Latest Posts by echo-oaks - Page 3

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Warnings: depression, graphic description of self-harm, self-hatred, suicidal ideation

Characters: Shouta Aizawa x reader

Words: ~1.6k

AN: Repost from my old account. This is a completely self-indulgent fic. It’s meant to be comforting, but the description of self-harm (and the aftermath of said harm) is based on real life experience and is written graphically. It could very well be triggering to some, so please do not read if you think it may upset you. Stay safe my loves <3

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Yandere! Shouta Aizawa NSFW Profile

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of dub-con, masturbation, stalking, kidnapping, voyeurism, toys, clothed sex, hair-pulling, this one is actually kind of soft and feels less yandere-y to me so sorry that this one is a little less creepy than normal, Shouta is a pleaser and lives for your praise, he gets off with a blanket you gifted him, very mild somnophilia, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

HABITS

In general, Shouta isn’t that perpetually horny. He’s a busy man with constant stress weighing on his shoulders; working as a pro while being a full-time teacher leaves him drained during the few times he gets to relax, and it’s a lot of work to get himself hard, to get off, and to clean up afterwards.

It’s just not worth it to him – especially because it’s a bit sad to be left with just his fist and some low-grade, unrealistic porn as a man in his thirties, isn’t it?

He doesn’t have a partner, and hasn’t had one for quite some time – there was a girl a decade or so ago, but she didn’t last long, and the sex was subpar at best. And so, Shouta finds himself neglecting any sort of sexual activity most nights that he’s off work, not bothering to get himself all worked up and fuck away some of that pent up stress.

Except, then you show up.

His feelings for you form, and although it takes a long time for them to solidify, it takes an even longer time for them to turn lewd, any sort of sexual thought involving you not really taking root into he’s much further into his obsession.

This is for a few reasons – firstly, he just doesn’t have that high of a libido, and while seeing you naked when he’s watching from outside your window certainly gets him hot and bothered, he isn’t constantly fantasizing about bending you over and fucking you until you’re screaming his name.

(Not never, just not constantly – and at inopportune moments, sometimes. Moments where he really should be focused on the mountains of paperwork on his desk, not focused on how the desk is the perfect height for you to be standing on your tiptoes, ass poised out and your chest pressed against the hard wooden lacquer, your soft skin glistening in the dim light and your pretty thighs twitching and quivering as his fingers press deeper and deeper and deeper -)

Secondly, Shouta’s already feeling such crippling guilt regarding his infatuation with you that adding on overt sexual fantasies for you would push him too far. He already hates that he thinks of you constantly, that he’s always idly worrying about your safety, wanting to know your location and who you’re with and what you’re doing.

He already dislikes that he can’t stop himself from swinging by your apartment at the end of his patrols, making sure that you’re in your bed asleep, safe and sound and looking so fucking pretty in the moonlight. He doesn’t like how wrapped around your finger you have him, so how could he justify wringing himself dry to you, depraved fantasies running through his mind as he imagines the way you’d cream on his fingers, how you’d clench down on him so, so tightly when he fucks you just right?

Shouta can’t – it would breach too many protocols of trust, the friendship formed between the two of you precarious enough as it is with Shouta’s obsessive, disturbing feelings. He doesn’t think of you sexually, banishing every thought from his mind the moment it appears.

Or, at least, that’s what he wishes could be true – unfortunately, his hormones get the better of him sometimes, leaving him rolling around in his bed, cock painfully hard and his mind insistently flashing images of you changing behind his eyelids.

He’s embarrassed, more than anything, that he doesn’t have enough self control to successfully halt any lewd thoughts of you – it’s pathetic, really, because is he so desperate to touch you that he literally can’t stop himself?

Is he really so painfully, pitifully aroused by you that just the mere idea of you licking your lips or smiling at him can get him breathing hard, thankful for the bagginess of his pants?

He hates that the answer is yes, that his body is really that pent up and eager to get you under him, naked and soft and pretty, all for him and only him. It’s demoralizing, but Shouta only has so much restraint – he tries to hold out for as long as he can, really. He swears.

It’s torture at first, popping melatonin and chugging Nyquil, hoping he’ll be able to pass out and sleep off the horniness, but it never quite works. Instead, his dreams are full of you – on your knees, sucking him off so well that your cheeks are literally hollowing, drool spilling down your chin, a string of saliva and precum connecting your puffy lips to his swollen tip when you pull off for air.

He’ll dream of you on your hands and knees, peeking back at him with glassy eyes and biting your lip, clearly embarrassed as you ask him to touch me, please Shouta, I need you…

He always wakes up with soiled sheets, his entire pelvis sticky with now cold cum, and it becomes very, very difficult to look you in the eye that day, only able to conjure up the image of you all tied up in his scarf, your breasts perfectly framed and your thighs spread, slick covering them as you whine his name, desperate for him.

And though he tries to stave off, not letting himself actively fantasize about you sexually while he’s conscious, a particularly rough day of teaching and patrol have him giving up, throwing caution to the wind as he decides that he needs this, that a release is the only way he’ll be able to stay sane.

In the past, the few times he’s masturbated he’s always just fucked his fist, not needing anything too fancy. But for you, something about that feels disrespectful – it’s stupid and he knows it, but the idea of just thrusting into his hand over and over until he eventually spills all over his knuckles seems tacky, low-class, almost offensive to your image, like he’s tarnishing you and the way he idolizes you.

So, he relies on the next best thing he can scrounge up – you’d given him a blanket a few months ago, a birthday present that he’d tried desperately to cover his blush at receiving.

(Hizashi had pitched in, helping you decide which color and texture, having an expert’s opinion so that it would be perfect for the dark-haired man – a level of detail and attention to his desires that still, to this day, makes his heart flutter to think about. You cared, wanting him to be happy, and just that thought leaves his chest swelling with pride, his palms getting a bit clammy and his cheeks feeling too hot.)

He’s kept the blanket on his bed, using it every single night for the limited sleep he manages to get, making sure the material is always, always touching his body. It’s the only way he really feels close to you – the blanket was for him, sure, but you’d touched it, picked it out, held it in your arms while Shouta was dumbly gaping at you and struggling to utter out a strained thank you.

(If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can even smell you on the fabric – it’s not as good as if you were actually here with him, laying in his arms, touching him, but if he strains enough and pretends hard enough, there’s the faintest whiff of you.)

He’s gulping, throwing his uniform off and leaving it crumped up in the corner, before gently, daintily grabbing the edges of the neatly folded blanket (a stark contrast to the harsh pulling and tugging at his costume he’d thrown off moments earlier) and laying it out on the bed.

He lets out a shaky breath, gulping, before tying his hair back into a messy, low ponytail, excitement flitting through him because he’s really about to do it. He’s really about to touch himself to the thought of you, allowing himself to fully indulge in the fantasy that is you, the fantasy that is imagining the way you’d feel against his body, your lips against his own, your hands in his hair and your thighs around his waist.

He’s moving slow as he settles onto his knees on the bed, staring down at the blanket with furrowed brows. This isn’t quite right – the image of you laying before him, body nude and your legs clenched together in anticipation feels very, very right, but there’s something missing.

A thumb comes down to idly rub at the blanket, tracing small circles against the material as he wracks his brain. What’s missing? How can he make this feel like you, like it’s your body he’s touching, like it’s your perfect little cunt he’s fucking?

He’s not sure, but suddenly it hits him – your body, just as he’d been dreaming about.

The blanket doesn’t look enough like you – it’s two dimensional, flat and having no surface area to grip onto, nothing for him to fondle and touch and squeeze.

It needs to have more of your shape – quickly, methodically, he’s reaching down, grabbing handfuls of the blanket and bunching it up, forming a shape that vaguely resembles your torso. He’s careful to get the exact shape of your waist and hips, making sure to leave mounds of crumpled blanket to represent your breasts, even creating a little space between your thighs that represents something soft, something warm and wet and tight – your precious little pussy, something Shouta would literally kill to feel.

He gulps as he looks down at his work, the atmosphere suddenly seeming much thicker, heavier, hotter, because now, the solid colored blanket seems like you, at least having your body shape and your vague proportions. Aizawa lets his hand run down what would be your side, pausing right over your pretend hip.

Fuck, he mutters under his breath, before shifting forward slightly, letting his weight rest on his knees and one hand as he carefully guides his cock to the space between your crafted thighs.

He’d been careful to leave a fold in the fabric, a pouch of sorts – a place for him to push into, slowly spreading the two layers, trying to mimic the way your pretty lips would part for him, your walls sucking him and clenching him nice and tight, wanting to keep him inside and never let him pull out.

Shouta curses as he rubs his tip against the fabric, noting with a small, far-away sense of disdain that there’s precum smearing all along the fabric, certainly leaving a stain that he’ll have to scrub out later. His thumb comes up to gently swipe along where he imagines your cheek to be, even feeling phantom sensations of warmth, of softness, just as you’d be.

He leans down slowly, throat bobbing, before letting his eyes flutter closed, his lips pressing against the blanket – right where he imagines your own to be. The kiss is soft, gentle, heartfelt, his tongue flicking out to lick against the blanket material, groaning and wishing it was your own tongue meeting his, your own spit coating his lips.

As he gets closer, body inching further down until his chest pressed up against what’s supposed to be your breasts, he shuffles his hips forward, pushing past the fabric fold and into you. He groans, pulling back from the kiss to rest his forehead against where he imagines yours to be, letting his eyes shut tight, nearly squeezing them closed as he slowly rocks his hips.

The friction of the blanket feels a bit strange, not how you’d feel, but it’s better than nothing – and it’s so, so very easy to imagine you instead; your warm, slick walls, the way you’d squeeze at him when he brushes up against your spot, the way your legs would wrap around his hips, hooking your ankles and pulling him in closer, begging him to go deeper. He sighs out, biting his lip and furrowing his brow, the pleasure slowly beginning to mount.

He imagines the way you’d moan his name – he bets you’d be airy, a soft sound that gets his hips stuttering ever so slightly because he knows the way his name would sound spilling from your lips would be heaven, the sultry Shouta upturned at the end as he fucks into you just the slightest bit faster.

His hips pick up their pace at the thought of you crying his name, back muscles flexing as he slowly gets faster and faster, the slow, sweet, intimate pace he’d set blown to dust in the wake of his thighs propelling him forward, hips flying and smacking into the blanket so quickly and harshly that the mattress is shaking, bedframe slightly pounding against the wall.

Shouta groans, low and deep, imagining the way you’d beg him to go faster Shouta please, please please please you feel s’good, wanna come for you! Memories of seeing you touch yourself flash behind his closed eyes, seeing the way your face screwed up in pleasure, how you gripped at your pillows and bucked your hips and trembled and arched your back and gasped and came –

Shouta’s chanting your name, his hips sinking into the fold of the blanket over and over, and quickly he’s bringing a thumb down to rub frantic, uneven circles where he imagines your clit to be, desperate to get you coming, wanting to time your orgasm with his.

Fuck, come for me baby, give it to me, god you’re s’damn tight fuuuck - !

His eyes fly open as spurts of warm, milky cum spray from his tip, getting all over the blanket and making his hips stutter and jerk, the sensation of coming in something leaving his arms feeling weak.

He’s panting, still saying your name under his breath, dark hair falling around his face as his thighs flex and clench, the last bits of cum dribbling from his tip and leaving him feeling spent. He can’t help but imagine the way you’d take him, if you’d thank him for giving him everything he has to offer, if you’d hold onto him until you both caught your breath, if your walls would still flutter and clench sporadically even after you’d come down from your high.

He closes his eyes again, heart practically in his throat as he leans down once more to kiss the blanket, tongue sneaking out and wet noises filling the room as spit and drool get slobbered all over the fabric.

He’s still out of breath, panting when he pulls back, but it’s not until he leans back onto his knees and takes a good look at the blanket that his high begins to fade, the reminder that you’re not really there making a sharp feeling dig into his gut.

He stares for a moment, before sighing, slowly pulling out of the blanket and grimacing when he feels cooling cum sliding across his cock, the white mess all over the material and smeared across his skin.

He brings a hand to his forehead, covering his eyes and sighing. What was he doing?

He’d just fucked a blanket – a gift, from you no less – while pretending it was you, his desperation to get you naked and in his grasp strong enough to make him lose him mind.

Pathetic, he was truly pathetic.

He’s ashamed as he throws the blanket into the laundry, hoping the cum stains will come out with all the bleach he’d thrown in alongside it, and as he chugs his coffee, deciding to get to school early and try to collect himself, Shouta can only sigh.

You make him such a fucking fool – a freak, perverted and creepy and gross, and as soon as he catches sight of you in the staff loungeroom, looking all pretty in your simple blouse and slacks, he knows he’s a lost cause, every bit of self-respect falling by the wayside.

 Because as soon as he looks at you, all he can think of is how you’d look underneath him, stuffed full of his cum and a dazed, fucked-out expression scrawled across your face. All he can think of is how you’d be absolutely perfect to sink his cock into – and as he darts off to the nearest restroom, desperately trying to get rid of the insistent, raging erection in his pants, he can only sigh, letting his head hang.

He really is a fucking creep.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS

Your thighs

Shouta isn’t one to sexualize women’s bodies. He’s a man with urges, sure, but he’s never had trouble separating sexual attraction from respect for his female friends, even for strangers in the streets. A body is a body, and they aren’t made to be stared at and ogled.

Except where you’re concerned, of course, because while Shouta tries his hardest to not sexualize every thought of you, it’s difficult to hold himself back when he’s so utterly attracted to every single part of you.

It’s hard to not fixate and stare and want when he looks at you, and so while he gives a valiant effort to not obsess over your figure in a less than innocent way, eventually he can’t help himself.

And Shouta discovers that while he loves every inch of you, there’s something about your thighs that drive him absolutely fucking crazy.

Maybe it’s their shape – pretty expanses of your skin that look perfect to grope and squeeze, the soft curves making him salivate in a way that feels almost predatory.

Maybe it’s the way they feel – your skin is so soft, especially if he moves his hands further up, between them, nearing somewhere warm and wet and throbbing.

Maybe it’s the way they feel when they’re around his waist, caging him in and keeping him right where he wants to be, and when they’re around his head?

(Don’t mention the instances where he’s orgasmed just from simply eating you out – it’s embarrassing, and while he won’t deny it, he will change the conversation and pray you don’t see the soft, barely-there pink blooming on his cheeks.)

Maybe it’s even the way you respond when he touches them – how you jump a little bit, his calloused hands feeling a bit cold as they skim along the sides, thumbs pressing into your inner thighs, a comforting finger brushing along the juncture of your legs and pelvic bone.

He’s not entirely sure, but one thing he does know is that just seeing your bare thighs is enough to get him gulping, his dark gaze struggling to move away as he watches the area jiggle and flex while you walk, every step you take only making him want you more and more.

Even before he’s stolen you away, he’s fantasizing about your thighs – he’s bought more pairs of stockings and thigh-highs than he’d care to admit, keeping them neatly organized in a specific drawer in his closet, often fingering the material and biting his lip.

(The image of you wearing them makes him drool, the idea of the top hem squeezing your thigh and making a little bulge appear right above the socks getting his hand wandering down his torso, his fingers making quick word of his belt buckle because fuuuck, would you keep them on while he throws your legs over his shoulders and absolutely destroys you?)

He’s always taking extra time and care to properly worship them when he’s got his head between your legs, letting his lips and tongue trail all along the soft skin, leaving teasing bite marks and hickeys and feeling the way you tremble under his touch because he’s so close yet so far from where you need him.

He’s always got a hand on your thighs when he’s fucking you, his fingers clutching and digging into the skin while he shuts his eyes tight and wills himself to last longer, to prolong the moment, to give you more more more, just like you deserve.

He just really, really likes your thighs, so don’t be surprised when he’s got his hand casually placed on one when you’re watching a movie together, his gaze purposefully not looking at you because you can’t see how flustered he is from touching your clothed thigh in a non-sexual context.

You can’t.

His hands

In general, Shouta lives to please you in bed. He’s by no means submissive (though he could be persuaded if you really, really wanted to be in charge for a night), but he’s a caring partner in every possible sense of the word – sex is about you, and any pleasure he gets from it is just a fun bonus.

And because of this, he takes every opportunity to learn new ways to please you, trying everything from teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, buying a collection of vibrators, even letting you grind against the expanse of his thigh.

But his favorite method by far is using his fingers on you. They’re thick, with scars and callouses dotting the rough skin, but they’re so gentle with you, always touching you like you’re something fragile and delicate and breakable. He's careful with you when he’s rubbing circles over your clit, the pressure consistent enough to feel good but not too hard, sometimes even teasing you. He’s gentle when he’s running his fingertips over your folds, occasionally dipping in just a hair to feel the warm wetness he wants so very badly to sink into.

(He often sucks in a short, nearly inaudible gasp when he does this, his Adam’s apple bobbing because god you’re wet, and he’ll pull back to lick off his fingers, letting his eyes flutter closed as he tastes you.)

He particularly enjoys fingering you – he’s dexterous, and he always goes slow and purposefully, learning quickly exactly where you like to be touched. He’ll angle the pads of his fingers against that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl, his lip caught between his teeth as he watches your face twist up, hearing your pretty sighs and moans, feeling the way you clench around him, your hips twitching a bit as if to get him deeper, to get more of him. He keeps his pace sensual, the come-hither motion slow and controlled, all the while keeping his thumb pressed firmly against your clit, drawing shapes that stay just consistent enough to get you closer and closer.

All the while, the other hand is gently working at your clit, his fingers expertly getting the exact pressure and pattern you like, making your thighs twitch and your little gasps and mewls louder and more insistent.

