Chapter Text
“We don’t always fall in love with the most suitable of people, do we?”
-Ken Follet, Winter of the World
“Monoma. See me after class.”
Black eyes watch as the students disperse, milling throughout the school grounds as the echoes of whispered conversations and hushed voices drift around him. The teacher sighs, reaching up to knead at the bridge of his nose.
This has to stop.
Tensions between the classes of 1-A and 1-B have been escalating with no end in sight. It had worsened from petty disputes and rough training sessions to physical fights in the halls between classes and other confrontations.
And at the start of each and every single one, 1-B student Monoma Neito.
(Though to be fair, Bakugou was often a close second. Another problem child, that one…)
Aizawa has been far more patient than anyone should rationally expect of him by now. He has stepped in time and time again, ending the countless fights and illogical arguments. The man had hoped that Vlad King would step in as the teacher of the other class, but if he had, there weren’t any noticeable results.
Annoying…
The underground hero shakes his head as he enters the school building, sighing as black hair falls in front of his face with the motion. Dark shoes pad softly against polished floors as Aizawa enters his classroom, the students turning to the front and settling into attention. He sighs, beginning the lesson on autopilot as his mind finishes its wandering. Once the day is over, he will go about fixing this problem once and for all.
Hopefully, there won’t be any further incidents until then.
Hopefully…
Aizawa sits back in his chair, sinking into the soft leather as the dismissal bell chimes above. Dark eyes soften just slightly as he watches the students leave, chatting casually as they exit and wave farewell. This class… they have so much potential. They are good kids.
He’s glad to see them smile again.
The last of the students trail out, leaving the classroom empty and silent save for the ticking of an analog clock on the wall. The teacher stretches, pulling a can of coffee and a stack of papers in need of grading from one of his drawers.
Seconds tick by as the scratching catch of pen against paper fills the room. Tick… tock… The coffee is finished and tossed in the wastebasket as Aizawa continues working through the seemingly endless sheets. Tick… tock… Over halfway through, and still no sign of the student he is supposed to be meeting with. Tick… tock…
Disappointing.
More time passes as Aizawa sinks into the world of red ink and graphite scrawlings. The soft noise of the door opening causes the man to glance up from his where he is finishing the last set of papers. In the doorway is Monoma, hands in his pockets and the usual shroud of arrogance as he stands casually in his uniform without any sense of shame or apology.
Aizawa just gestures silently to the seat pulled up in front of his desk and returns to grading, not so much as acknowledging the boy with a glance or nod as the blond settles across from him. If the other could make him wait, then he can just sit there and have a taste of his own medicine as Aizawa finishes up his own work.
After several minutes the hero can hear the boy begin to fidget, clothes rusting against the wood and plastic of the chair as soles scuff against tile floors. Another pen stroke and the last worksheet is finished. He gathers the papers into a careful stack and taps them against his desk into some semblance of neatness, clipping the pile together and placing it into the depressingly empty drawer meant for finished papers before finally turning to the student.
“Monoma. Before we arrive at the main point of this meeting, would you like to explain why it took you nearly an hour to find your way to my office? I had thought you would know your way around the school by now.”
The boy shrugs narrow shoulders, tilting his head with an expression too obviously fake to even make an attempt at politeness. “Apologies, I had actual work to finish up with my class. Unlike some, we don’t let a bell dictate our training.”
Aizawa wonders if it’s too soon to throw himself out the window in hopes of escape and sweet relief from the idiocy of teenagers. He sighs, leaning back in his chair and flicking the pen against the table repeatedly, steadily. “Interesting. I’ve been Vlad King's coworker for many years, and he has never held back students for a whole hour without prior warning.”
The blond flushes slightly but doesn’t so much as look away, let alone retract his statement. Alright then.
“We’ll continue this later. I don’t have the patience for more at the moment.” The teacher runs his hand through coarse black hair and pushing the tangled strands out of his face with a sigh. “For now… Monoma, it should be obvious why I called you here. The confrontations between my 1-A and 1-B are out of control. A rivalry is fine, even somewhat encouraged, but I cannot allow this to continue when it cuts into class time.
