im glooby

You avert your eyes in a hurry, but not enough of one. You get a good look as she heads for the kitchen. Tomura’s hair is messy, like she hasn’t brushed it since the last time she showered. She’s barefoot, wearing ratty pajama pants and an old tank-top that’s mostly holes, and she’s not wearing a bra. It’s Tomura’s typical day-off uniform, and honestly, it’s the same as yours and all your roommates’. The difference is that on Tomura, it looks unbelievably hot.

You knew moving in with Tomura was going to be a bad idea way before you actually did it. The two of you weren’t close in school, but your agencies are right next to each other, and in spite of her frankly star-spangled pedigree, she ended up going into the same corner of the field as you — which means she’s functionally broke, and needs somewhere to live where the rent doesn’t swallow a paycheck and a half even before utilities get added in. Adding her to the lease was a no-brainer, even though she doesn’t always get along with the other roommates. On the outside, they’d probably never talk to each other. Inside, though, the desire for affordable rent trumps everything else.

It does for you, too, but that doesn’t mean that living with Tomura isn’t a bad idea. Living with anybody you’re into is a bad idea, but Tomura especially, because the two of you share a bathroom and are constantly bumping into each other on the way in and out of the shower. You’ve seen a lot more of her than you would if the two of you were just friends, and it makes you feel like a perv. You must be a perv. Otherwise you’d have owned up that you’re into her and let her decide if she wants to move out.

The problem is, you’re also selfish. You like living with her, because you like her, and with how stupid your schedules both are, there’s no way you’d get to hang out as much as you do if you aren’t sharing an apartment.

You hear the freezer open, but it doesn’t shut. You unplug your headphones and set them aside. “Are you okay, Tomura?”

“I’m fine,” Tomura says. “Fuck!”

“You don’t sound fine.” You get up and make your way into the kitchen, only to be confronted with the sight of Tomura sticking her head in the freezer. “Uh — what happened?”

“My fucking vibrator died.”

You don’t know what you were expecting her to say, except that it wasn’t that. “I thought it just ran out of battery,” Tomura continues, “but the fucking thing wouldn’t even charge. It’s dead. So I —”

She mimics throwing something. You classify the first thud as the vibrator, and the smaller one as the charging cable. “That sucks.”

“No shit.” Tomura still has her head in the freezer. The rush of cold air is making her nipples stiffen, visible through the thin tank top. You’re officially in hell. “This is what I’m stuck with. Sue me for wanting a decent afternoon without the entire apartment hearing it.”

“Um, I’m here,” you remind her. Maybe she didn’t realize you were out there.

“That’s different,” Tomura says. She seems like she’s trying to close the freezer door on her head. “This isn’t working. How am I supposed to wind down?”

“You could always, like — finish,” you say awkwardly. Your face feels like it’s going to melt off your head. “With your fingers. If you’re close.”

“I can’t finish.” Tomura’s voice is quiet, frustrated. “Not without the stupid toys.”

Sometimes you can, sometimes you can’t. You try not to get too in your head about it when you’re alone. You try not to get too in your head about most things, and that’s probably why you say what you say next: “Do you want to borrow mine?”

“Huh?” Tomura tries to straighten up and hits her head on the roof of the fridge. She swears and stumbles back. “You’re going to loan me your vibrator?”

The way she says it, it’s like you’ve offered to loan her a used tampon. “Is that weird or something? They’re washable.”

“Not the ones I buy,” Tomura mumbles. She tilts her head, studying you. “I didn’t think you were the type to buy fancy sex toys.”

“The fancy ones don’t break as often,” you say. “And they’re washable.”

It’s quiet for a second. “Are you serious or messing with me?” Tomura asks. “You’d let me borrow it?”

“Yeah, of course,” you say. Of course? You’re a dumbass. “I mean, we’re friends, right? I’m pretty sure I’ve stolen your clothes on accident. At least this time it’s consensual.”

You should stop talking immediately. You should never have taken your headphones out in the first place. “I don’t care if you borrow my stuff,” Tomura says. “If you’re really offering it, I’ll take it.”

“I’m really offering.” You leave the kitchen and go back to your room. “Just a second.”

