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justsomerandomfanfic · 26 days

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Oh, The Power Of An Undercover Mission - Shōta Aizawa X GN Reader

Title: Oh, The Power Of An Undercover Mission

Shōta Aizawa X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Nezu, Toshinori Yagi (Mentioned), Hizashi Yamada (Mentioned), Oboro (Mentioned), and the LOV (Mentioned)

Requested by: Anon!

WC: 7,370

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, cursing, yelling, Reader has an unspecified quirk, banter, teasing, bickering, undercover newlyweds mission, Aizawa being himself, alcohol, nicknames, small bit of jealousy, confession, angst, and fluffy ending

"Mind my language, but what the hell, Nez!?" You exclaimed, eyes widening at your long-time friend's words, "You can not be serious! I- I can't work with him, and you know that." You insisted, "There’s a reason why you have my class in a whole separate section of the building."

Principle Nezu just gave you a grin, sipping his tea, "I understand completely that you believe that he is unfit to be your partner in this mission." He spoke, setting down his white teacup. You inwardly sighed. It wasn’t that you thought he was unfit to be your partner, you just didn’t want to work with him. "But you and Aizawa's quirks are so well matched that I think it would be beneficial for you two to work together. Though I doubt you’d need to use them." Nezu finished simply.

"I know that, but I can not work with him," You insisted, waving your arms about wildly as you felt a wave of panic and anxiety rush through you, "He's- He's stoic and apathetic-"

Nezu raised a finger to silence you, "Please, Y/N." He pleaded, "I have known you for long enough. I have watched you grow into an incredible person as a student and now teacher both intellectually, but also emotionally. I believe that you are absolutely capable of being within his presence for less than twenty-four hours. It is just one mission. You’ll be going your separate ways before you know it." Leaning back in his chair, he grinned, "I know that things will be tough for the both of you, but I know that you'll come back from the mission with the important information that we need."

You let out a sigh through your nose, running your hands through your hair before nodding hesitantly; reluctantly. "I understand, but Nez, please answer me this... How come it has to be Aizawa - aside from how well our quirks complement each other... Could there have been anyone else? I mean, there has to be somebody..."

"Why yes, there was one other option, someone whose quirk would’ve perfectly complimented your own." Nezu answered, "But, unfortunately, we lost them a long time ago..." Principle Nezu's voice then lowered, "You may know of whom I speak of."

Shutting your eyes, you nod once, dropping your head; your hands landing on your hips, "Yes, I do." You muttered before clearing your throat, "Have you told Aizawa about this arrangement yet?"

Nezu’s almost haunted expression turned into a bright smile at your question, "Nope! I thought you would like to tell him! I have papers to look at now. You leave tonight!" He spoke eccentrically, slipping off of his chair with a folder in hand. Handing you the said folder, he began to push you out of his office before giving you one last smile and shutting the door.

Letting out a deep huff, you looked down at the folder in front of you, "Let's get this over with."

Gaining the courage, you began walking down the school's halls, heading towards Aizawa’s class; reading as much as you could as you walked. He was sure to be in a class at the moment, but you wanted to get this over with as soon as humanly possible. Stopping just near the door of his classroom, you brushed your hair back, trying to look presentable and not like you had just had a small panic attack in the principal's office.

Letting out a small breath, you raised your hand and knocked on the door, the sound reverberating off the empty hall walls. You waited for a moment - the murmuring of his students inside the classroom silencing - looking down at the ground at your shoes, the door opened with a small creek. Looking up, you cleared your throat, handing him the folder.

“Aizawa,” You greeted lightly as Aizawa stared at you with his tired, crimson eyes, raising an eyebrow before taking the folder from your hand.

“L/N…” He quietly flipped the folder open as you stuffed your hands in your pants pockets, looking anywhere but at him; finding the odd, discolored spot on the wall opposite of you very interesting. This was already awkward enough.

"A mission?" He asked simply, his deep voice startling you slightly as you spun your head around to nod.

"Uh, yeah. Nezu said that it was important. It’s for tonight... It's going to be a gathering... Ah, uh, a party, with some of the smaller villains." You answered, "He said it'd take less than twenty-four hours to find out what the League is going to be targeting next."

Aizawa hummed, staring down at the folder's information. "I can do this alone."

Dropping your jaw, you stared up at him in shock, "No way! You'll stick out like a sore thumb! We have to go together."

"I can get it done alone." He insisted, glancing up at you and giving you a hard stare, "I don't need your help."

"Whether you like it or not, I have to go. I don't want this any more than you do." You stated plainly, crossing your arms against your chest. Aizawa continued to glare at you, clenching one of his fists tightly for a second before letting out an irritated sigh.

"Try not to mess this up." He replied gruffly, closing his folder once more.

Narrowing your eyes, you scoffed softly, "Like I could mess anything up." You said, grabbing the folder from him, "Meet me in my office once you're done with class, please."

Without waiting for a response, you turned and stalked away, feeling a small bit of relief once you were out of sight of him. Turning the corner, and down another hall, you enter your office. Sighing, you leaned against the wall, sliding down until you were sitting on the ground, legs coming up to your chest. Shutting your eyes, you softly leaned your head back against your door.

How were you going to survive this?

~~~

Ever since you were both in UA as students, you and Aizawa have always been at each other's throats. Well... That all wasn't all true. In fact, you really liked him. Even if he was a little cold and emotionless most of the time; possibly a bit socially awkward. You knew that there was something deeper beneath his facade, though. Your gut instinct was telling you that you needed to get closer to him. But after three years of trying to befriend him, he still didn't trust you. He didn’t really speak to you, or much of anything else... And you certainly weren't going to force him to be friends with you if he didn’t want to be. So you stopped trying.

It wasn't until you had risen above his grades in your last year at UA that the real war began. Finally, after years, you accidently got a reaction out of him. For that last year, Aizawa was insistent on getting better marks than you, beating you at all the training, sparring, and making you lose sleep and energy constantly with worry and stress, which resulted in him finally winning in the end.

So, that initial interest and curiosity that you had towards him, turned into pure irritation. The feeling was mutual. He seemed to have hated you for beating him so easily, and on some many different occasions. But, years later, you were both adults. You were a Pro Hero, and a damn good one. And so was he. But it was very hard to just let bygones be bygones. Especially when interacting with each other, it felt like you were both back to being students in UA; determined and stubborn.

~~~

It wasn't long until you heard a knock on your office door, making you look up from the papers that you were grading. "Enter." You called out, watching as Aizawa opened the door and entered the room, folder in hand. "What's your plan, then?" You asked, pushing the rest of the papers to the side. You knew better than to think that he’d allow you to take charge of the mission. No matter how much you wanted to take that leadership role, you didn’t want a fight to break out. The faster you and he worked this out, the faster the mission will be.

"It starts at five," He began, placing the folder on your desk as he surveyed your office, "We will have to take your car... It's about a thirty-minute drive from here."

"Well, that's not a problem for me." You replied, standing up from your chair, and walking around the desk, "What's our alibi?"

"Did you even read the paperwork?" He then asked, sounding a bit annoyed as he turned around, leaning against your desk.

You sputtered slightly, whipping your head around to stare at him beside you, "Of course, I did!" You lied, "I just didn't know the plan, codenames, etcetera..." You trailed off, scratching the back of your head awkwardly. “Honestly, I don’t even think we’ll need codenames or anything. We’re basically just listening in on people’s conversations.”

Aizawa sighed, ignoring your last comments, "We're newlyweds. And this is our first-anniversary celebration."

You nearly choked on your spit, "I'm sorry- We're what?!" You asked incredulously, looking at him, your eyes were wide as he kept his usual bored - annoyed - expression.

"You heard me." He spoke, turning and opening the folder, pointing at a section of a page, "The only way we'd get into the event is being a couple or else-"

"Or else we'd look suspicious... I get it." You grumbled, leaning against your desk beside him, crossing your arms as you looked over his shoulder to get a better look at the papers. Being so close to him, you could smell hints of vanilla wafting from him. You never expected him to smell like vanilla… ‘I like vanilla. And was that sandalwood?’ You suddenly felt slightly frustrated with yourself, brushing those thoughts away; unblurring your eyes as you rapidly blinked them. ‘Get your head in the game, Y/N.’ "Where is this taking place again?"

"At the Natsukashii Plaza Hotel."

"Ah, fancy..." You mumbled, reading the names of some of the people that would be there. You recognized a few lesser-known villains and other criminals. There would be a lot of powerful people in one room... It was a slightly risky mission, and the only way for this to work would be for you to keep calm and collected. Which was usually easy for you to do, but you were a bit worried since this was a large environment, and you’d have to work closely with someone that hated you. Narrowing your eyes on a page, you scoffed, "Those are our codenames?"

"I wasn't the one who came up with them." Aizawa stated, not even glancing up at you, "It is not my fault you don't like the name."

You gave him a look, “I’m not saying it is,” He didn't reply, closing the folder and setting it back onto your desk.

"I'll pick you up at four-thirty."

You blinked. "What?" You turned to look over at him as he pushed himself off of leaning on your desk beside you.

"I said-" His hardened glare narrowed down at you.

"No, I know what you said." You cut him off, uncrossing your arms as you waved a dismissive hand in the air, "Just- What? Am I supposed to dress in something nice, then?"

