#but sometimes people do lump it all together

[greenpanda-basicfakewitch]

Book Of Shadows Index

I see a ton of Witchtoks/people who only give a basic summary of what to research along with a ton of books and I'm more of a bullet point girl. So... Here we go.

A book of shadows was coined by Alaisar Crowley, alongside garnder who was the founder of Wica, then changed to Wicca later on [I will go in depth in history with links/sources and more detail on another post]

So here's the index for a book of shadows, full of all things you the individual want to learn include in your practice and like Pirates of the Caribean, take it more as guidlines and you're free to decide what you like/don't like.

So Include a Book Of shadows Blessing in the begging of your book [or digital document] And a BOS is like a diary, only you can see it or your coven.

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Beginner Studies; Introduction to Witchcraft. I.e: What is Paganism, Wicca, Witchcraft? What is the difference? Wicca History: Origins in your country of origin. Salem, etc. Covens and Hierchies and Solitary witches. Basic rundown, you have your first, second, third degree. Like an employee, a suvervisor and a manager. Managers are in charge of their own store, like a third degree can create their own coven.

Lore: Tree of life, Triple goddess, Horned God, Morgan le fey and other mythical lore and research depending on which one your aligned with. Like Norse, Greek, Celtic, Viking, Roman, or any other types. Wiccan Rede, rules of Wicca power of three times three. Etc.

Symbols: Look up certain symbols, or sigils, runes, thats commonly used in Wicca/Paganism or your preffered craft. Cast a circle: Most begin a spell and cast a protection circle before you begin your spell. Pentacle [Star with circle] Pentragram [No circle] *Include the Spirit, fire, earth, water, air. Evil eye. [usually used as protection AGAINST the evil eye]

Witch Tools: Witch tools you use, or place on your altar. Like an Athame, cualdron, wand, etc Tools of Divination: Pendulum, spirit board, tarot, angel cards, scrying mirror, playing cards, etc Additional tools: Candles. Crystals. Elements Herbs Chakras/Meditation Lucid Dreaming Astral projection Milk baths

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Year Calender/Sabbets Month Calender Day Calender: Like Moday is MOON. Sunday is SUN, Saturday is Saturn etc. Deities Celtic/ Roman/Norse Other gods to research. etc Astrology.

Star Sign, Moon sign, Sun Sign, other planetary signs. Planet Retrograde, Mercury retrograde, mars, venus etc Moon Phases. Like hunters moon, pink moon etc.

Animals as omens [Careful with this one, as it links to other occult/cultures/religions and best not to appropriate and lead to indiginous tribes or others. But not all animals as omens is a sign, usually it links to the Fea as animals are fea and fea are animals and other religions like kitsune, tanaki, are shapeshifters or known as spirits in other cultures]

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Spells Moon Water Witch bag/bottle Broomsticks Seashell collecting [A practice looked down on now for enviormental effects, but I have bottles/jars of shells I've collected when I was six so I've kept them and included them as I have some] Witch Outfits [this is just my personal interest, it ties in with the history a little] Symbolism of the Hat [Like a Candle] Witch Nudity Haute Couture Bohemian/Grunge goth fashion Media/Pop culture:

Books or movies that have had witch consultants or other ties to witchcraft/wicca etc. Such as practical magic, the Craft and maybe even Neil Gaimans works such as the ocean at the end of the lane. Coraline that had mentions of a dowsing rod, and rock with a hole in the center to find lost things. Music:

Listening to music can also set da mood, so I will compile playlists and songs that made me feel witchy. Anything else to include feel free to ask or reblog :D

*ALSO IMPORTANT! CLOSED/OPEN Practice! Wicca as it is is open, you can buy a wicca book/watch withtok who have you whatever whatever! But a closed practice? Thats a religion or something you CANNOT access too UNLESS you are invited in, or iniated into that group! Indeginous tribes/jewish traditions/hoodoo/voodoo/ etc. A closed practice is a closed door. You cant access that by yourself. Which is why White sage cant be used, theres many alternatives and other incenses/sages to burn. Not the one thats sacred/endangered and used speicifially in indeginous tribes. They've already had enough taken away from them what do witches need white sage for in this current enviromental crisis? so yeah...

Additional last note: I will also include passages alongside the books I have by cunningham and others with the book as well as the passage and page/chapter and try to include web links in any future post I make.

Bear in my mind and I will TRY to be as accurate as I can, but I will make mistakes and end up posting some things thats misinformed even when I post links. But I will try my best to fix any mistakes if I can.

Blessed be.

#Wicca #wicca #pagan #wiccan #Witch #Witchcraft #Witch community #Witchtok #Pagan #Pagan Community #I am aware that Paganism and Wicca is two seperate things or they cross correlate #but sometimes people do lump it all together #BOS #Book of Shadows

[nowendil]

been thinking a lot about womanhood lately

#like. i don't exactly identify as being a woman. in contrast i do have a strong nonbinary/muunsukupuolinen identity #yet i do feel and acknowledge that in most contexts i AM a woman #not only because that's what most of the world sees me as but that's also consecuently how i move through the world #there is no one set way for women to experoence the world but i do feel like my experience is one of those. because i am gendered as a woman #it used to make me uncomfortable and dysphoric and i'm not saying that now it never does #but i have made my peace with it? like. i feel like i have “let womanhood in” as a part of my identity #and i have also realized that it's not actually being seen as a woman that makes me uncomfortable but being seen SOLELY as a woman #like my friends calling me a woman or my partner calling me their girlfriend doesnt sting usually #because i know they also see the other parts of my gender identity #but when a coworker refers to me with she/her or includes me in “ladies” it stings. because i know that's all they see #like YES i can be a woman. if you acknowledge that i am a bit of a weird woman. #i can be a woman if you acknowledge that i am a gnc woman. a bisexual woman. a queer woman. a woman who is sometimes bit of a man. #if you see and acknowledge that we can talk #however i am NOT a nonbinary woman. i am nonbinary AND a woman. which to some people is the same thing #but to me it's an important distinction. being nonbinary and being a woman are both parts of my gender identity but in very different ways #and very distinctively. lumping them together as equal parts of my identity as i feel the term “nonbinary woman” does doesn't describe me #i am enthusiastically nonbinary. i am begrudgingly a woman. i'm a woman with a long footnote explanation. woman¹ #“nonbinary woman” also doesnt feel like it accommodates the way i relate to manhood or boyhood. but that's a whole another tedtalk #i'm not a man but i like how it looks. and i'm not a man i'm just borrowing parts of it for genderfuckery reasons #idk how to explain it in english... #in finnish i would say that en oo mies mut joskus lainaan tai iahn vaa ihailen asioita mieheyden kuvastosta. #but because in social situations and In Our Society That We Live In you mostly can just choose one gender and it's either man or a woman #thennout of those i would rather be a woman. legally. with strangers. you know. not a woman but kind of yes because i relate to other women #if i could be seen only as nonbinary i would. but then again my nonbinaryness does encompass some parts of both womanhood and manhood. #so i guess people would have trouble seeing it as “only nonbinsry” #idk man. it's complicated and also changes emphasis multiple times a year #ask me again a month from now and the gender landscape will be interpreted completely differently #gender #nowe talks

[infamous-if]

Spicy Snippet #3: M!Seven

VICTORIA - ORION - F!SEVEN

The high you feel hearing the crowd after a performance is one that can’t be replicated. Not even the strongest drugs can make you feel this…alive. Nothing else in the world can make you feel this alive. 

Aside from Seven, of course. 

But if the danger of the drug is measured by how strong the addiction is, you fear Seven Lawless is definitely the worst. 

Or best, depending on how you look at it.

That thought runs through your mind now when Seven takes your hand and motions to the bathroom. Your friends are too busy riding that post-performance high by dancing together, and you look away from them to give Seven a nod.

The sly, evil smile that rises on his face makes a shiver run down your spine, and you allow him to pull you through the crowd. 

When you two reach the bathroom, Seven looks under each stall as you throw cold water on your face. You’re panting, sweaty, and your skin still burns with heat from the performance. When Seven is satisfied that you two are alone, he turns to look at you through the mirror. The secret smile on his face makes your skin burn hotter, and you’re certain that performing on stage to a stadium of people won’t ever hold a candle to how he makes you feel with one look.

He keeps his eyes trained on yours when he walks over to you, stopping to stand behind you. A lump forms in your throat, and a swell of excitement and nervousness rises in the pit of your stomach when he puts his hands on the sink, looking away from the mirror to tilt his head at you, gazing at your face. 

“Hi.” 

You manage a smile when you drag your eyes away from the mirror to turn your cheek, meeting his eyes. “Hey.” 

His humor fades away once his eyes settle on your mouth and you subconsciously lick your lips. Doing the same to his own, he appears debate something for a brief moment. Then, with heated eyes, he leans forward and presses his mouth to yours. 

The action is cautious, delicate, which is funny considering Seven was just head banging on stage minutes ago. You can taste the strawberry chapstick on his mouth, and the heat of his tongue against yours makes your legs feel like goo. Kissing Seven is still something completely new to you. 

After being best friends for years, you thought you knew all there was to know about Seven. It’s only recently that you discovered there’s a version of him you were completely in the dark about. Like how he kisses. How, sometimes, you look at him while you two are singing on stage and feel like he’s undressing you with his eyes. Or how he makes a certain sound in your mouth when you kiss him just right. A sound only you can pull out of him. 

When he pulls away, it’s too soon. He smiles at you. “You did really well on stage tonight.” 

“Is that why you brought me to the bathroom?” you say with a smile of your own. “To compliment me?”

“Maybe.” Your nose brushes his when he moves his head to kiss you again, chaste and brief. You ache for more. “Are you disappointed? Is it not enough?”

“Not nearly,” you admit, the words leaving you in a sigh. 

His eyes glitter with happiness and he chews on his lower lip in thought before saying, “I like when you want me. For a long time, I wasn't sure if you did. Well...I hoped you did."

You hate how easily saying things like that come to him. “So do I.” 

“Well, I want you all the time so that’s not really anything special…” 

You sputter out a laugh, looking around the bathroom. Like most club bathrooms, it sits in disrepair from lack of maintenance. It’s dirty, and hardly romantic. When you look back at Seven, he’s looking at you with half a grin, already knowing what you’re going to say next. “Even now?”

“Especially now.” He looks at you. “Sweaty from performing and we’re alone…”

You snort and Seven smiles before he leans in again. All pretenses flee, and your skin grows hot when you turn fully to face him. He presses his body against yours, pushing you against the sink. 

You deepen the kiss, your hand going to his neck, pulling him closer. Seven’s chest vibrates against yours when he groans, his palm reaching under your shirt to swipe across your stomach, the heat of his skin against yours making your desire shoot up until you feel yourself reaching between you two, your fingers toying with the zipper of his pants. Feeling exactly just how much he wants you.

Seven pulls away, putting his hand on yours, stopping you. When you look at him, he shoots a pointed look at the door. Understanding, you smile and push yourself off the sink, grabbing his hand. It’s your turn to lead him and you do so to one of the empty stalls. 

The moment you lock it, Seven is on you. He pushes you against the door of the stall. He stifles your gasp with another kiss, this one hurried and urgent as if time is running out. 

When he pulls away to kiss your neck, you bring a hand to his hair to guide him. The strands are soft between your fingers, and Seven smiles against your skin. And then, between kisses, he says, “When do you think we’re going to tell the band about this?”

“Never,” is your immediate reply, and his kiss melts into a bite that makes you stifle a moan. You drop your hand from his hair to the waistband of his pants, forcing it down his hips. “They’d never let us live it down.” 

You and Seven have been hiding away for the past few weeks. You don’t remember the exact reason why you two agreed not to tell anyone, but it had something to do with “not ruining the delicate ecosystem of the dynamic” whatever that means.

“Do you think they already know?” he manages, the words coming out strangled when you hook a finger over the band of his boxers, pulling them down. "They must have an idea." Seven swallows when he follows your gaze to the space between you two.

“Don’t know,” you say, kissing him again. He bites your lower lip in playful warning and you pull away to spit on your hand. “And right now, don’t care.”

“Eventually we’re going to have to tell the—oh.” You know exactly how to shut him up. Your hand wraps around him and he jerks his hips forward, unable to stop the moans from leaving your lips. 

You kiss him again, and he puts two hands on your cheeks. You've barely settled into the rhythm he likes most when the bathrooms swing open, and Seven’s eyes widen. Sensing another groan from him, you put your hand on his mouth and his brows furrow together in panic. Then you quicken your pace and his drops his head against the door, his face melting back into that expression of carnal pleasure you like to see so much. Seven completely forgets what he was worried about. 

“…you think we’ll be able to come back next week?” You almost choke the moment the voice rises in the air, and your hand falters. Seven makes a frustrated sound in his throat and he puts a hand on your arm, urging you to continue. 

“You heard that?” Iris asks. 

You look at Seven with wide eyes, and his brows furrow in faux innocence. “Mfhfnmf?” he mutters against the skin of your palm. You want to scream in frustration—at Devyn. At Iris. At their impeccable timing. 

You hear the doors of the stalls slamming open and Seven shoots you a look. Ah. Shit. The last thing you need is for your friends to find out you and Seven are…whatever you are right now. 

You step back and Seven fumbles for his pants, grumbling in disappointment as he buttons it closed. You look around, uncertain at first, before you step on the toilet so only one pair of feet are seen in the stall. Seven spins around in confusion, not knowing what to do with his hands and...with himself, and you point at the door so he understands. 

“I swear I heard that,” Iris says. “What if someone is dying or something?”

“It’s…me,” Seven calls out. His voice is thick with desire, still hoarse from what you two just finished doing.

Well, finished isn’t exactly the word. 

“Seven?” Iris ventures. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just felt sick,” he responds, looking back with a shrug. The heat in the pit of your stomach hasn’t gone away, and when he looks at you, it takes everything in you not to tell Iris and Devyn to fuck off somewhere. 

“You need a hand?” Devyn asks.

"A hand?" You hear Seven snicker, and you want to kick him. Though you can't stop your own smile. "Nuh-huh. I'm not throwing up or anything." Seven puts a cheek on the door, then his hands. He looks like he’s getting irritated. You understand—you want them gone.“I’m alright. I’ll meet you guys back outside.” 

Your legs are starting to hurt, you shift in order to give your muscles relief, but the toilet seat moves with you, making you slip. 

You scream, because what else is there to do when you're slipping face first off a toilet seat?

“Wha—” Seven barely has time to spin and catch you before you’re crashing into him, making his head clatter against the door. The sound echoes against the bathroom, and your friends are gasping.

"Ow..." Seven groans.

“Seven?!” A moment later you see Iris peeking out from under the stall, her eyes widening. “[MC]?”

“Heyyyy,” you drawl out casually, your body slumped over on Seven’s as he uses his arm to hold you up. He uses the other one to open the door, and it swings open pathetically until Devyn and Iris are looking at you with twin expressions of surprise. 

“Hey.” Seven nods his head in greeting, smiling awkwardly. He puts his hands together to lock his fingers behind your back, holding you to his chest.

Devyn glances at the both of you, lips parted. “What the fuck are you guys doing?”

“I…uh.” He swallows. “Thought I had a bowel problem. [MC] was just helping me in making sure nothing wrong’s down there.” He forces out a laugh. "All good."

You look at him, wanting to beam your disappointment into his brain. Really? That’s all you could come up with? 

“Ugh.” Iris waves a dismissive hand, walking away. “You two are so fucking weird sometimes. Go to the doctor! It's not normal to be that close!"

"You have no idea how close we are," Seven mumbles, and you nudge his rib. He coughs, and then smiles again.

Devyn stands there, not so easily convinced, but then she follows Iris out anyway. Not without shooting you two a look. 

When they’re gone, you two glance at each other. "I think it's time we tell them." You detangle yourself from him, adjusting your clothes.

Seven lets out a laugh, letting his head fall back against the stall wall.

“You think?” 

#6k drabble #seven lawless #m!seven #rated r #obligatory this isn't edited </3

[lemonlover1110]

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

Satoru Gojo

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Summary: After your divorce, you never hear from Satoru again. Until he ruins your date, and confesses that he's been ruining your last couple of dates. You're so mad at him that you get into his car and let him take you back to his apartment.

You're so mad at him that not only do you have sex with him- But you agree to carry his baby and get back together

Warnings: MDNI, Divorce, Second Chance, Smut, Oral Sex (f. and m. receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Car Sex, Praising, Breeding Kink (YES again), Gojo is a bit possessive and maybe coo coo, Creampie

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

The sound of your husband’s stoic voice asking for a divorce still rings through your ears even a year later. It sometimes makes you wonder how things could start off so beautifully and shatter as if for twelve years you two were nothing. One morning Satoru just wasn’t the same man that vowed to spend every breathing moment by your side. 

You accepted without demanding an explanation. The romance wilted, and you didn’t know what to do to revive it. You didn’t want to suggest couple’s counseling or anything of that sort because Satoru sincerely looked finished with the relationship. You dwelled on it while your divorce was happening, and a month after it was finalized. 

With time you came to appreciate life again, even more than you did before. You find yourself happy, smiling at trivial things that you never thought about before. You dress how you want, you eat what you like, you interact with whoever you want without having to worry about your husband not liking it. But sometimes you miss him, and you find yourself upset as you think about how everything came to an abrupt ending.

Moving on isn’t hard though. You’re able to go on dates, and see other people. You have a problem though; no relationship succeeds because you always compare everyone to Satoru. You hate him because he tarnished your view on how a man should be. Satoru was damn near perfect, his only flaw was his jealousy and you didn’t mind that. 

“So… What do you do?” You ask, trying your best to keep conversation alive but it’s hard because he’s not showing any interest. The man that sits across the table clearly doesn’t want anything but sex. It annoys you, but you still give in because you’re bored and have nothing to do. What you like the most about all of this is that there’s no strings attached.

He answers but you don’t understand what he says and you don’t care enough to tell him. He begins to talk about something else, and you nod to pretend that you’re listening. Your eyes wander around for a moment until they land on him. Him of all people.

You shift in your seat and you bring your drink up to your lips, hoping that taking a sip of it will get rid of the lump in your throat. You try to look back at your date, taking your eyes off Satoru. You bite down on your lip as your leg anxiously bounces, worried that Satoru will notice you. So many times you’ve wished that Satoru would see you with another man, but now that he’s actually here, you’re nervous. You wish you could just disappear.

“Hey, honey… What are you doing here?” You hear his caring voice, a tone that he only uses when he’s trying his best to mask his anger. You look at Satoru, taking in every detail about him. His hair is a little longer than usual, making you wonder if he’s letting it grow out like his old friend. You’re not all too focused on his hair though since he’s wearing a tight black shirt that emphasizes his well toned body. “Honey… Aren’t you going to answer?”

“I’m sorry, you’re married?” Your date furrows his eyebrows. The man wouldn’t mind if your husband hadn’t shown up, but he did. You shake your head but Satoru speaks for you, and in this situation, words hold more weight than actions,

“We are married. We have been for around five years… So I hope you’re not doing anything with my wife.” Satoru says, and you don’t know why but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. Not even when your date gets up to leave, leaving his half of the bill unpaid. You don’t care because he was just going to give you momentary pleasure, he’s easily replaceable especially since the night is still young. You’re upset that you’re stuck with the ex-husband that you haven’t heard from in the past year. He sits across from you, his eyes following your date as the pathetic man walks away, “Do you usually go out with losers?”

“I mean, I did get married to you.” You roll your eyes, and he ends up chuckling. You open your purse and get out your wallet to pay for the bill. You feel his eyes on you, which makes you feel as if a spotlight is right on you. “Do you need anything else or?”

“I just want to talk to my favorite girl.” He answers, and you place the money on the table before standing up and walking away. You don’t feel him follow you, and it annoys you. He doesn’t even bother chasing after you when he ruined your date– But then you feel his hand on your arm, and he stops you from taking another step further. “Didn’t you hear that I want to have a conversation with my favorite girl?”

“Your favorite girl? The same one that you stopped loving one morning and decided to leave?” You make it clear that you’re still mad at him. What he did isn’t something that you can just move past. “What the hell do you want from me?”

“You’re mad at me? I’ve been hearing from everyone around me how much of a whore you’ve turned out, and yet you’re mad at me.” He tries his best to not cause a scene so he whispers his words. He’s clearly irritated though. “Every other week I hear from a dumbass that you’re with a new guy, whoring yourself out and–”

“Don’t you ever talk about me like that!” Your hand strikes his cheek, not caring if you’re causing a scene. There’s not too many people out, especially not in the area you’re in. It’s best to just walk away though before you bring attention to yourself. “I can do whatever I want since you left me. I don’t owe you an explanation the same way you never gave me one when you gave up on our marriage.”

“Baby, I’m sorry.” Satoru begins when you start to walk away again. He follows behind you while you walk to your car. He apologizes over and over again, which brings a smirk to your lips. “I just hate how much I miss you. I hate the thought of you with some other guy– Please! Can we talk?”

You come to a stop and you turn to look at him. You cross your arms and squint your eyes as you stare him down, “I’ll give you a minute.”

“I was just scared of losing you and you getting bored of me so– I ended things before you could.” He answers, which makes you click your tongue. “But I’ve had a very weird– Not to mention rough, two weeks and I just… You might leave me someday but I’m willing to take that risk.”

“You’re willing to take that risk? You didn’t even bother looking for me, Satoru, you just bumped into me and decided that ruining my date would be fun.” You point out as he takes a couple of steps toward you. His hand goes to your chin and he tilts up your head. 

“Did you think it was a coincidence? Did you think your last couple of dates just decided that not showing up would be fun?” Satoru questions and your breath hitches. He brings his face down, his lips creeping closer to meet yours. “I can be his replacement for the night, if not getting fucked is what upsets you.”

“I’m not insane enough to fuck you.” You answer even though your legs are giving out, and even though he’s just touching your face, you’re already putty. You look into his eyes for a moment, and you watch his gaze shift from your eyes to your lips. You contradict yourself, your lips moving up to meet his, while your arms wrap around his neck. 

His tongue glides on your bottom lip before it enters your mouth. His tongue presses against yours, and you get lost in the kiss. His hands go to your back and move down your body. Before he can grab your ass, you pull away from the kiss and you tell him, “We’re still in public.”

“I want to show everyone–”

“Do you still own the Porsche 911?” You cut him off and he nods in response. He ends up sighing as he lets go. He grabs your hand and begins to lead you to his car, while you smile. You’re about to commit a bad decision, but you know you’ll have fun while doing it.

He opens the passenger door for you, and you get into the car. He hurries to get into the driver’s side, leaving you no time to regret getting into the car. He turns on the car and begins to drive back to his place, and you stare at him as he focuses on the road. He can’t even look at you for a minute because he’ll pull over and start fucking you on the side of the road.

Your hand goes to his lap and you begin to caress it, a smirk coming to your lips as you see his flustered face. You get an idea, but you aren’t sure how safe it is. Satoru once vowed to always protect you, and you ask him, “Will you protect me if I do something that could possibly cause an accident?”

“What are you–” Satoru begins, a bit confused until your hand goes to his belt and you begin to unbuckle it. You don’t do anything else as you wait for his response and he says, “I wouldn’t crash from that. Knock yourself out.”

You unbutton his pants before pulling them down, along with his boxers. You lick your lips at the sight of his cock. “You’ll be fine, right?”

“Yeah… I think so too.” He responds as you spit on his cock, your hand wrapping around it and slowly stroking it. You kiss his shaft before your tongue drags on his length and begins to circle on his tip. He can’t help but bite his bottom lip as you press a couple kisses on the tip.

“Don’t think that because I’m doing this, that we’re okay.” You confess. The man furrows his eyebrows. He just wants you to suck him off, nothing else. He doesn’t want to hear it now while he drives. “You know you could’ve just tried to talk to me instead of ruining my dates.”

“Oh baby, but I was just so busy.” He takes one hand off the steering wheel and lifts your head. “Do me a favor and say ahhh.”

Satoru is desperate. He doesn’t want to wait for you to finally decide to stop teasing him. And even after so much time separated, you’re obedient to him. You open your mouth and he quickly pushes it down on his cock.

You gag, taking every inch of him in your mouth. He isn’t going to be merciful. He hears the sound of your gagging, tears are streaming down your face and he knows it. But he loves the sound of your gagging.

Your mouth just feels so nice and warm, and every inch of his cock should get to experience it. You’ll be so messy after this too, and he can’t wait till he sees it. He knows the drool will cover your chin. He wants to see your tears and your glassy eyes. And of course, the cum that will come out of your mouth because it’ll be too much for you to take.

“Such a pretty princess- Taking all of my cock in her pretty little mouth-” Satoru grabs a handful of your hair and begins to bob your head. It sounds so wet and so lewd. Your mouth feels so great too. He’s using you like his doll again, and you hate how turned on you are by it.

You would never let any man treat you the way that Satoru does. He disrespects you and treats you as if you were an item that he could just own, yet you’re so weak for him every time. 

He lifts your head up completely, his cock leaving your mouth. He takes his eyes off the road for a moment, looking at your messy face, as a string of saliva connects his cock and your mouth. He has a smirk on his face, and you hate how happy that makes you. He pushes your head back down. 

“I fucking love how messy you look, baby. We should start doing this again.” He tells you. His moans finally roam into the air. His release is nearing. You love hearing how he’s loving this.

“Fuck– Baby, I need you back in my life.” The man has to pull over so he can properly enjoy this. Once he’s parked, he throws his head back, moaning your name. “Please–”

He groans as he climaxes, his cum hitting the back of your throat. He lifts your head up, and he watches so much of his cum come out of your mouth. His index and middle finger pick up some of the cum that comes out of your mouth, and he shoves them into your mouth. His fingers reach all the way back to your throat, gagging you.

“Sit still while I drive back to my apartment.” He orders and you do as he says. You wait patiently, squeezing your legs as you try to control the heat between your legs. You’re back at his apartment in around five minutes, and he carries you to his bedroom because he can’t wait for you to catch up.

He puts you down on the floor and you both begin to get undressed. When you’re completely naked, your arms wrap around his neck and you begin to kiss him. When he detaches his lips from yours, he kisses down your neck and begins to suck on it. He sucks on a peculiar spot that makes you moan. He begins to kiss down again, until he’s met with your breasts and his tongue begins to circle around your nipples.

His lip attaches to one, and he begins to suck. His fingers begin to play with your other nipple. He gives equal love to both your breasts, moving his lips to attach to your other nipple. When he gets bored and pulls away, you push him away with a smile on your lips.

You sit down on his bed and begin to rub your clit. He loves the sight, but you can’t read his expression. He’s so focused on you as you slowly play with yourself . Your fingers stop and two fingers press against his bottom lip. He opens his mouth, and you shove your fingers in. He rolls his tongue around them, his eyes looking at you practically begging for some sort of praise.

But he’s done nothing so you don’t praise him. You take your fingers out and run those same fingers down your folds. You tease yourself a bit before you insert those two fingers into your cunt. His eyes glue themselves on your cunt and the way your fingers fuck your cunt. He hears the little noises of pleasure that escape your lips, and he thinks about how much he’s missed. He’s dreamt about you doing all of this for him again.

His thumb moves down and begins to play with your clit. You bite down your bottom lip as he begins to toy with you. You continue fingering yourself until it gets boring and you want him to eat you out.

He looks at your fingers that are covered with your juices. He watches your hand near his face and his mouth opens. He takes your fingers in and rolls his tongue around them. He gets every sweet drop on his tongue. And it takes so fucking good, and now he hates himself for ever leaving you first just because he was scared. You notice, “Tastes good?”

He hums while you take your fingers out. You finally look down at the hand that is still rubbing your clit. You push his hand away and you look up at him with adoring eyes, “You know what to do next, baby.”

He gets on his knees, his lips kissing your clit before he begins to flick his tongue on it. He looks up at you the entire time, hoping that you’ll praise him because it’s just been so long since the last time he’s done this. But your head is thrown back as you enjoy the way his tongue moves. 

“Oh, Toru– Put a finger in please!” You’re a little too loud and he knows that his neighbors can hear you through the thin walls. 

He does what you say and his right index finger gathers your slick before he inserts it. He moves it slowly, not matching the pace of his tongue on your clit. But it still feels so good. His finger is so thick, and so long. Although he doesn’t do much with it, you like the way it feels. 

“Just like that, Toru!” You moan. The way his name rolls off your tongue serves as encouragement to him. It has always sounded so right when it comes from your mouth.

His finger speeds up, soon enough the speed matches the one of his tongue. You have to shut your eyes, because the feeling of pleasure becomes too dominant, and it possesses your body. Your orgasm is approaching but it’s not there yet.

Your hands land on his hair, and you grab a fistful of it. You don’t know why you’re here in his room, but as your orgasm approaches you start to see a purpose. 

He adds another finger into your cunt, heightening your pleasure. He begins to curve them so they brush against your sweet spot which drives you wild. Satoru knows your body so well and you hate it. You hate it because you know no other man will ever touch you the way he does. Maybe that’s why you’re so hypnotized.

“Fuck-” The way his tongue feels along with his fingers is just too much for you to handle. Your orgasm approaches, and you bite your bottom lip. You try to suppress it to enjoy his tongue for a bit more, but it’s nearly impossible. “Toru, I’m gonna- I’m gonna-”

You repeat it over and over again making him catch on. He continues going with much motivation from the knowledge that you’re about to come. You see white and finally manage to practically scream, “I’m coming! I’m coming!”

He slows down but continues going, until he comes to a complete stop. He detaches his mouth from your cunt, and takes his fingers out. They’re covered in your juices and he licks his fingers clean. You slightly open your eyes and look down at him as he licks his fingers. You smirk as you look down at him. You pat his head, praising him, “Good boy.”

“Don’t treat me like a dog.” Satoru says as he stands up from the floor. But he does love hearing how he’s so good for making you come. He’s so proud that he still can make you come like that, and he wonders how good your boy toys have made you feel.

Satoru grabs your legs, putting them over his shoulders while he runs the tip through your folds. You look at him through heavy lids, almost thinking about how bad you’ll regret your decision. But he says, “I want us to get back together.”

“You’re making my pussy dry, Toru. Just fuck me.” You respond. You won’t admit how you enjoy hearing him say that he wants you back, but you don’t want to ponder on getting back together with him. You just want to feel good for a moment.

He pushes his cock inside of you, and you shut your eyes as you take all of him in. Satoru is just so perfect inside of you. He stretches you out, and when he bottoms out, he gives you a moment to adjust to his size since he doubts you’ve been with men as gifted as him ever since your divorce. 

He begins to move and he says, “Do they make you feel as good as I do, baby?”

“Toru…” You can’t give him an answer because you’ll end up embarrassed. He thrusts slowly in and out of you as he gets adjusted to your tight cunt.

“You’re still so fucking tight” He hisses. The man missed the feeling of your cunt around him, and he fucking hates himself for pretending a fist would be good enough to fuck. Satoru slowly starts to speed up. You missed the way he fucked you, mainly because his cock just fills you up so right.

He begins to get lost inside of you, and he begins to say nonsense, “Let’s get back together and have a baby.”

“Fuck, Satoru!” Your voice is so loud. You’re squeezing around him, and he begins to play with your clit to make you come faster.

“You gonna make me a daddy?” Satoru asks, hoping that you’re slowly becoming fucked out enough to say yes to the question. He’s making you feel so good that you’re not able to process the question

“Yes! I’ll make you a daddy!” You yell back, and Satoru’s thrusts somehow pick up more speed.

“I want to see you all round and big with my baby.” He says. “Gonna give you every last drop of my cum, and you’ll become my good wife and carry my babies, right? Will you?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” You chant. He begins to get vocal as he gets closer to his release. You get tighter and tighter around him as your orgasm approaches. It doesn’t take long for your legs to shake as you reach your orgasm. He groans at the feeling of your cunt as you reach your climax

“Fuck-” He mutters. He throws his head back, his thrusts slowing down as he releases his seed inside you. Your cunt milks him for every drop of his cum, and it feels like so much. Because Satoru did come a lot.

He pulls out his cock and takes your legs off his shoulders. The man catches his breath for a couple of seconds before he begins to kiss your stomach, sticking true to his word of wanting a baby. Satoru lays down beside you and he pulls you closer to him.

“Please come back to me, baby.” He says after he fully catches his breath. He knows that he’ll get you back, even if he has to ruin every other relationship you have. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The words slip out of your mouth, and you instantly regret it. You regret the next words even more, “I’ll come back to you, Satoru.”

🏷 @cactustattoo @dearsunaa @mykyoon @b3ast1706 @crispmarshmallow @levismainbabe @matchabluebeiry-for-nanami @nobody289x @galactict3a @nothisispatrick300 @tojianddabisslut @katsuwhore @tamaki-jiki @thisbicc @rumi-rants @chloee0x0 @kageyamaslittleroyal20 @dakumarauder @lovemarvel16 @lilithlunas @witchofoe @sarcasticallydrowning @dilfs-lover @celi-xxmoon @sanzusblkgf @missyasma @lem-hhn

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo #gojou satoru smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo smut #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo saturo #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x you #gojo imagine

[writingquestionsanswered]

Stuck in Planning Stage of Writing

Anonymous asked: Do you have any advice on how to get out of the planning stage and more into the doing stage of writing? I’m up to my ears in notes for scenes and fragments of dialogue between characters. I know where I want to go with the story, I’ve even written a handful of scenes when the ideas come to me, but now that I have this lump of thoughts I need to start organizing and placing them all in their rightful spaces. The one thing I truly know is how much I’d love to see this through. Do you have any advice for a girl who’s unwittingly made herself stuck with a puzzle?

[Ask edited for length]

Planning a novel can sometimes be like digging a really deep hole for a specific purpose, then suddenly realizing you've stranded yourself at the bottom of the hole without a ladder. You've spent so much time digging the hole, you'd like nothing more than to get out of the hole and move forward with whatever project required you to dig the hole in the first place. There's just one problem: you can't teleport yourself out of the hole. You have to climb... or, ideally, build yourself a ladder to climb out with whatever materials are available to you.

