#tomura comfort

[tomurasmoleunderhislip]

~ T o m u r a ' s t y p e :

~This is just my opinion so zon't azzak me babez 💋

~I just wrote what I feel like he would find attractive in a person. I really put my whole writeussy into this lmao since I kin him.

~There's a little bit of horknee thoughts but nothing too extreme now 💀. But yeah no warnings.

~Anyways, longass and pretty detailed headcanon writing.

.｡*♡~Enjoy~♡* ｡.

First of all, he looks hot here, second of all, let's start off with gender. He wouldn't care about gender honestly, if the person is attractive, they're attractive. And he just wants to love someone, and someone to love him, so gender doesn't matter to him. I see him as demi-bisexual, and if person he finds attractive is gender fluid, it's literally like a jackpot to him.

Now, body type, like gender, he doesn't really care about it, and he isn't picky with it. He doesn't mind chubbiness, he loves it instead, he finds curves really cute and attractive and just wants to squeeze and kiss that stomach and thighs, or either lay on them, or chest, he'd see them as teddy bear and pillow. At the same time he doesn't mind skinny as well, he finds it attractive and gorgeous too, that thin waist just looks so holdable and squeezable oh and huggable as well, loves those skinny boney hands he wants to hold them and wants them to be his necklace, he would see that person as model literally. Just as long as person isn't anorexic you know? He doesn't want beautiful person to go through extreme health problems, like being too much underweight or too much overweight to the point they barely walk. But he also finds athletic body types attractive as well, he finds it hot really. He would be more than happy and honored to work out with them. Seeing that muscles, he just feels like touching biting and licking them, he wants to be held and picked up, but secretly and privately of course ;). He would love that strong arms being wrapped around his neck/waist, or he would imagine his head between that person's strong thighs omg.

For heights...like for body and gender, he doesn't give a shit about it. Shorter than him? He finds it cute and just wants to mess with their hair and pick that person up, snuggle them and tease them. Taller than him? Oh he would melt and sweat when they would look down on him, he finds it hot when attractive person towers over him, would imagine forehead kisses and burying his head in their chest. Same height as him? He finds it attractive too, and perfect. He would think hugging, kissing and cuddling with that person would be like two puzzles going together perfectly. No offense but I feel he would prefer a little more person being same height as him or taller than him. It's that submissive side in him that craves for it, I see him as switch honestly. Depending on his mood of course, but I can picture him being a bit more submissive. So yeah he would love if person he finds attractive was a switch too but a bit more dominant.

I don't know why, but I also feel like he would find smoking/smell of cigarettes attractive in person too for some reason. Of course, he doesn't want person he likes to be a heavy smoker now and destroy themselves too much. But he would like the smell on their clothes for sure..I don't know if it's just me but yeah I just feel like it. When he would watch the person he likes smoke, he'd wish he was that cigarette they're holding and putting in their mouth, he wants to be that close to their lips just like that cigarette.

Tomura would prefer introverted person, I mean it's obvious. Because he's introverted as well, but he wouldn't mind ambiverted person too (between extrovert and introvert/or just balanced).

He would want someone supportive, caring, understanding. Someone honest, determined and passionate, someone that would have his back and be at his worst and best times. Someone that he can be himself around them, that won't judge him for who he is, that would love him for who he is.

He likes people with strength, both physical and mental, emotional and moral strength. He wants someone intelligent and witty, someone that can be mature and serious, and at the same time childish and unserious, someone that is good at finding balance and really shows that they are capable of understanding a diverse range of emotions, and that they can handle all those different feelings appropriately, rather than letting them control them. It would be very attractive trait to him.

He would also find attractive some sass and attitude, it shows that someone is independent and not afraid to speak their mind. It's important to him to have some spice in relationship, but it's also important to balance that with sweetness and kindness. Tomura would appreciate someone who is bold and not afraid to speak their mind, it shows confidence, and he would find it hot. Anyone strong, anyone who can stand firm in the face of danger, who knows what they want and has guts to go for it. Someone that can be goofy and fun, who doesn't take themselves too seriously and can see humour in things, bonus point if they have dark/childish/dirty humor, he would want someone that would make him laugh even when you know the world is coming to an end. Those that can be that but aren't afraid to be serious when they have to. He values confidence but also value humility, you could say that his type is kind of balanced.

Tomura would be into someone sarcastic and teasing, I feel like he would be into loving and out of joke insulting. Someone a little sassy, and with an attitude he would find that attractive for sure and hilarious, probably exciting as well. As long as they don't take themself way too seriously.

He wants someone calm and collected but at the same time a bit aggressive. He would find it really fascinating to see someone calm and collected go to a little bit aggressive and assertive. He would love someone who has a little bit of wild side and isn't afraid to show it. There's certain amount of aggression that can be attractive, like I said he'd like someone passionate and intense so if that extends to their aggression... it's definitely something he would find hot. As long as they're not overly aggressive or volatile, it can be really hot to have someone who's more intense and passionate about things. It shows him there's more to a person than the calm side that they show most of the time, and that there's a darker side to them too that they're comfortable letting out when it's needed. I feel like he would find that kind of exciting and a bit of a turn on. And yeah, he's probably into aggressive kissing/make out as well than 💀. But of course he would love gentle and sweet too.

Now for looks, oh he definitely loves more alternative looks in general. He would love those that can embrace the darkness, and who can see the beauty that lies within it. He adores punk/goth/emo/anything dark literally. Probably goth the most though, he's just dragged/attracted more into it. But yeah he finds darker style really beautiful 🦇. You know how I said he prefers more someone same height or taller than him? If person is same height as him and wears platform shoes and boots it's extra points, because they can tower over him sometimes and be same height as him sometimes too.

Plus he would find piercings and tattoos so so attractive for suree, black hair or any other darkish color. They can show individuality and personal expression. He would find tattoos as work of art definitely, and would definitely want to trace them on person he finds attractive. And piercings can be used for self expression, he's into all that 100% 🙏.

Since I mentioned dark style, he would like person who is into dark music as well too, rock/metal/indie/goth/post punk anything that's on darker side. And of course, he'd like someone that can listen to all sorts of different genres, styles and artists because it makes for a broad and interesting tastes he can relate to. Anything but country music <3.

Now for interests, Tomura would love someone who is into art and media, horror, gore and dark stuff. He would love someone who's creative and passionate about things like film, music, painting/drawing... He would find it really attractive to see someone who has eye for beauty or aesthetics on more artistic level.

And last thing, about affection and love language, he'd want someone that isn't much into PDA. He would like to be more touchy with person he likes in private and not in public for sure. I mean he finds hand holding, small and quick kiss and hugging in public alright, but other stuff...yeah no. He'd like someone with mixed love languages or different ways of showing affection like psychical affection, words of affirmation, gift giving, quality time, and I know I already mentioned this one but insulting in loving and joking way too. I just know he's extremely touch starved and hungry for affection and love.

I tried to write this as much accurate as I could, I hope you like it <3

And if you come this far/read everything ily🫀

[mettywiththenotes]

Hori killed off the villain trio because he knew they would have screamed the stadium down in the second year sports festival cheering for their heroes

[moodyvoid]

If you sincerely think Shigaraki would be an abusive partner, I’m going to assume you read the manga with your eyes closed.

[haine-kleine]

whatever. you know who really deserved to get a glimpse of baby Tenko's life at his home and at his father's abuse via magic memories voodoo bullshit?

this guy.

can't believe Horikoshi Mr Parallels Kohei missed this opportunity.

Dabi would have snatched Tenko out of there and burned that house down so fast. and when Tenko would start crying and questioning why was he so broken that he never deserved to be saved, he would say what Tenko actually didn't deserve was to be treated this way by his family, didn't deserve to be abandoned.

and even if it's late, even if the memories are not real, Touya would have saved Tenko's heart by seeing the unfair hurt inflicted on him and reaching out to save him.

[d1s1ntegrated]

clothes stealing is so real and true to me… freak behavior is beloved… but wat if it was kinda switched? like you wuld steal and hoard shigaraki’s shirts and garments lwlwwl… i feel lik he wuld kinda go crazy abt it since his freakiness is being reciprocated and wuld make him all the more lovey and obsessed idk…

-💊

oh yeah. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴 mode activated....heh......

paparazzi

creepy(or is this just canon?)!shigaraki x creepy!fem!reader

summary: life's more fun when you're being fucking crazy.

wc: 4035

cw: stalker behavior, gore-esque writing, mental illness, compulsions, loss of virginity, masturbation, cnc ment, crying, suicidal ideation, biting, rough, dead fucking dove. teehee!

a/n: i'm putting dead dove on here cause i know a lot of this might be a hard read but i'm in a mode that is so ferocious and unstoppable. consider this my shibuya incident part one. also this isn't fully proofread sorry!!!!!!!!

