We Get The Reveal That AFO Gave Tenko The Decay Quirk; Shigaraki Is Completely Gobsmacked By It; "I Thought

Can not stop thinking about virgin!Tomura and I'm losing my mind.

Virgin!Tomura gets an ounce of kindness from that pretty person who just joined and he clings onto that interaction because it makes him feel different.

Virgin!Tomura who, during a meeting, sees you sitting up and notices your shirt riding up in the back. His tired eyes glancing down to your exposed skin, face growing hot. He wonders how your skin would feel under his rough touch... would you squirm if he just reached out now to feel you? Would you tell him to stop? To move lower? He had been zoning out so hard Kurogiri had to draw him back in.

Virgin!Tomura trying to keep his composure as he catches you leaving the League's shared bathroom in a pair of pajamas. It was a pair of shorts and a T-shirt but holy fuck did this sight of you stir something in him. He retreats back to his room, slamming the door behind him, breathing heavily. Your legs. Fuck. Your legs.

Virgin!Tomura leaning back against his door as he desperately pumped his cock with a tight fist, trying to imagine how pretty your moan would be if you'd let him sink his teeth into your thighs. He wanted to taste you. To mark you as his. To keep you in his room, lapping at your cunt like a thirsty dog.

Virgin!Tomura finding your name dying on his tongue as his cum spurts out onto the floor in front of him. His climax hitting him so hard he has to quickly steady himself on the door knob. In his haste to not fall, the door knob is decayed, effectively locking him in his room unless he either decays the door as well or gets someone to open it for him.

Maybe he could get you to open it for him.

Yay !

Chapter two of the shiggy x reader series will be delayed a bit but it is in progress!!

★ SHIGARAKI TOMURA | LEAGUE OF VILLAINS KING ★

↳ Happy Birthday to my amazing and cool babe Gokalp @tohmura ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥~

if you would please write loser boyfriend shigaraki who gets jealous of others comments about you and takes fem!reader home to fuck her dumb, it would me really happy 👽

“𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞“

pairing; loser bf!shigaraki x fem!reader

cw; nsfw, oral (m!receiving)

a/n; I feel like this is so bad

“those fucking idiots think they have a chance with my girl, would you give them a chance baby” he knows you can’t respond as he has his fingers down your throat leaving your mouth open as he fucks you in vengeance, punishing you for what others say.

this has happened on more than one occasion, in passing he’ll hear others make a comment about your body and he’ll come home to take out his frustrations out on you. “yeah you’re sexy but you’re fucking mine. they don’t deserve to even look at you. filthy pigs.”

to others he may seem weak and scrawny, but when he has you fucked out on all fours thrusting you from behind pace unrelenting, pushing you into the bed the force of his thrusts causing the bed to shake and the headboard to hit the wall, he doesn’t seem meek at all.

“tell me baby, do you think they’d fuck you better than I can” it’s hard for you to speak with the way he’s hitting you g-spot on point with every thrust making your eyes roll back but you manage to shake your head. “that fucking right, only I can fuck you like this. you belong to me. i own this pussy. no-one else can have you.”

the two of you could be out together on a date and he would hear someone snickers something like “what a waste” or “she could do better” and as soon as you get home before you can even lock the did behind you he have you on your knees as he whips out his cock for you to suck. grabbing you hair making you gag on his cock.

“why would you need better when you have me, all you need is a cock to suck. mine does the job doesn’t it?” his cock slips out and it slaps against your face smearing spit on your face and he watches as you slip it back into your mouth.

“see look at you, all you are is a cock hungry slut. isn’t that what you are?” you nod your head agreeing to him in a cock drunk state starting up at him through wet lashes, your face a mess from you tears and spit.

to others on the outside you’re the cheerful girlfriend with. her loser boyfriend that walks around with her stalking behind her, but at home you worship him and his cock as they are the only thing you need to live.

you know that he loves you and he know that you would never leave him but he also knows that you live it when he gets jealous and fucks you till you can’t remember your own name.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Online Girlfriend

MDNI loser!Shigaraki x Reader

Request from anon Contains: gn/afab reader, mostly smut: face sitting, sex (m behind), lots of cum. [wc: 2k]

“Why’d you put the work in, no one’s gonna show up.” Dabi laughed across the room at Shigaraki who put in some low-level effort to be presentable (showered.)  “You’re being catfished.”

“Hey, don’t listen to him. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” assured Spinner, who remains skeptical but supportive. He’d like to think there’s at least some hope for one of them to actually get a date.

Tomura’s phone dings.

running late, sorry! still otw!

Rushing, you try to make up the time you lost when a traffic jam caused all transportation to be rerouted. It’s not a great start, for the first time you’re meeting your online boyfriend but it is what it is. 

The two of you hit it off in a discord chat for your favorite game and haven’t stopped talking since. The past few months of chatting have been great so you finally asked to meet in person. It felt like the next step. Admittedly, you’ve also been really horny lately and are hoping to do something about that.

Typically, you’d be worried about meeting someone from the internet but he seems real enough. The photos he sent you were cute. Not perfect in a conventional way, like something you’d expect from someone pretending to be someone else. These were real. They were dark and grainy, taken by someone who isn’t used to taking selfies. Even with the low-quality images and hair covering most of his face, you could tell he’s attractive. He has nice collarbones and a cute smile. On top of that, he’s smart. Having a weird amount of information about nearly everything. He’s funny too, in a dark way. You feel like you could talk to him about anything.

Finally, you made it!

Shoving through the door into the bar he’d sent you the address of earlier, you see that it’s pretty empty. You’d recognize his silvery-blue hair anywhere though. 

“Hi, Tomura!” you take a seat next to him, “I’m [y/n], it’s so good to finally meet you!”

Spinner and Dabi stare in amazement, you’re a lot prettier than they expected. Tomura notices this too. For all the flirting and suggestive messages he’d sent you online, he completely freezes the moment he lays eyes on you. Staring like a deer in the headlights.

Okay, so he’s a little awkward. That’s fine.

The two of you make some conversation. Bumbling through small talk until you start talking about games and he loosens up a bit. After an hour, he still can’t look directly at you without stuttering, but he’s rambling excitedly about the newest patch.

“I just downloaded it, if you want to play. Come on,” he gestures, “I live upstairs.”

As if he only just realized he asked you to be alone in his bedroom with him, his jaw drops and he begins to stammer again. 

“I… I didn’t mean to, like...uh. If you’re uncomfortable -” 

You grab his arm, pulling him from the stool. “Lead the way,” you smile.

The two in the corner, who you’ve since learned are his friends, look shocked as you walk past them to the exit.

Tomura Shigaraki’s room isn’t clean per say, but at least he remembered to take the bags of trash out this morning. He’s glad for that since he definitely didn’t think he’d be bringing you back to his place. You watch as he wiggles the mouse to wake his computer up, middle finger hovering. He has nice hands, you decide.

“Uhm,” he starts uncomfortably, “it’s a pretty big patch. So it’s not done downloading yet.”

The estimated time remaining jumps between two hours and three days as the internet speed flickers.

“That’s okay, we can find other ways to kill the time,” you run your fingers softly over his shoulder. It’s nice to touch him for the first time, feel that he’s real. 

tomura.exe is no longer responding

His body stiffens at the closeness. This is what he wanted, right? Why else would he bring you up to his room?

“If that’s okay with you?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he manages to choke out, letting you pull him to his bed. He lays flat out while you climb over him, straddling his hips. He whimpers slightly and you can feel that he’s already hard. Awkwardly, his hands hover at your thighs. You didn’t expect your discord boyfriend to have a ton of experience, but seeing just how nervous you make him is… hot.

“Okay, is there anything I should know? Places you like to be touched?” your fingers graze his collarbone before running down his chest. Feeling the warmth of his body through the thin shirt. “Or anywhere you don’t like being touched?”

“No,” he breathes huskily, before sighing “...y-yes.”

“Don’t… y-you can’t touch all five of my fingers at the same time,” he gulps, “it’s my quirk.” Without being able to find the right words to explain, he grabs an empty energy drink can that’s in reach. It crumbles to dust instantly. 

You’re fucking kidding, you think. This bumbling mess underneath you has that strong of a quirk? How has that never come up? It only turns you on more, knowing he has the strength to take out half the world but melts into a puddle when you so much as breathe in his direction. 

He makes eye contact with you for the first time before biting his lip and looking away. It’s as if he’s waiting for you to say nevermind. To get up and leave. There’s something so sweetly pathetic in all of it.

“Cute,” you say, pressing his hands back into the bed by his wrists. Fingers snaking up his palms. He looks confused. No one has ever called him ‘cute’ before. It’s also the closest he’s ever been to holding hands with someone and he nearly cums from that alone.

He groans as your lips lightly move over his. Careful not to kiss him too hard, he’s already excited and you still want to fuck him later. With the way his breath hitches at a small kiss on the neck, you decide to move faster.

Standing up, you begin taking off your clothes and tell him to do the same. 

