#(ah you can just hear Shigaraki in the background telling Spinner that he's absolutely going to steal that pretty boys heart)

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Oh boy, can you tell this is my first full piece with acrylic gouache lol, still pretty happy with it tho!

[palbabor-writes]

Shigaraki finally seeing the new recruit without her mask, finding out she’s super hot, and then Shig just basically stares at her all the time, trying to make any and every excuse for her to take off her mask. Can be NSFW, I absolutely would not mind it. Just want Shiggy to find me so attractive he’d nearly kill me to see my face again :p

hey, hi! idk if this is exactly what you had in mind but i did my best ~(˘▽˘)~ warnings: death threats, vaginal fingering

“I don’t know why you bother with the make-up. Right after you finish, you just tack that mask of yours on, covering up all of that extra ornamentation you insist on wearing. Such a waste of time,” Giran scoffs, annoyed that you’ve delayed his meeting with Tomura Shigaraki, again.

“Would it shock you if I said: I don’t give a fuck what you think?” you grin, shouldering open the bar door and dramatically ushering for the broker to enter before you.

“Hmph,” Giran snorts, rolling his eyes. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, careful to blow the smoke toward your masked face. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

“Whaaat? Me? Oh my God, I’ve never, ever heard that before. And for you to say something so cutting? I’m hurt,” you mock.

“Who’s a piece of work?” Toga calls out as you close the door behind you, knocking the last of the noxious wisps of smoke away.

“Me,” you announce loudly, pacing toward one of the bar stools and seating yourself on the red leather. 

“Awe, why’s that?” Twice begins sincerely before stumbling into a quick, “Well, it’s fucking true.” 

“He doesn’t like that I took a little bit of extra time to put on make-up. Shigaraki isn’t even down here yet, so I don’t see what the big deal is,” you snark, turning your head toward Giran. He has the grace to give you a disgruntled lifting of his shoulders. 

“Well,” Spinner chimes in, “it does seem a little pointless. You are wearing a mask and not just some half mask, that thing covers your whole face.” 

“Pointless! Why, no my dear, that’s not pointless, not at all!” Compress defends, his gloved finger tutting Spinner’s hunched figure. “You never know what the next performance will call for! One must always be prepared.”

“Oooh, do you do, like, eyeliner? I looove the winged points.” Toga declares, striding over and leaning close, her big yellow eyes blinking up at you.

“Yeah. I can do winged eyeliner,” you confirm, a grin spreading across your lips. Not that any of them can see it, but they’ll likely hear it’s lift in your voice. 

“Ahhh! Teach me, teach me!” Toga claps her hands and perches on the seat next to you. “Oh wait! Before that, can I see it? Just so I can tell how good you are.”

“See? Ah, my face. Um, yeah, I guess...” you begin, fingers reaching behind your jaw, tugging the reinforced porcelain away. Toga’s eyes widen and she cups her face between her hands and hushed gasp sneaking out of her lips. 

“You’re so pretty!” she beams. You’re just about to answer her when she tilts her head past you, looking at someone over your shoulder. “Whaddaya’ think Tomura? I like her even better without the mask! You think she’s pretty too, right?”

Without thinking, you twist to look at the league’s defacto leader. He’s stepping out of that long hallway, his face obscured by the pale fingers of Father. However, he does pause, cocking his head at you. From what you can see of his expression, he does look a bit, uh, staggered. One red eye is gleaming out at you, the whites almost comically wide and he lifts a hand to his neck, fingers automatically scritching at the skin they land on. His head rises, chin jutting forward and he takes a step forward, toward you.  

Odd, you think, instinctively biting on your lower lip. It’s not like him to stare. Well, at least not that intently. Usually, he ignores your presence, treating you more like the background furniture than a living, breathing, person. Toga’s question hangs on the air and the others start to notice the shift too, their gazes passing between the two of you. You’re about to croak out some kinda response, when Shigaraki does the honors for you.  

“We have a meeting,” he rasps and something in his tone breaks the spell. His head finally turns from you and you lower your gaze, sliding your mask back over your features. 

“Awe,” Toga bemoans, hopping down from the bar stool. “Don’t think you’re getting out of helping me with my make-up!” She scolds, tossing you a swift wink before following the others as they gather around a low table. 

They don’t need you for this part so you shift off of your seat and press open the front door, grateful for the cool autumn air that hits you. You lean up against the brick siding and take a moment to steady your thumping heartbeat. That was a, um, strange interaction. 

You’d never put much thought into Shigaraki. He was quiet and there wasn’t much cause for the two of you to interact. Well, besides passing his requests on to Giran, or confirming shipment dates. Honestly, it was nigh impossible to get a read on him most days. Namely because, like you, he always had something obscuring his face.

Despite that, he did have a pleasing build, with broad shoulders, cabled neck muscles and you’d always quietly admired the snaking length of his long legs. The fact that he had white hair and startling red eyes were two other bonuses. You’ve always had a thing for guys that sported a long mop of pearlescent waves and Shigaraki was a pristine specimen in that regard.