“Perhaps you should teach your students better control!” The blond sneers as he speaks and Aizawa’s empty hands twitch with the desire to reach for his capture tape. It would be difficult to have a conversation with someone gasping for breath, though Aizawa has managed before… Another deep breath. The window is looking better and better all the time…
“My students do not help matters by reacting, true. But reports from each class as well as bystanders claim that you are the instigator. Every. Single. Time.” Dark eyes narrow at blue as Aizawa crosses his arms on the desk, leaning forward slightly as he speaks.
“You are a talented student with much potential, but you will not be allowed to stain UA’s reputation as well as hinder the education of yourself and your classmates with constant arrogance and hostility. No matter what actions we take as teachers, you refuse to change. The casual disregard for authority that you’ve shown by strolling in an hour late and lying to my face proves this beyond doubt.
Since you won’t listen to your teachers, I am scheduling you for a parent conference with myself and your guardians. Vlad King will likely wish to set up his own, as well.”
Monoma’s face pales rapidly, expression shocked and fearful. Aizawa quirks an eyebrow slightly at the other’s reaction, resisting the urge to smirk. Maybe he has finally found a way to deal with the boy.
“Your grandfather, Monoma Naito, is listed as the main contact in your record. I will message him first, followed by your parents in order to set up an appointment about your behavior - “
“You can’t! You can’t do that!”
Aizawa just blinks slowly, face neutral. The number of times he has heard that phrase must surely win some global record.
“I think you’ll find that I can. That will be all.”
The dark-haired man waves a hand in dismissal, turning in his chair to ruffle through the filing cabinets behind his desk in search of more papers to finish grading and lesson plans to complete.
“I’ll stop. Please… I’ll stop. There’s no need to contact anyone.”
The teacher gives a deep, frustrated sigh, not answering as he shuffles through folders before pulling out a stack of packets. These will do. He turns back around, setting the papers on the desk and folding his arms before giving the boy a pointed glare.
“You have promised to stop before. Yet, it’s only gotten worse. I have no choice at this point, Monoma. You’ve used up all your chances. Be grateful that I haven’t suggested your expulsion.” The blond cannot even look at the teacher, stricken gaze downwards as slender fingers grip his knees so tightly the knuckles turn white.
“I won’t bring up 1-B’s superiority anymore - I mean - “ the boy stammers as he tries to backpedal and Aizawa just shakes his head. He doesn’t have time for this.
“Get out.”
The student doesn’t move, still rambling off explanations and assurances that Aizawa isn’t listening to. Monoma’s face grows more and more desperate until a fleeting thought takes root in the teacher’s mind, creeping towards an unexpected and unwanted conclusion. Those eyes aren’t just a fearful student. Aizawa has seen enough of terror to know intimately all the different flavors, and this is a darker and more sinister taste. Those eyes belong to cornered prey. There is something more, something else at play…
Suddenly, the blond drops to his knees and disappears under the desk. Aizawa pushes his chair back in surprise, wheels clacking and rattling against the floor from the jolt. Monoma’s head emerges from between his knees, pale cheeks stained red with a blush as slightly shaking hands reach up to rub the teacher’s bulge through his pants.
“What the hell?” Aizawa pushes the boy’s hands away easily with his own much larger ones, moving a leg to force the boy back. “If you think sexual favors will work on me, you’re wrong. They never have and certainly won’t now.”
Monoma won’t meet his eyes as he squirms, pressing his own clothed cock against Aizawa’s leg and rutting against it slowly. Blue eyes peer up through thick eyelashes to meet his, lips pressed into a pout. The boy is trying to be seductive, but Aizawa can feel every anxious tremble and nervous breath. All he can feel is sick.
“Let me prove that I am serious this time.”
“And get arrested? No. The only thing you’re getting out of is my classroom. I don’t involve myself with students.
