so i guess we're doin this, idk how to do a thread so ... if its messed up idk what to tell you
uh cw for: shinzawa, sex pollen but like the least dubcon sex pollen imaginable, *gasp* THEY USED TO BE STUDENT/TEACHER???

set 10 yrs in the future. we're all horny here, right?

Shinsou isn’t exactly sure how he gets home after the fight, only that he does.
He stumbles through his front door, tears off his mask and collapses against the wall, panting and itchy and hot. He feels like he just ran a fucking marathon. He’s covered in sweat.

Nothing helps: he downs half a gallon of ice water, he tears off all his clothes, takes a cold shower. The water makes him feel sick, his clothes are stuck to his body with sweat and taking them off leaves him feeling sticky and exposed and awful.

The shower is so cold it /hurts, and still when he gets out there’s a feverish pink flush on his skin.
Maybe he’s just getting sick.
Really sick. He should call his agency.

Then he remembers the fucking villain’s /face at the end of the fight, when Shinsou had put the cuffs on her and even through his brainwashing she had given him this tiny little smirk when his fingers had touched her bare skin.

Shit. Shit /fuck, did she poison him? Someone would have known that, right? Someone would have called him to warn -
Shinsou’s phone rings.

He’s sitting on the floor of his bedroom in nothing but a towel, propped up against his bed because everything is spinning and he can’t lay down, still sweating even with all the windows thrown open in January, hair dripping freezing cold water onto his shoulders and neck.

He’s really sick. He really needs to answer the phone.
He barely looks at who’s calling.
“Yeah.”

There’s an exhausted, put-upon sigh on the other end that has Shinsou sitting up straight, and then a low, tired voice says, “Kid, you can’t just /leave an active crime scene, shit.”

The sound of Sensei’s voice has Shinsou physically /shuddering in relief.
“Sorry, Sensei.”
“I wa- we were worried about you.”
Shinsou lays his head back against the side of the bed.
“Sorry, Sensei.”

There’s the low murmur of voices on the other end, like Sensei’s talking to someone, and then another long sigh that for some reason makes Shinsou smile, and Sensei says, “Shit.”
Shinsou closes his eyes. It’ll be fine, Sensei will take care of it.

Apropos of nothing Shinsou mutters, “I don’t feel so hot, Sensei.”
“Shit.”
Shinsou hears himself huff a hysterical little laugh. “Actually, I do. Feel hot. Think I got a fever or somethin’.”

He hears Sensei speak to someone else, away from the phone: “Yeah, no, I got it, thanks.”
Then, after another beat, “Kid?”
Again, Shinsou shudders. He feels like it’s getting worse.
“Yeah, I’m uh. I’m still here, Sensei. You gotta stop callin’ me that.”

“Listen, you.... you might have got uh. Hit with a quirk, tonight.”
“Yeah, gathered that.”
There’s a shuffling sound, and then Sensei’s voice is much softer and his surroundings are very quiet, like he’s in his car or his office.

It feels - close. Shinsou feels a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck.
Why is he so fucking /hot -
“So, look, about the quirk -”
“Feels worse since I started talkin’ to you, Sensei.”

“It - fuck.”
Shinsou’s eyes snap open. He’s never heard Sensei curse like that. Something about the tone of his voice has Shinsou taking a deep, shaking breath, scrubbing a hand over his burning face. God, he’s so hot. His hands are shaking.

Sensei’s voice is very quiet when he speaks next.
“It’s uh, it’s a - she hit you with a lust quirk, Shinsou.”
Oh. Yeah, that would explain the burning fever. And the exceptionally hard dick which somehow Shinsou’s just noticing, how did he not notice that before?

“Oh.”
“Happened when you touched her skin, kiddo.”
Shinsou inexplicably shudders again, and it’s - not unpleasant. “Oh.”
“It’s - these things aren’t - they aren’t all that uncommon, it’s, it’s part of the work, you know.”

Shinsou runs a hand through his wet hair. It’s feeezing, it’s actually stiff with ice. He hadn’t even noticed - he’d already forgotten he opened the windows. He’s still so fucking hot.
He struggles to think about this rationally, to look at the whole situation.

“Am I gonna - hurt someone? What do I do?”
Everything suddenly gets thrown into sharp, terrifying focus for a second: what if he hurts someone, what if this gets worse and he can’t control himself, why the fuck didn’t he get checked out by the medic before he came home and

fuck, he’s going to make himself /sick with the windows open like this, it’s in the single digits outside, his hair is fucking icing over -

He scrambles up and closes the windows, panic leaking into his voice when he says, “Sensei. What do I - what do I do.”

“Shinsou, /calm down/.”
He can’t really help it: it’s the panic, and the fever, and Sensei’s voice is so solid - and - that other thing Shinsou tries really hard not to think about -
He sighs.
He /sighs into the phone, slides onto the floor again with his back to the wall.

Sensei either doesn’t hear, or pretends not to. His voice is still very deliberately steady, like it used to get back in school when he was teaching Shinsou how to control his breathing.

“It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine, you’re not gonna hurt anyone.”
Shinsou’s voice is sort of breathless when he says, “Okay.”

