YES ! FUCKING YES !

I think one reason people have gotten annoyed with MHA is it's been one long fight than a tiny break from that just to start another that's been over 100 chapters and no end in sight. Yes we like action but having that relax and not worrying bout our faves is needed. I think it kinda stresses people. Fights should come in chunks not 3 years long. Just my opinion

Could you do hcs of Tomura with a reader who’s short like 5’-5’2 type short.. 🙁 anyways I loveee the stuff you write sm

A/N: hi shortie - someone who's 5'11, also sorry if these are kinda short..(like you) (lovingly), i had a brainfart

WARNINGS: NSFW under the cut🖤

he loves that ur tiny, he likes having you in his lap, no reason, not even for sex. he just likes having you there.

he will hold the top of your head, or by your neck, again, no reason, just because.

he likes having someone so small, so he calls you a gross nickname (roach, tiny roach, rat,) stuff along the lines of that. he thinks it's funny.

he actively enjoys having you tiptoe or having to bend down so you can kiss him.

and you can fit under his desk

at night, he's not one for cuddles but he will try something he saw online.

burrito wrapping his partner. don't be surprised if you wake up, his gloves are on and he's currently rolling you into a cocoon.

he will press himself against you, just because. he likes that he towers over you.

chest kisses are a new thing for him and he LOVES it. please kiss along his ribs and in the middle of his chest to his collarbones, he loves it.

sometimes you'll catch him involuntarily smiling like an idiot. he's so cute when he does it.

He also loves kisses on his neck and jaw.

he likes either holding you by the waist or shoulders sometimes.

NSFW AHEAD!

He loves having you under him while he fucks you, he'll use you as a fleshlight and hold you by the waist.

He will have you under his desk sucking him off while he plays a game, his mic will be mute but he will get mad if your doing it too well, he's about to cum and he can't concentrate because of you.

since your smaller that him, he'll have your chest pressed up against the wall with your hands above your head as he fucks you from the back.

he likes fucking you from the side too, having your face between his elbow, one hand holding one of your thighs up as he thrusts deeper into you makes him turned on.

loves it when you ride him, he can actually grab them titties this time

he definitely enjoys the size difference and rarely lets you top now.

his after care is rather sweet though, he'll let himself soften inside of you while panting in your ear and telling you all about how your holes made him feel.

he loves the cuddles from it, and holds you somewhat close, but he won't admit he's kind of afraid he'll dust you.

...he has used his family's hands to restrain you before because since your smaller, that means they fit better on you.

Enough to Go By (Chapter 2) -- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

When the ER doctors ask you how you got hurt, you lie. You know you shouldn’t lie, know that Tenko’s dangerous, know that his quirk, whatever it is, is deadly on contact. Some part of you thinks you should be scared of the possibility that Tenko will come back to finish the job. But at the same time, you know you’re the one who chased him. You’re the one who wouldn’t let him go. If you hadn’t run after him, none of this would have happened.

This, it turns out, is a wrist that requires a specialized healing quirk to fix, and a bruised larynx that makes you sound like you’ve been deepthroating a lead pipe. “Whoever you’re protecting, you shouldn’t,” an old, sort of grizzled nurse says severely after the fifth time you’ve repeated your lie. “Another few pounds of pressure on your throat and you’d be dead.”

Tenko was fine with killing you, at least at first. You’re not sure what changed his mind, or why he let you go, and in spite of the fact that he gave you injuries severe enough for an overnight in the ER, you can’t help wondering what happened to him. The friend you knew was nothing like that. He got frustrated sometimes, like everyone else, but he was kind. And hurting people? He wouldn’t. His older sister did more playground fighting than he did. In fact, when you think about it – you close your eyes against the fluorescent lights in your hospital room and try to fend off the memory. You can’t quite do it, because it’s crystal clear. Tenko spent more time getting hurt than doing the hurting.

If Tenko and Hana got out the door first on school days, they’d wait outside your house on the sidewalk for you to come out, so you could all walk to school together. If you were ready first, you’d wait for them. One morning you were waiting, tapping your feet, fiddling with your umbrella because the weather looked like rain even if the forecast didn’t say so, when you heard voices. One raised grown-up voice and one small anxious one, from inside the house.

You didn’t want to eavesdrop, but you didn’t know how not to. Hana had a cold, so she was staying home. Tenko had wanted to say goodbye to her before he left, but their dad said no, and when Tenko stuck his head in the door anyway, his dad yelled. And was still yelling, over whatever Tenko was trying to say, until Tenko stumbled out onto the sidewalk, without a raincoat or an umbrella and scratching the skin around his eyes.

Or wiping his eyes, maybe. He started scrubbing at them frantically when he saw you. “Don’t look –”

You turned around, and as you did, you felt the first drops of rain. “Are you okay?”

“Hana’s sick.” Tenko sniffled. “I went in her room when I wasn’t supposed to.”

I heard, you almost said. But you didn’t. You just asked again. “Are you okay?”

“We have to walk or we’ll be late.” Tenko started walking, past you, and you followed him. The rain was falling harder, spattering Tenko’s shirt and his backpack. “It wasn’t supposed to rain.”

“Here.” You put up your umbrella and hurried to catch him, holding it over both your heads. You didn’t have a choice but to look at him now, and you saw how puffy his eyes were. “I bet Hana was happy.”

Tenko nodded. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and sniffled again, and when his hand fell back to his side, it brushed against yours. Tenko cringed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you said. You linked your pinky finger with his. “I swear.”

Tenko’s finger hooked tighter around yours. “Only since you swore.”

He had a cold the next day, and so did you. You cried until your mom went over to his house to apologize for you getting Tenko and Hana sick. So this isn’t the first time you’ve lied to protect Tenko. It might just be the first time you’re getting away with it.

