Perspective, Chapter 1 Of 2.

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 6) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Chapter 6

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. And to your dull human senses, what’s wrong with your house barely stands out on your street. You barely stand out on y our street anymore, either. Other people avoid this neighborhood. It’s not uncommon for everybody’s mail and packages to get dumped in a pile at the top of the street, because no postal worker wants to drive down this way if they can help it. But you’ve been here long enough now. Your neighborhood feels like home. Everybody here knows your name.

Shinsou and Hizashi are trying to start a garden, so you bring over some of your plants to help get them started. Keigo is teaching Jin to drive, and neither of them can get the hang of parallel parking, so you help out by shouting instructions from the curb as Jin tries not to murder your car or Aizawa’s while backing Keigo’s in. Sometimes you take Atsuhiro with you when you go grocery shopping, at Aizawa’s request – Atsuhiro has a shoplifting problem, and everyone else is tired of bailing him out of jail. And in the most awkward incident yet, Himiko gets her first period while Jin’s mom is at work and runs shrieking up the street to your house.

It’s your day off, but you’re in the bathroom when she arrives, so Tomura goes out onto the porch instead. Tomura’s not the person you want addressing a sensitive topic. When you finally make it out there, he’s in the middle of speculating that the unexplained blood loss means Himiko is going to die.

She looks close to tears, and you decide to address the biggest problem first. “You’re not going to die,” you tell her. Then you turn to Tomura. “And you – get out of here. This is girl stuff.”

Usually the threat of girl stuff banishes Tomura pretty quickly, but he doesn’t move. “Humans die from blood loss.”

“This isn’t that kind of blood loss. Shoo.”

Himiko ghost-blinks up at you through teary eyes. “It’s not?”

You shake your head. “It’s normal. Have you been feeling okay these last few days?”

“My stomach hurts. Since Friday.” Himiko’s mouth turns down at the corners. “Ochako at school says I’ve been mean.”

PMS is bad enough when you know it’s coming, but Himiko’s a former ghost, and her favorite human is a guy. She’s probably never seen this before. “Okay,” you say. “You should probably ask Jin’s mom more about this when she gets home. This is kind of a mom thing. But you’re not dying. You just got your period. It’s normal.”

“For humans.”

“Yep.

“Do you have one?”

“Not right now,” you say. You feel a little weird talking about this in front of Tomura. “Every month, though. I’m going to give you some pads to take with you, and you can borrow my heating pad. I’d invite you in, but –”

“Tomura’s a boy and he’s gross.”

“Hey!”

“Right,” you say, ignoring him. “Just a second.”

You duck back inside, pick up an unopened package of pads, and retrieve your heating pad from the medicine cabinet. When you get back to the porch, Tomura’s still there. He and Himiko are staring at each other. Neither of them are making a sound, but you get the sense that they’re talking. Spinner said the ghosts say weird things when they talk to each other, but he must have been eavesdropping on a conversation out loud. You’ve got no idea what Himiko and Tomura are saying to each other, and you have to clear your throat twice before either of them turn their attention back to you. And when they do, their expressions are different than you’d expect. Tomura looks uncomfortable, defensive. Himiko, still a little teary-eyed, looks pleased with herself. Why?

Whatever it is, you’ll have more luck getting it out of Tomura than her. “Here are the pads,” you say, holding them out. “You probably won’t go through them too fast, and when your mom gets back she can help you pick some out. And the heating pad is good for cramps. Put it on your stomach or your lower back, whichever feels worse.”

“Okay.” Himiko wipes her eyes, then smiles at you. “You’re nice. Are you old enough to be a mom?”

“I mean, probably?” A few of your friends from college have kids now. “Not old enough to be your mom, though. Why?”

“No reason.” Himiko turns and makes her way down the porch steps, staggering a bit like you do when you get hit with a bad cramp. “Thanks.”

“If you need anything else before your mom comes back, come over,” you say. You wait until she’s out of sight, then turn your attention to Tomura. “What was that about?”

“She asked if I like you like a mom.” Tomura looks like he wants to hurl. “I said no, and then she asked if I like you like she likes Jin, or like Eri likes Shinsou.”

“And you said no?”

“I said yes,” Tomura says, and your heart sinks – but only for a second. “The little brat can still read auras. She knew I was lying.”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to ask him what he lied about, but then you realize you already know. Himiko eliminated two of the three varieties of ghost-human relationships in the neighborhood – sibling-sibling and parent-child. That leaves two options, neither of which you like. Either Tomura likes you the way Hizashi likes Aizawa and Dabi used to like Keigo, or he doesn’t like you at all.

You should leave it. You should drop the topic and back away slowly. Instead you open your mouth. “Why did you lie to her?”

“What I do with my human is none of her business. Or anyone else’s.” Tomura is dematerializing. Now he’s just a voice and a pair of hands gripping the porch railing so hard that you’re worried it’ll snap. “Go away.”

Fine. You tell yourself it’s fine, that you’ll go, but your feet stay stubbornly planted until your phone rings from somewhere inside the house and you have to go back to retrieve it. Aizawa’s calling, and when you pick up, he starts talking without greeting you first. “Your job gives you access to public records. I’m going to give you a list of names.”

“I can’t just –”

Aizawa starts reading them off, proving that the ghosts aren’t the only ones in the neighborhood who can be assholes in the bargain, and you scramble for a pen and a piece of paper. Phantom is prodding you in the ankle with her snout, looking for a treat. “Hang on a second,” you snap at Aizawa. “I need to write this down.”

A piece of paper skids across the counter towards you, followed by a pen. “Thanks,” you say to Tomura. Then, to Aizawa: “Start at the beginning. The first name was?”

There are seven names on the list. They’re all men’s names. “I want all the information you can find,” Aizawa says. “As quickly as you can find it.”

“This is public record,” you complain. “Make a records request. This is my job. I’m not going to get in trouble just so you can avoid some paperwork.”

“It’s not the paperwork,” Aizawa says flatly. “If I make that request, my name and address become public. You’re the only one in the neighborhood who can look without giving us away.”

The neighborhood. You thought this was just some project of Aizawa’s, but – “Who are these people?”

“That’s what you need to find out,” Aizawa says. “As soon as possible.”

He hangs up the phone without saying thank you, and you look down at the piece of paper and the names you scribbled. Your handwriting is bad. You need to recopy them. “So that’s it?” Tomura says from the other side of the kitchen. He’s barely an outline. “Aizawa calls and you jump to it? Pathetic.”

You ignore him. What he says, at least. “Do you know any of these names?”

“Why would I know them?”

“Just look.” You hold out the list, and Tomura drifts across the kitchen to investigate. “I don’t know why he wants me to look these up. He made it sound really important. Do any of these look familiar?”

“No.” Tomura’s hand materializes fully, plucks the list out of your grip, and sets it down on the counter. “I wasn’t done with you.”

“You told me to go away,” you say. “I listened.”

It’s like you didn’t speak at all. The rest of Tomura materializes, from the tips of his fingers upward, until he’s standing before you, closer than he’s gotten in a while. “You asked me what I want. I know now.”

You can’t remember ever putting that question to him – according to Aizawa, asking ghosts open-ended questions like that is a really bad idea. But because you’re you, and you’re stupid, you ask it again. “What do you want, Tomura?”

A pair of cold hands close on your waist. Tomura pulls you forward so hard that you stumble, falling against his chest. “You’re mine,” he says. “I want you.”

A jolt goes straight down your spine. You’ve heard that note in his voice once before and imagined it a thousand times over, but hearing it again right now feels like a disaster. “Be specific,” you say, looking anywhere but up into his face. “What specifically do you –”

One hand leaves your waist to press against your jaw, forcing you to turn your head and look up. A moment later Tomura’s lips crash down against yours.

He kisses exactly the way you’d expect him to kiss, the way of someone who’s seen it in movies but never asked anyone how it’s done. Mouth closed, all pressure, nothing else. He’s not going to let you go, so you hold still, hoping Tomura will take some kind of hint that it’s not going as plan. Tomura stops and draws back, frowning. “You aren’t doing it back.”

“I can’t when you’re doing it like that,” you say. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“I’m not doing it wrong. You’re doing it wrong.”

“Hey. I’ve kissed somebody before. You’ve just watched it on TV.” You feel Tomura’s grip on you loosen slightly. This is your chance to escape, to tell him that you’re not interested, to threaten to move out if he ever tries this again and maybe mean it. “It’s more fun if you do it right.”

Tomura looks at you suspiciously. “How do I do it right?”

Some part of your mind that’s still sane, that still exists in the real world instead of the twisted upside-down haunt of your house and your neighborhood, is screaming for you to stop, but it’s fading fast. You let it go. You free your hands from where they’re trapped at your sides and frame Tomura’s face with them. “I’ll show you.”

You start with a gentle kiss, mouth closed but soft, and because Tomura’s an asshole, he starts arguing even before you’ve pulled away. “That’s what I did.”

“No, you did it too hard.” You kiss him the same way again, trying to get the point across. “You can still talk when I do it like this, which means you can respond.”

Tomura’s scowling now, but he leans in to kiss you again, and this time the pressure is significantly less. His lips are chapped. You part your lips against his, catching on his lower lip, and he startles. You wonder if anybody else in the neighborhood had to teach their undersocialized ghost how to kiss properly. Probably not.

Tomura’s fatal flaw with kissing is overenthusiasm. As soon as he figures out that opening his mouth is a thing he can do, he overdoes it. The only reason it’s not horrendous is because his mouth tastes like nothing, and it’s almost sandpaper-dry. You let go of his face, put your hands on his shoulders, and give a few shoves until he pulls back. “No.”

“I like it,” Tomura says defiantly. He does. That patchy flush is all over his face. “I don’t care if you do.”

“You should,” you say, and you fall back on a negotiating tactic from forever ago. “If you’re good at it, I’ll want to kiss you more.”

You’ve tried this tactic on human men before. Human men usually convince themselves that you’re playing hard to get and go right back to the vacuum-cleaner technique they were using. But Tomura looks like he’s thinking about it, so you try to sweeten the deal. “I’ll show you,” you say, and he’s already leaning in.

Part of you is still aware that this is a mistake. You won’t be able to turn back the clock on this incident the way you could with the last one. You can’t pretend that this is all for Tomura, that it’s got nothing to do with you, when you’re the one who won’t settle for less than a good kiss. You’re the one who keeps trying to get a reaction out of him, trying to put him back at the mercy of his body just like he was before, and there’s something heady and intoxicating about the fact that it’s working. Tomura’s breathing comes in sharp gasps, and yours isn’t doing much better – but it’s normal for you. “Why do you do that?” you ask, pulling away. Tomura lets out a frustrated whine and leans in again, but you stay just out of reach. “Breathing like that. You don’t need to breathe.”

“I can’t – help it.” Tomura’s shoulders heave beneath your hands. He claws at your hips, trying to pull you back. “Come on. I need it. I need it. I can’t go back like this.”

You’re still out of kissing range, but your hips are locked against his, and you can feel that he’s hard. It surprises you, although it shouldn’t. You got to him before by touching his hand. This is a lot more stimulation than that. You study him, your heart racing, taking in his dilated pupils, his flushed face. The scars over his lip and eye stand out in sharp relief. His skin is shiny, sweaty. You were right in all your daydreams about how desire looks on him. It looks good.

It looks good, and he looks desperate. “Don’t stare at me. Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re pretty,” you say without thinking. You lean in and kiss him again before he can complain about it.

The plan is to keep kissing him until he comes and dematerializes, but you like the sounds he’s making too much to keep muffling them. You duck away from his kiss and start kissing his neck instead, lips moving over the same spot he usually scratches. “Hey,” Tomura complains. “What are you doing? I – ah –”

He grinds against you, groans, and you realize you have a problem. You’re at least as turned on as Tomura is, only you can’t get off from just a kiss. He gets to dematerialize as soon as he comes, and after that you’ll be stuck. You decide that’s a problem for later. You’re busy. A second after you have that thought, Tomura loses patience. He pushes you back against the counter, pinning you in place as his hips jerk in brief, unpracticed thrusts. You keep kissing his neck. If he was human, he’d be walking around with love bites. That thought shouldn’t turn you on, but it does, and it occurs to you that Tomura’s possessiveness runs the other way, too. You’re his human, sure. But he’s nobody’s ghost but yours.

“I can’t,” Tomura gasps. He’s starting to dematerialize. “I can’t. Not yet –”

If he dematerializes while he’s still turned on, the entire street’s going to be pissed off at you for however long it takes him to materialize again. You back off from kissing Tomura’s neck and kiss his mouth again, as he moans and struggles for air he doesn’t need. Suddenly his back arches, pinning you harder than before, and you hold on tight as he shudders. It doesn’t matter how tightly you hold onto him. He’s already dematerializing, slipping away, just like you knew he would. The warm air rushes in once he’s gone.

One of the perks of having a ghost in the house is that the house is never too warm. Now, with said ghost too zapped to materialize, it’s way too warm in the kitchen, and even that isn’t enough to change how ridiculously turned on you are. You could stick your head in the refrigerator and try to calm down, but the idea of doing that pisses you off. Tomura got to get off to your weird but still hot kitchen makeout. So should you.

Some sense of propriety motivates you not to just stick your hand down your pants in the kitchen. You make your way to your bedroom upstairs, and this time, you settle onto the bed instead of the floor. This time, you don’t have to go to your imagination for something to fantasize to. You’ve got the memory of the absolute mess that occurred in the kitchen to keep you focused, and honestly, you’re so shamefully hot over it that you barely need to fantasize at all.

Your mind floods with a replay of the insistent pressure of Tomura’s mouth against yours, the uneven roll of his hips, and remembering the needy sounds he made makes your muscles clench tight in response. You have both hands between your legs, one teasing your clit while the other presses two fingers inside, crooking at an angle that’s never easy to reach on your own. If somebody else, somebody with longer fingers, somebody poised above you or settled between your legs – once you let that thought into your mind, it’s all over. You come so fast you’re almost embarrassed by it. Almost.

