When Hitoshi finally admitted that he was being abused at home, Shouta thought he’d finally able to help the boy.

Instead, he finds himself sitting next to him, one arm wrapped around Hitoshi, fisting his cock as he listens to him talk about his abuse. https://twitter.com/shouutakun/status/1374791382414557191

//lots of huge warnings for this. Please mind the tags.

NON-CON. Aizawa is literally getting off to Shinsou’s abuse here and there’s graphic descriptions of Shinsou’s abuse, including being severely physically abused. Also mentions of piss/bedwetting. Mentions of erasermic.

//Disclaimer specifically for this thread: this thread contains really psychologically corrupt themes, as well as internalized abuse, which I am not open for discussion of. If you don’t like it, please don’t read it.

When Shouta sees Hitoshi’s face in the nurse’s office, he knows something’s wrong.

Not with Hitoshi.

With himself.

The boy is bruised and battered. His lip is split, a bloodied bandage covering it, his wound having reopened during his gen ed homeroom class, prompting him to be sent to Recovery Girl in the first place. His cheeks are bruised and cut, most likely from a hand with a ring.

Worst of all, one of his eyes is surrounded by a dark black bruise, his usually bright violet eye swollen shut so much that Shouta can barely see the purple iris peeking out. He’s a mess. An absolute fucking battered mess.

It looks like he didn’t even try to fight back. Like he just let this all happen to him. Like he sat there and let his foster parents hit him and beat him until he’s black and blue.

Something twists deep inside Shouta at that. Something horrible. Something nasty.

His mind wanders, wondering how far they went, wondering what’s beneath that always too big uniform Hitoshi wears. Is his ass red and bruised from being beaten? Are his ribs bruised or broken?

It all stirs something deep inside of him. Something Shouta’s never felt before.

Standing in the doorway, Shouta stares at him—and he realizes what this feeling is.

Looking at his battered face makes him feel sick. Makes him feel horny in a way he’s never been before. Makes him want to destroy Hitoshi’s poor, poor face even more.

“Sensei.” Hitoshi tries to sound like himself, but his voice comes out a bit strained, as if it hurts to talk. Like he’s trying to explain, he stretches his neck out, letting Shouta see the handprint-shaped bruises on his throat.

And Shouta nearly moans.

He doesn’t know what’s overtaking him. He’s never felt this way before, never felt this uncontrollable horniness towards a student. It’s horrible. Sickening. Everything in him is telling him that he shouldn’t be feeling this way.

He remembers, then, an incident with Hizashi, where Shouta found him beat up and broken from a villain fight, and the first thing he’d done was fish his cock out and fuck his fist until he came on Hizashi’s unconscious face. Only then had he taken him to the hospital.

Horrible.

It makes Shouta feel sick just thinking about it—just looking at Hitoshi’s face.

But god, if it doesn’t feel so fucking good at the same time.

“It’s okay, Hitoshi,” Shouta says, forgetting to keep up an air of formality between them. Recovery Girl glances at him, raising an eyebrow at him, but Shouta ignores her.

“I—I need to tell you something,” Hitoshi tries, his voice hoarse, scratchy.

Shouta knows, then, what he wants to tell him.

He’s known for months that Hitoshi’s being abused. He comes to school with bruises and cuts, but never this bad. He knows it’s time. Knows that Hitoshi’s going to finally spill everything to him, finally going to ask for help.

And in that moment, Shouta can’t think of anything hotter.

His cock twitches at the thought, at Hitoshi’s words, starting to thicken in the pants of his jumpsuit. He hangs onto Hitoshi’s words, the trust he’s putting in him.

The trust he’s wrongfully putting in him.

“I’m taking him back to my office,” Shouta tells Recovery Girl with a nod at her, trying to regain some of his composure. Luckily, neither her nor Hitoshi seem to have noticed the way his cock is starting to bulge in his uniform. He nods again at Hitoshi, “Come on.”

Hitoshi eagerly jumps off the unfamiliar cot. He stumbles a little, then limps over to Shouta, some of the tension draining out of his shoulders, his bruised face relaxing enough for Shouta to notice. He thinks he’s safe. He thinks he can trust Shouta.

Shouta leads the way wordlessly. He tries. Really does try. He tries to ignore his growing erection. Tries to glance back and give Hitoshi a warm, welcoming look. Tries to tell himself that everything will be alright, that he’ll help Hitoshi and get him out of his foster home.

He knows, though. Knows that he’s not going to be able to resist. Knows that it’s going to be just like that time with an unconscious Hizashi, and seeing Hitoshi battered and talking about what happened to him will just make things worse.

But he doesn’t listen to that part of him.

They arrive at Shouta’s office and Shouta lets Hitoshi in first, closing and locking the door behind them.

Shouta’s office is small and filled with paperwork he has yet to do. In the corner, though, there’s a soft sofa, the type that pulls out into a bed. Shouta genuinely tries to make Hitoshi comfortable, pulling out the bed and clearing papers out of the way.

“Go ahead and sit down,” Shouta tells him, swallowing heavily as he tries to force his arousal down. Every time he looks at Hitoshi though it just gets worse. Every time he sees his bruises, he just thinks of Hitoshi being hit again and again and cowering, not even fighting back.

It’s maddening. Shouta’s cock is throbbing in his pants. He’s lucky that he can easily hide his erection with the bagginess of his jumpsuit, making it not as obvious.

Hitoshi doesn’t hesitate, sitting down at the end of the bed. Shouta sits next to him.

“Tell me what happened,” Shouta says, crossing his legs to hide the bulge in his clothing. Part of him wonders how he’s going to get through this without traumatizing Hitoshi even more. Another part of him knows that he won’t.

Hitoshi stares at him—one wide eye, one nearly swollen shut eye—and Shouta can see the trust in them, the way he’s confident that Shouta will do nothing but help him.

“My parents,” Hitoshi raspes, his voice getting a little stronger. “My parents hurt me last night.”

“What happened?” Shouta prompts, needing more details than just that. It’s not enough. It won’t be enough until he has every single detail, until he can imagine it in his head, until he can see every second of it like he so badly wants to.