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scary-grace · 2 days ago

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still life, with hope - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

You're an art student with a crippling fear of birds and an assignment to create art from life, so when you're assigned to study swans, you're pretty much dead in the water. And there's something strange about the swans you find on a secluded lake, something all too human. As your artwork grows increasingly surreal and your suspicions about the swans continue to build, you can't help but ask yourself the question: Are you losing your mind, or have you walked into the middle of a fairytale gone wrong? Whatever it is, you'd better figure it out fast. Seven lives depend on the answer. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is for @shigarakislaughter, who requested this prompt from my winter prompt list: hear the fallen and lonely cry out / can you fix me up, can you show me hope. I apologize for how long this took, and the fact that it'll be in multiple chapters, but I really hope you like it! Swan Lake AU, modern setting/no quirks, art student!reader. dividers by @cafekitsune.

Chapter 1

You look down at the piece of paper you’ve drawn from the hat with more than a little dismay. “SWAN?”

“Swan,” your Capstone 1 professor says, smiling warmly. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” you say at first. He raises an eyebrow. “Can’t I pick something else?”

“I didn’t get to pick something else,” one of your classmates says from behind you. His piece of paper reads SLUG. “I’ll trade you.”

You don’t want SLUG either. This is the first year of your MFA program, and in order to advance to the second year, you have to create an exhibition that speaks to both your versatility with multiple mediums and your own signature style. This year’s Capstone 1 exhibition is going to be held in the building that’s going to house the campus’s collection of fine art, and if you or any other student does well enough in it, your pieces will earn a permanent place in the gallery. You and your classmates have been drooling over the prize ever since it was announced.

But it wouldn’t be a grad program without a twist of nonsense involved, and in order to set everyone on an equal playing field, the professor in charge of supervising your work for the exhibition set down rules. You’ll each create an exhibition centered around a subject from the natural world. You must spend at least two of each week’s five workshop periods creating art from life – i.e., observing whatever your subject is in its natural habitat. And the subjects will be assigned by drawing from a hat.

Your classmate who drew SLUG got a short straw for sure, but there are plenty of classmates whose subjects looked pretty bad until the second you unfolded yours. Somebody got WASP, which will be a nightmare to observe from life; your roommate got ANEMONE, which means she’ll be spending a lot of time in tidepools for the foreseeable future. The person who got DANDELION has hay fever, and the person who got SQUIRREL is nearsighted. The only people who are happy are the people who wound up with things like TREE and STONE and FIRE. And you were ready to suck it up and create the best exhibition the school’s ever seen for any subject you got, right up until SWAN.

“There will be no trading,” the professor says. He turns to you. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I don’t like birds,” you say. The guy who got SLUG snorts. “I mean it! When I went on vacation to America, a bunch of Canada geese tried to drown me because I wouldn’t give them my sandwich –”

The classroom erupts in laughter. “It’s fortunate, then, that your assignment is SWAN,” your professor says. “And you are more than welcome to observe them from a safe distance.”

There’s no safe distance from a giant bird that wants to kill you. You wander back to your seat, miserable, while the only classmate who hasn’t drawn yet stands up and pulls SPARROW. So there were two birds in there – a big one, and a small one, and you had to draw the big one. Just your luck.

And your luck gets worse, because your professor assigns the rest of the class period to research your subject and where it might be observed, and you learn a certain fact about SWAN that leaves you absolutely dead in the water. You wait until the rest of the class is filing out, then make your way up to your professor. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I’m supposed to draw swans from life,” you say, and he nods. “Swans migrate.”

“Indeed they do.”

“They’ve migrated,” you say again. “It’s already getting cold out. They’ve all flown away. And I looked at the zoos around here – none of them have swans –”

“I admire your diligence! You certainly used your research period well,” your professor says. He’s happy. That doesn’t help you. “You’re correct. Swans are migratory, and it’s autumn. The vast majority of the wild swans are gone for the winter, and the local zoo is poorly stocked with swans. But that doesn’t mean there are no swans to be found.”

You were hoping he’d agree that you needed a different subject. You’re desperate enough that you’d even take SLUG. “Do you know where I can find some swans?”

“I’m glad you asked. There happens to be a small population of non-migratory swans at a lake not too far from here,” the professor says. “Most people aren’t aware of the lake, as it sits on the old estate. You know the one?”

You can only think of one. “With the signs on the fence about shooting trespassers?”

“The owner is rather protective,” your professor says. He smiles at you. “He’s allowed the preserve to grow wild, and his predecessor did the same, until it resembles a nature park more than anything else. The signs are to discourage hunters or hikers. You, on the other hand, will be behaving as a naturalist. You are there to observe and document – and given your apparent fear of swans, there’s no risk that you’ll interact with them.”

“No,” you admit. “Still, um – will you let him know that I’ll be there? So he doesn’t shoot me?”

“I already informed him that one of my students would be paying visits to the lake,” the professor says. You can’t decide if that makes you feel better or worse – better about not being shot, worse about getting out of this without spending the next six months on SWAN. “He’s quite enthusiastic about the idea of the birds being documented. And he was kind enough to provide a map.”

You’re doomed. “Thanks.”

When you exit the classroom, you find SLUG guy waiting, face pinched above his surgical mask. “He’s not going to let you out of it,” you say. “He wouldn’t let me out of mine.”

“SLUG is objectively worse than SWAN,” your classmate argues. “Both Western and Eastern traditions feature swans as a symbol of grace and beauty. There’s not a single classical painting that features a slug.”

“We have to draw from life,” you remind him. “Slugs don’t migrate. Swans do.”

Your classmate’s thin eyebrows lift. Does he pluck them? “It seems you’re fucked.”

“Yep,” you say, and sigh. The map folded up in your pocket looks like it was written in the eighteenth century. Even if you can read it, there’s no guarantee it’ll be accurate. “It sure does.”

You’re only mandated to spend two of each week’s workshop periods observing from life, but you figure you might as well bite the bullet. Most of your classmates are doing the same, according to the cohort group chat. Kaoruko, who drew SPARROW, found herself a cute little coffee shop to sit in, with a tree and a bird feeder right outside the window. Your roommate Shoko is headed for the beach in search of tidepools, bundled up for the weather with a determined look on her face. SLUG guy, whose name is apparently Kai, is complaining that he can’t find any, and the group chat is collectively dunking on him.

They were going to find someone to laugh at. You’re glad it’s not you. Still, you feel a little guilty, enough to message him privately. Go up to the arboretum and walk around on the trails. They’re all over the place.

He doesn’t respond. Fine. You tuck your phone into your backpack, hop on your bike, and start the half hour’s ride out to the old estate in search of swans.

You go over your research in your head as you ride along the network of trails through town. Swans are the biggest species of waterfowl in the world, even bigger than geese, which is just your luck. They come in multiple varieties – trumpeter, mute, black-necked, black, tundra, and whooper. Most of Japan is temperate enough that the swans migrate here for the winter, but it’s just your luck – Hokkaido is just far enough to the north and just cold enough to mean that the supposedly non-migratory swans at this lake are the only swans around.

What else did you learn about swans? Classically, they’re symbols of grace and beauty, just like Kai said; colloquially, they’re known for being assholes. They’ll attack people, just like geese will, and unlike geese, they’ve succeeded in murdering an uncomfortable number of people. Sure, those people were usually a little too close to the nest, and you’re not planning to get anywhere near that close, but the possibility is there that your Capstone 1 project could actually kill you. The only fact you learned about swans that wasn’t completely off-putting is the fact that they raise their cygnets together, and they apparently mate for life.

That’s not much for you to go on. By the time you drag your bike through the hole in the fence marked on the map of the old estate, you’re already frustrated with the whole thing, and your mood doesn’t improve as you hike along the world’s faintest trail up into the woods. According to the map, all the trails lead to the lake eventually, but the scenic route doesn’t do much for you except make you wish that you’d gotten TREE or ROCK or FIRE. You’d even have taken MOSS. Or FUNGUS. All of those things are abundant in the woods, and none of them are able to drown you.

The hike up to the lake is supposed to be a mile long, but the trail is so winding that it feels like longer, and you’re beginning to wonder if the professor sent you out here to get lost in the woods when you spot light coming through the trees. You pick up the pace, around the last few curves and over a downed tree covered in moss and mushrooms, and find yourself on the rocky shore of a lake.

