— 18+ content, minors dni, if your age isn’t on your blog dni, aged up, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, viking themes are light and inspired, modern language.
— chronological order, order will adjust when more are added, everything is under the #viking bkg tag
001 — WAITING FOR YOU 10.5k
your new fiancé is ruthless, rude and stupidly gorgeous. after being forced into an engagement with him to keep peace between your villages, you need to find some way to get along or at least come to an understanding. it happens quicker than you think once you catch him bathing in his private lake.
002 — BEST FOR YOU 4.4k
after a reconciling evening in the lake, you find yourself spending your first night in your fiancé’s bedroom.
003 — DIE FOR YOU 8.2k
your fiancé, chief of the strongest village, doesn’t believe you can protect yourself so when returns from a raid, he makes you prove him wrong.
004— ONLY FOR YOU 9k
on a visit to a neighbouring village, you realise all the women there either hate you or are laughing at you. apparently, your fiance has forgot to tell you one very minor detail.
4.5 — BLEED FOR YOU 6.3k
your new contraception has you bloated, lumpy, needy and jealous. bakugou has to deal with it.
005 — JUST FOR YOU 6.2k
your childhood friend from back home comes to visit! bakugou hates him.
Yuuta is awkward, readers a bit bitchy. All in a days work for yours truly.]
——————————————————————
Rika's been gone for a while now, same with Maki and the others. Nothing bad happened, per se, it's just how life works: lines intersect, and then run parallel after a while.
It's getting colder now, he can see his breath when he walks down the sidewalks in Kyoto; he makes a little game with himself where he tries to see how big of a cloud he can make with his breath. He rocks his feet back and forth on the tactile paving, relishes the way the pebbled texture presses on the bottom of his shoes.
He's so distracted by his little game, and the way the cold feels on his cheeks and feeling the pebbled texture under his shoes he doesn't even notice you standing directly next to him.
(You're thoroughly unimpressed, by the way. You have him sized up in one glance. His shoes are worn out, there's a tear in between the sole and where the canvas connects with them. His jeans are patched in between his thighs, and the elbows of his sweater are worn thin. He's tall, though, which makes up for a lot. Dark hair frames his baby face. You watch him for a while, notice the cupids bow of his lip and the sharp angles of his jaw. You're taken aback momentarily by how dark the blue of his eyes are and how stark the contrast is compared to how dark the purple is under his eyes.)
He notices you after a while, mid shuffle of his feet. You stare him down, intensely so and it makes him feel like a prey animal. Like you're the fox and he's the rabbit cornered in his burrow. He's not sure what he wants more; for him to run or for you to take a bite.
"Hello," he says, mustering up some weak sort of smile.
("Painful," you think.)
If you hear him, there's no sort of acknowledgment there. You meet his eyes after a moment, and he can hear the faint parting of your lips before you speak, "There's a hole in your shoe."
"Oh," he blinks at you, and you think about how wide his eyes are, "there is," you watch him bring his left foot forward, wiggling his toes and enunciating the rip on the side. "I've had these for years. I think when I was 16 ? I got them at some second hand shop in Tokyo." He's not really sure why he's rambling. Or why he's telling you about the shoe's Maki took him to buy.
(Maybe it's because that was a good day to him. Maybe he just missed sharing things with someone.)
"Nice," you say, but the way you say it doesn't sound nice. You sound unimpressed. You look across the street, waiting for the light to change from red to white; symbolizing that you can walk away from him and this weird conversation.
(He's intriguing to you, in some strange sort of way. The pull of his dark blue eyes and the softness of his voice. You glance at him again, begrudgingly, and feel something in your chest shift slightly. You fight the urge to gag.)
Yuuta's wants to say something else to you — a question about your day or where you're going. He's grown into his friendliness, he realizes, and the thought make pride swell in his chest, followed instantly by a twinge of sadness when he wonders what Maki would think of him now.
The light across the street turns though, and the red hand changes to the symbol of someone walking and you're moving immediately, swaying off the sidewalk with all the grace of a fox. He stares at you for a moment, watches your hand clasped to your bag, head turned towards your shoes (not ripped, not the cleanest either) as if you're memorizing the gaps between the white stripes on the road.
