Rai

• Sevika notices it immediately. The way you apologize for needing help before you even ask. The way you’ll struggle with five grocery bags cutting into your fingers instead of calling her from downstairs.

• She starts doing little things without making a big deal out of it because she knows if she fusses too much, you’ll get embarrassed. Refilling your water before you realize it’s empty. Buying your favourite snacks when you run out. Plugging your phone in when you fall asleep on the couch. Quiet care.

• You’re so used to solving your own problems that sometimes you genuinely forget you have someone now. Not because you don’t trust Sevika, but because relying on people has never really felt safe before.

• Sevika pretends to be annoyed every time she catches you trying to do something alone that you absolutely do not need to do alone.

“You know I’ve got two functioning arms, right? Even if one’s mechanical.”

• The first time you wake her up because you need something, Sevika nearly melts on the spot. She’s half asleep, voice rough and confused, but secretly thrilled that your first instinct was her.

• She’s patient about it. Never pushes too hard. If you pull away or insist you’re fine, she lets it go for the moment and just stays nearby instead.

• Sevika’s love language becomes making space for you to rest. She knows you’ve spent your whole life surviving independently, so she tries to teach you, gently, that love can be soft instead of transactional.

• Sometimes she’ll physically take things out of your hands. Laundry basket, toolbox, heavy bags.

“Sit down before I bench press you instead.”

• When you finally do start leaning on her more, even in tiny ways, Sevika acts smug about it but she’s unbearably soft underneath.

“Look at that. Finally learning.”

• Secretly, nothing makes her happier than hearing:

“Sevika?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you help me with this?”

Because to her, that means you trust her.

-

Sevika looked up from the couch, brow furrowing as she watched you carry an overstuffed box across the room with your jaw clenched tight.

“You moving out?” she asked dryly.

“I got it.”

“You say that like I asked.”

You ignored her, already trying to awkwardly shove the box onto the top shelf. Your arms trembled from the weight.

Sevika stared for three whole seconds before standing with a long suffering sigh.

“Move.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are visibly not fine.”

Before you could protest again, Sevika stepped behind you and effortlessly lifted the box from your hands. She set it on the shelf like it weighed nothing.

You crossed your arms immediately. “I could’ve done that.”

“Mhm.”

“I could.”

Sevika looked at you for a moment, then snorted softly.

“You know what your problem is?” she asked.

You narrowed your eyes. “This should be good.”

“You act like accepting help is gonna kill you.”

Heat crept up your neck.

“It’s not that dramatic.”

“No?” Sevika leaned against the counter. “Yesterday you nearly burned yourself because you refused to let me carry the soup pot. Last week you limped around on a bad ankle for two days before telling me. And ten minutes ago I caught you trying to move furniture alone.”

You looked away.

“I just don’t wanna bother you.”

The room went quiet.

Sevika’s expression changed instantly, irritation melting into something softer. Something aching.

“You bothering me would be if you started a fire, or… I don’t know, slapped me across the face.” She paused thoughtfully. “Actually, wouldn’t hate that.”

A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it, and you rolled your eyes, swatting lightly at her chest.

“Helping you isn’t bothering me,” she continued, reaching out to brush your hair back.

You shrugged weakly. “I’m used to handling things myself.”

“I know.”

And she did know.

Sevika knew about the years that taught you depending on people usually ended in disappointment. Knew that independence had stopped being a personality trait a long time ago and turned into survival instinct instead.

She stepped closer, warm hands settling gently against your cheeks.

“You don’t gotta earn being taken care of with me,” she said quietly. “I want to.”

Your throat tightened immediately.

It was embarrassing how much those words affected you. How badly some small, hidden part of you wanted to believe them.

Sevika noticed the way your eyes glossed over and immediately softened further.

“C’mere.”

You let her pull you against her chest with surprising ease. Her arms wrapped around you firmly. Warm and steady and safe.

For a minute neither of you spoke.

Then, muffled against her shirt, you muttered, “I still could’ve lifted that box.”

Sevika barked out a laugh.

• Sevika absolutely keeps track of your cycle without ever admitting it outright. She notices patterns. The way you get quieter. The way you curl into her side more at night. The specific face you make when cramps hit suddenly.

• If your cramps are bad, she becomes weirdly attentive. You’ll grumble that you’re fine while practically folded in half on the couch, and suddenly there’s a heating pad plugged in, painkillers beside you, water on the table, and Sevika standing there like:

“Didn’t say you had a choice.”

