Not Now, Kitten. Daddy’s A Shell Of His Former Self

Nighttime Adventure (Erasermic dabble)

Okay! So I had a dream last night where the reader of @weebsinstash Ereasermic series felt so starved of affection that they couldn't fall asleep, and went over to their bedroom to snuggle - and of course when I woke up I just felt this ungodly need to write a little something based on it. 

The inspiration was there and I wasn't about to not capitalize on that opportunity. That being said here's a little dabble for you based on that scenario. 

Please note that this is literally the first time I’ve written something like this, so i’m unpracticed to say the least.

Nighttime Adventure

Your steps are slow and deliberate, trying to mask every noise emitted for the floorboard beneath you. You’re sure they can still hear you, they can hear every little sound in this blasted place. Though you were so sure just minutes before, you now feel your legs trembling with every step. Your feet feel like weights tied to you, like somewhere deep in your subconscious your own body is trying to stop you from what you’re about to do. Surely nothing good can come from it in the long run - but you can think about that now, you’re too caught up in the here and now. 

With your heartbeat blaring through your body, leaving a slight ringing in your ears, you finally reached their door. It looms over you, tall and foreboding. Behind it you can hear the two men uttering small whispers of concern and confusion, ready to spring out of bed at a moments notice. You can’t help the small snort that escapes you at the irony of the situation, after all this must be the first time their vigilance would not be necessary. 

As your hand make contact with the cold surface of the door, a slight shiver runs through you. The thought clears its way to the front of your mind; There was no turning back now, they knew you were standing there just as well as you did. If you tried turning back now to escape into the sanctity of your own room, they’d surely come right after you looking for answers as to your little nighttime adventure.

Taking a deep breath you begin to push the door open, it’s hinges screech loudly as if to beg you to stop, as it slowly slides open. You reflexively tilt your head to the side, eyes screwed shut. Maybe if you refuse to look then the reality of it all won't shift in just yet. But as you finally soak up your last bit of bravery you look up you see their dark forms looming in the distance. A heavy fog of uncertainty rolls over you, leaving you breathless. The silence among you is deafening as each of you wait for something, anything, to break it. 

Surly what comes next would change everything for the foreseeable future. You can’t do anything more than wish upon the stars that you’ve made the right decision...

I'm like, always in an Enji mood so like lmao hi 🧍

I'm always in the mood for Enji too 🥴

18+ like ways

Just thinking about cockwarming him after a long day. He'd pull you down into his lap, whether he's on the couch or at his desk finishing paperwork, and tell you to you let him slip inside. How he just needs to feel you squeezing around him to relax a little, how irresistible you are, his perfect little Angel. He's always a tight fit. And with him not moving it was nothing but delicious preasure. The slight bump in your belly from Enji being buried so deep inside of you only causing your pleasure to grow.

"I never said you could cum," Enji growled when he felt you tighten around him and try to grind down, "be patient, let Daddy relax and I'll fuck brainless in a bit, Love".

Heya! Could you write a little something about f! reader getting a massage from Dutch? It can get nsfw if you feel up to it :D Thanks if you decide to do this 😊🤍

send me a smutty rdr2 request!

a/n: @woman-with-no-name might fuck around and write a sequel to this (i'm already in the middle of writing a sequel to this), so let me know if you want to be tagged in that too <3. also, i am very much aware of the irony of this being a dutch fic and the title being a line from a song named 'no plan'.

rating: teen and up for vague descriptions of being horny and heavy suggestiveness, but nothing explicit.

warnings: sowing needles, dutch being bad at flirting, slight power imbalance, vague descriptions of getting shot.

Thrilled By The Still Of Your Hand – Part 1 (1.7k words)

The needle moves as if it has a mind of its own. In fact, it kind of does.

You've been mending clothes for hours now, hands working on their own volition, confident in their movements after years of doing the exact same menial task, as you stare at the shirt you're repairing as if transfixed.

In truth, your mind is blank, exhaustion permeating every part of your being, muscles sore and tender from the heavy workload you've taken onto your shoulders.

It's all thanks to Williamson. Because of course it is.

The asshole had fucked up so bad that you had to move camps once again, leaving behind a sizeable amount of potential stolen goods and money, and thrusting more work onto the shoulders of everyone in the gang; Especially you and the other women.

What you wouldn't give for just a few minutes of peace and quiet and stillness.

A voice, deep and rough, halts your fingers. It lashes at you like a whip, in spite of the pleasant tone, the peace and quiet disturbed – a rock thrown into still water.

"Ah, hello, miss."

Your start, feel the pinprick of your needle before you see it, thin metal sliding through the flesh of your forefinger. It hasn't just breached your skin though; It's sunk into your finger so almost a fifth of the needle is embedded in you, and there's a slow trickle of blood emitting from the prick when you pull it out, all gentle and careful. The quiet rush of scarlet glides over your skin and you watch in tired defeat as it drips onto the white fabric you've been working on for the better part of half an hour.

Great. More work.

"Mr. Van der Linde," you reply, polite but short-handed, too fatigued to make real conversation, and cast him a sidelong glance.

