Aizawa X Reader - Blog Posts

Thinking About…

… Thinking about how Aizawa loves his hair being pulled. He loves it so much that he overstimulates you until you pull his hair trying to pull him off with what little strength you have left about being brought to the edge over and over for hours. It was his day off after all, how else would he spend it if its not spent with you crying on his cock for hours at a time switching between begging for more and pleading for release.

Could you do a shota Aizawa playlist? And could you try to avoid metal (and others similar) genres in the playlist? Thank you sm 💗

How would midnight, mirko, hawks and aizawa react if they were out on patrol with their pro hero s/o and they ended up running into a villain who was their s/o's ex and is clearly not over them.

Mirko

Ex: Muscular, the asshole ex

-Well this was awkward, it was a great day to start. You even got assigned to do night patrols with Mirko. The two of you responded to a call that a large male suspect was making his way through the streets which was clear based on the loud crashing noises that were making their way towards the two of you. “What do you think it is?” you asked looking towards your partner who shrugged the muscles in her thighs tightening as you both prepared to face whatever was causing such damage. That was till the perpetrator was standing a mere six feet away seemingly frozen in place “y/n? The fuck are you doing out here??” A familiar voice asked as it finally registered “Got- Muscular, what the hell are you doing?” you demanded not expecting to come face to face with your ex-boyfriend as he caused a bit of late night mayhem “You know him h/c?” Mirko asked not relaxing as she watched the situation unfold “unfortunately yes” you rolled your eyes as he scoffed “unfortunately? Really y/n? That’s fucked up, but I’ll forgive you if you just come back so we can talk” he attempted to negotiate as you sighed. There was really no love lost on your end and no time for jealousy as Mirko slowly put the pieces together “Did y'all date?” she whispered leaning closer to you for clarification eyes narrowing on the much taller blonde “Not did, we still are” Muscular grunted as he made his way to move closer. “We broke up six years ago Goto” you hissed. There wasn’t much more that could be said as the conversation had distracted him long enough for backup to arrive and escort him off to the station. “You okay y/n?” Mirko asked after the two of you had changed to head home “yeah, don’t know why he can’t seem to let shit go though” you sighed, shaking your head as you and Mirko headed home hand-in-hand.

Midnight

Ex: Kurogiri, the secretly not so secretly still caring ex

-It wasn’t an interaction that lasted long but it confused Kayama to no end as she had watched one of Kurogiri’s gates save you from large masses of debris after a particularly long shift on patrol and tried to figure out how the hell a relationship would work with a dude basically made of smoke. Questions like  “wouldn’t you just pass through him??” and “did he at least mix a decent drink” were endless and that was before y'all found out he used to be Oboro’s corpse then the questions were more along the lines of “did you ever see a peek of Oboro’s corpse under all that smoke??”. The questions eventually stopped but you never told her about the smoke you’d catch moving in the corners of your vision on nights when you were out on patrol all alone. The casual random tie appearing seemingly out of nowhere draped over the couch that you could never quite place. They were just little things that you hadn’t really paid much mind to and therefore never quite thought to bring up to Kayama. But even the R rated hero could tell that he never quite got over the anomaly that was you and there were times where she even sympathized with him over the thought of losing you but couldn’t hide her smirk when she was alone thinking of all the things the two of you would be able to do together that he would never get the chance too.

Aizawa

Ex: Tomura Shigaraki, the desperate yet condescending ex

-He didn’t really care that you had dated the blue haired villain because you chose to become a hero in the end and you were his. Being in a relationship with Shigaraki wasn’t the healthiest thing for you at the time and it took a long time to get over all the things you had seen while with him and Shouta was always there to lend advice and comfort. It had been a calm shift with only a few small muggings and street thugs causing trouble for the two of you as you chatted about his day of teaching and just generally enjoying the clear night sky together as you walked the streets “HELP!! SOMEBODY HELP ME!!!!” a voice yelled as a clearly distressed man came hurtling towards you “Hey, hey calm down, sir what’s wrong??” You questioned placing your hands on the man's shoulders as you caught Eraserheads confused gaze over his shoulder “Sir, can you tell me what happened?” you asked once more “t-there was this, this man. I wandered into this weird bar but I-I heard screaming. So much screaming. The next thing this light haired dude came out of nowhere with one of his buddies talking about disposing of a-a body….he spotted me and-” the obviously scared man started “You thinkin what I’m thinkin?” Aizawa asked from where he was standing as you nodded “alright, sir head home, the police station, just somewhere safe for now okay??” you looked at the civilian as he nodded, sweat beading at his forehead as you pushed him lightly in the direction behind you. Once he was gone you looked towards your partner “You think the light haired dude he was talking about was Shigaraki?” you asked as the dark haired man nodded “sounds like it, wanna go check it out?”. So there you stood, in a dark alley only mere feet away from the villain in question and his heavily scarred associate “y/n? Is that really you??” he asked. His voice cracking as Dabi waved casually at you as well “yes, and unfortunately for you I’m in no mood for small talk” you drawled as your partner stood on in the shadows remaining unseen as he waited for the chance to stop their quirks. “Come back to me please y/n, we don’t have to fight.” the man propositioned his eyes desperate despite the condescending tone he used as if he was talking to a small child “no. Despite you spamming my mailbox every other day I have no interest in a relationship with you or any villain” you huffed as if it should be obvious “y-you don’t mean that” Shigaraki said mainly to himself shaking his head “Yes I do. And soon enough I’ll-” you were about to continue but the sound of sirens sang out from close by as a portal of fog manifested behind the two outlaws and whisked them away with a promise of unfinished business.

Hawks

Ex: Dabi, the close friends after break up ex

-Man was SHOOK. He couldn’t believe that you, his wonderful, gorgeous, absolutely amazing s/o had been with his roasted friend. He almost didn’t believe it till he witnessed the two of you interacting with his own two eyes. It was nearly the end of patrol as the sky began to fade into darkness with the setting sun when the two of you ran into Dabi in a dingy alley. “Hey doll, how was work?” the scarred man asked with a smirk as you laughed “it was fine, do anything interesting today?” the two of you hadn’t ended on bad terms and had remained pretty close after the break up and whilst you had managed to move on the dark haired male would forever feel the loss of your presence. You may not have noticed the way the villains gaze lingered a little longer, a little softer but Keigo saw all of it as he stood their watching the two of you catch up “so bird boys’ your new boy toy eh?” Dabi laughed as you rolled your eyes “no Dabi, for the last time he’s my boyfriend not a toy” the blue eyed man narrowed his eyes at the winged man who held his gaze whilst gripping onto your waist with a fierce possessiveness that he hoped would tell the pyro to back off. You, somehow, were completely oblivious to what was going on between the two males as you continued talking about something that had happened earlier in the day. “Whatever ya say doll” Dabi finally broke eye contact with your boyfriend and rolled his eyes at you. Hawks took that break of eye contact as a small win as, without warning, he scooped you up and shot into the sky at a blurring speed “You okay Kei?” you asked running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck as he flew “Yeah, just tired what do ya want for dinner?”

Overall I think they would all be adults about it and trust you to handle it even more so while on duty when there's no time to allow emotion to cloud a situation. Except Hawks, who will allow the little green monster on his shoulder to convince him against hanging around the arsonist. I hope you enjoyed this and thank you so much for the request :)

Headcanons fir aizawa , present mic and hawks with chaotic himbo bf. Like he has a heart of gold and means well but always seems to cause mayhem even if he doesn't mean to

(Thank you so much for the request, I’ve never written a himbo before but I hope you like it :)

-Shouta Aizawa

Someone save this man. But actually don’t. As someone who deals with raging and goofy teenagers (cough cough kaminari cough bakugou cough) he basically lives in chaos which is why so many people were shocked that he would willingly carry said chaos into his personal life. Y/N or H/N as many of the students know him is basically chaos wrapped up in a pretty package. Once, Aizawa had to leave work early because Y/n had gotten distracted while trying o cook the two of them dinner and accidently burnt his kitchen so bad that most of the counters and appliances had tol be replaced. “But Shoo I wanna do the cooking” Y/n whined as Aizawa shook his head “no, nope, not happening, you just sit there and look pretty” he smiled as Y/n became flustered but smiled “can you teach me how to make something next time?” the h/c man asked as the dark haired teacher smiled even wider “sure”. Let me just tell you, the amount of sexual tension could’ve steamed veggies during that cooking lesson.

-Hizashi Yamada

Honestly this man would just vibe with it, he brings you to work and teaches you how to run the sound booth for his radio show, let you help with his classes, and if you mess up? Oh well accidents happen. Accidently commit arson trying to bake? That’s fine. Lead a bunch of stray animals back home solely because they were cute? Guess you guys’ will need a bigger yard. In his eyes you can do almost no wrong, the only wrong someone as sweet as you can commit is using is precious hairgel. You could honestly commit murder and he would just brush it off regardless of the two of you being heros. Not to mention the way he absolutely melts when you come to him for help with simple household tasks that seem so difficult for one person. “Babe, have you seen my gel?” The bright haired man asked in a rush as his partner hummed combing the last of said gel through their own locks unknowingly. “Uh oh” The H/C man whispered knowing that he had messed up “Babe?” Hizashi’s voice came from much closer this time as his vibrant eyes locked onto the empt jar “Oops?”

-Keigo Takami

Not gonna lie this man is kind of a himbo himself sometimes so I feel like it would just be two himbos in a relationship trying not to accidentally kill someone with their shenanigans. Like Y/N could just be chillin' at home, trying to cook something nice when Hawks is at work and then, BAM Hawks accidentally flew into a window cause he thought the balcony was still open. Or, Keigo just trying to set up something romantic in the bathroom, and then the next thing he knows, Y/N’s favorite hairbrush is in the toilet. It’s honestly difficult for other people to see how they haven’t destroyed their apartment yet, but that’s because the two of them do manage to help each other out without absolute mayhem raining down upon them for no reason. “Hey Kei!” Y/N yelled running his hands through h/c hair “Yess? What’s up?” The winged hero popped his head into the bathroom to find his boyfriend frantically searching the bathroom drawers “Have you seen my favorite brush?” the question caused Keigo to sigh as he reached into the cabinet above the toilet “This one?” the blonde questioned with a smirk as he handed the object over “Thanks, babe!” The oblivious h/c hero smiled as Keigo quickly left the room. After a few minutes he hears Y/N huff  “Why does my brush smell weird?” and he never tells a single soul the reason the brush smells funny and simply replaces it with one identical to the first.

Nobody’s POV

It was dark, their body numb as they stared into nothingness. It was scary this strange, detached feeling, like they were dead and alive all at once. 

“Y/N?” A voice spoke before the semi-translucent body of Eraserhead walked towards them, as memories flew back to Y/N like stab to the heart. 

“Shouta? What is this? Where am I?” Y/n asked their voice trembling as Aizawa silently approached them amidst the darkness.

“Y-you died, I was there I saw it happen” Y/n muttered reaching towards him as their hand went right through. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you were supposed to make it out alive” he admitted “What’s the point if I don’t have you? You were all I had but you left me” Y/n questioned, their voice cracking and hoarse 

“I waited and waited, but you were never going to come back. I knew that and I waited anyway” They continued on the verge of breaking down as Aizawa sat down next to them, the dark on the verge of enveloping them both. 

“ I didn’t want to leave you Y/n, believe me I never wanted this. But I didn't want to live in a world that didn’t have you” he ghosted a once warm hand along their ice cold back

“You say this Sho but you submitted me to the same agony you didn’t want to suffer, you were ready to die for me but never to live for me” they laughed brokenly

“Y/n, love, you have to understand, ever breath I took, every day I lived, was for you. I didn’t want any of this to happen-”

“But all I wanted was for you to stay, the world could’ve burned and it wouldn’t have mattered to me, all I needed was for you to stay” Y/n broke down, their body turning just as translucent as Aizawa’s 

“I-I….I w-wasn’t ready to say g-goodbye” they hiccuped out as Aizawa pulled Y/n into his lap, 

“I know” he whispered kissing their forehead as both their bodies disappeared into the darkness together.

-In the hospital-

Doctors and nurses rushed into the room as the telltale sound of the heart monitor flatlining sounds among the yelling of people rushing around, attempting to resuscitate Y/n’s cold body.

A body that will never again house a soul as it turns into a cold, dead shell of the person that once occupied it.

A: Aftercare

-depending on how you all feel you'll either all fall asleep or the three of you will get to work, Mic ordering food, Aizawa changing the sheets and you setting up a bath. Overall it's a very sweet and quiet moment.

B: Body Parts (Favorite body part on themselves and their partners)

-Aizawa likes Mic's hair (samee) because somehow despite all the gel and hair spray he uses on it it's actually very soft especially after being washed. And believe it or not his favorite body part on you is literally your entire face, like have you looked in the mirror lately? A very good looking human is what you are. His favorite body part on himself is his hands he even owns a small collection of rings that he wears that make his hands look soo good.

-Mic: Has a bit of an obsession with your eyes, there just so pretty, and don't even get him started on aizawa's jawline (no really don't he'll legit run away glowing a bright red never to be seen again) and he himself is really proud of his tiny mustache and how well kept it is.

C: Cum (Where does it normally end up?Where does he like to bust a nut?)

Aizawa: all over your ass and back no questions asked

Mic: Everwhere, it get's EVERYWHERE.

D: Dirty Secret

Aizawa: Has an album of lewd images and nudes from both you and mic stashed away on his work computer.

Mic: His dream is to film a sex tape and post it on the hub

E: Experience

Aizawa: Even though this man could probably sleep with whoever he so chooses (cause have you seen this man?) his only sexual experience before you and Mic was reading and writing smut.

Mic: He knows what he's doing to a point because of having a ew one night stands here and there but anything outside of vanilla missionary sex he was completely clueless

F: Favorite Position

Aizawa: Mating press

Mic: Doggy Style and reverse cowgirl

G: Goofy

Aizawa is on the more serious side whereas Mic will crack jokes here and there depending on the mood

H: Hair (are they into hair pulling?)

Aizawa: yes, 100% he is all for it both giving and reciving.

Mic: Doesn't really wanna hurt nobody so he doesn't like pulling hair but he loves having his hair pulled

I: Intimate

Aizawa: he is on the more intimate side compared to Mic who is only really intimate on occasion; anniversaries, birthdays, special occasions, but just spur of the moment or a quickie? no not really.