You planned for this. While you didn’t absolutely expect him to fuck on the first date, you certainly dressed for it. It’s not full-on lingerie or anything but you put on the nicer underwear for the occasion. Judging by the look on his face he notices and appreciates this. Too flustered to manage the button on his black skinny jeans.

“Here,” you climb back over him, “let me.”

They’re tight so it takes a bit of effort to pull them over his ever-growing bulge. When you finally manage to pull his pants over his feet, you pause to admire the sight. 

He’s beautiful.

More toned than you would have expected under all of his clothes. Pale skin contrasting with the black of his underwear, his lightly pink tip poking out from under the elastic.

“Have you ever touched anyone before?” you ask, already knowing the answer. He shakes his head. 

“Okay,” you move closer, “let's start there.”

You pull his trembling hands to your sides. Two fingers hover above your hips.

“Oh fuck,” he mumbles staring up at you.

“Take my underwear off,” you instruct.

Of course, he does exactly what you asked him to. He’s slightly clumsy at it, but you expect that. He’s never done this before and he’s being overly cautious. His jaw drops at the sight of you.

“Bra,” once more, he does as you say. Already panting underneath you.

You crawl over his body, careful to brush the hard length of him as you go. He whines at the contact.

“I take it you’ve never eaten anyone out before either, huh?” you ask rhetorically. 

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, strands of baby blue falling in his face.

“You’ll learn fast,” you whisper while brushing his hair back to the bed. 

Placing your hands on his headboard, you move your knees to each side of his head. His eyes widen as you sink onto him. You rock your hips forward, bringing his nose to brush your clit. He moans before licking where he can. 

“Just like that,” you exclaim when he hits a sensitive spot. 

He takes instruction well, slowly improving as you go. His movements are still a bit sloppy, but the friction of his skin against you is enough. You’re at the edge -

“Oh fuck,” he groans under you. His body tenses and he shoves his face further into you. Turns out it’s all you needed too. Reaching down, you grip his hair while you ride out your orgasm.

You pull away, leaving his face slick. He catches his breath as you assess the situation. As you assumed, you weren’t the only one who just came. His stomach and chest are covered in ropes of his own doing. Of course you didn’t mean to make him cum so fast, you didn’t even touch him. You were looking forward to fucking him too.

He grabs a shirt from the floor, wiping himself off.

“Do you always cum that fast?” you tease. 

“Uh, sorry. C-can we keep going?” he chews the skin of his bottom lip nervously.

“You want to keep going?”

“Yeah,” he says more confidently than you’ve heard him speak all afternoon, “I can last longer if you give me a chance. I promise.”

You look him over. He looks pretty fucked out but he’s already hard again.

“Just tell me what to do,” he stares up at you with his beautiful red eyes and you can’t help but give in.

A minute later, he’s behind you. Lining himself up at your instruction.

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Okay, now slide up and in. Slowly,” he does as you say, poking around slightly before you feel his tip press in. You look over your shoulder at him, his jaw slack as he stares down at himself disappearing into you. His eyes closing as he wills himself not to cum again so quickly, he did promise.

“You’re doing great!” his breath catches at the compliment, “now, you’ll press in and out. In. Out.” You set the pace you want him at, he listens. 

“This okay?” he asks breathily. You’re amazed at how good he feels already. The way he fits perfectly inside you. He has no idea that he makes every nerve in your body feel like it's on fire.

“Yeah, exactly. That’s perfect,” you gasp.

Without needing to be asked, his hands carefully grip your hips. This time with more confidence. Pulling you back into him with force. 

“Fuck, just like that,” you moan. Feeling yourself tense around him, you grip the sheets calling out his name. Arching your back to press harder into him, he gets the hint and picks up the pace.

With the quivers of you around him, he can’t hold back any longer. 

“Fuck, sorry, fuck,” he groans, pulling out just as the trembling in your gut subsided. You feel him plaster your back in warm cum before he falls back on the bed to recover.

“Uhm,” you hum moments later, eyes flicking over your shoulder.

“Shit,” he mutters breathlessly, jumping up to grab another semi-clean shirt to wipe your back off with.

He lays down again, this time you move to the bed with him. You wrap your arms around him, head resting against his neck.

“Sorry it wasn’t very long,” he mumbles.

“You did great,” you say, wondering how long he actually expected himself to last, “and I’m sure next time you’ll make it even longer.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “next time.”

Extra headcanons for fun:

Kurogiri googled you before you arrived.

Tomura googled "how to talk to attractive person."

Dabi and Spinner placed bets on if you'd actually show up. Spinner didn't know if you would but wanted to be supportive of his friend.

The traffic jam was caused by Twice and Magne. No reason, they just thought it would be fun.

After this, you and Tomura agree to meet up once a week. Once turns to Twice and before you know it, you're moving closer to see each other every day. Eventually, he learns what you like and you don't have to give him instructions.

masterlist

MHA CHAPTER 402 SPOILER:

Is no one gonna talk about how Tomura just... swallows AFO's quirk...? Like, just straight up "gulp."

AFO's face says it all. Like, 😐.

Throat game strong.

just 🤌❤️

Break Time - A Shigaraki x Reader Fanfic

Summary: You're working as a waitress at a bar when Shigaraki comes in, leading to a wild hookup in the bathroom. Smut. 18+. Rough Sex. Any feedback at all would be deeply appreciated!

You didn’t notice when he walked in. Just another young man in a dark hoodie, he could have been anyone. But you noticed when he glanced up at you from his seat toward the back of the bar while you stood next to the table, ready to take his order. You knew who he was the moment your eyes met. You’d seen the pictures on the news, spread across social media, those scars along his lips, those piercing red eyes, the soft silver hair that peeked out from his hood. Sitting at the table, ordering a beer and some nachos, was Shigaraki Tomura, the current most dangerous villain.

You tried to play it cool. You didn’t want him to know you recognized him. It was obvious that he was trying to be discreet, maybe counting on the fact that this bar was basically a hole in the wall in a small rural area, where people mostly kept to themselves and minded their own business. Or maybe it was the fact that pictures of his face, without the creepy hand covering it, had only recently started circulating, so perhaps he thought most people wouldn’t be able to identify him.

Most people probably wouldn’t. But you were different. You’d been fascinated by Shigaraki from the moment he first appeared on the news, even with that hand hiding his face. There was something about him that intrigued you. And then, two weeks ago, pictures of his face started showing up online. When you saw that lovely face, those beautiful eyes, you thought you were looking at an angel. You had to keep reminding yourself that he’s a villain, that he’s killed innocent people. But you just couldn’t get that face out of your mind. Your phone was full of pictures of him, every one you could find online. If it was possible to be in love with someone you’d never met before, then you were in love with Shigaraki Tomura.

And now he was sitting right in front of you, just inches away.

With some effort, you get your racing heart to slow down. You write down his order and tell him you’ll bring it right out. He doesn’t reply so you walk away quickly, not wanting to linger and draw attention to yourself. When you take his beer and nachos to his table, you manage to keep your hands steady as you sit them in front of him. “Here you go,” you say in a cheery voice, trying to act normal. “Can I get anything else for you?”

He glances up at you again, and your breath nearly catches in your throat. Those eyes are so intense in person. You wish you could pull out your phone and take some photos of him, but you know that would be a terrible idea. He holds your gaze for just a moment before saying, “No, that’s all.”

It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice, and you love it. You get goosebumps along your arms. You desperately want to hear it again, so you try to continue this little conversation. “Alright. If you change your mind, let me know.” You smile brightly at him.

He looks away from you and to his plate as he mutters a quiet, “Thanks.”

You walk away, disappointed that you have no reason to talk to him more. You stand by the bar, hoping that he’ll need something and call you over. You find yourself staring at him, watching him eat, watching him hold the glass of beer without letting all four fingers touch it. Of course you know about his quirk. Everyone does. It sounded terrifying on the news, but even that couldn’t stop your fascination with him.

He suddenly looks toward the bar, toward you. The shock of his eyes on you causes you to hesitate before looking away. Did he notice you were staring? Does he know you recognize him? Will he use that terrifying quirk on you to silence you?

If so, then you might as well go for it. You could die tonight, a shy little virgin who never took a risk on anything in her life. Or you could die a woman who actually took a chance.

You grab a few napkins from under the bar and walk over to Shigaraki’s table. His eyes are on you every step of the way, and your heart is beating faster than ever. You drop the napkins on the table and smile at him again. “I thought you could use these. Nachos can get pretty messy.”

He looks mildly surprised, as if he wasn’t expecting you to say that. He picks up a napkin with his thumb and one finger and wipes at his mouth, even though there was nothing on it. You decide to try being a little playful.

“You missed a spot.” A lie.

He wipes his mouth again quickly and looks up at you.

You slide into the seat beside him and take one of the napkins from the table. “Here, let me,” you say, dabbing at the corner of his mouth.

He looks surprised by the gesture, his body seeming to tense up at your touch. Could it be that he’s not accustomed to being touched?