Turning to make his way to your office door, he answered, "You do know what a formal event is, correct?"

"Yes, of course, I do." You spat back, narrowing your eyes as you stared at the back of his head, "I just have a few more questions."

"Which are..?" He asked, turning to face you fully, the same expression on his face.

Oh, how you wished you could just do the mission on your own, but Nezu said it was an important mission, and you understood that Aizawa’s quirk matched well with yours. You understood that, and knew that, all throughout your own schooling at UA. But he frustrated you beyond belief. Why couldn't he just be nice to you?

Eyes flickering across the floor, you raised a hand, running it through your hair once more; tugging slightly at the roots, "Do we have an exit strategy? Who do we try to speak to, to get the information that we need? Or do we just try to overhear conversations?"

"We can figure that out on the way." He answered plainly, making you huff.

"What if there's an emergency, then?" You tried to ask, only for him to turn away from you once again, his hand grabbing your office door knob.

"You've been on missions before, L/N, this one is no different." He stated before leaving without another word.

You huffed again, rolling your eyes before pushing yourself off of the desk and walking around it. Sitting down, you stared at the yellow folder on your desk, closed and waiting for you to reopen it. Resting your elbows on your desk, you rubbed your tired eyelids with the palms of your hands. breathing out a deep sigh, you dropped your hands and looked to your left side, glancing at the clock.

After work would be a good time to find something suitable to wear for this mission, you decided. You tried to push the thoughts of Aizawa out of your head, but it was difficult. Every single time you thought of the man you got this weird fluttering sensation in your stomach that almost made you want to throw up. He frustrated you to no end. And somehow, someway, you felt drawn to him still. Even after all these years of wanting and needing to hate him, you still found yourself- No, no... You shook your head. You do hate him. He was rude to you, no matter how many times you tried to play nice and be kind to him, he was still rude to you. He didn't deserve to spend so much time in your head and heart.

But he did.

You needed to get back to work, you had things to do, and you only had a couple more hours left in the school day before you had to get ready for this mission. So, you really needed to get your students' papers graded.

~~~

The tick-tocking of the clock on your living room wall was beginning to irritate you. It was coming up to four-fifteen, and you were beyond anxious. You sat on your couch, your leg bouncing like crazy, dressed pretty nice enough for a party of this stature. Aside from your attire, you had done everything else you needed to do to get ready; hair and so on. You looked amazing and you knew that. But every second spent sitting and waiting for him was torture. You didn’t know why you both had to use your car, or why Aizawa couldn’t have just picked you up in his car.

You knew that this whole 'pretending to be newlyweds' thing was going to be difficult - your mental health was already shot to hell; there was too much on your plate as it is. How could you possibly pretend to be happy and all lovey-dovey with him when your real-life relationship with him was anything but? You have done many missions before - more than you could count, but none of them had you pretending to be a couple with anyone. And with Aizawa of all people...

Your mind began to wander... You'd have to hold hands, link arms... What if you had to kiss? You didn't possibly think that that would have to happen, but it made your skin buzz and your heart race at just the thought. The thought of Aizawa actually liking you, the thought of him actually caring about you... Well, it scared you, and saddened you. You had tried so hard to push down any feelings you had for him down into the depths of your very soul, that you were worried that any sort of fake affection Aizawa gives you, or any sort of physical contact, would bring back those feelings, and break you entirely.

You shook your head, trying to stop yourself from having such thoughts, your heart still racing, and your hands beginning to feel slightly clammy, you clenched your fists; feeling your quirk rushing through you as you tried to calm yourself down, only for you to hear a knock at your door. You snapped your eyes from your clenched hands to the door, and you reluctantly stood.

Your steps felt heavy as you walked over to your front door, taking a short peek through the peephole. There he stood, his form distorted from the peephole lens. You let out a deep sigh, shutting your eyes and taking in a deep breath before gaining the courage and opening the door.

Aizawa stuffed his hands into the pockets of his all-black suit, his eyes staring tiredly at the potted windowsill planter filled with different types of flowers - of yellow and red hues. His shoulders were slouched, ever-so-slightly, his body feeling as tired as his eyes did. He tried to take a small nap - during class - and before walking over to pick you up, but his mind was so busy that it was difficult to even get a couple of minutes of sleep.

Hearing the door open, Aizawa pulled his red eyes from your flowers, letting them fall on you. He took in your attire, presentable enough for a party such as the one that you were - sort of forced - to attend.

Aizawa's chest tightened slightly as he cleared his throat. "Are you ready?" He spoke up, irritation laced his words and you nodded.

"Of course," You muttered, a small frown on your face, "Are you driving or am I?" You asked as you shut the door behind you, dangling the keys from your fingers, and making Aizawa huff out a sigh. You took in his own attire as you waited for him to answer, taking note of his all-black suit, and even the way he pulled his hair up in a small ponytail; you took the chance to finally see his face that was usually mostly covered by the black mop he called his hair. Overall, the outfit looked perfect for the night. You bit your lip. "You look..." You started, stopping yourself from saying handsome. You swallowed your pride and continued, "You look nice." Nope, still awkward.

Aizawa stared at you, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw a wave of surprise filter through his eyes; his eyes widening slightly, but enough for you to notice. "You can drive. I'm tired." He then said, completely ignoring your compliment, and you pursed your lips.

Nodding your head and moving around him, you stepped down the small set of stairs down to the sidewalk. "As you always are," You muttered, not that it was his fault that he was tired all the time, you knew that it was a major drawback from his quirk. Unlocking your car with a small click of your keys, you continued, "I hope you can get some sleep before we get there." You slid into the driver's seat, Aizawa following and slipping into the passenger seat. "I don't want you falling asleep on the job." You finished, sounding slightly concerned as you started your car's engine.

~~~

"We're here," You spoke as you pulled up to an empty parking spot at the hotel. Shutting off the engine, you turned to look over at Aizawa, seeing him asleep. Your shoulders drooped as you watched Aizawa's chest rise and fall slowly, his mouth slightly open, the bags under his eyes seemed darker than usual, and his hair that wasn't tied; hung loosely against his forehead as the side of his head pressed against the chilled window. He seemed so at peace, and you almost felt terrible waking him, but you both had a job to do. Raising your hand, you hesitated slightly before gently nudging his shoulder, and from just your slight touch, he jolted awake. You pulled your hand back in surprise, watching as Aizawa blinked his still-tired eyes, looking out the front windshield. "We're here," You repeated, in a slightly softer tone.

Aizawa said nothing, nodding, unbuckling himself. Opening his suit jacket, he reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a silver band. A ring. You blinked, eyes widening as Aizawa silently handed the ring to you before he pulled out a similar one and slid it on his own ring finger. You dropped your gaze to the ring lying on the palm of your hand. Clearing your throat, you got over the initial shock and slid the ring on your finger. Staring at your hand, with the ring, you felt something inside your chest begin to tighten.

Opening your car door, you climbed out, closing the door and locking it before turning to see Aizawa standing in front of your car. You didn't even notice him get out of your car. You met his eyes, which held a mixture of confusion and annoyance, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

"We don’t have all night." He finally spoke up, before offering his arm out to you.

You rolled your eyes slightly, looping your arm around his, and placing your other hand on your hand; locking yourself onto his arm and allowing him to lead you to the hotel entrance where the party would be held.

Immediately as you stepped into the large room, you entered the lion's den. You quickly scanned your surroundings and you were surprised that you actually recognized some of the lesser-known villains who were all chatting; sipping champagne, and seemingly having a grand ol' time.

It surprised you even more that how easy it was for you and Aizawa to even enter the main part of the hotel plaza where the event was taking place. It irked you how sure these villains were that no heroes would try to enter. There weren't even any guards... You had to hold back a smirk and scoff; these villains must have been very confident. But then again, most of their power came from their quirks, and they could easily use their quirks to overpower you. But you highly doubted that they could.

As Nezu had said, and what you have always known, you and Aizawa were a very powerful duo. The combination of both of your quirks was simply too powerful to go against. Maybe not as powerful as Toshinori, but still. If the two of you worked together, the odds were stacked in your favor. Plus, you were smart enough to know that there were three separate entrances to the venue. So just in case anything were to happen - which you hoped wouldn't - you and Aizawa could easily escape if need be.

You looked over at Aizawa, who watched the large room carefully with his own eyes. His whole body seemed tense as he surveyed, and took in every detail. You dropped your gaze, your ears taking in the music playing; hearing it echoing beautifully throughout the room. Your eyes lifted from the marble floor to the dancing villains. They were dancing wildly, twirling and spinning, moving faster and faster until they became blurs to you; matching the upbeat orchestra perfectly. You couldn't help but smile slightly at the sight.

With a short tug, you looked up at Aizawa, who looked down at you with an eyebrow raised. He gestured to the dancefloor with his eyes, his frown deepened. "No.” He simply said.

“We should.” You stated, raising your own eyebrow.

"We are not dancing." He stated firmly.

"I think we are," You insisted stubbornly, "It would help us, wouldn't it? Blend in? We’re sitting ducks."

