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Symbol of fear by day, gamer by night. 💦

Always the writer, never the reader.

heyyy

soemone want to rp in private ?

I rp about : the walking Dead

Mha

Scp fondation

Maybe others but please ask first^^

that is a work of art ! Thanks to @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

She is an incredible writer, go take a look at her account !❤️✨

I had a request for a little smut or just a little réaction: If the number one hero of France ( us, the reader) came to Japan for helping them win against tomura and all for one but insted she save tomura for all for one because she love him so much ( even if it is the first time she see him)

Ok so I wanted to use a tiny bit of French I used Google for translation so I hope it's correct.

Rencontre 

Rated Mature 18 + Smut 2100+ words

For Tomura it's love at first sight the second his eyes fall on you. He was in awe of the stunning beauty before him, speechless as his eyes took in every inch of you. Dirty thoughts of all the things he'd like to do to you cloud his mind, distracting him from the fight. The heroes take note of his hesitation and go to deal him a fatal blow. But all of a sudden they are unable to move, paralyzed on the spot. Confusion etched on Tomura's face as he stares at Endeavor and Miruko frozen in mid move.

"I bought you time" you explain before turning to Kurogiri, "you teleport right? get Shigaraki out of here". Shigaraki looks at you, stunned at your words and the cute way you pronounce them doesn't go unnoticed by him either as his pants get tighter. What a sexy accent, he thinks to himself, his injuries forgotten. The only thing on his mind is the hot french girl in front of him who happens to be a hero who listens to him, who's helping him! He can't believe it as he stares in shock.

Kurogiri starts to transport him away, but right before the mist man does the vanishing act Shigaraki races to your location across the battlefield, wrapping his arms around your waist, grabbing his pretty french girl and the three of you disappear to his hideout leaving the remaining heroes angered at being betrayed by one of their own.

Once safe Tomura inquires about your motives. Listening as you tell him you understand his side, that he made you question things and see them in a different light, you agreed that the hero system is corrupt. How you know what it's like to feel misunderstood and left.

That's all it takes. Shigaraki's control snaps in a heartbeat. All his pent up sexual feelings and frustration boil over. All the years of being alone, never having a lover, he cant take it anymore. He pins you against the closest wall. Lips attacking your neck. Hands roaming over your soft, supple flesh, relishing in the intimate contact of skin on skin. You make no attempt to stop him, instead you thread your fingers through his hair, moaning as his mouth latches onto your neck. 

"I need you" was all you heard before his mouth hungrily devoured you, while his fingers dance over your body, every curve, every dip, groping and squeezing, appreciating all you have to offer. The need to feel and suck every inch of you is all he can think about. His wounds don't matter, only you and the pleasure he will take inside you.

You don't fight your own feelings either as you let yourself go, happy to receive what he's giving. Touching his toned chest, feeling every flex and ripple of his muscles with each movement. Your lips leave a trail of hickeys across his neck till they meet his in a clash of wills that he easily wins. The way he's grunting in approval, the feeling of his blood-soaked chest staining your clothes just adds to the hungry desire between you.

His busy fingers find their way inside your costume. "Oh what's this, no panties, you dirty girl" he growls with a smirk and you feel yourself getting wetter from his words and the husky tone of his voice. You lean your head back, greedily asking for more, moaning at the sensation. Shigaraki chuckles" you want this don't you. Say it" he demands. "Tell me you want me"

"I want it monsieur Shigaraki," you say, your heavy french accent has Tomura's cock twitching and the way your eyes drink in his body makes it tough for him to keep himself in check, wanting nothing more than to give you what you, and he, are both so desperate for.

"Take your clothes off" he purrs, taking a step back. "I want to see you undress for me". Sure he could easily decay the weak fabric but he wants to see you bare yourself to him willingly.

Shimming out of your clothes you keep your eyes on him. Watching as his ravenous gaze travels over your form. The seductive, feral look only has you getting more aroused. He looks as if he will snap any second, barley contained urges boil to the surface, threatening to spill out. You bite your lip noticing the impressive bulge hidden in his pants.

A wicked idea makes you stop in your tracks. Covering your exposed nude body with your hands, your legs crossed to hide what he wants most.  Innocently you look up at him, lips in a pout. With your shyest voice you say "but I'm a good hero sir, this is wrong" the tiniest smile lurking beneath the surface giving away your true intent.

Tomura catches on to your innocent act. An unhinged grin takes over his handsome face giving him an even more dangerous look adding to the thrill of your situation.

"Oh it is wrong little lamb, but you like that don't you. I know you want my cock. It's OK, it'll be our little secret hero." His hand grabs your thigh, squeezing it tightly, "now spread your legs or do I need to force them open" his raspy tone serving to turn you on more. But you don't move, choosing to play this game. Wanting him to take charge.

A growl escapes him as his hands slide between your legs, roughly pushing them nice and wide. Wasting no time he kneels in front of you. Before you can even register what he was fixing to do his tongue begins lapping at your core, drawing his name over your Puffy slit. His breath is hot against your core. Your hands run through his white locks as your eyes close, losing yourself to how he's making you feel.

"Fuck Shigaraki" you cuss when his tongue starts flicking over your clit. The sensation has you whimpering in need as your legs tremble next to his head, making it hard to stay on your feet. The texture of his tongue running over the most sensitive part of you has your slick soaking his mouth.

Looking down your eyes lock with his own half lidded ruby ones. You can't even form a coherent sentence. All you know is the pleasure the villain king is delivering. Your fingers still threading through his soft hair, gripping at the long strands, trying to grab onto something.

The erotic way you are moaning his name between cute pleads for more drive Tomura crazy, it's like something from a fantasy he's had way too many times. But this time it's real, and with a woman hotter than he could imagine.

Determined to make you cum he increases his speed, reveling in how sweet you taste, God he could drink every drop of your juices . He knows you are close by the way your voice hitches. Slipping  two long fingers inside you, he turns and curls them, while his thumb rubs your little nub. Your legs are visibly shaking. Shigaraki watches how beautiful your face is, the emotions that veil it, the wanton need it shows, the blanton hunger for him, and he delivers. He feels your insides tighten and juices leak out of your cunt as your orgasm washes over you. Diving to lick them up he doesn't miss a drop.

You haven't even come down from your high when you're pulled to the floor underneath him. His toned body covers yours in an instant. Lips meet in an intense dance of passion, mingling together, both battling for dominance. You can taste yourself in his kiss but you don't care, you find it erotic. 

His hand tugs at the zipper on his pants, eagerly pushing them to his knees freeing his twitching erection. The primal way he grunts has you spiraling into the depths of rapture and you never want to come back. You can feel the heat from his cock as he guides the tip back and forth over your slit, collecting the wetness that's already pooling at your pussy once again, mixing with his own precum.

Your body shivers with unrestrained desire for the very man you were assigned to take down. You can't help but smile at the double meaning of the words, well technically you did take him down. Shigaraki notices your grin and gives his own sexy smirk in return.

"God you're so wet. You want me so bad dont cha" Don't worry my pretty hero, I'm gonna fuck you real good, I'll make this tight pussy drink my cum Ma beauté." You're shocked, he knows French, but you're quickly brought out of your surprise by his fat cock forcing its way inside you.

Your hands grab onto his shoulders, nails leaving crescent marks on his skin. Gasping at the intrusion. Your walls are trying to expand enough for him, struggling to make room for him. Whimpering cries leave you as he sinks deeper and deeper till he bottoms out. His balls flush against your ass. Your pussy stretched so wide around his fat length. The head of his cock resting on that perfect spot, making you shudder. You've never felt so unbelievably full. He gave you only a minute to adjust to him before starting to slowly move. You try to catch your breath as the large dick repeatedly pushes in and out of your tight cunt.

"You like that, my little lamb. You like being impaled on my cock don't you, such a tight pussy for me" he snickered. All you could do in response was whimper as your fingers dug harder into his arms.

With every thrust your walls seemed to cling onto him more and more, not wanting to let him go. You felt so soft and warm surrounding his manhood, massaging him with every jerk of his hips. You felt so good, words couldn't describe how amazing you were making him feel. 

He was done holding back. He was going faster and faster now, his movements more erratic, and you could swear you felt his length pulsing, and it was so warm and thick. With each thrust his tip hit the gummy spot in your depths sending tingles up your spine as heat started to spiral outward from your belly but right before you came yet again he pulled out, leaving you empty and desperate.

Shigaraki chuckles at your frustrated cry before flipping  you over so you were on your hands and knees before him. Then in one quick stroke he was buried back inside your slick pussy. Causing you to groan like a whore, you withered beneath him as he filled you again. 

He was starved for the way your cunt constricted around him, never wanting to leave it, craving more. His calloused hands held onto your hips, controlling you, making you rock back onto him. Lewd slapping sounds of wet skin on skin echoed through the room as he used your dripping, needy hole. His pace increased even more when he felt your pussy flutter and spasm. His cock was soaked with your juices that were leaking out of you and he felt his own orgasm building.

"Fuck look at how wet you are my sweet, how many times have you cum on my evil cock." But you couldn't answer, all you could do was push back against him, grinding on him as you cried in pleasure.

"S'il te plaît Shigaraki" you begged. 

"I love how you say my name baby. I'm gonna give it all to you now. Gonna pump you full of my cum" he grunted. And with that he pounded into you roughly, nearly pulling all the way out before slamming back in, assaulting your g spot till you screamed his name, soaking his cock with your release. 

"Good little hero" he praised as he thrust a few more times, and with one final push he came so hard. "Fuck" he growled like a beast, empty his milky cum in your waiting pussy. You felt every spurt of his hot seed as it sprayed your pretty walls, coating your insides. 

The only sound in the room was deep breathing as you both tried to catch your breath. Leaning back he grabbed your waist so you were sitting in his lap, sticking with the evidence of your encounter. He pressed his forehead to yours and asked simply, "regrets". 

"Not a single damn one" you hummed.

"Good, then you won't hate me when I keep you Ma beauté, you are mine" he says. The happy smile you give in return has his heart skipping a beat. 

