Chapter Text
part 1 (temptation)
He should stop this, Aizawa knows. Dark eyes tracing every pant, memorizing every small whimper and nips at small, red ears. This wasn’t right , he knows. He knows. And yet, and yet —
Hands tracing over ribs, then slowly down to soft stomach and lower and lower , heat pooling deep inside his belly at every moans and keens—
(Because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.)
Aizawa can’t stop. He can’t. He’s far too gone to do so now.
Oh father, for Your name’s sake, he prays, mouthing thin neck and licks and sucks. Deep down he knows it was too late---that he was in too deep to be forgiven but, Pardon my iniquity, for it is great.
He tries anyway, maybe that would help lessen the guilt festering inside him, hand in hand with the lust and affection that only strengthens and flourishes at the sight of a certain soft smile and adoring eyes.
(He was never good at lying to himself, and he won’t start now. But he can hope.
Staring at teary eyes and thrusting into tight heat, he can hope.)
part 2 (genesis)
It starts like this:
Aizawa is a weak, weak man in the face of a certain boy—teen—he is weak and helpless at the way heat pools in his heart at the sight of his smile and adoring eyes; weak in the face of his impure desires and most of all, weak to how his heart thump thump thumps at the mere sound of the teens laughter and moans and whimpers and—
No amount of prayer or confession can save him from this, he knows. He knows and yet, he does not care nor put any real effort to change or stop.
(in the dead of night, in his room, he cannot lie to himself—not in the face of his sins, not in the dead of night where his guilt eats him alive.
And yet, he does not stop. Because Aizawa Shouta is a weak, weak man and he is selfish and he is hungry. And only one boy, one teen can satiate it.
What a shame, he thinks, that his hunger is stronger than his guilt. What a shame.)
“Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial,” Aizawa reads, hands clasped in front of him as he kneels down on the side of his bed. A routine at this point, despite knowing that he was much too filthy to truly deserve to even face the Lord. Much less read the words of his wisdom. He can almost feel the rosary in his hands burning, the cross up above him like a mocking smile. “Because having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him.”
You can have your crown of life, Aizawa thinks, imagining soft smiles and the greenest and most earnest eyes he’s ever seen. Because I have someone better.
Because Midoriya Izuku is life and he gives off the warmth of a small sun and Aizawa cradles him softly into his heart like something to be treasured.
part 3 (the fall)
It starts on a warm, sunny day and just like any other, Father Aizawa Shouta, a priest in his own right, starts the warm Sunday with a sermon.
Except, that Sunday morning was different. It was different because on that warm Sunday morning, Father Aizawa met one young Midoriya Izuku, and on that warm Sunday morning—Aizawa Shouta, a priest in his own right, fell in love.
(Down and down he goes. Willingly falling into the hands of, not the devil, but of the hands of one Midoriya Izuku.
He falls gladly, because as he quickly finds, there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for the young man.)
If Aizawa could pinpoint the exact moment he fell he would remember—
“Good morning, Father.” Midoriya said, a smile on his lips and bright green eyes trained on him and him alone.
It was when:
Midoriya Izuku had looked at him with emerald eyes and an adoring smile on his face. Open and trusting and terribly,
terribly
tempting.
And like a devout follower he is, Aizawa fell on his knees and worshipped.
(Falling and falling, down and down he goes. Willingly, lovingly, dutifully falling.)
part 4 (devouring)
It’s hard to say no, Aizawa thinks, lightly touching quivering thighs splayed out in front of him, when he looks at him like that .
Like he wants to be devoured, like he wants to be eaten and spit out and do it again and again until there is nothing of him to be eaten anymore. And then some.
“Beautiful,” He murmurs, nipping the soft inner thighs, sucking and licking and biting—because who was he to deny the wants of his Lord? At the feeling of warm heat tightening around him, he bites harder. Absolutely magnificent, he thinks, mind half delirious with lust and the smug feeling at seeing the marked body of him—his marks on his Lord’s skin.
But before he can do anymore, before Aizawa can partake in the delicious sight before him—before sinking even deeper into Izuku , he says, “Thank you for the food.” because his god before him is a meal to be savoured, and Aizawa will dutifully—gladly—do so. Because, he quickly finds, there is nothing he wouldn’t do for him.
Thank you for the food, Aizawa thinks in bliss, before sinfully devours all Izuku has to give and more.
