on a rare day off, shouta aizawa and you share a slow, quiet morning wrapped in each other’s warmth. from tangled sheets to stolen pancakes and soft naps on the couch, your love unfolds in small, domestic rituals—gentle touches, shared silence, and whispered confessions. built on years of survival and quiet sacrifice, your bond is steady and healing.
cw: none (just tooth-rotting sweetness and some bare chest moments)
you wake to warmth.
not just the cozy kind—the kind that’s settled deep in your bones, that wraps around your skin and softens every edge of you from the inside out.
there’s sunlight creeping in through the slats of the blinds. soft, golden, lazy light that paints the bedroom in long stretches of morning. the comforter is tangled around your legs, pushed low, but you’re still warm—because of the man curled around you like he’s never going to let go.
shouta.
he’s asleep still, or at least he’s trying to be. you can tell by the way his breathing slows every time you shift slightly. like he’s trying to convince himself not to wake up. not to let the day in.
you smile into the pillow.
his arm is slung around your waist, hand splayed over your stomach. his chest is warm against your back, bare skin smooth with heat. he runs hotter than you—it’s something you learned early, how his body radiates heat like a furnace. a side effect of years in the underground, maybe. a body trained to survive cold nights, sudden danger.
but here, now, he uses that warmth for something else. he holds you with it.
you wriggle gently, just enough to hear the low rumble of protest from behind you.
“mmnn. five more minutes.”
his voice is gravel. thick with sleep. it curls over your shoulder like smoke.
you laugh, soft and sleepy. “we’ve already had ten.”
he shifts, and you feel it—the weight of his head pressing into the crook of your neck, the way he nuzzles, breath warm and steady against your skin.
“i’m off today,” he mumbles. “doesn’t count.”
your smile deepens. “i know. that’s why i made us coffee.”
his hand tightens on your waist. “traitor.”
“i didn’t drink it without you,” you tease.
he sighs. but there’s no real weight to it. his arm tightens again, and then his mouth is against your shoulder—pressing a slow, barely-there kiss into the soft curve where your collar meets your neck.
you close your eyes.
it’s always like this on his days off.
slow. quiet. sacred.
you learned early on that shouta’s love language isn’t loud. it’s not explosive or grand or covered in ribbon. it’s quiet. lived-in. in the way he makes space for you in his closet, in the way he replaces your toothpaste without being asked, in the way he holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring him.
you turn over slowly, shifting to face him.
his hair is down, spilling across the pillow like black silk. his eyes are barely open—just the faintest glint of dark grey peeking through his lashes. and even still, he looks so beautiful.
not in the polished way. not in the glamorous, untouchable way. no. shouta is beautiful like dusk. like a thunderstorm in the distance. like safety.
he blinks slowly, eyes focused on you.
you reach up and brush the hair from his forehead. “hi.”
he grunts, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “hi.”
you lean forward and kiss him.
not with urgency. not with heat.
just a soft brush of lips. a good morning in kiss form.
his hand finds your hip beneath the sheets, fingers brushing skin. “how long’ve you been awake?”
“just a little while.”
“and you stayed?”
you nod.
his hand smooths over your hip. “thank you.”
your chest tightens. “you don’t have to thank me for that.”
he doesn’t answer, but he kisses you again.
and you let it linger.
breakfast takes a while to happen.
because neither of you want to get out of bed, not really. shouta insists on wrapping himself around you every time you try. he hooks a leg over yours, presses his face to your stomach, tugs the blankets back up like you’re both teenagers skipping school.
but eventually—when your stomach growls loud enough for both of you to hear—you manage to bribe him out with the promise of pancakes.
he wears his flannel pajama pants and nothing else. you wear one of his old black t-shirts, stretched soft with age. you’re barefoot. the floor is cold. the house is quiet except for the creaks of old wood and the birds outside the window.
he makes the coffee.
you make the batter.
you move like a team—comfortable, familiar, efficient. he kisses your temple when he passes behind you, murmurs low compliments about how good it smells, rests his hand on your lower back while you pour batter into the pan.
he flips the pancakes. you plate them. he steals a bite before sitting. you glare. he smirks.
you eat in the sun-drenched kitchen nook, shoulders brushing. no music. just clinking silverware and soft sighs and the sound of coffee being sipped slow.
