Aizawa Shouta - Blog Posts

Aizawa, about a loudly sobbing 5yo Izuku: Why is your hellspawn making that godawful noise

All Might, throwing his hands up in exasperation: He’s upset he wasn’t invited to mine and his mother’s wedding

Aizawa: He’s…he wasn’t even born yet

All Might, voice hysterical: I’ve told him that five times already!

Author’s Note: Here you go, a fluffy Aizawa. Hope that you’ll enjoy it because I know I did. Thank you very much for requesting me this, this is my first request!

Tiredness was something typical and normal for Aizawa Shouta. This pro-hero saved enough people and his care for his students was immeasurable, but the care for his own state was not to be found. Many close persons always scold him for not taking care of himself properly. He simply was not thinking about himself that much.

Sitting in front of his desk from his bedroom and sighing he tried to structure a lesson lacking energy and motivation. His mind was somewhere else as he watched the clock from his bedside.

Last month you moved next door, becoming his neighbor. You were living alone, just like Aizawa and this fact somehow helped what happened to you two. He does not remember how in one afternoon you arrived in his living room, for what was the first time you two had a talk while drinking one cup of coffee. All he knows is that when you heard his stomach indicating him that he did not eat that day with audible noises, you were way too excited to cook something for him.

The first thing he learned about you was that you were extremely stubborn because you did not accept any refusal from him.

Since that afternoon, somehow you and Aizawa kept the habit of seeing each other every evening, your presence being a soothing one. You liked to prepare him different things like food, tea or coffee, something sweet as you also learned about him that he was not caring about himself how he should.

Every evening looked almost the same but it was clearly a good thing. One of those evenings would find Aizawa sitting in a chair from the table in the kitchen, sipping his coffee while looking at you. While cooking, you were moving through his kitchen with ease and most enjoyable for the sleepy hero, silently.

Aizawa was not the one to be talkative, but somehow he was finding himself telling you all sort of things that happened to him at the U.A. High School.

Sometimes he was thinking that he said too much suddenly becoming silent, talking only if he was asked something. He did not know why your presence made him feel like he could tell you anything and that you could understand anything. He realized that you were a good listener, remembering everything he was telling you, that could be both a good thing and a bad thing.

Evening after evening you both learned things about each other. He could not count how many times he would have liked to carry those conversations on his couch, with his head placed on your lap while your hands were lost in his messy hair, playing with it. He was thinking about how good that would feel. When Aizawa started to yawn more and more often, that was your signal that you had to go home and let him sleep alone in peace. He appreciated this, that you knew how to give him both care, attention and space. He knew how in this rhythm and how the things he felt for you were evolving, the evening when you would stay with him would come soon. But he was not hurrying up, it was not rational.

This evening, Aizawa chose to finish his paperwork first and let you alone in his kitchen to do whatever you wanted, being accustomed to this. It was an odd but comforting sensation to know that you were in his house as well.

Shortly after he finished, he approached silently the kitchen, stopping at the door frame and leaning against it.

He looked at you from head to toe, thinking about these days since when you appeared in his life. His sleeping got better at night, he was feeling somehow healthier and relaxed. His mind although was still locked on the thought of you. Why were you always insisting on taking care of him? He did not give you anything in return, being caught in other important things since he was a pro-hero and a teacher. He wanted to show you how this routine has become a part of his daily life and not because he was guilty of not giving you any thanks but because he wanted more of you.

Aizawa swiftly stopped overthinking and stepped towards you, closer to you. You felt him getting closer, but you did continue on doing your thing.

“What are you cooking now?” He asked lazily while placing his chin on your right shoulder.

What you have learned in this period of time is that Aizawa was not the man who would let too much of his feelings to show or offer too much affection, so this gesture took you by surprise, but you preferred not to give any hint of it.

In this time, Aizawa felt how if both of you were lying on his bed, in the same position, with his face close to your neck he would have fallen asleep easily. He had now noticed how subtle the perfume you were wearing was.

“Typical blueberry muffins.” You responded without moving too abruptly while stirring in a bowl. Your response was followed by a small pause filled only by silence in which Aizawa breathed in deeply with his eyes closed.

“It sounds good but…” Aizawa started in his bored tone while letting his hands reach your hips.

You almost stopped in your tracks at his touch. You longed for that touch from him and not just that. Aizawa began to like this position more from which he felt your warmth.

“Do not worry I can make something like-” You started agitated by understanding his words and hesitation.

“No. I do not want any of that.” He said cutting your words in the same monotone voice that you actually found soothing.

