Yes Please 😭✋oh God I Beg For This

Hey guuy so some people know, some doesn't but this account is the one i'm sharing with a friend of mine, we both are simp of Tomura soooo yea, she's doing the nsfw stories 'bout Tomura and i'm doing the sfw, drawing and pictures so yeaaa i was thinking of creating a second accpunt just for my drawings and the story a new life for Tomura that we wrote together for my oc and that i'm drawing 'cause idk i may use my oc for others stuff and i don't wanna people thinking this account is stealing art or whatever...i'll post the new account name by rebloging this

@bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

This, this is a work of art

Listen To Your Demons

Pairing(s): Quirkless!Incel!Shigaraki x Fem!Succubus!Reader

Content Warning: smut, 18+ minors dni i do check, major teasing, light misogyny, demon talk/ritual talk, switch energy, slight degradation 

A/N: no one requested this, but honestly i had a dream about this and couldn’t get this out of my head. enjoy! (unedited)

Afficher davantage

I would normaly think its so weird but if its tomura its always hot 💀🤌

Tomura licks your face out of nowhere. You might be sitting around reading a book or being in the kitchen chopping onions. He's there next to you minding his business when he suddenly licks your cheek. All of it. It lasts a few seconds going from your jaw to under your eye. Then he stares at you looking back at him with parted lips and confusion in your eyes as if you're the weird one for staring back. It's totally normal for your boyfriend to touch you however he wishes, is it not? What's your deal?

Neither of you says anything. He goes on with his day and you stay there dumbfounded for a few seconds.

Alright so..it is personnal i don't ship shame but i'm sorry but shipping Tomura and Afo is litteraly not okay. Bro raised groomed and ruin Tomura's life like..what ? Like litteraly what ?!

Enough to Go By (Chapter 9) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 9

“Mitsu, come on. Mitsu, don’t.” You tighten your grip on her arm and pull harder, even though she’s drunk in six-inch heels and could topple over if the wind blows the wrong way. “It’s not worth it –”

“You hear that, you piece of shit? It’s not worth it.” Mitsuko’s imitation of your de-escalation tone isn’t as good as Tenko’s, but it sounds pretty bad when she’s using it to jeer at a couple of sidekicks. “Just like you and your fucking friends decided that my best friend’s life wasn’t worth it –”

“Mitsu –”

“When you left her under an apartment building one of you knocked down for six fucking hours!”

“We weren’t even there,” one of the sidekicks shouts at her, and Mitsuko spits at him. “Ugh! You crazy bitch –”

You suck in a breath, and so does everybody else. This fight has drawn a crowd, and you see at least one phone out, one camera on. Someone’s just caught a hero on camera cursing out a grieving civilian. You see the hero blanch. He turns towards Mitsuko. “I didn’t mean –”

“No, you said what you meant. You’re all the same,” Mitsuko sneers. “So big and bad, except when it counts. Fuck you.”

Mitsuko has a flair for the dramatic, even when she’s so drunk she can’t see straight. She turns to you. “Come on. Get me out of here before I puke on my shoes.”

You hustle her off down the sidewalk, leaving the crowd and the heroes behind, cursing yourself for letting this happen. It was your job to keep an eye on Mitsuko tonight, to keep her out of trouble, and now she’s on camera starting shit with a hero. Now that you think about it, so are you. Nobody’s going to remember you, not when Mitsuko’s there, gorgeous even with supposedly waterproof mascara running down her face, but it’s not a good thing. There are probably a grand total of eight people who think it’s a good thing, and you’re on first name (or code-name) terms with all of them.

Mitsuko comes to a stop, doubles over – then straightens up. “I need to pee,” she says. “Let’s go to Kamino. I want to pee on that statue.”

“Kamino’s a long way away. You sure you want to hold it that long?”

“Right. I should find a place to pee now,” Mitsuko says. “Then by the time we get to Kamino, I’ll have to pee again.”

There’s no way you’re letting Mitsuko get filmed peeing on a statue of All Might, no matter how much of a kick your new friends would get out of it. You take a deep breath and pull out the big guns. “Is this really how you want to honor Hiro? You know watersports weren’t her thing.”

Mitsuko snorts, then grimaces. Stomach acid in the sinuses will do that. “There’s only one way to honor Hiro,” you continue, “and you know what it is.”

“What is it?”

“Bone Endeavor, film it, and use the tape to ruin his life.”

Mitsuko bursts out laughing. Then crying. You’ve been seeing that a lot lately, anywhere and everywhere – on friends, patients, strangers, and more often than not, on your own face in the mirror.

Japan is reeling from the Kamino incident. You’re not watching world news, but you’re pretty sure the world is doing the same – it’s not every day that a country’s Number One hero goes down on national television. The wreckage of Kamino Ward has already been resurfaced, some of the remaining buildings reinforced but the rest knocked down to create a nice big concrete square for the Kamino Memorial Park, complete with a big statue of All Might. The All Might statue takes up most of the space. The walls featuring the names of the victims are off to the sides. New names are still being added every day.

The windows still haven’t gotten fixed at your clinic, and in addition to a dust and street debris problem, you’re having an animal problem. You chased a bat out with a broom and wound up needing rabies shots, which left you well-equipped to deal with the raccoon that showed up a week later. You’re working a lot, for a lot of reasons. It keeps you out of your apartment during the day or night, leaving it safe for the League’s use. You need the money. And as long as you’re busy with work, with the extra classes in trauma treatment you’ve started taking, or trying to keep Mitsuko from self-destructing, you don’t have to think about what happened at all.

Kazuo’s been keeping busy, too, but your other friends don’t have that option. Mitsuru’s job was in Kamino, in a business that was destroyed, and he doesn’t have a new one yet. Ryuhei hasn’t worked in a while, courtesy of his record, and Yoshimi’s so sick from her treatments that she can’t work at all. In spite of that, Mitsuko’s still the one you’re most worried about. She was closest to Hirono. She’s always had a lot of anger – like you, except you bury it so deep that you sometimes forget it exists. She doesn’t forget. And right now she thinks she doesn’t have anything to lose.

You and Mitsuko were supposed to have a wild night on the town, but after throwing up in two trash cans and one alleyway, Mitsuko’s ready to go home. You’re ready to take her home, too, and you let her sling one arm around your shoulders as you shuffle along. “You know, I can’t work it out,” she mumbles in your ear. “Kazuo I understand, but you? It’s weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“How calm you are,” she says. “Like, right from the start. You love Sho and Hiro just like we do, but you’re – calm. Don’t tell me you got religion about it.”

“No,” you say. “I’ve just done this before.”

It’s not untrue. You’ve lost a friend before, but you didn’t cope well at all, and even if you had, this isn’t the same. You’re miserable about losing your friends, but mourning them visibly isn’t something you’re allowed to do. Not when you’re responsible. All you can do is try to fix it, or at least try to make sure Mitsuko makes it home in one piece, without passing out somewhere or clawing a hero’s eyes out with her acrylic nails.

As you’re helping her unlock her apartment, an idea occurs to you. “Hey, why don’t you come with me to Yoshimi’s appointment tomorrow? I have to go to work, so I can’t stay long, but it would really make her feel better if you stuck around with her at the clinic.”

Mitsuko looks lukewarm on the idea. “I don’t think she wants me there. I’m not very good at comfort.”

“How about just company?” you say, and she shrugs. It irritates you to the point where you play a card you shouldn’t. “Hiro used to.”

“Don’t guilt-trip me,” Mitsuko says. It’s quiet for a minute. “Fine. I’ll sit with her. This time. Then it’s back to you.”

