frustration. 

Maybe if you were in this position– hoisted on top of him, he could actually get somewhere.

His cock slipped back inside you with ease, your walls fluttering around him as you took him deep once more and a guttural moan was drawn from him as you sat down fully. “Good girl– stay like this for me... Let me do all the work.” 

He drew the scarf around you, binding your chest, waist, and arms together in order to lift you up more steadily. You pouted at him once he resituated himself, the cloth holding you hostage as he aimed to bounce you on his cock. 

And he sure fucking did, the first thrust sending you spiraling with ecstasy as he rammed into your sweet spot. God, he felt so much bigger this way– he was sooo deep in you, kissing your cervix everytime he fucked up into you with harsh pants falling from his lips. 

Looking down at him past the hazy pleasure, his hair splayed out against the pillow and his eyes were lidded with desperate aching. He looked so tired– but with the way he had you rocking your hips down onto him, you wouldn’t be able to tell otherwise. The stubble on his face had grown out considerably, plaguing you with thoughts of him between your legs; lapping at your entrance afterwards. Maybe you should ask him– your impending orgasm rushing up your spine as his scarf got tighter around you.

You watched his wrists curve around the scarf, pulling it taut and his muscles flexed as he held it in place. “S-Sho–” 

“Yeah?” 

“Clean me up afterwards?” You whined innocently before spasming around his cock, your eyes rolling back as you were pushed over the edge by the stutter of his hips. Aizawa groaned out as you clenched his cock harshly, his movements stilling as he came inside you from your dirty question.

“Cum on my tongue quickly now– I’m tired.” You knew it wasn’t going to be quick, his tongue had to caress every inch before he’s ever satisfied.

#𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒'𝓈 𝓋𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 ꨄ #𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚜 ☾ #mha smut #mha x female reader #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you #my hero academia smut #my hero academia x y/n #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia x you #aizawa smut #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #aizawa x female reader #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shota smut #aizawa shota x you #aizawa shōta #aizawa shouta #fem reader #𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠 ✰

[nightfall-kachiniko]

“Babe, babe.” He calls to you, grabbing your face to look at his. His eyes glaring into yours as he soft whispers. “look.”

he says, slighting raising his eyebrow as he stares at you with love and lust in his eyes.

He swiftly thrusts harder, going faster and deeper as you roll your head back, shutting your eyes as you let out a moan.

His eyes glare you down as you squeeze his arm, softening like putty as you melt into him . ༯

#hawks x reader #Hawks smut #pro hero hawks #kinktober #Keigo takami x reader #Keigo x reader #Keigo smut #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shota smut #eraserhead x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa x you #aizawa x y/n #aizawa smut #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein x you #jean kirschtein imagine #jean kirschtein smut #jean smut #shinsou hitoshi #shinso hitoshi x reader #shinso smut #eren Yeager x reader #eren Yeager headcanons #eren Yeager smut #eren jeager headcanons #Hawks headcanons #Levi ackerman x reader #Levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x y/n

[specshroom]

I want to smother him.

I want to be clingy and overbearing with him but only in private, like the personal solitude of his room.

I want to cling to him as he lays in bed, trying to do something else like read or play a game.

I want to mold myself into his side, kissing his neck, stroking his chest, rubbing my legs against his.

I want to distract him with my affection. I want him to become flustered at the stark contrast between public and private affection and how he's the only one who knows there is a difference in the first place.

When I tease him about being flustered and he tries to push me away with his hand out of embarrassment, I want to grab it and kiss his fingers all the way down his arm.

I want him to give in despite being embarrassed. I want to kiss all over his face as he huffs in defeat after the rather pathetic attempt at a struggle.

I want to mumble a little "I love you s'much" into his warm cheek as the skin heats up even more at the confession and my lips on his skin.

I want him to have an internal struggle, trying to man up and say it back. Only to weakly mumble out, "Whatever." as he places his hand over his bright red face.

#emotionally distant but easily flustered men LETSSS GOOOOOOOOOOO #bakugo katuski x reader #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #aizawa shota x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #sukuna x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #genya shinazugawa x reader #obanai iguro x reader #and any of your choosing 💕 #tbh i was mostly thinking of Sanemi when i was writing. i think hes neat

[lowkeyremi]

OK HEAR ME OUT! Reader who is a single mother of one of Aizawa’s students X Aizawa???? PLEASE I need it!

