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nonobadcat · 2 years

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A real world AU Gothic Romance - part 1/3

Pairing: Ghost Shigaraki X Fem!Reader

Rating: Chapter one is PG-13. The other two chapters will be for readers 18+ only.

Content Warnings: Dead dog mention, cannon typical parricide

Eventual Kinks: Toys, V/oy, relations with a literal ghost

Chapter One Word Count: ~3k, Ao3 Mirror

Part 2 ---❤--- Part 3

Saturday October 15th, 2022

“So…?” gesturing like a vaudeville showman, you held out both hands towards your new house. “What do you think!? Great, right?”

Your best friend, Serenity, shoved her purple box-frame glasses up her wide, button nose and pursed her plush lips. Clicking her tongue, she curled her pointer finger into a loose coil of hair. Two tone sarcasm purred into her one word reply: “M-hmmm…”

Scratching the back of your neck, you glanced up at your new purchase just in time to watch one of the old tiles slip from the upper pitch of the dual-hipped roof. It bounced off the attic dormer, rolled past the mildew coated eaves, and slid across the mossy porch awning before tumbling a mere foot into the patchy, overgrown taxus bush.

You forced a smile and pointed to the ancient, untamed yew. “Well, at least the roots are strong.”

Serenity pinched the bridge of her nose. "Please tell me you didn't use the realtor's home inspector."

"Oh come on Ren-Ren," you laughed, waving her off. Your eyes rolled to the side as your smile fell by one tooth. "I mean… I checked the plumbing myself, so…"

Brown eyes narrowed at you as your voice trailed off. With a deep, motherly sigh, she squeezed your shoulder. "Listen, you know I love you, right?"

You nodded.

She hooked her thumb over her shoulder. "It's a dump."

"It's a historical home!" You protested, crossing your arms. "It has good bones!"

Serenity eyed up the dingy, chipping brick and sun bleached slate tiles before shaking her head. "How many square feet?"

You fanned your hand across your chest. "3.5k with an acre of property plus a full attic and root cellar."

She blinked. "Hold up. That's like $400k+ most places! I thought you said your budget was $220,000?"

You grinned. "Yeah, and this was only $130,000 including closing costs. Crazy, right?"

Your best friend did a double take, staring at the ramshackle Second Empire with renewed interest. "Well… at least that covers the roof and siding." She thumbed her chin and cocked her head. "You're sure this thing has indoor plumbing?"

You shoved her shoulder. "Don't be a dick."

Serenity snickered into her palm. "Okay, so aside from having a friggen 'root cellar' and all the curb appeal of a haunted house, what else is wrong with it?"

You pointed to the far edge of the property where a line of grizzled pines swayed in the autumn breeze. "Busiest train tracks in the greater metropolitan area."

She whistled. "That's gonna blow."

"Literally," you agreed, massaging your temples.

She elbowed you in the ribs. "Still quieter than living with your ex."

You grinned. "No kidding!" With a wave of your hand, you beckoned her around the side of the building. "Wanna see the cool part?"

"Your definition of 'cool' is sus."

You grabbed the sleeve of her caramel colored duffle coat and tugged. "Just come on!"

Across the clover riddled lawn, Serenity trudged behind you in her knee high, slouch boots. She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed to fight off the cool October wind. You pulled to a stop beside a massive old swamp oak and opened your purse. A wax coated paper sack appeared from the depths of your handbag. Scrawled in inky cursive were two words: "Doggone Delish".

You squatted low, and reached between tumbling roots. Gently brushing the leaf litter aside, you unveiled a carved piece of lichen encrusted soapstone. Time had worn the words smooth, but they were still legible.

"Mon: 1885?" Serenity murmured the text out loud before her eyes fanned wide. "Don't tell me that's a—"

You laid the oatmeal biscuit on the gravemarker and patted it fondly. "He was a Corgi. I found an old picture in one of the drawers." Rising to your feet, you brushed your hands on your jeans and grinned at her. "I always wanted a pet Corgi, and now I've got one."

Serenity eyed the long, dark branches of the towering giant above you. Their bare, grasping fingers crawled at the breeze. "Yeah well, hate to tell you this but your new dog is up the stump and fattening the squirrels by now."

You scoffed and flashed her a playful smile. "So? Ghost dogs are cheaper than live ones."

"Freak," she teased, kicking your heel.

You stuck out your tongue and wiggled your fingers at her.

A low rumble tumbled in on the wind. The train's whistle shrieked out in the distance. Serenity covered her ears and grimaced. You shrugged and pointed to the house. She nodded, trailing behind you.

When they spotted the biscuit upon the gravemarker, the pair of crimson eyes in the upstairs window wrinkled with delight.

After a brief climb up the sagging porch steps and a short war with the new latchkey, your party arrived in the entryway. Pastel grey and tar black tiles arranged in geometric patterns lay just before the lanky old staircase. To the right, sunlight streamed through the bay windows of the empty, blandly colored front parlor. As Serenity handed you her coat, she examined the silk rose print wallpaper of the foyer.

"The previous owners have all tried to renovate, but all of them had to stop the repairs before completion for some reason." You patted the yellowing flowers. "So a lot of it is still the original turn of the 20th century decor."

"Okay…" A puff of dust fluttered through the air as your companion tapped one of the old gas landliers in the entryway. With a grin, she turned to face you. "This place is kinda old-timey cool."

"Keep your shoes on," you told her, shuffling her coat onto the hanger. Tucking it into the cedar-lined hall closet, you toed the chipped porcelain tiles. "I haven't finished sweeping yet."

Serenity rolled her eyes. "Nobody’s got time to clean this much house by themselves!" She huffed and crossed her arms. "Why do you think my trunk looks like I scrubbed Mr. Clean’s bubbles?"

With a squeal of happiness, you flung your arms around her shoulders and crushed her against your chest. "Marry me, Ren-Ren."

"Keep that talk up and Marcus's paranoid self is gonna blow my phone up with his 'Baby, where you at?’-s," she laughed.

You released your friend and toed her boots. "You sure keep that boy under your heels."

"Mistress Ser knows what he likes,” she agreed, using the sleeve of her hubbie's hoodie to wipe the dust off the flecked glass of an old, gilded mirror. Tracing the ornate brass with the pad of her finger, she turned to you. “I’m loving this. Where’d you get it?”

“Came with the house.” You nodded to a cabriole legged, mahogany console just below the looking glass. Though the deep auburn shellac had silvered with sun damage, crystal knobs and burled wood spoke to its posh pedigree. A square shaped water ring in the dead center hinted at the old flower vase which must have once graced the hall. “Anything fabric was mouse eaten, but I saved the bedroom set.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You’re gonna sleep in some dead person’s bed? Gross.”

“Don’t make that face, Ren. I’m changing out the mattress.” You sighed. “Besides, this is legit heirloom stuff. When will I ever be able to afford fancy antiques on a my salary?”

Serenity patted your shoulder. “Long as you don’t go banging a ghost or something.”

You shoved her down the hall. “You're really gonna go putting those thoughts in my head?!”

“You love it,” she teased back, running her hand over the dusty glass shades of the wall bracket lamps. “Are these oil?”

You shook your head. “Natural gas with an open flame. The seller said they capped the lines years ago though. Apparently, they caused a huge house fire back in the day and killed everybody except the little boy who lived here. After that they switched to kerosene and candles.”

“Open flame?” Serenity pulled away from the light as if it had teeth. “Small wonder the place went up.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, cupping your elbows. “Sounds like the people who owned it in the forties tried to repair the damage to the gas when they added the electricity. Supposedly the lines were sound, but the gas never worked right. The flame was always going out, leaving the gas running unchecked. They think it was low pressure or something. It made them annoyed so they sold it.”

As you walked, your companion eyed the soaring twelve foot ceilings and ornate transoms above the massive box doorways. “Well duh. If you make your walls friggin fifty foot tall, of course you’re gonna have pressure problems!”

“Yeah, but the water pipes work fine,” you pointed out, grabbing the round brass handle to the empty parlor. Chantilly parquet floors creaked below your feet as you strolled to the old coal burning fireplace and rested a hand on the chipped marble mantle. In the center of the elaborate plaster medallion, a dusty teardrop crystal chandelier hung above your heads. You flipped the wall switch. The light flickered to life with a painful click, illuminating faded scarlet walls. “The electrician says the wiring is safe, but it still sounds sketch to me.”

“Like it’s grinding or something.” She pressed her ear to the peeling, geometric patterned paper before shaking her head. “Well, at least I don’t hear any bees. Marcus’s mom had them in her walls one summer and Memorial Day turned into a horror movie real fast.”

You strolled to the old pocket doors on the far wall and pushed them wide. Beyond the thick walls, worn stain and gouged wainscot welcomed guests to the formal dining room. Ready for eight, the solid mahogany table stool proudly on hand carved, reeded legs. Beside the bay windows, a matching buffet complete with a wide, oval mirror and rosewood inlays awaited crystal bottles filled with port and brandy. Between twin hall doors, the empty hutch cried out for platinum-edged bone china and silver candlesticks to fill the empty shelves encased in its diamond mutins.

“I had to strip the cushions from the chairs,” you explained, resting your hand on the glossy table. “But the wood cleaned up nice with some mineral spirits and paste wax.”

Serenity shot you an incredulous look. “You've been watching too much ‘This Old House’.”

“It’s only $10 a quart at the hardware store. Way cheaper than a new table.”

Your companion rolled her wrist and beconked you to her. “Show me your hands.”

You cringed, holding out dry, peeling fingers.

Her eye twitched. “That’s it. After we finish this tour, I’m gonna drag your scaley self to Sally's Beauty.” She ripped her phone out of her pocket, furiously thumbing the keyboard. When the signal lit up with one bar, she snarled. “If there even is one in this podunk town.”

You shrugged. “It’s a well water and septic world out here.”

Gripping her head, Serenity groaned. “I’m buying you a Brita filter. Asap.”

Heading down the long foyer, you made a sharp turn onto a narrow, walnut trimmed staircase. The dark, hand carved banister wobbled in your grip. You frowned at the loose fourth baluster. Not another one! Stupid Victorian hide glue! The original carpenter did some beautiful dovetail joinings but that stuff could not handle the humid summers in this area. More and more, the only dates you seemed to go on were with Norm Abram, Titebond and wood clamps. Now… the question was should you Amazon Prime some of the original stuff for authenticity’s sake or go with the stronger, cheaper wood glue you could get at Milton’s Hardware?

Cheaper probably. Considering the cost of Mansard roof repairs, cheaper was about what you could afford.

Leading her to the creaky upper hall, you bypassed the largest of four bedrooms on the south side of the house. Serenity paused, peaking through the crack in the old, tilted door frame. You shook your head and jerked your thumb down the landing.

“I got stuck in there last week. The house shifted so much over the years that it jams on humid days. I have to sand and rehang it before next summer.”

“Stuck? With cell service this bad?” She glanced out the far window at the long, overgrown expanse of forest which blocked any sight of your neighbors. A shiver rippled down her body. “Creepy.”

You paused, shaking hand rattling the old brass knob to the northern bedroom. “Tell me about it. I’ve left a crowbar and one of those fire escape ladders in there ever since.

Past the solid, double hip door sat a time capsule to the late nineteenth century. The original oak floors had yellowed with age but even the home inspector was impressed by their lack of seam gaps. Overlooking the front of the property, late 2000s double hung bay windows (a testament to the seller’s half-finished remodeling) encircled a small sitting area near the original coal burning fireplace. After hours of fighting with cast iron grating and a stubborn chimney flue, you’d managed to seal out the worst of the draft. The elegant brass chandelier surrendered its tarnish after two hours of polishing, leaving it capped with a luxurious glow every time the sun peeked through the gauzey Walmart curtains. Unlike the worn examples downstairs, dark wallpaper with golden peony blooms looked untouched by the years.

You flopped onto your new, plastic wrapped mattress and stretched your hands wide. “Behold! Antiquey expensive stuff!”

Serenity’s jaw dropped as she took in the six part, solid mahogany bedroom set. As lovely a red as the day it was made, each piece of satin smooth craftsmanship testified to its owner's fortune. Capped in gothic embellishments and trimmed with burr wood inlays, the queen sized bed looked more like a cathedral than a sleeping space. A marble topped, tiered dressing table with dangling pewter drawer pulls stood ready for silver backed, boar bristle hair brushes and ambergris scented perfumes. You could hide four bodies in the massive armoire. Deep dresser drawers would hold six full skirted walking costumes with ease. Loveliest of all, the free standing, body length mirror reflected your companion’s flabbergasted gawking.

She pointed to the tall, narrow door. “Ho-how’d they even get this stuff in this room?!”

You snickered, rising to your feet. “That era was all knockdown furniture,” you explained, turning the dressing table around. Tracing the dovetail seam between top and bottom, you tapped your temple. “Not like they wanted to haul all this stuff up the stairs anymore than we would.”

Serenity whistled. “Smart.”

“Oh! I almost forgot!” You dashed across the room to the six foot tall secretary desk and pulled down the writing table. In the center cubby, a luscious painting of olde English foxglove, Narcissus, and Lily of the Valley graced the Purpleheart inlays. You turned the small brass key in the latch and extracted a yellowed, black and white photograph of two children and a pudgy Pembroke Welsh Corgi. “Meet Mon, Tenko, and Hana Shimura.”

Your friend studied the picture. Hana, decked in high pigtails, stood solemnly in her dark pinafore and pristine, lacey apron. Tiny lips smashed in a thin line hinted at her efforts to control her smile. Under a messy flop of black hair, Tenko’s bright eyes gleamed with delight as he forced the Victorian portrait frown while clutching his new puppy.

“Hold up,” Serenity demanded, tapping the picture with her long, lavender nail. “Aren’t those Japanese names?”

You nodded, returning the old photo to its hiding spot. “I think so.”

She crossed her arms. “Japan had its borders forced open by Perry in 1854. We’re supposed to believe some super rich Japanese family just packed it up, moved to Gilded-Age America, learned the language, and built a mansion in the middle of Podunk, USA just a few decades later?” Jabbing an annoyed figure at the elaborate plasterwork around the chandelier, she added: “Possible, but unlikely much?”

You shrugged. “Deus ex machina?”

Serenity clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “I guess, but it’s a terrible one, even for a smutty fanfic.”

“Eh… it’s Halloween. Gotta get our fix somewhere,” you replied, kicking the cotton batting. “Help me get this on the bed?”