J: Jack off (how often)

Aizawa: Not that often, as he's always out doing patrols or out somewhere trying to keep his class from getting themselves killed

Mic: Pretty frequently actually, with working two jobs he can't always stop at home for sexy time.

K: Kinks

Aizawa, Hair pulling, bondage(both tying people up and being tied up) , overstimulation (recieving and giving).

Mic: Voice kink, voyeurism, edging (mainly being edged).

L: Location

Aizawa: Prefers to do the sideways cha cha in the bedroom but after school hours in between grading papers, the classroom is another frequent location.

Mic: Low-key semi-public sex is his jam so anywhere with a medium risk of being caught like a closet at work or the soudbooth he uses to record his radio show.

M: Motivation

Aizawa: Reading a really good smut, or if you (or mic) tease him through out the day then say goodbye to your walking ability

Mic: Honestly he's not too complicated just finding that he got a few spicy texts while at work or whispering everything you're gonna do to him in his ear and he just melts.

N: No

Neither are really into blindfolded sex or anything that might hurt too much mentally or physically

O: Oral (giving or reciving?)

Aizawa: Giving

Mic: Reciving and giving

P: Pace

Aizawa: Slow but rough

Mic: Goes with the flow, and mainly let's you and/or aizawa set the pace

Q: Quickies (Do they like them?)

Aizawa: He's down for it occasionally but not all the time

Mic: Yep, he legit loves them

R: Risks (Do they take risks?)

Aizawa: Pretty cautious but sometimes he's willing to try it.

Mic: Yes he loves risk taking during sex especially in public spaces

S: Stamina

Due to being Pro Heroes they have pretty good stamina usually lasting 1-3 rounds if they worked that day but on the small amount of day's off they can last 4-6 rounds

T: Toys (do they use toys?)

Aizawa: basically an expert and owns his own little 'tool box' that he hides in the back of the closet.

Mic: Not really, he's only really owned a fleshlight but he hardly used it.

U: Unfair(do they like to tease?)

yes constantly, and most of the time their so smug when they do it.

V: Volume (How loud are they?)

Aizawa: Will starts out with quiet grunts and groans but as you huys go on, he gets exceptionally louder

Mic: Wellllll, the neighbors can 100% hear everything

W: Wild Card

Both Midnight and Hawks have joined you three in the bedroom on multiple occasions.

X: X-Ray (What are they hiding down there)

Aizawa: About 7 and a half inches with a girth about the thickness of a pringles can

Mic: Not the thickest but makes up for it at 9 inches

Y: Yearning (how high it their sex drive?)

Aizawa: About every other day or so sometimes every to days

Mic: Pretty high if he didn't have work yall would never leave the bed for anything except the bathroom and food.

Z: ZzzZz (how fast do they fall asleep?)

Once they know both yourself and each other are taken care of they pass out almost instantly

How To Make Two Lovers Of Friends

Words: 11,569

Synopsis:

Aizawa is taking a much-needed break after the war with Shigaraki and All For One. He isn't looking for anything in particular; that is, until he spots you in a goth themed coffee house. A whirlwind romance ensues in this one shot, filled to the brim with sexual tension, fluff, and smut.

Alternative/goth fem! Reader

Fair warning, this one is the first fic I'd ever written, so it isn't my best work. It does hold a special place in my heart though and I hope it's enjoyable for someone!

Morning light came dappled through the windows as you took your favorite seat at the coffee house, just like you did every morning to start your day. This coffee shop went by the name Bauhaus; probably a nonsequedor to most, but a familiar homage to a band for you. It had this witchy aesthetic, filled with books and old vinyls that made you feel at peace. You never really saw places like this when you still lived in America, at least not in your neck of the woods. How absolutely lucky that you lived just a few blocks away!

You ordered yourself the special for this month: The Headless Horseman, an iced pumpkin and caramel breve to celebrate the upcoming fall season, a welcome respite from the August heat. Smoothing away the creases on your black velvet dress, you thanked the barista, who you typically made small talk with but were not quite on a first name basis with just yet, and took your seat once again to finish reading your book. The leaves rattled in the wind outside and rapped against the building like old bones in a wooden sarcophagus.

"A storm is coming soon," you say quietly to yourself.

Gentle thunder thrums in the distance like the soft beating of a lambskin drum, and a small grin makes itself at home on your lips.

Perfect reading weather.

Adjusting yourself on the bench beneath your legs, your mouth curved at the edges, eliciting a slight hum from your lips. 

Ah. 

Spooky, scary peace.

Outside the confines of the coffee house, though, the weather was much less enjoyable. The heroes Eraserhead and Present Mic both trudged through heavy raindrops, soaked like wet dogs, caught off guard by the sudden change in weather. Aizawa scowled at his mess of dark hair getting drenched.

"Damn, this weather is nasty!" Said Mic, voice unintentionally booming.

He looked around and scouted for shelter as the thunder rolled, and settled on the closest bit of light he could see, pointing his finger at Bauhaus so as to motion for Aizawa to head that way.

They stopped at the overhang to dry off a bit before entering when Aizawa got a peek inside the shop. He took note of the band posters and bookshelves littering the walls, the violet-hued plants hanging from the ceiling and shelves, the generally alternative vibe that exuded from the place.

"I don't know, Hizashi," he stated hesitantly, shifting his weight to his good leg.

"What's the big deal? It's not like you'll look out of place," Hizashi was frank, opening the door with no apprehension. He gave a quick chuckle that sounded like taps on a hot microphone.

It was true, Aizawa typically dressed in all black. Now that he was taking a break, though, he didn't always have his capture weapon on him. He was instead accompanied by a patch over his eye and a prosthetic leg. He felt like he usually stood out like a sore thumb these days, which was problematic for someone who had always tried to keep such a low profile in the past.

Aizawa fiddled with his eyepatch and thought about how nice it would be to blend in once more. He had always tried to stay out of the spotlight, but after the intense battle with Shigaraki, it was harder to avoid the media. Maybe a place like this wasn't such a bad idea. He continued to zone out as Mic spoke much too loudly for the space they were in, as usual, and talked (mostly to himself) about if he should get a coffee or a smoothie.

Aizawa grew slightly embarrassed by his friend's actions as he looked around the room to see if his boisterous voice was bothering the other patrons. It was 6am, still early, so Bauhaus was lingering with the vestiges of sleep, waking with the rest of Musutafu. There was a green haired person on their laptop in the back corner, tucked away, uninvolved in the rest of the shop and seemingly unbothered. Empty seats. A full cup on a table that meant someone would be right back.

Then there was you.

Right beneath the window seat near the front of the shop, a purple vining plant hanging above you, crushed velvet bell sleeves rested upon the table as your fingers gripped the pages of a well-worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. Your face was aglow like the moon, scattered with a few freckles that danced across rosy cheeks, long lashes that arched over your half-lidded eyes. The bass of the music swelling over the speakers seemed to engulf Aizawa, thumping in his head, your silken locks being brushed to settle behind your ear as his mouth suddenly dried.

Then, as if on que, you looked up at him just in time for him to hear "oh Lucretia, my reflection", and everything seemed to stand still. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips. You had these gorgeous doe eyes, these pouty little lips that gave a gamine smile to him while he held his gaze for much too long, he was sure of it. You were a vision. A blooming Queen Of The Night. A siren out in the storm.

"Quit staring at her and tell me what you want to drink!"

Aizawa was snapped out of his delusion. Flustered at the comment, he groaned, his eye twitching. Unwilling to break the eye contact with you just yet, your smile grew, and you exchanged glances with him again, causing pink heat to bloom over his face. You sat down your book and made your posture more swanlike as you maintained eye contact with him. His breath hitched at this.

You snuck looks at him for the rest of the time the two were in the shop. You weren't enough of a go-getter to approach him--nor were you brave enough to blatantly ask him out--but you really hoped that maybe he would come in again.

————

As mortified as he was by Mic's statement, he knew he had to try to see you again.

Not because he wanted to get to know you or anything.

No.

You just seemed... interesting. You seemed interesting and he felt very comfortable in Bauhaus. In fact, it probably had very little to do with you at all. He was more than likely just transferring these feelings of comfort onto you. After all, it's been a while since he's been able to go out and not feel like he was the one being stared at.

Yes.

This is rational.

This is why he needed to go back. You were just there by happenstance.

Every single weekday morning--and on weekends when he wasn't watching Eri--for an entire month, he was at the shop.

That's just how comfortable he was there. That's how good their plain black coffee was. That's what it meant to have a routine.

It was just a coincidence that he couldn't help but to notice you.

You were always there in that same cozy nook. Some days you were dressed in a band t-shirt and jeans. Some days you were in a plaid skirt and combat boots. Some days you were in a mossy green dress that went to the floor. Some days you wore causal yoga pants that were surely comfortable but made him sweat like a sinner in church. He never knew what exactly he would see you in next, but it was usually the same kind of style. And you always had a book to read, which Aizawa greatly admired. You were studious and attentive with your literature, but also a little bit goofy, judging by the laughter between you and the barista when you picked up your drinks.

But he had also come to find that you were very kind. Although you didn't appear to be a hero, you helped in other ways. You would pay for people's orders if they didn't have enough to cover their purchase. Twice, he watched you pay for the food of a homeless man, and then you sat with this man as an equal, outside on the curb, as the two of you ate breakfast sandwiches and talked. You were softspoken and gentle in your manner of speech, making him feel as though you were reading him to sleep as you talked between bites of food.

He noticed you had the biggest soft spot for animals, though.

You would watch out the window at around 6:15 to see if your little cat friend would show up that day. You would give them a drink of water from your own bottle and cap, offer them bits of bread and meat, and coo at them in a lovely sing-song voice as they ate. The cat didn't want to be touched, they were scarred and matted all to hell; but you were patient every single time. What a beautiful soul you seemed to have.

Aizawa was normally pessimistic, but you made him feel hopeful in humanity. He was certain that you had flaws, as people do, but your acts of kindness always made sure he had a good start to his day. He was always ready to protect you if you ever needed it. The world could use more good people, after all.

One morning in particular, as Aizawa picked up his drink, he noticed a man lazily stroll up to you at your regular nook. This happened to you every so often now that you were in Japan. You were approached by men, and very occasionally other women, maybe a handful of times in your entire life back in the United States. Your best guess is that here you were considered "exotic" since you looked different from most. You almost never saw someone with features like yours, and you were certainly taller than most of the women here, with noticeably longer limbs; all things that weren't exactly beauty standards in America but seemed to garner attention in Japan.

Unfortunately, the attention wasn't usually the kind that you enjoyed, and this guy was no different. He was dressed in an athletic shirt and basketball shorts. Not that you were one to judge, because hell, sometimes you showed up in pastels if the mood so struck you. People weren't bound to the confines of fashion. However, in your experience, men dressed in this clothing who came into Bauhaus tended to be... unsavory. Usually someone looking to fulfill their fetishes.

"Ooo, Cara Mia," he taunted as he approached you.

An Addams Family reference would have otherwise been right up your alley, but when he said the quote, it felt icky somehow. You knew he had to have kept this line in his back pocket regardless of who he came across, anyway. You were in a long sleeved sheer top with a lavender camisole and pair of black bell bottoms. More Stevie Nicks than Morticia Addams. So you did the rational thing and ignored him. You weren't there to be someone's Big Tiddy Goth Girlfriend.

He didn't like that much.

"Hey. I'm talking to you," he spat his words at you with barely concealed contempt.

"I heard you," you flicked your eyes up at him sharply.

Aizawa's body tensed in preparation to spring into action, taking a step forward in your direction. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

"I was just being nice. Not like anyone else is going to talk to your ugly old ass," his words were meant to bite at you, but you didn't budge.

"Old? Why, because I dared to live past 16? God, you are disgusting," you sat down your book and shook your head disapprovingly, "creeps like you are always projecting your own insecurities. How sad for you. Fuck off,"

He looked shocked, furious, like he was about to scream something in your face--but stopped abruptly when you started to hum. It was a haunting melody, something akin to a nocturne.

"I think you should go now," you stated plainly.

With this, the man walked out the door in what appeared to be a fugue-like state. And you calmly went back to your book.

Huh. Maybe you didn't need Aizawa's protection.

You just kept getting more and more intriguing.

On his fourth straight week of coming in, a Friday in early September, you decided to finally talk to him since it seemed like you were both regular patrons of the shop now. You made sure to finger-comb your hair before you turned to look at him. He was in his usual black on black sweatpants and sweatshirt, this time with his hair pulled back to reveal his jawline. He was very handsome, you thought.

"Hey there, you," you said after he placed his order of a single black coffee.

He turned around, a bit shocked at the sudden start of such a casual conversation.

"I see you in here a lot lately. I'm not sure if you have the time, but would you like to come sit with me?"

You smiled delicately in an attempt to seem welcoming.

"It would be nice to have some company for a change," you say.

His dark eye bore into you like a bullet coming straight for your gaze. After a moment of collecting his words, he finally settled on replying back:

"Yeah, sure. That would be fine,"

Aizawa tried his best to remain calm and cool, stoic even, refusing to let something so nonchalant shake him.

However, truth be told, you felt a bit shaken yourself. You weren't sure if he would accept your offer or reject it and then stop coming in. You could be so straightforward sometimes, and you felt like you could accidentally make things awkward. But you had a feeling he might at least be interested in getting to know you after your initial interaction with him.

You introduce yourself as you stirred your latte with a tiny silver spoon.

"Shota Aizawa," he gave in return.

"Nice to finally meet you," you say with a slight tease in your inflection and a mischievous look.

A blush crept across his face. God, of course you remembered when you two first saw one another. It felt as if he were sitting on pins and needles thinking about it.

"Do you like sitting under the stars?" You ask to cut the silence.

Aizawa looked perplexed. It seemed like an odd thing to ask him. Maybe you liked the outdoors?

"I've never actually been camping. Never really seemed that fun to me," he was eager to continue talking to you, though he wasn't sure exactly why.

You had this glint in your eye, like you knew the punchline to a joke you hadn't even told yet, along with a playful smile. Setting down your cup, you pointed up. That's when he noticed that the ceiling was matte black and painted with silver glittering stars.

