#SHIGARAKI FANFIC
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✮ Personal assistence ✮
I shall present to you a new down to core kinky oneshot: Tomura Shigaraki x Bunny!Reader
TW: NSFW, she/her pronouns, p in v sex, praise, degradation, caught while having sex
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This job was a step into a better life with better salary. Even though you were just an assistant. The job was quite simple, but hectic. After two months, you were doing everything for your boss… for the great commander of the Paranormal Liberation Front. Re Destro was really happy about your work and he applied you to an even better position. The personal assistant of Tomura Shigaraki. Your work got even more hectic and you practically became Shigaraki’s shadow. And if you accidentally had some free time, you still followed Shigaraki like a puppy. A puppy… with white rabbit ears and a small white rabbit tail. Such a perfect assistant!
First weeks in the new position were… awkward. Your office was in his. You just had a small desk with a computer, calendar and a phone. You just sat all day by the desk and arranged his schedule to his likings. That meant changing his schedule all the time, because he was lazy and then making excuses and calling everyone from his meetings. But after quite a lot of days you started to know each other’s presence. You memorized his favorite meals and his favorite coffee. And he stopped being so whiny, so you had less work with his schedules. Things were getting better. You followed him to every meeting taking notes of the important things and every time you were walking in the hallway, his big hand rested on your back. Always. Every walk with him by the hall. When you sat by your desk and arranged a new meeting for him, he always went to you after the call and looked at his schedule, while slightly holding your thigh. When you got him coffee, he always slightly stroked your ass and the back of your thighs and asked about his next task.
These slight touches slowly became grasps and firm holds. Your whole day routine changed to be in more contact with him. “Good morning sir.” you chirped and put his coffee in his favorite place. “Thank you darling.” He mused and slapped your ass. “What are we dealing with today?” “Just a meeting with the league members at 2 pm. That’s all for today.” You smiled and felt his hand traveling under your short skirt and pinching one of your cheeks. You squealed and jumped a little, your tail twitching. “You forget something.” Tomura said firmly. “T-that’s all for today… sir.” You mumbled and he grabbed your hips, pulling you into his lap. “Such a good girl.” He mused and your ears lowered a little. Praising was always your weak spot. His hand wandered from your ass to your knee and back. He squished your thighs and looked at some documents. “Maybe we should try something new.” He looked at you. Hunger and lust in his eyes and a raging problem in his tight pants. You gulped. One of his hands trailed to your face, stroking your cheek and stroking your lips with his thumb. “I always wondered how your cute and little mouth would feel on my cock. Get to work darling. So you can go back to your work as soon as you can.” He smiled at you, his eyes almost hypnotizing you. “Y-yes sir.” You whispered and got onto your knees under his desk. You always liked him… admired him, his power. Your soul always screamed when he touched you. Always wanting more. Your hands gently unzipped his pants, your ears lowering to your head and your tail twitching with excitement. You pulled down his pants and boxers to reveal his raging boner. It was… Thicker than you expected. He had beautiful veins on his full length and his scent… Oh god. It was even more hypnotizing than his eyes. And his heavy balls full to their brim ready for release. You gently licked his cock and then took him in your mouth. “Mm. I have my new favorite sight.” He grinned and watched as your head bobbed on his dick. From this perfect state startled Shigaraki a knock on the door. “Come in.” He said while smiling at your surprised look and gesturing you to keep up. Another assistant walked inside. “W-where is your assistant?” On Tomura’s face appeared a shit eating grin. “She went on a quick break. What is it?” “We got new information about heroes’ patrol shifts.” “Great. Put them on her desk.” He mumbled and after a while you heard the door closing. You met his ruby eyes and smiled. He chuckled and relaxed. His hand stroked your ears and grabbed your hair. He started guiding your head to his favorite rhythm, making you gag. Such a beautiful sound and view. After this joyful moment you felt him tense up. His hand pulled you into his groin, his pubic hair tickling you. You squeezed your eyes shut and felt his cock squirting semen into your throat, making you gag even more. He loosened his grip and you pulled away gulping for air. “I have a new daily task for you.” He grinned. “I’m glad sir.” You smiled.
After this encounter, every day was wilder. Your throat was sore everyday, but it was worth it. But this time Tomura decided to push this encounter into something even more. You finally had a free afternoon and you don’t even know how it happened. The sound of wet skin slapping echoed through his office room. You laid on your clean desk, his hands firmly holding your hips. The scent of making out masked your senses and his grunts were the only thing you could hear. You grabbed his tie and lowered him to you kissing his lips. Tomura smiled. “Such a good assistant… ugh… We need to do this more. Imagine me bending you over. Fucking you in front of a mirror. Or in front of the windows. Or in the meeting rooms.” Your ears twitched. “Oh, you would like that? Yeah? My cute slut would like that?” He grinned and kissed your nipples. You mewled and your back arched. All of this was too much for you. The knot in your abdomen finally snapped and you slightly squirted on his shirt. “Oh fuck.” He mumbled and admired your exhausted body. He grabbed your ass firmly and sped up. He huffed, towering above you. He kissed you feverishly and came right inside your cunt. He mused happily and slowed down. He picked up the phone and gave it to you. “Call and get me a new shirt.” You smiled and dialed the phone. After a while, someone knocked on the door. You slowly got up leaving his embrace and his softening cock. You arranged your clothes and picked up his clothes. “Here sir.” You smiled and gave him the shirt.
Since then you were fucking like rabbits. That fits you, right? You were fucking everywhere you could, missing some appointments and dealing with it later. You sat on his lap cockwarming him, while he thought about his new plans. Sometimes he fucked you only to torture you by making you call and arrange meetings while your session. The only one who knew about your little affair was Schuichi. You once stayed after your shift, only for a make out session. You ended up stuck in a room with cleaning products. It was small and cramped, but you still fit in there. You were pushed against the wall and your legs were around his waist. He fucked you up the wall not wanting to stop. “I… Got you something.” He huffed and kissed your neck. “What is it sir?” You smiled at him. And then you felt it. A fabric around your neck. You looked at him. “It fits you well.” You take it in your hands and look at it. It was white collar with a name sewn on it. It said: “Bunny”. You smiled. “Thank you so much.” I beamed and kissed him passionately. Your faces were met with a big stream of light. Schuichi stood by the opened door looking flabbergasted with an open mouth. You felt your cheek heat up and you hid your face in Tomura’s chest. “I just wanted… to get the new markers.” Schuichi mumbled and Tomura handed them to him and closed the door back. Then he bursted laughing and you chuckled. You never noticed why Schuichi needed these markers. Maybe for one of these meeting rooms?
Time flew by and you started living with him. Assisting him every minute of his life. Your relationship was now official and the league was happy for Tomura. You snuggled into him sitting with the league on the couch on a movie night. Tomura smiled and toyed with your bunny tail. You blushed and cuddled into him. He lowered to you and whispered into your ear.
“I can’t wait for the night to breed your tummy to the brim.”
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A/n: Thank you so much for reading this! I stitched this up just from my kinky thoughts from lonely nights. And here is a little secret! I'm planning another oneshot from an office AU, where reader is the boss and Tomura is a hardworking employee in a need of a reward!
#bnha shigaraki#my hero academia shigaraki#mha shigaraki#shigaraki#shigaraki imagine#shigaraki tomura#tenko shimura x reader#shigaraki smut#tomura shigaraki#shigaraki hcs#shigaraki x y/n#shigaraki x you#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki x female reader#shigaraki fanfic#shigaraki fanfiction#shigaraki thirst#shigaraki tomura x reader#shigaraki tomura x you#tomura shigaraki smut#tomura shigaraki x reader#shimura tenko#tenko shimura#tomura shiragaki
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soulmate trope | shigaraki tomura
Shigaraki’s route of soulmate trope.
"post-canon shigaraki? canon isn't even finished as of when this was posted on 4 january 2024!"
yeah. thank god. gives us time to write our own endings. and obviously i will be wrong about some things. i recommend you read at least one other route, preferably dabi’s, before reading this one.
warnings: female reader. manga spoilers up to around chapter 390-411ish, based on language used by others to describe shigaraki and his trauma. bodily consequences to his trauma (some things are intended to read as AFO having forced an ED on shigaraki, but this is not made definitive). sexual content. stalking. gore (in a game). reader is experiencing a type of gifted kid burnout.
~28k
There’s a hentai book lying on your bed.
You’ve never seen it before.
Flipping through it, you winced at the positions the large-titted, ponytailed woman was manhandled into, and though you were frankly impressed that she managed to wear such intricate lingerie underneath her everyday business attire, the protagonist only just got home from work; let her decompress for, like, ten minutes before railing her against the window, please.
Whom did you know who would read volume four of something called GINSENG TEA X LUSTFUL BALLSACK?
Unfortunately, you were burdened with knowledge about your friends’ sexual habits, and some of them, therefore, were already ruled out: Shinsou only read erotica because he preferred his own imagination to any images hentai or live-action could provide, and Monoma only read hentai in which the woman’s eyes had hearts in them to let the reader know she’s enjoying it—not to mention Monoma wouldn’t buy a hard copy of it, let alone a story that didn’t have more plot and character development to it. There wasn’t enough drool for Sero to be interested, and the male protagonist wasn’t enough of a twink for Kaminari to project onto, so whose was this?
Moreover, who the fuck would come all the way back to your old school’s campus to break into your room to leave it on your bed? (Shinsou would be your best bet for that part, but whenever he finished a patrol nowadays, he went directly to sleep, and his and Monoma’s flat was across town.)
You cat, Dango, jumped onto the bed, slithering up next to you and bumping her head on your elbow affectionately.
“Is this yours?” you asked her, and she sniffed the book before climbing into your lap.
You tossed the book aside to pet your cat with both hands, and you resolved not to think about it any longer, even though the cringy way the mangaka depicted the female orgasm was burnt onto your brain.
***
Hopping to put your heel back into a ballet flat, you held the phone between your ear and shoulder while you struggled towards the lift. “I’ve got to cancel on you, Ochaco,” you said, flipping the back of your blazer collar down and adjusting the lapels, “I’m, fuck—I’m not gonna be able to make it this evening, so just go without me.”
Uraraka sighed on her end. “Okay. I know a lot of us were excited to see you after so long—there’s a card Tsu’s made us all to sign, and everything—but we’ll manage. ‘Spose we’ll just have a routine night at the bar and reschedule when you can make it. I miss you,” she said, “and I’m pretty sure I can say the same for everyone.”
The elevator door slid open, and you entered. “All of you are so clingy. I’ve only been away from the agency for around two months, and you know where to find me.” You mashed the button for the ground floor. “In fact, it’s embarrassingly easy to access me.”
“Well, we’re very busy,” said Uraraka, “People are very eager to conscript us for missions, even if they really could be done by the police. U.A. alumni have somehow upticked in their popularity even more since we graduated—”
“Ochaco, I know. I was there. Allow me to weep for your success. I am playing the world’s tiniest violin.” You shifted your bag’s full weight onto your shoulder and exited into the commons. “But listen. I’ve got to go; I’m running late this morning. I couldn’t find my pantyhose even though I laid them out last night, and they weren’t in any of my cat’s usual hiding places. I had to turn my flat upside down and still never found them.” The outside doors slid open when you approached, and the harsh, morning wind upset your hair on impact. “Give everyone my love, O. Tell Todoroki to smile in his next interview.” Eyes darting across your surroundings for any witnesses, you shrank in on yourself and bit the inside of your cheek. “And tell everyone I’m sorry, okay?”
By the time you arrived at U.A.’s administration building, the wind had been joined by a light drizzle that would probably morph into a storm within the hour, a prediction compounded by a plethora of faculty umbrellas in and beside the stand by the sliding doors. The front office was gloriously vacant, though, so you were able to slip behind the front desk without someone rebuking you for being—you shook the computer mouse to wake it up, the clock popping up in the corner—seventeen minutes late.
(You’d graduated with the rest of the class six months ago, and you’d founded the all-girls agency uptown, with most of the women in the graduating class joining to form an instant powerhouse of the industry.
Founding an agency appealed to a good deal of graduates, but you were the only one to go the distance: you were the one to actually make the calls, fill out the paperwork, get aggravating shit done, and by the time to move into the building, it had pleased you to no end that Midoriya had asked you for help on kickstarting his own.
And then two months ago, you’d pulled off, frankly, what was supposed to be an impossible rescue. For the first time, you were getting enormous amounts of attention, from civilians, from press, from other heroes—and you were being followed, never having more than a moment to yourself—always being watched, either from well-wishers or nay-sayers—and sometimes, the analytical critic, eager to point out your faults in the rescue mission to try to drag you out of the hero scene.
You hated yourself for this, but they won.
Too many expectations. All sinking down on you, as if no other hero existed while the light shone in your direction. [And you hated yourself for even daring to consider this—what reprehensible audacity, but—but was this how All Might had felt?]
You’d had something next door to a panic attack when a convenience store, a regular stop in your weekly routine, filmed your reaction to how they’d auctioned off your signed receipt for over nine hundred thousand yen. Breaking their cameras, Shinsou had to escort you out of there in a rush and call Aizawa for help.
Sobbing into Shinsou’s phone on the soggy concrete of a darkened alleyway, you did something you never fathomed you’d ever do, something you could never see any of your friends ever doing, something that seemed as alien and unthinkable as sticking your hand into a pit of needles: you begged Aizawa to get you out of the hero business.
You’ve been handled with care and relocated into a surprising covert secretarial job in the U.A. admin, Nezu’s logic was that you’d adjust to one person needing you at a time, say, over email or at the desk, and if you only answered the phone with only a shortened version of your name, then no intruding civilian would be the wiser.
The job was easy, anyway. Paid well for what it was, but perhaps that was simply standard for U.A. Nowhere nearly as well paying or exciting as working as a hero, but you were adjusting into mundanity. Some days had stretches of hours in which you didn’t interact with anyone, sitting at the front desk without a task, and you even had a few days in which you’d gone in, piddled around at the desk for your whole shift without seeing another soul, and gone home.
Your friends were always so busy. The two times you’ve been able to meet with them contained nothing but conversation about hero work, or else everything was somehow tangentially related to it, and you found yourself unable to contribute to the conversation. Both times, you’d left early, a little overstimulated, leaving Shinsou to make your excuses.
And Shinsou, bless him. Not avoiding you on purpose. In fact, you knew he’d drop almost anything for you to hang out, but you knew his schedule and how little rest he got. So, it was more of a self-imposed boundary on your side, taking into account that he needed sleep more than he needed to spend time with you.
So, yes, some of it was directly your fault, but you were achingly, astonishingly lonely, with an ever-lowering threshold for tolerance of outside stimulation, ultimately feeling like you didn’t belong here.)
Pens aligned. Coaster. Check the school email for—good, no emails. No voicemail. Get out your planner and write your hours in it to look busy. Hey, your water bottle’s nearing empty; maybe you could go fill it or even waste time brewing coffee. But where’s your work mug? You probably left it on the cleaning rack next to the office sink. You should go check.
“Hey,” said Aizawa out of nowhere, ignoring how you jumped out of your own skin, “Good morning. Are you doing a specific job at the moment?”
You gripped the arms of your swivel chair to ground yourself. Is this a test? “I was about to take a moment to make some coffee,” you said, because never let someone in a position of authority know that you were doing jackshit, “Is there something I can help you with, Aizawa-sensei?”
Frowning, he dipped his chin into his capture weapon, still tucked closely to his neck to shield him from the wind, and he shifted his weight to one leg, his fingers tapping in a ripple on the reception desk. “You don’t have to call me that anymore.”
“I’m gonna,” you said, “How can I help?”
Please don’t need anything. Please don’t need anythi—
“Permission has just cleared for me to assign you a long-term task.”
Shit, you thought, internally wincing at how he used the term task and not mission, as if you’d be plunged into the ice-cold water of a panic attack at the word. The kid gloves that everyone handled you with somehow both ingratiated and insulted you.
“You’ll be paid for it,” Aizawa continued, “and it’s low stakes interaction, not even face-to-face. It’s all online.” Aizawa clasped his hands on the desk and hunched over the top of it, the ends of his scarf trailing down onto your keyboard. “You’ll recall moving some boxes into room 310.”
“Of course.” Early in your first month back at U.A., you’d helped clean out and move some boxes into 310 in the same hall that housed Aizawa, Eri, and now you—you’d unofficially dubbed it as U.A.’s drawer to shove social rejects. “Is someone about to move in?”
“He’s been moved in for a while,” said Aizawa, pulling his capture weapon away from his neck, “Keep all of this quiet. You’re allowed to know because I’ve advocated for you, because I trust in you and in your ability to do this well.” Aizawa paused, the silence dragging on much longer than usual. His eyes glazed over, as if considering how to phrase his next proposal.
You waved your hand, prompting him to continue.
His eyes focused again. “The new person is a ward of the school, but All Might and I are his primary—caretakers isn’t quite the right term, and nor is supervisors, so perhaps it’s better to—”
“No, I get it,” you said, “This person is an adult, but they’re not quite independent. Go on.”
Aizawa paused, brow furrowed just slightly as he scrutinised you again, but he nodded slowly after a moment. “I’ll allow him to introduce himself to you. He doesn’t need me to set up expectations. What’s important for you to know, regarding your own participation, is that he’s very new to the hero scene and is receiving his hero training later in life than usual. He won’t be attending class but will be trained personally by select U.A. faculty, mostly All Might, Nezu, and me.”
“Is he officially a student?”
“On paper.” Something strange passed across Aizawa’s face, but you couldn’t name it. “Where you come in is his socialisation. He’s spent most of his life in disciplinary isolation. Because of the adults raising him, his instincts trend towards distrust and animosity.”
So, Aizawa wanted you spend time with him until he was no longer bad with people, like spending time with feral cats at animal shelters until they’re ready to be adopted. “So, he’s distrustful. Hostile. Angry,” you said, scratching the side of your head, “Is he—do you think he’ll bring up bad stuff I’ve done to use it against me?”
“He doesn’t know who you are, aside from someone trusted by U.A. with hero experience,” said Aizawa, shaking his head, “and you can choose what information you give him.”
“Does he,” you said, sucking in through your teeth, “Does this guy know about how you’re going about this? I think—wouldn’t he be insulted if he knew about how you’re socialising him like an animal?”
Aizawa looked over his shoulder at the empty office, but he bent farther over the desk and spoke softly, anyway. “Recently, when I was training him at night, he expressed that he never knows what to do when someone wants to talk to him after mission, whether it’s successful or not. He froze entirely when a senior citizen thanked him last week, and that’s when we decided something tactile needed to be done. Since he’s grown used to me, you’re the solution.”
Okay. A volatile man, someone who couldn’t go to U.A. at the average age but for whom Aizawa, Nezu, and All Might were making an exception, even going so far as to personally take him out at night to practise hero work.
Hm. Fishy.
But if the good, good men who took care of you wanted you take care of another misplaced person, then you’re going to do it to the best of your ability.
“I hope I can live up to your expectations,” you said, making a note in your planner, “What am I doing?”
“I need you to learn how to play a video game,” said Aizawa, “and I need you to be absolute shit at it.”
***
For you to help some loser with socialisation, he would be teaching you how to play some janky, twenty-five-year-old MMORPG called Cipherstone—and not even the current, polished version of it; you had to sign up for an account on the version preserving the game exactly as it was in 2007. Nostalgia reasons, apparently.
You nudged Dango out aside to check your bedside clock. The discord call would start in five minutes, and you were making your Cipherstone account, completely unable to come up with a suitable username.
“Don’t connect it to your other online accounts or your actual identity,” Aizawa had said that morning.
Dango’s tiny prance across your stomach was not helping, and you couldn’t use Dango in your username, because if someone knew about your cat (and hopefully no one did, because cats were not allowed in the dorms), then a Dango username could be linked back to the real you. You plopped your head back on your pillow, knocking against the headboard. What’s something that couldn’t be traced back to you? Slumping, you let your head fall to the side and sulked.
The hentai book peeked out from underneath a jacket on your dirty clothes chair.
GinsengTea
That username is unavailable.
Well. You couldn’t use your birthdate as added numbers. You kept typing.
GinsengTea69
That username is unavailable.
You’re not about to try Lustful Ballsack. Maybe if you put aside your secretarial propensity for being correct for a moment.
GinzengTea
Username available!
Oh, thank God. You sorted out your password and started customising your character, though you couldn’t do much with the negative six billion pixels you were dealing with, and oh, is that the noise discord makes for a call? You plugged in your earbuds and clicked the answer button.
“Hello?” you asked into the microphone on your earbud cord, narrowing your eyes at his profile picture of a rotund, cartoon mouse. Username Tenkopeito. Looks like he ran into the same spelling trouble you did.
“Greetings and salutations,” he said, his tinny, rasping, just-got-out-of-bed, gruff-from-lack-of-use voice striking you with about fifty psychic damage, “I am Aizawa-sensei’s pupil, here to teach you about the intricacies of Cipherstone. It will be my pleasure—”
“Cut that shit out,” you said, narrowing your eyes at his profile picture: actually, that mouse was so round because it had just swallowed an enormous piece of konpeito whole, with the little star spikes jutting out underneath its fur. “No one talks like that. You sound fake as fuck.”
“I see,” he said after a beat, tone deflating to sound resigned (and though he’d relaxed, it somehow sounded as if talking this way took more effort, like it physically strained his vocal cords). “Am I not supposed to be nice?”
“You weren’t exactly being nice. You were using a customer service voice—which is being polite, not nice. Not even kind. Politeness is usually some sort of put-on affectation of niceness, forced for the situation. I understand if that’s what you think you need to do when you talk to people as a hero, but in hero work, since the stakes are high, you need to be genuine, or at least sound like you are.” Dango crawled across your stomach again, but you lifted her off before she could settle into a loaf on your keyboard. “In the field, it’s often hard to be kind because of how involved you get as a hero; being kind takes effort and drains you emotionally. Kindness implies there’s some sort of reciprocity, some sort of ongoing relationship. You can choose to be kind if you want, but it may wear on you in the long run. What will probably be healthiest for you, on your side, is if you aim to be nice, meaning being honest in a gentle way, framing situations positively but realistically for listeners. The public doesn’t want to be lied to and told everything’s fine, but telling them the harshness of reality doesn’t go over well. Kills morale.”
“Holy shit.” He was scratching something close to his microphone—it must be a fairly good mic, since you could deduce short fingernails against a dry surface. “That’s…a lot.”
“It is. But you can do it. All it takes is practise, and that’s what I’m here for,” you said, moving Dango from your keyboard again, “And I didn’t mean to overwhelm you with all of that; it just came out—I, uh, I happen to know a lot about the way heroes present themselves.” Swallowing thickly, you ran your tongue over your lower lip. “Why don’t we begin with what you were saying before? But in the actual way you talk, please. You need to be comfortable in your own voice.”
His mic picked up the distant noise of slurping through a straw, against what sounded like the bottom of a metal cup, which clinked when he set it back down. “Have you played Cipherstone before?”
“Total newcomer. Though I’ve seen some screenshots in memes.”
“Cool,” he said in a way that was clear it was not cool, “I can’t add you to my in-game friends list until you get off Tutorial Island. Share your screen with me until then.”
All right. You can be bad at this. You can be so bad at this. “What’s a screen?” Not that bad, idiot! “I mean,” you said, fumbling, “How do I share my screen with you?”
The scratching grew louder. “Bottom left. Screen button. Right click. Share option.”
“Ah.” You should probably lure him into thinking you’re competent while there was a literal tutorial onscreen so that he would be more frustrated with you later. “Gotcha.”
For a few seconds after your avatar popped onscreen for the first time, nothing came through but the 8-bit tutorial music. “Is that what you look like in real life?” he finally asked.
“No,” you said, not exactly lying. The character had her hair down in her face (which you wouldn’t normally do when you were on patrol, since it could get in the way of physical hero work), and, hoping to endear yourself to this weirdo, you’d chosen the sluttiest shirt: while none of the horrible pixelated options showed any boob whatsoever, the poor rendering still managed to convey that the top was off-shoulder. Again, not great for hero work. “In real life, I’ve much, much more panache.”
Another silence, during which you assumed he was looking up the word. “So, you click on the screen to go where you want to walk, on either the overall game interface or in the mini-map in the corner. Your destination will show up—”
“Wait, what should I call you, screwboy?”
“—as a red flag,” he said, frown audible, his rasping voice screeching to a stop the way brakes are slowly applied to the wheels of a train. “Not screwboy.”
“I’m not calling you by your handle. Not only is it cringe, but you won’t have to answer to it anywhere else in your life. If you don’t want to give me your name, that’s fine. I could call you by your hero name, if you like; it’d help you get used to answering to it. But no, I’m not calling you your username,” you said, shoulders slacking once Dango finally settled in a ball at your hip, “Especially since you couldn’t even get the correct spelling of Ten Konpeito.”
“It’s—it’s not supposed to say that,” he said, sputtering with a groan coming in at the end, “It’s a play on my name, and including the n makes it harder to say aloud. I think these things through; I have to be aware of my public image and branding now; that’s the whole point of this stupid—my name is Tenko, you asshole.”
“Oh, you’re gonna call civilians asshole?” You clicked your tongue. “Bad. Bad and evil. Speaking from experience, people don’t like that.”
“Just fu—just click on the map.”
“Fine. But you can’t fool me with your medieval, point-and-click game,” you said, clicking to pick up a fishing net, “Incidentally, the oldest known fishing net is the net of Antrea, crafted of willow and dating back to 8300 B.C.”
Tenko paused. “What would be the socially expected response to that?”
Your avatar fished for shrimps. “Oh, usually people yell at me. Get mad for bringing up total non sequiturs. My friend Bakugou is fond of telling me that I’m a collection of those bottle caps with facts printed on the inside.”
“Would…would you like me to get angry? Am I supposed to? I was under the impression I was supposed to curb my anger. To be nice.”
Your inventory filled with shrimps.
“You only need one shrimp,” said Tenko.
“You’ll thank me when we have food later,” you said, continuing to fish for shrimps.
“It’s the tutorial,” he said, frown creeping into his voice, “You won’t keep any resources from it. You should go chop the tree down to light a fire.”
“Well, hell. I want my shrimps.” You clicked away from the fishing spot and onto a tree. “Nothing’s happening.”
Tenko cleared his throat. “You need to talk to the woodcutting tutor first. She’ll give you an axe.”
“I thought this game had magic,” you said, guiding Dango’s head away from blocking the screen, “Can’t I just get logs with magic?”
“No, it’s—you must want me to get angry. As a test.” Scratching. “Magic comes later. Not for getting logs.”
You interpreted that as a sign to make the rest of the tutorial go smoothly. You followed the instructions for a few silent minutes, proving to him that you could read, and when you reached the end of the tutorial, a wizard teleported you to the crossroads of a town centre.
“Ah,” you said, genuinely surprised as other players’ avatars, decked out in what must be high-level gear, dashed past, “I don’t know where I am.”
“You can turn your screen-sharing off now.” Tenko typed on what sounded like a mechanical keyboard. “I’m over here. I’ve got—by the fountain—white hair, all black clothes. I’m not—there you are.”
Dozens of other players were running past the two of you, the only bare, new players in the area. Tenko’s pixelated avatar waved at you. Cheeky bitch. He’s so poorly animated and so very 2007 that it gave no indication what he could look like in real life. But he’s chosen to have a black t-shirt as his default, so he has to be a slut.
You resisted the urge to ask to feel his pixelated bicep. “You don’t have any equipment. I thought you’ve played Cipherstone before?”
“My main account is max-ed out. I started a new account to grow at the same rate as you. Before anything else, notice where we are,” said Tenko, “We’re in the centre of the city of Renfield. Get familiar with it. Think of it as home. It’s where you’ll always come back to when you get lost.”
It’s a barely animated town centre, with a short path up the stairs to a castle door and a few market stalls split between fountains.
“I have no idea what that means, Tenko.”
“It means that—that,” Tenko said, and stopped.
You couldn’t stop grinning, biting at your lower lip to keep from laughing—he’d let out a flustered huff, sounding a little strangled, because you’d said his name for the first time—and, judging by how long this delicious silence was dragging on, Tenko was probably his given name, not the family name. Beautiful, really, that a guy his age (however old he was, but he’s at least the same as you, since he couldn’t attend U.A. at the usual time) could get this nervous over a woman calling him by his name.
Tenko recovered in a way that showed he didn’t: “It means that you are always able to cast one spell, regardless of magic level,” he said in a rush, “It is a homing spell that teleports you back to this spot, so even if you get lost, you can always get back to Renfield. You can teleport other ways, too, but that’s for another time, and I need a cup of coffee.” He inhaled sharply.
It's only the first day, so you should go easy on him. Let his moment of awkwardness go.
However, Aizawa gave you a mission.
Excuse you, a task.
“Do you plan on getting flustered every time a civilian calls you by name?” you asked, petting between Dango’s ears, “Or are you planning on avoiding as much publicity as possible by being an underground hero like Aizawa?”
“I don’t—they’re not going to—it’s different with you. I can already tell,” said Tenko (you froze, fingers curled into Dango’s fur), “because I’m going to have some sort of working relationship with you. I assume you’re here to stay.”
Putting it that way made your heartbeat throb around your ears. You decided you could ask directly. “Tenko’s your first name, then?”
“Yeah.” He must have covered his hand with his mouth, muffling his voice at first. “But people usually—people have been calling me something else.”
“Then I can call you something else, if you like,” you said, getting back to petting Dango behind her ears and resolving to treat him with the same tenderness—he must need it, since no one in his life knows him well enough to call him by his given name.
“No, I think you should,” he said a bit too quickly, “Call me that. Tenko. I’m tired of that other stuff. Click on something to keep from logging out, by the way. There’s a timer.” Mechanical typing noises. “No, Aizawa-sensei wants me to be better. Of all things, I need to learn to respond to my real name.”
You squinted at your screen, as if the methodical rise and fall of his avatar’s chest could betray how he was feeling. Something had to have happened to this guy to make him feel this way about such a basic part of his identity, to make other people avoid his real name so universally. Aizawa couldn’t’ve have assigned you this task just to socialise him; something else was unfolding here. How did you enter the equation? If you’re supposed to guide someone who’s also lost their direction in life, you’re a hell of a bad candidate.
But what if you fuck up Aizawa’s plan, whatever it was?
Your recent history is riddled with things going downhill. What if you somehow screwed over Tenko? You’d be dragging someone else down with you, down to…the beginning again, a humiliating re-start, back at your fucking school, when the rest of your friends were out living the dream you’d all crafted together, the dream that apparently could go on without you in it.
Well. Enough of that. Distract yourself. Distract Tenko, too. “Got it. I want a hat.”
“What?”
“I want a hat,” you said, clicking the space around the fountain for your avatar to walk, “My head is cold. How do we get a hat? Hats. You should get one, too.”
“Hats. Very well,” said Tenko, clicking to face you across the shitty fountain, “Do you want one that’s purely decorative or one that has some sort of stats? Decorative ones we can get within a minute, with good RNG, by killing goblins across the bridge. There’s a low chance we could get a low-tier wizard’s hat doing that, too.”
“Then it will be a pleasure killing goblins with you, Tenko.”
“Mm,” he said at the back of his throat, “First, we’ll need to obtain some sort of weapons, since bare-handed punching them will take forever. We could either talk to the melee tutor to get a temporary sword or start wi—actually, we should talk to the melee tutor. Melee will probably be the easiest fighting style for you right now, and it’ll be the simplest, since you won’t have to worry about running out of ammunition or runes.”
“Sure,” you said, leaning back in bed, “Do we go starboard or port?”
“You can just call them east and west, y’know. And we go north.”
To be obstinate, you clicked the opposite direction that Tenkopeito was going, and the moment you ran offscreen, Tenko spoke in a low, grumbling voice into his microphone. “No, don’t run away from me. Come back here.”
The rumble in his voice shot warmth straight to your lower stomach, the nature of the encounter between the two of you changing in a second. Your avatar kept running to her destination, your hand frozen and hovering above the tracking pad. You blinked, your throat drying. Snapping back into it, you ran back to Tenko, who seemed unaware of what he just did to you—and he almost negated your arousal in the way he kept talking about sword upgrades and something called RNG.
Uh.
“—now, it’ll take about ten minutes, but it’ll seem like two hours of hard labour. Follow me across the bridge. Follow—there’s a follow mechanic, if you’ll right-click on me.”
Oh, you’ll right-click him, all right. You needed to know more about Tenko—why you’ve been paired off, what Aizawa’s planning for him, what—a tinge of shame soured at the back of your tongue, because what currently gripped you were minutiae: more about him, what he looks like, what he likes, what he does for fun, if you’re…the sort of person he’d get along with in real life, if you hadn’t been forced together.
God, get over yourself. You spend two months away from men your age, and now, you’re thirsting over someone you don’t even know because he said one hot thing. You needed to be socialised—no, stop. This isn’t about you. Stop thinking about what his hands would feel like on you, what he’d sound like grunting into your ear as he ground against you—
“You’ve been quiet for a minute,” said Tenko, slashing the first goblin, “Are you all right?”
A very heroic question when you haven’t been thinking too heroically. The thought of his voice muttering against your neck still grasped you tightly. “I’m having—technical difficulties.”
***
Poking your head outside of your dorm/apartment door, you scanned the hallway for witnesses. You gripped the handle of Dango’s carrier, still hidden behind the door inside your dorm, and you nodded back at her when she meowed at you.
“I know, baby,” you said, listening for footsteps, “We’ll be outside soon enough. Gotta check for people, though.”
Okay, nothing coming. You shifted Dango’s carrier out of your dorm and pulled out your key, sticking it in the lock at the same time as a door opened down the hall.
