Shigaraki Being Comforting Headcannon

heyy! I have a request, can you show us how unhealthy and toxic Tomura is? NSFW if you want ✨️

TOXIC!BOYFRIEND TOMURA HEADCANONS!

A/N : okay ty for the first ask!! but imo he's not like DETRIMENTALLY toxic or physically, it's more or so the mindgames he plays and how he unknowingly does the things he does.

WARNINGS: toxic tomura, this is my first time writing him like actually mean so plz forgive, manipulation, all of..that, warnings for NSFW will appear.

he's very into guilt tripping, like actually, it's somewhat sickening at this point, he'll get pissed at just the slightest things and accuse you of hating him or intentionally doing it to piss him off.

he's the jealous kind, like really easy jealous kind, he'll slowly nitpick things about your friends until you cut most of them off of else he'll make you choose between him or them.

he never, ever says sorry, most if not all the blame is on you, he will never acknowledge that he is in the wrong and will blame the world around him for his own failure.

he's very straightforward, he will tell you what's on his mind, for better and for worse. the way he treats Kurogiri reflects on you.

the more vulnerable he gets with you, the more he begins to put his guard up, he's not used to the sensations your giving him, he'll take and take and take, barely giving anything back though.

Don't cry around him, it'll piss him off and he'll make poor half assed attempt to get you to stop, 'stop crying, it's annoying me.' or 'those tears will get you nowhere.'

if you aren't a member of the league, he will put them above you because he craves his 'rightful' seat at the throne as king of destruction, and his hate outweighs his 'love' for you.

he doesn't know how to comprehend his own emotions and will say things he will barely regret during a fit of rage, he'll blame it on you for sticking around.

all your conversations will mostly be about him, once it's about you he kind of looks off to the side and waits with a scoff.

he wants you to touch him but he'll get mad at you if you do.

he's a mess, one day he'll be praising you, touching you and even telling you all sorts of compliments before a little slip up can cause him to lose it and degrade you, say nothing but insults and berate you.

you aren't above AFO, the moment his master finds out about your little relationship (if he even considers it that) he'll break you off like your nothing to him.

his love for you is the same as how AFO loves yoichi.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

WARNINGS: dubcon, piss mentioned.

sex with him is honestly a hit or miss, he only mostly focuses on his own pleasure and chases his own high instead of trying to get you to cum too.

he doesn't like it when your kinks have something to do with you being on top, and in the bedroom, it's all about him, and it'll always be about him.

he'll have his orgasm, and recover for a bit, a factory reset for his body before he gets right back up to use his PC or go back to the league.

he's very demanding.

horrible in bed, since it's mostly about him it's all about what he likes, what his kinks are, and what makes him cum. he practically just humps you like a dog before he goes on his way.

aftercare, prep, praise, safewords? what's that? those don't exist for Tomura, you stop when he stops, don't want to leave him pissed off do you?

his kinks are gross, honestly. he looks like a basement dwelling NEET, so he'd probably have some freaky kinks, (mhoj2 he says alot of bdsm based lines) probably even piss if he's willing to put his trust in you that you won't snitch.

even if you do, the more vulnerable he gets he'll remind you that he can take your life any day, to keep you in a constant state of paranoia so you'll stay quiet and alongside him.

huge fan of somnophilia, he'll ask you about it and fuck you like a fleshlight while you're asleep, he's not so kinky to the point he'll have sex with you outside but, he'll indulge in it.

don't be surprised if you wake up with a load in or on you.

He gets really mad when you don't swallow, why? you think he's gross? why don't you just leave him at that point?

When you two break it off, he'll only really try and call you back for a quick fuck because he's tired of using his fist.

he'll never apologize for going overboard in bed, it's your fault you couldn't handle it.

—Ake 2024

Tomura shigaraki, october

can you guys reblog this with your birth month and favorite mha character i’m trying to test something

Enough to Go By -- 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

You had a best friend when you were little, just like almost everyone, and the two of you were as different as two people could be. He was a boy and you were a girl. You were the oldest of four, and he was the youngest of two. His family was rich because his dad was some kind of business genius, and your family was – not. You and your best friend had exactly two things in common. First, you lived across from each other on the same street, him in a big new house and you in one that had been falling apart since before your parents were born. And second, and maybe most important, neither of you had a quirk.

It was okay for your best friend. He still had time. People in his family got their quirks when they were two or three or four or maybe even six, like they were supposed to. But everyone in your family is born with theirs. Your family’s quirks do different things, but they’re the same type of thing – powering up or watering down or just changing some part of somebody else, and they’re active until the person’s old enough to turn them off.

You hated being home. You had one younger brother who could turn your hearing up and down, one younger sister who could turn your color vision on and off, and twin baby brothers who could make you throw up whenever they wanted to. Going to school, or going across the street to play in front of Tenko’s house with him and his big sister and his dog, was the closest things ever got to normal for you.

