Haunting For Beginners (Chapter 2) - A Shigaraki X F!Reader Fic
Haunting for Beginners (Chapter 2) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic
Ghosts summoned and bound to the human world have one purpose - haunting - but Tomura's never met a human he could stand long enough to haunt them, and he's pretty sure he never will. When you cross the threshold of his house, you capture his interest, and for the first time, he finds himself with a chance to do what ghosts are meant to do. It's too bad he doesn't know how. Scenes from Love Like Ghosts, as seen through the eyes of the ghost in question. (cross-posted to Ao3)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
It doesn’t take Tomura long to figure out the problem with wanting things: Getting the thing he wants doesn’t make the wanting go away. It works for a little while. Sometimes even long enough to make Tomura think it’s gone for good. But it always comes back, and when it does, it feels just as itchy and awful as before. Worse, maybe, because now Tomura knows what it feels like to have the thing he wants.
He wants you to talk to him, and you do talk to him. At first he doesn’t care what you’re saying. He just – likes – the sound of your voice, and he likes that it’s just for him, that if he wasn’t there you’d be quiet except for talking to the dog. The dog’s name is Phantom. Tomura’s decided that he doesn’t mind sharing your attention with Phantom. Phantom was here first, and it pays attention to Tomura, too – and it can’t talk back. Tomura could. Can. Maybe.
At first he doesn’t care what you’re saying, but soon enough, he starts to. He has to, because sometimes you’re upset about things, and if you’re too upset about things, you might leave. Once he starts paying attention to when you’re upset, he starts to see differences in it. There’s sad-upset, when your voice is quiet and your movements are slow and even Phantom jumping up in your lap doesn’t make you smile. There’s angry-upset, when you’re still quiet, but you’re restless and pacing, every piece of you tense. And then there’s frustrated-upset, when something small has gone wrong, or when there’s something you don’t understand or can’t fix.
Tomura sees frustrated-upset more and more as the days go by. And the realization creeps up on him slowly, the same way everything did when time didn’t matter, that the thing you’re frustrated with is him.
He’s mad that you’re frustrated with him at first. He’s not doing anything except helping you – helping you with the coyote, helping you get rid of the humans who came over when you didn’t invite them, helping you get rid of one of the ghosts and its weird human when they invite themselves over, too. What right do you have to get mad at him? Tomura spends a solid week and a half sulking before he realizes why you’re frustrated with him, at which point he discovers a new feeling. He doesn’t know what to call it, but it’s spiky instead of itchy, and it feels urgent, like he has to do something about it right now. You’re mad at him because he’s shown himself to other people, talked to other people, but not to you. That means you want to see him. Tomura has to figure out how to make it happen.
The spiky feeling is terrible. It won’t let him have a second of peace. It’s always there, poking holes in his essence, prodding him to look for a way to make you see him. Ghosts in movies never let people see them all the way, but the ghosts in the neighborhood must have shown themselves to their humans at some point, or else they wouldn’t have them. How did they do it?
Tomura gets an answer, sort of, when you drop a bag of flour and he steps into the plume of white dust that rises up. If he has enough life-force to make himself even slightly substantial, things like dust or smoke or flour will settle around his form and show the rest of him. You’ve figured it out, too. Tomura was already pretty sure you wanted to see him, but the number of times you turn and spray water at him to reveal him only proves it. You’re weirdly accurate about it, too. You always seem to know where Tomura is, and that makes Tomura feel – something.
He watches you all the time, learning about you. You might not be able to watch him, but you’re learning things about him, too.
Tomura doesn’t want you to learn things about him. You might get it wrong. The only way to make sure you don’t is to find a way to talk to you, and Tomura doesn’t know how to give himself a voice. All he can do is give himself hands. He could write something with his hands. Where? There are pens and paper all over your house, but when Tomura tries writing, his hands are clumsy and useless, smearing letters across the page and covering his hands in ink. Then he has to hide the evidence before you get home. Phantom helps out. When Tomura sweeps the papers off the table in a fit of frustration, it eats them.
Tomura could write with a pen, maybe, if he practiced more. But he’s too impatient for that. You’re frustrated with him. Frustrated means you could leave. He needs a solution now. He spends days thinking about it, then weeks, only for the answer to come to him at the absolute last minute – when you’re in the shower, and the bathroom is full of steam, the mirror fogged until it’s almost opaque.
If Tomura lets the steam show his form, and makes a hand to write on the mirror – you switch off the water in the shower, and Tomura scrambles for something to drain. He’s just barely found a spider, barely trapped it in a coil of his essence, when you step out of the shower wrapped in a towel. Tomura materializes a shadow of himself, more than he’s ever materialized before, standing squarely in your path. You’ve been trying to see him. If he’s going to show himself to you, he’s going to make sure you see everything.
Your eyes are wide as you look at him, but you aren’t screaming or running, and you don’t try to wave him away like you did the first time he showed himself to you. Tomura’s stupid itching starts again, stronger than it’s ever been, and for the first time he tries to scratch it. He scratches it and studies you. Now he gets why you always look so proud when you make him show himself. He’s showing himself, finally, and you’re not mad at him. That’s worth being proud of.
There’s a sensation he hasn’t experienced before, in his face. Tomura has a face right now, and it’s doing something weird. You turn away from him, and he raises the hand that’s not scratching to touch the spot where a mouth would be on a human, where his mouth is. His lips feel dry and rough, and they’re curved upwards. He’s – smiling. Humans smile when they’re proud, sometimes. He’s doing it right.
He can’t see himself in the mirror. He doesn’t have a reflection. You do, even when the mirror’s coated in steam. You aren’t looking at Tomura. You’re looking at the mirror, like you’re waiting for him to write on it, and just as Tomura’s reaching forward to write ‘hello’, you speak up. “You’re my ghost.”
Your ghost. Tomura is your ghost, just like you’re his human – and you talked to him first. The feeling of like multiplies through Tomura’s essence as he materializes one finger to write in the steam on the mirror. Yes.
“Who are you?”
Tomura tilts his head, just like the dog does when it’s confused. He thought you knew. Your ghost.
“Who am I?”
That question makes sense. Tomura knows the answer now. Mine.
“No.” Your bare shoulders stiffen, and Tomura’s itching gets even worse. “What do you mean?”
Mine to haunt, Tomura writes. That one’s easy.
He can’t tell how you feel about the answer, though. Humans in the movies you watch don’t like being haunted. But you still aren’t running away. You ask another question. “What should I call you?”
That one’s not as easy. Tomura feels his expression distort, and you speak up again to explain more. You’re explaining things now. He should have talked to you a long time ago. “Your name.”
That’s easy, too. Tomura writes it out as fast as possible, before you can change your mind. “Tomura,” you say, and the feeling of like and the feeling of want engulf Tomura together. Like what? Want what? “Hi.”
Hi.
Tomura’s said hi. Now it’s your turn to talk. He waits, and you ask him a question. “Tomura, what do you want?”
He likes hearing you say his name. He doesn’t like when he doesn’t know the answer. He wants you to talk to him, and he wants to talk to you. He wants you to see him, like he sees you. And. And there’s something else, something he can’t put his finger on. Putting his finger on. He has fingers now. He can touch things. What if he touches –
The spider he’s been slowly draining in order to materialize goes cold, and all at once, Tomura’s out of time. He reaches desperately for the mirror, trying to write again, but his fingers dematerialize, and all he can do is swipe through the messages, wiping them out. Your eyes widen with unmistakable fear, and you bolt, fleeing from the bathroom to the bedroom. Tomura doesn’t chase you. Tomura’s too busy searching for something to kill, something to drain, so he can keep talking and explain that you shouldn’t be scared of him, that he’s not going to hurt you, just haunt you – not like the ghosts in movies haunt, but the way the ghosts in Tomura’s neighborhood must have haunted their humans, before they stopped being ghosts. You’re his human. Why would he scare you? He doesn’t want you to leave.
But you are leaving. The front door slams, and when Tomura chases after you, he sees your car pull out of the driveway, you in the front seat with wet hair and clothes that don’t match, and the dog in the backseat, curled up tight. You’re leaving. You haven’t left in the car and taken the dog since the night the coyote attacked you. What if you don’t come back?
Tomura tells himself to count minutes – it’ll make a smaller number – but he finds himself counting seconds instead, and they pile up faster than he can track. So do the feelings. Missing, but worse. Wanting, but more intense. Anger, but aimed in the wrong direction – not at you, not at the other ghosts, not at their humans. At himself. He messed this up so badly that you’re leaving him, and without life-force to materialize hands and write, he can’t fix it. The feelings build and build until Tomura’s essence can’t contain them, and he lets them all loose in an anguished howl that breaks window in every house on the street except the one he’s supposed to share with you.