“Sure,” you say. You’re pretty sure you can make it so it’s not just this time.

You say goodnight to Mitsuko, stop at a convenience store for supplies on your way home, and drag yourself into your apartment building. Before you unlock the door, you have to brace yourself. In spite of Tenko’s insistence that you aren’t left alone with the League, there have been at least a few times in the past three weeks that you’ve come home to at least one villain in your apartment.

After Tenko and the others left, after you went to Kazuo’s and stayed up all night, drunk and mourning your friends from under the weight of your guilt, the first thing you did was buy a whiteboard. You hung it on the back of your front door, and each day, you write your schedule on it, letting Kurogiri know what times you’ll be out, when it’s safe to bring villains over for a break. You can tell when they’ve been there, even if you don’t see them – things will be out of place, or food will have disappeared, or you’ll find a ton of black hair dye stains all over the shower. You don’t care that Dabi dyes his hair. You just wish he’d rinse the shower out afterwards.

Sometimes the villains leave notes for you on the whiteboard – Magne commenting on the tragic state of your makeup collection, Spinner apologizing for using the last dryer sheet, Dabi bitching about the neighbors and the noisy sex they’re constantly having in the bedroom that shares a wall with your living room. Sometimes they leave requests for you to buy stuff for them, along with at least some money to pay for it. The only person whose things you buy without asking for payment is Toga.

Everybody else takes things, or asks for them. The only person who leaves things for you is Tenko. As far as you can tell, he shows up exclusively during times when you’re supposed to be home, but for some reason or another you’re always out and about. The first time you know for sure he was here, you came back late and found a flower sticking out of an empty energy drink can on your kitchen counter. The next time it was a piece of your jewelry, with a note: Compress stole this and had Twice leave a copy, but Twice told on him. You need a jewelry box that locks. The third time it was just a note, and just three words, in Tenko’s never-got-past-kindergarten handwriting. I miss you.

You miss him, too. While you’re braced for villains every time you open the door, you’re always hoping he’ll be there.

There’s a villain in your apartment tonight, but it’s not Tenko – it’s Magne, who’s in the bathroom availing herself of your blow-dryer. She’s doing laundry, too, or she’s done it. You catch the unmistakable scent of a dryer sheet that’s gotten sucked into the lint-trap on the air. The smart thing to do would be to leave, but you’re tired, and it’s your apartment to begin with. You set down the items you bought at the League’s request on the kitchen table and sit down in a chair, your chin propped in your hand. You think about scrolling your phone to pass the time, but you don’t need to. Lately all you have to do is stare off into space, and your mind supplies enough uneasy questions to keep you busy for hours.

You come back to awareness when Magne snaps her fingers in front of your face. “Rise and shine, sweetheart. Is this for me?”

She’s holding up the three-pack of deodorant. “Yeah. It’s not the brand you asked for – I didn’t have enough money – but I smelled all the discount ones and picked the one that was closest.”

Magne uncaps one and sniffs it. “Close enough,” she decides. “What about the rest of this? Who wanted thermal socks?”

“Spinner. His note said you all are staying in a warehouse and it gets cold,” you say, and Magne nods. You glance over the rest of the things you bought. Some of them need an explanation. “The numbing gel is for Toga. She bit her cheek and there’s a sore in her mouth. Tell her not to eat anything too acidic until it heals. And these are – she knows what these are for.”

Magne nods sagely. “Oh, and these are for Compress,” you add, tapping a stack of cheap paperbacks. “He said he was bored. These should help.”

“You spoil us,” Magne remarks. She smells like your shampoo. And your body wash. “The boss is as bad as it gets. Who would have guessed that his girlfriend would be such a little saint?”

“I’m not a saint,” you say. She’s not the first member of the League to say that, but your list of sins is long enough already, and it’ll only keep getting longer. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I do wonder what the attraction is,” Magne continues, like you didn’t speak at all. “Guys like him – when they see something pretty and pure, all they want to do is ruin it. And then they don’t want it anymore. I wouldn’t get too dirty if I were you.”

“Thanks for the warning.” You see shadows flickering in your peripheral vision. Kurogiri’s here. “Take this stuff with you, okay? And tell everyone I say hi.”

“No problem.” Magne gathers up the results of the supply run. “Any other messages you want me to send? To the boss, maybe?”

“Nothing I’m telling you,” you say, and she laughs. A moment later she vanishes through the warp gate, and you’re alone. It’s past midnight. There’s really nothing for you to do except go to sleep. Or try to.

You’ve been having a hard time sleeping since Kamino. In some ways, it reminds you of how things were after you stumbled into the ruins of Tenko’s house. The images that won’t leave your head. The questions that chase each other through the darkness – did it hurt, did they know, were they scared, what happened next? There was guilt when it was Tenko’s family dead, the stupid thought that useless, quirkless, five-year-old you should have stopped it somehow – but it’s nothing like the guilt you feel now. Kamino’s death toll stands at nine hundred and eight. Magne said you were a saint, but you aren’t. No saint, no good person, lets nine hundred people, some of them her friends, die.

You’re on hour three of trying to sleep when the shadows in the far corner of your room begin to flicker. It’s another warp gate, and you watch, your heart in your throat, as someone emerges from within it. “Tenko?”

Tenko doesn’t look as surprised to see you awake as you thought he’d be. “I can’t sleep either,” he says. His face is unobscured by the hand. He gestures awkwardly at your side of the bed. “Can I –”

“Yeah,” you say at once, trying not to act like this is the best thing that’s happened to you all week. “For sure.”

Tenko’s wearing gloves already. He kicks off his shoes and strips off his shirt, then climbs into bed on the far side. You’re expecting him to stay there, but instead he reaches across the bed to pull you closer, and once he’s got you, the contented sigh that exits his mouth sets every inch of your face on fire. “That’s better.”

You manage to wiggle your arms free, folding one against your chest and wrapping the other around him. His skin is dry and warm beneath your hand, against your cheek. “Hi, Ten.”

“Hey.” Tenko hugs you closer. “This is your fault. I can’t go back to sleeping standing up after that.”

“That’s because humans aren’t supposed to sleep standing up. I have no idea how you did it for – however long you were doing it.”

“Too long, I guess.” Tenko yawns. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“The people I worked on after Kamino. I keep seeing them.” You keep seeing your friends, too, although there you’re restricted to whatever your imagination can conjure. “Other stuff, too.”

“Like what?”

Like what Tenko’s house looked like the morning after, when you ran into the wreckage. What blood and tissue felt like under your bare feet. You still don’t know if Tenko knows what happened to his family, how much he knows, how he got from his family’s house into the clutches of All For One. “Things,” you say. When you’re able to raise the arm that’s wrapped around Tenko’s shoulders, your fingers encounter the ends of his hair, and you start fiddling with them, to the tune of another contented sigh. “It’s late. Try to sleep. I will, too.”

Tenko relaxes against you, asleep within moments. It takes you another hour at least.

You expect him to be gone by the time you wake up in the morning, but instead he’s still there, shirtless, with a terrible case of bedhead that you think is way too cute. He doesn’t want you to get out of bed at all, but once you do, he trails you to the kitchen, where you start making tea and setting out something for breakfast. “It’s too early,” he complains. “Where do you have to go?”

“I’m taking Mitsuko to keep Yoshimi company during her treatment, and then I’m going to work.” You think through your day and grimace. “And after that I have class.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“It’s my day off.”

“Good,” Tenko says. “Twice is bringing a potential ally. I want you there to meet them.”

