I Know Tumblr Will Take Down This Sooner Or Later, But This Is Happening Now In Gaza Now. These Pictures

why can i already imagine the scenario in my head? el tío sukuna es el tío raro

Board games with uncle Sukuna :)

They are taking this thing seriously, already take the cards out of the game

Man.... This is so... Perfect 😭👌

serenade

synopsis: when top music critic sylus qin gives your new album a scathing review, you plan a performance to make him pay. 

tags: celebrity au, porn with plot, enemies to lovers (reader hates him, sylus is generally a bastard but just doing his job), mirror sex, p in v, light choking, moderate biting, size difference, dramatic reader, reader does some light internet stalking, brief angst only bc sylus’s review was mean, he does something nice at the end to make up for it, inspired by dandelion by ariana grande pairing: music critic!sylus x pop star!fem reader word count: 7.2k

a/n: writing this was a traumatic experience i literally decided i was going to finish and upload today 12 hours ago because i cannot have this in my drafts any longer

I. THE RATING

 “A fucking 4.7?!” you screech, hurling your phone across the bed in horror.

It must be a mistake. A typo, or maybe your eyesight has gotten worse since your last checkup. Paparazzi cameras can do that, your optometrist had told you once. Yes. You’re sure that’s the case.

Taking a moment to breathe—hyperventilate, more like—you snatch the device back up and double-check with wild eyes.

And sure enough, in big bold letters: Four. Point. Seven.

There was no way. No fucking way that that hard-ass snobby bastard Sylus Qin had given your new album—the record you’d poured your heart and soul into—a 4.7/10 rating.

You refresh and refresh, but the numbers stay the same. 4.7, followed by heartless jabs that carve into your chest like daggers. Failed. Uninspired. Noise. 

You must have died last night, somehow. You must be dead right now. And for some reason unbeknownst to you—you’ll have to talk it out with God if you ever get the chance—you had woken up in Hell. 

Life as you knew it was over. The little ghouls who hounded you online were going to throw you to the wolves. Your agent would be lucky to book you at a high school bake sale. The reporters—if you even counted as a celebrity anymore—would never let this go. And there was only one man to blame. 

Sylus Qin. 

The name alone struck fear into the hearts of the entire pop industry. Not even the living legends with decades-long careers were safe. 

The man himself was an enigma, with little known of him other than his unnaturally deep voice and moderately vampiric appearance. But the reputation that preceded him was that of the most renowned music critic alive. 

No one knew how he got his start—maybe he’d just spawned onto Earth one day, slashing dreams and breaking hearts. Or maybe his mother had played him the classics while she carried him, murmuring to her belly about what true music was, and he’d been ranting about artistic integrity and sonic evolution since before he could walk. 

No matter what his story was, the facts were that your peers lived in terror of a bad Sylus Qin review—or any Sylus Qin review, really. He’d ruined so many careers, it was like he had a yearly quota. 

And the prick had just given what you’d thought was your magnum opus the industry equivalent of a public hanging.

As frustrated tears well in your eyes, you take a look around the house you’d only just managed to buy—the cozy Gothic fireplace, the customized in-home studio, and the quaint little garden. It was all still so new to you. And just like that, you’d have to give it up soon. 

You were wholly, utterly, and hopelessly fucked. 

***

Death. You’d imagined it’d be…more peaceful. Less emotional devastation, more belated introspection. 

But as you shift under the weighted blanket you’d rolled yourself up in, the sudden movement disturbing the heap of tear-stained tissues on top of you, you realize how much you hate being wrong. 

Your life had officially been over for almost 22 hours. And in those hours, you’d stared at the wall, ignored 36 text messages, opened and immediately closed your socials countless times, and sobbed into your satin pillowcase. 

As you roll away from the sliver of sunlight slipping through your curtains with a pained hiss, you hear the heavy footsteps climbing up your marble staircase. 

Oh well, you shrug inwardly. Not like it can get any worse. If it’s an intruder, they can have at it. Put me out of my misery. 

But as a familiar pattern of knocks precedes the door swinging open, allowing more light than you’d seen in the last day to flood the room, you realize that this may be a fate worse than brutal murder. 

“You can’t answer your phone anymore or something?” the tenor voice of Devon, your beloved, overbearing manager cuts through the room. 

“Go away,” you mumble, the sound muffled by the heavy blanket covering your mouth. 

You hear an incredulous snort. “Go awa—Girl, get up,” he snaps, walking up to tug the blanket off of you. As he heaves it to the foot of the bed, the army of tissues scatters across the room like huge snowflakes of failure, and your jostled body ends up sprawled in an almost-perfect diagonal from the impact. 

“I’ve been calling you all morning! And not only do you not pick up, but you block my number? You had me rushing over here to do a wellness check like you died or something.” 

“Oh. Well,” you begin nonchalantly. “In case you haven’t heard, I did. Yesterday. And I’m finding it to be quite pleasant, actually,” you lie through your teeth and purse your lips, “so I’d like to continue being dead, please. Alone.” 

“Yeah. Right,” he responds, mouth wedged open in a clearly annoyed grimace. “Okay, we do not have time for this, girl. You got a fan engagement livestream scheduled for this evening. You’ve never canceled a stream, not even when you lost your voice from that virus that one time. You really gonna let that man break your streak?” 

At the mere reference to his existence, your face shrivels and you curl into a defensive ball. “Oh, what’s the point?” you wail, shoving your face into the mattress. “There will probably only be 4.7 viewers. And then the tabloids will be filled with news about how I’m talentless and unpopular.” 

Devon closes his eyes, pinches the mahogany skin of his prominent nose, and releases a slow, controlled exhale. 

“Okay,” he starts, visibly switching tactics. “If your own fans—you know, the people who made you famous—can’t get you out of bed, maybe this will.” He takes a deep breath, as if bracing for impact, before continuing. “I have it on good authority that Sylus Qin is doing a TV interview. Tonight.”

And in the middle of an agonized writhe, you freeze in place. 

“He never does interviews,” you say lowly, voice suddenly hard enough to cut diamond. “He’s never done an interview, D. Stop bullshitting.” 

“Dead serious,” he replies, shoving his too-bright phone in your still sideways face. And sure enough, mysterious critic act be damned, Sylus Qin’s name is in bright bold letters on the hottest talk show in the country’s latest social post. 

Failing to suppress the anxious pang in your chest, you swallow thickly. “It’s…real. You weren’t….he’s actually going to…right after…he…” The world starts spinning as you trail off, and when the dry heaves start up on their own, you wonder if it’s possible to die twice. 

“Chill! Girl, chill,” Devon yells, firmly sitting you up on the bed. “My contact in production said he’s not talking about his work. He’ll be there to announce something, so he shouldn’t mention you unless they ask.” 

“Unless they ask,” you cry, slapping your palms to your face. 

“Which they won’t,” he adds in unsuccessful reassurance. “I just figured it might wake you up a bit. You’ve never seen him before, right? Maybe some exposure therapy will help.” 

Chewing your bottom lip hard enough to leave marks, you consider your options. You could either kick your manager out and wallow in bed until you get a foreclosure notice, or get up, grit your teeth through the livestream, and rush back to your bedroom afterwards to hate-watch Sylus on national television and pray he doesn’t speak your name. 

Your conscience and the voice in your head confer, and it seems like your anxiety has beaten your depression this time. Second option it is. 

II. THE INTERVIEW

After an excruciating hour of smiling blankly, avoiding talking about your album, and pretending not to see cruel comments, the stream is over. 

It was time to stare Death in the face. 

With 8 minutes to spare, you run up the stairs from the streaming setup in your studio and catapult into your walk-in closet, ripping your intricate work clothes off and diving into the comfiest loungewear you can find. If you were going to do this, you were going to do it comfortably. 

3 minutes. You dim the lights and flip the TV on, having already set it to the right channel in a bout of paranoia hours ago. Your house is empty except for you, but you trot over to shut the door just in case. A potential humiliation ritual was a private affair. 

And with 30 seconds to go, you unmute the TV and slowly climb onto your bed, sitting cross-legged and letting out the kind of breath you’d spent hundreds on mastering in pilates. 

The cheery, inauthentic talk show theme fills your ears, and you lift your eyelids open in resolve. 

A corny host intro. A brief band performance. And then, a tall white-haired man is strolling across your screen. 

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the illustrious Sylus Qin! 

Your heart stops. 

“Thank you, it’s my pleasure to be here,” a baritone purr rings out. Unnaturally deep voice, huh. They’d been right about one thing.

And then he sits on the smooth leather couch, turning his body to face the camera. 

Sylus Qin is…young. Not some wrinkled up curmudgeon out to terrorize the youth in his bitter old age. By the looks of it, he hasn’t even reached his 40s yet. 

Another observation. Sylus Qin is big. To be tall is one thing—not that special in a world of models doubling as singers—but this guy nearly swallows the sofa with his huge, obviously muscled frame. You wonder how he finds the time to work out between ruining lives. 

And as you take in his chiseled appearance—certainly vampiric, you think—you realize with unprecedented dread: Sylus Qin is handsome. 

“Mr. Qin,” the host begins, “we know this opportunity is extremely rare, so let me just say—it is our absolute honor to have you here during such a busy time for you.” 

It’s an ambiguous reference, probably not even to his most recent work, but you flinch backwards anyway. 

“Not a problem at all,” he drawls smoothly. “And just ‘Sylus’ is fine. I heard you all like to…have fun on this show.” He finishes the reply with a conspiratorial smirk, and you can all but see the women in the audience swoon at his despicable charm. “Like you said, this is a rare moment. You’re here to ask, and I’m here to answer. So, ask away.” 

“Perfect,” the host starts. “So, Mr—ahem—Sylus, you’ve built your reputation through exclusive music correspondence for a variety of publications…” 

***

As the minutes tick by and your hatred turns to intrigue, you start to really study the man in front of you. Learn his unique cadence, contemplate the angle of his aristocratic nose. Take in the way his ruby eyes glint when he talks about music, the way he sounds older than the age listed on his Wikipedia. And his IMDb. And his famousbirthdays.com. You’d triple-checked. 

You note the way he smirks at difficult questions, as if welcoming the challenge and begging for something harder. The way he crosses and uncrosses his thick, long legs as he weaves his answers into an impromptu PR masterclass. The way he panders to the audience so subtly you’d think it natural—if not for the way his large palms open when he looks their way, as if luring them into his trap from the stage. 

Fuck, he’s hot. And you can’t even try to pretend otherwise. 

Until a particularly sore subject snaps you out of your ogling and draws you back into the conversation.

“Now, Sylus, you may be a critic, but you’ve received some criticism yourself lately for your ‘harsh and grating’ reviews, especially in the pop sphere. Some go as far as to claim you’re even biased against pop artists. What do you say to that?”

And Sylus Qin chuckles. The bastard chuckles. As if he actually finds it funny. 

“I give albums and their creators the reviews they earn,” he says evenly. “I didn’t get to where I am today by handing out participation trophies.” 

He’s doubling down. You can’t believe he’s doubling down. 

“I’ve heard that some recent articles of mine have…ruffled some feathers. There’s never a shortage of angry fans in my inbox,” he shrugs. “But it’s my job to speak up when projects are…uninspired. You all get better music that way,” he quips, spreading his palms once more. 

Uninspired. Uninspired. The word that’s flashed in your head nonstop for the past 36 hours. A failed ascent to the top of pop stardom reveals itself as little more than uninspired noise. 

That was the exact quote he’d left in his scathing review of your album—you remembered. Because you’d read it—cried to it—over. And over. And over. And he’d just alluded to it with a smirk on his face, the crowd eating straight from his outstretched hands, in front of the entire country. 

Ugly, uncontrollable shame heats your face as the all too familiar tears sting your eyes once more. As you search for the remote through blurry vision, your blood burns hotter than lava, and you curse yourself for letting your guard down. For seeing any redeeming qualities—even if only physical—in a man with his reputation. With his lack of empathy. 

When your fingers close around the controller and you stumble off the bed, more than ready to click the TV off and return to the glorious rot-until-you-get-kicked-out plan, you freeze as Sylus speaks again. 

“That said,” he continues, “I encourage any artists who’ve been offended by my commentary to come chat about it in person. That’s my reason for coming here, after all—to announce that I’ll be attending the annual Spirit Awards this year.” 

Thumb hovering over the “off” button, you blink your tears away in disbelief. The Spirit Awards. You know that show. You know that show well. Because as thanks for your viral performance at last year’s event, you’d been invited to sing in the main performance slot. 

You were going to headline. And Sylus Qin would be your audience. 

As the interview ends and his figure fades to black with the next commercial, a sudden realization talks you down from the ledge. 

This was your chance. To give the best damn show you’d ever put on, to reclaim the work whose meaning had been stolen from you. To sink his reputation, and to save yours. 

Maybe it’s a good thing he looks the way he does, you think, a slow smile spreading across your increasingly mischievous face.

Because for the first time in almost two days, you’re confident. Confident that you’ll not only get him to change his mind, but that you’ll get him. Period. 

Sylus Qin, we’ll see about that fucking 4.7 when I’m done with you.

III. THE PLAN

Bleary eyes. A full night of sleep lost. And three 12-ounce iced coffees delivered straight to your door. 

But after eight and a half hours, Operation: Silence Sylus was a go. 

After the interview, you’d set up a makeshift situation room in your studio. You’d hauled all your devices—phone, laptop, monitor, smart watch, you name it—into the space for backup. Anything that could find information, you needed. You’d have even dragged your smart microwave in here if you could figure out the wires. 

But, all things considered, the setup had been the easy part. Because what came after was an informal case study on the most elusive man in history. 

You’d started simple: his social media. 

There was more to work with than you’d expected, but nothing too crazy. He had 2.6 million followers—a fraction of yours, you’d smirked, but still good for someone whose work is out of the spotlight.