Tomura’s not sorry about it, and he doesn’t care that the other ghosts and their humans are mad at him – but he does feel a little stupid when you come back. You aren’t leaving him. Why would you leave him? You said he was your ghost, so why would you leave? You come back to the house, and better yet, you say his name the instant you’ve crossed the threshold. “Tomura, can we talk?”
You didn’t just come back, you want to see Tomura again. And talk to him. Tomura still doesn’t have an answer to the question you asked him, but he can think of other things to talk about. He comes closer to you, shadowing you as you climb the stairs and step into the bathroom again. You turn the water on hot, standing still as the bathroom fills with steam. Tomura waits, too. The instant the steam is thick enough, he burns the life-force he collected while you were away to materialize an outline of himself.
He knows it’s a mistake the second he does it. If he doesn’t have life-force, he can’t make hands, which means he can’t write – which means the two of you can’t talk. But when you speak up, he realizes that he doesn’t need to write to answer your first question. “Tomura,” you say cautiously, and Tomura’s mouth curves upwards before he can stop himself, “are you mad at me?”
Tomura shakes his head. He wants to do something stronger than shake his head, but he doesn’t want to startle you and make you run away again. But it’s a stupid question. You’re his human, and you came back, and you want to see him and talk to him. What is there for him to be mad at? If Tomura could just say all that, things would be fine, but he used all his energy on making you see him. Your next question tells him that it was an even bigger mistake than he thought. “If you’re not mad at me, why won’t you talk to me?”
Tomura can’t talk to you. If he could, he would, but all he can do is shake his head again. You can see him, sure, but seeing’s not good enough – just like it’s not good enough for Tomura, not now that he knows the two of you could be talking instead. You look upset again. Sad-upset. You don’t leave the bathroom, and neither does Tomura, and the two of you look at each other while the steam slowly dissipates. Tomura waits for you to look away, but you don’t. You keep watching him, just like he watches you, and the itching kicks in again. Tomura wants to scream.
Why is it back now? He got what he wanted. All the things he wanted. You saw him and he talked to you and you came back and you know his name and you said his name – so why won’t the itching go away? What else could Tomura possibly want?
Something. Tomura wants something, and you must know that, or you wouldn’t have asked that question. Even if Tomura had an answer, he doesn’t have any way to tell you. All he can do is burn through the scant remains of his stolen life-force, staying visible to you as long as possible, wondering how he could have gotten everything he wanted and still wind up wanting to claw his essence apart.
Your sad-upset doesn’t go away, and to Tomura’s horror, you start spending less time in his house. Sure, you’re doing it because you’re talking to the other humans, or you’re working on your garden in the backyard, but you’re still avoiding the house. Avoiding him. Tomura’s house is empty more often than it’s been since you moved in. He hates it. He hates the way it makes him feel.
It’s a new feeling – not like wanting, although he’s been itching for weeks over just how badly he wants it to stop. The new feeling isn’t exactly new, either. It’s familiar, but now he has a name for the way he felt before you moved in. He felt that way for a hundred and ten years and it didn’t bother him, but it bothers him now. Maybe it didn’t bother Tomura because he didn’t know any different. Now he knows different, and the stupid new-but-not feeling – lonely – is agonizing. As days tick past, days where he can’t talk to you and you don’t try to talk to him, the need to do something, anything, about it grows.
There’s a hornets’ nest on the back porch, just like there is every summer. Tomura’s aware of it distantly – it’s just another part of his house – but it doesn’t actually capture his attention until he hears a string of curses from the backyard. It’s been so long since Tomura heard you say anything that wasn’t to the dog. He sweeps through the house and onto the back porch to find you sprawled out in the yard, clutching a hand that’s already been stung twice to your chest.
Tomura doesn’t know what pain feels like, but he knows what humans look like when something’s hurt them, and he sees you gritting your teeth, your jaw clenched. You get to your feet. Then you back slowly away from the nest, all the way to the far corner of the yard.
Tomura’s never paid much attention to the nest before, but now he doesn’t have a choice. You’re his human, and they’ve hurt you, just like the coyote would have hurt you if he hadn’t gotten to it first. Tomura should have dealt with this a long time ago. Even as he has the thought, he sees you set off, planning to deal with it on your own. And your plan is – bad.
It’s not just bad. It’s the dumbest plan Tomura’s ever seen. As soon as you’re out of sight, Tomura seizes the hornets’ nest in a dozen threads of essence and drains it for life-force. He has to get rid of them before you get back. There are hundreds of hornets inside the nest, more living things than Tomura’s ever drained before, more life-force than he knows what to do with. What should he do with it? Make hands, probably. With this much, he could make hands and keep them for hours. He could make hands, or –
Tomrua loses focus on the hornets as he pulls his essence together, forming the structure of a body from the hands up. One of them gets away as the rest of the nest crumbles to ash, and Tomura catches it by the wings, holding on as his feet hit the ground for the first time. Having a body is heavy. Tomura weighs something. He has height and width and mass. His chest feels tight, and he follows the impulse it demands of him – draw air inwards, then release it, an action he's seen humans undertake hundreds of millions of times. Something is rattling in his chest, setting up a rhythm of its own. Tomura realizes, with an odd sense of fascination, that it’s his heart.
It’s not really his heart, just like they aren’t really his hands. It’ll all be gone once he dematerializes again. Tomura tells himself that just in time for you to come back around the corner, wearing about five extra layers of clothes and dragging a garbage can.
You look as dumb as Tomura’s ever seen you look, and you look even dumber once you catch a glimpse of him and your eyes widen in shock. Tomura’s heart does something weird, and unlike his hands, it doesn’t stop doing it when he tells it to. “Um,” you start, still staring, as Tomura kills the last hornet and lets its ashes fall, “I was going to get that.”
Tomura knows. That’s why he got it for you. “I haven’t – not been talking to you,” he says. Now he sounds as dumb as you look. But he’s got a voice now. He can talk. That means he can explain. “I can’t influence this world without life-force. And I can’t get it from you or the dog.”
“Why not?”
What kind of question is that? “You’d die,” Tomura says. His body does something weird at the thought – twists, lurches, his chest turning tight. “My house would be empty.”
“And you don’t want it to be empty,” you guess. You’re right, and you must know you’re right, because you don’t wait for Tomura to answer. “Then why do you scare everybody away?”
Because everybody else isn’t you. “You left,” Tomura snaps instead. “You can’t leave.”
“Like hell I can’t,” you say. “I came back, didn’t I? I needed time to think. Your little temper tantrum with the mirror –”
“I couldn’t answer. I ran out of time.” It wasn’t a temper tantrum. Tomura kicks through the pile of ash, scattering it, realizing too late that doing it probably counts as a temper tantrum all on its own. “That spider wasn’t enough. No matter how slow I drained it.”
“So that’s why it was in one piece,” you say. You found it? No wonder you ran away – Tomura knows you hate spiders. “You drained the hornets faster, though. Does that work better?”
“I guess.” Tomura’s itching again. Scratching feels better when he actually has a neck to scratch. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”
You tilt your head, studying him. Then the worst thing Tomura’s ever heard you say comes out of your mouth. “You don’t know how this works, do you?”
“I know how it works,” Tomura snaps. “Shut up.”
No, that’s not right. Tomura doesn’t want you to shut up. He wants to talk to you, and he’s not sure how this is supposed to go, but he’s pretty sure it’s not going well. Something is happening to Tomura’s face. It feels tight and prickly, and when he lifts his hands to touch it, he figures out what that feeling is – it’s heat. “What is this? What’s happening to me?”
“I think you’re embarrassed,” you say. “You’re blushing.”
“No I’m not.” Tomura knows what blushing is. He hates it. He scratches harder, wondering if that will make it go away. “You can’t leave.”
“I can leave if I want to,” you say. “If you don’t want me to leave, you need to respect my rules.”
“Your rules?” Tomura scoffs. There’s no way the other ghosts put up with this stuff from their humans. Forget him not knowing how it works – you don’t know, either. “It’s my house.”
“And I can leave whenever I want to.”
Tomura knows that. He’s seen you do it, and he doesn’t want it so badly that he can feel everything inside his body crumpling around the thought. He wonders if you know you have him backed into a corner. You probably do, because you start in with your rules. “Rule number one: Stay out of the bathroom when I’m in there.”
“It was fine before.”
“It wasn’t. I just didn’t know about it,” you say. “Now that I do, I’m still not fine with it, and I want you to stop. Same with watching me at night.”
Tomura will cave on the bathroom thing. You don’t spend much time in there, anyway. But you spend a lot of time in the bedroom. He’s not giving up all those hours. “You sleep fine.”
“No, I don’t,” you say. “Stop.”
