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Valentine’s Day, a holiday eagerly awaited by a multitude of individuals, be they guys, gals, or pals. Your friends and classmates, well, almost everyone around you were some of those people. All they would talk about was how excited or nervous they were to start handing out their chocolates to whomever they had picked as the object of their desire and love.
Yaoyarozu, always one for her elegance and precision, enthusiastically detailed her grand chocolate making plans for the weekend. Her list of ingredients seemed to go higher in price with each word. Ochaco, with her humble background, took a different approach. She decided she was going to make simple chocolate truffles with her own twist to it. Jirou, might not have initially expressed overwhelming enthusiasm for the entire thing, still wanted to do something small. Mina, Hagakure, and everyone else seemed to have some sort of plan. Heck, even the girls in class 1-B told you of your plans when you were standing in line during lunch!
You, on the other hand, felt so lost. You just had to be the different one.
Ochaco had an obvious crush on Midoriya, and everyone knew she was planning on giving him her truffles – they just hoped he wouldn’t misunderstand it as a token of friendship – Hagakure was thinking of giving hers to Ojiro – see, the point was, some of the girls had crushes on some of the boys and they had a perfect reason to take advantage of the day.
On a night a few months prior, you had embarrassingly revealed to everyone that you had a crush on someone. They seized the moment, plunging into a lively guessing game with animated theories and spirited squeals. Each girl brought her unique perspective to the discussion, offering guesses that ranged from the plausible to the wildly imaginative. Ochaco got scared at the idea of you having a crush on Midoriya from how close the two of you seemed, Mina shut her down in an instant, insisting you had a crush on Bakugou since he seemed to tolerate you the most out of the rest of the girls.
You turned down their guesses, obviously wanting to avoid further discussion on the topic. But no matter how hard you tried to stir them away from it, they somehow kept on coming back to it. The room became a canvas for their theorie (literally, Hagakure began writing things down, Mina used erasers and other small props as the fighters). By the end of the night, an agreement had formed. They settled on one boy as their primary suspect, wondering how stupid they were to not have realised it from the start. For god’s sake he was the boy you used to walked home with almost every day!
Who exactly he was?
Shinsou Hitoshi of class 2-C (soon to be 2-A!)
You both became quite close after meeting on the first day of the examinations, you had bonded over your shared aspirations of wanting to become heroes. You exchanged numbers and even took the train home together. When Hitoshi found out he didn’t get into the hero course, you became his source of comfort, lifting his spirits and steering his mood towards the brighter side. You pushed him into hanging out with you for the entirety of the day the results came out, clearing his mind of UA’s choice and forcing him to focus on you for the entire day. The two of you had been rather inseparable ever since.
But it wasn’t like you didn’t like him. Hitoshi was attractive, his messy lavender hair and tired eyes just made him hotter than he already was. His personality, made you tremble sometimes with the way he’d sometimes jokingly flirt with you. And his voice, oh his voice, was something on a completely different level. So effortlessly husky and sexy, you had begged him to make an ASMR channel. He laughed at your face. But you just didn’t like like him.
Your true crush, was something a bit more… illegal. Forbidden. Something that should stay a complete fantasy. Something that no way in hell was going to happen. Every encounter with him became a daily source of anguish, knowing that your feelings will forever have to reside in your thoughts. The fear of how your friends might react to your intense obsession with your teacher kept you silent.
But how could you resist? He was everything you’ve ever dreamed of. His tall stature, long hair, his appealing scruff, those alluring tired eyes, and that captivating rough voice. It stirred a sense of shame in you for harbouring affection toward him, you were down right obsessed with your teacher. You’d gaze longingly at him when he dozed off, when he talked, when he ate, when he did just about anything. It left you confused as to why you your feelings towards Hitoshi didn’t replicate the intensity of your feelings for Mr. Aizawa. They were mirror images of one another, sharing not only similar interests but virtually identical personality traits. The only discernible contrast between them laid in their appearance and their age.
Were your daddy issues that bad that their mere age was a big enough difference to make you not like the lavender haired boy?
It was less than a week remaining until the dreaded day of love, you found yourself in the dorm’s kitchen conjuring up a plethora of recipes. Perfection was non-negotiable; there was no way you’d be handing out chocolates that didn’t meet your ridiculous standards. Rikido offered you valuable tips on sugar types and ingredients, going the extra mile to demonstrate the ideal appearance to ensure you struck the perfect balance. You’d been stuck for hours now, almost crying at every attempt that you didn’t like.
“You’re still here?” A familiar spiky haired, blond asked. You nodded at him with a tinge of sadness, mixing the ingredients in the metal bowl coarsely. You started baking at around seven in the morning, which was coincidentally around the same time Bakugou would go on his daily morning runs. The fact he was back meant it was already past eight.
He circled around you, opening the refrigerator and extracting a dirt tasting protein beverage. “At least it looks edible now.” He commented, peaking at the mushy paste you were mixing into. “It smells good.” That was a massive improvement from what he told you yesterday, describing it as – ‘smelling like rotten fucking eggs’ – something so specific that it nearly brought you to tears. “It smells great, but it never looks great.” You grumbled, pouring the thick brown liquid into a zip lock bag.
He watched you, sipping at his beverage while you began pouring it into small balls. “You know it’s your own fault for trying to make macarons as a damn beginner.” The worst thing about the situation was that Bakugou was undeniably right. Macarons were notoriously difficult to master, but how could you not? You were convinced you had heard somewhere that Mr. Aizawa had a fondness for these delicate treats.
Yeah, about that… you were actually planning on gifting the macarons to your teacher. You acknowledged that it was a tad ambitious, maybe even a touch crazy, but what’s the harm in trying? You could always play it off as a polite gesture from a student to a teacher if things didn’t go the way it would in your fantasies.