He's looking as impeccable as ever, well put-together and handsome, his white sleeves rolled up above his elbows, revealing long expanses of sun-kissed skin and the dark hair strewn across his forearms. You wonder, as impulsive and brief as the thought is, what he would look like all disheveled and raw – what he would look like if he worked even half as much as you or miss Grimshaw or even Abigail, heavily pregnant as she is.

He's got a cigar curled between his fingers, a faint shroud of smoke floating in the air, curling around his head and throat with the familiarity of the gentle caress of a lover.

You press your bleeding finger past your lips and place it on your tongue. Its warmth and wetness soothe the sting, the metallic tang of blood spreading in your mouth.

"It's Dutch," he says, but it's strained, twisted – a mockery of the gentle cheeriness in his voice just moments before, and you turn yourself to face him better, to get a proper look at him, only to falter and freeze, caught in the stare he gives you. His eyes are dark, jaw set tight, and you can do nothing to stop the quiet shiver flowing forth within you. "How are you doing on a fine day like this?"

You slide your finger out of your mouth. There's spit sticking to it, your stained skin glistening in the sun, and you wipe it off in your already grimy skirt.

You think you see Dutch following the motion, the dark irises of his eyes shifting around until they eventually land on your face, but you're not sure.

Probably just the fatigue getting to you.

However, you are certain that his grip on his cigar has tightened, a small dent in the tobacco visible even from where you're sitting.

"I'm fine, sir."

Dutch looks as if your voice has snapped him out of thought and he clears his throat, takes a drag.

"I've seen you working, much more than usual. You must be terribly sore."

"Oh, I guess I am. It's been a busy few days. You know how miss Grimshaw gets."

Dutch chuckles, a low, rumbling thing that sends tingles down your spine. "I sure do."

He watches you for a moment, gaze searching in a way you're unused to, feel a scarlet flush rising in your cheeks. You avert your eyes, and focus on the needle and thread going in and out of the fabric instead.

Then, there are hands on your upper arms. Though you thought it impossible, you grow tenser, shoulders rising, breath catching in your throat. That is, until those hands – those big, warm hands – start making a path up and down your upper arms, soothing in a way that has the tension crawling beneath your skin dissolving like sugar on a wet tongue.

When they come to rest where your shoulders meet your neck, fingers dig into tender muscles.

A moan brushes past your lips, faint and pitiful, but inevitable. You're aching, beneath it all, stressed and on edge after working yourself to the bone. Yes, it's somewhat miss Grimshaw's fault, but you wanted to help out as much as you could on your own accord too. She pushes you, but you're the one taking the leaps, damn near wrestling any and all heavy workloads out of Abigail's hands, even if she is only five months along.

It's like heaven, the way his hands move across the expanse of your back and work at the strain and stress contorting every part of your being, something strange yet tempting curling in your stomach when he delicately pulls at your sleeves, exposing the naked skin of your shoulders to the tepid weather.

"So tense."

Your mind, in that exact moment, catches up to what's going on, Dutch's voice much closer to your ear than before. Close enough to feel faint puffs of breath brush against the shell of your ear. He's moved behind you, rendering you unable to see him, your only point of contact being his strong hands on your shoulders. Your back. Your collarbones.

He's so soft-spoken, every word spoken with gentle charisma and sympathy, tongue curling around syllables in the most delectable way. And yet, he's so close that you can feel the vibrations in his chest when he speaks, giving his voice an air of menace – a predator soothing an unsuspecting prey.

"It has not escaped me, miss, that you've been working extra hard these past couple of days. Trying to make up for Mr. Williamson's blunder?"

Yes. That's exactly what you've been doing. Miss Grimshaw too. As much of a pain in the ass she is from time to time, you have to admit that she's only trying to do right by the gang, and you do your best to follow in her footsteps.

And you attempt to express this, say, "It's the least I can do,"

His laugh is a rumble. "Now you're just selling yourself short, my dear."

He tears another groan from you, thumbs digging into a particularly sore bundle of nerves in your shoulders. His fingers, deft as they are, grab onto and exterminate any point of stress or tenderness they can find, working over naked, pliable flesh, and you just sit there and take it, caught up in the wonderful relief of it all, eyelids fluttering close. Exhaustion takes over.

"I, too, have found myself in need of relief from all this stress, you know."

And you're wide awake.

You open your mouth to reply, to protest – assert that you never meant to imply otherwise and that you're grateful for everything he's done and does for the gang; For you. However, as your lips part, the words get stuck on your tongue, breath hitching at the exact same time your stomach swoops.

Dutch rests a hand on your throat.

It's a heavy thing, his rings cold against your flushed skin, fingers curled just enough to apply a gentle, yet unyielding pressure against your larynx, his skin coarse against yours. Your heart picks up speed, fluttering in your chest with the speed of hummingbird wings, and you know he can feel it because his thumb rests on your pulse point, pressing down slightly

"You know, there are other more pleasurable ways of helping you relax. Really relax. Take your mind off of things."

You were shot once. In the gut. You remember so vividly the suddenness of the wound, the swell of equal parts warmth and mind-numbing pain in your abdomen. It rendered you lost and helpless – as if you were drowning – in the middle of a shoot-out, vision blurry, like you were watching everything through a window while it's raining. The only thing you could focus on through it all was the warm hands on you – the dash of bright scarlet by your side.

It feels like déjà vu.