You blush and drop the napkin. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking.”

It’s his turn to stare at you. “Don’t worry about it,” he says as you stand up.

You take a deep breath. It’s now or never. Take the chance. You face him and meet his eyes. “Look, I’ve never done anything like this before in my life, but… I think you’re really hot. I get a break in twenty minutes. Do you wanna hang out?”

His eyes widen slightly. Whatever he expected you to say was clearly not this. You think you catch a hint of a blush on his pale cheeks. He looks away from you and asks, “Are you joking?”

“Not even a little bit,” you answer. “But feel free to turn me down. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

He looks back up at you again, studying your face. You can feel your cheeks burning. Your first time making a move on a guy, and it’s Shigaraki fucking Tomura. A guy who could and probably would murder you in seconds. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until he speaks.

“I’ll think about it.”

You exhale. This is the most nervous you’ve ever been, but there’s a certain excitement, a thrill, to all of this. You leave his table without another word, too embarrassed to say anything else. Back at the bar, you watch the clock tick down the minutes until your break. Shigaraki has long since finished with his beer and food, and should probably have left by now. But he’s still here. Does that mean he’s going to take you up on your offer? And you said ‘hang out’, but what did you even mean by that? Your break only lasts half an hour. What could you possibly do in that amount of time?

Finally, the twenty minutes are up. You slip off your apron and give a meaningful glance at Shigaraki before heading into the restroom. You want to check your makeup and hair before going back out. You want to look your best after all. You stand in front of the mirror above the sink, looking over your reflection. “I can’t believe I did that,” you mutter.

Suddenly the restroom door opens and, in the mirror, you see Shigaraki step in. You whirl around to face him, suddenly very afraid. Has he come in here to kill you? Your heart sinks when he reaches down and locks the door, the sound of the thick metal deafening in the small restroom. You look at him pleadingly.

He steps closer to you, the hood pulled so low that you can barely see his eyes. “So how long is your break?” he asks.

You freeze. Why is he asking that? If he’s going to kill you, what does it matter how long your break is? “Uh, thirty minutes,” you manage to squeak out.

“Then I guess we better hurry,” he replies.

This is it. He’s going to kill you. He’s going to turn you into a pile of dust and blood. He reaches out his hand toward you, and you decide in that moment to not turn away from him. To look into those eyes until your last moment. At least you’ll go out looking at something beautiful.

You wait for his hand to close over your forehead, or your throat, or wherever he decides to strike. But instead, three of his fingers touch your shoulder lightly and pull you closer to him. Before you can sort through your confusion, Shigaraki leans forward and kisses your neck.

Huh? What? Why is Shigaraki Tomura kissing you?

Your mind races. Does he plan to fool around with you before killing you? He didn’t seem like that type of guy, but you don’t really know him at all. You lean back and look at his face, trying to discern something from his expression. It’s blank, as usual.

“This is what you want, right?” he asks, a tiny hint of a smirk on his lips.

That’s when it dawns on you. He assumed that by ‘hanging out’, you meant ‘hook up’. He thought you were asking him for sex. And he accepted! When that realization hits your brain, you’re suddenly aware of the fact that you want him. You want this man, badly. Right now. And judging by his actions, he wants you too. You’ve never done anything even remotely like this. To Shigaraki, this is clearly a random hook up. But to you it’s so much more. He can’t possibly know how much more.

“Yes, this is definitely what I want,” you say, almost breathless.

He kisses you, fast and almost rough, his hands moving over you, carefully not placing all five fingers on your skin. You should be worried about his hands. You should be scared absolutely shitless to have this man’s hands anywhere near you. But all you can focus on is his hungry mouth on yours, the feel of his surprisingly firm body pressing against your chest. Ah well. He’s had this quirk all his life, right? He must know how to avoid using it.

His tucks three fingers from each hand under the hem of your snugly fitting shirt and pulls it up, revealing your rather plain bra. You curse yourself for not wearing something prettier, but who knew something like this would happen? But if he’s disappointed, he doesn’t show any sign of it. In fact he barely seems to notice the bra before using the same maneuver to pull it up, causing your ample breasts to bounce free below it.

You blush crimson. Only one other guy has seen your bare chest, and that was in high school, when your then boyfriend demanded to see your tits or he would break up with you. He saw the goods, then broke up with you a week later anyway. Thankfully, that’s as far as you went with him. Or anyone, for that matter. Instinctively, you look away, fighting the urge to cover yourself with your arms.

Shigaraki just stares. He’s stopped touching you, probably sensing your discomfort. There’s a question in his eyes.

Finally, you speak, deciding to be honest. “I, uh…. I’ve never done this before,” you admit, feeling incredibly embarrassed.

There’s that subtle look of surprise again. He looks away from you for a moment and says in a quiet voice, “Me too.”

What does that mean? He’s never hooked up in a public restroom before? Never hooked up with a random waitress he just met? Or… could it be?

You decide to be more specific. “I’ve never… had sex before.”

Unfortunately, Shigaraki doesn’t elaborate on his earlier comment. He just nods and says, “Ah, okay.”

You almost break out the cliche “please be gentle” comment, but stop yourself. Shigaraki Tomura is not a gentle person. He’s a villain. You knew this all along. But do you even want him to be gentle?

He waits another moment, as if giving you a chance to back out. When you look at him with clear desire in your eyes, he suddenly pushes your back against the cold tile wall beside the sink. He presses his palms into your breasts, not letting even a single finger touch them, while lightly biting the soft skin of your neck.

Your breathing gets quicker, your mouth draping open and your eyes sliding closed. You’ve never been more turned on in your life. You want to pull his hoodie off, to see his bare torso, but he hasn’t made a move to remove any of his clothing and you’re not sure if you should try it. What if he has a lot of scars that he’s not eager to show off?

He slowly crouches down until he’s eye level with your waist. He looks you in the eyes as he unzips your skirt and lets it fall to the floor around your ankles. Then he hooks two fingers into the waistband of your panties and hesitates another moment. If you want him to stop, this is the time. But you don’t want him to stop. You’re embarrassed and terrified but more than anything else, you don’t want him to stop.

You close your eyes as he slips the panties down your hips and to your ankles, then reaches down to pull both skirt and panties away from your feet. Now all that’s left on you is a pair of sandals and your shirt and bra that have been pushed up, leaving you totally exposed. Heat burns your face, and you imagine you’re as red as a tomato. You glance at his face, trying to figure out if he likes what he sees or not, but his expression is as difficult to read as ever.

He stands up and lifts his hoodie a few inches, just enough for him to unbutton his jeans. That small glimpse of his skin around his navel is enough to drive you wild. Then he unzips his pants and pulls his cock out.

It’s hard, which gives you a small boost of confidence. He must find your body attractive. It’s also bigger than you expected. You’ve never seen one in person before, but somehow you assumed it would be smaller. You’re struck by the sudden urge to put it in your mouth, but you’ve never done that before and you’re not sure if you’d be any good at it. Would he be turned off if you gave a clumsy blowjob?

What the hell. You’ve come this far.

You drop down to your knees and reach out a shaky hand to gently grasp his cock. You look up at his face, and it’s still unchanged. You’d die to know what he’s thinking right now, but he’s not going to give you a clue. You pull your hair back behind your shoulder and lean in, wrapping your lips around his cock. You hear a sharp intake of breath and glance up. Shigaraki’s expression hasn’t changed much, but his eyes are a little wider, his teeth slightly visible above his bottom lip. You take that as a good sign and begin moving your lips along his length, back and forth, then you extend your tongue and run it over his tip. You remember your best friend from college telling you to treat a man’s dick like you would a popsicle. You hope she knew what she was talking about as you alternate between licking and sucking.

You tilt your head a bit so that you can see Shigaraki’s face. He’s staring at you with something like awe, as if he’s watching a magician perform an amazing trick. You blush but keep going, not wanting him to stop looking at you that way. Several minutes later, he draws his head back and inhales a sudden breath, and cums directly into your mouth. No warning, no asking if it was okay. You’re shocked by the flood of sticky liquid filling your mouth, sliding down your throat. You’re also not certain what you’re supposed to do. Spit it out? Swallow it? You decide to swallow without taking his cock out of your mouth. Your tongue still swirls around him while your throat works to take in every drop of his cum. When you finally pull away, he’s half hard again.

Is it your imagination, or is he breathing harder? His hood has fallen back, revealing a mess of silvery hair. God, he’s gorgeous.

You stand back up, still pinned in close to the wall by his body. He steps even closer, shoving one hand between your legs and making you instantly tense up in fear as you remember his quirk again. But he only uses two fingers to run along your slit, then slips them inside. It only takes a second for him to find your clit, his fingers a little too rough as they rub the tender flesh, scraping his nails across it. You make a little yelping sound and resist the urge to push his hand away, because despite being a little too rough, it feels good.