Tenko wanted to be a hero. You knew he’d be the best hero, because he was a hero already, even without a quirk. Nobody was every left out when you and Tenko played at school, because Tenko could make everybody feel included, and you spent so much time trying to placate your siblings that you knew how to make sure everybody had fun. But for everybody to have fun, people needed to be there. Tenko was the one everybody believed in, the one who made everybody feel important. When you spent time with Tenko, you felt like you belonged. Tenko was already a hero, even as a kid. You knew he’d be amazing at it when he grew up.

Only he didn’t grow up, your best friend. You walked home from school together one day, said goodbye and crossed to your opposite sides of the street, and when you looked out your window the next morning, Tenko’s house was gone.

A villain did it. That’s what everybody said, and you didn’t know what else it could be, because Tenko’s house was in ruins, like a giant had smashed it with its foot or someone had blown it up from the inside. You raced across the street without your shoes on, right into the middle of what was left, and even though your parents spent money they didn’t have on a specialist whose quirk let them wipe memories right out of your brain, you still have nightmares sometimes about what you saw. Tenko’s big sister Hana was dead. His dog was dead. His mom and his grandparents and his dad were dead. But he wasn’t there, so you made yourself believe he was alive.

And some part of you kept believing, even after the foundations of an apartment building were laid over the spot where Tenko’s house used to be, even after your family moved away. Your youngest younger siblings, a set of triplets born after you moved, thought Tenko was your imaginary friend because of how much you talked about him. And even once you stopped talking about him, you never quite stopped thinking about him. Your best friend, who wanted to be a hero. Who would have been the greatest hero the world had ever seen.

Everyone else forgot him, forgot him so cleanly that you almost wonder if it was a quirk. But you remember your best friend – small things, weird things, like how he’d sometimes get so excited he’d almost cry. His All Might impression, which was so bad it almost worked. His dry skin and the way he’d scratch his neck. You wonder what happened, why he wasn’t found with his family. You wonder a lot of things.

“Everybody loses touch with their neighborhood kids,” Hirono says when you say something about it, while you and your friends are getting drunk in Kazuo’s backyard one weekend. “You’re not special.”

“Don’t be mean,” Yoshimi protests. “Her friend died. That’s different!”

“She just said he didn’t die. She thinks he’s still alive,” Sho says. He whistles and rotates one finger by his ear. “Cuckoo.”

“There should be a podcast about this,” Mitsuru says seriously, and Hirono and Mitsuko laugh at him. “No, there should! Five people confirmed murdered and a kid goes missing – and it’s never solved? That’s podcast material.”

“It’s newsworthy,” Kazuo says, his voice as expressionless as it always is these days. “Have you looked it up?”

“Yes,” you say. Too many times, probably. “The articles don’t say my friend went missing.”

“They said he died?”

“They don’t mention him at all.”

“Ooh. Spooky.” Sho makes a UFO noise, and Yoji, Yoshimi’s on-again, off-again asshole boyfriend, throws in some spiritfingers to go with it. “Maybe he’s imaginary after all.”

“Or maybe you do have a quirk,” Yuichiro, Mitsuko’s latest too-innocent boyfriend says earnestly. “Your family’s all status effects, right? Maybe you made everybody else forget him.”

“Why would I do that?” you ask blankly. You’re a little drunk. “He’s my best friend.”

“I thought I was your best friend,” Kazuo says. Kazuo’s also a little drunk. “You don’t have a quirk. I would know. I know everything.”

The confidence is annoying, or it would be, if it wasn’t true – and if you didn’t know just how badly Kazuo’s quirk has ruined his life. “Maybe not,” Ryuhei says speculatively. “You only know what you know to know, you know?”

You try to parse that for a second, then give up. Mitsuru is wheezing with laughter. “Come on,” Ryuhei says, annoyed. “You know what I mean. Kazuo only knows the answers to questions he knows to ask, right? What if he hasn’t asked the right question?”

Kazuo’s quirk is called Search Engine, and it’s not an overstatement. He can ascertain anything he asks about, and if the questions aren’t hyperspecific, he can take in vast amounts of information. Too much information for even the smartest person to sort through and interpret without going crazy under the strain. He was going to be a hero, but UA High pushed him too hard, and something went wrong in his head. The smartest guy you know, who used to be funny and kind and should be changing the world for the better right now, is instead drunk in his parents’ backyard, still trying to figure out where his emotions went. You haven’t seen Kazuo care about anything in two years.

But you can see him thinking about what Ryuhei said, trying to wrap his mind around a question. “Don’t,” you say, and he looks at you, puzzled. “If I had a quirk, I’d have had it when I was born, just like the rest of my family.”

“Your family has some funky quirks,” Yoji says. You have a feeling you know where he’s going with this, and you’re not wrong. “Isn’t one of your cousins a villainess?”

“She barely counts,” Hirono says. “What could they even charge her with if they caught her? Possession of a video camera and bad taste in men? They could charge Yoshimi with that, too.”

