🎃 Happy Halloween 🎃

A new life for Tomura part4

I have to confess

I have another comfort character...yes Tomura isn't the only one even if he's my fav 😂✋

I also have sundrop✨ from fnaf i can't i...such a sunshine 🥺

Slip

Summary Chap 1

Featuring: Tomura Shigaraki x female reader cw: None, but this series contains adult themes so minors don't interact. Word count: 4.8 k AO3

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The timeless fact shared throughout human history is that resources equal power. A few generations ago, quirks weren’t even considered a possibility, let alone a metric of power, even if superpowers are currently statistically as prevalent as brown eyes. Financial resources are still considered the most valuable.

Tomura granted himself access to that resource thanks to his battle with Redestro, and as a result, the league did as well.

It was fun at first to eat anything you wanted whenever you wanted and have clean clothes delivered to your door. It was so simple to become familiar with the pleasant things. Getting used to being seen as some kind of authority figure by the members of the Paranormal Liberation Front was not. You didn't agree to this.

It continued to bother you that the members of the PLF insisted on calling you Lieutenant Y/n. After the numerous reunions you attended, nothing but the thought of delivering your dismissive to Tomura rounded your mind, stating that you didn’t want anything distinctive and that you were content with being merely Y/n. Writing the letter took you a while. It would be easier to tell him in person, but brushing away the feeling that he was actively avoiding you has been complicated since that night.

Setting up a communication method that allowed him to avoid you seemed more appropriate. Saving him—and you—uncomfortable eye contact and more awkward talk. By that train of thought, sending a text was far simpler, but it felt wrong. You wanted him to read your handwriting not because it was good but because you wanted him to know you took the time to consider your choice.

It is not like you were leaving.

But you were in a way that mattered to him.

The first draft was lengthy. You poured your heart into the paper sheet, but it soon dawned on you that you had written it for yourself, not Tomura. That kind of relationship was not what you had with him. You began again, dragging the pen over the sheet until it bled in thick, blotchy scribbles, tossing that sheet away too.

By the end of your writing session, all you came with was a short note that wasn't worthy of an envelope.

The next issue was getting the note into his possession. You once again rejected the less complicated choice in favor of breaking into his room covertly and leaving it there. Something told you that breaking into his personal space would irritate him less than sending the note into the hands of a third party.

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Tomura's new room was on the building's top story. He didn't quite care for it; it was Redestro's idea to accommodate him in such a place.

You went to the elevator, avoiding people as much as you could. The occasional greeting was appreciated, but each time, you hoped it remained just a salute and not an invitation to converse. The beaten-down boots you refused to throw away made squeaking noises as you walked down the polished floor.

You wondered why luxurious places had to have all surfaces polished to the point of reflection; after all, you didn't need to scrutinize yourself on everything that caught your eye. The elevator was not better, with a huge, full-length mirror attached to the back. Even if you gave your back to your reflection, you could not escape your mirror doppelganger. The silver-like door of the elevator was as reflective as recently polished silverware.

The sound of the tiny speaker, which indicated you’d reached your destination, took you out of your mind with pre-recorded bells. Stepping outside, you turned your head left and right; no one was around to be a witness. Little did you know, Tomura had said to everyone else that he didn't want people snooping around his room.

You would bet that the massive, thick wood panels that made up the door were custom-built. It surprised you that the doorknob wasn’t locked, but who would dare to break into his room apart from you?

You meant to only leave the note in a place that looked messy so he would notice it and then run away from there as quickly as possible, but you didn't resist the urge to wander around. The room smelled clean in a chemical way—too much bleach. Under that, you could perceive his smell; you remembered it so well.

The room was so tall and went on and on. If you spoke out loud, you knew the echo would answer your words in an eerie whisper. An office space was to your right. The left led to a narrow passage, possibly a bathroom or closet. Who knew?

In front of you, a set of stairs led you to his bedroom. The big, tall, imposing windows gave you an impressive view of the gardens and the city nearby. Now, you were jealous of that view.

Muffled steps startled you when you were about to turn around and finish with this exploration and delivery mission. You didn't even have the chance to try and hide; he was already beside you. He moved like a cat, naturally stealthy; his broken leg had healed long ago.

"Nice view," you muttered, swallowing your surprise.

He hummed in what you hoped was agreement. You didn't lift your head to look at him or move. Trying to control your nerves was costing you all your willpower. Your quirk has never been this useless before.

"I brought you something," you said, lifting the note so he could see it.

"I have paper in the room over there," he said, pointing to the office near the door.

"It’s a note.”

You finally turned to look at him, with his now immaculate white hair surrounding his head like a halo, wearing the three-piece suit he started to use when Redestro convinced him he should dress accordingly to his new position. He appeared so different; even his body language, with a straight, proud back, was not the same.

"A petition," you clarified.

"Is it so important that you had to break into my room?" He inquired, taking the note from your fingers.

"The door was open; I knocked." You shrugged, disregarding his question.

Tomura hoped your important petition was something along the lines of being with him again, not necessarily for sex, not like he would say no if you offered, but he wanted your presence near him again. He didn't want to hear whispers trying to lure him now that he was powerful. Tomura very much would rather listen to you.

He'd done what he thought was right by letting you come to him on your terms, just like you did the first time.

"Whatever it is, I'm fine with it," he said casually.

You frowned at his words. He had to hold his fingers in a fist to keep his thumb from smoothing the lines on the space between your eyebrows and to keep himself from pressing his mouth against yours.

"You should read it." That's all you uttered before walking away. "Goodnight, Tomura," you said when you reached the door, then you disappeared.

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The knocking on your door woke you up with a start, activating your quirk as you took your first conscious breath. The person outside your door must've felt the buzzing of your quirk because they immediately said:

"Sorry to wake you up, Ms. Y/l. Mail."

Why the fuck didn't they just slide it in under the door? You wondered as your eyes darted to the clock on your nightstand at 6:00 a.m. It read neon green numbers.

Throwing a robe over your shoulders reluctantly, you retrieved your quirk, a headache already blooming behind your eyes. A man in an ironed uniform was before you with a warm smile. He gave you an envelope unceremoniously.

"Thanks," you mumbled to the man, and he bowed, ending the awkward interaction.

You knew what this was, even if the envelope was blank and unsealed. Tomura must have trusted people in no way would tamper with his things, or maybe he heedlessly didn't care. With shaky fingers, you pull out the folded paper inside the envelope to find a single word written hastily in the center.

Approved.

Officially, you were no longer Co-commander Y/n. The responsibility you had never asked for had been taken from your shoulders. You could feel a smile starting to appear on your lips. In any case, you weren't a fighter in the first place; in Tomura's words, when you first met, you were support.

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Tomura regretted not stopping you from leaving his room.

When he had read the message to the end, he turned it into dust. Is that what you truly wanted to do? Striding to the office, he had not even bothered to visit before.

He told himself that he had more important things to do and that he didn't have time to ponder the reasons why you thought the way you did. He needed to demolish civilization and prepare his body to accept AFO. A single word was enough of an answer.

The paranormal liberation front was inconsequential; disposable pieces turned pawns on his chessboard. He trusted his league enough to let them complete all the planning for the upcoming attacks on heroes, and Dabi to deal with the spy.

You were not indispensable anyway. Absolutely not. Even when he caught himself thinking about you. Tomura had no time to lose; he had a war to win. He was the mass-destruction weapon that would tip the scales in their favor.

The next reunion was private, with just the co-commanders present. Before Tomura entered the conference room, all eyes were on the empty chair that belonged to you. Himiko looked at Spinner questioningly, but he merely shrugged; her guesses were as good as his.

Tomura didn't address it either when the reunion began. He was brief; he was going into the next step, and his body had to turn into the perfect vessel for AFO. He was moving into the hospital of Dr.Garaki that very same day to start with the procedures.

New responsibilities settled on their shoulders. At last, there would be concrete action taken against the heroes—a shift was in the works. It was almost time to document the rebirth of a new world rising from the ashes of devastation.

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You may have shot yourself in the foot because you grew bored pretty fast. The information came to you the same way it came to everyone else: later, watered-down, and changed. The atmosphere shifted; that was clear. As training got underway, individuals were selected and chosen in a manner distinct from how regiments had previously accommodated their squads.

Now you were under Trumpet's command. You'd trained well enough not to be worried; you knew the reach of your quirk very well; it was advantageous but it was not going to be a major factor in the battle.

You grew fond of the rooftop, as everything in the building was overdone, but the plant pots with exotic-looking greenery offered a feeling of privacy. A girl took care of them—a plant-based quirk, probably; she reminded you of Tomura with a similar hair color and bright red eyes.

Then you felt dumb for searching for him among other people.

You walked up to the roof as you often did on one of your many sleepless nights, and sure enough, it was empty. The chilly air stole a shiver from you, making your eyes water. You ought to have taken a jacket, but you weren’t going to hop into the elevator again. The thought of dropping by Tomura's floor and breaking into his room again was too tempting.

You had no idea what you were going to do there. Would you wait for Tomura to catch you again? That was a bad idea.

Bracing yourself and rubbing the length of your arms, you wander to the edge. From the nearest city, a million tiny artificial stars could be seen. The horizon melded with the sky, joining the real ones. You tried not to think about the fate of those people living their lives.

"I didn't know you liked heights, Lieutenant Y/n." A male voice made you turn your head: Hawks. He was wearing a charming smile.

"As long as I have my feet on something solid..." You answered. “I don’t mind.”

He chuckled like you just said the funniest thing he had heard all day, or as if he were laughing at you.

"How come I don't see you in meetings anymore?" He asked.

You didn't like this guy. Dabi was supposed to deal with him. Allowing a hero in was never a wise decision. The fact that Hawks, the second-ranking hero, disagreed with hero society seemed too good to be true.

"My presence is not required." You said that, placing your index finger over your lips. "Secret missions and all. No one is better than you to get it right?"

"Right, right. Good luck." He said it with a boyish smile.

"Good luck to you too. Surely it must be stressful? If I were to lie in front of the hero commission, I would be under a lot of stress. You're so brave." You could play that game too. Men love flattery, and Hawks seemed like he liked to get his feathers ruffled.

"Rarely a change can be obtained without taking risks," he added as he leaned against the railing. "Just see Shigaraki going and turning himself into a guinea pig."

What? What did he say?

"How do you know that?" Keeping a serene stance rapidly became so much harder.

"Dabi said something like that. I don't have the details, just that Shigaraki is under some kind of procedure," he said, lifting his hand in mock defense. "Didn't you know, Lieutenant?"

"I won't confirm or deny anything." You said, faking a chuckle, fixing a lock of hair behind your ear.

"Right. Secret missions and all.” He said holding your gaze.

That smelled rotten. You served information to the hero on a silver plate. He was not stupid; far from it. Hawks read you like a book, and who knew what you unknowingly admitted or denied? He tricked you in a game you didn’t know you had cards in.

Banging at Dabi's door at 3 a.m. was surely not the plan you had for your night and yet. He opened the door, a threatening blue flame already licking his fingers.

"The fuck you want is 3 a.m.; it can wait until tomorrow."

Ignoring his complaint, you stepped into his room, shoving him inside.

"Why are you giving information about Tomura to Hawks? What does he mean when he says Tomura is turning himself into a guinea pig?" Using your hands to emphasize your statements, you yelled at Dabi.

"Why were you talking to Hawks?" The man answered your question with a question himself.

"It doesn't matter!"

"You didn't know? Shigaraki is not in special training; he's getting inside a tank to get his body ready for something," Dabi said casually, taking fluff off his jacket.

"Why are you telling the hero that? Don't tell me you trust him." It took you a couple of minutes to digest his words. You were starting to get tired of people asking about stuff you might or might not know.

"Look y/n I don't know what you did to Shigaraki to get him to kick you out of the team, nor do I care, but I will tell you this: I don't want your nose up my business; I have the situation under control." He stated this as he approached you, coming to your eye level.

You scoffed. 

"We'll see."

You went back to the hallway just as you were crossing his door frame, ready to walk away. Dabi murmured, "Garaki's Hospital."

You came back, capturing your attention once again.

"That's where Shigaraki is."

"Why are you telling me that?" you asked, lifting your eyebrow.

Dabi was trying to buy your silence by giving you a piece of information he knew you wanted. It was written all over your face, and of course, because he didn't want you rushing around telling everyone else about him disclosing private information to Hawks.

"I have the situation with the hero under control. I know what I'm doing. Don't worry and don’t worry others," he assured you, repeating his words.

"Fine, I won't tell anyone anything, but you must tell me what's going on."

He shook his head and sat on a sofa, male-spreading.

"Not much. I should ask you, Why did the boss give you vacations?"

You shrugged back.

"Reasons" you leaned on the wall, unconcerned about ruining the expensive paper wall; the room had already been marinated in smoke anyway.

"You see, I don't want people up my business, and you don't like people up yours. I'll end it here.” Grinning, he tugged at his charred flesh and said, "I always like you more than the other idiots; you know when to shut your mouth."

"That was a shitty attempt to get into my good side." You replied.

"No like I would gain anything from it" 

It was clear the conversation was over; you should've controlled your feelings. As you walked towards your room, you realized that Dabi had planted a seed inside your mind. In the end, he didn't tell you anything.

He confirmed that Tomura was undergoing some kind of procedure in Dr.Garaki's hospital, though. A dangerous idea was starting to seep into your head.

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First of all, setting a plan is what you ought to do. Willingly, you stripped yourself of all the power you once had, but that gave you a certain freedom. The PLF's lower ranks were in the thousands, and most of them couldn't point you out. You could go and return as you wish without having people hover over you.

You didn't trust Hawk. He was hiding something, or maybe many somethings. Dabi's judgment wasn't reliable either; he too was hiding something. And you wouldn't care if whatever plan he was putting into action could be the reason everything could go to hell.

Two options danced in your mind. Both were as wild as they could be in their genre.

Getting rid of Hawks by yourself was not only impossible; it was a death wish. For once in your life since you became an adult, you were mad you didn't get a quirk that could be used as a weapon.

Variables in that plan started taking shape. Humans have been killing since they first existed; murder was ingrained in the genes of homo sapiens as much as gathering and art were. Maybe you just have to be creative.

A gun could do the job if you had one or knew how to use one. Poison is a classic, woman's favorite weapon; it is elegant and classy, and if he were as smart as you thought he was, he would never drink or eat anything you served him, which led you to square one.

The second plan was...

So, how difficult could it be to gain access to a secret laboratory hidden beneath a hospital? Assuming Tomura was down there rather than in one of the hundred existing rooms. You didn’t trust that Dabi was telling you the truth; for all you knew, it could be a test.

To see how dumb you were.

To see how fast you were going to be running up that hill toward the hospital, to go and tell the leader that he was giving information to the heroes.

Good thing you didn't care about any of that.

Even if you told Tomura you knew him when he had a thing in mind, nothing else mattered; he would just say something along the lines of "I'm sure Dabi can deal with it" or "I would just kill all the heroes."

Bad thing you cared about Tomura.

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People underestimate how far you can get if you wear a plain white button-up, jeans, and a security vest. All you have to do is show up as though you've always been there. Getting the vest from the utility closet wasn’t hard; you just had to wait until everyone was training. You were even able to get a forgotten toolbox with the tools still inside. It was just as easy to get outside the building; everyone was so enthusiastic about the plans that were ahead of them, and their minds were so full of ideas that they began to fly out of them like little flies.

You were prepared to get in after securing the toolbox and slipping the bag handles over your shoulder. Hiding in plain sight had always worked for the schemes you'd planned in your head, except in the cases where they didn't. It was time to forget about those.

Walking into the ER, appearing a little disoriented but not too lost, attempting to project the idea that you've done this before and that remembering the precise location you should be in this interminable hospital is simply beyond the cluttered memory of a junior contractor.

A last check at your reflection in the glass door showed you that your disguise is perfect: your clothes are clean but not brand new, and your hair is out of your face but not in a complicated way. The more you appear unremarkable, the better.