Aizawa stared at you, narrowing his eyes slightly before nodding. Without another word, he began to lead you to the dance floor. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach swarming, and the feeling only intensified as Aizawa wrapped his arm around your waist. You watched with bated breath as he took your hand, your free hand automatically coming up to rest on his shoulder. Quickly, you became very impressed - and shocked - as Aizawa began to lead you into a waltz. His usual tense posture settled, his eyes never leaving yours.

His movements were as smooth as ever; the sound of your shoes on the cold, hard floor, and the beat of the music resonating within the room echoed around you. The music, while slow-paced, carried a sense of energy, yet at the same time, it was leisurely and soothing. You almost found this scenario romantic. You couldn't find words, your eyes just staring up into his scarlet eyes.. And you couldn't look away.

And for a moment, in the slightest of moments, you forgot all about the people milling around you and the noise. You forgot about the mission, and the years of bickering back and forth. You forgot about everything, and all you could focus on was the warmth of his skin on yours and the way his eyes seemed to stare right into your soul. Your mind became clouded with thoughts; thinking about when you first met, remembering him all those years ago, and about your feelings. So quiet, so handsome, so intelligent he was, and more so to this day. His hair still looked so soft, even back then, it had been shorter too; you remembered. Your eyes found themselves admiring the dark locks of his hair. Your hand on his shoulder twitched at the thought of running your fingers through it. Your heart pounded against your ribcage; your breath hitched. Those feelings, though hidden for years, were resurfacing; and resurfacing fast.

Before you knew it, you were quickly snapped out of your head, your ears picking up on a conversation. You strained your ears, turning your head just slightly to catch a glimpse of the couple that were dancing only a couple of feet from you. You did not know them, the man and woman, but they were talking about the League Of Villains.

"-they're going to attack some hospital." You heard from the man, glancing up at Aizawa to see if he was hearing the same thing as you, and with the slight change in his eyes, you knew he was.

"To get All-Might to show, I am sure." The woman chuckled wickedly, making you inwardly sigh.

Raising an eyebrow towards Aizawa, he only silently huffed in response before the man spoke up again, "Wasn't your mother recently discharged from that hospital?"

"Oh, yes," The woman nodded as she spoke, "I'm glad she won't be there Thursday when they come."

As the song came to an end, Aizawa was more than happy to lead you out and away from the dancefloor, finding a spot near the bar. Leaning against the back of the bar, you turned slightly to wave down the bartender.

"You're drinking?" Aizawa asked, and you nodded, as the bartender walked over; allowing you to order your drink.

"I trust you with driving me home," You spoke simply, as the bartender went to make your drink. "So," You began, looking up at him, arms crossed, "What do you think, husband?" The word felt foreign on your tongue, but almost felt too easy to say out loud.

"You know what I think," Aizawa muttered, eyeing the bartender as he made your drink, narrowing his eyes at the glass of liquor as he slid it to you. It wasn't poisoned, thankfully... Hopefully.

You took the drink in your hand, swirling the liquid around in the glass, you pursed your lips, "I do," In the silence, you felt the back of your neck itch as a tense, uncomfortable atmosphere filled the air between you and Aizawa. You didn't know why - well, you did - but you found yourself staring at him. You cleared your throat quietly, looking back down at your drink, your mouth opening but Aizawa quickly spoke up.

"You look nice..." He commented bluntly, repeating your words from when he came to pick you up, quickly catching you by surprise. You blinked owlishly, unsure how to respond to his sudden compliment, and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Feeling your face flush, you shook your head slightly, biting your lip.

"And you look exhausted," You laughed out, looking back up at him with a smile.

"Why, thank you-" He cut himself off before rolling his eyes. Although his tone sounded sarcastic, the faint smile that stretched across his lips gave away the fact that he was amused by your remark - at least somewhat. "I'm fine, though," He added after a moment of awkward silence passed between you. And at that small glimpse of his smile, you felt that fluttering feeling in your chest once again. God, why did it have to be like this?

"I'm going to mingle, see if I can find anything else out," You spoke up in a soft mutter only he could hear after taking one sip from your drink, and setting it down on the bartop, "You'll be alright without me, right, dearest?" You asked, shifting your weight slightly as you tilted your head.

He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes slightly before nodding. "Of course, love," He responded, and that made you pause. Looking up at him, you blinked before you got yourself together and gave him a small - almost shy and nervous - smile, walking into the crowd.

Aizawa watched you go, eyeing all the villains as you passed them. Dropping his gaze from you, he eyed your drink. You had hardly taken even a sip, the soft pink colored drink just sitting there out in the open. Aizawa moved his hand against the bartop, pausing just at your drink before he slid the drink further from his and yours spot. The bartender then took the drink away, giving Aizawa a nod before he began to help the others at the bar. Eyeing some of the people that also stood at the bar, Aizawa tried to listen in on anything, but with no such luck. No one else had been talking about the League’s evil plans.

He sighed, becoming bored, his eyes finally moving to find you, spotting you conversing with someone. That someone, Aizawa knew - who was obviously some sort of villain - was making you laugh. Whatever he said made your smile widen and that melodic laughter filled the room; sending chills down Aizawa's spine. Even through the music playing he could recognize and hear your voice clearly.

Aizawa hadn't even realized that he was staring. His dark red eyes glaring holes into the side of the villain's head. He didn't know who the lesser-known villain was, and he didn't care to find out. All Aizawa knew was that he didn't like how close he was to you. Forcing himself to look away, he allowed himself to look anywhere else but at you.

Aizawa had known you for years, having gone to UA with you. He remembered you to be friendly - kind to everyone - and very skilled at fighting and mastering your quite powerful quirk. In the very beginning, Aizawa found you slightly annoying, always bright and sunny. And for some odd reason, you really wanted to be friends with him. But, that annoyance slowly became something different. Something he hadn't noticed. Something he didn't want to notice. Something he wanted to fight tooth and nail to prevent, even if he knew it wasn't possible. He knew he shouldn't be feeling these things; these emotions. Feelings were dangerous. They caused trouble. They led to bad decisions. They led to regret. And all Aizawa wanted to do was study hard, work hard, and get on with life. So, like most emotions - that wasn't annoyance, boredom, and exhaustion - he tucked them away.

Then came the last year of UA, you had stopped trying to befriend him. Seeing that you were getting nowhere with him, and he did have to admit that he wasn’t the… Nicest when speaking to you. But suddenly you were getting better grades than him. This incident - playfully called 'the war' by Hizashi - began. You had gotten better marks than Aizawa, and he quickly became insistent on beating you. He knew he shouldn't care, and that in the end, it didn't at all matter who was on top, but he couldn't help it. He tried to push you down, studying harder each night. Training with Toshinori and Hizashi whenever he could. But you were stronger than you showed to everyone else, stronger than you showed even to yourself.

At some point in the last year, your teachers stopped pairing the two of you against each other for training. Aizawa and your quirks, when used together, created an almost deadly combination - both powerful and destructive. Training usually ended up with the both of you in the medical wing after a draw.

"Hey, are you ready to go? I couldn’t find anything.” You muttered that last part.

Aizawa turned his head from staring blankly at a wall, his tired eyes meeting yours. "Hmm?" He hummed, making your small smile drop, and your eyebrows to furrow.

"Are you alright?" You asked, only for Aizawa to nod stiffly, his hand quickly taking yours before leading you out of the hotel.

You followed, almost tripping at times with how quickly he was moving, and - somehow - not bringing any attention to the both of you. These smaller villains really were dimwitted. You looked up at Aizawa, watching the side of his face. His lips were turned into a deep frown, his eyes half-lidded, tired, and seemingly irritated as usual. You huffed, narrowing your eyes at him before turning to watch in front of you. Aizawa was back to his usual, cold self; you were sure.

Stopping at your car, Aizawa dropped your hand as quickly as he grabbed it, and funnily enough, you missed his warmth. Without even looking at you, he held out his hand, palm up, and with a scoff, you dropped your keys into his awaiting hand. You silently slipped into the passenger seat of your car, buckling and crossing your arms. The drive home was tense, and it felt hard to swallow. You didn't dare to look at him while the both of you sat next to each other in complete silence.

You finally glanced over at him when you reached your home and he parked the car. His hands held onto the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. His eyes stared ahead, the same cold expression on his face. You were confused, and a bit frustrated. You had thought that maybe he was beginning to like you when you were at that party. He joked with you, he even smiled at you, but as quickly as you thought that you made some sort of progress in getting to know him - even just slightly - he was right back to his old self. He was just like before, cold and distant - and you wanted answers.

"Why do you hate me?" You suddenly asked, and Aizawa turned his head to meet your gaze. There was no response. Instead, he merely continued to stare right at you with those red eyes. How his cold, unfeeling expression never changed. The look in those eyes was unnerving. It unsettled you; it made you feel weak - for the first time in forever - like you were nothing to the Underground Hero.

He looked away from you, and you could basically see the gears turning in his head before he spoke, "I don't hate you."

You sighed deeply, rubbing your temples before pinching the bridge of your nose. "You have a funny way of showing it." You shot back.

"I don't hate you," He repeated, his tone firmer now. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, leaning back against your car's leather seat and closing your eyes, letting out a quiet sigh. You opened your eyes again when you heard him shift uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't hate you at all."