Bustling to your side, your companion tore through the thin plastic. “So… which one of the Shimuras burnt the house down?”

“I think it was the dad,” you explained, hefting the edge of the mattress above the bed frame. “Might have been rich, but rumor has it he was a perfectionist and family beater. According to the librarian, local gossip was that, after he killed the kid’s dog, the wife tried to take them and leave.”

Serenity grunted as she swung her side up and over. The mattress flopped into place with a woosh before sinking down into the platform base. “Yeah, bet a man like that doesn’t take too kindly to his favorite punching bags up and walking away.”

You scoffed. “Anyone who hurt Mon-chan deserves to burn.”

All at once, your hackles rose. Pricked ears caught the tail end of a distant cackle. You whipped around scanning the room.

“What’s up?”

Rubbing the back of your neck, you shook off the feeling like a wet dog. “N-nothing. Just swore I heard a…” Your voice trailed off as you fixed your gaze on the old looking glass before glancing to the window. “Weird…”

“Hey!” Serenity grabbed your shoulder. “Don’t be pulling that ‘I thought I saw something’ nonsense when I’ve gotta sleep here tonight!”

You laughed and threw up your hands in apology. “Sorry, sorry. Just caught a glint of sunlight in the mirror. That’s all.”

Inside the glass, body shaking with laughter, Tomura’s pale hand clamped tight over a skeletal grin.

Part II coming Saturday October 22nd, 2022

Taglist:

@THE-LADY-WRITES-WHAT @wonwoosbestbuddy @OCEON6 @dabisqueen @shig-a-shig-ah-ah @feral-creep @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-loveuet-love @smilinghowever @imaginedheroine @CLOUDS-NO1-FAN @MOONTHECREATOR @HARLEYWRITESFANTASY @MANJIROSGIRL @vamperilous @MADDY-HAT @cakernofakers @builtd-different25 @kurtasim @shiggyniggy @koreluvsspring @smilee-spooks @beware-thecrow

@m0nim0ni @minnieplier-blog @blehitsriot @moonwad @saikis-seceretcoffeejelly @nainainairi @bakuhoe37 @un-deadinsomniac @nonominchan @utena-akashiya @molita111 @nekolover93 @pimp-in @slaughterbat777 @chxrryvibes @blackchemicals @coldsaladpiecop-blog @flamme-meuf2-shiggy @aphorditeslust @just-yer-average-key @rekoii @justnothingguys

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luc1-anna · 28 days

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𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏

Of course he'd go slow at first, making sure he didn't cause you to bleed or get hurt, especially since he was so big, having to only put in a few inches along with the tip to get started, knowing he would stretch you out to the max, it may be pleasure to other women but it would only be painful for you.

Hands gripping onto your hips as he gently put it in, making sure he knew how much he could put in, analysing your facial expressions for any discomfort. Soon as you give him the greenlight to go faster, he takes charge, thrusting his hips into yours, watching as your body reacted to his movements, body jolting back and forward on the bed. "Babe!" Moaning out as you tried to grab his forearm, feeling the tight sensation of a knot forming in your body. Of course he didn't stop, not till you showed some form of pain or telling him the straight words of no.

ɴᴏᴀʏᴀ, ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ, ᴇɴᴅᴇᴀᴠᴏᴜʀ, ᴀʟʟ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴛᴀɪᴊᴜ, ꜱᴀɴᴇᴍɪ

𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐

He let you ride him for the first time, watching as you grabbed his cock, fingers digging into the base as you descended onto it, the way his tip felt along your lips, only wanting for you to fuck him till you cried. Hands helping your body move up and down, making sure not to go too hard but not to slow, just to his liking if not a little slower. Watching as you moaned, seeing how good he made you feel, especially on your first time, knowing that no sex toy or fingers made you feel better than him. "Get off me whenever you need" reassuring you as he felt you clench around him, nodding as a reflex, it just coming through one and ear and back out the other.

ᴊᴇᴀɴ, ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ, ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ, ᴇʀᴡɪɴ, ᴢᴇᴋᴇ, ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴘʀɪᴄᴇ, ᴀɪᴢᴀᴡᴀ, ꜱɪʀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴇʏᴇ

𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟑

Of course he'd go nice and slow for you, it had been atleast 25 minutes of foreplay just to get you wet enough, being scared that he'd rio you open from his size in comparison to your tight virgin hole. Sat on the bed, legs wide open, head placed strategically in-between them as licked his lips, hands holding your legs down making sure you didn't escape. He wanted you to sit on his face but anything would really do. Tongue gliding along your clit, rubbing it throughout your folds. The way you jerked your body back from the first feeling. "I'll take good care of you!" Smiling as he looked up before heading back down, face nuzzled in-between your thighs, he seemed so innocent when he said that, but you knew that he wasn't from the way his tongue entered you, lips sucking your liquids from your cunt, feelings your walls try and reject him as he pushed through, fingers running through his hair as you felt him. This would be in your record books for some of the best oral sex, despite it being your first time.

ᴄʜᴏꜱᴏ, ᴀʀᴍɪɴ, ɪɴᴏ, ɢɪʏᴜ, ɢᴀᴢ, ꜱʜɪɢɪʀᴀᴋɪ, ꜱʜɪᴜ ᴋᴏɴɢ, ʀᴀɴ, ᴋᴇɪꜱʜɪɴ ᴜᴋᴀɪ, ɢᴏᴊᴏ

𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟒

Your first time was in a semi public place, curtains drawn open as he fingered you, fingers plowing through your slick walls, his spare hand rubbing your poor clit, the way you sat on his knee as he fucked you for the first time, taking your dignity along with your virginity. Head resting onto his shoulder as he filled your poor cunnie with his calloused 3 fingers, breath harshly touching his clothes neck. "Keep still" feeling your thighs clench around his hand, it was getting on his nerves as it restricted his movements. Slapping your clit with his other hand, watching as you shuddered and screamed into his ear, glancing towards the open window incase anyone heard you. His hand getting cramped up from the fast movement, ripping it out from your hole, watching the string of you run along your pussy. "Ya' taste good for your first time" licking his fingers clean, the way your juices stuck to his fingers, leaving a string of your wetness. Other hand still slapping your poor cunt.

ᴇʀᴇɴ, ᴘᴏʀᴄᴏ, ᴛᴏᴊɪ, ᴅᴀʙɪ, ʜᴀᴡᴋꜱ, ʜᴀɴᴍᴀ, ʀɪɴᴅᴏᴜ, ᴜᴢᴜɪ ᴛᴇɴɢᴇɴ, ᴋᴀꜱʜɪᴍᴏ, ɢᴇᴛᴏ, ᴘʜɪʟɪᴘ ɢʀᴀᴠᴇꜱ

Banner credits to @cafekitsune

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dabisqueen · 8 months

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trick or treat

Trick or Treat

Ghost/Dabi x fem!Reader x Konig/Shigaraki

⇢ word count: roughly 3.2K ⇢ plot: It's Halloween and you make the mistake of knocking at the wrong door. ⇢ warnings: Minors DNI, tw smoking, consensual rough sex, rough kissing, rough manhandling, a bit of degradation, slapping, oral sex (m receiving), deep throating, cum in throat, unprotected PIV-sex, anal fingering, deep creampie, Ghost and Konig aka Dabi and Shiggy are actual sweethearts and take care of the reader later ⇢ A huge shoutout to my beta @blankexpressions-and-falsefires. without you, this wouldn't happen. without you, this wouldn't be as great. i am forever grateful for your help!

You and your friends were on your way to a Halloween party, which was going to take place in an old warehouse. The invites had been distributed months ago already, and everyone had been looking forward to it.

What you were wearing wasn't very unique at all: Black high-heel boots combined with a short, ruffled red velvet skirt, a black petticoat underneath, and a matching red underbust corset. It pushed your boobs up so high that they nearly popped out any time you bent over. Thankfully, a white, off-shoulder blouse helped to keep a little bit of your decency intact. The last finishing touch was a red velvet cape.

You guessed it—you'd picked the Little Red Riding Hood as this year's costume.

Getting off the subway station, your group walked down the dimly lit street, the wind blowing leaves and scraps of garbage along the street. The clacking sound of your high heels echoed off the walls and you wrapped your cape tighter around you and hoped that the warehouse would offer some shelter from the cold. Trying to avoid the cracks in the concrete with your pointy heels, you followed the rest of the crowd—as something off to the side caught your attention.

A lone, lit pumpkin sat at a shabby door, a flickering lamp above it shedding just a bit of light.

“Hey girls!” you called out. “There's someone inviting trick-or-treaters over here!”

Your friends stopped and looked at the door you were pointing at. Nonetheless, they turned while your best friend called over “It's just a prank, forget about it!”

“I want some candy, though.” Pursing your lips into a pout, you stalked over to the other side of the street, calling over to the rest of your small crowd, “Go on ahead. I'll catch up to you later!”

You didn't mind them rolling their eyes at you—cause you have been known to have the sweetest tooth of them after all.

Taking a deep breath you raised your hand and knocked on the door. Once. Twice.

No answer.

Okay, you reason, it was just a prank. Just as you were about to turn, you heard voices closing in behind the door.

"Didn't think anyone would fall for this shit.” A dark voice hissed. “What kind of dumbass are they?"

"Beats me." Another husky voice spoke.

The door swung open and you inhaled sharply. Before you stood two men dressed head to toe in combat suits, one of them wearing a sniper hood, the other a Balaclava complete with a hard plastic skull attached to the disguise.

Each of them was a character from the game Call of Duty– Konig and Simon “Ghost” Riley.

The one dressed as Ghost casually leaned against the door frame. His eyes scanned over you, and your gut tightened, watching the brilliant cerulean of his irises take you in. His skull Balaclava, obscuring any other feature on his face, sent chills down your spine. The other's smoldering amber gaze grazed the curves of your body and lingered especially long on your décolleté before stopping back at your face. As far as you could make out, they both looked well-toned, and your gut instinct told you that they were stunningly attractive underneath those masks. Your heart started beating faster.

“Oh, look what we have here.” The man dressed as Konig mused in a sneering tone. “If it ain't Little Red Riding Hood.”

“What a coincidence—" his friend chuckled, his voice low and husky. "Cause you can consider us the Big Bad Wolves—”

It sent goosebumps crawling up your spine, but you still bravely muttered with a shaky voice, “T-trick or t-treat?”

Konig and Ghost looked at one another, chuckling, before their gazes went back to you.

"You really looking for a treat, little red?" Ghost cocked his head, brilliant blue seemingly burning into you.

Both men's lustful stares were unmistakable as they looked at your body with a desire mirroring the feeling that rose quickly in your chest.

"U-uhm, I guess?" You stuttered, heat rising into your ears now.

“Treat it is,” he said. With that, his strong fingers circled your wrist and he pulled you inside, Konig slamming the door shut behind you.

A shriek left your throat when he pressed you against the wall, his ghostly mask hovering right in front of you.

"You really want this?" He asked, tilting his head, "We'll only proceed if you do."

One hand propped him against the wall, the other trapped your jaw between thumb and forefingers. His hips wedged you in place and it sent a jolt of pleasure right between your thighs. You shamelessly squeezed them together, cheeks starting to glow with fear—and excitement.

"I-I don't know," you licked your lips as subtly as you could, and you could swear you felt him twitch in his pants.

His eyes fixated on your lips as he pulled the Balaclava down from beneath the skull, tucking the fabric under his chin to reveal the lower half of his face. His lips alone, sharp and sultry, had you aching for more.

"I think you do," Ghost chuckled, his warm breath fanning your lips, the hard plastic of his mask almost brushing against your nose. His fingertips felt scorching yet delicate when he pulled you in for a kiss.

His tongue pushed past your lips, moving languidly around yours. The kiss turned raw and bruising, growing rougher by the second. His cold mask dug into your skin but the thrill of it all made you forgive it easily. Groaning into his mouth, your hands ghosted over his chest, feeling the taut muscles underneath his clothes. Your legs buckled, but Ghost was quick to react and slip a leg between your thighs to hold you in place. His firm thigh pressed right against you, delivering much-needed friction to stimulate your growing desire.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, half-lidded eyes smoldering with desire when he broke the kiss. He pulled the Balaclava back and straightened up, chuckling at the sight of a wet spot left on his pants. "You really love this, don't you?"

You nodded hazily. You were given no chance to catch your breath as he dragged you to a small, square table nearby. His grip was rough but gentle enough not to hurt you. You shrieked again when Ghost pressed your chest flat against the surface. Konig stepped close, his hand stroking the heavy and full shape of the growing bulge beneath his clothes. Ghost clasped his hand tightly around your wrists, pinning them against your back, holding you down.

“P-please be gentle,” you pleaded, having seen both outlines of their dicks —not small in size— strain against their boxers, ready to be strangled by your tight pussy.

"Don't be a chicken. You agreed to this.” Konig rasped. “So, we get to destroy you, corrupt your little pussy—"

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, and your heartbeat started to pick up as you struggled against Ghost's iron grip.

"Aw, don't scare our little bunny, Shigaraki" Ghost tutted, stroking your back with his free hand. "We aren't gonna hurt you, doll."

Something in his voice made you feel like you could trust him — you felt that he meant it — and your body relaxed, your breath evening out.

"Party pooper–" Konig grumbled behind his hood, as he rounded the table to stop right in front of your face.

"W-what are you gonna do to me–" You swallowed thickly, thrill shooting through your body in a rush of adrenaline.

“You want us to be gentle,” his voice suddenly deepened, “Or should we treat you like the little tramp you are?”

“I am no tramp—” you replied breathily.

“Hm— Am I wrong to think that this turns you on?” Ghost chuckled. “The idea of getting fucked by two strangers just like this?”

Ghost's hand trailed up your thigh, hiking up your skirt and petticoat to reveal the curves of your perfect ass cheeks. A growl erupted in the back of his throat at the sight, his hand stroking the soft skin he found there. The coil inside your stomach tightened as you felt his crotch grind against you from behind. You realized he was giving you a small taste of just how much of a treat you would be getting. Trying to push yourself back against his thick meat, though, earned you a harsh slap against your ass with his tactical leather gloves.

“Ow!” you cried out, the stinging pain driving tears to your eyes.

"Fucking lay still." Ghost growled and you instantly froze at the sheer authority in his tone, a hot pulse shooting straight between your legs.

