Sippin On A Smoothiezzzzzzzztomura Would Def Like A Sip

uwwwaaaaaa im digging my own grave of grief just b a r e l y skimming thru other blogs analysis of mha and how shit the wrap up was and im so heartbroken over tomura once more orz

#guilty

Baby boy, baby <3

@/Mhuyo

Wunderbar Walk out the Womb Minecraft Tomura Day*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

“A villain am I? When I demand loyalty from my minions I reward them with protection. My armies know I will provide for their widows. My workers are all well fed. The children will never know grown men chasing them away for being monsters. What has your king provided for your loyalty?”

haunted. - vampire!shigaraki x f!reader / part 3

In which you're down on your luck, taking the first job that will have you after being laid off from Endeavor Dynamics. There, you cross paths with a certain mysterious, red-eyed individual who seems to be harboring a secret, and (un)fortunately find yourself tangled in a web of obsession and danger you're not sure you can handle. Or stay away from.

cw: alcohol use, death, blood, gore, sexual content, mdni, not beta read

~7k words

part one part two

Three weeks.

It’s been three very long weeks of pretending, walking on eggshells, and avoiding. After Kai Chisaki almost made you the next name on his victims list, things have been… weird, to say the least. The group has more or less been avoiding you, besides Toga. If anything, she’s been more attached to you than she already was. The rest of them, though, seem to prefer pretending you don’t exist unless interaction is absolutely necessary.

You’d like to chalk it up to everyone being a little traumatized by what had almost happened to you on your first night on the job, but you know better. You haven’t outright confirmed it yet, but all the signs are there, and it’s not hard to guess they’ve all seen worse than a girl they hardly know almost getting kidnapped. More importantly, you know where their loyalties lie, and it sure as hell isn’t with you. 

Their loyalties lie with the red-eyed asshole who’s apparently decided he hates your guts. He’s avoided you like the plague throughout all the shifts you’ve worked since, either staying holed up in that mysterious back room upstairs, lingering in the shadows where he knows you won’t be, or just straight up glowering at you on the rare occasions you do happen to cross paths.

You’re not sure what exactly you did to warrant such disdain besides being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he thinks you’re more trouble than you’re worth, or maybe his little stunt in saving your life caused problems for him in the aftermath. That wouldn’t be surprising, considering what you’d seen on the news two days later.

“A prominent figure in Japan’s crime syndicate, Kai Chisaki, has been found deceased in Shinano River. While law enforcement has declined official comment to Juko News, we were able to discern from credible sources that his death was a homicide. His remains were spotted by a night fisherman around three in the morning on Saturday, October 17th. Investigators recovered his body and his arms, bafflingly separated from his torso, but have yet to find Chisaki’s hands. This gruesome act was likely carried out by a rival organization to the Yakuza, as the sheer brutality of the murder seems to indicate. Law enforcement encourages…”

You had stopped listening after that. The mental picture of the scene was more than enough.

So yeah, it’s not really a stretch to think he hates you because you’d been the catalyst for him fucking murdering and dismembering someone. You haven’t exactly confirmed that yet either, but you’d be the biggest idiot on the planet to not put two and two together on that one. Tomura is a killer. There’s blood on his hands, and for all you know, Chisaki wasn’t even his first. The brutality of how he’d done it makes you think he’s no stranger to violence. 

Tomura is a killer, a killer who loathes you, and he makes it a point to let you know that in however many silent ways he can, considering he hasn’t actually spoken a word to you since he’d demanded you run upstairs to Toga that night. That fact should really concern you a lot more than it actually does. You should’ve packed up your shit and left the country the moment you’d heard that sleazy reporter say those words. But… he’d killed for you. He severed a man’s arms from his fucking torso just for choking you a little bit, and in your trauma-riddled brain, that surely means he’s not all bad.

And maybe you hate yourself for caring so much about what a murderer thinks of you. You had stupidly thought - well, you don’t know what you thought, exactly. Are you really so lonely, so starved of basic human decency that you think someone swooping in and saving your ass from being kidnapped and murdered means something? Apparently so. Anyone would have done that, wouldn’t they? But in a place like Nine Lives, you doubt it. Nobody else in the vicinity had been primed and ready to rescue you from those psychos. Nobody but him, and he was nowhere near you. That, at least, you’re certain of.

