#soft shouta

[smashley351]

He’s so frickin’ cute!

Help! I need a hero… that one, actually.

(Vigilantes season 2, episode 8)

[tastelessleather]

Homecoming

-------------

In which Aizawa has spent far too long away and finally gets to come back to his favorite little piece of home.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Pure smut, although lots and lots of fluff as well

Characters/ships: aizawa x reader (reader has a vagina/breasts but no gender is specified.)

Available on ao3 as well if you'd prefer.

See more below vvvv

Shouta groans softly as he pushes a little deeper, his hands gripping your thighs a little tighter. His mind practically blanks out as the warmth he'd been so desperately craving overwhelms him.

~•*•~

Today had been so unbearably long. He had spent weeks, day after day, so absolutely busy that his brain fried itself into oblivion. Cases had piled up for Tsukauchi, and unfortunately the man had roped Shouta into completing every. Last. One. With him.

But now, the miserable and dreary caseload was over, he could be home and stew in his exhaustion if he wanted to. And thankfully, you were always more than happy to indulge him.

The few times that you both have nights off together are usually spent cuddling or napping, maybe even a little scene play if he was up for it. But tonight, there was none of that.

Tonight was all soft breathy sighs, beckoning touches, and murmured apologies. Shouta knew he couldn't replace all the soft quality time that had been missed out on, but he could at least make up for it, even just slightly.

It had started with just cuddling, his face buried in your stomach and his arms wrapped around your waist. He had been happily nestled with your legs locked over his shoulders and hugging him tight, the weight grounding and pulling him into a drowsy state.

Slowly, his thoughts had started to wander, as did his hands. Gentle hands massaged your lower back, drifting under your shirt to knead the bare flesh. Soft hums escaped his throat as he nuzzled into your stomach, pressing a kiss there and breathing deeply before moving down.

Shouta's eyes never left yours, as if in question of if this was really okay, his mouth drifting lower to kiss your navel and then the arch of a hip.

The soft sigh he heard from above and the feel of your hand slipping into his hair was all the encouragement he needed. He felt bad for going so slow, but he was so sick of rushing through things, he wanted to have something, -someone- to savor.

Dragging his nose down the line of skin on your belly that had been exposed from his wandering hands, he lets his brain melt. Leisured kisses followed, right until he could press his lips into the inseam of your shorts. Shouta was practically purring as he let his mouth fall open, letting his tongue press into the fabric, feeling his saliva soak through. It sent an odd shiver down his bare back, his eyes falling closed as he gave reverent attention.

A low groan startles from his throat as you gently tug his hair, pulling him forward. He doesn't object, letting his nose drag torturously across your clit as he mouthed at your cunt. If he weren't a hero then he would have been done for already, resisting the urge to nip at your fingers when you pull the soaked fabric of your shorts out of the way and just let him have you.

Shakily his hands slid up your ribs as he let his tongue delve in, calloused palms scratching along your abdomen, holding you in place as the flat of his tongue dragged further and further upwards.

He could hear the moan it pulled from the depths of your throat, deciding that it was a sound he could never grow tired of. The tugs of your fingers in his hair guided his rhythm, one hand gently pulling your thighs further apart and the other sliding up to slip under your bra.

This is just what he needed, he can turn his brain off, let you tell him what to do, guide him in the simple act of just making you feel good. Another moan reaches his ears and one slips out of his own throat in response, his tongue gently prodding to push inside. Another low rumble escapes as he feels your walls grasp so desperately at his tongue. It makes him feel important. Makes him feel needed. Makes him feel wanted.

For a moment he feels like he should pull back, a rather high keening cry from you stirring his worry. It melts away when he meets your eyes, seeing the flush there and the gorgeous way you look at him. Emboldened, he slides one hand down to join his mouth, pressing a finger into your cunt while his mouth moves up. It doesn't take long before he's adding another, and another, addicted to the way you pant his name and your hips squirm up for him.

It's a kind of cathartic experience for him, knowing you could be with anyone else, could be in bed with anyone else. And yet, you chose him to share this with. You trusted him. Wanted him. Even craved him at times. Some days it was almost too much love for him to handle, he didn't know what to do with it.

Your thighs tightening around his shoulders pulled Shouta out of his thoughts. The man relished the way your legs twitched ever so slightly, your stomach tensing and trembling just the same.

“That's it, sweetheart….”

Breathing wasn't an issue he was focused on anymore, latching onto your clit and giving it as deep of a kiss as he would your mouth, chuckling when you choke on a moan of his name.

