#aizawa x reader

[specialagentlokitty]

Aizawa x reader - the last 7 minutes

A/N: this idea was given to me by @nyxiethesimp 💜

New year was your favourite time of year, standing on the top of UA, just like you had done for so many years before with your husband by your side, holding his hand.

“I can’t believe you made me come up here again.” He sighed softly.

You grinned up at Aizawa.

“Come on! It’s tradition, we’ve done this since our first year here, we can’t break an over 10 year tradition!”

Aizawa chuckled a little bit, looking down at you, burying his face in his scarf a little as he shook his head at you.

“Every year without fail huh?”

“That’s what I promised.”

Aizawa chuckled again, leaning down to kiss your forehead, and you leant into his kiss.

He pulled away a little bit, and you smiled at him as you watched the first firework shoot into the sky, exploding behind him and your eyes face lit up with excitement.

Aizawa say the sparkle of gold in your eyes, and he leant down to gently kiss you, placing his hand in the back of your head while you took his face between your hands.

Aizawa smiled into the kiss a little more, taking a step closer.

The sound of fireworks exploded all around, and you slowly pulled away from the kiss to look at him.

Brushing some hair from his face, you watched the colours reflect in his dark eyes.

You turned to watch the fireworks with a bright smile on your face, and Aizawa draped his arms over your shoulder, resting his chin on top of your head.

You stood admiring the fireworks, leaning back into him slightly.

“When I go, I hope I go just as beautifully…”

Aizawa wrapped his arms around your shoulder, moving his head against yours sightly.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t go at all…” he mumbled.

You smiled a little more, placing your hands hands on his arms, leaning your head into his.

“I’m not going anytime soon, I promise.”

He hummed a little, keeping his arms around you as you went back to watching the fireworks.

This was how you loved starting your year with him, just the first hour of the year, outside with Aizawa watching the fireworks.

You always cherished those memories.

Now as you lay in the snow, loosing way to much blood, unable to speak, or call out to your fellow heroes for help, you just laid there.

You wondering if that’s what your last 7 minutes would be, when they said after death your brain would remain active for 7 minutes, would your last 7 minutes be full of memories with Aizawa? Fully of happy memories?

You kept your gaze up to the sky, watching as the snow came slowly falling down.

Two weeks into the new year, it had only been two weeks since you stood watching the fireworks with him.

You didn’t feel any pain, that wasn’t a good thing and you knew that, but maybe it wasn’t so bad, you didn’t want to feel any pain.

You could hear the crunching is snow under somebodies foot as they ran, and somebody knelt down next to you, and you turned your gaze to find your best friend crouched next to you.

Hizashi tried his best to smile at you.

“Hey.. hey it’s okay… you’re gonna be okay…” he whispered.

He looked at your stomach, and he quickly looked away, pressing his hand to his comms, whispering something quietly into them before turning back to you.

You were taking shallow breaths, and Hizashi smiled at you, sitting next to you.

“He’s on his way…”

You gave a weak nod, letting out a small pained breath.

Hizashi couldn’t move you, it wasn’t safe, as much as he wanted to help his best friend, he couldn’t risk moving you, so he had to wait.

A minutes later Aizawa came running over and he stopped when his eyes locked with Hizashi’s, the grim expression on the other heroes face was all he needed to see.

Hizashi stood up, walking over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.

“I’m sorry…” Hizashi whispered.

Aizawa walked over, dropping to his knees next to you, taking his scarf off and pressed it to your stomach, hoping maybe it would fix what happened.

He looked to you, finding that you were already looking at him, and you raised a shaky hand to placed over his.

Your skin was freezing.

“No.. no.. no…” Aizawa whispered.

He sat down, leaning over and he placed a hand on your face, running his thumb along your cheek.

“You promised….” He whispered again.

He could feel your hand on his back, gripping his sweater weakly.

“You promised… you promised…” he repeated.

He wasn’t angry, you knew that. He knew that.

“Just hold on…”

He looked back at you, your blood had stained the snow around you, and the snow was still trying to settle on your body, telling him you had been laid like that for a while.

Aizawa’s gaze met with yours again, he could see you fighting with your exhaustion, trying to stay awake for him.

He leant down, softly kissing you, then kissing your forehead.

“Get some sleep…” he whispered, “I’ll be here when you wake up…”

He tried his best to smile for you, he tried to sound reassuring, and he cursed himself when his voice cracked a little bit.

Over ten years by his side, being next to him from the moment you met, going from his friend, to his best friend, to being in love and getting married.

“It’s okay now….”

He could tell by your eyes that you were in a lot of pain, and you were exhausted.

“I’ll be okay, I promise.” He said gently.

You slowly raised your arm to his face, placing a cold hand to his cheek.

“S…sh..Shouta…” you whispered.

He gave another weak smile.

“I’m here, you’re not alone. Get some rest okay? I’ll look after you, I’ll stay right here.”

He kissed the palm of your hand, holding it to his face as he looked at you.

Your breath was more shallow now, and pained sounding, you turned your gaze to the sky, and he did the same thing, watching the snow.

“I love you.” He said.

After a minute, he felt your hand drop a little bit, and he looked back at you, your chest wasn’t moving anymore, he couldn’t hear anymore pained breaths.

He held your hand against his face tightly, silent tears falling down his face.

Hizashi ket his back turned, but he clamped a hand over his mouth, trying not to make a sound as he cried.

Midnight came running over and stopped when she saw his expression, and she placed her hands over her mouth.