Something happens that makes his skin prickle into goosebumps. Some sort of déjà vu settles into his veins and for a moment he thinks his lungs have forgotten how to expand. There's a clawing feeling in his chest and it almost feels like Rika's long nails have gripped around his heart.
There's a car coming, just down the turn of the street and it's not slowing down, despite the bright yellow lights flashing — signaling someone is crossing. And Yuuta just can't have that trauma again, not with everything he's done to work through it. Not when he knows how pretty your eyes are. Not when he's heard the light inclination of your voice.
Without much thought, without much care, his legs are pushing his tattered shoes across the street, both arms outstretched and using all the lankiness of his body to reach you as fast as possible.
Your yelp of surprise goes unnoticed by him — later he thinks all the adrenaline must've drowned it out — same with the sound of your bag clattering to the ground, and the screech of the van tires, because the only thing he can focus on is how bright everything looks now.
You touched him, and he came alive.
Suddenly the world is washed in a swath of colors, much more bright and beautiful than he ever imagined. It's like seeing clearly for the first time, everything's lost it's hazy hue and now it's all bright and blinding.
(You're still trapped underneath him. The cold ground makes your back hurt, but you can't really focus on that either. The whole worlds a bright color now and you find it nauseating for a second before you remember the stories your mother told you when she met your father. 'Everything was dull she said,' soft smile adorning her fine features, 'then he touched me, and suddenly everything was bright.'
"Soulmate," you think, somewhere in the concussed haze of your brain.)
"I'm sorry," he starts, slowly getting off of you, "I just didn't want anything to happen to you and I didn't think you saw the car coming."
You don't respond, don't really have the energy too, especially when sitting up makes you feel like you just lifted the weight of the world. You look at him again, take in his blue eyes that have somehow gotten bluer and mindlessly take in his endless tirade of apologies and justifications.
"What's your name?" You ask, interrupting another apology before it comes out.
"Okkotsu Yuuta," he tells you, somehow smiling despite everything that's happened. When you tell him yours in response, you watch the cupids bow of his lips stretch into a smile, and the sight of it makes your heart ache in your chest.
"Yuuta," you say, noticing the way your mouth moves as you do. "Do you want to go shoe shopping with me?"
i think about coming back all the time and sometimes i even reread my old work and instead of hating it like i used to it makes me teary eyed that a skill and a craft i had (have, i think it’s still in me somewhere) but i just don’t know how to be here anymore
idk like 2.5 years ago my entire life changed and it was hard and scary but overall for the best. i have friends and a social life and a great partner and a great job. i just need to find a reason to write again. i feel like i just use things sometimes. i read so much as a kid in a shitty home to escape. i wrote so much as an adult to escape. but what do i do with my hobbies i loved when i don’t need to escape the life i have now
cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks, fingering
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The sheer force he kisses you with aches. Shouta's lips are slick with your cum and his tongue tastes like you, musked and slightly salty in the way that almost makes you search for it, but you don't care. No, you revel in it. In the dark, you both grope and grind, his clothed knee sliding between your legs. You wonder if he can feel how wet you are through the fabric, but then you remember he already knows. It’s all his fault.
Your hands slide under his shirt. His body is soft in ways you like, in ways you don't recognize. Touya’s body was thin to the point of almost frailty, while Aizawa's feels perfect for grasping, for pulling towards you, perfect for pressing against. Sex is fun, you decide. Despite all the awkwardness and tension and overstimulating, sex is good. You get Nemuri's obsession with it, you understand why people crave it. It's so basic, so primitive; it tickles the back of your brainstem, a fundamental part of you that needed it most of all.
And yet.
And yet you need more.
You can feel how used your body is, how puffy and fried your clit is from the attention, but it's barely done anything to quell the want that's been building inside you. How, after all of that, can you still feel so unsatisfied? So insatiable? What the fuck has this man done to you? What door has he unlocked inside your mind?
Together, you peel his shirt from his body. Skin to skin contact, your breasts against his chest: it all feels right. The animal part of your brain sparks up once again. It’s so basic of a need that it eats at you like hunger. Lust drives you, pushes you. You never feel old, but suddenly you feel young and excited.
When your hands wander south, Shouta breaks away.