Your stomach twists, and your appetite, already fickle on its best day, goes up in smoke. “Who are they?”

“Some small-time yakuza. They want prestige and we need money.” Tenko shrugs. “I’ll come back tonight and we’ll go together in the morning.”

“Okay.” Something about this conversation strikes you as funny, but you’re not sure what it is. It takes a second for it to click, and once it does, you’re laughing.

“What?” Tenko asks suspiciously. “What’s funny?”

“We’re eating breakfast and talking about our schedules,” you say, still giggling. “We sound so normal.”

You think Tenko will laugh, too. He’ll say something snarky, something derisive, about the whole concept of normalcy and moving in with somebody and having any kind of life within the boundaries of a corrupt society. Instead his expression takes on a strange cast. “Do you think we would have been?”

You almost spill the electric teakettle out of shock. “What?”

“If nothing had happened. Do you think we’d have ended up like this?” Tenko gestures around the room, then between the two of you. “Like – us.”

If the two of you had gotten to grow up together, what would you have been? You’ve asked yourself that more than a few times. “If nothing had happened,” you repeat. If Tenko’s family hadn’t died, if he hadn’t wound up with a quirk – or even if he had, and you’d lived across the street from each other in middle school, high school. “I think so.”

“Yeah,” Tenko says after a moment. “I think so, too.”

He doesn’t say how he feels about it, and neither do you, but there’s a distant look in his eyes, like his mind’s gone somewhere else, somewhere far from here. It doesn’t fade until you set a cup of green tea down in front of him. “So,” he says, looking up at you, “how much do you know about the yakuza?”

“Not very much,” you admit. “What do I need to know?”

Tenko gives you a brief overview in between bites of food, then starts in on the details. “The group Twice made contact with is called the Shie Hassaikai. Their leader goes by Overhaul, and he’s young – not our age, a little older. Twice says he seems genuine, but I don’t want us caught off-guard.”

“Which is why you want me there,” you surmise. “If things get heated, turn the temperature down.”

Tenko nods. “It shouldn’t. He’s coming alone.”

“Right.” You force down a bite of your breakfast, then another. “And I should bring the disguise.”

“Yeah.” Black mist begins to ripple through the air near the door, and Tenko swears. “Go away, Kurogiri. I’m not done.”

“It is Dabi’s turn. And according to the schedule, she will be leaving soon.” If Kurogiri could tap his foot right now, he probably would. “With haste, Shigaraki Tomura.”

Tomura swears again, then heads back to your room for his shirt and shoes. “I’ll be back tonight,” he says as he pulls them on.

“Me, too.” You wince as Kurogiri loudly clears his throat, then hurry forward to kiss Tomura goodbye. He’s frustrated. You can tell by the tension in his mouth, the way it takes too long to soften against yours. “Hey. I’ll see you soon, all right?”

Tomura nods once. Then he disappears through the warp gate. As he vanishes, you see him removing his gloves.

You’re alone in your apartment again, and the surge of emptiness you feel threatens to knock you off your feet. You’ll see Tenko tonight, which is good, but tomorrow, you’ll be with Tomura – Tomura and the League of Villains, in disguise like you’re one of them. To the head of the Shie Hassaikai, you’ll be indistinguishable from the others.

And speaking of the Hassaikai – you weren’t lying when you told Tomura you know next to nothing about the yakuza, but you know someone who does. It’s a good thing you’re seeing Mitsuko today.

“The Hassaikai?” Mitsuko repeats, when you ask her while the two of you are waiting for Yoshimi to finish her vitals check. “Where’d you hear about them?”

“A patient.” You aren’t technically lying. Tenko was your patient. At one point. “It wasn’t a name I’d heard before, so I thought I’d ask. In case there was a chance you knew anything.”

Mitsuko’s settled down a bit now, but in middle school and high school, she was in a lot of trouble – skipping school, getting drunk and using who knows what else, hooking up with older guys, sometimes for money or gifts or just to make whatever was going on in her head go away. Some of those guys were yakuza. A lot of them were. And Mitsuko always said they liked to pillow-talk.

She thinks about it for a moment, frowning. “They’re a small group,” she starts. “They’ve got a cross-country network, but there aren’t very many of them. The old head of the family was popular, but the new one isn’t.”

Huh. “Do you know why?”

“The family thing – it’s not a joke to them,” Mitsuko says. “That’s how the former head treated it. Not the new one. One of the guys I used to see – he was from another group, but I remember he’d talked to somebody who’d left the Hassaikai when they were both in jail. That guy said the guys in his gang were just employees now. And they were expendable.”

“So the new guy’s a shitty boss.”

“Try worse. He called him a monster. Said he was empty inside.” Mitsuko looks troubled for a split second. Then she shakes her head. “They all are, though, aren’t they? Yakuza, villains – well, maybe not that Shigaraki guy. He looks like he’s so full of crazy it’s a miracle he doesn’t explode.”

You keep your mouth shut with an effort. What would you say, anyway? Nothing convincing, not without giving away more information than anyone outside the League should know. Mitsuko gives you a curious look. “Did your patient get mixed up with them somehow?”

“I guess so.”

“Hopefully they get out fast. Those guys are bad news.” Mitsuko grimaces. “I’d know.”

She looks like she wants to say more, but then Yoshimi comes out of the check-in room, and the two of you had a talk about not upsetting Yoshimi more than necessary. The two of you turn to her. “I don’t know shit about this,” Mitsuko tells Yoshimi, sounding so much like her usual self that you’d never guess she was wasted and hero-baiting last night, “but you’re with me today. Anybody who gives you shit, they have to answer to me. And I’m not nearly as nice as her.”

She points at you, and you roll your eyes. The only reason you were nice to the one nurse who was even sort of rude to Yoshimi is because you didn’t want her doing something worse when your back was turned. Yoshimi smiles gratefully at Mitsuko. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she says. “We need to catch up. Some of the nurses here are cute.”

You tell them both goodbye and sneak out while they’re talking about the cute nurses. Mitsuko could do a hell of a lot worse than a cute nurse. Maybe she needs that right now. As weird as she gets when she’s in a relationship, almost anything would be an improvement on the self-destruct sequence she’s cycling through. Not that you’re any better. If Kazuo wasn’t too busy pulling together the official incident report on Kamino to take a look at what you’re doing, he’d probably say you were doing the same thing.

You don’t look it. You hold it together at work, checking in on your younger colleagues, supporting the older ones, keeping an eye on the mood with them and the patients both. It’s not a good mood. The rest of the country is ready to venerate All Might and cheer for his victory, but Yokohama was hit too hard. Too many people lost loved one, and too many of those people live in the other Japan with you. Nobody’s gone so far as to sympathize with the League of Villains, yet, but plenty of them are angry with the heroes. And plenty of them are saying it out loud.

The organization that runs your clinic is worried about the staff. Absentee rates are high, and people come to work in bad moods and leave in worse ones. Your supervisor is offering everybody extra time off so long as you take it in shifts, and each and every one of you who was on shift during Kamino is scheduled to meet with a counselor over your lunch hour once a week. You don’t want to do it. You don’t have a lot, or any, good memories of doing therapy as a kid. And this time, there’s something you’re actually guilty of.

But it’s a requirement, and you don’t want to make waves, so you slouch into the mailroom for your counseling session as ordered. Your counselor is rich – you can tell by her clothes and her jewelry – and a whole set of unkind associations spring into your head when you look at her. You try to push them away. If your contempt is oozing from between your teeth, there’s no way you’ll get through this without raising a red flag or ten.