(Aizawa is a hungry, hungry man. His heart is a gaping maw waiting to be fed, waiting to devour—and after all his years trying to keep it hidden, trying to ignore it—he finds one Midorya Izuku, his salvation and downfall all rolled into one.
His teeth ache to bite, and so he does. His hands itch to take and take, and so he does. His heart craves to worship, and so he does.
He knows with Izuku, he will never be full---will always be empty. But he finds that he doesn’t care—he was never meant to be filled, anyway; was never meant to feel not full.
And with Izuku—with his god and more—he surrenders himself to him and he knows, deep inside, carved into his flesh and deep in his soul—he will never want to be full, not if it meant never again feeling hunger for this one, precious, person of his.
Because that would mean losing the feeling of loving the green haired teen. And Aizawa Shouta, a priest in his own right, would rather die than walk away from his god.)
part 5 (arriving)
Father Aizawa, sitting on the other side of the confession box, swallows a blissful sigh that threatens to come up his throat. Instead, he clears his throat, his palm patting the soft hair in between his thighs and tries not to come.
“Father?” The voice on the other side from beyond the thick veil, asks, hesitant and confused. A married man who confessed to cheating on his wife, Aizawa remembers, if only because he was a repeat customer, always saying he’ll change, that he’ll be more faithful and honest and then turning up the same day every week to confess about a different woman he slept with yet again.
Despicable man, Aizawa can’t help but think, caressing Izuku's chin, wiping stray saliva from keeping his mouth open around his cock and fondly looks at wide, teary eyes looking up at him. Wonderful , he wants to say, barely keeping his hips still from bucking inside warm, wet heat. So, so wonderful. My god is perfect. You are perfect.
Alas, now was not the time just yet. Running his thumb across freckled cheeks, instead he says words he doesn’t mean, still keeping his gaze at the beautiful sight before him. “For as long as you repent and pray, the Lord will forgive you always.”
And whatever the man says next is lost on Aizawa because in that exact moment, Izuku takes and takes , until he could feel the back of the teens throat, until Izuku’s nose brushes against his pubic hair and all the priest could think and feel was his cock being engulfed in wet heat.
Instantly, his mind blanks, pleasure and pure need filling; he wants to move and not being able to is almost painful.
“Thank you for listening as always, Father.” He thinks he hears the man say, but not---can’t---replying; not even moving until he hears fading footsteps and the soft click of the confession box closing until he’s sure that they were alone just as Aizawa wanted from the start.
With one hand on a death grip at the edge of his seat, the priest gives a shuddering sigh as the other tugs at Izuku’s hair, delighting at the small whine the teen gives.
“You,” He says, voice tight with need and something he couldn’t name, “will be the death of me.”
At that, Izuku only swallows and gently scrapes his teeth at his sides. Fuck, he thinks. “Fuck.” He says, breathless and dizzy. “ Fuck .”
“Izuku---my god,” Aizawa groans, roughly tugging his hair to hurry the fuck up . Izuku only blinks up at him, twirling his tongue around his cock and gives a filthy---and arousing---slurp. He growls, or tries to, instead it comes out desperate, embarrassingly needy, even. “Stop--- teasing me.”
He deserves this, he knows. For all the teasing Aizawa did the night before---he deserves this, really. Still--- still ---my god, please . He thinks, panting and groaning at the rough suck of his cock; the humming at the back of Izuku’s throat makes him shudder and breath hitch. Mercy.
In the end, he comes inside Izuku’s mouth; hand clenched tight around green hair, and without once breaking eye contact, the minx swallows without a word. That only fans the heat inside the priest's belly---still not full and wholly unsatiated; and by the small, much too wide to be innocent, smile (swollen and wet with saliva and Aizawa’s cum, and god is that hot )---Izuku knows that, too.
Just for that, and because he couldn’t help himself, Aizawa tugs Izuku’s head back and surges to kiss swollen lips, rough and needy and desperate---he is starving and by the enthusiastic way Izuku kisses back, all but melting against Aizawa, his arms wrapping around his neck to get the kiss deeper , the teen is all too happy to be eaten alive by him.
Nipping cute, soft lips and twirling their tongues together, Aizawa thinks, good. Leaning back to have Izuku sit on his lap, his own grasping around thin waist hard enough to bruise---he thinks that he’s all too happy to fill his god up in other places, too.
It wouldn’t be good to be the only one full, no?