Too fast—you had to prod her carrier back inside, your foot stuck in the crack between wall and door, just as—as Midoriya strode down the hall. Keys jangling. Civilian clothes (a Froppy hoodie, in fact).
“Oh, hello!” Midoriya only seemed to notice you once you were struggling to close the door despite the carrier being the way, and hopefully you thrust it fully inside swiftly enough for him not to catch the flash of burgundy. He trotted up to you, hands in the pockets of his worn cargo pants. “I didn’t think you’d be around. Do you not have work today?”
Dango meowed mournfully through the door, and you stepped in front of it. “It’s my lunch break. I’m going for a walk.”
Midoriya nodded, and he glanced over his shoulder back to the room he’d left. “Gotcha, gotcha. Good weather for it, especially after that storm earlier this week.” easy smile stretched across his face as he faced you again, but his gaze weighed down on you, as if the number one hero’s attention magnified your failures in comparison to his rise to the top—and the fact that he didn’t mean to pressure you only exacerbated the feeling.
“Uh,” you said, stuffing your keys in your backpack and setting it on the ground, as if you’re not waiting to go back inside, “May I ask what you’re doing here? Don’t you have better—aren’t you busy?”
Chuckling, Midoriya scratched the back of his neck (and oh, in that laughter, he was hiding something). “I make time. I’m just visiting,” he said, jerking his head back towards the end of the hall, “A friend. I want to take care to see him regularly. I didn’t know you lived on the same hall.”
“If you can call it living,” you said, and for some reason, Midoriya frowned, took a step closer to you, and said your name under his breath, eyes fucking wide and too damn concerned for your comfort. Fuck, you only meant to make a self-depredating joke, not make the situation serious.
“You—you know that you can reach out to us. I mean that. If you’re scared you’re gonna burden any of us—”
You’d squatted down to go through your bag, just to have something to do, to have an excuse to not look him in the eyes. If you were going to cry—which you were not!—then the number one hero’s not going to get to witness it.
“—then reach out to me, at least. I’ve got time, or else I can make it.” Midoriya was kneeling next to you, and you kept your eyes on the inside of your backpack. “If it makes you feel less like you’re bothering any of us, I could check in with you when I come see my friend. I’d already be on campus. I wouldn’t be going out of my way.” He sighed to fill the space when you didn’t answer. “What are you looking for?”
“I can’t find my planner,” you invented, and, acting like you were upset, you zipped your backpack again. “I think I need to go back inside to locate it.”
He shifted his jaw, and he glanced down at your bag and back at you. “Come with me to the vending machines, at least?”
The new symbol of peace, asking to spend time with you. You didn’t deserve it, so you shook your head. “I don’t have much time left in my break. I think I’d better let you go.”
Shifting his jaw, Midoriya tilted his head at you, his eyes glinting. “All right,” he said slowly, “You know yourself better than anyone else. Do what you need to. Rest up.” He started walking backwards towards the stairs. “And I want to see you more—we all do. I’ll see you the next time I come around. Maybe the three of us could hang out?”
“Sure,” you said, shoving your key in the lock to let a thrashing Dango out of her misery.
***
“The church. It’s the one with the altar icon in the minimap.”
You clicked enough so that your avatar would backtrack. “How am I supposed to know that’s the church? Is that icon supposed to be an altar? It looks nothing like an altar. It looks more like a steaming cup of tea.”
“That’s fair,” said Tenko into his headset, “but this is the easiest quest in the game. How are you having this much trouble with it?”
“Oh, stop that,” you said, reaching his character in front of the priest, “It’s intuitive to you because you’ve been playing this for years. Do we kill this guy?”
“What? No. He’s going to give us each the key to a dungeon underneath the church.”
“How can he give us both a key if there’s only one?” You clicked through the dialogue with the priest, and a key appeared in your inventory. “Also, how accurate is this dungeon? Because if this is a broadly medieval game, then the dungeons will be closer to underground bathrooms rather than, like, creepy and wet with shackles and bones. That was popularised by Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe.”
“How the hell do you know that,” Tenko asked flatly, “Ne—never mind. It doesn’t matter. Follow me to the trapdoor outside.”
You did, and it was locked. “Are we allowed to do this?” you asked, clicking on the key and then the lock, “Will we get arrested for trespassing?”
“Wha—no. No, we’re supposed to in order to progress the quest. In fact, our characters do a frankly criminal amount of breaking and entering throughout the game and never get checked for it. Hey, don’t go down there without me.”
Your character had only just gone down the trapdoor, prompting a blackout loading screen, but you popped back up to the surface before you could get a good look around. Your character stood next to Tenko’s, still next to the trapdoor. “What’s the holdup? I thought the only step was to use the key on the door. Did I skip something?”
“No, I—huh,” said Tenko, cutting himself off with a tinge of frustration creeping into his voice, “I lost the key.”
Raising a brow, you tilted your head. “What? How’d you lose it?”
“I don’t know. It was in my inventory one minute, and now it’s not. I didn’t touch it.” His mic picked up light scratching. “You’re not supposed to be able to lose the key, but I guess I can go back to the priest to get another. You wait—”
“Hold up,” you said, brow furrowed, “I have it. It’s in my inventory.”
“The hell? Are you sure it’s not just your own key?”
“Positive. I have two of them now. Same key, right next to each other. Want me to share my screen?”
“No, I—I believe you.” Tenko took a moment. “I’m not familiar with this sort of glitch, where an item from one player’s inventory randomly transfers to another’s. This doesn’t even happen, in my experience, but maybe it’s because this is one of the earliest quests coded into the game. It’s twenty-five-year-old code at this point, and it might have glitched because we’re both trying to perform the same quest actions on the same game tick.”
“Sure,” you said, “So, what do I do? Do I drop the key for you to pick up, or?”
“It disappears if you drop it. Trade me. Right-click, trade option.”
Once the key was traded, the two of you went down the trapdoor and wove your way back into the underground headquarters of a low-level cult, vacant for the moment but with evidence of rituals on the walls and floors, particularly in front of their bloodstained altar.
“Okay, we’re in their headquarters,” you said, making your character walk up the aisle, “What now? Priest guy didn’t give us any instructions.”
His avatar followed you and sat on the only programmed-to-be-sittable seat in the pew, his black cape (that he stole from a highwayman’s corpse) folding under his legs. “Actually, he did. You just clicked through his dialogue.”
“Because you’re here to tell me what to do, Quest Man.”
“Click on the—” Tenko heaved an enormous sigh, microphone sparking. “You figure it out. What’s clickable in this room? What has examine text?”
You hovered your mouse over most of the room, and nothing popped up with the examine option, except for something on the altar. “It’s this weird-looking, severed hand, isn’t it? This thing standing up on a slice of wrist by itself?” Your character walked nearer to it, fingers splayed widely enough to hold an in-game apple. “Weirdest ring-holder I’ve ever seen.”
When Tenko didn’t say anything, you glanced towards his character, but he was still sitting on the pew.
“Is this whole quest a pun? Because it’s one of the easiest quests, so they’re giving us a lot of guidance, so it’s like they’re holding our hands to get it through?”
That broke his silence: he scoffed into the mic. “I doubt it,” he said, “You need to grab the hand for the quest to keep going.”
“Fine,” you said, clicking the hand, and the instant your avatar touched it, a zombie spawned from the altar and began to attack you. “Dude! Did you know that thing was gonna jump me?” you asked, clicking away a few spaces but turning around to stab at it with your stupid bronze dagger, “And you just sat there? You could’ve warned me.”
“I did, and the priest did, and the duke who gave us this quest did. That’s why we went and baked all those pies in your inventory, yeah? For you to eat during this fight?”
Your character kept missing hits. “Yeah, but—like! I didn’t know the fight would be now.”
“Hey, relax.” Tenko’s voice sounded muffled, like his mouth was smushed as his fist dug into his cheek. “It’s only a level 12, and you’re level 9. Not too big of a difference. With your armour and weapon, you out-level it.”
The miss sound effect spoke for itself.
“You’ll kill it eventually. You won’t always hit zeroes, so it’ll pass.”
Though your character dealt her first damage, you frowned. “That’s…that’s actually really good advice, Tenko. The stuff you just said would work well if you were trying to calm someone down—reminding people of reality and emphasising perseverance over luck or natural talent are some of the better ways to encourage people.”
“Is that so,” he asked flatly, trying to put off a yawn and failing, “I haven’t—I wasn’t thinking about hero work. Just thinking about the game.”
“Well, it was nice,” you said, “and it seemed like it came naturally. Mind if I ask if something caused it?”
He yawned again, but he must have leant away from the mic so that you wouldn’t hear anything besides the initial inhale. “Nothing special happened today, but I’m too tired to get irritated. Therapy took a lot out of me today.”
Therapy. Therapy. Okay, so he’s got an official diagnosis somewhere. The word today implies that it’s a regular thing, and for some reason, this session was more intense. Intense emotionally? Physically? What kind of therapy? Well, they offered cognitive behavioural therapy on campus, but considering his non-traditional student status, his might be outsourced. Plus, if you, a former hero but technically a civilian, are being implemented into his care plan without being informed directly—
“You usually don’t go this long without saying some inane non sequitur,” said Tenko, that same, strange scratching picking up on the mic, “Snap out of it. You’re gonna get killed by the easiest quest boss in the game.”
Making an undignified noise, you shook yourself and spam-clicked on a cherry pie for your character to eat until she was healed completely, and then you clicked on the zombie to attack again.
“Why’d you pause when I said therapy? Surprised I’d go? Think that sort of thing is below me?”
“Of course not,” you said, trying to seem like you were focused on the fight so that he wouldn’t get nervous about sharing personal information, “Therapy good. Therapy great. Everyone needs to go to therapy.” Since he appeared to be taking this casually, you could probably ask after the type without it seeming too intrusive. “What kind? CBT? That’s what—”
“You think U.A. would arrange for me to get my cock and balls tortured? That wouldn’t qualify as therapy for me, certainly, and there’s no way that U.A. would pay for—”
“Not fucking cock-and-ball torture, you muppet; cognitive behavioural therapy. The sitting-down-with-therapist-to-talk-about-your-trauma-and-restructuring-the-way-you-think-through-practise type. You fuckin’ pervert,” you said, grinning at his avatar onscreen.
“Good to know. I didn’t know the name for it.”
“It’s good that you made this mistake with me instead of with Aizawa-sensei.”
“He’s probably more inclined towards bondage. Congratulations on killing your first boss,” said Tenko, and you blinked in surprise at your character: you’d defeated the zombie while staring at him. It fell to the ground, dropping bones and some sort of arrows.
“Take those. Check to see if they’re iron or steel. All right, equip them in your ammo slot for now so that they don’t take up an inventory space.”
You did so. “Why didn’t it attack me with the arrows if it were holding them?”
“There’s no logic to it besides that arrows are on its drop table. It’s coded to attack by punching you in the face, which doesn’t involve arrows.”
“Sure. Now, let’s get out of the cult basement; I wanna bake more pies until we can make apple ones. Did you know that the first record of fruit pies was around 1600? That means these fruit pies are anachronistic, since this game pitches itself as medieval.”
“Is that…” The hesitance had you beaming, daring him to actually ask it. “Is that not medieval?”
“Tenko, get your head out of your ass. For reference, 1600 is arguably the year the Azuchi-Momoyama period ended and the Edo period began. The game frames itself as medieval European, and 1600 is hard Renaissance-slash-Early-Modern. That’s Shakespeare times, screwboy.”
Only silence on your headphones. Character still on the pew. You made your character walk over to his to perform the curtsy emote, and in real life, you frowned. “Did I go too far there? Bit too annoying? I’m really sorry if I’m bothering you with this sort of thing; my friends say that I—”
“Nothing’s wrong. I needed a moment,” came Tenko’s voice, quiet and steady, “I could hear you smiling, and it was—it was good.”
Inhaling sharply, you pressed a fist to your mouth. Great. Fucking fabulous. Goddammit, you hadn’t aimed for it to go this way, but were you now the one getting flustered at something as simple as—
“Do most people consider a long pause in conversation rude? Did I fuck up with that?”
“No! No, of course not,” you were saying, trying to recover but still startled at how he was able to flip the vibe of your conversations in so few words, words that seemed so casual to him but grabbed you by the throat/cunt, “Especially since you followed-up with a check-in of how it might be strange; a lot of times, people will be comforted by checking to see if something’s okay with them personally…”
Frowning, you trailed off when another avatar entered the cult’s sanctuary and strode up the aisle. You hovered over the new guy’s stupid frog mask to see his username was Venomothman.
“Fucking great,” grumbled Tenko, “Here comes someone else to break our immersion. Ignore him. I’ll go ahead and fight the zombie so that we can get out of here.”
“The zombie’s dead. You don’t have to fight him,” you said, as Venomothman sat directly on top of Tenkopeito, with both avatars glitching as they took up the same space on the pew.
Tenko made some sort of noise in the back of his throat. “No, I have to kill it, too. It’s like each of us is the only one doing the quest, so in your version, the evil has been defeated, but in my version—it’s this thing called an instance—”
Venomothman: wow a couple questing together
Venomothman: bet ur one guy on two accounts
Venomothman: roleplaying that he can get a gf
The new guy’s in-text chat appeared in yellow font above his avatar’s frog-faced head, and somehow, the boggly, green eyes made his words more irritating.
Venomothman: leave the basement sometimes ya incel
“Some people are assholes recreationally,” said Tenko, making his avatar stand to go to the altar as the clatter of mechanical typing came through the mic, “Let me get rid of this fucking scumba—wait.”
Venomothman: ur doing too much work to stare at pixelated ass
“Would it be correct for a hero to insult someone online?”
You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “Eh. You’re not on duty, and you’re not under any persona connected with your public branding. I would say go for it, but since you’re trying to be better with people, you may want to practise.”
Venomothman: somehow this is even more pathetic than never knowing the touch of a woman at all
“Then I’ll shut him down. The shit-talking isn’t bothering me so much as his breaking our immersion in the game,” said Tenko, grabbing the hand on the altar to start his instance of the fight, “I’m trying to cultivate a particular experience for you, and he’s a fucker who won’t stop yapping. Give me a second.”
Venomothman: is this what does it for you??
Venomothman: why no response
Venomothman: hard to type with one hand, isn’t it, ******* shithead
You laughed through your nose. “Cipherstone censors the word fuck?”
“It censors fuck; it censors cunt,” said Tenko, avatar casting a weak air spell at the zombie, slowly, slowly draining its health, “Everything else is fair game.”
“Will it censor variations of cunt? Like, if I typed in cuntbag? Or—actually, let’s find that out later,” you said, tapping the buttons on your earbud cord to turn up the volume, “Let’s practise navigating difficult social interactions. What’s our goal here in this conversation? Is it to continue to engage?”
“No.” His spell missed, and the zombie landed a hit on his character, prompting him to eat half of a pie. “It’s to close the interaction. Therefore, I need to say something concise that invites no response, right? I’m assuming that a simple fuck off is unacceptable.”
“You’re getting better at this, y’know?”
“Is that condescension I detect?”
“Only a little.” You slumped back against your headboard and reached for the bottle of water on your bedside table. “Actually—no. No condescension. Genuinely, Tenko, you’re picking up on this stuff easily, and it’s impressive. You’ll be able to walk little old ladies across the street with style and flair in no time.”
“Hilarious,” he said, voice restrained and tight at the mention of his name (too easy—he gives himself away aurally so freely; who knows what you could read off of him when you had a visual?), “I’m sure no one wants me touching them. Can I—hm.” He sounded like he was pressing his fist against his face somehow. “Why you keep bothering to compliment me? Most people bitch down to me like I’ve spat my own cum in their coffee.”
“Wha—how about because you deserve to be complimented? Listen,” you said, electing to brush over his vivid simile, “Silent admiration rots. By keeping in appreciation or gratitude, you’re not doing anyone any good. Kind regards are meant to be shared. Like, now, if I held back any positive thoughts concerning your growth, then you might not feel encouraged to keep going.”
“Like I’m gonna go around fucking complimenting ev—”
“I’m not saying you have to,” you said, “but consider trying it more often. See if anything turns out better. And be sure to be sincere about it—obviously.”
“This is bullshit.”
“Just consider it. So. What has he told us about himself based on how he’s insulted you?”
“He’s so low-level that it looks like he just created his account. His stats are even lower than ours,” said Tenko, speaking more quickly now that it was a subject he was more comfortable with, unequipping his wand to punch the zombie instead, “But he’s gone out of his way to get the frog mask.”
“His words, Tenko,” you said, unscrewing the cap and doing your fucking darndest to pinch your mouth from smiling at his slight hitch when you said his name, “I’m trying to get you to notice on whom he looks down and what that means for his personal social status.”
“Right,” he said a bit too quickly, a bit of a break in his voice on the word, “He’s debasing me for—oh, you’re brilliant. How the hell do you notice these things? He’s using basement dweller as insult, meaning he considers himself above that. Leave it to me.”
You muted yourself briefly to glug down water; you didn’t know how sensitive the mic was on your earbuds, but considering that you could catch onto Tenko’s occasional rustling of what sounded like plastic bags on his side or typing on his mechanical keyboard, as he was right now, you would prefer not to be emitting the same.
Tenkopeito: Your mom wishes you would come out of your room to talk with the rest of the family more often
You spluttered into your water bottle as the yellow text appeared above his head, and you unmuted yourself. “That is not what I meant for you to—”
“Was I being mean?” The mic caught the creak of Tenko’s chair as he leant back in it, and you could picture him defensive and pouting as he crossed his arms (and it struck you that you couldn’t imagine his face. Grimacing, you bit the inside of your cheek). “I wasn’t being rude. I could be so much crueller, but I thought this would be more of a devastating blow. Living on the same floor as your family isn’t the same as living in the basement, so I’m acknowledging his level of social power while still demeaning—”
Venomothman: i mean you right
Venomothman: lmao how tf did you know it was me
“I think we should log out,” you said, wiping the water off of your chin with the back of your hand and setting the bottle back on the bedside table.
Over Tenko’s microphone, you heard the shrill pitch of a custom ringtone and a startled but violent shuffle at the noise. “Hold on. I’m getting a call,” he said, voice coming through at a distance, as if he’d knocked his mic aside.
“Oh? Who is it?”
It took him a minute, but Tenko eventually replied, “A friend.”
That must be a damn good microphone, because you could still pick up on Tenko’s side of the conversation a few feet away. “Yes, hello?” he asked, a bit more brusquely than you’d heard him before.
“Oh. I didn’t,” he was saying, “How was I supposed to know that you’d—yes, that’s her. The one working with Aizawa-sensei.”
Very nice, you were thinking, as you unlocked your own phone to check your messages. Very good for him to have friends. Not that you would’ve pegged him as the absolute loner type, because he proved to be adaptable and quick on his feet, but since Aizawa’d recruited you for interpersonal help, you’d considered that he may not have friends. So, good on him for having at least one friend, it seemed, who cared enough to create an account on some stupid video game solely to annoy him.
“—cool of you to make an account to hang out with me. Stop fucking laughing; I am trying to be kind to you, shitstain. Okay. I don’t know. I haven’t been in contact with him in the past two days. I’ve been busy. Let me check.” Tenko leant back towards the mic to address you. “Do we have a schedule for the rest of the week? For instance, are we doing this again on Thursday?”
“I thought we were,” you said, scanning your room for your planner so that you could check your calendar, “Did something come up?”
“It’s not imperative that I go,” Tenko was saying into your ear, while you picked up your laptop to walk over to your U.A.-issued desk, “but another friend who’s been out of town will finally be back then. We might hang out.”
“Psh, go with your friends,” you said, delighted that he had more than one (fighting envy that it was so easy for them to meet up), “We can do this another time.”
“Understood,” Tenko said and backed away from the mic.
Venomothman: so have you sucked his dick yet
Tenko’s incensed shout of “Touya!” had you turning down the volume.
Venomothman: not to be the world’s worst wingman, but my dude is packing. and goes commando all the time.
Venomothman: and i would know. “i” sometimes “did” our “laundry”
You: what’s with all those quotation marks
Venomothman: and do you know the last time it was sucked? never
(Fucking hell. This Touya was walking you back into forbidden territory: the sexualisation of Tenko. After that first session, when you’d been turned on by his confident, rumbling voice as he’d given you an order, you’d felt guilty for sexualising him for the rest of the night. It was as if instead of friend-zoning him, you’d sex-zoned him, only able to see him as a sexual person/object. For the sake of your mission task, that felt unfair.
Or maybe you weren’t even sexualising him. Maybe your brain was appropriately interpreting what he’d done as sexual.
Whatever. Something in your gut was begging you not to see Tenko only through romantic or sexual lenses right now, and you couldn’t explain why.
And talking about Tenko’s apparently massive dick was not helping.)
Tenkopeito: Touya if you don’t ******* shut up I am going to tear off your other arm
Venomothman: no need, boss man
You heard Tenko sigh and say into his phone, sounding exhausted, “I’m not your boss anymore, Touya.”
Venomothman: no need, douchebag
***
Draped over the side of your bed, you dangled a shoelace in front of the gap in an attempt to coax Dango out from underneath. “Dango, sweetie,” you said, whipping the shoelace to the side, “Come out here so that I can look you in the eyes. Where is my planner, you whore?”
At a firm knock on your door, you shot up, dropping the lace. “Never mind,” you said, sliding off the bed, “Stay hidden.”
You opened your door on Aizawa, bare arm raised in mid-knock, wisps of hair plastered to his forehead by dried sweat, and a sweatshirt tied around his waist. He took two seconds to look over you before saying, “Get dressed. Civilian clothes. You have three minutes.”
Throwing on yesterday’s outfit, you rushed to follow Aizawa out of the dorm and off campus, nearly stepping on his heels while he wove through night pedestrians, pulling on his own sweatshirt to minimise skin contact once the crowd thickened.
You flipped up your coat collar to sneak a glance over your shoulder. “Is this a test?”
Aizawa combed his fingers back through his hair, gaze straight ahead. “Not for you.”
“Right.” You stepped more lightly, naturally falling back into patrol patterns: noting exits (narrow alleyways favouring the left side, underground into the subway station), checking vantage points (upper-storey windows in the resident buildings, non-industrial rooftops), honing in on light sources (yellow- and LED-tinted streetlamps, ambience from open businesses) and physical presence (close enough to brush shoulders with passerby [putting you on edge, because the slightest touch could be pivotal]). You had to consciously unclench your jaw, body flooded with stress it hadn’t felt in months. Swiping at the inner corner of your eye, you asked, “Does it have anything to do with the guy in the black hoodie and face mask following us?”
Aizawa laughed through his nose, once. “All right, then. What’s that ice cream place you and Shinsou went to all the time? Take us there.”
Bewildered, you changed directions to head towards Nekozawa’s, with Aizawa placing a hand on your shoulder to slow your pace, and by the time you pushed open Nekozawa’s glass door to the glowing, pink parlour, you were prepared to hold it open for your follower in the face mask. You watched his broad back as he ordered some ungodly, radioactive-blue ice cream with gummy bears before retreating to a table outside despite the dropping temperature, and Aizawa gestured you forward so that he could pay for the three of you.
Holding your ice cream, you hesitated at the door, swaying underneath the seasonal cat decorations dangling from the ceiling.
“Go on,” said Aizawa, retrieving the U.A. card from his wallet, “I’ve got to make a phone call, so don’t wait up. Don’t be too harsh on him; we’re here because he did a good job in the field today. Tailing you was extra practise.”
Nodding, you nudged open the door, bracing yourself at the cold, night air, and let it drift shut behind you as you approached the table, the farthest one from the pink lights.
Hood pulled up, Tenko bent over his blue monstrosity, face mask hanging by a loop over his left ear. Scuffing your boots on the concrete to announce your presence, you sat across from him, setting your cup on the cast iron before swinging your leg over the bench. You managed a cursory glance over what appeared to be a sketchbook before he closed it, and once he’d stowed it away, he swopped his spoon to his dominant hand to keep eating.
“You draw, Tenko?” To make him feel more comfortable, you kept your gaze towards Aizawa inside on the phone. “Do you think you’re any good?”
“Not yet. But I’m gonna be,” he said, clicking his pen and clenching it in his left hand, “I’ve got all these fucking artist’s gloves, so I might as well put ‘em to use.”
“Very nice,” you said, nodding, closing your eyes as you dipped your spoon into your ice cream, “But as a reminder, you don’t have to be good at something to enjoy it. I love doing stuff I’m absolute shit at. It reminds me of medieval bestiaries. They didn’t know shit about animals, but, boy howdy, did they have fun illustrating them. Did you know a weasel used to be called a polecat?”
Tenko huffed, his face mask fluttering. “It really is you.”
“Of course it is,” you said, beaming, and for the first time, you looked at him.
Tension flooded your teacup of a body and overflowed into the saucer and onto the floor. Heightened by the cold, a vein on the back of your hand strained and pulsed visibly, and, jaw locking, you lunged over the tabletop to grab him by the shoulders, shaking him.
“What the hell is wrong with you‽” You climbed over the table, pushed his ice cream out of the way (he shot out a hand to save it from toppling off the table, and he ripped off his face mask to set it aside before it fell to the ground), and planted your foot on his thigh and your elbows on his chest, caging him in as you forced him flat on the bench. “Why the fuck are you using your real name in your fucking Cipherstone username, you fucking moron‽ People could fucking track you!”
The man who had been Shigaraki Tomura eyed your fists in his hoodie and then his cup of ice cream. “You didn’t have a problem with it before.”
“I—” This idiot! “I didn’t know it was you. There are a lot of Tenkos.”
“Then there’s my logic,” he said, hands dangling by his sides, making no attempt to touch you—you didn’t know if you appreciated it or not. “I thought you knew who I was.”
“No, I fucking—I would have given you advice that was more specific to you, over the spiel I was giving interns.” Releasing your grip on his hoodie, you sat back up and scooted over on the tabletop. Though you wanted to keep holding him, to hug him after all he’s been through, he probably wouldn’t want that. “I’m—sorry about tackling you. I, uh—fuck,” you said, and, grimacing, you slid his ice cream back to him and reached across for your own, pretending with everything you’ve got that it was perfectly normal that you were sitting on a table next to Shigaraki Tomura, who’s been teaching you to play a video game, who’s apparently living at the end of the hall, who’s decorated his door with Eri’s silver tinsel for Christmas, who’s banned from drinking caffeine, who could rest his fucking head on your thigh if he wanted. Normal. Yeah.
“Again, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to keep doing that,” he said, fishing out a gummy bear like you hadn’t lunged at him, “Your reaction was reasonable.”
“It—it wasn’t, really,” you said, laughing nervously, “I wasn’t expecting you. I mean, no one knows what—what happened to you. Afterwards. It was really unclear.”
“It was that way on purpose,” said Tenko, “It was thought to be better to emphasise the total destruction of All for One instead of whatever happened to his leftovers.” He shifted a bear to his back molars to bite into the frozen gummy better. “Nezu-sensei decided it was better to keep it muddled for now.”
Muddled was a good way to put it. There’d been so much chaos at the end of the war that so much never was accounted for. You’d think that the location of Shigaraki’s body would be high on the list, but satisfaction was found simply in the splintered, spectacular remains of AFO. Shigaraki’s name wasn’t cleared, per se, but in the aftermath, Midoriya especially stressed that yes, Shigaraki committed atrocities, but he’d been abused, groomed, and literally bodily possessed by AFO to think that way. Didn’t excuse him, but wasn’t entirely his fault.
The locations of the other PLF members—well, the core of the League, really—were public, if not vague. Spinner was in the States at a rehab that specialised in heteromorph trauma; Toga was at a local women’s facility called Sakura Grove, and Dabi was living with his family—he must have been that Touya on the phone, holy shit.
So, here he was, sitting on the bench at the same ice cream parlour you visited with the same friends who fought him, hunched over in oversized, black clothes you suspected were Aizawa’s, broad shoulders and faded scars out of place in the pink lights, white hair pulled back in a blunt ponytail with his bangs flopping over his forehead, seemingly unbothered by the toe of your boot pressing against his denim-covered thigh.
God. He’s scratched at his neck so much that it looks like he’s been beheaded with a blunt axe.
Tenko’s eyes flickered up to you, their colour deepening to crimson in the tinted lights. “So. You’ve got questions.”
“Are you okay?”
Tenko swallowed with effort, scowling. “Don’t start with a hard one.”
“Right,” you said, throat drying, “Who knows you’re staying at U.A.?”
“Faculty and staff. My therapist. The police force. The ramen shop Aizawa-sensei and I go to. The intensive rehab I was at before. The top of the hero commission. Touya, Touya’s father, Spinner, Toga. Eri and Midoriya,” he said, tongue swiping over his lower lip, “You.���
Somehow both fewer and more than you’d figured. “What exactly…is the situation? Aizawa-sensei was vague.”
“Officially, I’m like Eri: a ward of U.A. My old rehab thought I was good enough to live off their campus, so I’m back here, where I can be watched by people capable enough to bring me down if I go crazy again,” he said, brow furrowed as he traced the side of his cup with his spoon, “I should resent that, but it’s not like I have anywhere else to go, especially somewhere as comfortable as this. This is fucking stupid to say aloud, but fucking—fuckin’ All Might is the closest thing I have to family now, along with Midoriya.”
“I’m not following.”
“My grandma was the holder of One for All before All Might had it.” He pointed at you with his spoon. “So you can make the connection from there. But it’s stupid; I’m stupid—” He was shaking his head and staring into his lap. “—because it’s like I have a brother in Midoriya and a goddamn father in All Might—and then Aizawa-sensei’s acting like a dad, too, to me and Eri, and Nezu-sensei? Nezu-sensei is so fucking cool,” said Tenko, dragging his hand down his face, “He’s got a driver’s license! I don’t even have one of those. And he can type fucking 210 words per minute with those little rat paws, and I’m still getting used to using all five fingers, fuck.”
Cute. You scraped the bottom of your cup. “Hey, I think you type well.”
“Yeah, well, that’s why it takes me so long to reply in the in-game chat function. Why I prefer communicating over voice call. Learning new habits, and shit.” Tenko stabbed his ice cream with his spoon. “Nezu-sensei has arranged for me to train as an aftermath-clean-up hero. I had been—” His fingers on one hand circled the thumb of the other. “—in discussion with him in rehab about what I could do, and we decided I could consistently help when there’s collapsed buildings after attacks; I could dust the wreckage so that we could find hostages or make it easier to clean up and rebuild, and Aizawa-sensei and All Might-sensei have been working with me to control what parts of what I touch gets dusted so that I could create pitfall traps for holding criminals. It’s…going. It’s going,” he said, curling his lips in his mouth to moisten them, and with narrowed, determined eyes, he took another bite of ice cream, the blue staining the inside of his lips.
“Tenko, that’s a really cool application of your quirk. I hope you can find more,” you said, tilting your head and smiling down at him, “but—I have to ask—aren’t you tired?”
Tenko rolled his eyes. “Of course. You’re part of the group ensuring I don’t have caffeine.”
“No, I mean,” you said, shaking your head, “I mean, you don’t have to be perceived as useful. You’re—you’re just fine if you wanted to rest. You’re worthwhile just as you, not as—as a job, as a, I don’t know, a redeemed hero or anything. You can just be Tenko.”
“I know. My therapist keeps reminding me. But one of the most vivid memories I have from when I was living in that house,” said Tenko, sneering, “is that I desperately wanted to be a hero and that I would pretend to be one a lot. While I’m aware that I can never atone for what I’ve done, if I did nothing but rest, I’d be alone with my thoughts. And with what I’m learning to do, as a hero, someday, someone might…need me. Need my help. I imagine that’s a good feeling.”
You sat back, leaning on your hands, the cast-iron pattern cutting into your palms, to survey him. “You’re very much re-writing my first impressions of you as my gaming buddy and as the post-war Shigaraki. You’re surprisingly well-adjusted.”
He snorted. “I shouldn’t think it’s surprising. I’ve had almost a year and a half in intensive rehab, and I’m still in therapy every day.” He started listing on his fingers, starting with his thumb. “I’m on antidepressants; I know where my next meal’s coming from and when I’ll get it; I consistently have a safe roof over my head, and I know my friends are getting that, too. I have mentors who care for me as a human person instead of as a tool. I get to stay in contact with my friends and get to make new ones,” he said, nodding curtly at you before quickly looking away, “I’m fucking away from that sadistic fuckface. He’s goddamn dead and burned away to nothing. That’s the main thing. Everything else is a bonus.”
Tenko sighed, bangs fluttering with the movement, his shoulders straining as he leaned onto both his elbows on the table. He sighed again and scooped the last gummy bear out of his cup, and you let the silence carry on while you finished eating.
“Long phone call,” Tenko said eventually.
An increasingly grumpy Aizawa was leaning against the glittery wall inside, phone between his ear and shoulder, and furiously scraping the inside of his ice cream cup.
“Yeah,” you said, “but it’s been good talking to you, Tenko. I really appreciate you telling me all of this.”
“I would’ve talked about it sooner, but I figured you knew who I was and didn’t want to address it,” said Tenko, tapping his fingers one by one on the table.
Pulling the collar of your coat closer to your neck, you frowned, hesitating on how to phrase it. You watched your breath cloud in the night air before settling on, “There’s an off-switch?”
Brow pinching very slightly, Tenko followed your gaze to his hand, with all five fingers coming to rest on the cast iron, and he tapped all five of them on it for emphasis. “Yeah. There always has been. All for One kept it from me. Power of belief kept me jittery and alert my whole life.”
“So long as you thought you’d destroy anything you touched, you would?”
He nodded. “That bitch.”
“Agreed. We should kill him.”