“Who are you even giving them to? Full offense, you don’t seem like the type of girl who’d fall for anyone.” Exactly why you two were acquaintances and not friends. You shot him a deadpan look from your spot, your face so close to the tray as you meticulously squeezed the contents onto it, ensuring they were the perfect shape for when they rose. “That’s none of your business.” Bakugou rolled his eyes. “It’s eyebags, isn’t it?” he means Hitoshi, of course.
You hesitated, and weren’t sure whether you wanted to lie to him the way you did with girls, or reveal the truth of your school girl crush on Mr. Aizawa. Bakugou was actually pretty mature, despite his outbursts and fiery temper. He was most definitely going to advise against your risky plan, making your decision even more difficult. “Uh, yeah,” you muttered, diverting your gaze to avoid seeing his reaction.
But your willpower was never your strong suit. You couldn’t resist stealing a peek at him, catching glimpse of his furrowed brows and evident doubt written across his face. Without saying anything, he exited the kitchen promptly, leaving you alone again, grappling with concerns about what he might be thinking or conjecturing in his mind.
2XXX/02/12
(13:29) Hey.
(13:29) I was just wondering if you were down to come over to my dorm, we could watch that movie you wanted.
(13:31) i really dont know. i got like 2 days left and i havent been able to get the recipe right
(13:31) Come on, take a break. You have the entire day off tomorrow
(13:32) lol thats if you actually dont bother me
(13:33) mmm maybe tho
(13:33) I’ll just come get you then.
(13:36) ok no
(13:36) ill come over
(13:36) Good girl.
(13:36) STOP DOING THAT
He left you on seen. Asshole.
After another batch of failed macarons, you threw them out and made your way to the General Department’s dorm. Your body operated on muscle memory as you walked, rather than even thinking about it. It led you to Hitoshi’s dorm. You annoyingly knocked on his door rapidly, knuckles still swinging when he opened the door with a smirk. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he said, looking you up and down. You visibly cringed, unable to handle the ongoing stream of cat puns he kept on throwing your way lately. “Dude, don't make me walk back to my dorm. Because I will,” you threatened, fully aware that you had no intention of moving.
He rolled his eyes, grabbing you by the arm and snatching you into his room, swiftly shutting and locking the door as soon as you were out of the way. “Get on the bed.” He said, his stupid voice making the innocuous command sound dirtier than it actually was. “You want me that bad? Take me out to dinner first.” You jokingly sneered, complying by crawling onto the bed as he started setting up his TV and laptop for the movie.
Only until now that you’ve relaxed into the comfortable mess that was his bed, that you realise your hands had become cramped from the incessant mixing of numerous failed bowls of macaron dough. Your back ached from bending into inhumane positions in a futile attempt to ensure perfection, only to have them all turn out the opposite. You had a feeling that the scent of cracked eggs clung to you, some sort of woeful testimony to your culinary struggles.
After setting it up, Hitoshi hopped into bed with you, your shoulders touching. You laid your head on his shoulder, and you both submerged yourselves in the movie. “Who’s the person you’re killing yourself for with baking?” he said, turning his head to look at you while you kept your eyes on the screen of his TV. You sighed, not really wanting to pretend anymore but scared about the consequences. “No one, really,” came your small, tired voice.
Hitoshi moved away from you, picking up you lie. Your head fell onto the pillow behind. “Come on, tell me, you don’t have to sugar coat it.”
“I don’t understand, why do you wanna know so badly. You got a crush on me?” you giggled, teasingly smiling at him. Pushing yourself up, you turned your body to face him.
He shrugged. “I just want know to who’s been tiring my girl like this.”
You bit your lip, feeling a mix of weakness and uncertainty. You were the closest with Hitoshi out of everyone in your life as of now. The inevitability of drifting apart from your middle school friends still hung over you like a cloud, and you missed the connection you once had with them, but everyone was just too busy with their new lives at their new schools. Despite forming great bonds with some of your classmates, sharing this particular secret felt different. The plot of confessing your crush on your teacher seemed too weird to share. So, you hesitated. Not waning them to view you any differently because of some stupid crush. You were more concerned of how they’d react once they found out you were actually planning on softly confessing to him.
“Oi, earth to stupid.” Hitoshi flicked your forehead. “Just tell me, then I’ll stop bugging you about it.”
You huffed out a breath you were holding in, preparing yourself to make a decision. “If I tell you, then you can’t tell anyone, okay?”
His fingers crawled up his face to create a zipping motion over his lips.
You squinted at him, searching for any hints of lies. When met with none, you took a deep breath and spoke. “I like Mr. Aizawa.”
A beat passes, you grew weary of the silence that followed it. Uncertain of Hitoshi’s reaction to what you had just dunked on him. With tense shoulders, you kept your eyes fixed on the screen. The changing hues from the light reflected on your face, mirroring the myriad colours on the screen, created a visual symphony that felt like an explosion of your pure emotion. A physical manifestation of your relief and happiness from saying it out loud, a departure from the burden of being a liar. No longer bound by the weight of it.
“Hitoshi?” It felt like his presence had completely vanished from the space.
Then a snort escaped him, followed by soft chuckles that filled the air. Contrasting with the explodin2g sounds of the movie.
“You are so stupid.”
“What?!” you yelled offended, your neck cracking as you turned to look at him. He was already looking at you, a hand covering his face in an attempt to stifle his laughter. His eyes were crinkled shut, a genuine smile reaching his eyes, and his shoulders shook with amusement.
“I thought you were going to say you had a crush on like, I don’t know, Principal Nezu, or that grape weirdo.” He was still trying to cover the fact he was laughing; you slapped his hand off of his face, revealing his toothy smile to you.
He coughed out once or twice, then asked, “Are you actually planning on telling him?”