IM IN LOVE WITH YOU YES OMG I NEED THIS anon im giving you kisses rn

Aizawa x fem!reader (also your denki's mom bc why not)

A small sigh escapes your lips as you pull into the parking lot of your son's school, it's still early in the year and his teacher has requested to meet with you.

He doesn't even have to explain why you're here because you already have a good idea: Denki's grades.

You smooth out your skirt and double check that your blouse is buttoned all the way. Security stopped you at the gate which took around ten minutes to defuse, they honestly thought you looked too young to be anyone's mother.

Thirty-two is a bit young to have a fifteen year old but you know how it goes: unprotected sex = baby. It's the same old story, your boyfriend freaked out and dipped on you.

It made you proud Denki got into a school like this, your goal is for him to further his education... something you never got the chance to do.

Finding his classroom was a whole other situation. UA is HUGE. So poor you is walking around every corner looking for class "1-A".

"Are you lost?" A voice loud and energetic asked, it caused you to jump in your skin. When you turn your head you see blond hair sticking upward toward the ceiling and a pair of goofy shades. He notices your giggle and quirks an eyebrow.

"Are you a new student?!" The blond questions, his face is full of energy and excitement.

"No.. do I really look that young?" You ask, smile bright.

"You do look pretty young." As soon as he says that it dawns on him that you might be a younger mother.

"Ah- sorry! I just-"

"Don't worry about it. I was actually looking for class 1-A, my son's teacher requested to meet with me." His eyes widen.

"Don't you worry, I can take you to Eraserhead's class!" With that you follow him down a flight of stairs and you guys turn like four corners. Well damn, you were way off.

You had been too caught up into your thoughts to realize he stopped, you bumped right into him.

"Sorry." He gives you a soft smile, "It's nothing!"

He knocks loudly, "Oh, Eraser! You have a visitor!" The blond doesn't even wait for a response to open the door, he just bursts in.

"Well I've gotta go now! Take care Miss..."

"L/n, the name's L/n." A thumbs up is sent your way before the loud blond man leaves.

A deep voice causes your brain to stir, "Thank you for coming on such a short notice, Miss L/n."

And what the fuck because Denki's teacher has beautiful long black hair, stubble, and a little scar under his right eye. He must be married you assume, because no way a handsome man like him is single.

You respond with confidence in your voice, "Of course, I apologize for keeping you waiting. I got lost."

His face softens as he motions for you to sit on the chair he's placed by his desk.

"Understandable, UA is not small. Let's get down to business, shall we?" He sits at his desk, organizing some papers before handing you a few. You feared the worst, Denki always strived to do his best so you shouldn't have anything to even fear.

"My students have been under attack a few times by villians, we've spoke to the board about the situation, because parents are worried about their children." You were relieved this had nothing to do with his grades but it scared you that villians were out for high schoolers.

"I thought the attacks stopped." Aizawa nods at you.

"They have for the time being but we fear they won't completely stop, which is why UA is building a dormitory system to keep students safe. What I've handed you is the consent form for your son to live on campus. It's not manditory but it is highly suggested." He explains to you and you read the pages.

"How do I know Denki will be in good hands?" You ask biting your lip, it doesn't go unnoticed by Aizawa because his eyes flicker to your lips then back up to your face.

"I understand what it's like to lose someone close to you, which is why I put so much effort and care into my students, they may say and think otherwise but they don't see what happens behind the scenes." You could tell his words were sincere, it wasn't convincing enough though. You worry too much about him and just the mere thought of losing him is enough to scare you.

Aizawa leans in to place a hand on yours, it feels tingly.

"I know all you have is my word to go off of, but I promise you I will protect your son and all my other students with my life." His eyes burn into yours. You get lost in those beautiful black eyes.

"Uh- hah. I'll look over the papers."

In the end you sign the papers.

"Mom you have to tell me who's taking you to dinner!" Denki says for the millionth time over the phone. You call him almost every night to check in on him.