News travelled pretty quickly among the heroes that were at that mission that day.

Aizawa wrapped his capture scarf around your waist, hiding your injury with it as he swept you into his arms, your head falling against his chest.

You were gone, you wouldn’t be by his side anymore, and all he had were the memories of you as he slowly walked towards the rescue team.

You in the other hand never realised you had died, you thought you were still living with him, making happy memories as teenagers when you first met.

Aizawa walked, looking at the peaceful look on your face, he wondered what you thought about in your last few minutes, and he would never know that your last few minutes, the minutes that brought you utter peace, were the memories of him.

He gently laid you down on a white sheet, and sat next to you, just staring at you while everybody gave him his space.

The news travelled quickly around the whole country of your death, there were vigils for you, there were news reports on you, even graffiti of you and your hero name began to show up.

Aizawa stood on the roof of UA the following new years, nearly a year later, holding a photo of you.

When the first firework exploded, he looked to the photo of your smiling face.

“Happy new year…” he whispered.

He slowly let go of the photo, letting it travel with the wind.

His new New Year tradition

#my hero academia imagine #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia x you #my hero academia #mha #mha x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha imagine #Aizawa #aizawa x you #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x reader

[star1ight0]

Shouta Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada x PLATONIC KID!!

I crave comfort so here

Tw : Ed /sh

Not many people were aware of your relationship with your homeroom teacher and English teacher known as Mr. Aizawa and his loud husband Mic but they were your dad's. In the beginning of the year they both made it clear no special treatment would be given and you appreciated it a lot.

This also came with its ups and downs trying to fight the urge to hug you dad in front of class after villain attacks ect, as much as they'd both fight it they also struggled to accessively check on you when you all moved to dorms.

Having grown up always close to him after they adopted you from a abusive home. had its drags on you all You weren't entirely sure when this overwhelming feeling of despair started but it felt so shitty, you had no reason to feel this way you had a good life. Loving dads, a nice school and a few friends you hold dear to you. It was so long ago why was this still bothering you.

You remembered a conversation you had with your dad, Mic recalling how Aizawa was struggling with mental health and how it wasn't an effect of things around him but rather his brain chemistry. You looked at your phone debating on calling your family group chat to ask them for help but managed to talk yourself out of it resorting to crying on your closet floor.

After a few minutes of crying you managed to pull yourself together grabbing some clothes and deciding this was all in your head and you had no reason to feel so shitty. Heading out your room you feel a tap on your shoulder "it's past curfew kid" you turn around to see you father Hizashi looking around you you look back at him eyes still puffy "Sorry dad, just needed a shower" you say attempting to walk away when you feel a hand in you wrist "were you crying little listener?" You flinch at the childhood nickname your dad had given you "No, sorry just tired" you say pulling away "either your high or you were crying which one is it kid" He says pointing to your eyes "its nothing dad please just let me shower"

You pull away walking away leaving your dad in the hall alone. You took a long shower, trying to scrub off the memories of your past home. You get out the shower and go back to your dorm laying down on the floor ignoring the fact your bed was no more than 3 feet away. You look at your phone to see Aizawa texted you

You okay kiddo?

Yeah sorry for worrying y'all just a bad day

Are you sure

Yeah

If you say so, me and Hizashi are here if you need us. Now go to bed it's late

The conversation was short and to the point but you still felt the need to want to call him and tell him these awful feelings you were having.

A few days passed when you got an email from an all too familiar name, it was your biological mom. The very same woman who had given you physical and mental problems along with nonstop nightmares for 2 years. You had changed everything phone number homes socal midea accounts anything that she could you to find you. Yet her name is in your inbox with a paragraph calling you names and threatening you. Everything felt so out of control like nothing you did to get away from her was enough. But she knew now, she knew what school you went to. 1-A had been on TV after all, you should have known it was only a matter of time. You looked at your phone blankly feeling your body shake and tears fall from your face. You reached for your pocket knife making a cut on your thigh it felt good like you finally had control over how you felt like you had control over something when everything around you was so chaotic. This was bad you knew that but it felt too good to want to care.

Overtime the threatening emails from your mother piled up only feeding the fear she'd find you and harm you, in turn causing more scars to be formed on your legs. You dads had quickly talked notice to you change in dimanar and talked it over amongst themselves and tried to reach out to you but it was all brushed off as a bad week of a bad day.

This began to escalate more than your lack of interest in food came about you seemed so tired too tired to even eat. This is where they drew the line. No kid of theirs would be passing out in training. They just couldn't figure out how to talk to you about this without you shutting down and shutting them out.

Monday morning training came about and you felt exhausted like your whole body was about to give out. This was only further proven when you passed out before training with Todoroki without him even activating either of his quirks. Both Hizashi and Aizawa rushed to your side as another student ran to get recovery girl. You woke up in the nurses office with both your dad's next to you looking worried out their minds.

"Recovery girl said you'd be fine.. as long as you ate and drank probably." There was a silence filled with worry and a bit of anger

"I'm sorry dad-" you were cut off by Hizashi hugging you, "please don't scare me like that kid" he said holding you as if you were gonna disappear. "Talk to us if you need to kiddo. You know we'll listen. "

You hugged him back going back to your dorm early as you were excused from all classes for the day, sitting on your floor you checked your phone to see another email this time from your biological father. Your mom texting you was one thing you knew in some way she didn't have the gut to actually hurt you but your dad, he'd hunt you down and kill you, metaphorically and literally. You felt a wave of fear washing over you and you sobbed standing up hands on your head pacing around your room crying and shaking. You reach for your knife once more sliding down the wall making a cut in an almost fully healed scar feeling that feeling of control comes back. You made a few more before stopping, taking a deep breath grabbing your first aid kit sitting in the same spot of the floor. Yeah you felt stupid but not stupid enough to not clean this kind of thing. As you were cleaning up you heard a knock at your door

"Kid? It's us can we talk?"

