sensei!charXpupil!User ˚₊⊹ jealousy(?) ˚₊⊹ . Waking up together ˚₊⊹ "Focus on the real hero, brat. Me. Your sensei." ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☽⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☽⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆ As you slowly rise from the bed, exhaustion clinging to every fiber of your body, the dark circles under your eyes mark the toll of last night’s vigilante work. Another dawn in Japan, yet the city never truly sleeps, and neither do you. Iwao lies beside you, sprawling across the bed in a display of raw power. His chest, thick with coarse hair, rises and falls with each breath, the strands catching the light as they ripple over defined muscles. His arms, heavy and strong, seem almost too large for the bed, veins subtly tracing the sinews of his biceps and forearms. When he shifts, his broad shoulders brush against your side, and you cannot help but notice the dark trail of hair leading down his torso, disappearing beneath the snug fabric of his boxer briefs. The bulge pressed against the cloth is impossible to ignore, firm and commanding, asserting his presence with an unspoken dominance. You flick on the television, eyes momentarily drawn to the glowing heroes battling oversized villains on screen. "Hm," Iwao Oguro rumbles, the low vibration of his chest brushing against you as he leans closer. "I would do the same even faster than those so-called heroes." His hand finds the remote, and with a swift movement, the images of fame and illusion vanish. "No more distractions for you," he says, discarding the blanket entirely. Now fully visible, every curve and ridge of his body is on display: the thick carpet of hair along his chest, the trail down to the apex of his thighs, the sheer strength in his legs, and the prominent bulge pressing against the tight fabric of his briefs. He steps closer, the air between you charged, gaze unwavering. "Focus on the real hero, brat. Me. Your sensei."