You could have sworn there was something, something in his eyes and on his face when he looked at you for the first time. Something a far cry from hatred. You had felt it too, after all. What exactly it is, you haven’t figured that out yet, but it was profound enough that you’re fucking dreaming about him now. Just barely there glimpses at first, so fleeting when you woke up you didn’t even realize what it was about. Now, however, you’ve dreamed of Tomura Shigaraki an irritating total of eleven times across the last three weeks, each more vivid than the last. At least they replace the usual nightmares you’re used to.

The most recent one from last night has stuck with you all day, even now as you stupidly get ready for another shift. It started with a pair of glowing red eyes peering at you from the darkness and nothing else. You remember clearly how quiet and empty it felt, like you were suspended in a void. Nothing but those eyes you know were his and the overwhelming silence. And then he got closer and closer, until he was right in front of you, staring into the deepest depths of your soul. He stared and stared, and there was the lightest of touches against your hand, so fleeting and hesitant. Then, he seemed to phase through you, into you.

Dream you became something else, then. Someone else. The inky black was slowly replaced by moonlight fading in, and all of a sudden you were on what you think was a rooftop. You were staring up at the stars, but it wasn’t you that was seeing them. You were seeing through someone else’s eyes, feeling emotions in a body that wasn’t yours, thinking things in a mind that wasn’t your own. It felt so cold, so empty and angry, so sad. A melancholy kind of longing that makes your own chest ache even now, fully conscious.

You were no longer just you, but both of you combined somehow. Your own thoughts and feelings were still there but dulled, eclipsed by his. The one time you tried to reach out throughout the dream, it felt like hitting a wall, and then you were thrown back into that void space. You felt a flicker of yearning before it was all over, those eyes gazing into you one more drawn out moment before he slowly retreated with one final graze against your hand. 

It was so fucking bizarre, but it was so real it’s like you were actually experiencing it all in real life. You can still feel that emptiness and anger and yearning echoing in your chest, can still feel those cold, careful touches against your hand like it really happened. Maybe you really had finally lost your goddamn mind. You can’t entirely rule out that possibility at this point, especially when you’re once again walking through the doors of Nine Lives when you know in your bones you should never come back here again.

***

“Are you excited? I know I am! And you look incredible!”

You wince, Toga’s eager voice so loud in your ear even over the music blaring through the speakers. Somehow, you’d survived to Halloween, and even more surprising than that, you’d willingly agreed to work the event they were putting on for the holiday tonight. It’s abundantly clear this is one of the busiest nights of the year, the space more packed than you’ve seen it yet. Who knew criminals cared so much about Halloween?

Someone - likely Toga - has decorated the space aptly, fake spider webs strung up in the corners, black and orange drapes hanging from the rafters, bats and skeletons dangling from banisters, everything you’d expect from Halloween. The usual strobe lights have been replaced by purple, red, and white lasers waving fluidly in time with the music, the way they pass through the thick fog rolling through the space making everything appear in slow motion.

There's a surprising number of people in the crowd dressed in costumes, most of them scandalous enough that even you almost clutch your pearls.

You’d gone simple. And by simple, you’d gone with the best of what was left of the meager selection when you’d panic-bought your costume two days ago. You’d done your makeup a little more dramatically, a sultry smokey eye and winged liner that left a heap of smudged cotton swabs on your bathroom counter. Pair that with a red corset, a black leather miniskirt, and some little red horns on your head, and you’ve got the best last minute devil costume this place has ever seen. It was either this or the cowgirl, and you’d rather die than be caught in cow print assless chaps.

Toga has opted for what you think is a hero costume of sorts - a black full-body suit with pale pink accents, boots and a headpiece to match. The others, of course, are nowhere to be seen, likely hiding upstairs with your number one fan.

She seems to take your silence as enthusiasm, her own excitement growing as she continues. “It’s gonna be suuuper busy for the next few hours, but once it starts to level out some, we can join in the fun!” For once in the last few years, you’re not entirely opposed to the prospect of letting loose a little.

The past few weeks have weighed on you significantly more than they should - almost getting assaulted and murdered, a man's blood on your hands, another man who looked at you like you'd created the world in six days that now seems to despise your existence, still feeling drawn to him despite that - and the idea of letting all that go even for just an hour has some of Toga’s optimism rubbing off on you. You decide right then your mission for the night is to forget all about Tomura Shigaraki as easily as he seems to have forgotten you, even if you have to pretend.