"It's one of my favorite things about coming here," you disclosed this information to him, almost as if it were a secret.

It was then that he knew for sure that you weren't like most people.

You two met like this, discussing books and hobbies and music, for another month and a half. Every morning at 6am you could expect to see him waiting at Bauhaus for you, rain or shine. You would get some kind of breve or latte and he would get a strongly brewed black coffee. Sometimes you spoke for an hour before one of you had to go, sometimes you two were there until you were both hungry for lunch. Although the days all started at Bauhaus, occasionally, the day would take the two of you to a nearby ramen shop, a corner store, or a short walk down the block. Anywhere you wanted to go, he was there.

————

He now knew that you liked horror movies and would read just about anything you could get your hands on, that you loved animals, you moved here two years ago to help with the mental health crisis in Japan as a grief counselor, and you thoroughly enjoyed humor.

You came to know that he liked cats, was a teacher, liked the smell of rain, he was generally pretty introverted, read comic books as a kid, and had a liking for dark jokes. He had mentioned that he was a hero, a pro hero actually, when the shop was empty one morning. You said that was "so cool" and beamed with pride that you knew him, but you seemed unfamiliar with the Erasure Hero.

You continued to treat him exactly the same.

This was mesmerizing to Aizawa.

Today was one of the days that stretched on like a sleeping cat in a sunny patch. You'd already met once in the morning, breaked for work, and then met again in the late evening. The golden-hour sun was pouring in its warm light, backing you like some kind of seraphem, and painting him in a spreading halo of honeyed peach. The way the flecks of rainbow from the slanted glass flitted over his skin bewitched you.

And you, there at your place, drenched in marigold light that kissed down upon your flawless skin, made him shudder. Your eyes nearly glowed in the light. You appeared fragile, breakable, like spun glass; though he knew you were sturdier than your languid demeanor would let on.

He stuffed down the feelings he was starting to have for you like a snake eating a too large mouse. This was more than just lust, infatuation, or attraction. As scary as it was, he liked you. The butterflies stirred in his belly when you called his name from your window nook and the moths fluttered in yours when he said "I thought I might find you here, y/n," with the slightest upturn of his mouth. You were both nervous about this tension that was building between the two of you, but he was more reserved, whereas you tended to wear your heart on your sleeve. You knew that you would have to be the one to address it.

"Aizawa," you say to him, circling the rim of your cup with your fingertip as you place your other hand in front of his on the table, "I have some errands to run tomorrow... would you maybe want to come with me? It can be hard for me to carry heavy things all the way into my place on my own, and I really want to get some pumpkins to carve,"

This seemed utilitarian enough that he might feel more at ease accepting the invitation, but still deliciously domestic.

Aizawa felt the breath leave his lungs. Going to a pumpkin patch? Carving pumpkins? Like a cute little date?

"You don't have to, if you don't have the time," you stated reassuringly.

"Oh, no. It's nothing like that," His voice broke as he uttered out an answer, "I can go. I'll make the time if I don't have it,"

"Great! Can we meet up around 10?"

"I'll be there,"

"You always are,"

The air hung around the two of you with a lightness for a few seconds. Aizawa could see his reflection in your big glass-like eyes, causing his heart to beat wildly in his chest. You gave a small laugh, crinkling your nose, very aware of the closeness of your faces. He felt like maybe he should kiss you. But did you even like him that way? You could just be friendly and kissing you would be a huge mistake. Everything would come crashing down if he did that. Your trust would be gone. You would be gone. He couldn't take that risk.

But oh, how you wanted him to lean in and touch his lips to your own. You wondered how his stubble would feel against your skin, and if he would taste like that black coffee he was always sipping on. A knot formed in your stomach, this familiar aching, a longing, a fear of the unknown feelings he had for you, and excitement that he might feel the same way. How long had it been since you felt this way? Was it ever this intense?

You bit your bottom lip in anticipation, your heart racing. You could feel that something was bubbling up. Something was about to happen. You were going to lean in closer when the door to the coffee house flew open, and in walked Hizashi.

"I thought I'd find you here, Eraser! You sure love this place lately!" His voice nearly shook the entryway.

Tension gone.

Goodbye, mood.

Aizawa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, fully aware that Mic was about to say something daft.

"Watcha got here?" Mic asked enthusiastically, gesturing toward you with a gloved hand, "Shota, do you have a girlfriend you never told me about?"

Fucking Mic.

Aizawa looked pale, sick even.

Of course he wanted you to be his girlfriend. Especially when he was about to go to sleep, or saw some stuffed animal he knew you would like, or when he was in the shower and thinking of how he'd like to see those sultry eyes looking up at him as you put your mouth on his...

"Hizashi, for someone who's entire Quirk is based on sound, you are so damn tonedeaf," Aizawa cut his thoughts loose with this retort.

"Woah, easy there," Mic continued, "I didn't mean to ruffle any feathers. If you guys aren't hooking up, how about I shoot my shot then?" He waggled his brows at you.

Aizawa gritted his teeth and his eye twitched. Like a deer in the headlights, stunned at this brazen show of complete and total assclownery, he sat still in his seat as Hizashi made fools of them both. The lanky devil just didn't know when to stop tap dancing on his last nerve.

Present Mic leaned over the table as you furrowed your brow in response.

"Wanna see why they call me Magic Mic?" He gave a wide grin with this question.

You made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

"Why, did I pique your interest when you saw me bathing on the roof? Did my beauty and the moonlight overthrow you?"

"Bathing on the roof, you say!" Another waggle.

"Careful there, Sisyphus. That boulder's heavier than it looks," you chime back, scribbling something on a napkin.

Aizawa was amused at your quip. It was impressive how quick on your feet you were in conversation, and how well you handled yourself. He knew that Mic was blabbering on in the background, something about alternative chicks and their spicy attitudes, but he couldn't concentrate on anything other than you.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Aizawa," you stated while getting up from your seat, "here's my number. Text me and I'll send you my address so you can meet me at my place, okay?"

Aizawa swallowed the lump in his throat and then nodded in agreement. He took the napkin in his hand and noticed you put a little heart next to your number.

Fuck.

Please let this be a date.

————

The next morning, at 10am sharp, Aizawa reached the front door to your apartment. He didn't even need to look at the number when he saw the fall wreath, covered in leaves and mini pumpkins, suspended from its metal hook. He slicked back his raven hair with his palms, attempting to keep his locks captured in a ponytail, all the while his stomach churned in anticipation. He gave a knock at the door, and you were there almost immediately. Had you been waiting for him?

In reality, yes, you had been. You were ready by 9:30 and then paced around your room before you sat by the door and waited for him to show up. You gave him a big grin as you greeted him, admiring his forearms with his sleeves rolled up. You looked him over, half covered in the shade of your awning, hair pulled back, his trim figure cut well in his dark jeans and gray sweater. Oh my god, he even shaved! That was so cute to you. He shaved for your pumpkin patch adventure. You swooned and felt that tension in your belly build back up. It made you feel like a teenager again, having a crush like that. You kicked at some rocks on your porch in a bashful display.

God how he wanted to put his hands on you when he saw you stepping out of your doorway. You were wearing a burnt orange sundress, a black cardigan with pumpkins lining the bodice, thigh high black pantihose, with black Mary Janes and a wide-brimmed felt hat. You always knew what flattered your figure, what colors brought out your eyes and complimented your skintone. He felt so typical, like such a stereotype, because that sundress was doing something for him.

"You okay with me driving?" You asked, taking a step closer to him.

He tensed at the prospect of being touched by you, and nodded in agreement. Grabbing your keyfob, you pressed twice to start your vehicle, a completely black car with darkly tinted windows. It was very bold, very dark, and very you.

"You can mess with the volume however you'd like. I don't mind," you told him as you started flipping through your music on the car's touchscreen radio.

Aizawa took note of how eclectic your music was. You seemed to like songs with lots of bass and rumble, and you listened to plenty of Sisters of Mercy, but you also had music that took him off guard: hyper-pop, musical numbers, heavy metal--a smorgasbord of songs on a hodgepodge of a playlist. He could never quite pin you down. As soon as he thought he knew your next move, you pulled an Uno Reverse card, and it was enthralling. He liked a challenge.

He was captured by you as you settled on Love Me by The 1975 and enthusiastically sang along to every word, miming exaggerated faces when the beat picked up. You rolled the windows down and threw your hat in the back seat to feel the wind through your hair.

You glanced over at him briefly as you sang, smiling, glowing, just letting loose with him in a way that felt more intimate than he would've imagined a car ride could feel. Your hair flipped, twisting around your face in the breeze.

He noticed how careful you were with your car, how gingerly you braked at stoplights, and joked "I think my grandpa might actually drive faster than you do,"

"Hey," you replied "I pay a lot of money for this car," you felt a bit embarrassed tagging on the next part of "besides.. it's important to follow traffic laws."

He couldn't help but admire how pragmatic you were about this. You were so soft. Willing to stand up for yourself, but always making sure everyone else was safe. You had a hero heart.

You went back to singing to music, this time Can't Hold Me by Emily King. You always seemed so in your element when music was involved.

"You have a really nice voice," Aizawa stated without thinking. It rolled off of his tongue in an easy sort of way that didn't normally come naturally to him.

"Oh, thanks. It's part of my quirk I guess,"

"You have a quirk?" It was more of a statement than a question. He was pretty positive he'd already seen your quirk in action.

"Well, yeah; but I don't use it much. It's one of those quirks that when you tell people about it they think you're a villain," your voice trailed off a bit and he looked at you with one raised brow.

A sigh escaped your lips.

"If I sing a certain melody, I can make people do whatever I want. They become really pliable and easy to manipulate. But I can only use it on one person at a time, and it's only the one song, and you would know if I was using it," you tried your best to make sure he knew you weren't using it to make him talk to you, or to make him come with you today.

"Quirks are what you make of them. And I don't think that you would ever purposefully hurt someone, y/n. You're better than that,"

On impulse, upon parking the car at the pumpkin patch, you grabbed his hand with Eat Sleep Wake by Bombay Bicycle Club playing softly in the background. The first real physical contact you two had that wasn't accidental. It was warm, and sweet, and electric. Breathing felt like there was a weight on your chest when you realized what happened, and it caught in your throat when he squeezed your hand back.

Eat.

Sleep.

Wake.

Nothing but you.

God, please just kiss me, you thought. Kiss me. Better yet, take me into this pumpkin patch and peel these pantihose off with your teeth. You were getting to the point where all of this constant winding you up had you wanting him to fuck you absolutely stupid.

Aizawa felt warm, feverish. Like he was going to melt through the seat of the car and burn to cinders on the ground. He was smoldering like a pile of ash in your hand. Goddamn it was hard to concentrate now. Where was he at? Was there a world around the two of you? Did he even care? He wasn't sure if it was right to think of you like this, though, and it happened nearly every day since meeting you. That part of him had been lying dormant for what felt like years and now suddenly these feelings were coming for him with a vengeance. He wasn't sure what to do.

"We should.. we should grab some pumpkins. Do you... like the lumpy ones?"

Shit. Did he really just ask you that? God, you must have thought he was stupid.

But you didn't. You were eating this up.

"Dude. I love me a lumpy pumpkin," was your reply.

The two of you took in the crisp autumn air and October's bright blue sky as you sipped on a warm apple cider from the drink stand. Much to his initial disapproval, you finally got him to take a sip from your cup. His heart skipped a beat drinking from the same spout where your mouth had been just a few seconds prior. You took two small pumpkins from the display they had on top of some hay bales, slipped them into a big burlap tote bag, and then headed to the field to pick out bigger pumpkins for carving.

"Do you think frogs have friends?"

"I... what?"

He wasn't sure if you were being genuine with this question.

"Well, cows make friends, and.. I don't know, I was just thinking about how maybe when frogs start to get ready for the cold weather, they find another frog that they like, and then they hibernate next to them in the mud," your statement was matter-of-fact, "or I guess technically the frogs we have here go into a state of topor, not full hibernation. But still,"

Aizawa was taken aback at this topic. You were actually wondering about the loneliness of amphibians.

"Y/n, I don't think frogs get lonely. I doubt they have high enough brain functioning to care,"

"Or maybe they do, and we'll never know, because nobody stopped to find out,"

He enjoyed that you always spoke your mind. Even if someone didn't like what you had to say, you just started a conversation based on whatever thoughts you had in your head. You were smart, but whimsical. It was so easy to talk to you and have a logical dialogue without feeling like it was getting stale.

You kicked at rocks, marveled at the fall leaves, and had this general sense of wonder. Aizawa found it fascinating how dichotomous you were. You were kind of mysterious, but you still had this youthful charm about you. He found himself to be more apathetic than anything. It wasn't necessarily that he didn't see the beauty in the things around him, he just didn't tend to pay attention at all. He was always burning the candle at both ends and pushing himself to his absolute limits, so what was the point? Who cared of frogs had friends?

"I wish I shared your passion for life," he commented.

"My grandparents were like this, and they raised me, so I guess it rubbed off. Actually, they're kind of why I came here. My grandpa always spoke about how beautiful Okinawa was. After they passed, I jumped at the opportunity to come see Japan for myself,"

You hadn't talked about anything that wasn't skin deep in what seemed like an eternity, and you felt like he was really listening, processing your words.

"Oh!" You stopped in your tracks, "I can't believe I forgot to give you this,"

From the bottom of your burlap sack, you pulled out a bag of salty black licorice.

"This is for you,"

His favorite snack.

Aizawa reached out his hand and took it delicately, as if it were precious to him.

"How did you know?"

"I saw you eyeing some once at a corner store. When I saw they had some here, I had to get it for you. They make it in house, so I bet it's delicious!" You sounded so excited over a bag of licorice.

Feeling a bit silly over frogs and candy, you blushed, cheeks already slightly ruddy from all of the walking.

"But we should probably go back to picking out some pumpkins, I guess," your words came out much smaller than you intended them to.

His heart swelled. You were paying attention to him, too.

The gourds were all shapes and sizes, all the colors from striking persimmon to pale yellow, from perfectly round to as lumpy as the night was long.

Clearly, you picked the lumpiest.

Loading your goods into the car, a flash of color at another stand caught Aizawa's eye.

"You stay here. I'll be right back," he commanded.