His photos had no discernible aesthetic, as if he posted them straight from his camera roll. And his upload patterns…the lack of marketing was so severe it sent a shiver down your spine. The man posted a few times a year, if that, and the captions he did include were vague and simple. He’s lying about his age, you’d decided, because this guy is old as fuck. 

But Sylus’s dire need for a social media manager was far from the most interesting thing you’d noticed. No, in all your 264 weeks’ worth of research—you’d scrolled until the app wouldn’t let you refresh anymore—not a single other person was featured on his feed. Like, there’d been more motorcycle pictures than humans on there. You’d have chalked it up to the narcissism typical of men like him, but he hardly even posted his own face. 

And as shameful as it was to stalk the man who’d publicly humiliated you’s Instagram to see if he had a girlfriend, it was absolutely necessary. If the answer was yes, it’d put the whole plan in jeopardy! You were simply doing your job as a diligent creative, covering all your bases in advance. How would you seduce him into changing his mind about you if he had a fucking girlfriend? Or worse? 

That would be your next stop, then, you’d nodded resolutely. His dating history. 

But no matter how many articles you read; how many variations of Sylus Qin girlfriend, sylus Qin single, Sylus qin married, sylus qin Boyfriend you’d put in the search bar; how many viruses you’d probably gotten on your laptop from clicking through trashy tabloid sites; there was nothing. No photos, no reported sightings, hardly even a rumor. You’d typed in Sylus Qin asexual as a last resort, but that came back empty, too. 

You’d sat in disbelief for a second, wondering how he could be so…clean. Even with his…glowing personality, his looks and success more than made up for any quirks. In this town, people should have been throwing themselves at him left and right, bogeyman allegations be damned. 

But there was no mistaking it. As far as romance was concerned, the man was a blank slate. 

Good thing you were coming for him with a big feather pen, ready to brand your name into his skin.

***

After analyzing his public image and making sure no…obstacles would block your path, it was time for a personality study. And where better to start than his full catalogue of reviews? His portfolio was practically front and center on his publication’s website—all 114 articles offered to you on a silver platter. 

Almost immediately, you’d taken a nervous breath and hastily clicked past the most recent page. The abject horror of the 4.7 was still too fresh on your mind, and you’d be damned if tonight ended with a traumatic episode. So you’d landed on the second most recent page, starting with reviews from a couple months ago. And you’d read. 

104 irritatingly confident articles. You’d read his praise, his disappointment, his bewilderment, his disgust. His beautifully packaged this-person-should-be-sent-to-prison-for-making-this-es. No matter how much you disagreed with some—most—of his takes, he was an incredible writer. 

He tolerated jazz the most, it seemed. The smooth melodies, the warm embrace of the trumpet, trombone, and sax. It was so incredibly old. But it suited him. 

“The riveting blend of brass and reed solos marks the triumphant rebirth of a fallen genre,” he’d complimented a band earlier this year. Looking at his preferences, it was no wonder why your synth-heavy pop beats seemed to have personally offended him. 

But for all the things Sylus thought he knew about you, he was missing a few key items:

You were desperate. To win back the public, to win his approval, to win him. 

You were planning a deluxe album with six new songs. And one of those songs said please fuck me disguised under a sensual trumpet solo. 

You were desperate enough to release said album and perform said song a month early, solely to prove a point. 

And with one screaming match of a phone call to Devon at 6 a.m., it’d been done. 

You hadn’t coordinated with your dancers yet. Or told your label. Or informed the Spirit Awards producers that you’d be changing your set. But in your sleep-deprived, caffeine-jittered mind, it was all but confirmed. Your next performance would be dedicated to Sylus Qin. 

There was only one more piece to put into place. With newfound conviction, you’d reopened his Instagram and clicked “Direct Message” before you could talk yourself out of it. And while you’d have liked to send him a colorful list of expletives, you maintained your professionalism. 

Hi! I heard you’re going to the Spirits next Sunday. Hope you’re in the crowd for my performance—would love to chat after :) 

The passive aggressive smiley face of doom. Sent and delivered. 

His fate was sealed, but he didn’t know it yet.  

Between excited bounces of your leg, you’d taken a final pass at his portfolio, and your eyes found your name before you could stop them. 

“Deeming the music passable is more of a compliment than any listener should be willing to give. A failed ascent to the top of pop stardom reveals itself as little more than uninspired noise.”

Failed. Uninspired. Noise. There they were again, the insults seared into the back of your mind. 

A reminder of your shame, but a motivator for you to make him eat his words. 

IV. THE PREP

You’d always loved awards shows.

The buzz of energy backstage, the rushed glimpses of peers and legends, the flamboyant accessories and vibrant strips of fabric strewn across the floor. The kind of chaos you’d learned to thrive in. 

After making the rounds of greetings and introductions, you take a break outside your dressing room in the main hall. Your stage outfit was already on and hidden under a frilly robe; you always liked to arrive early in case of any mishaps. (Lesson learned from the time you’d been fashionably late and had to go onstage in an unfashionable loose corset. That had slipped down mid-song.)

Chatting with your head dancer, you laugh at a video she shows you on her phone before spotting something in the corner of your eye: a flash of white hair. 

Your body goes rigid.

But the lightning-quick twitch in your eye is forcing you to turn around, and your breath hitches as soon as you do. 

Sylus Qin is here. 

Just as he said he’d be, you suppose, but it’s no less surreal seeing the object of your warring emotions in the flesh. 

Somehow, he’s taller than he looks on camera. Bigger, too. How someone whose job involved hunching over a laptop writing hate mail every day could be built like a professional athlete, you’d never know. 

Black slacks are snug around his strong legs, and he’s paired them with a silken, wine-red shirt that you’re sure would match the color of his eyes if he’d just turn arou—

It’s like he heard you. Felt you. 

Because before you can even finish your thought, Sylus Qin’s bewitching ruby eyes are on you. 

When your jaw drops slightly, his lips curl. And as that lazy, taunting, I’m-better-than-you smirk spreads across his gorgeous face, it reignites the feelings that got you here. The hatred and humiliation and unyielding spite.

So with flames in your eyes, you pat the dancer on the back and give her a cheerful platitude before storming—no, sauntering, you should saunter—over. 

When he bends his neck to accommodate your comparatively small stature, Sylus Qin watches you like you’re his favorite reality show. 

“Sylus!” you squeal, pulling him into a side hug. One thing you’d learned in the industry: overfamiliarity was the best form of offense. “It’s so nice to see you here! I’m glad you could make it.” 

You expect him to falter. To push away from you in a decidedly rude yet necessarily humanizing show of uncertainty. For that condescending smirk to waver in confusion, only a little. 

But to your surprise, he simply wraps a very muscled arm around you and returns your embrace. He’d been trained well, you lament with an inward groan. 

“It’s great to be here,” he says smoothly, and the way he rumbles your name makes you want to forego the performance entirely and beg him to take you here and now. “Especially since someone was nice enough to invite me to watch their performance. I get the opposite, usually—people typically fake illness when I watch them in person—so I just had to see this for myself,” he drawls. 

At some point, he’d laid his warm hand on your robe-clad shoulder, rubbing up and down in time with his slow words. But like that wasn’t enough, you’d almost been too wrapped up in his heady scent to notice. In his teasing embrace, the smell of spice, leather, and a hint of pomegranate envelop you, and you have to school your expression to look like you aren’t huffing it in. 

As you stare up at him blinking dumbly, you notice his smirk widen, and somewhere in the back of your head you remember that conversations are two-sided. 

“Y-yes,” you try to assert, cursing the way your voice shakes with need. “It’s right up your alley. I think—I know you’ll like it.” 

“You know, hm?” he quirks a brow, circling his thumb against your arm. 

“I know. It’s a new song, much more to your liking. Think of it as…a tribute. To your glowing review of me,” you reply coldly, untangling yourself from his hold despite your body’s protests. If you had any chance tonight, you had to level the playing field. Which meant Sylus Qin could not touch you anymore. 

“Mm,” he hums, eyes lingering on the spot you’d detached yourself from before flicking up to your face. “I reviewed your album, sweetie. Not you. Even so, nothing I said was untrue,” he shrugs as you bristle with rage. “But…if your performance is to my taste, as you claim, then you’ll know my review soon after. Before the end of the night, I’d say.”

His words are intentionally vague, as if he’s goading you into asking what he means. But under the heat of his gaze, you’re too prideful and angry and turned on to ask for clarification. 

“Then I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” you challenge him with a saccharine smile. 

He nods plainly, as if merely entertaining the idea of you ever impressing him. “I guess we will.” 

That twitch in your eye? It’s back with a vengeance. 

Before it can overtake your whole face, you spin on your heel and sashay away from him, pretending not to care if he watches you leave or not. 

Refusing to stop before you’re out of his sight, you disappear into your dressing room and slump into the nearest chair. As the stylists flock over to put the last touches on your hair and makeup, you try not to chew your nails off and ruin your fresh manicure. Damn him, you think for the 300th time in a week. 

***

In the center of the room, a monitor broadcasts the show’s live feed. The early portions go by in a blink—time flies when you have pre-seduction attempt anxiety, you guess—and before you know it, it’s 10 minutes to showtime. 

As soon as you’re clear to set up on stage, you make a beeline for the curtain and pull it back ever so slightly, looking for Sylus in the crowd. And just to your luck, there he is, sitting pretty in the second fucking row. Great if you don’t mess up, catastrophic if you do. 

Just as his all-knowing eyes shift toward the stage, as if he somehow felt your gaze from afar, you inch back into the inky shadows of the curtain. 

Two minutes to go. Clenching your hands into fists, you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe. 

It was time to channel the outrage, embarrassment, and devastatingly irritating lust into the performance of your life. 

V. THE SHOW

The soft swells of a trumpet float through the hushed arena.

The player, first chair in a local jazz ensemble, sways gently to the beat, his dark skin glowing in the warm stage lights. 

In time with the soulful melody, dozens of dancers fan out around the bar set, fiddling with prop bottles of fake booze. Your hours of research had pointed you in one direction: a speakeasy theme. 

Perfect for a jazz intro, and seductive enough to get your point across without getting you banned from live television. 

The outfit under your robe was a modern take on the 1920s: a bejeweled crimson flapper dress, sharp black stilettos, and a thick raven’s feather nestled in your hair. 

Just like you’d practiced, you stumble onto the set, miming drunken confusion as you trip into a male dancer’s arms. You shoot him a flirtatious smile when he steadies you, only for your attention to be captured by the trumpet still crooning in the background.

Enraptured by the player, you glide across the stage to lean against him, standing back-to-back with your hands on your heart. The tassels on your dress flow in time with the sultry swirls of your hips. 

A few more beats, and the intricate solo dwindles into the main riff that marks the true beginning of your set, to the audible gasps of the crowd. Look, you liked jazz as much as anyone—well, maybe not someone—but this was still your song. Your stage. And you were here to wake it up! As good as the player was, you had hypothetical sex to sing about. 

So the trumpet fades out, replaced by a poppy trap beat. Between each drum hit, your female dancers crowd you, tearing off the edges of your dress until you’re left in a shimmering red bodysuit. 

Strutting across the stage, you work through the lyrics of the first verse, eyeing the audience as you sing for someone special to come and take what he wants from you. 

The way you prowl from edge to edge is suggestive, inviting. The screams of the fans drown out the sound in your earpiece, but the winks you give them are only for show. You’d decided a week ago that you’d be a bad idol tonight. You’d make up for it later—a giveaway, follow spree, or something—but tonight, your focus was reserved for one man. 

As you ease into the chorus, your muscles glint under the twinkling lights, flexing in time with fluid spreads of your arms and gentle footwork. A siren song is what you’re singing, rhythmic pleas for a partner to make good on his promise falling from your lips. 

The next verse brings a slowdown in the melody that you meet with sensual rolls of your hips. Twisting your frame, you slide a purposeful hand down to rest just above your pelvis, tangling the other in your hair. 

The beat picks back up as you lead a line of men down the steps and into the audience, playfully evading their touches. It’s a calculated game of cat and mouse—one you’d hoped would pique the interest of the man you’d done this for. And as you parade right behind his row, boldly ghosting a hand over his shoulder in the dim crowd lighting, the tension in his muscles tells you you’d been right.

You can’t see his face, but the thought of him suffering right now is so satisfying, you have to fight to keep the vindictive smile off your face. Revitalized, you flounce back onstage right as the bridge melts into the final chorus—your favorite part of the show. 

Because while you’d been working the crowd, the crew had lined up seven shiny motorcycles at the front of the stage. Six were for your dancers, of course, but the seventh? That one was special. You’d gone through hell to get that bike on time—the same luxury model that was plastered all over Sylus Qin’s Instagram. The seventh bike was yours.

Taking your place in the center, you swing a leg over the seat and lower your hips gracefully, snapping back into the final moves of the choreography. 

With a daring raise of your eyebrow, you glance at his massive frame in the second row. He’s relaxed now, body no longer rigid with surprise. A bit too relaxed, you think, with the way his legs are spread apart, thumb swiping lazily across his smirking mouth. His gaze locks onto the familiar brand etched into the side of the bike before traveling up to yours, and the half a second of eye contact sends a shudder down your spine. 

Between hazy, hopefully covert blinks, you hum out the last note of the song to thunderous applause. When you release your ending pose, waving to the sea of cheering faces, your eyes find his seat once more.

But Sylus Qin is gone.

VI. THE AFTERMATH

The moment you step backstage, a flood of congratulations greets you. 

Dancers, friends, and strangers huddle all around you, whooping with joy at your undeniable triumph.

But between the friendly pats on your shoulders, sweaty hugs, and heaving breaths, you wonder if tonight can be called a success at all. 

Hours and hours of mourning your young career. Of research that, in any other circumstance, probably would have gotten you on a watchlist. Of hard work, of pivoting, of betting your entire future on the hope that he’d break. And he’d just…left. 