He leaned over, whispering against the shell of your ear. "So, little Red, what's it gonna be for you?”

Your lips parted in a strangled whimper. You didn’t want them to be gentle. You didn’t want them to be respectful. This was thrilling, you've always dreamed about being roughly taken, about being manhandled.

“Fuck me, please.” You pleaded.

“It's Sir to you!” Ghost slapped you again, the pain searing this time.

"Yes—Sir—treat me like your cumdump!” You choked out, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes.

"Atta girl." He purred and you could almost hear the amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Ghost pulled your soaked panties down until they dangled between your ankles and dropped to the floor with a wiggle of your heels.

"Why do you always get to use the pussy, Dabi?" Konig whined, annoyed even as he unzipped his combat pants.

"Cause you only know how to fuck, boss." Ghost chuckled behind you. "Not how to please."

You swallowed thickly, feeling your heart beating so fast.

His hand gently stroked your ass again as he hummed. "This is supposed to be a treat after all."

A sense of comfort washed through you but you knew better than to rely on it. And oh boy, were you right.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded, moving to stand in between them as you eagerly complied.

Konig freed his hard cock from his pants. It was so thick and heavy that it was hanging low even though it was fully erect.

"Open up. I’m gonna fuck your face," giving it a few lazy pumps, he closed in on your face. His shameful words sent electricity to your nerves, and your mouth started to water as you opened it in eager anticipation.

Konig slipped the fingers of his free hand into your strands, holding your head still as he slotted himself at your lips before pushing his length between them. His spongy tip quickly slipped in and he let it rest on your tongue for a brief moment before pressing deeper.

Groaning against Konig's cock, you barely made out the sound of a zipper being undone behind you. Ghost lined up his cock with your soaked cunt, gathering your slick on his spongy tip, and only then was it that you knew that this really was going to happen. He snapped his hips forward without warning, quickly hitting resistance.

The force pushed you down on Konig’s length further until its tip hit the back of your throat. He was breathing hard, bucking his hips forward, loving the way you loosened your jaw and let him fuck your mouth.

The man behind you slowly started thrusting into you, the metal barbells of his Jacob’s Ladder continuously stroking your insides, his Prince Albert piercing kissing your cervix and making you tighten and flutter around him. Each time he pulled out, his cock was covered in more of your glistening juices.

“Ah—fuck—look at that dripping cunt—” Ghost growled, rocking his hips against your behind, watching how your greedy, sloppy pussy kept taking him, even if he could only fit halfway.

They filled you up so perfectly—Ghost’s thick, pierced cock stretched your whole pussy without getting close to being balls deep, Konig’s heavy one sitting deep in your mouth, his fat testicles slapping against your drool-covered chin with each thrust forward. A gargled moan bubbled up your throat, feeling so stuffed from both ends, with Ghost's piercings rubbing perfectly against the spot that made stars erupt before your eyes.

Goosebumps erupted all over your body as your mind began to swim.

"Aw, are you enjoying yourself?” Ghost leaned forward. "We'll make you feel even better soon...”

Then he started pounding into you, again and again until your brain was shut down. You choked between gasps as every thrust he made knocked the air from your lungs and forced Konig’s cock to slide deeper than before– until it was buried deep down your throat. You struggled to take it, breathing heavily through your nose, pleading watery eyes shooting up to his face to silently beg for a second of reprieve.

"You look so beautiful, stuffed with my cock like this–” Ghost said in a voice that was just a low rasp.

You were dizzy, breathless as he kept filling up your pussy with short, harsh strokes. He watched you writhe in pleasure on the table, your sloppy mouth stuffed with Konig’s dick. Ghost bent his head down and you could feel his breath on your neck as he inhaled your scent.

"You're taking both of us so well, little cockslut." Konig's words made you whimper even louder, glistening eyes meeting his as you struggled to breathe.

With Ghost’s hand still pinning your wrists behind your back, there was no escaping the assault. He slammed his hips harder against your pussy until you mewled out in pleasure, his piercings rubbing your g-spot just right.

The feeling of both men relentlessly working themselves in and out of you was overwhelming. Heavy grunts and growls accompanied the wet sounds of your sloppy holes getting fucked as they worked themselves into a frenzy. Ghost's cock drove deep, but you knew with a little effort, you could accommodate more of him. You parted your legs further to give Ghost even more access to your cunt. His dick began to throb and twitch, his hips bucking back and forth to find the perfect angle to thrust into you.

And he did find it. Your body shook with pleasure, making you squeal deliciously around Konig's length. Ghost let out a breathless chuckle and spread your ass cheeks, wetting his thumb before sticking it into your puckered hole.

His friend watched the scene before him, half-lidded crimson eyes glazed with lust and desire. The sight before him turned him on so much that his hips stuttered and he came without warning. He let out a strangled groan, his hand grabbing your hair tightly as he forced you to take his entire length, his tip slipping past the back of your throat. You moaned, feeling him twitch on your tongue, spilling his hot seed deep inside of you. His free hand rose to massage your throat, savoring the way you gulped and swallowed around his twitching meat.

“That's it, baby, take every drop of his cum," Ghost praises you. "Fuck– you're such a good girl.” He looked down to where you two were connected, his thumb buried deep in your ass, a sticky wet mess covering the base of his cock.

You tried to breathe but Konig didn’t budge, staying buried deep inside of you as Ghost picked up the pace now. He gave you strong thrusts that grazed the right spot, making your eyes roll back in pleasure. You moaned, your vision turning blurry. The lack of oxygen, the continuous onslaught from behind— it was too much. it pushed you over the edge and you came, clamping around his dick while your sounds of pleasure remained muffled by Konig's cock still buried deep inside your throat.

Ghost kept pounding into you while you rode out the high of your orgasm and finally, Konig pulled his softening cock from your mouth, letting you sputter and gasp for the air he'd denied you. He let himself fall back against the table behind him, his flaccid, drool-covered cock still massive in size and twitching slightly. Reaching out, he pushed your hair behind your ear before wiping off the saliva dribbling down your chin as you frantically gasped for air.

Ghost behind you kept up the pace, rutting his thumb in and out of your little pink hole in a contrasting beat to his thrusts. It became too much— you completely lost it, overstimulated and moaning unabashedly like a porn star now. Your cunt spasmed around his cock for a second time and you threw your head back in ecstasy, crying out through your climax.

“There you go, you're so fucking hot coming for us, doll." Ghost praised, continuing to rock his hips against yours. His deep thrusts grew messier and messier, being himself close to his release.

Konig watched, eyes glowing with re-awakening desire as he tucked himself away.

"I'm gonna fucking cum inside of you." Ghost let out with a low growl in his throat, sending goosebumps along your body. “Gonna fill you up, gonna breed you so good—”

He gained speed and with a final snap of his hips, he groaned out loud when he came, his hips stuttering as he shot ropes of hot cum against your womb. You could feel his cock throb with each shot, before he plummeted forward, breathing heavily. His chest pressed against your spine, and you felt his semen seep out, dripping onto the floor below. Silence took over the room while all of you tried catching your breath, hair sticking to sweaty foreheads, cocks sticky with release.

Ghost started chuckling, pulling out of you with an obscene pop. His eyes were still glazed with desire as he watched how your pussy struggled to contain the load of his release. "You look so damn pretty filled up with my cum." he said with a hidden smirk as he kept pushing it back into you with his fingers.

He stepped back to tuck himself away, and you stood back up on wobbly feet, brain foggy from the orgasms. Carding your fingers through your messed up hair, you reached for your panties but Ghost was quick to grab and stuff them into his pant pocket.

"Nu-uh," he tutted, his brilliant azure eyes twinkling with mischief. You sighed in defeat, trying your best to smooth down your skirt.

He pulled his balaclava down, slid his hand into his pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes, and lit himself one. Taking a deep drag, he exhaled slowly. “So, what were you doing here anyway?”

“I was on my way to a Halloween party with my friends.” You coyly replied, carding your fingers through your hair.

“Ya still wanna go?” He cocked his head, smoldering azures taking you in.

“What do you mean?" You looked up at him through thick lashes, still damp with the heavy tears that had sprung from your eyes in the struggle to keep down Konig’s cock.

“What Dabi wants to know is if you wouldn't rather continue our little party.” Konig snickered.

“Oh.” Was your simple reply.

“C’mon doll, let's get ya cleaned up," Ghost pressed a kiss against your forehead. "In the meantime, Shigaraki is gonna get us some drinks.”

He swung an arm around your shoulder, leading you toward the door next to the dimly lit bar on the far side of the room. “We still have more treats for you…”

Happy Halloween and thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! If you comment or reblog, you'll make my day!

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mirukosbitchywife · 1 year

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saw on tiktok someone saying like "would you Really call a character babygirl to their face if they were real"

and i would just like to say. abso fuckin lutely i am. and i'm taking that ass whooping from most of them like a champ with pride in my heart.

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scary-grace · 5 months

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Haunting for Beginners - 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, through the eyes of the ghost in question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 1

Time means nothing to him. Less than nothing, when nothing changes. When he thinks about it – and he tries not to think very much at all – he knows that the world is in motion outside the walls, past the property line. The weather changes. Night turns to day and back again. Houses are built, occupied, emptied again. Humans live. Humans die. None of it matters to Tomura. All that matters to Tomura is what happens inside his house.

Tomura knows what a house is, what it’s for. A house is somewhere humans live, somewhere humans live and die and do whatever else they do in between. Tomura’s house is supposed to have humans in it, so he can haunt them, but he’s not clear on what haunting is in the first place. What is he supposed to do with humans once he has them? And even if he knew, there’s another problem. Humans come in and out of Tomura’s house often enough, some just to see, some planning to stay. And Tomura hates all of them.

They’re loud. They run. They jam up Tomura’s house with the stupid things they own and they bring even more people in with them and they change things, things they have no right to change or even touch. Tomura might not know how to haunt things, but he knows how to make his wishes known. He knows how to make people leave when he doesn’t want them here. After all this time – some long piece of time, but it doesn’t mean anything – he’s gotten really good at it.

Sometimes Tomura makes a game of it. Some times he doesn’t try as hard as others. If the humans make him angry, he tries harder, but if they don’t do anything specifically that he hates, he just watches them until they leave on their own. That’s how Tomura spends his endless stretches of time, as the world changes outside the property line and the other houses in the neighborhood empty and fill, empty and fill, over and over and over again –

– until one day the front gate creaks open, and you step through.

Tomura knows all about humans. He knows by looking at you that you’re young, but not a kid. Just barely old enough to be here by yourself, younger than anybody else who’s come to look at this place alone. Are you alone? Tomura waits, but the only person who follows you through the gate is the idiot who brings people to Tomura’s house to try to make them buy it. So you are by yourself. That’s – new.

Maybe that’s why Tomura’s paying attention. Because it’s new. He comes closer, shadowing you and the idiot as you walk through the empty lower floor of the house. The idiot is saying all the same things it usually says, about how old the house is and how it’s untouched except for the addition of central heating and cooling. Tomura almost stopped that from happening. Then he decided that he should be the one who gets to choose when a human leaves, not the temperature and whether or not it’s comfortable. So his house has central heating and cooling. Whatever that is.

You seem to care about that a little bit. It makes you nod, but beyond that, you aren’t reacting much. Humans usually react more to the house. They have opinions. Ideas about where they’re going to put things. Plans for what they’re going to change when they move in. What they’re going to ruin, more accurately. Or sometimes they’re comparing Tomura’s house to whatever other houses they’ve visited. So go buy those houses, Tomura always thinks. This is mine.

You haven’t mentioned any other houses. You aren’t saying anything at all, and Tomura can tell the idiot is uncomfortable. Good. Then the idiot opens its mouth and uses one of the words Tomura hates the most. “It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, which is obviously reflected in the price.”

“Is that what the price is reflecting?”

“What else would it be reflecting?” the idiot asks. It’s caught off-guard. Tomura is, too. He knows all the questions humans ask, and he’s never heard anybody ask that. “Like I was saying, if you’re interested in flipping this place, there’s a lot to remodel –”

Remodel. There’s another word Tomura hates. “I thought the price reflected the fact that no one who’s owned this place has owned it for long,” you say. “Do you know why?”

“People have their reasons.” The idiot is eager to get off the subject, but Tomura knows you’ve caught on. There’s a look on your face, like you’re figuring something out. “Let me walk you through the upstairs, and then we’ll take a look at the yard! Are you much of a gardener?”

“I’ve never had the space,” you say. But you like the idea. Tomura can tell.

Tomura cares what people do to the house. What happens to the backyard isn’t his concern. If you came to live here, you could do whatever you wanted to the yard if you left the house alone. You don’t ask a lot of questions. You don’t make a lot of pointless noise. You don’t talk about how much you want to change everything about Tomura’s house, and you haven’t come in dragging more humans after you. Do you have other humans? The idiot asks, and Tomura listens a little too avidly to the answer. “No,” you say. “It’s just me.”

That’s a good answer. There’s no such thing as a good answer from people who want to buy Tomura’s house, but it’s close enough that Tomura doesn’t hate you already.

Usually humans give the idiot a yes or a no before they leave. Even if they don’t, Tomura knows whether they’ll be back or not. But he’s not sure about you. You didn’t say very much, or react very much. Humans are nothing but reaction after reaction, and they’re usually easy to spot, but Tomura wouldn’t have realized that you liked the idea of a garden unless he’d been paying close attention. He’s not used to paying close attention to things. It makes him feel strange.

You only ask the idiot one more question before you leave, and you ask it on the sidewalk, past the property line. “Are there any other offers on this place?”

“No.”

“Good,” you say, and Tomura drifts out of the house for the first time in a long time, coming right up to the fence to get a look at your face. He thinks you like that answer. He’s not sure. “I’ll be in touch.”

And then you leave, with both Tomura and the idiot staring after you as you start your car and drive away. Tomura is staring, just like the idiot is. He retreats back to his house in a hurry, fast enough to stir a breeze that makes the idiot shiver, and sweeps upstairs into his favorite spot. Humans always put their beds here when they move in. Tomura wonders where you would put your bed if you lived here. He wonders if you’ll come back.

You won’t, probably. Most humans never come back, and if they do, Tomura never lets them stay. Tomura settles into his corner of the room, as incorporeal as it’s possible to be, the same way he spends most of his time. Space means everything to Tomura – his spot, his room, his house, his property. His neighborhood, because the other ghosts who live here all know who this place really belongs to, even though he’ll never cross the lines that separate his from theirs. Space matters. Time, not so much. Time is meaningless when he has so much of it, when nothing changes from one moment or minute, hour or day, week or decade or century to the next.