The nurse at the reception was typing lazily, lifting her gaze to tap at the forms sitting on the counter for the people demanding medical attention.

"Hello. I'm a little lost, you see. My colleague ought to be in the basement right now, tending to the pipes—the ones in the boiler room, that is. We received your call earlier this week.” The nurse gave you an annoyed expression at first, followed by a relieved, "I'm glad I can get rid of you quickly" look.

"Oh, so silly of me; I'm F/n." You continued conversing as she accepted your outstretched hand. "Could you please tell me how to get there?" You were giggling. Your calm exterior starkly contrasted with the simmering feeling in your stomach.

"You can take the service stairs." The more you studied the nurse, the more tired her face appeared, her dark circles unmasked by the heavy layer of concealer creasing around her eyes. "Next time, use the back door; this is the ER." The woman sighed and waved you away with a flick of her wrist.

"Sure. Sorry, my bad."

And that's how you use overworked health professionals to your advantage. Before the voice got running about the oblivious contractor testing the patience of the ER's nurse, you went to find those service stairs.

The good part about hospitals is that they're always hiring people to fix stuff. You can't risk an immunocompromised patient getting pneumonia due to a lack of warm water. Almost all hospitals have the same layout; the experience you gained from all your years of getting inside places has gifted you with such knowledge.

Of course, in this case, you had to break the first rule: walk as if you knew the place like the back of your hand, but you wanted the alarm to go off. Garaki was a wise man; he knew he had strange things in that basement, which was most likely guarded by some kind of device—a nomu—to keep the outsiders out of his illegal lab, and you wanted to wake it up.

Pushing the heavy door of the service stair landed you into a well-illuminated hallway divided up and down, and down was the cross on your map.

Gasping for breath as you pulled down the last step in the building, the stagnant air provided poor-quality oxygen and dust, leaving you lightheaded. If someone was after you, good luck running all those stairs.

The concrete floor and walls that once were bright white marked the entry of the basement door. Every few turns, you noticed doors with peeling lettering and some with shut locks. You made sure to mismatch your steps as you walked to daunt anyone from hiding their steps with yours. Your quirk was muffling your hearing with white noise—a small price to pay for being untrackable.

Disoriented, you finally found the thing you were looking for: the power gabinet. Gabinet was an understatement; it was huge, with a whole room’s worth of switches and rumbling noises accompanied by colorful LEDs looking like Christmas lights.

Now if you were a real electrician or if you just had any—not even a basic—knowledge of how any of this worked, you would probably be able to pick up where Garaki's lab was, but your plans were far less sophisticated.

You hoped the hospital had an emergency generator for the machinery that kept people alive since you were going to shut everything down. You were like a solar storm, flipping all the switches. You went out and pulled a latch on the door; that should give you a little time.

There it was.

Nomus have blood running inside their zombie veins, but they don't have a heartbeat, so in your head, it translates like turbulence inside a tube. You appeared to have only awoken a few of them. Going against all your self-preservation instincts, you went after the sound, using it as a trail to navigate into the darkness. A flashlight was tucked in the loops of your jeans, but the desire to use it waned as you realized you'd be placing a target on your back.

All you permitted yourself was to navigate with your right hand; the cold tiles ground you, bumping every few centimeters against your fingers in an irregular pattern.

With every step you took, you questioned the flaws in your plan. Underproductive, you were already in the second circle of hell. There was no point in turning away now. No like you would find the stairs back up regardless of whether you tried or not.

More stairs led you down the rabbit hole; they twisted at a ninety-degree angle. A light that gave you a sinister sense made you think that maybe you had already passed away on the stairs at the end of the walk. The light was filtering through the minimal space between the door and its frame. Squinting, you attempted to concentrate to detect a heartbeat on the other side, providing them with your position in a lose-lose scenario that might soon go south.

The person on the other side had a steady heartbeat until they felt the buzzing of your quirk making its way into their head. The pulse quickened, and the door opened.

Red eyes stared at you, astonished.

Or so you thought. The sudden brightness burned your eyes; blotches appeared behind your eyelids. Hissing, you covered one of your eyes with your hand.

"Y/n? What? What exactly are you doing here?" Tomura asked.

"I fancied a walk," you replied, rubbing away the burning sensation from your eyes.

"Y/n..." 

"I was worried. I needed to talk to you. I don't believe Hawks, and I don't think Dabi is doing a good job with him either." Admitting the thoughts inside your mind.

With his arms crossed and lesions that still looked like purple bruises running in strange patterns down his right arm, Tomura reclined on the door frame.

"Maybe if you had not quit, you would be able to solve it." His voice was filled with resentment. "I'm busy" 

"That's beside the point. If Hawks informs the heroes what you're up to, it may mean all of this goes to hell. I'm trying to prevent it."

"Don't worry about it," he said, shrugging. “Dabi can handle it.”

"How am I supposed to not worry if I was able to sneak down here so easily? And Dabi does not handle it well."

Tomura pondered your words for a few moments. He was not in the headspace to worry about the hero and the possibility of his betrayal. Half the time he was under some kind of painful operation, and the remaining half he was too exhausted and drained to worry about chores he had already delegated to his league.

"Make sure it doesn't happen then," Tomura said. "You're smart; keep the hero at bay."

"Too late. Dabi already told him I learned it from Hawks."

Tomura hummed, rubbing his chin.

"Stay with me here. Your quirk should prevent the heroes from tracking me," he continued, wetting his lips. "Keep me hidden."

An anxious perspiration ran down your back as you widened your eyes. "What but..." Tomura cut you off by saying, "I can't leave."

Biting the inside of your cheek. It shouldn't be this difficult to make a decision; it doesn't have to mean anything other than assisting your teammate.

"I'll stay," the voice that encouraged you to go underground urged you once more to stay, “with you.”

Notes: Sorry about any mistake English is not my first language, also I'm bending canon a little lol Next chap is just smut and a little bit of plot then it is only angst and pain from that point jajaja

Taking Care, Taking What's Mine - A "Play Nice" Commission

Summary: A Play Nice AU Chapter, in which, rather than taking the high road and trying to build a real relationship with the girl he's been sextorting for weeks, Tomura Shigaraki baby-traps her instead.

CW: Quirkless!AU, Dub-Con, Smut, Extortion, Baby-Trapping, Forced Pregnancy, Love-Bombing, Manipulation, Power Play, Possessive Shigaraki, Yandere Shigaraki, Morning Sickness, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

AO3 Link

A/N: Happy fucking Father's Day readers!! Lmao! I got this AMAZING commission a while ago to write an AU of my AU (a fanfic writer's dream come true honestly), of Shigaraki baby-trapping MC and well, while it took longer then I meant it to to come out, I'm so glad that I could post it on Father' Day of all days lmao.

Anyway though, this was so much fun to write. Shigaraki has been on the journey of bettering himself for so long in Play Nice now, it was a total blast returning to form and writing him nice and scummy again.

I'd love to do more of these honestly, so as a reminder: I give discounts on Commissions that take place in my AU's.

Play Nice, Burnt Bridges, Step by Step -- all of them. They're super fun for me to write and most of the heavy-lifting of ideating and plotting has already been done for them, so I'm happy to write fics like this for cheaper. :)

Anyway, enjoy some forced parentification on this day of dads. xD

“Hey, hey— are you alright?”

She lifted her head from where she’d been resting it against her gym locker, the coolness of the metal being the first thing to even remotely ease the headache she’d been fighting for the last three days. 

“Yeah, of course,” she tried to force a weak smile as Nejire approached her, clearly concerned, “Why do you ask?

The captain was dressed in her practice suit. And she quickly realized that so were all the other girls, most of them already making their way out the doors to the pool deck. She was the lone straggler who hadn’t even managed to undo her uniform tie yet. Nejire looked over at these girls, and then back to her, wordlessly demonstrating why that should be obvious.

She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head, “Okay, I guess I’m feeling a bit under the weather today…”

And that was the understatement of the century. She felt like absolute shit . Piling on top of that stubborn pounding in her head were a pair of really sore tits, a lethargy that stuck with her no matter how much vending machine coffee she chugged, and cramps that had shot straight out of hell and directly into her uterus.

But to be honest, she couldn’t complain too much about these ailments. In fact, she was pretty damn relieved. These were all her tell-tale signs of PMS. They were a little worse than usual this time around sure, but if that was the tradeoff for the relief of not being pregnant, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Her period was only one day late at this point and it had all but paralyzed her with fear.

Of course in retrospect, the fear did seem a bit silly. After all, Shigaraki’s creepy family doctor had warned her there might be some changes.

“I never start patients new to birth control immediately on a Long Acting Reversible Contraception,” he explained, “Especially not teenagers.”

“Why not?” she demanded, “It’s reversible, right? It’s not like you’re tying my tubes or anything.”

“No, but you never know how your body is going to react to the hormonal shift. You could develop acne, weight gain, hair growth—”

“I don’t care about that superficial stuff.”

“... Migraines, blood clots, depression,” he continued, looking at her pointedly.

She looked away, feeling a bit stupid for interrupting him now that he’d listed the more serious side-effects.

“I’m not saying you have to stay on the pill forever. But give it a few months, see how you feel on it. It can help us better determine which long-term birth control is best for your body without any unnecessarily invasive procedures.”

She shuddered at the very thought of being stuck in this set-up with Shigaraki for months. She hoped he’d get bored of her sooner rather than later.

Well, on the brightside, at least this sketchy-ass doctor seemed to be as interested in looking under her skirt as she was having him down there. However, this still left the ever so pertinent issue of:

“Okay, but there’s still the issue of getting the pills. No pharmacy is going to give me these without signed parental consent.” She had the always convenient Japanese purity culture to thank for that.

Ujiko simply smiled and pulled out a wheel of birth control pills from his medical bag right then and there.

“Consider these the same as this appointment,” he said, cupping his hands over hers and placing the wheel firmly into her palm, “ Off the record. ”

And then the rest of the “appointment” had descended into one of extremely thinly-veiled intimidation that bizarrely enough, she’d relied on Shigaraki of all people to save her from. By that point, she’d been scared so shitless she had very little argument left in her to try and reason him into just giving her the damn IUD.

The regret of not standing her ground on the issue did hit her later that night on the train home. Particularly when she thought over the fact that the way they were keeping these pills off the record was by having her pick up her refills through Shigaraki. The idea of giving him even more power over her like that made her feel sick to her stomach. And yes, while logically she knew that he had just as much motivation to keep her from getting pregnant as she did (she had a feeling All for One would not take too kindly to his star successor knocking up a lowly commoner such as herself), she still just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

So she’d resolved herself on her first refill day to completely lay into Shigaraki for any level of tomfoolery he may get up to in this situation. There would be no forgetting, no being too busy to pick up the pills for her, absolutely nothing. She was ready to rain full fire and brimstone on him if there was even a hint of bullshit.

But to her surprise (and relief), she hadn’t even crossed the threshold of his bedroom before he was tossing a new pack to replace her wheel with. Simple and nonchalant, and then he was just as quick as always to badger her about getting her clothes off already, get on the bed already, break up with your boyfriend already.

It was the same old, same old — for better or for worse. Even if she couldn’t trust Tomura Shigaraki himself, that action had at least ensured that she could trust his own desire for self-preservation.

And that was better than nothing she supposed.

Back in the locker room, Nejire asked her, “Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

She smiled at her friend, joking, “Nothing I don’t come down with every month.”

Nejire tilted her head in confusion for a moment before the lightbulb visibly lit up in her head.

“Ohhhhh,” Nejire nodded sympathetically, “Yeah, Aunt Flow can be a real meanie sometimes, huh?”

She laughed, then winced as the action worsened the throbbing in her head,  “Damn it— you can say that again.”

Nejire’s brows furrowed and she brought a hand to the small of her friend’s back, “Hey, why don’t you take this afternoon off?”

She looked back to her, surprised, “Oh no, I couldn’t…”

“Sure you could!” Nejire chirped, “And honestly, you probably should. We’re working on our weakest strokes today. I had you down to work on your fly.”

Visible dread filled her as she thought about doing that much undulation in her current state.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Nejire laughed, “Seriously, go home. We’ll miss you, but we love you too. So we want you to take care of yourself.”

She debated a little more internally, one other loose thread dropping into her mind’s eye.

“If I do… Do you mind—”

“I’ll let Mirio know,” she shot her a wink as she clarified, “ After practice. I’ll let him know you just need the peace and quiet.”

She smiled at Nejire, genuinely grateful. This. This right here was what made all of the bending over backwards she did to fit in and please others worth it. To be cared about by such a good person. 

The warmth of that care stayed with her all the way out to the school gates, where she was then immediately filled with dread upon realizing that she’d need to go in one of two directions depending on where she was going after school: the train station home, or the walk to Shigaraki’s.

And just which direction she was scheduled to go today.

She let out a long groan, anguished and loud enough to startle a couple members of the going home club that passed her. For once though, she didn’t care about her reputation, she was too focussed on what a goddamn nightmare she was falling into.

She pulled out her cellphone with a sigh. Yes she knew the effort was probably futile, but damn her if she didn’t at least try.

Yup. She could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. She sighed as she shoved her phone back into her bag and started the very slow trek over to Shigaraki’s. 

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Shigaraki said as he looked her over his doorway, “You look like shit.”

She shot him a wholly unimpressed look as she shoved past him into his bedroom.

“Yeah, I fucking told you.” 

Shigaraki, surprisingly, didn't have anything to say about her tone, even with her brusqueness towards him being more than usual. He just watched her drop down face first onto his bed and curl her legs up into her chest.

She sighed at the slight relief the position gave her. While dealing with Shigaraki’s antics was about the last thing she wanted right now, she supposed that at least she could be grateful for how much closer his apartment was to her school then her own home was. It saved her a good fifty-minutes of white-knuckling a train stanchion to keep down her groans of pain. Now at least she could get the relief of laying down much sooner.

If only for a little bit.

“What’s going on?”

She bristled at Shigaraki’s voice, the unwelcome reminder that she wasn’t going to be able to truly relax right now. And while there didn’t seem to be any entendre or even impatience in his question, the fact that his voice was getting closer to her was enough to make her suspicious.

“My head aches, my back aches, my boobs ache — everything aches,” she grumbled down into his sheets, “And I feel like I’ve been donkey-kicked straight in the uterus.”

“You start your period or something?”

He didn’t sound sarcastic when he asked it, not that typical boy way of asking any time a girl did something they considered “moody”. It was a genuine question. But it irritated her all the same. 

Everything seemed to be irritating her these days.

“About to,” she answered, “It’s like a day late, but it’s definitely coming.”

She felt the bed shift a bit as he sat next to her.

“Are you nauseous at all?”

Her brows furrowed, a bit confused by the interest.

“I guess a little,” she answered, because even though it was mild, there was a certain turn in her stomach that wasn’t unlike motion sickness, “But honestly, I think it’s just from the pain. This has been going on for like three days.”

“Have you taken anything for it?”

She could’ve laughed if she wasn’t so annoyed by the reminder of all her futile attempts to alleviate this. Because of course he was looking for a quick fix so they could fuck already.

“I’ve taken everything for it,” she groaned, “Nothing’s working.”

He just hummed in response, and then she could feel the sheets behind her dip a bit as he repositioned himself. Into what orientation, she wasn’t sure. She was about to turn her head back and ask him what he was doing when she felt his hand featherlight across her hip.

And between her legs.

“No, Shigaraki please,” she whined, pulling he knees closer into her chest, “I’m not kidding, I’m seriously in a lot of pain—”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Tell that to your hand then,” she snapped as his fingers tried to wiggle their way between her clenched thighs.

“I mean I’m not doing anything for me. This is for you.”

“Oh is it now,” she deadpanned.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he insisted, more irritably this time, “Orgasms help with cramps, right?”

She stilled, sufficiently stumped by that particular statement. Because yes, she could say from experience that they absolutely did. She’d spent many a nasty period with her fingers latched to clit to chase that particular path of relief. 