Apparently he had something else in his mind but that was not a problem for you since you liked to spend time with him.

“No problem, what is that you want?” You asked getting ready to prepare whatever he wished for.

“What I want is not that complicated.” Aizawa said before turning you around to face him.

Hell, you were convinced that your breathing stopped. Of course, from the very first time you saw him you noticed how you felt attracted to him, and how under those loose hair strands was a tired but attractive face. Now, being so close, everything was intensified.

His left hand climbed into your hair and stayed there for a few seconds while his eyes were looking deeply into yours. His eyes usually felt dry giving him a displeasing stinging sensation but this time that sensation had disappeared mysteriously. After the moment his gaze has descended on your lips, he has not waited more and eliminated the space between your bodies. You tensed while Aizawa was relaxed and confident, his lips being surprisingly addictive. The kiss was a lazy yet deep one, filled with slow and careful motions.

“See? Not that complicated.” He whispered after breaking the kiss, watching your cheeks flush.

What followed in that evening was Aizawa pulling your hand and walking towards his room where he caught you in his arms and then fell onto his bed still holding you. That night, you did not need to prepare anything for him anymore in order to take care of him. Your presence and your body close to his was all he needed to be fine.

Our local cinnamon roll is in search for a Dad, to apply you must be awesome and love the roll till death.

Or in other words, I am in deep hell where I search for a suitable Dad for Izuku (tho we all know everyone are good to be Dad for Izu), anyone got any other candidates? ;D Please share.

Cause while Izu has the Best Mom TM ->

Our Roll still needs a Dad, cause ->

We don’t know where this shithead is.

Capa para o desafio dos designers proposto por @littleyoonportfolio com o tema 1, no caso que é uma capa com poucos elementos.

Essa capa é para uma fanfic que eu ainda planejo escrever que era para aquela tag da escrita que eu to devendo já fazem mais de 84 anos UHSAUHSAUH

Então do que se consiste o desafio dos designs Mafu? É simples, é um desafio que a cada dia, no total sendo 10 dias, nós temos que entregar designs de acordo com respectivas propostas. No caso, o desse foi o uso de poucos elementos, o que eu acho que consegui porque só usei 3 fundos, duas imagens, e 5 psd’s já que normalmente quando edito fica umas 30 coisas lá na tela do photoshop USHAUHSAUHSAUH 

Normalmente sou muito detalhista, to com mania de vazio e essa capa tá ate me incomodando pelo vazio dela, mas ela tá uma gracinha com esse Aizawa e o Shirakumo que eu shippo muito sim UHSAUHSAUH

E é isso, se inspire! Não copie! Créditos aos artistas de ambas as imagens, @sugarforkfull e @mogamoka 

Se quiserem acompanhar o andamento do desafio ou tiverem curiosidade, acessem neste link aqui para lerem o jornal e quem sabe participarem do desafio? todos estão convidados! <3

Capa e banner para a fanfic “Daily Life”, escrito por Ameko e postado a edição em nome do astrogallery, um projeto com foco em auxiliar ficwriters através da betagem e da produção de capas, banners, icons e welcomes.

Se inspire! Não copie! Créditos aos artistas!

Capa para a fanfic “O que há entre Aizawa e Midoriya?” escrito por Pitombando para a seção de Boku no Hero para o projeto Aniverse, fanfic com foco no ship EraserMight (All Might x Eraser Head) e ShinDeku (Shinso Hitoshi x Midoriya Izuku).

Se inspire! Não copie! Créditos aos fanartistas!

Link da fanfic em breve.

Capa que eu fiz de presente para a fanfic “De anjos a pestes” escrito por Boloo-chan. Sim, É UMA FANFIC DE ERI E DO KOUTA MERMÃO, eu amo esses dois e por isso não resisti de fazer a capa da fanfic de presente para a Boloo!

Se inspire! Não copie! Créditos aos Fanartistas ~

Link da fanfic: https://www.spiritfanfiction.com/historia/de-anjos-a-pestes-17843667

Aizawa? Or maybe catzawa??

his class got him the mug for his birthday

Tired

Happy Pride Month y'all!! 💖🧡💛💚💙💜

I could really use a beta reader for this Aizawa Yamada Hitoshi family au I’m writing! Please help!

you elope with aizawa, partially because of his schedule and the need for you to legally be married in cade anything happens to him on the job, and he is content with the decision-

until years later he's at a friend's wedding, watching the couple do their first dance. the look in their eyes, the excitement and tradition: he feels like he robbed you of an experience

Teacher Deku meets with Aizawa for Eri's progress report!