Sensei misinterprets his tone of voice and says in a halting, awkward sort of voice, “Look, Shin, she’s registered and we know how her quirk works, it’s not gonna make you hurt anyone, alright? It’s more like an amplifier, you gotta want - someone first, it just -”

He stops very suddenly, voice cutting off so abruptly that Shinsou thinks for a second that he’s hung up.
The realization hits him at the same time it seems to hit Sensei.
He remembers himself stupidly, fucking recklessly saying /Feels worse since I started talkin’ to you/.

Shit on a motherfucking stick.
Fuck.
Like an idiot, Shinsou hears himself say, “Shit.”
Sensei is very, very quiet on the other end of the phone, but he doesn’t hang up.

They stay like that for some amount of time, and every second Shinsou feels himself getting worse, and then he hears Sensei take a long, shaking breath and he suddenly feels like he is on /fire. It burns. He can’t stand it.

His brain plays the little hitch in Sensei’s breath over and over and /over again, until he feels like he’s insane, like he’s delirious, like if he doesn’t come he’s going to /die.
His voice is slurred and quiet when he says, “Sensei, it - it’s worse.”

On the other end of the line, Sensei says nothing. Shinsou realizes he’s shaking.
“I’m, uh. How. Long,” he manages, voice hoarse. He feels half an inch from insanity.

After another long stretch of silence, Sensei’s voice is exhausted and darker than Shinsou’s ever heard it when he says, “I can’t talk about this, Shinsou.”

Wait. What?

Shinsou squeezes his eyes shut, says, “I meant how - long does this quirk last.” His brain is too hot, keeps hyperfocusing on Sensei’s voice through the phone, so what he’s actually /said takes a second to really sink in. “Wait, what did you think I was asking?”

Sensei curses under his breath and it’s really all Shinsou can do in the world to keep his hands off his fucking cock. It still feels - like a line he can’t cross.

He ignores Shinsou’s second question and says, “Shouldn’t last more than 8 hours, kid, look you should - call someone.”
“/You called me.”

“No, fuck, I mean - you know. Kendo?”
Shinsou’s dick jumps and he shakes his head.
“We don’t talk anymore.” She probably still hates his guts.

That helps a little, actually, clears Shinsou’s head some. For a second.

Then Sensei says, “Kaminari?”
God, Denki.
Shinsou thinks briefly of Denki and his long blonde eyelashes, flashing him that smile, that /fucking smile, thinks of the way he can get Shinsou’s cock so far down his throat that Shinsou can /see it in there,

thinks of the specific little noise he makes when Shinsou eats his ass, like he’s going to cry, thinks of his fucking eyes and his lips and his -

Not to mention that Sensei hasn’t mentioned Denki to him in months, maybe years, since Shinsou and Denki moved in together and Sensei got all weird about it -
/Jealous, says the voice Shinsou always ignores, /He’s jealous -

- and hearing Sensei say Denki’s name in that voice sends a sweeping, all-over shiver through him, so hard he hears his own breath hitch with it.
Shinsou’s stupid cock jerks so hard it actually starts to /hurt. He balls his free hand into a fist so tight his knuckles creak.

“/Fuck, fuck. Jesus fuck, he’s out of town. God, that made it worse.”
Sensei fucking laughs at him, a soft short little huff under his breath, and for some reason /that makes it worse too. Shinsou feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff.

He doesn’t know how much time passes. They just sit there in silence. Shinsou can feel his own temperature rising by degrees. He can hear Sensei breathing on the other end of the phone, too fast.

Finally, his feverish brain provides him with an image of Sensei with the phone pressed to his ear, listening to Shinsou pant into the receiver, and a wave of dizzy heat sweeps through him.

He whispers, “Sensei?”
No response.
Shinsou licks his lips. He wonders if Sensei can hear him do it. “Why haven’t you hung up the phone?”
Nothing, and then a halting, quiet breath, and Sensei’s low, low voice saying, “I don’t know.”

That’s all it takes to snap Shinsou’s fevered, overheated mind like an old rubber band.
It eats him alive, the sudden rush of heat. It feels like a fucking wildfire. Everything in his entire body is suddenly screaming /touch me, touch me, touch me -

He can’t help it. He wraps a hand around himself and nearly /sobs with the relief of it. The sound he makes is unmistakable.
Sensei doesn’t hang up the phone.

Shinsou squeezes his fingers around his cock and hisses, “/Sensei-”
“Kid,” Sensei says, voice almost - desperate. Warning.

Shinsou ignores him and asks the question he hadn’t meant to ask earlier. This time he means to.
/Touch me, touch me fucking touch me -
“How long, Aizawa-Sensei?”

Sensei doesn’t say anything, but it doesn’t matter. Shinsou recognizes his silence. His cock jumps in his hand and he hisses again, whimpers straight into the phone, and Sensei still doesn’t hang up.

Every second Shinsou feels his skin getting hotter, feels his cock get impossibly harder. He starts to slur his words, feeling drunk. He’s so dizzy.
“First time for me was -”
“Shinsou.”