"It's none of your business, young man." You'd tell him when you were ready. Just... not now. He'd freak out if he knew you were going out to dinner with his teacher.

Before you left that day, Aizawa asked for your number. You happily gave it to him, there was no way in hell you'd miss out on a chance like that.

After a month of just talking (and flirting) he asked you out for dinner, you agreed of course.

"But mommmmmm why nottttttt?" Denki whined.

"I'll tell you when we're ready. Anyways I have to go. Take care, sweetheart." He sighs but tells you he loves you. "I love you too, Denki." He hangs up, leaving you to finish your makeup.

The plan was originally to meet at dinner, but Aizawa was not letting up until you agreed that he could pick you up.

Your hands were starting to sweat again. It's normal to be this nervous, right? Dating hadn't really been in your line of vision while raising a child. It seemed to be the same process: go out with someone, get along nicely, start developing real feelings, they find out you have a son, they leave.

It seemed refreshing to finally go out with someone who knew you were raising a young man. Waiting it out seems to have been the right choice. Aizawa is a mature man.

The door bell rings and you shoot up out of your seat like a rocket.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck, I look okay right?" It felt weird to ask your reflection, but self love is everything these days.

Your burgundy v cut dress was a bit on the short side, it hugged your body which made you a little insecure. You'd heard some women say pregnancy made them glow. You were convinced otherwise, it took you some time to finally feel beautiful.

Your walk to the door was dreadful, what if he takes it all back? Upon opening the door he was standing there in all his beauty. His raven colored hair was put up in a messy bun, his stubble cleaned up some, and he looked a little less tired. Your eyes inched down his body, he's wearing a white button up and black slacks.

"You're beautiful." The two of you say at the same time. Your eyes widen.

"Thank you, I was actually kind of nervous." His face softens at your words. The hero holds his hand out so you can take it. Just like the last time his hand was warm and made you feel tingly. You chuckled at how dumb that sounded, definitely sounds like something from a cheesy romance novel.

Dinner was a little awkward but beyond amazing. A waitress spilled wine on you, she apologized like a million times. You weren't mad though, having a son meant many messes were made... especially on you. The wine didn't stain that bad because of your dress color.

Aizawa offered you the jacket he kept in his car. Accepting it was a no brainer. He held it out for you and you gave him a confused look.

"I'll put it on you, come here." His voice was low and seductive. He noticed your smile. "You're so cute." He whispers as you put your arms in the jacket sleeves.

"Only cute?" Your question was followed by your signature smirk. The food was paid for, his hand wrapped around your waist and he walked you two to his car.

"Sexy, funny, chatty.... I could go on." He says with a smug smile.

"Oh stop it, I'm not sexy-" You don't get to finish your sentence, Aizawa twirls you around so you guys are facing each other. His hands rest on your hips for a second and in a flash he's cupping your face.

Your heart started beating a mile per minute... no second. He slowly pulls you in, those lazy eyes looking into yours. His lips look so kissable.

You pucker your lips and he presses his lips to yours, there weren't any fireworks or sparks like in Disney movies, it felt like he was one with you. Your body was connected to his in a way.

When the kiss is over he's staring at you, "you are sexy, I don't know who's lied to you."

__________

When he pulls into your driveway, you realize this date is almost over. Hopefully he'll agree to going out again. He seemed to enjoy the night as much as you did.

He walked you up to your door, eyes trained on you.

Your feet stop on your doormat. It felt like you were stuck in cement.

"Will I be seeing you again, Aizawa?"

"Call me Shota, and yes, I'll be seeing you again." He faces you and kisses you again. A sigh of relief escapes your lips.

"Call me." You say and he hums in acknowledgement.

Maybe... trying again at dating won't hurt you.

Hiii anon, I hope you like this!! I don't think this has been my best work but I think it shouldn't be that bad? Lol imagine how Denki would react when he finds out you're with his teacher. Love you guys, working on Teacher's Assistant ch. 1

#bnha #mha #aizawa #aizawa shōta #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #shota aizawa x reader #aizawa shota x reader #shouta aizawa #mha aizawa #shota aizawa #aizawa shouta x reader

[tojisun]

he has to push down on your belly when he eats you out because of you’re squirming too much and thrashing hard against his hold. and when you finally managed to ground yourself enough to look at him, you’re blessed with the sight of him looking so amused at seeing you be subdued. he’s all crinkled eyes and flushed cheeks even when he presses his tongue flat along your folds, a low hum rumbling from the base of his throat.