Except now, along with the warmth in your gut and feeling of helplessness seeping into your skin, bone-deep, there's a throbbing. Lower than your gut. Between your legs. And coursing through your veins is something gushing and fiery and impossible to rule.

He moves further up, cups your jaw, fingers digging into bone. There is pain there, but it pulses along with pleasure. He could crack your jaw if he wanted to.

A part of you – a foreign part you did not know existed – would let him.

The tip of his thumb is on your lower lip, pulling down, barely dipping in. A brush of his fingertip over the dryness there has you releasing a shaky exhale. His touches are delicate but purposeful, akin to how an artist runs a paintbrush across his canvas. You cling to it, blooming beneath his caresses. They warm you like bright rays of sun from the inside out, flames licking beneath your skin in a way you've never experienced before.

"My tent is always open, dear." Breathless. Helpless. What can you do? "Come to me if you need anything. Anything at all."

He pats you on the cheek – his fingers like claws – and walks off as if nothing happened. As if he hasn't left you a blushing mess, heat curling and burning in the pit of your stomach, thighs rubbing together in a vain attempt to ease the pressure that's gathered at the crux of them, sensitive skin flush with goosebumps.

The promise in his voice, carefully wrapped in pretty words and resolute touches, is delectable and lascivious and terrifying all at the same time.

You carry on with your work. It's all you can do. Except, now, your mind is everything but blank.

Sullied

Day 3. He's a devil, mind the tags. Today's song is The Wolf by Phildel.

It was alien, feeling the soft squishiness of her stomach in his hands. They radiated heat, pressing insistently to keep her back flush against his body, even as he surrounded her, engulfed her entirely, folded his wings around her. She could see nothing but red, feel nothing but fire, hear nothing but the involuntary cries from her lips and the deep croon of his voice praising her.

She had long since melted into a thoughtless, selfish thing, a puppet under his hands, her ears tuned to his next command. She was hot and wet and wanting and she hated herself. She hated herself every time she came back, as he knew she would. She'd return again, repeat the cycle, return to the surface as though she weren't tainted.

Or she told herself she hated, anyway.

Here, she was no hope, no leader. Simply his.

'Oh, if they could see you now,' he growled in her ear, the vicious sharpness of his claws keeping her anchored in the present as they danced over her belly, toyed with ripping it open. 'Their supposed saviour at my mercy.' He trailed a hand up to her throat, held it tightly, fine as glass in his grip. The other wound into her hair and pulled; her screams turned to sobs of pleasure-pain, choked off with a mere flex of his fingers. 'I love hearing you cry for me,' he purred. 'You precious, beautiful little liar.'

'Don't- get used to it-' she choked out, just barely audible. 'I fucking hate you.'

He laughed, threw back his horned head and cackled joyously, released her throat and listened as she sucked in air in desperate gasps. 'I know. Don't you worry, little mouse. I won't tell anyone what you look like when you leave me. I didn't last time, either. Although...' he pulled her up, turned her head to smirk down at her. 'Perhaps this time I'll make you stay.' He crushed their lips together, invaded her mouth with a tongue that knew it by heart.

'You- can't-' she ground out between thrusts as they broke apart. 'They- they'd all-'

'Die, yes,' he whispered. 'And who would explain the reason? What would they say?'

'You- can't- keep me here-'

'The way you're taking my cock like a greedy little whore begs to differ, darling apple of my eye.'

'The last time-'

He bit down on her shoulder, lapped at her blood with lashing tongue. His hum of pleasure quaked her whole body and she came again; she'd lost count now, tears and sweat falling to the deep red covers.

'No,' he snarled as she went limp underneath him, pulling her up like she was nothing but a doll. 'You're mine. I'm done playing games, little pup. You'll return to the surface when you admit it, and not before.'

'I'll never be yours,' she whimpered, exhausted.

'Pity,' with a last hard thrust he came inside her, his weight pinning her to the bed. The devil pulled out of her, flipped her onto her back to see the blazing passion of hate in her eyes. He stroked her sweat-soaked hair off her forehead, admired his handiwork: a patchwork of bruises and bites, though she'd given as good as she got, and the soft swell of her belly filled with him, over and over and over again- spilled out between her thighs, onto the sheets. She was almost celestial like this, the radiance of her.

Sullied, again.

They both knew there would be a next time. They both knew she would not return to her friends.

If she had the energy, she might have tried... but he was whispering softly, lying as easy as breathing; she played the same game- knew they meant nothing to one another- and yet he soothed her into sleep, all the same.

Tags:

@bluerosetarot @dansnotavampire @further-than-forever

@forget-me-maybe @poetryvampire @sasha199 @wandawillow

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana @amorgansgal

@aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard

@crimson-and-lavender @reeseykins @medra-gonbites

@roguishcat @weaverofnetheril @galedekarioswifey @hyperfixationstation128 @lastlight-inn

@astarryvamp @feedthepheasants @dabigstinky @dreamingofthewild @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

@femmefuck

Y'all ever think about how Gale has daddy issues?

Y'all ever think about how Gale is very close to his mother?

Y'all ever think about how Gale deeply admires and respects his mother?

Y'all ever think about how Gale and Tara only talk about his mother, and not his father?

Y'all ever think about how the way Gale's father is seemingly, purposefully, never specifically mentioned implies that he walked out on Gale and Morena when Gale was young?

