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Shōta wakes with a jolt.

Eyes snapping open and heart pounding, he curls himself over Izumi’s body, tucking her beneath him as much as possible as his quirk flares and he scans the room for threats.

It takes him a second for the rest of his brain, the part not focused on protecting his beloved, to really come back online.

When it does, Shōta realizes two things in quick succession.

One, his cock is hard and aching again where it’s pressed between Izumi’s deliciously thick thighs.  Hunched over her as he is, Shōta’s hips roll without him really meaning to.  He loses himself to the feel of fucking his cock between her thighs for a moment, groaning just a bit at the way she’s still wet, practically dripping really, from all of the times and ways Shōta had loved her the night before.

“So perfect,” Shōta can’t help but whisper, pressing a kiss against her temple as he ruts against her.

Two, the thing that had woken him up, that had snapped him out of the best sleep he’s had in years and directly into protect mode, was his phone.

Shōta freezes when his alert tone chimes again, a particular mix of irritation and dread finally breaking through the haze of hunger and devotion that Izumi evokes in him.

Because that particular chime?

That’s his five-minute warning.

Shōta realizes then that the room is lighter than it should be, the sun already well on its way to rising.

He’s stayed with Izumi for far longer than he’d intended, had even managed to fall asleep curled up around her like he had been dreaming of since their relationship began.

Which is something Shōta will never be able to bring himself to regret.

It’s just…

With no high-priority missions on his docket that require complete radio silence, Shōta is, just like Hizashi, required to regularly check in via the app Nedzu had created for them.

But Shōta had been so caught up in their lovemaking, so lost in Izumi’s body and the high of finally being with her, that he’d forgotten to check in earlier.

Which means he has five minutes to do so before the privacy restrictions on his bio-monitor are completely unlocked and Nedzu is alerted.

If that happens, then Nedzu will track his position and will undoubtedly alert Nemuri.

Which is … less than ideal.

Shōta isn’t ashamed of having spent the night with Izumi, of course.  They’d taken their relationship to the next level and every single moment of it had been sheer bliss.

But he also knows that Nemuri will be less than pleased if she hunts him down and finds him in Izumi’s apartment, having so obviously failed at following the rules.

Shōta would rather his and Izumi’s relationship not have the added stress of Nemuri’s displeasure with him and any punishment games Nedzu might dole out hanging over it so early on.

Plus, if the sun is already coming up, then that means Shōta doesn’t have a lot of time left before he has to be at UA.

Still, despite knowing he shouldn’t, Shōta hesitates for a few moments longer, stays wrapped around Izumi, hips rocking against the swell of her ass, before he forces himself to move.

“It’s all your fault,” Shōta tells Izumi as he presses one final kiss to the curve of her neck and then carefully unwraps himself from around her.  “If you were less perfect, I’d be able to control myself better.”

He slides off the mattress, leaving Izumi curled up adorably on her side as he goes.

He’s quick to retrieve his phone from his jumpsuit and to thumb away the alarm before tapping open the monitoring app and checking in, clicking one of the helpful preset boxes Nedzu had coded into the thing.

With the Was Sleeping box firmly checked on the app, Shōta bites back another groan at the sight of the actual time.

He has an even smaller window to get cleaned up and get to UA than he’d thought.

Shōta had planned to spend some more time with Izumi before leaving, had hoped to time things just right so that he could have her again just as somnambulist was beginning to wear thin around the edges. When she’d be hovering just beneath its cloud, and every kiss, touch, and thrust he gave her would imprint itself into her sleep-heavy mind like a dream.

A treat of sorts to help hold them both over until things are arranged and Izumi is able to take her proper place in his life.

But there’s no time for any of that now.

Izumi is addictive.

If Shōta tries to have her again right now, if he pushes himself back inside of her like every molecule of his being longs to, there’s no way he’ll be able to stop himself from taking more and more.  No way he’ll be able to pull himself off of and away from her in any reasonable amount of time.

The previous night had proved that well enough.

He’ll end up not showing up to UA at all.

And while taking a day off from teaching hardheaded hellions so he can instead spend time focusing on Izumi sounds downright heavenly, Shōta knows it is still too soon.

It would raise too many red flags in all of the most inconvenient places.

Besides, he has things he needs to accomplish today.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Shōta murmurs to Izumi as he pulls his jumpsuit back on, ignoring his still hard cock even as one hand automatically pats at the panties he’d shoved into his pocket the night before.  “But I have to go.”

Shōta moves to grab his discarded equipment, but he hesitates, pauses just short of the side table with his hand hovering over his goggles and capture scarf.

Leaving as soon as possible is the right choice, for him and for their future together.

But …

What kind of partner would he be if he left his beloved sleeping and didn’t even kiss her goodbye?

“Just a quick goodbye kiss,” Shōta reassures himself as he moves to kneel on the mattress again, hands careful as he turns her hips just a bit so that the curve of her ass is sticking out further.

Shōta stares down at the temptation that is Izumi’s pussy.  Her cunt is all puffy and obviously well used, her thighs are still wet, and a small trickle of his cum is sliding from her even as Shōta looks.

“Perfect,” He praises, leaning down to swipe his tongue through the mess, eyes fluttering closed a bit at the taste.

Salt and musk, a delicious blend of their cum.

Shōta presses in deeper, tongue fucking Izumi’s cunt as best he can as he eats their cum out of her.

Above him, Izumi moans, hips shifting and thighs trembling as she pushes herself back onto his tongue.

Even after the night they’d had together and even still asleep, she’s such a good girl for him. 

Again, Shōta gives deep and considerable thought to staying, to saying fuck it to the rest of his day and spending it right here where he actually wants to be.

Where he belongs.

Between Izumi’s thighs.

Pulling away from her is torture, but he does it, tongue chasing the wetness she’s left smeared around his mouth and chin.

At least now he gets to have her lingering on the back of his tongue for a while longer.

“I’ll be back for you,” Shōta presses a kiss against the swell of Izumi’s ass before finally straightening up.  “I promise.”

He takes a moment to tug the sheets up off the floor where he’d kicked them the night before so he can spread them out over her body.  He doesn’t want her to be cold without him.