He'd been so lost in the moment that he'd forgotten about himself, feeling almost out of body. But it was washed away by the warm gush on his tongue, slowly rutting against the mattress and blankets to get just an ounce of friction.

Gently Shouta removes a finger but keeps pumping the rest, trying to reduce the sting while he leans up to steal a kiss. Your shirt had been pushed up until it was bunched over your collar bone, his free hand skimming the lines of lace and subtle elastic. He won't give in, not yet, not squeezing your tits like he so desperately wants to, but instead simply dragging his fingers over them, drawing out the anticipation.

When the kiss breaks, he indulges. Shouta dips his head to lightly scrape his teeth over the soft flesh of your sternum. He soothes the sting of course, his tongue dragging up the raised red lines in the valley of your breasts.

“...this okay?”

His words are hushed, hesitant, trying to distract you from the fact that he slowly removed his fingers from your entrance. The nod he gets and the way you drag him back down for a kiss says all he needs to know. One hand laces with yours, the other tenderly holding your waist as he grinds his hips forward.

Finally getting pressure on the furious tent in his pants was heavenly, his cock eager to finally go home where it belongs. Warm. Safe. Everything he's ever wanted.

But of course, patience. What kind of man would he be if he didn't have it?

Slow, subtle rolls had turned to large hands gripping your thighs, his face buried in your neck while he huffs and pants, loving the way you play with his hair while he ruts against you. He doesn't want this to be over with, not yet. For both your sakes.

It takes a hell of a lot more restraint than he was proud to admit, but carefully he had managed to remove your shorts, remove the scrap of lace beneath, and thankfully the bra hadn't given him too much trouble either.

He just wants to worship you. To appreciate you. To let you know just how much he sees and adores. His hands roam all over, squeezing and kneading at your tits, massaging and soothingly cooing over your back and your hips, right down to your thighs.

“...you bring my mind to blankness…every time you are near…. should have known you'd be trouble…”

A sharp intake of breath steals his vision for a moment, glancing down to see the heel of your palm pressed against his dick. It feels wonderful, but not enough. He has to remind himself yet again to go slow, this had been a long time coming and it shouldn't be wasted.

You seem to have other ideas, tugging down his God awful pink sweatpants, his boxers sliding along with. It takes all his might not to grab your wrist, not to stop you from stroking him, drawing a broken moan from his throat. That wasn't how things were supposed to go, but damn it it feels so good. His hips rock into your hand, panting heavily as he tilts your chin up for a kiss, deep and torturous, wanting you to know exactly what you do to him.

“Is this what you wanted? Needed someone to wash away all that stress you wear like it's a designer coat..?”

Your words rattle his brain, a sound that he will never admit might have been a whimper catching in his throat. He was so close already, but he didn't want to cum yet. He needed to breathe, wanted to last.

“Please….”

It wasn't like Shouta to beg, even at the most intimate of moments, but he didn't think he could handle unpredictability right now.

To his relief, you let go, no matter how much his dick seemed to protest. Although his relief didn't last long, considering how quickly you'd switched to locking your heels over his lower back, dragging him closer until his cock slid through your folds. Shouta's head dropped onto your shoulder as he slowly rolled his hips, coating himself in every bit of slick that you'd allow, so very close to getting what he wanted.

“..can I..?”

The small gasp of his name he earns when the head of his cock slides over your clit was nearly enough to make him dizzy. The rough “god, yes,” from you had him moving before he could stop to think.

With a low groan, Shouta pushes forward, finally allowing himself the sensation of sinking into you. Your cunt feels warm and heavenly, steadily gripping around him as he goes deeper and deeper.

This is what he wanted, you gripping his shoulders and his neck, pulling him closer while he's inside you. It's like the strongest muscle relaxant, his body recognizing that this is where he belongs.

“F-fuck baby…so good…”

The bed rocks steadily as he carefully picks up pace, careful not to go too fast, not wanting it to be over before it starts. Shouta can feel your walls tensing around him, urging him deeper, and he's more than happy to oblige.

Your nails hooking into his skin has his eyes fluttering closed, a rush of warmth spilling into his chest as he groans into your shoulder, wanting nothing more than to stay here forever.

You had other plans, evidently, considering his pace had slowed to an almost lazy tempo as he attempted to savor things. And yet, your legs around his waist reprimanded him, commanding him to just take. But he didn't want to take. He wanted to give.

And give he did, hands gripping at the meat of your thighs to pull you up against him as much as he could, pumping his hips in a steady grind that was almost torturous. He didn't want to let go, couldn't let go, but he wanted you to feel as good as possible. His solution was to guide one of your own hands to circle your clit, urging you to touch yourself while he took care of the rest.