…but why the hell did Shigaraki know that?

She gasped as she suddenly felt the gentle roll of her clit under three fingers. Apparently, in her moments of distracted deliberation, Shigaraki managed to push his hand past the plush lock of her thighs and under the hem of her panties.

“Sh-Shigaraki…” she whined, pushing her elbow blindly and weakly back towards him.

He caught it gently in his free palm and, rather than trying to pin or strain it in whatever which way he desired, like usual, he just held it there. Didn’t even hold it in place really, just shielded himself against its determined path towards his ribs.

“I’m serious,” he said, uncharacteristically soft, “I’m trying to help you.”

She finally mustered up the strength to — despite how much her aching abdomen hated her for it — turn and glower at Shigaraki.

“No funny business?” she pressed.

He settled his own flat expression on her, “When have I ever been funny?”

More times than she’d like to admit honestly, but she got what he was saying here. He was a pretty serious, straightforward person on principle. He didn’t bullshit, he didn’t pull cheap tricks, and, shockingly enough, he didn’t typically lie. Frustrating as it was, Tomura Shigaraki was pretty much always unapologetically himself and he always did what he wanted.

So if he said that he was doing this to help her, then she supposed that she didn't actually have a lot of reason to distrust him.

Plus, his fingers hadn’t stopped their soft, but affective ministrations between her legs, and the pleasant sparks of heated relief they were sending through her were undeniable.

She turned back onto her side with a sigh that was half-exasperation, half pleasure.

“Fine,” she said, throwing back quickly before he got too victorious, “But fuck around and I’ll kick you.”

Shigaraki just chuckled, a soft throaty sound that shouldn’t have sent the chills up her spine that it did, “Yeah, yeah…”

In one motion, careful not to jostle her too much, Shigaraki both pulled her back and scooched himself closer, until her back was nestled snug against his surprisingly firm chest and her head laid in the crux of his bicep.

With this new closeness he was able to be a bit more deliberate with the angle and pressure he used to rub at her swollen sex. And, while she hated to admit it, the increased blood flow between her legs was causing the pressure within her to build quite a bit faster than usual. Enough so that it had her letting go of the tension in her neck and joints — the automatic stress reaction she had to any of Shigaraki’s displays of intimacy — and letting the weight of her head drop fully into his embrace.

A shuddering sigh left Shigaraki at that clear relinquishing of control, of the way she truly let herself lay back and relax into him. It gave him the encouragement he needed to enjoy her to the fullest extent that he wanted her as well, burying his nose deep into her hair. 

He started to stroke wider circles around her, the flats of his fingers never leaving her clit, but now allowing the tips to dip softly into her entrance. He didn’t push them in at all past his first knuckles, just enough to catch some of that growing wetness and spread it all across her fluttering lips.

“A-Ah—” she gasped out, “Sh-shit…”

“Like that?” he rasped, hot against her ear.

She bit her lip, nodding needily, “Mm— Mm-hmm…”

He groaned at the response, doubling down on that motion as he started to stud long, hot kisses down the back of her jaw and neck. The feeling, so gentle and intimate and good in combination to the way he worked her sex, had her unconsciously rocking her hips into his touch, and back into his own.

Vaguely through the haze, she could feel the familiar outline of his stiff cock against the cleft of her ass, but shockingly he didn’t try to grind it against her for relief. If anything actually, when her own hips moved unconsciously back against it, he actually shifted his own hips away, anglind them down so his erection pushed into the bed instead. As if he didn’t want her to feel it, that he was concerned about her feeling pressured by its presence.

She didn’t have the chance to think too much into that though, not when his fingers were coaxing her closer to the edge by the second. The mess between her legs was obscene at this point, through teary eyes she could see the overflow of it spreading wide across her thighs and pooling down in the sheets. 

“God look at you, so fucking wet,” he groaned, lips having made it down to her shoulder and staying there so that he could have a better view of her writhing under his touch, “You needed this, huh? Fucking needed me…”

She buried her face into his arm to muffle her moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but also not wanting him to stop.

By some act of God, Shigaraki didn’t push for that answer either. She wasn’t sure why he’d abandoned his typical demands and taunts, didn’t threaten to stop until she gave him the verbal submission and begrudging praise he always wanted. Nor did she stop to think about why, she just let the gratitude course through her, spurred further and wider by the waves of heat rushing through her body, threatening — promising — to overflow.

Shigaraki could feel that axiomatic tension in her body, the boiling point it promised, and sped up his hand to stoke the flames.

“You’re close aren’t you? Oh yeah, you’re close…” his kisses turned to nips at her neck between progressively more demanding growls, “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

Fuck, hearing those last words spill from his mouth should not have done what it was doing to her. But it was speeding up her peak, and it was speeding it up audibly.

“Yeah, yeah that’s good, really good. Let it go. Go ahead, be a good girl and let it go.”

She cried out, her arching back forcing her face forward and mouth unmuffled as finally, finally her body went blissfully loose, the pain of the past few days overtaken by waves of heat and pleasure. One after the other, her hormone-driven sensitivity wrung out multiple orgasms, and his frantic fingers were happy to work her through each one until she was begging him to stop.

“Good girl, yeah, yeah, just like that. That’s a good girl,” he continued to praise, returning time and again to that phrase he could feel her getting unconsciously excited over, “That’s my good girl…”

It was just a few blurry moments of consciousness after that. She was pretty sure she whined something like “too much” to him at some point, and he whispered back something that she was sure was just utterly debauched right back. Or maybe it was sweet nothings, he had really favored those by the end of this escapade after all. 

Whatever it all was, she supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered in those seconds of labored breaths and fluttering lashes was the beautiful bliss and relief that finally overtook her body. That allowed her to immediately fall asleep in his arms.

Shigaraki held her there for a long time after. He raked his eyes greedily across her body, letting himself carve every detail deep into his memory. He knew he didn’t need to, not anymore. Her boyfriend, her parents, hell, whether or not she got into Todai with him, it was all a non-issue now. There was no reason for him to lose this anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere in life without him. He was going to be able to revel in this sight for the rest of his life now. And he just couldn’t believe how lucky he was for that.

He chuckled a bit at that. Well, maybe lucky wasn’t the right word. This was all by design after all, weeks of very deliberate planning and deception. It was just like he’d always been taught. It didn’t matter what hand you’ve been dealt — and Tomura Shigaraki had certainly been dealt a shit hand in a lot of ways — a real winner made his own luck. 

Sensei would be mad, Shigaraki knew that much. Everyone would be mad in fact, but he didn’t care. He was just following the fundamental lesson Sensei himself had instilled in him the day they met. 

Take whatever you want, and fuck all the rest.

Several minutes into hearing those sweet deep breaths of unconsciousness from the beautiful girl in his arms, Shigaraki finally peeled his fingers away from her cunt.

And slid a wide hand up to cradle her tummy.

It was dark when she woke up, not a single one of Shigaraki’s many monitors or television lit the windowless room. That was odd for a couple of reasons, the first of which being that the overhead lighting had definitely been on when she’d dozed off. The second of which was that any time Shigaraki wasn’t preoccupied with helping her study or studying her, he was chronically attached to at least one screen, if not multiple, so it was more than a bit odd for him to have zero on. The reason for the lack of blue light however became quickly apparent as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.

Shigaraki wasn’t here.

She was totally alone in his room, alone and tucked into his bed. Had he gone to the bathroom or something? But then why would all the lights be off? It seemed like he’d probably been gone for a while. Weird…

She threw off the covers and flipped her legs around with much more ease than she’d done anything over the last three days, much to her relief. However long she’d been out, the sleep had clearly done her some good. The pounding in her head and pelvis had finally ceased, perhaps just in time for her to actually start her period. She did feel some dampness between her legs after all. Although…

Her face heated up as she remembered the much more likely cause of that.

Damn it, she thought with a groan, dropping her head into her hands. She couldn’t believe that she actually let him do that to her, for her. He was going to get entirely the wrong idea from it. The idea that she might actually like him and want to spend time with him, that there was some kind of connection between them that extended past the time she was required to spend with him to keep him satisfied. And she absolutely could not deal with that.

Being his little sex toy was one thing. A demoralizing thing, yes, but a manageable one. She’d seen the way Shigaraki treated things he objectified — games and magazines and the like. He got bored of them quickly. And if she was one of those things in his eyes, then eventually he’d get bored with her too and she’d be free.

If he was attached to her though? Had found connection in her and a desire to keep her in his life? She didn’t even want to consider that nightmare scenario.

She made her way out into the hallway, looking up and down from the empty bathroom on one end of the hall to the top of the staircase on the other. She didn’t have to contemplate the lack of presence on this floor for long though, when she heard Shigaraki’s voice echoing up from downstairs, talking emphatically to Kurogiri, she assumed. 

She couldn’t hear exactly what he was talking about, but whatever it was, he was being particular about it. “Don’t overcook” and “perfect” were a few of the words she managed to catch, so it was about food, maybe? The accompanying sounds of sizzling pans and clanking cookware would certainly support that. As would the smell that suddenly hit her.

It wasn’t an unpleasant smell by any means. In fact, it was salmon, one of her favorites. But for some reason at that moment, the smell hit her with a particular intensity that made her feel overwhelmed.

And really fucking nauseous.

She just barely made it to the toilet at the end of the hall, not even fully down to her knees by the time she was emptying her stomach into the bowl. It wasn’t just a brief moment of sickness either. The bouts were loud and long, she was sure that it echoed throughout the entire apartment. It left her red-faced, skin covered and hair clumped with sweat, not to mention still gagging long after she had nothing left to gag on.

A hand she barely even noticed came to rest on the small of her back in the midst of it all. It was only in the aftermath, spent and dry-heaving that she could process the fact that it was Shigaraki, kneeling at her side, patiently stroking small circles into her clammy skin and encouraging her softly.

“Let it out. Just let it all out.”

She groaned once she finally seemed to have a solid thirty seconds of dry, steady breath. And Shigaraki used that respite to nudge a glass of water into her hands.

“Here.”

She didn’t argue or agree, just took it from him with shaky hands, tossing half of it just into her mouth to swish around and spit the remaining bitterness from her tongue.

 “Drink some of it too.”

She nodded shakily, still too drained and disoriented to be irritated with his telling her what to do, or suspicious of the fact that he was being so nice. 

And still, as she took entirely too long to finish the rest of her water with timid little sips, he just knelt on the ground with her, moving the hand on her back to rest on her knee, thumb rubbing circles into the spot where a bruise would undoubtedly form. 

Finally, after a long, silent stretch, she managed to croak out, “W-What time is it?”

“Only seven,” he answered, “Kurogiri’s got dinner almost ready downstairs. Seared salmon, brown rice, avocado salad—”

She whined, shaking her head roughly at the very implication of food.

“Don’t like salmon?”

“I-I do… It’s just—” she gagged a little as she remembered that smell that had set this all off in the first place, “Th-The smell right now. It’s too much…”

“Oh yeah…” he nodded understandingly, muttering something to himself that she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded kind of like, “Heightened” and “Read about that…”

Her brows furrowed a bit, frustrated and confused. She was getting the feeling that he was really not telling her something.

“W-What?”

Shigaraki just waved her off, “No, that’s fine, that’s fine. Salmon’s not the only thing he made. There’s sauteed spinach, wakame tofu soup, toasted—” 

Jesus Christ, was Kurogiri cooking for an army down there or something? 

Well, whoever it was all for, and as delicious as it all sounded in theory, imagining those foods in practice right now was making her feel sick all over again.

“Mm-mm, Mm-mm!” she whined, shaking her head again.

She didn’t want to risk opening her mouth right now, lest she blow chunks all over the front of Shigaraki’s shirt. Although wouldn’t that be a nice little serving of karma for him…

“You need to eat something,” he insisted, more lecturey than she’d ever heard him, but with a strange gentleness to his voice as well, “And you need to drink some more too. You’re totally dehydrated.”

She shook her head more emphatically at that, which only resulted in her falling forward into his chest. 

He caught her before she could fall any further, scolding her not too harshly, in fact, a bit whimsically, “Is this how you’re gonna be the whole time?”

She pulled her head back to look at him, a confused furrow in her brows that brought the corners of his lips up.

“It’s not a bad look on you to be honest. All weak and petulant,” he brought a hand to pinch lightly at her cheek, “It’s kinda cute actually.”

Her eyes narrowed, finally feeling her stomach steady enough in her to be annoyed. He chuckled, just as amused and endeared by this look as the last. 

“Well how about okayu?” he offered with a patronizing little lilt, “And maybe some ginger tea?”

He clearly wasn’t going to let this go. And infuriatingly, he was right not to. She definitely was in no shape to go home on this empty stomach. 

She sighed.

“Yeah… Yeah okay.”

Going at her own shaking, snailish pace, Shigaraki helped her up onto her legs, pulling her immediately into his side as he led her back towards his bedroom. Normally she’d protest, stick an elbow right into his ribs and storm on ahead of him, but honestly she needed the help right now. So she sucked it up and let him lead her back into his bed. 

But that didn’t stop her from eying him suspiciously as he propped his pillows up behind her and tucked her back in under his comforter, the overall way he doted and fretted over her, even stopping to look back at her one more time from the doorway before he returned downstairs to give Kurogiri the new marching orders.

She dropped her head back against the pillows when finally alone, a bad feeling settling heavier and heavier in her stomach. This was beyond weird, the way he was acting. Sure, the guy was overbearing and constantly demanding of her attention, stupidly needy even. But doting? Not only willing but eager to put her needs ahead of his own? Caring deeply about her actual well-being and not just what he wanted to be her well-being? This was all way too out of character for him.

“…You can tell me. If he bothered you, I mean. N-Not just the Doctor either… If um… If anything’s bothering you.”

She sighed at the memory. Alright, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit. He’d shown at least some capability and even interest in her wants and well-being, he wasn’t a complete monster.

But still, all of this? The cooing and the caring and the, erm, servicing even that he’d done? It felt like too much. Like she was missing something really key about it all.

Like something was wrong .

Whether she ended up getting lost in that train of thought for long, or Kurogiri had already had some okayu whipped up downstairs, she wasn’t sure, but she was startled by how quickly it seemed that Shigaraki returned with a breakfast tray in hand. She cocked her head as he set it up over her lap, this was a lot more robust than she was expecting, and, she realized as she examined everything on the tray, a lot more stocked as well.

There was okayu, front and center for her, yes. But also on the tray was another small bowl of soup (looked like the wakame that Shigaraki had mentioned, a thing of plain yogurt (the really fancy kind that came in the glass jars), a glass of orange juice…

And a little dish of four pills. 

Painkillers or antiemetics maybe? They looked more like vitamins…

“Go ahead and start with the okayu if you want,” Shigaraki explained as he climbed up into the bed next to her, “But I want you to try and get some of the wakame and yogurt down too…”

As he settled down, his legs flush with her own, he continued to rattle off instructions and explanations for the rest of her tray, sending her mind completely spinning, faster and faster, like a goddamn Gravitron.

And she was ready to get the fuck off.

“...if nothing else though, take the vitamins. You need the folate, calcium, iron, and the omega-3 especially, since you don’t want the salmon—”

“Okay, stop, stop, stop !”

Shigaraki paused, having the audacity to look at her like she was crazy for snapping. 

“Jesus—what the hell are you even talking about Shigaraki?!” she demanded, “What’d you say, folate? What? What is all this?”

He cocked his head, clearly playing innocent. Whatever this was, he was clearly enjoying the slow unraveling of it all.

“What’re you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” she snapped, “All this attention and doting and food stuff! What the hell is this all about?!”

He just smiled back at her, taking in how pretty she looked, even when mad (especially when mad sometimes), God, to think that this really was his forever now. He wondered if they had a girl, how much she’d look like her. He hoped a lot…

“I just want to make sure you’re getting all the vitamins and nutrients you need…”

He reached over then, spreading his hand flat against her stomach.

“ Both of you .”

She froze.

No.