Then, with one last look, Shōta forces himself to turn and head out the window.

His heart aches at having to leave her again, but Shōta knows it’s for the best.

He’ll be back with her soon.

~~~

Heart pounding and body aching, Izumi watches Shōta leave through her window, careful to keep her eyes mostly closed in case he looks back again.

She’d lain there watching him for so long when she’d first woken up, arousal sparking to life inside of her and then growing hotter and brighter by the second, that she’d been so close to just rolling him over and riding him awake.

The thought of that, of the look in Shōta’s eyes if he woke up to her on top of him, riding his cock and chasing her own pleasure, has Izumi shifting beneath the sheets he’d so sweetly covered her with.

Has her thighs pressing and rubbing together as the fantasy compounds with the ache in her body and the fresh memory of him tongue fucking her cunt.

Izumi rolls over onto her back, her hands drifting over her body and the absolute mess Shōta had made of her.

She’d been so close to having him again, but then his phone had chimed and that plan had gone directly out the window.

Because Shōta had moved in the next second, tucking her beneath his body protectively as he’d come up out of a dead sleep with a snarl.

She had barely had time to slam her eyes closed before he could realize she was awake.

Izumi lets out a hiss as she pinches at her already sore nipples, the sight pain just making her hotter.

Because Shōta had done that to her, had obviously pinched and pulled, had bitten and sucked at her nipples so much while she’d been out that her breasts ache just like her hips and pussy do.

The way he’d instinctively moved to protect her?  The way he’d curled himself above and around her?

The way she’d been his very first thought when he’d been jolted awake?

The way he’d kissed her cunt, tongue pressing deep into the mess he’d left her in like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted, before he’d finally pulled back to leave?

“Shōta,” Izumi can’t help but moan out his name as her other hand slides down between her wet and messy thighs to pinch and rub at her throbbing clit.

He had called her perfect and had obviously wanted to stay.

Izumi stuffs two fingers deep into her cunt, groaning and adding a third when it’s just not enough, when they don’t stretch her out the way she’s sure that Shōta’s fingers and cock had.  The way that she’s already so desperate to experience in the moment, instead of just the deliciously aching aftermath of it all.

Sensitive as she’s always been and as worked up as Shōta had left her, it doesn’t take Izumi long to get herself off, fucking herself with her own fingers so fast and deep that her wrist aches.

She cums with a strangled moan, body going limp against her mattress as she shakes just a bit from the aftershocks.

Izumi lies there for a while, absently licking the mess from her fingers, a part of her mourning the fact that he’d beaten her to it, as her mind click, click, clicks away.

When she woke up earlier, Izumi had thought she would be able to be patient, would be able to sit back and allow Shōta to overcome his shyness on his own.

He had been the one who had initiated their courtship after all, had been the one to approach her despite being so obviously shy, so Izumi had been content to let things progress at his pace.

But now?

After what Shōta had shown himself capable of last night and this morning?

Izumi’s not so sure she’s going to be able to keep toeing that particular line.

Izumi wants.

Wants with a kind of aching need that she has never felt before.

But what’s more is that it seems as if someone not only wants her back but might actually be able to understand, endure, and even match the intensity with which Izumi tends to love.

The only one who has ever come close to that kind of match with her is Nedzu-sensei, but their relationship has always been one of a more familial sort.

Izumi would be a fool to risk losing what she’s found with Shōta through inaction.

Besides, Nedzu-sensei has been telling her for years that when she wants something, really and truly yearns for it, then she needs to stop hesitating, needs to step up and take it for herself.

Mind made up, Izumi moves to get out of bed, unable to tamp down the giddy sort of grin that blossoms across her face when her legs tremble and threaten to buckle beneath her when she tries to stand.

She has a lot to get done today, a number of bridges to burn and wheels to set in motion.

But before that, she desperately needs a shower.

It’s just a pity that Shōta isn’t here to enjoy it with her.

~~~

A luxurious hour later, after Izumi has not only taken her shower, but also taken the time to fully moisturize and pamper herself a bit, she wraps herself in a towel and heads back toward her bed.

She’s quick to strip the soiled bedding off, tossing it toward her laundry basket to deal with later, before she grabs her cell phone off the bedside table and moves to settle herself onto the edge of her sagging mattress.

Phone in hand, it doesn’t take Izumi long to officially call out of work for the day.  Quirkless or not, and no matter what the higher-ups might want to say, Izumi is still legally entitled to a certain number of personal and even vacation days per year.

And given the fact that she normally never uses them unless absolutely necessary?

Izumi has more than enough time accumulated to cover her two-week notice completely.

That handled and the necessary emails sent, Izumi logs out of the employee portal and then immediately turns her cellphone to do not disturb.  She has no interest in dealing with the chaos she’s undoubtedly just unleashed on the entire department.  Especially when they realize just how much of the workload she’s been carrying on her own these past few years. She’ll drop by to clean out her desk later, not that she keeps anything of real value in her suffocatingly small supply closet turned office, and then she’ll officially be done with the place.

There’s only one thing left for her to do before she gets dressed and heads out.

But, before Izumi can make another move, her phone rings.

She feels the way fondness immediately softens her face at the sight of the one number capable of cutting directly through her phone’s restrictions.

Of course, he already knows.  Izumi expects nothing else from him and the monitors he has on all of her data.

Izumi thumbs the answer button.

“Sensei,” Izumi greets fondly.

“My Izumi-chan,” Nedzu answers cheerfully.  “Your resignation has already gone through smoothly.  Your accumulated vacation and paid time off have also been processed properly.  You had an entire month’s worth overall, by the way, so I took the liberty of ensuring all of it would be properly credited to you.  As for your next move, rest assured that your desk will be ready and waiting for you when you are ready to begin.”

“Thank you, Sensei,” Izumi leans back on one hand, phone cradled between her ear and shoulder.  “I’d like to enjoy my month off, but then I’m sure that Calculate-senpai will be relieved to finally be allowed to leave.”

“Kazuhira-kun will surely be delighted indeed,” Nedzu agrees, his cheerful tone taking a familiar manic sort of edge.  “Which will be such a shame, as I do enjoy playing with him. Although I suppose his retirement need not stop our games in their entirety.  It is not, afterall, as if he could ever actually hide from me without my say so.”

