About me: i enjoy writing and drawing. I am a self taught digital artist. Im a Dazai Osamu, Guts, Alucard and Aizawa Shota enthusiast. I love Music. Im a mom to a void Kitty named pasha <3
* ੈ✩‧₊˚— fandoms im in ~ Bsd, Berserk, Mha, Jjk, Aot, kny, sq, hellsing (i forgot the rest..)
* ੈ✩‧₊˚— Games i play!! gi, hsr, sg, crk, reverse 1999, mouthwashing, homicipher, rblx
Hello! I don’t know if your requests are open but I found you through your somnophilia Aizawa post and I’m hooked. If they’re not open then feel free to ignore!! I was wondering if you’d write a smut fic about Aizawa finding his roommate attempting to use dilators and helping them out with relaxing to allow it in(maybe even the smallest size, which he’d lightly tease them over while praising them for doing so well)? If not that’s alright! Thank you regardless!
Omg im sooo sorry i didnt see this!!!😭😭 THATS SUCH A GOOD IDEAAAA i will write that
The room was dim, the soft hum of the heater filling the silence. You’d been curled up on the couch for a while, the sleep medication finally starting to take hold. Your eyelids were heavy, body melting into the cushions, the world already blurred around you. Insomnia had been a constant, gnawing companion, but tonight, the haze of drowsiness offered a rare relief.
A quiet click at the door made you stir just slightly. Aizawa returned, his figure leaning in the doorway, shoulders tense from a brutal patrol. His hair was messy, eyes dark with fatigue, and the faint scent of sweat and his usual sharp cologne clung to him. Normally, you might worry, ask about his day—but your body felt too heavy, too drowsy to do anything but watch him.
“You’re asleep already?” His voice was low, calm, but edged with that quiet intensity he always carried. You blinked slowly, barely lifting your head, a faint murmur escaping your lips. That subtle surrender, barely conscious, drew his gaze and tightened the smirk on his face.
He stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Relax,” he murmured, fingers grazing your cheek, thumb tracing lightly over your jaw. And in that moment, all the tension left your body. You exhaled softly, eyes fluttering closed, and let yourself drift completely.
Aizawa’s lips brushed your temple, his hand moving to settle on your shoulder. “Just let me take care of you,” he whispered. The words weren’t a demand—they were a promise. And in the comfort of your drowsy haze, you trusted him completely.
He shifted you gently, so your back was exposed, fingers tracing along your collarbone, sliding slowly down your side. You shivered in your half-asleep state, body melting into his touch. The warmth of his hand, the steady, possessive presence of him, made your muscles loosen entirely.
“Shhh… relax,” he murmured again, brushing your hair aside, lips close enough that you could feel his breath. You did, finally, let go. Your eyelids closed fully, the last conscious thought slipping as the medication and his calm presence pulled you under.
Even as you fell asleep, his hands didn’t stop. Fingers slid beneath your shirt, teasing, brushing over your bare skin, pressing softly against your nipples. You whimpered quietly in your sleep-dazed state, back arching just slightly into his touch. Aizawa’s smirk deepened, dark and possessive.
He lowered himself, hand slipping under your loose shorts, tracing over your folds with deliberate, slow pressure. He let out a sort humm. „No panties? Dirty little thing you are.“ he whispered into your ear. You shivered, small, muffled noises escaping your lips, entirely lost in the haze of drowsiness. Even asleep, your body responded to him, hips tilting as if begging for more, and he chuckled low.
“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “So obedient..”
His fingers curled expertly inside you, thumb circling over your clit, while the other hand steadied your hips. You shivered again, muffled whimpers, body reacting in ways your conscious mind would have never allowed. He teased, pressed, and stroked, letting you melt against him completely.
When he finally pressed himself against your folds, nudging at the entrance with deliberate patience, your body jerked slightly, groaning softly in sleep-drenched pleasure. He entered you slowly, filling you fully, letting you adjust while he watched every reaction—every tremble, every soft whine—even as you slept through it all.
He moved with steady, possessive thrusts, hips grinding into your ass, hands holding you securely. You murmured softly, body trembling, but eyes still closed, fully surrendered. “Shhh… just let me,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “I’ve got you.”
Even as your body shivered with each motion, as he pressed deeper and moved with deliberate, careful pace, you remained asleep, fully trusting him. Your back arched, legs pressing instinctively, small, muffled cries slipping from your lips. He groaned low, moving faster, fingers curling inside you, thumb brushing over your clit, and you convulsed slightly, caught between sleep and sensation.
Finally, he sank fully into you, filling you completely, hands gripping your hips possessively. The release came for both of you, his groan low and rough, your body shivering in overstimulation even as your eyelids fluttered in sleep.
He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, fingers brushing your hair back. “Sleep now, good girl,” he murmured, voice soft but possessive. “I’ve got you. Always.”
And as you finally drifted fully into sleep, exhausted and satiated, he held you close, body pressed to yours, satisfied in the quiet intimacy of the room—the world outside fading, leaving only the warmth of him, and the trust you had placed in his hands.
The room smelled of whiskey and cigarette smoke, dimly lit by a single hanging bulb. You were pinned against the wall before you could even react, Dazai’s hands gripping your wrists with an iron strength that left no room to struggle.
“You look far too tempting to just let walk away,” he murmured, voice low, dangerous, and taunting. “I’ve been waiting for this all night.”
Your breath hitched, chest pressing against the cold wall, heart hammering with a mix of fear and anticipation. You wanted to push back, to protest—but the truth was, you’d wanted this too. The thrill, the danger, the knowledge that he wanted you like this, made your body betray you.
He slid one hand under your chin, tilting your head up, and you felt the sharp glint of that manic grin. “Don’t even think about saying no,” he whispered, teeth brushing your ear. “Not tonight. Not with me.”
You shivered, lips parting, barely able to form words. “D-Dazai…”
“Shh,” he said, cutting you off, pressing a hand to your chest, pinning you still. “I control you tonight. You’re mine, and you’ll enjoy it.”
His other hand traced down your torso, fingers teasing your ribs, slipping under your shirt, brushing over your skin, and the brush of his touch sent fire straight to your core. You gasped, squirming, trying to wriggle, but he held you tight.
“I can feel how wet you are,” he murmured, thumb pressing between your thighs over your clothes. “So desperate… for me.”
Without warning, he sank to his knees, hands sliding under your skirt, fingers curling inside you expertly, curling and pressing in ways that left you trembling and gasping. Your back arched instinctively, pressing further into him.
“See? I knew you wanted this,” he said, lips brushing your inner thigh, voice low and rough. “You can’t lie to me… and you wouldn’t want to.”
His fingers worked fast, curling deep inside you while he slid a hand down to stroke himself, groaning low at the slick, wet sounds of your pleasure. The combination of feeling him on you, controlling you, and the raw, rough sounds of his pleasure pushed you over the edge.
Your body shook, thighs trembling, fingers digging into his shoulders as your first orgasm hit — sharp, powerful, leaving you shivering and breathless. But he didn’t stop. Not even close.
“You’re mine,” he growled, voice rough and possessive, grinding into your thighs, pressing his hardened cock against your slick folds. “And I haven’t even started yet.”
You cried out, desperate, helpless, completely lost under him, and he chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry, darling… I’ll make sure you remember this.”
Every thrust, every movement, every whisper of dirty praise and ownership left you trembling, shivering, cum dripping down his hand and your thighs. When he finally sank deep inside you, filling you entirely, you couldn’t help the desperate moans that escaped your lips.
“Good girl,” he murmured after you both shuddered together, breathless, messy, and utterly ruined. “All night… I own you.”
You were pressed against the wall, body trembling, still reeling from the first wave of pleasure he had forced from you. Dazai didn’t give a second to recover; his hands gripped your hips, tilting you back against him as his cock nudged against your slick folds.
“You’re dripping for me,” he murmured, voice low, rough, almost predatory. “So eager… so desperate.”
He thrust slowly at first, letting you feel the full length of him before picking up the pace. Each movement was calculated, possessive, forcing you to grind against him, helpless under his control. Your back arched, nails digging into his shoulders, and he growled, pressing his forehead against yours.
“You like this,” he said, voice dark and teasing. “You like being mine, don’t you? Even when I don’t ask, even when I take you… you can’t help it.”
Your moans came in frantic bursts, pleading, helpless. “Dazai… please…”
“Please? You don’t get to say that,” he snapped, rough but teasing, His hand slid between your thighs, fingers rubbing your clit, pressing just the way that made your knees tremble. “I own you tonight. And I’m not done.”
At the same time, he drove his cock harder into you, letting you feel every hard, unrelenting inch. The friction, the pressure, the sound of your wetness and your frantic cries only made him growl louder.
“Look at you,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, teeth grazing your neck. “So messy… so full of me. You like it when I’m rough, don’t you? Admit it.”
