Forget Percy wanting to meet Hercules. We all know canon Percy would only care so he can bully him for abandoning Zoë. No, no. Hercules should be asking to meet Percy.
Hercules sitting on his island, being bitter, hating his life twiddling his thumbs, and then the kid who has been absolutely gunning for his reputation just rolls up on a ship and doesn’t even come say hi. The kid they say has surpassed him. The kid who fights with HIS SWORD. The only demigod who turned down immortality, the only one who has had it offered since Hercules took it. While Hercules is being miserable because he’s immortal, Percy’s just off the hook from this endless loop of suffering.
THINK I NEED SOMEONE (OLDER)
aizawa shouta x f!reader x shinsou hitoshi
A mentor like Aizawa can teach you many valuable life lessons: how to survive U.A., how to become the greatest underground hero Japan has ever seen, and how to properly fuck your girlfriend. Hitoshi faces a jarring realisation in the process.
CONTENT: 18+, post-timeskip, previously suspicious sensei/protégée dynamics are made way weirder lol, panicky hitoshi, non-sexual kneeling, possibly The Worst Blowjob Ever but in a sexy way (hit. giving, aiz. receiving), mild angst, non-traditional d/s dynamics, daddy kink (reader only), sensei kink, voyeurism, 14k words.
MEL'S NOTE: the entire tins(o) universe is dedicated to my beautiful friend, marcie @olivebowl. our horny echo chamber might just be my favourite place in the world. p.s. beyoncé's dangerously in love album is The Soundtrack to this fic if anyone wants to go into it with some background tunes!!
READ ON AO3 ┊ PART I ・ PART II
The shower doesn't help clear Hitoshi's mind.
If anything, the steady onslaught of water pattering against his back serves only to monotonise the entire experience until he's been standing long enough for his fingers to have pruned, absently staring at the tiles and reliving the past hour of his life in painful clarity. Mind rewinding and replaying the events—the flutter of your pussy cumming around Aizawa's thick cock, the easy dominance which laced his voice, how his Sensei had eyed the cumstain on Hitoshi's pants in shameless amusement—over and over and over.
A film reel of every moment Hitoshi succumbed to his arousal, every fortified defence that fell under his watch.
Hitoshi rubs the wrinkly pads of his fingers together and shuts his eyes for a deep, measured breath before turning off the shower and stepping out. He avoids looking in the mirror, no matter how fogged up it may be. The last thing he needs to see is a post-orgasm flush to his face when he already feels as though he's being held together by nothing more than sheer willpower alone. Drying himself off with brutal efficiency, he leans into the darkness that the towel provides while he tries to gather himself into a human being again. He scoops the leaking desire up. Brushes away the mist insistently clinging to the corners of his mind. Steadies the gentle tremor of his hands—present since Aizawa guided him towards the corner-chair where two large hands eclipsed his shoulders, pushing him down, down, down—and pretends it all works.
In the end, he figures the best way to dispel the uneasiness swirling in his gut will be to seeyou. To make sure you're okay and settle whatever dom-part of his brain has been knocked loose during the scene. He wraps the towel around his waist and pads back into the bedroom, content with his newfound plan and the sense of control it provides his skittish mind.
However, that loose part of his brain? Yeah, it must be hanging on by a scant thread, because he didn't account for Aizawa's presence. And thus, Hitoshi's steps falter right at the threshold to his bedroom like he's seeing his Sensei for the very first time.
For a second, he can't breathe.
Some vital part of him feels left behind in the humid air of Aizawa's bathroom. Another is still sitting in the chair. He thinks he might be losing the final part right now as crimson eyes flicker up, assessing. Aizawa remains silent, sitting by your side, yet Hitoshi is rooted to the spot. Toes curl into the carpet, fingers clutch the edge of his damp towel with knuckles bled of colour. He isn't sure what his expression is at this moment, but it can't be anything good. Not with the way his heart is thundering so fiercely in his chest, he half expects it to break free from its bony cage and hit the ground between them.
"Shinsou," Aizawa finally murmurs in greeting, and his name slices clean through the tethers binding Hitoshi in place.
Hitoshi inhales before forcing a languid smile. Like someone who's just cum and is happy about it. Not whatever pointless conflict is currently waging in his brain. Not the way in which his disquiet only seems to worsen as he observes Aizawa—shirtless, midnight hair cascading over his broad shoulders like the boughs of a willow tree, grey sweats hung sinfully low on his hips. His phone rests in one limp hand, open on a social media app that Hitoshi doesn't currently have the mental capacity to place, and his other hand strokes along your spine. Though it slowly draws to a stop when Hitoshi utters a small, "Sensei," in reply.
Crossing the space with a measured steadiness, Hitoshi pauses by your side, knees knocking into the mattress's edge, and casts his eyes over your blanket-covered body. Aizawa's hand is splayed wide in the dip of your back, right above the swell of your ass. For some reason, Hitoshi lingers on the sight. There's a strangely possessive air to the action. A hand in Hitoshi's home; the spot he brushes when he passes you in the kitchen; or presses to coax you through a crowd, into his body after a long day, along the muscles of his thigh when you're too desperate to do anything but rut against him like an animal in heat.
Hitoshi nibbles at his bottom lip. Aizawa's eyes are on him, burning like a brand and impossibly tangible in every sense of the word. Yet he feels removed from it. As though the knowledge of his weirdness—because he knows he's not acting normal; after all, who lingers on their scene partner caring for another like this?—is secondary to the tacky, syrupy slowness of his thoughts. As though he no longer cares if Aizawa believes him to be wrong. Or bad. Or silly. As though the only thing that matters to him now is seeing to it that you're alright—you are—and the unfailing presence of Aizawa's hand on your body, like he's trying to keep you tethered to him and the world, even in your sleep. Meanwhile, Hitoshi feels a heartbeat away from floating up into the aether.
Distantly, he realises something isn't quite right about the feeling. That it's eerily similar to how you've described your existence during scenes with him, after them sometimes, too. The recognition crawls through his honeyed mind, sinking deeper with each step until it submerges entirely, disappearing from Hitoshi's consciousness. Because Hitoshi is a dom, through and through. So realistically, he knows his brain must be protesting his lack of control, his lack of aftercare, his lack of a hand in the divot of your spine. All normal, dom-concerns and nothing that won't wear off once his hindbrain chills the fuck out.
This panic is merely transitory. As all things are.
"Shinsou," Aizawa repeats, drawing up from his relaxed slouch.
Hitoshi lifts his head in muted acknowledgement but doesn't turn to his Sensei.
You're clean. Aizawa's doing. You're warm and buried under a soft, thick blanket. Aizawa's doing. You're safe, watched over like a baby. Aizawa's doing.
Fingers itching to also do something, anything—to be a useful dom, to fulfil his obligations and wrap up the scene properly, to move through the motions until his brain finally realises that it's over—he gently combs through your hair. Then, Hitoshi's hand drifts down your spine, feeling each bump through the blanket. Venturing as close as he dares to where Aizawa's long fingers stake their claim, and ignoring whatever voice tells him to touch.
"Sensei," Hitoshi echoes. The word, intended to be a comfort, a one-word I'm fine, leaves his mouth in a whisper.
Aizawa's still staring at him, but he can't bring himself to bristle—to feel anything but wrong and weird and off-balance. Like he's drifting out to sea with each passing breath.
His fingers trace back up your spine, across your shoulder, up the one arm you've splayed out on the bed in your sleep. He notes the softness of your skin under the pads of his fingers. The smattering of fine hair. The bones of your wrist, your knuckles. He quietly eases his fingers beneath yours and holds your hand, loose and barely-there—he doesn't want to wake you, but he needs to hold you so bad the desire feels like it may split him clean in half, cracking his ribcage like a geode. There will be no shimmering crystals inside him. In fact, he fears there may be nothing at all. His thoughts feel so far from his brain it's a wonder he's still… him.
"What's going on in that head of yours?" Aizawa asks lowly, voice sliding over Hitoshi's skin like a satin-soft ribbon. Like the smooth, unforgiving grip of his capture weapon. He has a sudden urge to laugh at the question, but can't quite remember what's so funny about it. All he manages is a shaky exhale. "You're not usually this quiet with me."
"I…" Hitoshi's tongue is heavy and uncooperative in his mouth. In the end, all he manages is a subdued, "It's not you.
Aizawa doesn't reply, and when Hitoshi finally glances away from you, his Sensei's penetrating gaze is enough to make him cower.
"I'll be okay in a minute," he adds after clearing his throat, trying to dispel the airy quality it's taken on without his permission as he glances away again.
So much for impressing his Sensei. Showing him how well he handles his scenes and how carefully he looks after you. All he's doing instead is demonstrating his idiocy, clutching onto your hand like a lifeline and skating around whatever prying Aizawa is attempting, despite the endless well of good faith Hitoshi knows it's coming from.
"Alright," Aizawa acquiesces easily, letting the topic drop.
What could be seconds or hours later, Hitoshi's stare, anchored on your peaceful expression, is disrupted by a fond exhale. What there is to be amused about right now, though, Hitoshi has no idea. A phone drops with a soft thud onto the mattress behind Aizawa, and he leans back onto his hands casually, a big palm withdrawing from your body.
"Come here."
Hitoshi's body jerks, familiar with acting upon his Sensei's words before he even registers doing so—the heat of a battle is no place he questions Aizawa's command—before he remembers he's still holding your hand. For a split second, he's torn between the pain of letting you go and the wrongness of disobeying a direct order. A request? A question? Thinking back, Hitoshi can't actually recall what tone his Sensei used, though it doesn't seem to matter to his body, every muscle drawn tight in anticipation of following through.
"She's fine, Shinsou."
Hitoshi glances down to confirm his words.
You are fine.
Clean. Warm. Safe.
Hitoshi loops the words like a mantra, clinging to the little comfort they provide.
Aizawa pitches his voice down like he's soothing a spooked animal. "I'll look after her."
Is that meant for him?
Turbulent waters peter out into calm.
When has his Sensei ever lied to him?
(Never, the traitorous voice in his head whispers.)
Hitoshi brushes a thumb over your knuckles before drawing back his hand. There's a hesitation as he turns to Aizawa. But then the corner of his Sensei's mouth is twitching up, and Hitoshi is moving, taking a step, two, halting awkwardly in the space between Aizawa's feet. There's no hand in his own to ground him anymore, nor the mattress bumping his knees. He feels himself float higher, all the while Aizawa doesn't move an inch.
"You feelin' okay?"
Hitoshi nods, tightens his fingers in his towel, tries to quell the urge to curve his shoulders inwards and cover his bare chest. His bare-everything, really. The towel feels like a meagre cover, and even though Aizawa is only wearing sweats himself, the air of confidence his Sensei exudes is making Hitoshi feel small in a way he never does. Hitoshi's damp skin breaks out into gooseflesh.
Aizawa's gaze flickers down to his towel, back up to his face. "You enjoyed the scene?"
Another nod.
Because he did. He came in his pants like a goddamn teenager; of course, he enjoyed the scene. Got off on seeing his girlfriend fucked by another man, doubly so because it was Aizawa. Which he didn't particularly want to unpack right now, but now the aforementioned man is tilting his head slightly and staring up at Hitoshi, dark hair slipping off his shoulders and into the air behind him, and he can't help but notice just how much he did love it. His dick twitches at the memory of Aizawa's crimson eyes flashing to his as he came, how he reduced you to a crying, sobbing mess with a speed frankly terrifying to Hitoshi.
"Are we…" Aizawa visibly cycles through different dialogue options before settling on, "…okay?"
Hitoshi startles at the notion that Aizawa would even ask that. Unfortunately, this only deepens the frown forming on his Sensei's face.
"Are we okay, Shinsou?"
"Yes!" Hitoshi blurts, a hand reaching out to… he doesn't even know what, really. The smidgen of panic creeping into the edges of his brain helps clear the fog a little. Hand lingering in the air between them, faint tremors wrack his fingers before dropping uselessly to his side. "Yes, we're— we're okay, Sensei. More than okay." He swallows back another admission. "I promise."
Aizawa nods to himself now, and Hitoshi notices the relieved way he relaxes his shoulders, face smoothing out into his familiarly neutral expression. There's a tiny smirk on his lips, though, like his Sensei's thoughts are meandering from worry into something Hitoshi can't quite place.
Hitoshi shivers. Flicks his eyes between Aizawa's. Tries to match his shallow breaths to his Sensei's slow, even ones.
"Do you want to kneel for me, Shinsou?"
Instead, Aizawa decides to derail it all.
Hitoshi's mouth opens and closes around words he can't find. The tremors in his hands worsen, and he takes a halted step backwards. Just one. Like he can't decide if running would even be worth it. Who then has to ignore the traitorous arousal pooling in his gut at the thought of being caught by his Sensei—at the capture weapon wound tight around his torso, arms pinned to his side, at hearing the exerted puffs of Aizawa's breath as his Sensei leers over him in victory.
"No, I…"
Leaning forward, Aizawa braces his elbows on his thighs, staring up at Hitoshi in a way that shouldn't be intimidating, yet it is.
"Doesn't have to mean anything." Aizawa shrugs carefully, as though toeing a thin line Hitoshi can't see. His head dips meaningfully as he studies Hitoshi's petrified expression. "And it doesn't make you less of a dom."
"I don't need to kneel," Hitoshi stresses, taking another step back.
"I know that," Aizawa replies easily. "I know that, Shinsou. You don't need anything. Anyone. You don't need me, and I've had to force myself into your life and fight to keep my place." A humourless laugh that only serves to confuse Hitoshi more. Hitoshi's eyes flicker to you. "I see you because I'm the same… That doesn't mean you can't want, though."
The ground feels liquid beneath his feet, and Hitoshi's stomach swoops—insides lurching up into his throat in place of all the words he wants to yell, all the denials fighting their way out.
Hitoshi flashes Aizawa a warning glance. Takes another step back. "I don't want to kneel, either."
Clearly contemplating his words, Aizawa stares up at him. Hitoshi shifts, uncomfortable as some of the fog bleeds away to awkwardness, to memories of exactly how he reacted to his Sensei fucking his girlfriend in a way he'll never be able to take back. Never be able to hide or deny. It's all out there—every mistake he's made this evening. And you're fast asleep, satiated, exhausted, drifting through dreamland and unable to help.
