Hitoshi tests a more creative application of his quirk on you, his willing submissive.
characters: dom!pro hero!hitoshi shinsou/sub!f!reader
wc: 5.3k
warnings: smut (18+), aged-up characters, pro hero Shinsou (who is kind of a softie), hard BDSM and control dynamics, edging, consensual mind control, sex toys, praise kink, blowjob, unprotected sex, some loooong and tender aftercare/yearning
notes: the dynamic in this fic was partially inspired by We Wear Chains on the Weekend [ao3] and a conversation with @shadowworks about some fun applications of Hitoshi's quirk 👀 I hope you enjoy this horny little bit of fun! I enjoyed thinking about this dynamic with 'Toshi. He talks big, but we know deep down he's just as soft and squishy as us 💖
One more note: The dynamics and safety measures in this fic are the result of a little bit of research that I conducted. It is not meant to encompass EVERY BDSM experience, nor was my research exhaustive. This was just my little take on some kinky business with Hitoshi, so please let me know if there are any elements I've overlooked or misstepped!
(MASTERLIST)
Hitoshi will never forget the first night he spent in this house.
The little semi-detached in a quiet, trendy neighbourhood was one of the first things his pro salary earned him. Having the place to himself is still one of the biggest perks that salary ever provided.
Privacy, as he’s learned since, is paramount to the life he’s crafting for himself.
It’s Friday evening, and the early spring rain’s showing no sign of letting up when you ring his doorbell. The sound echoes through the house like the bells of Notre Dame- terrifyingly gothic, considering it was like that when he moved in, but not entirely out of character for him.
And his heart swells quietly every time he knows it’s you behind that door.
He pads easily down the polished steps, already showered and changed out of his work clothes. He likes to dress up for you a little, sporting a pair of dark slacks and a black button-down with the top four buttons undone. His hair, still damp from the shower, sits a little tamer and darker than usual.
No matter how good he looks, you manage to knock him on his ass with a single glance.
“Hey,” he greets with a quiet, familiar sort of warmth as he pulls open the right half of the double front doors. His smile slips a little at the sight of you, shaking the water out of your umbrella and soaked to the bone. You catch his gaze out your peripherals and start a little, shooting him a sheepish smile.
Something claws tight and possessive at the pit of his chest. You’re so cute, even water-logged like this.
“Getting worse out there, huh?” He quips, stepping aside to let you in.
“It’s not exactly prime umbrella weather,” you giggle, setting the dripping, half-broken monstrosity in the umbrella tray that he keeps by the door. “But I made it, didn’t I?”
He can’t help but reach for you, letting his fingers brush attentively at your clothes as he helps you out of your drenched coat. The dress you’re wearing looks devastatingly easy to remove, and his chest lurches a little with the urge to have you bare for him.
He resists. For now.
“Right on time,” he replies, taking your coat neatly by the collar and hanging it over the bannister. “Do you want to dry off a little before we go upstairs, or…?”
“No.” You answer suddenly enough to prompt his inquisitive gaze, and Hitoshi turns to look at you with a purple brow quirked perfectly.
“I’m just feeling a little antsy today,” you continue, and he watches the way your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip. “So, I’d like to get started right away, if that’s okay with you.”
You meet his eye again. Hitoshi’s starting to wonder if he’s the one who should be getting on his knees in front of you upstairs.
“That’s okay with me.”
He smiles thinly, making his best attempt at hiding the affection that’s bubbling shallow and steady in his chest. He reaches for you, uncurling his fingers to offer an eager palm.
You take it. The contact is breathtaking.
He climbs the stairs with your fingers grasped firmly in his. The suspense never fades.
Hitoshi keeps his bedroom a few degrees warmer than the rest of the house, and as he twists the knob and pushes the door inward, he can feel your palm relaxing in his. You’ve always liked it in here- warm and humid, from the house plants that line the windows and add lush splashes of colour to every corner.
It means more to him than you’ll ever know, that you find such comfort in a space so full of him.
He lets you slip in ahead, closing the door behind him and reaching for the colourful remote nearby. He dims the lights overhead, stroking his thumb thoughtfully over the rainbow buttons. He peeks at you through his peripherals, watching the way you glide your fingertips over the broad leaf of a money plant that blooms atop his dresser.
“What colour should we use today?” He pushes a button, and hidden strips of lighting illuminate in a deep shade of blue-green. The bed and walls are cast into a cool, oceanlike glow, reflecting blue off the room’s vegetation and creating a floating, almost aquatic sense of serenity.