"Then why do you act all..." You trailed off, waving your hand in the air slightly as you tried to find the right words to say, "Act all rude and grumpy to me?" You finished your sentence softly, "I mean, I thought that we were doing okay. You weren’t acting all grumpy when we were at the party. You even smiled. And then you just switch on me. And you’re back to your stoic attitude. I don't think I did anything to you to deserve that. Did I do something wrong? Have I done anything to offend you?"

"No," He muttered quietly, glancing over at you before returning his eyes to the road, dropping his hands from the wheel. "No, you didn't," He agreed.

"Well then, what is it?" You demanded, your voice still soft, but still holding hints of frustration. You weren't about to let this opportunity slip through your fingers. Not again.

Aizawa pursed his lips, taking in a deep breath before looking at you. And he surprised you with the expression on his face. Soft... Not cold, nor angry, but warm... Almost tender. You bit down on your bottom lip, forcing yourself not to look away, and you were more than sure that your eyes were beginning to trick you. Because you were sure that you saw his eyes flicker from yours to your lips and back. No, you thought. It's just your mind playing tricks on you. Nothing more.

"It's just..." He started, pausing as he pulled his hair out from the ponytail, and running a hand through his hair; sighing heavily. "Why are you so desperate to get to know me?"

"What?" Was all that left your mouth. That was not what you were expecting him to say at all.

Aizawa began to internally panic, shaking his head as he went to grab the car's door handle, "Nevermind. I'll see you at UA."

Eyes widening, you shook your own head, "Wait, Shōta" You reached out for him, your hand coming to rest on his arm. "Please, can we just talk? And please, don’t shut me out."

At the sound of his name coming from your lips, Aizawa froze. Slowly lowering his hand, he took a deep breath before glancing towards you. He could feel his heart begin to race and his cheeks heat up, and he hated it. This feeling was something that he was not used to and one that he tried to avoid. But as you stared at him, your eyes wide with worry, a small frown on your lips, Aizawa felt himself grow nervous. Shutting his eyes, he felt a buzzing sensation rush over him, making his skin itch. He held back a yawn, his eyes feeling so incredibly tired, and as he opened them again, he knew there was no way out of this.

"I never could hate you, Y/N." He began as he moved his gaze back to you; his gaze determined, "Even when we were students, I began to… Admire you." His mouth suddenly felt incredibly dry, and he cleared his throat. "I always admired your courage, your determination, and your will to win. I always respected your intelligence and your kindness - not to mention you're a great teacher." He paused again. Your hand slid from his arm, and Aizawa wished - prayed - that the world would just swallow him up. He was not good at feelings, or expressing them, especially to someone like you. You, the one that tried so hard to befriend him all those years ago, yet he pushed away. You, the one that always managed to pull him right back. You were like an ocean wave, crashing against the sandy shore, pulling him back into your deep blue sea.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard your laugh. His face began to burn as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and slight hurt; were you laughing at him, or was he thinking too much? He couldn't tell. But, as you laughed, your hand covering your mouth, he couldn't help but stare as the lights from the street lamps danced across your beautiful face, illuminating every feature. Your eyes crinkled as your cheeks dimpled, your hair falling forward and hiding your face from view. You were stunning, as always.

Your soft laughter subsided, and you brushed your hair out of your face, looking up at Aizawa with a look that he wished he could capture and keep forever. Maybe, just maybe, you weren't going to reject him after all. Maybe you weren’t laughing at him. He felt his heart beating quicker and faster, and as he swallowed heavily, anticipation simmered deep within him. Then... You spoke.

"I think that was the most you've ever said to me," You stated, almost teasingly, your smile growing wider with each word.

Aizawa blinked at you, his eyebrows furrowing further together, "Perhaps..." He trailed off, and it wasn't long until you spoke again.

"If I am picking up what you're putting down, I think you're saying that you like me." You stated, raising an eyebrow as your smile slowly spread into a smirk. "Am I assuming correctly..?" You asked, your voice trailing off and amusement lacing your voice. Aizawa simply kept his gaze locked on you, his body tense and stiff in his seat. As your words processed in his brain, Aizawa felt his stomach twist painfully at the realization. He nodded, and you mimicked him with a small hum. "Good, 'cause I've liked you ever since we were students." You confessed, chuckling lightly as you gazed into his dull crimson eyes.

"Ever since UA?" Aizawa asked and you nodded, resting your elbow on the middle console, your palm cupping your cheek, holding your head up.

"Yeah," You said, "Wasn't it obvious? I mean, the first two years I will admit that I was pretty determined to get to know you." You then let out a small laugh, rolling your eyes fondly, "My friends said I was like some love-sick puppy."

"Hizashi liked to tease me about it, actually." Aizawa muttered, but you heard him, your smile widening.

Glancing at the car's clock, you sighed, before glancing back over at him, "Do you want to walk me to my door?" With his nod, it wasn’t long until you were walking up the steps; letting out a sigh as you reached the front door. Keys in hand, you turned to Aizawa with a grin. "Well, I’ll text Nezu the information we got tonight, but, I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

Aizawa looked at you, and it was difficult to ignore how close you were. He noticed how your lips parted slightly, how your eyes sparkled in the light of the street lamps as you focused on him. He was so affected by your presence.

His body seemed to react to you without him realizing it. His hand reached up, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from your face, his thumb grazing over your jawline softly. He watched the way your eyes widened slightly at his touch. Your breath hitched in your throat, and his thumb lingered over your jawline for just a moment longer.

Slowly drawing his hand away, falling to his side, Aizawa nodded. "Yeah," He mumbled in reply. "I'll see you tomorrow." He smiled, the smallest of smiles, but one of the most genuine ones that you had ever seen.

"Okay," You breathed out your reply with a slight nod of your head, turning back around, opening the door with one final glance towards him, "Goodnight, Shōta." With those words, you slipped inside, closing the front door behind you with a soft click. Pressing your back against the door, you were unable to stop the smitten smile that spread across your features, your hands cupping your mouth, and your legs coming up to your chest; your entire body felt like it was on fire.

Shōta Aizawa glanced at your front door once more before beginning his walk down the sidewalk. He couldn't believe it, but he still found himself smiling to himself as he walked home.

---

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tired-teacher-blog · 1 year

Note

😈

You ask Shouta for something more... adventurous. Something a little more rough. Playful even. He was a little hesitant but was willing to try whatever you had in mind.

You surprised him with cute lingerie, cat ears, and a little leather collar with a bell.

He didn't say much, but you could see the brief surprise on his face before his eyes grew dark with lust. He approached you slowly and traced his calloused fingers across your collarbone, flicking the little bell in the process.

This was a good surprise, you think.

- 🐺

Oh I love this! So very interesting.

Please do not read if you're a minor

You might have been the one who suggested it, but he's the one who's going to enjoy it the most.

His eyes light up and his smile grows mischievous as he hears the little bell chiming, and without a second to waste, he pulls you along with him to bed and you follow obediently while believing to be the one in charge tonight.

You start imagining ways to dominate him, to bring him to his knees and watch as he begs for more. It's all working according to your plan isn't it? At least that's what you thought..

Little did you know, your man has already had a different picture painted in his brain the moment you waltzed in, looking like a piece of candy waiting to be ripped open and devoured.

He spends the night ravishing you every which way imaginable as your cute little whimpers are mixed with the jingle of the small bell.

By the crack of dawn, and after multiple rounds, your new sexy lingerie set is torn, sullied and forgotten on the floor as your man sweetly demands to have you one more time while wearing nothing but the bell and the cat ears.

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hinatastinygiant · 9 months

Text

Pairing: Shota Aizawa x Fem!Reader

In which a pro hero finds herself caught in an elaborate web of deception when her agency strikes a business deal with another, involving a fake engagement with the famous Pro Hero Aizawa. As they navigate the world of pretense, the lines between charades and genuine emotions blur, leading to unexpected feelings and connections. Together, they must balance the facade of a relationship with their true selves, facing challenges, media scrutiny, and inner turmoil while discovering that love can grow in the most unexpected ways.

Warnings: Language Warning! NSFW (18+) Sexual Content

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7(nsfw), 8, 9, 10. THE END

I DO NOT OWN MY HERO ACADEMIA OR ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN THE OC’s.

(Updated August 13, 11:00am est)

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star-light-imagines · 11 months

Note

ooOo may I request a Shota Aizawa x reader please? :p I was thinkin of the reader being apart of the League of Villains and they could have a quirk that allows them to seduce someone and have them under their little love spell for a short period of time. Could you whip up a story that has the reader seduce Aizawa but they decide to spare his life? (⌒▽⌒) tysm for reading!! You’re writing is awesome btw ;>

ੈ♡˳ Thank you for the request! I loved creating this, I hope you like it!

ੈ♡˳ Here's what I thought of for the Love Spell Quirk - The reader has the ability to fully seduce and control anyone by calling out to them or touching them. However, the reader must be within voice reach to ‘siren call’ them over. Touching makes the love spell affect stronger than just your voice, especially when in contact with bare skin.

Under Your Spell.

ᰔᩚ Includes- shota aizawa x reader. angst. comfort. seduction. kissing. makeout scene. slow burn (kind of). bonus content.

ᰔᩚ Warnings- gn! reader! Implied mature content! season 5 spoilers! kissing. heated makeout. hickey's. cursing. Implied emotional and physical childhood trauma.