You’re out of the ER at eight in the morning, and by nine-thirty you’re at work. You’re a medical assistant in a network of urgent care clinics that serve low-income people, uninsured people, or people who don’t want to risk going to a standard hospital. Your friends call your workplace Villains, Inc., and you’re not going to say you haven’t met your share – but you also meet a lot of people, and you think it’s good for you. Sometimes it feels like there are two Japans, sharing space in the same territory. One full of pretty, shiny heroes and happy, law-abiding civilians and uncomplicatedly evil villains, where everybody has a quirk and everybody’s always doing their best. And then there’s the other Japan, populated by everybody who doesn’t belong in the first one.

They say one in five people are quirkless, but you see at least fifty people a day at work, and the number of quirkless people on your side of Japan is a lot higher. Quirkless children have the school system to nominally protect them, but there’s no such system for quirkless adults. A lot of them are pushed to the margins, losing jobs to those with quirks, even if their quirk is useless for the jobs in question. Even when quirkless people can get work, it’s at a lower level than a quirked person could get. Your applications to nursing school were rejected, even though your grades matched the standard. You’re lucky that you’d already found an apprenticeship, in a workplace willing to sponsor your education and train you on the job.

You’ve been working here for two years, part-time as an apprentice and CNA in high school and full-time since you graduated. You’re a medical assistant now, which means you can do a whole bunch of things – take history, check vitals, draw blood, give vaccines. You have a specific exam room you work out of, and the newest workers, the ones still in high school, bring patients from the waiting room to you. From there, you figure out where to route them. To an exam room with a nurse or a physician, to the lab for blood tests, to Imaging, to the ER if their injuries or illness are too severe to be treated here. You’ve only had to route somebody to the morgue once.

You’ve just delivered your most recent patient to an exam room with a doctor, and you’re in the process of documenting it in the chart when a message pops up from one of your coworkers at the front desk. FOF. Can you handle it?

FOF – freak out front. You don’t love that acronym. How F are we talking?

Creepy-looking + mean. The new kid messed up, but not that bad.

You’re not in the mood for difficult patients today. Your throat is sore and your wrist is itching and the turtleneck you’re wearing to cover the bruises on your neck is a little too tight. But you’re the most senior medical assistant working today, and even if you weren’t, dealing with difficult people is sort of your specialty. You did a great job last night right up until you decided to chase after Tenko.

Nobody’s perfect, and you learned your lesson, didn’t you? You sigh, wincing at how it feels, and respond. Send them over.

You go back to your chart, trying desperately to finish it before the new patient arrives, and you’re just about to send it to your supervisor when the CNA knocks on the door. “Come in!”

The door opens and the patient steps through, shutting it behind them. “Just a second,” you say, deciding you’re going to finish your documentation if it kills you. “You can have a seat and I’ll be with you as soon as I just –”

“Your voice sounds weird.”

You almost choke on your own spit. You look up from your computer and find Tenko staring at you from across the exam room.

Between the fluorescent lights of the convenience stores and the shadowy darkness of the street, your encounter with Tenko last night had the sense of a fever dream or an acid trip – shiny around the edges, not quite real. Seeing him in broad daylight in your dingy exam room is unnerving beyond words. He looks even more like your best friend than he did before, but there are more differences, too – a scar over Tenko’s mouth, another scar over his right eye. Whatever skin condition he had around his eyes as a child, it’s gotten worse, so much worse that it’s obliterated his eyebrows and spread to his forehead. He’s wearing a black hoodie, maybe the same hoodie he was wearing last night. And he’s staring at you.

You thought there was no way he’d come back to finish the job. You thought you were safe. You thought wrong. Your voice comes out in an airless whisper, like you’re still sprawled on the concrete with his arm across your throat. “What are you doing here?”

“It says outside you have to treat everybody. Is that true?” Tenko’s voice is abrupt, bordering on rude, and he doesn’t wait for an answer. “Your voice sounds weird. And that shirt is stupid. You wouldn’t sound so weird if the collar wasn’t –”

He’s reaching towards you, and you’re frozen, even as your mind screams at you to get out of the way. Tenko’s index finger hooks into the collar of your turtleneck and pulls it down. His eyes narrow at first, turning his expression sharp and mean. Then they widen once more, past where they were before, until he looks more like the Tenko you knew than you’ve seen yet. “Who did that?”

You don’t remember your best friend being this stupid. “Who do you think?”

“I didn’t do that,” Tenko says, but his eyes dart to one side, the way they used to do when he knew he was wrong. A second later he changes his tune. “You made me do it. If you hadn’t chased me –”

You shouldn’t have chased him, but he didn’t have to choke you and burn the skin off your wrist. You look Tenko over and change the subject. You don’t want to argue. You don’t want him to get mad. “Aren’t you missing something?”

He gives you a puzzled look, and you mime a hand covering your face. “Father,” Tenko says. He calls it Father? That’s – weird. “He’s here.”

He unhooks his finger from your collar, reaches into his hoodie pocket, extracts the hand, and secures it over his face. It should look ridiculous, but instead it’s terrifying. “I can’t wear him in daylight. Master says he’s too recognizable yet.”

None of those words make any sense, and you’ve lost your ability to speak. “It says you treat everybody here. You have to. Right?” Tenko asks. You nod wordlessly. “So treat me.”

“Um –” You get the syllable out of your mouth, watching Tenko’s shoulders stiffen at the sound of your voice. “Do you have your intake form? They would have given it to you when you checked in.”

Tenko’s mouth twists. “The brat at the front desk didn’t give me anything. She said she could fill it in herself, since she knew I was here for dermatology.”

You think back to your coworker’s message. You’d say the new kid messed up pretty bad. “I’m sorry. She shouldn’t have made that assumption.”

“You did too. Didn’t you? I bet you thought I came in here for help with my disgusting skin.”

“No,” you say. “I think you’re probably coming in for your wrist.”