Hitoshi has ruined everything.
Both his relationships. The respect he's spent a decade cultivating with his Sensei, with the only man who's seen through to his core and decided to stay, who's raised him, cared for him, loved him. You—who's been by his side through his highest of highs and his lowest of lows, who's endlessly forgiving, patient, and all manner of beautiful qualities Hitoshi could never hope to deserve, even given a millennium to try.
Fog creeps back into his brain, pervasive, leaving no crack, corner, or crevice untouched by its wispy fingers.
Breaths come quicker, come shallow. Barely reaching his lungs before another takes its place.
Prickling numbness coats his fingers and creeps up his arms.
Then, voice cracking over the words, "Why do I want to kneel, Sensei?"
Aizawa's expression turns kind.
"Shinsou…"
"I don't…" His mouth flaps like a fish out of water. A hand squeezes his towel until it hurts. "I don't understand… What is wrong with me? Why did I have to… to," purple hair twisted between fingers, "to be like this."
At once, the air is suffocating his lungs.
"I'm sorry," Hitoshi gasps helplessly, the stirrings of a sob marring his words. Panic sweeps him under, and his eyes dance everywhere but Aizawa. "God, I'm so sorry, Sensei."
Say something, Hitoshi thinks. Say something, say something, say something!
Yell at me. Snap out of it.
Leave.
Don't go.
Aizawa rises from the bed.
Flinching like he's been struck, Hitoshi feels the big hands on his shoulders long before they make contact; as though the few deafening heartbeats it takes for Aizawa to cross the space contain a thousand lifetimes. Aizawa cradles his trembling form like he's trying to hold him together. Better Aizawa attempt such a feat than Hitoshi, who couldn't hold anyone together right now, last of all his splintering mind. A mind that prides itself on breaking you down and putting you back together; a mind recognising it is falling apart, yet able to do nothing but helplessly watch.
Steering him like a tugboat, Aizawa drags Hitoshi backwards step by step. Hitoshi follows dazedly, putting up no fight against his Sensei.
"Back to her."
The first words to leave Aizawa's mouth. His familiar smooth drawl is an immediate balm on Hitoshi's panic. The side of his knee bumps the mattress's edge as he obeys, turning his back to you. A brief jolt of uncertainty strikes through him. But it has no time to settle.
Pressure on his shoulders.
Deeper this time, as though Aizawa is trying to burn the shape of his fingers into the muscle Hitoshi has built there. Hitoshi stares at his Sensei uncomprehendingly.
What does his Sensei want?
There's a suspended moment of silence—anticipation hanging heavy in the air. Aizawa fits his palms to Hitoshi's shoulders and depresses them with force anew. Hitoshi feels their comforting weight and considers asking if he can stay beneath it forever.
"Shinsou," Aizawa repeats pointedly, drawing him back to the present.
"Sensei," he replies, voice small against his will. A call to a summons. An echo to a shout.
Exhaling a short breath, the corner of Aizawa's lip twitches up. Before Hitoshi can process what's happening, a foot catches the back of his knee, and he meets the ground with a harsh thump, knees knocking into carpet with surprising force. The impact reverberates up his thighs and straight through his core.
Against his will, Hitoshi moans.
Aizawa's eyebrows rise into his hairline. Hitoshi hears the incriminating noise bounce off every wall in the room and slap him across the face some long, viscid seconds later. Wincing, he quickly ducks his head in shame. Blood burns in his cheeks. What the hell is wrong with him? First, he's arguing his insistence against kneeling and the next moment he's moaning when his Sensei forces the choice upon him. Some fucking hero he is…
Some fucking Sensei Aizawa is, too.
"Oh?"
Let the ground swallow me, Hitoshi begs. Let it swallow me and be done with it.
"Shut up," he grits out, forcing the lingering remnants of the moan from his voice until it hardens like cooling sugar, one wrong move away from its brittle exterior shattering into innumerable pieces.
Aizawa hums. "I don't think you should be telling me to shut up right now."
Hitoshi hates how his skin breaks out into gooseflesh at his Sensei's degrading croon. Hates even more how he can feel arousal stirring in his gut at the sight of Aizawa's bare feet in his vision, the soft sweat sitting on the bone of his ankle, the knowledge that if he looks up now, he'd have to drag his eyes up every godforsaken inch of the man before he could meet his eyes. How he's kneeling at his feet—like a defeated villain, like a sweet pet… like a fucking sub.
Embarrassment swirls around him.
"Fuck off," he bites cruelly, trying to regain some of the ground he's lost.
Hitoshi should turn tail and run, but he can't seem to get his body to cooperate. Legs leaden and heavy, glued to the ground by no more than Aizawa's presence. A hand lands on the crown of his head, and the immediate relief the touch brings, paired with his brain's comparison to an owner petting their dog, brings nothing but misery and strife.
"All bark and no bite."
Aizawa punctuates his words with a gentle ruffle of Hitoshi's damp hair.
Hitoshi wants to bristle. Truly, he does. Instead, he leans into the touch with about as much shame as you had on his Sensei's cock earlier—drinking in the feeling of big fingers engulfing his skull, the pads of fingers brushing his scalp with a gentleness belying the strength of the man above him. Each reply that Hitoshi tries to summon peers out of his mouth before deciding to hide in his throat. Hitoshi wishes he could hide, too. But that would mean leaving Aizawa, separating himself from the soft touch of his mentor and crawling back to the thrum of panic he can feel lying in wait for his walls to fall again—for Aizawa to slip up in his careful defence of Hitoshi's mind.
A decision has never been made so simple.
"You look good like this," Aizawa says colloquially, as though commenting on a particularly sunny day when the forecast had predicted rain. A dash of surprise. An overwhelming sweep of pleasure. The confirmed knowledge that every day can bring the unexpected.
Exhaling a shaky breath, Hitoshi bows his head deeper, refusing to acknowledge his words.
"Always knew you would."
At that, Hitoshi freezes—his muscles drawing taut and still, the breath he was inhaling lodging in the base of his trachea. Yet he doesn't look up. Can't, really. Because seeing whatever expression Aizawa is wearing would surely be his undoing, the gust of wind to topple his wobbling house of cards. Hitoshi immediately braces, prepared for his mind to be unsettled by the statement, for his dominance to feel challenged.
"Sensei," he ends up gasping, voice strangled like someone has a fist around his larynx.
Why does he only feel relief?
Fingers slide from his crown to his nape and settle there like ownership. Hitoshi shivers under them, his body visibly riding the wave of arousal that washes over him. He can feel his cock stirring under his towel, and he clutches it tighter, both fists tight around the waist. It's humiliating, really, the way he's reacting to such a simple touch. But there's a weight behind it that his body and mind aren't used to, a possessiveness potent enough to give him vertigo.
"What is it?"
"I don't…"
Hitoshi swallows.
Then, words tumble from his lips like a malfunctioning speaker, so rapid that each merges into the last until it's one messy string of distress.
"Sensei, Idon'tknowhowtodothis," a shuddering inhale, "I don't know how to—"
Submit.
I don't know how to submit. I'm afraid I'm going to embarrass myself. I'm afraid I'll be bad. I'm afraid I'm going to make you hate me. I'm afraid I'm going to mess everything up.
Most of all, I'm afraid I'll like it.
"You don't have to know, Shinsou," Aizawa sighs, like he always does when he thinks Hitoshi is caught up in the whirlwind raging inside his head. "Just listen to Sensei, hm?"
Hitoshi finds himself agreeing before he can think better of it, head bobbing along obediently. A hot flash emanates from the hand on his nape when Aizawa's thumb brushes behind his ear comfortingly in response, and all it ends up doing is making Hitoshi shudder. Aizawa laughs lowly, the sound curling around Hitoshi's brain and quieting it that much more.
Listen to Sensei.
Hitoshi can do that. Has been doing that since he was fifteen—looking up to Aizawa and hanging onto his every word, working day and night to become an underground hero worthy of the title of Eraser Head's protégé. The request is as familiar as breathing, as easy as Aizawa broke you down less than an hour ago. A day ago? Hitoshi feels like he may have been kneeling at Aizawa's feet forever. Does time always pass so strangely? Like it's stretching and compressing at will, leaving him no more certain of this moment than the last, no more cowed by the next moment than the one he's currently in.
A shuffle of fabric and the hand on his nape rotates, the feet in his vision moving as Aizawa takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Hitoshi sits perpendicular. There's an urge to lean forward, to knock his forehead onto the thigh before him and let his thoughts turn warm and soupy. He sways slightly, as though the indecision is a physical thing. Aizawa widens his fingers—sliding the heat of his palm down to the middle of Hitoshi's bared back, back up the notches of his spine and into his damp hair. Aizawa's fingertips splay across his scalp, and the sensation makes him shiver.
None of this helps the urge.
Hitoshi exhales under its insistence; face screwing up against it and jaw gritting against a low whine.
He can't remember how long he's been like this, how long it's been since he looked at Aizawa. All he can focus on is the thick thigh in front of him, calling his name like a siren's song, and the pleasant static between his ears; as though Aizawa is smoothing his thoughts out into quiet with only the big, warm breadth of his palm gliding from his hair down his spine, and back up again until Hitoshi isn't sure precisely what it was he panicked about earlier.
This is nice, he thinks quietly, right as he gives in—forehead dropping onto the side of Aizawa's thigh. Aizawa tenses under him, just once, and then Hitoshi is drifting. Nasty worries about the scene, about his standing as a dom, about his relationships fading to the recesses of his mind, like they're being leeched out from him by the steadiness of Aizawa, by the strong muscles under his face.
This is nice...
───
Eventually, the fog subsides.
"—sou."
A hand stills on his nape. Warm. Always so warm.
"—insou."
Hitoshi could melt, could sink back into the balmy waters like a stone.
"Shinsou…"
Sensei.
Hitoshi blinks tired eyes open to the sight of the carpet and almost closes them right away, the sweet call of darkness all too tempting.
Where is he again?
"You with me?"
Sensei's house. At his feet.
You're asleep on the bed.
Yes.
Some half-hearted, throaty hum makes itself known in place of his intended reply.
"Not quite then," Sensei chuckles, fingers tightening briefly, digging into Hitoshi's skin—who inhales, as sharply as he can manage, an undercurrent of pleasure snaking back into his veins.
Fingers, limp on his towel, wake up one by one.
"Y'feelin' better?"
Yes.
Another hum, steadier this time.
Another chuckle, louder this time.
Then, fingers smoothing through his hair, behind his ear, along the curve of his jaw. Knuckles settling under his chin, which press upwards lightly. There's little command behind the action, and even through Hitoshi's unweighted, untethered existence right now, he can hear the silent question lingering under Sensei's fingers.
A deep inhale, lungs expanding wide to accommodate. A rush of clarity. Not enough to startle, but enough for Hitoshi to obey, slowly tipping his head back while Sensei's fingers follow, settled in the dip of his submentum as though they belong there.
Maybe they do. Who is Hitoshi to say?
The first thing he notices is light—still low in Sensei's room, the golden spill of a lamp over the bed, a slice of dusk peering through the curtains he didn't close properly, the flash of Sensei's phone still lost in the covers. Then, the curve of warmth on Sensei's stubbled jaw, the molten magma swimming in his eyes and reflecting the lamp's glow, and their meeting with Hitoshi's.
"There you are."
Hitoshi almost buckles at the fondness in his Sensei's tone—at all that love being directed at him with no excuse otherwise to be found. No deflection, no joke afterwards to lessen the heat.
"Sensei," Hitoshi breathes, the sheer intimacy bowling him over. Too much for someone still grasping at the pieces of themselves. Except he finds nothing to grasp—they're already slotted where they belong. All the cracks meticulously filled, and with such care, Hitoshi feels distantly ill.
Fingers pet under his chin gently, and Hitoshi swallows to feel them shift with the movement. Sensei smiles. Hitoshi swallows again, for a different reason this time.
The air feels suspended in softness.
Hitoshi lets his eyes drift again, down the slope of Sensei's nose, across his broad shoulders, his bare stomach—soft and relaxed—the V of his hips, the cock tenting his sweats, the thickness of his thi—
Wait. The cock tenting his sweats?
Why is Sensei hard?
Hitoshi sits up straighter, gaze locked onto the sight in mild shock.
Arousal lances through his gut without remorse. Guilt follows closely behind.
"Shinsou, listen—"
Sensei's dick twitches under the weight of his stare. A weird urge makes itself known, Hitoshi's mouth filling with saliva as he imagines the weight of his Sensei's thick cock in his mouth. The way it might still be covered in you—your slick, Sensei's arousal, Sensei's spit. Hitoshi feels his own cock, softened in the haze of calm he's existed within under the supervision of his Sensei, start to stir in response. Distantly, he thinks about how he's never sucked a dick before. Knows nothing beyond what he's seen in porn back in U.A., and what he likes when it's you on your knees, you swallowing him, your wet warmth hugging his cock like a sin.
Would it be different with Aizawa?
"I…"
Hitoshi flicks his gaze up to see Aizawa wince around a word he never voices. Then, he glances back down. Is he even harder?
"It's… not you. It's just…" A lie kissing Aizawa's teeth, so obvious that Hitoshi would smile if he could find himself enough to do so. "Fuck… Fuck, Shinsou. I'm sorry."
"'s okay," Hitoshi mumbles lowly, distracted and still warming his voice, still remembering who he is and what happened earlier this evening. "I don't mind."
Then, spoken like an afterthought, "You didn't get off earlier."
Aizawa makes a startled sound, half-laugh, half-disbelief. "That wasn't what the scene was about."
Hitoshi lets out an unconvinced hum, eyes still glued to the clear outline of Aizawa's cock through the soft material of his sweats. "Do you want to?"
"Do I want to what?" Aizawa asks carefully.
There are fingers under his chin. Eyes intent on peeling back the layers to his misty expression. Yet all Hitoshi can focus on is the way Aizawa's cock twitches again.
"Do you want to get off?"
An amused smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "No."
"What if I want you to get off?"
"What are you saying, Shinsou?"
I don't know.
"What if I want to watch you?"
"Watch me?"
Hitoshi doesn't say anything.
Aizawa considers him for a moment. Hitoshi can see the cogs turning, whirring their metal paths in his head as he works out every option, every right and wrong path.
Then, with a deceivingly harmless head tilt, "Can you ask nicely for me?"
