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“Thought I saw something back there,” Shinsou whispers.
Aizawa slows his pace, considering their options. The perps they're looking for are nasty, a group of escaped convicts, but still nothing either of them can't handle. Shinsou, despite being a fresh graduate and Aizawa's part-time intern, is already formidable, looking the part in black kevlar and combat gear.
“Meet me at the cornerstore south of our stakeout,” Aizawa finally says. It's about thirty minutes from there walking, and much faster if you're moving like Shinsou and Aizawa can. “I'm going to survey our planned route.”
“Roger that,” Shinsou grins, pleased with being granted responsibility. Aizawa shakes his head at him, fond and amused and exasperated all at once, before leaping off the edge of the building and swinging himself to the building across the alley.
Aizawa doesn't rush, preferring to be thorough instead. The route to the rendezvous is quiet, eerily so, and it’s disappointing to see that he beat Shinsou there. His student—no, the tough young hero isn’t his student anymore. Shinsou should have been there, but he rarely is late without reason when it comes to hero work. When it comes to waking up in the morning to meet Aizawa to review cases, though…
Aizawa buys a juice pouch from the convenience store, eyes dry and aching in the bright synthetic light. He remembers one time Shinsou had been two hours late to their morning coffee, and he’d broken into his apartment only to find the kid passed out at his desk, video game playthrough on his computer screen, face down on a spread of case documents. Aizawa smiles at the memory; Shinsou may be a lot of things, but he’s not a slacker.
So it’s strange for him to be more than ten minutes late. Aizawa tosses the empty pouch in a nearby trash can, and starts off in the direction Shinsou should be in.
It doesn’t take long to find a disturbance. Aizawa hears it before he sees it, pained grunts and rough voices from an alleyway. It’s just the kind of thing Shinsou would stop to observe. He approaches slowly, crawling up to the roof.
He sees the scene below, and his heart drops straight to the pavement below.
He’s found Shinsou.
Shinsou, who is bound and gagged below him, whimpering as one of the villains shoves a hand down the front of his pants. Aizawa freezes, so quickly and completely he almost falls off the roof like a broken statue, fated to hit the ground and smash into a thousand pieces.
It’s Shinsou. Oh, god, it’s Shinsou, his student and Aizawa can see the tears tracking down his face even from here. He knows he has to stay calm, to assess the situation and take the best course of action. He’s taught it countless times, hell, he’s done it countless times but he’s never once felt like this.
Someone grabs Shinsou’s tuft of purple hair, and pulls his head forward, pushing it into his—his unzipped pants. Aizawa can’t breathe. He’s dropping to the ground before he can think better, quirk activated, feet hitting the top of the dumpster as he launches towards the man defiling his student. They hit the ground hard, the crunch of the villain’s skull against pavement viciously satisfying. Aizawa is already up, looking for the next target, when he hears a gun click.
The muzzle is pressed into Shinsou’s temple.
“Your quirk doesn’t work on guns, does it Eraser Head?” The man sneers, baring yellowed teeth. “You move an inch, and we blow your pretty student’s brains out.”
Aizawa doesn’t wait; these situations are almost always bluffs. His capture weapon is flying forwards even as the man speaks his threat, and the gun goes off. Aizawa freezes, ears ringing with the echoes of the shot in the alleyway. With a hoarse cry, he’s stumbling towards Shinsou, tears already streaming as he falls to Shinsou’s legs.
There’s a muffled scream above him, and Aizawa sits up in shock. Shinsou’s pained eyes are staring down at him, and Aizawa sobs in relief. He’s alive. He’s—then it sinks in, the wetness under his hands, the red smeared across his skin. They’d shot Shinsou in the leg.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Aizawa chants, “Shinsou, it’s gonna be okay, it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.” He knows distantly that he’s too deep into panic to be coherent, but he’s still wrapping his capture weapon around the wound to stop the bleeding.
“I told you he likes him,” one of the villains says. Aizawa feels cold metal against the back of his neck, and stills. “The question is just how much?”
“Don’t hurt him,” Aizawa rasps, staring at Shinsou. The gun to the boy’s head is the only thing keeping these monsters alive. “You’ll regret it.”
“You said that last time, too,” the man behind him laughs. His voice sounds wet, unhealthy. “I didn’t regret it, though I could’ve done without the jail time. That sweet piece of ass was”—he whoops, pleased with himself, “worth it!”
