𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧!𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 - Part One | Part Two

Narilamb

Narinder asking the lamb for flowers but when he bring them proceding to refuse them because he didn't really expected him to find them(and risk his life while doing so) and because he think it make him "weak" but he secretly love the fact that he did even if he act all angry like a tsundere

FNAF movie Vanessa doesn’t know Moon’s crimes,,

Attention

MDNI

Tomura Shigaraki x gn/afab reader

Content/Warnings/Etc: Reader is in the League of Villains, swearing, kissing, uh sex happens.

the world is a lot today, and over 72 million people can suck my dick. hope this helps distract someone at least a little bit

Tomura Shigaraki always wanted attention. He wanted the world to see him. He needed everyone to know what he's capable of. But on a personal level, one to one, he's never considered what that would look like. 

That's why he's surprised to find his favorite box of cereal in the kitchen after your recent grocery trip. 

“Do you like this one too?” he asks casually. 

“It's good, but I got it for you. That's the one you like right?”

“Yeah..” he trails off while pouring himself a bowl. Eyes tracking you in his periphery, more suspicious than the situation necessitates. 

Of course you knew what cereal he would want, why wouldn't you? It's the subtly sweet ones that have flavor but aren't overwhelming. And the pieces are small enough for him to open his mouth slightly without re-splitting his cracked lips. He picks the same cereal to eat nearly every day if it’s an option, you think anyone would have noticed that. 

Later that day, you settle down on the couch to play video games and call him over. Grabbing a random controller for yourself, you hand him the one he likes. The one with the grips that stick a little easier for him to hold without using all of his fingers. He can use the others, absolutely. But after an hour or so the way he shakes his hands out tells you his fingers cramp more.

To you, this was obvious. You didn't think anything of it. 

But for him, no one ever notices these things. Surely, this must be a coincidence. Right? 

That evening, it shouldn't come as a surprise to him when you pass in the hallway, observing him once more as you walk back to your room in a towel after showering. 

“Your shirt is inside out,” you inform him.

“Oh,” he mumbles, choosing to correct the issue immediately. 

Of course you notice the way his abs ripple as he slides the fabric over his head. How couldn’t you?

Your eyes linger too long and he catches you staring. Only now does he realize these coincidences aren’t coincidental at all, he has your full attention. And he doesn’t know what to do with that.

The two of you stand nearly still, switching between heavy eye contact and glances at each other’s bodies. Both growing more flustered by the minute. It’s as good of an invitation as you’re going to get: after what feels like too long, you break the tension by stepping towards him. Pulling him tightly into your arms before smashing your lips into his with the force of months of longing. There’s a momentary pause as he adjusts to your touch before he kisses you back. You would feel a little bad being so rough with his already cracked skin, but he makes no attempts to pull away. Your combined spit softening his chapped lips as the kiss deepens.

A creak echoes down the hallway, he yanks you into his room - decaying your towel in the process.

“Fuck,” he exclaims under his breath while staring you up and down. 

You’d ask if he likes what he sees, but his facial expressions and the tent growing in his sweatpants already gave him away. Your lips find his again as you shove him back on his bed, climbing over his lap. Immediately, you yank off his sweatpants and underwear. You’re already naked so it’s only fair.

You notice the way he presses into you. Back arching, hips jumping in response to your touch. His arms pull you close as he grinds you against him. Palms pressed hard into your shoulder blades with his fingers tightly tucked into fists. He increases the friction, sliding your wetness over his length as you get more and more turned on. 

One thing you hadn’t correctly predicted: you’re not the one in control here. You half assumed he’d be a little clueless about sex. That he’d cream in his pants from a light breeze but here he is, completely naked dragging you over him and you’re about to reach an orgasm first. 

“Just like that, I’m gonna cum,” you exclaim, breath staggering while you grip his hair harder.  He groans at the pull, but continues moving his hips into you in an almost calculated way. Shaking legs and pussy fluttering around nothing, you feel yourself release against him.

“What the fuck,” you moan into his neck while catching your breath, “didn’t think you had that in you.” 

“I guess you’ll have to pay more attention,” he grins before rolling you onto the bed. Quickly, he moves to a box on the shelf over his desk, pulling out a smaller box.

“You just keep those around?” you ask, eyeing the condom he’s putting on. Even more surprises.

“Uh, not quite,” he mumbles, paying more attention to the task at hand. “The rest of the league got me these as a joke when you joined, I just never threw them out.”

How did everyone notice your crush but him? It seems like they tried to tell him but he regarded it suspiciously, assuming everyone was just fucking with him. 

Doesn’t matter, you decide, he definitely knows now.

Seeing him, all of him fully, in front of you takes your already jagged breath away. Fully clothed, Tomura is beautiful. This is overwhelming. The light mist of sweat coating his skin makes the glow from his monitor reflect off the curves of his muscles. Every scar and scratch looking like it was perfectly placed, even if you know the extent he goes to to keep most of them covered on a daily basis. You cup his cheek, brushing your thumb lightly over his tender skin while he moves back over you.

“This is okay, right?” he double checks as he presses his tip into you, still dripping from earlier.

“Yeah,” you stare down, watching as he slides further in. 

“Look at me.” 

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. Instantly, you bring your gaze up to meet his. Blood red eyes stare back into yours, watching your expression shift as he inches deeper into you. Prior to this, he’d always looked away when your eyes lingered too long. Now, you feel like you could get lost in him. He’s everything you see, feel, and hear. Even the subtle smell of him surrounds you.

The mood shifts as you begin passionately kissing again. Before you know it, he’s pounding into you relentlessly, every thrust buzzing through your body. 

Making the same face as earlier, he knows you’re close. He tries to maintain the pace, but as soon as you’re clenching around him, he's done for. Your orgasms peak simultaneously as he slams you harder into the bed. Legs wrapping around his back, shoving him as deep as he can go. 