He learned a lot. Everything is GREAT. Totally fine.😀

My idea for erasermic month 2025 week 2. ( Slightly late but details were taking forever.)

Prompt: Avian

Aizawa "missionary, so I can watch the attitude drip from your eyes with every thrust" Shouta

You stare at the box.

You bite your lip, fidget your weight between your feet, and blink at the box. You had put the box on the table, but you’re not sure if that’s right – if that’s where it should go. If that’s where you want to do this. The bed would make much more sense; it’d save carrying all the unboxed contents then to the bed. But, as much sense as that makes, something about it just feels way too soon. Because what if – there was a chance you wouldn’t even like what was in the box. And then, dumping all that onto the bed, into your nest, with pre-heat simmering low in your belly – well. The whole reason you even had the box was to help with your heat. The very real possibility of starting off the week with a bad nest kept the box right on the table. Unopened. Still taped up. Discreet, but addressed to you. There was no mistake. The box was yours. Which, of course it was, you’d ordered the damn thing. Clicked on some ad on some website during a moment of weakness, of morbid curiosity. And then, as a joke (you’d told yourself, anyway), gone ahead and filled out the little questionnaire. Some were multiple choice, such as designated second sex, or what your preferred mate would be (which shouldn’t have been as hard as it was to fill out, but you’ve never really given it a whole lot of thought). Were someone ever actually interested in you, like seriously so, you wouldn’t let something like their second sex get in the way of a potential relationship. As it was, you’d selected Alpha, because that was just…natural. Easiest. And then there were the fill-in-the-blanks. Questions about what scents you enjoyed, and which you despised. In the end, it asked about your own scent, which felt a bit weird, considering such a thing shouldn’t matter. You were on a website for a company that supplied care packages to help alleviate the effects of going through a heat or rut alone. 

It wasn’t a dating site. You’d triple-checked. Right before saying fuck it, and jumping off the deep-end with a single, damning right-click. 

“Maybe the couch…?” You mutter to yourself, one arm curled almost protectively around your middle, propping up the elbow of your other arm, so that you can run a thumb along your bottom lip. In thought, in hesitation, in…anticipation. Whether you liked it or not, you were opening that box. There was no reason not to. Either it would achieve its intended purpose and provide some much deserved relief, considering the last few heats you’ve suffered through, or it’d all just end up in the trash. No big deal. You’ve survived all your other heats with minimal help, surrounded by nothing but your own scent, and maybe a t-shirt or two from those you could consider friends. So…maybe it was just that you kind of, really, wanted it to work. Would be a waste of money, otherwise. “Okay. Okay,” you drop your arms and nod to yourself, determined and courageous. The way your toes wiggle in your socks give away the nerves, though. “Couch it is.” Before you can sike yourself back out, you pick the box up and quickly shuffle on over to the sofa in the space you’d designated as your living room. Technically, it is also the dining room. And the office. And some extra storage space.

The bedroom, at least, is only a bedroom. One of the few little luxuries you manage to afford. 

You settle on the middle cushion, criss-cross applesauce, with the box a decent weight in your lap. You give the perimeter a tentative, cursory sniff, but only come back a little surprised at how well sealed the contents are. The only scent coming through thus far is the dull, familiar one of cardboard and packaging tape. And the slight tingle of neutralizer. Slowly, carefully, you start to pick and peel away at the tape. You could have, should have, grabbed a knife, or a pair of scissors, at the very least, but – if you got up to get them now, you might chicken out. So, bitten and blunt fingernails it is, until your fingertips are tacky and the top of the box is free. You don’t mean to, but you hold your breath. Your fingers curl around the lip of the lid, and while they work their way up and under, you sink the point of a fang down into your lip. A vein in your mouth pulses with the quickened beat of your heart. It’s so stupid, to get so worked up over something like this, but then – The lid is off of the box, and dropped down onto the cushion beside you. You still don’t breathe, but you do peer down into the package’s innards. You weren’t exactly sure what to expect other than fabric, so the sight of a striped sock with a kitty paw on it is…surprising, to say the least. Adorable, amusing, and – ah. It’s kind of hard to laugh without breathing, without inhaling, and the scent that smacks you right between the eyes does so with the force of a freight train. It sends a hard shiver from your head all the way down to your toes, and collects saliva on the center of your tongue. Fuck, fuck, holy fuck it’s good. It’s so good. It’s something floral and dark, with a smoothness to it; invigorating, yet all the while relaxing. Enticing in its coziness. You don’t realize you’ve closed your eyes until you’re blinking them back open. The base of your spine itches, and your thighs clench, and - and that sock is bunched up right beneath your nose. That should be gross, and it is, it is, but it could also be worse, because the sock seems clean, just heavily scented. And, it’s not like it doesn’t make sense for a sock to be in there. After all, ankle glands are a thing, and they work just as well as all the other glands. Still, it takes an embarrassing amount of effort to drop the sock, and start to sift through the rest of the contents. There’s a couple of shirts; a dark gray tank top and a low-cut black tee with long sleeves. Then there’s a pair of what could either be sweat pants or pajama pants, covered in…spiders. Itsy, bitsy, black spiders, with yellow eyes, and again, you can’t help but chuckle. Digging a little deeper, you find the other sock, a light gray scarf, and last, but definitely not least, a throw blanket. It keeps with the whole monochrome theme (excluding the socks), a soft gingham slashed through with a bright, baby blue. All in all, not bad. Not bad at all. 