Y'all ever think about how Elminster was a young Gale's replacement father figure? (Gale was 8)

Y'all ever think about how Elminster, hopefully unintentionally, primed Gale for Mystra's grooming/abuse?

Y'all ever think about how Elminster used to be Mystra's lover?

Y'all ever think about how Gale was also Mystra's lover?

Y'all ever think about the fact that Gale knows Elminster used to be Mystra's lover?

Y'all ever think about how it was Elminster who told Gale that their ex-lover, and their literal goddess, wanted him to kill himself?

Y'all ever think about how the way Elminster told Gale their ex wanted him to kill himself was the Faerun equivalent of a video call?

Y'all ever think about how Elminster couldn't even be assed to deliver the "request" to Gale in person? (He used a simuclarion? Idk how to spell it, basically a shadow clone)

Y'all ever think about how Gale has never had a stable, healthy, normal, loving, relationship with a father figure?

Y'all ever think about how deeply and intensely Gale feels his emotions and feelings?

Y'all ever think about how Gale says he thinks he'd make a horrible father?

Y'all ever think about why Gale thinks that he wouldn't be a good father?

Y'all ever speculate on how Gale's reluctance to see himself in a paternal role might have something to do with everything mentioned above?

Because I do.

Calling cumming "finishing" is fine and all but like...we are not finished though. The bell does not dismiss you, I dismiss you. Sit back down.

Private Lessons: Part 2

Reader part 1 here! Dw, it follows without the buildup.

Here’s the spice! I prepped the first two chapters before I released it. I’m not a sadist, we all know we’re here for the dirty stuff. The first smut is a bit self-indulgent. I have a daddy kink, sue me. 

Kinks: Bondage, teasing, teacher x student (AGED UP), mild Daddy kink and DDLG terms (no ageplay in this house), oral sex. 

Art not mine meep.

“Well, here we are, Sensei!” you announced as you crossed the threshold into your small apartment, Aizawa close behind. The tired hero removed his shoes alongside you, lining them neatly against the wall before giving the room a quick scan. 

“Not bad. A minimalist. Just like me.” A soft smile tugged at your lips. “Are you sure you’re alright with this?” uncertainty was present in his voice as he quirked a brow skeptically and shrugged off his leather jacket. It was hard not to swoon. He somehow managed to move gracefully even during such mundane tasks. 

“Of course! it’s my fault we stayed so late anyway.“ 

"Well, more like Hizashi’s,”  he corrected you with a light chuckle, sliding one hand in his pocket and sending the other running through his silky black hair. A relieved sigh ghosted past his lips. It was strange, standing in the home of a former student, but your confidence was reassuring. "I have a feeling you wouldn’t have sang karaoke for so long if not for his insistence." 

"True, but I enjoyed it! I think I want something warm to drink." 

Aizawa watched you bound off to the kitchen. He couldn’t help but think you looked cute like that; standing on your tiptoes, quietly humming to yourself as you searched the cabinets for tea. 

"Would you like some, Mr.Aizawa?" 

He shrugged and nodded, shifting his weight to the other hip. "Sure, (Y/n)Thank you for asking… You’re very formal, you know.”

“Well, of course! I understand a few years have gone by, but I still respect you as my teacher.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind” You missed the smirk pulling at his mouth as he slumped into the dining room chair. From the corner of your eye, you noticed him rubbing his palms on his eyelids. 

Half a decade had passed since then, but you hadn’t forgotten the severe injury suffered by the hero during a villain attack on the USJ. The incident left his eyes even more sensitive than they were previously.

Your lip tilted in a slight frown and you quickly tried to shake off the thought, unable to handle the image of him wounded and, undoubtedly, scared.

“Do you need eye drops?” you offered, tone laced with genuine concern, “I actually bought some recently, they haven’t been opened yet.”

One tired, dark eye cracked opened as he turned to look at you. “My, my, aren’t you considerate?”

Something in the way he spoke the words made you squirm. You palmed the back of your neck sheepishly. The heat quickly rushing to your face. Positive he could see the tinting of your skin, you turn away in haste. 

“W-Well, I just know it doesn’t feel good to have… dry eyes.”

Shouta softened at your words. Shit, he couldn’t even mess with you when you were being so sweet; it was too fucking cute.

“No need to get all rosy-cheeked (Y/n), just stating the obvious. I have some on me, but thank you for the offer.”

Your tense muscles relaxed. Satisfied with his response, you continued the process of making tea. If you recalled correctly, his favorite flavor was spiced vanilla chai. You found the blend easily, tossing it in the pot and leaving it to steep. A pleasant, warm aroma filled the air and you inhaled deeply to savor it.

Aizawa used drops in each irritated eye and held them closed with a deep sigh. letting the soothing solution settle in. They would help the irritation, but damn did it sting when the drops first hit his eyes.

You thought now would be a good time to catch up on some phone notifications, only to be disappointed that nothing worthwhile had come through during your evening. Spam, spam, ‘10 Ways To Spice Up Your Hero Outfit,’ text I don’t want to read, ‘Notorious Villain Captured By Rookie Team Kiribaku. All junk. you continued mindlessly searching through the feed until you heard the water start to bubble.

