Guy Pls Vote For THE END OF ALL THINGS Because It Gave Me Tomua’s Vibes !

hey ! If anyone is intrested in a fic about that pls go suport the autor @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

Almost done with Shigaraki x French hero reader. It's not a full fic. You can expect it soon hopefully. If anyone is still intersed.

Well. The threatening display worked to quiet Lambert, just not in the way that was intended.

Scene doodle I have planned for The Rehabilitation of Death

The Rehabilitation of Death

Chapter 16: My Friend, The Sopping Wet Beast

With Heket's health progressing and the Harvest ritual setting the flock off in full bloom, Lambert prepares for the biggest festival in the century: a combination of a feast, bonfire, a follower's wedding, all while processing the newly developed change in theirs and Narinder's 'friendship'. Or really, the fact that the cat is now hesitating to disprove it as such. That alone is something new.

Narinder makes good on his promise, utilizing a heretic to open Anchordeep's door in a process Lambert gets to witness leading to a rather interesting conversation. The first crusade into Anchordeep is an impulsive one, and it's far too wet for the cat's liking. Lambert amuses themselves by trying to make the God of Death blink using the power of social mirroring and pushes their luck a little bit too far in playing.

Narinder's exasperation follows him into his sleep. Dreams remind him of a cycle he's put himself into. They are not gentle in handling his memories.

Read Tags/Author's Note for Warnings. Chapter Wordcount: 15,292

Haunting for Beginners (Chapter 2) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Ghosts summoned and bound to the human world have one purpose - haunting - but Tomura's never met a human he could stand long enough to haunt them, and he's pretty sure he never will. When you cross the threshold of his house, you capture his interest, and for the first time, he finds himself with a chance to do what ghosts are meant to do. It's too bad he doesn't know how. Scenes from Love Like Ghosts, as seen through the eyes of the ghost in question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

It doesn’t take Tomura long to figure out the problem with wanting things: Getting the thing he wants doesn’t make the wanting go away. It works for a little while. Sometimes even long enough to make Tomura think it’s gone for good. But it always comes back, and when it does, it feels just as itchy and awful as before. Worse, maybe, because now Tomura knows what it feels like to have the thing he wants.

He wants you to talk to him, and you do talk to him. At first he doesn’t care what you’re saying. He just – likes – the sound of your voice, and he likes that it’s just for him, that if he wasn’t there you’d be quiet except for talking to the dog. The dog’s name is Phantom. Tomura’s decided that he doesn’t mind sharing your attention with Phantom. Phantom was here first, and it pays attention to Tomura, too – and it can’t talk back. Tomura could. Can. Maybe.

At first he doesn’t care what you’re saying, but soon enough, he starts to. He has to, because sometimes you’re upset about things, and if you’re too upset about things, you might leave. Once he starts paying attention to when you’re upset, he starts to see differences in it. There’s sad-upset, when your voice is quiet and your movements are slow and even Phantom jumping up in your lap doesn’t make you smile. There’s angry-upset, when you’re still quiet, but you’re restless and pacing, every piece of you tense. And then there’s frustrated-upset, when something small has gone wrong, or when there’s something you don’t understand or can’t fix.

Tomura sees frustrated-upset more and more as the days go by. And the realization creeps up on him slowly, the same way everything did when time didn’t matter, that the thing you’re frustrated with is him.

He’s mad that you’re frustrated with him at first. He’s not doing anything except helping you – helping you with the coyote, helping you get rid of the humans who came over when you didn’t invite them, helping you get rid of one of the ghosts and its weird human when they invite themselves over, too. What right do you have to get mad at him? Tomura spends a solid week and a half sulking before he realizes why you’re frustrated with him, at which point he discovers a new feeling. He doesn’t know what to call it, but it’s spiky instead of itchy, and it feels urgent, like he has to do something about it right now. You’re mad at him because he’s shown himself to other people, talked to other people, but not to you. That means you want to see him. Tomura has to figure out how to make it happen.

The spiky feeling is terrible. It won’t let him have a second of peace. It’s always there, poking holes in his essence, prodding him to look for a way to make you see him. Ghosts in movies never let people see them all the way, but the ghosts in the neighborhood must have shown themselves to their humans at some point, or else they wouldn’t have them. How did they do it?

Tomura gets an answer, sort of, when you drop a bag of flour and he steps into the plume of white dust that rises up. If he has enough life-force to make himself even slightly substantial, things like dust or smoke or flour will settle around his form and show the rest of him. You’ve figured it out, too. Tomura was already pretty sure you wanted to see him, but the number of times you turn and spray water at him to reveal him only proves it. You’re weirdly accurate about it, too. You always seem to know where Tomura is, and that makes Tomura feel – something.

He watches you all the time, learning about you. You might not be able to watch him, but you’re learning things about him, too.

Tomura doesn’t want you to learn things about him. You might get it wrong. The only way to make sure you don’t is to find a way to talk to you, and Tomura doesn’t know how to give himself a voice. All he can do is give himself hands. He could write something with his hands. Where? There are pens and paper all over your house, but when Tomura tries writing, his hands are clumsy and useless, smearing letters across the page and covering his hands in ink. Then he has to hide the evidence before you get home. Phantom helps out. When Tomura sweeps the papers off the table in a fit of frustration, it eats them.

Tomura could write with a pen, maybe, if he practiced more. But he’s too impatient for that. You’re frustrated with him. Frustrated means you could leave. He needs a solution now. He spends days thinking about it, then weeks, only for the answer to come to him at the absolute last minute – when you’re in the shower, and the bathroom is full of steam, the mirror fogged until it’s almost opaque.

If Tomura lets the steam show his form, and makes a hand to write on the mirror – you switch off the water in the shower, and Tomura scrambles for something to drain. He’s just barely found a spider, barely trapped it in a coil of his essence, when you step out of the shower wrapped in a towel. Tomura materializes a shadow of himself, more than he’s ever materialized before, standing squarely in your path. You’ve been trying to see him. If he’s going to show himself to you, he’s going to make sure you see everything.