“Hey!”

Sho and Ryuhei join in on the ribbing, and you lean back against the steps. Kazuo rises from his chair a little unsteadily and comes to sit by you. “You never mentioned this friend of yours before.”

“It never came up.” You glance sidelong at him. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“No,” Kazuo says. He hiccups. His alcohol tolerance has always been weirdly low. “I’m surprised you never asked me to find him. Maybe I could.”

“I know.” If Kazuo ever recovers from what UA High did to him, the government will be all over him. He could find anything, anyone – but like Ryuhei said, he has to know what questions to ask. “I think I’m scared of what you’d find. I don’t want him to be dead.”

“Dead might be better.”

You almost choke on the sip of vodka you just took. “Excuse me?”

“If he died, he died,” Kazuo says. No shit. “If he’s still alive, he’s been missing for fifteen years. During my work-study, I assisted in the search for several missing children. Nothing good had happened to the ones we found alive.”

You hadn’t thought about that, what it would actually mean if Tenko is still alive, and your brain supplies you instantly with a list of terrible things that could have happened to your best friend. Your imagination is pretty vivid. Your stomach turns. “I don’t want that,” you say. “I just want him to be okay.”

“Sometimes dead is better,” Kazuo says again. And then he’s quiet.

You try to get back into the mood of the party, but what Kazuo said sticks, and you’re kind of mad at him about it. The old Kazuo wouldn’t have said something like that, or else he would have put it more gently. You miss the old Kazuo. Thanks to a villain fifteen years ago and UA fucking High, you’re now short two best friends.

Kazuo’s a good guy, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t drawn to him because of who he reminded you of. You have a soft spot for dark-haired boys who want to be heroes. If Tenko hadn’t gone missing and the two of you had gotten to grow up together, you probably would have wound up with a big, stupid crush on him, the supercharged version of how you felt about Kazuo. But a relationship between the two of you wouldn’t have worked out, for the same reason your relationship with Kazuo didn’t work. Being a hero comes first. Being a hero always comes first with guys like them. You probably wouldn’t like them as much if it didn’t.

Getting drunk at Kazuo’s is a typical Friday night pastime among your friends, and usually everybody sleeps over. Everybody usually includes you, but you have to work tomorrow, which means you have to go home. Sometimes you and Kazuo still fool around when you’re both drunk, and you want to avoid that, too. You drink a glass of water and start sobering up while the others are still sorting out places to sleep, and then you tell them all good by and head out, taking three trains in a loop around the city to give yourself even more time to sober up before you have to walk home. You don’t live in the nicest neighborhood. You need to be alert.

When you finally get off the train at your stop, you realize you’ve got another problem. You’re hungry, and you won’t have time to cook when you get home if you want to sleep at all tonight. The all-night convenience store a few blocks up from your apartment is beckoning to you, and you give in without a fight. You’ll pick something to eat, eat it in the store for one last period of sobering-up, and walk the rest of the way home.

You feel a little better with a few bites of food in your stomach, and you’re pretty sure you’re not going to throw it up later. You hang out in the corner of the shop, a good spot to people-watch from if there were any people in here but you and the owner. The TV behind the counter is blaring the news about some villain attack, somewhere – two dumb-ass middle schoolers, one sludge villain, one can of whoop-ass opened by All Might. What else is new.

“Turn that shit off.”

The voice is raspy, and it’s coming from the far corner of the store. So there’s somebody else in here after all. You rise to your tiptoes and peer over the shelves to spot the speaker. They’re wearing a black hoodie with the hood up and browsing for energy drinks, and apparently they have a real problem with what’s on TV – which means the proprietor has a real problem with them. “Got a problem with heroics? Or does seeing real heroes just remind you what a bum you are?”

“Fuck off,” the guy in the hoodie says sharply. “You’ve got more in common with me than you do with them. If you were there, you think you’d run in to help? No. You’d wait for a hero, because you’re useless and pathetic. At least I don’t walk around pretending to be something I’m not.”

Hoodie guy sort of has a point, even if you don’t like how he’s phrasing it. Hoodie guy also sucks at reading the room, because after that little back-and-forth, he yanks an energy drink out of the case and a package of sour candies off a shelf and heads up to the counter. The proprietor laughs in his face. “Get out of here. If you think I’m selling even a stick of gum to you, you’re out of your mind.”

Hoodie guy’s shoulders tense. “You’re so desperate to defend All Might that you won’t take my money? He’s not gonna fuck you.”

You must be a little more drunk than you thought, because you have to clamp your hands over your mouth to stifle a laugh. But there’s nothing funny about the situation that’s unfolding in front of you. The proprietor’s looking increasingly pissed, and Hoodie Guy’s hands are out of his pockets, open and twitching at his sides. You don’t know what either of their quirks are, but you’ve got seven siblings. You know what it looks like when a situation’s about to spiral out of control.

