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aimfor-theheart · 4 years

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COIN TOSS– PART II

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, a little Shouta Aizawa x Reader

SUMMARY: As you fall asleep, you wonder faintly, almost sadly, if you’re the first thing he’s fully touched without losing in a long time.

You are Eraserhead’s troubled protege with a Quirk that cancels out others the moment they touch you. Tomura Shigaraki takes great interest in you.

(Enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, some hurt/comfort)

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, age gap/power struggle, violence, gore, Tomura’s trauma specifically, (in later chapters) murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut, some blurred lines, rough sex, a smidge of a spit kink, a smidge of somnophilia (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading or interacting with this!

A/N: again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing!! and thank you guys for the support and comments on the first part! here is your part two!! it's tomura heavy, but for those who love shouta, there's a lot of him in the final part! i hope you enjoy! let me know what you thought!

i also am obsessed with making playlists for when i write and i spend far too much time organizing it all and making sure the songs blend together so if you'd like to take a look at the playlist i made for this fic, it's here!

Read on Ao3

***

Shouta, like the responsible adult he is, soothes things out with you. Well, it doesn’t feel very soothed to you, but Shouta’s made his position clear and you’ve both returned to some semblance of normalcy.

He keeps his distance.

You try not to overstep, but you’re aching and furious.

(You’re holding a secret, too, letting it tear apart your insides, letting it turn circles in your mind until all you can think about is the chill of rain, the bite of a desperate kiss).

You hate that Shouta has retreated from you now. You hate that he’ll stop his hand before reaching out to touch you, like he always has to make sure, like he has to decide if that will be good for you. If you can handle it.

You feel shockingly alone.

You lash out at him more, bicker and argue over things you never used to. You don’t even know why you do it, can’t stop yourself from trying to dig into him. You regret it every time when all he gives you is impassiveness, levelheaded coolness. An adult speaking with an unruly child. He’s good at that, unfortunately.

Some days you want to beg him for answers. Why can’t you love me the way I love you? Is it me? How would you have me? If I was older? I can be more mature, I can be better and better and better–

His undercover work grows greater, draws him away from both you and Shinsou more. Shouta seems to ghost around your life now, drawn away from you, keeping a very careful space between you both.

But there are nights where he tells you to train with Shinsou alone now. You feel responsible. Mature. You glow with pride that he can trust you with one of his students, that you could be a mentor to Shinsou, too.

You grow closer to Shinsou because of this, too, when it’s just the two of you in the gym.

There is one evening in particular, when you’re both sprawled out on the floor taking a too-long water break because Shouta isn’t around when he admits that he used to be– still is sometimes– feared for his Quirk.

He tells you everyone expected him to be a villain.

“I used to be a thief,” you admit, “I was a petty villain, I guess.”

Shinsou looks at you and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t entirely show it, except for the lifting of his brows. You don’t sense judgement from him, though, when he asks, “Really?”

You take another swig of water, humming in affirmation. You swallow, “I was homeless, had no money, nothing. I was stealing from a supermarket when Shouta caught me.”

“You were just trying to survive,” Shinsou adds, like he’s trying to justify the crime, like it soothes him to know there was a good reason for a misdeed.

“Sure,” you reply, fiddling with your water bottle, “But I stole things I didn’t need, too. Just things I wanted.”

“But you’ve changed,” Shinsou says and you can’t tell if he’s trying to reassure himself or you more. “You’re a hero now.”

“Only because my circumstances changed. I was given a roof over my head, food to fill me. Clothes of my own that fit and weren’t torn. I was accepted.” You explain, “If it hadn’t been for Shouta, I would never have become a hero.”

Shinsou is silent, watching you.

“I’d probably be in jail. Or still a thief, in the least, if any other hero would’ve caught me.”

You don’t know why, but you think of Shigaraki suddenly. You think of how young some of the League of Villains are. You wonder if it had been them who offered you food and a home, if you’d be with them now, and not here, sitting on the floor of a nice, sparkling gym attached to U.A.’s dorms.

Something strange grows inside you, something a little bitter. It simmers with sympathy for them, for their lives. For kids like Shinsou with their villainous quirks. You wonder if he’d been poor, if he’d been alone, would he be here, too? Or somewhere else?

“But you were good before,” he says, and it almost feels naive, “I know you’re good.”

You shrug, “Good is relative, you know? I thought I was good because I didn’t kill people, I didn’t steal from other poor people, but society didn’t think I was good. I was still a thief.”

“But you were only a thief because you needed to survive.” he says again, “When given the chance, you changed and became a hero.”

“Exactly.” you say, “How many villains do you think just needed a chance?”

Shinsou goes silent now. His brows furrow in thought, pinching together in a way that makes him look a little too old for his age. You think all of the kids at U.A. grow up too quickly, all of them with too much on their small shoulders.

They’re only kids.

You’re barely older.

Shigaraki is barely older than you.

You push him out of your mind, toss your water bottle aside, and rise to your feet again. “C’mon,” you offer Shinsou your hand to help him up, too, “Shouta would kill me to know I let you lay around so much.”

This seems to pull him from his thoughts and he snorts, taking your hand.

You pull him up. And you both stare at each other a moment. You think he looks at you in a different light now and it isn’t bad, no, he seems to be pondering you more.

(And you’ll realize later that he’s become more sympathetic, that he sees you in villains now, reminds himself they’re people, too, with lives and needs and wants–)

It gives you a strange hope, as you begin to train with him again, to know that he’s the future of hero society.

***

Tomura spots you while he’s out stealing with Toga. Usually it’s Twice or Magne with her, but Twice was onto something else and Toga had decided to latch herself onto him for the day. He’s grown to tolerate her.

Besides, she’d managed to steal him a jean jacket, dark, rough, and worn with holes but it keeps him warmer while still being able to keep the hood of his sweatshirt up to hide himself. To blend in. She’d stolen herself something, too, as the weather begins to get colder and they still don’t have a base, wandering aimlessly.

(He feels stupidly responsible for them. But he’s learned good leaders are, in some way, responsible for their people. They don’t have to care in any way that is emotional, but they have to care in some way, make the group feel important to them. And begrudgingly, they are important to him–)

You’re with a boy around Toga’s age. Wild violet hair. You’re laughing at something he’s saying and you’re sharing street food, he thinks, something that’s warm, steaming up into the air.

He feels a vicious surge of jealousy for a moment. It’s so sharp and jarring that he reaches up to scratch at his neck, tearing into his skin.

But the boy looks too young and you tousle his hair like he’s a younger brother, not someone romantic. While there’s familiarity between you two, it’s not overly intimate.

Toga, unfortunately, follows his line of sight.

She looks between him and you. She tilts her head and Tomura can practically see the gears turning in her strange little mind.

“Do you know them?” she asks, almost innocently.

He doesn’t know why, but he says, “Just her.”

Toga looks back at you. She watches as you talk with the boy– the sun through the autumn leaves cast you in tangerine light, all golden and warm.

When she looks back at Tomura, a smile creeps onto her face. One that he knows is going to give him a migraine.

“She’s so pretty,” she trills, eyeing him too closely.

Tomura scratches at his neck again, harder, wincing a little when he feels a cut reopen.

“Do you have a crush, Tomura?” Toga sings, dancing in front of him to force herself into his line of sight.

“No,” Tomura snaps, bristling, which only seems to encourage her.

“Let’s say hi!” she says, about to bound off and Tomura catches her by the scruff of her jacket like a kitten. He’s wearing his partial gloves, but he still keeps a finger away from her.

“No,” he hisses, firmer now, pulling her back towards him. “They’re heroes. Don’t get distracted.”

Toga twists in his hold, wide-eyed for a moment, before her face settles into another enormous and excited smile. “You’re in love with a hero, too?!”

Tomura grits his teeth, snarling out, “I’m not in love with anyone.” He shakes her then and she yelps a little, “Now focus. We need food and I don’t want to deal with them.”

Toga finally squirms her way out of his hold, pouting at him, “You’re no fun.” she whines and all he does is shoulder past her. He stalks ahead, trying not to look at you again, if only to not draw your eye.

“Do you want to starve?” he asks waspishly, glancing at Toga over his shoulder.

She huffs, rolling her eyes, before hustling to catch up to him. She hums a strange little tune the rest of the time, knocking into his side, throwing him new looks as if to suggest they share some sort of commonality or secret. He grits his teeth but suffers through her torment.

When they return to the rest of the League with what they’d stolen, Toga announces to the whole group, “Tomura is in love with a hero, too!”

The migraine that had begun earlier in his temples reaches full force now. He doesn’t bother trying to deny it. He decides he doesn’t care.

Dabi’s laugh grates on him, though, “Is that so? Which little hero?” he asks Toga, and just as she’s skipping past him, he snags her, snatching the granola bar she’d had in her hand from their little raid.

She turns to grab it back and he pulls it out of her reach, “I don’t know! Give that back!” she squawks, clawing at him.

She must really dig at him because Dabi hisses, “You little twerp–” Just before Magne snatches the outstretched granola bar from Dabi’s hand. She hands it back to Toga, who quickly rushes off with it now.

And thankfully, for Tomura’s sanity, you’re not brought up again.

But he hadn’t noticed you– hadn’t noticed the way you’d seen him with Toga, too. Just a girl Shinsou’s age, following after him like an eager puppy.

Shinsou had trailed beside you like that, too, when you’d both walked back to U.A. with full bellies and new coffees in hand, warm and content.

***

There is a night where Shouta is out doing work undercover and you’re left to patrol on your own. You can’t take Shinsou yet, since he hasn’t earned his provisional license. You don’t mind these nights, by yourself, when you stick to shadows and rooftops, watching the city from above.

It’s cooler now and you tuck your face into the high collar of your hero uniform to hide from the wind that brushes past.

It’s been a quiet night so far. There are other, flashier heroes patrolling, too, meandering around the sidewalks to deter petty crime.

You check the time on your phone, noting that you have a little less than an hour until your shift is over, until you can go home and take a hot shower in an attempt to warm yourself up– especially your fingers, the tips of your ears.

You stretch, standing on one of the low roofs of a building. You’re stiff from crouching, so you decide to move around, change position. You use a grappling tool to shoot it onto a higher roof of the next building. You scale the bricks easily and once safely up, retract your grappling hook.

You look out over the quiet city, the golden light of lampposts, the meandering of cars through the streets. Some restaurants and bars are still open, their windows look warm and inviting with the flush of people inside.

You waste most of the last hour of your shift trying to remain warm, keeping a careful eye on the world below.

Towards the end, you notice a familiar figure in one of the alleyways down below. You don’t even see his face, just the back of his hoodie, just the angle of his shoulders.

Just the way he walks.

The thought should frighten you– that you know him like this, that you’re familiar with just the movement of his body.

Shigaraki Tomura walks away from the soft light of the main city, slips away into alleyways and darkness. You glance at the time. Your shift is nearly over.

This counts as hero work, doesn’t it? Silently following after him?

You drop down onto a fire escape– leap off to latch onto a lower window sill, until you’re dropping silently on to the ground a distance away from him.

You are careful to keep away from him, to use everything Shouta taught you about stealth to remain hidden. And you know Shigaraki is observant, you know he’s always looking over his shoulder so you have to stick to hidden places– behind dumpsters, ducking into alcoves of buildings.

He heads back to the part of the city you grew up in, where everything is falling apart, where there are plenty of abandoned buildings for hiding, plenty of places for runaway teens and homeless to sleep. The cheapest apartments, the streets that are the least patrolled by heroes and police alike, where parts of the Yakuza groups are bolder.

These streets are familiar to you. It’s a strange trip down memory lane.

You think of the last time you saw Shigaraki and flush darkly– it was around here, too, what happened that night.

Still, you follow him because you think you still have some upper hand. Maybe he’ll lead you to the rest of the League of Villains. For a heartbeat, you wonder if you’ll tell Shouta, if you’ll tell the Hero Commissions– you’d have to, right? That isn’t some little squirmish. That’s important information.

But he doesn’t lead you to the rest of the League.

He leads you to an apartment building, small and falling apart on the outside. A window is boarded up poorly. There are stray cats that linger around the side, where the trash is. You’re sure there are rats and bugs, too. You’re sure the building is one bad day away from falling apart.

Shigaraki pauses by the door that is nearly falling off its hinges.

He glances over his shoulder, “Are you following me in, too?”

Your heart kicks up, hammering against the inside of your chest. You swallow hard, internally cursing.

For all your effort of stealth, he still noticed you?

Well, there’s no use lying about it now.

You step around the corner you’d been hiding behind, moving towards the glow of a street light that flickers in and out of power to reveal yourself fully to him.

“When did you notice me?” you ask, peering at him, at the shape of him in the dark.

You catch the lifting of his scar when he smiles, just a baring of teeth, “I saw you on the roof.”

Damn, you curse again, you’ll have to work on that, “That bad, huh?”

He shrugs gracelessly, lifting of his shoulders only for them to fall unevenly, “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known. You were silent otherwise.”

It feels like a compliment– a generous one, coming from him. You don’t know why you have to hold off a smile.

He turns back to the door, shouldering it open. He walks through the archway without another word. He leaves it open and it seems there is no light on the inside, just a blackness that swallows up your vision. He disappears inside.

You stand there, beneath the light that flickers in and out, eyeing the doorway. You could go now, run back home to Shouta, to the Hero Commission and tell them you think you know where he stays, you have a lead on him. You look behind you, glance at the alleyway you came from with it’s’ dull, fluorescent lights that splash against the concrete, that barely fight against the shadows.

You look back towards where Shigaraki had been, the entrance to the building.

You’d probably even get extra little hero points for it from the Commission.

Shouta would be proud of you.

For bringing them to this dilapidated, shabby little apartment complex that rests on the streets of the place you used to call home.

You swallow hard, flex your freezing fingers.

Then you step towards the doorway, peer inside carefully. You hold your breath and the door creaks quietly when you cross it’s threshold, into the darkness.

Tomura is mildly surprised when he hears the door creak behind him. He can feel you, even in the dark of this hallway, the tentative steps you take after him. They’re almost shy.

But you followed him, didn’t you?

You followed and followed and followed him– and of course you did, he thinks, you had kissed him back, hadn’t you?

He supposes you could be playing a part, trying to get close to him but his intuition tells him differently, not with the genuine reaction you’d had. Your sudden guilt for giving in to him. Still, he’ll be careful around you.

He’ll probably have to move again, which would be a shame, since he has already killed the tenant of this apartment– he’d been sure they wouldn’t be missed by anyone, made sure he’d have time. He did the work to get it, thought he’d have it for just long enough until the League made another move.

He almost wants to test you, see if you’re going to run and tattle on his location. He wonders how far you’re willing to follow him.

Tomura walks steadily down the hallway, to the apartment he has taken claim to. He unlocks the door, hands in his partial gloves, shoving it with his shoulder to then enter. He leaves it open for you.

The apartment is a studio, shabby and the heat isn’t amazing, but it has hot water and a lack of bugs in this particular room. It has furniture– a bed, specifically, was all he had cared about. There’s empty wrappers of food and cans of energy drinks on the counters because he doesn’t really bother to pick up after himself but otherwise, the space isn’t his. There’s nothing else of his, besides some spare clothes on the floor.

And still, you follow him here, too. But you stand at the doorway, peeking inside.

He glances at you and is reminded of a fox, something with clever eyes but wary, a little skittish– would bite if he got too close too soon.

So he gives you space, just like he let you leave.

If there’s one thing Tomura has learned, it’s patience. Any good plan takes patience. The reward is always sweeter. The longer and harder the level, the greater the wins.

He ignores you, puts even more distance between the two of you as he wanders further in. He flicks on lights. He takes off his shoes, shrugs off his jean jacket and throws it over the couch. He gives the appearance of carelessness, of letting his guard down. Non threatening.

And you take your fist shy step inside. The door behind you remains ajar, though, for escape.

Tomura has to fight a terrifying smile, fight the sudden twisting in his heart, the inhale of his breath.

“I don’t know how wise it was of you to bring a hero to your home.” you finally speak, cutting through the silence. You’re trying to be witty, but he can tell you’re nervous.

“This isn’t my home,” he answers.

Home, with it’s round and warm syllabus, is not what he thinks of this place.

You eye him some more, but before you can respond, he says, “I don’t know how wise it was of you to follow a villain into his home.”

“I thought it wasn’t your home,” you quip and he only gives you a dry look.

Your bravado is wavering, especially when the door clicks shut behind you, your hand finally falling to your side.

And the two of you are sealed away from the outside world.

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask him and your voice is deceptively quiet. Small.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks in return.

You inhale like you’re trying to steady yourself, “Because I’m supposed to.”

Tomura smiles now, something lazy, almost amused. He knows it’s a lie, can feel it slide along his skin, can see the floundering, desperate look in your eyes.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks again, forcing himself not to move, not to step towards you in his budding excitement. Patience, he tells himself, be patient.

“Why did you kiss me?” you ask instead and the question is raw, as if it’s plagued you, haunted you like an insistent ghost. Crept around in the back of your mind, growing teeth and fangs and spindly, lampshade bat wings large enough to terrify you.

The idea that he’s taken root in your mind in the same way you have infested his is near dizzying.

Tomura weighs his answers carefully. He’s silent for a long moment and it’s heavy, charged with something that he can’t name– has never felt before.

When he speaks, his voice is just a rasp of breath, a little more honest than he’d like, a touch annoyed with the truth, “Because I wanted to.”

Another long stretch of silence where you watch him carefully, where he can see your chest rising and falling too quickly. He can see that frightened look in the rounding of your eyes, the high flush in your cheeks.

And when you speak again, it’s hardly louder than a whisper, like it’s all you can manage,“Do you want to kiss me again?”

It is far too gentle of a question for what he wants– it almost feels innocent, juvenile. Out of place between the two of you. But he’ll take it, he’ll take whatever you give him and then some.

He takes a step towards you. You don’t flinch away so he takes another, then another, until he is standing in front of you. You’re close now– so close that he has to force air into his lungs. He reminds himself of patience, of waiting–

He could take whatever he wanted from you now, he supposes, but he doesn’t want to have to wrestle you for it. He wants it given freely, he wants you to kiss back, like you had before. He wants you to willingly submit and it’s taken longer but it’ll be sweeter, so much sweeter.

“Are you going to run away again?” he asks and he can feel his heart quicken, the squeezing of it awful and tight.

You look up at him in a way that reminds him of his dreams, the ones he pretends to hate, where you make those small, soft noises. Where you let him touch you and taste you and have you.

And you shake your head no, just fractionally, the barest hint of movement but it’s enough for him.

The force of his kiss slams you back against the door. You make a surprised noise against him as he crushes himself to you. It’s just as violent as the first, but this time you take back what he gives. You get your bearings quicker, like you’ve learned a lesson already. He grins into the kiss, opening it, when he feels your little hands clawing at his shoulders, at his back.

He groans when you part your lips for him, when you lick tentatively into his mouth. He possesses you, bears onto you, pinning you to the door as his hands, still gloved, curl around your sides, your hips.

Your hero costume is tight, fits the curves of you snugly and in a way that’s making him nearly insane. He isn’t careful, doesn’t care if he’s moving too fast now as his hands roam and grab and squeeze. There’s layers between you, he naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

One of your hands tightens in his hair, pulling when he bites your bottom lip.

But you don’t seem to mind, either, with the way your breath is hitching, with the way you’re trying to pull him closer, desperately fuse him to you.

Your lips are so soft, he notices, even with the forcefulness with which you’re kissing him back.

It feels surreal for a moment, like one of his dreams, when he parts from your mouth only to slot his lips against your jaw, your neck. A whine is loosened from you, which breaks when he sets teeth to the vulnerable line of your throat.

Your hands are in his hair still, body arching into him eagerly. Youthful in your earnestness.

You’re better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, so alive and rosy and warm beneath his hands, beneath his mouth, which is making a mess of your neck. A particular hard suck over the sensitive line of your pulse makes you pull at his hair.

“Don’t leave a mark,” you hush and he thinks you meant to sound more threatening, but it’s softened by the desperation in your voice.

He scoffs into your throat, dragging teeth roughly along your skin.

“Shigaraki–”

“Tomura.” he corrects without thinking, finally pulling away to look at you, which is almost a mistake because you–

You’re flushed, lips kiss stung and pink, all swollen. Your head is tipped back, exposing the column of your throat, hair mussed with being pressed to the door so roughly. Your eyes are hazy and fever pink with your Quirk activated, like spring flowers, glowing in the low light.

He thinks of paintings and colors and dreams, something like beauty, if he knew anything about that.

And he’s so hard it hurts, teeth grinding together as he looks at you because he can’t even fucking stomach this feeling.

Then you repeat his name for him, “Tomura.”

He’s never heard his name like that, bedroom soft, more of a lullaby and less of a tragedy. He feels like he’s going to shake apart, his body to become just old ruins– he feels as if it’ll collapse inwards, topple over to crush his heart.

Where he’s usually seething and livid and clawing ruthlessly, the festering feeling in his chest is replaced with a new energy; something bursting and squirming and warm. His Quirk lies dormant and docile inside of him with your hand in his hair, your other now at his neck, fingers pressing lightly at his jaw.

It’s terrifying, he realizes, to not feel his Quirk at the edges of his fingers.

(It’s freeing, too, he’ll come to find, to not feel it’s weight, it’s demand that had been encouraged and shaped in him.)

You’re both trying to catch your breaths, looking at each other now. His fingers, still gloved, flex and squeeze at your waist, like he’s scared you’ll run off again.

You inch forward instead, rock onto the tips of your toes to press your lips to his again– softer this time, but no less heated, no less desperate.

He thinks you must be starving, too, with the way you pull him close. His mouth slants over yours, demanding more, a little rougher.

You squirm against the door, the slightest rocking of your hips– he can feel it against his thigh, against his waist. It makes him hiss out a breath against your lips, makes him grab harder at your waist, force you to do it again, harder this time.

You whine and it’s the snapping of his patience.

He reaches for the zipper at the back of your hero uniform, gives it a rough tug, pulling it down some. And then you’re pushing at him, nudging him away from the door and it’s a flurry of movement as you yank at his hoodie while he pulls at your clothes. You’re both stumbling further into the room, towards the bed pushed back into the corner.

Tomura feels young suddenly– feels his age. He feels like a twenty something year old with a girl in his apartment who wants his hoodie off. Who's kissing him hard in between every article of clothing that manages to come off.