Shouta nearly chokes on his own breath at the way you suddenly clench around him, almost sounding like a cry as he perseveres. Fuck it was so hard for him to think like this, he can feel that coil in his gut tightening, the feeling that made his chest ache and his cock pulse, yearning for more more more until it snaps.

He hadn't meant to cum before you, a flood of his seed sticking to your walls and dripping out around him, but he was determined to make you feel good too, to keep fucking you until you asked him to stop.

And so he did. He kept sinking in again and again, even while soft, with shuddering breaths and tense knuckles digging into the sheets. His hand replaces your own, using the excess slick and spend to smooth the way, the pads of his fingers gliding over your clit in sensual circles as his tongue delves into your mouth.

The feeling of your cunt gushing around him is almost enough to pull him back to full mast, his fingers slowing on the sensitive nub of your clit but not stopping fully, his other hand coming up to cup your chin, to reverently trace the curve of your cheek with his thumb.

“...I missed you…”

He wasn't sure what else he could say. Nothing could put into words the ache he felt while having to neglect you for so long. It hadn't been fair to either of you. But he was here now. And he was determined to stay as close as he could for as long as he can.

He knows he should clean you both up, should clean up the sheets and run you both a bath. But he wanted to stay like this a little longer. And you seemed perfectly content to try and coax him to sleep, keeping him buried inside you all the while.

---------------------------------------------

(sorry if this is bad, I've never written smut before, let alone an x reader 🥲)

[smashley351]

Aizawa x reader. SFW.

End of the Night

It would be the last time Eraserhead snuck out of the house to go heroing in the middle of the night.

Shosuke was so little, and so sick, and you -poor thing- were down with what you thought was food poisoning (but would turn out to be Ren). Shouta had packed you off to bed early, secure in the knowledge he had everything under control.

So when you woke to your son crying, you expected to hear the deep soothing tones of your husband’s voice. Maybe the clunck of his prosthetic coming up the stairs. But the house was otherwise quiet… of course Shouta could nap in a roomful of teenagers so sleeping through a cry was… unusual but not unheard of. So you dragged yourself to the nursery, checked your son’s temperature, held him until he was safely back to sleep.

Only then did you start to wonder.

Only then did you do a sweep for your spouse.

Only when you saw his boots gone from the doorway did you realize… the scarf is missing.

And your heart stopped.

And you texted

<‘come home, please?’

And you tuned into the 24 hour news. Sure enough one of the former class A kids had a routine arrest turn into a major villain incident, and the classmates had rallied around and dealt with it. Cleanup was in progress, no casualties, minimal injuries. Bakugo Katsuki is yelling at a camera crew to get out of the way.

>‘On it’

Something inside you snaps. How dare he. How dare he respond like this was the middle of the day. Like this is normal.

You stew.

You fume.

You put on the coffee, even though the thought of the acid turns your stomach.

It’s half an hour before the door opens and -

You don’t get to do this, you don’t get to disappear on us! I know you’re worried about them but they are grown, they are heros, they are the best of the best because you made sure they were the best of the best, and that class - that class?! They have each other’s backs Shouta! They learned to look after themselves and eachother. You taught them! They’re not your kids anymore! They don’t need you out there. We need you. Not Eraserhead, not Aizawa sensei, YOU.

-is what would have come out of your mouth; except, by some miracle, you realize you are staring down not the combat-ready terror of Naruhata but a man in bright pink sweats and an oversized sweater.

A man whose neutral exhaustion is taking on a wide-eyed concern. And blurring. Why is he blurry? Why is your face wet?

“Kitten?” He’s setting down a shopping bag, carefully gathering you to him. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“We….. we woke up ….and… and—and y-y-you were-“

“Shhhhhhhhhhh,” he holds you tight, making sure you feel the steady motion of his breathing, “I’m here, I’m right here, you’re okay, it’s okay.”

You stay like that for a long time. Until you start to relax into him, until you’re dangerously close to falling asleep on your feet, until you wobble just a bit and he bends just enough to get his arms under your legs and hoist you up so easily like you weighed no more than the toddler upstairs.

He talks softly as he carries you back to bed. That he went to the all night convenience store, how many cats he saw on the way, the medicine he picked up incase Shosuke runs too hot, the sale on his preferred eyedrops - so he got extra even though he goes through less of them these days. The broadcast he heard about Red Riot, he’s proud of his old students: how they look after themselves, the way they have each-other’s backs, that they don’t need the old timers coming to their rescue.