The pleasure spirals up into you, making you feel weak. Your legs are shaky, and you’re afraid you might collapse. The sensations are so intense that you almost want to get away from his hand, if only for a moment to catch your breath. But your back is against the wall and his fingers are merciless. You’re no stranger to touching yourself, usually while thinking of the very man who is in front of you right now, but doing it yourself is different. You can control the pressure, the speed, the intensity. Having someone else in control of that is scary but thrilling.

Finally, a powerful orgasm washes over you, leaving you shuddering and holding onto his shoulders for support. He withdraws his hand and examines it under the fluorescent lights of the restroom, and you can see the sticky fluid shimmering on his fingers. You wish the lights weren’t so damn bright in here. This is mortifying.

His eyes flick up to meet yours and he gives you the strangest look, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grin that bares his teeth. It’s the first time you’ve seen him smile, and you’re not sure if it’s sexy or horrifying. He seems a little different, maybe even a little smug, as if just realizing the effect he has on you.

He’s fully hard again, you notice, just as he lifts you up by your thighs and slams your back against the wall. Before you can even call out in surprise, you feel his entire cock shove itself inside you, all the way in on the first thrust. You gasp and then let out a whimper of pain, tears stinging your eyes. You didn’t know it would hurt this bad. You feel like something is ripping down there, and you feel what you can only assume is blood trickle down, wetting his cock even more than your arousal. He pulls out and thrusts in again, so deep and rough that you think he might break you. You scrunch your eyes shut and wrap your arms around him, burying your wet face in his neck.

He pushes you back to look at your face. “Does it hurt?” he asks, without stopping his violent thrusts.

“Yes,” you manage to choke out, “a lot. But… I like it.” And you do. You like it so much that it scares you. You never knew you were into this sort of thing, that you would enjoy being fucked so roughly, even on your first time.

“Good,” he says back with that eerie grin of his, red eyes shining. You don’t know if he means it’s good that it hurts or it’s good that you like it, and you don’t ask.

He continues thrusting, your whole body jolting each time. He’s so deep inside you that feel like the two of you are going to meld into one person. You want to feel every inch of him. He’s still wearing that slasher smile, watching your face, and you can’t imagine what sort of expressions you’re making as you pant and make little cries of pain and pleasure, tears still leaking down your cheeks.

Then, all at once, his gaze turns sharp and the smile disappears. “You know who I am, don’t you?” he asks, never dropping his rhythm of thrusts.

You look at him in shock, a sudden stab of fear in your gut. He knows you recognized him. He knows you could call the police, or the heroes, or even the media. For a moment, you can’t speak.

Shigaraki gives a particularly rough thrust, making your whole body bounce up and slam back into the wall. “Answer,” he says, his voice low.

“Y-yes. I know who you are,” you say.

“And you still wanted to fuck me?” There’s an almost mocking tone to his voice.

You look him in the eyes. “Yes.”

“Why?”

You wince as he continues thrusting. You don’t know if you’ll be able to walk tomorrow. “I… I’m a fan…”

“A fan of me?”

“Yes. I… collect pictures of you… on my phone.”

The grin returns to his face. “And what do you do with those pictures?”

Heat flushes your face again. “I… I just look at them.”

His grin is all teeth. His eyes look wild. “Is that all you do with them?”

Your breathing is ragged. You’re close to climaxing, you can feel it. You wrap your arms around him again, and this time he doesn’t push you back. “Ah… I… touch myself… while looking at them…”

You can’t believe you just admitted something so embarrassing. But you’re riding a wave of pleasure and fear and heat and you’re not thinking clearly.

Shigaraki chuckles softly against your ear, and you can’t see his face for his hair. You wonder what sort of expression he’s wearing now. His hands are on your thighs, only the pinky finger of each not touching you. The thought of the danger, of all the scary things he could do to you, pushes you over the edge. You cum, moaning loudly and collapsing against him, hiding your face in his hair. He gives a few more thrusts before he whispers, “Do you want me to pull out or…?”

“No! Don’t pull out!” You practically scream it. You want him to cum inside you. You want to feel it. Consequences be damned. Besides, you’re pretty sure this is a safe day.

Seconds later, you do feel it. You feel every drop shoot inside you. The two of you remain still for a few moments, pressed against the wall. Then, in a surprisingly gentle manner, he eases you down to let your feet touch the floor. Your whole body is trembling as you try to regain your balance while holding onto one of his arms. He steps back a bit to look you up and down.

You look down yourself and see the trickles of blood and cum dripping down your legs and making an obscene puddle on the floor. Shigaraki’s eyes seem to be glowing as he takes the image in. When you feel steady, you let go of his arm and pull your bra and shirt down, then head into the only stall to clean up a little. When you step out, Shigaraki is handing you your panties, his face having returned to his former unreadable expression. You put them on sheepishly, feeling shy all of a sudden.

As he picks up your skirt from the floor, your phone drops out of a pocket and he catches it with his thumb and finger. He reaches you the skirt but keeps the phone. As you step into it and pull it up, you glance over to see that he’s holding the phone up in a very familiar way, and then the sound of the camera.

Did he just take a selfie? With your phone?

He tosses the phone to you and grins again. “Thought you might want a new picture.”

You quickly open the photos app and look at the newest image. Sure enough, there he is, grinning at you from the screen. Your eyes light up as you look back to him. “Thanks!”

He blinks, seemingly caught off guard by your genuine happiness to have a picture of him. He shrugs and looks away. “You’re welcome.”

The two of you head out the door of the restroom, and you notice the clock on the wall. You’re late! You took way too long for your break! You sigh and head toward the bar to get your apron. “Oh man, my boss is gonna kill me.”

Shigaraki glances at the clock too as he heads toward the bar’s exit. Then he looks at you over his shoulder and says, “I’ll drop back in sometime. This place has great nachos.”

He gives a little wave as he disappears through the door, leaving you absolutely stunned. And even though your boss spends ten minutes chewing you out for taking an extra long break, you can’t stop yourself from smiling the rest of the night.

Skin Hunger (Chapter 2) -- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

There's no such thing as a good night at work when you work in the world's most infamous brothel for monsters, but your night takes a turn for the worse when you find yourself serving drinks to visiting half-vampire Shigaraki Tomura. You don't mean to catch his interest, and you don't mean to start a conversation. You definitely don't mean to get him drunk. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Life in Asylum continues, and in the endless scroll of days and nights, cleanups in empty rooms and mop-ups in private parties, it’s almost possible to forget about the half-vampire who will be back at the next full moon. Almost, but not quite. Vampires are a rare enough occurrence in Asylum that everyone’s talking about Shigaraki Tomura and his master, and since they’re going to be regulars, Overhaul provides more than a little education for the staff about the one type of inhuman next to no one has experience with.

Most of the workers don’t care, but you pay close attention. Your knowledge of vampires contains next to nothing concrete. You need to learn, if you want to hold your own during your next conversation with Shigaraki Tomura.

Vampirism is spread through a bite – true. Everyone who’s bitten becomes a vampire – false. Apparently, creating a new vampire requires intention on the part of the vampiric sire, which probably helps to keep the population down. The mechanism that causes half-vampirism is unclear, but what’s perfectly clear is that half-vampires are something unusual. They need to consume blood, just like vampires do, but unlike vampires, they also need to eat. They still have heartbeats, still need to breathe, still need to see the sun every so often. Beyond that, though, no one’s able to describe what powers a half-vampire has, or the degree of strength advantage they have over an ordinary human, or whether they can turn into a true vampire – or how they do it. The question of what Shigaraki’s capable of is one you’re not able to answer, and it bothers you. Then again, if Shigaraki had correctly guessed what you are, he’d be equally in the dark as to what you’re able to do.

Most inhuman species have some sort of biological limitations, just like humans do. Werewolves still need to eat and sleep, and while bullets will damage them, silver bullets are the true threat. Liches and demons can’t set foot on holy ground, no matter which faith has consecrated a given spot, and shapeshifters lose their forms if they get too tired. Everybody knows all about vampires and sunlight. Faeries don’t have limitations. Faeries have rules.

Faeries can’t lie. Lying has physical consequences. Faeries have given names and true names, and while the true names are the most dangerous, even knowledge of a title or nickname can grant some degree of power over them. Faeries are vulnerable to iron, but not in the same way werewolves are vulnerable to silver. A gift offered by a faery is never just a gift; either it comes in repayment for an earlier favor, or it comes with strings attached. Nothing your father’s people give is ever given freely.

And that’s where you got yourself in trouble. You did Shigaraki a favor by using your glamour on him. If that particular rule applies to you as a half-fey, you’ve bound Shigaraki to you until he can repay the debt.

All of that would be enough to deal with heading into the next full moon, and you feel like it’s possible to handle. But three nights before the vampires are set to arrive, the itching starts, and things go from manageable to impossible in the space of an hour.