He sits back on the edge of the bed to ease the rest of your cat-suit down. He watches with interest as you wiggle your hips to help him get the fabric down over you– and it’s nothing romantic, he doesn’t kiss the newly revealed skin, he doesn’t gently run his fingertips over you, but you grow shy under his gaze.

You’re still in undergarments, athletic slips of fabric, but his eyes fly over your face. You’re nervous, he can nearly feel it, with the way you shift, with the way you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and worry it.

A thought strikes him.

“Have you done this before?” he rasps, hooking his hand in the crux of your knee to drag your forward so you nearly fall into his lap.

“Yes,” you grit out, arms coming up to his shoulders to steady yourself. “Once.” you then shakily exhale.

He doesn’t particularly care– your answer wouldn’t have changed how he’d treat you. He’s not going to be gentler nor slower because you’re less experienced.

“Have you?” you ask, eyeing him, fingers nervously toying with the ends of his hair.

“Yes,” he says, perhaps too sharply, but he gives no other information and you don’t press him, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t have the patience for useless questions.

Rather, he pulls you down harder, so your bare thighs finally settle into his lap. He slides his gloved hands up the notches of your ribs to hitch beneath your bra. That comes off, too, and then he’s got his hands on you more. You gasp, arching into his touch when his fingers curl around a breast, fingers roughly brushing over the peak.

He doesn’t think anymore, just acts, just moves and does as he pleases. All the things he’s done in dreams or in his mind– he sets lips and teeth to your breast, tongue laving over your nipple. He forces your squirming still with an arm banded around your torso, keeping you flush to his eager mouth.

You yelp in pain when he uses his teeth too roughly, trying to jerk away from him but you can’t with his hold on you. He grins, mouth opening, spit slick and wet against your breast again. He groans against you when you pull on his hair.

But then he twists you, throws you down onto the bed only to crawl over you. He yanks at your panties just as you pull him down for another kiss– maybe to distract yourself, to settle your nerves. When you pull away, you’re on your back and he’s over you, your legs hitching over his narrow waist. His hands are on your thighs and you–

You suddenly grab for his hands.

“Take off your gloves,” you get out, breathless, and before he can respond, your fingers are sliding against his wrist, up to his hand, beneath the glove and against his palm.

It makes him shiver, makes him grit his teeth. You pull off one, then the other.

For a moment, he just looks at you all spread out and bare for him, his hands now open and uncovered, too.

You squirm under his scrutinizing gaze.

“C’mon,” you coax and he thinks you’re trying to find your bravado, “Touch me.”

There’s nothing between his hands and your skin now and he settles his palm on your stomach, beneath your breast.

He naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

“Tomura,” your voice is pitched, almost pleading, “You’re not going to hurt me– c’mon.”

He tenses for a moment, eyes flashing over your face. For a moment, his heart stumbles, he grows wary. He thinks of you slipping away beneath his touch, falling away into nothing and all he’d have is a bed of ashes.

But your eyes are bright with your Quirk.

His final finger comes down. Nothing happens, except you smile a little, except you arch up into his touch– alive and vivid and furiously warm.

He feels like he can’t breathe, can’t even function.

He catches a groan behind his teeth, falls forward as his hands become feverish and possessive, suddenly confident, suddenly brash– touching and squeezing and grabbing at you.

His teeth clank with yours as he tumbles into another kiss. You’re needier now, making those higher pitched noises that used to haunt him.

It drives him insane, makes him feel half feral, overeager and desperate. His fingers wander lower, seeking and searching, just as the kiss grows in intensity again. It’s messier, all open mouth and tongue.

When he pulls away, a string of spit connects the two of you and he lets more of the saliva pooling in his mouth drip down with it, letting it fall between your open lips, some on your bottom lip, too. It’s depraved and dirty and his eyes simmer as he gazes down at you.

Your face scrunches up as you go to wipe at your mouth, and he hates it because all he can think of is how cute that face is.

“Gross,” you mewl, but his fingers finally move between your legs and–

And all he finds is that you’re hot and slick for him.

He has to grit his teeth to keep from moaning.

But you nearly cry at the touch, a pathetic little noise, hips jolting like you’re not sure if you want to go towards his touch or away.

“Gross, huh?” Tomura asks, voice low, the pad of his finger sliding easily, teasing you slowly before he goads, “Why are you so wet then?”

He sinks a finger in suddenly– just because he can. Just because he wants to watch your face screw up again, which it does, your mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hm?” he hums, amused with the way you’re gasping beneath him. He starts a slow but deep rhythm and–

And he’s had sex before, a handful of times, but it’d always been for him. He hadn’t cared how the other person felt, hadn’t cared to try and get them off. But now he suddenly wishes he had learned, if only for you, now. He wants you as obsessed as he is, wants you to feel as maddened as he feels.

Thankfully, you’re so expressive. And he doesn’t have to worry about his fingers. He can find the spot inside you that makes you toss your head back into the sheets and moan for him, he can focus on the way you keen when he finds your clit with his thumb.

You’re a sensitive little thing, clawing at his bare shoulders, whining into his neck. He forces in another finger and you start rocking your hips, growing more desperate until–

“Fuck,” you gasp, “Fuck, I’m going to–”

He curls his fingers harder, watching your face as you fall apart, as you try and twist and squirm beneath him. He forces you through it, isn’t gentle, but selfish, wringing everything he can from you.

And when he’s finished watching you whimper and feeling you flutter and gush around his fingers, he takes them out only to force them between your lips.

Once more your face screws up, but you close your mouth around them and he groans low and raw. You look hazy, drooling all over his fingers, lashes fluttering prettily.

He uses his other hand to fumble with his belt, to work his pants down low enough for his cock, aching so bad that he swears he’s going to go insane–

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, watching the mess that comes with it, so wet and slick and shiny. He can’t help the growl he gives, before covering his mouth with yours again.

As you kiss, sloppy and desperate, Tomura slides the head of his cock against you and you’re so slippery and soft and molten for him that his next moan tapers off into a whine.

You pull away fractionally, “Shouldn’t we–”

He thinks maybe you were about to ask about protection of some kind, but he shoves inside you hard, breaches your body and watches as your eyes roll back, just about to cross as your nails turn sharp against his back.

You moan, low and drawn out.

He can’t help the absurd laugh that is wretched from him, his head dropping onto your neck as he snaps his hips forward. He can’t believe he’s actually gotten you here, in his bed, beneath him– let him inside where you’re so warm and soft.

“Fuck,” you gasp, maybe laced with pain, clawing at him, raking your nails down his back.

“Does it hurt?” he hisses, excited, his teeth coming down to close over your exposed neck.

“Yes,” you get out, almost a whimper, “Feels good, too.”

He snaps his hip forwards roughly, grinding deep as he laughs again when you just about sob into his shoulder.

You latch your teeth onto the vulnerable juncture between his neck and his shoulder, where you’d already laid claim to him once before.

He wrestles for your wrist, the one he broke, and forces it down onto the bed.

“Look at you,” he almost snarls, voice low and gravely, “Little hero letting me fuck her.”

You gasp when he angles his hips, when his other hand reaches beneath you, to fist a hand in your hair and pull so your neck is arched and exposed to him.

“I used to dream of this,” he admits roughly, the confession like a curse being spit out of his mouth, “Wanted to stalk you or possess you or–” he groans because he can feel how you’re throbbing around him, how slick you are for him, “Wanted to fucking ruin you–”

He pulls at your hair more, tries to get you to look at him through your wet lashes. The flash of pink meets red and his smile is more a cruel bearing of teeth.

“And you feel so much better than I dreamt– fuck, so much tighter–” he babbles as he ruts into you hard and quick. You keen, high and broken, just as he feels you flutter around him again and he almost loses his mind because–

“Are you going to fucking come again?” he growls, pulling harder on your hair.

“Yes,” you groan, “Please, fuck, please, c’mon–” your voice is high and wrecked and all he has to do is angle his hips a few more times before you’re shattering, nearly breaking apart, squeezing down on his cock so tightly that he shudders, that he let’s go of your hair just to focus on his own pleasure.

He doesn’t even realize he’s drooling into your neck, not as he loses his rhythm, as he shoves himself as deep into you as he can and comes hard. Pleasure races up his spine, turns him white-hot and sensitive, making his eyes roll back into his head, too.

You’re both breathing hard when he collapses on top of you. Your fingers, which were once scratching down his back to cause sharp shooting pain, are now surprisingly gentle, slipping back into his hair.

You squirm, fussing slightly– no doubt sore, no doubt aching with him still inside you but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t want to.

He mouths at your neck, feels you sigh, before he moves to cover his mouth with yours again. He kisses you languidly now, slow and deep.

You’re making breathy little noises against him, content and surprisingly soft, your other hand tracing over his side.

(He doesn’t like how much he enjoys this part, the afterglow, all that violence slipping away, expelled from you both–)

Tomura feels his cock twitch inside of you again, feels your hips arch up a little, and before he knows it, he’s moving his hips again. It’s a slow rocking, your lips still attached to his, heated and gentle.

“Gross,” you say again, just a breath against him as he fucks his cum further into you, feels himself harden, feels the mess he made of you. But you still hitch your leg over his hip, pull him deeper into you.

He grins lazily against your lips, “You like it,” he says and it’s not a question, rolling his hips until he gets you to shut your eyes and moan against him.

“Yeah,” you reply, nudging your cheek against his, rubbing like a cat until he returns the gesture. Until he’s humming because he’s sensitive and you feel so good, better than anything he’s ever felt in this miserable fucking life–

You whine a little, ‘Touch me again?”

He doesn’t deny you for whatever reason, doesn’t even have something smart to say as he slides his hand down your torso, down to where you’re both slick and connected. He rubs unpracticed, messy circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re sighing.

He’s no expert but he doesn’t really care and you don’t seem to mind this time, either. It’s unhurried now, lazy.

This time your peak is a fluttery, soft thing, and he watches as you gasp, as you blink away tears. She’s pretty, he thinks, feeling stupidly young again, she’s pretty like this. Like his dreams.

Tomura spills inside you again soon after, groaning against your collarbones, and this time you force him to slip out of you. Force him to lay beside you as you both catch your breath again.

And he’s not expecting it, but he has the vicious need to be close to you, desperately wants to feel your skin against his. It’s a new feeling– usually after sex, he wants to be as far away from someone as possible. Usually he can’t leave or kick them out fast enough.

But there’s something about you now, hazy and pleasure-drunk, fucked out and dazed, that makes him want to stay close. Maybe it’s just that you’ve soothed all the festering that usually squirms in his chest. Maybe it’s just that you’ve made everything in him quiet for once.

He expects you to find some sort of your regret now, he’s sure that you’ll feel guilty, collect your clothes and go. But you don’t. You stay in bed with him. And it’s strange but he knows he wants to touch you, so he does. He doesn’t deny himself, why would he? He’s always taken what he wanted.

He curls around you, shivering a little with the skin to skin contact after the fog of sex has cleared from his mind. His hands slide over you, touch you fully and without restraint because he can, because you won’t disappear beneath his touch.

And for a moment, as he traces along the dips of your waist, he thinks maybe you were made for him– cut from his rib, isn’t that how the story goes?

He doesn’t know, only that there’s no one else in the world he can touch like this.

You’re surprised.

You’d figured after Tomura had his fill of you, he’d kick you out, send you away. You figured you’d feel guilty, that you would rush out of here and try to wish the whole thing away. But your hero suit stays on the floor and you’re still in his bed.

You didn’t think he’d be a cuddler, you assumed that he wouldn’t want nor care for any sort of contact after. But his arms are wrapped around you now, one of his hands sliding curiously over the curves of your body. All five fingers down, pressing into your skin.

But you suppose, for someone who has to be so careful with touch, that he would like this. That he might want this. You wonder if he ever gets to touch anyone like this, if he ever allows himself intimate touch like this– tender and for no other reason than to soothe or comfort.

You get the impression that he doesn’t, that touch is just a means to an end for him; sex is probably just an itch to scratch. You can’t imagine that he’s very relaxed or enjoying himself when he’s worried about decaying the person he’s with.

But all his crackling, restless energy now seems subdued, sated, as he walks his fingers over you. His hair tickles your bare skin as he nudges closer, nose running along your jaw.

Once more, you feel your age. You don’t feel like a hero, but just someone young, maybe on the cusp of being old. He looks young now, too, with his vivid eyes shut and relaxed, nothing to crease his brow. He doesn’t seem like a villain, either.

You brush a finger over his cheek, touch lightly at the scratches beneath his eyes, drag your thumb down to touch the scar at the corner of his lips.

His eyes flutter open to watch you, half lidded, squinted almost like a cat.

But he allows you to run your fingers over his face, doesn’t protest or jerk away from your touch.

No, his eyes fall shut again. He lets out a deep sigh that you think he has held inside him for years.

He doesn’t have a gentle face, but one that shows it’s angles and sharp edges, the scars and cuts that trail down onto his neck. You’d noticed some on his chest, too. Proof of an uneasy life lived, proof of violence and pain.

You imagine he’s seen horrors, kept them trapped inside for fear of letting them spill out, like maybe it’ll be as gruesome as the memories.

His body hasn’t been handled gently, you can tell, with it’s indents and scars and scratches. You don’t know who was the last person who touched him without wanting to hurt him. And you shouldn’t but you think of yourself when you were a child– desperate for love and affection, desperate for any scrap of attention like the scavenger you always were.

Maybe still are.

So desperate that you’d end up in the bed of your enemy– all because you couldn’t end up in the bed of your ally. So hungry that you’d eat out of a hand that has harmed and killed and destroyed.

Hands that haven’t known gentleness, a body that hasn’t known peace. But he’s being gentle with you now, isn’t he?

So you try to give gentleness to him now, too, with your careful touch. You keep your fingers kind and sympathetic.

Even your own eyes drift shut for a moment, still tracing idle patterns into his skin.

You only slip away from him for a moment, to use the bathroom, to clean up. Your reflection in the mirror looks strange; raw and flushed with color. Honest in a way that makes you turn away.

You slip back into bed with Tomura, let him latch onto you again. You drag your fingers gently over his ribs, over his sides.

You let your eyes fall shut, too.

There’s a sudden, loud buzzing from the floor that cuts through the quiet, which makes your eyes startle open. It’s insistent and you realize after a moment that it’s your phone, caught up in your hero suit on the floor.

You never came home after your shift. You curse softly, almost certain you know who's calling.

You squirm out of Tomura’s hold again, which he huffs at in irritation, but eventually allows you up.

“Where are you going now?” he asks, annoyed, when you climb out of bed to find your phone. Once found, you hold it up to him.

It’s still buzzing in your hand, lit up with Shouta’s contact.

You think the guilt should hit you now.

It doesn’t and that’s what you feel worse over. You swallow hard, frown down at your phone.

(Horribly, you even feel somewhat spiteful, as if you’re trying to prove something to Shouta. Maybe to yourself.)

You don’t answer.

And then you see the several texts from him, wondering where you are. They’re all bland, but you can tell he must be worried. It’s unlike you to not tell him where you are.

“Are you going to leave?” Tomura asks and there’s something strange in his voice, something you can’t place.

“Do you want me to?” you ask in return.

He doesn’t answer right away. But he does eventually give an annoyed drawl, “Do what you want.”

You take that as a no, don’t leave, since you’re certain if he wanted you gone, he would’ve told you.

You send a text to Shouta;

Sorry. Staying with an old friend for the night. Be back tomorrow.

It’s not unheard of, for you to spend time with an old friend from the foster care system.

You get a dry “okay” from him in response. You fight the urge to roll your eyes for some reason, tossing your phone away again.

You end up staying the night with Tomura Shigaraki, one of the most wanted villains in all of Japan.

Its not romantic— he isn’t sweet or funny or caring. But he holds you tight, leaves no room for distance. And it is the first time you’ve ever slept with someone like this, tucked away into a bed, bare, and wrapped up in each other.

Is this what it always feels like? You press yourself into the crooks of his body. You wonder if you’re supposed to fit this well together.

And it’s the first time since his Quirk developed that he hasn’t needed to wear his partial gloves to sleep in fear of decaying something.

He won’t admit it but it’s the best he’s slept in a long, long time.

You won’t admit it, either, but you think you could get used to this, too; this closeness, being held as if you’ll slip away, being held like he doesn’t want you to.

The morning brings rosy sunlight that slants through the windows. Neither of you talk much. You try to tell yourself this won’t happen again, can’t happen again.

But you had kissed him goodbye before you’d left, like he was a boyfriend and not a criminal, and you’d been in a surprisingly good mood for the rest of the day.

Like you had a crush, puppy love you never got as a teenager because you were too busy trying not to starve, only to realize you’d been starving in other ways, too.

But you’re sugar soft and excitable, dropping into bed that night alone, and allowing yourself to admit, in the quiet and privacy of your own thoughts, that you wish you were in his again.

***

One time turns into two which turns into three which turns into so many times you’ve lost count. That little, rundown apartment that isn’t really Tomura’s has turned into another world entirely, some harbor away from the rules of society. It’s almost too good to be true, a dream, a place for a secret as bad as this one.

When you’re here, you don’t talk of heroes and villains. You urge him not to; you think you’ll keep some part of your innocence in this affair if you don’t actually know anything about him or the League of Villains. You’ll feel too guilty, if you know any part of their plans and don’t tell Shouta. And telling Shouta anything about Tomura is beginning to feel like a betrayal, too.

You don’t know anything substantial about Tomura Shigaraki and that’s the way it needs to stay.

You know he likes sour candy, though, and drinks too many energy drinks– they’re sickly sweet and you think kissing him might make your teeth ache. You know he likes video games but no longer has a console. He has trouble sleeping at night. You’re familiar with the scars on his skin, the jagged ones across his neck, the one on his lip. The beauty mark on his chin. You know his moods; from the prickly ones to the downright vengeful ones. You even know the calmer ones, the quiet, contemplative ones.

(In this way, he seems like a normal twenty-something-year-old. In the quiet moments, when you’ve convinced him to watch a cheap horror movie on the tiny, staticky TV in the apartment, he could be anybody. When he’s got his bare hand up your shirt as someone onscreen screams and begs for their life, he’s not the heir to an underground empire. He’s just Tomura, with his face buried in the crook of your neck).

He pretends to get annoyed with you, huffs and scoffs against your lips when you’re being cheeky. You wear his worn down hoodies, slip your thumbs in the holes at the sleeves. He eyes you when you wear them, pulls you to him by the collar.

(He likes to fuck you in them– pushes the hoodie up your stomach to watch you ride him. But he likes things bare and raw, too. Skin to skin. So close it’s terrifying, so close you feel like he’s trying to tear you apart from the inside out. He likes it dirty, you think, because it makes it more intimate.)

You soothe him. You know you do because when he’s festering and angry, all it takes is your hand on his wrist, pulling it away from his neck. Sometimes, when he can’t think straight and there is too much on his mind, he forces you to lay on top of him until his breathing slows and his head is clear.

He can’t talk to you aloud about what’s plaguing him, but you must quiet some part of him. He likes to use you to think, runs his long fingers through your hair as you lay atop him. He pets you until his thoughts aren’t as jumbled, but smoothed out and sharp. Or until he doesn’t want to think anymore at all and he drags you into languid makeouts that always end with him surrounding you, inside you, possessing you.

You bicker sometimes, flash your teeth to make his eyes spark ruby and excited. Mostly, you act your age with him.

You don’t know when his birthday is or where he grew up. You don’t know what his childhood was like or what memories shaped him, don’t know where he’s been or where he’s going to be. You only know him now, in this moment, in this little world you’ve created for each other.

He’s what you imagined first boyfriends are supposed to be; excitable and often immature but fun and new. You never had the luxury of first loves, just odd first kisses with strangers and an uncomfortable loss of virginity with a friend of a friend of a friend who jammed his tongue too far down your throat. You hadn’t had anything stable until–

Until Shouta.

Shouta has grown suspicious of this old friend of yours and how much time you now spend with him.

He questions you about him and you wish you felt worse for lying. The rebellious part of this affair is thrilling, though. Feels like you’re sixteen and sneaking out from under your dad’s nose to be picked up by the boyfriend you’d know he’d hate. Feels like swiping liquor too young and getting sick off it, smashing the bottles and laughing with your friends because sometimes things just need to break.

“Will you at least tell me his name?” Shouta had asked one morning, when you’d let yourself into his apartment after another night at Tomura’s. You had your own hood pulled up around your face to hide the rose blossom hickeys against the skin of your neck.

He’d still poured you a cup of coffee. You’d watched his careful, large hands as they made it the way you liked it.

You’d given him a lie, fed it to him the way he feeds you breakfast, “Shinta. Are you happy?”

He’d slid the mug to you, let you catch in the cradle of your palm. He’d shrugged, but you think his eyes had flashed to you, “You know you can bring him around, right? You don’t always have to go to him.”

You’d had to bite back a painful laugh. It wasn’t funny. It had hurt strangely in the pit of your chest.

You had shaken your head, tried to brush him off, “It’s not like that.”

“Alright,” he’d said, but he hadn’t believed you. “You’re training alone with Shinsou again tonight, I’ll be busy with a job.” Then he’d given you a stern look, “And don’t cut it early to go see Shinta.”

“I’ve never done that!” you’d protested, perhaps a little too defensively. But it was true, you’d never do that to Shinsou, wouldn’t dream of it. The only time you’d cut training early was to share takeout with Shinsou, not ditch him for–

This comment had rubbed you wrong, scratched up against something abrasive and surprisingly fragile inside of you. Maybe because he was questioning your dedication which already felt so flimsy, even if he hadn’t been entirely serious, even if maybe he’d just been trying to take a dig at you. At this new boyfriend.

Shouta had grown cold then, shrugged impassively, took his mug of coffee and brushed past you to keep getting ready.

It had angered you enough to bring it up later to Tomura, when you’re falling into his lap and he’s squirming his cold, fluttery hands beneath your shirt to touch skin, to make you hiss through your teeth.

His lips tilt into a small smile as you fidget while he warms his frigid fingers on your body.

“Eraserhead asked about you yesterday,” you tell him, letting your nose brush against his, “Told me I could bring my friend around– don’t always have to go to him.”

Tomura snorts, eyes falling half-lidded when your lips skim over his. The night is plum dark, presses into this little apartment that’s tucked away from the world.

“How’d you get out of that one?” he asks, fingers walking over the dips of your spine. He likes tracing the bone beneath your skin, likes making you shiver.