And Tenko laughed. Just for a moment, barely making any noise, but he smiled with his teeth, grin stretching across his face as he looked away and eventually closing his lips, the smile lingering for a few more precious seconds.
***
You closed your laptop to answer the phone at work, clearing your throat to ready your receptionist voice before you picked up. “U.A. University Administration; how may I help you?”
“I need you to fucking murder me,” Tenko spat through the phone, angry and panicked, “I need you to rip out my bones and suck out my guts through a straw. He fucking let me hold onto them, and I’ve fucking gone and lost such a fucking iconic piece of—”
“Tenko, please, take a breath,” you said, relaxing your customer service mode but clutching the phone to your ear, and after catching the eye of the woman with jars of strawberry preserves waiting to see Nezu, you slumped over in your seat so that she couldn’t see you over the desk’s overhang. “Tell me what’s wrong. We can fix it. Are you alone? Is everyone else busy? Do you need to come sit with me?”
“I—fuck,” he said, and you heard some deliberately slow breathing, but his voice still had an irate, twitchy edge afterwards. “During our practise patrol last night, Aizawa-sensei was talking about support equipment for me. I’d never given it much thought, because it’s always been just me and my hands. He leant me his Eraser Goggles for me to think about for my—and I don’t know where they fucking are,” he said, inhaling sharply on the last word, “I’d left them on my desk, but I’d taken them up to the roof to sketch them, and then I’d brought them back to my dorm—”
“And Aizawa-sensei must have swung by to pick them up since then,” you said, pushing yourself back to slide in your swivel chair to the back of the reception desk, “because he was here at the beginning of my shift to print something off, and the goggles are on top of the printer. Relax, Tenko.”
“Hooooooly fuck, you’re kidding,” said Tenko, audibly deflating, and you smiled to yourself as you slid their band around your wrist.
You kicked yourself back up to the front. “You’re okay. You’re not gonna get in trouble. I’ll bring them by at the end of my shift.” You sat up straight, and the strawberry preserves woman was shooting a concerned look in your direction. “I’m at work, though, so I think we’d better end the call soon. Anything else you need?”
Tenko hummed into the phone. “Not really. You can’t be that busy.”
You smiled again, feeling—feeling domestic, as if he were your boyfriend calling you during work hours. How strange, Shigaraki Tomura. How interesting. “Would you believe I was grinding in Cipherstone when you called?”
“And you don’t call yourself a gamer,” he said, clearing his throat multiple times, “What skills?”
“Woodcutting and firemaking,” you said, opening your laptop again, “Are you feeling under the weather? Your voice had a bit of a rasp there.” Sounded like his old voice for a moment.
“Further cementing that Aizawa-sensei’s right to be worried about you. He says your brain’s going haywire analysing any detail work you can get, because you’re not out in the field anymore,” said Tenko, clearing his throat again (?), “Am I your new project?”
“Tell me what’s wrong, lest I pick up some damn throat lozenges for you before I come home,” you said, and a voice in the back of your head screamed that that threat was extremely cosy and intimate, especially since you’re claiming both of you have a home in the same place—which, sure, you both lived on the same hallway, but so did Aizawa and Eri, and please shut up; Shimura Tenko needs a friend, not a lover right now. Besides, that stupid hallway wasn’t really home for either of you but was more like a temporary holding cell.
“Fine. I’ve been throwing up all morning.”
“Thank you,” you said, electing not to make a pregnancy joke, “Do you need to see Recovery Girl?”
“No, I’m used to it, and I’ve already talked to her about it. I threw up a lot out of anxiety and stress when I was growing up with All for One, and now I’m throwing up because my body can’t handle the amount of food it’s getting regularly, which is fucking ridiculous, since it’s still less than a normal person’s version of three meals a day.”
What. The fuck. How can he casually drop details of deep trauma like it’s nothing? How could AFO let a child keep vomiting out of stress for years and years and never interfere? Well. Yeah, he could. You supposed that Shigaraki’s voice, as you first heard it as the USJ incident, was the ultimate result of that heavy strain on his throat for years. Explains some things about his teeth back then, too.
God. If AFO weren’t dead, you’d strangle him. Keeping a child physically weak because he’d be easier to mould. It was known that AFO had been psychologically manipulating Shigaraki, but now that you thought about it, manipulating his physical growth would have served AFO, too, since he was planning to move into Shigaraki’s body.
And what did this guy do now that he’s got bodily autonomy? Oh. Just. Play some video games. Talk with his friends. Try out some new hobbies. Make crafts with Eri.
It’s a shame AFO didn’t have a grave, because you’d be skiving off work to drown it in acid.
“My stomach is killing me,” said Tenko, “I’ve got to hang up to drink something and go to sleep. Knock on my door when you get home. I want to start a new quest as soon as you finish work.”
Home. He’d said it, too. He probably didn’t mean it in the same, domestic way that you’d been entertaining, but it made your heart swell. “Okay, Tenko. See you then.”
***
His therapist had assigned him homework: go on a planned, public outing with a peer, and stay out for at least an hour.
It wasn’t exactly a picnic you were packing, you kept telling yourself, scooting behind Tenko to get to the spice cabinet in the dorm kitchen, because that’d be too close to a date rather than homework. But the two of you packed a meal to take, with Eri sitting on the kitchen counter while she nibbled at rabbit-cut apple slices, and she held the thermos of decaf tea in her lap until it was time to stow it away.
After a short train ride and a quiet walk through midtown, Tenko stopped you in front of the back gate to what appeared to be a restored, historical estate, judging by the golden shachihoko shibi on each corner of polished hip-and-gable rooftops of the extensively aristocratic—mansion? palace?—that you could make out in across the distance of its sprawling grounds, the immediacy of which was the excessively well-kept, traditional garden that you and Tenko were breaking into.
“Is this legal?” you asked as Tenko reached through the grate to unlatch the doorway.
“I have an in with the gardener,” he said, sweeping the gate open for you and gesturing brusquely for you to enter.
“No, that wasn’t a joke,” you said, taking the few steps inside, finding yourself planted onto a polished, level stepping stone, and staring down a squeaky clean tsukubai despite the thin layer of frost over the water’s surface as the whole bowl began to freeze, “You can’t be doing anything even vaguely illegal, Tenko.”
When you said his name, he closed his eyes, pausing for just a hair in his relatching the gate, before facing you and shifting the strap of his bag farther up his shoulder. “Prude. Yes, we have permission from the owner.”
He kept looking back over his shoulder at you as he led you through the gardens, hopping across stepping stones to pass over a carefully shaped brook that led to a tiny waterfall near stone lanterns, weaving through trellises with the wintry shells of wisteria vines and shaped evergreens. He tutted and rolled his eyes when you stopped at the waterlily-coated koi pond, its fish swimming and flicking their tails in the artificially heated water (for some, odd reason, what appeared to be a compact duck coop had been constructed near the pond’s edge, its wood new and un-bleached by the sun like the rest of garden décor). You’d been about to ask about it when Tenko had jumped out of his skin at the sound of a deer scare, bamboo tapping stone.
“Stop laughing,” Tenko said, cheeks burning (and you tried not to take too much pleasure in that, but you couldn’t help it).
“Oh, a sensitive boy, a delicate boy,” you said, grinning as you hopped onto the same stone as him, cool, clouding breaths mixing together in the proximity, and you yourself could feel heat rise to your face. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Good traits to have, actually. Means you’re feeling secure and comfortable in your surroundings, if you’re off-set that easily.” Feeling bold—it was the cold; it was how the proximity already flustered him; it was how his hands were full because of the bag; it was—whatever—you reached for his silly All Might scarf and re-tied the front, fluffing it up to cover more of his neck.
You made the mistake of making eye contact: full of caution, his eyes kept darting from your hands to your face, searching for something, his lips parted, otherwise completely fucking frozen.
Were you making him uncomfortable? You stilled, your fingers still in the fringe of his scarf, tension tightening in your chest and jaw (clenching).
Tenko noticed. And—and to this day, you can’t believe he fucking did this—he ran his tongue over his lower lip and lifted his chin, exposing more of his neck to you. He then was suddenly very interested in the koi pond, the ruddiness spreading from his cheeks to his ears.
Throat dry, you gave his scarf a final tug and patted it (?) to show (??) a job well done (???). “Yeah,” you said, smoothly, like a smooth person, like someone who adjusts scarves of hot, in-process-of-reformation villains on the regular, “Where are we going?”
Tenko spun on his heel and strode away, muttering what sounded like, “Right into my grave.”
You pretended not to hear it and let him lead you to the only building unattached to the main house: a small, traditional teahouse that had a recent addition to it in the back. The creak of the bamboo engawa when you climbed onto it was muffled underneath the bright pealing of windchimes strung across the covered porch. Tenko was already kneeling at the tearoom’s sunken fireplace inside, its handle carved into a fish, fiery as its kindling, and was unpacking the travel teacups from the bag as you closed the door behind you, shutting out the cold, enveloped by the comfortable heat trapped inside by the cushioned walls.
Tenko must have arranged for this space to have been prepared for you. A kotatsu with floor cushions was tucked near the fireplace, pre-heated, with two further space heaters in the unoccupied corners, cords trailing into what must be a hallway linking the traditional and modern rooms, the latter of which was shut off from view. Beside a red-tinted wooden dresser stood an oddly empty tokonoma, and instead of a scroll or painting, amidst bits of pieces of scotch tape hastily half-torn off the back was a shittily cut-out, paper heart.
Shaking your head, you took a step towards Tenko, and the floor chirped at you, freezing you in place.
“Yeah, I don’t know why they do that,” said Tenko, pushing on his knees to stand, “They just do.”
“These must be nightingale floors,” you said, crossing to the kotatsu, a bird under each step, “The chirping’s caused by the way the nails rub against the v-shaped clamps holding the floor together. Have you been to Nijō Castle in Kyoto? These are in the hallway—supposedly used as a security measure, but who knows.”
“You need a hobby.” Tenko ripped the paper heart from the back of the tokonoma, crumpling it in his fist. A shred of it remained under the scrap of tape on the wall, which he bent towards to scrape off with a blunt fingernail.
“I have several,” you said, easing down onto a cushion and unfolding your legs underneath the kotatsu blanket, the luxurious heat swaddling your legs and hips. You fought the urge to curl up underneath it entirely.
“How many of them involve getting your ass thrashed by me in Cipherstone?” Tenko retrieved the bag from the sunken fireplace before returning to the kotatsu, and he sat on your left, resting the bag between the two of you.
You took the thermos of decaf tea when he handed it to you. “Tenko, you’ve been playing that game for years, and I just began. Of course my ass is gonna be thrashed by—you know how the game works. You have all of this previous information about the game that I don’t have.”
Tenko scoffed and slid your teacup across the kotatsu’s surface. “As if I could conceal any information from you. You’re too…eh.” He waved it off, shaking his head.
“I’m too what?” You unscrewed the thermos lid, and steam surged upwards, rising to caress the planes of your face.
“It’s been unfair of Aizawa-sensei to make me tail you,” said Tenko, leaning your way, all five fingers curled around his own teacup as he stretched across the tabletop. “I’d have a chance of success if it were anyone else.”
“I’ll give you that,” you said, pouring steaming, amber tea with slices of yuzu into Tenko’s cup, “You’re getting quite good at it, not that you were bad in the first place. But yeah, it’s a bit mean of him to test your tracking skills on me.” He’d never said to stop, so you poured until liquid almost overflowed at the rim.
He gasped at the heat but nudged his teacup back to his place at the table, unable to hold it in his palm anymore. “I think I would’ve preferred working with Hound Dog-sensei for that. He’s less detail-oriented. I could win, if it weren’t you.” Jutting out his lower lip, Tenko glared down at his tea for a moment before slumping in his seat to slurp at the tea without picking it up.
“Don’t feel bad about it. It was literally and actually my focus for hero work, profiling and detail shit and being aware of my surroundings. Information stuff. Infiltration stuff.” Setting the thermos on the far corner, you cupped your hands loosely around your teacup, appreciating the warmth and getting cosier by the minute.
Tenko was rooting through the bag for the other thermoses, full of sukiyaki for each of you. “It’s clear you’ve worked hard to hone your skills. Were you this talented as a student?”
You accepted the new thermos, fingers clenching tightly around it. “Uh. I think I may have been better back then. More focused. More passionate, anyway. I had to think about it really hard back then, make conscious decisions to notice things, and now I think I do it instinctively. I think I’m slipping because of that.”
“Hm,” said Tenko, tongue rubbing over his teeth behind closed lips, and he opened his mouth to say something but shut it, instead twisting off the cap to his soup thermos. He took the first sip of sukiyaki broth and—and was absolutely beautiful (you couldn’t make sense of it beyond that; he was a mess of details that you couldn’t fit together into a larger picture that made any sense: white eyelashes light against his cheeks as they fluttered shut, face muscles relaxed, scars overlapping with laugh lines, cracked lips becoming moistened by the soup, both hands cupped around his thermos like a child, no strain to his posture, baggy hoodie swallowing him up, kotatsu blanket yanked up to his hips to cover his crossed legs, scar on the corner of his mouth delicately shifting with his baffled smirk when he caught you staring, a strange pink rising to the tips of his ears). “What?”
Uh. Hm. You pinched the bridge of your nose and then moved to rub your eyelids. “What were you going to say about me?” you asked, and you withdrew your hand from your face to raise the soup thermos to your lips, taking a mouthful of noodles and the sweet, salty broth.
Tenko shook his head. “I’m trying to avoid thoughts that fall back into my old habits.”
“Try me,” you said, holding his gaze when he met it, “I won’t tell.”
Weary, he broke eye contact, and he fixated on fishing out a certain slice of green onion. “We needed someone like you back then.”
Back then? When he—oh.
Back in the League.
Though you attempted to hide your grin by taking a sip of sukiyaki, you caught his eyes flicker to it. “You would’ve taken me? You would’ve let me in?”
“Would you have joined?” he shot back, a bit too quickly.
“No,” you said, rolling your shoulders and settling down farther underneath the kotatsu, “Never. But since you shared something you shouldn’t’ve, I’ll do the same.” You set your thermos down to rub your eyes again—God, you couldn’t look at him for too long, lest your intrusive thoughts hand you your ass. “I thought about it. About joining you.”
You dragged your hand down your face, peeking between your fingers at a muted clink. Tenko was staring at you, something fucking unreadable in his scrounched eyes, and both hands lay five-fingered and flat on the kotatsu, steam from his open thermos fluffing up hair on one side of his head. “You’re not serious. You wouldn’t have.”
“Not in the way you think,” you said, tilting your head back, “but I often thought, in the aftermath of the Paranormal Liberation Raid, what I could’ve done, if I’d known what I know now. And as the rest of the war was unfolding, I only wanted it more.”
Tenko blinked, slowly. “Tell me what you would’ve done.”
“Oh, you would’ve hated me, down to the dregs of my very soul,” you said, shifting to sit on your knees, “I would’ve started after your fight with Re-Destro, after the PLF was established. When you were letting allllllllll those heroes in, the sidekicks, the nobodies, anyone who seemed like they were with the cause. I would’ve infiltrated. Slipped in without notice. Hawks did, with the Commission, but I would’ve been going in as a free agent.”
“No one notices a U.A. student slide in between the masses. Re-Destro’s lackeys wouldn’t notice you at the door like I would. You get in,” Tenko said, taking his thermos in hand again but still engrossed in you, “What then?”
“There was a short period of time between the PLF establishment and your procedure, right? Around a month? That’s when I go. I worm my way into the good graces of some of the nine lieutenants—I’ve decided my pipeline would’ve been Geten to Toga to you. You’d just come out of an enormous battle, with Re-Destro and that city and Gigantomachia for a whole month. I heard you were bandaged up, on crutches, that you’d lost fingers that you regrew in that regeneration tank,” you said, eyes on his hands, one in a fist in his lap and the other around his thermos, five fingers pressing onto the grip but the pinkie finger hitched farther up than the rest, “That you’d given a speech and made your appearances regardless. That you’d pushed yourself to your limit and then broke yourself a little more. And you would’ve loathed me, because I would’ve come in, earned my way to your side, and I would’ve put my hand on your shoulder, slid it up your neck to cup your cheek to ask Aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to rest?” You smiled and huffed, shoving it down, and though his hard stare should’ve pinned you to your seat, you pushed on the corner of the kotatsu to edge yourself over to his side, a knee on his cushion. “I like to think that you’ve sighed, sulked a bit, reluctant to admit anything was wrong at all, because back then, you had no use for moonlight. But I would’ve made you look at me, taken you to a bed, made you lie down until your eyes fluttered shut and the tension swept through your body and left. And you would rest,” you said, finding yourself leaning over him very slightly, knees touching his, just enough so that he leant backwards just a fraction, “I would’ve made that month so soft for you. I would’ve taken care of you, when nobody was fucking paying attention to you in the way that they should’ve. I fucking—I wanted it.” You gripped the front of his hoodie, fist grasping more fabric than necessary to shake him. “I wanted it. I wanted to care for you. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know. And you were fucking alone, in an unfamiliar place, and it kills me to think about that.”
You ducked your head to wipe your watery eyes on your sleeve, taking a breath—and realising what you were doing. You loosened your grip, but before you could pull away, Tenko was cat-like quick to grab your sleeve—why won’t he touch you?
“I wouldn’t have accepted your help,” he said, quiet, controlled, holding you down with his eyes, hand shifting to curve under your sleeved wrist, signalling that you could escape at any time, “That was after the worst month of my life, fighting Machia, and I wouldn’t have accepted it. I had too much to do. I would’ve shaken you off.”
“No, you wouldn’t’ve.”
“I would’ve,” he said, a bare finger, featherlight, skimming over the tender, bare skin of the underside of your wrist (oh, wow), “I wouldn’t trust that easily in that short of a time. You’d have met me, and that’d be it. If you’d persisted, I would’ve ripped you to shreds and tossed you aside.”
“Tenko,” you said, both relief and tightness blooming from your wrist, “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”
The hallway shoji slammed open, somehow rattling as it slid in its tracks and shook the walls, and you and Tenko scrambled apart, with you jolting backwards on your hands, grappling for your seat cushion, and Tenko banging his thermos on the kotatsu, hastily wrestling with keeping it upright as he flung his body to the side.
“Hey, fuck you, Touya,” Tenko spluttered out, elbowing himself upright as—as fucking Dabi strode inside, hands in the deep pockets of his black sweatpants. “You said you’d stay in the main house.”
“Don’t mind me,” said Touya, cool as you please, raising both of his hands in defence, “I had to ensure you’re not fucking in my bed.”
“What is—” Tenko clambered to his feet to cross to him, chirping with each stomp, and whisper-shouting once he’d corralled Touya into a far corner. “I said we’d hang out later today, Touya. You swore you’d stay inside and watch Naruto this afternoon.”
The polite thing to do would be to appear fascinated by the tea. You returned to your cushion and poured yourself another cup.
“Yeah, but I’ve been told I’ve got shit to do later. I’ve got to go to this fuckin’—fuckin’ family stuff. I don’t wanna get into it,” said Touya, at full volume, “and I wanted to check that your girl was real. Y’know, she looks nothing like someone who’d have GinzengTea as her username. Have you given it to her already?”
“Shut the fuck up. I was just about to do that, if you hadn’t interrupted, cockhead.”
“Cool,” he said, a bird-note as he shifted his weight, “I wanna see what she thinks.”
“Hell, no—”
“I helped pick ‘em out. Let me watch and have an ohagi, and I’ll leave,” said Touya, chirping towards you before he finished the sentence, and Tenko followed him, muttering under his breath.
Touya sat on the bare tatami next to you, joints cracking as he yanked the kotatsu blanket up his legs, shooting you a small salute and a concerningly charming smile. “Hey,” he said, tilting his head, eyes half-lidded, smile stretching to show more of his even, white teeth, “I’ve seen you before, yeah? When was the last time you laid eyes on me?”
Tenko pelted him in the chest with a plastic-wrapped ohagi, cutting off the ooze of charisma. “Show-off,” he said, nudging another sweetened rice ball your way.
You nodded but didn’t move to unwrap it, since you were still working on your sukiyaki. “I’m surprised you remember, Touya,” you said, the name feeling strange on your tongue, “It must’ve been years since I elbowed you in the tit.”
Eyes lighting the fuck up, you snapped towards Tenko when he laughed into his plastic wrap: still not loud, still not making any vocalisation with it, but releasing a heavy, sharp burst of air with a wide, open grin. He hunched over to hide more of it, using both hands to unwrap his ohagi—and in the moment he realised he’d been unwrapping it with only his pointer fingers and thumbs, he dropped the rest of his fingers onto the rice ball, still smirking to himself.
Biting your lip in your own smile, you turned back to Touya (you caught his moment of mild alarm at how thrilled you were when Tenko laughed—or maybe it was alarm at Tenko laughing at all—but Touya relaxed his eyebrows and shut his mouth the second you faced him again). “God, yeah, it must have been before that last battle that we’d met in a fight, and I’d gotten close enough to hit you, and…” You shook your head. “Actually, I don’t wanna talk about that stuff. It’s not who we are now.”
“That’s fine.” Touya nodded towards Tenko and took a bite of his ohagi. “Shimura, don’t you have something to give her?”
Shimura. That was his last name, you supposed, but wasn’t it odd that Tenko called Touya by his given name and that Touya called Tenko by his family name? Tenko didn’t make you call him Shimura. Well, you supposed that there’s only one Shimura now, and because of the number of Todorokis, it paid to be specific—
“Here.” Tenko set a flat box in front of you, flipping the buckle of his bag back over. “I was going to give it to you with more formality, but since this bastard showed up, I’m doing it like this.”
Biting the inside of your cheek, brow furrowed, you unpacked a pair of pale blue headphones, soft to the touch with a mesh headband so that your head wouldn’t ache.
“Noise-cancelling,” Tenko said, gabbling, frowning very slightly, “Rechargeable. There’s a detachable microphone so it can function as a headset. I wanted to do something good for you.” His eyes darted towards Touya, and they dropped to his ohagi’s bulging filling, seeping out onto the plastic wrap. “You need them, anyway. I’ve been sick of hearing you through those shitty earbuds; their sound is terrible, and when you said you’d lost your only pair—which I don’t fucking understand how you can lose those things, because they just fucking show up in my shit all the time, like a goddamn plague—I thought you needed something quality—just to make it easier on my end, obviously, so that I don’t have to tell you to yell into that shitty, built-in micropho—”
“Tenko,” you said, reaching over to place your tea-hot hand over the back of his, fingers curving with his along ohagi’s edge, “Thank you so much. I adore them. I’m really grateful that you would think of me.”
Tenko froze, the same as he had when you’d adjusted his scarf. Unable to look you in the eye, like a prey animal, stiff, shoulders tense, colour rushing up his neck to his face and ears again—but this time, he lifted his hand just a hair from his ohagi to press back into your palm, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Hoo, boy,” said Touya, startling the both of you when he slammed his hands on the kotatsu to push himself up, “I’ve had enough. I’ve had my little snack. I’m leaving.” Once on his feet, he stretched, pressing his hands to his lower back and arching it, grunting.
“Good fucking riddance, cocksucker,” said Tenko, rising and grabbing Touya by the elbow to haul him to the door.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Touya, dragging his feet, chirping slurred and confused by his movement, and when Tenko had him at the wall, trying to shove him out, Touya, smirking under your watch, whispered something to Tenko while forcing something into his palm. Touya ducked out as Tenko looked at what he’d accepted and, letting out a yelp, dusted whatever it was before he hurried back to the kotatsu.
(When you left the teahouse half an hour later, you discovered that he’d decayed only the wrapper and not the condom itself.)
***
“One moment, please. Nezu-sensei is in a meeting right now, but he’ll be out momentarily. Please take a number—yes, the ticket puncher when you first came in,” you said to yet another impatient and pissed client in the admin waiting room, packed to the gills with parents, press, vendors, potential sponsors, and, for some reason, Mt. Lady’s entire representative team. “By the door. If you’ll take a seat, we’ll be with you shortly.”
God, you could punt Nezu for this. Not that there was anything wrong with establishing a new, annual event for U.A.—a cherry blossom garden-set, competitive scavenger hunt coming up in the spring—but because of his casual comment that it would rise to the same importance as the Sports Festival, you were swamped with those eager to invest early. Unable to take a break, you had to work with your head bowed, desperately hoping none of these people recognised you and your failure, when all you wanted was to reply to Tenko’s messages on Cipherstone that morning.
Tenkopeito: You’ll like the next quest. You can pet a dog in it
Tenkopeito: Come over to my room this evening so that we can talk in person
Was he intending to speak with innuendo or with such sincerity that it cut right through you? Moreover, was he aware he was even doing it? Based on what you’ve observed, Tenko had no idea what he was doing to you, nor did he know how hard you were trying not to act on your attraction, though you weren’t even doing a great job of suppressing it.
It’s strange: Tenko evoked some strange, unnameable emotion in you like nothing else. You wanted to coddle him; you wanted to play stupid video games with him; you wanted to sweep his hair out of his eyes, and though you kept telling yourself that you didn’t, you wanted him to tell you how to touch yourself, how to touch him. You brushed it off. Another time. Perhaps never.
“Oh, hi!” Former pro-hero Ragdoll squealed your family name, making you jump in your seat. “It is you. I couldn’t tell from farther back in the line.” Fuck, Ragdoll would recognise you, since she and the rest of the Wild, Wild Pussycats trained Class A, and she specifically spent time with you on your tracking skills because of her Search quirk.
Don’t cause a scene. “Hello, Shiretoko,” you said, doing your best not to let your face be seen from over the reception desk’s overhang, “It’s good to see you. How can I help?”
When she beamed, she was as bright as ever. “Oh! The Pussycats want to offer our services for the scavenger hunt! We wanna get back into charity and civilian events now that we’re back from our mission for—but wait, you know all about that!” You didn’t. But her cheerful voice carried, and people were already turning towards Ragdoll, part of a hero team ranked in the top thirty. “I wanna hear more about what you’ve been up to! Since you left the hero business, no one’s known where you’ve been! Gosh, have you been behind this dreary old desk the whole time?” Ragdoll leant over the overhang, flicking at a loose strand of your hair. “I thought you were sent out on missions out of the country! Like, really important, top-secret stuff. It’s weird seeing you in an office, especially since I consider you a mini me. Why are you back at your alma mater? Did your agency not want you anymore?”
She wasn’t meaning to be cruel. Her loud, blunt sincerity, though, drew the attention of onlookers, and their flashes of recognition, subsequent judgment, and turning away made your chest tight. “I needed a break. That’s all.”
A thin, blonde woman in a burgundy overcoat leaning against the wall immediately next to the reception had been evaluating you, scanning you from top to bottom during the exchange. She didn’t bother hiding her curiosity, and when you shakily handled the rest of the conversation with Ragdoll, she turned to the short, softly featured man beside her. “You know her?” She hadn’t even tried to quiet her voice; it jolted you from Ragdoll, but you steeled yourself and continued printing off a schedule for her—and from the depths of your brain came the woman’s identity: Uwabami, the snake hero, one who usually flaunted her celebrity status but currently dressed down, without her hair snakes (a rattlesnake, a yellow king cobra, and a Japanese rat snake, which—shut up! You don’t need this information right now! Can you be fucking sane, please?).
Her sidekick—no, an intern, a student at U.A., some fuckin’ twink in the year below you, name escaping you at the moment—had some iota of tact when he looked you over, slanting his body away, as if he weren’t staring. “Yes,” he said, trying not to let you hear, “She’s my former senpai and nothing more to me. We didn’t run in the same circles. She’s the one who made that rescue a few months back, the one that got a lot of online backlash.”
“No, seriously,” Ragdoll was saying, “Why are you back at U.A.? Don’t you have somewhere else to go?”
“My—” People behind Ragdoll in line were listening. Trying not to show it. Your throat ran dry, and you couldn’t think of a lie or a pleasant half-truth. “My flat was compromised. My address was leaked, and eventually, people were—look, Shiretoko,” you said, forcing the words out of your mouth, “I really don’t want to talk about this. Here’s the printed schedule. I’ll talk to you later.”
You slid the paper across the counter, and she took it, waving goodbye and still beaming.
“Is this what happens when a hero career doesn’t work out? They just shove you back where someone will take you? At any old office desk?” that fucking twink was asking Uwabami, “I can’t—it honestly scares me to think I could lose myself and be misplaced like that. It’s wasting talent, don’t you think?”
“How can I help you?” you asked the next person in line through gritted teeth.
When Uwabami lowered her sunglasses to glance over them, you inhaled sharply and swung your swivel chair so that you wouldn’t see her. “I don’t know about that. Maybe this dreadful administration office is where she’s meant to be.”
Biting his lip, he shifted his jaw and crossed his arms, slumping against the wall. “You’ll always have a place for me, right, Uwabami? I don’t want this to happen to me.”
“Yes, I can print you out a copy of the same schedule. If you’ll allow me a moment to print.”
“Of course, Kakeru,” Uwabami said, ignorant of how you were gripping a pencil so tightly that it could snap any second, “You’ll never be left behind.” But then she fucking stared you down, deliberately holding eye contact while you were at the printer, and she said, “You’ll never need a place to hide. I’ll make sure you don’t fail.”
“Hey, how about you shut up?” you hissed, ripping the printer-warm schedule from the tray and storming back to your current client to shove it into their hands. “Aren’t Japanese rat snakes supposed to be in hibernation this time of year, anyway?”
***
Someone in Mt. Lady’s group recorded it. Someone posted it.
wizardjenkins11: jesus christ who knew u.a. had its own island of misfit toys
emotionalsupportdynamightsweat: nice to see that she kept her snark, but what is she doing back at school?? don’t heroes have some sort of paperwork component to their work. why isn’t she still at an agency
blood-is-thiccer: lol ua’s the only one who’d take the bitch. she’s being rude as hell to an actual pro hero. lameass quirk anyway and ass flat as hell lmao she fucken deserved that guy lighting her mailbox on fire
LynchianTiddies: You’re encouraging domestic terrorism???
blood-is-thiccer: that’s not domestic terrorism
LynchianTiddies: Then what, pray fucking tell, is it??
blood-is-thiccer: wikipedia.org/wiki/Vandalism
XylemPhloemBuckaroo: no but I get what that guy was saying about wasting talent tho. Out of everyone in that class a, she’s the only one not topping the fucking hero charts rn. She’s the only one who’s left hero work. What makes her weaker than the rest of her classmates? What happened to her to make her like this?
koiboi69: wouldn’t you quit if people were camping outside your house/work/grocerystore? And also FUCK, man, there’s no fucking need to say she’s fucking weak. that’s kicking her while she’s down
XylemPhloemBuckaroo: I’m not kicking her while she’s down. I’m stating facts and asking reasonable questions.
koiboi69: bro wouldn’t YOU feel down if you’d didn’t have a home to go back to??? going back to u.a. is like admitting defeat, like you couldn’t handle it on your own and need protection
mawatadaddysgorl: i love seeing updates on her bc it makes me feel so good about what i’m doing with my life
***
Uraraka and Shinsou texted you but couldn’t call, let alone come from across town. Aizawa was AWOL, and Dango was hiding under your bed, so you, blotchy-faced and damp, were crumpled on the floor outside of room 310, eating vending machine bullshit and waiting for Tenko to return home.
Exactly all the insecurities you’d been stuffing down for months and months, brought out to air in front of everyone. Instead of doomscrolling, you locked your phone and slid it across the hallway carpet, burying your face in your hands and stomach lurching to the thought that you might soon be plastered everywhere in sight, again. Another round of intensive laying low loomed on the horizon, especially now that your location was made public. Your little secretary job was good enough, and relocating elsewhere on campus would lead to more job training, which would be a bitch.
Where was Tenko? You needed him here to say something irreverent and vindictive. Something unhinged. Or you needed him to hold you, pull you into his lap, and bitch about the whole thing while watching a movie. Tenko had messaged you to come by after work, so why wasn’t he…?
The staircase door hissed open, Tenko pushing it with his back, reusable grocery bags on his arms, and—and wearing a cape? Who the fuck wears a cape casu—oh shit he’s in his hero costume.
You’d heard that he had one, designed by the same company that’d made Midoriya’s and Shouto’s, and the similarities were clear: a boxy sort of design due to thick fabric that still somehow hugged his chest, a minimalist utility belt, and sturdy, knee-capping boots, positively flaming scarlet in contrast to the dark greys of the rest of his jumpsuit. The most obvious connection with another hero, though, made your chest throb: his cloak fastened with the same clasp his grandmother’s had. His dust-blocking respirator lay around his neck for the moment, but what was most embarrassing for you was how your brain fucking wheezed like a boiling kettle at his bare arms, biceps bulging, every fucking inch of skin down to his fingertips completely on display like a goddamn slut.
Whore behaviour. Whore behaviour! You had to duck your head when he squatted next to you, because oh, now you could see the stretch marks on his upper arms, because he’d gotten large way too quickly to be healthy, and smell his fading Old Spice and sweat from being out on what must have been an emergency call, and he was setting his grocery bags aside, reaching out to graze your shoulder, and wow, he’d been complaining about how he didn’t have abs yet despite working out five days a week now that his stamina had increased, but that fabric clung to his lower abdomen, looking very, very flat.
Initially pinching the fabric of your sweater, he shifted his jaw and laid his hand on your shoulder. “Who am I dusting?”
“God, Tenko,” you said, trying to look anywhere but his arms, or his abdomen, or his fucking lips, but he was leaning so much over you that he occupied most of your line of vision, and the only way to avoid seeing anything besides wisps of white hair was to gaze at the popcorned ceiling. “You’re not supposed to do that anymore.”
“Oh, yeah? Who am I dusting?” He squeezed your shoulder, stretching his thumb out to rub at your collarbone.