"And you Tomura Shigaraki, are mine" 

Haunting for Beginners (Chapter 2) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Ghosts summoned and bound to the human world have one purpose - haunting - but Tomura's never met a human he could stand long enough to haunt them, and he's pretty sure he never will. When you cross the threshold of his house, you capture his interest, and for the first time, he finds himself with a chance to do what ghosts are meant to do. It's too bad he doesn't know how. Scenes from Love Like Ghosts, as seen through the eyes of the ghost in question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

It doesn’t take Tomura long to figure out the problem with wanting things: Getting the thing he wants doesn’t make the wanting go away. It works for a little while. Sometimes even long enough to make Tomura think it’s gone for good. But it always comes back, and when it does, it feels just as itchy and awful as before. Worse, maybe, because now Tomura knows what it feels like to have the thing he wants.

He wants you to talk to him, and you do talk to him. At first he doesn’t care what you’re saying. He just – likes – the sound of your voice, and he likes that it’s just for him, that if he wasn’t there you’d be quiet except for talking to the dog. The dog’s name is Phantom. Tomura’s decided that he doesn’t mind sharing your attention with Phantom. Phantom was here first, and it pays attention to Tomura, too – and it can’t talk back. Tomura could. Can. Maybe.

At first he doesn’t care what you’re saying, but soon enough, he starts to. He has to, because sometimes you’re upset about things, and if you’re too upset about things, you might leave. Once he starts paying attention to when you’re upset, he starts to see differences in it. There’s sad-upset, when your voice is quiet and your movements are slow and even Phantom jumping up in your lap doesn’t make you smile. There’s angry-upset, when you’re still quiet, but you’re restless and pacing, every piece of you tense. And then there’s frustrated-upset, when something small has gone wrong, or when there’s something you don’t understand or can’t fix.

Tomura sees frustrated-upset more and more as the days go by. And the realization creeps up on him slowly, the same way everything did when time didn’t matter, that the thing you’re frustrated with is him.

He’s mad that you’re frustrated with him at first. He’s not doing anything except helping you – helping you with the coyote, helping you get rid of the humans who came over when you didn’t invite them, helping you get rid of one of the ghosts and its weird human when they invite themselves over, too. What right do you have to get mad at him? Tomura spends a solid week and a half sulking before he realizes why you’re frustrated with him, at which point he discovers a new feeling. He doesn’t know what to call it, but it’s spiky instead of itchy, and it feels urgent, like he has to do something about it right now. You’re mad at him because he’s shown himself to other people, talked to other people, but not to you. That means you want to see him. Tomura has to figure out how to make it happen.

The spiky feeling is terrible. It won’t let him have a second of peace. It’s always there, poking holes in his essence, prodding him to look for a way to make you see him. Ghosts in movies never let people see them all the way, but the ghosts in the neighborhood must have shown themselves to their humans at some point, or else they wouldn’t have them. How did they do it?

Tomura gets an answer, sort of, when you drop a bag of flour and he steps into the plume of white dust that rises up. If he has enough life-force to make himself even slightly substantial, things like dust or smoke or flour will settle around his form and show the rest of him. You’ve figured it out, too. Tomura was already pretty sure you wanted to see him, but the number of times you turn and spray water at him to reveal him only proves it. You’re weirdly accurate about it, too. You always seem to know where Tomura is, and that makes Tomura feel – something.

He watches you all the time, learning about you. You might not be able to watch him, but you’re learning things about him, too.

Tomura doesn’t want you to learn things about him. You might get it wrong. The only way to make sure you don’t is to find a way to talk to you, and Tomura doesn’t know how to give himself a voice. All he can do is give himself hands. He could write something with his hands. Where? There are pens and paper all over your house, but when Tomura tries writing, his hands are clumsy and useless, smearing letters across the page and covering his hands in ink. Then he has to hide the evidence before you get home. Phantom helps out. When Tomura sweeps the papers off the table in a fit of frustration, it eats them.

Tomura could write with a pen, maybe, if he practiced more. But he’s too impatient for that. You’re frustrated with him. Frustrated means you could leave. He needs a solution now. He spends days thinking about it, then weeks, only for the answer to come to him at the absolute last minute – when you’re in the shower, and the bathroom is full of steam, the mirror fogged until it’s almost opaque.

If Tomura lets the steam show his form, and makes a hand to write on the mirror – you switch off the water in the shower, and Tomura scrambles for something to drain. He’s just barely found a spider, barely trapped it in a coil of his essence, when you step out of the shower wrapped in a towel. Tomura materializes a shadow of himself, more than he’s ever materialized before, standing squarely in your path. You’ve been trying to see him. If he’s going to show himself to you, he’s going to make sure you see everything.

Your eyes are wide as you look at him, but you aren’t screaming or running, and you don’t try to wave him away like you did the first time he showed himself to you. Tomura’s stupid itching starts again, stronger than it’s ever been, and for the first time he tries to scratch it. He scratches it and studies you. Now he gets why you always look so proud when you make him show himself. He’s showing himself, finally, and you’re not mad at him. That’s worth being proud of.

There’s a sensation he hasn’t experienced before, in his face. Tomura has a face right now, and it’s doing something weird. You turn away from him, and he raises the hand that’s not scratching to touch the spot where a mouth would be on a human, where his mouth is. His lips feel dry and rough, and they’re curved upwards. He’s – smiling. Humans smile when they’re proud, sometimes. He’s doing it right.

He can’t see himself in the mirror. He doesn’t have a reflection. You do, even when the mirror’s coated in steam. You aren’t looking at Tomura. You’re looking at the mirror, like you’re waiting for him to write on it, and just as Tomura’s reaching forward to write ‘hello’, you speak up. “You’re my ghost.”

Your ghost. Tomura is your ghost, just like you’re his human – and you talked to him first. The feeling of like multiplies through Tomura’s essence as he materializes one finger to write in the steam on the mirror. Yes.

“Who are you?”

Tomura tilts his head, just like the dog does when it’s confused. He thought you knew. Your ghost.

“Who am I?”

That question makes sense. Tomura knows the answer now. Mine.

“No.” Your bare shoulders stiffen, and Tomura’s itching gets even worse. “What do you mean?”

Mine to haunt, Tomura writes. That one’s easy.

He can’t tell how you feel about the answer, though. Humans in the movies you watch don’t like being haunted. But you still aren’t running away. You ask another question. “What should I call you?”

That one’s not as easy. Tomura feels his expression distort, and you speak up again to explain more. You’re explaining things now. He should have talked to you a long time ago. “Your name.”

That’s easy, too. Tomura writes it out as fast as possible, before you can change your mind. “Tomura,” you say, and the feeling of like and the feeling of want engulf Tomura together. Like what? Want what? “Hi.”

Hi.

Tomura’s said hi. Now it’s your turn to talk. He waits, and you ask him a question. “Tomura, what do you want?”

He likes hearing you say his name. He doesn’t like when he doesn’t know the answer. He wants you to talk to him, and he wants to talk to you. He wants you to see him, like he sees you. And. And there’s something else, something he can’t put his finger on. Putting his finger on. He has fingers now. He can touch things. What if he touches –

The spider he’s been slowly draining in order to materialize goes cold, and all at once, Tomura’s out of time. He reaches desperately for the mirror, trying to write again, but his fingers dematerialize, and all he can do is swipe through the messages, wiping them out. Your eyes widen with unmistakable fear, and you bolt, fleeing from the bathroom to the bedroom. Tomura doesn’t chase you. Tomura’s too busy searching for something to kill, something to drain, so he can keep talking and explain that you shouldn’t be scared of him, that he’s not going to hurt you, just haunt you – not like the ghosts in movies haunt, but the way the ghosts in Tomura’s neighborhood must have haunted their humans, before they stopped being ghosts. You’re his human. Why would he scare you? He doesn’t want you to leave.

But you are leaving. The front door slams, and when Tomura chases after you, he sees your car pull out of the driveway, you in the front seat with wet hair and clothes that don’t match, and the dog in the backseat, curled up tight. You’re leaving. You haven’t left in the car and taken the dog since the night the coyote attacked you. What if you don’t come back?

Tomura tells himself to count minutes – it’ll make a smaller number – but he finds himself counting seconds instead, and they pile up faster than he can track. So do the feelings. Missing, but worse. Wanting, but more intense. Anger, but aimed in the wrong direction – not at you, not at the other ghosts, not at their humans. At himself. He messed this up so badly that you’re leaving him, and without life-force to materialize hands and write, he can’t fix it. The feelings build and build until Tomura’s essence can’t contain them, and he lets them all loose in an anguished howl that breaks window in every house on the street except the one he’s supposed to share with you.

Tomura’s not sorry about it, and he doesn’t care that the other ghosts and their humans are mad at him – but he does feel a little stupid when you come back. You aren’t leaving him. Why would you leave him? You said he was your ghost, so why would you leave? You come back to the house, and better yet, you say his name the instant you’ve crossed the threshold. “Tomura, can we talk?”

You didn’t just come back, you want to see Tomura again. And talk to him. Tomura still doesn’t have an answer to the question you asked him, but he can think of other things to talk about. He comes closer to you, shadowing you as you climb the stairs and step into the bathroom again. You turn the water on hot, standing still as the bathroom fills with steam. Tomura waits, too. The instant the steam is thick enough, he burns the life-force he collected while you were away to materialize an outline of himself.

He knows it’s a mistake the second he does it. If he doesn’t have life-force, he can’t make hands, which means he can’t write – which means the two of you can’t talk. But when you speak up, he realizes that he doesn’t need to write to answer your first question. “Tomura,” you say cautiously, and Tomura’s mouth curves upwards before he can stop himself, “are you mad at me?”

Tomura shakes his head. He wants to do something stronger than shake his head, but he doesn’t want to startle you and make you run away again. But it’s a stupid question. You’re his human, and you came back, and you want to see him and talk to him. What is there for him to be mad at? If Tomura could just say all that, things would be fine, but he used all his energy on making you see him. Your next question tells him that it was an even bigger mistake than he thought. “If you’re not mad at me, why won’t you talk to me?”

Tomura can’t talk to you. If he could, he would, but all he can do is shake his head again. You can see him, sure, but seeing’s not good enough – just like it’s not good enough for Tomura, not now that he knows the two of you could be talking instead. You look upset again. Sad-upset. You don’t leave the bathroom, and neither does Tomura, and the two of you look at each other while the steam slowly dissipates. Tomura waits for you to look away, but you don’t. You keep watching him, just like he watches you, and the itching kicks in again. Tomura wants to scream.

