ißa🐌

fine, nanami confessed. he also let it happened way more that he’d like to admit. he really should have held back, helping you relax so you could rest instead of getting swept away every time by your honey-like voice, soft kisses and how sweet you smelled like before bed. he really should have, but somehow most nights always ended up with him and you partaking in such an intense... activity. well not exactly somehow, it had been an old news afterall—that he could not ever resist you.

somewhere along the lines, nights where he noticed, it always had something to do with two things. him and his glasses. it took him a while to figure it out, with his mind being quite infatuated by you. but when he eventually figured it out he could be more giddy, knowing that he was as desirable to you as you were to him.

but that had to stop. it really did. nanami would hate to wear you out, making you tired when he should be helping you feel the opposite. he did not want to contribute into anything that could possibly affect your physical condition negatively, even just a little.

that’s why nanami decided not to wear his glasses anymore for a while. he decided to be responsible for the both of you.

“ken? you're not reading tonight?” but then you asked. the answer came within a split second, right after he was done ogling the sight of you in your nightgown. he knew what you were asking, he knew exactly what it was implying.

“someone just couldn’t get enough, hm?” he asked gently, caressing your earlobe intimately. you nuzzled closer, and he knew he was done for.

Over their old suits were new suits; all-in-ones of white, with masks and goggles dangling limply from their hands. Hiromi bristled.

"A rage room?"

"It would appear so."

"I-- I--" A scoff. Pacing. "This isn't for me-- this is for you, and your unhealthy coping mechanisms. I handle my anger absolutely fi--

"You lost a trial then murdered two men and countless others."

Higuruma froze. When he spoke, his voice was wounded and small. "...that was a very difficult week for me, Nanami, and I'm hurt that you'd weaponise it like that."

Kento sighed, removing his glasses and pocketing them. Rubbing his eyes, he sounded churlish. "I suppose I have been holding onto some...frustration."

"Speak for yourself."

A prickle of annoyance. Kento shot Hiromi a daggered look. Hiromi raised his chin. They stared each other down.

The room was silent. The staring match went on, and on, and on, until--

SMASH.

Kento's face fell slack. Hiromi had stuck his hand out, and pushed a vase to fall off its perch and shatter upon the floor. He hadn't even broken eye contact with Kento while doing it. Kento squirmed.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Nothing. I'm not angry."

SMASH.

Kento bristled, lunging to save another vase. "Stop that!"

"No."

SMASH.

"Higuruma! Stop!"

"Make me."

A scuffle. Two pairs of dress shoes skittering on the floor. CLATTER-- SMASH.

Kento snarled, and picked up an old chair, and tossed it at Hiromi. Hiromi dodged it, huffing through his nose with a gleam in his eye. The chair hit a stack of pottery, and Kento buried his fingers in his hair, dismayed.

With a slowly growing grin, Hiromi picked up a plate. He tossed it into the air (to a gasp of horror from Kento), and caught it by its rim.

Kento breathed hard. He seemed to have grown to twice his usual size. He glared at Hiromi. Hiromi grinned, and made for the door.

"I'm going out for a mallet."

"Wait!"

Hiromi paused with his hand upon the handle. He looked back over his shoulder. Kento trembled with his back to Hiromi, his fists clenched into rocks, and flicks of hair falling free.

"Get me one, Higuruma."

"Sure."

"No-- wait-- two."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

She and you sat, curled on the sofa, with a shared blanket and a shared bottle and shared snacks and shared thrill. The TV's glow was all that lit the room.

"Can't believe they put a hidden camera in there for us."

"I paid extra."

"I can't wait."

Upon the screen, from multiple angles, were your husbands, and a white cluttered room. Kento's anger was palpable even on film. Hiromi's hand rested upon the door handle.

You tucked in close, and pressed your glass to your lips, and pressed play.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Again!"

Fwooosh-- SMASH.

"Harder!"

Pshewww-- SMASH.

"Jesus christ, Nanami, you're strong."

"Don't stop now, Higuruma!"

SMASH. SMASH. SMASH.

Music played, loud and heavy and hard. Kento and Hiromi had stripped off their protective suits, and eschewed their goggles and masks. Kento wielded a cricket bat. Hiromi wielded a stack of dinner plates. He flung another one to its grisly demise.

"I love frisbee."

Kento laughed, clasping a hand over his mouth and jaw and missing the plate entirely, for it to whoosh away somewhere over his shoulder. Hiromi laughed. Kento laughed harder. The plate smashed somewhere in the distance. They laughed harder, braced against the wall and down on their thighs.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You and she laughed, too, cheering as Hiromi took a mallet to a television with a roar.

