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Hitoshi probably should have seen this coming. 

The problem was, of course, that he was with Sensei, and so like an idiot had assumed that he was safe, and that nothing could possibly happen to him. 

They’d been halfway through a patrol - Hitoshi was a pro now, after all, and getting to patrol with Sensei instead of training with him sent a sort of dizzy, excited rush of pride through him - when they’d both gotten roped into a fight with a villain that had gone. Very badly. 

So. Here Hitoshi was, with Sensei - who seemed uncharacteristically dazed but unhurt - locked in a very small room and handcuffed with his hands behind his back. Right. 

The first word he managed to rasp was, “Shit.” 

Sensei looked over at him with abject relief on his face before he seemed to smother it with some effort. 

“Alright?” 

“Yeah. How long have I been out?” 

Sensei shrugged. “Hard to say. Maybe an hour.” Then his expression darkened. “My quirk isn’t working.” 

Hitoshi tried not to let the fear show on his face. Sensei’s quirk was what they needed to get out of here - the strength part of it, at least. “Shit.” 

“Yeah.” 

“You tried it?” 

“No one’s come in so not yet, I can just - tell.”

“Someone took it?” 

“Seems that way.”  

Hitoshi searched around in his brain and soon felt the comforting, hazey weight of his own quirk. He said, “Mine seems fine.” 

Sensei’s hands were cuffed too. It made Hitoshi more nervous than his own, for some reason. 

“Looks like it’s all you, then, kiddo.” 

Hitoshi winced. “Come on, Sensei.” 

“Sorry. Old habits.” 

Hitoshi stood up - surprisingly difficult without hands - and paced around the room, inspecting the door (locked), the windows (locked, too thick), the walls. He sort of reached out with his quirk, something he’d been working on recently, and felt a little ping in response outside. 

Quietly, he said to Sensei, “They have a mind quirk too.” 

Sensei looked at him intently. “How do you know that?” 

“Just know.” 

Sensei grinned at him, genuine pride in his expression, and Hitoshi felt his cheeks get warm. 

“You’ve really come a long way, kiddo.” 

Sensei.” 

“Right. Not kiddo.” Then, under his breath, he muttered, “Obviously.” 

Hitoshi let that go, since he didn’t have time to think about it. He kept pacing for about half an hour, murmuring to himself, trying to work through the problem. Sensei just sort of watched him from his place on the floor, quiet. 

“-got a psychic quirk, at least the one, he seemed like the type to be by himself earlier, quirk probably works the same as -”

Oh. Oh! 

Hitoshi whirled back to Sensei. “I got it.” 

Sensei just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Do you know how my quirk works, Sensei?” 

“Needs a question answered.” 

“No, I mean, how it physically works.” 

Sensei shook his head, made a face. “No, actually.” 

Hitoshi’s breathing was coming a little faster. If this worked - 

“It alters brain chemistry,” Hitoshi said, speaking too fast, “Like a drug, you know? Impedes neural function and shit, and if his works the same way -”

Always quick on the uptake Sensei said, “You think you can cancel it out.” 

Hitoshi nodded. “If I -” 

He stopped. 

He’d never done something like this before and it gave him … pause. A strange anticipation bubbled uncomfortably in his stomach. Sensei suddenly looked at him with a very dark expression, almost afraid. His voice sounded different when he spoke next.

“If you put me under.” 

Hitoshi licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. Why was his mouth so dry? 

“Yeah.” 

Sensei took a breath, licked his lips too. Hitoshi felt himself noticing it, then chided himself for noticing at all. It was the room, it was - too small. It was too small, and he was stressed out, they were both stressed out, and - and it was Sensei , it was Sensei, Hitoshi had been like this for him for years

Hitoshi, get your shit together. 

Sensei said, “How sure are you?” 

Hitoshi noticed - again, couldn’t seem to help noticing - that Sensei’s voice was suddenly much lower, rougher, like he needed to clear his throat but wouldn’t do it. 

“Uh, pretty sure. It - it feels like a similar quirk to mine, in that way, at least. I think -” Hitoshi took a second to consider the logistics of it, “I think if I use it in the right way, it’ll, uh-“” 

He’d never used his quirk on Sensei before. Ever. Not even once during training. 

“- it’ll put me in control of your brain instead.” 

Sensei swallowed too loud. He wouldn’t look Hitoshi in the eye. 

Hitoshi said, “That way when I let it go it should reboot your neural pathways - are you - are you afraid?” 

Sensei’s voice was lower, even, than it had been before. “Of someone hijacking my brain?” 

“It’s me, Aizawa-Sensei.”

With a vehemence Hitoshi didn’t understand at all, Sensei spat, “I know .” 

Hitoshi blinked. He felt … oddly betrayed that Sensei was afraid of his quirk. He didn’t like it. 

After a minute, Sensei seemed to sit up straighter and said, with a visible effort to collect himself, “It’s a good plan, kiddo.” 

“It’s our only plan.” 

Another minute. “Alright, do it.” 

“Are you -”

Exasperatedly, Sensei hissed, “ Yes .” 

Hitoshi couldn’t look him in the eye. Sensei noticed and his voice got softer.

“I’m not afraid of you, Shinsou.” 

Hitoshi looked at him, looking for the lie. He didn’t see one. Just Sensei’s dark, dark eyes and an odd little flush on his cheeks.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” 

Hitoshi nodded. He shut his eyes and let his quirk sort of fill his own head for a second. When he opened his eyes, Sensei startled a little. His pupils dilated. Hitoshi couldn’t tell if it was fear or - 

Or nothing. Get your motherfucking shit together, Hitoshi.

He said, “Sensei...are you sure?” 

Sensei swallowed heavily again, then sort of fidgeted around for a second. He seemed to become more aware of his cuffed hands, glanced back at them, and then said, “Yeah.” 