“Nineteenth birthday,” Shinsou murmurs. His voice is slower, now. Hoarse and quiet.
It’s hard to speak, but also hard not to. He feels compelled to, like he’s too tired not to tell Sensei everything. “Just a dream, woke up all covered in-”
“/Don’t.”

He remembers the dream with an awful, crushing clarity, his fevered mind showing him things that ruin him: Sensei’s hand on Shinsou's jaw, his eyes dark and intent on Shinsou’s mouth. Sensei’s neck, his fingers, his incongruously delicate wrists. His eyes. God, his fucking eyes.

It’s been nearly seven /years and he hasn’t been able to forget a single detail of that dream.
Shinsou starts jerking himself off without really realizing it, like an involuntary reflex, one he is powerless to stop. Like a heartbeat.

Fuck, he can feel his heartbeat in his cock, it’s so /hot, everything in him aches. He hasn’t allowed himself this fully-formed thought in almost a whole fucking decade.

The weight of it on him now is too much. He’s too hot to even come. His body doesn’t make sense to him anymore. Everything feels like too much and everything feels like not enough.

“Shit, shit-”
“/Stop it.”
Sensei’s voice is sharp now, rings with the kind of unarguable authority Shinsou has always been unable to ignore, and all it does is fuel the fire under Shinsou’s skin. He wants to scream.

Instead he lets go of his last shred of shame and control and lets out a whiny, high-pitched moan straight into the phone.
Something on the other line creaks, like Sensei is gripping something very hard.

“/Oh my god, Sensei, it /hurts.”
A long, measured breath. Then another one. “I know.”
“Nothing /helps,” Shinsou sighs, fingers speeding up on his cock almost without him noticing. God, it’s so fucking wet now, when had that happened?
“I know.”

A bead of sweat rolls down Shinsou’s temple, disappears into the damp hair behind his ear. He feels it so acutely it actually makes his breath stutter.

He hardly even notices his cock, or how it’s leaking all over his fingers, or how fast his fist is working over it. It’s too hard for his brain to focus on it.

Everything’s all just - a sticky, too-hot jumble of sensation. The only thing Shinsou can isolate is Sensei’s voice, and the acute, /searing pleasure it gives him.
He hardly recognizes his own voice when he whispers, “I -I need you, Sensei.”

There it is.
Ten years and he’s never said that. He can feel the words in his chest, after he says them. Burning him.

Sensei takes another breath, the same kind he taught Shinsou to take to endure enormous pain.
Then:
“I know.”

/Touch me fucking touch me fuck fucking touch me touch me -
Shinsou’s mind is on fire. He feels like a fucking animal. He doesn’t know he’s whispering until Sensei makes a low, soft whining sound. Like a dog.
Shinsou hears himself saying, “Touch me, touch me, fucking -”

Sensei makes that fucking sound again, cut-off like he’s trying to stop, and then in a voice that sounds completely devastated and so low it actually rattles the phone against Shinsou’s ear, Sensei says, “/Hitoshi.”

Shinsou feels it like a slap to the face. He comes /immediately, the force of it fucking shocking him. It ruins him. It’s so /much, so overwhelming, that it hardly even registers as pleasure. He has no idea what sort of noise he makes.

There’s maybe four or five seconds when Shinsou has his mind back, and then that suffocating haze of sensation and heat smothers it again.
“Fuck,” Shinsou hears himself whining. He starts to /cry. If he had the capacity to feel shame it would be crushing him now. “It’s- still-”

“8 hours, kiddo.”
Shinsou, horribly and painfully, comes /again at the easy, almost condescending affection in the name. So soon after the first one it’s more of a convulsion than an orgasm. It feels so good it hurts. Or it hurts so much it feels good, it’s hard to tell which.

He makes an awful, wrenched-out-of-him sound when he does it. It sounds like a whine and a sob and a moan all at once.
There are tears on his face, but they’re indistinguishable from the sweat. He feels fucking delirious.

He thinks about what Sensei would do with him if he walked into Shinsou’s house and found him like this, and a jolt of pleasure like an electric shock grabs him by the base of his spine.

He wants Sensei to pick him up off the floor and put him exactly how he wants him and fuck him until he blacks out. He wants Sensei’s hands on him when he’s insane with it like this, covered in tears and sweat and come and fucking delirious with pleasure, taking -

taking /advantage of him, the thought makes his fucking vision go dark. He wants Sensei to fuck him to the edge of consciousness. He wants Sensei to do anything he wants to him.
Anything. God, please, /anything.

He’s talking out loud, and Sensei makes a pained hissing noise into the phone and curses viciously under his breath.
Sensei whispers, with an astounding amount of urgency, “/Stop it.”

“I trust you,” Shinsou says, and somehow it feels like the filthiest thing he’s ever said to anyone. A sort of rush goes through him when he says it, like a high hitting him. His hand on his cock feels like it gets several degrees hotter.

“You shouldn’t,” Sensei says, and there’s something in it that Shinsou doesn’t recognize; he identifies it as /violence at the same time Sensei speaks again.
“You really shouldn’t, Hitoshi.”