Hitoshi flushes immediately, right as his arousal begins a slow roil in his gut. Some part of his brain laughs—clearly more lucid than the rest—hysterical and depreciative, at the way it's Sensei's request to fluster him and not the shameless way he was asking to see Aizawa's cock just moments prior.
"Sensei…" he trails off uncertainly, voice wavering.
Raising an eyebrow, Aizawa lets his fingers drop from Hitoshi's chin and he places his palms on the bed behind him, leisurely leaning back and creating a beautiful curve to his body—muscles stretching with the movement, shoulders appearing dizzingly wider.
"C'mon, Shinsou," Aizawa laughs lightly, the sound just this side of demeaning. "I'm only asking you to be polite. I never said you had to behave."
With an embarrassingly telling jolt, Hitoshi turns his head to the side quickly, staring off at the dark dresser tucked in the corner of Aizawa's room and swathed in shadows.
"Unless you want to behave for me?" Aizawa croons lowly, tipping his head to the side again to follow the direction of Hitoshi's gaze. With the older man's movements only visible in Hitoshi's periphery, the sound of his velvety voice, like tumbled gravel, feels much more overwhelming. As though he's pouring his sin right into Hitoshi's ear. "Unless you want to sit still and watch while I touch myself. To be told that you can't touch."
An inferno sweeps over Hitoshi's body, gnawing at his sanity, and he bites his lip hard enough to hurt.
"My capture device is in the dresser," Aizawa tacks on casually.
Hitoshi shudders like the bow of a ship caught in a storm.
"Maybe I'll let you have a taste if you're good."
"Sensei," he gasps, unbidden, turning back to the man.
Feeling no different than a broken record, repeating Sensei over and over and over—in plea, in apology, in call for mercy and damnation both at once—Hitoshi can't help the way his own cock starts filling out. The way he's drawn closer to Aizawa, as though his Sensei has his own gravitational pull and Hitoshi is no more than passing space debris.
Aizawa laughs, the sound decidedly not uncruel. "What is it?"
"I want…"
He forces the words back down. Shoves them so deep they can't possibly surface. Then, Aizawa is moving his leg slightly, until his ankle touches Hitoshi's knee—and this singular point of contact, casual and so utterly innocent, completely undoes him.
"IwantatasteSenseiplease," he blurts in one heaving breath.
"'Please,' huh?" A particular emphasis on the incriminating word.
Hitoshi's mouth opens and closes around a shapeless excuse.
"Thought it would take you a bit more to start begging." One hand coming to play with the low waistband of his sweats, Aizawa's voice is particularly dry when he continues, "You ever sound like this for her?"
Aizawa nods his chin in your direction, and Hitoshi follows the subtle direction—he observes how sleep has smoothed its fingers over your face, has caressed your body until it's all but melted into the mattress.
Hitoshi has, occasionally.
When you feel like being a bit meaner, the bite of your words and the roll of your hips can be enough to make Hitoshi's head feel fuzzy. Once, you edged him. Restraint is unfamiliar to you, but you learned, and quickly. By the time the moon was arching above you both, Hitoshi was a mess. Worse than he's ever been with you. Tears beading his lashline. Sweat sheening across his body. Nothing like the dom you were both used to, yet nothing like a sub either.
Hitoshi shrugs, words evading him. Even if he could find them, he isn't quite sure how he'd explain the intricacies of your relationship to the older man. The gentle push and pull within your roles. How Hitoshi has never been anything but a dom with you, despite what may happen in the bedroom.
Seeing this, Aizawa steels his shoulders.
"Go on, then," Aizawa utters, leaning back on his hands. "Have your taste."
Hitoshi glances between the growing curve of Aizawa's sweats and the knowing glint in his eyes. Shifting awkwardly on his knees, he debates if he should be moving—debates it doubly so when Aizawa's thighs spread wider, as though inviting him to the space between them. Aizawa flicks his eyes down pointedly, and then Hitoshi is shuffling between his thighs before he can process the action. Once he's there, a new heat dances over his body. Anticipatory. Scared. The lump in his throat wars with the blood rushing to his cock. With trembling hands, Hitoshi moves to tug down the waistband of Aizawa's sweats. He's a hair's breadth from the soft fabric before Aizawa is there—one wide hand wrapped around both of Hitoshi's wrists.
"No hands."
Hitoshi makes a weird, embarrassing, strangled noise, his face colouring a beat later. "Sensei, what—"
Aizawa squeezes his hand once, fingers tight on Hitoshi's thundering pulse. "You heard me."
No hands?
The trembling wracking his hands worsens, and there's no way Aizawa doesn't notice a dying animal caught in a trap. Stomach swooping like he just missed a step on a staircase, Hitoshi forces shallow, stuttered breaths, half-convinced they may be his last. Aizawa stares at him with all the calculating air of a predator. Unable to hold his gaze, Hitoshi tears his eyes away with a sharp exhale. This isn't what he wants. To degrade himself in front of his Sensei. To undercut all the work he's put into being a dom. A good dom.
But then Aizawa's cock twitches once more, and Hitoshi is leaning forward anyway. Closer, closer, closer. Until he can feel his warm breath bouncing back off the jersey fabric. Until all that's holding the fragile seams of their relationship together is the scant coin's width of air between Hitoshi's lips and Aizawa's cock. So he stops there. Unable to quite breach that distance, not with all it might spell; a relationship changed forever. A boundary never to be uncrossed. One more reason he won't be able to act normally around his Sensei ever again.
Yet still, the urge breathes.
Simmering beneath his skin like a pot about to boil over. A lid begging to be cracked. Steam desperate to escape.
Hitoshi feels it all, and still, he cannot move.
There's a brief moment of insecurity—how must he look, frozen before his Sensei's crotch—but it is largely outweighed by the trepidation lining every terrified heartbeat. By the familiar voice, loud in his head, calling for his Sensei to help him.
"We don't have to do this, Shinsou."
A measured pause suspends Hitoshi above a pitch-black chasm.
"You have nothing to prove." A warm voice melting down into reverence. "Not to me."
The words sink into Hitoshi's core like the first rain after a dry season, penetrating the parched soil. And he falls.
Hitoshi's lips meet his crotch. A smooth kiss of cotton, followed by a staticky brush of tongue. Barely any pressure behind it, yet Aizawa moans like he's been slapped. His hips are remarkably still, like he's making a conscious effort not to move and scare Hitoshi away. Hitoshi brushes the tip of his nose up Aizawa's length, before tilting his head and opening his mouth wider, caution flying out the window. He licks once, harder, before closing his lips around the middle of Aizawa's cock and wetting the fabric there. Sucking it into his mouth. Absorbing the hitch in his Sensei's breath like that alone could sustain him for weeks.
Quietness seeps back into his brain—arousal right behind it, though the pang of heat is strangely distant as his awareness narrows down to Aizawa. To the hand still clutching Hitoshi's wrists, trapped between the mattress edge and Hitoshi's chest, and the way it flexes rhythmically. Head canted sideways, he shoots a glance up at his Sensei, only to find him already watching. The barest glimpse of his gentle Sensei is visible under his dark expression.
Aizawa grits his jaw. "Just like that."
Licking his way up Aizawa's cock, Hitoshi's hands twitch with the need to touch as they twitch from the strength of his Sensei's grasp. He laps, sucks, kisses along his cock until the fabric is dark with spit. Suckles at the tip, pressing his tongue into where he thinks the slit would be and watches victoriously as Aizawa exhales a sharp breath. Hitoshi can feel his mouth, covered in saliva, and can feel the drool leaking from the corners.
Beneath it, a weirdness settles in his gut. Like he hasn't quite recognised yet how he's slobbering all over his Sensei—on the man who practically raised him—like a dog who hasn't learnt control. He can feel it brewing like a hangover. A tomorrow he knows he might regret—a today he can't bear to let end.
Hitoshi lets his eyes flutter closed instead, sucking at Aizawa's tip through the fabric like he can taste the bitter tang of precum if he tries hard enough. Aizawa's hand tightens around his wrists before dropping away entirely.
"Hands behind your back," Aizawa rasps, a hint of panic in his voice.
Without hesitating, Hitoshi obeys. One hand coming to clutch the wrist of his other at the small of his back.
"Good."
A pleasant shiver rushes down Hitoshi's spine at the roughness of his voice.
"Keep them there."
Hitoshi mouths back down his cock, drawing wet patterns with his tongue, dampening the grey fabric. Aizawa pants above him. There's something oddly soothing about having his mouth occupied—about not being expected to speak because he's busy pleasing his Sensei. About being able to switch his brain off until all that's bouncing around the quiet is Aizawa, Aizawa, Aizawa.
Inhaling deeply, Hitoshi can smell the heady musk of Aizawa's crotch and the cologne clinging to Aizawa's wrist, clutching the comforter near his hips. He inhales again. And again. Committing the scent to memory, engraving the satisfaction of knowing Aizawa intimately on this new level onto his heart. Hitoshi shuffles on his knees again. Stiffness brightens his awareness a touch.
Making sure his head is ducked down, Hitoshi fixes his eyes on Aizawa's crotch and whispers a small "Sensei…" that goes unheard, lips brushing against him over the word.
Under him, Aizawa's hips strain for stillness. Hitoshi's fingers twitch behind his back in response, and he squeezes them into fists so tightly it hurts, nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. Breathing through the dull bite of pain, he reminds himself that it's only Aizawa.
Unsurprisingly, this isn't helpful.
Only Aizawa?
As though this isn't the only person next to you who knows Hitoshi inside and out. Someone shy of a father but much more than a mentor. A relationship like muddy water—like fog concealing a winter morning. There isn't one word, nor one label for them. No box he can shove himself and Aizawa into will be a perfect fit.
And maybe that's why he's here on his knees—mouthing at Aizawa's clothed cock like a dog.
Because life isn't simple. Hitoshi and Aizawa aren't simple—never have been. And while Hitoshi's stomach is flipping every two seconds, brain melting under the pressure of his humiliation, there's no denying this is right. Beyond all the wrongness. Beyond the weirdness, the awkwardness, the tense line of Aizawa's body and the halted way Hitoshi touches…
This is right.
If only his body would get the memo, though, faintly tremoring as though caught in an earthquake. Jaw sore already, and expression drawn tight.
"Fuck," Aizawa groans finally, the sound like a bird's first flight. "That feels good."
Hitoshi exhales something shaky as he kisses back up his shaft.
"Where'd ya learn how to do this, hm?"
Hitoshi tenses for a brief moment, trying to parse whether Aizawa is being flattering or sarcastic. Does Aizawa know? No… Why would his Sensei have any reason to know such intimate details about his sex life? Before today, it was a topic he'd rather die than bring up around Aizawa. A beat later, he realises that he's still frozen, but it's too late. He relaxes his body and licks over his tip again, but Aizawa taps a knee into his shoulder gently, immediately checking in.
Hitoshi winces.
"You okay?"
Hitoshi nods stiltedly, unwilling to remove his mouth from Aizawa's cock. Not if it means speaking. Hitoshi doesn't want to speak right now. Doesn't want anything more than to lap at the damp fabric of Aizawa's sweat, to smell the tangle of delicious scents invading Hitoshi's brain, and to maybe, just maybe, get a proper taste.
If Aizawa lets him.
"You have… You have done this before, haven't you, Shin?"
Hitoshi watches the tan, scarred hand tangled in the comforter tighten in his periphery.
At the nickname, Hitoshi fights back a moan, throwing himself back into his task—suckling at the head of Aizawa's cock, licking the underside, following where it curves slightly to the right near his hipbone. His mouth drifts up to Aizawa's waistband, and right as teeth bite the fabric—yanking it down, determined to get Aizawa in his mouth before he can question Hitoshi anymore—does his Sensei speak.
"Shinsou."
Hitoshi can't even bring himself to hum. On some level, he hears the words. But answering seems so unimportant right now in the face of Aizawa's cock, and Aizawa's laboured breaths. Sensei won't mind, right? No. Surely not. Hitoshi is making him feel good.
With barely a second to brace himself, Hitoshi feels a big hand thread into his damp hair at the back of his head and tug. Not meanly, just firm. Pulling Hitoshi away from his crotch and baring him in one smooth motion, his neck a long, pale line. He swallows and feels the sensation with uncomfortable tautness. Panic pulls at his chest at the suddenness, at being dragged from a nice thing so quickly, at having Aizawa's cock almost in his mouth one moment and then being humiliatedly exposed the next. Saliva coating his mouth, his chin, his cheeks. He must look awful. A mess. Like a child.
Hitoshi pulls against the hold immediately, drawing up tall. The hands behind his back fly up to clutch Aizawa's. Aizawa told him to hold them there, but that was before—before he was forced from the peaceful place he'd been existing within. Before he felt like a lamb before the slaughter, forced to meet the deep red of his Sensei's hard stare.
"I asked you a question," Aizawa utters lowly.
Hitoshi swallows a gasping moan when Aizawa's fingers press against his skull. "Sensei."
No other word encapsulates all that Sensei does. No word contains such multitudes as this title—the love, the fear, the honeyed plea that is a flashing neon sign for all its subtlety.
Sensei, Sensei, Sensei.
Hitoshi could repeat it ad nauseam.
"You're not going to get what you want until I hear your answer, Shinsou." Aizawa tilts his head back an inch further. Hitoshi can feel Aizawa's pulse beneath his fingers—smooth, steady, calm. It only makes him panic more. "Have you given a blowjob before?"
There's something strangely formal about the question. Hitoshi would laugh in any other circumstance, but hot and flustered under the spotlight, he's not finding this particularly funny. Not with his pride on the line, too. Because what the hell is his Sensei going to think of him if he says no? That he's some bumbling blowjob virgin? That he's been begging all this time to suck him off when in reality he has zero clue how to make it good? Hitoshi is quite convinced that it would be more humiliating than remaining silent and accepting whatever punishment Aizawa deems necessary. Even if that means stopping whatever… this is—a scene, sex, a new brand of bonding between them.
Hitoshi's gaze flickers askance, guilty. Lips still parted around his panting breaths. He never noticed that Aizawa had a vintage All Might frame on his dresser.
"And to think you were being so sweet earlier."
Hitoshi couldn't find any words even if he wanted to. Nausea brews low in his gut.