***

A few hours ends up feeling like a few fucking years with how non-stop it’s been the whole night, and it’s not until almost 1am that it starts to mellow out enough for you to finally take a step back and bask in some of the fun you were promised. At least you’ve made more than a decent amount of money in tips. That alone makes the ache in your feet worth it.

You let Toga know you’re heading out into the crowd, but she doesn’t let you leave until you down enough tequila shots with her to leave you sufficiently warm and more than a little buzzed. She kisses you on the cheek as you’re sputtering for breath after the last one then disappears into the fray herself, and you’re on your own. You laugh to yourself after you recover, feeling light as air for the first time in years. You’d forgotten how nice it feels to be drunk.

You stagger unsteadily into the sea of bodies, giggling as you try to find your footing. The song playing is one you've heard a lot over the last few weeks, a dark, haunting beat that seduces you into moving with the people surrounding you. Your eyes slip closed, your hips start to sway, and your thoughts of a certain someone drift away with the rest of you.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that, hypnotized by the atmosphere and the alcohol, but when you open your eyes again the crowd has thinned a little bit. There’s hands on your hips that weren’t there before, a chest behind you pressed against your back, a man swaying in time with each of your movements.

He’s breathing against your neck, whispering something about how sexy you are and how he couldn’t resist approaching you. You’re too far gone to care about the fact you really shouldn’t let any man that frequents this place touch you, let alone like this, and the contact feels nice.

So you let him stay, let him keep his hands on you and his body pressed against yours, and you move.

***

Three weeks.

It’s been three very long weeks of pretending, avoiding, and coveting.

So, so much coveting.

Tomura doesn’t know what to do with a feeling like that. He doesn’t know how to process anything that’s not black and white, cut and dry, familiar territory. It’s been decades since he’s wanted anything other than blood and violence, and it’s been even longer since anger wasn’t the front-running emotion in his still heart.

But you, you’ve crash landed into his life, and now all he does anymore is want. Wants so many things he can’t even begin to understand. He’s fairly certain he hasn’t truly allowed himself to want anything since childhood, back when Father had broken his arm because he’d said he wanted to be in the military like grandma. He was only five years old.

You should be no exception to the No Wanting Things rule, but you haven’t given him a goddamn choice.

~~~

“What?”

“He said she’s-”

“Shut up, Jin.”

Perhaps the only time Dabi had been helpful throughout the entire time Tomura’s known him.

Tomura had stared blankly at Kurogiri then, his already deathly white complexion paling further. He’d heard what Kurogiri had said, but he couldn’t process it. How the fuck could he, when that disaster of a sentence had been dropped on him like an anatomical bomb?

“It is true, Tomura. The girl is tied to you, and you to her, though not completely. Not yet.”

Kurogiri had kept talking, as if Tomura wasn’t one more syllable away from hurling himself off the Harukas Observatory.

“I do not fully understand it myself, but you are connected to her beyond mere emotion. She can see as you see, feel as you feel, and you through her, if you should will it. It is incredibly rare for our kind. Our Master had one, long ago. I have yet to see it myself throughout my decades, until now. Other species like ours refer to such partners as mates. Whatever term you choose to use, with what you have described, she is yours, linked by your very souls.”

Tomura had slid down to the floor at that point. Or had he already been there? He can’t remember.

“It is not fully solidified yet, not until you drink from her, and only if she willingly offers her blood to you. Only then will the bond be completed. But even now, the connection is there, brought to life when she met your eyes and saw you as you truly are without judgement or fear. It was made stronger when you halted Kai Chisaki’s attempt to harm her, protecting her life with your own.”

He had stopped listening after that, the ringing in his ears making it too hard to distinguish anything else, anyway.

~~~

That was three weeks ago, right after he’d slammed the door in your face. He’d hate you for it if he wasn’t so consumed by pressing need every time you’re within fifty fucking feet of him.

He did his best to pretend you didn’t exist after that talk with Kurogiri. In his mind, if he avoided you, it’d go away on its own. He’d done good for the first week; glaring at you the one time you tried to approach him, holing up in his room on the nights you worked, shutting down Toga anytime she was about to bring you up. But then that second week started, and he’d felt you for the first time.

