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Hitoshi stared at the costume laid out over his bedspread, the note from Ashido that had been attached clutched in his fist.

See, he’d lost a dare a couple weeks back, and because he lost it, the girls in 3-A got to pick his Halloween costume that year. Apparently, that warranted thigh-highs, a skirt, a collar with bells on it, and a pair of cat ears. Oh, and heeled boots, but those were still in their box, and he was putting off looking at them for as long as possible.

The note in his hand said: Everything will fit, because we looked for your sizes in everything! Don’t even think about using that as an excuse. After she’d dropped it off at her door, she’d called in that after he got dressed, she was going to come back and do his makeup. Makeup. The only makeup he’d ever worn was eyeliner, and he used that about as sparingly as he could. He didn’t really wear makeup. He didn’t wear cat ears, or thigh-highs, or a skirt either.

He sighed and reread the note, before folding it up passive aggressively, and chucking it onto his desk. Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he tugged that over his head and then stripped himself of his pants. He looked at the length of the skirt, frowned at the length of his boxers, and then hesitatingly took those off too. There was no way he was actually going to wear the skirt nude, but it would be painfully obvious if he wore his usual underwear.

He picked up the skirt, held it up, and something slipped out onto the floor of his bedroom. He was about to look down and then stopped himself, clenching his jaw so hard that his teeth started to hurt. Of course. Of course. She had checked his size in everything, which meant she knew that his boxers wouldn’t look good beneath the skirt.

The panties were soft and silk and the colour of bubblegum, and when he picked them up, he decided maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to wear them. It was far too personal for Ashido to have bought them for his costume, and he’d tell her off about it later, but for now…

He pulled them on and hissed quietly. They weren’t tight, but they were snugger than his boxers, and he wasn’t used to the feeling of the fabric. He ran his fingers over his hips, brushing over the fabric, and shivered.

Right, he thought, blushing, moving on. Now wasn’t the time for him to deal with whatever this feeling was. He reached for the skirt again, pulled it on, and grimaced at how small it was. Even when he put on the socks, his thighs were going to be on display no matter what. He glanced in the mirror and shifted his hips, twirling the skirt slightly. Don’t do that, he thought, blushing hard when he saw a flash of the panties.

He put the socks on next, pleasantly surprised when they were tight enough to stay up on his legs, and huffed as he examined himself in the mirror. The skirt matched the colour of the panties, and the socks were white with a single pink strip around the top. If Ashido was good at anything, it was colour-coordination. He reached up and touched the tops of the socks, brushing his bare thighs, and blushed again.

This is a punishment, he told himself, a punishment. I am not supposed to like this.

Ah, this was going to be a long night.

When he picked up the shirt and slid it on, he gaped. A crop-top. Of course, because when Ashido was looking at costumes made to humiliate him, she just had to pick one with a crop-top involved. It hiked up to just below his chest – this was getting to be more lewd than funny and humiliating – short enough that if he raised his arms at any point, his entire chest would be on display.

“People wear these things?” he hissed under his breath, uselessly tugging on the hem to get it to go shorter. It was slim and fitted, which he was going to take as a bonus, because now he’d be able to feel when he was flashing people, unlike if the shirt had been loose. The sleeves were long, long enough to slip over the heels of his palms, and he frowned slightly at himself, pressing his fingertips against the hem to keep it pinned there.

Then, he raised one hand, and bit his thumb, making an innocent face in the mirror.

His entire body flooded with warmth, and then a different warmth filled his face, and he quickly turned away. Oh god, he thought, immediately thinking about things that would get rid of the heat beginning to pool behind his navel. Think about mom, about dad, about Aiz –

He choked and dropped to the ground, landing on his knees, bending over to hide his face in the carpet. No no no, he thought, don’t think about him right now.

After taking several long breaths, and regaining acute control over his thoughts, he got back to his feet and looked at the rest of the costume. He took the cat ears and tried to put them on without squishing his hair – no, he didn’t style it like that, it acted that way, regardless of what everyone thought – and after a couple failed attempts, chucked them back onto his bed. Ashido could deal with that.

The collar stared at him for a few long minutes, and when he finally picked it up, the leather band pink and clasped with a buckle, the bells gave a soft jangle. He blushed, because everything was going to make him blush tonight, and carefully undid it, trying to keep the bells from jangling as much as possible. Surprisingly, the only chimed once, and he managed to put it around his neck without another sound. He did it up so that it was snug but wasn’t tight, then relaxed, and headed for the shoebox.

He already knew what his reaction would be to wearing the collar and didn’t need it right now.

He took out the boots and slid into them, content that they weren’t severely heeled. It was maybe an inch, an inch and a half. Nothing drastic. They were black and laced up quite a few times, reaching up about mid-shin. He did them up and then walked around his room, feeling them out, sparing himself a glance in the mirror.

Okay, so he didn’t look bad. The problem was that he would never ever wear this in front of anyone. It was like Ashido had found his porn history, decided that he was the biggest twink in the entire school of Yuuei, and based her costume choice off that. He felt painfully vulnerable and exposed, and knew it was only going to get worse as soon as he walked out his bedroom door.

He grit his teeth. One night, he told himself, one night and then you can pretend like this never happened.