And when he’s not actively working between your legs, Shouta’s always got his fingers pleasuring you in other ways – gently kneading at your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between a thumb and index finger, groping and squeezing at you like a man starved as his tongue flicks and sucks at your clit.

They’re grasping a handful of your thigh and squeezing reassuringly as he’s fucking you, his pace slow and deep, making sure you feel every possible inch of him as he folds you in half.

He’s even slipping a thumb against your tongue when you take a break to breath, your chest heaving and your fingers wrapped around his girth, a groan slipping from his lips because god, the sight of his precum dribbling down your chin is enough to get his cock twitching on its own. He’ll press down on your tongue, his lip caught between his teeth as you stare up at him, the sight indescribably erotic, a few praises falling from his mouth about how good you look, how pretty you are, how well you take care of him.

(All the while, he’s feeling you suck on his thumb, eagerly running your tongue along the skin and even swallowing around it to give the extra suction. Shouta curses under his breath, and suddenly stands, grabbing you by the hips and forcing you to bend over the chair he’d previously been sitting on, roughly spreading your legs and immediately diving in to lick and suck against your clit, a finger slipping inside of you because he just can’t not touch you after watching you drool all over him.)

He just likes to make you feel good, and while he enjoys pleasuring you with his mouth, nothing can beat the way you moan and shake when he’s working his fingers on you, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re incoherent, your poor body trembling, the only thing you can think of him him him.

DRIVE

Though you inspire more sexual desire and drive within him than he’s experienced for the last twenty years, Shouta is still not absolutely desperate to fuck you at all times.

Sure, the idea is nice – being intimate with you is something he craves, but nine times out of ten this intimacy takes the form of simply holding you. Sitting beside you with your head resting on his shoulder, a blanket covering the both of your bodies as you snore softly and cling to him in your sleep, showing that you feel safe with him, that you trust him to protect you.

(Shouta is normally able to keep his staring in check and not be too terribly overt with it, but in times like these he allows himself to openly gape at you, those dark eyes of his examining every detail of your face. Every small wrinkle, every hair and mole, even every lash and baby hair that frames your cheeks. You’re just too damn pretty, and like this he can commit every last detail to memory – as if he hadn’t already, as if he doesn’t sleep at night with your face dancing through his dreams, as if he sees flashes of you in everything he does. As if he isn’t thinking of you as unconsciously as he breaths.)

He generally imagines sleeping with you (and genuinely just sleeping – curling up with you in his arms and his face buried next to your neck, the scent of your body and shampoo filling his senses and making him breathe out something that walks the fine line between a sigh and a moan), the peacefulness and tranquility of just having you close to him in the safety of his protection and home.

It’s a type of intimacy that gets Shouta red in the face, the idea so domestic and taboo and foreign that he comes to crave this on a near constant basis, serving as motivation and a way to calm himself when his students are out of control or a villain is being particularly difficult.

But of course, Shouta is only a man, and men have needs – no matter how he tries to keep his obsession with you as innocent as it possibly can be, sexual thoughts trickle in through the cracks of his mental fortitude and leave him with a phantom wonder of how you’d taste – would you be sweet, like the jellies Hizashi had gotten him? Would you be rich and savory? He hopes you’d have a strong musk to you, a smell that he can breathe in and think of you, something that gets his salivating and his body growing hot and his fingers restless and his breath heavy and labored and god –

He’s hard before he knows it, immediately covering his face with his hands because it’s equal parts embarrassing and terrifying how easily you manage to affect him, just the simple thought of you getting his entire body on edge.

And so he eventually takes up masturbation with you in mind, feeling dirty and disgusting each time he recovers from his orgasmic high, making it more and more difficult to look you in the eye without thinking of all the depraved things he’d imagined doing with you mere hours before.

But Shouta thinks he can survive – sure, he wants to fuck you, needs to kiss you, has to see the face you make when you’re coming, but he can control himself. He won’t succumb to the urge to break into your (frustratingly poorly protected) apartment to run his fingers along your pretty skin and fuck his fist mere inches from your face, no matter how badly his body yells and begs him to. He won’t cross this boundary – it’s hypocritical to think of himself not as a pervert at this point, but it’s the only way he confidently resists you.

Except, then you go and force him into kidnapping you – and now you’re with him nearly all moments of the day, your scent in his bedroom (though he knows you never willingly enter there, and he doesn’t force you to), your body always just a heartbeat away, the idea of holding you and kissing much, much closer now.

And even with the constant temptation, Shouta manages to hold out – it’s torture, really, forcing himself to be a good man and giving you privacy, to not touch you, to not press himself against you and feel the contours of your body against his own, but it’s worth it to him. He can’t force anything – he doesn’t want to scare you, and he has this horrible, sneaking suspicion that if he propositioned you, you’d feel too afraid to say no.

And just the thought is enough motivation to keep him from touching you, to keep him celibate from you purely by his choice – even if it starts affecting him physically.

(He’d never, ever admit it to you, but his lust for you becomes so extreme that if he’s gone more than a week or so without having touched himself to the thought of you while you’re under his care, his cock starts physically hurting when he sees you, his hips involuntarily twitching when he hears your voice, his throat feeling dry and his cheeks blooming bright red because god, he’s never wanted to fuck something so bad.)

And so, Shouta forces himself to be an outstanding man – but no one can be alert every moment of every day, and it’s only a matter of time before you catch him in a moment of weakness. Because really, while Shouta was suffering, you were certainly undergoing a struggle of your own – you’ve been stuck with him for a few months at this point, trapped in his modest apartment with everything you could ever need with one glaring, important exception: human touch.

You don’t necessarily want to be physical with your kidnapper, but as the days pass and you slowly come to accept the fact that you won’t be escaping Eraserhead, things start changing. You’re still understandably frightened of him, worried that although he’s not harmed you in any way and hasn’t forced you into much aside from your captivity, he’ll show his true colors and make your life even more of a living hell.

But that doesn’t happen, Shouta staying that familiar presence you’ve become accustomed to; steady, quiet, consistent. Except the more days that pass, the more you start noticing other things about him – he’s strong, isn’t he? You see it when he walks from the bathroom to his bedroom with the towel tightly fastened at his waist, showing off the lean muscle of his arms and torso.

(He can feel your eyes sometimes, but tries not to dwell on what your staring at his naked chest could mean because getting his hopes up means getting them inevitably crushed.)

He’s awfully attentive, isn’t he? He listens when you speak, those dark eyes boring into you and your every wish – aside from escape – granted without so much as a complaint.

And sometimes, he’s a little attractive, isn’t he? In a rugged, man-ish way – a way that makes you gulp and press your thighs together a bit, because something about the stubble that coats his chin and the veins that litter his hands and forearms makes it difficult to breath correctly.

And then the daydreams start – little thoughts about how it would feel for those hands to touch you, for those lips to brush against your own, for his hair to tickle your neck as he hovers over you, his hips moving slowly and rhythmically against you, gruff grunts of your name filling the air between you.

They scare you at first, really, but soon you can’t stop yourself – you know it’s the lack of human contact that’s influencing you, but as time passes and you grow more desperate to know if he’s as attentive in bed as he is everywhere else, you’ll stop caring.

And Shouta can sense that something’s changing – he feels you watching him, notices the way your eyes follow him through a room, how you suck in the sharpest, smallest breath when he nears you, how you grow stiff when he has to flex a muscle in front of you to lift something heavy. Shouta knows that something is different – but it’s not until you grow brave one day that everything is confirmed.

It’d been a long, tiresome day for Shouta – his class had been especially rowdy today, with a simulation villain attack that the teachers participated in, and of course he’d ended up assigned to spar with Todoroki – meaning he’d been moving about, his muscles tired and sore from multiple hours of repetitive fighting. Then he’d had an extra patrol directly after, the villains particularly restless and causing more trouble than normal. Coupled with a nasty rainstorm that had him half freezing to death, Shouta wanted nothing more than to melt into bed, ideally with you beside him but knowing better than to wish for foolish things.

And when he’d stepped in the front door, you’d been waiting for him, sitting nervously on the couch. You’d stood up, but Shouta – despite feeling slightly more awake and alive at the sight of you, like normal – was still exhausted, already on the brink of unconsciousness as he gruffly greeted you. You looked nervous, twiddling your thumbs and biting your lip, but Shouta was too tired to properly ask about it, only mentally noting to check on you tomorrow.

Slumping towards his bedroom, he was abruptly stopped with you grabbed his hand, his entire body going rigid. Your voice was quiet when you asked him why he always seems to avoid touching you, asking if he didn’t want to, if he was repulsed by the idea of touching, if he was repulsed by you.

And Shouta, still half delirious with exhaustion, let the truth slip from his lips before he could help himself – explaining just how badly he craves to feel you, imagining you in every lewd position he can think of, noticing the way your pajama shirts sometimes grow tight when you sleep and roll over, exposing the outline of your breast and nipple and making him physically stop in his tracks and nearly drool like some horny teenager.

Every secret was spilling out of him, his voice still tired and coarse but making your jaw drop, the admission that he’s been fantasizing about making you a mess on his fingers and tongue and cock stunning you. You’d known Shouta harbored some sort of feelings for you, but this?

When he finishes detailing the fact that he regularly fucks his fist to the thought of you at least twice a week after you’ve fallen asleep, you release his hand, immediately missing the warmth of his skin.

Shouta rubs at his eyes, still not facing you, but muttering a small goodnight and retreating to his room, only realizing what’s happened the next morning. His hands shake and he bolts from his bed, his eyes wide and his heart racing, something horrible and feeling like shame and dread sitting in his chest because why the fuck had he told you that?

Facing you the next day has anxiety sitting in his every nerve, his actions jerky and on-edge, an he’d nearly bolted back to the safety of his room when he sawy you sitting at the kitchen table, but then you’d done something unexpected – you’d walked up to him, stood in silence for a moment, then grabbed his hand. Shouta had been confused, unable to ignore the way your hand fit into his own and the softness of your skin against his, but you’d not given him a chance to even ask questions – soon your lips were on his, and your hand had placed his on something warm and soft and squishy –

Shouta gasped against your lips, the feeling of your breast in his hand and your tongue swiping at his lips nearly making his knees buckle. He didn’t respond to your kiss for a few moments, forcing you to pull back and stare at him, something like worry and rejection reflected in your eyes, but it’s not until you whisper in a very small voice that he snaps out of his stupor.

I want you Shouta, and I know you want me.

You were in his bed moments later, his hands frantic and eager and shaking as he practically ripped off your borrowed pajamas, fingers moving fast and settling over every part of your body, seemingly unable to decide on where to stay.

It was rushed, desperation clouding both of your senses, but as Shouta threw your leg over his shoulder and pressed wet kisses against the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his whispered affirmations of his love for you only had you pulling him closer, adoration and shock and something so happy it nearly hurt filling his chest.

Perhaps, just perhaps, something in you loved him as he loved you.  

MAIN THREE KINKS

Clothed Sex

It’s about convenience for Shouta – he’s not lazy in the bedroom, but although he finds you irresistible and is normally willing to expend what very little energy he has on sex with you, he’s willing to take any shortcut he can.

Of course, sex with you in an ideal world sees the both of you completely nude, your bodies pressed as close together as physically possible so that not a breath of space lays between them. He likes being close to you, feeling every inch of you, the intimacy of it unmatched and making Shouta revel in the fact that you’re really there with him, that he’s really getting to touch you, that he’s really getting to kiss you and touch you and fuck you, just as he’s been fantasizing of for months.

But that said, there’s a strange allure to clothed sex – it’s taboo and a little dirty, something that makes him feel a little warm, his palms growing a bit sweaty because it could happen at any time. Whenever the mood strikes him or strikes you, he could simply unzip his pants, shuffle them down a bit and fish out his cock, and he'd be ready to go – already half-hard, the eager anticipation of your touch exciting him from nearly the moment you entered the room.

And it’s easy access to you, too – not that he’d ever take advantage of that fact, your consent still something he asks for every time he touches you. It’s easy to slip your panties to the side, sinking you down onto his lap as he groans and his head lolls back, the feeling of your warmth making his toes curl. He just likes how easy it all is – no time is wasted with struggling to get off your shirt or his pants, and the desperation to be inside you that always seems to overwhelm him at the most inconvenient of times can be attended to that much faster.

He just thinks there’s something so hot about it – he’ll specifically stock you with clothing to wear that makes this easy – flouncy skirts and shorts that make shoving everything to the side and bunching his fist into the cloth to get better leverage while he pounds into you.

He’ll get you tank tops and things that make fishing your breasts out of your top easy, so that they can freely hang and jiggle as he bounces you up and down on his lap, your nipples hardening and shivers racing down your spine as he flicks his tongue at one.

He’ll buy underwear that doesn’t chafe when he shoves it to the side, the pretty sight of lace against your skin making him feral, making him fuck into you harder and more frantically because you almost look like some sort of lewd present when you’re wearing that lingerie – like his very own present, the one thing in the world he wants more than anything else.

And he’ll wear clothing that makes this easy, too – pants that can be unzipped and boxers he can tuck underneath his balls, making sure that nothing gets in the way. And although having sex without clothes is much more common than with clothes, Shouta will surprise you and suddenly press up behind you in the kitchen, telling you that you look too good, that he can’t help himself, that he needs you, and has to fuck you right here, right now, I can’t wait.

And so when you nod, he’ll flip up that skirt of yours – the main culprit for the throbbing between his legs, of course, because the clear view of your legs and thighs makes his mouth water – and slip aside those panties, his cock already out and hard and dripping for you.

It’s spontaneous, more than anything, and it’s one of the only ways in which Shouta is a little carefree with sex – one of the only times that he isn’t serious, or at least as serious.

The main way Shouta likes to engage in clothed sex, though, is through cockwarming. He just likes being close to you – he’s touch-starved, and although he doesn’t have the energy to actually fuck you, he still wants to be inside you, to have your body against his, to have you near and be smelling your scent and hearing your voice.

And so, it’s not a rare occurrence to have him pull you into his arms on his modest leather couch, your frumpy sweatpants and t-shirt (both his, of course, a fact that isn’t lost on him – he will not be washing either of those items when they eventually are off your body) covering your form and his own loungewear covering his.

He’ll shuffle up behind you, pulling you against him so that he’s spooning you, and before long you’ll feel something poking at your ass – something hard and insistent, something that seems to be bobbing and moving every few moments.

Truthfully, Shouta couldn’t say what got him hard – perhaps it was just being with you, or maybe smelling you, or the sight of you in his clothes. It could be any number of things – but his breath hitches as you swallow and carefully tug down the hem of your sweatpants, pressing your exposed ass back against him.

He makes a sound like a low whistle, and then he’s fishing his cock out of his own pants, the tip already wet with precum as he shifts his hips to slip between your legs, propping your leg up over his so that he can push inside. He does so with a small groan, resting his forehead against your back, and he feels you clench down on him.

He’s content to lay there – the warmth of his clothing and from you almost too much, but seeing the way you snuggle deeper into the shirt sending something warm and hot and possessive through his chest. He’ll just pull you against him tighter, the slight shift making the both of you hiss at the small burst of pleasure. He’s content to fall asleep that way – relaxed, his cock still nestled inside of you and hard as a rock, the feeling of your cunt lulling him into dreams filled with you naked and moaning his name, all bouncing breasts and desperate hands and begs for more.

(Don’t be surprised, when this happens, to wake up feeling something dripping out of you – yes, it’s cum and yes, that wet dream was enough to get him there. Don’t mention it, either, because Shouta’s always disappointed that he wasn’t awake for it - after all, call him old-fashioned but finishing inside of you is arguably his favorite selfish part of sex.)

Overstimulation

Shouta is not a stingy lover. In the bedroom, he lives to see you enjoying yourself – it soothes this primal, horrible ache in his chest that yearns or your approval and happiness. A lot of his obsession is born out of a desire to please you and keep you happy and safe, and this translates into making absolutely sure you’re satisfied in every possible way between the sheets.

Sex isn’t really sex until you’ve had at least two orgasms, whether that be because of his fingers or tongue, and only then will he throw your pretty legs up over his shoulders, sinking into you with a sharp exhale and letting his face rest against your sternum as he wills himself to not get too excited, to keep his cool and not rut into you like wild animal. He wants you to enjoy sex with him – he craves intimacy with you and he needs you to crave it too, and he’s hopeful that by giving you the best attention and care in bed, you’ll be more inclined to kiss and hold him, to touch him and whisper those three little words in his ear.

(The three little words that make him gasp and shudder, cum immediately spurting out of his red, swollen tip, his knuckles turning white as he grips onto your thigh and the bedsheets tightly enough to keep himself grounded through the pleasure.)

And so, Shouta finds that there’s something darkly pleasing about being the one to get you orgasming, being the source of your pleasure – seeing your face twist up, your mouth forming that pretty ‘o’ and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Shouta develops a bit of a sick fascination with seeing just how often he can make you come for him, and from what. It stems from a good place; a genuine desire to make you happy and get you shaking with pleasure and incoherent enough that all you can say is his name.

 He likes to choose how you come – will it be his fingers? Will he draw pretty circles on the inside of your thighs, teasing you and feeling the way your breathing picks up a bit, a whine of his name telling him that you’re growing impatient, that you need more, that you need him?

He’ll get closer and closer to your folds, pressing a thumb against them and dipping in ever so slightly, the dull pleasure making you bite your lip, embarrassment eating you alive because it feels so dirty to be teased like this, to keep your legs so wide open for him, to feel the way his eyes are staring at you so fully and intensely, the adoration and lust swimming in those dark depths nearly too much for you handle.