You’re lying on your bed, catching your breath, when the temperature of your room begins to change. Tomura’s voice, barely a whisper, snakes through the air. “I saw that.”

Your face heats up, but you’re already flushed, so it doesn’t matter. “So?”

“I want that next time.”

You’re not sure how you feel about Tomura’s assumption that there’s going to be a next time. But there’s a bigger problem. “Based on what I felt this time, you don’t really have the equipment for that.”

“Don’t be stupid. I want you to do this next time when I do.” The temperature of the room settles into the low chill you’ve become familiar with, but the cold spot itself is on the bed next to you, inching closer. “Or I can do it.”

You can’t think about that. Not right now, anyway. “Nobody’s doing anything right now. I don’t even want to know what you already drained to make this happen.” A terrible thought occurs to you. “Phantom! Where –”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says again. You can hear Phantom scratching at the door and whining. She knows you and Tomura are both in here and she wants to know why she’s being left out. “I wouldn’t touch her. I used some plants.”

“Not the ones –”

“Not the ones you like.” If Tomura was materialized, he’d be rolling his eyes. “They all look the same anyway.”

“They don’t all look the same.” You sit up and swing your legs off the bed. “Stupid.”

Tomura makes an indignant sound, but you ignore him as you head to the bathroom to wash your hands. You’d expect things to be weird, so it’s a surprise to you how normal things feel. Normal except for the fact that Tomura’s in your room instead of lurking somewhere else in the house. So normal, in fact, that you find yourself dealing with a problem you’ve had since you found out you had a ghost. “You’re still not allowed in the bathroom when I’m in here.”

“You’re not even doing anything!”

You know you’re going to have to deal with the fallout from the kitchen makeout later. But it’ll be a while before Tomura can materialize again, and until that happens, you’re not going to think about it at all. “I don’t care. Get out.”

You were hoping you dealt with Tomura fast enough that none of the other adult ghosts caught on, but you’re not that lucky. When you leave the house the next morning to get in your car for the drive to work, Hizashi’s right out front on the sidewalk, holding a jar of fresh bugs as far from his body as humanly possible. When he sees you, he pushes it into your hands and backs away. “You know,” he says, and winks. “For later.”

You cringe and duck into your car, but a moment later, Keigo calls out to you from across the street. “Hey, can I get a ride to work? My car’s out of commission.”

“It looks okay,” you say – and then you realize it’s noticeably sinking on one side. “The tires.”

“Yep. Do you mind?”

“Nope.” You move your work bag to the backseat to make room, and look back up front just in time for a balled-up piece of paper to hit the windshield. It could only have come from one direction, and when you look up, you spot Tomura on the porch, barely materialized. “What was that?”

“Your dumb list.”

“The one Shou gave you?” Hizashi still hasn’t left, and he watches you closely as you pull the piece of paper into the car and un-crumple it. “Good. Let him know as soon as you find anything.”

“Sorry. Gotta move.” Keigo eases past Hizashi and hops into the passenger seat. You start the car and back out into the street a little faster than necessary.

You’re driving fast, but not fast enough to get past Spinner’s house before Magne steps out the front door. She waves at you, smirking, and gives a thumbs-up. You wave back, still cringing, and Keigo notices. He reclines his seat with a yawn. “Big night, huh?”

You hit your head against the steering wheel when you reach the stop sign at the top of the street. “Does everybody know?”

“Probably. He’s too powerful. Every time his mood changes, the whole street feels it.” Keigo shrugs. “Also, your whole front lawn is dead.”

You didn’t even notice. “Great,” you mumble. “Think he’ll tone it down if I ask him to?”

“You know him better than me,” Keigo says. He yawns a second time. “He seems like he cares about what you want. He made sure you didn’t forget your list when you left. Dabi, for comparison, snuck out of the house and slashed my tires before I woke up. You definitely got the better ghost.”

“Sorry about your tires,” you say, for lack of anything better. Keigo shrugs again. “Can I ask you about the list? Aizawa was cagey about it on the phone.”

“Sure.” Keigo spends a few minutes smoothing out the wrinkles in the piece of paper. You sneak looks at him out of the corner of your eye, and you don’t miss the way his eyes widen. “I don’t know most of these names. I know this one, though – Garaki Kyudai. He’s a conjurer. Touya’s conjurer.”

“What?” You stare at Keigo once you’re safely at a stoplight. “Touya’s conjurer is alive?”

“Most of them are,” Keigo says. He looks pale. “If Aizawa and Hizashi have that name, they know something we don’t.”

“Then they should tell us,” you say. Keigo looks worried. You’re not worried, maybe because you don’t know enough to be worried, maybe because Tomura didn’t recognize any of the names on the list. “Aizawa and Hizashi don’t get to hide things from the rest of us just because they’re the oldest.”

Keigo nods. “Do the research they asked for. Today,” he says. “Don’t give it to them until they level with us.”

“Sounds good.” Us could be you and Keigo. Us could also be the entire neighborhood, which is fine. If it concerns conjurers, it concerns the entire neighborhood, and everyone should know. But this is going to involve you saying no to Aizawa, who you owe big-time, and to Hizashi, who still sort of terrifies you. “Um, so I think I’m going to wait to say no until I’m in my yard.”

“Yeah, that’s probably smart,” Keigo agrees. “Hizashi won’t get into it with Tomura. Can you imagine if Hizashi was still incorporeal, though? That would be a hell of a fight.”

“Ghosts fight?”

“Yeah, big-time. Dabi’s old house – the one I moved into, like a moron – had a bunch of ghosts in it. It got crazy in there.”

Sharing a house with one ghost is chaotic enough. You can’t imagine a house with multiple ghosts, let alone multiple ghosts who are fighting with each other. You wonder if Tomura’s ever fought another ghost, and if so, how it went. He probably hasn’t. He’s picky enough with who he lets onto the property to begin with. No way he’d let another ghost in just to fight.

You park your car in the lot at the courthouse, and you and Keigo go your separate ways – you to the public defenders’ office in the courthouse’s lower levels, Keigo to the police station. He’s a social worker, not a cop, and he usually goes out on mental health calls. The two of you plan to meet after work, go over what you found, and book it into your respective houses once you get back to the neighborhood to minimize the chances that Aizawa or Hizashi will corner you. It’s only nine am on Monday and you’re already tired.

You didn’t sleep well last night. Part of it was still being sort of turned on and not being able to do anything about – not now that you know Tomura’s watching. And Tomura was watching. He’s been leaving you alone at night for the most part, but last night he was back to hanging out in the corner of your room. At least, you think he stayed in the corner of your room. At some point you woke up shivering, and you could have sworn he was on the bed with you, draped over you in some weird position that humans definitely don’t sleep in. But that could have been a dream. You’re hoping it was a dream. You don’t know what you’ll do if it wasn’t.

You’ve got no idea what Tomura thinks is going on between the two of you. He didn’t talk to you this morning. He usually doesn’t – you’re busy, and he doesn’t like it when you multitask while talking to him, and after you explained what will happen if you can’t pay your mortgage he’s stopped interfering with you going to work. But he was there. You could feel him there, shadowing your every move, close in a way that would be impossible to work around if he was human. Something’s changed in your relationship, and he wanted it that way. You can’t pretend you didn’t want it, too. But as you make coffee and take off your coat and go through your inbox, you realize you have no idea what you’ll be walking into when you get home.

You know you’ll be walking into it with the information Aizawa asked you to gather, though. You take the list out of your pocket and think things through. Technically you could get into the records database on your own, but you’re a paralegal, not a lawyer – people will be likely to question what you’re doing in there, which means you need cover. And you know just who to go to for help. Mr. Yagi likes that you’re thorough, that you check every angle when you have the time for it. If you ask his permission to get into the database, he won’t say no. You pocket the list again, square your shoulders, throw down your coffee, and go to his office.

The door’s ajar, like usual, but you knock anyway. “Come in,” Mr. Yagi says. He’s hunched over a document on his desk, marking it up in red pen. “I hate to start your morning off with editing, but this will need to be done by noon.”

“No problem,” you say. You can type fast. “Sir, I was wondering if I could log into the records database today.”

“You don’t need my permission for that, my dear,” Mr. Yagi says without looking up. “But you have it, of course. What do you –”

He looks up at you at last and bursts into a coughing fit. It’s a bad one. You duck out into the bullpen, fill a cup from the water cooler, and race back in with it, pushing it into his hands. Mr. Yagi takes small sips, but every time he looks at you, the coughing kicks up again. Something is dawning on you, something you don’t like, something about what Mr. Yagi said and did at the housewarming party. “Sir? Is there something wrong?”

“It’s all over you,” Mr. Yagi says, and your stomach lurches. “What happened?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you stammer. You can feel your face heating up, and it gets worse when Mr. Yagi reaches into his desk and extracts a UV light wand. “Um –”

He switches it on and pans it over you, and suddenly you understand. There are handprints. Tomura’s handprints, on your shoulders, on your waist, along your jaw, invisible without the light but in stark relief under it. You were worried that the light was going to show ghost cum splattered on your skin, even though you showered and changed clothes twice since yesterday, but this might actually be worse. This looks like you were handled. It looks like you liked it.

Could Hizashi see this, and Magne? Did Tomura do it on purpose? Now that you think about it, you’re sure he did it on purpose. He’s been possessive of you since the beginning. Of course he’d mark you as his own the first chance he got, even if the only people who can see the marks are the other ghosts. If Keigo could see them, you’re pretty sure he’d have given you a heads-up.

But Mr. Yagi could see them without the UV light. And Mr. Yagi knew Tomura was there before you did, saw Tomura before you did. You stare hard at your boss, at his eyes. His eyes are bright blue, and their pupils are round, like they should be. But there’s a faint shadow around his irises in both eyes. You realize, with another lurch in the pit of your stomach, that you’ve never seen your boss blink.

“You’re one of them,” you say. It isn’t a question.

Mr. Yagi sighs. “I’ve been human long enough that my powers have faded. The contacts are enough to hide behind. But no former spirit, no matter how distant they are from their origins, could fail to spot that.” He gestures at you and you cringe. “Were you – aware of this as it happened? Did you consent to it?”

Your eyes well up suddenly, and Mr. Yagi panics, knocking over his cup of water onto his desk. You move to mop it up while he tries to hand you tissues, and in the chaos, it takes you a while to recognize the emotion you’re feeling as shame. What happened yesterday wasn’t out of the ordinary in your neighborhood. Keigo barely blinked when he found out, and Hizashi and Magne were teasing you, not mocking you. Hooking up with a ghost is a semi-normal thing to do in the world you live in now. But it’s not normal here. The way Mr. Yagi asked the question made it clear that he thinks nobody sane would do what you did yesterday. You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Mr. Yagi gives up on the tissues and hands you a handkerchief from his pocket instead. “I will get you out of there,” he says. “You can stay with my family and I, for as long as it takes for you to find your feet. You don’t have to stay –”

“It was consensual.” You force the words out of your mouth. Somewhere in the back of your mind it occurs to you that this conversation is wildly inappropriate for work. HR-reportable levels of inappropriate for work. “I’m fine. I don’t want to leave. Can I get into the database or not?”

“If you’re fine, why are you crying?”

Because you weren’t ashamed before and now you are. “I’ll have the brief retyped by noon. The database –”

“Why do you need it?”

It crosses your mind to lie, but there’s no need. Mr. Yagi is a former ghost. If you explain, he’ll understand. You draw the list out of your pocket. “These are the names of conjurers. I think. I need to get into the database to find out everything I can about them.”

Mr. Yagi takes the list, scans it, and immediately starts coughing again. You head out to the water cooler for the second time in five minutes. By the time you get back, Mr. Yagi is back at his desk, scribbling furiously on the list. You set the water down next to him and he ignores it. “This man is dead,” he says, and draws a line through the name – Akaguro Chizome. “Chisaki Kai – also dead, and recently. Ujiko Daruma is an alias of Garaki Kyudai. Which of the names is his true one, I can’t say.”

You stare at him. He continues to write, drawing circles around the remaining three names. “Garaki is worth locating, but concentrate your efforts on these three. They may be three different people or they may all be aliases of the same man. Who gave you this list?”

Some instinct makes you hold back Aizawa’s name. “Why do you need to know?”

“If they’re planning to hunt conjurers, I have some advice that might make the endeavor less dangerous.”

“Hunt them?” you repeat. “No. They wouldn’t. That’s not what – um.”

Mr. Yagi is looking at you, waiting for an explanation, but you don’t know how much to say. Your neighborhood might be sort of friendly, but there’s at least one murderer in every house except yours, and your boss is a lawyer. A lawyer, not a cop. And if he’s embodied, he’s killed someone, too. Based on your expression, he knows what you’re thinking. “Type the brief, then conduct your research. We’ll meet for lunch to discuss it.”

“Yes, sir.” Lunch is three hours away. You’ve got exactly that long to come up with a plan.

You text Keigo in between typing paragraphs of the brief. My boss is a ghost and he knows about the list. What do I do?

For real? I’ve never met one in the wild. Keigo texts back way too fast for somebody who’s supposed to be at work. You say so and get an eyeroll in response. I’m a crisis responder. If nobody’s in crisis I don’t go out. Did he have ideas?

He knew the names. I’m supposed to meet him at lunch to talk about it. You get an idea. If you’re still around at noon, come meet us.

Keigo sends a thumbs-up and you throw yourself into typing the brief. You print it and return it to Mr. Yagi, swapping it for the list of names. Then you settle in at your computer again, considering where to start. Mr. Yagi seems like he knows what he’s talking about, but it won’t hurt to double-check.

You start with the first name he crossed out. Akaguro Chizome has been dead for a while. Twenty years, almost, and he died from blunt force trauma that crushed his skull to powder. You wonder which ghost did that, if it was even a ghost that did it. There’s not much on him. Just an autopsy report. There’s a lot more on Chisaki Kai, when you look him up. Death certificate, police report, interviews. Interviews. You dig into those, and the name at the top of the first one stuns you into stillness: Aizawa Shouta.