ᰔᩚ Word Count- 7,197

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The sun slowly dips below the horizon, the sky turning a deep red and orange. The last rays of light disappear, leaving behind a darkening sky. A light wind caressed your skin as you sat on the edge of the abandoned rooftop, lost in your thoughts as you stared up at the sky above you. The wind picked up, blowing your hair ever so softly around your face. Your e/c eyes glanced downward as you looked out over the city skyline, the sun shining down on the people you saw below.

You took a deep breath as you watched them from above, your eyebrows furrowed as you watched people with normal lives carry on around you. You knew it was impossible , but you couldn’t help the sense of longing for the normal life you never truly experienced. A family with unconditional love and support, who would smile happily and eat dinner together. Friends who would accept you as you were even with the quirk you possessed, as much as you longed for a place to truly belong in the light, you knew the darkness was the only one that truly welcomed you.

Your e/c eyes closed as you lifted your face towards the sky, letting the breeze wash over you. In that moment, you let the memories that plagued your mind disappear with the wind.The felt as if it disappeared from your chest as you let out a deep sigh. The fiery glow of the sky had darkened as the stars began to twinkle and the moon casted a soft glow.

SLAM!

The rooftop you had been occupying in silence was suddenly disturbed as the door obnoxiously slammed open. You glanced in the direction of the sound, Shigaraki stood there with his face twisted up in anger, deep red eyes leering at you.

He paced towards you quickly, reaching a hand out to grasp your arm causing your body to tense. Four fingers gripped tightly onto your wrist and pulled you from the rooftop ledge.

“What are you doing out here?!” He hissed.

“Enjoying the sunset, did you want to join?” You offered, trying your best to calm the nerves that were going haywire under your skin.

“Y/N! I already told you, you can’t be seen out in public!”

“It’s not that big of a deal, If someone sees me..I can just use my quirk.”

“That’s not the point. I'm the leader, you are supposed to listen to me!” He tilted his head slightly as his eyes darkened. “Maybe I should give you some motivation.”

He raised the wrist he still had in his death grip, slowly moving the finger he was keeping away from you closer. Your eyebrows furrowed as he continued with his attempt at threatening you, the hairs on your arm stood on end at the fact his touch was leering closer. Bright e/c eyes met deep crimson red as the two of you continued the stare at each other, testing the boundaries of control.

“Well, well… What’s going on up here?” A deep voice questioned suddenly.

Shigaraki jerked his head in the direction of the voice while you peeked from the side of his figure, barely taking in the sight of the long trench coat and stapled patchwork skin. The hammering anxiety you felt flood your body moments ago, slipped away at the realization that Dabi had stepped onto the roof.

Tsk!

Shigaraki’s jaw clenched as he narrowed his eyes in frustration at the unwanted presence. He tossed your wrist out of his grip as he addressed him. “A lesson in what happens when you disobey orders.”

“I don’t think you need another member in the group that’s missing an arm.” Dabi mocked.

“I think it’s worth the risk. Compress and y/n can have matching mechanical arms, how does that sound y/n?”

Dabi’s flared turquoise eyes met your e/c eyes, his eyebrows knitted before he quickly relaxed his features and focused his attention back on their ‘leader’. He sighed as he lifted his shoulders upward, a sly smile making its way onto his lips.

“Garaki needs y/n & I for a mission tonight.”

“Why wasn’t I told about this?! Both of you stand out too much to be leaving the hideout right now!”

“Take it up with him ‘leader’. All I know is we are supposed to gather intel on the Meta Liberation Army.”

Shigaraki’s jaw clenched as he gnashed his teeth together, frustration grew quickly into anger as his hand reached up to scratch at his neck rapidly. He mumbled under his breath, deep in thought as Dabi strode closer with lazy steps.

“Fine! Whatever! Y/N, next time you don’t follow orders you will be getting a new accessory in place of an arm.” He ranted, before turning his eyes flashed towards Dabi once more. “You two don’t lead anyone back here! Kill anyone who tries to follow, UNDERSTAND?!”

“Did you forget how long we’ve been doing this?” Dabi taunted.

The two locked eyes as you watched them fight over dominance in silence, a smirk still etched on the patchwork lips. Shigaraki let out a deep sigh before he shook his head in defeat, turning and walking away.

“I should have never let you two in the League! Just some cocky assholes, but I guess that makes sense seeing as Dabi recruited you.” He mumbled as we walked through the door.

Dabi looked down at you, his smirk falling instantly as he lifted an eyebrow and he studied your facial expressions.

“I thought I told you to not annoy Mr. Crusty Dusty right now, he’s going off on a power hunger streak since the Overhaul shit.”

“I don’t like being grounded in a dark room all day, I just wanted to watch the sunset.” You explained, threading a hand through your hair.

“Do we really have a mission, or were you just saying that to save me?”

“Heh!” He scoffed, his turquoise eyes rolled playfully.

“As if i would save your ass, if you really wanted to you could have had the hand freak on the floor sobbing the moment he grabbed you.”

“That is true!” You giggled, the brightness returning to your e/c eyes. “Maybe I just wanted you to save me then.”

“Haha, save your flirting for the target’s y/n. You’ll have better luck with them.” He smirked as he rolled his shoulders and continued.

“We are splitting up for this one. Go to the location on the note, put some member’s under that little love spell of yours and gather intel.”

“Yes, yes! I got it, I'm just excited to leave this place after weeks!” You said bubbly

Dabi sighed, “Y/N, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Awe! You’re being so mean, I never do anything stupid.. You must know by now that everything I do has a reason.” You said playfully as your e/c eyes darkened.

“Whatever. It’s time to get out of here.”

The darkness of the sky had slowly snuffed out the previously scattered vibrant hues that illuminated the city. The corner of your mouth quirked up as a sly smile found its way onto your lips, excitement glowed in your e/c eyes as you swiftly ran towards the rooftop edge. As your feet jumped from the edge, you playful whipped around in the air to turn towards the blue flame villain. You quickly sent a playful kiss at him before turning your body back around, your feet landing gracefully on the neighboring rooftop.

‘Yes, I belong in the dark more than I ever did in the light.’

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You watched the Meta Liberation Army members walk in and out of the headquarters building, no one had noticed your presence from the tree branch you had stationed yourself on. A member had wandered off from his group of friends as he made his way closer to the forest, a cigarette nuzzled between his fingers.

‘Perfect.’

The man had lit the cigarette, breathing in slowly with hunched shoulders before releasing the smoke with a tired sigh. Your eyes began to glow with a magenta hue as you watched your prey from afar, you felt your arms tingle from the buzz of your quirk activating. The anticipation made your thoughts race, not being able to use your quirk in the past few weeks had made you needier than you expected. You closed your eyes and focused, letting out a gentle breath as you began your siren call.

“Awe, don’t leave me now.~” Your honeyed voice sang out.

The man’s body tensed as he instantly stopped moving, his shoulders stiffened as you watched his eyes overcome with fear that he couldn’t control his actions. The cigarette fell from his lips, the sudden stop in movements, falling to the wet grass instantly killing the burning fire it held.

You swiftly jumped down from the tree branch you were perched on, leaves danced around you with a gentle move of the wind as your feet gracefully landed on the ground. A pink blush dusted your cheeks as your skin burned with heat, a flushed blush crept towards your neck and down your chest as a visual side effect of your quirk.

“Come play with me.~” You giggled out, your head tilting to the side as you extended a hand.

He turned towards you, and once his eyes met yours they glazed over with the lovesick expression you had gotten all too sick of seeing. His face turned reddened as a blush instantly burned his cheeks, his tense muscles relaxing as he let go of all mental ability he had been fighting you off with. His long legs led him over to you quickly, eagerly taking your hand in his and you smiled slyly up at him.

You led him deeper into the woods, your magenta glowing eyes surveying the area as you walked. Once you found a suitable spot for your needs, you released his hand from yours and turned towards him once more, giving him a once over to examine his looks. He wasn’t bad looking, the man was tall and mildly handsome with his dark brown hair and brown eyes. The man’s expression was glazed over with almost a look of hearts in his eyes as he awaited your next orders silently.

“Tell me your name.~”

“Kaito Yamada.” He answered immediately, a lopsided smile plastering itself onto his face as he continued to look at you.

“ Hmm, Kaito-chan I want you to kneel for me.~” You called out playfully, a hand gently grazing across his bare shoulder as his skin instantly burned from your touch.

His knees fell to the ground in front of you with a loud thud, the leaves crunching under him as he landed. You couldn’t help the smirk that twisted its way onto your lips, your eyes gleamed with amusement at how easy he was controlled by your love spell. You inched closer to his face, and noticed his face turning crimson as you sly whispered into his ear.

“You're going to be a good boy and tell me everything I want to know.~”

Kaito nodded his head eagerly at you and you gave him a sly smile of approval before your finger raked through his hair and pulled his head back slightly. Your magenta glowing eyes flared as you drew in a long breath, your hands glowed subtly as your other hand drifted towards his arm, playfully running your fingers up his bare arm before placing your hand on his chest.

“What does the Meta Liberation Army want with the League of villains?”

“The grand commander wants the League gone. They have become too well known and he wants to retake the spotlight the League of Villains has stolen.”