• She’s very big on physical comfort. One massive arm around your waist while you lie against her chest. Warm hand rubbing slow circles into your hip or stomach. Carrying you to bed when you’re too exhausted to move.

• Her metal arm is surprisingly useful because she can cool drinks against it for you or press the colder metal against your forehead when you’re overheating.

• If you get emotional easily during your period, Sevika never makes fun of you for it. Ever. Even if you’re crying because a stray cat ignored you or because you dropped a spoon.

She’ll kiss your forehead and mumble:

“C’mere, sweetheart. World’s cruel enough already.”

• She becomes very protective in public during that time. Keeps a hand on your lower back. Glares at anyone irritating you. If someone stresses you out, she looks seconds away from committing a felony.

• If your pain gets severe, Sevika gets genuinely angry on your behalf. Not at you, just furious that your body hurts you so much.

“Stupid fucking biology,” she mutters while massaging your stomach gently.

• She learns your comfort cravings by heart. Specific tea. Salty foods one day, sweets the next. The exact blanket you like because the texture feels nice when you’re overstimulated.

• At night, she sleeps lighter so if you wake up hurting or nauseous, she notices almost immediately.

• Sevika secretly loves when you get clingy during your period. She’d never tease you for it because she knows you feel awful, but internally she’s like:

Finally. My wife accepts she belongs in my lap.

-

The apartment was quiet except for the rain tapping softly against the windows.

Sevika sat sprawled on the couch, one foot on the floor, the other propped lazily on the table. One arm rested around your waist while you lay curled against her chest beneath a blanket, face buried against her shirt.

Her fingers moved slowly over your side.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

You’d barely moved for almost an hour.

“You alive down there?” she rumbled quietly.

A miserable groan answered her.

“Mm. Tragic.”

You weakly shoved at her stomach without lifting your head. “Don’t be mean to me. I’m dying.”

Sevika snorted softly, though her hand immediately slid lower, rubbing gentle circles over your abdomen.

“You said that three hours ago.”

“Because I’ve been dying for three hours.”

“Poor baby.”

Another cramp twisted through you, sharp enough to make you tense.

Instantly, her grip tightened.

“Another cramp?” she asked, voice lower now.

You nodded against her chest.

Sevika clicked her tongue under her breath. “C’mere.”

Before you could even process what she meant, she shifted, tugging you fully into her lap. Her warm hand spread across your stomach while the cooler metal fingers of her prosthetic brushed lightly along your spine.

The temperature contrast made you sigh.

“Better?”

“A little.”

“Little’s enough for now.”

You melted further against her, exhausted and sore and emotional in that horrible fragile way periods always made you feel.

“I hate this,” you muttered quietly.

“I know.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Yeah.”

“My body’s evil.”

That made Sevika finally tilt her head down toward you.

“Hey.” Her voice softened immediately. “Don’t start talking about yourself like that.”

You shrugged weakly, blinking hard against the sudden sting behind your eyes. “I just feel gross.”

Sevika stared at you for a moment like the statement personally offended her.

Then she leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead.

“You’re my favorite thing in the world,” she murmured. “Little blood isn’t changing that.”

Your throat tightened embarrassingly fast.

Which, of course, made Sevika notice immediately.

“Oh, don’t you dare cry.”

“I’m not-“ Your voice cracked horribly.

She sighed the deepest sigh imaginable, already pulling you closer.

“Alright, alright. C’mere, sweetheart.”

You buried your face against her neck with a pathetic little sound.

Sevika held you without hesitation, large hand smoothing slowly up and down your back while rain filled the silence around you.

After a long moment, she muttered against your hair:

Sevika was grumpy long before she admitted anything was wrong.

Not angry exactly, just… sharp around the edges. Spicy. She huffed when her cigarette wouldn’t light properly, glared at anyone who spoke too loudly in the bar, and spent the entire walk home muttering under her breath about how everyone in Zaun was apparently born without the ability to walk in a straight line.

You knew something was off the second she got through the door.

Usually she’d peel off her coat, toss it somewhere inconvenient, then immediately busy herself with something. A drink. A smoke. Cleaning her prosthetic. Anything.

Tonight, she just stood there.

Then she looked at you with the most exhausted expression you’d ever seen on her face.

“C’mere.”

You blinked. “That bad?”