"Okay. Just let me know if you want any help,"

The stand was full of handmade trinkets: wooden hair combs, decorative mirrors with widdled handles, and silk kimonos. One garment stood out to him--emerald green with goldenrod flowers patterned over it--that, for some reason, made him think of frogs. This would do nicely.

Upon his return, he found that he really wasn't sure how to give you a gift. This was certainly not his forte. He couldn't even remember the last time he gave someone a present. Then again, he couldn't recall that last time he had received one before this day, either. Besides, you were worth the uncomfortability.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't form. You looked slightly amused, which made him even more nervous.

"I have something for you. To repay you for the gift you gave me earlier," his voice uttered out much smaller than he remembered.

The joy that spread from cheek to cheek was practically tangible for him as he handed you the paper bag. Your eyes were alight like fireworks.

"You got me a present?"

You felt a fluttering in your chest. You didn't even care what it was, he explicitly thought of you, and that made you happy in earnest.

The container was compact enough that you figured there was some kind of candy to be retrieved from it, but you opened it to see green and yellow fabric. You were stunned when you recognized it from the stand you two had passed on your way out. It had to have been expensive.

"Aizawa.. this is too much. I-I can't accept this," you stammered.

"Yes you can. Like I said, it's for the licorice,"

"This isn't exactly in the same category as candy, though, I--"

"Just try it on," he interrupted you, his hand raised as if to stop any further protesting.

And you thought about protesting--you really did--but caved, knowing he wouldn't give up until you accepted it. Your attempts to dispute his gift would be futile. So you marveled at the silk garment, feeling its slick material between your fingers. You'd never owned something like this before. You took off your cardigan and draped the kimono over your body, savoring how soft and airy it was on your skin, feeling like a princess.

"I'm not sure if this is a color you like, so if you don't like it, we can go exchange it," his voice had a hushed tone.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

"No. No, it's perfect. I absolutely love it. Thank you so much, this was so sweet of you," your words rang out like a bell.

The breeze picked up and blew the soft locks of your hair as you stood there in your gown, picturesque, cottony clouds lining the skies.

You looked like a painting.

"Alright then," you said with vigor, "takoyaki is on me!"

————

When you returned home, you carved Aizawa's pumpkin together (a very classic orange pumpkin, perfect for Jack O Lanterns), swatting your cats off of the counter as they came to sniff at the seedy innards laid out on a sheet of parchment paper. You felt at home like this. You felt safe, content, like this is how life was meant to be.

You watched him as he placed the carved Jack O Lantern out on your porch, and took notice of the strands of raven hair that were falling out of his messy bun, delicately sweeping over his strong jaw and neck. The knot in your stomach returned, and with it came a sensation like you were on the downhill slope of a rollercoaster. It was a feeling of passion welling up inside of you, ready to tear open at your seams.

And you wanted more.

You wanted him to want you.

Worried that he might go home now that the sun had set, you asked if he would want to watch a movie with you. He was elated at the idea of cuddling up with you on the couch. How could he say no to that?

"Okay. What did you have in mind?"

"Have you ever watched Hocus Pocus?"

"No, never heard of it,"

"What?! It's a Halloween classic! I'll change into some house clothes and then we'll get started. Be right back, Shota,"

A chill ran down his spine, prickling the back of his neck at the sound of you saying his name. You called him Shota. And now you were comfortable enough with him to change into pajamas. He felt almost floaty.

Aizawa was expecting you to come out in sweatpants and a t-shirt, something comfy, something plain. He enjoyed the prospect of you coming out in soft pants and fuzzy socks. There was something so heartwarming and cozy about it that he--holy fucking shit.

You came out, as casual as humanly possible, in a pair of tiny little sleeping shorts and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt with no bra. The shirt was soft, but snug, and showed off every curve of your body through the semi-sheer fabric. He had already gotten a good look (or ten) at your ass in a nice pair of pants, but this.. were you trying to kill him? You were already all legs, and now the shorts... Aizawa scanned your body to see that you were wearing stockings that hugged your legs and made divots in the plush flesh of your upper thighs. They were Ninja Turtle green and woven like a tubesock.

Of course you were wearing these fuck me socks. That way, you could definitely say that you were completely covered from head to toe, that these were normal house clothes. Nothing here but regular old pajamas. And look, see, you totally did like green!

Your couch was small, but Aizawa sat on one end, hoping that you would sit alllll the way on the other end so that he could curl up as much as possible and you wouldn't see... things. But you weren't having it. You wanted to be able to cut the tension with a knife. You wanted to make sure this sexual frustration was palpable until it drove him to action. So you snuggled up next to him and rested your head on his chest.

He took notice that the shorts nearly disappeared when you sat down, and thought about what they might look like if you were bending over. Your tits looked great through your clothes, but your ass drove him wild. He wished for the TV to mess up somehow so you would have to get down on all fours to fix it, maybe even spread your legs just enough that your sex would peek over the side of the material, sopping and messy and begging for him.

Oh lord Jesus, Vishnu, Thor, whoever the fuck was up there just give him strength. Give his waistband extra elasticity and give his poor heart a rest so that maybe you wouldn't hear it pounding through his chest. But you did hear it. You knew exactly what you were doing when you placed your hand on his thigh and traced your fingertips down to his knee while you stared ahead at the TV screen.

Under the guise of laughing at a witch riding a vacuum cleaner, you squeezed his leg, and he jumped in his seat.

Oh.

This was torture for him.

And you liked that.

A lot.

He made a pathetic attempt to stealthily lean into you, just enough so that he could get a better whiff of your hair. You smelled like vanilla and something a little floral and spicy, like a jasmine rice desert. The thought crossed his mind that you might taste just as sweet.

"Doing okay, Shota?" Your voice this time was chesty, sensual, almost like an invitation rather than a question, and you could feel him shudder in response.

There it was again. Shota. He fucking loved the way his name dripped from your lips like honey. He nodded in agreement and you patted his leg to let him know you felt the nod.

You could feel your shorts heating up and your breathing changing pace when you heard him let out little sputters of air at your touch. It was intoxicating, hearing him get excited, smelling the sweat building between the two of you in this blissful hell of your own making.

Small beads of liquid made a wet spot up near his waistband while he took in your body heat, trying his best to focus on the screen and not the friction of you against him, or the fact that he could see your nipples plainly through your shirt. Readjusting yourself, you stretched and let out a whine in the process, and your elbow brushed up against something in his lap.

With a quick grunt, he stood up suddenly, and said "I need to use the restroom. I'll be right back,"

You gave him an "okay", and paused the movie for him. Maybe it was just in your imagination, but you could swear you saw a tent in his pants when he got up.

What you wouldn't give to toy with him for just a little while longer.

He shuts the door behind him slowly, calmly, before he's pawing at the buttons of his pants. A curse leaves his lips as he wrestles his leaking member from the confines of his boxers. 

"Little fucking cocktease," he grits, burying the words into his lower lip. 

God, he just couldn't take it anymore. He thought about you moaning, whining, mewling into his ear, your bodies entangling. How would he take you? If he had the option, he thinks he'd really like to watch you ride his cock, see the look on your face when you take all of him inside of you.

"Gonna have you begging for it. Fuck, do you even know what you do to me?" His voice trails into a groan, and he folds forward, bucking into his hand and holding onto the sink to steady himself.

A few whispers of your name fall from his lips, and he swipes at the slit of his aching length, smearing his precum along his shaft for lubrication. He's close. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, he's already feeling that knot within him frayed, about to snap. Just a few more strokes and he's jerking back his head, ropes of his release now dripping across his palm.

He finished in record time, expecting to have a sense of relief, but only finding that he craved more. Guilt took ahold of him when the thought crossed his mind that he shouldn't be thinking of you this way. This was so shameful, what he just did, making his hand all sticky from thinking of you. He rinsed his face with cool water to get rid of some of the sweat, and exited, stating that he needed to head home due to not feeling well.

Your heart sank, and the realization hit you that you may have made him uneasy with your forwardness. Maybe he didn't like you that way after all. You hoped that you hadn't just ruined things between the two of you.

Aizawa didn't want to hurt your feelings, and he could tell that he probably did; but he needed to get out of your apartment before he bent you over the couch.

So he left your place after an entire 12 hours together, beating himself up for not making a move, harboring resentment for his own lack of initiative. He was used to coming after villains, but this whole "love" thing really scared him. Love? He mulled the word over in his head. Worried it between his teeth. You two hadn't spent a single day without seeing each other in like two months. And he sure as hell didn't see himself picking out pumpkins with Hizashi any time soon.

He laid there in bed, trying his best to fall asleep, but the day just replayed in his head on a loop. His mattress was normally soft and welcoming, something that could easily lull him to sleep, but tonight it felt empty. Tonight, he felt alone. Until his phone buzzed from his nightstand.

You: is it too soon to text you?

Him: it's never too soon for you to talk to me.

You: good :) I was worried when you left in such a hurry.

You: and I miss you already.

Aizawa sat up in bed after reading your most recent message. You... missed him. He wasn't sure if he was reading that right. The blue light from his phone illuminated his face, now standing apart from the inky blackness of his room. He could feel you radiating from it.

Him: maybe you should stop by my place tomorrow afternoon then.

You: I'd really like that.

You: good night, Shota. <3

Him: see you soon.

————

He made sure to take care of himself in the shower before the next afternoon, not wanting a repeat of the previous night. Best case scenario, now he would last longer if you two ended up fooling around. He even double checked that Eri was in the dorms at UA again today. That was just wishful thinking, though. Sex these days would probably only come from pity for him. Poor washed-up hero, missing an eye, missing a leg. That's the last thing he needed right now.

He cleaned up around his apartment, wiping down the counters and making the area look welcoming for you. Why did he want to impress you so badly? Ugh, this was so embarrassing. He never worried about what people thought of him in any other scenario, but now, here he was, fluffing his brand new throw pillows and applying cologne to his neck and chest.

You knocked on the door, straightening the skirt of your dress, the same one you were wearing the morning you two first met. Aizawa answered the door in a gray t-shirt and black sweatpants, his hair loose and his eyes heavy-lidded when he looked down at you. That dress again. Clingy, short, nipped at the waist to show off your curves. Christ, you were beautiful. He welcomed you in, the smell of bergamot wafting from him.

His apartment was bigger than yours by quite a bit. It had a floating island in the kitchen, slate colored walls, a black sectional positioned in the living room atop a white shag rug, and circular lights that were recessed within the ceiling.

"Wow, your place is so nice. Shit. I'm sorry I made you come to my hovel last night," you partially joked, impressed with how well his home was put together.

"That's stupid. I liked being at your place,"

You saw something moving out of the corner of your eye through the doorway of the other room.

"Is that a punching bag?" You asked with a wry smile.

"Gotta keep myself in shape. Want to give it a go?" His voice was low, almost challenging you to take him up on the offer.

"Oh, I don't know. I lift weights but I don't really do a lot of cardio. I'd just end up humiliating myself, honestly," you said sheepishly.

"Come on, y/n, spar with me. I'll go easy on you,"

"Okay, okay," you gave in and walked toward the next room, which you could see upon closer inspection was full of gym equipment. You felt out of your element, but you were willing to make yourself look like a fool if it meant he was enjoying himself.

You gave the bag a light punch as Aizawa held onto it, half afraid that you would mess it up somehow, or maybe even break your damn hand. It felt like it was full of some kind of particulate. Maybe sand? Oh god, you probably looked like some kind of lazy sack, not even knowing how to punch a fucking bag.

"I know you can do better than that. You've got more power in you. Come on,"

You punched again.

"Harder. Don't hold back!" He growled.

That was really fucking sexy, actually, and now you were a little distracted. You balled your hand into a fist, made sure your thumb was facing outside, and used all of this pent up frustration to wallop the daylights out of the bag. Your knuckles made contact with a padded thud, and you let out a small grunt.

"Atta girl," he praised you, his voice like whisky.

God, hearing him say that was like a dopamine hit. You were disoriented. You were already clumsy, and now your brain felt like a can of cranberry sauce splattered out onto a plate.

Aizawa stepped away from the bag, a terse expression plastered onto his face.

"Now act like I'm coming after you and try to pin me. Remember, it doesn't matter that I'm bigger than you. Use strategy to overpower me,"

You mustered up all of your strength, all of your courage, and leapt toward his torso. He didn't try to block you, so you knew he was going easy on you... but you also knew you didn't do it right when you went off to the side and started to veer straight for the wall. He grabbed you by both wrists and wedged himself between your legs in order to cushion your fall, and you landed upright, straddling him as he lay on his back.

You were both panting, eyes dilated, a wildness boiling within you like animals. He let go of your wrists and your hands softly found their rest on his chest as it heaved.

"Y/n," he laughed, "that was awful,"

You rolled your eyes and shifted your weight into less of a stiff position.

"I told you I was bad at this. I am a lover, not a fighter," you pressed your hand to your chest as you spoke. 

Moving ever so slightly on top of him, you saw his eye widen, his lips parted to let a small gasp escape from them. Panic has set in. 

"Get up. Please," his tone is highly-strung and fearful.

He looks genuinely terrified, scrambling beneath you, the only reason you're still in his lap like this due to his apprehension to hurt you by accident.

"Shota, wha--" your question is cut off by the feeling of something poking against your clothed sex.

Oh. 

Oh.

A red hue painted his entire face at the realization of the situation he was in, his blood pulsing through his body rapidly, the sound of it rushing in his ears.

"Why," you said breathily "don't you want me?"

Overstimulated, his brain didn't process what you'd just said to him.

Your lungs feel like they're about to lunge straight out of your chest, your core aching to be filled. You'll have to make sure that he really gets the point. Now was the time to be honest with him, maybe even be a little dirty. It's now or never.

"I want to know.. I mean.." talking felt hard. Your blood supply seemed starved from your brain.

"Do you touch yourself when you think of me?"

He was trembling like a leaf beneath you, caged in by the plush of your thighs. Was this a trick question? Yes, he just fucked himself to you this morning, AND last night in YOUR bathroom. Is that what he was supposed to say? He swallowed thickly, clamoring to gather up some kind of sentient thought to say to you.

"I do," you filled the gap of silence, "I think of you that way. A lot, actually,"

You ground your pelvis up and down his length, the fabric of his pants rough against him, eliciting a grunt through his gritted teeth.

