Aizawa calls while Shinsou's jacking off. Shinsou calls Aizawa “Daddy.”

a new shinzawa thread for #shinzawaweeknsfw
day 1: play / keyword: phone sex

it's finally shinzawa week!! this one's a collab w/ @/shiru_desu and i'm just all about it

cw: age gap / phone sex / daddy kink / aged-up characters / student-teacher relationship but like way in the past / more second-hand embarrassment from ur fave donut haha

nsfw explicit content

ill be posting this over the course of today, plz feel free to qrt @ me <33

Slapping sounds echo throughout the room.

/Yes Daddy—ah fuck, harder, please fuck me, Daddy/

The man on top is grunting, telling his lover to take it like a good boy. The video pauses to buffer. Shinsou hits the space bar a few times with his foot. The video resumes.

It’s 3:17 AM, and his studio apartment is lit by the red numbers of his alarm clock and the porn running on his screen only. The place smells faintly of stir fry and ginger, remnants of dinner half-eaten and discarded in favor of reading through his latest assignment.

He’s getting close, but he’s teasing himself with slow, light stokes down the length of his dick, down his balls. Shinsou leans back, head falling against the back of the couch, giving his eyes a break from the bright LCD of his laptop.

He feels lazy, maybe a little lonely, but the two men going at it on his screen are company enough for his purposes right now. He has time to play with himself. He’s been edging himself off and on for the last thirty minutes, maybe longer. He hasn’t been counting.

Shinsou squeezes his dick, feeling his balls tighten briefly before he lets the edge drift away again.

He spreads his legs, reaching down further, trying to remember where the hell he’d left his lube when he gets a call.

/Eraserhead is calling you./

The notification pops up on his laptop screen, integrated because it’s his work phone and he’s watching porn on his work laptop because outside of this one specific scenario, Shinsou does not give a single shit.

But now? Seeing Aizawa’s name in obscene juxtaposition to the unlikely perspective Shinsou has been enjoying of someone’s bleached asshole feels wrong.

Wrong enough that his hand is back on his cock, longingly jacking himself off for a few blissful moments while he tries very very hard not to think of /Aizawa/ and the phrase, "fuck me, Daddy," in the context with each other.

The phone’s on its fourth ring now, though, and Shinsou doesn’t want to be chewed out for letting Aizawa’s call drop. He toes the spacebar again, pausing the video, and picks up the phone with a sigh.

A sigh? No. It’s a fucking /groan/, right as he accepts the call, and Shinsou is already fourth-wall-staring out his apartment window in mortification by the time Aizawa speaks.

“Shinsou? You okay?”

“I’m really… great,” Shinsou wheezes, dropping his still-hard dick on his stomach with a smack that he really, really hopes isn’t audible over the phone.

“Were you asleep? You sound off.”

It’s so great, working with someone you’ve known for nearly a decade, who knows you so well they can tell when you’re not alert because you were just jacking off, and, wow, Shinsou kind of wants to die.

“I’m awake, what’s going on?”

“We just got the data pack from overseas. HQ pinged me, and I figured you were still awake.”

“I /was/.” Shinsou grabs the case files off the coffee table to review while Aizawa catches him up to speed on any new developments.

“There was proof, turns out. Circumstantial, so far, but Namikawa was definitely involved and at the very least, we should be able to nail him for money laundering.”

“Mm,” Shinsou says, eyeing his underwear, lying innocently on his bed where he’d thrown it earlier.

It suddenly seems so far. He doesn’t want to meander around his apartment with his dick out while Aizawa is talking in his ear. Aizawa takes his noise as a signal to continue and proceeds to provide him with a briefing on everything they’d received.

Shinsou appreciates it. Aizawa is thorough, and he’s choosing to go over it verbally with Shinsou, when most other people would almost certainly receive no more than a terse, 'Review it yourself, by tomorrow.'

But damn, there’s a guy getting choked out while riding his daddy’s dick literally right in front of Shinsou’s face. It’s paused at a slightly unfortunate moment, but it gets the message across.

Shinsou's just a little... distracted.

Aizawa’s voice, talking about the exhaustive trail of evidence tying the Minister of State to money laundering and a dangerous drug ring… it doesn't matter what he's talking about, that voice is low, husky, right next to Shinsou’s ear and intimate in a way it has no right to be.

It’s making it really, really hard to kill his boner. Impossible, actually, because fantasies of Aizawa are so forbidden he absolutely can’t help from dreaming of them.