He remembers it being around one in the morning, in the middle of destroying the enemy’s Nexus on League, when he’d been temporarily blinded. He initially thought it was a new symptom of not feeding for so long and had stood from his gaming chair so fast it crashed into the wall behind him, frantically feeling his way around his room to go feed on the first living being he came across.

He didn’t have a chance to make it to the door before he started to make out shapes through the darkness. He could tell right away none of it was real, and then began to assume he was hallucinating instead of going blind. His hand was on the doorknob, his focus redirected to finding Kurogiri, but as soon as he made it into the hallway, the shapes finally took form.

He knew it was you, even appearing to him as a child. It’d be hard to mistake those sad eyes. You looked to be around six or seven, and you were staring into a mirror while crying. There were bruises on your face and arms, a bit of dried blood on your bottom lip. He’d frozen in the middle of the hallway, his body as still as a statue as he slowly began to realize what was happening.

You cried and cried while you wiped the blood and tears away with a dirty towel, and then you screamed so loud his hands flew up to his ears on instinct even though this was all happening in his head. Someone was beating on the door, and he couldn’t see you anymore because you’d presumably turned to look that way. Cracks started to form in the dry rotted wood until it broke down completely, and then you’d ran to hide in the closet.

He could hear you shaking and sniffling, and he could hear whoever was coming for you walking across the floor. It was deadly quiet for a moment, and then the door was ripped open, and you screamed again, louder than the last. He thinks he may have yelled then, too; for you, to you. The person wasn’t distinguishable, just a black shadow with a wide, grotesque mouth, grinning down at you. And then they yanked you out of the closet, and you were gone.

He came back to reality by Shuichi shaking him violently by the shoulders, Kurogiri standing behind him, looking at Tomura like he already knew what had happened. It was the connection Kurogiri had told him about, how he could see through your eyes and feel as you feel, presented to him in a dream you were having. Kurogiri had figured your mental walls had come down in your sleep, and Tomura’s had been down because he’d been playing fucking League of Legends and didn’t realize he had any to keep up in the first place.

So, yeah, he couldn’t ignore you anymore after that. It felt wrong to, knowing what he knows now. It wasn’t hard to piece together you’d been abused as a child, something he can relate to more than most. He knows it’s not his fault he saw what he did, just as much as it’s not your fault for barging into his mind in the first place, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little grateful for a small piece of insight into who you are even if it feels dirty to know something so vulnerable about you without your consent.

Kurogiri had given him all the knowledge he had about how Tomura could keep that from happening again if he didn’t want it to. It was on Tomura’s own time that he slowly figured out how he could visit you. He wasn’t good at it at first; only able to linger in your unconscious mind for a few moments at a time, and unable to really manifest anything other than one part of himself at a time. But the more he practiced, the better he got, and by the time he tried again last night, he was able to fully show you what he wanted you to see.

He’d been up on the roof of Nine Lives, a rare night where it was relatively peaceful and quiet, no police sirens or screaming arguments from the street below. He thinks that may have made it easier since he could fully focus on you, his hearing not picking up any overly distracting sounds. He doesn’t know if you meant to - likely not - but he could make you out this time, too, waiting for him in the darkness.

He took his time, allowed himself the opportunity to just look at you, appreciate you. Even in a suspended space, you were beautiful, staring at him like you were waiting for what came next. He liked that idea, you waiting for him. Liked that you saw him. He approached you through the darkness and dared to brush his fingers over your hand one time. He had to feel your skin at least once, even if it wasn’t necessarily real, but fuck, did it feel real.

And then he’d pulled you into his mind, into his consciousness, and looked up at the stars so you could see how peaceful it was. So he could see how it’d feel to have you with him on a night like that. He couldn’t stop the overwhelming desire then to have you fully next to him in person, feel your warmth against his side as you watched the sky change with him. Then came the sadness, knowing he could never have that. He could never really have you, not with what he is, who he is. You deserved more than what he could offer you.

He’d felt a flicker of something warm, like you were trying to reach out to him, reassure him maybe, he wasn’t sure. It had startled him so much that you even tried, that you’d wanted to and that you’d figured out how to, that he’d pushed you back into your own mind on impulse. He wasn’t ready, but he knew his time was up, so he’d selfishly touched your hand one last time and then he’d left you.