"What happened to him, hm? How do I bring him back?"
Being referred to like that only seems to worsen Hitoshi's stonewall, but he doesn't know how to explain as such to Aizawa. That he doesn't know how to give a blowjob, that he's as much out of his depth as Aizawa is in his. Being forced to answer doesn't feel good either. Hitoshi can feel his pleasant buzz quickly fading under Aizawa's hard stare, and he keeps his gaze fixed on the uncharacteristic mess littering Aizawa's dresser.
Aizawa sighs heavily.
Hitoshi jolts like he's being reprimanded. Like he's a child back in U.A., getting caught under Aizawa's feet, getting in his way on the field. He hasn't cried for years—not since he scrolled past a particularly heartbreaking video of a stray cat being recused, fed, and given a new, loving home—so why the hell are his traitorous eyes beginning to water?
Gritting his jaw, he tries to force the swirling mess of emotions Aizawa is drawing forth back down. He pulls on a thread of anger he can feel singing through his veins, because it's easier. Simpler. Weirdly familiar, even though everyone in his life knows him for his level-headedness, for his similarly calm nature to Aizawa. They don't know, though. Not like you do. How Hitoshi carries such anger, it threatens to swallow him whole. Rage at the hand he was dealt, at the divisive nature of his quirk, at the way he was treated so early into his underground career while barely breaking adulthood.
At being humiliated again and again and again. At being disregarded. Mistreated.
At being feared.
And fuck, he knows Aizawa doesn't fear him. Has never feared him.
But the disappointment? It's almost worse.
Hitoshi spares the briefest of glances at Aizawa, just enough to see the way his mentor's eyes have widened slightly, before using his hold on Aizawa's wrist to wrench his hand out of his hair. It goes easily, almost as if Aizawa had been barely holding on in the first place.
"Stop," Hitoshi says quietly. The one syllable lined with years of hurt so heavy the request drops between them like the swinging anvil of a battle-hardened command.
Aizawa is uncharacteristically frozen. One hand caught in Hitoshi's grip, the other still tangled in the sheets. It takes him a moment, but then that hand is raised too in a poor imitation of surrender. "Okay."
Hitoshi sucks in a deep breath, trying to level his panic back into calm. Trying to suppress his anger back into that little box he keeps tucked away in the dusty corners of his heart.
"I'm sorry," Hitoshi says after a moment.
The air between them loosens.
Aizawa shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Shinsou." Regret lines his tone. "I shouldn't have pushed you. Not today."
Hitoshi's mind latches onto not today. Is Aizawa expecting a repeat of… this? Hitoshi, on his knees. You, asleep on the bed. Something in his chest loosens. Hitoshi hasn't ruined anything, not yet. So he cradles Aizawa's apology, lets it smooth his anger into a tiny ball, then locks his outburst back in the box.
"C'mere," Aizawa murmurs quietly, the hand raised in surrender slowly lowering to the side of Hitoshi's shoulder.
Hitoshi lets his Sensei pull him up onto his knees. Aizawa leans forward and maintains eye contact until he's carefully knocking their foreheads together, eyes shutting.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, low and reverent.
Hitoshi studies the blurry sight in front of him, Aizawa too close to truly drink in. After a beat, Hitoshi lets his eyes flutter closed, too.
"'s okay," he murmurs back.
Aizawa makes a half-hearted noise in the back of his throat, a wordless complaint at Hitoshi brushing away his apology so quickly, but says no more on the topic. Seemingly content to bask in the silence for a moment. Hitoshi's nose brushes against Aizawa's. Straightening, Hitoshi feels heat crawl up his spine as the hot puff of Aizawa's breath hits his mouth.
A line.
There is a line.
A big, bold line.
Hitoshi scrambles away from it with all the composure of a deflating balloon.
Aizawa feels his hesitation; of course, he does.
He pulls back to look at Hitoshi with a small frown. "What's wrong?"
Hitoshi shakes his head quickly, physically trying to dislodge such thoughts from his mind. "Nothing." Topic change. Now. "Can I… Can I carry on?"
Eyebrows raised, Aizawa flicks between Hitoshi's eyes.
"You don't have to do that," he says carefully.
Hitoshi almost laughs. "I know."
Releasing Aizawa's wrist, Hitoshi drops both his hands—slowly, giving time for protest—to his Sensei's hips. The touch is unfamiliar, more intimate than is usual between them, and he fights to keep his palms firm against the warmth of him.
"That's why you're going to sit back," Hitoshi takes a breath, "and take what I give you."
Aizawa's pupils widen, swallowing the darkness of his irises with black. "Shinsou—"
Hitoshi feels the sharp vacuum of Aizawa's inhale—his mouth flattening into a line Hitoshi has seen many times before.
Aizawa never finishes his sentence.
Hitoshi bites back a smile.
"Does that sound okay?" An undercurrent of caution is injected into his tone. He'll back off if Aizawa tells him to. Won't hesitate for even a breath.
But slowly, ever so slowly, Aizawa's head dips into a nod—just the one, like it's all he can manage on such tenuous footing.
Accepting the permission, Hitoshi sits back on his haunches and squeezes Aizawa's hips to ground himself. Fingers spread across heated skin and brushed cotton, their tips sinking into soft flesh. They drift down to his waistband and pause. Hitoshi glances up at Aizawa, whose expression is unreadable, but a faint blush dusts high on his cheeks, and a stern set to his mouth belies his nerves. No words are exchanged, but his hips lift slightly, and Hitoshi understands, tugging his sweats down just enough to free Aizawa's cock.
Fuck.
Hitoshi thought he was prepared for the sight—angry and red and weeping onto Aizawa's navel—but that couldn't be any further from the truth. Hungry eyes linger. Thoughts stall into nothingness. Before he can stop himself, he's drawing comparisons.
Aizawa is slightly bigger—thicker, really. Not quite as long as Hitoshi, but it's a near thing, and the knowledge that this is what split you open earlier gives him a newfound appreciation for how long you managed to hold yourself together before you fell apart. How could you not? It must've been almost inevitable, considering his size. Even Hitoshi is curious if he could take it.
Leaning forward tentatively, Hitoshi licks the tip, tasting the bitter bite of precum on his tongue. Aizawa's breath lodges in his throat, and Hitoshi, distracted by the reaction, tucks the waistband below his balls impatiently and kisses the tip this time. He almost moans when Aizawa's cock twitches under his lips. Instead, drooling a line of spit down his shaft, pointless really, because his Sensei is leaking like a faucet, but worth it if only for how Aizawa's stomach jumps at the action.
Hitoshi's hands find their home on his Sensei's hips once more. Palm and fingers against the wide breadth of skin bared, thumb stroking over the bone.
There's no denying the size of him is intimidating, but Hitoshi doesn't let himself overthink it. Simply closes his eyes, opens his lips around the head, sinks a hot, wet inch and brushes his tongue on the underside of the tip. Draws it back and forth. He doesn't know how to suck a dick, but he knows what he likes. Knows he likes it when you focus on the head, when you make it messy and wet and noisy, when you manage to swallow him whole.
Though Hitoshi isn't sold on the last idea.
Will Aizawa's entire cock even fit in his mouth?
Could you take him?
"Shit," Aizawa pants already, both hands landing on the mattress behind him, stomach stretching deliciously.
Clearly an accident, his hips jump, and Hitoshi exhales in surprise when another inch slips into his mouth. Broad hands press down on Aizawa's hips: Stay still.
Aizawa huffs a laugh. "Shinsou, ah— can you take more?"
Bossy, Hitoshi chides in his head. But he sinks further all the same, feels much like he's a snake unhinging to swallow their catch, a pleasant ache forming on the corner of his jaw, his mouth getting fuller and fuller and fuller.
Then, Aizawa's cock hits the back of his throat sooner than he expected. Hitoshi pulls back with a filthy popping noise that echoes in his ears and makes the tips burn. He coughs, a trail of saliva dripping from his chin.
Aizawa groans loudly when his cock slaps back onto his stomach. "Breathe through your nose, Shinsou," Aizawa reminds him, voice drawn taut. "Go slower."
Hitoshi wants to bristle at the command, but it falls from Aizawa's lips so readily—no ill intent, just his nature raising its face once more; a mentor teaching his student. And while Hitoshi never admitted he hadn't done this before, he doesn't even know why Aizawa pushed in the first place when it has become abundantly clear the older man already knew the answer. So Hitoshi slides one hand from his hip to grab the base of his cock. Catches his breath and brings Aizawa's cock to his lips, sinking down faster than he perhaps should, but eager to hear another punched-out moan.
"Slower—fuckkk—slower, or you'll choke again."
Success.
Hitoshi reins in his enthusiasm. Taking a moment to drag his tongue along a vein, to swallow around him, and listen to Aizawa inhale.
Then, he drops lower again. The tip pokes the back of his throat, and he jolts, choking instinctively but recalling Aizawa's command and taking a deep, shuddering breath. Two. Three. His throat quivers around the intrusion. Meanwhile, Aizawa is half-heartedly groaning above him, the noise noncommittal and airy like he can't decide whether to lean into the pleasure or hold himself back in case it gets abruptly ripped away whenever Hitoshi chokes again.
Hitoshi stays there for a second, letting his mouth adjust to the size of Aizawa.
Surprisingly, this isn't as humiliating as he expected—choking on his Sensei's cock.
Perhaps it's thanks to Aizawa, folding to Hitoshi's command. Or how he can feel how much this is affecting the older man. Hitoshi can hear his shaky breaths and even shakier moans. Can feel both his hips and stomach jumping under his touch. Can feel his dick twitching in the warmth of his mouth every time Hitoshi swallows around him.
I wonder if I can take more?
Hitoshi steels himself, breaths out slowly through his nose, and drops down another inch—the slide of Aizawa's dick down his throat is strange but not unpleasant. Quivering with the urge to gag, Hitoshi focuses on breathing, on accepting the incursion until he's still for long enough to wonder if this counts as cockwarming. Not that Aizawa's complaining—panting like he's run a marathon, despite being held warm and wet and decidedly still inside Hitoshi's mouth.
Surprised at how vocal Aizawa is, Hitoshi tries not to let it go to his head. His Sensei usually keeps his reactions under lock and key. But it doesn't seem that way now, like each new noise is slipping free from his lips against his will.
Hitoshi swallows around him again, and Aizawa swears before pleading, "Shinsou."
Figuring he's adjusted enough, he lifts his head slightly before bobbing back down—not entirely confident in his abilities to take any more of Aizawa in his mouth. Saliva pools in his mouth and slips from the corners, wetting Aizawa's cock until each pass of Hitoshi's head is slippery and easy. Is this how you do it? When you suck Hitoshi off, he genuinely feels like his brain will melt out of his ears, but he's never thought to ask about your technique.
On one pass of his head, he skims Aizawa's cock with his teeth unthinkingly.
Aizawa hisses, a hand spasming on the comforter. "Ow— no teeth, please."
Hitoshi hums in apology. Sets his focus to stroking the length he can't fit in his mouth in his fist, twisting it the way he likes when he gets himself off. Bringing his fist up to meet his mouth when he sinks down, until every inch of Aizawa is covered in him—slick as can be.
"Haah—" A strangled pant, torn from behind his teeth and settling in the air around them with a renewed, balmy heat serving only to make Hitoshi dizzier. As though he can't get enough air in his lungs around Aizawa's cock.
Hitoshi hums again.
I hear you.
Aizawa groans fully this time, his hips jumping. Hitoshi pushes down harder, pinning him to the bed with astonishing ease, considering how strong he knows his mentor to be. A beat later, he realises why—recalls how good it feels when you hum around his cock, the vibrations which shoot straight through his core.
Hitoshi purrs, long and drawn out, lifting to pout his lips around the head of Aizawa's cock, flicking his tongue in his slit, and hoping that this is doing what he thinks it is.
"Fuck, fuck, Shinsou—" Aizawa gasps, chest bowing, knees tightening around Hitoshi's shoulders, voice climbing higher, raspier, into heights Hitoshi rarely hears outside of the heat of a battle. "Ohhh-jesus-haah—"
Out of nowhere, Hitoshi feels the weight of another gaze on him—a sixth sense trained through a decade of underground work. He doesn't remove his mouth, doesn't give away that he's noticed, but he feels it.
You.
Your eyes are intent on the side of his face. On the cock in his mouth.
Oh god.
Now, Hitoshi doesn't hesitate. Not exactly. But his movements loiter, mouth occupied and gaze sheepish when it finally slides over to you.
You're curled up beneath your blanket, eyes wide as saucers. Redness stains your cheeks. Your eyes track up from Hitoshi's face—no doubt a similar shade of embarrassment and slick with spit—past Aizawa's quivering stomach, up to his twisted expression. Hitoshi doesn't know how long you've been watching. Did his sixth sense alert him when you woke up, or have you been awake in his distraction for longer than he wants to ruminate on?
In fact, Hitoshi can't even blame Aizawa for not noticing. His Sensei is usually even more perceptive than he is, but apparently, getting his dick sucked is a weakness.
Who would've thought?
Hitoshi feels a spike of guilt cut for doing this without waking you up to ask for permission first. For all of a prolonged heartbeat, he fears he's messed up… everything.
Then, it dissipates like smoke in a breeze.
You're into it. A bottom lip caught between your teeth as you take in how Aizawa is fracturing. A tiny smirk in Hitoshi's direction when you finally meet his eyes again.
At once, Hitoshi feels bowled over by his love for you.
You're his other half, without a doubt; the key to his lock; the sweet sunshine breaking through his rain. An equal partner in every measure—in his kink and his desires, even the most depraved, filthy ones. The ones most people would shake their heads at. The one where Hitoshi is on his knees and sucking his Sensei's cock.
Seeing your clear interest and emboldened by it, Hitoshi purses his lips on the head and drags them down Aizawa's shaft, kitten licking the heat he can feel pulsing against him.
The bed shifts.
Aizawa jolts, cock slipping through Hitoshi's mouth, and moans before abruptly tensing. There's a split second where Hitoshi thinks his Sensei really will launch himself at you on muscle memory alone, but then he stills, unnaturally so, and those piercing red eyes of his slide over to you.
Better late than never, Hitoshi supposes.
"Hi, Daddy," you murmur, cheek smushed against the comforter.
Aizawa softens instantly, all hard lines and drawn muscles melting from an off-duty hero to yours again.
