andy | 30s | she/her - writer, yapper, connoisseur of cappuccinos, deadly without alone time. this is a nsfw multifandom blog of typical nonsense. you've been warned. mdni you will be blocked. (the quote above is from the poem “love elegy in the chinese garden, with koi”)
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Aizawa and cat(I just noticed this is the first time I ever draw sensei) Btw this piece will be featured as a photo in one of our illustrations in our MHA fanbook “Sun-filled”(pre-order is up, you can check my blog or vitsit our website tamotaro.com/global-store/ for more details)
you and shinsou reconnect before your wedding. things do not go as planned.
cws: fem!reader, cheating, angst, some religious guilt, use of mind-control quirk in bed, degradation/humiliation, dubcon, use of she/her, reader referred to as woman, frequent pov changes sorry if that ain't your thing but i like to highlight how pathetically in love each party is
"would you ever try it with me?"
shinsou nearly drops his beer, his pants tightening to the point of pain.
"that's not the kind of thing you ask your best friend," he replies, even though his brain is already whirring through the fantasy like a movie reel. how long has he thought about you at his mercy? of you trusting him enough to make you cum so many times you begged him to stop?
you arch an eyebrow. "why not?"
"because i don't do that kind of thing in bed." he's surprised you don't faint right then and there, you look so stricken. but honestly, what were you thinking? springing this on him the first time he's seen you in months? "that's why you're asking, right? don't look so shocked—monoma already blabbed. i know you're getting married."
he leans in close, leering. he has no idea why he's so furious. (he does.) "you probably want to know what it's like with a freak before you settle down with mr. vanilla, huh?"
he should have expected the crack of your palm across his cheek. hurts like hell all the same.
your hands shake around your purse. "don't know why i bothered with this. you're right, okay? it sounds disgusting when you say it like that—but i've got elderly parents to take care of. my job barely keeps me alive. i know it's medieval, i know it's shit, but he's a good man who will support me. you can't keep people alive on dreams." you clatter out of the booth on shaky legs. "and monoma blabbed to me, too, you know. he told me why you're not satisfied with those women you bring home."
this time it's your turn to threaten his space. he drinks in your scent like water, his heart beating hard in his throat.
"because they're not me."
.
coward.
coward coward coward.
that's what you are, at the end of the day. you talk big, but you ran out of that pub as fast as you could, tears streaming down your face like a middle schooler.
it was crass, both what you said and how you said it. he had every right to turn you down.
you've thought about telling him you loved him perhaps a thousand times. from the first minute you saw him in your first year of college, sleepy eyes, messy hair, hoodie obscuring what you'd later discover to be hardened muscle and sinew.
the timing was never right, though, and before you knew it, settling down no longer felt like an option. it became a strategic play at survival in a flagging economy.
but it's shinsou that you think of when you touch yourself. it's shinsou who makes you slippery and warm, who makes your whole body feel like it could float into air at a simple touch.
not your fiancé.
you slow down to catch your breath, plopping down on a park bench. you've become the woman your mother always warned about, too distracted by what-ifs.
you nearly jump out of your skin when your phone rings.
"meet me at my place before i change my mind."
.
the deal was one night.
he's lost track of how many nights it's been since the first.
"it's okay, baby." he peppers small kisses to the inside of your thighs, breathing in your scent. "i'm right here." his tongue grazes over your clit and you jerk in his hold, hips bucking into his face.
"no more, 'toshi—"
"color?" he always commands it out of you, just in case.
"yellow," you admit dreamily, hands winding in his hair.
"good job, sweetheart." he pulls away, winding his way up your body and placing kisses to your tummy, your breasts. he licks a nipple between his teeth, listening to your breathing even out. "god job telling me what you need."
he still hasn't fucked you on his cock. he's used his fingers, his mouth, dildos. he's lost track of how many hours have passed by in bliss, how many times he's watched your sweet little mouth part in ecstasy.
your thighs are warm and soft in his hands. he tucks your legs around his waist, runs his clothed cock along the valley of your sopping wet cunt. your breath stutters; the animal in him howls in triumph.
"want it that badly, do you?" shallow strokes of his cock along your pussy—he feels her beating against his shaft, eager and ready. "like a good little whore. just waiting to be filled."
"toshi—" even now, you admonish him. he can't help but smile. "don't, don't say that—"
"why?" he scoops you into his lap. "because of how much you like it?"
you flush, burying your face into his neck.
you'll need more to cum again. he's already pulled three from you, and this next one -
"make me cum now, toshi. the way we both want you to."