“I like this one,” you confirm. “Keep it.”
“Whatever you like,” he promises, setting down the remote. “Today’s all about keeping you relaxed.”
He approaches you at last, cupping either side of your face in delicate palms. He tilts your gaze to his.
“You’re still up for it?” He asks, low and sincere as he searches your eyes. “What we had planned for today?”
“I am,” you confirm. He’s nervous that the rain may have upset things, but you’re clearly as ready as ever. “Been thinking about this all week.”
His shoulders drop a little, relief trickling into the fluttering cavity of his chest. “I’m glad to hear it.”
He bends, pressing a quiet little kiss to your forehead and smoothing his palms over the wet surface of your hair. He holds you there for a moment, staying close. He forces power into his shoulders and steps back from you, unbuttoning his cuffs. He breathes a deep sigh- focus, Hitoshi- and settles into the power dynamic you both can’t seem to stay away from.
He unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, depositing it neatly over the back of the nearby armchair. He nods toward you, slow and discerning.
“Strip.”
That dress is precisely as easy to remove as he hoped it would be, and he gets to watch as you slide each strap slowly down your arm, letting the fabric pool at your feet. His jaw gives an interested little tick as he gorges himself on the sight of you.
You’ve developed a nasty little habit of leaving your bra at home for sessions like this, as if he wouldn’t notice the way your tits sat beneath that loose silk, your nipples tight and hard from the wet chill outside.
You are delectable. Hitoshi feels infatuation crawling up the column of his spine every time he has you like this. But he’s about to take you even deeper, and while you’re more than ready, he’s not sure his heart can take it.
You’re wiggling out of your underwears now, exposing that perfect little patch of hair between your legs. What makes his cock throb even worse, though, is the way that you already know how he likes you. And so, kicking your underwear away and smoothing your hands down your sides, you don’t wait long at all before dropping to your knees and settling your palms on your thighs.
You lower your chin and go still.
For a minute, he lets himself admire you. He’s aching to touch you, but today will be all about patience. For both of you.
But he can’t take you, sitting so still for him like this. He caves to the warming in his chest and steps forward, tucking two fingers beneath the point of your chin and pulling your eyes to his.
“You sure about this?” He asks you. You lick your lips again, slow and thoughtful and torturous, now that he’s already so captivated by you. You’re giving it the honest thought it deserves. But when you purse your lips and nod into his palm, your eyes are certain.
“I’m sure.”
He’s been working you up to this for weeks. Exploring the unique possibilities of a relationship with him has always been in your contract, but it’s not something Hitoshi ever planned on rushing into. Only now, after months of playtime and weeks of careful preparation, does he feel ready to practice this with you.
“We left you your signals,” he reminds you, tenderly stroking the backs of his fingers from your chin up to your cheek. You’re staring up at him with such trust and admiration it’s hard to imagine anyone ever thought him a monster, for possessing such power. “You can come out of it whenever you want to.”
“Hitoshi,” you prompt, and the fall of his first name from your lips is enough to quell all his rising nerves. Despite the way you’re looking at him, memories of those poison words he’s been hearing all his life are flooding him. They’ve always served as a grim reminder of the damage he’s capable of.
But you wanted this. You’re ready for it. And he’s taken every precaution to ensure that you’re going to be safe.
So much reassurance, wrapped up in the three tiny syllables of his name.
It’s his turn to nod. He takes your jaw into his hand and drops to one knee in front of you, stooping to press his lips to the shell of your ear. Your sweet scent washes over him as he leans close, enhanced by the fresh rain on your skin and the rapid swell of your chest as you breathe.
“So you’re ready to drop, then?” He keeps his voice as low as possible, delighting in the way that you shiver in response. Your breath hitches against his chest, puffing quietly across his cheek.
“Yes.”
-
The word barely edges from your lips before the influence of his quirk fills every hollow in your ready bones. It’s a presence like nothing you’ve ever felt before, like the rising tide filling your lungs and weighing down your limbs. You take a deep, shaky breath to remind yourself it’s still possible.
Hitoshi’s used his quirk on you before. Preparing for this level of control, he tells you, takes practice. The more time he has to inhabit your mind, the better control he’ll have over what you experience and what you miss. The first time he ever used it on you is still a blank slate. But he only kept you under for a couple of seconds, building slowly over the course of many sessions toward the layered control he has now.