The exact opposite of bad, actually. You’re only regret is having not been brave enough to just upturn the entire box onto your bed, because now you have to gather each and every item up in your arms, and make a happy, hasty retreat to your bedroom, which just seems way too far away with the way your body is now thrumming, blood silently screaming to nest, nest, nest! You manage though, because of course you do, and realistically, it’s not a far or hard walk at all.

Though, it is a little bit wet. Slimy and sticky and warm, and only getting warmer, down between your legs. You’re still in pre-heat, so nothing hurts – yet. You have plenty of time to build a nest and enjoy it, before you lose your mind to it all. To the desire, the hunger, the need, the ache; the loneliness, and now…the fantasy. “Thank you, kind, smelly stranger,” you whisper with a little laugh, just as your knees meet the mattress of your bed. There’s a fleeting flicker of guilt; it almost feels wrong to be doing this, using a stranger’s scent to get off for a whole week. But then, you realize, it’s really no different than watching porn. Whatever Alpha stuffed that box full of their belongings had done so willingly. Consentingly. Caringly. So, you let that feeling go as you set about pushing and shoving, folding and tucking, wrinkling and kneading everything into place, items both old and new. In the end, you make a haphazard circle, but the shape doesn’t matter nearly as much as the feel does. The smell.

And it’s only then you realize why that website might ask for your own scent. 

You’d left it blank. But, as you slowly sink down into all your hard work with a purr, you can’t deny it. You smell good together. You and this Alpha. So much so that you find yourself nosing even deeper into it, into your own pillow and a stranger’s shirt, nuzzling nose, cheek, neck. Your toes are wiggling again, stretching and flexing, curling in utter delight. When your hands start to move, it’s with minds of their own; one to smooth up under your shirt and along your chest, thumbing around a nipple, while the other slips straight down between slick thighs. Your scent is a bit of an…acquired taste. You don’t smell bad or anything, but depending on who you asked, opinions ranged from ‘household cleaner’ to ‘fancy dessert’. Personally, you always thought you drifted somewhere in the middle, like a lemon drop or something. But here and now? Together, you smell like lemon and vanilla, lavender and coffee – like tiramisu and a latte. You want to bite down on it, lap it up, ‘it’ being the stranger’s neck, an Alpha’s scent gland, your Alpha – at least, the Alpha that had anonymously decided to take care of you for the week.  Alas, your pillow will have to suffice. As will your fingers, until too soaked and too frustrated, you will have to trade for a shirt and a toy. There’s no neck, and there’s no knot, but still, still. While picturing a hundred different hot, beautiful ways this Alpha could look, could sound, could touch – call you ‘mine’… It’s, admittedly, the best heat you’ve ever had.

The teacher's lounge is blissfully quiet and seemingly empty when the door shuts and locks with a click behind you. There's no one sitting at the computers, the couches are unoccupied, and the coffee machine is still and cold. You'd come in search of a reprieve, and can't help but sigh and sag with relief upon finding it.

Sometimes the teacher's lounge is just as bad as anywhere else.

Just as bad as the classrooms, the cafeteria, the gymnasiums. Just as bad as the library, the courtyard, the hallways. Just as bad as the bathrooms.

You love your job, you really do.

But sometimes you wonder if you shouldn't have sough employment elsewhere. Maybe at a more normal highschool. Or, maybe even for a lower grade. Maybe one before quirks start manifesting in most children. Not that quirks are a problem.

It's just that, when combined with big dreams and budding hormones, it tends to be a bit...much.

You don't know how the rest of the staff does it.