Aizawa says still waiting at the door "Y-yeah give me a minute please!!" You shout rushing to put the first aid kit away and some sweatpants and throw your knife under the bed you wipe your face, and open the door

"Kid are you okay you look a little.. worse than earlier "

"yeah I'm fine just not in a great mood" you said looking at your phone placed in the far end of the bed. They both came Into your room and sat on your bed and attempted to talk to you about what had been bothering you. The conversation went in circles before you placed your head in Aizawa's lap and your legs. Your dad Hizashi standing at the foot of your bed about to leave seeing as it seemed to have been handled was stopped by a blood stain on the floor.

"Shouta, I think we should stay till she wakes up"

"hm. I mean I'm not against it but why ?"

He points at the blood spot on the floor and Shoutas eyes widen.

"they are knocked out right now so can you look for whatever is being used ?"

He nods looking around your room eyes landing on a pocked knife shining under your bed.

"here, I'll put it in our room" he says showing Shouta before closing it and placing it in his pocket, as he was above to leave his stopped by the light of your phone along with a name he recognized followed by a scowl.

"Shouta I'm gonna check their phone for something"

He gives Hizashi a confused look but unable to move because of your sleeping form he allows him to do so, you trusted them enough to let them know your passwords but they had never not trusted you enough to go through your phone. He opens the email, reading it the existing and seeing y'all the others. He made a face of pure disgust and walked toward Shouta showing him the inbox along with one of the emails it had.

Both had decided to stay in your room till morning planning in talking to you about this night of rather unfortunate events. But this was cut short by the feeling of you hyperventilating in Shoutas lap. Hizashi gently shakes him awake and they both attempt to comfort you untimatly failing as you wake you shaking tears forming in your eyes. An all too familiar scene for your dad's to witness.

"it's okay kid, your okay" Hizashi whispered patting your head as Aizawa rubbed your shoulder.

"sorry i-"

"No apologies. We know everything so there's no need to hide anything from us anymore"

Shouta says looking up at his husband

"you could have really hurt yourself kid"

"i know I just - " you were cut off my a knot in your throat as you scrambled to find the words "everything feels so out of control and I can control this you know?" Shouta nooding in agreement.

"why did you come to is kiddo?

"i- I didn't want you to worry you. You guys had enough going on.."

You said your voice is still shaking between sobs.

"you'd never be a bother to us. It's our job as you parents to check on you and worry for you"

You all had a long talk about possible coping strategies and ways to communicate you wanted to talk about something without feeling bothersome. A few relapses were bound to happen and they both knew this but did everything they could to ensure it didn't. Even if it meant letting the whole class know you were their kid so you could go in the teachers wing of the dorms. You began slowly getting better with set backs here and there, but by setting up and new email and talking more about what your depression episodes felt like, both your dad were able to help you through it

Yes it's messy I wrote 75% of this in one go and the other half after my shower. And it's like 12:58am

Requests are open but slow

Please reach out if you need to to!!

#aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #bnha x reader #mha x reader #fanfiction #mha x reader comfort #x reader #bnha comfort #comfort #gender neutral reader #spotify #dadzawa #platonic #aizawa x you #aizawa x reader #aizawa shōta #aizawa x hizashi #mha hizashi #bnha hizashi #hizashi x reader #present mic #sh comfort #tw s3lf harm #tw self destructive behavior #tw eating issues #tw ed implied

[hqkalon]

just bc he doesn’t care // nsfw +17

it didn’t matter how many times you’ve pressed your thighs together, he’d just spread them back apart. “it’s t’much!” that sentence alone was like music to his ears, hearing how he was the one making you plea in such vulnerability. “ya sure? ‘cause down here says otherwise.” he teased, stroking every spot imaginable.

your body squirmed underneath his large frame, “look how good you’re taking me princess.” his eyes trailed down where his dick disappeared in and out of your swollen pussy with his thick fingers wrapped around your thin throat, adding slight pressure. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your pussy squeezed tightly around him. "awn gonna cum for daddy?" he groaned into your ear with such a condescending tone, though his words struck straight down your core— feeling that bubble of pleasure wanting to burst. "y-yes yes!" you cried as his stroke got deeper, "then cum." his stern tone pierced right through your core.

"nghh please!" you begged as he fucked you through your orgasm, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. painting an opaque coat around his dick as the palm of your hands pressed against his abdomen. "we're not done yet, angel." his free hand grabbed onto your wrist as he deviously grinned, pounding harder into your cunt as you babbled incoherent nonsense underneath him.

matsun, osamu, toji, aizawa, gojo and carlos

#haikyuu smut #jjk smut #mha smut #resident evil smut #matsukawa x reader #osamu x reader #toji x reader #aizawa x reader #gojo x reader #carlos x reader #matsukawa x black reader #osamu x black reader #toji x black reader #aizawa x black reader #gojo x black reader #carlos x black reader #matsukawa smut #osamu smut #toji smut #aizawa smut #gojo smut #carlos oliveria smut #jjk drabbles #scripts .📃

[siriuslywounded]

well-

#jjk #mha #aizawa shouta #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #aizawa sensei #eraserhead #aizawa x reader #hwajin na #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #nanami smut #aizawa smut #aizawa x y/n #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #kakashi sensei

[kleftiko]

❦ HOW MANY KIDS DOES HE WANT

cw: none, this is fluff

i add to this intermittently :)

♡ a million. he wants a whole army of little ones running around. he has an endless list of names picked out and he just can’t help but feel like the most pure way to express his love for you is to create a little life and raise a wonderful person with you.