It’s the only thing that makes sense to you, short of him tracking you down to finish the job, and when he’s reached for you or taken the hand out of his pocket, he’s used his left hand. If your memory’s correct, Tenko’s right-handed. “It looked like you hurt it when you fell,” you continue. Tenko stares at you. “Are there any other issues you’d like us to investigate while you’re here?”

Tenko shakes his head. Okay. Nineteen-year-old male, here for suspected injury to wrist. What’s next in your exam workflow? A process you run through at least a hundred times per week has exited your mind completely. You glance around the room uselessly and your eyes land on your blood pressure cuff. “Okay. I’m going to take your vitals.”

“Why do you need those?” Tenko looks suspicious. “Stay away from me.”

“I need your blood pressure, your pulse rate, and your pulse oxygen level. None of those are invasive tests.” Not usually, anyway – given how Tenko reacted the last time you came anywhere close to touching him, you’re pretty sure that pushing the point here could get you killed. “Or just the pulse oxygen. That goes on your finger.”

You take it out, only to remember about Tenko’s quirk. Tenko notices your hesitation. He sneers behind the hand. “Don’t worry. It only works with all five fingers.”

Good to know. You clip the pulse oxygen monitor onto his middle finger and turn back to your computer. Even without looking at his wrist, an x-ray is standard protocol, and you need to get Tenko into the queue right away. The less time he spends here, the less danger everybody else is in. It might be too late for you already.

“What do you think?” Tenko asks. You look at him. “The quirk.”

“You’ve got one.” You’re not really sure what else to say.

“And you don’t. Still?” Tenko raises his eyebrows. You nod. “And you still don’t care.”

“No,” you say. “I never cared about not having one. Only about how people treat me.”

“I bet they treat you like shit,” Tenko says. He sounds gleeful, but his expression doesn’t match his tone of voice. It’s weird. “If I ask you why you’re here instead of some fancy clinic on the nice side of town, you’ll probably lie and say you love it here. But you’re here because nowhere else will take somebody who doesn’t have a quirk. Isn’t that right?”

“I do like it here.” You aren’t lying. The pulse ox monitor beeps and you take it back from Tenko, recording the reading on your computer. “And I’m here because nowhere else will take me. Let me see your wrist.”

Tenko’s had his other hand in the front pocket of his hoodie this whole time. He draws it out slowly and extends it towards you. You’re not qualified to diagnose anything, but you can see that it’s bruised and swollen, and the skin is hot when you touch it. Tenko hisses as your fingers make contact. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to see if there’s an obvious break.” You shouldn’t – he’ll be headed to Imaging no matter what – but you don’t want anyone else to come into contact with Tenko unless they have to. Tenko’s wrist is swollen to the point that you can barely feel anything beneath it. “Were you resting this last night? Or using it?”

“I had games to play.”

Tenko’s a gamer now. Huh. “That’s probably why it’s so sore. And so swollen. No more gaming with that hand until it heals.”

“You’re not a doctor. Don’t tell me what to do.”

“The doctor’s going to say the same thing.” You glance away at your screen, checking your position in the Imaging queue. There’s a chest x-ray ahead of you, with a sick kid, and those always take a while. “I’m going to get you some ice for this. It’ll help with the x-rays if the swelling goes down. Stay here.”

“No.” Tenko gets to his feet, pulling his wrist out of your grip, grimacing as the motion jars the injury. “You think I don’t know what you’ll do? You’re just dying to go to the cops.”

“I had a chance to go to the cops. Last night, when I went to the hospital for this.” You gesture at your throat, and Tenko’s expression twists behind the hand. “I didn’t go then. Why would I go now?”

Tenko stares at you. You hold his gaze. You’ve never lost a staring contest in your life, and you’re not planning to start today – and after a long moment, Tenko averts his eyes. “You can go,” he says shortly. “But I won’t use it unless you get some for your neck.”

Does he feel guilty? Is that why he’s saying that? You decide not to think about it too hard. He’s your patient right now. If this is what it’ll take for him to ice his injury, you’ll happily slap a bag of ice on your throat.

But once you’ve brought the ice back, and you’re holding yours to your throat while Tenko applies his gingerly to his wrist, you’re out of other things to do. It’s just you and your best friend, who tried to kill you last night, sitting in a room together. Tenko still has the hand over his face. Your wrist is still itching. Before last night, when you still had the luxury of imagining what it would be like to meet Tenko again after all this time, you didn’t imagine it would be like this. It makes you sad.

You’re expecting silence until Tenko gets called back to Imaging, but to your surprise, Tenko speaks up. “Your parents had three more kids,” he says. You nod. “Why?”

“To be fair to them, they thought they were only having one.” You don’t like being fair to them about this, given what happened afterwards, even if there’s no way they could have known. “It was triplets, and they were pretty sick. They got the same kind of quirk as the rest of the family, so they made us all feel how they felt. Which was – bad.”

Tenko doesn’t say anything. You shouldn’t be talking about your family, not when his family is dead. Does he even know what happened to his family? You’re not going to ask. “Sorry.”

“Did you have to take care of them?”

“What?”

“The stupid triplets. Did you have to take care of them, too?” Tenko glares from behind the hand. “I remember you always had to before. You never stayed as long as you wanted to.”

“Oh,” you say, startled. “No, um – I had to get home. I wanted to.”

“My birthday party. Your mom came to get you early and you said you weren’t crying but you were.” Tenko is still glaring at you, and you find yourself shrinking back in your chair. “I remember. Don’t lie.”

“You didn’t remember last night,” you say, but he must have remembered something, or he wouldn’t have spoken up when you mentioned how many siblings you have. “Tenko, what –”

“That’s not my name. Anymore.” Tenko scratches at his neck lefthanded. “Master gave me a new one. Tomura.”

“Tomura,” you repeat. “Is that what I should call you?”

Tenko – Tomura? – keeps scratching, clawing up red scrapes in his skin. Then his hand falls back down. “Tenko. You should call me Tenko.” He averts his eyes from yours again. “You knew me before.”