The last time this happened, you took a few days off of work until it was over, but it’s occurring over a much larger area on your body – your entire left arm, shoulder to wrist, and it’s not going to peel away until it’s ready. If you try, you’ll open yourself up to infection, and if that doesn’t kill you, the way it’ll look once it’s healed will probably make you wish you were dead. You can manage not to scratch while you’re on shift, but when you’re off, you’re scratching constantly, and every last one of your coworkers has something to say about it.

“Better not do that where the boss will see,” Nemoto remarks as you’re all eating in the cramped servants’ mess. “He finds fleas disgusting.”

Nemoto knows damn well you don’t have fleas; he just doesn’t like you, because his demonic ability to force confessions doesn’t work on faeries, and that includes you. The maid you’re sitting next to recoils away from you, and across the table, Tengai rolls his eyes. “It’s not fleas,” he says. “Haven’t any of you seen a half-fey molt before?”

“It’s not molting,” you say uselessly. It would only be molting if you did it regularly.

“Of course none of you have seen it,” Chrono says. Usually he eats with Overhaul, but sometimes Overhaul can’t stand being around even his right-hand man. “Half-fey in general are rare, and her variety of half-fey is rarer still.”

Everyone looks at you. You can’t tell if they’re waiting for you to explain or thinking that they’ll figure it out if they just stare hard enough. Either way, your face turns red, and Chrono heaves a dramatic sigh. “For most of you half-breeds, it doesn’t matter which of your parents was the inhuman. It matters for faeries.”

Tabe burps. “Why?”

Why questions are usually safe to ask Chrono – asking Overhaul a why question results in either a flat, irritated look or a two-hour lecture about the minutiae of the topic. “It’s unclear,” Chrono says. “What is clear, however, is that half-fey children take after their fathers in appearance and lifespan, and their mothers in magical ability.”

“Huh?”

Chrono doesn’t have his mask on. This time you can see him roll his eyes. “Children of human fathers and faery mothers resemble humans, and have human lifespans. Despite that, they have significant magical abilities.”

“How strong are they?” Rappa asks through a full mouth. “Stronger than regular human magicians?”

Chrono shrugs. You, meanwhile, think about a conspiracy theory you read in one of Overhaul’s books – that all human magic-users are secretly matrilineal half-fey, whose mothers either abandoned them to their fathers or swapped out the child of an unknowing human couple for one of their own. If that was the case, nobody would ever know. Other than the magic, matrilineal half-fey are indistinguishable from ordinary humans. “Hang on,” Setsuno says. “If half-fey take after their fey parent in how they look, how come she looks so human?”

“She doesn’t,” Chrono says. He looks to you, and you lower your hand from your shoulder. You’ve been using the cover of the conversation to scratch to your heart’s content. “Show them.”

You give him a pleading look, which he ignores, and finally you rise from the table and back away. You’re still wearing your uniform, so you pull up the skirt on your right side, revealing your leg. The table recoils as a group, and you’re pretty sure everybody’s thinking exactly what comes out of Rappa’s mouth. “What the fuck?”

“Patrilineal half-fey inherit their father’s lifespan,” Chrono says, “and their appearance – or some of it. They appear to be completely human until they reach physical maturity, at which point they begin a partial transformation. You can see the patches where fey skin has grown in to replace human skin, creating a patchwork which renders the half-fey unable to conceal their true nature.”

It’s not just your skin. Your ears have begun to change shape, growing pointed at the tips, and the natural color of your eyes has taken on a strange iridescent overlay. You need to blink less than you used to, sometimes – other times, it’s a struggle to keep your eyes open in the light without sticky, pearlescent tears oozing from them. If your father had been one of any of half a dozen varieties of fey, you’d have seen changes with your mouth, with your hands, even with the way you breathe. But while your mother never told you anything concrete about your father, she was at least able to confirm that he didn’t have gills.

Your transformation is mainly cosmetic. That doesn’t make it any less terrible, and cosmetic is a relative term. “Due to their appearances and lack of other gifts, half-fey used to make frequent appearances in human freak shows,” Chrono continues. “Some also theorize that the reason they’re unwelcome in faery society is due to their ugliness.”

“Oh.” Your coworkers are nodding at this, like it makes sense to them. Nemoto’s looking right at you when he responds. “I get it.”

You know you’re not pretty, but that doesn’t mean you like having it hammered home. You drop the right side of your skirt back down and sit again, and spend the rest of the meal picking at your food. Your appetite’s gone, and your shoulder is still itching. Even though you’re exhausted from your shift, you’re going to have a hard time falling asleep.

You’re making a beeline back to your quarters, with the intention of trying to shower off the itch and falling asleep immediately afterwards, when Chrono catches up to you. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Thank you?” Backtalking to your boss is a terrible idea, but you can’t hold onto your skepticism. “For what?”

“I explained your situation, so you wouldn’t have to.” Chrono looks pleased with himself. “I did you a favor.”

“You could have done that without calling me ugly.”

“Should I have lied? It’s not as if you’re unaware,” Chrono says. He reaches out, hooks the neckline of your uniform with one finger, and pulls it aside. “How much skin are you going to lose this time?”

“Everything on my arm,” you say. Chrono looks surprised, and you seize the opportunity to shy away from his hand. “Goodnight, boss.”

“Your arm,” Chrono muses. “That’ll be a sight to see.”

Yes, it will. The juxtaposition of smooth, perfect, oil-slick shimmering faery skin with plain human skin on the same body is enough to make anyone’s skin crawl, yours included. You turn away from Chrono, and you’re almost out of earshot, almost to safety, when you hear him speak again. “You’ll have to show me when it’s done.”

That’s not the first comment like that you’ve heard from Chrono in the past year or two. They’re becoming increasingly frequent, and you know what they mean, just like you know you don’t want anything to do with them. You mumble another goodnight and duck into the female servants’ quarters, shedding your clothes and slipping a faint glamour over yourself as you step into the shower. You’re pretty sure there aren’t scrying mirrors in here, but at the same time, you’re pretty sure that if any guests wanted to pay to watch the maids shower, Overhaul would find a way to make it happen.

The hot water helps dull the itch, for now. You dry off and change into your sleeping clothes, noting every spot on your body where your heritage has surfaced. Your right leg is covered, thigh to calf, wide sashes and ribbons of fey skin interrupting your skin, jagged and gaudy. Your torso is covered, too, but you were smarter with that – when it was time, you peeled your dying skin away in a single piece rather than clawing it to ribbons. There’s some on your lower back that you never tried to peel away at all, and as a result, the fey skin is pitted and scarred. It looks hideous. You look hideous.

You know it’s true, but at the same time, you know you’re lucky. You’ve seen photos of half-fey whose fey skin broke through on their faces, unmistakable and impossible to hide. At least you’ve got a prayer of hiding this. Or you will, once you’ve peeled this next sheet of skin away to reveal what’s beneath. You crawl into bed and close your eyes, hoping that the itching will wake you in the middle of the night, so severe that you’ll have no choice but to peel the skin off right then and there. The waiting is the worst part. You just want it to be over before the full moon.

But it isn’t over before the full moon. It’s the biggest piece of skin you’ve lost – the last big piece you’ll lose, if only half your skin changes – and it’s clinging on for dear life. You beg Overhaul to help you, to employ the magic he uses to reshape the workers’ bodies when they’re injured, but he refuses. “The reaction between your meager magic and mine is too unpredictable,” he says. “I can’t help you.”

“Then let me have the night off,” you plead. He shakes his head. “Please. I won’t be any use if the skin breaks through.”

“You have my full permission to take your break to remove it,” Overhaul says, and you bite back tears. You were barely functional after you excised the skin on your torso. There’s no way you’ll be able to work with your left arm freshly peeled. “Not only is it a full moon, it’s also the autumnal equinox. We’ll need your glamours if any of the half-dozen rituals scheduled to take place here get out of hand.”

The equinoxes are the only nights where ordinary humans are allowed into Asylum, and they’re barely ordinary – they’re cultists, devoted to the worship of specific demons, conducting rituals that would get them thrown in prison in the human world. “And even if that were not the case,” Overhaul says, “there is a certain half-vampire scheduled to arrive with his master, and I doubt anyone else will be able to get him drunk.”

You were already stressed about running into Shigaraki Tomura again, but the idea of seeing him tonight sends you into a near-panic. “Sir –”

“That’s enough,” Overhaul says, and you fall silent in a hurry. “The moon is about to rise in Kiribati, and you aren’t in uniform. Get changed.”

You won’t win this. You know you won’t. You leave Overhaul’s study, hoping that the skin on your arm will hold out for another twenty-four hours – and hoping that Shigaraki Tomura’s master decided to leave him at home.

The autumnal equinox is fairly quiet as far as equinoxes go, but it’s not often that it occurs on a full moon, and from the moment the moon comes up over an even slightly populated area, Asylum devolves into barely-controlled chaos. The casualty count for workers exceeds an average full moon within the first three hours, and for the first time in a while, Overhaul comes out of his study to help repair the bodies rather than expecting them to be brought to him. Chrono equips the workers with alarm sigils, which will trigger a warning if their heart rates drop below a certain threshold. It’s an unusual precaution, but you know better than to think it’s out of any concern for the workers’ health – more that if too many of them die, Asylum won’t be able to serve all the guests who are flooding through the door.