Why are you so stuck on this? Tomura’s not doing anything weird. It’s normal. “What, so it’s fine when he does it but not when I do?”
“What?” You look startled. No, scared. “Has someone else been in here?”
“No,” Tomura says. Maybe that’s why you’re acting so strange. You don’t know how haunting works, either. You don’t know that you’re his human, that he decides what happens to you, that he’s already decided not to hurt you. Not to hurt you, and not to let anything else do it. “Nobody comes in unless I let them.”
“Then who’s he?”
“The one in those movies you watched,” Tomura says. “He hangs out in that person’s bedroom all night and he doesn’t get in trouble.”
Now you look like you understand what he’s talking about. “You mean in Twilight? That’s not good either. She’s just too dumb to know it’s bad.”
Tomura knows that’s not right. Were the two of you even watching the same movie? “No hanging out in my room at night,” you continue. “Or I leave.”
“You’ll leave,” Tomura repeats, and his insides do that crumpling-up thing. He might hate that more than he hates the blushing. “And go where?”
“Anywhere,” you say. “I’m pretty sure you can’t follow me past the fences.”
If Tomura could do that, he would have. If he could do that, it wouldn’t make him – feel – so much when you leave. He can’t let you know that. He doesn’t want you to have that much power. “Who cares about what’s out there? I’ve got this.”
Tomura gestures at his house, his yard – you, since you’re his human. But as his hand crosses his own field of vision, he sees that it’s starting to thin out, going insubstantial. He’s dematerializing. The hornets’ nest wasn’t enough. “No,” he explodes, not caring that you’ll hear, not caring that you’ll know. “Not yet. Damn it!”
“Hey,” you say quickly. “If you need energy to materialize and talk, I’ve got tons of weeds and mushrooms in the yard that you can kill.”
Tomura’s never heard your voice sound like that before. It’s softer, gentler, in spite of the urgency you’re speaking with. It makes him feel weird. “Or the blackberry bushes out by the fence,” you continue, still in that same tone of voice. “There’s ways for us to talk without you killing me or Phantom.”
Right. Now that Tomura knows how it works, maybe he doesn’t need a body to talk to you. Maybe he can just be a voice, like he’s just a pair of hands sometimes. Having a body is awful, anyway. It feels things and it doesn’t do what he tells it to do. “I have to go,” you say, and what’s left of Tomura’s face twists into a scowl that he doesn’t care at all about hiding. “I have to pick up some stuff to treat the stings I got, but I’ll be back later. We can talk more then.”
“You’ll come back,” Tomura says. He wants to say more, but his lungs and his throat and his vocal cords fall apart before he can.
“I’ll come back,” you promise, and some knot in Tomura’s essence relaxes. “I wouldn’t leave Phantom, and she likes you.”
Tomura knew making friends with the dog was a good idea. Or letting the dog make friends with him. He’s not really sure what happened there. The rest of his body falls away, and once it’s gone, you make your way up onto the porch and into the house. You’re not running. Not scared. You take off most of the extra layers of clothes until you look like you again, give the dog a kiss and a scratch behind its ears, and head out the front door. Phantom always looks happy about getting scratches. Now that Tomura knows what itching feels like in a human body, he wonders if you scratching his neck for him would make the itching go away.
He can’t ask you to scratch his neck. He’s not sure why he can’t, except that he knows somehow that it’s a weird thing to ask, and he’s just barely convinced you not to run away from him. Or has he? You weren’t talking to him like somebody who’s this close to running away from him. You were talking to him like – like –
Tomura doesn’t have a good word for it. He just knows he likes it. If he has to choose between you scratching his neck for him and you talking to him like that, he’d choose the talking in a heartbeat. He knows how long a heartbeat is now. He knows they happen fast.
You’re gone for a long time, long enough for Tomura to miss you, long enough for him to get angry about missing you. You’re gone long enough for the dog to get upset, to cry to be let out, so Tomura kills a few mushrooms and makes hands to open the door for it. You’re upsetting Phantom and Tomura at the same time. You need to come back soon. What’s taking so long?
When you finally come back, you’re carrying a lot of books, and you look tired. You look surprised to see the dog in the yard, but you don’t thank Tomura or say anything about it, and once you get inside, Tomura speaks first. He’s tired of waiting, and after he kills all the mushrooms in the front yard, he has enough life-force to make a body – and a voice. “Where did you go?” he demands. “You were gone for hours.”
“I went to see the neighbors,” you say. “To ask them about you.”
What? “Why didn’t you ask me about me?”
“Because you might life, and I needed the truth.” You look really tired. The stings on your hand are bright red and swollen. “They had a lot to say.”
That’s not good. The other ghosts need Tomura, but they don’t like him. If they liked him, they’d have talked to him, and they haven’t. “What did they say?”
“They said you’re strong,” you say. Tomura manages not to do the stupid blushing thing again. Maybe it only happens when what you’re saying isn’t true. “That’s why they moved here. Because you being so strong hides them from the people who summoned them.”
“It’s their fault they need to hide. They embodied themselves, like idiots.” Tomura wonders why he was worried that they’d lie about him. They can’t lie about him. They need him too much, and if he wanted to drive them out, it would be easy. “They can stay. I don’t care. As long as you stay.”
“I can stay,” you say. “I’ll be a lot more comfortable staying here if you give me some space.”
“Space,” Tomura repeats. “What kind of space?”
“When I’m in the bathroom. Humans like being alone in there,” you say. Tomura already decided to give up on the bathroom thing. He nods. “And at night when I’m sleeping. We like to be alone then, too.”
“Not everybody,” Tomura argues. He’s not caving on this one. “In those movies –”
“I’m not going to watch any more movies if you keep getting dumb ideas from them.” You’re calling Tomura dumb. If you were anybody else – “Life isn’t like movies. I like to be alone when I’m sleeping.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Do you sleep?”
“Sleeping is for humans,” Tomura says. He doesn’t understand why this is a problem, why you’re making it a problem. He cares about what you want. You should care about what he wants, too, because all this wanting is making him itch. Maybe he should explain. “It sounds nice when you sleep. I can’t hear it if I’m not in your room.”
“What sounds nice?” You look sort of alarmed. “What kind of noises am I making? Are they weird?”
“I don’t know,” Tomura snaps. He explained. Why did that make things worse? “I don’t know what noise humans are supposed to make when they’re sleeping. They don’t sound weird to me. They’re just – nice.”
You look like you’re thinking about something. Tomura waits. “I’m not fun to hang out with when I’m sleeping,” you say after a little while. “Why don’t we hang out more when I’m awake and I can talk to you?”
Tomura’s about to argue that he’s plenty entertained when you’re sleeping – and you don’t even have to do anything – before what you’re actually saying lands with him. You don’t just want to see him and talk to him. You want to spend time with him. What does that mean? Tomura could wait and find out, but he doesn’t want to wait and find out. He wants to know right now, because the itching’s even worse and his heart is beating faster and if it goes much longer, you might notice that he’s – what?
You don’t look like you’re noticing anything. “Well?”
“I need more life,” Tomura says, instead of yes, definitely, of course, what took you so long. “I killed all your mushrooms in the front yard. Find me something else and I’ll – hang out with you. You are boring when you sleep.”
“I’ll find something,” you say. Tomura’s body wavers, and when he glances down, he can see the floor through his feet. You notice too. “Thanks for letting Phantom out. I’ll see you soon.”
“Soon,” Tomura says. It had better be really soon. He doesn’t want to wait any longer than he has to.
When you said you’d find something, you must have really meant it, because you take your phone out and start messaging the other humans in the neighborhood, asking them to bring you bugs. You really hate bugs. If you’re asking for them, you must want to talk to Tomura a lot. Maybe as much as Tomura wants to talk to you. Not talk to you. Hang out.
You said hang out, and Tomura hovers over your shoulder, reading the texts and wondering if you’ll explain what “hang out” means. You don’t. Instead a shiver runs through you, one that says he’s gotten too close, that says the heat of your body and the cold of his essence don’t mix. Tomura couldn’t agree more. The few times you’ve walked through him by accident, it’s been gross. Tomura feels weird calling his human gross, but he doesn’t really have another word for it. Or he didn’t.
Now he knows what a human body feels like, and he knows it’s normal, so he doesn’t mind as much. You do. “Don’t,” you say. “I’ll get a chill.”
Tomura will back off when he’s ready, not because you told him to. But then he remembers what you said about space and needing it, and he draws away. You want to hang out with him. That’s better than tracking you when you don’t know he’s there, better than watching you sleep, better than writing on the mirror. Hanging out. Maybe that will be the thing that makes the itching go away for good.
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Starboy Tomura animation
Omg i get a nose bleed while drawing it🥵🥹
How is anyone okay with Tomura dying when it was stated that the trauma made him age super rapidly and that's why his body ended up like that.