Before what? You can’t decide whether to ask, and Tenko makes the decision for you. “I knew you before, too. When you were a kid whose parents wouldn’t let her stay long enough at a birthday party for a fucking piece of cake.”

“You brought me some. The next day.” Your voice is small. “I remember that. It was the nicest thing anybody ever did for me.”

Tenko’s shoulders stiffen. “That’s pathetic.”

“It was the nicest thing back then,” you say. “Nicer stuff has happened since then.”

Has it? It probably has, but right now your mind is full, all your memories of Tenko flooding to the forefront. There aren’t many. Not nearly enough. Three years at most – your memory is good enough to pick up some things from when you were a toddler, and you and Tenko met when you were barely old enough to speak full sentences. But you talked. You always talked. You talked to each other about everything. Right now it feels like there’s nothing in the world you could say to each other, and it breaks your heart.

Your computer pings, snapping you out of it and giving you something else to fixate on. “They’re ready for us in Imaging. I’ll walk you.”

“What, you think I can’t walk by myself?”

“I want to keep an eye on you,” you say, and Tenko scoffs. “Come on.”

He takes the hand down off his face and tucks it away again before exiting the exam room. He pulls his hood up, too, shuffling along at your side too close to be a shadow. You pass more than a few of your coworkers, all of whom give you pitying looks. They feel bad for you, but they don’t know enough to feel bad for the right reason. It makes you angry, just like it made you angry to hear Tenko’s father shout at him, a useless anger that felt too large for your tiny body. You couldn’t protect him then, and he wouldn’t let you do it now, but the urge is there, as insane as it might be. He almost killed you last night. And here you are wanting to save him.

The x-rays go quickly. A few different angles, and then you and Tenko stand there while the doctor on shift interprets them. “No fracture,” he reports. “Just a bad sprain. We’ll send you home with a brace to wear. Just take it easy for a few days.”

Tenko jerks his chin downwards. It would be charitable to call it a nod. The doctor makes a quick note in his chart and turns away, trusting you to dig up a brace and conclude the visit. Tenko won’t ask, so you will. “What about for pain?”

The doctor turns, raises an eyebrow. “The patient didn’t ask.”

“The patient wouldn’t have come in if it didn’t hurt.” You’re insane. You must be, to help someone who hurt you, except you’re not thinking of last night, you’re thinking of today – of your best friend, who’s not your friend anymore, but remembers you enough to be angry on your behalf. Who brought you a slice of birthday cake the next day because you couldn’t stay long enough to have one. “What would you recommend?”

“Ice it at least three times a day, and double up on NSAIDs,” the doctor says finally. “The OTC brands will be fine. If you rest it properly it should be healed by next week. Is there anything else?”

You glance at Tenko. Tenko shakes his head. “Feel better soon,” the doctor says. “Come back for a follow-up if anything worsens.”

Tenko trails after you as you retrieve a brace from the supply cabinet. “What the hell were all those acronyms?”

“NSAIDs – nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs,” you explain. “Things like ibuprofen and acetaminophen. OTC means over the counter – things you can buy without a prescription. Any convenience store should have them.”

You find a brace in the correct size and turn to find Tenko already holding out his arm. It surprises you, to the extent that you freeze for a moment, but then you snap out of it and secure the brace around his wrist. It’s simple to avoid his quirk, now that you think about it. All you have to do is make sure all five fingers don’t touch you at once.

Tenko grimaces as you fasten the last of the Velcro straps on the brace. “It’s tight.”

“It needs to be tight to support your wrist,” you say. “If it hurts, loosen it a little bit, but not so much that it slides. Do you have questions about anything else?”

Tenko shakes his head. “He didn’t say I couldn’t play games.”

“He said you had to rest your wrist,” you say. “You can play point-and-clicks. With your other hand.”

Tenko snorts. “I’m not playing point-and-clicks.”

“Better than nothing.” They’re the only type of video game you’re good at. Sometimes you and your friends make a drinking game out of them, doing a shot every time you find a clue or solve a puzzle. “If there’s nothing else, I can go ahead and walk you out.”

It’s quiet for a second. Tenko is looking at you, and you look back, unsure of what else to do. Part of you wants him gone as fast as possible, but it’s a smaller part of you than it should be. The rest of you wants your best friend, who remembers the things you don’t talk about, who saw you through the smile you knew to paste on even at five years old. You want to find out what happened to him. You want to know where he’s been. You want to know if he knew you were here, if that’s why he came to this clinic instead of any of the others. You want to know if it’s going to be another fifteen years before you see him again.

For a moment you think Tenko will say something, will come up with something else to stretch this out. Instead he glances left, then right. “Which way do I go to get out of here?”

“I’ll walk you out,” you say again. You lead him down the hall to the door that opens onto the street, fighting the lump in your throat. There’s a spiel you’re supposed to give to patients as they leave, but you can’t get it out of your mouth.

Tenko stands there a moment, then pushes the door open lefthanded, and something inside you snaps loose. You catch his sleeve and he turns to stare at you, a sneer already beginning to twist his features. You’ve got maybe three seconds before he hurts you again, and you have to use them wisely. “I won’t ask about the rest of it. I’m not going to follow you again,” you say. “I know we won’t see each other after this. I just need to know. Are you okay, wherever you are?”

You’re expecting him to mock you, but instead the sneer falls from his face. He looks like himself again, the part of him you knew best. He doesn’t ask why you care, and you realize it’s because he knows. He knew last night when he let you go instead of killing you. You’re his best friend. Of course you care.

“Yeah. I –” Tenko coughs, clears his throat. His voice is back to its usual rasp when he speaks. “I’m okay.”

You know he’s lying. You think he might know that you know, too. But he pulls his arm away slightly, not yanking it from your grip but making it clear that he wants to leave, and you let him go.