She stood, wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm gonna wet myself-- pause it, pause it--"

"I'll rewind it!"

Minutes later, from her perch on the toilet, she heard raucous laughter.

"Pause it!" She squealed. "Pause i-- wait, what are they doing?"

"Playing keepy-uppy!"

"Oh."

"With a Fabergé egg!"

"Oh."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Hiromi and Kento sat with their backs against the wall, and their mallets on their thighs, and their legs splayed out before them, in a scene of devastation. Kento's tie was wrapped around his fist. Hiromi's tie was tied around his head. He panted.

"I...I owe my wife an apology. More than one, perhaps. Whichever way she likes it." He paused. "On her back. On my lap. On her knees. On my knee--"

"Don't be crass, Higuruma." A giggle. Kento couldn't help but smile, wry and lopsided and finally relieved; almost relieved, at least. He sighed, swiping his hair back.

"So do I. With...with flowers. Wine. Dinner, maybe. And--"

"And after that, on your knees?"

Hiromi doesn't hurry you to orgasm. He's in no rush, and his long fingers spend most of their time lazily stroking your pussy through your underwear. He lets the wine and the understimulation and the desperation take you most of the way.

By the time he has you up on the counter, sliding his wine-stained tongue between your legs, you crack like an egg, your thighs clamping up around his head as he chuckles, drunk and throbbing, his hands reaching up to plait with yours.

"A wonderful bouquet," he groans, sultry and teasing as he comes up for air. You tilt the glass towards him, rolling the wine like liquid rubies. Hiromi takes another sip, holding it in his mouth until he can seal his lips against your pussy, tasting you and the wine together.

Only once he's truly experienced the hedonism of your cum and his favourite wine in his mouth, does he drag you to the edge of the counter, slowly fucking his clothed cock against your sex, kissing you so you can taste the wicked pleasure he's tasted.

Hiromi doesn't hurry himself to orgasm, either; the smeared wine and arousal from your own pussy across your face, the voyeuristic way you watch him hump against you with husky groans, and the way your nipples pebble under his tongue, take him most of the way.

When his hips begin to stutter, his eyes hooded with this tonic you've offered him, do you reach down and hook his weeping cock upwards to sit flush with his belly. You lick your thumb, and bring it down to circle wet little circles on his cockhead once, twice, three times-- Hiromi's fingertips bruise your thighs as he cums on his belly and your hand, trembling with thick pulses of pleasure, head tipped back, gasping for air.

Floating vaguely above himself, Hiromi's head tips forward, in time to see you lick his seed off your hand and sip the wine, like salt and tequila. He whimpers just once at the sight of it, another weak spurt of cum twitching out of him onto your thigh.

You end up on the sofa, Hiromi floppy and pliable as you lick him clean with the wine still in one hand.

You finish the bottle of wine-- but you order take-out.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

❀

nanami

“but why, love?” he asked, having a hard time comprehending your wish to sleep alone on the living room only because... you randomly wanted to? you chuckled looking at his bewildered face, an expression of someone who’s probably racking his brain upside down thinking that he’s done something wrong. “ken, i promise it’s just because i feel like it and no reason other than that.” you cupped his face, planting a soft kiss on his nose.

nanami looked a little relieved, albeit sullen, hesitant in asking whether he could invite himself in or you wanted a little time for yourself. and when it’s finally time to sleep it’s becoming more obvious that your lover wasn’t going to make it easy for you.

“need any more blanket honey?” he asked tapping the head of the couch as he stood there a tad nervous, knowing full well you got everything you needed since he insisted to be the one to prepare it. pillows, blanket, a hot drink, he’s got it all for you. “i’m perfect here, ken. you can go to bed,” you said with a reassuring smile, yet it did the opposite effect to the man.

“can i be here until you sleep, my love? it’s just that i feel like i wouldn’t be able to rest properly until i see you do the same.” he stroke your cheek softly with his thumb, and when you leaned into his touch he knew he’s gone for you. that there’s no way he could be asleep if he went back to the bedroom in that moment—unless you’re with him, of course. though, he didn’t say this, he just continued combing through your strands of hair, loving the peaceful expression on your face.

and unfortunately for the blond man, when it comes to these things his thoughts were written all over his face. you already caught on the fact that he wanted to lie down with you there yet his wish in prioritizing your wants refrained him from speaking his. you laughed a little, feeling a burst of fondness towards the tall man.