You’re doing some of everything – a little cleaning, a little mopping up, a little belting a demon in the face with a mop when they won’t let go of the badly injured worker you’re trying to take back to Overhaul. You’re busy enough that you can almost forget about the itching, about the faery skin that’s trying to erupt through your skin on your left arm. For the first seven hours of the night, you run yourself ragged, doing whatever Overhaul’s ordered you to do, racing from floor to floor and trying to spot trouble before it begins. You’ve lived in Asylum your entire life. There’s nobody who knows their way around better than you do.

At hour eight, Overhaul summons you to the makeshift infirmary. When you get there, you spot a pile of discarded gloves on his right, a bubbling cauldron on his left, and a newly healed worker sprawled out in front of him. “Get out,” Overhaul orders the worker, and she scrambles upright, falls, and crawls unsteadily towards the exit. The instant she’s gone, Overhaul plunges his hands into whatever’s boiling inside the cauldron.

You don’t want to know what’s in there, and based on the grimace on Overhaul’s face, you don’t even want to go near him. But he summoned you. You step forward. “Sir?”

“The first ritual is about to begin. You’ll be supervising it.”

Your stomach drops. “I can’t,” you say. Overhaul mutters a curse under his breath. “I can’t! I don’t have magic –”

“You think throwing more magic at an out-of-control ritual will solve the problem? Playing stupid won’t get you out of it.” Overhaul lifts his hands from the cauldron and you startle at the sight of them. His fingers have been eaten down nearly to the bone, and in spite of the fact that he’s repairing them before your eyes, you can’t help but feel nauseous. “There are supply kits in my study, with the measures necessary to contain a ritual. All that’s required of you is to deploy them. Go.”

“Sir –”

“I don’t have time for this,” Overhaul snaps at you, and you flinch. You’ve never seen him this stressed before. “Chrono is needed elsewhere. None of the others but you possess a sensitivity to magic, and no one other than me is able to perform the repairs. Succeed at this and you’ll be rewarded appropriately. I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you fail.”

You know exactly what will happen if you fail. You nod mutely. “The supply kits can be found in the furthest cupboard. Hold out your hand,” Overhaul says. When you do, he traces a rune into your right palm. “Use this to unlock them. Go.”

You have more questions – like how to figure out which countermeasure to use first, or how to tell when they’re needed in the first place – but Rappa’s coming through the door carrying another worker, and Overhaul’s attention shifts from you. He’s not going to change his mind, and there’s no one else who can do the job. There’s nothing for you to do but head for Overhaul’s study. Being expected to supervise a ritual is bad enough. Being late to it is probably worse.

The cultists are making final preparations for their ritual in the smallest of Asylum’s three gardens. You’re not sure which cult this is, but they brought their own sacrifice, bound hand and foot in spite of the fact that they’re unconscious. You try not to look too hard at them. You don’t look too hard at the cultists, either. You pry open the supply kit and study the items within. Now that you’re looking at it, they seem pretty straightforward. Salt and consecrated chalk, for sealing the paths leading to the garden off from the rest of Asylum. A set of wardstones to keep anyone from entering once the ritual begins. A sheet of runes to trace in midair, as an extra precaution. None of it requires more than the tiniest amount of magic. Maybe this is doable.

You confirm that all the cultists are in the garden, then get to work, starting with the salt and chalk across each path leading into the garden. Next it’s the wardstones. The cultists are using a pentagram in their rituals, which means you need a hexagram to contain them properly. Wardstones are simple enough to set. You set them spinning with a twist of your fingers and leave them to hover. A few more of these, then a few sigils, and then you’re all set. You can do this.

A single footfall and a shadow falling across yours are the only warnings you get before a familiar voice rings out from behind you. “If you don’t want people to think you’re a witch, you shouldn’t spend so much time casting spells,” Shigaraki Tomura says, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “Did you miss me?”

It takes an effort not to throw the wardstone at him. “I’m not a witch. And this isn’t a spell.”

“It looks like a spell,” Shigaraki says. He looks way too pleased with himself for reasons beyond your understanding. “That’s two spells I’ve seen you do. Your boss is a warlock, so I don’t get why you’d lie about being a witch.”

You were dreading meeting Shigaraki again, in part because you were sure he’d guessed that you were half-fey. Apparently not. “That wasn’t a spell, and neither is this,” you say. “I’ll show you.”

“Huh?”

You motion for him to come forward, and he does, looking way too suspicious. What does he think you’re going to do? You’re not the one who drinks blood. “Hold this,” you say, and push the wardstone into his hand. “Now, do this –”

You show him the proper gesture to activate it, and he tries it – and drops it, just like you did the first time you tried it. Before you can tell him to try again, he picks it up and looks at you. “Show me again.”

You show him the gesture, and this time he copies it much more closely. The wardstone spins out of his hand and hovers in midair, the last piece of the hexagram you’ve been constructing falling into place. Shigaraki looks surprised, then pleased with himself again. You’re less annoyed with it this time, mostly because it’s given you a chance to prove your point. “You can do it, and you have even less magic than I do. It’s not a spell.”

“This one isn’t a spell,” Shigaraki agrees. He’s mimicking the gesture again, even better on the third try. “The other one was.”

A glamour’s not a spell. If it was a spell, it could be replicated by anyone else, but your glamour is an extension of your nature as a half-fey. You won’t be able to convince Shigaraki otherwise without outing yourself, so you keep quiet, and you set back off around the garden, headed for where you left the supply kit. Shigaraki follows you. “I went to the bar. You weren’t there,” he says. “Are you avoiding me or something?”

“I don’t work in the lounge most of the time. That night I was just filling in.” You’re conscious, suddenly, of the fact that you’re in the maid uniform – and that the maid uniform doesn’t come with even the most useless of masks. “To be honest, I didn’t know you were here.”

Shigaraki makes an affronted sound, but you’ve reached the supply kit, and you have runesigns to trace. In the garden, the cultists are moving into position to begin their ritual. You hold the sheet in one hand and begin to trace the sigils in midair. “What do you do most of the time, then?” Shigaraki asks. “If you’re not down there.”

“I clean.” You make the mistake of gesturing at your uniform, and Shigaraki takes the invitation to look you up and down. “And whatever else Overhaul needs me to do.”

“Like this. What is this?”

“There are cult rituals happening tonight. Overhaul and Chrono are both busy, so they asked me to keep an eye on this one.”

“Huh.” Shigaraki looks away from you, into the garden. “My master had a cult for a while.”

You really don’t know what to think of that, except that if it had been relevant, it would have been the first thing Overhaul and Chrono told the staff about. “How old is your master?”

“Old,” Shigaraki says, which tells you absolutely nothing. “What about your boss?”

“Also old.”

Shigaraki snorts. “What about you?” You clam up instantly, and he rolls his eyes. “Come on. Either your name, what you are, or how old you are. Give me at least one.”

Out of those three pieces of information, your age is the one that won’t get you in trouble. That doesn’t mean you won’t make him work for it. “You first.”

“Come on,” Shigaraki complains. You wait, watching as the cultists pick up their unconscious sacrifice and lay him out on the altar they built out of bones they brought from home. “Not that it matters or anything, but I’m twenty-three. Your turn.”

“Twenty-three,” you repeat. You can’t tell if you’re surprised by his age or not, but the fact that he’s still counting it means he’s still mortal. Your age stopped mattering two years ago, but you’ve kept count anyway. “Me, too.”

“Was that so hard?” Shigaraki grins, just a little too widely. The only thing that keeps you from calling it a leer is an instinct that it’s not born out of triumph at getting one over on you. A moment later, you’re proven right. “I knew it.”

Why does it matter to him that you’re the same age? A low hum begins to vibrate through the air, and the sigil hovering just in front of you wavers. The ritual’s beginning, and you need to focus. Unfortunately for you, Shigaraki’s still here. You need to shake him off. “I’m surprised you’re not with your master. Aren’t you here to feed?”

“He’s here to feed. I’m here to learn,” Shigaraki says. Learn what? “This looks more interesting than whatever else is going on around here.”

The hum in the air intensifies. Beneath the sleeve of your uniform, you feel your skin beginning to crawl. “If you’re going to stay, keep quiet. I need to concentrate.”

“Right. Witches need to concentrate when they’re doing magic.”

You’ve decided not to respond to any more witch jokes. The cultists are chanting in one of the demonic languages, drawing in close to surround the altar and obscure the sacrifice. Now that you think about it, you’re not sure what kind of sacrifice this is, and regardless of whether it’s symbolic or literal, you don’t want to watch it. You especially don’t want to watch it with Shigaraki – Shigaraki, who’s standing next to you, head tilted to one side, scratching idly at his neck. Seeing him scratch makes you want to scratch. You peer down into the supply kit instead, wondering which of the objects inside you’re supposed to use first if things get out of hand.