The door swings shut behind him, and you turn and head back to your exam room, working on documenting his visit in the chart until your eyes go blurry. You didn’t sleep at all last night. You won’t sleep well tonight, either. You know already that you’ll be up late into the night, retracing every second in your head, trying to figure out what went wrong. Trying to guess what happened. Wondering, like you always wonder about Tenko – if he’s alive, if he’s all right.

You have answers to the first two questions now. Other than that, the things that keep you up tonight will be the same as they’ve been since you were six years old. Other than the scar around your wrist and the bruises around your throat, nothing’s changed at all.

Omg omg omg why is this description of the reader so accurate to me imma die (die in pure happiness :bluargg)

Have you heard the song “give your heart a break” by Demi Lovato imagine that as a cute love story for Shigaraki with the female reader?

(I was thinking about just using the song as a story title and then use your imagination and get creative with whatever you choose and just have fun with it?😅)

Give Your Heart a Break - a soft Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader series

CHAPTER 1 (Minors Don't Interact)

Notes: You asked for a love story, and you're getting a love story XD. I plan for this to be a continuing series. No overarching goal with this series, just a sweet story about how Shigaraki fell hard for the reader. It will be messy! Shigaraki is not a healthy guy and would be a vile boyfriend, but I will make this as fluffy as possible. Underneath all that homicidal rage is just a boy who was never loved. This is admittedly a very, "I can fix him," kind of story lmao.

Summary: First encounter between Shigaraki and the reader. The whole chapter is literally Shiggy freaking out in GameStop because you walked in and you're so pretty and he wants to talk to you but doesn't know how.

Warnings will come and go as each chapter comes out.

Warnings: The canon of BNHA is altered; quirks still exist but Shigaraki is more of a "thug" gang leader than a domestic terrorist lmao. NSFW (no sex in this chapter), Shigaraki is a creep, fluff, blue-haired Shigaraki (season 4ish), CHEESY, Shigaraki hears voices and has very loud intrusive thoughts (they are highlighted in blue and red), POV swings, CLIFFHANGER

Notes about Reader's Appearance and Personality: HEAVILY based off of me. She's shy and polite up front but silly and vulgar with people close to her. She is short and a little thicc. Alternative clothing style and she's messy looking. She is a gamer! She is insinuated to be Shigaraki's age (20), maybe even older. She likes anime! She has crooked teeth.

Tomura wasn't unlike other 20-year-old men in that he found himself checking out girls from time to time. He usually didn't do more than look in his peripheral vision, actually, love and romance and even sex were all things Tomura wasn't acquainted with. There's no way someone so twisted could ever be loved.

Tomura loved giving off the impression that he needed nobody. Even in the League, he isolated a lot while the other members would be doing something together. He'd retreat to his own room and play games or plan out operations, but sometimes he'd retreat so that he could cuddle up with his favorite body pillow and just lay there.

He'd probably kill anyone who ever found out about it, but he was starving for love. To be touched, held, kissed. For someone to play with his hair and be comfortable around him. Everyone's so afraid of him, and that's a good thing! However, sometimes he just wished he had someone, just ONE person who wanted his company. Someone to listen to him rant for hours about how much he hates heroes, someone to play games with, someone to make love to, or someone to just hold for comfort when he was stressed.

He'd commit mass genocide if anyone knew he'd had imaginary girlfriends.

Now, a big scary bad guy like Tomura could get a girlfriend, right?? Just use those scare tactics, hold her by the throat with one finger up, and tell her she has no option but to love him. Steal her, hide her, keep her to himself? Sure, the fantasy was a little hot to him, and he could so easily do it. Tomura didn't want that though. As possessive as he is, he wanted to be loved. Not feared. He's feared plenty.

He'd kill if anyone knew how much pain he's in every time he sees a cute couple walk into GameStop. It pisses him off so bad. Why can't he have that?

"Well, doi, Shigaraki. You're a murderer, a psychopath, and a villain. Just one touch and it's over. What girl is going to want your hands all over her?"

"Whatever."

-

Shigaraki was currently at GameStop looking for a video game he'd been wanting to play. He picked the game and came up with a few fingers, turning it the other way around to read the details. As he was reading, he heard a ding from the door, meaning someone was entering the store. Shigaraki always looked when it went off because he could never be too sure that some hero bounty hadn't tracked him down. He looked over to the door, expecting it to be nothing special.

Whatever Tomura was feeling right now started in his eyes. Goodness, you were so...colorful. Not even! It was funny, considering you were wearing mostly black. However, your pretty hair that was put up in pigtails and your sharp black eyeliner made you stand out like a sore thumb.

You were little, too. Tomura looked in comparison as you stood at the door, seeing that you were only around the 5' mark on the height scale.

The feeling started going to his brain now. You stepped closer and closer to the store, your pumped boots making you seem all big (even tho ur're small), bad, and mysterious. He worried you were going to walk over to his area, but you made a beeline toward the anime section.

"Hehe weeb."

Tomura didn't want to stand out, so he just stayed put, looking at games he was never going to play. He didn't even read the labels, he merely pretended to so he could observe you. He saw the other losers in the store eyeball you, too. That made him wanna kill them for some reason. He wanted to get a proper look at you, but he didn't want you to know that he was blatantly creeping on you. Even if he just looked at you, you'd probably leave the store like that. After all, he was wearing a black hoodie and the parts of his face that were visible were his rather creepy features. He'd scare you off.

He's planned some pretty crazy missions before, surely he could gather intel on you in your short time in GameStop, right?

He wanted a better look at you, so he switched from the PS area to the T-shirts. He even pretended to do a little "aha" at the shirts to make it seem like he wasn't purposely there so he could see you better. When he could get a solid look, though, he instantly needed to know everything about you.

Goodness, he's a simp, huh? You were just so goshdarn cute. Sure, he saw gothic and alt girls around the mall all the time. You looked a bit silly, though. Your makeup wasn't bad, but it was messy. Your hair could probably use some brushing too. You held a phone that had a case of some anime guy, though he didn't know which one.