He took a slow breath in, and then exhaled, calming himself. He could do this. If he could manage to get Aizawa to tap out during training, he could wear this goddamned costume for a few hours. His mind, however, immediately grasped the image of Aizawa, breathing hard and in a slim tank top that only accentuated what was usually hidden, and he had to take another couple minutes to push it away and keep himself as neutral as possible. No need for an erection in the skimpy panties he was wearing, or the skirt.

He texted Ashido, saying that he was dressed, and she could come do his makeup. He sat on the edge of his bed, crossing one leg over the other, and tried to figure out how he was going to keep his sanity for the rest of the night. The Yuuei party was going to be going on for at least three hours, probably more considering this was the one for the seniors alone, instead of one combining all three years. Rumours from previous students suggested that it was a hell of a lot of fun, and he hummed, excited despite everything else.

Ashido knocked on his door, and he rolled his eyes. “Come in,” he called, balling his fists in his sheets. She opened the door and stepped in, eyes bright and devious, immediately seeking Hitoshi out. She beamed and closed the door behind her, clapping her hands together happily.

“You look so good!” she cried, but then her face fell. “You didn’t get the cat ears?” Hitoshi didn’t look at her as he reached behind him, picking up the headband and held it up. Ashido huffed and walked forward, grabbing the cat ears from his hand and stepped far too close to him to put them on his head. “You have to wear the ears,” she muttered, running her fingers quickly through his hair, “or it’s just a super cute outfit, not a costume.”

“I’m not sure this is a costume,” Hitoshi muttered, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around his bare midriff. “I’m not exactly trying to scream fuck me.”

“Hey,” Ashido said, stepping back after putting the ears on, “you lost the dare, you gotta do this. Besides, you’re super uptight all the time, getting laid would probably be good for you.”

Hitoshi flushed and pressed his face into his hands. “Please tell me you’re not setting me up with someone, again.”

Ashido’s expression went horrified. “No. Trust me, I learned my lesson last time. I’m just saying, let yourself have some fun. It’ll help you relax.” She explained, and Hitoshi lifted his face, humming bitterly. “The party started about a half hour ago, and most of the class is already there, so hurry up and let me do your makeup. I haven’t even started getting ready yet.”

Hitoshi grinned wryly. “Guess you’d better go do that, and I’ll just stay here –“

“Nice try,” Ashido muttered, pulling an eyeliner pen out of her back pocket and some eyeshadow from the other. He frowned – how had they fit in there? – and then sat still, obeying her every order as she meticulously did his makeup.

Ten minutes later, she stepped back, blowing lightly on his face, and smiled. “There!” she said, putting the eyeshadow and eyeliner on his desk. “Tell me what you think.”

He stood, walking to the mirror, absently wishing the skirt was a little longer, and looked in the mirror. She’d done minimal eyeliner, but there was a soft, smooth wing coming from the outer corners of his eyes, and he hummed, impressed. His eyelids had been dusted pink, nothing truly noticeable but flattering regardless. He stood back and nodded, glancing at the cat ears that were so expertly placed that it looked like they’d grown from his head.

“Not bad,” he said, examining himself. “I hate it, but not bad.” Ashido laughed and put her hand on his shoulder, fingers brushing over his exposed collarbones.

“No you don’t,” she grinned, taking her makeup and leaving his room. “See you at the party!” she called, leaving his door open. He huffed, brushing over the skin just below the pink collar without thinking, and stared at himself in the mirror.

At least Aizawa wasn’t going to be there – last he’d heard from Yamada-sensei, he’d declined supervision duty and threatened to quit if he was forced to attend – so Hitoshi would be spared that humiliation. Silver linings, he mused ruefully, heading for the door.

The party was happening in Gym Gamma, and as soon as he stepped out of the elevator, he was met with the sight of almost his entire class standing there, talking and apparently waiting for him. He stopped dead, one hand keeping the elevator from closing, and stared at all of them in shock.

Of course, what baffled him, was the fact that most of his male classmates turned red and looked away, including Bakugo and Todoroki. He felt his own face heat up and stepped back into the elevator, moving his hand so that it would close and take him back up to his room, where it was safe, and where his peers weren’t going every shade of red known to man because of a scant outfit he ad begrudgingly agreed to wear.

The girls, however, all wailed in protest, and started to rush towards him to get him to stick around. He growled and stepped out of the elevator, glaring at everyone, and put his arms around his waist, hiding his bare stomach. Uraraka looped one of her arms with his – she was dressed as a witch – and leaned into him.

“Don’t be so shy!” she said, smiling warmly, “you look amazing!”

“Yeah!” Kirishima said – Hitoshi was mildly surprised to see that he was dressed as Red Riding Hood, an outfit not completely different from his, but with pants – his arm draped over Bakugo’s shoulders. Bakugo, who wasn’t looking at Hitoshi, and whose face was slowly returning to a normal shade of pink, tched and crossed his arms. He was dressed as a wolf, and Hitoshi cracked a grin at their coordination. “You look good, bro!’

“Thanks,” he said reluctantly, slowly letting his arms drop to his sides.