“Bitch was asking for it,” says someone to Aizawa’s right. Aizawa can sense him coming closer, binding his arms behind his back tightly enough even Aizawa can't get out of them. He doesn’t look, because all he can do is stare into Shinsou’s eyes and hope that the meager reassurance helps.
“They always are,” the man holding the gun to Shinsou’s head adds. Aizawa memorizes his features—about 176 cm, later thirties, black eyes and hair, and… familiar? “This one is too.”
“W-what.”
“See, Gesuyarou? I told you he wouldn’t remember,” the man behind Aizawa says. “We didn’t do anything wrong, you know? We didn’t deserve to be put away for getting some action.”
All of a sudden, it comes to Aizawa with perfect clarity. Four men he’d put away years go for sexually assaulting a minor. They must have been the escaped prisoners, and if this is about a personal grudge… This is bad. If they want to hurt Aizawa, killing Shinsou is an easy answer. All he can do is anything it takes to keep his boy alive.
“You know teens and their sex drives.” The muzzle of a gun taps on the base of his skull. “Step back, Aizawa Shouta. We’ll demonstrate.”
Aizawa steps back. Shinsou moans low in his throat, eyes teary but furious as a hand rubs over his groin. Aizawa can’t look away, his throat closed with horror as Shinsou’s practical combat boots are stripped away, his hidden knives torn off his legs, pants pulled down and carelessly tossed across the alleyway. Like this, Aizawa can see the way the man is roughly groping Shinsou’s… genitals. Shinsou lets out an angry, shame-filled whimper, face red and body struggling against his ties. Only then does Aizawa notice the stimulation has affected him, that there’s a damp patch on the front of his underwear.
“Stop, please stop,” Aizawa whispers. They don’t. Shinsou’s underwear comes off, and Aizawa can’t bear to look. But he also can't look away, like he's somehow letting Shinsou down if he doesn't bear witness. Then Shinsou yells, and Aizawa sees the hand disappearing his legs and oh fuck , they're really going to do it.
“Stop, you’re going to hurt him!” Aizawa is yelling now, alarmed because he is no stranger to anal sex and with Shinsou tense and terrified like this, they could truly injure him. The sluggishly bleeding bullet wound in his thigh says it's likely. “Please, not like this. Not like…”
“What, you want to take over?” He doesn't have a chance to respond before he's shoved painfully downwards, knees cracking into pavement. “Don't worry, you can still help.” Aizawa is horrified by the way long, dirty fingers are pressing into Shinsou, his asshole clearly tight and inexperienced. The damn kid still has soft, faint pubes he’s probably never shaved. Aizawa suddenly feels old and dirty, miserably remembering Shinsou’s twentieth birthday, months earlier, how happy he’d been when Aizawa showed up, how he’d managed to gather the kind of support network Aizawa had never allowed himself.
He doesn't think any support network in the world could be enough to get Shinsou through this. He’s watching them break his student, his best student, right before his eyes and he can’t do anything about it.
The man on the right—at around 193 cm, late twenties, sandy blond and underweight—pulls a gun from the back of his pants, and thumbs off the safety, and presses it to Shinsou’s hole. Aizawa and Shinsou are yelling in unison now, beyond alarmed, but the man just waves him off.
“Relax, relax, I’m only gonna pull the trigger if either of you misbehave.”
Shinsou lets out a low, animal grown of distress as cold metal begins to disappear inside of him.
Aizawa is out of his mind, struggling against his bindings until his arms tingle with numbness, begging so pathetically for them to stop that he can barely recognize himself. And then they stop.
Before Aizawa can catch his breath, he feels the cold press of metal against his lips. He jerks his head away, shocked, but the man just lowly says, "You want to help him, right? You wouldn't want him to be fucked without something to make it easier. Get it nice and wet for your student’s sake, Eraser."
"Okay," Aizawa whispers, staring down at Shinsou's reddened hole. Any discomfort he can spare him… he will. He opens his mouth, welcomes in the hard metal, the unpleasant way the barrel clacks against his teeth. Then he starts to choke. His attacker is shoving the gun down his throat, holding the back of his head until Aizawa is coughing, spasming around it, eyes streaming as he fights to keep from throwing up, fights to stay conscious.