Hitoshi felt it all at once. It was different, when someone was willing. Deeper. The only other person he’d tried this with was Denki, but that was - completely different. He couldn’t think about that. 

He tried motor functions first. 

Sensei, stand up .” 

Sensei’s face got alarmingly blank and his eyes slid off Hitoshi like he wasn’t even there. He stood, far more gracefully than Hitoshi had. He was always doing that, he was always - surprising Hitoshi with how - how graceful he was when he moved, when he fought. People didn’t seem to notice it. 

Right. He was testing theories, not standing here noticing

Tell me if you feel your quirk .” 

“I don’t,” Sensei said. 

A strange rush of power went through Hitoshi at the immediacy of Sensei’s answer, the willingness he could feel in Sensei’s brain and body. He felt himself blushing, a little. His heart rate kicked up. 

Okay, then. Time to test his memory and reasoning.

Sensei, tell me a memory. The first one you think of. ” 

Sensei said, dark eyes blank, “Your graduation.” 

Something very warm touched Hitoshi’s chest. Oh. 

Okay. Focus, Hitoshi. Just go through all the parts of Sensei’s brain that could be affecting him, and then let him go. It’s easy. 

Emotions. 

What ... did you feel at my graduation ?”

“Happiness.” 

Not enough. He needed to access more emotions. 

Tell me what else .” 

“Pride. A lot of pride. Excitement, sadness, relief.”

Hitoshi skipped over the pride that made him feel like he was going to tip over and asked, “Relief?” 

Sensei didn’t answer. 

Right. He needed to phrase it different, he’d only had the damn quirk for most of his 22 fucking years, Get a fucking hold of yourself, Hitoshi. 

He shouldn’t have been pushing, anymore. He’d tested emotional response, the depth of the emotion shouldn’t have mattered, he should’ve moved on, but - 

But Hitoshi had him here. He had him here and he could ask him anything, anything he wanted. 

The realization swept through him like a warm, dizzy tidal wave that carried itself all the way through his quirk. Sensei sort of twitched with it, eyes fixing hazedly on Hitoshi’s face. 

Putting more force into it, more of the power of his quirk, Hitoshi said, “ Tell me why you felt relief .” 

“I wouldn’t have to see you every day.” 

Hitoshi suddenly felt a little like he’d been punched in the stomach. He wanted to be sick. He felt - awful, truly awful, like someone had gutted him. 

He must have put too much force behind it, because Sensei kept going. 

“I wouldn’t have to try so hard not to touch you.” 

Hitoshi froze. He stared at Sensei in disbelief.

“Sensei.... were you -“ 

Jesus. Hitoshi’s heart was fucking sprinting in his chest. Suddenly everything, everything was on a knife edge, with no warning at all everything was - he could - could he - 

Hitoshi swallowed, took a step closer and said, “Tell me why you were afraid of my quirk, before. ” 

“I wasn’t afraid.” 

What you felt, then .” 

“Anticipation.” 

Hitoshi’s own voice was a whisper, now. “ What else? ” 

“Arousal. Embarrassment.” 

Jesus Christ. 

Without his quirk Hitoshi said, “Sensei, do you - like this?” 

He didn’t answer. Hitoshi felt like his dick was going to explode with how fast it got hard. He used too much power when he said, “ Look at me .” 

Sensei’s eyes snapped up to his, dark and vacant and enormously dilated. His cheeks were flushed, and so was his neck, and his ears. 

Hitoshi took a step closer, and their faces were closer than they ever had been before. Hitoshi had had endless, countless dreams about this. For years he’d had them. Had woken up aching and empty and ashamed, had dreamed about it while he was in bed with other people , had gone so far as to fuck some random guy he didn’t even like just because his eyes were so dark and now -

“You do,” Hitoshi breathed in disbelief. “Holy fucking shit.” 

He didn’t move – couldn’t – but Sensei’s breathing got faster. Hitoshi licked his lips again. He felt like he was about to fall off a very steep ledge.

“Do you - Sensei do you… do you want me?” 

No response, except a dark flush across Sensei’s chest that Hitoshi knew, instinctively, was shame. 

“Sensei, tell me –”

He wasn’t sure how to phrase it. His fucking hands were shaking. He was losing control of his quirk. He could feel how much of himself was in it, this time. How much Sensei must have been feeling – Hitoshi’s excitement, his disbelief, how painfully fucking hard he was in spite of the fact that they were literally being held fucking hostage –

Tell me what you want to do to me .”

Sensei answered immediately . He barely even waited for Hitoshi to finish speaking. The words were fast, breathless and without pause, pulled out of him before he’d even had a chance to think them.

“Everything I thought about everything I wanna hold you I wanna kiss your hair and your forehead and your ears and your fucking mouth I thought about your mouth every fucking day you tortured me I wanna fucking fuck you until you cry I wanna see your face when you come I dreamed about it and I felt fucking sick I wanna make you suck my cock until you can’t breathe I wanna choke you on it I wanna take care of you and hurt you and have you, everything .”

Hitoshi actually fell to his knees. He just. Couldn’t stand anymore. Sensei’s mind just sort of slipped out of Hitoshi’s slack grip, and he let him go. His skin was on fire. He felt like someone had used a quirk on him. He felt like he was on fucking ecstasy. His ears were ringing, his hands were shaking, his heart was beating so fast he thought maybe someone ought to call an ambulance.

He heard himself whimper, “ Sensei ,” but it hardly sounded like his own voice. 

Sensei was on his knees too, and he just sort of stared into space with a vaguely horrified, ashamed look on his face for a second before he looked at Hitoshi with an expression that Hitoshi had never seen on him before. 

Sensei’s voice was low, better now that there was more of himself in it. 