It’s not a small lake. You were thinking it would be small, but it’s not. It’s big and crystal clear, so clear that you can see exactly where the lakebed drops away into nothingness, and although the sun’s out and the temperature’s above freezing, you know you’d freeze to death if you fell in the water long before you drowned. When you look across the lake, to the other side, you can see places where the slope to the shore is steep, and low bluffs that would lead to a nasty drop into the icy water. All the trails lead to the lake – sure. Some of them lead right into it. You set down your backpack, dig out an old, crusty highlighter, and mark the trail you took today in bright green.

You don’t see any swans just yet. There’s mist rising off the water and the sun’s still high in the sky, and as you get settled on the shore, you find yourself wishing you could just draw the lake instead. There’s so much to look at here, so many aspects of the landscape you could explore. You could sketch the pebbles on the shore, the broad, flat rocks you’ll probably sit on the next time you come out here. You could get here early, find a good spot, and rip off Monet by painting the water at every hour of the day. If you wanted to get here early, you could paint the sunrise. The mist looks pretty now, but first thing in the morning –

It’s not mist. Sure, there’s mist, but there are shapes drifting through it, and the shapes are creating the shadows that entranced you, leaving faint ripples that travel the length of the lake to brush along your side of the shore. You see long necks, folded wings, narrow beaks. Swans.

Your professor was right. There are swans here – seven of them, all paddling smoothly through the lake, in no hurry to get anywhere, least of all south. You fumble your sketchbook open in a hurry and grab for the first medium you can find. You brought half a dozen in your backpack, unsure of what you’d need, but any of the five others would be better than the chalk pastels you come up with. But you’ll work with what you’ve got. You can’t let this get away.

It’s not the swans that are the focus of your first attempt at observation. It’s the sun and the mist and the water, all bright and bold, washing your page in color. The swans are almost an afterthought – just seven grey-and-white shadows, weaving between the columns of light. Maybe this is how you can get through this project. The landscape is what attracts you, and the swans are part of it. You don’t have to ever deal directly with the swans themselves. They haven’t even noticed you, and as far as you’re concerned, it can stay that way.

When you’ve finished with the rough piece in chalk pastel, your hands and your jeans are smeared with color. You spray fixative over the sketchbook page and set it aside to dry, then take out your phone. You can take a few pictures, maybe get one of the swans in them, and call it good for today.

You discover quickly that you can’t get just one swan in the picture. They travel in a group, and the longer you look at them, the more you observe slight differences in size and plumage. There’s one swan that’s smaller than the other six while still being full-grown. Is that one a female? You’re not going to check. One of them is preening, and two others are helping, while another one pokes along the shoreline. Another one bobs against a stand of rushes, its head tucked beneath its wing.

So they do come up on shore sometimes. You’ll need to keep an eye out, and make sure you know where they are at all times. You do a quick bird count, coming up with six, although you could have sworn you counted seven earlier. There were seven. Where’s the –

You see movement out of the corner of your eye and almost drop your phone in the lake in your haste to get back from the water’s edge. So much for keeping an eye out – the seventh swan was practically on top of you before you realized it was there, and now it’s staring you down with murder in its red eyes. You didn’t think swans had red eyes. This is probably a demon swan, and it’s going to drag you into the lake and kill you. You back away a little further.

The red-eyed swan doesn’t follow you. It just watches. And watches. And keeps watching, until you’ve packed up your things and crept back into the forest. You got one usable sketch, and you’ve also got a demon swan. You need to stop thinking that anything about this project is going to be easy. No matter how good you feel about it, something’s always going to go wrong.

“Can you believe this?” Shoko rolls up her pantleg and pulls down her sock, showing you the mark from the jellyfish tentacle that wrapped around her leg. “I thought it was safe, but apparently they can still sting even if they’re dead.”

“And it was in the tidepool with you?”

“No, it was on the beach while I was walking back. A wave came up and swept it right into me.” Shoko sits down at the studio station next to yours. “Just my luck.”

“Just your luck,” you echo. “Did you get any pieces you’re happy with out of it, at least?”

“I got a few,” Shoko says. She hoists out her sketchbook, followed by a pile of polaroids, then aims a sly look your way. “What about you? How was SWAN?”

��It’s SWANS, actually. Seven of them,” you say, and Shoko nods, looking impressed. You wish she wouldn’t. You barely have anything to show for the week’s check-in. “They’re even scarier than I thought. I –”

“Did you know that some human beings are allergic to slug mucus?” Kai drops his bags at the studio station on Shoko’s other side and slumps down in the chair. “Neither did I. Until yesterday.”

“Oh my God,” you say. Shoko is laughing. “You weren’t supposed to touch them!”

Kai’s broken out in hives, and he’s glaring at you. “You told me where to find them.”

“Where to find them. Not to touch them!”

Shoko wheezes. “What, did you pick it up and give it a kiss? We’re not supposed to interact with the nature unless the nature starts it.”

“Shut up,” Kai says. His face is turning red. “What happened to your leg? I hope you didn’t choose to urinate on it –”

“That’s an urban legend. And you’re a moron,” Shoko says. She leans out around Kai to look at you. “Tell me about the swans.”

“Ooh, there was more than one SWAN?” A classmate drops into the seat on your left, carrying a big cardboard box. You can see a row of canvases sticking out of it, and you grit your teeth. “How did you make it out alive?”

“Hi, Keigo,” you say. Keigo ignores you and walks away, only to come back with another cardboard box full of canvases. You try again. “Did you get inspired?”

“You know it,” Keigo says. He sits down with a satisfied sigh and starts paging through his canvases. “I’ve been painting all week. I moved my easel next to my bed so I can paint when I wake up in the middle of the night. How have you guys been doing?”

He looks from you to Kai to Shoko, mild concern crossing his face. Kai glares at him. Shoko raises an eyebrow. “Really, birdbrain?”

“There’s only one birdbrain here,” Keigo says, and he winks at you.

Before you can protest, the professor strides into the room. “Welcome, students! I hope you’re all prepared to share the results of your first week’s efforts.”

You thought it was going to be a basic show and tell, but the professor’s not letting anybody off easy. Everybody gets quizzed about how much time they spent observing their subject, as well as why they chose the mediums they used, and it doesn’t take long for you to realize that you and Shoko and Kai are about to be in trouble. You have the misfortune of following Keigo, who gets glowing reviews on the thirteen canvases he’s done so far of FIRE. Just your luck. When you stand up, you’re braced for the worst.

“I spent about six hours total observing the swans,” you say. That’s about average for the class, and you had to hike to get to yours. “And I have three pieces –”

“Only three?”

“Yeah. There were, um, complications.” You pick up your first piece – the chalk pastel sketch of the swans from the first day. “This is kind of my first impression of it. Them. And then this one –”

Your second piece is a watercolor. You were planning to do something more detailed from the pictures you took, but something was wrong with the photos. They were blurry, almost psychedelic, and you decided to just go with it when it was time to paint. “So these were done from a photo, not from life,” the professor says. You cringe. “Why not?”

“I don’t think the swans liked me very much,” you say. “There was this one – it snuck up on me –”

Your classmates are snickering. Your face heats up. “Tell us about the last piece,” your professor says. “This one has more detail than the others – but it’s missing something. Why is that?”

The third piece is an ink-on-paper sketch of all seven swans, drifting across the water in a line. You thought you’d soft-focused all the swans, but when you look at the piece, you realize that you didn’t. The swan in the middle – the red-eyed one who jumped you the first day – is a shadow, or a blur. “I don’t really know,” you say. Your classmates titter, Keigo the loudest. “It kind of just happened.”

“Mm.” The professor studies the last sketch. “Your technique is clear, but there’s no life to it. You need to observe in more detail.”

“Get closer to them?” you ask. Your professor shakes his head. “I don’t know –”

“Think about it. You have seven potential subjects to work with,” the professor says, “and unlike some of your classmates, you have subjects with complex social structures and behavior patterns. Get to know their personalities a little more. I want to see that in your next set of preliminary works.”

You collect your three pieces and sit back down, while Kai, his four pieces, and his hives make their way up to the front of the room. Your critique wasn’t actually that bad. The professor complimented your technique, and that’s the foundation for everything else, so you’re not starting from nothing. He just wants a little more observation. A little more detail. A little more time out at the lake with the swans.

It’s not the worst thing. As you listen to the professor trying to figure out just how Kai managed to give himself hives while taking photos of a slug, you remind yourself that it could have gone a lot worse.