“Unless you can dust everyone in the country, I don’t think decay will help.”
Tenko clicked his tongue. “I have been explicitly told not to do that,” he said, shifting to sit on his knees, “I have—” He dug into a grocery bag for a moment. “—this for you. You like this shit, right?” Tenko pressed a bottle of pink lemonade into your hands.
“Fucking. Fuck. I do,” you said, passing the condensation-coated bottle from one hand to another, chest tightening, blinking to keep the water levels low, “Thank you. You didn’t have to get me this.”
“I know that,” he said with a dismissive wave, and he paused, fists in his lap. “Would it help if I gave you a hug?”
(What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the—)
“Yeah,” you said calmly, like a calm person, and when Tenko opened his (muscular) arms, you crawled into them, wrapping your own around his back to rest between his shoulder blades. You rested your chin in a fold of his cape, cheek pressing against the side of his respirator, and you frowned as his embrace tightened, pulling you closer in a sloppy, unpractised sort of way, grounded by the steady rise and fall of his very solid chest.
(This felt…affectionate. Romantic, even.
But Shigaraki Tomura didn’t do romance, and you don’t—you’re not—you wouldn’t dream of being conceited enough to read someone’s perhaps thoughtless actions as flirtation, because why would someone be flirting with you? No one did that in general, and being U.A.’s humiliating problem child exacerbated the fact.
Moreover, why would the man who was Shigaraki Tomura, in the middle of his rehabilitation and re-discovery of self, even in the microscopic chance that he had the mental energy to experience romantic feelings, aim that romantic impulse towards you? It would make more sense if he liked someone he’d known for a while, like Touya or Spinner or Toga, and if his romantic feelings leant towards recuperative trauma-bonding, wouldn’t it be more apt to feel for someone at his rehab? His therapist, maybe? He’d idolised Aizawa before he’d met him, and even that would make more sense than latching onto someone as late in the process as you.
He’d gotten flustered when you’d tied his scarf, and Touya’s played terrible wingman. But still. You couldn’t know. You can’t read into this, even though reading into things had been your job, because—because no one would want you. You’ll have to…You’ll have to gather more evidence. You couldn’t be certain.)
Tenko hummed, chin digging into your shoulder, blowing strands of your hair out of his face. “I calmed a kid down earlier by hugging her. Is this working for you?”
(…oh.)
You sniffled and hid your mouth in his cape so that he couldn’t catch your pout. “That’s—that’s good that a kid allowed you to comfort her. What happened?”
“Pipes broke in an old apartment building in the Takoba district. The third floor collapsed under the pressure, and it trapped families in part of the building. I was called out to dust the rubble trapping them,” Tenko said, tapping his fingers high on your back in a ripple, “and they had me dust some other walls to help start the repairs. It was cool. And this one little girl who’d gotten out before the rest of her family was really nervous, and she was sticking to me, holding onto my cape. I was telling her that everything was gonna be okay, like you’ve taught me, and when I asked how she was doing, this fuckin’ kid extended her arms to me. So, I fucking hugged her. Picked her up so she could see what was happening better. It was weird, but it felt good.” Tenko sighed. “I hate how it wants me to be kind more.”
And fuck, fuck, that’s the last straw to this horrible day, and you’re crying, silently, controlling your breathing to keep Tenko from finding out, because goddammit, this idiot bastard man was surprisingly easy to love.
You buried your face fully in his shoulder, hoping he couldn’t feel any wetness through his costume, and you and Tenko sat in the quiet of the hallway for a minute, interrupted only by the A/C kicking in.
Tenko tried to part the two of you enough to look you in the face, but you doubled down, curling your fingers into the fabric of his jumpsuit and keeping your head bowed. Scoffing, he sat upright, making you follow his movements to stay hidden. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong yet?”
“Forget all that shit I’ve taught you,” you said, grumbling to his tits now that he’d changed positions, hating how stopped up you sounded already, “It doesn’t matter what you fucking do in the public’s eye, because there’s always gonna be someone who hates you. You can’t please everyone, so just fucking be yourself. That’s funnier, anyway.”
“Did you psychoanalyse some press member’s pathetic sex life, or something? Deduce an affair based on the way he knots his tie? Announce the state of his dick to the whole room because of the length of his pants?”
“Fuck off, Tenko. I’m not some pretentious-ass Sherlock Holmes bitch,” you said, pursing your lips and instinctively pulling back to glare at him—
And the moment you did, Tenko cupped your face in his hands, soft at the palm and strongly calloused along his fingers, keeping you facing towards him no matter how hard you tried to jerk away, struggling to stay upright. “You are crying.”
“No, I’m not,” you said, just as a falling tear touched his thumb. As you adjusted to his grip, your hands fell to his thighs, pressing against them in fists.
“Hm. Well, you don’t have to tell me,” he said, eyes on another tear trailing down the other cheek, “but you’re joining me to watch a movie with Eri. I got snacks on the way home.”
You sighed, taking in how big his hands were and how much of your face they encompassed, trying to memorise their feeling until they were snatched away forever. “I thought we were gonna start a new quest tonight. I was excited.”
Tenko balked and shifted into a sceptical grin. “You wanted to play Ciperstone tonight?” he asked, both thumbs rubbing your cheekbones and moving to swipe underneath your eyes.
You sighed again, shoulders heaving as Tenko released your face to flick tears off of his hand. “I didn’t want to be myself for a few hours.”
Tenko pushed on his knees to stand. “That’s actually related to what I originally wanted to talk to you about. Furthering the working-with-others mission,” he said, and he extended his hand to help you up. “What do you know about Dungeons and Dragons?”
***
“God fucking dammit!” Tenko slammed his palm to his forehead and leant back to balance on the kitchen chair’s back legs and then combed his fingers back through his hair, upsetting some strands from his ponytail. Groaning, he crooked his face your way, smushed his face against the chair back, and pointed towards his forehead, where a red splot was forming. “Hit me as hard as you can.”
“Being bludgeoned won’t change the fact that you rolled a three,” you said, nodding towards his d20, “I ignore his whining and continue to drain the fig tree to charge my spell.”
Behind the DM screen, Shinsou rolled his own dice, and once his eyebrows had shot up to his hairline, he turned to Midoriya. “I need you to roll two d12s and a d4.”
Tenko bolted upright, hastily sweeping his bangs out of his face. “Wait, what does Midoriya have to do with it? He’s across the fucking grove! He’s engaged in close-ranged combat.”
You turned away from Shinsou’s sly grin and towards Tenko, mouth nearly a straight line, yanking another cluster of grapes from the communal bowl, and shoving two grapes in his mouth. He pinched at his lower lip as he chewed, twisting and peeling at dead skin, frowning as he focused on his character sheet, scanning it for some sort of information he was forgetting and absentmindedly raising his knee to his chest, the heel of his foot propped on the seat of his chair (thank God his jeans were from Best Jeanist’s Moulded to Your Ass line: the denim strained with his muscles. Your eye twitched). In this particular morning, with the five of you squared off at Aizawa’s kitchen table, papers and dice strewn among grocery store bakery cinnamon rolls and coffee cups (Tenko’s was full of gatorade instead of coffee, much to his chagrin), as Tenko was throwing grapes into Touya’s mouth while Shinsou did math, the narwhal house slippers dangling off Tenko’s feet, it struck you that Shigaraki Tomura had become just some guy. One who went for walks to clear his head, who spent hours failing to do a kickflip on Present Mic’s skateboard, who used emoticons over emojis, who got nervous in fast food drive-throughs, who collected hero merch (of Aizawa fervently and Present Mic against his will), who was losing his sensitivity to foods like leeks and onions, a man who was growing more and more exquisitely mundane.
And goddamn, he’s clever and perceptive and patient and cheeky in a devastatingly attractive way, and he’s flustered easily, eager to do a thing correctly, and utterly, totally captivating in his endless discoveries of what it means to be alive.
You timed it so that the shudder and shock crossing his face could pass as response to Shinsou’s description of how Tenko’s enchanted crossbow bolt missed the Spirit Realm Necromancer entirely, instead sinking into the sacred Grand Oak and instantly shattering the tree as if it were glass, its elaborate root system holding up the floating grove splintering into thousands of tiny shards, the ground beneath your party’s feet crumbling at the slightest suggestion of the shifting of weight. But really he curled in his lips with a furrowed brow and stuttering breath when you reached underneath the table to graze the back of his hand, and when he forced himself to relax, shoulders slackening, frown fading, Tenko spread his fingers to cover more of his denim-clad thigh, which you took as a timid sort of consent. Biting the inside of your cheek, you eased your palm over the back of Tenko’s hand, lacing your fingers through his and going through the motions of reacting to Shinsou’s shattered earth. Neither of you looked at each other while Midoriya’s character suffered the Necromancer’s spell to increase gravity, each movement of Midoriya’s bulky, steel armour accelerating the fall of the floating grove. By the time each of you had had enough turns to land on solid ground, preserving little of the sacred grove but all surviving, Tenko finally squeezed your fingers back, curling his own to grip them more firmly, keeping your hand pinned to his thigh, steeling himself, sitting up straight, and proposing getting close enough to the Necromancer to drive a crossbow bolt directly into his skull.
Midoriya was already muttering to himself over the effectiveness of the action while Shinsou worked, and Touya irreverently flicked his dice at Tenko, chugging coffee with his other hand. “You plunge the bolt by hand into the Necromancer’s head,” said Shinsou, “but with your strength debuff still in effect, you only nick him.”
“I try stabbing it through his ear.”
“It goes through,” said Shinsou, nodding and running his hand back through his hair, which sprung back into place, “It doesn’t pierce the neocortex, so he can still summon another—“
“I stomp him to death with my hooves,” said Touya, picking at his teeth and running his tongue over the spot.
The rest of you turned to him slowly in various states of incredulity.
“You don’t have hooves, Touya,” you said, tilting your head at the same time Tenko rubbed his thumb over yours, prompting your breath to hitch and a strange warmth to travel through your body, making you feel dizzy.
Touya grimaced and reached for a cinnamon roll. “I take off my leather breeches and boots to reveal my hooves. I have been a satyr masquerading as a human this whole time.” He leant forward on his elbow, glaring at Shinsou and gesturing with his cinnamon roll. “I stomp him. To death. With my hooves.”
Tenko sneered, his teeth cutting into his lower lip, but he merely opened his mouth and closed it, poking his tongue into his cheek. “I suppose maiming a party member wouldn’t coincide with my character’s chaotic good alignment,” he said, heaving a huge sigh to—oh, that cunning rat bastard—to conceal how he flipped his hand over in yours to touch palms, weaving your fingers back together and squeezing again, planting them back on his upper leg, massaging between your knuckles with his thumb.
“What’d you just roll?”
“Nineteen,” said Touya, casting Shinsou a slice of his most charming smile.
Midoriya let out a little laugh as Shinsou bitterly plopped his head on his fist. “Fuck you, Touya. Congratulations. You clomp over to the Necromancer and stomp all over him. Stompy stomp stomp stompy stomp. It’s difficult to watch at the insane speed you’re going, so no one stops you from doing such a good job pounding him that he’s ground into dust. Bits of him drift away in the wind.”
Here Midoriya winced. “Weren’t we supposed to retrieve the soul crystal embedded in his gauntlet? We can’t get our reward from that Silver Age dragon rider if we don’t have it.”
“Correct,” said Shinsou, glancing down at his notes, “It has been stomped to smithereens. You can’t even make out what parts of the pile of dust were once flesh.”
Ready to bolt, Touya was getting up from the table and holding up his hands in defence, but before Midoriya could start a speech that would have been more apt for the number one hero to use on patrol rather than during a DND game, the door to Aizawa’s flat opened, and in he walked, covering his yawn with the back of his hand. He halted at the sight of the five of you around his kitchen table, taking in the scattered papers and remnants of breakfast before settling on your DM. “Shinsou,” Aizawa began, disappointment outweighing the exhaustion in his voice.
“You’re the only one with a table that could fit all of us,” Shinsou said, spinning in his chair to face him, “This dormitory doesn’t have a good common area like the student ones do. Would you really prefer us to—”
“We can find you a table; there’s plenty on campus.” Aizawa lifted his goggles over his head to set them on the counter. “Is this why Monoma kept slowing me down during patrol?”
“No,” you and Shinsou said, while Tenko said, “Yes.”
Aizawa actually smiled as he unwound his capture weapon from around his neck. “Look who’s the only one telling the truth.”
“Why would I lie to you, sensei?”
Touya smacked Tenko on the arm. “Suck-up.”
“You promise?” Tenko shot back, nose wrinkling with his grin.
“This coffee had better be amazing, because it’s the only thing keeping me from kicking you all out right now,” said Aizawa, rubbing a dry eye with the heel of his palm, other hand outstretched for someone to pass him a mug.
Tenko’s thumb bent inward to swipe the inside of your palm, a silent protest while he drank from his stupid little mug of gatorade, and when he noticed what was at the bottom, he flinched. It must have been Touya who’d put your dice in Tenko’s cup.
***
Following the video of you insulting Uwabami, you’re garnering an unnerving amount of attention again, but it’s clearly someone different than last time. Whoever your stalker(s) was this time around, they were careless and unsubtle—and this confidence to be careless left you jumping at the slightest sound when you were alone.
Furthermore, you legitimately couldn’t deduce your stalker’s motivations, because no clear message linked his actions. At first, you chalked it up to the dorm’s shitty dryer eating your bright blue thong, but when you couldn’t find your lip balm or trolley pass or eventually your favourite sweater, you concluded that something else was at play here, further cemented by more and more tiny things going missing—things that, if you were stalking someone, you would’ve selected as small enough not to miss.
But bizarrely, your stalker left shit of his own lying about. A phone charger appeared underneath your pillow; loose change and a travel pack of alcoholic wipes showed up in your bathroom sink. Hello Kitty band-aids, a hair clip that looked like one of Rumi’s ears, deep-moisturising hand cream, a tiny lizard keychain with a white hamburglar mask drawn on. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. What could your stalker be trying to say besides he could access your personal space with ease? Hoarding it all in the drawer with the GINSENG TEA X LUSTFUL BALLSACK hentai, you were struck with the notion that this may have been going on even before the video.
God, you missed when this school felt more like home instead of a holding cell, back when Shinsou and Uraraka and the rest were all still living together with you, when you could simply turn the corner to the common area to demand who took your laundry detergent and get an answer immediately (you also missed taking Aoyama’s bougie food, though you suspected that towards the end he was buying extra specifically for you). You sent an email to Aizawa about the potential break in security, and he promised to monitor the situation, though there was no evidence of physical entry.
Evidence. It’s been on your mind.
Sure, Tenko’s done stuff that could be read as romantic: how he plops your hand onto his head to demand you play with his hair, how he hovers whenever Touya stands too closely to you, how he gets upset on your behalf when people glare at you in public.
(Tenko grabbed your elbow, breaking your focus on the clothing rank. “We’re going.”
“But we haven’t found you a red coat yet.”
He lifted the hangers from your arm and slid them back onto the rack, despite belonging elsewhere. “Don’t care. I don’t like the way the cashier’s looking at you,” he said, jerking his head their direction, and when you tilted your head to glance at them over his shoulder, Tenko tapped your chin twice, guiding you to look back at him. “You shouldn’t have to be on guard when I’m with you.”)
If you were reading into it—and you were—Tenko was being so careful with talking about the pro-hero scene around you that it was almost as if he’d gotten a mission task from Aizawa to distract you from anything that might make you feel bad about yourself.
(“I hear you’re causing a lot of paperwork for my old man,” said Touya, pulling out another floor cushion from the storage space in the teahouse wall, “He hates that you’ve had to dust so many structures near his agency. He’s a decrepit creature of habit, and now that his commute is different, he’s—”
“Hey, Touya, tell us what flower bulbs you planted this winter,” Tenko said abruptly, clamping the lid on the pot hanging over the sunken fireplace, “Tell us what your garden’ll look like in spring.”
You shut your book, even though you’d just opened it. “Wait, are you saying that Touya is the one who keeps this garden? That’s—”
“You like it, sweetheart?” Touya dropped his cushion next to yours, ignoring the way Tenko was glaring daggers into his back. “Think it’s impressive?”
“Holy shit; I thought we were in the back of some professionally restored historical site the first time we came here,” you said, smiling at how Tenko’s petulant stomps to his seat chirruped, even when he scooted his own cushion towards yours (adorable; you’d think he didn’t like you giving attention to anyone else).
“Well,” said Touya, propping his hands on the kotatsu so that he could get a better view of Tenko, “With enormous pride and a huge erection, I’m pleased to announce that this garden is all my hard work.”
“Stop that,” barked Tenko, jabbing a finger towards Touya, “Stop bringing up your cock.”
“I could talk about yours, if you want. His monster cock is excruciatingly leaky and so shaped.”
Groaning, Tenko clonked his forehead on the kotatsu’s tabletop before Touya could say anything else, arm still outstretched. He peeked out from underneath his bangs towards you, tension leaving his body at your burst of laughter.)
He’s also taken your comment about silent admiration to heart. Over the discord call (through very comfortable headphones), you’d made a dumb joke about not being able to play for long, and he’d shut up immediately. When you’d confessed to lying and hoping you’d scared him, he’d replied seriously: “I want to protect my time with you. I don’t like it being taken away. I feel better when you’re with me.”
You’d frozen in the middle of weaving bowstrings while his character continued stringing them onto bows. You’d never have gotten that sort of remark at the beginning of your relationship. Tenko must genuinely be listening to you.
Anyway. You decided in the event that Tenko was collecting evidence, too, that you would leave him some.
The first time you’d been in his room had been for a specific purpose, which was to help him rub in his new facial scar moisturiser (not to take them away, or anything, because Tenko wanted to keep them, claiming he wouldn’t recognise himself in the mirror if he didn’t have his scars—and you thought they were devastatingly attractive, anyway—but just to keep them hydrated enough not to itch), but now you were here just to spend time in the same space. You were reading on his bed (oh, hohoho, his bed), and Tenko was drawing in his sketchbook on his couch by the window. With his mouth pinched in concentration, he squinted down at his paper, swiping away eraser shavings with his artist-gloved hand.
Drawing by natural light. Tenko was in room 310 because of its wide windows. It had been his one request when U.A. was placing him.
AFO had deliberately raised him in a bedroom without windows. You’d kill him if he weren’t already dead.
Thankfully, AFO’s influence was absent from Tenko’s dorm: Naruto sheets from Touya, an old Nintendo DS on his bedside table with Nintendogs in the cartridge slot, Present Mic’s skateboard propped against the coatrack that held only a black hoodie, unfolded but clean laundry in a basket next to a dresser with prescription bottles atop it, a mirror that served more as a bulletin board of Eraserhead merch than as a way to check his reflection, red shoes by the doorway, books borrowed from everyone from All Might to Shinsou to the ramen delivery guy strewn across the room, on shelves, his computer desk, his rug. The thing Tenko’d had to explain to you was a therapist-assigned painting hanging over his desk: he’d painted a murky, purple-blue, abstract sort of thing, and you were strangely touched when he’d explained it was Kurogiri (and now that you were looking, among his bulletin board of Eraserhead, a few drawings of Loud Cloud were mixed in).
There’s a lot of people in Tenko’s life who care about him now, and you’re happy to be one of them. Setting your book aside, you got up to sit next to him on the couch.
He paused when you sank into the cushion next to—well, no, you were basically sharing the same cushion, especially since he unfolded his legs from underneath him so that you could get closer. You scooted over so that your shoulders touched (scandalous) and looked over his drawings.
He’s drawing your DND characters. While his sketches aren’t exactly good, you can clearly tell who’s supposed to be whom, and they’re fun to look at, so that’s all that matters. At the centre is your character, Ginseng—you named it after your Cipherstone account because why not—in the process of spell-charging. Your character relies on the traditional ritual of tea ceremonies, from the growing of the tealeaves to serving it, summoning whatever tools you needed, like the table and dishware, and if an enemy got caught by the conventions of politeness of the tea ceremony, they were trapped in it until they’d drunk their teacup dry. Tenko had drawn her early in the spell-charging process, with branches of tealeaves sprouting from underneath her skin, with her harvesting them from her forearm. It’s rather flattering, the way her determined expression lit up her face.
Next to Ginseng was Tenko’s character, Peito, also lifted from his Cipherstone character. He was sitting on the same log as Ginseng in the middle of camp, backs touching while he cut feathers as the first step in the fletching process. His carved-willow quiver leant against his knee-high boot, red even in a fictional universe. Peito’s hands were bare, five fingers pressed against his knife and arrows.
Further back in the camp (really just towards the top of the paper, since Tenko wasn’t good at foreshortening yet), Midoriya’s character, Jackrabbit, was holding up two hangers, one with his steel and the other with sleek, black leather armour. A nice touch, really, since Midoriya had swopped Jackrabbit’s primary armour to the more lightweight leather since the shattered grove incident, and wow, you could even tell it was leather based on the pencil strokes.
Seated nearby, Touya’s character, Granddaddy Slapkins, roared with laughter at him. His shoes lay next to him, his hooves out. For some reason, he’s not holding his pet duck; he’s instead cradling what looks like your character’s wild shape, a cat with the same chocolate-point markings as your real cat (your character’s shapeshifted form was just Dango, but Tenko didn’t know that. He still didn’t know Dango existed, because cats were still illegal in the dorms, and Tenko, that little brown-nosing shit, would probably tell Aizawa about her. Cute how he’s only a suck-up to Aizawa, though).
Your favourite detail, though, was how his character was smiling. Unabashedly. As if it were a no-brainer, as if doing anything else made no sense at all.
With a stab of affection, you nuzzled into Tenko’s shoulder, resting your chin there while he sketched loops of chainmail onto Granddaddy Slapkins’s shirt, and a shiver racked through him.
“Oh, are you cold?” you asked, sitting back up and heading over towards the bed, “Let me get your blanket.”
“Wha—no, I—sure,” said Tenko, setting his pencil on his sketchbook and the whole thing on the arm of the couch, eyes half-lidded as you returned with his throw blanket.
And without thinking, you moved on impulse, as if all higher orders of cognition had checked out for the night, because you behaved like you did in your head whenever you thought about Tenko: casually, intimately, and domestically. You wrapped the blanket around yourself and knelt on the sofa before swinging a knee over his lap, and you snuggled into his chest, clutching his shirt and nosing at his neck.
Your eyes snapped open.
(What the fuck?
If this had been a planned attack, then it would’ve been a thing of brilliance: casual, seeming to meet a physical need [heating a chill] in the name of physical closeness. But you fucked it. This wasn’t planned, and thus you don’t have a way out of it without otherwise betraying your romantically-motivated interior.
Thank fuck he’s frozen up, too. But how do you get out of this? God, you really shouldn’t be teaching him how to navigate interpersonal relationships when you get yourself into shit like this.)
You swallowed thickly, pulse pounding in your ears.
“I need your advice.” Tenko’s chest barely rose when he took his first breath since you climbed onto his lap. “What would be the socially expected response to this?”
“Uh. That depends on if you’re into it or not,” you said, forcing yourself to sit back in his lap to give him some space, “If you dislike it, then it’s to get me to get off of you, and if you welcome it, then, uh. Anything else.”
Tenko unclenched his fists at his sides and—a pause, shifting his jaw—he let his hands rest at a barely-there touch on your hips, dragging them upwards to your waist, applying enough pressure there for you to feel all ten fingertips through your shirt. “Is this,” he said, wetting his lower lip, and he couldn’t continue, instead swallowing saliva.
Gathering your nerve, you wove your hand through his hair to scratch at his scalp in the way he’d liked when you’d played with his hair, and at the familiarity, Tenko huffed, shutting his eyes tightly and pressing his forehead to yours in a rush, almost knocking them together. He took another breath, heat washing over your face, and you slid your other up hand to cup his cheek.
Tenko shivered again, and he clamped his hand over yours to keep it there. “Are you sure this is what you mean to do?”
He seemed receptive enough to it, but you couldn’t be certain. “Yeah,” you said, “If I’m reading it right.”
“But it makes no sense. I’ve got to be reading it wrong,” Tenko was saying, frowning, “No one would willingly like me—”
“For fuck’s sake, Tenko—”
Practically slapping your other hand to his cheek, you kissed him, pulling him closer, one of his hands still over yours with the other now gripping your waist as if he’d never let you go. Tenko grunted into it, surging forward to keep his rough lips (sticky from his freshly applied pineapple-beeswax chapstick) seared to yours. You felt, more than heard, his miniscule whimper at the back of his throat when he opened his mouth, sliding his tongue into yours, and you could hardly keep kissing him for smiling. But he needed a breath before you did, so you broke it, sensing he wouldn’t do it out of wanting to keep you nearby.
Panting, Tenko tried and failed to push your hair behind your ear in an attempt to be suave. “Now, I perceived that as romantic.”
“It was romantic, you muppet,” you said, thumping his chest with the back of your hand.
“Good.” He cleared this throat. “Cool. Excellent,” he said, shifting underneath you (with difficulty, under the constricting denim of his Moulded to Your Ass jeans), “I want it to be, when it comes to you.”
“Thank God, I really want that, too,” you said, sighing, “but, like, I really don’t know if it’s ethical to pursue a romance this early into your recovery—”
“The fuck is wrong with you? I want it. I want you.” Frustrated, Tenko grabbed your hips in an iron grip and ground up into you, slowly, and that tight-ass denim let you feel precisely where in the drag of his hips his cock touched you, letting you feel the shift in pressure at his tip, down his shaft, to the first curve of his balls. “I thought I was alone. I thought no one else would ever be able to understand me, having fallen from what I was raised to be. Fallen,” he said, spitting, “Such a nasty word for what we’re actually doing: we’ve been reborn together. We get to build our lives back up together. We get another chance at it. I wanna spend mine with you.”
He strained his neck upwards to kiss you again, insistent, moving with confidence when he took your lower lip into his mouth but only nibbling on it once, despite being posed to bite down with vigour.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about what anyone else thinks of you and what anyone else thinks of me. I—”
“That’s not true,” you said, your turn to catch your breath, “You care so much about what Aizawa-sensei—”
“You know what I mean,” he said, shaking his head, hair falling out of his loose ponytail, “You think of me as me, and that’s all that matters. If you’re really that fucking worried about me getting into a relationship too early, go talk to my therapist. She says you’re good for me. A good influence, anyway.”
“Holy shit,” you said, mostly in reaction to how Tenko started trailing frantic, dry kisses down your neck, and, realising you should probably be doing something back, you rolled your hips, feeling awfully warm under the blanket.
He bucked back up into you, more out of desperation to keep you close over a need for friction but still giving you a taste of what it would be like to have him thrusting into you. “Fuck,” he said, almost grumbling, “I’d say fuck being ethical about it, because I’ve wanted you for a long time. I got hard when you shook me by the shoulders outside of that ice cream shop; I thought my soul was gonna leave my body when you adjusted my scarf. Hell, I—” He cut himself off, grinning in a way that, back before you knew him, you might have described as maniacal. “I wanted you back during the war. I saw you fucking elbow Touya during that battle, and the way you made him crumple to the ground was so fucking sexy. And you recovered from when he swiped at you so easily; you slipped around his attacks like it was fucking second nature. I thought it’d be cool to have you by my side, having you—” He realised what he was saying, and he relaxed, smile fading into a curious, pensive sort of look while he brought his thumb to your kiss-swollen lips. “And now I get to.”
You kissed the pad of his thumb, blinking slowly.
“So. Yeah,” he said, dropping his hand to your shoulder as he broke eye contact, a little red, “I think it’d be cool to be with you, even if we have to be careful.”
“That’s the thing, Tenko,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek as you gathered your thoughts, “I’m scared, because while I know that we should, because that’d be safe, I don’t want to be careful. Since I’ve quit being a hero, every single thing about how I’ve been living has left me feeling empty and alone, because it’s like I’m wandering through limbo. Everything screams that whatever I’m doing now is temporary, that it’ll pass, that I don’t truly belong in this situation, because I’ll find what I’m supposed to be doing later and my real home is somewhere down the line, but—fuck.” You rubbed your eye with your fist. “You, Tenko. You don’t feel temporary. You feel forever.”
Underneath you, Tenko stretched to pop a crick in his back, and he tilted his head to lie on the back of the couch. His ponytail had come loose, and his hair splayed against the fabric as he stared at you, one hand idly rubbing at your waist.
“Well. You’ve got to belong somewhere,” he said eventually, and he tapped all five fingers onto your thigh. “It could be with me.”
***
Dango was missing.
Incredible how the best evening of your life preceded the worst day you’ve had in years. You called out of work and spent hours scouring the dorm and then campus. A gruelling, miserable sort of day, anyway, grey and rainy and cold, and the campus was swarmed with people setting up for the scavenger hunt event later this month, populating the area with non-U.A. personnel and construction. Your cat was out in that mess, and you didn’t even know where to search first. It’s loud, scary, and wet, so Dango would most likely be hiding and not come when she’s called.
Had Dango escaped your flat? Had your stalker stolen her? Had she been confiscated by U.A.?
You couldn’t call any faculty for help; they’d get onto you for having an illegal cat on campus—and Hound Dog, the one who’d be the most help, might just scare her to death. Too early in the morning to call any of your friends, and you doubted they’d alter their busy schedules to help you out of a situation you should be able to fix yourself. But damn it, how come your own tracking skills only worked on people?
You shook yourself, coming out of your spiral the best you could, and you were close to hyperventilating. You sat down on a curb.
You found yourself calling Tenko, despite it being too early in the day for him to be out of training, filling with dread about never seeing your cat again and having to clear out her stuff from your room. Pulling your soaked jacket closer, you wiped at your nose and waited at the dial tone.
“Hey, I thought you couldn’t call during work. Miss me that much?”
The second you heard his strangely chipper voice, you started crying into the speaker.
He inhaled sharply, tone shifting. “Tell me who the fuck I’m stomping to death with my hooves.”
Ducking your head, you managed a smile but continued to fucking sob. “You don’t—don’t have to kill anyone, Ten—Tenko. I’ve f—fucked up.”
“What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I’m on cam—campus,” you said, unable to speak for a full sentence without having to cut yourself off to keep bawling, ugly and loud and getting snottier by the minute, “It’s my fucking fault that I haven’t been ta—taking my stupid sta—stalker seriously, and I should’ve reported it, but—but I—goddammit!” The rain picked up again, coming down in rapid, fat drops, and, shielding your eyes, you rubbed your phone screen on your sleeve, not that it did much. “Sor—sorry. Rain got heavier.”
“Where on campus?”
“No, Te—Tenko, I’ll get up. I’m coming to you,” you said, sniffling and pushing on your knees to stand, wet and hungry and ready to crawl into your sock drawer to sleep for days. “I—I’m just so fucking pissed at myself, because my cat is fucking lost, and I could’ve sto—stopped it if I hadn’t been so secreti—tive.” Hands shaking, you yanked your soaked hood over your head and trudged towards your dormitory, and you kicked gravel, rocks scattering over the path, before losing your footing on it and nearly falling. Fuck this.
“You have a cat,” said Tenko, losing his fervent. “What’s it look like?”
“Beautiful.”
“I need more than that.”
“She fucking—I based Ginseng’s cat form on her, okay? She’s this enormously fluffy thing, mostly whitish with a brown face and legs, and it makes her look like she’s wearing a mask and thigh-high socks like God’s sluttiest little jester,” you said, knocking on your dorm’s mailboxes for luck out of habit as you passed them, “And you can’t tell Aizawa-sensei about her, because if she’s taken away the moment I find her, then I—”
“I have her,” said Tenko, “She’s in my dorm with me.”
You ran the rest of the way to his room, panting and absolutely disgusting by the time you got there, and when Tenko opened his door, there was Dango, loafing on the back of the couch and watching raindrops race down the window.
“What the fuck,” you said, dropping your wet coat and toeing off your shoes, “How the hell did she get in here?”
Tenko shrugged and hung your coat next to his hoodie. “Can she open locked doors?”
“I hope to fuck she can’t,” you said, and you rounded the couch to wrap your arms around that dear little loaf, and Dango jumped off the couch to crawl underneath it before you could fully hug her. “Oh, good. She’s fine. Acting like normal.” You sat on the couch’s arm, adrenaline evaporating to render you boneless.
“She was in my room when I came back from training. We ended early today, since Aizawa-sensei has something.” Tenko stooped to yank two bottles of gatorade from their plastic rings and headed towards the sofa to offer one to you. “She didn’t seem upset or hurt. She’s been sitting there, napping on and off.”
You accepted it and twisted off the cap. “So, who put my cat in your room?”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“I don’t know,” you said, taking a shallow sip, careful not to overwhelm your agitated stomach, “They’d have to know about Dango in the first place, and I suppose my stalker would, since they’ve theoretically been breaking into my room.”
Tenko paused mid-sip, and he hastened to swallow. “Someone’s been breaking into your room?”
“Yeah,” you said, easing down the arm of the couch and onto its cushions, “I think. There’s no physical sign of entry, but my shit keeps going missing, and stuff that’s not mine keeps showing up. Let me tell you, I need some of that shit they’ve stolen; it’s hard to replace—”
Tenko touched your lips with three of his fingertips to quiet you, and he gestured for you to stay put while he scrambled over to his closet, where he stood on his toes to retrieve a wicker basket from the top shelf. He dropped the thing into your lap. “Are any of these yours?”
All of it was, missing things you blamed on everything from Dango to your stalker to your own forgetfulness: your favourite sweater, your trolley pass, lip balm, your shitty earbuds, your good pantyhose, your planner, your d10, and, among many smaller things, even that bright blue thong you’d lost in the wash (Well. It’s better to find your thong with your new boyfriend over finding them returned to your dorm coated in your stalker’s cum, you supposed).