“Hitoshi,” he murmured, and the sound it of sent a fission of sparks down Hitoshi’s spine, “We’re going to get out of this building, and then we are going to go home, and then you are going to put me under again.” 

In spite of the disbelief and shock and fear Hitoshi felt at the speed with which the literal impossible was happening, he still felt himself smirk. 

“You liked it that much, Sensei?” 

“So did you, I could feel it.” 

Hitoshi’s smirk widened into a grin, and it felt strange to be looking at Sensei like that. Sensei’s eyes went to Hitoshi’s mouth, then his chest, his feet, and back up to his eyes again. 

“Stop flirting with me, Shinsou, it’s weird,” Sensei said, activating his quirk and wrenching the door off its hinges easily, assuming a combat stance.

Huh. Guess his plan had worked. 

Hitoshi hadn’t even noticed.  

Hitoshi followed suit, decked their first guard in the face and said, “You literally told me you wanted to make me cry like, two minutes ago, Sensei, I think we’re past it.” 

“Hey,” Sensei snapped, a strange light in his eyes as he took a guard down so gracefully the man didn’t even seem to notice he was falling, “I was heavily coerced.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” 

Sensei huffed a laugh, and the two of them proceeded to decimate the warehouse of B list villains in a matter of minutes. 

 

Hitoshi wasn’t sure exactly how they got to Sensei’s house, but there they were. He’d never been inside before. He hesitated a second, feeling like maybe he should ask permission or something - 

“Shinsou, what are you doing? It’s cold.” 

Right. 

He felt high, nervous and on edge and also like he was floating through space, he’d never allowed himself to even think about this before and now that it was within reach he thought it might kill him. He was physically shaking with anticipation. 

He didn’t wait even one second before he said, hair on the back of his neck raising, “Should I take off my shoes?” 

Sensei gave him an odd look over his shoulder and said, “Of course you sh-”

Hitoshi grinned as Sensei froze, eyes glazing over. “ Gotcha .” 

It was - more than too much, the rush of power he felt doing this to Sensei. In his own house. By his own request . Hitoshi felt his knees get weak. He went over in front of Sensei and looked at him. 

His hair was up - something he did more lately than he had when he was teaching Hitoshi - and it suited him so well it made Hitoshi’s toes curl into the carpet. His eyes were so dark Hitoshi could barely see where his pupils were. There was this flush on his cheeks, and with that ever-present shadow of stubble on his jaw he looked - more human than Hitoshi had ever really seen him. He was still Sensei, but maybe a little Aizawa too. The idea of him being Shouta still made Hitoshi fucking shake so he avoided it. 

Very quietly and without his quirk, he said, “I’ve never been able to look at you before.” 

Aizawa looked at him, eyes hazey but aware, at least dimly. At least for now. 

“You said before,” Hitoshi whispered softly, “That you wanted to - that you wanted me.” 

Aizawa said nothing, predictably. 

Tell me if that’s true .” 

“It’s true.” 

Hitoshi took a breath, let it finally start to sink in. “ How long has that been true ?” 

“Since I caught you with Kaminari third year.” 

Hitoshi squeezed his eyes shut, cock twitching in his pants. “Jesus, Sensei.” 

He paused, opened his eyes again and asked, “Why did you want me to Brainwash you?” 

A pause, then Hitoshi said, “ Answer me .” 

“I don’t trust myself.” 

Hitoshi raised an eyebrow at him. “So you want me to - what, hold you back?” 

Immediately Aizawa said, “Yes.” 

Hitoshi considered it for less than a fucking second, the thought scouring heat through him like a bolt of lightning, then said, “Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.” 

Aizawa’s pupils dilated further, and Hitoshi felt his cock twitch again. He stepped in close, lowered his voice to a register that had served him very well in the past, used his quirk again and said, “ You thought about me, Sensei? ” 

Even under the quirk, even when he was supposed to be mindless, Sensei’s voice shook. 

“Yes.” 

How often ?” 

“Every day.”

You fantasized about me ?” 

“Yes.” 

Did you imagine making me beg ?” 

“Yes.” 

Cry ?” 

Sensei’s voice wavered again when he said, “ Yes .” 

On a whim and because Hitoshi’d gotten very good at reading people, he put a lot of force into his quirk and asked, “ What did I call you ?” 

Aizawa’s eyes sort of flickered, like for a second he was trying to push against Hitoshi’s quirk, and he said nothing. Something in his face twitched. Hitoshi had never felt someone fight him so hard.

“Tell me.”  

“Sensei. Shouta. Daddy.” 

All three of those made Hitoshi blush hot and tingly on the back of his neck, but the last one hit him the hardest. 

Jesus Christ. 

Hitoshi started untucking Sensei’s shirt for him with a soft little murmur of Don’t move, and then, while he was unbuttoning Sensei’s pants he said, “Sensei, the times when you imagined I called you - uh, where I.” 

Jesus, even the thought of it made him so fucking hot and embarrassed he thought he might just fall to the floor. His knees were shaking. He felt like he was barely hanging onto himself. 

He cleared his throat and tried again. 

“When you imagined me calling you - Daddy -”

There was a visible reaction through the Brainwash again, a twitch of Sensei’s face, a jerk of his fingertips. It happened in Hitoshi’s body too, a sweeping, all over flush and the prickling chill of some kind of dreadful, almost frightened anticipation. 

Using more power than he ever had on someone before, even in a fight, even against an enemy, Hitoshi pushed the weight of his whole mind and will against Sensei’s brain and said, “ Fuck me like that .” 

He watched the weight of his first real honest Command hit Sensei like a train.

Even after Hitoshi backed off his quirk, Sensei still seemed to be drowning in it. Hitoshi could feel how deep it sat in his brain, and it felt - good , it felt good to be so - so far inside him. 