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans into your ear before you both become a puddle of bodies on his bed.

A few minutes later, he looks so peaceful. His eyes closed, breathing steady. You’ve never seen him so relaxed.

Quietly, you whisper, “I’ll be right back with some towels and water, stay here.” Taking some of his clothes to replace the towel he dusted earlier, you shuffle out the door. 

Yeah, he thought to himself, he could definitely get used to your attention.

more shigaraki here: m.list

Enough to Go By (Chapter 10) -- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

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

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Chapter 10

The feeling of hollowness doesn’t wear off. Not through the rest of your shift at work. Not through the class on the assessment and treatment of major trauma you’re taking, although you managed to take notes that will hopefully be legible later. It doesn’t feel even slightly better until you’re home, out of sight from everyone, where you can let the mask drop. It’s hard to wear it all the time. You’re getting tired.

Inside your apartment, you look around for Tenko, but he’s not in the kitchen, the living room, or the bathroom. Maybe he changed his mind about coming back. You head to your bedroom, stripping off your work clothes and throwing them into your laundry basket as you go. You did laundry a few days ago. The basket shouldn’t have much in it. But something catches your eye, and when you peer in for a look, you see a set of black clothes that looks a little too familiar for the fact that it’s not yours.

You realize whose it is in the same second as you hear a strangled sound from behind you, and the question bursts out of you at a volume that’s probably too high. “Tenko?”

“I’m not looking,” Tenko snaps. You glance over your shoulder and find him without the model hand and with both gloved hands covering his face. “Do you just start taking your clothes off the second you get home?”

“Usually there’s nobody in my apartment!”

“I told you I’d be back. Did you not believe me?” Tenko’s still averting his eyes, but he’s lowered his hands for the purpose of crossing his arms over his chest, which draws your attention to what he’s wearing. “Why are you staring?”

You can’t stop yourself. “Those are my clothes.”

“So? They fit. I have to wash mine and I don’t have anything else.”

You do buy your sleeping clothes oversized, and the difference between your height and Tenko’s isn’t enormous, but it’s still weird to see him sitting on your side of the bed, wearing a pair of your grey sweatpants that have seen better days and a tie-dyed shirt you made in high school. It’s undeniably bizarre, but – “You look cute.”

“I’m not cute. Don’t say weird things.” Tenko’s turning red. “Are you going to put on clothes or what? I want to talk to you.”

“Just a second.” You were going to put on your pajamas, but Tenko’s wearing them. You pick out another pair, change quickly, and come back, sitting down on the other side of your bed. “What did you want to talk –”

Tenko kisses you, cutting you off. In no time at all he’s rolled you beneath him, pinning you back against the pillows while his mouth opens against yours. His kisses are messy, his hands eager as they alight briefly on your shoulder, against your cheek, molding to the curve of your jaw or gripping hard at your hip. Tenko’s breathing is uneven, almost hyperventilating. He needs to slow down.

But you remember what he said the night the League stayed over: I don’t know how to do this. You’re going to have to show me. So in spite of the fact that he’s got you pressed to the pillows and his hands are all over you, you raise your hands to cradle his face, giving you more control over the kiss. Something about it seems to agree with him. He matches your pace, the sloppiness evening out, then deepening into longer, more involved kisses. His lips split again, but in fewer places than before, you think. The taste of blood in your mouth is lighter this time.

One of Tenko’s hands slides beneath your shirt and you draw back slightly. “I thought you wanted me to put clothes on.”

“I’m not saying take them off,” Tenko insists. “I just want – come on, please –”

You’re not sure what he’s asking for. He’s not even trying to do anything. Then it clicks. “You’re touch-starved.”

“What? No.” Tenko objects instantly, but he’s not a good liar. He can’t make eye contact, and his face, flushed before, is turning darker – and as if that wasn’t enough evidence, his hands are still in motion, seeking points of contact, places to hold on. “I need to touch my girlfriend. That’s not weird.”

You try to figure out if girlfriend is a step up or a step down from sidekick. “So I’m not your sidekick anymore?”

“Of course you are.” Tenko gives you an exasperated look. “Saying I need to touch my sidekick is weird.”

Your brain supplies you with the image of any of the top ten heroes telling the world that they need to touch their sidekicks, and you start laughing. Your laughter’s a little wheezier than usual, courtesy of Tenko’s weight on you, but it feels good to laugh. It’s not like you haven’t laughed at all since Kamino, but laughing with others is different. When you laugh with Tenko, your guilt doesn’t matter. He’s guilty, too. And if it doesn’t bother him, then it shouldn’t bother you.

Tenko watches you suspiciously. “What are you laughing about?”

“What would happen if Endeavor started his next interview talking about how much he needs to touch his sidekicks.”

“That’s disgusting.” Tenko’s expression twists, but he’s laughing, too. “Don’t bring up heroes. It kills the mood.”

“Does it?” You’re still cradling his face in your hands. You leave one hand where it is, cupping his cheek, and lower the other, tracing your fingers over the lines of his throat and running along his shoulder. Your touch is light as your fingers run down the back of his arm, avoiding anywhere ticklish until you’re touching the bare skin of his forearm. He’s thin enough that you can feel his muscles tense at your touch. “I don’t think so.”

“It does,” Tenko says. You kiss his birthmark, then his jaw, and feel him swallow hard. “It does. They ruin everything.”

Even as he complains, he’s tilting his head, exposing more of his neck for you to kiss. “It doesn’t feel like they’re ruining everything,” you say. You lift your other hand away from his forearm and slip it beneath his shirt, and he makes a sound through clenched teeth when you drag your fingers along his bare skin, just above his waistband. “You can admit it. I won’t tell anyone.”

Tenko’s body tenses, stiffens. “Admit what?”