“I… I do…” you gasped, body shivering violently. “I like it… I need you…”
“Good,” he muttered, grinding into you, fingers rubbing harder. “Say it again, louder.“
Your cries filled the dimly lit room, your body shaking as his fingers and cock worked in perfect sync. He didn’t let you recover between waves of pleasure, teasing, pinching, grinding, until you were shaking uncontrollably.
“Cum for me,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “Show me how good you are when you’re mine.”
Your body convulsed around him, squirting, trembling, gasping his name over and over. He groaned low, pressing harder, letting you ride out the orgasm on him as he thrust relentlessly.
“You’re mine,” he growled, voice rough, satisfied. “Every little sound… every tremble… all for me. And I’m not stopping until I’m done with you.”
Even as your body shook from the overstimulation, he didn’t relent. Fingers rubbing, cock driving, verbal domination keeping you on edge. Another wave hit — smaller, sharper, yet equally devastating — and he chuckled darkly, relishing in the way you clung to him, shivering, dripping, utterly ruined.
Finally, he sank fully into you, filling you completely, marking you with every hard, possessive thrust. Your screams and moans echoed through the room, raw and desperate. When he came, he buried himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, voice rough, letting you feel every pulse.
“Mine,” he growled, holding you against him, both of you trembling, sticky, and breathless. “All night… you’re mine.”
The party had been buzzing for hours, and you’d spent all of it teasing Suguru Geto — skirts riding impossibly high, pressing your bare folds into his view, letting him catch every shiver, every sway of your hips. His dark eyes had followed you relentlessly, smirk always in place, and the thrill of being watched in front of the others had driven you wild. Perhaps a few others might have noticed your little flashes too.
He had been patient, letting you edge yourself over and over, teasing you with every glance, every subtle brush of his hand whenever he could sneak it. Now, the music was softer, most guests had moved to other rooms, and you felt the electricity in the air spike as his gaze found you again.
“You’ve been tempting me all night,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, stepping closer. “Every little movement… every little tease… and now I think it’s time you stop hiding.”
You bit your lip, stomach twisting. “I… I can’t stop myself,” you whispered.
“Good,” he growled, letting his hand drift down your hip, pressing firmly. “I don’t want you to.”
He leaned closer, lips brushing your ear. “But I do want more than teasing now. You’ve made me wait long enough.”
Before you could react, he slipped an arm around your waist, tugging you toward the balcony door. “Come on,” he ordered, voice clipped, dominant. “Alone. I want you all to myself.”
The moment the door slid open and the cool night air hit you, your skirt rode impossibly high, exposing you completely. The city lights glimmered behind him as he pressed you against the balcony railing, dark eyes drinking in your bare skin.
“You’re shaking,” he said, thumb brushing over your clit, teasing lightly. “All that teasing… you’ve been wet for me all night, haven’t you?”
You shivered, pressing back into him instinctively, knees weak. “Yes… so wet… for you.”
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, one hand gripping your hip while the other slid between your legs, fingers curling inside you expertly. He groaned low as you gasped, hips bucking, leaning into every motion.
He leaned in, lips brushing yours in a dark, hungry kiss that left you dizzy, trembling. “All night, teasing me,” he growled against your mouth. “Now I get you completely.”
He pressed himself against your back, letting you feel the heat of him grinding into you as his fingers moved faster, curling deeper. You moaned loudly, clinging to the railing, body trembling as the city lights glinted over your bare, exposed form.
“God… you feel so good,” he breathed, fingers working expertly, thumb circling over your clit. “I’ve wanted this all night. You, bare, dripping, and trembling for me.”
You cried out as your first orgasm hit — thighs shaking, hips jerking, every inch of you quivering in overstimulation. But he didn’t stop. He pressed harder, curling his fingers inside you while grinding into your ass, voice clipped, commanding.
“Again,” he ordered, lips brushing your ear. “Come for me again. Show me how messy you can get.”
Your second orgasm tore through you violently — squirting, trembling, moaning his name as he grinned darkly, grinding into you and making you feel utterly owned.
Finally, he spun you around, facing him, lips crashing together in a possessive kiss as he pressed inside you. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as he thrust his thick, heavy cock slowly at first, letting you adjust, then faster, deeper, both of you groaning into each other.
“You’re mine,” he growled, voice rough, smirking as he sank fully into you. “All night, I watched you tease… now I get to take what’s mine.”
Your cries mixed with the night air, fingers digging into his shoulders as he drove you both higher, holding nothing back. Every thrust, every groan, every whispered dirty word left you trembling, dripping, and utterly ruined in his hands, the city lights bearing silent witness to your surrender.
The screen flickers to life and there he is: Toji, shirtless, smirk sharp as ever, leaning back in his chair. His dark eyes glint with amusement, the kind that makes your stomach twist with both excitement and nerves.
“You’ve been thinking about me all day,” he murmurs. “Don’t lie. I can tell.”
You bite your lip, hands twitching. “Maybe…”
“Maybe?” He laughs low, dangerous. “Show me then. Strip. I want to see all of you.”
Your fingers tremble as you remove your clothes piece by piece. Shirt, bra, skirt, panties — all bare under his gaze. The moment your nipples brush the cool air, he leans closer, smirk widening.
“Good girl… so obedient,” he murmurs. “Now, get your little toy. You know the one.”
Your pulse quickens, and you reach for the vibrator you’d set nearby — his idea, insisting you play with it while he watched.
“Hold it up for me,” he commands. “I want to see it ready, trembling in your hands. That’s it… that’s perfect.”
You press it against your folds, whimpering at the buzz, and he chuckles darkly.
“Move it slow first,” he says. “I want to see every little shiver, every gasp. And don’t forget who’s watching. Every noise is for me.”
You obey, hips rolling slightly against the toy. He leans closer to the camera, eyes glittering, and you feel exposed, entirely his.
“That’s it,” he groans. “So wet… already dripping. You like being watched, don’t you?”
“Yes… I want you,” you breathe, trembling.
“Mhm,” he mutters, smirk wicked. “I’ll make you need me more. Faster now. Show me how desperate you are.”
You push the vibrator inside, rocking your hips, biting your lip as your hand slides over your clit. He groans low, clearly turned on, jerking himself off in rhythm with your movements.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “Even on this screen, I own every little noise you make. That little squirm? That’s all for me.”
You gasp as the toy hits the perfect spot, moaning his name. He leans in closer to the camera, voice husky.
“Use your hands too. I want to see you lose control. Don’t fight it — I like watching you tremble.”
Your first orgasm hits — you shiver violently, clenching around the toy, and he groans, jerking off faster, eyes locked on you.
“Fuck… look at you,” he growls, voice rough. “So wet, so needy. You’re dripping all over yourself, all for me. You feel so good.”
He pauses, smirk curling his lips. “Now switch positions. On your stomach. I want to see that ass while you cum again.”
You obey, rolling onto your stomach, pressing the vibrator into your folds again. He leans in close to the camera, breathing low, voice clipped and teasing.
“God… you’re unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’re such a little slut. Come again, show me what a mess you make for me. I want to hear it.”
Your second orgasm hits — squirting, shivering, nails digging into the bed — and he groans, jerking himself off harder, voice breaking into low, satisfied curses.
“Good girl,” he says, smirking, leaning toward the screen. “One more. Make it big. Make it messy. Make me proud.”
You push the toy deeper, grinding against it, whimpering as you ride yourself into another screaming climax. He groans, hips snapping against his hand, finally spilling over himself in a heavy, satisfying pulse.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs as the camera flickers slightly, smirk softening just enough. “Even through this screen… even with toys… you belong to me.”
a/n; i didnt have the energy to post the last few fics — so ill be posting day 7-12 now since i have them written out already. Sorry!
MDNI — Gojo x Reader, Blindfolded Reader, Teasing, Playful Domination, Penetrative Sex, Dirty Talk, Hand Restraints, Overstimulation, Teasing, Reader on Bottom, Gojo Being Cocky, Smut. F!reader
„Blind Obedience“
You feel the silk slip over your eyes before you even realize he’s moved.
“Ah-ah,” Gojo hums right beside your ear, voice all honeyed smugness. “You said you trusted me, didn’t you? So no peeking.”
You open your mouth to speak, but he steals the words with a slow drag of his thumb across your bottom lip. You can’t see him — which somehow makes him feel everywhere. His breath brushes your cheek, then your neck… then he’s gone.
Your fingers twitch on the sheets. “Satoru—”
The mattress dips behind you. A lazy laugh. “You sound nervous. Cute.”
His hands are warm when they wrap around your ankles, guiding your legs apart with all the gentleness of someone adjusting furniture. Not asking — just placing you where he wants you. Your breath hitches.
He whistles. “So obedient when you can’t see me. Should’ve blindfolded you ages ago.”