“Please !” Aizawa pauses as the boy’s voice breaks and the blond buries his face into the teacher’s knee, body shaking even more. “You can’t tell them. You can’t .”
The teacher sighs, tipping his head back as he thinks. Normally, he wouldn’t be affected by such a disgusting display of emotion. It’s an obvious ploy. But something… something is off. It’s wrong . And Aizawa hasn’t survived the past decade as an underground hero by ignoring his instincts.
“Fine. Last chance. Get up.” The boy shakes his head against the teacher’s knee, gripping the pants so tightly that Aizawa can feel the pull of cloth and bite of nails against his skin and wonders if they’ll rip. “I’m giving you your chance. Congratulations. Let go. Get up. Leave.
“How am I supposed to trust the teacher of class 1-A…?” Monoma’s words are soft murmurs that Aizawa can barely hear over the ticking clock. “An underground hero like you could easily be lying… I have to be sure you won’t break your word.”
A scoff as Aizawa tsks, internally rolling his eyes. Not even an active hero yet and the boy has already picked up on the prejudice against underground heroes. Fantastic. He sighs, resting a scarred hand on the boy’s soft hair even as he tries to gently withdraw his leg from the other’s grip. “I don’t waste my time lying to students. Stop this.”
Monoma shakes his head again, blond hair swirling around him even as he pushes forward to follow Aizawa’s attempts to escape. The boy’s body presses even more closely against him, causing any movement on Aizawa’s part to push and rub against the student’s slowly hardening cock.
The blond’s breaths are heavy as he reaches again for the bulge in Aizawa’s pants, covering it with a pale and skinny hand before rubbing gently. The teacher wants to push him away and drag him outside by the neck. He does, truly. But…
The dark-haired man reaches down to gently grip Monoma’s chin, tilting the boy’s head up so that their gazes lock. The look in the other’s eye has worsened. He’s terrified, resigned. Aizawa hadn’t thought he’d hate those emotions reflected in soft blue so much. If this is what it takes for the boy to feel safe… Aizawa will allow it. Just this once.
With a soft exhale, a heavily scarred hand rises to cup the younger’s cheek and brush a rough thumb against flushed skin. “You don’t have to do this, Monoma. You’re a student. It’s my responsibility to help you as a teacher - to protect you from this sort of situation.”
The blond straightens slightly, tilting his head and nuzzling into the teacher's hand while meeting Aizawa’s gaze evenly. His breaths begin to settle while the trembling against the dark-haired man’s leg slows, calming into a steady rocking of hips.
“I’m not an inexperienced virgin. Unlike your students, I actually know how to handle a man.” Monoma leans forward, placing each hand on Aizawa’s inner thighs as he mouths at the reluctantly growing bulge, licking from the base to tip of the man’s clothed clock as the material darkens. Hooded blue eyes look up at him carefully, and Aizawa’s breath leaves him.
The boy’s tone is cocky and arrogant, with just enough coy breathiness to shoot straight to Aizawa’s dick. He’s bragging, proud, but to Aizawa, the whole situation is just… terribly sad. His students shouldn’t know so much about sex. Neither should Monoma.
Yet here they are.
(Within the underground hero’s mind, something dark and long-forgotten awakens. It grows throughout him, a creeping sensation that reaches out with withered and blackened tendrils of red-stained suggestion.)
Aizawa’s only reply is an “I see,” low voice rough as he struggles to speak through a suddenly dry and tight throat. Dark eyes watch as Monoma continues licking and nuzzling at the teacher’s cock through his hero gear. The boy’s eyes are hazy as he reaches up to lower the black pants and underwear, groaning slowly as it catches on the man’s bulge. Another tug and Aizawa’s thick cock is freed, the younger gasping slightly before licking his lips suggestively.
The dark-haired man watches as blue eyes gaze up at him needily, a pale face rubbing against his fully hard cock. He wants to reach out, run scarred fingers through fine strands of blond and brush a calloused thumb over soft pink lips. He wants to comfort the other, hold and shelter him against the world that has taught him to use sex as a weapon and tool from such a young age.