"I.. f-fuck, I-I dunno how to.. answer that," he's been reduced to this mumbling mess on the floor, that silver tongue suppressed by the sweet press of your warmth to his cock.

You took his shaking hand and placed it between your thighs, right on the dampness that was spreading at your center, sopping through what little material covered them. 

"I want you, Shota. I want you bad," your words were like poetry spouting from your lips.

He rubbed you through your wet panties, soaked and clinging to you like a second skin. Were you this wet for him? He delights in the way your breath hitches, how you squirm atop him, your eyes heavy and lustful. Shota gives one last languid stroke up the lace and then pulls them to the side for easier access to your clit. He rubs light circles around it and watches you writhe, taking in the noises you were making, so painfully hard he felt as though he would cum in his pants just from watching you. He stopped his teasing and placed both hands on your hips, the pair of you frenzied for more.

You crashed your lips to his, both of you giving in to a hungry kiss, passionate and blistering with heat, tongues swirling and teeth clashing. You cupped his face in your hands, pulling him into you, starved for his taste. He keened into your touch as if it would soon disappear. Leaving the rough stubble of his cheeks only to grab a handful of his mussed hair, you tugged at it, causing him to moan into your mouth, and you swallowd down each noise greedily. He explored your body with haste, grabbing your ass, sinking the pads of his fingers into your skin. You could feel him throbbing underneath you, so you palmed him through his pants, and with a swift jerk, he threw his head back onto the floor, not even caring to register the pain of it.

"Fuck. Y/n. If you keep going..."

You tugged at the waist of his pants, then dragged featherlight touches across his exposed cock teasingly. He felt you smile against his skin as you nuzzled the crook of his neck, and he lets out a muffled groan that tapered off into a high-pitched whine, desperate and needy.

He let out an involuntary whimper, almost pitiful with how much yearning was within it.

"You gonna cum for me already? Hmm?"

That was it.

He couldn't fucking take it anymore.

Something within him snapped and a growl poured from him, rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest.

With hurried hands, he pulls your dress over top your head, revealing that you were wearing nothing but lacy black panties underneath. You were stunning. Like a Greek statue of Aphrodite herself. He was never able to fully imagine your naked form before, and this was a perfect frame of reference for later. He wanted nothing more than to get absolutely drunk off of you. And he gets you all to himself. He can't hardly believe his luck.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you," his voice was raw and saturated with desire, a gravel to it, burning like whisky.

"I want you to touch me," you murmur, suddenly feeling shy in the sweltering heat of his gaze.

"Touch you?" Aizawa said with a chuckle, "I'm going to devour you,"

Before you were given the chance to react, he bucked into you, then slid you from his lap and onto the floor, gripping your underwear and throwing them off on your way down. He took off his shirt expeditiously to reveal his muscular form, and you admire the lines that bisect his abdomen, eyes nearly rolling into your skull when they land at the tent in his pants. He looks big. Like, concerningly big. You ran your fingers across the scars on his chest, which gave an almost tickling sensation, all the way down to the hair that trailed from his naval to his pants. He was beautiful. So fit that he looked like he could play himself in a movie.

Casting the clothing aside, he lays you flat onto the floor, kissing from your lips, to your neck, to your nipple where he sucked and flicked his tongue, using his free hand to caress the other, groping hungrily at your plush flesh. You moaned, breathy and meek, at his touch. Separating from you, his pupil was blown out as your pheromones hit him in the face, and he pulled your legs apart to fully expose you.

"Look at your pretty little pussy,"

He slipped a digit inside of you and did a curling motion until he found the spot that made you whimper underneath him, watched as your face went from shocked to a look of pleading for more, lashes fluttering.

He clicked his tongue.

"And look at you. So fucking needy. So ready for me to take you,"

He removed his finger and used it to play with your clit, making waves of pleasure shoot through your body, a white-hot coil tightening in your core just above where he was touching.

"Sh-Shota... please, fuck me," you begged, nearly mewling.

He hissed through his teeth, peering down at you as if you were prey. The look on his face is wolfish, starving, nearly pained to be holding himself back. There's a wilderness within him that begs to be let loose. You want nothing more than to be destroyed by it, left a carnal mess upon the floor. 

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you until you can't even sit without thinking of me," he taps your clit with his fingertips, "But first, I'm going to make you cum on my tongue," he was serious with his words, meticulous, making sure you knew exactly what he had planned for you. Sweet, slow burning anticipation sent tingles up and down your spine.

He put your legs on his shoulders and went back to the spot inside of you that made you cry, this time sucking on your clit in tandem, fully encapturing it within his lips. Your mouth was now agape in a breathy scream as you clamp down on his fingers, moving your hips in time with him, riding waves of pleasure as he brings you closer to the edge. He lets out an appreciative groan as you say his name, the noises coming out of you so lewd and sinful that you hope the neighbors don't call someone for a wellness check.

Aizawa absentmindedly pressed himself against the floor, nearly frantic for some kind of touch while he watched you squirming beneath him, but it does little to quell the ache he has in his center. You tasted like sweet tarts and made these lustful gasps, and it drove him absolutely mad to know he was doing that to you, that these reactions were from his own touch.

"Say my name," he speaks this phrase into the throbbing bud at your apex, and you shiver, close to careening off of the edge he'd just brought you to. 

"Shota.. fuck, keep going, please," you mewl, rolling your hips. 

He nips at your inner thigh, velvet flesh pillowing between his teeth, and then drags the length of his tongue up your clit in one torturously long stroke. 

"Louder. I want everyone to know who's about to make you cum," the steel in his gaze is sharp enough to slice you. 

So you oblige him, moaning his name, chanting it like a mantra as he continues to lap at you once more. You can feel the pressure building, building, building until it finally spills over like a dam. He moans at the realization, feeling your pussy spasm under his tongue.

"Oh my god.. Oh fuck, Shota!" You cry out for him as you melt into his mouth.

He's breathless as he pulls himself away from you, mouth slick, still slipping his fingers in and out of you in an allowance to ride out the rest of your orgasm. He looks feral. Like he could tear into you. Destroy you.

He drags his cheek across your thigh.

"Good girl," he grunts, "good fucking girl,"

You look up at him with your mouth partially open, your eyes heavy with want, and with one fell swoop you sit up and pull down his sweatpants to reveal his throbbing cock, wet and dripping from the tip. You take the whole thing into your mouth, sucking, swirling your tongue, cranking your hand around his shaft like you're ready to milk the soul straight out of him. He gasps, moving his hips to pump into your mouth as you open wider, holding out your tongue so you can take in as much of his length as possible. He brought you closer until you were practically flush against him, all the while you were committing the look on his face to memory.

You can tell this is about to break him, so you tighten your grip in a pulsating pattern, moaning on his length to send vibrations through him. His movements are becoming erratic, fervent, and you cannot fucking wait to see him come apart at your doing. You run the flat of your tongue across a particularly sensitive spot along his shaft, your arousal building once more when you see the way he pinches his brows together, how he ruts into your mouth like some inexperienced virgin. You just feel too fucking good.

Suddenly, he pulls himself from your mouth with a vulgar pop, and you're gasping for sweet breaths of air after some of the sloppiest head you've given in your life.

"I knew you'd be good at that," Aizawa chokes out, his dick bobbing in front of you, "but we're not done yet,"

He lightly pushed you back onto the ground and placed your ankles up onto his shoulders, putting his tip right up against your entrance. His muscles twitched in anticipation and you reveled in his godlike form.

"Is this okay?" He asked you, gently.

You laughed a bit at the question.

With all the heat and want you can channel, you look up at him from your place on the floor and rasp "ruin me, Shota,"

He gives you a wicked smile, one you've never seen him wear before, and pushes himself inside of your aching pussy, holding onto your leg for leverage. You can feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, a bit unprepared for his full girth inside of you. It doesn't take long for you to start moving along with him though, and he begins to thrust harder, pounding into you like his life depended on it.

Biting your lower lip, you throw your head back, attempting to keep from screaming as he delves into you. He removes his hand from your leg to grab your jaw, and locking eyes says, "Eyes on me. I want to see the fucking look on your face when I make you cum,"

This coaxes a moan from you, and he gives a gutteral response to his cock being squeezed.

"Good girl. You're taking me so well. God, you're so tight, fuck," his voice is husky and deep.

Your cunt hugs him tighter with every word.

He needed more.

Aizawa takes his free hand and starts to rub your clit in circles, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and you can feel that knot in your stomach forming again. You're about to come undone already, and he can feel you clamping around him like a vice.

"Fuck that feels so good," your voice is heady and needful.

His pacing became erratic once more and his ministrations on your clit became almost desperate. He was barely holding on, whimpering, sweat dotting his brow.

"I knew you were fucking teasing me. Coming out in those tiny shorts. Know what I shoulda done? Should've fucked you right there on the couch. Should've bred your tight little cunt," he leans down to fill some of the gap between you, a few tendrils of his raven hair falling to cling to his face.

He pistons into you harder, "Swear to god, I'm gonna fuck every single thought out of that pretty little head. Wanna tease me like that? Take your fucking punishment. I.. f-fuck!" He feels you come unraveled all over his cock as you ride him from there on the floor, making sounds that hitch in your throat like ragged bleats. He made note of your blissed-out expression and then let out a sharp gasp, your walls almost too snug for him to handle.

You whined in a small voice, still finishing, your gaze not breaking when you tell him, "make a mess in me,"

That's all it took for him to lose it, giving into his pleasure and allowing himself to fill you up with what felt like gallons of cum, letting out strangled moans as his entire body throbs.

Panting, he pulls out of you, watching as his release leaks from between your legs. He wasn't usually interested in sex at all after getting off, but seeing you like this, glowing with sweat and hormones, covered in him. It made him weak. He pulls apart your cunt with his thumbs, watches your glistening sex twitch, cum dripping. He's going to remember this if he ever needs to get off in two seconds flat.

The two of you lay in the floor together, floating, riding the high in a breathless haze.

"Be my girlfriend, y/n," Aizawa was the first to speak.

You were taken aback.

"What?"

You never thought him to be the type to be alright with labels.

"I like you. Not just in the way that I want to have sex with you. I want to make love to you. And I want you to be my girlfriend. Will you be with me?"

You ran your fingers across his jawline as a warm smile spread across your face.

"I'll be your girlfriend. But there are stipulations,"

"Anything. Whatever you want, it's yours," Aizawa hopes that his longing isn't too obvious, that he isn't too eager, but another part of him doesn't even care anymore.

"You have to be my boyfriend," your words are like a breeze through a windchime.

His eye takes purchase in your face as he leans into you, the kiss he offers you this time languid, lazy, loving instead of a mess of teeth and lips.

I love you, he thought, pulling away enough that your foreheads touch. God, how I love you. Just allow me to worship at the altar of your body once more.

Before you can stop yourself, and as if you can read his mind, you speak to him in a voice that's almost a whisper, "I think I love you,"

He looks dumbfounded, awestruck.

He finds his voice enough to say, simply, "I love you," followed by a kiss pressed to your nose.

The day that follows is soft and halcyon. You bask in one another like the afterglow is your lifeline, here in your own private world, all stardust and warmth. You don't know what the future holds. You stopped living in a world of 'what ifs' a long time ago. But you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, you'll be there with him.

And he'll be there with you.

Like he always is.

If anyone here is interested in this absolute daddy I have a one-shot I wrote! So incredibly NSFW as are all of my fics because I'm a degenerate and I will not apologize 🥰

This was my first fic though, so it's back when I still used y/n 🫠 if anyone gives it a read let me know if I should change that!

did mint even write it if there isn't at least one heart wrenching line

Inevitable Things : chapter thirteen

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks, fingering

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The sheer force he kisses you with aches. Shouta's lips are slick with your cum and his tongue tastes like you, musked and slightly salty in the way that almost makes you search for it, but you don't care. No, you revel in it. In the dark, you both grope and grind, his clothed knee sliding between your legs. You wonder if he can feel how wet you are through the fabric, but then you remember he already knows. It’s all his fault.

Your hands slide under his shirt. His body is soft in ways you like, in ways you don't recognize. Touya’s body was thin to the point of almost frailty, while Aizawa's feels perfect for grasping, for pulling towards you, perfect for pressing against. Sex is fun, you decide. Despite all the awkwardness and tension and overstimulating, sex is good. You get Nemuri's obsession with it, you understand why people crave it. It's so basic, so primitive; it tickles the back of your brainstem, a fundamental part of you that needed it most of all.

And yet. 

And yet you need more.

You can feel how used your body is, how puffy and fried your clit is from the attention, but it's barely done anything to quell the want that's been building inside you. How, after all of that, can you still feel so unsatisfied? So insatiable? What the fuck has this man done to you? What door has he unlocked inside your mind?

Together, you peel his shirt from his body. Skin to skin contact, your breasts against his chest: it all feels right. The animal part of your brain sparks up once again. It’s so basic of a need that it eats at you like hunger. Lust drives you, pushes you. You never feel old, but suddenly you feel young and excited. 

When your hands wander south, Shouta breaks away. 

“What do you think you're doing?”  You swear he's glowering at you through the dark; you can feel his breath huff, but it doesn't stop your fingers from slipping open the button of his pants. He smells like aftershave, but there’s still a patch of scruff on his jawline, presumably missed in the rush to see you. Blindly, you try to kiss at it.

“Touching you.” Why are you so giggly? So sweet?

Your fingers brush against the trail of hair between his stomach and the edge of his briefs. It's short, cropping as if he used to shave, but hasn't in a time. His body shudders at the touch, his hands pulsing tighter, tighter around your tits. Oh, that makes something burn hotter inside you, knowing how you have an equally big effect on him as he had on you.

 “Careful.”

“Or what?” Your voice is still quivering from cumming so hard, but you're gaining confidence.  “You afraid I'm going to make you cum?”

You force the fly open and work his pants down. He doesn't help you, his hands frozen in place as you wiggle. The effort steals a laugh from you, then he joins in, softly. It’s a surprisingly tender moment, but it doesn’t rob you of the tension. The want is building in your throat, threatening to choke you.

“I just don't think-” he whispers. Your thumbs are tucking under his waistband. His skin is warm and soft; you want to touch more of it.