Todoroki – a vampire – and Midoriya – a ghost – both waved at him, Midoriya considerably more excitedly. He waved back, trying to ignore how excited he was getting, and gave a subtle smile to the group of girls walking up to him. Jirou was a zombie, Yaoyorozu a princess (why was he surprised), and Tsuyu a frog.

“I wanted to play it simple,” she explained, smiling and twirling in her green dress.

“It looks good,” he said sincerely. Her cheeks went pink and she smiled wider. “Is everyone else already there?”

“Yup!” Yaoyorozu said. “They wanted to get there early. We should start heading there now.”

“Whatever,” Bakugo growled, putting his arm possessively around Kirishima’s waist and steering them towards the doors. “It’s not like we’re staying long anyways,” he called, flashing a smirk over his shoulder, Kirishima’s face going the same shade as his hair. “Have fun, fuckin’ losers.”

“Nice to see he’s in a good mood,” Todoroki muttered, crossing his arms. “No one on their floor is going to be sleeping tonight.”

“Do they ever?” Hitoshi muttered, turning to the door. “Come on. I want to get this over with.” Todoroki hummed and took Midoriya’s hand, and the trio paused to see if the group of girls were going to join them.

“We’re going to wait for Mina.” Tsuyu said, waving. “See you there!” Hitoshi nodded and then pushed the doors open, shivering against the cool air that flooded in.

This stupid costume, he thought, putting his arms around his waist.

~

The first hour of the party he spent with Todoroki, Midoriya, Kirishima and Bakugo. It was fun, and he and Midoriya and Kirishima managed to get both Todoroki and Bakugo laughing, but then Bakugo and Kirishima announced that they were leaving, and Hitoshi swapped from a fifth wheel to a third one. At that point, he politely excused himself to find something to drink – someone had brought booze, he had smelled it on Bakugo’s breath, and wanted to seek it out.

He was walking through the thick crowd when he felt someone tap his shoulder and turned to lock eyes with Monoma, who seemed to be drunker than he should’ve been. He stopped walking away, trying to hear whatever Monoma was trying to say over the music, when someone shoved him and he stumbled forward, crashing into Monoma.

“If you wanted to dance,” Monoma said, slurring in his ear, “all you had to do was say something.” His hands crept down Hitoshi’s waist, his palms warm against his bare skin, and Hitoshi shivered, not immediately pulling away. “You’re so pretty, Shinso,” he murmured, hands grasping Hitoshi’s hips and guiding him to sway to the music with him.

Hitoshi’s hands had landed on his shoulders when he’d fallen into him, and, deciding that the only person who would remember this would be him, let himself fall into a steady rhythm with Monoma. It wasn’t hard, considering Monoma was too drunk to do anything complicated, and seemed much more interested in trying to cop a feel than anything else, and so Hitoshi started to relax for the first time since being alone tonight.

A few minutes passed, and Monoma flipped Hitoshi around so that his ass was pressed against his hips, where he could feel just how much Monoma wanted to fuck him, and he grinned to himself. He wasn’t exactly uninterested himself – maybe Ashido was right, and he just needed to get laid to relax a little more – and knew that if he did end up sleeping with Monoma, he didn’t need to worry about strings. Monoma was getting a reputation for leaving a string of broken hearts in his wake, and while Hitoshi wouldn’t be one, he’d certainly take advantage of the situation.

He was busy pressing his ass against Monoma and making the dusty blonde make soft, pleased noises, when his eyes locked with a pair of obsidian ones across the room, locked on him like he was the only thing in the entire universe. He tripped over himself, his center of gravity suddenly changing several degrees, and fell back against Monoma, snapped out of their small bubble.

Aizawa, he thought, licking his lips. One of Monoma’s hands slid up over his chest, fingertips catching on the hem of his shirt, and then curled around his neck. Hitoshi could hear the soft chime of the bells even over the sound of the music, and wondered if Aizawa could hear them too.

Aizawa didn’t look away when Hitoshi caught him watching, and he watched as his teacher shifted against the wall he was leaning against, some of his hair tucked behind his ear uncharacteristically. Hitoshi could see the razor-sharp line of his jaw, the rough stubble that was the same raven-black as his long hair, and the tightness around his smooth lips.

Monoma said something low in his ear and pressed his dick against Hitoshi’s ass hard, hiking up his skirt slightly, his hand curling firmer around Hitoshi’s neck. The tightness around Aizawa’s mouth furthered, and Hitoshi’s heart leapt into his throat. If he wasn’t at least 80% sure that he was suffering from temporary insanity, he could’ve sworn that Aizawa’s eyes were starting to go red, and that he looked almost…possessive.

Hitoshi swallowed. He was seeing things, that was the only reasonable explanation, but on the infinitesimal off-chance he wasn’t…

He licked his lips again, watching the way Aizawa’s eyes flicked down to watch the movement for a split second, and then turned to look at Monoma. Monoma, however, turned at the same time, and saved Hitoshi the breath he would’ve used, and kissed him. As they kissed – Hitoshi had to admit, he was pretty good – Monoma’s hand moved from his throat, dipped below his shirt and brushed over one of his nipples, and then roamed down towards his groin.