“on a second thought, can you sleep here with me ken?” he moved as quick as the sentence ended, already making his way under the blanket. he sneaked a hand around your waist, pressing your body closer against him. “i was kind of hoping you’d ask,” he mumbled, slightly embarrassed. you snuggled closer to his chest, feeling utmost comfort as he rubbed your back gently.

“i know.”

❀

sukuna

not even ten minutes in trying to sleep on the said couch, sukuna had already carried you back towards your shared bedroom.

“but-“

“no.”

he put you on the bed gently, then he draped a blanket over as he tucked you in. sukuna has that look of a man who’s determined in keeping you there, and you already knew it’s a fight you could not win thus, you turned for another plan instead: pouting.

even until he got beside you as he rested his big hand on your stomach, you refused to look at him, crossing your hands in front of your chest. he sighed, “give me one good reason i should let you sleep out there,” he said exasperatedly. “cause i want some me time?” you claimed. even you weren’t sure why you’re battling him so hard on this.

“then have it here in this bed with me. you’ll get all cold later and cling to me later anyways. i’m just speeding up the process.” he replied, already closing his eyes.

“what a strange way of saying you couldn’t sleep without me,” you said, with a grin on your face. the feeling of his thumb moving against your skin brought you immense comfort, your impulsive plan long forgotten.

“if you already knew that then quit making it harder for me, brat.”

❀

toji

he stared at you who’s already making yourself comfortable on the couch, amused. “looking cozy there,” he said with a grin, a face of someone who’s up to no good. “yeah, it’s actually not ba-“ the sentence was cut off was your own squeal, toji had picked you up as he took your lying down position and put you top of him.

“you could’ve just asked first!” you fumed, hitting his bicep—which did more to you and it did him, how could one even get their muscle to be as hard as that? he just chuckled in response, putting a hand around your waist. “sorry doll, got too excited,” he said lazily, already seemed all happy, like he had all he needed.

and he did, with you close to him resting your head on his chest, knowing that you loved counting his heartbeat. the man was truly content.

“we really should get a bigger couch,” you mumbled. we should get everything you wanted, toji thought. but it’d be a bit much to say in the moment so instead he just continued rubbing your sides until you dozed off, plunging into the dream land.

“sleep.”

❀

suguru

“whatcha got there baby?” he asked, an easy smile on his face. there’s really no day with you where you didn’t make him tilt his head questioningly. “’m going to sleep here tonight,” you said, fluffing the pillow before lying down on it comfortably.

“okay, where’s mine then?”

“your what?”

“my pillow. you didn’t bring mine along yours?”

“oh well i just thought you’d want to sleep in the bed anyway?” you replied, and suguru looked like you just insulted him deeply. the couch dipped, he then lied down beside you on the same pillow, making him extra close as he embraced you. “i sleep where you sleep baby, you make me this way. i can no longer rest when i don’t get to hold you close like this,” he said softly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

you have a big smile on your face as he said this, inhaling his familiar scent as you put your arms around him. “that better not be a complaint,” you said, cuddling closer to the man.

“never.” he kissed your temple.

❀

choso

it seriously look like it killed him when he had to walk away from the room, leaving you to sleep by yourself on the couch. his steps were excruciatingly slow, taking as much time as he could in case you changed your mind.

“cho?” you almost laughed looking at the way he perked up, a hopeful expression on his face. “can you turn off the light on your way?” and it almost felt too cruel the way the sparkle on his eyes dimmed, his shoulders beyond slumped. he then practically had to drag his own feet before letting out a small nod.

you chuckled, couldn’t keep up with the teasing anymore. “i’m kidding baby, do you wanna get in here?” you lifted up the blanket, patting the empty space next to you. it was the fastest you’ve ever seen him, as he’s beside you in no time.

he clinged to you tightly, like he’s making sure as much of his skin made contact with yours, a satisfied smile on his face. his hair tickled your neck nicely, as you traced the area below his eye with back of your finger.

So quick. So casual. Mindless, even. 

There’s a hand on his back, movement behind him, and a familiar voice, your voice— “right behind ya’, babe.”

Shouta stiffens, eyes (the good and the bad) going wide as his whole face turns crimson as if he’s some schoolboy. 

You don’t notice. He doesn’t think you even realize what you just said, like it tumbled from your mouth on instinct as you passed behind him. An absent-minded warning: don’t back up, I’m right here. 

It’s nothing. 

And, it leaves Shouta spinning. 

Which is absolutely ridiculous. It’s not like he’s unfamiliar with terms of endearment. One of his best friends was a dominatrix for fuck’s sake, and some of those habits slipped into her every day life. Shouta misses Nemuri, but he does not miss being called ‘pet’ and ‘lover’ and many other things not worth mentioning. 