Except something has changed, a little. Even as Tomura tries to sink back into apathy, to let his awareness fade, he finds that he’s watching time, keeping an eye on the change from day to night. Counting the days that pass from the moment you stepped through the gate, wondering how many it will take to prove to himself that you aren’t coming back.

“Papa, the sign’s different!” The neighborhood’s youngest used-to-be-a-ghost stops in front of Tomura’s house, peering into the yard. “It says – p. P-something.”

“Pending,” the oldest used-to-be-a-ghost says. He’s stuck in a mortal form forever now, but his spirit’s older than Tomura’s, and even when Tomura’s shielding his aura, he knows the old ghost can read more from his aura than the rest. “Good spot, Eri. Looks like somebody’s thinking about buying this place.”

Is that what ‘pending’ means? Tomura waits until the other two have gone, then goes to investigate the sign. For sale, the sign usually says, but right now it says Sale pending. Someone wants to buy it. Someone is buying it, and the idiot’s only brought one person to see it in a long time. It’s been seventeen days since you came to see Tomura’s house. Is it you?

When he thinks about you buying the house, moving into the house, Tomura – he doesn’t know how to describe what he’s feeling, except that it makes his essence itch. He’s never felt like that before. He hates it. He doesn’t know how to make it go away. Maybe it’ll go away if you come back.

And you do come back, twenty-two days after the first time you crossed the property line. This time there are other humans with you, not just the idiot – humans in uniforms, carrying equipment. Inspection. That’s farther than most humans who want Tomura’s house get. You’re there, supposedly supervising, but instead you’re on the phone with somebody, at the same time as you’re reading through a packet of papers. Tomura doesn’t like that. You’re in his house. You shouldn’t be paying attention to anything else.

He wraps a strand of his essence around your phone, cutting off the signal, and you lower it from your ear, surprised. You try the call again, and Tomura tightens his grip. He wonders if you’ll get mad. Humans get mad about things like that. But instead of getting angry, you tuck your phone into your pocket and go back to your papers. Tomura reads them over your shoulder and feels some of his anger dissipate. You’re reading about his house, about all the people who owned his house before you came to see it. If you’re reading about the house, it’s fine. It’s better that you pay attention to what you’re reading than the other people who are here. When you leave again, Tomura goes back to counting the days.

There are more inspections than usual. Two different inspectors come to look for leaking poisonous gas, and another one comes looking for black mold, and then a fourth one comes through checking everything else, and you still don’t come back. The rest of the neighborhood has noticed what’s going on, and they’re talking about it. About you. Tomura listens to every word, the itching in his spirit worsening by the hour.

“All those inspections – she’s got cold feet. No way is she buying it.”

“Those inspections cost money. She wouldn’t have them done if she wasn’t serious about it.”

“This place is expensive,” the human who belongs to the youngest ghost says. “She can’t afford it.”

“I afforded it,” the human who belongs to the scar wraith says as he walks past with a pile of mail. “With rent like it is in the city, a mortgage is cheaper.”

Tomura doesn’t know what a mortgage is. He doesn’t know why he’s listening to the other so much, either. He barely pays attention to them, just enough to know when one house empties and fills again, when one of them dies, when a new one’s born. Or embodied. There haven’t been baby humans in the neighborhood in – ever. Humans have bought Tomura’s house before. That’s not new. But Tomura’s never thought about it as much as he’s thinking about it now.

After the inspections end, Tomura’s house is empty for eight more days. Then you come back with the idiot again, walking through the house like you did the first time. Halfway through, you send the idiot outside. And for the first time ever, it’s just you and Tomura inside Tomura’s house.

Tomura’s itching gets a thousand times worse in an instant, setting every scrap of his essence buzzing. It should be awful, but it’s – not. His spirit hums as he shadows you through the house from room to room, stopping when you stop, looking at what you’re looking at. Sometimes Tomura casts his essence wide, letting it expand to fill every inch of the house, but now he draws it inwards, fitting into the space next to you where the idiot would have stood if you hadn’t thrown it out. You threw the idiot out. Tomura knew he liked you.

There’s a thought he’s never had before. You keep walking, but Tomura stops following you, coming to a halt on the stairs as he tries to piece things together. Tomura knows what he dislikes. He knows what he can tolerate. He knows what he can ignore and what he doesn’t want to. Tomura knows what he needs to know about how he feels. He tolerates and ignores and gets irritated and bored and angry and angry and angry, so angry that he has to scatter his essence to the edge of the property line to avoid destroying his house. But he’s never liked something before.

Is that what this itching is? Liking something? Tomura doesn’t think so. The itching is something else. Liking is calmer. Liking isn’t uncomfortable. Tomura goes looking for you again and finds you sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, lost in thought. No phone. No papers. You look calm and comfortable. Tomura studies you and matches your expression to what he’s experiencing. He likes this. You like it, too.

When you get to your feet and head for the door, Tomura’s itching returns. The uncomfortable kind of itching. You’re leaving. He doesn’t like that, and the look on the idiot’s face as you approach it makes the itching even worse. For the first time, Tomura doesn’t listen in on a conversation you’re having. He disappears back to the house, draws as close to the edge of the world-that-is and the world between as he can, hoping it’ll drown everything else out. It drowns out the sound of your voice, but not the sound of a car starting and pulling away. Who just left? Was it you? The itching explodes into something unbearable, and Tomura races back to the front yard. You’re gone. The idiot’s still there. It’s fiddling with the sign.

For sale, it used to say. Next, Sale pending. The idiot attaches something else to it and backs away, its lips curving upwards. It’s happy. Tomura cuts as close to the fence as possible and gets a look at the sign that’s stood just inside the property line more often than not for as long as he’s been here. For sale, it used to say. Now it says Sold.

Tomura likes that. He likes that a lot.

When you move in, you don’t bring much with you. Tomura investigates everything you add to his house and realizes that most of it is old. Not the kind of old people pay money for. Just old enough to have seen better days. No other humans come to help you move. It’s just you, dragging things from a car into the house all day long. Some of it is heavy. You look tired. Most humans have other humans moving in with them, and most humans hire more humans to help them move. Tomura wonders why you don’t.

You don’t have any humans, but when you come back for good, you bring something with you. You get out of your car – which is old, like everything else you have, including Tomura’s house – and walk around to open the passenger-side door. A dog jumps out.

Tomura knows about dogs. He knows humans have them sometimes. But no one with a dog has ever moved into his house. Why didn’t you bring it before? The dog wanders around the yard, sniffing everything, putting things in its mouth and spitting them back out, until it scurries onto the porch and rolls on its back with its feet in the air and its tail wagging. It looks stupid. Tomura wonders if it knows how stupid it looks.

But you must not agree, because you’re smiling as you climb the steps to join it. When you crouch down to rub the dog’s belly, your hand vanishes partway into its thick fur. The fur looks – Tomura has to think hard to come up with a word for it. He knows what texture looks like, even if he’s never touched anything before. It looks – soft.

The dog’s fur is soft, and it looks happy. You look happy, too. You’re talking to the dog in a silly voice, asking it questions it can’t answer, since dogs can’t talk. Humans do things like that all the time, things that don’t make sense, and those things irritate Tomura. Usually. He doesn’t feel irritated right now. He feels something else. Not the itchy feeling that happens sometimes when he thinks about you, the one he doesn’t have a word for. It’s more like the feeling of liking something. Like that, but warmer, somehow. When he watches you and your dog together, he feels – nice.

Still, Tomura was expecting it to be just the two of you in his house. He’s not sure how he feels now that he knows about the dog. So Tomura does what he always does when there’s someone new in the house and they haven’t upset him yet: He watches.

He watches while you and the dog settle in for your first night in his house. You do some unpacking while the dog keeps you company. You let it out in the yard five or six times. You feed the dog and cook for yourself and feed the dog again by throwing little pieces of food to it while you’re making whatever you’re making. You talk to the dog, even though it can’t talk back. It likes the way your voice sounds. Tomura can tell. He still can’t tell how he feels about the dog.

He waits until you’ve gone to bed before he goes to inspect it more closely. It’s downstairs, sleeping in a crate full of pillows and stuffed toys. The crate’s door is open. It could get in and out any time it wants, but it seems to like it in there. Tomura peers at it through the bars on the crate, through the open door, trying to decide what to do about it. After a few minutes in which he comes up with nothing, the dog lifts its head off its pillow and looks at him.

Not at him. It can’t see him. Can it? Tomura shifts to one side, and the dog’s eyes follow him. Its ears are pricked. Tomura shifts to the other side, and once again, the dog tracks his position easily. It can see him. Tomura feels a surge of disquiet at the thought. What if it decides it doesn’t like him? What if it tells you about him, and you decide to leave? Tomura doesn’t want that to happen. He’s surprised by just how much he doesn’t want it.

The dog is still looking at him, eyes bright and alert. It’s wiggling strangely. Tomura studies it from a different angle and sees that its tail is wagging hard enough to shake its entire body. Its tail was wagging when you were petting it, too. It was happy then, because it likes you. Does it like Tomura too?

The question makes Tomura itch. He leaves the dog in its crate and drifts upstairs, heading for your room. The click of nails on the wood floors tells him that the dog is following him, trotting along with its ears up and its tail still wagging. The door to your room is slightly ajar. Tomura drifts through it, stopping just past the threshold, and the dog follows him, not stopping until it’s reached the edge of the bed, hopped up, and curled up at your side.

Tomura’s itching isn’t going away. It’s getting worse. He checks to see if leaving the room will make it better, but leaving makes it worse, too. He drifts forward instead, closer to the bed, then above it, peering down at you from the ceiling. Your bed is too big for you, he decides. Even with you asleep in the middle of it and the dog next to you, there’s still room on either side, enough for – what? Tomura doesn’t know for what, except that the question makes him itch worse than any thought he’s ever had.

The dog is looking up at Tomura. It’s wagging its tail again, and its tail is thumping against your face. You stir slightly, extend one hand from the blanket to rest on the dog’s flank. “Shh,” you mumble, giving it a few gentle pats. “I know. I like it here, too.”

You like it here. Tomura knew that. You wouldn’t have bought it if you didn’t like it. But hearing you say it is something else. The people who’ve bought Tomura’s house before have had plenty to say about it – about what needs to be fixed or upgraded or removed or changed, all the things about it that need to be different in order for it to be good enough for them. Nobody’s ever moved in and said they liked it just how it was. Except you.

He likes hearing you say that. Tomura retreats to the lower floor, so the dog won’t keep looking at him and hitting you in the face with its tail, then sneaks back up to peer through the open door once you’re both asleep. The dog is snoring, and underneath the snoring, Tomura hears your deep, even breathing, split up here and there with small, contented sounds. Tomura hates it when there’s noise in his house. But this is the kind of noise he could get used to.

Time used to mean nothing to Tomura. Now time means a lot of things. You’re home less than he thought you’d be – less than he’d like you to be, although that thought falls squarely in the category of things that make him itch. You’re gone most of the day, five days in a row, then home most of the day for two days in a row, and then the cycle repeats. The dog is here all the time, unless you’re taking it out for walks or letting it outside to run in the yard. When you’re here, Tomura watches you. When you aren’t, he watches the dog.

The dog watches him, too. No matter where Tomura is inside the house, the dog finds him, and it brings things to him. Usually its toys. Sometimes stuff Tomura knows it’s not supposed to have, like things out of your laundry basket. It sets them down in front of him and sits, tail wagging, an expectant look on its furry face. Tomura knows from watching you what he’s supposed to do with the toys. Throw them, so the dog can bring them back, or hold onto one end so the dog can bite down on the other end and yank and shake until it gets bored. Tomura ignores the dog at first, but ignoring it starts to feel weird. Bad. If he could help, he would. Really. He just doesn’t know how.

One day you’re in a bad mood when you leave. Tomura doesn’t know all the reasons why. Your mood seems bigger than the thing you got upset about, which was a big spider crawling across the bathroom mirror while you were brushing your teeth. It’s not the first spider, either. There have been at least eight, and Tomura knows where they’re coming from – a nest in the insulation between the walls, full of dozens more. The spiders are going to keep coming out. You don’t like spiders. If you don’t like spiders and Tomura’s house is full of them, you’re going to leave.

Tomura doesn’t want that. He encircles the nest with a few strands of essence and studies it for an hour, then two, then more. There’s something he should be doing here, some instinct pulling at him until he wraps the strands of essence tighter. Tighter, and tighter again, tightening his grip until the spiders in the nest begin to grow sluggish, then still. They’re turning cold. And somewhere in the smallest corners of his essence, Tomura feels warmth.

Living things are warm. Tomura pulls away from the dry, crumbling nest of dead spiders and back into the bathroom, where the dog is waiting for him with its ball. Tomura reaches for the ball, meaning to wrap it in essence and see what happens, but what happens is something else. His essence takes shape, takes visibility, takes weight and mass, until Tomura finds himself holding the ball in a pair of hands. His hands.

The ball has a dozen properties – prickly, fuzzy, rigid but not, damp but not wet, heavy in his hands but not nearly as heavy as the hands themselves. If Tomura had known he was going to touch something for the first time today, he would have picked something else. He shifts the ball to one hand, freeing up the other, and reaches out to the dog, which is bouncing up on its back feet with excitement. Tomura’s planning to pet the dog’s ears – that’s what you always do – but the dog shifts its head to one side and licks Tomura’s fingers instead. Wet. Slimy. Tomura wouldn’t have picked that for the first thing he touched, either.

He swaps the ball to the hand the dog licked, wipes the other on the carpet, and wonders if he can make more than two hands. He tries it, but two hands are all humans get. Two hands are all he gets. While the dog is sniffing the ball and trying to lick it out of Tomura’s hand, he uses the other hand to pet its ears.

They’re soft, just like he thought they’d be. Soft and warm. The dog’s tail thumps against the floor. It stops licking Tomura’s other hand in favor of nudging it, trying to trick him into throwing the ball. Tomura throws it hard enough to strike against the floor, bounce off the ceiling, and fly out the door into the hallway.

The dog lets out a joyful yelp and chases after it. Tomura stares down at his hands – his hands – and wonders how long he’ll have them for. How he’ll get them back. What else he can do with them.