It felt so good, in fact, that Hitoshi murmured, “Sensei, I kinda wanna fuck you.” 

Sensei’s voice was unreal when he spoke: violent , urgent and rough and low.

“Later, need you now .” 

Later - ? 

Hitoshi didn’t have time to consider much else before Sensei literally bodily picked him up, threw him over his shoulder and carried him to his room. He tossed Hitoshi onto his bed, careless , and turned his back on him to close the door, and Hitoshi felt his toes curl against the comforter. 

Hitoshi could feel the singlemindedness in Sensei’s brain through the quirk and it - sort of frightened him. Enough to make his cock twitch, at least. 

Generally there was some amount of interference when he commanded someone to do something - they were thinking about something else, or trying to break out or something. Sensei - 

His entire mind was focused on fucking Hitoshi. Conscious and unconscious. Every part of his brain was screaming at him for this. Even to Hitoshi, even from the outside, the intensity of it was deafening.

Sensei dropped to his knees next to the bed, whole body shaking with how bad he wanted to touch Hitoshi. Hitoshi could feel it coming from him in desperate, posessive waves. 

 In a fit of pique Hitoshi said, “What are you thinking?” 

Sensei didn’t answer, eyes impossibly dark on Hitoshi’s face, his hair, his chest, his hands. 

Hitoshi pushed with his quirk again, still too strong. “ Tell me, Sensei. Tell me everything. ” 

Instantly, Sensei’s eyes rolled back in his head and he said, “ Fuck , that feels...” 

The curse made Hitoshi’s whole body tingle. Sensei reached for him and dragged him to the edge of the bed, legs spread like a fucking whore, and leaned into Hitoshi’s space to whisper into his ear, still with that single minded intensity that bordered on desperation, thoughts pulled out of his mouth with Hitoshi's quirk in a disjointed, frantic mess. 

“- need you, I need to be in you I need it I’m gonna die if I don’t have you, baby baby boy my baby I’m - I need you, please, I -”

Hitoshi looked Sensei in the eye and said, “ Sensei, calm down .” 

Sensei stopped shaking. He sat back on his heels, tipped his head back and breathed a long sigh. When he looked back at Hitoshi, he looked so unbelievably lazy and predatory that Hitoshi felt it all the way in the base of his spine. 

“Shinsou,” Sensei murmured, reaching up for Hitoshi’s ankles and just holding them in his hands, “That feels so fucking good.” 

Jesus Christ. Hitoshi was so fucking turned on by this it was bordering on pain. He bit his own lip and closed his eyes briefly, trying to get his shit together. 

Sensei looked up at him then, concern twisting his drugged-out expression. 

“My baby,” he murmured, eyes all over every part of Hitoshi’s face. It felt - posessive, his expression. “My baby.” 

Then without any warning whatsoever, Sensei yanked Hitoshi’s pants down around his knees and spun him around so he was face down with his ass hanging off the bed. He reached for the lube in his side drawer like he knew exactly where it was, like he’d just used it, and something about it made Hitoshi blush. 

“Too quiet.” 

Jesus. 

For a long time Sensei just knelt on the floor with his hands on Hitoshi’s thighs, looking. Spreading him open wide and just staring . He said, voice slurred and dark, “This quirk is like a drug, Shinsou, you know that?”

Hitoshi couldn’t really think with Sensei’s hands on him. He couldn’t really think with that voice, either, or the almost mocking way he’d clicked his tongue when he’d said my baby.

So he just sort of nodded, and then Sensei was working two overly slick fingers inside him both at once. He gasped, sharp, and then groaned dizzily when he felt the ridge of one of Sensei’s scars from the inside

He lost control of his quirk for a second, almost enough to lose the grip on Aizawa’s mind, but not quite. He still had it. 

Sensei noticed, voice all soft and syrupy sweet and so low it vibrated Hitoshi’s chest. 

“Is my baby gonna let me go? I felt that. You almost dropped it.” 

Hitoshi’s breath hitched. Sensei’s fingers kept pulling out real slow and then pushing back in again, like he had all the time in the world. 

He did it for ages . Just fucked Hitoshi at this awful pace, with just his two fingers and too much lube, all the time murmuring about how easy his fingers slid inside, how much he loved it, how much Hitoshi loved it, and making these amused, affectionate shushing sounds whenever Hitoshi moaned. 

After god knew how long Hitoshi started to drool on Sensei’s bedspread. He finally let his head drop. His hold on Sensei’s mind was wire-thin.

“Oh, you’re so fucking sweet like this,” Sensei murmured, voice terribly dark. Hitoshi thought he might pass out. He never wanted it to stop. He never wanted Sensei to stop talking. He hadn’t imagined Sensei would talk like this , even with Hitoshi making him.

The fingers just kept fucking him slow and warm and wet, not deep enough or fast enough, until Hitoshi was losing his mind. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he should use his quirk to command Sensei to get the fuck on with if before his dick fell o- 

“Gotta make you let me go before you tell me to hurry up, huh?” 

Fucking mind reader. Hitoshi mumbled something to that affect. 

Sensei rubbed his free hand soothingly up Hitoshi’s back and said, “Sensei knows you, baby.” 

Jesus. Jesus Christ. 

Sensei’s awful, drug-quirk slurred, impossibly low voice cooed, “You like that? You like being my baby?” 

His fingers suddenly pushed deeper, excruciatingly slow, and finally finally brushed over his prostate with such a light pressure that Hitoshi slammed his fist uselessly against the bed. He barely heard Sensei when he spoke, talking through it as if he wasn’t ruining Hitoshi’s life. 

“Felt your perfect little asshole shiver when I said that, Hitoshi, you’re mine , you know that? You’ve always been fucking mine.” 