The bed shifts again — and then his mouth is right there over your inner thigh, teeth scraping skin just enough to make your hips jump. He laughs against you like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all week.
“Skittish little thing. Relax,” he murmurs, lips brushing higher, so close. “You’ll get what you want. I just like hearing you beg first.”
His fingers slide up your stomach, feather-light, deliberately avoiding where you need him. Teasing. Testing. You arch helplessly.
“Use your words,” he coos, fingertips hovering just above your heat. “Tell your honored one what you want.”
You choke out his name, half-plea, half-warning.
“Tch. Not good enough.” His hand withdraws. You gasp.
Then fabric rustles — and the sound of his zipper sliding down feels louder than thunder in the darkness.
The bed creaks as he leans over you, one arm braced beside your head. You can feel his grin.
“Fine,” he sighs dramatically, pressing the blunt head of his cock against you just barely. “I’ll be nice this time… but you owe me later.”
Without warning — he pushes in slowly, savoring your trembling.
“God,” he groans, voice finally breaking its playful edge. “Look at you— blindfolded, squirming, clinging to me like I’m gonna disappear.”
His pace stays slow on purpose. Dragging. Taunting. Letting every inch sink in until you’re whining openly.
He laughs against your throat, breath hot.
“Mm… can’t even glare at me. Maybe I’ll keep you like this forever.”
He thrusts in slow, agonizing waves — deep, deliberate. Not to satisfy you yet, but to watch you need it.
Even blindfolded, you know he’s staring.
You feel his fingers trace the curve of your cheek, then hook under your chin, tilting your face up toward where he is.
“Hey,” he whispers, voice low but amused. “Don’t hide from me. I want to hear every little noise you make.”
He punctuates it with a sudden snap of his hips — hard enough to punch a cry right out of you. Your hands fly up on instinct, grasping for him, but he catches your wrists with embarrassing ease and pins them above your head with one hand.
“Nu-uh. Hands there,” he says brightly, like he’s scolding a child caught reaching for a cookie jar. “You move them, I stop.”
You freeze immediately.
“Oh?” He laughs softly. “Suddenly so well-behaved. How cute.”
His free hand trails down your sternum, over your stomach — then curls between your thighs, rubbing lightly where you’re already throbbing.
“Mm~ you’re drenched. From just this?” He leans close, lips brushing your ear. “You really do like being helpless.”
Your pulse thunders. You press your hips up into him without meaning to — chasing friction — but he pulls back completely, leaving you empty.
Your breath stutters.
“Satoru—!”
A gasp — startled — because he grips your thigh and flips you effortlessly, dragging your body until you’re flat on your stomach, cheek pressed to the sheets. Your hands are still trapped under his, wrists against the mattress.
“Relax,” he croons, kneeling between your legs, spreading them wider with his knee. “Gonna fill you from behind this time. Bet it’ll make you even louder.”
You try to twist your head to say something — curse him, plead, something — but he pushes gently between your shoulderblades, keeping you down with just enough strength to remind you how easily he could keep you there forever.
Then he slides in again — deeper this time, angle hitting a new, devastating spot that makes your entire body jolt.
“There it is,” he groans, grip tightening on your hip. “That perfect little place— already clenching so hard.” He laughs breathlessly. “You close up any more and I’m gonna think you’re trying to milk me.”
His pace quickens now — not reckless, but measured, every roll of his hips meant to pull noise out of you. The wet, slick sound of him moving inside you fills the dark.
And Gojo — the bastard — keeps talking.
“Blindfolded, face down, begging under me…” His voice is hoarse with satisfaction. “If you ever saw yourself right now, you’d die of embarrassment.”
Your vision swims even beneath the silk. Your nails dig into your own palms, fighting the urge to grab him even though he warned you not to.
“Go on,” he urges, pounding harder, more insistent. “Come for me. Be good and give me everything.”
You can’t even tell if you scream or just sob when it hits — a wet, pulsing release that makes your thighs shake uncontrollably. He moans low, almost feral at the feeling of it, still rutting through it until your knees nearly give out.
“God— that’s it.”
You tremble, overstimulated — but he doesn’t let up. His thrusts grow sloppy, erratic.
“Gonna fill you,” he groans against your neck, biting just enough to make you jolt. “Gonna stuff you full— You’ll feel me dripping down your thighs all night.”
You barely have time to gasp before he drives in deep and stays there — shuddering as hot, thick warmth spills inside you in heavy pulses.
You feel him twitch with every spurt, panting against your ear.
Then — still buried deep — he laughs softly, breathless but cocky as ever.
“…You’re not getting that blindfold off,” he says, tightening his arm around your waist possessively. “I’m not done having fun.”
Im sorry for not posting my last kinktober fics. Ive had them written out but i just didnt find the energy to post them.. i will post all missing ones today. Very sorry guys.🙁
MDNI — Beast!Dazai x Reader, Port Mafia AU, Outdoor Sex, Intoxication, Rough Sex, Degradation, Humiliation, Voyeurism, Chuuya Catches Them, Dirty Talk, Squirting, Creampie, Power Play, Mean Dom!Dazai. F!reader
idk the artists @. If u do pls cr them in the comments
„filth in the alley way“
The Port Mafia’s “peace party” was a decadent trap. Fine whiskey, cigars, and silk-gloved waiters blurred into one long haze of indulgence. You’d been coaxed into drinking by subordinates, glass after glass of red wine and champagne making your head spin, skin hot. Around you, even the deadliest killers had softened under the glow of alcohol — but not Dazai.
He’d sat at the head of the table like a king, coat open, tie loose, eyes burning dark as sin. The more he drank, the sharper that gaze became. When you stumbled against him in the hallway, half-laughing, half-shivering, he caught your arm and didn’t let go.
“You’re such a clumsy little thing,” he muttered, voice low enough for only you to hear. His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist, deceptively soft. “I ought to teach you how to walk straight.”
“Dazai—” you slurred, cheeks flushed.
His grip tightened; his smile didn’t. “Shut up. Don’t make me ask twice.”
He dragged you out the side door, into the sharp night air. Before you could register where you were, your back hit a wall in the alley behind the speakeasy, and Dazai loomed over you, all height and coiled violence.
“Drunk little slut,” he hissed, one hand on your throat, pressing just enough to make you gasp. “All night you’ve been looking at me with those eyes. You wanted this.”
“D-Dazai—”
He slapped your thigh — not hard enough to hurt, just enough to shock. “I said shut up.”
The sound of the party drifted from inside. Out here, it was just brick, shadows, and the metallic tang of the city. He pinned you, knee between your legs, pressing you to the wall until you whimpered, and then he bent his head to your neck, biting just hard enough to leave a mark.
His fingers found your panties, dragging them down without ceremony, slow enough to make you squirm. “So wet,” he sneered, pushing two fingers in and curling them viciously. “You’ve been dripping for me all night, haven’t you? You like the idea of the Boss ruining you where anyone could see?”
You gasped and shook your head, but your hips betrayed you, grinding down on his hand.
“Pathetic,” he spat, pulling his fingers out and shoving them between your lips. “Lick. Taste what a little whore you are.”
You moaned around his fingers. He smirked, undoing his belt with the other hand. “That’s it. Open up. It’s not going to be gentle.”
He yanked you onto his lap, back to the wall, his coat falling open as he freed himself. He lined himself up, cock dragging through your slick folds, and without warning, thrust in deep, bottoming out with a grunt that was more animal than man.
You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders. He laughed, low and cruel. “You like that? Getting fucked like a street toy? You like the idea of them watching?”
Because now there were eyes — at the mouth of the alley, a couple of drunken strangers pausing, staring. One whispered. One smirked. Dazai saw them, locked eyes with them, and smirked darkly.
“Good,” he hissed in your ear, voice a whip. “Let them see what you are.”
Chuuya appeared then, silhouette framed in the doorway, cigarette glowing in the dark. He looked at you — flushed, trembling, pinned against Dazai — and at Dazai’s cruel grin. He exhaled smoke, muttered, “For fuck’s sake…” and turned away, boots crunching as he left without another glance.
Dazai’s hands gripped your hips like iron, forcing you to bounce on him. Every thrust was brutal, slapping against your soaked skin, each snap of his hips angled to hit you deeper, rougher.
“You’re dripping all over me,” he sneered, biting your ear. “Going to squirt, aren’t you? Go on. Make a mess for your Boss.”
Your thighs shook; you sobbed against his shoulder, drunk and overwhelmed, and he only drove you harder, pressing his thumb against your clit, rubbing cruel circles as he thrust up. “Now. Come for me. Now.”
You broke — squirting against him with a cry, your body convulsing, liquid splattering his thighs. The onlookers gasped quietly from the alley mouth, but Dazai only groaned, slamming you down harder.
“Filthy little bitch,” he snarled, hips snapping. “Look at the mess you made.”
