Mature account. 18+ only | 20 | She/Her He/Him | Mostly filled with yandere content el oh el | I fuck with LEGAL age gap ships | all might/eraserhead yume(mirror sharing)
I don't post photos/videos of myself and please DNI if you are a minor, and if you allow minors on your page do not repost my stuff, or like it if you allow people to see your likes. Thanks.
This is a side blog connected to my main blog so if you see @griminmortley like your NSFW stuff, that's me.
What the fuck is it with literal minors and them finding the confidence to follow mdni blogs. No dumbass, you aren't gonna be a special exception, where the fuck does their confidence come from to just follow me??
I actually cannot stress this enough, if you only tag your work with "age gap" when your pairing has someone who's underage, you are not tagging it correctly. Age gaps can be legal, age gaps can be consensual, you are just making it harder for people who don't like that content to filter your stuff out because you are being purposely vague.
"age gap" on its own is not enough of a warning for underage/adult pairings. You need to tag underage/adult as such.
I cannot tell you how TIRED I am of being surprised by this sort of crap
TW// teacher x student/professor x student, nudity, age gap (18-19 × 38)
Aizawa caught another dirty thief stealing from his tomb, unsurprisingly it turned out to be Carny. He plans to have a bit of fun with her to teach her a lesson or two...
Ask box on my main is still open for selfship trick or treating, I should also open up one here for yandere/nsfw selfship trick or treating. (Aka doodle requests!!)
Again, this one is for *yandere* or *NSFW selfship/yumeship* specifically
Keeping this open for submissions until monday.
(if you send a yandere related ask you are consenting to being gifted possibly dark and disturbing content)
Fun fact! Nobody needs to "match your freak" especially when it comes to sexual things, people are allowed to have different limits and that's okay! So don't try and force them to. It makes you a huge asshole.
dirty confession: i'm a teacher and my ex had a teacher fantasy so i'd talk math formulas before we did the do and after a while I was curious so i said the quadratic formula in public and he automatically got a boner and we broke up because i thought it was really funny and wouldn't stop doing it
Might just be me but this sounds like it turned into straight up harassment and I hope he found a better partner because I imagine he told them to stop several times before he dumped them.
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
A lot of people are asking "illegal in what way?" Don't quite realize the account it's coming to. This account is very sex-positive and when people think of "illegal porn" they don't think of gay porn which is very obviously always mentioned on this account in some way. They would specify gay porn if that's what they meant... Y'all are giving the asker too much benefit of the doubt.
I love the whole "yanderes steal your stuff because it smells like you" trope but if a yandere steals my fucking sketchbook I'm whooping their ass DO NOT TOUCH AN ARTIST'S SKETCHBOOK.