You were never one to stop a celebration early, but the burning pangs of defeat are too much to bear. With a tight smile and a flick of your card into the nearest hand—drinks are on you tonight—you trudge back to the solace of your dressing room. 

And the scent of leather and spice hits you a second too late. 

Because in all his wicked glory, Sylus Qin is in your empty dressing room, lounging in your chair like he owns the place. 

Your initial reaction—a startled jump and a choked squeak—has his eyes sparkling in satisfaction, and you stalk up to the mirror with a scowl before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Feigning nonchalance, you remove your accessories one by one, starting with the feather in your hair. As you place it gently on the marble counter, a firm chest presses against your back, and you see his frame nearly swallow yours in the glass before you. 

“If I were a bolder man, I’d think you were trying to send me a message just now,” he purrs into your ear. 

Glancing at his reflection, you shrug noncommittally. “Did you like it?”

You receive a soft hum in response. 

As you continue your act with trembling hands, Sylus cages you against the hard edge of the counter, admiring the remaining pieces of your costume with light, teasing touches. 

Once you make no effort to stop him, a large hand rises to close loosely around your throat. When his thumb brushes your bottom lip, you bite it hard enough to sting, and his deep chuckle worsens the throbbing between your legs. 

“I’m enough of a man to admit when I’m wrong. I underestimated you, it seems.” The low admission sends blood rushing through your ears, and you lean into him with a quiet gasp. “You have me right where you want me now, right? Then tell me—how did you come up with your little stunt?”

Tense seconds tick by as you debate your options. How humiliating it’d be to come clean in his arms. But then again, humiliated had been your main emotion as of late. With a deep exhale and slight tuck of your head, you begin your confession.

“I just wanted you to change your mind,” you whisper, watching as he unravels the satin ribbons on your bodysuit. 

 “I was so proud of that album, Sylus. Took me months to feel good enough to release it. And then I wake up to see the most respected voice in music calling it worthless.” 

Your voice wobbles at the mention of his review, and his fingers freeze on the lowest ribbon. 

“I thought my career was over. That’s what you do, right?” you ask, eyes flashing up at him. “Ruin people like me.”

Checking your teary gaze in the mirror, he has the decency to press a kiss to the skin between your neck and shoulder. 

“My manager had to do a wellness check,” you add with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I could barely get out of bed. But then he told me…I’d have a chance to see you that night. And I guess the anxiety of impending doom was enough of a motivator. So I got up, and I watched.” 

As your voice steadies, it grants him permission to undo the final ribbon. It loosens with a firm tug, and the slackened fabric sags around your body, waiting to be removed entirely. 

“I really did want to change your mind. To prove myself to you. But then I saw that stupid fucking interview…saw you for the first time, and I…”

“You what, sweetie?” he murmurs into your neck, spurring you on with a gentle kiss. 

“I wanted you, too.”

As he sucks in a breath, you take the moment to step out of your costume, tossing it to the floor below. You’re nearly bare before him, now, save for the thin tights and thong still blocking you from his sight. 

“That’s what all this was for,” you reveal, gesturing to the fallen fabric. “I wanted your attention—all of it—in any way I could get it. So you were right. I wanted to end up right here, with you.” 

For several seconds, his labored sighs are the only sounds in the room. You, unfortunately, are too afraid to breathe. But before long, warm hands grasp your hips, pulling you flush against his hardened lower half.

Catching your ear between sharp teeth, he floods your senses with a smooth whisper. “It seems you got what you wanted, then. Why don’t I tell you what I thought?”

And the second the “please” escapes your lips, he tears the thin layers left on your hips clean off your body. 

He uses your shock to his advantage, taking the chance to free his swollen cock and glide it across your slit, teasing your clenching hole with the pulsing length. When he’s coated in your wetness, he surges into you with a firm thrust, groaning at the squeeze of your fluttering walls. 

Allowing you a moment to adjust to the stretch, he gropes the fat of your hip before continuing. 

“You obviously did your research,” he rumbles, pumping in and out of you at a steady tempo. “Speakeasies were the home of jazz, for a time.” 

As the curve of his tip hits deep inside you, you wish you’d gotten a look at him. You’d expected him to be big, if the rest of his body was any indication, but the sheer fullness in your core feels like it should be illegal. 

“And the arrangement…paying homage with a modern twist. It was admirable. Bold,” he grits out, hissing as your cunt tightens at the compliment. 

Locking eyes with him in the mirror, you meet his thrusts with a high-pitched whine, asking for more—more pressure, more praise, more of all he could give. 

With a patronizing tsk, Sylus grips your jaw in one hand, pulling your face close to his. “How many ratings of mine did you read to pull this off? I wouldn't think you knew what real instruments were, based on that album.”

The barb snaps you out of docility, and you try to twist away from him with a sneer and grumble. But Sylus only pulls you back into his quickening strokes, a fond, terrorizing chuckle enveloping you. 

“Don’t run, sweetie. I’m flattered, really. Like I was when you got on that bike—my bike—and I wanted to pull you down from that stage,” he breathes, circling two fingers around your throbbing clit. “Because I knew in that moment, you were mine.”

As his claim rings through the air, he pinches your sensitive flesh and ups his pace, kissing your cervix with brutal strokes as the lewd slaps of skin on skin echo around you. Shaky breaths and soft whimpers leave your mouth, and you rut back into him as much as his firm grip on your hips allows.

“This was all for me, hm? For my attention, you said? Now you have it,” he murmurs huskily, and a sharp scratch of teeth against the pulse in your throat has you spilling over the edge with a desperate moan. 

Somewhere in the haze of your orgasm, he pulls out with a groan of his own, leaving you empty and shivering until you feel his warm release coat the curve of your back.

With the last of his strength, he turns your face to his and captures your lips in a heated kiss, your tongues tangling unhurriedly. You’re forced to pull away first, already more than drained of your stamina for the night. When you slump forward in exhaustion, he falls into you, folding you over the counter with his heavy weight. 

You groan at the impact but welcome the soothing pressure, and for a while, your heaving exhales mingle in the quiet of the room. 

Once his breathing evens out, his low drawl—raspier than usual—eclipses the silence. “So,” he begins, and you can tell he’s smirking above you without even seeing his face. “How would you rate my performance tonight?”

Too tired to scoff, you settle for a mocking hum. “Hmm…an 8. I’d say a 9, but you just lost a point for that line,” you smile softly. “The pacing was good, but the feeling was lacking. It felt a little…uninspired.”

VII. THE EPILOGUE

You can’t feel your limbs the next morning. 

You can’t feel your limbs, but your phone is ringing—has been for a few minutes now, you think groggily. 

With a pained grunt, you roll over and over in bed until the screen is within reach and put the call on speaker. 

“Check your texts!” Devon yells excitedly, damn near blasting your ears off. 

“What? What are you talking about?” you grumble. “And you know not to wake me up until at least 4 p.m. after a show.”

“Sure, girl, fire me if you want. Just check your texts!” he repeats, voice climbing to a near screech.

“Fine, just give me a—”

Your jaw drops. It has no choice but to drop.

Because sitting in your inbox, right there at the top, is an updated link to Sylus Qin’s review of your album.

And right there, where that dreaded 4.7 had stared you down, is a giant, boldface 8.

Y’all don’t make use of subtle/weird traits in fics enough.

Dudes—

Bakugou literally has hyperhidrosis. Make him switch shirts constantly, or constantly wiping his hands, or outright refusing to touch things because nitroglycerin is a volatile substance.

Midoriya is constantly chewing on his lips or thumb while in thought. Either his lips are SO chapped or he’s a skin picker and the skin around his finger tips are super rough.

Uraraka is a poor kid. She would absolutely have some kind of financial anxiety. Make her be extremely frugal OOOORRR BETTER YET make her absolutely awful with money.

Aizawa is a hypersomniac. Give the man a nightmare disorder or something. We can be more imaginative than just always kinda tired.

Kirishima has/had really bad quirk envy. Please I need to see this addressed more. Even at the best hero school, in the top class, he talks down on his quirk.

Todoroki really doesn’t think very much. He acts quickly but very thoughtlessly. Coming to incorrect conclusions and moving too fast without knowing what to do next.

Their accents truly were *a chef's kiss*

Explanation of  NCT U’s “The 7th Sense”

After reading how deep the lyrics are and listening to the creepy instrumental that includes bombs, gunshots, doors opening, knocking, yawning, voices and other creepy noises, I searched the internet to find some information on it. 

Someone took the time to analyze, interpret and explain the meaning of NCT U’s debut song “The 7th Sense” and boy, it’s much deeper than I thought it was. 

There’s so many hidden messages and references and I’m baffled how the writer of the original post even noticed and how SM thought about all this in the first place.  Unfortunately, the original article is in Portuguese, but I took the time and help of Google to translate it for you guys and since the article is quite lengthy, I cut it down to the important parts and it’s still as long as Rapunzel’s hair, but shorter than the original.

If you speak Portuguese, though, you can also read the original article. (If you find any mistakes, please leave me an ask.)

I already posted it but I cropped half of it out because it’s just too damn long.

So, if you’re interested and ready for all this mindfuck, keep reading!

Keep reading

heartbeat between your teeth

Summary: A pleasant afternoon with your husband is rudely interrupted by a phone call.

or; Disco interrupts your beach day tryst with a very inconvenient call. Neither of you are particularly concerned with the panic of the auction house; you'd much rather indulge in pleasures of the flesh, and talk of your (seventh) spontaneous wedding.

wc: 3.8k~ (SICKENING)

cw: fem!reader (AFAB + she/her pronouns), light mentions of (canon typical) human trafficking and drugs, mentions of violence, spoilers for sabaody arc!, reader is morally grey, some violent imagery, mentions of food, smut, praise, feminine petnames ('good girl', etc), light dacryphilia, light come eating, fingering, p in v, overstim, low-key dumbification(?) reader has a thing for hands

AN: majority of the phonecall dialogue is pulled directly from doffy's cameo in saboady. also shoutout to nyla (@ofoceansandtombsanew) for helping me with doffy's spanish dialogue because my spanish is. less then stellar LMAO you're a real one girl <33 (english TL is in the end notes!)

heart divider is by the lovely @/enchanthings ! mdni banner by @/arminsumi !

The sea is in good spirits today, and so are you.

You watch the gentle lull of the tide against the shore. Doffy picked a good spot: your shared folding chair is tucked neatly beside a little glass table, whose attached umbrella spared you from the worst of the sun. The rest of the family is out of sight and mind; it’s quiet without their antics but you're both grateful for this rare moment of privacy. It would be a long while before another chance presented itself like this, so you pounced on it, ushering those who didn’t want to stay onboard the ship into town (and Doffy putting up a mini Birdcage just to be sure). And so you find yourself sprawled across your husband's lap, legs dangling over the arms of the chair, savoring every sun-soaked second alone like a rare delicacy.  

The island you’ve stopped at is an easygoing one. A nice change of pace from the chaotic highs and lows of the Grand Line’s open waters. It’s something plucked straight from a postcard– lush palm trees dancing with the breeze, streaks of white clouds spilled against the blue of the sky like paint on a canvas. It’s warm, but pleasantly so; enough to soften the tension in your shoulders. A distant seagull cries out in what you decide is delight at the good weather.

Beneath you, Doffy shifts, his big hand stroking fondly at your thigh. He lingers at the border of your sundress but keeps his touch tame. "I hope that smile is my doing," he says, and you feel your grin widen at the pleasant rumble of his voice. 

"Well, it is now," you giggle. "I was just thinking about how happy the birds are today."

He chuckles, dimples peeking out. "The birds?"

"The seagulls, specifically. I hear them singing about how nice the weather is."

"Ah, I see. I wasn’t aware that you spoke seagull.”

“It isn’t too difficult of a language. Most of it is screaming, really. Sometimes for food other times to warn one another of predators–or, like today, sometimes they just scream for joy.”

“I thought they were singing?’

“Screaming is singing in their culture.”

Doffy laughs, a sound like rolling thunder. “However did you become so acquainted with the particulars of seagull culture?”

“Trebol and Diamante,” you deadpan. “They aren’t seagulls but with the way they eat they may as well be.”

He hums. The conversation ebbs away with the tide. You nestle into the comforting silence and the crook of your husband’s shoulder. The buttons on his shirt are half-way undone and you take advantage of his exposed skin; Doffy’s heat is soothing, cozy in the way a fireplace is on a wintry night. You press your cheek to it with a contented sigh. He slides his palm up your leg and lets it settle at your hip. Your fingers decide they want to wander too, so they creep up his stomach to his chest, tracing lazy circles over his heart. Doffy gives you a squeeze in return and kisses the crown of your head.

“We still have some time before we need to report back in,” he murmurs into your hair. “Where would you like to go next?”

“Do we have to go anywhere at all? I’m more than content right here.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmhmm.” You press an open mouthed kiss to his throat. He gives you another squeeze. “I quite like this little island. They have a nice beach,” kiss, “and mangos,” kiss, “that one bookstore looked cute,” kiss, “and did you hear? Their honorary mayor is a cat named Señor Bigotes. Señor Bigotes, Doffy! Is that not the most adorable thing you’ve ever heard?”

Mischief pulls his lips into a smirk. “I can think of a few things actually–” and without warning, his hand shoots up to fondle your breast. A startled sound leaps from your throat, a breathy thing somewhere between a whine and a yelp. “ –that sound being one of them.” 

You smack at his bicep. “Ass!”

Not a shred of remorse is reflected in his sunglasses. “Would you have me any other way?”

You sigh, not without fondness. “I suppose not. But, like I was saying, I’m just fine staying here.”

He nods. “Then it’s here we’ll stay,” he says, and that was that. Once Doffy made up his mind about something there was nothing anyone could do to change it. 

“And since we’re staying…” gently, he tilts your head up by the chin. “Why don’t we get married?”

You just manage to hold back a laugh. Seven times Donquixote Doflamingo has asked you to marry him. All seven times you have said yes. And so you have had seven different weddings, on seven different islands, followed by seven different honeymoons. And yet each time he asks this question, it is with the same tenderness and sincerity as the first. As if he were cracking himself open and inviting you to hold his bloody, beating heart. 