The smile on your lips grew at his words, a slight glint in your eyes appeared as you playfully fluttered your lashes at him. Your own flushed skin started to burn into a deep crimson as you focused more of your quirk into your hands.

“Tell me more. ~” You urged, placing both your hands firmly on his shoulders.

“I’ll tell you anything and everything beautiful.” Kaito gushed with a lovesick voice.

He shivered as you swiftly pushed him down to where his back hit the grass below, you straddled his hips as your magenta glowing eyes burned into his brown ones. A giggle escaped your lips as you listened to the man ramble on about the information about Re-Destro’s plans.

‘So he wants to start a war out of petty jealousy. How childish.’

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Katio’s body slumped over on the grass next to his forgotten pack of cigarettes, unconscious. You had carefully leared him back to where you found him, before commanding his mind to forget you and fall asleep. Had Dabi been with you, he would have just burned his body and disposed of it once you were done retrieving the intel. Even though you were all too capable of killing someone yourself, you preferred to not have to deal with the mess if you didn’t need to.

Your e/c eyes peered over your shoulder at the faint sound of leaves rustling in the distance, adrenaline still pumped through your body as your veins burned with heat. The scarlet blush still crept along your skin, your warm hands turning a flushed shade from the usage of your quirk. You took in a sharp breath as you tried to slow your quickening heartbeat and the pounding drumming in your ears.

The faint sound of rustling leaves made your eyes dart through the trees, your thoughts raced as you prepared yourself for someone to appear. Minutes passed as you waited, the anticipation of an attack dwindling down as you walked further into the wooded area to start the trek back to the hideout location. The outline of a shadowy figure perched on a branch caught your eye as you glanced towards the night sky, the hairs on your arms immediately rose from the awareness of their presence. Your eyes glanced back towards the glistening wet grass in the moonlight, you stilled your breathing as you focused your hearing on the unknown person watching you.

When a moment passed and no action had been taken from the figure in the tree line, you had swiftly started walking forward once more. You maintained awareness of the person’s presence as they continued to track you, while you acted as if you hadn’t caught a glimpse of them a moment before. They were determined to keep following you through the dense wooded area and kept your pace as you tried to lose them with trick turns, your eyes had landed on a clearing up ahead filled with wildflowers. Your e/c eyes sparkled as you quickly changed your direction and ran towards the field of flowers.

Branches cracked loudly from above as the figure chased you, the person finally realizing that you had noticed their presence. Just as your feet touched the clearing, a gray scarf launched itself towards you, your body acted on reflex and barely missed being trapped in the fabric. The scarf rebounded towards its owner who stayed hidden in the tree line, your e/c eyes narrowed as the magenta hue started to glow once more.

“I don’t like playing cat and mouse, stop hiding will you. ~” Your honeyed voice directed, but your eyes widened at the lack of movement.

Your eyes had lost their magenta glow and your skin was no longer buzzing from the activation of your quirk. You bit your lip in thought before leaping gracefully, leaping backwards from the scarf that shot out at you, strategically moving far out of the capture weapon’s range before landing skillfully on your feet.

Before entering the clearing you were under the impression that the figure following you was a member of the Meta Liberation Army, but the capture scarf and the loss of your quirk made it clear that the figure was someone else. Dabi had told you about his encounter with the Eraserhead hero before, and how his quirk had worked with the vague knowledge he had on it. Your mind raced as you tried to remember every bit of information you could on the pro hero, swiftly managing to dodge his scarf while moving around the field as you did.

‘Why is Eraserhead here? It doesn’t make sense unless he knew I was going to be here or was also gathering intel on the Liberation Army.’

‘How long has he been watching me?’

‘That doesn’t matter right now , If i can’t shake him I’m going to have to stop this little game before I get caught.’

Eraserhead jumped down from his perch on the tree, landing harshly on the flowers beneath him. His black hair flowed off his shoulders as googles covered the barely noticeable glowing red eyes beneath. You both studied each other's movements as you gave him a once-over, considering you couldn't see most of his face due to the scarf and goggles, his physical build wasn’t too bad, actually it was great.

He lunged towards you as the scarf flexed and shot through the air in your direction, you narrowly dodged as you continued to flip and elegantly move along the clearing. All the years you had taken in dance had come in handy for combat fighting as it gave you an advantage of speed and agility. You managed to get behind him but before you could stab with the knife you had borrowed from Toga, he had pivoted and quickly swung his leg at you.

The kick hit your side and pushed you off balance as he grabbed the wrist holding the knife, however his movements left an opening for you to take advantage of. Your other hand reached for his goggles, ripping them off and throwing them far from the both of you, before swiping your free leg to hit his knees. The kick caused him to fall to the ground while releasing your arm in the process, the knife falling a few feet away as he landed on in the field of flowers. Your chest rose and fell with rapid breaths from the sudden exercise session, you glanced down at the man before grabbing the scarf and binding it around his hands.

“I usually like being the one tied up, but i’ll try it on you this once.” You teased.

He didn’t make a sound at your mocking as you gripped his shoulders and started to place him in a sitting position, you started to feel the buzzing sensation run over your skin once more. The magenta glow had returned to your eyes when you had pushed him to the ground, but due to the adrenaline you had just now started to notice your quirk reactivating.

A smirk tugged at your lips. “I’ve caught the mouse, now what should I do with it? ~”

He grunted out in frustration, desperately trying to fight the effect your quirk had on him. Eraserhead fought against his own binding scarf as he shifted his arms around trying to get free. You watched his struggling figure from behind and couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips.

“I’ll do you a favor since you’ve been such a treat tonight. The only thing is you can’t use your quirk against me anymore.~”

His shoulders tensed at your command, as you peered around to see his uncovered face. His raven black hair framed his face and hung just a bit below his shoulders, his black eyes were glaring at you with raging anger. You stood back up as you jutted out your hip, and placed a hand to rest on it as you let out a scoff.

“Since you took away the ability to use my quirk, it’s only fair that I take away yours too.”

A vein popped out of his neck as he clenched his teeth at your words, still refusing to acknowledge you with a verbal response. Now that you were able to see him better he was extremely handsome and you couldn’t help but blush slightly as you looked away from his eyes.

'The last person who was able to fight against my love spell this hard was years ago.’

You quickly regained your composure as you pushed the blush away, your magenta glowing e/c eyes looked back towards the man grumpily sitting in the grass surrounded by wildflowers.

“Tell me your name handsome.~” Your voice sang out seductively as you leaned down to be eye level with him.

His expression hardened as his body tensed reluctantly, he gnashed his teeth while the tips of his ears ever so slightly reddened. You giggled at the sight of him fighting against your quirk so listlessly which caused him to glance up at you while his brows drew together in confusion. You put your knees on the ground before him as your hand gently reached for his face, he flinched as you neared him trying to move his body away from your touch.

You sadly closed your eyes at the rejection before quickly reopening them, your fingers softly grazed his cheek before placing your full palm on his face. Your skin was burning from the contact against his, pink dusted your cheeks as a flush crept up your face.

“Please tell me your name.~”

“S-Shota Aizawa.” His rich raspy voice grunted out, his breathing became huskier.

“Why were you following me Shota?~” You questioned while running your hand through his thick locks of hair.

Aizawa bit his lip hard as the blush on his face deepend the more attention you gave him. His expression hardened as he continued to fight the effects you were having on him and he flashed his rageful black eyes towards you magenta hued e/c eyes.

“It’s been a long time since someone was able to fight off my quirk as well as you are! I’m sorry but that just means I have to take things further.~” You apologized quickly before straddling his hips.

He stiffened underneath you as you inched forward, your hands found his shoulders to keep you balanced as you moved your lips to the side of his face. You bit down on his earlobe teasingly, and his body jolted as he let a gasp escape him. The blush on his face had darkened and the flushed skin crept down towards his neck and ears. You leaned back to look him in the eyes, his pupils had become slightly hazed at your actions and you winked at him playfully.

“I received Intel that members of the League of Villains were moving around the city. I trailed you all the way from the suburban area you passed through to get here. My plan was to keep following you until you led me to the rest of the LOV.” He sighed deeply as he rambled out the information.

“Oh my! You went through all that trouble to follow me just to get caught…So unlucky.~” You teased while whispering into his ear.

He grunted in response while his eyes watched your every move almost in anticipation of what you would do next. Compared to other people under your quirk, he still had good control of his mind and body which made your eyebrows scrunch together. You were already pushing your limits and if you were going to get more information out of the hero and get rid of him, you would have to exert yourself even more.

“Who gave you the intel that I would be here?~” You asked sweetly, moving your lips ever so slightly towards his cheek as you placed gentle soft kisses down his jaw.

“I-I can’t tell you that.” Aizawa pleaded, his eyes closed as he leaned further into your kisses.

“How about you tell me what you know about me then?~” You added, leaning away from his face as you batted your lashes.

He moved towards you as you leaned away, his breathing had become more strained and rapid. His skin was hot to the touch as he was not only trying to fight the effects of your seduction quirk controlling his mind, but also fighting the physical effects as well.

“Y/N L/N, runaway teen from nine years ago. Your parents had assumed after a couple of months you had actually been kidnapped, and then after four years went by and there had still been no news of you, they eventually assumed you were dead.” He sighed while explaining, before continuing on.