No, he couldn’t mean—

She tried to speak, tried to ask what the ever-loving- fuck he was talking about, but her mouth had seemed to go dry. She tried several times to open and wet it a bit, but every time she did, it felt like her throat was closing too. It took at least four desperate attempts for her to finally force out one rasped:

“... what? ”

Shigaraki’s grin widened, and he started to rub circles gently across her belly.

“You’re gonna look so cute, all big and round with my kid,” he giggled suddenly as he remembered something, “Oh, and your tits too. I wonder how big they’re gonna get…”

She stared at him, unblinking, unbreathing. Everything but un-fucking-existing.

He couldn’t be serious. He was fucking with her. He had to be fucking with her!

“Th-That’s not funny.”

His grin evened a little, not disappearing outright, but settling away some of its blissful excitement into something more coyly victorious.

“I said it already,” he reminded, “When have I ever been funny?”

She shook her head in disbelief.

“N-No. No, no, no this isn’t— there’s no way—”

“I’ve got the tests ready when you need to pee, but I think it’s pretty clear. These are all the symptoms I read about.”

“No!” she insisted, “N-No, no— this is, it’s my period! It’s just a day late, it’s not—!”

He chuckled, “I know the symptoms can be similar, but come on. When’s the last time you’ve hurled like that thanks to your period? And the sensitivity to smell? You know this is different.”

Crumbling, every argument she could possibly think of was crumbling to dust before she could even get the thought fully formed. And cruel, vicious reality was more than happy to take its place.

“B-But my birth control pills…”

“Fertility pills,” he explained, his splitting-grin returning in full, “I would’ve preferred to get Clomid from the doctor, but it looks like the over the counter stuff and tracking your cycle worked just fine.”

Her stomach dropped. Pieces of memories, peculiar behaviors and nagging thoughts she’d had over the last two months falling into place. How there were stretches of times where he’d cancel their sessions, only to insist they make them up a few specific days in a row. How he wanted to go multiple rounds a lot those days. How he’d stopped wanting blowjobs from her entirely. How he seemed to only want to fuck her from behind or with her knees pressed hard into her chest, positions he could fuck her the deepest in.

And how he’d have her stay still with his cock buried in her after he came. 

Back then, she just thought he was being weird and pervy. And in a way she was right.

Horribly fucking right.

Shigaraki shifted his legs away from her so that he could bring his head down to her lap, laying his cheek blissfully against her belly. 

“Was so easy,” he hummed against her skin, “Like your body was just waiting for me to knock you up. Waiting for me to make you mine…”

His hands moved across her body, one coiling behind her back so that he could pull her tighter into him, the other lacing his fingers through her own. The fingers on her trembling left hand.

“Both of you, forever,” he growled happily, a predator who had finally and definitively sunk his teeth into his prey, “All mine.”

Worthy of the Welcome

Moon and Sun x GN reader (Angst, but there's also some fluff in here near the end)

Hey, there's going to be a lot of talk about abuse. I didn't get graphic with the description of wounds, and I left the abuser vague as well, but it's still a pretty heavy subject so this is the warning for that. Also, Moon is there for way more than Sun is but there might be a pt 2 if I can claw my way out of writer's block. Also, yes, I'm absolutely using fanfiction as therapy- who's gonna stop me?

Moon worked diligently to clean the wounds out of (Y/n)'s reach, silence falling over the dimly lit room. The animatronic's eyes had an eerie red glow, a feature he only used in the dark. He'd insisted on keeping this room almost entirely dark, the napping area soft and protected from any other prying eyes. It was Moon's way of being protective through the glaring frustration of the situation at hand.

"You really need to at least tell Sun." Moon grumbled a complaint and (sighed, the rubbing of their fresh bandages irritating the newly disinfected cuts and gashes beneath.

"You know Sun, he'll freak out and either really push to have something done about it or worry himself to death." (Y/n) cringed as Moon tightened the bandages. He was careful not to restrict their breathing, keeping it loose enough not to put pressure on their lungs, but definitely tying the fabric securely.

"Maybe you do need to do something about it." Moon argued, voice now at less of a hushed tone and more of his normal volume.

"You know I can't-" (Y/n) tried to give the usual excuse, but he just wasn't having it today.

"No. Enough of that bullshit." The shifting sound of metal sounded in the otherwise hollow room as Moon puffed up, body now rigid. The anger he'd been suppressing bubbled to the surface. "You're an adult now, you can legally just walk the fuck out! You don't have to go home- fuck! You don't even have to leave the Pizza Plex! We've got like three people already living here, it's hardly a secret." He ranted.

"Moon, I-" (Y/n) tried to argue again but, with another bout of justified rage, he continued to argue with them over it.

"The person that is supposed to have your back and care for you and always protect you if at all possible hurts you. Often." (Y/n) couldn't see it from the fact he was behind them, but his face softened from anger into pain. "And the last few times they hurt you somewhere you can't reach just so you'd have to ask for help… I really think it's time for you to go." He said, trying not to just plead for them to live here.

(Y/n) knew he was right. They'd known it was time to go sinse the abuse started and yet over the years they'd joined right in with the one who'd treated them so badly. They tricked themself into thinking the way they were told to. It conflicted them, stuck between one truth and another, both ones they believed in. 

Shoulders going slack, their eyes averted.

"I don't… I can't stay here." (Y/n)'s voice was hardly a whisper, maybe even lost if not for the emptiness of the large, matted room. "Everyone here has been very kind to me, and especially you and Sun, but, I… I already owe you so much more than I'll ever be able to give back." They hugged themself, resigned to the hand they were delt in life and feeling undeserving of anything more. 

"I'm not worth the effort as is, Moon." They left off on that sad note, more silence coming in to fill the space where there was once a voice.

Without any more words, Moon stood, circled to the front of them and crouched to look them in the eyes, the most serious expression he could muster on as he fought an urge to just yank them up into his arms, march 'home' with them and have Sun get their bags packed while he beat the shit out of their abuser.

"(Y/n)." He said their name, but they wouldn't meet his eyes. Was it guilt or shame or fear- they weren't sure. But it was tangible enough to make the air thick. They thought for a moment maybe he'd tightened the bandages just slightly too much, but quickly dismissed it. It would be hard for anyone to breathe when getting your soul stared at by one of the last people you'd ever want to see all the flaws and impurities that marked it's surface.

"Look at me. I need you to look at me and hear everything that I'm going to say because I am going to get this through to you. One way or another, however many times it takes." He was determined, stubbornly only staring harder as they got the courage to level their head and meet his gaze. He made sure it was locked before he let himself speak.

"The sheer fact you don't know how to be loved is enough to prove you're the one being wronged here. Don't think about whether you deserve the kindness, just know that you deserve the love that comes with it." He felt his face heat up. "Or, at least, the fact we do enjoy taking care of you. Its almost more for us sometimes." He wasn't exactly lying at his last comment, as the reason he'd been keeping their secret was so that he was sure they'd keep coming back for the help. He didn't like imagining them quitting their job and never being able to see them again.

(Y/n) got teary-eyed. No one deserved this, who were they kidding? They'd never done anything so horrible that it justified the pain they had to be in every day. They made up their mind to agree to stay. Just as they parted their lips to speak the lights flicked on.

"I'm back! Got out of parts and service early so I went and got (Y/n) some snacks! Could ya believe they can do a routine check in half an hou-" Sunny suddenly locked up as his eyes landed on the bandaged, heavily scarred form of his close human friend. He'd never seen them with their shirt off before, but disregarded the scars in favor of the many clearly new marks on their form.

"(Y/N)!!! Oh no! OH NO!! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU!!!" He shrieked, dropping the Doritos and cookies as he darted for where they were sitting on the soft blue napping mat. 

Kneeling down, he cupped their face, looking them over for any more injuries with the frantic, overreacting, motherly fretting he was known for when a child was even minorly scraped or bruised from the equipment.

"Ah, yeah, my dumb ass dropped myself down the staircase on the way in today. Moony got me all patched up, though, so I should be alright." They lied on impulse. Moon put a hand on their shoulder, a stern look on his face. Their will to keep lying started to crumble. If they were going to live here, then Sun would need to know why. (Y/n) would need him to know why. To be rid of it all.

"I'm… sorry." They stopped Sun before he could come back with a short lecture on being careful, "That wasn't true. Force of habit." They rubbed their arm and he suddenly looked much more concerned than before.

"Have you done something wrong? I promise I'd never be mad over you getting hurt, even if it was your fault. I only want to help." He reached down to hold their hand, smiling warmly, as if to say they were welcome to ask for the help. It was the last straw, the thing that dislocated the last of the distrust they'd built towards any offer of safety over the years.

They choked before the truth got the chance to make an appearance, tears not picking up speed as much as just immediately starting to cascade like waterfalls down their face. 

Pushing their torso forward, it didn't matter that they felt like they looked weak or that they were starting to sob pretty loudly in what was made to be a tranquil and relaxing space. It didn't matter that there were dishes in the sink and dirty laundry in the hamper at 'home', or that they'd have to send someone to obtain the items that held sentimental value from their room at some point. It didn't matter that the person that had been hurting them was going to be looking for them when they realized (Y/n) wasn't coming back.

All that mattered was that there were four arms wound around them and a promise that none of those things would ever need to be a concern of theirs ever again.

"I'll tell him for you later, Nightlight." Moon offered, taking yet more of the pressure off.

"Yes, I'll wait for the story." Sun started to rub circles in their back. "Just cry as much as you need to, alright? The rest can wait."

(Y/n) held on tighter, smiling through the heavy feeling in their tired body and the crying they weren't even trying to stifle this time, with the relief that it was all ready to be put behind them, and they were ready to be put back together.

I neeed it ! Whereeee ? Please tell us !

Idk if you care but look at what i bought. He’s so pretty!🥺❤️

GASSP

Ugh, hessoprettyhessoprettyhessopretty--!

Where'd you get this? I wanna buy one!!

A new life for Tomura part1

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 18) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside-down world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17

Chapter 18

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. This morning, the thing that’s wrong with it is the potted plant that’s heaved over the fence into the front yard just past three am. The sound of a terracotta pot shattering wakes you up, and when you fumble for your phone to check the time, you see that you’ve got a text from Dabi. Your dumb horny idiot wouldn’t leave me alone until I gave him a plant. Whatever the hell he wants, I hope it’s worth it.

As far as Dabi goes, it could be worse. You send him a thumbs-up and a thank-you and wonder idly if Tomura really thinks one potted plant is going to get the two of you through a second round of sex. But when Tomura materializes in your room seconds later, he doesn’t try to start something. Instead he crawls under the blankets on your bed and wedges himself in beside you. Phantom’s excited to see him. She walks all over you to plop down between the two of you, her wagging tail thumping against your cheek.

You shift her to one side to avoid the onslaught and peer at Tomura through blurry eyes. “What?”

“Go back to bed.” Tomura sets Phantom down on your stomach and presses close against your side, wrapping one arm around you to hold you even closer. “I mean it. Go.”

You don’t like being told what to do, but you have work in the morning, and you’re still worn out from last night. You close your eyes again.

It’s a busy morning, so busy that your plan to get the morning-after pill before work is derailed within two minutes of your alarm going off. You were so tired last night that it was all you could do to make dinner, feed Phantom, and go back to sleep, which means you now have to shower and pack a lunch in addition to all your usual morning chores. And somewhere in the middle of that, you have to explain the plan for killing Tomura’s conjurer to Tomura himself.

Tomura, as predicted, is not pleased. His first protest is that he can do it himself, at which point you text Hizashi to come over later and explain – from outside the fence – what happens to ghosts who kill their own conjurers. Tomura follows up by pointing out that the others weren’t very helpful handling Garaki, and you counter with Tomura’s own statement about being his conjurer’s only remaining ghost. Finally, Tomura gets around to what seems to be the main point of contention. “I don’t trust them. Not with you. Not from him.”

Tomura doesn’t talk about his conjurer very much. From what he’s said, he barely remembers him. But you knew he’d say something like this, and you have a response ready. “If you’re materialized, he’s cut off from the world between. He’ll just be a human. And humans die.”

“Don’t copy me,” Tomura says. He knows you’re quoting what he said to Garaki. “Who’s supposed to kill him, anyway? If they try this stupid plan.”

“The rest of the adult humans,” you say. Then you think about it. “Probably Keigo or Aizawa. And probably Aizawa. He’s got a gun.”

“Spinner would. And Jin.” Tomura speaks with a lot more certainty than you’d expect. He sees the way you’re looking at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” The electric teakettle hisses and you pour hot water into your travel mug before dropping in a tea bag. “Usually you aren’t nice about them.”

“They came over while you were gone. For games.” Tomura crouches down to pet Phantom, who’s come over with her favorite toy. “Himiko, too. It wasn’t bad.”

You didn’t expect that. You didn’t think he’d do anything but hang out with Phantom while you were gone, and you suddenly feel guilty for not asking. But you’ll ask more when you get home from work, or text him about it on your lunch break. Right now you have to get moving. “So, the plan?”

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“We’re not doing it today,” you say. “Just think about it. If you’ve got ideas, we could use them. Your last plan was pretty good.”

Tomura looks pleased with himself. You gather up your work backpack, plus all the research you’re bringing to Mr. Yagi in exchange for his and Izuku’s notes on his master’s journal, and head for the door. Phantom follows you. So does Tomura. “Get more plants on the way home.”

You say goodbye to Phantom and feed her a treat. “Plants are expensive.”

“They’re everywhere outside. Those don’t cost anything.”

He wants you to go out, dig up random plants, put them in pots, and bring them home so the two of you can have more sex. “I’m not stealing plants in my work clothes,” you say. “Maybe after dinner.”

Tomura grins. He dematerializes from behind you and reappears in front of you, leaning against the front door and blocking your path. “I want a kiss first.”

“I was going to kiss you anyway.” Your hands are full, but you step forward anyway and press your lips against his.

You haven’t kissed him since last night. The two of you don’t usually kiss unless someone’s trying to start something, and kissing him goodbye on your way out the door to work has always felt a little too intimate, a little too serious for whatever the two of you are. Except now the two of you have said you love each other. You defined the relationship. You went all the way, to the degree that you’re having to make an effort not to walk funny. You can be serious, because it is serious. A goodbye kiss is something you’re allowed to have.

You’re five minutes late by the time you stagger out the door, and as you push the speed limit to get to work on time, you find yourself wishing you had someone you could tell about all of this. Maybe not the sex part. Probably not about that. Definitely not about that – but the rest of it. The part where you’ve got a boyfriend who loves you in whatever way ghosts love humans. It’s the kind of thing you’d talk to your old friends about, but they’ve found their own lives and pulled away, just like you did. There’s got to be somebody else. As you cruise the courthouse parking lot looking for a parking place, your usual spot long since snagged by somebody who got here early, you’re horrified to find yourself considering telling Nakayama.

The spot you find is way back in the corner of the lot, almost out of sight of the doors. If it was dark there’s no way you’d think about parking here, but it’s broad daylight, and you’ve got pepper spray somewhere in your backpack for the walk back after work. You take a second to get yourself organized, then grab your backpack and get out of the car, walking around to the passenger side to lift your research folder off the seat.

You don’t see a shadow fall across you. You don’t hear footsteps. The first thing you notice is something touching your shoulder, and the last thing you see is an enormous hand swathed in a wet, stinking handkerchief coming down over your nose and mouth. You have time to identify the smell – not alcohol, something stronger, chloroform? – before the world starts to blur at the edges. Somewhere in your head, alarm bells are ringing. You’re in danger. You’re being kidnapped. Something’s gone really wrong.

By the time the realization settles over you fully, it’s too late. All you can do is throw your elbow backwards, connecting weakly with something solid, before everything goes black.

You come to with a splitting headache and all the adrenaline and terror you didn’t have time to feel before flooding through your veins. As soon as your eyes are open, you’re fighting, but there’s no point – your arms and legs have been shackled down at the wrists and ankles, and there’s a restraint pinning you to the table at the waist. You’re trapped. It’s not even funny how trapped you are.