.
to be loved is to be known. you've always thought that, and here hitoshi is, proving you right.
you know other people would find the two of you immoral. sinners, even, if your mind ran to damnation.
but when hitoshi touches you, the only thing you think of is how this is the happiest you've ever been.
"please, toshi." his thighs tense under yours, the only indication of his unease. "you know how much i trust you."
he chuckles, tipping your chin up and capturing your mouth with his. "i know, doll. that's part of the problem. i'm not sure i could walk away from you if we do this."
he smiles, a little sadly, eyes trained on yours. "but i'm hopeless when it comes to you. you sure about this?"
your heart thunders in your ears.
"never been more sure."
.
"good." his hand slides up the back of your neck, grip tight on either side. "tell me whose cock you need."
your gaze goes out of focus; your mouth goes slack.
he's never been harder in his life.
"yours," you say without hesitation, winding your arms tighter around his neck. your lips ghost over his pulse point. he draws you closer, adoration spiking his blood. god, how he'll ruin you. "yours, toshi."
"that's my girl," he coos.
he loses track of the commands, how many times he suspends both of your orgasms to the point of pain. he praises you the entire time, hoping it penetrates through the fog of his quirk.
"you sound so pretty, baby. letting out all those pretty noises just for me." he lets go of the quirk for a moment. holds his forehead to yours. the dip of your waist fits so perfectly in the palm of his hand that it nearly stops his breath. "ready, sweetheart?"
he teases you, weeping tip sliding into your warm heat by one inch. he has to physically restrain you from sliding down.
"why'd you stop?"
"you know why." he lets you sink down another inch or so. it's the most pleasurable agony he's ever experienced. "wanted you here when i made you mine."
"oh." your smile lights up your entire face. "that's a really good reason."
he takes hold of your mind again, gently, before bottoming out inside of you.
tamsy who watches you play with your clit every night, peering through the cut-outs he left in the wall of your bedroom. he watches you circle and circle the swollen bud, your fingers hopelessly, desperately seeking relief. his cock strains, aching for release, but he never, never gives in, not until you're nearing your peak, not until you're shuddering and humping your hand like a dog -
"tamsy," you breathe out, voice catching. "oh god tamsy please --"
you always cum before you tell him what you need.
so he keeps teasing you during the day, flirting gently, the blood pooling in your cheeks proof of his success.
only he can soothe the ache between your thighs. he wants you to know this as intimately as your own breath. only he knows how to unwind you like a spool of spread.
but until then, he's content to wait. content to watch you from his dim hiding place, fist around his cock while you drool into your pillow, sobbing out his name.
you'll be experiencing the real thing soon enough.
i've had a decent amount of new followers in the past few days - hello! - but a reminder that i will block you if your blog is blank, ageless, or if you're a minor
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tags: best friends to lovers, roomates to lovers, mutual pining, wet dreams, explicit consent, dry humping and very much NOT dry humping
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When Kenma pokes his head into your room, it's almost three o'clock in the morning. He's just finished his Friday night stream, but the quiet he'd expected when slipping his headphones off is not there. Instead, there's a whimpering noise he can hear through the wall, muffled enough that his mic hadn't caught it but loud enough that he's immediately concerned.
He'd knocked twice, quietly murmuring your name, but you'd only let out more whimpers, almost pained. You must be having a nightmare, he reasons, letting himself into your room and trying not to feel guilty.
The blankets have been kicked to the floor, your pajamas riding up in places that he won't let himself notice, because he's worked very hard over the last three years to ignore any hint of anything that isn't roommate-friendly. Not for your sake, because you're not shy at all about boundaries or personal space or anything. Why would you be? You're his best friend.
No… It's entirely for his sake. For his sanity. If he lets himself want to see you in this way — be near you in this way — he won't ever recover.
So he pretends he doesn't see you like this and moves to your side, one hand on your shoulder. You're sweating, your skin sticky and your breath coming out in uneven pants. Your eyebrows are screwed up tight, like you're hurting.
"Hey," he whispers, mumbling your name. He shakes you when you don't stir. "Y/n. C'mon. You gotta get up."
Your body jerks with sudden consciousness, and your eyes fly open. When your gaze finds his, Kenma's spine tightens.
Your pupils are dilated, and your eyes are glazed over with something heated.
"Koz?"
A shiver runs down the length of his body, starting from the crown of his head.
He brushes it off. "Yeah. You were having a nightmare." When you just blink up at him, hazy and lost, he presses his palm against your forehead. "You good?"