Just as Monoma’s hand was about to find its way beneath the waistband of his skirt, the music filling the empty space and rocking the body of people around them suddenly cut out, and everyone came to a collective halt. Hitoshi, startled, broke from the kiss with Monoma to look around, stepping back from his dancing partner, tugging down his skirt from where it had hiked up before anyone noticed.

“What’s going on?” Monoma snapped, reaching down to adjust his pants. Hitoshi hadn’t even noticed he was dressed as a zombie.

“I don’t know.” Hitoshi said, speaking quietly despite the loud murmur running through the crowd. His eyes flicked to where he knew Aizawa had been standing, but people had moved in the way now, and he couldn’t see him. “Dammit,” he whispered, knowing Monoma was too drunk and too annoyed to hear him. He waited, frustrated, and then someone moved out of the way, and Hitoshi finally had a clear view of Aizawa.

The corner of his mouth had curled up slightly, and he was toying with a cord that had very recently been plugged in at his feet, his eyes resting on Hitoshi lazily.

Hitoshi gave a breathless laugh, dizzy with relief and excitement.

He turned to Monoma, only to find that Monoma was traversing through the crowd towards a teacher, who he was presumably going to chew out for the lack of atmosphere, and then turned back to Aizawa. He wasn’t looking at him anymore, instead leaning down and plugging the cord back into the wall. The music kicked back into gear, and teachers who had been scrambling to get it back and working, stopped and breathed a sigh of relief. Aizawa looked back to Hitoshi, his little smirk gone and replaced with a firm look that had Hitoshi’s knees weak, and then he turned and headed for the doors of the gym.

Hitoshi turned and followed, heart hammering faster with every step he took. He knew, logically, that he shouldn’t follow, shouldn’t walk into a situation as dangerous as the one he was heading straight for. Aizawa was so much older than him, and was more than likely taking advantage of the fact that Hitoshi had a crush, and wasn’t as young as he used to be. It wouldn’t end well, no matter what happened.

He started to walk faster, pushing through the crowd a little more forcefully. The bells on his collar chimed, and he thought about Aizawa’s warm, calloused fingers slipping beneath the pink leather and tugging on it. Heat shot up his spine and he clenched his jaw, finally reaching the edge of the crowd.

“Hey!” Midoriya cried, and Hitoshi stopped to look at him, out of breath despite being in incredible shape. “Going back to the dorms?”

“Ah,” Hitoshi said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m just getting some air. I’ll be back.” Midoriya nodded and smiled, waving as he turned and headed back towards Todoroki, who was standing next to Iida and Aoyama. Hitoshi watched him for a second longer, and then turned and pushed the doors open, welcoming the cool air that washed over him.

Aizawa was standing several feet away, head tilted up to the dark sky, his hands tucked into the pockets of the suit he was wearing. Hitoshi hadn’t even noticed he was wearing a suit, but now that he had, he was slapped with how good it looked, and the oxygen in his lungs froze. He didn’t step towards Aizawa, despite wanting to very badly, instead staying still and memorizing the way he looked.

Who knew, it might be the last time he could look at him this way.

But then Aizawa turned, his hair falling from behind his ear, and he walked up to Hitoshi, silent aside from his footsteps. Hitoshi watched him, breathing shallowly, and didn’t move when he stopped moving with only two inches of space between them. He reached up, grasped the collar, fingers slipping beneath it, and flicked one of the bells with his thumb. The chime echoed throughout the world, and Hitoshi made a soft, breathless noise.

“Kitten,” Aizawa murmured, lips barely moving, his voice the thunder that made Hitoshi’s world crumble. “That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes,” Hitoshi whispered, dizzy with want. He was pathetic, really. All Aizawa had done was put his fingers beneath his collar. “Lost a dare.”

“Mm,” Aizawa hummed, tightening his grip on the collar. “That’s why you’re dressed like a slut.” Hitoshi whimpered, already impossibly hard from just a few words, lightheaded from the sheer amount of arousal driving him mad. Aizawa’s eyes, which had been resting on the collar, flicked up to Hitoshi’s face, unreadable as ever. “Acting like a slut, too,” he continued, his voice a low purr. “You did that just for my attention, didn’t you?”

Hitoshi nodded, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.

Aizawa chuckled. “Use your words, kitten. I haven’t done nearly enough to you for you to be unable to speak.”

“Y-yes,” Hitoshi said, licking his lips.

“Yes what?” Aizawa pressed, grip tightening just a little more on the collar, the leather digging into Hitoshi’s skin.

“Yes, sensei,” Hitoshi breathed. Aizawa’s eyes flashed red, and he tightened his grip on the collar hard enough to hurt. Then, he loosened his grip before taking his hand away completely. Hitoshi bit back a disappointed whine, staying silent and obedient.

“Are you drunk?” Aizawa asked firmly, looking to the side.

“No,” Hitoshi answered.

“Are you high?” Aizawa asked, voice growing more accusatory with every syllable.

“No,” Hitoshi answered.

“Is there any reason that I should assume you’re not in your right mind?” Aizawa pressed, turning to face Hitoshi again.

“No, no,” Hitoshi breathed. “I promise, I’m completely sober.” Aizawa watched him, carefully, for a single beat, before reaching out and grasping his upper arm, leading him away from the entrance to the gym and towards the trees that surrounded the buildings on Yuuei grounds.