He hacks and coughs as the gun is suddenly jerked from his mouth. “Shinsou,” he rasps, “Shinsou…”
“Get him hard,” someone says. Then someone is fumbling at his zipper, and roughly pulling his soft cock from his underwear. Aizawa cries out in pain and shock, a cry that is summarily cut off by the gun returning to his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. He’s roughly jerked off into hardness, eyes sliding closed as the lack of air, the horror and the overwhelming humiliation of it all finally get to him.
He only comes back to awareness when the thin one slaps him, saying, “Perk up, hero. You’re gonna wanna watch this.”
Aizawa doesn’t want to watch, doesn’t want to see the gun that was just in his mouth being rubbed over Shinsou’s perineum. Shinsou meets his eyes, teary and looking heartbroken. Aizawa can’t look away, not even when the hand on his cock speeds up, forcing the disgusting coil of heat between his legs to wind tighter.
“F-fuck,” Aizawa chokes out, watching the end of the barrel push inside Shinsou, then slowly fuck in and out of him, catching on his rim in a way that must be unpleasant. Everything in him wants to protect Shinsou, take him away from here to somewhere safe, then commit gruesome acts of murder on the men around him but he can’t move. There’s a gun to his head and he’s never been more heart-broken or more furious and he still feels like he’s about to come.
“Stop, please, don’t want to,” Aizawa chokes out, but his words are only met with laughter.
“He likes it,” a voice says. “Told you, knew he’d see these kids are all just little sluts, waiting to be filled.”
“No-” Aizawa protests, then suddenly the gun is shoved hard against his spine, another hand between his shoulder blades pushing him to the ground.
“Jealous, Eraserhead?”
Aizawa doesn’t have a chance to answer. He’s being manhandled into position over Shinsou, lined up over him like they want him to fu—to have sex with Shinsou. The hand on his back is replaced with a boot, and his ribs creak as the man above him steps down on him hard. The force of it keeps his face shoved against Shinsou’s chest. It’s horrible, it’s all horrible, but feeling Shinsou’s warmth is still a small comfort. Shinsou’s noises are indecipherable, and yet it still feels like he’s calling for Aizawa all the same. But all Aizawa can do is sob out apologies as someone lifts his hips and someone else grabs his cock, roughly stroking it back to fullness.
It doesn’t matter how much he begs them to stop, he can’t squirm away from the tight grip on his shaft as they push the head of his cock inside of—inside of, fuck, he’s inside of Shinsou, it’s Hitoshi, his student and fuck, he’s so tight. Aizawa sobs out a groan as the tight ring of muscle squeezes mercilessly, like Shinsou is alarmed or in pain. Shinsou is trembling, eyes full of tears, knees clenching against Aizawa’s hips.
Even though there’s at least two men trying to push Aizawa the rest of the way inside him, it’s slow going, each inch painful and accompanied by Aizawa’s sobbed apologies.
They make him fuck Shinsou, pushing him back inside each time Aizawa tries to pull away. They’re both crying, and Aizawa does everything he can not to come. Like if he manages to not finish inside his student, then it’s better somehow.
All he ends up doing is edging himself, until each movement is fire on his nerves and Aizawa’s groans are more pleasure than pain, and he’s never hated himself more than he does now, when he is getting off to the feel of Shinsou tight and hot around his cock.
Shinsou is… amazing. Incredible. So fucking strong, as he shakes under Aizawa, clearly trying not to cry. His little whines are bitten off, like he’s trying not to react each time Aizawa is shoved deep inside him. Except Aizawa can feel his slender hips begin to jerk upwards to meet his thrusts, knees clenched around him. He’s shaking. Aizawa can’t imagine how traumatized he must be, because eventually he can’t even stop his cries.
Shinsou’s sweet moans are open-mouthed, saliva soaking the gag, face burning red as the villains jeer at him for enjoying it. He’s not. Aizawa isn’t either. He couldn’t, could never, but then he feels it. Shinsou arcs under him, screaming into the cloth. For a moment, Aizawa thinks he’s hurt him even more. Then he feels Shinsou’s small cock twitching against his stomach, shooting hot cum against his jumpsuit.
He’d fucking come on Aizawa’s cock, and he’s clenching around him in such a perfectly tight way that suddenly Aizawa is coming too, groaning deep and broken as the villain steps on his lower back, forcing him to fill Shinsou’s virgin ass with his spend.