“I was losing my goddamn mind,” Tenko was saying, “Stuff kept showing up. I thought it was a test at first—”
“I don’t have a stalker,” you said, absentmindedly rubbing the fabric of your thong between your fingers, “Your shit has been—you read that GINSENG TEA X LUSTFUL BALLSACK shit? Tenko.”
“Oh, you have that?” Tenko scratched the back of his neck, but not in his self-harm way; it reminded you of Shinsou’s nervous habit more than anything. “Haven’t you read it? Isn’t that what you were naming your characters after?”
“Ah, ha, ha. Moving on. What is important, though, is why and how this is happening to us.”
“Yeah, I don’t…”
The two of you spitballed for a while, long enough for the both of you to finish your bottles of gatorade and for Tenko to start another, and neither of you came up with anything substantial.
“Hell with it,” said Tenko, standing to stretch, his movement disturbing Dango from her nap in his basket of clean laundry, “Let’s go ask Aizawa-sensei.”
Aizawa was not pleased when he discovered the both of you waiting in his kitchen, but he listened to the story, and when you were done, he stepped out of the room to make a phone call. When he came back, he looked even more exhausted than when he’d first come in.
“I’ve just gotten off the phone with Sakura Grove,” said Aizawa, wincing when his bones creaked as he sat in his chair, “Tenko, do you remember villain in-fighting within the PLF? In particular, I’m asking if you remember breathing in a pink dust cloud. It would’ve been in Deika City, in the month between your fight with Re-Destro and your body modification surgery. If our sources are accurate, you would’ve been with Touya.”
Tenko scrunched up his face. “Why would I have been—hm.” Frowning, he reached into the bag of popcorn you’d commandeered from Aizawa’s cupboards. “I know what you’re talking about. They were only letting me eat healthy stuff in the week before I went under. Touya was taking me to scrounge for something salty and shitty for me, because I couldn’t take it anymore. He started hitting on someone he thought was a waitress, and she—this is why I remember it—she compared the width of her hand to his thigh and said no thanks.”
“That’s Ito,” said Aizawa, sighing and crossing his arms, settling his chin into his capture weapon, “When did she use her quirk?”
“She shoved her hand on Touya’s face when he opened his stupid mouth again, and he passed out with swarming, pink particles floating around his head. She turned to me—and she must not have recognised Touya, but she knew me, because her face lit the fuck up. She never touched me, but I remember having to sneeze.”
“She never told you what her quirk did?”
“I woke back up in the PLF headquarters. I assumed whoever picked me up had killed her and that her death negated any effects.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why? What does it do?”
Aizawa let out a soft laugh, muffled through his capture weapon, and he jerked his head in your direction. “You tell him,” he said, snatching the bag of popcorn and heading towards his bedroom.
***
He’d been nervous about wearing a suit. They reminded him of AFO.
But you’d strayed away from dark colours and too much structure, so his light greyish-blue suit jacket stayed unbuttoned even as you leant across to the passenger seat to adjust his All Might tie for him (a Put Your Hands Up Radio tie had been offered, but Tenko had already closed his fist around the striped tie Midoriya would loan him). Part of his bangs had been pinned back to show off his annoyingly handsome face, especially in how his sharp, red eyes observed caught every movement of your terrible attempt to tie the tie based on the pictures Aizawa had sent you.
“We’re not gonna be late, are we?” Tenko drawled out, the corner of his mouth quirking upward, hand resting on the car ceiling as he angled his chest towards you.
“Shush; we are in the parking lot,” you said, looping the larger end. Or were you supposed to be looping the smaller one? “Besides, the world won’t end if we’re a few minutes late to my class’s annual reunion.”
A flimsy excuse for a party, one made because hero agencies needed some sort of named event as an excuse to dismiss your friends en masse. But it was spring again, and they were coming out of the winter blues, and they wanted to see you again, so, hey, why don’t we work something in around your schedule? If you can’t come to this date, then we’ll reschedule it until you can.
And, like. They knew. They knew Tenko was your soulmate. You suspected they all wanted to see what he was like now, too, because no one but Shinsou, Midoriya, and, apparently, Bakugou had known.
You undid the loose knot and tried again. “Are you nervous?”
“No,” he said, scrutinising the tacky balloons and streamers swaying in the night breeze outside of the otherwise intimidatingly elegant venue, “but those kids might be.”
“Those kids happen to be friends my age,” you said, “and I’m barely younger than you are. They know you’re coming. You’re fine.”
Tenko sucked in through his teeth, tapping the roof of the car one finger at a time. “The last time they saw me was as a thing. An object of destruction.”
“Well, they’ll definitely see you as a human person when I spill how you designed a unicorn DND character for Eri.” You pulled the fabric taut but kept it from lying closely to his neck (a boy didn’t like feeling constrained). “You know what? This tie is as good as it’s gonna get.”
He ducked his chin to examine its knot. “It’s shit.”
“It adds to your devil-may-care, reformed-bad-boy sort of charm,” you said, giving the tie a final smooth-down and poorly suppressing your smile when you felt his muscles through his shirt. “Mathematically, there are only 85 ways to tie a standard tie knot. I don’t believe we’ve reached any of them.”
“How do you know these things? You’re unbeliev—” Tenko jerked his face out of view of the window as Aoyama and Kouda, gesturing wildly, strode past the car and into the venue. “Listen,” he said, clearing his throat, “I know I don’t care and that you don’t care, but other people will. Your reputation is gonna plummet right into its grave if we’re out in the open together.”
You shook your head, letting your smile show. “So, I fucked part of a rescue job almost a year ago. So what. So I’m dating my soulmate. Am I supposed to do otherwise? Honestly, Tenko,” you said, curling loose strands of hair behind his ear, letting your fingers linger around his cheek and neck (he leant into the touch), “I don’t care. I would’ve chosen you even without the soulmate bond. You’re too endearing to pass by. You’re too…babygirl.”
Tenko had been guiding your hand to his mouth, and he snorted before it got there, warm air scattering in a short burst. “Don’t call me that,” he said, pressing his lips to the centre of your palm and waiting until you met his gaze to retract them.
A different warmth shot to your lower stomach, but you had to keep pressing, for the sake of the bit. “Oh, then what should I—darling? Honey? Pookie bear?”
He scoffed and nipped at your pinkie. “None of those are good.”
“Tenko.”
He breathed in, shoulders rising, eyes fluttering shut. Taking a moment to kiss the tiny bite mark on your finger. “Yeah,” he said, opening his eyes in a slow blink, catlike, “Feels good. Feels—like coming home.”
Beaming, you reached down to lace his fingers through yours. All five of them squeezed back. “Then let’s go.”
soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair, @tiredkittykat, @cheshireshiya, @90s-belladonna, @infjsnightmare
#bnha#shigaraki tomura#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki/reader#shigaraki imagine#shigaraki fic#mha#shigaraki headcanons#shigaraki fanfiction#shigaraki fanfic#soulmates#soulmate au#soulmate#dash it all
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Chapter Twenty-Six - The “Single” Life
Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?
CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Virginity Kink, Groping, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Animal Death, Slow Burn, Misogyny
A/N: Thank you all again for your patience, kind words, and support while I worked on this chapter. It makes me really excited to bring this story over the finish line.
Read Full Chapter on AO3
[excerpt]
She woke up first, her internal clock set to the ass crack of dawn due to years of early morning swim meets. Usually she’d greet an early morning like this with a middle finger and a groan as she buried herself back into the abyss of her covers. But today, she was kind of glad she woke up early.
After all, how often was it that she actually got to see Tomura Shigaraki asleep in her bed?
It was a shame that he had so much trouble sleeping — for a lot of reasons of course — but right now, she couldn’t help but think it was especially tragic due to how cute he looked asleep. The handsome details of his face, that were typically so hidden by his anger — those long lashes, full lips, well-defined jawline, and of course that wonderful little beauty mark — they were glowing now under the soft light slipping through her curtains. He was so at peace, not a furrow in his brow or a frown line in sight. So natural, hugged by her valley of fluffy pillows and blankets. Surrounded by comfort.
She decided to take the risk of moving some of his hair out of his face, those surprisingly soft locks curling delightfully around her fingers. The palm of her hand brushed against the skin of his cheek, awakening her to another discovery. The skin around his cheekbones was actually surprisingly soft, not dry and crusted like she’d always assumed. Just raised from the scarring, from a lifetime of self-abuse.
It was incredible to think about. In just a day, so many of her preconceived notions about Shigaraki — the texture of his skin, the idea that he’d never apologize, the selfishness she so deeply associated with him — it was all proven so incredibly wrong. And it had her realizing just how little she truly knew about Tomura Shigaraki.
And how excited she was to learn.
He stirred awake then, and she found a brand new favorite look on him. His dazed, dreamy expression as he slowly came into consciousness. Eyes fluttering open, lips smacking gently to regain some moisture. A moment of disoriented wonder as he recognized that he wasn’t in his own room. But then a contentedness settled in its place as he realized that he was more than okay with the room that he was in. He happily buried himself back into the bed as he found some still half-asleep comfort in the covers.
She smiled, burying herself back under the covers with him, nuzzling her forehead just inches away from his own.
“Sleep well?”
“Yeah…” he breathed, dreamily.
Then suddenly his eyes snapped wide open, the realization hitting him hard. He shot up to a sit with a speed that made her jump a little.
“Woah! What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting up to meet him.
“What time is it?”
“Huh? Well uh…” she took a quick look at her phone, “Like 6:30?”
He looked down at the covers, at himself in the covers, and really just tried to take that in.
“We… slept through the night?”
She smiled a little sadly at the utter disbelief in his voice. The idea that sleeping through the night was not normal for him.
“Yeah,” she said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Yeah, we did.”
Shigaraki looked back at her, and sobered from his shock quickly as he took something else in from the situation. They’d had sex last night. No, not just sex. If there was such a thing as making love, Shigaraki couldn’t believe it was anything else then what they’d done. They’d shared their feelings (however indirectly). Shared sacred details of their pasts. Held each other close and then fell asleep in each other’s arms. What they’d done together last night was different than anything else before. It was real. It was something they had to talk about.
But that neither was really ready to.
His sense of security and comfort went as soon as it came when he realized that.
God, what the fuck had he done?
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#TOMURA SHIRAGAKI#TOMURA SHIGARAKI X READER#TOMURA SHIGARAKI X OC#SHIGARAKI#TOMURA SHIGARAKI#BNHA SHIGARAKI#MHA SHIGARKI#SHIGARAKI FANFIC#READER INSERT#LONG FIC#SMUT#SHIGARAKI SMUT#TW DUBCON#QUIRKLESS AU#SPICE WRITES#MHA#BNHA#MHA SMUT#BNHA SMUT#PLAY NICE FIC
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Can you do Shigaraki and Fem reader playing a fighting game and everytime one loses, they have to strip?
Smut. 18+. Handjobs.
You try to dodge Shigaraki’s blows, but they come too fast, knocking you several feet away. “Hey,” you shout, “can’t you go a little easier on me?”
“No,” he says flatly, blocking the hits you throw at him.
“Oh come on! I thought you were gonna be nice to me today!”
Shigaraki frowns. “So you want me to just stand here and let you punch me in the face?”
“Uh, yeah? That would be nice,” you say, still trying to get a hit in.
“Not happening,” he replies, finally countering your punches with an uppercut that knocks you out.
The words “Player 1 Wins!” flash across the screen in front of you and Shigaraki. Your avatar, a scantily clad ninja girl, is lying at his character’s feet. You cross your arms over your chest and give your boyfriend a dirty look. “This is why I don’t like playing fighting games with you.”
He glances over at you. “Because I always win?”
“Because it’s no fun,” you answer.
He stares at you for a moment, then says, “Wanna make it fun?”
“How?”
“Every time one of us loses, we have to take something off,” he says.
“Like a strip game? But you always win. How is that fun for me?”
Shigaraki seems to think for a few seconds before saying, “I’ll play with a handicap. You can pick my character.”
That does make the idea more tempting, There are a couple of characters he’s not so great with. You’ve beaten him a few times that way. But that’s not enough. You look at him and grin. “You can’t use counters.”
Shigaraki is clearly caught off guard by that. His playstyle heavily leans on counters. But in the end he shrugs and says, “Sure.”
“You’re on then!” You pick up your controller and get ready to select your character, but Shigaraki is just looking at you.
“You already lost a round. Take something off.”
“That was before we even agreed to the terms,” you say.
“I’ve giving you such a huge advantage. You can do this for me, right?” he asks, his face softening in that way that makes you melt.
You sigh dramatically and reach down to tug your fuzzy socks off. “There, happy?”
His eyes narrow slightly. “I guess.”
Obviously he was hoping to see something a little more exciting than bare feet, but he picks up his controller and selects the character you choose for him. The next round goes much better for you. Without using counters, Shigaraki’s best moves are sealed, and you win the fight almost too easily. You sit the controller down beside you and look at him expectantly. “Your turn."
You assumed he would kick off his shoes but instead he pulls his long sleeve tshirt over his head and tosses it on the floor. You find yourself staring at his chest, which is much more toned than you imagined. The two of you haven’t been dating long, and the one time you were intimate, the lights were off and both of you kept some of your clothes on. So this is your first time seeing his bare torso up close, in the light.
He notices your eyes roaming over him and grins. “Don’t get distracted,” he says.
“Yeah right,” you say, tearing your eyes away to look at the screen as the next match starts. This fight isn’t quite as easy as the last one, but you still beat him without too much trouble. This time he does kick off the shoes, and the next round begins. This fight is actually a challenge. You each won one round and it had to go to round three for you to emerge the victor. It dawns on you then that Shigaraki is getting progressively better with each match. Is he actually adapting to this new playstyle of not using counters?
You watch him unbuckle his belt and toss it to the floor. He doesn’t even look at you as he starts the next match. There’s a fierce determination in his eyes that makes you nervous about this fight. You grip the controller tightly in your hands, mashing the buttons to do every combo you can think of, but Shigaraki is blocking or avoiding almost all of them. When the match ends in your defeat, you realize your hands are sweaty and you sit the controller down to wipe your palms on your jeans.
Shigaraki turns to look at you, a smug look on his face. You weigh your options. You don’t have a belt. Just two pieces of underwear, your jeans, and a pullover sweater. So will it be the jeans or the sweater? Is the sweater long enough to cover much if you took off the jeans? You decide to take that chance, and you stand up from the couch. Shigaraki watches you silently as you unbutton your pants and slide them down your hips, pulling the sweater down at the same time to cover your panties. You kick the jeans off and sit back down on the couch.
You look over and notice Shigaraki’s eyes are glued to your bare thighs. “Now who’s distracted?” you ask, and he quickly looks away.
The next match goes exactly like the last one, with you being utterly destroyed. He really did adapt! You feel a mixture of awe at his gaming skills and unease at the fact that you have to shed that sweater. You stand up and pull the sweater over your head as Shigaraki watches intently. You can feel yourself getting hot in the face. Why did you agree to this? Because you wanted to see him naked in a way that wouldn’t be awkward, or so you thought. But now you’re sitting beside him on the couch in just your bra and panties, and he keeps stealing glances at you until the next match starts.
You fight desperately this time, despite the growing gap in skill, and manage to take him to the third round before he beats you. He immediately turns and stares at you, unable to conceal the excitement in his eyes. You sit up straight, pulling your back away from the couch, and reach behind you to unhook your bra. You let it fall into your lap and then drop it on the floor at your feet. You hesitate for a moment before meeting Shigaraki’s eyes. This is much more embarrassing than you expected it to be. You’re not even sure why you’re embarrassed. He’s literally groped your bare breasts under your shirt before. But something about the way he’s looking at you, as if he’s never seen you before, makes heat spread through your body.
You want to win the next match, badly. You want his pants off. The problem is that he’s so focused on winning. Well, maybe there’s something you can do about that. Near the end of the third round, he’s almost beaten you, but you suddenly hold down the block button, turn toward him on the couch, and press your breasts against his bare shoulder. He jolts from the sudden contact and the controller slips from his hand. You turn back quickly and go for the kill, defeating him easily.
He looks at you in shock. “Hey, that’s not fair,” he says. “You distracted me.”
“You didn’t say anything about not distracting each other,” you say with a smile.
He gives you an almost pouty look. Clearly he was planning on getting your panties off. He sighs and stands up, then drops his pants and steps out of them, leaving him only in black boxers. They sit somewhat low on his hips, and the skin they show below his navel is drawing your eyes.
The next match begins, and just as you’re about to unleash a killer combo on Shigaraki’s character, he blocks, and you suddenly feel a warm finger and thumb pinch one of your nipples. You squeal and jerk away, trying to regain control of the fight as you fumble the combo badly and retreat to the other side of the screen.
Within seconds, Shigaraki wins the first round. When round two begins, you feel desperate. You have to win this one to force the match to three rounds. You fight as hard as you can, using every combo and special move you can think of. Right when you have him cornered, you feel three fingers slide into your panties, one of them slipping into your sticky folds to stroke your clit.
“Ahhh~” You can’t suppress a cry of surprise and pleasure as you drop the controller. The fingers quickly pull away, and you watch in horror as your character is defeated.
Shigaraki drops his own controller and turns to face you, lifting one hand to lick his middle finger. You stand up and tuck your thumbs into the waist band of your panties. You take a deep breath, and then pull them down and step out of them. Shigaraki looks at you for a moment before taking hold of your wrist and pulling you to the couch. Once you’re sitting, he gently pulls your legs apart. You blush, but you allow him to do it.
He looks you over for a few seconds before his hand is on you, using three fingers to stroke your most sensitive spots. You moan and lean back, closing your eyes, just feeling the pleasure ripple through you. Then you turn your head to look at him. “Don’t I get a consolation prize?” you ask, looking pointedly at his boxers.
Shigaraki laughs. “I thought I was already giving you a consolation prize,” he says, then stands up. “But if you want to see my dick that much, here you go.” He jerks the boxers down, revealing a full erection. You stare at it, surprised by its size. It’s been inside you before, but you never got a good look at it before now. The night the two of you made love, it was such a spontaneous, passionate moment. Your bedroom was pitch dark. Shigaraki had opened his pants and reached under your skirt to shove your panties aside, moving by feel rather than sight. Still, you had enjoyed it. Now though, just looking at him was turning you on.
He sat beside you on the couch, his own legs spread apart, one of his hands working between your thighs, making you feel delirious. You reach over with one of your own hands and begin stroking his cock, making him hiss in pleasure.
You’re the first to cum, shaking and panting and making little stilted cries as his fingers massage your clit, and keep massaging it even after your orgasm passes. Then Shigaraki cums, the sticky fluid shooting out in front of him, making a mess on the floor where most of his clothes are sprawled. He breathes hard as you stop stroking him and lean over to clean him up with your mouth, licking the remaining cum off the tip and swallowing it.
Later, after you’ve both dressed (with Shigaraki having to get a clean shirt because cum got all over the one on the floor), you both sit on the couch again. He picks up his controller and says, “Wanna go again?”
You laugh. “Are you serious?”
He gives you a surprisingly warm smile. “Or we could just play a co-op game.”
“That sounds nice,” you say, picking your controller up again.
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CHAPTER 30 ━ NOWHERE TO GO BUT UP
» pairing: shigaraki tomura x fem!reader
» story summary: working as a waitress in a villain bar means you meet all sorts of shady people. But when a random encounter piques your interest in a nameless stranger, a casual hookup turns into a lot more than you bargained for.
» chapter word count: 4.0k
» chapter warnings: none.
» read the full chapter on ao3
[ Excerpt ]
Your balcony is, arguably, not the worst place you've ever slept. There's the threadbare futons and unwashed sheets so prominent among men in your age group, for starters—conditions that always seemed uniquely uncomfortable when shared with the near-strangers you hooked up with. You'd also, thanks to your mother and her own string of questionable romantic choices, spent more than one night on the dirty floor of some seedy apartment or warehouse squat site, trying to tune out the sounds of drunken louts and petty infighting. And that was if you were lucky—given thin walls and your mother's proclivities, the drunken posturing of low-level thugs wasn't the worst thing you risked overhearing.
In spite of all that, you're uniquely regretful when you wake exactly where you'd ended the night before, sitting propped against your balcony rail with Tomura beside you. The fact that you're the only person responsible for the painful crick in your neck—and that your very comfortable bed is all of twenty feet away—probably has something to do with it.
"Fuck," you mumble, blinking disorientedly against the bright morning sun. Even realizing where you are, it's hard at first to remember why you're camped outside instead of tucked comfortably in your bed.
When you shift to sit up and feel lingering stickiness between your thighs, however, it all comes rushing back: Tomura dragging you out of bed in the middle of the night, and the frantic coupling that followed. Your ill-advised acknowledgment that, despite trying so hard to avoid this exact situation, you couldn't bring yourself not to care about him, or to end things. You'd done the opposite of end things, in fact, and while you regret that far less than your choice of sleeping arrangements, you still find yourself saying, again:
"Fuck."
There's a snort, and you feel shifting beside you. "You're finally up."
"Barely." You rub at your face, finally turning to look at Tomura. The dark circles under his eyes are more prominent than usual, but his gaze is alert. You wonder, briefly, if he got any sleep, but it's a trace thought that doesn't linger—you're too preoccupied with the intensity of his stare, and your sudden awareness of the mere inches between you. It has your stomach twisting and fluttering in tandem, the odd combination of relief and resignation you'd felt last night resurfacing in a way it hadn't before you were literally face-to-face with your questionable choices.
You smile in spite of yourself as you lean in to kiss him.
For a moment, those half-spun anxieties fade away, nothing in your awareness except his lips against your own. The kiss is soft and restrained—abnormally so, though you're late to register that. It's only when you pull away that you realize just how tight his expression is, his face pinched and pensive enough to dampen your own budding enthusiasm at waking up beside him. You hadn't expected him to be in a good mood, exactly—given his current circumstances that seems like far too much hope for—but it's still a stark departure from the satisfaction he'd displayed mere hours ago.
"You good?" you ask. Your first worry is that he's having regrets, and what a twist of irony that would be—him getting cold feet as soon as you decide there's no point avoiding commitment. Commitment, he'd been the one pushing for, even, though you're painfully aware that doesn't always make a difference. God knows he wouldn't be the first man who wanted to stake his claim only to feel immediately suffocated by it.
That doubt vanishes before Tomura can even answer you, however. The door to your balcony slides open to reveal Kurogiri, and the way Tomura immediately bristles at the sight of him suggests this isn't the first time the other villain has attempted to disturb the two of you.
"Shigaraki Tomura—" Kurogiri starts, but he doesn't get a chance to finish.
"I know," Tomura growls impatiently, and you have to fight back a laugh. You can see the League beyond Kurogiri, clearly in the process of collecting their things, and that's enough for you to piece together what has Tomura so irritated.
"Time to go already, huh?"
Tomura's glower deepens, but Kurogiri nods. "We should depart shortly. As I have already told Shigaraki Tomura"—there's an artful balance of delicacy and impatience in his voice—"our broker will be waiting."
There's clear subtext there—not just that they need to hurry, but also that despite Kurogiri's best efforts, Tomura was reluctant to disturb you while you were sleeping. Or, was reluctant to separate himself from you, at least. Last night made it abundantly clear that he's not above interrupting your rest for more self-serving reasons.
As much as you would also like to linger, the seven villains in your apartment are a fairly compelling reason to send Tomura on his way. And, more than that, you imagine that leaping into the newfound uncertainty of your relationship will be a lot easier if you simply get it over with, like ripping a bandage off.
You reach over and carefully interlace your fingers with Tomura's. "C'mon then," you say, tugging him along with you as you rise to your feet.
The inside of your apartment is a jarring contrast to the relative peace of your balcony. Jin shoves past almost the moment you've stepped inside—"About time a guy can go out for a smoke. I've been dying in here," he barks as he passes—and the others are a whirl of motion. Compress is in the middle of your living room, diligently ironing his vest, and in your bedroom beyond you can see Magne folding up the blankets she'd been using as a makeshift bedroll. Meanwhile, Toga and Spinner are piling everyone's things onto your coffee table; for a group that arrived with so few belongings, they'd managed to spread their possessions around rather impressively.
When you look back to Tomura, he's eyeing his own collection of notebooks and duffels, still strewn across your kitchen table.
"You need help packing up?" you ask.
He shakes his head. "I can handle it." He doesn't move, though, and he still hasn't let go of your hand.
You share that reluctance to separate, and you'd be tempted to indulge in a private moment with him if you thought you could manage it. Given the state of things, however, you're not optimistic on that front. Tomura must understand that well enough, too, because when you finally wrest your hand from his, he casts his own glowering look around and then skulks off to deal with his things. Less than ten minutes later, the League is crowded around a swirling warp gate, and your stomach is twisting as you watch Tomura carefully zip up the last of his bags—the duffel he'd dragged into your bedroom the other day, the one that contains his too-literal-for-comfort family.
He slings it over his shoulder and then casts an unenthused look around. The League is clearly waiting for him to go through the warp gate first, and though he doesn't protest, he does look less than thrilled about it as he steps towards you.
"I don't know when you'll see me again," he mumbles, making an obvious effort to keep his voice low.
"That's okay. Just come by when you can." You force a smile that you hope is more carefree than you feel—his imminent departure makes it hard to ignore that you have no idea where things will go from here, and that you can't even be fully confident you will see him again. You're not foolish enough to think that the League will be any safer at their new hideout than they were at your apartment.
He nods, and casts an agitated look around, obviously still unhappy about the audience. A second later, though, he leans in to cover your mouth with his own, albeit far more perfunctorily than you suspect he'd prefer.
Chaste though the kiss is, it's apparently not chaste enough; Toga lets out a giggle, and from the corner of your eye, you see her and Jin elbowing each other like excited middle schoolers. Beside them, Spinner is rubbing at the back of his neck and awkwardly averting his gaze.
Tomura doesn't comment on any of that when he finally straightens up; he only fixes them with an unimpressed scowl and then, hitching his bag more firmly over his shoulder, marches through the warp gate without another word.
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Taglist: @dabisqueen @kiwiimochi @simultaneously-sick-and-calm @vngelis @toutoshodoroki @chospiracy @evilmortytrapremix @nonobadcat @sunasb3tch @chaos-night @toughbook @xxjesshuxx @lawfulrhi @doomsthotstash
#shigaraki x reader#tomura shigaraki x reader#shigaraki x you#tomura shigaraki x you#shigaraki x oc#shigaraki fanfic#shigaraki#bnha fanfic#bhna reader insert#reader insert#long fic#abti#ch. 30#ghuleh.writes
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| pairing: yandere!shigaraki x gn!reader
| warnings: yandere behavior. obsession. kidnapping.
| taglist: @aylitgirl , @thisbicc
| a/n: don't remember writing this at 2am the other day. it's just been sitting in my drafts........ so i'll just post it............
There was one thing Shigaraki wanted to always preserve, and that was you. Whenever he touched things, they all seemed to fall apart, with or without the help or his Quirk, and he knew that it was because he was cursed, that he was meant to live a miserable life alone. Yet… There you were. You knew what he was. You knew what he had done. But did that deter you from trying to be with him? Absolutely not. In fact, knowing that he was the head of the League of Villains gave you a desperate goal in a race against time: Saving him from an inevitably painful fate. Shigaraki thought your love and care for him was admirable. He was shocked that anyone would want to see him live, to thrive as someone other than the villain who nearly took over the world. That was why he couldn't afford to let you go, because then he'd lose the one thing that really mattered, the one person who loved him and believed in him, even though he was considered a failure by All For One. So, despite his friends' insistency that it was a bad idea, Shigaraki took a night with you in his apartment as the opportunity to keep you around forever-- Kissing your cheek and whispering that he loved you so much while he made sure he chained you well to the wall while you were asleep, setting up all of your belongings in his bedroom and the bathroom (the chain would reach, he made sure of it), and stocking your favorite snacks in the kitchen. He wanted to make sure that by the time you woke up that everything would be perfect for you, because you yourself were perfect. "If you stay here," he tried to explain calmly when you woke up and were panicking about the collar around your neck, "then no one can ever hurt you." He just wanted to preserve you. Was that too much to ask?
#op#drabble#shigaraki#mha#bnha#mha fanfic#mha drabble#shigaraki fanfic#shigaraki drabble#yandere!shigaraki#yandere mha#bnha fanfic#bnha drabble
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I’ve come to a realization. It doesn’t happen often.
Tumblr seems to like the villains posts the most. Even if I fucking hate how they turn out.
The Fire Escape Dabi one is an exception. That took all of my productivity and will to live and motivation to write (meanwhile I’m steadily ignoring someone on discord that has been sending me a message since June because they think I’m gonna self die. But we don’t talk about that. It’s fine, he’s an asshole.)
But the Shigaraki b-day one got more attention then ones I’ve written about heroes and I don’t like how it turned out.
...
I don’t know why I’m surprised. The majority of tumblr are just a bunch of thirsty simps that need to touch grass and reevaluate their standards because they are way to fucking low.
I say this with the utmost love as I, myself, am included in this majority.
#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#dabi fanfic#shigaraki fanfic#realization#thirsty whores#me too though dont worry bestie#im so bored wtf#bnha#mha#tumblr#hellsite#gay as fuck#read the fics#cause apparently the shigaraki one wasnt as bad as I thought#i still like the dabi one better#take away my tag privileges
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Bloodline
summary: Tomura Shigaraki is so nice!
He teaches you the secrets to Mario Kart online, he teaches you how to disable your location so your strict parents can't track you,
And today he's even teaching you how to work past your gag reflex.
part two of good girl | cross posted to ao3
word count: 4.4k
content: Tomura Shigaraki x female reader, established relationship, explicit content, AU - no quirks, strict parents, oral (m! recieving), vaginal fingering, creampie, rough sex, praise kink
Part three is here!
Tomura Shigaraki teaches you a lot of things.
He teaches you the secret tricks to win at mario kart online, he teaches you about the location tracker on your phone and how to disable it; your parents now being unable to watch your every move. And today he is teaching you how to fully take his cock down your throat without choking.
“Relax, just like that,'' Tomura groans as he pushes deeper into your mouth.
You have both been at this for a few minutes and you already feel the ache of your jaw as you try to accommodate for his size. Youve gotten this far before, able to take the head and a bit more, but never the entire length.
Feeling brave, you try to push for only a little bit more, before feeling the telltale jerk and gag as it hits the back of your mouth. Damn that gag reflex.
“It’s okay,” he gasps, brushing your hair back with his fingers, gentle and warm, “you’re supposed to gag on it.” The grin on his face makes you wonder how much of that is true, but you’re eager so you don’t dwell on it.
Looking up at him with tears stuck to your lashes and drool trailing down your chin, you place a hand on his hip, pulling back a little so that you could stroke the remainder of his length with your other hand.
The carpet was rough, digging into your knees as you adjusted your weight. You were going to figure this out by the end of the night. You were determined to. You sucked the head of his cock before pulling back to glide your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty precum before going in again.
This time you took his advice, relaxed as best you could and pushed past the uncomfortable sensation. Once you finally felt you were past that damned reflex it was easy to push forward.
Moving your hand to the other side of his hip for better grip, you dove further and further. Trying to take him all the way to the hilt.
“Ah, fuck…” you heard him groan above you, the hand in your hair gripping tighter. You could practically feel the restraint he had on himself to keep from fucking into your mouth. You weren't ready just yet. “That’s my girl,” he started, hand in your hair pushing you even lower, your nose brushing against the curly hairs on his pelvis. “Such a fast learner.”
The grip he had on your hair never faltered as you strained to pull back, lack of oxygen becoming a little much for you. He relented, giving you a second to breathe before pushing your head back down, making sure you were comfortable before he brought his other hand to your head and snapped his hips forward. Resolve finally breaking as he fucked into your mouth, head thrown back and pace relentless.
It was overwhelming, tears falling from your eyes from the sheer shock, but you wanted to be good for him. You wanted to show him you could take him, just like he knew you could. It didn’t matter if it was too much too soon, you would fight through it and adjust. Anything to make him feel as good as he makes you feel.
You close your eyes, starting to enjoy the ride of him and allowing yourself to be used for his pleasure. When his hips slowed, you wondered if he was getting close. Looking up, you’re met with tomura’s red gaze peering back at you, and you can feel your slick wet your panties even more.
“My pretty girl,” he brings a hand to brush your hair back again. “Touch yourself.”
And you do. Legs parting as much as you could, ignoring the friction of the carpet on your knees, you trail a hand down, sliding between your panties and right onto that special spot that makes you see stars.
Tomura is pleased by this, and you can’t help but moan around his cock. Watching as his head lolled back in pleasure gave you a sense of pride. Made you want to keep sucking him off, no matter how much your jaw started to ache in protest.
You relinquished control again, allowing him to grind into your mouth as he pleased, your tongue working under his gliding cock. His thrusts became more uneven and erratic, you knew he was close, so, you do what you can to make sure you come with him. Rubbing your wet clit faster with two fingers instead of one, the pleasure bubbling up inside as you near your end. You wished you had the angle to slip a finger into your entrance, but you don’t, it's alright. You‘ll make do with what you have.
Tomura takes both hands and grips your hair, giving a few more thrusts until he is pushing your head forward, making you take him all the way to the hilt leaving no room to back away or stop him. You feel the twitch of his cock as hot cum shoots down your throat. The sensation was one you were less than prepared for, but you do your best to swallow around his cock.
You barely have time to think about the lack of oxygen the position grants you before Tomura is pulling you off of his cock and pushing you to lie on the floor. He spreads your legs, swiftly discarding your panties and taking two fingers, pressing them to your mouth. You take them in, coating them with saliva while maintaining eye contact. He huffs a laugh before taking them back and spreading your legs further apart.