“i think the cats are planning a coup,” he says, eyes trained on the hallway where your two furballs sit watching.
you grin. “they don’t like that you’re home. they had the bed all to themselves for weeks.”
he raises an eyebrow. “they can deal.”
you laugh. “god, you’re such a dad.”
he hums. “only to them.”
but the way he looks at you—gentle, focused, quietly in awe—makes something flutter behind your ribs.
you eat the rest of your pancakes with your knee pressed to his.
the rest of the day unfolds like a dream.
you clean together—well, you try to. shouta keeps getting distracted. folding towels turns into you getting tackled onto the bed. vacuuming turns into a wrestling match for the remote. dishes become a shared effort of sudsy water, squeaky clean glassware, and soap bubbles stuck in his hair.
he naps on the couch with his head in your lap. you run your fingers through his hair, feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, watch the lines in his face ease.
he murmurs your name once in his sleep.
you almost cry.
he wakes up slowly, blinking up at you like you hung the moon.
you kiss his forehead and whisper, “i love you.”
he says it back like it’s the first thing he’s ever believed in.
that night, you light a candle and settle into bed early.
he showers first. you hear the water run, hear the familiar rhythm of his steps, the soft creak of the faucet.
when he returns, his hair is damp. his skin is warm from the water. he wears clean sweatpants and another old shirt that smells like laundry detergent and home.
you scoot over.
he slides in beside you.
you both sigh in unison.
you read for a little while. he scrolls through his phone. he holds your hand the entire time.
at some point, you turn to him and ask, “do you ever wish we met earlier?”
he pauses.
sets his phone down. turns toward you.
his thumb brushes your knuckles. “no. not really.”
you blink. “no?”
he shakes his head, slow. “if we met earlier… i wouldn’t have been ready. i wouldn’t have known how to love you the way you deserve.”
your breath catches.
“but now,” he adds, voice low, sure, soft, “i do.”
you press your face into his chest. he pulls you close. your heart threatens to burst.
because you understand.
you understand that all of this—the slowness, the softness, the warmth—only exists because of the pain that came before it. because he survived it. because you did.
you fall asleep in his arms, breath slow, heart full.
and in the dark, he whispers your name again.
not because he’s dreaming.
but because it’s the most sacred thing he knows how to say.
been in not such a great mental place lately so i wanted to right something cute :( i hope this was enjoyable! i love writing for him. thank yewww for reading hehe.
I have a soft Aizawa imagine to offer. I hope you all enjoy! Let me know what you think.
Warnings: I don't think there are any.
Master List
Prompt List
The rain was coming down heavy. Your umbrella doing little to protect you as the wind blew the rain under it. You felt exhausted and defeated. Today had been tough, you’d been fired from one of your jobs and had been stood up on a blind date your friends arranged for you. And as if the day couldn’t get any worse the wind got under your umbrella, ripping it from your hands.
“Great, this day couldn’t possibly get any worse!” you where glad for the lack any other people to witness you as you shouted. Tears of frustration welled up, hidden by the rain that drenched you instantly.
“Are you okay?” a tired sounding voice asked from behind you.
You spin around startled causing you to slip in the water. ‘I was wrong, it can get worse,’ you thought as you fall to the ground. Except you don’t hit the hard concrete. You feel arms pull you into a relatively dry body. You no long feel the rain hitting you.
“That was close,” you looked up into tired eyes, flushing as you realised just how close your face was to his. There wasn’t a lot of heigh difference between the two of you. His long shaggy black hair tickled your face as the wind blew it.
“Thankyou,” you get your feet under you and move away. “Sorry for getting your clothes wet.”
“Don’t worry, wasn’t going to let you get hurt,” the stranger replied, lips twisting as he caught sight of your flushed cheeks and the way you studied him.
The wind blew a white cloth that was hung around his neck, catching your attention as you finally dragged your eyes from his face. Your brow furrowed as you studied the cloth, before your eyes widened in recognition as you noticed yellow goggles hanging around his neck.
“Oh my god, you’re Eraserhead!” you excitedly shout before your eyes suddenly looked down, remembering that you were drenched, and there was no possible way that your hair was still in the same beautiful updo that it was at the start of your night, or that your makeup, that was meant to be water proof, hadn’t started to look a little…worse for wear. “I-oh my god I can’t believe I am meeting you looking like a drowned rat!” your face heated up even more, the slight pink now a bright red.
