Find your tribe in a Sea of Creativity
tw: accidental edging (I guess?), mentioned ovulation, cunnilingus, allusions to squirting, basically shouta helps us unwind
~
You feel insane. Unhinged. Nauseous with desperation and ashamed of the tears that sting your eyes.
You should not be this upset—this angry and hopeless. It’s just an orgasm for fuck’s sake.
But god, you want it. You need it. You need the outlet, the release, the calm and clarity that follows. You need to get rid of the throb between your legs. It’s been driving you mad for the last two days, forcing you to hold a vibrator to your clit over and over again. Multiple times a day. Some orgasms are much easier to reach, but others are more like drawn out chases.
In this case, it’s not happening at all. You’ve gotten close a couple times, but as soon as you think you’ve found just the right angle, just the right amount of pressure, the sensation lessens, climax dancing away from you like a dirty little minx.
Fuck. Fuck.
You’ve been at it for an hour. You’d tried watching some of your favorite videos then, when that didn’t work, switched to reading erotica. Using your imagination was a last ditch effort, concocting your favorite fantasies.
You thought you had it that time, that familiar pulse in your pussy growing, fresh slick dripping from your hole, and then…
Your vibrator died.
It took a monumental effort to not throw it against the wall.
Fine. Fucking fine. You’ll just use your fingers. Back to basics, right?
The sun is starting to set, sky darkening behind the curtains in your bedroom. The blankets are in a heap on the floor, kicked away in frustration.
It’s just you in the middle of the bed, legs splayed, fingers working over your clit, somehow both overstimulated and desensitized at the same time.
It’s no use, though, and you let out an honest to god sob when you feel the previously swollen bud begin to shrink and soften under the pads of your fingers.
At this point your best option is a cold shower, but the thought alone makes you shiver as you glare at the ceiling. It probably wouldn’t even solve your problem, just hold it at bay until your body is able to warm back up.
“Stupid, so stupid, fuck—”
“Love?”
Shouta’s head suddenly appears in the doorway, home from work and looking pleasantly surprised by the sight of you. That is, until you hiccup out another sob, immediately throwing an arm over your face.
“Woah, hey, hey, what’s wrong?”
A few quick steps and then the bed dips and you feel him hovering over you. Even with your eyes covered you can see his concerned expression, all furrowed brow and parted lips—God, he’s so handsome and good and warm, and one of his knees is between your thighs, not touching but still close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from it.
It’s too much, and you’re too pent up, and Shouta actually startles when you suddenly shout, “I can’t fucking cum!”
Ever vigilant, his first thought is, “did you get hit with a Quirk?” Ready to track down a villain and beat them to a pulp. If only it was that easy.
“Nooo, I’m ovulating,” you whine, take an uneven breath before adding, “‘m so god damn horny I can’t think straight, and nothing is working, and my vibrator fucking died and my fingers aren’t enough and I’m about to swan dive off the roof!”
Another deep breath and then you lower your arm, immediately regretting it when you see the way Shouta is staring at you—eyebrows raised, lips just barely curled into an amused smile. It’s as infuriating as it is attractive, and you’re tempted to shove him off the bed.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you grit.
He doesn’t, just leans a little closer and coos, “my poor baby,” which makes everything so much worse, the heat in your gut flaring dangerously.
“Shouta, I swear to fuck—”
You don’t know what you’re about to threaten him with, but it doesn’t matter, not when he trails a hand between your legs to cup your mound.
You sigh—or maybe sing?—under the touch, whole body jerking when he starts stroking over your folds, hypersensitive from blood flow.
“Look at you,” he rumbles, clicking his tongue before he sits back on his heels. He runs his fingertips over your lips a few more times, thumbs soothing heated skin before spreading you open.
Shouta inhales sharply as if taken off guard, then his voice drops so, so low, rattling your bones.
“Fuck, you’re so…” Gently, like he’s afraid you’ll break, he ghosts over your clit. It punches a gasp straight from your lungs, eyes going wide as more tears form. “You look raw.” Shouta’s gaze flicks to your face, heated words curling from his mouth like smoke, “desperate little thing.”
All you can really do is nod in agreement, pitiful when you beg, “please, Sho… need your help.”
“I know, sweetheart. It’s okay, just relax.”
He moves slowly, but it isn’t due to apathy. It’s calm, reassuring, confident that he’s going to take care of you. After situating a pillow under your hips, Shouta lays between your legs and spreads you open again.
His tongue feels like Heaven—warm, wet, and soft. There’s no urgency, just slow, soothing strokes. He laves over your clit rather than flicking or sucking, lets saliva drip from his lips to help lubricate. His facial hair drags against your thighs, but he stays mindful, doing what he can to avoid rubbing against your sensitive skin.
It’s perfect, drawing a long moan out of you. Tears stream from the corners of your eyes, leaving sticky trails, but you don’t care. You don’t care about anything except for Shouta’s mouth.
He hums when your clit starts to swell under his tongue, and the subtle vibration makes you keen.
“Good, so good, so good thank you thankyouthankyou—”
He squeezes your thigh, an acknowledgement, a reminder, I’m right here, I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you.
And he does. Thoroughly. Tenderly. You melt into the sheets, body turning to a liquid state
Shouta drinks everything you give him. Then he slides two fingers into your heat, angles them just right, and ends up swallowing even more.