What the fuck

Those long scarred fingers rubbed teasingly over that spot again and Hitoshi let out a breathless, helpless noise when they kept teasing. 

Sensei murmured, “Yeah, I know, I know.” 

“Fuck-”

“Mm. Say it again,” Sensei said softly, unhurried but urgent. 

Hitoshi shut his mouth, and Sensei’s fingers did something truly awful that made lightning shoot up Hitoshi’s spine.  

“Come on,” Sensei said, but his voice was sort of this sing-song little mocking sound, like you’d make at a stray cat, “Come on. Fuck . Say it again.” 

There were three fingers now, and so much lube Hitoshi could hear it. 

Sensei cooed, “Oh, my baby’s so wet inside,” and Hitoshi cursed viciously, almost like a reflex. 

Fuck . Fuck.” 

“There’s my good boy.” 

Hitoshi’s control over his quirk stretched like a rubber band, and for a second Sensei was vacant eyed and drooling all over himself before he came back and whispered, “You want it? You want me to make you cry, sweetheart? Fuck, this brainwash high feels good. Should rent you out for this.” 

Hitoshi felt a moan bubble up out of his throat, warmth spreading across his face and down the back of his neck. Sensei’s fingers kept teasing him horribly, relentlessly. 

“You like that? What else should I rent you out for?” 

“F- fucking - oh, shit.” 

Sensei cooed, “Fucking? For fucking? Oh that’s filthy , Hitoshi.”

Hitoshi’s control snapped and he let Aizawa go from his quirk, but neither of them even seemed to notice.

“Holy f-fucking shit, Sensei, fuck -”

Hitoshi hadn’t - sure, he’d thought about this. He’d thought about Sensei being sort of hesitant with him, and he’d thought about Sensei not being hesitant at all, and he’d imagined him being sweet and he’d imagined him being rough but he had never imagined him saying shit like this. He’d never known Sensei was capable of thinking shit like this.

“Of fucking course I should rent you out for fucking, look at you, look at that, god, my baby’s so good, you’d just take anyone I gave you to, wouldn’t you-”

Hitoshi’s skin burned everywhere. He was covered in sweat. The teasing was fucking endless, torturous, and Sensei’s lilting, cooing voice was just - 

Sensei kept his fingers so deep inside, it was awful, god Hitoshi never wanted it to stop - 

Sensei -”

With his fingers still in him Sensei slapped Hitoshi once on the ass, hard. Really hard. His voice dropped almost a whole octave.

“Dirty fucking boy, can’t believe you like that.” 

For the love of fucking god. Hitoshi suddenly couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He felt like his whole brain was turning inside out. He felt like Sensei was using his own fucking quirk on him. He felt brainwashed and Sensei was right it felt good

Hitoshi didn’t recognize his own voice when he spoke. It trembled helplessly.

“Do it again.” 

Sensei’s fingers twitched inside him. He said, “Do what?” 

Hitoshi shoved his face into the bed, overwhelmingly hot. 

“Hit me again.” 

Sensei made a noise in his throat, a warm sound of surprise that Hitoshi would never forget, and ran the fingers of his free hand over Hitoshi’s ass. 

“Ask Daddy real nice, Hitoshi.” 

Hitoshi hissed, “Oh, motherfucking shit,” and felt himself blush all the way from his cheeks down his chest. It might have even been - 

“Oh, baby, oh, my god, your asshole blushes, that’s so fucking cute, holy shit, baby you like it when I talk to you like that?” 

Hitoshi started making these embarrassing, hitching breaths, the fingers brushing his prostate suddenly and abruptly not enough, and he felt himself squirm. 

“Come on, baby.” 

Hitoshi squeezed his eyes shut and felt himself blushing again and right before he spoke Sensei finally rubbed inside him with actual purpose. 

His whole spine lit itself on fire. His cock felt like it was going to explode . Chills erupted all over his body as soon as he spoke and he gasped, kept speaking, felt it sear through his chest, “Daddy, oh fuck, oh m- Daddy , please hit me again, fuck .” 

All Sensei’s breath left him at once. He whispered Fuck to himself so quiet Hitoshi could hardly hear it over the roaring of his own heartbeat in his ears. He pulled his fingers out and Hitoshi felt himself make a high, awful whining noise of protest. 

“No no no no come b-”

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by a slap to the soft skin of his ass that was so hard Hitoshi felt it in his teeth . Before he could even think three more came, one after the other, harder than anyone had ever hit Hitoshi before and harder than he’d ever hit anyone else, and the pain was so sharp it felt cold at first and then it was unbearably hot, a sweeping all-over chill of fever all the way to his toes. 

Hitoshi’s brain fucking emptied itself like an etchasketch. 

Sensei started murmuring under his breath, and he hit him again. Hitoshi swore his vision whited out. 

“- perfect fucking perfect baby boy I knew it I always knew it -”

There was one more, and Hitoshi was absolutely certain that another one would break him, and then there was one more and it was freezing , and then blinding, and then burning and bone-deep all the way inside him, and without waiting even a single second Sensei spread him open and laid messy, frantic, open-mouth kisses to Hitoshi’s fucking asshole like he was going to die if he didn’t. 

Hitoshi cried. He felt it: a sob wrenched out of his chest, like a hiccup. It was almost like a little squeal. His eyes welled up. 

Then all the sudden Sensei was kissing the red, tender skin of his ass so gently, speaking to him so softly - 

“- my good boy, my favorite boy, it was always you, you were always my favorite, all mine, all mine, I’d never let anyone touch you, baby, fucking angel , god, you look - please, lemme have you.” 

Hitoshi’s chest seized up with a sort of frantic desperation and his voice was loud, too loud when he said, “Yes, fuck , Daddy please , fucking fuck me-”

Sensei’s cock was already there, and Hitoshi didn’t even realize he’d collapsed onto the bed until Sensei’s big hands were hauling his hips up again. 