Your heart hammers against your chest in anticipation as he brings not one but both fingers to your entrance. His face focused and filled with want as he gives you one last glance. It makes you feel electric.
He thrusts both fingers into your heat, the suddenness of it makes you moan, loud. His fingers are long and thick and it takes everything in you not to cum right away. You do your best to meet his thrusts with your hips, before he grabs you by the waist.
“Stop,” was the only warning he gave you before putting one on your legs on his shoulder for better leverage. All it takes is a curl of his digits and you come undone. Bliss buzzing down to your bones as you ride out your high on his fingers.
You look up and Tomura has that cocky smirk on his face and you don't know if you want to kiss it off or knock it off. You don't have time to dwell on it because your body is still reeling from waves of pleasure and Tomura is still pumping his fingers.
The overstimulation is making you pull away, but his grip on your thigh makes sure you go nowhere. “C’mon, give me another one. I know you have it in you.”
Your body shakes as the sensations start to blend together, and you reach a feeble hand down to stop him. The aftershocks of your first orgasm quickly begin to build and build until you feel the coil of another threatening to push you over again. Tomura leans over your cunt, dropping a thick bead of spit right on your clit and rubbing the bundle of nerves with his thumb.
This takes you over, your legs shaking and eyes rolling back as your second orgasm of the night wracks through you. “Yeah, that's it.” Tomura praises, fucking you through it with his fingers, wet noises filling the room.
Your brain feels like mush as you fight to stay awake. Cumming feels nice, but you didn't want to sleep on the floor. Tomura believes you’ve had enough and takes his fingers out, standing up and walking to the en suite bathroom in his bedroom.
You hear the sounds of running water and battle once more to remain conscious. When he comes back you feel the warmth of a washcloth cleaning you up and you’re grateful.
He helps you to bed, legs feeling like jello and knees wobbling.
You felt like something fragile, like you would break at the slightest noise. The headspace you were in made you feel needy, like all you wanted to do was cling to him under the covers. And you did, your body meeting his as you can finally drift off to sleep in peace.
—--
Something different was brewing under the surface of whatever you and Tomura shared. It was growing and it was hungry. It was something Tomura couldn’t quite place his finger on, but it was bubbling in the back of his mind and threatening to take him under.
There was no time for him to dwell on whatever that thing is because right now? There was another problem staring him dead in the face.
“Ah, Tomura, hello.” The man speaks, breaking the uncomfortable silence between the two. Smile gracing his worn features, “what a pleasure to see you.”
Tomura could think of a thousand other things that would be more pleasurable than having a meeting with his Father.
“Father.”
His smile to others would come off as off putting, never quite meeting his eyes, but Tomura has grown to know it well. Even through the screen he could feel the waves of displeasure coming from the man before him. Previously sitting in the video chat waiting room, he could only wonder what reason this impromptu meeting was called for.
“So I heard you have a new lady friend.”
Ah. That's what this is about. Damn you, Kurogiri. Always a snitch.
Tomura only shrugs, not seeing a point in discussing his private life. His father never interfered before, he doesn’t see why he should now.
This seems to displease the man further, as he only purses his lips and tilts his head. Not an answer he was looking for. He decides to change tactics. “I didn’t know you wanted children, Tomura. And so soon!”
His eyes narrow in response, unsure what game he was playing. “I don’t.”
The man before him smiles, light in his room shrouding his eyes in a shadow. “You're not acting like you don’t.”
Tomura is quiet. He knew this father well, there was always a reason for his actions. Always a motive behind his intentions.
The man before him continues, voice lightly echoing through the screen, “Kurogiri tells me you’ve been more… active. You are free to do as you please, Tomura, but please remember that everything I am doing with this business is for you. If you expect to take over when I step down then I expect you to be a little more responsible.”
He’s shocked, Tomura felt the familiar itch of his neck and fought to keep his hands from digging into the skin there. “How did you know that–?”
“You know Kurogiri takes out the trash. He buys things for you. It didn't take much to deduce you weren't using protection. Is she on birth control at least?”
The silence gives him his answer.
“Well that just won't do, will it?” he coos, knowing he has Tomura against a wall. “It’s alright Tomura.” He continues, solution on his tongue, sweeping the displeasure under the rug. “I will talk to the doctor and see if he can get you something for her. He will be in contact soon. I will check in again with you after.”
There was no room for debate, no room for arguments. What he says is absolute and Tomura knows this. “Yes, father.”
—--------
The next time you meet, the air is different. Tomura is more reserved than he usually is. If you didn't know any better you would say he had been sulking.
“What's your deal today?” you ask, flicking his forehead and biting back a smile at his halfhearted glare.
He only shrugs, standing from his place next to you on the bed. “I have something for you.”
This piques your interests, eyebrow raised and smile dancing across your lips. “Oh? I thought you weren’t big on gifts.”
“I’m not.” He walks over to his desk, pulling out a package from one of his drawers, “but if we’re going to keep doing this like we are then you need to take these.”
He holds the case out to you, watching your eyes dart from his face to the package. “It’s birth control. We shouldn’t be reckless.”
“Oh, Tomura, no I can't take this.” you start, shaking your head, “and I can't bring this home to my parents, they would kill me. Where did you even get this from?”
“They won’t know. And my father is really good friends with our family doctor. You just take them once a day everyday and we can fuck without condoms with no problems.”
You frowned at the small box in your hand. “I don’t know. It sounds risky.”
“More risky than you turning up pregnant?”
“No, I guess not. Okay.”
His shoulders relaxed, tension leaving him. You went back to hanging out like normal.
—-----
“My parents have been getting more suspicious of Mina.” You say, falling onto the couch next to Tomura, over-buttered popcorn in your hand spilling a bit from the drop.
“Oh, have they now?”
You nod, taking a piece and popping it into your mouth. It was finally the weekend and Tomura promised he would watch this new thriller movie with you.
“They say that it's not normal for me to hang out with a friend that much. Especially since they haven't seen her around as often.” you shrug, “they also aren't happy about my lack of location. I’m worried they’ll start snooping around my room next.”
Tomura places an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his side and knocking more popcorn onto the couch in the process. Kurogiri will give you both an earful for the mess later.
“It’s fine. Worst case scenario we just lay low for a little bit. They can’t keep you under their thumb forever.”
He had a point, but you couldn’t ignore the pit forming in your chest. You didn’t want to have to sneak around all the time. There shouldn’t be anything keeping you from seeing who you wanted, whenever you wanted. You were an adult damn it.
Especially not since you’ve started to feel… closer to Tomura these days. Before it was fun and things were done on a whim, but now? Now you felt sick at the thought of cutting him off.
“If this movie blows, you owe me.” The rasp of his voice pulls you out of your thoughts.
“It wont! The previews were really good.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He mumbled, playing the movie and reaching for the popcorn. You could only push your thoughts to the back of your mind, desperate to enjoy whatever you both had right now.
The movie was bad. It was cliche. Predictable. And Tomura was having the time of his life letting you know that.
“And for her to go further into the house instead of just running toward the front door? Idiot.”
Your pride was too big to be put to the side. “Oh, yeah? Like you would have thought of that in the heat of the moment.”
He scoffed, “I would have.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Yes huh.”
You rolled your eyes, standing from the couch, relishing in the fact that Tomura was trailing behind you. Eager to talk about the movie and more into it than he let on.
“I’m just saying, you wouldn’t have had a chance unless you’re secretly some kind of murderer and know the tricks already.”
Tomura stopped, looking at you from across the kitchen island. “Who knows? Maybe I am. Maybe your parents are right about me.”
You can’t bite back your scoff, placing the empty popcorn bowl in the sink and looking at him with a raised brow. “Oh really?”
He leans forward, palms pressing into the island counter.
“Yeah,” he starts, a grin spreading along his face, “maybe I'm the big bad wolf they think I am.”
You know that he’s trying to be intimidating, trying to tease you, but the drop in his voice only goes straight to heat between your thighs. You don't know what game he’s playing at, but you could take the bait.
“Oh no,” you exaggerate, voice raising a few octaves, “that would just be terrible!”
He takes a step to round the island counter, but you’re faster, dashing off into a sprint further into his home.
The home was large, but you had been in it enough to know your way around pretty well. You took the familiar path to his room, (through the living room, up the stairs). After almost losing your footing on the stairs you vowed to never make fun of the horror movie girls who always seemed to fall at the worst time.
Your breath was ragged as you continued, hearing Tomura’s steps behind you and steadily getting closer–
“Ah!” You cried, barely making it through the doors before being tackled to the floor, mercy not being shown as Tomura grabbed your hair, pressing you further into the carpet. “Okay, okay!”
He didn't let up, instead leaning forward, lips so close to your ear you could feel them, “I told you. The movie was bad, you owe me.”
You gasp as he stands, pulling you up with him only to push you onto his bed. You were giddy with excitement, barely able to raise up before Tomura pushed you back down, reaching forward to take your shorts and panties off in one swoop.
The cool air made you shiver as you sighed in relief.
Tomura laughs, bringing a finger to your entrance and sliding it along your folds, “Did me chasing you really get you this wet?”
You could only whine as he pressed a finger inside, resistance minimal.
“I guess it can’t be helped.” The drag of his finger was slow as he pressed the small of your back, knees sliding further apart and exposing yourself to him more.
“T-tomura, please!” you cry, begging him to go faster. “More.”
“Oh? You want more? Is this not doing it for you? Could have fooled me.” He pulls his finger out, a whine on your lips before he smacks your ass, no doubt leaving a mark, and grabs your hair again. He presses your face into the pillow to muffle your cry. “Shut up. I’ll tell you when you can get more.”
He slides two fingers in, the stretch making you bite a moan into the pillow below you.
His pace is merciless as he fingers you, mocking his earlier slow pace. A punishment of some kind since you were so desperate for more. If you wanted more then he would give you more.
You couldn't quiet your mewls as he met the spongy bundle of nerves inside and you could feel your inner thighs tensing in anticipation as you grew closer and closer to your end. It was so close you could taste it.
And then there was nothing.
Tomura was cruel. He was cruel, and evil, and so fucking mean and you wasted no time letting him know these things. Only to get a laugh in return.
“What? Were you close?” He mocked, bringing his weight down onto your back to whisper into your ear. “Too bad.”
You felt it then, the press of his cock along your entrance and whined. Tomura was too good at this villain role he was playing and you couldn’t stop yourself from getting even more aroused from the denial. You could practically feel yourself dripping in anticipation. His cruel words sending arousal straight to your pussy.
The way he towered over you only made you more eager. Crowding your senses and sending you into overdrive as you struggled to think clearly. As much as you wanted to press back into his erection you knew that would only make him drag it out longer.
Tomura was currently gliding his cock between your folds, the head brushing your clit and finally giving you some kind of relief. You felt him press harder on the small of you back, bringing your hips flush with the bed as he fucked between your folds. His cock meeting your clit at every thrust. Tomura moaned at this, his erection pressed between your warm body and the soft sheets.
“T-tomura,” you moaned, letting your head fall to the pillow below you, “I can't take it.”
Seemingly done with teasing you and at the limit himself, Tomura listened. Backing away to line up with your dripping cunt. The pressure was relieving, a sign that you would finally get what you want. But he stops, expecting, “what do you say?”
You bite your lower lip, frustrated at needing to do more. “Please, please give it to me, Tomura.”
This satisfies him, the press of his cock finally entering you has you both sighing in satisfaction. His slow drags quickly turn into full blown thrusts as he pounds you into the bed. You feel lightweight.
Your brows furrow as your hand grips the comforter below, the pleasure was creeping up again and it was only a matter of time before the rope inside you snapped.
You feel Tomura grip your hip so tight you know it’ll have a bruise when this is all over, and he leans forward. Lips in their familiar place by your ear, “yeah, take it. Take it like a good girl.”
It was impossible to stop the whimper as you felt Tomura’s thrusts getting more erratic. The warmth of his chest is comforting as he crowds over you. Feeling Tomura come undone is almost as satisfying as your own undoing.
The way he bites your shoulder to quiet his own groans leaves you breathless. The pain mixes with the pleasure and you can keep yourself from crying out. You squeeze your eyes shut as your release washes over you, gripping his bedsheets below for dear life as the wind is knocked from you and the erratic thrusts inside you reach a new high.
Tomura’s deep groan is the only warning you get before you feel the familiar twitch of his cock and warmth spread across your insides. His hips stutter as he rides out his orgasm, placing gentle kisses and licks onto your shoulder. Trailing those kisses up your shoulder and onto your neck, warmth tracing along the areas.
He drops his head onto your shoulder, giving himself a moment before pulling back and out of you. You shiver as the once full feeling leaves you, cum trailing behind and onto his sheets, now in dire need of washing.
This part is always your favorite.
It's soft, it's slow and it's calm.
Like there's nothing else outside of this room. No responsibilities, no time limit on a relationship, nothing. It's just you. It's just him and it’s all you want right now. You let yourself relax in tomura’s cloudlike bed, eyes falling shut. You’re surrounded by the cozy feeling and soft smell of his scent on the pillow.
You could feel the fuzz of sleep taking over your brain and fought desperately to keep it at bay. You knew once you woke up reality would be knocking on your door.
Your worries dissipate as you feel warm fingers brush your hair.
You turn towards him and meet ruby red. Tomura was looking at you. Tomura was looking through you. It sent heat to your cheeks as you looked back. You close your eyes, leaning into his gentle touch. Tomura was very touchy. Like his hands could make up for the things his mouth couldn't say. You didn’t press or pry, it didn’t feel like your place.
Tomura has always had his own way of opening up when he needed to.
So for now you just enjoyed the feelings, enjoyed the butterflies dancing in your stomach and the feather light touch in your hair. You feel the press of lips to your temple and don't bother to hold back your smile as you drift off to sleep.
—----
You're putting on your shoes when you notice it. A compartment in your overnight bag was opened. One that you swore you had zipped closed before heading over.
“Hey,” Tomura calls, from his place at his desk and breaking your train of thought. He reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a packet. “I have your dose for next month.”
You’ve become very familiar with the small pack of birth control pills over the last month. “Oh, thanks.”
Tomura hums, attention falling back onto his pc and the youtube video playing on it, “Yeah, give me the old package.”
You take the item from his distracted hand and begin rummaging through your overnight bag.
You frown, “I'm looking for it. It should be in my bag, I swear I brought it with me.” You feel your anxiety spike as you empty all of the contents of your cream colored bag, going as far as to turn it inside out. No pills.
Shigaraki isn’t bothered. “You may have left it at your place. It's fine. Just bring it to me when you find it and I'll get rid of it.”
“No, that's what I'm worried about. I know I put them in here.” Your heart sinks, you don't think they would stoop as low as to go through your overnight bag, but you know better. Your father knows no boundaries.
Fuck.
—----
You make it home a little after the sun has set and you thank the stars that the living room is empty on your arrival.
Actually, the entire house feels empty on your arrival. Your abdomen feels full of lead as you trek through your dark home. Too dark for the time of day.
You could turn tail and run now. Quit while you're ahead and avoid whatever may be waiting for you, but you know that’s an over exaggeration. There could be nothing wrong. You steel yourself and continue to your room.
The strip of light pouring from underneath your closed door has your palms sweaty as you swallow your nerves. You push your bedroom door open to be met with
Nothing.
It is as empty as your home and you almost kick yourself for being so theatrical. You huff a sigh as you place your bag down and walk towards your bed. You're not sure how it slipped your sight the first time, but now you’re close enough and cannot ignore the note placed on your neatly made bed.
A note, handwritten and from your parents, with your empty container of birth control pills placed on top of it.
#tomura shiragaki#shigaraki tomura#tomura x reader#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki tomura x reader#mha tomura#mha x reader#shigaraki#tomura shigiraki x reader#tomura smut#shigaraki tomura x you#shigaraki smut#my works#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#fanfic
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Revenge
A/N: first time writing a Dabi x reader one-shot. I just couldn't help myself with this one, lol. No spoilers. Non-canon plot (ish).
Synopsis: after an incident at Endeavour's Agency, you attract the attention of a certain Villain.
Warnings: heavy non-con, humiliation, slight violence, slight blood, forced, angst, dabi is mean, yandere (kinda?), heat play, spit, choking. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Word count: 8.1K
You flipped through the pages of your magazine whilst you sat slumped, and cuddled into the couch in your living room apartment. Scanning over the newest headlines and styles of hero costumes while your mind floated, absentmindedly gazing off out the windows every now and then. Fuck, they really publish just about anything, don’t they? You pondered, flipping over to the next page.
‘Mt Lady Takes Down Villain! Hottest and Best Angles!’
You huffed, slamming the magazine back down onto the coffee table. The people who wrote these articles were seriously fried in the head. Despite all of the good that Heroes did, there was always someone in the background; waiting patiently to exploit and publish the most taboo garbage. Your cheek rested against your palm as you rested against the arm of the couch, thinking back to the incident that led up to your very own interview. It wasn’t unheard of for rookie Heroes to have interviews, but it was a rare occurrence. And you remember it all too well.
You sat, awkwardly perched on the plastic chair as the woman in front of you placed a recorder down, pulled out a pen and notepad, and began hammering you with questions.
“What’s it like working as a Rookie alongside the Number One Hero?”
“Was this the costume you were wearing when the incident occurred?”
“Were you scared?”
“Why are you working with Endeavor when your Quirk has nothing to do with flames?”
All of the questions overwhelmed you, and you thought that you would be prepared since Endeavor briefed you prior to the interview. But as soon as the questions came pouring out of the red lipstick lined lips of the reporter - you froze. You tried to answer all of her questions as honestly as you could, but feared that she would turn and spin them on you. It was a habit of reporters to do so, and you refused to be on the next cover of some sleazy tabloid; ‘(Hero name)! Dirty secrets that saved her from the attack on Endeavor’s Agency!’
The thought made you gag.
It was true, your Quirk had nothing to do with fire or anything of the sort, but Enji Todoroki had been a family friend for years, and you were childhood best friends with his daughter, Fuyumi Todoroki. Your Quirk was basic - Telekinesis. It was handy, and you were getting stronger with it everyday. It was useful in the battlefield, proving to be one of the strongest when you attended UA.
“Did you see Shigaraki?”
“How hot were Dabi’s flames?”
When she asked you about Dabi and Shigaraki, you froze, immediately remembering what the heat of his flames felt like, and the gnawing fear of being turned to dust at any given moment. It was horrible, and you wanted nothing more than to jump off the chair and run out of the room. You knew that would solve nothing and only fidgeted slightly at her question and narrowing eyes.
You were seated at your desk, filing paperwork from a Villian that you had caught a few days prior. Everyone spoke about the joys of being a Hero, but often neglected the tedious amount of paperwork that followed suit. Hours had passed and you were still working silently at your desk space. You hadn’t even taken your lunch break in hopes of finishing the work before Endeavor returned.
Your fingers were starting to sting in exhaustion when you heard the first scream, it was loud and shrill; a woman. Your eyes widened and before you knew it, everyone was standing and running. Flames of blue erupted up the walls as you watched everyone flee from the heat. You pushed yourself up from your desk and flushed, blocking your face with your free hand. Endeavor was sent out on a mission a few hours prior, meaning that he would be gone for the rest of the day. Most of the other sidekicks were with him, and you would’ve gone too if you weren’t stuck with this mountain of paperwork.
You remember seeing your coworkers shove and scatter their way out of the building, rushing around like frightened mice. It was sad, you thought. You wanted to act, to fight, but fear kept you frozen in place as everyone disappeared. The smoke and heat of the room made it barely breathable, but you shielded your eyes from the smoke and covered your mouth with your sleeve.
The panicked footsteps soon dwindled down, everyone already fleeing down the stairs. And there you stood, frozen in place like a rock. Thinking back on it makes you feel completely useless, but fear makes you react in such strange ways.
A large chunk of ceiling fell directly in front of you, your feet launching you out of the way before your brain realized what happened. Dust and smoke filtered into your lungs as you narrowly dodged the debris.
You began to stagger your way towards the exit, until you saw two shadows appear in the doorway. Fuck. They grew closer with each passing moment, and you threw yourself beneath a random desk, curling yourself inwards in attempts to hide yourself. Your breathing was raspy due to all the smoke inhalation, but remained silent as the footsteps echoed.
“That fucker isn’t even here.” You heard a deep rasp, sounding like he was losing his voice. You flinched when you heard the desk creek above you, turning your head slowly to notice that someone was resting against it. Luckily, the cubicle shielded you from their presence, or else you’d be screwed.
“The message will still be received.” You heard a second voice, which sounded much higher pitched than the first. “It’s only a matter of time before the Hero regimen is brought to their knees.” They snickered, high pitched and eerie.
You covered your mouth, squeezing back a cough that rumbled in your chest.
“The sooner the better.” The first voice spoke, which you now recognized as Dabi, the Blue Flame. His boots now eye level with you, with even one small move you would’ve been able to touch him.
His unprovoked murderers made headlines a few weeks earlier, and you remember reading all about them. He burned his victims beyond recognition, turning them into a pile of bones and dust. It made you sick, and you could only keep quiet and remain still. You could only guess that the second voice belonged to Shigaraki, the leader of the League Of Villains. Fuck. You really were going to die here.
“We need to get out of here before more show up.” Dabi said, pushing upright from the desk, his jacket swayed in your view. You figured that the Heroes would be pouring through the door at any second now, but you weren’t counting on it, nor were you eager to jump out from the desk.
Shigaraki mumbled something in return that you didn’t quite catch, and you heard the heavy sounds of their booted feet fade off. You weren’t entirely jumping at the thought of getting caught, so you decided to wait a few moments before regrouping with everyone else.
You let out a shaky breath, removing your hand from your dry lips.
Your eyes opened once again, blinking a few times to remove any dust or smoke stuck in them. But fuck, you really wished you hadn’t. There was a soft sound of crunching gravel that rang out beside you, instantly making your blood run cold. Your eyes darted to follow the sound and as soon as you lifted your gaze from the floor, you noticed a pair of bright blue eyes staring back into your frightened ones. You noticed that he smirked when he noticed your frightened expression, burnt lips carving upwards at your quivering form. Immediately, you let out a cry of surprise and skidded out from underneath the desk.
“Well, well. Hello there, doll.” Dabi watched you from above. At this angle, he towered over you, watching you with gleaming eyes. Even though you were flat on your ass and resting against your palms, he was enormous. “Thought I wouldn’t notice ya’ down there?” He chuckled.
You watched him with studying eyes, noting that he hadn’t made a move to grab or burn you. For some reason you expected to be killed on sight, but Dabi seemed to take interest in you. No . He was more interested in making you feel nervous - powerless even. His eyes running down your slim body, watching in excitement as you squirmed uncomfortably. You weren’t wearing your Hero uniform, which made him wonder why you hadn’t escaped like everyone else.
He laughed to himself. Poor little girl, left to die by the Heroes.
Finally, you broke eye contact from the charred man, trailing your eyes around him in search of an escape route. You didn’t know if he’d get bored soon and decide to light you up, but you certainly didn’t want to make any impulsive moves. It seems like Shigaraki left already, and you were thankful that you only had to deal with one League member.
“Are you mute or somethin’?” His head tilted to the side as he scanned you over, his patchwork face pondering in thought.
Dabi felt bored at your unresponsiveness, his smirk dropping and eyes glazing over. His hands fidgeted inside his pockets, debating on what he was going to do with you. You inched back slightly, noticing the shift in his demeanor.
Your hands raised instinctively to cover your face, expecting to feel the flash of heat and the flesh peel off your bones. But you didn’t, instead feeling a rush of air around you. Out of fear, you must’ve activated your quirk without thinking too much, because Dabi was no longer standing in front of you.
Your ears barely registered the sound of his strangled grunt as he collided with a half burnt desk. Not wasting any time pushing yourself up to your shaky feet, throwing yourself out of the cubicle and towards the exit. You didn’t even bother to look back at the scarred Villain, who was staggering back to his feet, letting out a frustrated growl at your sudden attack. You lunged for the door, throwing yourself out of it and down the flights of stairs.
Dabi coughed as dust particles surrounded him, his breathing deepening with rage as he watched your frightened figure stumble out of the room. Your little surprise move pissed him off - almost as much as the realization he had that you were a Hero.
Your head shook and you brushed off the incident that still lingered in your mind. While you were terrified, you managed to act quickly and get out safely. Endeavor praised you for this, which felt good, but you were just thankful that you didn’t turn into a pile of burnt flesh.
“For fucks sake.” You mumbled as you picked up another magazine, seeing a picture of yourself covered in dust, outfit torn in questionable places, and your hair a mess -on the cover .
‘(Hero Name)! Narrowly Escapes The Blue Flame!’
That wasn’t so bad… Maybe Endeavor threatened the poor woman into being nice. You thought, before your eyes roamed over the smaller print beneath the title.
“Find out how (Hero Name) seduced her way out of death on page six!”
You threw the magazine blindly behind you, letting out a long sigh. You should have known, these tabloids twisted the truth and made Heroes and Sidekicks look terrible. You couldn’t believe that people actually believed this shit. Luckily enough, no one was killed in the incident, but you knew that if the League wanted there to be casualties, there definitely would have been. You only escaped due to your quick thinking and Dabi’s lack of attention, which worked out in your favor.
“Fucking bitch.” You grumbled, letting your head drop onto the armrest.
You were so lost in thought that you barely heard the front door close shut, along with the soft footsteps of someone making their way inside. You didn’t move when you finally clued in, instead you called out blindly, voice muffled by the cushion of the couch.
“Really not in the mood tonight, Fuyumi!” Your voice cracked as you called out towards her, expecting her cheerful response at your dismissive tone, but all you heard was silence. The footsteps stopped, and instead of the soft voice of your best friend, you heard a short chuckle.
“Not enjoying the Hero life, doll?”
Letting out a surprised squeak, you jolted upright at the raspy voice, eyes widening and darting towards the rough sound. To say that it surprised you would be an understatement - it terrified you and made you freeze immediately, similar to how you were at the Agency. It frightened you even more when you watched his lazy eyes trail over your form, which was wearing nothing but a pair of PJ shorts and an ill-fitting tank top.
Almost as if he could sense the urgency that flowed in your veins, telling you to run - he took a step closer to you, studying your reactions. So many questions ran through your brain, how did he get in? Why was he here? But you decided to refrain from hammering questions out, instead shifting your focus to distracting him like you had previously done.
“Why are you here?” You decided this was a decently safe question, turning yourself to fully face the scarred man as your eyes drifted to the front door for a brief moment. It was closed again, and if you were to try and run past him, you’d risk being fried to a crisp. If you were smart about this, then you’d be able to-
“Go ahead and try it.” He interrupted your thoughts, pulling your attention back to his lopsided grin, which looked menacing as it tugged on his staples. “I can promise that ya’ won’t make it very far.” His hand extended, lighting up a small blue flame at the tips of his fingers.
Dabi watched as you looked up at him: your big eyes widened, eyebrows furrowed, and full lips parted open. Fuck. He wanted to pounce on you right then and there, but decided to restrain himself. He needed to take his time with this, since his last interaction with you resulted in him being thrown off guard and flat on his ass. He didn’t even think that you had a Quirk - assuming that you were just some mousy little secretary. Until he was shot back from your cowering form, landing hard on a pile of burnt and broken desks. It surprised him, but it also pissed him off. You lingered in the back of his head for days after, which only pissed him off more. He knew that he could melt the pretty skin right off your bones, but for once, he didn’t want to. He wanted to savor this. He was prepared this time, and he wasn’t going to let you escape from him again. No. Not this time.
The look on Dabi’s face made you squirm, itching to get away from his gaze. He lazily glanced over at his flame before closing his fist. His hand reached down and into the pocket of his oversized coat, searching for something you couldn’t see.
You can sense the threatening turn that this was about to take, and on instinct, you pushed your hands out, trying to activate your Quirk. Anything to get him away from you. But he was quicker and stronger, even without his quirk.
He knew that you were going to try and pull the same stunt, but unlike last time, he was prepared for it. In less than a second, Dabi launched himself forward, catching you off guard with his speed.
“Heh. That’s not going to work this time, doll.” Dabi launched himself forward with a sound that could only be compared to a growl of a hungry animal. He grabbed your wrists with one hand, pinning them against your lap in a matter of seconds, leering over you. His one knee was sandwiched between your thighs, while his foot was still placed on the ground, using it to balance himself over you.
You let out a sharp cry as he pulled out what looked like a syringe from his jacket. Instantly, your eyes widened and you fought in his hold, twisting and squirming. Your lungs fought for air at the sight of the needle, igniting your flight or fight response.
“Don’t fight me. It’s a pain in the ass.” He rasped, seemingly unfazed by your weak attempts to push him off. You were no match for him, but he wanted to scare you a little, so he heated up his palms slightly, warning you to stop.
The heat rushed from your wrists and all the way up to your cheeks, flushing you into stilling.
“What are you doing!” You cried out.
“Can’t have you ruining my plans with that annoying quirk of yours.” He grumbled before plunging the needle into your bicep. The pain was jolting, but the feeling of your quirk leaving your body was much worse. You had grown familiar with the constant sense of your quirk lingering in your veins, and now that it was gone, you were terrified. Was it going to come back?
“I- What!” Your eyes met his, which had deep bag-like scars under them, held in place by makeshift staples. His eyes were bright and blue, but looked as if they never opened quite fully. Scars seemed to liter his entire body, only small portions of his actual skin poked through. He can’t handle his quirk, you thought.
Dabi felt a shiver of pleasure run down his spine when you looked over his patch-work face, knowing immediately that the sight of him made you uncomfortable. He was used to people shriveling up in disgust at his face, it was nothing new. But this was different. He felt a sense of heat rush all over his body at your confused face, instead of the usual annoyance.
“Enjoying the view?” He teased, shattering the silence around you two.
You cringed back in displeasure, the smell of him overwhelming you now. Smoke and burnt flesh singing the hair in your nose.
“What the fuck do you want from me?” You managed to calm your nerves slightly, but not by much. Dabi was still leaning over you, making you curl up against the back of the armrest. You didn’t like being caged in like this, and you most definitely didn’t like how he peered down at you.
“Your cooperation would be nice, but either way, I’m going to enjoy this.” Dabi answered your question without actually giving you a clear response. The sense of danger only amplified when you watched his lips curl upwards in a manic like smile. You were sure that his staples would have popped out if he opened his mouth any more. You could see them visibly strain, struggling to keep the healthy skin connected to the scarred tissue.
“Is this because of what happened at the Agency?” You asked, breathlessly moving your attention from his scars to his eyes again. You didn’t want to piss him off more by staring too long at them. Dabi wasn’t an idiot. He knew you were staring at his scars, but could care less. He was used to people staring at him with disgust, and he grew numb to it.
Dabi let out a scoff. “You’re smarter than you look.”
“Why? I was just-”
Dabi leered closer to you, making you flinch and stop talking. “Just being an annoying brat? Thinking that you’re better than me because you’re a Hero?” He spat the word out like it disgusted him to even think, let alone speak it.
Granted, you knew subconsciously that you were better than a murdering psychopath, but decided it would get you nowhere good if you fought that. You weren’t too keen on the idea of dying prematurely, especially by his flames or whatever else he had in store for you.
“What was I supposed to do?” You asked, brows furrowing in annoyance. “Sit back and take it?” You regretted the words as soon as you said them, watching as Dabi smirked down at you with a borderline lustful gaze. “I didn’t want to die. My body reacted on impulse, that's it.” You quickly corrected yourself.
You thought you could buy yourself some time by asking him questions, maybe even distracting him so that you could escape. You knew he was unhinged and wondered if there was a way to use that to your advantage.
“Why does it matter? You burned down half of the Agency and the League still made the cover of every newspaper in Japan.” You found yourself getting angry at the reminder. “You’re lucky that Endeavor wasn’t there. You would’ve been-” Your voice morphed into a scream as soon as you mentioned the Flame Hero. The sudden searing heat of his hands make your back arch up and into the Villain, chest brushing against his stapled flesh. He was barely using his quirk, but even the small amount made your skin singe.
“You think that flaming pile of shit scares me?” Dabi sneered at you, bringing his face level to yours. You stilled when Dabi pressed himself tighter against you, his nose only inches from your own. You realized that you had either struck a nerve by mentioning Endeavor, or that he just really hated Heroes that much. You had assumed the latter, but could tell there was more to it by his reaction. Dabi’s eyes were filled with rage, but the rage wasn’t all directed at you.
“He’s just another empty Hero that the world praises for nothing. It’s only a matter of time before he’s ripped off that pedestal.” You flinched back at his words, knowing that there was definitely some sort of vendetta between the two flame users.
As scared as you were, you still felt somewhat angered by the Villains words. Endeavor had been nothing but kind to you, seemingly taking you under his wing when you joined his Agency. It was either your pride that made you say the next words, or your own naivety. You didn’t know which one it was.
“Endeavor is twice the man you’ll ever be.”
You watched as Dabi’s turquoise eyes narrowed, meeting them as yours widened at his furious expression. If his flames weren’t hot enough, his stare sure was. Dabi’s eyes were blazing with fury, seemingly darkening from their usual brightness. He watched you carefully, weighing his next options. He realized that you were just as surprised at your words as he was, your eyes widening for a moment before glossing over in attempts to hide it. Cute. He could feel you quivering beneath him, fearing what he would do next.
Despite the swell of pride you felt for a brief moment, you could quickly feel the overwhelming sense of anxiety push forward. Fuck. At this point, you didn’t really care what happened to you. All you wanted was to get away from his terrifying presence.
Dabi let his guard down for a mere second, maybe even less, and you immediately took advantage of it. Your wrists twisted apart and out of Dabi’s grip, freeing you for a moment from his suffocating grip. Your next move was on instinct; you ball up your fist before winding it back and sending it crashing into his nose.