He practices making hands. You don’t like when there are bugs in the house, so he gets rid of them, and with the energy he strips from their bodies, he makes himself hands. Hands are useful for a lot of things. He and the dog can play now. Never for as long as it wants – Tomura always runs out of life before the dog is tired of playing tug or fetch or rolling over on its belly with its feet in the air – but they can play now. Tomura knows the dog can’t talk, but if it could talk to you about him, he thinks it would have nice things to say.

You have nice things to say, too – about Tomura’s house, to everybody you talk to. But you don’t talk to as many people as the people who bought the house before you did, and you don’t invite as many people over. You don’t invite anybody over. You like your space, just like Tomura likes his space, and he’s already used to your presence and the dog’s in the house. Time matters to him now, so he knows it’s been twenty-three days since you and the dog moved into his house. Nobody else has stayed as long at a stretch. Since you moved in, you’ve slept nowhere else.

And you haven’t brought anybody else in. You don’t like the idea of bringing anybody else in. Tomura can tell by your expression when someone you’re talking to on your phone suggests it. He hasn’t really questioned if he was right to let you stay, but the more he observes you, the more convinced he is that it was a good decision. Tomura’s house has a human in it now. He can finally do what ghosts are supposed to do and haunt it.

But Tomura’s still not sure about the whole haunting thing. You’ve watched a few scary movies, and he’s watched them, too, so he knows that haunted houses are supposed to be terrifying. The humans in them should want to leave, and the ghost should make it as hard for them as possible, and maybe kill them, too. Tomura doesn’t want to kill you. And he doesn’t want you to leave. There has to be a way to haunt you that doesn’t end with you moving out.

He's turning the question over in his head as you and the dog play in the backyard in the early evening, so focused on it that he barely notices the coyote that slips through the fence. That hole in the fence has been there forever. Coyotes come in and out all the time. But there’s never been somebody in the yard when they’ve come in before. It takes Tomura a split second to realize there’s a problem, and that split second is too long. Long enough for the coyote to lunge at the dog and bite down hard one of the dog’s back legs.

The dog lets out a horrible sound, shrill and rattling, and you scream, too. The sounds shatter inside Tomura’s essence, and he hates them – but not the same way he hates everything else. You throw your phone at the coyote, hitting it in the head, and it lets go of the dog, who scrambles back to you. You crouch down to cradle it, stroking its fur and mumbling to it as the coyote comes closer. You’re trying to comfort it. You should be running.

Why aren’t you running? Tomura feels a surge of frustration, mixed in with something sharper, something that pulls his essence into a knot and yanks it tighter. But then he looks at the distance to the back door, which is closed. Then he thinks about how you’d have to carry the dog, which would make it harder to open the door fast. How your back would be to the coyote the whole time, and how it’s probably faster than you are. You stand a better chance if you don’t have your back to it when it attacks you, and that’s why you’re getting to your feet, pushing the dog behind you, facing the coyote and staring it down.

You’re scared. Tomura knows what scared looks like on humans, but that’s not all you are. Your hands are clenched into fists, which means you’re angry, too. Angry that something’s come to the house and hurt your dog. Angry like Tomura is, a new kind of anger, not purposeless but directed towards a single target. This is his house. His house, his yard, his dog, his human. Nothing gets to touch them. Tomura surges forward.

There aren’t insects around, but there’s the grass, and he steals life-force from it, manifesting hands that seize the coyote just as it leaps towards you. It’s the biggest thing he’s ever tried to grasp. It thrashes and snarls, thrumming with life. Tomura could drain it. It’s what his instincts are telling him to do. But it deserves worse than that. It deserves to be scared, just like Tomura’s dog and his human are. Tomura tightens his grip around its throat and wrenches with a fraction of his strength. Even a fraction of his strength is enough to nearly rip its head from its shoulders.

Tomura doesn’t mean to drop the corpse, but he didn’t draw enough life-force from the grass to hold onto his hands for long. The coyote’s body thuds to the ground, and Tomura turns his attention to you and the dog, where it belongs. The two of you have retreated back to the porch, you sprawled back against the back door with the dog in your lap. Your eyes are wide. You look scared.

Tomura feels a twinge of discomfort. He’s never shown himself to a human in the house before, not even a little bit, and right now you look like the people in movies look when something’s haunted them. The people in those movies want to leave their houses when they realize they’re haunted. The first human Tomura’s ever wanted to stay in the house is about to become the next human who leaves.

Then you close your eyes, take a deep breath, open them again. “I don’t know who did that,” you say. You’re looking out at a yard that must look empty to you, but the bulk of Tomura’s essence is in your eyeline, enough that he can convince himself you’re looking at him. “But thank you.”

You get awkwardly to your feet and carry the dog inside, only to come back out a few seconds later to pick up your phone, giving the dead body of the coyote a wide berth. You place a call before the door’s even shut. Tomura can hear you on the phone with the emergency vet, whatever that is, but he can barely focus beyond the strange things that are happening within his essence.

Some part of him is angry, like always, but there are new dimensions to his anger – he’s mad at the coyote for getting in, mad at himself for not doing something about it before the dog got hurt and you got scared. Part of him is relieved that you aren’t packing your things and calling a hotel. And part of him is – is –

Tomura doesn’t know what to call most of the feeling, but it brings the itching along with it, and he knows what to call the itching now. It’s wanting. The itching that makes him feel like crawling out of his essence or curling up so tight inside it that he can’t be found is what it feels like to want something, and unlike the other times he’s felt it since you arrived, Tomura knows what he wants.

The world’s held so little interest to him for so long. He’s been here some piece of time that feels like forever, and he’s lost count of the number of times he wishes he’d been destroyed rather than give up the fight to remain in the world between. He belongs in the world between. Not here.

But now there’s something in this world that the world between could never give to Tomura. You looked at Tomura. You talked to him. All Tomura wants in this world or the next is for you to talk to him again.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura #x reader #reader insert #ghost story #loser nerd ghost boyfriend

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starryylies · 7 months

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Hii loviesss,

I’m star~˚₊✩‧₊

I love writing, singing and hello kitty!! I love the colour pink and I enjoy playing games :3

I created this blog to write for the characters I love, (it’s gonna be reallyyyy self indulgent at times) and also to have my occasional vents :>

I’m happy to take requests and I’ll reply as soon as I can!!!

thank you Angels have an awesome day

˚‧｡♥｡‧˚

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dolliestfairy · 11 months

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𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑈𝑛𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝐹𝑎𝑤𝑛 ‌ིᨴּ ˒˒۪ 🦌ೀ

𔓘 Tw: Kidnapping, Noncon, Forced breeding, Pregnancy, Bondage, and a little of housewife kink ig? This fics is kinda suffocating tho. read at your own risk. Chubby reader fics with no skintone of reader mentioned.

𔓘 Authors note: this fanfic is kinda fcked up. this more like a Psychopath Hunter x Fawn fairy than a yandere. some may found this kind of disturbing so.. if this isnt your taste then please gtfo..

Minors do Not interact!

i'm thinking abt yandere hunter who is obsessed with chubby!fem!reader who is a fawn fairy.

yandere hunter who swears on his thumbs that he will kill anyone who tries to take away his wife from him who tries to hurt you.

yandere hunter who doesnt realize his obsessed nature over you. and called you "delusional" for calling him a crazy person.

yandere hunter who kidnapped you as soon as you placed one of your foot in his traps. shusing your cries while saying he would take care of you after.

yandere hunter who wants you to be his wife and bear his child. it doesnt matter if it was a mating season or not, he would try and no one could stop him.

yandere hunter who puts a rope above your chest and under your chubby belly just so you cant fly away.

yandere hunter who is almost dying from happiness because he just cant handle the cuteness of you with tears rolling down onto your tears.

yandere hunter who showed no mercy on you while his cock sliding into your pussy with an unexpected pace of speed. making you yelp.

yandere hunter whos one hand is on your mouth, covering you and muffling down your tears and cry, while his other hand plays with your nipple.

yandere hunter who suffocate you with affectionate after what all his done to you. shusing you and putting his plam hand on your cheeks and rubbing it while your body felt the cold air hitting every parts of your skin and wings, making you trembling.

yandere hunter who is 8 months later now is rubbing your swelled bellies, a bellies that now is filled with his unborn triplets. while he's thanking you for giving him this amount of happiness. which little did he know that he was far from a thing that was called "sane".

how can you even escape this madman when you're literally carrying his babies at the moment?

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡ The MadMans are : DABI, MAHITO, Shigaraki, SUKUNA, GOJO, Itachi, OVERHAUL, DILUC, PANTALONE, Nanami, Geto, Kuroo, Suna, Tsukishima Kei, BACHIRA, OBITO, Sasuke, TOJI, Douma, Michael Kaiser, KAKUZU, KISAME, QIN SHI HUANG HOLY FUCKING SHIT, Alec, Hatake Kakashi, Horangi, Simon Ghost Riley, ALEJANDRO.

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yanderenightmare · 6 months

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thinking about Touya and Tomura fucking a pretty little virgin and keeping her collared in their bed as their shy, slutty cumdump

Shigaraki Tomura x darling x Dabi

TW: NSFW, dubcon/noncon, power dynamic, captive darling

fem reader

They don’t seem to enjoy each other’s company that much...

Patchface and Fugly aren’t exactly names of endearment...

Tomura seems to think he’s in charge, but Dabi’s never shown any sign of respect for that – they both just do what they want. Fighting each other with childish insults – sometimes the odd shirt grab or childish push – but never actually throwing down.

You don’t understand the nature of their relationship. They behave more like brothers than anything – forced to share the same toy – you.

Tomura is the more clingy of the two. Cuddly with you – always lazing on you like you’re his personal plush. He sleeps a lot – lies with his arms around your waist and his head in your tits – drool dribbling down his chin, getting sticky on your skin. And when he doesn’t sleep, he’s sitting in his chair – three screens making his eyes beady and baggy. He’ll often keep you on his lap – his massive girth wearing you like a fleshlight as he clicks away on his controller.

Dabi is cuddly, too, but you wouldn’t call him clingy. He prefers it when you lie against his chest. He likes to stroke his fingers up and down your skin – play a little – lick you with blue flames, just enough for it to sting just a bit. He’s somehow lazier than Tomura – always in the bed with a blunt between his lips – rolling more – sucking the slim roll while you suck him. The air in the room is always thick with it.

They’re both trigger-happy – horny at the drop of a hat. Utterly shameless with it, too – stroking their hard lengths against your warm flesh even while you sleep. Sometimes you wake up with their cum smeared on your skin – other times you wake up with one of them inside you.

Dabi reeks of cigarettes and catpiss, and Tomura isn’t much different – dry sweat and boozy breaths.

You don’t think either of them has been with too many girls. Nor does it seem that either of them has had any proper education. Schooled by the internet – incel chatrooms and porn. You often have to raise your brow at their misogyny.

You find Tomura harbors more pure resentment towards you in that aspect – sometimes so cruel, forcing you to beg him for his mercy – when he’ll keep your throat in a four-fingered lock – the fifth ghosting the skin until he’s properly satisfied with the number of tears running down your cheeks. He calls you a pretty girl, but more so as an insult – a pretty bitch only worth taking his cum.

Dabi seems to have his rage focused elsewhere – on some distant goal. He’ll brood over it in silence – often long into the night. You’ll wake up only to see he has yet to fall asleep – but you don’t dare ask him about it. He can be just as ill-tempered as Tomura if you don’t watch yourself.

They both bite harder than they bark.

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kttiuh · 1 year

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୨୧ | JERKING OFF INTO UR PUSSY !

pairings multi x implied chubby! reader

content wrote this w/ a black reader in mind, but nothing is explicitly stated. pretty tame. nsfw.

a/n filler post while i work on asks 'n other things.

no thoughts, just your teasing fav with a tight fist around his cock. he's pantin' heavily, using the slick from your needy pussy to aid his movements.

everything is so shameless 'nd nasty. only the head of his cock is sunk into your pussy, just barely pushing past the tight ring of your entrance. your quiet moans accompany his despite the fact you're terribly empty. though, just the thought of him pushing in and bullying his cock into your heat has you clenchin' around nothing—

he's lettin' out a quiet grunt when he feels just how desperate you are to be filled. fucckk — it's like you're beggin' to be fucked senseless. his resolve doesn't break though, and another hand of his comes to cup his painfully heavy balls. you feel him twitch inside you, still using your cunt to warm the head of his cock as he continues jerking off.

"'m still gonna fill you up with cum," he's stoppin' himself mid sentence with a particularly harsh tug to his cock. there's so much stimulating him right now, but he'd never pass up the chance to tease you. "even with my cock not bein' buried inside that pretty 'lil pussy."

... god, he's so fucking filthy.

you can't help your hips tutting up, or the moan that escapes you at his statement. he's always had a way with his words; and the knowledge on how to get you to throw yourself at him like a whore. even when he's makin' you watch him get himself off, with the help of your cunt.

his hand speeds up and he's giving shallow thrusts into you, barely sinking himself deeper. with his labored breaths, and excessive amount of precum fillin' up your cunt; it's obvious he's getting close.

big hands grip your ankles and push them beside your head. his cock finally, finally sinks all the way into you— and you involuntarily let out a strained gasp at the intrusion.

his pelvis meets yours while he's cumming, and you can feel his pubes rub against your twitchy clit.

"s-shit, pussys' clenching so much— ngh — such a needy thing..." he's not wrong, finally having your cunt filled has you wrappin' around him tightly in a vice. and it's soso tight— milkin' more out of him to the point you can feel his thick cum leaking of you.

he gives one more shallow thrust before pullin' out. slow, heavy pants leave your mouth, you're right back to being empty after finally being filled with cock. (not taking the warm cum deep into you in account </3)

rough fingers ghost along your clit before pushing into your cunt. more cum drips out you while he takes his time moving his digits around your slick pussy. you shoot him a confused look— since he hates when his cum is wasted. a teasing smirk is all you recieve before he replies

"what, babe, thought i'd leave that precious pussy unsatisified...? i'm not that cruel." <3

CHILDE, KAEYA, kaveh, pantalone, GOJO, TOJI, getou, DABI, HAWKS, shigaraki, KISHIBE.