“And you don’t need to worry about me,” he sighs setting you down and crawling in beside you, “not that i can stop you, not that I dont appreciate it. I promise- No more covert late night missions..”

“You’ll wake me next time?”

“No.” He smooths a stand of hair from your face, “But I will leave a detailed note, okay?”

A small laugh escapes you, soft to match his barely perceptible smile.

“Okay.”

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Notes: I got halfway through this and realized I was working through something- but it’s fine now and the story changed with that, hurrah for everyone!

Huge shout out to @queen-of-gotham who gave me _indescribably_ perfect names for the kids during her holiday special event https://www.tumblr.com/queen-of-gotham/801463286606528512/holiday-chaos-with-the-aizawa-family

[smashley351]

My idea was a sfw fluff fic idea, but absolutely no pressure!!!!! >//<

Maybe Aizawa with a tired reader who has a habit of running themself ragged? They like to sniff his hair and his shirt while they snuggle and nuzzle him at night? It’s a bit of an odd behavior, but they only show him that side of themself because he grounds them and makes them feel safe!!!!

@sparklesoar I’m not what one would call a prolific writer, but this is my take - thank you for entrusting me with such sweet imagery- our ‘zawa’s must be from nearby multiverses! Thank you for the motivation to write something!

Notes -

Aizawa x Reader, SFW, fluff/comfort

Your Quirk: Babelfish - user emits a low level psychic field that translates spoken language. It’s only effective in live settings (doesn’t work over the phone/video chat/amplifiers) and requires the user to maintain focus. Prolonged use causes fatigue/mental haze/ headache, risk of side effects increases in large group/crowded settings

Your job: to provide quirk based translation for diplomats

————————————

HOME

Keys clatter and shoes are unceremoniously kicked aside as you drag your exhausted self into Aizawa’s apartment. No, your apartment. The self correction is a warm thought, a cushion to the otherwise garbage feeling that is being you at this moment.

Quirk based translation is, while certainly on the safer end of the superhuman job spectrum, extremely taxing. A large function can leave you drained for days. Transitioning from travelling with the minister of heroics to a permanent position with your embassy in Tokyo has been particularly draining. Culminating in tonight’s charity gala - a particularly headache-inducing challenge.

And of course, these two taxing work weeks have overlapped with your transition into the home of your boyfriend.

~~~

You slam closed lid of your laptop in frustration. Finding suitable permanent accommodations within your budget as a foreigner in Japan is proving to be… Challenging.

Your boyfriend looks up from his paperwork, marking as a heroics instructure or some annotation regarding his work as a pro hero you’re not sure - it’s none of your business.

“What’s wrong….“ he grumbles. And as you describe the frustration that is building, the limited time, and resources making things even more difficult- the panic that has been growing in your chest - an infuriating smirk flickers across his stubbled face.

“You could… stay with me,” he suggests.

“Really Aiz? You don’t mind me crashing here? The extra time would really help me out.“

“No,” he laughs, with a warmth few would expect, “I mean you could… move in. You’re here most of the time already, just _live here_, it’s only rational.”

~~~

You open your door to the unexpected glow of the reading lamp. To the welcoming sight of Aizawa relaxing on the couch. He doesn’t speak; rather he acknowledges your return with a big slow blink. Extending an arm that invites you to curl up against him, to pick up your favourite drink off the coffee table, to lean into his solid form. To simply breathe.

Hydrated at last, you kiss him goodnight and perform your usual bedtime rituals. You are surprised when he, an insomniac of the highest degree, actually joins you. In comfortable silence you climb into bed at the same time.

Perhaps it’s that you’re too foggy, your brain too fried, tonight you just cannot muster one more fucking iota of propriety: you shamelessly, unabashedly, go full kitty cat mode on him. Your hand kneads the soft fabric of his sweater, you nuzzle you whole face into his jaw, your other hand wanders - combing and tangling through the waves of his onyx hair. You cuddle that man as though your life depended on it - hell maybe it does you don’t know - and he… he holds you and he strokes your back and he makes low appreciative humming sounds - nothing that demands more of you tonight. Nothing but warm, strong arms. Nothing but comfort.

And as the release of sleep comes at last , you - all caution well to wind - take a deep breath. You focus on keeping your quirk off. You recite the syllables you asked your friend to teach you - your only phrase of Japanese

“<I love you, Aiz>”

There’s a tickle of static electricity just for a moment, and the voice you’ve come to adore rumbles in your native tongue:

“<It’s alright, I love you too>”

[smashley351]

There’s been something bothering me about Aizawa in the shot of teachers applauding, and I finally figured it out: his face is too high in his head.