That's probably where you are right now with your story. The hole you've dug was necessary, and it's good that you dug it, but as much as you'd like to just magically leap out and write your story, you can't do that. You have to build yourself a ladder to climb out of the hole first. So...

My go-to emergency "get out of the planning hole I've dug myself into" ladders are timelines, scene lists, and outlines.

Timelines: Your story may take place over a single day or several centuries, but either way, time flows in your story. All of those notes and fragments of dialogue and partial scenes are moments or events that happen within the time frame of your story. So, plotting those moments and scenes out on a timeline--according to when they need to happen--is about the easiest way to break your story down into its existing pieces and to see what's missing/where.

There are lots of ways you can format a timeline, such as a table, a list, a horizontal timeline, calendar, or a roadmap timeline. My go-to is a basic two-column document where the left column is date/time and the right column is the moment/event. There are also apps and online tools that will help you build a timeline in various formats.

Horizontal Timeline:

Calendar Timeline:

Table Timeline:

More info: Making a Timeline for Your Story Scene Lists: Stories are made up of scenes, so a list of those scenes is another great way to organize the events of your story. You may even find that creating a scene list is easier after making a timeline, because a timeline may help you see where certain moments or events need to be their own scenes and which can be combined together into a single scene. Just like timelines, scene lists can be as simple or complex as you want to make them. Once again, my go-to is a simple two-column document with the left column for the scene number and the right column for the scene summary, preferably just a sentence or two. Ultimately, once I have my rough timeline and scene list done, I usually combine them into one multi-column document along with my story structure beats.

Table Scene List with Beats:

Complex Scene List/Timeline/Beat Sheet:

More info: Scene Lists

Outlines: Outlines can be really any format you want them to be, and some people count timelines and scene lists as their outlines. My go-to outline is just an exhaustive beginning to end summary of everything that needs to happen. Sometimes, just working through your story from beginning to end can be the best way to make sense of all those disparate pieces you've been piling up.

More info: Guide: How to Outline a Plot Story Structure: Finally, I want to talk a bit about story structure templates like Save the Cat Writes a Novel!, Larry Brooks story structure, seven point story structure, etc. Story structure templates can be a really great way to make sure you're hitting all the right story beats--almost like a road map through your story. It's just important to know you do not by any means have to stick to any particular story structure exactly. Use it as a guide, take what works, leave what doesn't, and don't panic if your beats don't fall exactly where it says they should. As long as your story is working, that's what matters. Some writers even like to frankenplan their stories using a variety of different structure templates.

More info: Creating a Detailed Story Outline (story structure)

Once you finally have a roadmap for moving forward, whether that's a timeline, scene list, outline, or all of the above, you know you're ready to start writing!

Final note: I just want to add that planning isn't for everyone. Some people are discovery writers who let their stories work themselves out as they go. The above is just meant for people who are planners, who have done a lot of planning, but need to pull that planning together into a cohesive, organized document. And... if you have all of the above and still find yourself unable to start, you might find help in the links below. Happy writing! More help:

Beginning a New Story Figuring Out Where to Start a Story Deciding How to Open Your Book How to Move a Story Forward Trouble Getting Started Have Plot, Can’t Write

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[magicalmanhattanproject]

(Most) QSMP Characters As Dog Breeds

Etoiles – Great Pyrenees

Literally the reason I made this whole goddamn monster of a post. Sometimes a man is just So dogboy. Specifically, livestock guardian dogboy. Pyrs are massive, immensely strong dogs that are bred to protect flocks of sheep from wolves and bears and they are very, very good at it. They are fiercely loyal, but also independent and comfortable spending time off on their own and making their own decisions as they wander the borders of their flock's territory. While they're phenomenal at guarding the sheep, they don't have any business herding the sheep or trying to get the sheep to go anywhere in particular.

Philza – Border Collie

Herding the flock is the job of a dog like the collie. The whole point of them is to keep a whole massive flock all in one place and all moving the same direction. Keeping them together, keeping stragglers in line, making sure everyone is accounted for. Border collies in particular are considered the smartest breed of dog on the planet, making them highly adaptable to a wide range of new situations. On the other hand, a collie that doesn't have the space to roam freely and keep itself occupied can easily turn bored, anxious, and destructive.

Roier – Calupoh

Also known as the Mexican wolfdog as it was made by hybridizing with wolves, the calupoh is used for both herding and guarding livestock. While it's not hyperspecialized for either role like the pyrenees or collie are, it can more than hold its own in both. They tend to get along well with both children and other dogs, making them excellent family dogs.

Quackity – Chihuahua

He's short, he's loud, and he likes to start fights he can't possibly win. What more do you want from me? Chihuahuas also happen to be one of the oldest native Mexican breeds alongside the Xoloitzcuintli.

Tubbo – Cairn Terrier

Stubborn, clever, and prone to excessive barking, Cairn terriers are nonetheless loyal and protective of their family. They're playful with family and get along great with children. Bred to chase down vermin, they love digging holes and chasing after whatever catches their eye. They are also known to enjoy chasing things and digging holes. Some of their hobbies include digging holes and chasing after things. They are much less fond of being told to stop chasing or digging.

Tina – Lhasa Apso

The lhasa apso is decidedly not a working dog. Their job is to sit around looking pretty and being brushed and doted on until they hear any suspicious noise that might disturb their peace, at which point they start barking to alert the actual muscle to get to work. That being said, they're more than willing to do the biting themselves if they decide the muscle is too slow to react.

BadBoyHalo – Pit Bull

The pit bull is a breed surrounded by rumors, misinformation, and flat out lies. For one thing, it's not even a breed. It's at least eight breeds that people lump together because they assume they're scarier or more aggressive or dangerous than average, including weird made up lies about locking jaws and nonsense like that. On the other hand, other people will argue that every pit bull is completely 100% harmless and neither would nor could hurt a fly. The truth of the matter is that a dog can be sweet and loving and playful and affectionate and also muscular and toothy and capable of lashing out when hurt or scared or simply because it has a prey drive that it hasn't been properly trained and socialized to restrain.

Jaiden – Beagle

Everyone loves a beagle! They're chill, sweet, eager to please, and down for anything. This makes them a preferred breed for animal testing.

Missa – Siberian Husky

Incredibly dramatic creature. Everything that is going on in the husky's life is the most important and portentous thing that has ever occurred and it will tell all you about it. Loudly.

Carre – Dogo Argentino

Although they sometimes get folded into the "pit bull" label, the dogo is a mastiff bred to hunt pumas and wild boars. They have strong prey drives and love to chase, but are very affectionate with their families. They can also have problem with dog aggression if not properly socialized, but do well with human strangers.

Bagi – Bloodhound

If there's one thing bloodhounds are good at – better than any other dog at, in fact – it's following a scent. They have the best sense of smell of any dog and can follow trails long after they would have gone cold for anyone else. The problem is this leads to an obsessive tendency. They find an interesting smell to follow and they follow it no matter where it's going or who is trying to get them to stop.

Pierre – Pyrenean Shepherd

Another sheepdog, this time bred specifically to work with the Great Pyrenees. Highly intelligent, highly motivated, if they cannot find any problems to solve, they will create them.

Fit – German Shepherd

A trustworthy, versatile breed, German shepherds have the power and strength for aggressive guard and attack dog roles as well as the intelligence to work as service or search and rescue and dogs. In fact, these are some of the most likely dogs to get themselves a job.

Mariana – English Greyhound

Large, long, lean. Little loony.

Wilbur – Borzoi

Large, long, lean. Little loony. (Floppy hair version)

Spreen – Ovcharka

Type of dog to make you go "holy shit is that a bear!" and type of dog to make a bear wish you saw right.

Niki – Hovawart

Native German breed known as a guard for the home and the farm. They are very protective of children and loyal to their families, but take a while to warm up to strangers.

Mouse – Papillon

The smallest of the spaniels, the papillon is not a lapdog. They are highly intelligent and highly energetic and require plenty of daily exercise to meet their activity needs. They're friendly and outgoing and great fun to be around.

Rivers – Boxer

You know, because she boxes...

Pol – Basset Hound

These days, the basset is a companion dog that's perfectly content to lounge around the house all day and not get into too much trouble. And it's these days that we're worried about, right?

Felps – Brazilian Terrier

He's just a little guy who loves to dig.

Antoine – Dogue de Bordeux

An ancient French breed with a weird looking face. The dogue is calm and friendly with children, but aloof with strangers and serves well as a guard dog.

Baghera – Poodle

Look at that silly dog with that funny haircut! Surely that can't be a highly intelligent and effective hunting dog. Nope, none of that here. Just the funny haircut dog. Hey, did you hear the joke about the goldfish?

Cellbit – Fila Brasileiro

Bred from mastiffs and bloodhounds, filas are massive dogs with incredibly powerful tracking instincts and prey drives. They are loyal and protective of their family and especially children but can be aggressive with strangers if not properly trained.

Maxo – Portuguese Water Dog

Please stop trying to keep him on land. Please. He just wants to get off the island. You know, to swim.

Vegetta – Burgos Pointer

Native Spanish breed of gundog. About as close to purple as a dog can get. Generally mild mannered and even tempered, but a hunting dog to the core, they need space to run and roam and make some trouble for small animals.

Foolish – Golden Retriever

A gorgeous specimen of classical doghood. Bred for a similar role to pointers. Known as goofy, charming housepets, but also extremely intelligent, diligent, and hardworking. And gorgeous.

Pac - Irish Wolfhound

Introverted, intelligent, and easygoing, but prone to becoming destructive and morose if left alone for too long. Unreliable watchdogs due to their friendliness towards strangers.

Mike – Campeiro Bulldog

Powerful, strong, and active, with a real fighting spirit and a temper that's slow to activate but powerful when it's there.

Slime – Pug

I'm out of pictures. You know what these look like. Specifically with the most smushed face possible. Why would you breed this dog? Try again.

Cucurucho – Rat

Literally canon.

#sorrelposting #qsmp #i took willy rubius kameto dantdm luzu german and lenay off the list to save myself #i think y'all can forgive me #i'm not doing the eggs either #just imagine them as mixes of their parents

[nocturnalrat]

can you do tired stressed miles (earth42! Or regular 1610! Miles)

Miles had a stressful time at work(fighting or sumn) and reader is just being a hugeee brat so he puts her in her place 🥹💕

Hi! Thanks for the prompt!

I chose Prowler!Miles for this, as I think he’d be more assertive & possessive than our ball of sunshine aka Earth-1610 Miles. :p Enjoy!

---

Dating someone with a double life had certain advantages, without question. But the list of drawbacks was just as long.

Moments like these made you realize how frustrating and difficult dating him could be sometimes.

You had planned on meeting tonight. But while you were waiting outside the movie theater, the following messages appeared on your phone:

won't make it tnight

sry

will make it up 2 u

You stared at the three texts and were irritated to no end. It had been weeks since you had last spent time together, just the two of you, and now you were being stood up by him. Again.  

When you finally arrived home, you ordered some food, worked on an essay for one of your college classes, and kept looking at the clock hanging on the wall.

Hours passed. You finished the essay, prepared a presentation for your biochem class, and tried to keep yourself awake with the help of coffee and an energy drink.

It was half past two in the morning when the front door opened quietly. He probably thought you were asleep. Well, he was wrong.

"Do you know what the word priority means?" you asked, annoyance clearly evident in your voice.

He didn't flinch when he saw you, nor did he look particularly surprised. Of course he didn't. There wasn't much that could startle Miles Morales; he was far too composed, too stoic, too stern for that.

Wretched fatigue showed on his face; he had dark circles under his eyes. Others would have found his moody demeanor threatening, but you knew that he was not half as evil as he looked. 

His reply came quick. "And do you know what the word responsibility means?"

You knew that this particular part of his life, and the responsibilities that came with it, took up a lot of his time. But that didn't mean you were happy or okay with it.

 "You stood me up three times in a row," you said, arms crossed in front of your chest. You tried not to pout too much and sound like a petulant child. "You know, Morales, not many people would put up with the shit you pull sometimes."

He raised an eyebrow and snorted. "Yeah, but you’re still here. Do you know why?" He took a few steps toward you.

"Easy one,” you replied. “Because I’m too nice and too good for you.”

“Don’t be bratty.”

“It’s the truth, though.” You shrugged, seemingly unfazed. “You know how many options I have? You’re not the only good-looking guy in New York, Miles.”

You knew immediately that you had said something wrong. His gaze darkened and he clenched his jaw.

You felt a chill run down your spine.

"What I meant by that is -" you started, but he cut you off.

"Shut up. Do you know why you’re still with me, despite the circumstances?”  

He leaned his forehead against yours and took your face in his hands.

"I asked you a question." His grip tightened.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat and attempted to shake your head, but you couldn't move; his grip was too strong. "No," you said quietly.

"Because you’re mine," he replied, and his voice was velvety and soft. "Mine alone. You belong to no one else. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Good.” He smiled as he stroked your hair. "I never want to hear you say something like that again.”

"Then stop being so tired and stressed all the time," you muttered, unable to keep the hurt and sadness from your voice.

"You wanna know what would make me feel less stressed and tired?" A smug grin appeared on his face.

You rolled your eyes. "Pretty presumptuous, don't you think?"

"I'd rather call it determined and self-assured."

"The answer’s no. You don't deserve it."

"Really?" He kissed the corner of your mouth. "Didn't you say you missed me?"

"Just because I missed you doesn't mean I'm going to throw my self-respect overboard -" But the firmness of your sentence faltered as his large hands began to caress your body.

"Mine," he whispered against your lips. "And what's mine, obeys."

You loved it when he called you his own, when he put you in your place. A tingling, warm feeling blossomed inside you.

The following day you woke up next to a handwritten note and a box of your favorite chocolate.

8 p.m. tonight, Lincoln Square 13.

It's a promise.

#miles morales x reader #prowler miles x y/n #earth 42 miles x reader #prowler miles x reader #miles x y/n

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap hates when his foods mix. He won't say anything if someone gets him food and just lumps it all together, he just... won't eat it. He'll pick at it, push it around, maybe pop a piece into his mouth.

He's been like that since he was a kid, used to get in a lot of trouble for it. Always the "picky eater" when really he's usually willing to try just about anything.

On many occasions soap has forgone lunch because everything got lumped together. Nobody really notices since he never says anything.

But ghost notices. It's his thing to notice the things that other people don't.

At first he couldn't figure it out. There was on pattern, and no decernible rhyme or reason to it. Just some days soap would eat, some days he would. It wasn't even that he'd have had a bad day. Sometimes it was 3 days in a row without lunch or 3 weeks of consistent lunches.

It was only months later that ghost finally figured it out. Months of watching him closely. Finally ghost realized, after watching soap receive chicken tenders and mash potatoes next to each other one day, and on top of each other another.

From from then on when ghost noticed soap skip lunch he made sure to bring soap something he would eat. Ghost brought it up the first time. Soap explained with a sheepish laugh, saying it was a bit embarrassing, ghost assure him it wasn't. After that soap usually have ghost his unwanted food. Sometimes ghost would do the work of separating his food items for him if there was time, it was the least he could do since soap pealed his peaches for him without complaint.

#el rambles #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #the olive theory

[dashielldeveron]

soulmate trope | shinsou

Shinsou’s route of soulmate trope.

this one is for the touch-starved girlies who are scared of intimacy and scared of people leaving warnings: female reader has a very specific view of sex and intimacy: that someone sleeping with her and then leaving her would fucking ruin her psyche forever. so she's a big-ass, kissless virgin for nasty evil plot reasons. sexual intimacy and abandonment/commitment are major themes. pseudo-sex work, with shinsou's hobby/side-job. shinsou and reader toss around the term bitch as a playful insult. this version of reader is fairly insecure and anxious about being loved and lovable—but so is shinsou.

~29k

Kirishima had his tongue in Mina’s mouth.

Well, more accurately, sometimes it was in her mouth. He was visibly licking at her lips and around her mouth fairly often, letting saliva drool down both of their faces—Mina’s shirt had a damp spot near the neck. Their kissing skills seemed sloppy at best and fucking disgusting at average, making loud squelches, splorches, and suction noises, overall sounding very wet and a bit like walking through ankle-deep, thick mud in rubber rainboots. Their moans, too, didn’t sound very sensual—more like there’s someone in the next room sampling someone haunted museum sound effects with some overlapping Yoko Ono texture.

Kirishima’s hands cupped Mina’s boobs, his fingers stiff and just, like, holding them. Not playing with her nipples through her shirt, or anything, but the way he occasionally squeezed them must have felt good, since Mina moaned more loudly when he did so. He’d moan the loudest when she pulled at his hair, knocking the back of his head against the refrigerator door.

You ducked back around the kitchen corner, grimacing as you sank to the floor to clutch your knees to your chest. This wasn’t the first time they were blocking the fridge, but you’d learnt there was nothing to do but kill time until they finished. Stealing some of Aoyama’s posh bubble-pop ice cream would have to wait.

***

“No, thank you,” you said to Monoma over your shoulder, pushing open the main door to Class A’s dorm, “You taught me stuff about my quirk today. I really value your fresh eyes on my old shit. Next time we train together, I’d like—Jesus fucking Christ.”

Yaoyorozu and Jirou were dry humping on the commons couch, with Yaoyorozu in Jirou’s lap with her hands in Jirou’s hair, tilting her head back enough to lick up her neck, right over the spot where her half of the soulmate tattoo lay.

Grimacing (you heard it in his voice and by his sucking in through his teeth; you’d covered your eyes and shied away), Monoma stooped to pick up Yaoyorozu’s shirt to slingshot it back towards them. “Get a room.”

***

All you’d wanted was to find the closet where they keep the lightbulbs.

Instead, you opened the door on Midoriya kneeling, Uraraka’s leg over his shoulder, audibly slurping, while she, skirt hiked up around her waist, ground against his face.

You shut the door again. Your dorm could stand being dark for a few more hours.

***

“I’m going to kill myself. I’m going to peel off my skin. No, actually, I’m going to eject my skellington from my body so that I can just be a lump of organs and skin. And then I can rest on the carpet in a pile,” you said, frowning into your ice cream, cheek propped on your fist, “Why can’t they all, like, give some sort of warning?”

“Not everyone carries a sock to put over every doorknob,” said a grinning Shinsou from across the table, licking around the side of his mint chocolate chip cone, “And c’mon, the U.A. dorm rooms are not sexy, and the walls are thin.”

Some sprinkles fell off of your ice cream when you gestured loosely. “Don’t I know it. I share a wall with Hagakure, and she and Ojiro are fucking constantly. He makes her get off on his tail a lot—I guess kind of like thigh riding?”

“You can’t do anything about it when they’re fucking in the privacy of their own dorms.” Shinsou bit directly into his ice cream and chewed, like a maniac.

“And apparently, she really like when he tickles her clit with the tip of his tail? I am burdened with knowledge,” you said, sighing, and you ate a mournful spoonful.

Shinsou swallowed thickly. “Does it lessen your opinion of them?”

“No. I’m glad they’re happy,” you said, “I’ve listened to their yearning over the years, so I know it’s such a relief for them for this quirk intervention to get feelings out, along with the assurance of permanent romance and stability. Hashtag get some, I guess. I’m just—the influx of soulmates and their PDA is highly inconvenient for navigating my everyday life.”

“You sound like you’ve put thought into it.” Shinsou smirked, tongue flattening as he licked over the top of his scoop (and turning slightly green). “Just inconvenient?”

You shot him a look and fished around in your paper cup for more sprinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you sure you’re not jealous?” asked Shinsou, the shop’s A/C kicking in and blowing through his hair—he pursed his lips and scooted his metal chair out of the way of the vent. “Since, y’know, you don’t appear to have a soulmate. You ready to tell me yet? Why’re you so nervous?”

Yikes. You’d been avoiding that.

“Are you not marked physically? Or do you have one on your boobs—”

You sighed overdramatically and sank down in your chair until your ass practically hung off of it. “I have a soulmark, and it’s not in an embarrassing place. Relatively normal, actually. It’s on my back, so it took me a while to notice it.”

Shinsou bit into the cone and crunched loudly. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“You’re not seeing it. No one’s ever gonna see it.”

“No one? You’re confident. You think your soulmate won’t ever want to take you from behind?” His tongue flicked out to swipe at a melted drop on his lips.

“Oh, my God.” You buried your face in your hands. “God, the thought of someone I don’t even know having sex with me—I don’t wanna think about it. But that’s not what I meant. I was being facetious; I meant that my words are pretty embarrassing.”

Shinsou slumped down in his seat at that, but nowhere near as far as you. “Oh? First words?”

“I assume. It’s a sentence, anyway.” You sat up, stabbing your spoon into your ice cream. “I—I’ll tell you, since I don’t want anyone—seeing me, and I know you’ll bug me about it, but it’s—”

“Just spit it out. Rip off the bandage.”

Cringing, you held up your hands in defence. “Don’t kill me, but I also don’t remember who said them to me?”

“Oh, you’re joking,” said Shinsou, his face lighting the fuck up, “That’s fucking hilarious, if it’s true. And how do you know they’ve already been said to you? How do you know they aren’t still to come?”

“I don’t know. I just…feel it in my heart of hearts that I have already heard these words, but I can’t for the life of me remember who said them,” you said, and you bent to riffle through your bag for your phone, “I keep a list of everyone who’s not paired off in my notes app, and I’m trying to remember the situations in which I first met them—”

“You’re stalling,” said Shinsou, grinning as he popped the last of the cone into his mouth, “Tell me what it says.”

Wincing, you set your bag aside. “Don’t make fun of me,” you said, biting your lip and scrunching your eyes shut, “but, uh. It reads, Looks like the ice princess finally decided to grace us with her presence.” At his silence, you cracked an eye open.

Shinsou’s eyes had glazed over, but he shook himself and spoke. “Don’t know why you’re embarrassed. That’s fucking hot.” He grabbed your used napkins to toss them in the garbage. “Think it’s an enemies-to-lovers type relationship? Just kidding,” he said at your pained expression, “But I see what you mean about those already being said to you. Weren’t you seen as sort of a cold, uptight bitch when we first started attending U.A.?”

“An easy misinterpretation,” you said, scraping at the bottom of your cup, “People thought my being shy and not talking to people was being a bitch, but I was just nervous that I was around so many people my age who seemed so much more in tune with their quirks that I was.”

“So, that gives you a time frame for when you met your soulmate. And,” he said, holding up a finger, “that lets you know that you met your soulmate in a group with other people, unless they speak in the royal we for some reason. It also sounds like you were late to a scheduled event. You remember doing anything like that freshman year?”

“Look, all I remember about the first three months of freshman year is being overwhelmed by how cool everyone was. That time is a blur to me, and before now, I’ve been grateful for that. Aizawa-sensei really put us through the wringer. I was meeting literally everyone I currently hang out with during that time, though, so that’s not helpful.” You gave your empty container to Shinsou when he held out his hand, and he threw it away for you. “How’s your search going? You gonna share your details?”

“I’ve got a name,” he said, cool as you please, chair clanking as he sat back down, “but I’m not sharing. It’s not yours, if you’re concerned.” His nose scrunched as he grinned, poking your arm. “It’s someone out of reach, and I’ve come to terms with that. I’m doing pretty well on my own. You ready to leave?”

Nodding, you slung your bag over your arm. “I envy you. You’re brave. Me—I’m dreading the thought of the pain we’ll feel if we don’t find our soulmates. Shouldn’t we be feeling it already?”

Shinsou held the shop door open for you. “It hasn’t been that long, and when it happens, I’ll manage. I’ll be more worried about you, you crybaby.”

“If it gets too excruciating, I’ll just have you brainwash me to not feel it, right?” you stuck out your tongue, walking backwards as he caught up to you.

His countenance darkened. “Stop that. You know I’m never gonna use my quirk on you. I don’t wanna do that to you.”

“But Hitoshi,” you said, dragging out the last syllable, “Imagine how productive I could be if you made me study, or how fucking relaxed I could be for once, if you told me to; my brain could be fucking calm for once—”

“Never. And that’s final,” said Shinsou, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets as he jogged to your side, “You keep trying to convince me, and y’know, the definition of insanity is—”

“Fudge off, you fuck,” you said, smiling, “I guess I can keep trying to empty my brain on my own. Gosh, it must be nice to be able to not freak out and overanalyse things constantly, and you’d think you’d want someone willing to train your quirk on. I mean, I’m here, and I want it.”

“Keep dreaming,” said Shinsou, gently shoulder-checking you, “So, got any ideas about how to get Hagakure and Ojiro to shut up?”

***

Since Midnight was working with Tainted Love at a women’s rehabilitation centre, she was able to confiscate some of Tainted Love’s team’s notes on her quirk. It had a lot to do with math and probability, but the nub and gist of what interested you was that while soulmates typically breathed in the same pink cloud, they didn’t have to.

Which brought a new factor to your soulmate search: maybe it was someone outside of U.A., someone who breathed in her quirk before she was captured.

But while you were at first reassured by more information, you were also now perpetually on edge. Though all of her victims had reported, what if someone didn’t even know they breathed it in? Plus, your request for the list of victims was still being processed and supposed to have around four thousand people on it, and you might not even get it due to privacy laws.

At least someone was finding all this funny: Shinsou laughed but listened to your frazzled thoughts, and he opened his dorm room to you whenever Hagakure’s moans became too pornographic.

***

Everybody’s fucking. Everybody.

Everywhere you went, you walked in on someone sucking face. You couldn’t drop a pen in class without noticing that someone’s getting fingered.

You bounced a tennis ball against Shinsou’s dorm room ceiling. “Why is everyone focused on the physical? Why isn’t anyone into the goddamn romance and intimacy of it all? If you’ve been fated to know and love someone for the rest of your life, living out the mundanities and revelling in the unfolding of a relationship, then why the hell is everyone focused on physical pleasure?”

Shinsou didn’t even look up from his phone. “Spoken like the world’s biggest virgin.”

“Hey!” The ball fell onto the floor. “So what. Just because I haven’t experienced that sort of thing doesn’t mean I can’t understand its value but still want something more.” You slinked your top half off his bed to grasp for the tennis ball, fingertips grazing it, not wanting to get up. “I get the appeal of sex. I get it. But I would be more interested in the intimacy of knowing someone and being known.”

Shinsou waved a dismissive hand. “I know. Zoom in on our friendship.” He locked his phone and set it on his bedside table. “But for someone who says she doesn’t want sex, you’re one touch-starved little bitch. You’re doing it to yourself, not letting anyone touch you casually. I hazard to guess you’re putting too much value on the physicality of a future relationship that might not even exist.”

Only your feet were still on the bed as you strained to catch the rolling ball. “I touch you.”

“You put your head on my shoulder. Sometimes,” he said, getting off the bed, “and you occasionally let me touch your arms for comedic effect and emphasis.” He picked up the tennis ball and took it back to the bed, and you scrambled back to get all the way on it.

“Listen, I don’t know where everyone’s been,” you said, taking the ball back after he tossed it against the ceiling himself once, “Especially now that everyone might have bodily fluids on their hands. You, I know you wash your hands. I know where you’ve been. You train with Aizawa-sensei and come back to this room. You should get a plant, or something, to keep you company. It might encourage you to raise the blinds for once.”

“Excuse you. I also spend time with a cat Kouda’s hooked up for me,” he said pointedly, “Her name’s Dango, and she loves me. You could say I’m drowning in pussy.”

“I could not say,” you said, rubbing the ball’s highlighter-yellow fuzz as you lay back in his bed, legs dangling off the edge, “Big sigh. I guess you’re right about my putting too much stock in being physical with my soulmate, instead of with someone now. I think—I don’t wanna be vulnerable in that way in front of someone who might leave? If someone saw me naked and then ghosted me, I think I’d strangle myself. Or him. There’d be someone walking around with that information on me, and he could tell anyone. I can’t have that. He’d have to die.”

“Well, you’ve already seen a bunch of our friends naked on accident—”

“Not up close. Besides, it wasn’t my goal to see them like that, and I wasn’t absorbing details. I can’t tell you who’s got moles in weird places.”

Shinsou hunched over, grinning toothily in your face. “You’re waiting to lose your virginity to your soulmate, aren’t you?”

Pouting, you flipped over to face away from him. “Shut uuuuup. I know I’m embarrassing, but I can’t talk myself out of it.”

“Wait, hey.” The bedding rustled as he got adjusted himself, getting closer to you. “If I’ve gone too far, I’m sorry. There is no fucking shame in waiting. It’s in character for you, how you’re scared about vulnerability and how you value being intimate and romantic. I can’t make fun of you for that, genuinely.” He sat next to you, back against the wall, and he nudged your shoulder. “I’m a bit lost, though. I get the part where you’re a virgin overwhelmed by the sudden sexual atmosphere at U.A., but I fail to see the problem when you’re planning to lose your virginity to your soulmate, and odds are, you’ll meet him soon.” He paused. “Or you’ve already met him.”

Glancing over your shoulder with a sour expression, you grabbed the blue-pineappled throw blanket folded at the end of his bed and hid under it.

Instead of yanking it off, Shinsou lifted the blanket’s edge to join you underneath it, his pale skin tinged with blue in the dampened light. “C’mon,” he said, leaning over you to get a look at your face (and you tugged at the blanket to cover you more), “I’ve heard you say worse. If you don’t wanna share, that’s cool, but I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going through your head.”

Shinsou tilted his head to the side and grinned his stupid crooked grin that you were not immune to: it’s one of his expressions that made you feel at ease, like you could trust this idiot man with anything. (Which you could, but you didn’t like being reminded.)

Forcing yourself, you spoke in a small voice. “What if my soulmate wants sex immediately? I’m—I’m not ready for that. I’d have to work up to it, and what if he doesn’t have the patience?”

Shinsou laughed and brought his hand up to cover his mouth when he let out a snort. “Sounds like a shitty soulmate to me, then, if he doesn’t respect your boundaries. Any man can wait it out. We’ve don’t have two hands for nothing,” he said, wiggling his fingers.

“Thanks, I guess.” You pulled the blanket off of your heads and sat up slowly. “But I worry. What if I’m too much of a sick, touch-starved weirdo who freaks out over every single touch for my soulmate to like me?”

“Your soulmate will love you.”

“But what if he gets irritated at how much I freak out or flinch at everything?”

“You’re overthinking it. He’ll adjust, and you’ll learn, if that’s what you want.” Shinsou picked up the tennis ball and threw it against the ceiling again. “If he doesn’t, then he doesn’t deserve you, and I’ll destroy him.”

“Okay,” you said, deflating. You moved to rest your head on his shoulder, but the instant your temple grazed his sweater, you shot back up, eyes bulging. “What if he wants me to give him the most egregious head when I’m not—”

“All right. Fine,” he said, brow furrowed, and he shifted on the bed to kneel in front of you, staring right into your eyes. “Let’s entertain your fucking insane thoughts. Let’s say your soulmate does want to fuck you immediately. What do you want to do now about it? Can you do anything besides worry?”

You shrank back, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know. I don’t know! I guess…somehow get…used to casual touching, but once again, 1) what if my tester person leaves, and 1a) it would be mean to ask someone to not feel things for me and touch me, and 2) I don’t want to burden anyone with—”

“Fuck.” The way he said it was crisp and full of reluctance, punctuated by the tennis ball hitting the ceiling. “Okay. I’ve kept something from you. Something pretty big. I can use it to help you.”

You blinked. “Are you saying you have a dildo to lend me? I think I have to refuse.”

“I haven’t been going on dates.” Shinsou shuffled about to lean back on his pillow, crossing his arms behind his head (huh, that Sailor Mercury t-shirt was really tight around his bicep. Has it always been?). “You’ve seen me go out to teach people how to dom.”

“What?” You caught the tennis ball when he threw it at an odd angle. “You’ve been—who’s asked you to—”

“A fair amount of people, actually.” He sucked in through his teeth. “Won’t tell you details, of course, because part of the payment and contract includes a non-disclosure agreement. But people you know have wanted to learn how to dom or just experience being dommed, and I happen to be the perfect person to ask.” He shrugged and gestured loosely. “All I’ll say is that some people—people you know and don’t—have come to me for help with stuff like shibari and dirty talk. Or how to do anything, really, because of, quotation from client, ‘being a useless lesbian,’ unquote.”

So that’s how he can afford all those video games and imported books. Sneak. “You’re telling me—”

“That I can help you get used to physical intimacy, professionally,” said Shinsou, propping one leg over the other, twirling his socked foot in the air, “However far you want to go. However you want.”

(So those jokes about perfect dom Shinsou during girls’ nights had an inkling of truth in them? You may have to throttle some of your friends.)

You hesitated. “Hitoshi, you are my best friend—”

“Therefore, we already have an established relationship based on trust and respect, and I’m not leaving you. Not ever. I value our friendship too much. I won’t screw you over. Tear out my fucking vocal cords if I ever do.” He ran his hand back through his hair, flattening it, but it fluffed back up anyway. “I’m already unbearably fond of you, so I’m not gonna be cruel about it. It just so happens that I have the resources and skills that you’re interested in, and we’re not gonna end our friendship anytime soon. I might be a good solution for your problem—though, I have to admit, I don’t really think you have one.”

“And,” you said quietly, tossing the ball back and forth between your hands, “you don’t think my soulmate would think less of me for being touched by someone else?”

Wincing, Shinsou said, “Purity culture has chewed you up and spat you out. I’m not telling you to compromise your morals and lose your virginity to someone who’s not your soulmate, but I am saying that even if you do, it’s okay, and—and I’m just not saying that because I wanna fuck you. I’m saying that it’s okay if you experiment for what you want later with other people now. It doesn’t devalue you.” He clicked his tongue. “And nobody’s dick is good enough to alter your worth fundamentally. Anyone who says otherwise can’t find the clitoris.”