"Hi, baby," Aizawa murmurs back. "How are you feeling?"
You grin, a small, cheesy thing. "Good. Really good."
Aizawa nods, silent and waiting for a full debrief. Hitoshi watches you bite back a laugh before you actually put some thought into your next words.
"Tired. Sore," you continue, eyes flicking up once like you're categorising your body. "Happy."
"I'm glad," Aizawa returns kindly. "Do you need anything? There's water on the nightstand and painkillers, too. But I can make some food for you now, if you want. I've got clean clothes as well. They might be a bit big on you, but they'll be okay for tonight. I thought you and Shinsou could stay since it's so late and—"
Your grin widens as you cut him off. "Taking care of us still?"
Aizawa doesn't fluster in the face of your teasing. Merely tilts the corner of his lips up and nods. "Of course."
Instead, you blush, expression turning sweet and surprised.
"What would you like, angel?" Aizawa reiterates.
Hitoshi mourns the moment to have been cut short—finds himself desperately hung up on the need to make Aizawa cum—but recognises it's more important to ensure you're okay. He leans back from Aizawa, hand leaving his cock, brushes his dry hand back through his hair, and wipes a forearm across his mouth to clear the drool smothered over his chin.
A beat of silence. Hitoshi watches you without much of a clue where your mind is heading.
Stretching out your arms in front of you, you let your gaze drag purposefully down the front of Aizawa's chest to his cock, bobbing in front of Hitoshi's chin.
"I'd like to see you cum," you state airily, body relaxing back into the mattress after your stretch.
Credit to Aizawa, he takes it in stride.
"Is that so?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, voice dipped in honey.
"Mhm."
"Well…" Aizawa draws his gaze down to Hitoshi, who straightens at being acknowledged. "I think that can be arranged. Right, Shinsou?"
"Yes! Uh… yep. Definitely. Right now… even."
Aizawa turns back to you. "Drink your water first, though."
You laugh, the sound no different from the sunlight beaming through that gap in Aizawa's curtains and pooling across the bed. "Alright, alright. Such a dad!"
Aizawa tongues his cheek, eyes sharp.
Both men watch you reach for the glass on the nightstand, unfaltering under the weight of their stares, and drain the entire thing in barely a few seconds. Hitoshi grins, despite himself. That's one thing he's never been able to beat you in, unfortunately: you have an uncanny ability to chug drinks, and you've won many bets thanks to it.
"There!" You place the glass back on the nightstand with a victorious thump and flop back onto your side. Laughter paints your next words: "Don't mind me then, 'tosh."
Hitoshi shoots you a mild glare, more playful than anything, though edged in embarrassment, and your laughter melts down into a fond smile. You raise an eyebrow expectantly. Hitoshi rolls his eyes, but turns back to Aizawa's cock all the same. Some part of him feels like it should be insecure about you watching his shit dick-sucking abilities. You know he's never sucked dick before. But you gaze at him so warmly, seem so turned on by the sight of him on his knees for his mentor, that any fear sinks to the recesses of his mind.
So, wrapping a hand gingerly around Aizawa's cock, Hitoshi stares at it with renewed confidence while he figures out if he should continue what he was doing before or if he should try a new tactic.
Aizawa leans back on his hands and peers over at you. "I think you're making him nervous."
Hitoshi bristles, tightening his fist and sliding up Aizawa's cock in retaliation. Aizawa sucks in a startled breath, humour draining from his face in an instant, and Hitoshi hears your twin gasp. You hadn't been privy to any of Aizawa's facial expressions earlier; you had been too busy burying your face in the comforter while he fucked and ate you. Hitoshi finds it sweet how clearly enamoured you are with the sight. He repeats the action just to watch you—strokes his thumb over his cockhead, jerks him off a few times, fast, slightly mean. Aizawa's knees tighten around Hitoshi's shoulders again, and Hitoshi catches his stomach jumping in his periphery. But he can only see you. Propping your body up on an elbow so you can see better, lazy eyes widening into something akin to reverence.
Hitoshi wonders what Aizawa thinks about this all.
About being so vulnerable for them.
Does he have qualms about the credibility of his dom image being diminished as Hitoshi does? Or is he so secure in his standing that even this is power to him—Hitoshi on his knees, stroking him, you in post-fuck bliss, staring on with rapt attention.
What does he think of you both?
Is Hitoshi still a student to him?
Are you just Hitoshi's pretty girlfriend?
But then he recalls the stickiness to Aizawa's expression when Hitoshi first walked in the room—sweet enough to trap flies— a big hand stroking your back, how obvious it was that he hadn't left your side once. Aizawa's insistence on giving Hitoshi what he didn't even know he needed.
What are you all now?
Hitoshi traces a vein, brushes his thumb on the underside of his cock, thinks about how important it is that he acts normal tomorrow when all the coital bliss has long worn off. He plays it out: waking up with you splayed atop him in the guest bed and pretending it's normal, padding into the kitchen and shooting Aizawa a normal smile, accepting Aizawa's offer to cook breakfast for you both and eating it all despite the churning in his gut. Saying goodbye after it all, normal, normal, normal.
And maybe, when he passes the threshold to your flat, he will finally fall apart.
But right now, there is no time.
Not when he can feel Aizawa pulsing in his hand and hear him strangling the moans threatening his throat. Not when you're kicking back your blanket and crawling across the bed, sidling up behind Aizawa and shuffling forward on your knees until you sit back on your haunches, thighs spread wide around his hips. Aizawa's stomach jumps when you slip your hands around his waist to brush the quivering muscle there. But he settles back into your body easily and lifts one hand from the bed to tangle it with yours.
Hitoshi experiences déjà vu at the action. And isn't that strange—your hand in Aizawa's being enough to warrant the feeling.
Then, your chin hooks on Aizawa's chin, and the combined sight of you and Aizawa staring down at him, expressions painted with arousal, is enough for the fog to creep in.
"I wanna see you suck him off, 'toshi," you pout.
Aizawa groans, the sound pleasured and tortured all at once.
"Don't want to blow him yourself, angel?" Hitoshi teases.
You shake your head. "Not tonight."
Your words make Hitoshi tense, hand slowing on Aizawa's cock as he works over exactly what you mean. Why do you both keep saying shit like you're expecting a repeat? He knows he's acting blatantly weird again. Hell, he's been weird all night. Can't quite seem to work out how to not act this way. But you're being serious, he realises. Both of you.
This is going to happen again.
Hitoshi's heart lurches up into his throat.
You laugh, fingers flexing on Aizawa's tanned stomach.
Aizawa laughs too, his voice stronger without Hitoshi's touch.
"Hitoshiiii," you whine playfully. "Please? You looked so pretty with him in your mouth."
At that, Hitoshi can feel more than see the blush spreading over his cheeks. Face heating fast at your honeyed tone. Hitoshi wants to speak, but his tongue feels heavy and uncooperative in his mouth.
"You heard our girl," Aizawa murmurs, a lopsided smirk playing on his lips. Heat flashes through Hitoshi's body at the possessiveness of his words. Our girl… Ourgirlourgirlourgirl. They spin around Hitoshi's mind until every other thought is dislodged, floating freely up into the overheated air. "Pretty as a picture."
Hitoshi's free hand clenches into a fist on his thigh, before he remembers he can touch, is touching, and he brings it up to rest it over where Aizawa's hand is tangled in yours—cautiously, like sliding the final glass puzzle piece into a beautiful stained window. Flexing his fingers around you both, he swallows. At your combined heat. At both your expressions, softening. At his own heart, stuttering over a beat. The two most important people in Hitoshi's life, staring down at him as though his being holds the secrets of the universe.
Hitoshi's hand slides down to grab the base of Aizawa's cock, and he lowers his head, finally taking Aizawa into his mouth. He sinks wetly, like a stone dropping to the floor of a tranquil lake.
"Fuuuuuck," Aizawa grits out, the sound protracted like a passing breeze.
Aizawa's cock bumps the back of Hitoshi's throat, and he relaxes the muscles there to take him deeper, until he feels like he's one wrong heartbeat away from choking on the thickness of his Sensei. He forces slow, steady breaths through his nose. Focuses on the way Aizawa's hand tenses under his touch, on the tiny moan you let out as though you're feeling the sensation by proxy.
Hitoshi swallows around him and fights back a smile.
"Shit, Shin-mmmph!"
Hitoshi flicks his eyes up to see you, half-leaning around Aizawa's body to kiss him. It's an awkward angle, but you don't seem to care. In fact, your pretty hand is wrapped around Aizawa's jaw with some force, as though you've decided to take charge. When Hitoshi flicks his tongue over the tip, Aizawa pants into your mouth. You swallow a noise. Let Aizawa swallow one of your own—a tiny, pleased echo.
More slick sounds swamp the heavy air. You suck Aizawa's tongue into your mouth, teeth clacking. Hitoshi dips his head down, Aizawa sliding down the back of his throat with only one suppressed gag on Hitoshi's part this time. Another muffled moan, so low and deep it feels like it's reverberating through Aizawa's cock and straight through Hitoshi's spine.
Then, he sees your hand creep into his periphery, past it, until your nails are scratching up Aizawa's thigh. Loud enough for Hitoshi to know from experience that it hurts. Aizawa lights up, his heavy moan morphing into something downright pathetic and raspy as he bucks up into Hitoshi's mouth, thighs shaking.
Predictably, Hitoshi chokes.
His ears fill with the sound of his rushing heartbeat as he quickly lifts himself off Aizawa's dick, choking.
Hitoshi thinks he hears the first syllable of "sorry" from his Sensei, but then you're licking into Aizawa's mouth, and instead he's groaning like he's never tasted anything better. A small, devlish hand slips into Hitoshi's hair and starts guiding him back down before he's even caught his breath. He can feel your nails scratch at his scalp lightly, and Hitoshi shivers, doing as he's told and taking Aizawa back into his mouth in one smooth motion, giving his lungs no time to protest.
His jaw aches. His entire face is somehow wet. And his pulse is thundering like he hasn't taken a full breath since yesterday. But Aizawa is close; he can tell. Has little experience to base it on, yet can read the signs: Aizawa starting to shallowly fuck his mouth, his noises growing louder and gravelly. Not to mention the way Aizawa's cock is literally pulsing in his mouth, matching the erraticness of Hitoshi's own heartbeat.
"Mmmn—"
Hitoshi doubles down, not knowing what he's going to do when Aizawa cums but figuring he'll work it out when he gets there. He leans into the way Aizawa has started to rock up—clearly cautious of fucking Hitoshi's mouth even through his haze of pleasure—bobbing down to meet each haphazard thrust. The hand holding the base of his cock slips down to stroke his balls, slick with saliva.
Another moan, punched out from Aizawa as though it's painful.
He rolls his balls in his hand before sliding a thumb up between them and up to the base of his cock, rubbing small, tight circles.
"Mmmn-mph!"
The hand in his hair vacates, and soft fingers brush his mouth moments later. As though you're desperate to feel the connection, to feel how Aizawa's cock is practically fucking Hitoshi's mouth now.
"Oh my god." Your voice.
Turning his head slightly, Hitoshi glances up to see you staring down at him, lips bright and swollen. Aizawa's head tips back onto your shoulder, and he pants, open-mouthed into the air now that he's free.
"Close, Shinsou, close," he warns, voice worn thin.
Hitoshi hums around him.
He gasps. "Reallyclosefuck."
The deep-seated urge to impress rises in him, as familiar as breathing when it comes to his Sensei. After all, why wouldn't he want Aizawa to be pleased with him? To feel like all his years of teaching have paid off. Hitoshi sinks deeper, pressing his saliva-slick palm to Aizawa's hip in an attempt to hold him down. It's harder this time, with Aizawa bucking like a bull. But he manages—he'd be disappointed if his hero regime couldn't at least let him pin down his mentor.
"Shinsou-ngh! Pull off—" he blurts, panic making itself known.
"Mmm…"
"Shinsou!"
Aizawa inhales a big breath, and like the moment a vacuum sucks in all sound with it, cums silently—mouth dropping open, hips stuttering in place under Hitoshi's hand, cock spurting cum down Hitoshi's throat, thick and hot.
Hitoshi's body jolts in surprise, quickly swallowing. Aizawa's cock pulses in his mouth through each wave of his orgasm.
Hitoshi swallows again.
A third time.
Chokes on the fourth—because of course he does. Throat convulsing around Aizawa's thick cock, entirely unprepared to swallow it all.
Hitoshi tries to stay down, but cum lodges in his throat, and suddenly, he can't even breathe. Panic is one potent drug—shooting through his veins in an instant. Pulling off quickly, his spine rounds as he coughs into the space between Aizawa's thighs, fingers twitching over your tangled ones. Vision blurred as tears sprang to his eyes on reflex. Hitoshi chokes in a heaving breath, thick globs of cum dripping from his lips and hitting the mattress. Hitoshi can barely taste any of it, though, despite the stickiness he can feel on his tongue—the tag of cum, the salt of his tears. Blood roars in his ears.
Luckily, you pick up his slack. Those fingers that had been petting around his mouth, wrapping around Aizawa's cock. Twisting your wrist just the way Hitoshi likes, wringing out the final dregs of Aizawa's pleasure. Hitoshi feels a stripe of cum land across his nose, but he barely flinches, too busy alternating between throaty coughs and swallowing whatever's left in his mouth.
Only when Aizawa hisses do you slow your hand, fingers petting over his cock gently.
Hitoshi finally starts to catch his breath.
"Jesus," Aizawa breaths, head lifting from your shoulder to look down at Hitoshi.
You lean into Aizawa and bite at his jaw, grinning against his stubble when you brush your thumb over his cockhead and hear him hiss again. Hitoshi looks up at him sheepishly, aware he probably looks a fucking sight. And decidedly not one for sore eyes. God, he'd fucking choked on Aizawa's cock and not in a sexy way, not when it didn't really matter, but when he was cumming.
Did I ruin his orgasm? Hitoshi wonders, worrying his bottom lip.
Aizawa lifts his hand from the comforter and brushes his middle finger over Hitoshi's nose. "Are you okay?"
Oh, Hitoshi thinks. Sensei is wiping his cum up. That's humiliating.
"Yeah, I'm—" Hitoshi jolts, surprised at the grittiness to his voice, like stones at the early stages of tumbling. He clears his throat in an attempt to dislodge some of the evidence. "I'm okay, Sensei."