There are sooooooo many panels of Tomura going through the worst shit imaginable and taking all the damage like it was nothing, 'cause he wanted so badly to survive.
He was solely born as a suggestion of AFO 'cause he needed a new body and a tool for his plans.
His age went white by age five 'cause AFO turned him into a weapon and tested him by massacring his whole family.
He was presented in the story as a young man with deep psychological and physical issues. We saw him destroying his neck with his nails the moment he failed at the USJ.
Tomura was sleep deprived and exhausted to the point of hallucinating while he fought on MVA. That was after he admitted that he couldn't remember most of what happened when he was a kid.
The amount of times he threw up because his trauma was overwhelming????
Tomura got that surgery because he wanted the power to destroy what made it so hard to live for his and his friends and ended up possessed by the man who had ruined his entire life.
That panel of Tomura agonizing in pain on the ground after the Star and Stripe fight, while AFO looked so fresh and patted him like a well-behaved cat makes me so sick.
AFO wanted to use as sacrificial pawns all of Tomura's friends, after Tomura had stated time and time again how much he cared for them and how far he'd go to protect them.
Somehow Tomura got rid of AFO and his body freaking evolved to protect him. His body was taking the form of his dead family and it was moving like a shield and a sword in his favor.
He lived in a freaking time loop where he'd live endlessly the day he killed his family.
Finally AFO got killed and he got "rescued" from his traumas by Deku, only for AFO to come back, reveal that Tomura was never free to start with.
AFO almost erased a screaming Tomura from existence. The only reason Tomura didn't die is because Deku had passed OFA to him and Nana shielded Tomura to protect him.
All that for Tomura to come back just to help Deku defeat AFO is the most unexciting panel ever, say his last words and die decayed.
All his family? Dead. His dog? Dead. His childhood friends? Probably turned into nomus. His found family? Either dead, hurt or missing. The person responsible for raising him, the one who actually fulfilled the parent role? A child soldier 16 years old boy turned into a zombie butler that died by trying to protect him.
The cherry on top is that the heroes would justify trying to help him by focusing on his 5 years old version, instead of acknowledging that the man Tomura Shigaraki became was worth fighting for and worth loving and rescuing. Tomura refused to stop being the leader of the League of Villains for a reason, yet Deku would still call him Tenko and All Migh would dare say that Deku "saved his soul" as if that was worth something.
The hero society is far from being fixed, the story is far from being over, the villains made progress but they are still fighting because there is still so much corruption and ignorance surrounding the most important points of what makes a villain, you know, a villain.
And the one character who deserved the most to have a second chance at life all is dead :(
Tell me how is anyone satisfied with this...
For @oklolnoty
Down the Rabbit Hole - Five Chapters - 20k words - Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Rabbit Quirk Female Reader
Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror
Whole story TW: Noncon, yandere with kidnapping, severe quirk based discrimination, binge drinking, canon typical threats of violence (reader directed), canon typical death (nonreader directed), oral (give/receive), PnV (doggie), breeding, and expensive designer clothing everywhere.
Rating: 18+ readers only - Minors DNI
Chapter 2: Nomination - 3.4k words
TW: Drinking, quirk discrimination, Incel Tomura being a massive jerk for "reasons", author makes a Javascript joke but only understands html Special thanks to @krystalwithakay for laughing at the aforementioned joke and programming the much more complicated Javascript joke yet to come.
“You have a nomination.”
Plastering the bandage to the back of your bleeding heel, you slipped your pumps back on. Your manager stared down her beak at you. You blinked at her before rising to your full height.
“A nomination? I thought Azuma-san canceled our Thursdays permanently after that fight with his wife?”
“It’s another client.” Blue plumage fluffed as she whipped her fan open. “An important client,” she stressed, narrowing her amber eyes.
“So this is the ‘best bunny behavior’ speech?” Tossing a floppy ear back behind your neck, you pitched your voice an octave higher. “Okay! I’m super duper excited to meet him, Mama-san.”
The fan snapped shut. She cocked her head and beckoned you towards the front desk. You tailed her, watching embroidered folds of black taffeta sway back and forth with every calculated swing of her Coke bottle hips. With all the grace of a prima ballerina, she dipped below the countertop and headed for the towel warmer. “You’ve met him before. Briefly. Last Friday.”
Your eyes rolled to the creamy plaster ceiling as you wracked your brain. “But Usagi is back, right? Wouldn’t Tano-san rather have her?”
“It’s not Tano-san.”
A cold sweat broke on your neck as memories of a tooth-and-nail conversation slammed into you like a loose brick. You staggered under the weighty realization. “Wait… you don’t mean—”
Long tongs placed cozy terry cloth on a small silver platter. Leaning over the counter, she snatched your wrist and foisted the tray into your grip. “I don’t know what you did, but you’re the first hostess he’s asked for by name.” Her glare could cut iron. “His sponsor is very well connected and I’m running out of staff. Do not fail me.”
“Yes, Mama-san,” you agreed, shrinking under her heavy expectations.
Just past the ratty leaves of the money tree, slouched in the center of the entryway, the slender-man of Nyanko’s nightmares looked just as bored as you remembered. Poor posture ruined the flawless lines of his expensive wool suit. Dull eyes and a flat expression looked better suited to a mummy than a man of twenty something. His dry, shrunken lips only enhanced the impression. However, the moment you slid into view, he lifted his chin.
It was hard to contain a confident smirk as red eyes rolled over your outfit from top to bottom. The sight of a real, live bunny girl in a halter neck, sleeveless tuxedo shirt and black leather miniskirt slaughtered most men on sight. Though conservative compared to usual club attire (read: T&A: on display), delicate ruffles drew the eye to pearl buttons trailing between sculpted cleavage. Chunky Mary Jane platforms elongated your legs until they could stop traffic. Add in a flash of thin garter belts holding old-school silk stockings at mid thigh and the entire collection could be classified as a weapon of mass erection.
“Welcome back, Shigaraki-san! ♡” Voice stuffed into a falsetto, you dipped into a bow while holding out the hot towel. “I’m soooooo excited that you requested me!”
Hair bristling silence was your only reply. He lifted the wipe up using only two fingers. With all the enthusiasm of a robot, he washed his hands one digit at a time before replacing the cloth on the tray.
Ouch. Like smacking your forehead against an iceberg.
"Please step this way." You gestured to one of the open booths like a variety show host.
He shuffled past, paying less attention to you than one would pay to a stray soda can laying on the pavement.
You hoisted the brown, leather bound menu. "Would you like me to recommend something? There’s a super taste cham—"
He rested his head on his palm, long fingers denting his cheek. "Cassis Orange."
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“Oh, yummy!” you cooed, flagging the bartender for one of the sweet cocktails. “Most guys won’t order that drink because of some weird macho complex.” You leaned into your palm, mimicking his stance. “It’s nice to drink with a man who is confident in himself.”
Unblinking eyes stared you down. “What do you want to drink?”
Sake bomb.
You tapped your chin. “Um… I think my favorite is a mimosa with Dom Pérignon.” The tinkling laugh you faked grated on your own nerves. You glanced away, curling inwards to fake lady-like shyness. “Champagne goes straight to my head though…”
Liar. In this profession, drinking skills made bank. Champagne was pricey. Pricey drinks lead to better bonuses. A little white lie here, a coy seduction there and while he was chasing bubbles for a chance to paw you up, you could rake in the cash.
“—so I should probably stick with something like a—”
Sake bomb.
No. Stick to the brand. Frufru girly-girls drink frufru girly drinks. No man picks the adorable bunny to have her drink him under the table. Way too emasculating.
“—lemon sour.”
SAKE BOMB.
Shigaraki rolled his eyes. “That’s lame.”
Says the guy drinking the cocktail equivalent of a pink polka dot ribbon?!
You scratched your cheek to cover the wince. “Well, it’s what I can manage. After all, it wouldn't be much fun for you if I got all silly and clingy, right?”
Perfect delivery. If that didn’t make him order you a champagne, the man was a eunuch.
He huffed, scratching his neck. “That does sound gross,” he agreed.
Excuse you?! What kind of man comes to a HOSTESS CLUB and says “ew… I hope hot women DON’T cling to me.” What was he?! Afraid of catching cooties?
You flinched into a fake grin. “I-I know, right? I try very hard to manage myself so I’m fun to be around.”
Ugh. You needed a sake bomb.
Shigaraki’s bored stare cut through you like a knife. You whipped your head around, flashing the waiter the sign for a lemon sour. With a deep breath to soothe your ruffled fur, you turned back to your new arch nemesis.
Game on, crusty boy. Let’s show you what max level charm can do!