The next interviewee is Shinsou Hitoshi, and after him, Aizawa Eri. The only name that’s missing is Hizashi’s, and slowly the pieces start to come together in your head. Chisaki’s remains were so splattered that he wasn’t identified until long after the investigation was closed. Hizashi wouldn’t have cared what Eri’s conjurer’s name was when he killed him, and as long as he was gone, Aizawa wouldn’t have cared, either. His name is still on their list because they never found out who he really was.

Chisaki’s cause of death was internal organ rupture – all of them, all at once. How the hell did Hizashi do that when he was already human? Probably the same way Dabi still burns Keigo – the stronger they are, the more of their powers they keep when they embody themselves. However Hizashi killed humans as a ghost, it must have been nasty. Really nasty.

You tell yourself not to think about that. The important thing is that Mr. Yagi is a credible source. You can take his advice on this. You borrow the computer at the desk next to yours – your coworker’s on maternity leave, leaving you with triple the workload in the bargain – and pull up a second database window. Then you set two searches to run simultaneously. One for Garaki Kyudai, since you want to have some information to give Keigo when you see him. And one for the first of the three circled names: Shigaraki Akira.

The Garaki search finishes fastest, and you print what you’ve got, then rerun the search for Ujiko Daruma. The search for Shigaraki is much more difficult. It’s not a common name, so while there will be fewer documents, they should be easier to find. They aren’t. You turn up some documents for a Shigaraki Yoichi, all of which mention an older brother, but the older brother’s name never comes up. You rerun the search, this time for Shigaraki Yoichi, wondering all the while if it’s futile. These documents are two hundred years old or more. These people, whoever they are, are long dead.

There’s more on Shigaraki Yoichi than Shigaraki Akira. Shigaraki Yoichi had a really shitty life. He was chronically ill at a time when regular illness was still too hard for most doctors to handle, and his mind wasn’t doing too great, either. He died when he was your age, in a mental hospital. Suicide.

At least, it was thought to be a suicide. The medical examiner’s report inserts some doubt into the equation, but it’s noted specifically that the family of Shigaraki Yoichi chose not to press charges against the asylum for his death. There’s a note about the family members – the ones who came to visit, and the one who identified the body. Mother: in a fragile state. Father: deceased. Sister: absent. Body was identified by deceased’s elder brother Akira.

“Got you,” you mumble, and hit print. Now you’ve got proof that there was somebody out there named Shigaraki Akira – and when you scan the list again, you spot the first name of the next name on the list. Kiriyama Yoichi. It could be a coincidence, but you’re pretty sure the asshole jacked his dead brother’s name. “Nice try. I’ve got you now.”

There’s more on Kiriyama Yoichi, but while that search is running, you look up the asylum Shigaraki Yoichi died in. Sure enough, it’s been shut down, but it wasn’t knocked down – it was turned into a museum. Maybe some of the documents were preserved. If they were, you’d love to read whatever Shigaraki Yoichi had to say about his brother.

You’re in the middle of writing an email to the curator when your phone rings. It’s Spinner’s contact number, which is weird. You can’t figure out why Spinner would be calling you, unless something’s gone wrong in the neighborhood. You pick up the call. “Hello?”

You hear Spinner’s voice, but it’s in the background. “Dude, give it back! Don’t go inside –”

There’s the sound of the door opening and shutting. “Phantom missed you,” Tomura says without preamble. Your jaw drops. “Say hi.”

“Hi, sweetie,” you say helplessly. You can hear her snuffling the phone. “Are you being good? Did you get in trouble?”

Phantom barks. “Good girl,” you say, and she barks again. If you were at home, you’d sit down on the floor to cuddle with her, but you’re at work – and Tomura called you. “You really should give Spinner his phone back.”

“He can have it when I’m done. If I feel like giving it back.” Tomura, you remind yourself, is still an asshole. “When are you coming back?”

“The same time I always get back,” you say. “Why did you take Spinner’s phone? Don’t lie.”

“Wanted to talk to you.” Tomura’s voice takes on an almost laughably sulky note. “What? You don’t want to talk to me?”

“I do. I just can’t believe you called me. I thought you hated phones.”

“I hate other things more than phones,” Tomura says. “Where are you, anyway?”

“I’m at my computer at work. I’m looking up things for the list.” You cast around for something else to say. “I’ll tell you about it when I get back. And I’m going to need help when I get back. Hizashi’s going to try to get it out of me, and I’m not telling anyone until they tell us what’s going on.”

“If he comes near us he’s dead,” Tomura says at once. You can hear knocking on the door in the background, and when Tomura speaks again, he’s not talking to you. “You can have it back when I’m done! Go away!”

“We’re done now. I have work to do, and if I don’t get it done, I have to stay late,” you say. Tomura makes an annoyed sound. “I don’t want to stay late and you don’t want me to, either. I –”

You slap your hand down over your mouth just in time. “What?” Tomura asks.

“I’ll talk to you later,” you say. You’re still reeling from whatever the hell almost came out of your mouth. The sooner you get off the phone, the better. “Give Spinner his phone.”

“Fine,” Tomura complains. “Say goodbye to Phantom.”

You tell her goodbye and listen to the appalling sound of her licking the microphone before Tomura hangs up. You’re going to have to apologize to Spinner when you get back. And you might have to get Tomura a phone.

You have time to finish your email to the curator and print the documents for Kiriyama Yoichi before Mr. Yagi ventures out of his office for lunch. “We’ll be going to the usual place,” he says. He nods at the folder you’re carrying. “It seems your search was fruitful.”

You nod. “One of my neighbors works nearby. Can he come with us?”

“Does he – know?”

You laugh. “He has one. A former one. Half a former one.” Mr. Yagi looks baffled, and you sigh. “I’ll let him explain.”

The lunch place is just up the street. You text Keigo to let him know you’re headed there and start the walk with Mr. Yagi. He insists on carrying your files along with his own briefcase, and all you can do is hover, waiting for him to drop one of the two. “The friend who will be joining us,” Mr. Yagi says, “is that who you were speaking with on the phone?”

“No,” you say. Mr. Yagi looks quizzically at you, but there’s no way you’re getting into it. The less you say about Tomura, the better.

When you get to the restaurant, Keigo’s there already, and he waves you and Mr. Yagi over. There’s a mischievous look on his face, and you watch it anxiously as you introduce the two of them. “Mr. Yagi, this is my neighbor across the street, Takami Keigo. And Keigo, this is my boss, Mr. Yagi.”

“Nice to meet you! And nice contacts,” Keigo says. Then he looks at you. His expression’s gone from a smile to a full-blown smirk. “So.”

“What?”

“The strangest thing happened this morning,” Keigo says. “I got a text from Dabi.”

“Dabi?”

“My – roommate,” Keigo says, modifying the sentence after you kick him under the table. “Usually Dabi’s communication style leaves something to be desired. Blighting crops and hexing people is more his speed. But today he texted me. Quite a bit. Take a look at this.”

He shows you the screen of his phone. You read, with Mr. Yagi reading over your shoulder, cringing on every line.

Dabi: do you believe this shit

Dabi: that asshole from across the street lured Spinner over to the fence like a pedo

Dabi: so then they’re talking about fuck knows what

Dabi: Spinner’s showing him his Switch

Dabi: then Spinner shows him his phone

Dabi: and that asshole fucking materializes one hand, grabs it, and hauls ass back inside

Dabi: it’s been thirty minutes and he still hasn’t given it back

Dabi: crazy shit

Mr. Yagi coughs. Keigo gives you a significant look. “Any speculations as to why Tomura stole Spinner’s phone?”

“Tomura is –”

“Her ghost.” Keigo nods at you.

“Ah,” Mr. Yagi says. “I imagine that Tomura stole the phone in order to place a call to her.”

Keigo wheezes. “He said Phantom missed me,” you say lamely.

“More like he missed you! You’re going to have to get him a phone.” Keigo misinterprets the look you’re giving him and keeps talking. “Don’t teach him how the camera works, though. I taught Touya and now I get photos.”

The last thing you want to do is teach Tomura about dick pics. If you get him a phone, it’s going to be a flip phone. Or one of the ancient ones with the keyboard that slides out. Mr. Yagi is studying Keigo carefully. “Is it true that you have a ghost? I was led to believe that there was something – odd about him.”

“Dabi? Yeah. He’s a scar wraith,” Keigo says. Mr. Yagi nods. “Do you know something about those?”

“Nothing, other than that it’s an uncomfortable state to exist in. How long has he been that way?”

“A while. Before we moved here.” Keigo focuses in on the file folder in a way that tells you he’s done talking about this. “What’s in there? Did you find anything on Garaki?”

“Here.” You pass him the relevant documents, then extract the files on Shigaraki to show to Mr. Yagi. “You were right. At least one of these is an alias. But this person – the first one on the list – was born two hundred and fifty years ago. He can’t still be alive.”

“Conjurers draw power from the world between,” Mr. Yagi says. “It allows them to exceed a natural human lifespan. But in order to draw that power, they require a conduit of some kind. Some are lucky enough to find a location that’s been consumed, in whole or in part, by the world between. Others must create their own.”

“What do you mean?” Keigo asks. “Like – well, shit. No wonder they keep coming back.”

Mr. Yagi nods. You feel like you missed something. “What?”

“The ghosts summoned by conjurers act as their conduits to the world between,” Mr. Yagi says. “When a ghost embodies itself permanently, the conduit is closed. A powerful enough conjurer will have summoned and bound many ghosts, and the loss of one or two will not trouble them. But weaker conjurers don’t have the ghosts to spare. When they lose a conduit, they come to investigate. And to punish.”

“Eri’s conjurer was weaker than the others,” you realize. “If Spinner’s right, and he was Magne’s and Atsuhiro’s too, then he lost three ghosts. He would have had to do something –”

“And he probably thought it was going to be easy until Hizashi murked him,” Keigo says. “I don’t think they even found out his name.”

“It was Chisaki Kai,” you say. “He was on the list. And he’s not the only one. Akaguro Chizome is dead, too. Do you know who killed him?”

“It is possible to kill conjurers,” Mr. Yagi says, noticeably avoiding your question. “However, it’s highly dangerous, as the conjurers are capable of harnessing ghostly power through their conduits to the world between. Humans who try to kill them often fail. I assume this Hizashi is a former ghost?”

“Probably the ghostliest former ghost, other than my idiot,” Keigo says. “If I was ranking power levels on the street, he and Dabi would be the strongest. If we’re counting former ghosts. We’ve only got one real ghost left.”

“You’ve been to my house,” you say to Mr. Yagi. “Is he really that strong?”

“Almost incalculably strong,” Mr. Yagi says. You’re weirdly proud of Tomura. “Given his presence, I’m not surprised your neighborhood has such a high concentration of ghosts. Unfortunately, such a high concentration poses a risk.”

“No, he blocks us,” Keigo says, frowning. “He blocks all of us.”

“I’m sure he does,” Mr. Yagi says. “What I mean is simply that if a conjurer discovers one of you, all of you will be compromised.”

He’s right. You hadn’t thought of that, and based on Keigo’s expression, neither had he – but Mr. Yagi is right. If a conjurer makes it past Tomura’s aura to investigate, they’ll find out that the neighborhood contains half a dozen former ghosts. “Do they talk to each other? Conjurers?”

“Some do,” Mr. Yagi says. “But all of them are able to sense the presence of ghostly power, just as ghosts are. If one finds your neighborhood –”

“We’ll just kill him,” Keigo says. “Problem solved.”

“Problem not solved. If we just kill some guy, our neighborhood will be his last known location,” you say. You’re not a lawyer, but after three years as Mr. Yagi’s paralegal, you know your way around a murder case. “We’d look guilty. And not everybody in the neighborhood can stand up to direct questioning. If the police show up we’d be in a lot of trouble.”

“We can get out of that,” Keigo says, waving his hand and accidentally attracting the attention of a server. “Now that I’ve met your boss, I know a good lawyer. Hi! We’re definitely ready to order.”

Keigo can put away food like there’s no tomorrow, but Mr. Yagi’s a slow eater, and your appetite’s taken a hit. Mr. Yagi notices. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“I’m worried,” you say. “Aizawa gave me those names yesterday, and Hizashi asked about them again this morning. Neither of them were taking no for an answer. It seems urgent. I think there’s a chance we’ve already been caught.”

“We’ve been caught. You haven’t been caught.” Keigo waves a piece of fried chicken at you. “You’ve got a live ghost. If a conjurer shows up, you’re the only person on the street who doesn’t have to worry.”

“That depends on the conjurer,” Mr. Yagi says quietly. “Conjurers lose ghosts for one reason and one reason only – permanent embodiment. Ghosts don’t embody themselves permanently without reason, and if Tomura’s conjurer were to suspect that Tomura might consider it, their wisest move would be to remove the reason why he would.”

“You’re saying Tomura’s conjurer might try to kill me,” you say. Mr. Yagi nods. “That would be stupid of them. He’d never embody himself. He likes being a ghost.”

“You sure about that?” Keigo eyes you over the rim of his soda. “I wouldn’t be. Since you two hooked up –”

“We didn’t hook up,” you say. There’s no world in which kissing constitutes hooking up. You’re not even all that sure Tomura knows what sex is, and you really don’t want to talk about it in front of your boss. You turn to your boss, pretending Keigo isn’t there. “I’m guessing a conjurer wouldn’t stop to ask. He’d just kill me. Right?”

“Yes.” Mr. Yagi sighs. “By that token, you’re perhaps the unsafest of all.”

“It’s a waste of time to decide who’s safest and unsafest,” you say. “If a conjurer shows up we’re all in trouble. Either Hizashi and Aizawa think somebody’s found us already, or – I don’t know. Maybe they’re trying to track where the other conjurers are?”

“That sounds right,” Keigo says. “If we monitor them, then we can figure out if they’re getting close, and kill them away from the neighborhood so nobody gets suspicious.”