You open your box of toys, which is just the shoebox your hero costume boots came in, and come up with the lipstick vibrator that’s probably your favorite. You washed it after the last time you used it, but you should probably wash it again to be safe. When you get back from doing that, Tomura’s still in the kitchen. Her head’s back inside the freezer, and you’re half expecting her to tell you to forget about it, and she’s calmed down enough on her own that she doesn’t need to borrow her roommate’s vibrator.

Nope. She pulls her head out of the freezer as you come closer, and her eyes linger briefly on your face before going to the vibrator in your hand. “I don’t know what kind you had before,” you say, “but this one has like six different patterns. And it’s quiet. If you care about that.”

“Thanks,” Tomura says. She reaches out for it, and you hand it over, the tips of three of her fingers brushing over your knuckles. “Where’s the power button?”

“Here,” you point out. “It’s charged. I usually recharge them after I use them.”

“How often are you using them?” Tomura asks. “Our rooms are right next to each other. I never hear anything.”

“I wasn’t joking when I said that one’s quiet.”

“I’m talking about you.”

“Oh.” Your voice comes out in a strangled squeak that you try to cover with a cough. Or a sneeze. “I guess I’m quiet too.”

“Lucky. You can get away with it when people are home. I can’t.”

“I’m home,” you remind her. “Do you want me to leave? I’m fine with that.”

“That’s different,” Tomura says. She nudges past you, out of the kitchen. “Put your headphones in if you don’t want to hear it.”

You put your headphones in, as instructed. You don’t turn on any music. You go back to sitting on the couch, pretending to scroll, and fighting the urge to listen in. Tomura’s probably already switched on the vibrator, but it’ll be too quiet for you to hear, and you doubt she’s really so loud that —

Tomura moans, soft but unmistakable, and your mind goes mostly blank. You pull one earbud out with a hand that shakes, feeling disgusting, feeling perverted. Not feeling regretful, because Tomura moans again, and it’s all too easy to imagine what she’s doing. Is she on top of her covers or under the sheets? Does she have her hands down her pants or are her legs spread, leaving her exposed? You know which image you like best. You can’t even think about it without turning yourself on.

“Fuck,” Tomura mumbles from behind the door, her voice rough and breathless. “Fuck, that’s — ah —”

Has she switched to a higher setting? Changed the way she’s holding it? You picture her legs shaking as she presses the vibrator against her clit and slide your own hand down the front of your pajama pants. You’re wet, too, just from listening to her. You knew you would be. Is that why you offered her the vibrator? Because you knew you’d get to hear how she uses it?

You’re sick. There’s something wrong with you. But you don’t put your earbud back in. And you don’t stop.

Tomura’s not stopping, either. She’s moaning louder than before, and even though you can’t hear the vibrator, you can hear the way her bedsprings creak. She must have a hard time holding still. If you were going to eat her out, you’d have to hold her hips down. Or you could get her to sit on your face — or eat her out from behind — anything so that she’d hold still long enough for you to make her come. At least once. Maybe five times. Maybe not until she told you it was enough, and maybe you’d stay a little longer, just to feel her squirm and whine on your tongue.

Tomura’s moans split off in a harsh gasp, a silence that seems to stretch forever. You pull your fingers off your clit with an effort, forcing yourself to wait, and wait — and then Tomura’s half-sobbing through what sounds like a massive orgasm. It might be that she’s always this loud, but some part of you doubts it. Maybe because you’re not loud at all, and you’re covering your mouth with one hand as you come to the sound of your roommate using your vibrator to get off. You know you’re doing something wrong. You know you should have just left. But she sounds so good —

And she knew you were there. This whole time, she’s known you were there. That’s different. Why is it different? Because you two are closer than the others? Because she knows you’re not weird about stuff like that? Because she wanted you to hear?

It’s not the last one. You know it’s not, but that doesn’t stop you. The bedsprings creak as Tomura flops down, exhausted, and you finger yourself to a second, furtive climax, listening to the harsh sounds of her breathing. You have to cover your mouth for that one, too. Then you jam your earbud back in, lie back on the couch, and fake being asleep like your life depends on it.