“That making out with me is so good that even heroes can’t ruin it.”

Tenko laughs, a raspy, startled sound that trails off into a rough gasp as your teeth scrape over his neck. “I’ll admit that,” he says. His hips roll forward and you shift your legs apart so he can fit between them. “You can tell everybody. They’ll be jealous that I’m the only one who gets to –”

His hips jerk sharply. The sweatpants don’t leave anything to the imagination as far as his erection goes, and you startle at the pressure between your legs and the flood of heat that accompanies it. You pull away from kissing his neck, conscious that you’ve already left a mark, and kiss his mouth again.

His kisses devolve into messiness almost immediately, but this time you’re with him, as your priority shifts to finding a way to improve the sensation of grinding against him through your clothes. You’ve had some experience, made out with twice as many people as you’ve slept with, but you’ve never had a makeout quite as hot as this one. Tenko’s gloved hands clutch desperately at you, the needy sounds he makes muffled by your lips. You drag your fingernails the length of his spine and lift your hips up against his. Tenko whimpers, shudders. Then he pulls away.

Not just partially away, either. He’s all the way out of your grip, curled in on himself, every visible inch of his skin red. “Tenko,” you say, and he shakes his head. “What’s wrong?”

“We have to stop. Or I’ll –” Tenko makes a sharp, uncomfortable gesture. “Like some kind of –”

“Virgin?” You fill in the blank, and Tenko nods. “That’s not a bad thing, Ten.”

“You have experience.”

“Like, two condoms’ worth of experience,” you say, and Tenko snorts. He’s still too far away from you, but he’s not quite so folded up. “We can stop and do something else. Or I can make you come.”

Tenko stares at you for a second. Then he starts nodding – but just as quickly, he’s adding a caveat. “Don’t look. At my face. I don’t want –”

He’s embarrassed about his O face. You wonder if he actually knows what it looks like, or if he’s just assuming it’s weird. You can’t imagine him jerking off in front of a mirror to check. But this is workable. You part your legs further. “Sit here. Lean back against me.”

Tenko does it, and you situate yourself around him. You can’t see his expression, but you can kiss his cheek and his jaw and his neck, and your hands have free rein over his body. The urge to take your time getting to know him, to run your hands slowly over every inch of him until you know exactly how to make him squirm, is almost overpowering. But if you do that, he might come before you even touch his cock.

Speaking of that – you tug lightly at his waistband, and Tenko pulls the borrowed sweatpants partway down with shaking hands, along with the pair of clean but very old underwear he’s wearing. The first thing you note, inconsequential as it is, is that while the hair on his head is that odd blue-grey shade, his pubic hair is dark, like all his hair was when you were children. The second thing that captures your attention is his cock, hard and already leaking slightly at the tip.

You fight the urge to take him in hand immediately. You slide one hand down to his exposed hip, rubbing your thumb idly over the sharp crest of bone while making it clear where your objective really is. “Can I touch you?”

“Uh – yeah.” Tenko coughs, his voice already strained. “Yeah. Go ahead. Please.”

“I want to do this. You don’t have to say please.” You’re surprised by just how badly you want to touch him, how much you want him to fall apart in your hands, just for you, only for you. “Do you want to show me how to touch you? Or should I learn as I go?”

“You didn’t give me a tutorial about kissing. You don’t get one, either.”

“Fair enough.” You gently press your lips against the side of Tenko’s neck, then move the hand that was on his hip to fit around his cock instead.

Tenko jumps, shudders at your touch, and you move your hand cautiously, stroking the length of his shaft, swiping your thumb over the head the same as you’d do with your tongue. Tenko moans, a low desperate sound that drives a spike of heat through your abdomen, and you repeat the motion again. You kiss the side of his neck, lightly at first, then longer, lingering on the texture of the scar tissue under your lips.

Tenko’s back arches, his head falling back against your shoulder. “Faster,” he says, and you increase your pace. “Like that. More –”

He’s shaking. You feel it at every point where your bodies are pressed together. One of his hands grasps your thigh, hanging on for dear life, and you feel a sharp surge of pain, but your attention’s caught by Tenko’s other hand, still gloved, covering his mouth. You can’t let that happen. Not when he makes such pretty sounds. You peel his hand away from his mouth, press it to yours instead. Tenko gasps, shudders. His hips thrust unevenly into your hand, and he comes.

You slow down – the first time you gave a handjob, the guy snapped at you for not easing up fast enough – but Tenko shakes his head, almost frantically. “Not yet. Don’t stop –”

You keep touching him, as requested, drawing out smaller spurts of cum than the first, as he squirms and twitches and makes increasingly pained sounds. It worries you. “Tenko –”

“Stop.” Tenko’s voice breaks. He slumps back against you, his grip on your thigh loosening. “You – sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. “Overstimulation – is that something you’re into?”

“No. I just – you’re never going to do that again, so I wanted it to last.”

“Tenko –” You struggle to wrap your head around what he just said. It doesn’t make any sense. “Of course I’m going to do it again.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not,” you say. “I’d do it again right now.”

“You wouldn’t. I thought it would be okay if you didn’t look at me but then I made all those stupid sounds –”

“I thought those were really hot.”

Tenko coughs. “What?”

“I like them. I like everything about what we just did.” You’re not sure if it’s possible to overstate this, and you’re not sure how to convince him, except – “If you want to touch me, too, I can prove it.”

You’ve barely finished the sentence before Tenko’s twisting to face you, pulling up his sweatpants one-handed. You get a look at his expression before he leans in to kiss you, just enough to confirm that there’s nothing weird about it at all. He pulls at the waistband of your pants. “Take them off.”