⊹˚₊‧꒰ა𓆩✧𓆪໒꒱ ‧₊˚⊹

There's blood. There's so much blood. It soaks through his shirt, his hoodie, his jeans. The smell is nauseating as he trudges into the base, breathing lamented and head spinning.

The stench of death clings heavily to the pale man as he throws himself into a barstool, flinging his hoodie and shirt to the floor with a disconcerting slap. His face is bruised and beaten- a sore loss in his eyes, regardless of the number of bodies piled high in a corner of the city.

The hideout is dead silent as everyone disbands, leaving him alone at the bar with Kurogiri. Without a word, he's poured a drink in a highball glass, taking it with one swift gulp. It does little to settle the defeat staining his chest, as he groans and retreats to his room. Maybe time for a shower, maybe time to just fucking give up. Sensei will be furious at the failure, he's sure of it, and the thought of it causes him to grit his teeth and slam an already-shaky first to the door.

You hear the noise from across the hall. As you trek into the bar, you notice the deafening silence and the pile of soiled clothes on the ground. You grab them to your chest swiftly and head back into your room, the sticky chill staining your hands.

You have a laundry basket dedicated to Tomura. It's hidden in your padlocked closet, next to all of his trash you've picked up over the past few months. When the League let you in, it was a gracious gift from God; but they left you here to do the "behind-the-scenes" work. You didn't have room in your heart to care- mostly because it meant you had more time to yourself, to sneak into Tomura's room and lay in his bed and dig through his wastebasket. They paid little mind to you, which was another blessing: they knew, with your silencing quirk, you yourself tended to be more...timid.

It's not that you didn't want to speak, it's that the more energy you spent speaking, the less energy you had to utilize your power when needed. So most of your communication was based off of hand gestures, bowing, blinking, and facial expressions. You didn't care much to learn JSL, since you liked being the quiet kid growing up. Your isolation made it that much easier to focus on your interests, hobbies, and...obsessions.

The lock opens with a click, and you grab a bag to throw the clothes into. Best not to soil the rest of the "cleaner" (aka, dry) clothes with these. You take a moment with the clothes, running your fingers over the shirt with a lazy drag, pinching the crusting hem with thumb and forefinger. It sticks to your skin, pulling away slowly, and your heart swells. Was Tomura hurt? Or was this someone else's blood staining the delicate cotton? It don't matter to you- it was Tomura's shirt, that's all that mattered now. You bring the garments close to your face, taking a deep breath into the material with a chill. The sickly sweet tang yanks at your senses, the pungency of sweat causing you to recoil a moment as you discern what exactly happened. With a grin, you shove the clothes into the baggie and toss it into your basket- you'll deal with cleaning them later.

With a shuddering breath, you head to the bathroom to wash your hands. The water runs murky as you rinse them off, the entire situation feeling very poetic to you.

Silently shuffling back to your room, you catch the brief hush of conversation coming from Tomura's closed door. You put your ear up to it and wait, the anticipation gnawing at you as you listen for his voice again.

When you don't hear it, you clench a fist and storm back to your own room. You'll listen in later; you have better things to do.

Turning the lock swiftly, you dive back for the laundry basket and yank out a pair of sweatpants and toss them to your bed. His sweatpants, unwashed and worn copiously- they were one of your favorites. The scent was intoxicating: salty and musky and sweet. You bury your face into the crotch of the pants, reaching for between your legs. The ache was too much to bare, the heat swelling inside of you from all of the excitement and frustration forcing your fingers inside yourself with a painful curl. You liked to imagine it was him, taking absolute control of you, breaking you down and hurting you, decaying you from the inside out with painful and rugged thrusts. It was a sickening pleasure to hold, the idea of your nefarious boss stretching your walls with the same animalistic rage he has on the battlefield, but it was a pleasure all the same. And what is pleasure meant to be if not indulged?

Your fingers flit at a wicked pace as you imagine him, bloody and sweating, cursing into your ear. His raspy voice so demanding and impure, the recollection of the sound was enough to drive you insane. You abused the swollen of bundled nerves with haste, letting the shaky moans and drool soak into the pilled sweatpants, leaving a lewd lip-print on the inseam.

It was almost sweet, in your mind. I mean, if he could see how devoted and loyal you are, maybe he'd pay more attention to you. You could be a genuinely impressive partner, you know this. You crave it. His validation, his love and care, it's all you wanted. Instead, you got handed the short end and wound up being his admirer from afar. Unfortunately, not everyone is meant to be the muse. Someone has to be the artist. And that, that was your bitter fate.

You ride out the sweltering orgasm with lowly cries and moans, the shame slipping into you faster than your fingers. It was wrong. It was wrong and you knew that. You had to wash and return his clothes at some point, you'd have to throw out the old used tissues and empty cans and stained rags. It was vile. And the smell battering into your nose was now revolting, the cocktail of blood, cum, sweat, spilled drinks, and other fluids was enough to make you gag.

You didn't choose to feel this way. It wasn't normal, but you just loved Tomura so much, you'd do anything to have even a sliver of him. Just a taste. This was the closest you could get. But no amount of reassurance or self-validation was enough to cure the oncoming wave of guilt.

You sat there for a moment, fingers pruned and head spinning, when an aggressive knock rapped at your locked door. You hurriedly threw the pants back into the closet and locked it, jumping to answer the knock.

Unlocking it while smoothing your hair, you suck in your teeth. Tomura, shirtless, pantsless, loomed in your doorway with an unwavering rage.

"I need clothes, all of mine are fucking missing, did you do laundry?" He shoves his way past you, rummaging through your dresser.

You shake your head and point to the unwashed laundry basket next to him. This one was "normal"- out in the open to pose as inconspicuous, a veil for your shameful fetishes.

"It stinks in here. The fuck?" his face screwed as he yanked a pair of your sweatpants out of the drawer. Droplets of water spindled down his powdery locks, and be smelled like the cheap shampoo in the bathroom. He must've showered.

You shrug and quietly murmur out an apology. He rolls his eyes and digs into his neck before looking at you, his eyes locking in on your chest.

"Why is your shirt...there's blood on your shirt." He points and your eyes widen, glancing down to where you were previously hugging his tattered clothes to you. You bite your cheeks as he pads closer.

Stupid. You were stupid and didn't notice the old blood, you were too busy getting off.

He comes dangerously close to you as he examines you. "It's not yours" he researches, "whose?"

You shake your head. Play dumb.

He thinks for a moment before pushing your door closed with his foot.

"Liar, you did grab my laundry. Where is it, it needs to get washed now." his rasp hugs your ears just as you'd fantasized mere minutes ago. He's so close, so pretty.

Your mouth is dry, but you swallow the cough down as he hovers over you. "It's already in the wash" the lie saturates your tongue bitterly, knowing that if you aren't fast enough, he'll catch on. He's not dumb by any means, and he picks up on patterns pretty easily. So you keep your chin up, and look him dead in the eyes as you lay it on thick for him. You dig into your dresser and pull out a pair of old sweatpants, to who they originally belonged you can't actually remember, and a plain black tee that fits you a little too snug for comfort.

Handing the pile of clothes to him, he clicks his tongue and begins to turn to leave, but he stops. The old floorboards creak under his weight as he turns on his heel and, before you can stop him, he starts literally sniffing the room out.

"Seriously, it smells like something died in here, and it's pissing me off." The tall man's annoyed tone presses you deep in your chest as he approaches the dingy closet door. He wiggles the handle with three lazy fingers, but it won't budge. Your eyes instinctively squeeze shut as he turns to you.

"Why is this locked? You got bodies in here we don't know about?" he keeps his fingers on the knob, tapping a finger rapidly against the old metal.

"That's just my stuff, Shigaraki". You keep your eyes locked on his hand, his other two fingers dragging dangerously close to the handle.

He turns back with a huff, clearly thinking for a moment before grabbing the knob with a full hand, and the metal turns to dust at his feet. The door swings open, revealing a very pungent and sickening image. You can't see his face, but you can feel his lead-stare on the shameful swath of clothes and memorabilia littering the interior of the musty closet.