It’s not something he can do every night. Some nights he’s busy, or some nights your mind is completely closed off to him somehow, but he does it every chance he gets. Anything he can do for you indirectly to relieve your suffering, even if it’s just keeping a handful of your nightmares away. Anything he can do to have even the smallest part of you in his life, even if it’s just in your dreams.

***

“Tomura, I wouldn’t-”

“I don’t care if she’s still here.”

“No, that’s not-”

He turns to glare at Jin, who mercifully stops talking, despite the anxious look on his face. They all of course know about you and what you are to him, the goddamn gossips, and they definitely all know how he can get when he obsesses over something. He can’t tolerate your name coming out of another man’s mouth, even the ones he’s known for decades, and he definitely can’t stand the thought of any of them talking about you or to you when he can’t even do that himself. 

The one time he'd seen Dabi talking to you on your first shift after that night, it took Jin, Atsuhiro, and Shuichi to hold him back. He’s not sure what he would have done if they didn’t. Toga is the one exception in talking to you, and even she pushes it sometimes.

He feels a little guilty about that, mostly because it’s not hard to tell that it upsets you when everyone ignores you. He wishes he could tell you it’s not personal, that they’re only doing it to save themselves from being torn apart and set on fire. It’s hard enough to restrain himself from ripping apart every man down there that dares to look in your direction every fucking night you show up to work looking too alluring for your own good.

He starts down the stairs under the guise of finding Toga, to tell her that Atsuhiro is looking for her, but he’s pretty sure everyone knows he just wants to see you from a distance, make sure you’re okay, that you’re still just as perfect as you were when you came in. Watching over you from the shadows has been his favorite pastime as of late.

It’s busier than even he’s ever seen it, his lip curling up in disgust from the sight of just how large the crowd is. He’s always hated Halloween, and the fact that it’s going to be that much harder to catch a glimpse of you makes him hate it even more. He has half a mind to barge into your consciousness and see where the fuck you’re at that way, but it’d be too risky. He can’t chance it when you’re fully aware.

It doesn’t take long to determine that Toga has abandoned post for the night, if the current free-for-all at the bar is anything to go by. Likely off gorging on the blood of whatever sorry assholes she thinks are cute and entertaining enough to toy around with. He scowls, assuming that means she’s told you to leave for the night, too. He’s missed his chance, then. He’ll have to wait until later, after you’ve fallen asleep, but the dejection bubbling up inside him tells him it’s not the same.

He’s just about to turn around and stalk back to his room, fuck around on Valorant for awhile to take out his frustrations, when he feels it. You can’t be doing it consciously, seeing as you don’t have the slightest clue about any of this shit, but he can feel a euphoria that he knows doesn’t belong to him. Like you’re on cloud fucking nine, wherever you are. It’s strong, stronger than any emotion he’s felt from you yet.

Kurogiri had said it’s heightened the closer you are, so maybe…

He gets deja vu when he scans the horde much like he did that night three weeks ago. It’s a lot easier to find you this time than he expected, maybe because he’s more in tune to you, or maybe because he can feel you mentally. You’re facing towards him from where you are below, not far from the bottom of the stairs on the outside of the crowd. He almost laughs when he sees the devil horns on your head, but it dies in his throat when he sees the rest of you.

The top you’re wearing lifts your chest in a way that has his gaze stuck there for longer than he cares to admit, the shape of it highlighting your curves. The scrap of fabric clinging to your thighs is so short he could see everything if you bent over, a fact that both enrages and arouses him. He’d do just about anything right now to see you bent over in that, just for him. Your eyes are closed, your hands are sliding up your body, and your hips are moving so hypnotically in time with the music he thinks he’s gone into a fucking trance.

He already knew your body was perfect, but seeing you like this, you’re a fucking divine gift from the gods themselves, one he wants to unwrap slowly, piece by piece, until you’re bare before him. He can’t tear his gaze away, can’t stop watching you move, his eyes following the path your hands are taking down, down, down…

And then they grab another pair of hands, hands that have settled on your hips.

He should just leave, go upstairs and pretend he never saw this. He should let you do whatever you want, with whatever trash you choose. He should -

He’s down the stairs and through the crowd in three seconds flat.