The counselor greets you, introduces herself as Yaoyorozu Shizuka, and something clicks in your head. “Your daughter’s at UA.”

“Yes, my dear Momo! We’re very proud,” Mrs. Yaoyorozu says, even though you didn’t’ congratulate her. “She’s been through quite an ordeal – just like you and your coworkers have been. Why don’t you start by telling me where you were on that night?”

“At first I worked triage with the evacuees,” you say. “When the casualties arrived, I went to assist the doctors and nurse-practitioners.”

“And how long did you do that for?”

“Until someone kicked me out.”

Mrs. Yaoyorozu makes a note in her notebook. Her leather-bound, monogrammed notebook. “How do you feel about the work you and your coworkers did that night?”

If you try to lie, she won’t believe you, and she’ll push the point. You need her not to push. “I feel like we failed.”

“Why do you feel like that?”

“Because that’s what we did,” you say. “Five people died in the exam rooms back there. Two more died in the hospital later. We failed our patients, just like everyone else did.”

“Just like everyone else did,” Mrs. Yaoyorozu repeats. She looks puzzled, or she’s faking puzzlement. You really don’t care which. “What do you mean?”

Of course she’d ask that question. You can’t stop the derisive sound that escapes your mouth. “Let me see. This clinic failed by not being ready to handle a mass casualty event, by not having the necessary equipment to treat major trauma or the staff who know how to do it. The site commander failed by sending those patients to us knowing we couldn’t help them. The heroes on-scene failed by prioritizing helping All Might instead of clearing the route to Yokohama General, so the people they were supposed to be rescuing when they decided it was more important to help All Might could have a chance to survive.”

Mrs. Yaoyorozu is staring at you. Your face is hot and your eyes are prickling, and you sink your nails into the palm of your hand, fighting for control. “We weren’t the only ones to fail those people. We were just the last ones. All those people –”

You cut yourself off. Mrs. Yaoyorozu scrambles to recover. “It was far from an ideal situation,” she says. “It was never going to be possible to save everyone –”

“I thought it was,” you interrupt. “Isn’t that what heroes say they’ll do?”

You need to be careful. You sound like Tomura. But Mrs. Yaoyorozu is shaking her head, smiling indulgently, ready to explain how you just don’t understand that sometimes hard choices have to be made, and you lose patience. “Look, what are you even doing here? Is it just a hobby of yours to come here and minister to the poor unfortunates who weren’t born quirked or pretty or rich? This isn’t your city and we aren’t your people. We don’t need saving. We don’t want your help.”

“Don’t speak for your colleagues,” Mrs. Yaoyorozu says mildly. “You don’t need saving. You don’t want my help. Why not?”

You look blankly at her. “You’ve been through something traumatic,” she continues. “The whole city has, and those of you who responded directly to the tragedy haven’t had time to process what you experienced. That’s what this space is supposed to be for. If it would be best for you to process by expressing your anger towards me, that’s all right.”

“So you’re going to martyr yourself.” You don’t understand where the disdain in your voice is coming from. “Sit here for an hour, then go home and tell your maids and your husband and your butler about how the nurse at the poor-people clinic was so mean to you when all you wanted to do was help.”

She’s staring at you now like you’ve slapped her, when you haven’t raised your voice or sworn or even moved an inch in your chair. You’re using your de-escalation voice, but the context is all wrong, and even as you struggle to rein in your temper, you can’t stop yourself from turning her words back on her. “If that’s what would best help you process your savior complex, that’s fine with me.”

Mrs. Yaoyorozu holds your gaze for another few seconds. Then she ducks her head, writing frantically in her notebook. “Are you crying?” you ask her. The false concern in your own voice makes your skin crawl.

Her eyes are clear when she looks up. “Blaming oneself or others for the traumatic events or for what happened afterwards,” she says. “Check. Persistent state of fear, horror, anger, guilt, or shame – check. Persistent negative cognitions, such as “I am bad”, “no one can be trusted” – check. Do you know what I’ve just listed.”

“Criterion D of the PTSD diagnosis.” Kazuo tried this trick on you already, and you were a lot more likely to listen to him. “What’s your point?”

“I can see by the dark circles under your eyes that your sleep’s disturbed,” she says. “Whether that’s by nightmares or by ruminating on what’s occurred, you’ve met Criterion B. By verbally sparring with me you’re avoiding engaging with your own feelings about what happened – Criterion C. Disturbed sleep partially covers Criterion E, and I imagine if I asked you whether you startle easily, find it difficult to concentrate, or feel unsafe in most settings, I’d get at least one yes. But I don’t need a yes to diagnose you – the first symptom under Criterion E is irritable behavior and angry outbursts. What would you call this?”

She gestures at the space between you, and you sink your nails into your palm again. “I’ve spoken to your coworkers about you. They describe you as kind, supportive, calm – the person who smooths over conflicts, not starts them. This conversation is a symptom, a sign of what you’ve been through. It’s not who you are.”

But it is. It is who you are now – a person who takes a skill you’ve used to help people and twists it into a weapon, a person who backs someone else into a corner and goes for their throat, and the worst part is, you can’t pin this on your association with the League of Villains. Tomura’s not standing here feeding you lines. This was all you. What’s happening to you?

Trauma, Mrs. Yaoyorozu would say, if you asked what she thought. You know the real answer: Guilt.

It’s quiet for a little while. When you speak up again, your voice doesn’t sound like your own. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Yaoyorozu says. You spend the rest of your lunch hour in silence, staring at the wall.

Guys i'm in France i don't know xhat happend WTF HAPPEND 😭✋

The absolute audacity for Horikoshi to do this on Tomura's birthday.

Uber Eats

synopsis: What a crappy Friday night! You’re the only driver for your restaurant and you have to deliver to this Tomura S. guy. The worst part? He never tips. wc: 2.7k content: tomura shigaraki x female reader, quirkless au, oral (f! receiving), overstim, degredation, vaginal fingering, mdni cross posted to ao3

You hated this guy. 

He ordered every week without fail, like clockwork. 

“Do I have to make this delivery?” You ask your manager, wishing the ticket in your hand would burst into flames. 

It did not. 

The black ink only stared back at you as you stewed in your own misery: 

Tomura S. 

“You’re the only driver we have!” Your manager calls back to you, tossing some rice around in a wok before dropping it into a takeout container. “But after this, you’re good to go.” he placed the next order into the wok and the hiss of the food only added to the bustle of the restaurant.

You sigh, accepting your fate and crumple the receipt in your hand. It was the last delivery of the night so you find solace in at least being able to leave once you were done.

This guy was a known regular, and better known for not leaving a tip. Ever. It didn’t matter how big the order was and it didn’t matter what the weather had been outside — Tomura S. would not tip. And unfortunately for you it seemed he was more likely to order on your shift so you had to be the one to deliver. What awful luck.

Your manager waves you off after he finishes packing Tomura’s order and you step outside to your bike. It was about a fifteen minute bike ride, and the sweet promise of going home was all the motivation you needed to get it over and done. You put the order in the front basket of your bike and were off, hitting more than a few bumps in the road on your way.

Once you reach the apartment complex, you set your bike aside and head up to his door.

You’ve been here many times before, but that doesnt stop the nerves. 

Tomura was an… interesting fellow. Never a smile on his face and rarely a thank you. 

You steel yourself at the door of his apartment, taking a breath before raising your fist to knock. Maybe today would be different, you ponder, shifting your weight to cool your nerves. Maybe he would tip generously and send you on your way.