You hear Tomura open the door to her room. A moment later, one of her hands, shaking slightly, pulls your earbuds out one at a time. “Wake up,” she says, and you open your eyes. “You need to tell me where you found that thing. I’m not giving it back until I have one of my own.”

“I’ll send you the link,” you say helplessly. Tomura’s face is flushed, her hair even messier than before. “You’re not giving it back?”

“You can borrow it,” Tomura says with a shrug. “Any time you need it, just ask.”

You have other vibrators. A few of them. You don’t need to ask for your vibrator back. You can’t, since that would mean admitting it to Tomura every time you get horny. You decide never to ask, and just use the other ones until Tomura orders one of her own — and then you open your mouth. “What if I need it now?”

Tomura’s crimson eyes are still dilated. She’s still breathing hard. But you see a lopsided smile pull at one corner of her mouth, and your stomach flips. “I’m not done yet. It’ll be a week before everyone else is out at the same time again,” she says. Her smile takes on a wicked tilt. “I guess we’ll have to share.”

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You asked her why, the first time she Decayed the pills Kurogiri gave her and asked you to bring her some from your bottle of acetaminophen. Are you worried they’ll give you something?

No, Tomura said, but her gaze drifted away from yours. I just know you wouldn’t.

You wouldn’t. You’d take the messed-up pills yourself and suffer the consequences, or you’d jam them down the throat of whoever tried to drug Tomura. You love her, but you don’t love the people she surrounds herself with. Or the people who surround her, whether she likes it or not.

When you and Tomura first started talking, you didn’t know what you were getting into. By the time you found out, you were in way too deep, and you knew too much for Tomura’s bosses to let you run free. It was join them or die, and you picked joining up almost before the choice was offered. You knew it wasn’t Tomura’s idea. Kurogiri was the one who brought you to Sensei, and Tomura looked horrified to see you there.

You’re still in too deep with Tomura, the kind of stupid, crazy love you thought was made up by people who wanted to sell engagement rings and romance novels. You know she loves you back, because even when she pushes Kurogiri away, she keeps you close. You’re the only one who she’ll take medicine from. You’re the only one she lets change her bandages.

Today’s a bandage change, and Tomura is grimacing as she slides one arm out of her jumpsuit. “This fucking hurts,” she says. “I bet they’re worse.”

“Or maybe it’s just a bad day,” you counter. “I’ve been taking good care of you. You’re not allowed to get worse on my watch.”

“I know,” Tomura says, almost sulky. Then, softer, as you unwrap the bandages: “You‘re too nice to me for how bitchy I’ve been.”

“You got shot four times. I’d be bitchy too,” you say. You’d probably be bitchier, honestly — at baseline, your temper is a lot worse than Tomura’s. “This one actually looks okay. It’s starting to close, see?”

“I don’t want to see.” Tomura averts her eyes. “Cover it up.”

“You got it.” You rewrap her arm, then let it go. “Next one.”

Tomura works her other arm free of her jumpsuit, but she doesn’t put her rebandaged arm back into her sleeve. Usually she does, because if she doesn’t, she’s topless. And she doesn’t wear a bra. “Um, are you going to —”

“Are you going to?” Tomura asks impatiently. She gestures with her arm and you refocus in a hurry. Which isn’t easy. You don’t usually get a chance to look at Tomura even partially nude — she likes to fuck with the lights off — and you don’t want to miss an opportunity. “What about this one? Is it closing too?”

“Yeah.” You readjust that bandage, too. “They look good. So if it’s a bad day for pain, then maybe —“

“Maybe it’s these.” Tomura shoos you back from the bed and starts struggling out of her jumpsuit entirely, exposing the bullet wounds in both legs.

Usually she treats those herself. You’ve offered to help, but she doesn’t like her legs being looked at, probably because of the sheer number of scars and scratch marks on her upper thighs. It doesn’t matter that you don’t care about the scars. She doesn’t want you to see them, so you don’t push it. You don’t push it so much that you’ve left her to handle the other two bullet wounds alone.

Now she’s sitting on the edge of her bed, naked except for the bandages, and it feels like there’s nowhere you can look that won’t give you an eyeful of something you can’t ignore. “I can look at those if you want,” you tell Tomura, keeping your eyes aimed at her feet. It’s safe for now, but given how into her you are, you’ll probably develop a thing for her feet if you look at them too long. “You just haven’t wanted me to.”