“Huh, didn’t expect you to know who I was,” he sounded surprised, and a little amused. “You make a pretty drowned rat if that helps.” You blink rapidly, looking up to see an amused smirk.
You rubbed the back of your neck, biting your lip as you worked up the courage to ask him something. It was a quick thought that floated through your head, but you figured there was no harm in asking it. You figured, you had hit rock bottom tonight, so surely you couldn’t sink any lower.
“Um…if you’re not busy and you’d like to…would you wanna grab a drink with me?” you had nothing to lose if he said no, you would probably never see him again.
“I’ve just finished my patrol…but are you sure?” Aizawa seemed shy all of sudden and you swore you could see red on his cheeks but it could have been a trick of the non-existent light.
“Of course, I’m sure! Not to seem pushy but I’m kinda soaked and my place isn’t far and I have a lot of different drinks, would you be okay if we went there?” you asked. “I don’t normally invite people over on the first date but-”
“I don’t mind. I doubt it would be comfortable for you to stay in those clothes,” Aizawa interrupted your rambling.
“Ah, thank you,” you blushed again. Aizawa smiled softly and offered you his arm under his umbrella. “Lead the way.”
“My day just got loads better,” you smiled brightly.
“Mine too,” he agreed, a shy smile twisting at his lips.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Unfortunately, I won't be able to accompany future chapters with illustrations anymore. This has been an especially busy and demanding period of my life, and I'd rather dedicate the little free time I have to writing this series.
I truly hope that, even without the artwork, you'll still be willing to give this story a chance 💙
To everyone who chooses to spend a little more of their time with this story, I sincerely hope you enjoy the chapter.
Warnings: I mean- reader almost dies in one of these (shiggy), but apart from that it’s just fluff
Word count: 454
Characters: Hawks, Aizawa, shigaraki
₊˚✩彡 HAWKS
Hawks is always able to sense your aura, it’s a wired talent he’s had since he can remember. So if you try to surprise him by giving him a hug from behind, he turns around in the last possible moment, scooping you up from the floor and holding you tight
“Not so fast my feather~” he smiles, you try to pull away, but he doesn’t plan on letting you go. His nose nuzzles against your neck “Mine~” he growls softly, you scoff “Yea yea birdbrain, i know” You cup his face to make him look at you “But let me go, your cutting my circulation over here” Hawks chuckles at your words, slowly realising you from his grasp and placing you on the ground
₊˚✩彡 AIZAWA
This man is so done with your bullshit, you’re always doing this kind of stuff, surprising him with random attacks of affection, on one hand, its adorable, but on the other, it’s annoying as fuck.
Aizawa was just sipping his morning coffee, when suddenly he hears loud footsteps coming towards him, he’s all of a sudden tackled by someone, the force of the attack almost making him drop his coffee, he instantly turns to look at the person, and of course, it’s you.
You wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face in his hair, Aizawa sighs “Kitty, what are you doing?” a cheerful smiles crawls up your face “I want a hug” Aizawa lets out a scoff, but not a genuinely annoyed scoff, one of those dumb scoffs you say but you don’t mean “Y’know, if you want a hug, just tell me instead of assaulting me” He jokes, you giggle in response “yea yea, sorry”
₊˚✩彡 SHIGARAKI
In Shigaraki’s defence, he didn’t mean to almost dust you, it’s just that he wasn’t expecting you to suddenly tackle him and he was close to grabbing your wrist. He was just playing video games in his room when someone knocked on the door behind him
“It’s me” Shigaraki humming in response, implying that you can come in, the door instantly flew open as you charred for shigaraki, you scared the living shit out of this man, he almost used his 5 fingers on you, luckily he pulled his hand away from you before he could touch you, your arms instantly tangled around his waist, burying your face in his shirt, it’s like you didn’t notice the fact that shigaraki almost killed you
“THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?” he screamed, you laughed “sorry, i just missed you” Shigaraki couldn’t stay mad at you, your voice made his mind go blank “It’s ok, but your making it up to me by playing smash bros with me” You smirked “alright, bet”
TW: Realistic sex, insecure reader, struggle with shame and self-loathing; difficulty orgasming; use of vibrator; it’s about the healing and healthy relationships 🤌🤌
Word Count: 2845
------------------
It was finally happening. You were with Shouta, clothes long-since lost to impatient hands and hot kisses. It was everything you hoped for, your body burning hot with desire. Shouta’s rough hands caressed every inch of you as his teeth nipped and nibbled a love letter of marks from your ear lobe to your shoulder.