“Mm.” She held one arm out toward you impatiently. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You barely had time to laugh before she was pulling you against her, burying her face into your shoulder with a long groan.

“Oh, honey,” you said softly, instantly understanding. “Period?”

“Unfortunately.”

Her voice sounded muffled against your shirt. You felt her slump more of her weight onto you dramatically.

“Everything hurts,” she complained. “My back hurts, my stomach hurts, my head hurts. My tits hurt.” She paused. “Existing hurts.”

You snorted quietly, rubbing your hand up and down her back. “Poor baby.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You literally walked in here and collapsed onto me.”

“I did not collapse.”

“You absolutely collapsed.”

Sevika grumbled something unintelligible, but she made no effort to move away. If anything, she clung tighter.

That was the thing about her. Most people only saw the intimidating parts. The hard stare, the muscle, the temper.

But when she was with you, all those walls disappeared. Especially when she wasn’t feeling her best.

Suddenly she wanted your hands on her constantly.

She wanted your attention every second.

Wanted to be held like she’d melt apart otherwise.

By the time you got her settled on the couch, she was practically glued to your side, one leg thrown over yours while her head rested heavily in your lap.

“You need anything?” you asked, brushing your fingers through her hair.

“You.”

“I’m already here.”

“Closer.”

You laughed softly. “Sevika, there physically cannot be less space between us right now.”

“Figure it out.”

Despite her words, her eyes were already drifting shut while you played with her hair. Her face had softened completely, all the tension slowly leaving her body beneath your touch.

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She made a quiet noise and immediately reached for you again when you tried to pull away.

“Hey,” you murmured. “I was just kissing you.”

“Do it again.”

There was no attitude in it now. Just sleepy neediness.

Your heart practically melted.

So you kissed her forehead again. Then the corner of her mouth. Then her cheek until she finally cracked the tiniest smile.

“There she is,” you teased gently.

“Don’t start.”

“You’re cute when you’re clingy.”

Her eyes narrowed immediately. “I’m not clingy.”

The way her arms tightened around your waist the second you shifted said otherwise.

You raised an eyebrow.

“…Shut up.”

You grinned, leaning down to kiss her properly this time.

Sevika sighed into it like it relieved something aching inside her.

“Stay with me?” she asked quietly once you pulled back.

The softness in her voice caught you off guard. Sevika rarely asked for things so openly.

You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear gently. “Always.”

That seemed to ease something in her immediately.

A few minutes later, after you’d gotten a heating pad settled against her stomach and convinced her to drink some water, she ended up half sprawled across your chest in bed, utterly refusing to let go of you.

Every time you shifted even slightly, her arm tightened.

“You trying to fuse us together or something?” you mumbled affectionately, pressing a kiss to her head.

“Maybe.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

You smiled into her hair, wrapping your arms around her properly as she melted against you with a tired sigh.

The apartment was dead quiet when Sevika got home.

…Suspiciously quiet.

Usually you were humming somewhere, talking to yourself in another room, or bothering her before she’d even gotten one boot off. Tonight there was nothing.

Sevika narrowed her eyes immediately.

“Alright,” she called, dropping her keys onto the counter. “What’d you break?”

A muffled snort came from the kitchen.

There you were.

Bent over the counter in one of her oversized shirts, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter while staring at something in your hands.

Sevika sighed the second she saw that look on your face.

“No.”

You looked up innocently. “No what?”

“That face means you’re about to annoy me.”

“Wow.” You pressed a hand to your chest dramatically. “What a horrible thing to say to your loving wife.”

“My loving wife glued googly eyes to the toaster last week.”

You burst into loud, delighted laughter. “You noticed!”

“How could I not notice? It’s staring at me.”

You grinned at her so brightly it almost hurt to look at.

Almost.

Sevika tried very hard to stay unimpressed as she stepped closer, shrugging off her coat. “So what’s the problem now?”

Without a word, you held up her metal arm.

She hadn’t worn it today. Her shoulder had been aching since yesterday’s shift, and one of the joints in the prosthetic was sticking badly anyway. So she’d finally given in to your nagging after you saw how much pain she was in and left it home for once.

Which apparently had been a terrible mistake, because now there was a tiny paper cowboy hat taped to two of the fingers.

Sevika stared.

Then stared harder.

“…Is that a cowboy hat?”

“It’s a robot cowboy hat, actually.”