Your alarm goes off, startling you out of a dream that’s still clear as you get ready to leave. You were at the shores of the lake, and the light was fading, a cold wind skipping across the water. The swans weren’t there, and you were worried. Not because of your project, although you’ve had dreams like that, too. You were worried because it was cold, and it was getting dark, and you couldn’t see a place for them to shelter. You could hear howling in the woods behind you, but you weren’t scared for you. And then something moved in your peripheral vision, something drew up alongside you – and your alarm went off before you could see what it was.

It’s just before dawn as you move through the small apartment you and Shoko share. Shoko’s asleep at the kitchen table, her miniature easel propped up in front of her with a line of acrylic tubes open and waiting beside her palette. You take the time to close them before you head out the door, and take a look at her canvas as you do. Shoko’s the best acrylic painter you’ve ever seen, and she’s painted an anemone with incredible detail. Shoko’s going to get a good critique this week. You’re sure of it.

In fact, everybody’s critique’s improved, except yours. Your professor still doesn’t think you’re trying hard enough to get to know the swans, and today, you’re taking matters into your own hands. By the time you get to the lake, it’ll be just past dawn, and you won’t leave until you’ve captured something about each of the seven swans on paper. Or until sundown. Whichever’s first. No matter how unworried you were for your own safety in the dream, you don’t want to be caught in the woods after dark.

The ride through town is quiet, and so is the hike through the woods. You’re familiar with this path by now, and you’re getting better at hiking. The air is crisp and cold, and you can see your breath. It’ll be a cold morning until the sun crests the mountains. When you break through the tree line onto the shore, you find the lake completely still and quiet. Only faint shreds of mist. No swans in sight.

Maybe they’re sleeping in. You’d be sleeping in if you had the choice. You lay out your blanket on the flat rocks on the eastern shore of the lake, sit down, and take out your sketchbook to look through what you’ve done already. It might not be coming through in your artwork, but you have gotten to know the swans fairly well. At first you couldn’t tell them apart, except to pick out the one that’s smaller than the rest, but now you know them all by sight and behavior – and sound. The first rays of sunlight brush the lake, and like clockwork, the swans drift out of wherever they spend the night. As they travel across the lake, you look them over. You need one piece for each swan by the end of the day. Which of them should you start with?

You’ve been observing them long enough to have nicknamed them, and to have assigned them genders for no reason other than vibes. The one in the lead this morning is the one you call Silly, because most of the time he’s doing what you can only call clowning around. You know that’s projecting, that you shouldn’t impose human behavior on a bird, but that’s what it looks like he’s doing. Silly might be a good place to start, but then again, Silly’s not great at holding still. Gorgeous might be a better bet.

Swans are pretty. You had to admit that at some point, and while the swan you call Gorgeous is roughly as pretty as the other swans, Gorgeous is the only one who acts like she knows it. Gorgeous isn’t particularly scared of you, but she’s also not aggressive. More than a few times she’s come right up to wherever you’re sitting and frozen in place in the middle of your eyeline. The first time it happened, you thought you were getting into a staring contest. Then it occurred to you that Gorgeous might be posing for you.

It’s a crazy thought. It’s projecting, again, but you will admit that Gorgeous has an uncanny ability to find good light. This morning, Gorgeous is up to her usual tricks, waddling out onto a rocky outcropping in the middle of the lake and freezing in place, her wings folded neatly. In direct sunlight, there’s an undertone to her white feathers – brown, or maybe bronze. That’s going to be hard to capture without metallics, but you’ll give it a shot.

Gorgeous is a whooper swan, you think. Or a trumpeter swan. She has the same strident, sonorous call as the swans in the videos you watched on YouTube as research, and she’s talkative with the others. As you try to capture the metallic sheen of the sunlight on Gorgeous’s feathers, you keep an eye on who’s talking back. Gorgeous reliably gets responses from Silly, who responds to everybody, and from Sooty, whose call sounds like what would happen if a trombone smoked a pack a day for twenty years. It would be nice to get a feather study of Sooty, who earned his nickname thanks to the char-like markings on his plumage, but Sooty doesn’t venture out into full sun very often.

Spinner is almost always in the sun, though. If there’s even a patch of sunlight, Spinner’s in it, even if it means that he’s paddling in place and rotating slowly in a circle. If there’s no sun, like there has been one or two of the days you’ve come to the lake, Spinner huddles up with whichever of the other swans is holding still, feathers puffed out. You’re hoping you can draw Spinner while he’s out of the water. He’s more graceful on land than the others.

You take your time sketching Gorgeous – you’ve got all day – and when Gorgeous gets bored with sunning and sidles off the outcropping into the water, you set down your pencils and pull your watercolors out of your backpack instead. You have a new medium. Now you need a new swan, and as you’re looking around, weighing your options, Needles darts through your peripheral vision and nominates herself. You might as well try to capture her in watercolors. You’re not going to get her to sit still for a serious sketch.

Needles is the smallest, the fastest, the most agile, and the most energetic. She’s also the only swan who’s actually attacked you, when you reached for a feather that had fallen to the rocks and she clamped her beak down on your finger. You almost called her Toothy, but you remembered from your research that swans don’t have teeth, and the sharp points of her beak felt more like needles anyway. You lay out your watercolors, pick up your brush, and wait for her to swim back into view.

But it’s hard to paint Needles just by herself. She’s usually interacting with the others, so you resign yourself to painting Silly, Needles, and Sneaky all at the same time. It’s probably the only time you’re going to get a good look at Sneaky, anyway. Other than Spooky, he’s the swan you lose track of most often.

There was really no name you could give to the red-eyed swan other than Spooky, and although Spooky’s never come close to you again, you haven’t forgotten the look of almost hatred in his eyes. You’re more scared of him than you are of Needles, who actually bit you, or of Sooty, who gets aggressive if he decides you’ve been looking at him for too long. You decide to save drawing him for last. You can half-ass your sketch and use the fading light as an excuse to get back home.

You don’t feel inspired by the swans, necessarily; it’s more that you’re completely absorbed. There’s something captivating about them, and at the same time, something odd. You’ve watched videos of swans on YouTube, and from what you can tell, they travel in mated pairs, with cygnets. You don’t see any cygnets, and none of the swans interact with each other in a way that would make you think they were mates. They act like – friends, maybe. Or like family. Whatever it is, it’s not easy to look away from.

You manage it, though, at least long enough to get something down on paper, and you start to lose track of time. It’s only when you notice how the shadows are lying that you check your phone and find that it’s well into the afternoon. You’ve done a piece for every swan except Spooky, and your stomach is growling. You decide to fortify yourself before you try to deal with Spooky again and go digging in your backpack for snacks.

The first thing you encounter is a package of trail mix, but before you can even open it, a swan’s beak clamps down onto the other end. Sneaky’s lived up to his name; he’s come all the way onto the rocks with you without you noticing, and now he’s doing his level best to yank the trail mix away from you. You’re more affronted than scared. “Hey, give it back –”

It occurs to you vaguely how stupid this must look – you in a tug of war with a swan, which has unfolded its wings and is flapping them to try to gain traction. You know you’re not supposed to feed wildlife, and you don’t think trail mix is good for swans, and you’re worried about them eating plastic by accident. At the same time, Sneaky’s putting in a lot of effort trying to get the package away from you, and he’s attracting a lot of attention. You don’t want to get swarmed by the others. You hesitate for a second, adjust your grip the wrong way, and the package tears open, scattering trail mix across the rocks.

You’re expecting Sneaky to lunge for it and start jamming peanuts and Cheerios into his beak, trying to eat them all before the rest of the swans notice. Instead Sneaky steps back and honks – or hoots – or something. You haven’t heard any of the swans make that sound before, but all across the lake, you see heads pop up and swift shapes moving through the water. They’re all headed your way.

Before you can move, they’re already out of the water – Gorgeous, Spinner, Needles, Sooty, Silly. Silly gets there last and lunges at the trail mix, only for Spinner to hiss at him, at which point Silly turns and hisses at Sooty, who hasn’t moved. You’ve never seen wild birds do anything like this. It looks like they’re waiting for something. You do a bird count out of habit and realize that Spooky’s missing. Sneaky repeats the honk-hoot-thing from before, and this time the others pick it up, so loudly that you clamp your hands over your ears. While you can muffle the noise, you can’t keep out the certainty: They are waiting. They’re waiting for him.