You pull them down, leaving them hooked around one ankle. Tenko studies the pair of underwear you’re wearing. They aren’t anything special. You wonder if he’s going to comment on that, or on how visibly damp they are, but instead he reaches out, touches you through them. A second later his eyes light up. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did.” Your fingers are still sticky with his cum. You think about wiping them off on your shirt, then change your mind and suck your fingers clean, swallowing in a hurry and noting the way Tenko’s jaw drops. “I told you. It was – hot –”

Tenko sits forward to kiss you, his mouth sealed to yours as his hand presses flat against your stomach and slides beneath the waistband of your underwear. The texture of his exposed fingertips is rough enough to make you startle as they slide past your clit, but that’s not on his radar at the moment – he’s too busy probing around in the wetness between your legs, fingers brushing maddeningly close to your entrance before finally pushing inside. He starts with two fingers, not one, which is a stretch, but not quite more than you can handle. You gasp, and his lips curve into that too-wide smile against yours.

Tenko’s overenthusiastic at first, just like he was with kissing the first time, and you catch his wrist. “Slower,” you say. He nods. “Curl your fingers a little bit.”

“Like that?”

Your legs are starting to shake. You nod, and Tenko does it again, and again. His other hand yanks the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down and out of the way. With more room to maneuver, the angle of his fingers changes, increasing the pressure against the most sensitive place inside you and bringing the heel of his hand into contact with your clit every time he works his fingers forward. You’re so wet that there’s next to no resistance. His gloves are going to be ruined.

You feel hot all over. Your nipples are hard, visible through your shirt, and Tenko’s free hand is under your shirt within seconds of noticing it. He circles one of them with his thumb, then rolls it between thumb and forefinger, and the roughness of his fingertips makes even the gentlest motions all too intense. “Tenko –”

“What else?” Tenko’s eyes are intent on your face in a way that almost makes you uncomfortable. “I can do more. Tell me what else.”

“Kiss me.” It’s all you can think of, all you want, and Tenko’s mouth crashes down against yours as soon as the words have left it. You wrap your arms around his neck, take a loose grip in his hair, and stop fighting the wave of pleasure sweeping through you. Every muscle in your body clenches, tight and straining, through thrust after thrust of his fingers – and then the heel of Tenko’s hand presses against your clit for a second too long, and you fall apart, head spinning. You clutch Tenko closer, kissing him until you have to pull away to breathe.

Tenko’s fingers slip out of you, and even though you’re oversensitive to an almost painful degree, you whimper at the loss. Tenko notices, smirks – no, smiles. “Don’t worry. I’m definitely doing that again.”

It makes you laugh. “So you’re convinced?”

“Yeah.” Tenko raises his fingers to his mouth and sniffs them, then tastes them. He’s grinning when he lowers his hand again. “I’d say we leveled up.”

Your face flushes, and worse when you see how much moisture is still clinging to his fingers. “Sorry about your gloves.”

“I’ll just wash my hands.” Tenko looks like he’s never been less concerned about anything in his life. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You’re not sure your legs would hold you up, and Tenko looks a little shaky himself as he slides off the bed and heads to your bathroom. You think about putting your underwear back on, but they’re way too wet, and you throw them into your laundry basket without getting up. You still feel too warm to put your sweatpants back on, so you pull the hem of your shirt down and stretch out on the bed anyway. Tenko comes back a moment later. He looks pleased to see that you haven’t left – but then his expression sharpens. “What is that?”

You don’t know what he’s referring to. You give him a puzzled look, and he sits down on the edge of the bed, yanking your leg roughly into his lap. “These. Where did these come from?”

These – the three raw marks in your thigh, not scratches, more like burns or sores. They’re not so much bleeding as oozing. You remember the sharp pain in your leg when Tenko grabbed it, something you’d written off in the moment. “I think you. You were holding on.”

“That’s not how my quirk works,” Tenko says sharply. “It takes all five. And I can’t stop it when – it can’t have been. You’d be dead.”

“No. You’ve used your quirk on me before and I’m still here.”

“I didn’t,” Tenko snaps. “You wouldn’t be. You’d –”

He breaks off, because you’ve pulled up your sleeve. The injury to your wrist on the night you saw Tenko for the first time was healed before the sun came up, but the scar is still visible – jagged furrows in your skin, extending around your wrist from five points of contact. Tenko stares, jaw clenched, eyes wide, and you think through what you know about his quirk. It’s called Decay. It only activates when all five of his fingers make contact with something, or it’s supposed to. And based on what he’s saying now, it’s supposed to function as a chain reaction, something that can’t be stopped once it’s triggered. Except it can be stopped. He has stopped it, both of the times he’s used it on you.

Tenko’s expression twists in a way that looks agonizing. Both his hands lift from his sides, clawing hard at his neck, but only one of them stays there. The other comes up to scratch at his face instead, to yank hard at his own hair, to tear into the skin above his right eye, in the same spot as his scar. You’ve seen him melt down before, when you were kids, when he got too stressed or too upset or when something had gone wrong at home and someone had asked him about what happened. But never anything like this. It’s horrifying. You can’t just sit here and watch.

“Tenko, stop. Please.” You keep your voice calm, even as it shakes. You catch his wrist with both hands, ignoring the hand scratching his neck in favor of dealing with the one that’s tearing at his face. “You don’t need to do that. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Tenko doesn’t answer. His eyes are glazed, and he’s fighting you, stronger than you. His neck is bleeding. Soon his face will be, too, unless you keep his hand away. You keep talking, senselessly. “You don’t have to hurt yourself. Please don’t, Tenko –”

One of his nails bites deep into the side of his neck. Too deep. A spurt of blood comes up, and something in your mind snaps. You let go of his wrist with one hand and cover the marks on his neck, taking his scratches on the back of your hand instead. His blood is hot against your palm, and you fight down a surge of panic. You can’t stop him. He can hurt himself badly, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You don’t even know why he’s this upset. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. Whatever it is, it’s not worth –”

Tenko lurches away from you, tearing completely out of your grip, and stumbles to the bathroom. A moment later, you hear him retching. You don’t waste time thinking about what to do next. You get up and chase after him.