Why is it back now? He got what he wanted. All the things he wanted. You saw him and he talked to you and you came back and you know his name and you said his name – so why won’t the itching go away? What else could Tomura possibly want?

Something. Tomura wants something, and you must know that, or you wouldn’t have asked that question. Even if Tomura had an answer, he doesn’t have any way to tell you. All he can do is burn through the scant remains of his stolen life-force, staying visible to you as long as possible, wondering how he could have gotten everything he wanted and still wind up wanting to claw his essence apart.

Your sad-upset doesn’t go away, and to Tomura’s horror, you start spending less time in his house. Sure, you’re doing it because you’re talking to the other humans, or you’re working on your garden in the backyard, but you’re still avoiding the house. Avoiding him. Tomura’s house is empty more often than it’s been since you moved in. He hates it. He hates the way it makes him feel.

It’s a new feeling – not like wanting, although he’s been itching for weeks over just how badly he wants it to stop. The new feeling isn’t exactly new, either. It’s familiar, but now he has a name for the way he felt before you moved in. He felt that way for a hundred and ten years and it didn’t bother him, but it bothers him now. Maybe it didn’t bother Tomura because he didn’t know any different. Now he knows different, and the stupid new-but-not feeling – lonely – is agonizing. As days tick past, days where he can’t talk to you and you don’t try to talk to him, the need to do something, anything, about it grows.

There’s a hornets’ nest on the back porch, just like there is every summer. Tomura’s aware of it distantly – it’s just another part of his house – but it doesn’t actually capture his attention until he hears a string of curses from the backyard. It’s been so long since Tomura heard you say anything that wasn’t to the dog. He sweeps through the house and onto the back porch to find you sprawled out in the yard, clutching a hand that’s already been stung twice to your chest.

Tomura doesn’t know what pain feels like, but he knows what humans look like when something’s hurt them, and he sees you gritting your teeth, your jaw clenched. You get to your feet. Then you back slowly away from the nest, all the way to the far corner of the yard.

Tomura’s never paid much attention to the nest before, but now he doesn’t have a choice. You’re his human, and they’ve hurt you, just like the coyote would have hurt you if he hadn’t gotten to it first. Tomura should have dealt with this a long time ago. Even as he has the thought, he sees you set off, planning to deal with it on your own. And your plan is – bad.

It’s not just bad. It’s the dumbest plan Tomura’s ever seen. As soon as you’re out of sight, Tomura seizes the hornets’ nest in a dozen threads of essence and drains it for life-force. He has to get rid of them before you get back. There are hundreds of hornets inside the nest, more living things than Tomura’s ever drained before, more life-force than he knows what to do with. What should he do with it? Make hands, probably. With this much, he could make hands and keep them for hours. He could make hands, or –

Tomrua loses focus on the hornets as he pulls his essence together, forming the structure of a body from the hands up. One of them gets away as the rest of the nest crumbles to ash, and Tomura catches it by the wings, holding on as his feet hit the ground for the first time. Having a body is heavy. Tomura weighs something. He has height and width and mass. His chest feels tight, and he follows the impulse it demands of him – draw air inwards, then release it, an action he's seen humans undertake hundreds of millions of times. Something is rattling in his chest, setting up a rhythm of its own. Tomura realizes, with an odd sense of fascination, that it’s his heart.

It’s not really his heart, just like they aren’t really his hands. It’ll all be gone once he dematerializes again. Tomura tells himself that just in time for you to come back around the corner, wearing about five extra layers of clothes and dragging a garbage can.

You look as dumb as Tomura’s ever seen you look, and you look even dumber once you catch a glimpse of him and your eyes widen in shock. Tomura’s heart does something weird, and unlike his hands, it doesn’t stop doing it when he tells it to. “Um,” you start, still staring, as Tomura kills the last hornet and lets its ashes fall, “I was going to get that.”

Tomura knows. That’s why he got it for you. “I haven’t – not been talking to you,” he says. Now he sounds as dumb as you look. But he’s got a voice now. He can talk. That means he can explain. “I can’t influence this world without life-force. And I can’t get it from you or the dog.”

“Why not?”

What kind of question is that? “You’d die,” Tomura says. His body does something weird at the thought – twists, lurches, his chest turning tight. “My house would be empty.”

“And you don’t want it to be empty,” you guess. You’re right, and you must know you’re right, because you don’t wait for Tomura to answer. “Then why do you scare everybody away?”

Because everybody else isn’t you. “You left,” Tomura snaps instead. “You can’t leave.”

“Like hell I can’t,” you say. “I came back, didn’t I? I needed time to think. Your little temper tantrum with the mirror –”

“I couldn’t answer. I ran out of time.” It wasn’t a temper tantrum. Tomura kicks through the pile of ash, scattering it, realizing too late that doing it probably counts as a temper tantrum all on its own. “That spider wasn’t enough. No matter how slow I drained it.”

“So that’s why it was in one piece,” you say. You found it? No wonder you ran away – Tomura knows you hate spiders. “You drained the hornets faster, though. Does that work better?”

“I guess.” Tomura’s itching again. Scratching feels better when he actually has a neck to scratch. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

You tilt your head, studying him. Then the worst thing Tomura’s ever heard you say comes out of your mouth. “You don’t know how this works, do you?”

“I know how it works,” Tomura snaps. “Shut up.”

No, that’s not right. Tomura doesn’t want you to shut up. He wants to talk to you, and he’s not sure how this is supposed to go, but he’s pretty sure it’s not going well. Something is happening to Tomura’s face. It feels tight and prickly, and when he lifts his hands to touch it, he figures out what that feeling is – it’s heat. “What is this? What’s happening to me?”

“I think you’re embarrassed,” you say. “You’re blushing.”

“No I’m not.” Tomura knows what blushing is. He hates it. He scratches harder, wondering if that will make it go away. “You can’t leave.”

“I can leave if I want to,” you say. “If you don’t want me to leave, you need to respect my rules.”

“Your rules?” Tomura scoffs. There’s no way the other ghosts put up with this stuff from their humans. Forget him not knowing how it works – you don’t know, either. “It’s my house.”

“And I can leave whenever I want to.”

Tomura knows that. He’s seen you do it, and he doesn’t want it so badly that he can feel everything inside his body crumpling around the thought. He wonders if you know you have him backed into a corner. You probably do, because you start in with your rules. “Rule number one: Stay out of the bathroom when I’m in there.”

“It was fine before.”

“It wasn’t. I just didn’t know about it,” you say. “Now that I do, I’m still not fine with it, and I want you to stop. Same with watching me at night.”

Tomura will cave on the bathroom thing. You don’t spend much time in there, anyway. But you spend a lot of time in the bedroom. He’s not giving up all those hours. “You sleep fine.”

“No, I don’t,” you say. “Stop.”

Why are you so stuck on this? Tomura’s not doing anything weird. It’s normal. “What, so it’s fine when he does it but not when I do?”

“What?” You look startled. No, scared. “Has someone else been in here?”

“No,” Tomura says. Maybe that’s why you’re acting so strange. You don’t know how haunting works, either. You don’t know that you’re his human, that he decides what happens to you, that he’s already decided not to hurt you. Not to hurt you, and not to let anything else do it. “Nobody comes in unless I let them.”

“Then who’s he?”

“The one in those movies you watched,” Tomura says. “He hangs out in that person’s bedroom all night and he doesn’t get in trouble.”

Now you look like you understand what he’s talking about. “You mean in Twilight? That’s not good either. She’s just too dumb to know it’s bad.”

Tomura knows that’s not right. Were the two of you even watching the same movie? “No hanging out in my room at night,” you continue. “Or I leave.”

“You’ll leave,” Tomura repeats, and his insides do that crumpling-up thing. He might hate that more than he hates the blushing. “And go where?”

“Anywhere,” you say. “I’m pretty sure you can’t follow me past the fences.”

If Tomura could do that, he would have. If he could do that, it wouldn’t make him – feel – so much when you leave. He can’t let you know that. He doesn’t want you to have that much power. “Who cares about what’s out there? I’ve got this.”

Tomura gestures at his house, his yard – you, since you’re his human. But as his hand crosses his own field of vision, he sees that it’s starting to thin out, going insubstantial. He’s dematerializing. The hornets’ nest wasn’t enough.  “No,” he explodes, not caring that you’ll hear, not caring that you’ll know. “Not yet. Damn it!”

“Hey,” you say quickly. “If you need energy to materialize and talk, I’ve got tons of weeds and mushrooms in the yard that you can kill.”

Tomura’s never heard your voice sound like that before. It’s softer, gentler, in spite of the urgency you’re speaking with. It makes him feel weird. “Or the blackberry bushes out by the fence,” you continue, still in that same tone of voice. “There’s ways for us to talk without you killing me or Phantom.”

Right. Now that Tomura knows how it works, maybe he doesn’t need a body to talk to you. Maybe he can just be a voice, like he’s just a pair of hands sometimes. Having a body is awful, anyway. It feels things and it doesn’t do what he tells it to do. “I have to go,” you say, and what’s left of Tomura’s face twists into a scowl that he doesn’t care at all about hiding. “I have to pick up some stuff to treat the stings I got, but I’ll be back later. We can talk more then.”

“You’ll come back,” Tomura says. He wants to say more, but his lungs and his throat and his vocal cords fall apart before he can.

“I’ll come back,” you promise, and some knot in Tomura’s essence relaxes. “I wouldn’t leave Phantom, and she likes you.”

Tomura knew making friends with the dog was a good idea. Or letting the dog make friends with him. He’s not really sure what happened there. The rest of his body falls away, and once it’s gone, you make your way up onto the porch and into the house. You’re not running. Not scared. You take off most of the extra layers of clothes until you look like you again, give the dog a kiss and a scratch behind its ears, and head out the front door. Phantom always looks happy about getting scratches. Now that Tomura knows what itching feels like in a human body, he wonders if you scratching his neck for him would make the itching go away.

He can’t ask you to scratch his neck. He’s not sure why he can’t, except that he knows somehow that it’s a weird thing to ask, and he’s just barely convinced you not to run away from him. Or has he? You weren’t talking to him like somebody who’s this close to running away from him. You were talking to him like – like –

Tomura doesn’t have a good word for it. He just knows he likes it. If he has to choose between you scratching his neck for him and you talking to him like that, he’d choose the talking in a heartbeat. He knows how long a heartbeat is now. He knows they happen fast.