“Told him it’s not like that.” you respond, your own hands wandering to his neck. You're careful over the ridges of flesh there, skim lightly to get to his jaw.

“No?” Tomura asks, pulling you closer, pressing his chest to yours, “Don’t want to bring me home to meet Eraserhead?” he sneers and there’s something underneath his voice, lurking, with its hackles raised.

You think maybe it’s jealousy, the same flash of his eyes like Shouta’s when he’d said Shinta.

But then he kisses you deep and drags your hips against his, forces a warbly, surprised little moan from you.

Most of your thoughts melt away then, most turn to something base and desperate, all desire and need. You can’t help but think about it, though, how you can’t ever take him home to Shouta. You can’t ever expect anything more than whatever stays in this room. He kisses you hard, your teeth clinking against his like clashing with the truth of it all.

There’s no happy ending here.

It’s like smashing bottles because sometimes things just need to break.

***

Tomura thinks you would be a good edition to the League of Villains.

You’re clever and capable. He comes to find you’re not just a good thief and pickpocket but an excellent one. You swipe everything from his pockets, right from under his nose, just to play with him. You’re stealthy and sharp; he could use someone like you at his side.

Your Quirk could be useful, though he doesn’t like the idea of you getting so close to people while in battles. You have a reckless streak, but he thinks he could temper that. All you need is a little guidance.

You were a thief once. You give him clues of your past; you didn’t grow up like the other heroes, didn’t come from a warm home with dreams of saving the world. Your head wasn’t filled with fantasies of rescuing the downtrodden. You were the downtrodden. And you learned that there was no one who was going to save you, except yourself. So you stole and fought and survived a world that was willing to forget you.

You’re like him, a very quiet part of him thinks, no one saved you. Not until you were too old, all grown up with sharpened teeth and claws, eyes that see in the dark. That could be now used and extorted by the heroes.

He thinks they’ve leashed you, taught you how to sit and stay and sic ‘em.

He wonders if he’d have gotten to you first, if you’d be with him and not your heroes.

Tomura doesn’t dwell on it, though. He refuses to imagine it. What would be the point? It didn’t happen.

Besides, he is certain he is capable of slowly swaying you to them still. You possess a startling amount of compassion for villains which, perhaps wouldn’t help you as a villain, but that’s fine.

(You’d have him. No one would touch you if you were at his side. You could be as stupidly compassionate as you wanted.)

You meet members of the League with him by accident, times when Toga and Twice’s meeting with him overlap with you arriving. Toga goes on endlessly about you, it seems. Dabi drops by once in the middle of the night, bloody and demanding a place to sleep because he’s tired of sleeping on the streets.

It’d been one of the more insufferable nights, perhaps one of the worst ways for Dabi to find out about you. You’d already been asleep, cocooned beneath blankets and Tomura’s body, just in one of his loose shirts.

Tomura had already been lying awake, listening to your even breathing when he’d heard the handle of the door shake roughly. He’d gotten up then, slipped into clothes, melted into the darkness by the door and waited for the intruder to try and step inside.

The lock had been picked.

He had nearly decayed Dabi by accident before realizing it was him.

A ridiculously quiet but terse argument had ensued then, before Dabi had asked, in a regular speaking voice, “Why the fuck are we whispering?”

Tomura had almost winced when he heard you stir from the bed before your small, sleepy voice had murmured into the darkness, “Tomura?”

You’d said it too soft, too sweet. It’d been for his ears only and something about Dabi hearing you, seeing you, being in this space that had been for you and for him had made Tomura suddenly livid.

He had watched Dabi’s mouth fall open in shock before you’d switched on the bedside lamp to flood the room with artificial, golden light.

Dabi’s face had been near horrific in the light, one side of it all bloody, the stitches mangled or falling out. Part of his face almost looked like it was melting, his eye squinted shut with the damage.

But he’d thrown his head back and laughed when he’d seen you, sitting up in the bed, blinking sleepily at them. Tomura hated a lot of things, but he’d hated nothing more than the sound of Dabi’s rasping laugh in that moment.

You’d narrowed your eyes when you had realized who it was.

“I had no idea you had it in you, Tomura.” Dabi had said.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Tomura had hissed instead, fighting the urge to tear into his neck, fingers twitching agitatedly.

Dabi had gestured to his face with a lazy flourish, “I need medical attention and I’m crashing on your couch.”

Tomura’s teeth had ground together, “Get. Out.”

“No, I’m sick of sleeping on the streets when you’re here playing house with your little hero bitch–”

Before Tomura could even react, though, you had found the small supply of first aid from beneath the sink in the tiny bathroom. You had come up beside them near silently and offered it up, asked, “Do you want help?”

And there it had been– that compassion of yours. Even for the likes of Dabi.

In that moment, he’d wondered how you had ever survived with it. He’d thought that you’d lose your hand if you kept extending it.

Dabi hadn’t let you touch him but you’d gotten a cool rag for him to clean up the blood, watched as he tried to patch up the wound. It was made worse by a mangled staple in his cheek, jutting out strangely.

“Does it hurt?” You’d asked but with the way you were looking at him, at his marred skin up close, Tomura could tell that you weren’t just referring to this one injury.

Does it hurt? You’d asked, like you were asking if it all hurt. You weren’t just seeing a singular part of Dabi, but a series of tragedies that was proudly presented in large, rippling scars against his skin.

“Of course it fucking hurts,” Dabi had spit out, all venom and bitterness. But you hadn’t even flinched.

Tomura had tried to kick him out again once his wound had been treated.

“It’s fine,” you’d said, resigned, tired and rubbing at your eyes.

(Later you’d shrug and tell him, I know what it’s like to not have somewhere to sleep).

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Dabi had drawled, already pulling off his heavy boots, prying the coat from his body to toss onto the floor. “Just don’t do any weird shit.”

And you’d gotten back into bed with Tomura, fit yourself against him, ducked your head down beneath his chin and pressed your hands against his sides, felt the notches of his ribs.

Sometimes he wonders if you can feel the missing one, the one you took from him, the one you’d been made out of.

It had occurred to Tomura that either you didn’t fear Dabi or you trusted him enough to know he’d never let Dabi harm you while sleeping.

Both were acceptable to him, both would aid him in converting you. And they were true, too. You shouldn’t fear Dabi, especially not with him around.

Tomura had brought his hand up then, suddenly covered your mouth with his large palm, letting all five of his fingers come down against your pretty face.

You’d furrowed your brows in confusion, not fear, which made something inside of him grow warm and hungry.

Then he’d slid his other hand down your body, between your legs, just to spite Dabi.

He’d watched as your eyes went wide in the dark, cheeks flushing beneath his hand. He could feel his smirk, smug and sharp, fitting across his teeth like a muzzle.

You’d tried to shake your head, tried to squirm away from his touch, but he’d been persistent and soon enough you were sighing against his hand, melting into the bed he pressed you into. Soon enough you were trying to hold back whimpers, all slippery and soft beneath his fingers, silently begging with your eyes.

He hadn’t denied you that night; no, you were being good, walking the steps he wanted for you. You were moldable and sweet beneath him so he’d give you what you wanted.

He watched in satisfaction as you came hard around his fingers, face scrunching up in that way he loved, fingers easing you through it. He was gentle with you then, taking his hand away from your mouth slowly, letting you nudge closer and cling to him.

(He loved when you clung to him).

You’d wanted so much affection that night and he had indulged you, letting your nose brush against his, or rubbing your cheek against his chest while his fingers wound through your hair.

You’d fallen asleep all tied up in him.

The next morning, you were gone before Dabi even woke up.

Dabi had asked, “What the fuck are you doing with her?”

“Mind your business,” Tomura had snapped, fingers already seeking out his neck again when they couldn't find you. He hated that he wanted your presence so badly now. (Hated that he missed you, but he would never say that, never even dream of it). Then he’d added,“And find someone else’s doorstep to show up on.”

Dabi had scoffed, “Whatever. Just don’t get distracted.” He’d pulled out a cigarette from his jacket still on the floor then, much to Tomura’s annoyance, and lit it with a spark of his fingers. Smoke curled into the air with his first drag. “I’m not about to watch all our efforts fall apart because you wanted to play Romeo and Juliet with some braindead little hero.”

He’d torn into the skin of his neck then. Wished he could tear into you instead.

“Violent delights and violent ends and all that shit,” Dabi had said then, his smile just a curled stitch, smoke pouring from his lips, evidently amused with himself.

But Tomura has never read that play and he doesn’t know anything about poetry in the same way he doesn’t know anything about art or beauty, just that you’re the only thing he’s bothered to compare to a painting.

***

You put Tomura into your phone as Shinta and when you’re too busy to visit him between missions and training, you text him. Though short, he is surprisingly witty over text, something that has you biting back grins and distracted, feeling like a schoolgirl as you try to hide the screen of your phone from the rest of the world.

You grow distracted with hero work, with Shouta. You pay less attention to your life at U.A. You don’t visit Shouta for lunch as often. You haven’t spent a quiet night with Shouta in weeks. You tell yourself you don’t care.

It’s better than fighting with him. It’s better than trying to beg for his love and affection.

Early tomorrow morning you’re supposed to shadow Shouta on a brief mission.

The Hero Commission is trying to train you into espionage and underground work, trying to mold you in the shape of Shouta.

But at night, when you’re alone in your bedroom, tucked away into your own apartment and not with Tomura, he calls you.

You let yourself say his name into the receiver of your phone, hushed and excited.

He doesn’t say I miss you or when will I see you again?

He says, “Touch yourself.”

And you don’t say I miss you, too, or hopefully soon.

You do as he says, let your fingers fan out over your stomach like they might be his. You listen to his breathing turn ragged over the phone. You moan softly for him.

You do what he says in the navy dark of night, bite back frustrated whines because you’ve gotten too used to his touch.

“–Wish it was you, fuck, it’s not fair,” you gasp, tilting your hips up into your fingers desperately.

You can hear the hiss of breath he takes, “Did I ruin you?” he croons into the phone lowly, his voice slithering through to you, making your thighs clench. “Can’t even touch yourself without needing me?”

You groan, high and defeated, fingers slipping against yourself. You’re aching and empty and bereft without him, “Yes, yes–”

He rambles about what he’s done to you, almost seething by the end, when he demands you tell him that you’re his, that he’s the one who made you this way. He’s the only one who can soothe you now. You need him.

He isn’t wrong, you realize, when you still aren’t satisfied after your climax. When it doesn’t feel as good as when you’re with him. You realize you hate sleeping alone now. You miss the press of his body to yours. You coo into the phone about it, lay on your stomach, arms curled around your pillow with your ear still to your phone.

It never gets overly sentimental. You don’t want to scare him, especially as you grow terrified of your own feelings. It doesn’t feel as fun anymore, you realize, only because your attraction to him has now grown serious.

Your crush has grown teeth and claws, ready to tear apart the vulnerable, fleshy parts of you.

But he talks with you until you fall asleep, phone still in hand, heart still on the line.

***

There’s a stray kitten that hangs out around Tomura’s apartment– he thinks there must be a colony of strays in the area, since it’s not the only one. But this one is scrawny, just a messy tuft of grey fur. It’d be sleek and pretty, if it wasn’t so malnourished, if it wasn’t missing clumps of fur or full of scars and scratches.

The kitten likes Tomura a great deal for some reason. It rubs itself against his legs, follows him around outside of the apartment, much to your utter delight.

You coo and fawn over it, scoop the little thing up into your arms and hold it up to Tomura’s face.

He hates it, the face you give him. The face the kitten gives him. He hates that the corner of his lips twitch upwards.

“He’s so cute,” you gush and he can hear now that the little thing is purring furiously in your hands. You wiggle the cat a little bit in front of his face and Tomura finally reaches up to stroke the back of his knuckles against the kitten’s head, if only to appease you.

Your smile is crooked– an excited curve of your lips, your eyes alight.

You’re always so expressive and he used to be livid about it, wanted to teach you a lesson in the worst way possible, but now he just wants to keep you from learning them.

He has to turn away from you at the thought, heads towards the door of the apartment building. You follow after him dutifully, coming up to nudge against his side. He’s become too comfortable with you there, knocking into his elbow.

You’re still smiling down at the kitten in your arms and he wants to look away because some part of this is starting to sting.

The kitten is excitedly looking around, green eyes all round and bright. It’s purring happily.

“Put it down, it’s not coming in with us.” Tomura tells you, his voice rough and soft.

You stop in front of the door with him. Your bottom lip pulls out into a pout. Your eyes get round like the kitten’s.

He gives you a cold stare.

You hug the kitten tighter to your body, “C’mon,” you whine, “It’s just a baby.”

“I’m not taking care of a cat.”

“I’ll take care of it!”

“No,” he responds, harsher, voice a little sharper.

Maybe, in the beginning of this little affair, you would’ve headed the warning in his tone, but now you don’t even bat an eye at him.

“Yes,” you respond indignantly.

You both glare at each other. The kitten’s purr still rumbles on.

Tomura can tell you’re not giving this one up, he can tell by the set of your jaw, the way you’re clinging to that little creature. There’s a determined flush to your face. Your eyes are bright and fiery.

All over this little stray.

“You’re a brat,” is all Tomura says and you take that as a win, because your face immediately morphs, brightens up completely. You duck past him, into the apartment building with the kitten cradled in your arms.

He heaves a deep sigh, following in after you. “I’m kicking it out when you leave.”

“Don’t be mean,” you reply, waiting at the door, and the irony is not lost on him. He comes up behind you, his chest to your back, crowding you against the door.

“I think you need to remember who you’re speaking to,” he says, his voice just a rasp against your ear and maybe at some point, it would’ve sounded threatening, but now you just lean back into his chest. His heart beats against the curve of your back.

Something soft is growing between the two of you, he can feel it. It has no place here, though, in this world. In the two of you. His ugly infatuation with you, all that anger and vitriol he had for you has melted, turned spring soft inside of him after an unforgiving winter.

He unlocks the door, he lets you in.

The kitten ends up coming and going. He opens the window to let it in and out, let’s you feed it. You call it Ryuji. It lives partially in this new little world the two of you have built.

He thinks of it like the pause screen in a video game, somewhere to return to when he’s frustrated or tired or done. Idle, soft music and the freezing of his screen. A moment away from the turmoil or struggle of the game.

But he’ll have to unpause eventually.

He can’t stay here forever, he knows it, but he just has to be sure he plays it right– he doesn’t think he’ll be able to start over this time, with you.

And he wants you there at the ending, at his side like in his dreams.

The ones where it’s all in ruins, the world nothing but his, destroyed, but he gives you his hand to have, and you take it in yours to hold.

***

The distance between you and Shouta stretches and grows until it snaps in the form of a blowout argument. Which, is mostly just you, shouting, crying furiously, and Shouta stone-faced and cool.

It had started with an offhand comment from him about how you’re not focused anymore. You’re getting sloppy. You’re distracted. And usually, you take his criticism with a stiff upper lip and a determined glare.

But you and Shouta haven’t been the same since you tried to kiss him.

You blame yourself, maybe, but part of you feels angry with him, too. Bitter. You thought, in some way, he reciprocated your feelings. He’d acted like it. And when he’d rejected you, he’d pulled away, been more careful with you.

(You wonder if this proves your point, that he was toeing a line with you then.)

And maybe your lies are starting to eat at you, too, starting to rot away on the inside of you. If you focused on them too hard and all that Shouta’s done for you, you think you’d start crying every time you looked at him.

But Tomura has also thrown all you know into question. And you’d already been critical of the life you were afforded by becoming a hero.

You look at all of Shouta’s students and you just get angry. You look at Shinsou, so determined to prove he can be a hero, that he’s good and you are livid. You look at Toga, with her villainous Quirk. She’s near Shinsou’s age and something about it just makes you ache, it makes you sick.

You look at her and see who she could’ve been as a hero– you wonder if they would’ve stuck her in espionage, with the likes of you and Shouta. You wonder if she would’ve gone to U.A. You wonder what it would’ve taken to change her fate.

Even Tomura, you look at him and in the safety and privacy of your own heart, you dare to wonder what he would’ve been like if he hadn’t been a villain.

(He could’ve been a rescue hero, you think, and he could’ve decayed debris to save people. This version of him lives in the quiet, tentative parts of you. It grows soft and underground, a seedling that has sprouted on the inside of your chest, and one day you think this little dream of yours will grow so large inside of you that it’ll breach skin and show the world it’s horror.)

It feels like a coin toss, almost, like the difference between a hero and a villain sometimes is one flip away from changing.

You don’t bother to wonder what would’ve happened if it hadn’t been Shouta that found you, but someone like Tomura. Or All For One. You know if you’d been given somewhere to sleep and a warm meal, you would’ve done what they wanted.

You wish you could say you were a noble, starving person, that there was something shining and golden inside of you. But all you were was starving.

Shouta says you’ve been underperforming lately. He says he’s considering limiting the nights you patrol until you can get it together.

The Hero Commission was supposed to come observe you to see if you’d progressed enough to begin accepting your own missions. He tells you he doesn’t think they should come any longer. It feels like a dig, too, like he’s reprimanding you somehow.

And you snap, “Well maybe I didn’t want them to observe me!”

He looks taken aback for a moment, before he asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know! Maybe I’m tired of being observed and used and watching all of these kids be observed and sought after and–”

“Alright,” Shouta sighs, and it makes your teeth grit because he sounds like he’s trying to parent you, “It’s one thing to be upset yourself, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with these kids.”

Your nails dig into your palms as you try to find the words to get him to understand you.

But he speaks before you can, almost patronizingly, “Clearly, you’re struggling through something, so it’s probably a good thing we’ve put this off.”

Tears well up hard and fast. It hurts to be dismissed like this. It hurts to look at him, to think that he’s a part of the ever growing issue that has been itching beneath your skin. You’re a part of it, too, but you have the sudden urge to run. To get out.

Still, you swallow down all of that turmoil and say, “I hardly know what I want now, so how do you expect children to know that they want to be a hero?”

“What is this about?” Shouta asks.

“It’s about the Hero Commission and U.A. and the entire fucking system. That’s what it’s about.” you seethe, looking up into his eyes, trying to find something there.

“It’s not just about you?” he asks, unperturbed.

“Why can’t it be both?” you respond, trying to keep your voice from going high, from going hysterical. There’s so much you want to say, so much that it’s making you sick, that it’s turning your stomach. “I’m– I’m barely older than them!” you say, because all you keep thinking about is how they’re just kids. And you were just a kid. And at one point, Tomura was just a kid.

He’s barely older than you. Closer in age to Shouta’s students than to him.

“I didn’t invent the system,” Shouta says and he sounds weary, “I just try to give my students the best opportunity at surviving being a hero. I try to teach them everything to keep them alive.”

They’re just kids! You want to shriek, kids that were chosen or forgotten or accepted or shunned.

Looking in the face of the system now feels so massive that it’s hopeless; a system that produces shiny heroes from children with their perfect and acceptable Quirks and discards the rest. Even you and Shouta, with your Quirks that aren’t as flashy, are pushed into the shadows to do the Hero Commissions business. And what business is that? You have to wonder their intentions, too, with all the money that’s pumped into it. Into all of these heroes. A system that forgets anyone who doesn’t fit into it’s perfect mold.

“But you see how it’s wrong, right? And just because you didn’t invent the system doesn’t mean you get to throw your hands up!” You say, voice raising.

Shouta levels you with a cool look. He lets loose a sigh. “What would you like me to do?”

You don’t have an answer, it’s too big of a question.

(You see the appeal suddenly, in wanting to get rid of it all, in destroying it since it’s such a mess.)

But you hate his aloofness, you hate that he doesn’t care. You hate that you feel crazy.

“I don’t know!” you shout, tears finally falling down your angry and flushed face. “I don’t know!”

“Are you done?” Shouta asks and it makes you want to scream more. You just want a reaction from him, you realize, you want something more than his impassiveness. You think of trying to shout more, to try and say something cutting or powerful or enough to make him wince.

But nothing comes to mind and you’re just stubbornly trying to keep back a sob.

So you shoulder past him, rush out of his apartment, rubbing at your cheeks and trying to keep back your hiccuping cries.

You have every intention of going to Tomura’s.

But you realize when you’ve nearly made it to his door that it might be foolish to go to someone like Tomura with tears in your eyes. What is the leader of the League of Villains going to do? You have a feeling you might just get your feelings hurt more.

So you pause, rub at your eyes again, try to dispel all the turmoil inside you. It doesn’t work, so you turn away from him, too, and you start moving.

Your feet carry you to the train station, carry you across town, to a warehouse you used to vandalize and hide in when you were young and alone.

You haven’t been here in years.

It feels strange, loping around the side of the building. The alleyways are cast in garnet light with the fading sun. It makes it look prettier than it is. You enter through the same hole in the wall that you used to when you were young; you’re bigger now, though, need to duck lower, curl yourself up to get through it.

You think of yourself scurrying around, knowing the ins and outs of this dilapidated building the way most children know their childhood home.

It’s strange, stepping back into a place you haven’t been to in years. You know, in some way, it has to have changed. It’s falling apart more, there’s larger holes in the ceiling, letting in auburn light, setting everything ablaze. There’s a lot of debris; from torn tents to discarded sleeping bags to spare junk, it’s all spread out throughout the place. Graffiti covers every corner of the walls. You used to look for a face painted in pink, it’s eyes dripping down it’s face in the back corner of a wall. When your eyes slide along all the artwork, it’s nowhere to be found now. No doubt covered up by the years, but you know it’s there, somewhere beneath all that color and paint.

There are a lot of empty bottles, glass laying around that crunches beneath your shoe.

You pick up a glass by the spout, watch as it catches in the light, murky gold and sunkissed.

You feel small again, fragile like the bottle in your hand. You stopped crying at least, but all that’s left is the aftertaste. Just the lingering frustration, the bitter aloneness that settles over you as cold as Shouta’s stare.

Your fingers squeeze around the glass, curling tight, before you suddenly hurl it at the wall.

It bursts on impact, explodes into thousands of shining, glittering pieces that spark in the sun.

It feels good, so you pick up another glass– this one’s mint green, pretty like the sea, reminds you of spring and the stems of flowers.

It breaks prettily, too, the sound ringing and sharp in your ears, your eyes trying to catch all the splinters of it. It explodes in the light. It’s cathartic, letting all your aching frustration and hurt rush out with each breaking, with each smashing.