“I said get out,” the proprietor spits. He shoves the drink and the package of candy back across the counter, hard enough that they fall off and roll across the floor. Hoodie Guy’s hands begin to lift from his sides, and you step out of your corner. “You want to start something? Go ahead. The cops will be here so fast –”

“Not fast enough for you,” Hoodie Guy hisses. His hands are all the way up, reaching over the counter.

You scoop the snacks off the floor and duck into the scant space between Hoodie Guy and the counter. You elbow him a bit by accident and he stumbles, swears at you. You ignore him and focus on the proprietor. “Hi. I’m still hungry. Can I get these?”

The proprietor squints at you, nonplussed. Behind you, Hoodie Guy’s gotten his feet under him, and if it’s possible, he’s extra pissed. “Get out of my way.”

“You don’t want this kind of trouble,” you say, ignoring Hoodie Guy. He’s the instigator. You need him to shut up so you can handle this before it escalates. “I know you don’t. You want him out of here and he wants his snacks. If you don’t want his money, mine’s just as good.”

You’re conscious of Hoodie Guy looming over your shoulder. He’s not all that much taller than you, but he’s standing a little too close. You take your wallet out, and that seems to settle the issue. “You’re lucky your girlfriend’s here to help you out. That’ll be ¥1800.”

You pay up and collect the snacks. When you turn away from the counter, Hoodie Guy’s right there, and you get your first good look at his face – or at the life-sized model hand clamped over his face. That’s – weird. You can’t see his expression, but his tone of voice is unmistakable. “If you think –”

“I know, I know,” you interrupt. “You’re not gonna fuck me.”

It’s not a joke you’d make sober, but with the proprietor calmed slightly down, you have to knock Hoodie Guy off his game somehow. It works. He makes a weird, strangled sound, and you grab him by his sleeve and tow him out the door.

He lets you do it, which is a surprise, and you let him go as soon as the doors close behind you. You hold out the snack and the energy drink. “Here.”

You can’t see his face, but you can see one red eye, peering out at you through the fingers of the hand. “It was pretty stupid of you to get in my way.”

“It was pretty stupid of you to go up to the counter. If you’d stormed off he wouldn’t have chased you.” You’ve seen Sho use that tactic before – needle a store owner until they want him gone more than they want to check his pockets. “Just take this, okay?”

He raises one hand and scratches at his neck. There’s something familiar about the motion, and the scarred, scraped-raw patch of skin there. Maybe you’ve seen something similar at work. “Either you used some kind of quirk or you got lucky. Which is it?”

“Neither. I have seven siblings and I’m good at toning things down.” You’ve wished for a quirk that lets you affect others’ moods more than a few times. You had to learn your de-escalation techniques the hard way. “Do you want these or not?”

He’s still scratching, and something’s pulling at the back of your mind, harder and harder. “Seven siblings,” he says slowly. “That’s three more.”

“Three more than what?” you say, puzzled. And then it clicks.

You have seven siblings now. When you lived across the street from your best friend, you only had four. And now you get why the scratching looks so familiar, why there’s so much scar tissue in the place he’s clawing at – because he’s been scratching that same spot for a decade and a half. It doesn’t matter than his hair is grey-blue instead of black, that his eyes are red instead of grey. It doesn’t even matter that he’s got a creepy hand stuck over his face. You know who you’re looking at, and the surge of joy that overtakes you is like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

You’d keep it to yourself, ordinarily. But tonight you’re a little drunk, and you can’t hold it in. “Tenko,” you say, and he freezes like he’s been struck by lightning. “You’re alive!”

Tenko stays frozen until you reach for him, at which point he bolts, and you really shouldn’t follow him – but you’re drunk and it’s your best friend and he’s alive just like you knew he was, so you chase after him. He was a little clumsy when you were kids. You were always a little faster on your feet, but his legs are longer than yours now, and he keeps you at a fair distance until he trips.

It’s sort of your fault he trips. He’s looking back over his shoulder, checking where you are, and he’s not watching his feet. It’s a bad fall. He sprawls out, the hand over his face dislodging and bouncing across the concrete, and you hear him cursing under his breath in a voice that carries a familiar strain. You’ve heard that before. You do what you did back then. You run to his side and drop to your knees, hands outstretched to help. “Tenko –”

“Get away from me! Don’t touch me!” Tenko lashes out with one hand, and instinct tells you to get out of range. The hand he lashes out with looks wrong – hurt, maybe, in the fall. His other hand is up over his face, covering it the same way the model hand was. “Father – I need – where –”

Father. You wonder if Tenko knows what happened to his father – but he’s feeling around on the concrete with the maybe-broken hand, and you realize what he’s looking for. “It’s over here,” you say. “Stay there. I can –”

“No.” Tenko lunges past you, seizes the hand, secures it over his face. Then he turns on you, and the hatred in his eyes sends a bolt of pure terror down your spine.