— keegan p russ, aizawa shouta

#suns #keegan p russ x reader #aizawa shota x reader #female reader #stocking up on rocks bc IVE BITTEN N BULLDOZED THROUGH THEM LIKE A FOOL #RAH I NEED EM

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — AIZAWA X READER

“I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.” 

You sit up on the couch and level your sulkiest pout at him. “No, seriously!” 

“If you were serious, I doubt you would be getting up,” he says dryly. He’s completely unsympathetic as he continues mopping the floor. 

“I’m dying and you don’t care about me,” you whimper. “I’m going to die all alone! And miserable! And unloved!”

Aizawa sighs. Scrubs the palm of his hand over his closed eyes. Shoves his hands through his hair. You feel the tiniest hint of guilt creep in. 

He drops his mop and walks over to you. For a second, you think he’s going to scold you. You know you’re being bratty. Aizawa’s had a long, tough day of being a pro-hero, and now he has to come back to babysit your spoiled ass? 

“Hey,” he murmurs, slipping his fingers under your chin so he can tilt your gaze up towards him. “Don’t do that.” 

“Don’t be mad,” you whisper, burying your face into his stomach. The cool cloth of his black silk pajamas feels nice against your overheated face. You really do feel awful. 

“I’m not mad,” he says. 

“Good. Cause you’ll regret this when your wife is cold in her grave and you’ll have to reflect on-“ 

“What brought this on?” He’s carding his fingers through your hair as you hide your face against him. It feels nice, having him comfort you. 

You could never lie to him. 

“I’m scared,” you sniffle, half genuine emotion, half illness. 

“It’s just a fever, baby,” he says. “Want me to take you to the hospital again? We can double check.” 

“No,” your voice cracks in sync with the plummet of your stomach. To your embarrassment, tears are leaking out of the corners of your eyes. “I was worried about you.” 

He waits patiently, still stroking your hair. 

While you had gotten your diagnosis, Aizawa had thought it might be a good idea to get his check up too. He was efficient like that, always the cool, level headed one in your little duo. 

“I saw your medical history. You have so many close calls, Shouta. So many times you could’ve died for real.” 

Aizawa pushes you down on the couch and tucks you back under the covers. He strokes your sweaty hair off your head, thankfully regretfully. He’s always tried to hide the intensity of his second life from you. There was no reason for you to have to face the brutality he did. It satisfied something in him to be able to protect you, even from a part of himself. But looking at the sparkling ring on your finger, he knows that it’s all about to end soon. 

Being a hero is as much a part of him as being your Shouta is. He won’t be the kind of fiancée who hurts you by locking himself away, even the aspects of him he wants to keep from you. He knows better, even if he likes seeing you as his refuge from hero life. At the very least, all he can do is try to ease the hurt. 

He lifts your ringed hand and presses a kiss to the stone you picked out together. “I’ll be careful. I promise not to worry you.” 

#sera writes #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa fluff #bnha x reader

[kleftiko]

❦ FAMILY MEN

ft. aizawa, hawks, bakugo, dabi

MASTERLIST

—aizawa

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

—hawks

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

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

“can i have a ring?”

—bakugo

you heard him shouting from the other room.

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

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

“don’t talk to me that way!”

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

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

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

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

—dabi

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

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

“toya, no.”

#mha headcanons #mha x you #mha bakugou #mha dabi #mha aizawa #mha hawks #mha fanfiction #mha x reader #mha fluff #hawks x reader #hawks fluff #aizawa x reader #dabi x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou fluff #keigo fluff #keigo takami x reader #aizawa shota x reader #toya todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha x reader

[call-me-copycat]

hey, can I ask the reader to be Aizawa's daughter, but she lives with her mother in another country, so when the reader gets into a fight, her mother sends her to live with Aizawa, but she forgets to tell him, so y/ n arrives and says "hey dad, surprise?"