You don’t get through many more, not before you hear footsteps behind you.

You can’t say you’re surprised to find Tomura, but you can’t say you were expecting it either. Quickly, you turn away, try to school your features. You try to rub at your eyes again, as if this will somehow dispel damp lashes and splotchy cheeks.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask, but there’s no bite to it as he comes to stand beside you.

He doesn’t answer.

You think he might be, but you can’t find it in you to care.

The sound of the distant city is just a hum between you two. Glass sparkles on the floor like stars in the fading, ruby light.

You turn to face him, don’t bother trying to look up into his face, just shove yourself into his chest. You bury your face into his hoodie, rubbing your cheek against his chest. “Creep,” you mumble, “What are you doing here?”

His hands come up, one at the back of your head, the other along your back. He has his gloves on. Not that it matters.

“I followed you from the apartment,” he admits and his voice is quiet, but it seems to echo in this open space. Then he says, “You should be more watchful.”

“Don’t start,” you grumble, letting your fingers curl in his jacket, “Been scolded enough today.”

The hand at the back of your head tugs at your hair lightly, lifting your head from its hiding place against his chest so that he can look you over carefully.

The light casts him in maroon and russet, saturating him, making the dark of him stand out sharply. It makes the silver of his hair seem peach, brands him in all the sun’s honey and whiskey glory.

His eyes are vivid, maybe the most true shade of red you’ve ever seen in your life.

He takes in your face, perhaps your bloodshot eyes, your damp lashes. You aren’t a fool; you’re certain he can tell you’ve been crying. You have the urge to squirm away, to try and hide from his gaze.

But all he asks, in a surprisingly gentle tone, is “What happened?”

You shake your head fractionally, “Nothing. Got into an argument, that’s all.”

He hums lightly, tracking your expression. You want to glance away from him, but he holds you still for a moment longer.

When you can’t take his scrutinization any longer, you ask, “Wanna break some shit with me?”

He lets you go finally, let’s you step out of his arms despite not responding. You pick up another glass, this once an icy blue that reflects light that reminds you of the color of morning skies.

You watch as it explodes against the wall, flashing like a little firework. Glass rains down onto the ground, some of it flinging up into the air or back towards you. Tomura pulls you away from it by the back of your jacket, yanks you back into his chest as glass shards fly past you.

He glares at you somewhat and you can tell he wants to scold you, but he doesn’t. You squirm out of his grasp to do it again.

Glass showers down as you break another bottle. It rains in shards of tangerine and pale yellow, bright pops of cherry in the light. It feels good, to watch it all burst apart in the sunlight, like watching little stars burst and explode at your hands. It’s so pretty, for such a violent act.

You hand a bottle to Tomura, offering him the chance to also act out. Instead, he pulls off one of his gloves– tugs it off with his teeth, the glint of sharp white against flesh pink. You watch fascinated for a moment, catch his eyes, blazing and barbed.

When he takes it with all five fingers, you watch as it first cracks in your palm, before fluttering away into dust. Into nothing.

You make a face, “That’s not as exciting as breaking them.”

He rolls his eyes, but you catch the way the corner of his lips hike up. He takes another glass, this one icy silver, caught peach in the honey light, though. He keeps a finger lifted away delicately as he lifts it up to the beams of scarlet sun that flare through the rafters.

And in that fiery patch of dusk, with the glass reflecting iridescence onto the angular plains of his face, your heart gives a violent lurch, like it’s trying to burst free from your chest.

I think I love you, you think, unbridled, and so suddenly that it feels as if the thought has slammed into you the way a body might fall from the ledge of a roof.

I think I love you, you think again, because you can’t quite believe it, as he lobs the bottle at the wall. It fractures into a thousand little beams of glass and light, like an exploding comet. You feel as fragile as that, like he’ll do the same to you. Maybe you’ll be nothing but shards by the end of this, nothing but dust slipping through his fingers.

He turns to you, no doubt to say something snarky, but you’re already taking quick steps to him. He doesn’t get the chance to speak, not when you collide with him, hard and reckless, throwing yourself up onto your toes to kiss him with a new violence.

He makes a surprised noise, soft, but catches you otherwise. His hand is already up, worming beneath your clothes to press chilled fingers into the bare skin of your upper waist. He likes the way you hiss into his mouth, and you like the way they dig roughly into you. He forces you closer, melds his mouth to yours, rough at the edges, slick and warm at the center as the kiss blossoms into slow simmering heat.

And by the end of it all, when the light has given way to violet darkness, the press of indigo shadows that stretch tall in this abandoned warehouse, there is too much glass on the floor. Everything is shattered or decayed. Your lips are stinging from sharp-toothed kisses and the desperate press of his mouth to yours. You’ve turned molten, fallen apart the way glass does.

You walk home together, hand in seeking hand.

Your eyes flush pink with your Quirk, brightening up in the dark.

You knock into his side like you’re a kid, eagerly trailing beside him. He has the hood of his sweatshirt up, hidden, as you rush into the next train back to the part of town that holds the little, distant world of his apartment.

You sit beside each other on the train, knees pressing into each other. He leans over to crowd you against the cool glass as the world streaks past you in a wash of darkness. He ducks his face to yours, his hood hiding the both of you from any onlookers as he seers his mouth to yours again.

You feel like a teenager, kissing in front of strangers, beneath the flickering light of the train car. You feel young and reckless, letting him have you like this, while the city burns like a blurry halo behind you. But you feel older, too, older and in love, like you finally know the secret of the universe, the one that every adult knows and has only learned in the burn of a kiss, in the messy squeezing of your heart.

He licks into your mouth slow, you curl your small hand into his worn hoodie. If people stare, you don’t know, don’t care.

He pulls away from you, forcing you up when your stop is announced, leaving you a little dazed and dizzy, but you eagerly follow after him. Your hands bunch into the back of his jean jacket. You stumble behind him a little, feet tangling with his as you duck beneath his arm to come to his side.

Ryuji finds the two of you on your walk home the closer you get, follows you both inside, happily chirping at your coos. But he paws at the window to be let out again a short time later, after you’ve fed him something. Tomura opens the window for the cat, but not before you catch him rubbing a knuckle against the kitten’s fuzzy cheek, brief but gentle.

You think he likes Ryuji more than he lets on. You think he loves all this more than he lets on.

Tomura takes his time with you that night, surprisingly languid for once, like you’re not on borrowed time. Like this is an entirely new planet, a version of the two of you that is not bound by pasts and future expectations. No strings puppeteering you both, no invisible hands holding you both back.

He pulls you down into his lap, to sink onto him, fill yourself with him as you please. You twine your arms around his slender neck to pull him close, eyes half lidded and pyretic pink, fiery and soft with the way your Quirk reacts to his. It always hums somewhere inside of you, brushes against his until it quiets, until he’s soothed and relaxed.

“Do you feel powerful?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes flickering up to find yours.

The question takes you by surprise for a moment, pulling away fractionally from his parted lips. And with the way your heart squirms in your chest, looking down at him like this, you want to say no, I feel terrified and new and desperate.

But he drags nails down your back, makes you gasp and roll your hips down onto him, which startles a groan out of him. The sound of it turning your stomach in the best and worst ways, making you flush, making you squirm to try and sink lower onto him. Greedy and desperate, you wiggle your hips to make his breathing come out ragged.

It makes you realize you have one of the most dangerous villains beneath you, as desperate as you are.

You roll your hips again, slow, take what you want of him. You fist your hand in his hair, tilt his head back and watch as his eyes flutter. His cheeks are flushed.

Pretty, you think faintly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, gliding your lips along his, heart a storm in your chest to have him looking up at you like this, “I do.”

His lips tilt into a knife-sharp smile, enough to gut you.

And he lets you take what you please of him that night, and the thief that you are, you take and take and take. You steal from him with deft hands and a smile that he thinks he’d destroy the world for. You take all the love that you want from him, gorge yourself on it until you feel sick.

Until you feel as if you could rot with it, carrying your love for him in the pits of you, coveting in the safe, secret parts of you, for no one else to find.

Just you and him, like this, hand in seeking hand.

***

PART III

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morgana-ren · 3 years

Note

👉👈 Spare thoughts on like Crystal Lake/Friday the 13thesque camp counselor au with the Lov or mainly Shigaraki. I was thinking about watching Fear street and suddenly this was all I could think about

So I wrote this bit and yes, I’m painfully aware it’s not plot-perfect or polished but I LOVE the concept and wanted to put something out for it to show my appreciation that you shared it with me. Warning: it’s very nasty and I took a lot of liberties here. I hope that’s okay. Tomura is the gross incel-y killer. It wasn’t QUITE Friday 13th style, more “creepy counselor gone mad” because when I started writing it, I was a bit out of it.

I hope it’s okay!

A slippery hand clutches yours- stark red and slicked with sweat and blood, trembling bones and quivering fingers- clinging to yours as if you alone could keep her anchored to her quickly fading lifeforce. She’s been stabbed repeatedly, but it’s the wound on her chest that pulses most noticeably with her breath; A font bubbling from the cleave a few inches beneath her collar bone, a scarlet brook staining down the front of her pastel camp uniform.

Her mouth open in a strangled, wordless cry: A petrified 'o' shape that seems terribly uncanny alongside her sallow cheeks, fear and pain reflected in her wide and panicked eyes as her grip on consciousness rapidly fades. Crimson stains her slippery ivory teeth, gurgling on her own bile as she struggles to make out a fragmented sentence between her presumably collapsing lungs and the blood pooling in her throat.

Her face, the perfect mask of fear covered in dirt and her own fluids, begins twitching, blinking tears through the muck that cakes her cheeks. The hand not wrapped around yours in an iron grip curls into a point -shaky and pale and borderline indiscernible- and it takes you a brief moment for you to realize she’s pointing directly behind you. It’s only then that you rip yourself from your traumatized stupor and hear the footsteps approaching from the cabin door.

You’re ready and willing to defend yourself if need be, shooting to your feet with lips pulled in a snarl, but you’re not greeted with the sight of a terrifying killer brandishing a knife: You’re met instead by the familiar face of your fellow camp counselor and long time friend.

“Tomura!”

You can’t help it. You throw your arms around his scrawny neck, almost knocking him over in your relief as you bury your head into the swell of his black hoodie. He’s a welcome sight- been close to you ever since you started attending even though he’s years older than you are, and he’s always made you feel better- safer somehow.

You’ve never been more happy to see him than you are now, thanking whatever God is looking out for you that he’s alive and that he found you. You squeeze him with every ounce of strength your little body can muster as he wraps his own gangly limbs around you and cages you to his chest in turn- almost too tightly.

“I looked for you! I couldn’t-“ Breath escapes you, tearing up in his embrace. “I couldn’t find you! I thought he’d gotten you too! I was so scared-”

He gives a firm shake of his head, shaggy silver hair ruffling over his shoulders. He reeks, as always, of slight mildew and something vaguely earthy- like ash or cinder, even as he hasn’t ever been allowed on fire duty. “No. He can’t be far behind though. We need to go.”

“Okay!” You nod, wiggling free of his reluctant arms and dropping to your knees again by your wounded friend. “Just help me with Maureen- she’s really hurt- We need to get her to a hospital and fast-” “Leave her.” His knobby fingers encircle the rounds of your forearm, jerking you back to your feet at his side again with a bruising yank. ”We don’t have time- she’ll only slow us down.” “How can you say that? We can’t just leave her here! She’s bleeding out- We can save her, we just have to-”

A quick peek back at her and you realize she looks- if possible- more terrified than she did only moments ago in the face of death. She’s shaking like a leaf- Her wide, milky eyes focused in on Tomura as she attempts another gasped word. “Look- Just look at her. She’s done for. Let’s go- I can keep you safe, I can-.” “You don’t know that- You don’t know that- Please Tomura, we don’t have time to argue, just help me!”

“I do know that,” He insists, trying again to tug you towards the door. “She’s in shock, and the blood loss is too much for them to be able to save her even if we could drag her out of here. It was obviously intentional. I can protect you but we need to leave now-”

Your eyes flick back to Maureen and the pooling beneath her prone body that seems to grow larger by the second. Her mouth trembles, choking on the words that are trapped in her flooded throat.

You shake him off once more and lean down to her as Tomura groans in what seems like, if you didn’t know better, annoyance. You ignore him, trying to coax her into your arms carefully, but she only quivers in your grasp, still trying to hiccup out something between her pained gasps and slipping mortal coil.

“C’mon Maureen- You can make it, I know you can!” But she remains limply, dead weight on the cabin floor, more fearful of something directly in front of her than the inevitable death that awaits. You lean forward once more to try and get a grip beneath her arms to hoist her upward, but she holds firm, puffing a final wheeze in your ear that takes a moment to process. “Him.”

Blood bubbles up through her throat following the words and she spits it up over her blouse, eyes going blank and body falling into limpness. The wounds across her body still ooze a steady stream of blood but the last of her spirit seems to still, light fading from her eyes in one final moment.

“Tomura, help-” Panic threads through your voice, still trying to drag her forward.

But he doesn’t move to help you. He only stares blank faced and cold as Maureen seizes in her death rattles; Her pallid fingers still coiled in an accusatory gesture at her side.

“Please-”

“I told you, she’s dead.” He pulls you away by the collar like a kitten, knocking your center of balance clean from the sheer force of the grab as he coaxes you once again into his arms. “Can we go now? We need to go, need to get away from here-”

Something catches your attention, something solid in his hoodie’s kangaroo pouch that pricks you slightly as you fall into his chest. A slight sting on your arm as it collides with his torso.

”Ow!” You pull away once again, his body stiffening as you inspect a fresh little cut on your arm where something sharp pricked at your flesh. “Tomura, what the hell is in your pocket? That hurt-” ”Nothing! Quit wasting time- Come on! We need to leave.”

“It cut me...” You pluck at the skin once more, hissing in slight pain as the small laceration pulls apart under your attentions. “Do you have a knife in your pocket?” “What? No- well, yeah. I picked it up in the kitchens when I was trying to find you. I thought I could defend myself with it if he caught up to us-”

You turn and narrow your eyes at him, shaking your head. “We don’t have knives that sharp. We have butter knives. It’s not safe for the kids, and after you got caught last time-” “We have one, remember? The one we keep in the drawer for the barbeques.” “I looked! When the girls cabin scattered after the attack, I went and looked and it was gone!” “I must’ve grabbed it before you got there. Is this really important right now? We need to go! Stop being difficult!-” “How is that possible? The boys cabin didn’t know anything was going on until we fled there when he attacked Stacy and Becky. You didn’t even know what was happening until- You- You weren’t even there-”

“Well I have it, alright?” He interrupts you, face contorting into a sneer. “Shouldn’t you be happy? It means you’re not fucking defenseless if he shows up again.” “How-”

“Don’t worry about it!” He grabs your arm again, bruising grip deceptively strong for such a lithe man, crushing the bones in your wrist with his fingers. “Come on- Lets go! We can finally leave here together- You’ll be safe with me-”

Him

It could be the ferocious expression, or his demands that are cloaked in the facade of a benevolent request. Maybe his story that doesn’t add up or perhaps you’ve simply known all along somewhere deep down. Either way, It hits you in one terrible moment- one world shattering instant where everything suddenly clicks into place.

Tomura- quiet, eerie Tomura with the sharp mind and the eyes sharper still. Tomura with boundary issues who always found a reason to touch things he wasn’t supposed to. Tomura who only ever had a soft spot for you because you were kind to him when everyone else kept a mile berth.

Tomura, who’s only friend to speak of is you.

‘He’s so obsessed with you! It’s fuckin’ creepy! You should get a restraining order before he, like, snaps and corners you and makes you suck his dick or something. He’s not even supposed to hang around with the younger group but he’s always following you around like a lovesick puppy.’

‘What? No he’s not! That’s a horrible thing to say! He’s a nice guy, you guys are just awful. You don’t even give him a chance-’

‘He’s always staring at you like he wants to eat you! I bet he’s the one stealing your stuff. I’ll bet he has one of those weirdo shrines to you in his cabin and jerks it over your picture like ‘Oh, oh yeah, ride me harder, oh fuck me faster- Oh!-’

‘You’re disgusting! He’s just nice to me because I’m nice to him! Everyone else is such an asshole to him- Including you! God, you guys are so fuckin’ mean for no reason! Just because he’s a little different-’

‘He gives me the creeps. He’s been like that since we were kids. Remember when he was a teenager but still only ever hung around you? He couldn’t even make friends his own age! Even the other councilors are wigged by him. The only one who even talks to him is you. I’m telling you, he’s a fuckin’ weirdo. There’s something totally off about him. He’s going to snap one day. We’re not the only ones that avoid him, you know-’

‘Fuck you guys. You guys are such fucking judgmental dicks. He’s never even done anything to you. You’re just a mean spirited bitch.’

Tomura who would sneak you into the woods and show you rotting animal corpses with macabre excitement in his wide red eyes. Tomura who used to sneak knives in his bag as a camper and show you how to sharpen and hold them until he got caught and the entire camp had to institute a new safety policy. Tomura who had to be scolded repeatedly for trying to sneak into the girl’s cabin as a young boy to try sleep next to you, and that it wasn’t appropriate for him to wait outside of it for you as he got older either. Tomura who has distain for everything and everyone in a world that shunned and rejected him in equal capacity.

Everyone but you.

Your friends are dead, slaughtered like animals and strewn across the camp in a grotesque tableau of vicious murder, the only knife in the area conveniently tucked in his pocket, his hand clasping your wrist in an iron hold that doesn’t ask, but demands you obey him.

“Tomura- Tomura tell me you didn’t- You couldn’t-” You’re shaking now, feeling more in danger than you did before the man in the mask who conveniently never chased you or even gave you a second glance even as he had every opportunity to do so. The murderer just as gawky and gangly as Tomura, lean, wiry muscle and imposing height almost too tall for his own body and manic, scarlet eyes. The killer who held the knife with the same practiced grip that he’d shown you so many years ago-

“What are you even talking about? Let’s go-”

He rips you forward, taking you into his arms again and squeezing.

‘He’s going to snap one day-’

“Tomura- Tomura no! Tomura! God, please tell me you didn’t do this! Look at me and tell me!”

He looks at you, mouth opening to form a sentence before abruptly cutting short. He studies your face, your quivering body, the blood across your cheek. You think, for a moment, he might break down. But he doesn’t. He laughs. A nasty, cruel chuckle directed at you and only you; there’s no one else alive to hear it.

“You always were too smart for your own good.”

The facade of panic and adrenaline falls from his pallid face, replaced with his stereotypical look of total nonchalance and almost boredom. Your stomach plummets, limbs paralyzed in abject terror as his pale hand reaches forward, thumbing at the swatch of blood across your face.

“I had to, you know. Wanted to for years. But I had to wait until you were a counselor with me. Had to wait until I could do it before the kids arrived. Too many variables I couldn’t control. No one is coming for days, and they’re finally dead, and by the time anyone finds them, we’ll be long gone.”

A stab of ice down your spine at his words, the uncanny horror of it all whirling your vision to a blurry abyss. “You can’t- what have you done? What have you done?”

“What I had to! They were insufferable and stupid- your harpy friends wouldn’t let us be. But now they’re dead.”

“-Have to get help- we need to call the police-“

“Stop being stupid.” He brushes the hair out of your face with a tender finger laden in blood. “We’re leaving here and never coming back.”

“You need to turn yourself in-“ you stammer. “They’ll know it was you, God, Tomura-“

“Do I look like I care?” A snarl lifts his scabby lips, bearing the sharp canines beneath. “I don’t give a fuck if they know. I hope they do. They’ll never find us. I’ve had so long to plan-“

“No! Tomura, this is insane!”

“It’s over. Come to peace with it.” He hisses, wrenching you even closer, his dry lips on the shell of your ear. “You’re coming with me, baby, and we can finally be together. You can finally show me all those dirty little things you never got the chance to because your friends made you feel ashamed.”

The edge of the blade in his hand flicks up through the thin threading that binds the top buttons of your counselor uniform, baring your cleavage and the top part of your bra to him. You scramble to try and cover yourself, but he’ll have none of it; he quickly swats your hands away and presses the tip of the knife to your sternum.

“I’ve waited so long for you-“ A ragged breath escapes him, chest shuddering with the force of the exhale. “To touch you. To take you. Do you know what it’s like? What you fucking do to me?”

“Tomura- this- this is wrong! Please! Please let me get help! We’ll get you the help you need- I will! But you can’t do this! It’s not right!”

“There’s only one way you can help me, babe.” The hand not threatening you with the knife slides down and squeezes your breast, your entire body stiffening in visceral disgust. “Something I’ve wanted as long as I can remember. If you’re eager enough for it now, we have some time-“

“No! No! Don’t- stop touching me! This is sick! They’re dead! Tomura- stop it!”

“They are. And I could never, ever hurt you, but I’m sure there’s someone still alive that I could to calm you down- to make you see sense.” He squeezes hard enough to make you cry out, nipple catching between his fingers through the thin fabrics you’re wearing.

You blink up at him, bleary eyes full of silvery tears that trail down the slopes of your cheeks. He doesn’t look like Tomura anymore- not your Tomura. He looks like something twisted and uncanny, some feral beast that’s inhabited your friend’s brain and driven him to the brink of madness. He leers down at you lasciviously, thick pink tongue swiping across his teeth and you’ve never felt more uncomfortable in your own skin under his gaze than you do right now.

“It’s not fair when you cry like that. I’m already painfully hard-“ He releases your tit in favor of clutching your wrist, bringing your trembling hand down to his crotch hidden by the length of his sweatshirt and forcefully rubs the length of his throbbing erection against your palm. “But it always did things to me when you got all weepy.”

You’ve been defending a monster.

“Remember when you would cry into my lap because that group of girls was mean to you and I had to keep adjusting you every few minutes?” He barks a laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “God, it was so hard not to sink you down on my cock right then. Fuck, I would have destroyed you if I let myself- all sniveling and delicate and weak. You always needed me to protect you, didn’t you? So trusting. Naive, really. You had no idea what I was thinking about at night. What I’ve been planning to do to you for years-“

You can only give a broken, disbelieving cry of his name- trying to bring back the boy you knew. The sweet boy. The shy one. The quiet one with morbid curiosities and wild ideas on the world.