“It’s theorized you stayed under the radar, by using your quirk to seduce people and make them forget about you afterwards. The most you have done in the past nine years was steal money, food and a place to live from people, no murders or direct violence have been tied to you until recently. For some reason, you joined the League Of Villains instantly becoming one of the most notorious villains in the group. You're known for seducing your victims before torturing them and letting Dabi kill them.”

You gave out a bitter laugh after he finished reciting the information he memorized from your folder. You pulled away from his body as his eyes darted to your figure retreating from him. A sad smile formed on your lips as your eyes glanced towards the night sky. His brows drew together as he took in your expression, he knew there was more to your story but there was no way he would find out about it unless it was from you.

“I know you don’t want to be a villain.” Aizawa asserted.

The magenta glow dwindled from your e/c eyes as you scoffed at the statement, you jerked your head towards him. The forced smile didn’t reach your eyes as you made eye contact with Shota, your eyebrows were knitted as you tried to force the memories plaguing your mind away into the little box you had pushed them in all those years ago.

“I didn’t give you permission to talk again, now did I?” You scolded, not realizing that you had stopped using your quirk out while you focused on your past.

“You don’t know what I want! Don’t act like I'm a lost kitten you can save.” You ranted angrily, your hand had reached out to his face as you raised his chin towards you.

“You look lost to me. You definitely don’t look happy to use your quirk on me, or the guy from earlier. ” Aizawa stated softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Shut up!” You shouted as you released his chin quickly, and moved your legs so you could stop straddling the pro hero thighs.

Aizawa’s hands moved towards you swiftly, before pushing you backwards towards the grass. He had gotten out of his own restraints long ago when he was still struggling against your quirk, he knew how to use his scarf the best and even if he was tied up with his own capture tool he had known how to escape it. Aizawa had pretended to remain constrained while he recited the intel you desired, planning what his next moves should be.

Your eyes widened as your head hit the ground, wildflowers catching the corners of your eyes from your surroundings. His glowing red eyes beamed down at you, black hair lifting effortlessly from his shoulder. His hands were on each side of your head, his firm thighs straddling your hips effectively trapping you in place.

“Shouldn’t have stopped using your quirk kitten! A real villain would have known not to get too comfortable.” Shota smirked triumphantly as he took control over the situation.

You rolled your e/c eyes at him with annoyance. “Really? Kitten? Can’t think of your own ideas?”

“I couldn’t help myself, Kitten suits you too well.” He teased as he leaned closer, whispering softly into your ear.

He noticed the deep scarlet blush that burned your cheeks and the way your lashes fluttered at his attempt at teasing you the same way you had teased him. His eyes trailed your face, burning every facial feature into his memory as he got lost in your eyes.

“I’m a villain.” You whispered, out softly almost sadly.

“You aren’t, not really. Not yet, if you stop now-”

“I can’t!” You warned urgently.

“Why can’t you?! What the fuck happened?!” He shouted.

He slammed his hands on the ground by your head in anger, his glowing red eyes flared as his jaw clenched. He wanted to understand why after all these years, a runaway who was only using their quirk to live without being noticed by society had suddenly come out of the shadows and was intent on becoming a full blown villain.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Your eyes glistened as you blinked back tears that were threatening to fall, after all these years you had never talked about your past. You never had someone ask and willingly listen to why you moved every six months to a new apartment paid for with the stolen money you would seduce out of strangers, or why you had left home at the age of sixteen content with living in the shadows rather than the wealthy home you left behind.

Dabi was the first one who acted like a true friend towards you. You had found him one night four years ago, injured and hungry in an alleyway close to your home. You hadn’t thought twice about the situation before you brought him into your home, and took care of him until he could get back on his feet.

Since then the patchwork villain would stop by often to check in, at first he would bring food as a way to not feel like he had to owe you anymore. Then he came over just to be in each other’s presence since you both knew how lonely it felt to be on the outside of society. However, the two of you never shared any personal backstories, he just makes sure to look out for you the same way you do for him, no questions asked.

Shota wanted to know you, really know you. He wanted to figure out who you were and it scared you and made your heart flutter slightly at the same time. You let out a harsh breath as a tear slipped out from your eye, Aizawa’s hand quickly reached over while he softly brushed the tear away with his thumb.

“My parents had a quirk marriage with the hopes of having a child with a love spell quirk. They didn’t want me, they just wanted to use me for their business deals for their company and to dig up dirt on their enemies. I wasn’t anything but a tool for them.-” You paused, before continuing.

“Growing up, the kids in school would be overly nice to be because or avoid me because of my quirk and my family. They were afraid I would put them under my spell and control them into loving me. Every kind gesture I ever received was out of fear that my family and I would somehow hurt them. But this isn’t what you really want to know right?-

You want to know why I ran away and why I’m suddenly back in the limelight. Well when I was sixteen I overheard my parents agreeing to sell me, more specifically my body to a rival company CEO for a couple of months. I wasn’t shocked but I didn’t want to be forced into giving my body to a stranger just because of my parents plans, so I left. I met Dabi a few years ago and we have been looking out for each other, he came to me saying he needed help.”

“I’m helping him, and when he doesn’t need me anymore I’ll fade back into the shadows.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as you gave him the brief reasoning for your actions gliding over the more traumatic experiences throughout your childhood. The feeling of a warm hand glided across your cheek causing you to open your e/c eyes to meet the once glowing red, now black eyes above you.

“Did he threaten you?” He questioned with narrowed eyes.

“No, but why would you even care if he did.” You challegend back.

A playful smirk touched his lips as he raised an eyebrow at you.

“You’re interesting.”

“Interesting?” You repeated.

“Very, not many people can keep my attention for this long.”

There was a brief moment of silence between the two of you, your eyes slowly glanced towards his lips before slowly looking back towards his eyes while he trailed your glances and movements. Each of you waited for the other to make the first move, he leaned in closer and your heart pounded like a drum in your chest, fast and hot in anticipation of something — anything.

He brushed his lips softly against yours, in a passionate kiss that left you breathless. His kiss was gentle and yet passionate, sending a thrill through your body. You clung to him, returning his kiss with equal ardor. Your mouths explored each other hungrily, as you forgot everything else but the feel of his lips on yours. He finally broke the kiss, and you stared at him dazedly, your heart pounding in your chest.

His hands traveled to your neck, gently grazing his fingers over the exposed skin. Your body trembled from the contact of his hands and your breath quickened as he kissed his way from your jawline down to your collarbone, sucking harshly on the skin there.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, never wanting this moment to end. His kisses were a mixture of sweet and passionate, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. As he moved to continuing kissing your lips, you let out a soft moan of satisfaction.

His hands traveled to the back of your neck, pulling you towards him as he deepened the kiss. You buried your hands in his hair and his tongue danced with yours as he explored every inch of your mouth. You felt yourself giving into him, surrendering to the pleasure that his touch brought.

Slowly, he pulled away, looking into your eyes with a hunger that made your heart race. Your lower lip quivered as you desperately wanted to pull him back in for a kiss, his body jolted from excitement as you flipped your position to where his back was on the ground and you were now straddling him.

His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as he watched you above him, your face descending down towards his neck with a playful glint in your e/c eyes. Aizawa’s jaw went slack upon feeling your fiery kisses leading down his neck until you found a spot that made him unexpectedly moan. You stop instantly, focusing on roughly kissing and sucking on that spot to leave a mark.

“Now we have a matching set.” You teased breathlessly into his ear.

His chest rumbled beneath you as he chuckled deeply, his expression soft as he glanced towards you. Your body tensed for a moment and he instantly caught on to the sudden change even though you quickly tried to hide it.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned softly running his fingers through your hair.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Is it not already obvious? I'm under your spell.” He teased with a smirk.

“I'm being serious! I used my quirk on you earlier. Everything you are feeling, it might just be a left over effect from my love spell. This could all not be real, not what you really want.” You doubted, your brows knitted together as you spoke.

“Your quirk didn’t have too much of an effect on me, I was able to fight it off. Besides, when I first saw you I wasn’t under your quirk and I had the same thoughts about then that I do now.”

A bright smile formed on your lips as he reassured you, even if the back of your mind still doubted the authenticity of this moment. However, you heard the crackling of leaves and twigs far in the distance that distracted you from sharing in the happiness of the moment.

Shota had opened his mouth to speak but you covered his mouth with your hand. Straining your ears, you continued to listen to the far off footsteps before you heard a deep voice call out.

“Y/N! Where are you?!” Dabi’s voice registered in your head and your eyes widened in shock.

Your e/c eyes darted to Aizawa as you held a finger up to your lips and raced to stand up, pulling him with you. You adjusted your clothing quickly and tried to smooth out your tousled hair, while he moved to fix himself as well.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered quietly as he raised a brow at you questioningly.

The magenta hue returned to your eyes as you kissed him once more, savoring every second you could before quickly pulling away from the stunned man before you.

“Leave quickly, now. Don’t look back. Don’t stop until you get home.~” You desperately plead with him, he quickly leaves the area picking up his goggles and scarf as he dashed away from you. Leaving you all alone in the clearing.

A few minutes passed by before Dabi’s figure appeared from the tree line, his trench coat grazing against the flowers as he walked towards you.