Shinsou shivers so hard his teeth rattle. He physically can’t stand to hear Sensei say his name. He comes again and hardly even notices. His mind is a haze of red; heat and overstimulation and pleasure and pain, all of it impossible to untangle.

Just the memory, just the /thought of Sensei saying his name is enough to make him whine into the receiver again. God, he sounds like Denki. He sounds like a goddamn whore.

He’s sure that if he could order his thoughts he’d be so embarrassed he’d never be able to look Sensei in the eye ever again, but as it stands now he – he wants to see him so badly it /hurts, it genuinely hurts.

Profoundly. It’s sharp, under his ribs like a heartache. He can hardly breathe for it. He takes his hands off his aching cock with a small, pathetic sound, protest and relief all mixed up in his body.

He’s too hot, it hurts to touch himself, he doesn’t know how many times he’s fucking come already but it feels – it’s too much. He’s just too hot.

But as soon as he stops, not touching it is worse. He can /feel the quirk in his blood, like fire, like a red haze of insanity and animal instinct and desperation, and he – he can’t just /leave his hands here at his sides.

“I can’t, Sensei, I can’t – I don’t – I’m – fuck, /fuck, fucking /shit –”

Sensei seems to hear the actual honest frustration in Shinsou’s words and his voice goes from that unbearable dark thing to something more familiar, something almost panicked. Concern.
“Hitoshi?”

Shinsou grits his teeth. His awful, evil cock drools all over itself again. Goddamn Sensei. Goddamn him. Calling him that, using that voice, the one that says /It’s okay, I’ll take care of it, I’ll take care of you/-

No one fucking takes care of him. No one except –
Shinsou’s voice cracks when he says, “Sensei. /Please. Fuck.”
He doesn’t know what he’s asking for. He doesn’t know what to do.

This time the concern seems to override whatever battle Sensei had clearly been fighting with himself, because he says immediately, voice so soft Shinsou can almost feel it like a touch, “It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to stop.”

[[one sec guys I gotta go hit this bong real quick]]

Jesus suffering Christ.
Shinsou didn’t realize what it would /do to him: hearing Sensei actually admit that he knew Shinsou was sitting there fucking his own fist and listening to him breathe into the phone was bad enough, but god, hearing him fucking /encouraging it/ –

Shinsou wraps one hand very gingerly around his horrible cock, still so stubbornly hard, so hard he can feel every beat of his heart in it, and very tentatively uses his other hand to touch his asshole. He can feel his heartbeat in that too.

Jesus, there’s come /everywhere. His whole lap is a soaked mess, and it’s all over his chest and his hands too, some all the way up on his chin, and the quirk makes it so easy to /feel it, his fingers are so slippery with it and holy fucking shit it’s so /wet, he’s so fucking –

“Jesus /Christ, kid, do you always talk like this?”
Whoops.
Shinsou huffs a hysterical laugh, feels the way it makes his body jerk, feels it in the finger currently circling his hole all covered in come –

This time Sensei sounds like his hand is over his mouth when he says, “Oh my god.”
Is he still talking out loud?
“Y-” Sensei clears his throat, but his voice is still hoarse when he continues, “Yeah, you’re. Yeah.”

Shinsou pushes the tip of one finger inside and hears himself sigh. He focuses on the little noises Sensei’s making over the phone: tiny little sounds of frustration and /pain, deep grounding breaths that seem to be failing. It helps. Just a little, but it helps.

It helps enough that Shinsou stops to climb shakily onto his bed, leaves his towel on the floor and starts rooting through his bedside table for Denki’s toys. The phone’s jammed between his ear and his shoulder, receiver too close to his mouth.

“You know, I do trust you, I’ve always trusted you, always, Sensei, /always -”
Shinsou’s voice is feverish even to his own ears as he starts whispering into the phone, rifling through the drawer for something big enough to make him stop burning up from the inside.

There’s still come all over him, but it’s half-dry and sticky now and won’t work, so Shinsou drops the phone and roots around in the drawer with shaking hands.

He’s muttering /Help me, please, Sensei it hurts, please help me/ under his breath the whole time, when he finally finds the lube he’s still muttering it, and when he gracelessly upends the fucking bottle over Denki’s dildo and all over the bed too, he’s still muttering it.

He keeps muttering it when he gets on his knees and tries to just shove the whole thing inside himself, but he’s never done it with something this big before and he’s wound so tight he thinks he’s going to /snap and it /won’t fit it hurts -

“‘Toshi.”
Sensei’s voice hardly sounds like him. It’s all slurred and low and dark, brimming with this sort of unnamable violent possession that sets Shinsou’s blood on /fire. He sounds - god, he sounds hot as fuck.

Sensei huffs a laugh and Shinsou realizes sort of dimly that he’s still saying all of this aloud. Woops. Yeah, he’ll feel embarrassed once his body is capable of feeling or processing anything besides /More harder hotter faster deeper please fuck me fuck me/.

He says that too, and the sound Sensei makes -
“Jesus. ‘Tosh. Jesus.”
It makes Shinsou dizzy, the /fuck me/ part, so he says it again, revels in the way it makes his whole body flush a dark, too-hot red.
“Fuck me. Please. Fuck, please, Sensei, fuck me.”