Your first instinct is to run. Your second is to scream, to distract him, to do literally anything to peel his bloody eyes away from your guilt. But before you can do either, he re-fastens his low hanging towel wrapped around his legs- he still hasn't put on the clothes you've handed him, and now, he probably won't wear anything you give him- and he spins around to you, an indescribable expression painting his scarred face. There's nothing left for you. Your fear, mixed poorly with the sting of desire, rattles your bones as he tosses the clothes onto your bed, approaching you with the undeniable glint of amusement on his lips.

"Those are mine" his voice is a low, rasped whisper in your face, and he points back to the pile inside the closet, "those are all mine, aren't they?"

Swallowing the knot in your throat, you avert your eyes from his and nod slowly, the weight of your own head like an anvil as you force your body to move.

He backs away from you now, straightening back out from his hunched stance, cracking his neck. The room feels dark now, heavier than before, even with the unnerving scents fogging your sinuses.

He moves around you, circling you like a shark. He drags one long, crooked finger across your jaw as you clench your teeth, trying your best to accept your fate. You had fun while it lasted, right? Who's to say this wasn't the end you'd imagined anyways? You fucked up, sure, but your last terrifying moments were at least spent with the man you loved the most, touching you and breathing so close...

He snakes a freezing hand to your throat from behind, clenching you with four lanky fingers, wrapping his other arm around your torso to pull you into his chest. His towel falls to the ground, you hear the sound of heavy wet fabric hit the floor, and feel an incessant prodding against the soft flesh of your ass. Your breath hitches as you realize, wholly excited and panicked at your questionable fate. Your head spins with agony as he hugs you close, your breathing fastening as his ragged whispers taint your petulant mind further.

"You must really love me, huh?" his grip tightens, "You love me enough to steal my clothes...my garbage..."

Your eyes feel heavy. You try to nod, to respond to him. It's a strained, sad sound, as you confess your ultimate sin to him.

"Y-yes". You find yourself too scared to say anything else.

It's funny to you. Even after all the atrocities you faced, all of the blood and sweat and gore you came to, this felt...wrong. You knew, deep down, that you deserved this. That you were sick, and the best way to cure sickness was in death. But his hands, his iron grip on your soft flesh and fragile neck, the pinching and prodding and poking...it felt so wrong. Like this wasn't supposed to happen. If you had only done it differently, if you'd been normal and simple and wrote home to your mother from time to time. If you'd never set foot in the dingy bar to begin with, if you hadn't dropped out of school, if only you'd learned how to ride a bike and have friends and be a better person this wouldn't have happened to you. You didn't ask for this necessarily, but you caused it, and this was your cross to bear. Even if the cross was sodden with tears, leaving splinters in your tired hands, it was yours. At this point, you'd be nothing but ashes and dirt, it didn't matter anymore.

You let go. You let your body, shaking and sweaty, give up. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, kissing the tender spot with a scratchy lip. Your tears fall, fat and hot down your paled cheeks, unable to speak a coherent thought. "I'm sorry" you repeat, over and over, as his kisses and bites grow in intensity, and you fear for the worst.

Your mantra is interrupted by his thumbs, caressing your streaky cheeks and wiping the tears away.

He leans in close to you, pulling your chin up with his index finger, all other fingers curled into his palm.

"Did I scare you?" he pries into your mind with his ruby eyes, his face...not at all angry, or bloodthirsty, or even annoyed. Instead, his gaze is soft, curious at most. You lock in to him, allowing yourself to answer honestly- because if this is the end, you won't be a liar.

"I'm sorry. I stole it all. Your clothes, your trash, your cups and trinkets and napkins and even the blood-soaked things and I'm sorry, please" you rush out your words as if you're on a timer, and as you catch your breath, he simply listens. "I took it all, because it's as close to you as I could get. I-I'm sick, I'm rotten, and it scares me. It scares the fuck out of me, it's so dirty and disgusting and I can't stop the compulsion of wanting you and needing you in every way I can have you, even when I try. I know you hate me, I know you're going to kill me, and I'm sorry. Just know I'm sorry, and I love you, and even if that's disgusting and sick I at least deserve to be able to tell you that".

The words spill out. You don't mean for it all to happen. But it does, and it feels like vomit, and you hold back a gag before you fall to the ground, feeling defeated and empty for once in your life. It's weightless, even with the noose of guilt tight around your throat.

He sits down on the old floor with you. He pulls his towel over him, covering his lower half. He sits there with you as you sob, thick heavy cries soaking into your sleeves. The adrenaline rush wipes clean through you, the horror being the only thing left.

"You actually do love me?"

His words slice through your sobs like a sword, and you swear he sounds almost juvenile as he says it. Like a child begging you to keep a promise.

You sniffle and look up, a weak smile splayed across your puffy face. It's answer enough.

His eyes widen and he comes in closer to you. You see a part of him shatter and splinter as he takes in your words. He bites a lip back and takes a deep breath, his eyes glossing over and he stares off past you. He stands then, reaching an arm down for you to pull up on as he brings you to your feet.

He doesn't speak, but he drags the large basket out of the closet and throws his towel into it. He reaches for the sweatpants on the bed and throws them on swiftly, and with a loose grip, holds the basket and exits the room.

You pull the stained shirt off and replace it with an old sweatshirt before sitting on the bed. You bite your nails, staring at the wall. It feels numb now, like a veil of darkness was thrown over your inner psyche to protect it. You cry, but it feels shameful, because you're in the wrong here. Right?

He comes back a few minutes later, closing the door behind him and re-locking it. Without another word, he pushes you back on the bed, planting a genuine, hungry kiss to your lips. His hands tangle in your hair, and you panic before feeling the slip of polyester against your scalp. His gloves are on.

He pulls away from the kiss, his breath heavy, and you stare at him, frozen.

"Say you love me" he says, lips inches from yours.

"I do, I love you, I have for-"

He doesn't let you finish. Instead, he shoves his tongue into your mouth and drives his hips into your thigh. You tense, but not out of fear this time, as you taste the desperation and sweetness on the villain's tongue. You feel that wave of obsession build back up inside of you, and you wrap your arms around him and pull him closer, begging him for more.

He bites on your lower lip and pulls, and with one hand, begins to slide your sweater above your head. You hastily fiddle with it yourself, pulling it off and moving down to your bottoms, peeling them off your legs, unable to wait any longer. You let go, differently this time as your core heats and coils up, a silent plead for the man.

His face twists to an excited grin, his eyelids heavy as he pulls the sweatpants off. He shoves your underwear to the side, prodding at your bare beat with his throbbing tip mindlessly. He leans back down, kissing the exposed parts of your chest, your skin prickling at the contact. He nips at the flesh, pulling your bra back to expose you fully, and he gropes at you eagerly. His fingers flit over the soft buds, his own noises spilling from his pretty lips as you throw your head back.

You reach down, taking his impressive length into your hand, and guide the weight to your entrance. His eyes widen, and you realize, you've both probably never done this before. But he shakes off his virgin anxiety as he presses into you, the size stretching you and snapping you painfully. He groans out, gaining some semblance of confidence and sadism as he hears you cry out in pain.

"You love me?" He thrusts fully into you, the searing heat wiping your thoughts away for a moment. "Mhm" you respond, and he pulls out until just the tip is resting against the tight walls.

"You really love me?"

You nod, "Yes". He thrusts into you, sending another shock of pain into you.

"You really fucking love me?" His voice is louder, more rampant, more...commanding.

"Y-yes, Shigaraki" you cry out, and he thrusts into you now with a fluttering speed, unable to hold himself back any longer.

He wraps his hand back around your throat, clasping it with his fingers as he fucks you, rough and careless. "You touch yourself to the thought of me?" He asks, his teeth bared.

You nod again, and smile pathetically up at him as he ruts into you. He grasps your hand with his free arm, yanking it to between your legs where he shoves himself inside of you.

"Then do it". He says, eyes rolling back a bit as you clench around him at the sound of his domineering commands. The pressure on your throat eases for a few seconds as you adjust your fingers between the two of you, pressing into your swollen clit softly. You try to massage it slowly, but his thrusting makes it much more difficult, as he slams your fingers against your clit, forcing you to be much rougher than usual. However, the feeling of his slamming pumps, combined with the torturous pressure against your nerves, sends a brand new level of pleasure to soak into your core. You throw your head to the side, overcome with the aching of an approaching orgasm.