He’ll press two fingers against your clit and get to work, rubbing with light pressure and slowly increasing it, feeling the way the nub gets harder and more swollen, fingers swiping down to collect a bit of your slick to make things easier, the pads of his fingers gliding along your sensitive skin and making your hips jump and twist.

He’ll use his other hand to finger you, rough calloused skin dragging against your walls and pressing right into the spot he knows you love – the one that makes your back arch up, your head pushing back against the pillow, your nails digging into the bedsheets and tangling through his hair. Working you through an orgasm with his fingers is his favorite and what you’ll most likely get – he gets a front row seat, watching with rapt attention as you fall apart for him, feeling the way your thighs tremble and close in around him when you’re right on the edge.

There’s this feeling of power, pride and desire making him light headed and only work harder at his ministrations, ignoring your yelps and gasps of overstimulation because he needs to see that again, to feel the way you clench down onto his fingers so tightly that he has to work to pull them out to thrust back in. You’re just so damn sexy, the sight of you laying before him with your pretty legs spread wide open making him swallow so hard you can hear it.

But of course, Shouta also loves using his mouth to get you off – pink lips attaching to your nipple, sucking and running his tongue over your areola to make you squirm, your little keens making his cock twitch against your thigh.

He’ll kiss at your hips, making a trail down to your clit, giving you little kitten licks while his eyes flick up to look at you, seeing the way you sigh and bite your lip, the rising and falling of your chest making him near feral.  

He wants to see you moan and writhe, to feel you grasping at him and needing him, and so his patience wears out and he dives between your legs, slick coating his nose and chin as he licks and sucks and thrusts his tongue against you, eyes closed in concentration and hair getting in his face but he doesn’t care – how can he, when you sound so pretty moaning his name like that?

How can he, when your thighs are clenching around his head and you’re just so fucking wet for him, showing him exactly how much he’s affecting you?

It's euphoric, and soon you’ll be crying out his name and creaming all over his lips, shaking in his grasp so hard that he has to hold you down by the hips to help you ride out the pleasure, the taste of you making him so hard that it hurts.

And god, there’s something about the way you respond to voice and his commands in bed that makes Shouta curse under his breath. You look up at him all wide-eyed, pleasure written across your face as you look to him for guidance, his voice gruff and thick with lust as he tells you to let go, come for me, want to see you come for me.

You immediately furrow your brows and bite your lip, grinding yourself harder against his fingers, feeling the pads of them brush against the spot that has you seeing stars, his name a prayer as you chant it over and over, only stopping to moan or gasp.

The sight is intoxicating, leaving Shouta gaping like a fish with parted lips and heavy breaths, staring at you like you’re something heavenly, divine, unable to tear his gaze away because he still can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re moaning his name, that you’re letting him touch you and oh, he knows what that change in your facial expression means, how you’re blinding grasping at him, how you’re stuttering out a rushed ‘m coming, Shouta ‘m coming fuck-!

Watching you come undone right before his eyes has Shouta’s cock throbbing, his hips subtly moving against your thigh because he needs friction, the sight of you and the knowledge that he made you this way nearly too much for him to bear.

And when you finally calm down, your breathing wild and your eyes a little glazed over, he’ll just swallow and quickly situate him hips between your legs, gripping himself at the base and impatiently prodding at your entrance, his words dark as he tells you that you’ve got another one in you, give it to me.

When he pushes in – slowly, so as not to hurt you – he lets out a groan, only muffled by the way he leans down to kiss you, feeling the way you tense up and eagerly return the gesture, wrapping your ankles around his waist and pulling him deeper, showing him that you need more more more if you’re going to finish like he wants you to.

And Shouta’s happy to oblige – snapping his hips into you until his muscles are sore and screaming, a thumb relentlessly toying with your clit, his lips against your neck and whispering praise tainted with curses.

He’s encouraging you to feel good, telling you to tell me how it – fuck, how it feels, you’re so goddamn tight, tell me how to fuck you – o-oh…

Because really, while he loves to get you coming and falling apart on his terms, Shouta’s pride flies out the window where you’re concerned – he’d do anything to get you clenching down on him and begging him to finish inside you.

Anything.

Voyeurism

Honestly, it’s a byproduct of having stalked you for such an extended period of time. Watching you was the only way to feel close to you – he wasn’t able to hold you and kiss you, to feel you and lay with you and make you whine his name, and becoming your shadow was the only possible substitution.

And even then, it wasn’t enough – all the guilt he harbors from watching you in your more intimate moments never fades, not even after years of having stolen you away, your pretty body and mind fully his to do as he pleases. He’s still ashamed, but some things he just simply can’t unlearn – and so, even once your sexual relationship begins, Shouta finds himself still utterly excited by the prospect of watching you pleasure yourself.

It’s dirty, horrible, something that makes him feel so guilty he can hardly stand it, but he can’t not stop and watch through the crack in your door when he hears what sounds suspiciously close to muffled whimpers.

He can’t not press his ear against the wooden door, closing his eyes and imagining what you’re doing to yourself – maybe you’re playing with that cute little clit, rubbing it in circles and biting your lip because it just feels so damn good, mimicking the way that Shouta works you up slowly and steadily, getting you so sensitive that your hips jump and twitch at just the slightest bit of pressure against your sensitive nerves.

(He’s had dreams about the way you taste – he thinks you’d be musky, something natural and strong and savory, a taste he wants in his mouth at all hours of the day. And the way you’d tremble and gush for him if it was his fingers and mouth toying with the nub, how you’d tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him closer and closer to you, needing as much of him as possible, needing him him him…)

Maybe you’re sinking your fingers inside of you, working up from one to three, stretching yourself out and imagining it’s him instead, that he’s the one filling you up and making your toes curl, that he’s the one causing all those pretty noises to fall from your lips.

(He knows just how much bigger his own fingers are – he’ll imagine the size difference, his eyes shutting tight when he thinks of how much more he can stretch you out, how much better he can make you feel, how the texture of his fingers must send pleasure up your spine in a way that your soft, comparatively dainty fingers can’t.)

Maybe you’re perched up on a pillow, straddling it with your cunt pressed snugly against the fabric, slick smearing across the cotton as you grind your hips back and forth, hunched over so that the angle is just right, imagining it’s him underneath you and it’s his thigh or cock you’re rubbing against.

(He’s had wet dreams about this sight, always hoping and fantasizing that you’re just so desperate for him that you’re imagining it’s his face you’re riding, his mind conjuring up the sound of your voice moaning out his name and telling him yes yes o-oh fuck yes, Shouta ‘s so good, you feel so good! He’d never seen you riding a pillow during all those months of stalking, but the idea’s just too graphic and wanton and lewd for him to not fantasize about, the idea satisfying the part of him that’s embarrassed and ashamed of just how badly he craves you – because surely if you’re humping some piece of cotton and pretending it’s him, then what does he have to be embarrassed about? Lots, really, but it makes him feel slightly better.)

Or maybe you’ve decided that you want something a little more physical, something to really mimic him – he’d seen you using your vibrator many, many times before he stole you away. His face always turned pink at the sight, his throat going dry and his grip on his capture weapon a little loose as he simply stared, the sight of your pretty body contorting and the plastic held against the crest of your pelvic bone making everything else fade away.

You’re so damn pretty – the way you moan and sigh, how your legs twitch, how your breasts sway and jiggle with every motion, making his fingers ache to reach out and squeeze, to knead and touch and grope, like some sort of pervert.

And this fantasy and mental image has stayed with him long after kidnapping you – once your physical relationship begins and Shouta no longer feels it would make you even more uncomfortable and scared of him, he’s buying you a replacement for that trusty vibrator you used to use to death. He’d left it on your nightstand one morning with a hasty note simply saying I’m gone a lot, I don’t want you to get lonely.

Of course, this is only half the truth – he does want you to be happy, and he doesn’t want you to grow resentful of the times when he’s too exhausted to give you proper sex. But of course, the unspoken portion of this gift is that he wants to watch you use said vibrator – and badly.

He wants to sit in a chair at the side of the bed, legs spread wide as he grips the base of his cock, absentmindedly squeezing at his balls while his dark eyes stay trained on your figure. He wants you to be spread out for him, perhaps a skimpy set of lingerie covering your pretty body (or perhaps none at all, if you’re comfortable with it) with your legs spread wide, the vibrator in your hand hovering against your clit. He wants to hear the steady, dull buzzing sound mixing with your whimpers, to see the way your body tenses up and you whine, feet flexing and shaky breaths slipping past your lips as you slowly work towards your high.

He wants to see the way you eventually grow impatient, changing the vibrator’s setting and immediately crying out, the feeling much more intense and making your orgasm hurtle towards you, getting slick all over the bedspread as you cry out his name and writhe.

And Shouta doesn’t want you to look at him – he doesn’t want you to acknowledge that he’s there. Ignore him, just as you would have back when he was simply watching from outside your window – he wants to watch you, not have a show be put on for him.

You’re just too pretty, and there’s something about watching you that gets him hard as rock, his fist twisting and flicking so quickly it’s nearly a blur as he watches you transition to fucking yourself with the toy, your cries loud and wanton as Shouta grunts and curses under his breath. He wants to finish with you this time, his hips thrusting against his hand in an effort to match the pace you’ve set for yourself. It’s a dirty secret of his, and while Shouta won’t force you into it, just know that he would love to catch you masturbating – just the sight of you pleasuring yourself is enough to get him hot under the collar immediately, hand rushing into his trousers to cup himself because god.

He just likes to watch you, and even during regular sex when he’s folded you in half, those eyes are alternating between watching your face, your bouncing breasts, and your cunt swallowing his cock again and again and again, his cheeks a rosy pink and a bead of sweat dripping from his brow.

You’re just too pretty, he can’t take it – how can he not immediately want to get something of his on you, staining your lovely skin and gorgeous face with his cum?

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE

Hair Pulling

But not on you – unless you like it, in which case he might consider but will only ever do it lightly. He doesn’t like causing pain in general, and would only be willing to do it in very specific scenarios – and even then, it will be as gently as he possibly can.

Rather, Shouta likes when you pull his hair – he doesn’t let most people touch it, and it’s a rare day that he actually runs a comb through it, so as a result his scalp is extremely sensitive. And so, when you tunnel your fingers through his dark locks and pull, Shouta audibly groans, the tingling pain sending pleasure racing down his spine.

There’s just something naughty about it – only you get to touch him like this, so only you get to run your fingers through his hair and tug at it.

He particularly likes when you pull it while he’s got his face between your legs. He likes how your fingers tunnel through it and scrape against his scalp, and he’ll often use it as an indicator of whether he’s doing a good job or not. If you pull often and hard, he knows he’s doing what he needs to do – he’ll keep the pace up and stay in that same spot, doing everything and anything in his power to keep you pulling at it, working through any pain in his jaw or tongue because he needs to make sure you’re feeling good even at his own expense.

When he’s got you perched on his face, your pretty thighs framing his head so that all he can smell and taste and feel is you, he likes to have you reach down and still pull lightly at the roots, your breasts squished together and nipples taut, the visual alongside your taste and the slight pain from his scalp making his eyes roll to the back of his head and precum dribble down his length.

When he’s hovering over you and thrusting into you, balls clapping against your ass and your legs wrapped around his waist, he likes to have you tug at his hair, moaning out and crying his name with each tug and letting his ego swell, each burst of light pain making his hips go harder, faster, deeper, anything to get you louder and clenching around him tighter.

Even when you’re just kissing – simple, innocent kisses full of smiles and his hands gripping you just ever so slightly, Shouta likes to have you running your hands through his hair and tugging lightly, keeping him on his toes and forcing his cock to life.

He just really, really likes to have you touch his hair – it’s something intimate and something he’ll only ever let you do, so really, you should count yourself lucky. Shouta sure does when he’s buried deep inside you, watching your face and feeling your hands in his hair as he gives you every last drop he has to offer.

Mirror Sex

In general, Shouta absolutely loves watching you in bed. He thinks you’re genuinely the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and when you’re gasping on his cock and moaning his name, you’re even prettier, even more breathtaking and lovely and perfect.

And while he prefers positions where he can see your face, he wants to be able to see your expressions always, even if he’s got you bent over while he presses his back to your chest and mounts you like some sort of wild animal.

And so, to solve this problem, Shouta invests in a modest, simple mirror that he keeps facing the end of your ‘shared’ bed – it’s roughly four feet tall and two feet wide, the perfect size so that when he’s got you on your hands and knees for him, your back arching and your arms threatening to give out, he can watch your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He’ll experiment with the pacing of his thrusts, going deeper and harder to see the way your brows scrunch up, how your jaw drops and the most depraved whine slips out of you, pride and arousal swelling in his chest because he made you make that noise.

He’ll go slower and keep his thrusts brushing against the spots that make you gasp just so that he can see the way your lips twitch.

He’ll speed up, fucking into you so fast that his balls slap lewdly against your ass, the noise filling the room alongside your pants and his groans, watching all the while how your eyes flutter and your back arches. He’ll sit you in his lap facing the mirror, spreading your legs and getting to work with his fingers curling and rubbing inside of you, a thumb circling your clit and his lips at your ear as he tells you to watch, pretty, see how good you look?

He’ll kiss a line from behind your ear, down your neck and over your shoulder, occasionally glancing up to the mirror to make sure you’re actively looking, whispering praises against your skin each time.

And he’ll bring you close to the mirror, too – sitting you only a foot away from the reflective surface, letting you get a nice view of Shouta’s favorite sight – your cunt, all spread out and wet, practically begging for something big, heavy, and throbbing to fill it, to stretch it out and make you see stars.

He’ll spread your lips, exposing your clenching hole, smiling at your reflection and making you tell him that you’re pretty, forcing you to grow comfortable with your body because he knows that it makes you insecure to see so much of yourself, and it drives him crazy.

He’ll even fuck you against the mirror – forcing you to watch your face from mere inches away, your hot breaths fogging up the glass, and he’ll make you come like that – holding your chin straight ahead and telling you to watch, sh-shit, watch, don’t take those fucking eyes off your face in a strained voice.

He just likes getting a good view of you during sex – you’re too pretty not to be seen, after all.  

BIGGEST FANTASY

In general, Shouta absolutely loves being intimate with you. While he’s no virgin, he doesn’t have an extensive amount of experience, and frankly he’s never been the biggest fan of sex – it’s too messy, too energy draining, and just a massive hassle.

However, when it’s with you, and when you moan his name just right and leave your nail marks down his back, Shouta will gladly strip his clothing at your beck and call, his lips already on yours before you can even finish your sentence.

And while he loves good, rough, passionate sex that’s full of smacking hips, gasps, moans and growls, there’s something to be said for slower, gentler sex, the kind that’s full of airy breaths and slow, meaningful kisses.

It’s the kind of sex where you can really feel him; every inch of him, the way his body covers yours as he hovers over you, the tickle of his hair against your jaw and neck as he buries his face in the juncture of your shoulder and collarbone, his hips rocking into yours and managing to grind against that one perfect spot that gets you sighing out a moan. It’s just more intimate this way, less of a wild, frantic race to get inside of you and more a slow, controlled love making, as embarrassed as he is to use to term.

Regardless, you’re most likely to get this type of sex from Shouta in two specific scenarios – the first of which being after a very long day, filled with a harrowing patrol where he maybe wasn’t able to save everyone, or things didn’t go according to plan. When this happens, he needs to just hold you, to feel you, to hear you whisper his name under your breath and tell him how good he feels, how he’s the best you’ve ever had, how he’s the only one you’ll ever want…

The second – and far more likely – scenario is in the early hours of the morning, when the sunlight is streaming into the modest apartment he keeps you in, your shared bed feeling warm with your bodies pressed against one another. Soft, sleepy morning sex is Shouta’s favorite, and something that he tries to incite as often as he possibly can.

There’s just something about it that gets him hot under the collar; maybe it’s the casualness of it all, the way it feels so natural, so human and so right, as if your bodies were made for each other. Maybe it’s the way it feels so intimate, like you’re both raw, yourselves in the most wonderful way.

Or maybe it’s the way you’re still just slightly sleepy, and you’re much more likely to be clingy at this time, touching him more and letting your real noises come out, not hindered by any shame or hate or embarrassment.

Regardless, Shouta loves it – so on the rare weekends where he’s off, expect to be woken up on the brink of an orgasm just as you deserve.

A yawn slips past Shouta’s lips, eyes peeling open and seeing the gray of his bedsheets. Everything is warm and soft, and as he shifts slightly, something moves next to him.

Nothing seems real for a few moments as he gazes down at you, your body curled up next to his own. It doesn’t feel real that you’re really here – in his bed without any clothing, happily sleeping without a care in the world. He swallows, something coming over him and moving him slowly – carefully – peel off the covers, moving down to where your legs slightly part.

He leans down, face mere inches away from the tufts of your pubic hair, his eyes fluttering closed as he inhales. You’re perfect – and as he gently pries your legs open further, Shouta can’t help but think of how often he’s fantasized about this very moment – how often he’s dreamt of what’s between your thighs, how he’d lay awake at night and press his fingers between two pillows, grinding his fingers against the cotton and pretending it was you, imagining how warm and wet you’d be for him.

He swallows, determination setting his brow as he lays onto his stomach, shuffling so that he can lightly lick at your inner thighs, eyes closing at the familiar taste of you. He takes his time, going slowly and softly, licking closer and closer to your pretty folds, eventually reaching them and licking his lips at the taste.

A thumb comes up to slowly press against your clit, knowing too much pressure would hurt and not warm your body up the way it needed. He continues his licks, before switching roles and starting to suckle at your clit as a finger dips between your folds, collecting the slick and rubbing it between his fingers.