He held you pinned, fingers bruising your hips, cock buried deep, and then he groaned low in your ear, a dark sound of satisfaction. His thrusts became erratic, deeper, harder.
“Stay still,” he ordered, and you felt it — the hot pulse spilling inside you as he came, filling you to the brim. He kept you there, his grip unrelenting, pressing you down until his release dripped out around him, running down your thighs.
“Good girl,” he hissed, biting your shoulder. “That’s where you belong. Full. Leaking. Marked.”
The strangers at the mouth of the alley finally moved, muttering, embarrassed, one glancing back with wide eyes. But Dazai didn’t care. He leaned back, eyes gleaming, and smirked at their retreating figures before looking back at you — his ruined, trembling prize — and dragged a thumb over your swollen lips.
“Smile,” he ordered. “They’ll never forget what they saw. Neither will you.”
MDNI — wax play, dacryphilia, pain kink, Dabi x reader, shy but obedient reader, overstimulation, squirting, riding, fingering, praise mixed with degradation, possessive Dabi, creampie, breeding implications, messy sex, crying from pleasure, hand on throat, marking, staying full, filthy language, and round two guaranteed. F!reader
„Cry Pretty for My Flame“
The motel room smelled like burnt sugar — that faint caramel scent that always came with his flames when he held them back just enough not to scorch. The lights were off, save for the flicker of a single candle sitting on the bedside table. He hadn’t lit it for ambiance.
You were already stripped down to your underwear, chest rising and falling a little too fast as he leaned back in the chair across from the bed — legs spread, cigarette dangling lazily from his lips as he stared at you like you were dessert.
“On your knees,” he said.
Your body obeyed before your brain could catch up. His voice had that effect — lazy but laced with threat. Dabi stood, sauntering close, towering over you. He pinched the candle wick between his fingers, flame flaring to life like it was nothing.
You swallowed. He smirked.
“Gonna be a good girl for me?” he drawled.
You nodded, thighs pressing together for friction. He clicked his tongue.
“Use your words, doll.”
“Yes,” you breathed. “I’ll be good.”
“Better be.”
He tilted the candle, letting a slow ribbon of molten wax drip over his thumb first — testing the temperature. Then his hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up toward him.
“Don’t flinch.”
You tried — you really did — but when the wax hit the curve of your collarbone in a sudden, hot sting, your body jolted. A sharp gasp tore from your lips.
Dabi laughed — low and delighted.
“Oh, that’s pretty,” he murmured, watching the wax cool against your skin. “Do it again.”
He tilted the candle again — this time over your chest. Each droplet hit like fire and ice — burning for a split second before solidifying, sealing the heat against you. You whimpered — thighs trembling.
Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes — more from overwhelming sensation than pain. Dabi noticed immediately.
“Well, well,” he purred, crouching down so you were eye to eye. His hand dragged up your cheek, thumbing away one of the tears just to smear it across your skin. “Melting already, huh?”
Your breath hitched — half from embarrassment, half from how hungry he looked seeing you like this.
“I— I’m fine,” you whispered.
“Oh, I know you are,” he said softly — mockingly tender. “If you weren’t fine, you’d be telling me to stop.”
He tilted the candle again, this time letting the wax drip slow across your sternum — right between your breasts. Your body trembled, tears slipping freely now. Dabi’s grin widened.
“Yeah… that’s it. Cry for me.”
You whined, face flushing hot as the wax kept coming, each drop wringing a new sound out of you. The sting, the warmth, the way he watched you like he was devouring every second— it was too much and not enough all at once.
He set the candle aside finally, hands immediately moving to trace the hardened wax on your skin — pressing into it, cracking it slightly to make you shudder.
“God, you look wrecked,” he said with a groan. “And I haven’t even touched your pretty pussy yet.”
Your thighs pressed together instinctively.
Dabi noticed.
“Oh no,” he said, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. His eyes were burning — hungry blue. “Don’t hide it. Show me how wet that pain makes you.”
Your breath caught.
And slowly… you opened your thighs.
Dabi’s answering smile was wicked.
“Atta girl.”
Your thighs parted slowly — hesitantly — but Dabi didn’t miss a thing. His gaze dragged downward, lingering on the damp spot spreading across your underwear. His grin was all teeth.
“Knew it,” he rasped. “You fucking love this.”
He shifted forward, pushing you gently back until you were seated on the edge of the mattress. Before you could settle, he had two fingers hooking under your waistband, dragging your panties down your thighs in one smooth motion.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice almost affectionate. “Can’t tell if it’s from the wax… or how wet you are.”
His thumb brushed against your inner thigh — feather light — just to watch you twitch. You tried to stay still. Failed.
He chuckled, low and delighted.
“You trying to behave?” His tone was mocking. “That’s cute.”
His hand slid up — and finally, finally pressed right between your legs. His fingers slipped easily through your slick heat, coating them instantly. You gasped, hips jerking up into the touch.
Dabi moaned softly under his breath.
“Fuck… listen to that,” he murmured, dragging his fingers slowly upward until he circled your clit in lazy, torturous strokes. “She’s fucking dripping. Over a little hot wax.”
Your face burned. Another tear slipped free.
He caught it with his thumb — but instead of wiping it away, he smeared it across your cheek again.
“There she goes,” he whispered. “My pretty little crybaby.”
You whimpered — torn between shame and arousal. He could tell. He loved it.
“Don’t hide it,” he said, pushing his fingers inside you without warning. Your back arched as he filled you — knuckles deep — curling up until your breath came out in a sob.
“Yeah,” he growled, watching you fall apart on his hand. “Cry on my fingers.”
He thrust slow at first — deep and deliberate — his other hand moving to your chest. His fingers ran over the hardened wax on your skin, pressing against it until it cracked. You squirmed at the sensation — pleasure blending with a sting as he began to peel it away, strip by strip.
The contrast was overwhelming — his fingers fucking into you, his other hand scraping heat from your skin, your tears spilling faster with every wave of sensation.
“Look at you,” he breathed, his own voice unsteady now. “Leaking everywhere. Can’t handle how good it feels, can you?”
You shook your head, another sob tearing from your throat — but your hips were grinding desperately against his hand, fucking yourself on his fingers.
He leaned in, breath hot against your ear.
“Say it.”
You blinked through tears. “S-Say what—”
“Say pain makes you wet.”
Your lungs seized. Your face burned. But your body… clenched around his fingers so tightly he groaned.
You swallowed hard.
“…Pain makes me—wet—”
“Louder.”
“P-Pain makes me wet—!”
“That’s my girl,” he snarled — and slammed his fingers faster, relentless now, peeling the last of the wax off your chest with rough, possessive strokes.
You shattered — crying openly now, sobbing his name as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, soaking his hand, thighs trembling uncontrollably.
Dabi didn’t stop. If anything, he fucked you harder through it, grinning like a devil.
“That’s right,” he rasped. “Cry for me while you come.”
Your orgasm was still rippling through you when Dabi suddenly pressed the heel of his palm hard against your clit, fingers still buried deep inside you.
You jolted — overstimulated instantly — grabbing at his wrist like you meant to stop him. You didn’t.
“W-wait— Dabi— too much—”
“C’mon,” he rasped, voice tight with restraint. “Give me one more.”
You shook your head — but your hips were already stuttering against his hand, helplessly riding the pressure. Your tears smeared across your cheeks, hiccuping breaths escaping you as he ground his palm in slow circles.
“You can take it,” he growled. “I just watched you cry all over me. Don’t tell me you’re shy now.”
His pace didn’t quicken — it deepened. Firm, steady, wrecking you on purpose. Your vision blurred again. Your legs started shaking.
“Dabi— Dabi I—”
“Yeah,” he whispered, licking his lips as he watched you unravel. “Come on, doll. Be a mess for me. Soak me.”
It hit so suddenly you couldn’t even brace — your whole body snapped tight, and then burst as your orgasm ripped through you violently, gushing around his fingers with a wet slap against his wrist.
Water spilled down your thighs — dripping onto the sheets below. You choked on air — crying, trembling, overwhelmed.
Dabi’s eyes widened — pupils blown wide with hunger.
“Oh, fuck,” he said, sounding almost reverent. “Look at that. You squirted for me.”
You hid your face with your hands — mortified. He clicked his tongue.
“No hiding,” he said, catching your wrists and forcing your hands down. “Show me your face when you make a mess like that.”
You flushed hard — still shaking. He smirked.
“Good girl.”
He pulled back, wiping his drenched hand on your thigh casually, then reached for the candle sitting beside you — flame still flickering.
Your eyes widened. “W-Wait— I— I can’t—”
“Oh?” He tilted his head lazily. “Too shy to hurt me?”
You hesitated, biting your lip. “I just— what if I—”
He stood in front of you, grabbing your hand and wrapping it around the candle base. His other hand went straight to his belt, unbuckling it with zero hesitation. His pants fell loose around his hips — cock hard and flushed, already aching for friction.