He knocks you onto your back. You know some self-defense – like any girl, like any person without a quirk – and you kick and thrash, arching your back, trying to throw him off. Some part of your mind is still spinning, because it’s Tenko, your best friend, who wants to be a hero – and it’s Tenko, his forearm coming down across your throat and half his body weight leaning onto it. You cough and sputter, and Tenko raises his other hand, all five fingers outstretched. “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll kill you fast. Lie and it’ll be slow. Who are you?”

You don’t know how he expects you to answer with his arm over your throat. Dark spots are beginning to fill your vision. You shove at his arm, and his hand closes around your wrist. His grip is hot and dry and shaking, and a split second after he’s touched you, the burning starts. It’s like his hand is dipped in acid, like it’s clawing through your skin one layer at a time, and you scream in pain. Or you try to. He increases the pressure on your throat and chokes the sound off. “Don’t touch me,” he snarls. “And don’t scream. Who are you?”

You manage to rasp out your name, and you see Tenko’s expression shift. “We went to school together,” you gasp. “I lived across the street from you. We played together. You were –”

You black out for a second, and the pressure on your throat lifts slightly. “What?” Tenko spits. “I was what?”

“My best friend,” you whisper. Your eyes well up, tears running down your face when you blink. “I missed you so much –”

Tenko stares down at you for a moment longer. Then he recoils away from you, up onto his feet and back five or six steps. He’s cradling his wrist. You roll from your back to your side and gasp for air. There’s a rattle in your breathing that tells you your windpipe’s damaged, and when you blink the tears and spots from your vision to stare at your wrist, you see that your skin is raw, bloody and oozing. There’s the outline of all five of Tenko’s fingers, his thumb and middle finger joined, rotted into your skin.

“Go,” Tenko says. You look numbly up at him and see his face twisted behind the hand. “Now.”

Your wrist – his hair – his eyes – Tenko has a quirk now. An awful quirk. “What happened to you?” you ask helplessly. “Where did you go? Are you –”

“Go!” Tenko snaps at you. “Before I change my mind. Run!”

You scramble backwards and collide with something. The energy drink and the package of candy, which you dropped when you ran to help Tenko after he fell. The sight of them makes you want to burst into tears again. You don’t want to take them with you. You bought them for him. Without looking his way, you pick them up and set them on the ground between the two of you, pushing them towards him so he knows who they’re for. Then you force yourself to your hands and your knees and your feet and run for your life, away from the best friend you now know you’ve lost for good.

You didn’t want Tenko to be dead, and he isn’t. But Kazuo was right, too. Maybe dead would have been better. Anything would have been better than this.

(bnha manga ending spoilers)

what was the point

what was the point

what was the point

WHAT WAS THE POINT

WHAT WAS THE POINT

WHAT WAS THE POINT 😭😭

what was the pointtttt

When he knows you dont like to be carried, but he does it anyway. So you hang on, like you're about to fall. LOL

Reblog if you talk to your fictional lover when you’re alone

going home

CHAPTER 1

bnha masterlist

pairing: tomura shigaraki x fem reader

summary: Stranded in another world that eerily follows the plot of your favourite manga, you find yourself sucked into the story, trapped on the side of the villains. You're just a girl who knows too much and wants to go home, but with Tomura Shigaraki watching you, escape won't be easy.

notes: I know this is a kinda cringey premise but I've had this idea trapped in my head for months and I love shigaraki so here.

chapter contains: attempted sexual assault (not shigaraki), canon typical violence

——————————————————————————————————

Shigaraki

Tomura was in a bad mood. 

This whole business with the Hero Killer had really pissed him off. Made worse by the fact that the media was still looping his arrest footage, his oh so tragic backstory. Every convenience store and outlet on the way back from the mall was running it.  

But what about his Nomu? They’d terrorized Hosu. They should be on the front page. He’d attacked the USJ. His master had promised that the world would learn to fear him. This was bullshit. Fucking Stain .  

Tomura ducked his head low beneath the dark shadow of his hood, keeping to the alleys and deserted side streets on his way back to the bar. The sun was dipping below the horizon, night rising, but it was still best to be careful. After all, he’d just held that Midoriya kid hostage at the mall and there were bound to be heroes looking for him by now. They could look all they liked, with Father in his pocket instead of on his face, he’d be unrecognizable. Unlike Stain, his face wasn’t being blasted on TVs across Japan.  

At least that little mall trip had helped. Tomura was still pissed, but now he had some clarity, something to work for. Killing All Might and forcing this rotten society to question just how secure its sense of peace and justice was. Yeah , he liked the sound of that.  

He grinned and kicked a can down the street. It clanked against the pavement in a hollow roll, but its tin-rattle was quickly drowned out by the voices Tomura heard in the next lane over.  

He slipped around the corner and raised a brow at the scene before him.  

There was a woman on the ground in a pile of rubbish and a blanket, looking wide-eyed up at two guys standing above her. She looked like shit, but that didn’t seem to phase the men. They were practically licking their lips as they leered down at her ragged figure. Gross .  