— HAWKS (mha), gojo, yuji, CHOSO (jjk), kuroo, bokuto, ATSUMU (hq), kiyoshi, kise (knb), julius, yami (bc), rengoku, akaza (kny),

♡ one or two. loves the idea of raising a child or two with you. he wants to watch and nurture a life, he wants to be the best father he can. he wants to support his child and find out what kind of person they’ll be with you right by his side. doesn’t even care if they’re biological.

— fatgum (mha), megumi (jjk), KITA, daichi (hq), akashi, kuroko (knb), nozel, fuegoleon (bc)

♡ doesn’t matter to him. it’s entirely up to you, it’s not like he would grow them in his body anyway. he has unconditional love for you, and if you chose to bring a child into your lives he will love them as well. will love you with a child, will love you without.

— aizawa (mha), LEVI (aot), nanami (jjk), sakusa, iwaizumi, kageyama (hq), kagami, murasakibara (knb), william (bc), kakashi, giyuu (kny)

♡ get those things away from him. will hiss at them. doesn’t have a way with kids, it’s not a good idea. if you really DO want a child, he will give you one. but he will never, EVER, admit that he loves the little bastard. you think you see him cuddling them in the middle of the night? nope, get your eyes checked.

— SHIGARAKI, dabi (mha), sukuna (jjk), tsukishima (hq), aomine, midorima (knb), sanemi, obanai (kny)

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #knb x reader #kuroko no basket x reader #kuroko no basuke x reader #hawks x reader #aizawa x reader #shigaraki x reader #dabi x reader #gojo x reader #megumi x reader #itadori x reader #sukuna x reader #kuroo x reader #bokuto x reader #atsumu x reader #sakusa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #aomine x reader #akashi x reader #black clover x reader #yami x reader #nozel x reader #william x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader

[dabisbratz]

𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

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

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

You’re back home for the summer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s fucked.

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

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart could almost burst.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep. He’s fucked.

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

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

“I think you got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can see that.”

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

There’s always something in your mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

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

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

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

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

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

Shouta is avoiding you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmph.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only it were his cock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were holding hands.

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

And that isn’t even it.

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

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

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

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

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else would I say?”

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

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

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

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

“Show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

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

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

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

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

But it does.

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

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

Delayed gratification.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

“Sweet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

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

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

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

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

And that’s all you need to hear.

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

[osaemu]

boyfriends who bend you over the nearest table the second they stumble home after a long, stressful day of work. he starts out fucking you rough to take his mind off of his shitty day, but after an hour he slows down, thrusts growing lazier and sloppier as he releases whatever's left of his tension. after all, what better way to relax than with a glass of wine and your pussy?

gojo, TOJI, geto, dazai, CHUUYA, kunikida, LEVI, reiner, childe, DILUC, zhongli, kaeya, hawks, AIZAWA

#✧ — smut #gojo x reader #toji x reader #geto x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #kunikida x reader #levi x reader #reiner x reader #childe x reader #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #kaeya x reader #hawks x reader #aizawa x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader

[apollostears]

𝑇𝐴𝐿𝐾 𝑇𝑂 𝑀𝐸 𝑩𝑨𝑩𝒀 ＃︎！︎

❤︎ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) + 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐝𝐨𝐦!𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭

❤︎ 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨, 𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐚, + 𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐤𝐮 𝐤𝐲𝐨𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐨

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐛𝐡𝐦 <𝟑

「︎ nanami 」︎♡︎

⥅︎ his grunts rest so comfortably in your ears as nanami fucks into you, his chest pressed against yours. his breath tickles your neck while his lips ghost the skin of your ear.

“you alright baby? still with me?” nanami asks, his hand gently patting your damp cheek.

a lazy nod is all you give while whimpers tumble past your lips. nanami kissed his teeth and cooed teasingly, squeezing your cheeks together for your lips to form a pout.

“i need words angel. talk to daddy, baby.”

tears collected at your lash line again, a lust-filled gaze in your eyes as you looked at where nanami’s cock plunged into your cunt.

“feel you here, daddy.” you whined, finding the strength to caress your lower belly where you could feel his cock driving into you.

nanami smirked before leaning up to pull you up and on his lap. “lets see where else you can feel me. yeah?”

「︎ rengoku 」︎ ♡︎

⥅︎ rengoku is so excited to fuck you. he loves having you underneath him, your legs pressed all the way back into a mating press as he fucks his second load of cum into you. you’re a trembling mess as you feel another orgasm nearing.

“that’sss it. gonna cum for me again beautiful?” rengoku inquires softly, his lips pressing kisses all over your face.

a moan was stuck in your throat when rengoku dug his dick deeper into your pussy. “kyo, i feel—i feel like i gotta pee kyo!” you squeaked, a shiver running through your body when his thick fingers rubbed your clit.

the flame hashira smiles down at you with that dazzling smile of his right before he pulls his hips back, the head of his cock caught right at your entrance, and slams back into you.

body locked, you squirt all over him and his cock, triggering his own orgasm as he moans sweetly in your ear.