The hesitation came back, and you were left unsure what to say exactly. “Not really? What I have planned is curated specifically so he can’t tell if I’m being romantic or not. It’ll be on him if he wants to assume shit, and I can’t get in trouble for his own assumptions... right?”
“I guess. Seems like a smart plan, especially for you.” Hitsohi said, pinching at your side playfully causing you to jolt in shock. You laughed in response, attempting to retaliate with a pinch yourself, but his hands moved faster, capturing your wrist in one hand. “Just be careful.” His expression turned grave, threaded with worry.
You pursed your lips, wrist falling onto your lap when he let go of it. He was looking out for you, supporting you in such a ridiculous decision. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’ll be fine. It’s not like he’s actually gonna like me back or something.” You kissed his cheek, and focused your attention on the movie. Hitoshi didn’t try bringing it up again, but he held your hand for the rest of the movie in solace.
Thank God for the man named Satou Rikido. By the 13th of February, you had finally managed to perfect the recipe. The macarons turned out to be flawless, both in terms of their shapes but also their taste. You made four flavours: salted caramel, coffee, matcha green tea, and the timeless classic of chocolate ganache. By the end of the extremely tiring week, you found yourself filled with pride in your accomplishment. You had poured your heart and soul into perfecting these macarons for your schoolgirl crush, enduring what felt like an ordeal of blood, sweat, and tears. At this point, your primary hope was that Mr. Aizawa would at least appreciate the gesture, regardless of whether he reciprocated your romantic feelings. You just wanted him to enjoy what you made him.
On the eve of Valentine’s Day, you chose to write a brief and heartfelt letter for your teacher. What began as a sickeningly sweet love letter, filled with things that only happened in Shoujo manga, gradually evolved into a filthy erotica fan fiction of what you wanted to do to your teacher, of what you wanted him to do to you. It wasn’t even until you revised what you had written that you realised, and your face heated up as you read every word. Who knew you could write something so scandalous?
Sleep deprivation did have an effect on you. You set the filth you wrote to the side, and began writing anew. The second letter took on a more innocent and PG-friendly tone, reflecting a clearer state of mind.
But then your thoughts wandered again, imagining what would happen to you if you actually gave him the first letter, the vivid scenario played out in your mind – he’d have that sexy, stern look on his face – then he’d label you as a pervert and expel you for sexually harassing him. Okay. That wasn’t too hot.
But what if he did feel the same way?
The chance was extremely low. Lower than the chances of you winning the lottery. But if he did, then maybe he’d tell you his answer with a kiss. You’d feel his stubble against your own face, moaning into it when he’d slip his tongue into your mouth. He’d grab you and push you on top of one of the desks, and let his fingers trail down your body. He’d tease your inner thighs, poking and squeezing before pushing your wet panties aside and fingering the fuck out of you. He’d tell you to keep down, “you wouldn’t want anyone to find us.” His voice would go lower than it already was, practically purring at you as he brought you to your release. You could see him bringing his fingers up to his lips, sucking on them while he maintained eye contact with you.
Ugh. You were such a pervert. What kind of girl thinks about her teacher this way?!
After throwing your pens back into your case and carefully folded up the letter, placing it aside. You went to bed after, deciding not to burden your already stressed mind with any further anxieties. Unfortunately – as soon as your head hit the pillow – sleep eluded you. Worries swirled in your mind, keeping you awake and restless. You got only three hours of sleep that night.
When your alarm rang, you sprang into action, determined not to waste any time and risk being late for class. Given the lingering chill of winter still present in February, you chose to wear thick stockings beneath your skirt. That was until now, today, you decided to go for a cuter look with thigh-high socks. (And, well, easy access, but you didn’t hear that from here.)
After completing your makeup routine, it was around the time to head to class. You grabbed the letter you prepared and you walked out of your dorm, as you closed and locked the door, you noticed Jirou walking out of hers at the same time. “Hey.” She greeted you cooly, she was holding a bag, presumably holding the sweets she made or bought. “Good morning,” you responded, and in unspoken agreement, the two of you began walking together. Engaging in small talk, you strolled to the kitchen, where you grabbed your chilled macarons before making your way to the school together.
You were in the middle of laughing at a story Jirou told you, when she mentioned to you, “so, Shinsou, huh?” a little smirk curling up her face. She seemed excited for you. “Haha, yeah,” you very totally smoothly lied, casually swinging the small box filled with your homemade macarons.
“When are you planning on giving them to him?” Jirou inquired, sliding the door open for the both of you politely. “Probably during lunch? Everyone’s doing that so I think that’s the best time, right?” the violet haired girl hummed in response. “Good idea.”
With six minutes to spare before homeroom, you and Jirou entered the class and took your assigned seats. You turned your head to chat with Yaoyorozu, who sat behind you. “I see that you succeeded,” Yaoyorozu remarked with a smile, her nails tapping on her own carefully wrapped box of chocolates. You nodded, “After three days of hard work, I am certain he’ll like it.” She applauded, moving over to nudge you a bit.
You beamed at her approval. “Thanks, I’m sure Jirou will like your chocolates, too.”
“I hope everyone does. I made enough for everyone.” She let you take a peek inside the bag; the chocolates were gorgeous as expected from a lady like her. “I made sure to take out those things you hate, by the way.” Your mouth opened to reply, but you were cut off by the screeching of the door sliding open. A sudden hush fell over the room as everyone stopped talking, and the man you planned to give your macarons to stepped in.
Homeroom commenced as usual, Mr. Aizawa discussed the plans for the day, he spoke calmly about the schedule, announcements, and other important information. He particularly emphasized the Valentine's Day event that was going on during the day, an academic class taken out of the timetable to make room for the activity. It was natural for his eyes to wander to all of the students, making sure they paid attention, but at some point, he seemed to focus on you for an extended moment. Your heart pounded in your chest as you maintained eye contact, attentively listening and nodding like the diligent student you were. You wondered if he noticed your subtly cuter makeup, the slight change in your hair, or your adorned nails. His dark eyes remained on you until Denki posed a question. You grimaced for the first time that day.