"More than okay," you pipe up cheerfully, finally dragging your hand from Aizawa's softening cock to his thigh, leaving a sticky trail of cum and saliva. "'tosh looked like he had a religious experience choking on your dick."
Aizawa cuts you a reprimanding look. If anything, you preen under the attention.
"Oi," Hitoshi protests, too tired to follow it up with anything else.
"That was pretty good for your first time," Aizawa offers, only a hint of cheekiness in his voice.
Then, his cum-covered finger is stroking at Hitoshi's bottom lip, coaxing it out from between his teeth—Hitoshi didn't even realise he was biting it. And he isn't sure what muscle memory is in operation when his lips fall open, but perhaps it's the assumption that he won't have to speak anymore, that he'll be allowed to just exist in the quiet of this moment.
Aizawa slips a finger into his mouth, and Hitoshi tastes the tang of cum before anything else, yet can't be bothered to do anything but let Aizawa feel.
Aizawa exhales a measured, slow breath at the sight. He pets over Hitoshi's tongue, and the sensation isn't entirely unfamiliar—you've had your fingers in Hitoshi's mouth before, he'd be an idiot if he ever turned that down—but Aizawa's one finger alone is so much bigger. In every way. Caressing his tongue in arching swipes. Intrusive where it begins to feel along his teeth, the cum from his finger melting into the saliva pooled in Hitoshi's mouth.
"And I saw it, too," Aizawa murmurs.
Hitoshi makes a questioning noise, too exhausted to be bothered speaking around the finger in his mouth.
Aizawa laughs. "I saw the type of dom you are."
"Safe…" A finger hooked behind his teeth, a tug that coaxes Hitoshi closer. "Clever."
Hitoshi feels the praise wash over him, warm and sweet. For the first time since he took Aizawa's cock into his mouth, Hitoshi realises he's hard as his dick twitches in time with Aizawa's words.
Aizawa swallows audibly. "Confident."
Hitoshi bites lightly at his finger to lift the air, and it works, Aizawa breathing out a chuckle.
"Well done, baby." Your sweet voice, your bright eyes, your head tilted as you stare down at the way he's sucking on Aizawa's finger fondly.
"Th'nk'yu'," Hitoshi manages this time, a pleasant static settling over his worries.
You're both here—in front of him, smiling down at him—and pressed so tightly together it's as though you fear someone might rip Aizawa away from you. You're both okay. You both enjoyed it. Hitoshi shudders in relief, eyes slipping closed, body tipping forward slightly. Aizawa's finger slides deeper into the warmth of his mouth.
"Whoa there," Aizawa murmurs, a hand coming up to brace Hitoshi's shoulder. "You sure you're feeling alright?"
Hitoshi nods dumbly, content in the dark. "Mhm."
"You think too much, 'toshi," you say quietly.
Hitoshi hears a quiet kiss, there and gone, and Aizawa's rumbling hum.
"Thank you, Shouta. For tonight…" A meaningful pause. "All of it."
"I can't take all the credit," Aizawa huffs in amusement. Then, his voice softens. "But you're welcome, sweetheart. We had fun, huh?"
You laugh. "I definitely did."
Hitoshi blinks his eyes back open. Can't quite find his voice yet, but his gaze slides to Aizawa, and he hopes the older man can read his answer there.
I did, too. Thank you.
Aizawa smiles.
Cheek smushed against Aizawa's shoulder, you peer up at him. "Can we have curry for dinner?"
Aizawa laughs. Soft. Warm. Surprised. Hitoshi's lips curl into a smile of his own, and you look so at home in the divot of Aizawa's body—the sight settling deep in Hitoshi, sealing a gap he didn't know existed—that he barely fights the wave of fondness washing over him.
Then, "Yeah, sweetheart," and a kiss on your cheek.
Hitoshi watches your eyes well up at the gentleness of the action, a tiny pout crossing your mouth.
"I'll make you curry."
‹‹ MASTERLIST
thank you for reading if you got this far! please consider leaving a comment, reblogging, or dropping into my inbox if you enjoyed! ♡
I won't lie to you I AM a little fond of those "mortal au poseidon is a millionaire and finds out about percy and takes custody of him" fics but they're always like sally was murdered by gabe or died in an accident or something equally sad. I want one that still keeps the base plot of the lightning thief. just imagine how hilarious it would be if random rich guy poseidon turns on his tv one day and sees that 1) the woman he cheated on his wife with is missing in a mysterious car explosion and 2) her 12 year old who is being labeled a domestic terrorist looks exactly like him. the olympian family pr firm is going fucking CRAZY.
imagine. your wife and kids are finding out you had an affair from CNN. your ex's husband is on fox news trashing a 12 year old you just found out about and saying the 'evil' in him must've come from your side of the family. the 12 year old in question has just blown up a national monument. hera is threatening you at knife point in the emergency family meeting. you are begging your arch nemesis athena to defend this random 12 year old in court and she's refusing until she sees news footage of HER 12 year old daughter at the crime scene and frantically calls her baby daddy. conservatives that were already big mad about a powerful and rich family from another country being so entwined in american politics are having a fucking field day. you just wanted to run your silly little marine life passion project in peace.
-> warnings : hard dom!gunil x sub!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, body descriptions, fingering, corruption, doggystyle, rough sex, dacraphylia, masturbation (m.), sexting, strenght kink, manhandling, bondage, overstimulation, dirty talk, spanking, lingerie, degradation / humiliation kink, praising, body whorship, use of 'slut' & 'good girl', public sex, oral (f. & m. receiving), deepthroating, face fucking, marking, car sex, sextoys, teasing, begging
+ the way i'm depicting gunil does not represents him, it's only a work of fiction
-> 18+ content below, minors DNI
-> author's note : the junhan version has already been requested and here is the gunil version ! i hope you'll like it !
-> sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.
-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !
-> masterlist | xdh masterlist
A - AFTERCARE
Yeah, you’re not moving a single finger, you’re getting princess treatment. He’s helping you clean up, giving you fresh water to soothe your throat and he’s telling you how good you were for him, and how much he loves you. Expect cuddles too, he loves to hold you tight against his chest.
B - BODY PARTS (favourite body part of theirs and their partners)
He’s in love with your back through and through. If you get / have a back tattoo, he’ll literally go insane and won’t stop kissing it. Whenever you’re wearing backless clothes, he has hearts eyes for you. Always rests his hand on the small of your back to guide you when you’re out and also will take any opportunity to give you a back massage.
Gunil has big arms, that’s a fact, and you definitely know it too, and you do not refrain from thirsting over them. When he plays the drums, he can always feel you staring and drooling at the way his biceps flex, at the way veins appear on his forearms. He always has a cocky smirk on his lips whenever you gush over him.
C - CUM
He’s cumming inside every damn time, he’s just too addicted to seeing his cum leak out of your cunt and pushing it back inside of you, too addicted to releasing deep inside of you.
D - DIRTY SECRET
You know how much Gunil loves it when you doll up to go out, cute dresses and skirts, bows in your hair, pretty makeup - he always makes sure you know how gorgeous you are. What you don’t know is just how much he likes to ruin you when you’re wearing these cute outfits, how much he likes to see your pretty makeup smeared by tears, how much he likes to corrupt you and make you do disgusting things while you’re looking like an angel.
E - EXPERIENCE
I don’t think he’s the type to fuck around, when he gets with someone, he’s in for the long run and he’s serious about the relationship. But he’s a natural at it, tunes in with your body on your first time together and he always knows exactly what to do or say to make you squirm.
F - FAVOURITE POSITION
Doggystyle, no questions asked. He can bend you over, slap your ass and have the best view of your back - heaven if you ask him. I think he also loves to have you in missionary, with one of your legs thrown over his shoulder so he can go deeper.
G - GOOFY (are they more serious or not in the moment ?)
Gunil likes the playfulness and the teasing, but he’s also very focused on you and your body so I’d say it is fifty fifty.
H - HAIR
I don’t think he’s that careful about it, only trimming it if it really gets too long. And if it bothers you, he knows you won’t hesitate to make a remark. Besides, Gunil knows you like to see his happy trail and trace it down with your lips.
I - INTIMACY (are they romantic ?)
He’s romantic with his aftercare for sure, but sex with Gunil is rough and intense. But that suits the both of you. He’ll be more gentle and soft when he knows you’ve had a rough time, or for important dates of your relationships.
J - JACK OFF
Being in a relationship will not stop him from jerking out. Sometimes, a good handjob can feel even better than a blowjob in his opinion. He’ll definitely send you pics and videos of him jerking off just to tease, or he’ll stroke himself in front of you and forbid you from touching him when you’ve been a brat. He looks so attractive doing it too, I’m foaming at the mouth just thinking about it.
K - KINKS
There’s a lot to say. He loves, loves and loves creampies. He cannot get enough of them actually, it’s the only place he wants to cum ever. Gunil is all about dominance and control, so he’ll definitely use his strength against you, holding you down by your hips to have his way with you. He likes tying you up too, especially with his belt, and making you come again and again until you’re crying for him to stop. Spanking you when you’ve been bad ? Oh yeah. He’s making you count along with him, getting harder every time he sees the imprint of his hand against your skin. Even if he calls you his slut, he still worships your body all the time, and that goes with buying every lingerie set he sees, and then ripping them off your body as soon as you put them on.
L - LOCATION (favourite places to do it)
Gunil is kind of turned on by a bit of exhibitionism, the thought of getting caught, of people hearing you… Yeah, that does for him. That being said, he’ll definitely fuck you at the dorms while his members are there too. The balcony of your apartment late at night or very early in the morning.
M - MOTIVATION (what turns them on)
As mentioned before, seeing you in backless clothes but also in lingerie sets he bought for you. When you drool over his arms and trace the veins in forearms. When you’re being a brat. Cute little outfits. When you tie your hair in a ponytail. When you state that you’re his.
N - NO
Anything involving him not being in control will be hard for him to accept. He could, but you’ll have to really bride him, and it’s definitely not something he’ll let you do often.
O - ORAL
He loves to overstimulate you, and spending a lot of time between your thighs is part of it. He’s almost methodical with it : always starting by sucking and playing with your clit, then teasing by kissing up and down your legs before coming onto your pussy and finally getting to the real work. He particularly loves to feel your thighs shaking in his iron grip from where he pins them against the bed when you come for him.
Once again, he’s all about domination and having control over you, so having you kneeling down in front of him with a simple look, a simple flick of his fingers gets him going like nothing else. He lets you do your thing for about thirty seconds before he takes over to fuck your mouth, relishing in the way you gag around him and aimlessly squeeze his thighs. He always kisses your forehead after it, loving the way he just ruined you.
P - PACE
Gunil’s pace is rough, unforgiving and quick. He buries himself to the hilt and fucks you like it’s the last time he’ll get to have you. You definitely don’t get out of it without a few bruises and marks.
Q - QUICKIE
Hell, yeah. He’s all in for them, especially if you’re in a public space. Having his way with you in the car in a crowded parking lot ? Bring it on. Fucking you after getting of stage and making you scream so much that everyone and their mother’s knows what’s going on ? He’s addicted.
R - RISK (do they like to experiment ?)
He’s pretty open to testing new things out, even if I think he has a pretty clear idea of what he likes and what he doesn’t. He’s all in for helping you work out your desires though, and that’s also when he’ll be softer to really make sure you’re comfortable.
S - STAMINA
Gunil can go all night without taking a break, and honestly, it’s almost inhuman how much stamina he has. You always, always tap out before he does.
T - TOYS
He definitely enjoys putting them to use. He fucks you with a dildo, forcing you to beg for his cock. He’s putting a vibrator on you while you’re out with friends. He puts a cockring on himself to make sure he can satisfy you all night when you’re ovulating.
U - UNFAIR (how much they like to tease)
Such a tease. And the worst of all is that he looks so good doing it, big arms crossed in front of his chest, smirk stretching on the corner of his lips and overall just infuriatingly hot. But a little of begging does the trick to get him to give you what you want and more.
V - VOLUME (how loud they are)
Groans and grunts a lot, hums appreciatively whenever you cry out his name, and moans lowly when he’s coming inside of you. He’s not that loud in terms of sounds, but he does dirty talk a lot and can’t refrain from calling you his good girl.
W - WILD CARD
He loves fingering you while other people are close, literally next door or even underneath the table. It’s just such a turn on for him to see you struggle to hold back your moans or have to put his hand over your mouth himself to shut you up. Hot.
X - X-RAY
Contrary to the big dick belief about him, I think he’s not that long but so fucking thick that it’s definitely more than enough to get you off and for you to feel a bit of pain every time he pushes it in.
Y - YEARNING (how high is their sex drive)
Pretty normal I think, he has good self control and he can (and prefers) to wait for the next time he sees you. But when he spends a few days with you, it increases a bit because well, he can never get enough of you.
Z - ZZZ (how fast they fall asleep)
Always wants you to fall asleep first, kissing your forehead before he goes to sleep too, holding you against his chest and not letting you go the whole night.
-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.
Streamer Simon headcanons because I know you all love it (I do too)
- Simon 100% loves all the fanart of him and he will make streams where he reacts to it.
- before Grace shows his face on camera for the first time, people make fanart of what they think he looks like and him and Simon scroll looking through them all in bed and they panic at one fanart because holy shit that’s actually so close to what Grace looks like it’s a little scary. Grace assumes that it’s one of his students who created it (it wasn’t.)
- The day Grace finally reveals his face in camera in a video he does with Simon, that artist freaks the fuck out and goes viral because “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I WAS CLOSE?!”
- Simon 1000% reads fanfiction about himself because in chat one day, someone asks him if he’s seen the fanfiction people have written about him and his husband. It started off as a joke to see if they got Grace accurate but some of the stuff he reads actually has him sobbing because it’s so sweet but also “yes that is 100% something you do, Star! Don’t deny it!”
- Simon jokes that his husband is taller than him one stream and his chat 100% types “isn’t everybody though?” Simon swears he can hear Grace laugh from the other room.
- Grace in this AU does have an account he uses to watch Simon stream on and when he comments in the chat (his username is The_Papa_Star_27) everyone goes crazy. Especially when Simon reads the flirty chats Grace sends his way and Simon goes absolutely feral.