The point is ‘babe’ is tame. It’s meaningless. It has no right to make the hair on his arms stand on end, especially considering whose mouth it came from. 

In a perfect world, Shouta would be able to walk away and never think of this again. 

Unfortunately, this world is cruel and unjust. He can’t just walk away. Instead, he has to walk beside you, the two of you making your way through the nearly empty bullpen to the office on the other side. 

Ito Takeshi doesn’t look up from his desk until Shouta closes the door. He’s a few years older than Shouta himself with thinning silver hair, beady black eyes, and abnormally large pointed ears. 

“Good to see you two,” Takeshi gruffs insincerely. “Take a seat.”

Both of you do, and when the older man slides two folders across his desk, you both take those too. 

“Normally, I wouldn’t put you on something like this, Eraser,” Takeshi starts, stops to glance at you and assures, “right up your alley, though, don’t worry.”

Shouta starts skimming the file, only half listening as Takeshi rattles off the same information that he’s reading. 

Ken Nakamura, a newer face in the underbelly. Young but ambitious, just earned himself the Drug Lord title at age 24 which has obviously gone to his head considering he goes by Lord Ozmotic. 

“His quirk is Osmosis,” Takeshi explains around the toothpick in his mouth. “Sole reason he’s gotten to where he is today. Started out as a delivery boy when he was a teenager, was able to move more than the average runner, moved up the ranks pretty quickly ‘til he decided he could run a ring better than his boss, Kashimoto—you’ve heard of him.”

“How is he using his quirk these days, do you know?” you pipe up. “I assume he’s not running his own product.”

Takeshi shakes his head, toys with the toothpick. “I’m not one-hundred percent on it, but we’re pretty sure he’s using it to lace his shit with something else.”

“Something else as in an illegal quirk supplement or as in fentanyl?” Shouta questions, and for some reason it makes you snicker. He squints over at you, but you just wave a hand as if to say ‘don’t worry about it’.

Babe. 

“Neither,” Takeshi answers before Shouta can even begin to spiral again. “There’s a quirk element to it, but it doesn’t modify others’. From what we’ve gathered from the samples brought in, there’s some kind of hypnosis effect.”

“Like, the people snorting or smoking or whatever—it hypnotizes them?” 

“Something like that, yeah,” Takeshi answers you. 

Shouta sits with that for a second. The other man wasn’t lying when he’d said this wasn’t a typical mission for Shouta. 

“This sounds better suited for Mindjack,” he mutters pointlessly. 

“Yeah, and I’d love to put him on it, but he’s—”

“Out of town,” Shouta cuts him off, “yeah, I know.”

Out of town, of course meaning deep undercover where Hitoshi has been for a month now. 

“I mean, if anyone’s gotta replace him, you’re probably the best option, right?” you offer with a little smile. “I’ve been partnered with your protégé for long enough. Time to see what you can do, Aizawa.”

Your grin widens, tongue now poking out between your teeth, and Shouta feels his cheeks heat again. Slumping further in the plastic chair, he tucks his face into his capture weapon and grumbles, “you know what I can do. I taught you just like I taught him.”

“Hmm, not quite. I don’t recall getting private lessons, thank you.”

Shouta rolls his eyes. “You trained plenty with Mic.”

The fact that Hizashi took you under his wing at Shouta’s request is neither here nor there, and honestly, sometimes he regrets ever having asked at all—usually during combat scenarios when Shouta is close enough to hear you mutter, “DJ punch” whenever you clock an opponent. 

Terrible habit. Makes him chuckle every time without fail. 

“Yeah, but that was different. I could’ve learned a lot more by someone with an emitter quirk like mine,” you sigh in an exaggerated manner. 

Shouta resigns himself to your theatrics, having become accustomed to the pouting and melodrama over the past couple of years, knowing that most, if not all, is disingenuous and that you only do it to annoy him. 

“Deprived me of valuable learning opportunities—how could you, Zawa? It’s the cat thing, isn’t it? Or is it because I don’t fit into your sleepy guy aesthetic?”

“It’s because you’re a brat,” Shouta bites. “Or is that news to you?” 

You look smug, like it’s exactly what you wanted him to say, which is equal parts confusing and irritating, but before Shouta can pry into that Takeshi is speaking again, “this is good, actually. This could work really well.”

“What’s good?” you question. 

Shouta follows with a dubious, “what can work?”