“You made my arm a sheriff?”

“No.” You fought another laugh. “Your arm made itself sheriff. I’m just respecting its dreams.”

A long silence.

Sevika pinched the bridge of her nose.

You completely lost it.

Not little giggles either. Full body laughter. The kind where you nearly collapsed against the counter because you found yourself way too funny.

And there it was.

That sound.

Warm. Bright. Infectious.

Sevika felt her mouth twitch before she could stop it.

Your eyes widened immediately. “Oh my god, was that a smile?”

“Don’t start.”

“You smiled at Sheriff Clank!”

“I did not.”

“You LOVE Sheriff Clank!”

Sevika grabbed you around the waist before you could escape, hauling you against her chest while you shrieked with laughter.

“You are unbelievably annoying,” she muttered into your hair.

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“You looove me.”

“I fear I do.”

You tipped your head back to grin at her. Soft. Sunny. Completely ridiculous.

Everything in Sevika’s life had once been sharp corners and survival. Long days. Longer nights. Violence. Stress. People trying to take from her faster than she could hold onto anything good.

Then you stumbled into her life like living sunlight.

Now her apartment had terrible jokes written on sticky notes.

Now there were doodles and love letters hidden in her paperwork.

Now she came home to someone dancing terribly in the kitchen while making tea.

Someone who climbed into her lap during meetings just to whisper nonsense in her ear.

Someone who once spent an entire afternoon trying to teach her how to “properly” fake faint for dramatic effect.

Someone who could pull exhausted laughter out of her even on the worst days.

Sevika would never admit how much she needed that.

You squinted at her suddenly. “You look like you’re thinking emotionally again.”

“I’m gonna throw you out the window.”

“You’d miss me.”

A beat.

“…Yeah,” Sevika said quietly.

Your expression softened instantly.

Then, because you physically could not remain serious for more than twelve seconds, you gently grabbed her metal hand and made it wave.

“Sheriff Clank would miss me too.”

Sevika barked out an ugly laugh before she could stop herself.

You froze in triumph.

“Oh, that was a REAL laugh.”

“Don’t make this worse.”

You knew Aizawa’s favorite dish was beef stew on his most stressful days. And these past two months were nothing short of purgatory for him.

Purgatory being the overwhelming pile of duty and responsibility dumped on him with every coming week. Every day would bring forth more training than the last, straining his quirk with the intention to raise the next generation to prove better than the previous.

In short, he's worn out. A dry, wrung out towel left to lie outside.

To make matters worse, he hadn’t seen you, the woman he holds higher than himself, in eons. Of course, he makes arrangements to see you that loophole the UA dorm policy, and he makes sure to fill you in on daily events.

But it just wasn’t enough. Not for him.

“ ‘M home, sweetheart.”

Aizawa drags himself through the front door of yours and his shared home, hooking his key onto the holster as he eyes you in the kitchen.

His shoulders immediately release tension as the scent of layered seasoning waft his nostrils. Aizawa constantly insists you don’t have to do something so sweet and ambitious, yet you act on your own accord.

And he can't help but run his tongue over his teeth in restraint. You look perfect, even from the back. Wrong, especially from the back.

“ Shou’. ” Your nickname for him leaves your lips wrapped in affection. Angling your head over your shoulder to greet him with a sweet smile as your not exactly able to leave the stove.

“I didn’t think the bags under your eyes could get anymore full,” you giggle as you read his exhausted body. Slouched shoulders, heavy eyes and untamed locks.

He pokes his lower lip out. Real funny.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up,” he huffs, unraveling his capture scarf and hanging it beside his key. Rounding the kitchen island and perching his chin over your shoulder—nose nudging into the crook of your neck as his crimson eyes watch you do your magic. “Here I am looking forward to seeing you and the first thing you do is insult me.”

"You know I’m playing with you,” you huff, plating a hefty amount of mixed beef stew and rice. He quietly thanks you. “I even think it’s a look on you.”

“Sometimes I think you pray for my demise.” He speaks into your neck.

“You'll never know.”

His lips purse to add a few, lazy kisses to the side of your smooth neck. Enjoying the scent of cocoa scented lotion he finds there. Aizawa was a man who appreciates the minor details—something as little as a small accessory or even a change in body wash never went unnoticed.

You crane your neck to kiss above his brow, in response he lets out a low purr and takes his plate.