You’re gone for a long time, long enough for Tomura to miss you, long enough for him to get angry about missing you. You’re gone long enough for the dog to get upset, to cry to be let out, so Tomura kills a few mushrooms and makes hands to open the door for it. You’re upsetting Phantom and Tomura at the same time. You need to come back soon. What’s taking so long?

When you finally come back, you’re carrying a lot of books, and you look tired. You look surprised to see the dog in the yard, but you don’t thank Tomura or say anything about it, and once you get inside, Tomura speaks first. He’s tired of waiting, and after he kills all the mushrooms in the front yard, he has enough life-force to make a body – and a voice. “Where did you go?” he demands. “You were gone for hours.”

“I went to see the neighbors,” you say. “To ask them about you.”

What? “Why didn’t you ask me about me?”

“Because you might life, and I needed the truth.” You look really tired. The stings on your hand are bright red and swollen. “They had a lot to say.”

That’s not good. The other ghosts need Tomura, but they don’t like him. If they liked him, they’d have talked to him, and they haven’t. “What did they say?”

“They said you’re strong,” you say. Tomura manages not to do the stupid blushing thing again. Maybe it only happens when what you’re saying isn’t true. “That’s why they moved here. Because you being so strong hides them from the people who summoned them.”

“It’s their fault they need to hide. They embodied themselves, like idiots.” Tomura wonders why he was worried that they’d lie about him. They can’t lie about him. They need him too much, and if he wanted to drive them out, it would be easy. “They can stay. I don’t care. As long as you stay.”

“I can stay,” you say. “I’ll be a lot more comfortable staying here if you give me some space.”

“Space,” Tomura repeats. “What kind of space?”

“When I’m in the bathroom. Humans like being alone in there,” you say. Tomura already decided to give up on the bathroom thing. He nods. “And at night when I’m sleeping. We like to be alone then, too.”

“Not everybody,” Tomura argues. He’s not caving on this one. “In those movies –”

“I’m not going to watch any more movies if you keep getting dumb ideas from them.” You’re calling Tomura dumb. If you were anybody else – “Life isn’t like movies. I like to be alone when I’m sleeping.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Do you sleep?”

“Sleeping is for humans,” Tomura says. He doesn’t understand why this is a problem, why you’re making it a problem. He cares about what you want. You should care about what he wants, too, because all this wanting is making him itch. Maybe he should explain. “It sounds nice when you sleep. I can’t hear it if I’m not in your room.”

“What sounds nice?” You look sort of alarmed. “What kind of noises am I making? Are they weird?”

“I don’t know,” Tomura snaps. He explained. Why did that make things worse? “I don’t know what noise humans are supposed to make when they’re sleeping. They don’t sound weird to me. They’re just – nice.”

You look like you’re thinking about something. Tomura waits. “I’m not fun to hang out with when I’m sleeping,” you say after a little while. “Why don’t we hang out more when I’m awake and I can talk to you?”

Tomura’s about to argue that he’s plenty entertained when you’re sleeping – and you don’t even have to do anything – before what you’re actually saying lands with him. You don’t just want to see him and talk to him. You want to spend time with him. What does that mean? Tomura could wait and find out, but he doesn’t want to wait and find out. He wants to know right now, because the itching’s even worse and his heart is beating faster and if it goes much longer, you might notice that he’s – what?

You don’t look like you’re noticing anything. “Well?”

“I need more life,” Tomura says, instead of yes, definitely, of course, what took you so long. “I killed all your mushrooms in the front yard. Find me something else and I’ll – hang out with you. You are boring when you sleep.”

“I’ll find something,” you say. Tomura’s body wavers, and when he glances down, he can see the floor through his feet. You notice too. “Thanks for letting Phantom out. I’ll see you soon.”

“Soon,” Tomura says. It had better be really soon. He doesn’t want to wait any longer than he has to.

When you said you’d find something, you must have really meant it, because you take your phone out and start messaging the other humans in the neighborhood, asking them to bring you bugs. You really hate bugs. If you’re asking for them, you must want to talk to Tomura a lot. Maybe as much as Tomura wants to talk to you. Not talk to you. Hang out.

You said hang out, and Tomura hovers over your shoulder, reading the texts and wondering if you’ll explain what “hang out” means. You don’t. Instead a shiver runs through you, one that says he’s gotten too close, that says the heat of your body and the cold of his essence don’t mix. Tomura couldn’t agree more. The few times you’ve walked through him by accident, it’s been gross. Tomura feels weird calling his human gross, but he doesn’t really have another word for it. Or he didn’t.

Now he knows what a human body feels like, and he knows it’s normal, so he doesn’t mind as much. You do. “Don’t,” you say. “I’ll get a chill.”

Tomura will back off when he’s ready, not because you told him to. But then he remembers what you said about space and needing it, and he draws away. You want to hang out with him. That’s better than tracking you when you don’t know he’s there, better than watching you sleep, better than writing on the mirror. Hanging out. Maybe that will be the thing that makes the itching go away for good.

Here is a doodle i made of my oc in color quickly !

I just sped run reading you oc x Shiggy comic and shes so cute- I wanna try my hand at drawing her (if your ok with it ofcourse), and I was wondering if you have any information on her and also if you could tell me what she looks like colored ^^

Omg yes of course ! Well first she' like a huuuge simp ! She's a weeb too tbh ! Get flustered easy but is very very caring ! And even if we don't currently see it 'cause she's in her pijama she have an alt clothing style ! With color well she have red dyed hair and blue eyes, and a pale skin ! I'm so happy you fond her cute and like the story ! I would love to see the resultof your drawing ! Omg i'm so happy you asked ^^ sorry if the description is a bit short my oc is pretyy self insert aaaand yk describing soemone that is similar to you is sometime hard !

THIS MASTERPIECE !✨✨✨

Once Upon a Time

Summary: You’re no princess but he’s no Prince Charming. It seems only fitting that a deranged little vagabond down on her luck would run into the big, bad villain himself in a seedy bar. Perhaps he’ll make a queen of you yet.

Rating: Very Explicit

Warnings: Rape/Non-con/Severe dubcon (listen, I’m not fuckin’ around on this one. If you’re even slightly squeamish or traumatized in this department, don’t. There’s a really fucked up, unrealistic dynamic going on here. And don’t read it and then @ me because it’s glorifying/romanticizing. IDC.) Spitting (specifically him into your mouth.) Manhandling, alcohol, abusive actions, choking, slight stalking, unhealthy and toxic relationships, depictions of violence, blood, biting, cursing, degradation, dirty talk, cringey dialogue, cliche storyline, poorly written by a bad author.

Length: Fuckin’ long.

Anyway, take this sack of flaming garbage. It sucks but it’s driving me nuts in my drafts. Sorry for infecting your feed with this shit, you have my apologies.

There is absolutely nothing charming about this bar. 

A shitty hole-in-the-wall dive located in a back alley in the shady part of town, complete with watered down booze, haughty patrons, and a sinuous 15 minute walk to the nearest train station because no one who comes here willingly is leaving sober. The drinks are cheap but you certainly make up for the money you save in the quality of the company you keep while you’re inside. 

Dilapidated plywood walls littered with fist and foot shaped holes from drunken brawls and floors that hadn’t been cleaned since the day they were laid. None one quite knows what the original color was anymore, not now that they were covered in all manner of Christ knows what. The smell of cheap alcohol seems to have permeated the pores of the building itself to give it the permanent stench of 5 dollar gaso-liquor. 

This isn’t a place where a princess finds her Prince Charming, and no storybook fairytale has ever crossed paths with the building or extended its mercy to the patrons. That works just fine for you. You’re not here to find your happily ever after unless that happily ever after entails getting black out drunk and stumbling back home with a few new bruises and someone’s blood between your knuckles. 

Afficher davantage

SWEET

This is my copium. Bite me.

Its just ice cream.

Shigaraki looks at you like a wet kitten. He isn't sure why he's acting like this is the strangest thing to ever happen to him. You offered him a bite of your ice cream that you happily scarfed down laying in his lap while he idly farmed away in Breath of the Wild.

He looks at the spoon, then at you. When you offer him a puzzled expression and ask if he doesnt like the flavor he doesn't exactly know what to say. Does he like the flavor? Is he expecting you to share spoons? Why do you eat ice cream with a big spoon? The small spoon is superior...

"I've never had ice cream before." he realizes he's speaking now. He wasn't supposed to say that out loud, it was supposed to be a quiet realization to himself that he had never had something like that before.

You make a face at that, and he knows its not a good face. You're upset with him? He's still not good at understanding your feelings and all of the faces you make, but he's trying. Even so, he can't understand what he's done to make you upset with him. But as if reading his mind, you simply say "thats so sad... I hate your sensei."

Oh. You aren't upset with him. You're upset because master never let him indulge in sweet treats. He wants to argue that he's never deserved them before, but recently you've been making him feel like he's worth it, and like he's not a dangerous return investment. You make him feel wanted, and as if hes the only one in the world worthy of your gaze, and you make him question everything he's ever known.

So cautiously, he opens his mouth and takes a small bite from your spoon. It tastes like... orange and vanilla... Its so cold. But the smile you give him when you see him eat it makes him feel so warm he doesn't even realize hes opening his mouth for you to give him another spoonful, and another after that.

Shigaraki gets his first brainfreeze after trying to eat the whole pint in one go. Your laugh makes it all worth it though, and he realizes he loves orange and vanilla. He realizes he loves this moment with you, its soft and quiet. The only sounds being satisfied hums and background music from Breath of the Wild. Its a domesticity he hasn't ever had in his life and he never wants to let it go, he wants to feel this peace with you again and again. He wants to taste all the ice cream and all the sweet treats he was never able to indulge in before.

But for now, he simply kisses your cold, soft lips. Because you're still sweeter than anything Sensei could've possibly tried to keep from him.

Enough to Go By (Chapter 12) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

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

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Chapter 12

Saintess.

You look down at Kazuo’s one-word text, your stomach twisting. You’ve got no idea where he got that name, or what question he was ordered to ask that led him to it. You text back. Is that even a real word?