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darkmajesty-xo · 1 year

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Ready Player 1 ? - Shigaraki x reader

18+ MDNI | masturbation, praise , video chats, crack-humor

most would consider it unwise for a girl like you to be in these chat rooms due to the questionable discourse and rather infamous patrons, but girls just wanna have fun right ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: saw an old couple today, could be me and shig but he’s playing ☹️

user2345: i think you mean planning* as in planning world domination and torment of quirkless losers like you.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: oh sweetheart you’ll never get any pussy if you keep acting like one

user3333: damn bro, you gonna take that ?

user2345: who gives a shit about some villain groupie ?

user2345: she keeps her mouth so full of cum that it’s starting to affect her whore brain.

user2345: do you really think the true leader of the new world would make time for some dumb cunt like you ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: there’s probably a higher chance of tomura shigaraki and i living happily ever after than there is of ANY woman even looking in your direction.

this was a normal friday night, you simping over shigaraki in the forums and clapping back at the misogynistic incels that hid behind their keyboards in their mothers’ basements. but there was one guy that always stood up for you whenever the idiots got too out of hand. he was also a moderator so he had no problems blocking them.

the two of you would dm off and on about life , thoughts on hero society, hobbies , etc. from your chats you gathered that he didn’t walk that straight and narrow but that didn’t mean much to you. he would sometimes tease your about your crush on shigaraki and your general taste in men.

finalboss: honestly, what kind of girl likes a criminal?; who knows what kind of twisted shit the guys into— you’re not even a villain.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: you know nothing jon snow

finalboss: that reference just confirmed btw

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: i’ll have you know that my beloved is a certified otaku fantasy nerd.

finalboss: oh yeah ? and how’d you obtain such info ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: i run 3 stan accounts on twitter and i belong to a shiggy fan club 🥹

finalboss: 😃

finalboss: seek help

finalboss: 😃

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: you wound me ☹️

finalboss: i’ll just leave that too your Prince Charming lol

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: oh lord , did you see the footage of his latest attack ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: he was dressed like a whoreee 😩😩

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: tits just out for my viewing pleasure

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: shigaraki is my shepherd, he know what i want.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: wanna suck on those sugar nips and call him mommy

finalboss: you get weirder and weirder every time we chat

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: that means we’re becoming besties ㅤ♡ ︎

finalboss: ♡ ︎

it was nice having someone to talk to about your secret obsession, it’s not like your “real life” friends would understand. the two of you had carved out your own little piece of the internet to goof around in. he never disclosed much information about himself and typically kept the conversations focused on you, but you still felt an undeniable bond to this faceless stranger.

then he ghosted you.

weeks went by without a word from your friend. he no longer defended you in the forums and he didn’t respond to any of your dms. you’d started to get worried that he may have been arrested or worse. and at the three month mark you’d finally given up hope that you’d ever hear from your friend again. but then the unexpected happened.

finalboss is requesting to video chat.

this was completely out of character but after months with no word, you were desperate to hear from your friend.

you were prepared to chew him him out for abandoning you. thinking of all the ways you could insult him while simultaneously expressing your need for his comfort and company. but your mind went blank when the grainy screen loaded into the pixelated image of your companion.

whispy tendrils fell from his bun, framing the sculpted planes of his handsome face. his lips were dry, slightly chapped, with the only lubrication being the sheen of saliva left by the slow drag of his tongue. bloodied eyes bore into your own leaving you breathless and dazed.

“hey bestie”

his voice was low and raspy, almost like a whisper. a deep rumbling that echoed in your ear drums. it was oddly hypnotic. he was absolutely mesmerizing.

tomura chuckled into the camera, showing flashes of perfectly white teeth. he leans back into the chair, a hand on the back of his neck showcasing a broad chest and toned abs.

“didn’t expect you to be this quiet, bestie. is my outfit not slutty enough for you ? i could always take these off…” his hand fell from his neck to rest and the waistband of his black jeans.

you remained speechless, eyes glued to the light dusting of hair below his belly button.

more laughter and shifting. now you were met with the glorious girth of shigaraki’s cock clenched tightly in his fist. the darkened tip oozed a sparkling trail of pre that spilled down his length. his thumb swiped the fluid to spread over his veiny member.

“c’mon , doll. don’t leave me hanging” he teased, squeezing his fist upwards to produce more pre. “i thought you wanted to be my ‘mc’ ? seems more like an npc if you ask me”.

“y-you’re him” you stammered, eyes following the slow drag of his fist. “you’re tomura shigaraki”.

“in the flesh” he teased, shooting a wink that went directly between your legs. “well kinda, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. sorry i’ve been away so long, but you’d wait forever for me won’t you , perfect girl ?”

your nod was automatic. robotic even. you’d moved closer to the screen, completely engrossed by his ministrations.

“anything for you beyon—shiggy”

you both laughed at that. he appreciated your humor, especially with all the drama in his day to day. even in def con simp mode and being ghosted didn’t stop you from being undeniably you. that’s probably why he was as obsessed with you as you were with him.

“i know we probably have alot to discuss but todays been kind of shitty and i’d really like to explore our final fantasies”.

you snorted, “that was really bad , shig”.

he shrugged, “i’m a villain, not a comedian, beloved. “now show me that perfect little pussy”.

#yandere shigaraki #shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #tenko shimura #mha shigaraki #mha smut #shigaraki x black reader #shigaraki x chubby reader #mha x blackreader #mha x chubby reader #mha crack

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nonobadcat · 2 years

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A real world AU Gothic Romance - Final Chapter

Artwork by the amazing @obsidianne-art

Pairing: Ghost Shigaraki X Fem!Reader

Rating: Readers 18+ only

Content Warnings: PnV relations with a literal ghost, toys, mirror

Chapter Three Word Count: 3.9k, Ao3 Mirror

Part I ---❤--- Part 2

Sunday October 23rd, 2022

At six in the morning, you awoke to the screech of a train horn, and a full bladder. Wiping your half-matted hair out of your face, you creaked to your feet and wrapped yourself in the comforter. Dragging your warmth with you into the bathroom, you climbed onto the toilet with one eye open…

…and proceeded to pee fire.

By nine in the morning, two inquisitive text messages and one graphic description of chafed skin summoned your best friend to the landline like a fox to an injured bunny.

“Well, of course you’re gonna give yourself a rug burn using something rough like that!” Serenity spat into the phone. “What were you thinking?!”

Um… how horny you were for some dead man’s dick?

Gripping the cold pack between your thighs, you winced. “Since when is thinking involved in that kind of thing?”

An annoyed snarl echoed from the other end. “Look, if you can’t use your fingers, you need to use a toy or something!”

You scrolled through the adult toy listings, eyeing up the options. Fake glass cock. Fake silicone cock. Fake plastic cock. Fake hot pink plastic cock with a little vibrating branch that looked like Vienna sausage. Hitachi wand. Egg thingy. Silver bullet? That sounded more like a solution to a werewolf infestation than something you wanted to put between your legs.

“Give me a break Ren-Ren! There’s too many different options,” you protested, scratching the back of your neck. “How am I supposed to know what to buy?”

You could practically hear your best friend’s headache as she loosed an indignant sigh. “All right. I got you. Do you want inside or outside stim?”

“Um…” you scrolled past a fake tentacle with weighted Kegel eggs. “Both?”

“Then order a rabbit.”

“What’s a rabbit?”

“Heaven have mercy,” she muttered. “Sit yourself down because this is going to be a long talk.”

Monday, October 31st, 2022 4:013 pm

Eight days after your sexual re-education lecture, a text message notification dinged your phone as you passed through the center of Smalltown, USA. Pulling into the old brownstone library, you parked your car and took advantage of the only five bar signal in Podunk County outside of the Walmart plaza. Not even the smell of garlic and deep fried something pouring out the vent from Wang’s Chinese Buffet could distract you from your excitement. The message was from USPS.

Your package has been delivered.

Oh good, Mrs. Murray’s pack of angry, push-face Pekingese hadn’t eaten the mail lady. You weren’t so sure when you saw her tearing down the sidewalk last week, being chased by bubble-fluff Cujos who probably asphyxiated for their efforts.

As you looked up from your phone’s screen, blustering winds painted the smooth cement walkway to the library doors with curled, brown leaves. A plastic sign reading “Trunk-or-Treat - 5pm - Halloween” flapped in the wind. You eyed the library's posted hours before cutting the engine. Perfect. For once, you were done with house calls early enough to go inside. Snagging your purse, you schlepped up the walkway to the glass doors and pushed your way in.

Paper cut-out ghosts and fresh pumpkins from “Miller’s Prize Winning Patch” coated the warm lobby with seasonal excitement. Tiny rubber bats flapped from the door frame, leading visitors up a trail of plastic “Big Foot” tracks to the circulation desk. Pinned into a vintage, slate colored silk dress with billowing mutton sleeves, the head librarian paused her frenzied typing just long enough to adjust her golden Prince-Nez spectacles. She tugged at the frilly trim of her high collar, fussing with the long lace. The upturned brim of her wide, feathered hat reminded you of a bowl. It didn’t budge as she lifted her head to face you. Considering the number of long, pearl tipped pins she’d inserted through the felt, it probably would have shrugged off an EF5 tornado by having a glass of sherry.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Curtwright." You folded your hands neatly on the desk. "I'm sorry it took me so long to make it in. Work has been savage."

The librarian smiled and turned to the squat metal, bookcase marked “holds”. She pulled down a heavy grey text labeled “Miller’s Antiques Encyclopedia”. “It’s just so good to see that old house cared for by someone who really appreciates its history,” she replied, passing you the massive reference book.

“Speaking of which, do you know what happened to the Shimura’s son after the fire?”

She hummed, tapping her chin. “Not off hand.”

You sighed. “Oh well.”

“Did you find another picture in the old furniture?”

“Uh…” Your cheeks burned as images of the naughty dream drifted across your mind. “Something like that. There was a young man in his twenties with wavy white hair. He looked a little different but I could swear it was the same person.”

“If you know the date, we can check some of the old town records.”

“There wasn’t a date on this one.”

She tugged at her sleeve. “Do you remember what his clothing looked like?”

You crossed your arms. “A red velvet jacket with these fasteners that looked like a marching band uniform.” Closing your eyes, you tried to picture the outfit you were wearing. “There was a woman in something that looked like your dress. It was really tight fitted with these slightly poofy sleeves—”

“Poofy at the shoulder or the wrist?”

“The wrist? Sort of anyway. The end of the coat was wide like a funnel.” You scrunched your face. “It was short and the shoulders were smooth, like a normal suit coat.”

“Bell sleeved jacket with Bishop sleeve shirtwaist. Probably Edwardian then. Did the dress have an S-shape that made the chest and butt stick out?”

You nodded.

“Pouter pigeon. Classic Gibson Girl look,” she murmured, leaning into the conversation. “Must have been the early years. Was there a hat?”

“Yes. It was kind of puffy and made of felt.”

“Did it have a brim?”

You pinched the air. “Maybe a small one?”

“A beaver felt Toque. I’d guess 1901 to 1904. By 1905 they were back to the Leg-of-Mutton style shirts.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Let’s go check the old town records.”

Leading you across the open floor, she motioned to some leather bound volumes on the far wall behind the “Historical” desk. Labeled by decades, each volume was four inches thick. She tugged down the 1880-1910 binder and gingerly flipped through the yellowed pages. You leaned on the beige, laminate countertop, peeking over her shoulder. All at once, a single certificate caught your eye.

“There! Shigaraki! That was the name I saw.” You pointed to the small slip of paper. “What is that?”

“Huh…” She turned the book so you could read it. “Adoption paperwork. It looks like little Shimura was adopted by someone named… well… the first name is smeared but the last name is clearly Shigaraki.” Mrs. Curtwright wrinkled her long, roman nose. “I wonder if he was related to the old Dr. Garaki that used to practice in town.”

You cocked your head. “Why are you making that face?”

She lowered her voice to a whisper and cupped her cheek. “He was a notorious grave robber. They tried to run him out of town but he had some rich friend from New York that prevented it. Supposedly, the buddy had underworld connections.”

“Oh…”

The librarian winked at you. “I’m not sure how much I believe that. Why would a crime syndicate come all the way to this little town?”

As you thought back to the scars on your dream lover’s face and how powerful his grip had been, the idea of him being more dangerous than you first realized didn’t seem that out of place.

Mrs. Curtwright flipped the page. “Oh, it looks like they changed his whole name after the adoption. No wonder Tenko Shimura disappeared from the records at the end of the Victorian era.”

Printed on the fragile paper in ink the color of night was the name you’d been searching for: Tomura Shigaraki.

After a quick stop off for $7.99 per pound Chinese buffet take-out, you rolled down the solitary drive to your Second Empire home. Pointed wrought iron trim along the edge of the tall, Mansard roofline looked like rusty knives against the thick, overcast sky. A cold, late autumn breeze slapped your cheeks. Pulling the hood of your Carhartts up, you crunched up the gravel drive to the front door. You snatched the “discreet” cardboard package off the front porch and fumbled for your keys. The old oak rattled in the breeze, its leafless twigs snapping against each other like dried chicken bones being crushed under foot. With a shudder, you headed inside and locked the door behind you.

Wang’s fried food and wonton soup proved every bit as delicious as the smell promised. However, sitting alone at a table built for many left a cold disappointment balled in your chest. You picked at the scrumptious meal, surveying the empty walls and vacant shelves. Maybe some photos would help? Did you have any printed pictures aside from the Shimura kids? Pressing your forehead against the smooth wood, you groaned.

“I need to get out more.”

After dinner, you settled in the front parlor to await any visitors. Nursing a cup of warm apple cider, you sat in the bay window, clutching a wide plastic bowl full of Kit Kats, Reese’s Pieces, Snickers, Fun Dip and SweeTarts. Dusk descended on the world outside. Trick-or-Treat hours came or went, but no costume coated child made the long trek up the barren gravel drive.

“Guess this isn’t suburbia,” you muttered, eating your tenth candy of the night. “The kids probably go to Trunk-or-Treat because the houses are too far apart.”

Disappointed and lonely, you flipped off the porch light and retreated upstairs with your package.

Flopping onto the bed sheets, you rattled the white and red box. The flesh colored, rubber-free cock flopped in its clear plastic packaging. Heat filled your cheeks as you tugged open the safety seal. As you flexed the internal rod, the moveable skin wrinkled in your fingers. You snorted with laughter, positioning it into a raunchy curve. Taking your new toy into the bathroom, you cleaned it gently with unscented soap before sticking it to the side of the porcelain basin. Giggling to yourself at your suddenly well endowed sink, you flipped on the shower and started in on your nightly routine.