You press your palm flat over the space where it beats. A steady tune drums beneath his skin; your favorite song. 

(Sometimes, you think that if he could, he would pull it from the cage of his ribs and give it to you. Sometimes, you wish you could do the same for him. Give yourself to him in whole.)

“You flatter me, Doffy,” you coo. “Really? You’d do it again?”

His mouth twitches down. “Are you doubting me?”

“No, never.”

“Then what’ll it be?”

You really do laugh this time–he sounds so serious. “Do you honestly have to ask? My answer will always be the same; you should know that by now!”

His grin is as brilliant as a diamond. “Is that a yes?”

Something soft and petaled unfurls between your ribs. You answer with a kiss– a proper one, this time. He tastes like sea salt and the syrupy sweet of mango juice. Groaning, he kisses back heatedly. He cradles your head to pull you in deeper, closer. You allow him to guide you in, shifting to straddle his waist.

You're flushed tight against each other, no room for air; it’s not enough. You want to pry open your chest cavity like an oyster and tuck him safe inside you, your treasure. You want him to eat your heart like a pomegranate so you can lick the red of your life from his chin. You want to meld to him like the fabled soulmates of Plato, four arms, four legs, two souls as one.

You want him to fuck you. 

Thin cotton is the only barrier between your clothed sexes. He twitches under you, already eager to bury himself inside you. Arousal coils tight in your core. You give your hips a languid roll, deepening the kiss. Wandering hands run down your back, dip beneath your dress–

Pere-pere-pere-pere-pere! Pere-pere-pere-pere-pere!

Doffy's head lolls back with a frustrated groan. You bite your cheek, holding back a curse. 

The snail transponder. 

It had sat, mostly ignored, next to his drink on the table. Now it springs to life, stalked eyes wide and alert, it's droning a reminder of other priorities. Reluctantly, you situate yourself in your original positions. Doffy gives the device a withering glare; pleasure will have to wait for business. 

"Someone had better be dead," he grumbles, snatching the receiver.

Before Doffy can even get a word in there's an explosion of noise. A man's voice babbling almost incoherently. You catch the words Sabaody, and pirates, but everything else slips through your fingers with his sniveling. 

“Stop blubbering and tell me the situation,” Doffy cuts in. “State your name and business!”

The man on the other end coughs, a wet rasping noise that reminds you of rusted blades. “Th..this is Disco, reporting from the Auction House in Sabaody Archipelago!” Disco takes a gasping breath. “Mister Doflamingo! We need you here right now! It’s terrible–the biggest disaster we’ve ever seen–!” another gasp, “A celestial dragon has been attacked! All of our merchandise has escaped!”

You blink, surprised. Someone attacked a celestial dragon? On Sabaody, so close to the marine base? What kind of idiot would do something like that? 

You see Doffy’s eyebrows perk and know he’s having similar thoughts. “Who?”

“Straw hat,” Disco wheezes. “Straw hat Luffy and his crew.”

‘Straw hat’? That sounded familiar; one of the rookies, maybe? If you think hard enough you can conjure a shaky image in your mind, a wide grin and the red-ribboned hat that gave him his name. You’ll have to ask Doffy about it later.

And from the looks of it, Doffy does know something; he’s laughing. A full bodied, belly deep laugh. 

“This is no laughing matter!” Disco wheezes. You think, idly, that he might have been stabbed. “This is your shop, you know! Mister Doflamingo,” he pleads, shakily, “Where are you right now?! The shop has lost all credibility, and then there’s Roswald’s family too! They’re definitely going to lash out at us–do something to fix things!”

Doffy is still laughing. “Seriously…Human trafficking is so old fashioned, you idiot.” 

“...Eh?”

“It’s all about smiles now!” Doffy explains plainly, as if speaking to a small child. “Smiles!”

Now that you know this isn’t  actually important you’re impatient for this call to end; the excitement from earlier begins to stir once more. You nip at his collar. Doffy glances at you. Locking gazes, you lick a hot stripe up his throat. He grins wickedly at the want in your eyes. “Soon,” he mouths, patting your thigh.

“Disco,” he coos, “I’m giving the shop to you. So don’t be callin’ me anymore!” Another laugh bubbles out of him as you lave your tongue along his jaw. 

“What?!” Disco shrieks, appalled. “You’re abandoning us during the worst crisis we’ve ever had?!”

You feel him tense at the outburst. You rub soothingly at his chest and continue to pepper kisses onto him but this does not dull the sharpness of his tone. “Quiet, you annoying bastard! While you sit there blaming me for your own misfortune, a “New-Era” draws ever closer, Disco-kun. The navy has given orders forcing me–no, us–into active duty!”

Doffy reaches for his mango juice and takes a languid a sip from his straw, giving the ice a swirl. He downs the rest of it with a satisfied “ah!”

“Knowing this, what do you see on the horizon, Disco-kun?” The empty glass clinks heavily against the table. You’re more than a little distracted by the way the sunlight glimmers on his golden bracelet. “The Whitebeard Pirates versus the Seven Warlords of the Sea!”

Again, Doffy laughs, rich and deep. Disco can only gape in shock. Before he can start gibbering again Doffy ends the call. Go-cha! The snail transponder closes its eyes and droops, a puppet with no strings, lifeless. 

“Now then,” Doffy purrs. “I do believe that I was proposing?”

You run a finger down the path of the gold winding down his arm, tracing the curve of his bicep. “Oh, I think you were doing a little more than that.”

“Really?" he smirks. He pulls off his sunglasses, rosy eyes darkened with lust.  "I can’t seem to recall. Care to remind me?”

“But of course.” You move to straddle him once more. This time there is no teasing, no hesitation. Doffy slips a hand beneath your dress skirt and yanks your panties down. The fabric is left bunched mid-way on your legs. You widen your stance a little more, sucking a mark onto his neck, as he traces circles on the inside of your thigh. 

“Doffy,” you whine, leaning into his touch. “Please…”

He ghosts the pads of his fingers along your vulva. They come away slick. “Please what, my sweet?”

Fire burns your cheeks, your neck, your center. You want it to consume you. “Inside,” you plead. “Put ‘em inside me, please.”

He kisses behind your ear. “Good girl.” 

You whine again, pulsing at his words. “Doffy…”

Teeth press against your bottom lip as he finally slips his middle and ring fingers into you. You grasp at his shirt for purchase; their familiar length curls upwards within you, seeking out the spot that makes you see stars. You arch forward, pushing the heel of his palm against yourself in a way that makes your walls clench. He shifts a touch the left; you suck in a breath, eyes fluttering shut. You feel him smirk. There. 

What began as gentle exploration becomes a merciless charge forwards. Rhythmically, he pumps in and out, in and out, striking his target without mercy.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he says hotly into your ear. “Give it to me. Almost there.”

Nails brand red crescent moons into his shoulders. Every part of you burns. If you lose your grip, you think you'll be engulfed by the flames, turn to ash in his arms. You want it more than anything. “Doffy!”

“Almost,” he pants. “So close, just a little more–!”

With a final thrust, you are undone. Pleasure burns you away to nothing. A mewling noise falls from your lips as you scrabble desperately at his back. Cruel fingers wring you for all you can give, continuing their administrations until you’re teetering on the edge of madness, crying your husband’s name with every movement.

There are tears pricking your eyes when Doffy unzips his pants. You whimper, but not in fear. Pearly rivulets of pre-cum trickle down the head of his blushing cock; he’s big, thick too, and throbbing with desire. 

He swipes some onto his thumb. He need not even ask; your mouth is already open and waiting when he presents it to you. “Good girl,” he praises as you lick him clean. It’s a bit salty, but with a sweet undertone. And all yours. 

He pulls out of your mouth and squishes your cheeks, fingers damp with your saliva, to cant your head back. It takes a moment to realize, your mind clouded under the thick haze of passion, but you let out a breathy laugh when it clicks; he’s admiring the teardrops swimming in your eyes. 

“What a sight you are,” he sighs, reverent. “An angel, caught right in my arms.”

All you can manage is a soft moan in response. You feel as if you are both floating and sinking, caught between the height of ecstasy and the depths of hedonism. You think you might be drooling in more ways than one. Le petit mort, some call it. ‘The little death’. If this is what it feels like to die, you would cross into eternity with a smile. 

Doffy positions himself at your entrance, giving his shaft an idle stroke. 

“Do you think you can handle all of me, my angel?” he asks. “Use your words.”

You ball his shirt in your fists, grounding yourself. “Yes,” you manage, nodding. “I can take it, I want it.”

His lips meet yours in a searing kiss. It is want and ache and a bloody heart. “Good girl.”

Slowly, gently, he begins to ease into you. Big hands hold you steady as you take deep breaths. Deeper, deeper, deeper. You welcome all of him into you, feel your walls flutter around each inch as it sinks in. He hisses, twitching, but keeps hold of his last threads of composure. Finally, he stops. 

A tear falls through your lashes. You’re stretched, full, and it feels divine. You squeeze your eyes shut and take in one last deep breath. 

Doffy kisses the wetness from your cheek. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

As always, he starts slow. A careful drag of his hips that has you digging your nails into him again. Then back in. His jaw is ticking in anticipation, wanting more, more, but he keeps the beast muzzled a few moments longer. When you start to bounce on your own, juices running down your legs, he knows you're ready. 

He grips the plush of your hips tight as he grunts, thrusting forcefully into you. All illusions of restraint are shattered; the beast is free, and it is hungry. He pistons into you with such beautiful brutality that you weep, shuddering as another orgasm rips through you like lightning.

You slump onto his shoulder, eyes rolling back as he continues to fuck you. Your body is limp, pliant and soft like fresh clay, his hold the only thing preserving your shape.

“Such a good girl,” he pants, “taking me so well. You want it, huh? Want me to, ngh, fill you up real good?”

Tears are streaming down your face. “Please,” you slur, squeezing around him. 

He curses. Impossibly, he starts to move faster. That familiar tightness builds in your core and you sob as you cum for a third time, pleasure and pain swirling around your skull in an all encompassing mix.

“Doffy,” you gasp, “Doffy, I love you–!”

A burst of warmth floods inside you. “Ngh–fuck!” he curses, stilling as his own climax overtakes him. He rests his chin atop your head, breathing heavily. “Cariño,” he groans. “Mi cariño. Te quiero, ángel. Te quiero demasiado. Tienes todo mi corazón.”

You hug him tight, drink in the tenderness of his words, the comfort of his scent. You hold all that he is in your arms and it is perfect. “I know, Doffy.” You kiss the teeth marks you left on his throat. “You have mine too. I’m all yours.”

You both stay like that for a little while, each recovering from your respective highs, holding one the other for as long as they need. 

When your mixed juices begin to overflow and dribble out of you Doffy shifts, slowly pulling out of you. You come apart with a squelch so lewd that you can’t help but flush. It’s then that you remember that you are exposed in every sense of the word; the beach is thankfully empty thanks to the Birdcage, but still. The open air has you feeling self-conscious, and you hastily pull your underwear back into place. 

Already, his sunglasses are back in place. “No one saw,” he assures, picking up on your nerves. “I would have killed any voyeur that dared to try.”

“I know,” you say, giving your surroundings a hasty look. “Just need to make sure, I guess. I think I might actually die if anyone but you saw me like that!”

“Well, we can’t have that,” he chides. “We have a wedding to attend, remember?”

The petaled thing in your chest blooms once more. “However could I forget?” you swoon, cozying up to his chest. Tucked safely beneath your ear, his heart carries on its familiar music. "When were we thinking? Tomorrow morning?”

“Mm, we wed in the morning last time. I had an evening ceremony in mind.”

You perk up. It paints a pretty picture, making your vows on the bony white sand, starlight dappling the ocean waves. “Could we have it right here, by the shore?” “I don’t see why not,” he shrugs. Then the mischief returns to his voice. “it’s fitting, seeing that we’ve already consummated the marriage here. Perhaps we should commit fully and wear the same clothes?”

You flush, mortified at the thought. “God, no!”

He nudges you teasingly. “Oh come on. It’s not like anyone would know.”

“I would. I would know. And even worse, you would know! And I know you, Doffy, I know exactly how you would act.”

“And how would I act?”

“Like yourself. So, you know. A bastard.”

He grins. “Would you have me any other way?”

You smile, soft. “No, never.”

“Good,” he chuckles, giving your thigh an affectionate pat. Then, after a pause, “I think I’ll wear my black suit. The one with the white overcoat.” 

You trace the rim of his bracelet. “This too?”

“You really do like that piece, don’t you?”

“It draws attention to your hands,” you say dreamily. “And you know how much I love your hands.”

“That I do,” he smirks. As if to prove this point, he holds the one not stroking your thigh up to you. You take it between both of yours and pepper little kisses along his fingertips and knuckles. 

“If this is the kind of treatment it’ll earn me, I’ll wear this everyday,” he chuckles.

“You should,” you hum, pressing your lips to his wrist. “If you do, I will give you ten million kisses every day for ever and ever.”

“When you put it that way, I’d be a fool not to.”

You laugh deviously, rubbing your cheek against his palm like a cat. “All according to plan. Now you have to wear it to the wedding and for the rest of your life!”

“How evil you are,” he snickers. “It appears I’ve finally started to rub off on you.”

“It was inevitable,” you nod solemnly. “All I need is a pink-feathered coat and a Warlord title.”

“Speaking of; I think you should wear your pink dress for the ceremony. Pearls, too.”

“Off the shoulder or lace sleeves?”

“Lace.” He toys with your dress skirt. “I’d appreciate some lace underneath the dress as well.”

“That can be arranged…” You shift to look up at him. “Serious question; do you think we could get Señor Bigotes to officiate?”

Doffy raises an eyebrow. “Darling. I would pull the moon and all its stars from the sky if you asked me to. I think I can manage to wrangle one cat.”