***

“Man, what the f-”

You’re so lost in your own little world that it takes a few seconds to register that something is happening. Your eyes blink open slowly, the world spinning for a moment before it rights itself. The hands you’d been holding are no longer there, your fingers grasping nothing but empty air above your hips, and the warmth that had been pressed against your back is gone. There’s a few heads turned your way, but they’re not looking at you, they’re looking at whatever’s happening behind you.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

Huh. That sounds like the voice that’d been murmuring nonsense into your ear for the last - well, however long it’s been.

“Don’t fucking touch her. Don’t even look at her.”

And that sounds like the voice that’s been the star of most of your thoughts lately.

You sober up impossibly fast, whirling around to confirm your ears haven’t failed you. The scene you’re met with reminds you too much of that night, except you hadn’t been in danger this time. Had you? Maybe you had been and hadn’t noticed, because why else would he look like he’s about to rip this guy to shreds right here in this sea of witnesses?

Any lingering confusion is replaced by fear. Not of him, no, but fear for the guy that’s still standing there, stubbornly holding his ground.

“Last I checked, she was enjoying herself. Ain’t that right, sugar?”

You remain silent, your gaze shifting between him and Tomura, who hasn’t looked at you yet. You stare at his side profile, silently begging him to stop and look at you. His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle tick, his eyes narrowed and gleaming with murder, his body so rigid you wonder how it’s possible to remain that still.

“Tomura,” you breathe, so quiet you don’t know how he hears it, but he does. His posture relaxes so minutely you would’ve missed it if you weren’t already staring at him, his body shifting slightly towards you, his gaze sliding to you out of the corner of his eye. His jaw unclenches when he turns to look at you fully, the intent to kill in his eyes simmering down to something a lot less concerning.

And then you’re stuck again, that feeling resurfacing, trapped under the full weight of his gaze, his pupils dilating and eclipsing the crimson of his irises the longer he stares at you. His eyes travel across your face, scrutinizing every feature, and you do the same, taking in every detail of him you didn’t get the chance to last time. You’re once again struck by how attractive he is; even the scars only seem to accentuate his features.

He’s dressed in all black; jeans and combat boots, a compression shirt and a long, stitched jacket with gray details to match. You get the impression he’s not one to try or care about his appearance, but even with no effort, he looks fucking incredible.

You’re vaguely aware of the guy yelling, some inarticulate string of words thrown either at you or Tomura, you aren’t sure. You don’t care.

“Get the fuck out.”

Tomura says it without taking his eyes off you, his voice low and dangerous. It sends a shiver down your spine, and not one of fear. Something else that you don’t want to put a label on.

The idiot sputters, goes to say something else, and Tomura tears his gaze from yours to look at him before he gets the chance to.

“Do you want to find out what happened to the last one that put his hands on her? I’d love to show you.”

He grins, wide and wild, and your heart skips a beat. The guy finally takes the hint, maybe even looks a little scared, before he spits a nice little “fuck you” at the both of you and turns tail into the crowd.

Then it’s just the two of you, and the rest of it fades to background noise.

***

He can’t help himself. Not when you’re right there, just two steps away.

He knows he should leave now. He’s made enough of a scene, crossed the one boundary he’d set for himself, and now he should leave before the line is gone entirely.

But he’s always been a little selfish, and you’re staring at him like he put the fucking moon in the sky. The stars in your eyes outshine the ones he’d shown you last night tenfold.

***

“Come here.”

It’s a command, one you don’t hesitate to follow.

You take one step, then two, and then you’re right in front of him.

“Turn around.”

You do. And then you wait, your body trembling with anticipation.

He’s careful at first. Hesitant, almost. Two of his fingers brush over the back of your hand, and you’re transported back to your dream from last night when he’d done exactly the same thing. That had felt so real, but you know now it pales to reality. They trail up your arm so slowly, over your shoulder and then your neck to brush your hair out of the way. His other hand comes to settle on your hip, his thumb caressing the sliver of exposed skin there.