Tomura thought he might have seen them around before, they were pretty generic looking; just two NPCs playing at being villains. Clearly low level. The taller one had no obvious quirk, and his hair stuck up in pineapple spikes, sleeve tattoos plastered to his skin. The shorter one, who was now grabbing the woman roughly by her shirt and yanking her up, had massive radio-dish ears – a hearing quirk of some sort. Potentially useful.  

“Pretty stupid of you to be sleeping out here where anyone could grab ya!” said Radio-Head.  

The woman leaned as far back as she could. “Let me go!” she said, in English.  

Tomura raised his other brow. He could understand English well enough, though he was better at reading than speaking. His master had wanted him prepared to make allies with whomever it took, Japanese or foreigner. Still, it was jarring to hear her English against the familiar Japanese of the two men who had her.  

“Foreigner?” said Pineapple-Head. “No way. This is great!” 

“Yeah, means she won’t go to the heroes. They’d never believe her!” Radio-Head yanked her close and she yelped, kicking out at his knees only to be pressed against the rough brick of the alley wall. “Isn’t that right lovely?”  

“Fuck off! Let me go!” she said, again in English. She bit Radio-Head's fingers when he tried to press a palm over her mouth.  

He jumped back and Pineapple-Head pinned her arms instead. “You good?” he asked.  

“Fucking bitch bit me!”  

Tomura had had enough of watching this cutscene like some creepy vouyer. He shoved his hands in his pockets, pinkies tucked into his palms, and slipped out of the shadows, heading down the alley toward the bar. The two men startled, caught like misbehaving kids. Pineapple-Head almost jumped out of his tattoos. Radio-Head pulled out a knife and stood in the way. He hid his throbbing fingers. Tomura smirked. Heh . The woman was clearly pretty stupid if she let herself be caught sleeping out here, but at least she wasn’t just rolling over for these losers. Even now, she was trying to wriggle free as the men glared Tomura down like he was a threat, a bigger dog who might wrench away their bone. 

“Fuck are you doing here?” Radio-Head said. “Can’t you see this alley’s taken? 

“Yeah, piss off man!” said Pineapple-Head in the lamest gangster voice ever. 

Tomura scowled. Who the hell were these bastards to tell him to leave? Did they have any idea who they were dealing with?  

The woman called out this time. “Help!” she said and strained towards him.  

Tomura’s scowl only deepened. What, did she think he was her hero or something? This was her own mess. He needed to get back to the bar before Kurogiri bugged him. Plus, he had those new recruits to deal with – the crazy girl and the ugly guy with patchwork scars.  

“Get going before I make you!” said Radio-Head, brandishing his knife. It gleamed white in the rising moonlight. The bastard was all confidence as he barrelled closer.  

Tomura didn’t like that. Didn’t appreciate being threatened .  

He huffed. “You really think you could make me leave?” And he took a step forward, fingers itching in his hoodie, the weight of Father suddenly heavier. He was just going to leave; this woman wasn’t his problem. But these cocky assholes were just begging to be destroyed.  

And besides, he was still in a bad mood .  

Pineapple-Head was starting to move his palms toward the woman’s chest when Radio-Head lurched forward. The knife swiped in an ungraceful arch, missing Tomura almost comically. Off balance, Radio-Head fell forward, caught only by four fingers.  

“You know, you really should be more careful with that thing.” The knife clattered against the ground as Tomura pressed a fifth finger down. “Somebody might get hurt .” 

Radio-Head couldn’t even scream as his body turned to ash.  

“What the fuck?!” Pineapple-Head, finally catching on, forgot the woman and dashed for Tomura. He had no weapons, but he extended a palm and blinding light spewed out in an arrow. An emitter quirk, then.  

Tomura ducked it but had to squint as he reached out and held Pineapple-Head's face in his palm. The creep struggled and gasped, a fish on the chopping block, as veins of decay spread over his skin. He didn’t turn straight to dust, but rather, fell to the floor in chunks. His blood ran in lines through the grooves of the pavement.  

Tomura grinned. The thrill of destruction coursed through him, had his heart pounding. He’d killed them. The incessant itch that had bothered him since the Stain incident dissipated just a bit and he breathed deeply. Damn that felt good.  

“You killed them.”  

Oh, right. He forgot about her. 

The woman had cowered back in her nest of squalor, palms pressed flat to the ground, back against the wall, eyes rimmed with the glass of coming tears. She cast her gaze between her villainous saviour and the two dead piles of men.  

“Yeah, I did,” Tomura said in English. He grinned wider and stepped toward her. One more kill couldn’t hurt. Besides, this woman had seen his face. Seen him kill. It’s not like he could let her live.  

But as he approached, fingers poised to kill, she suddenly stood up. “Thank you!” she said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She whispered it to herself, over and over, lowering her head in relief.  