“Let’s speak a little more quietly about this,” Mr. Yagi implores. People are starting to stare at the three of you. “Engaging with the conjurers this way should be your last resort. Stay hidden at all costs.”

“What if we have to kill someone in order to stay hidden?”

Mr. Yagi gives Keigo a look. “I’ve stayed hidden for fifteen years. Do you mean to tell me that you can’t hide better than an old man like me?”

The challenge is enough to silence Keigo on the issue – that issue, and only that issue, for the rest of lunch, until his work phone chimes. He drops his credit card on the table and bolts, and you and Mr. Yagi both stare at it for a moment. “Is he buying lunch?”

You think about some of Keigo’s bullshit today. “Yes.”

With Keigo gone, you seize the opportunity to go into a little more depth with your research. “With Kiriyama Yoichi, I need to do some more reading. Since Akira stole his brother’s name for his new identity, I’m guessing he stole a name from somebody he knew in the Kiriyama identity to generate the next alias. I’m not sure who it is, but it’ll help to find them. They almost certainly left a bigger paper trail than he has.”

You contemplate the stack of papers, then think about what your work inbox looks like. “There’s no way I can get this done before the end of the day.”

“Take it home,” Mr. Yagi says. You nod. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Please.”

“My son, Izuku, is very good at projects such as this one,” Mr. Yagi says. You’ve met Izuku. He’s simultaneously the friendliest and the most intense kid on the planet. “You won’t need to give him much background information, and he’s on summer break. Both of you can read over the information and share conclusions. Two heads are better than one.”

You nod. “In addition,” Mr. Yagi continues, “there are conjurers who do not engage in the practice of binding spirits. I’ll reach out to my contacts there and see what they know.”

“Thank you,” you say. Mr. Yagi nods, taking the last sips of his tea. “Sir, um – why are you helping me? I know I’ve been difficult the last few months. I’ve been slow. And this morning, I –”

“I’ve had no concerns with your work. And I knew all about your office demeanor when I hired you.” Mr. Yagi cracks a small, skeletal grin. Then his expression softens. “As for why I would help you, there are three reasons. First, because it’s the right thing to do. Second, because I care for you. And third, because it would have helped my wife immensely to have met someone who could explain the nature of these things, rather than having to find out on her own.”

“Oh,” you say. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say. Probably not that he cares about you, but it’s true, isn’t it? He’s the nicest boss you’ve ever had, and his first reaction to seeing Tomura’s marks on you was to offer to help. Even if you felt judged. Maybe the feeling of being judged was just you. “Thank you, sir. It means a lot.”

Mr. Yagi nods. “Be careful,” he tells you. “This world is more dangerous than you realize.”

You could take that as paternalistic, patronizing, if you wanted to. You’ve never doubted that the world of ghosts and conjurers was a dangerous one. The first time you learned of Tomura’s existence, it was because you saw him kill something, and even if everyone else on the street is incredibly blasé about it, you never let yourself forget the kind of neighborhood you live in. It’s almost a relief to hear Mr. Yagi’s reminder. “Don’t worry, sir,” you say. You aren’t scared of Tomura these days, but careful of the rest? Careful you can do. “I will.”

PLS DO SHIGGY THIGH FUCKING HCS thank u ily

I honestly didn't think I'd write on here again but I can't sleep and it's like 5:30 in the morning lol. So I'll write some thigh fuckin' headcanons to ease the stress 😎 (also TW: for thigh fucking, somnophilia, long post in general LMFAO. If I missed anything I apologize. Also it's now 6:19 after finishing it so there's probably typos I've missed after briefly skimming this so Im also sorry for that LMFAO)

(EDIT after writing. I'm so sorry this ended up not being headcanons and was just a full on drabble I found of pulled out of my ass but I hope you still enjoy it lol)

Now truthfully I havent even watched/finished the seasons after season 4 lol. I'm in the middle of season 5 still because I'm severely depressed and can't enjoy anything. But that doesn't mean I don't still love shigaraki and tbh I still read fanfiction from time to time about him or dabi.

I feel like a lot of people paint shigaraki as either absolutely vile and grimey or just aloof and soft with a grumpy attitude. And I feel like it's a bit of both. Which really plays into his sex life (if he'll ever have one). But even without a sex life, his personality most certainly plays into his fantasies and kinks.

I want to also emphasize that fantasies are just that, fantasies. Shigaraki most likely has plenty of fantasies that he'd never dream of acting out with his partner should he ever have one. I feel like even if he had some sick fantasies or kinks, and you happened to be okay with it, he would still be iffy because if this man, for whatever reason, picked you out of everyone else?? He's not going to treat you like absolute garbage. Shigaraki is definitely not the nicest person by any means, but by God if he cares about someone he fucking cares. Esp because you're probably the only person who actually loves him in his entirety. So if he's into noncon, somnophilia, predator/prey play, or whatever, it's going to be a while before he gets comfortable bringing up any of those fantasies with you.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, you're wondering "goddamnit ash shut the fuck up and tell me the thigh f-" wELL THATS TOO DAMN BAD YOU LISTEN TO SEGGSY MONOLOGUE OR YOU GET NOTHING. ty luv u.

Okay so his fantasies right ? What are shigarakis kinks ? Does he have any? Oh absolutely. And they range from either something as light and soft as hickeys and tying you up in silk while eating you out for 2 hours to nipple clamps and making you wail with hot tears and shoving a dildo down your throat telling you take it like you've taken every other mans cock down your throat because he knows stupid sluts like you are always capable of doing those things if you know it'll make your pussy soak the sheets.

Now it's not his top fantasy, but thigh fucking. And God do you have the prettiest thighs. It doesn't matter is there's stretch marks, if they're chubby, skinny, or if you have immense scarring on them he LOVES them. He loves how soft they are. He loves how they look in shorts or a skirt (esp when you keep trying to pull them down a bit because they're a size smaller than what you wanted so they don't pudge out). He loves how your delicate hands lay on top of your thighs while you fiddle with your fingers out of nervousness. He loves the way they move when he walks behind you, you have a walk that puts any model to shame. He just loves them . And by God does he throb at thought of getting to push his cock past your sweaty or oily thighs. The head of his dick barely kissing your clit each time he thrusts. But that's not the biggest and best part at all. He wants to wake you up to it. You've told him countless times he can wake you up to any sexual acts but he's still nervous. But he's really horny right now. And you're sweaty from the lack of AC and you're naked on your side sleeping away. But he genuinely can't think of anything else other than how wet your pussy must be right now and how slick your thighs must be from the heat of the room. His cock is absolutely aching to slide between your thighs and folds. He has never felt so hungry until he met someone with a body as inviting as your own. He's been stroking for the past couple minutes but it's just not enough .

He peels off the throw blanket you have over you because despite the heat you always love your blanket to sleep. But even after the blanket is removed you still don't wake . He slowly examines your body and grazes his hand down your body. Going over your shoulders and arms to ribs to hip bone. Finally meets that beautiful soft ass of yours. He gentle lifts your thigh to angle and can see your pussy . Its so wet and glistening from the lights on the street coming in through your window, beaming in and lighting up your skin to a beautiful warm glow.

He lifts up one of your slick folds, seeing your pretty clit and rubbing his thumb in tiny circles on it. He can't take it anymore and slides his cock between your thighs, his shaft rubbing your leaking pussy and making your clit throb even more. You may be asleep but your cunt is always awake and ready to be touched by him.

He starts thrusting slowly to building up that pressure in his groin to make his orgasm feel even better in the end. He can feel you coating his shaft with your juices more and more with each desperate thrust he makes to your thighs. Your thighs are so sweaty and warm and grip his dick so nicely taking any and every drop of cum he wants to and could ever give you. He can hear slight wet sounds coming from your cunt with each thrust that keeps getting more rapid and animalistic with each thrust because you dont know how to stop being such a needy whore all the time even in your sleep. Before he knows it you're gushing and your cum is on the sheets making him go over the edge. Now he's spitting thick, white shots of cum all over your thighs while drops of it roll down your skin onto the bed as well. You're still mostly asleep, but youve adorned a dazed smile on your face with a satisfied tomura passed out next you .

Day 3 | Tomura Shigaraki x F!Reader (18+)

Bruising | Washing/Cleaning Each Other

Content Warnings: Bruises (bite marks, hickies, ect are mentioned), Vaginal Sex, Female Reader (dialogue and AFAB body parts mentioned), Unsafe Sex, Bathroom Sex, Rough Sex

Word Count: 1,311

Summary: 

You both move into the bathroom to rinse the night’s activities away but wandering thoughts and eager eyes make cleaning up the last thing on Tomura’s mind.

Tomura’s eyes scanned over your body, lingering on your ass more than anything. He could see every scratch, bruise, and mark he left on your bare skin. His filthy mind reminded of everything that he did to cause them. His eyes were immediately drawn to your thoroughly abused cunt as you bent over to move the shower stool out of the way, his cum still leaking out. You turned on the water and turned back to face him as you let the water run over your head.

Your hand reaches out towards him and gestures for him to get closer. “Come on.” You said, moving yourself over to grab his arm since he wasn’t moving immediately. “Why do you have to be so difficult, it hurts to move.”

“I’d be upset if you didn’t.” He mumbled, letting you put him under the water instead as you moved out of the way. 

You let out a chuckle, moving to grab a cloth you laid close by. You lathered up some soap on a cloth and started scrubbing at his arm. “I know, I know because if I wasn’t in pain that means you ‘did it wrong.’” You joked, rubbing the soapy cloth over his other arm. 

Tomura let out a snort at your terrible joke as you used the cloth to scrub at the skin on his chest before turning him around so his back was facing you. You used the cloth to lightly scrub at his skin, the scratch marks and scars that you left on his back left your cunt tingling. You started feeling warmth in your core again, even though every logical part of your brain said it was a bad idea to go again. You felt like he’d tear you apart. That just excited you more though. 

You used your foot to scoot the stool back over, Tomura taking the lead to sit on it himself. He loved when you washed his hair, it was relaxing. You always did it better than he could do it himself. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch as you started lathering the shampoo into his hair. You took your time scrapping your nails against his scalp, knowing just how much he liked it. You always joked that it was an easy way to make him docile. 

“Feel good?” You asked, honestly not expecting much of a response.

He gave a grunt in response as you stayed like that for a few moments before you reached over to grab the handheld showerhead off the wall to rinse his hair. He kept his eyes closed as you ran your fingers through his hair as you rinsed all the soap out. You quickly ran some conditioner through his hair before you placed the showerhead back on the hook. Your peripheral gave you warning before you heard him stand up beside you. You turned around to look at him, to see the eager look he had in his eyes. His fingers ran along the bruises he dug into your hips, something unknown flashing across his eyes. 

He debated in his own head if he wanted to attempt returning the favor of trying to wash you. He didn’t think he would do it to your standards, let alone well enough before he’d just start getting distracted by your body. You carefully watched him for a moment before you reached over and grabbed that same washcloth from before and lathered more soap on it. You ran it over your arms before letting it run across your breasts, taking note of his now hardened cock twitching as he watched you. 

You let the washcloth drop as your hands moved to rub the soapy lather over your breasts. You moved closer to Tomura as you placed your chest against his, your breasts squished against his skin, as your hand dropped to wrap your soapy fingers around his cock.

“Someone’s excited again.” You teased, suddenly feeling his fingers on your ass. He dug them in as you squeezed your fist tighter around him, pumping in a steady rhythm. 

“You’re naked and shoving your tits in my face, what did you expect?” He sarcastically asked, nudging your body back towards the wall. His head found the crook of your neck, his hot breath ghosting against the various bite marks and bruises littering your skin. “I’m still pissed that you can stand right now.”

“I’m only standing because I have to.” You joked, your cunt clenching in anticipation as you felt him twitch against your hand. “You’re gonna ruin all my hard work getting you clean.”

“We’ll just stay in the bathroom, then you can rinse me off again.” He said, reaching over to turn the water off. His tongue ran along the marks on your neck as his nails dug into your skin.

“That sounds appealing to you, not to me.” You responded, hearing his breath hitch as you suddenly stopped your movement on his cock. “I still have soap on me, you know.”

He lifted his head, his red eyes darker as he glared at you. “You made this your problem.” He said, grabbing your waist as he forced you onto the floor of the bathroom.

You yelped in surprise, your bruised body hitting the wet hard floor. You winced at the pain as you felt Tomura push your legs aside, spreading them so he had a full view of your soaked cunt. You glared up at him as you watched him move his fingers down to dip them into your entrance, soaking his fingers in your juices and his own cum. He pumped them inside you, your gasp of surprise turning quickly into a chorus of moans. 

“Not fighting much anymore, are you?” He teased, taking his fingers out before he ran them along your folds. 

He used his soaked fingers to coat his cock before he positioned him between your legs fully. He slammed himself into you, not giving you any room to adjust. It burned as his cock stretched you, your hands reaching up to grab at his arms. Your nails dug into his skin as your mind raced with the mixture of pleasure and pain. Your cunt was thoroughly sore from what he’s already done to you but it begs for him to fuck you senseless. 

Four of his fingers dig into the skin on both of your legs as he uses it to hold you steady, his hips slamming into yours. His wet skin slapping against yours as you cry out, your walls practically sucking him in. Your cunt begging to be filled again. The friction burned and your muscles screamed for peace but your mind was clouded with the shape of his cock molding itself inside of you.

“Feels so–good..” He whispered to himself, his eyes closed as his hips started to stutter. 

You whined as felt him dig his fingers further into your skin, leaving you with more reminders of his claim on you. Your nails dragged across his arms leaving reminders of your own as you felt him quicken his pace. More hot cum shot inside of your pulsing cunt as you whimper from his animalistic rutting as he rides out his orgasm. His hips give one final stutter before he slowly slides his cock out of you, the feeling causing a long whine out of your throat. 

You move to sit up as you immediately feel the screaming from your body, clearly not happy with your decision to put it through more pain. You wince as you struggle to stand up, bracing yourself against the wall as you go. You look over and see Tomura sitting back on the shower stool. 