Sliding smoothly beside him, you dragged one calf up your thigh until your tight little skirt nearly broke public decency laws. His eyes flicked to your legs. You schooled your expression into a peaceful smile more relaxing than a shiatsu massage.
“So Shigaraki-san, Mama-san mentioned you have a mentor. What is that like?”
“Pretty much the same as anyone with a mentor I guess.”
“What type of things does he teach you?”
“This and that.”
“It sounds like a well rounded education then.”
“I guess.”
Give a girl something to work with, you tight lipped little snot!
“What’s the favorite thing you learned so far?”
He leaned back in his seat, eyes rolling to the ceiling. The edge of his lip twitched upwards for one heartbeat. “Not to judge people at face value. To always assume they’re hiding something.”
You giggled. “Well, that’s good advice. He sounds very wise.”
“He’s done a lot of different things over the years.”
“How eclectic.”
“Eclectic?”
Crap! You let your bimbo face slip. Dial it back. Dial it back.
“Just something I heard Mama-san say once. She says people who have many interests are eclectic.” You raised one finger and put a bubble-gum pop into your words. “I guess that means they have a lot of energy or something since it sounds like electric!”
Perfect. Now he can “well, actually…” you and feel superior. Men love that. Nice save.
“You’re lying.”
You cocked your head and stared at him with the bald-faced bemusement of a proper airhead.
He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table. Red eyes bored into yours. “You used the word correctly. You knew what it meant.”
When the waiter set the drinks by your elbow, you could have hugged him. You broke off eye contact with Shigaraki, clasped your hands together, and let out an excited squeal. “Oh my gosh this looks so cool! They cut the orange in the shape of a star. How fancy is that?!”
The deadpan stare continued.
You inhaled to puff your chest before carefully placing the drink before him. Steady hands kept the sunset colored gradient exactly as the bartender had prepared it. Then, you gripped your glass, being sure to twist your wrist and show off baby pink nails with tiny glitter bows.
See crusty boy? Nothing here but an empty headed bunny doll made of rack and back.
“Toasties?” you asked, holding your cup up for the clink.
Never breaking his gaze, your client lifted his drink with his pinky out and tapped your glass as if the sound repulsed him. He stirred the gradient away before sipping his fruity cocktail.
With a long suck, you drained half the lemon-sweet mixer in one go. “Yummy!” you cooed, licking your lips. “How does yours taste, Shigaraki-san?”
“Apparently, not as good as yours.”
You rubbed the back of your neck. “Ah! How embarrassing. It’s been a long time since I met a guy like you. When I get nervous I drink more.”
Peeling lips cracked into an amused sneer. “Oh really?”
“Being with someone like you is so exciting.” You took another sip, glancing at him from under mascara coated lashes. “It makes it hard to hold back.”
He laughed. “...and therefore you’ll be blowing through your drinks pretty quick, wracking up a big tab at my expense, right?”
“Maybe…” you teased coyly, tracing the rim of your glass with one finger. “I mean, it’s your fault for looking so good.”
He snorted. “How do you say that stuff with a straight face?”
“Huh?” You cocked your head the other way and pointed at your underbust. “Straight lace? No, my corset is a criss cross.” You leaned forward, angling your torso for maximum ‘round mound’ effect. “See? It’s all back and forth.”
Shigaraki looked you up and down, the smile dipping back to a frown. “That’s pretty boring though.”
Boring? Oh screw off. You try holding up a one sided conversation, douchebag!
“You don’t like fashion? But you’re dressed so nice!”
“No, what I don’t like is—” he gestured to all of you. “—this. Whatever this is.”
Hair bristling, you sat back in your seat. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“The lines are pretty good lies but that—” he waved at the whole of you again “—is messing it up.”
Your throat tensed, leaving a touch of gravel in your voice. “I’m sorry, but you’re talking too complicated for a stupid bunny girl like me. Can you dumb it down so I can understand?”
Now the grin was back but it was… pointy? Yes. That was the best way to describe it. All sharp lines and shadows like some creepy monster hiding in the closet.
“I want that.”
You blinked at him. “Come again?”
He leaned forward. “That. You. The real you. Not the act.”
“Act? I don’t understand—”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t play stupid. I want the girl from the alley.”
BANG
In an instant you were on your feet, shaking hands flat against the glossy table top. Manicured nails raked the surface until the glass shrieked under your sweaty palms. The room went silent. Dark shadows obscured your face. With a crack, your head snapped up to reveal a mechanical smile.
“Shigaraki-san, I am having difficulty hearing you over all the noise in this room.” You jabbed a thumb over your shoulder towards the back corner. “If we’re going to continue our little chat I think we should move to a private suite. The champagne room is lovely for cozy conversation. There is a 200,000 yen cover charge and the first bottle of Dom Pérignon is included.”
Curious eyes from all corners of the room stared at the show. Good. Now that he was on blast, he’d have to put up to save face or shut up and clamp down on his prying. Your chest burned with bated breath as you awaited his response.
Shigaraki groped into his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, a black, leather wallet arced through the air. Wide eyed, you caught it with both hands. He slid out of his seat and onto his feet.
“Sure. I’m game for a bonus stage.”
You glanced down at the thick billfold only to see a hefty clump of 10,000 yen banknotes sticking out the top. Your mouth ran dry. Shoving the wallet back into his hands, you gestured to the bouncer. He bustled over, tapping his key card to the electronic lock. As Shigaraki strolled past you into the private room, you glanced back at Mama-san. Her inscrutable expression disappeared behind the fluttering fan with a sharp snap.
Welp, hopefully that meant she wouldn’t fire you for what you were about to do.
Beyond the tufted leather door, the two of you entered a shrine to leisure and pleasure. Mirrored walls reflected soft, glittering light from the teardrop chandelier above. Upon plush, red carpet, overstuffed sofas crafted from butter soft, ivory leather begged for only the most pampered backsides. On the far wall, a massive television complete with jumbo speakers and a full karaoke set waited patiently for any party sized two to twenty. Glowing copper trim on the seating matched the metal frame of the oversized coffee table. Shigaraki flopped down on the low-backed loveseat. The waiter carried your chilled champagne in on a silver platter before quickly bowing out of the room.
As the door clicked shut, Shigaraki draped his arms across the back of the sofa and flashed you a sneer. "Got something to say?"
Sashaying across the floor, you smoothed the sofa and took your place next to your guest. Graceful as a swan, you lifted the bottle and sliced the foil with your thumbnail. A few quick twists freed the cork from its wire prison. With a roll of your wrist, his flute dangled between your digits.
POP
The speeding cork grazed his ear.
Golden bubbles arced from the bottle. When his glass was nearly full, you twisted the flow to a stop. Leaning forward flashed him a glance at your cleavage. A naughty smile hovered just above it. You set the bottle by his elbow and stroked the stem of your glass like a porn actress.
"Fill me up, Shigaraki-san?" you teased.
He flushed.
So crusty boy liked it a little dirty, huh? File that away for future reference.
Your guest sloshed the expensive liquid into your flute. The bottle clanked onto the table. He stared at you with a raised brow.
With a sweet smile, you hoisted your drink. The delicate tinkle of crystal on crystal accompanied a syrupy salute. "Toasties~!"
You shot the champagne like a middle aged manager whining about his alimony payment. The glass hit the table with a hard CLANK.
"All right, listen up," you growled. “First, I’ve spent a long time pretending 'Miss Sugar-Tits' is my personality and outing me in front of the clients is a dick move. If my regulars see me act like this—” you whipped your hand across your face “—my happy tail doesn’t get paid and you better believe I am all kinds of nasty when I can’t afford to eat.”
Shigaraki sipped his drink with a vulgar grin.
You crossed your arms and scowled. “Second, what is your deal?! You’re bored with the girls, you barely drink the booze, and you don’t want to talk. Why drag yourself out here night after night just to be a massive jerk to a bunch of women who you are paying to suck up to you?!” You huffed and turned your cheek. “Heck of a fetish if it is one.”
“I need to level up my coercion.”
You blinked. “Excuse me, what?”
Cracked nails scraped his neck “Sensei told me I needed practice handling people I don’t like. Hostesses are top tier at that skill. It was useful to learn but pretty boring until I saw you whaling on that dumpster. Not something I expected from the fluff-for-brains bunny girl you pretend to be.” He folded his hands in front of his face, resting his pointed chin on top. With a smirk he added: “The part about tearing down society was pretty interesting. Do you call that ‘hare razing’?”
You grabbed a floppy ear and shook it at him. “I’m a rabbit, not a hare, douchebag.”
He leaned back into the chair, arms open wide. “Whatever. The point is that I like that version of you much better than the act.”
You snorted. “Well literally everyone else disagrees with you on that one. Trust me.”