He removes his hand from your throat, and you take a deep breath in. He leans down, kissing your jawline and bringing himself closer so that his thrusts are that much more intense. His body, splayed against yours, sticking to you with the slight sheen of sweat, drive you incredibly mad. You tangle your free hand into his baby blue locks, pulling him to kiss you as you feel your orgasm crash over you. Your hips buck up, fulfilling the craving to feel all of him inside you, smacking your cervix, bruising your walls. He groans out into your mouth, biting down on your lip as he sputters inside of you. Your walls clench around him like a vice, squeezing every drop of cum out of him. His moans and whimpers aid in the rush of endorphins as you cry out, your eyes squeezing shut as it all hits.

You both come down fast and hard as he collapses against your chest, cock still throbbing inside of you as the aftershock washes over him. You pepper his face, forehead, with kisses, taking in the scent of him. It wasn't unfamiliar, per se, but it was much better coming from him and not a piece of dirty laundry. It was sweet, salty, and musky, like the ocean and sour apple and new leather.

You don't speak as he pulls out, laying on his back, wiping his bangs away from his forehead. He sighs, and you pull your underwear over your legs. You decide to stay quiet, not wanting to shatter the moment. You both lay there for what feels like hours, the moonlight rippling through the cracked window and ripped curtains.

He speaks after a while. It comes as a shock to your ears. "I..."

You turn to face him as he speaks. His eyes are focused, and he's clearly calculating his next few words meticulously.

"I love you too".

The words splice through the void in the pit of your stomach. The wilting, rotting feeling dissipates inside of you. If even for a few seconds, you try your damndest to preserve that feathered feeling. It feels pure. And very very real. You don't know why, but after everything you've done, everything he's done...this feels like a revival. The lustration of his acceptance, his reciprocating, heals more than death ever could.

And it feels...good. To be sick, finally. Because at least you know you aren't alone.

⊹˚₊‧꒰ა𓆩✧𓆪໒꒱ ‧₊˚⊹

[kuwkedits]

☁️Comfy Cozy Monday☁️

Reader is sad the villains make it worse before they make it better

Tags: c.c.m☁️ / hurt⛈️ & comfort🧸

⚠️CW: v angsty before comfy sorry, lots of swearing, shigaraki is very mean and so is dabi but they both get better, mentions biting into flesh, miscommunication, mentions bleeding out, bad families, murder

📍Authors Note: I apologize for how angsty I made this weeks post but it’s kind of one of my favorite Monday posts since I’ve started this doing it this way to make sure you all got something new at least once a week um how are we liking it? Do we fuck with the good vibes I’m trying to send all of you? Anyways love u all have a good meal stay hydrated get plenty of rest 🖤 xoxo Rinnie

[buttercupshands]

silly guys finally got another one in

took them a while but they did it! (oh no)

[kitkat13001]

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜

>> tomura shigaraki x reader

>> comfort, this is entirely self indulgent, i have nothing to say. tomu calls reader “dollface” and “honey”, probably very out of character tomura but idgaf im going thru it and i needed him to comfort me (hope it comforts you too <3) // (dividers by @/anitalenia)

you’re mid-breakdown when tomura comes knocking at your window. 

you jump at the rap of his knuckles against the glass, your skin prickling and hair standing on end as you wipe your face. you pray your cheeks aren’t too blotchy, your eyes aren’t too red, thankful for the dimness of your apartment illuminated only by fairy lights and decorative lamp. 

“hey,” you say, opening the window and stepping back to let him clamber through. you try to keep your voice steady, but it’s futile. tomura’s nothing if not observant. 

“what’s wrong, dollface?” 

the way he’s frowning at you tugs at your heart and you feel the tears well up in your eyes again. he takes your face in gentle hands (sans pinky, of course) and it’s too much—you fully burst into tears. 

he shushes you softly, pulling you in close. his arms are tight, secure around your body. he may be a villain, but you’ve never felt more safe than when you’re wrapped up in his embrace. 

it takes a while for you to calm down. you’re gulping for air through the sobs, approaching hysteria, but the shame bubbling up in your stomach over the emotions is calmed by tomura’s quiet whispers in your ear. 

you don’t know how long you stay wrapped up in his arms, until you’ve cried yourself out. 

“sorry,” you sniffle as you pull away, wiping furiously at your face once you regain your bearings. “you don’t want to hear about my stupid problems.”

“actually, i kinda do,” he admits, taking your hands to pull you closer. “they’re a lot more digestible than my problems, probably. who knows, maybe i can even help you.”

“thanks, tomu. but i don’t think these are problems you can just dust and move on from.”

“hm. even if that is true, i’m sure talking about will help at least a little, huh?”

he tilts your chin up with his finger, unusually soft look in his eyes.

“so what’s the matter, honey?”

it all comes out. every little thing that’s been poking you between the ribs for as long as you can remember the last couple days, weeks, months. that one time you said that thing in middle school, last week when you tripped and dropped your favorite drink, how it’s been a minute since you called your mother, the way you’re hungry and nothing sounds good, how it seems like the world is going to shit.  

it’s kind of ridiculous to hear it all out loud, but tomura was right. it’s like a weight off your chest just to say it, to be able to breathe again. 

you’re flushed and breathless once it’s all out. you’re sitting on the couch now, your hands in tomura’s. you’re not quite sure when you got there. 

your shoulders sag with the relief of it all, body caving against his. 

“you feel better?” he asks, giving you a gentle nudge. 

“a little,” you admit, allowing yourself to lean back until you’re laying in his lap. your eyes flutter shut with the feeling of his fingers softly twirling a strand of your hair. 

“just…get some rest now, okay? ‘m not going anywhere.”

as promised, completely self indulgent coping fic :) it’s been a day. hiding under the covers from the horrors of the world. get up again tmr and do it all again bc life moves onnnn 🫶🤞 stay safe and don’t lose hope. you are loved!

- 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢 !

[thehusbandoden]

You Flinch During an Argument -Shigaraki Tomura x Reader

A/n: This is a bit shorter than I'd like but it is what it is. If you'd like a longer or angstier version just shoot me an ask or comment <33

Fluffier than some of em

Slight angst to fluff/comfort | 455 words

Warnings!: Dusting things, taking anger out in unhealthy ways, and flinching. Please let me know if I miss any <3!

Dabi | Hawks | Todoroki Shoto | Bakugo Katsuki | Midoriya Izuku | Shigaraki Tomura | Aizawa Shota | Amajiki Tamaki | Kirishima Eijiro | Shinso Hitoshi

As Tomura's hand reached towards you you flinched back, causing the tramautized man to pause. Did you... think he was going to hit you?

All he was planning on doing was grabbing your chin to force you to look him in the eyes. Would it have been rough? Yes, yes it would have been, but he wasn't going to hurt you.

"Tomura.. I'm just going to go." You whisper, moving to leave the gamer's sloppy bedroom.

"But wai-" Tomura was interupted by the closing of his door, causing him to curse as he kicked a pile of dirty laundry, which tangled his foot and caused him to loose his balance and fall onto the floor.

Curses strung from Tomura's mouth as he dusted the pile of clothes. As the last shirt disintergrated Tomura felt a small stroke of calmness wash over his emotions, causing him to let out a little sigh. Looking around, Tomura decided he wanted to entirely calm down and knew exactly how to do it.

~~

After Tomura dusted every thing but his bed, tv, gaming console + controllers, and tv stand, Tomura sighed. Instead of the blazing anger he felt earlier he felt entirely calm, and ready to talk to you.

~~

Storming towards your room, Tomura didn't bother tearing open the door and walking in, glaring at Dabi who was snickering at his display of desperation.

"Tomura what the hec-"

"Shut up and listen." Tomura growled, climbing on top of you, much to your dismay.

"Tomu-"

"I said to shut up and listen!"

After you stopped talking Tomura sighed, resting his head on your chest as he played with your hair, thinking about what he was going to say next.

"Listen I- I didn't mean to scare you.. I wasn't going to hurt you . I promise you I wasn't.

"I know Tomura."

"Will you be qui- you do?"

"Yes.. I do. I mostly wanted to get out of there to avoid furhter conflict because I know how hot headed you get when you're angry and no matter what I do or say you won't listen.

"Hey-"

"Tomura.. I'm sorry about my part of things. I didn't mean to annoy you with my teasing. I was just having a fun time and didn't realize how ganged up on you felt."

"And I'm sorry for freaking out on you instead of trying to understand your point of view."