“Your friends knew, of course. But you didn’t listen, you silly, dumb little girl. Tried to warn you, but you just wouldn’t listen. And now they’re dead.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you, you bastard! You’re a monster! You’re-“ You batter your fists uselessly against the steel panes of his chest and he barely even budges.

“Remember when you could come to the woods with me and I would show you all the cool stuff my dad taught me? You thought it was weird but you still came because you’ve always been so sweet to me. My dad’s dead now, but I made sure he left me his remote cabin. I’ve wanted to take you there for so long, and now I finally can.”

He advances on you and even in your rage, you instinctively backpedal. Before long, he’s got your back flush against the scratchy wood wall, toe to toe with you with his imposing frame trapping you to the surface behind you in a gangly cage of his spider-like limbs.

“Fuck- It gets me so hot when you act like a little brat. When you fight me even when you know there’s no way you can overpower me. You never could. Even when we play-wrestled. I could make you scream without even trying. So fucking precious to see you bare your teeth at me like you’re capable of lifting a finger against me.”

“I hate you- I hate you!”

“That’s okay, babe. I can learn to forgive you. Tell you what, why don’t you wrap those pretty lips around my cock and start sucking out my forgiveness with your sharp little tongue and we’ll take it from there.”

“Go to hell-“

“If I go, you’re coming with-“ He puffs into your ear, one hand swirling into the front of your shirt, the other slicing from hem to collar in one swift motion, leaving your torso bared to his greedy eyes. “I’ve earned you. You’re mine now- you belong to me and anyone who has ever tried to say otherwise is dead!”

And the worst part is he’s right. Maureen bubbles a lifeless pool of blood a few feet away. The ones who tried to fight slashed repeatedly until they were too weak to stand and died a slow, painful death into the grass. The ones that tried to run cut down from behind- a cowardly act that shows his true nature. You can scream and cry and wail your sorrows to the terrible moon that hangs through the trees, but no one will come to help you; there’s no one left. No one but him.

And no one is coming for days.

“I was going to wait until I got you home to fuck into your guts but you’re just not getting it, and I don’t think I can wait.” He thrusts the knife back into his pocket temporarily, opting instead to fumble with the front of his jeans. Dread pools in your stomach, threatening to overturn the contents into the filthy floor, but all you can do is watch in terror as he unzips the front of his jeans and fishes his pale cock from behind it.

“Go ahead and get on your knees for me and stick your tongue out. Think of it as a practice round.”

You shake your head, weakly resisting as he shoves you to the ground and taps the hot, purpling tip on your face, smearing his precum across your ruddy cheek.

“Don’t be shy. I promise once you get a taste, you’ll love it. You will learn to love it. You don’t have another choice. Just wait until I get you back home. I’ve learned so much since last summer. I can’t wait to show you.”

#morgana and friends #reader x shigaraki #nsft #tw dacryphilia #tw implied noncon #tw blood slaughter and all the fun stuff #him being gross and disgusting #not my best work but I wanted to get it out #just a snippet really #think of it as a cute fun lil thing I’m puttin out for funnies

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yanderenightmare · 4 years

Note

Ok hi again, I may be over doing it......idgaf I like ur shit! Good shit grade A writing. Aha

Aftercare, does it happen? What do they do?

Also....are these guys aware of their s/o limit if so do they stop😈

Pressing X for doubt

yandere ! BNHA thirsty headcannons

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncom/dubcon, abuse, manipulation, mind control

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

He’ll at least ask. He’s always careful to ask. The actual response isn’t too important. Protest that are drowned out in a moan can’t be seen as an actual protest anyway, and he always makes sure that her words are chocked in her throat. Bakugo knows his worth, he knows that each and every thing he does to her in that bed, it’s guarantied she likes it. Her pride makes her a liar, she can’t be trusted with her own pleasure, not when he knows and has proven time and time again that he knows her body and her limits better than what she does. When he has her bent over his lap, that cute little ass that he knows belongs to him, aiming to make sure that she knows it too, each time his hand comes in harsh contact with the soft flesh, feeling it up like putty in his hand as she winces and cries for him to stop. Her protests can’t be taken seriously, not when two fingers gliding up her pussy tells him all he needs to know, feeling how soaked she already is for him, all warm and velvety and ready. That’s all the answer he needs to keep going.

As far as aftercare goes… it can vary. Sometimes he’ll draw a bath with bubbles and lavender oil and light scented candles. Other times he’ll make food, where he’ll bake desserts more than anything. But there are days he won’t do much more than keep a painfully suffocating grip on her as he drifts rather quickly off to sleep. Exchanging no words except for those growls of good night and I love you. Leaving the rest for after they wake up, having an early morning where he’ll never let her sleep in, dragging her with him to shower before he has to leave, where afterwards he’ll treat her to more tender care on the bed with his face buried between her thighs in a way of apologizing for having to leave her alone all day.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

She shouldn’t worry her pretty little head about anything. Dabi might look like your worst nightmare, but you’d be surprised how soft the darkness really is. He can be persuasive and disarming if and when he wants to be, or he can be foul… He likes finding a mix between the two though, they work better together anyway. Make her feel safe, but only if she obeys, and make her feel fear if she doesn’t. He won’t bite… at least not for any longer than to make her cry for him, for those precious little water-works to bubble up to the surface. Making a chew toy out of that pretty swan-neck of hers, paint it with purple, resembling what hue of mulberry-wine found on his marred skin. Nibbling on that cute button between her legs, feel her tremble in his hold and hear her gasp out his name. Or grinding those perfect little nipples between the rows of his teeth, watching her blubber out her pleas when the pressure he applies threatens to bite the flimsy nib off, feel her pussy clench around his shaft upon the anticipation and fear. Fear does such peculiar things to people, especially in the form of threats, especially when walking hand in hand with pleasure. His darling doesn’t know what to make of herself, left completely like putty in his hands, all for him to toy with and tamper and tease. Where she doesn’t dare try and make him stop, she doesn’t dare allow herself to enjoy what he’s doing either, because only mad people run into things they already know to be a trap.

He’ll hush and coo at her to stop crying afterwards, her little mind on the verge of breaking and her pitter patter heart standing on the cliff’s edge ready to jump with nothing but Dabi to hold onto, the knot in her lower abdomen already having exploded time and time again because of him. She’s such a mess, such a cross-eyed wet hot mess, his little mess and that always manages to bring a smile to his face.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

If Tomura’s in a mood, as in a childish fit, she can expect no rest, because the wicked as we know get no rest, and the unfortunate sweet thing kidnapped by the wicked get no rest either. Tomura’s mood, quite like his morals, change like tidewater. Sometimes he’ll behold her precious beautiful body as though she’s made up of fine porcelain, meant to be touched and worshipped softly, where the fact of her wanting the worship or not is irrelevant. He’ll still touch and touch and let himself get carried away by how insanely soft her skin is as opposed to him. He’ll fuck her slowly, each hump meaningful and hauled out to the max as so to feel every single inch of him filling her up… Then there’s his other mood… The feeling of opposition is no less there, how unfairly gorgeous she is in contrast to how appalling he is, however… instead of it evoking worship… it evokes humorous triumph. Gut-wrenching nasty despicable satisfaction, where it brings him such inane pleasure to think that someone as disgusting as him has the power and the will to corrupt something so pure, something so pretty, and how there is quite literally nothing she can do to stop him, nothing at all… it gets his blood rushing in sadistic glee when he pushes her down on her stomach, fisting her hair while jutting into her from behind, every little salacious depraved thought growled into her ear, with no regard to her choked screams except for a wild grin, spiked to go even faster.

Not much tender aftercare here I’m afraid, he thinks it’s best to leave her alone, getting in his chair to game, taking one long last look at his cum seeping from her hole, his handprint red across her ass, still looking so pretty even with all those bruises… maybe even inspired to go for another round.

SHINSO HITOSHI

Aww. Little kitty is at her breaking point? The collar is too tight for Master’s precious pretty pet? Pussy-cat wants a break? But good kittens deserve good toe-curling eye-crossing world-shattering rewards, and bad kittens will be punished however Master chooses, won’t they? If she screams no, he’ll hear yes. If she screams stop, he’ll hear more. If she screams please, well… he’ll still hear please… It’s so unbearably cute to see her stutter and frustrate over how her words come out all wrong, as if someone’s picked her brain, pulled on her strings as though she were a puppet, changed what she wants to say, to what he wants to hear. What’s even cuter is when those large eyes of hers go all ditzy, crossing paths, that crinkle between her brows furrowing, with her tongue falling over her lips. But, the cutest thing is when her tail wraps around his thigh and leg, holding onto him in such a soft embrace when her bliss strides over her body, reaching all the way to the tip of her plushy soft tail, when her wrists and ankles are too busy being kept tied snug and firm together, as he continues to slam himself fast-forwardly into her.

He’ll erase his mind-tricks afterwards, careful to restore anything he might have disturbed or broken during their playtime. Her fluffy tail still slithered around his thigh as he pets her over her soft ears, telling her what a good little kitten she is and how proud she’s made him, feeling her shiver and jolt against him, small little spasms followed by short acute hiccups, proof of how bendable those so-called limits are when Hitoshi takes control. Proof of how good he can make her feel, so good she loses track of where she is, so good she loses contact with her mind, so good the only thing she’s still able to do is purr.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Oh… She can’t blame him when his rut rolls around the corner. He can’t control those urges. Not when she’s there, so plain and defenseless and a perfect fit for him to take all that cooped up frustration out on. He just needs to fill her each and every crevice up with his seed, make sure she’s well bred, pump her full of his cum until his balls no longer have anything left to give. He’ll hump like a frenzied pup, hands gripping her hips so tight her feet don’t even touch the ground. He’ll pound until he’s exhausted, until she’s left a swollen sweat-slicked mess, no longer able to stand straight without her weak and wobbly knees giving out beneath her. She wishes his rut and her heat could line up, so she doesn’t have to go through the same thing twice, but she isn’t that lucky, and Keigo is. He’ll be counting down the days until finally picking up those sweet tones in the air, that aroma that makes him go feral. She does him a favor by acting so shy, so ashamed, it makes it that much more fun when she’s struggling against both him and herself. All it takes is for him to put his thumb in her mouth… how she’ll begin to drool at the very first taste, her eyes losing that feral fight and falling prey to the feeling of her nerves being set on fire. He gladly indulges her needs, his heart fluttering at how clingy she becomes, how sweet, blubbering out gibberish, shapeless words that are such a good replacement for what vile things she’ll yell at him most other times.

He’ll be so hungry in the mornings after, disappointed for the lack of food in the house, but he can’t blame his darling for not cooking, not when he’s rendered her lame, she can’t very well cook if she can’t stand. He’ll order so much take-out the smell of sweat and juices soon gets coated and overwhelmed by the smell of spice and broth. Eating, regaining all his strength… that was only day one of two weeks… the rut is only just beginning.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Don’t worry, Izuku knows how much to give and how much to take, just as he knows when to give it and when to take it, and how to give and how to take. He knows what punishment is due for what crime as well as he knows when rewards are in order. And if he so happens to need to punish her… he’ll make sure she does something in need of punishment. It’s not often he needs to act on those sadistic carnal vulgar yearnings, but a bad day gets a whole lot better if he can come home and take it out on someone, especially when he gets to play with her beforehand, poke and prod until she slips up, allowing him to pounce on her the second she fucks up like a fox finally done playing with his food, his little bunny. The ends justify the means after all. He knows that it’s unfair to take his frustration out on his little darling… but… it being wrong… somehow makes it feel better. Having her blubbering on choked sobs and quaking beneath him, under his blood-soaked scarred hands, her little hole serving as such a snug and no doubt painful fit for his cock to abuse. Hearing her apologize for doing absolutely nothing at all, just to satiate his craze, all because he decided he wanted to exercise his dominance.

One thing that’s good about Izuku is that once is enough, and though that one time might feel like a million times stretching over a million days, where she’s left unable to walk properly… once he’s done, she can be sure he’s done… at least until the next day. If she hasn’t passed-out, he’ll let her cry it off when he’s done, offering no words but still comforting her by stroking her back or fiddling with her hair, twirling it about his fingers as she rests on his chest, her tears making his bicep itch with irritation, but he’ll allow her that much.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

He tries being sweet, he tries being gentle, he tries mimicking the same type of softness as his darling bestows upon him, yet… although she’s sweet, she’s also so aggravatingly reluctant, and Kai doesn’t have the time nor the patience to second-guess every single little thing he wants to do. It’s impractical, it’s wasteful, it’s stupid, and stupidity as we know is a disease he can’t risk being infected with. No, better then, for him to just take the lead, for him to make the decisions for her, for him to decide her limits, up to him to decide when she’s ready to take his cock, how fast and hard he can thrust into her, how tight he can grip her wrists when she starts pushing at him, how many bruises are too many, how many times she can cum. Besides, if things go too far… he knows how to piece her together again. He hasn’t studied every single detail of her just to let all that valuable information go to waste. He’ll see to it that she’s as good as new once their done, if not, maybe even better, maybe even less reluctant to give into what he wants next time, maybe a bit more respectful of the rules, maybe a bit more understanding of who there is the boss and who there is the brittle brainless little toy.

Pain is a good cleanser anyway, despite it being bloody and gory and mixed in with tears and drool and snot and whatever else may occur once the need for his quirk arrives after his aggression causes something to bruise or break. She might think that it’s cruel that healing her has to hurt more than the wound itself, but what she needs to learn is that prosperity always comes at a price, a price that he’s all too willing to pay when she fails to live up to her potential.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Limits are made to be broken, to be conquered, in order for us to prosper. She should be grateful she at least gets the liberty to be with the one she loves, the one who loves her. She should at least be grateful that it’s not just anyone who’s breaking her limits, but him. Him and his hands and his tongue and his cock and his frostbite and his flames and his smile and his biting laughter. She knows by now that there is no stopping him when he starts, she knows that her only hope is to wait for herself to achieve that opium-blown ecstasy and ride that insanity where her skin feels like fire and her insides like ice and every touch, no matter how feather-light or how brutish and bruising, is god’s touch.

Shoto is unprecedentedly thorough and dreadfully talented at aftercare. While his darling is lying all limp and numbed-down, holding onto the prickling feeling dancing like fire-ants on her skin, she can barely even capture the feeling of Shoto wrapping her up in a fuzzy robe. His cold lips pressing onto her forehead and by the time she comes to, when she finally and woefully breaches the surface and gets reeled back into reality, right when she’s at the verge of collapsing from having all her hormones crash, her adrenaline fizzing out into nothing and she’s left feeling all cold and so dreadfully sad, Shoto’s right there, making her feel warm and appreciated and safe. He’ll light candles, scented with rosehip, he’ll already have picked out a movie, he’ll have the chocolate ready, the tea brewing in their matching cups, swiftly braiding her hair into a neat loose setup to keep it from falling into her face as he knows she’s much too drained to lift her hand, resting between his legs, her head using his chest as a headrest. If he’s being honest, he isn’t quite sure what he loves more, the play-session or the aftercare, all he knows is that one is impossible without the other… yet again proving the importance of balance.

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

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katsukikitten · 2 years

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Tomura was lucky, although most would say that he was anything but.

Unlucky was far more fitting for the young man who lived more tragedies before the age of eight than most lived in entire lifetimes or more.

Yet still he finds himself at twenty, sitting on a throne way up high, with a sizable army that would bend to his will at the drop of a hat.

And it only cost him two fingers.

None of the food, riches, or power compared to his most regarded prize that was given to him. No they all pale in comparison.

A sleeve to be used if he wished but he saw you as more than something that brought relief or euphoria, he saw you as something brighter, better.

Reminding him of a word he long since abandoned just as it abandoned him. Neglected him. When all he ever wanted was to spread it to the world before the itching just beneath his skin came forth. Forced from his fingertips moments after a resounding slap and an apology from his only sibling.

And it never stopped. The itching, worse and worse each day growing like a beast as it slithers under his skin like a snake. It's scales shed between his nerve endings constantly reminding him that his blunt and cracked nails could do nothing to stop the itch. Not until it was gone.

Until it was all gone.

Even with the comfort or discomfort, depending on the day, of his family reaching out and yet holding him back, there was only one thought behind those raw ruby eyes.

Scratch the itch.

S̴̛͍̍̿͗̓̑̃c̴̪͑͑ŕ̷̨̛̫̝͓̰͓͙̲̏ͅa̷̢̛̱͚̗̙̣̳͗͂̃̐́̚͝t̸̨̻̗̜̑̍̀͒̀̂̽̅̓c̴͍̖̻̹̣͔̠̿̆͊͛̍͜͝ḧ̴̨̯̪̲̥̱͉́̍̍̽̅̄͝ ̶͎͍̖͉̀̓̔̌̀̅͠͠t̵̞͍̋̉̂͋̀͐́͘̚͠h̸̰̠͕̥̜͍̑̀̃̊̀͑̕e̷̼͇̠̭̅̈͛̃͜ ̵̨̱̩̪͍̀̿̒̽͐͗͠ỉ̵̤̬̳̝̈́̃͐͂̍͊͝͝t̷̛̮̫̀͑̄̾c̸̡̢̖̳̃̊̿̃̾h̷̢͉̰̺̩̯͚͈̗̟̾

It wasn't love at first sight, oh no Shigaraki Tomura knew there was no such thing as love. Twisted sure, manipulative absolutely but true?

Never.

Love was as real as any hero or God that he begged to save him when he was nothing more than a street rat to society.

There was only one emotion that stood true and resounded through his bones.

Hate.

A hate that burned so hot it was cold and pulled at the lids of his scarred eyes until everything was seen through a gaze of sheer boredom at best and at worst, when his eyes would widen and all he could see was what the world really was.

Vile, cruel, and dark.

Disgusting.

And so it all deserved to r o t.

It would, by his touch, decay so fast it would be nothing more than ash on his calloused pads and then, only then would he be comforted by the scratch that rakes its nails into his sinew, driving grooves into his bones.

Then your fingers touched him, your skin against his and for a moment the beast inside him quieted, the itching stopped. Your pretty voice, small, meek, uttering such a pretty name that it made his pulse quicken.

Beat faster than he'd ever imagined and it only worsened. His condition changed quickly but his goal never wavering. His gaze still dull, filled with disinterest until it landed upon you and then his bloody gaze would come to life. Softening just so and under the silvery rays of the moon you'd think they were gems, pulled from the earth and polished just for you.

Only for you.

Little did you know how true that hopeful thought of yours was. Clouding over his desire to scratch with your soft smile and encouraging words, singing praises over something as small as him finishing his soup.

His grip on you tightens, fingers digging into the fat of your hips as you sit on his lap, both of you looking over the throng of people. He resists the urge to place his nose in your throat as he leans closer.

"Let's go somewhere quieter." He husks in your ear barely heard over the chanting that came from below.

SHIGARAKI SHIGARAKI SHIGARAKI

They weren't saying his name right. They never did, yelling out the syllables as spittle collected in the corner of their lips. As if he were their savoir when there was no such thing.

They wanted him to give them a Genesis.

When Tomura craved Revelation.

It angered him, made his fingers twitch, made his nails dig into the deep groves at his throat or under his eye where he was sure to draw blood if your soft, delicate hands hadn't grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

Guiding you where you think will be your shared room, he made it clear that it was your space as well despite the members of the liberation army hissing at you to keep quiet and wet for him.

You hadn't expected the softness he showed you, hadn't expected him to leave you untouched despite your advances even after several months of your living with him, even when you pressed against him and you felt his cock swell he would hiss and gently move you to his liking.

Right to his lap, as if it were your throne, and he would read to you, gravely voice in your ear barely above a whisper, and it never failed to put you to sleep.

He takes you out of the stuffy hideout into the cool brisk air, shedding his jacket and threading your arms through the fur lined coat before looping his pinky through yours as he guided you to God knows where. Checking over his shoulder once to make sure you were were still there.

As if you wouldn't follow him through the hell's fire and back, he didn't even have to ask. Just loop his long slender finger through yours.

The walk is easy enough although long but the stars and moonlight keep you company before the light pollution from the nearby neighborhoods bleed into the wilderness and old cracked streets.

Abandoned buildings sprinkled between the stretched out branches of trees long since gone, suffocated by a society that demanded near rows outlined by concrete and tar.

Winking between the sparse branches was an old, small building with a tall steeple. The windows boarded up and the few that weren't glimmered in dusty reds, faded yellowes and dirty whites, jagged as much as the white haired man's eyes.

Soon it is obvious he knows this place like the back of his hand, an old refuge it seems. Squeezing your fingers with his before he gently lets go. Looking at you softly before he gives you his back, brushing away some fallen foliage and damp leaves to reveal a cellar door. One he yanks open with ease and he cannot help the satisfied smirk as he thinks about how heavy that wood was when he was much smaller than he is now.

Taking the first step down while holding out his gloved hand to you. Steadying you as you descend into the darkness without worry or fear, only seeing his two red eyes glowing as if they were your only light and to you they were.

Four steps down, five steps up and the two of you are at the alter that looks out over old prews. Linen thrown about in an attempt to protect the wood and relics that decorate the hall as if they one day had hoped to return to this place of worship.

Tomura finds it laughable, those people made up their minds the second they took one look back at this place, that they were going to leave it.

Abandon it.

And Tomura found comfort in the fact that even places as profound and sacred as the Church were left to rot into nothing. To be swallowed whole by the ground.

Earth to Earth,

Ashes to ashes,

Dust to dust

The only thing Tomura didn't believe in was the "certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life."

Hope.

That's the word he abandoned in this place when the bibles and hymnals promised salvation but nothing came.

No one came.

Shimura Tenko died a long, long time ago.

In this very spot.

Yet when he turns to you, when he comes closer and sees the stars and moon dancing in your eyes as if they were envious of you, his brows furrow. His grip tightens and his chest seems to shrink while his heart swells in great agony.

Hope, love, these were things he had let go of, things he let die.

Yet resurrection seems to sit upon your lips, eternal life making your eyes aglow and salvation must be hidden between your thighs.

"This was once my sanctuary. I didn't believe in gods or deities." He comes closer, gently tilting your chin up towards him as he looks at you with a light, with a hunger, you've never seen before, his gravelly voice echoes in the chill of the hall. His lips inches from yours.

"But I'm ready to worship now."