His earnesty makes your breath stutter. You know if you look at him any longer you’ll get too mushy and start crying again, so you snuggle back up to the crook of his neck. Doffy knows when you’ve had enough so lets you retreat. The crashing of the waves is more than enough to fill the silence. The seagulls chime in occasionally, which makes you chuckle.

“We’re getting married,” you sing, after you’ve settled.

He kisses your head. “We are,” he says, in that honey-suckle sweet voice just for you. “We should also get you cleaned up.”

You groan. “But I’m comfortable.”

“And you will continue to be comfortable,” he assures, hooking his arm under your knees. “I’ll carry you.”

You circle your arms around his neck as the world lurches upward. It used to make you nervous, being so far from the ground, but your husband is as strong as he is tall–if not even moreso. He won’t drop you.

“What are we thinking of for the cake?” he asks as he starts toward the ship. “Last time we did a marble so that one is out.”

“Hmm, red velvet?”

“We had that on our fourth.”

“Chocolate?”

“Did that on our first.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, thoughtful. “Vanilla?”

He hums. “Vanilla…simple, but elegant. Vanilla it is.”

You kiss his chest. “We’re getting married,” kiss, “on the beach,” kiss, “with a cat–an office holding cat!–to officiate,” kiss, “and a vanilla wedding cake.”

“Sounds heavenly.”

The beat of his heart thrums steadily by your ear. “Yes. It sounds perfect.”

additional AN: title is from the poem 'devotion' by ocean vuong--you can read it here on poetry foundation !

TL for the spanish portion: "Darling. My darling. I love you, angel. I love you so much. You have all of my heart."

Hey hey! Congrats on your milestone!! 🎉 So I hope I got it right for the event but I would like to request for the second movie Sakazuki and number 10 please? 🙈

Niggy! I'm sorry this took so long. Hope you're enjoying this little writing and doing well <3. 

— N.SFW WARNING !

𖡼 c.w | fingering, dirty talking, and a bit of ooc. no proofreading either, sorry guys.  𖡼 word account | 0.9K

the first thing Sakazuki felt when he woke up was the cold place you had left behind in your bed. his arm was resting on the sheet, and the Chief Admiral would have preferred it to rest on you. he frowned, concerned about where you were. but his face relaxed as the smell of breakfast titillated his nostrils and he remembered that it was your day in the kitchen. 

he got up, threw on a pair of pants and headed for the kitchen. the smell was stronger and more pleasant as he entered the room and he didn't hesitate to follow your curves with his gaze, in silence.  in spite of his usual bad mood, his perpetual tension, sakazuki could not help but appreciate the sweetness of this daily life and the tenderness you showed him, the one that allowed him not to sink a little more every day. 

he ended up approaching you and embracing you from behind while leaving a burning kiss on your neck. you were wearing one of his shirts, much too big for you of course, and he liked to feel you surrounded by something of his. you turned around, and smiled at him. a smile that only you had the secret to, one that could bring him to his knees if you wanted it to. and of course, he preferred not to make that fact obvious. 

he soon kissed you, and he could taste the sweetness of a fruit that your lips had soaked up. A kiss that was supposed to be a good morning kiss turned into a much hotter, much more intense kiss than you expected. the Chief Admiral grunted, and your head began to spin. each kiss you shared lit embers in your belly and you felt every part of your body ignite at his touch. 

his hand went under your thighs and lifted you onto the kitchen table. you felt the tip of a fork bite into your flesh. you winced slightly and your man removed what was on the table with a flick of his hand. "no, wait! you don't have to destroy what i-" he smothered your rebuke with an even more intense kiss, running his hands down the back of his now embarrassing shirt. 

his fingers soon found your bare breasts and a sneer formed on his lips. he wrapped his large hands around your breasts and caressed them tenderly, not hesitating to tickle your nipples. your moans were a pure blessing to his ears and he broke away from your lips only to find the softness of your neck. he kissed your skin, whispering raw words against your flesh, making your epidermis quiver. soon his hands left your breasts, and almost painfully slowly moved down your belly before finding the elastic of your panties. he passed a hand slowly over them, already noticing how wet you were for him. "you're ready for me by now, my love? have you no restraint?" he teased.  

you blushed furiously as you tried to close your thighs on his hand to limit the friction that sakazuki was already beginning to exert on your clothed pussy. you felt your entrance tighten, already impatient to feel him inside you. your companion then passed a hand under your lingerie and groaned as he heard your satisfied moan when one of his fingers came in contact with your clitoris. he gently titillated it, rolling it under his fingers, slowly tracing imaginary circles that made your legs tremble. 

sakazuki finally went down to your entrance and slipped a finger directly into your cunt, letting go of your moans and coming back to your mouth to kiss you. he began to move back and forth slowly, to give you a minimum of time to adjust. then, his movements became more urgent, deeper, and akainu added another finger. soon, your body was trembling under the onslaught of his fingering, causing the table to sway in harmony with sakazuki's movements. he bent his fingers, trying to reach that little spot he knew would be crucial to your orgasm while his thumb returned to your clitoris. 

soon, he found your g-spot, and he could feel under his lips, under his hand how your body was preparing for a tsunami of sensations. your body began to contract around him, and your lower abdomen felt like it was burning. you could feel how the pleasure invaded every part of your body, how it came in waves, making you clutch at the marine as if trying not to sink under the torrents of sensation that threatened to engulf you. dirty noises were rising in the kitchen, enhanced by your moans and sometimes the kisses you were exchanging that came to choke them. your vision blurred then, and you reached the paroxysm of your pleasure.

your body contracted even more violently, your hands clamped down on sakazuki's broad back and he didn't stop his movements, helping your orgasm to prolong. finally, he stopped when you ended up relaxing, and he gently caressed the length of your entrance. you had wet the table and your breakfast was a bit of a washout. but he had still served you a pleasant wake-up call.

TAGLIST: @angeltani + @gwedosuns + @my-one-piece-exeperience + @lolli-ace 

~ Sweet Lavender Sunshine ~

This is for @scarlettriot and @silverhairsimp ‘s roommate collab! Make sure to check out the other collab pieces, as they’re all so good so far!

Beta’d by the incredible @kingdumkum

Rating: EXPLICIT - MINORS DNI

Pairing: Shinsou x fem!reader x Kaminari

Word Count: 10.6k

Content + Warnings: reader is a pro hero with an unspecified quirk who gets hit with a stimulation quirk and has to rely on her faithful roommates to get her through it. Use of nicknames (baby, babygirl, princess, sunshine), fingering, oral (m and f receiving), face fucking, light spanking, slight dacryphilia, very light degradation, squirting, threesome, unprotected sex, double penetration, creampie(s)

a/n: Yes, I KNOW i did the whole "overused sex-quirk trope" thing, but I promise this one’s not that cliché, hear me out!!

All characters are assumed to be 18+

Waking up to the smell of bacon and coffee will never get old.

It’s Sunday, which means it’s the beginning of Kaminari’s weekend and the end of your’s and Shinsou’s. House rules dictate that whoever has the day off gets to make breakfast for the other two, you and Shinsou trading responsibilities since your schedules usually line up.

This morning happens to be Denki’s turn, and bacon & scrambled eggs were always his go-to. A smile spreads across your face the instant you recognize the familiar scent and hear the light clanking of dishes accompanied by hushed voices in the kitchen.

The three of you started living together and working for the same agency right after graduation. At first, it just made sense: save money on rent and save the planet by carpooling to work. Plus, being best friends didn’t hurt either. The convenience of it all made the harrowing realization that you were no longer in school, but rather, entering a world full of villains, much less daunting.

But after a while, when you were all recognized as fairly capable pro’s, each making enough money to easily buy your own place, you chose to remain roommates. Convenience no longer a crutch, but rather, a choice. There was still something comforting about coming home to them that made the thought of moving out almost unbearable.

Luckily for you, they felt the same way.

Although you’ve been mistaken as romantic partners many times before, by just about every colleague and friend, the three of you have never crossed that line. The fear of ruining what you already had, which was so incredibly special, kept any…unwanted impulses at bay. Even if they weren’t necessarily unwelcome.

You’re only human, after all, and as a human, it’s perfectly normal to steal a wayward glance when your pro-hero best friends peel away their costumes after a long shift, unconsciously flexing their hard-earned muscles and proving the fruits of their intense labor were not for naught.

So what if they were your roommates? It’s only natural.

Just like it’s only natural how, after a particularly nasty breakup, Shinsou would have you curled into his chest while Denki rubs your calves. With ice cream melting on the table and sappy romances in the background as their low voices told you: he didn’t deserve you, and Want me to beat him up? and Don’t cry, princess, it’ll be okay. There’s someone better waiting for you, you just need to be patient…

It’s only natural when your mind starts to wonder if this might be what you’ve been waiting for. How they might be the ones who are waiting for you; for your commitment, your love, for you to cross that line–

But in the morning, even as you wake up in Shinsou’s arms with Denki passed out between your legs, you chalk it all up to fantasy. A delicious, beautiful, romantic fantasy that can’t exist, because why in the world would you risk your friendship on the odds that one–let alone both–could ever look at you as more than just that; a friend?

Pushing those feelings aside like always, you get ready for your patrol shift and bound into the kitchen with that bright smile on your face they so hopelessly love.

“G’morning, Sunshine!” Kaminari calls over his shoulder at you, half-hazardly wielding a hot frying pan and almost dripping burning oil on himself when he whirls around to greet you.

Shinsou’s at the kitchen counter, sipping on his third cup of coffee and shaking his head in mild amusement, “Careful, would’ya?” He looks your way with a small smile and an even smaller nod, “Morning, Y/N.”

“Mornin’ boys!” you walk past Kaminari, who leans towards you, neck craned for his usual morning kiss on the cheek, which he looks forward to every day. You eye the hot pan in his hand first and raise your brow. He sheepishly sets it down before turning back to you, his cheek even closer than before.

“Mwah!” you kiss him quickly, with a loud smack and a little chuckle as you head to the fridge, pulling out your coffee creamer and moving to sit with Shinsou. He leans over as well, passively sliding his elbow along the counter top until he’s in-range for his own kiss.

“Yes yes, you too ‘Toshi.” You kiss him just as enthusiastically, continuing on with your usual routine and noticing the sweet way he smiles into his coffee mug.

“Denks, did your team learn anything else about that pervy villain this week?” You pull the clean mug Denki had set out for you towards yourself, making your own cup of coffee and adding entirely too much cream and sugar to make it tolerable, “I bet my two weeks vacation they’re gonna give the case to Shin and I when we show up this morning.”

Shinsou scoffs a laugh beside you, tired eyes rolling in annoyance, “Yeah, really. ‘S all anyone’ll talk about on the news. It’s give’n us a bad rep that we haven't caught the guy yet.”

Kaminari shrugs and passes each of you a paper plate of food. You used to give him flack about using paper plates: what happened to saving the planet, huh Denks? But he’d always quip back with, It’s my day off! I’m not doing dishes on my day off. So either you eat off the counter, or accept my paper plate!

“Not much, honestly. Guy’s fuck’n slick. No pun intended…” You and Shinsou both roll your eyes with a pained groan, “That’s your worst one this week, man. Hands down.” You laugh in agreement, the whole thing all the more amusing from the mock offense on the blonde’s face.

“Fine, then. No more jokes for the Negative Nellie’s!” He takes his own plate and sits on the third stool with a huff, pretending to be straightforward and serious. “He got two more people last week. Female, of course. Both of ‘em with the same symptoms as the rest: ‘insatiable sexual arousal characterized by increased body temperature, heightened sensitivity to touch, and an increased sex drive. All of which gradually worsens until the victim no longer has the capacity to sensationalize. Effects do seem to be long-lasting, and may be permanent if early intervention is not achieved.’” He quotes directly from The Commission’s official statement on the matter, brandishing his [plastic] fork in the air as he does so.

You sigh, both in sympathy for the victims, and in exasperation at the thought of picking up where Kaminari’s team left off. Everyone knows that early intervention means having an orgasm, but it was discovered by accident and has only been tried once, when the victim happened to be on her way to meet her husband. However, while it did seem to help, she still has lasting stimulation deficits from the event since the symptoms didn’t fully subside after one session.

You slump forward, arms crossed on top of the counter, and bury your face in them. “Ugh, I don't wannaaa” you moan and complain, turning your face to look up at Shinsou who looks like he’s feeling the same way you are. He’s just much better at keeping it inside. He rubs your back, “I know, me either. But hey, at least we’re on the same route today, yeah?” He gives you a small smile, somewhere between consoling and encouraging, and you smile back. “Yeah I know. It’ll still be a good day.”

You and Shinsou were often given patrol shifts together: your quirks complementary to one another’s and your chemistry undeniable. He’s been your rock since your second year of highschool, given you were both late add-ons to the hero track. He tried to put up a tough facade, always saying he wasn’t there to make friends, but it took very little convincing for you to win him over.

And once you did, you were inseparable. Combat training after dark in front of the dorms, early morning runs, weekend study sessions - no matter where he was, there you were too.

Kaminari came along soon after, easily working his way into the mix with his natural charm and charisma, making it difficult not to befriend him. The two of you were fast friends, but honestly, the real reason he ended up wriggling his way into your lives was thanks to how quickly Shinsou took a liking to him.

It just makes sense that even after all this time, you three would wind up together. You’re so similar, so complementary, that being with them is as natural as breathing. No team works better than you and Shinsou—besides, maybe, you, Shinsou, and Denki combined—and it only adds to why you stuff your feelings away. You have a good thing going: a history that can only be forged through shared hardships, and a love that will last the ages. It doesn’t matter that your brain is now running through a hundred “what if?” scenarios as you and Shinsou prepare for work. Particularly, what’ll happen if you end up confronting the pervy villain? What if you got hit by his quirk? Who would you call for help? Would Shinsou, maybe…?