The question was whether the League of Villains has allies beyond those who were present at Kamino. Kazuo texts back slowly. Too slowly. The typing bubble seems to hover forever. I was unable to give them any more information about the villain known as Saintess.

Kazuo’s careful with his words. If he framed the question that way, then your name would be excluded – even though you pal around with villains, even though you’re the girlfriend of the League’s ringleader, you haven’t committed a crime. The word ‘villain’ wouldn’t apply to you, which means you’re safe. Thank you.

We need to talk in person. Tonight.

Why?

I’ll meet you after work.

Meeting you after work means he’s coming to your workplace, after work. Whatever this is, it’s important. And it’s going to clash with one of your other plans, which is also important – and a lot harder to get out of. You hate yourself as you ask the question. How long will it take?

As long as it needs to. Kazuo doesn’t really get irritated anymore, but you can remember what it used to feel like when you pissed him off. Do you have somewhere to be?

You do, actually. Tenko is supposed to negotiate with Overhaul tonight, and he wants you to be there with him. Overhaul wants you there, too – when you listened in on the phone call, you heard him mention “the one in grey” specifically. What is this about?

The Shie Hassaikai.

Shit. Hold on.

You turn to nudge Tenko awake and find him watching you through half-lidded eyes. He doesn’t sleep much, but when he does, he sleeps like a log. He barely stirred when your alarm went off. “Who are you talking to?”

“My friend Kazuo.” You brace yourself. “I can’t go with you to meet Overhaul. I have to meet him instead.”

Tenko doesn’t look happy, and he’s still half-asleep. It’s going to get worse. “You have to go with me. He asked for you specifically. If you don’t go, he’ll suspect something.”

“Tell him we can’t tonight,” you say. “Even if we’re supposed to be allies, we shouldn’t jump just because he says so. That looks suspicious, too.”

“Maybe.” Tenko looks like he’s considering it for a second. Then he shakes his head. “Tell your friend you can’t.”

“I can’t do that. I have to meet him.”

Tenko’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

“He has a quirk called Search Engine. He works for the HPSC gathering intel.” You try to figure out a good way to phrase it, then realize there isn’t one. “He knows about you and me.”

“And he’s a hero?”

“Not exactly.” You wonder if there’s anything else Tenko needs to know. “It’s not relevant, but I dated him in high school.”

“What?” Tenko looks like he’s going to blow a fuse. You’re pretty sure the structural integrity of everything he’s touching is in danger at the moment, regardless of the gloves. “He’s blackmailing you. That’s why you have to go. I’ll kill him.”

“He’s not blackmailing me.” You can’t let Tenko meet Kazuo. You can’t let anything happen to your old friends because of your new ones. “He’s been telling me how to stay clear of his searches. This morning he texted me to let me know that my code name popped up, but nothing else.”

“He’s a hero, but he’s helping you,” Tenko repeats. His expression darkens. “He likes you. That’s why. Do you like him?”

“He’s my friend,” you say, exasperated. “Half the reason I dated him because he reminded me of you.”

Tenko coughs. “What?”

You decide to pretend you didn’t say that. You unlock your phone and show Tenko the conversation in question. “He has information about Overhaul. We need that. Before we meet him?”

“Why would he know you needed information about Overhaul? What does his quirk do?”

“Search Engine – it lets him find the answer to any question he asks,” you say. Tenko looks – well, you’re not sure how to classify that expression. Somewhere between skeptical, pissed, and panicked. Whatever it is, it’s uncomfortable. “The problem is that it’s hard to come up with a query that excludes every answer except the one you’re looking for. And all that information comes in at the same time, so it’s hard to sort through. He –”

You trail off, trying to figure out how to explain. “He went to UA, but they pushed him too hard. His mind broke down and he dropped out, but the HPSC conscripted him to help find you. And since I’m with you, and I’m his friend, he’s helping me avoid getting caught.”

“Which means helping me, too.” Tenko looks really skeptical now. “I don’t buy it. No hero would help you if it meant helping me at the same time.”

“He’s not a hero,” you say. “The heroic system ruined his life.”

That seems to land a little better with Tenko than your previous explanations. He hands your phone back to you. “So he knows something about the Hassaikai that he wants to tell you,” he says. You nod. “And the stuff he’s told you before has been useful.”

You nod again. “Then I’ll tell Overhaul to shove it,” Tenko decides. A smirk crosses his faith at the thought. “We’ll meet him tomorrow instead. He’s not the only ally we’re considering. He can wait his fucking turn.”

You text Kazuo back, confirming the meetup while Tenko reads over your shoulder. At first he’s just looking. Then his chin notches against your shoulder, his arms wrapping around your waist. He’s wearing the gloves he went to bed in, and you let him rustle around for a few moments, getting so close he’s practically glued to your back. That’s going to be a problem in a few minutes. You have to go to work. But at the same time, you aren’t ready to go just yet. Lately you only feel normal when you’re with him.

“That guy,” Tenko says after a minute or so. “Did you really date him because he reminded you of me?”

“I was always going to be friends with him, but he made me think of you, and that’s part of why I dated him.” It’s embarrassing to admit this. You don’t like thinking about how much of your life has been marked by losing Tenko. “He was what I imagined you’d be like. If nothing had changed.”

You hadn’t realized that there was something else to it at first. Kazuo was brilliant, and he was funny, and he was kind. Half the girls in your class had a crush on him, but he wound up with you, because you made sure you were there. If there was something he needed, you had it. If he needed a partner for an assignment, you were right there, on top of everything, ready to pitch in and make sure his ideas shone. If he wanted to talk, you dropped everything to listen. You weren’t playing a part; more auditioning for one. The job of Kazuo’s sidekick, in theory. In practice, his girlfriend.

He was your second boyfriend. Your first one was an asshole who cheated on you with Mitsuko, who dropped him when she found out and made you drop him, too. That was how the two of you met, and you’re still amazed that the two of you are friends rather than mortal enemies. Kazuo was different than that, almost perfect, a version of Tenko all grown up, without the scratching and the father who shouted and a heroic quirk. You know he loved you, and you were close even after the two of you broke up, until UA pushed his quirk past its limit. And you loved him, too, in a way that was probably healthier than the way you – feel – for Tenko. Like Kazuo said, all those months ago: He never tried to kill you. And you’d never step in front of a bullet for him.

“What I would have been like,” Tenko repeats. “You must have been disappointed when you saw how I turned out.”

You elbow him lightly. “What part of me chasing you down the street said ‘I’m disappointed’? Don’t be dumb.”

“Don’t fall in love with any more heroes, then.” Tenko lifts your phone out of your hands, drops it somewhere in the blankets on the bed, and pulls you back down with him. “I already locked it down.”

He’s kissing you, one of his hands flirting with the edge of your shirt, slipping beneath it. You touch the screen of your phone and wince when you see what time it is. “I have to go.”

“It won’t take long.” Tenko’s hand slides all the way under your shirt. “I know what you like now. I’ll be fast.”

He’s probably underestimating how much time it takes for you to get fully turned on, but then again, it feels different with him. And it’s not something you want to get into before work. “I bet I can be faster.”

“Huh? You can after I –”

You twist out of Tenko’s arms and push him onto his back. He was already half-hard when he was holding you. By the time you disappear under the blankets, there’s a noticeable tent in his sweatpants. You haven’t asked if he’s okay with this, but when you catch the waistband of his pants, he lifts his hips to let you pull them down. His voice is raspy when he says your name, and before you can ask for his consent more directly, his legs shift apart, making more room for you between them. That strikes you as an invitation. You get settled a little more comfortably, although you’re not expecting to stay here for long, before you lean in to drag your tongue across the tip of his cock.

Tenko’s hips jerk. “Hold still,” you say. “Or I stop.”

“Why do I have to hold still?” Tenko freezes anyway, and you almost laugh. “It’s not fair.”

“I said I was going to be fast. I need your help. You can help by holding still.”

“So you’ll stop if I don’t.”

“Let me think.” While you’re thinking, you lick the tip of his cock again, and this time, Tenko stays still. You reward him with a kiss, and slowly open your mouth, tasting him for a long moment before pulling away to speak. “I guess if you don’t hold still, I’ll have to hold you down.”

His hips jerk again. You feel the muscles in his thighs go tense. Is that an idea he likes? You were just being playful, flirty, but suddenly your head is full of the idea of pinning Tenko’s hips to the bed and teasing him until he can’t take it any longer. You don’t get the sense that it would take very long, so you carefully shift your weight, to the tune of a sharp intake of breath from the head of the bed. Suddenly the sheet shifts back, and you glance up to find Tenko propped up on his elbows and staring down at you with glassy eyes. He wants to watch you suck his cock. That’s fine with you.

Unlike the first time you touched him, Tenko keeps his hands to himself. They’re curled into fists at his sides – no, grasping at the sheets – no, grabbing a fistful of his pillow and holding on tight. You keep your attention focused on the tip of his cock, since you’re not confident in your ability to suppress your own gag reflex, and you really don’t want to ruin Tenko’s first blowjob ever. But you’re not going to say it isn’t tempting. Every time you glance upwards, he’s a little more undone.

You’re just considering whether it’s worth a shot when Tenko’s mouth opens and a plea spills out. “I need it. I need you.”

He needs you. You wonder if something so simply can really be the magic words, the thing that takes you from unsure to dead certain, but you’re already taking him further into your mouth, your tongue flat against the underside of his cock as you breathe through your nose. Tenko shudders, gasps so sharply that could almost be a whine. You struggle to think of a way to signal your approval and finally settle on running your thumb over the exposed crest of his hip. You had one hand free when you started; now you have two, because you’ve taken his cock so far into your mouth that there’s no room left for your hand.

With Tenko’s hips held down, there’s no risk that he’ll thrust and trigger your gag reflex. You draw back partially, then sink down again, far enough that the tip of your nose brushes the coarse dark hair at his groin. The thought crosses your mind of how disastrous it would be to sneeze right now, and shortly afterward, you discover how difficult it is to laugh with a cock in your mouth. Your throat convulses as you struggle to hold it back, and Tenko moans, so loud and desperate that your face flushes and head floods through you.