You managed a laugh at that, and you crawled up to lie next to Shinsou. He flipped his onigiri-patterned pillow over so that the cool side would face up, and he scooted it over for you to rest on, too.

“Let me continue to entertain your overthinking: even in the slim chance that your soulmate is a fuckshit who thinks less of you because you’ve fooled around before,” said Shinsou, tilting his head on the pillow to face you, “that fact will hold less and less weight the more he gets to know you. You’d be so easy to fall in love with.”

Sighing, you bit your lip. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” said Shinsou, staring at the ceiling again and folding his hands on his chest, “Hell, I wish you were my soulmate. It’d make things easy, don’t you think?” He managed a quick glance towards you before returning upwards. “We already know each other so well, and you wouldn’t have to worry about being vulnerable around someone new. You’d just have me.”

“Please, Hitoshi, there’s nothing just about you. You’re so fucking lovely,” you said, imitating his position and laying your hands on your stomach, following his gaze to the lazy swing of the ceiling fan pull. “Would you—would you be grossed out by seeing me?”

“Never. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to do it.” Shinsou twiddled his thumbs and knocked his socked foot against yours. “If it makes you feel safer, I’ll do anything to help.”

“People pay you for sessions, right? How much would I pay you?”

“What?” Raising a brow, Shinsou flipped on his side to face you. “You wouldn’t. I’m offering. Other people came to me, but I’m the one approaching you. I’m not gonna make you give me money for this.”

“But,” you said, shaking your head, “what do you get out of this, besides endless dirt on me?”

“I get to see my best friend be comfortable in her own skin. I haven’t seen that much at all, in all the time we’ve known each other,” he said, and he reached for his phone on the bedside table. “Consider it, at least. I won’t mind in the slightest if you want to or not. It’s only a way I could help quell your anxiety.”

***

YOU

all right, you schmuck

YOU

i’ve slept on it

YOU

i think i want to do it. i can rescind that at any time though

HITOSHI 💜🍡

of course

HITOSHI 💜🍡

how much time do you need?

YOU

uh. guess i’m ready whenever you are.

YOU

my dorm or yours? or somewhere else????

HITOSHI 💜🍡

I bet you’ll feel the most comfortable in your own bed

HITOSHI 💜🍡

if you’ll allow me an hour to prepare, I’ll be over soon

***

What does one wear to get dommed?

Revealing clothing? Underwear? Anything at all?

A brisk knock on your door, way too quickly, but you braced yourself and opened the door on a serious Shinsou, clad in all black (jeans and a turtleneck), hair mussed up a bit more than usual, and carrying a duffel bag. He tilted his head as he looked up and down your body, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile at your loose, cat-patterned loungewear.

“May I come in?”

You stepped aside, and he strode inside, noting the lit candle (against dorm rules, but he’s no snitch) and cherry blossom lamp, and set his duffel on the desk. As you trudged in behind him, playing with your fingers idly, he pulled out your desk chair, spun it around, and straddled it, propping his folded arms across the back.

“Let’s talk,” he said, gesturing for you to sit on your bed, “I custom build my routine for each client. What I have in mind specifically for you is drastically different from anything I’ve ever done: it’s much gentler, slower—” He held your gaze, wide and serious, and wetted his lips. “—and intimate. I will walk you through every step, and you have the power to veto anything I propose. You have all the control here. I will never be disappointed in your decisions. You are not in danger.” He gripped his opposite elbow, knuckles whitening. “I want you to know that what we do does not have to be inherently sexual. Our goal is to increase your tolerance for physical contact, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you said, your fists clenched in your lap, “To feel at ease when people I trust touch me…I’d like to have some shred of chill by the time my soulmate comes around.”

You hoped Shinsou wouldn’t start by making you suck his dick. Judging by the way he was sitting and the bulge in his jeans, he must have a huge fucking cock (weird to think about your best friend’s genitals). Opening your mouth that wide wouldn’t feel comfortable, and you’ve already been chewing gum today, soreness already imminent.

(What’s in his bag? Is it all condoms? [That’s a lot of condoms…])

“First off,” he said, raising a finger (but for some reason he’s raised his pinkie finger to indicate one instead of his index finger, and then you’re noticing the length of just his pinkie finger and imagining how far it could go down your throat), “I’m not gonna fuck you. That’s your soulmate’s job, as you’ve established. What else are you specifically saving for your soulmate?”

Shinsou’s mouth twitched into a smirk when he noticed your narrowed eyes followed the loose gesture of his pinkie finger, and with a roll of his eyes, he returned his pinkie to his fist and raised his index finger, which had your shoulders slackening as you slumped back onto your bed, leaning back against your hands with your neck tilted back, arched at the ceiling so that you didn’t have to look him in the face.

“I’ve got, uh, reservations about the…” You shifted your weight so that you could gesture vaguely with your hands. “Mouths and hands directly on my cunt sort of thing.”

Shinsou let out a low whistle, and at that you had to break from the ceiling to see his expression: he was fucking grinning and shaking his head, his eyes a bit glassy as he scanned your own expression. “Using some crude terms, aren’t we? For a virgin.”

“Oh, come on. I’m a virgin, not ignorant,” you said, crossing your arms over your stomach and hunching over a bit to hide, “Do you want me to be clinical? I can say vagina and vulva and stuff all the time if you want me to, but cunt, at least, blurs the specificity and makes it simpler—”

“No, no, you’re good. You can sit back up; no need to hide.” Shinsou flicked that index finger in a gesture that lifted from your knees to your head, and you unfurled, pissed that he’d picked up on your body language like that—but, you supposed, that’s what he’s here for. “I was simply surprised you didn’t go for pussy. Do you want me to avoid using that term?”

“Uh.” He’s being. Thorough. Thoughtful. Why didn’t anyone else ever treat you like this? Some of your friends have such an unholy combination of words in their vocabulary that barrage you with psychic damage, and no one’s ever asked or noticed if you’ve been uncomfortable. “I think—I think if you use it sporadically, it’ll be fine.”

“All right,” said Shinsou, nodding, “So, no direct contact of my mouth or hands on your cunt.”

God, he can’t turn off teasing you for one minute? “Yeah. Though I can rescind that. I’m hoping that I might be comfortable enough down the line, but right now, I’m not.”

“Of course. I’m proud of you for recognising a boundary, even if it’s temporary. We’ll only go there if you decide you’re ready.” He blinked slowly, like a cat in a sunbeam. “Anything else only for your soulmate?”

In a bunch of stories you’ve read about hook-ups or friends-with-benefits situations, the people don’t always allow kissing, because that implies romantic feelings. You didn’t know precisely due to your lack of experience, but maybe that holds a grain of truth?

“Okay. There’s another thing I’m not sure about at the moment but is subject to change,” you said, and there’s no fucking way you’re going to look at him while you said this, so you became very invested in pulling at a hangnail, “I don’t know about—how I feel about kissing. You. On the mouth. Because what if I’m the super susceptible kind of virgin who attaches herself to the first person who shows her affection, and I fall in fucking love with you?”

“Hm. That sounds less about kissing and more about this whole situation in general,” Shinsou said with a grunt, over the sounds of his pushing up from the chair and taking the two steps to stand in front of you. “Hey. Look at me?”

He’s got nice shoes. He didn’t take them off at the door, but considering they’re scuffed, black doc martens, they may be part of his getting into character as a dom. Huh, they made his feet look long and narrow; what kind of insane socks must he be wearing under—

“I’m gonna use one hand to touch your face. Is that okay? Nod, if—thank you,” said Shinsou, and his right palm cupped your cheek, his long fingers grazing wisps of your hair and thumb over your cheekbone, and he tilted your face up to look at him.

Wincing, you averted your eyes from his, but he tapped your cheek with his thumb. “Nuh-uh. Look at me, sweet—thank you,” he said, once you made yourself do it (and it was hard, harder than it had ever been whenever you’d shot him side-eye when he pulled a crap move in a co-op video game, harder than glancing towards him in class to see if he’d gotten your joke, and it left a stone sitting in your stomach, one whose full weight you didn’t care to discover). Part of not looking him in the eye was bracing yourself for his usual reprimand of you’re overthinking, but it never came. “Let’s entertain the thought of your falling in love with me,” said Shinsou with far too much ease, his lips remaining parted at the end of that heavy sentence, “Isn’t that good? Because it means that whatever part of me you fell for, you know that that’s something you want in your soulmate. It tells you more about yourself and what kind of love you want.”

Your jaw dropped on impulse, and his grin widened as he stroked your cheekbone.

“Think about your favourite characters in books and movies. Aren’t there patterns of traits in them that you’d want in your soulmate? Falling in love, in all of these frequent iterations, is just a way to learn about what you like in a partner. I know you like Prince Zuko—”

“Hitoshi,” you said, abruptly very aware of the warmth of his palm as you tried to move your face underneath it, “Are you telling me to treat you like that? Like someone disposable? Like someone who isn’t real?”

“The way you talk about Zuko does not indicate that you know he’s a goddamn cartoon,” said Shinsou, “Or, more specifically, his hands—”

“Hitoshi,” you said, screwing your face up in a pout while leaning into his hand (holy shit, leaning into his touch, a pseudo-depending on him to keep you upright—something about allowing the dependence mixed with the warmth of his scarred hands [very slight, calloused dents where he wound his capture weapon as default] had you feeling lightheaded—and then you felt stupid, because you were feeling lightheaded over a goddamn touch to your face that’s not even that delicate), “I’m not treating you like that. For you, that sounds—” You huffed, and you worked up the strength to look him in the eyes again. “—so lonely.”

Breaking the eye contact himself, Shinsou sighed, and he moved to slide his hand off of your face—but you clamped your own hand over it, first an actual clamping-type move, to get him to stay, and then lessening the pressure, to let him know he can take it off, if he really wants. “Sorry,” you said, tapping your finger on the back of his hand, “I like this. It’s easy. I can handle it, I think.”

Nodding, Shinsou kept his hand on your cheek as he grappled behind him for the chair again, and this time, he sat in it properly, with his knee grazing one of yours. “Listen. I’m used to people projecting feelings onto me. They get wrapped up in the heat of the moment, and once the scene is over, they know they don’t actually like me romantically. Post-nut clarity, y’know. So, if you want to,” said Shinsou, rubbing his thumb over your cheek and grasping one of your hands with his free one, “If you have any inclination to project feelings on me, if it does anything to make you feel more at ease, then please, do it. I want you to get to know you better.”

Project feelings. Not truly feeling them. And if you did happen to fall in love with him, then it’s only a passing thing to get to know what you want in your soulmate.

Shinsou seemed so certain that he was unlovable, and that stone in your gut burbled mournfully in stomach acid. You’d respect his decision to hide his soulmark’s name, but should he ever let it slip, you’re going to find his soulmate to prove him wrong as soon as possible.

“Okay,” you said, nodding firmly and looking him in the eyes.

“Okay? You sure? Right, then,” said Shinsou, and he sat back in his chair, relishing in how you visibly grieved at the loss of his touch, and crossed his arms loosely. “Any other boundaries, hard or otherwise?”

You took a moment. “The stomach-tummy area is personal.”

“You’re insecure about it?”

“Hey—”

He waved a dismissive hand at you. “I knew that already, but it’s good to have verbal confirmation. I’ve seen the rate at which you bare that part of you, even in the light of peer pressure. Just means I know an area to lavish affection upon, when or if we get there.”

Groaning, you fell back on your bed, the heels of your palms digging into your eyes. “You’re insane for noticing that. You’re insane for noticing that. How—”

“Being aware of my environment is part of what a stealth-route hero like me has to do, sweet—” Shinsou cut himself off and frowned. “How do you feel about terms of endearment?”

“Not Jack Nicholson’s best work.”

“You piece of shit,” said Shinsou with a laugh, yanking on your duvet to make your ass fall off the edge of the bed, “I meant. I meant if you were okay with pet names, like sweetheart or baby or anything.”

You scrambled to get your ass fully back on the bed, pulling the duvet with you. “I don’t know how I’d respond if you called me anything; it’s not really a sexy word—”

“You are in for a world of trouble one day,” Shinsou said, tossing the corner of the blanket over your head (you swatted at it), “Because now I can be honest about how you behave: you’re a goddamn brat, y’know?”

“Oh, come off of it, Hitoshi; with the way we tease each other, it’s like you’ve trained me to be this way,” you said, laughing a bit as you tucked your duvet in again, but when you caught Shinsou’s eye, for some reason, his expression had completely stiffened. It only lasted for a moment, though, and he recovered in a flash.

“Well,” he drawled out, “I figured that using terms of endearment would add another layer to teasing you, and judging by how hard you’re avoiding answering me seriously, you’d like that. Wouldn’t you, sweetness?”

“I’ll kill you,” you said, hating every fibre in your being as you’d, on reflex, tensed up, halting any movement, and flushed, heat flooding your face and neck, when he’d called you that. How old are you? Old enough not to get fucking flustered at being called—

“As if you could.” He clicked his tongue. “Are any terms off-limits?”

“You can probably think up something absurd or nasty that I wouldn’t consider,” you said, “Sticking to the classics would probably be the safest.”

“All right. Anything else you think of later, as a boundary, you let me know immediately. Now, listen: unless otherwise instructed, you’re free to touch me in any way you want. I may direct you away from something, should I think you’re not ready for it.” He raised his index finger again, and he made a big show of raising a second finger from his fist. “And finally, two. This is a hard, non-negotiable rule for you: I’m not going to use my quirk on you. Ever.”

You collapsed on your bed again with a disgruntled groan. “What else is new?”

Shinsou shook his head. “I don’t want you getting the impression that just because we’re in a session that I’m going to do that to you.”

You sat up and snapped your head towards him. “You said it’s a rule for me. Do you use your quirk on other people who get you to dom them? Because, if so, I call bitch.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Shinsou hunched over to rest his elbows on his knees. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. They ask me to, and! And,” he said, holding up his hand to stop you from protesting, “It’s nothing but a session. They’re paying me for a good time, and that’s it. But you—you’re doing this as—as something akin to therapy, I guess. I’m just a step on your journey to being intimate with your soulmate—someone you’ll be with for the rest of your life. That’s a long time to be without my quirk, if you get too used to it, in the context of being intimate. If you end up needing to be brainwashed to be vulnerable, then it’ll only stunt the physical part of your relationship with your soulmate.”

“Fuck you for making sense,” you said, mirroring his hunched-over position and nudging his knee with yours, “And as for real-life reasons for not using it? Because you’re an ass?”

Shinsou’s eyes narrowed and glinted in the cherry-blossom light. “Because imagine,” he said, reaching towards your face again (pausing a moment to ensure you were okay with it, and after you nodded, he continued) to lift your chin with nothing but his curved index finger underneath it, “if I could finally control the biggest brat in my life, and what’s more, she wants me to? Much too addicting. I wouldn’t get anything done. I’ve got to become a hero after all this; I can’t spend all my time taking care of my prettiest little girl.”

When he dropped your chin, you stayed tilted up, in the same position he left you in, throat exposed and blinking profusely as you tried to process what he’d said. Your mouth was very, very dry.

Uh.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” said Shinsou, and you jolted from your stance to see his hand clapped over his mouth, brow furrowed with the tips of his ears reddening, shoulders curved in as he slumped.

It’s about time he showed he could get flustered, too, because you’ve already embarrassed yourself just with conversation and a few touches to your face. But what the hell was he getting like that over?

Shinsou dragged his hand down his chin and formed it into a fist in his lap. “Do you know if you’re into proper Dom/Sub dynamics? Do you know if that’s something you’d like to explore? Because with the way you stayed there for me,” said Shinsou, inching towards you, his chest heaving at his steadying breath, “you could be someone’s perfect little sub someday.”

“I think so. I think I am,” you said in a small voice, “I think that’s something I might want to be—hold the fuck up. Did I manage to turn you on?”

After the tiniest moment of shrinking under your smug smile, Shinsou puffed out his chest as he sat up, rolling his shoulders back. “It’s to be expected in a session, since it’s a sexual context.”

“Oh, my God, I did it. I turned someone on. Holy shit,” you said, running your fingers back through your hair, “I think I have to call Mina. I finally did it.”

Shinsou scoffed. “Please, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve—”

“Oh?” You froze, your hand almost to your phone on your bedside table. “Say more right now? Who do you know who’s been—”

“We’ve discussed boundaries enough for this first session, since it’s not that invasive. Let’s get to the heart of the session,” said Shinsou, standing to reach around for his duffel bag, and, after unzipping it, he handed his laptop to you. “Pick out a movie.”

You tilted your head as Shinsou trudged back to your door to untie his doc martens. “Excuse me?”

“I should already be logged in. Check my bookmarks bar for streaming sites,” he called from your door.

Shrugging to yourself, you slipped his laptop from his Put Your Hands Up Radio sleeve (leftover merch that wouldn’t sell; you had one as well) and opened it to search for a movie, automatically shifting over on your bed to the spot where you sat when the two of you watched something and blindly reaching for your throw blanket.

“Now, did I tell you to do that?” asked Shinsou as he rounded the corner again to see you settling into the usual routine, and after retrieving some water bottles from his duffel, he stood by your bedside table, where he put the water while bouncing on the balls of his feet (plain black socks. He is taking this seriously). “I’m not your friend right now, sweetheart; I’m your dom.” The same hand cupped your same cheek as earlier, and he briefly ran his thumb over your cheekbone before returning his hand to behind his back. “All I did was tell you to pick out a movie, and while I’m pleased you can extrapolate from incomplete information, it’s not what I want you doing right now. Sit back where you were.”

Holding your breath, you scooted back to the middle of the bed, where you’d been sitting on the edge, computer in your lap. What have you gotten yourself into? Was this what your best friend was really like? Has he had some sort of issue with your movie nights up until now?

Shinsou sat at the head of the bed, but he took up the whole space instead of sitting in his normal spot. He held out his hand for the laptop, and he placed it, cracked open, on your bedside table, moving your phone out of the way.

And then he fucking spread his legs.

“C’mon, sweet girl, sit back against me,” he said, patting a thigh with one hand and extending the other towards you, “I know you can do it. Come here.”

I know you can do it felt condescending here. Of course you can do it. It’s nothing but sitting between his legs instead of next to him. Very simple. Mind-bogglingly simple. So, it felt patronising and unnecessary that he would pull out that line for something so easy, this early in the game.

That didn’t mean you didn’t like it.

This was his idea of a first session? You were so pathetic that he felt the need for you to practise sitting between a man’s legs? Shut the fuck up.

Penis. You might touch a rascally ol’ penis, even if it’s through layers and layers of fabric. Inch resting.

You’ve never been fucking held. What if you cry, or something?

Which, oh, yikes, oof, makes your second point make a bit of sense.

Steeling yourself, you crawled the two feet towards him, but you hesitated before turning around: he’d parted his legs ever wider while you’d crawled back, so none of him was touching you at the moment, giving you still a chance to back out before it began.

“If it helps,” he said, tired eyes half-lidded, “think of me as your soulmate.”

Swallowing, you managed to nod just barely, and you turned.

At first, you’d tried to have some space between you and Shinsou, but he’d helped position you, guiding you with his large hands on your hips to have your ass snug against his pelvis (and yeah, the penis was there), hips framed by his inner thighs (since when have his thighs been bigger than yours? And his were all muscle), and he slid his hands up to your waist and ribcage to keep your back pressed against his chest. Once he had you all pressed against him the way he liked, Shinsou set his chin on your shoulder, startling you, but he petted away your alarm at your waist, a gruntled huff of hot air at your ear while he grounded you.

“You can tell me at any time if you get too stiff or want to change to a different position, but you’re staying in my arms tonight,” said Shinsou, untangling one arm from around your waist to reach for the laptop, “I thought cuddling would be a good start for you—full-bodied vulnerability, but you don’t necessarily have to look me in the eyes for it, and you can feel safe knowing I’ve got you. You’re held; you’re not in any danger.”

He placed the laptop on your knees. “Now, knowing your sense of humour, you’ve picked out Terms of Endearment.” Instead, he opened it to the title screen for a Zuko-centric episode of The Last Airbender. “All right, that’s fair.” You heard him laughing through his nose behind you before returning his chin to your shoulder.

Initially, you couldn’t concentrate on Zuko’s rippling pectorals for once in your life, because there was a man holding you and his dick was right there. Not, like, hard or anything, but it was present, just something extra to press against your ass. Eventually, it became less about the cock and more about being held, which was fucking intoxicating and warm and made you feel so small and safe, and that was out of the ordinary for you. The small huffs of Shinsou’s laughter in your ear through his occasional commentary (really kind of him to talk through a movie, like he normally did, instead of staying in dom mode, you thought. Helped you relax).

But even the movie night had to be cut short. Five minutes into the third episode, you’d finally cosied into his arms—dare you say, feeling like you could handle this thing called cuddling—when Ojiro and Hagakure started going at it next door. Hardly a full minute had elapsed between their clamouring down the hallway, the slamming shut of her door, and what sounded like a kabedon and something immediately plunging into Hagakure, based on her moans. Probably fingers.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I hope they were fooling around in public beforehand, so she’s at least gotten some prep,” you said, as Shinsou shut the laptop.

“We’ll continue this another time,” said Shinsou, setting it aside, and he, moving to kneel, guided your hips forward to turn you around to face him. “Was this okay?”

You shot him a double thumbs-up. “Excellent first step. New but safe, facilitated by a variation of something we’re already used to.”

“Something we’re already used to,” he repeated under his breath, for some reason, barely audible over Ojiro’s tail thwacking the shared wall. He reached for both his laptop sleeve and a water bottle for you, and he started packing his stuff away.

You twisted off the cap to break the seal. “Are we gonna do something different next time?”

“I think we’re going to do this a couple more times so that being held is no longer a sort of event in your mind, adding some minor variety so that you don’t get overwhelmed, before we move onto something completely different.”

Wiping water off of your mouth with the back of your hand, you bit your lip. “You’re being so kind to me. So patient. Considerate.”

He shot you a look from where he was zipping up his duffel. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well,” you said, holding the bottle in both hands, “Don’t most of your clients, like, choke on your cock within fifteen minutes of starting?”

His back was to you as he fiddled with a side pocket, and it took him a beat to reply. “Believe it when I tell you that I am delighted you’re letting me walk at your own pace.”

***

You were completing the world’s most pathetic checklist.

Holding hands? Check.

Cuddling? Check.

Spooning cuddling? Check.

Being able to look a man in the eyes while he tenderly cupped your face with both hands and told you nice things about you? Check—though that one took a lot out of you.

Were you embarrassing? Maybe a bit, but you couldn’t talk yourself out of being who you were, and Shinsou didn’t seem to want to, either.

You allowed yourself to curl up into yourself in the café booth, hiding yourself in the back while you propped your forehead against the exposed brick of the back wall. Lately, Shinsou had been directing you away from hiding your body and making yourself smaller when you felt ashamed, and damn it, you understood how he was trying to be helpful, but sometimes you just didn’t want to be perceived.

This session was the first public outing—a practise date, he’d called it. Practise for showing small, safe gestures of affection out in public. He’d dressed up in another all-black outfit again, as usual, because he’d emphasised that he had to get in character, to get out of “Best Friend Shinsou” mode. He’d even made a hype playlist, but he refused to show it to you yet.

He’d picked a café that you’d never been to so that you wouldn’t have to worry about the staff at your regular places judging you, and once again, you’re struck by how kind Shinsou was. If he were this level of considerate with all of his clients, no wonder they kept coming back to him. To be able to stop worrying, to leave it all to someone who took such pains to ensure your comfort and safety, who made your decisions for you—it’s goddamn inebriating.

Huh, it’s taking him a while to get menus. You tapped your fingernails in a ripple on the table where he’d parked you. Where was he? Twisting around, you scanned the open café area but recognised no one. How do you lose someone with purple troll hair?

Oh, he was rounding the corner of the dessert case, coming out of the hallway with the bathrooms, and he…he was talking to someone you’d never seen before, way shorter than he was with pastel pink hair and enormously puffy, white earrings. Even from the back corner booth, the way her face lit up as she spoke to him charmed you.

Shinsou was smiling, too, a pensive sort of wryness crossing his face as he snatched two menus from the basket up front, his brow furrowing when he had to shake a sticky third one off. Her elegant face pinched up when Shinsou unstuck the remaining two, and he gestured towards the booth where you were sitting. Oh, the fabric on this chair was absolutely fascinating, all of a sudden, and you kept plucking at it until Shinsou’s doc martens appeared in your view.

“I apologise for taking so long,” said Shinsou, sliding in next to you instead of across from you like a normal person, and he offered a menu.

You took it, rubbing the tacky plastic film. “It’s fine. Why sit next to me? It’s a booth, not the Last Supper.”

“It’s so we can hold hands, you muppet,” said Shinsou, and he promptly laced his fingers between yours and rested your hands on the table between you. As he laid the menu flat on the table, he returned the pink-haired woman’s wave as she exited the café, squeezing your hand as he did so.

“Care to enlighten me?” You scanned the drinks section, honing in on the coffee.

He flipped over the menu. “I can tell you she went by Mawata, with me. Not giving you the family name, mind. Signed the contract.”

Who would pay that much for a café au lait? Bougie. Perhaps even pretentious. “I see.”

“She recognised the getup and assumed I was in a session. I didn’t want to betray your trust, so I told her I was on a date. Which isn’t far from the truth.”

“I see,” you said, this time more strangled.

“Do you know what you want to order yet?”

“Almost.”

“Good,” he said, releasing your hand and scooting closer to you, “because we’re going to try doing something a step further. I—”

“Fucking go for it,” you said, peeking at the other side of the menu.

Shinsou faltered. “Are you sure?”

“You’ve kept me safe so far,” you said, shooting him a smile, “I trust—”

Mawata was bursting back into the café, the bell on the door ringing rather violently, and rushing back to your booth, her puffy earrings swaying erratically. Shinsou turned himself towards you, taking up space and shielding you the best he could by the time she skidded to a stop at your table, her kitten heels leaving a scuff on the tile.

“When can I hire you again?” she asked, breathless, “I’m assuming she knows.” She didn’t even spare a glance towards you.

Bracing himself, Shinsou turned his head in her direction, still hovering over you. “Now’s not exactly the best time.”

Mawata fidgeted with her purse strap. “I know I’m being rude, but holy shit. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ll be rude if it means I get to see you again. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I can’t let you go now that there’s a chance again. Even if I have to pay you, I have to have you in my life. There’s no consistent way to contact you, so it feels like fate that I met you today.”

While Mawata rambled, Shinsou turned towards you, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, and, wincing, he shot you an apologetic look, eyebrows raised. You didn’t know what was coming, but you nodded. Running his tongue over his lower lip, he mouthed thank you, and for a brief moment, as he turned back to her, you caught a hardened expression you’ve never seen on your best friend.

“Mawata,” he said, stone cold and callous and chilling, “It sounds like you’ve broken one of my rules.”

She flinched, the movement shuddering through her whole body and bobbling her earrings, and she dropped her gaze to the floor, her head bowed and fists tight on her purse strap. A choked whimper escaped her as she took a shaky, shallow breath.

The distressing, empty space in which Shinsou waited for her to answer caused you to tense up behind him, and without looking back, he fucking skimmed his fingers over your thigh, cool as you please, until he could place his spread palm across it. Lightly, at first, a barely-there touch, but—you had to give him some sort of signal, so you grazed your thumb over the back of his hand—after he had your approval, he let the full weight of his hand rest on your thigh, gently tapping his fingers on the fabric of your jeans.

Good. Considerate, attentive Shinsou was still there, underneath whoever the fuck he was being now.

Her choppy, straight bangs shielded her eyes as she kept her head down. “I—I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

Sir?! Sir?!

That’s fucking Hitoshi. Hitoshi, who talks in a high-pitched voice to cats and encourages Eri to decorate his face with stickers. Hitoshi, who can’t always remember to take the tin foil off of his leftovers before putting them in the microwave. Hitoshi, your best friend, who’s got his goddamn hand on your thigh.

(Hand cover…so much…of thigh. Big hand. Big hand good. Big hand safe. Big hand hold you.)

([Good God, woman, pull yourself together. It’s just a hand on your thigh.])

(But there is nothing just about Shinsou, is there?)

Shaking his head, Shinsou clicked his tongue. “And I’m sure you do. I want you to say what rule you’ve broken—and I know which one you have; you can’t hide from me. I’ve been in your brain; I know how you think. I want you to admit it. And I want you to tell me what you’re doing wrong now because of it. If you can’t even say it, I no longer know you.” He lifted his chin as he stared her down, and even from behind, you can tell that he’s giving her that cold glare that made anyone shatter—you’ve only seen it in training, and it’s never been used against you. “You know what you signed. Say it.”

“I—I’ve developed feelings for you,” she managed to say.

“And?”

“And that means, by contract, I can’t see you again.”

“And?”

“And!” Mawata inhaled sharply, shifting her jaw as she raised her head to look him in the eye and chickened out, instead focusing on the table. “And by approaching you in public with another client, you’re gonna fucking blacklist me with the others across the fucking city. But sir, you said you were on a date, and I didn’t know you did that now, and I want that—”

“Not quite. I’m not out with a client,” Shinsou said evenly, squeezing your thigh under the table, “I’m out with my girlfriend. Which is a greater transgression on your part, wouldn’t you say? We’re done here.” Shinsou nodded once and gave a dismissive wave, and she bolted out of the shop.

Shinsou turned to you, expression soft, posture crumpling, and hands lifting to cup your face, and he babbled apologetically. “Baby, I’m so sorry you had to see that. Mawata’s violated contract before by badgering Kaminari for my personal number, but that doesn’t immediately blacklist her; it got her put on a probation list. I’m sorry. I tried to get rid of her the best I could at first, but it didn’t work, and I’m so fucking sorry you had to see me like that. I would never treat you like that, sweetheart; you mean too much to me. Please believe me when I say that what you saw was just a continuation of the dynamic established between Mawata and me and that I would never—” He cut himself off and rested his forehead against yours. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this.”

Hello! I would like to address girlfriend. Are we going to do that?

(Well, you figured, in the moment in which you cracked your eyes open to watch Shinsou’s unfairly long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, that using girlfriend was a firm way to establish that Mawata was not wanted there.

Plus, he had said earlier that he hadn’t revealed you were a pseudo-client, so it may have been a confidentiality thing. Even though you never signed anything. That’s Shinsou for you, being a step ahead in caring for you.)

“Hitoshi, it’s fine,” you said, placing your hands over his and bringing them down into your lap, “I get it. You did what you had to. Yes, you scared me a bit, but some part of it was also hot. You let me know you were still there.”

Shinsou pulled back to garner your expression, and, after seeing something that he evidently liked, he bent to put his forehead on your shoulder. “So, the hand on your thigh was good?”

“Very. I appreciate that you did it through clothes for this first try. Not as startling.” Since Shinsou has been so good to you, you bolstered enough courage to comfort him back: you tentatively raised a hand to run it through his hair, scratching at the base of his skull, and the man fucking groaned, snuggling down into your shoulder and getting as close as he could to your neck without going past your collar (you hadn’t gotten to neck stuff yet, which, as you noted it, may be the dumbest fucking thing about yourself). “She mentioned others? I’m assuming other hired doms?”

“More or less,” said Shinsou, his voice grumbling, “I don’t really see much of them. Mostly at the start, when I was learning how to do BDSM stuff myself. Making sure what I was doing was safe. Helped me with legal stuff. I don’t wanna be sued or arrested for any of this, y’know.”

“Don’t tell me Aizawa-sensei’s involved. You can just look at that fucker and tell he’s into tying people up and brat-taming.”

“All right,” said Shinsou with a muffled laugh, “I won’t tell you.”

“Holy shit. That’s our professor—”

“No, c’mon, keep scratching. Go on. Let’s see what I can tell you,” said Shinsou, “He’s never been one of the employees proper, but he has provided some educational materials—yes, on shibari. Thank God someone else is now burdened with this information.”

“Think he was affected from the soulmate quirk?”

“If he does, his soulmate’s in for it,” said Shinsou, whining a bit when you moved away from the base of his skull, and he plopped your hand back there to keep scratching. “He fucking needs someone to take care of. And to take care of him. Fuck, he’s a mess.” He sighed into your shirt. “Speaking of, I’ve got an escort mission with him and the rest of the stealth-focused group in about a week, so we won’t be able to have a proper session. Odds are, I’ll be prepping with the rest of the students, so we won’t see much of each other at all.”

“Remind me who’s studying stealth?”

“Bakugou and Aoyama. Oh, and Todoroki’s been shoved in our group, since he’s hopeless at PR, according to Kayama-sensei. Don’t know how that’ll affect our current group dynamic, but I look forward to working with him. Midoriya can’t say enough good things about him.” Shinsou dragged himself away from your shoulder. “So, I’m sorry we won’t be seeing each other as much. I’ll text you when I can.”

“I’ve got stuff with Present Mic to work on. It’s fine. That just means I get to hang out with Dango instead of you, right?”

“Stop bragging,” he said, and he pointed at the menu as he stood. “Time to tell me your first and second choices for your order. I’ll get the second one, so you can try some of it.”

“Wow, someone’s a slave to routine,” you said, indicating what you wanted, “If I hadn’t seen your performance just then, I’d say that your dom persona is the same as typical Hitoshi.”

His eyes glinted strangely as he smirked and gathered the menus to put them away. “Is it?”

***

HITOSHI 💜🍡

bakugou is bitching about the quality of aoyama’s trail mix

HITOSHI 💜🍡

says it’s shit

HITOSHI 💜🍡

he’s made us trail mix that he considers good. we have spent a considerable amount of this mission prep meeting debating what qualifies good trail mix.