“I changed my mind,” Tomura says, and you sink to your knees.

The bullet went straight through her right thigh, missing her femoral artery by fractions of an inch. Most of her blood loss came from this wound, but like the others, it’s healing well. You rewrap it carefully, fighting to keep your hands from lingering where they shouldn’t be. You want to kiss her, touch her. Tomura’s usually the one to initiate physical contact, and she hasn’t since she got hurt. You sleep in the same bed, curled up together. But sleeping is all it is.

You give into temptation and press a quick kiss to her her knee before you move to her other leg. That one’s healing even better, but you still draw the process out, finding reasons to stay and look and touch. You know you can’t stay there forever. You sit back on your heels and look up at her. “It all looks fine,” you say. “Just a bad day.”

Tomura’s legs swing slightly, her feet brushing against your thighs, and you try to keep it together. “I can bring you a painkiller if you want. Anything.”

“It doesn’t work.” Tomura’s voice takes on a dull note. “I’m killing my liver for nothing.”

“Maybe you need a distraction,” you offer.

“I’ve tried that. Games, movies, reading, binging stupid TV. None of it works.”

You lean forward and press your lips against her other kneecap; then you do it again, ever so slightly higher. “Can I show you my idea?”

“Yes,” Tomura says. You kiss her one more time, then rise back. “What are you going to —”

You kiss her. The two of you spend a lot of time kissing, but it’s been a while since you really made out, so you start slow. Gentle kisses, drawing away for a kiss to her birthmark, to the scar over her eye. The scars on her face are the only ones she’ll let you attend to. Tomura kisses you back eagerly, but her hands stay at her sides. She doesn’t trust Decay — Not with you, she said, when you asked. I can replace everything else.

Since she can’t touch you, you get to touch her as much as you want, no distractions at all. Her extremities are bandaged, but that leaves her torso for you to explore. You run one hand along the sharp curve of her waist, down to her hip and then back. You do the same with your other hand, but you don’t stop at her waist on the way back up. Your hand finds its way to her breast, fingers drifting over her nipple almost by accident, and Tomura leans forward into your hand. She’s not self-conscious about her body except for her scars, and she’s sensitive. You only have to play with her nipples for a few moments before she’s panting against your mouth.

You draw back slightly. “Distracted yet?”

“No,” Tomura says. Her eyes are starting to dilate, and you see the beginning of a flush on her cheeks. “More.”

Her heart is beating fast when you kiss her neck, and worse when your free hand finds its way into her hair. Her scalp is sensitive, too, which is why she likes it when you comb out her hair with your fingers, fiddling with it until it’s to your liking. You tug slightly, pulling her head back to expose her throat, and a soft moan slips out of her mouth. You hear it again, quiet but sharper now, when you scrape your teeth over her collarbones on your way to kiss a path down her sternum.

Usually Tomura doesn’t let you take this much time. Usually she’s a hell of a lot more demanding, and you’re almost embarrassed by how much you get off on getting her off. This is different. You draw her attention away from her injuries, into whichever part of her you’re currently touching. Right now, her breasts, which fit perfectly in your hands. You’re tracing over her nipples, fingertips light, while your lips find every birthmark on her pale skin, as she arches her back to press herself closer to you.

“More,” she says again, her voice rough and breathy in a way that sets your nerves humming. “Fuck. Stop screwing around.”

“This is screwing around?” You pin one of her nipples between your thumb and forefinger and pinch slightly, your stomach twisting as she moans again. “What do you want me to do?”

“You said you’d distract me. I still feel it. Distract me more.”

You work your way down her body, mostly with kisses, sometimes with bites too gentle to leave a mark. She’s fine with some of the marks, but not the ones that look like bruises. By the time you reach her hips, her legs are already spreading. You push lightly on the inside of her thigh and Tomura spreads them further.

That’s never going to get old. The way she relaxes for you, gets vulnerable for you, lets you see her and make her feel good. She told you once, way before you even kissed, that she doesn’t feel good very often. Your imagination latched onto it, and you made up your mind that if you ever got the chance, you’d make Tomura feel so good she couldn’t think.

