carina

18+. she/her. masterlist

[corporalswhore]

The Honest Pitch for SweetDream

No overselling: SweetDream lets you build a companion who feels like yours, then talk, call, and share moments with her in a way that genuinely feels real. That's the purpose, and it delivers.

The reason to choose it over the rest is quality, deep character creation, natural and emotionally intelligent chat, beautiful photos and videos, human-sounding voice and calls, and privacy that's respected. If you're going to try one, make it sweetdream.ai.

[corporalswhore]

NAVIGATION.

about ◡̈

hi babies welcome to my blog <33 i’m carina :)

CAPRICORN | UNI STUDENT | DILF LOVER | KAGEYAMA + MEGUMI KINNIE.

before you continue please note that this blog contains DARK CONTENT (minors dni).

requesting!

requests: open

MASTERLIST + CHARACTERS + RULES

recent works

➵ shota aizawa; react

➵ satoru gojo; souvenir

➵ megumi fushiguro; all the ways

➵ satoru gojo; read your mind

[corporalswhore]

we are losing recipes the younger generation thinks character ai is the next best thing rather than reading actual fics omg

[corporalswhore]

i hope you write a part 2 for react!! 💕

ahh i’m glad you enjoyed the first part anon!! mwahhh 💗 i’m def open to writing a part 2!! (i have no idea what the plot would be pls send help)

[corporalswhore]

happy new year everyone <3 here’s to another year of problematic content from yours truly 🫶

[corporalswhore]

exam season 😔

[corporalswhore]

CARINAAA I HOPE UR DOING WELL !!! I come back to ur writing so often it’s peak ..

ANONNN IM GOOD JUST SWAMPED W UNI!!! i hope ur doing well too 😚😚 ALSO STOPPPP ILY THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS IN IT MADE MY WEEKKK 🥹🥹🫶

[corporalswhore]

— cheater (shota aizawa)

pairing: shota aizawa x student!reader

summary: you and shota are no better than your cheating boyfriend.

warnings: teacher/student relationship. reader is legal! lots of yearning i guess? i don’t support cheating obvi but i would leave my man so quickly for aizawa so! that’s all.

as their homeroom teacher, you’d think shota would know a lot about his students — and he does, but the child’s play of it all? — he hasn’t a single clue.

and by child’s play, he means the relationship aspect of it all. best believe he knows every little scuffle that takes place, but ask him who likes who? none of his business.

but, he knows the blonde spiky boy in front of him, is your boyfriend.

so, why on earth is he witnessing denki putting his coat around another girl — all bright eyed and bushy tailed outside her dorm building — past curfew.

someone had informed him that one of his kids was out — but he did not think he’d witness something like this.

and, if he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the moment kaminari bent down, he knew he had jinxed it.

he kissed her goodbye, and shota bore witness to the whole affair.

now, shota would’ve sighed, grumbled about kids being kids and left it be — since it was definitely none of his business. sure, those were his kids, but they have their own personal lives and making mistakes is part of growing. cheating is bad but, unwanted meddling is worse to a teenager.

but, it’s your boyfriend.

you.

he can’t possibly keep this a secret from his somewhat favorite student — it would eat him alive.

shota doesn’t even bother following denki back to his dorm to admonish him, instead deciding to take it up with him in the morning. something about not being able to look his student in the eye right now, he might notice the disappointment, the disgust — not the level-headed teacher he knows.

but this isn’t any of his business, shota has to remind himself as he starts his trek back up to his dorm — it shouldn’t bother him this much, yet it does.

“didn’t think he was capable of that.” he mutters to himself, fingers fidgeting with the keychain you gave him earlier that day.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

in all honesty, shota aizawa is no better than denki.

neither are you.

he may walk around campus with respect etched into his name but, his morals are flailing.

and you, you’re not as innocent and sweet as people make you out to be — no, you might be worse than him and denki combined.

because, why are you here?

hours after school ended, sitting across from him in his office under the guise of helping him mark papers; but the red ink pen in your hand has been discarded on the table for an hour now.

you giggle as you recount the memory of your fellow classmates hiding a bottle of alcohol during a random dorm inspection at the end of your second year; and aizawa’s face mimics betrayal because he had no idea — he doesn’t know if he should scold you for being an accomplice or thank you for letting him know.

but when your laughter echoes throughout the room, he does know one thing: all he wants is to forever cause that smile — the crinkle of your nose with each laugh, the soft blush on your face as you look away from him when you both lock eyes.

shota’s gaze is always soft with you, even somewhat tender — especially when your fingers brush against his across the table when you both reach for a paper.

it’s always an accident — but you notice it every time, the way his fingers perk up, almost instinct to clutch at yours — desperate to hold and keep.

and it makes flowers bloom in your stomach.

because it’s the walk between nothing and everything, the edge of a forever you’re both too scared to curl your fingers around.

it’s wrong — you both know it.

it’s even worse when you both pretend it didn’t happen — when your mutual conversation picks back up like usual; you revealing something you shouldn’t have and him reeling from the information he shouldn’t know. when he feels like it, he’d add in a little anecdote about a certain scenario and you swear you see the little curve of his lips as he reminisces.

and his smile feels like the first blessing of the rain.

when you both finish your pile of papers and wrap up for the day; you slide his red ink pen back into its holder — and aizawa stills, then takes it back out — holding it out to you.

“you’ll need it for next time.”

you beam at him, nodding vigorously — and aizawa knows he’s a hypocrite when his fingers deliberately brush yours as you take the pen from his palm.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

shota aizawa bears witness to the way your boyfriend graciously walks you to the library; how he makes sure you’re situated comfortably at a table — and then bids you farewell with a kiss to your forehead. denki isn’t the type to study hard, wouldn’t go the extra mile at the library; but he always supports you.

you give him a soft smile as you watch him turn to leave, and when he saunters out of the library — you grab your bag from the table and hurry up the steps to the second floor; almost like you’re late for something.

you round the corner after a flight of stairs, passing two bookshelves, and hidden in between the third one sits shota, slouched against a shelf.

you take a deep breath before sitting across from him; dropping your bag beside you. he doesn’t look at you at first, doesn’t budge from the book he’s apparently so engrossed in. only when you start ruffling through your bag do you hear the quiet jingling of metal, and the sound of it sliding against the vinyl; coming to rest right beside your hip.

it’s his watch.

5:15pm.

you’re late. fifteen minutes late to whatever this is. this unspoken ritual, this habit that was never officially scheduled — but observed like a mandatory meeting; you ran into him here once; and like instinct, a rhythm was formed of you both accidentally bumping into eachother here every friday.

borne from either of yours’ small desire (never voiced) for wanting a few short hours rather than waiting a few long days to see each other again.

(the next time you’d both see eachother on campus would be wednesday.)

you glance up at him, but he’s already staring at you. his gaze holding every emotion he shouldn’t say out loud — emotions he can’t say out loud. but it’s the most clearest communication you’ve ever received. things you both won’t admit, won’t give sound to — but you’ll let your eyes give solace.

you allow yourself to be pinned by his paperweight eyes as you extend your arm out, giving his watch back.

“my co-curricular ran late.” you whisper, hoping he’d accept your reason for tardiness.

shota hums in acknowledgment, breaking eye contact to sling the metal across his wrist; but it hangs loose, unclasped. his eyes pierce yours once more, fingers casually grazing his forehead before jutting his chin out towards the first floor — like he’s calling your bluff.

and you start piecing things together quickly; he’s been watching you since you entered the library. the need to reassure him that it’s not what it looked like and the absolute truth of it being exactly what it looked like leave you torn.

it would be insulting to shota to tell him that you’re boyfriend kissing your forehead meant nothing. it would be an even bigger blow to your dignity.

you are taken. you do not need to explain yourself to him, even when your whole body screams at you to justify yourself; to tell the truth.

but no, you will take whatever glances you’ve shared to your grave, the fleeting touches engraved in your skin will never be spoken about to a soul. you will not disgrace yourself by telling the truth. you will feign ignorance, swallow all the feelings that have emerged in your heart and made their way up your throat; begging to be released.

yet you will still meet him here next week, because you’re all bark but no bite. you may be mentally strong, but your body craves to be in his company, your feet follow his path unconsciously.

you are not a good girlfriend, you’re aware of that. especially when you lean forward, taking his hand in yours; palm enclosing around his middle three fingers while your thumb rests on top — shota doesn’t flinch. he lets you turn his wrist over, allows your soft fingertips to deliberately ghost across the warmth of his pulse before closing around the clasp of the watch.

you won’t reassure him, not loudly, but every shared touch orbits around this forbidden affair, and you know he understands.

no words are needed between you too — liars speak the same language.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

the elevators are always crowded. five minutes until break ends and suddenly everybody’s rushing to get back to class. you don’t bother standing in the long line, instead heading in the direction of the stairs.

it’s always empty, less stressful and more peaceful. sure, you have to walk up three flights from the cafe to the third-year floor, but the silence is worth it.

but everything comes crashing down when you start trekking up the second flight, and hear footsteps approaching from above. when you round the corner of the staircase, you come face to face with none other than shota aizawa.

there’s something twisted about fate, the way it keeps bringing you both together in places you shouldn’t be — this connection, a double-edged sword, reveals itself in moments that can’t be denied.

moments like this, where his eyes won’t leave yours, where the faintest hint of a smirk plays at his lips. and where neither of you make room for the other to pass, a silent plea to lengthen the moment where it’s just the two of you.

wordlessly, shota starts rummaging through the stack of papers in his hands — pulling free a stapled file about an inch thick and offering it to you.

“past hero had a similar quirk to yours, should help you find a solution to your new move.”

your breathing stills. you mentioned once, during your library sessions, that you were having trouble with your new move — it was offhand, the tangent probably lasted five seconds in total as you were rambling about a completely different topic altogether but he remembered.

he listened, only had to hear it once and he was already compiling information for your sake; just to help you. and sure, it was his duty as your teacher but you weren’t even sure he heard you that day; didn’t think that would’ve stuck out to him.

but it did, it mattered to him — and it’s that thought alone that has you on the verge of breaking down on the staircase; because fuck you’d been struggling with that move for weeks now and the other teachers were just as lost as you about where to go with it.

“thank you so much,” you inhale shakily, blinking back tears as you take the file from his hand. “i really appreciate it, sir.” you speak truthfully, eyes locking with his.

and shota feels since his eyes caught sight of yours, they brim over with you alone.