The last time you followed him when he was trying to get away from you, he hurt you. This time he’s in no condition to hurt anyone. He’s on his hands and knees vomiting on the bathmat, blood staining the collar of his shirt. The instant the vomiting stops, Tenko slumps forward, and you barely manage to pull him back in time to stop him from going face-first into the mess. He’s almost completely limp when he falls against you. You keep his head and shoulders elevated in case he throws up again and struggle to come up with a plan.

If a patient at the clinic melted down like this, you’d stabilize them and maybe call an ambulance. Stabilizing Tenko is well within your abilities, but you have no idea where this reaction came from, whether it’s within the range of possibilities for him or it came completely out of nowhere. Does that even matter as far as treating him goes? No, you decide. It doesn’t.

You were just learning about treatment for major trauma tonight. You start by checking Tenko’s breathing and heart rate. He’s hyperventilating and his pulse is fast, his skin pale. His eyes are open and his pupils are dilated. The biggest injury to deal with is the claw mark on his neck. You yank a towel off the bathroom counter with one hand and press it against the side of his neck, trying to contain the bleeding, then reach up again and turn the sink on cold. Once it’s as cold as it’ll go, you cup your hand, fill it with water, and splash it into Tenko’s face.

He startles in your arms, tries to lurch upright. “What –”

“It’s just water. Your heart rate’s really high, and I’m trying to bring it down. Cold water activates the diving reflex. That’s all.” You do a better job keeping your voice calm this time. Tenko doesn’t need a quirkless sidekick or a terrified girlfriend right now. He needs a medic. “Your neck is bleeding. I want to fix that before we do anything else. Is that okay?”

Tenko doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t try to get away from you, so you take that as a yes and drag your first-aid kit out from under the sink. Bandaging the wound effectively without letting go of him is difficult, and you’re still watching his heart rate. It’s higher than you want it to be, but not as bad as before. You keep talking, explaining everything you’re doing, not asking  for or expecting any response. You don’t know what triggered this. You need to keep him stable.

By the time you’ve got the wound on Tenko’s neck bandaged, he’s shivering. You’d get him to bed immediately, but his clothes are a mess, and soaked with cold sweat in the bargain. “Let’s get up and get changed, okay? It’ll just take a second.”

Tenko gets to his feet ahead of you, then offers you a hand up. You take it but get up under your own power, and as you do, you see that the gloves are a total loss. You’ll have to figure out something else. You lead Tenko over to your closet, switching out everything he’s wearing for your largest, most comfortable clothes. The only thing you can’t replace is the underwear, and the gloves. Tenko stands there, eyes blank, unmoving but for the shivers, while you try to think of a solution. His quirk is in his fingers, right? Only his fingers. What if you cover them?

Bandaids and medical tape. You cover Tenko’s ring finger and little finger, first on his right hand, then on his left. Tenko doesn’t protest, warn you against his quirk, or offer to help. He just stands there, lifeless, until you link your little finger with his and lead him over to the bed. He gets in on your side without being prompted, then looks up at you. “Are you coming?”

His voice sounds awful, but at least he’s talking again. “In a second,” you promise. “I just need to clean up.”

Part of you is hoping he’ll be asleep when you get back, but the rest of you knows better than to hope for that. You rinse the bathmat out in the shower, then carry it to the washing machine, along with all the clothes in the laundry basket, including everything Tenko just took off. Then it’s your clothes, and while you’re starting the washing machine, you notice the scratches on the back of your hand.

Those need cleaning, too, along with the marks on your thigh. You give up on putting on pants, change into a clean shirt and underwear, and detour to the hall closet for your pocket first-aid kit. The big one is too much for this.

Tenko’s voice follows you. “You’re leaving.”

“No,” you say. On second thought, you need to bring other things, too. You fill a glass with water from the sink and set it down on the bedside table. Then you sit down on the other side of the bed, over the covers. “I’m right here.”

Tenko doesn’t answer, but when you open the first-aid kit, he turns toward the sound. “What are you doing?”

“I just need a band-aid or two.” You regret the words instantly when Tenko sits up. “No, I’m fine. Just rest.”

“I did it.” Tenko’s voice is dull. “I’ll fix it.”

You shouldn’t let him do it. He needs to rest. But if he wants to do things, if he’s doing things under his own power, maybe you shouldn’t stop him. You lift your hands away from the first-aid kit and let him poke through it on his own, working awkwardly around the band-aids covering the tips of his fingers. Tenko starts with the marks on your leg, cleaning them clumsily. When he speaks up, he says the last thing you were expecting to hear. “I should have killed you.”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

“My quirk doesn’t stop. I can control what I touch, but once it activates, I can’t stop it. When I touched you then, I should have killed you. I should have killed you tonight. Just like I killed them.”

Tenko’s voice is flat, emotionless. Are you in danger? You don’t think so, but there are two questions running through your mind, and you ask the more immediate one, not the more important one. “Did you want to kill me? Tonight or then?”

He threatened to kill you the night you met him again, and it would have been easy for him to follow through, but he didn’t. Tenko shakes his head mechanically. “I never wanted to,” he says, and the relief you feel shames you into silence. “I didn’t want to kill Mon, either.”

You remember Mon. You loved Mon, just like Tenko did – less than Tenko did, because Mon was his dog. You can’t imagine Tenko hurting Mon. But you found what was left of Mon in the wreckage of Tenko’s house. And although you’ve seen the effects of Tenko’s quirk before, you’ve never seen, start to finish, what happens when he uses it on a living being. A terrible thought builds in the back of your mind, gaining speed and power. “Tenko, what do you mean?”