You couldn’t bring yourself to give your macarons to him during lunch. As you simply made your way towards him, the sound of your pounding heart filled your ears, beads of sweat formed on your forehead, and it felt as though your stomach might leap out of your mouth. The nervous anticipation hung heavy in the air. But at the sight of him, a wave of disappointment washed over you, yet there was a peculiar sense of relief. Not only was Mr. Aizawa in conversation with Present Mic, and to add to the complication, he was already enjoying his lunch in the teacher’s lounge. You hurried yourself out of the vicinity, not wanting to be caught grossly spying on your teacher with a pack of sweets obviously made for Valentine’s Day in your hands.
After lunch time was over, it became apparent that you were the only one left who hadn’t handed out your homemade or storebought sweets to someone. When the girls noticed, they hurried over, assuming that you had faced rejection from Hitoshi. “No, actually, I pussied out of confessing.” Sheepishly, you admitted, rubbing your arms nervously. “But I’m actually going to do it after school!” you quickly retorted before anyone could complain or push you into doing it some other time.
The remaining classes passed by like a gentle breeze, most likely because your mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of Mr. Aizawa, you conjured up a multitude of scenarios of how things would go in your head. Whenever you were called on in class, you made a fool out of yourself by constantly answering with “I don’t know.” like a broken record. But your mind couldn’t clear up the fog that was surrounding it no matter how hard you tried. It stubbornly clung, shrouding your thoughts in an enigmatic haze, you felt as if you were navigating through a mental labyrinth with no exit in sight.
But at last, the last bell rang, signalling the end of the school day. While everyone else got up to gather their belongings and head back to the dorms or wherever they intended to go, you remained seated. Your classmates waved you goodbye, and some of them even gave you their good luck wishes. You felt red in the face,
Your confession made you feel like you were tiptoeing through a minefield, each step laden with the weight of an impending explosion. The burden of holding your delicate secret was becoming too much to bear, the moment of revelation loomed like the crackling anticipation before a grand performance, where the curtain was about to rise on the stage of your own vulnerability. Your emotions were the actors waiting backstage, eager for their cue to finally step into the spotlight. Your confession was the opening night of a play, the key to unlocking the gates that held these characters within the curtains of what was known as your heart. You couldn’t wait anymore, you wanted to unveil the captivating performance they had prepared.
Right on cue, you heard his footsteps; he always took this route when leaving. “Mr. Aizawa!” your voice turned out shakier than you had intended. Those tired eyes set themselves on yours, and his dark brow raised. “Excuse me?” confusion laced his words rightfully, along with the usual tiredness. You felt guilty knowing you were keeping him longer than he needed to be there. “Um. I just wanted to talk to you about something important. It’ll just take a bit.” You gestured for him to enter the classroom, moving to the side with your hands clasped behind your back. In your hands, the box of macarons and the love letter, silently waiting its moment to be revealed.
Mr. Aizawa nodded, letting out a slight huff as he strode into the classroom, hands casually in his pockets. He leaned his back against the teacher’s podium. “So? Spit it out.” His voice was gruff, irritated, but willing to stay for you.
You took a deep breath, looking up from your position in front of him. Your hands exposed what they kept hidden – the box, reflecting the soft classroom light, with the letter placed on top. “Please accept these, sir.” You squeaked out, bowing your head a little.
Your eyes remained closed for what seemed like forever, depending on your other senses to figure out how he reacted. Cautiously, he took the box and letter from your hands, his larger hands enveloping yours in the process. That was when you opened your eyes to see him opening the box, eyes glazing over the macarons.
“I made these for you, to show you my appreciation,” you said with a blush, hands twiddling together nervously. He looked back at you, parting his lips as if to respond, but stopped himself mid-way to think more carefully. “I can't accept these,” he uttered, hands moving to close the box and hand them back to you. Within the walls of your mind, the sound of shattering glass echoed like a discordant symphony.
“No, please accept them. I worked so hard on it, spent a week trying to perfect the recipe for you,” you trembled in your spot, aware that you must’ve looked miserable, and it seemed to convince him at least a bit. His expression softened, shaking his head. “It's inappropriate,” he insisted. You shook your head, pleading, "No one has to know. I just really wanted to make these for you.”
“Please.” You pouted, your eyes fluttering and batting at him. Aizawa Shouta couldn’t resist you, you made sure of it with your tight, high-thigh stockings, attractive makeup, and charming expressions. You breached into his personal space, almost breathing heavily as you did so, arms wrapping around one of his. “At least try it for me? And read my letter? I worked so hard,” you griped.
You've never been this close to him before; your chest was rubbing against his arm. Your face was mere inches away from his, and if he were to lean down, your lips would connect. Mr. Aizawa’s body heated up, or maybe that was yourself, but he opened the box again, letting himself be ensnared by your arms.
You felt like you were high, being this close to the man you’ve yearned for over a year. The fact he didn’t push you away, despite how close you two were, sent you into a spiral of emotions. A mix of exhilaration and nervous anticipation, the absence of any resistance from him felt akin to a warm embrace on a cold winter day, a comforting balm for your yearning heart. If this were a dream you never wanted to wake up.
He took a salted caramel macaron and bit into it; you watched him keenly. “What do you think?” you whispered softly, not needing to even speak properly for him to hear you because of your close proximity. He chewed and swallowed, then took another bite, devouring the macaron in just two bites. “It’s delicious.” He said, turning his head to look at you. You were so close, your eyes darted from his eyes to his lips, you weren’t sure if he noticed. But in your contemplation, he made the first move.
To turn his head away from yours.