Hadn’t he hated you? Hadn’t you hated him just a few minutes ago? Your mind spins, the whiplash of the whole thing making you dizzy. He killed a man for you, then avoided and ignored you for weeks, and now he’s touching you so carefully it’s like he thinks you’ll break. And you’re letting him. You need to push him away, stop playing whatever game this is, get answers to -

“So soft,” he whispers in your ear, his voice husky. He tugs you backwards in one fluid motion, so fast it momentarily startles you, until your back is pressed fully to his front. “So delicate.”

Maybe answers can wait. Maybe you can let yourself enjoy whatever this is for now and yell at him later. You owed that to yourself, right?

Your heart is in your throat, your lashes fluttering with each whisper of breath against your ear. He leans down, his nose trailing along the expanse of your throat, strands of his hair tickling your neck.

“You smell so fucking good. So sweet.”

Had you put perfume on this morning? You can’t remember. Can’t process anything other than his voice and his touch.

His fingers trail down, back over your shoulder and down your side until they curl around your other hip.

“Little devil, hm?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your pulse point with each syllable. He inhales an unsteady breath, long and deep. “How fitting, for what you’ve done to me.”

You shudder, unable to fully comprehend what he means but liking the sound of it regardless.

“Now move.”

You hesitate, unsure of what he’s asking for. He growls in your ear, a deep rumbling in his chest vibrating against your back, and his hands squeeze your hips once, right on the edge of painful. You like that much more than you should.

“What, you can do it for him, but not for me?”

He sounds angry, jealous. It dawns on you what he means.

You don’t make the mistake of hesitating further. You’re a little off-kilter at first, a little off-beat, too overwhelmed by what’s unfolding that your movements are more jerky than they are fluid. It takes a second to find a rhythm, but when you focus on how good his hands feel on you, how good the weight of him pressed against you feels, it’s as easy as breathing.

His grip tightens with each pass of your hips against him, his fingers digging into your skin, and you can feel a rumble of approval resonating in his chest. No man's touch has ever felt like this, so right, like everything's as it should be. His hands fit against your curves perfectly.

He doesn’t move with you, just lets you sway on him, breathes you in where his mouth is pressed against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You can feel his teeth scrape against your skin, but he doesn’t bite down, and you’re taken aback by how badly you suddenly want him to do just that.

“Good girl,” he rasps, his voice so strained it almost makes you stop, but he pulls you back even tighter against him as if reading your thoughts, a silent way to tell you to keep going. And how could you not, when praise sounds so fucking good coming from him?

It only makes you more bold, only makes you want to please him more. One of your hands comes up to rest against his own on your hip, the other traveling up your body to reach behind you until it settles against the side of his neck. He freezes at the contact, his body going inhumanly still like you’ve stunned him. You go to pull away immediately, but his free hand flies up and presses your hand back down before it leaves his skin completely.

“Touch me. I want you to touch me.”

He sounds pained, like it’s hard for him to say those words, but it’s all the encouragement you need. He slowly lifts his hand, like he’s waiting on you to try to disobey, but once he’s sure you’re doing as he wants, it returns to its previous place on your hip, his fingers splaying wide. You tentatively caress the side of his neck, and he exhales a deep breath, his weight relaxing against your back.

You wonder how often he’s touched like this. It can’t be much, if he reacted like that. Then you realize how much you hate the thought of anyone else being with him like this and abandon the thought altogether.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, moving against him while he just breathes you in, and you don’t care. You’d stay like this forever if he’d let you. When you open your eyes again, his arms are constricted around your waist, and he’s glowering over your shoulder at someone you assume looked in your direction a little too long. It should probably concern you how possessive he is of you, but the way your body reacts to it tells you all you need to know.

You’re in deep shit.

***

Mine. Mine. Mine.

His throat is on fire, and his brain is fried, whatever primal fucking animal you bring out of him begging to just sink his teeth in, drag you away to his room and never let you out again, but he knows he has to do right by you, by whatever this is, even if it kills him in the process. You’re the one thing he can’t just take simply because he wants to. He shouldn’t even be taking you at all.

But he’d already crossed the line. Dumped gasoline on it, tossed the match, and let it burn to ashes, and now it’s too late. He has you in his arms, has your scent burned into his nose, the imprint of your body against his, and now he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to ever let you go after this. He’d fucked up, monumentally. No, he’d been fucked as soon as you breathed his name like that to keep him from killing that worthless idiot.