For one insane moment, you think you hear human voices amidst the cacophony, calling for the one friend who’s always dragging their feet. The impatient jostling reminds you of kids at a birthday party, waiting for the birthday kid to take a bite of cake so the rest of them can eat. Spinner half-unfolds a wing in an odd gesture, and your mind summons the image of one person beckoning to another. You’ve been out here too long. You must be losing it. They’re just birds.

Spooky’s arrival should dispel any notion that there’s something human about the swans, but there’s no way to describe Spooky’s demeanor as he waddles up onto the shoreline as anything other than pissed. He keeps rustling his wings and he’s holding his neck at a funny angle, and he hisses at the other swans even though they’re already making room for him in the huddle around the trail mix. Maybe Spooky’s in charge, and the others have to let him eat before they can. That would make sense –

But that’s not what happens. Once Spooky’s in the huddle, all seven swans bow their heads and start eating together.

A chill goes down your spine. You could write off the voices your brain conjured or the gesture your eyes sketched, but this isn’t your imagination. Sneaky stole your trail mix, then called the other swans over to share, and they didn’t touch the food until all of them were there. Swans aren’t supposed to behave like this. Wild animals don’t behave like this. Even domesticated ones – you’re a dog person, and you’ve never had a dog that would wait for another dog to get there before it started eating.

This is – you don’t know what it is, but you know something’s off. And you’ve done enough observing for today. You need to go home and look at actual humans and stop losing your mind. You start packing up your things to leave, hoping to get out before the swans remember you’re there. But with seven swans, your single-serving package of trail mix goes fast. You’re just zipping up your backpack when they raise their heads and turn to you.

“Um, hi,” you say, like an idiot. You should just get up and run. “How’s it going?”

You’ve never tried to get within more than thirty feet of any of the swans before today, working out of a healthy combination of fear and respect, but the swans swarm you with absolutely no shame. You don’t have a prayer of warding them off. Before you can do anything more than haul your backpack and sketchbook out of range, Silly and Needles are right up in your personal space, Silly pulling at the sleeve of your jacket while Needles pokes you with her beak. Gorgeous is bothering you, too – she’s pulling on the hood of your jacket, picking up some of your hair in the bargain.

If you’d even come close to them, they’d have drowned you. “Can I help you?” you ask, exasperated. “I didn’t – hey, get out of there!”

Sneaky’s trying to pull down the zipper on your backpack, probably looking for more snacks. In your quest to not get in trouble for feeding the wildlife, you neglect your sketchbook for a split second, and Sooty snatches it. You let it go out of shock, which probably saves it from tearing, only for Sooty to drop it right away when Spinner bites him and hisses. Sooty hisses in response, flares his wings, and you seize the opportunity provided by their disagreement to rescue your sketchbook. There’s a beak-mark on the cover, but it seems okay.

The sketchbook’s okay, but you aren’t. A shadow falls over you, and when you look up in search of the source, you find Spooky standing directly in front of you, a strange, coughing hiss issuing from his beak.

“Hi,” you say again, even more awkwardly than before. It’s hard to be anything but awkward when you’ve got chills running down your spine. He doesn’t respond, although you don’t know why you thought he would. He’s a swan. You’re not even sure he’s a he. “Sorry to bother you. I’m just going to grab my things and –”

Spooky stretches his neck towards you and pecks your sketchbook, hard. Then he waddles back a few steps and goes back to staring at you. If you activate the part of your imagination that pictured Spinner waving Spooky over, it’s not hard to imagine that Spooky’s giving you a meaningful look. Over what? You move the sketchbook, and Spooky tracks it. His head turns from the sketchbook to you, then back to the sketchbook, and back to you again.

He wants you to draw him. The thought’s absurd, but you don’t know how else to interpret Spooky’s behavior. You’ve been coming here to draw and paint for weeks now, and today you’ve spent time trying to sketch every other swan but him – so now it’s his turn. He’s hissing at you again, rustling his wings in a way you can’t help but read as threatening. He quiets down as soon as you open your sketchbook. “Are you ready for your close-up?” you ask nonsensically, grasping for a drawing implement blindly and coming up with a ballpoint pen. Spooky doesn’t answer. Because he’s a swan. “Okay. Just, um – act natural.”

The other swans have been indifferent to your observations, or if they’ve noticed, like Gorgeous always does, they’ve cooperated for at least a little while. Spooky’s the first one who’s visibly uncomfortable while you draw him. He keeps pacing back and forth and rustling his wings and changing the position of his neck, and when he does hold still, it’s when he’s staring at you straight on, which isn’t a particularly flattering angle on a swan. You can make anything work, but it would be great if he picked something, or at least stuck to the same few behaviors so you can draw one of them. This is a mess.

Someone honks in your ear and you almost have a heart attack. It’s Sooty, who’s been looking over your shoulder at your drawings, which is so what the fuck enough to overpower your fear of swans and push you into frustration. “Hey, no peeking,” you snap. “Go away.”

Sooty backs off, but he’s rustling his wings in a weird way, bobbing his head strangely. If he was a person – which he isn’t – it would almost look like he was laughing. The way Spooky reacts makes you think it’s laughter, too – Spooky starts hissing and flares his wings out, which looks sort of majestic, you guess. You start sketching that, outlining it in quick motions of your stupid ballpoint pen, as Spooky chases Sooty off. It’s a decent sketch. But it’s also not what you want from Spooky. You turn the page and wait to see if he’ll come back.

Spooky wanders back into your field of vision looking sort of downtrodden, and this time, he settles down on the rock a few feet away from you. “That’s perfect,” you say, the same as you’d say to a person whose portrait you were drawing. He glances towards you, then looks away. “No, I mean it. Hold still.”

He doesn’t move, so you swap out your ballpoint pen for charcoal at high speed and get to work. At this range, you can see details you couldn’t capture on the other swans. The texture of his feathers, not just the color. The way the weak late-autumn light reflects dully off his beak, and the smoothness with which it fades into the feathers on his head and neck. When he’s not hissing at you, when he’s calm, you can appreciate how striking Spooky’s red eyes are, and an idea for a much larger piece pops into your head. You can take the sketches you’re doing now and paint from them, a full canvas in shades of black and white and tan and grey – except for the crimson you’d use to paint Spooky’s eyes.

If you do that, you’ll give people nightmares. Spooky’s already been in some of yours. But it’ll be striking. Hard to look away from. And if it’s in people’s nightmares, it means that they’ll have taken some part of it with them, and while you’ve always wanted your art to stick with people in the positive sense, you’ll take haunting them in a pinch. Between you and Spooky, you can get it done.

Spooky slowly unfolds one wing, and you turn the page in a hurry. One wing folded, one partially extended, the elegant curve of his neck and the angle of his head – talk about striking. Gorgeous might be consistently easier to draw, but when Spooky cooperates, he’s compelling on a different level. But still awkward about it. You can tell, and you find yourself talking again. “This looks amazing. I’ll show you when I’m done if you want. Or if you – wow –”

Spooky’s unfolded his wing all the way, and although your research gave you the dimensions of a swan’s wingspan, seeing five feet of flight feathers stretched out in the sun is really something else. You sketch fast, wishing you could linger on the details but worried that you’ll miss something when he lowers his wing again. Spooky keeps it extended as you sketch from the base of his wing to the tip – and then you see what Spooky’s really been trying to show you. The last few feathers at his wingtip aren’t smooth and full like the others; they’re skeletal. Someone’s clipped his wing.

You think of how Sneaky always keeps his wings folded, how Sooty will try to take off from the water only to fall back down after gaining barely a few feet in height. You’ve been wondering on and off why the swans don’t migrate, and now you understand. “You can’t fly,” you say, and Spooky lowers his wing at last.

Only part of the way, though – he turns his head and starts yanking at his remaining flight feathers. “Don’t,” you protest, reaching out – but Needles snaps at your fingers, warning you to pull your hand back, and the other swans close in around you. Unless you feel like punching a swan, you’re not getting out of here until they let you. “I’m not going to hurt him. I just want to help.”

Help with what? You can’t regrow Spooky’s flight feathers, or any of the others’. Maybe you can find out what swans eat and bring them some food, because now that you know they’re stuck here, you can’t imagine them doing anything but spending the winter on the edge of starvation. But they’re birds. They must want to fly. And you can’t fix that. “If I could help, I would,” you say uselessly. “But I don’t know how.”