Your eyes are wide as you look at him, but you aren’t screaming or running, and you don’t try to wave him away like you did the first time he showed himself to you. Tomura’s stupid itching starts again, stronger than it’s ever been, and for the first time he tries to scratch it. He scratches it and studies you. Now he gets why you always look so proud when you make him show himself. He’s showing himself, finally, and you’re not mad at him. That’s worth being proud of.

There’s a sensation he hasn’t experienced before, in his face. Tomura has a face right now, and it’s doing something weird. You turn away from him, and he raises the hand that’s not scratching to touch the spot where a mouth would be on a human, where his mouth is. His lips feel dry and rough, and they’re curved upwards. He’s – smiling. Humans smile when they’re proud, sometimes. He’s doing it right.

He can’t see himself in the mirror. He doesn’t have a reflection. You do, even when the mirror’s coated in steam. You aren’t looking at Tomura. You’re looking at the mirror, like you’re waiting for him to write on it, and just as Tomura’s reaching forward to write ‘hello’, you speak up. “You’re my ghost.”

Your ghost. Tomura is your ghost, just like you’re his human – and you talked to him first. The feeling of like multiplies through Tomura’s essence as he materializes one finger to write in the steam on the mirror. Yes.

“Who are you?”

Tomura tilts his head, just like the dog does when it’s confused. He thought you knew. Your ghost.

“Who am I?”

That question makes sense. Tomura knows the answer now. Mine.

“No.” Your bare shoulders stiffen, and Tomura’s itching gets even worse. “What do you mean?”

Mine to haunt, Tomura writes. That one’s easy.

He can’t tell how you feel about the answer, though. Humans in the movies you watch don’t like being haunted. But you still aren’t running away. You ask another question. “What should I call you?”

That one’s not as easy. Tomura feels his expression distort, and you speak up again to explain more. You’re explaining things now. He should have talked to you a long time ago. “Your name.”

That’s easy, too. Tomura writes it out as fast as possible, before you can change your mind. “Tomura,” you say, and the feeling of like and the feeling of want engulf Tomura together. Like what? Want what? “Hi.”

Hi.

Tomura’s said hi. Now it’s your turn to talk. He waits, and you ask him a question. “Tomura, what do you want?”

He likes hearing you say his name. He doesn’t like when he doesn’t know the answer. He wants you to talk to him, and he wants to talk to you. He wants you to see him, like he sees you. And. And there’s something else, something he can’t put his finger on. Putting his finger on. He has fingers now. He can touch things. What if he touches –

The spider he’s been slowly draining in order to materialize goes cold, and all at once, Tomura’s out of time. He reaches desperately for the mirror, trying to write again, but his fingers dematerialize, and all he can do is swipe through the messages, wiping them out. Your eyes widen with unmistakable fear, and you bolt, fleeing from the bathroom to the bedroom. Tomura doesn’t chase you. Tomura’s too busy searching for something to kill, something to drain, so he can keep talking and explain that you shouldn’t be scared of him, that he’s not going to hurt you, just haunt you – not like the ghosts in movies haunt, but the way the ghosts in Tomura’s neighborhood must have haunted their humans, before they stopped being ghosts. You’re his human. Why would he scare you? He doesn’t want you to leave.

But you are leaving. The front door slams, and when Tomura chases after you, he sees your car pull out of the driveway, you in the front seat with wet hair and clothes that don’t match, and the dog in the backseat, curled up tight. You’re leaving. You haven’t left in the car and taken the dog since the night the coyote attacked you. What if you don’t come back?

Tomura tells himself to count minutes – it’ll make a smaller number – but he finds himself counting seconds instead, and they pile up faster than he can track. So do the feelings. Missing, but worse. Wanting, but more intense. Anger, but aimed in the wrong direction – not at you, not at the other ghosts, not at their humans. At himself. He messed this up so badly that you’re leaving him, and without life-force to materialize hands and write, he can’t fix it. The feelings build and build until Tomura’s essence can’t contain them, and he lets them all loose in an anguished howl that breaks window in every house on the street except the one he’s supposed to share with you.

Tomura’s not sorry about it, and he doesn’t care that the other ghosts and their humans are mad at him – but he does feel a little stupid when you come back. You aren’t leaving him. Why would you leave him? You said he was your ghost, so why would you leave? You come back to the house, and better yet, you say his name the instant you’ve crossed the threshold. “Tomura, can we talk?”

You didn’t just come back, you want to see Tomura again. And talk to him. Tomura still doesn’t have an answer to the question you asked him, but he can think of other things to talk about. He comes closer to you, shadowing you as you climb the stairs and step into the bathroom again. You turn the water on hot, standing still as the bathroom fills with steam. Tomura waits, too. The instant the steam is thick enough, he burns the life-force he collected while you were away to materialize an outline of himself.

He knows it’s a mistake the second he does it. If he doesn’t have life-force, he can’t make hands, which means he can’t write – which means the two of you can’t talk. But when you speak up, he realizes that he doesn’t need to write to answer your first question. “Tomura,” you say cautiously, and Tomura’s mouth curves upwards before he can stop himself, “are you mad at me?”

Tomura shakes his head. He wants to do something stronger than shake his head, but he doesn’t want to startle you and make you run away again. But it’s a stupid question. You’re his human, and you came back, and you want to see him and talk to him. What is there for him to be mad at? If Tomura could just say all that, things would be fine, but he used all his energy on making you see him. Your next question tells him that it was an even bigger mistake than he thought. “If you’re not mad at me, why won’t you talk to me?”