Soon he’s pressing one inside, feeling the way your thighs twitch slightly, a small, sleepy moan ringing in his ears. God, you’re so damn perfect – even unconscious you’re enough to get his cock throbbing against the cotton sheets.

He keeps his pace slow, but as time passes you stir a bit, and when he hears your sleepy voice mumble out his name, Shouta curses, his fingers speeding up a bit.

That gets you more awake – soon your fingers are carding through his hair, sighs and murmurs of his name sounding like heaven.

“Mm, Shouta, that feels good…” You mumble, still dazed from waking up. Your hips are twitching now, a sign that the pleasure is slowly beginning to build.

Shouta groans against your cunt, the sound muffled.

Soon his fingers are picking up the pace again, his circles and licks at your clit growing more insistent, and the hands weaving through his hair start to tug – the sensation gets him humping at the bed for a moment, the morning glow still shining on you as he glances up at your face. You look like an angel – shining in the sunlight, your lips parted in a moan, head thrown back in pleasure.

Shouta pulls back for a moment, sending a kiss to your clit that makes your hips buck. He chuckles a bit, licking his lips.

“You’re so beautiful..” He whispers against your thigh, pressing open mouthed kisses against the skin. You hum at his compliment, and he watches as you smile, his breath practically punched out of his lungs.

“Shouta, you’re too good to me…” Your voice is soft, too, and soon he’s back to sucking at your clit, feeling the way your body jolts slightly, the pleasure making you sigh and swallow. He watches the movement of your throat.

“Feels good, mm yes, oh Shouta - just like that,” You start, eyes closed again, and Shouta finds himself abandoning the gentle pace he’d adopted, instead being more insistent, more pushy – suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to get you coming on his fingers.

You gasp lightly at the new change in pace, grinding your hips to match the new stimulation, and it makes Shouta dizzy. How can you be so attractive? How can you look so perfect in this moment; in his bed, moaning his name, looking and tasting and smelling like his own personal slice of heaven?

It’s cheesy and he’s almost embarrassed, but tears prick at the corners of his eye.

Soon your gasps have turned to moans, and all too soon you warn him in a slurred voice that you’re coming, your back arching up off the mattress and your moans light and airy as you gush against his fingers, white coating all the way down his knuckles and onto his palms. It makes him choke a bit, the feeling of your cunt rhythmically clenching down on him and your chest heaving, and with a final lick to your clit that makes you jerk, he’s moving up to kiss you.

The kiss is slow, his tongue brushing against yours and wet sound filling the room, but Shouta doesn’t mind. How could he, when he’s never felt this relaxed before?

His eyes slowly open as he feels your fingers wrap around him, a thumb brushing along his tip to collect a bit of the wetness there.

“Shouta, let me make you feel good.” You tell him, your voice just a whisper.

He looks at you, his lips parted for a brief moment, before a small smile quirks up the corners of his mouth. “Why would you do that?”

You trace the line of his jaw with your free thumb. The slow strokes of his cock have him a bit distracted, but he hears every word you speak to him. “Because I love you.”

He swallows, the words making something feel tight in his throat.

You laugh a bit at his silence and the dumbstruck look on his face. “What? Do you not love me too?”

And to answer that, Shouta scoffs, leaning down to kiss you again as he grasps himself around the base, pulling himself away from you and pushing into you, feeling your sharp intake of breath against his lips.

His pace is slow, soft, like he’s trying to tell you something – hips moving slowly and deeply, letting you feel every inch of him. He kisses your neck as your head falls back, your eyes fluttering closed.

Pressing a kiss against your collarbone, Shouta smiles against your skin, a groan falling from his lips.

“I love you, more than you’ll ever know.”

And he means it – you’ll don’t know half of the things he’s done for you, and as he squeezes at your breast and hears your soft moan, he knows he’ll never tell you.

The people who police your gender will police your gender even if you're cis.

Eat them.

The World We Knew

Summary: He was yours, emphasis on was. One day, you were in love, at least you were. The next, He was gone, and you felt as if your whole world had gone in shambles.

Relationship: Romantic?

Character: Loid Forger

Warnings: Angst, Long lost love, fem reader, but it's not a huge part of the storyline, Spy x Family VOL. 10 spoilers!!!!

Note: I hate to have put "blank" when talking about loid but considering the storyline circumstances and volume 10 we still don't know his name, like it was literally bleeped out in the volume itself.

Peace.

It's what the both of you wanted. It's what everybody wanted.

You had known him since you were kids, and you always knew it had been a passion of his to move forward with the war to gain the peace of every townsperson deserved. He wanted more with his life, and that was what he chose.

Out of everyone in the little group you had, you were the closest with him. He had always been so nice to you and never failed to make you feel included.

You weren't a big fan of playing war games with him and the other boys, but you remember one instance where they had told you to just go home because they didn't want you moping around why they were playing their army games.

All of the boys agreed except him.

He suggested you be a nurse. What would happen if they got hurt, and nobody was there to help? You happily took on this role. He always found a way to make you feel special.

When you talked about all of these interactions with your mother, she told you upfront that you had a crush on him. At the time, you were too young to think about having a crush.

However, as you got older and really thought about how much you talked about him and how he made you feel, it was, in fact, a crush.

After the bombing in Westalis, you hadn't seen him in years. You had always assumed that he was caught in the ruble of it all. You know that was thinking the worst, but it was completely possible.

You had decided to volunteer as a nurse for the war, the role you felt you were meant to be in. It just felt right to help out. Plus, if he was alive, you'd knew for a fact he'd be fighting in the war, underage or not. One day, you could see him again.

At the moment, you weren't placed in the hospital wing. You'd instead been sent to go provide food for all the soldiers, the ones in care, and the ones walking around freely.

"Wait... Is that you advisor?"

You overhear someone ask over the ruckus of the townspeople and soldiers, your mind immediately went straight to the first face you had locked with that name, but you knew it couldn't be, there was no possible way.

Even though you had been waiting all these years to hear that name and see that face, it just all still felt so unreal, you just couldn't bear to face the reality of it.

"Genral? Corporal? Major?"

"It is him!"

"It's advisor!"

"No way! It can't be!"

You weren't trying to eavesdrop, but it was very hard not to. They went on and on about how they attempted to search for "advisor" and how much he had grown.

This time, you couldn't help but look back, and they were right. It was him, and he did look the same. It took every strength in you not to walk over and talk to them, they were your friends, but it had been so long, and they were closer to one another, you didn't want to ruin their moment.

"Now all we need now is our nurse, and the whole gang will officially be back together again!" One of the men chimed in, if only they knew you were standing just a few feet away from them. "Yeah, I've been trying to look for her just as much everyone else, she's probably been on my mind the most."

The guys all hooted at this, you pretended it also didn't get a rise out of you while you still acted as if you were more interested in the fruits in front of you instead of the conversation happening behind you.

"Are you free this weekend? There's a great restaurant in the next town over!" The advisor proposed, trying to distract him from what he had previously said. They all explained what they would be up to but how they'd keep in touch.

You had turned back around by this point, but you could tell he was smiling as he they put together their plans.

You listened to them all walk away, then you're mind started racing,

"Should I have gone to talk to them?"

"No, it's okay, they wouldn't have remembered me."

"But I'd be with him."

You jolted back around, just to find none of them there, damn.

-

The war had long since been from over. It had probably been one of the worst moments in your life aside from the bombing you'd experienced as a child.

And after seeing all of your old friends names, all except for him, in the charts marked as deceased you knew wouldn't be able to stand another minute witnessing such torture. So now all you could think about was the fact that you could've spoken to them that one day, before they all passed, but you just couldn't muster up the courage.

But now you were starting a new life in a new area, and maybe he would finally leave your mind and just be a fuzzy memory that you joke about with your future children.

At the thought you hear a child start to laugh, you avert your eyes to the direction. She's a young girl, no more than 6 or 7 years old, and she has pink hair that reaches her shoulders, you smile at her excitement.

Moments like these make your mind wander into a field of imagination of the family you could've built by now. But you were fine with not being settled down just yet, because you knew with how much time you had been working as a war aid there wouldn't been not time for love.

And there was no time for love while your mind was still on him.

You glance down back at your book, reading the paragraph over that you were interrupted from.

"Papa! Look! Look at all of the cows!"

"Yes, I see them." He chuckled in response.

Your eyes widen, head jolting back up to the familes direction, that voice.

"Genral? Corporal? Major?"

"...She's been on my mind the most."

"Are you free this weekend?"

It was him, it had to be, there was no doubt about it.

You wanted to walk up and say hi, but you didn't know how weird that would be, considering you had once had your chance for a reunion but blew it. But maybe it was time, even if he had a child next to him, and she called him 'Papa.'

Yet at the same time, you didn't want to regret it for the rest of your life by not going up to speak and reminisce with him like last time.

You would have given anything for him to look at you again.

In that moment, you had decided that it was time, and you would see and talk to him again.

You put your bookmark in, saving your page and closing it, and just as you were about to stand and make your way over, a woman came walking out of the bathroom area of the train.

"Sorry I was gone so long!"

"Mama!"

Your smile dropped, and you felt your world collapse once more. You couldn't feel your face.

She was breathtakingly gorgeous. She had her silky jet black hair that was styled up and beautiful ruby eyes.

She's what he needed, what he deserved.

This made you feel sick to your stomach, but also ashamed, you had been fawning over this man for years. It was embarrassing.

You checked the clock above the door of the train, you didn't know how much more of this you could take, luckily there was only about 15 minutes left of your traveling.

All you could do now was fidget with your clothes and hands. You couldn't even bother to open up your book back up, you know you wouldn't be able to focus on anything that you were reading.

Once the train had come to a complete stop you felt a sense of relief wash over you, you couldn't stand to hear all of them be so happy together, not knowing that that could've been you.

You got up from your seat, beginning to grab your bags on the shelf above your seat. You had about 2 or 3.

As you struggled with the bags you didn't know that he had noticed,

"You two wait for me outside, I won't be long."

The two girls walk outside and sit on a nearby bench and wait for him while he helps you, you're still oblivious to everything happening around you.

"Miss?"

You're shocked to hear his voice, you drop your bag, almost tumbling backward but catch yourself on the seat.

He chuckles, "Mind if I help?"

"No, not at all."

You finally spoke to him, you look up at him, locking eyes, it had been everything you dreamed of.

His eyes go so wide, you swear they took the shape of a perfectly round circle.

"Y/n?"

You smile and nod.

He wants to hug you, he wants to hug you for centuries, he doesn't know what to do, this feeling that has just suddenly overcome him is making him feel like he no longer has any control.

There was no other way to explain it, he had thought about you so many nights.

Those nights when he was fighting for peace, he was thinking about you, thinking about how you when you were both still children and you would describe to him your future and the peace that would surround you.

"I-"

He's interrupted by a loud voice outside of the train,

"Passengers need to be making their way out of the carriages , the train will be loading more people soon!"

He rushes to grab your bags and help you off, he stops you outside of the train, a good few steps away from his 'family.'

He knows he shouldn't be doing this, it's reckless, it could ruin everything, but seeing you just opened up something within him and he can't stop himself, he just keeps talking.

"I thought you," he pauses.

"Died?" You finish his sentence, smiling at him still, you couldn't believe this was happening.

"Yeah, that."

"I could say the same for you, blank."

Hearing his real name makes his heart drop a little, he hasn't heard many people speak it since he served in the military.

He was glad you were the one to say it.

He sighs, a small smile of his face, "I've missed you, alot.

Tears start to threaten to spill out, "I've missed you too, alot."

"I love you, blank." You say without thinking, he doesn't flinch at this the way he did at hearing his own name, which you don't question.

He stands completely still, looking you right in your eyes, not being able to get enough of this moment.

The next words that come out of your mouth surprise you, "But it's too late," You glance over at his 'family', making eye contact with the little girl, who looks almost as shattered as you do right now.

You grab your bags from him and walk towards the exit, feeling tears roll down your cheeks.

He couldn't feel his face, he felt more numb than he had ever felt before. He hears footsteps come up from behind him.

"Who was that Loid?" Yor asks, Anya clutched by her side, with a sad look on her face, like she had heard the whole conversation, Anya blocked out anything her parents were saying to scan around for the you.

"An old friend," He replies, still looking straight ahead, thoughts racing with what could've been.

my mind has been racing with this concept, sorry for the damage i have caused

Drunk!Loid Forger x wife!fem!reader | NSFW 🔞

Summary: Loid comes home very late drunk after going out drinking with Franky. He fucks you drunk.

Warnings: Porn with no plot lol. Smut +18. Oral fem! Masturbation. Inappropriate use of belt. Spanking. P i v. Unprotected sex, mention of pregnancy. MDNI

Wc: idk like 3k?

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For Agent Twilight, there was something pleasurable about playing Loid Forger, the carelessness that the peaceful family man could indulge in from time to time without suffering any major consequences...like the night Franky had invited him out for a drink.

Twilight was a man of strong drinks, the kind that go to your head and detach you from reality by ripping your thoughts and every last drop of consciousness from your brain... he was addicted to those drinks because he could stand them, because they were no challenge for the best spy in Westalis.

However... along with the wonderful, sweet personality that the Loid Forger brings with him, certain misplaced platitudes fall upon Twilight. Twilight was a cold man of steady mettle and pure stoicism, a determination that could not be eclipsed by mundane feelings like... falling in love....

The fusion of his alter ego as Loid Forger with that of his original identity as Twilight had led him to the very night he stumbled back to your house, his hand covering his face in search of relief from the terrible headache.

He doesn't turn on the kitchen light because he knows you're sleeping in their shared room, and he doesn't make any noise when he fills a glass of water because he's afraid of disturbing your sleep.

You, his beautiful and efficient wife, what more could he ask for but a devoted woman like you. Fuck... if only his mission would never end... he wouldn't have to leave you.

"Loid..." you whisper from the living room, peering over the wall. He woke you up... you can't see him in this state, he can't talk in this state. If he confesses anything now, if he gets carried away with his feelings for you, anything would jeopardize the mission...

Come on, Twilight, think fast. He shakes his head as he returns to his role as Loid Forger.

"Y/n, my dear. I'm sorry I woke you," the voice is calm, even though your name falls from his lips in a frenzy of emotions.

"You came back late," you add, emerging from your hiding place and walking towards him, who stops breathing for a moment.

The dim light illuminates your figure, you are wearing only one of his shirts, which covers the skin above your thighs, and a pair of white wool stockings. Your hair is down, and it seems to Twilight that you look perfect in this moment, with these clothes and this warm light.

Damn, she looks so...

"I'm... I'm sorry, I went out for a drink with Franky. I didn't think I'd be back so late," he stammers for a moment. What are you doing to him? What effect do you have on him that he can't control his emotions?

"I see," you smile, "your cheeks are pink, you look lovely"

"No... no, of course not," he turns his face away, lips parted and cheeks burning.

What are you doing, Twilight, regain your composure.

"I missed you," you confess, embracing him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist and letting them fall to his stomach, filling his breath with your scent, your lemon and honey scent reaching into the deepest recesses of his mind, taking over his consciousness and his last shred of self-control.

I am Twilight... and I am fucked... I want to fuck her tonight like I've wanted to fuck her for months.

You are completely unaware of the man on top of you. He has carried you into the bedroom in one swift, nimble movement, stealthily and carefully. He has laid you down on the mattress and is now attacking your neck with his lips.

Whiskey breath surrounds your mind, your consciousness is clouded and your heart is disturbed by the frenzy of your husband's kisses, causing sensual gasps on your skin. Loid's hands run through your hair, tangling behind your neck to give him more access to your neck and chin, devouring your surface with hunger and desire.

You are completely immobilized by his muscular body, and by the surprise that his behavior has caused you, you feel your heart in your throat, the beats echoing in your ears, only eclipsed by his moaning when he touches the valley of your breasts through your shirt.

"Loid~" you bite your lip and try to push him away with both hands, but it's no use, Loid is so much stronger than you. Has he always been like this?

"You have no idea how you turn me on," he whispers, almost on the verge of madness, his throat is choked and he holds back his tongue that wants to run all over your body.

He sits on top of you, you find relief in being able to breathe normally for a moment as you see him unbutton his shirt, opening it with a jerk to expose his chiseled abdomen. It's not the first time you've looked at him without his clothes on, but you always marvel at the way his muscles stand out against his skin, the way a few scars frame his pecs and abdomen.

You reach out and touch his skin, the line between his chiseled abs, in a reflexive action. Having him so close, like this, awakens a vulgar side in you that only he knows.

"Patience," he whispers, the tone deep and punctuated with a lustful gasp.

He throws the cloth away from the bed and leaves his hands on the belt of his pants. His movements are desperate yet unmistakable, he is quite skilled for being so drunk.

His pants are on the floor next to his shirt and boxers, he holds the belt between his hands and strokes the leather with his fingers, a dark idea floating in his mind.

"Loid..." you get his attention, only to meet a dark stare, bathed in malice.

"I have plans for you, y/n" his smile is evil, but it turns you on, fuck, you've never seen this side of your husband before.

Loid made love to you, when you slept together he was the soft and gentle type who cared more about your satisfaction than his own. He didn't play with you, he didn't tempt you and he didn't make you beg. His gaze was always loving, full of sincere and genuine affection. His kisses were chaste, almost as if you would break if he came any closer, and his thrusts were gentle, so that he could feel you clearly and not hurt you.

And he didn't cum inside you because he knew you weren't ready to be pregnant, because it was enough to take care of Anya, another child would be too much work for both of you... so when you were done, he bathed you and fell asleep next to you, framing your form with a protective hug and sweet, almost poetic words in your ear until you were both asleep. Loid was a sweet and loving husband...