Your breath hitches, and you lift your hands to your face, groaning. "Yeah. All good."
He gets the sense that you're lying. "Was it bad?"
"Mhm," you breathe. "Bad."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Nope," you laugh, shaking your head and reaching for the blankets with trembling fingers. "Definitely not."
Kenma shakes his head, resolved to never hearing about this mystery nightmare. And then, as you're tugging the blankets over your legs, he watches your thighs clench together tight.
His mouth is suddenly quite dry. "Oh."
You pause, glancing at his face. When you see what he's looking at, you yank the blankets up to your chin. "Koz-"
"Sorry," Kenma laughs, a little delirious. He looks around, standing from your bed with an urgency that he's never felt before. "My bad. I'll go."
"Wait-" Your fingers snag on his wrist. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dream about you-"
"About-" Kenma blinks down at you, his eyes wide. "About who? About-What?"
You stare, your hand covering your mouth. "Oh, god."
He echoes you. "Oh, god." When you sink under your blankets, murmuring 'please go away', he's quick to listen. "Yep. Got it."
"Wait!" you call out, just as he's rushing through the doorway. He stops, staring out into the hallway while you stay silent. "Come back…" Kenma doesn't move, trying to decide if this is real or if you're about to stab him for even knowing about this dream, which was entirely out of your control and which he's totally okay pretending never happened.
But then your voice changes. Thickens with nerves, with something stronger. "Koz… Come back?"
He's at the foot of your bed before he can think of any logical reason not to be, staring down at the blankets and doing his very best not to look into that heated gaze he knows you've got.
Your breath is stuttered, nervous. "Can I ask for something?"
He'd give you anything, even the thing he knows is coming. "Yeah. Yes."
"Will you-" Your voice going quiet, whispered and uncertain. "Will you help me?"
Kenma's eyes flit about the dark of your room. He's coming concerningly close to the end of his rope of self-control. "With?"
"Kenma-"
He shudders visibly, even in the moonlight. You only call him by his name when you're about to say something real. Something heavy.
"Please help me." When he doesn't answer, just shifting his weight and curling his fists into his pockets, you visibly shrink in your bed. "Or-Unless you don't-"
"I want to," he blurts, carding his fingers through his hair and tugging hard. "I definitely want to. I just-" He doesn't finish his sentence, just sitting next to you, within arms' reach. When you tug on his hoodie, he lets you drag him down over you, his sigh heated against your skin. "Are you sure?" he asks. "You just had a dream. It's okay if it's just that. You can't control them."
Your hand trails up his chest and curls around the hair at the base of his neck, playing with it softly. He shivers, a hand brushing across your waist and planting into the mattress at your side, caging you in.
"I don't have dreams about any of my other friends, Koz," you whisper. "But I've lost track of how many have been about you."
His eyes find yours, close and wide and shocked. "Wha-"
"Please, Kenma. I want this."
There's only a moment of silence, and then Kenma is dropping his lips to yours.
Your breath hitches against his mouth, your lips parting, and he's desperate enough to just push his tongue past them right away, all pretense and hesitation leaving his body in a moment of pure weakness. His fingers slide against your waist, dipping under the hem of your shirt and pressing firmly against the warmth of your tummy.
He shuffles nervously over you, following the lead you set. Following the arch of your back with a press of his fingertips against your spine. Following the moan of his name with the moan of yours. Following the spread of your thighs with the slot of his hips between them.
When he rolls his hips, you bury your fingers in his hair and whine, the sound high-pitched and needy. He can feel your heartbeat between your thighs, pulsing against him rapidly and picking up every time he does something new.
His fingers hook under one knee, tugging you around his waist as he starts to roll against you with an unsteady rhythm. His breath is getting heavy, but so is yours. Every push of himself against you is accompanied by the harsh shove his breath past his lips, dizzying and hot and slick with saliva. He feels you start to tug on his hair, little grunts of need getting caught in his throat.
"More," you whisper, your hips clumsy and rough whenever you reciprocate his eager desperation. "More, Koz, please." He presses down harder, his rolls lasting longer and pushing particulary close at the peak. He can feel his pants slipping down his waist, and he knows they're going to be gone soon. Especially with the way your pretty hips keep shimmying up against him, like you're trying to stamp the imprint of his cock against your soaked panties.
"More-Kenma-"
Kenma groans into your mouth, nipping your bottom lip between his teeth. "You sure?"