His voice dropped, low and sharp.
“I said pour it.”
Your heart hammered. “But—”
He crushed your hesitation with one sentence:
“Make me feel what you felt.”
Your breath caught.
He tilted his chin up, exposing the scarred plane of his chest — purple staples glinting in the candlelight. His abs were clenched already in anticipation, chest rising heavy with need.
“…You want it?” you whispered.
His grin was feral.
“I need it.”
Your pulse roared in your ears. Slowly, hand trembling, you tilted the candle.
The first drip of wax landed on his collarbone.
He shuddered.
Not in pain.
In ecstasy.
A harsh breath punched out of him — his head tipping back, lips parting.
“Oh— fuck.”
You froze — stunned.
He laughed breathlessly — shaky. “Don’t stop now. More.”
You swallowed — blushing hard — but tilted the candle again.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip—
Each hit made his muscles tense beautifully — his cock twitched with every drop, precum spilling down his length. He was enjoying it. More than you expected.
“More,” he rasped. “Don’t be sweet. Burn me.”
Your hesitation broke.
You poured — not delicate drops this time, but a steady, hot stream down his chest, watching his skin tense and twitch beneath it.
Dabi moaned.
Low. Guttural. Real.
His hand snapped up, catching yours, guiding the wax lower — down the slope of his abs — stopping just above where he was aching for it.
“Good girl,” he panted, chest heaving. “Fuck— you’re gonna be the death of me.”
You stared — wide-eyed, flushed, breath trembling — suddenly addicted to the sight of him falling apart.
Dabi’s eyes lifted, blazing with raw heat.
He sat back against the headboard, legs spread wide, cock flushed and twitching against his abdomen — wax still cooling and flaking across his scarred chest.
“Climb up,” he ordered. “You’re not getting away with just watching me suffer. You’re gonna ride me while I’m still burning.”
You swallowed hard, pulse stuttering.
“I—”
“Now.”
His tone left no room for hesitation. Hands trembling, you swung a leg over his lap, straddling his thighs. The heat radiating off his body was overwhelming — both from his quirk and from the molten anticipation between you.
His fingers dug into your hips as he positioned you over his cock, the head brushing your entrance — slick and sensitive from your earlier release.
“Sit,” he growled.
You sank down slowly — inch by inch — whimpering as he stretched you open, your walls clenching tight around him. His head fell back against the wall with a guttural groan.
“Fuck— that’s it. Take it. Deep as it goes.”
You bottomed out fully, thighs trembling on either side of him. His cock pulsed inside you — thick, scorching hot, perfectly angled against the sweetest spot inside you.
You sat there, shaking — overwhelmed.
Dabi didn’t let that last.
He grabbed the candle still in your hand.
“You’re not just gonna sit pretty,” he rasped. “Move. And pour.”
Your breath hitched.
“I— at the same time—?”
He smirked darkly.
“That’s an order.”
You lifted your hips — feeling every inch of him drag through your soaked walls — before dropping back down with a wet slap that made both of you groan.
“That’s it,” he hissed. “Again.”
You bounced on him — slowly at first, then faster, your breasts bouncing, thighs trembling with the effort. Every thrust rubbed raw pleasure through you — your clit grinding against his pelvis perfectly each time you sank back down.
“Now the wax.”
Your hand shook as you tilted the candle.
Hot drops spilled across his chest again — and onto your fingers, making you gasp at the sting.
Dabi moaned — rough and raw — thrusting up into you hard enough to make you cry out.
“Yeah… fuck yeah,” he panted, watching you through half-lidded eyes blown wide with lust. “Burn me while you bounce on my cock. Use me. Ruin me.”
You moaned — louder than before — your shy hesitation drowned by the thrill of power and submission all tangled together.
You poured more — trails of hot wax dripping down his abs, pooling at the base of his cock where your bodies met.
It made him twitch inside you — made you clench around him violently.
He snarled.
“Faster.”
You obeyed — riding him harder, the sound of wet skin slapping filling the room. The wax cooled and cracked against his skin while heat bloomed between your legs with every thrust.
Your vision blurred — pressure coiling again deep inside you.
“D-Dabi— I’m— I’m—”
“Do it,” he growled, grabbing your hips and slamming you down harder. “Fuckin’ soak me again. I want you to squirt all over me this time.”
His thumb found your clit — pressing hard.
You screamed.
The orgasm exploded through you — violent and uncontrollable — liquid gushing around him as your body convulsed helplessly. You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, legs shaking uncontrollably.
Dabi laughed — hoarse and wild — chest rising as wax flaked off in pieces.
“Look at you,” he breathed, thrusting up into your overstimulated heat as you trembled around him. “You just baptized me in it.”
You slumped forward — boneless, panting — but he wasn’t done.
With a broken snarl, Dabi slammed you all the way down onto him and kept you there, forcing you to take every inch as his fingers dug bruises into your hips. You felt him throb inside you — hot and heavy — just before he jerked against you and spilled deep, heat flooding your core in thick pulses. You could barely breathe with how full you felt, his forehead pressed to yours as he held you still, groaning low like he was trying to brand the moment into you. Even when he was done, he didn’t pull out — he just stayed there, buried to the hilt, like he owned the right to keep his cum where he’d put it
MDNI — Voyeurism, Aizawa Shouta x reader, Hizashi Yamada watching, possessive Aizawa, needy Aizawa, Hizashi touching himself while watching, explicit consent, teacher lounge sex, overstimulation, creampie, orgasm control, messy and filthy, reader moaning on Aizawa’s cock, Hizashi begging, Aizawa giving orders. F!reader
Idk the artists @. If u do pls cr them in the comments.
„afterhours.“
U.A. after hours was usually quiet — empty halls, lights dimmed, the hum of old AC buzzing through the vents. Most teachers went home after long days of grading and wrangling teenagers.
But not you, Hizashi, or Aizawa.
You had stopped by Aizawa’s underground faculty lounge to drop off some mission reports. Hizashi tagged along — loud as ever — insisting he’d “keep the energy up,” whatever that meant.
Aizawa was sitting on the couch, dark eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, capture weapon wrapped loosely around his shoulders like a scarf. You placed the files on the table, and before you could even step back, he grabbed your wrist — tired… but possessive.
“Stay,” he muttered.
Hizashi grinned from across the room. “Awwww, Shouta’s feeling clingy tonight.”
Aizawa didn’t even look at him — he just tugged you down into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You flushed, straddling him, hands on his chest. You could feel how warm he was beneath his black shirt. His fingers dug into your hips — silently asking. Silently demanding.
You glanced over your shoulder.
Hizashi was leaning back against the wall, amused, golden eyes flicking between you and Aizawa with growing interest. Not mocking. Not shocked. Curious.
“Should I head out?” Hizashi asked — but there was no real intent to leave. His grin was sharp. Hungry.
Aizawa finally looked at him, steady and unbothered.
“No. Watch if you want.”
Your breath hitched.
“Only watching,” Aizawa added firmly, squeezing your hip. “No touching.”
Hizashi raised both hands in surrender, smirk carved across his lips. “Scout’s honor, babe. Wouldn’t dream of stealing your pretty thing.”
Your pulse thundered as Aizawa pulled your mouth down onto his, kissing you slow and heated, deliberately sloppy — because he wanted Hizashi to see.
Aizawa’s lips were soft but unyielding against yours, tongue sliding into your mouth like he planned to take his time — slow, deep, possessive. His hands were already under your shirt, rough thumbs brushing up your sides before cupping your chest and squeezing deliberately, like he wanted Hizashi to appreciate the view.
You broke the kiss with a gasp, head tipping back, and that’s when you saw him.
Hizashi had already undone his belt, one hand lazily pumping his cock, the other braced against the wall. His grin was gone — replaced with something darker, eyes half-lidded and molten gold.
“Fuck…” he breathed, voice low and needy. “Didn’t think you’d actually let me watch, Shouta.”
Aizawa didn’t spare him more than a glance. “Didn’t say I’d put on a show. I said watch.”
Then he grabbed your thighs and ground your hips down against the hardness straining beneath his sweats — slow and deliberate. The friction made you whine, fingers curling in his hair.
“Look at him,” Aizawa murmured against your throat, lips brushing your pulse. “Let him see how good you sound for me.”
You obeyed — head turning just enough for Hizashi to watch the way your lips parted, breath catching as Aizawa rutted up against you.
Hizashi’s chest rose sharply, his strokes getting quicker. “You’re fucking unreal,” he groaned, eyes glued to the spot where Aizawa’s hands held you firm. “Ride him, baby — let me see you fuck yourself on his cock.”
Aizawa clicked his tongue. “Always so loud. Can’t even shut up while jerking off.”
But his grip tightened — guiding your hips faster, encouraging the grind. His cock pressed perfectly against you through the damp fabric of your underwear, sending sparks of pleasure through every nerve.