That was Loid, and it was okay... for you... because for Twilight, it was a nightmare.

He hated going slow, he hated not being able to bite your skin or leave marks between your legs, and worst of all, he hated you moaning a name that wasn't even his. That's why tonight, he would completely take over Forger's identity, kill Loid, and do to your body what Twilight had wanted to do since he first saw you.

"Shit," he grunts as he takes his member in his hand and fucks him with his fist, throwing his head back. Just the thought of fucking you that night had turned him on.

You look at him with great surprise, you've never seen Loid masturbate before and you didn't think the first time would be while he was on top of you. The way his ragged breathing lifts his chest, the way his muscles flex as he jerks his arm, and especially the way he moans your name as the red head of his cock drips pre-cum.

Even though you are completely unaware of this behavior, you can't take your eyes off of him. You slip a hand under your clothes, rifling through your panties in search of your clit, throbbing at the image of Loid above you. Your wrist is gripped by Loid's hand, which leans over you with a tight grip and whispers into your ear.

"Not yet. I haven't given you permission," the voice is unrecognizable, Loid has never used such a low tone.

He undoes the buttons of your shirt, pulling the fabric apart as he dips his face between your bare breasts, sliding the fabric under your shoulders as you squirm from the soft bites he leaves around your nipples.

He circles his tongue around the buttons of your breasts as he runs his hands all over you, from your sides to your arms, lifting them above your head. Loid touches you as if he has never touched a woman before.

He takes the belt and holds your wrists above your head, watching you from his position, like a hunter watching his prey. You let yourself be taken in by his bizarre game, maybe it's a fantasy he's wanted to fulfill for a long time and now he has the confidence to do it, you think.

And the reality is that Twilight fucks like this because he knows he's going to fuck you so good that you'll want to push it away with all your might.

He leaves a trail of kisses all over your face, down your chin, your neck, between your breasts and your stomach, around your waist and down to your hips, where he holds the elastic of your panties, fucking soaked with your juices.

He glances at you before tearing the thin fabric, and for a moment you can see the face of an unknown man, his face completely changed by the lust he is releasing at that moment. Leaning back on his elbows, he spreads your legs and rests them on his shoulders, licking his lips as he watches your dripping pussy.

With his fingers he gently caresses your valley and the edge of your hole, his finger grazes your clitoris, eliciting a moan from you.

He looks at you from between your legs, analyzes your face and the surroundings, and you swear his mind is going a mile a minute right now."What are you thinking about?" you ask embarrassed.Loid turns his gaze back to you, the blue of his eyes seeming darker than before.

"I was debating whether to gag you or not, I don't want to wake the kid."

"I won't make any noise... I... I promise," you say hesitantly, because you don't believe your own words.

"I want to hear you hold back," he smiles, the corner of his lip turning to the side.

He dips his face between your legs, his nose brushing your skin, his fingers parting your folds, his tongue moving from the base to the top. You shiver at the passage of his tongue as it begins to wiggle around your clit. It is delicate, gentle, as it always has been... but he seems to enjoy it more than before.

He gasps as he moves his head, his fingers spreading your folds further apart and you feel the warmth of his breath on your entrance. He doesn't tire, he doesn't stop, in fact, with each movement he seems more energetic than before.

He continues to caress your clit with his tongue, sucking on the small nub that makes you arch your back and hold back the moans that want to escape your mouth. You feel Loid's tongue at your entrance and his nose brushing your clit, then a finger slips gently inside you, followed by another.

His fingers are long, calloused, and surprisingly dexterous. He finds your spot almost immediately and you feel like you're seeing stars. His tongue doesn't leave your clit, your button is swollen and he sucks on it passionately while his fingers abuse your sensitive spot inside you.

Your walls close over his fingers, he thrusts in and out, fucking you wonderfully with his digits, while your ecstasy grows in your belly from his skillful tongue.

He lets out a hot gasp against your skin, and the sound of his fingers soaked in your juices floods the room, it seems harder and harder to contain your moans. You bite your lip hard as he makes a soft stroke over your button, his fingers digging deep inside you.

He makes a curious movement, lifting his fingers and seeming to increase his speed, he uses his other hand to mistreat your clit, with his elbows he spreads your legs. You can't close them, you want to, you want him to stop, you feel the burning in your stomach and in your legs. He lowers his face again to the level of your sex, just when it seems he is finished, he continues, his tongue abusing your hole and your clit in perfect synchrony, a hand runs down your belly and catches your breast.

"Loid~" you let out his name in an anxious moan "Ah~ Loid..."

That name, he thinks, his mouth and mind focused on your sex... I am that now, I am Loid Forger, this is my wife, and I will see to it that she can't get out of bed for days.

"Loid," you add, taking his hair between your fingers, your bound wrists making movement difficult.

"Mmh?" he whispers still between your legs, the vibrations of his voice sending electric waves up your spine.

"Since when... you're so good... so good at this," your words are cut off by a dirty moan that slips from between your lips. It hurts, it hurts not to be able to make a sound, it hurts not to be able to scream out how good your husband is eating you right now.

"What do you mean?" he asks, he knows exactly what you mean, but he likes to play with your mind, right now.

His movements are synchronized again and your mind is confused as you feel your orgasm erupt. Loid has never made you come with his tongue alone. And he hasn't lasted this long. It's different, he behaves differently.

You're breathing hard, your mind a whirlwind, and even more so as you watch Loid savor the nectar that has stained his fingers. His tongue dances erotically between his digits, and his gaze is all on you.

"I missed your taste. Much better than whiskey," he says.

You pick up your legs, thinking he is done, and when you go to ask him to untie your hands, you feel him flip your hips. The movement is quick, almost imperceptible, your face is glued to the sheet, and when you go to protest the sudden change of position, you feel him sink deep inside you.

"Loid!" the cry you let out is unmistakable. It hurt, but it also felt so good. He pushes your walls apart with his cock, molding your insides for him. He leaves a resounding slap on your butcheek and you hear him laughing behind you.

"Just what I wanted to hear," he says.

He pulls back, letting the head tease your entrance, your sodden pussy contracting to nothing, and he slips back in, whole, as far as your cervix will allow. You feel the crash of his hips against your ass and his balls slapping against your skin. His hands are anchored to your hips, leaving occasional slaps on your now pink skin. He's ramming you like an animal, the pace is fast and the force is enormous.

You tremble, your face sunk into the mattress, your forehead rubbing against the sheet from your husband's movements, your elbows in front of your head and your hands raised as if in prayer.

"Loid~ please...more...slower," you moan, almost sobbing.

Each thrust is accompanied by moans from both of you, his moans dark in comparison to yours, and in the background the grinding of the bed and the banging of the headboard against the wall. He moves like he's never moved before, fucks you like he's never fucked you before.

His fingers slide under your belly, touching your clit, you let out another scream at the overstimulation, and begin to move your hips in time to his fingers. Your breasts are massaged by his other hand, fully attended.

"Loid, Loid I..." you don't know what to say, the sentences you blurt out are meaningless, pleasure clouds your mind and all you hear is Loid's low growl behind you.

"You have no idea," he whispers in your ear and leans over you. You feel his chest against your back, your pussy shuddering at the change in position and the sudden cessation of his assault. "You have no idea how many times I've wanted to fuck you like this."

He spreads your lips with his fingers and your tongue tastes your own taste and a hint of the whiskey he'd had a few hours ago.

"m gonna fuck you until that little pussy of yours breaks, did you hear me?" he demanded grabbing a fistful of your hair and lifting your head.

"Yes... yes I heard you" you blurted out between moans. You couldn't say no, you didn't want to.

He continues his onslaught, more violent than the previous ones, expanding your walls, opening you wide for him, throwing your head back in an avid attempt to enjoy every nook and cranny of your loins. It feels as if it's going to pierce you at any moment, hammering against your spot abruptly, relentlessly.

You turn your head to look at him in the mirror, head back, eyes closed and lips parted, letting out low moans. His arms, muscles tense as his hands hold your hips, holding you in place. His hips move deftly, forcefully, he knows how to align himself perfectly before entering you again.

And you, your back is arched perfectly, your ass vibrates with each thrust and your breasts jiggle in frenzy from the onslaught of his cock. Your cheeks are pink, your lips swollen, your forehead sweaty.

"So good" you hear Loid, who leaves his hand on the back of your neck, returning to your starting position.

You reach your second orgasm without even recovering from the first, and Loid cums inside you soon after.

"I like that you have stamina," he says, turning your body around without coming out of you, his movements continuing, resuming the frantic rhythm of a few seconds ago.

You don't have stamina, fuck no, of course not. But there's not much you can do when your hands are tied and held down by a burly man taller than you. You tell him you can't take it anymore, you feel like you're going to pass out, but fuck, how good it feels when he caresses your waist while he fucks you in that position.

He hides his face in your neck, strokes your hair, frames your cheek with his hand. Untie your hands without looking, and you finally feel free enough to anchor yourself to his back, marking his skin with your nails and playing with his hair.

Loid's favorite position is missionary, because he can smell you as he penetrates you, because he has access to you in every possible way, because he intertwines his hands with yours above your head and whispers that he loves you, over and over and over again.

"Say my name," he whispers, his voice drowned out by your shoulder, "say my name, please.

"Loid," you whisper again and again as you wrap your legs around his waist and your hands find comfort in his.

He kisses you, kisses you as if he had never kissed you before, as if with one kiss he could suck your soul and keep you in his chest forever. With this kiss, he tears away all your doubts and strengthens the promise of a life together with you.

He will not leave you, he tells you fervently, he swears on his life that he will never leave you, that he will put a child in you and that he will not leave this family.

"I hope you will accept me as I am," he whispers.

"Oh, Loid," you smile as you cling to him in an embrace, your legs feeling your third orgasm approaching,

"Loid~ I love you...".

There are no words to describe this night, it has drained you of all your energy, you feel almost sick, weak and completely out of control.Loid hugs you to his chest and covers you with the sheets, leaving a kiss on your forehead and whispers how well you took it.

"Loid..." you whisper.

"Yes?"

"You don't have to ask me to accept you...I love you in every possible way. If this is your way of telling me that I need to get to know you better, I am ready to do so. If I discover another phase of you, as I did today, I will be more than happy to do so," you look at him smiling, "I have noticed that you have many faces that I don't know, Loid Forger.

Loid Forger, he thinks, the man of a thousand faces... doesn't sound bad.

He knows he'll have to tell you about his mission someday, but now is not the time, not after he's shed his facade and shown you an authentic side of himself. Even though he knows you'll understand, he doesn't want to risk everything, at least not yet... later, when you know Twilight better, he can tell you everything... and stay with you. ....

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.

Aizawa + age regressor! Reader headcanons (gender neutral as always!!)

So…. I’m nervous posting this one. It could either be very well received or I could be horribly harassed, so I’ll educate you guys some.

What is age regression? Age regression (agere) is when someone, due to trauma, reverts to a mental state and age of a child; usually the age before the childhood trauma was experienced. It is completely SFW and in no way will I tolerate any sexual/ rude comments. You can be mean under any other post of mine, but I will not tolerate any form of hate under this post. My page is a safe space for everyone, I intend to keep it that way and will not hesitate to block anyone I see necessary.

You are more than welcome to leave and not read, but if you want to read then welcome!!

Cw: mentions of abuse/trauma, usage of “daddy, dada” in non sexual context, very brief mention of kink ( literally just the work kink like twice), feelings of shame/embarrassment for regressing

- telling shota you regress isn’t something you planned on doing, why would you? It’s embarrassing that you need to act like a toddler to be able to cope with the stress in your life.

- he finds out when he comes home and you’re deep in headspace, he scares you because you know he shouldn’t see you like this and you burst into tears

- he is immediately worried, trying to get answers from you. The thing is, after working with kids and being a pro hero for so many years he knows what he sees when he looks in your eyes, he isn’t angry or disgusted at all.

“Oh… my poor baby got spooked, huh? I’m sorry, little one.”

- you’re confused, expecting him to hurt you like you’re used to, but his soothing voice and calm demeanor has you calming down from your hysterics. All you can do is hold your stuffie and nod.

- after that day, you’re much more open with him. Even giving him names when you’re regressed, that’s how he knows you truly trust him.

“Dada, can you help me pwease?”

“Of course he can, kiddo. What do you need?”

- he takes every new discovery of your headspace in stride, the hour long breakdowns and the very happy days

“Shh,, I’m here angel. Daddy’s got you.”

“Oh look at you! I’m so happy my baby is happy.”

- if you want gear, he gets you gear!!

“You keep looking at that sippy cup/bottle/pacifier, love. If you want it put it in the cart.”

“No, I don’t need it.”

(He sneaks it in the cart, anyways)

- he works with you that it’s okay and normal to regress, and helps you into your headspace

“It’s weird, and you’re gonna judge me and think I’m gross.”

“It’s not weird, I would never think you’re gross for the way you need to cope.”

- he takes you being nonverbal in stride too

*incoherent baby babbles*

“Oh, yeah?? Then what happened? No way. Tell me more, little one”

- in public and start to slip? No worries, he knows how to help you and keep it discreet per your request

“Hmm, how about we go get ice cream. Sound good? Knew it would, hold my hand when crossing the street angel.”

- if you wake up from a nightmare and immediately regress, he’s there to hold and comfort you

“Hey hey,, shhh. It’s okay, they can’t hurt you anymore. Dadas here now, okay? How’s a bottle of warm milk sound, baby”

- hate online is a huge thing regressors face, so what would he do if you’re scrolling through the agere tag and see someone calling a regressor and their caregiver gross and playing into kink??

“Turn that off, no more screen time okay? No no, don’t listen to them. You know what you need, not them. No, love. You aren’t gross or weird. I love you to the moon and back.”

- all in all, he’d be very loving and supportive!!! He would definitely go through a learning curve of what you specifically need, but he’d be such a good caregiver I just know it!!

Remember, if you regress you are soooo valid and loved!! It’s not gross or a kink, and I’m happy you found a healthy way to cope :)

Let me know if you want more of this kinda stuff?? And I am taking requests!! If my asks aren't working (they should be on!!) then just shoot me a dm or comment :)

Sub!Aizawa HCs

This man is in desperate need of some TLC♡

This man is a complete pillow prince. Hair splayed out underneath his head as he watches you act out all your fantasies on him. He allows you to climb onto his cock, moving up and down the shaft, using his body to get yourself off as he watches on in amazement. He loves the feeling of being under you, finally being able to relax after a tiring day of work. Being a pro-hero and a teacher is no easy task but coming home to you makes it all worth it.

You pamper him so willingly, helping him strip out of his clothes as he slowly hardens from the gentle way your hands span over his body. Enterlacing the two of you's fingers you slowly guide him over to the bed, laying him down on the comfortable sheets before removing your own outfit. His gaze follows your movements closely, taking in every inch of skin as soon as it's exposed. He has to remind himself to blink or else he'll keep at it until a sole tear makes its way down his cheek.

He loves when you maneuver him to fit your needs, going along willingly as you readjust him. It'd be a lie to say he doesn't let out a sigh or two when you move him from an especially comfy position but it's all in good spirit. He knows it'll be worth it once you start with whatever your plans are.

Aizawa's surprisingly vocal about what he wants, occasionally walking by you to mumble something new he'd like to try or indulge in that night. When you finally have him in bed he'll beg you to do all those same things to him, urging you on when you're hesitant to give in -- not for lack of want but because you love to see your lover work for it. Tying him up with his own scarf? How beautifully depraved of him.

A light smack to his thigh when he's lying just a little too still for your liking does wonders. His eyes widen uncharacteristically and he can't help the fresh precum that dribbles down his shaft from the slight pain. The mark is already fading but as you massage into the muscles found there, giving it another slap soon after, you can visibly tell as he falls deeper into headspace. His mouth is left agape in surprised arousal and he's sure this must be some form of pampering in and of itself.

Raking your nails across his abs has him both flinching away from the subtle touch while trying to stay still to enjoy the sensations. Aizawa adores the feel of the feather-light pressure trailing across his body, too soft to even leave a mark but he twitches as you continue making the invisible lines.

Whenever you open your mouth to take in his cock he'll shut his eyes, throwing an arm across his face as he focuses on the pleasure you're providing. He'll tell you what feels good and cry out softly at certain points all while focusing on trying not to come too quickly so this moment can last longer.

Cock warming this man has him actually struggling to stay still, a surprising feat for him. The way you sink yourself down on his leaking cock only to not offer him any relief is painful in the best possible way. You run your fingers through his hair, detangling any small knots you find by doing so. His head is resting just above your collarbone and you can hear the softest of moans leave his mouth at your actions. You're not sure if it's because of the way you rock forward slightly on occasion or if this man is actually about to fall asleep.

It was the latter. His breathing evens out eventually and you lean back just a bit to see his head lull forward to follow the stability your chest was providing. You let out a soft laugh before wrapping your arms around his neck, using his body to rest upon as well. You were a bit tired yourself but you weren't expecting it to end like this. You'll just have to be sure to wake him up with a special treat a few minutes earlier than usual in the morning.

You're always obsessed with Levi's waist.

You didn't think much about it at first. But gradually, you noticed that every time you wanted to touch him, your hands would unconsciously press against his hips. It may sound a bit odd, but you can't resist it. He is so perfect, so beautiful.

Levi's reaction? He may not have the most sensitive body, but you always loved his sensitivity. He always failed to pretend not to shiver every time your fingers rested on his vulnerable waist. If you squeeze it, he will jump lol.