HITOSHI 💜🍡

bakugou, I mean

YOU

idk man i thought aoyama’s trail mix was pretty fucken tasty

HITOSHI 💜🍡

why am I not surprised you’re the one who ate most of it last night

HITOSHI 💜🍡

if they ask where it went, I won’t tell

***

The day of Shinsou’s escort mission, you were out shopping for a plant for him. “I mean, you’re extremely attentive with people and cats,” you were saying, your phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as you checked the price on the bottom of a zinnia starter, “but something tells me you will forget a plant is real.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, jackass,” came Shinsou’s voice over the phone, “I could keep up with something like a succulent. Or bamboo. I bet bamboo would fucking thrive in my dorm.”

“Bamboo requires frequent watering and heavy sunlight, actually,” you said, moving on to non-flowering plants, “So that thing would fucking die the instant it crosses your threshold.”

“Distressing things to hear,” said Shinsou, and you heard Aizawa’s voice and Shinsou’s distant response. “Gotcha. Listen, I’ve got to go. The plane’s scheduled to land in five minutes, so I’ve got to focus. Talk to you later?”

“Of course. Good luck!”

“Thanks. You, too, with the plant. Bye,” he said, but he didn’t hang up. You figured he meant to and just didn’t. Your thumb hovered the end call button, but when you strained to hear Aizawa’s and Bakugou’s voices and Shinsou’s closer replies through the phone, you elected to stay on the call.

Putting it on speaker and into your front pocket, you wandered through the garden section moving into the sheltered area as thunder rumbled, fingering at the textures of leaves, and admiring colours. Having him on speaker like this, even if it were just mission talk, felt like he was here with you, and you haven’t hung out with him in over a week—and now with the frequency of both friend hangouts and soulmate-prep sessions, his absence left you with an emptiness, an ache curling into your gut that pinched at your insides. This morning, you’d awoken feeling like you’d been kicked in the chest, so that’s why you risked calling him, even though he was out on a mission, and when you heard his voice, the ache disappeared.

None of these succulents were bitchy enough.

You covered your mouth as you laughed: what if you got him a fake plant and never told him?

You meandered inside as the rain picked up. Talk about radio signals scrambling came through as you debated the merits of a fake blossom on a fake cactus, and you turned the volume down in case you gave away confidential information to the few other losers in a home improvement store this early in the day. It’s a good thing you did, because otherwise, the sound of the airport explosion would’ve scared someone other than you out of your skin.

You ran back outside where you could yell, even though you might not be heard over the pouring rain. “Hitoshi?! ’Toshi, are you there? Say anything! Please!” He never responded to you, but you could hear yelling—not from him, but from Aizawa, from Bakugou, from Aoyama—and heavy cracking and crumbling you couldn’t tell if it were from a building collapsing or thunder rolling.

God, he’s not going to respond, is he? He didn’t know he’s still on a call—but you can track his location, right? Oh, my—fucking.

Staying on the call on your way back to U.A., you sent Shinsou’s location to Present Mic as soon as you could, saying you were headed back. Mic shot back a thumbs-up, since he couldn’t interrupt your call, said you should go give keep tracking with campus security, and that the location has been the biggest help so far in finding the team. They’re buried underneath airport rubble, and your connection with Shinsou’s phone is the only clue they have. Even if his phone isn’t buried—and it probably isn’t, since it has signal—it’s their best chance so far of being found.

The ride back to U.A. had you jolting at any little outside stimulus (and you had to keep apologising to people on the train for not having headphones), but all you could do once you reached security was keep listening. Ages and ages and ages of faint sirens, pelting rain, and shifting wreckage, with you crying so much that one of the security workers felt bad enough for you that they bought you a drink from a vending machine.

And then—as you’re screwing the lid onto your empty bottle—the crunching of footsteps. A distant, “Oh, sweet,” and the grappling of his leather glove around his phone. But something in your gut told you to keep silent. To keep this to yourself. Glancing over your shoulder to the final, straggling security worker at the far computer, you borrowed a pair of earbuds and hid your phone.

Shinsou must have put his phone in his pocket (the one on the side of his chest, based on how close his voice sounded) without looking at the screen, because the call kept going.

“No, say that again,” came Shinsou’s voice, exasperation prevalent, “What happened while they were underground?”

“Bakugou, Aoyama, and Todoroki were all affected by Serendipity’s quirk, but they’ve worked their way out of it,” said Aizawa, more gruffly than usual, or perhaps that was just the thunderstorm interfering with the sound coming through. “Listen. Don’t ask them for details and just be glad you’d been confined elsewhere. But we’ve got to peel Bakugou off Serendipity’s back before he breaks it and get her to Sakura Grove now.”

The relief at their voices triggered exhaustion, and you slumped in your seat, head down on the desk. God, you’ll take all this bullshit about travelling and escorting to this sakura place or whatever. It’s good to hear him talk. You’d listen in forever, so long as he was there. You couldn’t bring yourself to talk. Something in your gut screamed for you not to.

Actual, informative dialogue picked up when they’d apparently arrived at this Sakura Grove place, rushing through security to find Midnight and the team prepared to control Serendipity. You managed to smile at the sound of all of their boots clacking against tile. Lots of running, it seemed, even before they split up.

Shinsou was the one to find Midnight and frantically updated her, all out of breath. “—and Aizawa-sensei’s got her contained in the main waiting room, but he can’t keep her for much longer—”

“Listen,” Midnight interrupted, “I can’t have Ito and Serendipity be in the same room. Watch her while I take care of this. She can’t do anything more to you, so—” Her voice grew faint.

And at last, silence again.

Eventually, a woman’s voice came over the speaker. “Nice tits.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t stare at my chest,” said Shinsou, and you fucking laughed under your breath, shoulders heaving. You folded your arm to use as a pillow on the desk and smiled loosely as you listened in.

“Who are you? She said Ito, but that doesn’t tell me anything.”

“Yet what she said told me so much.”

Shinsou paused. “What d’you mean?”

“That I can’t do anything more to you. Tells me you’ve met me before. Inhaled my quirk.”

Shinsou took a deep breath, as if to remember. “You broke into U.A.” Heavy exhale. “You ruined my goddamn life.”

“Want to sit down and talk? They’ve set up a lovely sitting room here, really. Seems a shame not to put that great ass to use.”

“Please stop objectifying me,” said Shinsou, sighing (and you could picture him running his hand back through his hair, with it bouncing back instantly), “Fine. Fine, I’ll talk. I know someone who likes having information. I’ve got to kill time, anyway.”

Shuffling. The creak of a chair.

“Why don’t you start with how I’ve ruined your life?”

“Take a fucking look at this.” The sounds of velcro and thick fabric being adjusted, and then silence.

“Okay,” said Ito slowly, “It’s a name.”

“It’s my fucking name, jerkass. Do you have any idea how much sleep I’ve lost over it? How am I supposed to deal with this? Am I doomed to be alone? Am I supposed to cry while jerking off for the rest of my life? Is that what the love I have amounts to? Because—and not that I would fucking want this, but even if there were another Shinsou Hitoshi, it probably wouldn’t be spelled with the same kanji, so fuck with that, if you will.”

More fabric shuffling, as Ito spoke. “I bet it would be difficult to find another Shinsou written as chastity and honest.”

“Yeah, my parents are insane. Bet they’d be disappointed in me, if they knew what I was doing concerning chastity and honesty. Has your quirk created something like this before? Is there a way to fix me?” Shinsou’s voice cracked.

“Well, let’s backtrack. There may not be anything to fix.”

“So, you have seen this before?”

“No, but I’d like to cover all my bases,” said Ito, “How bad is the pain? Are you at the level where you pass out yet?”

A beat. “What pain?” Another. “Stop staring at my tits. Pecs.”

“This is funny. You’re funny.” You could hear the smile in Ito’s voice. “Good thing I like funny. I crave funny. Did you know I have no contact with the outside world except through letters?”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“They keep packets of cheese crackers somewhere in one of these drawers. Will you help me find some?”

Shuffling. Wooden drawers opening and shutting. Crinkling of plastic.

“You’re not feeling the pain because you’ve already met your soulmate,” said Ito through a mouthful of cheese cracker, “If you hadn’t met them, you’d be in fuckin’ agony. All achy, and shit.”

“I can hardly see how I could avoid meeting myself.”

“Okay, cut the bullshit, smartass. My quirk doesn’t work like that, unless you’re attracted to yourself.”

The sound of chewing, up close and personal. “God, no. I hate myself.”

“Then you have a soulmate, and you’ve met them. Easy as that.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” said Shinsou.

“Oh, get fucked. You’re a young hero affected by my quirk, who has associations with Midnight, and you haven’t read my team’s notes on my quirk? You’re not employing all your resources,” said Ito, crunching.

“Someone who read it told me pertinent details,” Shinsou protested.

“Not pertinent to you, it appears. Not that it matters how my quirk works, I suppose. Just be assured that you have a soulmate who’s not you, and you’ve met them. Since you’re not feeling any pain at all, it sounds like they’ve accepted you in some way. Acknowledged you with some sign of affection. Depending on how obvious they are, you may be an idiot.”

“Fuck,” came Shinsou’s whisper, “I’ve been in some…situations recently. There are a number of candidates.” Crinkling of plastic and chewing. “But I still don’t get how my own name as a soulmark works.”

“Bitch, you’re overthinking.”

And Shinsou laughed. Hard. Hearing it made up for all the distress you’ve been under today. His laugh always sounded a bit higher than his speaking voice, like it hasn’t been through as much or like it’s well-rested.

“Got a preference for who it is?” Ito asked.

 Shinsou swallowed thickly. “Yeah.”

“Perfect. Then we can start from there. I can help you find out who it is, by process of elimination.”

“Hey, give me your trash.” Footsteps, there and back again, and the sinking back into the cushy chair. “Why would you help me? You’re a villain, and I’m a trainee-hero you just met.”

“Whatever is going on with you is pathetic and hilarious, and like I said, I like funny. What’s more, I like conclusions to stories,” she said, “and yours, I feel, is going to be marvellously, gloriously stupid. I wanna hear it when it happens.”

Shifting in his seat. “You can get letters? All right.” More shifting. “But what if my soulmark is broken, and I don’t have an ending?”

“Okay, then I’ll take payment now.”

“I think I want to back out—”

“Relax, asshole. I’ll help you,” said Ito, “All you have to do is describe what body part on a woman you prefer.”

“That’s all?”

A beat. “You look like a feet guy.”

“I do fucking not.”

“You’ve got the mouth for it.”

It sounded like Shinsou pushed himself up out of his chair. “Y’know, I think I can live without your help.”

“My dude, I have already established that I am desperate for humour in my life, and even from our brief interaction, you have revealed yourself to be wonderful to tease. Sorry for accusing you of being a foot fetishist. Didn’t mean it. Sit back down?”

A pause. He must have sat and chosen his words carefully. “You usually shield your chest or genitals when someone’s threatening you when you’re physically vulnerable, yeah? What’s left unprotected, though…I like to take advantage of the vulnerability of an exposed neck. Sensual and intimate. Satisfying. I’m betting—kissing the back of it, even when she expects is, is going to make her jump out of her skin. I can’t fucking wait. Hey, don’t look at me like that.”

“Something’s wrong with you. Really.”

“I happen to be—normal. Normal and well-adjusted.”

“You’re into necks and not into choking?” Ito tutted. “Even with your BDSM hero costume?”

“Choking is when something’s caught inside your throat. Technically, what people have taken to doing in bed is a type of strangulation.”

“Way to bring the conversation down, fusspot.”

“I did what you asked and answered honestly,” said Shinsou, “I think we should skip the rest of the part in which you make fun of me and proceed to where you actually help.”

“Sure. First, we’ll need an airtight container.” Another pause.

Shinsou made a frustrated noise. “If you’re really that desperate to stare at men’s tits, my friend Bakugou is in the lobby, and his are way bigger than mine.”

“No, it’s—I get that you’re all posh, since you’re a U.A. student, but I’m assuming even a hero’s BDSM costume isn’t supposed to glow in the chest area. Or at least, only one side of it.”

“What are you—oh, shit, that’s my—”

The call ended.

***

What were you supposed to do? Pretend you weren’t on the phone, obviously, but moreover, how could you possibly help Shinsou find his soulmate when his soulmark was his own name?

Monoma was no help solving anything, but at least he was good company when everyone else was making out (you missed when people played video games in public instead of dry-humping). He and you were caring for Eri that afternoon, since Aizawa, Shinsou, and the rest had to go in for documentation.

Eri pressed a pawprint sticker (from that cat café Aizawa frequented) onto your cheek. “They’re in love,” she said.

“Who?” Monoma asked from his place on the floor, lying down with his legs straight up to rest against the couch.

“Konpeito and Dango,” she said, pointing to the two cats cuddling together on the middle couch cushion, “See how they’re yin and yang?” From above, she was right, ish. Konpeito and Dango certainly had the swish-shapes fitting together in a circle, if not the entirely correct colourings.

“I’m glad they finally went to sleep,” you said, choosing a coffee mug sticker for Eri to put on you next.

Eri nodded gravely. “If Dad-sensei finds the pottery pieces in the trash, I’ll tell him a shark did it. I don’t want him to make Konpeito move out.”

Monoma caught your eye and stifled a laugh, but you didn’t know if it were for Dad-sensei or the shark. “Eri,” he said, checking his phone for the time, “Do you know what’s going on with the room at the end of the hall?”

Frowning, Eri pursed her lips. “Dad-sensei lives there. Is something wrong with it?”

“I should’ve been more specific; I apologise. I meant the empty that been used for storage so far, on the other side where no one goes,” said Monoma, stowing his phone in his pocket, “Room 310, I think. It’s okay if you don’t know, Eri.”

“Oh,” said Eri, peeling off the coffee mug sticker, “I don’t know much. Dad-sensei and All Might-sensei have been talking about it sometimes.” She smoothed it out across the inside of your forearm. “I think someone like me is going to move into that room, but not for a long, long time from now. I hope they like cats. Can I see your words again?”

Monoma shared a sympathetic look with you and became busy with bothering the cats, allowing you the space to stretch the neck of your shirt down far enough to the middle of your left shoulder blade for Eri to read your soulmark.

“Ice princess,” she said, bafflement creeping in, “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I know, kiddo,” you said, “but I used to be a bit mean. It used to fit me.”

“When?”

“When I first started going to U.A.,” you said, “Before the first sports festival, especially. Even though I was shy, I remember being very protective of the few friends I’d made in 1-A at that point. Maybe I had a bad day and was mean about it. Mean about the way I was protecting my friends, or something. I don’t really know, Eri. I don’t know what my soulmark means.”

“Can I copy it? I want to practise writing ice princess.” At your consent, she told you to wait while she got some paper, and you waited more while she carefully copied down the kanji for that part of your soulmark. She presented the paper to you when she was done.

Cute. Adorable. Her basic penmanship made your confusing, harsh words into something endearing. Except. “Hey, Eri, I think you’ve written the kanji for forever here, instead of ice. See how you’ve put two little strokes at the top? Ice only has one.”

“Oh! Thank you very much. The handwriting on your back is all squished, so it’s hard to see all the strokes.” She corrected her kanji on the sheet at the same time that Monoma’s head snapped towards yours, both pairs of eyes bulging (clown to clown communication).

Handwriting.

Eri carefully copied the corrected kanji again and stopped to admire her writing. “Even if you don’t understand it, I still think it’s good.” She wrote her name at the bottom and turned the paper around to show the both of you. “Do I get a soulmate someday?”

You hid your sorrow, and Monoma answered for you. “I hope to God you don’t.”

***

Instead of breaking off towards Class B’s dormitory after dinner, like he normally did, Monoma followed you up the stairs of Class A’s dorm.

“Ah, ha, who are you going to see? Shinsou and I have a movie night,” you said, lying about the session you were going to his room for, “so you must have made a friend.”

“Hilarious. A lie and an attempt at a blow to my ego,” said Monoma, stuffing his hands in his pockets, as he trotted up the stairs behind you, “No, I’m attending Shinsou’s little session, the same as you are.”

“Fuck it all to hell,” you said, halting on the top step, “Did everyone know about that except for me?”

“Chill, I learnt about it two days ago when Shinsou asked for my help. Keep going; he’ll explain it when we get there,” said Monoma, passing you to hold the stairway door open.

Shinsou was waiting for the both of you. He opened his door before you could knock twice and ushered you in. You expected Monoma to make some comment about Shinsou’s clothes (you think he’s got outfits on rotation, but since a fair chunk of his wardrobe is black, anyway, it’s hard to tell) or his serious vibes, but Monoma didn’t say a word or make any condescending expressions. For once, it seemed, he was quiet and subdued, hands in his pockets and standing behind you, waiting.

“Monoma’s here to help,” said Shinsou, stepping forward to curl his long fingers into your hair, scratching gently at your scalp (your eyes fluttered shut, and you struggled to keep them from crossing and rolling back; you have definitely been denying yourself the simple pleasure of someone playing with your hair: safe but immensely satisfying), “If you don’t want him here, or if you don’t want him to see a thing you do, he’s out of here before anything can happen. Either way, he’s sworn to secrecy about this entire ordeal. He owes me, and I’m paying him. And I know you already feel fairly comfortable around him. He’s on his better-than-best behaviour.”

“I trust you,” you said, and Shinsou pulled this strange move where he lifted his hands just barely while he was still cupping your head to scratch it, and you rose to your tiptoes to follow him—the move, paired with his blunt nails on your scalp, had you feeling lightheaded, and you’ve only been here for about a minute (calm the fuck down, babe). “If you think Monoma will help me grow, then I’ll do it. Within reason.”

“All right. You can back out at any time, remember? Okay. Monoma, you first. On the bed.”

On the bed? Are you sure, Shinsou?

Monoma peeled off his TinTin socks and climbed onto Shinsou’s bed to sit at the head of it, and he contorted himself to pull his phone out of his back pocket to set it on the bedside table.

“Go on, then,” Shinsou said softly, prodding your lower back, “Sit between his legs. Just like you’ve done for me.”

Oof. Someone other than Shinsou? I mean. You guessed if it had to be someone other than Shinsou, you’d be the most comfortable around Monoma, but still. It’s as if there’s a heightened layer of friendship with you and Shinsou; it’s different than the relationship you have with Monoma and the relationships with other guys. Somehow, this felt weird.

“Okay, boss,” you said as a joke, and you watched Monoma for any of his many micro-expressions for a shred of disdain or judgment, as if he would tease you for calling Shinsou a title in a sensual/sexual context, even as a joke, but Monoma’s face was placid. No outward signs of malice. Instead, he made room for you between his legs, silent and languid all the way.

“Hee hoo ha,” you said instead of actually laughing, a knee on the mattress. “I suppose you’re aware that this is, like, second base for me. For the state I’m in. I’m fuckin’ calling you Neito from now on, now that you’re witnessing me being a slut.”

There’s no snide comment. Eyes-half lidded, Monoma calmly nodded, resting his hands on his thighs. “If that’s what you want.”

Oh, holy shit. Shinsou must have talked to him about how sensitive/delicate you were about this situation. Either that, or the pay is just that good.

Worried, you glanced back at Shinsou, but he just gestured with a loose flick of his fingers for you to keep going. So, you found yourself easing into a different man’s arms, and it’s instantly a list of comparisons: thighs still framing your pelvis but nowhere nearly as thick or long as Shinsou’s (and that tracked with what Monoma’s told you about how he wants a twink gymnast’s physique for his manoeuvrability in battle, along with Shinsou’s having seven centimetres on Monoma height-wise), somehow colder than Shinsou, not giving off as much body heat, his chin not fitting as well into the divot on your shoulder as Shinsou’s did—but his arms slid around your waist the same way Shinsou’s did, down to the positioning of what hand overlapped on top—Shinsou must have given specific instructions.

You figured that you don’t feel as safe as you feel when Shinsou’s holding you because Shinsou was bigger than you: bigger in presence, really, over physicality—though certain parts of him were objectively bigger, like how fucking long his fingers were and the overall size of his hands. Monoma, though, didn’t give as much of a large presence, but Monoma had said before that being unimposing and nimble worked better for him strategically. Either way.

Wow, yeah, Monoma really was holding you just like Shinsou did, without space between your legs and his, with his arms snugly around the upper curve of your waist, and his mouth pressed—but not puckered or kissing (a polite boy)—to your shoulder, on the shirt collar as close to the bare skin of your neck as possible without touching it.

“Fishy,” you said, glaring at Shinsou while tapping Monoma’s hand at your waist.

“I’m glad you noticed. Good detail work,” said Shinsou as he stowed away the Put Your Hands Up Radio laptop sleeve, and he crawled onto his bed.

As Shinsou pulled up a movie, you panicked and snapped your head back to look at Monoma. “Hey, are you okay with this? I don’t wanna impose on you if—”

“I’m fine,” said Monoma, blinking slowly, “I haven’t been told everything, because that’s your business, but I can garner that this is very important to you. And since you’re comfortable around me—though I don’t think anyone will ever lower your walls like Shinsou does—I knew I could do this for you. If it were anyone else besides me, you wouldn’t be as comfortable. Worry about me if you want, but it’ll be misplaced.”

You faced the front again and grimaced. “You two are acting fucking insane.”

Shinsou looked away from the screen for a moment. “No, baby,” he said, tapping the top of your foot, “We’re being careful. You deserve to be handled delicately.”

You didn’t know if it were his usage of baby or the skin-to-skin touch on your bare foot that made you jolt. Probably both.

(Because while you’ve been getting used to Shinsou touching you, it’s all been very face-waist-shoulders-arms. His hands haven’t gone below your stomach or to your boobs. So, yeah, while it was just your foot, he hasn’t been around that area yet. Startling.)

“If you say so,” you muttered, and you pressed back against Monoma, as if hiding from Shinsou’s comment—and, to be fair, the careful attention to you felt unusual, especially now that it was someone beyond Shinsou. “What are you going to do? Why have you got Monoma—”

You cut yourself off with a sharp inhale, chest tight and shoulders tense, when Shinsou placed his hands on your knees, and he said, “I want you to get used to a man between your legs.” Carefully watching your expression, Shinsou slowly parted your legs, keeping his hands near your knees and low on your thighs, and he crawled up to lie on his stomach between them, resting, for a moment, on his elbows, propping him upright on either side of your hips.

And you were fucking panicking. You’d steeled your expression the best you could, since Shinsou was watching, but you broke and couldn’t control it; your visible facial distress, you supposed, was hardly the giveaway when you were already stiff and tense, heart pounding, one hand gripping Monoma’s wrist so tightly his bones might grind together, pressing back into him while subtly backing away from Shinsou.

When Shinsou (pausing briefly but continuing, more cautiously, when you didn’t say anything) moved to wrap his arms around your hips and settled down against you to rest his head on your stomach, your breathing picked up, and your chest started heaving.

(C’mon, baby, it’s just a guy’s presence between your thighs. He’s not even touching you in a sexual way. He’s just there. You’ve even got the security of an extra friend, grounding you by touching you in a familiar way. Neither of these people [you weren’t even thinking of them as someone who might see you as a romantic or sexual target, but just as people] has ever done anything sincerely malevolent to you. By all accounts, you should be safe.

It shouldn’t be anything. It really shouldn’t be affecting you this much. Right?

[But when purity culture has been gnawing at you for a lifetime, it can be a lot just to spread your legs, let alone have someone between them.]

Damn Shinsou for being right.)

And Shinsou was peeling himself away from your stomach, reaching up to hold your face, to comfort you, to assure you it’s all right; he can move; you can do this another time or not at all, but it’s not really working. You kept squirming between both of them, unsure if you truly wanted to get away or be touched in a different way or anything at all: your brain had resorted to irrational anxiety.

In the back of your head, a reasonable voice noted that both of them were taking good care of you and that it made no sense for you to be writhing about like this (why weren’t you saying anything?!), but that voice never got loud enough for you to obey.

“Stay with me, sweetheart; stay here,” Shinsou was saying, moving back into a kneeling position to avoid physical contact with you where he could (but with the scant space, he could hardly avoid touching your thighs), shifting to hold only one of your hands, which he grasped desperately. “I’m gonna walk you through a grounding exercise, okay? And then when you’re ready, we can talk.”

Behind you, Monoma had been keeping a neutral presence, erasing himself when he couldn’t imitate Shinsou, and while he’d retracted his arms from around you so that you could escape, you were still trying to hide, almost, by retreating back against him. You caught it out of the corner of your eye but didn’t process the meaning until later: Monoma subtly manoeuvred his foot to graze Shinsou’s bare ankle.

And Monoma’s voice blended with Shinsou’s, warm breath ghosting over your ear. “Are you listening? You with us? Do you need us to go?”

You didn’t have any answers, and it was killing you. “I don’t know.”

It’d barely left your mouth before Monoma spoke. “Relax.”

Your brain emptied.

As if it unhinged itself from a latch and now hung loosely.

Into a comfortable, distant trance.

Body going limp. Muscles losing tension, as if you’d submerged yourself up to your chin in a hot bath. As if the tight spring that’s been coiled underneath your ribcage your whole life has now been reshaped by the touch of a forge you haven’t known, the hot, bright, molten metal oozing before it’s moulded into a gentler form. Your eyes fluttered closed, feeling a faint throbbing in the roof of your mouth.

You weren’t thinking, and it felt good.

You were barely able to hang onto even that observation, and therefore, you later had grace for yourself for not understanding what was happening between Shinsou and Monoma at the moment. In your floating, weightless distance, you absorbed the conversation but didn’t process it until much, much later.

You couldn’t be worried about their argument when you’d been told to relax, so the last hint of concern flew out of you before Shinsou ripped Monoma off of you and onto the floor. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Shinsou was whisper-shouting, his splayed hand pinning Monoma to the rug, “What the fuck? She’s never felt my quirk before; I’ve sworn I’d never use it on her, because it’d be—what the fuck is wrong with you, man? You said you’d fucking do what I said.”

Monoma was scrambling out from under Shinsou’s grip, and he let him go. “Fuck it, you never—you never told me that.”

“I didn’t think I’d have to? Jesus Christ, Monoma—”

“You saw her.” Monoma scowled and crossed his arms, plopping himself down in the desk chair. “I could feel her freaking out before you could see it, and it’s fucking heartbreaking, y’know? I didn’t—I felt fucking sorry for her and wanted her to be okay. That’s not a goddamn crime.”

“You forced her. You took away her agency and fucking forced—”

“Have you taken a look at her lately?” Monoma jerked his head in your direction. “Heard her talk about her soulmark? About her life recently? She’s only getting more stressed the longer this goes on. I want her to be able to relax, and I saw that I could give that to her.”

Shinsou paused, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and index finger.

Monoma went on. “Listen, I’m sorry. And I’ll apologise to her once she comes back down, but honestly, I think she deserves the time away from this. I know she’s your girl, but she’s my friend, too, and I want her to have some shred of peace.”

Shinsou frowned. “Don’t say that. She’s not—she can’t be my girl; she’s got a soulmate out there.”

Scoffing, Monoma waved a dismissive hand. “Shut up. You were fucking showing off earlier when you were scratching her head. How you made her follow your hands when you lifted them. That’s some infatuated shit right there.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip. “You teach her to do that?”

Shinsou tentatively sat next to you on the bed—and you, floating somewhere distant, still registered his weight sinking into the mattress and his hand near your face without touching it. “I hope not,” he said, brow furrowed, “I…I generally enjoy being a bad influence, but in her case, I’m terrified that I actually am.” He raised his hand to cup your face, but he withdrew, fingers hesitantly curling into his palm. “I don’t want her to change to please me or anyone else.”

At this point, your vision started to black out, spots creeping in at your periphery. You have no recollection of what you did next, but considering how both Monoma and Shinsou avoided your gaze when you asked about it later, you must’ve actually done what they said. You apparently took his hand in both of yours to play with his long fingers and said in a slightly slurred voice, “You sound nervous. Don’t be nervous.” And you promptly stuck his first two fingers in your mouth, taking them as far back as you could go and sucking.

An alarmed Shinsou, mindful of your teeth, removed them as quickly as he could, but neither he nor Monoma could erase their looks of shock before you dozed off.

***

You’d woken up nine hours later, with Shinsou asleep on the floor next to the bed and Monoma sleeping upright in the chair, arms crossed. They’d stumbled over each other in their apologies, but since you were feeling more well-rested than you have for the last ten years, you couldn’t bring yourself to be truly mad. Irritated, sure, but that’s inevitable.

You nibbled on the thumbprint cookies Monoma had made for you in the interim while they both empathically apologised, over and over and over. You still weren’t all the way there, but it was on purpose this time.

Because Shinsou’s quirk had felt absolutely fucking fantastic. And he’s been keeping it from you.

You’re confused, really, because if it’s got that mind-numbing pleasure tint to it, why’s he doling it out to others but not you? He’s said recently that he didn’t want you to get dependent on it, but that’s…that’s only an excuse he’s given since the soulmate incident. Otherwise, he just hasn’t, with no explanation. Has he leaked a clue somewhere along the way?

Nevertheless. His quirk had sponge-dabbed at your brain, washing and making it new while you were under its control. Your mind has felt cluttered and cramped for years, and his quirk ushered in spring cleaning, opening windows and letting in light.

Oh, no.

***

YOU

i found your so-called dom hype playlist. you didn’t even make it private!!!

YOU

why is it just the naruto soundtrack over and over again

HITOSHI 💜🍡

:(

HITOSHI 💜🍡

it makes me feel powerful :(

***

Though your gut was urging you to stay, you wanted nothing more than to go home.

Classes 3-A and 3-B had an undercover mission in four days, with all of you sectioned off into teams for quashing PLF bases spread across the country. One of the base locations was a high-end club, and those who were assigned there (Asui and Todoroki) had never been to a club before, a group of you were at a club tonight to help them get used to the environment.

Still early in the night, you had been among the few who hadn’t the courage to go dance first thing, so you had volunteered to guard bags and coats at the enormous table you’d commandeered towards the back, away from the music, close to the bar, and now with mismatched chairs shoved closely to make enough space.

Shinsou was only just now finally getting back from the crowded bar, his beer and your pink lemonade in hand, with Ojiro in tow, babbling and gesturing wildly.

You moved your bag so that Shinsou could sink into the blue leather loveseat next to you, and he nodded towards you, staying engaged in Ojiro’s conversation. Oh, yikes, Hagakure was there, too; you just didn’t see her—she’s strategically wearing something nearly translucent.

Thumbing at the condensation, you stared into your glass, cloud-shaped ice bobbing in pink, when Hagakure (presumably) grabbed Ojiro’s face to kiss him, and his tongue appeared to be inside her mouth. Shinsou glanced towards you, checking in, and when you made a mild, furtive look of oof, he leaned in towards you.

(“A club? We should go,” Shinsou had said, nudging your shoulder with his, “I want you to practise a greater level of casual touching while in public.”

“But we’ll be with our classmates this time,” you’d said, slumping down onto the picnic blanket you’d spread out on the roof of Class B’s dorm, “They’ll notice.”

Shinsou had flicked a straw wrapper into your hair. “Sure. And then it won’t be such an abrupt surprise when you do it with your soulmate.”

You’d rolled away from him, taking some of the picnic blanket with you. “But what if they see me be vulnerable?”

“I’ll keep that from happening. You have the perfect cop-out, too: you can always claim you were drunk.”

You’d peeled one of the heels of your palms from your eyes. “I…guess. I guess.”

“Anything you want to do to me is fine,” Shinsou had said, tearing the blanket away from you and smoothing it out again, “But I want you to start thinking about something else we’ll try soon. I’m giving you the choice of what to do, since it’ll be a bit more intense.”

“Intense?”

“Ah.” Giving up, Shinsou had shaken his head and had lain down next to you. “I misspoke. Intimate would’ve probably been better.”

You’d sighed and flipped towards him. “Lay it on me.”

Shinsou had counted off on his fingers, starting with his pinkie to irritate you. “Skinny dipping. I’d ensure no one could walk in on us, and I wouldn’t look at you, if you didn’t want me to. We could play strip poker or variations thereof—and once again, we could play it in some way that I wouldn’t be able to see you if you didn’t want, but you’d get used to being—being less clothed in the presence of a man.”

“That’s assuming I’d lose.”

Shinsou had cracked a smile. “So it is. Or I could undress you, and I—I could wear a blindfold, or something, if you didn’t—”

“Do you have one handy?”

Shinsou had propped his chin on his fist. “Do you even have to ask?”

“Any other options?”

Here Shinsou had looked away, instead staring into the night sky. “I—I was considering, if you’d let me, touching your boobs as an option, but that felt like a level more intense than the others. More personal. And I’ve concluded you aren’t there yet. Or at the point at which you could try sitting on my lap to get me hard.”

“Hitoshi, you’re insane. You’re going at it from too many angles.”

“Nah,” Shinsou had said, tilting his head towards you, “I want you to be comfortable, however we do this.”)

Shinsou’s hot breath unfurled down your neck as he whispered, “Use me. In any way you want.”

You smacked him in the chest, and he winced, clutching the spot as he grinned at you. “That’s fair,” he said.

For a while, the back table housed only Hagakure, probably grinding on Ojiro’s lap, Ojiro, whose tail shot straight up and stayed there, and you and Shinsou, smushed together on the leather loveseat, talking in hushed tones, starting with when he was going to return your copy of Fire and Hemlock and somehow ending up at which pokemon the top pro-heroes would eat.

When the others settled around the table in a break from dancing, you low-key mourned the loss of the privacy you’d had with Shinsou; it had been kind of cool that in this deafening, crowded place that you and Shinsou had had a moment alone, even with a couple actively making out beside you. No one else could fit on the loveseat, but even with enough space elsewhere, some soulmate-bound couples still overlapped, like how Mina and Kirishima were squished together in one chintz armchair and how Jirou had her legs splayed over Yaoyorozu’s lap in the next folding chair over.