“Sensei is so cruel,” Izumi teases.

Izumi might have to send Calculate-senpai something as a combination congratulatory/apology gift.  Something he’ll actually enjoy, like a set of mouse traps or a new collection of funeral home brochures, since ‘shopping for future real estate’ has long been one of his favorite hobbies.

“Only when necessary or amusing,” Nedzu chirps back.

“Of course, of course,” Izumi agrees.

“Now,” Nedzu continues, “while I am most pleased with your decision, I find that I am equally curious as to what has prompted your change of heart.  You were so determined to remain separate and independent despite my attempts to convince you otherwise.”

“Thank you for being so patient and supportive, Sensei,”  Izumi says.

“For you, my Izumi-chan?” Nedzu replies.  “I could be nothing less.”

“As for my change of heart,” Izumi allows herself to collapse fully back onto her bare mattress with a dreamy sort of sigh, “I’ve met someone.”

There’s a long, heavy pause.

“Have you now?”  There’s an adorable sort of violence underlining Nedzu’s tone, and Izumi hears the subtle clacking of computer keys in the background.  “Do tell.”

And so Izumi does.

~~~

Nedzu pours himself a fresh cup of tea, a refreshing ginger doctored with a positively indulgent dollop of fresh Sourwood honey, with a deliberate sort of calm.

His Izumi-chan has crossed paths with his Shōta-kun.

Finally.

Nedzu is … pleased.

Truly.

Since the moment he had first met his Izumi-chan, since he’d first realized how her glorious mind worked and how her heart carried the same sort of covetous greed as his own, he’d known just the type of individual he would one day want to see her paired off with and mated to should the subject arise.

While Nedzu has curated a short list of possible suitors for his precious Izumi-chan over the years, a list that at any given time has included names such as Takami Keigo, Kamihara Shinya, and at least two of the Todoroki sons, Aizawa Shōta has always been Nedzu’s first choice for her.

Beyond Shōta having grown up in and built his life in Nedzu’s own territory, the man’s skills, intellect, and often overlooked drive all match what Nedzu has always wanted for his Izumi-chan.

Even Shōta’s penchant for obsession played in his favor as far as Nedzu is concerned.

It simply means that Shōta will be capable of the level of devotion that Izumi-chan both requires and deserves.

Nedzu even sees Shōta’s pair bond with Hizashi as an overall net positive.  If, or when really given the personalities at play, Hizashi were to fall prey to Izumi’s many charms, then she would possess a second mate to lavish her with attention and protection.

Not that any protection beyond his own is truly necessary, of course, but it is, as Izumi often reminds him, the thought that counts.

So, overall, Nedzu considers the situation to be a firm, if long-overdue, win.

However.

That does not erase the fact that Shōta has overstepped.

Has broken rules and flouted the carefully crafted guidelines that Nedzu has set in place for him.

It does not matter that his actions had achieved an outcome that Nedzu has long hoped to see come to fruition.

If Izumi were not who she is, if she did not have the connection that they have cultivated between them, then Shōta’s actions might have gone unknown and thus unpunished for far too long.

Which is completely unacceptable.

The ends only justify the means when Nedzu says they do.

A fact that Shōta seems to need to be reminded of.

Luckily, Nedzu knows just how to make sure that reminder is not only delivered but actually sinks in.

~~~

Shōta spends his day lost in a maddening mix of impatient anticipation and relaxed contentment.

Spends it teetering between feeling well rested with the lingering traces of the bliss he’d found with Izumi softening the edges of everything else around him, and ready to claw himself open out of a need for the day to be over so he can finally return to her.

It’s only been the handful of quiet moments he’s been able to spend curled up in his sleeping bag with the fresh pair of panties he’d stolen in hand that have kept him at least mostly on track all day.

A part of Shōta knows that he’s making a mistake.  Knows that he’s skipping steps and breaking rules.

He should have reported to Nemuri and Nedzu as soon as he’d left Izumi, he knows that.

But he just can’t bring himself to care.

He doesn’t want to deal with the distance and waiting that they will undoubtedly enforce on him.  The way that they’ll force him to pull back from Izumi and do things properly by their standards.

Shōta isn’t interested in any of that right now.

Shōta just wants to get through his end-of-day meetings so he can head out and make sure he’s in place to be able to walk Izumi home like always.  Then they can spend some more quality time together.

Shōta can always report in tomorrow, or perhaps sometime next week after he and Izumi have had a bit more time to settle in together.

Either way, what Nemuri and Nedzu don’t know yet won’t hurt him.

“Yo!” Hizashi calls from behind Shōta as he heads toward the staff room.

Shōta, of course, doesn’t bother to slow down.

Instead, he just listens to the familiar sound of combat boots slamming against the tile as Hizashi picks up his pace.  Hizashi can be almost as light-footed as Shōta when he wants, but while in the safety of UA’s halls he rarely ever bothers to try.  Which helps when Shōta has to keep track of him by ear. Sure enough, it’s only a few seconds before Hizashi’s arm is clamping down across Shōta’s shoulders.

“What’s cookin’ grumpy lookin'?” Hizashi greets as he leans in to press a nipping kiss against Shōta’s cheek

Shōta just huffs, rolls his eyes, and doesn’t bother to protest.

Long, relentless years of suffering Hizashi’s bullshit has taught Shōta that it’ll do him no actual good in the long run.

Even when Hizashi’s hand slides down to fit itself over the curve of his ass, Shōta just keeps moving.  They’re on the staff hall anyway, so the chances of a student seeing Hizashi being his regular handsy self are slim to none.

Which means Shōta won’t have to break Hizashi’s wrist for groping him in public.

Again.

“What’s had your fur in such a fluff all day?” Hizashi asks as they move down the hall together.

“Nothing,” Shōta immediately replies.

Which is, of course, a lie.

But Shōta’s not interested in telling Hizashi about Izumi right now either.

Hizashi will eventually know, of course he will. But after the night they’d spent together, Shōta is even more sure that he’s not currently interested in sharing her with Hizashi.