And although you also love touching his waist to pull him closer when you two are in bed at night. You do the same even in your daily activities. Still not conscious when you first woke up, you vaguely walked behind Levi (who was cooking) to wrap both arms around his waist to press both of your bodies together. Or you unconsciously caress his waist while cuddling, making him gasp and squirm to escape from your arms.

But Levi can't hide when you kiss him.

Place your hands on his waist again. This time, slide your whole hand under his shirt and caress that vulnerable waist. He let out a small moan into the kiss and tried to push you away. Continue kissing him, swallowing the little sounds he makes while clearly feeling his addictive skin.

Your reward: Levi blushes, gasps, and pouts at you.

"Fuck you."

Some random Levi relationship HCs

Summary: Just some random lil Levi things I’ve had on my brain lately :D

Rating: 18+ [Minors DNI]

A/n: I can do a part two if anyone is interested

If you compliment him on his appearance, say you like his hair when it’s longer in the front, tell him he looks lovely in that shade of green, he will never forget that shit. He’ll start leaving his hair longer and wearing your favorite colors on him more often, because he loves knowing you’re finding him attractive.

When Levi catches you checking him out, he acts appalled, absolutely flabbergasted, how dare you objectify him like this. He’ll roll his eyes and scoff, waving you off like he can’t believe you’d be so openly perverted like this, but then you’ll spot the blush spreading over his cheeks, and if you’re lucky, you might even catch a glimpse of his lips curling up in a playful smirk as he turns away from you.

He’s not always “stoic”, he just has a very dry sense of humor. Sarcasm, deadpan jokes and teasing actually make him chuckle occasionally, and he loves when you go back and forth with him.

He doesn’t have a great social battery, but when he loves you, he wants you around regardless. Sometimes his favorite moments are sitting together in comfortable silence, and having you rake your fingers through his dark hair, or scratch his back.

I think he has a pretty normal sex drive, but sometimes he needs a lot of foreplay to get comfortable, because the second that sex starts to feel like mindless fucking rather than an expression of love, he feels unnerved and off put.

He’s such a giver, that if you give him something back he’ll be absolutely touched. Make him a bracelet? He’ll never take it off. Bring him something he forgot on his way out the door that morning? He’s thinking about putting a ring on your finger. Cook him his favorite meal? He’ll melt into a puddle of soft sappy feelings.

Honestly, he’s really just a hopeless romantic. Once upon a time he was a little boy that day-dreamt of finally being loved, being held, and doted on. Up until now, he was starting to get used to the idea of being alone, so he’ll do anything to keep you happy and content with him.

I think levi is a switch, but he leans towards submissive because, again, he loves being doted on. He likes sensual touching, thumb against his cheek, fingers gripping his thighs, running your nails down his abdomen and feeling it tense up. He fantasizes about that kind of thing. He wants your hands all over him.

He gets super turned on by possessive behavior, in and out of the bedroom. Bite him, yank on his hair, ask him who’s cock this is, he loves that shit. If you get jealous easily, he’ll roll his eyes and tell you you’re being immature, but he’s such a bad liar because his ego is soaring. He’ll be walking around with a little more confidence that day.

If you keep eye contact and tell him you love him during sex, he might bust on the spot.

In the colder months, he tends to become depressed easily. He benefits from having someone who won’t allow him to shut himself away.

Husband material, marry him immediately.

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃! : 𝐀𝐎𝐓

a/n: this is literally 5k words of pegging nonsense, most of these “headcanons” also include additional lil blurbs because i’m a psychopath.

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 : levi, erwin, reiner, bertholdt, floch, jean, porco, and armin.

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : nsfw, female-bodied reader, dom!reader, all boys are subs here, pegging, fauxjobs, dacryphilia, spanking, brat taming, spitting, a splash of mommy kink for armin and jean’s, strap referred to as cock because that’s hot, men in lingerie, praise, degradation.

𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍

—  He’s so grumpy about it leading up to it, grouching about how he’s gonna put you on stable cleaning duty if you do it badly. Shuts up real quick when you’re not only good at it, but it feels too good. Like it ruins him. He’s so out of control of his voice and his body, the way he arches into your thrusts, hands scrambling across your back and thighs, trying to pull you impossibly closer.

— At first, he thinks everything feels like it’s too much and that he’s gonna break, but once he’s used to taking dick enough to not go slack-jawed every time you put it in? Expect to step up your game, cus this man knows exactly what he wants from you. Catch him on a day he needs to get out of his head and if you aren’t fucking him so hard it’s pushing him up the bed? He’ll start fucking himself on you since you’re “obviously not going to give me what I need.”

Keep reading

Sub!Levi + Pegging HCs

Enjoy this whiney boy having the time of his life♡

He's obviously going to be blushing a lot before it even starts, barely able to make eye contact with you as you talk about all the things you're going to do to him and just how much he's going to enjoy it. He definitely wants to but he's always been especially shy with things of a sexual nature and to do something as far as this is just sending him over the edge into Blushing Babyville

His head will be turned away as you prep him, fingers buried deep inside him as he bites his lip in an attempt to keep all those precious sounds in. Using your other hand to force his eyes to yours is the perfect way to tell him it's okay to let go while also commanding that he let you hear him.

Once you finally enter Levi fully his eyes will fill with overwhelmed tears and you'll have to wait a moment for him to adjust. It's not necessarily painful, or at least nothing bad, but it's something different and his mind is still trying to wrap around how he can feel so full. Once he's ready his hips will start shifting to take you in further, a soft whine leaving his lips as he wordlessly urges you to fuck him. Make him tell you how much he wants it, having him beg will make his cheeks redden impossibly further as his cock leaks as a tell-tale sign he's enjoying it.

This boy is flexible. Wrap his legs around your waist or place them over your shoulders as you drill into his prostrate. The slight burn as his legs slowly start to relax into the new position paired with the feeling of you buried deep inside him leaves him trembling as he continues to cry out.

Levi is a big scratcher during this. He'll latch onto your back as he leaves trails of red marks across your waist and shoulder blades. He'll apologize once he notices what he's doing as emotions run high. Comforting him is easy as he takes your words at face value during this, soothing his worries with your gentle words.

He's honestly really out of it, pegging throws him deep into his headspace so don't expect anything more than a few broken sentences and soft repetitive muttering once you start really going at it. Once he's completely wrecked he just whispers out things like "I love you" and "Thank you" over and over again as his ass swallows up your strap beautifully.

Changing the pace right before he comes leaves him shaking. Start to slowly stroke his cock while your strap eases slowly in and out of him, allowing him to become desperate for you to pick up the pace while also appreciating the sensations flooding his body as you continue to pump his base with an occasional swipe over the head of his dick.

When you're going slow he likes to play with your hands, twirling the strands between his fingers as you peer down at him. He manages to overcome his shyness to stare at your face, enjoying the feeling of being under you as your strokes even out.

He almost exclusively likes to be pegged in missionary but mirror sex is another good option. The embarrassment from the sight of himself being made a mess on your strap has his eyes shifting away once again but his gaze always travels back to the mirror just to meet your own. It makes him feel so ashamed that he's enjoying this but in the best possible way, knowing you love seeing him like this even when he's flustered is EVERYTHING.

Levi doesn't sob but tears do run down his cheeks occasionally when you hit the sweet spot buried deep inside of him. You can feel the resistance as you fuck, possibly even having to re-lube yourself before you continue. He tightens up the harder you go, not to stop it but because it feels so good he just can't help himself. He secretly loves the slight pain it induces and has even placed his hand over yours lightly as you reached over to grab more lubricant, looking up at you with eyes that were just screaming to continue without adding any more.

FORGIVENESS. — aizawa shouta x male reader

wc: 2.1k

WARNING: dirty talk (sho has the filthiest mouth ever :O), choking (brief), manhandling, slapping, face-grabbing, degradation/humiliation, semi-public sex, frottage, blowjob mention, creampie, ruined orgasm

genitalia terms: dick, cock, hole, cunt, pussy (even though these terms are used the readers genitals are ambiguous)

a/n: UMM I THINK I GOT CARRIED AWAY WITH THE…….. DIALOGUE no one talks about how embarrassing it is to write this stuff outtttt my face is burning

“I just want to know why.” Aizawa says, hunched over with his hands in his pockets. You can see how tense his shoulders are, and the furrow of his brows almost makes you want to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. In the middle of Musutafu’s central police station, you sit in an uncomfortably stiff chair that digs into your thighs, the plastic all but holding you in place. It wasn’t even your fault— Okay, maybe throwing the first punch was your fault. And ignoring Shouta’s dire instructions to stay out of trouble. And maybe you deserve a slap on the wrist for instigating….But what was a broken leg to a regeneration quirk?

And maybe the whole argument-in-front-of-the-police thing wasn’t very smart either. So what, you’re a big boy. You can handle yourself, you don’t need Shouta’s saving.

“He’ll live.” Is all you say, watching Shouta’s jaw clench. His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he nods once, crossing his arms over his chest. Through his black shirt, though baggy, you can see the swell of his biceps as they rest on his opposing knuckles. And because you just can’t help yourself, you grumble, “Bitch deserved it anyway.”

“Right..” He laughs, almost in disbelief, as he signs something you can’t quite make out at the reception table. Then he turns to you and grabs your arm, tightening his grip as he walks you out the station. You have the urge to run, to scramble out of his grasp and go as far as your legs will take you. To your left, a police officer looks ready to ask you more questions but he’s interrupted before he can even take an opening breath. “He’s with me, I got it handled.”

You’re fucked.

“Airheaded little boys and bars don’t mix,” He makes a passing comment, opening the passenger's seat to his car and hastily pushing you in. Usually, the casual dominance of his large, veiny hands buckling your seatbelt for you would have you swooning, raising your chin to steal a kiss on his stubbled cheek with a saccharine smile. Instead, you turn your head away, watching Shouta close the door and briskly walk to the driver’s seat, and from there he sits with bristle, moving his hair out of his handsome face. His eyes remain heavy-lidded, dark circles cascading into deep shadows around his tired eyes. “Do you—“

“I know you can’t say the same for yourself, but I handle myself just fine.” You feel quite proud of yourself for that one, crossing your arms over your chest and setting your jaw— just like you’d seen the hero do before.

“Aht, what do I always say about speaking over me?” Aizawa’s grip on your jaw tightens, squeezing your cheeks and pushing your lips together. You look much sweeter like this, quiet and anticipating as you look at him with wide eyes. His dark eyes are even darker, stone cold and unrelenting— but you can see a trickle of red light gleam through them. “Repeat it.”

“‘M’not sh’posed sh’to…” And part of you wants to ignore how the sadistic quirk of his lips upturns as you speak, but the brat in you just can’t let it go. You roll your eyes, averting your gaze as if the traffic lights are the most entertaining things you’ve seen in a while.

“Oh, so you can listen,” You just choose not to. His grip loosens as he pulls out the parking lot, driving in silence.

Save for the occasional blinker signal sound as he drives— wherever you’re going isn’t home, you’d realized after a particularly sharp turn into a vacant lot. During the drive, Aizawa seems to have collected himself, his long, dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail that trickled down his shoulders. Evidently, he didn’t want to drive angry, and most certainly didn’t want to punish you while angry. “Need me to pound some sense into you, baby? Knock those bratty thoughts right outta that pretty head of yours?”

A high whine threatens to escape your throat, Shouta reaching over to grab your throat and nip at your lips, trailing hot, wet kisses and bites down to your chin and throat. He seems to move your body so easily, manhandling you into the perfect position to be used, into positions that have you whining and moaning like a slut. Your legs spread across his lap, and had his seat not been lowered, you’d surely have smacked your head into the ceiling.

It’s embarrassing, all it takes is a few kisses and bites to have you rutting in his arms, desperate to blow off steam and even more desperate for him. Aizawa’s hands rest at your hips, holding you down while he grinds into you slowly, like he’s fucking you, save for the layers of clothes in the way. You click your tongue, fingers exploring the dark sea of hair framing his face. You go to pull, wrapping the locks around your fingers, but your efforts are fruitless.

“You wanna touch? That’s cute. Ask for it, I know you can use your manners, gonna ask to touch me, baby?” He whispers in your ear, his voice deep and gruff and stern. It’s completely rhetorical, he’s demanding you ask. The low purr of his voice sends shivers down your spine, instinctively you move to touch between your thighs, to feel pressure where you need it, but you can’t.

Because Shouta stops you with his stupidly large and strong hands. Because Shouta’s gaze is stern and downright scary. Because Shouta’s dick could be inches down your throat by now, had you just been a good boy, and the promise of that in the future makes you want to pause. Still, you groan, because how dare he deprive you of his dick. How dare he let you sit there, drooling for it and whiney as if that’s not evidence enough.

“You just needed some attention, didn’t you?” Aizawa purrs, unbuttoning your clingy jeans and pulling them past the swell of your ass to place a harsh smack straight across it. You jerk forward, face falling into his shoulder as he laughs at you, condescending and evil and mean. “Needed Daddy to hold your hand, whisper a few pretty words in your ears and give that greedy pussy a stern talkin’ to.”

“Don’t— don’t call it that,” You whisper, weak in the knees and your limbs feel like jello.

“Why not? That’s what it is, isn’t it? Always so ready and pretty, always aching for Daddy’s tongue, fingers.. his cock. Got a perfect pussy on my boy, don’t I? S’a perfect fit.”

His dick springs to life, through the fly of his comfortable pants and twitching against his matching black sweatshirt. Your mouth waters, watching as the brown-pink tip leaks precum, a particularly pretty vein disappearing into the head and wrapping around his shaft. You want to trace it with your tongue, drool all over it and have him force it down your throat while you cry and moan. Knowing Shouta, he’d pinch your nose and watch you struggle to breathe with a sweet smile on his face.

You can hear the faint click of the center console organizer closing, and the loud squelch of lube pouring, but you don’t expect the cool sensation of it being rubbed into your skin. It feels nice against the blazing smack from earlier, but all you can think of is how obscene you must look, whining in your Daddy’s arms while he prods at your hole and squeezes handfuls of your ass. Cool air brushes against your hole, you’re spread out for anyone to see, back arched while you push back on his fingers and moan like a whore.

“Such a greedy hole,” Shouta tuts, smacking your ass once more as a warning to get you to stop moving. You both know if he wanted to he could simply grab your hips, hold you in place and finger your brains out, but he wants you to keep your composure yourself. You said it, anyways. You can handle yourself just fine. “Gonna let me fuck this cunt stupid, baby? Stretch you out like you need it. Don’t rush.”

His fingers curl inside you, moans bubbling in your throat as your hips buck forward, your front clothed and aching. Your eyes roll back, a knot forming in your stomach as your abdomen clenches and his fingers thrust into the same sweet spot over and over and over. You mewl and cry, blabbering nonsense into his ears while he nips at your cheek, calling you a slut for liking this so much, for trying to take his fingers deeper, even once they’ve reached the final knuckle.

“Never. Fuckin’. Satisfied.” He enunciates with particularly sharp thrusts before slowly sliding his fingers out of you, feeling your hole wink around nothing, empty once again. He wipes the remaining lube on his fingers onto your face, watching as your watery eyes blink in delayed confusion. He smiles, sadistically sweet before slapping you across the cheek and pushing his fingers into your mouth, watching your lips curl into a dopey smile. Still, you’re empty.

Too empty.

“Wait.. wait.. Sho’, wan’ more.. c‘mon, give it t’me, please! I can— M’your good boy, m’a good boy..” You sob, wailing in his cock as he pushes his head against your hole. You wriggle down, watching as his strong hands tighten around your waist. He holds you there, thrusting up into your hole to use you like a fleshlight, groaning as your warmth wraps around his big dick, and kisses his tip with velvet.

You squeal, eyes scrunched closed as he raises you up and down as if you weigh nothing, an aching burn in your thighs as you struggle to push down onto his cock.

“Shut up, if they catch you taking a Pro-Hero’s dick like some whore that’s all you’ll ever be known for,” He gasps, spreading your cheeks apart to watch his cock disappear inside you through the side-view mirror. Sticky precum holds you two together, making a particularly sloppy sound when he pulls out completely, then slams back in. “But you’d like that wouldn’t you? Wanna be passed around at an agency, see how many loads you can take in that fuckin’ cunt.”

“M’sorry, Shou— M’sorry Daddy, please..!”

“You’ll take what I give you, brat,” His thrusts grow sluggish and sloppy as you crash into him and pant in his ear, tears streaming down your pretty face as every coherent thought leaves your brain. All you can muster out are jumbled pleas, toes curling as you grab his shirt— how slutty you must look while he’s still fully clothed. “You can handle yourself, right? You’ll cum on this dick with no hands, let Daddy fuck a load into you while you cum since you think you’re such a big boy.”

The knot in your abdomen tightens, your hole fluttering around his cock as Shouta moans, and you feel your body shutter as it briefly goes numb. You’re cumming, your head falls forward as he uses you like a fucktoy, bouncing in his lap with tiny, “Uh, uh, uh”‘s. Your hole grips him like a vice, swallowing his cock impossibly deep until you feel warmth flood your stomach, but before you can ride the high of getting your release, Shouta shoves you down at the hilt of his dick, pumping rope after rope inside you.

You want to cry, ball your hands into fists and beat at his chest because of course, you’re not allowed to cum. Of course, your orgasm is ruined and he gets to huff out satisfied breaths.

So mean.

“I know,” He sighs, breathless and tired as he slowly lifts you off his cock, hissing at the sensitivity. You let him do it, clawing at his shirt with a newfound lack of strength, whining as he catches the cum leaking out of you and pushes it back into your spent hole. He squeezes your ass one last time before pulling your pants and underwear back up, buttoning your jeans as if he didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life and leave you high and dry. “I’m so mean, so mean. I’ll make it up to you.”