You gasped as his fingers dipped between your legs, and he growled in satisfaction at the slickness he found there. He took his time, carefully rubbing circles along your clit as he devoured the moans from your tongue.
He didn’t slip his fingers in until you began to buck into him, your body beckoning with every roll of your hips. Even so, he only allowed to the first knuckle of two of his thick fingers, allowing your body adjust to his presence. He paused in his kissing and pulled away just enough to watch the hazy lust in your eyes as his fingers slowly entered, inch by searing inch until he filled you. You let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping his shoulders. You felt the muscles ripple beneath your touch as he drew his fingers out slowly, and entered you again, this time curling his long digits against your sensitive walls. It pulled a shudder from your lungs, your breath shaky as you stared up at him with teary eyes.
“You’re beautiful.” He whispered.
Your breaths began to come out shaky, and you could feel the need in you swell, but you knew... you knew this wouldn’t be enough. You didn’t just need his touch; you needed him, all of him.
“Please...” you begged.
It was all you needed to say. Shouta understood.
Of course, he did. The way he seemed to understand your tone, your body language, even the rhythm of your breath – he understood you as if he’d studied you for years, cataloguing every minute detail of you until he was sure he understood you as easily as he understood himself.
Shouta’s gaze on you softened, a gentle smile on the corners of his lips, like a secret he only wanted to share with you. He lowered his lips to yours, trapping you in a tender kiss as he slowly withdrew his fingers from you.
Your hand found him, holding the girth of him hard and heavy in your palm as you gave affectionate strokes to his cock. You could feel every detail against your palm – the veins that arched and curved along his length like tree roots, the slightest curve of his shaft like a flower stretching towards the sun, the precum beading on his tip that you smeared with your thumb to coat the smooth, flushed head.
His eyes were half-hooded, his mouth parted as he steadied his breaths as he let himself relish in your attention.
“What are you doing?” he whispered, his tone teasing. His voice was hoarse, deep, as if the power you held in your hands controlled every fiber in his body, drawing him tight like a bowstring.
You smirked up at him, playfully. “Appreciating.” You replied.
He gave a small grin back at you, and slowly lowered himself to hover over you as your hand continued its steady strokes. Soon you were framed beneath him, his forearms propping up most of his upper body weight while his fingers gently twined in your hair. With Shouta now in the perfect position, you silently lined him up with your entrance and slowed your stroking to stare up into his eyes.
“You sure you want this?” he asked, his dark gaze penetrating you.
His beauty stunned you – the framing of his dark locks that tickled your cheeks, his jawline covered in stubble, and his eyes...
They were dark pools whose depths threatened to swallow you whole and drown you. And yet, they were also vulnerable, framed in the slightly drawn eyebrows and penetrating gaze that demanded truth. Nothing but truth.
You bit your lower lip and nodded. With his cock still gripped in your hand, you brushed the tip of him against your folds invitingly, watching as his breath hitched and his eyes closed briefly as he fought for control.
“I’m sure,” you whispered.
He kissed you heavily then, warm lips capturing yours before leaving your open mouth to mark a trail of kisses along your jaw line until he reached the lobe of your ear.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he whispered, his breath tickling your skin and sending goosebumps down your skin as your heart raced.
You gave a small nod, and he kissed you again, his tongue caressing yours as he began to enter you.
You gasped at the stretch, the burn making your thighs shake, and he hesitated for the slightest moment, his eyes catching yours with a silent question. But you egged him on, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you so you could deepen your kiss. He moved one hand to raise your thigh against him and continued, slowly, pulling out the slightest fraction only to push deeper. Out, and in. Out, and in. The thickness of his cock rode on the slickness of your walls, stretching, stretching as your body gave way to him. With every inch, he claimed more, demanded more, until you were utterly his, his cock filling you to the brink as he bottomed out in you.