Everything could all be a big misunderstanding and you start to feel yourself get a little hopeful. He could be a nice guy under that rocky demeanor — maybe you’ve misjudged him.

The door opens with a little too much force and a vermillion glare meets your eyes. 

You feel yourself falter under his gaze. “Um, Tomura?" You put on the best smile you could and extend your arm, the bag of takeout presented to him. "Here’s your order.”

He looks down at the bag and then back up to you — carmine eyes giving away ill hidden boredom before ripping it from your hand and turning on his heels. The slam of his door making you jolt as you strained to hear his muttered thanks. So quiet you’re sure you may have imagined it. 

It would be generous to say you were shocked, but tonight had not been a kind night to you. A few too many potholes on your way here and a few too little tips given out has your lips pursed and fists clenching in anger. You had just about had it with this man. 

What was his deal? You come all this way, make sure his food is hot — hell, you even smile and that's still not enough. Well, you were done playing nice and found your fist tapping against his door before your brain could process your actions.

In less than a few seconds the door swung open, this time a much more annoyed Tomura greeting you. 

“What?” He rasped, face turned down into a scowl, much different from his earlier indifference. 

You don't waver, “What is your deal?”

His brows shoot up in surprise, “Excuse me?”

“I said, what is your deal? I’ve been delivering to you for months and not a single time have you tipped me! You know that's how I make a living right? It's just unfair.” you huff, exasperated.

This seems to surprise him further, and if you weren't crazy you would think that was amusement on his lips. “Tip? Is that what you want?”

You are surprised, but you nod. 

He huffs, taking a step back, “Fine.”

And then he’s gone. 

You’re not sure if he intends for you to follow him inside the apartment, but you have an idea that he wouldn't leave his door open otherwise — so, against your better judgment, you go in. 

It's dark in the apartment, and not very spacious. The dim lighting gives you little to work with but the blue light from the idle game screen playing on the tv in the living room helps you make out what you're looking at. Tomura has already gone deeper into the home, no doubt to his bedroom or wherever he may keep his money. You decide to stay where you are in the living room and look around a little.

The space wasn’t… awful, messy — yes, but not disgusting. It looked average to what any other twenty-something living alone would look like. 

You try not to make a habit of getting to know customers you deliver to, but judging from the nintendo switch docked near his television, it seems you may have a little in common. 

What surprises you are the anime figurines and plushies lining the bookshelf near the television. He didn’t strike you as a plushie enjoyer. Finding yourself smiling, you walk over to one. A green dino with goofy teeth and cute eyes. Cute. You reach out to touch it, the plushie feeling as soft as it looked.

The sound of footsteps on hardwood break your focus and you look back to see a grumpy Tomura, looking through his – assumedly empty –  wallet, “I don’t have any cash on me.”

His hair is fluffy and white, but looks a pale blue in the hue of the paused game on the television screen. His frustration is prominent in his scowl and you take this moment to really look at him, carmine eyes focused and brooding. He was taller than you originally thought and his black shirt was loose around the collar area, exposing his collar bones and you find your eyes drifting lower. You could tell he was toned under the thin black shirt he wore but you had never had a chance to really notice. Unconsciously, you lick your lips.

“Did you hear me?” 

Your eyes snap up, cheeks flushing, “Y-yeah!”

He huffed, irritation obvious but continued anyway, “well, what do you want?”

You don't know what you want anymore. If he doesn't have cash then it doesn’t matter. This seems like it may have just been an oversight on his part, so you may be better off letting this go. Maybe he would order again and tip you extra next time.

You take a few steps forward, every intention to walk by him and get to the front door when you stop, finally responding to his question, “nothing, just remember next time.” Your gaze catches his and then drifts lower, to his lips. Tomura catches the trail of your gaze and it forces you to look away. You swore there was a hint of a smile on his lips but maybe you were tired, it has been a long day. 

You shift your weight, ready to continue on your way out when Tomura reaches for your arm, grip tight and demanding. It takes you by surprise, but surprises you even further when he dips down and crashes his lips into yours, rough ones meeting the softness of yours. The kiss is not smooth or slow, but needy and hungry, Tomura playfully nipping your bottom lip before pulling away. 

“I have an idea,” he breathes and pulls you by the hand to his couch, falling ungracefully onto it and in an instant he's on top of you. 

Your cheeks are burning as you place both palms onto his chest to halt his movements, “H-hey, what are you doing?”

His laugh is low as if you should already know the plan. “I’m going to give you your tip.” 

And then he's down again, lips warm and demanding. A moan escapes your throat and you fist a hand in his hair, overwhelmed and desperate to get more of him. His tongue swipes your bottom lip and you waste no time letting him in. His large hand trailed down your side, and you pressed closer to him. He felt intoxicating, and arousal pooled in your belly as Tomura pulled away, panting. He was just as flushed as you knew you were, the wild look in his eyes only making the arousal between your thighs slicker.

Tomura trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, leaving soft bites in between licks. A particularly hard bite made you gasp, gripping his shoulder and turning your head, giving him better access to your neck.

He only chuckled, sitting back and looking down at you, “You look like whore.” he spat, teasing tone in his smile. “All spread out on my couch like this.”

His hands moved to your pants, popping the buttons and pulling them down. You should stop him, tell him to wait because you barely know him and it's a little soon, but his words have you biting your lip and lifting your hips to help him get your pants down and off. 

That only makes Tomura shake his head in disbelief, a pleased smile betraying his false disappointment. 

He reaches down and presses his middle finger to your clothed cunt, rubbing soft circles and laughs, “You’re soaked. Didn’t take you for such a slut.”

The words only spurred you on, spreading your legs further and closing your eyes. It felt good to finally get some kind of contact – he was right where he needed to be. Until he pulled away, leaving you more desperate and a complaint on your lips. You stop in your tracks though as Tomura leans down, tongue licking you through your panties. 

Your hands fly to his hair, moan erupting from your lips. You’re unsure how thin his apartment walls are, but you don't care. The feeling sends pleasure shooting up your spine and your heart picks up its pace.

Tomura laps at your clothed cunt, fabric muting the full feeling but giving you enough to cry out. You find yourself grinding closer, body begging him to keep going and he obliges, only for a moment. He gives your cunt one more kiss before pulling back and pulling your soaked panties down and off, tossing them across the living room. 

He wastes no time diving back in, tongue licking a strip from your hole to your clit and your back arches. The hold you have on Tomura’s hair is so tight, you're sure it’s painful at this point, but he only groans, wet muscle lapping your clit eagerly. Your thighs reflexively try to close, but Tomura is faster, hand stopping them and thumb rubbing soothing circles. 

“Oh, god,” you squeeze your eyes shut, the pleasure building quickly and you will yourself not to go over – not yet. That would be embarrassing. 

You feel the pressure in your abdomen tighten and it's clear you won't last much longer. Tomura took that moment to suck your sensitive nub and you spill over, mouth open in a silent moan and thighs quivering.

Tomura rides you through it, only pulling away from his ministrations once you catch your breath. “That soon, huh?” There's no bite to his words and you only give him a halfhearted glare, heavy lidded eyes still reeling from your orgasm. 

You’re distracted and don’t notice Tomura’s not finished with his antics. It wasn’t until you felt a digit pressing at your heat, slipping in slowly and making you mewl in pleasure. You were soaked, and the pressure making your head loll onto the armrest of the couch. It felt so full already. 

“Ah!” you gasped, feeling the familiar glide of Tomura’s tongue against your oversensitive clit once more. 