“don’t mention it.” he mutters, forcing himself to look away from you. if he gave in right now, he’d never make it to his next class.

he steps aside to let you pass, gaze fixed towards the floor. but as you step higher, your pinky brushes against his. shota visibly stiffens, knowing that was intentional — he knows that was a sign; a different kind of thank you, not professional, but intimate.

yet unspoken, like the affair between you two.

it takes everything in shota to not pull your hand back and interlock his fingers with yours, properly. instead, he lets his pinky ghost against yours in return, wishing to intertwine it but the echoing footsteps from below force him to withdraw.

he doesn’t glance back when he makes his way down the stairs, but you see the way his fingers flex — as if he’s replaying the touch, almost subconsciously; before tucking his hand deep into his pocket, shielding where you touched from the world.

and you linger on his skin like you’re his, but you both know you’re not.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

and the last person shota expected to see at the club tonight was you — and in tow, your cheating boyfriend.

he notes the way denki’s hands slide off your waist to hug kaminari, and then mina — even in the flickering light shota can see the way his palms wind around her middle, coaxing her closer to him to dance; and her hands don’t hesitate to tug at his shirt collar, looping her arms around his neck comfortably.

and shota definitely doesn’t miss the way your eyes never stray from them as they disappear deeper into the crowd, leaving you stranded in the middle of the dance floor. you shoot kaminari a look; and he shrugs in return.

you huff, turning on your heel and heading towards the bar — but your eyes can’t tear away from them as you sit perched on a stool. it makes you sick to your stomach. you were on his arm when you walked in, and now he’s left you like this? just because of her?

you know she throws herself at him every chance she gets but when did he start enjoying it? when did he start looking at her like he wants to devour her on the spot?

your mind races with countless thoughts, moments you could’ve missed, hints that were right infront of your eyes; how were you so blind to this? and how cruel of him to leave his girlfriend alone so he can grind on another girl.

it’s not cheating no, but it feels worse.

you’d never do that to him — but life has a way of humbling you quickly as you jolt when shota aizawa appears at your side, distracting you from your thoughts; like he knew you were on your high horses.

suddenly you’re reminded at the fact that you and him have begun to blur; you don’t know where your relationship with him ends or begins — and you’re both sleeping on it like you’d solve it in your dreams.

you look up at him through your lashes, startled — you definitely didn’t expect to see him here, nor did you peg him as a club guy.

he must’ve been dragged here by hizashi.

shota wordlessly motions for two shots, and the bartender slides them across. he lifts one, meets your gaze, and with a faint nod, signals for you to take it — you do as told, slightly dazed at his actions.

and shota thinks he couldn’t be a shittier person — should he be the one to tell you that your boyfriend is cheating on you?

no. that would be too personal. that would be crossing lines that you can’t turn back from; it would make the bond you two share no longer professional, but real.

sharing clandestine touches is one thing, but giving unsolicited advice about your relationship? that seems to be crossing boundaries in a whole other way.

the truth is, shota is dying to tell you — he wants to let you know that you deserve better, that your boyfriend is a dead-end; a dick (though it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to say that out loud).

but he’s scared; he’s terrified at the thought of you thinking he might have an ulterior motive — that you might think he’s lying just to get you to break up with him or finally let him he’s overstepping boundaries — leading to the end of this affair, and shota doesn’t think he can handle that accusation.

you both down the shot at the same time and you grimace. and for the first time in a while, you hear soft laughter erupting from him; it’s warm, unguarded — a sound you’ve associated enclosed rooms and dim lighting with, something synonymous with moments when it’s just the two of you.

and that’s the selfishness in you; you wish it was for your ears only — saved from anyone else hearing it.

but you have to snap out of it when you spot your boyfriend again in the mess of bodies — even in the flickering strobe, you see the way his mouth lingers dangerously close to mina’s; and as the lights scintillate again, you swear you see his lips brush hers — swiftly but deliberate.

this was no drunken stupor; but two hearts meeting when the moon is hidden.

and suddenly you feel like a lost moon in an open sky. your stomach plummets and the room suddenly feels like it’s caving in.

beside you, shota follows your gaze — expression unreadable at first but even with your world crashing down, you notice the slight flare of his nostrils, the clenched jaw — the way his thumb presses into the rim of the empty shot glass, like it’s the only way to keep his composure.

he didn’t want you to find out like this, not so cruelly.

shota doesn’t glance at you at first, just leans forwards and lets his elbow rest on the counter before his voice cuts through the bass of the music.

“well,” he mutters, keeping his eyes glued to his two students in their own world; while his favorite one’s shatters. “guess we won’t have to sneak around anymore soon.”

the words roll out before he has a chance to understand what he’s saying — what he’s acknowledging; the fact that there is a thread woven between both of you, and now he wants to define it.

your head whips around so quickly it gives you whiplash. your breath gets caught in your throat at his admission; the way it’s said so matter-of-factly, no room for rebuttal. just raw honesty that scares you more than your boyfriend’s infidelity.

when shota finally looks at you, lids heavy and lips curled into a soft grin — it feels like two hearts meeting, but this time it’s not silently nor secretly. there is no hidden moon or sun, just two stars in the vast sky that have found their way to eachother, regardless of circumstance.

kaminari denki was only a moral barrier, now shota has a chance to step in the game for real, without needing permission. lines can be crossed now.

and for the first time all night, you don’t know if the ache in your chest is from heartbreak or from him.

but you know for a fact you’re a hypocrite.

[corporalswhore]

— cheater (shota aizawa)

pairing: shota aizawa x student!reader

summary: you and shota are no better than your cheating boyfriend.

warnings: teacher/student relationship. reader is legal! lots of yearning i guess? i don’t support cheating obvi but i would leave my man so quickly for aizawa so! that’s all.

as their homeroom teacher, you’d think shota would know a lot about his students — and he does, but the child’s play of it all? — he hasn’t a single clue.

and by child’s play, he means the relationship aspect of it all. best believe he knows every little scuffle that takes place, but ask him who likes who? none of his business.

but, he knows the blonde spiky boy in front of him, is your boyfriend.

so, why on earth is he witnessing denki putting his coat around another girl — all bright eyed and bushy tailed outside her dorm building — past curfew.

someone had informed him that one of his kids was out — but he did not think he’d witness something like this.

and, if he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the moment kaminari bent down, he knew he had jinxed it.

he kissed her goodbye, and shota bore witness to the whole affair.

now, shota would’ve sighed, grumbled about kids being kids and left it be — since it was definitely none of his business. sure, those were his kids, but they have their own personal lives and making mistakes is part of growing. cheating is bad but, unwanted meddling is worse to a teenager.

but, it’s your boyfriend.

you.

he can’t possibly keep this a secret from his somewhat favorite student — it would eat him alive.

shota doesn’t even bother following denki back to his dorm to admonish him, instead deciding to take it up with him in the morning. something about not being able to look his student in the eye right now, he might notice the disappointment, the disgust — not the level-headed teacher he knows.

but this isn’t any of his business, shota has to remind himself as he starts his trek back up to his dorm — it shouldn’t bother him this much, yet it does.

“didn’t think he was capable of that.” he mutters to himself, fingers fidgeting with the keychain you gave him earlier that day.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

in all honesty, shota aizawa is no better than denki.

neither are you.

he may walk around campus with respect etched into his name but, his morals are flailing.

and you, you’re not as innocent and sweet as people make you out to be — no, you might be worse than him and denki combined.

because, why are you here?

hours after school ended, sitting across from him in his office under the guise of helping him mark papers; but the red ink pen in your hand has been discarded on the table for an hour now.

you giggle as you recount the memory of your fellow classmates hiding a bottle of alcohol during a random dorm inspection at the end of your second year; and aizawa’s face mimics betrayal because he had no idea — he doesn’t know if he should scold you for being an accomplice or thank you for letting him know.

but when your laughter echoes throughout the room, he does know one thing: all he wants is to forever cause that smile — the crinkle of your nose with each laugh, the soft blush on your face as you look away from him when you both lock eyes.

shota’s gaze is always soft with you, even somewhat tender — especially when your fingers brush against his across the table when you both reach for a paper.

it’s always an accident — but you notice it every time, the way his fingers perk up, almost instinct to clutch at yours — desperate to hold and keep.

and it makes flowers bloom in your stomach.

because it’s the walk between nothing and everything, the edge of a forever you’re both too scared to curl your fingers around.

it’s wrong — you both know it.

it’s even worse when you both pretend it didn’t happen — when your mutual conversation picks back up like usual; you revealing something you shouldn’t have and him reeling from the information he shouldn’t know. when he feels like it, he’d add in a little anecdote about a certain scenario and you swear you see the little curve of his lips as he reminisces.

and his smile feels like the first blessing of the rain.

when you both finish your pile of papers and wrap up for the day; you slide his red ink pen back into its holder — and aizawa stills, then takes it back out — holding it out to you.

“you’ll need it for next time.”

you beam at him, nodding vigorously — and aizawa knows he’s a hypocrite when his fingers deliberately brush yours as you take the pen from his palm.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

shota aizawa bears witness to the way your boyfriend graciously walks you to the library; how he makes sure you’re situated comfortably at a table — and then bids you farewell with a kiss to your forehead. denki isn’t the type to study hard, wouldn’t go the extra mile at the library; but he always supports you.

you give him a soft smile as you watch him turn to leave, and when he saunters out of the library — you grab your bag from the table and hurry up the steps to the second floor; almost like you’re late for something.

you round the corner after a flight of stairs, passing two bookshelves, and hidden in between the third one sits shota, slouched against a shelf.

you take a deep breath before sitting across from him; dropping your bag beside you. he doesn’t look at you at first, doesn’t budge from the book he’s apparently so engrossed in. only when you start ruffling through your bag do you hear the quiet jingling of metal, and the sound of it sliding against the vinyl; coming to rest right beside your hip.

it’s his watch.

5:15pm.

you’re late. fifteen minutes late to whatever this is. this unspoken ritual, this habit that was never officially scheduled — but observed like a mandatory meeting; you ran into him here once; and like instinct, a rhythm was formed of you both accidentally bumping into eachother here every friday.

borne from either of yours’ small desire (never voiced) for wanting a few short hours rather than waiting a few long days to see each other again.

(the next time you’d both see eachother on campus would be wednesday.)

you glance up at him, but he’s already staring at you. his gaze holding every emotion he shouldn’t say out loud — emotions he can’t say out loud. but it’s the most clearest communication you’ve ever received. things you both won’t admit, won’t give sound to — but you’ll let your eyes give solace.

you allow yourself to be pinned by his paperweight eyes as you extend your arm out, giving his watch back.