“What do you think you're doing?” You swear he's glowering at you through the dark; you can feel his breath huff, but it doesn't stop your fingers from slipping open the button of his pants. He smells like aftershave, but there’s still a patch of scruff on his jawline, presumably missed in the rush to see you. Blindly, you try to kiss at it.
“Touching you.” Why are you so giggly? So sweet?
Your fingers brush against the trail of hair between his stomach and the edge of his briefs. It's short, cropping as if he used to shave, but hasn't in a time. His body shudders at the touch, his hands pulsing tighter, tighter around your tits. Oh, that makes something burn hotter inside you, knowing how you have an equally big effect on him as he had on you.
“Careful.”
“Or what?” Your voice is still quivering from cumming so hard, but you're gaining confidence. “You afraid I'm going to make you cum?”
You force the fly open and work his pants down. He doesn't help you, his hands frozen in place as you wiggle. The effort steals a laugh from you, then he joins in, softly. It’s a surprisingly tender moment, but it doesn’t rob you of the tension. The want is building in your throat, threatening to choke you.
“I just don't think-” he whispers. Your thumbs are tucking under his waistband. His skin is warm and soft; you want to touch more of it.
“-I'll behave-”
With a press, you can feel his briefs inch down and the weight of his cock shift. It strikes you that you haven't touched it yet. No, you've only seen it in that picture, only felt it through cloth. Something inside you flutters at the thought of how thick he looked. Could you even take all of it? Truthfully, you doubt it; you’re not a virgin, but you aren’t exactly experienced either. Is it possible to be bad at sex?
Just as you start to spiral, Aizawa catches you by the elbow. It’s almost impossible to worry with him and the way he touches, the focus he gives you. Even the way he grips your arm feel scandalous, charged with want and desire, like he's going to hold you like this forever, like he's going to live up to his promise and use you however he wants.
“-if you pull my cock out while I'm between your legs.” Aizawa swallows deep. “So, really think about-”
Clumsily, you crane up and catch him in a kiss, your lips blindly smooshing into his cheek. It’s just enough to catch him off guard, to steal an extra moment before you reach down the front of his pants and wrap your hands around his member. God, it's thick. Almost grossly so. Can your body even take all of that?
“I thought you were gonna do whatever you wanted with me,” you mumble into his scruff. His cock is hot and slick with his own precum. When you run your fingers down the underside, Shouta practically chokes on his spit. That’s right; you’ve cum three times today, but he’s been practically untouched. He must be aching for it.
With a shaky hand, you drag his cock down, through the wet of your pussy. The sensation sends a shock through both of you; at the same time, you both gasp and hiss, keening deeper against each other. Earlier, everything felt hot, soft and dripping like your core was nothing but melted metal, but now it’s purely electric. Every touch of skin trills through you like a shock, lights up your brain like sparks. Fuck-- this is fun. You’re having fun.
“You said you wanted to go slow.” Aizawa’s voice is almost a plea-- a final warning.
You slide your legs wider and Aizawa’s body shifts down, lining up against yours. You can feel him, pressed just hard enough against your cunt to nestle between your lips, barely an inch away from where you want him. The promise of stretch nearly takes your breath away. No-- he isn't where you want him: he's where you need him.
You swallow down your last bit of worry and let your head fall back on to the pillow.
“Then fuck me slow.”
It’s not unusual for Aizawa to curse, but the string of swears that escape his mouth sends a chill down your spine. It’s blurted, rushed, slurred; He’s never a chatty man, but now he rambles, mouth never stopping as his hips press forward.
“Needy thing, pretty thing, sweet thing.” The tip of his cock pops inside you without much resistance. You're too soaked for friction, almost too wet. The taste of him makes your toes curl, pussy clench- it's not enough, not enough, not enough-
Your partner hunches over, forehead clunking against yours with a pained groan.
“How are you that fucking tight?” he gripes. “How are you so fucking perfect ?”
“Shou-” you wiggle your hips and he groans again, deep and wild. “Fuck me, fuck me.”
“I will, I am--”
“Please!”
“I'm trying not to--” He takes a shaky breath. His hands are clenched in the sheets, so hard you can feel his bicep flex against your side. “Embarrass myself.”