It was almost too much, your cries reaching new heights as he pumped his digit in and out of your sopping cunt, juices from your arousal mixing with his saliva. He was taking his time building your next orgasm, moving slow and steady, making your toes curl in pleasure. 

The push of a second finger against your hole had you tapping Tomura’s shoulder, “t-too much! Tomura!” 

Your cries fell on deaf ears as he continued, tip of his tongue flicking your clit as the second finger pushed in to join the first, waisting no time fucking you in earnest. His fingers were thick and the feeling of being so full made you dizzy, pleasure spiraling as you tried to ground yourself mentally. You grabbed Tomura’s shoulder, fisting his shirt in your hand as you lost yourself in the pleasure once more. 

Tomura’s motions ceased as his eyes met yours. You could only imagine how blissed out you looked in this moment, breath ragged and sweat clinging to your brow. Tomura wasn’t much better off — he was as desperate as you, hair splayed in wild directions after your hands ravaged through it. You open your mouth – impatient words on the tip of your tongue and Tomura curls his fingers, digits hitting that spongy spot inside that made you see stars.

He flattens his tongue, giving your clit a final lap and it sends you over – for the second time tonight. 

Your back arches and your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you. The feeling sends waves of pleasure throughout your body, eyes squeezed shut and mind buzzing. 

Tomura watches as you come apart, palming his erection in awe. You meet his eyes once you come down from your second high of the night and Tomura wastes no time in crashing his lips to yours, clumsy and wet. You could taste yourself on his lips and groan when he pulls you closer. 

There's a trail of saliva linking the two of you once he pulls away, but Tomura’s heavy gaze is only on you. He leans back in once more to give you a much softer kiss, before pulling away again and giving the same soft kiss on your cheek — heat rushing to them for reasons entirely different from what just transpired between you both. 

It was very… intimate – in a way you did not expect from someone who had just called you a slut. 

It makes you want to reach out for him when he pulls away further, eyes seemingly pondering something you’re unaware of. He looked down at you one more time, before looking to his television and his unopened takeout bag on the coffee table. 

“My show is about to start, so…” he starts, picking up the remote to change the channel of the television, screen lighting up and noise filling the room. You stare as Tomura sits back and gets comfortable, opening his takeout bag and removing the contents. 

Was he… was he kicking you out right now? Seriously? 

Your brows fly up, eyes widened in disbelief — his lack of reaction at your scoff only proves you right. He was kicking you out. Bullshit. The humiliation is evident as you scurry to find your pants, not bothering to find wherever the hell he tossed your underwear earlier, and get the hell out of there before you said something you would regret. 

The only thing on your mind was the front door as you brushed by Tomura one last time. 

“Hey!” he called, gluing you to your spot. Your heart jumped as you turned back to him vaguely hoping he would offer you to stay a little longer.

That small flame of hope died as soon as it came because Tomura was only extending your long forgotten phone to you. 

You snatch the device from his hand and make your way out the door, face burning and legs still tingling from the way he made you come undone mere moments before. 

Once you reach your bike you find yourself huffing in annoyance. What else did you expect? Him to offer you some of his takeout? That would just be silly. You’re walking your bike to the sidewalk, ready to hop on and go back to the restaurant – sure your manager is worried sick about his only driver – before your phone buzzes in your back pocket. 

Tomura S.

Your eyes widened as you read a text from the name you knew you hadn't saved in your contacts before. 

You forgot my drink.

Good Girl

Summary: It’s not your fault that your boyfriend was hard for people to warm up to. God, your parents are so lame. But so were you. So you did what anyone else with strict parents would, and you cut him off. 

Bad idea. 

Word count: 4k

Content: Tomura Shigaraki x female reader, explicit content, kinda quiet sex, cunnilingus, praise, slight humiliation, unprotected sex, strict parents, toxic relationship with parents, AU - no quirks, no use of y/n, gets a little mushy at the end im sorry

You would rather be anywhere else but here. You would pay to be anywhere else but right here, right now being scolded like some teenager who had been caught sneaking out after curfew. But you were here and you weren’t going anywhere any time soon. 

“He’s just not good for you,” your father’s voice stressed. It dragged on, pulling you from your drifting thoughts. “You have so much ahead of you and we even agreed to this gap year so that you could figure out what you wanted to do, not so you could run around with some delinquent boy with no future–”

“He‘s not a delinquent,” You cut off, “you’re judging him without even giving him a chance.”

Your father sighs, knowing he’s fighting a losing battle, but knowing you inherited his stubbornness has never detoured him from taking your objections head on. He’s been on this earth longer than you, butting heads with others longer than you have. “Well, whatever he is, he’s not allowed to see you again. That’s final.” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. False air of nonchalance sending fury through your veins. 

There would be no more arguing and you knew it. You desperately look to your mother, who is in her usual stance of resignation and uselessness when it comes to his word. If she saw things your way, she would never say. And even if she agreed with you, there would be no change. It has always been your father’s way or no way. 

“I’m an adult, you can't tell me who I can and can’t see.” you try once more, not ready to end things here. It’s suffocating. 

He scoffs, bringing a hand up to count his fingers, “You live under our roof, you eat our food, you drive our car, you give me attitude when I agree to give you time to figure out your life when you decided to leave university after two semesters,” his voice is rising and you begin to feel your eyes burn with the threat of tears, your chest tightening as its harder to catch a breath. You can’t cry here, it would only make things worse.  “I don’t think it matters how old you are. I am done with this conversation. End things with him now or you won't have a pot to piss in by the end of the day.” 

This cannot be happening. You're still sat on the plush sofa of the living room as your father stalks off with your mother in tow. The latter only glancing back with an empty look of pity as you stare at where your father had just been. Words burned into your mind while hot tears finally break and run down your cheeks. This is really happening.

And Tomura was going to be upset.

In a perfect world you could meet up with him tonight, talk it over, or even run away together and leave all this behind, but you know better. You know the two of you haven’t dated long enough to warrant running away together, but it still crosses your mind. You’ve never felt this way about anyone before and it's painful to think you never will again. Tomura just made you feel so.. Alive. There was so much to him and his witty dry humor that keeps pulling you in. 

He’s cynical, he’s moody and sometimes he’s mean but god he could be so soft. Touch you in ways that felt like he reached your soul. Quiet nights where you would stay at his house and watch him play video games would turn into late night sessions of making love until the twilight of dawn peeked through the dark curtains of his room. There was no way you could let him go. But you had to. You had to. Your father had given you no other choice. So you take the coward’s way out.

You text him.

You send him a short text that would send you to the bathroom dry heaving, but you didn’t know what else to do. What more could you say other than your father had snapped at you and you both could no longer be together. It would hurt so much more facing him head on. You knew that if you had to speak to him face to face that you would crack, probably throw out your silly idea of running away together and then face the awkward rejection. This was all you could manage. You felt awful for it, finally forcing yourself off of the floor and dragging your feet to the bathroom to get ready for bed. 

It had been hours and there was no response from Tomura. You couldn't blame him. What could anyone say to a break up text? You hollowly hoped he would fight for you. Even a little. But the flat Read 14:57 showed you otherwise. This had now become a heartbreak you werent quite expecting. You couldn’t help but second guess every interaction you had with him before. If maybe you read into things a little too deeply. If maybe, some smaller, quieter part of you dreaded your father was right.

There was no use of dwelling on that now. No point in running through what you would never know. So, you sighed, and finished up in the bathroom. Slipping on your silk sleeping gown that stopped above your knees and adjusted the small straps on your shoulder. You had cried for hours after your argument – if you could even call it that– with your father was over and your face ached. The bags under your eyes showing the worse for wear state you had found yourself in. it would be okay, you told yourself. You just have to sleep it off. 