Hi! Thank you so much for requesting! Sorry for the delay, I've been very busy with school and work (˶> <˶) Hope this is what you wanted!

A Runaway's Hope

➤ Welcome - Introduction and Request Rules

▶ Characters: Aizawa x Daughter Reader (platonic)

▶ Genre: Fluff, maybe some comfort mixed in

▶ Summary: The ask sums it up

▶ Word Count: 2746

▶ Warnings: None :⁠-⁠)

You don't even remember what the fight was about.

The quiet rushing of cooled air and the machinery of the train helped to lull the negative thoughts away, the bright lights hitting your face every time you passed a station.

All you remember was...

"You can't live here anymore! I can't put up with this any longer!"

Your mother... She and you didn't get along too well. She was too distant for you, and you could never seem to get along, despite the numerous efforts made by both parties.

Constant fights were normal. Not talking for long periods of time was normal. But you knew you both were wearing thin. That's why you jumped at the chance when she said she'd be sending you to live with your father instead, with hopes that it'd turn out better than the current way it was with her.

You hardly knew the man. You'd seen a few photos, spoke on the phone a few times. That was all you had.

Was it a risk? To jump so fast to live with what was practically a stranger? Very much so. But you'd take it, anything to get away from the constant arguments.

The intercom crackled to life, calling your station. With a sigh you rose, awkwardly lugging your single suitcase and heaving your backpack onto your shoulder.

The night was sparkling with life. You had never been over to Musutafu, having lived in the more rural parts of Japan your whole life. Back there, people would shut off lights and be in bed by 9 or 10 if they weren't working. You rarely saw anyone out past that.

So to see such a large city, bustling with so much life despite the dark... It was mesmerizing.

You lugged yourself to a less crowded part of the station, pulling out an address shakily scribbled on a piece of paper - despite owning a functioning phone. Reading it to yourself once more as if you didn't already have it memorized, you folded it and put it back in your coat pocket. This was it. You were in the city, now all you had to do was find the place.

As you walked up the steps and out in fresh air, you suddenly felt like a child again. No home, no support, all by your lonesome. Stuck and helpless...

You clenched your fist. You got this far, you couldn't go back. It had a chance of working out.

With that thought, you found a taxi (despite how expensive it was) and rode out to the apartment complex. The cab was cool and quiet, reminding you of the train you took to get there.

Once there, you stood out on the sidewalk, holding up a picture you had to compare to the building. You felt your heart beat faster, the blood in your body warming and filling you with adrenaline.

This was it.

The very building you had heard of but never visited, the place that housed a person you had never officially met in person...

All you had to do was go up and...

And-

You mentally slapped yourself. You hadn't even bothered to call! You didn't even send a note or something! You had simply up and left in the moment!

Panic flared in your chest as your surroundings began to spin. You hadn't even let him know you were coming. What if he didn't want anything to do with you?! What would he do? Throw you out?!

Inhaling deeply and exhaling similarly, you attempted to calm yourself. Worst case scenario, he could give you some money to travel back, and you could just grovel for your mother to give you a place to live.

A shudder passed through you. You'd rather it not come to that, but you couldn't exactly be too picky. You were currently homeless, after all.

What else was there to do, besides dragging you and your suitcase up the steps to the building, and then even further until you were on the third floor of the apartment, until you were standing in front of his door. Finally, you held up your hand to knock.

Nothing.

You knocked once more.

Nothing again.

You waited about five minutes before trying again. Then ten minutes before knocking once more. Then again.

Finally, once thirty minutes passed by, you began to panic once more.

'No, no... What if he's... Out getting groceries or something?'

The thought wasn't the brightest, but it was something. That's at least what you told yourself. Finally, after an hour of waiting, you slowly trotted down the steps, nowhere to go. The people passing by reminded you that they had places to be, while you didn't. It felt suffocating.

Before you reached the bottom, an older man who was watering some plants noticed you. Looking over at him, you saw he had greying hair and was wearing a cardigan, along with a bandana placed oddly low on his head, close to his eyes.

Approaching him, he gave a little wave. "We don't usually see that many this late at night," he joked, as if he had known you for a long while.