As soon as they were hidden from sight, among the darkness broken only by moonlight, Aizawa pressed Hitoshi against the nearest tree, forcing one of his legs between Hitoshi’s. Hitoshi gasped lightly, the rough bark scraping against his lower back, where his shirt didn’t cover, and arched his spine slightly.

Then Aizawa was kissing him, hungry in a way that Hitoshi had never associated with him before, his stubble rough against Hitoshi’s skin. His mouth was warm and soft and wet and Hitoshi whined, meeting his kiss with just as much enthusiasm. Aizawa’s hands ran up his thighs, not touching where his skin was bare, skimming over his hips through the fabric of his skirt, and then up his sides. His callouses elicited shivers over Hitoshi’s skin, and he shivered, leaning closer and draping his arms around Aizawa’s neck. His hair was soft in his fingers, and Hitoshi got tangled in it, keeping his teacher close.

Kissing Aizawa was nothing like kissing anyone else, and as soon as Hitoshi felt the soft touch of his tongue, he knew he was completely fucked.

“Shit,” Hitoshi whispered when Aizawa pulled back for a single beat, pressing right back in like he couldn’t stand breaking the embrace for long. Hitoshi felt his lips curl into a smirk against his, and his entire body flooded with heat, a small noise erupting from the back of his throat. He tugged on Aizawa’s hair, lightly, urging him to kiss him harder. Aizawa made a low sound and shifted the angle, deepening the kiss, his hands roaming down to grasp Hitoshi’s hips.

“You did this to me,” Aizawa breathed, smearing a kiss along Hitoshi’s jaw, his breathing ragged. He took one of Hitoshi’s hands and pressed his palm against the large bulge in his pants, and Hitoshi exhaled shakily, grasping his length. Aizawa huffed, biting the skin just above the collar, and then took one of the bells into his mouth, tugging on it. “Were you planning on fucking him?” he growled, and Hitoshi, dizzy, barely managed to think of an answer.

“Yeah,” he admitted, rocking his erection against Aizawa’s thigh without thinking. He gasped lightly, and did it again, and Aizawa hummed, pressing his thigh against him hard enough that it was almost painful. “W-wanted you more,” he amended, every shift sending sparks up his spine.

“Didn’t look like it,” Aizawa hissed. “It looked like you would have let him fuck you right there, in front of me.”

Hitoshi choked when Aizawa’s teeth threatened to pierce the skin along his throat. “I w-was thinking of you,” he whimpered, “was imagining you instead, I s-swear, I always think of you.”

“You’re such a slut,” Aizawa snarled, pulling back to look into Hitoshi’s hooded eyes. “Fucking other people while you think of your teacher, huh? Does it get you off, imagining it’s me?” Hitoshi nodded, helpless and unable to breathe properly let alone speak. Aizawa, grinning like a wolf that had a rabbit in its jaws, leaned forward and bit Hitoshi’s earlobe. “I’ll tell you something, kitten,” he breathed, pushing his fingers up Hitoshi’s shirt. “I think about you too, whenever I touch myself, whenever we train. I think of you, spread out on my cock, moaning my name. I think about how tight your ass would be. I think about ruining you for everyone else.”

“Daddy,” Hitoshi whined, blinded by arousal. “Fuck, please, fuck me, ruin me, fuck my ass, please.”

“Oh,” Aizawa rumbled, “daddy, is it? Do you hear yourself? You really are a slut, kitten.” He took one of Hitoshi’s nipples between his fingers and pinched, hard, and Hitoshi’s hips bucked as he moaned, his grip on Aizawa’s hair the only thing keeping him grounded. “You like that too, don’t you? Being called a slut.”

“Yes,” Hitoshi gasped, “oh, god, yes.”

“I haven’t even fucked you yet,” Aizawa purred, pressing his lips gently against Hitoshi’s jaw, a direct contrast to the abuse of Hitoshi’s nipple. “So needy.” He whispered, and Hitoshi whined, rubbing his dick against Aizawa’s thigh a fraction faster.

“Please,” he hissed, slotting his and Aizawa’s mouths together. Aizawa growled and bit his bottom lip, moving his hand away from his chest and instead placing his palm over his throat, over the collar. He didn’t press or squeeze, just held it there, and Hitoshi whimpered against his mouth, pressing his entire front against Aizawa’s.

“I could fuck you right here,” Aizawa murmured against Hitoshi’s swollen, wet lips. “You would love that, wouldn’t you? Right where anyone could see us. Or would you rather I take you to my bed and take you apart there?”

“B-both,” Hitoshi stammered, getting closer to coming just on Aizawa’s thigh. “Oh, fuck, Aizawa –“ he gasped, arching his back so that the base of his skull hit the tree behind him.

Aizawa chuckled. “Pick one, kitten, you can’t have both. And it’s Shouta.” He paused, hand wandering from Hitoshi’s neck to his stomach. He pressed there, stilling Hitoshi’s hips and making him groan in protest, his orgasm within reach. Aizawa leaned forward and sank his teeth into Hitoshi’s collarbone. “You’re going to come on my cock, or you’re not going to come at all, understand?”

“Yes,” Hitoshi blurted, “yes.”