“Y/N, what are you doing out here?” He asked.

“I found it after gathering the Intel and couldn't resist stargazing for a moment.” You effortlessly lie, hoping it sounded convincing to the man beside you.

He scoffed, before he let a chuckle escape his lips. “We were supposed to meet at the location I sent you an hour ago. You weren’t answering your phone so I figured you must have gotten caught and I would be forced to come save you.”

“Awe! See I knew you would come save me if you thought I was in trouble!” You giggled.

“Whatever dumbass, did you find out anything?”

“Yeah, did you?”

“No, the location was a dud.”

“Well, The grand commander of the Meta Liberation Army wants to start a war with the league of villains.” You stated boldly with a smirk playing on your lips.

“HEH! Does he now? Tell me more."

╭┉┈◦ೋ•◦❥•◦

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Bonus Scene:

Dabi sat on the floor, his back leaning against the couch you were currently resting on. His fingers tapped relentlessly on his phone as he messaged back and forth with someone he was thinking about bringing into the league.

Your eyes were glued to the book in your hands as you reread the same passage three times already. Your mind couldn’t focus on anything but the events that happened between you and the Eraserhead hero from last night, the kiss still tingling on your lips as you remembered it. You let out a harsh sigh as you threw the book to the floor, the sudden moment made Dabi’s eyes glance towards you with curiosity when you remembered something similar about him and Aizawa.

“Dabi, I just remembered something.” You said with a smile as his eyes narrowed at you with fake annoyance.

“What?” He grunted out as he glanced back at his phone when it buzzed in his hand.

“Back when you were training me to fight, my quirk barely worked on you and it still doesn’t work on you too well. What do you think is the cause?”

His fingers suddenly stopped typing as his shoulders stiffened, his turquoise eyes remained locked on the phone in his hands as he refused to look back at you. Dabi rolled his shoulders to let out the tension quickly before he let out a scoff at your question.

“Tsk! You still don’t know why your quirk doesn’t work on me? Don’t worry you’ll figure it out someday, Doll.” He replied playfully.

“You're no help! What if my quirk doesn’t work on someone else during a fight, I want to get stronger.”

His expression hardened as his steeled eyes locked with yours, his dyed black hair looming over his furrowed eyebrows.

“Did your quirk not work on someone else? Who was it?” He quickly Interrogated, as he completely ignored his phone now continuously buzzing on the ground beside him.

You glanced away from his serious expression, the mere thought of Shota had you struggling to keep the blush that threatened to creep up your face at bay.

“No one. It’s just a hypothetical.”

He looked at you for a moment, studying your actions before he turned his attention back towards his phone and mumbled out.

“Then you don’t have to work about it, it won’t happen with anyone else.”

‘Everyone except Shota Aizawa.’

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“ERASER!” Present Mic shouted as he slammed open the door to his room.

Aizawa glared at him with tired eyes as he sat up from his bed, the late night had caused him to sleep in late the next morning. He rubbed the remaining bits of sleep out of his eyes as his childhood friend bounced around the room excitedly talking about different topics, his voice had drowned out in his ears over the years as he was able to pick out bits of important information from his ramblings.

“I heard you went out on a mission last night to trail some members of the LOV, did you find the hideout?” He questioned.

“No, they managed to get out of sight before I could follow them all the way there.” Aizawa skillfully lied.

“Who were you even tracking anyways?!” He shouted, the excitement making him rise his voice.

Aizawa hesitated for a moment, contemplating how much he could share of his passionate encounter with you. “Y/N L/N.”

“WHAT?! THE TEMPTRESS?!”

“Temptress? Where did you get that?”

“It’s been what the news is calling them lately, I guess Seductress was to spot on for them.”

Aizawa swiftly got ready as his friend continued to rattle on about how the news picked such lame nicknames for people and why, before his hand reached for the door.

“WOAH! Where are you going?! You just woke up, what could possibly have to do on a weekend that we don’t have classes on. “

“I found a lost kitten last night, but it ran away before I could bring it home.” Aizawa answered with a softened expression as his eyes glanced towards the ground.

“You're going to go search for a kitten?”

“Of course, I already decided it’s mine.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ A/N: I honestly wasn't planning to write such a heated make out scene, but I like how it turned out. Originally I did have a different backstory for the reader but it seemed to similar hawks, so I cut it.

Anyways, this was very fun to write! It's exciting to think about the quirks people send in with requests and how I can make them work into the story.

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guilt-na-zan · 8 months

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GUYSSSS WAKE UP PLEASE POST MORE AIZAWA CONTÉNT ON THE AIZAWA TAGS PLEASE IM BEGGING IM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH IMD ESPATRATE

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animeaandp · 1 year

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Dusk

MHA Prompt

Pairing: Aizawa x reader

Note: I considered making this an entire series/multiple part story but decided to leave it as this for now. I've been working on so many stories at once, I needed to get something posted. Maybe I'll continue by doing a prequel/flashback/backstory type thing later. We'll see and then we'll know, won't we.?

Warnings: Character death, talk of depression and suicide.

Quirk: Energy redistribution- Can absorb or intake energy, then either redistribute that energy as another form of energy, leave it as is and simply redirect it, or hold onto the energy and use it for yourself until it runs out. The greater the energy intake the more difficult it is to contain, control, and change, and consumes your energy to use. Taking in too much and holding it for too long, or pouring absolutely all of your energy out could kill you. Is a great quirk for the defensive but can be used for attacks; absorbing energy to heighten your natural physical abilities as well as redirecting attacks onto others. You prefer using your quirk for the former.

-------

You're in class 1A and as much as Aizawa admires you, he has to worry. In order to help save people, your quirk requires that you sacrifice your own wellbeing in the process. There's a day he's called out of class and hurries to the hospital. During your internship, a villain was giving the police a hard time; causing mass mayhem, damages, and multiple casualties. You and the hero you're with are nearby and answered the call for support just in time. The villain's quirk involved explosions and before he can take out a crowd of fleeing civilians, you jump in the way and take the hit yourself. It's been a long time since you've taken in this much energy and after successfully managing to send it back to the villain; disabling him, you collapse. The hospital alerted the school who then alerted Aizawa. He could have waited another hour or so when the school day ended but not being able to know the details until then, other than you have yet to wake up, wasn't something he could handle.

Maybe it was just the result of your quirk, but you were the type of person who was always ready to throw yourself into the crossfire if it meant at least one other person didn't have to get hurt. Aizawa knew first hand that no matter how righteous a person's intentions could be, self-sacrifice was rarely worth the cost in the grand scheme of things. But that damn smile of yours you'd flash at him while swearing everything was okay, he folded every time; a literal ray of sunshine that he couldn't bring himself to snuff out. It's the same story when you woke up the next day to a disheveled Aizawa slumped over the side of your bed. He's ready to chastise your foolishness, slap you with punishments and consequences for being so reckless with yourself, threaten a suspension-"I'm happy you're here, Shota." "...Me too." He cradles the hand on his cheek, thankful that it's still warm, and bypasses the lecture to see how you're feeling. Your answer was all he focused on in these moments, that and your smile that always reassured him.

Today, that smile haunted his every waking moment.

His mind taunted him with it.

Possessed his dreams and thoughts.

was seeing this really worth it you're a selfish man how can you live with yourself this could have all been avoided it's your fault

Drives him to almost take the half a step that could end all of it.

The half step he found himself about to take as often as the days passed by now.

He used the cumulative pto he's built up over the years to disappear in hopes of either returning to a classroom where the seat front and center never sat empty; that this had all been some fucked up joke,

or, in hopes that the half a step could be taken in peace, now that people weren't hanging over him, watching his every move, holding him back from getting too close.

Whichever came first.

and Aizawa had countless pto days saved up but Snipe's gun only until they finished tracking him down.

He'd be long gone by then hopefully.

Your smile, voice; things he'd grown to curse and resent, would be gone.

The guilt would be gone.

Almost gone.

The bundle of swaddled blankets he'd be leaving behind, most likely being looked after by Midnight right now, condemned him to a well deserved hell of it's own design.

One that he doesn't pull this trigger, and instead guilts him into finding the nerve to live.

To live and continue pouring life into the life you left behind with him.

To one day explain why they didn't have a mother.

To explain that she was a great hero, who ended up dying a great death, fighting a great war.

That it was their own father who encouraged this, and was to blame.

"Shota"

"..."

"Y/n did not entrust you with y/c/n for you to pass your grief onto them."

"...I-...can't..."

"...We can."

Whether he wanted it or not; Present Mic slides the gun from his best friends hand, choosing the path of hell for him, then walks through it with him.

(y/n= your name) (y/c/n= your child's name)

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dabisbratz · 6 months

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𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

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

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

You’re back home for the summer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s fucked.

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

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart could almost burst.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep. He’s fucked.

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

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

“I think you got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can see that.”

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

There’s always something in your mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

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

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

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

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

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

Shouta is avoiding you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmph.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only it were his cock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were holding hands.

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

And that isn’t even it.

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

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

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

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

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else would I say?”

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

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

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

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

“Show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

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

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

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

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

But it does.

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

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

Delayed gratification.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

“Sweet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

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

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

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

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

And that’s all you need to hear.

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