The sound Sensei makes in response to that is one that Shinsou has never heard from a person before. It manages to sound hopeless and high and wavery and possessive all at once. He sounds /ruined. He sounds completely undone.

The wave of satisfaction that leaks into Shinsou’s chest at that sound starts out warm and sticky under his ribs and spreads through his whole body, and then a wave of crushing, mind-blanking heat goes through him and the rest of the dildo just sinks in, easy as anything.

“What the fuck is this quirk,” Shinsou mumbles dazedly, letting the dildo settle inside of him and trying to sort the haze of his mind into some sort of opinion about it.
He likes it.

God, wow he. He really. He really likes it. He replays the sound Sensei had made before, that completely ruined sound, and he eases the dildo out of himself and back in again, and it’s slow and dizzying and sticky and completely different than what he was doing before.

It’s so hard to think like this.
Sensei says absolutely nothing in response. He’s completely silent.
Shinsou kind of .... loses himself.

Time gets folded sideways.
Everything is too hot to think about, Shinsou /hurts but it feels so /good, and he can’t stop fucking the toy into himself in these halting, stuttering little shallow thrusts and his throat is raw from the way he’s panting,

from the sounds he’s making and he can’t even hear them, and he /never makes sounds like this, he’s soaking the sheets in sweat and everything is spinning, a minute feels like an hour and an hour feels like barely a second.

It takes some indeterminate amount of time for Shinsou to float back to an awareness of his surroundings enough to notice that Sensei still hasn’t said anything, and that the phone’s laying next to him, dead.

He should have noticed it before, he should have known, because Sensei’s voice went away, where did it go, he wants it back, he wants to hear that little hitch in Sensei’s breath, god he wants to hear it again /so bad -
There’s a pounding at his front door.

Shinsou barely hears it over the ringing in his ears, the distant-ocean rush of blood thundering through his head, his fingertips, his cock.
Oh, shit, his /cock. Everything’s so fucking hot he sort of forgot it was even there.

He hasn’t touched it in ... how long has it been? An hour? Two?
Ten minutes?
And who the fuck is at the fucking /door?

The pounding stops, then there’s a moment of silence where Shinsou kind of loses himself again, and then /Sensei’s fucking voice/ says, “Tosh, open the door.”

Shinsou shakes his head. He can’t. He can’t even take the toy out of his ass, he certainly can’t walk all the way across his apartment.
Sensei has carried him to this door after villain bullshit /countless times, he /knows Shinsou keeps a key under his welcome mat,

god, just come inside, fuck, just fucking /come in -
Shinsou’s whispering it, but not loud enough for Sensei to hear. He’s afraid if he tries to speak any louder than this he’ll really scream, like he’s wanted to all night.

So he just keeps whispering to himself, on his knees on his bed fucking himself stupid, sweating and completely covered in come and limp and exhausted and desperate and /still so fucking hard, he keeps whispering /Come inside, come inside, come on, come on/.

Finally, Sensei says, “Look, kid, your phone -just -you’re okay, right? I just need to. I’m uh.”
/Come on come on please just come in fucking open the door fuck, fuck/-
Shinsou’s whispering is getting all high pitched now, like Denki’s does when Shinsou fucks him.

“I’m just gonna - I’m coming in, alright?”
Shinsou actually collapses onto the bed, elbows giving out in a relief and anticipation so stark that it actually frightens him.

His whole body stops working. He just stays there, panting and drooling onto the pillow, dildo sticking out of his ass. God, the way he must fucking look.

The door opens and the rush of heat that goes through Shinsou at the thought of Sensei walking into his house, of Sensei seeing him like this, of Sensei /touching him like this makes him shudder violently on the bed.

Sensei’s voice is so much closer, and Shinsou can hear it getting closer as he steps further into the apartment and says, “Kiddo, I just wanna know you’re alive, alright? I can leave as soon as-”

He cuts off and there’s a crack at Shinsou’s bedroom door. Shinsou turns, heart beating so fast it feels like he might die /right now, cock still so impossibly hard it’s practically purple. Fucking dildo still in his ass.

Sensei’s just. Standing there in the doorway. Gripping it so hard he’s actually broken part of the molding. His hair is in complete fucking disarray, his T-shirt is torn at the collar and there’s a pink flush on his throat, down towards his chest. His eyes are impossible.

Shinsou turns toward him and the motion moves the toy just enough, and he shivers violently, visibly, actually /gasps right in front of Sensei’s face, god, Jesus Christ this is -

“Sensei,” he says, voice somehow more and less steady now that Sensei’s actually /standing in front of him/, “Don’t leave.”
Sensei actually sways in the doorway like he’s going to pass out. He swallows very hard. Shinsou watches him do it and says, “I don’t want you to leave.”

There’s a moment where Sensei’s face is so fucking astonished and tender that it makes Shinsou want to cry, and then his eyes go all over Shinsou- naked, wet, deliriously hot, fucking himself wide open - and it’s like a cloud passing over them. Shinsou’s never seen them so dark.

Sensei's knuckles are white against the doorframe. There’s a visible crack in the wood under his fingers.