“Say it again for me, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me-”

Hitoshi’s breath hitched when Sensei spread him open again, hands careless and too hot on the raised handprints he’d just left, and then he was pushing all the way inside in one long, slow press that made Hitoshi feel like his entire soul was opening up. 

He made some sort of noise, but it sounded garbled to his own ears. Sensei cursed viciously behind him, stayed buried all the way inside and ran both hands all over Hitoshi’s back, around his waist, back up his spine and into his hair, over his jaw and his throat and into his mouth - 

Hitoshi’s shoulders and arms were shaking violently. He hung his head and breathed, feeling the dizzy, too-hot chills of the word before he even said it:

Daddy.

After that it was a fucking miracle he lasted at all. Sensei didn’t touch his cock but his angle inside Hitoshi’s ass was so fucking dead on it was frightening, like he’d been memorizing it the whole time he’d been teasing, and Hitoshi was drooling all over the bed from his mouth and his poor neglected cock both. 

Sensei fucked him like he adored him. He touched him everywhere, fucked in and back out slow and measured and deep and perfect, murmured things like God, that’s my fuckin’ baby and Favorite boy, you take it so good and Christ, I wanna come inside every fucking part of you

Hitoshi didn’t even know what noise he was making, except that his throat was sore and his mouth so dry he couldn’t even close it. Dimly, he was aware of a thready, mindless voice coming out of him saying, “Shit fuck m- me - fucking - yeah, like - like th-”

When Sensei finally pressed his chest to Hitoshi’s back and wrapped one arm around his chest and just kind of ground into him, Hitoshi felt like he couldn’t stop the orgasm that was coming even if his life had depended on it.

It was - Jesus, it was fucking Sensei . Hitoshi could smell him. He could feel his hands, his hair, his chest, his cock, it was too much - 

Then Sensei wrapped his fingers around Hitoshi’s purple-red, leaking-soaked cock and whispered warm and low into his ear, “Show Daddy how you scream when you come.” 

His voice broke when he did it. It spiraled out of him from his balls to the top of his fucking spine like a long-exposure lightning strike. His toes curled so hard the arches of his feet cramped. His whole body flashed white on the inside. 

And when he panted all fucked-out and high-pitched, “Daddy, Sensei , come on, please, p-please, dreamed about it, I wanna feel it,” Sensei bit the back of Hitoshi’s neck and bruised his hips in his hands and came shaking, muffled groan so surprisingly high and pornographic it sent a shocked jolt of heat through Hitoshi’s wrung-out body. 

He just laid there for a while, panting, ears ringing, brain an odd static of white noise, and Sensei panted against the back of his neck for a while before he very gently pulled out and kissed Hitoshi’s spine over and over again. Hitoshi’s brain got less staticky with each kiss. He felt like he was melting back into the room. 

After that, Hitoshi just crawled further onto the bed all covered in come inside and out, buried himself under the covers and waved an arm at Sensei when Sensei tried to protest the mess in his sheets. 

All the lights were on. Sensei made a motion to get up and Hitoshi grabbed him by the wrist, lightning fast. 

“Stay?” 

“I am, I just need to -“

Sensei, come up here and go to sleep .” 

Hitoshi felt a flash of affectionate irritation through his quirk and grinned to himself right before he closed his eyes. 

 

****

 

He woke again very early in the morning. Still night, really. It must have been 4 in the morning, and Hitoshi was very pleasantly sore and tingly with sleep and Sensei had both arms wrapped around him. He didn’t seem aware Hitoshi had woken up yet. He kept kissing Hitoshi’s hair, almost silently, just a tiny little touch of his lips and a puff of breath, and it made Hitoshi’s chest seize up. Sensei’s fingers traced the line of Hitoshi’s shoulder, down to his bicep and back up again. Painfully gentle. Hitoshi almost didn’t want to interrupt. 

“Sensei.” 

Sensei started, a little, then relaxed again. 

“Hmm.” 

His mouth was pressed against Hitoshi’s head so he spoke into his hair, warm and comforting. Hitoshi had never felt so safe in his entire life. 

“How long have you been awake?” Hitoshi asked, wondering when the lights had been turned off. It was pitch black in the room now - completely pitch black. An odd trick of the room, to have no light pollution at all. 

It felt sort of wonderful on his eyes, darkness this enveloping, and he wondered if Sensei had designed it that way for himself on purpose. 

“A while,” Sensei finally answered. His voice was warm and soft in the dark. His fingertips tingled everywhere they touched Hitoshi’s skin. “You alright?” 

“Fuckin’ excellent, Sensei.” 

Sensei snorted softly and Hitoshi smiled into the dark and continued, “I just lived out about 15 individual unattainable fantasies, I’m pretty sure I’m as alright as a person can be right now.” 

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” 

Hitoshi swallowed, chest warming. “Do you?” 

Sensei’s voice was so soft when he answered it actually physically caused Hitoshi pain. 

“Yeah.” 

Hitoshi smiled against Sensei’s chest, hoping he wouldn’t be able to feel it. He felt dizzy; somehow hearing Sensei say that was more shocking than Sensei’s cock in him. 

He smelled the same as he always had: cheap soap and faint cigarette smoke and something - warm, like clean sweat. It made something strange seize up in Hitoshi, something adoring and affectionate and nostalgic, something just for him, and then he remembered all the frankly disgusting shit Sensei had whispered to him a few hours ago and the nostalgia twisted confusingly into something else. 

Sensei must have heard Hitoshi’s breathing change, or felt his blush, or something, because he petted his hand through Hitoshi’s hair and murmured very softly, “‘Toshi.” 

That nickname in that gentle voice made Hitoshi’s cock throb violently. He hadn’t even realized it was hard. 