Too fucked out to say anything, you let him situate you back in the passengers seat, watching as he buckles your seatbelt for you. Whining, you grab his wrist, letting a sleepy smile grace your lips as he kisses your cheek. You had a lot to talk about once you got home, but he’d let you sleep for now.

“Brat.” He hums, nothing but love in his voice.

Daddy Kink ⋆ Aizawa Shota

𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 '𝟐𝟑 ⋆ Day Three.

Warnings ⚠️: Daddy Kink, Sub Bottom Male Reader, Dom Top Aizawa, Age-Gap (20/31), Semi public sex, Blowjob, No condom used, 18+ MDNI

Words used: cock, dick, hole, sweetheart, baby, slut, daddy, good boy

Fem Aligned DNI.

(Y/N) has been Aizawa's helping hand these past few months in teaching, when Aizawa was still severely injured. Now that the black haired male healed (Y/N) should've left, but Aizawa decided to keep him because it made teaching easier.

Class had just ended and all the students left, the only ones still in the room were (Y/N) and Aizawa. (Y/N) wore quite the revealing outfit, not really fit for teaching, so Aizawa decided to point it out.

"Your outfit is quite revealing." He said in his usual monotone voice, he checked (Y/N) out before quickly looking back down at the papers in his hand.

"I know, I didn't do the laundry and that was the only thing left. Sorry." (Y/N) explained softly, he was organising some papers.

"Don't let it happen again." Aizawa replied. (Y/N) only nodded in embarrassment, handing the organised papers to the black haired pro-hero. One of the papers fell and (Y/N) picked it up, when he bend over some of his ass cheek was revealed.

Aizawa stared with wide eyes, not understanding why he didn't notice sooner that his assistant is so attractive.

(Y/N) got up and handed the paper to Aizawa, who was trying to regain his composure. "Everything okay?" (Y/N) asked.

"You're shorts a very short." Aizawa only spoke in reply, then (Y/N)'s face got hot.

"O, oh.. I didn't notice.." (Y/N) tried to fix his shorts. "I guess I shouldn't bend over in these shorts, then." (Y/N) looked at Aizawa.

Aizawa chuckled in disbelief about what he was gonna say next, "Or maybe you should more often." (Y/N) perked up when he heard the older man say that.

"What?" (Y/N) asked unsure. "You heard me, pretty thing." Aizawa muttered as he stared (Y/N) into his eyes, the taller male took a step closer to (Y/N).

(Y/N)'s breath got stuck in his throat, his face turned hot as he didn't understand what was happening.

Aizawa picked up a pencil from the table and threw it on the floor, "pick it up." He whispered in a husky tone.

(Y/N) gulped and slowly bend over to pick it up, revealing, again, his ass cheeks to the older man. Though the one thing that is different now is that he felt Aizawa's strong hands on them.

(Y/N) was shocked, not because of the inappropriate gesture but because he felt attracted to it. He was turned on.

Aizawa began to knead (Y/N)'s butt like dough. "You've got a nice ass, maybe that's why you show it around?" Aizawa teased.

"N, no! I just forgot to do my-" (Y/N) started before getting interrupted.

"Yeah, yeah. You forgot to do your laundry." Aizawa mocked in a sarcastic tone. "You probably did it on purpose. Or you did it so an older man could take advantage of you, no?" Aizawa pressed his boner against (Y/N)'s round butt.

"Ah.. no.." (Y/N) mumbled as he pushed his ass back, loving the feeling of the fat cock pressing against it. (Y/N) felt himself tighten in his shorts.

"You like letting an older man take care of you?" (Y/N) only nodded in reply, ashamed of his answer.

(Y/N)'s legs started to feel uncomfortable as he was still bend over, "Aizawa.." (Y/N) murmured. The 20 year old couldn't keep himself up and fell on his knees, looking back with doe eyes to Aizawa.

"Turn around." The black haired male said. (Y/N) immediately did as told, now looking up at the man. Then (Y/N)'s eyes got stuck on the bulge in Aizawa's pants, (Y/N) licked his lips lewdly.

"You wanna taste it, huh?" Aizawa smirked. (Y/N) nodded like a sweet puppy. "Help yourself, sweetheart." Aizawa teased.

(Y/N)'s hands immediately fumbled with Aizawa's belt, he took it off and opened his jeans. Pulling them down with Aizawa's boxers, only so far that the fat cock could spring out.

(Y/N)'s eyes widened at the size. Then Aizawa took it in his hand and slapped in softly against (Y/N)'s soft cheek. "Go on, open your mouth, baby."

(Y/N) opened his mouth and let his wet tongue fall out, Aizawa stuck his thumb in (Y/N)'s mouth and opened his mouth a bit more.

Then he guided his red tip to (Y/N)'s tongue, moving his hips so the fat cock could rub against the tongue.

Then all of a sudden he thrusted in, (Y/N) gagged violently and tears pricked at his eyes. "You look like a slut." Aizawa groaned out as he thrusted softly into the mouth.

(Y/N) only gurgled something incoherent. Aizawa pulled out and laid the cock on (Y/N)'s face, it was the same length.

"What was that slut?"

(Y/N) only smiled lewdly as he licked the huge dick on his face, he took it into his hand and jerked it slowly before he took it into his mouth again.

His plump lips looked gorgeous around the fat cock, he bobbed his head softly as he gagged softly. He wasn't used to such a size. Aizawa's hand went to the back of (Y/N)'s head and then he pushed (Y/N)'s head completely onto his dick.

(Y/N) gagged, he breathed in through his nose, he smelled the musky scent from the older man. (Y/N) moaned and whimpered as his mouth was used for Aizawa's own pleasure.

"Oh fuck.. such a good little boy." Aizawa groaned out as he continued abusing (Y/N)'s mouth. (Y/N) held onto Aizawa's thighs to steady himself.

(Y/N)'s dick started hurting and begging for release. Drool was falling down at the sides of (Y/N)'s mouth, falling onto his tight shirt.

Aizawa pulled out, a string of saliva connecting to (Y/N)'s mouth and Aizawa's cock. (Y/N) was breathing heavily.

Then Aizawa roughly pushed (Y/N) onto the floor, ass up. (Y/N) moaned as Aizawa pulled his pants off and underwear, letting his dick spring out and hang between his thighs.

(Y/N) shuddered as Aizawa put two fingers onto his tight hole as he rubbed it softly, he spit onto the hole for lubricant and then pushed one finger in.

"hng.. oh.. yes.." (Y/N) moaned out, "Such a tight hole for daddy.." Aizawa said and (Y/N) nodded like a bitch in heat.

"Oh do you like that?" Aizawa pushed another finger in, now (Y/N) felt the sting as he was getting worked open. "Yes.." (Y/N) hissed out lowly in reply.

(Y/N)'s hand went to his hard and leaking dick, stroking it softly. Aizawa slapped his hand away, "Not yet, baby." A harsh slap was sent to (Y/N)'s right ass cheek.

"I'm sorry.." (Y/N) whined out. "What was that?" Aizawa acted like he didn't understand (Y/N). Then he pulled his fingers out and harshly forced his wet cock into (Y/N)'s hole.

"I'm sorry, daddy!" (Y/N) yelled out in pain but it quickly vanished and turned into pleasure when Aizawa started thrusting.

Aizawa took (Y/N) by his throat as he pushed (Y/N)'s back against his chest. Then he quickly put his hand over (Y/N)'s mouth, "Shut up, you slut." (Y/N) moaned at Aizawa's degrading words.

(Y/N) muffled into Aizawa's hand, he let go of (Y/N)'s mouth as he pushed (Y/N) back onto the floor, holding his head down as he fucked into the wet hole.

When he hit (Y/N)'s prostate the younger one jolted forward, "t-that spot, daddy! Please.. more.." (Y/N) whined out. His hands shaking as he tried to hold onto a leg of a table.

Aizawa chuckled and pulled out, slapping his wet cock against (Y/N)'s ass cheeks.

"Noo.. why did you pull out.." (Y/N) whined softly, he wiggled his ass.

Aizawa chuckled as he hit (Y/N)'s ass harshly, (Y/N) moaned out in pain. "Put it back in.."

"What if daddy doesn't want to, huh?" Aizawa teased as he rubbed his cock between (Y/N)'s ass cheeks.

"Ugnhh.. please daddy.. please, please, please, mhh.. fuck me.." (Y/N) begged sweetly, making Aizawa chuckle.

"Gotta take more than that, baby." Aizawa muttered as he pushed the tip of his dick in but quickly slipped out to tease the younger.

"Daddy, fuck me. I need your cock so bad, I wanna cum daddy.." (Y/N) whined out as he pushed his hips back, wanting to feel the fat cock again.

Aizawa pushed against the now slightly loose hole, "Good little boy.. so good." Then he pushed in, in one go. Going back to thrusting harshly into the wet hole, enjoying the moans and whimpers that were coming from the younger.

"Daddy.. oh god.. daddy.. so good.." (Y/N) moaned as he was used like a flesh light. Aizawa grabbed the hips so harshly, he was sure it was gonna leave bruises.

Pushing (Y/N) more to the floor so he could fit his fat cock deeper into the whining mess, when he finally hit (Y/N)'s sweet spot again the younger cried out loudly. His cock already dripping with pre-cum, but he was still not allowed to touch it.

"Yes.. oh daddy.. hngg.." (Y/N) whined, the knot in his stomach getting tighter. "Wow baby.. you feel heavenly, I might as well keep you as my personal fuck toy. You would like that." (Y/N) only nodded pathetically as he was starting to form words, all were just stupid babbling.

"Daddy.. daddy mhhm.. so.. so good.." Aizawa felt himself get closer, he twitched inside (Y/N) as he fucked deeper into the wet hole.

Tears started to slip from (Y/N)'s eyes in pleasure, the snot running from his nose wasn't helping at all.

Aizawa flipped him over as he grabbed his thighs and positioned them so that they were laying on (Y/N)'s chest and his knees at his face, "Daddy.." (Y/N) could only whine out.

(Y/N)'s hole was gaping and asking for the fat cock, Aizawa thrusted in again, making sure that (Y/N) feels every inch.

"Your hole is sucking me in, doesn't ever wanna let me go.." Aizawa groaned, he started jerking off (Y/N)'s dick. Pre-cum dripping with no end, as he synced his strokes with his thrusts.

"Gonna.. cum.. daddy cumming.." (Y/N) whined when the white, sticky cum shot out of his dick. It covered his whole stomach in white.

"Ah daddy, I can't.." His legs shook as he started to feel overstimualted.

Aizawa groaned as he shot his own load into his assistant, some soft thrust to ride out his high as both breathed heavily.

Aizawa pulled out and watched the cum drip out. "Good boy.. such a good boy for daddy."

(Y/N)'s legs still shook as the black haired man started to clean them both up.

After they both were clean and dressed they sat onto the tables in the classroom. (Y/N) looked onto the floor in embarrassment.

"So, how is the relationship to your dad?" Aizawa asked in a joking manner.

"Shut up." (Y/N)'s face got hot again.

"I'm assuming not good." Aizawa chuckled.

Title : The end

Characters : Aizawa shouta/ fem reader

Genre : angst/ imagines

Note : The events occur after the Jaku hospital raid.

Part 2

Masterlist

AO3

Okay but imagine..

Shōta is sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, a vacant look on his face. He has just lost an eye and a leg in the last battle, and probably the ability to use his quirk any longer.

He hears a commotion outside of his room before you storm in and stand a few feet away from him:

_ "Shōta, you're finally awake. I thought I lost you. You were unconscious for days."

You sob, still not believing that your man is finally back.

He says nothing, the vacant look still present on his face. You walk up to him and hug him lightly, careful not to disturb his fresh wounds. But he doesn't hug you back like he always does..

You pull away and look at his face, he says nothing..

You understand that what happened to him can be too much to bare, so you don't question him and simply smile reassuringly.

You lean in for a kiss, but before you could reach his lips, he speaks: "Leave."

You stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide and a lump growing in your throat: "Shōta.."

He finally looks at you before continuing in the same monotone voice:

_ "It's over for us."

...What?

_ "I'm breaking up with you if that's not already clear."

...No it can't be. Is this a joke?

_ "To tell you the truth, I've never really loved you to begin with."

...That's not true, he's lying right?

_ "It took me a near death experience to finally realize that I don't want to waste what's left of my life with someone I have no feelings for."

You're trying to speak, to say anything, but your mouth is dry and your thoughts are foggy. You search his expressions for any signs of wavering but you find none.

He presses the nurse call button and asks the lady to escort you out.

You say nothing, you're unable to anyway. The only thing you can do is cry as the woman drags you outside.

Little did you know, his words tortured him more than they did you. He loves you too much that it made more sense to let you go than to burden your heart. Because in his own disturbed mind, he's not even half the man he used to be...

He breaks down right after you leave his room.

I may or may not have broken my own heart a little bit with this one.

On the off chance that Aizawa manages to get you mad at him for whatever reason, your initial reaction would be to let him know, because as quick witted as he is, things like that can easily go over his head if not pointed out clearly.

Surely he hates upsetting you, so when it happens it's usually no more than a misunderstanding, but it's also not in his nature to flat out apologize or ask for forgiveness, that's why he'd do his utmost to lighten the mood and win you back in other ways, and it's a sight to behold.

First he would simply invade your personal space, taking a seat by your side while making sure to bump his knee or shoulder against yours and see if you're willing to have him near.

Obviously you do not react to his advances, but wouldn't push him away either– too intrigued by your own curiosity to dismiss him just yet, so you sit back and enjoy the view of him struggling internally.

He then carefully leans some of his weight on you, will probably even rest his head against yours or place a hand on your thigh, depending on the mood, to which you still say and do nothing.

That's when his patience starts running thin, or rather, when he realizes that he has truly messed up and needs to swallow his pride and apologize properly, and so he does.

_ "I'm sorry I was out of line, but it won't happen again I promise." his voice would be small and anxious as he cautiously takes your hand in his big calloused ones, fiddling with your fingers while gazing at you with a tinge of worry, and that's the only thing he seems capable of doing at the moment.

You immediately give in to a smile that's been threatening to creep across your face this whole time, because in reality, you were never actually upset with him, you were just relishing a side of your boyfriend that you rarely get to witness, but maybe you should cut him some slack already?

_ "It's okay Shouta, let's just forget about it." and you jump in his arms without a warning, giving him no time to react while moving to straddle his waist and watch as his stunned expression slowly switches to an amused one.

_ "Done," he nods in agreement, wrapping his arms around you before nuzzling your cheek to whisper seductively, "now kiss me."

And it doesn't stop there, not with a kiss, never with just a kiss, and his greed for you starts to show when he shamelessly slides his hands lower and lower until reaching your butt cheeks, squeezing your flesh teasingly as a sign of what awaits you, and if that's not enough to tell his intentions, then the smirk curving his lips as they mold perfectly with yours, sure is.

OH SO FRUSTRATED

꒰ ͜͡➸ hi my aot fever is back

༘♡ that night you caught your squad captain touching himself

༘♡ ft: levi ackerman x gn!reader

༘♡ tw: NSFW, pet play, pretty boy's dick and moans, he's whiny and I'm not sorry, switch!levi, hand-job + blow-job

one thing about levi ackerman was his frustration. he was oh so frustrated. always with clenched fists and gritted teeth, and this dark look that could single-handedly kill a man without even trying.

the strongest soldier was always left unsatisfied, when he was done with his drink he was still thirsty, after every dinner he was leaving the table hungry. he always wanted more, but he never did anything to quench his thirst, staying silent instead and fulfilling his role as leader.

not once had he ever broken his mask. at least not in public.

"fuck..." he whined in a low voice.

his hands were slightly trembling, he was trying to keep a steady pace but sometimes his hips were rutting against his hand on their own. a few tears were slowly starting to gather in the corner of his eyes. they were tears of frustration, he wanted to feel another pair of hands on him, he was close to his release, but yet he felt so far away from it.

"captain I've already finished writing the report from..." you entered without knocking, your eyes on the piece of paper between your hands.

when you raised your head your mouth fell silent. you blinked a few times, like you were making sure this scene wasn't one of your twisted little fantasies in your mind. the squad leader had stopped his movement, his chest weaving up and down, betraying how much he was close to cumming, his cheeks were red, his mouth slightly agape, and between his left hand his cock was leaking with precum. after a few seconds of awkward silence, you finally spoke, your own words shocking you.

"please, let me help you." you sounded desperate while asking, like you were the one about to cum.

in normal circumstances, levi would have given you a punishment worse than death. in normal circumstances you would never catch him doing something like that, but this night it was different.

"permission granted. come here, right now." he ordered and you immediately obeyed.

he shifted a little, and you sat down on the couch where he was supposed to sleep. you heard him click his tongue.

"pets stay on the floor."

you looked at him with wide eyes, and as you felt your body get hot from humiliation you complied, kneeling on the floor. his gaze went down on you, he was now stroking himself while observing your face. you instinctively licked your lips, his pretty cock twitching between his fingers. a particularly hard stroke made his head fall back on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes for a few seconds.

"fuck... touch me."

even though he sounded like a wreck, it was still an order. he removed his hand, carefully watching you wrap your fingers around him. his chest began to move erratically again when you slowly pumped his cock, gently teasing his cockhead with your fingertips. he couldn't control his moans anymore, a muffled whine escaped his lips and you felt the tip of your ears turn red.

if someone had ever told you that you would be the reason for levi ackerman's whining you clearly would not have believed them. but you were here, stroking your squad leader's cock while looking up at him, his black hair sticking to his forehead, his face red because of the arousal, panting like an animal in heat.