“Pick before I pick for you, kitten,” Aizawa rumbled, and Hitoshi licked his lips, barely having to think about it.

“Your bed,” he whispered, regaining a tiny amount of composure since Aizawa had stopped him from chasing his climax. “I want you to fuck me in your bed.”

Aizawa hummed, kissing Hitoshi deeply, before taking a few steps back, leaving Hitoshi to stand on his own, which took a full second to accomplish. Hitoshi looked at him, saw the dark hunger in his eyes, and shivered, pushing off the tree to move even a fraction closer to Aizawa.

“Don’t worry,” Aizawa hummed, adjusting his suit to make it look like he hadn’t been about to fuck one of his students against a tree. His lips were slightly red and a little swollen, however, and his cheeks dusted pink. It was exhilarating to Hitoshi, knowing he’d had an effect on someone as stoic and composed as Aizawa. Aizawa’s lips curled into another wolfish grin. “It’s not far.”

Hitoshi nodded, swallowing back the arousal that threatened to buckle his knees. He walked towards Aizawa, who tucked his hands into his pockets and started to traverse towards the edge of the woods.

It wasn’t far, and by the time they got inside Aizawa’s apartment, Hitoshi was slammed against the door without preamble. He gasped automatically spreading his legs, and Aizawa reached for his thighs, lifting him so that his legs were wrapped around his hips. Hitoshi, having known Aizawa’s strength for years, was still taken off guard by it, another overwhelming bolt of heat running up his spine.

“Kitten,” Aizawa whispered, mouthing at his clavicle with sharp teeth and even sharper kisses. “Hitoshi,” he said, “if you let me do this, I won’t let another living being touch you. I won’t be able to. I’m not polite or kind.”

“I’ve been yours for so long,” Hitoshi breathed, running his fingers through Aizawa’s hair, guiding his teacher to look into his eyes. “I would never ask you to give me to anyone else.”

Aizawa’s eyes flicked to something soft and warm, but it was only for a split second, and then he was kissing Hitoshi fiercely, and the second passed. His hands slid to the waistband of Hitoshi’s skirt, snapping it against his skin, and then he moved his hands and pushed them under the fabric, touching his hips through the silk of the panties he was wearing. He stopped, pulling away from the kiss, his brow furrowed. Hitoshi, breathless and confused, blinked at him.

“Kitten,” Aizawa suddenly said, voice dripping with arousal and recognition, “are you wearing panties?”

Hitoshi stopped breathing. The look in Aizawa’s eyes was both terrifying and beyond arousing, and the words he’d intended on speaking died on his tongue. Aizawa’s fingers dug into his hips, slipping beneath the panties, and he made a wounded sound, like Hitoshi had shot him in the stomach. He lifted Hitoshi and carried him through his apartment, quickly enough that Hitoshi barely got a glimpse of anything, and then dropped him on his mattress. He stood, looking at him, splayed out on his bed lewdly, and then turned and closed the door.

“You’re familiar with the stoplight system?” Aizawa said, voice completely toneless as he shrugged off his jacket and reached for his tie.

“Yes sensei,” Hitoshi breathed, watching the way Aizawa’s muscles shifted beneath his shirt as he unbuttoned it. He reached for his own shirt, pulling it over his head and dislodging the cat ears, throwing them both onto the floor. He reached for his boots and untied them faster than he thought he’d be able to, kicking them onto the ground.

By the time he’d reached for the waistband of his skirt, Aizawa had removed his shirt and his belt, and remained only in his slacks, his back turned to Hitoshi as he kicked off his shoes too. Hitoshi pushed the skirt off, discarding it onto the floor, and then Aizawa turned to look at him. As his eyes ran over him, almost completely naked, they went red, and Aizawa stepped towards the edge of the mattress.

“You look like sin,” Aizawa growled, climbing on top of Hitoshi and kissing him. Hitoshi’s hand slid to cup the back of his head, fingers tangled in his dark hair, entire body filling with heat at the feeling of Aizawa’s bare chest against his. His other hand slid over his shoulders, over the firm muscles he found in his upper back and arms, pulling him closer. “So fucking pretty,” he slurred, burying his face in the crook of Hitoshi’s neck and branding a hickey into his sensitive skin. Hitoshi whined and bucked his hips, pressing their erections together.

Aizawa’s scent was everywhere, intoxicating and better than anything else in the world. It was a dark scent, like his eyes and his hair and his voice, but it was good, so good. Hitoshi wanted to drown in it, wanted to die here, underneath Aizawa, where he could find nothing that threatened the happiness and arousal rippling through him.

Aizawa started to kiss down his chest, leaving hickeys and bruises in his wake, paying certain attention to his nipples, sucking and biting them until they were red and swollen, and Hitoshi was a whimpering mess. He dragged his tongue down Hitoshi’s flat stomach, stopping at the top of his panties, where his erection bumped the underside of Aizawa’s jaw, a damp spot forming in the silk. He grinned, a bloody flash of white teeth, and then pressed his tongue flat against the head of Hitoshi’s cock, through the soft, thin silk, causing stars to explode behind Hitoshi’s eyes.