Shinsou’s almost entirely animal instinct at this point, so his quirk is right there waiting for him like a reflex and he feels the power of it before he even speaks, dangerously uncontrolled. Stronger than he can ever remember it being.

He doesn’t even ask Sensei a question. He just breathes, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Sensei answers immediately, “I want you.”

Shinsou almost fucking comes just hearing it. He’s dangerously close and he doesn’t have a hand on himself. The toy isn’t even inside him all the way.

Sensei blinks, gives Shinsou an exasperated look and rumbles, “Cheating.” But he leans in just a little, just a little bit closer to where Shinsou’s losing his mind on the bed.

Shinsou shakes his head and uses his quirk /again when he says, “Don’t care, keep going.”
Sensei answers, again, so fast that Shinsou knows this must have already been at the very front of his mind.

“Pretty,” Sensei says, voice soft and sort of blank and hair-raising, “Pretty, you’re always so fucking pretty, I wanna touch you so bad, even your /asshole is pretty, Toshi, god it looks so good like this I wanna touch it I wanna touch it I wanna- ”

Shinsou cuts his quirk off and whispers, barely audible, “Fuck.”
Sensei blinks again, but instead of giving Shinsou another exasperated look he takes two steps into the bedroom, rolling up his /fucking sleeves.

“Cheated twice,” Sensei says, voice less amused this time. Much darker.
Shinsou’s neglected cock drools a long wet line all the way to the sheets under him.

Shinsou reaches for him, pushes his face into the pillow and mindlessly stretches out one hand in Sensei’s direction.

Finally, finally /finally Sensei grips Shinsou’s wrist -god his hands are so hot, theyre /burning him - and then runs his hand all the way up Shinsou’s arm around to his shoulder. Shinsou comes like a fucking gunshot.

It shocks him. It’s practically /dry. He’s left panting and whining and moaning like a complete fucking mess, and Sensei curses in astonishment next to him.

“Fuck.”
When he speaks, that dark violent thing that had been in Sensei’s voice over the phone is so fucking /present that Shinsou gets obvious, visible chills all the way down his spine, his arms, his legs. Sensei touches them.

“Did you just-”
Shinsou nods. He needs - something, anything, /everything. He feels like he can feel the heat from Sensei’s body. He can smell his fucking soap and his laundry detergent.
He whispers, barely audible, “Sensei, fuck me.”

It’s the same as before, the feeling he gets when he says it. Like - looking out over a very high ledge. A sort of chill in his chest, like fear but /not, followed almost immediately by a crawling, fuzzy heat that slinks through his limbs and wipes his brain blank.

Sensei doesn’t respond, at first. He runs his fingertips- calloused all to hell, feather-light and still too much- from the nape of Shinsou’s neck all the way down his spine.
Shinsou shudders hard under his fingers, and in the middle of it he stutters out, “/Fuck me, Sensei.”

Sensei sounds like the next words he says are ripping him open.
“Hitoshi ... I. Shouldnt.”
Shinsou turns his head to give him his best glare.

It doesn’t work, because he’s literally covered in come and there are tear tracks on his face. Sensei actually cracks a sort of half smile at the attempt. It’s fond and pained and still incredible possessive, and it’s unimaginably sexy, and Shinsou curses.

“I could....” Fuck. Ordering his thoughts into a sentence is nearly impossible. “I could. Make you.”

It works. He knew it would.
Sensei’s eyes snap up from his ass to his face, some sort of years-engrained anger in them.
“You won’t,” he says, soft and dangerous.

Shinsou won’t. Even like this he won’t. He wants to feel how bad Sensei wants it - and he /does want it, Shinsou knows he does. But the threat gets him what he wants.
Sensei grabs Shinsou by the back of the neck and pushes him into the pillow.

His hand is so fucking big that his fingers nearly touch all the way around.
Sensei says, “You fucking won’t.” His voice is quiet, but it raises the hairs on Shinsou’s arms.
“You know why?”

Shinsou does know why, but every single fucking godforsaken cell in his body wants to hear Sensei say it. The tone of his voice is utterly alien, but it’s so unmistakeable it makes Shinsou’s stomach drop.

He can feel every whorl in Sensei’s fingertips, pressed against his throat. The broad iron-hot press of his palm on the back of his neck.
He shakes his head.

“Cause you wanna know it’s me, don’t you?” Sensei says, voice soft and - something. “Just me.”
Shinsou has never heard /anyone’s voice sound like this. It’s barely audible and yet it’s - it’s the only thing he can fucking hear.

“You wanna know it’s /just me, fucking you cause I can’t stop myself.”
Shinsou bites his lip so hard it starts to bleed. He barely notices. Hearing Sensei say /fucking you/ is literal fucking ecstasy in his veins. He feels high as shit. He might really burn up from the inside.

He says, shakily and muffled into the pillow, “Jesus Christ, /yeah, yeah please, come on, come on, please, god, it hurts-”
Sensei pulls the toy out of him. He’s not gentle, but he’s not violent about it.
Then all tender and familiar again, soft as anything, he says, “I know.”