"Ah, about that..." You suddenly felt a rising acknowledgement about your situation, feeling oddly embarrassed at your impulsive actions. "I'm here to see my father, but he doesn't seem to be home at the moment"

The man looked over without saying anything, smiling tiredly while he watered the plants, only making you feel even more awkward than before as you debated whether you should stay or not.

"Sorry if I seem suspicious, but we get that a lot from nosy intruders trying to bother our residents here - especially since we house a few heroes." The man let out a little chuckle as if he hadn't just said he suspected you of lying. Although, you could understand his sentiment.

"You said 'our residents', are you the owner here?" You asked, not expecting this man of all people to be someone responsible for the entire building.

"That I am" He responded kindly.

You stood bewildered. The owner! Maybe he could help you... You just had to get some proof. Quickly, you scrambled to pop open your backpack, looking for a certain photo book. You didn't have any photos with your father past birth, but you did have a photo of him holding you as a baby. Just one.

The man stood to the side, tiredly watering the plants with an old hose, a stark contrast to the panicked movements of you right next to him.

Finding the photo and pulling it out, you showed the man. It was a photo of your father holding you just as you were born, with his sole focus on you instead of the camera. He was much younger back then, and you didn't know what he would look like in current times.

The man looked over the photo once before shrugging his shoulders.

"I believe you, I already did from the beginning. Cute photo though."

You stood there with the photo still in your hand. What was with this guy?!

"Your father is Shota? Is that right?" He looked over at you with an expression of interest compared to the tired smile he wore earlier. "He never said anything about having a kid."

You nodded, "We don't really talk that much... Do you know where he is by the way?"

The man stopped looking at the water flowing out of the hose and went to look up at the stars instead, moving one hand to his pocket and exhaling a heavy breath.

"You won't find him here right now, unfortunately"

"Why? Is he busy?"

The man shrugged once again, slow as molasses, though clearly smarter than he was letting on.

"You could say that"

Talking to him was a struggle, really. He only let out answers to questions explicitly asked, and you felt as though you weren't getting anywhere.

"Can you please explain?"

He chuckled at your exasperated tone, finally giving a suitable explanation.

"He's almost never around. He works at night. Probably sleeps for a bit, then he works during the day. Sometimes I don't see him for days at a time just because he sleeps elsewhere," He sighed once more, looking back at the plants in the little garden. "He needs to take better care of himself, that Shouta.. "

You couldn't believe it. Days at a time? You didn't have days, besides what if you couldn't catch him during the small amount of time he was actually there?

Another thought dawned on you. If he was so busy all the time, would he even have time for you? You stood quietly, pondering what you would do.

"Maybe try waiting by his door for a bit? Tomorrow's a weekday, so he'd have to show up to get ready to go to his day job"

You could only nod sullenly and take the man's advice. He gave you a few snacks to keep yourself busy while you walked back up the stairs, eventually planting yourself in front of his door to wait it out.

The view from the third floor wasn't so bad at least. You could see the lights of the lower buildings twinkling in the back, and since the area was quieter than the rest of the town, you felt as though you could think a little clearer.

After a couple hours, the landlord from before came back with a blanket and more snacks (which you just packaged to save for later), and soon enough you were out like a light.

-

A soft nudge to your side caused you to groan, and the sharper one that followed it caused your eyes to fly open, rubbing the tender area on your ribs. Looking up to see who caused it, your eyes widened as you saw exactly who you were looking for.

"Mind explaining why you're sleeping in front of my door? I'd also like to know why you're here, on the opposite side of Japan, as well."

Giving him a once over, you didn't expect your father to look so... Worn down. Raggedy, you'd call it. His hair was unkempt and fell in front of his face, and his eyes held dark bags underneath them, the eyes themselves being red and irritated. In addition, he was still wearing his hero outfit from patrol, with him just wanting to head in, get a few minutes of rest, then clean up before heading to UA. You tried to ignore the small spatter of red on his scarf.

"I..." Quickly standing up, you brushed yourself off and tried to make yourself look as presentable as possible (at least for someone who just woke up from sleeping outside all night).

Clearing your throat, you tried explaining yourself, "I... I'm sorry for the sudden request but..."

He looked at you with an eyebrow raised.

"I was wondering if I could live with you?"