But as quickly as your thoughts wander that way, you push them back. You can’t afford distractions today, no matter how pleasant they may be.

The commute to your agency always goes by fast when Shinsou drives. His music is relaxing and doesn’t make you think too much, just puts you in a good headspace for work. He’s usually quiet, but by now you know it’s because he’s comfortable with you. It’s not often he’s able to share the same space as someone and not feel pressured to make conversation.

His favorite part of the drive is always letting you sing to the radio while he just hums along. He steals glances your way every so often, smiling to himself at how happy you look. He’s always thought you were beautiful, but knowing he’s the only one who gets to share in these moments with you makes you nothing less than radiant.

He has a tendency to park at the far end of your agency’s parking garage, wanting to drag out those precious last seconds before he has to turn the car off, thus ending your little karaoke session.

“Ready, partner?” You give him an expectant smile as you unbuckle and swing your legs out of his car, feeling much more prepared for the day ahead now that you’re caffeinated and energized from the drive.

“Ready.” He flashes you a quick smile, the two of you walking side by side into the building and heading straight for the locker rooms to change.

“Meet you upstairs?” You ask over your shoulder as you push the door open to the women’s locker room, pausing to see him nod before he disappears through his own door.

As soon as you make an appearance on the main floor, you spot Shinsou: standing in the center with the head of your agency and speaking with the Commissioner. You make your way to them, the look on Shinsou’s face giving you a damn good clue as to what the conversation’s about.

“—which means we’re relying on the two of you to pick up where they left off. This guy’s bad news and I want him off the streets - like yesterday.”

“Yes sir.” Your partner replies without missing a beat, giving off the same air of indifference he always wears in public. “We’ll handle it.”

They nod their approval of his acceptance, sparing you an extra glance as they leave it to Shinsou to explain what you missed.

“So,” you nudge him with your elbow before crossing your arms over your chest, “sounds like I’m keeping my two weeks vacation then, huh?”

He rolls his eyes with a smirk, “You nailed it. They were wait’n for one of us to show up by the time my foot hit the top step. ‘S exactly what you thought: we’re taking over. Apparently there’s been an anonymous tip about a potential location, so we’ve been told to go check it out.”

You sigh, “alrighty then. Might as well get going.”

If you had known what would happen after the two of you left the agency, you would’ve taken your two weeks right then and not felt the slightest bit guilty. Yeah, you and Shinsou make a great team—but even the best of teams can have an off day. Especially when they underestimate who they’re dealing with.

It had all been going so well; the tip was hot - the two of you tracking the villain down with relatively little resistance - and your fighting was immaculate. You and Shinsou were just as in-sync and fluid as always.

But then, in an instant, the villain turned the tables and had you cornered against the back wall of an alley, hands outstretched in your direction. You have a blinding moment of clarity before everything slows to a crawl, when you realize your intel was wrong:

His quirk isn’t activated by touch.

You’re not exactly sure what happens next. Wisps of shimmery mist shoot towards you from his fingertips before you can react. For you, everything’s moving in painfully slow motion. And just as you’re processing the fact that you’re directly in the line of fire, without hope of escape, Shinsou turns the corner to where you are and apprehends the villain with his capture scarf. He has him bound in seconds, and turns to you with a satisfied smirk, a congratulatory, “we really are a great team—“ falling dead when he realizes what’s happening.

The two of you make eye contact, Shinsou’s eyes going wide as he watches the shimmery mist settle over your stomach and sink into your core. “Y/N…” he mutters in quiet disbelief, worry deep-set in his face.

“I know, Shin.” You try to say matter-of-factly, but your voice breaks and you gulp, panic starting to set in as you feel a tiny ball of warmth forming in your tummy. “Let’s just get this asshole to the police and let them take over.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you stop him, pressing your palm to the center of his chest and making him step aside, “Don’t mention this to anyone, please. We’ll handle it when we’re done here.” You seem eerily serious, although he can already see the heat spreading across your cheeks and it makes him grab your wrist, “As soon as we’re done, I’m taking you home.”

You meet his intense gaze and realize that arguing would be futile, so you nod, your wrist slipping from his grasp and moving to start assessing the damage in the street as if nothing had happened.

But something did happen. You got hit, and you both know exactly what that means. Your mind is reeling, that ball in your core starting to nag, but right now your duty comes first.

Almost an hour has passed by the time the two of you have finished interviewing witnesses, checking for civilian injuries, assessing public property damage, and providing statements to the police.

Shinsou watches from afar as you stand before the chief of police: legs crossed and arms wrapped around your stomach, swaying a bit on the spot as you try to slow your breathing and focus on what he’s saying to you rather than that burning ball that’s only growing larger by the minute.

But your partner knows you’re just pretending to understand, mindlessly nodding at every other word while your face and neck continue to flush. He has to step in and find some way to whisk you away and take care of the issue at hand.

He crosses the road, still blocked off on either end, and comes to stand beside you. His hand rests on the small of your back, meaning to be a gesture of comfort but it only makes the burning sensation in your core intensify. Your head snaps up to him, tears welling in your eyes, and he drops his hand quickly. His own face starts to blush as he realizes what he just did, remembering Kaminari’s monologue at breakfast: heightened sensitivity to touch.

He wraps up your conversation for you, the chief of police bidding the two of you sincere thanks as he waves you off. Shinsou takes the lead down the road, neither one of you saying a word to each other as you briskly walk away from the scene of the incident.

As soon as the two of you make it around the corner and out of civilian eye-line, he scoops you up in his arms and races in the direction of headquarters, needing to get you home as soon as possible, no longer caring about your aversion to touch. “Just hang in there, Y/N. We’ll take care of you.”

You instantly know he’s referring to Kaminari, who’s probably vegging out on the couch watching bad sitcoms, completely unaware of what’s about to happen.

“T-Toshi..” you whimper, every step he takes jostling your body and making your latex suit rub painfully against your sensitive clit, “‘s too much.. it hurts!” Tears well in your eyes as you speak, spilling over and down your bright red cheeks, the embarrassment of the whole situation almost too much for you to bear.

“I know princess, ‘s alright. I got ya.” He cradles you closer to him, your face pressing into his chest and hiding away from anyone who could possibly be watching.

It feels like an eternity before he finally reaches his car, cursing himself for parking in the very back like always. He swings open the passenger door, narrowly avoiding dinging the car next to his, and sets you in the seat. He buckles you in and reclines the chair, allowing you to curl into yourself.

As soon as he slides behind the wheel he’s peeling out of the garage and barreling down the road back to your shared home. You’ve never seen him drive so fast. You appreciate the effort, but every time he has to hit his breaks it only makes things worse.

“Toshi—!” You cry out when he suddenly halts for a red light, gripping at your core with labored breaths as that heat starts to spread. “I-I can’t do this!” You gasp out, immediately unzipping your bodysuit and peeling it off your body.

His cool leather seats coupled with the lack of friction against your clit lets you take a deep breath, gaining a moment of relief. But Shinsou can’t tear his eyes away, gawking at the way you're laying in his passenger seat, completely bare and vulnerable.

“Y/N—“ he strains, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until he has to shake his hands out. You look over at him and notice the shock on his face, reality setting in at what you just did and how indecent you’re being in front of your partner and roommate.

“O-oh my god!” You reach for your suit again, wanting to cover back up, but Shinsou’s quick to throw it back on the floor of his car. “No. Stay like that. We need to start treating this anyways…” His eyes darken as he continues to stare at your body, cock twitching in his suit at the way your chest heaves. He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he misses the green light, the cars behind him honking in impatience.

“Shit–” he growls and guns it again, somewhat returning his focus to the road.

One hand leaves the steering wheel to grip your thigh, spreading your legs open with his firm hold, “Will you let me help you, princess?”

You’re too dumbfounded by this whole situation you’ve found yourself in, silently nodding to yourself and forgetting he can’t see you. He squeezes your thigh, prompting you again, “I need to hear ya say it, Y/N. I promise I’ll take care of you..”

You snap out of it, squeaking a small, “y-yes, ‘Toshi, please help…”

He simply nods, eyes glancing your way every few seconds to watch as his fingers near your desperate cunt. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable with anything..” he mutters as his hand cups your heat, fighting off a groan deep within his chest.

He can’t recall how many times he’s dreamt of this moment. Of having you like this, so hot and bothered for him. Nevermind the cause of your current state of arousal - he wants you.

His two middle fingers start to drag through your folds, feeling just how wet you are and collecting slick immediately. “Fuck, Y/N… have you been like this the whole time??” Part of him feels bad that you’ve had to endure for the last hour, and he wishes it was a bigger part of him, because the rest of him, particularly his cock straining against his suit, can’t believe his luck at getting to see you like this.

He only wishes the situation wasn’t so dire.

You can only moan and whimper in response, his touch giving you equal parts relief and pain at how sensitive you already are. He can tell you’re close just from this minor foreplay, and while he wishes he could drag it on forever, he realizes he’s gotta make you cum in order to actually be helpful.

“‘S okay babygirl, just try to relax. I’ll make you feel good,” he slips both fingers inside, voice dropping to a low and breathy groan as he realizes how tight you are and starts to pump in and out of your cunt, “I’ll make you feel better.”

The penetration rips a wanton moan from you, back arching off his leather seat as you rock your hips against his hand, already feeling that cord in your belly close to snapping. “T-Toshi, ‘m close, p-please don’t stop!” You whine, desperate to finally feel some true relief, not even caring about who it’s coming from.

Shinsou can see the house at the end of the street, already pressing the garage door opener so he can pull right in. He barely watches the road, rubbing the palm of his hand against your clit as he fucks you with his fingers, trying to take in the moment as best he can.

As soon as he’s pulled in he throws the car in park and yanks the keys from the ignition, turning in his seat to better face you. “Cum f’me princess, come on, you gotta do it!” He uses his now free hand to rub at your clit, sending you over the edge almost instantly.

He would’ve known you were cumming by the vice grip your pussy held on his fingers, but the pornographic moan and squirt of shimmery fluid onto his seat was a nice touch.

His eyes widen at the color and consistency of your orgasm, realizing it’s similar to that villain’s quirk. It’s as if a lightbulb illuminates in his head, now understanding that to prevent the worst possible outcome you’ll have to excrete all of that fluid until it’s gone.

He fingers you through your climax, hoping to prolong it and work more of the quirk out of you. His eyes roam the rest of your body, wanting to truly pleasure all of you, but eventually they meet your gaze and notice how scared you look right now.

“Y/N..?” His fingers slow and come to a halt, slowly pulling out and making more tears streak down your face, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Shin..” your voice is shaky and not at all as relieved as he hoped it would be, “it-it isn't working! I s-still feel it inside me!”

You weren’t lying. While you felt some of that heat flow out of you when you came, there was definitely still a tight ball of arousal burning inside you.

“Fuck— okay, um..” he thinks for a quick second, “maybe once isn’t enough.” He flies to your side of the car, scooping your naked body up and holding you against his chest once more as he carries you into the house.

“Denks!” He’s calling out for your other roommate the second the door flies open, desperation lining his tone in a way neither you nor the blonde have ever heard before.

Kaminari was on the couch when he heard the door to the garage slam open, making him jump and drop his bowl of popcorn on the ground. “What the—!?“

But as soon as he hears the panic in Shinsou’s voice, he hops off the couch and runs to the pair of you. “What happened!? What—“ his eyes land on your naked body in Shinsou’s arms, his brain short circuiting for a moment as he tries to process this very confusing yet envious situation.

“She got hit.” Shinsou quickly tries to explain, pressing his way past Kaminari and down the hallway to your bedroom, “We got the fucker, but not before he got her.”

Kaminari’s mouth has run dry and he stands rooted to the spot, a flurry of emotions washing over him as he realizes what all of this is about.

“Denks!” Shinsou yells over his shoulder, “get in here! We have to help her.”

The blonde is yanked from his own thoughts, springing to action and quickly joining you and Shinsou in your room.

You’re now laid on your bed, all your extremities curled into you in embarrassment. Tears stream down your face at the overwhelming conflict of emotions wracking your body right now.

It hurts. Your core is burning, you’re sensitive from when Shinsou made you cum, yet you just want more despite the pain.

But you’re also mortified. Laying vulnerable and bare before your two best friends, this moment not at all going the way you had dreamt it would for so many years.

So all you can do is cry, unable to find the words to express all the things you’re feeling.

But your roommates can’t stand to see you like this, Shinsou climbing into bed and slotting himself behind you, while Kaminari kneels next to you at the edge of the mattress, both men looking at you with all the love and care in the world.

The blonde takes your hand while Shinsou shimmies you up his lap until your back is against his chest.

“Hey Sunshine…” Kaminari brings your hand, cold and clammy, up to his lips and tenderly kisses over each of your knuckles, watching with a broken heart as your lip trembles in fear. “Hitoshi caught me up on what’s goin’ on.” He continues to kiss your hand, each press of his warm lips helping you calm down just a little bit, “Will you let us take care of you? Help you feel better?” His words are so kind and genuine, echoing what Shinsou said in the car, and wanting your express permission even though he’s already incredibly hard and trying not to rut his hips against the edge of the bed.

“D-Denks..” you squeak, nodding the back of your head against Shinsou’s chest, “p-please help me.”

He takes a deep breath, nodding probably too enthusiastically as he climbs into bed with the two of you. He sits himself in front of you, hands on your knees, which are still curled into your chest. “You can trust us, Y/N. Let me help…” he slowly pulls your knees apart, splaying your legs open and revealing your pretty cunt to him.

“Fuck–“ he breathes, licking his lips hungrily, and Shinsou’s quick to jump in, “I know dude, but focus.” Kaminari nods, “right..” and gets onto his stomach between your legs.

He kisses your inner thighs first, getting you used to the feeling of him that close to your heat, since this is a first for all of you.

You whimper at his touch, every kiss making your core tighten even more, “Denki please–“ you whine, head falling side to side against Shinsou’s chest, “n-need to cum again.. please!”