A thrill runs down your spine. Your body suits him so well that he's already on the brink, already ready to cum. It makes your ego flare. He wants you. he wants you so badly. After making you cum so many times, the only thing you should want is petty revenge, but now, in this moment, you want him to feel good with you.
“I don't care,” you urge. Your hand sneaks down between your legs, working tiny circles around your abused clit. The sensation is electric, so much so that you swear you can see lightning behind your eyes. An orgasm might not even be possible at this point, but you can't help but try. “Just fuck me.”
Finally- thankfully, beautifully, finally- Aizawa sinks his whole cock into you. It's been a while since someone's been inside you, so the pressure feels good, but strange and unfamiliar. A sound must escape you: Aizawa suddenly stops, pulling back ever so slightly.
"Are you okay-?"
“Keep going-” You urge as you wrap your legs around his waist. “Keep going.”
Ever so obedient, Aizawa rolls his hips, harder this time. Your body makes lewd sounds with every stroke, the wet smack of your folds being spread audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. Your muscles give to his thickness and you can feel every stroke deepen until his hips are finally pressed against yours. The button of his pants digs into your ass, but the discomfort is almost pleasurable.
“Needed this, didn’t you?” he whispers. “Needed to be taken care of?”
Your voice is staccato with his thrusts. He’s not being rough, but you’re so sensitive that it feels like he is manhandling you, abusing your overly loved body- “Y-yeah.”
“Your boyfriend didn’t take care of you?”
If he had said that at any other time, you may have gotten upset, but you feel so open, so bare-
“No…” You flop back onto the mattress. You hadn’t realized how curled you had been against him, how hard your fingers had been digging into his skin. The relaxation changes to pleasure; it’s a sweet, liquid heat, rolling through you like melted molasses. “No, he never-- he couldn’t--”
“Poor thing-” His teeth nip at the stop under your earlobe, catching skin with his canines. “So neglected-”
Oh, that cocktail of hormones in your brain has you stupid and emotional. “Yeah.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he bites again and you know there’s going to be another bruise to explain away tomorrow. “I’ll spoil you.”
Aizawa hooks an arm under your leg and lifts it. The angle changes and his cock hits a previously untouched spot; your body kicks and twitches. It feels impossible, but you’re going to cum again, you’re going to cum before he does, and you’re going to revel in it.
“Touch-” Your voice is high with want. “Touch my tits?”
It’s barely a question, almost a demand, and Aizawa is more than eager to obey. His free hand finds the pebbled curve or your nipple and flicks his thumb over it, searching for a positive reaction. When he doesn’t get it, he changes his touch, waiting to your approval.
“Like that-” you finally confirm. His rutting gets harder, but not faster; it's slow grinds, taking advantage of every inch and then some. The coarse of his pubic hair is delightful friction against your clit; it nearly hurts with how good it feels. “Just like that-”
“Good// girl, yes.” His tone is so desperate. “Tell me what you need.”
Oh, you wish you could, but your voice is failing you right now. It's like every brain cell in your head is dedicated to lighting up with ecstasy, downing in him, him, him, him--
“I'll give it to you, give you everything you ever want-” Shouta whispers into the shell of your ear. He's being so steady, so patient; it's nothing like the other times you had sex. There's no rush, no urgency. “I want you spoiled. I want you greedy. I want to ruin you for anyone else.”
You can't cum again. Your body is too spent, too used, too-- too-- too--
Everything inside you goes rigid and you come undone once again. It's embarrassing and loud: both your mouth and your cunt. You're saying something, but you don't know what, if it's even words at all. The heat of pleasure is boiling your mind, your senses.
You’re not a virgin. You haven't been for years, but suddenly you feel inexperienced, naive. Sex could feel like that? It could make you feel like this?
Shouta's hips press against yours and he groans, deep and unabashed. Warm fills you, accompanied by the twitch of his cock, and you realize he's cumming too, melting into you--
At the last moment, he catches you in an open mouthed kiss. It's messy, mostly tongue and spit, the kind you can't breathe through, but you find yourself pressing back, licking and sucking and nipping and drowning in it all, giving yourself to the moment--
“That was-”
You clumsily slap a hand upwards, tapping the side of his face. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you still can’t fully make out his silhouette.
“Don't talk,” you mumble. “I-- haa.”