“Is there food here?”

Out of all the things Shigaraki might have said, you weren’t expecting that. “Huh?”

“Food,” Shigaraki says again. “Is there food here?”

It feels like round two of the WiFi conversation, except this time, you’re able to give him the answer he’s hoping for. “Yes. Why?”

“After this. We should get some.”

“Um –”

“You get breaks, right? Even witches have to eat.” Shigaraki’s scratching harder than before, and he’s not looking at you. “I’m hungry.”

He is really skinny, but he’s also a half-vampire. You know half-vampires still need blood, and you focus on that question instead of the other, worse one. “Not thirsty?”

“I have money. I can pay for it,” Shigaraki says, ignoring you. “And you helped me out the last time I was here.”

“I’m the one who got you drunk.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t owe –”

“Stop talking.” You’ve interrupted him, but it’s not enough – he’s already opening his mouth again, and you slap your hand down over it before he can get another word out. “I mean it.”

Shigaraki’s red eyes are wide. You can’t tell if it’s with affront or with shock. His lips move against the palm of your hand, dry and rough, and a weird jolt travels through you, raising the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck. It’s drowned out a second later by a vibration through the air that makes you stagger. The sigil in front of you dissolves, unable to stand in the face of another wave emanating from the site of the ritual.

The wave abates, for a moment, and you think you’re safe – but the next thing you know, you and Shigaraki are both staggering as the vibration travels through the ground in addition to the air. You don’t need anybody to tell you that the ritual’s gotten out of hand, and you dive into the supply kit, searching desperately for something that can counteract a demonic curse. Something whips past you from the opposite direction, slicing your cheek. You don’t look up. You’re busy.

Shigaraki catches Overhaul’s message and pries it open, reads it aloud. “Your boss wants you to play a song. How are you supposed to play a song when phones don’t work in here?”

“Tell me you don’t really think that music only comes out of phones.” You pull a music box out of the bottom of the supply kit, dust it off, and open it. No music comes out – you must have to turn the handle. “Be quiet.”

Music begins to emanate from the box after two turns of the handle – a thin, quiet voice, singing what sounds like a lullaby in a language you don’t speak. You doubt the cultists speak it, either. But it doesn’t matter what the words are, or even that the singer is at least a little tone-deaf. All that matters is the glamour that drips from every note, stronger and heavier than anything you’ve ever called up. It’s a faery’s voice, and it’s already affecting Shigaraki. He sways sideways, falls hard against a column, the curse he mumbles more slurred than his voice was when he was drunk. The glamour is almost overpowering. If you weren’t half-fey, you’d fall prey to it yourself.

It’s strong enough to stagger Shigaraki and disorient you, but it’s not having much of an effect on the ritual itself. The vibrations are still traveling through the air, and worse, you can feel them in the ground beneath your feet. You keep turning the handle of the music box with no change in the strength of the demonic curse emanating from the center of the garden. Why isn’t it working?

The answer occurs to you just as Shigaraki speaks up. “It’s too quiet,” he mumbles. “Witch. Make it louder.”

You can’t. The despair barely has time to settle in before the answer occurs to you. You can’t make the voice from the music box louder, but you can make sure it’s not the only fey voice in the garden. You clear your throat, coat your voice in your glamour, and begin to sing.

It’s nothing – some song you liked when you could walk freely in the human world, the first thing that comes to mind. You make an effort to match the key the music box is singing in, and you project both your voice and your glamour, doing your best to build on what the faint fey voice is already providing. You think it might be working. You’re not sure.

What you do know is that Shigaraki’s figured you out. You can see him out of the corner of your eye, still slumped against the column, staring unabashedly at you as you turn the handle of the music box and sing. You’re able to console yourself with the thought that your uniform hides your patchwork fey skin before you realize what a stupid thing that is to think about – right now, or ever. Your throat is starting to hurt, your vocal cords straining under the weight of the glamour. You aren’t sure how much longer you can keep this up.

The vibrations from the ritual begin to fade just as your voice begins to crack, and it gives you the willpower to hold on a little longer, the notes you sing growing increasingly fractured and hoarse. By the time your voice gives out completely, the demonic energy’s faded to the point where the music box is enough to counter it. Your ears are ringing, so much that you almost miss Chrono’s footsteps as he approaches. He notes Shigaraki, then looks to you. “You should have called for help.”

“From who?” Your voice sounds awful. You cough. “I took care of it.”

“If that demonic energy had gotten into the flux field, it could have destabilized the entire dimension,” Chrono snaps. “Someone as weak as you has no business trying to contain –”

“If she can’t contain it, you shouldn’t have sent her to watch it.” Shigaraki levers himself upright. “Something was off about that ritual. Isn’t it your job to catch things like that? Or are you really okay with a bunch of human cultists sacrificing half-demons in your pocket dimension?”

“Half-demon?” Chrono swears. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“I can smell its blood.” Shigaraki shrugs. “She saved your ass. Give her a bonus or something.”

Chrono handles being told what to do by people other than Overhaul about as well as Rappa handles being told what to do by anybody. His shoulders stiffen, and his hand closes around your upper arm, venting a sharp jolt of magic into you rather than loosing it at Shigaraki. At least, that’s what you think he’s doing. Then the skin on your right arm, itchy and crawling since three days ago, erupts with an itch so sharp and acidic that it almost feels like a burn.

Your arm is on fire. You’ve felt this before, and you know instantly that you can’t leave it a second longer. “I need my break,” you say to Chrono, your voice strained.

He lets you go with a sharp nod. You turn and all but run from the garden, already clawing off your apron.

No time to get back to the servants’ quarters, but Asylum is full of places to hide if you know where to look. And you know where to look. With a master rune like the one you carry, you can open up passageways and closets that even the savviest of guests don’t know exist, and you’ve used them more times than you’d like to admit. You reach the nearest of the passageways and raise the rune to tap against the wall, only for the agonizing itch in your left arm to flare to new heights. Your body contorts in discomfort, and your right hand falls back to your side – and then, so fast that you barely register it, someone slips the rune from around your wrist.

It's Shigaraki, and he’s got enough of a height advantage over you that he can hold the rune out of reach just by extending his arm. You don’t have time for this. You really don’t have time for this. You can feel the fey skin beginning to eat through yours from below. “Give it back!”

“So that was why you wouldn’t let me say I owed you. You’re a faery, not a witch.” Shigaraki’s grinning like he’s figured something out, even though the clue you gave him was a thousand times more obvious than the clue you got a month ago. “Why didn’t you want me to owe you one? My master is powerful. You could have asked me for anything.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Except this.” Shigaraki studies the rune. You reach for it again and he holds out his other hand to forestall you. “You want this, and I want a straight answer. The ritual’s done. Do you want to go get food with me or not?”

The small part of you that’s not panicking, caught in the desperate need to get the rune back, to get away, notices how he’s phrased the question. He knows that faeries can’t lie, and for some bizarre reason, he’s decided to corner you on a question so mundane that you wonder if you’re hallucinating it. Why would he waste a question he thinks you’ll have to answer on something this stupid?

It doesn’t matter, because half-fey can lie as much as they want, and because you’re done playing around. You glamour your left arm, faking a clumsy feint, and when Shigaraki shifts away from it, you snatch the rune from his hand with your right. He’s between you and the wall, so you turn away, pressing the rune against the opposite wall and opening up the passageway there. You dive through it, the relief at being out of the hallway marred only by the fact that Shigaraki followed you in.

The passageway you were aiming for originally had space. This one is a close fit for one person, tight for two, but you’re out of time to be picky. You can’t get your arm out of your dress without unbuttoning it partway. “What are you doing?” Shigaraki asks, clearly startled, as you undo the buttons one-handed and draw your arm from your sleeve. “Are you transforming?”

Even the slightest motion of your arm sets off a wave of pins and needles, and you grit your teeth as you work it free. Bared from wrist to shoulder, your arm looks awful, mottled, bulging in odd places, almost writhing in others – like the fey skin really is trying to claw its way to freedom from the inside out. Seeing what it looks like only hardens your resolve. You dig your fingers into your shoulder, trying to pry up a piece of skin. If you get a good enough grip on the first one, you can peel off the rest in one sheet.

But you can’t get a grip. Your hand is shaking too much, or your nails are too short, or something. You remember too late that the only other time you peeled the skin back, you made the first incision with a pocketknife. Overhaul doesn’t let the staff carry weapons. You don’t have anything on you that’s sharp enough to cut through your skin, and if you can’t – there’s no way you’ll be able to scratch all your skin away before the fey skin eats through. It’ll be agonizing. It’ll take forever. And Shigaraki will be watching you the entire time.

Shigaraki. You turn to him, desperate and hating yourself for it. You know that guests are searched for weapons when they arrive, but maybe – “Do you have anything sharp?”