“my co-curricular ran late.” you whisper, hoping he’d accept your reason for tardiness.

shota hums in acknowledgment, breaking eye contact to sling the metal across his wrist; but it hangs loose, unclasped. his eyes pierce yours once more, fingers casually grazing his forehead before jutting his chin out towards the first floor — like he’s calling your bluff.

and you start piecing things together quickly; he’s been watching you since you entered the library. the need to reassure him that it’s not what it looked like and the absolute truth of it being exactly what it looked like leave you torn.

it would be insulting to shota to tell him that you’re boyfriend kissing your forehead meant nothing. it would be an even bigger blow to your dignity.

you are taken. you do not need to explain yourself to him, even when your whole body screams at you to justify yourself; to tell the truth.

but no, you will take whatever glances you’ve shared to your grave, the fleeting touches engraved in your skin will never be spoken about to a soul. you will not disgrace yourself by telling the truth. you will feign ignorance, swallow all the feelings that have emerged in your heart and made their way up your throat; begging to be released.

yet you will still meet him here next week, because you’re all bark but no bite. you may be mentally strong, but your body craves to be in his company, your feet follow his path unconsciously.

you are not a good girlfriend, you’re aware of that. especially when you lean forward, taking his hand in yours; palm enclosing around his middle three fingers while your thumb rests on top — shota doesn’t flinch. he lets you turn his wrist over, allows your soft fingertips to deliberately ghost across the warmth of his pulse before closing around the clasp of the watch.

you won’t reassure him, not loudly, but every shared touch orbits around this forbidden affair, and you know he understands.

no words are needed between you too — liars speak the same language.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

the elevators are always crowded. five minutes until break ends and suddenly everybody’s rushing to get back to class. you don’t bother standing in the long line, instead heading in the direction of the stairs.

it’s always empty, less stressful and more peaceful. sure, you have to walk up three flights from the cafe to the third-year floor, but the silence is worth it.

but everything comes crashing down when you start trekking up the second flight, and hear footsteps approaching from above. when you round the corner of the staircase, you come face to face with none other than shota aizawa.

there’s something twisted about fate, the way it keeps bringing you both together in places you shouldn’t be — this connection, a double-edged sword, reveals itself in moments that can’t be denied.

moments like this, where his eyes won’t leave yours, where the faintest hint of a smirk plays at his lips. and where neither of you make room for the other to pass, a silent plea to lengthen the moment where it’s just the two of you.

wordlessly, shota starts rummaging through the stack of papers in his hands — pulling free a stapled file about an inch thick and offering it to you.

“past hero had a similar quirk to yours, should help you find a solution to your new move.”

your breathing stills. you mentioned once, during your library sessions, that you were having trouble with your new move — it was offhand, the tangent probably lasted five seconds in total as you were rambling about a completely different topic altogether but he remembered.

he listened, only had to hear it once and he was already compiling information for your sake; just to help you. and sure, it was his duty as your teacher but you weren’t even sure he heard you that day; didn’t think that would’ve stuck out to him.

but it did, it mattered to him — and it’s that thought alone that has you on the verge of breaking down on the staircase; because fuck you’d been struggling with that move for weeks now and the other teachers were just as lost as you about where to go with it.

“thank you so much,” you inhale shakily, blinking back tears as you take the file from his hand. “i really appreciate it, sir.” you speak truthfully, eyes locking with his.

and shota feels since his eyes caught sight of yours, they brim over with you alone.

“don’t mention it.” he mutters, forcing himself to look away from you. if he gave in right now, he’d never make it to his next class.

he steps aside to let you pass, gaze fixed towards the floor. but as you step higher, your pinky brushes against his. shota visibly stiffens, knowing that was intentional — he knows that was a sign; a different kind of thank you, not professional, but intimate.

yet unspoken, like the affair between you two.

it takes everything in shota to not pull your hand back and interlock his fingers with yours, properly. instead, he lets his pinky ghost against yours in return, wishing to intertwine it but the echoing footsteps from below force him to withdraw.

he doesn’t glance back when he makes his way down the stairs, but you see the way his fingers flex — as if he’s replaying the touch, almost subconsciously; before tucking his hand deep into his pocket, shielding where you touched from the world.

and you linger on his skin like you’re his, but you both know you’re not.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

and the last person shota expected to see at the club tonight was you — and in tow, your cheating boyfriend.

he notes the way denki’s hands slide off your waist to hug kaminari, and then mina — even in the flickering light shota can see the way his palms wind around her middle, coaxing her closer to him to dance; and her hands don’t hesitate to tug at his shirt collar, looping her arms around his neck comfortably.

and shota definitely doesn’t miss the way your eyes never stray from them as they disappear deeper into the crowd, leaving you stranded in the middle of the dance floor. you shoot kaminari a look; and he shrugs in return.

you huff, turning on your heel and heading towards the bar — but your eyes can’t tear away from them as you sit perched on a stool. it makes you sick to your stomach. you were on his arm when you walked in, and now he’s left you like this? just because of her?

you know she throws herself at him every chance she gets but when did he start enjoying it? when did he start looking at her like he wants to devour her on the spot?

your mind races with countless thoughts, moments you could’ve missed, hints that were right infront of your eyes; how were you so blind to this? and how cruel of him to leave his girlfriend alone so he can grind on another girl.

it’s not cheating no, but it feels worse.

you’d never do that to him — but life has a way of humbling you quickly as you jolt when shota aizawa appears at your side, distracting you from your thoughts; like he knew you were on your high horses.

suddenly you’re reminded at the fact that you and him have begun to blur; you don’t know where your relationship with him ends or begins — and you’re both sleeping on it like you’d solve it in your dreams.

you look up at him through your lashes, startled — you definitely didn’t expect to see him here, nor did you peg him as a club guy.

he must’ve been dragged here by hizashi.

shota wordlessly motions for two shots, and the bartender slides them across. he lifts one, meets your gaze, and with a faint nod, signals for you to take it — you do as told, slightly dazed at his actions.

and shota thinks he couldn’t be a shittier person — should he be the one to tell you that your boyfriend is cheating on you?

no. that would be too personal. that would be crossing lines that you can’t turn back from; it would make the bond you two share no longer professional, but real.

sharing clandestine touches is one thing, but giving unsolicited advice about your relationship? that seems to be crossing boundaries in a whole other way.

the truth is, shota is dying to tell you — he wants to let you know that you deserve better, that your boyfriend is a dead-end; a dick (though it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to say that out loud).

but he’s scared; he’s terrified at the thought of you thinking he might have an ulterior motive — that you might think he’s lying just to get you to break up with him or finally let him he’s overstepping boundaries — leading to the end of this affair, and shota doesn’t think he can handle that accusation.

you both down the shot at the same time and you grimace. and for the first time in a while, you hear soft laughter erupting from him; it’s warm, unguarded — a sound you’ve associated enclosed rooms and dim lighting with, something synonymous with moments when it’s just the two of you.

and that’s the selfishness in you; you wish it was for your ears only — saved from anyone else hearing it.

but you have to snap out of it when you spot your boyfriend again in the mess of bodies — even in the flickering strobe, you see the way his mouth lingers dangerously close to mina’s; and as the lights scintillate again, you swear you see his lips brush hers — swiftly but deliberate.

this was no drunken stupor; but two hearts meeting when the moon is hidden.

and suddenly you feel like a lost moon in an open sky. your stomach plummets and the room suddenly feels like it’s caving in.

beside you, shota follows your gaze — expression unreadable at first but even with your world crashing down, you notice the slight flare of his nostrils, the clenched jaw — the way his thumb presses into the rim of the empty shot glass, like it’s the only way to keep his composure.

he didn’t want you to find out like this, not so cruelly.

shota doesn’t glance at you at first, just leans forwards and lets his elbow rest on the counter before his voice cuts through the bass of the music.

“well,” he mutters, keeping his eyes glued to his two students in their own world; while his favorite one’s shatters. “guess we won’t have to sneak around anymore soon.”

the words roll out before he has a chance to understand what he’s saying — what he’s acknowledging; the fact that there is a thread woven between both of you, and now he wants to define it.

your head whips around so quickly it gives you whiplash. your breath gets caught in your throat at his admission; the way it’s said so matter-of-factly, no room for rebuttal. just raw honesty that scares you more than your boyfriend’s infidelity.

when shota finally looks at you, lids heavy and lips curled into a soft grin — it feels like two hearts meeting, but this time it’s not silently nor secretly. there is no hidden moon or sun, just two stars in the vast sky that have found their way to eachother, regardless of circumstance.

kaminari denki was only a moral barrier, now shota has a chance to step in the game for real, without needing permission. lines can be crossed now.

and for the first time all night, you don’t know if the ache in your chest is from heartbreak or from him.

but you know for a fact you’re a hypocrite.

[corporalswhore]

— cheater (shota aizawa)

pairing: shota aizawa x student!reader

summary: you and shota are no better than your cheating boyfriend.

warnings: teacher/student relationship. reader is legal! lots of yearning i guess? i don’t support cheating obvi but i would leave my man so quickly for aizawa so! that’s all.

as their homeroom teacher, you’d think shota would know a lot about his students — and he does, but the child’s play of it all? — he hasn’t a single clue.

and by child’s play, he means the relationship aspect of it all. best believe he knows every little scuffle that takes place, but ask him who likes who? none of his business.

but, he knows the blonde spiky boy in front of him, is your boyfriend.

so, why on earth is he witnessing denki putting his coat around another girl — all bright eyed and bushy tailed outside her dorm building — past curfew.

someone had informed him that one of his kids was out — but he did not think he’d witness something like this.

and, if he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the moment kaminari bent down, he knew he had jinxed it.

he kissed her goodbye, and shota bore witness to the whole affair.

now, shota would’ve sighed, grumbled about kids being kids and left it be — since it was definitely none of his business. sure, those were his kids, but they have their own personal lives and making mistakes is part of growing. cheating is bad but, unwanted meddling is worse to a teenager.

but, it’s your boyfriend.

you.

he can’t possibly keep this a secret from his somewhat favorite student — it would eat him alive.

shota doesn’t even bother following denki back to his dorm to admonish him, instead deciding to take it up with him in the morning. something about not being able to look his student in the eye right now, he might notice the disappointment, the disgust — not the level-headed teacher he knows.

but this isn’t any of his business, shota has to remind himself as he starts his trek back up to his dorm — it shouldn’t bother him this much, yet it does.

“didn’t think he was capable of that.” he mutters to himself, fingers fidgeting with the keychain you gave him earlier that day.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

in all honesty, shota aizawa is no better than denki.

neither are you.

he may walk around campus with respect etched into his name but, his morals are flailing.

and you, you’re not as innocent and sweet as people make you out to be — no, you might be worse than him and denki combined.

because, why are you here?

hours after school ended, sitting across from him in his office under the guise of helping him mark papers; but the red ink pen in your hand has been discarded on the table for an hour now.

you giggle as you recount the memory of your fellow classmates hiding a bottle of alcohol during a random dorm inspection at the end of your second year; and aizawa’s face mimics betrayal because he had no idea — he doesn’t know if he should scold you for being an accomplice or thank you for letting him know.

but when your laughter echoes throughout the room, he does know one thing: all he wants is to forever cause that smile — the crinkle of your nose with each laugh, the soft blush on your face as you look away from him when you both lock eyes.

shota’s gaze is always soft with you, even somewhat tender — especially when your fingers brush against his across the table when you both reach for a paper.

it’s always an accident — but you notice it every time, the way his fingers perk up, almost instinct to clutch at yours — desperate to hold and keep.

and it makes flowers bloom in your stomach.

because it’s the walk between nothing and everything, the edge of a forever you’re both too scared to curl your fingers around.

it’s wrong — you both know it.

it’s even worse when you both pretend it didn’t happen — when your mutual conversation picks back up like usual; you revealing something you shouldn’t have and him reeling from the information he shouldn’t know. when he feels like it, he’d add in a little anecdote about a certain scenario and you swear you see the little curve of his lips as he reminisces.

and his smile feels like the first blessing of the rain.

when you both finish your pile of papers and wrap up for the day; you slide his red ink pen back into its holder — and aizawa stills, then takes it back out — holding it out to you.