No matter how appealing the thought of having her writhing and moaning between them as Shōta shows Hizashi just how perfectly that pretty cunt of hers gushes for him is.  A situation that Shōta knows Hizashi would turn into a competition of some sort that would leave all three of them exhausted and sore, and with the two of them probably having to carry Izumi around for a few days afterward.

It’s an attractive thought, but just not worth the extra drama it will cause if he can put it off for a while longer.

Unless or until, Shōta thinks again, Hizashi realizes she’s an actual commitment and not another disposable chew toy.

Izumi is too perfect, too precious for Hizashi to approach her with anything less than what Shōta intends to give her.  Everything.

Hizashi will have to be willing to come with the devotion that Shōta knows he is capable of in hand before Shōta entertains more than a few idle thoughts about allowing him to get even a sniff of Izumi.

Although a petty part of Shōta does find the idea of dangling Izumi just out of Hizashi’s reach to be entirely too appealing.  Watching Hizashi whine and beg and sniff after whatever scraps of attention Shōta might encourage Izumi to throw at him would be poetic justice for all of the bullshit Hizashi has put him through over the years.

Maybe he’ll bend enough to tuck a pair of Izumi’s panties somewhere for Hizashi to find in a few months after they’ve officially met, just for the pleasure of watching Hizashi run himself in circles for a while.

“I call bullshit,” Hizashi cuts back.  “You’ve been skulking around all day like you’re ready to chew your own leg off to get out of here.” Hizashi pauses. “In a worse way than normal.  Pretty sure a group of the kiddos in my last class were talking about heading to the shrine to get fresh omamori to try and ward you off.”

“Weak,” Shōta huffs.  Honestly, as second years they should have a much higher tolerance by now.  Or at least be as smart as the third years who’d taken to leaving cans of coffee and bags of salty black licorice on his desk to try and gain his favor.

Not that it works of course, but bribery is much more logical than spiritual warding.

“I’ll text you the list of names later,” Hizashi says. “You can have fun fucking with them specifically.”

Shōta grunts in agreement.

He can only imagine the level of betrayed screeching there’d be if the little hellions ever realized just how often Hizashi likes to use him as a form of petty vengeance by passing him the names of students who need a good dose of terror introduced into their day.

Hizashi has always enjoyed his reputation as a fun and approachable teacher, and the shield it provides him against deeper scrutiny.  Meanwhile, Shōta has always been perfectly fine with the student body and Vlad’s general belief that he regularly pulls double duty as a paralysis demon.

In this, as in most other areas, they have always played off of each other effectively.

“Seriously though,” Hizashi continues.  “You’ve been on edge all day.”

Hizashi pauses.

The hand he has on Shōta’s ass squeezes.

“I know what it is,” Hizashi purrs, voice going low and his tone hitting that persuasive note that, historically, has always gotten Shōta in trouble, “you need to unwind, huh?  Let loose a bit?  You’re in luck, baby.  I found a new club I’ve been meaning to try out, very discreet and the kind of high-class even you’ll like. I bet I could find us something sweet to share if you’re feeling peckish.”

“Not interested,” Shōta nips that idea in the bud.

Not only because he’s devoted to Izumi but because, again, the drama it will inevitably result in just isn’t worth it.

“Aw, come on, Shō,” Hizashi pulls Shōta to a stop, shifting them toward one of the little nooks in the hall so he can crowd Shōta back against the wall.  “It’s been too long since we’ve played together.”

“You that eager for Nemuri to put you in traction again?” Shōta asks dryly.

“Only if you’ll be in the bed next to me,” Hizashi gives a ridiculous little eyebrow wiggle.

Shōta just stares at him, one brow arched high.

A beat.

“Oh come on,” Hizashi deflates a few seconds later, slouching forward to smush his face against Shōta’s shoulder.

Shōta twists enough to pry Hizashi’s face off his shoulder and shove him back enough that he can push away from the wall and keep walking.

He’s in even less of a mood to indulge Hizashi’s dramatics than normal.  Not when he still has his end-of-day meeting to get to and then …

Izumi.

“Fine,” Hizashi huffs behind him, feet scuffing against the tile as he moves to catch back up.  “If you don’t want to go out and play, then you owe me a movie and drinks night soon.  I’ve got a few new mixes to try and a new documentary we should both like.”

“Fine,” Shōta agrees.  He’s not sure when it’ll happen, especially since he plans to devote as much of his free time to Izumi as possible, but they’ll work it out somehow.

Hizashi, the brat that he not so secretly is, darts around Shōta to reach the staff room door first so he can throw it open with a flourish.

But instead of stepping through, Hizashi freezes on the threshold.

“Uhh, Shōta?” Hizashi’s voice quivers just a bit.

“What?” Shōta pokes him in the back.

“What the fuck did you do?” Hizashi asks.

A shiver of unease crawling down his spine, Shōta shifts to look over Hizashi’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” Shōta breathes the curse out.

Hizashi, traitor that he is, ducks down and to the side, leaving Shōta fully exposed in the doorway.

“Shō-Shō,” Nemuri purrs from where she’s leaning against his desk, face curled into a beautifully vicious smile as she taps the stock of her whip against the palm of her other hand.  “Don’t be so shy, darling.  We just need to have a little chat.” 