The swans part from in front of you, suddenly, revealing Spooky. His wings are folded again, and there’s something clenched in his beak. He comes right up close to you and drops whatever it is on your sketchbook, and when he lifts his head, the two of you are face to face. You don’t understand what you’re looking at. A bird, obviously. You’re looking at a bird, but you’re paralyzed all at once by the thought that it’s not just a bird you’re looking at. You’re looking at something else, too.

Before you can think any harder about it, Spooky turns away and heads for the water at high speed. The other swans follow him, Sneaky taking one last shot at your backpack before he plunges into the lake, and vanish around a curve in the shoreline. They’re so fast in the water. It’s hard to believe they can’t fly. Hard to believe that anyone would take that away from them.

Your eyes start to burn, and you look away from the water in a hurry, down at your sketchbook. A jolt of adrenaline runs through you. The swans don’t leave feathers lying around. Needles bit you for even reaching for a dropped feather before. But lying across your page of sketches is one of Spooky’s flight feathers, freshly pulled from his wing.

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @deadhands69 @f3r4lfr0gg3r @minniessskii @cryptidfuckerofficial @lvtuss @issaortiz @evilcookie5 @aslutforfictionalmen @lacrimae-lotos @xeveryxstarfallx @stardustdreamersisi @koohiii @cheeseonatower @shikiblessed @warxhammer @agente707 @handumb @boogiemansbitch @baking-ghoul @atspiss

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door #a bisquared production #swan lake AU

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samm1e13 · 2 days ago

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L.O.V.E

🎮 tomura shigaraki x fem!reader smau

a strangers/online friends to lovers university au

masterlist / your voice is my safe space / new character unlocked

main menu;

level four; your voice is my safe space

cw; brief mentions and descriptions of domestic violence and child abuse, enji is a horrible parent, descriptions of a panic attack, mentions of familial death, mentions of grief and feelings of guilt, very brief mention on shigs scratching habit, i believe that is all, bit of a longer written part this time, texts between shigs and dabi at the end

barely two feet passed the threshold of the door, the air was palpable and tomura shigaraki could feel the tension in the apartment. he wasn’t sure what to expect, but as his eyes found the two figures sitting on the couch, he knew it wasn’t good. with a heavy sigh, he closed the door behind him and prepared himself for what he was about to hear.

shoto todoroki, touya’s younger brother, sat quietly on the living room couch eating cold soba and watching tv, while his brother stood in the kitchen talking with his two roommates.

“mom invited us to lunch today, so yumi picked me up and we went to the house together. it was going good for the most part, tense but when isn’t it.” dabi leaned his back against the sink, using the position to peer towards the living room and have a view of shoto.

“it all went bad pretty quick when lunch was over. enji went to his study after the meal was over, mom was cleaning up, yumi and natsu were on the couch with sho and i stepped out for a smoke. i was only outside for about five minutes when i heard a crash.” touya’s eyes skimmed over to shoto who was invested in whatever shitty tv show spinner put on, before taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“apparently mom dropped a glass while cleaning up in the kitchen, and enji heard it, he was pissed. came storming into the kitchen, when i walked in-” dabi’s voice catches in a way shigs and spinner have only heard once before. for just a split second, touya is back to being the ten year old scared little kid who confessed to his friends that his father hurts them. the them in question being his mom, his siblings, and himself.

shigs feels his heart ache for his best friend while spinner reaches a hand out to rest on dabi’s shoulder, a silent reminder that he’s no longer in that place. that he’s made it out and is safe now, touya feels his body sag against the counter and looks to his youngest brother again. so young and so traumatized, touya failed him as a brother.

“when i walked in, mom was on the floor, blood dripping from her hands where a shard of glass was embedded in her palm, her cheek was red from where he slapped her and her lip was bleeding too. there were little cuts on her cheek from where his nails caught the skin and her eyebrow was bleeding.” he takes another breath, his cerulean eyes hardening with anger as he looks at shoto again. no, he’s not going to fail him, he got him out of there and he’ll do everything he can to protect his brother.

“i saw red, my body heat rose with the anger i was feeling and i hit him. i just kept hitting him while yumi got mom and shoto out of the house. i-i think i would have killed him if natsu didn’t pull me off. yumi took mom to the hospital, and i brought sho here, natsu said he’d grab somethings from sho’s room and bring them here after he went to the hospital to see how mom was doing.” touya finishes explaining and the three sit in silence while the television plays softly in the background.

“how is your mom?” spinner speaks up and dabi shrugs looking at his feet.

“she’s got stitches on her palm and her thigh, apparently she landed pretty hard on the glass when she fell after he hit her. the doctor’s say she has a concussion from hitting her head on the counter as she fell. they filed a police report for domestic violence, the cops plan on going to question him later. natsu and yumi said they’d cover for me if the police ask. kenzie says she’ll take shoto if i get arrested.” the sound of footsteps is heard as shoto walks into the kitchen.

“what’s up shoto?” shigs speaks for the first time since arriving at home.

“i’m tired.” is all the small twelve year old child says. the three adults look at each other before touya sighs.

“you can sleep in my room. you might have some pajamas from the last time you stayed over in my bottom drawer.” touya says, shoto nods before turning and leaving the kitchen, making his way down the hall to his brother's room.

“any other news?” spinner leans his own body against the wall, touya still against the counter and shigs in the middle of the two.

“my grandma died.” he speaks so plainly, that anybody who didn’t know him would think shigs didn’t care. those closest to him knew how much he loved his grandmother and the way his vermillion eyes began to mist, showed just how devastated he was.

as the three stand in the kitchen, the silence that befalls them is very telling. only one question remains, though none of them voice it, they all know what it is.

what happens now?

a few hours have passed since the three left the kitchen after their conversation, kenzie came over shortly after shoto went to bed and has been with touya in the living room. the time is now 8:45pm. shigs’ room is silent as he lays on his back in bed staring at the ceiling, the led lights are blue and dimmed low, encasing the room in a soft glow.

his phone rests on his chest, discord opened to her name. the last message shows her saying he could call her anytime, he sighs deeply, why was he so nervous to call her? he’s never had that problem before.

he doesn’t ponder for very long, his phone ringing disrupts his thoughts, and an unconscious smile spreads across his lips as her name lights up the screen with a voice call.

“hello?” he clears his throat after answering, voice hoarse after lying here silently for hours.

“hey.” she breathes out and shigs whole body tingles when the word reaches his ears. “i was worried about you.”

fuck, there’s that flutter in his chest again, he’d never get tired of hearing her speak to him.

“i’m okay.” he tries to sound convincing but he knows that he can’t hide anything from her.

“shiggy.” she speaks softly, the nickname falls from her lips so smoothly he believes that she was always meant to say it. “you know you can always talk to me.” she says it with such conviction and belief in her tone that he knows it’s true, even if his brain tries to convince him it’s not.

so with a sigh he begins telling her about the phone call he got earlier while out with his project partner, unbeknownst to either of them, that person was her. she listens silently, letting him open up at his own point, picking and choosing what he wants her to know.

he’s taking his time as he tells her about his relationship with his grandmother on his father’s side, a kind, passionate woman who spent her life helping anybody who needed it. nana shimura was his hero, not having been able to say goodbye leaves a heavy feeling of guilt in his chest.

the weight slowly grows bigger the more he talks, spreading from his chest, down his abdomen, out to his arms and legs, working its way up to his throat where words spill from his lips as his lungs grow tight. a feeling of drowning begins to overtake him as he struggles to breathe, each breath stuttering before being forcefully pulled out from his mouth.

his whole body feels heavy, words no longer leaving him as he fights back sobs and his fingers begin to tremble with the need to scratch at something, everything. just to feel anything other than this crushing feeling of helplessness, guilt, shame, anguish. his hands fly up to his throat, and his eyes snap shut tightly, as his fingers wrap around his neck and throat. nails clawing at the soft skin, he releases a breath. the feeling only worsens.

“shigaraki.”

her firm but soft tone calls to him like a siren in the night and time slows.

“it’s okay.”

the sound that leaves him can only be described as the cry of a broken child.

“it’s okay, you can cry. you can scream, but don’t hold it in. let it out, for me please?��

the tears are streaming faster than he can keep up, she’s silent as she waits for him. he’s not sure how long he cries for, but he knows she was there for all of it. speaking softly anytime he struggled to catch his breath, calming him down when he felt that weight of guilt again.

the tears dry slowly and his breathing gets easier. his throat hurts and his mouth is dry, but he can hear her soft breathing on the other end of the phone and it brings him a sense of security he hasn’t had in a while. he feels complete with her, safe and at peace, almost like he’s home.

he stays silent for a while longer, just letting the last of the guilt and anxiety leave his body. she’s silent with him, just basking in his presence as he works through his grief. he takes one last deep inhale, holding it for five seconds before exhaling and letting his body relax.