“ ‘M not as exhausted as I was for the past week,” he starts, taking a small trek to the dining room table. “I can actually spend a little time with you, t’night.”

You crack a smile when he makes that revelation. The octave in his voice made it obvious he’s looking forward to spending his crumbs of free time with you. You don’t respond until after you set the lid onto the pot of beef stew.

“You being here is enough to make me feel good," You remark. “Asleep or awake.”

Aizawa then takes his first bite of food to mask how much your words really tug his heart strings.

"Well," He speaks between bites. "I still have to teach tomorrow. I hope it's fine that I just spend a few hours with you in the house."

You hum. "I don't expect you to drag yourself around the city to go to a fancy restaurant with me."

"I know. Just wish I could provide a little m—"

"You’re doing enough, Shou’. I promise."

He blinks, chewing around a mouthful of food as he meets your winsome eyes with his own.

His middle finger idly taps on the metal chopsticks he was using. A tiny tick you noticed he had when he was saying less than he was thinking.

Not only that, but his lower lip slightly poked out. He's frustrated.

"Just saying." He murmurs. Sinking his teeth into a new bite. "I don't want to give you false hope. Though I wish I had some scraps of time every now and then to just ... be here."

You give him a forgiving smile.

"Sometimes I hope you have a little time for me. But I understand you're training a generation of heroes and saving lives." Your lips meet his cheek. "How could my pretty husband get any more badass, huh?"

Aizawa was always thankful you understood his circumstances. You're bold, but you're also perceptive.

One of the billion things he adores about you.

“I promise. One day I’ll take us somewhere. Maybe a different country.”

He angles his face so his nose grazes against yours. You could feel his breath fanning over your lips as he remains unmoving. The tension in the air thickened to the point where it was physical as cotton candy. You smile and nudge your nose against his.

Oh Aizawa loves you so fucking much.

Moments like these are rare, where he just gets to enjoy you.

His eyes flutter shut for a moment, dismissing his food as he gravitates toward your jaw—closing his lips into the space between your chin and neck. You hum and angle your head upward, allowing him more workspace. He nips a small love bite into your skin before kissing over it. Then he leans in for your lips.

You withdraw. Aizawa pauses to search your face. Wondering if he’d done something wrong.

"Finish eating, M'kay?" You run along his inky locks with a few fingers. If he kept doting on you like this, the food would go cold. "Then join me on the couch. I’ll make you feel extra comfortable.”

Aizawa snorts, pecking the inside of your palm.

“You spoil me entirely too much," He murmurs. You snicker at his words instead of denying them. No use, he and you both knew it was true.

You spend the next few minutes setting the living space for Aizawa and you. His favorite pastime activity was lounging around the house, specifically, lounging on you.

The man in question palms his hands onto paper towel after washing and drying the dishes in the sink. It was only fair he did after you went through the trouble cooking.

He’s real uptight with the lack of time he's able to spend with you, especially now that UA enforced the dorm policy. It was on rare nights like this he could organize some short hours to spend with you.

He huffs, ruby eyes drifting over to the open door that leads to the living room.

You're so perfect, and here he is. Managing brief interactions with you. The house is basically yours at this point, and he's just a frequent visitor. Aizawa knows the importance of all he does, yet some nights he still wishes that somehow, he could have you at his hip. Childish, non-logical wishes he’d scold himself for if he wasn’t in love.

But fuck it. He has you tonight. You have him tonight.

He’d be damned if he let an inconvenience get the best of tonight.

Running his blunt nails through his hair, he turns off the kitchen light and stalks off to the living room.

“I really appreciate your work in the kitchen. You know you don’t have t—”

Before he could even pass the doorframe, he pauses.

There you sit.

Quietly filing your nails with your knees against your chest. Pouty lips pursed with the effort of sculpting your nails to be the shape you desire. But what really stole his breath were the pajamas you’re sporting.

You look like a forbidden fruit. Dipped in honey and dangling above his eyes after years of being starved. Wrapped in a tiny, black cami and the smallest black shorts that hug the plushy soft of your thighs. He must’ve been staring for too long, because when his eyes finally snap back to yours, you’re staring right back at him. Amused.

"Didn't think your definition of a relaxing night was spectating, Shou’." You huff a laugh, settling the nail file on the coffee table once his feet finally enter the room.