Blood immediately gushed from Dabi’s nose, running down his mismatched lips and down his neck. He staggered backwards from the force of your punch, letting out a guttural growl as he wiped the sticky liquid away.
Again, you wasted no time in throwing yourself over the back of the couch, landing on all fours and scrambling towards the front door. You pumped your shaky legs as fast as they could handle, stumbling as you ran for freedom. You were nearing the kitchen when a blast of sudden heat licked up the back of your thighs, making you shriek in agony and crumple to the hardwood. Your body sprawled out on the cool ground, which was a stark contrast to your clammy and sizzling skin.
You glanced down at your awkwardly bent legs, seeing the skin begin to redden and sizzle. It wasn’t a fatal burn, but it was one you’d surely remember since the blisters would definitely scar. The pain was too much and you squeezed your eyes shut, sobbing as you still tried to drag yourself away.
Dabi followed behind you, taking his time as he watched your pathetic attempts at crawling away. He wanted you to have your little moment of hope, afterall, you were going to wish that you were dead after he was done with you.
He took his time stalking towards you, his rubber soles thudding against the flooring - purposely being slow to hammer more fear into you. He watched your body shake violently from his attack, your face contorting up in anguish as you tried to push yourself up. Dabi could feel himself getting hard as he approached your struggling form. He felt mildly proud, considering you had him in a similar position not too long ago.
Smiling wickedly, he planted his booted foot on your back and shoved you back down to the ground. “You can’t run from me.”
Your chin met the floor with a sickening crack, eliciting another wave of pleasure down Dabi’s spine at your pained groan. Your body wavered as you felt a droplet of something wet and sticky hit your cheek, directly beneath your eyes.
“You broke my fucking nose, doll. You’re lucky to still be breathin’ after that.” Dabi chucked, wiping the remnants of his blood from his nose. He relished in your look of disgust when his blood hit your face, seeing the humiliation build up across your pretty face.
Shakily, you wiped his blood from your face, cringing as he stared back at you. Your teeth gritted together so hard that you thought they’d shatter if any more pressure were applied. Everything was too much; the throbbing in your legs, your quirk being suppressed, Dabi’s taunting gaze, everything. Hatred mixed with hot rage seeped into your blood, making your body vibrate with adrenaline.
“Weak flames compared to Endeavor.” You hissed roughly, large eyes glaring up at him in spite.
Dabi ignored the rage that traveled up his body at your words, knowing that you were doing this just to piss him off. Stupid little Hero. You were powerless, weak, and humiliated, but still fought with a sense of pride. He was going to break down that pride of yours, no matter what. He thought as he bent down, fingers lacing through your tousled hair and jerking your face towards his. If you thought pissing him off was going to save you, you were very wrong. Your words only solidified what he was about to do next.
“Let go of me!” Dabi used your hair as leverage to get you onto your knees, pulling another shocked cry as your hands shot up to your scalp. The stinging of your thighs amplified in this position, and you awkwardly balanced to lessen the pain.
“I think I have a better use for that mouth of yours.” Dabi’s hand jolted you forwards before releasing your scalp. You hadn’t realized how much you were relying on his grip to keep you steady, because your knees suddenly wobbled and you fell face-first into the bulge of his jeans, letting out a strangled moan as you did.
Dabi let out a low groan at the feeling of your face pressing into the tent of his jeans. Your hands pressed into his thighs to push yourself upright as your face scrunched up in disgust at the sudden contact. Dabi shuddered while he watched you try and pull away, only to find yourself pressed into his groin again when his hands pulled you back.
You gasped in shock, not expecting the force of his hand to smush you back into his crotch. The tip of your nose dug into his length, feeling it twitch slightly at the contact. You mewled, senses overwhelmed at the feeling.
There was something about the way your eyes squinted and you recoiled back in disgust that drove him mad. A weak little Hero like you needed to learn your place, and what better way would you learn than at the knees of a Villain like him? He wanted to humiliate you in the worst way possible, just like you did with him.
“Oh come on, doll. Don’t tell me a Hero slut like you never sucked cock before?” He snickered down at you.
You scowled at him in return, peeling yourself away from his crotch to look up at him with reddening cheeks. Try as you might, you couldn’t hide the blush that stung at your pale skin.
“Awe. You’re getting shy on me now, dollface? Where’d that spunk go?” Dabi released your hair, fiddling with his belt before pulling out his cock. It sprung out and nearly smacked you in the cheek, narrowly missing as you turned your head away.
“Get the fuck away from me, patchwork!” You hissed, craning your neck up to look him in the eyes.
Dabi watched you with half-lidded eyes, jutting his hips outwards to smack you in the face with his cock. “I’m gonna make sure to force that attitude out of you.” The tip of his dick pressed against your lips, smearing a trail of salty precum all over.
It was long and thick, bigger than any other you’ve seen. You didn’t want Dabi to think that you were taken back by it, so you kept your face as blank as you could in this position. Your lips pressed tightly in a thin line, refusing entrance.
At your reluctance, Dabi tapped his foot against the ground and tilted your jaw up with a single finger. “Open up or I’ll burn you again.”
You frowned, swallowing hard before parting your lips for him. Dabi’s eyes wandered across your face, noting how good you looked with your beady eyes and mouth wide open for him.
You didn’t have much time to think, because Dabi jerked his hips, his cock grazing against your teeth as he hit the back of your throat.
You gagged instantly, fresh tears pooling at your lash line as you tried to relax your throat.
“Shit.” He rasped, head tilting back at the feeling of your throat constricting around him.
You could feel him twitch against the back of your throat, making you gag once again. The tip of your nose flat against his pubic bone, sucking in as much air as you could handle in this position. Your muffled mewls sent Dabi into a frenzy, who gave you no time to adjust before he started to buck his hips. Your hands flew up to his thighs, grounding yourself as you tried not to throw up.
“Damn. You’re shaking around my cock, you must really be scared, huh?” Dabi rasped above you, his voice dropping a few decibels at the sight of your teary eyes.
You choked in response, trailing your tongue along his length. He didn’t necessarily taste bad, but the lingering sweat and precum tasted salty on your buds. With your mouth stuffed completely, you couldn’t hold back the drool that spilled out and down your chin.
“That’s it. I knew there was something useful for that mouth of yours.” Dabi brushed the hair out of your eyes, side eyeing you as you groaned around him. The vibrations shot up through your throat, sending a wave of pleasure around him.
You quickly tore your gaze away from his, focusing on the scarred skin of his stomach instead. You hated this and you would’ve bit him if you weren’t so frightened of the repercussions that would’ve certainly followed.
Dabi watched you with lazy eyes, peering down at you with a look that could only be compared to a predator stalking its prey. With each thrust of his hips he felt your throat clench around him, wet noises mixing in sync with your terrified sobs. You were a beautiful sight, even with your mascara running down your cheeks and snot coming out of your nose. He hated to admit it, but he had to focus hard on not shooting his load down your tight little throat.
“There’s no need to be shy.” He rasped, breathlessly before pulling himself out with a plop. A thick trail of spit connected your lips and the tip of his cock. You gulped back air and sputtered, furiously wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
Dabi smirked as you fell back onto your ass with a hiss. He knew you were probably thinking that he would let you go now, or at least praying for it. Silly girl. He wasn’t nearly finished with you.
He bent down to your level, stuffing himself back into his pants. You were angry and disgusted, the light in your eyes darkening when you met his gaze. The instinct to run was back again, and you were fighting against your natural nervous system's desire to flee.
It was endearing Dabi thought, but futile. Your eyes darting to the door for a moment gave your intentions away. He made quick work to grab you before you could even blink, letting out a deep chuckle at your surprised reaction.
His hands wrapped around your hips and hoisted you over his shoulder. You gasped at the sudden movement, laying uncomfortably across his shoulder as he moved towards what you would guess was your bedroom.
“You got what you wanted! Leave now!” Your naivety was cute, almost entertaining in a sick sense. You knew deep down that he hadn’t gotten his fill. Villains were greedy after all and he wanted everything you had to offer.
You bucked against him, only earning a quick slap of your thighs in response. Dabi stalked into your bedroom, opening the door and throwing you down onto the mattress. You bounced slightly and curled up into the headboard, while he peeled back his jacket and shirt at the edge of your bed. You could barely see him in the darkness, his face staples barely reflecting the moonlight that peaked through the curtains.
“Please. Please don’t do this. I- I don’t want this.” Your lower lip quivered and you felt embarrassed to be begging him. You were supposed to be a Hero; brave and strong until the very end. But watching Dabi strip in front of you made your bravery shrivel up and shred into a million pieces.
“That’s too bad, doll. I want this, so I’m going to take this.” Dabi grabbed ahold of your ankle, tearing you away from the headboard and flat onto your back. You kicked your other leg, trying to hit the side of his head with your heel. Dabi expected this, catching your other ankle and pinning it down. Your legs were spread open, leaving room for him to rest between.
He crawled up to your level, watching carefully as you turned your head to the side to avoid looking at his hideous face. “You’re not going anywhere this time.” He hummed, breathing into your neck as you tried to buck him off.
His lips were rough against the soft skin of your neck, working down to nip where your neck met your shoulders. You tried to distance yourself from the moisture of his mouth, but his body kept you trapped. You bit on your lip at the feeling, which sent tingles all the way to your toes.
“Stop. Get off!”
Dabi’s hand traveled down to the hem of your shorts, toying with the thin material before ripping them off in a shift motion. Your panties followed suit, exposing your core to the cool air. Instead of throwing your panties on the ground with your pants, he brought the material up to his nose before sniffing. His eyes closed and he let out a deep sigh at your scent, like it was the best thing he had ever smelt. Your jaw dropped in a mix of shock and pure repulsion. You kicked and slammed your fists against his chest, but your efforts were fruitless.
“You can fight me all you want, but I’m the only one with the real power here.” He pulled away from your neck to look into your tearful eyes, lowering himself slowly between your legs again. “Remember that the next time you parade yourself around the press.” His hands wrapped around your thighs, draping one up and over his shoulder. The cool metal of his staples skimmed across your flesh, his hands keeping you planted in place.
“What are - no!” Your mind raced as you tried to scoot back from his head, which rested between your legs.
Your breathing stunted as you shook your head adamantly, your palms pressed flat at your sides as you tried to resist. His hands stopped you before you got anywhere, keeping you pinned to the mattress while he dropped his head lower, watching you with slitted eyes.
“It’s only fair that I return the favor, doll.” You were about to cry out, but quickly clamped your mouth shut when you felt his breath against your weeping cunt. The thought of accidentally moaning or gasping at his head buried against you was enough to scare you into biting your tongue.
Dabi’s bright eyes shifted from your chest, which rose and fell quickly, and down to your cunt. His fingers dipped down to spread you further apart, blowing softly on the glistening skin. He could feel his erection press tightly against his pants, but knew that he needed to take his time. You were going to regret ever standing up from that desk at the Agency. He was going to make sure of it.
He licked his lips, giving you no time to protest as he rubbed his nose from your little hole to your clit. Your thighs tensed around his shoulder, digging your heel into his back. He grinned, watching as your hands tangled into the sheets. Sensitive. He barely even started.
You suddenly felt his tongue, which was unnaturally hot just like the rest of him. He lapped at your hole, gathering the slick that quickly bloomed and dragging it up and towards your clit. The wet muscle circled around a few times, hitting every sensitive spot he could find. Your hands gripped the sheets in attempts of grounding yourself, but it did little in blocking out the wet sounds that reached your ears.
There was nothing you could do to stop him when his finger slid into you, meeting little resistance at your sopping hole. Your back arched, the sound of his tongue licking and sucking at your clit sending your brain into a frenzy. The noises were lewd and exaggerated, giving you no mind to picture yourself elsewhere. Anywhere but here. You thought.
“Nuh!” Your hand slapped over your mouth when the moan slipped out, realizing the mistake you made immediately.
Dabi paused to glance up at you, watching you with a crooked gaze. Your terrified pupils were blown wide, lips curling back in disgust. He continued to watch you when he curled his finger, pressing directly into that spongy spot of your walls. Another mewl rumbled in your throat and you tossed your head into the sheets.
“Not so tough now, eh? And here I thought you’d have a little more fight in ya’, but you’re too busy soaking my face.” He cooed, which only made his voice sound even more raspy.
He pulled his finger out slowly, savoring in the way you gushed and clamped down on it, almost like your cunt knew that it needed to be filled. He pushed it back in, curling upwards before repeating the same motions. Over and over, he twisted and pulled his fingers, pumping them in and out.
You moaned louder this time, clenching your thighs around his head and arching your chest. The back of your mind screamed in protest, begging for the assault to stop. Your limbs felt like mush, unable to do much except squirm.
“Right there? Is that it?”
He repeated the movement a few more times as his mouth latched back onto your throbbing clit. Dabi could feel your resolve dwindle away with each passing stroke of his tongue, seeing your fists loosen and lips part open in pleasure. Your reactions spurred him on, knowing that you were close to cumming.
His cock strained behind the confinements of his jeans, still rock hard from earlier. It was pure anguish, but he knew what needed to be done. He would only have to wait a little longer… Just a little.
“Oh my.” You whimpered.
Dabi’s tongue swirled as his finger pumped in and out of you, sending you over the edge with a final cry. Your cunt gushed over his face, taking both you and him by surprise when the clear liquid squirted out suddenly. You could feel yourself clenching down on his finger, squeezing the appendage tightly as you squealed.
Dabi licked up everything he could, giving your clit one last flick as he lifted himself from your dripping heat. “Fuck doll, I didn’t think you’d take that so literal.” He wiped his face with his hands, smiling down at you.
You blushed furiously as your slick ran down his cheeks and jaw. You didn’t know which was worse, the fact that you had squirted all over him or that you had never done that before. You felt rage that he forced you to orgasm, let alone from his disgusting mouth .
Your body relented, heavy breaths leaving your cracked lips. You had been so lost in your head that you never realized Dabi lining his cock up with your hole. “No! Get off of me!” Your hands slammed into his chest, pushing against his scars.
“Relax, waterworks.” He taunted, shooting you a singular glare before pinning your wrists above your head.
Despite the slick that stuck against your thighs and ass, you knew that his cock was going to stretch you to the max. Your eyebrows shooting up when you felt him run it along your folds, gathering your arousal before prodding at your hole.
“Dabi! Just give me a sec-” Your breathing hitched when he slammed into you, eyes wide and unseeing as your head flew back into the bed. Your throat let out another piercing shriek at the sudden intrusion. The sheer size of him made your insides burn up, sending a painful twist inside your gut.
“Fuck.” He grunted. “Should’ve bent you over the desk when I first saw ya’, didn’t realize you’d be this tight.” Dabi’s eyes rolled back as he closed them, savoring the feeling of your tight, wet heat that clamped on him like a vice.
You cringed back, shutting your eyes and grinding your teeth.
Dabi rolled his hips, focusing on stuffing you full. You hissed, feeling his cock brush against your cervix. Despite the searing pain, your body was growing accustomed to his size. You could hear the faintest sound of your slick pussy squishing around him.
“Oh fuck. You’re suffocating.” Dabi bent down towards you, focusing his attack on your lips. You realized this and at the last second, turned your head away. He didn’t mind, instead focusing on peppering kisses and licks on your cheek and neck.
Tears welled up in your eyes when you felt his tongue lick at your cheek. You twisted your body, trashing in his hold in attempts to throw him off. This barely fazed him, only making him heat up his palms to get you to still.
“What would your Hero friends say if they saw you now, doll? Pinned under a Villain; squirming and cumming all over me?” Dabi teased, dropping his pelvis onto yours to hit deeper.
Your jaw slacked open at the new angle. A sudden burst of pleasure traveling up your cunt and to your head. In response, your jaw dropped to let out a low-whiny moan. You wanted to scream at him, but couldn’t find the courage to speak. You felt powerless in the situation, hiccuping and moaning as he drilled into you.
“There it is. Feels good doesn’t it?”
“Fuck. Dabi- ” He shuddered when you moaned his name, feeling his core tighten at the soft whimpering of your voice. Your brows furrowed, desperately trying to fight the feelings that he was delivering with each stroke of his cock.
“Shit. Look at you, doll. Such a pretty sight.” Dabi felt the weight of the world lift from his shoulders when his cock bottomed out inside you. Your tight gummy walls were sucking him in, squeezing him to a point that was almost painful. He never realized that you’d be this much of a slut; so easy and wet, begging to be taken.
Your eyes rolled back. You were so close, and you knew that you weren’t going to last much longer. You just wanted to focus on the pleasure, not the person that was delivering it to you. He knew instantly what you were trying to do; dropping your wrists and grabbing ahold on your peaked nipple. He gave it a sharp twist, drawing out a sharp cry as he tugged on the hardened bud.
“Stay with me.” Your hands flew to his shoulders, steadying yourself with his forceful pace. The pads of your fingers traced along his staples before quickly retreating.
Dabi chuckled, “You can touch them, they don’t hurt.” He moved your arms back over his shoulders, planting them against the textured skin. You whined and shuddered at the feeling of his skin. Every one of your senses were at their max, so sensitive and alert.
“D-dabi!” You mewled like a kitten, dragging your nails down his back when his fingers began to assault your clit again.
“Ah- would you look at that?” Dabi hovered his hand in front of your face, scissoring his index and middle finger to show you the slick that connected the two digits.
If you weren’t so wound up in the sensation of his cock dragging up and down your walls you would’ve hit him. You only squinted at him, earning a dark chuckle that reverberated against your chest.
The familiarity of tightness coiled back in your gut, snapping immediately when you saw him lick his fingers clean. The crudeness of his action sent your body over the edge and made you scream out. Your walls fluttered, causing him to drop his hand next to your head for support as his body twitched.
“There you go.” He hissed.
You were glad that your orgasm made your eyes roll back, because the look on Dabi’s face would have humiliated you more. He grinned manically, his smile stretching wide enough for him to feel his staples strain to hold the skin together. Your tongue lolling out and drool dribbling down the sides of your jaw was enough to make him peak.
Your body continued to convulse as he painted your walls white, his cum burning your insides as he filled you.
“Oh god.” You wanted to protest, but couldn’t.
“Fuck!” He moaned loud, slowing his pace before pulling out.
You twitched at the loss of contact, head tilting to rest on the bed as your arms fell from his shoulders. The feeling of his cum slipping out of your abused hole made you tingle, bringing your knees up to curl into a ball.
“You got what you wanted, now leave.” You managed to whisper, not looking in his direction as he wiped his dick on the sheets of your bed before tucking himself back into his pants.
His belt clicked as he tightened it back up. “What I wanted eh? Weren’t you the one who came twice? I don’t think we're even just yet, doll.” Dabi closed in on you, dropping beside you and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull your back against his chest.
You let him guide your exhausted body into his heated one, realizing that there was no point in fighting in your current condition. “We’re just getting started.” He cooed into your ear, nose burying into your matted locks.
#dabi x reader#dabi x y/n#my hero academia#male yandere#yandere dabi#reader insert#long reads#heavy smut#mha shigaraki#touya todoroki#dabi smut#dabi mha#dabi fic#mha fanfiction#one shot#yandere#tw: noncon#dark fantasy#mha fluff#my hero fanfic#endeavor#dabi fanfic#dabi is a todoroki#spicy content#dabi x you#dabi#bnha dabi
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Villains getting caught masturbating
A/N: this one was pretty fun, I wish I'd done this one sooner but it's pretty long and reader just gets horny and frisky with them sooo this is smut with no plot basically. Hope y'all enjoy this one😄💕 ( also there different readers in case you're wondering why reader has different color words in each one that why.) Sorry if it bad, this took me days to write this😭😭😭
Dabi, shigaraki, compress, spinner with fem reader smut.
Warning: it's has some smut, dabi & shiggy kinda of a dick while compress and spinner are pretty sweet. (Bit of dubcon for dabi, cum eating, public masturbation, oral, rough sex, riding and horny reader 😜)
MINORS & ANTIS STAY AWAY it's 18+ content!!
Dabi
I personally don't think dabi would do this often but when he does, he doesn't care where he at.
Him casually takes his cock out in an empty alleyway where no one will disturb him. A good old hand job doesn't hurt anyone right?
He spit at his member to get some lubricant and to do a quickie, he lets out a heavy sigh.
Groans out of his mouth, his cheeks turning red when his hand goes up and down at a fast pace.
Loud footsteps coming towards the entrance, he tilted his head to the side as his smirk grew wide.
Your pretty little face appears as you're were the popular and most powerful pro-hero in Japan as you get ready to attack.
You blink a few times as you realize what's happening and you start to smirk.
" ohh the big bad villain taken a break, I thought you were done running away from me~" you cheeky wink at him as he grunt out.
" brat… how about I burn you to ashes so you can leave me in peace. "You didn't fight him but you're getting distracted by him and how he didn't remove his hand away while he was making eye contact with you. The mental piercings on his thick manhood, his balls were hanging a bit out of his pants but you started to drool.
His smirk grew wider.
" aww what wrong hero? Cat caught your tongue.. see something that you like? " he purred at you sweetly.
He moves his finger up, wiggle his sender finger toward him.
" come on~. I knoooww you wanna play with my cock.. " your eyes move up and down at him, you're not sure what to do in this type of situation.
" If not, you can piss right off.. I'm not in the mood to fight. " he throws his head back as he lets out loud moan.
" fuck… I'm getting close-.. " you swayed your hips didn't realize you were moving towards the villain, you immediately dropped down as you lick your lips.
" good kitty~. " he gently caresses your soft silky hair, you grip his wrist tight.
" I'll bite back if you do anything… fair warning. " dabi chuckle at your aggressive threat… How cute as he growls at you.
" watch the teeth then doll…" he shoves his cock down your throat roughly as he pins both your hands up the wall.
" I'm not a nice villain to be messed with. " he lean in to whisper seductively.
" I know how to tame bratty heros like yourself, doll~. " your eyes begins to tear up as he lick it off.
" so pretty choking on it kittycat~ "
Shigaraki
Tomura had a day off, it was his time to play games or more importantly watch hentai videos on his phone.
He was sitting on the ratty couch, he pulled his sweatpants down as he released his dick out. He spread his legs wide as he watched two girls getting caught in tentacles.
The high pitched girly whimpers coming out of his phone as he bites his scarred lips.
He stroked his cock up and down, building up at a slow pace.
He loves to edge himself because whenever he finally reaches his end, more cumming will be all over him.
He sighs a bit, he kinda gets annoyed whenever that happens but it'll feel amazing afterwards.
He rolls his eyes back as he arches his back, feeling it coming soon.
Suddenly the door is slammed wide as you begin to walk in.
Tomura lets out a whimper as he begins to release his cum over his pants and onto the floor.
You gasp out loud feelings a bit embarrassed by this but couldn't help but realize your boss looks really hot and his cock…. How does he hide that thing, it's so… huge.
" what… the.. hell.. Y/N. '' he narrowed his eyes at you as he growls in annoyance.
" Look at what the mess you made.. " you were confused by this as you begin to talk.
" me?? You are fucking jerk off to nasty shit in the bar!?! " he tsk at you as he watch you with angry pout.
" ughh… you're pissing me off. " he begins to scratch his neck fast as you cross your arms.
" Well shit who's fault is that? "Tomura grunted again as he lay back, breathing heavily as he continued his scratching.
You blink at him a few times as you start to feel heated but you also want to help his little problem.
You click your tongue making tomura look at you with annoyance.
" what? " you bite your lip as you look at the cum all over himself.
" Do you want me to help you out? " Shigaraki raises his brow at you.
" Huh?? " You want to feel him inside of you, he's looking really good and juicy right about now.
He narrowed his eyes towards you as he growled.
"... if you want to help me out, you gotta go down on your knees and crawl for your master. " he pointed downward and wiggled his long finger.
" Go on baby…" you watch his cock twitch with excitement as he rubs himself.
You drop down with no hesitation as you begin to crawl towards him.
His smirk grew so wide once you finally reached him.
You lick the white liquid off the floor and onto his dirty pants.
"Filthy whore~ " he pet your head softly as you look up at him.
You lick the salty creamy goodness as you lick your fingers as well realize how his cum tastes pretty good.
You get up quickly as he raises his brow again, you pull both your pants and panties off. You start to straddle him, putting both your thick thighs on the side of his thigh and onto the ratty couch.
" can I ride you handsome~? " he purrs sweetly at you as he grabs your hips and pulls you downward where his cock should be, inside your tight warm pussy.
" since you ask nicely. "No warning slammed you downward, making you gasp at the fullness and girth, you cry out, holding onto his lean shoulders.
" but I'm not going give you an easy level… no I think you can handle a hard challenge don't you think? "
Compress
You were running at the park, it was pretty fresh and chilly at this late hour. You stretch your legs a bit as you sigh softly.
You grab your water bottle to quench your thirst, the nice cold liquid running down your throat as you smile softly.
You hear a groan as you watch the area.
No one is around, it sounds like the person is in pain, you keep following the noise as it gets more and more vocal the more you follow it.
You trip over something as you hear the loud grunt-like noise.
" sir are you oka-... " you freeze up to see the man was masked and was the infamous mr.compress, you happen to lay on top of him in the bushes. What the hell is he doing?? You turn over away from him quickly, your eyes widened as you see his pants were fully around his knees, his cock was in his hand.
He was breathing heavily as you tilt your head in confusion. Why is he masturbating in a park and why was he by himself??
" ahh… sorry darling, I didn't mean to disturb you." He bows his head as he begins to pull his pants up.
You bite your lips as you stop him fast, why did you stop a villain, you could have run away?? Your brain was screaming at you as you shake your thoughts out of your head.
You lean in to begin licking him, it's confused both of you but your mind was filled with dirty thoughts when you saw him and his pretty cock.
You pant softly as you lick the vein of his cock, grab the base as you stroke him.
You tease his tip as you lick in circles motion as he lean back and groan out.
" my.. my.. you're very sweet darling~ " you look up at him with a smile, with his cock in your mouth.
You push down to take more of him, you play with his balls as you gag on him.
You pull away as you give him your biggest puppy dog eyes.
" Can we continue this at my place~? " You tilt your head at him as you lick your lips.
He hums softly as he grabs your chin pulling you towards him.
" of course darling~ "
Spinner
You were alone at the lov headquarters, it's your job to be a maid and clean everything.
You sigh softly as you get annoyed at shigaraki bossing you around whenever you clean something and he'll get pissed if you don't clean it right.
You rub the sweat of your forehead as you groan out.
You're heading towards the restroom as you're not expecting much.
Just an empty room right? You open the door to see one of Shigaraki's comrades in the shower.
Your eyes widened, he was fully naked and was leaning his back on the wall, that didn't surprise you no it was the fact that he has two penises out, they both look light pink.
Has some glans on the tips and some bumps on the side of his cocks.
He leans towards you as he begins to realize you were there.
"Shit…. I-I.. " he begins to cover himself as he feels embarrassed and you don't know what to do.
" I… I'm sorry!! " You quickly slam the door shut, you feel bad for walking in on him.
But you couldn't help but rub your thighs together and just imagine what it would be like to take it both at the same time.
You knock the door softly, there is no response as you open the door.
You see spinner freeze up in fear as he covers himself.
" You know, you don't have to hide from me~" you walk in as he starts to blush red.
You lock the door as you remove your clothes off, spinner's eyes wide as his mouth drops like a cartoon character. You couldn't help but giggle at him.
You come towards him as you put your hands on his scaly knees then move it towards his cheeks as you gently caress him.
" Do you wanna have sex with me? " You know it wouldn't be that simple for you to ask anyone that and you barely know him, your eyes clouded with lust as you bite your lips.
"... y-yess!! I would like that please. " he whimpered softly as he began to turn more red.
He gently pulled you into his lap as he looked away from you.
" only if you're okay with it.. " you giggle at his shyness as you kiss him softly.
" I'm okay with it~ " you put your head on his as you grab his cock and stroke him a bit, the pants fill the room as you get into it.
You roll your tongue out as you're hungry for him inside you already.
You gently push down on him as you moan out.
" shit-.. it feels…" he leaned back as he groaned, grabbing your hips tight.
"Fuck~... it's feel amazing. "You give him more kisses as you coo at him.
" you're so beautiful Shuichi~ " you puff as he feels hot all over.
" I'm not beautiful… " you giggle at him more, he's such a cutie.
#minors dni#shigaraki tomura#dabi#x reader#chubby reader#fanfic#smut#shigaraki x reader#dabi x reader smut#mr.compress x reader smut#spinner x reader smut#mha#mha villian smut#villian smut#bnha#anime#mha smut#villain x reader#villain x hero#villain x villain#villain x civilian
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i just recently read Reconcile by whatagoodegg on ao3 and HELLOOO oh my god?? easily among my favourites of all time! i loove anything about shigaraki + izukus dynamic. highly recommend checking it out if you havent already!
heres some fanart i drew of various moments from the fic :D
extra (basically what the whole fic was):
#bnha#my hero academia#izuku midoriya#bnha fanart#deku#shigaraki tomura#fanfic rec#varchaii art#platonic#shigadeku
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Longing for the unattainable is also a long running joke of how long can AFO stay convinced his new wife isn’t a super natural creature.
Inko: -possessively sneers at anyone that touches her coat without warning-
AFO: That’s normal if someone touched something I valued when I didn’t want them to I do the same.
_____
Inko: -standing under a moonlit night in the ocean with an extended hand-
AFO: I feel like I’m moments away from seeing something I shouldn’t. It probably just my imagination.
______
Inko: -acts oddly unlike any woman around seeming more animal like uncaring about socializing among what should be her peers but more at home on the beach-
AFO: The people just hold no interest to her.
_______
Inko: -their child born well…-
AFO: I am getting the feeling the fur coat is not a fur coat.
Vestige of Yoichi: I maybe just as clueless on what kinda supernatural being she was but even I saw that coming!
AFO: Did I sleep with an actual supernatural creature?
#yoly's fanfics#all for one mha#yoichi shigaraki#Inko Midoriya#izuku midoriya#-He’s the odd baby that is not a normal baby-#Selkie AU#The irony is it usually the Selkie that held hostage but he legit just did not know this specific mythology. LOLOL
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Like my work? Please consider commissioning me or contributing to my Ko-Fi!
Chapter Twenty-Five - Leap Without Looking
Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?
CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Virginity Kink, Groping, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Animal Death, Slow Burn, Misogyny
Notes: Happy 2024 friends! We have officially crossed the 600 page threshold with this fic and my husband has informed me that in that amount of words, I could've finished three novels by now... I think I've spent my time wisely on this xD
Anyway, thanks as always for following the progress of my long-ass, over-emotional dub-con fic!
Read Full Chapter on AO3
[excerpt]
What was she doing? No seriously, what the hell was she doing?
That’s all she could think as she paced anxiously in her living room. She hadn’t even planned on calling Shigaraki, her fingers had just moved before her brain could. She’d been so worried about leaving him hanging the way she had at the arcade, that he was going to do something drastic, she knew she needed to get back to him as soon as possible. That action, she didn’t kick herself too much for.
But then he had texted her.
Shigaraki
[on the train]
[b @ ur place in 20]
She should’ve corrected him. Told him to meet her at a restaurant or a train station or a diner. Wait, yeah! A diner! That’s what she’d told him earlier, they’d go to a diner! A public, safe place that would pose a much lower risk of clothes being lost (although, not a zero chance, she admitted bitterly as she remembered one of their last serious talks over dinner).
But no, she’d been too preoccupied trying to work out what to say, that when she’d finally gotten her head put on straight, about fifteen minutes later, she’d found a new reason to lose it. Tomura Shigaraki was going to be in her house, in the middle of the night, when her parents weren’t home.
Nevermind the rather important question regarding how exactly he knew her address already, just what expectation was she setting with that?! Especially right after telling him that she and Mirio broke up. There’s no way Tomura Shigaraki of all people was coming over with anything other than sex on the brain.
All of the fully rehearsed words she’d had suddenly didn’t feel sufficient anymore. This was way more serious than she was ready for. It was all happening way too fast. She didn’t even know what she wanted. She hadn’t even had the courage to fully admit to herself that she had very serious feelings for him, didn’t even know if she wanted to date him, so just what the hell was she supposed to say now in her house?!
Her heart just about beat out of her chest when the doorbell rang. That terrible cheerful little jingle that signaled the demise of her self-control. What was going to happen when she opened that door? How could she stop whatever he tried to make happen?
Especially when it was something she deep down really wanted to happen.
Luckily, she didn’t have to think of a solution. Because when she opened the door, she did not find Tomura Shigaraki holding flowers or video games or ready to sweep her off her feet (and into her bed). She saw him instead, hunched over panting, soaked to the bone, and not wearing shoes.
“O-Oh my god!” she practically shrieked.
“I didn’t bring anything,” was all he managed to say through heaving breaths.
As if she would’ve expected him to bring a home gift under normal circumstances, let alone when he was hunched over and dripping onto her welcome mat.
She huffed in confused exasperation and pulled him into the house by the front of his sopping wet shirt, “Get in here right now!”
“W-Wow. It’s warm…” he muttered, looking around the living room in a daze as she closed the front door behind him.
“Yeah, I’m sure!” she snapped, “What happened to you?!”
“You said you wanted to talk in person.”
“So what, you ran all the way from Roppongi?!” she demanded.
He looked away, a blush dusting his cheeks, “I took the train too…”
She shook her head in disbelief, “You’re not even wearing shoes…”
Before he could say anything more, embarrassing himself further, she pressed a hot hand to his neck with a quickness that had him shuttering out a sigh. But she didn’t notice what she was doing to him.
(She never truly did, did she?)