He opened ripped open the envelope encasing your sincerest emotions for him, written so vaguely that it fell in between the line of platonic and romantic. His dark eyes scanned the carefully penned words, taking in your emotions.
Mr. Aizawa suddenly tensed against your grip. “What is this?” his tone suddenly heightened, face registering shock, hands gripping the paper harshly. You flinched, “huh?” out of all reactions you could’ve envisioned, this was one of the more unexpected ones. What did he even mean by that?
"I said, what is this?" his voice went deeper, agitated. He was visibly angry when he shoved the paper into your hands and pushed you away from him. “This isn't a funny joke. I could get you expelled for this.” Mr. Aizawa’s once relaxed and gentle expression has now morphed into a stern mask of displeasure, brows furrowed in frustration. The anger is palpable, radiating from his eyes that now hold an even sharper edge. His body language transforms to rigid and authoritative, building a wall between you both and accentuating the severity of his warning. Leaving you acutely aware of the gravity of the situation. The atmosphere shifts, and the room feels charged with the intensity of his disapproval.
You gulped. “I don’t understand.” Humiliation crept over you, and though your eyes stung, you weren’t going to let yourself cry in front of him. Your letter was heartfelt, filled with words of appreciation for how much he cared about the class, about you. You couldn’t grasp his awful reaction to it. What was once a dream has now shifted into a nightmare.
“Don't play dumb. Read it,” he commanded. When you started reading, it started off normally, but after a minute it quickly turned into a source of terror settling onto your face. In a moment of realisation, you felt like the biggest dumbass known to man. You had accidentally grabbed the first letter you wrote in the morning, the one that was so filthy it embarrassed you, rather than the one you wrote after it.
You dropped the paper onto the ground, lips quivering. “Mr. Aizawa, I am so, so sorry. I swear, I wrote another letter and I must’ve accidentally gotten confused. I’m really embarrassed. I’m really sorry.” You covered your face in mortification as you admitted to him your mistake. “Please don’t expel me. It was an honest mistake.” Your dream was to be a hero, if you were expelled, for this? Then you were done for. Kiss your dreams goodbye.
Mr. Aizawa blinked at you. “It’s not some sort of prank?” He asked, his voice longer as gruff and angry. His shoulders less tense, shifting lower and relaxing again.
You shook your head “No.” While your voice was still shaky, but it held genuine honesty in them.
He looked conflicted, letting the realisation settle into his handsome features. The revelation that every word written in that letter had been captured truthfully, each thought and sentence communicating your authentic feelings about him. That the curtain had lifted, revealing the un unfiltered truth of your emotions, and he stood in the audience watching the stage of sincerity, the spotlight illuminating the depth of your feelings to him.
He cleared his throat. “You mean every bit of it?” he spoke in a hushed, almost shy tone. You noticed his ears turning a light shade of red, his plain emotions hiding in plain sight.
“Every single word.” There was no point in lying; you didn’t want him to get mad again. A rosy hue coloured the apples of your cheeks as you gave him a tight-lipped smile. Your hands nervously played with your blazer, shoes tapping on the ground in a silent shuffle.
The room fell into complete silence, devoid of any discernible sound. And yet a ringing echoed in your head, and you felt defeated. The day was now ruined, and the prospect of spending your remaining time in UA feeling uncomfortable around someone you used to enjoy being around dulled your mood. Mr. Aizawa would be a saint for not expelling you, after everything.
Trapped in your thoughts, it obscured your awareness as he quietly advanced closer. You jolted back into reality when his hand found its place beneath your chin, guiding you upwards to meet his gaze as though orchestrating a poignant scene, casting a spotlight on the intensity in his eyes through the curtain of your lowered lashes.
And just like that, he leaned down and linked your lips with his.
A gentle, surprised sigh escaped you within the kiss, eyelids gently closing as you yielded yourself to the moment. Your fingers instinctively tightened around his clothed arms, intensifying the heat of the kiss as it unfolded. This was a manifestation of pure sin, drawing its essence from the depths of hell itself, an indulgence in pleasure with an unspoken, forbidden allure. Your shameful embrace overshadowed by the intoxicating euphoria; the awareness of such wrongness gave you both a thrilling tension. Mr. Aizawa seamlessly slipped his tongue in your mouth, initiating a risky dance between your tongues, both fully aware but unable to stop. It was like a complex weaving of desire and guilt, a seductive dance on the edge of what’s right. But the pleasure proved irresistible, drowning the conflicting emotions as you willingly surrendered to the intoxicating entanglement of each other’s mouths.
His large hands wandered, journeying from your neck, to your waist, eventually leading itself to rest on your butt. “I had a feeling, you know.” He pulled away, and you don’t think he’s never looked more sexier, his lips were a bit swollen from the passionate exchange.
“That I liked you?” you think you’re about to cream yourself.
Mr. Aizawa smiled. “That you wanted to fuck me.” He whispered huskily, hands firmly gripping your ass as he leaned down to nip at your ear. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, no wonder you’re so distracted all the time.” This entire time he knew. It wasn’t the biggest surprise, considering the everlasting daydreams you’d have about him during homeroom or whenever he was present, your mind would always cloud itself in the many positions of how you thought he might take you.
“You’re dirty.” What a saint, he’s speaking as if he didn’t initiate the kiss, slipped his tongue in, and is rubbing your hips and ass right now. “I think by definition you’re the dirty one here. You’re an old man and I’m just a girl.” You teased.
You took the lead, grabbing at his collar to pull him into another kiss. As the kiss deepened, you found yourself being pushed on top of one of the desks, “Do you want this?” he asked breathlessly. You nodded eagerly. He shook his head. “I need verbal consent, princess.” You shifted your position in your seat, chin dipping down. “I’ve been wanting this. So badly. Please take me, sir.” And with that, he pressed his lips against yours. You were immediately caught up in the addictive sensation of his lips on yours. Perhaps it was your own delusions, but they seemed to fit perfectly together, like two interlocking puzzle pieces. Mr. Aizawa’s hands traced the curves of your thighs, toying with the thin beginning of your stockings before deftly unbuttoning your blazer, shedding it from you to reveal your white school shirt.