“Happy now?” You asked, grumpily turning the water back on. “I’m definitely going to be stuck in bed all day tomorrow because of you.”

“That was the plan.”

A little horny thought I had last night.

Warning: Smut, Voyeurism, Masturbation (Tomura), Foot humping (Reader), Praise kink, Daddy kink

——————————————————————

Thinking about watching Tomura masturbate. Him, sitting in his computer chair slowly stroking his fat cock and you planted right next to him straddling his foot. His red eyes bore into you as he's watching you watch him. Every now and again he taps his foot, sending sweet vibrations to your clit. Your arms are wrapped tightly around his leg as you stare up at him with those doe eyes. Those eyes he can't ever seem to resist.

"Such a good girl, watching your daddy get off like this… You seem to be enjoying this more than me."

He darkly chuckles, his hand speeding up making his back arch and his eyes shut.

"You wanna see me cum so bad, don't you, baby?"

You quickly nod and he stares down at you once more. Precum slowly oozes from his tip as his movements become targeted, precise. He taps his foot again and you start grinding against it, peppering kisses along his knee. You worship this man, there's no part of his body you wouldn't touch, kiss, suck. You didn't care how horny it made you look or how desperate you seemed. You were desperate. Desperate for him, for his touch, his words, his gaze. It was like he was dipped in honey or made of sugar. You just had to get a taste. Even if that meant consuming him whole…

Tomura didn't stop moving his foot this time, probably in an attempt to have you cum along with him. Your grip on his leg tightened as you moaned out his name. He reached out and grabbed your chin, guiding your eyes back to his. He panted and groaned but that didn't stop the smile that spread across his lips. He was eating this up. As his climax built, his eyes struggled to stay open, them fluttering shut every now and again. He was close, too close. And yet so far. You leaned into his hand and placed a small kiss against his palm. That was enough to send Tomura over the edge, thick, white ropes of cum gushing out from his dick and onto his shirt. You both watched as it fountained out against his stomach, your orgasm following in suit. You both sat in the moment for a while before you continued to plant kisses along his palm.

"What a good girl you are. I think you deserve a reward…”

——————————————————————

Thanks ! ^^

We have to keep pushing

Let's go Tenko/Tomura nation‼️‼️

8th place is insanely well for the first week

Gen Z shigaraki and spiner

i think that, shigaraki is a great representation of some problem of the gen z.. Like it may be just me but even if hikikomori exist for a long time now, its appropriate with our generation. Plus i also can relate to a lot of their issues(hum hum childhood shiggy exept that i didn't kill anyone ;-; )

I also am not the best to explain such a things in english so if soemone get my point please repost as a respond.

I feel like its particulary hard for us, i mean if shigaraki continue his life with his real family i think that it will be a pretty "commun" gen z one from the struggle i had saw in my family and my friend's one when i was a child. I also have the sae tics as him when i'm stress out and a lot of my friend have to. Of course its not everyone but i feel like our generation is kinda fucked up and those vilains had help me go throught a lot as i was like "i'm not alone"

Its kind of a vent post honestly i feel like shit today.

The things is that i think that we needed this. They aren't the best writen vilains even if i love Tomura more then everything but like...i feel like they are somehow having gen z problems. The online addiction and parents issues are more expose now and i feel like, even Dabi somehow have that problem. The parents that want to make you someway and then realise that you'r not "enought" 'cause we'r never enought right ? We'r just phone addict :) we'r just spoiled brat and yea maybe we are but we don't just "creat" that feelings.itsin us that's all.

Ashes to ashes

Summary: Even in the cold aftermath of the war, Tenko rests knowing he's not alone cw: tomura shigaraki x female reader, fix it fic, fluff, drabble, how its actually going to end tbh wc: 742

Everything is bright. 

It’s the first thing he could think of as he blinks his eyes open. The sluggish movements paired with the rhythmic beeping of a machine next to him made it all feel more jarring. 

Once the blurring of his vision cleared he had a better idea of his situation. 

He’s in the hospital. 

There is a window, a machine monitoring his vitals and

You. 

Your head is down as you sat by the side of his bed, the slow breathing of your form clueing him in on your current sleeping status. 

How long have you been here? At his side as he lie in a hospital bed for god knows how long? 

His heart — feeling new, feeling warm aches in ways that have nothing to do with the soreness of his other muscles. 

It makes him reach out to you, his hands are bandaged, but he knows decay no longer rests within him. He knows the quirk was destroyed along with his hatred, yet he still maintains a lifted finger as he pets the top of your resting head. 

Somehow you were so comfortable sleeping at an awkward angle — leaning over onto his bed as you sat next to him in your chair. 

It’s cute. 

You’re cute. 

He feels a smile pull at his features, it grows even bigger as you stir, waking to the disturbance. 

Your eyes are slow as they open and he can only feel himself relax as you look at him again. 

He thought he’d never see you again. 

“Tenko.” Your voice is soft, heavy with sleep as you speak and the words waver with the tears filling your eyes. “Thank god you’re awake.”

Yes, Tenko, no longer Tomura Shigaraki. It feels like a dream, but that part of him died with the end of the war. Only the embers of his true being remaining to be born again from the ashes. 

Your hand catches his and there is no fear in your movements. You are not afraid of him — you were never afraid of him. 

You’ve always loved him throughout it all. 

“How long have you been here?” He drags himself to ask, voice hoarse from lack of use and Tenko can see the way your shoulders shake as you struggle to answer — as you struggle to fight the tears. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Is your only response as you rise from your chair, knocking it back from the force of your movements as you race to wrap your arms around his neck in a hug. 

It’s tight and it presses on the bandages all over his body but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s just content with you being the first thing he sees as he came to. 

He doesn’t acknowledge your shaking sobs, knowing you would get on to him about calling you a crybaby. No, he allows you this moment, pulling you in closer and burying his nose into the crook of your neck. 

“I was so scared, Tenko,” you start, words breaking free from the confines of your mind, “I thought you were gone for good.”

He rubs soothing motions onto your back, pulling you in tighter. “I thought I was, too.”

The words only make you cry harder, the tears make his heart ache along with the pain throughout his body now. 

“I love you, I love you so much,” you murmur, and he knows. He’s always known. “Please don’t ever leave me again.”

Tenko pulls you back, forehead now resting against yours and — god, he knows you would hate to hear him say it, but he can’t help it. He thinks you’re cute in all forms, even when crying. 

“I,” he pauses and looks at you, really looks at you — and seeing his entire world in your eyes only brings the sting of unfamiliar tears. “I love you, too. I won’t leave your side again.”

He brings you in for a kiss, a gentle press of his lips against yours and you take all that you can, eyes closing and head tilting. 

Tenko pulls away and it’s brief only to mutter a firm, “I promise.”

Then he’s back, kissing you like his life depended on it. 

Even so close to you, he knows the warm tears trailing down his face were his own. The burn of them is unmistakable. Tenko can only bring himself to smile into the kiss, feeling anew. 

He can’t remember the last time he cried. 

👀🤌wow

mentions: some predator/prey dynamics dont look at me

“is there a reason why you're following me around?” you asked in amusement as you paused in your trek and glanced up from your phone. with the daycare closed for the night, you had to take inventory to prepare for tomorrow—a simple enough task. only, it was made ever more complicated by a certain lanky shadow that trailed closely after you.

sun's rays spun slightly around his head as he regarded you with upturned eyes and clasped hands. he swayed back and forth on his heels. “none in particular! why?"

“you just seem more energetic than usual.” you shrugged as you fully turned around to eye him. indeed, he was fidgeting more than you'd expected after a long day of dealing with children—a pent up sort of terseness to his limbs.

sun let out a dramatic sigh and held a hand up to his forehead. “you've caught me, dear friend! it seems i simply have not run myself down to the bone today! whatever shall i do to get rid of all this pent up power?” to demonstrate, he did a few cartwheels around you before ending with a one-handed handstand. his free arm waved at you, rays spinning around fast enough that you could feel a small breeze from them.

you huffed and gave him a small push on his chassis. with a little exclamation, he toppled backwards into a flip and righted himself with a jump. “first of all," you said shortly, "you don't have bones.”

sun made a sound like a pssht. “ah, semantics! down to my endoskeleton! is that better?” he skipped around you in that cartoon-like way of his. you followed him, slowly spinning yourself around in a circle to keep him in sight.

“better." you nodded in approval. "secondly—i dunno. i have some time before i need to clock out. we could do something to help you get rid of those extra jitters?”

sun stopped next to you and spun his upper body in a circle, then released a loud hMmm. he lingered close, a hand up to the bottom of his face plate as though in thought. "we could, you're right! let's seeee..." he trailed off, tapping a finger against his face with a clink clink clink as he pondered. "how aboouuttt... tag!" quick as a blink, his hand darted out to tap your shoulder before he skipped off deeper into the daycare with a giddy giggle.

you stared off at him slack-jawed for a moment, then processed his actions as he got further and further away. "hey! at least give a little warning?!"

"where's the fun in that?" sun's voice called out to you from beside one of the large jungle gyms. he had stopped his skipping and waved at you eagerly—impishly. "i don't see you chasing, friend!"

"oh you little—" you growled playfully under your breath, then took off in a jog after him. he watched you encroach with a mischievous grin, and just when you were close enough to reach out and touch his arm, he spun himself fluidly away and skipped off elsewhere.

"gotta be faster than that!" he called cheekily. you huffed and picked up the pace. he peeked over his shoulder at you and squawked out something as he dodged a swipe from your hand. "wOAhahah! close one!"

"suunn," you called out warningly, a grin splayed on your face despite your tone. "get back here!" he only laughed and tossed you a playful wink.

you knew you had no way of actually managing to catch sun, being that he was a robot and you were, well, a human. but it was still fun attempting to. he didn't run, exactly. he just skipped and frolicked about. it was almost annoying how you couldn't catch up. he'd slow down, then speed up right as you were about to reach him. sometimes he'd jump up onto the jungle gyms to fling himself over your head or crawl out of your reach in a manner reminiscent of moon. you hoped it was helping him more than it was helping you—you certainly were starting to feel sweaty with all the running around. eugh.

finally, finally, after what felt like ages of sprinting after him, you managed to tag him with a clever feint to the side.

"tag!" you exclaimed in triumph, then abruptly turned on your heel and bolted away. you didn't bother to linger and see his expression—you knew he'd be able to catch you rather easily. might as well at least try to evade him.

"good job, my dear!" he called after you with a tinge of pride. "here i come!"

you could feel yourself starting to get tired as you ran around one of the larger jungle gyms. but the adrenaline of having sun skipping after you kept you going. you grinned as you glanced behind you to see him merrily making his way over. not too fast, not too slow. just enough that you could slow down a bit and catch your breath.

"are you still feeling pent up?" you yelled over your shoulder as you ran past the ball pit. when he didn't respond, you dared a look behind you. he wasn't there. it made you blink and slow down slightly. "...sun?"

"eyes up front!" a voice hollered and you automatically yelped as you jerked your head back around and just barely dodged his hand. you caught a brief glimmer of white from his eyes before you sprinted off to the side. "ooh! close!" there was something tinging his voice that you couldn't quite make out.

"gotta be faster than that!" you echoed his words from earlier. perspiration was starting to mat your hairline and run down the side of your face. you huffed and looked behind you to see if you could pause for a bit, only to flinch at the sight of sun picking up the pace to run faster after you. something sharp gleamed in the curve of his smile, but you weren't able to get a proper look as you practically flung yourself away.

"frieendd," sun suddenly crooned out in a way that made your stomach drop. a chill ran down your spine. "come heere."

"no thanks!" you panted out and made a sharp turn around a slide. you swallowed heavily, a dryness coating your throat. a stitch was starting to form in your side. "hey, can we take a break? i feel like i'm dying."

no response. you slowed to a stop and looked around you. your heart thrummed a steady beat in your ears, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you attempted to gain control of your breathing. you spun slowly in a circle, trying to see where sun was. nothing. you peered out behind you at the rest of the daycare, but you didn't see a flash of yellow anywhere.

...he could be very quiet when he wanted to. you didn't think you heard a single footstep nor jingle of his bells the entire time you were playing with him. you wiped at your forehead and tried to calm yourself down. the daycare's theme song played merrily through the speakers surrounding the area. it almost made you uneasy.

trepidation lined your figure. you had the urge to call out to him again, but for some reason, you hesitated. there was an odd feeling to the air that hadn't been there before. you swallowed again and decided that maybe— maybe you should... make your way over to the security desk. just in case.

as soon as you took a single step in the direction of it, there was a prickle of the hairs on your nape standing erect. you had just enough time to look above you at one of the jungle gyms before you saw a sharp flash of grey. a shriek left your lips as you ducked down with your hands covering your head, something lunging over your figure and skidding a distance away.

for a moment, you stayed curled up in a crouch, hands trembling over your head as you gazed distantly at the floor. a few strands of your hair drifted gently down, landing lightly on the blue play mat you stood on. you blinked at them blankly. then you looked up.

sun was hunched forward with his hands bracing against the floor, back towards you. there was a twitchiness to his limbs, his head jerking minutely left then right. his torso shifted and moved up and down like he was breathing heavily.

you slowly, very slowly, raised yourself to stand. it felt like you were standing on the edge of a precipice—unsteady and uneasy. sun paused, rays twitching slightly. then he turned around, flexing sharp fingers.

your breath got caught in your throat.

"hello my dear." sun grinned at you with with teeth that were sharpened like a razor. pinprick white eyes were zeroed in on you on a backdrop of grey. you took a small step back. "you should run now."

I'M CRYING !!

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 21) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside-down world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20

Chapter 21

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. You were okay with that when you bought it, but right now the thing that’s wrong with your house is the fact that you’re not in it. Tomura is coming home today – is home right now, in fact – but you’re not there with him. Instead you’re out to breakfast, in the same diner where you and the others plotted to kill the conjurer, with every single human in the neighborhood. Plus Inko, because why not?