The roll of your hips just won't stop. The last flickers of your orgasm are still burning and you can't help but stroke them on. You swear there's literally sparks behind your eyes and no bones left in your body; you don't know how you're even moving. Against your will, your cunt twitches, pulling a pained groan from Shouta.
“Can I speak now?” he mumbles through your fingers. Your hand falls back to the bed. “You're going to have to give me a couple minutes before another round.”
The hard of his cock is already softening inside you. God, the cloud of post-coitus bliss has you so soft you feel sappy; you never want him to pull out, never want to lose his body heat. If you could lift your arms again, you'd wrap them around him.
“My heart might stop if we go again,” you whine. That was the first bare cock you've ever taken.
He chuckles and it hits you in the chest like a fucking bullet. Oh, this is bad. Pathetic. Lovely. You might cry or laugh or pass out.
“Is that good?” he asks, tone evident that he knows it's very, very good.
“I think I came so hard I had a stroke.” That has to be the only reason you’re feeling so wobbly.
“The only stroke is you stroking my ego.” A pitiful noise escapes you as he rolls away, groaning as he gets to his feet. He sucks in air through his teeth, then releases it carefully.The room is suddenly unbearably cold; you shake and shiver, silently wishing he’d come back. “Let's get you cleaned up. Light’s coming on.”
The sound of his hands fumbling on the side table is followed by the click of the lamp turning on. Warm light floods the room and you finally get a glimpse of him. His already loose curls are mussed, fallen in front of his flushed cheeks. His chest has a sprinkling of hair - trimmed, it seems - and a trail down from his belly button. He's already tucked his cock away into his briefs, but his pants are unzipped. His underwear is a light green; it makes you laugh a bit. At least both of you are fucked.
Shouta takes his turn to observe you. You must look even worse: naked, hair a mess, legs spread and cum dripping down the track of your ass.
“Shit-” Sleep nearly sideswipes you immediately, so hard you’re struggling to even care. “We made a mess.”
Aizawa regards you again, brow raised. “Mostly you.”
Oh, you beg to differ. The mess he made inside you feels sloppy and slippery, leaking from much too deep inside you. It's the first bare cock you've ever taken, you realize. It felt dangerously good, with none of the friction or stink of the condom. Even the tickle of warmth inside you is surprisingly pleasant.
That's dangerous knowledge, especially with the consequences.
“You shouldn't have…” you try to sit up a bit to be serious. “Inside me.”
Realization catches Aizawa's face.
“I should have asked,” he says. “I was… caught up.”
“It’s okay.” Especially because you liked it. You flop back down with a sigh. “I’ll get a Plan B in the morning.”
Aizawa shifts his weight and hisses at the pressure. Before you can say anything he turns, headed towards the bathroom.
“I… I can’t get you pregnant.” The faucet runs while he speaks. “I can buy it for you anyway, if you want to be extra safe.”
“Oh,” you say, shifting uncomfortably. You believe him, of course; he's not a liar. Maybe about silly things, but not about this. “I didn’t know that.”
He turns the sink off and returns, washcloth in hand.
“Of course you didn't.” Aizawa gestures for you to spread your legs. You hesitate, then remember exactly what you've been doing these past two days. He's eaten your cunt; you guess he can see it again. Resting against the edge of the bed, he runs the cloth against the mess inside of your thighs. It's hot, but not uncomfortably so. “Sterility doesn’t come up in conversation very often.”
He runs the cloth into the crook between your leg and pussy. You would have thought the act demeaning, but it’s sweet.
“Vasectomy?” you ask.
“Nature. Maybe the accident. Either way.”
He shrugs it away, but there's an edge of something deeper in his voice. He tries to hide it, eyes focused down as he folds the towel over itself and then gingerly touches it to your outer lips.
“I shouldn’t have pried,” you mumble.
“It’s not prying,” he says. “I’d argue it’s very much your business right now.”
The washcloth gets tossed into a corner. The thought of it mildewing there makes your stomach turn, but you're entirely too tired to consider picking it up yourself. Your partner knots his hair into a low hanging bun, just something to get the hair off of his nape. He hesitates at the edge of the bed, not entirely on or off, just hovering in the periphery.
“Did you want kids?”