“thank you.” the words come out raw and raspy from the dry soreness of his throat and it makes him wince.

“of course, shiggy.” there’s that nickname again and his breath hitches for an entirely different reason. “are you okay now?”

“as okay as i can be for now.” she giggles softly at that and it brings a small smile to his lips.

“are you tired?” a yawn follows her words, he chuckles. eyes glancing at the upper corner of his phone, the time reads 2:55am. wow, he hadn’t realized how long it’d been since she called.

“yeah, i am.” it’s her turn to laugh as a yawn leaves him.

“do you want to stay on call?” her words are slurred and her tone already sounds like she’s drifting. he merely hums in agreement.

“goodnight flowey.” his own eyes flutter close, and her response comes shortly after.

“goodnight shigs, i love you.” sleep takes them both right as the time strikes 3:00am, and her words fall on deaf ears, filling the air around them.

level four; your voice is my safe space completed!

one achievement unlocked; a confession?

tag list; [open]

@nkox, @dumbassbrigade, @va-3, @kodditty, @personally4runa

mutual tags; @shigarakislaughter, @chaoslibra, @sexylexy12

samm1e13 tumblr 2025 ©️ don’t use, copy, steal or translate my works for any reason.

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yourname-exee · 1 day ago

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Shigaraki was used to being alone. It was a constant, a fact of life. He didn’t want anyone near him, didn’t need anyone. His quirk, the touch of death, had ensured that, so in turn he pushed everyone away. The world saw him as nothing more than a monster, and he gladly embraced the label.

Touch was dangerous, so it was easier to be alone. To never experience the warmth of another person.

But then, there was you.

You were the exception. The one person who managed to break through the cold walls he’d built up over the years. You didn’t flinch when you saw his hands, gnarled and decayed, scarred with the remnants of his destructive past. In fact, you never once looked at him like he was something to fear. And more importantly, your quirk had made it possible.

It was strange at first, this sensation of having your touch cancel out his power. When he first discovered that he could touch you without causing harm, his heart had skipped a beat. He didn’t understand it at first, but soon, the realization settled in like a warm blanket. For once, he didn’t feel like a weapon. For once, he didn’t feel like a monster.

And as time went on, he found himself growing more attached to you. Not just in the way that made him crave your presence, but in the way he longed for the simplicity of human touch, the comfort of being near someone without fear.

Tonight was no different. He sat in his usual corner of the hideout, with his usual scowl on his face as he watched the others argue over some petty issue. But there you were standing beside him. You’d brought him some food, like you always did, leaning against the wall near him.

You didn't demand anything from him. You never pushed for more than what he was ready to give. And as much as he hated to admit it that quiet patience of yours made something inside him shift.

The space between you two felt warmer than it should have. You had no idea how much he wanted to touch you, how much he wanted to reach out and feel the gentle connection he’d never known. But the thought of touching you, of allowing himself to be vulnerable, scared him. He was terrified that he’d screw it up like he always did.

He could feel your gaze on him now, and he didn’t dare look at you, not yet. He knew what you wanted. He could sense it, the unspoken question.

But his hands, his cursed hands.

“Tomura.” You spoke softly, your voice just above a whisper, but it cut through the tension. “Can I.. hold your hand?” there was some hesitation within your words, fear of rejection woven between each syllable.

He froze

The words lingered in the air between you two for a moment before he blinked slowly, trying to process what you had just asked.

You were asking to touch him?

He turned his head toward you, his usual scowl softened by something unreadable. “You know what my quirk does,” he muttered, his voice low and guarded, “You’re still asking?”

You shrugged, giving him a small, tender smile. “I trust you. And besides..” You took a step closer, reaching out slowly, your fingers brushing against his knuckles. “Your quirk can’t hurt me, remember? So what’s the harm?”

Shigaraki’s heart thudded loudly in his chest as you inched your hand closer to his.

His hands

Those hands that had caused so much death and destruction, trembled slightly under the weight of your gaze. The temptation to pull away, to shield himself from the warmth of your touch, was strong. But something inside him, something he hadn’t felt in so long, urged him to stay still. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing, but the knot in his throat wouldn’t loosen.

Finally, he let out a shaky breath. “You’re insane,” he muttered, his voice barely a rasp. But, in the same breath, he opened his hand fully, palm facing up, letting you take it. “Fine. But if you get hurt, don’t say I didn't warn you.”

You laughed softly, the sound like a gentle melody to his ears, and carefully laced your fingers within his own. The moment your hand touched his, there was no pain, no fear. Just the soft, reassuring pressure of your touch, and he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a lifetime.

For the first time in ages, Shigaraki felt something he never thought he'd experience, peace. The world around him seemed quieter, the constant noise in his mind fading as he held your hand. His heart, once hardened by years of loneliness, softened ever so slightly.

Your thumb gently traced the back of his hand.

“I’m here. And I’ll stay here. As long as you’ll let me.”

He didn’t answer right away. But as he looked down at your hand in his, a part of him, very small but undeniable, stirred deep within him, something that felt like hope. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t alone.

And maybe, just maybe, that was all he ever really wanted.

#mha imagines #mha imagine #mha x reader #mha #mha shigaraki #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia headcanon #my hero academia imagine #my hero academia #my hero academia imagines #my hero acedamia #shigaraki tomura #bnha shigaraki #shigaraki x reader

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luverine · 9 months ago

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Virginity…

NSFW // MDNI

He doesn’t want to admit to you that he is inexperienced.

He swore he would never tell a soul that he’s never had sex with anybody.

But here he is sweating bullets. He's so nervous because you are rubbing your hand on his thigh with half lidded eyes.

He holds his breath trying to not cream his pants. He was doing good too until you straddle him going in for a kiss. You taste like vanilla.

Fuck he can’t do this…You begin to grind on him putting pressure right on his sensitive dick.

“Shit! I haven’t done this bef-“ He freezes letting out a deep guttural moan. As he releases his load inside of his jeans.

You coo and admire him as he’s twitching and panting. As he’s recovering from an orgasm you unintentionally gave him. You meet each other's eyes.

“Wanna know what pussy feels like?”

✦ SHIGARAKI, Dabi, BAKUGOU, Denki, Amajiki, SHINSO, Megumi, Cloud, JEAN, Armin, AKI ✦

✦ Likes, reblogs, comments appreciated

✦ credit for divider cafekitsune

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s0dium · 9 months ago

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Creep

Warnings: Creepy/stalker behavior, breeding kink, pussydrunk behavior, cumflation, stomach bulge, subspace, premature ejaculation, orgasms

You know it's wrong, so wrong to enjoy the attention of a creep.

At least, that's what people call him. But through the snickers and sidelong glances that surround him, there's something about him that intrigues you, attracts you, something you can't seem to get out of your head.

It starts off small, letting him eye you from across the room and flashing him a small smile. Then you notice he starts to get bolder, more confident in his advances. As the days pass, his presence becomes a constant in your routine. He waits for you after class, catches you alone in elevators, leans in closer during conversations, and even starts to find excuses to touch your arm or shoulder. Each interaction feels like a challenge, a test of boundaries that seems he's all too willing to push.

In the beginning, you almost listen to the unease flickering in the back of your mind, warning that maybe you are playing with fire. But as the tension builds, you find your resolve slowly melting, small touches on your arm turn grazes against your ass and the quick glances evolve into him blatantly checking you out.

So only you can be blamed for the situation you're in right now. Only you can be blamed for letting it get like this.

His hips snapped so fast you can't think, you can breathe. Pleasure courses through your body in electric flesh arrows and you could feel your pussy clench around his length in a futile attempt to adjust for his massive size. How could a creep like him be so big? Jesus, you could feel his mushroom tip press against your cervix every time he slammed into you. Countless loads of cum dripped from where you two were connected onto the white sheets below. At any given time he'd blow his load right into you and without much of a stutter fuck the liquid back into you, until he reached his high again and started the cycle over again.

"Mine," he grunts out, his breath hot against your cheek from the brutal mating press he has you in. The bed shook with every thrust, the head board banging against the wall from the way your cervix was getting absolutely abused. The friction, the way he filled you up so perfectly, his hot skin against yours, it was too much, too overwhelming, and your brain couldn't handle the pleasure. You could feel the euphoria absorb your body, making your toes curl and uncurl from the sheer pleasure.