Twenty minutes later, with the bedroom door locked, you peeled the plastic organ off the side of your sink and wet the base. Bathed in the flickering light of a single wick oud and musk scented candle, you snatched up your bottle of “personal jelly” from the nightstand. Then, you headed for the bare, wooden floor just beside the heavy, mahogany bed. Tossing the comforter pillows down, you fluffed them into a makeshift nest. The fake cock came down on the wooden bedframe with a lewd smack. It wiggled for a moment before standing tall directly in front of the antique oval mirror. Heat glowed in your cheeks as you adjusted the bendable shape into a less intense curl.

On the other side of the room, Tomura leaned against the other side of the ornate frame, strong fingers crawling at the glass. Blazing red eyes watched tentative hands smearing the textured organ with gelatinous lube. Then slippery digits found their way between your legs. Closing your eyes, you leaned back against the pillows. Tomura licked his rough lips as soft thighs spread for his viewing pleasure.

Smooth but firm, you teased apart your folds, working your way towards your sensitive nub. The pad of your finger lifted hooded flesh, tickling the nerves with deep, slow swipes. Musky moisture pooled in your core as a low moan slipped from your swollen lips.

One finger dipped inside, tracing over stippled flesh as it followed the curve of your body. Your wrist ached, pressing your palm tight over your clit as needy hips rolled of their own accord. Your eyes squeezed shut. Tossing your head back against the side of the old bed, you pinched one pert nipple between your fingers.

“Tomura…”

At the sound of his name, Shigaraki’s hard teeth bit his thin lips to blood.

Groaning as your hand pulled away, you climbed to shaky legs before kneeling in the nest of bedding. Lowering yourself to your forearms, you shuffled back and reached behind your hips. False flesh slid between your thighs as one hand pressed it hard to your core. The dildo’s artificial skin puckered. Thighs clenched tight, you rode its length, letting all the world fade into the feel of its sultry friction between your legs. Your body quivered as gaze drifted into a glazed stare.

Tomura groaned, savoring the erotic sight. Positioned directly in front of his mirror, you glided across the toy. The teasing sway of your tits combined with occasional peaks at pebbled nipples was exquisite torture. A bead of thick pre-cum rolled down his fingers. His eyes never left your blissed out face.

Spreading your hips and squeezing your lips, you pressed the rounded head in between your folds. Tickling yourself with the tip left your body shaking with need. You sunk back, letting your new purchase worm its way past your entrance. Quivering hands fisted the blanket. When it dipped inside, your eyes went wide.

“T-Tomura!” you stuttered.

The toy’s delicious curve was well worth the trouble. It fit like a hand in a glove, following your body’s arch to that tender spot along the front of your pussy. Drool pooled at the corner of your lips as you leaned into the sensation, letting the veiny craftsmanship set your nerves ablaze. Slick fingers gilded across your clit as you rocked yourself back and forth between twin pleasures.

Shigaraki’s eyes bulged, following every nudge of your hip as you rode his pathetic replacement. Irritation bristled across his skin. He clenched his jaw, watching the toy with burning envy as it slipped in and out of your body. A steady stream of breathy curses poured from his mouth as he waited for the right words to come from yours.

“Tomura… ohmigosh Tomura!” you moaned. “Need your cock.”

Not yet. Not until you said it.

“Please! Please! Tomura! Ngnnn—w-want you so bad.”

So close! Too close!

As you bottomed out against the base, you let your tongue hang like a dog in heat. Saliva pooled at the tip before dripping onto the blanket below. Tomura’s nails raked the glass. The candle light flickered. You looked dead in the mirror and fixed him with a lust drunk smile.

“Take me, Tomura Shigaraki.”

All at once, a hard hand pinched your jaw. You glanced up, only to see a feral snarl. Massive, tombstone wide teeth flashed in the thin light. Pale waves of ghost white hair framed his heart shaped face. Blood dripped from his broken lip as he sneered down at your intoxicated smile.

“T-thought you’d never come…” you mumbled.

Red eyes glowed in the din. “Thought you’d never ask,” he snarked back.

In one smooth motion, Tomura dragged you to your wobbly feet. You stumbled into his chest. Wrapping his arm around your shoulders, he kicked the comforter aside. The mattress squeaked. One massive hand pressed your cheek first into the springs as the other hoisted your hips against his. “You know you really ticked me off, putting on a show like that.”

“S-sorry,” you muttered, scooting back against him. “Didn’t know what else to do…”

He rolled his eyes, slotting himself between your thighs. You gasped as cool, firm flesh clipped your raw clit. His hoarse voice growled in your ear. “No more games and no more toys. From here on in, the only one you wag your tail for”—a thick, cold weight pressed against your hot entrance—“is me.”

You nodded.

He chuckled, patting your cheek. “Good girl.”

Tomura canted his pelvis to meet you. One stroke at a time, he worked his way inside, spreading goosebumps along your skin. Icy fingers spread your lower lips, soothing your friction sore nub. Warm breath steamed from your every pant as your ghostly lover molded your pliant body to his cock. When he finally seated himself deep inside, an experimental roll of his hips left you writhing in the sheets.

“Oh no, no, no .” He taunted. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

Grasping the meat of your thighs, Tomura set a steady, bouncing pace. Every thrust pressed you deeper into slippery sheets. Your clit tingled. Crawling pleasure prickled up your nerves. His girth filled you to the brim, baring you to him in ways that set your skin ablaze. Soon, the rhythmic creak of the mattress was drowned out by mewling cries of unbridled ecstasy.

“Like that, do you?” he demanded, pressing into your farthest walls.

“Mmmm To-Tomura,” you moaned, arching your back. Another grind of his thick cock left you slurring your words “A-ah! L-love it!”

He leaned his weight forward, licking the shell of your ear. “Slut,” he rasped.

“D-on’t mind”— You buried your warm face in the bedding and grinned—“being your slut.”

With a curse, Tomura ripped himself out of your body. You flopped to the mattress with a confused whine before turning to face him. Before you could speak, he grabbed your shoulder and flipped you on your back. Cracked lips smashed against yours in a frenzied kiss. Cold hands dragged you over the side of the bed, as he hoisted your legs over his hips. When he broke the kiss, a skeleton wide grin split his face from ear to ear.

“Oh?” A creepy chuckle shook his chest. “Is that so?”

With a snap of his hips, Tomura buried himself deep in your cunt.

You yelped, clawing at his shoulders. Long hair tickled your cheek as he pressed his nose into your neck. Hard teeth nipped at the delicate skin. He reached between you, boney fingers toying with your clit. With a gasp, you writhed on his cock. His free hand cupped the back of your head, tilting your face.

“Take a look at how naughty you are,” he whispered.

When you saw yourself in the mirror, your breath caught in your chest. Though you could see him plain as day, there was no one reflected in the glass. Instead, your body hovered in midair, back curved and nipples tight. Between your thighs, glistening in the candlelight, your naked core clenched around nothing. Heat flooded your brain, torching all rational thought. You gulped.

Tomura turned your gaze back to him. Half-lidded eyes paired with his smug grin sent a shock of lust though your insides. He chuckled at your expression before rolling his hips again. When you gasped, he smothered it with another hungry kiss.

“Mine,” he growled.

Locking your hands beside your head, Tomura trailed his scratchy lips down the column of your neck. You whimpered, turning your cheek into the sheets. Squirming legs clamped to his sides. An eerie chuckle rumbled from his chest and he buried his nose in your hair. The wet smacks from each firm thrust filled the air like a lewd base beat. When he settled upon one particular motion, you choked on your own voice.

“Oh?” He sneered. “Here?”

Tomura leaned into you, rolling his head across your walls.

“T-Tomura!” you whined, arching your back.

A shiver wracked his body. “Again,” he commanded, pressing into the spot that left your vision swirling grey.

Your toes curled. “Tomur-ah!”

He sped the pace, pounding you against the sheets. The springs squeaked their protests but you couldn’t hear them over the sound of his feral panting. “Again!” he hissed.

Closing your eyes, you wrapped your legs around his back. “Tomura…” you moaned, pulling him tight against you.

Shigaraki swore again, wrapping his arms under your shoulders. Burying his face in your neck, his movements stuttered. Tingling waves of pleasure rippled down your thighs. You tensed, clamping your body down until the electric vibrations rattled your brain. He surged forward, pounding relentlessly into you.

“Gonna take my cum aren’t you? Take it like the good little slut you are."

As coarse white hair clipped across your swollen clit, your world swam behind blurry tears. Half formed thoughts slurred from puffy lips.“Want it. Want your cum so bad!”

Tinged with the taste of copper, his feverish kiss threatened to suffocate you. You tongue met his in an intoxicating dance. Saliva dribbled down your chin as your body coiled tighter and tighter. Just when you were about to snap, he whispered one final order:

“Say my name.”

“TOMURA!” you yelped as your world exploded into white hot bliss.

With a strangled grunt, Tomura emptied himself inside you. Out of breath and shaking, he collapsed on top of you, grinding his hips against you over sensitive skin. As his seed leaked around the sides of him, you pressed your forehead against his. Clammy skin met flushed flesh as you tried to still the spinning room around you.

Climbing to his elbows, Tomura swept the stray hairs away from your sweaty brow. A cruel cackle filled the room. Scarlet eyes gleamed with villainous mirth as he lifted your chin.

“Boo," he whispered.

❤ ~Fin~ ❤

Need more dark, gothic romance with hot villains? Check out my original reader insert novel:

Maid For Your Master by Afipia Felis

Available world wide in paperback and ebook.

CW available here

Reviews from readers like you:

"...The fantasy world is lush and the descriptions feel very historically real... This is a story written [with] the kind of dark heroes who feel real, and who don't immediately reform when the heroine batts her eyes at them..." - (Amazon)

"...It also has a lovely dark plot that really gives off the best historical tropes in a really well thought out world :)..." - (Amazon Kindle)

"Delightfully Devious! One thing I also particularly enjoyed about this book was the POV. Its very seldom that you find well written novels written this way. This was a very thrilling book and I can't wait to read more!" - (Goodreads.com)

Read the first three chapters for free on Amazon and Google Play.

Artwork:

Character design by Obsidianne-art

Chapter seven Excerpt By NoNoBadCat

Taglist:

@m0nim0ni @minnieplier-blog @blehitsriot @moonwad @saikis-seceretcoffeejelly @nainainairi @bakuhoe37 @un-deadinsomniac @nonominchan @utena-akashiya @molita111 @nekolover93 @pimp-in @slaughterbat777 @chxrryvibes @blackchemicals @coldsaladpainter @flamme-meuf2-shiggy @aphorditeslust @just-yer-average-key @rekoii @justnothingguys @weo0o

@rekoii @down-with-the-shigness @softkao @night-shadowblood-writes2

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #shimura tenko x reader #ghost shigaraki x reader #tenko shimura x reader #tomura x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #mha x reader #reader insert #x reader #fem!reader #ghost x reader #bnha x female reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #bnha x you

149 notes · View notes

luc1-anna · 1 month

Text

𝐀𝐬𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬?

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

He loves your breasts, thats why he always wanted you to ride him, getting to see your breasts jiggle as you rode him, the sound of the skin slapping your torso as you went faster, his hands roaming along your body but they always ended up on your tits, groping and kneading them. Occasionally sucking on them, as if he wanted to make you a mum.

He especially loved whenever you wore low cut shirts, or really anything that could show off some cleavage, oh how much he wanted to fuck your tits right there. Cock sliding in and out of your swollen breasts, leaking a bit of milk as they engulfed his thickness. Swollen tip hitting your chin as he pushed further in, acting as a moisturiser for your skin.

ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ, ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ, ᴇʀᴡɪɴ, ᴢᴇᴋᴇ, ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴘʀɪᴄᴇ, ᴀɪᴢᴀᴡᴀ, ꜱɪʀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴇʏᴇ, ʀᴇɪɴᴇʀ, ᴊᴇᴀɴ, ᴇʀᴇɴ, ɢᴏᴊᴏ, ᴄʜᴏꜱᴏ, ᴀʀᴍɪɴ, ɢɪʏᴜ, ᴋᴇɪꜱʜɪɴ ᴜᴋᴀɪ, ᴏᴠᴇʀʜᴀᴜʟ, ꜱʜɪɢɪʀᴀᴋɪ, ᴍᴜᴢᴀɴ

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬

Your thighs were like a safe haven for him, always resting his head on them whenever he saw that you were wearing shorts or a skirt. Sometimes he wished that you would suffocate him with the plush muscle. Whenever you two had sex, his main focus would be any position in which he had the best view of your thighs, kneading the fat as he held them. Or, whenever he ate you out, he always made sure you sat on his face. He'd love to die from suffocation from you, gripping onto your thighs, enough to leave a mark. Tongue swirling around your lips, sucking on the small hole which he wished to fuck.

Whenever he was up for teasing, he'd always fuck your thighs, making sure that your underwear were still on before he pushed his cock in that small gap inbetween you thighs.

ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ ʀɪʟᴇʏ, ɢᴀᴢ, ᴋᴀꜱʜɪᴍᴏ, ɢᴇᴛᴏ, ꜱʜɪɢɪʀᴀᴋɪ, ʀɪɴᴅᴏᴜ, ʀᴀɴ, ᴏᴠᴇʀʜᴀᴜʟ, ᴋᴏɴɪɢ

𝐀𝐬𝐬

His ass was your favourite, he'd especially love it if it was big. The way he'd purposely do doggy just to see your ass moved, always slapping it to leave a mark, his hand prints practically being ingrained into your ass. Whenever he'd offer a massage, he'd always make sure to add some 'extra care' onto your ass, it always resulted in him fucking both holes, mainly your ass but still.

Walls trying to retract as he entered your ass, it wasn't the first time he had done this, but it always felt so good feeling you tighten around him, wanting to rip the condom right off his length as gripped onto your ass, making sure that your torso was touching the mattress as you arched further. If he wasn't fucking your ass, he'd be fucking your other hole and putting a sparkly butt plug in it. When he sees you wearing anything short, or just sees you in a private place, he wouldn't hesitate to slap your ass, making sure to add a firm grip onto it.