“Hm?” 

“You still wanna fuck me?” 

All the breath just sort of zapped out of Hitoshi’s lungs. 

“Christ, Sensei.” 

Sensei’s voice was smiling when he said, “Is that a yes?” 

“Fuck yeah.”

“That sounds more like you.” 

Hitoshi grinned and moved to straddle Sensei’s hips, pushing him into the bed by his wrists. 

“What,” he whispered into the side of Sensei’s neck (god fuck he’d wanted to put his mouth on Sensei’s neck for fucking years ), “All that yes please god fuck me daddy didn’t sound like me?” 

Sensei’s breath shook when he sighed, and Hitoshi could feel Sensei’s cock twitch where he was sitting on it. 

“Well,” Sensei laughed shakily, “It did sound good. Really - really good.” 

“Took such good care of me,” Hitoshi murmured softly, hands leaving Sensei’s surprisingly dainty wrists to trace hard, scarred arms. “You gonna let me take care of you now, Sensei?” 

Sensei shuddered under him, which - holy shit. Holy motherfucking shit. 

“I - Would you?” Sensei asked in a very quiet voice. Hitoshi desperately wished he could have seen his face, but with the way his own sort of crumpled at that, he was grateful for the dark. 

Hitoshi’s throat suddenly felt very tight. “Do you trust me?” 

“With - ” Sensei started, jerked under Hitoshi’s hands and then said, “Yeah.” 

“What were you gonna say, Sensei?” 

A pause, then, “Trust you with my life, kiddo.” 

Hitoshi curled his spine and butted his head against Sensei’s chest, overwhelmed with that same odd nostalgia/adoration/awe feeling, now all twisted up with a violent sort of possessiveness that almost frightened him.

He tried to respond, but only managed to make this sort of low, animal sound. It made Sensei shudder again, and Hitoshi finally snapped out of it. 

“Okay, fuck, where’s your -”

“Top drawer to your left.” 

Hitoshi rooted around blindly for a second, felt something that felt like a bottle of lube and flung it unthinkingly in the direction of the middle of the bed. 

There was a smack, and Sensei made a noise of surprise, and then started - laughing

Holy shit, Sensei was laughing. 

It was just a chuckle, low and soft but it - it shook the whole bed like Sensei was laughing with his whole body and - and Hitoshi was seized with a sudden and overwhelming devotion that threatened to swallow him whole. 

“Hit me in the face,” Sensei explained, still chuckling, and Hitoshi followed his voice back to him, grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him desperately

He was still smiling, Hitoshi could feel it, and he tasted so like himself, and he kissed Hitoshi back so hungrily and - and he made this soft little noise in the back of his throat, like a moan. 

Hitoshi kept kissing him, physically unable to stop now that he’d started, and when he reached down to drag his fingers over Sensei’s cock and behind it, he actually gasped in shock. 

Sensei chuckled softly again. “Told you I was awake for a while.” 

Hitoshi cursed and slid just the tips of two fingers easily inside, then three, and whispered, “What, you just fingered yourself in bed right next to me while I slept?” 

“Yeah.” 

Fucking hell, Sensei,” Hitoshi hissed, still just running three fingers over Sensei’s asshole without really pushing in, still amazed by it. 

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Sensei murmured, and Hitoshi felt a creeping, wonderful warmth in his chest. 

“Plus, figured I’d make it easier for you.” 

Hitoshi froze. 

“Easier?” 

“Dunno how often you’ve - I mean, Kaminari hardly seems difficult to please.” 

There was a smile on his voice again, and Hitoshi knew he was baiting him but it fucking worked , affectionate warmth in his chest flashing too hot with indignant outrage. He snatched his fingers back like they’d been burned. 

“Fuck you, I could just leave,” Hitoshi said, absolutely bluffing. Sensei scoffed and wordlessly wrapped his legs around Hitoshi’s waist. 

Christ, that - Sensei’s legs were around his waist . Waiting for Hitoshi to fuck him. 

“Or I could just brainwash you and have you exactly how I want,” Hitoshi said quietly, lowering his voice, “You can’t see me. You couldn’t stop me.” 

Sensei jerked, body going wire-tight under Hitoshi’s hands, and he hissed out a curse under his breath. Very, very softly he whispered Yeah do it, but it was so quiet it was barely there at all. 

Hitoshi ignored it. Instead he slicked up his cock and pressed inside Sensei real slow and said, “‘Hardly seems difficult to please,’ gimme a fuckin’ break.” 

Sensei huffed a soft laugh that came out as a sort of whine when Hitoshi sank in deeper. Fuck he was hot inside. 

“Was 6 goddamn years ago,” Hitoshi hissed, still a little angry but actually sort of loving it.

“Lemme show you everything I learned, Sensei.” 

“Shouta,” Sensei rasped, squirming and - shit, sweating under Hitoshi’s hands, “Think - think you can call me Shouta, now, ‘Tosh.” 

He was almost afraid to try it out. Even literally, actively sinking his fucking cock into Sensei’s goddamned ass. 

Then, Hitoshi sort of tilted his hips, feeling it out, keeping an ear out for a shift in Sensei’s breathing  or a tell tale little gasp, and - 

And when the head of his cock pushed smooth and warm over what must have been Sensei’s prostate Sensei made this - this noise, this high, breathless whine that sounded - so utterly unlike him, so completely different that suddenly he had no problem with saying - 

“Fuck, Shouta, that noise -”

“Oh, shit -”

Hitoshi rolled his hips again, not quite really fucking, and said, “Do it again, will you? Here, I’ll - help - ”

God, there it was again. It was so high. He hadn’t known his Sensei capable of making a noise like that. 

But Shouta fucking made it. He made it over and over again, until he finally cursed in obvious frustration and panted, “Fuck. Me.” 