“Anything interesting going on in the world?”

The unexpected baritone voice almost made you leap out of your skin, knocking over a teacup and sending it careening towards the floor. Shouta reached out, catching the dish moments before it hit the ground. 

Apparently, the seasoned hero’s reflexes were as sharp as ever. 

“Didn’t mean to scare ya, kid.”

You squinted at his tone; it was far from apologetic. If you didn’t know any better you might believe he did it on purpose just to get a rise out of you. 

"Jesus, you’re like a cat.” you hissed, still frazzled from the scare.

A satisfied smirk split his face, “I take that as the highest compliment,” Shouta hummed, replacing the cup before quirking a brow and leaning past your shoulder to examine the box of tea leaves resting behind you, "Is that vanilla spiced chai?”

“Yep!” you chirped, perking up at the recognition, “I remembered seeing you drink it a few times during my school years. Hopefully, it wasn’t just because you had no other options, heh.”

Long arms folded over his chest as he gave you a quick once over. It struck him as… interesting that you’d remember such a mundane fact.

“No, I like it.” he assured you with a soft grin, “You really remembered that huh?“

"Y-yeah. Is… is that weird?” you shrank under his gaze, fearing you’d just outed yourself as a massive creep.

“A little,” the teacher chuckled, his reassuring smile going unnoticed as you couldn’t bring yourself to match his gaze. 

Your thoughtfulness was… endearing.

“Oh, s-sorry, well uh, heRE YOU GO!” hands trembled slightly as you passed the man before you a cup of the fragrant brew. He accepted gratefully with an appreciative hum before returning to the dining table.

A comfortable silence followed; the pair of you enjoying the comforting warmth of the tea. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that the sound of Aizawa’s fingers tapping rhythmically on the table broke through the quiet.  

“You know, normally people only remember tiny details like that when they have a crush.”

You choked on your drink. The sudden accusation had heat flooding to your cheeks and you starting sprinting down a path of panic and self-doubt, “WHAT!? Mr.Aizawa, please, don’t be ridiculous.”

His powerful shoulders shrugged casually as he took another lazy sip. 

“What’s All-Might’s favorite drink?” he interrogated, clearly amused and not interested in letting you escape the uncomfortable line of questioning.

You feverishly searched your memory. Dear God it was hard to even remember their faces right now, let alone their favorite drink.

“What about Midnight’s? Mic’s? Snipe’s? Any of your former classmates?” the pro hero’s tone was practically dripping with satisfaction. A smug grin creeping ever further up his cheek. Your reaction was almost too good. 

“I- I don’t know, and I bet you don’t either!” the words tumbled from you,  brows furrowed in concentration as you stared at the countertop. No way could you bring yourself to look at him right now.

“Nope, I sure don’t. But, then again,” your fingers dug into the wood, irritation creeping up your spine, “I don’t have a big. Fat. Crush on any of them." 

You slowly turned to glare at him, only to double over in laughter when greeted with his smug, toothy grin. 

”PFFFT! Okay, okay,“ giggles bubbled in your chest, forcing you to surrender, "yes, in high school, I had a crush on you. Most of the girls did, you know." 

He bobbed his head, lips held in a flat line giving him a serious expression. "This is true. I am devilishly handsome. It’s a curse, really." 

A pained groan escaped you as you rolled your eyes dramatically. You couldn’t help cracking a smile. His satirical narcissism always amused you.

"I think most female students find 'bad boy’ teachers attractive, Sensei.” You grabbed your tea and joined him at the table. A loud yawn shuddered through you when you settled into the chair opposite Shouta.

“Tired? It is pretty late. Perhaps you should sleep.” His own heavy lids drifted shut when he leaned into the chair back. 

You shook your head. "I’m alright. This will wake me up a bit. I know you stay up late most nights and I can’t have you rifling through my things.” He chuckled at your sly wink.

“Fair enough, I am the type.”

Another long silence followed until his voice once again cut through the air. 

“You know… there is a slight difference between you and the girls who normally swoon over me.”

“Oh?” You asked, taking another sip and preparing yourself for the 'you’re much more mature and less annoying,’ trope.

“I haven’t become attracted to any of them.”

Tea sputtered across the table as it rocketed from your lips. Shouta erupted into a rare and genuine fit of roaring laughter. He ran to your kitchen, pulling some paper towel’s from the counter before returning to help with the mess.

“Are we in a 1990’s sitcom?" 

Angrily, you snatched the towel from him, trying unsuccessfully to stop tea from trickling to the floor. 

"Why would you say something like that!? How embarrassing,”

Shouta crossed his arms and looked you over, watching your hands work frantically to clear the area of spilled liquid.  

“Because it’s true.”

The words shot jolts of electricity up your spine and you couldn’t help but stammer. “ I-I think you had too much to drink.“ 

"Nope,” he shook his head, grinning slightly, “Sober as a bird.”

Shit. 

Breathing became difficult as your throat constricted. Were you really hearing this? Shouta Aizawa, pro hero Eraserhead, your former teacher, just confessed to you.  

“But hey,” he added casually, throwing his hands up. “if you’ve grown out of that crush I understand. No hard feelings.”