When you look up, all you can see is the bright glare of a fluorescent light, the kind that gets shined on your face at the dentist’s office. When you turn your head to the right, there’s nothing. When you look left, you see a rolling cart with a tray on top of it. The tray is covered in sharp, shiny metal implements. Surgical implements.

This can’t be happening. You thrash, trying to find any give in your restraints, but there’s nothing. It’s around then that you realize you’ve been stripped of your shoes, socks, shirt, pants – you’re down to your bra and underwear, like some parody of a kidnapping in a movie. But this isn’t a parody or a movie. It’s real. Whoever brought you here is planning to hurt you badly. Maybe kill you. Probably kill you.

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to kill you.” The voice issues from somewhere behind you, and it rings a distant bell in your head. Too distant, when the rest of you is worried about whether your kidnapper can read your mind. “In fact, my plan hinges on your survival. I have great things in mind for Tomura, and the death of his human at my hands will not improve his listening skills.”

“Shigaraki Akira,” you say, and Tomura’s conjurer laughs. “I know who you are. We all do.”

“Yes, you made it quite far in your investigation! Tomura certainly chose his human well,” the conjurer says. He sounds delighted by it, which is the opposite of how you expected him to sound. “It’s quite unusual to see a human so bent on protecting a ghost – and terribly unfortunate that Tomura wasn’t quite so careful when it came to you. So full of ghostly power – you were all too easy to spot.”

You have the incredibly stupid thought that this wouldn’t be happening if the condom hadn’t broken, then push it aside. The conjurer’s voice is familiar. You’ve met him before. When? Where? “Where did you find me?”

“You don’t remember?” The conjurer sounds surprised. Then he laughs at himself. “Of course. You can’t see me. My apologies.”

Footsteps behind you. A shadow falls over you, and although it’s hard to see the conjurer’s face, you know exactly who you’re looking at. “My fellow gardener,” the man who gave you his handkerchief the day Garaki died says. His smile sends a bolt of pure terror down your spine. “We meet again.”

All this time you’ve been plotting against Tomura’s conjurer, and he’s known where you are. He’s known where you are for more than a month. You thrash against the restraints harder than before, watching as Shigaraki picks his way around the table you’re strapped to and reaches the cart with the instruments. He pulls on a pair of gloves, and somewhere behind you, a door opens. More footsteps. Shadowy figures come to stand along the walls, and Shigaraki continues to talk.

“It’s quite a strange existence your neighborhood has carved out,” he remarks, lifting one tool after another to the light and studying them. “So many beings who once held immense power, leading such quiet, mundane lives. I must say, I’ve never understood the appeal of humanity, of mortality. Why should we settle for one life, one world, when we could have so much more?”

Silence falls, and stretches. Tomura’s conjurer glances at you. “This isn’t a rhetorical question. I’m interested in your answer. What is so wonderful about mortality?”

“It’s not wonderful,” you say. Shigaraki Akira arches an eyebrow. “The world between is worse.”

“Ah, I understand. You’ve stared into the abyss, and you don’t like what you saw.” Shigaraki raises one hand and beckons, and eight shadowy figures converge on the table, holding down your arms and legs even tighter. If you couldn’t get out before, you’ve got no hope of it now. “Perhaps you simply need to look a little longer. You will get the chance.”

When he speaks again, he’s not speaking to you. “Hold her down tightly. We must remove all traces, or our plan will be spoiled before it can begin.”

“What plan?” you ask desperately. “What are you going to do to me?”

“For all your impressive qualities, you’re only human,” Shigaraki Akira says, almost indulgently. “In order for you to properly partner Tomura, I must make you into something more.”

There’s something about that you should understand. Something you should know. But then the blade of a knife meets your skin, carving deep through its layers and down to the fat beneath it, and your ability to understand anything at all vanishes into a helpless howl of pain.

It’s terrible enough to drive you into unconsciousness, but Tomura’s conjurer doesn’t let you stay there. When you pass out, the knife lifts, and the process doesn’t begin again until you wake. You don’t know why you have to be awake for this, unless he’s trying to torture you, but he sets the knife down every so often to assure you it isn’t personal. How could it not be personal? He’s carving into your skin, peeling back long strips of it with agonizing slowness, stopping only when you fall unconscious or when his hands grow too slick with your blood to hold the blade. There’s no rhyme or reason to where he’s cutting you. Your left shoulder. Your right forearm. A spot on the side of your torso that feels like it takes hours upon hours to peel back. Every time you black out, you pray that you won’t wake up, that the conjurer won’t be able to rouse you. And every time, your eyes open again.

It's been quiet in the room, save for the conjurer’s voice and your unheeded screams, but after some endless amount of time, you hear another voice. “Too much blood loss,” it says, low and rumbling. “We’re running out of excisions.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I expected her to be strong-willed, and we have plenty of excisions left for my purposes,” Shigaraki Akira says. “When we exhaust our options on the anterior, we’ll turn her to expose the rest. The one on her back is quite fresh.”

What’s on your back? You know Tomura left scratches there last night – and then you understand what the conjurer’s doing, what he’s spent the last interminable hours carving out of your skin. He’s removing the marks Tomura left on you. All of them, one by one.

You don’t know why he thinks Tomura will be happy with this. Seeing what’s been done to you will enrage him. You wonder what time it is, whether anyone’s noticed you’re missing, whether anyone’s asked where you are. How long will it take Tomura to realize you aren’t coming home? How long is he going to be angry at you before he realizes that something’s gone wrong? You think of him pacing inside the house, Phantom following him, anxious because he is. You wish you were anywhere but here, but more than anything, you wish you were home with them. You’re never going to see them again. Your throat, raw from screaming, closes off. Tears begin to drip down your cheeks, and the next time the knife cuts into your skin, you endure it in sobs instead of screams.

Your other arm. Your opposite shoulder. The other side of your waist. At some point the conjurer inserts an IV, and fresh blood begins to flow drop by drop into your veins. He wants you alive. Why? You try to make yourself listen to what he’s saying, to learn anything that might help you survive, but there’s nothing. Just the friendly exterior, the friendly voice, and the hands cutting you apart piece by piece.

“I can’t call this failure Tomura’s,” he muses as he carves a piece of flesh out of your upper arm. “He doesn’t know any better. Toshinori, on the other hand – the fact that I snatched you from under his nose will haunt him for the rest of his pathetic human life.”

You want to defend Mr. Yagi, but there’s nothing left of your voice. It’s almost as raspy as Tomura’s, and you’ve barely used it for anything but sobs and weak whimpers of pain. The conjurer’s voice takes on a dangerous note. “Nothing to say? Your stubbornness was charming at first. Now it’s getting excessive.” He jabs the knife into your skin, peels a strip back, and you wail like a wounded animal. “There’s no point in resisting. No one is coming for you. No one knows where you are. No one even knows you’re gone. The longer you resist, the worse it will be.”

No one knows you’re gone. That means it’s still the same day, because if he’s been watching you, he knows what time you’d be expected home. How is it the same day? It feels like it’s been forever. “That’s right,” the conjurer continues. “The longer you hold out, the more painful this will be. When it ends is entirely up to you.”

When it ends? Your mind is too hazy with blood loss and pain to come up with an answer, and before you can even come close, the knife bites into your skin again. You pass out almost instantly. He revives you just as quickly. It begins all over again.

You can tell the conjurer is growing frustrated with your unwillingness to do whatever it is he wants you to do. You also have a feeling he’s running out of marks to carve away, and sure enough, he orders for you to be uncuffed and rolled over, so he can reach the marks on your back. They uncuff your legs first. Nobody’s trying too hard to prevent you from running, which makes sense. You can’t run. You don’t even know that you could stand.

When your right hand’s uncuffed, the conjurer takes one look and bursts out laughing. “How did I miss this?” he asks, pulling the bracelet from your wrist. “Shimura’s work. Of course she’d continue to plague me from beyond the grave.”

Conjurers can’t touch the souls of the dead. If you die, you’ll be free of this. Free from him. The thought comes to you, settles around you, comforting and cold. You don’t have to survive this. It can end. You can go.

Shigaraki Akira laughs. “So this token was the underpinning of your resolve. Moonfish, retrieve the ghost. We’re ready.”

His voice is benevolent again, almost cooing, with a sickly undertone that makes you want to tear off the rest of your skin. He uncuffs your other wrist without looking, without spotting the bracelet there, covered in blood and practically glued to your skin. “I imagine Tomura will be very fond of my gift. Once your binding is complete, he’ll have no need to embody himself again.”

A ghost. He called for a ghost, and he’s talking about binding – a Nomu. Tomura’s conjurer is planning to turn you into a Nomu. He tortured you until you lost your will to go on, and as if you needed proof that he succeeded, you’re lying completely unrestrained on the table without even the faintest urge to run. “As for this,” Shigaraki continues, “it’s only fitting that I break Shimura’s last trinket on the day I break her ghost’s will.”

He raises the bracelet and slams it down on the table. You hear it crack. A sheet of white light blasts through the room.

You don’t understand what’s happening. It feels like it happens too fast, and at the same time, you see it in slow motion. Shigaraki’s blown backwards, clawing at his face and howling. The table you were tied to tips and overturns. There’s a sharp sting as the IV comes out of your arm, and pain explodes through your body as you hit the ground and sprawl out. Your mind’s a second or two behind the times. You’re sprawled out on the ground. Your arms and legs are free. You could get up, if you wanted to. You could run.

You struggle to your knees, try to stand, and realize that crawling’s your best bet. In the wreckage of the laboratory, nobody’s paying attention to you – they’re all trying to aid Tomura’s conjurer, who’s still howling in pain. You gather your strength and what’s left of your resolve and crawl for the door.

The operating room was clean and pitilessly bright, but the hallway outside is dingy, and crawling through it feels like it’s going to give you twenty kinds of diseases. It’s that thought that forces you to your feet, and not a second too soon. One of the conjurer’s minions is hurrying down the hallway towards you, carrying a matte-black box that’s rattling in his grip. You don’t even think before you act. You reach out and swat it from his hands, and the instant it strikes the floor, the ghost inside it bursts free.

The ghost could kill you. You see her thinking about it, but then the conjurer’s servant lunges through her, towards you, and she materializes all at once. You’ve never seen a ghost trap someone else with its own body before, and it’s hideous. So is what’s happening to the minion – massive dents are appearing in his body, like the way a car looks after a few rounds in a demolition derby. His eyes are blank as his body deforms, but the ghost looks at you. She has dark skin and pale hair and a look of unrestrained fury in her red eyes. “Run.”

You don’t need to be told more than once. You set off down the hall as fast as you can go, stumbling on almost every step. If anyone catches you, you’re doomed, but if you can get out of the building, maybe – you think about your home, Phantom. Tomura. But even if you make it out of here, you don’t know where you are. You don’t have money or your phone or your ID. You don’t even have clothes. When you hit the street, you’ll be doing it bloodstained and in your underwear, and there’s no guarantee that you’ll make it that far. You remind yourself again. Phantom. Tomura. You have to.

Something seizes you from behind, and your destroyed vocal cords shudder around a scream – but it’s only the ghost from the box. She begins to drag you down the hall, much faster than you were able to move on your own. “I’ll get you out, but that’s it,” she says through clenched teeth. “Whatever you did in there, do it again as soon as we’re outside.”

You still have the other bracelet. You nod and struggle to pick up speed, but the ghost makes an irritated sound and yanks you completely off your feet. It’s faster this way. Still, you’d give almost anything not to see the long smear of blood your body is leaving on the ground, and of course being dragged around like this hurts. Everything hurts. You’ve never felt pain like this before. All you want is for it to stop.

No, that’s not all you want. You want to go home. You think of Phantom, think of Tomura, and hold on tight as the ghost kicks down a door and drags you through onto the street.

It’s almost full dark. The air smells sooty and metallic, which tells you that you’re in the old manufacturing district, a long way from anybody who could have heard you scream. The ghost drops you next to the building and gestures impatiently. “Do it. You’ll need every second of a head start.”

You raise your left hand and bang your wrist against the wall of the building. Not hard enough. You throw yourself against the wall, hoping your body weight will do the trick, but there’s no luck there, either. “We’re too close,” the ghost says suddenly. “Give me that.”

She pries the bracelet off your wrist, drags you five feet, ten feet, twenty feet away, then hurls the bracelet against the wall from a distance. The blast of light takes a chunk out of the side of the building, and the entire thing begins to collapse – but that’s all you see of it. The ghost drags you away from the damaged building, towards the more populated downtown. As bad as being dragged across the floor in the warehouse was, being dragged across concrete is worse. You black out after about three seconds, and this time, there’s no conjurer trying to wake you up.

The next time you come to, you’re huddled in an alleyway, limbs flopping uselessly as the ghost tries to stuff you into a set of clothes that smell freshly stolen. “Go out there,” she snaps at you once she sees you’re awake. “Someone will see this and help you. This is as far as I go.”

“Thank you,” you mumble. “You got me out –”

“We got each other out. He dropped my box because of you.” The ghost straightens your shirt, then hauls you upright by the front of it. “Good luck, human.”

“Wait,” you say, and the ghost glances at you again. “What’s your name?”

“Rumi.” The ghost dematerializes and vanishes completely.

Rumi’s saved your life, and now she’s saving her own. The rest is up to you. You lean against the wall for a moment, fighting off the urge to lay down and give up, then start down the alleyway and into the street.

It’s a street you recognize. You lived near here, in the last apartment you had before you bought your house. It’s been almost two years. You don’t know anyone here you can ask for help, so you struggle down the sidewalk, pausing at one of the city’s few remaining payphones before realizing that you don’t have anyone’s number memorized. You could look through the phone book – Mr. Yagi’s almost certainly listed – but that would take money and time, and you’re getting unsteadier on your feet by the second. You spot the sign for the train station up ahead and aim for it. The train will take you out of the city, and maybe you can sit down.

Hopping the turnstiles is something you’re familiar with, but your muscles are desperately weak. You get one leg over, then get stuck, and sprawl out hard on the tiles on the far side. You know you leave smears of blood when you get to your feet, but the clothes Rumi stole for you don’t show it except in slick, dark spots, and there are so many of them that it probably looks like a pattern in the fabric. You leave the bloody outline of your body on the floor and pick yourself up again, dragging yourself onto the first train that pulls into the station. You hope it’s the right one.

On board, you huddle in your seat, shivering. You’ve always liked the cold, but you’re used to being cold on the outside – from air or water or wind or from Tomura wrapping himself around you, visible or not. This cold is crawling up from inside you, cold like the world between, hollowing you out one cell at a time. No matter how tightly you curl up, you can’t shake it. It hurts so badly. Everything hurts, and there’s no one to help you, and you’re so far from home. And even if you make it, you’re a mess. You’ll have scars, horrible ones, and enough nightmares to keep you awake for the rest of your life. Imagining going back to work, back to your life, feels impossible. What’s the point?

The point is Phantom, who loves you. The point is Tomura, who loves you too, who will never forgive you if you leave him like this, or at all. You have to keep it together for them. At least long enough to see them one more time.

By some miracle you got on the right train, the one that runs all the way out of the city proper to reach your stop. When you hear your stop called, you haul yourself upright and stagger off the train, leaving another bloodstain on the seat you were in. You almost make it down the stairs from the platform, but you miss a step and fall down three more, sprawling out headfirst on the concrete. You barely bring your arms up in time to shield your face. And then you’re stuck. You don’t have the energy to pick yourself back up again, and even if you could, it’s still miles between you and home. Instead of trying to rise again, you curl up, whimpering when the movement breaks the few scabs that have managed to form over your wounds. You have a hard time imagining you have any blood left to lose.

This is it. This is how you die, then – in a bloody heap on the sidewalk, because you could escape but you couldn’t make it home. You’re going to leave him. It’s the last thing you want, but you can’t help it. Maybe you can find some way to stick around, just like Yoichi did, but deep in your heart you know you’re not that strong. You’ll leave Tomura, go where humans go, and you’ll never see each other again.