Tomura can’t talk to you. If he could, he would, but all he can do is shake his head again. You can see him, sure, but seeing’s not good enough – just like it’s not good enough for Tomura, not now that he knows the two of you could be talking instead. You look upset again. Sad-upset. You don’t leave the bathroom, and neither does Tomura, and the two of you look at each other while the steam slowly dissipates. Tomura waits for you to look away, but you don’t. You keep watching him, just like he watches you, and the itching kicks in again. Tomura wants to scream.

Why is it back now? He got what he wanted. All the things he wanted. You saw him and he talked to you and you came back and you know his name and you said his name – so why won’t the itching go away? What else could Tomura possibly want?

Something. Tomura wants something, and you must know that, or you wouldn’t have asked that question. Even if Tomura had an answer, he doesn’t have any way to tell you. All he can do is burn through the scant remains of his stolen life-force, staying visible to you as long as possible, wondering how he could have gotten everything he wanted and still wind up wanting to claw his essence apart.

Your sad-upset doesn’t go away, and to Tomura’s horror, you start spending less time in his house. Sure, you’re doing it because you’re talking to the other humans, or you’re working on your garden in the backyard, but you’re still avoiding the house. Avoiding him. Tomura’s house is empty more often than it’s been since you moved in. He hates it. He hates the way it makes him feel.

It’s a new feeling – not like wanting, although he’s been itching for weeks over just how badly he wants it to stop. The new feeling isn’t exactly new, either. It’s familiar, but now he has a name for the way he felt before you moved in. He felt that way for a hundred and ten years and it didn’t bother him, but it bothers him now. Maybe it didn’t bother Tomura because he didn’t know any different. Now he knows different, and the stupid new-but-not feeling – lonely – is agonizing. As days tick past, days where he can’t talk to you and you don’t try to talk to him, the need to do something, anything, about it grows.

There’s a hornets’ nest on the back porch, just like there is every summer. Tomura’s aware of it distantly – it’s just another part of his house – but it doesn’t actually capture his attention until he hears a string of curses from the backyard. It’s been so long since Tomura heard you say anything that wasn’t to the dog. He sweeps through the house and onto the back porch to find you sprawled out in the yard, clutching a hand that’s already been stung twice to your chest.

Tomura doesn’t know what pain feels like, but he knows what humans look like when something’s hurt them, and he sees you gritting your teeth, your jaw clenched. You get to your feet. Then you back slowly away from the nest, all the way to the far corner of the yard.

Tomura’s never paid much attention to the nest before, but now he doesn’t have a choice. You’re his human, and they’ve hurt you, just like the coyote would have hurt you if he hadn’t gotten to it first. Tomura should have dealt with this a long time ago. Even as he has the thought, he sees you set off, planning to deal with it on your own. And your plan is – bad.

It’s not just bad. It’s the dumbest plan Tomura’s ever seen. As soon as you’re out of sight, Tomura seizes the hornets’ nest in a dozen threads of essence and drains it for life-force. He has to get rid of them before you get back. There are hundreds of hornets inside the nest, more living things than Tomura’s ever drained before, more life-force than he knows what to do with. What should he do with it? Make hands, probably. With this much, he could make hands and keep them for hours. He could make hands, or –

Tomrua loses focus on the hornets as he pulls his essence together, forming the structure of a body from the hands up. One of them gets away as the rest of the nest crumbles to ash, and Tomura catches it by the wings, holding on as his feet hit the ground for the first time. Having a body is heavy. Tomura weighs something. He has height and width and mass. His chest feels tight, and he follows the impulse it demands of him – draw air inwards, then release it, an action he's seen humans undertake hundreds of millions of times. Something is rattling in his chest, setting up a rhythm of its own. Tomura realizes, with an odd sense of fascination, that it’s his heart.

It’s not really his heart, just like they aren’t really his hands. It’ll all be gone once he dematerializes again. Tomura tells himself that just in time for you to come back around the corner, wearing about five extra layers of clothes and dragging a garbage can.

You look as dumb as Tomura’s ever seen you look, and you look even dumber once you catch a glimpse of him and your eyes widen in shock. Tomura’s heart does something weird, and unlike his hands, it doesn’t stop doing it when he tells it to. “Um,” you start, still staring, as Tomura kills the last hornet and lets its ashes fall, “I was going to get that.”

Tomura knows. That’s why he got it for you. “I haven’t – not been talking to you,” he says. Now he sounds as dumb as you look. But he’s got a voice now. He can talk. That means he can explain. “I can’t influence this world without life-force. And I can’t get it from you or the dog.”

“Why not?”

What kind of question is that? “You’d die,” Tomura says. His body does something weird at the thought – twists, lurches, his chest turning tight. “My house would be empty.”

“And you don’t want it to be empty,” you guess. You’re right, and you must know you’re right, because you don’t wait for Tomura to answer. “Then why do you scare everybody away?”

Because everybody else isn’t you. “You left,” Tomura snaps instead. “You can’t leave.”

“Like hell I can’t,” you say. “I came back, didn’t I? I needed time to think. Your little temper tantrum with the mirror –”

“I couldn’t answer. I ran out of time.” It wasn’t a temper tantrum. Tomura kicks through the pile of ash, scattering it, realizing too late that doing it probably counts as a temper tantrum all on its own. “That spider wasn’t enough. No matter how slow I drained it.”

“So that’s why it was in one piece,” you say. You found it? No wonder you ran away – Tomura knows you hate spiders. “You drained the hornets faster, though. Does that work better?”

“I guess.” Tomura’s itching again. Scratching feels better when he actually has a neck to scratch. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

You tilt your head, studying him. Then the worst thing Tomura’s ever heard you say comes out of your mouth. “You don’t know how this works, do you?”

“I know how it works,” Tomura snaps. “Shut up.”

No, that’s not right. Tomura doesn’t want you to shut up. He wants to talk to you, and he’s not sure how this is supposed to go, but he’s pretty sure it’s not going well. Something is happening to Tomura’s face. It feels tight and prickly, and when he lifts his hands to touch it, he figures out what that feeling is – it’s heat. “What is this? What’s happening to me?”