“What are you waiting for?” Tomura mumbles as you get settled between her legs.

“Just getting comfortable. I’m going to be here for a while.” You’re looking up at her, and you see her face flush. “Has anybody told you that you’re really hot?”

“Don’t say stupid things.”

“It’s not stupid. You’re really hot. You’re so hot that I —“ You feel her hips twitch upwards under your hands and lose patience. “Hold that thought.”

Tomura’s demanding, usually, and she’s worse when you’re actually fucking her. You usually counter it by slowing down, teasing her, making her beg for you before you make her come. You’re not interested in teasing right now. You need to taste her. You clamp your hands over her hips, holding them down, and bury your face between her legs. She tastes just as good as you remember, and her legs are trembling even before you’ve turned your attention to her clit.

Her legs. You loosen up on her hips so you can lift one leg to rest on your shoulder, avoiding any strain on her injury. The other’s splayed out wide, and you tuck your hand behind her knee, helping support it. And if you push her legs a little farther open in the bargain, who’s going to complain? Not you, as you run the tip of your tongue along her slit, pushing inside every so often. Not Tomura, if the harshness of her breathing tells you anything.

She’s not quiet, but she must be trying, because the slick, messy sounds of your tongue against her are louder than she is. For a little while, anyway. Until she starts to squirm, hips bucking up against your face for more. Maybe you should change positions, have her sit on your face instead. The thought crosses your mind, but you push it away with an effort. That position would probably hurt her legs more. Even if she wouldn’t think about it until later.

“Fuck,” Tomura gasps suddenly. “Fuck, not yet, I —”

She comes, hips jerking sharply as jagged moans issue from her mouth. You’re too busy steadying her legs to hold her down, and one thrust of her hips is a hell of a lot harder than the others. Your nose doesn’t break — you know what that sounds like, and this isn’t it — but it definitely starts to bleed.

You tilt your head back, trying to keep it running down the back of your throat. Can you still eat Tomura out like this? She said she wasn’t done, and even if she’d probably understand you taking a break for a second — “Don’t stop,” Tomura begs, and you decide you can handle the bloody nose without getting off your knees.

The fact that you need to keep your head at least partially tilted back means you have to get creative with your angles. It means you need your fingers, too. Tomura’s wet enough to handle two at once, and she clenches down on them so tightly that you can barely curl your fingers. It takes longer to make her come this time, but you don’t mind — you like the sounds she makes too much. You like how her entire body shudders when you suck on her clit. And you like being so absorbed in her that she has to switch from begging you for more to telling you to stop before you realize that she’s come a second time.

You’re pretty pleased with yourself when you come up for air, enough that you forget something important. Tomura peers at you through blurry eyes that widen in shock. “What the fuck happened to your face?”

The nosebleed. Dammit. “Nothing.”

“I fucked your face so hard I broke it,” Tomura says, and you burst out laughing. “Stop. It’s not funny —“

“It’s really funny.” You pinch your nose shut and tilt your head back, watching Tomura out of the corner of your eye. “Seriously. If I was in real trouble I’d have stopped.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Tomura says. She catches your arm four-fingered and yanks until you climb up on the bed next to her. “You were distracting me.”

“Did it work?”

“You made it worse,” Tomura says. Your stomach lurches. “My legs are shaking so bad I can’t walk.”

“Good. You scared me for a second there.”

“Yeah. Just like you scared me when you sat up and blood started dripping down your face.” Tomura rolls sideways, face-first into your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Tomura repeats, more forcefully this time. “For all of it. It’s not what you signed up for.”

It’s not. You’d be lying if you said it was. If you hadn’t thought you were falling for a normal girl, if your stomach hadn’t dropped when you realized what you’d really walked into. In some ways it’s your nightmare. But you don’t regret it. Maybe you’re just lovesick — and a little concussed — but you don’t regret it at all.

“I got exactly what I signed up for,” you say. You wrap your arms around Tomura and pull her closer, fighting a smile when she settles in against your side and ignoring the taste of blood as it drips down the back of your throat. “You.”

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