The thought makes you cry, but crying hurts your throat, and the horrible raspy sounds you’re making do a great job of covering up the sound of a car pulling over. Then the sound of footsteps. But there’s no way you can miss the sound of your own name, shouted in a familiar voice. “Hey, where have you been?” Spinner demands. “If you don’t get back soon, Tomura’s going to – wait, are you okay? Did you fall?”

“I knew I smelled blood!” Himiko’s here, too. You hear a car door slam shut, and more footsteps darting towards you. “A lot of blood. Not all of it’s hers.”

“Did she kill somebody?” A hand reaches out and shakes your shoulder, then recoils – just like you’re doing, because their hand came down over one of your wounds. “Fuck, look at this. She didn’t try to kill somebody, they tried to kill her. Get her up.”

Hands seize you – at least three sets of hands, three people pulling you upright. “Careful,” Spinner is pleading. “Don’t touch the blood –”

“I can’t do shit about that. It’s everywhere.” Now you can place the third voice – it’s Dabi. What is Dabi doing out here? “Something fucked her up bad.”

You force your eyes open and see that you’re being carried towards the dark shape of the Buibaigawara family’s minivan. Jin is in the driver’s seat, and you see him grinning at you. “Hey, there you are! We gotta get – Himiko, shit, is that blood? Did you do that?”

“I wouldn’t,” Himiko snaps at him, sounding more than a little hurt. “Somebody cut Tomura’s human. We have to take her to the hospital.”

“No.” The voice from the passenger seat sounds more like Kurogiri than Shirakumo right now. “We must return to the neighborhood.”

“You’re not the one with her blood all over your hands. She could be dying!” Spinner protests. “If we get her to the hospital –”

“She’s vulnerable to the conjurer,” Kurogiri says. Dabi, Spinner, and Himiko dump you into the middle row of seats in the van and he twists around to look at you. “He’s the one who did this.”

“I got away.” You cringe from the sound of your own voice. “He got hurt. Maybe dead.”

“Did you see the body?” Dabi asks. You shake your head. “If you didn’t see it, he’s not dead.”

“He’s right. If Tomura wasn’t materialized when it happened, the conduit was still open, and he could have used Tomura’s power to survive.” Spinner looks miserable. “We can’t know for sure.”

“We have to go back,” Kurogiri repeats. “Jin, drive.”

The minivan lurches into motion. Himiko and Spinner are trying to figure out what to do about your injuries, while Dabi gets on the phone. “We’ve got her. Pull everybody back,” he says. You can’t hear the other person’s response, but you hear Dabi’s answer. “She looks like something mauled her.”

“It’s not that bad,” Spinner says hastily, trying to reassure you. It’s – sweet. “You’re going to be fine. I bet they’re not as bad as they – holy shit –”

Himiko’s just pulled up your shirt. Spinner rolls down the window in a hurry and sticks his head out, gagging, while Himiko stares for a moment with her jaw dropped. Then her pupils narrow to slits, sheer rage settling over her face. “He cut out Tomura’s marks,” she says. Dabi swears into the phone, then swears again as the person on the other end of the line barks at him in response. “I’ll cut him.”

You always thought Tomura’s thing about not touching other ghosts’ humans was just a weird Tomura thing, given how much time Dabi and Hizashi spend lowkey threatening you, but apparently it’s not. The idea of someone removing a ghost’s marks on their human is enough to seriously piss off Dabi, Himiko, and Kurogiri at once, until the car is crackling with their fury. “Can you guys cool it?” Jin asks anxiously. “I’m a nervous driver.”

“You sped the whole way here!”

“I was nervous about finding her. Now I’m nervous about you guys blowing up my mom’s car,” Jin says. “What’s going on is fucked. I want to kill something! But if even I can pick up on what all of you are doing, Tomura will, too.”

“We can’t let that happen,” Spinner says at once. “If he finds out about this he’ll go ballistic. There’s no way he’ll stick to the plan.”

“You can’t just hide it. I could smell her blood from down the street.” Himiko peers at you, her pupils dilating again. “And her soul’s not right. It’s unstuck, kind of. It’s wrong. He’ll know. He’ll know his marks are gone, too.”

Dabi hangs up the phone, then dials another number. He speaks while it’s ringing. “I’m letting the humans know. He can’t read them like he reads us. When we get back, you all get on her and stay there. You too, Kurogiri. As long as she smells like the neighborhood he might not notice.”

“She’s still bleeding,” Spinner says loudly. “If we bring her back and she dies –”

“Keigo knows doctor shit. He can help her.” Whoever Dabi’s calling picks up the phone, and Dabi starts talking. “Yeah, we’ve got her. She’s fucked up. Here’s what we’ll do –”

You’re among friends now. People who will help you, whether it’s out of obligation or because they care, and now that you know you’re not going to die alone, it’s somehow harder to hang on. The drive back to the neighborhood goes by in a long, slow blink, punctuated by Himiko and Spinner repeatedly shaking you awake. “Come on,” Spinner says, still sounding sort of like he wants to throw up. “You have to make it through this. Tomura’s naming his Pokémon all kinds of stupid shit and you’re the only one who can talk him out of it.”

“Stay awake,” Himiko tells you. She’s been patting your cheek lightly, which you don’t mind. Your face and neck are the only parts of you that the conjuror left untouched. “You’re my only human girl neighbor. I’ll be sad if you die. Tomura will be so sad if you die. You don’t want him to be sad, do you? You love him. Humans don’t want the people they love to be sad.”

“Ghosts don’t, either,” Dabi mutters. Then, to Jin: “Park at the top of the street, across the street. Everybody’s falling back to my house and the idiot’s. We could use the extra barricade.”

Jin skids to a stop at the top of the street, and Spinner opens the door. You see people hurrying up the street towards you and identify them distantly – Keigo, Hizashi. They reach you just as everyone else is hauling you out of the car. Hizashi takes one look at you and swears, his pupils narrowing to slits just like Himiko’s did. The embodied ghosts never look more inhuman than when they’re angry. “When he gets here, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Calm down,” Spinner begs. “If he figures it out –”

“He knows she’s back. If you’re any good at lying, Spinner, get down there and tell him we’re hiding her in my house so the conjurer won’t find her when he comes looking for him.” Hizashi’s a good liar, and it’s a logical plan, but you absolutely don’t want to be left alone with Hizashi right now. “Keigo, Dabi, with us. Everybody else, battle stations. Shigaraki’s on his way here, and he’s not happy.”

The group splits, Himiko bolting down the street while the others follow at a slower pace. You’ve had enough of a rest that you think you can maybe walk a few feet, past Atsuhiro’s house and up Aizawa’s front steps, if only so Tomura doesn’t spot you being carried and catch on to what’s really happening. Keigo hovers next to you, ready to catch you if you stumble, while Dabi and Hizashi trail behind you. “What are you doing up here?” Dabi asks Hizashi. “He trusts you about as far as he could throw your rotting corpse.”

“So, pretty far, then.” Hizashi ignores the disgusted noise Dabi makes. “He trusts my human more than me, and my human can lie to him better than I can. And since he’s got my human right now, he’s got all the leverage on me he needs to make sure I’m right here to take the hit against his asshole conjurer.”

“Fucking asshole. And I thought ours was bad.”

“Ours didn’t need us like his needs him.” Hizashi snarls low under his breath. “Cutting out the marks is a new low. It would have been better if he’d just killed her.”

“Don’t say that,” Keigo snaps at him. You push open the front door, then stumble over the threshold into the house. Keigo catches you, guiding you towards the kitchen, and – “Hey, calm down! I just need to get a look at your injuries!”

You can’t look at the kitchen table without feeling sick. “I’m not laying there.”

“Fine. The living room. Get on the floor.”

The floor is fine. It has a carpet, and Keigo yanks a pillow off the couch for you to prop your head on before he pulls out a pair of scissors and starts cutting away your bloody clothes. He studies you and sucks in a breath. “Okay, cleaning these out and bandaging them is the best I can do, but it’s not going to be enough. The skin’s the biggest organ in the body and right now it’s got a bunch of holes in it. You need antibiotics and some of that fake skin as soon as we can get it, or sepsis will set in and kill you.”

“You can’t just stitch it up?” Dabi asks. “That’s what you did for me.”

You wonder what the story was there. “These are too wide for me to do it with what I’ve got here,” Keigo says. He looks down at you. “The cleaning part is going to suck. Can you keep quiet?”

You nod. He doesn’t look convinced, so you clear your throat and try to talk. “I can take it. It won’t be as bad as when it happened.”

“What happened, exactly?” Hizashi asks. He’s at the front window, while Dabi leans with his back to the door. “We’ve been careful. You had those bracelets. When did we get made?”

“Same day –” The cleaning process starts in earnest, and you hiss in pain. “Same day we killed Garaki. I left to get the plants. I met him at the nursery.”

Dabi makes a skeptical noise. “You had the bracelets. Those things work. He shouldn’t have been able to tell.”

“He could.” You bite the inside of your cheek and try not to howl. What was it that Shigaraki said? “He said I had ghostly energy. That I was full of it.”

“Ugh. Don’t tell me shit like that. I don’t want to know.”

“That’s not what he meant,” Hizashi says suddenly. He turns to look at you, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he looks like he’d seen a ghost. “When did you meet him? Before Tomura’s lesson or after?”

The fact that Keigo’s helping you instead of hurting you on purpose doesn’t make what he’s doing hurt even less. You squeeze your eyes shut. “After.”

“Fuck,” Hizashi mumbles. “It’s my fault.”

“Huh?” Keigo sounds puzzled. “It sounds like bad luck.”

“It’s not. I made Tomura practice discharging power before the fight, and I made him practice on her.” Hizashi’s voice is full of venom. “He’s got the self-control of an elephant on an acid trip, so of course he overdid it. The bracelets wouldn’t have done shit to hide her after that. Anybody who was looking could have seen her from space.”

You remember something he said that day: She’ll glow in the dark until it wears off. Hizashi was trying to make you leave, but all he did was turn you into a walking signpost pointed directly at the neighborhood. Is it his fault? Blaming him would feel good, maybe, if none of the rest of this had happened. You don’t want to think about it. All you want is not to hurt anymore.

It’s cold, and getting colder. You think some of that could be the blood loss, and the fact that your clothes are partially in tatters once again, but when you exhale, you can see your breath. Keigo notices, too, and you watch the blood drain from his face. “Guys –”

Hizashi and Dabi are huddled by the window. “These can’t all be his,” Hizashi is hissing.

“They’re not. I’ve seen some of them before,” Dabi hisses. “They’re like you. They came here on purpose, and now they’re free.”

“And they’re following him?” Keigo says, incredulous. “Why?”

“For kicks? I don’t know.” Hizashi shrugs uselessly. “I’m a little out of touch these days.”

You can hear low whispering from outside the house, and the air is getting colder by the second. If everybody else is down at the other end of the street – “Call them. Warn them –”

“They know already,” Hizashi says grimly. “Trust me.”

Just like Garaki before him, Tomura’s conjurer speaks first. The mirror sound of his voice makes you cringe and curl in on yourself. “Good evening, Tomura,” Shigaraki Akira says. “What a quiet life you’ve led since we last saw each other.”

Dabi and Hizashi rose to the bait instantly when Garaki called out to them. Tomura stays silent. “Not even a greeting?” Shigaraki asks, and clucks his tongue. “I suppose I never taught you manners.”

“You’re trespassing.” Tomura’s voice rings out, vibrating with power. “This is my neighborhood. Get out.”

Shigaraki clucks his tongue again. “Poor thing. I see now that I’ve been neglectful. I should never have left you with the impression that this was your home.”

“How many are out there?” Keigo asks, keeping his voice low.

“Hundreds,” Dabi says, and the floor feels as though it’s fallen out beneath you. “Nomus. Embodied ghosts. Live ones.”

“None of them are his,” Hizashi says. There’s a savage note in his voice. “He’s only got one.”

Tomura hasn’t responded to his conjurer’s latest taunt. His conjurer speaks again. “You’ve built quite a comfortable existence for yourself, haven’t you? A secluded kingdom. Servants who bend to your whims. Even a human of your own.”

“What human?” Tomura scoffs. “I don’t have a human.”

Even knowing he’s trying to protect you, even knowing that he’s lying, your heart sinks. “You know better than to lie to me,” the conjurer says. That almost-indulgent note is back in his voice.  You roll to one side and dry-heave onto Aizawa’s carpets. “Where is the human girl? Has she failed to return home?”

“She’s home,” Tomura snaps. “Safe from you.”

“Have you seen her?” Shigaraki inquires. He sounds honestly concerned. “Who told you that she’s home? The others? The ones who fear your wrath so deeply that they have every reason to lie?”

“She’s here.” This time, it’s Shirakumo who answers – Shirakumo, not Kurogiri. “You know I’m telling the truth, Tomura. So is Himiko.”

“Yes, your human is home,” the conjurer agrees. “But safe? I think not. Dabi, Hizashi, Keigo – come out. Bring Tomura’s human to him.”

“No,” Tomura says, but there’s an uncertain note in his voice. “Stay where you are.”

“Come out,” the conjurer repeats. “No one will harm you on your way. Tomura’s human is in a delicate condition. I won’t risk anyone dropping her.”

He’s pretending like he’s not the one who did this to you. Like he really cares about making sure you get back to Tomura safely. “Stay where you are,” Tomura orders again. “You can’t trust him.”

“I’m the only one here who’s telling you the truth,” Shigaraki says. “Hizashi, Dabi, Keigo. Bring the human out. If you won’t, I’ll be forced to send my friends to retrieve her – and unlike me, they don’t much care about preserving your lives.”

You lift your head with an effort and see Dabi and Hizashi trade a glance. Then they turn from the window and come towards you. “It’s strategy,” Hizashi insists as he drops a coat over you, as Dabi hoists you upright. “If they come get us here, we’re all dead. Your house is a lot easier to defend.”

But he wouldn’t let you go back unless he thought it wouldn’t matter. He’s playing all of you, and you’re too weak and exhausted to see what his endgame is. You’re semiconscious as Keigo, Dabi, and Hizashi carry you down the front steps, but you keep your eyes open with an effort, and you see the conjurer’s army parting the way to make a path, one that runs straight as an arrow down the street until it reaches your house. Hizashi sets a brisk pace, just below a jog, and you jostle along between he and the others. You don’t see where the conjurer is, but you hear his voice. “Very good,” he says, encouraging. “A wise choice. I’m sure Tomura will be merciful in turn.”

You hear the others’ voices as you get closer to the house, all of them trying for damage control. You start agitating to be set down. You can’t risk Tomura losing his temper on the others, and the worse off he thinks you are, the angrier he’ll be. He needs to see that you’re fine. You’ll be fine. Keigo sets you down carefully, then steps in close, arm around you to hold you upright. You survive the step up onto the sidewalk and shuffle along until you’re walking parallel to your own fenced yard. You have to keep walking. You have to keep walking long enough for Tomura to let Hizashi and Dabi in, or he’ll strand them outside.

The gate swings open as you reach it, and Tomura’s voice drifts in from nowhere. “She wasn’t wearing that when she left,” he says. Dabi steps through, then Hizashi, and he shuts the gate behind him. You have time to register that every last one of your neighbors is inside the property line before your vision begins to blur. It’s not blurry enough to block out Tomura as he materializes at the top of the front steps. His next question is for you. “Why were you late?”

You can’t talk. Talking will give it away. You climb the first step, then the next, and it’s not until you’re just outside the warm glow of the porch light that your legs give out.

hands-off, hands-on - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

This was inspired by this art and a comment left on it about the risks of trying to jerk off with a quirk like Decay. It was also inspired by @obsessedtomone and @scarlettcryptid, who encouraged me to write it and then to post it. The pun in the title was my idea and not their fault.