Granted, almost every other staff member is also a Pro-Hero. Which isn't to say teaching is any easier for any of them, but they sure do seem to handle the stress of it a whole lot better than you can. Do. Ever will. And all you are is an assistant.

Then again, you are Aizawa's assistant.

And his class is...it's something else.

Which is why you've gone and run off to the teacher's lounge. You adore the kids, you really do! For the most part! As much as you can, anyways. Considering none of them are really yours and they're constantly making Aizawa's life, and subsequentially your life, something close to a living hell.

You've considered resigning. You know there's an ample amount of other schools that would probably happily scoop you up. And, maybe if it was earlier in the year, you would have. But, that was before...

Oh.

Well.

That was before you met the puffy, yellow, man-sized lump apparently hiding behind one of the couches. Aizawa.

Or, here, behind closed doors, Shouta.

Sometimes.

It's not a surprise to see him there.

Not in the lounge, or on the floor, with his favorite sleeping bag zipped all the way up to his heavy and slightly bruised eyes closed. He practically lives in the lounge; spends more time in here than the classroom or his own apartment. He's obviously squeezing a nap in, for as long and deep as he can. And you can tell he's asleep, really asleep, because his mouth is just slightly open.

After working with him for as long as you have, which really isn't long, but long enough -- you know that when he sleeps, he breathes in through his mouth and out through his nose. Like even when unconscious, he's subconsciously still trying to meditate. Trying to relax.

Trying to do the same thing you are.

It's precious.

And a little pathetic, but you know better than to ever admit that out loud.

You teeter on your feet for a second, while he continues to sleep and split his breathing. You think that maybe you should leave, that maybe you'll get lucky and find some other pocket of tranquility somewhere. You don't want to pop this one. But, he hasn't woken up yet, so you figure it's probably safe to stay. It's not like you're going to make a whole lot of noise, anyway -- sitting on the couch and filling out some forms. One part of your job is keeping track of each individual student's quirk record; obvious strengths, weaknesses, growths, injuries, incidents. It's exhausting work, but work better done by you, so that Shouta can actually work with those kids and their quirks.

When you pick a spot on a sofa, Shouta doesn't even twitch. And when you pluck the pen from behind your ear and start scrawling away, the sound of scratching ink is barely any louder than his own breathing. Feeling confident that you won't wake him up, you settle into your work.

Anyone else coming into the lounge is, sadly, out of your control.

You get through updating about three forms when the sound of shifting fabric snags your attention. You peer around the couch across from you, just far enough to see that yes, Shouta is still sleeping, he's just moved around a bit. You hold your breath, and watch as a wrinkle that formed in his nose slowly soothes itself away. The zipper of his sleeping bag now runs down the length of the front of his body, instead of the side. You reckon it's more comfortable that way, and you wonder if he's dreaming. And if so, what he's dreaming about.

It's a curiosity that's often hard to quell, since that's your thing after all. Your quirk. The reason you even landed the job that you did. You can see people's dreams, and then project them. Furthermore, you can sometimes even influence them, with a strong bond and some practice. You aren't anything close to a qualified therapist or counselor, but...heroes suffer nightmares. Every single one of them. And, the idea is that - the hope is that -- you can help them. With that. Their bad dreams. Their nightmares. Their night terrors. Prevent sleep paralysis and insomnia and panic attacks. You haven't tried yet, not with a single student, but you'd had to prove yourself to Principal Nezu during your interview. He'd been impressed and pleased.

And Shouta had been intrigued.

For now, you've just been working as an assistant, and building rapport with the students. After all, the stronger and healthier the bond, the more you'll be able to help. And you want to help, you do. Even if you don't necessarily...like using your quirk. It always feels like an invasion of privacy, even with blatant permission and consent. People can't help what they dream. Sometimes they want to know, and you have to figure out how to tell them. Sometimes you don't want to tell them. Sometimes they don't ask, and it's better that they forget, which they usually do.

You, on the other hand?

You never forget.

At least not quickly.

Not without a drink or two and a damn good distraction.

Does Shouta suffer nightmares? Surely he does. But, you hope that on the rare occasion he actually reaches REM, like he might be reaching now, that he doesn't. If he dreams at all, you hope it's a good dream. But, what would a good dream look like for him?