The sensation is thrilling. And yet, simultaneously, you feel completely safe. He will not misuse this power that you’ve so blithely handed over.
The sounds around you are muffled as Hitoshi gets to his feet, but when he speaks, his voice echoes in your mind like a bell.
“Can you understand me?”
Your body feels heavy and warm and semi-solid, but you manage a slow, clear nod.
“Good girl. Give me your hands.”
When he gives you an instruction, your muscles move without your consultation. You stretch your hands out toward him eagerly, and he takes both of them between his. He gives your fingers a sharp little squeeze.
“Can you give me your signals now?”
You cycle through them like clockwork. This is the part you had to work hard to develop, working through the specific layers of his quirk that might have been able to prevent such advanced thought.
With practice, though, here you are.
The system is one you’ve always used in parts of your arrangement where your ability to speak freely has been repressed. Hitoshi’s always been good at checking in with you no matter what, but thankfully he doesn’t push your boundaries too often.
You squeeze his hands in a slow progression, leaving long, deliberate spaces between each signal so that their distinction is clear.
One squeeze: keep going, all is well.
Two squeezes: slow down, I’m getting frustrated/uncomfortable
Three: STOP NOW
When you finish your stop signal and let your hands go still, Hitoshi’s fingers go slack in yours.
“Good girl, good,” he coos. “God, you’re so pretty like this. Look at you.”
He drops your hands, carefully letting them fall back to their neutral position on your thighs. There’s a pleasant tingle filling your dulled senses. In this state of mind, you can feel his gaze on you like a careful touch.
“I can do whatever I want with you,” he grunts. “Fuck, I can feel how much you want this.”
He’s moved away from you for a couple of seconds, but when he comes back he’s bare. Your vision is blurred about the edges, but you feel a wet little push he presses the tip of his cock, already hard and weeping, to the swell of your cheek.
“Don’t be difficult,” he purrs in your mind. “Open up.”
Your mouth drops eagerly open as you let your eyes fall shut. As he eases his hips forward, you let the flat pad of your tongue slip forward to cradle the tender head of his cock. Hitoshi groans low and soft, but the sound echoes through every nerve in your body, reverberating from within.
“That’s it,” he prompts softly. “So pliant for me, beautiful. Take it.”
He rocks slowly into your throat, letting sloppy drool slough from your tongue and coat his thick shaft as his fingers spread across the back of your head. He grips you tightly, keeping your neck in place as his tense thighs work to keep himself steady.
He eases himself onto your tongue and stops there for a moment. His pulse thrums in your ears, syncopating steadily with yours. He lets his head lull back as he lets out a deep, shaky sigh.
“Suck,” he commands, and you comply.
You bob your head eagerly back and forth, settling into a numbingly precise rhythm. Sucking Hitoshi’s cock has never been a chore for you, but in this state you’re conditioned to like it.
He grips you tighter as his hips begin to stutter a little. Every sound that leaves his mouth passes into your mind well before it reaches your muffled ears. You’re beginning to realize, in the deep, sunken place where your consciousness still rests, that allowing him into your mind has connected you more intimately than ever before.
You can feel his pleasure in the same way that he can sense your desire.
“So good,” he gasps, and the sound rappels down your spine. “Fuck, you’ve always been so good at this. I know how much you love it.”
He’s losing his cool now, thrusting against the barrier of your throat with more reckless abandon. But you’re numb to the feelings that might have stopped you before, swallowing him eagerly down to double his pleasure.
It shows. His fingers twitch against the back of your head as he grits his teeth and grunts, a breathy, feral sound with every rock of his heavy balls against your chin. Your eyes have slipped open again, but you don’t see him. Not really. All you can sense is his ecstasy, building to a rapid peak as he humps and pants and shivers into your needy mouth.
“God,” he rasps, “not gonna… t-that’s it… f-fuck!”
He rips away from you in one fluid stroke, that ecstasy boiling right to the surface before it’s halted in its tracks. He’s got one hand wrapped tightly around the base of his flushed cock and his pleasure’s dwindling.
He’s saving himself, to fill you properly later. While controlling your pleasure has always been a part of your games, Hitoshi’s taken to controlling his own as well. Lately, he doesn’t even let himself cum until you’ve seen your climax.
You’ve been trying not to let yourself read into it.
“Good girl,” he pants inside your head. “Come here.”