He offers you a tranquil smile as he lifts his shirt over his skull, “That so bad? That I wanna appreciate my gorgeous, smart, adoring wife?” He questions, tossing his top over the armrest of the couch. Baring his stout body to your curious eyes.

Shrugging, you open your arms. A quiet invitation.

"You can appreciate me physically."

A smile pulls at the corner of his lips. He'd be a damn liar if he said he wasn't looking forward to this. To you.

The cushions dip and Aizawa crawls over your body with the grace of a feline. Not predatory. Worshipful was best fit.

A hushed sigh slips from your husband’s lips as he rests the side of his cheek over your breast, fluttering his crimson eyes shut as tension decays from his muscles. Not wasting a moment, you glide your fingers over his inky locks, fondness swirling through your body when he twitches and lets out a satisfied sigh.

Then a noise rumbles throughout his body.

A low purr. He can’t count the days he’d been looking forward to this. To you.

He nuzzles further into your cleavage. “I just want to enjoy you. Haven’t gotten a moment like this with you in two months, sweetheart.”

Your head dips, planting a chaste kiss to his forehead as the vibrations from his body travel over to yours. He lifts his head with dialated pupils. “I need to know. How have you been,” he shifts, completely dwarfing your body with his own. “With me being absent, and all.”

You hum. The purr his body emits tells you he was vulnerable. Naked. Happy.

“Well.” You start, mirroring his softened eyes. “For one, I got my nails done.”

You bring the sleek of your palm to his face. Aizawa’s crimson gaze flit accross the pink shade with curious, but satisfied eyes.

“Cute. You always did love pink.” He murmurs. Nose bumping against the tip of your nail before he pokes a small kiss to it.

“Anything else?”

You run your nail over his lower lip as a new memory teeters over your tongue.

“I’ve gone out a few times, went to a few … clubs.” You admit. But Aizawa wasn’t the type of man to lack trust in a partner. Especially you.

“A few clubs eh?” He grumbles, peppering more kisses over your neck and up the underside of your jaw. His locks tickling your skin.

“Could’ve sent me a few photos. You know how amazing you look when you doll yourself up.”

“Do I not always look amazing?”

“Don’t start.” Aizawa leans in, his lips closing over yours. You relax immediately, tongue slipping over his own as he shifts himself to sit onto his haunches. Eventually hovering over your upper thighs.

You watch your husband dip beneath your jaw and peck at your collar bone. His messy locks grazing against your skin while he explores the routes he’d left untouched for so long.

“I can’t say it enough, but…” you giggle under your breath as his ear tickles your neck. “I really missed you. Even when I’m proud of all you do I…”

He blinks slow, like a cat expressing affection. Idly biting the inside of his cheek, he waits for you to finish.

“I just wish I you could fall asleep beside me every night. Like, before those dorms were policy.” You breathe. Finally pushing out that quiet burden you never bared to the surface.

Aizawa blinks, digesting your vulnerable words.

Finally, his hand slips aginst the pillow, and cups your soft cheek. His thumb stroking tiny circles into your skin.

“I knew you were keeping in more than what you were telling me.” He murmurs. Watching your face soften into a tiny smile.

He offers a broken smirk of his own.

Then, his free hand glides over your stomach. Down your shorts, and hovers over your crotch. With two fingers, he gently pats over your clothed crotch.

“How’s she been without me, huh?”

Your thigh jumps. You hadn’t been touched by Aizawa in so long, it nearly felt foreign.

Your head shakes with honesty. “Dry.”

Aizawa snorts. A bittersweet response on his end. He didn’t want to leave you with an itch inside you that he could only scratch.

He quietly hooks his fingers onto the elastic of your pajama shorts, poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek.

“You don’t have to…” you start, sensing uncertainty.

“I want to, sweetheart. How long as this pussy gone uneaten?”

He’s serious. You feel the subtle twitch in his pants as his lower half rests against yours. And the look in his eye made it clear he wouldn’t reevaluate his decision.

You scout his expression a while longer before silently nodding. Anticipation boiling beneath your skin.

Aizawa hums. Prying your shorts down your knees and off your ankles with gentle precision.

Pink panties. A classic.

He doesn’t waste another second wafting his thumb over the line of your puffy lips. Softly prodding through the top and grazing the clothed hood of your clit. You bite your lip as electricity sparks your stomach.

“See? You don’t even remember my touch.” He murmurs in thought.