You’re not laughing anymore. You draw back and sink down again and again, trying to keep the motion as smooth and effortless as possible, and Tenko’s body seizes beneath you. His back arches, and he stammers out something like a warning. It’s late. You’re not a fan of the way cum tastes – you haven’t met anyone who is except Yoshimi, and you think she’s probably lying about that – but you find that you don’t mind so much when it’s Tenko’s. There are a lot of things you don’t mind so much when it’s him.

You pull away once he begins to go soft, then duck back in to kiss the spot on his hip you were running your thumb over. He doesn’t make any move to pull his sweatpants back up, so you do it for him, and you take the opportunity to look him over. You thought he was just worn out. Now you think he might be passed out. “Are you okay?”

One hand catches you by the front of your pajama shirt and yanks you down for a kiss. You try to hit the brakes – kissing after a blowjob is iffy, and you’re not sure if Tenko knows that – but he won’t let you, and your lips crash together hard. He speaks without letting you pull away. “You just sucked my soul out through my dick. Of course I’m okay.”

“I think those two statements contradict each other.”

“I don’t care.” Tenko’s other hand comes up, landing half on your hip, half on your ass. “My turn now.”

“No.” You pull away and scramble out of bed. “Maybe later. I have to go to work.”

“Maybe later?” Tenko looks affronted, or he would if he wasn’t struggling to keep his eyes open. “What? Do you think I’d be bad at it?”

“I don’t think that. I just have to go to work. And you need to go back to sleep.” You’re pretty sure his soul’s still attached, but you definitely sapped most of his energy. Not enough to stop him from pouting, though. “Definitely later. Is that better?”

“No.” Tenko yawns. “But I’ll take it.”

He lets you go, already half-asleep as you pull your hand free, and you head to the bathroom to brush your teeth, noting an odd spring in your step. You haven’t felt this good waking up in a while. Maybe you should start the day like this more often.

Nobody else is awake when you head out to the living room and kitchen, which isn’t a surprise. Compress has been sleeping a lot, which is good – an injury like his requires extra rest. Twice goes to bed early, like an old man, according to one of his two personalities. Toga stayed up late. So did Spinner, and so did Dabi. Dabi’s the only one who stirs when you start picking through the kitchen for breakfast. “If you’re gonna fuck him before seven am, tape his mouth shut first.”

Half of you cringes at the thought that Tenko was audible from the living room. The other half, though – “Nobody made you listen.”

“Kinky. Maybe we should change your code name, Saintess.”

“If you think that’s kinky, you really need to educate yourself.”

You probably would have thought not caring if someone was eavesdropping was kinky back in the day, but then you met Mitsuko. She and Dabi would probably hate each other. Then again, Mitsuko’s not above a bout of hatefucking. Maybe that would be good for her. Speaking from personal experience, there’s nothing like getting intimate with a villain to exorcise some of your hatred of heroes.

It doesn’t matter, because there’s no way you’re introducing your friends to the League. The fact that Kazuo knows is bad enough. You make tea, pick through the kitchen for something to eat on the walk to work, and put on your shoes. It occurs to you that you should probably say something Dabi, because he’s awake, but you can’t figure out what it should be. “Um, have a good day.”

His response comes back dripping with condescension. “You have a good day too, Saintess.”

You lock the door, struggling to suppress an eyeroll. He’ll probably give Tenko a hard time once Tenko wakes up, but hopefully the blowjob high will insulate Tenko from caring about it too much. That’s not the only thing you’re hoping it’ll insulate Tenko from. At some point today he’s going to remember that you’re meeting up with your hero-adjacent ex-boyfriend after work, and the less time he spends thinking about that, the better.

You’re worried work will drag, but it speeds past, keeping you busy enough that you don’t worry too much about the fact that the League is still holed up in your apartment. Kurogiri’s looking for another potential hideout, but you don’t get the sense that any of them are in a particular hurry to leave. After all, your place is a guaranteed roof over their heads, a source of running water, a source of internet access, and a semi-comfortable place to sleep, more comfortable now that you’ve invested in an air mattress that sleeps two. You wouldn’t want to leave, if you were them.

You’re not sure you want them to, either. When you’re with them, you don’t have to lie to anybody about what you’re doing. When you’re with them, you’re not worried about being found out. When you’re with them, you’re with Tenko, and you – like him. You like him so much that you stepped in front of a bullet for him and gave him head with absolutely zero prompting. You’re not sure which of those is more out of character for you.

Your last patient of the day has a weird injury, weird in that even when you rack your brain, you can’t think what could have possibly caused it. It seems like his hand’s been degloved completely, then flipped inside out, with veins and muscles and layers of fat on the surface and skin enfolding his bones. “This was a quirk,” you say, once you’ve clenched your jaw and concealed the surprise. The patient nods. “What happened?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s not our policy to ask questions like that,” you say. The patient shrugs. He’s not the most talkative, which is fine. You get his permission and take some pictures, getting as many views of it as you can, before you render a potential treatment plan. “I’m going to call a doctor to look at this, but based on what I’m seeing, this is a hospital matter. We’ll most likely prescribe you some painkillers for the trip and wrap this up to prevent any more exposure to bacteria. Do you have any questions?”

“Are you sure you can’t fix it here?” The patient’s expression says he doesn’t want anything to do with the hospital, which isn’t a surprise, but you’re fairly sure the doctor will be able to talk him into it. “They fixed whatever’s wrong with your hand, right?”

You glance at your bandaged hand, surprised. You’re still covering the scratches Tenko left, just because the scabs keep cracking. “That’s different. Mine are superficial. Yours is – just sit tight. I’ll grab the doctor and she can explain.”

The doctor on call is on break, and not happy to be interrupted. “Sorry,” you say. “The patient in Exam 3 – his hand’s turned inside out. He doesn’t want to go to the hospital, but –”

“What do you mean, turned inside out?”

“I mean, the muscles and blood vessels are on the outside,” you say. The doctor’s eyes widen. “He might need emergency surgery to keep the hand, and it’s probably infected already. I can’t talk him into going to the hospital. I’m just a nurse. Maybe if you explain –”

The doctor sets her bento aside and gets to her feet. “Did he say how it happened?”

“It was a quirk,” you say. “I took photos already. I’ll add them to our database while you talk to him.”

“Name, age, quirk.”

“He didn’t give a name. Early thirties. Quirk – I don’t know what it’s called, but his hair looks like arrows.” Sometimes quirks are easy for you to guess. Sometimes not. “He’s a little guarded, but he came here for help. That counts for something, right?”

The doctor nods. “Upload the photos. I’ll go talk to him.”

You added the photos to the clinic’s shared drive already, and you steal the doctor’s chair to upload them to the database that covers all the clinics in the network. Keeping a database of quirk-related injuries helps identify trends, develop treatment protocols, and tailor supply and personnel distribution. If a lot of burn injuries are showing up at a particular clinic, it’s helpful to be able to supply that clinic properly. But you’ve never seen an injury like this before, and when you add the photos to the ‘open wounds’ folder in the database, you realize that no one else has, either. There’s nothing even remotely close. What kind of quirk could do this?

You’re puzzling over it, wondering if it’s worth querying public records over, when you hear a door open and shut down the hallway. At first you think it’s the doctor coming back. Then you hear the exit door at the far end of the hallway open and shut, too, and thirty seconds later, you realize that something’s wrong.

You race down the hall, skidding into Exam 3, and find the doctor sprawled out on the ground, conscious and aware and bleeding from a superficial scrape in her upper arm – but not moving. “What happened?”

She tries to answer you, but she’s speaking with agonizing slowness, almost completely unintelligible even when you try to read her lips. You hurry forward, checking her respiration and heart rate, horrified to find at least thirty seconds passing between each beat of her heart. What is this? How is she still alive? The first answer is clear: A quirk. Your patient’s quirk, which you didn’t ask about, because it’s policy not to ask. The second answer’s in doubt, and although it’s never happened while you’ve been on shift in three and a half years of working at the clinic, you know what protocol mandates when a staff member is attacked.

You press the panic button taped to the underside of the desk – why didn’t the doctor go for it? – triggering a clinic-wide alert and placing an automatic call to the emergency line. Then you turn your attention back to the doctor, the doctor you sent in here alone, checking for pupil movement, for pallor, for anything to tell you whether you need to call a code along with the alert.

Emergency services get there before law enforcement’s even left the station, and because you had contact with the attacker, too, you’re sent along in the ambulance to Yokohama General. You spend the entire way there trying to stay out of the EMTs’ way and trying to apologize to the doctor before letting this happen, until one of the EMTs tells you to can it. “If you’d known, you wouldn’t have sent anyone, but you didn’t. Put the blame where it belongs.”

That’s hard to do. Lately you’ve been so used to placing the blame on yourself that it’s turning into your default position, but this time, it really isn’t your fault. You never would have sent the doctor to check on the patient if there’d been any indication that he was dangerous. You didn’t know. That’s all.

At Yokohama General, the doctor’s whisked up to intensive care, while you’re held back in the emergency room. You’re not sure what they’re looking for – you touched the patient while you were unwrapping the bandage he’d tied around the wound, and nothing happened to you – but you hang out in an exam room anyway, with nothing to do but nap behind a curtain and text Kazuo. Might be late. Somebody attacked a doctor at work and I’m at the hospital.

“I know.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. The curtain peels back and reveals Kazuo standing there, wearing a pair of glasses and a suit jacket over his usual white shirt and slacks. The man standing next to him is wearing a suit and a pair of glasses, too – but his suit is grey, and his hair is green with streaks of yellow, and –

Sir Nighteye. You shrink back in horror, and the third member of the trio, a blue-skinned woman with a mask over her face, pipes up in a hurry. “Don’t worry, we’re here to help! Sir is very friendly! He loves to laugh!”

Sir Nighteye glances briefly at you, then looks to Kazuo. “Is this your friend?”

“I would give her space,” Kazuo says. “She was attacked on her way home last year, and was a first responder to the incident at Kamino Ward. Therapy for these traumatic experiences has not progressed as far as those who care for her might have hoped.”

You give Kazuo a dirty look, which he ignores. “I see,” Sir Nighteye says, and takes a notable step back. “I understand you had contact with the individual who attacked your coworker.”