Shigaraki's quirk makes life difficult in a lot of ways, but there's only one he can't find a way around, and since you joined the League of Villains, it's gotten even worse. When the truth comes out at last, he's expecting it to be a disaster and nothing else. He definitely isn't expecting you to offer to help. (cross-posted to Ao3) Canonverse, one-shot, smut.

Shigaraki Tomura’s quirk is everything to him. It’s how he found himself alone in the world as a five-year-old, even if he can’t remember the details. It’s why Sensei took an interest in him, why Sensei took him in, why Sensei chose him to carry on his work. It’s the perfect tool for someone like Shigaraki, who hates everything, who wants nothing more than to destroy everything he doesn’t like. Decay is the best thing that’s ever happened to Shigaraki. And at the same time, it absolutely, categorically sucks.

Shigaraki might hate everything, but he doesn’t hate it all the time, and the times when he doesn’t hate it are times when he’d love to be able to just have whatever it is without being one wrong move away from ruining it. Name a thing he likes, and his quirk is ready and waiting to fuck it up – gaming, eating, sleeping, even reading the fucking newspaper. He can do all those things four-fingered, if he stays focused. It’s the stuff he can’t stay focused on that’s impossible.

He can’t stay focused when he’s horny, at least not enough to keep from potentially Decaying his dick off. Shigaraki doesn’t actually know if his quirk works on himself, and he’s not interested in finding out. And that means that no matter how horny Shigaraki gets or how many poorly timed boners he pops, jerking off is permanently off the table.

That’s not to say Shigaraki’s never finished. He has. He’s spent so much time humping pillows that he had to learn to do his own laundry. But there’s something really pathetic about being twenty years old with two working hands and still be stuck grinding on a pillow to make himself come, and it always takes so stupidly long. Now that Shigaraki’s got the League of Villains, now that he’s got plans to make and Sensei’s legacy to fulfill, he doesn’t have that kind of time. When he wakes up with the world’s worst morning wood after a dream he doesn’t remember clearly, there’s nothing he can do but wait for it to go away.

It fades – enough – but the feeling doesn’t, and eventually Shigaraki doesn’t have a choice but to drag himself out of bed. He slinks from his room to the bar, hoping it’ll be empty, with the rest of the League out and about preparing for the mission and Kurogiri somewhere nearby if Shigaraki needs him but not actually right there to ask him what’s bothering him. Shigaraki can pour his own drinks. Maybe he can get out of this if he gives himself whiskey dick on purpose. Kurogiri’s not in the bar, just like he was hoping, but it’s not empty, either. You’re there, sprawled out over the bar with a sweating glass of water on a coaster in front of you.

Shigaraki’s jaw clenches at the sight. “What are you doing here?” he demands, and you look up. “Don’t you have something to do?”

“I did it already.” You yawn. “Using my quirk tires me out.”

“Really?” Shigaraki can’t keep the irritation out of his voice. “Making people stupid is that exhausting?”

Your quirk is a weird one. It lets you increase or decrease a target’s ability to plan, reason, problem-solve, remember things, and learn – in other words, their intelligence. “From this distance, for as many people as you need me to hit?” You yawn again and drop your head back down to the bar. “Yeah. Remember, I have to keep them all being stupid the same way, right up until it’s too late. Or your plan won’t work.”

Shigaraki had the pieces of the plan before he made you use your quirk on him, but once you used the quirk on him, he did some fine-tuning on the strategy, and he came up with the idea of using your quirk the opposite way, too. While the rest of the League is planning to make the attack on UA’s summer training camp a success, you’re using your quirk every day on the heroes in charge of planning the camp itself. Shigaraki’s not actually going to know if it works until after the attack, and that pisses him off. “Go nap somewhere else, then.”

“I’m not going to bother you,” you say. “Where else am I supposed to go, anyway? Your room?”

Shigaraki’s this close to saying yes, just to get you to leave, before he remembers what his room looks like – and remembers that he spent a while trying to see if grinding one out would work this time. He can’t kick you out of the hideout. You look like shit, and you’ll attract a lot of attention. “Fine. Shut up.”

“Yep.” You fold your arms on the bar and rest your head on them, shutting your eyes.

Even when you aren’t looking at him or talking, your presence bothers Shigaraki. It’s bothered him since the beginning – as much as he’s bothered by the others, in a different way than he’s bothered by the others. While the others can at least manage to avoid pissing Shigaraki off, there’s nothing you do that doesn’t cause some kind of problem. If you’re talking to him too much, he’s annoyed because he doesn’t know why you’re talking to him. If you’re not talking to him, he’s pissed about that, too. If you’re not around, he’s mad that you’re avoiding him, and if you are around, he wishes you weren’t. The fact that you’re here was a big problem for him even before he started having the dreams.

Shigaraki can’t remember the details of last night’s dream, but he knows you were in it. He pours himself a drink, takes the bottle with him, and sits down at the far end of the bar from you. You don’t look up again, and Shigaraki finishes his first drink, then half of his second, with no improvement on the situation. He shifts on the barstool, trying to get more comfortable. He needs to find something else to do. Something that will distract him from how stupidly horny he is.

You’re right there, and being irritated with you for doing anything at all is as good a distraction as anything else. “If all you’re doing is making a couple of heroes slightly dumber, you’re not really pulling your weight, are you?”

You don’t stir, but Shigaraki sees your shoulders stiffen. “What else should I be doing?”

“More,” Shigaraki says. You lift your head to look at him dead on, and Shigaraki hates that so much that he loses his train of thought for a second. “I don’t want them slightly dumber. I want them so stupid they can’t walk in a straight line. You have to get closer to them for that? So get closer. Get out of here and –”

“If I make them that stupid, the heroes will know that something’s wrong,” you interrupt. “My quirk’s in the government databases. If I do anything too obvious, they’ll know I’m working with you, and they’ll change their plans. Or they’ll change who they’re using to execute those plans. For my quirk to work on someone, I need to know who they are.”

Shigaraki knows how your quirk works. He’s not stupid. “I could do what you want me to do, but it would ruin your plans,” you say. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I wanted to take a nap,” you say. You sit up straight on your stool, get to your feet and start towards Shigaraki. “Now I want to know what I did to piss you off.”

You’re coming closer. Shigaraki feels a surge of panic. “Get away from me.”

“No.” You sit down one barstool away from Shigaraki, but still way too close for comfort. Shigaraki’s skin feels hot, and in spite of the fact that he left his room wearing sweatpants, they’re getting tight. “You let me join the League, but ever since I got here, I can’t do anything right. You’re mad at me all the time, and today you’re even madder than usual.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” you say. You keep staring. Shigaraki looks away, and you say the first thing he’s ever heard you say that makes you sound like a villain. “Either you can tell me the truth, or I’ll use my quirk on myself and figure it out.”

Shigaraki’s stomach lurches. “I thought you were too tired to use your quirk.”

“Not on myself,” you say. Shigaraki glances back at you. You’re almost smiling. He’s seen you smile before, talking to Toga or Magne, but not like that. “You can tell me, or I’ll find out on my own. Your choice.”

You’re not screwing around. Shigaraki thinks fast. He could Decay you, but – Shigaraki writes off the thought before he can even complete it. He has to tell you something, and it has to be convincing. But he doesn’t have to tell you everything to keep you from using your quirk. It’s going to be humiliating, but nowhere close to as humiliating as the whole truth, and he opens his mouth and spits it out. “I’m horny.”

You blink. “So jerk off.”

“I can’t.” Shigaraki sees your eyebrows lift, skeptical as hell, and loses patience, even as his face heats up. “My quirk. Anything I touch with five fingers –”

“And you can’t jerk off without –” You break off mid-question, looking just as uncomfortable as Shigaraki feels. “So you’ve never –”

“No, I have, I just –” This is way more information than you need to know. Shigaraki grits his teeth. “You wanted an answer. There’s your answer. Leave me alone.”

You don’t leave Shigaraki alone. You actually move over onto the stool next to his. “So you’re just going to be a dick to me any time you’re horny.”

It’s your fault Shigaraki’s horny. Before you showed up, he could deal with things on his own, but now instead of videos and games to fixate on he has fantasies – because he can imagine about what you’d look like under him, what you’d sound like, what you’d feel like. All of which are the worst possible things for Shigaraki to be thinking about right now. He’s completely hard, again. Maybe you can tell, or maybe you’re using your quirk on him after all, because you’re making a really weird face. “If you’re going to be a dick any time you’re horny –”

You break off. Shigaraki thinks, fleetingly, about Decaying you. At this point he’d rather Decay himself, because if even he kills you, he’ll still have to remember that this happened. You take a deep breath, let it go. “Do you want help?”

Shigaraki’s mind blue-screens for a second. “What?”

“If this is why you’re like this, then it’s easy to fix,” you repeat. Your hands are clenched into fists on your thighs, and you slowly uncurl them. “Do you want me to help?”

“Help with what?”

“Jerking off,” you say. You make an awkward gesture, and every muscle in Shigaraki’s body goes tense as he imagines your hands around his cock. You have to be messing with him. There’s no way you’re actually offering – that. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Shigaraki finishes his drink and stands up before he can think any more about it. He grimaces as his cock strains against the fabric of his pants, and feels a surge of embarrassment when he realizes you’re looking at it – but it’ll be over soon. In the face of getting some, and getting it from you, nothing else matters. “Let’s go.”

Shigaraki’s nerves kick in on the walk back to his room. Not enough to make the hard-on he’s coping with fade even slightly, but enough to remind him that this is probably a bad idea. But you’re following him, and you haven’t changed your mind. Shigaraki’s not chickening out first. The nerves get worse when he opens the door to his room and realizes what a mess it is. “Uh –”

“Where do you usually sit?” You don’t look impressed – or disgusted, now that Shigaraki thinks about it. “On the bed?”

Shigaraki sits down on the bed – which he didn’t make, because he never makes it – and you sit down next to him. You don’t do anything. “I thought you were going to help me.”

“Show me what you do,” you say. Shigaraki stares at you. His heart is racing, his pulse hammering so hard that he feels it everywhere. “Go as far as you can, and then I’ll keep doing what you do.”

That makes sense, probably. Shigaraki’s mind is startling to scramble. He decides to think about it later and catches the hem of his shirt, hiking it up and out of the way. He knows from experience that it’ll slide back, so he pins it between his teeth and reaches down to his waistband, shoving at it until his pants are down around his thighs and his cock is free.

His hard-on looks like it feels. Uncomfortable, leaking, hot to the touch when he wraps three fingers and his thumb around his shaft. Shigaraki tries a few of the same insufficient strokes as always and feels the muscles in his abdomen and thighs clench. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. A frustrated sound edges out around the fabric in Shigaraki’s mouth. Aren’t you supposed to help him? He looks at you. You’re looking away.

“Hey,” Shigaraki says, the hem of the shirt falling from his mouth, and you look at him. “You wanted to help. Pay attention.”

Your face is flushed. You nod, and you reach out – but only so you can grasp the hem of Shigaraki’s shirt and pull it out of the way again, your knuckles brushing over his abdomen in a way that makes him twitch. You’re sitting closer to him now than you were before, close enough that he can almost feel the heat of your body, and imagine how it would feel to have you pressed against him. One of your hands is holding his shirt up. The other comes to rest on his lower abdomen, fingertips brushing through his hair, centimeters away from the base of his cock.

Shigaraki squirms involuntarily, trying to move your hand lower and jeopardizing his own strokes at the same time. Even when he lifts his hips to meet his own hand, he can’t lose control the way he wants to, can’t chase the feeling he needs. He needs it. He needs it and he’s never come even close to having it, until now. Shigaraki tries to focus. You’re only going to help once he’s gone as far as he can, so he’d better get there as fast as possible.

He shouldn’t have told you to pay attention. Now you’re watching everything, your face still flushed and your eyes glued to Shigaraki’s every move, taking everything in. Do you like this? Do you like watching Shigaraki’s pathetic attempts to get himself off? Whether you like it or not, you’re still touching him when you don’t have to. Shigaraki’s fingers tighten involuntarily around his cock, his fourth finger almost coming down, and he loosens up in a hurry. But that’s no good, either. He tries again.

It’s the same as always. Shigaraki makes it one or two strokes before it gets dangerous, enough to show him what he could have and not enough to get him there. He’s sweaty and his heart is beating too hard and the same frustrated tears as always are stinging his eyes. He curses, lets go – and a warm hand slides between his legs to replace his.

Shigaraki almost comes on the spot. It takes every ounce of willpower he has, and he almost blows it again as he watches you adjust your hold on him, shaping your hand more closely around his cock. You’re slow about it, but you sure as hell aren’t hesitant. Shigaraki can’t look for longer than a few strokes. It’s too humiliating to see the intensity of his own reaction, precum oozing from the tip of his cock and his hips jerking upwards into your hand. He clenches his jaw and shuts his eyes.

“Hey. Pay attention.” Are you making fun of him? Shigaraki opens his eyes and finds you looking at him. “I need to know if I’m doing it right.”

“What do you think?” Shigaraki forces the words out through gritted teeth. “Do you need me to tell you you’re doing a good job or something?”

“That might be nice,” you muse. Your hold on him loosens slightly – not enough to complain about, more than enough to read as a threat. “Since I can’t do anything else right around here, I at least want to be good at getting you off.”

Your grip tightens again, and you run your thumb lightly over the tip of Shigaraki’s cock at the end of the next stroke. Shigaraki couldn’t pull a move like that if his fucking life depended on it, which it would. He was going to tell you not to ask stupid questions, like if you’re good at getting him off when he’s two seconds away from blowing his load all over himself, but instead he moans, so loudly that people can probably hear it two streets away. You replay the same stroke, slower this time, pulling Shigaraki’s back into an arch to match the upward motion of your hand, and then you spend a few seconds just toying with his tip, barely touching him at all.

Are you trying to make him squirm? Shigaraki hates that it’s working, hates that you won’t just give him what he needs – but then you’re back to stroking his cock again, and Shigaraki relaxes, as much as it’s possible to relax. It feels good, even better than he thought it would. And even better than that, because he doesn’t have to do anything. All he has to do is sit back and enjoy it.

“Hold your shirt up,” you say, and Shigaraki grabs it clumsily. Your now-free hand traces quickly down Shigaraki’s chest, along his stomach, skidding sideways over his hip before sliding between his legs. There’s not room for both of your hands. Shigaraki spreads his legs without thinking twice.

You make a weird sound – maybe a gasp. “Stop that,” you say, but now you’re cradling his balls in addition to stroking his cock, so Shigaraki’s not interested in stopping much of anything. “It’s working.”

No shit it’s working. Shigaraki’s entire body is wound tight, so much that he can’t even twitch or thrust or squirm – all he can do is strain, agonizingly tense, every atom of his body focused on the motion of your hands. Shigaraki squeezes his eyes shut. His shirt crumbles away as he claws at it, the sheets on his bed going the same way a second later as he fights to ground himself. He needs more. Shigaraki needs to come right now, before he grabs onto something he can’t replace.

The word struggles out of his mouth sideways, twisted and strained just like the rest of him. “Please –”

You don’t answer him, but Shigaraki feels you shift closer to him. He opens his eyes and you’re right there, close enough that he can feel your breath against his skin. You’re watching him, head tilted, lips parted, so close. Shigaraki’s so close, and he needs more from you. He seizes the front of your shirt to pull you down to him, only for it to Decay when you’re halfway there. But Shigaraki gets lucky. You lean in the rest of the way and press your lips against his.

It’s not because of that. Shigaraki’s coming hard enough to see stars, hard enough that he blacks out for a second, but it’s not because you’re kissing him. His cum spills everywhere, onto his sweatpants and his stomach and over your fingers, and you keep stroking him with slick hands. You don’t pull away until Shigaraki’s whining against your mouth and you’ve drawn out every drop of cum he has to give.

And then you sit back, and let go, and look away. “I need a new shirt.”

You’re sitting next to him, on his bed, in just your bra. The sight would get Shigaraki hard again in an instant if you hadn’t just made him come hard enough to disconnect his spine. He raises a shaky hand and points to his hoodie, slung over the back of his computer chair, but you don’t go for it. Instead you get up and head to the bathroom to wash your hands.