...cats, probably. Lots and lots of cats. And having a body that was more blood than caffeine. Or, maybe having the body of a cat. Maybe a good dream for Shouta involved some fur and a long tail and a good sunny spot to soak in. You laugh silently as you picture it. Yeah, you could see that.

i redownloaded this sims to make this

inspo from this pic

Y’all my favorite headcanon that I saw is that Aizawa is quiet and barely talks when he’s in public, but when he’s at home he just goes to yap town w/ his husband :*)

principal aizawa

So so very happy with how this came out

Drawing based on my Vampire/Priest au

*+:｡.｡10:55

The mission had been rough—rougher than expected. I felt the sting of the wound on my head with every step, the dull ache settling behind my eyes like a storm waiting to break. But I kept my face neutral, shoulders steady as I approached the door. Aizawa didn’t need to worry. I had it under control.

Slipping my key into the lock, I took a deep breath, adjusting the hat I’d pulled low over my forehead. It wasn’t much, but it hid the worst of the damage. I could handle this. Aizawa didn’t need to know.

The door swung open before I could reach for the handle, and there he was—standing in the dimly lit entryway, his sharp gaze immediately sweeping over me. “You’re late.” His voice was calm, but I knew him too well. There was an edge of concern under the words.

“Sorry,” I said, forcing a small smile as I stepped inside. “Mission ran long.”

He sighed, the tension in his shoulders relaxing just slightly. “You should have called.” Then, without hesitation, he reached for me, his hand reaching for the hat upon my head, with the goal of taking it off—to complete his usual greeting, a soft kiss to the lips.

Panic shot through me.

I twisted away, stepping back just enough to make it seem natural, but the way his eyes narrowed told me I hadn’t been subtle enough. His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a second, he said nothing.

Then, quietly, “Take off the hat.”

I forced a chuckle, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just part of the look. I thought I’d try something new—”

“Take. It. Off.”

A pause. His voice wasn’t sharp, wasn’t angry, but it was unwavering.

I swallowed. Maybe if I played it off, I could—

Aizawa was faster. Before I could step back again, his hand moved, quick and precise, fingers catching the brim of the hat. I barely had time to flinch before he pulled it off.

The room went silent.

I saw it in his face immediately—the way his expression shifted from suspicion to pure, unfiltered alarm. His jaw tightened, eyes going wide for just a fraction of a second before his brows furrowed in something like barely-contained panic.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, stepping closer.

I opened my mouth, scrambling for an excuse, but he was already reaching up, fingers ghosting over my forehead, barely touching the edge of the wound. His touch was careful, but even the lightest pressure made me wince. His sharp intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed.

“What the hell happened?” His voice was low, steady—but I knew him. He was freaking out.

“It’s nothing—”

“Nothing? You have a head injury, and you thought you could just walk in here and hide it?”

I tried for a sheepish smile, but it didn’t quite land. “Didn’t want you to worry.”

His eyes burned into mine, and for a long moment, he just stared. Then, without another word, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the couch.

“Aizawa, I—”

“Sit.”

I sighed, sinking onto the cushions as he disappeared into the bathroom, only to return seconds later with a first aid kit in hand. He knelt in front of me, opening the box with quick, practiced movements. His hands were steady, but I could see the tension in them, the way his fingers curled a little too tight around the gauze.

He didn’t speak as he cleaned the wound, jaw set, shoulders stiff. But when he pressed a cool cloth against my skin, his fingers lingered, just for a moment, barely a brush, but enough to tell me everything he wasn’t saying.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, quieter.

“Don’t do that again.”

I swallowed, watching the way his eyes stayed locked on my wound, as if he could will it away just by looking at it.

“I won’t,” I murmured.

His shoulders loosened slightly, but the worry in his gaze didn’t fade. He finished wrapping my head with careful precision, his fingers lingering against my cheek for a second too long before he pulled away.

Then, finally, he exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face before leaning in. This time, I didn’t pull away when he pressed a featherlight kiss to my temple, just beside the bandage.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered against my skin.

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

His sigh was heavy, but there was something softer in it now. His hand found mine, fingers lacing together with just enough pressure to ground me.

“Damn right you are”

KISSES!! (Part 1)

Redraw of one of those kiss memes that were on deviant art back in the day. I drew THE ORIGINAL back in 2017. Yeah, this pairing has been around for 8+ years, OUGH. I’m happy to give it attention again and flesh them out, now that my art and writing have improved (writing still needs work but hey, baby steps).

I really wanted to update this and wow, the difference in style, THE IMPROVEMENT?? ;;;;;;;;

Hope you all like it too!

kissy kissy

What is a Hero’s Cape for?