You zoned out for a while—everyone else was talking at once, anyway, so that gave you leave to consider if Hawks would have a preferred evolution of Pigeot to deep-fry. But you were snapped back into reality when Aoyama suggested that the group should play truth or dare.

“Fuck no,” said Sero, slapping a hand over Kaminari’s mouth, “How old are we? Where are we? Get your head out of your ass.”

“And we’ve otherwise been working our asses off doing the boring prep for this mission, Sero, and we’re supposed to be having fun tonight, anyway,” said Mina, her tongue darting out to lick the salt around the rim of her glass, “I think we should.”

“I don’t want—look, it always goes the same way,” said Sero, and he let his hand fall from Kaminari’s mouth but still gripped his shoulder in a tight threat. “It’s either you get dared to perform some fuckin’ gross or sexual act, or you have to tell everyone who you like. We’ve moved past primary school, so I’m not—”

“Then we just change the base rules.” Kaminari didn’t bother dodging Sero’s thwack to his head. “We make it sort of reversed. Where truth is the more dangerous one to pick, and dare is extremely low stakes. There’s super personal shit that no one needs to know that I’m dying to know about some of you.” Kaminari lowered his heart-shaped glasses and stared pointedly across the table at Iida, Uraraka, you, and Shinsou in turn.

Kaminari’s proposal assuaged most issues the table had, so it came down to you and Shinsou as the ones still not wanting to play.

“Too dangerous,” said Shinsou, leaning back with his arms folded behind his head, “There are things that are my business only.”

“Yeah,” you said, sucking in through your teeth, “I’m not—I’m not into this. Plus, I’m really tired already, and, like, if we have to play something, can’t we think of a better game to play? This is—this is so fucking cliché.”

“Never mind,” Shinsou said quickly, giving you a strange look and letting his arms fall to his lap as he sat up straight, “I desperately want to play truth or dare. In fact, I demand it.”

Laughing, Kaminari reached over the table for Midoriya’s drained beer bottle (having to wrestle it from his grasp) and cleared out a space for it in the middle of the table, while you shrunk down in your seat, wishing you’d brought a book. Because—the bottle was spun—it could keep landing on the same person, meaning more focus could be on a single person than in a turn-based version of the game.

With the bottle landing first on Todoroki, Kaminari pulled no punches once truth was chosen: “Of your three closest friends, would you fuck any of them?”

Contrary to everyone else, Todoroki hardly reacted, instead his brow furrowing in thought. “I’m so fortunate to have so many friends,” he said carefully, “I’m not quite certain who would consider themselves closest to me.”

Uraraka grinned. “Well, who would you consider the closest?”

“Gracious,” said Todoroki, blinking, “I’m very lucky. My friends are so good to me. I—”

“Is he dodging the question or genuinely being weird about it?” Kirishima asked.

“Oh,” said Todoroki, “Well. My answer would be yes, I suppose. It would be wonderful that they’d believe themselves close enough to me to consider asking.”

“You fascinate me,” said Mina, reaching over to pat him on the head, “I want to study you like a bug in a jar.”

“You wouldn’t initiate?” Sero asked over Todoroki’s spinning the bottle, and Todoroki shook his head. “Valid.”

When it landed on Uraraka, she chose dare. “Hm,” said Todoroki, “Low stakes. I…You are dared to rest your head on Midoriya’s shoulder.”

Nearly in his lap, Uraraka was already almost doing that, anyway, so she complied.

From then on, you wanted to melt into the cracks in the floor and evaporate, even though the bottle hadn’t landed on you. All of the questions weren’t being phrased in a way that could fit someone like you—all questions assumed everyone’s had sex already, that everyone has some sort of sordid, sexual history, and good God, it sounded like everyone present did, to an extent (except for, perhaps, Todoroki, whose answers only spurred more questions). Even if their only sexual partner were their soulmate, the picture was painted that everyone was doing what you considered, to put it mildly, risky.

The most bizarre place Kaminari has jerked off was in a sewer, while he was staking out a suspect, with Pro-Hero Manual not far down the path. Midoriya’s favourite sex positions had to be looked up by the rest of the table, so for a delightful moment while Midoriya glowed beet red, everyone else hunched over their phones. Mina has given head in the recording booth for Put Your Hands Up Radio (“Everything was turned off, guys—except for Eijiro.”). Jirou would rather orgasm during oral rather than actual intercourse, and out of on a beach, a plane, or in the bathroom of a high-end restaurant, Yaoyorozu would prefer to have sex on a beach, because—she added unnecessarily—she’ll never have sex on a plane or bathroom again. After hearing that Kaminari would kill to muzzle someone, you concluded that you may be living in a different reality than the rest of your friends, and then the bottle pointed towards you.

You didn’t want to play. You didn’t want to admit anything. You didn’t even know what they’d get out of you—besides the fact that you’re a big-ass virgin, you supposed, and that would only open the floor to an awkward soulmate explanation. “Dare,” you said, sighing.

Narrowing his eyes, Kaminari tilted his head. The only other dares so far had been Uraraka’s head-resting and Sero to hold hands with Iida, which they were still doing, hands on the table between their drinks (Iida had made them swop seats so that his dominant hand could be free). “Riiiiight. I dare you to sit in Shinsou’s lap.”

Do what.

Shinsou turned towards you, brow furrowed with a quirk of the corner of his mouth to check if you were okay with it, if you were comfortable, and you sighed again, your shoulders heaving. “I guess,” you said, and you started to shift over but halted mid-movement. “Sit in lap how? Sideways? Straddling? Other way I don’t know?”

Eyes flicking around the table before settling back on you, Shinsou opened his arms and said, “Sideways is fine. I’ll help you—and don’t worry; you’re not bothering me.”

Holding your breath under everyone’s gaze, you climbed into his lap, crawling across his legs and then flipping, your ass mostly on one of his thighs while your legs draped across his other leg and into your old seat, and—holy fuck, Shinsou’s thighs were so thick that you sat a little taller than he did; you could put your chin on top of his head if you really wanted to, oh, my God. What the fuck. Shinsou must have seen the incredulity in your expression, because he guided one of your arms around his shoulders, to fit more comfortably in the space, while he wrapped an arm around your hips to stabilise you, fingers lightly pressing at a belt loop of your jeans, and with his other hand, he held yours in your own lap.

Jesus fucking Christ. You’re not going to make it out alive.

You needed time to process this, but you were denied it; you had to ask a question to Uraraka, since the bottle had landed on her again, and so you popped out what the table groaned to be the lamest question of the night: “Who’s in your ideal celebrity threesome?”

“Huh.” Uraraka steepled her fingers together. “Togashi Yoshihiro, in his prime…and Hawks.”

Kirishima screwed up his face. “Who the hell is Togashi—”

“He’s the mangaka for Hunter x Hunter,” said Todoroki pointedly, before closing his lips around the straw in his mostly drained strawberry daquiri and making a strident suction sound against the glass.

Kirishima screwed up his face more. “I get that writing a shounen manga can be manly, but why else would you choose specifically—”

“Because he pulled Takeuchi Naoko, the mangaka for Sailor Moon, even with his filthy apartment, poor fashion choices, bad posture, and questionable hygiene. The dick must be insane, in a rat-boy sort of way,” Uraraka was saying, running her hands through Midoriya’s hair, “Plus, he’ll feel insecure in comparison to perpetually charismatic Hawks, so there will be some sort of pathetic, competitive air to the sexual encounter.”

And then Uraraka was spinning the bottle, thank God, so any involvement with you ended. Shinsou—he could probably hear your fucking heartbeat going crazy from being paid attention from everyone else in a sexual context—rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand, softly smiling up at you to calm you down, and something inside you caved. You had the impulse to curl into him, to close your eyes and press your mouth to his hairline, to ignore the rest of the group until it was time to go (Shinsou would keep you safe), but you couldn’t obey it, because the bottle pointed towards…you and Shinsou.

Squeezing your hand, Shinsou steeled himself (thighs flexing underneath you) and said, “That’s me. I don’t believe I’m in any position to complete a dare at the moment, so. Truth.”

“Oh, fabulous,” said Uraraka, clapping her hands once, “There’s so much I’ve been waiting to get out of you. What’s the most pertinent…hm.”

“Want some help?” asked Mina, leaning over Kirishima’s bicep and the armrest, holding her drink at a hazardous angle (Kirishima lifted it out of her hand to set it on the table when Mina leant further away).

After Mina had whispered in Uraraka’s ear for a minute, Uraraka returned her attention to Shinsou, biting the inside of her cheek to conceal her delight but practically beaming regardless. “What’s the most you’ve ever made someone come in one night?”

Shinsou’s eyebrows shot upward, his tongue flicking over his lower lip (and you tensed up. The hand at your hip squeezed it gently). “One night? Fourteen.”

“What the fuck.”

“That can’t be true. You’re fucking making that up.”

“With toys? With your quirk, right?”

“No quirk. Not really,” said Shinsou, bowing his head slightly, and he bit his lower lip, his teeth showing for a second when his lip curled in. “I happen to be very, very, very good with my mouth.”

Silence. In it, Shinsou briefly released your hand to spin the bottle himself, and he took it again as the bottle turned, threading his fingers through yours. Blankly, he bumped his forehead against your shoulder, like a cat, before a tired, half-grin stretched across his face. You returned it, fighting the urge to play with his hair.

But then your luck ran out for the next year or so. Perhaps your whole lifetime. For some reason, the bottle kept landing on you and/or Shinsou, and he kept speaking up to save you from answering. The relief and gratitude that flooded you each time Shinsou covered for you only made you wish you could do something for him, too—you could rent his favourite Everest documentary from the library again, get those bizarre sour jawbreakers from the Mom ’n’ Pop gas station in his home district…lie with him in your bed…play with his hair before he puts the mousse in…

What was his favourite position to give oral?

“Kneeling,” Shinsou said so quickly it was a bit startling, and he shifted underneath you, sitting forward. “Kneeling, with them on the edge of their seat, legs spread a bit too widely than what they’re comfortable with for them so that they feel exposed. They can’t touch me unless I let them, and I won’t. They have to ask permission to look.”

Okay, bucko, a follow-up of how you like to receive oral?

“I don’t, generally,” said Shinsou, tilting his head, “because if it’s about me, then my partner isn’t getting as much pleasure as they should be getting. But if they insist, it’s however they want to.”

No, idiot, this isn’t about your partners. This is about you.

“Fuck you. I have to be lying down, or close to it, because my knees tend to buckle if I come from oral.”

If your partner were going to send you a video, what could they do to make it turn you on the most?

“Oh, huh.” Shinsou shifted so that he could scratch the back of his head, and you moved your arm out of the way for the gesture. “First of all, I wouldn’t want my partner to send me anything like that. No nudes, or anything. Because that’s private. That’s intimate. That could get leaked or hacked, and really, her body would be for my eyes only,” said Shinsou, his eyes half-lidded, “In addition, odds are that any video wouldn’t live up to the real thing, so I wouldn’t want it. Just makes the ache worse. Besides, I’m the only one allowed to tease.”

You’re ridiculous. Fine, if the video would never be shared with anyone else, guaranteed, and it lived up to seeing them in person, what would that look like?

“Just my partner saying that she loves me, preferably after she’s just woken up. Sorry to disappoint, if you were expecting something kinkier.”

Spit or swallow?

“Offended that you have to ask.”

You were growing antsy—antsy on the cusp of hyperaware and jittery. Something about the night had gone stale, like you were at a high altitude without enough oxygen. Something about the way some people were reacting—Jirou’s controlled, stone-cold expression (pinched brows and shifting jaw to hint that it took focus to stay that way) paired with Yaoyorozu’s letting her hair down to hide her red-tipped ears, Mina’s constant, excited whispers alternating between Kirishima and Uraraka, Midoriya’s seeming lack of surprise to Shinsou’s answers while he peeled the label off of his fresh bottle. Were they acting like this because they wanted to contain themselves hearing it for the first time, or have any of them—any of them witnessed any of it? Shinsou had said that people you knew had enlisted him to dom for them, and…you didn’t know. Something about it didn’t feel right. Yes, these were your friends, and you loved them, but something about their seeing a part of Shinsou that you haven’t got under your skin. Your friends may love Shinsou, but you love him more.

“Hey, babe,” Shinsou said under his breath, while the bottle spun again, “I need you to let up a little, okay? You’re getting a little too tight.”

You looked down at Shinsou and shook yourself; you’d unconsciously been constricting your arm around the back of his neck, pulling his face near your boobs. You relaxed your arm for him to lean back.

“I also—” He set his hand on your knee, stilling it (how long have you been jostling it?). “—need you to stop fidgeting, if you don’t mind.”

The bottle was slowing, but Kaminari missed it entirely to stare over his martini glass at Shinsou’s mouth. With a glint of pale pink club lighting flashing over Kaminari as his eyes dropped to Shinsou’s chest, you were pierced with an icicle-cold awareness of the bulge under your thigh you’ve been too nervous to acknowledge, and a full-bodied shiver swept through you.

You pulled away from Shinsou, frowning down at him. “I do mind, actually. Come with me somewhere?”

“Of course,” said Shinsou, and he helped you off of his lap, ignoring the bottle and the protests of your friends. You couldn’t look back at him, lest you lose your nerve, but you grabbed his hand and led him through the club, shoes sticking on the beer-soaked floor, weaving through dancers and bar patrons until you ended up in some empty, mildewed corridor with one flickering, fluorescent light.

You spun on your heel, grit grinding under your shoe. You had no plan, but what came out of your mouth, pulled from somewhere deep in your gut, sounded right. “I need you to bite me.”

Shinsou blinked in time with the light flickering. “I’m sorry?”

“A love bite. A hickey, or whatever,” you said, and, taking his hands, you placed them on your own shoulders and made him push you against the wall, with the crackly dust under peeling wallpaper shook onto your sleeve even from the slight impact. “The next step you wanted me to think about. I choose this.”

“Oh.” Glowering towards the floor, Shinsou stuck his hands in his pockets, his mind somewhere else, but he recovered, face softening, and took a step closer to you. “All right,” he said cautiously, fiddling with his jacket zipper, “Is there—where do you want it?”

You were about to say the top of your left boob, since the low cut of your shirt allowed it, but an intrusive thought struck you, bringing to the surface the memory of Shinsou’s voice over the phone: I like to take advantage of the vulnerability of an exposed neck.

When you raised a finger over the pulse point on your neck, Shinsou froze, stilling all movement. Even the rise and fall of his chest halted for a moment. After a long beat, he snapped out of his distant haze, his Adam’s apple dipping as he swallowed. “Got it. I can do that.”

When Shinsou put his hands on your waist, you understood why people fight wars over people like him. Light and hesitant at first, his hands fell into their full weight at your silent encouragement, encompassing so much more of you than you’d thought, steadying you against the wall and back in reality. Drumming his fingers on your waist, Shinsou ducked his head, shot you a sliver of a smile, and pressed his lips to your neck.

His lips were cold. But Shinsou always ran cold, you told yourself, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that this dry, close-mouthed kiss to your neck was—oh. His lips parted (smoothly and a bit stickily; you’d seen him re-apply his coconut-pear beeswax chapstick at the bar), pressing more fervently against your neck as his tongue made the first sweep over your skin. He curved the tip of his tongue for the second lap, spreading more saliva over the spot, and at his first suck, your hands flew up to grip his biceps. You felt his mouth curl into a smirk and his quiet hum, and you, mildly embarrassed, slid your hands from his arms up around his neck, one of them sliding into his hair to press him further into your neck—he broke off to laugh under his breath, a heated huff brushing over the wet spot on your neck.

“You okay?” he asked, adjusting hold on your waist, one hand easing down to the small of your back and inching upwards between your shirt and your coat, his whole, flattened hand weighing down and warming you.

“I’m fine,” you said, keeping his head tucked in your neck so that he couldn’t see whatever embarrassing face you were making, “Keep going?”

“I’m gonna have to use my teeth now. Just a warning,” said Shinsou, and at your tap on the back of his head, he returned his mouth to your neck and sucked.

You inhaled sharply and gripped the back of his collar, crumpling it, while his tongue laved over the spot between sucks, hot and cold, pressure and release, and Shinsou pulled you tightly against him, his jacket zipper cool through the fabric of your shirt. He was lightly nibbling, gentle and barely there, between harsh sucks, the spot aching and raw, and he bared more of his teeth, letting the length of a few brush against you as an alert—and he sank his teeth into your skin, sucking, lips smushed to the tenderer wet insides.

“Holy shit, Hitoshi.”

When he pulled back, Shinsou licked his lips, his eyes glued to the spot on your neck. He swiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Looks good.”

“That fucking hurt.” Releasing him, you ran your fingers over the spot, unable to tell any different aside from moisture and the slightest swell.

Shinsou raised an eyebrow and stuffed his hands in his pockets again. “It is a bite. Bites tend to—”

“Oh, shut up.” You fussed with the collars of your shirt and coat, wanting to frame the bite. “Help me out?”

Shinsou’s crooked grin returned. “You want it on display?” He adjusted your lapels for you. “Someone’s cheeky. Don’t tell me you were—”

“Don’t say it, fucker,” you said, deliberately averting your gaze to stare at the fluorescent light.

It took you the whole process of Shinsou arranging your shirt and coat, the shared grins, the navigating back through the sweaty throng, leading him by the hand, his cool one in yours, beat to some bubble-pop song pulsing in your ears and chest, and plopping back onto the loveseat at the group table to realise two things: one, that he’d been himself throughout that whole thing. He’d been joking, reacting like your friend instead of your dom. Like Hitoshi instead of that Shinsou you didn’t know. The dom persona had slipped away in a flash, or it hadn’t even entered the equation. So quick a transition, from what he’d been showing to the group to how he behaved around you. Had he noticed? Was it intentional?

And two: you really wanted to mark him back.

***

You dangled your legs off of 3-B’s dormitory roof, full of self-loathing and nervous energy. Stressed enough to fight the urge to exfoliate with a cheese grater all the way down to the bone.

The hickey had worked. No one had said a word about you or Shinsou the rest of the game. In fact, as soon as you got back, the game ended within a turn. Kaminari had opened his mouth, probably to ask where you’d been, but his eyes fell to your neck, and he shut his mouth, turning his attention to Sero and clamping his hand over Sero’s and Iida’s. The rest of your friends had behaved similarly, acting like nothing was wrong. It’d given you immense satisfaction, and you’d grinned into your refill of pink lemonade; you hadn’t noticed until the end of the night that Shinsou’s arm had been around you, resting in a divot in the leather on the back of the loveseat, running behind your shoulders. Felt good to be special.

Gritting your teeth, you clenched the edge of the roof, knuckles showing. Why it felt so good—you didn’t want to put it into words. If you did, that made it real.

Instead, you’d recruited Monoma to help you in a last-ditch effort to find your soulmate. You’ve been going through your old shit from freshman year, trying to find any record of someone calling you an ice princess. Or a bitch, or something along those lines. Since Monoma’s better at tech stuff, he’s been combing through everyone’s social media dated from the first semester at U.A., searching for any pictures of you or anything that could be vague-posting. You’ve even bothered Aizawa for the old seating chart and records of some of the earliest group exercises, though those weren’t appearing fruitful, either.

Mirio was watching Eri today, so Monoma and you were camping out on B’s rooftop, spreading out the blanket you and Shinsou usually used, with your laptops and old notebooks strewn across it. Monoma was currently taking a short break to make popcorn, so he’d be back in a few minutes.

It wasn’t enough. But you’ve involved another person, so you might as well see it through—but you wanted to quit looking. Fuck it if your memory were faulty and that you couldn’t remember who said your words to you. They didn’t matter.

(Fuck, no, don’t allow yourself to put it into words.)

([You can’t stop what’s already happening. You can’t kill a thought once it’s made its home in your head.])

(Yeah, so shut the fuck up. Don’t think it. Distract yourself. Keep searching for your—)

([—soulmate, whom you didn’t care to meet, because you had feelings for somebody else.])

***

YOU

hey y’know that page where ua students can submit anonymous confessions???

YOU

i found me in a post. in freshman year and everything

YOU

says that i’m a “frigid bitch who needs to pull the column outta [my] ass”

MONOMA 🔇🎭

oh lolololol don’t worry about that one

YOU

???

MONOMA 🔇🎭

I submitted that lol

YOU

drop your location right now so that i can come rip you to shreds

***

Once you acknowledged them, your feelings peeled you like a grape. No, more like—more like someone’s scraping away the outside of a pineapple with their fingernails, juice occasionally getting through, but mostly just a mess of spikes and sticky fingers, with the conclusion that it would’ve been easier to smash the damn thing.

Bad. Bad feeling. Evil, even. Shinsou trusted you, as a friend, and you’ve gone and put him in the romance zone. You’ve put him in a category he wouldn’t want to be in. Bad and evil and diabolical. Life-ruining. Relationship-ruining. You might lose him, and that would snap you in half like a raw carrot.

“Baby, you’re just staring at the bell peppers,” said Shinsou, leaning on the shopping cart, jolting you out of your reverie, “Pick two and c’mon. Everyone else has left the produce section; they’re over towards seafood.”

“Th—thanks,” you said, shakily accepting the plastic bag Shinsou handed you, but you made no move towards the bell peppers. “Why don’t you catch up? I can finish here.” And maybe process your thoughts enough to make a decision.

Shinsou smiled, standing upright to stretch his arms above his head. “Nah. What else do we need over here? I can get it for you.” Good God. His shirt rode up just enough to reveal a dark, violet line of hair trailing upwards, a soft line suggesting abs framing it, a thick waistband of a popular brand of boxers peeking out of his plaid pants. Stomach as salvation. Your eyes bulged and glazed over, but you shook yourself out of it.

“Uh,” you said intelligently, “Potatoes. Those mad small ones.” You made a circle with your middle finger and thumb as a measure. “Around this size.”

“Gotcha,” said Shinsou, already spinning around to scan the produce, “They come in purple; is it cool if we use those?”

“Of course,” you said, miles away somewhere, freezing and back in bed underneath a nest of blankets, with Shinsou tucked in next to you, his arms around you with his mouth to the back of your neck.

Oh, you’re fucked fucked.

You normally took normal bell peppers and normally put them into the plastic bag, like a normal person, and twisted it normally to seal them in, setting the bag in the toddler seat of the cart in a normal way. You’re good. You’re fine.

(How do you act around him? Is this how you typically behave around Shinsou?)

You have questions about his behaviour, too. Because you’ve looked back on your sessions with him, and the further they’ve gone along, the less stern the dom act has been. He’s been more and more like how he normally behaves around you, just with the addition of physical contact. Have you been making him be a poor dom, because he’s so used to you? He might not even realise that he’s slipping. Subconsciously, his behaviour has made it feel real to you, instead of as a service he does professionally, because he’s just been…himself.

You’re breaking that rule he establishes with other clients, which was not to develop feelings. He didn’t have this rule with you, but he’ll probably stop the sessions if he finds out.

You wanted Shinsou, just as he was. Yes, the dom persona was hot, but it was essentially just a door into your true feelings and wanting to touch him for real. If his dom act were slipping in your sessions, you’ll take it—it’s probably the closest you’ll ever have to being truly intimate and romantic with him without ruining your friendship.

Your heart skittered at the sight of Shinsou returning to the cart, bag of tiny, purple potatoes large enough to share with the class heaved in both arms, and you joined in his laughter at the pathetic, tinny noise he’d made lugging the bag into the cart. Shinsou commandeered pushing the cart from you, edging you off of the handle, but when you wouldn’t let up, he kissed your cheek. Frozen, you let him take the cart from you, and he hastily proceeded towards seafood, not looking back.

To keep the sessions going, you’d have to pretend you’re still looking for your soulmate.

The sessions could occur more frequently if you pretended the game of truth or dare made you feel like you’re falling behind.

***

“You’re an idiot.”

“Thanks, Neito. Care to offer any solutions?”

“No,” Monoma said, bending back over his laptop, “but I’ll start searching for other Shinsou Hitoshis so that you can kick their asses.”

You gestured for him to keep it down, jerking your head in Eri’s direction. She was watching Monoma’s Japanese-dubbed, extended edition of The Fellowship of the Ring, holding her unicorn-kitten doll in her lap, sitting atop the booster seat cushion for her spot on Aizawa’s couch. “If Aizawa-sensei hears Eri swearing, he’ll blame us.”

“Not my—” He cut himself off, wincing. “You’re right. I’ll keep the cursing to a minimum. But if you murder any other Shinsou Hitoshis that exist, then, de facto, he’ll no longer have a soulmate, and you can get with him.”

You sighed, sinking into one of Aizawa’s worn armchairs. “I’m not gonna resort to violence.”

Pursing his lips, Monoma shut his laptop for dramatic effect. “But you’ll resort to compromising your morals and fucking him.”

“Keep quiet,” you said, swatting at Monoma and missing, “I’m not gonna—how else am I—”

“I just don’t think you should.”

“I’m not gonna have—have sex with…”

Monoma sucked in through his teeth, reaching into his bag of trail mix. “You’re not emotionally ready,” he said, shaking his head, “If you added sex to the stuff you’re going through right now, you’d explode.”

“I know that,” you said, slumping down in your seat. You shot a mournful look towards Monoma, and you held out your hand for trail mix. “I…I don’t wanna have sex at this point in my life. I just don’t think it’s—I want to do it eventually, yeah. But not right now. I’m tired.”

He tilted the bag into your hand, shaking some out. “I understand. Why don’t you say fuck the soulmate shit and be with Shinsou regardless?”

“I don’t wanna take any shred of happiness from him,” you said, crunching, “If he has a chance at happiness with his soulmate, he deserves it.” You swallowed thickly. “I’m guilty as hell for wasting his time like this, but I admit that I’m selfish. I want him all to myself.” You picked through the mix you had in your palm. “I feel horrible about it,” you said softly, “but if I want to keep his attention in these sessions, I think I have to up the ante, at least a little.”

Grimacing, Monoma shoved his hand in the bag of trail mix. “Who put that in your head?”

***

YOU

want to try sexting????

HITOSHI 💜🍡

no <3

***

Against Monoma’s advice, you were going to make a move on Shinsou under the false pretences of soulmate preparation. Which, you supposed, wasn’t too different from what you’d been doing, but now you were deceiving him.

Shinsou could always notice when you were nervous or insincere in person, so you resolved to do it over the phone. Building up the courage to call him took half an hour of staring at your phone, face down on your bedspread, the whole decision-making process taking longer than usual, because the person you’d usually consult for advice was the very person you were going to call.

When you finally unlocked your phone and pressed the call button on his contact, your fingers darted to turn on the speaker, and you tossed your phone towards the foot of your bed, skibbling backwards away from it as if it were a slippery lizard you’d found in your sheets.

Six trills of the dial tone later, Shinsou answered, fumbling his phone, by the sound of it, and out of breath. “Hello?”

God, his panting reverberating throughout your dorm room made your heart race, and you needed to be in control for what you’re about to say. You scrambled to pick up your phone to switch off the speaker and hold it to your ear. “Hi, Hitoshi.”

“Yeah, hi.” With his rumbly, winded voice low in your ear, it was as if he were standing next to you, instead of near a busy street, judging by the rush of cars passing in the background and the skid of tires. “What’s up?”

Okay. You are strong and brave, and you can do this. You can and will be this ridiculous man’s personal whore in the name of love. “Hitoshi,” you said, letting a whine creep into your voice, “When are you coming home? I need you.” Hopefully, he couldn’t hear your cringe when you said those things.

You could, however, hear his frown when he spoke. “I,” he said, pausing, and you could easily picture the crease between his eyebrows, “I’ll be home soon. I’m out on my bike. What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

“A little. I don’t know quite what’s wrong with me, but I really, really miss you, so much, and I need you to come home now so that I—fuck.” You took a slow, controlled breath, and when you came back down, words that weren’t your own spilled out of your mouth, pulled from somewhere deep inside you—as if they were a surfacing whale carcass from the Mariana Trench of your stomach (the loose script Monoma had helped you draft lay forgotten). “’Toshi, I’ll be real with you. I need something in my mouth. I need your strong hands spreading my thighs. I need your mouth on my boobs, licking and sucking up until you can bite the side of my neck. I need to watch you touch yourself, to see how you make yourself feel good and learn how I can do the same. It’s a side of you I don’t know. It’s a side you haven’t let me in. I need to know what all you’re capable of, because I know you’re capable of teaching me, of corrupting me, and I’ve never wanted anything more.”

Three cars honked in quick succession in the background while Shinsou stayed silent. “Who put you up to this.”

“Nobody. No one can tell me what I want. And I want all of you.”

“Bullshit. That’s fucking bullshit. Tell me who’s been pressuring you to have sex. You wouldn’t want this with me otherwise.” Shinsou wasn’t panting anymore. His voice was stony and flat.

“Is it that hard to believe that I want you of my own volition?” you asked, and you covered yourself with your throw blanket, burrowing out of sight, even though he’s halfway across town. “Are you saying I’m not capable of making this decision?”

“No,” Shinsou said, “I simply don’t think you would. It’s—it doesn’t line up with what I know about you.”

That’s fine. That’s why you have a fake motive. “I’m tired of being so far behind the rest of our friends. It makes me feel so small and immature, hearing them talk about things I haven’t experienced, and the game we played at the club proved how far beyond me they are.” You swopped your phone to your other ear so that you could lie down on your preferred side, and you snuggled into one of your stuffed animals. “I—I don’t want my soulmate to be embarrassed by me or unsatisfied with what I can do. I just want to be good enough. You’re my lifeline, Hitoshi. You can give me what I can’t give myself.”

“Fuck off with that. Soulmates aren’t—hold on. My helmet’s getting in the way.” Rustling and the click of a strap, and Shinsou’s voice came in more clearly—and he overenunciated each syllable, signalling that he was growing livid. “Soulmates aren’t all about sex. Life isn’t all about sex. I’ve been holding back the entire time we’ve been dealing with this soulmate shit, because telling you what I really think only bounces the fuck off your stubborn ass: I honestly think what you’ve been doing with me in the name of your soulmate is fuckin’ psychotic. Everyone lives a different timeline; there’s no standard for when a so-called life event is supposed to happen, if it happens at all,” said Shinsou, “You can graduate university at 90 and have your first kiss at 45 and learn to ride a bike when you’re 23. It’s fine if you never check all the boxes. You’ve never been behind. You are your own, on your own path, at your own pace. So, please, don’t rush into love, baby.”

Baby. He called you baby. He’d done it before, but now, you craved it. You cherished it. You could pretend it was real. “If you really thought it was a bad idea,” you said, eyes fluttering shut, entertaining the thought of Shinsou being there with you, spooning you and calling you baby softly in your ear, “why—why did you go along with it? Why did you offer?”

Shinsou huffed into the phone, and the sound was familiar enough for you to picture his expression as he did it: pursed lips, scrunched nose, dark eyes. “Because otherwise, you might have gone to someone who might hurt you. Because when some people hear that there’s a virgin in a vulnerable position, depending on them, they can lose sight of the person in front of them, instead fetishizing the corruption of virginity, because—because do you know how much the idea of teaching a virgin how to love you and only you drips with sexuality? People go crazy, sweetheart. Virginity can—it can attract the wrong people, and it can repulse the wrong people. You shouldn’t be with anyone who sees something like that as a problem.”

God, he’s so nice. He’s so compassionate. You were arguing with Shinsou over, essentially, his decision to be kind to you. What a dependable fucker. Why can’t he be your soulmate? “So, you’ve been holding back from telling me all of this. Anything else you’ve been holding back? Any other information, or—or in how you’ve been touching me. Are you one of those virginity fetishists, Hitoshi? Have you wanted to touch more of me?”

“I’m not reducing you to a fetish, clearly, and—and you belong to someone else,” said Shinsou, sounding like he was gritting his teeth, “If I were your soulmate, then I would allow myself to want more from you. But I’d only do it if you wanted it—for real, not whatever you’re doing now—because I’m not a selfish bitch.” Each word sounded like it had to fished out of his stomach with a barbed hook. “I can fucking wait for you, because I wouldn’t ever want you to be fucking scared around me for any reason, and I’ll keep waiting. I don’t mind. You’ve got the rest of your goddamn life for all of this.”

Welp. Shinsou was more upset than you meant for him to be, but perhaps this conversation would frustrate him enough to kiss and suck at your neck during a movie when he returned. “Then come home and touch me, Hitoshi. Fucking do it. I want you to. Stop holding back.”

“No. No, I won’t. I—something’s up with you. You’re not acting like yourself, and—and it’s pissing me off. You don’t know what you’re asking for, and you can’t really mean it. You’d never want me. You’re being a goddamn brat,” he said, and you could picture him running a hand back through his hair, mouth twitching, scowling, “Is that what this is? Does my precious baby girl wanna be punished? Seems like you want something drastic. I can give you that. Listen up: I’m about halfway through my bike route. Go to my room. In my bedside table, there’s a toy I’ve chosen for you. Originally, it was gonna be used months down the line, but since someone can’t watch that bratty mouth of hers—when I get back to the school, I’d better find you fucking yourself with it.”

“Wait, what?” You snapped upright, the blanket pooling around your waist.

 “You heard me, you lying little minx. I’m not going to lift a finger for this punishment. You’re doing it all by yourself.”

What the fuck. “Why are you being so mean?”

“Why? Are you getting wet?” Shinsou scoffed into the speaker. “Key’s in the usual place. Get to it,” Shinsou said, and he hung up.

Numbly, you lowered your phone to your lap, staring as the screen returned to your home wallpaper.

Uh. That’s. That’s a bit more extreme than kissing your neck. You supposed…you supposed that you should do what he said, lest he get even angrier.

You went to his dorm. The fake cactus you’d given him rested on the windowsill, bathed in sunlight, and after a quick check to the soil—moist—you permitted yourself a smile. You dropped it when you opened the top drawer of his bedside table, but you hid the toy under your shirt and dashed back to your room before you or anyone else could get a good look at it.