Double fuck.

~~~

Shōta grunts as he spins to the side to dodge the next blow from Nemuri’s whip, only to come up short when she thumbs the jewel set in the whip’s stock and it hardens into its rarely seen quarter-staff form.

The metal threaded leather slams into his side with punishing force, a puff of lavender powder exploding out of the braided segments to hit him directly in the face.

It’s not a lot, Somnambulist being notoriously resistant to deposition, but the sheer power of it in such a concentrated form hits Shōta like a blow all on its own.  Even with Shōta’s slight tolerance from repeated exposures, a single breath is enough to have him staggering, head spinning, and black closing in around the edges.

“You disappoint me, Shō-Shō,” Nemuri chides, voice light in that way it only gets when she’s pissed.

Head swimming, Shōta never sees the heeled foot that slams into his side, but he sure as fuck feels the way his ribs give beneath it.

Shōta hits the ground with a grunt, automatically rolling and gaining his feet as he tries to shake the drowsiness from his system.  He can’t help the way his hands instinctively reach for his capture scarf despite knowing he won’t find it.

“Naughty boys don’t get toys, remember?” Nemuri taunts as Shōta manages to dodge her next flurry of attacks by a hair.

Nedzu had taken it before they had started, not because Nemuri couldn’t face him when he had it at hand, but as another blow to Shōta’s psyche.  Something to make him feel smaller, younger, and just a bit out of his depth.  Shōta can fight without his preferred weapon of course, prides himself on it even.  But familiarity had long since bred comfort even in him, and the absence of his most familiar weapon when facing off against Nemuri is keenly felt.

It doesn’t help that Nemuri, just like Hizashi, knows Shōta’s moves like the back of her hand.

It makes them a formidable team when the occasion calls for it, able to move with and around each other with wordless ease.  But it also makes Nemuri a nightmare to fight, especially bare-handed and with her Erasure-proof Somnambulist samples added to the equation and disrupting his own ability to read her moves in turn.

“Too slow,” Nemuri purrs as her backfist catches him across the face.

Shōta feels the skin of his cheek give and tastes the bright, bitter bloom of fresh blood in his mouth.

Nemuri’s quarter-staff connects with his ankles with a punishing crack, and Shōta goes down again.

Nemuri catches him by the hair before he can try to roll away.

“This is what you get for not listening to your senpai,” Nemuri uses her hold on his hair to shake him.  “There are rules for a reason, Shōta. The fact that you broke them is one thing.  But thinking you could hide it from me?  From Nedzu?  You know better than that.”

“Nem,” Shōta wheezes as she pulls his head back into a sharp arch, the strain on his obviously broken ribs sending bolts of white-hot agony through his entire body.

She’s right, Shōta knows she is.

All of his procrastination, all of his rationalizing about why it was perfectly reasonable to not tell them about Izumi, was stupid.

He should have known Nedzu would find out about her somehow.  Hell, there’s always a chance that Nedzu knew all along and had waited to act.  Had simply bided his time and watched as Shōta wove more and more rope to hang himself with.

Shōta’s reasoning for delaying still stands in his mind, but he should have been smarter about it, less impulsive, and more strategic.

Still, he doesn’t regret it, not really. 

The time he’s already spent with Izumi is worth it, worth all of it.  Especially if they’re going to force restrictions on him now.

“Nedzu is keeping the particulars of what you did close to the vest and letting you off easy this time for some reason,” Nemuri jerks cruelly at his hair.  “If it was up to me? We both know I’d be breaking more than a few ribs or even your legs this time around.”

Knowing Nemuri as he does and considering what she’d done to Hizashi the last time?  Shōta more than believes her.

Nemuri uses her grip on his hair to shove him toward the ground, but Shōta catches himself before he faceplants on the training room floor.

He blinks, shakes his aching head sharply, and breathes through the pain with the ease of long practice.

Shōta looks up just in time to catch Nemuri’s heeled boot directly to the face.

The world disappears in a starburst of pain.

~~~

“Sensei,” Izumi greets cheerfully once she’s thumbed on speakerphone, the majority of her attention still on preparing and arranging the last of the various ingredients and sauces she had decided on.

Shabu-shabu had seemed like an excellent choice for dinner tonight, considering the circumstances and all of the work she had accomplished today.  A cozy, relaxed evening settled at the kotatsu, the lights on low, maybe a documentary playing on the television.  The entire idea sounds like bliss.

“My Izumi-chan,” Nedzu greets as he always does.

But there’s a note in his voice, a pitch to his tone, that makes Izumi pause.

“What’s wrong?” Izumi asks, a bolt of worry spiking through her.

“Always so perceptive,” Nedzu praises.  “Finally having you on staff is sure to be educational and entertaining.  I imagine you will have the others in quite the tizzy soon, but never soon enough for me.”

“Sensei,” Izumi chides lightly.

“Yes, yes,” Nedzu chitters out a short laugh, “on to the actual point, I suppose. While I do hate to disrupt your dinner plans, my Izumi-chan, it seems as though Shōta-kun will be running rather late today.”

A pause.

“Oh?” Izumi’s hand tightens around the handle of the knife she’d been busy slicing carrots with.

“Unfortunately so,” Nedzu says.  “His disciplinary meeting ran long.  It will be some time before he’s awake.”

“Should I be concerned?” Izumi asks.

She knows all about Nedzu’s disciplinary meetings, though she had only ever been forced to sit through one during her time as his student.  Nedzu had never laid a paw on her, but Izumi had still needed an entire day to recover afterward.

But, to his credit, she had come out of that experience with a new outlook about what did and did not constitute self-harming behavior.

For Shōta to need something more physical in nature …

“Absolutely not,” Nedzu quickly reassures.  “It was simply a routine correction regarding a long-established issue.  I would not allow him near you were it anything more … unsavory or unsuited to your tastes.”

“Sensei,” Izumi immediately softens, “you know I trust you.  You’d never put me in unnecessary or non-educational danger.”

“Your faith in me is always appreciated,” Nedzu replies softly before his voice switches back to its regular upbeat tone.  “Shōta-kun will require a few hours more in the infirmary, and then he will be free to go.  Directly into your loving embrace, no doubt, and with his schedule for tomorrow suddenly and conveniently clear.”

Izumi can’t help the small giggle that bubbles up and out of her.

The two of them chat for a few more minutes about nothing too important, just a few of their personal projects and the barebones plans for a few joint schemes in the future now that she’ll be taking her place in UA and openly at his side.

By the time the call ends, Izumi has finished chopping the last of the carrots and has cleaned up her work station.

“Well,” Izumi sighs as she looks around at the various dishes she’d laid out, “there’s always tomorrow.”

Izumi sets about packing things away into containers to store in the refrigerator, setting a handful of ingredients aside to make herself a small stir-fry for the night.  She’s thankful that Nedzu had at least called her before she’d set the dashi to simmering.  And that she’d chosen a meal that, even with the majority of it already prepped, won’t suffer from being delayed a night.

She’ll make herself dinner, take another shower to wash the day’s dust off, and then maybe she’ll turn in early.