“I,” he said, voice rough, as he slid Hitoshi’s panties down his thighs, revealing the flushed length of his dick, a bead of precum already forming again, “am going to keep these.” He balled the panties up and put them in the back pocket of his slacks, and Hitoshi moaned, hips twitching.

“Shouta,” he breathed, “daddy, please, fuck me, I need you.”

Aizawa tsked, pressing his mouth against the junction between Hitoshi’s hip and groin. He shifted Hitoshi’s legs so that they were resting lewdly on his shoulders, Aizawa’s mouth pressing livid marks in his pale thighs. “Not yet, kitten,” Aizawa breathed huskily, “I want to take you apart.” He shifted slightly and then ran his tongue along Hitoshi’s cock, making him cry out and ball his fists in the sheets.

“Oh god,” he choked. He’d never felt it this much before. Aizawa was the universe, the air in his lungs, the blood in his veins, and his touch was fire that burned and seared and soothed. He needed more of it, but didn’t know the words to ask. Aizawa hummed, pleased, and took the head of Hitoshi’s cock into his mouth, tongue flicking over the slit, sucking lightly. Hitoshi’s hips bucked and he moaned, but Aizawa’s hands pressed his hips down, stilling him.

Slowly, so fucking slowly, he took Hitoshi deeper into his mouth, and then into his throat, slowly moving up and down.

“D-daddy, please,” he gasped, overwhelmed when he locked eyes with Aizawa, unable to look away. Aizawa, somehow, smirked around his cock, and then moved a little faster, making lewd noises as he took Hitoshi deeper and deeper with each movement. Hitoshi, so close to coming, threw his head back and moaned, his knuckles white and his hips fighting against Aizawa’s hands to thrust into his hot mouth.

Aizawa pulled off as Hitoshi began to slip over the edge, licking his lips and humming. “You taste so good, baby,” he murmured, voice deep and wrecked. Hitoshi whined, and he moved back up to kiss him, and Hitoshi groaned when he tasted himself on Aizawa’s tongue. Aizawa rolled his own erection against Hitoshi’s the fabric of his pants painfully rough against Hitoshi’s oversensitive dick, but Hitoshi only moaned, making soft ah ah ah noises into Aizawa’s mouth with every lazy thrust.

“M-more,” Hitoshi choked, rocking his hips up to meet Aizawa’s, already so close. He could feel the heat rising behind his navel, swallowing up all other feeling, and Aizawa swore under his breath, nipping lightly at Hitoshi’s jaw. Hitoshi shifted and pressed his tongue to the column of Aizawa’s throat, sinking his teeth there and sucking a mark that even his scarf would have trouble hiding.

“Brat,” Aizawa hissed, pulling on Hitoshi’s hair and dragging him away from his neck. “I can’t hide that.”

“I know,” Hitoshi admitted, breathless, Aizawa’s hips pressing harder against him. “I can’t hide mine either.”

Aizawa faltered for a split second, eyes flicking down to Hitoshi’s neck, and then he laughed, soft and breathy, and sat back on his knees. Hitoshi whined, keeping his legs spread, itching to touch himself.

“Turn over,” Aizawa said, tapping his hip with one hand, the other busy opening the front of his slacks. Hitoshi watched him for a moment, mouth filling with saliva at the sight of his surprisingly large cock straining against the fabric of his boxers, and turned onto his stomach, immediately rutting against the sheets. Aizawa brought his hand down onto his ass, hard, and Hitoshi cried out, white-knuckling the pillow below his chest. “Oh, you liked that?” Aizawa mumbled, repeating his action. Hitoshi gave another cry at the smack, heat piercing his stomach.

“Daddy,” Hitoshi whined, lifting his ass into the air. Aizawa groaned and grabbed Hitoshi’s ass, kneading the flesh there, until Hitoshi’s hips were back against the mattress, and he was leaning over him. He reached into the dresser next to the bed, opening the drawer with one hand and rooting around, his other hand still grasping Hitoshi’s ass.

He found what he was looking for and hummed, taking his hand from Hitoshi’s ass and tapping his lower back. Hitoshi lifted his hips again, and Aizawa pushed two pillows beneath them, so that when he relaxed, his ass was elevated.

“So pretty,” he said, and then there were two, slick, cold fingers pressing into Hitoshi, and he whimpered, pressing back against them. “Relax, kitten,” Aizawa purred, pressing his fingers deeper and scissoring them, stretching Hitoshi out. Hitoshi made a soft noise and buried his face in the pillow below him, biting his lip hard enough for it to bleed.

Then Aizawa brushed up against something inside of him, something none of his other lover’s had ever managed to reach, and he cried out suddenly, his orgasm about to slam him. He needed Aizawa inside of him now.

“Fuck me,” Hitoshi slurred, “wanna come, please, fuck me already.”

“You’re not prepped enough, kitten,” Aizawa soothed, his hand running comfortingly over Hitoshi’s back. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

“Won’t,” Hitoshi urged, “please, Shouta, please, it’s green, it’s green.”

There was a pause, where Aizawa considered, and Hitoshi slowly went more and more insane, and then he cursed under his breath again. Hitoshi breathed a sigh of relief as Aizawa retracted his fingers and then got off the bed, kicking away his pants and boxers, climbing back on quickly. Hitoshi heard the wet sounds of him slicking himself up and felt a surge of dizzying arousal when Aizawa made a low, pleased noise. Then, he was lining himself up, and slowly started to push in.