@cwtomura because let's be honest, I write him for you 🖤 I know it's mellow dramatic and overly poetic but I hope you like it 🥺

#tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛ 🖋️#kitten writes tomura #tomuy 🖤🐈‍⬛

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potatoes-is-are-food · 4 years

Note

Hello darling! Could u perhaps by chance write about reader chan getting jelly of shiggy? Maybe nsfw? 👀 Thank u 💞✨❤️💕

Sorry it took so long lol it got kinda longer than I thought <3 Hope you like it!

You glared at him, sipping your drink while you waited on him to notice. Some new league recruit had been chatting him up for nearly twenty minutes now, shifting her weight from hip to hip and playing with her hair way too much for your taste. Everyone knew you two were together, you were usually seated on his lap, the bar stool’s uncomfortable stuffing reminding you of how alone you currently were. You sniffled before you could stop yourself, tears gathering in your eyes as their conversation continued.

He was always touching you, couldn’t stand to be more than a few feet away most of the time. Why was he talking to another girl and so far away from you at the same time? Did he want her more? Was this his way of letting you know you were about to be replaced? Your chest tightened, fear overtaking you as you stood in spite of it.

You could feel your body shaking as you approached them, sliding your arm around Tomura’s waist and leaning into him much more brazenly than you normally dared around the other league members despite how he touched you however and whenever he pleased. He seemed entirely undisturbed by it, letting his arm rest lazily over your shoulders. You kicked yourself mentally. He probably didn’t even know she was flirting with him.

The girl glared at you, eyes narrowed as she twirled some of her hair around her finger.

“So Mr. Shigaraki, you’re planning on getting rid of All Might next, yeah? Now that you’ve got more recruits?” She continued, enunciating his name more than necessary and clearly pretending you weren’t there. You scoffed, ready to one-up her.

“Tomu doesn’t tell big picture plans to small fry recruits that won’t last the week,” you said sweetly, flaunting the nickname you knew made him blush. He had father covering his face, but you could just barely see the smirk and light pink that crept over him. He’d caught on, proudly puffing his chest out just slightly and gripping your shoulder a little tighter.

“Isn’t he your boss? You should address him with more respect. I was under the impression this was a legitimate organization,” she spat, features twisting slightly in anger as she was forced to acknowledge you. You leaned your head against Tomura’s arm, holding onto his wrist affectionately since he didn’t have on gloves. His smile grew under his covering, but only you could see.

“Are you stupid?” You asked boldly, unable to stop the sneer you gave her, adrenaline coursing through your veins, “He’s not my boss. He’s mine.” Her brows lifted in shock, immediately snapping her head towards Tomura. He was grinning widely, slipping father off his face to give you access to it as he leaned down. You caressed his cheek, helping hide any blush he might still have, and pressed a soft kiss to his rough lips.

You intended to leave it at that, but he gripped your hair and kept you in place, tongue wriggling past your lips and practically fucking the back of your throat. You involuntarily moaned, slightly gagging on it as his hands gripped at you, pulling your body against his. You barely registered a frustrated groan and steps walking away. Some snide comment that ended in “slut” but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when his thumb brushed against your cheek.

“Did little player two get jealous?” He teased, not bothering to wipe the string of spit connecting you away. You were sure he could feel you still shaking, his hands rubbing gently up and down your arms, sans one finger on each. You pursed your lips, looking away and catching a glimpse of the girl slamming the door on her way out. You doubted you’d see her again.

Tomura’s finger tilted your chin back to his direction. You decided to swallow your pride, nodding at him and giving him puppy eyes. His lips twitched up and he placed Father back over his face, slipping his pinkie around yours and pulling you back towards the bedroom. He left Spinner in charge, telling him he’d be done in a couple hours. You couldn’t look at him, grimacing at how open Tomura was about your sex life.

He shocked you when he shut the door and pulled on some gloves but rather than slamming you against a wall he pulled you on top of him on the bed. You straddled him, holding him close as he kissed along the soft skin of your neck. His hands trailed up and down your back, winding around your waist and squeezing you against him. When he pulled away he cupped your face, locking eyes with you. Your brows furrowed; he wasn’t normally like this.

“I’m yours too, you know,” he said softly, pressing his lips to yours. You smiled into the kiss and let him pull you down as he fell back onto the bed. He got jealous all the time, hating that you even needed to talk to the other league members, and you always made sure he knew you only wanted him. You’d let him take you however he wanted, making sure to let him know that you were his. His reciprocation made you soft, peppering his face with kisses.

“Mine,” you whispered, repeating the sentiment he used often. Kissing along his jaw, your fingers tangled in his hair and brushed along his chest. He hummed, arms wrapped loosely around you as he let you take your time with him for once. You left hickeys all along his neck, marking him up with purple splotches he wouldn’t be able to hide, not that he’d try. You sat up, tugging at his shirt to order it off him and ridding yourself of your own clothes. When you were both bare you resumed your attentions, kissing down his body.

You left hickey after hickey along his chest, down his stomach and several more along his hips before moving down to put even more along his inner thighs, kissing sweetly when he parted his legs for you. He stroked your cheek and head, his head falling back with a loud groan as you suckled and licked at his balls. You toyed with them, lapping along and taking them into your mouth briefly before moving on to stroke your tongue up the back of his shaft.

His face was flushed, eyes half lidded as he took in the sight of you worshiping his cock. You gave kitten licks to his head, lapping up the precum starting to bead at his slit. He moaned, bucking his hips a little as you stroked along his hips. You took his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the soft flesh as he panted, ruffling your hair. You dipped one of your hands back between his legs, pawing gently at his balls again and making him groan.

You dipped your head, taking more of him in your mouth. You worked more in with each bob of your head, eventually bringing your nose flush against the hair at his base. He was clearly struggling to not fuck your throat, eventually having to pull you off, your mouth releasing him with a pop. He coaxed you up to his face, kissing you deeply enough there was no doubt he could taste himself. He adjusted you over him and you tried to line him up with your entrance, but he gently pulled you up further until you hovered over his face.

His arms locked tightly around your thighs, ensuring you were resting entirely on him as his tongue flicked against your clit harshly, making you whimper. He suckled, kissed, and lapped at your cunt viciously, building your orgasm too quickly and making you squirm from the too-intense sensation. You gripped his hair in an attempt to get him to slow down but instead he moaned, sending vibrations to your core to accent his assault. You gasped and moaned, hands quickly finding his as he released your legs to hold them, finally letting you rock your hips against his face.

His eyes rolled back into his face as he tongued you deeply, wriggling the appendage inside you before pulling it back out to slick your fluids and his spit all along your folds, swirling around your clit. His moans were a delightful torture, the vibrating making you cry as you bucked your hips, hands clenching his tightly. He flattened his tongue against your clit harshly, letting your frantic humping create the friction that sent you over the edge. You came hard against his mouth, back arching and crying out his name as he lapped up everything you gave him.

As your high descended you collapsed, his strong arms catching and lowering you slowly onto the mattress. You panted, twitching occasionally as the pleasure ebbed and came to a blissful end. His lips crashed against yours, his mouth giving yours the same treatment it had given your pussy as you tasted yourself on his tongue. You both moaned as he swiped his tip along your folds, the sensation making you jump slightly.

He pressed inside, the puffy post-orgasmic walls making a tight embrace around him. He thrusted slow and deep, hovering his mouth over yours so your lips barely brushed against one another, moaning into each other’s mouths. Your arms locked around his neck, encouraging him closer as he started to get rougher, gripping the headboard. His other hand snaked down your stomach and two of his fingers began to toy with your clit, building another orgasm back up.

You gasped out his name, pulling him into a kiss as he got rougher still. It wasn’t as harsh as usual but he was certainly pounding you into the mattress, springs squeaking loudly and joining the loud slapping sounds already resonating throughout the room. Tears spilled from your eyes and fell down your cheeks where Tomura kissed them away, fingers never stilling on your swollen bud. You could both feel your cunt clenching and he quickened, frantic in his movements until you came, clamping down hard around him as you sobbed out nonsense.

He didn’t stop through your orgasm, fucking you through it and spilling his seed against your cervix just as your overwhelming high settled. He rested his weight on top of you, both your breaths ragged as you limply held each other. Despite him keeping you full you could feel his cum seeping out, spilling down to your ass and onto the blankets. Sweat coated your bodies, sticking your skin together and your hair to your faces.

Several minutes later he sat up, hissing as he slipped out of you and took in the sight of your wrecked body. He kissed your temple and crawled out of bed, drowsily stumbling into the bathroom. He came back cleaned off and soft, flopping down beside you and interlocking your fingers. You kissed his shoulder and gazed at him, gently brushing some of his sweat-soaked hair out of his face.

– Extended Ending

When you rejoined the others most of the new recruits couldn’t look at either of you. The girl from earlier was surprisingly still around, her face etched into a sneer and her eyes on you. You smiled at her, snuggling into Tomura’s side and kissing his hand as he pressed on with business like nothing had happened. It was a pretty normal occurrence for you, after all. New recruit bitch would just have to get over it if she wanted to stay.

She did not, in fact, last the week.

#shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki smut #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #mha shigaraki #bnha shigaraki

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sunshineneedsaplacetokeephernsfw · 3 years

Text

Temptation (Shigaraki x reader)

Pairing: Shigaraki x gn reader Word count: 2,051 Warnings: noncon, oral (giving), somnophilia, drugging, slight yandere notes: So, this is my first ever 18+ fic. I hope it’s good, I think it is. I honestly surprised myself with how well I did. I also realized while writing it that I could make a gender neutral reader if I wanted to. Though if I were to write more in the future, it would probably be female readers.

~ ~ ~

Tomura is beautiful

you realized. Yes, he was also hot and handsome. But there was just a strange beauty about him that you couldn't deny. Was it his face? His scars somehow adding a different kind of allure? Or was it his hair? You always loved the color. Or was it his eyes? Red that felt as if they were piercing through your soul? Or his body? Or maybe it was just everything.

You actually hadn't realized this until recently. You weren't sure when it started, when you started to notice his attraction. But it was probably when you were all hanging around the bar. Everyone was doing their own thing. Shigaraki was passed out on the couch. The smell of alcohol burned your nose, increasing in intensity when you got closer.

You watched him as he lay there. He was much more relaxed like this. Every other time you had seen him, he'd been tense. Like there was always something on that back of his mind that he was wary of. But there was something odd about this. Something so... peaceful, and vulnerable, about seeing him asleep. You found yourself wishing that Father would evaporate so you could see his whole face.

Your unwavering gaze didn't go unnoticed. Toga asked you what you were doing. You said that you were thinking about drawing on Father and Toga went to go get a marker.

One night you woke up from a nightmare. You weren't sure what you were doing. You weren't sure why you did it. Maybe you had reverted back to your child-like ways, but you went to Shigaraki's room. He must had forgotten to lock the door, giving you the opportunity to slip inside. Your footsteps were quiet. You were sneaky, something Shigaraki always loved about you. Good for stealth and reconnaissance missions.

You had no idea what you were going to do there, but you hoped to find some sort of comfort. One look at his face, and you felt like you'd been sucker punched in the chest. No words could describe how you felt. How he looked. His face on its own was handsome and beautiful, completely uncovered, but the peace on his sleeping face added a whole new level to it. All you could say was that it was angelic. A stark contrast to the devil the media made him out to be.

You were mesmerized, unable to look away. The back of your mind hosted a growing anxiety of what would happen if his red eyes opened. But your wonder outweighed your fear. You so wanted to brush his hair away from his face, your skin gently grazing against his. You wanted to climb into his bed and cling onto him. But you knew better. You weren't that intoxicated by him. Not yet.

You didn't know how much longer you watched before leaving.

It wasn't your fault you kept going back. You tried to resist at first, but you couldn't. You found yourself going back every few nights. Only three times did you gain the courage to stroke his hair. And only once did you ever-so-gently touch the back of his hand. But only once you knew he was in a deep sleep.

No one else would have been able to resist, right? So there was nothing wrong in staring at his beautiful face at night. It filled you with such a calm feeling. Or maybe calm wasn't the right word. Because it filled you with a sort of excitement or joy that you couldn't identify. It melted every ounce of stress right out of you, which was like a precious medicine when you were constantly avoiding heroes. Everyone else would do the same in your situation. You weren't doing anything bad, you were just looking most of the time. No harm. No malice. No wicked intentions.

The only thing that prevented you from going every night, was the fear of getting caught. You couldn't risk being kicked out. You couldn't risk his positive opinion of you. But the feeling, the attraction towards him kept growing.

Once, you had the nerve to carefully pull the sheets off of him. It was a warm night, so he wouldn't wake from lack of warmth. You slowly lowered your hand onto his chest, while readying the other one in case one of his hands instinctively moved onto yours. Your eyes examined him, drinking in the sight. Something grabbed your attention and your breathing hitched.

You saw a bulge between his legs. You licked your lips. Your breathing caught in your throat as you stared. Your heart beat so hard, you could see it beating through your chest. Every nerve in your body seemed to be fixated on it. Your brain wove an image. It would be so easy to pull his clothes down to- no! You couldn't... at least not now. If you did that, he would surely wake up and kick you out of the league of villains. Seeing his subordinate between the legs of their leader, sucking like they hadn't drank in weeks.

You couldn’t, as long as you knew he could wake up.

One day, Toga wanted pancakes, after you had mentioned them in a conversation with her. You let it slip that you knew how to make them. And Toga convinced you to make them for the League of Villains. You learned new recipes, watched videos on cooking. It soon became a normal event for you to occasionally create meals for the league

So no one found it strange when you made dinner that night. No one raised an eyebrow when you separated the food onto each plate. No one noticed when you slipped a sleeping drug into Shigaraki's food.

It had taken a while. Making food often enough so that nothing seemed odd. Doing the research to find a drug that would do what you want. But in the end it was all worth it. Nothing filled you with more triumph than when Shigaraki began eating. None the wiser to what you had put in especially for him. You knew that soon he would start to grow tired. You knew that as soon as he fell asleep, he would sleep like a log. You knew that he would wake up in the morning, maybe feeling groggy, but otherwise feeling like he had a good, long nap.

You could barely contain your joy when he announced he would be going to sleep. Pressing your thighs together and rubbing as discreetly as you could. You waited, until most of the league had left and gone to sleep. You yawned, excused yourself, and snuck into Shigaraki's room.

It was dark, but your eyes quickly adjusted. He was laying there, asleep as he always was. It always gave you a special feeling, but this time there was excitement and anticipation mixed in. The kind that made you want to jump on top of him and kiss him all over.

Maybe you should have tapped him, checked to make sure he was truly asleep. But you had been patient far too long. Besides, after all of your research on the drug, you were sure he wouldn’t have woken up in a tsunami.

You tore the sheets off, and your eyes fell down that bulge that had tempted you so many times, but you could never have until now. You licked your lips while you cupped the lump. It felt nice. Like it was meant to be there. Your thumb caressing it faster, and faster. You hastily settled yourself between his legs.

You would have liked to feel his cock through his pants a little longer before diving in, maybe actually feel it in your hands, but you had waited too long. You hooked your finger under his waistband and pulled it down until it sprang out. You jumped back like a child scared by a jack-in-the-box. It already had some pre-cum leaking , running down his length and making your tongue instinctively stick out. Your heart skipped, knowing that you already made him this hard.

You lunged forward, your hands on either side of him to hold yourself up. You licked a long line up his cock before taking it into your mouth. It was salty, not quite the flavor you had expected, but you couldn't care less. Almost as a formality, you pulled back and kissed the red tip. Making sure to add a kitten lick before opening your mouth again, swallowing it back down again.

You slid your tongue along the ridges as you bobbed up and down. You tried to take it in as far as you could. You gagged. But you did your best. You could hear your blood pounding in your ears. You nearly forgot to breathe through your nose. And you were loving every second of it as his taste filled your mouth.

You rubbed your thighs together, desperate for some relief. Something to calm the rising need.

His hips bucked into your mouth ever so slightly, causing to sputter. You felt thrilled, honored that he was enjoying it so much, even when he was asleep. You sucked harder, determined to make him feel good. Your fingers found their way to his boxers again, pulling the elastic down even further. It was hard with the darkness, but you pulled it down far enough and moved a hand to cup and caress his balls.

You shifted your arm to rest on his leg, to free your other hand to go between your legs. You hastily and clumsily pulled down the clothes concealing your lower half. Exposing your nethers to cool air. You touched it. You were nearly dripping. Your fingers got to work, rubbing and rubbing. Faster and faster, as your body demanded more.

Your moans were muffled by the cock in your mouth. Sending vibrations down it. A small moan reverberated in his own throat. You nearly came when you looked up and saw his sleeping face twisting with pleasure.

You could feel him writhe beneath you, subconsciously thrusting into your stuffed mouth. You were reaching your end too. You were close. Not long now. Not long now. Every atom in your body screamed and begged for it.

He suddenly stilled. You could feel it. Thick ropes painting the back of your throat, spurting into your mouth. Your face felt warm. It was enough to push you over the edge. You trembled as pleasure tore through you. How good it felt was the only thing you could think about. You forgot to breathe through your nose and the lack of air made your mind go numb.

Your breath was shaky once it was over. Excess cum dripped from your mouth. You licked up any that fell on Shigaraki’s skin. You were glad that your pants and panties were still at your thighs. You hadn’t considered the mess you would make and they were catching all of it as it dribbled down your legs.

You pulled your pants back up. You still trembled from the after-tremors of your orgasm, as you forced yourself up. You didn’t want to leave, all you wanted was to curl up next to his body and fall asleep. But then he would wake up, and you didn’t want to answer why you were sleeping next to him.

But maybe if you hugged him for just a second…

You carefully lowered yourself next to him and wrapped your arms around him, nuzzling your face into his neck. It was so comforting. Like a warm blanket on a cold day. It took almost all of your willpower not to fall asleep. It was amazing. You stared back up at his sleeping face. He was beautiful.

You crawled up and kissed him. On the cheek, then on his lips. You couldn’t help it. Such a sweet gesture after doing something so naughty filled with you a strange sensation. It was only later when you realized and wondered if that was his first kiss.

With reluctance, you got up. You were satisfied. You already made him and yourself cum. The thought of impaling yourself on his length only barely crossed your mind. No, simply being able to taste him was enough. And you weren’t bold enough for that.

At least not yet.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader smut #shigaraki smut #shigaraki tomura x reader #bnha shigaraki #mha shigaraki #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #smut #tw: noncon #tw: drugging #tw: somnophilia

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satancopilotsmytardis · 1 year

Note

Ok soooo, dacryphilia and cock warming (or collars) if it hasn't already been done already. love how you write Shigaraki's reaction to Dabi's tears, and the headspace Dabi has to be in to actually let himself go enough to cry. And tears of blood are usually seen as gross and/or creepy, and I can imagine how Dabi is used to people being disgusted (if he even lets himself be vulnerable enough to cry Infront of someone). But Shiggy loves them, ugh, your writing will be the death of me. And hawks can't cry so maybe learning Dabi's bastardised version. Idk Shigadabi, shigadabihawks your choice. Sorry for the long ask

Prompt: Cock Warming, Oral Sex, Dacryphillia

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Cock Warming, Dacryphillia, Dom/Sub, Subspace, light Breath Play, light Pain Play, light Blood Play, Face Fucking, brief Accidental Voyeurism

Knew that he was in for a long punishment when he ignored Shig's texts for a week. In his defense... okay he doesn't have one. Knew that Duster needed to go off and do shit with Re-Destro as Grand Commander or whatever and that he couldn't tag along because he needed him at base making sure that everything else was in order. Ignoring his lover because he was pouting, especially when Shig made sure to text him every day to check up on him outside of work stuff, was petty and rude. But he was petty and stubborn and apparently willing to live up to his moniker of 'brat' from his lover. Had thought he was in for Duster coming home and throwing him against the nearest flat surface and putting him in his place.

Instead Shigaraki had come back, they'd gone over work stuff, and Duster had just gotten up and left the room. Only came to bed long after he fell asleep and left long before he woke the few nights he managed to sleep at all due to his insomnia. Still will talk to him about work, never rude to him, but is absolutely getting even with him for the week of cold shoulder he'd given. Absolutely not punishing him in bed the way he'd wanted because he'd definitely figured out that's what Dabi had been angling for. Hates that this is so clearly a much more effective way of punishing him because he's getting absolutely desperate for his lover's attention.

Breaks after three days of the cold shoulder. Breaks after another morning waking up alone in bed, Duster's side left deliberately unmade so that he knows he was there this time and left without waking him, hadn't curled up close like they usually do. Throws on his clothes, sans coat, and heads towards Shigaraki's office. Fine. Groveling it is.

Makes it to his office unimpeded and knocks on the door,

"Come in." Pushes it open and Duster cocks a brow at him. "What is it?"

Doesn't say anything, shuts the door and then moves over to where his lover is sitting at his desk. Still doesn't say anything before he gets down on his knees, half crawling under the desk to do so. Duster watches him, expression flat. He puts his hands behind his back and rests his temple against his knee, keeps his eyes on the floor, head lowered, the picture of submission. Stays still and quiet. Takes an agonizingly long time before Tomura sighs softly. And then there's a careful hand petting through his hair.

"Why were you misbehaving, kitten?"

"...missed you."

"Would have had me back sooner if you hadn't been so rude."

"I'm sorry, sir."

Duster hums, keeps petting him gently and Dabi melts into the touch. Missed his hands so badly, missed his attention, missed his words-- the soft ones and the mean ones that he saves for him behind closed doors. "I'm glad you came and apologized," the hand pulls away from his hair and he nearly whines for it back. "But you misbehaved for a week, baby. Punishment's not over yet. Go do your work."

Does let out a soft whine now, desperate to be forgiven, desperate for Duster's touch back. "Please sir, I'm sorry, I'll be good--"

"If you were going to be good then you wouldn't be talking back to me so soon after apologizing." Voice ice cold and not deigning to look at him when Dabi risks lifting his head. Has turned back to his own work, expression closed off. Fuck. Doesn't know what to do with how sour and sick his insides are going, the tremble that's starting to go through him. Feels like he's going to drop and they haven't even really played yet. Duster glances at him and goes still. Wonders how stricken he must look to make him pause. "Oh, sweetheart," the coldness goes so suddenly, hand reaching to stroke over his cheek.

Didn't realize he was crying until he gives a soft sob as soon as his hand is on his face. "I-I'm sorry, please sir, I won't do it a-again, please," Can't stop the tears as they slip over his cheeks. Doesn't dare reach for him, wants to hold on tight, clingy and needy. Anything to make the sharp sickness and shame soften where it's clawing at his chest.