And that was your plan and you slid into your welcoming bed, soft comforter embracing you and your worn feelings. You feel more tears begin to sting behind your eyelids before there's a sudden tap at your window. 

A trick of the wind, you decide and return to your somber thoughts. 

You would have to move on eventually, but tonight? He was the only thing on your mind. His eyes, his hair, the way he would feign annoyance when you were overly touchy, craving closer contact. He always indulged you. Always gave you more, you knew he liked it as much as you did. You were lovesick. 

Tap. 

There was that noise again. Louder than before as if someone had thrown a rock right at your window. The room was still and quiet so you knew it hadn’t been your imagination. 

Jumping to your feet and shuffling towards the window in question you brushed your curtains to the side to see the possible culprit. And when you do, your heart drops and instant regret fills you. Stomach aching as you take in the sight before you.

It’s Tomura Shigaraki and he is pissed.

Tomura, your Tomura leering up at you with another rock resting in his hand, bigger and ready to be tossed at your window if the last attempt didn’t work. 

You look around, knowing no one is in your bedroom but yourself and the moonlight, then go to open your window, ducking your head out to get a better look at him. There he was, black hoodie oversized and so soft, red eyes burning in anger but you aren't scared. You’re relieved, it's him. He's here to see you, mouth turned down in a scowl and fists clenched in fury but he was here. 

You couldn’t stop your hushed whisper, “what are you doing here?”

“I came to talk.” Was his only reply before he dropped the rock and walked towards your window. It wasn’t terribly high up, but higher than he could reach without a bit of help from you. 

Now that he was closer you could see the anger in his posture much more clearly. All tense shoulders and narrowed eyes. It was enough to make your stomach turn. You couldn't help but worry your bottom lip as he pulled out his phone and took a step closer.

“Really? Over a fucking text message?” He hissed, rasp in his voice, uncaring of the time of night or who could hear. 

“Tomura, shh, please–” you tried, hands coming up to placate him, if only a little. Your father would have your head if he heard another man in his home, let alone Tomura Shigaraki. 

He huffed a sarcastic laugh, disbelief taking over his features, but he obliged, “I don’t care what your father told you. He can’t control who you talk to.”

You shake your head, the all too familiar sting of tears in your eyes threatening to fall, “I know. I told him that, but he threatened to kick me out, to cut me off. I’m sorry Tomura, but I can't.”

“He can't do that.”

You nod, knowing all too well that your father would go through with his threat. “He can. Technically. I'm an adult, so it’s his choice.” The tears fall now, seeing the rage dissipate from Tomura, slight drop of his shoulders showing disbelief and disappointment. It's too much. This is why you didn’t want to see him, couldn’t face him. “I'm so sorry,” you whisper, trying to hold in the sobs threatening to wrack your body and possibly wake your parents up. This could not have ended worse.  “I don't want it to be this way.”

“Wow, I didn't know you were such a good girl.”

Your breath hitches, caught off guard, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “I didn't know you did everything daddy says. What a good girl you are.” The tone is one you’re familiar with. Condescending. Challenging. He’s testing you.

Your cheeks flushed. What could you say? That you’re not a good girl, actually. Then what would that make you? A bad girl? You would walk right into his trap. He’s watching, waiting for a response. Something to make you slip up. 

You don't have the chance to respond before he’s taking a step forward, lifting your chin with a finger so that you could look him in the eyes. Even in the dim lighting of the room those crimson eyes looked into your own. Like he was delving deeper, looking for the response that you can't seem to give him. Nothing else matters in this moment. It’s just him and you and the pale moonlight dancing between you. The air is tense and unmoving, like the smallest noise, the faintest blow of wind would ruin this moment. 

You couldn’t take it, couldn’t wait another minute before your body moved, leaning forwards onto the tips of your toes to give you more leverage as your lips pressed to his. His lips were still cold and dry from the cool air outside but that didn’t matter. Nothing matters more than knowing you needed more of him and you needed it now. Tomura’s hand came to rest at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer and the kiss deeper. Taking all of you in as his other hand gripped your waist. 

Your hands wasted no time burying into his hoodie – so soft and worn–  the faint smell of citrus and cedar being a comfort as the intoxicating kiss deepened. Tomura wasted no time, slick tongue entering your mouth, hungry, like it was the last time you would have him this way. It was too much. It was not enough. You broke the kiss, a string of saliva following the short distance you put in between. Air seemed sparse, like you couldn't get enough and Tomura spoke before you could.

“Get on the bed.” 

And you did, newfound vigor in your step as you eagerly did as what you were told. Energy ebbing through your veins as excitement overtook your previous anxiety. Tomura was a mere step behind, discarding his hoodie without care and joining you on the bed, caging you beneath him as he dove back in for another kiss, wet and warm, before trailing lower. Open mouthed kisses to your jaw, then neck, his hands, rough and warm gripping your thighs, taking in all he can. After leaving a particularly hard bite on your neck, Tomura lifted your gown up, smooth silk gliding with ease above your ass and resting below your breast. It was only natural for your legs to spread for him, cool air on your bare cunt making you shiver. 

“Oh?” An amused huff from the man above you makes your cheeks heat further than before. He’s seen you like this many times before, but he’s always had a way of making you feel shy. “No panties, huh?”

You push past your embarrassment. “You know i dont wear them to b– ah!” you're cut off by the feeling of his finger sliding between your folds, slick making it glide, and rubbing over your clit. The surprise of the motion makes you press your thighs closer together. Tomura grins above you, before bringing his wet finger to his mouth, a mocking shh following the motion, tongue flicking out and licking the digit as his other hand pushed your legs apart again. 

He bends down, bulge in his sweatpants pressing against your bare cunt. He’s so hard and that thought only makes you wetter. Tomura’s nose brushes yours, your eyelids fluttering shut as he dives to kiss you again. All open mouthed and wet. You could taste yourself on his tongue as well as feel the pressure of his clothed erection grind against you, rubbing against your bundle of nerves. You are sure your slick is dampening his sweatpants but Tomura doesn’t care. He’s grinding you into the mattress and you’re so close to begging him to get on with it you want to scream. But almost like he’s read your mind, he pulls away. 

The kisses he places along your body set your nerves on fire, anticipation eating away at your patience as he takes his time. Once he’s reached his destination, right between your thighs, he places one wet kiss onto the plush of your inner right thigh. Another teasing move. Another way to make you squirm in excitement. He looks up at you, ruby eyes gleaming in the moonlight of the room. 

“Be quiet for me, yeah?” 

Tomura huffs a laugh at your eager nod, grin growing wider. So quick to please. Dedicated. “Good girl.”

The praise makes you falter for a second, embarrassment threatening to make its way to the surface once more. There was no time for it now, Tomura enjoyed catching you off guard. Loved surprises. He wastes no more time, tongue licking a wet strip between your lips. The action causing you to moan louder than you intended. Your hand rushes to cover your mouth. If you were to be caught in this predicament by either of your parents it would be horrendous for the both of you. 

This doesn’t stop Tomura, though. If anything you were starting to think it encouraged him, because his relentless pace on your cunt was driving you wild. His long stripes simmered into just the tip of his tongue flicking your clit and  sending jolts of pleasure roaring through you. You were already close, pleasure and pressure building and building until you were so close to tipping over– 

Knock knock.

“Hey sweetie. I know it's late, I just wanted to talk for a second.” 