“you’ll need it for next time.”

you beam at him, nodding vigorously — and aizawa knows he’s a hypocrite when his fingers deliberately brush yours as you take the pen from his palm.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

shota aizawa bears witness to the way your boyfriend graciously walks you to the library; how he makes sure you’re situated comfortably at a table — and then bids you farewell with a kiss to your forehead. denki isn’t the type to study hard, wouldn’t go the extra mile at the library; but he always supports you.

you give him a soft smile as you watch him turn to leave, and when he saunters out of the library — you grab your bag from the table and hurry up the steps to the second floor; almost like you’re late for something.

you round the corner after a flight of stairs, passing two bookshelves, and hidden in between the third one sits shota, slouched against a shelf.

you take a deep breath before sitting across from him; dropping your bag beside you. he doesn’t look at you at first, doesn’t budge from the book he’s apparently so engrossed in. only when you start ruffling through your bag do you hear the quiet jingling of metal, and the sound of it sliding against the vinyl; coming to rest right beside your hip.

it’s his watch.

5:15pm.

you’re late. fifteen minutes late to whatever this is. this unspoken ritual, this habit that was never officially scheduled — but observed like a mandatory meeting; you ran into him here once; and like instinct, a rhythm was formed of you both accidentally bumping into eachother here every friday.

borne from either of yours’ small desire (never voiced) for wanting a few short hours rather than waiting a few long days to see each other again.

(the next time you’d both see eachother on campus would be wednesday.)

you glance up at him, but he’s already staring at you. his gaze holding every emotion he shouldn’t say out loud — emotions he can’t say out loud. but it’s the most clearest communication you’ve ever received. things you both won’t admit, won’t give sound to — but you’ll let your eyes give solace.

you allow yourself to be pinned by his paperweight eyes as you extend your arm out, giving his watch back.

“my co-curricular ran late.” you whisper, hoping he’d accept your reason for tardiness.

shota hums in acknowledgment, breaking eye contact to sling the metal across his wrist; but it hangs loose, unclasped. his eyes pierce yours once more, fingers casually grazing his forehead before jutting his chin out towards the first floor — like he’s calling your bluff.

and you start piecing things together quickly; he’s been watching you since you entered the library. the need to reassure him that it’s not what it looked like and the absolute truth of it being exactly what it looked like leave you torn.

it would be insulting to shota to tell him that you’re boyfriend kissing your forehead meant nothing. it would be an even bigger blow to your dignity.

you are taken. you do not need to explain yourself to him, even when your whole body screams at you to justify yourself; to tell the truth.

but no, you will take whatever glances you’ve shared to your grave, the fleeting touches engraved in your skin will never be spoken about to a soul. you will not disgrace yourself by telling the truth. you will feign ignorance, swallow all the feelings that have emerged in your heart and made their way up your throat; begging to be released.

yet you will still meet him here next week, because you’re all bark but no bite. you may be mentally strong, but your body craves to be in his company, your feet follow his path unconsciously.

you are not a good girlfriend, you’re aware of that. especially when you lean forward, taking his hand in yours; palm enclosing around his middle three fingers while your thumb rests on top — shota doesn’t flinch. he lets you turn his wrist over, allows your soft fingertips to deliberately ghost across the warmth of his pulse before closing around the clasp of the watch.

you won’t reassure him, not loudly, but every shared touch orbits around this forbidden affair, and you know he understands.

no words are needed between you too — liars speak the same language.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

the elevators are always crowded. five minutes until break ends and suddenly everybody’s rushing to get back to class. you don’t bother standing in the long line, instead heading in the direction of the stairs.

it’s always empty, less stressful and more peaceful. sure, you have to walk up three flights from the cafe to the third-year floor, but the silence is worth it.

but everything comes crashing down when you start trekking up the second flight, and hear footsteps approaching from above. when you round the corner of the staircase, you come face to face with none other than shota aizawa.

there’s something twisted about fate, the way it keeps bringing you both together in places you shouldn’t be — this connection, a double-edged sword, reveals itself in moments that can’t be denied.

moments like this, where his eyes won’t leave yours, where the faintest hint of a smirk plays at his lips. and where neither of you make room for the other to pass, a silent plea to lengthen the moment where it’s just the two of you.

wordlessly, shota starts rummaging through the stack of papers in his hands — pulling free a stapled file about an inch thick and offering it to you.

“past hero had a similar quirk to yours, should help you find a solution to your new move.”

your breathing stills. you mentioned once, during your library sessions, that you were having trouble with your new move — it was offhand, the tangent probably lasted five seconds in total as you were rambling about a completely different topic altogether but he remembered.

he listened, only had to hear it once and he was already compiling information for your sake; just to help you. and sure, it was his duty as your teacher but you weren’t even sure he heard you that day; didn’t think that would’ve stuck out to him.

but it did, it mattered to him — and it’s that thought alone that has you on the verge of breaking down on the staircase; because fuck you’d been struggling with that move for weeks now and the other teachers were just as lost as you about where to go with it.

“thank you so much,” you inhale shakily, blinking back tears as you take the file from his hand. “i really appreciate it, sir.” you speak truthfully, eyes locking with his.

and shota feels since his eyes caught sight of yours, they brim over with you alone.

“don’t mention it.” he mutters, forcing himself to look away from you. if he gave in right now, he’d never make it to his next class.

he steps aside to let you pass, gaze fixed towards the floor. but as you step higher, your pinky brushes against his. shota visibly stiffens, knowing that was intentional — he knows that was a sign; a different kind of thank you, not professional, but intimate.

yet unspoken, like the affair between you two.

it takes everything in shota to not pull your hand back and interlock his fingers with yours, properly. instead, he lets his pinky ghost against yours in return, wishing to intertwine it but the echoing footsteps from below force him to withdraw.

he doesn’t glance back when he makes his way down the stairs, but you see the way his fingers flex — as if he’s replaying the touch, almost subconsciously; before tucking his hand deep into his pocket, shielding where you touched from the world.

and you linger on his skin like you’re his, but you both know you’re not.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

and the last person shota expected to see at the club tonight was you — and in tow, your cheating boyfriend.

he notes the way denki’s hands slide off your waist to hug kaminari, and then mina — even in the flickering light shota can see the way his palms wind around her middle, coaxing her closer to him to dance; and her hands don’t hesitate to tug at his shirt collar, looping her arms around his neck comfortably.

and shota definitely doesn’t miss the way your eyes never stray from them as they disappear deeper into the crowd, leaving you stranded in the middle of the dance floor. you shoot kaminari a look; and he shrugs in return.

you huff, turning on your heel and heading towards the bar — but your eyes can’t tear away from them as you sit perched on a stool. it makes you sick to your stomach. you were on his arm when you walked in, and now he’s left you like this? just because of her?

you know she throws herself at him every chance she gets but when did he start enjoying it? when did he start looking at her like he wants to devour her on the spot?

your mind races with countless thoughts, moments you could’ve missed, hints that were right infront of your eyes; how were you so blind to this? and how cruel of him to leave his girlfriend alone so he can grind on another girl.

it’s not cheating no, but it feels worse.

you’d never do that to him — but life has a way of humbling you quickly as you jolt when shota aizawa appears at your side, distracting you from your thoughts; like he knew you were on your high horses.

suddenly you’re reminded at the fact that you and him have begun to blur; you don’t know where your relationship with him ends or begins — and you’re both sleeping on it like you’d solve it in your dreams.

you look up at him through your lashes, startled — you definitely didn’t expect to see him here, nor did you peg him as a club guy.

he must’ve been dragged here by hizashi.

shota wordlessly motions for two shots, and the bartender slides them across. he lifts one, meets your gaze, and with a faint nod, signals for you to take it — you do as told, slightly dazed at his actions.

and shota thinks he couldn’t be a shittier person — should he be the one to tell you that your boyfriend is cheating on you?

no. that would be too personal. that would be crossing lines that you can’t turn back from; it would make the bond you two share no longer professional, but real.

sharing clandestine touches is one thing, but giving unsolicited advice about your relationship? that seems to be crossing boundaries in a whole other way.

the truth is, shota is dying to tell you — he wants to let you know that you deserve better, that your boyfriend is a dead-end; a dick (though it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to say that out loud).

but he’s scared; he’s terrified at the thought of you thinking he might have an ulterior motive — that you might think he’s lying just to get you to break up with him or finally let him he’s overstepping boundaries — leading to the end of this affair, and shota doesn’t think he can handle that accusation.

you both down the shot at the same time and you grimace. and for the first time in a while, you hear soft laughter erupting from him; it’s warm, unguarded — a sound you’ve associated enclosed rooms and dim lighting with, something synonymous with moments when it’s just the two of you.

and that’s the selfishness in you; you wish it was for your ears only — saved from anyone else hearing it.

but you have to snap out of it when you spot your boyfriend again in the mess of bodies — even in the flickering strobe, you see the way his mouth lingers dangerously close to mina’s; and as the lights scintillate again, you swear you see his lips brush hers — swiftly but deliberate.

this was no drunken stupor; but two hearts meeting when the moon is hidden.

and suddenly you feel like a lost moon in an open sky. your stomach plummets and the room suddenly feels like it’s caving in.

beside you, shota follows your gaze — expression unreadable at first but even with your world crashing down, you notice the slight flare of his nostrils, the clenched jaw — the way his thumb presses into the rim of the empty shot glass, like it’s the only way to keep his composure.

he didn’t want you to find out like this, not so cruelly.

shota doesn’t glance at you at first, just leans forwards and lets his elbow rest on the counter before his voice cuts through the bass of the music.

“well,” he mutters, keeping his eyes glued to his two students in their own world; while his favorite one’s shatters. “guess we won’t have to sneak around anymore soon.”

the words roll out before he has a chance to understand what he’s saying — what he’s acknowledging; the fact that there is a thread woven between both of you, and now he wants to define it.

your head whips around so quickly it gives you whiplash. your breath gets caught in your throat at his admission; the way it’s said so matter-of-factly, no room for rebuttal. just raw honesty that scares you more than your boyfriend’s infidelity.

when shota finally looks at you, lids heavy and lips curled into a soft grin — it feels like two hearts meeting, but this time it’s not silently nor secretly. there is no hidden moon or sun, just two stars in the vast sky that have found their way to eachother, regardless of circumstance.

kaminari denki was only a moral barrier, now shota has a chance to step in the game for real, without needing permission. lines can be crossed now.

and for the first time all night, you don’t know if the ache in your chest is from heartbreak or from him.

but you know for a fact you’re a hypocrite.