“I wondered if you’d guessed. You never said it, so I thought maybe you had.” Tenko smears Neosporin over the first rotted fingerprint in your thigh – too much Neosporin, just like before. “What happened to my family – I did it. It wasn’t some villain. I’m the one who killed them.”

You didn’t know. Not consciously. But even though the thought’s just occurring to you, it doesn’t feel like a surprise. If a villain had killed Tenko’s family, the Tenko you knew would have wanted to avenge them. But he’s been focused on All Might, on society, not on some other villain. The only way that makes sense is if he knew who it was already, if he’d dealt with them already – or if the person who did it was him.

It’s silent in your apartment. You’ve been silent for too long. “You didn’t know,” Tenko concludes, and you shake your head. “You know how to say things right. Tell me what it means.”

It’s not that you know how to say things right, it’s that you know him. You know how his mind works, know where the connections break, know how to piece it back together. “Your quirk doesn’t stop once it’s activated, but it stopped with me,” you say hesitantly, and Tenko nods. “You didn’t want to hurt me. But you didn’t want to hurt Mon, or – or Hana –”

Hana was your friend, too. Tenko’s loss crushed you so badly that you barely mourned her. “And you couldn’t stop your quirk with them,” you say. Tenko nods again. He’s been trying to open the same band-aid for the last thirty seconds. “You were five years old, Tenko. Nobody can control their quirk that young.”

“Try again.” Tenko doesn’t look up from the band-aid. “If I didn’t kill you and I killed them, then – say it.”

“No.”

“Say it.”

“No.” You’re not going to do this. You’re not going to buy into this idea someone planted in Tenko’s head that he killed his entire family on purpose when he was five years old. You can picture what happened that night in your mind’s eye – how he would have reached out to someone for help, how he wouldn’t have realized until it was too late, how quickly things would have spiraled out of control. “I know what you want me to say. And I know you. So I won’t.”

“Sensei said –”

“He didn’t know you.” The words leave your mouth with more venom than they should. “Not yet. Not that day. I did.”

You remember it so well – not because it was different than any other day with your best friend, but because it was the last day, because you went over every detail of it in your head until it was etched into your memory forever. You’d swapped lunches – he liked the awful onigiri your mom made, and you were always after the expensive snacks his grandma bought. You’d played heroes at recess and kept the game going on your way home from school while Hana walked ahead. Tenko was All Might, again, and that day you were Sir Nighteye, All Might’s sidekick who could see the future.

Nobody knows how Sir Nighteye’s quirk actually works, so you had to make it up, and you made up so that you had to touch the person to see how their future would play out. No matter how many times Tenko tried to get you close to the villain, it never worked, and on the way home, you came up with the perfect solution. “All Might,” you called out, and Tenko turned to look at you, deadly serious. “Give me your hand!”

He held it out, and you seized it in both of yours. “I can’t see his future, but I can see yours,” you said, and the brightest, widest grin crossed Tenko’s face. “You’re going to win.”

“We’re going to win. I can’t do it without you,” Tenko said, in his awful All Might impression that always made you laugh. You let go of his hand, but he didn’t let go of yours. “Tell me how we do it.”

You didn’t mean to, but you held his hand the rest of the way home, while you described the battle with the arch-villain, how it was going to be close but how Tenko would win. You needed to hold on, or you’d lose sight of his future. The two of you were just getting to the good part of the fight when you reached your street, your houses. You were disappointed, and so was Tenko. “Can’t you come over? You have to finish telling me so we can play for real tomorrow.”

You wanted to. You always wanted to, and that day more than ever, because you were holding Tenko’s hand and he hadn’t let go yet, even when you tried to. Even if it was just for the game, you didn’t want it to end. “I could ask –”

But you couldn’t even get the sentence out of your mouth before your mother shouted from across the street. Your name, followed by a brisk order. “You had all day to play around! Get in here and help me!”

Your throat closed up, but you didn’t want to cry. Tenko’s grip on your hand tightened. “We’ll play tomorrow,” he promised. He smiled. Not the All Might smile – the real one, the one that the people he saved were going to see someday and believe in, the one that said everything would be okay. “Keep looking at my future. Tell me how we win.”

“I will,” you said. Your mother shouted again. You squeezed Tenko’s hand and let go. And then you turned, looked both ways, and ran back across the street to your mother.

That was the last time you saw him for fifteen years, and everything might have changed between then and the first time you saw him again, but it can’t change the truth – Tenko’s master didn’t know him then. You did. So you know for sure now.

Tenko can’t hold your gaze. “You’re not right about this. He chose me. He knows.”

“Then we disagree. Nobody ever said we have to agree on everything.” You can’t push too hard. Not tonight. “Maybe you’ll win and convince me one of these days. Or I’ll win and convince you.”

Tenko’s mouth twists, turns down at the corners. He turns his back. “Don’t look.”

You move the first-aid kit out of the way and scoot closer to him, pressing yourself against his back as you wrap your arms around him. “I’m not looking.”

You hold him like that for a long time, not flinching when his hand grips your wrist again, when his palm flattens against the back of your hand to pin it to his chest just over his heart – and when he turns back in your arms, his eyes are clearer than they’ve been since he saw the marks on your leg. He looks exhausted. “Get some sleep,” you tell him. “I’ll be right there. I just have to finish this.”

The marks on your leg still need to be bandaged, and the scratches on the back of your hand are deep enough that you should cover them, too. Tenko shakes his head. “I did it. I’ll fix it. Aftercare, right?”

You smile in spite of yourself. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

He’s faster at it this time around. He covers the fingerprints on your leg with too much Neosporin and a giant band-aid, then slaps a sterile pad down on the back of your hand and secures it messily with gauze. “Don’t do this again. If I want to tear my own skin up –”

“I’m not going to sit here and watch you get hurt. Even if you’re doing it to yourself.” That’s not up for negotiation, at least not tonight. “Come on. If you want to cuddle, we’ll be more comfortable lying down.”