"Hehe weeb."

Fuck, you were heading his way. He didn't know if he should leave before you were near him or just stay. You kept your distance anyway, as you were standing very far off to the side. Surely, you weren't able to get a good look at the shirts. He stepped back, hoping that you'd be able to tell he was giving you room. You smiled and said, "thank you," going to step forward.

Now the feeling was going to his nuts.

Now that you were in front of him, he got a nice view of the back of you. Not only could he see up close how small you really were, but he got a great view of your more intimate areas. He could tell from your skirt that you had wide hips and thick thighs, which made him pop a tiny smirk while you weren't looking.

"Grab her."

Oh, come on, not now.

Stupid fucking voices. Though, they had a point. She's small and seems polite enough to manipulate. She's thick but probably isn't that heavy in the grand scheme of things. Alone. And she ain't getting nowhere in those shoes.

While his voice distracted him, you had managed to end up at the registrar with a t-shirt in your hand. Tomura didn't really think as he bolted over behind you, he wasn't ready for you to leave. He already had his game that he had to buy so it wasn't like he was in line for no reason.

The feeling started going into his blood. He felt hot, and it was because of the stupid cashier making jokes with you and being friendly. Your laugh. He could tell it was fake, but you were so warm?

"Pet her hair."

Wow, ok, Tomura thought. Sometimes they'd say very bizarre things. Voices were confusing because he could never tell if they were deep-seated desires of his or if his brain just purposely wanted to fuck him over.

She started to pull out her wallet to pay but ended up dropping something. It landed right at Tomura's feet, so he bent down to grab it. A debit card!

"I'm sorry," you laugh nervously.

Tomura made sure to read your name intently before handing it back to you.

"No worries, hah. Guess I got to be somebody's hero today," he joked. Fuck. That was a bad joke wasn't it?

"That'd be the first time a hero has done anything helpful for me, then, haha."

...!

"That was a jab at heroes, wasn't it?" He thought. Now the feeling was in his chest. Maybe he's running with too little information but that sounded like an "I hate heroes," joke. Oh, now he's really got to know you.

"Yeah, maybe if they got off all those stacks they make they'd actually save a life, huh?"

"Hehe! You get it!"

You were smiling at him. And laughing. But not the fake laugh you gave the cashier. Your cheeks also flushed up as you giggled at his insult to hero society and he even got to see your teeth. Crooked, like his. He felt paralyzed, being able to look at you without sneaking it this time.

"I like your hair," you said to him.

Shit. He didn't even notice his hoodie fell off when he grabbed your card. Hopefully, the shopkeeper didn't know what "Shigaraki" was supposed to look like.

"I don't see many guys with blue hair like yours."

His eyes lit up when you said that. He may have even felt a small blush creep on his cheeks. Tomura knew he had an ugly face, one that made people whisper and steadily move away from him. But you complimented his hair instead of getting creeped out by him. "Really?"

"Yea. I like it a lot. Most people go for dark blue, but your color is prettier."

Pretty?!

He could swear that he can see you flustered. Is he making you blush? He didn't even do anything but have blue hair.

"Sorry, that was weird," you stammer, realizing that the word "pretty" could've offended him.

"Oh, no. You're fine! I like your hair too, the way you styled it is cute," he beams, hoping to earn some flirting points. You flashed him an adorable smile back, so he must've struck a chord.

"Ma'am, I don't mean to interrupt, but there's a line," the cashier says, getting your attention.

"Oh, right."

The way your voice shot down maybe two octaves was so funny to Tomura. You were so bubbly and flustered with him and yet so dry and indifferent with this guy. You were so interesting already. It's a good thing he made sure to remember the name on that card. Your name fits you so well, too.

You paid for your shirt and started leaving the store. Fuck, no! He didn't want you to go just yet.

"Stop her."

"Grab her."

"Tell her she's hot."

"jesus christ shut the fuck up!" Tomura mutters to himself as quiet as he could. He was trying so hard to think of how to get your attention again, but before he could, you had already been no where to be found.

"Stupid short bitch, I'll find you."

He may have thought of that one voluntarily.

Unconcerned about whatever activity you might be occupied with, Tomura carefully grabs your wrist and leisurely lifts your shirt to press a kiss to your belly. He can be careless, letting his knuckles brush against your breasts in doing so, his other hand gripping your hip slightly pulling down your shorts exposing the side of your panties.

It's an astounding notion, being able to touch you to his heart's content. All of his life never once has he allowed himself to touch anything so freely. Anything he didn't want to slip through his fingers in ashes. Destroying is different. It's easy. It's what he was born for. But to caress? He hardly ever knew tender touches. He's not sure that he's able to do it right, either. It feels clumsy, like it's not meant to him. But you always let him. You trust that he won't tear, bruise, shatter. There must be something deeply wrong with you, he thinks. Maybe you're like those who skydive or swim with sharks just to have adrenaline running through their veins. Maybe risking your life gets you off. Relinquishing control to him. Maybe it makes you feel safe, at ease, to know that it's someone else deciding whether you live or die. You can't really be blamed for the consequences of your actions if no choice is up to you. Does his deadly touch makes you feel free? He's being ridiculous and he knows it as you run your fingers through his hair and slide your nails up his exposed arm. You're gentle.

It's a terrifying thought that you could let him because you want to. That you seek to be touched just as much as he seeks to touch you. That you might...It can't be. He can't afford the luxury of entertaining the thought.

Doesn't matter now. Just lie still against him like this.