Hizashi’s breaths were getting louder, syncing with yours. “God— look at the two of you. Fuck. If I’d known you were hiding this every night, I’d have crashed more grading sessions.”
You moaned — head falling forward onto Aizawa’s shoulder.
Aizawa tilted his head, lips brushing your ear. “Ignore him,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “Only focus on me. Only I get to touch you. Only I get to fill you.”
Hizashi let out a shuddery noise of approval, fisting himself faster. “Fuck yes — tell them, Shouta. Claim ’em.”
Aizawa’s breath came hot. “I intend to.”
And with one firm tug, he was pushing your panties aside, sliding two fingers between your thighs — rubbing you open while holding eye contact with Hizashi.
You could barely breathe.
One man touching you.
One man watching you.
Aizawa’s fingers eased through your slick folds, spreading you open like he had all the time in the world. But his voice — low and rough against your ear — told a different story.
“You’re already soaked,” he murmured. “From what? My touch… or the fact Hizashi’s watching?”
You barely managed a sound, somewhere between a whimper and his name. Your hips were already rocking into his hand like instinct.
Hizashi groaned from across the room — stroking himself faster, gaze locked on where Aizawa’s fingers disappeared between your legs. “Fucking hell. She looks like art from here. Dripping all over your hand just because I’m looking at her.”
Aizawa clicked his tongue. “You think she cares about you right now?” He curled two fingers inside you without warning, drawing a breathless cry from your lips. “She can barely breathe.”
Your body arched, hands clutching at his shoulders. His fingers were slow but deep, pressing harshly against that spot that made your legs tremble. You were already close, embarrassingly fast — and Aizawa could feel it.
“You’re going to come all over my fingers already?” he asked, voice cruel but soft. “In front of him?”
“Quiet,” Aizawa snapped without looking at him, fingers plunging harder. “You’re lucky I’m letting you watch.”
Hizashi whimpered — actually whimpered — hand working himself desperately now, precum slicking his fist.
Aizawa leaned in close to your ear. “Say it,” he whispered. “Tell him who’s making you feel good.”
You were trembling, hips jerking helplessly as his thumb rubbed tight circles over your clit. His voice was a command — irresistible. Your lips moved before your mind caught up.
“You shouta! Mnhh… ohh”
Aizawa’s teeth grazed your neck in approval.
Hizashi let out a guttural moan, head tipping back against the wall.
“Fuck— you two are gonna kill me—”
Aizawa slowed his hand suddenly, pulling back just enough to leave you clenching around nothing. You gasped, desperate for more — but he held you still.
“Not yet,” he muttered, voice dark with hunger. “You’re gonna come while I’m inside you — and he’s going to watch every second of it.”
Hizashi let out another broken sound — almost a plea.
“Shouta, please…”
Aizawa’s tired eyes flicked up, locking with Hizashi’s — and for a moment, neither of them breathed.
Then he spoke, voice soft but deadly.
“Get a chair.”
Hizashi obeyed instantly — stumbling to grab one and dragging it right in front of you, sitting with legs spread, cock flushed and leaking.
Aizawa shifted beneath you — lifting you slightly. You felt him press the head of his cock against your entrance, thick and hot and impossible to ignore.
You trembled in his lap. Hizashi stared openly, panting.
Aizawa’s grip tightened on your hips.
“Eyes on me,” he told you.
“Eyes on her,” he told Hizashi.
And slowly— agonizingly— he pushed inside.
Aizawa’s cock stretched you open inch by inch, forcing your body to accept him slowly — deliberately. He didn’t rush. He made you feel every second of it.
Your nails dug into his shoulders as your mouth fell open in a silent moan. Hizashi’s breath hitched sharply.
“Holy fuck… look at how she’s swallowing you,” he groaned, fisting his cock faster. “You see that? She’s trembling just from you sliding in.”
Aizawa’s hands clenched bruisingly tight around your hips, keeping you still once he was fully seated inside you. His voice was low, ragged around the edges.
“Stay just like that,” he murmured against your ear. “Let him see how tight you are around me.”
You whimpered softly. Your body was already desperate to move — to rock, to grind, to chase the heat building inside — but Aizawa held you pinned on his lap like a doll.
Hizashi’s chest rose and fell rapidly, golden eyes glued to where your bodies were joined. “You gonna make her beg before you move, Shouta?”
Aizawa tilted his head just enough to meet Hizashi’s gaze — slow, controlled, dangerous.
“She doesn’t need to beg.” His fingers traced lazy circles over your hip. “She already knows who she belongs to.”
The words hit harder than his grip. Your throat tightened, a needy sound slipping free despite your attempts to swallow it down. Hizashi laughed breathlessly.
“God, listen to her. That sound— you’re killing me, both of you.”
Aizawa finally lifted you — just an inch — before dragging you back down onto his cock. The friction made you gasp, heat blooming deep in your belly. He did it again — another slow, heavy thrust — forcing you to feel everything.
“Shouta…” Hizashi groaned, stroking himself faster now, hips jerking into his fist. “Please— can I—?”
Aizawa didn’t even look at him.
“No.”
Hizashi froze, breath stuttering. You felt a shiver run through him just from being denied.
“You don’t get to come yet,” Aizawa said calmly, lifting you again and grinding you down just a little harder. “You’ll come when she does. Not before.”
Hizashi whimpered — openly, shamelessly — thighs tensing as he forced himself to slow his hand.
Aizawa’s lips brushed your jaw. “Hear that?” he whispered. “Even he has to wait on you.”
Then, in one smooth shift of his hands, he lifted you higher — and slammed you down onto him.
You cried out, head snapping back. Hizashi moaned with you, stroking himself wildly but not daring to finish.
Aizawa thrust up into you again — harder. “Let it out,” he growled against your neck. “I want him to hear every sound you make.”
You rode his cock helplessly now — hips moving on instinct, legs trembling as heat coiled inside you. Hizashi was gasping in time with every thrust, like he was the one getting fucked too.
You could tell he was on edge, fighting to hold back.
Aizawa knew it too.
His voice was a dark promise.
“When she comes,” he said lowly, “you come.”
Hizashi’s eyes glazed. “Shouta… fuck… please—”
And Aizawa slammed up into you again — pushing you to the brink, refusing to let you fall alone.
You were so close that you couldn’t think—could barely even breathe—every thrust from Aizawa punching breathless sounds out of your lungs. Your body was burning, trembling, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.
“Shouta— Shouta— I’m—” you gasped, barely able to form words.
“Say it,” he growled, thrusting up harder, angling perfectly until your vision blurred. “Say who’s making you come.”
Your climax hit like a live wire snapping. Your whole body locked up around him, back arching as you cried out loud enough to echo in the room. Your cunt clenched desperately around Aizawa’s cock, milking him, holding him deep as pleasure tore through you.
“Fuck—fuck—” Hizashi choked out, tearing at his hair with his free hand as he watched. “Shouta—please— please let me—”
Aizawa held you down on his cock, forcing you to feel every pulse of it. His voice was ragged now, control slipping, breath hot against your shoulder.
“Now,” he ordered. “Come.”
Hizashi didn’t even last a second—he practically sobbed as he came hard into his fist, hips jerking, cum splattering across his thigh and the floor as he moaned helplessly. His eyes were locked on you, pupils blown wide with raw desperation.
But Aizawa wasn’t done.
Before your aftershocks could fade, he grabbed your hips tight—too tight—and thrust up into you again.
You gasped—overstimulated, raw, but unable to protest. Your body welcomed it, gripping him greedily, trembling with every deep push.
“Shouta— it’s— ah— too much—” you whined, barely able to hold yourself upright.
“I know,” he grunted, voice harsh, thrusts growing sloppy now. “Take it. You can take it. You’re mine—”
The last word broke as he buried himself deep one final time, hips pressed flush against you. His whole body shuddered as he groaned into your neck—hot, low, and wrecked.
You felt it—felt every pulse as he filled you with thick, hot release, spilling deep inside you.
You whimpered at the fullness, overstimulated and bliss-drunk, clinging to him as his cum flooded you, warmth spreading through your core.
Aizawa didn’t move. He stayed inside you, breathing hard against your skin, hands still holding you protectively—possessively.
Across from you, Hizashi was still panting, flushed and trembling, cum streaking his hand and thighs. His eyes were blown wide and hungry even after release.
A slow, shaky grin spread across his lips.
“…Can I crash grading nights more often?”
Aizawa didn’t even look at him. He just exhaled against your ear.
“You move into this chair,” he muttered lazily, “and I’ll make you watch again.”
Hizashi’s breath hitched.
You swallowed, still trembling around Aizawa’s cock.