“-I'll behave-”

With a press, you can feel his briefs inch down and the weight of his cock shift. It strikes you that you haven't touched it yet. No, you've only seen it in that picture, only felt it through cloth. Something inside you flutters at the thought of how thick he looked. Could you even take all of it? Truthfully, you doubt it; you’re not a virgin, but you aren’t exactly experienced either. Is it possible to be bad at sex? 

Just as you start to spiral, Aizawa catches you by the elbow. It’s almost impossible to worry with him and the way he touches, the focus he gives you. Even the way he grips your arm feel scandalous, charged with want and desire, like he's going to hold you like this forever, like he's going to live up to his promise and use you however he wants.

“-if you pull my cock out while I'm between your legs.” Aizawa swallows deep. “So, really think about-”

Clumsily, you crane up and catch him in a kiss, your lips blindly smooshing into his cheek.  It’s just enough to catch him off guard, to steal an extra moment before you reach down the front of his pants and wrap your hands around his member. God, it's thick. Almost grossly so. Can your body even take all of that?

“I thought you were gonna do whatever you wanted with me,” you mumble into his scruff. His cock is hot and slick with his own precum. When you run your fingers down the underside, Shouta practically chokes on his spit. That’s right; you’ve cum three times today, but he’s been practically untouched. He must be aching for it. 

With a shaky hand, you drag his cock down, through the wet of your pussy. The sensation sends a shock through both of you; at the same time, you both gasp and hiss, keening deeper against each other. Earlier, everything felt hot, soft and dripping like your core was nothing but melted metal, but now it’s purely electric. Every touch of skin trills through you like a shock, lights up your brain like sparks. Fuck-- this is fun. You’re having fun. 

“You said you wanted to go slow.” Aizawa’s voice is almost a plea-- a final warning. 

You slide your legs wider and Aizawa’s body shifts down, lining up against yours. You can feel him, pressed just hard enough against your cunt to nestle between your lips, barely an inch away from where you want him. The promise of stretch nearly takes your breath away. No-- he isn't where you want him: he's where you need him.

You swallow down your last bit of worry and let your head fall back on to the pillow. 

“Then fuck me slow.” 

It’s not unusual for Aizawa to curse, but the string of swears that escape his mouth sends a chill down your spine. It’s blurted, rushed, slurred; He’s never a chatty man, but now he rambles, mouth never stopping as his hips press forward.

“Needy thing, pretty thing, sweet thing.” The tip of his cock pops inside you without much resistance. You're too soaked for friction, almost too wet. The taste of him makes your toes curl, pussy clench- it's not enough, not enough, not enough-

Your partner hunches over, forehead clunking against yours with a pained groan. 

“How are you that fucking tight?” he gripes. “How are you so fucking perfect ?” 

“Shou-” you wiggle your hips and he groans again, deep and wild. “Fuck me, fuck me.”

“I will, I am--”

“Please!”

“I'm trying not to--”  He takes a shaky breath. His hands are clenched in the sheets, so hard you can feel his bicep flex against your side.  “Embarrass myself.”

A thrill runs down your spine. Your body suits him so well that he's already on the brink, already ready to cum. It makes your ego flare. He wants you. he wants you so badly. After making you cum so many times, the only thing you should want is petty revenge, but now, in this moment, you want him to feel good with you.

“I don't care,” you urge. Your hand sneaks down between your legs, working tiny circles around your abused clit. The sensation is electric, so much so that you swear you can see lightning behind your eyes. An orgasm might not even be possible at this point, but you can't help but try. “Just fuck me.”

Finally- thankfully, beautifully, finally- Aizawa sinks his whole cock into you. It's been a while since someone's been inside you, so the pressure feels good, but strange and unfamiliar. A sound must escape you: Aizawa suddenly stops, pulling back ever so slightly. 

"Are you okay-?"

“Keep going-” You urge as you wrap your legs around his waist. “Keep going.” 

Ever so obedient, Aizawa rolls his hips, harder this time. Your body makes lewd sounds with every stroke, the wet smack of your folds being spread audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. Your muscles give to his thickness and you can feel every stroke deepen until his hips are finally pressed against yours. The button of his pants digs into your ass, but the discomfort is almost pleasurable.

“Needed this, didn’t you?” he whispers. “Needed to be taken care of?”

Your voice is staccato with his thrusts. He’s not being rough, but you’re so sensitive that it feels like he is manhandling you, abusing your overly loved body- “Y-yeah.”

“Your boyfriend didn’t take care of you?”

If he had said that at any other time, you may have gotten upset, but you feel so open, so bare-

“No…” You flop back onto the mattress. You hadn’t realized how curled you had been against him, how hard your fingers had been digging into his skin. The relaxation changes to pleasure; it’s a sweet, liquid heat, rolling through you like melted molasses. “No, he never-- he couldn’t--”

“Poor thing-”  His teeth nip at the stop under your earlobe, catching skin with his canines. “So neglected-”

Oh, that cocktail of hormones in your brain has you stupid and emotional.  “Yeah.”

“I’ll take care of you,” he bites again and you know there’s going to be another bruise to explain away tomorrow. “I’ll spoil you.”

Aizawa hooks an arm under your leg and lifts it. The angle changes and his cock hits a previously untouched spot; your body kicks and twitches. It feels impossible, but you’re going to cum again, you’re going to cum before he does, and you’re going to revel in it.

“Touch-” Your voice is high with want. “Touch my tits?”

It’s barely a question, almost a demand, and Aizawa is more than eager to obey. His free hand finds the pebbled curve or your nipple and flicks his thumb over it, searching for a positive reaction. When he doesn’t get it, he changes his touch, waiting to your approval.

“Like that-” you finally confirm. His rutting gets harder, but not faster; it's slow grinds, taking advantage of every inch and then some. The coarse of his pubic hair is delightful friction against your clit; it nearly hurts with how good it feels.  “Just like that-”

“Good// girl, yes.” His tone is so desperate. “Tell me what you need.” 

Oh, you wish you could, but your voice is failing you right now. It's like every brain cell in your head is dedicated to lighting up with ecstasy, downing in him, him, him, him--

“I'll give it to you, give you everything you ever want-” Shouta whispers into the shell of your ear. He's being so steady, so patient; it's nothing like the other times you had sex. There's no rush, no urgency.  “I want you spoiled. I want you greedy. I want to ruin you for anyone else.” 

You can't cum again. Your body is too spent, too used, too-- too-- too--

Everything inside you goes rigid and you come undone once again. It's embarrassing and loud: both your mouth and your cunt. You're saying something, but you don't know what, if it's even words at all. The heat of pleasure is boiling your mind, your senses. 

You’re not a virgin. You haven't been for years, but suddenly you feel inexperienced, naive. Sex could feel like that? It could make you feel like this?

Shouta's hips press against yours and he groans, deep and unabashed. Warm fills you, accompanied by the twitch of his cock, and you realize he's cumming too, melting into you--

At the last moment, he catches you in an open mouthed kiss. It's messy, mostly tongue and spit, the kind you can't breathe through, but you find yourself pressing back, licking and sucking and nipping and drowning in it all, giving yourself to the moment--

“That was-”

You clumsily slap a hand upwards, tapping the side of his face. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you still can’t fully make out his silhouette. 

“Don't talk,” you mumble.  “I-- haa.” 

The roll of your hips just won't stop. The last flickers of your orgasm are still burning and you can't help but stroke them on. You swear there's literally sparks behind your eyes and no bones left in your body; you don't know how you're even moving. Against your will, your cunt twitches, pulling a pained groan from Shouta.

“Can I speak now?” he mumbles through your fingers. Your hand falls back to the bed. “You're going to have to give me a couple minutes before another round.”

The hard of his cock is already softening inside you.  God, the cloud of post-coitus bliss has you so soft you feel sappy; you never want him to pull out, never want to lose his body heat. If you could lift your arms again, you'd wrap them around him.

“My heart might stop if we go again,” you whine. That was the first bare cock you've ever taken. 

He chuckles and it hits you in the chest like a fucking bullet. Oh, this is bad. Pathetic. Lovely. You might cry or laugh or pass out.

 “Is that good?” he asks, tone evident that he knows it's very, very good.

“I think I came so hard I had a stroke.” That has to be the only reason you’re feeling so wobbly.

“The only stroke is you stroking my ego.” A pitiful noise escapes you as he rolls away, groaning as he gets to his feet. He sucks in air through his teeth, then releases it carefully.The room is suddenly unbearably cold; you shake and shiver, silently wishing he’d come back.  “Let's get you cleaned up. Light’s coming on.” 

 The sound of his hands fumbling on the side table is followed by the click of the lamp turning on. Warm light floods the room and you finally get a glimpse of him. His already loose curls are mussed, fallen in front of his flushed cheeks. His chest has a sprinkling of hair - trimmed, it seems - and a trail down from his belly button. He's already tucked his cock away into his briefs, but his pants are unzipped. His underwear is a light green; it makes you laugh a bit. At least both of you are fucked. 

Shouta takes his turn to observe you. You must look even worse: naked, hair a mess, legs spread and cum dripping down the track of your ass. 

“Shit-” Sleep nearly sideswipes you immediately, so hard you’re struggling to even care. “We made a mess.”

Aizawa regards you again, brow raised. “Mostly you.” 

Oh, you beg to differ. The mess he made inside you feels sloppy and slippery, leaking from much too deep inside you. It's the first bare cock you've ever taken, you realize. It felt dangerously good, with none of the friction or stink of the condom. Even the tickle of warmth inside you is surprisingly pleasant.

That's dangerous knowledge, especially with the consequences.

“You shouldn't have…”  you try to sit up a bit to be serious. “Inside me.”

Realization catches Aizawa's face. 

“I should have asked,” he says.   “I was… caught up.”

“It’s okay.” Especially because you liked it. You flop back down with a sigh. “I’ll get a Plan B in the morning.”

Aizawa  shifts his weight and hisses at the pressure. Before you can say anything he turns, headed towards the bathroom.

“I… I can’t get you pregnant.”  The faucet runs while he speaks. “I can buy it for you anyway, if you want to be extra safe.” 

“Oh,” you say, shifting uncomfortably. You believe him, of course; he's not a liar. Maybe about silly things, but not about this. “I didn’t know that.”

He turns the sink off and returns, washcloth in hand. 

“Of course you didn't.” Aizawa gestures for you to spread your legs. You hesitate, then remember exactly what you've been doing these past two days. He's eaten your cunt; you guess he can see it again. Resting against the edge of the bed, he runs the cloth against the mess inside of your thighs. It's hot, but not uncomfortably so. “Sterility doesn’t come up in conversation very often.”   

He runs the cloth into the crook between your leg and pussy. You would have thought the act demeaning, but it’s sweet.

“Vasectomy?” you ask. 

“Nature. Maybe the accident. Either way.” 

He shrugs it away, but there's an edge of something deeper in his voice. He tries to hide it, eyes focused down as he folds the towel over itself and then gingerly touches it to your outer lips.

“I shouldn’t have pried,” you mumble. 

“It’s not prying,” he says.  “I’d argue it’s very much your business right now.” 

The washcloth gets tossed into a corner. The thought of it mildewing there makes your stomach turn, but you're entirely too tired to consider picking it up yourself. Your partner knots his hair into a low hanging bun, just something to get the hair off of his nape. He hesitates at the edge of the bed, not entirely on or off, just hovering in the periphery. 

“Did you want kids?”  

Aizawa glances up, brows knotted together. This time, you really think you may have overstepped. 

“I didn’t mean with me!” you try to recover. Just… in general.”

You're ready for him to step away, but instead he sinks a bit closer to you in the bed, head lounged, lips pursed. 

“No, I don’t.” He heaves it like a confession.   “Considered it for a moment. But, I decided I’m not the paternal type.”

Shouta huffs so hard that his body puffs and deflates.

“Can barely handle those fucking interns.”

The laugh sneaks out of you. Aizawa watches you from his perch, eyes narrowed with amusement. The cool air starts biting at your skin; you scuttle under the covers, then pat the space beside you.

“You scare the shit out of them,” you say. 

“Good.” 

“You could be nicer.”

You pat the empty space again. This time, Shouta obliges. He settles under the covers, a healthy distance from you.  

“It's my job to be mean. We're making items that directly affect people's lives.” He shares your pillow, the special one you brought from home, the silk one that gives just right. “Have you ever been in a hospital bed?”

“No.”

“It's miserable. You don't get a lot of rest. Nurses come in every couple of hours to check on you-- nurses working twelve hour shifts with too many patients to handle.” His eyes are distant, even as he looks your way.  He's thinking about the accident. You want to ask questions about it, but instead you listen. “If we can design something to make that experience better, something to help patients and nurses, we should be serious about it. They should care.”

A moment passes. You try to imagine him younger, sadder. You try to imagine him in those beds-- then try to imagine him before. The silvered scar on his cheek: what would his face look without it?

“I know on the surface it sounds silly,” he continues, a bit more grave. “It's a bed. But if we can make monitoring tools for nurses easier, feed reports directly into the system. Heart rate, breaths per minute, blood pressure-- it takes a load off of their plates and lets them focus on patients who need it.”

His head rolls towards you and your noses are only inches from each other. It feels like you’ve been momentarily allowed into an inner sanctum, opened a door to a part of him you shouldn't be allowed to see. The long nights at the office make more sense now; you had always thought he was just a workaholic. 

“And these beds might be the last place someone lives before they die.”  Aizawa says. “They deserve comfort. Dignity.”

He tilts his head down to regard you, then starts a bit, bewildered. 

“Why are you giving me that look?” 

You bite down your own smile. 

“Just…” Your hand finds his chest. “Didn't realize you cared so much.”

Aizawa rolls his eyes as he places his own hand over yours. 

“Don't tell the interns,” he grumbles. “Don't want them to think I'm soft.”

The sleep that nips are your cerebellum is the cozy kind, the kind that eeks your eyes closed bit by bit. Aizawa places the towel on the ground and you watch him. His features are the same as they always are, but your brain has recontextualized it all; the silvered scar on his cheek, the flat of his nose… you smile.

“Do you have pictures?” you mumble. 

“Hm?”

“Of your cats.”