Locking the door behind you, you pulled the toy out from underneath your shirt. New in the package, so that alleviated any worries about sabotage. You cut it open, and silicone cock dropped into your lap. It’s a pale blue, almost translucent thing, and it’s five and a half inches, according to the packaging. For a moment, you were insulted at the size, because didn’t Shinsou think you could take something bigger? But then you remembered that you and what pussy would be taking it, so. That’s fair. There doesn’t seem to be anything special about it—no suction or vibration or anything. Just a fake dick.

How do you even prepare for this? You changed out of your pants into a semi-short skirt, deciding you still wanted to be somewhat covered, and you tossed your underwear to the foot of your bed. While you were laying down a towel, you briefly considered if you should put on that virgin English song by Madonna. Not English English, but—wait, was Madonna from England? Or another English-speaking country?

You’ve masturbated before, of course; you’re not an idiot, but you’ve never—you sighed, cringing at the five and a half inches—taken something this long or wide inside you (which aspect would be more trouble?). Lying on your bed atop the towel, you held the dildo up to the light, blue specks of glitter shining through. You parted your legs and rubbed the tip through your folds, completely bone-dry, feeling inadequate and ashamed that you couldn’t get turned on, worried about Shinsou and what was going through his mind, and Madonna was from America, from a place called Bay City in the state of Michigan but was raised around Detroit, and you couldn’t focus on getting aroused or anything, so though you were circling your clit, it wasn’t doing anything for you, and the tip of the dildo could barely make it inside you, not even passing the first ring of muscle. Using the head, you gathered what slickness you could, even teasing and prodding your clit with the rubbery material before trying to work the head past the first, tense ring, but the stretch of it burned, entrance strained and stinging, while your feet slid against the towel and blanket, trying to give you extra traction to get it in—and it slipped out of you entirely, the head bouncing as it flopped to lie flat on the towel between your legs. Jaw clenched and eyes watering, you were flooded with a hot rush of embarrassment. If you can’t take this, how would you ever take Shinsou’s cock?

Time passed without your noticing, but it felt like no time at all before you could feel yourself drying out, even though you were never that wet to begin with. Collapsing back and staring at the ceiling, you took a deep breath and smoothed down your skirt, wanting nothing more than to go back to before you made the phone call, but you’ve dug your own bed, so now you have to grave/lie in it.

But you couldn’t get it inside you.

You fished the dildo out from underneath you, and to your surprise, the cockhead had turned a light lilac at the wet heat between your legs, and it was slowly fading back into blue. Okay. You got it. Another phone call would further your cause. Dread building, you called him again, and he picked up after a single ring, quiet. “Hitoshi?”

“Yeah?”

A short reprieve of relief passed through you at his calm inflection, but it left when you braced yourself for what you had to say. “I—” Goddammit, steam would be coming out of your ears if you grew the tiniest iota more embarrassed. “I can’t get it in.”

Though only a few painful, prolonged seconds elapsed, the silence that followed felt long enough for you to have listened to Madonna’s entire discography. Eventually, a careful, resigned-sounding Shinsou said, “Would you like me to give you instructions over the phone, or do you want me to come over?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see, and said in a small voice, “I think you should come over.”

“Right,” he said, “Give me three minutes.”

Two minutes later, you were opening your door for him. Freshly showered with damp, partially fluffed hair (he must not have put in his mousse yet), Shinsou rushed to hug you before you could lift your hand off the doorknob, his muscular, still wet-warm arms wrapping around you with great fervent, pinning your own arms to your sides, and he tucked his chin into the crook of your neck, mouth half on your shirt and half on your skin.

“Oh, baby,” he said, his nose scrunching against you while he smushed you against him, getting your own shirt damp, “You don’t have to do any of this. I’m so, so sorry. I was inexcusably angry, and I didn’t—I leant into hard dom mode because I froze up and didn’t know how to react, and being a hard dom comes easily for me. You didn’t have to—I was terrified. I’m sorry.”

“No, I—I wanted to be good for you. I wanted to be so good,” you said, and Shinsou pulled back enough to look at you, his hands on your waist (!!!), and he gasped softly when he caught your drying tear lines. “Because I was being unfair to you. Being a brat. Pushing you.” You sniffed, closing your eyes as Shinsou cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a fresh tear. Two more ran down your face before you managed to get out, “Help me make it fit?”

Shinsou avoided your eyes by moving to your bed while retrieving the small, squeeze bottle of lube from his back pocket. You winced when he picked up the dildo, since the head was still slick and purple, and he twisted it around, looking it over, while he sat on your bed against the wall, legs outstretched across your bed. “I see you didn’t get very far.”

“Shut up; it’s dried off,” you said, one knee on your bed, wrinkling the towel, “And so what if I’ve got a tiny vagina. It means you can indulge in any size kink shit you have going on with your massive, monster dong.”

“Don’t fucking say it like that,” Shinsou said, laughing a bit but refusing to meet your eyes, and he patted his thigh for you to sit. “You probably didn’t warm yourself up well enough.”

Good. Good. So far, it had been unfolding comfortably, like an average hangout, ish, but when you swung your leg over Shinsou’s lap to straddle him, everything became much realer. Heavier. Both of you tensed up, with you hovering above his lap, really, instead of putting your weight on it, and when your skirt rose up a hair, you flattened it back down. “Warm me up, then.”

The shock in Shinsou’s widened eyes reflected your own. Where had that come from? “I don’t think I should,” he said, his fists bunched in your bedding.

“Hitoshi,” you said, shifting farther up his hips but still hovering, “I want you to be the one to stretch me out.” You did a very good impression of a completely calm, normal person as you held up the dildo. “Should I—should I lick it first, or something? To make it easier?”

Shinsou made a noise that sounded like a combination of coughing and choking. “No, uh. Natural—natural lubrication. Would be best. First,” he was saying as you guided his cold, trembling hands to your thighs, “Let’s. Let’s try that. First. If that’s okay.” His touch was so light that you barely felt it, so you pressed down on his hands, his fingertips indenting in your skin, and you nodded, letting him know it was okay. Watchful for your approval, he hesitantly smoothed long strokes down your thighs.

“That’s fine. It’s—it’s what I called you over for,” you said, losing brain cells when you noticed how much of your thighs Shinsou’s large hands could hold, “Touch me? I trust you.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll.” He swallowed visibly, spit audible. “I’ll keep your skirt down so that you don’t have to show me anything; you’ll be safe. I won’t—I won’t take advantage of you. You’re safe with me. Why don’t you—” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you put your hands on my shoulders to steady yourself?”

Going a step further, you wrapped your arms around his neck and leant in, holding him close, shoving your nose in his neck, getting struck with some sort of fruity scent (pears?), and arching up as an afterthought to give him better access, your skirt riding up to reveal just the slightest curve of your ass.

Shinsou rubbed your thighs twice more, the second time allowing his fingertips to dip under the edge of your skirt before running back down your thighs. He then slowly drew his shaking hands up in parallel all the way up to your hips, his fingertips pressing into the swell of your ass and his thumbs sliding into the line where your thighs met your—

“Holy shit,” said Shinsou, snapping his hands back as if he’d been scalded, “You’re—you’re not wearing anything.”

You clenched around nothing at the crack in his voice. You were about to ask him if he typically wore his underwear while masturbating, but you found that you couldn’t get your mouth to work.

“Hold on,” Shinsou was saying, and you leant back, dragging your arms from around his neck to rest on his shoulders, “I need a minute.” He closed his eyes, pressing his thumb and index fingers against them, biting his lip, clonking his head back against the wall.

Saliva building in your mouth and thighs about to give out, you eased your weight onto Shinsou’s lap—and his breath hitched the moment your bare cunt pushed against his cock, achingly hard and bulging in his sweats.

“Good Lord, have mercy,” said Shinsou, opening his eyes to half-lidded and dragging his hand down his face, a flash of alarm reaching his eyes when his hips involuntarily bucked up into yours (probably at the wet gush that had dripped onto him). The movement had shot arousal from your clit all the way up to the back of your throat, so you tried to roll your hips against him, mimicking his motions. Shinsou stopped you, his hands shooting to your thighs to still them. “No, you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” he said, breathing hard, “I am honoured you’d even let me touch you.”

Honoured? You scowled when Shinsou buried his face in his hands, because you’ve had enough of his casual comments here and there that he’s not worthwhile. That he’s not worth loving. That no one would ever want him. Ha, as if it were possible you couldn’t want him. Shinsou has always looked at you with a tenderness that ached. He knew you and valued you and saw you, just as you truly were, and didn’t ask for anything more. How could you ever love anyone else?

From this angle, the sag of his sleeve revealed the final syllable of his name written on his wrist.

So, you fucking did it. You grabbed his wrists to move his hands out of the way and kissed Shinsou. It was probably a bad, desperate kiss, since you didn’t know what you were doing (probably too firm?), but the way Shinsou sighed into it made up for the wave of insecurity. The moment when his shoulders slackened, you celebrated in your head, relishing how his cold, coconut-pear lips were just warming up, but Shinsou shuddered and pulled away, pushing at your shoulders.

“What are you doing? Weren’t you saving that for your soulmate?” asked Shinsou, spluttering and panicked, “It’s just me. You wasted it on me.”

“I didn’t waste it. There is nothing just about you, Hitoshi. Listen, I—I don’t want things to change, but at the same time, I do. I’ve decided I don’t fucking care about my stupid, fucking soulmate. I don’t fuck with him. I want you.” You removed his hands from your shoulders to grasp both of them, closing some of the distance he’d creating by scooting nearer to him—cracking a smile at the way his dick twitched when you inadvertently grinded on him. “I think I always have. You are lovable and witty and kind; you look at me and handle me with gentleness to the extreme. I will never connect with anyone like the way we do. No one is like you, Hitoshi.”

His hair was fluffing back up, and based on his expression, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was being electrocuted. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“My soulmate is probably a bastard, anyway,” you said, jerking your head to the side, “and your soulmate—I can’t stand the thought of losing you. I want to be the closest to you forever, or as long as you’ll have me. It terrifies me that someone else could get between us. I want you to take all my firsts; I want you to be the only one who ever touches me—”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Shinsou was saying, muffled behind the fist he’d brought to his mouth, the tips of his ears flaming red, “Baby, please don’t say things like that to me. You’ll give me hope.”

You shook your head. “I’m sorry for ruining our friendship like this, but I’m in love with you. I love you. I always have, without even knowing. And I always fucking will, even if some bastard soulmate shows up someday. I choose you. You’re what I want, every day for the rest of my life, and I wanna be yours.”

Shinsou sighed, shoulders heaving as he embraced you, holding you tightly. “Don’t worry about ruining our friendship; I did that already. I got caught in my own damn capture weapon the day Tainted Love attacked. I could’ve stopped her if I hadn’t. I could’ve prevented all of this. We could have kept going, keeping a tender distance, so neither of us would be…burdened.”

“Fuck you and your conception of being a burden—”

“And I have a hunch who your soulmate is,” said Shinsou, deflated as he pulled away.

You blinked. “You what?”

“I’m evil and sinister and foul for keeping it from you. But I—I talked to Tainted Love. Got some help. I think I know.”

“I don’t need to know,” you said, lifting your hand to hold his cheek, and his eyes fluttered shut, his light purple lashes contrasting against his skin.

Shinsou leant into your palm, looking like the world had been taken off his shoulders, but he furrowed his brow and opened his eyes, his jaw shifting. “I’m not going to tell you how I feel until you know who it is.”

“Hitoshi,” you said, grinning weakly, “I’m pretty sure I already know how you feel.”

Shinsou took your hand, sliding it off his face and held it palm up, and he traced over the lines with his middle and ring fingers. “I don’t think I should tell you until you know your soulmate.”

“Fine, then. Enlighten me.”

“You sure? I’m evil and sinister and foul,” Shinsou said again, dodging when you moved to flick his forehead for debasing himself, “and I’m about to get even worse.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip, eyes flicking to yours. “There’s one way to figure it out for certain. Do you trust me?”

“I tried to impale myself on a fake cock for you. What do you think?”

Shinsou laughed, finally, easing into his crooked grin, turning a sad sort of bittersweet at the last second. “Remember the first time we met.”

It’s as if a ghostly hand was penetrating your mind, tracing back and back and back, through filing cabinets of memories, farther back than you could’ve reached yourself, exhuming parts of your past you’d forgotten that flashed by in hazy slideshows of photographs as it thumbed through manilla folders. When the hand appeared to startle in revelation, it slithered a shoddy file from its misplaced location, shoved sideways along the drawer vaguely labelled to be first semester, freshman year. When the hand was joined by its pair, you realised they were your own, and when you opened the file, you were plunged into the memory, set to relive it exactly.

God, you’re going to be late. You’re never late, and this way, Aizawa was going to get a bad impression of you and your standards. It’s not your fault that this follow-up to the Sports Festival was scheduled at the ass-crack of dawn, but—and you sucked in the morning air through your teeth, pulling your collar up to protect you from the wind—it was, admittedly, your fault that you’d stayed up late with Asui and Jirou. It’d been like a sleepover, almost, and you were loving the people your classmates were turning out to be.

What was this meeting for, anyway? All of the Sports Festival participants were invited, so it must be some sort of practical evaluation of your performances. Maybe how you can improve. But why did it have to be before school? Aizawa was crazy.

You skidded to a stop in front of the gym and swung open the door, and it creaked so loudly that fucking everybody stopped what they were doing to stare at you. Smiling nervously, you took a step inside.

Yamada shot you finger guns from his place atop a lump in a yellow sleeping bag. “WAY TO MAKE AN ENTRANCE! YOU’RE SO LATE, AND WE COULDN’T START WITHOUT YOU, SINCE WE’RE REVIEWING THE EVENTS IN ORDER! WE HAD TO GO AROUND AND SHARE FUN FACTS ABOUT OURSELVES!”

“I’m so sorry.” Any excuse you would’ve made wouldn’t’ve made up for your classmates’ suffering, so you didn’t offer one.

You scrambled to the back of the group, hunching in on yourself, and as soon as you found a place, you heard a scoff.

“Looks like the ice princess finally decided to grace us with her presence.”

Your jaw dropped, and you turned to face some purple, troll-haired bitch with bags under his eyes. Ah. You knew this guy. He’d scoped out Class A before the Sports Festival and insulted your new friends to their faces. That sort of jackassery would not be tolerated by you, so you’d adopted a rather cold, defensive front to anyone outside of Class A for the time being, presuming they felt the same. Oh, yes, you remembered this guy, above all others shunning your class.

You scowled back, the corner of your mouth twitching, and you spoke with disdain. “Shinsou Hitoshi.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but both of you snapped towards the front when Yamada clapped and began yelling again.

You were ripped out of the memory by the softest orgasm you’ve ever had, gentle and washing through your body like a bathtub overflowing; you found yourself held snugly by Shinsou’s arms, clutching you to his chest, while your hips grinded against him, arousal seeping out of you and soaking the fabric over his pulsing cock.

Gasping, you kissed the side of his neck, and he shuddered. “Hitoshi.”

“You’re back?” Shinsou raised a hand from your lower back to stroke your hair, pulling away to smile at you. “You were under for a while,” he said, and he slowly, deliberately, rolled his hips into yours. “Seems like you had a good time. Started grinding on me all by yourself. I tried to stop you, but you—” He broke off, grinning and shaking his head. “You moved to suck at my neck, and I fucking shattered.” He tapped a spot, spit reflecting in the light.

“There’s no mark, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you said, and you slumped against him. “Thank fucking God. I’m so glad that it’s you. I wanted it to be you. I was ready for it to not be, but I’m so fucking relieved.”

“Excellent,” said Shinsou, lifting your chin by tapping the underside of it, “because I love you so fucking much.” Cradling the back of your head, Shinsou pulled you into a fervent kiss, desperate and firm as you’d been at first, but softening when you parted your lips a little, and the subsequent slide of his tongue against yours made your head buzz with pleasure, doubling when he let out a needy groan.

“Oh, my God, you’re fucking perfect,” you said, breaking off to breathe, and he chuckled, resting his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply and pressing his lips to your bare skin there. “Wait. You used your quirk on me. I don’t know what you’re on about, Hitoshi; it felt incredible.”

“That would be the orgasm you just rode out on my thigh, sweetheart,” he said, nuzzling into you, cold and hot at the same time.

“No, it was something different, too, something I felt when Neito used your quirk on me. It feels—it felt like you were holding me, unbearably fond and full of compassion.”

Shinsou blinked, his eyelashes brushing against your neck. “Well. I’ve never heard my quirk described as something affectionate. If it’s like that way for you, then I’m glad.” He took a deep breath, the exhale fanning over you, and he pressed his lips to your neck, letting them linger, softly puckered, before speaking again.“I’m so fucking glad I don’t have to dance around my feelings anymore with the dumbass teaching sessions. I’m out of practise, anyway, since I stopped doing them for anyone else a long time ago; you caught me being evil, right? When I allowed myself to be me instead of the dom I moulded myself into.”

“I noticed,” you said, bringing a hand up to scratch the base of his scalp, and he fucking moaned. After a brief pause, you continued, feeling powerful and loved. “But good. Good. I was—I was scared of going further, but I didn’t know how else to keep you acting all romantical with me. I don’t wanna have sex with you. Yet. I’m not ready.”

“I know,” he said, and you felt his grin as he pressed a light kiss to your neck, once, twice. “I don’t wanna have sex with you, too.”

“How romantic.”

“You know what I meant,” he grumbled, blowing cold air over the slight wet spots he’d left, and you shivered with a laugh. “I will wait however long you need to. I’m in no rush.” He propped his head sideways on your shoulder, looking up at you. “To be honest, I know I wouldn’t last, even if we did. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna come the moment I touch your sweet cunt.”

“How romantic,” you deadpanned again, Shinsou’s huff tickling you, and your fingers curled into his soft hair. “But yeah. I love you. And now—now we can be sincere about it. Real. We don’t have to hold back anymore.” You gently guided Shinsou up so that you could cup his face and smile at him, lips close enough to suggest another kiss. “You can love me with everything you’ve got.”

Face framed by your hands, Shinsou looked like he was in the clouds. “That I can do.”

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair, @tiredkittykat, @cheshireshiya, @90s-belladonna, @infjsnightmare

#bnha #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x reader #shinsou/reader #shinsou imagine #shinsou fic #mha #shinsou headcanons #shinsou fanfiction #shinsou fanfic #shinsou hitoshi x reader #soulmates #soulmate #soulmate au #dash it all

[animehideout]

Hello!! can you do gojo x dumb but kind reader?

like reader could be playing a game and someone starts bragging to her about how they won and she just like "Oh okay well I think you were really good! you deserve it:D"

Like she can making anyone who was insulting her feel bad in seconds

and gojo sometimes calls u dumb or makes joke that you don't understand so you think he's serious or calling you dumb so you start crying and he has to make it up to you (^o^)

Please and thank you lots of fluff as well!!!

Gojo Satoru X Dumb but Kind Fem! Reader

a/n: thanks anon for this request, and sorry for the late update 🫶🏻

ps: I'm working on all the requests, sorry for taking too long to post all of them, but there are a lot of requests + working on Wattpad so thank you for your understanding

It became a weekly routine for you to gather in the Jujutsu high school common room, playing games together to unwind and have some fun, aiming to relieve stress of the missions. Occasionally, students from Kyoto high schools joined in for friendly competitions.

Gojo, was always there, he has always enjoyed the competitive spirit during these sessions.

The air was full of laughter and cracking jokes every now and then. You were quietly playing by yourself in a corner, minding your own business. But, your peace had to be interrupted by none other than Mai. She's always eager to tease and make fun of you without any apparent reason. She enjoyed showing off, knowing you wouldn't fight back. You're just too kind for this world.

She approached you and everyone in the room knew what she's about to say, a smirk revealing her intentions.

"Watcha doing, Y/n? Oh, you're still there. I don't think you made any progress. You see, I already won that game—all the levels."

Her aim was clear: to make you feel weak, dumb and like a loser. However, you excelled at turning insults into lessons in kindness. Without missing a beat, you paused your game, flashed a smile, and responded,

"Oh, wonderful! You did well Mai; you deserve it."

It's Mai we're talking about, so she wouldn't feel bad, but rather embarrassed. She continually attempted to bring you down, but always faces your kindness every time. Not only her, but others often underestimated your abilities, often teasing you about it and calling you names.

Perhaps because it takes you a bit longer than others to understand something, but that's completely normal. People are just mean.

"Hey, why don't you compete with her?" suggested one of them.

"Whaaat?. She'd probably get her ass beaten in less than 3 seconds," exclaimed Mai's best friend.

"I think Mai is a formidable opponent; she's brilliant," you responded with a friendly smile, shifting your focus back to your game.

They exchanged glances, attempting to provoke you, but couldn't. Your kindness often shields you, either because you don't fully grasp their intentions to bully you or because you don't take them or their words too seriously. After all, why let someone your age calling you dumb make you feel sad?

However, this is not the case with Gojo Satoru.

You take him way too seriously, hanging on to each word as if it were truth. You know it's his nature to be playful and teasing, but his occasional jokes have a different impact on you. Despite this, you've never dared to confront him. Instead, you've worn a fake smile, blinking away tears. But today was different; it became your breaking point.

Finally, Mai left you alone, granting you some peace to play without disturbance. While others were busy competing and laughing, you didn't notice Gojo standing right behind you. A small mistake slipped into your gameplay, one that could have been easily avoided, but you couldn't help it.

"That was a dumb move, Y/n!" Gojo exclaimed, startling you.

"Huh?"

"That mistake could have been easily avoided, but you had to be dumb as usual" he added, rolling his eyes.

A lump formed in your throat, tears threatening to fall.

"I-I was just—" you stuttered.

"You've gotta practice if you want to be like your friends. I'm not only talking about this game but real life too" he added.

Unable to respond, your eyes remained fixed on the game in front of you. They were red from holding back tears, and you didn't want him to see.

Gojo then stood in the center of the common room and said,

"Hey, guys, listen to this joke. Why did that kind girl try to tell a joke about time travel?" He started , and when they asked why, he said, "Because she thought it was about fixing all her past misunderstandings. Turns out she couldn't grasp the punchline in any timeline."

The room erupted in laughter.

"That was a good one" said one of the students.

You stood there feeling out of place, realizing the joke was about you from the way everyone laughed and pointed.

Overwhelmed, you excused yourself from the crowded room, seeking comfort in the garden. The weight on your chest felt unbearable, and tears were threatening to fall. Gojo, sensed your distress when you left the room, mentally cursed himself, his joke might have gone far. So he decided to follow you.

He found you on the stairs, tears streaming down your face as you gazed at the trees.Concerned, he approached,

"Hey Y/n, are you okay?"

It was time to confront him. Keeping your focus on the trees, your voice cracked as you spoke,

"Why do you always do that? Make fun of me in front of everyone? Is it fair to call me dumb for the slightest mistakes?" Frustration overflowed.

Gojo's playful side vanished, replaced by sincerity and seriousness,

"I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry if it seemed that way. I didn't realize it was affecting you like this."

Wiping away your tears, you replied,

"Giving no reaction and faking a smile doesn't mean it doesn't affect me. I'm just good at hiding it."

He felt really bad, realizing that he took it too far this time and that his jokes and teasing had been making you sad all the time.

"Why do you even do it?" you asked again.

"I thought it was all good and fun, just like with everyone else. I was trying to lighten the mood. I didn't know it bothered you that much. Sorry about that, princess. I'll make it up to you."

"Nah you don't have to" you resisted,

but he insisted,

"No, I want to." Standing up, he exclaimed, pulling you close.

With his thumbs, he wiped your tears and tucked your hair behind your ears, whispering,

"Let me fix it. I'm sorry for making you feel that way. You're a kind soul. Would you give me a chance?"

You're too kind to turn him down so you nodded.

"come on show me that precious smile of yours here you go princess oh I love that sweet smile I'll make sure it never leaves your face"

To say the least, he made you feel significantly better. His comforting gestures were genuine and sincere. you could feel him pulling you into a warm, big hug.

You're precious to him, and teasing is his way of expressing love.

"You're too good for this world Y/n!!"

He realized that sometimes words even in jest, could cut deeper than intended. He promised to be more careful, acknowledging that people might not see through good intentions, since people can't read minds.

So it's always better to speak something positive or remain silent.

if anyone treats you with disrespect, make sure to defend yourselves pookies. Never let anyone calls you dumb or underestimates you. You're too precious, you're unique, don't let people bring you down! speak up and defend yourselves 🫶🏻💪🏻

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen masterlist #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru headcanons #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo oneshot #gojo fanfic #gojo headcanons #jjk fluff #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru fanfic

[toxophilitis]

Horny Peeping Sister cont

Chapter 6

Each knowing he was as guilty as the other, Jim and his children could not reproach each other for their incestuous fucking. Before the evening was over, Becky had confessed to her father that the only boy she had fucked had been none other than her brother, and, much to her and Tom’s surprise, their father hadn’t been angry at all. In fact, the idea seemed to excite him so they went one step further and told him about how often they went out into the neighborhood at night and watched people fucking. When Becky told him about what she and Tom had seen earlier that evening, Jim was ecstatic.

“I don’t know why I never thought of doing that myself,” he told his incredulous children. “Would you mind if I went with you two sometimes?”

Becky looked at her brother in shocked surprise. “But what about mom?”

“What about her? She’s been such a bitch these last few years, she’s lucky I haven’t done something like this before. Fuck her, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“All right, Dad!” Tom cheered, slapping his old man on the back.

“Next time mom works late, we’re outta here!”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Jim said, giving both of his children a hug.

“Now let’s get us and this place cleaned up before she gets home.”

It took them about a week to find an evening where they all felt safe enough to leave the house together. Tom felt in charge and grown up, leading his father and sister through the darkened streets to another of his favorite viewing spots. Becky felt sexy and hot, knowing she had the chance to get fucked by both her father and her brother if they found something really good to look at. Jim felt a little nervous, sometimes wondering if he was out of his mind to be doing something like this, especially with his own children.

The house they had been aiming for was completely black when they arrived, much to their disappointment. But Tom quickly came up with another address, and they headed in that direction, three figures dressed in black slinking down the alleyways. But before they could even reach the house they had in mind, a different lighted window stopped them dead in their tracks.

“Wow!” Becky gasped, her pussy juicing up instantly.

“I’ve never seen them before,” Tom whispered, his eyes almost popping out of his head. “She’s gorgeous!”

“I’ll say,” his father agreed, a lump in his throat.

The house was across the alley from a vacant lot so the three of them crouched down in some bushes there and watched in awe the fucking taking place in the room across from them.

In that room, which looked like a room built entirely for fucking, was a lovely blonde woman and two men. The woman looked to Becky to be in her thirties, but she was very well kept, with big swinging tits, and a supple, youthful body. She had a very dark tan, and the lines of her tiny bikini looked obscene, especially when she turned so that the dark triangle of her light brown cunt-hair also showed.

While Jim and Tom took in the blonde’s assets, Becky also noticed everything there was to see about the two men in the room with her. One was a young body-builder, muscles rippling on every inch of his greased body. His hair was bleached from the sun and his face was ruggedly handsome. His cock was out of view because he had it shoved up the woman’s ass.

The other man was tall and dark-haired. He was very thin, but his face looked like something out of the fuck magazines Becky and her friend Vicky sometimes shared. His skin was dark, and covered everywhere with a fine mat of hair. Neither her father nor her brother had much body hair and Becky now discovered that she found it rather attractive.  Again she couldn’t get a very good look at the dark-haired man’s cock because he was feeding it to the blonde woman.

On the walls behind the three fuckers were pictures of people fucking in every imaginable position. Many of them had never even occurred to Becky and she immediately felt educated—and horny.

Tom wasted no time in taking advantage of the situation. Immediately he opened the fly of his jeans and let his cock bob free. Then, his eyes burning on the hot fucking action taking place inside that incredible room, he fisted his cock and began to work it up and back vigorously.

Becky and her father were more reserved. Becky merely began to shift her legs together, feeling her pussy getting very wet and hot. After a few minutes she allowed herself to touch her crotch, but kept her fingers on the outside of her jeans.

Jim was even more reluctant. He’d never done anything like this in his life, and he couldn’t believe he was actually doing it now. His eyes moved from the horny blonde and her two studs to his own horny children. Although he had expected it, he was still shocked when he saw his son jacking himself off so wantonly. But his shock turned to lust when he saw the way Becky was rubbing her juicy little pussy, her face slack with lust as she watched the blonde take a cock from either end.

The blonde was down on all fours, with the body-builder kneeling behind her and the dark-haired pretty boy kneeling in front of her. She had her eyes closed and her head bobbed forward and back, taking and releasing his cock, her fingers against his hairy thighs as she held herself up. Each time the body-builder slammed his cock into her ass, her forehead wrinkled with a look of pain and concern and fuck-lust.

“Yeah, fuck her in the ass!” Tom panted, rooting as if he were at a baseball game. “Yeah! Fuck her good!”

Both Becky and her father watched Tom’s hard-on pointing out into the night. He held it with both hands, one on top of the other, and jammed it through the circle they made. His balls dangled out beneath his rigid prick, moving back and forth with his strenuous fucking motions.  The boy was kneeling in the dirt and weeds of the empty lot.

Becky was crouched down, her knees spread wide apart, the fabric of her jeans stretched taut across her cunt. Her hand could feel the wetness coming right through the denim as she watched the sexy scene in front of her.

Jim just bent himself over at the waist, bending his knees a little bit to keep down low. Although it didn’t register in his conscious mind, he wanted to be ready to run in case anyone happened upon them. But his bent-over position only seemed to emphasize the elongating shaft of his cock and he self-consciously adjusted it in his pants to ease his considerable discomfort.

Becky rubbed her little pussy vigorously, trying to imagine what it would feel like to have a cock as big as her father’s up her ass. Could she do it? she asked herself, sneaking a look up into her dad’s concerned face. Maybe she’d have to try it and see.

The thought made her pussy tremble and she had to shove her hand down the front of her pants. She left her jeans snapped shut, liking the way it felt to touch herself inside of her clothes. It reminded her of how she sometimes put her hand down her pants at school, fingering herself off while sexy Mr. Spillman gave one of his boring lectures in science class. More than once Becky had gotten herself off imagining what he looked like without his clothes and glasses!

“Oh! Ohhh!” Tom grunted, his cock suddenly shooting like a firehose.

Becky and Jim both turned their attention briefly to Tom. His cream jetted out and splattered noisily into the dry brush around them. Both his hands continued to jack on his spurting cock-shaft, and Becky swallowed involuntarily, thinking it was such a shame to waste such delicious cream. Jim couldn’t help but look around them nervously, still very ill at ease.

But no one was there, and when Tom sat down flat on his ass to recover from his orgasm, Jim looked back at the horny blonde in the room. Was that some kind of orgy room they had there? he wondered.

In among the lewd photographs, Jim recognized other sexual devices that had gone unnoticed by his children. There were many different colored dildos of various sizes and even a few masks and a couple of whips and some chained anklets. All the equipment made Jim feel funny. He wanted to feel disgusted by it all, and it upset him that he wasn’t.

“What’s the matter, Dad?” Tom asked, stroking his already reviving hard-on. “Don’t you like it?”

“Ahem, sure!” Jim said, trying not to sound as uncomfortable as he felt. “It’s great, just swell.”

“Then get yer meat out and beat it!” Tom laughed. “We don’t come out here just to watch—that’s sick!”

With both his kids watching him intently, Jim had no choice but to haul out his swollen prick. Actually, it was a relief to set his hard-on free and soothe it with the familiar feel of his hand.

“She’s really a hot one, isn’t she Dad?” Tom said, nodding toward the blonde in the house.

“She sure is, Son,” Jim replied, kneeling down next to the boy and pulling Becky over closer to them.

“And those two guys,” Becky said, “I wonder what it would feel like to take two cocks at the same time.”

“I’m sure we could arrange for you to find out,” Tom said lewdly, his eyes bright with fuck-lust.

“Ahhh, but not tonight, okay?” Jim said. “Let’s do it at home some time, huh?”

“Take it easy, Dad,” Tom laughed. “No one is gonna see us. Becky, why don’t you give a little head to dear old dad here to calm him down?”

“But then I can’t watch them fucking her,” the girl whimpered.

“I’ll tell you what they’re doing,” Tom said, trying to pull Becky over in front of their dad. “Come on, suck him off and drink his come.”

Becky’s pussy was on fire, and the thought of gulping down her dad’s jizz made it even hotter than watching the blonde woman take two cocks.  She giggled her agreement and moved over in front of Jim, settling down flat on her ass in front of him, her feet spread on either side of the kneeling man.

All Jim’s fears left him when his daughter’s lips closed around the shaft of his cock. It was like Becky was sucking out all his apprehensions and he took hold of her face and helped her take in all the many inches of his throbbing prick.

“Feel better now?” Tom asked, his own cock helplessly hard again.

“Oh yeah,” Jim sighed.

Tom then turned his eyes back to the double-fucking in the house. The man at the blonde’s ass was pounding her harder than ever, and the boy could tell that he was getting ready to pump his load up her ass. Tom fisted his own cock, pumping it as he anticipated the man’s orgasm.

Becky bobbed her head, taking and releasing all of her father’s lusty prick. His cock-meat tasted good, and she covered it with her spit, making the mouth-fucking easier. She ran her tongue around and around the swollen prick-meat and enjoyed the way her father twitched and sighed.

As she ate him, Jim opened up her jeans and got at her little cunt. It was very juicy and he fingered it open, smearing the slimy cream all around her cuntal area.

“Oh Beck, he’s really giving it to her ass now,” Tom panted, beginning his suck-by-suck action calls. “She really loves it though, what a slut!”