"Pretty boy," catching some of the bloody tears, smearing them from his skin, expression so soft and warm on him as he sniffles and tries not to sob. "You really do feel bad, don't you, baby?"

Dabi nods weakly.

Duster sighs, like he's still disappointed, like he's still misbehaving, and Dabi's gut goes absolutely hollow thinking that his lover is still going to send him away. "Alright, sweet thing, come here," makes him shift until he's hidden under the desk, makes him keep his hands behind his back and hope sparks sharply through him as Tomura undoes his belt and slowly pulls himself from his pants, giving his cock a few long, languid strokes as he catches the tears still slipping over his cheeks with his other hand. Eyes darker as he touches himself, as he watches him cry. Always likes to see him cry, always makes him when they're in bed together. Likes to see him cry because it's another sign of his submission. Because Duster is the only person who's gotten to see him cry since he became Dabi and delights in knowing that he can reduce him to nothing but a messy tangle of needy emotions to the point that tears are the only release for it. "Open up, kitten."

Does so readily, leaning forward and letting his lover feed his cock between his lips. Can't help the little moan at the taste of Duster's skin on his tongue. Starts to lick along his length, sucking eagerly, more than ready to make up for his bad behavior. Not expecting a hard pull at his hair, sharp enough to make him whimper, eyes flicking up to meet Tomura's.

"Not like that, baby. Let you stay so long as you can behave yourself but I have work to do."

Oh. He shifts a little settling in, sucking and licking more gently, feeds him into his mouth a little slower, until he's sitting just at the back of his throat. Takes him a second to find a place that's deep enough but that isn't restricting his breathing, his jaw and lips stretched wide around his lover's thick cock, but settles. Will happily stay right here for as long as Tomura lets him.

The hand in his hair pets him again, "That's it, being such a good boy." The sickness in his gut ebbs away with the words and soft touch. Makes way for the light, floaty fog his head goes to sometimes when he gives up control to Shigaraki. Makes everything feel softer and a little distant. Makes his eyes slip shut as he focuses on the cock in his mouth. Can't blow him the way he usually likes to. Needs to be good. Keeps stroking along his length with his tongue languidly, only swallows when he has to, keeps him pressed into his throat for as long as he can before he gently pulls off enough to breathe and takes him in again. Never pulls more than an inch or two back. Keeps as much of his lover's cock in his mouth as he can.

Has no idea how long Tomura keeps him like this. Knows that it's long enough for the discomfort in his knees and jaw to go completely numb. That he's so distant and foggy that when Tomura shifts, hand moving to the back of his neck and pulling him a little further onto his cock, he's surprised by the muffled moan he lets out. Surprised to realize how hard he is too. Hopes that means his lover wants him to really start to suck him off, but he shifts back to petting him lightly, lets him resume his rhythm and goes right back to his work. Dabi whimpers but Duster doesn't even glance at him. Now that he's noticed his arousal it's becoming a more persistent discomfort. His cock aching and straining against his pants. But he needs to be good. Has to behave. Will be sent away if he doesn't. Does his best to settle.

Only manages to stay still for a few more minutes. Just trying to shift a little, trying to spread his legs a little wider to relieve some of the pressure against his cock. Moves too much and has Tomura's eyes back on him, a little sharper than they were before. Pauses as Dabi stills.

Lets out a low, mean laugh when he sees the obvious bulge in his pants. Dabi flushes hotly, working his tongue along his length more insistently. Tomura pulls his hair again, "My little whore, like being used so much. Let me see how hard your pretty cock is, baby."

His hands are trembling, keeps sucking Duster's cock as he undoes his belt and the closures of his pants. Moans as he wraps his hand around himself, the air of the room so cool against his overheated skin. Barely has started to move his hand before the tug on his hair comes again, much more roughly. Hard enough it sends stars dancing behind his eyes, making his cock drip and him moan around Tomura's.

"Didn't give you permission to touch yourself, hands behind your back, sweetheart."

Torture to do it but he doesn't hesitate. Won't misbehave again when he's still in trouble.

"Good boy." And then he goes right back to his work.

Agony to have Tomura's hard cock in his mouth, to not be allowed to suck him off properly, to be so hard and so exposed and not be allowed to touch himself. Wants to make his lover feel good, wants to be allowed to cum. Hard to stay relaxed and keep warming his cock. Can't help the little whimpers and whines that are slipping from his throat each time he's allowed to take him as deep as he can go and swallow. Moans a little too loudly when he starts to taste his lover's pre, bitter and salty, on the back of his tongue. Makes his own cock start to drip too.

Goes abruptly still when he hears a knock at the door, his temperature spiking sharply with his panic. Cuts through the nice hazy fog of his arousal as he struggles to remember if he locked the door behind him. Tomura smiles again, sharp and dangerous, holds him in place and fucks into his mouth once and Dabi gets the message. Starts to really work his mouth over him, tries to be quiet, shame making his cheeks burn as his lover calls,

"Come in,"

Can't be seen from where he's kneeling, but knows if he's too loud that he'll be heard in the small room. Tries to be quiet as he swallows around Shig's cock, starting to bob his head along his length, rubbing his stud against his head the way he likes, rewarded with more pre against his tongue.

"Hey boss man, sorry to bother you,"

Fucking, god damn it. Of course it's the hero with his sneaky feathers that can hear everything.

"It's fine, what do you need, Hawks?" And Duster's voice is calm and even as he addresses the hero.

"I was just wondering if you know where Dabi is? Been looking for him for half an hour but I haven't found him yet."

Duster tugs on his hair, forces him to take his cock as far as he can into his throat and Dabi tries desperately not to choke. "Any reason you're looking for him in particular?" Doesn't let him pull back for breath. Holds him in place as his throat twitches and spasms around his cock as he tries not to whimper or gag.

"Just checking in, gonna be going to Musutafu for a team-up and wanted to let him know before I left." Black spots are starting to bloom behind his eyes. Squeezes them shut as he feels tears start to slip fresh across his cheeks.

"I'll let him know, he's busy doing some work for me today."

"Alright, welcome back, by the way."

"Thanks, good luck with your hero work." A distant ringing is starting in his ears.

"Thanks, I'll see if I can bring back something good when I'm finished. See you, boss man." The door shuts again, but Tomura keeps holding him in place for another few seconds. Until Dabi is sure he's going to pass out. Then pulls all the way out of his mouth.

Dabi doesn't know if he's gasping for breath or choking on a sob as soon as his throat is cleared. Coughs weakly as the tears slip over his cheeks, as he gets enough breath back to realize how much closer to the edge the fear of being caught and the sharp discomfort of being choked brought him.

"Still being so good for me baby, look so cute like this. Love watching you cry. Wonder how many more tears I can get out of you like this. Open back up, sweetheart, I'm not finished with your mouth yet."

Whimpers but does so immediately. Doesn't know how much longer he can last like this. Knows he'll be in trouble if he talks back again. But Duster doesn't make him go slowly this time. Wraps a hand around the back of his neck and starts to rock his hips into his mouth. Dabi sobs, delirious with his relief as he starts to move, as he readily lets Tomura work up into something faster as he licks along his shaft and swallows around him every time he sinks into his throat. No finesse left in him, is drooling, sobbing, moaning, all messy and desperate as he chases his lover's pleasure, chases his own, balls tightening with each rough thrust.

"Fuck, that's it pretty boy, being so good for me. Come on, know you can do even better."

Didn't think he had anything left but he's desperate to be good for Tomura. Wants to be forgiven for misbehaving so badly. Ignores how badly his jaw is hurting again, ignores the way pain sparks sharply along the edges of his lips. Presses hard, pushes until his nose is buried in the nest of white curls at the base of Tomura's cock and takes him as deep as he can into his throat and swallows. has to keep swallowing as they moan loudly, Tomura spilling down his throat. Dizzy as he drinks every drop, doesn't stop, doesn't pull back. Keeps going until Duster's hands are coaxing him back. Pulls off, a few strings of thick saliva and cum clinging to his lips. Realizes belatedly he can taste blood too. That there's blood smeared over the sides of Tomura's cock. Hard to register anything because he's floating through the haze of his own orgasm, cum splattered over his stomach and soaking into his shirt.

Duster is wiping the tears off his cheeks again, lets out another soft bit of laughter. Dabi whimpers, thinks he's going to get into even more trouble, but when he manages to look up at him, his lover's eyes are so adoring on him. "Always like getting your throat fucked so much, baby boy."

Too raw from the treatment to find his voice but he manages to nod.

"Come here, sweet thing." Doesn't bother to wait for him to get his limbs under him, doesn't need to. More than strong enough now to pick him up and pull him into his lap. Peppers his face with soft kisses as he tucks them both back into their pants. Dabi melts against him, still floating. "Did such a good job, baby. Made up for misbehaving this week."

Can't help the little relieved sob he gives, tucking his face into Tomura's neck, clinging to him. "I'm sorry," voice absolutely ruined. Can barely speak at all, can't bring his voice above a whisper.

"Oh, baby boy, shhh, I know, I know. Love you so much, sweetheart." Pets his hair and presses a kiss to his temple, holding him a little tighter. "And I missed you while I was gone. Why were you so rude, kitten?"

"...missed you." Hides his face, mumbling into his shirt, knows he's staining it with his tears and, with what he can now tell, are more blood trails from the staples he apparently pulled at the edges of his lips. "Just wanted you to pay attention to me when you came home..."

Duster sighs, can feel him shake his head slightly, voice gently amused. "I would have paid attention to you as soon as I got back if you'd behaved, baby."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs again, nuzzling in a little closer, like at any second Tomura will change his mind and abandon him again.

"I know, kitten. Come on, put your arms around my neck." Does so immediately as he feels his grip shift so that he can lift him as he stands. "Gonna go get cleaned up and then I'll give you my attention for the rest of the day, that sound good, baby?"

He nods, pressing a kiss to his neck just above his collar. "Thank you, sir. Love you."

"Love you too, firefly. No more misbehaving."

Shakes his head. Still feels miles away from his body. Couldn't misbehave right now if he wanted to.

Might have something else to say about that when he does eventually pull himself out of this fog. But for now he's more than content to do exactly as he's told so long as he can stay in Duster's arms.

Thanks so much for submitting! Still accepting prompts from this list!

#my writing #shigadabi #mha fanfiction #kink prompts #prompt response #writing prompt

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sugarakis-p2 · 3 years

Text

Gamble ch 4: Bad Mate

Rebel proves she is smart, useful, fast and is punished harshly by both Dabi and Shigaraki for it.

Poor Toga!

Awwww they teach Dabi to kiss!

Yeah I went there. There are some regrets, a lot of fluids, more fluids than regrets. I don't mind if you re-blog, or re-post just give me credit. I really love what I write and do work hard at it.

Warning: Double Knotting, non/con, minor death, bad words

Chapter 3

Chapter 4: Bad Mate

Shigaraki was announced to the bored King, who did not bother to look up. "Hoodwink! Your mane is looking lovely!" Hoodwink, the Sphinx, shifts on his throne, his human-like face lighting up in joy upon seeing the female known as Rebel.

"Is that not the human female from the gambling hall?" He asks one of his females, who nodded yes. "Kitten! What brings you to my kingdom? Did your father sell you to some fool?" He eyes Tomura.

"You must have spurned the Count in some way; he would've warned you about this little runner. Not that it would've stopped you, it hasn't stopped many of us." He is now inspecting Tomura Shigaraki with interest.

"I doubt her father would have sold her to you though. Your kind knows the woods as well as kitten. Now that must be an interesting story." He indicates Shigaraki should sit.

"I heard you are an excellent sticks player. I have high-quality rubies. Let's play while my flock feeds and drinks. I can tell you how I caught my little butterfly." He pets Rebel on the head like a dog.

"Yes, yes, such a fine guest. I have not thought highly of your kind in the past, but I am impressed; I can feel my mind changing." Rebel flashes a pouch to a blue-coated female who speaks up.

"ReBell, kitten, you are worse for wear. Your clothes are tattered, and you reek. The females shall retire and fix this." She announces as she walks away. The king ignores her while Tomura nods to his mate in permission. Rebel goes to follow when she notices Toga trailing along. "Aren't you staying here?" "Why? I'm a female too." Rebel doesn't say anything else.

After a bath and fitted in silks, Rebel got to business. Negotiations were frustrating, but she and the flock came out on top. Toga was busy stuffing her face, watching. "Excellent, with these sapphires and your mate, will adhere to our agreement, we both benefit." "Toga has authority in this matter, I'm sure. What do you think, Toga?" "Sounds good," Toga mumbled around mouthfuls of meat. "Then sign here, Toga, and it's all done."

"It was a pleasure as always, Lunar. Excuse me, I have to use the privy." Rebel gets up and walks out of the room calmly. Once she is out of Toga's sight, she breaks into a full-tilt run to the exit. Toga pops in front of her.

"Caught ya! He knew you'd try something like…hey!" Rebel darted into a secret hall with a stone door that slammed shut behind her. Toga pounded for several minutes before saying to an empty hallway, "Tomura is going to kill me." Lucky for her, it was Lunar that delivered the bad news. "She ran away, but on the bright side, she brokered an excellent deal in your favor." She announces to the room, unable to talk to any males. "hmmm, deal?" The king asks, not really caring he was still busy playing sticks with Shigaraki.

"They are taking over the old hive in the forest on the edge of our territory. In return, they will kill any griffins that enter our kingdom; that's five times a year on average. They will kill all the vampire huggers in the lake, and in return, we build a canal to us and the hive. The only catch is that one can't enter the city of Forestdale. That one agreed." She says, pointing to Toga. Shigaraki manages not to kill everything. "Why would you agree to the last part," Shigaraki asks through gritted teeth. "I didn't!" she wails.

"You did, dear. See, it's right here. Rebell added it last second. Contracts are blood bonded, break any part of it, and the signer dies." "Can always find her by scent," Compress says. "She took a bath," Lunar says to Toga. Shigaraki is seething with rage. Toga wails, sure that Tomura is going to get her killed. Rebel knew he could not. Toga was the only viable female in a group of males. Unless he wanted his hive to collapse before it started, he would keep Toga safe.

"I would check my inventory if I were you," Hoodwink said idly. All the diamonds were missing. Tomura is scratching himself until he bled. "Dabi, I have a job for you." "What's in it for me." "Fun." Shig rasps and Dabi smiles.

Three days later, Rebel exited the forest into her family's backyard. Tired and hungry, the family celebrated all night. "Add more meat to the stew," Daddy shouted at Mama and Jenny. Rebel had stolen enough to set them up for two years. All seven of her siblings hugged her. They wept in relief, for both the cash and seeing her alive. It was such a close call she started training three of her sisters and two of her brothers to take her place. They made a tidy profit from the low carat diamonds, fleecing fools who thought they knew better than them, making purse drops and snatches. They had to be good enough to fool mythical creatures and fast enough in the forest to out run them.

It had been two months, and she was for sure pregnant. She was very late and very stressed. She needed to find a husband quick and accepted a date with the dullest fool to ever enter the Index. The Count set it up for her, telling her she could always be with him instead. Like she would ever be one of his harem whores. Although Rebel almost would prefer it to this.

The stocky man was the button king of the land, a wealthy lord of some kind. He prattled on and on about buttons. The different textures, the unique shapes, the exciting material, "Did you the vampire master Kai prefers polished steel, my golly, who would have thunk it." The custom jobs for kings all over the lands. Rebel smiled and nodded, asking him to please go on. She wanted to hang herself. She is fine with his shape and pale, sweaty skin. He is just so boring. She reaches up and scratches her scar when he wasn't looking. He touches the raised skin and smiles. It's the souvenir she has from Shiggy.

It's in times like this, she did miss Shiggy. He could be gentle and sweet. He is cleverer than he looked and presented. If he wasn't what he is, and if she wasn't a human, she could see herself happy with him. The cat and mouse game with him were the most on edge she has ever been. When she looks back, it was thrilling. At the time, it was terrifying; those fucking hands. A moonlight walk around the reflecting lake is pretty but basic and boring; no were near as thrilling as trying to outmaneuver a Mothman.

"It's getting very late, my lord. I really should be heading back home." She will end the date with a kiss on his round cheek. Only she is shocked that the man is a pillar of blue flame. He is crumbling to ash before her eyes. She's seen blue flame before. She turns to run when she is blocked by glowing blue eyes. Dark black wings that shimmer a purple design in the blue light. "I'm not going to get away, am I?" She says with a lilt of hope. He shook his head. "Can I say bye to my family?" Rebel asks sweetly. "You had two months more than you did two months ago. You're coming home to your new family at the hive." Dabi says in his firm smoky voice. She nodded and didn't fight when he carried her to hell.

"Look what I found," Dabi said. He put her down in front of Shigaraki. Painted like a king, he loomed over his bad mate. "What should I do with you? You broke our deal. You ran away and got poor Toga in trouble. Stole from the hive. I thought we were going, to be honest with each other. On the other hand, you only took a portion of what we agreed to for your family. Brokered a good deal, and now you are carrying my brood. Still, my mate. What to do? What to do?" Dabi had snuck up behind her and is sniffing at her hair. He had been a perfect gentleman during the trip. Now he was being a handsy creep. She smacked at him, which only seemed to get him more excited. "Don't forget my reward." Dabi hisses, Shig ignores him.

"I did say bad mates get it rough. I did say you have to please only me. I did tell your father only I could touch you. I guess this will make me two-thirds a liar, turns out being honest with my little butterfly is a bad habit. I must punish you. You have opened my eyes to compromises and accommodation. With so few females, I needed to offer Dabi a decent reward for finding you. After all, I can't enter your city. Don't worry. After your punishment, we'll go back to the original deal; this is going to be the only exception, right little butterfly? No more running." She gives them both dirty looks; Shigaraki's heartstrings are plucked when she's like this. "Oh, pretty little butterfly, you are in for a treat." Dabi hisses. "I've wanted this since back at the cave. Boss, do you really think she can take two knots?" She looks at the two evil grinning monsters in shock. Never had she thought that punishment would be on the table. Shig has been so possessive.

"No!" She screams as she tries to run. Four sets of hands capture her. "Fuck no!" She screams, flailing and kicking. "Don't be like that. Makes me think you don't like me. Wasn't I nice on the way over here?" "Only because you knew this was waiting for me, you sick fuck! Shiggy, please! I'm your mate! There are other punishments!"

"Sorry little butterfly, you forced my hand. Too few females, and it keeps my right hand close." "Real close," Dabi whispers in her ear, adding a chirp at the end. They are carrying her to a giant bird's nest filled with pillows. "Remember the rules. No marking, scenting or burning. You can dust and knot the ass, not the mouth. Also, fuck that mouth at your own risk." She is trying to bite at Dabi while he says the last part.

"She's pregnant, don't see why I can't have the pussy?" "Because I killed one knotting the throat, and anal just doesn't feel as good to me," Shig says. "Yes, but if we fuck her at the same time, the ass gets real tight." "Really?" "Both of you are fucking sick. Shiggy, please! You could kill me! Could hurt the baby!"

"That's cute. She thinks our cocks could kill her or hurt the baby. I thought you were smart. Don't you know holes stretch; bones break?" Dabi says while kneading her breasts. Laughing at her panic. "She was a virgin, it's really annoying having to train them, but she will do well. After all, she wants to make me happy. She wants to be my good mate. Good mates get considerations." Rebel whimpers pitifully. Then feebly struggles.

"This is great, you know; struggling and making us chase you gets our instincts riled up." "I'm going to fucking kill you both." Rebel snarls at them. "The mouth on this one, can we fuck it, right?" Dabi asks. He's inhaling her pure scent before Shigaraki gets to her. He chuckled when she struggled to claw at his stitches.

"I like to hear her threats and pleas. They are adorable. She is a bit of a biter again at your own risk." They are talking about her as if she is some dumb plaything. She knew they were talking in the human tongue on purpose. Humiliating and frightening her.

"Shiggy, my mate, please. The threat of this is enough. I promise I'll never run again." "Where did we land on the pussy?" Dabi asks. Both are ignoring her pleas. Tomura sighs, annoyed. "Only this once, just because she's already carrying. If it were any other time, I would withdraw the reward." She goes limp. Dabi shakes her and gives Shigaraki a disheartened look.

"Don't worry, she plays possum to get close before becoming a vicious minx. I sit, and you thrust?" Shig asks. "Yeah, I want to see her face. I'll thrust." Dabi's hand is knitted in her hair, tongue licking her neck, while Shigaraki pulls off her clothes. Dabi can feel the pulse of her heartbeat under his tongue and has to control himself. No marks are a rule, so he lightly nips. He wants to do this again, so rules with someone else's mate are the only ones he bothers to follow. Shigaraki is kissing her thighs. She has slowly snaked her hand under her jerkin and pulled out a knife. She is quick, but Shigaraki is quicker; he caught the blade. He's laughing. A trickle of blood drips down his chest as he tsks her.

"Playing a little rough there, sweet mate. I would be disappointed if you hadn't tried." He wraps five fingers around the blade, and his shatters into dust. Rebel whimpers. It was her last chance. They would never let her near anything sharp again. Dabi chirps.

"She is a little minx." Sliding his hot hand up her side. To cup her breast and fingers her puckers nipple. Shigaraki growls and turns her top into dust. Rebel squeaks in fear; four dangerous hands are on her. She has seen Dabi light fires on the way here, and she was happy with not having to deal with that, at least. How stupid and wrong she was.

"I wanted to be kind and leave your clothes, but you always force my hand. I can't trust you don't have other nasty things hidden. Always the hard way with you first." Tomura says. His teeth are nipping at her hips. They are both making her shudder in fear and pleasure, and she hates herself and them for it. Her body has been betraying her since she has met the Mothmen. Shigs hand darts up into her hair, and she screams. She knows that he doesn't want to kill her but that doesn't mean he might not accidentally do it one day. He twists her face towards Dabi's. His fur feels signed and smells like caramel on the edge of burning. "Give him a kiss," Shig orders. "A kiss? "It's a human thing where mouths are pressed together. It's a new way to taste a mate. Try it."

His lips are softer than Shigs. She can still feel scar tissue and a scrap of a stitch. His long tongue violates her mouth at the same time Tomura is licking her cunt. She whines and tries to twist away from them both. Both are starting to feel good, and she's embarrassed how her body heats at their touch. Dabi is so warm. She can tell the difference between their roaming hands. Their antenna is everywhere, tickling. Rebel giggled into Dabi's mouth, encouraging him to be more aggressive with his kiss. As he pulls from the kiss, she tries to bite him, but he's too fast. Rebel is gasping; both are leaving her breathless.