[corporalswhore]

— cheater (shota aizawa)

pairing: shota aizawa x student!reader

summary: you and shota are no better than your cheating boyfriend.

warnings: teacher/student relationship. reader is legal! lots of yearning i guess? i don’t support cheating obvi but i would leave my man so quickly for aizawa so! that’s all.

as their homeroom teacher, you’d think shota would know a lot about his students — and he does, but the child’s play of it all? — he hasn’t a single clue.

and by child’s play, he means the relationship aspect of it all. best believe he knows every little scuffle that takes place, but ask him who likes who? none of his business.

but, he knows the blonde spiky boy in front of him, is your boyfriend.

so, why on earth is he witnessing denki putting his coat around another girl — all bright eyed and bushy tailed outside her dorm building — past curfew.

someone had informed him that one of his kids was out — but he did not think he’d witness something like this.

and, if he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the moment kaminari bent down, he knew he had jinxed it.

he kissed her goodbye, and shota bore witness to the whole affair.

now, shota would’ve sighed, grumbled about kids being kids and left it be — since it was definitely none of his business. sure, those were his kids, but they have their own personal lives and making mistakes is part of growing. cheating is bad but, unwanted meddling is worse to a teenager.

but, it’s your boyfriend.

you.

he can’t possibly keep this a secret from his somewhat favorite student — it would eat him alive.

shota doesn’t even bother following denki back to his dorm to admonish him, instead deciding to take it up with him in the morning. something about not being able to look his student in the eye right now, he might notice the disappointment, the disgust — not the level-headed teacher he knows.

but this isn’t any of his business, shota has to remind himself as he starts his trek back up to his dorm — it shouldn’t bother him this much, yet it does.

“didn’t think he was capable of that.” he mutters to himself, fingers fidgeting with the keychain you gave him earlier that day.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

in all honesty, shota aizawa is no better than denki.

neither are you.

he may walk around campus with respect etched into his name but, his morals are flailing.

and you, you’re not as innocent and sweet as people make you out to be — no, you might be worse than him and denki combined.

because, why are you here?

hours after school ended, sitting across from him in his office under the guise of helping him mark papers; but the red ink pen in your hand has been discarded on the table for an hour now.

you giggle as you recount the memory of your fellow classmates hiding a bottle of alcohol during a random dorm inspection at the end of your second year; and aizawa’s face mimics betrayal because he had no idea — he doesn’t know if he should scold you for being an accomplice or thank you for letting him know.

but when your laughter echoes throughout the room, he does know one thing: all he wants is to forever cause that smile — the crinkle of your nose with each laugh, the soft blush on your face as you look away from him when you both lock eyes.

shota’s gaze is always soft with you, even somewhat tender — especially when your fingers brush against his across the table when you both reach for a paper.

it’s always an accident — but you notice it every time, the way his fingers perk up, almost instinct to clutch at yours — desperate to hold and keep.

and it makes flowers bloom in your stomach.

because it’s the walk between nothing and everything, the edge of a forever you’re both too scared to curl your fingers around.

it’s wrong — you both know it.

it’s even worse when you both pretend it didn’t happen — when your mutual conversation picks back up like usual; you revealing something you shouldn’t have and him reeling from the information he shouldn’t know. when he feels like it, he’d add in a little anecdote about a certain scenario and you swear you see the little curve of his lips as he reminisces.

and his smile feels like the first blessing of the rain.

when you both finish your pile of papers and wrap up for the day; you slide his red ink pen back into its holder — and aizawa stills, then takes it back out — holding it out to you.

“you’ll need it for next time.”

you beam at him, nodding vigorously — and aizawa knows he’s a hypocrite when his fingers deliberately brush yours as you take the pen from his palm.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

shota aizawa bears witness to the way your boyfriend graciously walks you to the library; how he makes sure you’re situated comfortably at a table — and then bids you farewell with a kiss to your forehead. denki isn’t the type to study hard, wouldn’t go the extra mile at the library; but he always supports you.

you give him a soft smile as you watch him turn to leave, and when he saunters out of the library — you grab your bag from the table and hurry up the steps to the second floor; almost like you’re late for something.

you round the corner after a flight of stairs, passing two bookshelves, and hidden in between the third one sits shota, slouched against a shelf.

you take a deep breath before sitting across from him; dropping your bag beside you. he doesn’t look at you at first, doesn’t budge from the book he’s apparently so engrossed in. only when you start ruffling through your bag do you hear the quiet jingling of metal, and the sound of it sliding against the vinyl; coming to rest right beside your hip.

it’s his watch.

5:15pm.

you’re late. fifteen minutes late to whatever this is. this unspoken ritual, this habit that was never officially scheduled — but observed like a mandatory meeting; you ran into him here once; and like instinct, a rhythm was formed of you both accidentally bumping into eachother here every friday.

borne from either of yours’ small desire (never voiced) for wanting a few short hours rather than waiting a few long days to see each other again.

(the next time you’d both see eachother on campus would be wednesday.)

you glance up at him, but he’s already staring at you. his gaze holding every emotion he shouldn’t say out loud — emotions he can’t say out loud. but it’s the most clearest communication you’ve ever received. things you both won’t admit, won’t give sound to — but you’ll let your eyes give solace.

you allow yourself to be pinned by his paperweight eyes as you extend your arm out, giving his watch back.

“my co-curricular ran late.” you whisper, hoping he’d accept your reason for tardiness.

shota hums in acknowledgment, breaking eye contact to sling the metal across his wrist; but it hangs loose, unclasped. his eyes pierce yours once more, fingers casually grazing his forehead before jutting his chin out towards the first floor — like he’s calling your bluff.

and you start piecing things together quickly; he’s been watching you since you entered the library. the need to reassure him that it’s not what it looked like and the absolute truth of it being exactly what it looked like leave you torn.

it would be insulting to shota to tell him that you’re boyfriend kissing your forehead meant nothing. it would be an even bigger blow to your dignity.

you are taken. you do not need to explain yourself to him, even when your whole body screams at you to justify yourself; to tell the truth.

but no, you will take whatever glances you’ve shared to your grave, the fleeting touches engraved in your skin will never be spoken about to a soul. you will not disgrace yourself by telling the truth. you will feign ignorance, swallow all the feelings that have emerged in your heart and made their way up your throat; begging to be released.

yet you will still meet him here next week, because you’re all bark but no bite. you may be mentally strong, but your body craves to be in his company, your feet follow his path unconsciously.

you are not a good girlfriend, you’re aware of that. especially when you lean forward, taking his hand in yours; palm enclosing around his middle three fingers while your thumb rests on top — shota doesn’t flinch. he lets you turn his wrist over, allows your soft fingertips to deliberately ghost across the warmth of his pulse before closing around the clasp of the watch.

you won’t reassure him, not loudly, but every shared touch orbits around this forbidden affair, and you know he understands.

no words are needed between you too — liars speak the same language.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

the elevators are always crowded. five minutes until break ends and suddenly everybody’s rushing to get back to class. you don’t bother standing in the long line, instead heading in the direction of the stairs.

it’s always empty, less stressful and more peaceful. sure, you have to walk up three flights from the cafe to the third-year floor, but the silence is worth it.

but everything comes crashing down when you start trekking up the second flight, and hear footsteps approaching from above. when you round the corner of the staircase, you come face to face with none other than shota aizawa.

there’s something twisted about fate, the way it keeps bringing you both together in places you shouldn’t be — this connection, a double-edged sword, reveals itself in moments that can’t be denied.

moments like this, where his eyes won’t leave yours, where the faintest hint of a smirk plays at his lips. and where neither of you make room for the other to pass, a silent plea to lengthen the moment where it’s just the two of you.

wordlessly, shota starts rummaging through the stack of papers in his hands — pulling free a stapled file about an inch thick and offering it to you.

“past hero had a similar quirk to yours, should help you find a solution to your new move.”

your breathing stills. you mentioned once, during your library sessions, that you were having trouble with your new move — it was offhand, the tangent probably lasted five seconds in total as you were rambling about a completely different topic altogether but he remembered.

he listened, only had to hear it once and he was already compiling information for your sake; just to help you. and sure, it was his duty as your teacher but you weren’t even sure he heard you that day; didn’t think that would’ve stuck out to him.

but it did, it mattered to him — and it’s that thought alone that has you on the verge of breaking down on the staircase; because fuck you’d been struggling with that move for weeks now and the other teachers were just as lost as you about where to go with it.

“thank you so much,” you inhale shakily, blinking back tears as you take the file from his hand. “i really appreciate it, sir.” you speak truthfully, eyes locking with his.

and shota feels since his eyes caught sight of yours, they brim over with you alone.

“don’t mention it.” he mutters, forcing himself to look away from you. if he gave in right now, he’d never make it to his next class.

he steps aside to let you pass, gaze fixed towards the floor. but as you step higher, your pinky brushes against his. shota visibly stiffens, knowing that was intentional — he knows that was a sign; a different kind of thank you, not professional, but intimate.

yet unspoken, like the affair between you two.

it takes everything in shota to not pull your hand back and interlock his fingers with yours, properly. instead, he lets his pinky ghost against yours in return, wishing to intertwine it but the echoing footsteps from below force him to withdraw.

he doesn’t glance back when he makes his way down the stairs, but you see the way his fingers flex — as if he’s replaying the touch, almost subconsciously; before tucking his hand deep into his pocket, shielding where you touched from the world.

and you linger on his skin like you’re his, but you both know you’re not.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

and the last person shota expected to see at the club tonight was you — and in tow, your cheating boyfriend.

he notes the way denki’s hands slide off your waist to hug kaminari, and then mina — even in the flickering light shota can see the way his palms wind around her middle, coaxing her closer to him to dance; and her hands don’t hesitate to tug at his shirt collar, looping her arms around his neck comfortably.

and shota definitely doesn’t miss the way your eyes never stray from them as they disappear deeper into the crowd, leaving you stranded in the middle of the dance floor. you shoot kaminari a look; and he shrugs in return.

you huff, turning on your heel and heading towards the bar — but your eyes can’t tear away from them as you sit perched on a stool. it makes you sick to your stomach. you were on his arm when you walked in, and now he’s left you like this? just because of her?

you know she throws herself at him every chance she gets but when did he start enjoying it? when did he start looking at her like he wants to devour her on the spot?

your mind races with countless thoughts, moments you could’ve missed, hints that were right infront of your eyes; how were you so blind to this? and how cruel of him to leave his girlfriend alone so he can grind on another girl.

it’s not cheating no, but it feels worse.