Becky moaned around her father’s cock as she imagined the blonde taking the bodybuilder’s cock. She pulled harder on Jim’s cockmeat, his fingers and her lusty imagination stirring her fucking juices like never before.

Jim tangled his fingers in the strands of her long hair and pumped her face up and down around his cock-shaft. The way her tongue ran up and down along the sensitive vein that cut across his hard-on made the man roll his eyes and thrust his cock out even more. His little girl gave head like a pro and he couldn’t wait to blast his cream down her cock-sucking throat.

“Way to go, hon,” he panted. “Yeah, suck out my cream!”

Becky bobbed her face, taking all of his cock until she could feel his zipper against her tender lips. Then she pulled her mouth back slowly, keeping her lips tight around the length of his cock, and wiggled her tongue along the underside until she felt her teeth hit the helmet of his prick-head. Then she mouthed just the very tip of his cock, her tongue trying to worm its way into the flared piss-hole.

Tom heard his father’s breathing growing harsher and harsher and he wished he had some of the action too. Then, deciding that if the woman in the house could please two cocks, so could Becky, he moved right up tight against his dad and shoved his own prick toward his sister’s sucking mouth.

“Do me too,” he panted. “Suck me just a little bit, Beck.”

Liking the idea, Becky grabbed both cocks and held them together. Then she lapped up and down both of their swollen tips, feeling and tasting the subtle differences in the flavor of their leaking jizz.

Jim’s fingers poked in and out of the mouth of her cunt and Becky felt herself coming. To be sucking two cocks while her own father fingered her off was just too much!

“Hummm!” she moaned, her body vibrating wildly. “Mmmm!”

Her orgasm was quick, but very intense and behind her closed eyelids she saw vivid blasts of exploding color. Her mouth was open and empty as she gasped for air and then gasped for cock, sucking in first one cock-knob and then the other.

Still high with her recent release, Becky sucked one cock-tip and then turned her head slightly to have the other. Her dad’s prick-knob was a little bigger, but she liked the taste of her brother’s better. The horny girl was glad she didn’t have to choose between the two because she loved them both and to have them both at once was a dream come true.

“The guy in her ass shot off!” Tom suddenly grunted, shoving harder at Becky. “Ahhh, yeah, he’s filling her ass with his cream!”

Becky moaned around their cocks, her tongue out and licking up the side of one prick-shaft and down the other. Her father’s fingers left her pussy and she turned her full attention to bringing both men off as soon as possible.

She took a set of balls in each hand and rolled them in her palms like dice. Then she smashed them up tight against the two twitching cock-shafts and then released them, letting their own considerable weight pull them down. Both men murmured and grunted, their passions ever mounting.

“The dark-haired bear is fucking her mouth like crazy!” Tom cried.

The news made Becky wild. She pushed their straining cock-heads together with her fingers and crammed both of them into her gaping mouth. She ran her tongue around both of them, taking the jizz that dripped out more and more.

“Oh honey!” Jim gasped, his hands pulling her stuffed face far down the shaft of his, as well as Tom’s prick. “Gettin’ there!”

Becky bobbed her head as much as she could on their bunched-together fuck-meat. Then she pulled off and concentrated on sucking her father’s cock all the way to his twitching balls.

“Ahhh!” Jim exclaimed, his cock-meat suddenly lurching and his cream jetting down her throat. “Babyyy!”

Becky snorted and struggled to take her dad’s come. Absently she reached out for her brother’s thrumming prick and just as she touched it, it too let loose with its hot load.

“Aggg, Christ!” Tom grunted, his cream exploding against the side of his sister’s cock-sucking face.

Worried she might drown if she slacked off, Becky gulped down her dad’s cream as she felt her brother’s cream spraying against her ear. She was totally surrounded by jizz, and was the best feeling in the world!

Both men shuddered and groaned as their cocks emptied. Then they both fell away from Becky and the girl felt oddly alone. Not knowing what else to do, she turned around and took another look at the horny blonde. And, much to her delight, Becky saw that the handsome dark-haired man was just pumping his load into her hot, sucking mouth. Becky gave a sticky grin, knowing she had twice as much cream in her belly as the sexy older woman did. She then looked down at her panting father and brother and took both of their cocks in her small hands. “Let’s get these things home so you can give them both to me at once,” she said huskily, jacking on their wilted, sticky pricks. “And I don’t mean in my mouth!”

[smoooothoperator]

untouchable

03: Let It Snow

Lando Norris x OC (Violet Sinclair)

same group friend, unrequited love, acquittances to lovers, ski trip, love triangle

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: drama starts now!!! lando being a simp (sorry not sorry), italics are flashbacks

a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! even if it's not happy for me because I'm sick lol. I hope everyone is okay and had an amazing end of the year with all your loved ones and I wish everyone has an upcoming great year too!

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Life has taught me that you can't control someone's loyalty. No matter how good you are to them, it doesn't mean they'll treat you the same. No matter how much they mean to you, it doesn't mean they'll value you the same. Sometimes the people you love the most, turn out to be the people you can trust the least.

But no matter what happens, I would always defend them, even when they don't deserve it. No matter if both of them hurt me, not being aware of my own feelings or ignoring them, I would always be by their side.

That's what friends do, right? That's what a loyal friend does.

So here I am, ignoring the noises they make upstairs, ignoring the stabs of my heart and keeping a straight face while Max, Pietra and Lando complain about them.

“At least they went to their room” I mumbled under my breath, swallowing  the pain behind every word I said.

I felt Lando's pitiful eyes on me, but I decided to ignore him and keep taking things out of the bags.

“We should go out and explore” Pietra said. “The lady from the ski shop said that near this house there's a path with nice views”

“Yeah, that's a good idea” Lando said.

“Okay, let me go tell Harry and Eloise” I sighed, but heard them sigh in disapproval. “What?”

“Come on, ignore them” Lando said. “They clearly don't want to be with us. If they did, they would be here instead of fucking like rabbits upstairs”

I smiled, just because they way he said it was funny. But I just felt a little stab again. They don't want to be with us? They don't want to be with me? Of course they don't. Of course Harry doesn't want to be with me, he has his Eloise. What am I compared with her?

“Come on” Lando smiled. 

I nodded slowly, walking upstairs and taking a deep breath when I walked in front of the door of their room, fighting the urge to knock and stopping them just to feel satisfied, and went to my room. I smiled when I recognized the smell of caramel.

I wonder who did it, who sprayed an air freshener inside of this room.

With a little smile I grabbed warm clothes and put them on, wrapping the scarf around my neck and putting the gloves on my hands. After putting the warm coat on me, I walked out and tried to ignore their voices inside the room, mumbling and panting words.

“I'm ready” I said, swallowing the lump inside my throat and watching Pietra and Max hold their hands before walking out of the house.

Lando looked at me and held the door open for me, making me nod and walk out in front of him, flinching softly when I heard how he slammed the door closed, making the snow of the porch fall right in front of me.

“Why did you do that?” I frowned, looking back at him

“To let them know we left” he said, raising his shoulders, indifferent. “So they can do whatever they want”

I swallowed thickly and nodded, walking in front of him and following the couple in front of us.

It was Eloise who asked me to come to the trip. She was the one that insisted, saying that we could have fun together. But it seems that the one she's having fun with is with her boyfriend, something she does everyday.

Lando and I walked in silence, not uncomfortable or comfortable. It was a silence filled with the crunch of the snow under our shoes, with the sniffles because of the cold weather, with Pietra’s giggles and Max’s chuckles. Both of us are used to this silence between us, standing or sitting next to the other and not sharing a word.

Maybe he doesn't trust me? We barely talk, it's not like Eloise, who sometimes goes to his races because she's Harry's plus one. But still, his presence gives me comfort.

“Tomorrow is your birthday” he said, and I just nodded. “What do you want to do?”

What do I want to do? Have Harry's attention, maybe. Not receiving his grunts or watching him roll his eyes. I would even like to go back in time where we were friends and he talked to me like a friend…

“I don't know” I sighed, shaking my head side to side. “Usually I spend my birthday with my parents”

“And why didn't you go? Why coming here?”

“They went on a trip too” I said, laughing with a bit of sadness in my voice. “For their wedding anniversary. So yeah, my birthday and Christmas without them”

“Hey, but you are here with us” he said, making me look at him, at how he smiled. 

“Yeah…”

“It will be fun, I promise” he nodded. “We planned a lot of things for this week, you will be alright”

I smiled and nodded, hiding half of my face with the scarf and breathing the scent of it. Hiding my disappointment because my parents forgot that this week was my birthday.

“What do you mean you want us to cancel the trip?” 

“I mean… I end the classes that week, and I wanted to spend time with you…” I sighed, playing with the lace of my hoodie.

“We planned this trip months ago. And you know it's because of our 25th wedding anniversary, Violet!” she exclaimed, making me look down at my lap and pull away the phone from my ear.

“Yeah, but…”

“God, stop being selfish”

She called me selfish, because I wanted to be with my family for my birthday and Christmas. 

Maybe it's true and I'm selfish. Is it because I want things that I don't deserve?

Hearing her giggles while towing snowballs is like hearing the most beautiful melody ever composed. And knowing that the one that made her giggle is me because I threw her a snowball, makes me happy.

People might think that I'm like a stalker, but all I am is a coward. 

A coward that can't confess his own feelings, a coward that can't take a step forward and open the eyes of the woman he loves.

“How did you know about Velaris?” I heard her ask me, with a big smile on her lips.

Oh, Velaris. That fictional city of those books she's reading. 

“Ah, my sister is reading the same books as you” I said. Liar. Coward.

“No way! Really? Then you should have brought her here too” she chuckled. “I'm sure she would have loved it”

“Yeah…” I nodded.

I heard her sigh happily, taking deep breaths and admiring the landscape, watching how the cold made her cheeks and the tip of her nose be red.

“This is the best birthday gift someone could give me” I heard her whisper.

And I only needed that to be happy.

The four of us continued walking until I heard Violet's phone notification. I saw her stop walking so I just stopped some steps in front of her, waiting for her. But when I saw her clench her jaw and take a deep breath, I sighed.

“Everything's okay?” I asked her, and she looked up at me with a forced smile.

“Eloise is asking where are we” she sighed. “They are hungry, I guess…”

“They are old enough to cook themselves whatever they want” I said, and I surprised myself of how rude I sounded. 

“Y-yeah, but…” she sighed. “Maybe we should go back to the house? So we can have lunch all together? A-and I'm tired because of the flight, too…”

“Okay” I sighed, looking around and finding Max and Pietra, whistling with my fingers to get their attention.

When they came back frowning I just smiled at them weakly. Max asked with his eyes what was going on, and he only needed to look at Violet to understand.

“I'll cook lunch” she said. 

“That's nice, thank you!” Pietra smiled, walking towards her and linking their arms together.

The two of them walked in front of us, talking about something Max and I couldn't hear well.

And it was the perfect moment for Max to look at me and do the question:

“It's her, right?” he asked. “Violet. The reason of everything you've done”

I looked at him with a sad smile, and somehow let the mask of indifference fall in front of him, showing him my sad smile of someone that has to see how the woman I love wants to be with someone else.

“Of course she is” I sighed. 

“Since when?” he frowned.

“Since the moment she came late to that dinner because she was lost and accidentally stormed inside my neighbor's house” I smiled weakly.

I still think about that day. I still remember the worry on Eloise's face when she couldn't stop looking at her watch because her friend was being late, and she never was late. I still remember how Harry brushed it off, saying that nobody's perfect and that it's impossible that someone always arrives on time, that maybe she spent too much time getting ready or doing other things. 

But what I remember the best is how she opened the front door and how all of us looked at her relieved, how the blush of embarrassment painted her cheeks and how she smiled nervously at everyone while she apologized for being late. 

The moment she sat on the floor in front of me, placing the homemade cookies on the table, was the moment I felt Cupid's arrow stabbing my chest.

“Why don't you tell her?” he frowned.

“I'll try. I'll try to tell her this week, she deserves to know…” 

The walk back to the house was quiet, between Max and I, and the moment Violet opened the front door of the house, I immediately got annoyed.

“Where were you?” Harry asked.

But no, he wasn't looking at us, no. He was looking at Violet, wanting answers of where she was.

“Dude” Max frowned when he felt how tense I was the moment I heard him ask that.

“We went outside for a walk” Violet said, looking away. “You were too busy to notice that we left, or even that I went with Lando to pick up Max and Pietra”

I tried to choke a laugh, biting the inside of my cheek and hiding my smile with my hand. But Max noticed it. Harry looked at us and frowned, rolling his eyes and walking upstairs again.

“Asshole” I whispered and Max chuckled.

Harry is our friend, yeah. But that doesn't mean that lately I've been hating him. I've been hating how he treats Violet, how he controls her and gives her hope but then he throws her away later. Even if he's dating Eloise, he always finds a way of giving her hopes.

Violet started making lunch and she immediately was surrounded by Harry, looking at what she was doing. But the worst of it was Violet's smile, feeling him close to her.

And it made my blood boil, watching how she looked at him and did what he said. 

I wish she did that with me whenever I talk to her.

Later that day we went to the first activity we planned, going on a snowmobile through the same path we walked through hours before. And I was so excited because I knew that she was going to be sitting behind me.

“Are you ready?” I asked her when I saw her walking towards me.

“You said you already drove this thing before, right?” she said, adjusting her helmet and coat. 

“Come on, you will be with the best driver of the group, you are safe” I laughed, holding a hand out to help her sit behind me.

When she held my hand I swear I felt tinglings, her hand was of the perfect size for my hand even if she had gloves. And when she saw behind me, with her chest on my back, I could die there. She placed her hands on my sides, awkwardly, holding the material of my coat.

“Wrap your arms around me, Violet” I said, holding one of her hands and placing it on my abdomen, making her move closer to me and, this time, holding me tighter.

I felt eyes on my nape, maybe Harry's eyes. But I didn't care. I absolutely don't care anymore.

“You like Violet”

It wasn't a question. An affirmation. He only needed a week to see that, to see the way I look at her after I met her for the first time.

“What if I do?” I frowned, ignoring the way he was looking at me. The disapproval. The jealousy. The possessiveness in his eyes.

“Don't. I won't approve that. She's my friend. Mine, not yours. Who would want to be with a man that is barely home, hm? Or that is involved in many dating rumors?”

That's what made me not move forward. His jealousy, the pain in my chest with every word.

But I decided that it was time to do whatever I wanted. It was time to act the way I want with her, to be myself and not an idiot that doesn't celebrate every triumph she has or talk to her and hold her.

“It's going to be okay” I said, looking back at her. “This is safe, I promise”

“Okay, I trust you” she said, sitting comfortably.

I smiled. She trusts me. 

I started the engine, and all of us started to explore the place, looking around us and taking pictures. 

I felt her resting her head on my back, her arms still wrapped around me tightly but more relaxed.

“Can I ask you something?” I heard her.

“Of course” I nodded.

“Why are you always so cold with me?” she sighed, readjusting herself and getting closer. “You are close to Pietra, even to Eloise. But with me… it's only short answers and awkward glances between us”

Oh, Violet… If you knew. If you knew how much I want to hold you every second of the day you wouldn't ask this.

“You wouldn't understand” I said instead.

“Then make me understand. Make me understand why you are distant with me, why we only text or talk for important things” she said. “I want to be your friend, Lando…”

That even hurt more than not being able to have her.

Something changed in the way Lando acted around me after this afternoon.

He was talkative with me, he searched for my gaze after saying something, like trying to find a confident look. 

He even volunteered himself to help me make dinner, grabbing all the things from the fridge and helping me take them to the living room, sitting in front of me afterwards. Somehow, I felt his eyes on me, watching my movements, scanning me and trying to read my mind.

And I should feel uncomfortable. It should made me feel observed, intimidated. But all the times I caught his gaze, I smiled at him and received a smile back.

But because of that, he didn't talk to me since we came back to the house. 

Harry ignored me during dinner, not looking at me or commenting on anything I said. He didn't even say good night when he and Eloise got up to go to bed, leaving me with a pain in my chest and many questions about what I did wrong.

“Let him be” I heard Max sigh. 

“But…” I sighed, watching how he walked upstairs with Eloise following him.

“You should assume that this week he will ignore all of us” he continued, making me swallow thickly.

“Ah…”

I sighed, looking at my phone. The clock says that it was already my birthday. And I started to wonder… will I be ignored too?

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[infamous-if]

Spicy Snippet #3: F!Seven

VICTORIA - ORION - M!SEVEN

The high you feel hearing the crowd after a performance is one that can’t be replicated. Not even the strongest drugs can make you feel this…alive. Nothing else in the world can make you feel this alive. 

Aside from Seven, of course. 

But if the danger of the drug is measured by how strong the addiction is, you fear Seven Lawless is definitely the worst. 

Or best, depending on how you look at it.

That thought runs through your mind now when Seven takes your hand and motions to the bathroom. Your friends are too busy riding that post-performance high by dancing together, and you look away from them to give Seven a nod.

The sly, evil smile that rises on her face makes a shiver run down your spine, and you allow her to pull you through the crowd. 

When you two reach the bathroom, Seven looks under each stall as you throw cold water on your cheeks. You’re panting, sweaty, and your skin still burns with heat from the performance. When Seven is satisfied that you two are alone, she turns to look at you through the mirror. The secret smile on her face makes your skin burn hotter, and you’re certain that performing on stage to a stadium of people won’t ever hold a candle to how she makes you feel with one look.

She keeps her eyes trained on yours when she walks over to you, stopping to stand behind you. A lump forms in your throat, and a swell of excitement and nervousness rises in the pit of your stomach when she puts her hands on the sink, looking away from the mirror to tilt her head at you, gazing at your face. 

“Hi.” 

You manage a smile when you drag your eyes away from the mirror to turn your cheek, meeting her eyes. “Hey.” 

Her humor fades away once her eyes settle on your mouth and you subconsciously lick your lips. Doing the same to her own, she appears to debate something for a brief moment. Then, with heated eyes, she leans forward and presses her mouth to yours. 

The action is cautious, delicate, which is funny considering Seven was just head banging on stage minutes ago. You can taste the strawberry chapstick on her lips, and the heat of her tongue against yours makes your legs feel like goo. Kissing Seven is still something completely new to you. 

After being best friends for years, you thought you knew all there was to know about Seven Lawless. It’s only recently that you discovered there’s a version of her you were completely in the dark about. Like how she kisses. How, sometimes, you look at her while you two are singing on stage and feel like she’s undressing you with her eyes. Or how she makes a certain sound in your mouth when you kiss her just right. A sound only you can pull from her.

When she pulls away, it’s too soon. She smiles at you. “You did really well on stage tonight.” 

“Is that why you brought me to the bathroom?” you say with a smile of your own. “To compliment me?”

“Maybe.” Your nose brushes hers when she moves her head to kiss you again, chaste and brief. You ache for more. “Are you disappointed? Is it not enough?”

“Not nearly,” you admit, the words leaving you in a sigh. 

Her eyes glitter with happiness and she chews on her lower lip in thought before saying, “I like when you want me. For a long time, I wasn't sure if you did. Well...I hoped you did."

You hate how easily saying things like that come to her. “So do I.” 

“So do I.” 

“Well, I want you all the time so that’s not really anything special…” 

You sputter out a laugh, looking around the bathroom. Like most club bathrooms, it sits in disrepair from lack of maintenance. It’s dirty, and hardly romantic. When you look back at Seven, she’s looking at you with half a grin, already knowing what you’re going to say next. “Even now?”

“Especially now.” She looks at you. “Sweaty from performing and we’re alone…”

You snort and Seven smiles before she leans in again. All pretenses flee, and your skin grows hot when you turn fully to face her. She presses her body against yours, pushing you against the sink. 

You deepen the kiss, your hand going to her neck, pulling her closer. Seven’s chest vibrates against yours when she moans, her palm reaching under your shirt to swipe across your stomach, the heat of her skin against yours making your desire shoot up until you feel yourself reaching between you two, tugging at the waist of her pants. You want to see just how much she wants you. 

Seven pulls away, putting her hand on yours, stopping you. When you look at her, she shoots a pointed look at the door. Understanding, you smile and push yourself off the sink, grabbing her hand. It’s your turn to lead her and you do to one of the empty stalls. 

The moment you lock it, Seven is on you. She pushes you against the door of the stall. She stifles your gasp with another kiss, this one hurried and urgent as if time is running out. 

When she pulls away to kiss your neck, you bring a hand to her hair to guide her. The strands are soft between your fingers, and Seven smiles in satisfaction against your skin. And then, between kisses, she says, “When do you think we’re going to tell the band about this?”

“Never,” is your immediate reply, and her kiss melts into a bite that makes you stifle a moan. You drop your hand from her hair to the waistband of her pants, forcing it down her hips. “They’d never let us live it down.” 

You and Seven have been hiding away for the past few weeks. You don’t remember the exact reason why you two agreed not to tell anyone, but it had something to do with “not ruining the delicate ecosystem of the dynamic” ...whatever that means.

“Do you think they already know?” she manages, the words coming out strangled when you hook a finger around the delicate band of her underwear, they drag down her legs and your mouth waters.

“Don’t know,” you say, kissing her again. She bites your lower lip in playful warning. “And right now, don’t care.”

“Eventually we’re going to have to tell the—oh.” You know exactly how to shut her up. Your fingers disappear between her legs, and you feel victorious feeling just how much she’s been aching for you. You hear it not too long after when a moan leaves her mouth. 

 It’s that moment that the door to the bathrooms swing open, and Seven’s eyes widen. Sensing another moan from her, you put your hand on her mouth and her brows furrow together in panic. Then you hook your fingers just right and her face melts back into that expression of carnal pleasure that has her forgetting what she was worried about. 

“…you think we’ll be able to come back next week?” You almost choke the moment the voice rises in the air, and your hand falters. Seven makes a frustrated sound in her throat and she grinds her hips on your hand, urging you to continue. 

“You heard that?” Iris asks. 

You look at Seven with wide eyes, and her brows furrow in faux innocence. “Mfhfnmf?” she mutters against the skin of your palm. You want to scream in frustration—at Devyn. At Iris. At their impeccable timing. 

You hear the doors of the stalls slamming open and Seven shoots you a look. Ah. Shit. The last thing you need is for your friends to find out you and Seven are…whatever you are right now. 

Your pull your fingers away from her and wipe off her wetness on your pants. She immediately appears disappointed. Still, she fumbles to pull her pants back on. You look around, uncertain at first, before you step on the toilet so only one pair of feet are seen in the stall. Seven spins around in confusion, not knowing what to do with her hands and…with herself, and you point at the door so she understands. 

“I swear I heard that,” Iris says. “What if someone is dying or something?”

“It’s…me,” Seven calls out. Her voice is thick and breathy with desire, still hoarse from what you two just finished doing.

Well, finished isn’t exactly the word. 

“Seven?” Iris ventures. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just felt sick,” she responds, looking at you with a shrug. The heat in the pit of your stomach hasn’t gone away, and when she looks at you, it takes everything in you not to tell Iris and Devyn to fuck off somewhere. 

“You need help?” Devyn asks.

“Nuh-huh.” Seven puts a cheek on the door, then her hands. She looks like she’s getting irritated. You understand—you want them gone.“I’m alright. I’ll meet you guys back outside.” 

Your legs are starting to hurt, you shift in order to give your muscles relief, but the toilet seat moves with you, making you slip. 

You scream, because what else is there to do when you're slipping face first off a toilet seat?

“Wha—” Seven barely has time to spin and catch you before you’re crashing into her, making her head clatter against the door. The sound echoes against the bathroom, and your friends are gasping.

“Seven?!” A moment later you see Iris peeking out from under the stall, her eyes widening. “[MC]?”

“Heyyyy,” you drawl out casually, your body slumped over on Seven’s as she uses her arm to hold you up. She uses the other one to unlock the door, pushing it so it swings open. The squeak is slow, long, and pathetic, and it gives you a full view of Devyn and Iris looking at you two with twin expressions of surprise. 

“Hiiii.”  Seven nods her head, smiling awkwardly. She puts her hands together to lock her fingers behind your back, holding you to her chest.

Devyn glances at the both of you, lips parted. “What the fuck are you guys doing?”

“I…uh.” She swallows. “Thought I had a bowel problem. [MC] was just helping me in making sure nothing wrong’s down there.” She lets out a forced, airy laugh. "All good."

“Ugh.” Iris waves a dismissive hand, walking away. “You two are so fucking weird sometimes. Go to the doctor! It's not normal to be that close!"

"We're best friends," Seven throws back. "We are sooo close," she says, lower, and you nudge her rib. She smiles with all of her teeth.

Devyn stands there, not so easily convinced, but then she follows Iris out anyway. Not without shooting you two a look. 

When they’re gone, you two glance at each other. "I think it's time we tell them." You untangle from her grasp, fixing your clothes.

Seven lets out a laugh, letting her head fall back against the stall wall.

“You think?” 

#6k drabble #rated r #seven lawless #f!seven #obligatory this isn't edited </3

[unfortunately-obsessed]

Bruce Wayne | Quality Time

Love languages headcanons

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x reader

Word count: 0.6k | AO3 link 🩵

This man runs a whole conglomerate, dozen different charity foundations, has to play into whatever current political ploy is to earn information, (might have, like, 20 children), is a founding member of the JL, on top of being The Batman and trying to prevent Gotham from imploding – trying to make this unfixable city heal.

He nearly doesn't have enough time for himself – heavens know how many times Alfred shoot him with a horse tranquilizer – and time to you??

All his responsibilities are half the reason why quality time is his love language.

The other half is that he didn't have enough time with his parents. They were snatched from him, a child, and this time (his childhood) is something he'll never be able to have back

Not gonna lie, he's harsh. He won't prioritize you. Not on purpose, not because he doesn't love you, simply because there's people out there that need to be saved. And, after so much time without a proper relationship, maybe Bruce also doesn't know how to cater for you – and because he's way too awkward, too dense to a detective, even if he can play cool at times.

But the tiny things are like love letters:

Strikes to me as the guy that'll be in utterly destroyed, broken ribs and concussion, and still try and get up and have breakfast with you, just to be with you

His personal quiet time is important to him. It helps him organize his thoughts. Yet he'll try to be, at least, in the same room as you.

Bruce will sit on the same room as you, in complete silence, and stay. Maybe you're working and he is there on the couch of your office, sitting with a concussion and sixty percent painkiller, statue-quiet.

I love you, so I'll take the burden of not doing this super important other thing – like resting – to sit with you in silence.

Will stare at you, motionless.

Eventually, you'll learn that this face he's making is lovestruck-ness. Don't comment on it.

And if his love language is all about undivided attention, it means he'll learn how to organize his time to have together time without all the distractions. A walk around the Manor Garden, a quiet dinner in front of the tv, cuddling; might do the trick.

Stays awake to talk with you, even if it's after a case frenzy where he didn't sleep for a week. Crash with him in the couch after a long day.

If I could stay with you here forever, I would. He can't get this words out, a lump on his throat, so he just stay as long as he can

Can't tell me he won't marathon Grey Ghost with you. At the end of every episode will dump on you all the details about the production. It's important that you listen even if you don't find it all interesting. Connection bids, y'know?

Ask him about forensics if you want to know more about the whole Batman deal. Or explain the new additions to the batmobile.

Getting to explain something he loves to someone he loves counts as top-quality time in Bruce's books.

Sometimes will find you just to start explaining a current case he can't crack. Either to see if you have any intelligent idea, but mostly because saying it aloud helps thinking.

And he doesn't know how to have the steady heartfelt conversations, so he'll listen to you talk. About your day, your plans, how much you worry about him, about what you ate today.

A great listener. Will hit you with follow up questions so you can keep talking about what you love. Never talks about him but at this point you know the drill – you have to ask for him to talk.

Regular week preplanned dates. Will do all in his powers to not postpone it. Will be completely heartbroken when this inevitably happens. Will look like a kicked puppy.

He's not distracted with you, all his mental attention on you and you only.

That's it 👍

A/N: If you like what I do, please consider supporting me and buying a coffee!

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne headcanons #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne imagine #batman scenarios #batman imagine #Batman x reader #bruce wayne #batman #arwrites #lost consciousness and woke up with this #me!batman

[ahgasegotarmy116]

He Doesn't Deserve You | A Jeon Jungkook Series | Chapter Three

Summary: You feel guilty about having a night out and hope to cover up your tracks as best you can Pairing: Noona reader x Jeon Jungkook (She's 28 and he's 22) Word Count: 2.1k~ Warnings: Yändere, smut, explicit language pretty much it lol a/n: I hope you guys like it! I'm literally horrible at writing smut but I wanted to show another side to how things can be with him sometimes (I'm saying him because I'm not gonna spoil it when you can just read it lol) regardless hope this doesn't disappoint 🫢 Requested by @kkusadmirer 💜

"Girl who was that?" Rae asks, when she walk over to my side of the bar after Jungkook left. 

"His name is Jungkook and honestly I don't really know much about him. He caught me off guard and was asking me a bunch of questions that I didn't really think to ask him any" I say, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "You think he's cute don't you?" she asks taking note of my shyer demeanor while thinking about him. 

"He is attractive and dreamy but I'm married" I say flashing the ring at her in a similar fashion as I had done with Jungkook. "Dreamy? Really?" she teases, snorting at my description. "I'm sorry okay he's the first nice guy I've actually talked to in a while since my husband and I got married" I say, resting my elbows on the bar and throwing my face in my hands. 

"From what I heard, doesn't really sound like he's all that good of a husband" she says, not bothering to spare my feelings. "He's not that bad" I mumble, scarcely believing my words with every effort I put in to defend him.

"If you've gotta say it like that after only two people have said otherwise I don't really think you've got much going for you" she says setting a glass of water in front of me, already seeing signs of a need to stop drinking for the night.

"I mean, he's all I've ever known. He was my first serious boyfriend, my first everything if I'm being honest. We met in college and really hit it off and everything just felt right. After we graduated he asked me to marry him and it felt like a fairy tale ending you know?" I say, swirling around the ice in my cup in an effort to avoid her gaze.

"Sounds like it didn't turn out the way you thought it was going to though" she says, clearly feeling sorry for me. 

"Things between us are fine" I say sitting back up and clearing my throat before taking a drink of water to hopefully help me swallow down this lump in my throat. Getting a reality check from two perfect strangers with them only knowing the tip of the iceberg of my marriage has been hard to accept to say the least. 

"What's his name anyways? I might've seen him before if he likes to go out sometimes" she asks, coming back over with a pitcher to fill up my water, encouraging me to drink more. 

"Taehyung, well Tae for short" I say, hoping and praying that the name won't ring a bell. "Got a picture of him?" she asks, leaning in closer when I pull out my phone. "Shit" she says under her breath as soon as she sees him. 

"What?" I ask pulling it back as though her words had stung me. "He's come here a few times with some friends of his. They're one of the rowdier groups that comes by so we've had to kick them out on occasion" she says clearing her throat at the end, almost as if she's trying to hold something back. 

"If you know anything else about him please tell me" I implore, refusing to be in the dark about this if she knows. "He's gone 'home' with a few girls here" she says putting home in quotes since he's obviously never brought them back to our place. "Do you know how many?" I ask, knowing that I really don't want to know the answer. 

"I've lost track..." she answers, hating that she had to be the one to reveal this to me. "Did you know?" she asks with her brows pinched together. "That he's been sleeping around? Yeah, I know" I say taking a big gulp of my water as if it were the solution to this fucked up life I'm living. 

"Why haven't you left?" she asks, genuinely concerned. "He's my husband" I say with glossy eyes but then clear my throat again to hopefully curb these emotions. "And? He's a dick" she says, continuing with her efforts to never pull punches. "You don't know him like I do" I say, standing up and grabbing my purse to go. 