“I think you’re embarrassed,” you say. “You’re blushing.”

“No I’m not.” Tomura knows what blushing is. He hates it. He scratches harder, wondering if that will make it go away. “You can’t leave.”

“I can leave if I want to,” you say. “If you don’t want me to leave, you need to respect my rules.”

“Your rules?” Tomura scoffs. There’s no way the other ghosts put up with this stuff from their humans. Forget him not knowing how it works – you don’t know, either. “It’s my house.”

“And I can leave whenever I want to.”

Tomura knows that. He’s seen you do it, and he doesn’t want it so badly that he can feel everything inside his body crumpling around the thought. He wonders if you know you have him backed into a corner. You probably do, because you start in with your rules. “Rule number one: Stay out of the bathroom when I’m in there.”

“It was fine before.”

“It wasn’t. I just didn’t know about it,” you say. “Now that I do, I’m still not fine with it, and I want you to stop. Same with watching me at night.”

Tomura will cave on the bathroom thing. You don’t spend much time in there, anyway. But you spend a lot of time in the bedroom. He’s not giving up all those hours. “You sleep fine.”

“No, I don’t,” you say. “Stop.”

Why are you so stuck on this? Tomura’s not doing anything weird. It’s normal. “What, so it’s fine when he does it but not when I do?”

“What?” You look startled. No, scared. “Has someone else been in here?”

“No,” Tomura says. Maybe that’s why you’re acting so strange. You don’t know how haunting works, either. You don’t know that you’re his human, that he decides what happens to you, that he’s already decided not to hurt you. Not to hurt you, and not to let anything else do it. “Nobody comes in unless I let them.”

“Then who’s he?”

“The one in those movies you watched,” Tomura says. “He hangs out in that person’s bedroom all night and he doesn’t get in trouble.”

Now you look like you understand what he’s talking about. “You mean in Twilight? That’s not good either. She’s just too dumb to know it’s bad.”

Tomura knows that’s not right. Were the two of you even watching the same movie? “No hanging out in my room at night,” you continue. “Or I leave.”

“You’ll leave,” Tomura repeats, and his insides do that crumpling-up thing. He might hate that more than he hates the blushing. “And go where?”

“Anywhere,” you say. “I’m pretty sure you can’t follow me past the fences.”

If Tomura could do that, he would have. If he could do that, it wouldn’t make him – feel – so much when you leave. He can’t let you know that. He doesn’t want you to have that much power. “Who cares about what’s out there? I’ve got this.”

Tomura gestures at his house, his yard – you, since you’re his human. But as his hand crosses his own field of vision, he sees that it’s starting to thin out, going insubstantial. He’s dematerializing. The hornets’ nest wasn’t enough.  “No,” he explodes, not caring that you’ll hear, not caring that you’ll know. “Not yet. Damn it!”

“Hey,” you say quickly. “If you need energy to materialize and talk, I’ve got tons of weeds and mushrooms in the yard that you can kill.”

Tomura’s never heard your voice sound like that before. It’s softer, gentler, in spite of the urgency you’re speaking with. It makes him feel weird. “Or the blackberry bushes out by the fence,” you continue, still in that same tone of voice. “There’s ways for us to talk without you killing me or Phantom.”

Right. Now that Tomura knows how it works, maybe he doesn’t need a body to talk to you. Maybe he can just be a voice, like he’s just a pair of hands sometimes. Having a body is awful, anyway. It feels things and it doesn’t do what he tells it to do. “I have to go,” you say, and what’s left of Tomura’s face twists into a scowl that he doesn’t care at all about hiding. “I have to pick up some stuff to treat the stings I got, but I’ll be back later. We can talk more then.”

“You’ll come back,” Tomura says. He wants to say more, but his lungs and his throat and his vocal cords fall apart before he can.

“I’ll come back,” you promise, and some knot in Tomura’s essence relaxes. “I wouldn’t leave Phantom, and she likes you.”

Tomura knew making friends with the dog was a good idea. Or letting the dog make friends with him. He’s not really sure what happened there. The rest of his body falls away, and once it’s gone, you make your way up onto the porch and into the house. You’re not running. Not scared. You take off most of the extra layers of clothes until you look like you again, give the dog a kiss and a scratch behind its ears, and head out the front door. Phantom always looks happy about getting scratches. Now that Tomura knows what itching feels like in a human body, he wonders if you scratching his neck for him would make the itching go away.

He can’t ask you to scratch his neck. He’s not sure why he can’t, except that he knows somehow that it’s a weird thing to ask, and he’s just barely convinced you not to run away from him. Or has he? You weren’t talking to him like somebody who’s this close to running away from him. You were talking to him like – like –

Tomura doesn’t have a good word for it. He just knows he likes it. If he has to choose between you scratching his neck for him and you talking to him like that, he’d choose the talking in a heartbeat. He knows how long a heartbeat is now. He knows they happen fast.

You’re gone for a long time, long enough for Tomura to miss you, long enough for him to get angry about missing you. You’re gone long enough for the dog to get upset, to cry to be let out, so Tomura kills a few mushrooms and makes hands to open the door for it. You’re upsetting Phantom and Tomura at the same time. You need to come back soon. What’s taking so long?

When you finally come back, you’re carrying a lot of books, and you look tired. You look surprised to see the dog in the yard, but you don’t thank Tomura or say anything about it, and once you get inside, Tomura speaks first. He’s tired of waiting, and after he kills all the mushrooms in the front yard, he has enough life-force to make a body – and a voice. “Where did you go?” he demands. “You were gone for hours.”

“I went to see the neighbors,” you say. “To ask them about you.”

What? “Why didn’t you ask me about me?”

“Because you might life, and I needed the truth.” You look really tired. The stings on your hand are bright red and swollen. “They had a lot to say.”

That’s not good. The other ghosts need Tomura, but they don’t like him. If they liked him, they’d have talked to him, and they haven’t. “What did they say?”

“They said you’re strong,” you say. Tomura manages not to do the stupid blushing thing again. Maybe it only happens when what you’re saying isn’t true. “That’s why they moved here. Because you being so strong hides them from the people who summoned them.”

“It’s their fault they need to hide. They embodied themselves, like idiots.” Tomura wonders why he was worried that they’d lie about him. They can’t lie about him. They need him too much, and if he wanted to drive them out, it would be easy. “They can stay. I don’t care. As long as you stay.”

“I can stay,” you say. “I’ll be a lot more comfortable staying here if you give me some space.”

“Space,” Tomura repeats. “What kind of space?”

“When I’m in the bathroom. Humans like being alone in there,” you say. Tomura already decided to give up on the bathroom thing. He nods. “And at night when I’m sleeping. We like to be alone then, too.”

“Not everybody,” Tomura argues. He’s not caving on this one. “In those movies –”

“I’m not going to watch any more movies if you keep getting dumb ideas from them.” You’re calling Tomura dumb. If you were anybody else – “Life isn’t like movies. I like to be alone when I’m sleeping.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Do you sleep?”

“Sleeping is for humans,” Tomura says. He doesn’t understand why this is a problem, why you’re making it a problem. He cares about what you want. You should care about what he wants, too, because all this wanting is making him itch. Maybe he should explain. “It sounds nice when you sleep. I can’t hear it if I’m not in your room.”

“What sounds nice?” You look sort of alarmed. “What kind of noises am I making? Are they weird?”

“I don’t know,” Tomura snaps. He explained. Why did that make things worse? “I don’t know what noise humans are supposed to make when they’re sleeping. They don’t sound weird to me. They’re just – nice.”

You look like you’re thinking about something. Tomura waits. “I’m not fun to hang out with when I’m sleeping,” you say after a little while. “Why don’t we hang out more when I’m awake and I can talk to you?”

Tomura’s about to argue that he’s plenty entertained when you’re sleeping – and you don’t even have to do anything – before what you’re actually saying lands with him. You don’t just want to see him and talk to him. You want to spend time with him. What does that mean? Tomura could wait and find out, but he doesn’t want to wait and find out. He wants to know right now, because the itching’s even worse and his heart is beating faster and if it goes much longer, you might notice that he’s – what?

You don’t look like you’re noticing anything. “Well?”

“I need more life,” Tomura says, instead of yes, definitely, of course, what took you so long. “I killed all your mushrooms in the front yard. Find me something else and I’ll – hang out with you. You are boring when you sleep.”

“I’ll find something,” you say. Tomura’s body wavers, and when he glances down, he can see the floor through his feet. You notice too. “Thanks for letting Phantom out. I’ll see you soon.”

“Soon,” Tomura says. It had better be really soon. He doesn’t want to wait any longer than he has to.

When you said you’d find something, you must have really meant it, because you take your phone out and start messaging the other humans in the neighborhood, asking them to bring you bugs. You really hate bugs. If you’re asking for them, you must want to talk to Tomura a lot. Maybe as much as Tomura wants to talk to you. Not talk to you. Hang out.

You said hang out, and Tomura hovers over your shoulder, reading the texts and wondering if you’ll explain what “hang out” means. You don’t. Instead a shiver runs through you, one that says he’s gotten too close, that says the heat of your body and the cold of his essence don’t mix. Tomura couldn’t agree more. The few times you’ve walked through him by accident, it’s been gross. Tomura feels weird calling his human gross, but he doesn’t really have another word for it. Or he didn’t.

Now he knows what a human body feels like, and he knows it’s normal, so he doesn’t mind as much. You do. “Don’t,” you say. “I’ll get a chill.”

Tomura will back off when he’s ready, not because you told him to. But then he remembers what you said about space and needing it, and he draws away. You want to hang out with him. That’s better than tracking you when you don’t know he’s there, better than watching you sleep, better than writing on the mirror. Hanging out. Maybe that will be the thing that makes the itching go away for good.

I don't know if this is disgusting but sex with periods with an embarrassed girlfriend? (I see tomura being disgusting)

do i think Shigaraki is a perv and a neet? yes.

would i still let him smash? also yes.

Shigaraki With Girlfriend On Her Period

trigger warnings: period blood, period sex

other: female reader

word count: 800~

when you and Shigaraki first start having an...intimate relationship, he can't get enough of it. he's a touch starved guy, and if he thought that holding your hand or kissing (!!) you felt so fantastically great, imagine what sexual intimacy would do to him.

he wants to fuck like rabbits all the time, so any platonic or innocent contact with him ends up with you both naked and panting. i mean, what else would you expect from him? he's a young man in his twenties, who just discovered sexual pleasure, so he's going to be all over you 24/7.

you want to cuddle with your boyfriend and watch that new anime that just released? fifteen minutes in it, and you're already shaking his bed vigorously, not even pausing the show. soft kisses turn into makeout sessions, then groping over the clothes, and before you know it his head is between your legs and then it's his constantly hard dick stuffing you.

at this point in the relationship he is quite selfish, so when you stop him from going down on you, he'll be taken aback a little. do you really expect him to know what a period is? of course he has internet and Shigaraki is not dumb, but he never felt the need to know about female anatomy, what for? he heard the phrase "are you on your period?" before in a different context that lead him to think it's when the girl is moody or sad, or whatever.

he doesn't know shit about women, apart from their sexualized image from hentai or games, he thinks they're pretty much the same as guys.

so, he'll say something rude like "how's that a problem for us to fuck?" or something of the sort, only to have you stare at him like he's crazy. "what do you mean? you'll get all bloody and dirty, that's unhygienic and gross! do you not know what a period is?" by the deadpan expression on his face, you can tell that he really doesn't, so you explain it to him reluctantly.

Tomura can't help but think "is that all it is?" you have blood leaking out of your pussy, sure, that's weird as fuck, but he doesn't find it dirty of repulsive. it's not like you're unclean, you shower at least trice a day, and now he knows why, but he doesn't mind a little blood on him. after all, he already tasted you several times and you swallow his cum so generously afred sucking him off (even if he didn't take a bath), so it's only fair he does the same, right?

it's amusing to him how you cover your flushed face with your hands, telling him that it's disgusting and he'll be grossed out as he slides your panties off. the smell of blood hits his nose before he even sees it, but it's not the usual metallic smell that comes from an enemy, it's not unpleasant even. it's just different, and he doesn't hate it. he's too horny to care.

the sight of red sticky fluid smeared all over your pretty pussy makes him want to lick it off instantly, and he does just that, making you squeal in shame. you beg him to stop, saying that it's embarassing and sick, but he's so into it he's beyond listening to your pleas. he slides his tongue between your pussy lips, massaging your entrance with the tip and is astonished when more blood comes out right into his mouth, as you grunt and cry out in pleasure.

it seems like his ministrations bring you some kind of release, so he makes sure to plunge his tongue as deep into your hole as he is able to, wriggling it in and out in circular motion, lapping on your fluids mixed with blood while at it. he doesn't even notice how he starts moaning and grunting along with you, lips vibrating against your sex. Tomura realizes that he's enjoying this just as much as you are, maybe even more so.

you almost scream with relief when he sticks his dick into you, making your cramps even more bearable, hitting your womb just right, unhinging all the pent up preassure in your gut. the sight of your pussy stretching out for him, more bloody discharge coating his cock makes him feel like his splitting you in half with it. you wail and orgasm like you never did before and it's a massive ego boost for him.

he cums all over your ass and thighs, smudging blood and cum on your skin, mixing it together. he'll help you shower afterwards and maybe massage your body a little more under the hot water. just let him love you and take extra care of your puffy pussy for this week, ok baby? he can promise you'll be satisfied.

Maybe the one he say he's tired xd

Guys, give me ideas for Shigaraki tattoos!

I'm wanting to get this panel on my forearm, but I wanna see y'all's ideas. 👀

how about some catnips? or nice treats.

The cat sniffed the catnips you put on the floor and then… oh no - what have you done?

At least it seems less stressed… for now.

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

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

WARNINGS: NSFW under the cut🖤

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

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

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

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

and you can fit under his desk

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

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

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

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

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

He also loves kisses on his neck and jaw.

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

NSFW AHEAD!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Haven't read mine ? It's cringe and not good but almost no one saw it UnU

i fear i have sucked the shigaraki x reader tag dry… i cannot find anything i haven’t already read

say you need me.

Tomura Shigaraki x f!reader

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 3,248 content: porn with plot, definitely not a depiction of a healthy relationship, jealous/possessive behavior, smut [rough, fingering - receiving, oral - giving, unprotected p in v], kink(s) [collars, spit, choking, degradation, biting, size, breeding], fluff summary: you hadn't been trying to make him jealous, yet the result is just the same.

“Look at you…”

If anyone overheard the sentence he uttered behind closed doors, they’d only hear the reverent tone behind his words – they wouldn’t see his rough thumb rub under your chin, spreading the spit that had run down it. Temporarily fooled by his masquerade of gentleness a harsh thrust forward from his hips caught you off guard, choking in a way you normally didn’t when his thick shaft pushed into your throat.

“Such a dumb little cockwhore.”

Warm tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you blinked hard, allowing your burning eyes the momentary reprieve. His thumb then reached to catch one of the spilled tears, tsking his tongue against his teeth in disapproval.

“Look at me,” he reminded, slipping his hand to the back of your head to hold your position, his cock resting heavily on your tongue as he awaited your attention again. Your heavy eyelids fluttered open and sought out his red gaze again, your own hazy eyes displaying how nearly half an hour with his cock in your mouth was affecting you. “Oh, don’t you even think about looking away from me…”

You hummed around his shaft to communicate you understood, eyes staying on his as he slipped bit by bit of his cock back into your mouth, his fingers gripping your hair increasingly harsh the closer he neared your throat. An appreciative groan slipped through his lips as your bruised throat swallowed him again, your willingness to please him silencing the parts of your brain begging for more air. 

As he continued to use your mouth his pace only increased, his eyes never leaving your face to watch the mess he was making – tears still streamed down your cheeks and there was so much drool a wet spot had formed on your shirt, and you didn’t dare blink until he did now. He hated being angry with you, but he’d never miss the opportunity to punish you accordingly.

“That’s…ah…that’s better,” his voice was a low rumble as he spoke, his fingers threading through your hair just slightly gentler as he halted his thrusts, holding your head in place again while his other hand slipped to your neck. As he pulled his cock from your mouth slowly to allow you a much needed breath, his fingers lightly traced the metal of a collar he’d placed on you long ago now before one looped into the hoop on it, tugging you upward lightly. 

Despite your breathless dizziness you were eager to comply with him, hopeful that you had given him enough to earn reprieve for the growing pressure at your core. As soon as you were able you steadied yourself with your hands against his chest, your head instinctually craning upward toward his face while you awaited a kiss. 

That pulled a smile from him – the smile he seldom gave you that reminded you more of a predator than a person feeling joy – and he shook his head firmly as he continued to hold you close by the loop on your neck. His free hand slipped to hold your waist in a bruising grasp and he lowered his head, his lips hovering above yours in a further display of control. 

“You’re so desperate for me,” you could feel the quiet purr behind his words rumbling through his chest and into your hands, and he gave the ring another tug, pulling you close enough to barely feel the brush of your lips against his. “What’s this pretty collar around your neck say?”

“‘Tomura’s Toy,’” you were whining for him now, your voice needy and desperate in ways you didn’t recognize, standing on your toes in an effort to get any amount closer to him that he’d allow. But with every inch you grew nearer he retreated, his teasing smile mirroring the mischief in his eyes. “‘Cause ‘m yours, Tomura.”

“Mm…” the quiet, contemplative hum carried a depth of meaning, his hand once again slipping to grasp your throat lightly as he held you close. “It looked to me like you’d forgotten.”

“Never,” you were using a perfectly docile and honey sweet tone that you knew he so often reveled in. His fingers lightly stroked your neck, not quite angry enough to ignore the softness beneath his fingers, too addicted to the way your skin felt against his to deny himself the pleasure. “I’m yours, Tomura. ’m always yours.”

“I know you are, kitten. But I think you need a bigger reminder. Don’t you?”

“I need whatever you think I need, Tomura.”

“That’s more like it,” he cooed, his tone just barely faltering into something much more peaceful with you. He sounded sweeter, but to you there was no questioning the quiet rage that boiled beneath the surface still.“Open up.”

He couldn’t help but release a quiet laugh at how quickly your mouth fell open at his instruction, one of his fingers moving upward to trace your bottom lip lightly before he leaned forward to spit in your mouth, enjoying the sight on your tongue for a moment before he tapped his finger against your chin to silently give your next direction. You swallowed greedily, enjoying the flashes of adoration and need in his darkened eyes as you hummed in quiet approval.

“Such a dirty girl for me.”

He removed himself from you and sat on the bed that had grown much more comfortable since you had made your way into it, leaning back against the wall to calculate his next movement. You whined at the loss of him – your swollen bottom lip pushing out in a quiet pout, inviting him to bite into it again. Pulling his own shirt over his head he tossed it to the side, holding up a hand to motion for you to stop when you moved to climb into the bed.

“Clothes off first.”

It may have been the fastest your clothes had ever been torn from yourself and yet in your mind it felt like an eternity, his eyes watching you intently as you peeled away each layer until you were left bare to him again. He kept his hand raised to communicate he wanted you to continue your stillness, eyes taking in the full length of your body several times over.

“In my lap, pet.”

You were overjoyed to finally be granted skin-to-skin contact again, appreciative when your soaked core connected with his thigh, the pressure and warmth immediately pulling a moan from your lips. 

“I missed you,” you cooed, leaning forward to connect your lips to his neck, something that still took him by surprise when you did it. A quiet groan slipped through his lips and his head fell back to grant you further access, one of his hands desperately clinging to your hip. He encouraged you to rock your hips, your slickness spreading along his thigh as you complied. 

His free hand slid to cup your breast, squeezing roughly before he changed his mind, abandoning your chest to slip his hand further. He connected a finger to your clit as you licked up the side of his neck, moaning his name into his ear as he gave the sensitive bud a pinch. Desperate for more, you bit at his neck lightly, paying mind to the more sensitive areas with a gentle swipe of your tongue. 

“I want to hear you,” he growled as he slipped his middle finger into your soaked entrance, needy to hear more from you than he was getting and intent on making sure anyone still lingering heard as well. You cried out in pleasure at the sudden intrusion, lazily lifting your head from where you had it buried in his neck to press a wet kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, and finally his lips as you fucked yourself onto his finger slowly.

“I need you,” your vowels were dragged out and voice breathless and low as you spoke against his lips, the end turned to a soft whine as his index finger joined the middle. He swirled them slowly, the same smug smile once again brightening his features as your mouth fell open in pleasure. He took advantage of your parted lips to lean forward and sink his teeth into your bottom lip, blood coming just beneath the surface after the use your mouth had gotten today.

“Louder.”

“I need you, Tomura,” you whimpered your response against his lips, muffling the end of his name with your starved kiss. You dragged your core against his thigh again, the friction against your clit with his fingers inside you causing your thighs to clench around his tighter. 

He kissed you heavily, his tongue claiming your mouth immediately and greedily tasting every inch as he pistoned his fingers into your dripping sex. Despite your clouded mind you reached beside you to wrap your hand around his throbbing cock, stroking his length just how you knew he liked it.

When it was obvious you needed a breath he released your mouth, lowering his own head to claim one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue swirling the nub slowly before he began to suck. With your free hand you ran your fingers through his hair, holding him close to your chest as he worshiped your breasts, the only place he was uncharacteristically gentle with you. 

It wasn’t an absolute, though, and he reminded you of that as he turned his head to sink his teeth into the plush of your breast, the growl in his chest bordering on feral as you yelled out his name. When he was certain the mark would be purple he leaned back, running his tongue along the indents before kissing across to your other breast.

“You can be louder than that.”

His teeth claimed an area on your unmarked breast as he curled his fingers against the perfect spot inside you, and your vision went white as an orgasm ripped through you, his voice leaving your mouth so loudly you heard someone opt to leave in the distance. He continued to stroke your velvet walls as he licked at the newest mark, hips bucking upward to meet your hand and now more desperate than ever to be inside you.

It wasn’t like him to give you a moment to breathe after an orgasm, and tonight was certainly no different.

“Come here,” he urged, kissing up the front of your neck to your chin as he removed his fingers from you, reaching to grasp both of your hips. You released your hold on his cock and looked at him with pupil blown eyes, your breaths coming through your nose ragged. He may have been reducing you to being incapable of speech, but it was obvious you were hanging on to his every word, exactly how he wanted you to be forever. With a tug at your waist he encouraged you fully into his lap, licking his lips in anticipation of the feeling to come. “‘m gonna fuck you.”

“Please,” you whimpered, too cock dumb already to form a proper sentence or add anything meaningful as far as conversation went. He loved when you were this way, eyes wide as you stared at him expectantly, waiting for any word he could give that would allow you to make him happy. 

He loved the power he had over you, and that meant he loved the ability to make you panic over the thought of losing him…especially now, when you were waiting for him to fuck you into exhaustion. Still, it was impossible for him to resist.

“I should make you fuckin’ beg for it. Should make you get back on your knees and beg for my cock.”

“I will, sir, I –”

He’d honestly expected a whine in response, and hearing your willingness to beg if that is what he asked made his heart clench, that seldom found fulfilled feeling fueling every fiber of his being. One of his hands remained on your hip as he leaned forward to kiss your lips softly for the first time today, the other coming to the back of your head where he once again tangled his fingers into your hair.

“I know you will, now you’re back to being my good little slut.”

He grasped your hip harder and slammed you downward onto his awaiting cock, dependent entirely on your own arousal to be the proper amount of lubricant. A series of moans, cries and his name fell from your lips as he pulled each inch of his cock back out before slamming in to the hilt again. 

“Mmph, s’tight,” he growled out, leaning his head forward until his forehead connected with yours. With his eyes screwed shut in focus and intoxication at the feeling of your tight cunt welcoming him back he didn’t anticipate the gentle kiss you’d press to the corner of his mouth. He turned his head barely to claim your lips again as he opted for a brutal pace, thrusting his cock into you faster and harder each time. His hold on you tightened, his fingers pulling your hair firmly as he leaned to lick above your pulse point before muttering. “Mine.”

“Yours, Tomura.”

Was it ever going to be enough? It didn’t matter. You’d never tire of trying.

“Again,” he pleaded, his voice filled with an unhinged desperation reserved entirely for you. As he spoke his lips moved against your neck and he released his hold on your hip, the momentary loss quickly remedied as he connected his thumb to your clit and began rubbing circles to match his thrusts. “More. Need…more.”

“Yours,” the word was barely there through panted breaths, your hands coming to support yourself with a tight hold on his shoulders. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders and he responded with instinct, his teeth once again sinking into a very public place on your neck, intent on marking you in any way he could to get his point across. “Yours…yours…fuck…yours a thousand times.”

He growled against your skin as his pace became impossibly faster, his thrusts into you rough and relentless and undoubtedly causing your hips and thighs to bruise. If you couldn’t walk tomorrow, so be it – he preferred when you didn’t leave his room and he could keep you all to himself, and he didn’t need you to be able to walk to be able to use your holes. 

Neither of you were destined to last forever at a pace like this, but with his perfectly positioned thrusts with the head of his cock intentionally rubbing behind your clit and perfectly timed flicks to your clit, it wasn’t a surprise your thighs started shaking first. 

You tried to tell him it was coming, instead the only sounds that left your mouth were high pitched moans and cries until you screamed his name, throwing your head back in ecstasy as you dragged your fingernails down his back – you’d likely drawn blood, and he’d thank you for it later. For now he held off his own release to fully feel yours – to memorize how your walls clenched and fluttered around his cock, how it felt like your sex squeezed him tighter so he couldn’t pull out. 

When he’d indulged himself in your release enough a high groan of his own erupted from his chest, tilting your head forward to kiss you again sloppily as his own release ripped through him. Hot ropes of his seed painted your walls and pulled another moan from you, your mouth continuing to move against his in a blissed-out kiss until he’d emptied himself in you.

He was still unhappy, but he was satiated. He proved that fact by immediately situating both of you into a comfortable lying position with you on your back and him on his side next to you, eyes not leaving your freshly fucked hole, transfixed on watching his spend drip from you and being able to push it back into you slowly. He didn’t want children, but the thought of you pregnant with his child and the message it would deliver to everyone who saw you was enticing.

When he was content with the number of times he’d repeated this motion with you he leaned forward, kissing up what seemed like the most sensitive parts of your body until he reached your lips again.

“Don’t repeat your behavior from today, little one.”

The warning carried more weight than he needed to specify.

“Yes, Shiggy,” you breathed out, rubbing the tip of your nose against his in one of your adorable signs of affection, pulling a deep exhale from his nose – not quite a genuine laugh, but close enough for him. 

“Dabi serves his purpose well, and the loss would be…significant,” he continued quietly, one of his hands coming to rest against your cheek where his thumb brushed the flushed skin there. His eyes, though they were much more relaxed than they were hours ago, were still intense and full of a darkness that promised to destroy worlds if this was a problem again. “But I will kill him if you give me a reason to. I’d prefer you not to put it to the test.”

You hated disappointing him, and while you held no desire to argue with him further, you had to ensure he knew that it hadn’t been your intent to make him jealous.

“But I only…”

“Ah ah ah…” 

He silenced you with a heavy kiss that did nothing to indicate how much he’d had of you already, the hunger behind his movements unfaltering. As you were focused on his kiss you were taken by surprise by his hand raising your thigh around his waist, his cock pushing into your velvet walls again. Your hips thrust to meet him but his hand stopped your movements, holding you tightly and still, losing himself temporarily in the feeling of your overstimulated pussy clenching around him tightly.

“No more arguing, sweet pet. You’ve already been taught your lesson. Isn’t that right?”

This was softness with him. He was done being angry, and his normal insistence to fight and remain in his sour mood had once again melted away for you, revealing the deepest parts of him that never left this room. He was choosing to put the one emotion he understood, the feeling he could always hide behind, aside because he much preferred moments of tranquility with you than moments of turmoil. 

If you ruined a moment like this, you would never forgive yourself.

“Yes, Tomura. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” he cooed, nipping at your bottom lip again to elicit another quiet cry from your lips. “Tell me again.”

Not an apology…no. He needed something much deeper now, in the darkness of his bedroom where no one else was around to see his vulnerability. You’d been saying it all night, but the way you had made him feel today lingered too much to allow him to truly believe it. You’d have to try again tomorrow, and even still you would probably be feeling his wrath resurfacing for days to come.

“I’m yours always,” you whispered quietly, honestly, the words settling into his mind for the night to aid him in a decent sleep. As you buried your face in his neck his arms circled around your waist again, the two of you clinging to one another with his cock still buried inside you. “You’re all I need.”

The sentiment was shared in his heart despite the fact the words went unrepeated.

masterlist.

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