She has a month-long vacation stretching out ahead of her after all, and trying out the new set of sheets and pillows she’d bought sounds like an excellent next step.

~~~

Shōta wakes to a dull pounding in his head and the feel of familiar fingers running through his hair.

It’s not the hand he wants, needs, and longs for, but he does love it all the same.

“You finally up, sleepyhead?” Nemuri asks softly.

“What time is it?” Shōta rasps as he pries his eyes open to stare up at a familiar ceiling.

Hopefully, he hasn’t been out too long and can still make it on time to walk Izumi home.

“Hitting toward nine,” Hizashi replies from where he’s laid out across the foot of Shōta’s infirmary bed, phone in hand.  “You’ve been out for hours, man.  RG said you had more energy than expected, but Nem really rang your bell.”

“Don’t think I’m not ready and willing to ring yours too,” Nemuri snips back.

Nine?

Shōta sits up, ignoring the lingering ache of Recovery Girl’s healing, and tosses back the covers, uncaring of the way Hizashi squawks at him, or the amused little huff Nemuri lets out.

None of that matters because Shōta is late.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Hizashi calls as he hops up off the end of the bed.  “What’s got you in such a frenzy?”

Shōta ignores him, snatching his socks and boots out of Nemuri’s hands and quickly pulling them on.

“Or,” Hizashi’s voice suddenly turns sly, “should I be asking who?”

Shōta doesn’t do anything as telling as freeze, but it doesn’t actually matter.  Hizashi is smart, and he knows Shōta entirely too well.

“I fucking knew it,” Hizashi crows.  “You’ve got yourself a new little darling, don’t you!?  That’s why you didn’t want to go out with me and why Nem was ping-ponging you across the training room!  Shōta!” Hizashi lets out a dramatically betrayed gasp.  “You’ve been breaking rules without me, haven’t you!?”

Shōta doesn’t answer, just scoops up his capture scarf, tosses it on, and leans down to press a kiss against Nemuri’s temple.

“Do I know them?  Does Nem? Does Nedzu?” Hizashi asks rapid fire, a familiar sort of mania underlining his tone.  “What’s their name?  When can I meet them?  You fucked them yet? Was it good? You gonna share?”

Shōta throws the window open and himself out of it in one quick move.

“You can run, but I’ll have my answers!” Hizashi’s yell follows him as he heads for UA’s gates.

Shōta doesn’t care.

Izumi is waiting for him.

~~~

Only, as Shōta discovers when he lands on Izumi’s fire escape, she’s not.

The blinds are open, and the apartment is pitch black, not even lit by the little mouse-shaped nightlight Izumi always keeps lit in the corner of the room.

Unease slicing down his spine, but with the dark not actually an obstacle thanks to the night vision that Erasure’s optical mutations grant him, Shōta climbs in through the window.

A quick look around is all it takes to reinforce his feeling that something is not right.

All of Izumi’s ramshackle furniture is in place but …

There are no sheets on the bed.

No books on the shelves.

Izumi’s tattered old shirt isn’t lying across the back of her desk chair.

Heart pounding, Shōta tears through the apartment, ripping open drawers and flinging open cabinet doors.  The small kitchenette, the bathroom, the lopsided dresser and beneath the sagging bed.

Shōta searches every nook and cranny.

Finally, Shōta finds himself standing in the middle of the apartment again, his chest heaving with panic-laced breaths.

It’s gone.

All of it.

Every book, every piece of clothing.

Her cups from the kitchen, her shampoo and lotions from the bathroom, her mail from the desk.

Every personal trace of Izumi is gone from the apartment, leaving only a hollow shell filled with broken-down furniture behind.

Izumi is missing.

Gone.

The thought reverberates through Shōta’s head like a gunshot.

Gone.

Izumi is gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Shōta throws himself back out the window without really thinking about it, capture weapon snapping out to catch him.  He hits the neighboring roof with a roll and is back up on his feet and moving in the next second.

For a split second Shōta thinks about calling Nedzu, about recruiting his help, but he’s quick to dismiss that thought for the moment.  Fresh off a punishment as he is, Shōta would rather attempt to resolve this himself first.

Besides, if Izumi’s not in her apartment anymore, then surely her job will know where she’s gone.

They have to.

They better.

Shōta makes the trip in record time, sailing over rooftops and alleyways at maximum speed instead of the more leisurely pace he normally takes this route.

Because this time, Izumi isn’t walking along down below him as she should be.

All the while, his mind click, click, clicks away.

In all the time they’ve spent together since their relationship started, Izumi had never once hinted at moving or leaving her apartment behind.  But she obviously has now and quickly too.

Did something happen?

Did someone make her leave?

Was it Nedzu? Nemuri?

Shōta falters for a moment.

Was … was it him?

Was it something he did?

He’d left in such a rush this morning that he hadn’t taken the time to properly clean Izumi up, to pamper her a bit like he normally would.  Had that made her angry?  Hurt her feelings? Scared her? 

If that’s the problem, then Shōta will ensure that he’s better in the future.

Once he finds her he’ll make sure she knows that.

Will do any and everything he has to do to soothe her, and then once he has her back in his arms where she belongs, he’ll make sure she understands that running from him outside of playtime is never the answer.

Determined, Shōta picks up the pace, managing to eke out a bit more speed.

He’ll fix this, whatever it is that’s upset her.