“so good baby. such a good job. shittt!” rengoku moaned, his own legs starting to tremble slightly.

a breath of relief went through you as fatigue blanketed your bones. “hey, hey, hey. stay with me princess. wanna go one more time.”

「︎ aizawa 」︎♡︎

⥅︎ he looked devastatingly handsome watching you struggle to take his cock. all he wanted to do was take a nap before patrol but you were so goddamn needy. now you have to work for it.

“daddy please! i—i can’t!” you cried, trying to slow down. aizawa smacked your ass roughly, glaring at you.

“did i say you could stop?”

a broken sob came out in response to his harshness. “no sir.”

“i won’t help you til you make yourself cum on my cock.” he speaks tiredly, as if he couldn’t be bothered by your needy behavior.

but you knew that to be false by the way his cock twitches inside of you every time you lift your hips to sink back down. truthfully, aizawa wanted to take you and fuck you until you couldn’t think. but sluts like you had to learn.

your hips desperately bucked in an erratic way as your hands dug tiny crescent moons into the pro-hero’s lower stomach. aizawa grunted in response and his hands flew to your hips tightly.

“gonna c-cum shota!” you moaned loudly, your pussy clenching tightly around him as your orgasm washed over you.

aizawa was just as dazed as you, watching the tremors of a good release tickle your body. your pussy was sucking him in so tight, he couldn’t help but cum with you.

“take it. fuck! take it all.” he hissed, his hands gripping your flesh tightly.

tiredly, you slumped forward and rested your face in aizawa’s neck. his hands soothing the skin he grabbed and speaking softly in your ear. you felt him shift around and next thing you knew, you were laid on your stomach, ass in the air.

a tired whine escaped you as aizawa lined his still hard cock at your entrance once again. “gotta keep my promise, don’t i baby?”

𝐛𝐫𝐛. 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛 𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐧𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝. 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. @kennyackermanswhore @chaoticevilbakugo @indiecursor @gabzlovesu @desiray562 @brownmochii @knjkitten @sweeneyblue1 @namjoonswifeyy @nyxeclipse @rubinocore @somerandompipzsxh @dabilovesme @histarean @hannas16 @caribbeanwifey19 @emonaculate @po3ticb3auty @waka-umm @wilsonsbuck @ctrlstar @jealousfuckingcunt @savagemickey03 @dukina @saintblk @sisnot @littlemochi @hoohoohope @ruubric

#mayawrites #black!reader #anime x black!reader #anime #jjk x reader #jjk x black!reader #mha x reader #mha x black!reader #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer x black!reader #rengoku x reader #rengoku smut #aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #rengoku x black!reader #aizawa x black!reader #nanami x black!reader #jjk smut #mha smut #demon slayer smut #anime smut

[usopps-goggles]

Mha Boys When You Sleep Over For The First Time

———————————————————

Featuring: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki,Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Keigo Takami (Hawks), Shouta Aizawa, ————————————————————————————

I.Midoriya: Honestly poor boy would be so nervous he barely could achieve sleep, expect a lot of him asking you if you need anything “are you cold? do you need another blanket? are you sure you wanna be this close?”. . . yeah you’re in for a long night.

K.Bakugo: Starts out farthest away as possible from you claiming he didn’t even want you over to begin with, but… gradually as the night progresses he inches closer unbeknownst to you. you wake up the next morning practically capsuled in his arms, the boy actually looking peaceful for once as he slept.

S.Todoroki: Hesitant at first, offers to take the couch multiple times before eventually giving up as you two climb into bed, is kinda awkward but relaxes gradually as his arm drapes loosely around your neck resting on your collarbone. definitely a back sleeper, you feel comforted by his. slow and paced breathing as you drift off.

D.Kaminari: Is practically bursting at the seems with excitement, can’t help but imagine lewd things that might go down with you sharing a bed, has unmistakable disappointment when he realizes there would be no… suggestive activities. is still ecstatic to be this close to you, accidentally shocks you once during the night because he was so excited…

E.Kirishima: Probably the chillest about it, pampers you and makes sure you have everything you need (because chivalry is manly he says). cuddles galore! lets you play with his hair while it’s down, lacking any product. you braid and put cute little barrettes in it. definitely is a snorer, as well as the one who moves all over the map in their sleep.

K.Takami: Hawks is over the moon on the inside but acts nonchalantly, definitely has a big ass double king size bed for his wings loaded up with pillows, snacks right before bed, you don’t know how but you’ll randomly find a feather or two smushed between some pillows. he’s a stomach sleeper curtesy of his wings, unknowingly drapes a wing around you in his sleep, you wake up to him snoring face down in the pillows.

S.Aizawa: Definitely is out cold once he hits the pillow, is already tired as is throughout the day, so once his head is graced with the luxury of a mattress he.is.gone. on days where he’s not as tired he’ll ask for massage, which you happily oblige to, your fingers working out the stress built up from teaching and being a hero. his worries slip away when he’s with you and there’s nothing he loves more than a night where he’s falling asleep in your arms, his mattress having the extra weight of his lover accompanying him.

#bnha x reader #bnha #mha x reader #mha #deku x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #bnha deku #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #hawks x reader #aizawa shouta #denki x reader #aizawa x reader #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x reader #shouto todoroki #todoroki x reader #shoto torodoki #shoto x reader

[luxthestrange]

BNHA Incorrect quotes #2 EGG-celent

UA Secretary+Assistant Quirkless Y/n...