For a moment you both lingered, relishing in the feeling of the closeness. Every sense was satisfied, from the touch of your bodies, the sounds of your breaths, the scent of your intimacy. You felt him everywhere – every crevice, every nerve. The ache was torturous yet fulfilling, the feel of Shouta’s heavy body against yours suffocating and yet safe. You closed your eyes, allowing your other senses to wash over you. Touch, sound, smell... It was a moment held frozen in time, Shouta’s nose barely brushing yours, his lips a hair’s width from your own as you trembled beneath him, vibrating with anticipation.
Then, Shouta’s grip on your thigh tightened and slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled out until only his tip lingered.
A breath, an exhale.
Then he pushed into you again, this time a little bit faster, a little more certain. It was less patient but still careful – always careful. With a meticulous dip of his hips, he not only filled you completely without hurting you, but pulled a hungry moan from your parted lips.
He was your rock, letting you grip him as your back arched in pleasure, your fingers tangling into his hair.
Again, he pulled out slowly, only to meet you swiftly on his return, your bodies crashing together with greater force than before. Another shock of pleasure, another gasp, and a clench of your slick, swollen cunt around his girth. His own grunt met yours like an echo, a primal call between two bodies.
I’m here.
Gradually, he eased into a steady pace, your thigh still propped up by his strong, calloused hand as he buried his face into your neck, his hot breath panting across your skin. And you gripped him in return, your teeth clenched into his shoulder, the salt of his skin dancing across your tastebuds.
It felt divine, heavenly. Every drag of his cock across your walls had you wanting more, every graze of his base against your clit had you writhing, hips grinding for more, more, more. You could feel your body begging, calling, chasing that elusive finale, the one that always seemed to vanish from your grasp whenever you felt yourself get close.
Maybe this was it. Maybe it would finally happen. And who better to have it happen with than Shouta? You loved him. You loved him, more than you’d loved anyone. And you knew he loved you too. Surely that had to count for something. Surely it would make a difference.
But it didn’t. Instead, the pleasure lingered, teetering, fading in and out of focus, so close and yet so far away, just like it always had.
A deep frustration welled in your chest, as you fought tooth and nail against the rising tide of disappointment.
Why? What was it not happening?? You could feel yourself hovering on the edge, waiting for the plunge. You wanted it, craved it.
A cold fear began to creep down your spine, the panic settling like poison in your gut as you felt the impending orgasm start to slip away. The pleasure faded to a numbness, and you began to lose your focus, the closeness you’d been feeling a moment before slipping through your fingers even as you continued to cling to Shouta’s body. You could feel yourself separating from the moment, like a ghost trapped in a stranger’s body, observing what was supposed to be an intimate, powerful experience with a vague detachedness.
You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to slip away, to sink beneath your fear and insecurity. You didn’t want to be swallowed by your self-loathing for a body that couldn’t seem to give you want you wanted.
And worst of all, you didn’t want to disappoint Shouta.
The forbidden thought of faking your orgasm popped into your mind, to spare him from having to carry the weight of your shame, to let himself be consumed by a failure that wasn’t his fault.
But you dismissed it instantly. He would notice. And deep down you knew that would hurt him more than just being honest.
Tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes, and your body stiffened, no longer joining Shouta’s thrusting hips and hot kisses.
Shouta noticed instantly of course, and immediately stopped, propping himself up on his elbows to look into your eyes. His gaze stripped you bare immediately, and thick, heavy tears began to dribble down your cheek.
His brow was furrowed, and he immediately pulled out of you. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
You shook your head and wiped at your eyes. He sat up and pulled you up with him, his hands never letting go of yours.
“No, no.” you sniffed. “It’s not you. I just... I can’t...”
Your words faltered, humiliation trapping your tongue in a heavy silence. Years of experience told you to prepare for disappointment, to prepare for scoffing, for a snide remark or a hurt ego. It didn’t matter that this was Shouta in this moment, the one man who would do none of those things. It was the only reality you’d known, and in that moment, you couldn’t imagine any different.
But the hurtful words never came. Instead, he waited silently, his hands now rubbing your arms in soothing strokes, giving you time to gather your thoughts and feelings.
You tried again. “I can’t.... you know....” You fiddled your fingers nervously, your eyes avoiding Shouta’s.
Realization dawned, his hands pausing in their stroking.
“Have you ever had an orgasm?” he asked.