Aizawa looks back at you, surprised. Then, he melts a bit, pulling his phone from his pocket. He joins you back on the bed, over the covers, arm scooping behind your head almost protectively. The position is intimate; you make it more so by resting your head on his shoulder. It only takes a moment for him to pull up a photo of two cats, both lounging in a strand of sunshine, both tummy up and dead asleep.

“Sesame.” He points to the black cat in the picture, then the fluffy white and orange one. “Sushi.”

“They're cute.”

“They're good cats.” His voice rumbles in his chest, undertones you've never heard before. You cuddle in closer to listen better, close your eyes to really focus. “Sushi is older now, so she mostly sleeps. Sesame is two-- three, actually.”

You hum in acknowledgement. The thrum of his heart is slow and strong. 

“Been considering getting another. For when Sushi dies.” he tilts his head in thought. “I'm not ready to be a forty year old man with three cats.” 

You try to give him that look again, but your eyes just won't open. “And you said you aren’t paternal.”

There's a long stretch of quiet behind that. 

“Do you have pets?” His voice takes you out of your sleep, but not enough for you to fully rouse. 

“Are you falling asleep?” 

Again, there’s a long stretch of silence, only the rise and fall of your breaths and the hum of the air conditioner to fill the room. Right as you start to lose grip on the waking world, Shouta moves, pressing his lips right into the center of your forehead. 

 “Do you want children?” he asks into your skin, voice frailer than you ever thought possible.

You stare at the box.

You bite your lip, fidget your weight between your feet, and blink at the box. You had put the box on the table, but you’re not sure if that’s right – if that’s where it should go. If that’s where you want to do this. The bed would make much more sense; it’d save carrying all the unboxed contents then to the bed. But, as much sense as that makes, something about it just feels way too soon. Because what if – there was a chance you wouldn’t even like what was in the box. And then, dumping all that onto the bed, into your nest, with pre-heat simmering low in your belly – well. The whole reason you even had the box was to help with your heat. The very real possibility of starting off the week with a bad nest kept the box right on the table. Unopened. Still taped up. Discreet, but addressed to you. There was no mistake. The box was yours. Which, of course it was, you’d ordered the damn thing. Clicked on some ad on some website during a moment of weakness, of morbid curiosity. And then, as a joke (you’d told yourself, anyway), gone ahead and filled out the little questionnaire. Some were multiple choice, such as designated second sex, or what your preferred mate would be (which shouldn’t have been as hard as it was to fill out, but you’ve never really given it a whole lot of thought). Were someone ever actually interested in you, like seriously so, you wouldn’t let something like their second sex get in the way of a potential relationship. As it was, you’d selected Alpha, because that was just…natural. Easiest. And then there were the fill-in-the-blanks. Questions about what scents you enjoyed, and which you despised. In the end, it asked about your own scent, which felt a bit weird, considering such a thing shouldn’t matter. You were on a website for a company that supplied care packages to help alleviate the effects of going through a heat or rut alone. 

It wasn’t a dating site. You’d triple-checked. Right before saying fuck it, and jumping off the deep-end with a single, damning right-click. 

“Maybe the couch…?” You mutter to yourself, one arm curled almost protectively around your middle, propping up the elbow of your other arm, so that you can run a thumb along your bottom lip. In thought, in hesitation, in…anticipation. Whether you liked it or not, you were opening that box. There was no reason not to. Either it would achieve its intended purpose and provide some much deserved relief, considering the last few heats you’ve suffered through, or it’d all just end up in the trash. No big deal. You’ve survived all your other heats with minimal help, surrounded by nothing but your own scent, and maybe a t-shirt or two from those you could consider friends. So…maybe it was just that you kind of, really, wanted it to work. Would be a waste of money, otherwise. “Okay. Okay,” you drop your arms and nod to yourself, determined and courageous. The way your toes wiggle in your socks give away the nerves, though. “Couch it is.” Before you can sike yourself back out, you pick the box up and quickly shuffle on over to the sofa in the space you’d designated as your living room. Technically, it is also the dining room. And the office. And some extra storage space.

The bedroom, at least, is only a bedroom. One of the few little luxuries you manage to afford. 

You settle on the middle cushion, criss-cross applesauce, with the box a decent weight in your lap. You give the perimeter a tentative, cursory sniff, but only come back a little surprised at how well sealed the contents are. The only scent coming through thus far is the dull, familiar one of cardboard and packaging tape. And the slight tingle of neutralizer. Slowly, carefully, you start to pick and peel away at the tape. You could have, should have, grabbed a knife, or a pair of scissors, at the very least, but – if you got up to get them now, you might chicken out. So, bitten and blunt fingernails it is, until your fingertips are tacky and the top of the box is free. You don’t mean to, but you hold your breath. Your fingers curl around the lip of the lid, and while they work their way up and under, you sink the point of a fang down into your lip. A vein in your mouth pulses with the quickened beat of your heart. It’s so stupid, to get so worked up over something like this, but then – The lid is off of the box, and dropped down onto the cushion beside you. You still don’t breathe, but you do peer down into the package’s innards. You weren’t exactly sure what to expect other than fabric, so the sight of a striped sock with a kitty paw on it is…surprising, to say the least. Adorable, amusing, and – ah. It’s kind of hard to laugh without breathing, without inhaling, and the scent that smacks you right between the eyes does so with the force of a freight train. It sends a hard shiver from your head all the way down to your toes, and collects saliva on the center of your tongue. Fuck, fuck, holy fuck it’s good. It’s so good. It’s something floral and dark, with a smoothness to it; invigorating, yet all the while relaxing. Enticing in its coziness. You don’t realize you’ve closed your eyes until you’re blinking them back open. The base of your spine itches, and your thighs clench, and - and that sock is bunched up right beneath your nose. That should be gross, and it is, it is, but it could also be worse, because the sock seems clean, just heavily scented. And, it’s not like it doesn’t make sense for a sock to be in there. After all, ankle glands are a thing, and they work just as well as all the other glands. Still, it takes an embarrassing amount of effort to drop the sock, and start to sift through the rest of the contents. There’s a couple of shirts; a dark gray tank top and a low-cut black tee with long sleeves. Then there’s a pair of what could either be sweat pants or pajama pants, covered in…spiders. Itsy, bitsy, black spiders, with yellow eyes, and again, you can’t help but chuckle. Digging a little deeper, you find the other sock, a light gray scarf, and last, but definitely not least, a throw blanket. It keeps with the whole monochrome theme (excluding the socks), a soft gingham slashed through with a bright, baby blue. All in all, not bad. Not bad at all. 

The exact opposite of bad, actually. You’re only regret is having not been brave enough to just upturn the entire box onto your bed, because now you have to gather each and every item up in your arms, and make a happy, hasty retreat to your bedroom, which just seems way too far away with the way your body is now thrumming, blood silently screaming to nest, nest, nest! You manage though, because of course you do, and realistically, it’s not a far or hard walk at all.

Though, it is a little bit wet. Slimy and sticky and warm, and only getting warmer, down between your legs. You’re still in pre-heat, so nothing hurts – yet. You have plenty of time to build a nest and enjoy it, before you lose your mind to it all. To the desire, the hunger, the need, the ache; the loneliness, and now…the fantasy. “Thank you, kind, smelly stranger,” you whisper with a little laugh, just as your knees meet the mattress of your bed. There’s a fleeting flicker of guilt; it almost feels wrong to be doing this, using a stranger’s scent to get off for a whole week. But then, you realize, it’s really no different than watching porn. Whatever Alpha stuffed that box full of their belongings had done so willingly. Consentingly. Caringly. So, you let that feeling go as you set about pushing and shoving, folding and tucking, wrinkling and kneading everything into place, items both old and new. In the end, you make a haphazard circle, but the shape doesn’t matter nearly as much as the feel does. The smell.

And it’s only then you realize why that website might ask for your own scent. 

You’d left it blank. But, as you slowly sink down into all your hard work with a purr, you can’t deny it. You smell good together. You and this Alpha. So much so that you find yourself nosing even deeper into it, into your own pillow and a stranger’s shirt, nuzzling nose, cheek, neck. Your toes are wiggling again, stretching and flexing, curling in utter delight. When your hands start to move, it’s with minds of their own; one to smooth up under your shirt and along your chest, thumbing around a nipple, while the other slips straight down between slick thighs. Your scent is a bit of an…acquired taste. You don’t smell bad or anything, but depending on who you asked, opinions ranged from ‘household cleaner’ to ‘fancy dessert’. Personally, you always thought you drifted somewhere in the middle, like a lemon drop or something. But here and now? Together, you smell like lemon and vanilla, lavender and coffee – like tiramisu and a latte. You want to bite down on it, lap it up, ‘it’ being the stranger’s neck, an Alpha’s scent gland, your Alpha – at least, the Alpha that had anonymously decided to take care of you for the week.  Alas, your pillow will have to suffice. As will your fingers, until too soaked and too frustrated, you will have to trade for a shirt and a toy. There’s no neck, and there’s no knot, but still, still. While picturing a hundred different hot, beautiful ways this Alpha could look, could sound, could touch – call you ‘mine’… It’s, admittedly, the best heat you’ve ever had.

The teacher's lounge is blissfully quiet and seemingly empty when the door shuts and locks with a click behind you. There's no one sitting at the computers, the couches are unoccupied, and the coffee machine is still and cold. You'd come in search of a reprieve, and can't help but sigh and sag with relief upon finding it.

Sometimes the teacher's lounge is just as bad as anywhere else.

Just as bad as the classrooms, the cafeteria, the gymnasiums. Just as bad as the library, the courtyard, the hallways. Just as bad as the bathrooms.

You love your job, you really do.

But sometimes you wonder if you shouldn't have sough employment elsewhere. Maybe at a more normal highschool. Or, maybe even for a lower grade. Maybe one before quirks start manifesting in most children. Not that quirks are a problem.

It's just that, when combined with big dreams and budding hormones, it tends to be a bit...much.

You don't know how the rest of the staff does it.

Granted, almost every other staff member is also a Pro-Hero. Which isn't to say teaching is any easier for any of them, but they sure do seem to handle the stress of it a whole lot better than you can. Do. Ever will. And all you are is an assistant.

Then again, you are Aizawa's assistant.

And his class is...it's something else.

Which is why you've gone and run off to the teacher's lounge. You adore the kids, you really do! For the most part! As much as you can, anyways. Considering none of them are really yours and they're constantly making Aizawa's life, and subsequentially your life, something close to a living hell.

You've considered resigning. You know there's an ample amount of other schools that would probably happily scoop you up. And, maybe if it was earlier in the year, you would have. But, that was before...

Oh.

Well.

That was before you met the puffy, yellow, man-sized lump apparently hiding behind one of the couches. Aizawa.

Or, here, behind closed doors, Shouta.

Sometimes.

It's not a surprise to see him there.

Not in the lounge, or on the floor, with his favorite sleeping bag zipped all the way up to his heavy and slightly bruised eyes closed. He practically lives in the lounge; spends more time in here than the classroom or his own apartment. He's obviously squeezing a nap in, for as long and deep as he can. And you can tell he's asleep, really asleep, because his mouth is just slightly open.

After working with him for as long as you have, which really isn't long, but long enough -- you know that when he sleeps, he breathes in through his mouth and out through his nose. Like even when unconscious, he's subconsciously still trying to meditate. Trying to relax.

Trying to do the same thing you are.

It's precious.

And a little pathetic, but you know better than to ever admit that out loud.

You teeter on your feet for a second, while he continues to sleep and split his breathing. You think that maybe you should leave, that maybe you'll get lucky and find some other pocket of tranquility somewhere. You don't want to pop this one. But, he hasn't woken up yet, so you figure it's probably safe to stay. It's not like you're going to make a whole lot of noise, anyway -- sitting on the couch and filling out some forms. One part of your job is keeping track of each individual student's quirk record; obvious strengths, weaknesses, growths, injuries, incidents. It's exhausting work, but work better done by you, so that Shouta can actually work with those kids and their quirks.

When you pick a spot on a sofa, Shouta doesn't even twitch. And when you pluck the pen from behind your ear and start scrawling away, the sound of scratching ink is barely any louder than his own breathing. Feeling confident that you won't wake him up, you settle into your work.

Anyone else coming into the lounge is, sadly, out of your control.

You get through updating about three forms when the sound of shifting fabric snags your attention. You peer around the couch across from you, just far enough to see that yes, Shouta is still sleeping, he's just moved around a bit. You hold your breath, and watch as a wrinkle that formed in his nose slowly soothes itself away. The zipper of his sleeping bag now runs down the length of the front of his body, instead of the side. You reckon it's more comfortable that way, and you wonder if he's dreaming. And if so, what he's dreaming about.

It's a curiosity that's often hard to quell, since that's your thing after all. Your quirk. The reason you even landed the job that you did. You can see people's dreams, and then project them. Furthermore, you can sometimes even influence them, with a strong bond and some practice. You aren't anything close to a qualified therapist or counselor, but...heroes suffer nightmares. Every single one of them. And, the idea is that - the hope is that -- you can help them. With that. Their bad dreams. Their nightmares. Their night terrors. Prevent sleep paralysis and insomnia and panic attacks. You haven't tried yet, not with a single student, but you'd had to prove yourself to Principal Nezu during your interview. He'd been impressed and pleased.

And Shouta had been intrigued.

For now, you've just been working as an assistant, and building rapport with the students. After all, the stronger and healthier the bond, the more you'll be able to help. And you want to help, you do. Even if you don't necessarily...like using your quirk. It always feels like an invasion of privacy, even with blatant permission and consent. People can't help what they dream. Sometimes they want to know, and you have to figure out how to tell them. Sometimes you don't want to tell them. Sometimes they don't ask, and it's better that they forget, which they usually do.

You, on the other hand?

You never forget.

At least not quickly.

Not without a drink or two and a damn good distraction.

Does Shouta suffer nightmares? Surely he does. But, you hope that on the rare occasion he actually reaches REM, like he might be reaching now, that he doesn't. If he dreams at all, you hope it's a good dream. But, what would a good dream look like for him?

...cats, probably. Lots and lots of cats. And having a body that was more blood than caffeine. Or, maybe having the body of a cat. Maybe a good dream for Shouta involved some fur and a long tail and a good sunny spot to soak in. You laugh silently as you picture it. Yeah, you could see that.