“Like a knife?” Shigaraki shakes his head. Then his expression shifts, and he raises one hand to his mouth, pressing the pad of his thumb against one of his incisors. You see blood well up where the tooth breaks his skin. “My teeth aren’t as sharp as my master’s –”

If they can draw blood, they’re sharp enough. You beckon him forward. “Please.”

Part of you is expecting him to bargain. Any inhuman would, if they had one of the Fair Folk at their mercy – they’d never get better terms for any deal they wished to make. But Shigaraki steps forward, closing the slight distance between you without asking what you’ll give him in exchange. His hands are dry, his palms rough like before, as they close around your wrist and raise your hand towards his mouth. “Here?”

His breath is hot against your wrist. You shake your head. “My shoulder.”

Some part of you is terrified at the thought of letting a vampire this close to your throat, screaming in terror at the thought of those teeth meeting your skin. Shigaraki edges even closer to you, as close together as you were when you were dragging him drunk down the hall. His mouth brushes against your shoulder, and you freeze in place. What is he waiting for? You don’t need him to peel the skin off for you. You just need him to –

At least one of Shigaraki’s incisors punctures your skin, and you flinch, hiss – less at the pain, and more at the fact that he’s touching you, one hand on your waist and the other around your wrist, keeping your left arm extended and keeping the rest of you close. But you’ve got what you needed from him. You dig your fingers into the breach, get a good grip, and pull.

It hurts when you peel your human skin away from the faery skin that’s grown beneath, but the human skin is already dead. As it breaks contact with your body, it goes ashen, then transparent. There’s next to no blood. The faery skin glistens, slick with serous fluid, as it’s bared to the air for the first time. You mess up a little bit at the end, peeling away a piece of healthy human skin on the back of your hand by accident. It feels like a hangnail, and your entire arm stings. The pain would be worth complaining about if you didn’t know exactly how bad it was before.

Shigaraki’s still way too close to you. You try to sidle away, and he lets go of your waist, but not your arm. He’s peering intently at it, almost fixated. You brace yourself for the kind of comments you’ve heard every time someone’s seen what you really look like. “Wow,” Shigaraki says. “It looks even cooler than I thought.”

You’re not sure you heard him right. “Cool?”

“Don’t fish for compliments. I’m getting to it,” Shigaraki says. He hasn’t looked up from your arm yet. “I thought it would look cool, and I was right. Do you have more of it?”

You’re feeling weirdly lightheaded. You nod, and you can tell Shigaraki’s grinning just by the sound of his voice. “How much more?” he asks. “Can I see?”

That question snaps you out of whatever fog you’ve been floating in. “No,” you say, and pull away from him completely. “You weren’t even supposed to see this.”

“But you’d have been in trouble if I wasn’t here.” Shigaraki’s eyes follow you closely, not just focused on your arm this time. You can feel his gaze roving over you. If you had to guess, you’d say he’s trying to figure out where else you’re hiding fey skin. “I helped.”

He helped you, after you helped him. “We’re even, then,” you say. “Is that why you did it?”

Shigaraki’s not even subtle in how he ducks the question, and before you can press him for an answer, you hear someone or something knocking against the wall outside – a sharp, uneven rattle that startles you both. You start wrestling your arm back into your sleeve. The serous fluid will glue the fabric to the fey skin and removing it will be painful later, but you don’t have a choice. You need to get out there, and you need to beg whoever’s knocking not to tell Overhaul that they found you in the world’s smallest secret passageway with Shigaraki Tomura and your dress unbuttoned.

The knocking intensifies. You miss a button at the collar of your dress and Shigaraki’s hands knock yours aside, undoing it and buttoning it properly again. Is he trying to get you in his debt officially? You decide that’s a problem for later and open the wall again. There’s no one there but one of Overhaul’s paper cranes, battering itself to death against the wall. You grab it clumsily out of the air. Overhaul’s message is blunt and to-the-point – he wants you to assist Chrono in containing the next ritual, which starts in half an hour. Shigaraki is peering over your shoulder. “I can’t read it.”

“That’s because it’s not for you. They can only be read by the person they’re intended for,” you say. Half an hour. That’s not much time. “Look, I have to –”

Another paper crane zips past you, headed for Shigaraki. He whips his head to one side to avoid it, but he read the trajectory wrong. The wing slices into the dry skin on the side of his neck and he swears, clapping his hand over the now-bleeding paper cut. You capture the crane instead and hand it to him. His expression, already annoyed, deepens into frustration and discomfort as he reads. “What does it say?” you ask.

“What does yours say?”

“Mine says I have half an hour before I’m supposed to help with the next ritual,” you say. “What about yours?”

“My master wants me to feed while I’m here.” Shigaraki scowls. “I don’t want to feed. I’m hungry.”

He’s hungry, and he helped you, and he’s a guest – but it’s not any of those things that decides your course of action. It’s something else, something you’d go mute rather than admit to out loud. “I’ve got half an hour,” you say. There’s almost certainly something else you’re supposed to be doing with that half an hour. Overhaul can be angry with you later. “We can go get something to eat.”

Shigaraki looks surprised. “Really?”

“Sure.” You can’t figure out where that surprise is coming from. He’s been bothering you about it since before the ritual went sideways. Was he not expecting you to say yes? “And we should cover that cut on your neck.”

Shigaraki pulls his hand away from it, grimacing. “It’s not that bad. I get worse all the time.”

From scratching? “It’s still not a good idea to walk around bleeding in here. Let’s go.”

You steer clear of the infirmary and make your way instead to one of the supply caches, using your master rune to open it, and then to open an alcove where you can patch up Shigaraki’s injury in peace. Shigaraki complains as you try to clean the wound. “Why does he fold those things so sharp, anyway?”

“So people will snap to it faster,” you explain. “Most of us would rather drop what we’re doing and do what he wants than risk getting a papercut like that.”

“Your boss is an asshole.” Shigaraki tilts his head to the side at your request, then freezes. “What are you doing?”

“I just moved your hair. It was in the way.” You don’t care that he’s uncomfortable. After what happened tonight, after how much of you he saw, you feel like he deserves it. You get a fingertip full of some salve from the supply caches and start daubing it onto the cut, to the tune of a sharp hiss. “Sorry. I’m trying to be gentle.”

Shigaraki doesn’t respond to that. It’s quiet as you fish through the supply kit for a bandage, a quiet that feels awkward but not necessarily tense. Shigaraki doesn’t speak again until after you’ve placed the bandage. “Can you use one of your spells on it? Whatever you did last time,” he says. “If my master finds out –”

“It’s a glamour, not a spell,” you say. “No problem.”

A phantom itch travels along your left arm as you set the glamour, fading before you can scratch it in earnest. You store the supply kit, open another passageway that will lead directly to the kitchens, and start off, counting on Shigaraki to follow you. The awkwardness follows, too, and just like before, Shigaraki speaks first. “I get it now. Why you wouldn’t tell me what you were.”

You find yourself tucking your left arm close to your body, shielding it. Shigaraki keeps talking. “You helped me just now. I owe you a favor again. Ask.”

Earlier tonight, you’d have asked him to leave you alone. Now – “We’re even. Don’t worry about it.”

“You can’t do that,” Shigaraki says. “I know how this works. You can’t just cancel a debt because you don’t want anything from the person who owes it.”

“I’m only half-fey. I don’t know which of the rules applies to me,” you say. “You’re off the hook.”

“What if I don’t want to be off the hook?”

You can’t imagine why he’d want to be on the hook. The Fair Folk are notorious for driving cruel and twisted bargains. Whether it’s due to their morality, which doesn’t map onto human morals particularly well, or due to a desire to hurt others, everyone who’s ever found themselves in debt to a faery has been keen to get out of it as quickly as possible. Why on earth would Shigaraki want to carry around a possible debt to you?

You don’t want to ask that question. You stay quiet. “I guess I’ll have to stick around, then,” Shigaraki muses. “See about paying you back.”

You glance at him and find him smirking, or grinning. You can’t tell which. Your glamour is shimmering at the side of his neck, obvious to you but subtle enough to escape his master’s notice, and his lips, which would have cracked at a smile this wide even an hour ago, look smoother than before. You have a bad feeling about why that is – and at the same time, you aren’t as worried about it as you were before. Now that he knows what you are, interacting with him is significantly less stressful than before. It’s not something you’ll look forward to. But it’s not something you’ll dread.

“I guess you have to,” you say, and his smile brightens. Even that’s not enough to dredge up the ambivalence you felt before. “Let’s get some food.”

Bertayer.

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WOOOO ITS DONE!!! This took a really long time to finish but boy was it worth it.

This was %90 for visual so if the lines are corny ,well 😭😭😭😭

Beetlejuice would be fun with the situation they are in even if its nit my fav its the first that came to my mind !

Jumanji or a funny film could have pretty funny reaction maybe ? Idk

Or a classical (idk if it count but sometime like titanic or pretty woman)

Anyway, love you fanfics<3

asking for help from anybody who read LLG: if you read it and have any stake in Haunting for Beginners please help me generate a list of movies for the reader and Shigaraki to watch