The question was simple, direct, to the point, his voice calm and patient.
Your head tilted further down. “No... not with a partner.”
Shouta hummed thoughtfully. “What about by yourself?”
“Um, yeah... but only with my vibrator. But like... I didn’t want to, you know...”
“What?”
“Well, usually guys don’t like it when I bring it out. Like it makes them feel bad, like they can’t, you know, take care of me.”
Shouta frowned in disapproval, his eyes narrowing. Then his expression softened as he took in your defensive posture – hunched shoulders, arms crossed protectively over your exposed chest. He took your hand and put it onto his jaw. “Do you have it with you?”
Your eyes finally met his, wide with shock. “Y-Yeah, but you don’t have to- I don’t want you to think-“
Shouta gave a soft smile with a gentle breath of a laugh. “Don’t worry about me. It helps you, right?”
You nodded.
“It makes you feel good?”
You nodded again.
“Then that’s all I care about.”
You stared at him silently, as your world rearranged itself around the existence of him, this one man shattering everything you’d been forced to believe. Slowly, the heavy weight of years of shame began to lift from your chest.
“So,” he said. “Where is it?”
Your eyes glanced at your nightstand. “In the top drawer... in the black velvet bag.”
He planted a gentle kiss on your lips, your face framed in his strong hands, before he opened the drawer and retrieved the item.
“Lay down.” He said huskily.
You obeyed him, watching silently as he removed the vibrator from its bag. He turned it on, starting at the lowest setting. He watched it buzz for a moment before turning his eyes to you with the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips.
He gently laid the toy across your clit, and you gave a small, happy gasp.
“Hmm...” he hummed and danced the silicon nub around your labia before returning back to your sensitive bud. Your hips wiggled down slightly as you got more comfortable on the plush mattress.
“What setting do you like it on?” he asked.
Before you could even answer, he increased the power to the next level.
You hummed as he applied more pressure, but it quickly faded as he removed it slightly, drawing delicate circles around your wet entrance.
He was teasing you. He was enjoying this. And for the first time, so were you.
“Um...” you slurred around a heavy, wet tongue. “Usually on max.”
Shouta raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “Max, huh?”
He pushed the button again, sending the power up even higher as he rubbed it in slow, firm circles over your clit.
Your back began to arch as pleasure began to shoot through your veins, heat building between your legs. Shouta’s erection was quickly returning, precum dripping eagerly.
“More...” you begged, your eyes squeezed shut.
He obliged and increased the power again.
Once your hips began to buck, Shouta took your hand in his and placed it over the handle of the vibrator.
“Hold that for me.” He whispered against your lips. You obeyed, your eyes fluttering open just in time to see him give a couple of strong strokes to his cock before pushing into you again.
This time, your body gave way to him eagerly, and he slipped in easily. The added pressure of him being in you combined with the power of your vibrator encased you in a fortress of pleasure from which there was no escape, your body held captive.
Shouta began thrusting again, slow at first, but now your cunt was dripping, clenching around him, begging for more.
You could feel it building, quickly, with the swiftness of a great storm across ocean waters. Every fiber of your being began to tense, crackling across your skin like lightning, eager to conjoin with the man who was above you, in you, everywhere all at once. He was magnetic, he was power, and you wanted to lose yourself to him, to let your thoughts fall away leaving only feeling, only pleasure.
“Please,” you begged. “Don’t stop...”
He thrust harder then, his face once again buried into your neck, hot breath coating your flesh as his teeth grazed your skin.
The crescendo was fast, the peak higher than you’d ever reached on your own. You came like the cracking of thunder, your body bucking, your lungs gasping. It washed over you, dismantled you until you felt like disembodied energy, a floating soul tethered to Shouta by a golden, heavenly thread.
Shouta wasn’t far behind you, his hips pounding into powerfully as you rode out the traces of your orgasm. He gave a deep heavy grunt, a gasp, and with a final buck of his hips he emptied his seed into you, letting it coat your walls, claiming you. He rode out his own orgasm with a few more thrusts until his hips stuttered with a final, deep thrust.
For a moment, he was still, buried to the hilt, his sweaty forehead pressed against your shoulder as he let his pounding heart slow, let his own tidal waves of pleasure recede back into a low hum.