Instead, he rests both hands casually against the arms of his chair. The last thing Aizawa wants is to push the student further, to make him feel afraid or pressured to go beyond what is comfortable. He’ll leave the power in Monoma’s hands.
The dark-haired man lets out a sigh mixed with relief and bone-deep exhaustion as the student begins licking at the base of his cock, a rough tongue tracing the vein to the top and then swirling over the tip while blue eyes meet black. Soft lips brush against heated skin as Monoma trails light kisses down the teacher’s dick before licking it more, wetting the hard cock thoroughly. Aizawa watches with hooded eyes and carefully controlled breaths, motionless in forced stillness.
He wants to hate this. Wants to find it disgusting, repulsive. Aizawa is a teacher of UA, among the members meant to be at the pinnacle of hero society… or at least, the idea of it. He’s an authority figure taking advantage of his student. On some level, the man does feel sick, a bitter taste present in the back of his throat and a layer of steadily crawling grime that spreads beneath his skin and infects bone and sinew. But Monoma has always been beautiful, filled with potential and power and something at once arrogant and cruel but also soft and broken.
The truth is that compared to the sight of blond hair and blue eyes framing his hard cock, there isn’t much Aizawa has ever wanted more.
A low groan rumbled from the back of the man’s throat as Monoma, at last, takes the head of the teacher’s cock into his mouth, sucking lightly and swirling his tongue around the heated skin. Aizawa’s head tips to the side as he watches the blond begin to move up and down, sucking and licking with every movement. Occasionally, the dark-haired man makes small noises of encouragement. He’s never been very verbal during sex in terms of pure noise, but Monoma relaxes and gains back some of that ever-present (and annoying) superior air with each little moan and breathless gasp. And so, Aizawa continues.
The man observes as pink lips tighten and moan around him, steadily sinking lower with each downward motion. He’s entranced as the boy reaches the base of his cock, gagging around it slightly before recovering with a swallow.
Aizawa groans, tipping his head back as dark eyes flutter. Monoma begins moving again, expertly deepthroating the teacher’s cock with the occasional interruptions of soft sighs and exploring brush of rough tongue. Slowly, Aizawa regains enough awareness to realize that the rocking and grinding against his leg has vanished. A glance down confirms that the boy’s pants are tented and darkened with liquid.
Well, that won’t do.
The pro hero carefully presses and shifts his leg firmly against the blond’s clothed cock, pushing back and forth. Monoma gasps, body instinctively jolting forward to chase the stimulation against his own cock and in doing so chokes around the hard dick in his mouth.
Aizawa curses, a hand finally removing itself from the pale knuckled grip on the chair to gently cup the space between the back of Monoma’s head and his neck, seizing control of the other’s movements. The boy looks up at him, eyes filled with both anxiety and need as the blond struggles to breathe around the cock deep in his throat. Having the tight and warm walls clench around him in combination with that pleading gaze is incredible, and Aizawa can’t help but admire for a moment, rubbing against pale skin comfortingly even as he debates whether or not to brutally fuck the other’s mouth as deep and hard as he could.
In the end, it’s Monoma’s resignation that decides Aizawa’s mind. Dark eyes watch as blue dull over, losing their spark. The blond is still unable to breathe or do much but gag and shudder around the man’s cock, but he still relaxes his throat around the older and slumps limply before Aizawa, still continuing to gently thrust against the man’s leg and looking up with a (fake, he can tell) needy expression.
Something deep within Aizawa snaps. Monoma is a fighter and always has been. He should never look this way.
The teacher carefully helps guide Monoma off of his cock without hurting the boy’s throat, watching as surprise flits across the boy’s face before he gasps for air drunkenly. The boy grips his legs, looking up at him with too much behind blue eyes that had thankfully regained their light as he rocks harder against the dark-haired man’s leg.