Takeshi looks from Shouta to you then back to Shouta, flipping that goddamn toothpick the whole time. 

“You’re not gonna like this, Eraser.”

Shouta levels his darkening eye on the man, a sinking feeling settling low in his gut. 

“Try me.”

~•~

“That is fucking hilarious!” Hizashi howls, clapping his hands together as he rocks back and forth on the couch. 

Shouta glares at his so-called friend, considers revoking that title. When did he become such a sadist? (He has been for a while, but the blonde usually saves it for different settings.)

“No it fucking isn’t. She was a student. How am I supposed to fake—”

“By treating her like the professional she is now,” Hizashi cuts him off, says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

He isn’t wrong, but that doesn’t make the situation any less awkward. 

“Shouta, it’s been years. She’s a whole-ass adult now and a kickass hero. Also, ya know,” Hizashi wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Don’t. Don’t say it.” 

He’s ignored, as always. 

“Really cute.”

“Jesus Christ…” Shouta pinches the bridge of his nose, shakes his head. 

“And that’s keeping it PG. That hero costume fits her real—”

“For the love of god, please stop,” Shouta begs. Hizashi’s comments are disturbing, but even worse is the feeling that’s settling in the deepest part of Shouta’s stomach, a certain defensiveness that he hasn’t felt in a while. 

It’s natural, though—to feel protective over you, that is. He’s protective over all his students, past and present. 

“Does it not bother you that she sat in your classroom for three years? You trained with her one-on-one when she was a kid.”

“And, now she’s an adult,” Hizashi emphasizes. For a moment it looks like he’s about to spew more bullshit, but to Shouta’s surprise (and relief), his friend ends up sighing and leaning back. It seems he’s finally taking Shouta’s concerns seriously. 

“Listen, I’m not saying I’d bring her home to fuck,” he waits for Shouta’s full-body cringe to pass then continues, “what I would do is treat her the way she deserves. Take her fucking seriously, Sho. You know what she’s capable of. I’ve heard the way you talk about the missions she and mini-Eraser go on. They rock it. If anyone is gonna make it awkward, it’s you.”

Shouta pouts. He can’t help it. Fuck, he hates when Hizashi is right. 

“She’s just…” he scrubs a hand down his face, shakes his head. “She’s so fucking young. How am I supposed to make anyone believe that I’m…”

“Screwing her?”

“Dating her,” he snaps. They sort of go hand-in-hand, but Shouta refuses to conflate the two entirely, refuses to give himself the mental image. 

Hizashi chuckles, throws one long leg over the other, lacing his fingers together at the back of his head. 

“You just gotta act like a sleazeball,” he smirks, “act like the type of dude who’s into that kinda shit—young, pretty pus—”

Shouta is just close enough to be able to kick Hizashi with his good leg. Right in the knee. Hard. And he doesn’t feel even a little bad as the blonde swears loudly.

“Stop. Now.” It comes out as a growl, and Shouta feels his hair start to rise before he quickly gets ahold of himself.

“I’m just messing around! Fucking—quit lookin’ at me like that,” Hizashi pouts, grumbles under his breath, “don’t have to worry about anyone not believing you, that’s for sure,” Hizashi grumbles. 

“What was that?” Shouta bites. 

Never one to back down, Hizashi is loud and clear when he says, “just keep defending your girl like that and you’ll fit right in.”

Bold as he may be, Zashi still yelps like a bitch when Shouta lifts his foot as if to kick him again. 

Your girl, he had called you.

Shouta’s girl. His. 

It’s strange—unfit for who you actually are to him. 

That said, the concept makes something stir in Shouta’s chest, a feeling that isn’t entirely unpleasant. 

~•~

You flew under Shouta’s radar during your first semester at UA, mostly due to the fact that you were placed in general studies. However, once you showed what you were capable of, Nezu quickly had you transferred into the hero course. 

You sat at the back of the 1-A classroom, trying your best to avoid any and all attention. Shouta could appreciate that, could relate to it, and because of that he took pity on you. 

Rarely would he make you answer questions out loud unless he could see that you were genuinely interested. If the approved curriculum required any sort of public presentation, he tried to time it so that the bell would conveniently ring just before your turn. Of course, you had to undergo some torture alongside your classmates—couldn’t have anyone accuse him of showing favoritism—but truly, he took it easy on you. 

Other than when you were forced into paired drills or group projects you mostly stuck to yourself. For a while Shouta assumed it was a maturity gap, maybe even a confidence issue.

Then, he saw you seize for the first time. 

He’d known it was a risk, a side effect of overusing your quirk, but at that time you’d only ever complained of it causing headaches. 