Then he kissed your neck as he took the vibrator from your hand and turned it off. He set it aside on the bed and nestled his head against your chest as he let himself soften in you, unwilling to separate his body from yours.
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head tenderly.
“Thank you.” You whispered.
“Hm.” He replied hazily, sleep already starting to overtake him.
You squeezed him tighter in your arms. “Shouta... I mean it. Thank you.”
He lifted his head then, his dark eyes taking you in. And this time, you were happy to be seen, to feel vulnerable.
A soft smile crept across his stubble-framed lips as he noticed that you didn’t shy from his gaze.
“You’re welcome.”
Then he kissed you gently and laid his head back onto your chest as your fingers began to comb through his hair and trace invisible shapes along the muscles of his back.
Aizawa x Reader (quirkless s/o) with a Flipping octo plush where it has an angry side thats pink and the happy side is red and its on its angry side.
Or aizawa x reader (quirkless s/o) who paints theyres and aizawas nails with a cat face
-shuu
100% im putting both of these into one because uugghhh 😩😩
Masterlist<3
Aizawa x Reader - Pink Plushies
Fuck. The plushie is pink. What did he do now?
Shouta sighs, walking into your shared flat and sighing tiredly as he's met with the love of his life sitting on the bed and sulking. There's an obvious pout on your lips as you pointedly make a scene out of ignoring him, causing another ragged sigh to cue from the tired looking man before you.
This had all started earlier on the same day when you'd made a joke about getting matching nails and proposing to paint cats on his. He immediately declined of course, but he really didn't think you would ignore him for the whole day.
But here you are, staring at the wall stubbornly as he asks you what's wrong. He's too old for this.
Despite the fact that he is literally 25, but anyway.
You pout and your eyebrow twitches as he sits on the bed next to you, staring at you with a neutral expression and waiting for you to finish your tantrum. It's not fair that he was blessed with so much more patience than you.
You give in easily and sigh quietly, giving your lover a forlorn look and making his heart almost stop for a second. You look genuinely upset now, and he doesn't know what's wrong or if it's his fault or not, and the thought haas anxiety pooling in the pits of his stomach.
He could never forgive himself if he was the reason you look so sad right now, and he always tried his best to be active in this relationship and spend valuable time with you because he doesn't know what he'd do with himself if he ever lost you.
That is until you come out with your next words.
"Why didn't you let me paint your nails, Shouta?! I thought it would be cute- a-and we could match and everything-! Was the thought really that horrible to you?..."
He deadpans harder than ever before, looking at you as if he'd just been turned to stone while you rant at him and whine like a kicked puppy, crocodile tears pooling down your face and catching the light.
"... I-... I love you, honey, but im not letting you paint my nails, no."
The next fifteen minutes saw him staring down at prettily painted black nails with little white kitten chibis drawn on carefully. You really are talented, he muses, looking down at one of the finished nails and silently giving them starry eyes, encapsulated with them and absolutely charmed.
His head is adorned with a pair of cat ears that you had slipped on him as a joke, having yet to have taken them off yet as he stares at your masterpieces. Pretty, and soft hair falls in front of your face while you continue your hard, honest work, sat hunched over Shouta's other hand and just finishing up so that you can get started on yours.
"Do the base white on yours. Make them opposites." he proposes as you finish glossing them over, giving you a suggestion, and you just can't help but puff your cheeks out like a hamster as you attempt to contain your laughter only to fail miserably. You can't help it- he's just given you a suggestion like that with the most unexpressive face you've seen on him, and once you calm down and recover a little you're quick to press a gentle kiss to his lips while he's still confused.
The two of you have fun painting your nails and there's absolutely no way that you could let him even breathe before you got a picture of the masterpieces before you, and as Shouta watches you fawn over how cute he is with the cat ears he still has on he cant help but smirk and pull you closer.
Soft lips meet yours as he holds you in the kiss by the back of your head, nipping at your lip and when you pull back your face is flushed bright red and you're practically dizzy from the kiss, giving him a woozy but sly smile as you grab your plush, turning it back to red as the little smiley face has your boyfriend smirking wider and raising an eyebrow at you, crawling closer to you and making you blush bright red again.
His eyes are half lidded and he looks up at you mischievously, crawling up over you and nipping at your neck cheekily just to tease you. And boy, does it work well...