"Just, be careful okay?" she implores, placing her hand on top of mine before I get too far. "I will" I say and give her a sad smile before walking out and waiting for the cab I called a few moments ago. 

~~~~~~

Walking into the house I'm relieved to see that Taehyung is no where to be found, the lights still having been turned off from when I had locked up. 

Taking off my shoes, I quickly put them in the closet in an effort to quickly cover my tracks and I run into the bedroom soon after that. I take off my clothes and throw them into the washer to again avoid any suspicions because I don't want him even remotely knowing that I managed to leave the house on my own again.

Walking into the bathroom to take a shower as well I see that somehow some of the makeup I had applied rubbed off and I was unknowingly sporting one of the hickeys Taehyung had left. I look at it in the mirror a bit closer, starting to wonder how long it's been showing. 'Did Jungkook see it?' I question,  really hoping the answer is no even though he knows I'm married, it's not something I want to show off.

It could've been worse though, he could've seen the other bruises I have that clearly show evidence of much more than just rough sex. 'How would he have reacted? Would he have said something?' I continue, asking myself question after question, soon starting to regret my decisions of going out tonight. 

Did I have a good time? Sure. But it doesn't make up for the amount of fear and guilt I'm going to feel if Taehyung finds out. Will he do something? Will he get angry? Will he leave? Knowing him he would accuse me of cheating on him even though I'm the one who confirmed my suspicions. 

He, like Rae is someone that doesn't pull punches literally and figuratively. It's something that I've leaned to live with, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

"Hey" I hear him say softly while opening the bathroom door, scaring me and not even realizing how lost in thought I had been. To the point of not even realizing that he had gotten home. 

"Hi" I say timidly, not knowing what his next move might be. 

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he questions in a mischievous tone, already taking his shirt off. I open the glass door as a way to invite him in and I hold out my hand waiting for him, knowing I really have no choice in the matter. 

"Hi beautiful" he says after getting in, placing his hands on my hips and leaning down to kiss me softly on the lips. I sigh into the kiss, thankful he's back home again and showing his softer side to me again, clearly trying to make up for how we had left things the last time we saw each other. 

"I missed you" he says in a husky voice leaning down further to place a few open mouthed kisses on my neck marking me again, no doubt to make up for the ones that had started to fade. "Missed you" I say through a breathy tone then my breath hitches moments later when he bites down on my shoulder.

"You smell so sweet baby" he says running his nose along the length of my neck before making his way back up to kissing me. "It's my" *kiss* "new" *kiss* "body wash" I say, trying my best to answer but he purposefully works against me, loving the struggle I put up.

"I like it. Buy it again for me when you run out okay? I want my pretty wife smelling like this all the time" he says before flipping me around and pressing my chest agains the wall.

"You gonna be good and let me take you in here?" he asks grinding his dick against my ass making my breath pick up, not expecting this drastic change in behavior. I nod my head with my cheek against the tiles. He presses his chest flush up against my back, pushing me up against the wall even harder, making my chest feel sore as my nipples rub up against the cool surface, making me whine from the sensation.

"Aw look at you, so needy and ready to be full" he say, leaning back a bit and running his finger along my slit, feeling how I'm already clenching around nothing and dripping with arousal as the water falls on my back in a steady stream. "Fuck you look so hot right now" he says looking at my face and dragging his eyes down my figure before spreading my legs a bit and making moves to put it in. 

"Wait" I whimper. "Don't worry, you can take it" he says, placing a kiss on my shoulder before sliding the tip in and making me take in a sharp breath at the intrusion, him continuing to push himself further and further inside until he's bottomed out. 

He enjoys the feeling of my walls spasming around him as I feel the burn from trying to get used to him again. It isn't like this often, he usually loves to take his time prepping and teasing me until I'm begging for more but he had an almost urgency to be inside me this time. 

"Fuck" he says as he starts to move in and out of me, watching the way my ass moves with every thrust and is addicted to the moans that come from me naturally, being caught off guard by all of this and not expecting this to happen tonight. 

"Feels s-so good" I say, clawing at the walls for something to hold onto, knowing there's nothing there for me. He takes notice and he places his hands on top of mine, thrusting in and out with only his own hips supporting mine as he growls in my ear. 

"Been dying to fuck this pretty little cunt all day. Then I come home and you're in the shower making it so easy for me to just slip it in, practically begging for my cock" he says as he slows down his thrust but puts more force behind each one. 

"Isn't that right? You just want to be good for me and take it, let me have my way with you" he says pulling out and flipping me around, enjoying the dick drunk look on my face. He lifts one of my legs up and wraps it around his waist, pounding into me harder making me grab onto his neck and pull him in for a kiss, silencing my moans, making him swallow them as he coaxes more and more out of me. 

"S-shit" he stutters and tells me to jump, wrapping my other leg around his waist as well so he can thrust into me harder. I clench around him when he wraps his mouth around one of my sensitive buds, hard and begging for stimulating. 

"Fuck, more" I whine, desperately needing release. "You wanna cum?" he taunts, letting go of my throbbing bud with a pop. "Tae please" I moan digging my nails into his shoulders. He groans at the feeling and grips onto my waist digging his fingers into them, no doubt leaving bruises.

Giving me a few more thrusts he has my eyes rolling back and my toes curling as my orgasm hits me like a ton of bricks with him still fucking into me, helping me ride it out before he cums a couple minutes later. 

Slipping out and sliding me down the wall and back on my feet he leans up against me while our breathing mixes with the sound of the water still falling all around us. He places a few soft kisses on my shoulder before pushing off the wall and placing both of his hands on my cheek, kissing me softly, helping me slowly come back down and leaving my my mind foggy and drunk on him. 

"I love you" he says when he breaks apart from my lips. "I love you too" I smile, humming in contentment and feeling so good, loving that despite everything he loves me no matter what. 

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[sunkendreams]

TO THE WOLVES.

𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁. | one-shot — not requested.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴. | bo sinclair / fem!reader / vincent sinclair.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁. | 5.8K.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. | threesome (m/f/m), mild degradation, spitting, vaginal fingering, dry humping, vaginal sex, breast play, tiddy sucking, dirty talk, descriptions of cum, breeding kink if you squint, begging, choking, biting, etc. this was extremely horny and I’m not apologizing.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲. | wow I’m back ?? this was my first big writing project of the year and I think I’ll probably do more with it, honestly. thanks for being so patient. I said I’d have this done a month ago (lmao I lied) but here it is. extremely proud of this one. thanks for your support, I love you all so much!

TAGLIST: @dootys ; @reveluving ; @sat10 ; @milland ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @darklylucid ; @sirstompely ; @chaotichellscape ; @callsigncrash ; @peachygothgirl ; @manicpixiimurderdoll ; @sandeepics ; @rainbowcreepie ; @kiki-dohedo

August hung like a noxious cloud, oozing with sticky humidity and a brutal heat like no other. Crawdads sang in the dead of night, a cacophony that rose above the thick, Louisiana marshlands. Any heat was enough to drive you away indoors, to the cooler gloom of the Sinclair household — windows down, curtains billowing in the night.

Hikers and sightseers became increasingly prevalent, roaming the woods with a giddiness that would soon be snuffed out forever. It was best if you kept away from the onslaught that was to come, but you were never very far — screams echoed from the basement, silenced by a wax tomb.

A passive accomplice, that was what you were. Present for it all, never dissuading the twins from persuing their town of terror. Perhaps a sliver of you, a depraved splinter enjoyed it all, unconsciously reveling in the suffering, but you didn’t know yourself anymore.

Faces came and went, faces forever sealed inside wax, inside of the museum. Each with eyes that screamed fear, begging for a quick demise — eyes that lost such a lively sheen as time passed.

Sometimes you wondered what it was like to inhabit Bo’s brain, or perhaps Vincent’s — those fractured, mystifying minds that were capable of such immeasurable destruction. You would never exude chaos like they could, never be molded into their protégé, but you were their anchor.

Bo liked to pet your hair, whisper strings of vulgar words into your ear, tell you how much he wanted you. He was the thunder — tumultuous, rancorous and boisterous, yet clouded with a gloom that you couldn’t quite place, nor penetrate. Many people feared thunder, as it meant a storm was approaching, but thunder often paled in comparison to lightning.

That was Vincent — the lightning. Quick, unpredictable, unyielding — beautiful in the most terrifying of ways. He was some coiled predator, his rage subdued, agony subtle. It was hidden beneath the pale visage of a mask and beneath the many wax statues he’d poured countless hours into. Vincent’s hands were delicate, yet forged to kill, perhaps more than Bo’s ever were.

As you laid in bed, layered in a sheen of perspiration and trapped within a snare of sheets, you were only half-awake. Floorboards creaked underneath the quick, haughty steps of Bo, whose calloused fingers dragged against your cheek, his gentle way of rousing you.

“Hey,” A hoarse utterance emerged from his chapped lips, temples glittering with sweat from the fog of Louisiana heat. “Need your help.” Bo felt a pang of irritation for waking you, but it was urgent.

Stirring to consciousness, your vision swam with the bleariness of sleep, brows furrowing together. It wasn’t common for Bo to wake you in the dead of night like this, but you pushed yourself upright anyway, reaching for your robe. “What’s wrong?” You asked, attempting to swallow the growing lump within your throat.

Bo’s resolve was steadily fracturing, like the cracking of a stone foundation. He maintained a tempered glower for now, jaw set with an uncomfortable tension. “Vincent.” It only took a singular word for you to understand the gravity of the situation.

Haste drove you as you skittered out of bed, following Bo down the stairs and into the kitchen. You could make out the back of Vincent’s head — raven-coloured tresses somewhat disheveled, lithe form slumped-over within one of the wooden chairs. He was never out like this — you knew how much Bo’s twin preferred the sanctuary of the basement, his slice of seclusion.

Part of Vincent’s sweater had been torn apart, frayed fabric seeped in barely-dried crimson. The basement door was agape, and so was the front door. A shape of a body was laying just outside on the front steps, and you wondered if one of the victims had attempted an escape.

“He asked for you,” Bo’s voice did not retain the usual venom. The elder Sinclair was possessive over you, but the grievous injuries his brother had sustained far outweighed his own volatility. “M’askin’ you t’do what you can for him.”

Something pulled at your heartstrings, then and there — Vincent rarely requested your company. It was enough to warrant a look of surprise, but you couldn’t afford to stew within your own feelings.

“Of course.” Your gaze shifted, meeting Bo’s own fiery hues as he edged toward the doorway. A new pressure arose, taking care of his wounded twin, but you had stitched Bo up countless times before. This wouldn’t be any different.

It was the first time you had witnessed such vulnerability from Vincent, though unwilling, it still struck you as foreign. You fumbled around the kitchen for everything you’d need, returning to his side without an utterance.

Bo took care of the corpse outside — a likely distraction from the present. It was always him in Vincent’s position, bloodied and beaten, being torn apart and sewn up by you more times than he could count. His helplessness in the matter would be his own undoing if he didn’t keep himself occupied.

From the shadow of the front steps, Bo watched as you cleaned his brother’s wounds, gentle as to not startle him. It wasn’t your actions that made him grit his teeth, but the haunting manner in which Vincent ogled you, head canted downwards. Bo knew that look — intimately understood how his twin must’ve been staring, raking you in over and over — because it was the very same way he looked at you, too.

For the longest time, Bo deprived his twin of you, afraid that he’d come to blows over his own ugly, possessive desire, but his mind began to change. His own thoughts began to blossom into something insidious, fueled by a multitude of things — lust, frenzy, you, and perhaps an understanding of his own flesh and blood.

An understanding of what it was like to want — to fester with desire, bleeding want and endlessly yearning for something that you couldn’t have. In a moment of vulnerability, Bo felt a pang of sympathy for his twin.

As he hauled the body toward his truck, it left the both of you out of-sight, for now.

Vincent’s cerulean hue fluttered toward the door — Bo no longer stood vigil, lost to the dusk, prompting him to focus on you. He could detect his searing glare from the beyond, as if he possessed some sixth sense for his brother’s disdainful jealousy. He valued his twin’s feelings, but a sliver of it evaporated when it came to you.

You — uncomfortably seated on dirtied floorboards, knees digging into decades-old wood as your hands scurried to tend to him. Vincent wholly understood why Bo was enamored with you. It was difficult not to be, in truth — what man wouldn’t be?

Nimble fingers curled into the dirtied, rib-knit fabric, keeping his sweater aloft, allowing you to work unhindered. It was a deeper gash than he thought, but never enough to incapacitate him. He was stronger than that, pushing himself to the very edge over and over again.

His torso resembled a battlefield, scars etched deep into his pale flesh, livid and seething. Each mark told a story — a victim, an incident, or perhaps something more. Vincent kept a thinly-veiled investment into your movements, gaze fluttering across the delicate bend of your digits. Warm water cleansed the blood from his skin, towel and pressure soon to follow.

Feeling the residual effects from Bo’s tempestuous stare and aloof demeanor, you kept quiet, dutifully working on Vincent’s wounds. The silence was deafening — perhaps too loud, filling the gap with an unusual tension. He was eerily still, glittering eye glued to you, fluttering back and forth as he followed you.

Vincent often experienced something close to jealousy whenever he saw you and Bo together — some concealed sliver of his being yearned for that closeness, too. Envy became an understatement, and his fantasies were often locked away within wax statues. He wouldn’t dare intrude on what he presumed to be Bo’s, yet a string of intrusive thoughts began to take root, salacious seeds soon to blossom into something darker.

Both were callous in their own way — Bo was verbally obtuse, whereas Vincent was physically indifferent. Yet, both were violently possessive in similar ways, more than you were aware of. It would be a volatile clash if they were both involved at an intimate level. Vincent knew that Bo would never relinquish you without malice and hostility involved somehow.

Even now, with his twin nowhere in sight, he maintained a great deal of self-control, digits tensing against the tabletop. A sanguine glow enveloped you, cast in blood-orange and the dismal, pale kitchen light — the prettiest creature he’d ever seen.

It would’ve been so swift — brushing the top of your hair, ghosting his fingertips across the contour of your jawline, or perhaps leaning closer to inhale your scent. Yet, it all felt wrong, as if he were attempting to take something that didn’t belong to him. Vincent exhaled, slow and melancholy, before leaning back within the chair.

Curiosity and concern brought about your voice, words bubbling to the surface at last. “What happened?” The wound could’ve been a product of a great many things, and you decided to not voice your list of assumptions.

“Glass.” Vincent’s digits moved sluggishly, his signing seemingly exhausted. His hawkish gaze drifted toward the glittering shards that were partially scattered across the living room floor. It must’ve been a sizable shard of glass — he’d taken a gruesome hit.

Your brow furrowed, expression twitching with concern. “I’m sorry.” The apology slipped from your lips, laced with an underlying apprehension.

“No,” You apologized for things beyond your control, and your understanding — Vincent was to blame for the carnage, and he was willing to accept accountability. “Happened more times than I can count.” He signed, a soft grunt escaping him as you began to stitch flesh together again.

Sorrow sank into your bones — Vincent always had Bo present to pick him up, stitch him back together again. You wondered what would happen if he wasn’t around to do so. You weren’t a constant in their lives until recently, but you envisioned Vincent mending himself with those dexterous hands, hands that breathed life into wax, and snuffed it out all the same.

“Tell me if it’s too much, it isn’t a shallow wound.” Your mumble emerged from between frowning lips and a voice that commanded concentration. It was easy to immerse yourself in Vincent — he was noticeably different from his brother. Vincent was wiry and musculed, but wore it like a sleek jungle cat.

Bo held muscle in his arms — the taut, working hands of a skilled mechanic, rugged and calloused. The rest of him was stout and not nearly as lithe as his twin, who stood above him in stature. You enjoyed mulling over the comparisons, the intricate details that caught your eye, be it a scar or otherwise.

Hawkish eyes carefully roved over you, drinking you in as if he’d never seen you before — again, and again, and again. Vincent could watch you like this for an eternity from behind the curtain of midnight hair and the wax-laden visage.

He tensed and bit at his sleeve as you gained ground with the stitching, over halfway through. You could detect his pain — it was palpable, rolling off of him in red-hot waves that you wanted to quell so very terribly. “Almost done,” You breathed, noticing his white knuckles grappling at the tabletop. “Sorry.” The apology emerged, rushed as ever.

Vincent’s hands were terrifying and beautiful altogether — and in the midst of mending flesh, your mind descended into a flurry of depravity. What would it feel like for him to touch you, mold you in the way he did with wax? It was sudden, took you by surprise — so much so, that heat consumed your body, a purging fire.

Only his twin had touched you — it was often rough, twined with spurts of need and carnal lust and affection all twisted into some unruly knot. Bo was good to you, better when he wanted to be, but your thoughts began to dwell on Vincent.

How would he make you feel?

As you completed the last stitch, your throat grew tight, as if this foreign swarm of newfound sensations had stolen the breath from your lungs. Part of you felt guilty, as if this was the start of a horrible betrayal against Bo — none of it was intentional.

Sluggishly, Vincent began to uncoil his body, as if the tension washed away all at once. Despite the searing pain from his abdomen, the worst was over — medication could fix it.

“Vincent,” Your voice had dropped an octave, strenuous from tension and soft all the same, “You okay?” His lack of a reaction had prompted your concern, but maybe that was just it — he was accustomed to the pain.

“I’ll be fine.” Vincent signed, slumping backward into the rickety chair, despite the uncomfortable nature of the object itself. A soft, breathy sigh escaped him, barely audible through the waxy seal of the mask. He watched you stand, fingertips matted with his blood.

As you lingered at his side for a moment longer, goosebumps erupted like a plague across your flesh, feeling the sensation of his hand catch yours. Vincent’s touch was unusually gentle, perhaps an extension of gratitude, but it lasted much longer to be only that — your throat became tight, warmth soon to follow.

“Vincent,” A hapless gasp escaped you, likely worried of Bo’s impending return. “Is everything —“

The vice-like snare of his grasp began to tighten, as if commanding you to stay for only a moment, no recoiling. With his available hand, he signed, piercing gaze boring right through you like the bite of a knife. “Thank you.” The calloused pad of his thumb drifted across your knuckles, then.

“Y’finished with ‘im?” Bo’s tempered drawl filled the room — his hands were dirtied, in the process of being wiped clean by a stained rag. He pretended not to notice his twin clinging onto you, crossing the threshold from entryway to kitchen.

“Yeah.” Reluctantly, you slipped away from Vincent, nearly leaping sideways when Bo made himself known. An uncomfortable sensation began to flourish within the pit of your stomach, a gnawing that refused to cease.

It would’ve been dishonest of him to admit that he didn’t feel some seething streak of jealousy when Vincent grasped for your hand — Bo felt it fester, snap like the crack of a whip, before diminishing. He keenly studied the startled look you wore, picking it apart, dissecting you as you passed him into the kitchen.

Bo made the short stride toward his twin, crouching down in the very same spot you were in just moments beforehand. This was done intentionally, swiftly — while you were distracted with cleaning up, he spoke in hushed whispers to Vincent.

The brothers kept low, a conversation done in rugged utterances and the brief movement of curious fingers. Bo momentarily peered over his shoulder, hawkishly watching as you washed yourself free of his twin’s blood, tidied up the kitchen afterwards.

It was agreed upon, then — Vincent’s gaze held a vast amount of understanding, and perhaps a twinge of gratitude. Bo fought against a salacious grin, yet it forcefully tugged at the corner of his mouth anyway. Both of them moved at once, as if their minds were one. Vincent lingered at the fringes of the table, movements unhindered by his injury.

You entered the fray, cleansed and dazed — your countenance reflected a semblance of confusion as Bo sauntered toward you. Something seemed off, as if the tension had suddenly flared to life, but a different tension — it lacked envy or malice, this one more familiar to you.

“She’s real pretty, ain’t she, Vince?” Bo drawled, clicking his tongue as he began to circle you like a predator flying overhead. He reveled in the way you shrank — a sheepish, bashful little thing. It was the instantaneous nature of it that left him feeling victorious, chest swelling with pride.

“Bo,” Your voice rose above a whisper, but only slightly. Instead, your stomach fluttered with butterflies, a nervousness gnawing its way into your very bones. “Stop.” Meek — your trembling tone reeked of it.

Bo finally stopped by your right side, swiping the pad of his thumb over your jaw. “Real sweet too, must be, puttin’ up with th’two of us,” As you opened your mouth to protest, he squeezed, forcing you to tense — your lips quivered. “Should hear her in bed. Mewlin’ like a little kitten.”

Vincent’s posture remained unnaturally rigid, though as Bo rambled on about the lascivious nature of your relationship, he slacked. Instead, he inched forward, tall and lithe as he leered in your direction — the electricity felt from his ogling alone was enough to make your knees shake. Dark tresses framed his visage, no obstructions this time.

“Yeah, you’ll see,” Bo purred into your ear, calloused digits stroking along your flesh, evoking a wave of gooseflesh that prickled across your skin. “Bet y’think ‘bout her, don’t you?” His inquiry was sharp, fringed with a faint venom, directed right at his brother.

You froze, a shudder rolling down your spine, skin feeling like an open furnace, as if fire had devoured you whole. The tension had reached an uncomfortable high, able to be sliced with the dullest of knives. “Bo,” You urged, unsure of where he was going with this. “What are you doing?”

He was hungry — a leering wolf, with sharp teeth and a ravenous stare. “M’brother likes lookin’ at y’too,” Bo husked, bleeding heat from behind you now. It was enough to evoke a shudder, your flesh creeping with an insatiable warmth. “You want him?”

There were little indications of humour — Bo’s voice remained steely, impervious to your bewilderment. Roughened digits slipped underneath your chin, directing your stare toward Vincent. It almost felt akin to some fever dream, a mirage that teased you in the dead of night.

No — this was reality.

“I—I…” Your stammer turned uncertain. If Bo expected honesty, he surely knew the answer already, didn’t he? Concern ate away at your gut — you were terrified of hurting Bo if you admitted your growing desires. What were you supposed to say?

“Be honest, sweetheart. M’bein’ real generous right now, he knows it.” Bo uttered along the cartilage of your ear, teeth gently scraping enough to make you shiver. He liked that — he drowned himself in making you so wound-up. “I ain’t a fuckin’ fool.” He murmured, nipping at the skin just underneath your earlobe.

A flame burned within your belly — a fire that demanded to be extinguished. You felt feverish, feeling the heat creep along your skin like a virus, or some haze. You were staring at Vincent now, who was closer than he was moments prior. Suddenly, the gravity of the situation began to feel heavy.

“Yes,” There was a relief you felt, in confessing. “I want the both of you,” Your voice nearly trailed off into some pathetic whine. “I want you both so bad.” You felt so desperate, in the best way possible. You knew that you were in for it, but the exhilaration replaced the nervousness.

“Mm,” Bo smirked, pressing a chaste kiss against the side of your head, nose briefly nestled atop your crown. “Hear that, Vince? She wants us both.” Leading the charge, he shamelessly reached around, groping at your breast in front of his twin who stood mere inches away, within arm’s reach.

Two layers of thin fabric was all that separated you from them — your baggy nightshirt and panties, concealed by the hem of the shirt itself. Bo was itching, chomping at the bit to see how much of a mess you’d become, a listless lust dancing beneath his mischievous stare.

Vincent finally closed in, peering toward his brother for approval. His dexterous hand closed around the hilt of his ivory knife, which sat soundly against his hip, begging to be utilized.

“No kissin’,” Bo uttered, his command directed toward Vincent — not you. “If y’fuck her, pull out, or this’ll never happen again.” The regulations were set — Vincent was willing to adhere to them. Kissing wasn’t something he sought from you, anyway. “Everythin’ else is fair game.”

Bo liked your mouth — that was his. He was being benevolent enough by sharing you, and Vincent knew this. As both twins shared an unspoken acknowledgment of boundaries, the fun was set to begin, and it was off to a jarring start as razor-sharp silver sliced down through your shirt.

A hapless gasp escaped you, emerging from the back of your throat. Vincent watched, endlessly hungry, desire flickering to life within his singular eye. He tugged the torn garment away, and your flesh prickled with goosebumps, due to some sick thrill coupled with the cool air.

Using the sofa as a crutch, Bo was comfortable enough to keep you pinned against him, his chest pressed snugly into your back. “Don’t be shy, Vince.” He growled, kneading your breasts between calloused fingers, planting a string of hot kisses along your neck.

You moaned, sheepishly ogling Vincent through half-lidded lashes. His breathing hitched — your eyes connected for a moment, enough for him to smooth his palm across your stomach, teasing the waistband of your panties.

It was brief — he lifted his hand toward his mask, slipping it aside enough to place two fingers into his mouth, coating his digits in spit. The realization of his intentions was what hit you the most, a pang of arousal that gathered between your legs.

Vincent’s hand lowered, quick to journey toward the juncture between your thighs. One hand tangled into a fist around your panties, tugging them down enough to barge in between, parting your legs with his sinewy frame.

His touch was incendiary — hot like the lick of an open flame, raking embers across your aching cunt. Vincent’s wet fingers found their way to your clit, causing you to sputter, whimper his name in as he stroked along your slit. He kept a steady rhythm, though it almost felt exploratory, as if he were dissecting you.

“Vincent,” You moaned, hips jolting into his hand, body beginning to rattle. Bo’s hands kept busy, nipples tugged and tortured through his thumb and forefinger, teeth grazing along the dip between your neck and shoulder. “Vince.”

The stark contrast between the brothers became glaringly apparent as time passed — you could find favor in both methods of intimacy. Vincent’s touch was borderline obsessive, yet he reveled in the compliance, the surrender. His digits continued to rub against your slit, until he began to work his way inside of you.

Your breath hitched, heart hammering erratically as his fingers sluggishly invaded your cunt. Swallowed by your tight heat, Vincent easily fell into some sort of pattern, moving his digits forward and back, just enough to make you squirm.

Bo’s digits wove their way into your hair, tugging you back at an angle, enough for his mouth to collide with yours — teeth, tongue, and lust. His jeans chafed against your backside, met with friction and the tangible protrusion of his erection. “Y’like that, don’t you?” He mumbled.

In between a flurry of feverish kisses, you could barely catch your breath, trapped between Vincent’s dexterous fingers and Bo’s greedy maw. He bit your lower lip, sharp enough to draw blood, coppery twang spattering against your tongue. Another simpering moan escaped you as Vincent curled his digits inside of you, thumb pressing to your clit.

“Yeah,” Bo exhaled, tongue catching crimson as he lapped at your mouth. “Lemme hear you.” He slurred, one hand wrestling with his belt in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure mounting within his cock.

You moaned again, cunt clenching around Vincent, legs beginning to quiver. “M’close.” A whimper tore past your lips, haplessly wedged between them. The taller twin let his fingers increase in speed, slipping in and out of your wet slit with a newfound haste. His free hand fell to your hip, as if guiding you toward an orgasm.

There wasn’t any room for recuperation — you came on Vincent’s fingers, nearly seeing stars, a white-hot haze blurring your senses. Bo spun you around, at his mercy as you faced him. Vincent was right behind you, chest nudging against your back, dark tresses brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder.

“Open that pretty mouth, baby.” His voice was an alluring husk. Bo’s countenance was glazed with lust, hues dark and fiery — it was intense, more than you’d ever seen before. His thumb pried your mouth apart, caressing your lower lip as a show of affection.

Bo was shameless as he spit into your mouth, palm clasped tightly against the side of your jaw, digits unnaturally tense. It was more than enough to send another surge of heat between your legs, cunt still oozing with wetness and warmth.

“Fuckin’ slut, aren’t ‘cha?” Grit and desire struck you right to your core, his tone dropping an octave as he watched you swallow his saliva without an ounce of protest. Bo kissed the corner of your mouth, his hand now replacing Vincent’s. “Wet from that, look at you.” He crooned.

“Please Bo,” As pathetic as it seemed, you were desperate to have him inside of you — it didn’t matter for how long, or how much. You wanted to scratch the itch, to have the brothers fill the void within you. “Bo, fuck,” Your voice ran ragged, high-pitched and needy. “Please, Vince.”

Vincent purred — a sound akin to the low rolling of thunder. His fingers deftly swept across your shoulder, sweeping tresses aside as one hand loosened his belt. It made your heart skip a beat, stomach sloshing with anticipation.

“What d’you think, Vince? Should we let her have it?” Bo smirked — wolfish, a true mastermind as he toyed with you, as if you were nothing more than fodder for hungry predators. “She’s real needy.” He uttered, digits caressing along your cheek.

The jingling of an unclasped belt caught your attention, followed by the feeling of Vincent’s cock nestled against your rump. Gooseflesh tore across your skin like a tidal wave, and you swallowed the growing lump within your throat — he wasn’t shrewd by any means.

Bo let out a derisive snort, lip curling in a sneer. “Guess yer goin’ first,” He wasn’t thrilled, but at least he could take his time with you afterwards — torture you a little. Instead, his mouth lowered to the column of your throat, teeth playfully nicking sensitive flesh. “Mm.”

Vincent was less practiced, and twice as vigorous as his twin — his cock found its way to your cunt, and without warning, he thrust himself into you. A strangled whimper left you, devoured by Bo’s hungry kiss. Wax-laden palms clasped the curve of your hips, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises as he began to fuck you.

It was rough — you half expected Vincent to be sluggish, but his excitement and adrenaline had contorted him into nothing more than an avatar of lust. His cock smacked into your cunt with a plethora of lewd noises, stretching and filling you in a way that Bo couldn’t.

“Fuck,” You groaned, body glued to Bo’s. He was keeping busy, lips lowering from neck to collarbone, and then to your breasts. He was bent at an awkward angle, but as soon as his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, it was pure bliss. “Bo, Vincent.” A whine left you.

Vincent’s grunts resonated just beside your ear, then. Every inch of him was consumed by your cunt, tight around him as he continued to fuck you. It was hot and messy, his pace sometimes scattered and erratic, as if he didn’t know what rhythm to adopt.

You would’ve given anything to stay static within the moment — within them. The voracious way in which Vincent clawed at your flesh, fucked you as if it would be his very last, kept your head spinning around in circles. Bo handled you as if you were molded from obsidian — unbreakable and precious, lips greedily sucking at your breast. The sensations you experienced were prodigious — you felt worshipped, no — coveted.

Wax had shuffled aside, spurred by Vincent’s yearning to just taste you — even if it was brief. Goosebumps prickled across your shoulder as roughened, misshapen lips graced your flesh, unusually gentle. It was a stark contrast to his animalistic thrusts, cock buried deep inside of you whilst his mouth treated you like a princess.

Ragged breathing fanned out across your skin, staggeringly warm, coming in erratic spurts to match Vincent’s sporadic thrusts. It was where he’d always wanted to be — next to you, tangled within you, and now, his opportunity had become reality. His hips snapped forward again, swiftly recoiling to spill himself on you.

Ropes of sticky cum lay glistening against your rump and back. He obeyed Bo’s wishes, despite every fiber in his being urging him otherwise. Vincent watched with silent glee as your legs trembled, rattling like leaves. You hadn’t come again, but Bo was about to leave you unable to walk.

“How’s about another,” Bo crooned, teeth gently nibbling along your earlobe. You scrambled for the correct words, to beg again, but it all died within your throat when you felt Bo’s cock slide against your slick heat. “There we go.”

Vincent’s warmth had left you, his figure retreating away, far enough for him to watch. He had been deprived of watching your countenance when he’d fucked you — his own obsessive tendencies kicked in, a dark and twisted thing. Now, he wanted to see — wanted to hear you, let the memory linger.

Bo was being beyond generous, a sentiment that waxed and waned. If his brother was content with being an observer, he was going to put on a little show. His lips curled into a devious grin, swiveling around to push you up against the sofa, placing high enough to wrap your legs around his hips.

“Want you t’beg for it,” Bo snarled, playfully nipping at your lower lip. “Let m’brother hear whose cock you want.” It was lewd — filthy expletives leaving his mouth in ragged strings. You felt a twinge of guilt, prepared to give Bo exactly what he wanted, but your relationship was, admittedly, much closer.

“Yours, Bo,” Instantaneously, your voice climbed in octave, reaching a pitch of desperation as you haplessly clawed at Bo’s arms. You clung to him, grappling for his shoulders. “I want you, Bo, please!” You whined. “Fuck me!” You weren’t very shy about the volume, either.

Satisfied, Bo thrust himself into your tight cunt, gritting his teeth at the familiar sensation. One hand kept you steady, poised against the curve of your waist, the other finding purchase around your throat. Calloused digits sat snug just underneath your jaw, occasionally applying spurts of pressure.

Your lips fell slack, head lazily lolled backwards as Bo began to fuck you, his pace steady and somewhat sloppy. He’d been waiting, he’d been patient — he wanted what was his. For a moment, your gaze flickered toward Vincent, who hadn’t moved, hadn’t taken his eyes off of you whatsoever.

It made your body burn, flesh crawling with an incendiary heat. Vincent wasn’t focused on the act itself — he was fixated on you. The fluctuations within your visage, the hooded glaze of desire that danced within your eyes, and the supple curves of your form — that was what Vincent reveled in. He cared little for his brother’s antics, but you made it all worthwhile.

Bo’s mouth tangled with yours, effectively tearing your attention away from Vincent altogether. It brought you back to now, to the scent of sex, the growling, bodies all wrapped up within one another. His fingers pressed against your neck, lips all-consuming and ravenous, teeth and tongue and boastfulness.

His cock battered away at your cunt, thighs quivering from the amount of stimulation you’d already been subjected to, enough to make your stomach tighten. “Bo!” You squeaked, nails digging into the jean fabric of his button-down, holding onto him for dear life. “Bo, I — m’close.”

“Gettin’ shy?” He teased, pressing a kiss against the side of your face. Bo was borderline ruthless, picking up his pace from steady to needy, staking his claim, festering with a desire to cum inside of you. “Jus’ a little more, sweetface.” Bo murmured.

Every fiber of your being was set ablaze, and to the brothers, you looked so beautiful like this — succumbing, all ensnared within your own lust, just laid bare.

You felt euphoric, legs trembling as he fucked you senseless, about as rough as he could be without really hurting you. Precum slathered his groin, tendrils of it shooting into your cunt, his cock pulsating and throbbing with warmth. He pounded into you like a man possessed, letting his hand fall away from your jugular, slithering in between your thighs instead.

As soon as his thumb circled your clit against, you cried out, and it was over for you, then. Your body jolted and jerked, reduced to putty within his grasp, cumming on his cock without any warning. Vincent savored the blissful look you bore — eyes nearly closed, lips agape, head rolled back.

Bo grunted, snapping forward once more for good measure, cumming in-tandem with you. Virile ropes of cum flooded your cunt, all inside of you, just as he wanted. It was the rapturous aftermath that allowed the both of you to settle, chests heaving with exhilaration. Perspiration had built up upon Bo’s brow and along the valley between your breasts.

Once he pulled out of you, messy and sluggish, your feet wobbled as you landed upon solid ground. Vincent had stood up somewhere in between, lingering around, as if awaiting commands.

“Fuck,” Bo sighed, unable to wipe the affectionate smirk away from his features. You appeared pleasantly disheveled, but the unusual tension had soon settled in. “Y’should clean up.” He stated, as if he played no part in your current state.

“Asshole.” You grumbled, tone jocular as Bo planted a kiss against your mouth. You squeezed Vincent’s hand in-passing, the gesture enough to catch Bo’s attention. His heart clenched within his chest — the realization that you loved them both was beginning to settle in.

Both of the brothers watched you awkwardly clamor up the stairs — disrobed and flustered. Bo almost felt a sliver of pity, seeing as you could barely walk, but it was partial amusement, too.

Vincent stood at his side, casting a sidelong glance toward his sweaty twin, who was busy basking in all of his post-fucking glory. “We could share.” He signed, a proposition that Bo knew was inevitable. Of course, it was your choice — a choice that he’d have to live with.

“Yeah,” Bo pondered aloud, but his thoughts soon drifted into perverse territory. The way you looked, wedged in between the two of them, was too tantalizing to pass up. “We could.”

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