“Alright, alright!” Under any other circumstance he’d tease you for being so desperate, make you wait as long as possible before he gave you any sort of relief. But now’s not the time for that..

He takes a steadying breath as he lets his fingers finally touch your warmth, wishing he could savor it more than he’s able to at the moment. His thumbs pull apart your folds, remnants of your shimmery orgasm dripping from your cute little hole as it flutters for attention.

Shinsou already explained how the quirk seems to be leaving your body through your fluids, but the sight is still strange. Despite how badly he wants to taste you, he tries to avoid ingesting your slick just in case it could affect him as well. Instead, his mouth finds your clit and his tongue immediately starts to roll around the sensitive bud, sending much needed waves of pleasure straight to your core.

Your back arches against Shinsou’s chest, arms flying above you to grasp at his hair and neck - anything you can reach to steady yourself. The stimulation makes him grab your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he refrains from doing too much too fast.

He leans down to kiss at your neck, “This okay, princess?” You weakly nod your head with a whimper, not able to say much else when Kaminari’s flooding you with so much pleasure.

Every press of Shinsou’s lips against your skin leaves a lingering tingling sensation, like little bits of the burning in your core are being left just below each area of contact. It makes your breathing shallow, lips parted just enough to allow breathy moans and needy whimpers to slip past. Your fingers curl in his hair, dragging his head even closer to the curve of your neck, not wanting him to stop anytime soon.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He asks so sweetly, lips curled into a smirk against your neck at the effect he’s clearly having on you, “You like it when I kiss you like this?”

Your moans get a little louder at his questions, hips rocking against Denki’s face below you, chasing after your second impending orgasm. “Y-yes, ‘Toshi, s-so good!” Your other hand reaches down to tangle in Denki’s hair as well, tugging on the roots to pull his face even harder against your cunt, wanting to feel every flick of his tongue across your clit. “K-Kami, p-please make me cum! ‘M so fucking close--”

Hearing you beg has the blonde practically creaming his pants right there. He moans against your clit, only sending you spiraling even more as the vibrations rock through your core.

Shinsou can feel your stomach tightening, each contraction beneath his fingers making him grip onto you even more. “Let go, princess. Let Denki see you cum, just like I did.” His kisses trail up your neck to your jaw, and before you know it his fingers are turning your face until his lips hover just above yours.

“Cum.”

He isn’t using his quirk on you—he would never do that without your permission. But just the same, you obey. The command instantly sending you over the edge as you feel yourself let go, just like he instructed you to.

His lips crash onto yours the moment he feels your body start to peel away from his, the force of your orgasm making your legs shake and muscles contract. Your eyes shoot open at the unexpected kiss, but within moments you’re closing them again and melting into it. Your lips fit so perfectly between his, moans of pleasure just barely slipping through the cracks and echoing around your room as Kaminari watches you fall apart.

He has the perfect view from between your legs. Fingers still spreading you wide as he watches your entrance contract with your climax, more of the shimmery liquid pouring out and dousing the comforter below you. “Goddamn you’re so perfect..” he mutters, desperately wishing he could be lapping up everything he makes pour out.

His thumb lightly presses to your clit, rubbing in messy circles as you start to come back down. Finally he looks up at you, watching as you and Shinsou continue to lock lips, catching brief glimpses of your tongues tangling together. He can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at not being the first of the pair to kiss you, but at the same time he's glad for Shinsou.

“How’re you feeling, sunshine?” He tries to ignore how the sight of you two is making his cock that much harder, “Any better?”

You break away from your lavender friend, lips feeling a little swollen and tingly, and turn your half-lidded gaze down to the blonde. “‘S better.. but I can st-still feel it inside me..” You look between the two of them with the widest doe eyes they’ve ever seen, and suddenly both of them are putty in your hands.

“How much came out this time?” Shinsou asks, trying to treat the situation matter-of-factly rather than letting his emotions run wild.

“A fair amount. Looked just like you said it would.” Kaminari lets you close your legs again for now, but keeps his hand securely on your thigh, rubbing back and forth to try and soothe you as they talk. “Think we should.. uh- keep going until it's like.. normal?” He clears his throat, embarrassed at saying it so crudely, not daring to look at you right now.

Shinsou chews his cheek and nods, pulling you higher up into his lap until you’re practically straddling him, but still facing Kaminari. He tucks stray hairs behind your ear, wiping the sweat that’s clinging to your brow as Denki climbs even higher, sitting on his knees in front of you.

“Wha’d’ya say, Y/N?” Denki leans in and kisses your forehead, thumb caressing your cheek bone, and you can practically feel the tenderness in his touch. “Can ya keep going? We gotta get it all outta ya baby.”

You look into his golden eyes and see the same emotions that swirl behind Shinsou’s, your heart swooning just the same too. You press forward to kiss the blonde, feeling some of your mental fog lift and realizing the significance of what the three of you are doing right now.

Kissing Shinsou (not to mention the orgasms each man has already given you), has already drastically changed the dynamic between the three of you, so when would there ever be a better time to finally show them how you feel?

He wasn’t expecting you to kiss him though, freezing momentarily with a sharp inhale through his nose. But once his own daze clears, he deepens the kiss immediately. Holding your face in his hands, letting out the cutest little moans against your lips as he pours out years of pining into the kiss.

When you pull back, he’s got a dopey smile on his face and he’s breathing almost as heavy as you are. “Damn, I’ve wanted to do that for a long time…“ The two of you smile at each other, Shinsou rolling his eyes, but with his own content smile on his face.

You shift in Shinsou’s lap, feeling his hardened erection pressing against the small of your back. He groans under his breath, trying unsuccessfully to stifle it with a cough. You pull your gaze away from Kaminari‘s and look over your shoulder at your partner, voice quiet and breathy, “‘Toshi, do you wanna fuck me?“ You bat your lashes at him, biting your lower lip and feigning innocence as you stare into his eyes, just as lavender as his hair.

Without hesitation, he groans out, “God yes. I do.“

Kaminari chimes in, feeling left out, “Hey! What about me?“ He grabs your hand and places it over the crotch of his pants, clearly straining from the obvious hard-on beneath your palm.

You yelp in surprise, facing forward again with a giggle and starting to rub your hand over his hardened bulge. “I want both of you… Wanna cum on both your cocks.“ Your cheeks flush bright red at the lewd statement as you try not to avert your eyes in embarrassment. The boys just look at each other, an unspoken agreement passing between them as they both suddenly attach their lips to opposite sides of your neck, two sets of hands now roaming your body.

You can’t tell who’s doing what, senses completely overloaded as they take turns groping your tits and rubbing at your clit. One of them tugs at your nipples, making you squeak and arch your back into the touch, while the other drags his fingers through your soaked folds and coats your clit in your own slick. “F-fuck, yes..!” You mewl, eyes closing as you tip your head back against Shinsou’s shoulder, forcing Kaminari to move his lips down to your chest.

Now that you’ve cum twice, you’re with it enough to actually enjoy being touched by them. While that burning ball is still settled in your stomach, it’s much smaller than before, and comparatively, almost feels nice given your current situation.

The blonde sucks along your collarbones, littering your perfect skin in bites as he makes sure to leave his mark on you. But soon he pulls away, the hands on your tits leaving with him as he slides off the bed to remove his sweats.

“Shin, you want top or bottom?” He calls nonchalantly, now lazily fisting himself and making sure to catch your reaction when your eyes drop to his length.

He’s pretty – there’s really no other way to describe it. His cock looks long and smooth, not too thick so that it’d hurt, with the pinkest tip you’ve ever seen. The way it swells as he fists himself makes you want to wrap your lips around it and listen to all the equally pretty noises he’d make for you.

“Let's let her choose.” Always the gentleman, Shinsou spins you around in his lap so you’re finally facing him. Without hesitation, your arms wrap around his neck as his find purchase on your hips, fingers lightly tapping on the bones as he asks you directly, “whose cock do’ya want first, princess?”

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth in contemplation, thankful they’re letting you rest this long before continuing. “Gotta see your cock first, ‘Toshi. How else can I pick?” You jest, your tongue swiping out to lick your lips in anticipation. You shuffle down his lap until you can see the clear outline of his bulge in his hero suit, a little stain on the front from how worked up he’s secretly been.

Your fingers lightly brush across his crotch, cock twitching at the first sign of contact, making him groan. “Fuck.. take it out then, baby.” He goads right back, trying to maintain what little façade he has left.

Your fingers work to undo his uniform, Shinsou helping you along the way as he removes all his support items and takes off his shirt, everything tossed unceremoniously to the floor.

When you finally get his pants down, he bucks you forwards before you can even get a good look, pulling the fabric the rest of the way off. He sighs in relief as soon as he’s just as bare as you are, letting you sit back and enjoy the view.

Your mouth gapes open just enough to bring a smirk to Shinsou’s lips. “Like it baby?” He asks a little smugly, “‘s all yours. If you want it.” You watch as he languidly fists himself a few times, making it twitch when he lets it plop back against his abs.

“Mhm!” You hum enthusiastically, reaching forward to wrap your own hand around his shaft without even thinking to ask first — you’re just too excited.

Shinsou’s thick in comparison to Kaminari. Multiple veins snaking up from the base and branching off by the time they reach the tip, which is almost as purple as his hair - flushed and leaking with desperation. He feels heavy in your grasp, and you’d be lying if you said your pussy wasn’t already creaming for him.

His hand comes up to cup your neck, strong fingers pulling you in so his lips are right above yours again. His breath is hot and smells of the peppermint he likes to suck while on patrol, hitting your senses and making you feel even warmer than you already are.

He groans from your touch, “your little hand feels so fucking good on my cock, babygirl.” And then his lips are on yours, kissing you as you stroke his length between the two of you, Kaminari jacking off to the sight just a few feet away.

The blonde climbs back onto the bed, laying next to Shinsou and grabbing your free hand to wrap it around his own cock, which he’s already slicked up with his precum. Your palm easily glides up and down his shaft, the smooth, warm surface making you mewl against Shinsou’s lips.

“You like his cock too, baby?” Shinsou purrs, bucking into your hand and making you jostle in his lap. “Why don’t you put that pretty mouth of yours on it, then?”

You nod against his face, nuzzling your nose against his, “Will you help me feel good, ‘Toshi? Fill me with your cock?” He nods with you in return, smiling as he kisses you one more time and coolly replies, “‘Course, Princess” as if he’s doing you a favor and hasn’t been fucking his fist to the idea for years.

You climb off his lap, taking your place between Kaminari’s legs as Shinsou repositions himself behind you. The blonde can’t stay away from you for that long though, reaching down to grab your face and pull you up until his lips are on yours again. “Don’t leave me out, ‘kay? I want you just as bad as he does.”

He sounds as if he’s joking, but after all these years you can tell when he’s faking it. You cup his face just as tenderly, bringing your lips back down to his and letting your eyes close in content as you kiss him like you really mean it. Because, well, you do.

“I could never forget you, Denks.” You coo down at him, making his cheeks blush, “I want you just as badly. Promise.” You kiss his jaw, starting to trail your lips down his neck and to his collar bones, leaving marks similar to the ones he left on you. As you continue to kiss down his torso, your hand reaches beneath you to stroke his cock again, listening to his sweet groans of pleasure as he tries to maintain composure.

Finally your face is level with his cock, just as blushing as his cheeks and plenty slick with his precum. You keep your eyes on him as you press your lips to the base of his shaft, his breath hitching as he starts to brush the hair out of your face. You kiss your way up to the tip, now smiling to yourself at how sensitive he already is.

His hips jerk ever so slightly when your tongue swipes at his slit, finally getting to taste him and salivating even more once you do. You can see his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, gripping the sheets as you continue to tease his length, and it makes you giggle. “Kami,” you say sweetly, “You can touch me.” You grab one of his hands, kissing the palm before bringing it to the top of your head, “Help me take all of you.”

You wrap your lips around his pretty pink tip, cheeks hollowed out as you start to suck, and your tongue swirling around his leaking head. You give him a little encouraging nod and finally feel him start to apply pressure to the back of your head.

He adjusts, running his fingers through your roots until he’s got a firm hold, helping guide you down his cock. He watches with lidded eyes as more and more of him sinks into your mouth, but when he feels himself hit the back of your throat he can’t help it anymore, throwing his head back and closing his eyes as he moans, just enjoying the feeling of you sucking him off.

Shinsou’s been behind you, fisting himself to the erotic sight in front of him and groping your ass as it waves in the air. Once you’re in your rhythm with Kaminari, he spreads your ass, landing a harsh slap on one cheek and then the next, making you moan around Denki’s cock and wiggle your ass for more.

His lips curl into a smirk at how much you enjoyed that, doing it a second time and starting to see imprints of his hand left on your ass in bright red outlines. “Fuck you look pretty with my hands on you…” He groans, unable to help himself when he does it just once more, leaving his hands there this time so he can steady your ass and rut his cock between your cheeks.

You can feel the sheer weight of him behind you, making your pussy flutter in anticipation as he rocks his hips back and forth, dragging his shaft along your taint.

“Ready, babygirl? Gonna cum on my cock?” He taunts, lining up with your entrance and dropping a glob of spit onto his shaft, rubbing it in with two fingers. He hears you hum in response, earning a “fucking hell—!” from the blonde as he covers his face with his other hand, trying his hardest not to slam into your throat.

Shinsou takes that as a yes, pressing forward until he feels his swollen tip pop past your tight hole. He tries to stop, to let you accommodate the initial stretch, but it’s as if your cunt won’t let him. Your slick walls beckon him deeper, sucking him in farther than he initially meant to go until he was completely bottomed out and enveloped in your tight heat.

“Goddamn, princess—“ he practically gasps, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he takes in how incredibly perfect you feel, “never knew you’d feel this good!”

He instantly fills you up, your eyes going wide at first and then fluttering closed as he bullies his way completely inside. You’ve never been filled from both ends before, the sinfulness of it all feeding into your burning core and making you want more.