Tomura hesitated. His movements stuttered. Was she seriously thanking him right now?  

She looked up at him, and there was something sickly about her that made Tomura almost feel sorry for her. A pallidness, a darkness. An otherness. She looked like she'd been sleeping in this alley for a while. She looked pathetic.  

Tomura pursed his lips and shook his hood back on. “Whatever,” he said in Japanese. He walked away, reaching for Father, for the sick comfort of the hand over his face. He really should kill her. He headed back toward the bar. 

“Wait!” Footsteps.  

Tomura ignored her, feeling an itch creep up his neck. The woman jogged up beside him, following.  

“Hey, please!”  

He could feel her looking at him as she struggled to keep pace. Would she just piss off already before he changed his mind? He didn’t have time for this side quest. “Go away.”  

“I need help.” 

The itch grew worse. “Do I look like a hero to you?” Tomura hissed.  

She stepped in front of him. "Please. Can you-" she paused, looked up at the hand on his face. Recognition lighted her eyes. She backed away. "Oh, you're..."

Her back was against the alley wall in a second, Tomura’s four fingered grip around her throat. He squeezed hard. He itched harder. This was more like it, the fear in her eyes, not that sappy gratefulness. Finally, someone who knew who he was.

He bared his teeth, scarred skin pulling tight. "Oh, you recognise me? That's nice."

The woman couldn't even speak.

“I did tell you to piss off,” he mumbled in Japanese, a little lightness entering his voice, a little laughter. He reached up and scratched, nails dragging coarse red lines over his neck. So itchy. “I'm glad to be noticed," he switched back to English, "but can't have you running to tell the heroes where I am, so...”

He pressed his fifth finger down.  

And nothing happened.  

No relief, no thrill, no death. The woman stared down at him, her pulse rapid in her throat. She didn’t decay. Tomura pressed in harder, as though he could tear into her flesh and turn her to dust. But she just wheezed. His quirk had no effect on her.  

His bloodshot eyes went wide. Why the hell wasn’t she dying ?  

“ Please ,” she said. "Don't."

Tomura sucked in a harsh breath; his eyes slitted into vicious papercuts. It must be her quirk. Some sort of immunity, like Eraserhead. He was touching her, skin to skin, hand on neck, and she wasn’t dead.

“What’s your quirk?” he demanded.  

The woman grimaced, tugging at his hand. “Quirk?”  

“Yeah. Tell me.” Tomura leaned closer, breath on her face. He needed to know. He needed...

But no amount of closeness could have prepared him for her response.  

She took a weak breath and shook her head. “I don't have a quirk...”  

Before Tomura could even understand what she meant, her eyes slipped closed and her head lulled into strangled unconsciousness.  

TOMURA SHIGARAKI MADE THE TOP 3 IN THE FINAL COMMUNITY BNHA POPULARITY POLL!!!!!!!

Followed by Dabi in 4th, and Toga in 6th ✌️🖤

shig keeping count how many times he can make you cum before you're shaking and sobbing from overstimulation

“It really is cute how sensitive your little body gets after your fifth orgasm, you know.” He trails his hands lightly down your stomach, your tummy muscles clenching in anticipation and agony. Your knees are trying to jerk shut to prevent him access, but the binds around your ankles keep your legs splayed. Your chest rises and falls in erratic rhythm, breath only barely returning to you after your last dive over the edge. 

“Don’t- Please don’t!” 

Some of the tears beading on your lashes slip down your cheeks as you slam your eyes shut. You can’t take anymore. Physically, you can’t. Yet, you can feel his pinkie finger tracing little figure eights up your leg and every muscle in your body clenches in protest. It doesn’t matter how much you buck and hiss against his treatment, the frame of the bed never gives way to your tantrum. 

He cocks his head with all the feigned innocence of a child who pretends they don’t know they’ve done wrong. “What’s the matter? I thought this was supposed to feel good?” The cold, sarcastic tone to his voice breaks the facade if nothing else does, but the callous way his nails dig into your thigh is a close second. 

He sees you flinch and tremble as he slowly draws closer to your apex and his lips tick in a sick sense of satisfaction. There’s a practiced sort of patience in his actions, the way he comes near enough to your overstimulated heat to make you imbed your fingernails into your palms until your knuckles turn white only for him to withdraw over and over without ever allowing you to relinquish the sense of dread it brings when he does. The second he’s seen that you’ve formed some sense of calm around his wandering fingers is when he strikes. 

“I can’t! Seriously, I can’t!”

He gives you a derisive look of sympathy and you know it means nothing. He doesn’t want to hear you beg. If he did, he would have accomplished his goal hours ago. Truth be told, you’re not entirely sure what he wants. The only thing that you know is that there’s such a thing as too much pleasure and he has perfected exactly how to weaponize that against you. You’re strapped down, at his mercy, and he looks far from bored. 

