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Well, that wasn't true. You didn't have a good reason to be standing in front of the door of Tomura's fancy new office at the PLF headquarters. You had reasons, but they made you feel stupid.
You frowned as you looked at Tomura through the glass wall. He looked busy, doing whatever he does on the computer. Probably something important—too important to be interrupted. You shouldn't have come here.
Turning on your heel, you walked down the hallway, freezing as he called your name, muffled through the glass. "I thought you were coming in?"
Fuck, he must have seen you. You should've been faster. Defeated, you spun around, opening the door to stick your head in. "What's up?"
He cocked his head, removing Father from his face. "Were you not coming to see me?"
Fuck, he looked really cute like that—hair gently tousled, his tie loose around his neck. He'd been wearing more suits lately, and it'd be a lie to say you weren't at least a little feral about how good he looked in them.
"I was," you admitted. "I was just bored, and I missed you and wanted attention. But you look busy, and I don't want to bother you," you trailed off, feeling embarrassed.
He blinked, looking more confused than before. "Huh? Why'd you think you'd be bothering me? Is that why you're not coming in? Come here," he pat his thigh.
You should've known better than to think he wouldn't read you like a book. He was too observant. Or maybe you were just easy to read. You sighed, stepping into the office and shutting the door behind you.
Despite his obvious desire for for you to sit on his lap, you leaned on the desk instead. "Are you sure I should be sitting on you?" You asked, trying—and failing—to ignore his pout. "You just got your cast taken off, I don't want to strain yourself."
"I'm fine," he grumbled, before tugging on your hands. Sometimes you were jealous of Tomura—He didn't have the self-doubt or internal shame you had about asking for things. Maybe it wasn't a rational thing to be jealous of, because it definitely had come to bite him in the ass before. This time, though, it worked in his favor—rolling your eyes, you tentatively sat in his lap as his hands wrapped around your waist.
"There we go," he smirked, looking all-too pleased with himself. Ever since he gained full control over decay, he'd been more touchy than normal. If you were in reach, he always had a hand on you—your's in his as you walked, one on your thigh when you sat next to him. Not to mention how handsy he'd been when it was just the two of you. It was nice, although it made his absence feel worse.
"Why didn't you come in? Tell me," he asked, squeezing your sides.
You should've known better than to think Tomura would drop the subject. He was particularly stubborn about some things. You sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck to stabilize yourself. "Again, I thought you were busy."
He cocked his head. "I wouldn't have minded."
You hummed in disapproval. "Easy for you to say. Remember when you snapped at me for bothering you at the bar?"
"Oh," he frowned, looking equally embarrassed and mad at himself.
"Yeah," you reached down to playfully poke him in the chest. "And I want an apology."
"Sorry," he said immediately, "I was an idiot back then."
"It's okay," you laughed, "You're smarter now." You leaned in to kiss him, happy that you decided to come here after all—even if it was to just get a little bit of attention.
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Every once in a while, I wish the friendship meter from the Sims was real so that way when people tell me "I used Chat-GPT" they can visually see just how much respect I just lost for them in that moment.
One time an acquaintance told me she entered Snape's star chart into chatgpt and I could physically feel that meter dropping three separate times over the course of her sentence
if I had a nickel for every time I blew my lunch break writing femura porn I’d have two nickels. which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it’s happened twice. Explicit, reader POV, reader and Tomura are roommates, reader and Tomura are broke, reader is kind of a perv, toys are mentioned and used.
beg, steal, borrow
When you decided to become a hero, you weren’t expecting fame and fortune, at least not right away. Maybe never, and you were okay with that. The way you do the job doesn’t make headlines or earn sponsorships, but you feel like you’re doing something that matters, and that’s what counts. Do you wish it paid better? Sure. Especially when one of your five roommates — the one you share a bathroom with, in particular — is having a bad day.
You’re on the couch in the living room, headphones in, but the crash and heavy thud of Tomura throwing something against the wall is loud enough to startle you out of whatever midafternoon scrolling stupor you were in. So is her voice, which cracks with frustration. “Fuck! Fucking piece of shit —”
Something else hits the wall, a little quieter this time. A moment later, the door opens, and Tomura storms out of the room, face red and jaw clenched with frustration.
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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“people shouldn’t have to accept the bare minimum-” I agree with that too but we’re at a point where we have to cling to the bare minimum or that will be taken away too
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
never be good at your job. it's a trap. they'll just give you more and harder stuff to do and it'll pull you away from your true passion of writing gay fanfiction for people on the internet
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