“That’s because society values sappy platitudes over the straight truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
He reached for his glass, knocking back the drink like you had only moments ago. Though he wasn’t a particularly tall man, when rose to his feet and leered down at you, you felt oddly small by comparison. Something about the glowing gaze left you rigid in your seat. Your breath hitched. Scarlet eyes burned as they rolled over your face.
“That the game is buggy and needs a hard reset.”
You shifted in your seat, looking away from his searing stare. Shaking hands balled in your lap. Ringing filled your ears. Voices from the past cried out from painful memories.
“No need to push yourself sweetie. We’re just happy to have you be our team mascot.”
“Aw… look at you trying so hard. How cute.”
“Don’t act like such a prude. We all know how you got this internship.”
Bile bubbled up your throat. You choked it down. A weary scoff puffed from quivering lips. “Not wrong there,” you muttered.
He blew out a long breath, as if he’d been holding it. “I knew you understood.”
Shaking off a prickling at the back of your neck, you forced a laugh. “But I’m just a bunny girl. I can’t do something as grand as change the world.”
Your guest narrowed his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Chcc. Boring.” He groped into his pocket, pulling out his phone. One glance at the screen and he shoved it into hiding again. “I have to leave anyway.”
Liquid rage poured through your body. “Excuse you!? What did you just call me ‘Mr. couldn’t-carry-a-conversation-if-it-had-a-handle?!’”
He raised his chin and sneered at you. “You’re boring when you’re like that. I’m just calling it like I see it.”
Sharp nails pricked your palms. “Oh!? Is that so?! Then, pray tell, when am I not boring?”
Shigaraki scoffed. “When you’re the real you.”
Bristling with fury, you stomped your heel. “Fine! You want the real me?! Screw it.” You jabbed a finger at his face. “You. Me. Paid date. Wednesday at 2 PM. 25,000 yen per hour.”
“Two? Isn’t that early?”
“What’s the matter?” A cruel smirk twisted on your lips. “Ain’t got the stamina?”
He scratched his neck. Red heat crawled across his skin.
You reached towards him, palm out. “Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
You rolled your eyes. “So I can put my number in it?”
He dragged out the device and tapped in the unlock code. “This better be worth it,” he declared, dropping it in your palm.
“I’m always worth it.” You zeroed in on his texts, stabbing in your number to the recipient line. There were only two words in the message: “crusty boy”. Pressing “send” so hard it nearly cracked the screen, you shoved the phone back in his chest. “What’s your first name?”
He squinted at you suspiciously. “Why?”
You put your hand on one hip. “You want me to spend the entire date calling you ‘Shigaraki-san’?”
After a long pause he muttered, “Tomura.”
You tapped the name into your contacts. “Got it. “I’ll drop you the details later—” Fluttering lashes accompanied a smile more sadistic than seductive. “—Tomura.”
His breath hitched as the warm flush tipped his ears.
You hummed, craning your neck.
His lips curled in a feral snarl. Snatching up the door handle, he nodded to the bottle. “It won’t keep. Finish it yourself.”
“How generous—” you licked your lips “—Tomura.”
As the door slammed shut, you giggled and picked up the champagne.
Maybe you could trade it in for a sake bomb.
Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror
Next Chapter Expected: July 15th, 2023
Expected Completion Date: Mid-Aug 2023
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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.
Reblog if you talk to your fictional lover when you’re alone
Warm
You don't know exactly how you got to this point, with your boss hovering above you, leaving gentle yet messy kisses along your jaw and neck. But here you were. Maybe it had to do with something with you messing with him on while he was heavily focused in a game he was playing. But all you did was sit next to him and played with his hair. Hell, even then, you questioned yourself. 'How did I end up in this situation?' Your boss, Shigaraki Tomura, would have never let anyone so close to him, much less touch him. And yet, you were there, sitting inches away from your shoulder touching his own. With your hand running through his messy light blue locks.
Let's start from the beginning, shall we? It starts with you, first joining the League Of Villains. You were asked to join because of your useful quirk. You had the power to create shadow versions of yourself, multiple at once. You could also travel through the shadows with ease. Made it easier to get in and out of places without being seen. You didn't get along with most of the members, and you really didn't like your new boss. He was basically a man child, a man who had a snappy attitude who threw tantrums whenever he didn't get his way.
He pissed you off, he annoyed you. And it's not like he liked you any better. He liked your quirk more than you. He found your quirk more use to him than your actual self. If he could, he'd just use your quirk and leave you to rot. But, unfortunately he could not do that. So he was stuck with you. Yes it seems you were in quite the situation, hating everyone you worked with, including your bitch of a boss.
However, as the weeks turned to months of missions upon missions, you found that not all of them were that bad. Toga was a good friend despite her overall creepiness. Twice always made you laugh. Spinner had surprisingly good taste in music. Mr. Compressing was actually nice to you. Kurogiri was there whenever you needed to talk about something that was on your mind. And Dabi, well, he was just a good dude to get high with every now and then.
But Shigaraki? He was still the same, an ass. To you and to everyone else. There was no way you could ever respect someone like him, boss or not. That is, until one mission, you two were sent out together. Great. A while mission. Just the two of you. The two members who hated each other the most. This could only go badly.
But to your surprise the mission had gone good so far, you didn't run into too much trouble, you were still alive, and you were about to end the mission after getting what was needed. You would count this mission as a success. Or you would have, if not for the accident.
You were injured, and nearly caught by a pro hero. You could use your quirk to escape due to their own quirk. It repressed other's quirks to near nothingness. You felt useless, you were alone. This was it, you wee done for. And then that's when your heard it, the anguished screams of the hero above you as he turned into dust. You look up from the ground to see your boss, Shigaraki holding the hero's head before it completely dusted. Shigaraki shook his hand free from the dust before turning his attention to you. You couldn't read his expression due to the hand he wore on his face.
He said nothing as he approached you, he just, stared at you for a while before finally speaking. "Can you stand?" He asked. You blinked before attempting to bring yourself to a stand. You did, but felt so lightheaded that you began to tumble. Before you could fall, Shigaraki caught you by the waist. He was careful as he wrapped your arm around his neck for support before walking. "I don't know if you'll make it back to HQ at this speed." He muttered. "Can you still use your quirk?"
"I'll try." You say before creating a shadow portal from beneath you. The two of you sank down into darkness, and within seconds, you were right back inside of the League's hideout. Just that alone seemed to have completely exhausted you. You fell unconscious in Shigaraki's arms.
Only to awake later in your room. You sat up in your bed, just in time to hear Shigaraki's voice again. "Slow down. You'll reopen your wound." You look to the side to see him leaning against a wall. The hands he wore were gone, you could finally see his face. Still unreadable. "Why do you care?" You ask bitterly, looking away from him. You cursed yourself as you remembered your state of weakness. And in front of him of all people. "Because I don't want someone useful to me to die." That answer only made you more upset. "Please, as if you care what happens to me. All you care about is my quirk."
Shigaraki said nothing to this before he started to make his away to your bedroom door. You watched, noticing the limp in his stride. 'Don't ask. Just let him leave.' You thought to yourself. Halfway to your door, he nearly tripped, hissing out in pain. You sigh. "And what happened to you?" Shigaraki looked at you. "Nothing."
"That doesn't look like nothing." You raise an eyebrow. "You got hurt too, didn't you? Why didn't you say anything?"
"Why do you care?" Shigaraki mocks your earlier question. Why do you care? You don't. He's a grown man, he can take care of himself. And yet, you found yourself getting out of bed, risking hurting yourself more just to check on him. "Sit down." You say, grabbing his wrist and leading him to your bed. He didn't make too much fuss as he did so. "It's your leg right? That's where it hurts?" You move your hand over his leg, looking up at him for a moment before going any further. Shigaraki rolled his eyes. "Go on. You're wasting my time." You shot him a look before moving his pantleg up. And there it was, a large cut on his calf.
"Why didn't you do something about this earlier dumbass!?" You snap. "This could get infected!" Shigaraki looked a bit surprised for a brief moment. "I was too preoccupied with a half dead woman." He glared at you. "That doesn't matter, you're our boss, our leader. What if something happened to you? We'll all be directionless!"
"It's fucking cut, I'm not going to die." Shigaraki tells you. "Infections can lead to death moron." You say firmly. "Just, go get it fixed before it actually does get infected alright?"
"For someone who hates me, you sure are acting worried." Said Shigaraki. "It doesn't matter if I hate you or not, you're still our leader. I'd feel responsible if something happened to you while on that mission." You say. "I don't want that responsibility so, just go already." You then gave him a questionable look. "And I can say the same for you. If you hate me so much, why bother staying here in my room for who knows how long just to check if I wake up or not?"
"Like I said, I don't want anyone useful to me dying." Said Shigaraki bluntly. You scowl. "I'm not useful, just my quirk, right?"