He just has to find her first.

~~~

“Midoriya Izumi,” Shōta demands as soon as he enters the lobby.

The desk officer, a sour-faced woman with pupils shaped like mute icons, scowls at him.

“Midoriya Izumi,” Shōta repeats as he strides across the room to slap his hero license onto the desk.

The woman doesn’t even bother to look at it, instead she just rolls her eyes and turns to tap at her computer.

“Looks like the mutt finally quit,” she says with a sneer.  “Put in her two weeks this morning.  Good riddance.”

Shōta just snarls, takes note of the name Urami on her name badge, and turns on his heel to leave.

He’ll deal with her later; for now he has more pressing issues to handle than a prejudiced waste of space who had been stupid enough to insult his beloved to his face.

Shōta steps back out onto the sidewalk, his phone already in hand, only to curse when his attempt to call Nedzu refuses to go through.

Which means he’s still being punished.

That, mixed with Izumi’s vanishing act, has the earlier thought that Nedzu might be behind her disappearance circling back through Shōta’s mind.

Shōta finds himself torn between hoping not and hoping so.

Because if Nedzu had moved her, then that means Izumi is safe and sound wherever he’d tucked her away.  And so long as Shōta proves himself and plays along by jumping through whatever hoops Nedzu feels like putting in front of him, then Nedzu will give her back once Shōta has earned it.

But if that’s not the case …

It doesn’t matter either way.

Shōta needs Izumi.

Needs her body beneath his, her skin against his, her taste on his tongue, the sweet sound of her voice in his ear, and the beat of her heart tucked firmly against his own.

No matter where or why Izumi has gone, Shōta has no intention of stopping until he finds her.

And if Nedzu is refusing to answer him right now, then that means Shōta will have to do this the old-fashioned way.

He’ll have to be smarter, less ruled by emotion than he has been lately.  He can’t just go running through the city on foot without any clues, any sort of trail to follow.

Which means Shōta needs the laptop he keeps tucked away in his apartment.

And, if push truly comes to shove, he can always bite the bullet and call in Hizashi to help him.

A plan beginning to blossom in his mind, Shōta once more takes to the rooftops, this time at a more sustainable pace.

He has no idea how long this hunt is going to last, so he needs to pace himself.

~~~

Shōta lands on his balcony and, for the second time in one night, immediately freezes.

Because yet again, something is not right.

The balcony door is closed, and the blackout curtains are drawn

Which is a problem on two fronts.

One, the balcony door is the one that he always enters and exits through when he’s alone.  His apartment is on the top floor, so he tends to leave the door open at least a crack unless it’s supposed to rain, trusting in the height and, more importantly, Nedzu’s security system to pick up any unauthorized visitors.

Two, Shōta doesn’t actually own curtains, especially not for the balcony door.  Instead, he has pull blinds that he’s always hated but has never gotten around to actually replacing.

Aware that this could be yet another part of Nedzu’s punishment, Nemuri's earlier statement that he was going easy on Shōta or not, he taps his hand against the door handle quickly.

Relieved to find it’s not hot or electrified this time, Shōta gives the door a tug, surprised when it slides open, having been closed but not actually locked.

One hand tangled in his capture weapon, Shōta readies himself and pulls back the curtain.

Shōta blinks.

Blinks again.

Finally steps into the apartment and takes a long look around.

The curtains aren’t the only thing that’s different.

There’s a new kotatsu in the center of the living room.

A new bookshelf is up and already filled with books against one wall.

There’s even some sort of massive leafy green plant nestled in one of the corners.

The air smells faintly of apples and cooked food, and everything is lit with the soft, warm glow of the small, mouse-shaped nightlight plugged into the wall near the massive television Hizashi had bought him years ago.

Shōta’s heart skips a beat as he stares at the nightlight.

It can’t be …

He moves through his apartment in a daze, heart pounding and hands shaking, as he notices more and more little chances here and there.

Then Shōta opens his bedroom door and it’s only his grip on the doorframe that keeps him from hitting his knees.

Because there, waiting in his bed like a gift and the goddess who brought it, tucked beneath deep red sheets that Shōta knows he didn’t own before, is Izumi.

Entire being laser-focused on her, Shōta pulls his capture scarf up and over his head, dropping it and his goggles by the door.  He manages to fumble his way out of his boots and socks as well before he steps forward, hands already tugging at the zipper of his jumpsuit.

Shōta’s naked by the time he makes it to the bed, one hand reaching out to tug the sheet down and off her body.

He groans, low and desperate, when he realizes that all she’s wearing is one of his long-sleeved shirts.

“Izumi,” Shōta whispers as he climbs onto the bed, wedging himself between her thighs just as he had the night before.

But this time, Shōta doesn’t bother to pretend like he’s going to stop with just a taste.

Somehow, Izumi is here, in his apartment, in his bed where she belongs, and Shōta is never going to let her go again.

He’s going to make her cum, going to make her gush on his tongue, and then he’s going to fuck her again.  He’s going to press her down into the mattress and make her take his cock until she’s crying and begging and as desperate for him as he is for her.

Until she promises to never scare him like that again.

Until she agrees that leaving him is the one thing she’ll never do.

Shōta doesn’t bother to tease, instead his thumbs move to spread Izumi open for the relentless press of his tongue.

He groans, low and rough, at the taste of her, just as delicious as last time, his eyes fluttering shut as he presses deeper, hands shifting back and up so he can palm the curve of her ass and pull her closer.

Shōta thinks he could cum from this alone, from having his mouth on her, drowning in the scent and taste of her, in the pleasure he knows he’s bringing Izumi as he eats her out.

He looks forward to testing that idea in the future.  Looks forward to spending an entire day between her thighs, face buried in her cunt, sucking on her clit and tongue fucking her as deep as possible over and over again until his jaw threatens to lock on him.  To finding out how many times he can make her cum before she’s begging him to stop, and how sweet her cries will sound when he refuses.

As if in answer to his fantasies, Izumi clenches around his tongue, her thighs clamping shut around his head as her back bows up off the mattress and she gushes, flooding his mouth and wetting his face.

But what drives Shōta insane in that moment isn’t just the feel and taste of her cumming on his tongue again.

It’s the way two hands clench in the fall of his hair and press against the back of his head, as he hears Izumi moan above him, the sound just a bit muffled by the press of her thighs against his ears.

Shōta pulls himself away from her pussy with a gasping groan, hands still gripping her ass, as he looks up at her.

Sweet freckled face flushed and those entrancing emerald eyes of hers hazy with pleasure, Izumi is wide awake and staring directly back down at him.

And then …

“Shōta.”

Shōta moans, eyes rolling back in his head just a bit as his hips buck against the mattress at the sound of Izumi finally saying his name.

Izumi tugs at his hair, a wordless demand for his attention that Shōta immediately snaps to obey.

“Izumi,” he rasps, a hungry sort of awe clawing awake inside of him.

She’s here.  Izumi is here in his bed, awake and aware, pussy hot and ready for him, hands in his hair and eyes locked on his.

Shōta could die happy in this moment but he’d much rather crawl so deep inside of her that she’ll never be able to cut him out.

