Summary: After A Beautiful Night, Aizawa And His Wife(you) Shower In The Afterglow Together

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Aizawa x wife! Reader blurb

Summary; after a heated night of… love *wink wink*

Note: This will be explicit and intended for mature readers.

MINORS DNI

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Title: “Midnight Heat”

Pairing: Aizawa Shota x Wife!Reader

Setting: Shared apartment, kitchen — post-midnight.

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The clock above the stove blinked 12:43 AM in dim red digits, casting a soft glow over the otherwise dark kitchen. Rain tapped quietly against the windowpane, a steady rhythm that matched the subtle hum of the fridge. The air smelled faintly of leftover tea and warm spices—remnants of a dinner long since cleared.

You stood at the counter, clad only in one of Aizawa’s worn, loose black shirts, the hem barely brushing the tops of your thighs. Your skin was still warm from the shared bed, hair mussed, lips kissed raw from earlier affection that had somehow simmered into this brief pause—for water, for breath, for space.

You hadn’t expected him to follow you in.

But you felt him before you saw him.

The creak of the floorboard by the hallway. The rustle of his low voice as he muttered something unintelligible under his breath. And then the slow, deliberate press of his chest against your back as his arms slid around your waist, the coarse heat of his hands warm against your belly, fingers spreading possessively.

“You trying to tempt me,” he murmured against your neck, lips brushing just beneath your ear, “or just forgot to put on pants?”

You tilted your head slightly, letting him nuzzle into your skin. “You left me too sore for pants.”

A low, gravelly chuckle rumbled in his chest. He kissed your shoulder slowly, like he was tasting the sweat he’d already claimed earlier, tongue grazing that sensitive spot just above your collarbone. His stubble scratched against your skin in the way that always made your knees threaten to buckle.

“You think I’m finished with you tonight?” His voice was a threadbare whisper—low, hoarse, wrecked with desire and something deeper. You didn’t have to look to know the hunger in his eyes. You felt it in the way his hands slid lower, slipping beneath the hem of the shirt, cupping your hips, thumbs pressing dangerously close to where you were already beginning to throb.

“Shota…” you breathed, back arching slightly as his fingers dipped just between your thighs, ghosting over the thin cotton of your panties. The fabric was soaked. He groaned quietly, almost reverently.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Barely touched you and you’re already dripping.”

He spun you slowly, pressing you back against the counter with his body. His hair was messy, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, half-lidded and predatory as he looked you up and down like a man starving. His hands didn’t stop roaming—gripping your ass, sliding up your sides, tugging at the fabric until it bunched at your ribs.

You reached up, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging hard. He growled, catching your mouth in a searing kiss—wet, rough, teeth clashing. His tongue claimed yours like he hadn’t already memorized the taste of your moans.

He hoisted you onto the counter with one swift motion, fingers dragging down your panties and tossing them somewhere behind him. He sank to his knees without a word, spreading your thighs open, eyes locked with yours as he kissed up your inner thigh—slow, teasing, torturous.

Then his mouth was on you—hot, wet, relentless.

You gasped, head falling back against the cabinet, fingers gripping his hair tight. He licked and sucked like a man obsessed, groaning against you as your hips bucked toward his face. His tongue flattened and dragged over your clit in slow, lazy strokes, then flicked with expert precision until your thighs trembled around his head.

“Sh-Shota—fuck—please—” your voice broke as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pinning you in place. You could feel him rutting against your calf, already hard and desperate.

He pulled back just enough to say, “Let me taste you come first, then I’ll fuck you so hard this counter cracks in half.”

And you did—with a cry muffled by the back of your hand, legs quivering around his shoulders, thighs sticky and slick as he held you through the wave, his mouth softening, kissing gently now, reverently.

When he stood, his mouth was glistening, pupils blown wide, expression dark and primal. He reached down, yanked his sweats just low enough to free himself, and lined up without a word.

The head of his cock dragged against your entrance—slow, thick, torturous.

Then he thrust in deep.

You choked on a moan, arms wrapping around his neck as he began to fuck you slow and deep—every roll of his hips deliberate, controlled, overwhelming. The slap of skin against skin echoed in the kitchen, mingled with rain, breath, the soft clink of a mug you accidentally knocked over as he rocked into you harder.

He gritted his teeth, burying his face in your neck.

“You’re mine,” he snarled. “This—every part of you—mine.”