You can’t help the way your thigh instinctively parts when he starts to map your inner lips through the cotton fabric. Eventually, his head sits between your thighs as he shuffles down the couch. It was long enough to fit both his and your bodies (bless Aizawa’s double income).

He hums, placing an unchaste kiss over your inner thigh, eyeing up your reactions as he scatters your skin with affection.

“You’d better make up for lost time,” you huff with sportive undertone. He cracks a smile against your thigh when your fingers dip into his mussed hair.

“I’ve never failed to make you come before. Don’t underestimate my skills.”

His tongue laps over the fabric of the panties—a test. Then he begins to eat you through the garment.

You let out a quiet moan, Aizawa uses his fingers to keep your thighs parted. Watching his spit and your moisture soil your own panties with satisfaction. The outline of you looked delicious under the light, he felt himself twitch in his pants.

“Can I see?”

“Mhm.”

He pries the panties aside. Enjoying the sight of your pussy, gone too long without his touch.

“There it is. My stress reliever.” He swipes his tongue from the rim of your hole, up to the hood of your clit. Bare, naked. Listening to your happy moans, he finally puts his versatile fingers to use and uses his thumb to softly circle the bud that rests snugly above your slit. Then he leans in and wedges his tongue inside.

God, he missed this pussy.

Missed it so much he couldn’t help the grunt that escapes him when he properly tastes you.

“Oh my… god,” you breathe, listening to the wet noise of Aizawa gently munching on you. He’s not usually a messy eater… but he misses his wife. And when he misses his wife, he atones for his absence

Even if it was something intimate and small, like performing oral on you.

“Wan’ me to fuck you with my fingers?” he questions, voice muffled with the effort of tonguing your gummy walls.

“Mhm, please,” you whine, thighs squirming under the firm grip of his free hand. “Fuck me ‘Zawa—mm, no, I need your cock.”

“Not until you squirt on my tongue.”

His response is rhetorical. Your pleasure comes first. A silent rule he engraved into the relationship even when it was first starting its embers.

With hazed eyes, you peek down at him. He spans his big palms over both your inner thighs to spread them further, then he inserts two fingers. Your face twists in pleasure, he prods around until he finds that spongey weak spot, exploiting it until you’re crying out.

Crimson eyes watch you writhe as Aizawa pleasures your gorgeous cunt. Your face and the way your body twists steal his breath so easily, he could marry you 80 times over and still not tire of it.

His fingers exit you with a quiet ' pop! ' While you protest at the loss, he settles on his haunches. His heavy bulge visible as he twirls his finger in gesture.

"Hands and knees. Wanna make all of you feel good."

Rolling onto your stomach, you mange a breathy giggle. "You greedy man."

"Starved. Now show me that cunt, pretty."

You don't even get the chance to breathe. The second you raise the fat of your ass, Aizawa uses his big hands to grab each cheek and drag you back to his insatiable tongue.

His nails mark crescent moons into your skin with his tight grip, Aizawa sloppily grinds his tongue from the tight ring of your ass back down to your eager lips. He murmurs a low 'so fucking good,' that goes unnoticed when you moan over him. Your back arches beautifully, and that's how Aizawa knows your nearing the end.

"Missed you... s’much." You sob, squealing at the feeling of him jamming two fingers through your slit rapidly.

Your slur makes his grip ease. You're so sweet, even like this.

“I know, sweetheart. Let me make you come,” caressing the globe of your ass with a hand, he makes a silent note to himself that you were upset about your time apart.

His tongue darts out to his soiled chin while he angles his fingers, a wet ‘squelch!’ ‘squelch!’ ‘squelch!’ Bouncing accross the walls in the living area as your thighs start to tremble. His nose grazes against one of your cheeks, planting a soft kiss to the soft fat as he focuses on coaxing a mind numbing orgasm from your body.

You don’t even get to warn him. Your brand new nails claw at the arm rest of the couch as you spiral off the edge. You spray, layering his forearm and chest with fluid as you squirm and shudder under the pressure of an amazing orgasm. Something Shouta knew how to expertly pull out of you.

“There you go… so fucking pretty.” Aizawa coos, hushing your whines with strokes along your spine and low praise. His teeth lightly bite into his lower lip as he watches the aftermath; soft panting, the sight of your soaked thighs and the tiny smile you were hiding in your forearm. It all made for a sickly sweet meal that had him pulling you into his arms, smothering the side of your face with apologetic kisses.