- sometimes grace mods his streams for Simon when he’s not busy doing paperwork, if not, someone else does it.
- Simon one day whilst streaming, hears Grace coming into the house and says “chat hang on a second.” And he rushes to go see Grace who’s holding a makeup bag and Grace tells him shyly and a little nervously that he wanted to try some lipstick. He puts it on and Simon volunteers happily for him to test it out on him. Needless to say, Simon strolls back into his streaming room with lipstick marks all over his face with a dazed look and saying “my husband brought this lipstick. It works.”
- speaking of, in my mind Grace AND Simon test out makeup for fun because fuck gender ok?!
- Simon has been banned from rage games. Don’t ask.
ok so. I've been thinking. what if leia's "thing" is that she's imperceptible in the force. like, she's so innately powerful at shielding, she's just not there. Anakin didn't know padme was having twins because he literally couldn't sense leia's presence. yoda and obi-wan were fine with bail taking leia because they couldn't perceive her thoughts, even as an infant. neither reva nor vader could penetrate her mind. she spent years in the senate alongside palpatine and he had no idea she was force sensitive. the only person who can see leia for who she really is is the one who has been there from the beginning — luke.
luke: hey i am getting intensely powerful and somewhat intimidating vibes from leia, like the vibes of a dominant and ancient power buried beneath the surface
the gang: looks like SOMEONES never talked to a strong woman before
i see obi-wan's tragedy as a flavor of gay trauma allegory. I think he really, deeply loved qui-gon and anakin and was unable to acknowledge that within himself, let alone to the people he cared about. Obi-wan's repression doomed qui-gon, because he was unable to conjure the rage necessary to kill Maul until the grief of loss overwhelmed him. And with Anakin, his inability to show deep affection for his padawan further isolated him in the order and drove him to a life of secret affairs and being used by others to get acceptance. Obi-wan perpetuated a 'cycle of abuse', but not in the more overt ways people are familiar with. He failed to grow from his mistakes, and the next generation suffered. While i don't think the gay allegory is textual, i do think the general idea of *love* is the text, and 'repressed love that kills you and rots everyone you know' is a theme that resonates strongest with gay people.
All of obi-wan's most blatant expressions of love and devotion always happen when it's too late: holding qui-gon as he dies, telling anakin he loved him, and telling vader how sorry he is. He doesn't even tell anakin he would leave the order for him! He lets Anakin think if he leaves the order, he'd be on his own, even though Obi-wan already told Yoda he would leave with Anakin.
Even the life of isolation on tatooine feels gay. It's like the gay hermit trope. He really never, in his whole life, got to love freely. At least he's fucking in the after life, I hope!
Hello and welcome. Pull up a chair and get comfortable...
✨ On semi-hiatus following a big life update! ✨
Below is my masterlist of writings. I write for fun, everything I post is for enjoyment purposes only. Don't like it, don't read it!
Unfortunately I do not take requests at this time. Sometimes I find inspiration from tumblr posts, where this happens I will provide full credit.
All fics are also on my AO3 page.
Last updated 09/01/2026
Pints, Profanities and Serious Predicaments (Aragorn x Female!Barmaid!Reader). A series of fics featuring the foul-mouthed barmaid at the Prancing Pony. Best read in order listed below. Find all fics on AO3.
F*ck It - You help a grieving Strider after a night of heavy drinking.
Part 1 / Part 2 (4.4k words, complete)
Safe with You - Strider turns up wounded at the Pony, you help him recover.
Part 1 / Part 2 (4.7k words, complete)
(WIP) Burn in the Dark - Strider needs a bath. Things get... interesting. 🔞 18+ 🔞
(WIP) Crown and Shadow - You get caught up in Strider's ranger business. It doesn't end well.
(WIP) Too Far Gone - You get sick on the road. Strider cares for you in the way he knows best.
(WIP) Lead Me To Ruin - Strider pays you a visit. Things get... even more interesting. 🔞 18+ 🔞
A Leap of Faith (Legolas x Female!Dúnedain!Reader). When Aragorn falls in battle, you race to save him, leaving behind Legolas who regrets his actions. (10k words, incomplete)
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / *NEW* Part 4 / Part 5 TBC
Instinct (Elrond & Aragorn & Elladan & Elrohir). Elrond knows Estel is in trouble, and sends Elladan and Elrohir to help. (8.6k words, complete)
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4
Sowing Seeds (Aragorn x Female!Reader). Your mother's nagging is becoming unbearable. Aragorn helps relieve some tension.
Read on Tumblr / Read on AO3 (2.3k words)
A Fool's Hope (Aragorn & GN!Reader). Aragorn returns to Helm's Deep worse for wear.
Read on Tumblr / Read on AO3 (2.3k words)
100-word Drabbles
Taunted - Legolas & Original Male Character (tw: lycanthropy)
A Beacon in your Darkness - Legolas & Reader (tw: panic attack)
Unguarded - Boromir & Female!Reader (tw: description of battle)
Choices - Legolas x Female!Elf!Reader (tw: description of battle, spiders)
Here with Me - Aragorn x Reader (tw: Mentions of death, grief and warg attack)
Permission - Aragorn x Female!Noble!Reader
Off Limits - Fili x Reader (tw: implied sexual themes)
Older fics (written 4+ years ago) below the cut:
It Takes Practice (Legolas x LongHaired!Reader). A moment of frustration is turned around by a certain elvish prince (<1k words, oneshot, complete).
Read on Tumblr
Roles Reversed (Aragorn x Female!Reader). When Aragorn is lost in battle, you take it upon yourself to set out and save him. (2.4k words, series, incomplete)
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Finding your Feet (Legolas x Reader). After setting out from Rivendell, you are starting to find your feet in the fellowship. But one member of your group does not give you a warm welcome. (2.4k words, series, incomplete)
I was thinking about Aragorn’s stupidly long legs again and I think it should be canon that he regularly smacks his forehead into low door frames and stuff. Just somwhere in Minas Tirith there’s a loud thunk followed by a long string of Sindarin swearwords and Arwen is like “ah yes, here he comes, the King of Gondor and Arnor, the love of my life.”
#it’s funnier because none of the humans around her are able to hear the thunk and the swearing so they think she has some kind of#Magical Elf Love Sense that anticipates his arrival#but no#she just hears him smacking his head on the weirdly low door by the eastern staricase AGAIN#also the elves are just as tall or taller but they NEVER smack their heads on the doorframes#unless they are very very drunk
WHY would you hide these GOLDEn additions in the tags?
#tolkien#lotr#aragorn#arwen#i see this headcanon and i raise you ‘minas tirith is the only city where aragorn does not smack his head on the doors’#because it was built by numenoreans before they were diminished (in spirit but also in height) by their exile#for everyone except aragorn and arwen the doorways are weirdly tall#for aragorn it’s just ‘oh thank the valar i don’t have to duck anymore’#it still takes him some time to shake the habit of ducking every time he goes through a doorway though#the first time faramir sees him do this he is very confused#the second time he sees arwen stuff her entire hand in her mouth to keep from laughing and is even more confused#the third time he asks what’s going on and almost dies of laughter when aragorn sheepishly explains that he’s used to smacking his head#every time he goes through a door
#So Rivendell ought to likewise have plenty of height in their doorways#Thus he didn’t develop the habit to duck early in life and so we get to keep the bit about Aragorn constantly whacking his head against#Other doorframes#But almost everywhere else WILL have shorter doorframes and he FORGETS#(Specially after that exhausting week around the battle of Helm’s Deep. The doorframes of the Riddermark aren’t built for the Dunedain)#So maybe it’s a toss up as to when he remembers to duck and when he forgets and when he remembers he doesn’t actually need to#Get this man some stability he’s earned it
Bree being one of the only settlements that is actually designed to accomodate both tall and short people is actually surprisingly easy for Strider, as he is like. Aha. Inclusive architecture. The presence of a choice of doorway heights signals to me that I must pay attention to which one I select!
Unfortunately, his increased awareness of his head directly corresponds to reduced awareness of his legs, and while he can brilliantly navigate his way to a good Lurking Corner in any given Bree pub without hitting his head on a single chandelier, he then stretches out his legs and wipes out two hobbit servers with glasses, a guy selling spectacles, the chandelier itself, and ultimately a percentage point of the local economy
Hence where he got his nickname. The barkeep chewed him out rather a lot and during the rant asked “what you need those long legs for anyway? What stridin’ about have you t'do?” The third time he tripped someone, he overheard the servers training each other for the strider’s legs.
If you’re not tall, I need you to understand this is absolutely a thing, and there’s a weirdly perfect height for doors to do that, and it’s LOWER THAN YOU THINK.
It’s when something is RIGHT above your eyebrows. Safely out of peripheral vision, and you thought you ducked, but didn’t duck far enough, OR you just weren’t paying attention and didn’t get the visual memo because WRONG SIDE FOR GOOD PERIPHERAL, and you go THUNK.
And it is NOT THE FEEL GOODS
The absolute WORST is a short door on STAIRS.
It’s tall enough on the stairs.
But when you step on the DOOR stair - THUNK - ducking miscalculated.
Rex takes control in bed not because he needs it ...
But because you do.
He sees the way you find strength in the security and certainly of his guidance, how you seek shelter in his self-confidence.
By some unnamed grace or force, you let your walls down for him with so little resistance with little more than a sincere compliment. It stole his breath away that he was given your trust so completely.
And he plans to prove himself worthy.
Which is why he whispers sweet encouragements, fighting through his own awkward tongue to tell you how perfect you are for him, praising your clever fingers as he leads them where his skin is desperate for the heat of your touch. With soft, firm words, he encourages you to lose yourself in him, demands you take your pleasure from him. He aches to see you claim everything you deserve.
And if you struggle to do so, he'll be honored to show you how.
Author's Note: My first post on this blog, please be kind to me hehe. I haven't seen any NSFW alphabets for Aragorn, so I thought I'd do it myself
Set pre-fotr
[ Lord of the Rings Masterlist ]
Content warning * under the cut
*reader is gender-neutral
A - Aftercare
(What they're like after sex)
Incredibly gentle and caring
becomes very protective, wanting to hold you close to his chest and not let you go
It takes a while for him to pull out, cause he enjoys the closeness he feels to you
He has his face buried in your neck, heavy breaths tickling your skin as he tries to compose himself after the hard work he put in, with the occasional kiss against your flesh
When you go to move him off of you, he lets out a growl, not wanting you to move
When convinced, he picks you up with him, legs around his waist and hands holding his neck as he carries you to the wooden bath in the corner of the room
Washes you down and doesn't let you do it yourself; he wants to take care of you
Cuddling in bed is a must as he traces the dark purple spots he's left on your skin from his mouth and hands, smirking to himself as he's proud of his work
B - Body Part
(Favourite body part of theirs and yours)
Can't convince me he is not a thigh man
OBSESSED with your thighs, you can't get his hands off them
Just the soft skin and their strength put him in a trance
Drives him insane if he's eating you out/sucking you off and you clamp your thighs around his head to hold him there, makes him rut against the mattress beneath him
On himself, he loves his hands, kinda loves the way that being out in the wilderness has sculpted them to be tough, but also so gentle and keen
But mainly loves how they look as he holds your hips to him, thrusting into you roughly, the contrast of your soft skin under his rough hands makes him weak and feel so in power
C - Cum
(Anything to do with cum)
Isn't a huge fan of having cum everywhere, finds it an annoyance to clean up, especially since after sex all he really wants to do is flop and snuggle you
When your mouth is on him, he encourages you to swallow, but if you are not comfortable doing it, he pushes you back and comes on your stomach, keeping it somewhat contained to one place
And will do anything to avoid a mess, so when you've finished, he climbs down and drinks and licks you until you're all clean
D - Dominant
(How they are as a dom)
Loves to be a soft dom
Most of the time, he likes to be the dom, the sense of control he feels over you turns him on so much
Treats you to pleasure and intimacy after heavy days, wanting you to unfold underneath his body as he explores yours
He isn't particularly super rough, but he does like to manhandle you
When you're running your hands down his chest towards his member, he grabs hold of your wrists and pins them above your head to the bed, whispering in your ear, "not yet... I want to focus upon you first, and I can't do that while your touch distracts my thoughts."
Will proceed to hold your wrists with one hand while he fingers you
Loves you squirming under him in pleasure, makes him cocky
Only becomes rougher with you if you deserve it, like if you're being a brat to him
E - Experience
(How much experience do they have?)
He has his fair share of experience
I mean, look at him, each time he visited a tavern in his travels, he's always had at least one lass or lad give him a flirty wink or smile
He sometimes took them up on their offers and took them to bed, ending in a one-night stand
Although sometimes he can be quite shy to advances from strangers, especially if he finds them very pretty
F - Favourite Position
(Speaks for itself)
The coziness and intimacy of missionary just is too irresistable for him
He loves to be able to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure beneath him
Likes to place a leg over his shoulder, hitting a deep spot within you and causing you to cry out
Or if he's feeling a little more vulnerable, he tucks his face into your neck and bites against your skin roughly, eliciting loud moans from you as a soft, breathless chuckle leaves his lips from your noises
Or leaning down and placing his hot mouth onto the perky bud of your nipple, rolling his tongue around it
Or placing his hand on your lower tummy and pressing down, feeling the head of his dick hit inside you over and over
Oh god he just loves it, turns him into an animal
Occasionally likes a spooning position with him behind you in bed, mainly on days where you're both exhausted but both desperate for each other, or lazy mornings
He holds you close so your back is pressed against his sweaty chest and nibbles on the nape of your neck, grunting into your ear as he's overcome by the pleasure he's feeling inside you
G - Goofy
(How serious are they during sex?)
Doesn't goof around heaps during the act, cause he's so focused on pleasuring you
You guys have the occasional giggle, like when he is a bit too excited and trips over his own feet trying to take his pants off
Or when he's teasing you for your noises, and you give him an angry look
He sometimes tries his luck and attempts to quickly leave a bite mark or hickey in a place you've told him is off limits, which always leaves you squirming and telling him off for his playfulness
H - Hair
(How well groomed are they?)
He's a hairy man
Not as much as I'd say a dwarf or hobbit would be, but he doesn't exactly have the time or facilities to keep himself kept down there out in the wilderness
Trims it when he can, but doesn't prioritise it as it doesn't concern him much
Doesn't give a fuck if his partner isn't shaved, doesn't even acknowledge it
I - Intimacy
(How romantic are they?)