You said you’re in the diner. It would be more accurate to say that you’re trapped in the diner, because you’re stuck in the corner of the booth between Shinsou and Jin’s entire family, wedged in so tightly that going out over the table or under it would be impossible. You’ve determined that this is Aizawa’s fault, so you glare at him. “There had better be a good reason why you dragged me here.”

“It’s for your own good,” Aizawa says. “And for Tomura’s, so if you claim to care about him –”

“If I claim to?”

“You’ll allow us to speak. We have more experience with this than you do.”

“None of us had help,” Jin’s mom says. “We had to figure things out by trial and error, and given the situation, we didn’t think it would be fair to let you go through the same thing.”

“Helping a ghost get used to being a human is hard,” Shinsou says. “And getting used to being human is hard for a ghost. We’re helping you. The other ghosts are all at your house helping him.”

“Oh.”

“They have a lot of stuff to explain,” Keigo says. “Stuff you wouldn’t want to explain. Like body stuff.”

“And hygiene stuff,” Inko adds. “They’re used to dematerializing any time they get dirty. Having to clean up is an adjustment.”

“It’s all an adjustment,” Aizawa says. “Our purpose here is to make the adjustment as easy as possible. Let’s begin.”

“No, let’s order,” Keigo says. The server’s here. “Hi. We’ll need a lot more coffee than this.”

There are so many of you that ordering takes forever, and while you wait your turn, you think over the events of the last few days. You went back to work the day after you were discharged from the hospital, scared the hell out of your coworkers, and got booted out by Mr. Yagi, who insisted you go home and rest. You went to the hospital instead, hanging out in Tomura’s room with the ghosts who were on shift. You and Hizashi spent some time formulating a backstory for Tomura, one that lines up with the lies you already told your parents, and Mr. Yagi helped you sneak the fake birth certificate into the government records. That was your first day out. On your second day out, you got to go back to work.

Work sucked. You tore through your inbox like a crazy person, trying to get as much done as possible, knowing you’d be out the whole next week and probably longer. Your progress was impeded by your coworkers, who’d heard rumors about what happened – you and your boyfriend getting kidnapped by a serial killer – and wanted to know if they were true. Surprisingly, Nakayama came to your rescue, shooing the others off. She made it clear that the price was a tell-all happy hour later on, but you decided it was worth it to get everybody else off your back.

Tomura woke up officially last night. The ghosts went to pick him up this morning, right around when the humans dragged you out of your house. You haven’t even seen him, and you’re so crabby about it that when the server asks you what you’re having today, you order half the menu on Aizawa’s dime.

Keigo manages to hold in his snickers until after the server’s walked away. “Gotta fuel up for when you get back, huh?”

“Hey. Gross,” Spinner protests. “There’s kids here.”

“Nah, I’m kidding. I saw what he looks like now. Too much exertion would probably kill him.” Keigo tips a huge wink at you and you roll your eyes. “Anyway, I officially call this meeting of ghost friends anonymous to order. Who wants to start?”

“Probably one of you two,” Jin says, gesturing at Inko and Aizawa. “You all have the same kind of ghost.”

Inko and Aizawa trade a glance, and Inko speaks up first. “Be prepared for a lot of frustration on Tomura’s part,” she says. “Most ghosts permanently embody themselves into healthy forms, so it’s likely that he’ll perceive some unfairness, and possibly express some regret. It’s got much less to do with you than with the adjustment to living as a human, so try not to take it personally.”

“Yeah, don’t take anything personally,” Jin agrees. “Himiko bit us a lot at first. For, like, no reason.”

You try to imagine Tomura biting you for no reason, and can’t. “Remember,” Aizawa says, “Tomura wouldn’t have been capable of permanent embodiment unless it was what he truly wanted. That doesn’t mean adjusting to it will be easy.”

“Like Takami says, the physical stuff is hard to explain,” Shinsou says. He grimaces. “But even just the rules of being human are a lot for them to figure out. They’ve been watching us all follow the rules, but they’ve never had to do it themselves, and they’re still them. They still don’t get a lot of the stuff we do. He’s gonna ask a lot of questions. And he’s gonna complain.”

“Magne had this thing about crosswalks,” Spinner says. “Also about clothes. She still has a thing about clothes. She thinks she can wear whatever she wants, wherever she wants, whenever she wants, as long as the important bits are covered up. I don’t really know how to explain that you just can’t do some stuff.”

You sort of like Magne’s don’t-give-a-fuck attitude about it, but you can see how it would cause trouble. “The more power they had before they embodied themselves, the less attentive they are to social norms or boundaries,” Aizawa says. “Behavior in public is something to be watchful of. A public indecency charge is not something you want to incur.”

He’s scowling in a way that says this piece of advice is coming out of personal experience. You can’t decide if you want to hear the full story or if you never want to think about it again. “I mean, I think you’ve done sort of a good job training him on this stuff already,” Keigo says. “He’s got some social skills.”

You feel like he might be giving Tomura a little too much credit. “Like three social skills.”

“That’s three more than Dabi’s got,” Spinner points out, which shouldn’t really make you feel better but does anyway. “I hung out with him more than anybody except her, and he’s not that bad. It’ll probably get harder once you two start going out in public, but he’s not starting at zero. He’s at like – level three.”

“One level for every social skill,” Shinsou says, and snickers. “Nice.”

“I think the larger problem is overstimulation,” Jin’s mom says, and it takes all your self-control not to start in with some really inappropriate thoughts. “However they’ve been perceiving through their senses when they’re embodied, it’s much more intense when the embodiment’s permanent – at least from what we saw with Himiko.”

“In general, they struggle with one sense more than the others,” Aizawa says. “For Eri it was taste.”

“Himiko, too,” Jin’s mom confirms. “That might have been what the biting was about. She also struggled with smell, which makes sense, since taste and smell are fairly connected. What about Magne, Spinner?”

“Sight for sure,” Spinner says. “Light sensitivity, color sensitivity, everything. She sees colors the rest of us don’t even know exist. It’s cool. But it sucked at first.”

“For Hizashi it was hearing,” Aizawa adds. “Ghosts are able to hear in multiple dimensions, and his hearing was particularly sensitive as a ghost. It took him two years to be able to go without noise-canceling headphones outside.”

You have a feeling you already know what Tomura’s oversensitivity is going to be. Given the number of contact allergies he’s already displayed and what he was like as a ghost, physical touch is going to be a big problem. It’s so daunting to think of that it pushes you into asking your first real question of the day. “How did you help them cope with it?”

“Patience,” Inko says.

You thought that was a given. “Time,” Jin’s mom adds.

“Space,” Aizawa says, and everyone nods. “Now, for the first few weeks –”

You knew helping Tomura adapt to being human wasn’t going to be easy, but as the ghost friends outline all the things you hadn’t even considered, you begin to grasp just how hard it’s going to be. Every last ghost did damage to their relationship with their human, or humans, while they were trying to adjust. Every human had more than a few moments of thinking how much easier it would have been for their ghost to stay a ghost. Even Hizashi and Mr. Yagi, who were the most intentional about their embodiments, had days where they made living with them feel impossible. You’re glad everyone is being honest with you, thankful that they aren’t sugarcoating it, but your stomach is tying itself in a knot.

Tomura’s embodiment wasn’t just an adjustment, it was a last resort to avoid being sucked back into the world between. And it almost didn’t work. If even the ghosts who wanted this were nightmares to live with at first, what’s going to happen with him? Nobody can answer that for you, or tell you how to cope with however many times Tomura will probably tell you that he wishes the two of you had never met. All they can tell you is the same three things: Patience, time, and space.

To be fair to the ghost friends, they highlight the fun stuff, too. Spinner talks about taking Magne to a museum for the first time, and to a mall. Jin and his family turned themselves into foodies so they could try everything alongside Himiko. Even before Shinsou and Eri were adopted, Shinsou taught himself to make candy apples, because Eri had seen them on TV and wanted to try them. Aizawa, looking as calm and reflective as you’ve ever seen him, talks about taking Hizashi to movies, to concerts, to the opera, and watching him hear things as they were meant to be heard for the first time. Inko, smiling broadly, tells you about when she was pregnant, and Mr. Yagi’s reaction the first time he put his hand on her stomach and felt Izuku kick.

“He looked like he’d seen a ghost,” she says, laughing. “He didn’t know babies did that.”

Keigo is laughing, too. You picture Mr. Yagi’s startled expression, the one you’ve seen so many times right before he starts coughing blood, and find it in yourself to smile. “They’re still themselves underneath it all,” Inko says. “Even if it takes time to see.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Most of the plates are empty, including yours. You’ve been eating steadily just to have something to do with your hands. “There’s one more thing,” Keigo says. “Stronger ghosts keep some of their powers when they embody permanently. According to Touya, Tomura kept a lot of his. He can still read auras, like they all can, but he can project a pretty strong aura all on his own. And he can still drain stuff, even if he can’t do anything with the life-force. So far it’s looking like he needs to touch something with all five fingers for it to happen, and since it’s not anything close to a natural human ability, he has to really want to destroy it. Just keep an eye on him if he starts to get mad.”

“Okay,” you say. “What else?”

“We’re happy for you,” Shinsou says, and Inko nods, smiling still. Everybody’s smiling, now that you notice it. “It’s a big thing. And it’s a good thing. Now you’re really part of the neighborhood.”

You could be. You can be, now that you and Tomura can both leave if you want to. For a moment, hope begins to tug at you – but then you remember what Keigo said, and what everybody else said about patience, space, and time. It’ll be a long time before the two of you can be part of anything. And probably a long time before the two of you are a two of you again, too. Aizawa’s phone buzzes, and he looks at it. “They’re finishing up over there. We should head back, too.”

He heads to the cash register to pay the bill, and the rest of you work on extricating yourselves from the booth. You wince as you stand up, feeling your stitches pull. Keigo notices. “How are you holding up?”

“I’ll live.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard with this stuff,” Keigo says. He gestures awkwardly at his broken arm with the other. “It’s a lot to bounce back from. I’m here when you need to talk. Like I have been.”

“Same here,” you say, and Keigo smiles. “And, um – thanks for taking over with the kids, during the fight. I had to try.”

“It was a pretty good try,” Keigo says magnanimously. “You ran a fire poker right through that guy’s chest. Remind me not to piss you off.”

“You know, I think your house is still the scariest house in the neighborhood,” Jin muses. “I figured Dabi’s house or Aizawa’s was going to take over, but nope. Tomura still has a bunch of his powers and you almost killed two guys. You’re the scariest for sure.”

The scariest house in the neighborhood, and now you’re part of the reason why it’s scary. The list of things that make you feel better these days is short and weird, and Jin’s statement  gets added almost instantly. “Thanks.”

You all carpooled in the Bubaigawara van, and Jin’s mom parks it in front of her own house, allowing everybody else to spill out onto the sidewalk. You and Keigo and Aizawa are last out, and as you get your feet under you, you notice a lot of ghosts milling around in front of your house. In front of it, not inside the fence. You make your way over, stumbling a little bit. “Did he kick you out?”

“Nah, we left. Figured he needed some processing time,” Hizashi says. He’s looking past you, at Aizawa. “Hey, what are you doing walking around? You’re supposed to rest your leg.”

Himiko skips up to you, towing Eri and Izuku after her. “It’s all fine,” she tells you, smiling. “He understands everything and we gave him some of everybody’s clothes until he can buy his own.”

“He looks even more like me now!” Eri is bouncing from foot to foot. “He’s going to come over to our house.”

“Oh.” You wonder if Tomura actually meant it, or if he just said it so she’d leave him alone. “That’s – nice.”

“You’re invited, too,” Eri assures you. Then she, like Hizashi, looks over your shoulder. “Dad! Hitoshi!”

Himiko peels off to meet Jin, leaving you with Izuku, who’s watching the house. “Tomura’s still really powerful,” he says. “Even when he’s human the aura is still there. Dad says he could probably take on a strong conjurer, even like this.”

“What else did your dad say?”

“That’s for you to ask Tomura yourself,” Mr. Yagi says, drawing up alongside Izuku. He smiles at you. “I’ve cleared your schedule next week. Let me know if you need more time.”

“And call if you need anything,” Inko reiterates. She takes Mr. Yagi’s hand and wraps an arm around Izuku’s shoulders. “Come over for dinner when you’re ready.”

“Yes!” Izuku looks way too happy at the thought. “I have lots of questions for both of you!”

You decide you’ll wait a while to take them up on that invitation, but they’re not the only ones who stop to talk to you specifically. Each of the ghosts stops by briefly, all of them reassuring you that Tomura’s fine. You’re not going to believe them until you see it for yourself.

Finally, Aizawa and Hizashi are all that’s left. Aizawa hands you a book – another one of his. You read the cover out loud and snicker. “What To Expect When Your Ghost Embodies Itself? Great title.”

“It’s a little boring,” Hizashi says, and you realize he doesn’t get the joke. Aizawa is smirking slightly. “Good stuff in there, though.”

“It covers everything we discussed earlier, and a little more,” Aizawa says. “Good luck.”

“You probably won’t be up to it, but come over later if you want,” Hizashi says. “That conjurer ruined our Halloween, so we’re throwing a make-up party at our place. Costumes mandatory.”

There’s no way you’re making it to that party. You thank them for the invitation anyway, tuck the book under your arm, and step through the front gate into your yard. Up the front steps, through the unlocked door, into the front hall. Some part of you is expecting Tomura to materialize in front of you, but he can’t do that anymore. “I’m home,” you call out, and Phantom comes scrabbling across the floor towards you, wagging her tail. You greet her, then pick her up. “Tomura?”

“In here.”

He’s home. Your heart leaps so hard and fast it seems a little ridiculous, and you hurry into the living room to see him. He’s there, sitting on his usual couch cushion, wearing some bizarre mix of clothing from every guy in the neighborhood, plus a pair of socks that could only have come from Himiko. The urge to launch yourself at him, to climb all over him like he’s done to you so many times and prove to yourself that he’s alive and he’s safe, is overpowering. But you remember what the others said. Patience, time, space. You don’t want to overwhelm him. You set Phantom down on the couch next to him and take a few steps back, keeping a respectful distance.