Here her new account

HELP PLEASE

I was

Shigaraki Haven

bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

Im putting this in Shigaraki tags cause thats how people know me. If anyone can reblog this to help it would mean alot

I don't know if my account will be recovered. I do have everything Ive written backed up, with the exception of 2 asks I was working on. And my AO3 account is still there but only has about 30% of my stuff. It does have all my full fics but not thirsts or headcanons etc. What hurts losing the most was all my friends and fellow tumblrs I talked to or followed. It's heartbreaking because I worked so hard on that blog reached so many huge milestones. I never dreamed I'd get 60 followers little lone almost 6000 I was excited to get there only 20 away. I know alot say numbers don't matter but it was proving to myself that people liked me. I'm heartbroken and saddened. I hope the people that enjoyed and communicated with me can find me. Fingers crossed I get my account back. If you want to read a certain fic I can try to upload. Thanks for all the help.

PLEASE REBLOG 🙏 🥺💗

🥵

New art from Ultra Animation Exhibit

who's the worst bnha yandere? in your opinion

Shigaraki Tomura x darling

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, f!reader, Shiggy being gross

fem reader

It’s easily Tomura.

Tomura because he doesn’t care about the most basic of human needs. 

Forgets to feed you. And when he does – it’s always some half-eaten burger, sub or burrito. He doesn’t give two shit if you’re vegan or vegetarian. Shit – he doesn’t even care if you’re allergic. If you don’t want it, you can starve.

Doesn’t give you clothes. He rarely bothers getting himself new clothes, do you think he’s gonna do you any better? No. Wear his dandruff-riddled, old-sweat-seeped hoodie – or wear nothing.

Something else you miss is proper housing – even if it’s just a room with a bed and a toilet. You’ve learned that even that is too much to ask for.

You never stay in the same place for long – needing to switch bases regularly in order to remain low. Never anything he’ll have to pay for, of course – a pick of the litter abandoned office buildings, hotels, and empty homes. 

If you’re lucky enough to find a place with running water, you stay longer. If not, you’ll have to make do for a couple of days – worst case was a little over a week. You still shudder thinking about it. 

He’ll keep you in any room he can lock from the outside – only sometimes blessing you with an actual mattress and not some old moldy sofa or a thin blanket on cold floors.

One time, you stayed in some old mansion one of the league members had found. You suspect they killed whoever lived there before – seeing as the entire house was properly furnished and clean when you all infested the place. 

Not that you got to explore much – Tomura kept you locked in the master bedroom on the third floor – the one where you most definitely would have broken both legs if you tried escaping through the window.

It had been one of the nicer places. One with working hot water and clothes for you to change into – albeit shamefully, sending prayer and thanks to the owner who was no doubt dead and rotting. You were even able to find a stockpile of fresh towels and linens you changed after a week had gone by.

But as the weeks turned to more weeks, they’d all run out – and you began hoping you’d move on to the next place soon. Even with the risk of it being someplace cold and dusty, it would still be a fresher slate.

The nice mansion had gone bad after a month or so – you’d lost track of time. 

Thankfully, you’d been able to air out the dank smell of armpit, ass, and feet – and were allowed to take a shower whenever you weren’t handcuffed to the bed – often able to lure Tomura to join you if only for the sake of washing the stench of decay, dandruff and dickcheese off him. 

But even so, Tomura isn't the most hygienic type. Managing keeping him halfway decent was troubling enough. 

It’s way tougher to keep the room tidy with Tomura’s ill habits of keeping half-eaten food lying around – empty cup noodles and other street junk, beer bottles, and sour energy drinks – along with bloody piles of worn-out clothes, dirty holey underwear, and soggy condoms.

You were driven to the point of disgust that you’d asked him whether he could do you the simple favor of finding and bringing you the house cleaning supplies so you could wash the place yourself.

Oh… how funny he’d found that little comment... 

“Too filthy in ‘ere for yah, is it? Too gross for the pretty princess?”

It hadn’t been the first time he’d made you lick the floor. Face down, ass up – with his bare foot placed heavy and clammy against your teary cheek – two of his fingers stuffing your cunt, and the other two inside your ass – while he sits at the edge of the bed, spitefully stroking his hard dick to the degrading view.

“Tch – such a filthy bitch, and you complain about the scenery?” He sneers – pumping both your holes. “Didn’t know I was fuckin’ such a spoiled cunt.”

You cry at the crass stretch his digits make – but you know better than to fight him when he’s pissed. You only regret forgetting how it’s never been a good idea for you to do much of anything other than nod your head and smile pliantly – open your mouth wide for his tongue, spit, cock, and cum or otherwise keep it shut.

Per request, you keep it open wide, tongue out on the hardwood floor – tasting the grouts of lint and dirt and God knows what – stale and salty on your tastebuds. Or maybe it was the tears gushing from your eyes – soaking your face where you sobbed.

“Tch – shut up.” A hand replaces the foot on your face – dragging you up with a fist in your hair. Pulling his fingers from your holes with a sloppy shlick – before promptly pushing all four digits inside your mouth. “If you wanna clean somethin’ – you can start with this slutty mess.”

You gag at the threat as he shoves all but his thumb down your throat – wiping off your slick, then giving your face a mean slap with the same, now spit-coated, hand – before pulling you up from the floor by your hair and ushering you onto his lap to straddle him.

He wipes the rest of your drool off on his erect cock – standing proudly with a thick flow of creamy pre leaking from his slit.

He doesn’t waste much time before lining up with your puffy pussy-lipped hole and making you sink down on him.

You croak at him going in raw – always feeling extra violated without the thin rubber protecting you from catching his germs as he pushes all his veiny girth inside you until giving your womb a cummy kiss. 

“What’s the problem, slut? Don’t like riding dirty dick?” He huffs, starting to rut against you in no clean tempo. He snickers at your grimace, still holding your hair in a tight pull as he angles your face to his to kiss your tight-lined lips – feeling you cringe even more. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you clean it after I fill this and the other hole up with filth.”

You whimper at the dark promise – and he wipes his tongue across your sorry expression from chin to temple.