So I traced it further down and voila!

There he is.

[smashley351]

It Rained

Aizawa x reader. Fluffy fluffy fluff. SFW

It rained. Of course it did. The forecast had been clear skies, but the clouds conspired to take you by surprise yet again.

The day you married Shouta Aizawa.

At the municipal office.

He was on time, dapper, in his pressed shirt and neatly creased trousers. Mic had insisted on keeping him out the night before, and Nemuri had shown up at the apartment to steal his best clothes.

“I’ll make sure he’s presentable for you,” she winked conspiratorially, wrapping you in a tight hug on her way out the door.

“Don’t shave him,” you warned “I want him back as-is.”

“Just well rested then,” she conceded.

So there he stands in the foyer, hair half up, eye bags somewhat reduced, handsome as anything. And then…you.

Nearly late.

Bedraggled.

Clothes clinging from dampness in all the wrong places.

Hair plastered to your head by the sudden cloudburst.

Eyes threatening their own rain shower.

He catches sight of you, and is on you in an instant. Checking against damage, pulling you tight to him when he’s satisfied that you’re uninjured.

“Hey,” he coos, “it’s okay.”

“Let go, Ai, you’re going to get soaked too.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he soothes.

Taking your face in hand he kisses you long and sweet. When he pulls away you just catch the flash of teeth - his chaotic smile - before he dashes out into the downpour.

Laughter chases out your tears as he rips away hair ties, letting his mane tumble wild. He finds a puddle, stares you dead in the eye, and jumps with both feet. By the time he comes back inside he’s wet as a fish, you collapse into each other with a squelch. Hands entwine as you go together, back into the building, up the elevator, making it just in time for your appointment. The poor bureaucrat who reviews your documents sports a look of nearly-concealed horror as you two form puddles at her desk.

When all is said and done the sun is out. On the walk to your favourite cat café, Shouta spots a shop with folding umbrellas. He buys one for you. And even though the rain has stopped you unfurl the canopy, to proceed sheltered together.

With him.

Your love.

Your hero.

Your husband.

[tastelessleather]

Do you think whenever aizawa is sitting or bored on a walk that he starts mimicking his old tap routines....like just the sounds of them... especially when grading in the middle of the night. Anxious leg bouncing turning into him intentionally clicking his heel and then his toes, and then subconsciously putting the other foot down so he can do both

Or when he's bored while standing around just starts kicking his leg while leaning against the wall so his shoe clicks against the ground-

Context:

Saw this image and had some thoughts

[smashley351]

Aizawa Shouta is Not a Jealous Man.

Aizawa x reader. SFW

Aizawa Shouta is _not_ a jealous man.

It would be a waste of energy. You’re his. Every choice you’ve made since he met you says so. You share his home, you share his meals, you share his bed.

You have your own friends, and they’re tolerable. More tolerable than his… speaking of-

His friends have managed to drag him out, when all he wants is to be back at his apartment layed out on the couch. Preferably with you. _Preferably_ with your legs wrapped around his head until his jaw aches…

But no, Yamada and Kayama wouldn’t stop calling until he answered the phone and _you_ said he _should_ go and he agreed, on the condition you join.

And now he’s stuck watching Kayama mix another abomination of a cocktail while Yamada puts the moves on _his_ girlfriend.

Not really, of course, you’re only dancing. Hizashi isn’t seriously flirting, the man just doesn’t have an off switch. And you-

Fuck, your smile lights up a room.

Aizawa Shouta is not a jealous man. Still, when Yamada twirls you too fast and you brace a hand against his chest to catch yourself, the corner of his eye twitches.

The song ends. But you two aren’t coming back. The next track is soft, slow-

Another twitch. He really needs to pick up more eyedrops tomorrow.

Kayama sets down her latest… creation… as Aizawa finds himself crossing the floor.

The “drink” curdles as he taps Yamada on the shoulder. Kayama waves the blond over. An errant drop glorps to the table. Aizawa cuts in, sending his friend back to the booth… and certain, viscous, doom.

He takes the lead, guiding you into a hold where your body presses firmly to his. Feels your smile against his skin when you nuzzle his hair aside to press a kiss to his jaw then settle your head on his shoulder. Rests his head on yours, soaking you in.

The gentle, contented, vibration as you hum along to a song he doesn’t know warms his bones.

Aizawa Shouta … might be a little bit jealous …some days.

How could he not, when you have the brightest fucking smile?

The one that chases the gloom from his soul.