You whimpered in response, nails dragging down his back, legs tightening around his hips.

And he didn’t stop.

Not until your voice was hoarse, your thighs were shaking, and your name was torn from his lips like a promise—laced with love, hunger, and the kind of desperate devotion only Aizawa could express without ever needing to say it aloud.

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Summary: aizawa takes you in the shower!

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Title: “Rinsed in Sin”

Setting: After round one — bathroom, 1:12 AM.

Pairing: Aizawa x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Very explicit content (MDNI), married intimacy, rough sex, oral (f. receiving), praise & possessive language, shower sex, overstimulation.

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The water steamed around you in the dim light of the bathroom, droplets trailing down your already flushed skin. You leaned against the cool tile wall, trying to catch your breath—legs still weak from how Aizawa had wrecked you over the kitchen counter not even thirty minutes ago.

You thought he’d just joined you in the shower to clean up.

But you should’ve known better.

Aizawa didn’t clean.

He claimed.

You felt it first in the way his arms caged you against the wall, one palm pressed just beside your head, the other sliding possessively down your spine to cup your ass. He was already hard again—pressing against your lower back, twitching with need.

“You didn’t think I was done with you,” he said lowly, voice gravel-soft and dangerous in your ear. His breath was hot even with the spray of the shower misting around you. “Not after the way you fell apart on my tongue.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came. His fingers slid between your thighs again, lazily rubbing you like he owned your pleasure—like your body was still his playground.

“You’re soaked again,” he murmured, and you could feel the smile in his voice. “Sweetheart, you never learn.”

You whimpered, hips rocking against his hand.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed without hesitation, face and chest pressing into the tile, arms braced beside your head. He stepped closer behind you, the heat of him searing even through the steam. His cock pressed between your ass cheeks, hard and pulsing.

He bent slightly, dragging his lips along your shoulder. “You gonna take me like this?” he asked. “So wet, so fucked-out, you’ll let me stretch you open again?”

You nodded frantically, words failing you.

He growled.

And then he slid inside.

The stretch was brutal—your walls already sensitive and swollen from the first round. You cried out, forehead pressing into the tile as he bottomed out with a deep, drawn-out groan, his hands gripping your hips so tight you’d have finger-shaped bruises by morning.

“Fuck—always so tight,” he muttered, thrusting slow, deep. “Greedy little pussy’s still sucking me in.”

The water pounded around you as he began to move—hips snapping forward, skin slapping against yours in a slick, sinful rhythm. The steam curled around your bodies like a spell, fogging up the glass, muffling the guttural sounds of his pleasure.

One of his hands slid up, wrapping lightly around your throat—not tight, just enough to make you arch, to own you even deeper. “You like this?” he whispered, voice rough. “My cock in you again, while the water’s running—while you’re so fucked out you can barely stand?”

You whimpered, and he rewarded you with a brutal thrust that had you gasping.

“Use your words,” he growled. “Tell me.”

“Yes—yes, I fucking love it—Shota, please—don’t stop—”

“That’s my girl,” he grunted. “Always begging for more.”

His fingers dropped to your clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles as he pounded into you harder—relentless, merciless, like he needed to make you come again just to feel you clamp down around him, to feel you shake and cry his name.

And you did.

Your orgasm hit like fire—hot and overwhelming, a scream ripped from your throat as your legs trembled and your walls fluttered around his cock. He fucked you through it, groaning, chasing his own high.

When he came, it was with a deep, guttural growl—your name on his lips, hips jerking, hands digging into your waist as he spilled into you.

For a long moment, the only sounds were the rush of the water, your ragged breathing, and the occasional hiss of skin against tile.

Then he wrapped both arms around you, pressing kisses to your shoulder, your neck, the back of your ear.

“Round three?” he murmured.

You laughed breathlessly, head dropping back against him.

“If I’m not walking tomorrow, it’s your fault.”

He smirked against your skin. “Then I’m doing something right.”

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Oh boy was this a doozy!!

Hope you’s enjoyed this as much as i did!!

oye please can u do one of miguel o'hara with an teen reader(15) thats a guarani/mexican girl?,ikno thats highly especific but please

pretty please <:3

Is this platonic or father and daughter 🤨🤨

Coming from my last post what size should my nails be?

Pls follow my backup account y’all!! @monro3-rambles its basically the same as this account but its on my laptop:3