Your eyes lifted from the spill and slowly scanned his frame, paying special attention to the way his toned stomach remained visible through his tight-fitting black sweater. His body was relaxed yet alert, and that fucking hair of his. It rippled in loose waves around his shoulders and you couldn’t help imagining how it would feel tangled in your grip as you writhed in pleasure beneath him. The lewd thoughts sent your heart racing and your face filled with blood.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” he chuckled, noticing your dazed appearance. He scratched his head in thought, glancing to the side momentarily before setting his eyes on you again. “Well, if you wanted to test it out, I could always give you… a kiss?”

Oh fuck. 

“I never want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, though. So if I’m being a creep, let me know. I’ll back right off.”

You knew he meant it, but with the way your mind was spinning and your eyes roved his solid frame, you knew there was no chance in hell you’d let this opportunity slip through your fingers. Jesus, you were practically drooling just admiring his fully clothed body.

“Y-Yeah, okay.” you barely managed to squeak out the words.

“'Yeah okay’ leave you alone? Or 'yeah okay, kiss me Sensei?’”

You shut your eyes tight and felt the tension rise in your neck and cheekbones, before mustering up the courage to answer.  

“Y-yes, you can kiss me… if you want.”

Gentle hands slipped around your waist, lifting you from the wooden chair. They pulled you closer, and he tilted your chin up to his soft gaze.

“You know,” came his silky voice, so low and soothing, “it might be nice if you looked at me, even if just for a second. Don’t you wanna make sure you’re kissing the right person?”

You chuckled at that, opening one eye dramatically for a quick peek. His handsome face beamed down at you and you can’t remember the last time you felt butterflies take off in your stomach. 

“Yep, that’s the right guy.”

His rugged features softened at your words. He was mesmerized by the innocence in your needy, lust blown eyes. Cool, nimble fingers brushed soft strands of hair from your face as the other came up to cup your cheek, almost protective in the way he cradled it in his palm.

“You’re beautiful…(Y/n).”

Your plush lips parted and his mouth pressed against yours in a slow, passionate kiss that had you leaning, no, melting into his touch as quiet moans of comfort reverberated between your lips. It was like a soothing melody; almost unheard and meant only for you. The gentle tickle of his tongue dancing with yours, the pauses, groans, and sighs, all worked together to put you in a blissful trance.

A small whine left you as he pulled away.

“So,” he sighed, forehead resting against yours affectionately, “still have a thing for your grouchy homeroom teacher?" 

His half-lidded eyes searched your face, brows furrowed in focus as he sought out any signs of discomfort or trepidation.

If you didn’t before, you sure as shit would after that. 

"Mhm,” is all you could manage through your almost painful grin, pleasant warmth bloomed in your chest and spread throughout your limbs. You buried your face in his strong chest, earning an ‘aww’ from the rugged man above you. He laughed gently as he stroked your hair, enjoying the way you sought comfort in his arms. 

Shouta couldn’t help noticing something different in the way you now clung to him. 

“My goodness,” he spoke slowly, the bass in his voice vibrating your shoulder, giving you a pleasant shiver. A nervous knot formed in your stomach when he suddenly pulled back to examine you, “my dear student, your face is quite red… you seem to have gotten a bit warmer as well." 

Amusement and arousal welled in him when you squirmed beneath his scrutinizing gaze. "Could it be that someone’s a little… excited?”

Your knees grew weak and you let out a needy, shuddering whine. It wasn’t until then that you noticed how wet you’d become from the kiss. 

“Hmmm… I thought so.” he clicked his tongue, “Flushed cheeks, warm skin, thighs squeezing together for just a hint of friction. All the signs are there."  Thick ribbons of raven hair rustled elegantly as he shook his head with a hopeless sigh.

"Yeah… so what if I am?” you giggled, somehow completely unashamed, burying your face in the safety of his chest once more. He pulled you closer, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“If you’d like, I can offer you some… relief.”

The words ignited you, legs trembling and muscles going weak in his embrace. It didn’t go unnoticed and Aizawa nipped your earlobe with a devilish grin. He gripped your chin, turning you towards the dining room. “You have a really nice table over there, why don’t you go lay on it for me?”

You peered back at him, mind swirling with all the possibilities; all of which ended with you screaming his name for everyone in the building to hear. Reluctantly, you pulled away, legs barely supporting you as you drifted to the table where you sat, legs crossed and dangling over the edge. 

Aizawa approached you, confident now that you wanted this just as badly as he did. Your bare knee grazed his thighs as his long, thin fingers slipped up your exposed calves, sending a light shiver up your sides. His mouth hovered close to yours, warm breath breezing over your plush, parted lips, thrilling you with the possibility of another mind-blowing kiss. 

Fuck, you wanted him. You needed him. 

“Yeah,” he growled, looking down at your closely folded legs, “that’s not gonna work for me." 

Faster than you could react, his irises flashed red as he bound you with his capture weapon, spreading your legs for better access. You squeaked pitifully in surprise, much to his satisfaction.

"Gotcha,” he chuckled, hands holding the fabric out to either side of you. He groaned at the sight. You chest heaving with need, eyes wide, legs spread open like a book before him. It sent a rush of adrenaline flooding through his veins. 

Oh, the things he wanted to do to you. 