You pull off of Denki’s cock, much to his dismay, to look back over your shoulder at Shinsou. Lavender eyes meet yours, and all he can see is lust.

“Fuck me, ‘Toshi. I need it, please!”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice, pulling out just to ram back inside, filling you up over and over again. The drag of his thick cock along your walls has you moaning like a whore, struggling to get your mouth back on Kaminari.

“S-Sunshine—“ he cards both hands through your hair this time, gripping tightly to your roots as he lines up with your lips, “be a good girl ‘n open wide.”

You do as he says, unable to protest even if you wanted to, and the instant your mouth is open it’s being filled again by his cock.

He doesn’t hold back this time, thrusting up into your throat almost as hard as Shinsou’s fucking you from behind. It burns - the ache in your jaw combined with the repeated force of his tip slipping down the curve of your throat has tears welling in your eyes.

“That’s it— that’s fucking it. Cry for me, pretty girl. Let me see those beautiful tears as you choke on my cock.”

You’ve never heard Kaminari speak like that before, and Shinsou can immediately tell you liked it, your pussy gripping him like a vice. “Fuck man, she loves it!” He pants, eyes even more lidded than usual as his hips repeatedly meet yours, balls slapping against your clit with each thrust.

“Yeah? Always knew she’d make the perfect little whore f’us.” The blonde chuckles, unable to help the filthy words spilling from his mouth. But you love it: this side of him you’ve never seen before and the way they talk about you as if you weren’t currently being fucked raw by both of them.

Kaminari watches, completely in awe, as fat tears stream down your cheeks for him. His mouth suddenly feels dry as you maintain eye contact, and he can feel himself getting close to orgasm.

He holds your head down a few times, unable to breathe with your nose tangled in blonde tufts of hair at the base of his cock, choking and sputtering as you massage his shaft with your collapsing walls. Every time he does you cry even more, and he’s almost positive it makes him fall more in love with you with every passing second.

“Shit–“ he suddenly curses, voice thick with desperation, “‘don’ wanna cum yet–“ he pulls you off his cock, the two of you gasping - him from lack of stimulation and you from lack of air. He lets go of your roots, instead letting you rest your head against his abs to catch your breath as his cock twitches and throbs pathetically in front of your face.

He wants to cum so bad, but he’d never forgive himself if he wasted this opportunity to feel your velvety walls around him first. He gently strokes the hair out of your face, fingers lightly trailing down your cheek and jaw, “You’re my good girl now, ya know it?” He coos down at you, unable to keep his eyes off the look of pleasure deep set in your face.

You weakly turn your head to look up at him with a dopey smile, “Promise, Kami?” And slowly press forward on your knees to be closer to the blonde. He stares at you in disbelief with those bright eyes of his, struggling to contain the wealth of emotion he feels towards you right now. You see him swallow as he cups your face so tenderly, bringing your swollen, drool covered lips to his in a gentle kiss. “Promise.” He whispers for only you to hear, “You’ll always be mine.”

The admittance has your heart suddenly skipping beats, already beating faster than you’ve ever felt before. You’re barely able to nod at this point though, simply kissing him again as Shinsou shifts behind you to adjust to your new position over Kaminari’s body.

He slowed down a bit to allow you to move, but he can feel his balls starting to ache, tightening a little more with every thrust. He groans in frustration, not wanting to cum either - this moment being too precious to waste.

“Princess,” he pulls out incredibly slowly, both of you practically whimpering from the loss, “why don’t you let Kaminari have a go, yeah?” He helps you shuffle up and straddle Denki’s hips, pressing himself into your back and panting against your neck. “Wanna feel you cum on both our cocks,” he drawls in your ear, voice low and gravelly as he slips a hand around your waist and slides it down to your core, fingers rubbing circles on your clit, “Wha’d’ya say?”

It’s all you can do to nod, swallowing the lump in your sore throat as your hips rock back and forth along Kaminari’s shaft due to Shinsou’s ministrations on your clit. “Y-yes!” You start to moan but it’s interrupted by a gasp when he hits your clit just right, “P-please make me cum again!”

You lift your hips to line your dripping hole up with Kaminari’s tip, the blonde’s hands securely on your hips to help guide you onto his cock. You sink down, slowly at first, but when you realize how much deeper he can reach than Shinsou, you quickly sit the rest of the way down.

His cock easily presses into your cervix, making you see stars for a moment. “Oh fuck–!” You exclaim, rolling your hips to feel him brush along your sweet spots again, “K-Kami you’re s-so deep!”

He’s certainly not as thick as Shinsou, and doesn’t have the hefty veins his lavender counterpart does, but he makes up for it in length. Although, he can’t enjoy the compliments as much as he’d like to due to the way his brain is short circuiting for the second time today.

Your cunt feels better than he could’ve ever imagined, “fucking hell, your pussy’s so fucking hot around my cock—!” And the way you’re clenching from Shinsou’s fingers on your clit, sucking him in even deeper, isn’t helping him hold out. “Hitoshi, fucking make her cum, would ya? It’s killin’ me!”

Shinsou just laughs behind you, his free hand snaking up to grip beneath your jaw, turning your head to the side to kiss him again. His kiss is rougher than Kaminari’s was, but it still has butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “‘T-Toshi…” you moan into his mouth, making him grin even more.

“Sound so pretty moaning my name like that, princess. You love me that much?” He says it as a taunt, but when he feels you nod in agreement he suddenly can't keep up the act any longer, whispering lowly in your ear, “good, ‘cause I love you too, Y/N.”

The wave of pleasure that wracks through your body at hearing those words is more than enough to send you over the edge. Back arching against Shinsou’s chest once more, his fingers furiously working your clit as you squirt on Kaminari’s cock.

Shimmery fluid thoroughly coats the blonde’s abs as he curses from the sheer sight, nevermind the intense pressure around his cock as your walls try to milk him. His hold on your hips tightens, fingers digging in enough to leave bruises as he fixes his eyes on your cunt.

Your third orgasm starts out shimmery like the others, but towards the end he swears he sees it run clear. “Good girl!” He praises through ragged breath, “I think that was it baby. How d’ya feel?” His thumbs rub circles into your hip bones, trying to resist the urge to fuck up into you and chase his own orgasm, essentially edging himself for the second time.

You look down at him through lidded eyes, pupils blown into the shape of hearts as you feel the last dredges of the villain’s quirk leave your body. “It- worked-” you breathe between pants, chest heaving beautifully above him, “Thank you…” You look back over your shoulder to kiss Shinsou, lingering only for a moment so you can lean down and kiss Kaminari as well, “Thank you both.” Your voice is soft and you sound tired, but when your lips press to his you feel his cock twitch inside you and realize neither of them have cum yet.

“Boys,” you breathe after taking a steadying breath, “your turn.” You start to roll your hips again, making Denki groan as you reach behind you to find Shinsou’s cock and stroke him as well. They try to protest, wanting to be sensitive to you and how spent you must be, but you’re not having any of it. “Mm-mm,” You shake your head, “isn’t fair if you don’t get to too…”

Denki’s the first to quit his complaining, giving in to himself and bucking his hips to feel the drag of his cock along your heavenly walls, moans spilling half-hazardly from his lips as he curses the way he's overstimulated himself.

You look over at Shinsou, chin resting on your shoulder with his lips parted as he lets out precious little gasps from the feeling of your hand on his throbbing cock, just as desperate for relief as his blonde counterpart. “Toshi,” you kiss his temple, “you can fuck me too…”

His eyes flick open, head turning to look at you critically, as if he’s trying to determine if you’re saying what he thinks you’re saying. “You mean.. at the same time..?” You bite your lip and nod slowly. You know how badly you want to feel both of them at once, but wonder if your body can handle it…

Kaminari catches Shinsou’s question, his eyes going wide as his thrusts stutter, simply staring, “What? Are you for real?” You can hear the excitement and disbelief underlining his tone. He meets Shinsou’s gaze, the two of them immediately sharing a look that suggests they’ve definitely talked about doing this with you before, but never thought it’d actually happen.

You feel Kaminari still beneath you, fingers tapping at your hips and eventually trailing up your waist in anticipation, while Shinsou lines himself up behind you. His broad hand splays between your shoulder blades, pushing you forward until your chest is flush against Denki’s, “Be good f’us and stay still, baby. I’ll be gentle.. Promise.” You feel his hand trail down your spine until he’s cupping your ass again, spreading you open so he can watch as his cock lines up with Kaminari’s.

“Tell me if it’s too much…” He mutters, having a hard time focusing on anything other than the pressure he feels as he s l o w l y sinks in above Denki. Your walls hug the two of them together so tightly, making them both groan from their chests from the immense pressure.

“Holy-”

“Shit-”

They curse together, the drag of Shinsou’s cock along Kaminari’s more incredible than either one ever thought it would be.

Meanwhile, your mind’s gone blank, your legs numb as you try to accommodate his fat cock. You won’t lie - it fucking hurts. But you’d be fooling yourself if you didn’t admit how much you love it. The stretch, the pressure, the sting of being split open… all of it has your mind reeling as wanton moans and cries so liberally spill from your lips.

Kaminari can tell how intense this is for you, cradling your head into the curve of his neck, trying to help you find some sense of comfort as Shinsou continues to bully his way inside.

As soon as he bottom’s out, the three of you let out a collective sigh. “Can I move, princess?” You can feel both their cock’s throbbing within you, making you clench despite trying your hardest to stay relaxed.

“Mhm..” you hum tentatively, breath hot against Kaminari’s neck, sending shivers down his spine. He starts to pant, breathing picking up as you shift, drawing groans from both men.

Shinsou draws back out, just a few inches, before shallowly thrusting into you again. It’s incredibly slick, the slide of his cock almost relieving as he stirs your arousal, making more and more trickle down and coat their balls.

“I-I don’t know how long I can last like this…” Kaminari regretfully admits, looking up at Shinsou, who nods in agreement, “Fuck, me either-! …Y/N,” you feel his nails rake along your lower back, soothing you with gentle touches, “Where do you want us finish?”

They hold their breaths and wait, listening to your little whimpers as you take both their cocks at once, trying to think about your answer. The thought of either of them pulling out now has you shaking your head, “I-Inside,” you pant, both of their eyes going wide, balls tensing just at the thought, “Want it all inside. Please…”

“Always knew you’d be such a good girl f’us.” Shinsou coos, Kaminari wholeheartedly agreeing as he starts to move in opposition to his lavender counterpart.

The drag of both their cocks at once, sliding against one another and stretching your poor, abused hole, has you mewling in pleasure. The sting wearing off just as you feel their hips start to stutter, their breathing just as labored as yours.

Kaminari’s the first to let go, feeling his climax finally reach it’s peak as he tumbles over the edge in a slew of moans and curses, “F-fuck-- oh fuck, Y/N! ‘M gonna fucking cum.. holy shit ‘m gonna cum!” He can’t stop the words from repeating on a loop, sweet moans of your name filling your ears as you feel warmth start to creep into your belly again. But this time it’s from ropes of cum painting your walls, the sensation infinitely better compared to the villain’s quirk.

You’re not the only one feeling newfound warmth. Shinsou practically whines as he feels his cock get enveloped by his best friend’s cum, watching as it even starts to leak past your entrance and coat his base in a white ring. The sight’s too much for him, his orgasm quickly following, although much less vocal than the blonde’s.

He let’s go with a pained groan, falling forward to drape himself over your back, pressing kisses between your shoulder blades as he spills himself inside you. You can feel every ounce of his cum mix with Kaminari’s, letting it send you over the edge one last time.

Your fourth orgasm is weak. The smallest trickle of perfectly normal fluid flowing out of you as you simply cry into the crook of Denki’s neck. Shinsou heaves a deep sigh of relief when he sees for himself that you’re back to normal - safe - regardless of how spent you are now.

He slowly pulls out, not wanting to shock your system by going too fast, fighting back his own groan of protest as his cock slips out and hangs between his legs completely coated in cum.

Kaminari’s next, kissing your temple so sweetly as he lifts you off his own cock, feeling a flood of mess pour from your pussy and onto his pelvis. He doesn’t cast you aside though, instead letting you cuddle right on top of him as he wraps his arms around you protectively. “I love you. You know that, right?” He utters softly, lips never leaving your flushed skin.

“Yeah.. I know.” He can hear the small smile in your voice, but you’re clearly exhausted, “I love you too. ‘Nd ‘Toshi.”

Kaminari smiles at that, looking over your shoulder just in time to see Shinsou return with a handful of towels and warm washrags. The three of you clean up, the boys doing most of the work as they take turns holding you close, not trusting your ability to hold yourself up right now.

Minutes pass in silence, feeling like hours as the clock slowly ticks away. None of you wanting to be the first to speak and risk popping the bubble of intimacy you’ve so loved being encased in. But eventually, you find the courage to break the silence:

"Thank you guys.. for saving me." You're laid between the two of them, legs entangled and arms crossing over each other.

Denki laughs, Shinsou chuckling with him, "Of course. How could we pass up an opportunity like that?" The blonde snickers as you smack his chest, pretending to scold him for being so crass.

"I'm serious!" You cry out, although your stern tone is interrupted by a giggle, giving away your true feelings.

"We know you are," Shinsou chimes in, turning on his side to wrap an arm over your waist, "I think we all needed this though.. so thank you, for trusting us."

Kaminari falls silent, nodding in genuine agreement as he turns towards you as well, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "Yeah, Y/N, thank you."

Pink dusts your cheeks as you look between your two roommates, knowing nothing's ever going to be the same from here on out. But not one part of you regrets that.

"Maybe we should downsize...?" You sheepishly remark, biting back the smile on your lips, "To a one-bedroom?"

They exchange looks, smirking together as they kiss your cheeks at the same time, giving you your answer.

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yuta & taehyung, unhealthy relationship | — you are the knife I turn inside myself, this is love.