Hitoshi grinned into the dark. He felt almost violently insolent. It raced through him like a high, entirely different from the one the night before but just as good.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, gripping Shouta under his knees and gracelessly bending him in half without pulling out, “Didn’t anyone teach you patience is a virtue?” 

Shouta made a breathless kind of noise. Hitoshi started fucking him slow, right at the right spot. It was so good it made him feel a little bit like he was fucking insane, which strangely kept him from coming too fast. 

He made a thoughtful noise and said, “Someone taught me that, but I can’t remember who.” 

Shouta cursed and Hitoshi laughed, free and easy from his chest. He felt so good. 

“Evil little bastard ,” Shouta hissed, trying to get Hitoshi to pick up his pace. 

“Hey now,” Hitoshi said, voice low, “I thought I was your favorite.” 

The sound Shouta made was equal parts devastated and infuriated. Hitoshi smiled.

Hitoshi put both hands on the backs of Shouta’s knees and pressed them into the pillow next to his head.

“Wow, Sensei, you’re bendy for your -”

“I s-swear to - God , Jesus - if you say my age -”

Hitoshi felt himself laugh again. He was pretty sure he hadn’t laughed this much in months. He got his hands on Shouta’s cock and his brain shorted out: at the gesture, at how it felt in his hands, at the noise that came out of Shouta’s mouth. 

“Sensitive, Sensei?” 

Fuck-

“About your age, I mean.” 

“- You .” 

“Grumpy,” Hitoshi said, grinning again, squeezing Shouta’s cock a little too hard just to hear the strangled whine he made and then jerking him off and fucking into him in opposite turns, a little faster. 

“Don’t worry, Sensei, the whole grumpy thing always kinda did it for me.” 

Every time he said Sensei now it felt like a taunt, and it sounded like one, and he could feel Shouta winding up tighter and tighter under him.

He let himself get lost. In the sounds coming out of Shouta’s perfect mouth, in the way he felt so fucking hot Hitoshi could barely think, in the desperate trembling grasp of Shouta’s hands all over him.

He fucked him so hard that Shouta stopped making noise at all, and resorted to mindless, graceless panting under Hitoshi, thready and overwhelmed and tinged with this tiny little moan on every exhale.

He fucked him slow, until Shouta was squirming and cursing and leaving bruises on Hitoshi’s hips with his hands, trying to get him to speed up. Then the breath would get punch out of him all over again when Hitoshi did.

He never wanted to stop. He kept running up to the edge and then backing away again, and Shouta’s groan of overwhelmed frustration every time he did it sent something pitch-black and possessive shooting through Hitoshi’s chest.

It was getting to be too much: Shouta’s mouth, the noises he was making, how fucking hot and tight he was around Hitoshi’s cock, the fact that he was fucking Sensei, fucking him stupid on his own bed, all of it was too much. He could feel his orgasm like an oncoming train.

He leaned forward and whispered in Shouta’s ear, “You know, Denki never did call my quirk Brainwash like everyone else did.” 

Shouta made another frustrated sound, one that very clearly said stop talking and fuck me, and Hitoshi smiled. 

“He always called it Mindfuck.”

He rolled his hips again, slow and deep and let go of Shouta’s cock to put both hands on his face.

“Wanna see?” 

Shouta started gasping for air, ass suddenly so tight around Hitoshi it almost hurt, and he rasped, “Yeah, yeah -”

Hitoshi took him. Shouta’s mind sort of shivered in his grip, and a little moan escaped him that Hitoshi couldn’t stop. 

Come for me, Shouta .” 

Shouta’s back arched and he yelled, not a wail like Denki made but a yell like he’d been hurt, voice cracking as he came without a hand on his cock, and when Hitoshi felt it he added, “ Don’t stop .” 

Shouta’s voice got higher, louder, utterly disbelieving, tapered off into long shivering sobs as he just - kept coming, physically unable to stop. Hitoshi had to hold him down as he fucked him through it, almost there himself, and the fucking sounds Shouta made - 

“You can stop when I - oh, fuck , oh shit, holy fucking shit- ”

Shouta’s fingers were gripping Hitoshi’s wrists so hard he thought they might snap, and god, he was still coming, it had to have been nearly 2 whole minutes, fuck, and Hitoshi’s orgasm hit him like a firework, an explosion of white and blue behind his eyes in the dark. 

He let Shouta go from his quirk and Shouta finally stopped, panting and gasping and sweating, and all his limbs thumped onto the bed. Hitoshi grinned against his neck. 

For a second, it was silent. Then Shouta spoke, voice like he’d dragged it over hot coals. 

“That. I uh. Didn’t consider that.” 

Hitoshi huffed a laugh, pulled out and rolled to the edge of the bed, groping for the light. 

“Yeah, well, you were all ‘Denki’s so easy to please’ and I couldn’t have th- ”

He stopped when the light turned on. 

Shouta was on his back, sprawled out on the bed still panting like he’d run a fucking marathon, and his hair was a disaster and his cheeks and chest were bright red and he was absolutely covered in his own come. 

Hitoshi swallowed, and then just stared with his mouth open. Shouta seemed too tired to notice. 

“Good fucking god , Sensei, that’s a good look for you.” 

Shouta covered his face with one arm. 

“Shut up and get a fuckin’ towel so I don’t ruin this bed.” He groaned and his chest got redder. “Jesus, and my balls hurt, you sadistic bastard.” 

Hitoshi laughed, got him his towel and started cleaning the truly absurd amount of come off him. 

After a while - and another towel - it was mostly gone, and Hitoshi got the light and crawled back into bed. 

“Evil,” Shouta murmured, warm against Hitoshi’s ear.

“Still your favorite?” he asked, tired and worn out and very, very happy. 

“Still my favorite.”