you’d never do that to him — but life has a way of humbling you quickly as you jolt when shota aizawa appears at your side, distracting you from your thoughts; like he knew you were on your high horses.

suddenly you’re reminded at the fact that you and him have begun to blur; you don’t know where your relationship with him ends or begins — and you’re both sleeping on it like you’d solve it in your dreams.

you look up at him through your lashes, startled — you definitely didn’t expect to see him here, nor did you peg him as a club guy.

he must’ve been dragged here by hizashi.

shota wordlessly motions for two shots, and the bartender slides them across. he lifts one, meets your gaze, and with a faint nod, signals for you to take it — you do as told, slightly dazed at his actions.

and shota thinks he couldn’t be a shittier person — should he be the one to tell you that your boyfriend is cheating on you?

no. that would be too personal. that would be crossing lines that you can’t turn back from; it would make the bond you two share no longer professional, but real.

sharing clandestine touches is one thing, but giving unsolicited advice about your relationship? that seems to be crossing boundaries in a whole other way.

the truth is, shota is dying to tell you — he wants to let you know that you deserve better, that your boyfriend is a dead-end; a dick (though it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to say that out loud).

but he’s scared; he’s terrified at the thought of you thinking he might have an ulterior motive — that you might think he’s lying just to get you to break up with him or finally let him he’s overstepping boundaries — leading to the end of this affair, and shota doesn’t think he can handle that accusation.

you both down the shot at the same time and you grimace. and for the first time in a while, you hear soft laughter erupting from him; it’s warm, unguarded — a sound you’ve associated enclosed rooms and dim lighting with, something synonymous with moments when it’s just the two of you.

and that’s the selfishness in you; you wish it was for your ears only — saved from anyone else hearing it.

but you have to snap out of it when you spot your boyfriend again in the mess of bodies — even in the flickering strobe, you see the way his mouth lingers dangerously close to mina’s; and as the lights scintillate again, you swear you see his lips brush hers — swiftly but deliberate.

this was no drunken stupor; but two hearts meeting when the moon is hidden.

and suddenly you feel like a lost moon in an open sky. your stomach plummets and the room suddenly feels like it’s caving in.

beside you, shota follows your gaze — expression unreadable at first but even with your world crashing down, you notice the slight flare of his nostrils, the clenched jaw — the way his thumb presses into the rim of the empty shot glass, like it’s the only way to keep his composure.

he didn’t want you to find out like this, not so cruelly.

shota doesn’t glance at you at first, just leans forwards and lets his elbow rest on the counter before his voice cuts through the bass of the music.

“well,” he mutters, keeping his eyes glued to his two students in their own world; while his favorite one’s shatters. “guess we won’t have to sneak around anymore soon.”

the words roll out before he has a chance to understand what he’s saying — what he’s acknowledging; the fact that there is a thread woven between both of you, and now he wants to define it.

your head whips around so quickly it gives you whiplash. your breath gets caught in your throat at his admission; the way it’s said so matter-of-factly, no room for rebuttal. just raw honesty that scares you more than your boyfriend’s infidelity.

when shota finally looks at you, lids heavy and lips curled into a soft grin — it feels like two hearts meeting, but this time it’s not silently nor secretly. there is no hidden moon or sun, just two stars in the vast sky that have found their way to eachother, regardless of circumstance.

kaminari denki was only a moral barrier, now shota has a chance to step in the game for real, without needing permission. lines can be crossed now.

and for the first time all night, you don’t know if the ache in your chest is from heartbreak or from him.

but you know for a fact you’re a hypocrite.

[corporalswhore]

Carina,

im going to kiss you. you’re always feeding me well

~Cinnamon🥀

cinnamon i’m giving u kisses through the screen like ily!!! 😚😚

[corporalswhore]

— cheater (shota aizawa)

pairing: shota aizawa x student!reader

summary: you and shota are no better than your cheating boyfriend.

warnings: teacher/student relationship. reader is legal! lots of yearning i guess? i don’t support cheating obvi but i would leave my man so quickly for aizawa so! that’s all.

as their homeroom teacher, you’d think shota would know a lot about his students — and he does, but the child’s play of it all? — he hasn’t a single clue.

and by child’s play, he means the relationship aspect of it all. best believe he knows every little scuffle that takes place, but ask him who likes who? none of his business.

but, he knows the blonde spiky boy in front of him, is your boyfriend.

so, why on earth is he witnessing denki putting his coat around another girl — all bright eyed and bushy tailed outside her dorm building — past curfew.

someone had informed him that one of his kids was out — but he did not think he’d witness something like this.

and, if he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the moment kaminari bent down, he knew he had jinxed it.

he kissed her goodbye, and shota bore witness to the whole affair.

now, shota would’ve sighed, grumbled about kids being kids and left it be — since it was definitely none of his business. sure, those were his kids, but they have their own personal lives and making mistakes is part of growing. cheating is bad but, unwanted meddling is worse to a teenager.

but, it’s your boyfriend.

you.

he can’t possibly keep this a secret from his somewhat favorite student — it would eat him alive.

shota doesn’t even bother following denki back to his dorm to admonish him, instead deciding to take it up with him in the morning. something about not being able to look his student in the eye right now, he might notice the disappointment, the disgust — not the level-headed teacher he knows.

but this isn’t any of his business, shota has to remind himself as he starts his trek back up to his dorm — it shouldn’t bother him this much, yet it does.

“didn’t think he was capable of that.” he mutters to himself, fingers fidgeting with the keychain you gave him earlier that day.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

in all honesty, shota aizawa is no better than denki.

neither are you.

he may walk around campus with respect etched into his name but, his morals are flailing.

and you, you’re not as innocent and sweet as people make you out to be — no, you might be worse than him and denki combined.

because, why are you here?

hours after school ended, sitting across from him in his office under the guise of helping him mark papers; but the red ink pen in your hand has been discarded on the table for an hour now.

you giggle as you recount the memory of your fellow classmates hiding a bottle of alcohol during a random dorm inspection at the end of your second year; and aizawa’s face mimics betrayal because he had no idea — he doesn’t know if he should scold you for being an accomplice or thank you for letting him know.

but when your laughter echoes throughout the room, he does know one thing: all he wants is to forever cause that smile — the crinkle of your nose with each laugh, the soft blush on your face as you look away from him when you both lock eyes.

shota’s gaze is always soft with you, even somewhat tender — especially when your fingers brush against his across the table when you both reach for a paper.

it’s always an accident — but you notice it every time, the way his fingers perk up, almost instinct to clutch at yours — desperate to hold and keep.

and it makes flowers bloom in your stomach.

because it’s the walk between nothing and everything, the edge of a forever you’re both too scared to curl your fingers around.

it’s wrong — you both know it.

it’s even worse when you both pretend it didn’t happen — when your mutual conversation picks back up like usual; you revealing something you shouldn’t have and him reeling from the information he shouldn’t know. when he feels like it, he’d add in a little anecdote about a certain scenario and you swear you see the little curve of his lips as he reminisces.

and his smile feels like the first blessing of the rain.

when you both finish your pile of papers and wrap up for the day; you slide his red ink pen back into its holder — and aizawa stills, then takes it back out — holding it out to you.

“you’ll need it for next time.”

you beam at him, nodding vigorously — and aizawa knows he’s a hypocrite when his fingers deliberately brush yours as you take the pen from his palm.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

shota aizawa bears witness to the way your boyfriend graciously walks you to the library; how he makes sure you’re situated comfortably at a table — and then bids you farewell with a kiss to your forehead. denki isn’t the type to study hard, wouldn’t go the extra mile at the library; but he always supports you.

you give him a soft smile as you watch him turn to leave, and when he saunters out of the library — you grab your bag from the table and hurry up the steps to the second floor; almost like you’re late for something.

you round the corner after a flight of stairs, passing two bookshelves, and hidden in between the third one sits shota, slouched against a shelf.

you take a deep breath before sitting across from him; dropping your bag beside you. he doesn’t look at you at first, doesn’t budge from the book he’s apparently so engrossed in. only when you start ruffling through your bag do you hear the quiet jingling of metal, and the sound of it sliding against the vinyl; coming to rest right beside your hip.

it’s his watch.

5:15pm.

you’re late. fifteen minutes late to whatever this is. this unspoken ritual, this habit that was never officially scheduled — but observed like a mandatory meeting; you ran into him here once; and like instinct, a rhythm was formed of you both accidentally bumping into eachother here every friday.

borne from either of yours’ small desire (never voiced) for wanting a few short hours rather than waiting a few long days to see each other again.

(the next time you’d both see eachother on campus would be wednesday.)

you glance up at him, but he’s already staring at you. his gaze holding every emotion he shouldn’t say out loud — emotions he can’t say out loud. but it’s the most clearest communication you’ve ever received. things you both won’t admit, won’t give sound to — but you’ll let your eyes give solace.

you allow yourself to be pinned by his paperweight eyes as you extend your arm out, giving his watch back.

“my co-curricular ran late.” you whisper, hoping he’d accept your reason for tardiness.

shota hums in acknowledgment, breaking eye contact to sling the metal across his wrist; but it hangs loose, unclasped. his eyes pierce yours once more, fingers casually grazing his forehead before jutting his chin out towards the first floor — like he’s calling your bluff.

and you start piecing things together quickly; he’s been watching you since you entered the library. the need to reassure him that it’s not what it looked like and the absolute truth of it being exactly what it looked like leave you torn.

it would be insulting to shota to tell him that you’re boyfriend kissing your forehead meant nothing. it would be an even bigger blow to your dignity.

you are taken. you do not need to explain yourself to him, even when your whole body screams at you to justify yourself; to tell the truth.

but no, you will take whatever glances you’ve shared to your grave, the fleeting touches engraved in your skin will never be spoken about to a soul. you will not disgrace yourself by telling the truth. you will feign ignorance, swallow all the feelings that have emerged in your heart and made their way up your throat; begging to be released.

yet you will still meet him here next week, because you’re all bark but no bite. you may be mentally strong, but your body craves to be in his company, your feet follow his path unconsciously.

you are not a good girlfriend, you’re aware of that. especially when you lean forward, taking his hand in yours; palm enclosing around his middle three fingers while your thumb rests on top — shota doesn’t flinch. he lets you turn his wrist over, allows your soft fingertips to deliberately ghost across the warmth of his pulse before closing around the clasp of the watch.

you won’t reassure him, not loudly, but every shared touch orbits around this forbidden affair, and you know he understands.

no words are needed between you too — liars speak the same language.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

the elevators are always crowded. five minutes until break ends and suddenly everybody’s rushing to get back to class. you don’t bother standing in the long line, instead heading in the direction of the stairs.

it’s always empty, less stressful and more peaceful. sure, you have to walk up three flights from the cafe to the third-year floor, but the silence is worth it.

but everything comes crashing down when you start trekking up the second flight, and hear footsteps approaching from above. when you round the corner of the staircase, you come face to face with none other than shota aizawa.

there’s something twisted about fate, the way it keeps bringing you both together in places you shouldn’t be — this connection, a double-edged sword, reveals itself in moments that can’t be denied.

moments like this, where his eyes won’t leave yours, where the faintest hint of a smirk plays at his lips. and where neither of you make room for the other to pass, a silent plea to lengthen the moment where it’s just the two of you.

wordlessly, shota starts rummaging through the stack of papers in his hands — pulling free a stapled file about an inch thick and offering it to you.