“Shōta,” Izumi repeats, thighs relaxing and spreading back open once again even as the hands she has tangled in his hair ease up, turning her grip into smooth, soothing glides of her fingers through his hair.  “Welcome home.”

And that …

Shōta surges upwards, uncaring of the mess of slick coating his face.

He only has one thought in his mind at this point.

He ends up braced above her on one hand, her own hands moving to clench around his shoulder as he grips his cock with the other and guides it to press against her cunt.

Shōta doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t bother to pause.

He just pushes forward, bullying his cock into her with one hard thrust, hissing out a breath at the hot, wet, clench of her swallowing him up.

Izumi keens, face scrunching up and her mouth dropping open temptingly as her short nails bite into the meat of his shoulders, but she doesn’t protest, doesn’t struggle or try to stop him.

Of course she doesn’t.

She is, as always, so good for him.

So perfect and precious and his.

“I’m home,” Shōta manages to say once he’s buried to the hilt inside of her.

Izumi just moans, her legs coming up to wrap around Shōta’s waist as she pulls him closer.

Shōta leans down and catches her mouth with his own, heart pounding even harder at the realization that this is their first kiss.  Well, the first one where Izumi is ready and able to kiss him back at least.

And she does.

Mouth opening to the slide of Shōta’s tongue, Izumi meets his kiss enthusiastically, hungrily.

It goes messy quickly, devolving into something all teeth and tongue as they practically eat each other's mouths until spit is leaking from the corners.

Shōta fucking loves it.

He runs one of his hands down the line of Izumi’s thigh to push the hem of her shirt, his shirt, up her body. As much as he adores the sight of her in his clothes, and already plans to see and fuck her in a variety of other pieces he owns because the idea of watching her ride him while his goggles bounce against her tits is too good to pass up, right now he wants her naked, wants nothing between them.

The kiss finally breaks when he gets the shirt high enough to pull it up over her head and toss it somewhere to the side.

For a moment they pause there, close enough to breathe each other’s air, Shōta’s cock buried in Izumi’s cunt while she cradles him close.

“Shōta,” Izumi finally whispers, hands sliding back up into his hair to tug just a bit.  “More.”

Shōta groans, hips flexing to grind himself deeper into her even as he bends to kiss her again.

When he pulls back this time, Shōta finds himself fascinated with the way Izumi’s mouth drops open and her eyes flutter as he rocks himself into her cunt.  She’s so hot and wet and perfect that he never wants to leave her.

He’d keep her here, hanging off of his cock for the rest of time if he could.

“Feels good,” Izumi moans, hips shifting up into the press of Shōta’s weight like she's chasing the feel of him inside of her.  “Shōta, please.”

Shōta’s eyes roll back just a bit from the sound of Izumi begging him for more.

He presses another biting kiss to Izumi’s gaping mouth and then leans back on his heels, his hands shifting to wrap around her thighs so he can move her with him.

Shōta bends enough to press a kiss against the side of Izumi’s knee.

Then he shifts his grip on her thighs and pins them to the mattress so he can fuck into her with deep, merciless thrusts.

Izumi wails, that deliciously sensitive pussy of hers gushing around his cock as he slams into her, but Shōta doesn’t pause.

Couldn’t even if he wanted to.

Not with the way she’s taking his cock like she was made for him.

Which she obviously was.

“That’s it,” Shōta praises as he fucks little gasping whimpers and moans out of her.  “Perfect, so perfect for me, Izumi.”

He leans back over Izumi, bracketing her head with his arms as he fucks into her harder and deeper.

He’s going to cum, quicker than he’d like, but it’s not his fault.  Izumi feels too good for him to last, too perfect for him to draw things out.

But that’s fine.

Shōta has no intention of stopping either way.

“Cum inside,” Izumi gasps the words out, hands clawing at his shoulders and back as her hips attempt to buck up against him.  “S-Shōta, cum inside.”

Shōta’s gone in the next second, her voice cutting whatever self-control he still possessed off at the knees.

He cums with a bitten off shout, spilling deep into Izumi as his hips grind down, chasing the waves of pleasure that crash over him as Izumi moans and clutches at him.

Panting, Shōta manages to pull back enough to look down at her.

Izumi is flushed, her mouth kiss swollen and her freckled cheeks red.

When she tugs him back down to press a sweet kiss against his mouth, Shōta goes willingly, helplessly entranced by her.

Shōta knows they have so much to talk about, so much to go over.  An entire life together to discuss and begin to fully settle into.

He wants to know how she’s here, wants to know what happened after he had left her this morning that somehow ended with her moving into his apartment and waiting for him in his bed.

Shōta just wants to know everything.

Wants to give her everything in turn.

No matter how slow and gentle he has to be with her, no matter how he has to comfort and woo and pamper her to make sure she understands his devotion and accepts their new life together.

Shōta is ready and willing to do all of it.

But then …

“More,” Izumi demands, her grip on him tightening, eyes wide and something just a bit dark cresting over her expression that sends Shōta’s heart beating triple time out of sheer adoration.  “I want more, Shōta.  Love me like you did last night. I hurt so good when I woke up this morning, I want to be awake for all of it this time.”

Shōta shudders, cock already twitching back to life where he’s still buried inside of her as a fresh wave of awe washes over him.

Perfect.

She’s so perfect for him.

Shōta has never been religiously inclined, but staring down at Izumi is enough to make him think that something divine might just be at play here.

~~~

Izumi runs her fingers through Shōta’s hair, a blissful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as he nuzzles closer to her breasts, mouth working at her sore nipple even in his sleep.

She aches.

Her hips, thighs, and breasts, as well as her throat and her pussy, are all throbbing like the sweetest, most decadent kind of bruise.

Shōta, despite the shyness he’d shown in the beginning of their relationship, had given her just what she’d asked for and then some.  He had worked her over with skill and dedication, had gone above and beyond her already high expectations as he loved her.

He really does match her in ways Izumi had never really thought she’d find.

In ways she’d only ever dreamed of and had always longed for.

An equal in all of the ways that count.

Izumi presses a kiss against Shōta’s temple and settles back with a love-struck sigh.

Their life together is going to be so sweet.