Even so, it’s not like you knew much about the guy and you doubted that was going to change any time soon. No, he’d likely only been taken aback by your startled expression. You couldn’t help it. Once Toga had uttered his name you’d wanted to see him, so, so curious to see if he’d comment on your appearance. Would he like you? Notice you? Say something maybe? But, he hadn’t.

So, yeah. That was that. Right?   

******

A week passes before you slide into the bar again. This time of year is always busy, but you’ve carved out some time to double check on the league’s shipment requests. 

The main room of the bar is quiet, but you can see Shigaraki’s dark back, hunched over the bar top. His head tilts toward you when he hears the door close and that bright eye of his is doing that fervid glint again. His look travels from your neck to your covered face and you can swear his eye narrows when it lands on the smooth surface of your mask. 

“What?” he asks, his tone low. 

“Uh, I was coming to check on the shipments. See if there was anything extra that you guys needed.” 

“Ask Kurogiri,” he clips, that lone eye of his continuing to transverse the planes of your covered face.

“Alright. I’ll go and look for him– ”

“Why do you wear that?” Shigaraki suddenly asks. It’s a simple question, but it makes your heart start that ragged tattoo again. What is wrong with you? You’d think he’d asked for you to strip naked and lay atop the bar, what with the way your heartbeats are palpitating. What’s the big deal?  

“Wh-what?” you blankly hear yourself stammering out. You know what he’s asking. You’re not stupid. Apparently, your brain has another plan in mind and that involves, um, playing dumb? 

“Your mask,” Shigaraki supplies, his voice falling into a hushed rasp. “Why do you wear it?”

“Well, why do you wear a hand on your face?” Shit. Fuck. What? Why did you say that?

The bar stool scrapes back and you can’t help but wince at the sound, your body flinching. He’s slow as he steps forward, his fingers carefully threaded into his pockets. Once he’s a few feet from you, you let out a slow breath, praying he can’t hear the ragged thuds of your pulse.

“Take it off. The mask, that is,” Shigaraki demands and you can hear that grin, that wicked, wicked smirk that you can only imagine is parting his lips. Lips that you’ve never seen. Lips that are so close. If only he’d...oh, that’s an idea... 

“No,” you reply. Your voice is even and strong, thank God, but it doesn’t grant you an immediate reprieve. No, your defiance only makes him shift closer, his chest nearly bumping against yours.  

He’s not much taller than you. It’s likely only an inch or two difference, but it suddenly feels like he’s miles above you. Instinctively, you arch your neck, closing that tiny distance to peer up at him. He’s watching you intently and you can hear the steady, in and out, pulls of his breath. Shigaraki lets another few beats pass before he answers your challenge, leaning forward, demanding your full attention with his overwhelming proximity.

“I can just decay it off, you know. It would be easy. But, if I do that, well, you’d need to be quick. You’d have to get it off of you in seconds, because once it starts, it’s hard to predict and I’d hate for my quirk to take the rest of you with it.”

“You’d risk killing me, just to see my face again?”

“Tch. Sure. If you wanna look at it that way. It was a pretty face, (Y/N). So here’s my advice: don’t be fucking obstinate and do as I say.” 

“What if...what if I make a deal with you?”

Shigaraki barks out a laugh and the sharp angles of his lips spread past the palm of Father. “A deal? I’ll say it again, since I guess you didn’t hear me the first time, I can decay it off. I don’t need to bargain with you.” 

“Sure,” you qualify, the heavy pants of your exhales hitting the front of your mask, bathing you in wild, damp, warmth. “But I don’t like the idea of being the only one who is exposed. Why don’t you let me see you, too?”

“Me?” Shigaraki asks, his head ducking slightly, voice clipping over the word. “Why?”

“Please?” Your hands lift of their own accord, ghosting over the lines of his forearms. You can hear his breath hitch and you rejoice at the tiny sound. He’s right. He could simply raise a hand and disintegrate your mask, and possibly you, to bits, to fucking pieces, but you wanna know. You wanna see him. Besides, you’re starting to like this standoff. There’s something coiling under it and you can almost taste the line of tension that’s tightening between the two of you.  

“Only for a second,” you promise, imbuing your tone with airy light. “Come on, what are you scared of? Like you said, it wouldn’t take much for you to kill me. Might be easier even, if I’m, mmm, distracted.”

“You first,” he commands, one of his hands rising from his dark pocket, hovering beside the golden base of Father. 

“Ugh. You’re not gonna go back on your part, are you?” you tease, fingers already cupping at your jaw, peeling the heated porcelain away from your skin. 

“I might,” Shigaraki taunts, “you’ll need to take that mask off to find out, won’t you? Oh, and you can go slow. Since you seem to be partial to the theatrics of it all, why don’t you put on a nice show for me?” 

Woah.

A gasp falls from your lips before you can contain it and Shigaraki presses his advantage, his white hair falling toward you as he looms impossibly closer, that red eye glowing in the darkness of the bar. Ok, ok, you think, gulping down your nerves and that rising crest of fucking arousal that’s pricking between your legs.