“past hero had a similar quirk to yours, should help you find a solution to your new move.”

your breathing stills. you mentioned once, during your library sessions, that you were having trouble with your new move — it was offhand, the tangent probably lasted five seconds in total as you were rambling about a completely different topic altogether but he remembered.

he listened, only had to hear it once and he was already compiling information for your sake; just to help you. and sure, it was his duty as your teacher but you weren’t even sure he heard you that day; didn’t think that would’ve stuck out to him.

but it did, it mattered to him — and it’s that thought alone that has you on the verge of breaking down on the staircase; because fuck you’d been struggling with that move for weeks now and the other teachers were just as lost as you about where to go with it.

“thank you so much,” you inhale shakily, blinking back tears as you take the file from his hand. “i really appreciate it, sir.” you speak truthfully, eyes locking with his.

and shota feels since his eyes caught sight of yours, they brim over with you alone.

“don’t mention it.” he mutters, forcing himself to look away from you. if he gave in right now, he’d never make it to his next class.

he steps aside to let you pass, gaze fixed towards the floor. but as you step higher, your pinky brushes against his. shota visibly stiffens, knowing that was intentional — he knows that was a sign; a different kind of thank you, not professional, but intimate.

yet unspoken, like the affair between you two.

it takes everything in shota to not pull your hand back and interlock his fingers with yours, properly. instead, he lets his pinky ghost against yours in return, wishing to intertwine it but the echoing footsteps from below force him to withdraw.

he doesn’t glance back when he makes his way down the stairs, but you see the way his fingers flex — as if he’s replaying the touch, almost subconsciously; before tucking his hand deep into his pocket, shielding where you touched from the world.

and you linger on his skin like you’re his, but you both know you’re not.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

and the last person shota expected to see at the club tonight was you — and in tow, your cheating boyfriend.

he notes the way denki’s hands slide off your waist to hug kirishima, and then mina — even in the flickering light shota can see the way his palms wind around her middle, coaxing her closer to him to dance; and her hands don’t hesitate to tug at his shirt collar, looping her arms around his neck comfortably.

and shota definitely doesn’t miss the way your eyes never stray from them as they disappear deeper into the crowd, leaving you stranded in the middle of the dance floor. you shoot kirishima a look; and he shrugs in return.

you huff, turning on your heel and heading towards the bar — but your eyes can’t tear away from them as you sit perched on a stool. it makes you sick to your stomach. you were on his arm when you walked in, and now he’s left you like this? just because of her?

you know she throws herself at him every chance she gets but when did he start enjoying it? when did he start looking at her like he wants to devour her on the spot?

your mind races with countless thoughts, moments you could’ve missed, hints that were right infront of your eyes; how were you so blind to this? and how cruel of him to leave his girlfriend alone so he can grind on another girl.

it’s not cheating no, but it feels worse.

you’d never do that to him — but life has a way of humbling you quickly as you jolt when shota aizawa appears at your side, distracting you from your thoughts; like he knew you were on your high horses.

suddenly you’re reminded at the fact that you and him have begun to blur; you don’t know where your relationship with him ends or begins — and you’re both sleeping on it like you’d solve it in your dreams.

you look up at him through your lashes, startled — you definitely didn’t expect to see him here, nor did you peg him as a club guy.

he must’ve been dragged here by hizashi.

shota wordlessly motions for two shots, and the bartender slides them across. he lifts one, meets your gaze, and with a faint nod, signals for you to take it — you do as told, slightly dazed at his actions.

and shota thinks he couldn’t be a shittier person — should he be the one to tell you that your boyfriend is cheating on you?

no. that would be too personal. that would be crossing lines that you can’t turn back from; it would make the bond you two share no longer professional, but real.

sharing clandestine touches is one thing, but giving unsolicited advice about your relationship? that seems to be crossing boundaries in a whole other way.

the truth is, shota is dying to tell you — he wants to let you know that you deserve better, that your boyfriend is a dead-end; a dick (though it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to say that out loud).

but he’s scared; he’s terrified at the thought of you thinking he might have an ulterior motive — that you might think he’s lying just to get you to break up with him or finally let him know he’s overstepping boundaries — leading to the end of this affair, and shota doesn’t think he can handle that accusation.

you both down the shot at the same time and you grimace. and for the first time in a while, you hear soft laughter erupting from him; it’s warm, unguarded — a sound you’ve associated enclosed rooms and dim lighting with, something synonymous with moments when it’s just the two of you.

and that’s the selfishness in you; you wish it was for your ears only — saved from anyone else hearing it.

but you have to snap out of it when you spot your boyfriend again in the mess of bodies — even in the flickering strobe, you see the way his mouth lingers dangerously close to mina’s; and as the lights scintillate again, you swear you see his lips brush hers — swiftly but deliberate.

this was no drunken stupor; but two hearts meeting when the moon is hidden.

and suddenly you feel like a lost moon in an open sky. your stomach plummets and the room suddenly feels like it’s caving in.

beside you, shota follows your gaze — expression unreadable at first but even with your world crashing down, you notice the slight flare of his nostrils, the clenched jaw — the way his thumb presses into the rim of the empty shot glass, like it’s the only way to keep his composure.

he didn’t want you to find out like this, not so cruelly.

shota doesn’t glance at you at first, just leans forwards and lets his elbow rest on the counter before his voice cuts through the bass of the music.

“well,” he mutters, keeping his eyes glued to his two students in their own world; while his favorite one’s shatters. “guess we won’t have to sneak around anymore soon.”

the words roll out before he has a chance to understand what he’s saying — what he’s acknowledging; the fact that there is a thread woven between both of you, and now he wants to define it.

your head whips around so quickly it gives you whiplash. your breath gets caught in your throat at his admission; the way it’s said so matter-of-factly, no room for rebuttal. just raw honesty that scares you more than your boyfriend’s infidelity.

when shota finally looks at you, lids heavy and lips curled into a soft grin — it feels like two hearts meeting, but this time it’s not silently nor secretly. there is no hidden moon or sun, just two stars in the vast sky that have found their way to eachother, regardless of circumstance.

kaminari denki was only a moral barrier, now shota has a chance to step in the game for real, without needing permission. lines can be crossed now.

and for the first time all night, you don’t know if the ache in your chest is from heartbreak or from him.

but you know for a fact you’re a hypocrite.

[corporalswhore]

more aizawa x student!reader content soon 🥰🥰

[corporalswhore]

— read your mind (satoru gojo)

pairing: satoru gojo x student!reader

summary: satoru makes it his mission to confuse you — but it’s just to hide his own feelings.

warnings: teacher/student relationship. reader is legal. curses. crappy writing. i think that’s it. girl idk what this is tbh.

it comes naturally to satoru when he’s with his kids, falling into their step, their train of thought — mirroring their behavior, each action tailored uniquely for every student.

he matches their energy — the first years would say.

and that’s why he’s ecstatic to grasp miwa’s phone from her hand, angling it high enough that their peace-signs come into frame.

it’s cute — he lives for the adoration he gets from the students, be it his or not.

though, his kids would never show it outright.

but he knows — he sees it when their eyes go bright when he laughs at their jokes, when they give him a disapproving look with each compliment he gives, and when they silently ask for his approval for things they’re unsure about.

satoru can’t help but pat himself on the back for knowing his kids inside out — yes, it took him ages to get it right but he’s confident he can read them like a book now.

and that’s precisely why he’s wrapping his conversation with miwa up, because he sees you.

his toughest cookie.

not that you’re difficult to deal with or anything, quite the contrary, you’re a literal angel — to him, atleast.

it’s just that — he knows.

the fleeting glances in his direction as your eyes meet — the deep breaths taken when he makes his way to you, the flushed cheeks as he speaks.

it’s not much to go off on but he knows it’s not you.

not the student he has known for the past three years, not the little girl he watched grow up right before his eyes. no, these are tell-tales of a different emotion, something new, never seen on you — an emotion he knows is caused by him.

call it his ego but, satoru gojo knows he has you wrapped around his finger.

and it would be amiss if he didn’t have fun with this knowledge.

“working hard, huh?” you tease.

and he just smirks in response, hands fishing in his pockets — before tossing his phone to you.

“huh? wha-“ you blink in surprise.

“let’s take a pic.” he says calmly.

and suddenly, you’re perking up — hands rustling through your hair quickly in an attempt to look decent.

and satoru has to bite back his grin at your eagerness.

click.

its a very cute picture — satoru crouching down to press his cheeks against yours, big ass grin on his lips, and you, unknowingly mirroring his actions the moment his skin made contact with yours.

it’s so couple-coded.

and he knows it — that’s why he’s grabbing his phone, fingers moving brisk across the screen and boom — lockscreen changed.

it takes everything in you, to not sigh.

you observe him intently, hoping, praying for some sort of stupid comment or smirk — not false hope. you don’t want that.

you know better.

but nothing like that comes, just satoru walking away casually, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

and it satiates your belief that this man is just pure cruel. that satoru gojo is the butterfly clinging to each flower, one moment he’s here, the next he’s gone.

you know his love’s not real — yet you keep falling for his fool’s gold.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

and something shifts on a random weekend night, when all the students decide to go out together and satoru just happens to be the one supervising that night.

you’re not the last one out their room — but you are the second to last one to hurry down the stairs of the dorm building; ten minutes late of the agreed time to meet outside.

and satoru’s the first to get a glimpse of you — feet rushing down the steps, and fingers to your ear, dangling with an object he can’t quite see — until the streetlight glow illuminates your face, and only then he notices the earring in your grasp, and the frustration etched on your face as you try to put it on.

the way you glare at the diamond, muttering under your breath what satoru could only assume is curses, he figures that the jewelry might be broken.

satoru can’t help the slow curl of his lips as his gaze catches the way you plead with the clasp of the earring to work, to fit. you spin in his peripheral, shoulders shrugging in defeat as you drop your hands from your left ear in surrender, the earring swinging between restless fingers.

you shoot him a look that teeters on the edge of a pout, like a kid denied ice cream — something wounded yet deeply comical.

he has to bite back his laugh when you stand before him, frowning as you search his eyes for pity — and he simply takes it from you.

his hand reaches over to remove your hold on the pendant, and satoru curls his fingers around your silky strands, untucking them from behind your ear to place it infront — hiding the naked ear.

the simplest fix.

time stills with the sensation of his fingers, the gentleness of his touch — the glint in his eyes you swore resembled the shine of love.

but you know satoru gojo plays tricks on the eyes of the innocent — so when he shoots you his gentlest smile, signifying his work was done — all you can do is return it with the quietest of thanks — eyes mirroring his but yours holding just a bit more truth to it.

as you turn to leave his side, you almost stumble on air — and satoru is quick to balance you, his grip around your left forearm solid.