Shinsou needs to get his shit straight. Grimacing, he kicks his laptop away, intending to turn it away so he can’t see the screen anymore.

He succeeds. The laptop is perpendicular to him now, Aizawa talking in that deep voice of his the whole while. But then—

/Harder, Daddy! Fuck, you feel so good, ah, fuck Daddy Daddy Daddy—/

Shinsou freezes. That was /loud./ That was the /video./ It’s dead silent in the apartment, except the sound of high-pitched, fucked-out whining and wet slapping noises.

Then Shinsou is in a mad scramble for his computer, force-shutting it down, snatching his underwear off his bed while he’s already up and nearly falling over on his way back to the couch to grovel to Aizawa.

He picks his phone back up like it might bite him. Silence on the line. Shinsou attempts to stick his legs into his underwear.

He’s got them mostly on, and he’s trying to push his unfortunate, ill-fated hard-on back inside his briefs when Aizawa finally speaks.

“Shinsou,” he says. Shinsou shivers at the gravel in his tone, freezing in place as Aizawa continues. “That was porn. Were you just… touching yourself?”

Maybe if he hadn’t phrased it like that, maybe if Shinsou hadn’t literally had a hand on his dick at that exact moment, then maybe Shinsou wouldn’t have honest-to-god /moaned./

Moaned loudly, humiliatingly, dick jumping to attention in his hand like it longs for Aizawa just as much as he does.

“Shinsou, what are you doing,” Aizawa whispers. Shinsou’s toes curl helplessly as he bucks up into his grip.

This isn’t supposed to happen, but it's Aizawa’s /voice/, he feels so /close/ and Shinsou physically can’t stop the way his hand runs up his dick, fingers pausing just beneath the head.

Then Aizawa says, the very-familiar note of command running steely in his voice, “Tell me the truth.”

“You called while I was jacking off,” Shinsou hisses out, resentful both at being forced to admit it and at his despicable need for Aizawa to know how badly he wants him.

“I meant right now.”

Oh fuck. Oh shit, oh fuck, Aizawa knows he knows he knows he /knows./

Shinsou is losing it a little, and he’s still painfully horny and still touching himself because he is a bad, terrible person who’d kept himself on the edge for over half an hour before all this, and fuck, Aizawa’s voice is sexy.

All that comes out is a whine as he grips his dick hard, squeezing enough to prevent himself from coming. Because that wouldn’t be quiet, and he’d really regret having to never ever speak to Aizawa ever again out of pure shame.

“Are you touching yourself right now,” Aizawa says, sounding hoarse and disbelieving, “while I talk to you?”

“S-Sensei,” Shinsou breathes out, unable to verbalize it. He’s curling over, a human knot of shame, but Aizawa is talking in a way that isn’t explicitly discouraging, and

Shinsou would rather cut off his hands than stop stroking himself now. The guilt of it burns, but it doesn’t burn as hot as the pleasure building with each brush of his fingers.

Aizawa hums. Shinsou can practically hear the vibrations of it in his ear.

“Sensei?” Aizawa asks. “That’s not what I just heard you getting off to. Wouldn’t you rather say /Daddy?”/

Shinsou feels the word, tangible as hands over his skin, hot and unexpected as he groans helplessly into the phone receiver, his grip painfully tight on his dick. He feels like he’s drowning, helpless as a wave of pure hope washes over him. Maybe…

It’s nearly impossible to form the thought, but maybe Aizawa wants this too.

“Shinsou, did I mis—” there’s a note of concern in Aizawa’s voice that Shinsou needs gone, and gone now.

“Daddy,” Shinsou chokes out, “f-fuck, Daddy, oh /fuck/.” The word hits hard.

It’s like stepping off a cliff, not knowing if he’s going to fly or break into a thousand pieces on the rocks below. It’s pure vulnerability, the kind that leaves him breathless, hoping against hope Aizawa will be there to catch him.

Aizawa is quiet for a moment. Aizawa, his past mentor, high school teacher, the grouchy star of countless wet dreams and shame-filled fantasies. Daddy. Shinsou’s heart is beating so fast it has to be unhealthy.

“There you go, baby,” Aizawa says, sounding breathless. “Was that so hard?” Baby. Baby, baby, /baby./ The pet name echoes around in Shinsou’s head, realigning his relationship with Aizawa in just a few words.

And holy shit, does it turn him on. Suddenly, he needs both hands free, and he’s fumbling over the couch cushions, looking for his headphones one-handed while Aizawa talks.