He finds the whole purpose of sex is intimacy
He is so passionate and loving during the act that you sometimes feel overwhelmed by how caring he can be while also pounding into you
Runs his hands all over your body, worshipping every scar and bump you have before, during and after sex
Between moans and grunts he whispers little things in your ears
"You're so beautiful... the way you yield to me, it stirs something in me."
"You are all mine... and even with me inside you, it is never enough."
Cannot stand it if he can't hold you as close to him as possible during sex
He needs to have you moulded against him, skin touching and sliding against each other with sweat and heat
Kisses you a lot while he's fucking you, either to quieten you down in fear of someone hearing you two or just for the sake of kissing you
To show his duality, one time he was going so soft and intimate with you, kissing your neck and running hands up and down your body while you sighed under him, hands gripping his strong, muscular back
Then gave you an intimate, gentle kiss on your forehead before asking "are you well, love? Please tell me if this is too much."
With a gentle nod and smile from you, he pushed himself closer to you, wrapped his arms around your torso and suddenly started pounding into you, making you whimper and bite his shoulder to stop yourself from crying out in pleasure and shock
J - Jack off
(How often do they masturbate?)
Being a ranger, he struggles to find 'alone' time with himself
He's always so busy patrolling, hunting and monitoring the wilds
He usually finds it a bit awkward to masturbate in the woods alone at his camp, in case something or someone is watching nearby
But if he's desperate, like if he's away from you and hasn't slept in a tavern for a few weeks, he'll rub out a rushed one
He doesn't like to drag it out if he doesn't have to; he'd rather get it done so he's not frustrated all night, then roll over to sleep
K - Kink
(One or more of their kinks)
fucking LOVES pet names
like calling you 'kitten' or 'puppy'
seeing your reaction drives him insane, ESPECIALLY if he does it in a semi-public place, like whispering it into your ear, and you go stiff and red-faced
also loves bondage, whether it's you or him being tied up, he's all for it
tends to do it if you're acting particularly bratty and not listening to him, like struggling against his hands as he pins you
will kind of use any excuse to do it though, like oh you scratched his back a little too rough? hand privilege gone
when you're being more dom, he'll act up A LOT, it's his favourite pass time to get a rise out of you so you punish him real bad
have to tie him up real good to the headboard, cause he can get out very easily, being a ranger and all
L - Location
(Favourite places to have sex)
With his job, he has to constantly move and doesn't stay in one place for too long
He's grown accustomed to fucking you in different places
Once got a head from you out the back of an armoury shop, risky, but that was the appeal of it at the time
Or another time, you guys had sex in a stream late at night
But his favourite will always be just the classic tavern bed, where he can be as close to you as he can get and doesn't have to worry about bugs or dirt getting in your hair, and he can focus solely on your pleasure without needing to worry about onlookers
Kinda loves having to cover your mouth so your tavern neighbours don't become disturbed, your little muffled moans get him off
M - Motivation
(What turns them on?)
Many things that you do, but he has a few favourites
He loves it when you stand up for yourself, like if you're at a tavern with him and someone thinks it's a good idea to try their luck with you
You swear and act disgusted at them as they don't take your 'no' for an answer, as Aragorn watches from the side, knowing you've got it handled, but he can jump in if needed
Your anger makes him feel a certain way, so he drags you back to a table closer to the back to get you away from the person and sits very close to you, running sneaky fingers up your thigh
Or he LOVES when you initiate intimacy, like when he's sitting at a desk in a library late at night with no one around, going over old scrolls on middle-earth lore and you come up behind him and wrap your hands around his neck
Your breath on his nape and you running your hands down, underneath his shirt, massaging his sore back muscles would send him spiralling
He wouldn't be able to control himself, he'd drop all the papers and spring up, dragging you with him back to his room
N - No
(something they wouldn't do, turn offs)
Doesn't like any spitting, slapping or hair pulling
Finds it too violent and not loving
He's a gentle soul at heart and would not want any sort of harm to come to his partner, especially from him or onto him from them
Also doesn't love the whole 'daddy' thing
If you called him that during sex, he'd stop and look you in the eyes with a really confused expression
O - Oral
(How are they at oral sex?)
Oh he froths over it, both giving and receiving
For giving, he is so attentive that he'd be on his knees eating you out/sucking you off whenever you be asking
The soft moans above him go straight to his dick and he palms himself while giving you pleasure
Trap his head there between your thighs, and he's gone
Honestly just hold his head with your hands and grind into his face, he'll take it like a little bitch
His beard would tickle so nice
Eye contact every now and then, checking on you
For receiving, he becomes absolute putty in your hands
As you take more of his length into your mouth, he can't even look at you he becomes so sensitive
Head thrown back, teeth gritted, trying not to groan loudly, his hands tangled through your hair
He tries to hard not to grip your head in place and fuck your warmth mouth, but sometimes he can't help himself and becomes aggressive in his thrusts, apologising over and over when he hears you gag heavily over his length
P - Pace
(What pace do they fuck at?)
Depends on his mood and the day
Sometimes he'll be ruthless, gripping you close to him as he pounds into you, having to hold your mouth shut
He'll always ask what you want before he chooses
He usually starts quite slow and sensual, and then increases speed and roughness as he grows more desperate
If you two haven't seen each other for a long time, he enjoys having slow, intimate sex rather than fast and rough
More vulnerable and sweet when fucking you after being apart, just wants to enjoy your skin against his and holds you like you'll be ripped away from him
Q - Quickie
Don't tease him too much in public places because he's not shy to do something about it
Will try to make you wait, but if you keep acting up, he drags you by your wrist to somewhere more quiet, pushes you against the wall and pulls down your bottoms and his just enough to push his hard dick inside you
Then will make fun of you and your worried face, with you stressed that someone will walk by or hear you
"Shh... you asked for this, did you not? You're getting exactly what you wanted, so why are you so shy all of a sudden?"
When you're done with your brief act, he holds you up as you recover and tucks himself back into his pants and lifts yours up
Goes back to the commotion with you following behind him, like nothing happened
But your shaking legs are kind of hard to hide
R - Risk
(Game to experiment?)
Always up to trying new things
Anything you suggest, he will give it a go at least once
Unless it is something that could really hurt either of you
S - Submissive
(How are they as a sub?)
A very fierce, bratty, annoying sub
If he feels more in a subby mood, he will push your buttons as much as he can
Like subtly groping you under the table at feasts at Rivendell, if he can get away with it
Despite the glares he receives from you, he just smirks and ignores your warnings
He knows you're not as game as him in punishing in semi-public places, but god, he is looking forward to going back to his quarters with you
He writhes underneath you, finding it so funny to watch you attempting to pin his large body beneath yours
He grabs your hips and pulls your heat against his, trying so hard to make you mad
It's when you tie his hands up that he feels himself throb out of need
Punish him with edging or overstimulation, and you'll leave him shaking beneath you and pleading for mercy on him
Without the kinky aspect, he does enjoy every now and then just being at your mercy and feeling your hands across his body
After a big day, he just wants to crawl into bed and be ravished by you
Will go insane as you give him nice little praises while you jerk him off, leaving open-mouth kisses across his chest and belly
(can you tell i'm a whore for sub aragorn lmao)
T - Toys
As mentioned, using elvish rope on each other is always a favourite for you guys
He is also one for blindfolds, loving having you not know what he's going to do
And hearing your shocked little gasps as he touches your body
U - Unfair
(How much do they tease?)
He can sometimes find it hard to tease you by withholding pleasure, because he just wants to be inside you so bad
Will do it for a while to get a rise out of you, like kissing and nipping at your inner thighs for a bit too long without placing his tongue on you, making you whimper in frustration
Something he does do that drives you insane is that he will whisper dirty things into your ear when you're in a crowded area
Like grabs your shoulder, leans in real close and says "If that man does not look away from you, I will remind you before everyone here that I speak for you, and I care not who sees."
Leaves you feeling hot and bothered, and his annoying ass would just walk away without even looking back at you, like he did nothing
V - Volume
(How loud are they?)
He can be quite vocal
Finds it hard sometimes to control his moans, always has to either bite into your soft flesh to soften them or grit his teeth
Or sometimes he just won't care and will loudly sigh and groan right into your ear
But likes to keep himself quiet most of the time, so he can hear you
When he's dom, he lets out grunts and growls and refocuses his tension into grabbing you harder by the hips
When he's sub, he is even more vocal and releases breathy moans from deep in his chest
The occasional needy whimper lets itself be known, despite his best efforts to suppress it
W - Wildcard
(Random headcanon)
Oh, honey, he is jealous
He's a possessive, protective and jealous man
Does not tolerate people being all sweet on you
Drives him up the wall
Knows it's irrational, because he knows you are all his, but his immature jealousy can get the better of him at times
Like when a man in a plant shop at Bree was looking you up and down from across the aisle
With you being completely oblivious, Aragorn gave the old creeper a snarled look while pressing his chest against your back, placing his chin on your head
Or when the bartender at a tavern took a liking to you, complimenting your hair with a wide grin and sparkling eyes
Although he was just being polite, Aragorn became a little irritated from the flirtatious exchange and put a light hand on your waist, giving it a squeeze
The action made you jump slightly and look at him and he gave you a quick kiss on the lips
That got the message across to the bartender, who looked away awkwardly to serve another customer
X - X-ray
(How big are they down there?)
He is more lengthy than girthy, which comes with his tall but slim stature
His erection can sometimes prove difficult to hide
Good thing he wears black most of the time
Y - Yearning
(How high is their sex drive?)
Not as high as you would probably expect
Poor, rugged man has a lot on his plate and doesn't always find himself in the mood
Stress and fear can get to him, especially out in the wilderness where there's nothing but occasional crickets and frog croaks to dampen his running thoughts
If he comes back to you after being away for a while, his sex drive becomes quite high again
Like you guys will be fucking each night for like three days
But will calm down as your excitement does, and most nights he'll just enjoy a lovely cuddle in bed with you, with maybe some heavy petting or passionate kisses
Z - Zzz
(How quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)
He's quite tuckered out afterwards
Becomes drowsy after feeling all the tension leave his body, just wanting to crash and snore the night away
But will never do so without giving you an abundance of kisses all over your body and cleaning you up with a towel or in the bath if there is one in the room
But don't spend too long in the bath together or he may just become excited again from the vision of your glistening skin
(slow bath sex with Aragorn, anyone?)
Crashes into bed with you, kissing you neck and wrapping you in his arms as he lets out a deep breath
He takes in your scent and drifts off to sleep
Author's note: i poured my whole heart and thirst into this, hope you've enjoyed my loves, let me know if you'd like to see this with other characters x
author's note ; highly inspired by ptjs tiktok with alarms. first art cr. to loveissiwan on X.
Jonggun doesn’t ask for hugs. he doesn’t initiate warmth. and he definitely doesn’t admit to wanting it.
to most people, he’s all sharp angles and cold control — distant, untouchable. that’s how he likes it too. how he’s always been. people respect fear and power. and Jonggun is very good at giving them reasons to keep their distance.
raised on fists and discipline, taught that strength meant survival, he was trained to fight — not to feel. touch, in Yamazaki world, had always meant something else. a punch. a blow. a warning. nothing comforting ever came from it. so somewhere along the way, his body just stopped expecting softness altogether.
no one really hugged Jonggun growing up. no one ruffled his hair or held him helping hand. what he got instead were commands, missions, the expectations to be perfect weapon and leader. without any hesitations. emotions were inefficient. touch was a liability.
so now, when something warm and human stirs in his chest, he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
Jonggun doesn’t want to fight you. that’s the first thing he understands.
he doesn’t want to intimidate, doesn’t want to keep you at arm’s length like he does with everyone else. but affection? that’s foreign territory. too soft. too vulnerable. too un-Jonggun.
so he does what he can.
he flicks your forehead when you're distracted. he pokes your side when you don’t respond to him. he pinches your cheek when you ignore his presence — subtle little things, rough around the edges. never quite a real touch, never too serious. just enough to feel you.
it looks like teasing on the outside. it’s easy to mistake it for annoyance actually.
but it’s the only way Jonggun knows how to ask for touches.
because he knows that you will always brush his hand away in annoyance. or slap his forearm in playful manner if he bother you too much. a fleeting touch of fingers. the slightest touch. such a small thing Jonggun can forgive himself for, but still wanting more.
because hugging you? that would be crossing a line he doesn’t know how to return from. asking for closeness would mean admitting he wants it — needs it — and that’s too exposed, too raw. he doesn’t have the language for it.
so he lingers instead. he sits a little closer than necessary. lets his shoulder brush yours. stands behind you quietly, watching, protecting even.
and if he ever tickles you — which he does more than he’d admit — it’s because laughter feels safer than silence. because if you’re laughing, you’re not questioning his motives. you're not asking him what he really wants. and you're not pulling away.
he doesn’t touch people if its not fight. but with you, he finds his own excuses.
Jonggun not trying to be cruel or confusing — it’s just all he knows.
so no, Park Jonggun never ask for hugs.
but sometimes, when he flicks your ear or pulls you into a half-hearted scuffle that feels more like a game than a fight — maybe he’s asking anyway. in the only way he knows how.
ask drabbles | warning: broken links. please use #seven days a week to find them | how you met, jk gets jealous + 2 + 3, meeting his friends, make up sex, first time, he seduces you in a club, meeting his parents, almost getting caught by friends, he's whipped for you, making his ex jealous, he thinks you're cheating, wedding night/honeymoon sex, friend tries to break you up, you establish a temporary sex ban
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Happy very, very late Mother's Day!
I am not saying that zuko is sokkas substitute for kya. or they look in any way similar!
The whole concept here is that something was happening at the moment, be it how they were laying in bed, how the hair pooled over the pillow, or how sokka was able to hold onto it. It just brought sokka back. It triggered a memory, and suddenly he relived a brief memory. Making him suddenly miss his mother again.
hope you enjoy!
george lucas, remarkably unsubtley, over and over again: the fall of the republic was because of corporate interests interfering with politics and increased complacency with fascist ideas in the face of a manufactured war
everyone, for some reason: so the jedi were the REAL villains because they didn’t get married
Le Bazar @me-myself-and-my-hyperfixations - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