“careful there.” he says softly, and as you study him you remind yourself there is mischief in his grace — the warmth in his diamond eyes isn’t yours alone, it’s always there.

you are not special.

and when yuuji walks up behind you, bellowing something about being late, he pulls on your free hand, releasing you from satoru’s grip — you don’t dare look back as yuuji drags you to the car.

though no one may have saw it, the stars have recollection of the way satoru glanced at you under the starry night, and the way red brewed in his heart. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

satoru gojo is the road leading to heaven, the one you’d walk along the horizon with in hopes of gaining just a drop of the melting sun. where he turns, you follow.

and his paths, his streets, you get lost in them — the lanes confuse you.

it’s in the way he purposely bumps into your side whilst walking back to the dorms after training. you feel his arm press against yours, enough to throw your balance off by a bit — and the second he sees you stumbling, a warm hand slides into yours, fingers interlocking.

and your heart stutters.

“don’t fall for me now. ” he jokes, but your glances are telling. the world knows the story of your heart — he is your river and you are the thirst.

and when you try to free yourself from his grip, he doesn’t budge — but he does let his thumb brush against your skin as he walks you back to your dorm, hand firm in yours.

satoru gojo is unfair; he’d show you the ocean then get you drowned — you know better than to trust his actions. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

the thing is, satoru tries his best not to touch you — fucking with your head is easy; it doesn’t take anything away from him. but physical contact, that’s different. because it’s no longer a taking situation, but rather a giving one.

because the moment he touches you, his heart stutters and loses control. and the more his heart loses control, the more it’ll fall into the path that leads to your heart — and he knows deep inside that your love would destroy him.

and his heart has already strayed onto your path.

as you sit next to him in the backseat as ijichi and him ramble about a mission you had no part of, satoru notices the way you fidget — rubbing your hands over your arms in search of heat. and without breaking conversation, he deftly shrugs off his jacket and places it on your lap — then continues on flipping through his report.

your heart lurches at his thoughtfulness; the lack of hesitation in his actions. and as you carefully drape it over your shoulders, you miss the way his eyes scan your frame; the struggle beneath the daylight blue as he suppresses the pining in his heart.

and he misses the way you inconspicuously breathe him in, how his scent envelops your air; the fragrance of love on your skin — you relish in it, hoping one day it’ll be real.

the jacket follows you into your dorms that night, satoru doesn’t ask for it back when you both exit the car, but he does briefly remove it from your shoulders to help you slip into it — and as he reaches up to pull the hood over your head; his knuckles brush against your cheek ever so lightly.

satoru almost hisses at the contact, but coughs out a muffled don’t catch a cold while walking away, leaving you breathless.

and with fearful lips, satoru brings his knuckles to them with a prayer; as close as dreams are to the eyes, satoru wishes you’d forever stay that close to him. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

chocolate eyes undress him for majority of the night — you try to ignore it but she’s persistent. from the moment your group entered the club to now, where you and satoru are perched by the bar. she doesn’t miss her chance to sidle up between you both as she orders another drink; and when the bartender slides it her way, the temptress makes her move.

gaze lingering on him, eyes trailing up and down his frame slowly — she sticks her tongue out just a bit, swirling it around her straw — like bait, and then melts back into the crowd.

it’s silent when his gaze finally settles on you, a smirk playing at his lips like a question he can’t wait to taunt you with.

like he’s dying to ask you, rhetorically, if he should follow her, or say something about how hot she looked — anything to rile you up, to get you going, to partake in his game.

you spot it quickly, his greed — his need to torment you — but you’re not going to bite, in fact, all you have to offer is your eyebrows raised and a pointed look towards the crowd that says go eat your heart out.

you don’t have to tell him twice as he sets off to the dance floor, but not before shooting you a devilish grin that makes your stomach churn.

as he pushes through the mass of people to get to his conquest, satoru is cat-called on his way. his presence like a magnetic pull, women throw themselves at him — pressing close to his face but he doesn’t dare shy away. he returns it with just as much vigor, hands finding the hips of his targets, lingering long enough for you to catch the gesture out the corner of your eye.

he knows you’re watching. because each time he glances your way, your eyes meet; scowling at the smirk he sends your way.

and when he finally reaches the girl he had exchanged fuck-me eyes with right in front of you, you feel like smashing your head against the bar-top.

because he pulls her into him immediately, bodies meshed together with his hands on her hips as she whispers in his ear; too close for comfort. and when she brings her drink to his lips, and he easily tips it back — you feel sick to your stomach.

you down the shot infront of you immediately. face red from the alcohol and the sheer embarrassment you feel. but it’s not the humiliation of your teacher being a whore, it’s the ache from knowing that he’s the peace of your nights and the prayer of your mornings.

god, what do you even see in him?

you down your third shot in a row and whip your head around in his direction — and he’s already staring at you, but there’s a fearful glint in his eyes.

but you disregard it, stepping down from your stool — and maybe it’s the few drinks in your system, or it’s the fact that he’s staring at you like he cares while his hands hover over another woman; but you pull the (already low) fabric clinging to your cleavage down a bit, very casually, almost like second nature.

and satoru’s hands fall to his side immediately at the small gesture.

you spin on your heel, locking eyes with a man who fits your type of prey. and as you begin your trek there, a hand reaches out to stop you.

“going somewhere?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in.

you roll your eyes at his predictability — so he can be a community whore but you can’t even crave attention?

“why do you care?” you hiss, voice laced with irritation. you hate the way he looks at you as if you hold his heart in your hands.

you try to wiggle free, but his grasp tightens. there’s a glare in his eyes that scream don’t be dense, but you’re sure you’re misinterpreting his ocean eyes — so you shoot back the most threatening glare you can muster.

“you’re out of your depth.” he deadpans, and you take it as an attack on your ability to pull men.

before you can even think of an insult to hurl at him, he’s twirling you around closer to the bartop and hiking you back up onto your stool. he orders something for him to drink while you stew in his words.

“i think i know how to handle men.” you spit out, and satoru has to stifle the smirk that’s threatening to spill from his lips.

“yeah?” he asks, silently thanking the bartender when he gets his juice.

“you know how to handle boys or men?” he reiterates, and there’s something primal in his eyes as he sips his drink, observing you.

your heart stutters, sensing the feeling that you’re now his prey. satoru gojo is many things, but a loser is not one of them; he will make the kill.

you scrunch your nose, the underlying tension seeping through the cracks of his question.

“both.” you respond confidently, and for the first time that night, he shoots you a tender smile — as if you’re unaware of what you’re saying; too naive. in other words, a child, out of your depth.

he puts his drink down, and the embarrassment starts bubbling in you; you don’t hold his gaze for long, turning your focus to his glass — picking it up. and satoru doesn’t miss the sinister way your tongue pokes out and wraps itself around his straw. how it swipes the side of your mouth, and then rolls back in so you could nibble your bottom lip — peering at him briefly.

satoru’s tongue pokes against his cheek, grinning appreciatively at your little show — it’s dripping in naivety but he laps it up nonetheless.

you know what you’re doing; but are you all bark and no bite? satoru would love to test that theory out.

“wanna prove it?”

and you almost spit the drink out. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

if anyone were to paint your portrait, they’d color your irises a hue of blue, given the way all you see is satoru’s eyes — and you believe the eyes that bear witness to his sweetness can never see anything else.

and you don’t.

not when one of your male friends pulls you into a hug, not when his hands slip a letter into your (satoru’s) jacket pocket and especially not when he bids you farewell with a soft kiss to your forehead.

you don’t see the yearning happening right infront of you — but satoru bears witness to it all — and it twists his stomach in knots. he roams around, like a star separated from the moon when you’re not in his presence — and while he’d never admit it, he knows he’s lost himself to his heart — because with each breath he breathes, he takes your name.

and the fact that he has competition with a third-year kyoto tech student rubs him the wrong fucking way.

when you turn on your heel after seeing your friend off, the last person you’d expect to come face to face with is him.

satoru wordlessly closes the distance between you, hands skillfully digging into your pocket and pulling out the note — but you don’t see it, too engrossed in the fact that his chest is an inch away from your face. you’re too stunned to speak.

only when satoru steps back, brandishing the pink stinky note, do you realize he pulled it out from your pocket.

and when he pulls back the adhesive, unfolding the note — his throat tightens.

how should i explain this to you? my heart is nowhere without you. with your hand in mine, i have with me all of paradise.

oh, he’s going to kill him.

before you can even ask what’s written, the paper is crumpled right before your eyes, and tossed aside like it means nothing.

“do you genuinely believe i don’t feel anything for you?”

he seethes, breath ragged as he watches you incredulously — he may make your life hell but he didn’t think you’d be so dense.

“did you think i treated you differently because i hated you? because it’s the exact opposite.”

your mouth falls open, throat running dry as the world tilts. his admission makes you struggle to process the simplest of things, like how to breathe or what color the sky is.

blue. it was blue — like the eyes of the man currently before you asking you if you’re stupid.

“you’re in love with me?”

and when satoru finally meets your eyes, they erase the distances between you — like ointment on wounds. they hold you delicately, like secrets that slowly want to be revealed.

silence had been the only words between you for too long and satoru could jump high, jump low — the truth would remain unchanged; he had fallen in love with you. so much so that he’d renounce the entire world for you, would hang the moon on your windowsill if you’d ask.

he chuckles dryly, “against my better judgment, yes.”

and the love you have for satoru is such that just by sitting and imagining, it shows you heaven. but no more fantasies now.

“god, i hate you.” you murmur breathlessly, closing the gap that’s kept you apart for so long. you dare him to push you away — to run, like always. but he doesn’t; satoru’s arm winds around your waist like dew on flowers — like a habit he hadn’t quite realized he was doing — while his lips brush yours like it was made just for him.

“good, it’s more fun that way.” he admits, grinning.

he won’t let you read his mind so easily.

[corporalswhore]

we need more keishin ukai fuckers i’m so serious

[corporalswhore]

oh my god i was scrolling on twitter and came across someone linking my bloodline fic I HAD TO DO A DOUBLE TAKE LIKE HELLOOO?

[corporalswhore]

OH MY GOODNESS THANK YOU FOR THE FOOD GOJO IS SO INSANEEEE your characterization of him is so good I love the push and pull dynamic sm.. neither him nor reader made it easy on themselves it was so tense in the best way..

ANON THANK U SM 🥹🥹 IM SO GLAD YOU LIKED IT AHHH 😚💗💗