“Too rash? Can you do another round sweetheart?” Aizawa questions while you rest against his scarred chest. His hair tickles your shoulders as he leans down and kisses your temple.

Craning your face up to meet eyes, you offer a serene smile. One that he considers therapeutic.

“I said I wanted your dick, didn’t I?” You flutter the daint lashes that flourish your eyes, strength flowing back to your legs. He couldn’t be anymore proud — squirting and then pleading for dick. What a sweet girl he has. No—you have him stretched and skewered around your finger.

Giving you a moment to breathe, he gathers your limp body into his arms and stands without haste. Carrying the both of you over the the bedroom.

“You are insatiable, you know that?”

“You corrupted me.”

His hooded gaze doesn’t stray from yours as he nudges the bedroom door open with a foot, settling you onto the mattress.

There’s something placid about the moment. You voicelessly study his body; the newfound scars that cloak him, his growing stubble and the undeniable lust in his vision.

He shakes his head ever so slightly, because yeah. He fucking wishes he'd get this every night. The banter, the touching, the silent intimacy — what he wouldn't give to have you content like this. Aizawa splays your knees outward to have a non-obscured view of that perfect pussy. Moon kissed with the light that darts through the window and glistening with your past orgasm.

Fuck.

He could eat you out all night, if he really wanted to. But if you wanted dick, dick is what your husband would give you.

"Condom?" He asks, withdrawing his hands to shed his jeans until they pool at his ankles.

You glimpse over your knee and look at him incredulously. You always insist that you're on the pill, yet he's always preaching about responsibility. He snorts to himself.

"Alright, then.."

After fishing his cock out his boxers, he drags the heavy, warm weight along your cunt. Quietly observing the way you squeeze around nothing.

"Shou'..." You whine when he drags out your anticipation.

He hums, having half a mind to make you gag on his middle and ring finger. He wants to be tender tonight, to make love to his wife.

So, he continues to guide his tip along your slit until it catches on your opening — then he slowly guides himself in until you swallow his bulbous tip. You shudder at the familiar feeling, going so long without it that it felt foreign. He soundlessly observes your expression before he pushes more of himself in.

Eventually, the back of your thighs meet the pubic follicles on his pelvis. Aizawa mutters a tiny ‘ fuck ’ as you take him so snugly into your pussy.

He hadn’t even begun moving, and you’re already cock drunk. Your knees on either sides of your ears as Aizawa folds you into a deeep mating press.

“I—shit, Shou’. Please.” You whine. You don’t know what you’re pleading for, but you hope he delivers.

With Aizawa’s locks hanging into your face, he slowly grinds his hips up into yours. You’re mewling, unable to tell one feeling from another as he mutes you with a kiss.

This position forces your knees further against your shoulders — challenging your flexibility as he drove deeper into your body.

“You always take it so—fucking—good,” he accentuates his words with 3 hard thrusts, making you whine and claw for a grip on something. Eventually finding purchase on his back.

He’s grunting, now. Drilling into your poor, overstimulated cunt with calculated thrusts. To stabilize his body, he grips a fist onto the headboard. And fucks you into the sheets. His chest swells with pride when you cry out in ecstasy.

“My sweet girl. Gorgeous fucking wife,” he mumbles a barely coherent string of compliments.

He falters, pressing a large hand on your lower belly. He knows it’s a hard hitter for you, and he never forgets to do it when you’re fucked dumb.

And how right he is, when your orgasm gets swept from beneath your feet. Aizawa curses, sheathing himself balls deep and slowly spilling his seed into your womb. You mewl out a long stream of ‘ thank you ’’s while you milk his cock for all it’s worth.

He's absolutely hypnotized as he comes down from his high. Studying the way his semen beads down to your ass and forms a white ring where you're both connected. He's convinced, right in that moment, you have him under a spell.

He hunches over your body, gently coaxing your legs to fall back into place. Placing lazy pecks to your skin as you settle back into reality.

“You okay?” He questions, pawing at your waist to guide you into his chest. You nod in response, too fucked out to use your tongue for literacy.

Your hands absently trace the muscle of his shoulders as you hold each other, his pale skin stained with red lines caused by your nails.

“I lied.”

You lift your head in curiosity. He's already looking at you.

“This is one of UA’s break weekends. I’ll be back for 4 days.”

You smile, twirling a lock of his black hair between your fingers.

"I knew that."