"No." Shigaraki says firmly. "I need every single one of you to accomplish my goal. It's a long long ways away. I can't afford to loose anyone right now, that includes you. Your quirk helps, but it's nothing without it's host." You could have sworn his words sounded genuine. But, there was no way, right? Why would a villain care about others, even if they are on the same side? Shigaraki is nothing but a cold heartless monster. Right?
You looked down at his wound again. "Just, go get this taken care of."
Things were weird between you two since that day. You couldn't get Shigraki's words out of your head. There was no way he meant what he said. That's what you thought, until he actually proved it to you. You had caught the eye of a rival villain group, your quirk had proved useful to them. And so, they were willing to pay quite the penny for Shigaraki to hand you over, no questions asked. But Shigaraki wasn't having it.
"Fuck off, she's not for sale." Shigaraki said as he swats the money out of the man's hand. "What? You think I just give my people away like that? Screw you. Now get the fuck out of my sight before I dust your asses. I should anyway, you've wasted enough of my time already." You could believe what you were hearing. And neither could the leader of the rival group. Unsatisfied with the outcome, he decided he would take you by force. But again, Shigaraki wasn't having it.
The fight didn't last very long, and it ended with Shigaraki's foot on the chest of the leader as he stood over him. Shigaraki removed the hand from his face, he smirked as he glared down at the man. "Game over, shit stain." He said before dusting him. You just watched, surprised by his actions.
That night, you went to look for him. Kurogiri informed you that he was in his room, and even advised you not to disturb him. But you needed to talk to him, now. You made your way to his bedroom and knocked on his door. There was no answer. After waiting for several seconds, you opened the door yourself only to be met with total darkness. The only light source coming from the TV inside. "Who the fuck is there?" Shigaraki grumbled as he paused his game. "It's me." You tell him as you took a step into the room.
There was silence for a moment before he spoke again. "Come on then, don't just stand there." Surprised, you shut the door behind you and walked in before shutting the door behind you. Trying to follow the light to make your way to his bed. Once you reached it, you stopped and looked at him. Now you were at a sudden loss for words. "What?" Shigaraki glanced at you. "Don't tell me you interrupted my game just to stare at me all night."
"No, that's not why I'm here." You tell him. "Then what it is it?" He asked. "I just...earlier today. Did you really mean what you said?" Shiagraki was quite for a moment. "What did I say?" He asked. "That I wasn't for sale? That you don't just give your people away?"
"Of course I meant it." Shigaraki tells you, as if you should already know. "Did you really think I was about to give you up for a quick buck?" You went silent, really thinking it over. Did he really mean it? Did he really care for his own people? You didn't have time to question him again before he was holding a second controller towards you. "Sit down. This game is better with two people anyway."
Wordlessly, you took the controller and sat down next to him. You watched as he played the game, not really paying much attention to your side of the screen. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he wasn't heartless.
"You suck at this."
But he was still a bit of a jerk.
"I wasn't even paying attention!" You defend yourself. "And why weren't you?" Asked Shigaraki. You look away from him. "Just start it over. I'll kick your ass this time."
Soon after, it would always be like this. With you, being in his room. Playing games with him. Your were quick to find out that he did not do this for just anyone. So why you? You didn't know, and maybe you didn't want to know. Because this, whatever this was, felt so natural. You liked it. He even let you win a few times, which was way out of character for him. He was being, nice? Yeah, nice, to you.
And...you liked it.
And then somehow, you ended up where you are now.
You sigh a moan as he traveled further down your jaw to your neck. His rough lips felt surprisingly nice on your skin. He kissed and nipped at your flesh a few times, very time, would gain another pleasurable little noise from you. He liked it, he wanted more. He wanted to hear you more and more. You could feel his hand slip up your shirt, his four fingers just barely touching the base of your breasts before you stopped him.
"W-Wait, Shigaraki...Wait."
He stopped, looking up at you. "Something wrong?" He asked. Even that, stopping when you asked, asking what was wrong...why? You looked at him, heart pounding in your chest, your body begged him to continue but your head saying otherwise. "We can't, I don't think I can..." Shigaraki was quick to remove himself from you. "Sorry." He said quietly. You sat up and put a hand to your chest. "No it's not you. I promise it's just...What is this?"
"What?" Shigaraki looked at you, his hair nearly covering his eyes. Something you've grown to find cute over the last few days. "This. What are we doing? We're not even...I mean. I know villains shouldn't care about this kind of thing. It's not that big of a deal but, to me, to me it is." Shigaraki took a moment before answering. "You don't want this."
"No, it's not that I-"
"No." Shigaraki cut you off. "You don't want what I am. I'm...a lot. You shouldn't want more than...this." He waved his hand between the two of you. "Why?" You tilt your head slightly. "What?" Shigaraki asks. "Why wouldn't I want you?"
"I told you, I'm a lot."
"A lot of guys are." You try to joke.
"No, I mean, why would anyone want me? Look at me, I'm surprised you even let me touch you."
You furrow your brows. Did he really think so lowly of himself? You scoot closer to him. "I let you touch me, because I wanted you to touch me. I stopped you because, well, I..." You took a breath. "I like what we have. I don't want it to be ruined by doing something we might regret." Shigaraki leaned in a little. "I wouldn't regret it...would you?" You stared at his lips, then into his eyes. "I don't know. I'm...scared. But, I want it, I want you."
"Even if I'm...me?" Shigaraki asks you, his lips inches away from yours. "Yes." You breathed. "Ever part of you." The two of you closed the gap, you sigh as he deepened the kiss. But pulled away just as fast. "I won't go any further, not unless you want me to." You chased after his lips. "I want you to, I don't know what might happen after but, just for tonight...let me have you." Shigaraki pulled you in close to kiss you again.
Once more you found yourself on you back. Shigaraki pulled away to take off your shirt, leaning back down to leave a trail of kisses on your chest and breasts. He brought a careful hand up to cup one of them, causing you to whine as he moved his thumb across your perky nipple. His mouth around your other, tongue flicking it over. You squeezed your legs around his hips, grinding up against him. He groaned before he pulled away, he kissed down your stomach to the top of your shorts. He tore them off of you along with your underwear. You felt his hot breath on your entrance.
You watched him as he spread apart your folds before licking up from the base of your pussy to the top of your clit. You threw your head back, eyes shut tight. Your hands shot down to his hair, pulling him in closer so you could grind onto his face. He hummed in delight as he ate you out, thumb rubbing at your clit at a ever quickening pace.
"Shit! Shiggy! Just like that!" You moaned loudly. Shigaraki groaned as his hips rutted against the bed to get some sort of friction. The sounds coming from Shigaraki eating out your pussy made you squirm in the best of ways. Ever slick squelch filled the dark quiet room. Just as you were about to hit your high, he pulled away, a trail of slick following his mouth.
"Damn it, why?" You whine. Shigaraki licked his lips clean before removing his shirt. "Don't worry, you'll get to cum...I promise." He chuckled darkly. You barely heard him as you gazed at his figure. Skinny, thin, you could practically see his ribcage. But damn, if he wasn't sexy in his own way. Every scar, mole, any imperfection, you found so beautiful. You were snapped out of your thoughts as you felt him grinding against your bare cunt. You let out a sharp gasp. "You fell that?" He asked. You looked down at his large erection in his pants. "You did that. Now you're gonna do something about it."
Oh fuck yes. You sat up, not needing to know what to do next. You crawled towards him and palmed at his erection. He placed his hand on yours. "Beg for it." He demanded. "Please..." You begged. "I want it, I want it in my mouth. Please Shiggy." He smirked before removing his pants and boxers. Shit. You nearly came at the sight of it. He was very thick around, but he made up for it in length. You wrapped your hand around his dick, pumping it a few times before placing the tip at your lips. You kissed it before swirling your tongue around it. You heard Shigaraki groan before he placed his hand behind your head.
He pushed your forwards, taking the almost the whole thing into your mouth. "That's it baby. Take it like a good girl." You whined before bobbing your head up and down, hand pumping what couldn't fit. You almost gagged a few times as the tip hit the back of your throat. Shigaraki threw his head back. "Fuck yes. Taking it like a good little slut." You whined again at his words, moving a hand down to rub at your clit.
"Ah! Take that hand away before I take my cock out of that pretty little mouth. And leave you with fucking nothing." You quickly move your hand away. Shigaraki thrusted into your mouth, lids batting as tears started to roll down your cheeks. "Aw, is it too much for you? You can take it, I know you can." He said as he continued to thrust. Soon you didn't have to bob, he was doing it pretty much for you as he fucked your face.