Giggling, you peck Tomura's forehead, moving to tangle your hand in Tomura's hair.

"I love you Tomura. So much."

"I love you to goregous."

~Bonus~

Hey Tomura?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to have to get you more clothes and furniture.. aren't I?"

"Mhmmm"

Simply sighing, you get back to playing with Tomura's hair peacefully.

Reblogs help spread and support my work, therefore they help me immensely but any support is appreciated <33

Series' masterlist | Shigaraki's masterlist | Main masterlist | Navigation

Tips <3

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way minus reblogging.

[xinmin-exe]

Safe Wording with the League

League of Villains Reacting to You Safe Wording

Characters: Dabi, Shigaraki, Compress, Twice, Toga with female!reader

Warnings: overstimulation, biting kink, sir/master kink, role playing, dom/sub themes, sex toys, oral (female receiving), degradation, edging, begging(?) , mentions of knife and blood play, alluding to past traumas (let me know if I missed warnings)

Note: practice safe sex, and talk about safe words and boundaries if you need to

Dabi

Dabi and you typically have fairly intense sex anyways

But tonight, dabi and you were going pretty hard

Dabi had been eating you out for a while now

“What a little slut, can’t even handle my teasing”

By this point, you had cum more times than you could count, crying and overstimulated

“No more.. please” but all dabi did was smirk before assaulting your swollen cunt even more

You tried pushing his head away but his grip on your thighs only tightened

Before dabi could even come up with some snarky remark, you safe worded out

He almost didn’t hear you, almost

But he did, and stopped before sitting up and looking at your crying face

He didn’t know how to feel, you had never safe worded before and hell if he knew what to do

He got up and left to get a rag to help clean you up and got you come clothes and blankets

Once he was finished, he got you a glass of water and sat next to you on the bed

“Need anything else?” His eyes were planted on your crying face as you tried to form a sentence

You sleepily shook your head as Dabi settled into bed next to you and wrapped an arm around you

Shigaraki

Shigaraki liked to play the Master with you as a servant or maid, or even sometimes a pet

Tonight was no different, but unlike the other times Shigaraki was already having a bad day 

Unfortunately for you, it meant taking his anger out on you while doing the deed 

Now, neither of you have ever shied away from degradation before but something about Shigaraki’s tone made it feel real 

Like he actually saw you as all the things he claimed you were and that was too much 

The moment he heard you safe word, his body stopped and his mind raced 

Did he do something wrong? Were you okay?? 

Almost immediately his hand reached down to your cheek/neck as he pulled out and pulled you into a sitting position

For once in his life he felt like the world ended 

He didn’t know what to say, but he knew how to take care of you and that’s what he did 

cleaning you up and making sure you were warm and in all the clothing you found the most comfortable

The night ended with the two of you wrapped up in each other 

you both had a serious talk in the morning about what happened and how to prevent it later in life 

Mr. Compress

Out of all of the people in the league, Compress knew where the line in the sand was, even without you two talking about boundaries 

He had a couple partners in the past that had become sexual and given his theatrical personality, he always made sure to talk about safe words and the such 

You were no different and he valued your input and your opinions

You had used your safe word in the past so he knew what you needed

But he is a gentleman first and foremost so he cleaned you up carefully before tending to other things

Need a bath? He’s already getting out your favorite candles

Need some time to recover and decompress? Done! He’s right there, holding you and letting you do your thing in comfortable silence

Need reassurance? This man has you covered. He’ll praise you and promise you that you did nothing wrong and that he’s proud of you for safe wording

Overall, compress is the best person to safe word with

Twice

With twice, it’s a bit difficult to get intimate with him

Yes, he finds you attractive (who wouldn’t find you attractive??) but with his spilt personality it can be hard

But you don’t mind the challenge, and even encourage both of “him” to engage in play

While this is a bit tricky to navigate the first coupes of times, you do get the hang of it.

Though, sometimes his other side does take it too far

Sometimes even going as far as making twice stop what he’s doing and blurts out something along the lines of “you can never be good enough for us”

And it’s those times when you safe word, which trigger twice into a protector mode

He immediately rushes over to you, gently cradling your head and asking what’s wrong

You two always find yourselves having a long chat that ends with soft kisses and the best cuddles

Toga

Toga doesn’t know what safe words are

Hell, she may not but just doesn’t care

But she cares with you, she cares so much for you and your safety

She even has dull, blunt knives to use with you

She always ensures that you are okay with her biting you or using a knife with you

And, you two have a wonderful, pleasureful experience

Until today, when everything was piling up and up and up until all you could feel was your worries and anxieties

Toga tried to use pleasure as a way to help you destress, which usually worked

But today it had the opposite effect and it only heightened your anxiety

When you safe worded, toga couldn’t believe what she had just heard

She felt.. betrayed almost, she was just trying to help you!

So she left, leaving you to try and clean up by yourself

But compress saw her upset and upon figuring out, told her what to do and how to help

She came back, albeit begrudgingly, and helped clean you up and get you warm

It took a couple of days for her to even talk to you after that, but once you explained what happened she went back to her bubbly, homicidal self.

[tomurasmoleunderhislip]

How can someone be so cute yet so hot at the same time??

Such a dangerous combination

[sleep-0-deprived]

im not sure if you are taking any requests rn but I NEED to see some male reader Shigaraki heavy, hurt no comfort, gut wrenching angst just cause there is barely any Shigaraki x male reader and barely any angst in general

(you can ignore this request if you want!!)

Things that your dad doesn’t know (Tomura shigaraki x male reader angst one-shot)

WC:. 1.6K

Tags: hurt not comfort, angst, internalized homophobia, past religious trauma, generational homophobia, unspoken feelings, religious AFO au

A/N: I have never written angst before, I have no clue if it’s any good but I think this is the only time I’m willingly trying to hurt my pookies! ໒꒰ྀི˃ ˕ ˂ഃ ꒱ྀི১

Being a villain wasn’t your first choice in life, in fact had you been told that’s what you would end up becoming ten years ago…well you would’ve been in shambles? After all your dream was to be a hero, to help those who needed it most and give comfort/security to those around you.

maybe that was just you wanting to be the person you wished was given to you but that doesn’t matter because it wasn’t who you became anyway. At the ripe age of fifteen you were a runaway, your parents had sent you off to a private academy in Japan. In reality it was just a fancy term for a boarding school for ‘troubled boys’ but those words tasted bitter because that place was just filled with naive boys questioning their sexuality.

That place left you filled with thoughts of things you’ve never worried about before, one moment you’re just a boy who has some silly crush in the boy next to you in class and the next you’re a thirteen year old being told the way you felt was ‘sinful’. You’d never forget the way your mom just stared at you blankly while your dad shouted at you “those thoughts aren’t normal boy, how’d you turn out like this?” God you’d give it all to forget those words, every remembrance of them felt like a puddle pulling you to the ground leaving you to wallow in shame.

By the time you were fourteen you started to fall for the words the headmasters of the school preached to you, you thought “if I could just deny it then it’ll go away” or if you didn’t accept it then it wasn’t there. By fifteen you knew you had to get out of there, you didn’t care how you had to do it but you felt an unwavering hate for yourself every second you stood in line for the daily mass at that place.

When you did finally escape you ended up on the streets, moving city to city across Japan, too afraid to head for the states out of fear for your parents getting you back. Then you met him, All For One was what he called himself, he found you in a dingy alley all littered in bruised and scars from the treatment you had endured from that school.

He took you in and gave you a place to live for as long as you did what he asked of you. He made you use your quirk for his own wants but you’d never tell him your past or where you came from because it was evident with his god complex that he wasn’t understanding, after all how could a man from his generation be.

Life wasn’t all bad, that was what you’d tell yourself but then you met Tomura, you two never clicked in the beginning. All he’d do is stare at you from afar and judge you, but you just accepted it because he was your leaders heir. Eventually by the age of seventeen the two of you had became friends, the league of villains was a new concept with barely five members

You didn’t know what you felt or how to feel it but all you knew was the days felt more bearable to live when he was there. When you two didn’t have tasks to fill or agendas to make you were teenage boys, you watched cheesy shows on his bed or video games in his room, energy drinks and late nights was the routine between you two and their was an unspoken blonde that came of it.

Eighteen rolled around for you and Tomura was nineteen by then, it felt like an extension of eighteen for you, nobody but Tomura even knew of your real birthday and maybe it was for the lack of care or the fact you never spoke to anyone besides AFO, Shigaraki and occasionally Kurogiri.