“Oh my God, you’re freezing!” she grabbed his shirt suddenly again, this time pulling it straight up over his head, “Take these off— take them off now!”
It all happened too fast for either of them to really process or be embarrassed about. She peeled his clothes off piece by piece, all while shoving him frantically down the ever-warmening hallway of her home. At some point he blinked and found himself stripped down completely and standing alone in the middle of her bathroom, fluffy beige towel in hand.
Shigaraki blinked as he finally had a coherent thought for what seemed like the first time in the last five hours. That thought being that when he’d pictured himself naked in her house, this is not the way he’d thought it’d go.
He looked around the room, still in a bit of a daze. It was a typical Japanese bathroom, a nice one, he supposed, with its auto-filling tub and real tile, notably not laminate. But it was cozy (the nice way of saying small) and the only one for the whole household. The whole house seemed to be that way, from the quick glimpse he saw of it all. Simple, modest, warm. Quite a difference from his own luxurious and picture-perfect, but admittedly cold household.
It surprised him a bit, the modest part. Though maybe it shouldn’t have. The more he learned about her and her family, the clearer it was that maybe she wasn’t as overtly privileged as he’d once assumed, as he was used to. Sure her family was comfortable, but there was a much wider gap between them, the family that packed onigiri and Don Quixote-purchased lawn chairs for swim meets, and he who had a Kurogiri at his every beck and call.
By the time he got to running his fingers along her slew of floral body washes and shampoos, he couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh over the situation. The ridiculousness of it all. How panicked he’d been, how undoubtedly panicked she’d been waiting for him. How all of it seemed to go instantly out the window the moment she saw him and had something all new to worry over. No, not just something. Someone. Him. Him and his well-being.
Well wasn’t that something new.
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#TOMURA SHIRAGAKI#TOMURA SHIGARAKI X READER#TOMURA SHIGARAKI X OC#SHIGARAKI#TOMURA SHIGARAKI#BNHA SHIGARAKI#MHA SHIGARKI#SHIGARAKI FANFIC#READER INSERT#LONG FIC#SMUT#SHIGARAKI SMUT#TW DUBCON#QUIRKLESS AU#SPICE WRITES#MHA#BNHA#MHA SMUT#BNHA SMUT#PLAY NICE FIC
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plsss do shigaraki x short reader ?? like size kink stuff yk very high sorry shawty i love ur writing
Smut. 18+. Size kink.
You have a crush on your new boss. Just a minor one. Nothing important. But it does make the time pass quickly to know that you could run into him at any moment while dusting shelves or changing sheets. You’ve been working as a housekeeper at this villa for a few weeks now. Your quirk being rather useless in combat, you got shoved into whatever job was needed at the time. And right now, they need someone to clean the section of the villa that was given to the new leader of the group you belong to, newly dubbed the Paranormal Liberation Front.
Shigaraki Tomura was intimidating at first, even frightening. You hadn’t been on the streets that day when he fought, and defeated, Re-Destro. You have never seen him in action, but you’ve heard stories that made your blood run cold. Entire groups of people disintegrating at his touch. Buildings collapsing in seconds. Literal craters being formed in the ground. Who wouldn’t be terrified of this man?
The first night he came to his room, you didn’t even get a chance to introduce yourself before he closed the door. He didn’t reappear until the next evening, and you were shocked by how different he looked once out of the suit and coat, the creepy hand no longer on his face. He hobbled out of his room on crutches, wearing dark sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt. Aside from the injuries, he looked like a fairly normal twenty year old guy. You introduced yourself as the housekeeper and asked if he needed anything. Surprisingly, he was polite in his replies to you, though maybe a little dismissive.
Over the next few days, you observed him with great interest. He slept a lot the first few days, then started to move around more, occasionally going to the kitchen for snacks, rarely asking you to bring him anything. His friends came to see him often, and they could be a loud and rowdy bunch. You spotted him grinning a few times while talking to them, but when they were gone, he was quiet. To be honest, he seemed a bit lonely without them.
One day, out of the blue, he asked if there might be a gaming console of some kind at the villa. He was bored while waiting for his injuries to heal. You couldn’t find one there, so you brought one of your own from home. When you told him this, he seemed genuinely grateful. By the time you were watching him play games from a distance, you didn’t find him scary at all anymore.
Today he’s meeting with Re-Destro and the others, making plans of some sort that you’re not privy to. You’re in the hallway, dusting a tall book case. Being very short in stature, you have to pull a chair from the kitchen into the hall and climb onto it to reach the upper shelves. You’re lucky you were not expected to wear some sort of maid uniform. Instead, you wore casual clothes: denim shorts and a cropped t-shirt. You like being comfortable while you work.
The door at the end of the hall, leading to the foyer, opens. Shigaraki walks in, finally home from the meeting. His suit is more casual than the one he wore when he first took over as leader, and despite looking good in it, you stand by your opinion that he looks much nicer in his regular clothes.
As he approaches, you turn around in the chair and say, “Welcome back!”
He gives you a nod and a small wave as he starts to walk by you. You smile and return to dusting, but as you swivel back around to face the shelf, your foot slips on the shiny polished wood of the chair seat. You cry out in alarm as you fall, tumbling over the back of the chair and colliding with something soft yet firm. You feel your feet touching the ground and look up to see that Shigaraki has caught you in his arms.
You blush crimson and blurt out, “I’m so sorry! I should’ve been more careful!”
“It’s fine,” he says, though his voice is slightly strained. You remember then that he’s still badly injured, still recuperating. Before you can say anything more though, you feel the two of you falling toward the ground. You realize too late that Shigaraki had to drop his cane to catch you, and apparently that caused him to lose his balance.
The two of you hit the floor, Shigaraki on his back and you on top of him. Neither of you move for several seconds, as if you’re both waiting for the other person to say something first. Your face is pressed against his chest, and you can feel the soft, subtle thumping of his heartbeat. Finally, you raise up enough to look at his face. “Are you alright?” you ask. “I didn’t hurt you leg or reopen any wounds, did I?”
To your surprise, Shigaraki grins. “If a tiny girl like you can hurt me, I might as well give up.”
You blush again, suddenly very aware of the fact that the entire front of your body is fully in contact with his. One of your knees has slid over the side of his waist, your pelvic area shoved into his by the fall. To an observer who didn’t know the context, the two of you would look like lovers.
Carefully, so as not to aggravate his still-healing wounds, you move off him, inadvertently rubbing your crotch across his body. You’re both fully clothed, but the feel of it excites you. Your cheeks are still pink with embarrassment as you stand up and then hold out a hand to help him get to his feet.
When he stands up, you realize you’ve never stood this close to him before. Most of the times you’ve interacted with him, he’s been sitting down, or you’ve just walked by each other in the hall. But standing here, inches from him, you notice the height difference between you. Shigaraki isn’t the tallest guy around, but he’s practically a giant compared to you. Being short has provided plenty of challenges over your life time. You were picked on at school, you can never seem to reach things in the grocery store, and you still have to show ID to for every little thing, despite being in your twenties.
But now, staring up at Shigaraki, you kind of like being short. The size difference between you is kind of hot.
Shigaraki dusts off the suit he’s wearing and picks up his cane. He turns and starts to head to his room. Without really thinking, you reach out and grab the end of his jacket. “Wait!”
He turns and looks at you over his shoulder.
“Thank you for catching me!” you say.
He looks at you blankly for a few moments, then he says, “Wanna come to my room?”
You freeze. Did he just invite you to his room? Why? You’re practically nobody, an insignificant little speck in his world. You’re not naive. You know what he probably means by inviting you, where it will most likely lead. You hesitate, not because you don’t want to sleep with him, but because you worry about becoming emotionally attached. Then you remember that lonely look he sometimes gets when his friends have all left for the evening, and your hesitation is forgotten.
“I’d love to,” you finally answer him, and then the two of you walk down the hall together and into his room, shutting the door behind you.
You watch him pull off the pieces of his suit until only black pants and an unbuttoned white shirt remain. There are still bandages here and there, and his missing fingers made him struggle a bit with his buttons. He pauses and looks at you expectantly, so you pull your shirt over your head and your shorts down to your ankles before stepping out of them.
Shigaraki looks you up and down, and you feel a little shy. You’ve never been particularly self conscious about your body, but you’ve never had a guy this hot staring at it before. He slips off his shirt, revealing his toned body, scars and bandages somehow making him look even sexier. You strip off your underwear, then step over to him. He’s trying to unbutton his pants in a hurry, but his mangled hand is fumbling. You reach down and do it for him, looking him in the eyes as you nimbly unbutton and unzip his pants, letting them slide open and down his hips a few inches.
He sits down on the nearby bed. “You’re going to have to be on top,” he says.
Of course. With that injured leg, not to mention his other injuries, it would be hard for him to get into most other positions. You sit down on his lap, settling your weight on the thigh of his good leg. The fabric of his pants feels soft against your bare skin. You turn toward him and kiss his lips, then turn your back to him and scoot back so that your naked ass is pressing into his crotch. You can already feel a growing bulge beneath his boxers as you wiggle yourself against him. He reaches around with one hand and gropes your breast, then leans his face forward and nuzzles your neck.
You happen to glance up and notice the full length mirror across from you, displaying the whole carnal scene. You look so small, like a little girl in daddy’s lap. But you’re a fully grown woman, and you watch in the mirror as Shigaraki’s hand glides down your stomach and lands between your thighs. He gropes at the soft plump flesh there, coating his hand in your arousal. You open your legs wide for him, giving him an excellent view in the mirror, and he pinches your clit as your reward, making you moan and shudder in his lap.
He leans back slightly, giving you room to reach down and pull his cock from his boxers. It’s so big, so hard. You wonder if it will even fit inside you, given your small size. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try. Using the mirror to see what you’re doing, you raise up and then lower yourself onto his cock. You go slowly, carefully, at first. You don’t want to tear yourself open. Luckily, you’re soaking wet, which helps you get it halfway in. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself, then press down further and further until he’s all the way in.
You wince as he fills you all the way up and then some, stretching the delicate tissue. In the mirror, you can see a slight bulge in your lower stomach, the outline of his cock. Shigaraki see’s it too, and the image must turn him on, because it feels like he just got even harder. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he says against your ear.
His voice sends shivers down your spine. You raise up slightly and then drop back down, repeating the motion over and over so that you’re bouncing on his cock, your breasts shaking. The sheer size of him causes a dull, throbbing ache that hurts so good. By the time he reaches around again to vigorously rub your clit, you’re moaning loudly, shuddering under his touch, watching him watching you in the mirror.
You cum hard all over his cock, drenching his hand. All energy leaves your body, and you’re too exhausted to keep riding him, so he snakes his arms under yours and lifts you up slightly so that he can thrust upwards into you, going even deeper than he was before. Your small stature makes this too easy for him, and within minutes, he cums into your limp body.
Shigaraki falls backwards on the bed, and you fall back onto him, the two of you panting together. After a few moments, you roll over to face him, studying his expression. Will he tell you to get your clothes and get out? You’re not delusional enough to think this is the start of some epic romance, but you’d like to think the two of you could be friends.
When he says nothing, you roll off him and stand up. “I better get back to work,” you say awkwardly.
As you move away from the bed, you feel him take hold of your hand and gently pull you back. “Take the rest of the day off,” he says.
Your eyes widen. “Really? I don’t wanna get fired.”
He grins. “Trust me, you’re not getting fired.”
You grin back, then climb into bed beside him, deciding this is the best job ever.
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everything i’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it
Before the League of Villains, Tomura took you. Before the final war, he let you go. Still, moving on proves difficult for you both.
» pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x afab!reader
» word count: 4.2
» notes: Idk what this is, really. Divorce Ghuleh was in some kind of mood.
» contains: gn!pronouns, post-canon, angst, exes (kinda), unrequited love (kinda), soft Shigaraki, ostensibly yandere Shigaraki, referenced kidnapping, oral sex (f!receiving). 18+, minors DNI.
» ao3 mirror
"You got a new place."
Anyone else might be alarmed by that casual interjection when you were, until a moment ago, alone in your apartment, no company save for the pile of moving boxes beside you and no sound except the patter of rain against the roof. But you? You don't so much as flinch at the sudden appearance of that raspy voice. You only continue placing books neatly on the shelf before you as you reply, "And you found it."
"I always do, don't I?"
There's a shrug in Tomura's voice, the words spoken as a simple matter of course. It's followed by footsteps reverberating across the hardwood, and even without turning around you can picture the scene perfectly in your mind: him pacing behind you, head cocked and hands shoved lazily in his pockets as he surveys your fourth apartment in fifteen months.
"Why'd you move?" His question is followed by the telltale creak of a cabinet opening. "I thought you liked your last place."
"I did, but they raised the rent."
The cabinet, empty, thuds shut. There's a weight to the brief silence that follows, and when it's broken it's by the drag of fingernails raking over papery skin. Then, "You know you don't have to worry about that."
It's true, and it isn't. You could afford any place you wanted with the money Tomura insists on putting in your name—money that you refuse to touch. On principle, you tell yourself, though you often wonder the difference between that and spite.
You don't argue, though. Only deflect. "It wasn't worth what they were asking. And I like this place, too."
You're not lying. The unit is smaller, admittedly, and further from the city center, or what passes for one these days when so much is still in ruin. But it's also quiet. Quaint. There's a picture window that looks out over the shared courtyard, and rows of built-ins lining the walls. More built-ins than you could possibly need, really, for the meager possessions you've accumulated over the last year and some, but you tell yourself that's a good thing. That you'll grow into the space in a way you never managed at your last apartments.
Not that this is a promising start.
You wipe your dusty hands on your jeans and finally stand, sighing as you turn to face Tomura. "You said you were going to stop coming by like this."
He looks as you'd expected, on first glance—loose black clothes and slouched posture, carmine eyes watchful behind the spill of white hair that hangs longer every time you see him. But you also catch the subtle shift your words bring—the brief press of his mouth into a tight line, the quick drop of his gaze.
There's a long silence as you stare at him and he stares at the floor.
When he starts pacing again, the echo of his footsteps hangs heavier this time.
"It's hard," he says, chewing at his cheek. "Everyone else has moved on. Toga has her girlfriend, Dabi's with his family. Spinner's turned the Liberation Front into some heteromorph rights movement, if you can believe it." He lets out an incredulous laugh, as though he can't. "Even Kurogiri is busy. Figuring out his old friends, his old life."
"Kurogiri left?" You try to force aside the unwanted tightness that revelation spurs in your chest. "I thought he'd stay with you."
"He offered. Would have if I'd asked, but it's not like I need him. I'm just..."
"Lonely?"
"No." And then, with mirthless huff, "Maybe."
That admission hangs in the air longer than you intend to let it—long enough for your memory to take you back to places you'd rather not be. To waking, years ago, in a strange bedroom in a strange apartment. To long night after long night with Tomura curled against your side and your own mind refusing sleep, preoccupied as it was with the question of why.
The answer, it turned out, was deceptively simple.
There's a pile of takeout menus on your coffee table—ones that were waiting in your mailbox when you moved in. You sigh as you reach for them, already knowing he'll stay for dinner if you offer.
And already knowing you'll offer.
"Well," you say, not missing how Tomura's eyes darken guiltily at the trace bitterness you can't quite keep from your voice, "it's not like it would be the first time."
"You go out now."
Tomura's words have you pausing with a piece of katsu lifted halfway to your mouth. The two of you have been silent the last ten minutes; were mostly silent before that, too, as you waited out the vast-seeming span of time between the placing of your takeout order and the reprieve of the delivery person's arrival. But now he's looking at you from behind his hair as he scoops up threads of soba.
You finish taking your bite. Swallow. "What?"
"I came by your old place a few days ago and you weren't there." He says it reluctantly, like he's ashamed despite the current circumstance. "Last month, too. That never used to happen."
Of course it didn't: you barely left your old apartments in the weeks and months after Tomura let you go, though you've been trying to remedy that as of late. Two years sequestered from normal life left you overwhelmed in public, oddly claustrophobic any time you found yourself in a crowd. And even once that tendency towards panic abated, there was hardly anywhere to go outside of earning your meager living. No family to miss you, and certainly no friends to reconnect with. Much like Tomura now, everyone you knew seemed to have moved on.
Not that you hadn't, because whoever you were before Tomura, it's not who you were after. And you know the same is true of him—that he's not the person he was when he took you. An incontrovertible truth, if only because you're sitting here. Free.
More or less, anyway.
You take another bite of katsu. Chew carefully before saying, "I was on a date, actually."
The way Tomura stiffens slightly at your answer sparks a vindictive stab of satisfaction in you. It only grows when he asks, with forced casualness, "What kind of date?"
"A first date."
A good date, too, by objective standards. One where your suitor did all the right things, and where that effort seemed genuine. They didn't even try to come up at the end of the night—only kissed you on the cheek and said they would call.
"Is there—" Tomura wavers, for a moment. Lifts one hand towards his neck only to drop it just as quickly, and then slurps down a hasty spoonful of broth instead. When he swallows, it's harder than seems necessary. "Is there going to be a second one?"
You think again about the end of that latest attempt at romantic connection. About the blank indifference you felt as your date stood there smiling, and about the memory of crimson eyes that haunted you in that moment, the same way it had in the few attempts before. About the voicemail your suitor left the next day. The one that still sits on your phone, unplayed.
Whatever petty satisfaction you felt a moment ago slips away.
"No," you say flatly before lapsing back into silence.
There never is.
"Do you ever regret it?"
It's a question that again comes after lengthy quiet, though this time you're the one to speak first. Dinner is long over, takeout containers and disposable chopsticks left in a pile on your scuffed kitchen table, and you've spent the last couple hours in silence on your sofa. You're in one corner and Tomura's in the other, his foot propped up on a couple moving boxes as a sitcom neither of you are really watching plays out on screen. He frowns at the abrupt inquiry.
"The war?"
It's telling, you think, that that's the first place his mind goes. To that final confrontation with the heroes, and a battle he'd more or less won. But it's not what you meant.
"Letting me go." After a moment's consideration, you add, "Or taking me in the first place."
That question has festered in the back of your mind since the day Tomura chose power over the dwindling comfort of your presence, and you couldn't say why you ask it now. Couldn't say, either, why it was left unspoken for so long, save that some discomfort always stopped you. A fear, you suppose, that whatever response he gave would reveal as much about you as him. That you'd realize too late there was some specific answer you wanted.
Even now, your eyes stay fixed uneasily on the television as you await a response that takes several long moments to come. In the interim the quiet is filled with nothing but grating laugh tracks and the telltale rustle of nails scraping over Tomura's throat. You wonder when he resumed that anxious tick. Wonder, too, how bad it's gotten. If you brushed back those tangled locks, would you find mere reddened skin, or deep scores?
You distract yourself with that wondering, and eventually Tomura gives his answer.
"Sometimes," he admits.
"Sometimes for which one?"
The subsequent silence is longer this time. Then the sound of scratching abates, and from the corner of your eye you see his hand drop.
He leans forward for the television remote. Turns the volume up a couple notches.
"Both."
"Are you asleep?"
"No."
Tomura's answer is the one you expected. You've spent the last who-knows-how-long doing nothing more than staring at the dim black of the ceiling above your bed and somehow, despite the dark and the polite distance left between you, you knew he was doing the exact same thing.
He doesn't stay over, usually. Doesn't come by that often at all, truth be told, though every time he does it feels like an inevitability. Like there could never be any world where the two of you part for good.
On your good days, you know why that is. Understand the technicalities of trauma bonding or Stockholm syndrome or whatever one wants to call it. You know, too, that you're lucky in some ways. That this thin attachment you can't shake could be far stronger after two years of forced proximity.
On your bad days, though? On days like today, when his presence reminds you that there was something almost comfortable about this, once?
On those days, you can't help thinking that sense of inevitability might mean something.
You shift. Roll onto your side to look at him, and preoccupy yourself studying the outline of his silhouette, so different now from when he first stole you into his bed. He looked so young, then, with his owlishly wide eyes and that shaggy mop of dirty white hanging chaotically over his features. Now, his stark hair falls heavy back from his face, and his cheeks have lost some of their surprising roundness. Those more chiseled angles match the cut of meaty shoulders, and the swell of a chest that wasn't always so broad.
Several long moments pass, and then Tomura turns to face you.
"Why?" he asks. His brow is knit slightly, the rest of his face placid. It's a look you used to find strange—too dispassionate and untroubled for someone whose blood so often ran hot. But even in the earliest days he rarely turned those mercurial moods towards you.
No, with you he was always calm, or calm enough anyway—no demands or expectations beyond your stolen company and the tug of your head to his chest so his face could bury into your hair. It's that weight of expectation that makes it so different with everyone else, you think. Every job you take, every date you make, comes with the realization that something is wanted of you. Then, and always.
It had seemed intolerable when you were living it, but those long years with Tomura were still the only time in your life you were allowed to simply be.
And whether you want to or not, sometimes...
Sometimes you miss it.
You scoot closer to him. Ignore the way he stiffens in surprise and lean in, pressing your mouth to his.
It's not love. It never was, you're certain of that—not for you and not for him, either, even if it took so much time and growth for him to realize it. But it is familiar in a way that nothing else is, and tonight you don't much mind that when he feels like home it's in the exact wrong ways, like a place to which you would never want to return for good but that you might sometimes long to visit, if only because nothing else will ever be yours in quite the same way.
And because you'll never belong to anything else in quite the same way, either.
Tomura's arm extends to settle around your waist, tugging you closer. The gesture is far more practiced than the clumsy movements of his lips, but it's no surprise to you that he's more well-versed in the mundane affections. They were a constant in the hundreds of nights you once spent close against him, his hands in careful fists and his body curled into your side, each passing minute proving that he wasn't lying when he whispered what you thought were reassuring falsehoods. That he just wanted to be close to you.
It was hard to believe at first that he held little interest in carnal endeavors, at least beyond what they might represent when given willingly. But in the end you were convinced of it.
And in the end, when some combination of conscience and necessity finally led to your parting, you gave it willingly.
Now here you are. Again.
You deepen the kiss. Let your tongue trace over Tomura's scarred lower lip and sigh when his arms tighten around you. There's not passion in it, not exactly, but he's steady against you. Warm. Easy. And whether it's him you want or merely a familiar body touching you, that's enough to have a faint spark of heat stirring between your thighs.
Tomura doesn't protest when you pull back to tug him atop you, your hands already pressing at his shoulders to guide him where you want him, settled between your thighs. In the dim light you can just make out the stigmata-like scars that mar his palms as he shoves your shirt up, and you find yourself contemplating those pale, shiny marks. They're two among many, those hints of old wounds serving as counterparts to all the strength and muscle that lingered even after All for One left him.
It must be unsettling, you think, to inhabit a body so different from the one he started with—to wear the evidence of his ascent to godhood even after all that power was stripped away, sacrificed in the name of something as basic as self-preservation.
You think, too, that in the wake of all that it's no wonder he's lonely.
And then Tomura plants an open-mouthed kiss against your clothed mound, and you can't think of much except the desire blooming in you. His fingertips hook under the band of your underwear, tugging them down over your hips so his thumb can tease at your exposed sex, and the delicate touch has a faint gasp slipping past your lips. Tomura's cheek comes to rest against your bare thigh, his hot breath tickling flushed skin.
For a long moment he simply stares up at you from that prone position, gaze intent and eyes heavy-lidded with a want that seems deeper than mere lust. When your hips buck impatiently, however, he's quick to answer; a shuddering exhale slips past his lips and he drags his tongue over the length of your cunt.
His mouth is warm, the velvety pressure enough to have you lifting a hand to tangle in his hair. He groans in response, tipping his head to nuzzle briefly into that touch before he resumes his work, one finger tracing again over your entrance. It tests your wetness and then slips inside you, pressing and curling experimentally until it earns the delicate whimper he was seeking.
He repeats the motion, his tongue continuing to lap at your sensitive apex all the while, and you whine again, throaty and frustrated this time as the heat that's been building levels off. As good as it feels, it's not enough, the soft strokes of his tongue too gentle to approximate what you're accustomed to—the buzz of toys or the firm press of your own fingers, but never someone else's touch. Your grip on his hair tightens as you grind yourself against him.
"More," you gasp. He's quick to respond, another finger slipping inside you and the flat of his tongue dragging more firmly over your clit. Your back arches in response, your eyes fluttering closed. "Mmhmm," you gasp. "Like that."
Even with your own eyes closed, you can feel Tomura's unfaltering gaze, can sense him watching raptly as you respond to every persistent touch. Your head is starting to go fuzzy, everything beyond the friction between your thighs receding into a haze. When Tomura's lips latch around you, sucking lightly, your free hand clutches at the blankets as your legs start to tremble.
Tomura stops his efforts just as quickly, planting a kiss against your inner thigh as you let out another choked noise of dismay.
"Say my name," he pants. Those words are accompanied by the faint rustle of the sheets beneath him, and when your eyes blink open you can just make out his hips rutting against the mattress, some reflexive bid for friction. His voice is thick as he repeats his request. "Say it, when you—"
You're already nodding, clutching at him again as you guide him back to where you want him. Where you need him. There's a pleasant ache at your center, throbbing as you hover on the edge of release, and you whimper when Tomura's lips close obediently around you.
"Fuck," you swear as the flat of his tongue starts to work in tandem with that suction, the sensation heightened by each rhythmic stroke of his fingers. "Fuck, 'm close."
He speeds up his movements, tongue working more eagerly against you, and you can feel yourself beginning to tense, your hands and your hips conspiring to shove Tomura's face more firmly against your cunt. It's a heady sensation, to be touched at all and especially to be touched like this after so long without. When those waves of pleasure finally crest it's almost overwhelming, some strange melancholy swelling in your chest even as your whole body goes taut and a cry rises in your throat. It nearly sticks, lodged behind the unwanted lump that's formed there; in the wash of your tumultuous orgasm you barely manage to give him the one thing he asked for in exchange for that peak.
The words come out a hoarse, broken whisper. "C-coming, Tomura."
He groans gratefully, coaxing you through your release and not stopping until you force him away, overstimulated. Even then he only turns his head to mouth at your thigh, his hips continuing to grind against your mattress as his breathing grows more ragged. His lips work fervently over you as he does, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses punctuated by strained exhales. Then he's stuttering and shuddering, letting out one last desperate gasp against your skin as he comes.
He claws his way back up beside you almost immediately, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, uncertain in a way that contrasts sharply with his usual demeanor these days. It has you reminded once again of early on in all of this, when he was so different. When you both were.
That uncanny nostalgia only intensifies when he asks, hesitantly, "Can I...?"
You nod. You know what he's asking for—the only thing he's ever really wanted when crawling into bed beside you. The moment you acknowledge his plea, he's pressing himself into your side, arms wrapping tightly around you and his face burying in the crook of your neck.
Tomura doesn't move after that. Only relaxes into you slowly as you stare again the ceiling, willing yourself to feel some shame or guilt for inviting him into your bed. Not because of what it might mean to him, after all this time, but because of what it might mean to you. What it might mean for you.
In the end, though, you fail to summon that remorse. Another part of the inevitability, perhaps, because what is there to be ashamed of when it feels like things could never have been any different?
So, you only lay there listening as Tomura's breathing evens into the telltale rhythm of sleep, and sometime in the hours after you doze away too.
Tomura wakes to the warmth of your skin against his, and for a moment it's as if all the months since your parting have been erased. He blinks his eyes open expecting to find himself in his room at the bar, and to rise and make you tea under Kurogiri's watchful eye the same way he did so many times before. It isn't until he's met with the sight of bare walls and morning light streaming through the window that he orients himself.
Muscle memory still carries him to your kitchen after he slips from beneath your sheets; it's only when he finds coffee instead of tea among your sparse pantry items that he pauses. Remembers that he's well past such persistent efforts to win you over. All he's doing now is acting out a script for a performance that's long since ended.
He leaves the stove unlit. Puts your kettle, half-filled, back where he found it, and stands uncertainly in your kitchen, surveying the stacks of half-emptied moving boxes that surround him.
It doesn't mean anything, he knows. That you asked him to touch you, or that you asked him to stay at all, those casual invitations thrown out not with reluctance, exactly, but with resignation: Why don't you stay for dinner? And then, when you'd retreated to bed, the simplest, Are you coming? And even if it did mean something, it would be nothing more than what it always means when you fail to turn him away. That the consequences of his early thievery extend far beyond what his younger self could have imagined. That what he's done he can never take back or undo, no matter what paltry efforts he makes to set things right.
There is no right, here. Not for the two of you.
Tomura's halfway through slipping on his shoes when your voice interrupts him.
"You're leaving."
He turns to find you standing in your bedroom doorway, your face still bleary with sleep and your expression otherwise indifferent. The skin at his throat prickles, the way it seems to do so often lately.
He was. Leaving. Had been intent on slipping out the door before you rose, and before he had to wonder if you would ask him to stay.
You don't ask him to stay.
"It's funny," you say instead, and with no real amusement, "I woke up at some point last night, and for a second I thought..."
That sentence hangs in the air, half-finished, but Tomura knows what you thought. He thought it himself, after all, when he first stirred to the rise and fall of your chest under his cheek and was transported back to a time when things felt far simpler. A time when after was a problem for others to contend with, so abstract and disconnected from his goals that it seemed the future couldn't touch him.
Tomura finishes tying his shoes. Straightens up to look you in the eye—a feat that seems to grow harder every time he sees you. Fingertips lift to rub at his neck as clears his throat.
"I won't bother you again," he says.
He means it, but then he always does. Always tells himself this time is the last time, and believes the lie until the moment that unshakable pull has him slipping through whatever unlocked door or window he can find.
You spare him the indignity of skepticism, though. Only nod and move to open the front door, watching silently as he accepts that unambiguous disinvitation. He takes two steps out into the hall before pausing, a question he doesn't want to ask hovering on the tip of his tongue.
He asks it anyway.
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"You asked me if I regret it," he says. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the carpet in front of him. "Do you?"
The question is met with silence at first. When Tomura finally turns to face you, you're staring at him with your brow slightly knit, your mouth twisted into something a little too wry to be called a smile.
After another moment, you sigh. Your gaze drops, briefly, and then rises again to meet his stare.
"Goodbye, Tomura," you say, almost gently.
You shut the door.
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#shigaraki x reader#tomura shigaraki x reader#shigaraki tomura x reader#shigaraki x you#tomura shigaraki x you#shigaraki tomura x you#shigaraki x y/n#tomura shigaraki x y/n#shigaraki tomura x y/n#shigaraki fanfic#shigaraki fanfiction#shigaraki smut#bnha reader smut#bnha reader insert#nsft#ghuleh.writes
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He snapped at you during an argument ~bnha
(post argument)
__________
~Bnha boys
~Includes : Bakugo, Izuku, Todoroki ,Denki , Sero, Kirishima, Hawks, Aizawa,Shigaraki ,Dabi
~warnings : just fluff
_____________________
_________________________
Class 1A
Bakugo
Regrets everything he said after having some time to cool down
Decides to get you food he can give you as an apology
"Listen.... I didn't mean what I said before"
If you're still being pouty he'll offer pick you up and put you on the kitchen counter, hold your hips and tell you to forgive him already
Izuku
Apologizes immediately
Gets frustrated with himself for losing his cool
Mumbles incoherently
"I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that"
Holds and rubs your arms soothingly while he apologizes.
Shoto
Gives you a bit of space to try and figure out the best way to apologize
Might even ask Fuyumi for advice.
"That was out of line, I'm sorry"
holds your hands in his to look down at your face while he apologizes
Sero
Immediately realizes he messed up and curses himself out about it.
Gives himself a pep talkin the other room before apologizing to you
"Ok, you're gonna go in there and apologize to her for being a douche ok?" he says while looking himself in the mirror.
"I shouldn't have said that....I'm sorry"
Cradles your face with one hand while the other stays on your hip
Denki
Puts his face in his arms while resting on the bed
"What am I doing?" he'll groan with frustration
Nervously stands in the bathroom wandering if you even want him around anymore
"I just,-I"
Fumbles with his words and hand movements nervously.
"I'm sorry"
Kirishima
Apologizes right after saying those words
"I didn't mean that.....I just"
Might even get teary eyed thinking about hurting your feelings
"I'm so sorry"
Gives you a big hug and cuddles you afterwords
__________
Pro hero's
Hawks
Sighs deeply while craning his ead at the ceiling, closing his eyes shut and ruffling his hair.
His wings droop at the thought of you being mad at him.
"I'm sorry for snapping at you like that"
He looks at you with such hope that you can't even stay mad at him forever.
Hoists you up by your thighs and nuzzles his face into your neck.
Aizawa
Trys to cheer you up
Makes you a coffee with smiley face marshmallows
Kisses the top of your forehead
"Im sorry for the way I acted"
Definitely rubs your back slowly while sitting you on his lap
____________
Villains
Shigaraki
Genuinely thinks you'll leave him
Puts on your favorite multiplayer game so you can play together
Holds you by the waist
"Im sorry about earlier"
Dabi
Takes a long time to apologize but realizes he might lose you if he doesn't
Sits you on his lap if you're still pouty
Rubs you back, while you lay your head on his chest
"Look, I'm sorry alright?"
#my hero acedamia#my hero headcanons#my hero fanfic#izuku midoria x reader#bakugou fluff#bakugou katsuki#mha izuku#katsuki bakugo x reader#mha kirishima#kirishima eijiro x reader#todoroki x reader#todoroki shoto x reader#bnha denki#denki hcs#kaminari x y/n#mha sero#bnha shigaraki#shigaraki tomura#dabi x you#pro hero hawks#hawks x reader#hawks fluff#aizawa headcanons#my hero academia aizawa#aizawa x reader#anime and manga#fypage#imagine#oneshot#mha boys
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