It’s different.
Shinsou isn’t exactly sure how, but it is /vastly, earth-endingly different than the toy had been.
Sensei’s not even fucking halfway into him before Shinsou’s going all wire-tight under him, whole body fucking /screaming for it.

Sensei leans forward over him, hand still on the back of his neck, and guides his cock the rest of the way in when he murmurs, “I got you, sweetheart.”

Shinsou fucking comes again. It’s nothing but a white-out and a convulsion and an animal gasp, and he just - keeps gasping, after it’s done. Like he can’t get enough air.

Sensei’s lips are right at his ear now, hand going from the back of his neck around to the front, pressing gently Shinsou’s throat in a gesture that feels equal parts reassuring and possessive as fuck.
“Good, god, good boy, fuck, /fucking hell.”

Shinsou has just enough time to register that /good boy/ makes him blush all the way to his fucking asshole before he’s getting fucked within an inch of his life.

There’s a moment, sometimes, when Shinsou’s fucking Denki, where every single errant thought leaves his head and he’s nothing - /nothing - except for pure animal instinct and motion.
This is worse.

Shinsou can hardly fucking breathe. He can’t even think enough to close his fucking mouth. His vision is blurry and spotted with blue and white just from all the mindless, desperate /panting.

Sensei’s cock feels like it’s so far inside him it’s stopping his fucking heart from beating. Like it’s shoved up under his ribs and he still wants it /deeper.

It’s nothing he’s ever felt before. Sensei’s hands are fucking all over him: over his throat, grabbing his waist, touching his cock, his arms, his hair. They’re so hot it’s like a blinding light.

His chest is pressed against Shinsou’s back and his fucking shirt is still on, his /pants are still mostly on, and he keeps pulling Shinsou’s hair and grinding his hips into him and fucking him so good it makes Shinsou /wail into the pillow.

He wrenches Shinsou up by the hair and reaches around to shove two fingers in his mouth, whispering on a harsh exhale and a hard thrust inside, “I wanna hear you, lemme hear you scream, come on, baby, my baby, you can do it, I know you can-”

The second he says /my baby/ Shinsou’s coming again, in the same fucking breath. It’s searing. He does scream. His voice cracks.
Sensei doesn’t fucking /stop.

Sensei gets it, of course. He always gets it. He winds his fingers into Shinsou’s hair and pulls at the roots, murmurs in that shockingly possessive voice, “Knew you’d like that, knew you’d like bein my baby, you are, you fuckin are, you know you’re my fuckin favorite, Toshi.”

Shinsou loses it. He just. Collapses like a puppet with his strings cut. He slurs, “Sensei.”
Sensei makes this cooing sound at him, condescending and affectionate at once, and turns him over.

Shinsou goes easily. His whole body is pink and his muscles are starting to shake involuntarily. When Sensei shoves his knees up next to his ears it’s not even a stretch, his body’s so loose.

The new angle makes him whimper, Sensei’s big cock shoving up against his over-used prostate until Shinsou’s reaching up and scrabbling frantically at Sensei’s back, trying to pull him closer and push him away in equal turns.

Sensei shoves all the way inside and just sort of stays there, makes little motions with his hips without ever pulling out and drops his head to bite Shinsou’s shoulder, whispers feverishly, “My favorite, my baby, my baby,” over and over.

When his voice drops and he says, “Come on, good boy, come for me,” Shinsou does it with shout that makes his voice crack.

The rest of it passes in a blur.
Shinsou’s cursed fucking cock finally goes soft at some point, though that point is horribly, supernaturally extended to such a degree that Shinsou legitimately cries before it does.

Sensei fucks him slow after that, in shallow gentle little motions like the sea, whispering into Shinsou’s sweat-soaked hair things about what he still wants to do to him, how perfect he is, how good he feels to fuck.

Shinsou’s so far beyond coherency by the time Sensei sets his teeth on Shinsou’s shoulder and comes in him that he he just keeps making these high, overwhelmed whimpers when he feels it, and both of them pass out before the quirk even runs out.

[[im gonna do a lil epilogue and then we are all done buds]]

Shinsou wakes up around 6 in the morning and feels like he’s been hit by a fucking bus.
For a second, he can’t quite remember what happened, but then he turns over and -

Uh.
Right. Yeah. Aizawa Sensei is in his bed. And he’s naked.
Right. Because of the fucking.
God all the endless, ceaseless /fucking.

Shinsou scrubs a hand over his face, and Sensei makes a grumbling noise that Shinsou really shouldn’t find quite so endearing. He turns in his sleep so he’s sprawled on his stomach, and Shinsou can’t really help looking.

It’s just that Sensei’s shoulders are a lot wider than his waist, and also that Shinsou seems to have left scratches all over his back last night. It’s nice to look at.
And god, there are a lot of scars on him.

Shinsou reaches for one - a long thin line that goes from Sensei’s shoulder all the way across his spine. He can’t really help it.
Sensei says, “Mm?”

His skin is warm. It’s pleasant now, different than the unbearable burning heat Shinsou had felt all over him last night. He takes his hand away and murmurs, “Sorry.”