This meta is in response to a comment by @k-isecchis​

I’d also like to point out the parallels between Eri and Shigaraki. Eri was left to suffer longer due to strategy. Something that always rubbed me the wrong way about that arc is that besides Mirio and Deku, everyone’s so desperately trying to save her because they knew that was Chisaki’s trump card. Eri’s power is as potentially as destructive as Shigaraki, but she was “lucky” Chisaki was making enough waves for the heroes to notice. 

Thank you for pointing out this excellent parallel. This opened my mind to the parallels between the war arc, and the overhaul arc. How both arcs are really about showcasing how massive the divide is between the ideals of hero society “saving people” and hero society’s pragmatic realization “defeating villains”. Once again let’s talk more about hero society underneath the cut.

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Can someone send me a short prompt to get my brain back into the writing?

Also, I'm 100% going through my likes and reposting everything. Prepare for an influx.

NSFW. Aizawa x reader (reader has breasts and a pussy but no gendered pronouns used for reader). Oral (reader recieving.) Missionary p in v. Established relationship. Just loving on your sleepy man and tiring each other out. Approx 1500 words

Nightcap

It's late and Shouta is exhausted when he gets home. That shouldn't be remarkable; you've often joked together that he's the sleepiest man alive, but this is different. This isn't just high school teacher weariness. It's deeper than bone-deep; the kind of exhaustion caused by constant battle and life or death worry.

"I can't tell you what's going on," he sighs, his gravelly voice soft as he sits on the edge of the bed and brushes your sleep-tousled hair back from your face. "The more you know, the greater the danger I put you in. I won't let that happen."

It worries you. Of course it does. It's clear this is bigger than anything he's faced before. But all you can do is offer him comfort and a place to just be. Not Eraser Head, not Aizawa Sensei. Just Shouta. 

"Come to bed?" you say, tracing the scar on his elbow. "I need to hold you." 

"I- later. I have papers to grade–"

"I'm sure the kids won't mind."

His throat flexes as he looks away, fighting a different kind of battle; the war between his dedication to his students, and his desire to crawl into your arms and let you make him forget his worries for a while.

“Shouta… please?”

“Alright.” His lips slant into a weary half-smile. “Give me a minute to shower and I’ll join you in bed until you fall ah–” He falters as you wrap your arms around his chest and pull him down beside you, throwing your thigh across his and holding him in place. “-sleep. Good tackle.”

“Thanks.”

“Not a good idea though. I stink,” he mutters as you guide his arm around you, nuzzle into him and inhale; that fresh, earthy scent of being outside in the cold, the tang of sweat, and the unmistakable muskiness of Shouta that tickles the primal part of your brain. 

“You smell so good.”

“Weirdo.”

That's about all the protest you get out of him. He closes his eyes, his chest rising and falling slowly, and falls completely silent.

Minutes tick by as you lay in each other's arms, wondering if he dozed off. It's likely. Shouta has always been able to fall asleep instantly, anywhere, and in any position. And you will have to wake him eventually so he can wash up, but for the time being you simply watch him, appreciating his beauty and–

“You're staring at me, aren't you?”

You hide your smile, pressing your face into his chest. “No…”

He peeks, his momentary glance conveying amusement and despair in equal measure. “You're supposed to be going back to sleep. You have work tomorrow.”

He's right, but hell, you've gone to work on less sleep for worse reasons. And he smells so fucking good. “I'm not tired.”

“Not tired, huh?” he hums, the slight taunt in his tone letting you know he fully knows what's up. “Fine. Guess I'd better tire you out.”

Exhaustion be damned, Shouta always has at least a little energy in reserve for fighting or fucking. He sits up, grabbing a hair tie from the nightstand and holds it between his teeth while he pulls his long black hair up into a ponytail. 

Butterflies surge in the pit of your belly at the sight, not just because of the flex of his biceps or that look in his eye that tells you he's going to make damn sure you sleep heavily tonight, but because whenever he pulls his hair up like that, you know exactly what he plans to do. And no sooner is his hair up and out of his face, than his face is between your legs, wrapping his arms around your thighs while you squirm out of your underwear.

Rough hands slide down your thighs, his palms warm and broad, strong fingers squeezing the fat and muscle and causing your skin to dimple beneath their ravenous touch. 

Every caress you tingle, the warmth of his breath, the hunger in his eyes, the tip of his nose teasing your clit. 

“See,” he says, his voice so low you barely catch it, “you're the one who smells good.”

And then he licks a fat stripe between your pussy lips before slowly, deeply, hungrily making out with your clit. 

The sudden intensity of it leaves you breathless, your hands darting down to grasp at his messily pulled-back hair. He groans, eyes closing, savoring your taste, his tongue hot, wet and so fucking greedy. 

