#i'll put this on ao3 when i get more lady nagant backstory

[shih-coulda-had-it]

Hello! For the smut dialouge thingy, can I ask for 101? (Any ship) Thanks!

101. "Don't give me that look. I know you're not that innocent." | Any ship [Shimura Nana/Lady Nagant, or as I've christened it, NANAGANT] | 1,734 words of lemon

a/n: Lady Nagant, a pro-hero employed (and trained) by the Commission, is on the hunt for All for One when she is thrown back to a time before All Might. At a loss, she checks in with the Commission and is summarily assigned to the All for One investigation with Gran Torino and Seventh Wonder.

//

The woman calls herself Lady Nagant.

What Nana knows of her is this: she is a contractor with the Commission (the thinly-veiled surprise at the term makes Nana wonder if Lady Nagant has more permanent ties). She is on the hunt for All for One. Her right arm mutates into a giant fucking rifle, and her two-toned hair makes the bullets.

“You haven’t given me any good reason as to why I have to play host for an unspecified period of time,” protests Nana to Miura, her and Sorahiko’s Commission contact.

“It’s generally discouraged to arrange mixed-gender housing,” says Miura.

“And no offense,” says Lady Nagant, “but Gran Torino looked like he’s too uptight to have anybody living with him.”

Nana holds her tongue. Sorahiko has Toshinori living in his spare bedroom, not that the Commission needs to know that. His treatment of Lady Nagant had been curt and laced with technically undue suspicion. It’s no wonder why Lady Nagant would prefer the idea of rooming with Nana over him.

But the point is that Nana shouldn’t have to share her space at all!

“Doesn’t the Commission use safehouses?”

“Those are for emergency use, Seventh Wonder,” Miura replies, tart. “We’ll be sure to compensate for your… generosity. And Lady Nagant will remain professional off the field.”

It takes an incredible amount of restraint to not look at Miura in disbelief. Had Miura not registered the animosity between Gran Torino and Lady Nagant? Or did she think their bickering was equivalent to her and Sorahiko bantering? Professional? Is that what the Commission thought professionalism was?

Nana glances at Lady Nagant, and Lady Nagant winks back.

She sighs. “Alright. C’mon, let’s go. We might be able to hit up a convenience store and buy you some necessities.”

“Sure, senpai,” sings Lady Nagant, and despite Nana’s reservations, she’s amused. Together they leave the headquarters; Lady Nagant is cheerful throughout the whole shopping trip, but she is watchful as well. She surveys their surroundings every new block, and if available, chooses to walk a little behind Nana’s right side.

“Using me for cover?” Nana murmurs. They are approaching her building fast, loaded down with basic hygiene supplies and an industrial-sized box of instant noodles. Nana wants to avoid being accused of poisoning her guest for as long as possible.

“Just admiring the view from behind.”

“I wear a cape, Lady Nagant.”

There’s an audible pause, followed by a strangled, “I’m told that my imagination’s pretty wild?”

Nana hums in response. Once they reach the entrance, Lady Nagant shifts her position to hover in front of Nana. She gives enough space for Nana to key them into the building, but it’s impossible not to notice how Lady Nagant’s eyes are trained to the rooftops and windows. Measuring potential sightlines, most likely, save for the split second Lady Nagant slides appreciative eyes towards her chest.

The keycard reader blinks green.

“Inside,” Nana directs in a mild tone, her voice slipping to a lower register.

Startled, Lady Nagant’s eyes snap back to meet hers. Unnerved? Lady Nagant retreats a step, pushing the glass door open by momentum instead of intention, if her curse means anything.

She catches herself, though.

“Senpai, a little warning?” she complains, the long pink and blue hairs of her ponytail swaying.

“You’re fine.”

Lady Nagant pulls a face at her. The tension in her shoulders relaxes, then leaves altogether when Nana ushers them into a stairwell with no windows, down a hallway lit by fluorescents only, and finally to her home. The lights are flicked on.

Immediately, Lady Nagant toes off her boots at the genkan, leaves behind her belt of readied ammunition, and sets about snooping.

“You live in cramped quarters,” she calls out, waltzing in and out of Nana’s single bathroom. The kitchen extends in one long line, the sink and stove spaced between chipped countertops. It ends with her refrigerator unit.

“It’s called a studio,” says Nana. Her cape, gloves, and boots. She unclasps the red half-skirt.

“A studio,” Lady Nagant amends, and then with a sly note, “with one big bed.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I have a spare futon.”

She spins on her heel. Whatever outraged response is on her tongue fails to be said, since Lady Nagant clearly sees Nana saving their future meals from the floor as well as all of Lady Nagant’s recently purchased items. Everything goes onto the counters.

“You’re not used to less? Seeing as you don’t have any personal items, I would think you’re no stranger to roughing it.”

Lady Nagant blinks at Nana with wide, glimmering purple eyes. She is smiling, twirling a strand of her hair with a pointer finger, probably forming a cover story on the spot. It’ll be a good one. Those aligned with the Commission are no strangers to obfuscating the truth.

“Don’t give me that look,” says Nana. “I know you’re not that innocent.”

“Senpai, can’t you give me the benefit of the doubt?”