"G-gonna cum in you again" He says through a moan, peppering kissed along your jaw. "Gonna fill you up, make you feel so so good." He doesn’t slow his movement, instead picking up one of your legs and throwing it over his shoulder so he can reach even deeper. He places his other hand on your belly, rubbing your skin with his thumb.

"You feel me?" He coos, pressing down on your stomach, intensifying the pressure of his cock inside you and making your moans grow even louder.

"I can feel you, I can feel you squeezing me, feel so good, better than my fist." He chuckles and grabs your throat, squeezing it so your brain goes fuzzy with the slight light of oxygen.

His breathing becomes jagged and with a soft whimper followed by a silent "oh-fu", he blows his load into your battered pussy. There is no warning when cums into you, only the slight stutter of his hips that does nothing to deter his brutal pace. You are soaked down there, his sticky cum leaking out of you as he pushes into you over and over again. But you couldn't be bothered to look right now, you couldn’t open your eyes and ignore the colors you were seeing behind your eyelids. Everything was good - so, so, so good. Your skin was buzzing, mind cloudy, and the only thing you could focus on was the throbbing that was taking over your body.

"You gonna cum?" He coos into your ear, punctuating his words with an extra sharp thrust. "Cum for me, please."

As if on cue, you gasp, and let your orgasm wash over you. He doesn't stop his movements, instead, he fucks you through your orgasm until your crying for him to stop.

"Not gonna stop, gonna fuck you until m' shooting blanks okay?"

SHIGARAKI, YUUTA OKKATSU, L LAWLIET, SHINSO, KENMA, GYUTARO

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki smut #yuuta smut #yuuta x reader #yuuta okkotsu #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk smut #l x reader #l smut #shinso x reader #kenma x reader #kenma smut #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro smut #kny smut #kny x reader

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uwtloml · 10 months ago

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Ok so what if we accidentally send the mha boys nudes

- 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘩𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘯𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘴!

𝘧𝘵. 𝘬𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘪 𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘨𝘰𝘶, 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘬𝘪 𝘬𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘪, 𝘦𝘫𝘪𝘳𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘢, 𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘰, 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘺𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘪, 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘬𝘪, 𝘬𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘮𝘪, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘢 𝘢𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘸𝘢

a/n i hope i added all the characters u wanted 🤍

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sugarwarachan · 2 months ago

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touchstarved!shigaraki who doesn’t understand the yearning in his body when you sit next to him, this strange pull to close the distance

touchstarved!shigaraki who is still deeply, deeply terrified convinced that nothing good can come from touching him, so avoids touching you altogether

touchstarved!shigaraki who finally caves when you tell him he’s too fucking tense - “if rolling out the knots in my neck gets you to leave me the fuck alone -” (this idiot)

touchstarved!shigaraki who nearly cums in his pants when you tell him to lay on his belly, his nose in the sheets of your bed. you straddle his hips and he has to bite down on your pretty sheets to keep himself from moaning out loud

touchstarved!shigaraki who doesn’t realize he’s grinding his cock into your mattress as your fingers gently unlock the tension in his shoulders

touchstarved!shigaraki who cums the minute your fingernails scratch against his scalp, that slight zip of pain coupled with your tender touch making him see stars - “fuck fuck fuck it feels so good, don't you dare fucking stop”

touchstarved!shigaraki who becomes a whining, shuddering mess every time you get your hands on him

#i love this soggy skrunkly man #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki headcanons #shigaraki smut #sugarwarachanwrites #tenko shimura #tenko x reader #tomura x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #bnha #touchstarved series

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kitkat13001 · 6 months ago

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⤷ KENMA KOZUME, L LAWLIET, MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, iguro obanai, shoto todoroki, TOMURA SHIGARAKI, GIYUU TOMIOKA, xiao, MATT JEEVAS, choso kamo, genya shinazugawa, SHUN KAIDO

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rueclfer · 6 months ago

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he's busy // smau

a/n: felt sillyyyy with my core four hehe i have no words except wow dabi 🐈

katsuki bakugou, touya todoroki, tomura shigaraki, hawks

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moodyvoid · 6 months ago

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Imagine you and Tomura are out on a mission, when you hear the distinct sound of crying— a baby crying.

You follow the noise and find a baby, lying on top of garbage bags in a dumpster.

You go to pick them up and Tomura stops you, “What do you think you’re doing?” he asks.

“We’re not leaving them here.” You argue, as if he’s stupid.

“You’re not seriously suggesting we take a baby back to the hideout? We’re not babysitters. The league isn’t a place for babies.” He argues back, as if you’re more stupid.

“Tomura, they’re a baby. They’re helpless… defenseless… vulnerable! What if it were you all alone in an alleyway, begging for help?” you ask.

Tomura pauses as he stares at you, his eyes drifting over to the baby, but his mind clearly fixated on something else.

He sees snippets of him walking the streets alone, small, and scared. Begging for someone— anyone— to do something. Like a nightmare, he remembers taking refuge in an alleyway, his tiny hands still covered in dried blood. Why won’t anyone help?—

“Tomura?” You ask, him snapping out of his thoughts. He looks down in his arms, realizing he’s holding the baby.

He quickly places the baby in your arms. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when you can’t handle playing house anymore.”

—

Cut to hours later, Tomura is sitting with the baby in his lap as he plays Mortal Kombat. “That’s called a Fatality.”

#I love the league finding babies #they’re always in dumpsters #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #league of villains #shigaraki #tomura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #tenko shimura #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #bnha x reader

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metranart · 9 months ago

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— HAWKS + DABI + BAKUGO + SHIGARAKI || THINGS THIS LOVESICK BOYS SAY WHEN IN BED WITH YOU

-----------HEADCANONS-----------

HAWKS

“Oh, my darling...fuck, keep doing that.”

“You're so beautiful, I'm so glad we found each other.”

“I know I’m a mess-… what else was I supposed to do while waiting to make you mine?”

“Lay back and let me do all the work. I’ve dreamed of eating your pretty pussy all week.”

“Hey, don’t shy away from me. C’mere-”

“You’re so fuckin’ soft. Shiiit…”

“Hey—no teasing the feathers.”

“I n-need to-... I just-…-I’m going to start moving now.”

“Arms around my neck and legs around my hips— ngh! Gravity is a bitch, I don’t want you falling on me, at least, not literally.”

“What a good mate, you respond to me so well."

“I’m so fuckin’ deep, my pretty girl-”

“Fuck—I can’t... I’m not gonna last-”

“Don’t be embarrassed. I love when you squirt on my face.”

“God I’ve wanted this for so long. I’m going to breed your pussy every day, all day long, even after I’ve knocked you up.”

“We're both getting older, babe, and if we want to have more chicks than stars in the sky, then we need to get started.”

“Tell me you love me-… tell me again.”

“I do get ahead of myself often, but I can’t help it. I just know we belong together-”

“What do you say we try for a baby this time?”

"You’d be adorable, so swollen and full that you can't walk, that you'd have to rely on me for everything...”

“Touch yourself, c’mon. Let me see how you play the right notes.”

“You're going to be a wonderful mother for my chicks.”

“Let me help you move pretty, put your hands on mine.”

“No one’s gonna hear if I put my hand here… no biting, hun.”

“I’ll make it quick, darling... just—let me… let me go again.”

“Need a hand or a finger?”

“Just wait, baby... Fuuuuck—give me a damn minute.”

“Keep your eyes on me.”

“Arch your back, there you go, such a good girl.”

“Fuck, even after cumming you aren’t ready to accommodate my size. Don’t worry, baby,” he kisses your creased forehead, “—then just the tip this time.”

“Shit, I can’t help it—” you can feel him twitching excitedly inside you. “I just like you so damn much!” He grunts and snaps his hips again, diving deeper.

“Just bear with me, I swear I’ll eat you for hours after…. Please, pretty, pleaseeeee…” He kept his pace, practically purring with his throaty groans.

“No matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, I know how to fuck you well, ain’t I, beautiful?”

“C’mon let me hear you, I can feel you getting tighter… my cock’s rubbing those hard-to-reach places…. Fuck! I- slid in so easily.”

“I’m painfully close-…. Fuck, I don’t want to cum yet…”

“Is this your sweet spot I’m bullying?”