He can waste his time on the should haves and could haves all he wants later, but having your ass swaying against his dick for the last half hour makes it pretty difficult to have regrets right now. He wonders if you can feel how hard he is for you, if you know what you do to him, the effect you have on him, but he’s pretty sure you don’t know the goddamn half of it. 

You get to be blissfully unaware, meanwhile he wants to scream from the fact you’re tied to him in ways he still doesn’t fully understand, and he can’t even tell you. Not if he doesn’t want to scare you away. It’s too much too soon, and despite how content you seem to be right now, he can’t trust that you won’t run for the hills as soon as he clues you in to just how deep all this really goes. And he can’t have that. Not now, not ever.

So he just takes what he can get, for now. Inhales deep breaths of you even though his throat burns more and more each time, his body singing with the desire to taste how sweet he knows you’ll be. Grazes his teeth over the fragile skin of your neck even though they ache so badly to just break through, mark you so everyone knows you’re his, take your blood so you’ll be tied to him forever. Stands there while you grind against him even though his cock is already so painfully hard it’s truly a miracle he hasn’t busted in his jeans yet.

You’ve awakened so many desires in him in such a short period of time that it’s hard to keep up with them all, things he’s never cared about until now. Sure, he’s been horny before, but he’s never actually wanted a woman in his bed, at least not to this magnitude. He’s never wanted to sink more than his teeth into anyone, but fuck, he’d move heaven and earth to sink his cock into you, to feel you quivering around him and hear you moaning his name. He’d have to get himself off to that image later, at least for now until he can have the real thing.

Hadn’t Master said once that good things come to those who wait? Tomura had thought it was total bullshit at the time, just another one of Master’s nonsense philosophies, but now it’s starting to make sense. You’re the most good anyone like him could ever hope to get, so he’d wait. Bide his time, keep visiting you in your dreams to sway you even more, spend more time with you in reality after tonight, and then he’d reveal his hand, show you all the cards on the table when he’s sure you won’t run away from him. 

He’s not sure he’d have it in himself to let you.

***

note: sorry this one took a little longer, hopefully it's worth the wait. there's a lot of POV switching in this part, but I wanted to give perspective on everything that's unfolding from both sides so things hopefully make a little more sense.

as always, thank you so much for reading and for being here. it means the world to me that even a few of you spend your time reading things that I write. <3

see you in part 4.

What I think sucks the most about that period of time where AFO was controlling Tomura is that he turned Tomura into the type of leader he never was and always hated.

By that I mean that AFO used the members of the League of Villains as mere pawns, not caring if they died or got hurt. It was the same thing that Overhaul and Redestro did. Tomura personally cut Overhaul's arm for that, he plotted his demise and when Toga confronted him, he let them know that he cared, he wasn't just using them. He was even more nightmarish with the Meta Liberation Army. Tomura said out loud that he would never forgive them for playing with his friends' feelings.

Twice died and Mr. Compress sacrificed himself, but AFO deprived Tomura of reacting to any of it. Since before the big battle, no one has mentioned Mr. Compress or Twice to Tomura. AFO told his plan to Dabi, Spinner and Toga while Tomura was in the middle of a big crisis. Here, look at him:

Even when AFO called that body other me, he seemed to leave Tomura alone to his misery. The most AFO gave was a pat-pat to Tomura and the typical words of "we'll kill them".

Look at Spinner's face in a close-up:

He's angry and with reason. Prior to that, AFO privately talked to Spinner and told him his plan of taking Stars and Stripes' quirk.

AFO disguised his true intentions by saying it was all for Tomura, to make his dream come true. He made Spinner his bodyguard. Behind the League's back, he talked with Skeptic about how to use the League of Villains. How to change them, how to manipulate in truth.

It makes me sick. All Tomura represented to them was lost, bastardized.

The people who called Tomura home, who told him they loved him, who swore to protect him and his dream, the people who admired and respected him. The League was Tomura's exception. He said it himself. He wanted the world ruined, but not them, not the things they liked.

I just know that if AFO could have cut his hands, he would have made Tomura wear them like he wore the hands of the Shimuras.

Does anyone have a link to a back-to-basics article about good fanfic practices, like standards of content and chapter length and such (speaking as an old fart who only wrote a couple of shitty one-shots back when lemons were a thing)

#!

motivation board 😤