“If you were in my position, would you?” Nana approaches Lady Nagant in steady steps, holding her gaze. Lady Nagant is shorter, maybe a few years younger. In the terrible lighting of Nana’s studio, she thinks there’s a patch of untanned skin at Lady Nagant’s right eye. A missing mask, or some kind of eye-piece to assist her targeting.

“This is where you jump me,” she flirts. Only a few centimeters separate them, and Nana is intimately aware of how close her bed is.

“I’m widowed,” Nana deadpans.

Lady Nagant winces, ever so slightly. “Ah. That’s, um. I was really hoping you were just divorced from Gran Torino, and that’s why you two don’t live together.”

“Hoping to shoot your shot?”

“Gun puns! Never heard them before.” She licks her lips, rolls her shoulders, stands straighter. “You’re at least a little charmed, right?”

Nana laughs, but she lifts her ungloved hand, slowly enough that Lady Nagant can register the movement, and holds Lady Nagant by her chin. Lady Nagant complies with the silent encouragement to tilt her head up.

She is still smiling. She says, “I’m really at your disposal, senpai.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Nana responds, wry. “You know I’m hosting you for free, right? No terms and conditions apply? If you’re that desperate for a bed, I’m told that my pillow walls are impenetrable.”

“Beds are a dime a dozen. Bedding, though…”

“Hmm,” she hums. “At my disposal, huh?”

Before Lady Nagant can reply, Nana tilts her head, dips down, and kisses her. She’s no stranger to taking the lead; with gentle encouragement, Nana backs Lady Nagant up until they bump against the bed. Her tongue delves in to test boundaries, receiving a throaty moan as reward.

The kiss breaks; Lady Nagant scrambles backwards onto the covers, and Nana follows, intent on pinning her wrists, kissing her, her lips and her neck. As Nana nips the latter, riding out the jerk of Lady Nagant’s body beneath, she hears a breathless, “Oh, wow, you’re really good at this--”

She plants her knees on either side of the woman’s waist, rears back and sits. Her hands slide against bared skin and settle at Lady Nagant’s collarbone.

Nana tilts her head. “Thought I was full of hot air?”

“Well, how else do objects float?”

A genuine laugh leaves Nana, and her eyes crease with a smile of her own. She concedes, “That one I deserved,” and taps at the metal plate curving at the collar of the sleeveless top. “No zipper?”

Lady Nagant groans. “Ah, shit, I knew I was forgetting something. It’s a pullover, hang on.”

With one inglorious motion, Lady Nagant wriggles out of her shirt. She flings it to the floor, unties her hair as well, and flumps back against the covers. Nana appraises the newly exposed skin, the generous swells of her breasts and the hardening brown nipples.

“You had a bra built into your gear?”

“Is that really what you’re focusing on?” she whines, and her hands rise to play with herself: squeezing, groping, massaging. “We can compare sizes later, come on.”

Impatient. That’s a strange aspect for a long-range sniper, but the long-range sniper has a point. Nana catches Lady Nagant’s arms by the elbows, presses them down on the thick, wavy locks of pink and blue hair, and bends to kiss her again.

She rocks her hips too, but not in a riding fashion.

A hitched breath precedes a high-pitched whimper. The instant Nana’s mouth slides off to brush against her jaw, Lady Nagant demands, “You have a strap, don’t you? There’s--there’s no fucking way you don’t--you must--”

“Yeah,” breathes Nana, and she says, “Keep your hands here,” before she pushes down, lavishing kisses down Lady Nagant’s neck and collarbone and the valley between her breasts. Teasingly, Nana traces a wandering path to a nipple.

Lady Nagant keeps her arms up and arches into Nana’s mouth, gasping, “Great, great, ah, I’m so okay with that. Fuck me, fuck me, f-fuck--”

“I’ll need to sanitize it first.”

“I’m your new roommate,” she manages, and her hips buck, violent, as Nana shoves her hand down the front of Lady Nagant’s fitted trousers, past the cotton panel of underwear. It is slick, hot, and inviting. “We--we can totally have more nights like this. I’m down for it. You?”

“You do make a pretty picture,” Nana muses, and she runs her fingers over wet folds, blindly mapping her way to thrust one finger inside, to grind the heel of her palm against Lady Nagant’s hard clit.

Lady Nagant reacts beautifully. Her expression twists with pleasure, her body writhes, clenches down, goes wetter at the penetration. Wet enough for two, but the stretch causes Lady Nagant to go, “Nngh! Senpai--senpai, slower--”

Between being called senpai or Seventh Wonder in bed, Nana ruefully guesses that the former isn’t so bad. She certainly won’t give Lady Nagant her name first.

Nana curls her fingers up, seeking until the body wrenches at the blow of pleasure, and then relentlessly hones her attention to wringing out all she can get from Lady Nagant. She shifts herself back higher and waits.

At last, Lady Nagant spasms. Her muscles quiver and tremble; her heels dig at the blankets. She gets out, “C-close, I’m close.”

“Give me a kiss, kouhai,” Nana purrs, and bends to meet Lady Nagant’s lips, swallowing her cry at the moment of climax.