Sensei shakes his head, turns so he’s facing Shinsou and keeps his voice low when he says, “How you feelin’, kid?”
Shinsou blushes. He /blushes like a fucking schoolgirl.

You probably shouldn’t call me that if you’ve been inside me, Sensei.”
Sensei stares at him for a moment, and then laughs so hard he has to close his eyes.

He keeps laughing for a few more minutes, then sighs an amused, exasperated, “Fuck,” then he looks at Shinsou for a long time.
Shinsou doesn’t exactly know how to handle this situation. He just sort of - looks back.

After too long Shinsou says, voice soft, “I’m fine.“
Sensei reaches for him all at once in a jerky, lunging kind of motion that makes Shinsou think he must have been trying very hard not to do it sooner.

He pulls Shinsou up against his chest and Shinsou goes easily. Sensei smells like ... well, he smells like sex. And sweat. He kind of stinks, actually. It’s sort of the best.

Shinsou feels himself huff a soft laugh as the whole thing hits him all at once. Sensei’s in his /bed. Sensei /fucked him last night.
Holy shit.

“Denki’s gonna be pissed,” Shinsou murmurs, and Sensei’s arms around him go all rigid and tense. His whole body freezes.
Shinsou shakes his head and says, “Not like - just cause I didn’t tell him.”

Sensei relaxes, but only a little.
“Oh.”
His voice is a low, sleepy rumble. It feels good against Shinsou’s ear, pressed to Sensei’s chest.
Shinsou says, “He’s been teasing me about you since we were sixteen.”

Sensei sighs in a very familiar, exasperated sort of way. “Of course he has.”
“He’s your biggest cheerleader. Team Sensei.”
Sensei sighs again, makes this weird rumbling noise that Shinsou identifies late as a /chuckle.
Does Sensei fucking chuckle? What the fuck?

Shinsou feels like it should be weirder than it is, laying here with him like this. He feels like it should be awkward, but it’s - it’s just not.
It’s Sensei, after all.

Sensei has seen him cry over his first dead civilian, and he’s seen him fall asleep at the agency with a piece of pizza in his mouth, and he’s seen him get nailed in the face by about 800 different fists.

And yeah, now he’s seen him on his hands and knees begging for cock until he cries, and he’s seen him on his back cursing and yowling like an animal, and he’s seen him flat on his stomach whispering nonsense, and whining in Sensei’s lap, and bent over the dresser -

Sensei breaks him out of his little reverie with a disbelieving little laugh.
“You’re kidding, right?”
Shinsou blinks, then notices that his dick is half hard. It actually hurts.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbles, shoving his face into Sensei’s neck, “That’s as hard as it’s gonna get for like the next 80 years.”
Sensei’s laugh is loud and big and open and fucking awesome. He kisses the side of Shinsou’s head.

It’s shocking, how easy it is. There’s no uncomfortable shuffling, no avoiding each other’s eyes, no trying to sneak out, no never speaking of it again. Shinsou wrinkles his nose at the state of the sheets - actually, the whole room is a biohazard - and Sensei laughs again.

Shinsou says, “Hey, did you mean it?” and Sensei stops laughing. He sits up.

His hair is in an enormous tangle at the back of his head, and the scratches on his back wrap all the way around to his sides and over his shoulders. There’s a particularly deep, angry one on his neck that Shinsou should probably feel bad about.

“Yeah,” Sensei says, looking at him. “Yeah, all of it.”
Shinsou grins, teases, “I’m really your favorite?”
Sensei rolls his eyes.
“You know you’re my favorite.”

Shinsou gets up, grunts because /fuck everything hurts, and scratches at the back of his neck. There’s something achey and deep there, and it takes a second for Shinsou to trace it with his fingers and feel that it’s an imprint of Sensei’s teeth.

Denki is going to have a fucking field day with this. Shinsou’s got another bite on his shoulder, and another one that he doesn’t even remember getting on the inside of his thigh.

He shakes his head and pulls on Sensei’s discarded T-shirt. There’s a crust of dried come all over his stomach but he ignores it; he’s hungry as fuck.
“Hey, Sensei, you cook?”

Sensei’s eyes are sort of distant and far-off, seemingly fixed on the way the stretched-out collar of his shirt does nothing to hide all the bite marks he’s left on Shinsou.
“Huh?”

Shinsou grins. His dick gives a valiant twitch at the look on Sensei’s face, but it’s done more than enough.
“Food,” Shinsou says, pulling on a pair of sweatpants.
“Oh. Uh, no, I’m a terrible cook.”

Shinsou’s a great cook. It’s one of the only things he’s actually sure of. Bakugou had taught him in high school.
He stops in the doorway, runs his fingers over the crack Sensei’s fucking hand left in the molding, and turns to look at him.

Sensei’s burrowed in Shinsou’s blankets. Just his face is sticking out.
“Come on then, Sensei,” Shinsou says, chest oddly light, “I’ll teach you.”

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that’s all folks. thanks for bein the best. here’s a link to a playlist I made for Shinsou because he deserves cool vibes. https://open.spotify.com/user/122998163/playlist/65ibKfwmVfU7IjcDcr0x2V?si=cOxjJj_AT8m45yd3sdH15A