“Yes. I examined him.” You wonder how Nighteye’s quirk works. How long it works for, and if he uses on you, how far ahead in your life he’ll be able to see. “If I had known what he was going to do –”

“That wouldn’t have been possible,” Nighteye interrupts. Maybe it’s eye contact. You bow your head. “Describe the injury to me.”

“Um –” The word that comes to mind is ‘horrific’, but after what you’ve seen over the last few months, your bar for horrific is pretty high. “It looked like his hand had been turned inside out. Skin on the inside, veins on the outside.”

“I see. Did it appear to be clean?”

“What?”

“The separation of the skin on his hand from his wrist,” Sir Nighteye says, impatient. “Was it jagged or clean?”

“Oh.” You think of the photos you took. “Jagged.”

“But the skin was otherwise intact?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” Nighteye says again. What does he see? You need to know. You need to know if you can go home tonight, or if you have to stay as far away from Tenko and the others as possible to keep them safe. “You’ve been working there for three and a half years. Have you seen an injury of that type before?”

“No,” you say. “Not in our database, either. He said it was caused by a quirk, but our protocols don’t allow us to ask more than that.”

“Kiyohara.” Nighteye doesn’t say more than Kazuo’s family name, but it’s clear what he wants. “Now.”

Kazuo’s hesitating, and you know why. “That question is too broad,” you say to Nighteye. Nighteye pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger, eyebrows raised. “It has to be more specific, or the information influx will risk overloading his brain. Since you don’t care about his health, maybe you’ll care about the fact that he won’t be useful at all after a grand mal seizure.”

You haven’t blown up on a hero, ever. Suddenly you get why Mitsuko’s been doing it. It feels good, and Nighteye, unlike the sidekicks, doesn’t rise to the bait. “Is that so?” he asks Kazuo. Kazuo nods. “We’ll secure as much information as possible before you make the query. As of now, you’re off-duty. And you’re free to go.”

That last is to you, but a warning look from Kazuo keeps you seated on the bed until Nighteye and his sidekick are gone. You open your mouth and he holds up his hand. It pisses you off. “Don’t shush me. What was that about?”

“Not here. Outside.”

You grit your teeth and follow Kazuo out through the emergency room and onto the street. It’s dark, and with autumn well on its way, the wind whipping between the buildings is cold. You follow Kazuo for two blocks, then into a park, before he stops walking and turns to face you. “You shouldn’t have spoken up. I told you – you can’t save both of us.”

“So I was supposed to just sit there while he made you overload your quirk?” You’re already out of patience. “No. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“The Nighteye agency is investigating the Shie Hassaikai,” Kazuo says. Your jaw drops. “They’ve enlisted the help of dozens of unaffiliated heroes. It’s the largest operation any hero has conducted since Kamino, and it will be far better planned than Kamino was. Sir Nighteye won’t act until he’s certain of victory.”

“Why are they investigating the Hassaikai?” you choke out. “Is it because of –”

“Your friend’s involvement is tangential. They aren’t after him this time.” Kazuo’s hand rises to his temple, and you catch it, pull it back down. You spend a lot of time dragging your friends’ hands away before they can hurt themselves. “Nighteye has been pursuing the Hassaikai since before Kamino. Their investigation is related to the distribution of Trigger. You’re familiar?”

You nod. A solid thirty percent of your patients who show up in costume are showing up after experiencing the adverse effects of Trigger. The compound boosts quirk activation at the cost of everything else, and it’s one of those things you’ll never understand about people with quirks – that constant desire for more of it, more power, more everything. “The Hassaikai’s involved with that?”

“They’re distributing an inferior version of it,” Kazuo says. Tenko didn’t know that. You know he didn’t, because he would have told you. How much else doesn’t he know? “And lately they’ve been distributing something else as well. Bullets that erase quirks.”

“I know,” you say. Kazuo looks surprised. “It’s temporary, but they work.”

Compress’s quirk came back within twenty-four hours, but you know it’ll be a long time before anyone in the League forgets what happened in that warehouse. The bruise on your shoulder is fading, but the creepy red lines haven’t. “Nighteye believes that Chisaki is pursuing a more permanent version of the quirk-erasing bullets, and doing so through less than ethical means,” Kazuo says. “Every use of my quirk in the last six weeks has been related to this investigation. Your new name came up in my queries because you crossed paths with Chisaki once. If you, personally, aid him in any way, you’ll become one of the investigation’s targets. So will your friend.”

Chisaki must be Overhaul’s family name. You wonder if he’s got a family. “I don’t think we’re planning to help him,” you say, and see Kazuo’s eyebrows lift. “He killed one of us and maimed another one. That’s not forgivable.”

“Indeed.” Kazuo sits down on a bench, and so do you. It’s quiet for a little while. “So. Saintess.”

“I didn’t pick it.”

“I know,” Kazuo says. Of course he does. “I’d have advised you to choose a name soon regardless. As this escalates, you’ll need to shield your true identity.”

“So I won’t go to jail,” you clarify.

“So you won’t be killed,” Kazuo says. You stare at him. “I’m aware of the – position – you hold in your friend’s organization. If his enemies believe they can use you against him, they will do it, and since targeting you when you’re with him will be difficult, they’ll do it when you’re alone, as a civilian. My query indicated that you haven’t been found out, but today was a very near miss.”

That should make sense to you. You force yourself to think. Why would the Nighteye agency care about an attack in a free clinic on the rough side of Yokohama? They wouldn’t, unless – “Was that guy one of the Hassaikai?”

“Sir Nighteye suspects he is. He won’t know for sure until I search,” Kazuo says. His phone buzzes. He checks it and sighs. “My parameters are in. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Kazuo –” You don’t know what to say, and he’s already getting to his feet. “Why are you helping me so much? You could get in trouble.”

“I don’t care about that,” Kazuo says. He barely cares about anything anymore. Seeing the apathy overtake him for the past three years has been agonizing. “The world your friend wishes to create, a world without heroes, is a world where this would not have happened to me. It’s too late for me, but there are others who could be spared.”

You look at him, feeling your throat tighten and your eyes burn. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you,” Kazuo says, for the third time today, over his shoulder as he starts the walk back to Yokohama General, “you can’t save us both.”

You’ve always thought he meant himself and Tenko when he said that. Now you wonder if he means himself and you. You wonder what saving either of you would mean. And you wonder if it’s too late for you already.

Your phone buzzes, and you look at it. It’s the new group chat, the one you made because you couldn’t face the thought of never seeing Sho or Hirono’s phone numbers pop up again. Mitsuko’s texting you. And Ryuhei. Quit being a stranger. Come hang with us.

Tenko and the others are already expecting you to be out tonight, and you never said how long you’d be gone. Where are you?

Look up.

You look up, and sure enough, your friends are strolling towards you. “Kazuo dropped a pin,” Ryuhei calls once he’s in earshot. “We never see you anymore.”

It’s been a while since you saw Ryuhei, but Mitsuko? “We saw each other five days ago, Mitsu.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t exactly fun. And you had to run off to your stupid job.” Mitsuko rolls her eyes. “Come on. Let’s go out. I swear I won’t get wasted and spit on any more sidekicks.”

“And no peeing on the All Might statue.”

“Fine.” Mitsuko heaves a dramatic sigh, while Ryuhei cracks up. “Drinks first.”

“Drinks,” Ryuhei agrees. “I found a maid bar, and they’ll treat me like a creep if I go in there alone.”

You’re pretty sure the three of you together look weirder strolling into a maid bar than Ryuhei would have by himself, but nobody who works there comments on it, and they’re nicer to you than you expected them to be. One of them knows you – she’s one of the people who uses the clinic as a primary care provider, so you’ve seen her a few times a year for the past three years. She cracks a joke about how Ryuhei would look better in a maid costume than she would, which leads directly into Mitsuko bullying him into trying on the headpiece of one of the costumes. You take a picture before you can stop yourself and drop it in the group chat. Kazuo’s busy, but now there’s a record, and you’re pretty sure it’ll make Yoshimi laugh.

You’ve been most comfortable with Tenko and the League lately, but it’s nice to have a night out with your friends, too – one that’s not complicated by your involvement with your childhood best friend turned boyfriend, who probably fits the criteria of a domestic terrorist and who’s been living in your apartment on and off for the past six weeks with his gang of domestic terrorist friends. Mitsuko and Ryuhei are the most irreverent of your group, and they live the closest to the edge. Ryuhei has a record that isn’t his fault – his quirk is entirely unconscious, and when a sidekick launched a quirk-based attack at him while he was running away from a building he’d graffitied, he couldn’t stop himself from reflecting it back. Mitsuko doesn’t have a record, but the cops in Yokohama know her too well to ever give her the benefit of the doubt again. They might have the privilege of having quirks, but you’ve always been able to complain with them in a way that you haven’t with the others.

After the maid café, you find yourselves at karaoke. You collectively suck at karaoke. Ryuhei’s got the best voice, but his enunciation is the first thing to go when he’s drunk, and you can’t listen to him slurring his way through a song without laughing. Mitsuko is tone-deaf, but makes up for it with enthusiastic dance moves, and there’s absolutely nothing about your performances that stands out. You’re such a nonevent at karaoke that Sho used to fall asleep when it was your turn to sing.

It should be fun. It used to be fun. But you’ve lost two friends now. One of your friends is sick, while another’s being forced into work that could snap his mind in two. Mitsuko isn’t okay; you’re not okay. Ryuhei isn’t, either, and when the three of you are alone and you run out of things to talk about, there’s no point in pretending otherwise.

“Everything sucks now,” Ryuhei says in a break between songs. “Not just since they died. For a while.”

“It sucked the whole time. We just didn’t admit it.” Mitsuko is facedown in one of the pillows on the couch. Her voice is muffled. “It was always bullshit. When they were here, it was easier not to think about it.”

“I miss them,” you say. Your voice wavers, but only once. “I wish they were here.”

“Yeah. They should be here, and those heroes shouldn’t.” Ryuhei’s words are slurred, but he’s getting his point across just fine. “If they’re so great, how come nine hundred people died on their watch?”

They sound like Tenko. He’d be happy to hear this, and like you’ve summoned him just by thinking of him, your phone pings with a text from the burner phone Tenko’s been using to call people – Kurogiri, Overhaul, and you. When are you coming back?

I’ll be back tonight.

When?