Your mask is leaden in your hands, but you do your best to steady your shaking fingers. You can feel the familiar weight slipping from your chin, your cheeks, your nose, but it feels different, too. Charged and heavy. A light rush of gooseflesh bumps its way up your arms and you tremble when the mask finally slides past one half of your face. 

Without warning, Shigaraki’s hand whips forward, snatching onto your wrist. That one, all important, finger is arched away but he stills your movements with a squeeze, his eye whisking over you. He lets his gaze linger indulgently against your lips, tracing the dip and pout of your mouth. Then, he lifts his intensity to your own stare, that broad smile rising along his lips. A pleased rumble echoes from his chest and you almost reply with a moan. 

Fuck. This is...

It’s like standing too close to an open flame and your whole body feels like it’s reacting to the sting, the burn that is rising within you. “Do...do you want me to keep going?”

His reply is a silent one. Silent, but firm. That hand that’s wrapped around your wrist, that’s blazing the heat of him into you, pulls. It takes your arm and the rest of your mask with it, leaving you bare and vulnerable, completely at the mercy of that hungry eye. 

You can’t fucking breathe and you’re biting your lip so hard that you’re worried the skin is about to split open. Shigaraki is quiet but his head tilts, cascading white hair against his dark shoulder. This is ridiculous, you think, unable to snatch yourself away from him. It’s not even both eyes. He’s only looking at you with one eye. Shit, what will two eyes do? Is he going to keep his side of this? Do you even really want him to? What if...it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what it means, or what it does, you want to see him, all of him. 

After all, fair is fair.  

His fingers are still curled around your wrist and you feel each indentation of his finger pads, hot against your chilled flesh. “S-so,” you begin, your words snagging in your throat, “are you gonna hold up your end?”

You can hear his snort of amusement but he does release your hand. Once his elegant digits pass the pasty gloom of the embalmed hand on his face, you can feel your heartbeat slowing, your eyes following his motions, watching, waiting. He’s not as slow as you were, but he gives you a moment to savor, teasingly lifting the obscuring palm up and away. 

Oh. 

Your mask clatters to the floor, skittering across the wood, shattering the weighty silence. Without thinking, your hand comes up to his cheek, letting your brave thumb run across that tiny mole on his chin. He’s not handsome. No, he’s not what anyone would deem perfect, not with those cracks and scars, but fuck, he’s beautiful. It’s a shattered magnificence and you’re so glad you asked him for it.

“Didn’t say you could touch,” Shigaraki growls, his voice rasping toward that lower register. 

“It’s ok,” you reassure him, your other hand lifting to feel out the smooth and rough patches of his skin. “You can touch me, too.” 

He groans at that, those red eyes finally slipping closed. He’s uneasy at this part, his hands too broad and too jittery to really appreciate the curve of your face, but dips his head closer, his forehead pressing against yours. 

When you dance your fingers over his lips, he moves in the same moment. He’s arms cage around you and he yanks you to him, sucking, biting, kissing you until you can’t think, let alone breathe. 

The bump of the couch is a surprise and you topple backwards, splayed across the tattered cushions. You hadn’t even realized you’d taken those steps, that he’d pushed you that way. It doesn’t matter, because he’s on top of you, seconds later, his fingers everywhere, touching every part of you that he can reach.

“How are you so warm?” he asks, sliding his palms under your shirt, cupping at the roundness of your breasts. His voice is soft, awed, and you grin up at him, urging his lips back to yours. 

“What’s the matter?” you tease, worrying his chapped lip between your teeth. “What happened to all those death threats?”

Shigaraki smirks, pulling away from your mischievous bites, that long scar across his lip rising. One of his hands wanders downward, feeling for the edge of your pants, while the other encloses around your neck, clamping until you’re arching under him, eyes shut and lips parted. 

“You like that I can kill you?” he leers, finally snapping the button of your jeans open, permitting his inquisitive touch to dip into something even warmer than the skin of your breasts. He breaches the fluttering petals of your cunt and glides into your heat, hissing at the slick that pools around him. 

The hand at your throat squeezes again, demanding your answer. “Y-yes,” you gasp, hips canting up at the steady rhythm he’s building inside you. 

“Hmm,” he ponders, releasing your neck and lifting that hand in front of your face. “Then you better hope I can control myself. We’ll start with something simple. These clothes of yours should be easy enough to decay...” His thumb swipes across your budding clit and you writhe, squirming and panting. “Ah-ah,” he warns a cruel grin spreading along his lips. “Keep still. I’d hate for my hand to slip.” 

Carefully, he lowers his free hand, trailing it toward your shirt. Once four fingers are curled under the hem, he reapplies his other thumb, circling until you’re white knuckling the cushions. “Don’t forget,” he reminds you, adding the tiniest pressure to his oscillations, “one wrong move and you’re nothing but bone and gristle. Tch, it would be such poor timing too, what when we’re just starting to have so much fun together” 

Then, he lowers that deadly finger. 

notes: again, not sure if it’s exactly what you had in mind, but I had fun with it!