By this point you’ve realized that things aren’t totally platonic between the two of you but Tomura having spent his whole life enduring AFO’s standards and beliefs that he’s pushed onto him, he denies anything and everything. Tomura never had the most stable life to begin with even before he met AFO, his dad was the definition of a bigot, he looked down on him for not being manly enough, for crying when he got hit by him.

Tomura and you were closer than friends could be, the way you two held each other and cuddled in his bed at night, or spent free time locked away in your room away from the other’s gazes. But you were never truly together in the way you wanted to be, it was like being skin close with a thin barrier between keeping you two from fully touching.

The two of you liked being away in private the most, even with all of the denial in your head was better than the hurtful gaze AFO would give to Tomura when he was caught sitting too close to you in the bar. Over time it felt like you began to know Tomura less and less, the boy you once clung to like he was the air in your lungs became a man that hardly spoke to you unless it was about the leagues plans.

You were no fool you knew AFO had confronted and filled Tomura’s head with thoughts of how what he was doing was nothing less than “un-right” and those deep rooted memories of the past that always crept in when you least wanted found you again, reminding you of every word nailed into your mind on how you should feel in no regards for what you did feel.

All you wanted to do was run back to his room, to hug him and cling and not worry about everyone else but that wasn’t going to happen. You watch him become the second AFO knowing you can’t and do anything. Your once close relationship has a wedge in between, it was non existent and nothing you could say would make him accept you.

“What happened to our friendship Tomura?” You’d show up at his door late at night while the others were asleep, his blue hair gone and what looked back at you didn’t feel the same quiet man that used to be. “Nothing has happened, things change and people grow [name], you’re acting as though we were lovers.” You knew that he was only forcing his words but it never stung any less.

“No but we could’ve been Tomura” you manage to spit out, your voice cracks and your whole body feels like lava. “No we never could’ve, you’re a man [name] and no amount of emotions changes that”

“If I can’t be your lover why can’t we just be friends again tenko?”

You’re nearly to tears at this point standing in the entrance of his bedroom feeling your heart being squeezed.

“Because. Being close to you makes life hard, I can’t sit and pretend to be your friend when I know I won’t be the one that ends with you, and don’t call me that anymore, you’re just my subordinate…nothing else and you won’t ever be [name].”

There was the answer you knew would come, he pointed for his door clearly wanting you gone, and you quickly obliged in wanting of him seeing you break down. You hadn’t hurt this bad since you had first been sent off by your family, how were you supposed to be ok with this? Why did life have to be this way? Were you destined to always get close to what you love then have it slip away?

You had more pathetic questions than you did answers and the night was long, you weren’t sleeping anytime soon and you knew it. You’d rather have been his friend if you couldn’t be his lover, at least if you were his friend you’d still be something to him, you’d still be in his life, you’d still be the person he sat around and played video games with.

You were just doomed to a life of watching the person you love become unrecognizable. You and him had planned to stick together, he had promised you’d always be together, he always told you that you were the only person that understood him and now it was all gone.

When war against the hero’s began you couldn’t do anything to stop him. Your pleas fell on deaf ears, AFO was on his shoulder telling him every little move to make and what to do and his plan didn’t have you in it. You were forced to sit on the side lines unable to jump in when his final fight started, seeing his beaten form and his scared body broke you.

You had made Tomura your world, he was your reason to listen to AFO, if he did something then no matter how much it hurt you, you’d do it too. When Tomura started his fight against Midoriya, you were practically running to the fight trying to make way to him and trying to use your quirk to just stop it all.

You were three seconds too late. The final blow had been felt and you were right next to Tomura sobbing like a scared kid watching him decay away. All Tomura does is look up at you, red eyes glossy and you know he isn’t making it. “You can’t leave me Tenko! You just can’t!…you promised me?”

You’re hysteric when the police start dragging you away from his ash’s, you’re feeling your word shatter so fast knowing all the things you had planned won’t happen.

[hannanodaa]

Okay but you know what’s a really good crackship that also lives rent free in my head and has boundless potential in an alternate universe? ShigaNatsu 😭💖

[obsessedtomone]

the fruits - pilot chapter

Pairing: Shigaraki x fem!Reader Word count: 1.8k Words Setting: High school AU - No quirks Tags: Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation , Angst, Resentment, No Smut CW for this chapter: None

The atmosphere in your classroom is grim. 

What was usually a place filled with chatter, now became a grieving space. Nobody gossips, nobody laughs, nobody is paying attention to what the teacher says. And why should they?

On the desk in front of yours sits a cheap vase the school bought however many years ago, filled with three-day-old water, where the stem of a lone white lily almost floats. The flower is wilting, as if it too feels like the world has lost all meaning.

It’s religion class that you’re sitting in right now, as ironic as that is. The teacher thought it would be a good idea to bring it up, to hold a moment of silence, but it only made everyone quieter. And you…

You’re angry. So angry. You stand up very suddenly, your chair screeching as you do, and you leave in the middle of class, tight fists at your sides. Nobody stops you. Nobody cares. The teacher yells something at you, but, just like them, you don’t care. 

So you walk and walk, passing by the infirmary, by the stairwell, by the cursed freaking student counseling office, one foot in front of the other.

There’s stairs, then your P.E teacher who tries to stop you, but you start running until you lose him. Until you’re outside and reach the back of the school, between the buildings, where all the delinquents and future-to-be criminals skip school and hang out to do drugs, or whatever those stupid rumors you heard say about them.

It’s dark in there, the narrow space mostly shielded from the sun, and unlike your classroom, you can hear the laughter, the chatter. Your fingernails dig into the palm of your hands, your knuckles turn white and you walk forward, swallowing your pride, swallowing your fear, and swallowing whatever was left of your former self.

A pair of yellow eyes spot you closing in first, the blonde girl with tied buns that you’ve seen harassing multiple students, having stopped applying nail-polish and now giving you her attention fully. You go on and are about to look away, but then she smiles, wide and toothy, and her canines are so sharp, you’d mistake her for a modern-day vampire.

“Are you lost?” she says, tone light, euphoric and creepy, getting the attention of ten other pairs of eyes, but not the ones you’re headed towards. Not the ones of your nightmares.

You don’t pay them any mind and you side-step her, but a strong arm stops you in your tracks.

“Hey, she asked you a question.” 

His piercings glitter from the little light that’s coming from behind you. You yank your arm away from him, ignore the foul smell of cigarettes, and continue walking.

“Oooh, she’s feisty!” you hear some other asshole say, but you can’t be bothered to figure out who. “I think she’s here for the boss.”

And there he is, too, sitting on top of a stolen classroom desk. His back is against the wall, both of his legs bent at the knees, while his elbows are resting on top, and said legs are spread apart nonchalantly. He seems completely immersed in whatever switch game he has the audacity to play right now, and the clothes you’ve always seen him wearing are black. Black, black, black. As if he too, is in mourning. As if he’d ever have the right to.

But he’s not. And that’s why you’re here.

The mop of white hair doesn’t pay you any mind, even as you’re standing in front of him. You extend a shaky arm over his switch, and that’s when his vermillion eyes snap at you.

“Give it back,” you say, balancing your weight on your feet, ignoring the pit in your stomach.

He doesn’t say anything, opting to look back down at his game, fully focused, as if you weren’t there to begin with. 

Unprocessed fury courses through every cell of your being, and you yank the console from his hands, smashing it against the wall next to his head, marking it the first time you’ve ever lashed out at anybody. Ever. 

He didn’t even flinch.

“Are you deaf?” you seethe, and he tilts his head downwards, lazy like a cat, as one of his hands goes up to his neck and starts scratching it.

“That’s gonna cost you.”

“I don’t give a damn!” you yell in his face, and he rolls his eyes, before suddenly sliding one foot in your direction, almost hitting you in the stomach if you hadn't stepped back. 

Panic takes over the adrenaline, goosebumps forming on every surface of your skin, as his menacing eyes stare at you and he rolls his shoulders. You don’t run like others would, however, fully ready to take him on.

He places five fingers against the desk, and your lungs lose the ability to fill with air. Instinct has you taking another step back, and you watch as he effortlessly shoves himself off of the damaged piece of furniture and onto the ground, feet landing with equal ease before he recalibrates his posture, his lanky figure now facing you fully. Towering over your form, like an unforgiving god would.

His arms move and you cower, but the pain doesn’t come. 