Despite all of his training, all of the rescue missions he’d been on, emergency procedures he’d had to perform himself, Shouta was not prepared. Not entirely, at least. 

He did everything he was supposed to do—rolled you onto your side, shoved his own capture weapon under your head, told the nearest kid to start a timer, and when it was over, he delivered you to Recovery Girl himself. 

It had only been a few minutes, but it had felt like an eternity. 

An eternity of deviated eyes and terrible, rhythmic body jerks, of gnashing teeth, blood and spit dripping from the side of your mouth. 

A minute or an eternity, it didn’t matter—it was long enough for the rest of the class to gather. To watch. To gawk. All eyes on you. 

And, when you came back to UA after a couple days of recovering, those eyes were suddenly full of pity, and Shouta understood, then, why you kept to yourself. 

“It’s like they’re afraid to breathe in my direction. Like one wrong look is gonna make me collapse or something,” you’d said, sitting in your usual spot in the classroom while every other student took their lunch in the cafeteria. “Promising young hero to weakest link in the blink of an eye.”

“It was about four minutes, actually,” Shouta corrected from his sleeping bag. “Considerably longer than a single blink.”

You peered at him, eyes a little narrow, voice dripping with sarcasm— “your attention to detail is truly admirable, sensei.”

It made him snort in an undignified manner, which made you smile. Barely there, but there nonetheless. 

“Just one of my many sparkling personality traits.”

“Blinding, every one of ‘em.”

You spent most lunch periods in his classroom after that. Conversation was fairly easy but uncommon. Usually you’d use the time to study and Shouta would sleep, and then the bell would ring and you’d be on your way. 

If it had been any other student, he wouldn’t have allowed it, would have demanded they leave, maybe threaten expulsion. 

But it wasn’t any other student; it was you. You, who turned your shit in on time and didn’t bombard him with stupid questions. You, who somehow managed to coax a laugh out of him every now and again. You, who he had cradled as he made his way to Recovery Girl, weak and toneless and hardly conscious as the blood from your mouth soaked into his shirt. 

So, maybe you were a little special from then on. Maybe Shouta kept a slightly closer eye on you. And, maybe he started carrying a certain medication in his utility pouch, one that, in an emergency, he could stab into your arm and inject himself. 

Reasonable precautions. 

Hizashi had teased him for weeks— “Sho-sho has a soft spot! Sho-sho has a faaavorite~”

“I don’t have favorites,” Shouta had argued. “She’s just less irritating than the others.”

Which is fucking laughable now. 

Now, you’re a pain in his ass. 

Gone is the reserved student at the back of his class, hesitant to speak, to make eye contact, to draw any attention or make any connection. 

What was once subtle, surprising wit has turned into a smart fucking mouth, the kind that makes Shouta rub his temples and grumble to himself. 

You use it as a mask, he thinks—all the winking and innuendo and cutesy little smiles—to distract from the fact that you are a real threat. 

Shouta wonders if you’re like this around close friends too. Always on. Always someone else. 

Or maybe it’s the real you, Shouta doesn’t fucking know. Really, he has no right to assume. It’s just hard to believe that this is genuine. 

‘This’ being the way you’re giggling while fixing his hair, fingers carding through the ends, picking which strands should hang in front of his shoulders and which should fall behind. Once finished, you show a pleased little smile, and Shouta waits for a couple beats before shaking his head, effectively undoing all your hard work. 

“Why do I even bother,” you ask yourself, rolling your eyes at the sight of Shouta’s lopsided grin. 

“I told you not to waste your time,” he reminds you. 

“Yeah, but you made it seem like your hair was untamable, and I wanted to prove you wrong. Now, I see where the real issue lies.”

“You should never let the most obvious problem distract you from the true source of danger,” he recites from his own lesson plans, has to bite back a laugh when you cringe. 

“Right, how could I forget?” 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs his shoulders, tacks on a little quieter, “you’re sharper than that, kid.”

He doesn’t know exactly what effect he had wanted to elicit, but the way you tense up and turn your face away from him as if embarrassed—bashful, even—is both unexpected and a little delightful. 

Maybe he isn’t totally out of his depth here. 

“Can we please just…” you gesture toward the establishment across the street. 

Somewhere inside sits the first target, the first test, the first of many men you’ll have to convince with this little ruse. 

Shouta comments, “a coffee shop seems odd.”

“It’s kind of brilliant, actually,” you tell him, looking both ways before crossing the street and sliding your hand into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Think about it. Half of our senses will be at least partially blocked while we’re in there. We’re at a complete disadvantage.”