Secretary!Y/n*Currently looking for a therapist for 1-A in their spare time in your desk*...better make sure to look for one who specializes in anger management for the little chihuahua-

Aizawa*Coming in*Y/n i need the-

Secretary!Y/n*Handing him the freshly printed test sheets*

Aizawa*Blinks and hums taking it*oh also didn't have chance to-

Secretary!Y/n*Already handing him a thermo with fresh coffee with a still warm breakfast egg sandwich in the shape of a cat face, not even looking away from the screen*

Aizawa*Grabbing the breakfast and looking at you*...Marry me?

Secretary!Y/n: I took care of that too, We've been married for the last 7 years~

Aizawa*Sipping his coffee with a hum and slight smirk*Excelent...

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #mha x reader #mha x y/n #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta x y/n #aizawa x y/n #bnha fluff #secretary y/n #bnha incorrect quotes #mha incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes

[specialagentlokitty]

Aizawa x daughter!reader - nobody hurts you

Aizawa is a single father and hia daghter gets into a relationship with her first boyfriend, and she thinks she love him but then he started to act abusive towards her so she ask for help to his dad. (You dont have to make the abuse explicit or anything) - Anon💜

TW: mentions of abusive boyfriend

You weren’t sure how or where things went wrong along the time you were dating your boyfriend, he was so nice and caring and sweet.

He was.

At the start.

Slowly he began to cut you off from your friend, he began to make you spend more time with him, going as far as making you blow off plans with your dad.

At first, Aizawa was suspicious when you started spending less time at home and more time out, but you always made sure to check in regularly, so he knew you were safe.

He had never raised a teenager before, sure, he taught them, but he wasn’t really sure what he was doing and he was hoping that he was just doing everything right.

You seemed happy, and it made him happy.

You were sitting on your bed, staring at the phone in your hands as it kept ringing.

Your boyfriend was furious, of course he was, you knew full well he was, and your ribs still hurt from where he had decided to show you just how furious with you he was.

You were scared.

You didn’t know what to do.

You couldn’t go to your friends, or your teachers, you didn’t want to tell your uncle because you knew he would tell your dad, and you didn’t want to tell your dad.

You didn’t know what to do.

Did you go see your boyfriend tomorrow and hope he was calmer? Did you break up with him?

Was it your fault?

All these thoughts rushed around your head like wild.

You began to wonder to the events that had led to your fight, maybe it was your fault, but how could you stop other guys from looking at you?

You didn’t know what to do, so you turned your phone off, going to the kitchen to get a snack before going back to your room.

Your dad usually came home late, so you didn’t eat dinner with him, but when you heard the front door open and close you knew you were awake way later than normal.

You slowly sat up, and you walked into the hallway, looking to see the living room light was on, so you padded that was and stood in the doorway.

“You’re still up? How come?”

Aizawa set his book down, looking at you.

“You’re usually asleep by now.”

You nod a little bit, and he frowned at you.

“(Y/N)? What’s going on? Are you having trouble sleeping again?”

“Can I just sit with you for a bit…?”

He sighed softly, patting the spot next to him and you walked over, sitting next to your dad, turning the TV on.

Aizawa studied your carefully, you did look more tried, you looked exhausted even, and he could see a nearly healed bruise on the side of your head.

Reaching out, your dad gently touched the spot, and you jumped away a little.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little yeah…”

“What happened?”

“Training.”

He narrowed his eyes a little bit.

“I know you, I know when you’re lying to me. What’s really happening?”

You went quiet.

Aizawa reached out, watching as you flinched away slightly and he stopped, moving his hand back.

He had never once raised his hand to you, so he knew it wasn’t him that would’ve cause this kind of reaction.

“Who’s been hurting you?” He asked.

Your eyes snapped to his.

“I can recognise the signs, who is it?”

Tears began to well up in your eyes as you looked at him.

“My boyfriend…”

Aizawa balled his hands into fists, trying to keep his anger contained, not wanting to scare you.

“What did he do to you?” He asked softly.

You sniffled a little bit and you finally broke, telling him everything your boyfriend had done to you, spilling out all your pain and fears to him.

Aizawa sat there listening, he didn’t want to move closer because he didn’t want to scare you, so he waited there.

“I.. I don’t know what to do…” you cried.

Aizawa took a small breath.

“Where’s your phone?”

“My room?”

“Can I go and get it?”

You nodded, and he carefully walked around, going to get your phone.

He turned to back on, looking at all the missed calls and texts from your boyfriend, threatening you.

Aizawa took photos of them with his phone, and handed you your phone, unlocking it before taking some more photos of the conversation.

Finally he sent a message then blocked the number, handing you back your phone.

“You’re going to come to work with me for a few days, okay? I’ll tell your school you’re not feeling well right now.”

“Okay…”

Aizawa’s heart broke at how scared you looked.

“Hey (Y/N)?”

You glanced at him.

“It’s gonna be okay, alright? I promise.”

You nodded, shuffling over so you could hug him and he hugged you back gently, holding you closely but carefully.

Aizawa wasn’t about to let some guy get away with hurting his kid, so when he took you to UA, sitting you in the staff room with Midnight, he left the school again, heading to yours.

It wasn’t hard to find your boyfriend, he was stood at your locker waiting for you.

“Who the hell are you?” The boy snapped.

Aizawa caught the boy in his capture scarf.

“If you so much as think about talking to (Y/N) again, look at her, lay a single finger on her, you better sleep with one eye open.” Aizawa growled.

The boy scoffed a little.