“Colour,” Aizawa breathed, going as slowly as he could.

“Green,” Hitoshi whimpered, the burning stretch almost too much for him to handle. Aizawa pressed in a little deeper, and then Hitoshi pushed back instinctively, and he slipped in completely, filling Hitoshi in ways he didn’t know he could be filled. “Ohmygod,” Hitoshi choked, gripping the sheets tightly enough to tear them.

“Fuck,” Aizawa growled, gripping onto Hitoshi’s hips. “So fucking tight, kitten, so good,” he praised, leaning down to press a kiss between Hitoshi’s shoulder blades. Hitoshi whimpered, tears already filling his eyes, and he closed them, the salty liquid trailing down his face. “Colour, Hitoshi, colour.” Aizawa pressed, suddenly urgent.

“Green,” Hitoshi breathed, unable to do much else. “Fuck me, daddy.”

Aizawa growled and then snapped his hips, hard and fast, and Hitoshi shouted out, arching his back to get Aizawa deeper. As it was, he was going deeper than Hitoshi had ever managed with the dildos he’d bought, rubbing against that magic spot with every thrust. He started a lethally brutal pace, snapping his hips harder and harder with every thrust, saying Hitoshi’s name every so often.

“You feel so fucking good,” Aizawa gasped, painting bruises on Hitoshi’s hips with his hands. “Fuck, kitten, Hitoshi, you’re so good.”

“M’gonna come,” Hitoshi slurred, moaning. “m’gonna come, daddy, m’gonna come.”

“Good boy,” Aizawa snarled, biting into Hitoshi’s shoulder as he fucked into him. “Come for me, Hitoshi, my kitten.”

Hitoshi came with a shout, Aizawa’s first name on his tongue, the pleasure wracking through every single nerve in his body. He’d never come so hard, hard enough that his vision suddenly went out and all he could feel was Aizawa – Shouta – fucking him, touching him, praising him and coaxing him through his orgasm. He whined as he came down from his high, a sticky warmth spreading over the pillows beneath his hips.

“Where?” Shouta suddenly demanded, voice strained and more animalistic than Hitoshi had ever heard it.

“In m-me, in me,” Hitoshi gasped, and then Shouta was grinding his cock deep into Hitoshi as he came, his breath coming in ragged bursts, Hitoshi’s name the only thing he seemed able to say. Hitoshi whined as he felt Shouta’s come spilling into him, hot and deep, his face buried between Hitoshi’s sweat-damp shoulder blades. He kept rocking into him until Hitoshi could feel his hands shaking from where they were braced next to Hitoshi’s shoulders, and then he started to pull out, when Hitoshi made a noise of protest. “Stay,” he breathed, “please, stay.”

Shouta chuckled weakly and then rolled them both onto their sides, curling an arm around Hitoshi’s waist where they lay. Hitoshi, still breathing hard, tried to slow his breathing and his heart rate, snuggling back into Shouta, who only pulled him closer, his chest damp with sweat and warm against Hitoshi’s back.

The moments broken by their panting slowly turned into quieter ones, their breathing slowing to a normal rate, and Hitoshi’s eyes started to fall closed.

Then, he remembered something, and turned to half glance at Shouta. Shouta hummed, posing it as a question, and Hitoshi kissed the underside of his jaw.

“Happy Halloween,” he murmured. There was an almost painful silence, and Hitoshi flushed a dark red, embarrassed for even bringing up the holiday.

But then Shouta was laughing, deeper and happier than Hitoshi had ever heard before, the sound resonating through Hitoshi’s entire body, thunderous and soothing. His face was squished into the crook of Hitoshi’s neck, his lips spread and parted in his laughter, and Hitoshi started to laugh too, because Shouta’s laughter was infectious at worst.

~

Two days later, when Hitoshi didn’t show up to 3-A’s classes, Ashido found him in 3-B’s dorms and slammed her hand down on the table he was sitting at, texting Shouta. He looked up, startled, and met her furious eyes.

“You transferred classes?!” she roared, and Hitoshi blinked before cracking a grin.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It was the only way I could be in a relationship with Aizawa.”

Ashido stared at him. “What the hell are you talking about?” He sighed and then gestured vaguely to the hickeys littered over his neck, and she blinked, not realizing, and then her face when slack with shock. “You mean – Halloween – that was – Aizawa?!”

Hitoshi blushed. “Yes, but keep it down, we’re trying to keep it from the whole school. We talked to Nezu because…well because he showed up at Aizawa’s apartment yesterday and found me in his bed. It took a lot of explaining but he said as long as it hadn’t affected my previous grades and if I switched classes that…that it was okay.”

Ashido stared at him for several long moments. “You’re so kinky,” she blurted, dropping down into a chair across from him. “I want details.”

Hitoshi looked back down at his phone, where he’d sent a heart to Shouta, throwing caution to the wind. Shouta was typing, and then, as he was watching, a message containing nothing but a simple, red heart popped up. He grinned and turned off his phone, putting it into his pocket.

“Nope.”  

~