Shouta frowns at you which is enough to encourage you to elaborate. 

“Did you know that when testing perfumes, most stores leave out coffee beans as an olfactory cleanser?”

“I did not know that,” Shouta admits. 

“So our sense of smell is already gonna be compromised—could mean nothing, could mean we’re unable to pick up on whatever’s being pumped through the vents, or maybe the stench of death from all the bodies decomposing in the basement! And, without smell we’re also down our sense of taste. Who knows how loud it might be in there, so—”

“So, we’ll just have to find out,” Shouta cuts you off before you can feed him any more horrific scenarios. 

You snort, mumble a low, “sorry, just a little nervous.” 

“It’ll be fine,” he assures. You’re good at this and the guy you’re both about to meet isn’t even one of Nakamura’s top men, just a worker who’s been tasked with making sure the two of you aren’t cops or heroes.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to look good in front of your old teacher.”

Shouta regards you with a raised eyebrow, and the way he cocks his head paired with his lilted, “oh?” probably comes off more teasing than curious. 

You sputter, let go of his hand to tuck your own into the pockets of your thin jacket only for Shouta to throw his arm around your shoulders. Doting boyfriend, and all. 

“Forget about that. You don’t have to impress me.” It’s only when you shiver that Shouta realizes how close he is.

“Yeah, that voice in my ear is not going to calm me down,” you grit out, and he has to admire your honesty. Though, it’s not like you could hide your reaction; Shouta can literally feel the heat that’s radiating from your cheeks.

There is suddenly a palm against his face, and then he’s being pushed away. Shouta chuckles at the action, decides it’s time to start the show as he moves to nip at your fingers just before opening the door to the shop. 

Your eyes widen for a split second before you fully compose yourself, and this time when Shouta leans in to speak into your ear, you let him. 

“You know what you’re doing,” he murmurs, “just act like you would with Mindjack.”

“Believe me when I say you don’t want that,” you tell him, warn him. 

“Believe me when I say I don’t care,” he mimics. “Whatever helps take the edge off.”

Your eyes flash with what can only be pure fucking mischief, and Shouta realizes that he should’ve taken you seriously a second ago. God knows what you and Hitoshi get up to during your missions. 

“Okay,” you grin, that damn tongue sticking out between your canines as if to draw attention to them— “Whatever you say, babe.”

Any comeback Shouta has gets lodged in his throat when you grab his hand and guide it into your own back pocket.

“To help take the edge off,” you say as if in explanation. “Oh, I think that’s our guy.”

The rich scent of coffee permeates the air along with dull, muted chatter from the other patrons, but all Shouta can focus on is how the weight and curve of your ass feels a little too nice in his hand.

Once the door clicks shut, the silence that falls is deafening. Nanami is backed up against the door, with you standing too close to him, but neither of you move, neither of you breathes. Ever since the argument earlier, things have been tense. That tension that radiates between you is now filling up the room and making breathing nearly impossible. Unbearable.

After a few moments pass, Nanami clears his throat and steals your eyes to his, but before his parted lips can make words, you raise a finger to them and shake your head, all in silence. His brows furrow, but you don't feel like talking. Not right now. Not like this.

Dragging your finger down his nape, he lifts his chin as you trace down his chest, staying for a second longer on the warm skin that peaks out from his unbuttoned collar. Your touches are painfully slow and torturous, meant to drag this out until he's clenching his fists and breathing ragged.

You stop at his belt line and pull his tucked shirt up, dragging it out of the confines from where it's tucked into his pants. Through it, Nanami is quiet, but his breath hitches when you pull the shirt free. Lifting the fabric, you toy a single finger between his belt and lower abdomen.

Nanami lifts a hand and grips your wrist--not to tell you to stop, but his eyes are full of questions, unspoken thoughts, and... Lust. He's exactly where you want him. "What are you doing?" His deep whispered voice seems to echo off the walls of your shared home.

Holding eye contact, you pull your finger out and use both hands to undo his belt, his hand still cautiously on your wrist. "I thought I told you not to speak right now?" You said, the clinking of metal filling up the space around you. His breath hitches when you bump into the proof of his arousal while undoing his belt, and his throat bobs as he looks down at your hands that make slow, precise work of him.

"We should talk." He says, his grip on your wrist turning firm.

Earlier, Nanami put himself in danger to eliminate a curse--something you had told him before not to do. The last time he did it, you weren't with him, so your fright wasn't as potent, but seeing how close he got to... 

Seeing it so close made you feel helpless. It was a feeling you never wanted to replicate again.