"It's like bringing her to heat, but dangerous, those little flat teeth are sharper than I thought." He snickers, nuzzling her hair to watch Shigaraki lick her. Tomura's is firmly planted over her pussy, tongue deep and squirming, as he slicks his dick with his precum.

"Mmmm, he seems captivated by your taste. I guess he's that kind of guy. You are so much sweeter with a tongue in you. Are you this sweet when your knotted, I wonder?" "Why don't you two just fuck each other?" She spits a Dabi. He catches in his mouth and groans. He wets two of his hot fingers and shoves them roughly in her ass. She shouts curses at them as he fingers her. "So delicious. It's much more fun when there is a little treat between. You're so much softer and tighter than anyone of our species. Smell good, taste good, fuck good. I hope you remember I'm being nice, getting you ready, because all of Shigaraki is going in this virgin hole. Such a tight little hole, maybe you'll misbehave, and I can try it later."

"How honorable of you, you disgusting creep." Tomura pulls away, Dabi pulls his fingers out with a squelch, Tomura spitting a wad on her holes. Wiping his face, he adds her wetness to his aching cock. "She's ready," He rasps. He lays back, wings and arms spread wide. "Come here, little butterfly, and sit on your mate's lap." Dabi flips her struggling form and helps spread her as he slowly lowers her on. Tomura is spreading her cheeks and lying himself up to her dripping puckered hole. Rebel sobs miserably as Tomura's cock is firmly anchored in her. His arms wrapped around her middle, pinning her arms to her side. He is nuzzling the crook of her neck, licking at her tears, and kissing his scarred mark. He leans them both back for Dabi.

Dabi leans down and gives a lick at where they are connected. It makes her squeal, and Tomura shivers with pleasure.

Dabi's hands grip her waist as he slowly sinks into her. She whimpers, and her pained face is making this better for him. She's so tight and full; his hips slowly start to rock. He grinds his cock deep inside her, making sure to form and stretch her insides to fit him. He wants to coax at least one orgasm from this female. He wasn't lying. She is softer and tighter. He wants her to misbehave so he can do this again. Maybe if they both realize how good this is, it could be more regular. The thought is so exciting he slides out a little too fast, and it's making her cry out with each thrust. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her head thrown back into Tomura, her teeth gritted.

"No, no, no more. Please." She begs. It feels unbearably good. She hates them. She feels like a panting slutty bitch in heat. It is the most degrading thing Rebel has ever had to do. The room is filling with the sounds of their moans, groans, the wet slapping of skin, squelching, chirps, and the buzz of wings. The smells of sex mixing in the air sending the males over the edge. "Oh, little butterfly, you're getting tighter. Your pussy is drooling around me. Are you about to cum?" "I hope you both die," Rebel moans. "Feels so good," Tomura mumbles. Dabi captures a hard nipple in his mouth, wings quivering, dark dust falling on both. She shouts, arching back into Tomura, both her cunt and anus tightening. Her orgasm is encouraging them to both pump deeply. She is shouting curses that are turning incomprehensible. Her walls are sucking them both. Primal growl as both knots inflate, making Tomura and Rebel squirm under Dabi. Dabi's cum feels boiling hot as he fills her. It is so much it's leaking around the edges, sliding down Tomura's crack. She is trembling between them, gasping, and going limp.

Dabi does a tentative knot pull that has both shouting and give him a nasty look, Tomura's blazing red eyes threatening. They all roll to the side, her cursing more of how it hurts for them to move. They coo and chirp over her. It would be sweet if she didn't hate them. Shigaraki is smothering her in his scent, telling her to never run again, and what a good mate she is for taking her punishment so well. Rebel is crying, telling them, of course, she'll never run again, please no more, it's too good. She is already plotting on running. Even the Count wouldn't do this, would he?

Panting and sweating, their wings encase her, and they fall asleep entwined with each other.

Sequel coming soon! I'm super lazy and tags are annoying.

#mothman #tomura smut #lemon #shigaraki tomura #boku no hero academia tomura #mothman shigaraki #motharaki #moth shigaraki #smut #MHA fantasy

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bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love · 4 years

Note

So the is is kinda a gross one but... how would shiggy react to a s/o who has a piss kink? Like if one day she went up to him and asked if she could be his own personal urinal?

YUM YEAH PISS AHEAD INCASE YOU DIDN'T READ THE ASK.

This is so amateur I'm sorry anon you deserve better but like....

You shyly walk up to your boyfriend who is researching something on the computer. Standing there silently, blush dusting your cheeks, he glances up at you, "whats up pet" he asks in that gravelly voice that makes your stomach do flip flops. Well you start off, "there's something I kinda want to try with you, but I'm don't know how you'll react and I don't want you to think I'm nasty but...." you soft voice trails off and your suddenly become very interested in a spot on the floor.

Tomura noticing this becomes curious, reaching out he pulls you closer to him, his arms around your waist as he peers up at you inquisitively. "What is it kitten, you can tell me, who knows maybe its something I've been wanting to try to, as long as its not bringing someone else in" he said quirking an eyebrow. "No no no never" you quickly reassure him, "but it is...well...umm..." you struggled to find the words.

"Spit it out babe, you can't really gross me out so just say it" he was growing impatient. "Piss" you blurted out, averting your eyes once again, scared of his reaction. His hands twitched and a wicked smirk crossed his lips, you could hear a low rumble in his chest as he begun laugh. "What did I tell you pet, we are both thinking the same thing" he rasped. Your eyes meet and he started to push you to a kneeling position before him.

"Take your top off" he says. His hands working his pants down he ordered you to open up. "Aren't you a lucky little slut as it so happens I need to relieve myself now" he chuckled. Doing as your told your mouth opens wide ad you try to prepare for what is about to come as he stands up aiming his dick at your face.

Next thing you know hot bitter piss is spraying down your throat, splashing across your pretty face, your eyes instantly squeeze shut. It taste so warm and salty as it floods your mouth, you quickly decide this was a mistake but as you go to turn your head you find that you are held in place by your loving boyfriend.

"No you don't. Dont you dare shut your mouth, I've been dying to make you my personal urinal and your gonna take all of it" he giggles as you practically choke on the astringent liquid being emptied down your throat.

"Such a filthy whore you are" he says as if its praise. His stream seemed to be finally dissipating as he was now letting it drench your tits, painting them with his yellow piss. Finally done you shivered at his next words, "I think this will be a regular thing for us now, you look so cute and submissive covered in my piss don't you think pet." He grins down at you.

I'm.....oh fuck I'm so so sorry this is hella bad. I struggle soooo hard at piss kink. Its not my thing and this is only the 3rd time trying and I'm severely off my writing game.

#tw pee #tw piss kink

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plush-rabbit · 4 years

Text

Praise Thy Master

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: I think this is my first time writing a dom reader so I hope I did well!!

You sit in silence at a cafe, your grapefruit bubble tea sat in front of you stands perfectly still. Your legs are crossed under the table as you scroll through your phone, drink half empty and mask pulled tight against your face. You pull your mask and slip the straw underneath, popping a pomegranate bubble between your tongue and roof of your mouth. A chair across the room squeaks and you let out a sigh. When you look up, no one is staring at you, eyes focused on anyone but you. You lean back into your seat and hook your purse across your shoulder. You grab your drink, the water that has formed on it wets your hands and you click your tongue. You stand from your table and make your way across the shop. Your steps are quick and light, and reaching upon a table where a lone man sits, you take the seat across.

The man jerks in attention and stares at you, eyes glancing around the room and hands forming into fists. “I-”

“You know it’s rude to stare right?” You roll your eyes and gently swing your legs under the table. “I mean, come on. It’s one of the few days I have off and all I wanted was to enjoy some tea but instead,” your voice raises in pitch and you tilt your head, “I have some stalker come and show up here. I mean is no place safe from you? And you,” you chuckle and shake your head, “you’re-” you point a finger at him- “unrelenting. I mean, how long has it been? Couple months, no? I gotta give you props for it. You know so much about me- things that aren’t even available online. And all the stuff you give me? I have to admit, they’re preferable compared to other gifts. I mean- all those little trinkets that you leave me? The cream? Smells lovely.” You tilt your head and the man sits in silence, perfectly still, as if the need for movement is gone. “It kind of reminds me of a cat, you know? When they leave presents for their masters.” You smile underneath your mask and your legs come to a still. “So kitty,” you purr, your leg coming up and brushing against his,”you coming to my show tonight?” Your leg stretches high, brushing against his leg.

The chair makes an awful, high pitched screeching sound and the drink nearly topples over until you grasp it, your legs coming down to the floor. You pout and shake your head. You pinch your mask and take a sip from his drink. “Mm, peach.” You bat your eyes at him and stand from the seat gracefully. Your hand meets his shoulders and you spare him a glance. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Great performance as always!” The man in front of you shakes your gloved hand and you smile widely at him. “When you sing, it’s- it’s like I could feel the love you give to all your fans!”

“Oh!” You giggle and clasp your other hand above your fan. “Thank you so much! You know I wouldn’t be anywhere without you as my fan!” You give him a head tilt and quirk your lips.

“I really do love-”

A sweet ringing sound fills your ears and you slip your hands out of the male’s grip and you lean back against the metal chair. “Oh,” you pout. “Looks like we ran out of time. I’ll see you next time, right?” You nod your head as you say your words, beaming as the man that is escorted away from you shouts his reply.

Your eyes are closed as the next person moves forward and you beam at them without seeing who they are. “Hi! I hope-” you open your eyes and your smile flaters and turns into something colder- “well, you did show up, huh?”

The man with light blue hair that reaches his shoulders avoids your gaze and holds a photocard set of you gingerly in his hands. He extends it out to you and under the mask he wears, you can see red peek out.

“You’re going to have to speak up if you want me to sign it.” You place your chin above your hands and smile sweetly at him. “So, what is it you want me to do?”

“Can you sign the cards,” he hesitates, “please.” His eyes meet yours for a quick second before looking away. “To Tomura.”

“Tomura?” You repeat and the man nods. “That’s a cute name,” you hum and grab a pen, grabbing the card set and etching your signature on it. Your eyes meet his and they glance back down at the set in front of you. He has a cute voice- raspy but it suits him. “I didn’t see you in the audience. Either you just showed up or-” you glance up at him and put the pen down- “you’re really good at hiding. But,” your eyes glance over him, “that’s to be expected isn’t it?” The cards are neatly tucked back into the box and you place a kiss against the top, a sliver of glimmer glints under the light and you hold out to him with a coy smile. “Sorry I got some lipstick on it Tomura.”

“That’s-”

“Before you leave,” you raise a hand, “look at the last picture for me? I left you something special.” You bat your eyelashes at him and watch as he opens the set. He’s careful as he pulls out the card, your eyes are entirely focused on his hands, watching as he grabs the card. His eyes scan the card, eyes appearing soft for a split second. It’s a simple photoset- polaroids of you in various settings with white space underneath for your name and when he flips the card over his eyes widen and he looks back at you. You smile and wink at him as the bell rings, serving as a notification that time is over. “Bye Tomura. I’ll see you later.” You wave at him as he’s told to leave.

You sit in your home, going through social media, reading the nice comments left on the official page for you and various others on people who managed to take a few pictures or videos during the concert. You smile softly and hum. Your phone buzzes with messages from your friends who congratulate you and fans who heart your comments. It makes you smile and pride swells in your chest. You did good. And you’re exhausted, but you’re happy. For the most part. While your phone vibrates with notifications, it still doesn’t feel as if it’s enough. You haven’t received one. You haven’t received your little stalker’s message. It makes you sigh.

“To think, he’s been following me around and yet he can’t even message me after I offered, how sad.” You pout and lean back against your pillows. “It’s too bad I didn’t get his number.”

As if graced by a higher power, your phone buzzes with a message and you rise from the comfortable, slack position with a giddy expression. You quickly unlock your phone and you’re met with a text message from a soap company promoting their new line. You groan and fall back to bed.

A knock at your window makes you jump out of your skin. You turn and see a hand fisted, hovering over the window and you grin widely. You jump out of bed, pulling down on the shorts that have risen up and done little to hide what you have hidden. You throw the window open and he flinches away.

“Tomura!” He winces and retracts his hand. “Oh come on, you’ve been to my place dozen of times- granted without my permission-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He hisses and when you move away from the window, you encourage him to enter. He narrows his eyes at you and he enters your room. “What the-” he mutters when you move past him and shut the window, latching on the lock and closing the curtain.

“Oh Tomura,” you sigh and walk over to the bed. “You’ve been stalking me and now you’re going to get mad when I allow you into my home?” You spread your arms wide and give him an incredulous smile. “You must have been inside my place before- right?” You nod encouragingly at him.

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes darting around.

“Okay. So what have you done then? I’ve never had a stalker as committed as you are,” you coo, crossing your leg over the other. “To be honest, I haven’t seen my other stalkers as of late.” You tilt your head. “You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to them would you?”

“Do you know who I am?”

You shake your head and you have this innocent look when you bat your eyelashes at him. “Entertain me.” You smile sweetly at him. “Come on kitten,” you coo.

He opens his mouth and mouths words but ultimately closes it.

“Cat got your tongue?” You lilt, a knowing smile on your lips. “I’m fairly positive on who you are. And if I’m right, then I’m a lot more positive about what you’ve done to them. You left their watches or fan memorabilia on my doorstep and the next day I hear they go missing. It’s uh, rather uncouth,” you giggle and scratch the side of your jaw. “I could have gotten in trouble for it, you know?”

“You recognized what they wore?”

You raise your index and puff your chest. “I recognize all- or at least most- of the fans that I have! It’s important to keep my fans happy.” You smile cheekily at him and give him finger guns. “So you invited yourself over. Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

“Why?” When you tilt your head and the smile falls from your face, he continues. “Why did you give me your number?”

You shrug. “To be perfectly honest, I just found you interesting. You’re like this enigma to me. I have suspicion of who you are and if my suspicions are true, then that brings so many more questions. I have to ask- What made you become a fan of mine, Shigaraki-san?” Your grin widens when his shoulders scare and you giggly flap your hands. “Ah! Am I right?”

He opens his mouth and he shakes his head. He buries his face into his hands and his shoulders shake. You frown and when you raise a hand to comfort him, you hear laughter. Your hand retracts as soon as he raises his head and you blink owlishly at him. His laughter is high pitched and you watch him in wonder, your smile growing and hands that jump and dance across your lap. He laughs and shakes his head, and his eyes glint with something unrecognizable. “You’re fucking insane,” he laughs.

“Does that mean you don’t want to make-out?” You bite the inside of your lips when he freezes. “I was going to invite you over but you sort of did that yourself.” He stutters and his face grows red. You allow your grin to widen and even you can tell it comes off predatory. “That’s cute you know. The whole big bad villain is flustered over a kiss,” you lick your lips, “I like it.”

“I’m not-”

You rise from the bed and cup his face in your hands, lips meshing into his and you smile into the kiss when he gasps, tongue slipping into his mouth and your hands remove themselves from his face and slide down his chest. Your hands wrap around his waist and slide towards his middle, unbuttoning his pants and zipping down his zipper.

You pull away from the kiss and you take a deep breath. “Do you want this Tomura? Or Shigaraki? Which-”

“Tomura,” he nods, frantically, pupils dilated and cheeks red. “Call me Tomura.”

You smile sweetly at him. “Okay Tomura,” you peck his lips. “But I do want to ask again- do you-” You gasp when he presses his lips against yours. Your hand slides upwards, to cup the back of his head and you grip his hair into your hand and yank his head back. He whines and makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Don’t get too greedy now Tomu-kun,” you growl. “You still stalked me. Don’t think I forgot about that.” You let go of him and sit on the bed, slipping your shorts and underwear off and tossing them to the side. Your legs are separated and you give him a coquettish grin. “You’re free to have a taste.”

His eyes meet yours and he nods. He sits on his knees and a hand goes down to grab at his hardening length. You tut your tongue and pat him on his head. He glares at you, only to soften when you narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh Tomu-kun,” you sigh. “You made my first few months a literal hell with how paranoid I was. You really don’t get to have the happy ending right now.” Your lips curl upwards and teeth come to show. “I do. You aren’t allowed to touch yourself until I say so. I’m really not above punishing if needed, kitten.” You slip your top off and tilt your hair. “Understood?” He nods. “Good,” you give him a honeyed smile and grab at your inner thigh. “So lick it baby.”

His tongue is hot against your core. He laps at it feverishly, mouth swirling past your clit and slipping into your slit, suckling at the arousal that seeps from you. He rocks himself on his knees and presses his face further into you and your heel presses into his back. His arm twitches and he whines pitifully into you, the vibration making you jerk your hips towards his face.

“No touching,” you mewl, grabbing at your breast and rubbing a pebbled nipple. “Not yet Tomu-kun. Just hold out.”

He nods against you and his tongue pushes around your clit, swirling the pulsing bud around, tongue peeking out and lips wrapping around to suckle on it and his swipes down, nose brushing against it causing your legs to tense and a moan to sound in the back of your throat. His tongue flicks in and out of you, circling and rubbing your inner walls, your sex leaking with desire as your breaths grow deeper.

“Good boy,” you murmur, your hand reaching between your legs to grab at a tendril of his hair, holding it between your fingers. “Who knew you’d be so good at following directions. You’re such a good boy, kitten.” You rise on your elbows and his eyes meet yours. “Come on kit, don’t you want to know what I taste like? How sweet my orgasm is? How it’ll feel as I tighten around your tongue?”

His feasting becomes more feverish, tongue swishing inside of you, he presses his face closer to your sex, desperate to get you to reach your high and you sigh. “Tomura, I’ll be nice. You get to touch me if you want.”

As the words leave your lips, his fingers enter you and your eyes widen and body tenses. His fingers move in and out at a fast pace, lewd noises fill the room and his fingers curl inside of you, desperate to find the sweet spot that will make you curl. His digits are noble and quick, and when they press against your wall you gasp and your back arches. A whispered curse leaves your lips and you rise to a sitting position, gripping his hair in your hand.

“Fuck Tomura,” you gasp. “Do- Do that again- oh fuck,” you groan, wrapping your legs around him and stifling a moan behind a hand when he mimics his previous actions. “Yes, Tomura. Oh- what a good boy. Fuck,” you spit out, your hands releasing his hair and harsh, ragged breaths leaving through your nose. You spill onto his face, his tongue curling inside of you, swallowing your honeyed nectar, humming as it slides down his throat. His hands still and his erection presses harshly against the fabric of his pants. You tap his head and lean back onto your back. “Okay. You know how to use your tongue.”

“Can I touch myself now?” His voice cracks and when you peek at him, you grin.

Tomura sits on his knees; your sweetness decorating his chin and making it shine under your lights, his face is blooming red and his pupils are dilated, tongue lolling out and he looks so needy. He takes stuttering breaths, ot breath fanning across your thigh, his arm twitches and a hand rises to tug on a strand of hair.

“Get on the bed, dear,” you stretch your arms above your head, “I want to try something with you.” He rises and you gasp. “Oh! Make sure you strip though. And do it slow for me, hm?”

His face burns bright and you watch with wide eyes as he removes his clothing. He does as he’s told, he removes the clothing slowly letting it pool onto the floor. His leg jerks and he looks around your room, avoiding your eyes and you think it’s cute how shy he is- how this infamous villain is brought to his literal knees with a simple command. He crawls onto the bed and you perk up as he covers his face with his hands, chest caving in with deep breaths. You run a hand across his chest, lips quirking upwards, when he jumps, your hand glides down his abdomen and flutters above his pelvis.

“You’re so cute,” you mutter under your breath. You hold the base of his cock and run your thumb across his length. He twitches under your touch, pearly beads leaking down his cock and he makes a choking sound. You shush him gently. “You might not get the full happy ending, but you’ll get one.” Your hands glide above him, wrapping him in a firm grip. You take a peek at him, an eye on you as you work him with your hands. “You still stalked me you know. And even if I am attracted to you, I really can’t forgive that,” you chuckle. “I went through such a bad spell of paranoia, you know?” You turn to look at him and your grip tightens. “Be grateful I’m even touching you like this.” You return your attention to his thickness and jerk him slowly. Your lips hover over his slit that beads and you whisper onto him, “You’re not being very grateful, you know?”

He grumbles under his breath. “Thank you,” it comes out in a hoarse whisper. “I- Thank you so much.” He whines when he feels your tongue lap across his slit. “Fuck,” he archs his back when your mouth suctions his cockhead, “fuck.” He squirms and his breathing grows deeper, hoarser while your tongue swirls around him and sucks him deeper. “Thank you,” he croaks, repeating it like a mantra, hands carefully poised above his stomach leaving red lines to avoid decaying your covers.

You pop off his shaft, a string of drool and pre-ejaculate connecting you to his cock and you lick your lips. “You’re a bit of a bitter kitten,” you speak slowly, mouth still parted open and glistening. “I’m not sure if I like it or not.” Your hand works him slowly, more enthralled with the feeling of him in your grasp and you bring a nail to ghost over a prominent vein, smirking when he moans. “Say my name Tomura. I want to hear it.”

He repeats your name under his breath. It’s quiet, nothing more than a murmur in the night, a silent plea laced into your name, filled with want and desire, until it grows, chanting it louder, the want more prominent, hands that dig into his belly and leave red crescent marks in its wake. He moans it out, broken by guttural groans of pleasure as you quicken your pace. Your name is echoed throughout your home, bouncing off the walls, voice groaning weak and his muscles tense. You wrap your lips around him and choke when his seed slides down your throat. It’s bitter and thick, and you can feel the dripping down your throat as it slides in thick, gooey strands. You pop away from him, licking your lips and bringing your index and middle finger to your lips.

He lays in bed, bottom lip between teeth and you roll your eyes and give him a tired smile. Your hand rests above his and he stiffens. “You’ll ruin your lips like that, kitten. You’ve been here plenty, you know where the kitchen is. I’m going to take a shower. You’re free to join me,” you coo, circling your finger around his pebbled nipple. You rise from the bed and give a pat to his thigh, leaving the room filled with rough breathing and little mewls of pleasure.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki tomura imagines #tomura shigaraki imagines #bnha imagines #shigaraki bnha #shigaraki x reader #i hope you like it!!

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