You’re a little shaky as you climb to your feet, but the numbness that you might normally get in your toes by now persists through your entire body. You close the distance to him in a handful of deliberate, steady steps, and he settles a hand on your hip to stop you when you’ve come close enough.
“Look at you,” he growls. “You’re still under, aren’t you? Incredible.” He takes one of your hands between both of his, dropping a kiss to your knuckles before giving your fingers a meaningful squeeze.
“Check in for me, sweetheart.”
In the receded depths of your on consciousness, you’re nothing but eager to continue. Hitoshi’s weighty cock in your throat sent spirals of aggressive arousal through your entire body. Your pussy is swollen and tingling, smearing the insides of your thighs with thick desire.
You give his palm one long, deliberate squeeze.
You need more.
“That’s what I like to see,” he purrs. He leads you to the bed and takes the liberty of lifting you into his arms. Your body collapses eagerly into his hold, and you let him deposit you gently onto the neatly made sheets. You stretch into the pillows, but your blank stare is always fixed on him.
“Okay, pretty girl,” he croons, and you’re still and stiff before he even finishes his thought. “Lie still for me, okay?”
He lifts one knee onto the bed and casts a gentle hand down the column of your belly, taking a gentle tilt to the left and sliding his fingertips along the column of your thigh.
“I’ve got your favourite toy here,” he croons, but you can’t respond. Instead, the buzz of nerves builds in the back of your skull, where your meager ability to feel has been preserved. Hitoshi wraps his graceful fingers around the toy in question- a sizeable wand vibrator in a deceptively pleasant shade of pale lilac silicone- and waves it in front of your eyes.
“Let’s see how much you can take, hmm?”
He leans closer, pressing a kiss to the point of your collarbone before tilting his chin forward to find the shell of your ear.
“Don’t cum,” he croons, sending a fresh thrill of terrified arousal into your veins, “until I say you can, alright?”
He slips the vibe between your legs and you feel it rumble to life. He knows your favourite settings easily by now, setting the toy to buzz low and hard between your legs in a series of long, rhythmic pulses.
Your body starts to pitch and tremble, but it cannot disobey his strict instructions to stay still. Your pleasure spikes the instant the vibrator’s soft, flexible head makes contact with your swollen clit. You want to press your legs together, whine with overstimulation and bat away the offending toy. But the influence of Hitoshi’s power is stronger than any physical restraint. Even as your muscles strain, you are powerless to move.
He holds you there, amusement lighting his features. You can feel the satisfaction thrumming in the back of his mind, building slowly. You know he can feel the unbearable sensations racing through your entire body. But he refuses to let up, even as desperate tears break from the corners of your eyes.
This vibrator has always been your favourite of his, thanks to its unshakeable ability to bring you to orgasm within the space of a minute. There’s something about the depth of the vibrations (and Hitoshi’s expert handling) that never seems to fail.
Tonight, that fact isn’t working in your favour.
Your pleasure reaches its peak devastatingly quickly. But every part of your body is under Hitoshi’s complete control. And he’s given you strict instructions not to reach that climax.
Your nerves are struck dumb as the pleasure bleeds into a desperate ache. You can feel the edge of your climax, dangling just out of reach. And the longer he keeps you on the edge, the more torturous the sensation.
The tears are coming faster now, streaming down your temples and soaking into your hair as you whimper and pitch, trying to shrug his control and force the vibrator away from your overstimulated pussy. He lets you thrash and struggle for a dozen heartbeats, picking up on your discomfort and pulling the vibrator away from your body as you gasp for shaky breath.
“That feels good, doesn’t it?” He coos, switching the vibrator off and laying a hand on the flat of your stomach. Your body’s gone slack, but the muscles in your lower belly are still twitching and fluttering, trying to make sense of your waning pleasure.
“I can feel you fighting me,” he continues, voice dropping into his chest. He rubs soothing circles into your tender skin, letting you catch your breath. “You know you don’t have to struggle, sweetness.” He leans in, dipping his forehead against yours and giving your mouth a soft little taste.
“Are you ready for my cock now?”
Yes, your mind screams, and he starts, pulling back to look at you in mild surprise.
He actually heard that. After the surprise fades from his expression, he lets the barest hint of a smile touch his mouth.
“Good.”
When he touches your thighs they fall limp into his palms. Any commands he’s given your paralyzed nerves are overridden by the force of his touch. So, as he kneels between your thighs and pushes them apart, you relent easily.