MDNI— threesome with Chuuya Nakahara, Dazai Osamu, and the reader, double penetration, fingering, clit play, orgasms, alcohol and drunkenness, rough, filthy, and possessive sex, messy and sticky, exhausted and panting, F!reader
idk the artists @. If you do please tag them or cr them in the comments
„After the Fire“
The apartment reeked of smoke, sweat, and liquor. The celebration had started innocent enough — a mission gone flawlessly, drinks flowing, laughter echoing against the walls. But as the alcohol hit and inhibitions dissolved, the air thickened with something far hotter than victory.
Dazai leaned back on the couch, half-laughing, half-panting, chest heaving from how much he’d drunk. “You know,” he murmured, eyes dark, lips curling into that infuriating smirk, “surviving another day feels better when someone’s warm under your hands.”
Chuuya growled low in response, pressing his thigh against Dazai’s, hands brushing over the other’s hips in a claim that was playful but deadly serious. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, you bastard,” he muttered, lips dragging over Dazai’s collarbone with a bite.
That’s when you stumbled inside, flushed from the hallway and your own adrenaline. “Mind if I… join?” you asked, voice shaking slightly from excitement — and maybe a little from the alcohol.
Both men turned at once, hunger flickering in their eyes. Chuuya’s smirk widened, Dazai’s grin deepened, and before you could blink, they were pulling you into the mess of bodies. Clothes hit the floor in a chaotic pile: Chuuya’s coat gone, Dazai’s vest off, and your own top forgotten somewhere in the hallway.
—-
Dazai’s lips found your neck first, biting and sucking, teeth grazing painfully good against your skin. Chuuya groaned into your ear, pressing himself against your back, hips grinding in hot, teasing circles. You shivered, hands grabbing at both men, fingers curling into hair, pressing into chest and shoulders.
“God, look at you,” Chuuya groaned, sliding a hand under your skirt, thumb brushing wetly over your already slick folds. “Dripping for us, huh?”
“Yeah,” you gasped, arching into him, moans spilling over the edge of your teeth. “Please… don’t stop…”
——
The apartment was a storm of heat and lust, the air heavy with sweat, alcohol, and the musky scent of sex. You were draped over Chuuya’s couch, chest pressed into the cushions, ass high and open, trembling from the pressure building in your core. Every nerve in your body was alive, aching for more.
Chuuya knelt behind you, his thick, heavy cock pressing against your ass, slick from your wetness. With a low growl, he sank in, stretching you slowly before thrusting hard, hands gripping your hips possessively. The feeling of being so filled, so taken, made you whine and arch back, pressing deeper into him.
Beneath you, Dazai laid on the couch, his rather — thin but long cock sliding into your tight pussy, he pumped slowly at first, then faster, in sync with Chuuya’s harsh thrusts. One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back as pleasure tore through every inch of your body.
“God… you feel so good,” Chuuya groaned, hips snapping forward, fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you into each thrust. “So tight… so fucking perfect for me.”
Dazai’s hand slid between your legs, pressing on your clit, circling in time with his thrusts. “And you’re mine, all wet for me, taking me so well,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear as his tongue flicked teasingly along your skin.
You shivered violently, rocking back and forth on them, your moans loud and desperate. Chuuya’s ass slammed into yours relentlessly, each thrust sending delicious fire through your core, while Dazai’s cock and skilled fingers pushed you closer to the edge, mixing every sensation until you were trembling uncontrollably.
“Cum for us,” Chuuya growled, voice low, possessive, rough. “Show me how good you feel with both of us inside you.”
Dazai pressed into you harder from below, whispering filthy encouragements as your body tensed. “That’s it… don’t hold back… let us feel every bit of you.”
Your hips jerked violently as you came, shivering and crying out, the combination of Chuuya’s deep, hard thrusts and Dazai’s steady, relentless pumping overwhelming your senses. The world blurred into heat, wetness, and sensation.
Chuuya followed shortly after, grunting and cursing low, hips snapping deep into your ass, filling you completely. Dazai came too, hard and messy, thrusting every last inch of himself inside you as your back arched off the couch in ecstasy.
But neither man was done. Chuuya slowed only slightly, holding your hips, teasing, and sliding in just deep enough to make your thighs quiver. Dazai shifted his position beneath you, lips brushing your neck, tongue flicking over sensitive spots, pumping slowly to drag you through another orgasm, edging you again and again.
“Don’t stop,” you gasped, voice raw, nails digging into Chuuya’s back. “Please… I need it… need you both.”
Chuuya smirked, low and husky. “You’re mine,” he whispered in a growl, thrusting faster, harder, each hit of his cock driving you wild.
Dazai’s lips pressed hotly into your shoulder, teeth grazing, hand rubbing circles on your clit, every movement synchronized with Chuuya’s pounding. The sensation was maddening — stretched, filled, teased, dripping — and your next orgasm ripped through you violently, screaming, bucking, trembling in a storm of pleasure.
Finally, both men tumbled with you into the couch, slick and spent, hearts pounding, breaths coming in ragged gasps.
You collapsed between them, sticky, trembling, utterly wrecked. Every nerve burned, every inch of you sensitive, yet perfectly, deliciously satisfied.
Chuuya chuckled low, voice hoarse. “Next time… maybe we pace ourselves.”
Dazai smirked against your shoulder. “Or maybe we just skip the pretense and go straight to this every time.”
You whimpered, melting into their heat, knowing that this wasn’t the end — it was only the beginning.
MDNI— Aizawa Shouta x Reader, Smut, Office AU, After Hours, Fingering, Masturbation, Possessive/Dom Aizawa, Filthy and Sensual, Power Play, Mutual Pleasure // F!reader
idk the artists @. If u do pls tag them or cr them in the comments
„Lock the door.“
It’s stupid how quiet U.A. gets after dark
Most teachers go home. Lights turn off. Hallways go still.
But Aizawa never leaves when he’s supposed to — and tonight, neither do you.
You’re supposed to be reviewing incident reports with him. Supposed to be professional. But the tension has been thick for weeks, ever since that one too-long look, that one brush of his hand against your hip that neither of you acknowledged.
Now it’s close to midnight, stacks of paperwork ignored, and you’re perched on the edge of his desk, swinging your legs idly while he stands between your knees — pretending to read a document, but his eyes keep flicking down to your mouth.
You catch him staring. Smirk.
“Something wrong, Aizawa?”
He sets the paper down. Slow. Deliberate.
“Lock the door.”
You barely get the latch shut before he’s on you.
He grabs your waist and hauls you back against the desk, lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that feels like restraint snapping. His hands are rough, urgent — fingers sliding under your clothes like he’s been imagining this for far too long.
You gasp when he drags your underwear aside and sinks two fingers into you without warning — thick, deep, curling just right. The sound you make against his mouth is embarrassing and desperate.
He groans into your lips, breath ragged. “So fucking wet for me already… knew you would be.”
You clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer, but he’s already grinding against you — the hard outline of his cock straining against his pants. He’s not even trying to hide how badly he needs this.
With his free hand, he yanks open his belt and shoves his pants down just enough, wrapping his fist around himself. He strokes slowly while his fingers pump into you, and the combination — the slick slide inside you, the obscene sound of his hand working his cock right against your thigh — makes your whole body tremble.
“Look at me,” he growls when your head tips back.
You force your eyes open.
His hair’s falling into his face, mouth parted, flushed and hungry.
“Mine,” he mutters, voice low and possessive as he fucks you with his fingers harder. “All fucking mine.”
Your legs shake. His thumb finds your clit, circling lazily — too slow, too gentle, like a warning.
“Come for me,” he orders, squeezing his cock a little tighter as he says it. “Come while I’m inside you — wanna feel you lose it all over my fingers.”
You do. Hard.
Your body convulses, clenching around him, sticky and hot and loud, and his jaw locks as he watches, pumping himself faster, desperate now.
“Fuck—” he rasps, leaning forward till his forehead presses to yours. “Gonna make a mess all over you.”
And he does — thick, hot streaks spilling across your stomach as he groans through gritted teeth, still pumping his cock while his fingers remain buried inside you, holding you right on the edge like he’s not ready to let you go.
It takes a moment for either of you to breathe again.
Then, without pulling his fingers out, he murmurs against your ear — voice dark and soft:
a/n; a jealous Aizawa a day, keeps the doctor away or smth like that… first time posting a smut fanfic pls be nice otherwise ill cry💔 this is inspired by a bot i saw last year.
Affection and Shota Aizawa rarely show up in the same sentence—especially when it comes to you. Everyone at U.A. knows it. Between hero work, grading stacks of papers, and training the next generation, he keeps things strictly professional. And sometimes, that same stiff boundary sneaks into your nights at home, wrapping around him like a barrier you can’t always break through. You’re the only one brave enough to poke at it—teasing him about “love languages” like it’s a joke he’ll never quite get. He pretends he doesn’t hear it, but the truth is, it sticks in his head more than he’d like to admit.