"I don't want to talk." You said, slowly dropping to your knees while looking up at him through your lashes.

Nanami pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and fights back a groan at the sight, warring with himself internally. You look so beautiful, but he knows you're still upset with him. 

You run your hand up his thighs and stop at the top before sliding your fingers into the band of his boxers and sliding them down inch by inch. His breath seems to stop completely as you rid him of his clothes, slowly barring him and giving him no choice but to repent in the way you want him to. By letting you take him.

"Sweetheart..." He whispers through a groan when his cock bounces free of its confines, wet at the tip and so hard he's fucking twitching.

"Kento." You chastise. What about not talking doesn't he understand?

His hand threads into your hair gently, and his eyes look so tortured and pained. You love it. "I don't deserve this." He says so softly, almost insecurely. And you nod. "No, you don't"

"Then why-"

Your hand wraps around his impossibly stiff cock, and he cuts himself off, inhaling sharply through his teeth while the back of his head knocks into the door. Such a simple touch and Nanami Kento is debased to his most basic animalistic urges. You rub the head of his cock, massaging your thumb into that sensitive spot on the underside of his head, and are rewarded with his abs clenching and a drop of precum.

"Speak again, and I'll stop." With those parting words, you suck him between your lips and he fucking melts. 

Kento grunts, his free hand slamming into the wall behind him in a balled fist when you effortlessly slide him to the back of your throat. This isn't about his pleasure, much as it seems. You aren't going to take it easy or spare his pride, this is to torture him, to make him feel as helpless as he did you.

His hand in your hair tightens, but he makes no move to thrust into your mouth or shove you onto his cock. His body jerks and his back arches when you take him too deep, but he catches himself before he thrusts into your warm mouth as much as he wants to.

A long grunt that turns into a groan is torn free from his throat when you start bobbing your head up and down at a merciless pace, using a hand to stroke the rest of his length that doesn't fit in your mouth, while you slide your other hand up his shirt to caress his abdomen and feel what you do to him.

His abs flex under your touch and your ministrations. His breathing is ragged and ruined, and sounds that would usually be hidden back from your ears, are being forced free. He's not hiding a thing. You didn't even know he could be this loud while receiving head even after being together for a year. The sounds are mostly pants and grunts, but they're sounds all the same, and they're making you feel insane.

Pre-cum floods your tongue when you swallow around him and time your thrusts with your hand, determined to jerk his soul out of his cock when he cums. And he feels fucking close. He keeps twitching inside your mouth, his abs are flexing his body is bowing, and his breaths are turning choppy and debauched.

"Sweetheart... A-ah." You know you said you would stop if he spoke again, but when he sounded so fucking good, it was hard to want to stop. "I'm going to cum, stop." The last word is grunted with a surprising amount of restraint and control, but you continue regardless as if you didn't hear it.

This time, his hips do jerk, and the precum that floods your mouth makes it feel like he's already cum. "My love, you need to-" You look up in time to watch his mouth fall open and his eyes roll back in his head before he bites down on his teeth and groans through them. "You need to stop or I'm going to cum."

Always so considerate, even when he's getting blown an inch from his life. Popping off from his cock only long enough to talk, you rake your nails down his abdomen and jerk him off as quickly as you were sucking him, not wanting him to lose that buildup. "Cum in my mouth."

He looks like he wants to retort, but it dies on his tongue when you take him back into your mouth and double your efforts, massaging your tongue on that one spot that makes him see fucking stars. 

It only takes a second before his grunts turn to pants and his pitch raises in volume. You hold eye contact with him while he watches you take him to the near base, then he explodes, and you taste the specific taste of him on your tongue.

His face screws into pleasure and his body goes rigid as his balls empty into your mouth. It's a fucking pleasure seeing him come undone. His cheeks and ears are flushed, even in the dark they look like bright red tomatoes, and his throat that bobs as he struggles to do so much as swallow is beautiful.

When you pull his cock free, he twitches and his hand balls in your hair before he's dropping to his knees and slamminghis mouth to yours, tasting himself on your tongue. He grunts and groans into the kiss, licking inside like he's greedy to share some of the burden. And you love it. 

He parts your lips and cradles your face in his hands, wiping away the saliva on your cheeks and lips. "I don't deserve you, but please let me return the favor." He whispers, a misbehaving hand sliding down your body to rub you over your panties.

Your eyes roll back, and his lips part in awe as he decides between watching you as he rubs your clit, or watching your face screw into pleasure. "Please, my love." He begs in that sinfully deep voice.