“Each thrust is inching you closer… should I slow down or go faster?”

“Deeper? Okey-… just try to keep it together, I have neighbors.”

“Give me one more. please, just one more baby.”

“Try to keep your eyes open, I know it’s hard…b-but try for me beautiful.”

“Go ahead and sleep, honey, I’m not going anywhere.”

NSFW ART OF THIS HEADCANONS IN MY PATREON

DABI

“What’d I did to deserve such a pretty thing like ya?”

“I’ve barely touch you. You really that hot for me, sweetheart?”

“Open your legs, not gonna say it again.”

“Doesn’t hurt, its already scarred skin.”

“If I have to kiss your tears away again, you are gonna get it— I’ve already told ya, it doesn’t hurt anymore-”

“Bury your hands in my hair, yes... Just like that.”

“Stop pushing me away. You’re gonna take it all, don’t make me shove it down your throat.”

“You love to play the feeble act, but your moans give you away, princess.”

“Nuh-uh, you haven’t cum yet.”

“I said ass up.”

“You want it so bad? beg.”

“Take them off before I rip them off of you, doll. Don’t try me.”

“Harder,” he mutters, not a minute after you started. “Harder,” he demands again.

“Could you go any slower? Ride me like you mean it, princess. I know you can.”

“Can barely feel that shit. You gotta do better than that, princess. You know I like it rough.”

“Fuck,” he bit out. “Yes, fuck…. Just like that.”

“Come on pretty girl. Ride me till you’re numb, yeah? Want you to fuck yourself stupid on my cock today.”

“Move my hands again and see what happens-”

“Fuck—”

“Sorry, baby-… I just had to jump at the opportunity to sink my cock deeper.”

“Sit on it.”

“Worried it won’t fit? We always make it work just fine—”

“I don’t have condoms, they’re annoying.” He grunts the reply, inwardly absorbed with impatience.

“Don’t move—Just gimme a minute… F-Fuck…”

“You fuckin’ genius, dammit, I love you so damn much! Not even I knew that spot— …” He shakes his head, in disbelief of the pleasure, even more so that you been the one to give it to him.

“Did you do that on purpose, princess? ‘cause now we are doing it every time.”

“Fuck that. Don’t know if you heard sweetheart, but you were made for me to fuck and breed.”

“Stop it, no more whining—I’ll do my best to be…. gentler.”

“Really? resist me all you want. I know you love being treated like this.”

“Ridiculous, I could stare at your pretty cunt all day long.”

“Fuck Yeah! I adore the way your thighs tremble like jelly after you cum.”

“Should I pull out? Nah, better give me a daughter to spoil.”

“Unless you were playing with yourself before I got here, I’m guessing this is because of my pretty face?”

“Over my knee, now.”

“Sure, I love ya— but you are not in charge here, princess. Fuckin’ spread them for me.”

“Want me to spank that pussy? lay on my lap then-”

“One’s never enough, I know my princess’s pussy and its begging for another.”

NSFW ART OF THIS HEADCANONS IN MY PATREON

BAKUGO (NSFW art teaser here!)

“Do you want me to fuck you harder, cutie?”

“You can be loud, I love to hear you, (Y/N).”

“I’ve waited so long for this...”

“That’s it... slow and easy—”

“How much longer you gonna make me wait, baby?”

“You ever take it raw? Get a big load of cum in your pussy? —don’t shy on me, I know you love when I talk dirty to you.”

“Take it off before I tear it off.”

“Baby... please...I hate to beg-”

“Make me wait much longer and I’ll have to fuck you in an alley somewhere.”

“What a naughty little girl I have just to myself.”

“Ugh, so hot and wet.”

“I said I wanted to eat your pussy, didn’t I? Just sit back and enjoy it, baby girl.”

“I’d hate to stop teasing you right before the fun part.”

“It’s so warm...”

“Who do you belong to?”

“Whose pussy is this? Say who you belong to.”

“God, what a good fucking cunt. It keeps clenching on my cock like it’s hungry for more milk. You want that? You want me to fill you up?”

“As you wish, princess.”

“You gonna cum?”

“Go on, gorgeous. Cum on Daddy’s cock.”

“Fucking take it... take every drop...”

“Nice and stuffed... all mine... my little slutty girl...”

“I said spread those fuckin’ folds.”

“So wet and tight, but my cock just slides right in. It’s like you were born to take me inside of your cunt.”

“Aren’t you a sight. All blissed out when we aren’t even done.”

“That’s right, darlin’. You didn’t think you could tease me for so long and get away with just one little fuck, did you?”

“Oh, did you think we were finished?”

“Did I stutter or somethin’?”

“Alright, baby girl, you asked for it. Just don’t come crying to me if you can’t move after I’m done with you.”

“Don’t move—Just a sec… F-Fuck…”

“No, this is-this is fine. This is beyond fine. Keep doing it, please.”

“Shit, darling, don’t-”

“God, you make me so needy. Please.... fuck, please...”

“You feel so wonderful, I might go crazy—"

“More... please, more...”

“Fuck, I’m stretching you so good.”

“God, the thought of you ever doing something like this to anyone else... I can’t stand it.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. You’re my precious BABY, now and forever."

NSFW ART OF THIS HEADCANONS IN MY PATREON

SHIGARAKI

“It isn’t even a ‘might’. I can tell you right now with the utmost certainty that you are MINE.”

“Keep looking into my eyes, don’t you fuckin’ look away…”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” He coos in a demeaning tone. “I’ll be your first and your last. Not any of these other NPCs.”

“I can hardly keep my hands to myself, your room or mine.”

“I can do whatever I want to you, I’m player one!”

“I know, I’m keeping track of my digits, don’t worry your pretty head.”

“You are too precious to me to turn to dust, my love.”

“I can’t- I’m dying to breed you, to bury my cock in your wet pussy. Don’t move, I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

“My pants are uncomfortably tight, the fabric’s straining against my throbbing dick, I told you not to put on that dress, dammit” Shigaraki’s practically scratching at the wooden table, surges of arousal shaking him to his core. “Can we go now? Like right NOW?!”

“MY girl, so pretty and needy for my cock.”

“You want him dead. You got it.” Ruby eyes stare through his bangs up at your face in some sort of silent promise. “—Of course, I will. You are my everything.”

“It hurts. I need you to- FUCK, just like that.”

“Fuck, how-how are you this fucking wet and warm inside, fuck, fuck…!”

“Please fuck me.”

“H-hey, I know a fun game we can play together… It’s called ‘how many times can I make you cum all over my cock?’”

“One point, five points, ten points—Cumming again? Are you shooting for a new high-score, sweetheart?”

“Now... care if I use my mouth on you?”

“Just be good for me, and I’ll take very, very good care of you.”

"Look at you, so worked up over a few couple of fingers, did you miss me that much, sweetheart?"

“Just looking at you is enough to, oh fuck, drive me wild.”

"So desperate for my cock to stuff you-say it, say you want my cock—ngh!”

"S-Shit,"

"Needy girl, I'll let you have it, be fucking grateful."

"What? Fainting on me already?"

"Don't let me see you doing this again, or else."

“Just fuck me. I need you, (Y/N), please. Please just fuck bury on me already...! I want it...! I want YOU..!”

“Have it your way then.”

"Keep licking my balls, oh fuck! I’m gonna die—"

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-!"

“You look so pretty choking on my cock.”

“Where do you want it, baby? Mouth, breast, face, pussy… take your pick-”

"Are you close, sweetie?"

“My feisty little girl. Aren’t you just adorable?”

"Good girl. Give me a minute and I’ll clean up that mess you made."

“Cum for me. Cum on my cock and show me that you’re mine.”

“I just... wanted to cuddle a little more, is all. Didn’t want to... you know, waste the moment.”

“Don’t you worry, my love. I’ll be sure to give you anything you could ever want and more.”

“You don’t have to take me all the way into your esophagus, but I expect you to make me cum, and yes, I do want you to swallow.”

“Go on, get on your knees.”

“Ngh, that’s it, keep going...”

“You look so wonderful like this, with your lips wrapped around my cock. I wish I could take a pic for Dabi to swallow his words.”

“I want you all to myself.”

“H-here it comes...Be sure... to drink... every.. last... drop...YOU ARE FUCKIN’ MINE!!”

I MADE SOME SICK NSFW ART FOR THIS HEADCANONS, YOU CAN CHECK THEM OUT IN MY PATREON. (Along with more MHA nsfw artwork)

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