"Shit!" He pulled your head away just as he was getting close. You coughed a few times, before panting heavily. Again, you were given nothing. "Shiggy..." You pant. "Sorry, are you ok? That was a lot, huh?" Shigaraki cupped your face. You smile. "I'm ok." Shigaraki smiled as well. "Good, now lay back for me ok?"
You nod before laying on your back, legs spreading open for him. Shigaraki was once again on top of you, lining up with your entrance. He looked at you, you gave him a nod telling him you were ready for him. He nods back before slowly pushing himself into you. You clutch at the sheets as you felt him fill you up to the very brim with his length. "Oh fuck. Shiggy, please, please move." You begged breathlessly. Shigaraki huffed as he gripped onto your hips, he thrusted harshly into you, quickening his pace with each time.
You clenched down onto him as he brushed against that oh so sweet spot deep within you, causing him to groan loudly. He caught himself as he leaned down, groaning and moaning into your ear, panting heavily as his thrusts became more and more uneven and sloppy. He was close, and so were you. "Yes! Shiggy, right there! Please!" Shigaraki pounded harder, faster into your quivering cunt. Just as you were about to hit your high, he bit down onto your neck with a heavy groan. It was just enough to send you over the edge with a loud cry of his name.
Shigaraki wasn't far behind, with a few more hard trusts he came inside of you, filling you up more. He grinds into you to ride out his orgasm before slowing to a still. He moves away from your neck and looks down at you, what he saw made his heart skip a beat. Your fucked out expression, mouth slightly parted as you panted, red faced, tears in the corners of your eyes. You looked so cute like this. He chuckled before slowly pulling out, making you whine at the loss.
He shifted to lay next to you, bringing you in close to him. "Think you'll still regret this?" He asked. "Cause I sure as fuck don't." You look up at him. "Well, that depends...do you want this? More than just what we did?" You ask. Shigaraki moved a strand of hair from your face. "You're asking me to be your boyfriend, right?" You blush slightly as you nod. "If you don't want to then-"
"It's not something I'd normally do, you know? Be someone's partner in a romantic way." That made your heart ache. But what he said next made you hopeful. "But, you're something else you know that? You...you make me feel things I didn't know I could feel." His eyes met yours as he spoke. "If you really want me, then, I want you too."
You smiled as you brought a hand up to his cheek. "Yes, I want you." Shigaraki smiled as well. "Then, you have me." He said before leaning down to kiss you deeply.
For the first time, Shigaraki Tomura didn't feel cold. He didn't feel dead inside. Instead, he felt something he didn't know was possible for him to feel. And it was thanks to you, that he finally felt warm...
Toy
Shigaraki x F!Reader smut
Synopsis: Shigaraki uses you whenever he feels like it. Though sometimes he's merciful enough to grant you a moment of happiness in the middle of your grim reality
Warnings: +18 MINORS DNI, smut, dubcon, possessive behavior, implied noncon, implied abduction, toxic relationship, toxic behavior, Stockholm Syndrome
DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi
Word count: 1.1k
A.N.: A draft, which was almost finished.
A beam of sunlight shines between the bars of a small window. It sparkles on the wooden floor, appearing almost magical, at least for someone who’s been denied access outside for many, many months.
Staring at the beautiful light, it seems like a divine privilege in the dark room. You can almost feel the warmth of it and see the weather outside; the breeze that could caress your hair, the fresh air flooding your nostrils– Your mind wanders away, too deep inside inaccessible dreams that you can’t focus on anything else, not even on the cock that moves in and out of you.
“Oi.“
A husky voice pulls you back into reality and your face turns at the man above you. His white locks hang messily, crimson eyes staring down at you grimly.
“Would it kill you to see some effort?“ Shigaraki asks, annoyed.
Quickly understanding your mistake, an apologetic smile spreads on your face, “Oh, I’m sorry! Didn’t mean to!“ You exclaim cutely and bring your hands on his shoulders, but it does nothing to the scowl on his face.
When he’s there, your attention should never stray to anything that isn’t him. His desires are always your priority, anything else he considers disobedience.
But your smile widens sincerely so he’s willing to accept that you were just distracted by something you couldn’t see often. He exhales gruffly, accepting your apology before leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss.
Placing your hand on his cheek, you smile into the kiss as he starts thrusting again, slowly, sensually. Your fingers run through his untamed hair as he begins to pick up the pace. Parting away, you close your eyes, moans tumbling down your lips as you lean your head back.
Shigaraki is getting closer as he mutters curses under his breath, balls tightening in approaching orgasm. Slamming his hips against yours, thrusts sloppy and careless as he uses your little pussy to get himself off.
With a loud grunt through gritted teeth, he thrusts deep inside you and releases his seed in steady spurts. Face buried in the crook of your neck, he pants and shivers while emptying himself inside you.
You caress his back and hum, smile never faltering while showing affection that is uncommon for someone in your position.
Shigaraki isn’t that mindful though. After pumping you full of his cum, he pulls out unceremoniously and gets up to gather his discarded clothes.
You’ve grown accustomed to his careless habit as he possesses many of them, so you only pull the cover over your naked figure and watch him slip back into his clothes. As he buckles his belt, you detect that he seems unbothered enough for you to ask a question that’s been in the back of your mind for some time.
“U-umm.. Tomura?”
“What?”
“I was wondering.. Do you think you could let me go outside?”
Your question makes him glance at you from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t show any other emotion than his usual indifference.
“Why would I do that?” He asks while putting on his black t-shirt.
“Well.. It seems that there’s lovely weather outside. And I’ve been inside for so long that I would really be grateful to get some fresh air,” you explain with another precious smile.
Shigaraki however, shows no reaction to your plea, if anything it seems like he needs more reassurance, which you deliver immediately.
“Please? I promise I won’t try to run away.”
He takes his time to measure your request, which is an act of kindness. In other words, completely unnecessary for him. Your comfort isn’t by any means important as your only purpose is to serve pleasure and you should never become an inconvenience to him.
But such a cold, calculating way of thinking is for someone without feelings. Shigaraki might seem callous, but he isn’t, at least towards anyone he cares about. He knows he should grant you a little moment of joy for becoming so obedient.
After all, he still remembers your first nights, when you were scared and trembling, sinking away from his touch. When your tears overflowed and you had difficulties accepting reality, which was that you were his property now. He has seen your face scrunch when he penetrated you, heard your pitiful little cries when he rammed his cock in you.
He’s watched you turn from a fearful, reluctant little captive into a toy who’s ready to fulfill his every need. And truthfully, he feels guilt drilling his gut whenever you look at him so hopefully. It just makes his heart incapable of remaining stern so he sighs heavily—
“Fine.”
some random headcanons of tomura that i thought of
just like ochaco, he sleeps either with gloves on or bandages on his pinky fingers
i’ve seen many people say tomura would listen metal or heavy metal but i really think he’d prefer game OST’s over anything>>>
blasts bury the light at 3am
he’d call kurogiri at 3am just to tell him about his plans to kill all might
apparently he’s awake all day, having anxiety attack cuz he drank monster on an empty stomach
i think he’s the type of guy to meticulously plan everything only to have it ruined by bad luck
he’d occasionally pick on his flaky skin/lips
he has a habit of collecting figures, only to leave on at the shelve without looking at it again
if you’re close to tomura, he’d invite you to eat something tasty and then tell you that he destroyed one of your items
tomura is not the type to use bar soap but rather dispenser soap…that’s if you’re lucky enough he used one
he doesn’t use his quirk much and he’s used to only using 4 fingers
very competitive and mean when he plays against you in a PvP game
too mean he’s not giving you an ounce of hope to win
you got upset and he decided to switch to simulation games instead (he doesn’t admit this but he plays animal crossing to relax)
say goodbye to your personal space, this man knows no boundaries
he’s not shy, he’s just like a cat that doesn’t know how to express its feelings to you
*gets jumpscared in a horror game* “fuck all might, fuck endeavor, fuck hawks, fuck—“
your man is the type to pick his food off the floor :(
shigaraki is the type of guy to buy you the most luxurious & beautiful black nightgown while he stays on his creeper boxers
tomura doesn’t like to shower on his own, he likes the feeling of your fingers brushing through his hair 🚿🛀
(NSFW below this point:)
expect him to talkshit about all might mid-sex
i really think his hatred for all might surpasses his sex drive
prefers receiving and will be mean about it, he just likes making a mess of you
degradation & slight breeding kink
your boobs are his favorite pillows
he likes fucking you with the skirt on—
missionary & doggy 👑
call him sweet names during sex and he’ll melt under your arms
doesn’t like shower sex but a blowjob will do
i think he would be into somnophilia, only if you’re fine with it
Hello narilamb nation *explode*
Close up:
Here's one without the lighting:
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18+, minor don't interact with the 18+ contentTomura shigaraki's biggest simpArtist, writter
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