Ugh. Did This On My Laptop. 💻 Im Kinda Obsessed With Him Rnnnn

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 🤨🤨

every time dante shows his little fangs I feel like a victorian man seeing a woman show her bare ankles

Hii I only discovered you recently but I'm in awe of your writing skills. Can i please request sick reader getting taken care of by Aizawa.

Ofc my minion!! I hope you enjoy this! And ty for loving my writing ✍️ onto the story!

Summary; aizawa takes care of sick reader

Warning; not much, talk of a cold

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Title: Blankets and Eye Drops

It started with a tickle in your throat. Nothing major—just a scratchy feeling you waved off with a sip of tea and a mental note to get more rest. But by the next morning, it hit you like a train. Stuffy nose, pounding head, and a body that refused to move.

Wrapped in three blankets and still shivering, you barely registered the sound of keys in the lock until the door creaked open.

“(Y/N)?” Aizawa’s voice drifted through the apartment, soft and rough in that familiar way that usually made your heart flutter. Today, it just made you groan.

“I’m dying,” you croaked from the couch.

He appeared in the doorway, hair tied back in a loose bun, scarf looped casually around his neck. His eyes swept over you—your red nose, the mountain of tissues, the lopsided mug on the coffee table.

“You’ve got a cold,” he deadpanned, though the crease in his brow betrayed his concern. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought it’d go away…” you sniffled, voice thick. “Then it didn’t.”

With a sigh, he dropped his bag by the door and crossed the room, kneeling beside the couch. One rough hand pressed gently to your forehead, and you leaned into the warmth instinctively.

“You’re burning up,” he muttered, thumb brushing your cheek. “You should’ve called me. I would’ve brought you medicine.”

“You’re busy—”

“I’m never too busy for you.”

The words made your chest ache in a different way. You sniffled again, wiping your nose on your sleeve, and he gave you that unimpressed look that meant stop being stubborn.

“I’ll make you some real tea,” he said, standing and heading toward the kitchen. “And soup. You need fluids and rest.”

You watched him shuffle around in his cozy home clothes, clearly more used to patching up bleeding heroes than sniffling sick partners. But still—he moved with quiet care, boiling water, rummaging through cupboards, even warming up the blanket in the dryer before tucking it back around you.

Soon, you were surrounded by the scent of miso soup and green tea, your body melting into the heat and your heart fluttering as Aizawa perched on the arm of the couch, gently carding his fingers through your hair.

“You look like a swamp goblin,” he said affectionately, his lips tugging into the ghost of a smirk.

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re still cute, though.”

You smiled, eyes slipping closed as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. “Sleep, (Y/N). I’ll be right here.”

And with his hand in yours and the quiet rhythm of his breathing beside you, the pounding in your head seemed to dull, just a little.

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Hope you enjoyed!! I loved writing this!!!!!! Ugh such a cute request

Hey y’all!! Im not gonna be posting much because i got a few busy days coming up but ill try to get a part 2 of the tsukishima x reader fics upcoming!!

hey guys!!! this is my second account! i ramble, do reqests!

Yes follow!!

Hey y’all idk if my request box is working. Can someone send in like a ‘hi’ or smt😭

Tsukishima x reader

Summary: I can’t make one up rn…

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Title: “Echoes of Summer” – Part 1

The wind carried the scent of saltwater and sun-warmed pavement as you stood in front of the Tsukishima family’s familiar house, a weather-worn duffel bag slung over your shoulder. Everything looked smaller now—like the years had stretched you out and shrunk the world behind you.

You hadn’t planned to come back. Not really. But when your parents decided to renovate the old house and begged you to house-sit for the summer, something inside you said yes before your brain could make excuses.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was a whisper of nostalgia. Or maybe, it was the memory of him.

Tsukishima Kei.

Your childhood best friend. The kid with glasses too big for his face and a mouth full of sarcasm that somehow made you laugh more than cry—most of the time. The last time you saw him, it was your second year of high school. You had both changed, and something broke between you that neither of you had the guts to fix.

You told yourself it didn’t matter anymore.

Until now.

You were dragging your suitcase up the narrow sidewalk when a voice, unmistakably dry and too cool for its own good, cut through the early summer air.

“…Seriously? You’re actually back?”

You turned around slowly. There he was, arms crossed, posture lazy but still tall enough to make your heart sink just a little. Tsukishima looked older, sharper—still wearing that perpetual scowl that had once hidden all his softest parts.

“Hello to you too, Kei,” you said, tossing him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

He blinked. “Didn’t think you’d show your face here again.”

“Missed me that much, huh?” you teased, trying to pretend your heart wasn’t rattling like a broken metronome.

He clicked his tongue and looked away, but not before you caught the faint twitch of his lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Just surprised.”

You swallowed a laugh and walked past him, shoulder brushing his as you muttered, “Still rude, I see.”

“Still nosy,” he muttered back.

And just like that, it was like no time had passed at all. Except it had. And deep down, you both knew it.

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Part 2 will be coming soon!!!

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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Want a continuation of this chat?! Idk if this was good- I THOUGHT IT WAS

I will take requests!

I’m sorry what😭

Why is he so zesty

I am back at writing!!! Please send send SEND THOSE REQUESTS IN