He’s gaining something from this, surely some sadistic urge is being filled, because he hasn’t even taken off his clothes. This hasn’t even begun yet and you’re sick in the knowledge. He’s molding you like a ball of play-dough, squeezing and squishing until you’re malleable enough for him to want to play with. Judging by the way he’s still skirting the edges of your thighs and showing no signs of moving from his sitting position beside you, you’re not broken enough to be any fun yet. 

You’re rubbed raw, legs chafing with a tacky trail leading from where he found his way inside you before to where his hand dances tenderly around your pebbled nipple. Every grace of his fingertips across you pimples your flesh and makes you acutely aware he’s just toying with you. He drives the point home by scratching up your hip, little red welts raising over skin as your leg jerks instinctively from the pain despite the fact that you know you can’t break free. 

“It’s actually impressive. This long and you’re still so responsive.” He muses, poking and prodding at your chest like a specimen. “I thought you would have gone numb a long time ago.” 

He punctuates his sentence with a none-to-gentle pinch on your breast. You can’t bring yourself to tell him that’s not entirely how it works, not when you can practically see the wheels turning in head turning as he contemplates how he wants to torture you next. His pupils are dilated as they run over your exposed form and you’re not entirely sure whether its with arousal or sheer curiosity. With him, it’s anyone’s guess.

“Please, I can’t take it!”

His hand finds its way between your legs again, cupping and stroking with one finger so lightly that normally you likely wouldn’t even be able to register it, but in your hypersensitivity, your thigh muscles twitch and a wail of agony bubbles in your throat. 

“Aw, baby can’t take it anymore?”

He leans in, leaving one hand to coax your already overindulged pussy, the other softly caressing your cheek. It’s a warning sign, a crocodile lazily observing its pray before snapping shut its jaws. His heavily lidded eyes scan your face, sides of his lips curling into a deceptively delicate smile. Your head lulls into his hand, and even though you know the dangers, you fall into his trap.

You regret it as quickly as you do it, and you cry out in a mixture of devastating bliss and torment as his finger plunges back up inside your sore walls, stimulating the overworked nerves with the pads of his fingertip. 

“Why don’t we find out just how much you can really take?” 

Tattoo artist! Toumura Shigaraki! At 11:33pm

Afab!Reader x Tomura Shigaraki

Smut! Read at your own risk <3

I'm sorry but this man gives me🦋🦋🦋🦋

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

Okay so, small detail. I feel like instead of wearing those full-cover gloves, he'd wear gloves that were fingerless (if they are allowed).

You just wanted a cute tattoo, you didn't think you'd get... a sneaky link as well.

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

You walked in the renovated-bar, where the tattoo store was located and BOY. You did not expect your artist to be this hot, his voice was so intoxicating and his hair... god his hair looked so gorgeous. And with your incredible luck, the receptionist gave HIM to you for your appointment!

Apparently his name was Shigaraki, he was explaining the procedures of getting a tattoo, but you just focused on his hands. He had fingerless gloves, some fingers were still covered but still, they were long and...

"Alright, where do you want your tattoo?"

"Oh! Uhm, on (prefered location) please."

"Since you asked nicely, sure."

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

My goodness, if you could die right there, you would. His hands held onto your skin as he used the tool to press the ink into your skin. You chose a (insert design), and according to his words 'be sure to not regret it.' Oh you would never, heck you might just get more tattoos' just to see him again.

His shoulders, his neck, you found the perfect piece of eye candy for you. When the ink stopped, you snapped back into reality to see him talk (more like shout) with the receptionist saying that they'll be awhile. But didn't he say it would only take only 2 hours? Sure the awhile could mean that but-

"I know your checking me out."

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

You always took notice of his slender, long fingers. But feeling them INSIDE YOU? You were gone, all you could think about was the hot tattoo artist fingering you on the seat.

"Shh... be quiet. Not unless you want them to hear?"

"ugh... please~"

"Shut it slut. Be quiet and I'll give you something more than my fingers."

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

You ended up getting his number, he didn't give you the 'more' but he said after his shift. So you left with a tattoo, and a new found lover? It took him about 3 more hours until his shift ended, and he was now heading towards your home.

You thought about preparing a meal, but when you went to answer the door whilst cooking, he just pounced onto you and started kissing your neck and nipping at your delectable skin. Small moans slipped as you both made your way to the kitchen... the meal, forgotten.

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

After that night, he became not only your sneaky link but also a close friend. He'd come running if you asked him to rail, fuck, finger, and etc.

When he's eating you out, his focus was solely focused on your taste and where he sucked. (his focus is strong since he has to avoid mistakes on a client's skin)

When he's fucking you? Oh he'd degrade you, hard. He'd have one hand on your throat and the other holding one of your legs up, as he spits insults and small praises from time to time.

Your ability to walk? HA, you lost that the day he fingered you. You were practically wobbling out of the tattoo store, no weird looks, but yeah.

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

Hope you enjoyed! Have a good day/afternoon/night. &lt;3