Appealing to Tenko’s touch-starvation seems to be a winning strategy. As soon as you’re both under the covers, he crawls into your arms, halfway on top of you with his face buried in your shoulder. You hang onto him tightly. Not so tightly that you can’t free one hand to play with his hair, and Tenko makes a sound. You wouldn’t call it contented, but he’s not as tense as before. What he says is muffled by your shoulder, and it comes completely out of left field. “I’m not going to do that every time we hook up.”

You almost laugh. “I know.”

Like he did last night, he falls asleep quickly. You don’t, or can’t. Half of you is scared that if you fall asleep, you’ll wake up to Tenko gone, snatched out of your grip again by All For One. It’s a stupid thought. All For One is in Tartarus, under twenty-four-hour guard – but Kurogiri follows his orders over Tenko’s, and if Kurogiri came for Tenko, there would be nothing you could do. Nothing except hold on tight, and make sure that you and Tenko went wherever he was going together.

Part of what’s keeping you up is fear. The rest is fury, the kind you can barely contain, aimed at a single target. You don’t have a clue about most of what All For One did to try to erase Tenko and replace him with Tomura, but you know the first thing – convincing him that he killed his family on purpose. Tenko’s pursuing the vision of someone who’s tried to destroy him, who’s thrown him into a battle he can’t win. And you’re supposed to help him do it.

You can’t stomach that, but maybe you don’t have to. You don’t have to be loyal to All For One’s vision or to Tenko’s efforts to follow in his footsteps. You just have to be loyal to Tenko, and that’s easy the way breathing is, as unconscious as blinking. After all, you’ve been doing it your whole life.

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The First Taste

Tomura has his first sexual encounter. Poor touch starved baby doesn’t last long, at all. Will reader be forgiving and encouraging and let him try again, is he to embarressed, will he end up lasting or does he release to early again.

Thank you for 600 followers😭🥳🥳💥💜💫💋 Please please like, comment and reblog. It is very appreciated. I will love you. See my Masterlist for other Fics

WARNING SMUT 18+ ONLY THERE IS SEX HERE

FLUFF ANGST SOFT SHIGGY

SHIGARAKI X FEMALE READER

WORDS–4615 (This came out twice as long as it was suppose to be😥😳 sorry)

Shigaraki was not good with feelings or how to express them. He also was not good with people and regular everyday  interactions. His emotions, which were mainly anger and annoyance, just kinda exploded out of him. He hated pretty much everything and everyone, he just wanted to destroy the society that failed him. 

Then you came along. With your beautiful eyes, bright smile and that body of yours. These feelings were new to him. His heart beat faster, his face would heat up, pulse quickened. 

Obviously he knew he was attracted to you, well that was an understatement, he had become obsessed. You were always on his mind, your image permanently imprinted in his brain. He found himself constantly thinking about what your lips tasted like. What it would be like to have his arms around your waist, to snuggle his face into the crook of your neck. To have you underneath him as he had his way with you. 

Contrary to population belief he knew what sex was, he wasn’t stupid. 

He was indeed a regular guy, a very horny one at that. He masturbated on the regular, well more than regular, his mind was on sex a lot. He watched porn daily, this is the only sex education he had, but he had resigned himself to being alone. 

The need for physical contact was getting to him a lot lately. He craved it. Wanted it. The thought of your hands on him, around him. He couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be touched. 

He longed to caress your soft flawless skin. To feel your fingertips travel across his chest, your arms encircling his waist as you rest your head against him. To lay down next to you and feel your warmth. He would get lost in his fantasies of you. Imagining you cuddling up to him, calling him babe or some other cute nickname as he trailed kisses across your neck. Whispering dirty words in your ear, a promise of all the naughty things to come. 

The problem was he didn’t know how to go about it. 

Walking back to the hideout Tomura’s mind wandered,picturing what life with you would be like. To come home and have you waiting for him, greeting him with a hug and kiss. He was tired of being lonely, he longed for companionship and love. Each passing day the desire for you grew. His craving for you was consuming him.

Occasionally he would try to start a conversation, but he just was not good at it, and sadly you really didn’t seem interested in him. He was so very awkward, and since you appeared in his life he had become very self conscious about it, hell about everything. Thinking about you stirred up so many emotions, he was not used to caring about someone, little lone wanting them. 

As he walked into the hideout he noticed it was empty except for you, sitting alone on the couch, reading some book. His heart beating in his chest like a drum. He was alone with you. Should he try, what if you rejected him, told him to fuck off, called him a creep.

He really didn’t even know how to begin to flirt, but he had to give it a try, he had to know if he had a chance in hell with you. So he decided this was it, this was his chance, so he took a spot next to you, right next to you actually, even though there were plenty of places to sit. Hell he didn’t even sit at the other end of the couch. He literally sat right next to you, his leg rubbing against yours as he nervously bounced it up and down. 

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Shigaraki.

A man so beautiful, so sexy, so perfect the world can't handle him. Therefore he couldn't be real, and the sky weaps for him.

I really think everyone needs to truly internalize this:

Fictional characters are objects.

They are not people. You cannot "objectify" them, because they have no personhood to be deprived of. They have no humanity to be erased. You cannot "disrespect" them, because they are not real.

NSFW tomura shigaraki

That man is a feral beast in heat, Tomura shigaraki, a man that would eat you up until you pass out because if the overstimulation he force you to take.

Tomura Shigaraki's hunger of you that never stop even after a whole night of make out session.

Tomura Shigaraki who will offer you as a gift a collar with his name on it so that everyone know who you belongs.