It was your mom. Holy shit it was your mom and there's a boy in your bed with his head buried between your legs and holy shit. If she opened the door, if she barged into your room in the familiar way she always had a bad habit of doing, you would be done for. With wide eyes and accelerated breaths, you clamped down harder over your mouth with both hands. Even Tomura stopped in his tracks, gaze lazily focused on the door with curiosity bleeding into his indifference. 

Your mother must have taken the silence as a sign of slumber, yet she continued. Voice muffled by the door between you both. 

“Your father... was harsh today. And I’m sorry for that.” She pauses, long enough for you to believe she would be giving up and going back to her bedroom. You aren't so lucky, surely at this point you were very unlucky and you dreaded whatever else she had to say. “I just want you to know that he just wants the best for you.” your heart drops as she carries on, unaware and unconcerned of the other pair of ears listening in to her words. “We don’t know him that well. We can't risk you getting involved in something you're not ready for and throwing your future away.”

At this, Tomura rolls his eyes, interest clearly lost and goes back to his earlier movements. The sloppy kiss to your clit catches you off guard and forces a whine out of you. It was small, but still a noise. Squeezing your eyes shut you prayed this would be written off as an odd sleep noise. Wishing to the sky that it wasn't noticeable and Tomura would stop. He didn’t. It was in that moment he decided pressing a finger against your entrance would bring out more noises. The digit slipping in with minimal effort and adding more pleasure to this mix as he sucked your clit. 

If your mother heard anything, she didn't make it known. The floorboards outside of your door creaking with the shifting of her weight. “Well, maybe we can get ice cream or something tomorrow. Have a little girl’s day?” The silence is palpable as she waits for an answer that won't come. “Okay well, goodnight sweetie. See you in the morning.”

You don’t know what you're more grateful for; the sound of her receding steps or that fact that Tomura wasn't cruel and waited until the telltale sound of a door opening and closing rang through the air before adding another finger and curling them. This time you couldn’t bite back the moan that escaped you, hands gripping the cotton of your duvet. 

“Aw, how sweet,” Tomura started, sitting up while adding a thumb to your sensitive nub and rubbing slow circles to replace his mouth. “She wants to have a little girls’ day with you.” 

His mocking tone would have gotten a reaction out of you any other time, but right now you were so close. On the precipice of an orgasm that’s been drawn out for far too long. You could only look at him with half lidded eyes as his fingers worked like magic sending you closer and closer, your breath hitching as you finally, finally reached the climax. Body shaking pleasure cascades over you like a tidal wave. 

“There we go,” Tomura whispers, giving your cunt a playful tap after letting you ride the sensation out. He pulls away completely to take off his sweatpants and underwear, cock already hard and leaking. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips at the sight and you hear his breathless chuckle. “I’ll let you have a taste next time, but right now, I can't wait any longer.” 

It was only when he began to line up with your entrance that you absently wondered about the lack of condoms you owned. You look up at him, question burning on your tongue but he only grins at you, and you swore in that moment he was a mind reader. “I didn’t bring any with me, sorry,” his voice was far from apologetic as he stroked his cock, rubbing the head between your folds and against your clit, slick soaking the head. “But don't worry,” he continued, leaning forward and you felt the pressure at your entrance, excitement buzzing through your veins. “I’ll pull out.”

Whether you believed him or not didn’t matter, you had no time to process a thought as he began stretching you to the limit with his size. A gasp escaped your parted lips as the sickeningly sweet feeling of being stretched too far too fast took over. He gave you a minute to adjust, even as his cock twitched in anticipation of movement. The grip he had on your hips was tight enough to bruise and you knew it was taking a lot of his self control to wait for you. 

He pressed on, figuring it had been long enough and bottomed out with a sigh. Your walls clenched around him and swore you could cum from the stretch alone. After giving you a second to breathe he pulled back, almost pulling out, only to snap his hips back forward into you. Your head lolled onto the pillow, hand coming up once more to mute the moans dragging from your body. Tomura hoists your legs onto each side of his shoulders,bending them forward and successfully folding you like a lawn chair as he started his aggressive pace, forcing your tight heat to clench around his cock. 

“Oh, fuck…” you couldn’t help but mutter as you struggled to hold off your already approaching orgasm. 

Tomura saw this as a challenge. “What? You gonna cum on my cock?” he mocked, pace wild and rough, leaving you gasping as you shut your eyes, not ready to admit how right he was. “It's okay,” he continued, leaning closer and allowing his dick to press deeper inside you. The drag hitting the bundle of nerves inside and nearly sending you over the edge. “Come on, cum on my cock like the good girl you are.” 

Those words push you over, hips convulsing as your legs shake and it takes Tomura slapping a hand over your mouth this time to quiet you. You couldn’t focus on anything else, let alone keeping quiet. Your body felt light and Tomura fucked you through it. His pace grew more erratic as his grinning face became one of focus, brows furrowing as his eyes shut and he focused on his pleasure. Your pussy squeezing around him making it harder for him to stave off his own nearing climax. You were worried that at this point you were both too far gone. The silence of the home would leave the messy noises between you both loud and clear for the entire house to hear. Tomura was great at keeping his composure but the soft groans coming from your lover only showed how much he was losing his grip. 

“Can’t– fuck, sorry–” you didn’t have time to decipher his strange words, your curious eyes meeting his face to gauge his expression before you feel it. 

His cock twitches inside you, seed painting your insides white as his thrusts didn't slow. He was hammering away at your insides, only pumping his cum further into you.  You feel so full, the warmth spreading over your body like a blanket. He came in you. Even though he said he wouldn’t, he did. The worst part about it? You don’t care. It's invigorating. You feel even more attached to him. Even closer. You want more.

Overstimulated and weak, you whimpered, thoughts swimming as Tomura finally came down from high. Slowing his thrusts and panting heavily. Your heart is drumming against your chest as he removes your sore legs from his shoulders. Shuddering as he slips out of your tight heat, feeling the cum dripping out of you and onto your sheets. 

The bed dipped as he took his place next to you. Out of breath and eyes focused on the ceiling. Your ears were ringing with the sudden quietness of it all. Things felt different, heavy. 

“You could always just not tell them.” It was Tomura who broke the silence first. “Act sad, mope around, and then come see me at night.” 

You glanced over, vaguely registering the sweat cooling on your body. You would need to get up and get cleaned up soon. “Yeah, but if they catch me–”

“They won't. I’ll teach you how.” he turns towards you, bringing a hand to your chin to make you face him. There’s a fuzzy feeling turning in your chest and the familiarity of heat rising to your cheeks is starting to drive you mad. His grin is enamoring, red eyes almost glowing with mischief in the moonlight. “I’ll show you the ropes.” 

There's an ache that tugs at your chest as you nod. “Okay.”

You are so fucked.

Good UnU shiggy's my boy till the end

Hello, can I request hcs nsfw for Shigaraki, Dabi and Hawks with a camgirl?

@Namelive💋

Shigaraki Tomura, Dabi, Takami Keigo (Hawks) x Camgirl! reader 

Warnings: Voyeurism, Sexy time activities, exhibitionism, I’ve been meaning to post this for the longest. :D And ya know me (Well those of you who do XD) you’re obviously gonna get a mini backstory for each hc :P (Mind you I know about the pfl and all that but I like to go with the flow of the anime as some people don’t read the manga. So if you’re a manga reader and are like wtf they ain’t in the warehouse no more shhhhhh I know) Don’t you just love how my headcanon’s turn into stories…. I promise I’m working on it :’)

Afficher davantage

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