“Fuck, Shouta…There… Don't stop. You're… perfect.”

Any other time he shrugs off praise like the weight of it sits uncomfortably on his shoulders, but not with this. He loves to know he's doing well for you, loves to hear how good he's making you feel. He pauses just for a moment to grin to himself before he flattens his tongue and drags it over your clit. Over and over and over until you buck up against his mouth, demanding more of those deep, hungry kisses he can never deny you.

As he devours you, he can't help but grind his hips against the mattress, deep rumbling moans vibrating through your core and driving you closer to the edge. He licks you relentlessly, insatiably, pressing his thumb into the wet heat of your pussy just so he can feel the way he makes you throb.

And the moment you gasp that you're close, he latches on, licking, sucking, breathing hard and heavy through his nose, unable to tear himself away from your pussy even for air. He isn't satisfied until your essence is coating his throat inside and out. The wet suckling sound of his lips and tongue accompany your cries and shaking breaths, and the unmistakable moans of pleasure that rumble out of him as you cum against his mouth.

He only stops when you tell him, pushing his torso up off the bed and crawling on top of you. In the post-orgasmic haze, the weight and warmth of his body is intoxicating. His hips slot so perfectly between your thighs, his lips coating yours with your slick as he kisses you and grinds his aching cock against you. 

“Keep going?” he asks, a groan vibrating in his throat when you nod. “Mm… Need you so bad.”

His hand slides beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming over your belly to the plush of your breast, lifting his hips for you as you inch down his trousers, taking his boxers down with them. His cock is thick and wet, surrounded by a dense black thatch of hair that thins ever so slightly to trail up over his abdomen and chest. 

It doesn't matter how long you and Shouta have been together, the moment he pushes his cock into you and arches back with a bitten off moan, your fingers are trailing through the hair on his belly, feeling his muscles twitch and shudder beneath your palm. Every damn time. 

The feeling of him inside you makes you breathless, but for him it's heaven. He raises his face to the ceiling, murmuring something incoherent about how wet you are, how good you feel, how much he fucking loves you. His throat leaps as he fights the urge not to cum right then and there. 

You roll your hips for him, trying to drive him over the edge. “Come for me, Shouta. Just let go.”

His jaw clenches as a breathless whisper of a laugh escapes him. It takes him a moment to ground himself before he can rock forward so he's practically laying on top of you. He needs that; the closeness, the intimacy, the reassurance. His lips seek yours, pulling you into a slow and lazy kiss to accompany the languid roll of his hips. 

“Wanna make you feel good first,” he murmurs against your lips between lazy kisses.

“You already did. You always do. I want you to cum.”

“Mm…”

A stray strand of jet black hair falls from his sloppy ponytail, tickling your cheek until you put it back behind his ear. He leans into that gentle touch, stubble rasping against your palm, followed by a quick and desperate kiss. 

He won't last much longer, not tonight. He can hardly keep his eyes open as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck, hot breath tickling your skin. “Sure?”

“Yeah,” you say, wrapping your arms around him and stroking his back as muscles flex beneath your palms. Slowly, deliberately, you undulate beneath him, lazily fucking him from below. 

Shouta's quiet moans are muffled against your shoulder, his hands seeking yours and fingers interlocking when he comes undone. He bares his teeth, gasping your name as his dick pulses inside you. 

Your combined slick leaks onto the mattress beneath your ass, and he'll insist you sleep with him on his side later on. But right now Shouta is completely spent; a dead weight on top of you. If not for the tickle of his breath against your neck or the occasional twitch of his cock as it softens inside you, he'd be totally still. 

“Tired us both out, huh?” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his temple.

And he simply snores in agreement. 

A little drawing warm up

aizawa thee pussy eater.. he folds your body like a pretzel with so much ease that it's impossible to not feel lightheaded. he holds your lower body up against his chest while you try to bury your head into the pillows in order to hide the wanton moans that keep ripping out of you.

he's so serious though, determined – his eyes are glued to your face, observing every sharp breath you take and every quiver of your lip because he needs to know that you're feeling good. you're the only thing on his mind at this very moment, you and your pleasure. the way his cock throbs is irrelevant, the way it leaks pre-cum all over his happy trail a mere secondary thought in the back of his head as he eyes the sheen of sweat covering your body and the way your chest keeps rising and falling. he knows you're close, he can feel it.

he won't stop when you cum, though. he'll push you through that, no matter how much you paw at his hands and no matter how much you try to push his head away. this is his stress relief.