"Please," you whine, shifting back and forth. "Take them off-"
He doesn't need to hear anything else, his sweats and underwear shoved down to his thighs in an instant. The slot of his cock against your panties is torture, soaking wet torture. The noises coming from between your thighs is obscene. He chases it, curious about what it would sound like without the fabric. If it's just skin on skin, wet and warm and desperate-
"More-"
"Oh, god," he moans, slipping two trembling fingers under the gusset of your panties. "Please tell me you're sure-"
"'m sure, Koz, please, god-"
The fabric tears slightly when he yanks it aside, but neither of you hear it over the moans that echo around you when Kenma slides his cock between your folds.
It's as messy as he'd hoped, loud and lewd and sticky and everything he's ever dreamed of. He hopes it's what you've dreamed of, too.
"Is this what you wanted?" he grunts, hips slapping against your skin as he ruts desperately against you. "Is this what you were dreaming about tonight?"
Your breath stutters, chest rising and falling unevenly. "N-No-"
Kenma's heart nearly stops. But it picks up again when you reach between your legs and find his cock, your fingers making his thighs shake.
"No," you repeat, panting. And then you line up the tip of him against your entrance, leaving it there for him to take the final step when he's ready. "More, Kenma. Please."
when you’re riding tsukki and he won’t shut up about how you’re struggling to take him so you shift forward, fingers tightening around the strong column of his neck. you see his eyes dilate, his breath hitch, all because of your fucking hand around his throat.
you get in close. your breath ghosts over his lips, saccharine smile overtaking your face, "you really think your cock's enough to satisfy me?"
he tries to strangle his groan, but you feel how violently his cock kicks inside your cunt.
"does little tsukki need his senpai to teach him how to fuck?" you lick the hollow of his throat. bite down on his neck. relish in the shudders and moans coming out of the usually sarcastic man. "did they not teach you how to make it fit?"
"what the fuck—"
he bucks his hips up into your slippery, wet heat, letting out a string of curses.
"aww, you mad at me, baby?" you're glad the languorous circles in his lap are driving him crazy. he teases you too often not to get fucked with. "should i call kuroo-san and see if he can pencil in a quick lesson?"
heart pounding when you’re near, angry when he doesn’t see you when he expects to. he's always tripping over himself, ears furiously red as the words sit on his tongue like coals. you look so so beautiful tonight. every awkward attempt at small talk, at a chance for connection.
how he has no idea that every single thing he does endears him more and more to you.
it’s a game—the way you always end up face down on the couch late at night watching tv in nothing but a t-shirt and your underwear. the way you always seem to kick off the blanket right before hitoshi gets home from his patrol shift.
the way you both pretend you’re fast asleep when he gently tugs your panties to the side and strokes a finger through your slit. the way you don’t make a sound as he unzips his pants. as he climbs over top of you and sinks his cock into your soaking wet heat.
the way you pretend like you’re sleeping through each rough thrust as he buries himself in your cunt over and over. as he acts like you can’t hear how he groans with each soaked squelch.
as he murmurs some empty string of apologies while he’s spilling a fat hot load of cum deep inside of you. as he leaves a filthy, dripping mess between your legs and you don’t complain because you’re just going to fuck it right back inside with a vibrator when you get to your room.
hitoshi shrugs after you cheekily tell him not to wait up for you as you flounce out of your room in a skirt and tank top that hardly leave anything to the imagination. he ends up standing in the middle of the kitchen palming himself through his sweatpants long after the front door swings shut.
yet you’re already home when he gets back from his shift, horizontal on the couch with a pair of white cotton panties on full display beneath your rucked up little skirt. body twisted just enough to show the swell of your tits spilling from the neckline of your top.
hitoshi inhales sharply when he starts to ease his cock inside of you only to be met with a sloppy mess of cum. the sick, twisted sense of satisfaction has him snapping his hips, burying himself inside of you balls deep in one rough stroke.
you don’t mean to moan his name into the pillow, but he hears the muffled sound loud and clear.
“date didn’t fuck you good enough?” he murmurs against the shell of your ear.
you can feel the way he smiles as you exhale a shaky whine when he slowly pulls out until all that’s left is the tip. your date’s cum drips down your thighs. saliva pools in the back of your throat. your swollen clit aches.
hand wrapped around his cock, hitoshi teases your wet folds with the tip until you’re nearly sobbing, pussy trembling.
you nod, and he responds with a soft, satisfied sigh before he plunges back inside of you.
Idk I have so little patience for willfully ignorant people. You know the entire plot of Fruit Love Island or whatever the fuck but can't take an hour outta your day to look up why everything is falling apart around you? Embarrassing