Aizawa glances up, brows knotted together. This time, you really think you may have overstepped.
“I didn’t mean with me!” you try to recover. Just… in general.”
You're ready for him to step away, but instead he sinks a bit closer to you in the bed, head lounged, lips pursed.
“No, I don’t.” He heaves it like a confession. “Considered it for a moment. But, I decided I’m not the paternal type.”
Shouta huffs so hard that his body puffs and deflates.
“Can barely handle those fucking interns.”
The laugh sneaks out of you. Aizawa watches you from his perch, eyes narrowed with amusement. The cool air starts biting at your skin; you scuttle under the covers, then pat the space beside you.
“You scare the shit out of them,” you say.
“Good.”
“You could be nicer.”
You pat the empty space again. This time, Shouta obliges. He settles under the covers, a healthy distance from you.
“It's my job to be mean. We're making items that directly affect people's lives.” He shares your pillow, the special one you brought from home, the silk one that gives just right. “Have you ever been in a hospital bed?”
“No.”
“It's miserable. You don't get a lot of rest. Nurses come in every couple of hours to check on you-- nurses working twelve hour shifts with too many patients to handle.” His eyes are distant, even as he looks your way. He's thinking about the accident. You want to ask questions about it, but instead you listen. “If we can design something to make that experience better, something to help patients and nurses, we should be serious about it. They should care.”
A moment passes. You try to imagine him younger, sadder. You try to imagine him in those beds-- then try to imagine him before. The silvered scar on his cheek: what would his face look without it?
“I know on the surface it sounds silly,” he continues, a bit more grave. “It's a bed. But if we can make monitoring tools for nurses easier, feed reports directly into the system. Heart rate, breaths per minute, blood pressure-- it takes a load off of their plates and lets them focus on patients who need it.”
His head rolls towards you and your noses are only inches from each other. It feels like you’ve been momentarily allowed into an inner sanctum, opened a door to a part of him you shouldn't be allowed to see. The long nights at the office make more sense now; you had always thought he was just a workaholic.
“And these beds might be the last place someone lives before they die.” Aizawa says. “They deserve comfort. Dignity.”
He tilts his head down to regard you, then starts a bit, bewildered.
“Why are you giving me that look?”
You bite down your own smile.
“Just…” Your hand finds his chest. “Didn't realize you cared so much.”
Aizawa rolls his eyes as he places his own hand over yours.
“Don't tell the interns,” he grumbles. “Don't want them to think I'm soft.”
The sleep that nips are your cerebellum is the cozy kind, the kind that eeks your eyes closed bit by bit. Aizawa places the towel on the ground and you watch him. His features are the same as they always are, but your brain has recontextualized it all; the silvered scar on his cheek, the flat of his nose… you smile.
“Do you have pictures?” you mumble.
“Hm?”
“Of your cats.”
Aizawa looks back at you, surprised. Then, he melts a bit, pulling his phone from his pocket. He joins you back on the bed, over the covers, arm scooping behind your head almost protectively. The position is intimate; you make it more so by resting your head on his shoulder. It only takes a moment for him to pull up a photo of two cats, both lounging in a strand of sunshine, both tummy up and dead asleep.
“Sesame.” He points to the black cat in the picture, then the fluffy white and orange one. “Sushi.”
“They're cute.”
“They're good cats.” His voice rumbles in his chest, undertones you've never heard before. You cuddle in closer to listen better, close your eyes to really focus. “Sushi is older now, so she mostly sleeps. Sesame is two-- three, actually.”
You hum in acknowledgement. The thrum of his heart is slow and strong.
“Been considering getting another. For when Sushi dies.” he tilts his head in thought. “I'm not ready to be a forty year old man with three cats.”
You try to give him that look again, but your eyes just won't open. “And you said you aren’t paternal.”
There's a long stretch of quiet behind that.
“Do you have pets?” His voice takes you out of your sleep, but not enough for you to fully rouse.
“Are you falling asleep?”
Again, there’s a long stretch of silence, only the rise and fall of your breaths and the hum of the air conditioner to fill the room. Right as you start to lose grip on the waking world, Shouta moves, pressing his lips right into the center of your forehead.
“Do you want children?” he asks into your skin, voice frailer than you ever thought possible.