“Don’t even think about trying to come near her again, because I am about to rain a hell storm down on you, right now police are talking to your parents showing them everything you sent to my daughter, every threat, every picture of the bruises you took and set to her to scare her.”

Aizawa let the boy go, dropping him to the ground.

“There’s heroes going around this school right now, compiling even more evidence against you.”

Aizawa stared at the boy with no sympathy in his eyes before walking away, heading back to UA to get back to you as quickly as possible.

He walked into the teachers lounge, seeing you sitting with Hizashi and Midnight as you talked them through a game on your phone.

Aizawa smiled slightly, making his way over, standing just to the side of you so you could still see him.

The other two heroes looked at him and nodded, and he gave one back in thanks.

He wasn’t going to let anybody get away with hurting you

#my hero academia #my hero academia x you #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia imagine #mha #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #mha imagine #Aizawa #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #Aizawa imagine

[deathc-re]

you hate getting sick, who doesn't? but a part of you loves it at the same time. why? because your boyfriend always treats you so good.

he'll dote on you hand and foot. you want tea? he knows just the one. you want noddles? steaming bowl in front of you. you're too hot or cold? thermostat adjusted to the perfect temperature for you, forget him.

you wanna be close to him, be held and cuddled? anything for his sweetheart. but...what about when you're horny? when this cold/ fever takes you over right in the middle of your ovulation? it's anything for his baby, and that includes slowly torturing himself while you cock warm him under the covers. you're body basically burning up, hot to the touch against his cool skin. moans and whimpers escaping you from the aches and pains in your body but also from the feeling of his cock filling you so good.

you're so weak and tired, basically in and out of consciousness but your dripping all over him and squeezing him so tight.

when he catches that your awake again he rubs your back slowly, "baby," he breathes "can i move? please? you just- fuck-- you feel so good i can't take it."

you muster up a weak chuckle and nod your head, wrapping your arms around him tighter. slowly he switches your position, moving you onto your chest and places a pillow under your hips. the loss of him and the blanket made you whine but when he pushed back into you, you melted into the bed.

it felt like every touch to your body was heightened. your fingers gripped the sheets weakly as you arched further into the soft bed. you heard your lover moan but you were too focused on your own body, every drag of his dick along your walls felt like heaven. when he reached down to rub on your clit a jolt ran through you.

before long you were seeing stars, tired body even more tired as you gasped and whimpered into the sheets, a drool pool forming by your mouth.

your boyfriend, oh so loving, restrained every muscle in his body to keep at this pace. the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. but you felt like heaven, warm walls wrapped around him so tight, your noises, the look of pleasure and daze on your face.

he gripped your ass and leaned down to nip at your ear, "i'm sorry sweetheart but i have to go fast-" he was cut off by your quick nod, reaching a hand back to grip his wrist. just that action made him twitch.

he gripped you tighter and angled his hips upward, speeding up his pace just a bit but increased the force of this thrusts by a lot. your ass shock in waves every time his pelvis met you. like energy was being pushed into you your moans got louder, more urgent, the cord in your belly tightening.

you both came almost exactly at the same time, heavy breathing filling the room. you were out, sprawled onto the bed, barely awake. your lover chuckled at the scene and leaned down to kiss your temple.

"you want a bath my love? i'll make the water extra hot for you." he called while walking to the bathroom. you hummed a response and curled into yourself, drifting off. the warm cum running down your thigh barely registering in your mind.

FAT GUM, aizawa, DEKU, kirishima, sanji, corazon, connie, gojo, CHOSO, geto, SUGAWARA + whoever else you think

#[moon's mind] #x reader #reader insert #x reader smut #jjk smut #afab reader #mha smut #haikyuu smut #aot smut #connie springer x reader #connie smut #fat gum x reader #fat gum smut #mha x reader #izuku midoryia smut #izuku x reader #deku smut #aizawa shota smut #aizawa x reader #choso smut #choso x reader #fluffy smut #sugawara x reader #sugawara smut #one piece #one piece smut #corazon smut #corazon one piece #gojo smut #geto smut

[hqkalon]

men with the illest resting bitch face and large physique combo, which always scares children away. though in actuality he's the most down to earth guy, who bonds with children as his job— working at a daycare.

"ooh what's in the bag?" you inqured, watching him sit the tote bag on top of the table as he grabbed an item out with a wide grin.

"the children painted me a gift." he dumped the rest of the paintings out of the bag to show you all of his lovely paintings.

ushijima, matsun, aone, getou, nanami, atsumu, choso, kirishima, shinsou, miguel ( he stans ftk as well ) + more my brain don't wanna work rn

#hq fluff #jjk fluff #mha fluff #atsv fluff #hq x reader #jjk x reader #mha x reader #atsv x reader #ushijima x reader #matsukawa x reader #aone x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #atsumu x reader #choso x reader #kirishima x reader #aizawa x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #getou x reader #scripts .📃

[stxrrydreamss]

Positions I wanna put my girl in…

Building a home, getting married, having kids, and growing old together.

Eren, Armin, Jean, Saeyoung, V, Yoosung, Zen, Saeran, Tsukasa, Gen, Izuku, Bakugo, Kirishima, Aizawa, and Hawks.

#Bakugo x reader #izuku x reader #armin x reader #jean x reader #eren x reader #tsukasa x reader #gen x reader #kirishima x reader #hawks x reader #Aizawa x reader #deku x reader #dr.stone x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #aot x reader #attack on Titan x reader #drst x reader #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #boku no hero academia x reader

[delirious-donna]

tw: female reader, suggestive, yearning, reader is adored, could be considered somno but reader wakes up before anything starts, implied pussy eating, he just loves you so so much

The bed was pleasantly warm, so comforting against your spine. Soft sheets cradled your form as if trying to lull you into slumber, whilst the book you held slipped between your fingers as tiredness pressed against your eyes.