Aizawa drags his hand forward to trace from Monoma’s temple to his cheek, pausing to brush a calloused thumb under the other’s eye once, twice, thrice, before reluctantly withdrawing and settling back in his chair. “You’ve done enough if you want to stop, Monoma. You have your blackmail, I’ve had my fun. You can leave.” The words are difficult to get out, contrasting with all of Aizawa’s own desires. Even so, each syllable is delivered without catch or hesitation.
The blond scoffs, smirking at the teacher as he moves back to the older’s cock to give his slit a teasing lick and taste the precum gathered there. “As if. Maybe you’re used to students doing a half-assed job, but I don’t leave anything unfinished.” With that Monoma goes down on the man’s cock again, this time moving his hands forward to rub and play with Aizawa’s balls as he puts his mouth to use.
Time ticks by steadily, though the teacher is barely peripherally aware of it. He is consumed by Monoma, breaths paced not by the need of his lungs but the bobbing movements of the blond head before him. Aizawa barely muffles a moan as the boy lets out a series of soft whimpers against the teacher’s cock, reaching down to rub and pinch at his nipples through the fabric of the school uniform. The man feels his breath quicken in response to the lovely and desperate sight before him.
Aizawa carefully grinds his leg against the other’s trapped and hard cock, nudging up and down even as he pushes back and forth steadily. A shudder in the body against him and the feel of warm liquid through the other’s pants alerts Aizawa’s to the blond’s orgasm, followed by the loudest noise yet and further eagerness in his actions. Aizawa does moan at the sight, continuing to tease and grind against Monoma’s cock as the blond’s eyes grow hazy and his whimpers increase until the boy is a needy and drooling mess around the teacher’s cock.
After seemingly both centuries and mere seconds, the black-haired man shakily gasps as he feels that tell-tale tightening, reaching a hand down to brush the hair out of Monoma’s eyes before he speaks. “Good job. I’m almost there, get off.”
The boy shakes his head around the hard and leaking dick in his mouth. He deepthroats faster and further, surrounding Aizawa with so much tight warmth that he thinks a wrecked and wretched creature like himself might have found heaven for just a moment. The teacher lightly places his hand atop Monoma’s head, gently carding strong fingers through the blond locks. Aizawa cums with a groan of “Beautiful…”, unable to look away as the boy pushes forward on his cock simultaneously, throat tightening around him as Monoma swallows before pulling back to lick him clean.
After several minutes of quiet, shaky exhales and teasing flicks of tongue, Aizawa gently pushes Monoma away before tucking himself back inside his black pants and zipping up. The blond forces himself up only to stumble from knees that had been against the cold tile floor for too long.
The older and much stronger man catches him easily in his arms, and for a too-brief pause, their bodies are pressed together, blond against black, smooth against scarred, pale against tan. Aizawa can smell something floral - the boy’s shampoo - underneath sex and sweat, along with a mix of other scents that mingle with the coffee and sandalwood of himself before the boy pulls away and takes a firmer step back.
Monoma has his book bag in hand and is next to the door between one blink and the next. Slender figures hesitate before the doorknob as the blond turns back, sharp blue eyes carefully analyzing and observing the teacher. “It’s hard to believe an underground hero, and even harder to trust the teacher of class 1-A.” Aizawa watches silently as the boy steps back towards the hall outside and takes a deep breath before gripping the handle. “I’ll be back after school every Tuesday and Thursday, same time.”
He is out the door before Aizawa can react, and when the teacher checks the hall, all that remains are scuff marks along the floor and dust floating through the air. Monoma is gone. The boy can act as cool as he pleases, but he definitely didn’t leave at a walking pace…
The teacher sighs as he locks the door, returning to his desk and slumping into the comfort of his chair with an exhausted sigh. Large hands reach up to tangle in thick black hair, and for a moment he sees a flash of blond, smooth skin and silky strands against his palm. Damn… The grip tightens as Aizawa reflects on the past hour. Monoma was experienced, but that wasn't all. He was experienced with adults , with men . Someone - or multiple someones - had been taking advantage of the boy for far longer than him.
(And for a moment, his hands are dripping with red.)
He should have taken the damn window.