Can’t he just trust you? You’re about to text back that you’ll be home when you’re done when Mitsuko scoops the phone out of your hands. “Your new boyfriend’s kind of clingy, huh?”

“No,” you say. Part of you gets a stupid little thrill out of admitting that Tenko’s your boyfriend. “Not clingy. He knows I was meeting Kazuo tonight.”

Mitsuko makes an error sound. “Bad move. Telling the new boy about the former boy makes the new boy insecure.”

“No –”

“Especially if the first guy is Kazuo,” Ryuhei says. “Fucking hell. If I was dating his ex and she went out to meet him – and she didn’t tell me when she was coming back – I’d probably shit a brick.”

“Thanks. I really could have done without that picture in my head.” Even as you return fire, you’re wondering if they’ve got a point. If it’s not just that Kazuo’s working for the heroes. If any part of it is that Tenko’s jealous of the guy you dated before him. “What should I do?”

Mitsuko’s still holding your phone, and to your horror, she sends a text. This is Mitsu. Your girlfriend’s not banging her ex, she’s hanging with us. Chill out.

Tenko texts back immediately. Two words. Prove it.

“He wants proof,” Mitsuko announces. “Selfie time! Look cute.”

You can’t manage looking cute. You’re too stressed to look cute, and too distracted by the stupid faces your friends are making. Mitsuko snaps a photo and sends it off, followed by a text. Your turn.

For what?

To prove you’re not banging your ex right now.

You cringe. “He doesn’t have any exes.”

“Aww, you’re his first? No wonder he’s acting like such a freak.” Mitsuko snickers. “It’s fine, anyway. We already know what he looks like.”

Something about that strikes you as odd, but before you can ask, Ryuhei pulls a phone out of his pocket. Not his. This one has a cracked screen and a case with an Endeavor pinup card taped to the back, and all at once there’s a lump in your throat. “Is that Hiro’s?”

“Yeah. They released her personal effects, fucking finally. I was her emergency contact, so I got them.” Mitsuko takes the phone from Ryuhei, your phone forgotten even as it pings again. “You know she was conscious under there?”

Your stomach clenches. “No.”

“Like the whole time. When I unlocked it, there were a whole bunch of undelivered messages, to all of us. I guess the wreckage blocked the signal.” Mitsuko’s voice is flat. Her eyes are filling with tears. “She recorded a message for us. Here.”

You don’t want to listen. You don’t want to see. Not when you had something to do with the disaster that killed her, not when it’s partially your fault. The screen is black, but you can hear Hirono’s voice, rough and choked with dust and tears as she tells all of you that she loves you, that she hated waking up most mornings except that you all made her stupid life worth living. No jokes about Endeavor. No picking on you for being boring or Mitsuru for being a simp for his latest girlfriend or Mitsuko for whatever item of clothing she bought that Hirono hates. Just Hiro saying she loves you. And Hiro saying goodbye.

You’re crying by the end of it, messy, stupid tears. Ryuhei’s teared up, too, but unlike you, he’s still able to talk. “That was the last audio clip,” he says. “There were a bunch of others. While she was trying to grab the phone, I guess. The first one was really interesting.”

He presses play on it, and you know instantly what it’s recording: The fight between All Might and All For One, audio that the news helicopters couldn’t have picked up, audio that would have been suppressed if anyone had gotten ahold of it. All For One is taunting All Might over his failures, mocking him for his ideals, the same words you can imagine Tenko using but with thousands of times more glee. And then you hear it, All For One’s voice chilling your blood even through a recording: “There is one thing you might be interested to know. Shigaraki Tomura, my apprentice? He was once known as Shimura Tenko – your beloved master’s grandson!”

You freeze in place. “That name sounded kind of familiar,” Ryuhei says, after he’s hit pause. “We couldn’t figure out why at first. Yoshimi was the one who got it. Shimura Tenko was your friend. The one who went missing.”

“We all told you he was dead, but you were right and we were wrong.” Mitsuko sprawls out on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “We figured there couldn’t be two, so we checked with Kazuo, and then we asked if we should tell you. If it wouldn’t be too hard on you with everything else going on. You know what he said?”

You can guess. “He said, What makes you think she doesn’t know?” Ryuhei mimics Kazuo’s frozen voice. “And then it all made sense. Why you’ve been acting so weird. Why you haven’t been around. Where you got that weird scar on your wrist –”

“And that bite mark on your neck,” Mitsuko adds, and your hand flies up to cover it even though it’s long gone. She waves your phone at you, the screen lit up with texts from Tenko. “I’m texting Shigaraki Tomura right now, aren’t I?”

You could lie. You need to lie. But even as you’re stammering through the first sentence of your denial, you know it’s too late. Your friends know. Kazuo as good as told them. And in some weird way, you’re relieved. You don’t have to lie any more. You can let it go. So you stop talking, except for one sentence. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Are you kidding me? We don’t want to rat you out,” Ryuhei says. “We want in.”

You stare at him. “We want to meet him first,” Mitsuko says. “Since you’ve been hung up on him since you were a toddler and your judgment with guys isn’t usually garbage –”

“But we want in,” Ryuhei interrupts. “Like we said. It’s been bullshit for a long time. At least your psycho boyfriend is doing something about it.”

“So?” Mitsuko looks at you expectantly. “When do we meet him?”

Your phone pings again, and again – and then it starts ringing. Mitsuko holds it out to you, and you answer the call. “My friends want to meet you.”

“I’m not jealous,” Tenko says. Someone guffaws in the background. “I’m not. I thought someone had – when are you getting back? It’s –”

“My friends want to meet you,” you say again. “Do you want to meet them?”

“They want to meet me,” Tomura repeats. He sounds just as confused as you feel. “Like, me, or –?”

“They know. I didn’t tell them, they guessed.”

“We want in,” Ryuhei says loudly, and you jump. “Do we have to audition or something? I’ve got a record.”

“I’d have one if I hadn’t blown my arresting officer,” Mitsuko adds from your other side, and someone on the other end of the line – probably Spinner – breaks out in a coughing fit. “So?”

Tomura’s quiet for a second. “In a few days,” he says. Ryuhei digs an excited elbow into your side. “Tell them they’d better know exactly what “in” means for them.”

“I’ll tell them,” you say. He’s stressed. You can tell. This is your fault. “Sorry.”

“Don’t. When are you coming back?”

“Soon,” you say. “I promise. I –”

Whatever you were going to say gets drowned out by Mitsuko making incredibly loud kissing sounds right next to the microphone. You hang up and shove her away, hard. Not that it bothers her. She’s cackling to herself. “He said yes?”

“In a few days. And you’d better know exactly what you mean when you say you’re in.”

“Nice!” Ryuhei gives you what’s probably a friendly punch in the arm, and you recoil with a hiss. He hit just above the impact point of Overhaul’s bullet. “Oh, sorry.”

Mitsuko has a weird look on her face now. You decide not to overreact to it. She might just be drunk. When Ryuhei hops up to go rent your karaoke booth for another hour, she turns to you. “Does he hurt you?”

“Who, Ryuhei?”

“No. Your boyfriend.” Mitsuko’s expression is serious, maybe more serious than you’ve ever seen it. “That thing on your wrist. I remember when your voice was fucked up, too. There’s more, right? Something’s up with your shoulder. Did he do that?”

You shake your head. You didn’t step in front of the bullet on Tenko’s orders. He was mad at you for doing it. “But he’s hurt you before,” Mitsuko says. You open your mouth and she talks right over you. “You’re going to say he didn’t mean to, right?”

But he didn’t. The first time, he didn’t remember you until it was almost too late. When he bit you, he didn’t realize how hard he was doing it, just like he didn’t realize he’d activated his quirk the first time you touched him. When his nails tore up the back of your hand, it was because you put your hand there. “He didn’t mean to,” you say. Mitsuko makes a derisive sound. “Don’t. I know him and you don’t. He didn’t mean to.”

“Just because he’s sorry doesn’t mean he didn’t mean it,” Mitsuko says. “I know guys like him. I know them better than you do.”

Guys like him. Magne said something like that, too. You didn’t try to talk her out of it, and you don’t try to talk Mitsuko out of it, either – just like you’ve given up trying to talk Tenko out of the lies his master told him for now. “You’ll meet him soon. You can make up your own mind.”

Ryuhei comes back, and you and Mitsuko shut up in unison. “We got another hour, but then they’re kicking us out,” he reports. “We got another few songs. Who wants to sing?”

You don’t to. Mitsuko does, though, and after two songs from her, Ryuhei commandeers the mic and forces you to sing. Like always, you’re boring enough to send at least one of your friends to sleep, and with Mitsuko passed out on the couch, you hand the mic back to Ryuhei. He’s in a good mood, at least partially because he’s drunk, but you’re most of the way to sober, and you can’t help feeling like you’ve screwed up. You wanted to keep your friends out of this, and they’re in. You’re this close to getting Kazuo in trouble, too. And you’ve let Tenko down. Again.

You text him, wondering if he’s still awake, hoping he isn’t. I’m sorry.

Don’t. We still need allies, and if you trust them, I can trust them, too. Tenko’s response comes back fast, and the weight of his trust knocks the air out of you. When are you coming home?

We’re leaving soon. I should be home in an hour or so.

Good. Tenko’s immediate response gives you that weird hit of normalcy again. It’s a normal conversation, the kind you’d be having if you’d grown up together and gotten together and moved in together, if nothing had gone wrong. I miss you.

I miss you too.

“Hey,” Ryuhei says, and you look up. “I’m putting on the performance of a lifetime here. You two aren’t even watching?”

“Sorry,” you say. Mitsuko sits up, then lies back down with her head in your lap. “Go for it.”

Ryuhei gets back to it, aiming slightly sulky looks your way, and you settle in. You keep your eyes on him, but your mind’s left the building. It’s already on the train, halfway back to your apartment, all the way back to your apartment, through the front door and home to your best friend.

My Hero Academia - The Ultra Stage | RAITA being adorable af as Tomura Shigaraki at the encore/curtain call, rehearsals and backstage (2/2)

more:

iida - 1 / 2 / 3

bakugo - 1 / 2

todoroki - 1 / 2

kirishima - 1

iidaroki/todoiida - 1 / 2

backstage - 1 / 2

shigaraki - 1