Getting it all out at once was what your decided was the best you could do. At least it'd get rejection out of the way.

He wiped his eyes, the irritation of dry eye making him want to be inside even further. He was covered with grime from patrol, hadn't eaten all night (wondering if you didn't either), and was exhausted.

"Look... There's a lot going on right now, but you can just come inside with me so we can discuss it there," he explained, fishing out his keys before opening the door and letting you in first.

The place was rather empty. Clean, but empty. It was small too. You started questioning yourself once more at the sight. The walls were bare, the furniture being the bare essentials (like a couch and a table with a chair), and it definitely showed he wasn't there a whole lot.

"Sit wherever you'd like. I'm going to get changed and then we can work something out."

You sat on the couch due to it being closest, fearing he'd send you back sooner if he thought of you as a nuisance.

Truth be told, Aizawa was feeling as though he was hallucinating. Coming home exhausted from work and seeing his daughter sleeping outside of his door made him think he had really lost it. His daughter, that he had never seen in person other than photos every now and then, and who was supposed to live across Japan.

He didn't know what to do for once. He couldn't send you back, that'd be cruel. He knew you and your mother didn't get along, but that was all he knew. He didn't think it'd get this bad, though.

He could understand your perspective, at least. He himself didn't have the best relationship with his own mother, having moved out when he barely turned eighteen and having to survive off of cup noodles and a single lightbulb for months on end. He didn't want you to go through the same struggles.

Still, he didn't know if he had the time. The last thing Aizawa wanted to do was to ignore you and your needs.

Wrapping his scarf up and tossing it on his bed (instead of the special rack on the wall that it was intended for), he decided he'd have to make changes to his schedule then, so he could take care of you without being too busy.

Back in the living room, you clutched your backpack to your chest, fearing where this would take you.

Once Aizawa stepped into the room, you immediately put your attention on him, ready to beg for a place to stay. You noticed he changed into something more casual, being just a long sleeve shirt and joggers, with his hair tied up.

He stood in front of you with his hands in his pockets, giving you a once over. He could see the way you tensed up. The way you were ready for a yelling match. He'd definitely not be sending you back.

Instead, Aizawa surprised you by holding his arms open. Sensing your confusion, he directed you.

"I haven't seen my daughter since she was born, you couldn't at least give me a hug?"

He almost chuckled at the sight of your eyes getting wider, wrapping his arms around you when you came up to him. He wasn't the most outwardly affectionate man, but his colleagues and students were making him softer by the day.

You stayed in place for a solid minute, enjoying the warmth which helped to ease your tension that had been built up all night long.

"You can stay with me, but since you failed to communicate this to me earlier I'm going to need time to prepare"

You nodded, smiling as fatigue overtook you once more.

"Does this mean I'm living with you now?"

Aizawa smiled softly. "It does." Looking out of the barely rising sun in the window, he breathed out of his nose. If only he had more time to discuss and get things ready.

Ever since you were small, he cherished every photo and phone call sent his way. He looked forward to it, your voice or smiling face being the only thing keeping him going some nights. So to have you in person, he was elated. Frustrated with the lack of communication, yes, but overall it wasn't the worst thing that could've happened.

Seeing your eyes closing on you once more, he frowned. It wouldn't hurt to take a day off work.

"C'mon, let's get you into a pair of pajamas or something so you can sleep properly," looking over to you tiredly rummaging through your suitcase, he remembered his earlier thought. "Let's also get some food in you as well"

As you brushed your teeth while the sun began to rise, Aizawa pulled out a plate to prepare some food. Out of habit he pulled only the one. Reopening the cabinet, he brought out another. Looking at the two dishes, he smiled. It was nice not being alone for once. If you weren't there, he'd have slept with his hero outfit on, popped a jelly packet, and then headed off to work at UA.

Maybe taking care of you would also teach him to learn how to take care of himself.

Seeing you walk in the kitchen in your sleepwear and toothbrush still in your mouth, Aizawa's look softened.

It definitely wouldn't hurt to call off work today.

I hope you enjoyed! This one was a bit shorter than normal, so I apologize for that! I wish you a lovely day! ( ͜♡･ω･) ͜♡

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