Shigaraki needs to wash everything. His sweatpants, himself – the stupid mattress, since he was dumb enough to Decay the sheets off it right before he blew what feels like the biggest load in history. What else was he supposed to do, though? No way was he going to be able to control himself while you worked him over. No way is he going to be able to think about anything else the next time he sees you do anything with your hands. Or with your mouth.

It occurs to Shigaraki vaguely that while he’s solved the initial problem of being too horny to function, he’s set himself up for something even worse – more dreams, made all the more vivid because he’s got experience to back them up. He might be good to go for now. Probably for the rest of the day, since it’ll be a miracle if he can do anything other than clean up and take a nap. But he’ll be right back where he started the next time he wakes up from another dream about you.

The water from the sink shuts off, and a moment later you come back out, snagging Shigaraki’s hoodie off the chair and pulling it on over your bra. Shigaraki feels a faint twinge of foreboding at the sight, but it fades fast. Sure, he could wake up tomorrow morning with the boner from hell and it’ll be all your fault. But now he’s got a way out of it, and the way out of it is so good that what it takes to get there barely even matters. And he’s in a good enough mood to admit to himself that you do things right a lot more than you do things wrong.

Which reminds him – “Hey,” Shigaraki says, still humiliatingly breathless, and you pause in the act of pulling the hood up. “You did a good job.”

He might still be out of breath, but your face is still flushed. “Good,” you say, and you turn to leave. Shigaraki doesn’t hear you speak again until you’re already out the door. “Next time I’ll do better.”

Better might kill him. Next time. Shigaraki pulls up his sweatpants so his dick isn’t hanging out, makes no other effort at cleaning up, and falls asleep with something that feels like a smile on his face.

Intoxicated (NSFW)

Paring : Incel!Shigaraki x Drunk!Reader

Tags : Drunk sex, Blow Jobs, Hand jobs, Thigh Riding, Riding, Vaginal Penetration, Unprotected sex, Creampie, slight voyeurisim (Dabi), Pervy Shiggy, Name calling (Whore & Angel), Gaming sesh, Pre-PLF coded shiggy (Idk, I just like him that way), Happy Ending <33

Summary : The pent-up sexual frustration was building up while drinking with your colleagues, so you took a half empty bottle and went to the one guy you hoped wouldn't say no, Tomura Shigaraki.

Tomura was the type to stay in his room in the base, doing whatever incels liked to do.

When you'd pass his door, you'd hear the clacking of a keyboard accompanied by various sound effects from video games. Just like tonight, you passed by his room while you heard just that.

You knocked on his door before waiting afew seconds, you pried the door open to see his back turned from you and eyes fixated on his monitors like always.

"Hey boss, y'gonna join us?" You asked, holding the alcohol bottles for him to see. His head only turned enough to see you in the corner of his eye, red crimson eyes seeing the bottles only to look back to the screen.

He wasn't wearing any headphones, so he was obviously ignoring you as a 'no'. You rolled your eyes before heading out of his room, closing the door in front of you.

You sat with the rest of the league. "Where's sigaraki?" Spinner asked when he saw you."He doesn't wanna join, too busy with his game or somethin' " You sighed before sitting down.

It didn't matter to them that he didn't join, but that was to them. You were at least hoping to get close to him yourself.

You'd catch him talking to Spinner about their games or Twice and Toga bothering him while you watched their antics. He avoided conversation when it wasn't needed, but he avoided you constantly. Giving you a quick answer or two if needed, then storming off.

To you, he was mysterious and attractive in a questionable way.

But to him, you were like a drug, something to stay away from. More like an innocent angel, something he shouldn't ruin with his incel bullshit.

The countless times he'd have to run back to his room with his tail in-between his legs and a painfuly hard cock all because you wore shorts that day.

You were adorable and hot. It was so unfair having someone like you on the team right there yet so out of his grasp.

He wouldn't call you a "crush" just a fuckable inconvenience.

So like that the night continued, most of them talking to eachother drunkenly telling their stories with the enthusiasm of a child, yet you we're still getting tired of them, no wonder Shigaraki always hid in that room of his.

You were drunk, the noise of your other drunk colleagues made it worse.

The worst thing was that you were horny. You hoped tonight would fainally be used to get rid of all your pent-up frustrations from the busy month, but once you got the invitation to drink, you couldn't say no.

You considered Dabi. His scars were hot, but he was too much for you. Toga? She's cute, but there's no way you could handle her. Spinner was on another dimension at this point, and Compress already called it a night and retreated to his room.

So you took a half empty bottle and went to the one guy you hoped wouldn't say no, Tomura Shigaraki.

You stood in front of the door, not hearing the clacking keys anymore but some streamer playing in the background. You didn't know which, and you didn't care.

You knocked a few times, waiting a few seconds and entering.

He noticed you enter, of course he didn't pay any mind to you, eyes still on the screen.

You stumbled to him, placing the alcohol bottle on his table, "I told you I'm not drinking." He stated, the rasp in his voice sent shivers down your spine, yet it was so addictive. turning his squeaky gamer chair to face you.

You did even bother to give him a response, getting on your knees with your face in between his legs, already working on the tie on his sweatpants.

"What are you!-" You hushed him, pulling down his boxers and licking the limp shaft until it got hard. you didn't know what excited you more, the fact it doubled its size, or you couldn't even close your fist around it.

You swirled your tounge in circles around the red swollen tip, giving it the occasional kiss to tease.

The door was still slightly pryed open, open enough if someone walked past in front of the door they could see you seducing the boss so drunk on Hennessy you couldn't even think.

The streamer still talking away to their chat, not knowing one of their viewers were about to get sucked off during the stream.

"Hey whore! Cut it out, you're drunk." He called your attention hoping to snap some sense into you, you were unknowingly about to give Tomura his first blowjob.

"So?" You said in a loving tone, a small giggle slipping through your lips as you lowered your head.

"It's Tomura." He said, reminding you like you mistook him for someone else, "I know." You looked up at him, your hooded eyes staring into his, admiring every feature.

The beauty mark near his lips, his deep red eyes, and the fluffy hair almost curtained over his eyes. You never really realized how cute he was out of his uniform.

Tomura swolled anxiously. If this was his fate, then so be it.

Your mouth engulfed him, tounge licking every inch of skin and sensitive gland on his cock, it would occasionally twitch on your moving sloppy tounge.

His left hand clicked the space bar, pausing whatever he was watching as his attention was now greedly stolen by you.

His right hand was placed on your head, mindful of his pinky. Petting your soft hair as your head bobbed up and down.

His raspy moans and groans polluting the room as a bit of the noise slipped through the open door, the praises of "fuck yeah." Slipping through his wounded lips, and his slightly fucked out expression lit up by the monitor.

He watched your cheeks hollow and plump lips move on his girth, tounge teasing every vein you knew was sensitive and your hand stroking whatever you couldn't handle, he was scared he was gonna wake up if he moved too much.

His abdomen tensed from the pleasure, eyes closing shut yet desperate to watch you, struggling to catch his breath in between his moans.

His mind went black, only hoping that he did join you guys for drinks. Maybe he'd find out why out of all the annoyingly hot people on the team, you chose him.

You slipped him out of your mouth, wiping the spit off your chin as you got back on your feet.

His crimson eyes met yours, confused before you straddled him in his chair, sitting over him as you removed your pajama pants, making them puddle on the cold floor.

His mind was racing, miltipule thoughts suriging a storm in his mind but he saw the one thing that could possibly make it stop and not ruin the sight, he took the bottle off the table taking a few swigs before looking back at you.

You seated on his clothed thigh, frilly pink panties against the boring Grey sweatpants he'd sport every day.

Pink fabric already stained with your lust as you grinded against his clothed thigh for friction you only dreamed of.

His finger was under your chin, forcing you to look at him. With your pleading hooded eyes and quivering lips, not to mention the adorable flushed cheeks from the achohol.

All you wanted to do was rub your needy sex against the muscle of his thigh as your hands explored the body under his black hoodie.

His sadistic eyes looked down on you when he'd occasionally jolted his leg up to make your squirm and shiver.

You heard footsteps grow closer, walking more like drunkenly stumbling to the door.

Averting your eyes was a mistake, only to be told off with a demanding "mm-m, eyes on me." From Tomura.

Of course, you complied, even stroking him during it.

The contrast of feeling your soft hands around his length was so much better than his calloused hand he used.

Shuddering breaths inches away from your lips as your hips rocked back and forth, knowing the eyes on you, yet you couldn't see who they belonged to.

Compress is asleep, Spinner? No, he wouldn't stay that long, Toga? Probably would walk away just hearing the sounds. So it was Dabi, that creep.

Even though the embarrassment was painful, it still felt good to know someone's watching you have the privilege to grind on the boss so earnestly.

Stroking his cock as his hands were busy holding your face up so he could examine you and holding the shared alcohol bottle in his other hand.

Tomura let go of your chin, giving you the opportunity to look while he guided your legs to straddle him.

And your guess was correct, you and Dabi were looking at each other as he leaned against the doorframe, giving you a condescending grin as he watched you fall apart on the boss's deadly touch.

You looked back at shigaraki, he was well aware of the captive audience watching the both of you be he didn't care as usual, he didn't care who you'd fuck after this, aslong as he got to right now.

He guided your hips to lower onto him, slowly sinking down on him.

he held you by your hips supporting your movements, controlling your pace as you grinded with him inside, you moand into his ear only to get him harder, twitching against your gummy walls.

It didn't take long before he made you start bouncing, he looked at you so enfacueted, you looked so perfect to him, hair a mess and so intoxicated on his cock, your arms wrapped around his neck as you pleaded for his kisses.

Dabi watched the scene, feeling his cock strain against the fabric of his clothes, watching your adorable expressions while you fucked someone with that kind of power.

It was annoyingly hot.

He could watch all he wanted, but he knew once Tomura was done with you, you were forever off limits.

He closed the door infront of him, giving you both some privacy before leaving to his room, probably just gonna stroke himself to that mental image of you fucking him instead.

Tomura took his fainal drink, placing the empty bottle on his table. Sure, it tasted bad, but at least he was feeling even better now.

His hands fainally explored your body, tracing your curves and stomach before finding their place on your waist, thumbs rubbing against the skin over your ribcage.

Your foreheads pressed together, moaning against his lips as he watched how your warm body moved, tempered by the alcohol it only made everything better and a bit sloppy.

Your insides coating his cock in a white opaque liquid from all your pent up frustrations, all those nights you couldn't get off from the busy schedule.

Your legs tensed, feeling him hit your sweet spot over and over again, so painfully good it had you seeing stars every time you rutted against him.

The sudden ego boost getting to his head watching you writhe on his cock, your hands pawing at his soft hair, giving the occasional tug.

Your back arched, his face buried in the crook of your neck, working on a few love bites and hickies to discover in the morning.

He was bigger than expected or you were just more pent up than you knew, regardless of who needed this more you knew this wouldn't be the last.

Your bounces became faster, more needy for the feeling of his tip hitting your gushing cervix, the smug smirk you saw on his face, and the ghostly touches on you skin.

Your movements were animalistic, yet something about his static nature claimed you, watching you get off drunkenly using him.

You were zealous on the pleasure, now pawing at his hoodie, tugging as a sign of your limits before he clicked his tongue stealing your attention.

"Just a bit longer, angel." His raspy voice saying sweet things, maybe it was the alcohol but that meant a lot to you.

He knew you weren't as innocent as you looked, coming into his room to suck and ride him, yet something about you was angelic.

Not to mention the look of bliss you had on your face at that name, 'angel, angel.' His voice ricochet around your head.

"I don't think I can, boss." You managed to slip through your moans, so adorable that you're still calling him that.

"It was an order." His voice low, almost like a growl. His lips met the skin of your jaw, and you tried your best to hold on, savoring the sensations.

Your shakey legs and breaths were so painfuly obvious to him that he had to watch you like this for even a bit longer.

He hasn't felt touch in a while, and now suddenly being flooded with such intimate contact made him berserk.

With one pull on your waist, he thrusted into you, releasing all his pent-up seed inside you, flooding and painting your gummy walls with his warm fluids.

The knot in your stomach shaped with his forceful actions, making you squirm on his lap and grip on his clothing while letting out the most erotic moan he's ever heard.

Far better than whatever porn he used to watch.

•••

You woke up with a pulsing headache, eyes opening to see the familiar room and Shigaraki on his computer set up that was right beside his bed.

He sat there peacefully, headphones in so you wouldn't wake up from the various video game sound effects he'd usually blast.

An empty Hennessy bottle on his desk and your pajama pants nicely folded at the feet of the bed, you sat up, gaining Tomuras attention.

He looked at you, acknowledging your presence for what felt for the first time.

He braced himself for the names you'd call him 'creep, pervert, peice of shit' he was ready for anything except when you stayed quiet, rubbing your eyes adjusting to the harsh light of the monitor.

You didn't care that you were half naked in his bed, just caring about where breakfast is.

"Hey, wanna get pizza?" You said casually, your voice still a bit groggy.

Tomura removed one side of his headphones, "seriously? That's all you're gonna ask." He said in his usual dead tone, his raspy voice with a croak as you guessed he woke up only a few minutes ago.

Unlike last night, he was playing a single player game so now he had the privilege to pause so he could actually listen to you.

His headphones dangled around his neck, turning his chair to face you.

He saw you already on your phone, looking through the pizza shops website for new deals.

"Are you ignoring me?" He asked, his voice turning gruff. He could ignore everyone if he wanted to, but he couldn't stand being ignored.

"No." You said clacking away at your phone screen. "I asked you a question, and you didn't answer properly. You're actually ignoring me." You teased.

"Now what do you want." You said placing the phone to your ear, "Anythings fine." He muttered as you spoke to the employee on the other side of the phone.

•••

You sat on the floor of his bedroom, eating slice after slice while he ate beside you having your first conversation together when he suddenly asked a question.

"Do you remember last night?" He asked before swallowing down the food he was eating, "Last night? A couple of things, why?" You asked back, hoping you didn't have anything important you had to do that night.

"Well, we fucked last night. Don't know if you remembered that." He said, a pink hue forming on his cheeks from the embarrassment of having to remind you.

"Yeah, I remember." You said grabbing another slice like it wasn't anything important.

He was honestly stunned how comfortable you were like this, sitting with him on the floor eating pizza while you only wore your panties and top. You were practically strangers last night.

"I'm the one who initiated it dumbass, of course I remember." You said,"Not everything, but I know it was good." You confessed.

It was like a weird dream, remembering fragments of the night every few minutes.

"So, why?" He asked, almost concerned in his sentence. "I was horny, You were cute. You connect the dots." You said with a giggle in your sentence.

"Right.." he said, he never had anyone call him that.

Minutes pass, hours, actually. Yet you willingly stayed in his room listening to him rant about his games, and he'd listen to you rant about your interests.

When night feel you decided to head out, you both spent the whole day talking you lost track of time, Shigaraki watched you walk away opening the door before he spoke.

"Hey," he called out, you looked behind you to see him pulling out a set of controllers for the both of you.

He mentioned he had a few controller friendly games on his PC a few hours ago.

"About those games.." he cut his sentence, trying to find the words until he noticed you shut the door and walked towards him.

He was never the best with words, but you understood him and the awkward language he spoke.

You sat in between his legs, grabbing one of the controllers from his hands.

He memorized every button on the controller already, so he wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you seated as his chin rested above your head.

He'd talk to you later about getting a separate chair if this would be a usual occurrence, but right now, it was just you and him with the controllers and monitor.

Finally, replacing your noisy teammates with the peace you found in each other.

A/N : I'm alive!! Sorry I haven't posted, I got my first case of REALLY BAD writers block, but now I got back into my element!

(Solution to Writters block : Get zonked 🍃)

To all of those who sent asks, I SWEAR I DO ALL ASKS JUS GIVE ME SOME TIME <33 :sob: