Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 5) - A Shigaraki X F! Reader Fic
Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 5) - a Shigaraki x f! Reader fic
You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9
Chapter 5
There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it, and you’re slowly coming around to the idea that what’s wrong with your house might be one of your favorite things about it. Part of it is how happy Phantom is – you feel guilty leaving her at home alone, but a lot less guilty when you know she’s with Tomura, who’s kind of crazy about her. Part of it is knowing that you’ll never find another insect in your house again, and that even if you do, you won’t have to kill it. Part of it is never worrying about a break-in, because based on how Tomura responds to even friendly people coming over, he could probably give any potential intruder a massive heart attack even without materializing.
All of that is nice. But if you’re being honest – and you try to make yourself be honest, with yourself if no one else – the main reason why you’re so happy with what’s wrong with your house is because you and Tomura are sort of, maybe, finally getting along.
You have to buy a new microwave after the soup can incident, and it wasn’t the only time Tomura tried to take care of you while you were sick. He ruined a lot of the stuff he tried to help with – flooded the hallway with bubbles after using liquid detergent in the washing machine, left the fridge open for eight hours and cranked up your electricity bill to unsustainable levels – but when you explained what went wrong, he didn’t get mad at you. He called you an idiot a lot, mostly for getting sick in the first place, but he also fed Phantom and brought you food so you wouldn’t have to get off the couch, and in the biggest shock of all, he let Keigo into the house to check on you. You’re pretty sure he only did it to piss Dabi off, but still.
There hasn’t been any more touching. Other than dragging you from the hallway to the couch the first day you were sick, Tomura doesn’t get close to you unless he’s dematerialized. That’s fine with you. You’re pretending the whole incident didn’t happen, or trying to. Sometimes the thought creeps into your head anyway. You’ll be doing something completely innocuous and all at once your mind will explode with the memory of Tomura’s raspy voice begging you to keep talking, not to leave him.
And then the images come in, things you never saw but things you can picture perfectly: His pale skin flushed and his shoulders rising and falling in unsteady pants and his hands frantic and shaking as he jerks himself off. It invariably turns your face into a furnace, and Tomura always notices. But Tomura thinks a flushed face means you’ve got a fever, so you’re safe from being found out. You don’t know what would happen if he did find out. The longer you go without anybody finding out anything at all, the better.
The flu sweeps through the neighborhood, but strangely enough, you’re the only non-ghost who catches it. Eri, Himiko, and Magne all get sick, and Hizashi spends a lot of time gloating until he comes down with it, too. The only sort-of-former ghost who avoids it is Dabi, but that’s because Dabi never goes outside. Or Keigo won’t let him go outside. You’re not sure which it is.
“It’s weird,” Spinner says. You’re giving him a ride to the grocery store because you both need to go, and because you owe him for somehow catching a whole anthill and leaving it on your porch. “That just the ghosts caught it. Usually they don’t get sick.”
“Shouldn’t they get sick more than we do? They don’t have immunity or anything.”
“I guess,” Spinner says, frowning. “But I brought home all kinds of weird shit when I was in school, and Magne never caught any of it until now.”
That is weird. “Jin says he and the others always got sick, but never Himiko before this time. If it wasn’t for me getting it, I’d think it was a ghost thing, too.”
“It could still be a ghost thing even if you got it,” Spinner says. “You spend all your time hanging out with the most powerful ghost anybody’s ever seen. Maybe you’ve got enough ghost on you to catch the – hey, are you okay?”
“Fine,” you wheeze. There’s no way you’re telling Spinner that you misheard “ghost on you” as “ghost in you” and choked on your own spit. “Go on. What were you saying?”
But Spinner’s changing the subject. “What’s that like, anyway? Living with a ghost that strong.”
“You should know. Magne’s pretty tough.”
“She’s got a body count, sure,” Spinner says. All the ghosts in the neighborhood have killed somebody, but Magne and Hizashi are the only ones who need both hands and both feet to count how many. “But I never got the feeling from her that the whole street gets from Tomura. That aura he projects is something else. Did you really not feel it when you were buying the place?”
“I didn’t,” you say. “I knew there had to be something off about the house, or somebody else would have bought it. But I did everything I could think of to figure it out and there was nothing. I’ve never felt what you all are talking about from him. From Hizashi, sure. But not from him.”
“Hizashi’s scary even as a human,” Spinner agrees. “I don’t know how Aizawa handles it. I’d be pissing myself.”
“Aizawa seems pretty bomb-proof,” you say. “I guess that’s a good thing. Or they would have been in trouble when Eri’s conjurer showed up.”
The whole street knows the story, even if the Aizawa family never talks about it. You heard five separate versions of it, one each from Himiko, Jin, Jin’s little brother, a former ghost named Atsuhiro who lives at the top of the street, and Keigo. You’re inclined to trust Keigo’s version, but you see the look on Spinner’s face, and it makes you question things. “Do you know something about it that I don’t?”
“They had the same conjurer,” Spinner says. “Eri and Magne.”
Your jaw drops. “We’re pretty sure he was Atsuhiro’s, too,” Spinner continues, “but Atsuhiro says he doesn’t remember who conjured him. The circumstances are pretty close, though. That conjurer liked abandoned buildings, or ones that were in danger of falling in. When the building comes down, it turns the ghost loose.”
“He wanted to set them free?”
“I guess,” Spinner says. “Loose ghosts can cause a lot more trouble than trapped ones. I’m glad he’s dead. And I’m glad he found the Aizawas first.”
Eri’s conjurer sounds like a real creep, but Spinner didn’t strike you as the kind of guy who wishes he could shove the bad stuff off onto somebody else. “Why? You don’t think Magne could have taken him?”
“She probably could have,” Spinner says. He gets out of the car and heads for the store, leaving you to chase after him. “But there’s this legend. Or a myth. Maybe a ghost story. It says that if you kill your own conjurer, even after you’re embodied, it sends you back.”
“I thought they couldn’t go back to the world between,” you say. “Aizawa never said –”
“Aizawa doesn’t know everything,” Spinner says. His jaw is clenched, and the next words he speaks are hard to hear. “I didn’t want her to go back.”
“Oh.” Your feelings on Tomura are just mixed enough that the idea of him vanishing permanently doesn’t make you panic. Or at least you tell yourself that it doesn’t make you panic and try not to think about it any harder than that. But Spinner looks miserable just saying it out loud. “Um –”
“I need to grab my stuff. I’ll meet you back here when I’m done.”
“Okay,” you say. You want to say something else, but Spinner vanishes down the aisle before you can think of what it should be.
You’re turning a lot of things over in your head as you do your grocery shopping. The legend about ghosts returning to the world between. The world between itself, what it’s like there. The now-dead conjurer who summoned Magne and Eri. The maybe-still-alive conjurer who summoned Tomura. But Tomura’s still a ghost. Even if his conjurer came back, there’s nothing they could do to hurt him.
You remember Spinner saying that Magne didn’t like this world at first, all the way back on the first day you met Aizawa. Maybe he was worried she’d go back if she got the chance. You gather up your last items, pay for them, and go to wait for Spinner, who comes back five minutes after you with a bottle of soda, a bunch of bananas, and a whole bag full of makeup and nail polish from the discount bin. “It’s for Magne,” he says when he sees you looking at it. “She likes pretty stuff. I’d buy nicer stuff if I could afford it.”
“Sometimes the cheap stuff is best.” Your favorite sunscreen is a discount brand, and you’ve never had very much money. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I think I was being kind of insensitive.”
“You didn’t know or anything,” Spinner says. “I don’t talk about it very much. I, like – it’s not heartwarming. Or cute. Or anything like that.”
“It doesn’t have to be any of those things,” you say. It’s not like your ghost story fits, either. You struggle with what to say as the two of you walk back out to the parking lot. “You don’t have to tell me. You can if you want to.”
“Really? Everybody else wanted to drag it out of me,” Spinner says. “Somebody new shows up in the neighborhood, and everybody else cases the joint for a few days and comes crawling out of the woodwork. I’d been here two weeks when Aizawa ambushed me with a tape recorder. Everybody’s in everybody else’s business all the time.”
You didn’t get that treatment, but then again, you didn’t have a ghost when you moved in. “It makes sense,” you say as you start the car. Spinner raises his eyebrows. “Ghosts don’t have any boundaries at all. The more of them you hang out with, the less boundaries you have.”
Spinner snorts. “You wouldn’t believe what happens when they start talking to each other. The shit they’ll say – one time I heard Himiko telling Eri how cute it is that Jin picks his nose and farts in his sleep. And she wasn’t being sarcastic. Once they choose a human, they really commit.”
You wonder what Tomura would say about you to the other ghosts, if he ever talked to them. If he’d say anything about you at all. “How do you think about your relationship with Magne, then? Is she like your friend, your sister, your aunt –”
“My big sister,” Spinner says. You back out of the parking spot and steer towards the road, and the noise in the car almost covers up what he says next. “My mom.”
You’re not close with your parents. There was never any real reason why, and it’s not like you hate them. You’re an only child, and the three of you just never felt like a family – not like the families your friends were part of, or the ones you saw on TV, or even the weird ghost families in the neighborhood you live in now. Maybe it was different when you were too young to remember, but as you grew up, the three of you felt more like roommates than anything else. You always felt like you were alone. Moving out just made it official.
But it’s not that way for everybody. Not even most people. You glance sideways at Spinner. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, and then he tells you the story.
Spinner’s parents weren’t great. That’s not an uncommon story in the neighborhood – Jin’s dad was an all-purpose batterer, and Shinsou was in foster care – but unlike the two of them, there was no friendly ghost in Spinner’s house. Spinner ran away from home when he was twelve, and nobody looked for him. He went from town to town, building to building, alone. He was fifteen when he found himself staying in the abandoned warehouse Magne haunted.
At first, Spinner says, there was no way to tell that the place was haunted at all. When Magne showed herself, she was always embodied, and he thought she was human, just like him. And she was nice to him. She brought him things he needed, although she never said where she found them. She talked to him, although she never answered the questions he asked her about herself. “She cared about me,” Spinner says. “For real, not pretending like everybody else did. I never wanted to leave.”
But he had to. Spinner caught the attention of the wrong gang of criminals, and although Magne hid him, they found him anyway. Magne’s way of draining people was different than Tomura’s is. Spinner tells you about lying on his back on the concrete floor of the warehouse, watching the people who were attacking him implode, one by one. “And then, with the last one, something happened,” Spinner says. “The whole world – I don’t know how to describe it. It did something. Usually people aren’t conscious when their ghosts embody themselves permanently, but I was. I saw it happen. I knew before she did.”
You wish Spinner could describe it better. It’s not like you’re ever going to see for yourself. “It was scary for everybody,” Spinner says. “Me and her. There we are in that stupid warehouse and there are dead people everywhere and we can leave, finally – except I’m so beat I can’t tell which end is up. It was three whole days before we got anywhere it was safe to talk about stuff.”
“Was there a lot to talk about?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Spinner says, shaking his head. “All the human stuff? Even when they embody themselves, they never embody themselves long enough to get a feel for what it’s really like. And there’s no way for them to experience all the human stuff ahead of time. Like eating, sleeping, taking a piss –”
You imagine the look on Tomura’s face if he permanently embodied himself and then found out about having to pee, and then you’re struggling not to laugh. “That’s bad enough,” Spinner says. “But then there’s the thing where she’s, like – a whole human. A whole human who didn’t exist before. There was paperwork. It sucked.”
You hadn’t thought about that. “How does that even work?”
“Honestly? That’s how we met Hizashi,” Spinner says. You blink. “He spent so long blending into the human world before he embodied himself full-time that he had to learn to forge documents to do stuff, and he’s creepy good at it. He gets you the basic stuff – birth certificate, ID – and then he builds a whole paper trail. Somebody who looks at Magne’s documents is never going to know she didn’t exist five years ago.”
“So that’s how you found this place, too,” you realize. That means Hizashi and Aizawa were here before Spinner and Magne, but when did the rest of them move in? “Who was here first?”
Spinner gives you an odd look. “Your ghost,” he says. “Tomura.”
“He’s not mine,” you say, almost on reflex. “He’d be mad if he heard you say that.”
Spinner basically straight up ignores you. “I gotta say, it was weird to hear you name-drop him that first time. We’ve all always known he’s there, but we know so little about him that he’s basically got legend status – and to you he’s just Tomura. And that’s it.”
“What else was he supposed to be? I didn’t know anything about any of this until I moved here.” You feel hurt, even though you shouldn’t. Spinner’s not saying any of the things your brain is telling you he’s saying – not that you shouldn’t be here, not that you don’t deserve to be in the same house as Tomura, not that you don’t understand. “I’m glad he does what he does for everybody in the neighborhood. I don’t think it’s conscious –”
“Oh, we know that. He doesn’t give a shit,” Spinner says, and laughs. “Maybe that’s why it’s weird. Because he clearly gives a shit about you.”
You knew that. Hearing somebody else say it, somebody like Spinner who doesn’t have a weird relationship with their ghost, makes you all kinds of uncomfortable. “Like, he got on the phone for you. Live ghosts hate technology. They hate anything they can’t haunt. For a ghost like him to get on the phone, he must care a lot.”
You laugh, wondering if it sounds as uncomfortable as you feel. “I still have to apologize to Aizawa for that phone call. Tomura was kind of a dick.”
“They’re all kind of dicks,” Spinner says, and your laughter feels a little less uncomfortable this time. “They can’t really help it when they don’t understand. The embodied ones learn eventually.”
You’re not so sure about that. Dabi’s still very much of a dick. Magne was a dick when she was sick, but so was everybody who got the ghost flu, you included. Hizashi’s a dick on purpose sometimes, but most of the time he isn’t. He can’t be. Aizawa wouldn’t have stayed with him otherwise.
Out of all the ghost families in the neighborhood, you’ve spent the most time observing Aizawa’s. You don’t know why, when you’ve got Keigo and Dabi right across the street, but your eyes are consistently drawn to the house where Aizawa and Hizashi and their kids live. At first it might have been because you needed to confirm your conclusion. You needed to know whether Aizawa married Hizashi because he wanted to or because he had to. And you’ve watched them long enough that you’re sure: Aizawa loves Hizashi, in the same weird way Hizashi loves him.
It’s not like you can’t see why, even if you’re legitimately spooked by Hizashi. There’s nobody more committed to a relationship than an embodied ghost. Hizashi likes to make sweeping statements about all the things he’d do if Aizawa asked him to – like fighting God, or bringing him a piece of the sun, or breaking into the cat shelter and stealing all the cats – but what he actually does is quieter. Aizawa’s relaxed when Hizashi’s around. He doesn’t look so tired. He smiles more. Hizashi makes him comfortable. Hizashi makes him happy.
There’s a line in one of the few ghost books Aizawa didn’t write that’s been playing in your head lately: Ghosts haunt the space they’re given. That’s how they haunt houses. Maybe that’s how they haunt people, too.
“Thanks,” Spinner says, and you glance at him. Somehow you’re parked in front of his house already, when you barely remember driving home. “For the ride. And for not being weird about things.”
“Any time,” you say, and you mean it. You watch as Spinner makes his way up the front steps and opens the door, only to find Magne waiting there already. She hugs him so hard she lifts him off his feet.
You drive the rest of the way back to your house, lost in thought, and greet Phantom on autopilot before you start unpacking the groceries. You know Tomura’s around somewhere, and sure enough, there’s a puff of cold air against the back of your neck – the air chilling and then displacing in response to his presence. “Spinner,” he says without preamble. “Do you like him?”
For once you don’t play dumb. “He’s a nice guy. Kind of young for me.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-six,” you say. “How old are you?”
“A hundred and ten,” Tomura says, and your jaw drops. “I think. It was hard to count in here before. It never felt like anything changed.”
“It probably didn’t.” The first time you stepped into the house, you felt almost like time had stopped. “Me and Phantom change. I bet that helps.”
“Whatever,” Tomura says. At his heart, Tomura’s still an asshole most of the time. When he speaks up again, his voice sounds different. “When you say change, you mean age. Don’t you?”
You nod. There’s an edge to Tomura’s voice now. “How long do you live?”
You don’t like thinking about how long Phantom will live. Your vocal cords feel pinched and tight when you speak. “Phantom’s breed of dog can live to be thirteen or fourteen if you take good care of them. I take good care of her, and she’s only two. That’s – eleven more years.”
“That’s not long enough,” Tomura says. He’s telling you. Your eyes well up. “What about you?”
“If I’m lucky?” It’s easier to think about this for you than for Phantom. “I might make it to ninety. If nothing goes wrong.”
“That’s not long enough, either,” Tomura snaps. “What do you mean, if nothing goes wrong?”
If you’re not allowed to play dumb, Tomura isn’t, either. “You’ve watched medical dramas with me. Car accidents. Heart attacks. Alzheimer’s – the one where you forget everything. Cancer. All those things can happen to humans at any time. And they do, every day.”
“No,” Tomura says.
“It’s mortality. You can’t just say ‘no’ and opt out.”
“No,” Tomura says again. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to leave me.”
Your stomach twists. “I’m sixty-four years away from being ninety. That’s a long time.”
“It’s not long enough!” There’s a light thud from behind you, the sound of Tomura’s feet hitting the floor as he materializes. A pair of ice-cold arms wrap around your waist, gripping you tightly and yanking you backwards against an equally cold chest. He’s breathing hard, even though he doesn’t have to breathe. His heart is beating harder, even though there’s no reason for him to have one. If not for the chill spreading over you, you couldn’t tell a difference between him and someone human.
His voice, when he speaks, is full of menace. “It can try to take you. I won’t let it.”
“There’s not a grim reaper,” you say. At least, you think there isn’t. But the world has ghosts in it. Maybe it’s got a personification of death, too. “There’s nothing for you to fight. This is just how things are.”
“No, it isn’t. You and Phantom are mine.” Phantom comes running at the sound of her name and drops her ball at your feet. You kick it away and she runs off in pursuit. “The others are stupid. They did it wrong. I know better.”
Your teeth are starting to chatter. “What do you mean?”
“They embodied themselves so they could follow their humans,” Tomura says. “Wherever they go. Even after they’re dead. I’m going to make you follow me.”
You want to tell him to quit talking like a lunatic. Remind him that ghosts and humans are two different species, that ghosts can become human but not the other way around. Tell him that this isn’t a fairytale, that the rules won’t bend just because he wants them to, that you’re going to die one day and there’s nothing he can do about it. “Don’t be so sentimental,” you say, like an idiot. Like an asshole. “What kind of ghost are you?”
The last time you said something like that to Tomura, he vanished, haunted your house all night, and then got so turned on from touching your hand that he flooded the entire neighborhood with horniness. This time he doesn’t vanish, but he doesn’t answer, either. He stays exactly where he is, arms lashed tightly around your waist, cheek resting against your hair, and the cold seeps into your bones.
“Is that really why they did it?” you ask after a while. Tomura makes some kind of noise that’s muffled by your hair. “The others.”
“Why do you care?” Tomura’s quiet for a second. “I get it. That human thing where you have to understand stuff so it won’t scare you.”
“I guess.”
“Then ask somebody else,” Tomura says, almost derisive. “I’d never do something that stupid.”
“Yeah,” you say. Your heart sinks, and you compartmentalize like you haven’t done since the first few months after you moved in. It’s almost been a year. A year ago you’d never have imagined this, and you wish you’d stayed that way. Don’t you? “I know.”
More Posts from Flamme-shigaraki-spithoe and Others
I'm so happy !
I looove cult of the lamb like, its one of my hyperfixation (the main at the moment even if Tomura is still my fav) and by posting on it i found other blog of fan of the game and all ! That's so cool ! 'Cause like i feel like the game is sooo underated !
Taking Care, Taking What's Mine - A "Play Nice" Commission
Summary: A Play Nice AU Chapter, in which, rather than taking the high road and trying to build a real relationship with the girl he's been sextorting for weeks, Tomura Shigaraki baby-traps her instead.
CW: Quirkless!AU, Dub-Con, Smut, Extortion, Baby-Trapping, Forced Pregnancy, Love-Bombing, Manipulation, Power Play, Possessive Shigaraki, Yandere Shigaraki, Morning Sickness, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
AO3 Link
A/N: Happy fucking Father's Day readers!! Lmao! I got this AMAZING commission a while ago to write an AU of my AU (a fanfic writer's dream come true honestly), of Shigaraki baby-trapping MC and well, while it took longer then I meant it to to come out, I'm so glad that I could post it on Father' Day of all days lmao.
Anyway though, this was so much fun to write. Shigaraki has been on the journey of bettering himself for so long in Play Nice now, it was a total blast returning to form and writing him nice and scummy again.
I'd love to do more of these honestly, so as a reminder: I give discounts on Commissions that take place in my AU's.
Play Nice, Burnt Bridges, Step by Step -- all of them. They're super fun for me to write and most of the heavy-lifting of ideating and plotting has already been done for them, so I'm happy to write fics like this for cheaper. :)
Anyway, enjoy some forced parentification on this day of dads. xD
“Hey, hey— are you alright?”
She lifted her head from where she’d been resting it against her gym locker, the coolness of the metal being the first thing to even remotely ease the headache she’d been fighting for the last three days.
“Yeah, of course,” she tried to force a weak smile as Nejire approached her, clearly concerned, “Why do you ask?
The captain was dressed in her practice suit. And she quickly realized that so were all the other girls, most of them already making their way out the doors to the pool deck. She was the lone straggler who hadn’t even managed to undo her uniform tie yet. Nejire looked over at these girls, and then back to her, wordlessly demonstrating why that should be obvious.
She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head, “Okay, I guess I’m feeling a bit under the weather today…”
And that was the understatement of the century. She felt like absolute shit . Piling on top of that stubborn pounding in her head were a pair of really sore tits, a lethargy that stuck with her no matter how much vending machine coffee she chugged, and cramps that had shot straight out of hell and directly into her uterus.
But to be honest, she couldn’t complain too much about these ailments. In fact, she was pretty damn relieved. These were all her tell-tale signs of PMS. They were a little worse than usual this time around sure, but if that was the tradeoff for the relief of not being pregnant, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Her period was only one day late at this point and it had all but paralyzed her with fear.
Of course in retrospect, the fear did seem a bit silly. After all, Shigaraki’s creepy family doctor had warned her there might be some changes.
“I never start patients new to birth control immediately on a Long Acting Reversible Contraception,” he explained, “Especially not teenagers.”
“Why not?” she demanded, “It’s reversible, right? It’s not like you’re tying my tubes or anything.”
“No, but you never know how your body is going to react to the hormonal shift. You could develop acne, weight gain, hair growth—”
“I don’t care about that superficial stuff.”
“... Migraines, blood clots, depression,” he continued, looking at her pointedly.
She looked away, feeling a bit stupid for interrupting him now that he’d listed the more serious side-effects.
“I’m not saying you have to stay on the pill forever. But give it a few months, see how you feel on it. It can help us better determine which long-term birth control is best for your body without any unnecessarily invasive procedures.”
She shuddered at the very thought of being stuck in this set-up with Shigaraki for months. She hoped he’d get bored of her sooner rather than later.
Well, on the brightside, at least this sketchy-ass doctor seemed to be as interested in looking under her skirt as she was having him down there. However, this still left the ever so pertinent issue of:
“Okay, but there’s still the issue of getting the pills. No pharmacy is going to give me these without signed parental consent.” She had the always convenient Japanese purity culture to thank for that.
Ujiko simply smiled and pulled out a wheel of birth control pills from his medical bag right then and there.
“Consider these the same as this appointment,” he said, cupping his hands over hers and placing the wheel firmly into her palm, “ Off the record. ”
And then the rest of the “appointment” had descended into one of extremely thinly-veiled intimidation that bizarrely enough, she’d relied on Shigaraki of all people to save her from. By that point, she’d been scared so shitless she had very little argument left in her to try and reason him into just giving her the damn IUD.
The regret of not standing her ground on the issue did hit her later that night on the train home. Particularly when she thought over the fact that the way they were keeping these pills off the record was by having her pick up her refills through Shigaraki. The idea of giving him even more power over her like that made her feel sick to her stomach. And yes, while logically she knew that he had just as much motivation to keep her from getting pregnant as she did (she had a feeling All for One would not take too kindly to his star successor knocking up a lowly commoner such as herself), she still just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.
So she’d resolved herself on her first refill day to completely lay into Shigaraki for any level of tomfoolery he may get up to in this situation. There would be no forgetting, no being too busy to pick up the pills for her, absolutely nothing. She was ready to rain full fire and brimstone on him if there was even a hint of bullshit.
But to her surprise (and relief), she hadn’t even crossed the threshold of his bedroom before he was tossing a new pack to replace her wheel with. Simple and nonchalant, and then he was just as quick as always to badger her about getting her clothes off already, get on the bed already, break up with your boyfriend already.
It was the same old, same old — for better or for worse. Even if she couldn’t trust Tomura Shigaraki himself, that action had at least ensured that she could trust his own desire for self-preservation.
And that was better than nothing she supposed.
Back in the locker room, Nejire asked her, “Do you think you’re coming down with something?”
She smiled at her friend, joking, “Nothing I don’t come down with every month.”
Nejire tilted her head in confusion for a moment before the lightbulb visibly lit up in her head.
“Ohhhhh,” Nejire nodded sympathetically, “Yeah, Aunt Flow can be a real meanie sometimes, huh?”
She laughed, then winced as the action worsened the throbbing in her head, “Damn it— you can say that again.”
Nejire’s brows furrowed and she brought a hand to the small of her friend’s back, “Hey, why don’t you take this afternoon off?”
She looked back to her, surprised, “Oh no, I couldn’t…”
“Sure you could!” Nejire chirped, “And honestly, you probably should. We’re working on our weakest strokes today. I had you down to work on your fly.”
Visible dread filled her as she thought about doing that much undulation in her current state.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Nejire laughed, “Seriously, go home. We’ll miss you, but we love you too. So we want you to take care of yourself.”
She debated a little more internally, one other loose thread dropping into her mind’s eye.
“If I do… Do you mind—”
“I’ll let Mirio know,” she shot her a wink as she clarified, “ After practice. I’ll let him know you just need the peace and quiet.”
She smiled at Nejire, genuinely grateful. This. This right here was what made all of the bending over backwards she did to fit in and please others worth it. To be cared about by such a good person.
The warmth of that care stayed with her all the way out to the school gates, where she was then immediately filled with dread upon realizing that she’d need to go in one of two directions depending on where she was going after school: the train station home, or the walk to Shigaraki’s.
And just which direction she was scheduled to go today.
She let out a long groan, anguished and loud enough to startle a couple members of the going home club that passed her. For once though, she didn’t care about her reputation, she was too focussed on what a goddamn nightmare she was falling into.
She pulled out her cellphone with a sigh. Yes she knew the effort was probably futile, but damn her if she didn’t at least try.
Yup. She could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. She sighed as she shoved her phone back into her bag and started the very slow trek over to Shigaraki’s.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Shigaraki said as he looked her over his doorway, “You look like shit.”
She shot him a wholly unimpressed look as she shoved past him into his bedroom.
“Yeah, I fucking told you.”
Shigaraki, surprisingly, didn't have anything to say about her tone, even with her brusqueness towards him being more than usual. He just watched her drop down face first onto his bed and curl her legs up into her chest.
She sighed at the slight relief the position gave her. While dealing with Shigaraki’s antics was about the last thing she wanted right now, she supposed that at least she could be grateful for how much closer his apartment was to her school then her own home was. It saved her a good fifty-minutes of white-knuckling a train stanchion to keep down her groans of pain. Now at least she could get the relief of laying down much sooner.
If only for a little bit.
“What’s going on?”
She bristled at Shigaraki’s voice, the unwelcome reminder that she wasn’t going to be able to truly relax right now. And while there didn’t seem to be any entendre or even impatience in his question, the fact that his voice was getting closer to her was enough to make her suspicious.
“My head aches, my back aches, my boobs ache — everything aches,” she grumbled down into his sheets, “And I feel like I’ve been donkey-kicked straight in the uterus.”
“You start your period or something?”
He didn’t sound sarcastic when he asked it, not that typical boy way of asking any time a girl did something they considered “moody”. It was a genuine question. But it irritated her all the same.
Everything seemed to be irritating her these days.
“About to,” she answered, “It’s like a day late, but it’s definitely coming.”
She felt the bed shift a bit as he sat next to her.
“Are you nauseous at all?”
Her brows furrowed, a bit confused by the interest.
“I guess a little,” she answered, because even though it was mild, there was a certain turn in her stomach that wasn’t unlike motion sickness, “But honestly, I think it’s just from the pain. This has been going on for like three days.”
“Have you taken anything for it?”
She could’ve laughed if she wasn’t so annoyed by the reminder of all her futile attempts to alleviate this. Because of course he was looking for a quick fix so they could fuck already.
“I’ve taken everything for it,” she groaned, “Nothing’s working.”
He just hummed in response, and then she could feel the sheets behind her dip a bit as he repositioned himself. Into what orientation, she wasn’t sure. She was about to turn her head back and ask him what he was doing when she felt his hand featherlight across her hip.
And between her legs.
“No, Shigaraki please,” she whined, pulling he knees closer into her chest, “I’m not kidding, I’m seriously in a lot of pain—”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Tell that to your hand then,” she snapped as his fingers tried to wiggle their way between her clenched thighs.
“I mean I’m not doing anything for me. This is for you.”
“Oh is it now,” she deadpanned.
“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he insisted, more irritably this time, “Orgasms help with cramps, right?”
She stilled, sufficiently stumped by that particular statement. Because yes, she could say from experience that they absolutely did. She’d spent many a nasty period with her fingers latched to clit to chase that particular path of relief.
…but why the hell did Shigaraki know that?
She gasped as she suddenly felt the gentle roll of her clit under three fingers. Apparently, in her moments of distracted deliberation, Shigaraki managed to push his hand past the plush lock of her thighs and under the hem of her panties.
“Sh-Shigaraki…” she whined, pushing her elbow blindly and weakly back towards him.
He caught it gently in his free palm and, rather than trying to pin or strain it in whatever which way he desired, like usual, he just held it there. Didn’t even hold it in place really, just shielded himself against its determined path towards his ribs.
“I’m serious,” he said, uncharacteristically soft, “I’m trying to help you.”
She finally mustered up the strength to — despite how much her aching abdomen hated her for it — turn and glower at Shigaraki.
“No funny business?” she pressed.
He settled his own flat expression on her, “When have I ever been funny?”
More times than she’d like to admit honestly, but she got what he was saying here. He was a pretty serious, straightforward person on principle. He didn’t bullshit, he didn’t pull cheap tricks, and, shockingly enough, he didn’t typically lie. Frustrating as it was, Tomura Shigaraki was pretty much always unapologetically himself and he always did what he wanted.
So if he said that he was doing this to help her, then she supposed that she didn't actually have a lot of reason to distrust him.
Plus, his fingers hadn’t stopped their soft, but affective ministrations between her legs, and the pleasant sparks of heated relief they were sending through her were undeniable.
She turned back onto her side with a sigh that was half-exasperation, half pleasure.
“Fine,” she said, throwing back quickly before he got too victorious, “But fuck around and I’ll kick you.”
Shigaraki just chuckled, a soft throaty sound that shouldn’t have sent the chills up her spine that it did, “Yeah, yeah…”
In one motion, careful not to jostle her too much, Shigaraki both pulled her back and scooched himself closer, until her back was nestled snug against his surprisingly firm chest and her head laid in the crux of his bicep.
With this new closeness he was able to be a bit more deliberate with the angle and pressure he used to rub at her swollen sex. And, while she hated to admit it, the increased blood flow between her legs was causing the pressure within her to build quite a bit faster than usual. Enough so that it had her letting go of the tension in her neck and joints — the automatic stress reaction she had to any of Shigaraki’s displays of intimacy — and letting the weight of her head drop fully into his embrace.
A shuddering sigh left Shigaraki at that clear relinquishing of control, of the way she truly let herself lay back and relax into him. It gave him the encouragement he needed to enjoy her to the fullest extent that he wanted her as well, burying his nose deep into her hair.
He started to stroke wider circles around her, the flats of his fingers never leaving her clit, but now allowing the tips to dip softly into her entrance. He didn’t push them in at all past his first knuckles, just enough to catch some of that growing wetness and spread it all across her fluttering lips.
“A-Ah—” she gasped out, “Sh-shit…”
“Like that?” he rasped, hot against her ear.
She bit her lip, nodding needily, “Mm— Mm-hmm…”
He groaned at the response, doubling down on that motion as he started to stud long, hot kisses down the back of her jaw and neck. The feeling, so gentle and intimate and good in combination to the way he worked her sex, had her unconsciously rocking her hips into his touch, and back into his own.
Vaguely through the haze, she could feel the familiar outline of his stiff cock against the cleft of her ass, but shockingly he didn’t try to grind it against her for relief. If anything actually, when her own hips moved unconsciously back against it, he actually shifted his own hips away, anglind them down so his erection pushed into the bed instead. As if he didn’t want her to feel it, that he was concerned about her feeling pressured by its presence.
She didn’t have the chance to think too much into that though, not when his fingers were coaxing her closer to the edge by the second. The mess between her legs was obscene at this point, through teary eyes she could see the overflow of it spreading wide across her thighs and pooling down in the sheets.
“God look at you, so fucking wet,” he groaned, lips having made it down to her shoulder and staying there so that he could have a better view of her writhing under his touch, “You needed this, huh? Fucking needed me…”
She buried her face into his arm to muffle her moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but also not wanting him to stop.
By some act of God, Shigaraki didn’t push for that answer either. She wasn’t sure why he’d abandoned his typical demands and taunts, didn’t threaten to stop until she gave him the verbal submission and begrudging praise he always wanted. Nor did she stop to think about why, she just let the gratitude course through her, spurred further and wider by the waves of heat rushing through her body, threatening — promising — to overflow.
Shigaraki could feel that axiomatic tension in her body, the boiling point it promised, and sped up his hand to stoke the flames.
“You’re close aren’t you? Oh yeah, you’re close…” his kisses turned to nips at her neck between progressively more demanding growls, “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”
Fuck, hearing those last words spill from his mouth should not have done what it was doing to her. But it was speeding up her peak, and it was speeding it up audibly.
“Yeah, yeah that’s good, really good. Let it go. Go ahead, be a good girl and let it go.”
She cried out, her arching back forcing her face forward and mouth unmuffled as finally, finally her body went blissfully loose, the pain of the past few days overtaken by waves of heat and pleasure. One after the other, her hormone-driven sensitivity wrung out multiple orgasms, and his frantic fingers were happy to work her through each one until she was begging him to stop.
“Good girl, yeah, yeah, just like that. That’s a good girl,” he continued to praise, returning time and again to that phrase he could feel her getting unconsciously excited over, “That’s my good girl…”
It was just a few blurry moments of consciousness after that. She was pretty sure she whined something like “too much” to him at some point, and he whispered back something that she was sure was just utterly debauched right back. Or maybe it was sweet nothings, he had really favored those by the end of this escapade after all.
Whatever it all was, she supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered in those seconds of labored breaths and fluttering lashes was the beautiful bliss and relief that finally overtook her body. That allowed her to immediately fall asleep in his arms.
Shigaraki held her there for a long time after. He raked his eyes greedily across her body, letting himself carve every detail deep into his memory. He knew he didn’t need to, not anymore. Her boyfriend, her parents, hell, whether or not she got into Todai with him, it was all a non-issue now. There was no reason for him to lose this anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere in life without him. He was going to be able to revel in this sight for the rest of his life now. And he just couldn’t believe how lucky he was for that.
He chuckled a bit at that. Well, maybe lucky wasn’t the right word. This was all by design after all, weeks of very deliberate planning and deception. It was just like he’d always been taught. It didn’t matter what hand you’ve been dealt — and Tomura Shigaraki had certainly been dealt a shit hand in a lot of ways — a real winner made his own luck.
Sensei would be mad, Shigaraki knew that much. Everyone would be mad in fact, but he didn’t care. He was just following the fundamental lesson Sensei himself had instilled in him the day they met.
Take whatever you want, and fuck all the rest.
Several minutes into hearing those sweet deep breaths of unconsciousness from the beautiful girl in his arms, Shigaraki finally peeled his fingers away from her cunt.
And slid a wide hand up to cradle her tummy.
It was dark when she woke up, not a single one of Shigaraki’s many monitors or television lit the windowless room. That was odd for a couple of reasons, the first of which being that the overhead lighting had definitely been on when she’d dozed off. The second of which was that any time Shigaraki wasn’t preoccupied with helping her study or studying her, he was chronically attached to at least one screen, if not multiple, so it was more than a bit odd for him to have zero on. The reason for the lack of blue light however became quickly apparent as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.
Shigaraki wasn’t here.
She was totally alone in his room, alone and tucked into his bed. Had he gone to the bathroom or something? But then why would all the lights be off? It seemed like he’d probably been gone for a while. Weird…
She threw off the covers and flipped her legs around with much more ease than she’d done anything over the last three days, much to her relief. However long she’d been out, the sleep had clearly done her some good. The pounding in her head and pelvis had finally ceased, perhaps just in time for her to actually start her period. She did feel some dampness between her legs after all. Although…
Her face heated up as she remembered the much more likely cause of that.
Damn it, she thought with a groan, dropping her head into her hands. She couldn’t believe that she actually let him do that to her, for her. He was going to get entirely the wrong idea from it. The idea that she might actually like him and want to spend time with him, that there was some kind of connection between them that extended past the time she was required to spend with him to keep him satisfied. And she absolutely could not deal with that.
Being his little sex toy was one thing. A demoralizing thing, yes, but a manageable one. She’d seen the way Shigaraki treated things he objectified — games and magazines and the like. He got bored of them quickly. And if she was one of those things in his eyes, then eventually he’d get bored with her too and she’d be free.
If he was attached to her though? Had found connection in her and a desire to keep her in his life? She didn’t even want to consider that nightmare scenario.
She made her way out into the hallway, looking up and down from the empty bathroom on one end of the hall to the top of the staircase on the other. She didn’t have to contemplate the lack of presence on this floor for long though, when she heard Shigaraki’s voice echoing up from downstairs, talking emphatically to Kurogiri, she assumed.
She couldn’t hear exactly what he was talking about, but whatever it was, he was being particular about it. “Don’t overcook” and “perfect” were a few of the words she managed to catch, so it was about food, maybe? The accompanying sounds of sizzling pans and clanking cookware would certainly support that. As would the smell that suddenly hit her.
It wasn’t an unpleasant smell by any means. In fact, it was salmon, one of her favorites. But for some reason at that moment, the smell hit her with a particular intensity that made her feel overwhelmed.
And really fucking nauseous.
She just barely made it to the toilet at the end of the hall, not even fully down to her knees by the time she was emptying her stomach into the bowl. It wasn’t just a brief moment of sickness either. The bouts were loud and long, she was sure that it echoed throughout the entire apartment. It left her red-faced, skin covered and hair clumped with sweat, not to mention still gagging long after she had nothing left to gag on.
A hand she barely even noticed came to rest on the small of her back in the midst of it all. It was only in the aftermath, spent and dry-heaving that she could process the fact that it was Shigaraki, kneeling at her side, patiently stroking small circles into her clammy skin and encouraging her softly.
“Let it out. Just let it all out.”
She groaned once she finally seemed to have a solid thirty seconds of dry, steady breath. And Shigaraki used that respite to nudge a glass of water into her hands.
“Here.”
She didn’t argue or agree, just took it from him with shaky hands, tossing half of it just into her mouth to swish around and spit the remaining bitterness from her tongue.
“Drink some of it too.”
She nodded shakily, still too drained and disoriented to be irritated with his telling her what to do, or suspicious of the fact that he was being so nice.
And still, as she took entirely too long to finish the rest of her water with timid little sips, he just knelt on the ground with her, moving the hand on her back to rest on her knee, thumb rubbing circles into the spot where a bruise would undoubtedly form.
Finally, after a long, silent stretch, she managed to croak out, “W-What time is it?”
“Only seven,” he answered, “Kurogiri’s got dinner almost ready downstairs. Seared salmon, brown rice, avocado salad—”
She whined, shaking her head roughly at the very implication of food.
“Don’t like salmon?”
“I-I do… It’s just—” she gagged a little as she remembered that smell that had set this all off in the first place, “Th-The smell right now. It’s too much…”
“Oh yeah…” he nodded understandingly, muttering something to himself that she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded kind of like, “Heightened” and “Read about that…”
Her brows furrowed a bit, frustrated and confused. She was getting the feeling that he was really not telling her something.
“W-What?”
Shigaraki just waved her off, “No, that’s fine, that’s fine. Salmon’s not the only thing he made. There’s sauteed spinach, wakame tofu soup, toasted—”
Jesus Christ, was Kurogiri cooking for an army down there or something?
Well, whoever it was all for, and as delicious as it all sounded in theory, imagining those foods in practice right now was making her feel sick all over again.
“Mm-mm, Mm-mm!” she whined, shaking her head again.
She didn’t want to risk opening her mouth right now, lest she blow chunks all over the front of Shigaraki’s shirt. Although wouldn’t that be a nice little serving of karma for him…
“You need to eat something,” he insisted, more lecturey than she’d ever heard him, but with a strange gentleness to his voice as well, “And you need to drink some more too. You’re totally dehydrated.”
She shook her head more emphatically at that, which only resulted in her falling forward into his chest.
He caught her before she could fall any further, scolding her not too harshly, in fact, a bit whimsically, “Is this how you’re gonna be the whole time?”
She pulled her head back to look at him, a confused furrow in her brows that brought the corners of his lips up.
“It’s not a bad look on you to be honest. All weak and petulant,” he brought a hand to pinch lightly at her cheek, “It’s kinda cute actually.”
Her eyes narrowed, finally feeling her stomach steady enough in her to be annoyed. He chuckled, just as amused and endeared by this look as the last.
“Well how about okayu?” he offered with a patronizing little lilt, “And maybe some ginger tea?”
He clearly wasn’t going to let this go. And infuriatingly, he was right not to. She definitely was in no shape to go home on this empty stomach.
She sighed.
“Yeah… Yeah okay.”
Going at her own shaking, snailish pace, Shigaraki helped her up onto her legs, pulling her immediately into his side as he led her back towards his bedroom. Normally she’d protest, stick an elbow right into his ribs and storm on ahead of him, but honestly she needed the help right now. So she sucked it up and let him lead her back into his bed.
But that didn’t stop her from eying him suspiciously as he propped his pillows up behind her and tucked her back in under his comforter, the overall way he doted and fretted over her, even stopping to look back at her one more time from the doorway before he returned downstairs to give Kurogiri the new marching orders.
She dropped her head back against the pillows when finally alone, a bad feeling settling heavier and heavier in her stomach. This was beyond weird, the way he was acting. Sure, the guy was overbearing and constantly demanding of her attention, stupidly needy even. But doting? Not only willing but eager to put her needs ahead of his own? Caring deeply about her actual well-being and not just what he wanted to be her well-being? This was all way too out of character for him.
“…You can tell me. If he bothered you, I mean. N-Not just the Doctor either… If um… If anything’s bothering you.”
She sighed at the memory. Alright, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit. He’d shown at least some capability and even interest in her wants and well-being, he wasn’t a complete monster.
But still, all of this? The cooing and the caring and the, erm, servicing even that he’d done? It felt like too much. Like she was missing something really key about it all.
Like something was wrong .
Whether she ended up getting lost in that train of thought for long, or Kurogiri had already had some okayu whipped up downstairs, she wasn’t sure, but she was startled by how quickly it seemed that Shigaraki returned with a breakfast tray in hand. She cocked her head as he set it up over her lap, this was a lot more robust than she was expecting, and, she realized as she examined everything on the tray, a lot more stocked as well.
There was okayu, front and center for her, yes. But also on the tray was another small bowl of soup (looked like the wakame that Shigaraki had mentioned, a thing of plain yogurt (the really fancy kind that came in the glass jars), a glass of orange juice…
And a little dish of four pills.
Painkillers or antiemetics maybe? They looked more like vitamins…
“Go ahead and start with the okayu if you want,” Shigaraki explained as he climbed up into the bed next to her, “But I want you to try and get some of the wakame and yogurt down too…”
As he settled down, his legs flush with her own, he continued to rattle off instructions and explanations for the rest of her tray, sending her mind completely spinning, faster and faster, like a goddamn Gravitron.
And she was ready to get the fuck off.
“...if nothing else though, take the vitamins. You need the folate, calcium, iron, and the omega-3 especially, since you don’t want the salmon—”
“Okay, stop, stop, stop !”
Shigaraki paused, having the audacity to look at her like she was crazy for snapping.
“Jesus—what the hell are you even talking about Shigaraki?!” she demanded, “What’d you say, folate? What? What is all this?”
He cocked his head, clearly playing innocent. Whatever this was, he was clearly enjoying the slow unraveling of it all.
“What’re you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about!” she snapped, “All this attention and doting and food stuff! What the hell is this all about?!”
He just smiled back at her, taking in how pretty she looked, even when mad (especially when mad sometimes), God, to think that this really was his forever now. He wondered if they had a girl, how much she’d look like her. He hoped a lot…
“I just want to make sure you’re getting all the vitamins and nutrients you need…”
He reached over then, spreading his hand flat against her stomach.
“ Both of you .”
She froze.
No.
No, he couldn’t mean—
She tried to speak, tried to ask what the ever-loving- fuck he was talking about, but her mouth had seemed to go dry. She tried several times to open and wet it a bit, but every time she did, it felt like her throat was closing too. It took at least four desperate attempts for her to finally force out one rasped:
“... what? ”
Shigaraki’s grin widened, and he started to rub circles gently across her belly.
“You’re gonna look so cute, all big and round with my kid,” he giggled suddenly as he remembered something, “Oh, and your tits too. I wonder how big they’re gonna get…”
She stared at him, unblinking, unbreathing. Everything but un-fucking-existing.
He couldn’t be serious. He was fucking with her. He had to be fucking with her!
“Th-That’s not funny.”
His grin evened a little, not disappearing outright, but settling away some of its blissful excitement into something more coyly victorious.
“I said it already,” he reminded, “When have I ever been funny?”
She shook her head in disbelief.
“N-No. No, no, no this isn’t— there’s no way—”
“I’ve got the tests ready when you need to pee, but I think it’s pretty clear. These are all the symptoms I read about.”
“No!” she insisted, “N-No, no— this is, it’s my period! It’s just a day late, it’s not—!”
He chuckled, “I know the symptoms can be similar, but come on. When’s the last time you’ve hurled like that thanks to your period? And the sensitivity to smell? You know this is different.”
Crumbling, every argument she could possibly think of was crumbling to dust before she could even get the thought fully formed. And cruel, vicious reality was more than happy to take its place.
“B-But my birth control pills…”
“Fertility pills,” he explained, his splitting-grin returning in full, “I would’ve preferred to get Clomid from the doctor, but it looks like the over the counter stuff and tracking your cycle worked just fine.”
Her stomach dropped. Pieces of memories, peculiar behaviors and nagging thoughts she’d had over the last two months falling into place. How there were stretches of times where he’d cancel their sessions, only to insist they make them up a few specific days in a row. How he wanted to go multiple rounds a lot those days. How he’d stopped wanting blowjobs from her entirely. How he seemed to only want to fuck her from behind or with her knees pressed hard into her chest, positions he could fuck her the deepest in.
And how he’d have her stay still with his cock buried in her after he came.
Back then, she just thought he was being weird and pervy. And in a way she was right.
Horribly fucking right.
Shigaraki shifted his legs away from her so that he could bring his head down to her lap, laying his cheek blissfully against her belly.
“Was so easy,” he hummed against her skin, “Like your body was just waiting for me to knock you up. Waiting for me to make you mine…”
His hands moved across her body, one coiling behind her back so that he could pull her tighter into him, the other lacing his fingers through her own. The fingers on her trembling left hand.
“Both of you, forever,” he growled happily, a predator who had finally and definitively sunk his teeth into his prey, “All mine.”
How is anyone okay with Tomura dying when it was stated that the trauma made him age super rapidly and that's why his body ended up like that.
There are sooooooo many panels of Tomura going through the worst shit imaginable and taking all the damage like it was nothing, 'cause he wanted so badly to survive.
He was solely born as a suggestion of AFO 'cause he needed a new body and a tool for his plans.
His age went white by age five 'cause AFO turned him into a weapon and tested him by massacring his whole family.
He was presented in the story as a young man with deep psychological and physical issues. We saw him destroying his neck with his nails the moment he failed at the USJ.
Tomura was sleep deprived and exhausted to the point of hallucinating while he fought on MVA. That was after he admitted that he couldn't remember most of what happened when he was a kid.
The amount of times he threw up because his trauma was overwhelming????
Tomura got that surgery because he wanted the power to destroy what made it so hard to live for his and his friends and ended up possessed by the man who had ruined his entire life.
That panel of Tomura agonizing in pain on the ground after the Star and Stripe fight, while AFO looked so fresh and patted him like a well-behaved cat makes me so sick.
AFO wanted to use as sacrificial pawns all of Tomura's friends, after Tomura had stated time and time again how much he cared for them and how far he'd go to protect them.
Somehow Tomura got rid of AFO and his body freaking evolved to protect him. His body was taking the form of his dead family and it was moving like a shield and a sword in his favor.
He lived in a freaking time loop where he'd live endlessly the day he killed his family.
Finally AFO got killed and he got "rescued" from his traumas by Deku, only for AFO to come back, reveal that Tomura was never free to start with.
AFO almost erased a screaming Tomura from existence. The only reason Tomura didn't die is because Deku had passed OFA to him and Nana shielded Tomura to protect him.
All that for Tomura to come back just to help Deku defeat AFO is the most unexciting panel ever, say his last words and die decayed.
All his family? Dead. His dog? Dead. His childhood friends? Probably turned into nomus. His found family? Either dead, hurt or missing. The person responsible for raising him, the one who actually fulfilled the parent role? A child soldier 16 years old boy turned into a zombie butler that died by trying to protect him.
The cherry on top is that the heroes would justify trying to help him by focusing on his 5 years old version, instead of acknowledging that the man Tomura Shigaraki became was worth fighting for and worth loving and rescuing. Tomura refused to stop being the leader of the League of Villains for a reason, yet Deku would still call him Tenko and All Migh would dare say that Deku "saved his soul" as if that was worth something.
The hero society is far from being fixed, the story is far from being over, the villains made progress but they are still fighting because there is still so much corruption and ignorance surrounding the most important points of what makes a villain, you know, a villain.
And the one character who deserved the most to have a second chance at life all is dead :(
Tell me how is anyone satisfied with this...
Opposites Attract - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic
Your quirk lets you capture almost anyone with ease, and you can't believe you let Shigaraki Tomura escape. Shigaraki can't believe it, either, and according to the League, there's only one possible explanation -- you let him go because you've fallen in love with him. He decides to find out if it's true. You decide you won't fail to capture him again. You both get a lot more than you bargained for. (cross-posted to Ao3)
Chapter 1
This was supposed to be your day off. It’s all you can think about, which isn’t a good thing, because you’re in the middle of a villain attack and using your quirk at all requires a significant amount of your focus – but it was supposed to be your day off, dammit. You’re supposed to be doing something fun. Going shopping. Getting a haircut, or mani-pedis, and going out for drinks with your friends at a place crawling with photographers. All the stuff young, single, female pro heroes are supposed to do. So what if you hate that stuff, and you were probably going to sleep all day, wake up at 5pm, make dinner, and marathon the Alien franchise until you fell asleep again? You could have gone out.
But instead you’re here, because Eraserhead caught himself another spinal fracture, and when the doctors threatened to tie him to the bed if he tried to leave before they were done fusing it, he called in a favor you owe him and made you supervise his first-year-class from hell on a field trip to the brand-new Kamino Memorial Park. Go to Kamino Park, they said. It’ll be safe, they said. There’s no way in hell the League of Villains will hit the place a second time.
Well, they’re hitting it, and they’re hitting it hard – and it was supposed to be your goddamn day off. You throw out your arm to stop the trio of students you’re shepherding to safety as three knives thud into the grass in front of you, and make yourself a promise: The next time Eraserhead asks you to do anything, you’re telling him to go to hell.
“Hey, um –” One of the students taps your shoulder, and you know without even asking that they’ve forgotten your name again. “We got our provisional licenses. We can fight now.”
“You can, but you won’t. Create a perimeter and protect the civilians,” you order. You’re not sure why the League of Villains is here, but there’s no way you’re feeding a bunch of kids back into the same meat grinder they escaped from a month ago. “Other pros are on their way, and so are the police. In the mean time –”
You flick your fingers, calling up a magnetic field, and the knives lift out of the grass, hovering in midair. “I’ll keep them busy.”
You consider taking the knives and sending them back the way they came, but unless you want to fatally wound Toga, you’ll just be handing her weapons back to her. You curl your hand into a fist, compacting them into useless wads of metal. You’ve already used your quirk to tear up the park, creating uneven, unsteady terrain that’s dangerous for anybody who doesn’t have a way to take the fight airborne. Now it’s time for you to do what you do best. You narrow your focus, sensing out the concentrations of suspended iron that represent the League of Villains, and once you’ve got them, you lock them down.
Most of them, anyway. One proves a little more difficult to grasp than the others, and you get moving, using one hand to pull rebar and wiring out of the ground. You need it to ensnare the three you’ve already captured while you chase the villain who slipped away from you. You secure Toga and Twice, but Dabi burns his way free, and Twice sends a clone after you. Since it’s a clone, you don’t feel bad about yanking every molecule of trace metals out of its body and turning it to sludge.
Dabi’s on his feet, but you’re a bad matchup for Dabi for a lot of reasons. He’s got a ton of extra metal in his body. He throws his hands out towards you, blue flames already flickering. You fix your quirk on the staples holding him together and start pulling them out.
“What the fuck?” Dabi snarls, recoiling. Blood is already beginning to ooze from the holes on his wrists. “If you think you can just take me apart –”
You yank out another two – one from each wrist. “Stand down. You’ll run out of those before I run out of power.”
It’s true. Your quirk is Magnetism, and using it is easy for you. Using it safely is something else, but you can yank out every staple in Dabi’s body without breaking a sweat or destroying any property. Not that you want to do that. “I don’t want to hurt you, so just –”
There’s a shift in metallic concentration just behind you, and you dive to one side, just in time to avoid Shigaraki Tomura’s hand as it tries to close over your shoulder. A Twice clone is after you, too. You take the staples you pulled out of Dabi and fire them through its eye and throat as you roll out of Shigaraki’s reach. The leader of the League of Villains laughs, low and raspy. “Killing somebody? That’s not very heroic.”
You hate it when villains banter, but you’re not letting that one stand. “That’s not the real Twice.”
You’ve got the real one, and now you’ve got Dabi, too – at least for a few seconds. Maintaining a hold on Dabi, Twice, and Toga at once is within your abilities, but doing that and trying to capture Shigaraki at the same time – and maintain the barriers you’ve set up – and stay sharp enough to bounce Shigaraki into midair if he tries to touch the ground and vaporize Kamino Memorial Park out from under your feet – all of that is testing your concentration. When you lose concentration while using your quirk, bad things happen.
Shigaraki reaches for you again. A hero like Eraserhead would retaliate physically, kick or hit back, but you don’t want to be anywhere near Shigaraki’s quirk. You draw back out of reach, taking a step back every time Shigaraki steps forward. “You’re an underground hero,” he says. “Didn’t you learn what we do to underground heroes from what happened to Eraserhead?”
“Yeah. He shook that off, and sent me to take care of his light work.” The longer you can drag this out, the better – you can hear sirens approaching, and you know that Yokohama’s other pros are on their way. “Isn’t this a little high-risk for you? Returning to the scene of the crime so you can – what?”
Shigaraki sneers at you from behind the hand. “What do you think?”
You really couldn’t care less. Someone shouts for you, and your concentration slips for a second too long. You have to decide who to let go of, and between the three you’ve restrained, Toga’s the least dangerous. You let your control over the iron concentration in her blood relax and focus on trying to restrain Shigaraki instead. He’s hard to get ahold of. His body’s iron concentration is less than it should be. You lock him down for a second, but you can’t get a grip, and he slips free, smirking. “I know who you are,” he says. “The Capture Hero – Skynet. Not much of a capture hero, huh? You can’t even hang on to me. Are you sure the villains you’ve bagged didn’t let you get them?”
“No, they just didn’t have anemia,” you snap. Shigaraki blinks. “You don’t have enough iron in your blood for me to manipulate.”
Anemia’s not uncommon, but you’ve never come across a case this severe in someone you’re trying to capture. His iron concentration is so low that you can’t hold him for more than a split second. That level of anemia is crippling, and the words fly awkwardly out of your mouth before you can stop them. “Are you, like – okay?”
“What?”
He’s stopped trying to grab you. You should capitalize on it, pull up more rebar and wire to hold him down, but your mind’s off on its own track. “Do you get headaches?” you ask. “What about dizziness? Do you get tired a lot?”
Shigaraki looks disconcerted. He nods – then shakes his head, snarls, and sinks back into a fighting stance. “Why do you care?”
“What about a rapid heart rate even when you’re not doing anything?” When he’s doing something, like he is right now, it’s got to be even worse. You two have been trading barbs for thirty seconds at most and he’s out of breath. “You need to take care of yourself. This isn’t healthy.”
“Shut up!” Shigaraki lunges for you, and you twist aside. You get a good look at his fingernails as his hand goes by. They’re pale instead of pink. “Why do you care? So you can capture me and keep your precious reputation?”
You’re actually a little insulted. “So you don’t die!”
Shigaraki stares at you. The hand reaching out for you drops, and you close the distance between the two of you to shove him hard, knocking him backwards. Once he hits the concrete, you’ll figure something else out. You can hold him until someone else gets here.
But someone else is here, and they’re not here to help you. Shigaraki tumbles directly into a warp gate, staring at you like you’ve lost your mind the entire way.
Damn it. You can’t grasp the warp villain – wherever his real body is, it’s a long way from here, and you’re at risk of losing Dabi and Twice now, too. You tighten your grip on them, but even as you do, you see another portal opening out of the corner of your eye. This one is in midair, threatening to swallow a group of civilians who decided that hiding behind the All Might statue was a better choice than evacuating like the students ordered them to. “The civilians, or my associates,” the warp villain rumbles, from everywhere and nowhere. “Your choice.”
It's not a choice. You release your grip on Dabi and Twice, both the iron in their blood and the metal and wire holding them down, and warp gates devour them both. The warp gate above the civilians shuts, decapitating the All Might statue in the bargain, and as quickly as everything began, it grinds to a halt.
“Skynet!” someone snaps from behind you, and you freeze. “You let them go?”
Miruko is Number Six on the charts, and she outranks you by a lot, but you still bristle at her tone. “The civilians –”
“If you’re not stopping villains, you’re not doing your job.” She looks pissed. You have a feeling that she’s only holding off on kicking you because it’ll look bad in front of everybody. “If you’d held onto them a second longer, I’d have been here, and –”
“We could have helped!” That’s one of Eraserhead’s students – the one with the spiky red hair. “If you’d let us help –”
“You’re just kids. Do you have any idea what Eraser would do to me if I had –” You trail off when you realize that whatever it is, Eraser’s going to do it to you anyway for even letting the kids near the League of Villains. “I was the senior hero at the scene. It was my call. If you did what I told you – which you did – you did the right thing.”
“You did the right thing,” Miruko says to the student. The police are here. The cars skid to a stop, and you feel the iron concentration in what’s left of the park shift. There’s a helicopter in the air, too. More people, more cameras. Miruko is glaring at you. “You’re the one who screwed up.”
Yeah, you did. You stare dispiritedly at the headless statue of All Might as Eraser’s class regroups around you, as somebody starts questioning Miruko – the new senior hero at the scene – about what went wrong here. A few thoughts spin through your head, mainly of the hell you’re about to catch from the press, the heroic establishment, and the HPSC. Shigaraki Tomura’s case of life-endangering anemia makes it in there, and so does a hit of frustration at the fact that you’re in trouble for choosing to save a bunch of civilians from getting bisected by a warp gate. But the main thing that’s on your mind is the same thing that’s been there since the first spurt of blue flames erupted over the park: This was supposed to be your day off.
“Well, that blew,” Dabi says as he picks himself up off the floor of the League’s new hideout. “Whose idea was this, again?”
He’s glaring at Shigaraki. Shigaraki glares back. “I didn’t hear you say we shouldn’t do it.”
“I said we shouldn’t,” Twice pipes up. He’s still got a piece of rebar wrapped around his ankle. “No, it was a great idea!”
It seemed like a great idea when Shigaraki thought of it last night – go to Kamino Park, rattle the heroes’ cages, show everybody that the League of Villains isn’t scared of anything and isn’t even close to down for the count without Sensei to guide them. Then again, Shigaraki was three cans deep into a twelve-pack Compress had lifted last night, so his judgment might have been off. Twice is still talking. “I mean, we scared the piss out of those civilians. Those hero brats were running scared, too! And did you see what Kurogiri did to that All Might statue?”
“No,” Shigaraki says. He looks at Kurogiri. “What did you do?”
“Over there.” Kurogiri points, and Shigaraki looks. The head of the All Might statue is sitting on the warehouse floor. “It would have been a shame to leave without a trophy of some kind.”
“It’s on the news,” Magne sings out. She opted out of mission, and now she’s watching it on the League’s TV, lifted last week by Compress, which is hooked up to their generator, which was also lifted by Compress. “And it’s not looking too good for the heroes. That little one’s in big trouble.”
“Good. She’s a bitch,” Dabi mutters. His hands are bleeding. “What was that quirk, anyway?”
“Magnetism,” Shigaraki says. He feels weird. Maybe it’s the quirk. “She can manipulate magnetic fields. Any metal, on any of us –”
“I didn’t have any!” Twice protests.
“Then she used the iron content in your blood,” Shigaraki says. You told him how you were restraining the others. Amateur mistake. Or it would be, if there was any way to not have iron in his blood – but that’s a problem, too. “She couldn’t grab me. She said I didn’t have enough.”
“Is that so?” Kurogiri studies Shigaraki. “Did she say anything else?”
“Anemic.” It’s a weird word. Shigaraki scratches his neck. “She was weird about it. She wanted to know if I get headaches, or dizzy – or tired –”
The answer’s yes, which is why it was weird. It was weird that you knew. But the weirdest thing is what you said at the end. “She asked me if I was okay, and when I asked her why she gave a shit –”
“She answered you?” Magne mutes the TV, looking surprised. “What did she say?”
“What did I miss?” Toga skids into the warehouse before Shigaraki can answer. “I got away, but none of you came with me, so I went to the meeting spot alone. What happened?”
“The hero let us go,” Dabi grunts. “Shigaraki was just telling us about a little chat they had.”
“Ooh, you talked to her?” Toga sits down next to Twice on the ground, peering at Shigaraki. “What did she say?”
“She doesn’t want me to die.” Shigaraki feels his face contort behind Father’s hand as he says it. “Weird.”
“Weird,” Twice agrees. “Since when do heroes play mind games like that?”
It’s quiet for a second. “So she asked if you were okay and she doesn’t want you to die,” Dabi says slowly. “I don’t know, Shigaraki. It sounds kind of like she likes you.”
Shigaraki’s mind goes totally blank. “What?”
“You must have won her over,” Magne chimes in. “All that charisma you’ve got – how was a poor underground hero supposed to resist the leader of the League of Villains?”
You seemed like you were resisting just fine, until you couldn’t grab him. But it’s weird that you weren’t angry. You actually sounded like you were worried. Like you really cared whether Shigaraki has anemia, or whatever the fuck. Like you care if he’s okay. “Don’t be stupid. That’s not –”
“Come on, boss, don’t sell yourself short,” Twice says. “If you can seduce any hero you want, how come you didn’t seduce Miruko?”
“Ooh, Miruko’s so pretty!” Toga grins. “The other one’s okay, too. What was her name again?”
Shigaraki coughs, trying to make his throat feel less weird, but it’s not just his throat. It’s his face, too. “Skynet.”
“You said she was getting in trouble. I bet that’s why,” Dabi says to Magne. “They must have all figured out that she’s in love.”
“Shut up,” Shigaraki says. Nobody listens. He raises his voice. “Shut up! The mission was a success. Why aren’t we talking about that?”
“We are,” Toga says. Her grin’s devolved into a goofy, dazed smile. “You have to teach me how, Tomura-kun. If we make the heroes fall in love with us, it’ll be even easier to win! I want Ochako. No, Tsu. No, Izuku –”
Shigaraki stops listening. He picks himself up off the floor, hating the way his head spins, and makes his way over to Kurogiri. Kurogiri studies him. “Anemic,” he repeats. “The hero listed the symptoms of iron-deficiency anemia. Do you experience any of them?”
Shigaraki doesn’t answer. Kurogiri waits, just like he always waits, and Shigaraki figured out a while ago that the fastest way to make the itching stop is to answer the question. “Some of them,” he says. Kurogiri’s eyes tilt in the way that means he thinks Shigaraki’s full of shit. “Fine. All of them. So what?”
“Did she say anything else?”
Are you okay? “No,” Shigaraki says, pushing away the memory of how fast your expression shifted, how you went from focused on keeping Shigaraki’s comrades trapped and trapping him the exact same way to looking – worried. “That was it. Kurogiri, do you –”
“Yes, Shigaraki Tomura?”
“I mean, they’re just – they’re joking, right?” Shigaraki keeps his voice quiet. If any of the others hear this, he’s going to have to kill them. And maybe also himself, so he won’t have to remember that he thought about this at all. “There’s no way anybody – I mean, a hero – would like me. They’re kidding. Aren’t they?”
He wants Kurogiri to say yes. He wants him to say yes fast, and then to not pick on him for even considering it, and then to forget this ever happened. Instead Kurogiri thinks about it. “It is not impossible that they are correct,” he says. “Her behavior was unusual for a hero in her position. And it is likely that she knows more about you than you do about her. Perhaps she does have a certain – perception of you.”
“Great.”
“It could be,” Kurogiri muses. “She drew your attention to an issue that impacts your health, and therefore your effectiveness as All For One’s successor. And she chose to let you go. If the hero known as Skynet does have a soft spot for you, it has worked undeniably in your favor. It might behoove you to allow her to continue to nurse it.”
“Yeah, no.” Shigaraki shoots that idea down immediately. Any idea that makes him feel that weird is obviously a bad one. “I’m not going to track her down and say I’m not interested, but the next time I run into her, I’m saying it and you can’t stop me. None of you can stop me.”
He raises his voice, making sure everyone hears, and everyone looks up from whatever they’re doing. “Of course we can’t,” Magne says. “But you’re naïve if you think you can stop her. Nothing can stop a hero on a mission.”
“And nothing can stop true love!” Toga smiles at Shigaraki. “I believe in us, Tomura-kun! We can win their hearts together!”
The weird feeling multiplies. Shigaraki scratches hopelessly at the side of his neck and thinks about the remains of last night’s twelve-pack. Getting drunk again isn’t going to help, but it’s hard to imagine it making things worse.
okay so Sun Help Wanted 2 rambles below, so BEWARE SPOLERS!!!
WOAAAAAAAAAWOOOAAAAAWOOOOOOOOOO
okay now that i have that out of my system, let's start with the rambling!!!
obviously we all now know (and love) how sassy and petty Sun actually is around adults. but i've seen sooo many people portraying Sun as just An Asshole and just A Bully and so few have pointed out that actually no!!!! he's a DIVA!!! he's a DRAMA queen!!!! my dudes, he is a former THEATER ACTOR!!!!!! and so so many things, like his mannersim, the way he speaks ("Finally, art that makes you THINK!" , "The Daycare is no place for AMATEURS" , "Be creative on YOUR OWN TIME, WE ARE MAKING ART"), even his entrance (he literally CARTWHEELS into the scene, what a show-off) point to his theatrical origins and how much of a perfectionist he is. He's obviously frustrated whenever you're doing something wrong, throwing offhanded, petty comments at you because he is used to perfection!! for i don't know how long during his theater days he was playing the main character in every play, day after day after day, he's used to things going EXACTLY to plan, and obviously he has expectations from you since you are an adult. (and besides, you gotta give it to him: it must be frustrating and stressful going from working as an actor and being in the spotlight all the time and everything going according to plan to working as a daycare attendant with crying kids who always do mistakes and make a mess and don't draw inside the lines)
and i'm pretty sure that anyone who's more intensly part of any art field (doesn't matter if it's drawing, theater, sculpture, architecture, whatever) has met a few people and crits who behaved and had the same attitude (however less unhinged, ofc) like Sun: not downright bullying you, but being just overall petty and perfectionists.
i just feel that some people downplay Sun's personality by portraying him as just a simple Asshole, when actually the Help Wanted 2 minigame does an EXCELLENT job hinting to his theatrical origins and his really art-passionate, perfectionist, sassy personality
"but he's shredding the player's work!! he IS just a bully!!" my dude, you are playing as an adult who's doing a tutorial/maintenace test and is listed with some tasks. he's obviously not going to keep the "paint-by-numbers" drawing a staff member did for a maintenance test. and he even states that all the artworks done in the Pizzaplex are property of Fazbear Entertainment; so who knows, maybe there is a rule that everything done during maintenance test should be immediately destroyed. (and still, he can also just downright be petty and sassy and snappy towards adults) still a funny gig, lol
anyways i fucking love how much character Sun displays and i fucking love how much of a drama queen and diva he is, can't wait to see the rest of the game!!!
I haven't really been in the posting mood recently but I feel like I'm sleeping on the picture so I'm gonna post it even though I'm unmotivated. I hope you like it, I had a lot of fun coloring it. 🩷🩷🩷
Line art and base color.
Haunting for Beginners - 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, through the eyes of the ghost in question. (cross-posted to Ao3)
Chapter 1
Time means nothing to him. Less than nothing, when nothing changes. When he thinks about it – and he tries not to think very much at all – he knows that the world is in motion outside the walls, past the property line. The weather changes. Night turns to day and back again. Houses are built, occupied, emptied again. Humans live. Humans die. None of it matters to Tomura. All that matters to Tomura is what happens inside his house.
Tomura knows what a house is, what it’s for. A house is somewhere humans live, somewhere humans live and die and do whatever else they do in between. Tomura’s house is supposed to have humans in it, so he can haunt them, but he’s not clear on what haunting is in the first place. What is he supposed to do with humans once he has them? And even if he knew, there’s another problem. Humans come in and out of Tomura’s house often enough, some just to see, some planning to stay. And Tomura hates all of them.
They’re loud. They run. They jam up Tomura’s house with the stupid things they own and they bring even more people in with them and they change things, things they have no right to change or even touch. Tomura might not know how to haunt things, but he knows how to make his wishes known. He knows how to make people leave when he doesn’t want them here. After all this time – some long piece of time, but it doesn’t mean anything – he’s gotten really good at it.
Sometimes Tomura makes a game of it. Some times he doesn’t try as hard as others. If the humans make him angry, he tries harder, but if they don’t do anything specifically that he hates, he just watches them until they leave on their own. That’s how Tomura spends his endless stretches of time, as the world changes outside the property line and the other houses in the neighborhood empty and fill, empty and fill, over and over and over again –
– until one day the front gate creaks open, and you step through.
Tomura knows all about humans. He knows by looking at you that you’re young, but not a kid. Just barely old enough to be here by yourself, younger than anybody else who’s come to look at this place alone. Are you alone? Tomura waits, but the only person who follows you through the gate is the idiot who brings people to Tomura’s house to try to make them buy it. So you are by yourself. That’s – new.
Maybe that’s why Tomura’s paying attention. Because it’s new. He comes closer, shadowing you and the idiot as you walk through the empty lower floor of the house. The idiot is saying all the same things it usually says, about how old the house is and how it’s untouched except for the addition of central heating and cooling. Tomura almost stopped that from happening. Then he decided that he should be the one who gets to choose when a human leaves, not the temperature and whether or not it’s comfortable. So his house has central heating and cooling. Whatever that is.
You seem to care about that a little bit. It makes you nod, but beyond that, you aren’t reacting much. Humans usually react more to the house. They have opinions. Ideas about where they’re going to put things. Plans for what they’re going to change when they move in. What they’re going to ruin, more accurately. Or sometimes they’re comparing Tomura’s house to whatever other houses they’ve visited. So go buy those houses, Tomura always thinks. This is mine.
You haven’t mentioned any other houses. You aren’t saying anything at all, and Tomura can tell the idiot is uncomfortable. Good. Then the idiot opens its mouth and uses one of the words Tomura hates the most. “It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, which is obviously reflected in the price.”
“Is that what the price is reflecting?”
“What else would it be reflecting?” the idiot asks. It’s caught off-guard. Tomura is, too. He knows all the questions humans ask, and he’s never heard anybody ask that. “Like I was saying, if you’re interested in flipping this place, there’s a lot to remodel –”
Remodel. There’s another word Tomura hates. “I thought the price reflected the fact that no one who’s owned this place has owned it for long,” you say. “Do you know why?”
“People have their reasons.” The idiot is eager to get off the subject, but Tomura knows you’ve caught on. There’s a look on your face, like you’re figuring something out. “Let me walk you through the upstairs, and then we’ll take a look at the yard! Are you much of a gardener?”
“I’ve never had the space,” you say. But you like the idea. Tomura can tell.
Tomura cares what people do to the house. What happens to the backyard isn’t his concern. If you came to live here, you could do whatever you wanted to the yard if you left the house alone. You don’t ask a lot of questions. You don’t make a lot of pointless noise. You don’t talk about how much you want to change everything about Tomura’s house, and you haven’t come in dragging more humans after you. Do you have other humans? The idiot asks, and Tomura listens a little too avidly to the answer. “No,” you say. “It’s just me.”
That’s a good answer. There’s no such thing as a good answer from people who want to buy Tomura’s house, but it’s close enough that Tomura doesn’t hate you already.
Usually humans give the idiot a yes or a no before they leave. Even if they don’t, Tomura knows whether they’ll be back or not. But he’s not sure about you. You didn’t say very much, or react very much. Humans are nothing but reaction after reaction, and they’re usually easy to spot, but Tomura wouldn’t have realized that you liked the idea of a garden unless he’d been paying close attention. He’s not used to paying close attention to things. It makes him feel strange.
You only ask the idiot one more question before you leave, and you ask it on the sidewalk, past the property line. “Are there any other offers on this place?”
“No.”
“Good,” you say, and Tomura drifts out of the house for the first time in a long time, coming right up to the fence to get a look at your face. He thinks you like that answer. He’s not sure. “I’ll be in touch.”
And then you leave, with both Tomura and the idiot staring after you as you start your car and drive away. Tomura is staring, just like the idiot is. He retreats back to his house in a hurry, fast enough to stir a breeze that makes the idiot shiver, and sweeps upstairs into his favorite spot. Humans always put their beds here when they move in. Tomura wonders where you would put your bed if you lived here. He wonders if you’ll come back.
You won’t, probably. Most humans never come back, and if they do, Tomura never lets them stay. Tomura settles into his corner of the room, as incorporeal as it’s possible to be, the same way he spends most of his time. Space means everything to Tomura – his spot, his room, his house, his property. His neighborhood, because the other ghosts who live here all know who this place really belongs to, even though he’ll never cross the lines that separate his from theirs. Space matters. Time, not so much. Time is meaningless when he has so much of it, when nothing changes from one moment or minute, hour or day, week or decade or century to the next.
Except something has changed, a little. Even as Tomura tries to sink back into apathy, to let his awareness fade, he finds that he’s watching time, keeping an eye on the change from day to night. Counting the days that pass from the moment you stepped through the gate, wondering how many it will take to prove to himself that you aren’t coming back.
“Papa, the sign’s different!” The neighborhood’s youngest used-to-be-a-ghost stops in front of Tomura’s house, peering into the yard. “It says – p. P-something.”
“Pending,” the oldest used-to-be-a-ghost says. He’s stuck in a mortal form forever now, but his spirit’s older than Tomura’s, and even when Tomura’s shielding his aura, he knows the old ghost can read more from his aura than the rest. “Good spot, Eri. Looks like somebody’s thinking about buying this place.”
Is that what ‘pending’ means? Tomura waits until the other two have gone, then goes to investigate the sign. For sale, the sign usually says, but right now it says Sale pending. Someone wants to buy it. Someone is buying it, and the idiot’s only brought one person to see it in a long time. It’s been seventeen days since you came to see Tomura’s house. Is it you?
When he thinks about you buying the house, moving into the house, Tomura – he doesn’t know how to describe what he’s feeling, except that it makes his essence itch. He’s never felt like that before. He hates it. He doesn’t know how to make it go away. Maybe it’ll go away if you come back.
And you do come back, twenty-two days after the first time you crossed the property line. This time there are other humans with you, not just the idiot – humans in uniforms, carrying equipment. Inspection. That’s farther than most humans who want Tomura’s house get. You’re there, supposedly supervising, but instead you’re on the phone with somebody, at the same time as you’re reading through a packet of papers. Tomura doesn’t like that. You’re in his house. You shouldn’t be paying attention to anything else.
He wraps a strand of his essence around your phone, cutting off the signal, and you lower it from your ear, surprised. You try the call again, and Tomura tightens his grip. He wonders if you’ll get mad. Humans get mad about things like that. But instead of getting angry, you tuck your phone into your pocket and go back to your papers. Tomura reads them over your shoulder and feels some of his anger dissipate. You’re reading about his house, about all the people who owned his house before you came to see it. If you’re reading about the house, it’s fine. It’s better that you pay attention to what you’re reading than the other people who are here. When you leave again, Tomura goes back to counting the days.
There are more inspections than usual. Two different inspectors come to look for leaking poisonous gas, and another one comes looking for black mold, and then a fourth one comes through checking everything else, and you still don’t come back. The rest of the neighborhood has noticed what’s going on, and they’re talking about it. About you. Tomura listens to every word, the itching in his spirit worsening by the hour.
“All those inspections – she’s got cold feet. No way is she buying it.”
“Those inspections cost money. She wouldn’t have them done if she wasn’t serious about it.”
“This place is expensive,” the human who belongs to the youngest ghost says. “She can’t afford it.”
“I afforded it,” the human who belongs to the scar wraith says as he walks past with a pile of mail. “With rent like it is in the city, a mortgage is cheaper.”
Tomura doesn’t know what a mortgage is. He doesn’t know why he’s listening to the other so much, either. He barely pays attention to them, just enough to know when one house empties and fills again, when one of them dies, when a new one’s born. Or embodied. There haven’t been baby humans in the neighborhood in – ever. Humans have bought Tomura’s house before. That’s not new. But Tomura’s never thought about it as much as he’s thinking about it now.
After the inspections end, Tomura’s house is empty for eight more days. Then you come back with the idiot again, walking through the house like you did the first time. Halfway through, you send the idiot outside. And for the first time ever, it’s just you and Tomura inside Tomura’s house.
Tomura’s itching gets a thousand times worse in an instant, setting every scrap of his essence buzzing. It should be awful, but it’s – not. His spirit hums as he shadows you through the house from room to room, stopping when you stop, looking at what you’re looking at. Sometimes Tomura casts his essence wide, letting it expand to fill every inch of the house, but now he draws it inwards, fitting into the space next to you where the idiot would have stood if you hadn’t thrown it out. You threw the idiot out. Tomura knew he liked you.
There’s a thought he’s never had before. You keep walking, but Tomura stops following you, coming to a halt on the stairs as he tries to piece things together. Tomura knows what he dislikes. He knows what he can tolerate. He knows what he can ignore and what he doesn’t want to. Tomura knows what he needs to know about how he feels. He tolerates and ignores and gets irritated and bored and angry and angry and angry, so angry that he has to scatter his essence to the edge of the property line to avoid destroying his house. But he’s never liked something before.
Is that what this itching is? Liking something? Tomura doesn’t think so. The itching is something else. Liking is calmer. Liking isn’t uncomfortable. Tomura goes looking for you again and finds you sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, lost in thought. No phone. No papers. You look calm and comfortable. Tomura studies you and matches your expression to what he’s experiencing. He likes this. You like it, too.
When you get to your feet and head for the door, Tomura’s itching returns. The uncomfortable kind of itching. You’re leaving. He doesn’t like that, and the look on the idiot’s face as you approach it makes the itching even worse. For the first time, Tomura doesn’t listen in on a conversation you’re having. He disappears back to the house, draws as close to the edge of the world-that-is and the world between as he can, hoping it’ll drown everything else out. It drowns out the sound of your voice, but not the sound of a car starting and pulling away. Who just left? Was it you? The itching explodes into something unbearable, and Tomura races back to the front yard. You’re gone. The idiot’s still there. It’s fiddling with the sign.
For sale, it used to say. Next, Sale pending. The idiot attaches something else to it and backs away, its lips curving upwards. It’s happy. Tomura cuts as close to the fence as possible and gets a look at the sign that’s stood just inside the property line more often than not for as long as he’s been here. For sale, it used to say. Now it says Sold.
Tomura likes that. He likes that a lot.
When you move in, you don’t bring much with you. Tomura investigates everything you add to his house and realizes that most of it is old. Not the kind of old people pay money for. Just old enough to have seen better days. No other humans come to help you move. It’s just you, dragging things from a car into the house all day long. Some of it is heavy. You look tired. Most humans have other humans moving in with them, and most humans hire more humans to help them move. Tomura wonders why you don’t.
You don’t have any humans, but when you come back for good, you bring something with you. You get out of your car – which is old, like everything else you have, including Tomura’s house – and walk around to open the passenger-side door. A dog jumps out.
Tomura knows about dogs. He knows humans have them sometimes. But no one with a dog has ever moved into his house. Why didn’t you bring it before? The dog wanders around the yard, sniffing everything, putting things in its mouth and spitting them back out, until it scurries onto the porch and rolls on its back with its feet in the air and its tail wagging. It looks stupid. Tomura wonders if it knows how stupid it looks.
But you must not agree, because you’re smiling as you climb the steps to join it. When you crouch down to rub the dog’s belly, your hand vanishes partway into its thick fur. The fur looks – Tomura has to think hard to come up with a word for it. He knows what texture looks like, even if he’s never touched anything before. It looks – soft.
The dog’s fur is soft, and it looks happy. You look happy, too. You’re talking to the dog in a silly voice, asking it questions it can’t answer, since dogs can’t talk. Humans do things like that all the time, things that don’t make sense, and those things irritate Tomura. Usually. He doesn’t feel irritated right now. He feels something else. Not the itchy feeling that happens sometimes when he thinks about you, the one he doesn’t have a word for. It’s more like the feeling of liking something. Like that, but warmer, somehow. When he watches you and your dog together, he feels – nice.
Still, Tomura was expecting it to be just the two of you in his house. He’s not sure how he feels now that he knows about the dog. So Tomura does what he always does when there’s someone new in the house and they haven’t upset him yet: He watches.
He watches while you and the dog settle in for your first night in his house. You do some unpacking while the dog keeps you company. You let it out in the yard five or six times. You feed the dog and cook for yourself and feed the dog again by throwing little pieces of food to it while you’re making whatever you’re making. You talk to the dog, even though it can’t talk back. It likes the way your voice sounds. Tomura can tell. He still can’t tell how he feels about the dog.
He waits until you’ve gone to bed before he goes to inspect it more closely. It’s downstairs, sleeping in a crate full of pillows and stuffed toys. The crate’s door is open. It could get in and out any time it wants, but it seems to like it in there. Tomura peers at it through the bars on the crate, through the open door, trying to decide what to do about it. After a few minutes in which he comes up with nothing, the dog lifts its head off its pillow and looks at him.
Not at him. It can’t see him. Can it? Tomura shifts to one side, and the dog’s eyes follow him. Its ears are pricked. Tomura shifts to the other side, and once again, the dog tracks his position easily. It can see him. Tomura feels a surge of disquiet at the thought. What if it decides it doesn’t like him? What if it tells you about him, and you decide to leave? Tomura doesn’t want that to happen. He’s surprised by just how much he doesn’t want it.
The dog is still looking at him, eyes bright and alert. It’s wiggling strangely. Tomura studies it from a different angle and sees that its tail is wagging hard enough to shake its entire body. Its tail was wagging when you were petting it, too. It was happy then, because it likes you. Does it like Tomura too?
The question makes Tomura itch. He leaves the dog in its crate and drifts upstairs, heading for your room. The click of nails on the wood floors tells him that the dog is following him, trotting along with its ears up and its tail still wagging. The door to your room is slightly ajar. Tomura drifts through it, stopping just past the threshold, and the dog follows him, not stopping until it’s reached the edge of the bed, hopped up, and curled up at your side.
Tomura’s itching isn’t going away. It’s getting worse. He checks to see if leaving the room will make it better, but leaving makes it worse, too. He drifts forward instead, closer to the bed, then above it, peering down at you from the ceiling. Your bed is too big for you, he decides. Even with you asleep in the middle of it and the dog next to you, there’s still room on either side, enough for – what? Tomura doesn’t know for what, except that the question makes him itch worse than any thought he’s ever had.
The dog is looking up at Tomura. It’s wagging its tail again, and its tail is thumping against your face. You stir slightly, extend one hand from the blanket to rest on the dog’s flank. “Shh,” you mumble, giving it a few gentle pats. “I know. I like it here, too.”
You like it here. Tomura knew that. You wouldn’t have bought it if you didn’t like it. But hearing you say it is something else. The people who’ve bought Tomura’s house before have had plenty to say about it – about what needs to be fixed or upgraded or removed or changed, all the things about it that need to be different in order for it to be good enough for them. Nobody’s ever moved in and said they liked it just how it was. Except you.
He likes hearing you say that. Tomura retreats to the lower floor, so the dog won’t keep looking at him and hitting you in the face with its tail, then sneaks back up to peer through the open door once you’re both asleep. The dog is snoring, and underneath the snoring, Tomura hears your deep, even breathing, split up here and there with small, contented sounds. Tomura hates it when there’s noise in his house. But this is the kind of noise he could get used to.
Time used to mean nothing to Tomura. Now time means a lot of things. You’re home less than he thought you’d be – less than he’d like you to be, although that thought falls squarely in the category of things that make him itch. You’re gone most of the day, five days in a row, then home most of the day for two days in a row, and then the cycle repeats. The dog is here all the time, unless you’re taking it out for walks or letting it outside to run in the yard. When you’re here, Tomura watches you. When you aren’t, he watches the dog.
The dog watches him, too. No matter where Tomura is inside the house, the dog finds him, and it brings things to him. Usually its toys. Sometimes stuff Tomura knows it’s not supposed to have, like things out of your laundry basket. It sets them down in front of him and sits, tail wagging, an expectant look on its furry face. Tomura knows from watching you what he’s supposed to do with the toys. Throw them, so the dog can bring them back, or hold onto one end so the dog can bite down on the other end and yank and shake until it gets bored. Tomura ignores the dog at first, but ignoring it starts to feel weird. Bad. If he could help, he would. Really. He just doesn’t know how.
One day you’re in a bad mood when you leave. Tomura doesn’t know all the reasons why. Your mood seems bigger than the thing you got upset about, which was a big spider crawling across the bathroom mirror while you were brushing your teeth. It’s not the first spider, either. There have been at least eight, and Tomura knows where they’re coming from – a nest in the insulation between the walls, full of dozens more. The spiders are going to keep coming out. You don’t like spiders. If you don’t like spiders and Tomura’s house is full of them, you’re going to leave.
Tomura doesn’t want that. He encircles the nest with a few strands of essence and studies it for an hour, then two, then more. There’s something he should be doing here, some instinct pulling at him until he wraps the strands of essence tighter. Tighter, and tighter again, tightening his grip until the spiders in the nest begin to grow sluggish, then still. They’re turning cold. And somewhere in the smallest corners of his essence, Tomura feels warmth.
Living things are warm. Tomura pulls away from the dry, crumbling nest of dead spiders and back into the bathroom, where the dog is waiting for him with its ball. Tomura reaches for the ball, meaning to wrap it in essence and see what happens, but what happens is something else. His essence takes shape, takes visibility, takes weight and mass, until Tomura finds himself holding the ball in a pair of hands. His hands.
The ball has a dozen properties – prickly, fuzzy, rigid but not, damp but not wet, heavy in his hands but not nearly as heavy as the hands themselves. If Tomura had known he was going to touch something for the first time today, he would have picked something else. He shifts the ball to one hand, freeing up the other, and reaches out to the dog, which is bouncing up on its back feet with excitement. Tomura’s planning to pet the dog’s ears – that’s what you always do – but the dog shifts its head to one side and licks Tomura’s fingers instead. Wet. Slimy. Tomura wouldn’t have picked that for the first thing he touched, either.
He swaps the ball to the hand the dog licked, wipes the other on the carpet, and wonders if he can make more than two hands. He tries it, but two hands are all humans get. Two hands are all he gets. While the dog is sniffing the ball and trying to lick it out of Tomura’s hand, he uses the other hand to pet its ears.
They’re soft, just like he thought they’d be. Soft and warm. The dog’s tail thumps against the floor. It stops licking Tomura’s other hand in favor of nudging it, trying to trick him into throwing the ball. Tomura throws it hard enough to strike against the floor, bounce off the ceiling, and fly out the door into the hallway.
The dog lets out a joyful yelp and chases after it. Tomura stares down at his hands – his hands – and wonders how long he’ll have them for. How he’ll get them back. What else he can do with them.
He practices making hands. You don’t like when there are bugs in the house, so he gets rid of them, and with the energy he strips from their bodies, he makes himself hands. Hands are useful for a lot of things. He and the dog can play now. Never for as long as it wants – Tomura always runs out of life before the dog is tired of playing tug or fetch or rolling over on its belly with its feet in the air – but they can play now. Tomura knows the dog can’t talk, but if it could talk to you about him, he thinks it would have nice things to say.
You have nice things to say, too – about Tomura’s house, to everybody you talk to. But you don’t talk to as many people as the people who bought the house before you did, and you don’t invite as many people over. You don’t invite anybody over. You like your space, just like Tomura likes his space, and he’s already used to your presence and the dog’s in the house. Time matters to him now, so he knows it’s been twenty-three days since you and the dog moved into his house. Nobody else has stayed as long at a stretch. Since you moved in, you’ve slept nowhere else.
And you haven’t brought anybody else in. You don’t like the idea of bringing anybody else in. Tomura can tell by your expression when someone you’re talking to on your phone suggests it. He hasn’t really questioned if he was right to let you stay, but the more he observes you, the more convinced he is that it was a good decision. Tomura’s house has a human in it now. He can finally do what ghosts are supposed to do and haunt it.
But Tomura’s still not sure about the whole haunting thing. You’ve watched a few scary movies, and he’s watched them, too, so he knows that haunted houses are supposed to be terrifying. The humans in them should want to leave, and the ghost should make it as hard for them as possible, and maybe kill them, too. Tomura doesn’t want to kill you. And he doesn’t want you to leave. There has to be a way to haunt you that doesn’t end with you moving out.
He's turning the question over in his head as you and the dog play in the backyard in the early evening, so focused on it that he barely notices the coyote that slips through the fence. That hole in the fence has been there forever. Coyotes come in and out all the time. But there’s never been somebody in the yard when they’ve come in before. It takes Tomura a split second to realize there’s a problem, and that split second is too long. Long enough for the coyote to lunge at the dog and bite down hard one of the dog’s back legs.
The dog lets out a horrible sound, shrill and rattling, and you scream, too. The sounds shatter inside Tomura’s essence, and he hates them – but not the same way he hates everything else. You throw your phone at the coyote, hitting it in the head, and it lets go of the dog, who scrambles back to you. You crouch down to cradle it, stroking its fur and mumbling to it as the coyote comes closer. You’re trying to comfort it. You should be running.
Why aren’t you running? Tomura feels a surge of frustration, mixed in with something sharper, something that pulls his essence into a knot and yanks it tighter. But then he looks at the distance to the back door, which is closed. Then he thinks about how you’d have to carry the dog, which would make it harder to open the door fast. How your back would be to the coyote the whole time, and how it’s probably faster than you are. You stand a better chance if you don’t have your back to it when it attacks you, and that’s why you’re getting to your feet, pushing the dog behind you, facing the coyote and staring it down.
You’re scared. Tomura knows what scared looks like on humans, but that’s not all you are. Your hands are clenched into fists, which means you’re angry, too. Angry that something’s come to the house and hurt your dog. Angry like Tomura is, a new kind of anger, not purposeless but directed towards a single target. This is his house. His house, his yard, his dog, his human. Nothing gets to touch them. Tomura surges forward.
There aren’t insects around, but there’s the grass, and he steals life-force from it, manifesting hands that seize the coyote just as it leaps towards you. It’s the biggest thing he’s ever tried to grasp. It thrashes and snarls, thrumming with life. Tomura could drain it. It’s what his instincts are telling him to do. But it deserves worse than that. It deserves to be scared, just like Tomura’s dog and his human are. Tomura tightens his grip around its throat and wrenches with a fraction of his strength. Even a fraction of his strength is enough to nearly rip its head from its shoulders.
Tomura doesn’t mean to drop the corpse, but he didn’t draw enough life-force from the grass to hold onto his hands for long. The coyote’s body thuds to the ground, and Tomura turns his attention to you and the dog, where it belongs. The two of you have retreated back to the porch, you sprawled back against the back door with the dog in your lap. Your eyes are wide. You look scared.
Tomura feels a twinge of discomfort. He’s never shown himself to a human in the house before, not even a little bit, and right now you look like the people in movies look when something’s haunted them. The people in those movies want to leave their houses when they realize they’re haunted. The first human Tomura’s ever wanted to stay in the house is about to become the next human who leaves.
Then you close your eyes, take a deep breath, open them again. “I don’t know who did that,” you say. You’re looking out at a yard that must look empty to you, but the bulk of Tomura’s essence is in your eyeline, enough that he can convince himself you’re looking at him. “But thank you.”
You get awkwardly to your feet and carry the dog inside, only to come back out a few seconds later to pick up your phone, giving the dead body of the coyote a wide berth. You place a call before the door’s even shut. Tomura can hear you on the phone with the emergency vet, whatever that is, but he can barely focus beyond the strange things that are happening within his essence.
Some part of him is angry, like always, but there are new dimensions to his anger – he’s mad at the coyote for getting in, mad at himself for not doing something about it before the dog got hurt and you got scared. Part of him is relieved that you aren’t packing your things and calling a hotel. And part of him is – is –
Tomura doesn’t know what to call most of the feeling, but it brings the itching along with it, and he knows what to call the itching now. It’s wanting. The itching that makes him feel like crawling out of his essence or curling up so tight inside it that he can’t be found is what it feels like to want something, and unlike the other times he’s felt it since you arrived, Tomura knows what he wants.
The world’s held so little interest to him for so long. He’s been here some piece of time that feels like forever, and he’s lost count of the number of times he wishes he’d been destroyed rather than give up the fight to remain in the world between. He belongs in the world between. Not here.
But now there’s something in this world that the world between could never give to Tomura. You looked at Tomura. You talked to him. All Tomura wants in this world or the next is for you to talk to him again.
Ungrateful
Yandere!Tomura Shigaraki x afab!Reader CW: yandere, kidnapping, heavily implied depression, angsty, nonconsensual sex, pain
NSFW - MDI
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Plush duvet under your back, limbs sprawled over the bed, you continue listlessly staring at the blank ceiling. Ambient music plays in the background, accompanied by Tomura's heavy breaths and barely audible clicks of his controller's buttons. Occasionally, you were graced with frustrated curses or insults. Watching him play had grown tiring long ago, not that the ceiling was any more interesting. In a previous time, you played together, but even video games required more energy and motivation than you possessed now.
A strangled, annoyed groan pulled your gaze instinctively, allowing you to see him carelessly discard his controller before standing up, bones cracking loudly, and turning to you, scowling. Dread settles itself in your stomach as he approaches you. Ironic; he used to make you so happy, but it seemed the more lethargic you grew, the more aggressive he became. He looks you over, displeased. “Move over." Gathering the little energy you had, you collect your limbs and shuffle over to make room for him. He flops down next to you, bouncing you both slightly. His gaze burns into you, unimpressed with the distant look in your tired eyes. He gunts, deciding to finally address your condition after days, if not weeks, of refusing to confront the change in your attitude and behaviour. “Why are you like this?" Not answering will only anger him, so you push yourself through your exhaustion to reply, not bothering to properly pronounce your words. “… Ev'rythin' seems poin'less… barely feel anythin' anymore." Discontent with your answer, his brows furrow before a predatory grin breaks across his face and he sits up to leer over you. “You wanna feel somethin, huh? Wanna do something with a purpose?"
His gaze is malicious as a hand touches your t-shirt, disintegrating it. Without it, his skin is clammy and rough against yours. Braless, as the only clothes he gave you were t-shirts and shorts, you are exposed to his greedy eyes. Disgusted, you look away as his hand grabs your chest. Since your imprisonment, you had suspicions he would do this, but you ignored them, wanting to hold onto the memory of him as your friend, even if he had acted questionably.
Longing for the past, you are dragged from your thoughts by a harsh squeeze to your breast as he slings a leg over your hips, looming over you. Glancing at his face, his expression is almost ecstatic, causing a chill to ripple down your spine. Dropping his head, Tomura licks a long, slimy stripe along your neck, prompting you to cringe. He shows no indication of noticing, much less caring. Instead, he roughly grabs your face with his free hand, cementing you in place as he plants his chapped lips against yours, immediately trying to force his tongue into your mouth. He succeeds when you gasp in pain due to his fingers digging mercilessly into the plush of your chest. Repulsed, desperate to remove his tongue from your throat, you wish you had the will to fight back. Not that it would help much, he would simply overpower you. Shame and regret weigh heavy on your heart.
Tomura starts grinding his hips down into you, adding to your revulsion. Pulling away, he lets go of your face, and you relish the absence of his tongue, until he shifts to kneeling over you and touches your shorts, rendering you naked. “Turn over." His voice is raspy and commanding, and despite the implications of his request, you obey, grateful you no longer have to face him. His weight leaves the bed momentarily, but returns quickly as he hastily pushes your legs far enough apart to place himself between them, then he descends upon you again; slobbering and panting against your neck as his hips shallowly hump your ass, chest laying on your back. Horrified, you realise he is bare, save for his boxers; the thin layer of fabric the only barrier between his thick cock and your vulnerable butt. Both his arms snake under you; one hand entertains itself by once more ruthlessly groping your chest while his other hand travels between your thighs, inexperienced fingers flumbling as they explore. Stomach turning, you feel nauseous. Reaching your pussy, his fingers find no evidence of arousal, causing Tomura to grunt, annoyed. “What, you don't want me? Get wet, or it's gonna hurt us both." He's frowning, and his breath irritates your ear.
Continuing to unskillfully prod and poke around, he finally grazes your clit, making you jolt and him grin, entirely too proud of himself. Harshly pressing the tough pads of his fingers against the bundle of nerves, paired with the movement caused by his depraved grinding, and pawing at your chest, forces your body to respond, involuntarily readying yourself for him. Overcome with panic, at long last, you gain the will to protest, voice shaky as tears threaten to form. “Tomura, pleas' stop, I don' wan' this…!" “Shut up, you fuckin' ingrate," he sounds offended, an edge to his words. “I'm doing this for you; make you feel something good, give you some meaning. Be more thankful." Fueled by anger, or perhaps impatience, he kneels behind you and rids himself of his boxers before grabbing your hips with both his hands, lifting you up onto your knees while your upper body remains on the bed, hiding your face as your eyes brimmed with tears.
After lining himself up, he pushes into your cunt, his cock hot and far too big for how little prepared you are. In response to the splitting pain, you cry out; it almost feels like he's tearing you apart. Seemingly, your whines only serve to excite him, as his pants deepen and he thrusts harder into you, desperate to bottom out. When he does, his dick poking painfully at your cervix, you're sobbing, and grabbing at the sheets in agony. You're almost definitely bleeding. “Fuck, you're so tight…!" His voice is strained, and as he finishes speaking, a cool liquid lands on your back. Nausea flares up as you realise he's drooling on you. Allowing you only a moment to adjust, he begins moving too soon, evoking more cries and muffled screams. Mercifully, one of his hands relocates your clit, rubbing it in tight circles. Pleasure helps distract you from the horrible ache, and slowly causes your pussy to get wetter, until eventually you're slick enough that Tomura's thrusts speed up, and your sobs gradually morph into small, shameful moans.
Without looking, you know he's smirking, even through his groans and curses. Every time he opens his mouth, more drool falls onto you, but you're too clouded by forced pleasure to pay much attention anymore. Unprompted, Tomura leans down, pressing against your back, returning his mouth to your neck, heavy pants loud in your ear, and the hand that had been keeping your hips in place slid under you, once again desperately squeezing your chest. From the new angle, he managed to hit somewhere that showed you stars, causing you to clench around him, in turn making him grunt, drool over your neck, and start to jackrabbit into you. Repeatedly pounding your sweet spot while continuously circling your clit, the white-hot coil that had built up inside you snaps, making your cunt tighten around his cock, involuntarily moaning loudly as you come. Fucking you through your orgasm, Tomura follows you soon after, mumbling nonsense in your ear while saliva floods from his mouth. Horror fills you as he does, disgusted, ashamed, and regretful. He stays inside you, regaining his breath. “Don't you feel so much better now?" He brushes his wet lips against your cheek, nearly lovingly, before he pushes you down from your knees, lying on top of you until he rolls the both of you onto your sides, holding you from behind. He still doesn't pull out.
Cruelly, feelings are abundant now.
3 ships:honestly i don't have many ships...😅
First ever ship: katara x aang (spoil : j'avais raison)
Last song: stuck in a room
Last movie: Rocky III ✨
Currently reading : scorpi ceux qui marchent dans les ombres.
currently watching : walking dead
Currently eating : a Fo
Currently craving: Tomura...as always. I swear i'm affectly dépendant on him
I don't know who to tag 😭
thank you for the tag, Robyn <3 @robynnnhooddd the original post was getting pretty long so I'll answer here lol.
Answer the questions and then tag 9 people you'd like to get to know better 💖
3 ships: me x satoru uuuuuhhhhh kiamei, yuzugiri, & kyohru
First ever ship: probably aerith and cloud from ff7 🥲
Last song: emiya's theme from the fate/stay night ost lol
Last movie: honestly no idea! I almost never watch movies anymore:,(
Currently reading: re-reading hells paradise!! if you haven't read it please check it out! It's such a good manga (also it's finished! 👀)
Currently watching: jujutsu kaisen (help)
Currently eating: nothing
Currently craving: nanaimo bar :(
Tagging: @im-rlly-tired @meiissblog @lvrm @roseragvndr @shiggysimp69 @ckmilita @black-nirvanna @cactosaurio @casanime only if u want to tho, otherwise feel free to ignore lol 💖
if I didn't tag you but u want to participate go ahead and just say I tagged you 😎😎
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18+, minor don't interact with the 18+ contentTomura shigaraki's biggest simpArtist, writter
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