Your senses are still a hazy blur, but you feel it like a bolt of lightning when he swipes the tip of his cock over your sloppy folds. You give a sharp little yip and Hitoshi chuckles, with the breathy edge of pleasure slipping into his voice. He rocks his hips forward, grinding against your needy hole and grunting through his chest.
“Fuck,” he sighs. “Can’t hold on any longer.” He edges forward, prodding his thick tip against your entrance. As soon as he’s lined up he slides home in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the base with a shaky groan.
The pleasure is enough to prompt a quiet whimper from your absent mind as your body eagerly takes his stretch. Hitoshi’s cock has always seemed perfect for you in size and form. And he’s proven many times over that he knows exactly how to use it.
He fucks you with devastating precision, slipping one hand under your thigh to brace you against the mattress while he anchors himself by the knees and ruts against your body. He lets his hips slap ruthlessly over your skin, his weighty, spit-soaked balls swinging heavy against the curve of your ass with every thrust.
You’ve been well prepared for this moment, messy-wet and smearing his shaft with your slick. Every time he drives his cock into you, his groans are punctuated by the soft little whimpers that break from his control to escape your clenched jaw.
The pleasure is already unbearable for you. That peak you weren’t allowed to reach before is approaching quickly, and all you can hope is that Hitoshi will have the sense to let you release before he’s tumbling over the edge himself.
You have no choice at this point but to trust him completely.
“That’s it, pretty girl,” he gasps above you. Your pleasure is doubled by his sensations racing through your neurons, and you can tell before he speaks that he’s not going to last long at all.
“Don’t know how long I can hold out,” he warns anyway, and his hips are already beginning to stutter inside you. You could have easily cum two times over by now, but your body is held back once again, forced to linger on the edge of bliss until he decides to let you fall.
He shoves his hips against yours one, two, three more rough times before stilling abruptly inside you. His body’s stiff, straining against the threshold of his pleasure. But he catches his breath, and his next words ring clear as day among a sea of troubled sensations.
“Are you ready to cum for me?”
You let out a low, desperate whine, focusing every ounce of concentration you have left into amplifying those desperate emotions.
Please, your mind screams. I’ll do anything, please.
Hitoshi nods slowly, your body going slack when you’re sure you’ve been heard. He slips both hands under your thighs, stroking his thumbs lovingly along your flesh. He bends over your torso, dropping a kiss to your mouth and steeling himself as his lips trail to your ear one last time.
“Cum,” he orders, and you do.
All the pent-up tension and pleasure spirals from your body in the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever felt. What would normally send dull flutters into the pit of your stomach has deep, earth-shattering tremors wracking your entire body. You thrash into the pillows, crying out your pleasure in eager, greedy gulps, and your pussy seizes around his cock as tight as a fist.
Hitoshi curses against your skin, rutting his hips into your convulsing depths and matching your peak with a climax of his own. His balls draw up against your ass as he pumps hot spurts of cum into your needing cunt, fucking the fluid back into your body as your thighs clamp over his hips and the last tremors of your orgasm recede into dull trembles.
“That’s my girl,” he gasps. In the pleasure that overtook him, he’s de-activated his quirk. He lets you surface as he stays inside you for a couple long breaths, tasting the crook of your neck and rubbing sensation back into your limbs.
“That’s my good fucking girl,” he croons. “Come here. Give me your hand. Show me,” he prompts, and you’re far from surfaced but you know what he wants when he slots his fingers between yours.
You give him another long, deliberate squeeze. You can’t form words yet, but you’re okay.
“That’s okay,” Hitoshi prompts. He pulls slowly back from you, sliding out of your body and easing onto the pillows beside you. He keeps his movements slow and gentle, handling you with extra care while you’re still feeling delicate.
“You were so good,” he growls, reaching for you. “So good for me. My perfect girl.”
His touch is the first sensation that clears the fog in your mind. He pulls you tightly against his bare chest, and the sweet touch of his skin to yours is like a soothing tonic for your frayed senses. Skin-to-skin contact has always been a big part of aftercare for you, but tonight it hits so hard that it sends relieved tears to your eyes.
Hitoshi’s patient as a lamb with you, stroking slow circles into your shoulders, belly and hips as you cycle through the complex progression of emotions that stand between you and the surface of your consciousness. He keeps his lips nuzzled tight to the shell of your ear, speaking low and soft and constant, grounding you in him.