The spotlight from the bedside lamp painted the most magical shadows against the wall, the conjurations seeming to dance from the gentle fairy lights that twinkled around the room's edges. It was like a fairytale landscape but you fought the sleep that tried to tease you into surrender as if it were a dragon to be slain.

You waited, not sure how much longer it would be before you could be reunited with your lover. It felt too empty in here without him, his presence such a welcome and soothing one that you missed it all the more when he was gone.

Thoughts of the man you loved were the last ones you could recall before sleep pressed you deep into the mattress.

You were so cute, sweeter than the sugary candies he sometimes indulged in, and he was dying for a taste.

The sight of you prone on your squishy bed, chest rising and falling gently whilst you slumbered was just what he needed after the tediousness of the day. The veil of fatigue lifted enough to know that he wouldn’t be ready for sleep until he had you in his arms, his lips on every inch of your glowing sleep-soaked skin.

He padded silently towards the bed and knelt carefully so as not to disturb his sleeping angel.

For a long moment he admired your adorable pyjamas with the white fluffy bunny print–his personal favourites–with a lazy smile curling his lips at how the shorts bunched around your plush thighs. It was like he could already feel your softness beneath his touch, and he swiped his tongue across his teeth at the thought.

Slowly, like a stealthy animal, he crawled towards you. He watched through hooded eyes as he kissed up your smooth calf, enjoying the slight squirm of your hips when he reached the inside of your knee.

You smelled of your favourite body wash and he inhaled deeply until only you filled his head. He palmed you through the thin barrier of your pyjama shorts, instantly feeling your warmth and wishing to nuzzle against you.

It strained his dick to almost pain. The restraint of his pants uncomfortably tight, length throbbing with the close proximity to your pretty little pussy. His pretty little pussy… fuck.

Carnal thoughts of tasting your unique essence on his tongue, your thighs pressing against his ears and the hands that would switch between caressing and tugging on his hair, filled his mind. It made him crazy with need for you, and only you.

Deft fingers curled around the flimsy waistband, tugging the shorts down your legs until they flew into an unknown corner of the darkened room. Groans of you waking roused him enough to stare into that sleepy face that made him want to present you with his heart on a gilded platter.

“Baby?”

“Mhm, it’s me. I missed you,” he assured whilst his fingers tangled with your own, shifting your hands into the messy strands of his hair before pulling away to trace the glistening pussy lips that he was desperate to taste.

You blinked rapidly at familiar eyes glazed with desire, and it was enough to twist your stomach into knots. The swell of emotions that he evoked in you was so powerful that you could sense the slick building with every second that passed.

His lips were feverish, a contradiction to the usual cool sweep of his mouth, as they pressed against your skin. His dexterous hand snaked between your thighs only for you to press them tightly together in a mixture of embarrassment and seeking out that much-needed friction.

You let out a whimper as he sucked bruises of possession into your flesh, almost crying out aloud in simple ecstasy when he spoke once more.

“Now spread your legs and try to tell me about your day.”

Kuroo, Bokuto, Daichi, Suna, Osamu, Kakashi*, Obito, Kiba, Nanami, Gojo, Choso, Erwin, Levi, Reiner, Kunikida, Fuzukawa, Chuuya, Aizawa, Keigo, Sebastian, Hanma, Zhongli, Wriothesley, Kaeya + your fave that fits the story!

*I’m including Kakashi even though he doesn’t like sweets!

#delirious writes #kuroo x reader #bokuto x reader #nanami x reader #gojo x reader #kakashi x reader #keigo x reader #aizawa x reader #erwin x reader #levi x reader #wriothesley x reader #hq smut #hanma x reader #jjk smut #mha smut #genshin smut #aot smut #bsd smut

[kleftiko]

❦ TITS, ASS, OR THIGHS?

cw: mature, fem!reader

JJK VERSION | BLACK CLOVER VERSION

—shigaraki

hardcore tits man. big tits? squeeze them into a tube top. medium? push up bra galore so they can sandwich his face. tiny? your nipples through a small tee has him DROOLING. man just loves himself some tits. wants to suck on them like the mommy issues man he is.

—hawks

ass is his favourite pillow. i know because of his wings, he probably sleeps on his stomach—so ass pillow. easy. aside from that? tight dresses. you’re going out? he’s standing behind you like a bodyguard to scare off everyone and waiting for you to back your ass up into him when you dance.

—aizawa

thigh highs and a skirt are the perfect frame for the art that is your legs. garters? lace? fuck it just have those pretty things squeezing the life out of his head. he would die a happy, happy man. he wants his fingers digging into them when he drives too, slowly going higher.

—dabi

smacks your ass like a drum. doesn’t even look up when you scold him for hurting you, just admires the jiggle. leaves bite marks when you fuck too. i mentioned before that his favourite position is doggy and i was RIGHT. shameless pervert too, just loves ass.

#mha x reader #mha aizawa #mha headcanons #mha fanfiction #mha imagines #mha takami keigo #mha hawks #mha shigaraki #mha smut #mha x you #hawks fluff #hawks x reader #hawks smut #shigaraki imagine #shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #aizawa headcanons #dabi x reader #dabi smut #dabi headcanons