Fucking your teacher in your classroom was definitely not in your bucket list this year but who were you to complain?
He took a hold of your forearms, clutch tight and demanding. “Turn around and bend over.” You didn’t have to think twice about it, plopping yourself off of the desk and giving him a nice view of your panties. Lacy and black, hugging your ass impeccably. You heard him try to stifle a groan in response to the sight of it, a sense of victory washed over you.
Suddenly, a searing sensation pierced through you, prompting an involuntary yelp of pain. The resounding echo of skin meeting skin reverberated through the vacant classroom. Again, the palm of his hand met the fat of your ass, the sheer force of it causing you to move with it. His forceful slaps vibrated so loudly that, were it not for UA’s state-of-the-art doors, the sound might have carried beyond the room, potentially reaching the ears of unintended listeners. You moaned out at his third smack, unable to contain your sounds any longer.
The more he spanked you, the wetter you felt yourself get. Your cunt was unwillingly clenching around nothing, desperately aching to be touched. “You’re a slut. Wearing such sexy panties for your teacher.” He spat out, spanking you for the fifth time. Your ass stung, despite how little he’s actually spanked you, his hands wielded power with precision, making sure you would remember every touch even after he was done.
A thick finger poked you through your panties, testing the waters, you mewled when he touched your clothed throbbing clit. He then swiftly yanked your panties down, your bare pussy on display for your teacher. The chill in the air triggered goosebumps all over your body, the stickiness in between your thighs creating a weird sensation. With one hand on one ass cheek, he spread you open, your wet hole widening to his degenerate eyes. You squirmed in his hold, feeling embarrassment at the vulnerability of your exposed state before him.
Mr. Aizawa got onto his knees and shoved his face into your heat, tongue swiping up and down through your folds sultrily. You let out a shaky sigh when he began focusing on your clit, tongue swirling around it, flicking with tormenting movements. You could feel the roughness of his scruff as he enveloped his lips around it, sucking and kissing with a fervour as though it were his last meal on death row. He gave you one final, exceptionally long suck against your swollen clit and then let go. Giving you a passage of time to catch your breath before he stuck his tongue into you.
The prolonged and tight grip he kept on you must’ve left indents on your ass by now, a testament to the duration with which he kept you locked in place. A subtle mechanical buzz filled the air, signalling the automatic engagement of the door-locking mechanism when the clock struck five. The doors secured itself, rendering entry impossible without keycards given to staff and students. This left you to only one conclusion – you were entirely at the mercy of his will now – now, it was just you and him, alone.
His tongue moved in and out of your pussy, curling itself inside of you. One thumb created little figure eighths on your clit, adding unholy amounts of pressure on it, combined with the sensations of his tongue fucking you, the knot in your lower stomach burst and you found yourself moaning out “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Ahh! Mr. Aizawa-!” your pussy clenched and unclenched around his tongue. Squeezing it as you came all over it.
“You taste better than those macarons you made me.” He spoke seductively.
At the end, without even taking a break Mr. Aizawa placed one last kiss on the centre of your pussy and got up from his knees, a final spank on your right cheek before you heard the unbuckling of his utility belt. You quickly pushed yourself off of the desk, and turned yourself around to face him. His stubble was covered in your juices, yet he made no efforts to wiping it off. He raised a brow at your sudden movement, “what are you doing?”
Your hands found their way to his belt, utilising it as a brace as you gracefully got down onto your knees to look up at him sweetly. “I wanna return the favour, sir. What else?” you smiled from your spot, hands rubbing all over the cock that was strained and leaking against his black boxer-briefs. It twitched beneath the fabric, the feeling of giddiness washing over you knowing it was because of you.
You slowly revealed his cock in all of its glory. An uncut gem. Your jaw slacked at the sight of it, shocked at just how big a dick could be. He was heavy, so heavy it literally hung, couldn’t even stay up right. His hair was clearly left unkempt, a wild jungle that connected to his happy trail. If anything, it heightened his attractiveness in your eyes. You adored the constant dishevelment, finding his messy appearance even more appealing.
Mwah. You planted a kiss at his leaky tip, tasting the runny precum while you were at it. “I can’t believe I’m about to suck my teacher’s cock.” You smiled teasingly at him, wrapping your lips around his tip, giving it a nice, long suck. Mr. Aizawa groaned, hands moving to pet your head while you suckled on his tip, draining out all of his precum into your system. Mr. Aizawa chokes on his saliva, watching as your gently suck the tip of his cock, your hands tracing over his engorged veins alongside of his cock. You’re his student for God’s sake, he shouldn’t even be in this position.
Your dominant hand enveloped itself around the base of his heavy cock, when you realised one hand wasn’t enough to entirely wrap around it, you used both hands to hold it, one in front of the other. Your sucked on his dick harder, moaning around it as you took it deeper into your mouth. Given it was just so big, it was impossible for it to completely fit inside your relatively smaller mouth. You found a compromise by gripping and manoeuvring your hands at the base.
The hand on your head kept on affectionately petting it, toying with your hair as if conveying that you were doing an excellent job. The deeper you took his cock, the louder he seemed to get. Grunting out your name, calling you a good girl for suckling on your teacher’s cock. How pretty you looked on your knees, wet pussy naked to the cold air, your slutty, lacy panties discarded on the ground somewhere. “You’re doing so, so well for me, kitty.” The unexpected nickname caused you to moan, sending the vibrations all over his body. His grip on your hair tightened, pushing an inch of cock deeper into your mouth, causing you to choke. “We’re not even half way and you’re already choking?” Mr. Aizawa taunted.