“I’ll do you up nice and nasty – so you won’t feel so out of place anymore~”

Attention

MDNI

Tomura Shigaraki x gn/afab reader

Content/Warnings/Etc: Reader is in the League of Villains, swearing, kissing, uh sex happens.

the world is a lot today, and over 72 million people can suck my dick. hope this helps distract someone at least a little bit

Tomura Shigaraki always wanted attention. He wanted the world to see him. He needed everyone to know what he's capable of. But on a personal level, one to one, he's never considered what that would look like. 

That's why he's surprised to find his favorite box of cereal in the kitchen after your recent grocery trip. 

“Do you like this one too?” he asks casually. 

“It's good, but I got it for you. That's the one you like right?”

“Yeah..” he trails off while pouring himself a bowl. Eyes tracking you in his periphery, more suspicious than the situation necessitates. 

Of course you knew what cereal he would want, why wouldn't you? It's the subtly sweet ones that have flavor but aren't overwhelming. And the pieces are small enough for him to open his mouth slightly without re-splitting his cracked lips. He picks the same cereal to eat nearly every day if it’s an option, you think anyone would have noticed that. 

Later that day, you settle down on the couch to play video games and call him over. Grabbing a random controller for yourself, you hand him the one he likes. The one with the grips that stick a little easier for him to hold without using all of his fingers. He can use the others, absolutely. But after an hour or so the way he shakes his hands out tells you his fingers cramp more.

To you, this was obvious. You didn't think anything of it. 

But for him, no one ever notices these things. Surely, this must be a coincidence. Right? 

That evening, it shouldn't come as a surprise to him when you pass in the hallway, observing him once more as you walk back to your room in a towel after showering. 

“Your shirt is inside out,” you inform him.

“Oh,” he mumbles, choosing to correct the issue immediately. 

Of course you notice the way his abs ripple as he slides the fabric over his head. How couldn’t you?

Your eyes linger too long and he catches you staring. Only now does he realize these coincidences aren’t coincidental at all, he has your full attention. And he doesn’t know what to do with that.

The two of you stand nearly still, switching between heavy eye contact and glances at each other’s bodies. Both growing more flustered by the minute. It’s as good of an invitation as you’re going to get: after what feels like too long, you break the tension by stepping towards him. Pulling him tightly into your arms before smashing your lips into his with the force of months of longing. There’s a momentary pause as he adjusts to your touch before he kisses you back. You would feel a little bad being so rough with his already cracked skin, but he makes no attempts to pull away. Your combined spit softening his chapped lips as the kiss deepens.

A creak echoes down the hallway, he yanks you into his room - decaying your towel in the process.

“Fuck,” he exclaims under his breath while staring you up and down. 

You’d ask if he likes what he sees, but his facial expressions and the tent growing in his sweatpants already gave him away. Your lips find his again as you shove him back on his bed, climbing over his lap. Immediately, you yank off his sweatpants and underwear. You’re already naked so it’s only fair.

You notice the way he presses into you. Back arching, hips jumping in response to your touch. His arms pull you close as he grinds you against him. Palms pressed hard into your shoulder blades with his fingers tightly tucked into fists. He increases the friction, sliding your wetness over his length as you get more and more turned on. 

One thing you hadn’t correctly predicted: you’re not the one in control here. You half assumed he’d be a little clueless about sex. That he’d cream in his pants from a light breeze but here he is, completely naked dragging you over him and you’re about to reach an orgasm first. 

“Just like that, I’m gonna cum,” you exclaim, breath staggering while you grip his hair harder.  He groans at the pull, but continues moving his hips into you in an almost calculated way. Shaking legs and pussy fluttering around nothing, you feel yourself release against him.

“What the fuck,” you moan into his neck while catching your breath, “didn’t think you had that in you.” 

“I guess you’ll have to pay more attention,” he grins before rolling you onto the bed. Quickly, he moves to a box on the shelf over his desk, pulling out a smaller box.

“You just keep those around?” you ask, eyeing the condom he’s putting on. Even more surprises.

“Uh, not quite,” he mumbles, paying more attention to the task at hand. “The rest of the league got me these as a joke when you joined, I just never threw them out.”

How did everyone notice your crush but him? It seems like they tried to tell him but he regarded it suspiciously, assuming everyone was just fucking with him. 

Doesn’t matter, you decide, he definitely knows now.

Seeing him, all of him fully, in front of you takes your already jagged breath away. Fully clothed, Tomura is beautiful. This is overwhelming. The light mist of sweat coating his skin makes the glow from his monitor reflect off the curves of his muscles. Every scar and scratch looking like it was perfectly placed, even if you know the extent he goes to to keep most of them covered on a daily basis. You cup his cheek, brushing your thumb lightly over his tender skin while he moves back over you.

“This is okay, right?” he double checks as he presses his tip into you, still dripping from earlier.

“Yeah,” you stare down, watching as he slides further in. 

“Look at me.” 

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. Instantly, you bring your gaze up to meet his. Blood red eyes stare back into yours, watching your expression shift as he inches deeper into you. Prior to this, he’d always looked away when your eyes lingered too long. Now, you feel like you could get lost in him. He’s everything you see, feel, and hear. Even the subtle smell of him surrounds you.

The mood shifts as you begin passionately kissing again. Before you know it, he’s pounding into you relentlessly, every thrust buzzing through your body. 

Making the same face as earlier, he knows you’re close. He tries to maintain the pace, but as soon as you’re clenching around him, he's done for. Your orgasms peak simultaneously as he slams you harder into the bed. Legs wrapping around his back, shoving him as deep as he can go. 

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans into your ear before you both become a puddle of bodies on his bed.

A few minutes later, he looks so peaceful. His eyes closed, breathing steady. You’ve never seen him so relaxed.

Quietly, you whisper, “I’ll be right back with some towels and water, stay here.” Taking some of his clothes to replace the towel he dusted earlier, you shuffle out the door. 

Yeah, he thought to himself, he could definitely get used to your attention.

more shigaraki here: m.list