NSFW. Aizawa x reader (reader has breasts and a pussy but no gendered pronouns used for reader). Oral (reader recieving.) Missionary p in v. Established relationship. Just loving on your sleepy man and tiring each other out. Approx 1500 words

Nightcap

It's late and Shouta is exhausted when he gets home. That shouldn't be remarkable; you've often joked together that he's the sleepiest man alive, but this is different. This isn't just high school teacher weariness. It's deeper than bone-deep; the kind of exhaustion caused by constant battle and life or death worry.

"I can't tell you what's going on," he sighs, his gravelly voice soft as he sits on the edge of the bed and brushes your sleep-tousled hair back from your face. "The more you know, the greater the danger I put you in. I won't let that happen."

It worries you. Of course it does. It's clear this is bigger than anything he's faced before. But all you can do is offer him comfort and a place to just be. Not Eraser Head, not Aizawa Sensei. Just Shouta. 

"Come to bed?" you say, tracing the scar on his elbow. "I need to hold you." 

"I- later. I have papers to grade–"

"I'm sure the kids won't mind."

His throat flexes as he looks away, fighting a different kind of battle; the war between his dedication to his students, and his desire to crawl into your arms and let you make him forget his worries for a while.

“Shouta… please?”

“Alright.” His lips slant into a weary half-smile. “Give me a minute to shower and I’ll join you in bed until you fall ah–” He falters as you wrap your arms around his chest and pull him down beside you, throwing your thigh across his and holding him in place. “-sleep. Good tackle.”

“Thanks.”

“Not a good idea though. I stink,” he mutters as you guide his arm around you, nuzzle into him and inhale; that fresh, earthy scent of being outside in the cold, the tang of sweat, and the unmistakable muskiness of Shouta that tickles the primal part of your brain. 

“You smell so good.”

“Weirdo.”

That's about all the protest you get out of him. He closes his eyes, his chest rising and falling slowly, and falls completely silent.

Minutes tick by as you lay in each other's arms, wondering if he dozed off. It's likely. Shouta has always been able to fall asleep instantly, anywhere, and in any position. And you will have to wake him eventually so he can wash up, but for the time being you simply watch him, appreciating his beauty and–

“You're staring at me, aren't you?”

You hide your smile, pressing your face into his chest. “No…”

He peeks, his momentary glance conveying amusement and despair in equal measure. “You're supposed to be going back to sleep. You have work tomorrow.”

He's right, but hell, you've gone to work on less sleep for worse reasons. And he smells so fucking good. “I'm not tired.”

“Not tired, huh?” he hums, the slight taunt in his tone letting you know he fully knows what's up. “Fine. Guess I'd better tire you out.”

Exhaustion be damned, Shouta always has at least a little energy in reserve for fighting or fucking. He sits up, grabbing a hair tie from the nightstand and holds it between his teeth while he pulls his long black hair up into a ponytail. 

Butterflies surge in the pit of your belly at the sight, not just because of the flex of his biceps or that look in his eye that tells you he's going to make damn sure you sleep heavily tonight, but because whenever he pulls his hair up like that, you know exactly what he plans to do. And no sooner is his hair up and out of his face, than his face is between your legs, wrapping his arms around your thighs while you squirm out of your underwear.

Rough hands slide down your thighs, his palms warm and broad, strong fingers squeezing the fat and muscle and causing your skin to dimple beneath their ravenous touch. 

Every caress you tingle, the warmth of his breath, the hunger in his eyes, the tip of his nose teasing your clit. 

“See,” he says, his voice so low you barely catch it, “you're the one who smells good.”

And then he licks a fat stripe between your pussy lips before slowly, deeply, hungrily making out with your clit. 

The sudden intensity of it leaves you breathless, your hands darting down to grasp at his messily pulled-back hair. He groans, eyes closing, savoring your taste, his tongue hot, wet and so fucking greedy. 

“Fuck, Shouta…There… Don't stop. You're… perfect.”

Any other time he shrugs off praise like the weight of it sits uncomfortably on his shoulders, but not with this. He loves to know he's doing well for you, loves to hear how good he's making you feel. He pauses just for a moment to grin to himself before he flattens his tongue and drags it over your clit. Over and over and over until you buck up against his mouth, demanding more of those deep, hungry kisses he can never deny you.

As he devours you, he can't help but grind his hips against the mattress, deep rumbling moans vibrating through your core and driving you closer to the edge. He licks you relentlessly, insatiably, pressing his thumb into the wet heat of your pussy just so he can feel the way he makes you throb.

And the moment you gasp that you're close, he latches on, licking, sucking, breathing hard and heavy through his nose, unable to tear himself away from your pussy even for air. He isn't satisfied until your essence is coating his throat inside and out. The wet suckling sound of his lips and tongue accompany your cries and shaking breaths, and the unmistakable moans of pleasure that rumble out of him as you cum against his mouth.

He only stops when you tell him, pushing his torso up off the bed and crawling on top of you. In the post-orgasmic haze, the weight and warmth of his body is intoxicating. His hips slot so perfectly between your thighs, his lips coating yours with your slick as he kisses you and grinds his aching cock against you. 

“Keep going?” he asks, a groan vibrating in his throat when you nod. “Mm… Need you so bad.”

His hand slides beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming over your belly to the plush of your breast, lifting his hips for you as you inch down his trousers, taking his boxers down with them. His cock is thick and wet, surrounded by a dense black thatch of hair that thins ever so slightly to trail up over his abdomen and chest. 

It doesn't matter how long you and Shouta have been together, the moment he pushes his cock into you and arches back with a bitten off moan, your fingers are trailing through the hair on his belly, feeling his muscles twitch and shudder beneath your palm. Every damn time. 

The feeling of him inside you makes you breathless, but for him it's heaven. He raises his face to the ceiling, murmuring something incoherent about how wet you are, how good you feel, how much he fucking loves you. His throat leaps as he fights the urge not to cum right then and there. 

You roll your hips for him, trying to drive him over the edge. “Come for me, Shouta. Just let go.”

His jaw clenches as a breathless whisper of a laugh escapes him. It takes him a moment to ground himself before he can rock forward so he's practically laying on top of you. He needs that; the closeness, the intimacy, the reassurance. His lips seek yours, pulling you into a slow and lazy kiss to accompany the languid roll of his hips. 

“Wanna make you feel good first,” he murmurs against your lips between lazy kisses.

“You already did. You always do. I want you to cum.”

“Mm…”

A stray strand of jet black hair falls from his sloppy ponytail, tickling your cheek until you put it back behind his ear. He leans into that gentle touch, stubble rasping against your palm, followed by a quick and desperate kiss. 

He won't last much longer, not tonight. He can hardly keep his eyes open as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck, hot breath tickling your skin. “Sure?”

“Yeah,” you say, wrapping your arms around him and stroking his back as muscles flex beneath your palms. Slowly, deliberately, you undulate beneath him, lazily fucking him from below. 

Shouta's quiet moans are muffled against your shoulder, his hands seeking yours and fingers interlocking when he comes undone. He bares his teeth, gasping your name as his dick pulses inside you. 

Your combined slick leaks onto the mattress beneath your ass, and he'll insist you sleep with him on his side later on. But right now Shouta is completely spent; a dead weight on top of you. If not for the tickle of his breath against your neck or the occasional twitch of his cock as it softens inside you, he'd be totally still. 

“Tired us both out, huh?” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his temple.

And he simply snores in agreement. 

I want this hot piece of ass 👁👅👁

Big tiddie daddy vibes

HORNEE up in here 😂😂😅

GOD DAMMIT IM SIMPING OVER KABU NOW FROM POKEMON SWORD/SHEILD OMG I NEED JESUS

Is it bad that I simp for both Shouta Aizawa AND Yami Sukehiro? Bc I do .

THEY BOTH GIVE OFF DADDY VIBES AND THE SLEEPY ‘IDGAF’VIBES

plus the scruffy-ness makes them hottter

👁👅👁

Is it bad that I simp for both Shouta Aizawa AND Yami Sukehiro? Bc I do .

THEY BOTH GIVE OFF DADDY VIBES AND THE SLEEPY ‘IDGAF’VIBES

plus the scruffy-ness makes them hottter

👁👅👁

Aizawa fic idea cause I can :)

You know, I need more of Aizawa x reader fanfics and so I was thinking up a fanfic idea (like the simp I am) and came up with this other fic idea!

Okay so in this fic the reader is also the owner of a shop :P

But what better way to a mans heart than through cats? So! The readers shop is a cat cafe, and thus, the reader has a sort of neko-quirk. They has cat ears and cat tail and can also transform into a cat, but only for a small period of time. The reader never wanted to be a hero (their quirk, if trained well enough, would be perfect for stealth missions!) because they saw many stray cats be mistreated as well as animal abuse. And so what she has done is she took in the stray cats and nourished them so that they are wel around people.

All the cats are technically her pets

Also idk if the reader would have a house-cat sort of quirk or like a lion 🤔🤔 a big cat would fit better in this situation. I like the idea of the reader having like, a panther quirk 😈

ANYWAY

So here you were, running your cafe like normal, and unknown to you, Aizawa has been visiting your cafe many times. He loves the music and the cats are really cute (you’re pretty interesting to him as well )

Of course you realize that he’s visited multiple times but you’re used to having regulars

And so a dude in like an all white mask with some sort of snake quirk runs in and demands you to give him all the money

He is also carrying a gun (SCARY!!)

And so you fairly crouch to the ground in terror, well hidden behind the counter. The guy walks up smugly to the counter, thinking youre curled up in fear behind the counter.

When, IN FACT, you are transforming into your cat form (see it would be better if you had some sort of big cat quirk so you can really be scary!)

So then you come out from behind the counter, snarling and showing your large teeth as the guy stumbles back in fear and falls to his butt, accidentally shooting off the gun (cause he doesn’t have the safety on 🙄🙄)

He sits you in the paw and you recoil in pain just as the guy gets blinded up in Aizawas cloth

He then gets taken in as the police get there

Aizawa comes up to you and is all like, “good job on trying to scare him away, but don’t use your quirk in public. I won’t say anything though.”

He feels bad for not jumping in sooner because of your injury and you tell him not to worry

So he comes back when he can to make sure you’re okay and you’re doing well

Over time he starts to grow closer to you and feelings ensue 🙃🙃

What do yall think?? 😅😅

Idk I just want more Aizawa fics cause I really do be simping over this man

AND OF COURSE HE WOULD CALL YOU ‘KITTEN’ AND EVERY TIME HE DOES YOU GET FLUSTERED AND YOUR FUR RUFFLES UP A BIT

YESS

have u guys seen that one vid on tiktok where it’s like the person just repeatedly saying “full bush. in a bikini!!!” yea aizawa is the #1 advocate for that shit!!!!!

like i have such a strong belief that that man is a rug muncher LMAO. like he doesn’t mind either way!! bare, trimmed, full bush, whatever!!! he’s a grown man, something as silly as that isn’t gonna phase him whatsoever (plus, it’s not like he keeps his body hair super well maintained, so who is he to say anything?)

but. BUT. i do believe he’s partial to a good bush.

like okay okay imagine him scrolling through his phone during his lunch break, swiping through video after video on the godforsaken app that you had begged him to him download (“you have to keep up with the times, sho! plus, i wanna send you cute cat videos.” you had insisted. so guess what he did?)

and his for you page was just that!! cute cat videos with an occasional repost of yours (usually just an edit or some sort of silly meme he didn’t understand), so it wasn’t really surprising when a tiktok you had commented on made its way to his for you page. and honestly? he didn’t pay the video much attention! … until he saw your comment. who knew a simple declaration of “me this summer” with a silly emoticon would be the thing to temporarily put eraserhead out of commission?

you didn’t see the way he had to collect himself for a few minutes after seeing your comment, but you did see the notifications of him liking the video and the texts he sent you seconds later!!! (“let me know when you go bathing suit shopping for the summer.” another message. “i’ll go with you to help pick some out.” short, sweet, and to the point. charming.)

mdni!! (´ω`)

so if i said aizawa daddy kink would u guys boo me. if i said aizawa softly comforting u while ur taking his cock with soft coos of “it’s okay, baby. daddy’s here, you can let go.” WOULD U SAY NO????

LIKE I DONT EVEN MEAN LIKE “rough alpha daddy dom 😈” NO!!!!!!! i mean soft soft sex w slow thrusts and gentle kisses and maybe some tears on ur end where he is just so devoted to making u feel good and comfy and uggggh. uggggggggh!!!!!!

older bf! aizawa fixing all of my daddy issues. yeeeea. yeeeeeeeeeea.

i don’t even mean sexually!! like imagine opening up to him for the first time. you’ve been dating for a while and he knew some of your familial relationships were… strained to say the least, but he didn’t know the extent of it. you’re recalling some of your experiences — maybe a specific event, maybe just an overview — and he’s humming and nodding while listening to your words, his brows knitting together in a pitying expression. you think he’s pitying you anyway, you’re kind of avoiding his eyes as you speak.

your voice starts shaking after a moment and you’re internally cursing yourself for tearing up because why are you still so affected by the actions of your father? you pause for a second, swallowing against the lump in your throat and it’s so humiliating to fall apart in front of your boyfriend like this and—

and shota places a hand over yours. his hand is rough and calloused from hero work but so warm. he’s gazing wistfully at where your skin meets, his thumb so gently grazing over your knuckles before giving your hand a small squeeze. “i’m so sorry that happened to you, baby. you didn’t deserve that.” oh and his words are just barely there, but they ring louder than what anyone has ever told you in response to your past.

your eyes meet his after he speaks. you want to snap back out of some deep seated need to defend yourself (to make yourself seem less vulnerable, less pathetic, perhaps). of course you didn’t deserve what happened to you, that’s a dumb thing to point out. that’s what you’re about to say when your lips part, but only a small, shuddering breath leaves you.

you don’t even notice the tears rolling down your cheeks until shota brings up a warm hand to wipe them away, his body leaning closer to yours to press his lips against your forehead. you want to curse at him, to push him away and storm off for even daring to see you in this state… but you don’t.

instead you wrap your arms around his middle and hide your face in his neck (shame, maybe?) and cry. you’re not sobbing, but you can’t help the hiccuped breaths that leave you when his hand slips under the hem of your shirt to run his warm palm up and down your back. he doesn’t say anything after that.