“You really are considerate,” he purred, quirking a brow to look up at you, “Did you wear a skirt hoping I’d do this?“

You knew he didn’t need an answer. He was getting off on watching you writhe beneath him, and you loved every second of it. You’d half expected him to chide you for wearing something so unsuitable in cold weather, but thankfully he seemed to be thinking with his other head for the time being. 

He pushed down hard on your shoulder, urging you to lay flat on your back, your legs still held open wide by the strong fabric. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he relished in your helpless appearance.

"This is just how I imagined you. Aching, on display, and ready for me to inspect.” He clicked his tongue, pondering over his options. “I think since you’re so partial to formality, you should continue calling me, 'Mr. Aizawa, 'Sensei,’ and, 'Sir.’ Do you understand,(Y/n)?”

You’re so high on adrenaline and dopamine all you can focus on is your unending need to be fucked senseless. You nodded, but he shook his head. “That’s not an answer, princess.”

“Y-yes Mr. Aizawai, Sir.”

"There you go.” he groaned, blood rushing to his already stiffening cock, “You always were a fast learner.”

“W-wait,” you tried to protest as he wrapped one end of the scarf around his own shoulder, freeing his left hand to toy with your dripping folds.

“Shhh… Let your teacher get a good look at you.” A violent blush claimed your cheeks and you squirmed against the restraints. Fuck, he was so close, staring right at your quivering pussy with darkened eyes. “Be bashful all you want, I see everything just fine.”

Steady fingers reached forward, confident as they pulled your panties to the side to reveal your puffy pink lips. You tensed up at the sudden vulnerability, exposed for his viewing pleasure and powerless to close your legs and hide it.

His lips pursed to form a low whistle.

“Damn… to think you were hiding something so perfect from me this whole time. What a pretty little pussy you have… You tense up when I look at it,” he groaned, tilting his head slightly, “the way it squeezes around nothing… so eager. it makes me want to sink my cock into you.”

Your hands flew to your face in a failed attempt to shield your embarrassment and stifle the shameless moan that ripped through your body. It felt like a fire was sparking to life between your legs with every second you withered under his lustful gaze.

His thumb grazed your opening, collecting just enough dew to prime your clit for him to rub.

"Ahhh, M-Mister Aizawa, pleeease.”

He gently stroked the swollen bud, steadily tapping and flicking, watching your hips buck to the rhythm as you twitched with every jolt emanating from the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Just making sure it’s nice and ready for me.” His palm turned upward and he took the time to drink in your lewd expression before sliding a middle and ring finger inside your aching walls, curling them into the soft flesh that made you squeal. He cursed when he felt your walls cling to him, coating his fingers in your juices.

“S-Sensei, Ahh.”

“Mmm. That’s it. Melt around my fingers, kitten.”

The pet name brought you higher than you thought possible. Your eyes rolled back and your ass arched off the table. You needed him deeper and your greedy cunt was begging for more.

“Yeah… that’s a good girl.” He was intoxicated by the image of you mewling and begging while he twisted his skilled fingers, thrusting them into you over, and over again. Your cries become more desperate as he quickened the pace, fuelled by the high pitched sounds tumbling from your throat.

“Please, Sirrr” you pleaded breathlessly. 

"Please what,(Y/n)?”

“Don’t stop -ah- it feels so good~”

His lips curled as he left you empty, nearly causing you to cry at the loss of contact.

“Sorry kid, but I’m a bit selfish.” Aizawa tied the ends of his scarf to the table legs, restraining your entire lower body, then pulled up a chair to position himself in front of your wide-open legs.

“That’s better,” he grumbled, pleased with his new position, “now I can get a good look at you.”

“That’s so embarrassing, stoppp” It was no use. You couldn’t move your legs against his capture weapon and the loss of control only worked to further soak your eager cunt.

“Sorry, no can do. My little girl’s pussy is way too cute not to look at.

“His” little girl?

Your heart leaped in your chest but you didn’t have time to revel in the moment.  His head dipped and he tore a small hole in your panties with his canine before ripping them from you.

"What are you doing?!”

“They were in my way. I couldn’t risk letting you escape by untying you first.” a mischevious grin split his face and it had your hair standing on end. Fuck, he was such a tease. “It was the only logical option." 

He pulled the tattered fabric to one side, leaving you completely bare. Blood rushed to his cock and a carnal growl rolled from him as his hungry eyes consumed the quivering pink flesh between your folds.

"You see,” -he propped his elbow on the table, resting his cheek lazily in one hand, starting to work against your silky walls with the other- “when I make you cum, I think I deserve to see every little shudder and throb this pretty cunt makes. Don’t you agree?”

Again you try the restraints against your thighs. 

“Tsk, tsk. See? I knew you couldn’t be trusted. Can’t have you being bashful and interrupting my show.”

You’re filled in an instant when he plunged his skilled fingers deep and your back arched off the table, head tossed back in an unrestrained moan. You were helpless against the skilled digits, grunting and whimpering as he worked you up to a peak. 

“I think this puffy clit needs some attention…” He leaned forward, pressing his tongue to the neglected bud. You moan loudly as he licks in rhythm with his beckoning fingers. Lips wrapped around the swollen bundle of nerves and he groaned against it, eyes closed as his mind swam in a lustful haze.

“Fuuuuck yes Mr. Aizawa.”