"you're so pretty." you whispered, more to yourself than for him.

he clenched his fists, hips now almost rutting into your hand. it felt so good to finally have someone else taking care of his pleasure, especially if it was you. he jumped a little when you tightened your fist on him, wet sounds were now echoing in the room as you were jerking off his cock a little faster.

"you... ah fuck... you've always been my favorite in the squad..." he confessed, his mind hazy with his eyes shut and his tongue almost lolling out of his mouth.

your lips curled into a smile, your lashes fluttering while looking at him. maybe it was during this exact moment that you realized how much you were falling for this man. or maybe it was during this exact moment that you wanted to see him fall apart for you.

you moved closer, and in a sensual movement you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock. he moaned your name for the first time, followed by a series of broken whines, his strong thighs shaking while he placed one of his hands in your hair.

"gonna cum..." he tried to speak, his whole body shaking as he couldn't wait any longer.

pushing your head forward, he forced you to take him deeper, shooting his load inside of your throat. you stayed like this a few seconds, gagging on his cock while he was slowly regaining control over himself. when he finally let you go, you were the one out of breath, almost falling on the floor while your squad leader was observing you.

"you did good." he said, and your eyes lit up upon hearing the rare compliment.

you both looked like a mess but somewhat levi was looking like his usual self again, far from the desperate and whiny man you had met a few minutes ago. he raised your chin with his fingers, his eyes lowering to your mouth still shining with his cum for a few seconds before going back to your eyes.

"but you came here without knocking and I can't tolerate it. you will be assigned to the cleaning of the whole camp for six months, and I will personally supervise you to make sure that you fulfill your function."

somewhat it felt like he was engaging you to be his personal stress reliever for six months straight.

༘♡ a lovely reminder that reblogs and comments are highly appreciated ♡

༘♡ masterlits

As a changed of pace, how about some Levi x trans male reader. I feel like Levi would be so careful about boundaries and terms, willing to do whatever makes you the most comfortable and brings you the most pleasure

yesyesyesyesy!!!!!!!!!!!!

//ftm!Reader, all male/vague terms for genitals (functioning on the idea that reader is on T without surgery.) | 1.6k

Levi is minimally familiar with what being trans is like through Hange, but he knows it's not the same, since they're nonbinary... and everyone has their own preferences anyway. Do you mind if he calls you pretty? Or strokes your waist? He would lend you his clothes (that are possibly large on him in order to fit you). Does it make you uncomfortable to show him older pictures of yourself before you transitioned, or make encouraging comments on how the testosterone is changing you into who you really are?

He’s endlessly mindful. Some things don't really warrant asking since Levi is so observant that he can tell from hints that you're made uncomfortable or flattered by something. He pretends he doesn't hear anything whenever your voice cracks, but he's secretly amused by how cute it is.

Before you ever have sex, he sets some conditions on the terms that you explain your boundaries first, if you know them. And he quietly but adamantly points out that it's better not to bind your chest for this. You can do anything you want besides. It doesn't bother him to treat your chest or other parts of your body like they don't exist. Of course he's eager, but that means nothing to him if you're uncomfortable. Much less, Levi is a giver, and he wants to give you the best experience possible, whether it’s your first time or not.

The first time, he’s more slow with you than he'll ever be from that point forward. You're dressed down to a baggy t-shirt and tight briefs, him the same, but shirtless and sighing as you place kisses all over the column of his neck. He shivers. Squirms as you eagerly flick his pink nipples until he's clutching at your waist and nosing your hair.

"Can I touch you here?" he murmurs, drawing his fingertips up and down your hips.

You breathily answer back, "Yes," and meet his lips like you’re starved for them. With that, he guides your hips to grind against his, heightening the tension immediately.

And fuck. He shuts his eyes and whines under his breath—you’re so warm and wet, and the tiniest bit hard. He wants to get you down to wearing nothing and grind through your slit, but that desire makes him feel guilty at the same time. What you have on the bottom, he knows, discomforts you so much in general. So he resists taking control, let’s you go at your own pace, and hungrily drinks in your every soft moan, hum and sigh instead. They remind him how good he's making you feel.

"I wanna take 'em off," you huff, grinding down harder so Levi's forced to shudder. Just the spandex feels like a frustrating barrier.

He lets you take off your underwear on your own as he peels his own down his wide thighs, which you're eager to stroke and kiss as his pretty cock twitches above his navel, fully hard. As your tongue drags and your lips close on them, often leaving blossoming marks, he tosses his head and buries his fingers in your hair.

Once he knows your boundaries better after the first time, he isn’t so pliable. Either way, you know Levi's giving you all of his full attention. That’s the type of person he is.

He teaches you how to touch him by flicking your wrist and swiping around his slit, and how to suck his pretty cock until his toes curl. It gets to be too much if he hasn't had the chance to touch you yet, though... Especially when he looks at you going down on him, eyes heavy and fixated on him as your cheeks bulge around his heavy cock..

anyway.

He can sense your still-present, but slight hesitation when you're back on top and straddling his hips. You’re completely soaked he can feel, and smearing his navel in your warm, sticky cum where you perch. His eyes flutter where he feels your firm dick resting against the rippled muscles on his abdomen. Your squirm the slightest bit.

He pulls away from another kiss, and touches his knuckles to your warm cheek, gently. "Tell me what you want. How you want it."

You shake your head dismissively, and smile, sheepish. "I'm mostly just embarrassed. I'm so..." You squirm again, struggling with the word.

His eyes widen. "You want to apologize for being turned on?"

He doesn't give you room to answer, he knows what you're referring to. As he talks, his palms ride up your thighs, maintaining steady eye contact. “Don't be stupid. Sweetheart. What if I told you, I like knowing how hard I make you.”

You gasp swiftly as his thumb smears cum from your slit, and strokes your dick in slow, tight sweeps. "Levi, oh fuck—"

“You don't give yourself nearly enough credit. Or should I put it another way?”

"No," you breathe. You take support from his strong shoulders as you rock your hips. "No. Mm. Keep going."

He licks his lips as he flicks it, and carries on sweeping over it. It's absurdly sensitive, he can tell. "Let me suck it." He tilts his head back. "Come here. Sit on my face."

Your chest rises and falls with your breaths. "S'long as I don't suffocate you." You crawl forward. Your knees settle on the pillow by his head.

His eyes seem to gleam. "You won't. But you can go ahead and try."

Like yours, Levi's blush warms and spreads to the tips of his ears as your weight comes to rest on his chest. By your hips, he gives you an extra yank so your dick hovers right over his lips.

"Good boy," he murmurs. He kisses first, soft, innocent even, and doesn't take his piercing eyes off you in case you get any second thoughts.

You moan, heavy and low, grinding your dick into his lips until they close on it. The silky heat, and the flat of his tongue prodding against it makes you all but shout.

Levi’s needy in suckling, fueled by the suffocating sensation of your thighs, and your greedy hips incessantly twitching down for more. He can't get enough of the taste, either—peaky, bitter underlying, but so fucking sweet. He moans, and squeezes the fat of your ass to encourage you.

"Fuck, just like that. I love your mouth. I love it." Your moans are accentuated by your grip on his hair, tightening.

You flutter around nothing, painfully empty. But when you reach back, Levi grunts his disapproval, and replaces your fingers with his own. Two circle your quivering rim, gauging your reaction, and when he recieves a rapid nod, he buries them inside with ease. In no time, his fingers are soaked, and so is his nose as his heavy tongue rocks through your slit. You grind your dick shamelessly against his nose.

Then he curls them. Your hips snap and press on his mouth even more, so he’s forced to flare his nostrils just to breathe.

It’s fucking exhilarating. His hips lift by themselves, hopelessly into nothing. His poor cock is aching, so he bends his knees, and lays his arm over your leg and steadying you in the process of getting his fist around his cock.

He’s much more pent-up than his thought. From the first pump, he bucks into his fist and laps into your cunt that much more eagerly, his brows severely knit in focus. The squelching noises are obscene, drowned out by your rapidly rising moans. Try as you might to keep your voice in check, it cracks badly when a third finger sinks inside all your silky heat, pistoning them firm and quick. All the while, you can't stop praising him.

Out of every possibility you had going into this, even with someone like Levi, your expectations are more than blown out of the water. There's no possible way you could ask for better in someone as patient, passionate and accommodating as him, and yet he exceeds them again as his heavy tongue, slathered in your cum, pushes through your slit and closes back on your dick, just as you start to quiver the tightest.

"C-Coming—wait, ohgodohLevi—"

For a flash, he's confused, until warm and sticky cum douses his lips, his tongue, down his chin.

He somehow doesn’t come right then and there. A shudder runs through his whole body as his hips snap, but he focuses on you. On hammering his fingers as you grind and use him. He swallows in a flurry as louder moans rumble in his throat, dragging out your own climax.

By the time you're shuddering out the last throbs, he throws his head back when he comes, and gasps. He pulses in his tight fist, moaning heavily.

"Oh, that's it—come." You tug his head back to hear him at full volume, making his jaw drop.

"Fuckfuck." He gasps your name as his hips lurch, snapping rapidly into his fist and jostling you on top.

The best part is, you get the best view. His messy bangs still manage to frame his face like this, with his flaming blush standing out brightly against his normal skintone compared to his pale face. His dark lashes kissing his cheeks. His forehead is shiny with sweat—and from his nose down gleams the same with your cum.

You each come down slowly. His eyes are still gently closed, catching his breath, and yet still appreciating your weight on top of him.

"Are you okay?" you, surprisingly, say first, and swipe his plump bottom lip. "Ah. So wet, baby..."

Levi licks his lips without thinking, briefly catching the pad of your thumb. When his soft eyes flutter open, they positively shine. He blinks. "As good as you look right now... Are you..."

"I'd say the exact same about you," you tenderly reply.

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I bought Fallout 4 the other day, been playing non-stop, decided to draw my favourite companion from the game

love at first stab

And the Devil, himself did in fact take him away

Hes so gender to me

Deacon head canons from my old blog be upon ye!

The UP Deathclaws were never real...the L&L gang is though

“He’s sharp as a whip, feisty in the field and extraordinarily cautious with his actions and even more careful with his words”

Deacon’s favorite color is green, hazel green

If he had a character theme it would be Deacon Waltz by Christian Sedelmyer and Jerry Douglas (The name’s just a coincidence)

A very very light sleeper, before Wanderer he would only sleep for around 3 hours peppered throughout the day

It always takes him an hour to fall asleep, even after he & Wanderer start ‘their you sleep and I’ll watch over you’ deal

He’s not religious, but he still prays

Before Wanderer he’d have, what my old therapist calls, micro-bursts of stage three sleep without realizing it (REM sleep) people can do this while looking and cting completely awake, which is why Carrington doesn’t take him serious in meetings... he looked like he’s not paying attention but nada, the man’s brain was just shutting down a little bit

Because of the lack of sleep he got for so long, Deacon disassociates between himself & his body constantly. At times careless with himself...cracking jokes & laughing in dangerous situations... his brain was teetering the line between being asleep and awake so often he couldn’t tell the difference. (sleep deprivation makes you feel unstoppable...cocky even)

Another thing he lost as a result of Wanderer was being able to sleep standing up, because his body doesn’t need to take over for his mind anymore

Smells faintly of cigarette smoke (mainly because of Dez) and basil and something else that can’t really be placed

He fell in love with a school teacher once, she was the one that taught him how to read

Can write/read French but oh god pronounces every letter like how they sound in English... so he sticks to writing messages to himself that most people think are ramblings of a child when/if found

October is his favorite month... June makes him ache

If he’s not at Wanderer’s side or on his own op, he’ll be at the Church... but after Tea Party? He settles on the couch in Wanderer and Shaun’s home until she convinces him to just move in, they’ve slept in the same room for so long at this point but he can’t fathom having a home again. It’s a hard adjustment

If you look of the definition of a ginger you’d find a picture of him at age 14, the freckles keep coming back no matter how many times he gets them removed

You know how you can catch him spying on you in the settlements? Yeah, he wanted you to see him... but not near 111 or a few other places

He’s the person in the Third Rail that points Wanderer to MacCready before they meet, he can’t have her traveling alone like that when she still so green to the world

In codes, D is for Desdemona and d is for Deacon

If not written, agents that are high enough to know their names say Big D and Little D (Dez hates it but he thinks it’s cute, if not clever)

He tenses ever so slightly when he hears the name John/Johnathan

Holds tension in his jaw like no one else, it’s a wonder his teeth haven’t shattered

Hates the taste of coffee but constantly drinks it

Was a hell of a swing dancer in his youth, now he likes slow dancing though that wasn’t discovered until Wanderer showed up

He’s 37 at the youngest and 45 at the oldest

When he left the gang at 19, they shattered every bone in his left hand & wrist, it aches when it rains

Hides his eyes because they were her favorite part of him, the one thing he can’t change ironically, also the sleep thing. He can’t let people know how tired he is all the time

He was born in Rivet City and his mother was a hairdresser, father a drunkard of a city security officer

His ma taught him how to French braid hair

His last name is Deacon. Baby Shaun is the only one who knows that though... Shaun said “Hey Mr. Deacon” & he said “Hey Mr. Hale” (Wanderer’s last name) & Shaun being the clever kiddo he is, cocked his head to the side connecting some dots cause if his first name was Deacon why would he respond with Shaun’s last one?)

Absolutely fascinated with the old world, collects information and fun facts about that time forgotten which Wanderer feeds into

His favorite thing Wanderer tells him about/teaches him is the proper pronunciation of some words and how to spell others

The man has always had a temper, got it from his dad, he works very hard to keep it under control (I can think of a few pieces of dialogue where he’s talking through gritted teeth, anger threatening to boil over)

At first, he was only by Wanderer’s side so nobody could pull her away from the Railroad - he knows what a game changer she is... but they work so well together and she plays along with his tall tales so often that after a while he forgot about the first part

A terrifyingly good shot, better than MacCready and he’s doing it with sunglasses on

He 100% is John D, the terminal entry where Pinky(?) says a runner was the sole survivor and then immediately tried to get people to go back for documents?? A classic Deacon move

Only smokes in HQ (I’ve actually only seen his idle animation of that in the church and at Mercer) unless he’s in a role or somewhere where Wanderer is comfortable... or is extremely stressed out

He hates Hancock, well not hate- but he’s not on the Christmas card list

Deacon knew Shaun was taken 60 years before Wanderer woke up. He knew and he didn’t tell her and it is the secret he hopes she never finds out

Dee’s gotta special soft spot for Tinker Tom, loves him like a crazy brother

His sniper rifle is named Church Bell, lovingly crafted by Tinker

Not sure how he feels about gen 1’s and 2’s, especially after knowing Nicky V but... if he’s gotta do it

Exclusively refers to Nick Valentine as Nicky V

He knows Preston Garvey has a fat ass crush on Wanderer but has neglected to tell her this little fun fact

Tries to shave his head nearly every morning, when he’s with Wanderer he does so when it’s his turn on watch and she’s asleep

The Railroad is his family, they mean so much but of course he’s always kept everyone distant after what happened with Agamemnon

Deacon has been with the railroad between 14 and 20 years

He genuinely doesn’t like Carrington but he’s not going to avoid going to him if he’s hurt of course

His hands are always warm, which is great cause Wand’s are always cold (being frozen for 210 years will do that to a gal)

Do I need to go into the heights thing??? He hates tagging along to set up MILAs but he’ll be damned if he lets his best friend fall off a roof again

He picked the name; Wanderer (don’t get me started on Project Wanderer and Dez’s “it seems fitting” I’ll rant for so long guys)

Doesn’t like sweet foods but fancy lads is a whole other topic

Open spaces stress him out, too much he can’t see

Non-binary but uses he/him pronouns

Doesn’t drink more than a beer or two, but has an unsettling high tolerance

He won’t ever instigate a relationship beyond what he and Wanderer have, as his va Ryan Alosio put it in an interview, his heart’s been absolutely shattered and he can’t stand the thought of being the cause of someone he loves getting hurt because of him again. He loves her but he can’t

Before he got surgery for the first time, he looked like Ryan (the devs actually tweaked his design to resemble him) his original face looks close to what he has now, not that he remembers what that face looked like

Hm...

Interesting!

I’ve been saying this

drew this helpful diagram for mha fans who don't understand what a character arc is

Thinking about how spawn Astarion seems into cradling his SO's cheek/head (in the graveyard scene, and in the new patch 6 kiss).

Maybe this is an affectionate instinct borne out of this being the first person he really cares for and he just wants to hold them like that, like they're something precious, something he wants so close. The same way someone's hand might twitch to hold their lover's, Astarion feels this itch in his fingertips to let their cheek rest in his palm, so, so gently.

And he hasn't really had that itch like that before. A performative instinct, sure, he could pull those sorts of moves in his sleep, he knows them so well. But this is different. This is what he wants. And this is one of the first real affectionate moves he tends to initiate as he eases into being able to explore that freely.

When he pulls away in the new patch 6 kiss, his hand lingers in front of him, like it's still holding onto something, still holding onto that touch/warmth like he doesn't really want to let it go, but he also seems sort of struck/tickled by the not-wanting-to-let-go of it all. How novel. How sweet.

But also, maybe it's a grounding thing for him, as well, to keep himself tethered to that sweet moment with the one he loves, and not awash in so many memories he'd rather forget.

Idk I love how much effort and thought went into all these interactions and how much it speaks to the characters 🥰😭🥹

🍀王馬 小吉 (Ouma Kokichi) - 超高校級の「幸運」 (Ultimate Lucky Student)🍀

I wanted to practice the dr cg style! So here’s an alternate Kokichi! This is just for fun btw.