Head bobbing, saliva dripped down your chin and onto your shirt. Mr. Aizawa’s fingers tightened its hold on your hair and he pushes your down his cock harshly, forcing you to gag around it as the tip finally reaches the back of your throat. You can’t breathe, too much cock swallowing up the airgaps of your mouth, your hands falter, falling onto his thighs, digging their nails into them with tears spilling from your eyes. Muffled chokes escape your lips, Mr. Aizawa clenches his jaw, eyes falling shut as his cock twitches and throbs in the warmth of your mouth. He must be close; you could tell even with all the tears blurring your vision. He moans deeply as he rocks his hips back and forth into your wet, hot mouth. You’re trying your hardest to suck while he fucks your throat, wanting to be a good girl and make him feel the best way possible.
He groaned in pleasure, throwing his head back. He sped up his movements, drowning himself in the pleasure your mouth was giving him. His eyes opened, looking down to see tears flowing out of your eyes and drool escaping the sides of your mouth with each thrust. His cock pulsed excitedly at the mess he was making out of you. Mr. Aizawa’s thrusts weakened, hips giving short, deep pumps. Your nose rubbed against his pubic hair. “Shittttt, gonna cum down your throat.” He groaned out.
“Mmmpphmm-!” you’re suddenly hit with the taste bitterness when he spills down your throat. You wince and shudder at the taste of his disgusting seed, gagging more around the base of his cock as your forced to take every single drop into your stomach. The hand still within your hair forcefully pulls your away from him, a string of saliva and cum connecting you together. He watched as a cascade of coughs erupted from you, taking deep, heaving breaths once your throat was able to relax.
“Bleh, definitely not as tasty as my macarons. Or my cum.” You playfully stuck your tongue out in a taunt, a trace of his sticky, gooey cum still on its surface. “Your diet must suck.”
Your knees ached from being against the cold floor for too long. Struggling to stand, you had to depend on his steady arms to assist you in getting back on your feet. You glanced back up at him, Mr. Aizawa’s hands delicately wiping away the saliva and cum from your face. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, causing your face to flush. Despite your definitely dishevelled appearance – hair tousled and makeup ruined – you were met with a compliment that warmed your cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Aizawa.” You mumbled shyly, hands cupping the hands wiping your face.
You rose on your tiptoes, tugging him closer by his scarf. “Call me Shouta,” he whispered before kissing you. You panted into each other’s mouths until the taste of each other’s cum mixed and lingered on your tastebuds. Shouta pulled away with a smack, taking one look at you with low, hungry eyes before diving back into another kiss. Tender yet enthusiastic, his hands cradled your face with a sense of urgency. The magnetic pull between the two of you leaving you breathless, a shared language of longing and forbidden connection. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the raw, pressing collision of your mouths. Time hung suspended, allowing the intensity of the moment to be charged with uncontrolled longing. The kiss became primal, unfiltered dialogue between two souls.
The kiss broke apart, leaving both of you locked in gaze, staring deeply into each other. You stifled a laugh, unable to take such a situation seriously. “So, Shouta,” you began, testing the waters with the vowels of his name. “What are you going to do to me now?”
A playful smirk crossed his lips as he pulled back slightly, his eyes holding a mischievous glint to them. “Well,” he mused. “I guess that depends on how much trouble you want to get into.” The air crackled with a newfound tension, leaving the next move suspended between you like an unspoken invitation.
Shouta seemed to have a thing for your thighs and butt, so of course what else would you do other than bending over the desk and flipping your skirt up. Looking back at him, you bit your lips. “Please fuck me, Shouta.” You wiggled your butt and smacked it, tempting him. You knew he wanted to; it was just a matter of when. “I don’t have a condom.” You’d be more concerned if he did. His palms caressed your behind. “It’s fine, just cum somewhere else.” He was experienced based on your time spent with him today, you’re certain his pullout game wasn’t bad.
You kept your head reeled to the side, keenly watching as he played with his cock. He slapped the head of his cock onto your clit, and slid it up and down your pussy. With just his head lined up against your hole, you suddenly realised how big he was. Was he even going to fit? You’ve never taken a cock this big before. You were nervous and scared in the best ways. You steeled yourself for the pleasure that awaited, submitting to his dominance.
But it didn’t happen.
You were sure at least a few minutes had past, longer than it should’ve gone. So, you were confused as to why he hadn’t started fucking you yet. “What’s taking so long?” You blurted, trying to look at him. His cock was still pressed up against you, but he wasn’t making any moves to push himself in you. “Shoutaaa!! Put your dick in me and get it over with.” You pouted impatiently. You both made eye contact and you felt a shiver being sent down your spine at the intensity of his eyes. “You want it that badly?”
You desperately nodded. Shouta’s sly grin widened, bending over you and whispering directly in your ear. “Beg for it.” He spat out, desiring to humiliate you, yearning for tears and pleas. Despite being fully aware of your strong desire, the letter conveyed everything to him.
“Please. Please fuck me, sir. I’ll do anything! I’ll even start doing my assignments on time, and I’ll stop asking you stupid questions when we all train together.” Big promises. You were aware that the only reason you did any of this stuff was because you wanted him to pay attention and notice you more than the others. The scolding, oddly, became something you liked.
His rough hands stroked your lower back, keeping you still as he pushed himself painfully slow inside of you. Your world spiralled in pain and pleasure; he was stretching you out in ways you never thought possible. Shouta paused for a moment, letting you take a breather. “Is it all the way in?” you whimpered, greedy cunt fluttering for more cock. He lightly chuckled. “No, princess.” He began moving again, your cunt clamping even tighter around him as he bullied his way into your pussy.