“I'm back, I’m back,” Shinsou says, sounding a little desperate as he shoves the buds in his ears and listens to the soft beep of the bluetooth connecting.

“Shinsou,” Aizawa says slowly. Shinsou sighs, letting Aizawa’s voice wash over him.

He settles back into the couch, trying to relax enough to enjoy whatever the hell is about to happen.

“I’m spreading my legs,” he says, letting his knees drift apart. It makes him feel ridiculously exposed, even though he’s a grown man sitting alone in his apartment.

“Good boy,” Aizawa murmurs. Shinsou’s sharp intake of breath is loud in the quiet room. “Did you like that? Being my good boy?”

“Yes,” Shinsou groans as he stares up at the ceiling, barely daring to touch himself for fear of coming too fast.

“Yes, /what/,” Aizawa pushes.

It’s almost harder the second time. Shinsou has an urge to be disobedient, to push Aizawa, but the fear that Aizawa will just hang up and this will be nothing more than a mortifying memory stops him.

“Yes,” Shinsou breathes out, head spinning as he pushes past years’ worth of repressed desire for Aizawa. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Shit,” Aizawa says slowly, and it almost sounds like a groan. Shinsou /needs/ that sound again.

“Feels so good,” Shinsou sighs, smearing precome down the length of his dick. Maybe it’s sort of nasty, but so is calling Aizawa ‘Daddy.’ It just feels too good for him to stop.

“Yeah? You touching yourself again?”

“Yes,” Shinsou admits, reveling in the rush of shame,
“Daddy. Fuck, Daddy, wish you were here.”

“You sound so needy, baby. What would you want, if I was there?”

That question alone pulls another groan from Shinsou’s throat. This is a lot, all at one, and he’d definitely be freaking out a lot more if he wasn’t nearly out of his mind horny.

“I, uh,” Shinsou fumbles, hand stilling as he fights to think. “Fuck, I mean… everything? Sorry, I’m just, it’s just, this is a lot, I want you a lot,” Shinsou rushes on.

“It’s okay,” Aizawa shushes him. “I know, baby, I know. Known for a while, actually.”

That shuts Shinsou up. “W-what?”

“You talk in your sleep.”

It takes a second for that remark to sink in, but when it does… He’s crashed on Aizawa’s couch plenty of times, surrounded by his scent, and knowing Aizawa was sleeping the next room over had led to some vivid dreams.

Vividly /nasty/ dreams. Shinsou is mortified all over again.

“Oh, fuck.”

“You have some very dirty dreams about me, apparently,” Aizawa says, voice colored with amusement.

“Oh god, oh no, oh god, no, Sensei, I am so sorry you had to hear that, holy shit, I—”

“Relax, kid, I didn’t mind. It was awkward at first, but shit, some of the things you’d say… I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for a while, Shinsou.”

The noise Shinsou makes in reply can barely be classified as speech, but Aizawa replies anyway.

“Although, masturbating when I call you isn’t really what I expected.”

“I didn’t /mean/ to,” Shinsou says, scandalized.

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“Oh,” Shinsou says, but it’s really more of a pained wheeze than a word.

“So you weren’t making a move.”

“I was trying really hard not to,” Shinsou sighs, thinking about the countless times he’s wanted to reach out.
His ever-present urge to brush Aizawa’s stupid hair out of his stupid handsome face, to lean against him when they’re out late getting

post-patrol food, to hold onto him a little longer than necessary on the rare occasion that they hug. Shinsou’s always wanted it, but never allowed himself to take action. His relationship with Aizawa had always been too important to risk.

“Oh.” Aizawa sounds… disappointed, almost. “If I pushed you, or—”

“No, no, no, no, you did not, don’t think that,” Shinsou rushes to reassure him. “Or, well, maybe you did, but not in a way that wasn’t extremely welcome.”

“Okay.”

It’s awkward. Aizawa isn’t exactly a smooth talker at the best of times, and this seems to be taxing him fairly quickly.

“Uh… so I guess you have a pretty good idea of what I’ve thought about. You should tell me about what you’d want to do.”

He hears Aizawa’s low hum over the line, sending warmth rolling down his spine. Aizawa has always made him feel safe in a way nothing else does. He also puts him on edge like no one else, but only in ways that Shinsou definitely likes.

“There’s so much I’d do to you, baby,” Aizawa finally says. Shinsou shivers in place, anticipation leaving him feeling hot and fizzy, like fireworks set off on a warm summer night.

“Tell me,” Shinsou whispers.

“Needy, dirty baby,” Aizawa growls, right in his ear.