After a long few minutes, you blink a little faster and stir a little heavier in his arms. You’ve fought your way to the surface, like breaking out of a deep sleep, and the weight of all he’s put you through settles into your chest. Hard.
You shiver. “Cold.”
“Okay,” he promises, shifting both of you a little more upright. “I’ve got clothes for you right here. Let me just-” He lets go of you to reach for the drawers of his nightstand, and anxiety rushes hard and fast to the back of your throat.
You whine. Loudly. You reach for him without thinking about it, and he comes back to you in the span of a heartbeat.
“Okay, okay,” he soothes. “I won’t let go.”
You’re always clingy after a scene. But today you can’t bear to be parted from him. While he’s the one that sent you spiralling, he’s also the one who brought you down to earth again.
With you looped carefully in one arm, he scoots the pair of you toward his side of the bed until he can reach the nightstand with one hand still carefully draped over your middle. He dumps a pile of soft cotton fleece onto the sheets in front of you, then presses himself up tightly behind you to reach forward with both hands and unfold the garments.
“There,” he hums, showing you the sleeves of one, the cuffs of another. “Warm clothes. Can I help you put them on?”
You give a pouty little nod, so he slips you into the pants one leg at a time and pushes your arms gently into the hoodie, staying as close as possible and letting you keep the black hood pulled over your head. He finds his discarded undershorts and slips into those, too, prompting another defeated whimper from you when he has to pull away to find some clothes of his own.
Once he’s dressed (and you’ve cuddled him long enough to quell some of the pouting) he pushes the edge of your hood back and presses a gentle kiss to your temple.
“Do you want to visit the fish?” he asks. Your mood spikes and you cling tighter, but nod nevertheless.
The most prominent feature of Hitoshi’s lavish house is mounted into the wall in the upstairs hallway. During the day it’s surprisingly easy to miss, but now that the light has waned and the house is dark, it glows an ethereal blue that casts a liquid pool of light across the dark hardwood and ornate rug.
Lining the entire wall stands a massive tropical fish tank, maintained professionally and kept in impeccable order. It’s filled by a multitude of different species of tropical fish, darting in and out of live coral in warm splashes of vibrant colour. The pump in one corner sends a steady stream of bubbles toward the surface, and in the quiet, the bubbles make soft little gurgles as they break the surface.
Hitoshi brings you into the hallway cradled tightly in his arms. The moment your face is bathed in that pretty blue light, the last dredges of anxiety bleed from your chest. There’s something immensely calming about the gentle, rhythmic way the fish move. Some of the more curious ones even see you peering in at them, emerging from their little hideaways to swim up to the glass and investigate.
“Hi,” you croon softly, touching one fingertip gently to the glass where a bright yellow tang noses eagerly at its smooth surface from the other side. Hitoshi chuckles deeply into your neck, always charmed by how soft and quiet and vulnerable you get after a particularly tough scene.
This part, the tender healing that comes afterward, is half the appeal for both of you. But with every passing session you can feel yourself growing more deeply attached to him. You’re falling for him, despite everything you put into words- on paper for him- that said you wouldn’t.
Love was not what either of you wanted to get out of this arrangement. But when he handles your trust so delicately where so many others have failed, it’s hard not to fall.
It’s hard not to wish, watching over such a tiny, peaceful little underwater world, that you could belong in there, too. Maybe, if you’d been born a little blue surgeonfish, you wouldn’t have to deal with such complex feelings.
But then you wouldn’t have all the pain and all the joy of falling for someone like Hitoshi Shinsou.
After you’re satisfied with the state of the fish tank, Hitoshi brings you downstairs to the kitchen. He’s not letting you go home tonight, but you were prepared for that possibility. You have pills and a toothbrush in your purse, and he’s had extra clothes lying around for you from the moment you signed that contract.
He bundles you into the couch. Puts on your favourite sitcom without needing to ask. He brews your favourite kind of tea- liquid heat that warms you to the very core- and stretches out next to you for the rest of the evening.
You wake hours later, sleeping next to him in the wee hours of the morning. He is stretched out on his side next to you, spooning you lovingly with one heavy arm draped over your side. He’s always reaching for you, ready to catch.
In moments like this, it’s easy to believe he might love you. And in the deepest hours of doubt and vulnerability, you let that feeling lull you back to sleep, just as he might if he could soothe your restlessness.