Instead, you hear the grit on the concrete being stepped on as he’s walking by you, both hands inside the pockets of his hoodie.

“Expect a bill,” he says so simply, as if it isn’t him you’d rather be lying, all six feet under.

Then he walks off, leaving you in the dust, and the group that’s been watching your stage play looks at you with amusement. With pity.

Because you’re not even worth his time. Not his time, not his efforts. 

They all get out of his way, and he’s about to step into the light, before you slide your foot backwards, lean in, put your arm in front of you and…

“Uh-oh!” someone shouts, but the world is too much of a flurry of movement to be able to tell who it was. “Shigs, watch out!”

Shigaraki doesn’t get to turn fully, before you tackle him down with all your might, the both of you hitting the concrete hard.

He groans, eyes scrunched closed, but you’re in his face, fists full of the material of his hoodie and you yell your heart out to him as you’re stretching out the fabric.

“It’s your fault! All o-of it!” you scream at him, and the rubies finally focus on the ugly of your crying face. “Why—Why did you do it? Why won’t you give it back! Just give it back!”

Droplets of your spit land on his cheek, and your head drops abruptly, as you sob into his chest. He’s lying under you unmoving, frozen, and you can’t tell what kind of expression he’s making. The sounds don’t make sense to you, the world doesn’t make sense to you, the pain in your chest is overwhelming, until it’s not. And you sit yourself up just barely, face full of tears, full of your snot, your grip feeling too weak to keep holding onto him.

He’s not paying attention to you still, and you feel something against one of your exposed knees, thighs covered by the skirt of your uniform, pressed against each side of his hips as you’re sitting on top of his stomach. It’s his finger you feel and he’s thumbing at the dripping blood of your scraped skin, when suddenly the stinging pain feels too real, making you jerk backwards.

“Get a room!” you hear the raven-haired guy say, and every other asshole starts laughing at that.

Shigaraki’s eyes widen, before his face scrunches up in utter revulsion and he violently shoves you off of him. Through the blur of the liquid helplessness in your eyes, you see him get up, before standing and looking down at you. Looking down on you. Then he’s spinning on his heel and turns to leave. Like you’re nothing.

His friends start snickering, and in the corner of your eyes, you see an offered hand from the girl with blonde space buns. You immediately smack it away and glare at her coldly, feeling the debris and other little pebbles digging into your wound, as you get up and leave as well. 

“She's so mean! I really like her!” the girl says behind you, but you’re tired, limping out of the narrow hideout for hooligans and in the direction of your home.

“Give it back.”

It’s the next day, and you’re standing in front of a desk. Just not your desk. 

You’re standing in front of a desk that looks so beat-up, the school probably couldn’t even reuse it, if these assholes even thought to bring it back. And on top of countless scribbles, scratches made with knives and various styles of graffiti, are the legs of two red converse shoes, stretched out and laying on top of each other.

“Tch.”

His fingers tap at the buttons of a brand-new console, and his brow is now furrowed, because once again, you’re here to disturb his peace.

“Touch it and you’re dead,” he grumbles when you step forward. “What do you want?”

He finally puts his console down and folds his hands on top of his slightly raised knee, fingers overlapping each other like he’s some well-established villain.

“It’s not yours. Give it back to me.”

“Give what back?” he asks, tilting his head, and you catch the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“The hairpin.”

He looks down, towards the still-scraped knees that you didn’t bother to bandage, and then back at you.

“No,” he says, decisively.

You grit your teeth. “Why?”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to…” you repeat, trying to contain the pure hatred and resentment that’s festered inside of you for over a year now. “Okay.”

“Uh-huh. Will you fuck off now?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself,” he says dismissively, grabbing his handheld again and resuming the game.

“Oh my god, can we keep her?” Space buns pops in and you step away from them both with a disgusted grimace.

“No,” he replies.

“I’ll do it.”

The girl tilts her head in sweet confusion, and Shigaraki lifts his half-lidded gaze to look at you again. 

“Do what?” he asks.

“Anything. Everything. I’ll do it.” You swallow thickly. “For the hairpin.”

And for the first time since you’d enrolled in this hellhole, Shigaraki looks genuinely taken aback. The girl seems to pick up on some situational cue, and leaves you both be, with an unsettling giggle.

“Anything?”

“Anything,” you repeat.

For if I’m going down, 

I guess I’ll take you with me.

[grime-and-dirt-worms]

fanart from my 15 year old self's mha comfort characters from 2020 (shinsou, monoma, izuku, kiri, shiggy, katski)

[compendiumofdecay]

shrill. tenko shimura (t.shigaraki) (x reader)

NSFW. 18+. MDNI. DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. emetophobia warning! major trigger warnings (listed below)!

cw: post-war tomura, uses tenko as his name again, canon non-complaint (fuck canon i'll write the ending), trauma, physical disabilities, mental impairment, vomiting, graphic depictions of violence, graphic description of illness, blood, panic attack, complex ptsd, abuse mentioned, suicidal ideation, intrusive thoughts, unhealthy coping mechanisms, age regression due to trauma, hurt/comfort trope

...

the hall light flickers with an intensity akin to rising heartbeats. sweat glistens on tenko's head in beads, dripping softly onto the linoleum tiles in the bathroom. he's shivering, it's so fucking cold here- too fucking cold. but he can't move, he's stuck here like a caught fly as waves of nausea overtake him.

the sun is coming up brightly in the small vented window, its painful to feel it beating down on his pale skin. he's too scared to move a muscle though, any shifting of his body will send him lurching into the ceramic bowl again. it hurts.

you didn't notice him even getting out of bed. it was during the earlier hours of the night, so he made sure to slink silently from under the thick duvet and pad off to the bathroom slowly, though his body was begging him to hurry faster. not again, not again, fuck.

it had been a year since the war ended. four months since he'd finally been rehabilitated completely, though he still had to see specialists and therapists and psychiatrists weekly, still had to deal with well-visits and physical and quirk therapy, still had to watch everyone who tried to kill him make it big on TV. he hated it. he hated being doted on, being studied like a foreign chemical, forced through interviews and trials and reports. most of all, he hated how you looked at him now. hated the way your eyes softened a little too much every time he spoke, hated how you'd remind him to take his meds of help him carry things, how you'd hand him his cane or urged him to use the chair. god, he hated it all so much, and had nowhere to even put that hate to use anymore. instead, it nestled into the empty pit inside of him left behind after all-for-one's death, the unfamiliar and disturbing chill of grief and silence. something he hadn't felt since he was a young child. he hated how juvenile he felt.

the nightmares never stopped. even with the medication and the therapy, they remained a constant abhorrent stick in his mind. flashes of blood and viscera coating his body, his hands warm with death. the smell of burning flesh, gunpowder, rot. it oozed through the wrinkles in his brain like the passage of time, the memories coiling around him like a pit of snakes.

the worst part was the screaming. the cries of mothers and children as they were torn apart. students and heroes alike mourning mid-battle. it was the kind of violence that turned legends to ghosts, forever haunting tenko's mind and staining it eternally. he couldn't forget. he wasn't supposed to forget. no, no. he wasn't allowed to forget.

remember all of it. forever.

every night he'd wake in a cold sweat, bile burning in the back of his throat, sweat sticking him to the crisp linen. tears overtaking his body, the feeling of the hot wetness rolling down his cheeks reminding him of the splattering guts against his skin. it all felt the same, burning and sticky and uncomfortable. not his. not his blood to spill, not his tears to cry.

some nights you'd wake to the sound of him sobbing, of holding back pained screams in his sleep, and it'd urge you to hold him, to wipe his face dry and open the windows, even in the dead of winter. the cold air would soothe him some, combined with your cascading touch down his sore arms and legs, heavy with the ache of being rebuilt. other nights you'd shoot up in a panic to muffled gags and retches, knowing there'd be no way to help him now except with a hair tie and time.

it was rare you didn't wake, actually- but lately, the nights had been a bit easier, tenko would sleep through most of the night with nothing more than a short panic. it was something that could be easily settled with a bear-hug and slow sips of water. he was getting better, and it soothed a part of you.

life was especially difficult now. before, and you'd never admit this to him in a million years- but before, he had nurses and doctors to help aid him when he was sick, or struggling. but since he'd returned home, life was exponentially harder for the both of you. you knew he'd never forgive himself if you'd admitted that some days, it was hard. but you knew he already knew it anyways, and it killed you. you loved him so much, the miracle of him returning home with nothing more than a few crutches was a godsend in every aspect. sure, the mobility aids were a learning curve for you both, but you worked with them. he was getting used to the cane, he no longer rejected the kinesiology tape or the braces, and he had finally started to let you push his wheelchair around on his bad days. hell, sometimes he even would ask for help eating, when before, he'd let himself go hungry before even considering it.

so tonight, you slept. you slept deeper than you had in months, not even the loudest alarm could wake you now. it was as if all the stress, anxiety, fear had left your body as you laid down with him that night, holding your love close against you, feeling his heartbeat on your own chest. it lulled you off in seconds, and even he couldn't resist closing his eyes after a few minutes, comforted by your soft breaths and warm skin.

it was so god-damned bright. bright and cold, and empty. the land stretched for miles beyond sight, but the ground was pure-white beneath his crooked toes and dirty soles. he was naked, walking for eternity across this crisp path leading to nowhere.

a voice from behind him urges him to turn around. no, commands him.