“My, my, such foul language from such a good girl. Are you maybe a little naughtier than you let on?”

You trembled as his fingers dove deeper, rubbing firmly on your g-spot. Wet, warm walls squeezed hard around the invading digits. Your hips rolled and you chanted his name like a mantra. Scruffy lips vibrated against your clit as he moaned into your pussy, your mewls of pleasure and the sweet taste of your arousal going straight to his aching cock. He pulled back briefly to notice your tensing and quivering muscles.

“Ohh… you’re getting close.” He licks your clit again, pinching it briefly between his teeth.

“P-Please don’t stop… Daddy!” 

Oh fuck, you didn’t mean to say it. But it just came out.  

His head snapped up at the name.

“Oh shit. Daddy? FUCK,” his movements began again with renewed purpose and he was about to lose his damned mind, “fuck yeah babygirl cum on my tongue.”

He wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves once more, pairing his sucking with skilled flicks of his tongue. He committed fully to pushing you over the edge and you lost yourself in the sensation. You cried out his name, jerking your hips as much as you’re able with them bound. His free hand reached up to play with your over-sensitive nipples at just the right time and you exploded around him. Your moans were shameless as you flooded his tongue and palm with your juices. His pace slowed and he rode out your orgasm, relishing in every last throb before withdrawing his hand in favor of smoothing his hands up your trembling thighs as he left one more appreciative kiss on your pussy.  

You lay spent and satisfied, panting heavily.

“Well well, someone’s happy.” He said with a grin,. “What do you say?”

“Thank you s-sir,"  you barely managed to choke out the phrase. 

"Mmm, that’s it. Come here.” He walks to where your head lays at the edge of the table and brushes his fingers on your lips.

“Clean them off for me.”

Your heart jumped and goosebumps spread over your skin, but you happily obeyed, lavishing your tongue over the digits. His breath hitched when your eyes fluttered open and you stared up at him through your lashes. 

“Good girl. Fuck, (y,n) you looked so beautiful like that.” 

You softened under him, melting at the adoring look in his eyes. His nose nuzzled against yours briefly before he pecked you softly on the lips, silky tresses of his messy hair tickling over your cheek. 

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, still in a stupor from the intensity of your release. 

“Good.” 

A calloused thumb stroked your cheek. Shouta leaned down to your ear, letting warm breath breeze over your skin.

“I liked that little pet name…” 

Aizawa hummed, positioning himself so that his crotch was level with your head. Dark eyes gazed down at you with that strict, all-too-familiar expression he wore as your teacher all those years ago. 

“Then wouldn’t it be polite to repay my generosity?“

trees are very 🥺 because sometimes i’ll stand under the shade of a tree and look up at it and it’ll sway its branches about in the wind and i’m like oh my God i’m alive and YOU’RE alive. we are alive together and made up of the same starry stuff and standing right next to each other in this moment on this earth. do u feel it when i reach out and press my hand to your trunk? can you hear me? i think you’re so neat. and then the sunlight filters through its leaves just so and that lovely green color leaves me dazzled. it’s just very nice to be an alive thing next to a different sort of alive thing

Yandere Hizashi Yamada

Main blog @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten

Warning: dubcon, Nc touching, yandere, DDLG term, soft but crazy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Yanderes are bad y’all

“Please-“

It’s just one word, but regret twists your stomach the moment it leaves you. You know how much he likes that; when you act like cornered prey. Luckily, tonight his mood was soft, and you were spared his more sadistic urges.

The ones he hides so well behind a too-wide grin and captivating emerald eyes.

“Yeah that’s it baby. Say it again,” he groans into your skin, pierced tongue rolling out to lick the length of your neck.

Your lips slam shut.

Despite your trembling limbs and aching cunt you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

Hizashi sighs, propping himself above you to examine your panting face. He keeps you pinned with ease. Long fingers of one hand deceptively strong as they tighten more forcefully around your wrists.

“I can’t help you if you won’t ask me to, princess.”

The pet name makes you shiver. Your body screams for relief but you know that if you give into him even once that’ll be the end.

He’ll never let you go.

The toy inside you speeds up, ripping a choked moan from your throat.

“You’re so pretty. You know that?” He smirks down at you, voice singsong as he tacks on, “I bet ya look even cuter when you cuuum.”

The vibrations slow again, denying you the relief you so desperately need. You whimper and whine, squirming in frustration again his grip. He’s kept this up for hours and you’re on the brink of madness, but his stamina and patience seem limitless.

“Shhh. Hey hey. Calm down.” The soft kiss he plants on your cheek makes you shiver.

You hate how you lean into it and ache for more.

“I just wanna hear that pretty little voice beg. You can cum on Daddy’s cock whenever you want. Just gotta ask.”

The toy kicks up again and this time, you scream. He ruts against your thigh. You’re helpless as he holds you there, kissing your neck with a painful tenderness that lets you know that no matter what you do, you belong to him.

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Hizashi x reader

Summary: Hizashi picks up a fan to bring back to his place to make a special little home movie ;)

Warnings: s m u t, swearing, Hizashi gets a little rough, and uhhh… a bit of yandere at the end… 

A/N: I hadn’t ever written Present Mic sm*t before, so i decided to give it a go. I couldn’t help but make him a little crazy at the end there. I am who I am.

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