He wonders, sometimes, if he’s been falling short. If maybe he should surprise you with dinner out, or just carve out a few hours where the world can’t touch you both. But patrols run late. Emergencies pop up. Papers pile higher than sleep ever does. He’s grown too used to the distance—the empty spaces in conversations, the nights spent shoulder to shoulder but feeling miles apart.
You’re both so used to people touching you that it shouldn’t faze him at all. Pinning, grabbing, blocking blows for a classroom full of wide-eyed students—it’s second nature. But the part he can’t shake is the way something tightens in his chest when he sees someone else’s hands on you. He tells himself it’s irrational. It’s part of the job—nothing more than muscle memory.
Still, some people don’t know when to stop. A hand that drifts too low, a shoulder pat that lingers, laughter too close to your ear. And today you had to wear that dress—the one he can’t ever quite get out of his head. The one that makes him want to lock the door and remind you exactly who you belong to. But instead, you’re standing in the bright hallway at U.A., catching everyone’s eyes in his favorite dress.
And then Present Mic—loud, shameless, with that grin that never shuts off—plants himself at your side. One arm thrown around your shoulders, voice booming right next to your ear like you’re his personal audience. Hizashi tosses you winks like candy, laughs too loud at jokes only he’s telling. And Shota knows it’s just Hizashi being Hizashi—he probably has no clue you’re already spoken for.
But when you’re standing there, smelling like Mic’s cologne, wearing that dress that should be just for him—something in Shota burns.
And for once, he’s done pretending it doesn’t bother him.
————————————————————
Aizawa wasn’t just looking for you—he was hunting you, stalking the halls like a predator with your name carved into his mind. His eyes flicked through classrooms and empty corridors, cold and sharp, until he finally spotted you slipping past the janitor’s closet.
A shiver ran down your spine—like your body sensed him before your eyes did. You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see Shota closing the distance between you with that silent, lethal calm he wore like a second skin. You offered him a soft smile, lifted your hand to wave. He didn’t smile back. He didn’t slow down.
“Oh—Shota! I’ve been looking for yo—”
Your greeting died on your tongue when he grabbed your wrist, yanked you into the closet, and slammed the door behind you. The cramped space smelled faintly of disinfectant and old mops, but there was enough room for exactly what he had in mind.
Your back hit the wall with a dull thud, a startled gasp leaving your lips as he pressed close—so close you could feel the warmth rolling off him in waves. His hand tangled in your hair, turning your face toward the cold plaster.
“Shota—? What are you—”
You barely got the words out before his hips pinned yours to the wall. You felt him—hard, insistent, pressing through his pants against the curve of your backside. A tiny, helpless whimper escaped you, muffled against the wall.
“Shota… what if someone—what if we get—”
Your protest cut short when his voice growled low in your ear, rough with something feral and possessive.
“I can smell him on you,” he hissed, lips brushing your skin. “You know you’re mine, don’t you?” His teeth grazed the shell of your ear. “I won’t have you walking around reeking of another man’s cologne.”
He pressed harder against you, hips grinding just enough to make you squirm.
“I’m going to fuck his scent off you,” he murmured, each word dripping with dark promise. “Until all anyone smells on you is me.”
“What’s wrong?” you murmur, your tone teasing, wicked. You grind your hips up harder, feeling how solid he is behind you. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Shooo~…”
The nickname cuts through him like a spark to dry tinder. His fingers dig into your hips, enough to bruise. His breath ghosts hot over your neck as he snarls out, “Shut it.” His voice is rough, cracked open with that dark rasp that makes your stomach flutter.
You shiver when his stubbled jaw grazes your throat—sharp and scratchy, a stark contrast to the slow drag of his hands. He maps every inch of you, big palms sliding down your sides, gripping your thighs like he’s testing how far they’ll spread for him. Then he slides back up, dragging heat under your clothes until his fingers slip under your dress—tracing circles just beneath your belly, inching closer.
You can’t stop the tiny sound that slips out—half a gasp, half a plea. It earns you a low chuckle against your skin, his lips brushing your pulse. His hands creep higher, ghosting over your ribs before cupping your breasts through the fabric, thumbs flicking over your nipples until you’re squirming against him.
When he’s had enough of teasing, he bunches your dress up around your hips, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties. He pauses, breathing heavy against your ear—waiting for you to say it’s okay. You nod, just once, your cheek scraping the wall. That’s all he needs.
He drags the flimsy fabric down your thighs, lets it drop around your ankles. You hear the metal click of his belt unbuckling behind you, the soft rustle of his zipper. Then his cock—hot, thick, already leaking—nudges between your soaked folds. The blunt head slides through your slit, smearing slick along your thighs until you whimper at the drag.
You start to moan, but his hand clamps over your mouth—rough, calloused, claiming. “Quiet,” he growls into your ear, that possessive rasp curling hot in your gut. His hips shift—one solid push, and he’s inside. All the way, thick and heavy, stretching you open with that slow, merciless pressure that has your knees going weak.
Your muffled moan vibrates against his palm as he bottoms out—he’s not long, but he’s so wide you swear you can feel every ridge, every throb. He holds still for just a heartbeat, savoring the way you pulse around him, then pulls back just enough before driving in again—slow, deliberate, each thrust hitting deep enough to knock a breath from your lungs.
The closet is too small, too dark, but right now it’s the only world you know—just the smell of him, the rough drag of his hero uniform brushing your thighs, the obscene wet sounds where your bodies meet. He fucks you slow but unyielding, each roll of his hips a reminder—this is his, you’re his, and no one else gets to leave their mark on you.
And when your soft whimpers slip out under his palm, you feel him smile against your neck—dark and dangerous—before he murmurs low, “Good. Keep those pretty sounds for me only.”
Your breath hitches under his palm as his cock drags out slow, then sinks back in deep—again and again, each thrust a steady push that makes your thighs tremble. The cramped closet feels even smaller now, every creak of the door a reminder that someone could walk by, swing it open, see exactly what he’s doing to you. Maybe that’s why your pulse pounds so hard—why your walls flutter around him, clenching greedily on every deep stroke.
He feels it—of course he does. He grunts low, teeth grazing your neck, his free hand roaming your body like he’s memorizing every inch all over again. His fingers slide down between your legs, finding your swollen clit. He rubs it in slow circles, matching the pace of his hips, forcing you to feel every inch of him and then some.
Your muffled moan is swallowed by his hand, your back arching into the rough wall as pleasure curls tight in your belly. You feel him smirk against your skin, hear the rumble of a dark laugh that has your knees nearly buckling.
“Look at you,” he rasps, voice shredded with heat and a hint of jealousy that hasn’t faded. “Letting me fuck you like this. Anyone could hear… could see… but they won’t. Because you’re mine, aren’t you?”
You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut, a soft whimper vibrating against his palm as your hips rock back into him, desperate for more. His thumb circles harder, faster—your thighs quiver as you fight to hold in a cry.
“Be good,” he growls, pressing his forehead to the back of your head, breath ragged. “Be quiet for me. You wanna come, don’t you? Take it. Take all of it, sweetheart.”
He thrusts deeper, harder now—each roll of his hips making filthy wet sounds echo in the tiny closet. You’re so close your vision sparks, your body trembling under the way he fills you, the way his hand keeps you silent, keeps you his.
You feel it building—tight, sharp, unstoppable. He feels it too, the way you clench so sweet around him, your slick dripping down his cock. He bites down gently on your shoulder, muffling a groan as his hips snap forward one last time.
You come undone with a muffled cry, your walls squeezing him so tight he curses under his breath. He fucks you through it, rough and deep until his own hips stutter, his growl breaking into a low, wrecked moan as he spills inside you—filling you so full you swear you can feel him pulsing deep, marking you where no one else ever will.
When it’s over, he stays there—hips pressed flush to yours, chest heaving against your back. His hand slips from your mouth, only to tilt your head back so he can press a kiss to your jaw—possessive and soft, in a way that’s almost sweet if not for the mess he’s made of you.
“Mine,” he murmurs against your skin, voice raw, satisfied, still hungry. “Next time, don’t let him touch you. Or I’ll remind you again.”
His fingers slip down to gather his cum dripping from between your thighs—smearing it back inside you with a low, dangerous chuckle as he pulls your panties back up. His cum tucked in and deep inside your pretty cunt.
“Now go back out there,” he breathes, zipping himself up while his eyes drink you in—your hair messy, your dress bunched up, his scent clinging everywhere. “Let everyone see exactly who you belong to.”
meanwhile…
Down the hall, a few students paused, ears perked.
“Did anyone else just hear that?” one whispered.
“Hear what?” another shrugged.
“Like… weird noises? Like grunting and a ‘shh’ or something?”
“Maybe it was just the janitor dropping his mop again,” someone said, trying to sound logical.
“No idea,” the first shrugged. “But it sounded… intense.”
They all shrugged and kept walking, none of them any closer to understanding what just went down.