"my son."

tenko's feet picked up the pace, his body flailing as he ran, feeling as if he was treading water. he couldn't run- he was stationary. being pulled to the ground like a magnet.

"face me, tomura." the voice commanded him again.

"im not tomura, that's not my name" tenko tried to argue, but no words escaped him. he slammed his eyes shut, squeezing them as tightly together as he could. but it didn't work. all-for-one towered above him now, his broken and shattered body dripping with an unknown substance as he brough his mottled hands to his face. he picked at the skin around his temples, down to his jaw, slowly peeling his face back. he threw the skin to the ground, staining the pure-white ground with a wet shuck, revealing himself to tenko. his face was smeared around, teeth and hair and eyes arranged randomly on the surface of flesh, like a tumor. his voice slowed and deepened, slurring around as he cried, a hideous wail the echoed through the land.

"what have you done to me? why have you betrayed me, my son?" his voice bellowed through heavy, wet sighs. it sounded multiplied, like a choir, the words carrying with various resonance and distortion.

tenko couldn't speak. his mouth felt gummy, like it'd been tarred shut, he couldn't even scream. "help" he thought over and over, to no one at all. "help me".

all-for-one's face began to slop off in chunks, the meat piling at tenko's feet, spraying across his skin. the cries amplified, until it had become a shrill, piercing ring that rattled tenko's ears, his head swelling with pressure. he tried to scream again, to no avail. the noise pierced into his brain, sending tendrils of darkness to enter his vision through eyes slammed shut, a throbbing ache thumping horrifically to the tempo of the wailing. he was enshrouded in the nothingness, unable to move or see or scream...

he woke with a guttural groan, a trapped scream almost. you laid in the bed, coiled around a pillow, still sleeping soundly. he smiled gently to himself, desperate to remind himself it was just a nightmare. a nightmare, that's all. but his body twisted still, his insides churning with an unbearable, feverish heat. he took a slow, deep breath in, doing his best to slip off the bed and onto the floor. he took small steps, not bothering for his cane, swaying as his stomach reeled. he swallowed the rising bile hurriedly as he cracked the door open, slipping out of the room and shutting the door fast enough to stumble into the bathroom with shaky legs and quivering belches.

lurching for the toilet, he heaved and retched, emptying the contents of his stomach rapidly, salty tears stinging his already burning face. fuck, it stings. but a part of him took comfort in the sickening release, like it was siphoning the darkness out of him. he had explained it to you once, after a particularly difficult night, that it felt like he was bloodletting, releasing the past from his tired body and sweating the fever away. you had denied it, discouraging him from making peace with it and handing him an anti-nausea pill.

you didn't like how sick he always was. you despised it, even. he was already so frail, so thin and willowy, the thought of him spending his nights hugging a toilet bowl and being happy about it made you ache with disdain. it wasn't something you could argue with him, but fuck man, it was like you were watching him fade every day that passed.

you had done your best with feeding him, overloading his body with nutrients and vitamins, making him drink green smoothies and wellness shots, handing him calorie-mates throughout the day, encouraging him to eat with his favorite foods and drinks. you even learned how to make ohagi* for him, but even with a stomach full of the BRAT diet and Zofran, he would drain himself dry.

he felt the resentment for it, too. but he was too tired to try and stop it. he knew you didn't and couldn't understand him deeply enough, no matter how badly it hurt the both of you. he couldn't make it stop. the nightmares, the vomiting, the crying, the screams...he couldn't stop any of it.

his body crashed over with a wave of exhaustion, and he let his body fall completely to the floor, slumping onto the cool tile, the contact against his burning skin shocking him a bit. he was too scared now to move, already worried he woke you previously with the sounds of him vomiting. he squeezed his eyes shut, the action feeling pointless since the nightmare, but to his surprise it was dark and calm inside. he shuddered, the tears knocking from his eyelids onto the floor gently, cascading down his face with soft, shaky sobs. all of this is pointless. everything hurts, nothing matters. i should have died. i wasn't meant to live. i miss my grandma. i miss mon. i miss mommy, and hana, and grandpa. the thoughts ran rampant through his shattered mind, repeating over and over in his head with the same piercing voice he heard in his nightmare. the war should have killed me, this isn't worth it. i'm not worth it, they deserve to live better. i hate myself. i hate this. it hurts, god it fucking hurts, i wish i had died.

you wake slowly, stretching out and turning over to find tenko gone from bed. fuck, you spring up, where is he?

you slip out of bed and find his cane still propped against the nightstand, his wheelchair sat in the corner of the bedroom. he must've walked. how long has he been gone for? fuck, i feel so bad. you open the door and tread down the hallway with featherlight steps, nervous to scare or shock him. the hall light was on, the bathroom door closed. you reach out for the door, bracing yourself for the impact of another night-terror from him.

you find him laid out on the ground, curled into a fetal position, the scent of sick hanging heavily in the bathroom. you shake off the pang of disgust as you crouch to meet him, placing a hand softly but deliberately to his back, alerting him of your presence.

"tenko? baby, are you alright?"

your voice feels distant to him at first, like he's hearing it through a wall or dome. he blinks away the film of tears and props himself on his arms, shaking slightly.

"i'm okay, sorry. nightmare again." he cracks out, but his eyes are bloodshot, his lips cracked and bleeding. you take him into your arms, holding him and brushing the strands of sticky hair out of his face. he sits rigid for a while, before his voice cracks, and in the softest voice, he cries out.

"i hate being sick".

suddenly, he breaks, falling into your shoulder, gripping onto you as tight as he can. he sobs thickly, staining your shirt with tears. your own eyes well up, feeling that burn in your throat as you rock with him, shushing him through your own bout of cries.

"it's okay, ko. i know" you repeat to him, pressing your lips to his head, kissing his soft white hair. you comb through it with your fingers as he bawls, letting him feel it.

as your fingers drag through the tendrils, you notice something. through tears, you tell him, "your hair is growing".

it doesn't seem to phase him until you repeat yourself, this time adding; "it's black".

he grabs at his head with a panicked look, eyes wide as he pulls from you. "what?"

"your hair baby, its growing in black!" you laugh through swallowed cries, and reach for the little cosmetic mirror on the counter. you start pulling his hair back gently to show him, handing the little mirror to him. his roots, a very small sliver of length, are a deep, rich black.

"my...my family had black hair". he sniffles, wiping his face with the back of his hand. you smile at him with a quivering lip, kissing his forehead. he hiccups as his crying slows, the fervent episode finally lulling. he nods and sets the mirror down, shaking still.

for some reason, it made you feel at ease. as if the growth of his hair was a sign that maybe, finally, he'd started to heal even a bit. and no, it wasn't going to be perfect. it was going to be like this, for a very long time. maybe even forever. it was hard. the grief was indescribable, you were mourning someone who stood right in front of you. the man you fell in love with, tomura shigaraki, had died. in his wake, he left tenko shimura. but not only did you have to get used to him and get to know him, so did he. and as long as you were together...it might not be as hard.

"we should get a puppy".

...

*a/n: 1. ohagi (botamochi) is a traditional japanese confectionary made with glutinous rice and a layer of red bean paste. it's typically consumed in the autumn and spring months; in autumn it is called ohagi because the color of the paste resembles the color of the "hagi" flower that blooms in japan's autumnal months, in the spring, it is called botamochi named after the peony flower that blossoms in spring. (source) 2. ohagi is shown as tenko's favorite food in mha volume 24, chapter 234: destruction sense.