Finally, you felt the trickle of his pubic hair touching you. A sign that he was fully inside of you, pressed deep inside of your womb, kissing your cervix. “Shouuutaaahhhh…” you let out; nails scraping the desk. You thought he would’ve been gentle with you, treating you with absolute care and love. Instead, you were met with the opposite. He opted to thrust into you with a force that took your breath away. Hips snapping against your ass, forcing you to moan in shock. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” you moaned in sync with the rhythm of his rough thrusts.
“Dirty,” thrust, “little”, thrust, “slut.”, thrust. “I knew from the moment I saw you that, hah- you were hiding some sort of dirty secret. Slutty baby, how long have you wanted my cock?” he wheezed out, roughly pulling you up from your hair then wrapping a hand around your throat to keep your back against his chest.
When all you let out were garbled sounds of moans, he slapped your thigh harshly. “Ahh!! Since the moment I met you, sir!” you screamed out, losing control of your own body and going limp in his arms from the overwhelming sensation of pleasure vibrating all throughout.
His thrusts were powerful and precise, hitting all the right spots at once. Despite this was his first time ever using his body, he made you feel like as if he’s spent a decade or more studying and fucking your body. Your head had gone blank, overwhelmed with the feeling of his cock jackhammering his way into your cervix. Ringing filled your ears, were you moaning and screaming for him or were you so cock drunk that all you did was drool?
You could feel him nipping and kissing at your neck, each bite sending a shiver down your spine, as well as the slapping sounds of his cock hitting your dripping pussy over and over. As you regained your senses, a blush of heat flamed across your cheeks upon realising just how powerless and pathetic you sounded.
Shouta’s hand reached up to your neck, cutting off your airflow as a means to silence you. Your vulgar sobs transformed into small, choked out gurgles as the lack of oxygen took its toll, making your pussy clench even tighter around him. Hazily, your own hand gripped his wrist, seeking stability as your eyes rolled back, and your tongue fell out in a moment of crushing sensation.
You’ve never had someone or something penetrate so deeply into your body; you felt a bulge in your stomach disappearing and reappearing with every forceful movement as he thrust himself in and out. The restriction of oxygen only deepened your arousal, grip around your neck tightening, pace quickening. You could feel yourself at the edge of coming undone.
Your cunt shuddered without a warning, and you came all over his cock. “Shit. You’re sucking me in.” Shouta let out, voice strained, trying his hardest to keep himself steady as he felt your cunt suction around his cock, begging for him to cum inside you and fill up your guts with his hot, sticky, disgusting old man cum.
“Shit, shit, I’m cumming.” He groaned out, cock twitching side of you, spouting out his cum. He continued to choke out his moans, restraining himself from going too loud as his hips slowed down with the bursting of his cum. “Such a good girl.” He praised, breathing heavily against your neck, cock twitching softly inside of you. Snug tightly against your squishy warm walls.
With a sigh, Shouta pulled out, his cum immediately falling out of your pussy and dripping down onto to the floor. Your cunt overflowing with his icky cum, sticking to your thighs as he held you close. The only thing supporting you up let go, and his hands caught you swiftly before you could fall. You attempted to catch your breath, feel the blood flow back into your head after being deprived of the usual amount of oxygen.
“You filthy old man.” You praised with an insult, a slimy, dirty smirk on your lips as you turned your head to look at him. “You came in me.” You said, fingers touching the wetness of your thighs, knowing the consistency was far too different to be your own cum. “I’ll get you a pill as soon as I can.” Shouta offered, rubbing your sore ass.
The cleanup was uncomfortable to say the least, since you couldn’t prance out of class with cum dripping down your thighs to head to the bathroom. Shouta compromised by using the class’s tissues to clean the filthy in between your thighs.
You appreciated the gesture, making a joke that he should just eat you out again instead of wasting all your cum. He shook his head with a smile, pointing out that it was already far too late. That his ‘jaw hurt’, you slapped him light-heartedly, mentioning how you were the one who got faced fucked, not him.
He stuffed the soiled tissues into the pockets of his pants, avoiding the risk of someone stumbling upon them. “Soooooo… can I have your number?” you asked, casually tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean, I need it for the pill, right?” you added, leaving no room for excuses or refusals.
Shouta pulled out his phone, unlocking it, and handed it to you. You added your number, nicknaming yourself something cute and memorable. You called yourself that, ensuring you would recognise it as him when he contacted. “I know exactly what I'm gonna call you,” you said with a sly grin.
He chuckled, “Let me guess, ‘dirty old man’?”
You let out a fake gasp. “Noooo! How'd you know?”
He made sure to secure the boxed macarons and the letter in his grasp so he didn’t forget. “Thank you again for the macarons.” You looked up at him, there was a silent spark, and both of you leaned in, sharing a sweet kiss. Smiles adorned both your faces during the tender moment. “I'll text you about the pill,” he said, pulling back. You nodded, slipping away from his grasp, and used your keycard to open the door.
Stepping out of the classroom, you turned around and slid the door behind you. As you spun to leave the area, your head collided with a hard chest. Looking up you saw the familiar face of Hitoshi, expression blank and dull. Void of complete emotion as he looked down at you. Immediately, you turned red, your lips parting and breath hitching at the sight of him. “H-Hitoshi!” you yelped in surprise, a nervous grin appearing on your face. Did he see or hear anything?
The lavender-haired male handed you the familiar envelope containing what was your letter. “You weren't picking up your phone, and when I went to your dorm, you weren't there, but I found this. Thought you forgot it,” he explained, his tone neutral. Your hands shakily moved to grab the letter, examining it for no reason other than to ease the awkwardness in your bones. “Thank you…”
“But I guess you didn't need it,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and guiding you along the familiar path to your dorms. When you glanced down to avoid his eyes on your form, you noticed a tent right next to his crotch.
Oh .