It’s quiet for a while. You break the silence. “How do you feel?”

He has the hood of his hoodie up, throwing his face into shadow. “Like shit.”

That’s about what you were expecting. You need more detail if you’re going to help, but you don’t want to push him. “Did everything go okay at the hospital?”

His shoulders lift, then fall. You see him grimace. “It was weird. All that stuff they did. The stupid paperwork is over there if you want to look at it.”

“Okay.” Before, when he wasn’t human, you’d have helped yourself. Now – “Do you want me to look at it?”

Another shrug. If he didn’t want you to, he’d say no, right? You pick the folder up off the coffee table and open it to the discharge summary, which is a mistake. The list of injuries Tomura came in with is staggering. Seeing this, you’re amazed they only kept him in for five days. “Well?” Tomura asks.

You set the folder down. “You healed up really fast.”

“There are things wrong with me,” Tomura says. One hand rises to scratch his neck. “My skin is messed up. I’m – allergic.”

“I have allergy medicine for stuff like that. And itch cream.”

“They gave me some.” Tomura still hasn’t taken down his hood. “What did the humans want?”

“They wanted to tell me how to help you adjust,” you say, and Tomura makes a derisive sound. Phantom stirs, whines, and noses closer to him. “What did the ghosts want with you?”

“To explain.” The derision is obvious in Tomura’s voice. “Like I’m stupid or something.”

“You aren’t. They don’t think that,” you say, only to realize that Tomura still probably knows what the other ghosts are thinking better than you do. “They probably don’t want you to make the same mistakes as they did. From what the humans were saying, they all made a lot of mistakes.”

“They almost scared their humans off.” Tomura’s voice goes weirdly flat. “I already did that.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know what I look like. When I saw the picture on the ID, that was the first time.” Tomura seems to sink further into his hoodie, and suddenly you understand why he hasn’t taken down the hood. “No wonder you didn’t want me embodied. You’d have to look at me all the time.”

“Tomura –”

“I just wanted to stay. I didn’t want to go back. I thought it would be the same, but it’s not,” Tomura says. There’s a weird strain in his voice now, one you’ve never heard from him but know intimately yourself. “There are things wrong with me. I’m ugly. You wanted me when I was a ghost and I was powerful, not when I’m human and weak. You won’t even come near me.”

“No,” you say, and Tomura scoffs. “No! When I was talking to the others, they said it’s hard to get used to a human body – stuff might be harder to cope with now that it’s permanent – they said I should give you time and space –”

“I didn’t do this so I could have time and space!” Tomura’s still got enough power to rattle the walls without raising his voice. “I did it so I could – so we –”

His voice breaks. Phantom edges closer to him and he shies away, both hands coming up to cover his face at odd angles. You stand there for a moment, paralyzed by the decision between everything the other ghost friends told you and what Tomura’s saying now, what he’s doing now. But in the end it’s not a decision at all. You hurry around the coffee table, move Phantom to the cushion at the far end of the couch, and sit down right next to Tomura, getting in his space without asking the same way he always does to you. You pry his hands away from his face one at a time, and he fights you. He’s fighting you with a fraction of his strength and you both know it. “Let go. I don’t want you. I don’t want your pity –”

“It’s not pity,” you say. He lets you have one of his hands and you immediately try for the other. “I don’t know what this is like for you. I’m trying to do the right thing, but I should have just asked you what you needed. I can do better.”

“You don’t want to. You don’t want this!” He pulls his hand free of yours to gesture at himself. “I know what you wanted. You wanted –”

“You.” You don’t even have to think before you answer. “I wanted you. I want you.”

He stares at you from between his fingers. You give up on trying to free his hands and press in close against his side. He startles at your touch, but doesn’t shy away. He smells like the hospital. His voice is quiet, shaky, strained. “You liked when I was cold.”

“It was nice. But I’ve got AC. And now I can hold you for as long as I want without getting frostbite.”

“You liked that I got rid of the bugs.”

“I’m still making you get rid of the bugs,” you say, and Tomura makes a sound that’s too watery to be laughter. “But I can get rid of my own, too. I had a whole plan for that hornets’ nest.”

“Your plan sucked.” It did sort of suck, looking back. Tomura’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. “You liked when I was stronger than you.”

“You’re still stronger than me.” You can feel it when you touch him, a faint thread of power vibrating just beneath his skin. “That’s not the important stuff.”

“What is?”

“Everything else,” you say. “You’re still you, Tomura. It might feel different to be in the world like this, but you’re still who you are. That’s who I want. Who I love.”

It’s quiet for a long time. “You liked the way I looked before.”

It’s a weird enough thing to say to startle a laugh out of you. “The way you look now is how you’ve always looked, Tomura. Your hair’s a different color, that’s all.”

“I always looked like this.” Tomura sounds skeptical. “You said I was pretty.”

“You are pretty.” You reach for the edges of his hood and his hands come up, grasping your wrists, holding you still. He holds you there for a few seconds, then lets go, and lets you pull down the hood.

It’s him. Those same features you saw outlined in steam in the bathroom, on your back porch with the ashes of a hornets’ nest at his feet. The same red eyes that have watched you for almost two years, that have catalogued every inch of you, that looked up into yours after the gateway to the world between slammed shut for the last time. You’ve seen all his expressions before, except this one: The way he looks when he’s been crying. As you watch, his pupils open and shut, and more tears slip down his cheeks.

You scramble to wipe them away, cradling his face in your hands. He flinches when your palm gently meets his cheek, and you draw back, only for him to catch your wrist and press your hand hard against his skin. That feels normal enough to make you smile. Tomura’s never been shy about pulling you around. “You’re pretty,” you say again. “You’ve never looked any different than this. I like it. I don’t care if you do. I don’t care about anything except that you’re home.”

“But –”

“The next words out of your mouth had better not be ‘Dabi said’.”

An aggrieved silence falls, and you find yourself struggling not to laugh. It feels normal. It feels like any weird little argument you and Tomura have had, except that he can’t dematerialize to teach you a lesson and you can’t end the fight just by stepping outside. “You love me,” Tomura ventures after a while. “Like this?”

“Don’t be stupid,” you say. “Of course I do.”

Tomura knocks you over a second later.

Cuddling on the couch is more complicated than it used to be, mainly because Tomura’s a long way from being used to what touch feels like in a truly human form and he can’t get comfortable the way he usually would. If he can barely stand to stretch out on top of you, there’s no way he can handle kissing, and you can tell that the overload of sensation doesn’t turn him on so much as it fries his brain. Not that that stops him from trying to kiss you more. “Take it easy,” you say. “You just got home. I don’t want to take you back to the hospital because you tried to kiss me and had a heart attack.”

“That doesn’t happen,” Tomura says with confidence. Then, as you watch, you see him start to doubt himself. Some how he’s less sure about humans now that he is one. “Does it?”

“It could.” You remember something from a few days ago about how too much exertion on not enough calories could damage Tomura’s heart, and he still feels way too thin. “Can you reach your discharge papers? I want to read them.”

He reaches out to grab them from the coffee table, but it’s ever so slightly too far away. Before he’d dematerialize one hand, snatch them, and bring them back. Now he just glares at them and keeps glaring – and as you watch in some mix of surprise and horror, the folder lifts from the table and drops to the ground next to the couch.

Tomura realizes you’re staring at him and smirks. “I never said all my powers were gone.”

Now that he’s realized you still love him, he’s cocky, but you’re not annoyed about it. You’re not going to forget what it was like when you got home, what it was like to see him cry, and you’re not dumb enough to think today will be the last time it comes up. Tomura flops down again, his head against your chest, and you pick up his discharge papers and flip through them. Sure enough, there’s one specific instruction highlighted and in bold type. “No intense physical activity until you’re cleared by a doctor,” you say. Tomura scowls. You keep reading. “Your follow-up’s in two weeks. It’s not that long.”

“Maybe if we go slow –”

“No.” You set the papers down and trace over one tendon in his neck, wincing as he twitches and writhes and digs his knees and elbows into every soft body part you possess. He’s lying on top of all your stitches, and it’s starting to hurt. “You can barely handle being touched at all right now. I’m not going to send you back to the hospital and I’m not going to melt your brain.”

“It’s my brain. I get to decide –”

“You don’t get to leave me,” you say, and Tomura looks up, startled. “Two weeks.”

Tomura studies you for a moment. Then he flops down again. “Fine. Two weeks. But then I get to – what happened? Why did you make that noise?”

You tried not to. Really. But one of the too-prominent points of Tomura’s ribcage just dug directly into one of your largest wounds, and you think you might have popped a stitch. Tomura sits up, pulls you with him, starts yanking at your shirt. “I want to see. Let me see –”

Your shirt turns to dust in an instant. You didn’t realize Tomura could do that to things that weren’t alive, and you sit there, bemused. Tomura is staring at you, eyes blazing with fury. “My marks,” he says, and you nod. It occurs to you that this is the first time he’s seen the extent of your injuries. “How did he take them out?”

“One at a time. With a knife.” You try to make light of it, try to sound like it isn’t haunting you, like waking up in a hospital bed after it was all over didn’t scare you so badly that you had to be sedated. “Not my best Monday ever.”

“Don’t joke about it.” Tomura’s voice is hard. “He hurt you so much you wanted to die. I should have killed him slower. It should have taken exactly as long as this did.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to cover up the worst of the wounds. The doctors who treated you had decent poker faces, but since you’ve gotten home, you’ve gone out of your way to avoid getting a good look at what happened. Tomura’s expression as he looks at you tells you everything you need to know about how bad it is. “I haven’t even had them for a week yet,” you say. Your voice sounds thin. “They won’t look like this forever.”

Tomura’s jaw clenches. “I don’t care what they look like. I care that they hurt.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You sit there numbly and Tomura watches you, clearly thinking something over but not doing it, whatever it is. “I can’t,” he starts frustrated. “I can’t do the thing I want to do anymore. When I wasn’t materialized I could –”

He makes a gesture, and suddenly you understand what he means. You crawl forward across the couch into his arms, and he wraps himself around you. It’s not like it was before. He can’t enfold you completely like he used to, fitting like a second skin. But now you’ve got something solid to lean against, someone who’s warm like you are, someone who maybe understands how you feel about this whole thing. Tomura’s hugs were always a little awkward, even when he was fully materialized. He didn’t understand what was comfortable and what wasn’t, why you’d be at ease in one position but not in another, and he’d complain when you tried to adjust. Tomura’s not complaining now. He adjusts with you, and once you’re settled, you try not to move too much. It’s weird. But it’s the kind of weird you can get used to.

“You smell nice,” Tomura says after a little while. He unwraps one arm from around you and sniffs his own armpit. Then he makes a face. “I smell weird.”

“You smell like the hospital,” you say. “We can fix that. Want to shower?”

Tomura gives you a suspicious look. “I’m not allowed in the bathroom while you’re in there.”

“That was before.” You think over the events of the last week. He’s already seen you naked. The two of you have had sex. He’s your boyfriend, and he’s human. Whatever objections you had, they aren’t valid anymore. “The rules still apply if either of us is using the toilet, but we can shower together. If you want. Do you want to?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says, which means yes. “I thought you’d never let me.”

There are a lot of things you thought would never happen, and a lot of them happened in the last week. You pull yourself out of Tomura’s arms reluctantly and lead him up the stairs.

You check over your wound care instructions and Tomura’s as he gets undressed. Everything looks about the same for both of you. You also take the opportunity to go over the list of known allergens the doctors gave you yesterday. Almost all your soaps and shower products meet the criteria already – low to no scent, hypoallergenic, no harsh chemicals. You set out an extra towel and an extra sponge and lay down a bath mat, then turn on the water.

Since you met Tomura you’ve been taking hot showers, but they can be hard on skin, and you don’t want Tomura to faint. You opt for warm water instead, take off your own clothes, and inspect your stitches for a moment before stepping into the shower. The spot Tomura elbowed by accident looks unhappy, but the coarse black stitches haven’t come undone. Seeing them makes you feel sick. You look away and step into the shower, leaving the door cracked for Tomura to follow you in.

There’s room for both of you inside, but it’s a close fit. You have a feeling that you and Tomura will be having a discussion about the impracticality of shower sex at some point in the future, but that’s not for today. You switch positions carefully with Tomura so that he’s under the majority of the spray and watch him startle as it patters against his skin. You wonder what he’s thinking.

You’ve spent a lot of time wondering what Tomura’s thinking since you met him, but it occurs to you that you can ask. “What’s going on up there?”

“It’s – so much. Loud. But not loud. It feels like – a lot.” Tomura’s hair is plastered to his face from the water. He pushes it out of his eyes. “I’m fine. I don’t want to get out.”

“We won’t get out,” you promise. “Take the time you need.”

He twists this way and that under the spray, working on getting used to it. He’s got stitches, too, all of them taken with the same coarse thread as yours. “Now what?”

You pick up a bottle of shampoo. The mild kind. “Put this in your hair and sort of scrub it around, then rinse it out,” you explain. Tomura brushes his hair out of his eyes again, looking vaguely skeptical. “Or I can do it for you.”

“You.”

You should have known he’d answer like that. He’s got enough of a height advantage on you that you’re going to need him to sit down for this to work, and there are an awkward few minutes while the two of you get settled. You lean back against the wall, and Tomura leans back against your chest, head tipped forward. “Make sure you close your eyes,” you say. “This will sting if it gets in them.”

Tomura nods without looking up. You pour some shampoo into your hand and get to work.

His hair is tangled, like always. Worse than always, because he’s been materialized this entire time, and he hasn’t brushed it at all. You forget about washing his hair for a second in favor of detangling it, and Tomura slumps back against you. “You’re still doing that now that I’m here all the time? I thought you’d stop.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Tomura says quickly. You return your attention to the knot you’re working through. “I thought it was just because I was a ghost.”