Tomura shigaraki that would tries all your holes over and over again his hand wrap arround your little neck as a prove of domination.

Tomura Shigaraki's dick who pound into you deliciously, matching your gummies walls perfectly, hiting you sweet spots with ecstasy.

Tomura Shigaraki's big palm that would lift your numb and tired body as ge pound into you forgetting is frustration and totaly for for his pleasure.

Tomura Shigaraki's talented fingers that would, at the first try find tge perfect way to make you cry of frustration and pleasure.

Tomura Shigaraki's fingers that would hit all the right spot of your inside, that would rub you clit in a way that no one have ever, in a way that no one would ever be able to.

@bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

This, this is a work of art

Listen To Your Demons

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

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

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

Afficher davantage

Hi !! Congrats on 500 followers ! For the roulette r can I request shigaraki/fem reader for the prompt numbers 1,34,55,63 ? Thank you !

Bang! … No bullet was shot—

Tomura Shigaraki

“I’ll make you fucking sorry.” || Wartime || Fresh laundry || Enemies to lovers

tw: NSFW • Coercion • Dubcon • Rough Sex • Mild Humiliation • Unprotected Sex • Fem! Reader

wc: 1009

“Tell me why…” the scratch of untrimmed nails against dry brittle skin made your gums ache.

“A hero is standing in front of me alive,” hard set garnet eyes glowering beneath the fall of soft blue bangs. His figure was hunched, bad posture obvious as he continued to pick at the skin on his neck almost to the point you wondered if it was an obsessive compulsive disorder which plagued him.

“I’m not a hero… at least not anymore. I want to join you.” The silence from the League of Villain’s head was unnerving, unable to guess his emotion due to a severed hand covering most of his face.

“Does this place look like a fucking freak convention? I should dust you and be done with this, why should I have to deal—,” you stupidly interrupted his rambling, panicking that he might reject you.

“Please, the League is the only place I can go to get revenge, I’ll do anything—,” your words seemed to echo, the emphasis you’d placed on anything stopping him. Even the hand clawing a bloody mess into his neck paused.

His eyes sliced over to you again, analyzing you in a new light that set your frayed nerves on end.

You were cute. He couldn’t deny that. Your wide desperate eyes filled with determination had blood pooling into his cock, making him turn and shift so he faced you again.

You watched as he removed the hand from his face, back straightening a bit as he looked up and revealed his face. His cracked raw lips split further as he grinned, eyes crinkling as his features twisted into a nasty gleeful image.

“Anything?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, yanking you up by your hair savagely as you choke out a warbled cry. “Did you just bite me?,” he growls out angrily as he shoves you to the floor. Your swollen lips tremble in fear and anticipation as your watery eyes look up at his imposing figure. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—,” he’s gripping your jaw tight, shutting you up and merciful enough not to place his pinky down least he kill you,

“Sorry?” He mocks, eyes wide and frightening as he looms over your sorry figure. “I’ll make you fucking sorry—,” he hissed, though he wasn’t actually too upset. It was him who had continuously gagged you with his semi-hard cock, using your warm mouth to get himself wet and hard so he could fuck your cunt next. You’d bitten him by accident, hadn’t even broken skin. A sick part of him liked it too, the sharp pain which helped get him fully erect. It just filled him with satisfaction to see your scared visage, worried and attentive to every touch he lays on you.

“Strip already, you’re pissing me off.” He huffs petulantly like a young lord when you hesitate and tremble. “You want to join me? You want your revenge?” He’s goading you, smiling as you swallow thickly but obey nonetheless because you did want those things, and what was your pride anyway?

He liked it, watching the pretty ex-hero strip all on her own for him like a whore. He let you know it too.

“I always wondered if hero pussy would be different,” he spits on your slit, and laughs when he realizes you’re already fairly wet. “Female heroes always flaunt around in those fucking ridiculous spandex outfits, I remember you wore one of those too?” He’s not pushing in, just holding his leaking plush tip against the opening of your pussy as you shakily nod, confusion evident on your features as he nods with a sneer.

“Next time, bring your old costume. I want to fuck you in that too.” You don’t have time to contemplate his words more, because next time should’ve been a major red flag in your mind. Instead you whine as he bullies his way into you, no prep or opening up for your poor hole as he thrusts into your welcoming heat with a loud moan.

He finds purchase on your hips, pinkies raised though he’s not entirely mindful as he feels the squish of your flesh and the tight vice of your cunt clenching around him.

“Yeah,” he almost giggles, groaning and giving an experimental thrust which causes you to jerk and grunt with the force. “Your ex-hero pussy is pretty good~” he leers, keeping one hand on your hip and pawing at your tits with the other as he begins a brutal and mean pace. His pleasure is clearly the forefront of his priorities and it embarrasses you that you also begin feeling good, his cock curved a bit and nailing a sweet spot inside of you that has your toes curling as you choke and try to hide your noises with a hand over your mouth.

He rolls his eyes as he sees it, uncaring as he uses your sweet hole to jerk his cock to completion, losing himself as he messily rolls his hips into your sloppy pussy. “Don’t think I forgot about you biting my cock,” his words register too late before he drops his hand to your cunt, pinching your clit between two fingers and twisting the little nub painfully. You squeal to his delight, high pitched and girlish in your cry that it has his balls drawing tight as he laughs. “Fuck, did you like that?” He’s giddy, the way you clenched up and spasmed from the rough treatment embarrassing but erotic.

“Screw it,” his head falls forward, both hands on your waist, eight fingers digging crescents into your soft skin as he fucks you hard and fast, nearly collapsing when you break and your own orgasm washes over you. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down, as he works his cock as deeply into you as possible before filling your womb with a spray of white hot cum.

He flattens you with his weight, sweaty skin sticky against your own as you catch your breath.

You realize this initiation might be more permanent than you’d previously considered.

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