“Fuck, oh fuck, I’m so sorry,” Aizawa whispers, head buried in Shinsou’s chest. His next words are stolen with a cry as someone pulls his hips up, and begins jacking of his sensitive dick. The overstimulation hurts, but he can’t move away, can’t do anything but watch his tears wetting Shinsou’s hero costume.
It hurts when they push him back in a second time.
The third time is even worse.
By the fourth time, Shinsou is limp beneath him, eyes glassy, gag soaked with drool. Aizawa is barely conscious, aware only of pain and pleasure and guilt.
They must have gotten bored, eventually. Aizawa thinks that this is how he dies, dick buried inside his most treasured student and full of regret. He just hopes they make it quick.
With a sharp pain to his temple, Aizawa’s world goes black.
---------
Aizawa regains consciousness peacefully at first. He isn't sure where he is, why his eyes seem glued shut, why his body feels like lead. Memories come back slowly; a dark alleyway, a clouded night, Shinsou bound and bleeding and—Aizawa wakes with a jolt, eyes flying open painfully fast. He's in a hospital room. Alive. God, somehow he'd lived. He's not sure he even wants to be alive, after that, but the soft beep of hospital machinery is uncaring and consistent.
It's afternoon, he thinks, judging by the angle of sun filtering through the blinds. Aizawa's panicked gaze searches the room for several painful moments until he finally calms enough to look down at himself. He's covered in a powder blue blanket, and Shinsou's mass of curling purple hair is resting by his side. Shinsou looks like he's asleep, his face peaceful, a thin line of drool descending from the corner of his mouth. His eyebags are an alarming purple, but he's alive.
Relief and remorse fight viciously in Aizawa's heart, but both fade to the background when Shinsou snorts in his sleep, shifts, then his eyes drift open. They're red, like he's been crying, but still clear and sharp as he looks up at Aizawa.
Aizawa's heart jumps into his throat as their eyes meet. "I-I'm so sorry," he says hoarsely. "Shinsou, I'm so sorry, I'm—" Shinsou squeezes his hand, and that contact is enough to snuff out his broken apologies.
"You did what you had to," Shinsou says softly, steadily. He looks haunted, but not broken. Aizawa's eyes well up with tears, with a mix of pride and grief.
"But you, what you had to go through..." Aizawa protests, unable to put it into words.
Shinsou takes a quiet breath. "I'd rather it was you than any of them.”
“It shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have…” Aizawa can’t say that he shouldn’t have gotten off on it. He can’t even form the words. His entire body might be hurting, but this pain is soul-deep.
Shinsou’s eyes soften, liquid and warm despite the hospital’s cold light. “Sensei,” he says quietly, “it wasn’t your fault. Or my fault. Those villains, they-they got what they deserved. Heroes found them a few days after we were found. Whatever bits of them survived that beating are back in jail. For life. It’s going to be okay.”
“It’s not, it’s,” Aizawa stammers, unable to look away from Shinsou, even if meeting his eyes feels like a death sentence. “I can’t. Hell, I can’t make this right to you. You shouldn't have to be the one saying this, I should be stronger, I just…”
“You’ve been in a healing coma for weeks,” Shinsou says gently. “I’ve had time to process everything. I have a psychiatrist and a therapist on my case already. You just woke up, and I,” he clears his throat, “I don’t know. I just felt like I should be the one here with you.”
“Shinsou,” Aizawa says hoarsely. His heart is breaking again, but this time because he can’t contain the pure pride he feels. Shinsou is so strong, so fucking strong. “Thank you,” Aizawa finally whispers. Shinsou’s mouth quirks into a familiar smile, so familiar it makes Aizawa’s chest ache.
“You'd gonna be okay,” Shinsou says. “So am I. Promise me that we will work through this, Sensei. I don’t want to lose you to those villains.”
And just like that, Aizawa feels some of the darkness recede, his deadly self-hate lighten just enough to imagine a future where he doesn’t want himself dead. Shinsou has grown up well, he realizes. He may be young, but he’s determined and humble enough to accept the support Aizawa would have rejected at his age. Maybe… maybe Shinsou will be okay. Maybe Aizawa didn’t break him irreparably.
“I promise,” Aizawa says quietly, looking down at where Shinsou is holding his hand.
“Good,” Shinsou says, letting out a shuddering sigh of relief. Maybe he’s reassuring himself too, and maybe Aizawa needs to let him have that reassurance. Shinsou says, “we’re going to be okay,” and Aizawa finally believes him.