Huh. “What other things do you think I was only doing because you were a ghost?”

The answer, it turns out, is a lot of things. If Tomura had asked any of the other ghosts about them, he wouldn’t have had to worry, but they probably would have told him not to be stupid, which is probably why he didn’t ask. No wonder he was upset when you got back, if he thought he was losing so many things – sleeping on top of you, sitting on your lap, having his hair played with, being held. He names gesture after gesture as you untangle his hair, and you reassure him about each one.

Once you’ve worked through all the knots, you move on to washing Tomura’s hair in earnest. You don’t think you’re doing a very good job, but when your fingers slow their progress, Tomura complains in a voice that sounds distinctly sleepy. “Don’t. It’s nice.”

You add conditioner, too. Tomura probably won’t bother with it in the future, but you might as well give him soft hair while you can get away with it. Then you shake him out of relaxation and help him to his feet to wash off. He’s sort of floppy when he’s tired, and although you can already tell that it’ll annoy you sometimes, right now it’s just cute. There’s no way you’re telling him he’s cute. You hand him a sponge and some soap and put him in charge of washing his front. You’ll take care of his back.

The fight left Tomura beaten up all over, but his back took a lot of damage while he was caught between the living world and the world between, and it’s where the majority of his stitches are. Even looking at them upsets you. You can’t help but think that if you’d been faster to get to him, if you’d been stronger, if you’d called the others to help you instead of waiting for them to come on their own, he wouldn’t have spent so long trapped between worlds. He wouldn’t have been hurt like this. But that’s only the last set of mistakes you made. If you’d killed his conjurer like you meant to, he’d still be a ghost, and there’d be no marks on him at all.

“Hey.” Tomura glances over his shoulder at you, and you realize that your hands have gone still. You duck closer, hiding your face, and go back to washing, but Tomura’s not fooled. You keep forgetting, somehow, that he knows you as well as you know him. “Don’t make that face. You’re just a human. What were you supposed to do?”

“Kill him.” Your voice wavers. “So you could be human because you wanted to. Not because you didn’t have a choice.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says. He turns to face you, and when you don’t look up, his hand rises to hold your jaw and tilt it upward. “If I was just doing it to avoid going back, it wouldn’t have worked. I wanted to be like this.”

You know that, but – “I wish I hadn’t let you get hurt.”

“Yeah, and I wish I hadn’t let my conjurer torture you.” Tomura gives you a few seconds of protesting that characterization of events before he springs his trap. “See how dumb it sounds when I say it? It sounds dumber from you, since you’re the human and it wasn’t even your job. You told me the stupid plan the others had. You were never supposed to do it.”

He pauses for a moment. “I guess it would have worked if I’d been materialized, though. Dabi saw you stab him. He said it was kind of hot.”

Your mind goes sort of blank at the sheer weirdness of that statement. “And he’s still alive because?”

“I can kill him whenever I want to,” Tomura says. He turns away again, and you go back to washing off the unstitched parts of his skin, shaking your head in bemusement. “I bet it was really hot.”

Tomura thinks the fact that you ran his conjurer through with a fire poker is hot. That’s probably a good thing, because you’re not sorry you did it. You rest your forehead against the back of his neck for a second, resisting the urge to kiss him, and note that his pale skin is turning pink and flushed from the water. The water’s not that warm. You should probably get him out of here sooner rather than later. Inko warned you that newly embodied ghosts aren’t aware of the physical sensations that proceed things like throwing up or passing out, and you’d really prefer for Tomura not to faint in here.

Tomura complains about having to get out, but you remind him that showering is something humans have to do regularly and shoo him out anyway. You stay in a little longer to wash up, then step out into a mildly steamy bathroom. For a moment you’re cast back into the memory of the first time you saw Tomura face to face – in this bathroom, outlined by the steam, looking you up and down with a smile you couldn’t identify as creepy or not. Thinking about it now, you know it wasn’t creepy. He was proud of himself for figuring out how to make himself visible, proud that you could see him at last. Standing here more than a year later, it’s hard to believe how much has changed.

There are puddles of water down the hall on the way to the bedroom, evidence that while Tomura’s figured out showering, he hasn’t figured out drying off. When you step into your room, you find more evidence in the form of a pile of wet clothes discarded on the ground. Jin’s mom said that the ghosts have to learn by experience sometimes. You glance towards the bed and find Tomura sitting on it, dressed in a pair of pink sweatpants of unknown provenance and – “Um, is that my shirt?”

“Yeah.” Tomura gives you that dumbest-person-ever look. You’re not thrilled to see that it’s survived his embodiment. “It was right there. It fits.”

You buy your pajama shirts almost comically oversized, and Tomura’s not all that much taller than you. Something that’s huge on you is still pretty big on him. It fits, but it’s the principle of the thing. “Didn’t the others give you clothes?”

“Yeah. They didn’t smell right.” Tomura pulls the collar of the shirt up over his nose and mouth and breathes in. “This one smells like you.”

You were never into stealing your boyfriend’s hoodies, back when you had human boyfriends. You don’t love wearing other people’s clothes. But apparently there has to be at least one clothing thief in every relationship, and Tomura’s taken over the role. Tomura yawns so widely that his jaw pops, then recoils. “What was that? Why did I do that?”

“That’s a yawn. You’re tired.” You were thinking about street clothes, but just like you did the last time you and Tomura were in this room together, you opt for pajamas instead. “I could go for a nap, too.”

You climb into bed on your usual side, leaving the door cracked open for Phantom in case she comes up, and Tomura gets awkwardly into bed on the other side. “How do I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Sleep.”

Right – he’s spent the last week either in an induced coma or heavily sedated. He hasn’t had the chance yet to fall asleep naturally. “Get comfortable,” you say, and Tomura, semi-predictably, abandons his side of the bed in favor of getting in your personal space. “Now close your eyes. You’re tired, so I bet your eyelids feel kind of heavy, right? Let them close. Think about stuff if you want to think about it, or don’t think about anything. It’ll happen on its own.”

“That sounds too easy,” Tomura mumbles, half-asleep already. “Sometimes it takes you forever.”

“Sometimes it’s harder than others,” you admit. “It’s pretty easy right now. Just relax.”

Tomura mumbles something else, but you can feel the tension leaving his body, until he’s relaxed save for the icy thread of ghostly power running through him. It’s faint, but you have the sense that that’s illusory, at least a little bit. Tomura might be permanently embodied now, but he’s the most powerful of the embodied ghosts, and probably still the least human. He can’t dematerialize anymore and he needs to eat and sleep, but it feels likely that the effect of his powers on your daily life won’t change too much.

But you can figure that out later. Right now he’s asleep next to you, his red eyes closed, his lips parted slightly, warm and breathing and undeniably alive. The same kind of alive as you are, finally. For good.

You shift a little closer to him, and his arm wraps around you tightly. That’s fine with you. You close your eyes and fall asleep almost as fast as he did.

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of your phone buzzing, startling you out of a nightmare. You have all kinds of material for nightmares now, and your subconscious has been mixing and matching it in increasingly horrible combinations for the last few nights – or afternoons, since you can tell by the light coming through the window that sunset is a ways off. You reach for your phone, desperate for a distraction, and Tomura’s arms tighten around you. He sounds like he’s mostly asleep when he speaks. “No.”

“I’m not leaving,” you say. You get ahold of your phone and flip it to silent before reading the texts. They’re from Shinsou.

Shinsou: are u guys coming or not

Shinsou: everybody else is

Shinsou: Eri says you have to or she’ll cry

Shinsou: she says Tomura promised

She mentioned something about that earlier. You shake Tomura’s shoulder. “Did you promise Eri you’d come to the party?”

“No.” There’s a pause. “She wouldn’t leave until I said yes.”

Great. “How much do you care about making her cry?”

“I don’t care,” Tomura mumbles. You wait. “She backed me up in the fight. I owe her.”

“So we have to go,” you realize. The idea is less upsetting to you now than it was when you first heard about it, namely because you just had a nightmare and you don’t want to go back to bed. You text Shinsou back. Your dad said it’s a costume party. Do we have to have costumes?

Yeah. Shinsou sends a shrugging emoji. Not serious ones. One of my dads is going all out and the other one just has cat ears on.

Aizawa can get away with just cat ears – he’s the one hosting the party. You and Tomura are going to have to come up with something a little better. Shinsou texts again. It starts in an hour. Be there. You really don’t want Eri to cry.

You’d feel really bad making Eri cry, especially now that you remember her helping Tomura during the fight – and saving your life just beforehand. You start to sit up, and Tomura drags you back down. “No. I like sleeping. I want to sleep.”

“Humans sleep every night,” you remind him. “You can go back to sleep later. Right now we have to go to a party.”

It takes a while to drag Tomura out of bed – twenty minutes at least, leaving you with forty minutes to come up with some kind of costume. You get in your own way a little bit when you realize how cute Tomura looks with bedhead, then order yourself to pull it together. Tomura can’t shadow you as closely as he did when he could dematerialize, but he still gives it his best shot, and you two end up colliding and tripping on each other – and on Phantom – way more than is actually necessary. After ransacking your house for costume ideas and coming up with nothing, you finally turn to Google for help.

Tomura reads over your shoulder. “These are dumb. I thought Halloween was supposed to be scary.”

“It is,” you say. You decide to get into the part of Halloween that’s supposed to be sexy later – later, as in next year. Or never. “This is the wrong neighborhood for scary, though. No matter what I dress up as, I won’t be scarier than everybody else who lives here.”

And that’s when it clicks for you, oddly enough – it clicks, and you can’t help but laugh. The perfect low-effort Halloween costume. How did you not think of it before? Tomura eyes you suspiciously. “Why are you laughing?”

“I have an idea. It might get us kicked out.”

“If we get kicked out, we can come back and go to sleep again,” Tomura says. Introducing Tomura to the concept of naptime may have been a mistake. “What is it?”

You head for the stairs, and the linen closet. “You’ll see.”

It takes you approximately two seconds to assemble the first costume, and once you do, you show Tomura. It occurs to you way too late that he might think it’s offensive. But once he realizes what you are, he cracks up laughing – then wincing, as the laughter strains the stitches on his back. “They’re going to hate it,” he says. “I bet they won’t even let us in.”

“If they don’t let us in, then we get to go home right away.” You gesture at the linen closet. “Pick your poison.”

It takes you a few more minutes to leave, mostly because Tomura insists on bringing Phantom, and Phantom needs a costume, too. She’s a lot less into her costume than you and Tomura are. She keeps wiggling out of it, and while Tomura tries to lure her back under the sheet, you peer out the front window. The street still looks like hell. Everybody’s houses are still at least partially wrecked. If you drove past this neighborhood, not knowing anything about who lives here and why this happened, you’d avoid it like the plague.

You watch as Keigo and Dabi and Natsu leave their house. Natsu looks like he’s wearing normal clothes, but Keigo has a fake halo and Dabi has a pair of devil horns on. It occurs to you that Dabi might be the only other person in the neighborhood who thinks your costume is funny.

“I got her to wear it,” Tomura says, and you turn to look. There’s Phantom, wearing a flower-patterned pillowcase with holes cut out for her ears, eyes, and nose – and there’s Tomura, wearing a grey sheet over her head with holes cut out so he can see. “I think she’s mad at me.”

“She’s not mad,” you say. You’re pretty sure she’ll forgive you both when she realizes you’re headed over to Aizawa’s house. Shinsou is probably her favorite person other than Tomura. “You look pretty.”

Tomura gives you a once-over. Your sheet is lavender, and you accessorized with a pair of reading glasses you accidentally stole from Mr. Yagi’s office and never gave back. “Cute,” he decides. “The sooner they kick us out, the sooner we can come back.”

He heads for the door, opens it, and steps outside. You gather up Phantom’s leash and follow him onto the porch. When you turn to lock the door, Tomura stops you. His eyes crinkle at the corners, the way they do when he’s smiling creepily on purpose. “Don’t bother,” he says. “This neighborhood is still mine.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” You tuck your keys back into your pocket and make your way down the front steps, to the front gate, and out onto the sidewalk. It’s not until you hear the gate’s hinges creak open again that you realize Tomura hasn’t followed you. You turn back. “Tomura?”

Tomura’s hesitating on the far side of the property line. You can’t figure out why. He’s left before. He was away from the house for five days – but not by choice. The ambulance took him away and the other ghosts brought him back, but in all the time since he was summoned, Tomura’s never left the property of his own free will. You hold out the hand that isn’t grasping Phantom’s leash, and he comes closer to take it. His hand is warm.

Warm, and a little sweaty. He’s nervous. “We don’t have to go to this thing,” you tell him. “You just got home today. It’s a lot. If you’d rather stay home, we can.”

“You want to go.”

“I think it might be fun.” Mostly you want to see what Hizashi does when you roll up to his party dressed like the world’s most stereotypical, low-budget ghost. “But I still like it’s best when it’s just us. If you don’t want to go, we won’t. I’m not leaving you.”

“Because you love me,” Tomura says, almost hesitantly. You nod. “I love you, too.”

It’s a good thing you’ve got the sheet on. You’re not sure you want Tomura to see the goofy smile you’re wearing. Tomura raises his free hand and touches your mouth through the sheet, feeling along the curve of it until you dare to kiss the tips of his fingers. He startles, and you remember the touch sensitivity. It’s fine when he’s the one initiating contact, since he’s the one who decides what he can handle, but you need to be careful. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says. He kisses you.

It’s not a great kiss, given that there are two layers of cotton between your mouth and his, but you’ll take it. You’ve always been willing to take what you can get from Tomura, and you’ve gotten more than you ever expected. It came at a price, sure. You’ll be paying that price in one way and another for the rest of your life, but it’s worth it. It would be worth it if Tomura never crossed the property line again.

But Tomura draws away from you without letting go of your hand and steps forward. You step back to give him space, and watch as he sets one foot over the line and onto the sidewalk, and then the other. And all at once, for the first time in a hundred and ten years, there’s nothing wrong with your house at all.

The End