ᴘʜɪʟɪᴘ ɢʀᴀᴠᴇꜱ, ʀᴇɪɴᴇʀ, ᴘᴏʀᴄᴏ, ᴛᴏᴊɪ, ɴᴏᴀʏᴀ, ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ, ᴅᴀʙɪ, ᴇɴᴅᴇᴀᴠᴏᴜʀ, ꜱᴀɴᴇᴍɪ, ᴀʟʟ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴜᴢᴜɪ ᴛᴇɴɢᴇɴ, ʜᴀɴᴍᴀ, ᴛᴀɪᴊᴜ

Banner credits to @cafekitsune

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mayajadewrites · 15 days

Text

could've been you: aizawa x fem!reader x hawks

summary: You're the new teacher at UA with a rocky past with one of their beloved teachers, Shouta Aizawa aka Eraserhead. You'd rather never see him again but alas, such is life. You also meet Keigo, aka Hawks, who is the opposite of Aizawa. Smiley, golden retriever energy. Nothing could go wrong... right? relationships: aizawa x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader warnings: some chapters will be NSFW, they will have a warning on them in bold. not many descriptions of reader, other than she's midsize.

ao3

TAG LIST:

@come-away-with-me87, @kxshdoll, @evilsanzu, @friendly-neighborhood-turtle, @lili-pond, @falling4fandoms

CHAPTER SIX

It was this moment when you realized that you fucked up. Feelings for Shouta are bubbling into your mind that you've been suppressing for years.

In high school, you and Aizawa were the best of friends. You would hang out constantly, tell him your deepest secrets, and you trusted him. That's why when you were in the battle with him and Endeavor, you felt so hurt.

Betrayed by him.

All the love you had for him went out the window. You couldn't believe he would risk your life like that.

You look down at the raven haired man that's laying with you. You stroke his hair, twisting his curls around your fingers. He's still sleeping - soundly at that. You felt his chest against your thighs move as he breathed slowly.

You sigh as you continue caressing his hair and dragging the tips of your fingernails across his scalp.

Your phone vibrates with a text from Keigo.

Keigo: I'm sorry about today. I can't believe how strong Shigaraki actually is.

You: It's not your fault, don't stress it. Did you get home okay?

Keigo: I did. Do you want me to come over? I'm down for a sleepover.

You look down at Aizawa sleeping soundly in your lap.

You: Not tonight. I'll call you tomorrow?

Keigo: Sounds good to me. Sleep well, baby bird.

You: Goodnight Kei.

Aizawa stirred in your lap as he gripped your plush thighs gently. He was mumbling words but not of them were audible.

He began to twitch and grip you tighter.

"Stop, please." You could finally understand him.

"Hey, Shouta." You nudged him gently. His eyes fluttered open with a panicked look on your face. "Relax." You whispered as you stroked his hair again.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked looking into your eyes.

"No." You shook your head as your eyes got lost within his. His eyes are beautiful, despite how tired they look. You could feel your heart beat faster as you kept looking at him.

"I should-" Aizawa attempted to stand up and leave the room, but you stopped him. You grabbed his wrist gently as he stood next to the bed.

"You should what, Shouta?"

He just... stared at you. His eyebrows furrowed as if he was talking to you with his mind.

"I can't read minds Aizawa." You kept holding his wrist, now tighter. "Don't make me get in your head."

"You don't want to know what's going on up here." His voice was low now. He kept his eyes on you, peering at you through his lashes.

"What do you want Shouta?" You prop yourself on your knees so you're a bit taller, almost at Aizawa's eye level. "Tell me." Your eyes move from his eyes, to his nose, to his lips - then back to his eyes.

Aizawa leaned in, his lips ghosting yours. "What I want to do, I can't do to you yet."

Shivers were sent down your spine. What did he mean he can't do it to you yet?

"What can't you do to me Shouta? Use your words."

"Anything that's going on up here. It's not time." He tapped his temple with his index finger.

Your lips form into a pout as you let go of his wrist. You turned your head to the side, refusing to look at him.

"Don't be a brat." Aizawa grabbed your chin with his thumb and index finger, gently bringing your gaze back to him. "It's for your own good."

"You act like I can't put two and two together." You furrowed your eyebrows. "Obviously there's something going on here."

"What I want to do to you..." Aizawa leaned down to your level and rubbed his nose with yours. "I want to study each and every inch of your skin. I want to kiss you in places you've never been kissed. I want to learn what makes your toes curl. I want to taste you, Mirage."

There goes your heart again.

"Don't use my hero name, asshole." Your lashes fluttered against his cheeks.

"I thought it fit well." He shrugged and pressed his forehead to yours.

You wanted to kiss him. So badly. You wanted to feel his plush lips on yours. You wanted his large hands to grip your body caress your curves.

Aizawa must've known what you were thinking because he pressed his hand to your cheek. You leaned into his touch and took a deep breath.

Then you felt his lips on yours.

You swore you felt sparks that electrified your kiss. His lips are plush as he moves his mouth slowly, making sure he's feeling every part of your lips. You press your hand to his that's on your cheek and tilt your head to the side - your faces fitting together like a perfect puzzle pieces.

You wanted more. So much more.

But then Aizawa pulled his lips from yours slowly. You savored every moment of that kiss that you could but you already wanted more. The sounds of your lips parting is now your least favorite sound.

"That's it for now." Aizawa stood up and straightened his posture. "It's a school night and your first full day as a teacher."

"You're just gonna kiss me and expect me to act like that's a normal occurance?"

"What, the bird doesn't kiss you like that?"

No, no he doesn't.

But you really like Keigo. You like how you feel with him. How happy he is all the time. How caring he is about every detail of your life that you tell him.

He doesn't kiss you like that though.

Or at least, you don't feel this way after he kisses you.

You didn't answer him, instead you just look away. "Get out, Eraser."

"Don't be like that." Aizawa slipped his shoes on at your front door. "I'm making sure you get a good nights sleep and don't get distracted." He winked and gripped the doorknob.

"Goodnight." You stood up, turned around and stretched, putting your ass on full display for Aizawa. Your shorts hug your curves beautifully and he took notice. His eyes trailed your body, especially the soft parts of you. Your stomach, your hips, your thighs.

"You going somewhere?" He asked as you took a few steps towards your bathroom.

"Not that it's any of your business, but no. I'm going to shower. Get your stink off of me." You smirked as you opened the bathroom door. "Goodnight, Eraser."

Aizawa stood at your front door - one hand on the door knob and his eyes gazing at you.

"Did you forget something?" You let go of the bathroom door and walked over to him.

"I did." He nodded as he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. He brought one hand to your hips as he kissed you, this time he slipped his tongue inside your mouth. You pulled away once you felt his tongue dance with yours.

"Don't start something you won't finish." You looked up at him through your lashes. "Goodnight Shouta."

"Goodnight." He smirked as he opened your door and left. You heard the few footsteps to his room, and his door close.

You put your hand on your chest as you feel your heart rate increasing. Every time he kisses you it's like he takes your breath away while at the same time he's giving you life. You touch your lips with your fingertips, still feeling the ghost of his lips on yours.

He's only 2 doors down from you but it might as well be 2,000 miles away.

__________________________

Monday morning came quickly. You showered even though you showered before bed, mostly because your mind was filled with thoughts of Aizawa.

Dirty thoughts. Nasty, even.

You put on a black midi skirt that hugged your curves, white platform converse, and a white t-shirt tucked into your skirt haphazardly.

You did your usual makeup and hair, then you were ready to get out the door. Your purse is on your counter when you grab it, your phone pinging with a message.

Keigo: Good luck today baby bird. I know you'll be amazing.

You smiled at the message and typed up a response.

You: Thanks Kei. You have a good day too :)

When you look up Shouta is locking his door. He has his hair pulled into a low ponytail, some of his front pieces of hair framing his face. You looked away from him once he looked at you and walked towards the halls of UA.

You settled into your classroom, writing your name on the board. Your first class will trickle in after homeroom, aka Aizawa's class.

You look over your lesson plans, mostly just introductions and what they think strategy means.

You tap your index finger on your bottom lip as you read some notes Nezu left for you when you hear a knock on the door.

"Hey, you ready for them?" You looked at Aizawa in the doorway.

"As I'll ever be." You smile as he swallows you with his eyes. He only nods in response as he lets the kids from class 1A in.

"You will behave for Ms. Mirage. Got it?"

"Yes, Mr. Aizawa!" The kids said in unison. He watched each kid enter your classroom and nodded at you when the last one walked in.

"Good morning." You smile at the classroom full of eager students. "You all know me already, so we can skip that introduction. But I want to know, what do you think strategy is?"

A couple of students raised their hands. Midoria, as always, very eager to learn shot his hand up first.

"Strategy is a plan to achieve a goal. It's essential when fighting villains!"

"You're right, Midoria." You smiled at him. He was so sweet, and willing to learn every day and better himself. You notice Ochako smile at him as if she had hearts in her eyes.

Ah, young love.

The rest of class went off without a hitch, not to your surprise. You know how to keep your ground and make sure the kids stay on task.

You said goodbye to them at the door as they filed out for lunch. You noticed a dual-haired boy try to sneak past you.

"Hey, Shoto." You gently place your hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"That depends. Are you gonna tell my old man if I tell you?"

You blink a few times as you try to understand what he's saying. As a teacher, you have to keep a good relationship with your students. They need to trust you above all else.

Even though you're good friends with his father, this stays between you and Shoto. He's like a nephew to you - you remember when he was just a baby crying in his mother's arms.

You shook your head 'no'. "Whatever you tell me is just for me. I don't need to report back to your father."

"Noted." Shoto said as he continued to walk out the door.

Just like his father.

You bring your bag to the teachers lounge for lunch. You watch Aizawa walk into the room first so you follow after him.

Except he's stopped at the doorway.

You turn your attention to where he's looking - at the round table in the middle of the room where some people eat and socialize during lunch hour. There are smaller tables in the lounge, but this is the biggest one.

A vase full of 4 dozen red roses was placed on the table.

"Ooooh, Mirage has a lover! Yamada held up the note attached to it. "Good luck my baby bird." He sang. Yamada laid the back of his hand on his forehead. "How romantic!"

"Tsk." Aizawa sucked his teeth as he walked to one of the tables on the outskirts of the lounge. You can't help but smile at Keigo's gesture and take a whiff of the aroma of the roses.

You: Thank you for the beautiful flowers.

Keigo: They could never be as beautiful as you, baby bird.

When you look up from your phone screen, Aizawa is staring at you. He takes a bite of his sandwich as his eyes stay glued on you.

"I'm gonna put these in my classroom until the end of the day." You grab the vase full of flowers and walk out of the room.

You can still feel Shouta's eyes burning into your skin.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa #eraserhead #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa x reader #bnha shouta aizawa #mha hawks #keigo takami #mha takami keigo #keigo x reader #hawks x reader #mha fanfiction #mha fanfic

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scary-grace · 6 months

Text

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 21) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside-down world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20

Chapter 21

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. You were okay with that when you bought it, but right now the thing that’s wrong with your house is the fact that you’re not in it. Tomura is coming home today – is home right now, in fact – but you’re not there with him. Instead you’re out to breakfast, in the same diner where you and the others plotted to kill the conjurer, with every single human in the neighborhood. Plus Inko, because why not?

You said you’re in the diner. It would be more accurate to say that you’re trapped in the diner, because you’re stuck in the corner of the booth between Shinsou and Jin’s entire family, wedged in so tightly that going out over the table or under it would be impossible. You’ve determined that this is Aizawa’s fault, so you glare at him. “There had better be a good reason why you dragged me here.”

“It’s for your own good,” Aizawa says. “And for Tomura’s, so if you claim to care about him –”

“If I claim to?”

“You’ll allow us to speak. We have more experience with this than you do.”

“None of us had help,” Jin’s mom says. “We had to figure things out by trial and error, and given the situation, we didn’t think it would be fair to let you go through the same thing.”

“Helping a ghost get used to being a human is hard,” Shinsou says. “And getting used to being human is hard for a ghost. We’re helping you. The other ghosts are all at your house helping him.”

“Oh.”

“They have a lot of stuff to explain,” Keigo says. “Stuff you wouldn’t want to explain. Like body stuff.”

“And hygiene stuff,” Inko adds. “They’re used to dematerializing any time they get dirty. Having to clean up is an adjustment.”

“It’s all an adjustment,” Aizawa says. “Our purpose here is to make the adjustment as easy as possible. Let’s begin.”

“No, let’s order,” Keigo says. The server’s here. “Hi. We’ll need a lot more coffee than this.”

There are so many of you that ordering takes forever, and while you wait your turn, you think over the events of the last few days. You went back to work the day after you were discharged from the hospital, scared the hell out of your coworkers, and got booted out by Mr. Yagi, who insisted you go home and rest. You went to the hospital instead, hanging out in Tomura’s room with the ghosts who were on shift. You and Hizashi spent some time formulating a backstory for Tomura, one that lines up with the lies you already told your parents, and Mr. Yagi helped you sneak the fake birth certificate into the government records. That was your first day out. On your second day out, you got to go back to work.

Work sucked. You tore through your inbox like a crazy person, trying to get as much done as possible, knowing you’d be out the whole next week and probably longer. Your progress was impeded by your coworkers, who’d heard rumors about what happened – you and your boyfriend getting kidnapped by a serial killer – and wanted to know if they were true. Surprisingly, Nakayama came to your rescue, shooing the others off. She made it clear that the price was a tell-all happy hour later on, but you decided it was worth it to get everybody else off your back.

Tomura woke up officially last night. The ghosts went to pick him up this morning, right around when the humans dragged you out of your house. You haven’t even seen him, and you’re so crabby about it that when the server asks you what you’re having today, you order half the menu on Aizawa’s dime.

Keigo manages to hold in his snickers until after the server’s walked away. “Gotta fuel up for when you get back, huh?”

“Hey. Gross,” Spinner protests. “There’s kids here.”

“Nah, I’m kidding. I saw what he looks like now. Too much exertion would probably kill him.” Keigo tips a huge wink at you and you roll your eyes. “Anyway, I officially call this meeting of ghost friends anonymous to order. Who wants to start?”

“Probably one of you two,” Jin says, gesturing at Inko and Aizawa. “You all have the same kind of ghost.”

Inko and Aizawa trade a glance, and Inko speaks up first. “Be prepared for a lot of frustration on Tomura’s part,” she says. “Most ghosts permanently embody themselves into healthy forms, so it’s likely that he’ll perceive some unfairness, and possibly express some regret. It’s got much less to do with you than with the adjustment to living as a human, so try not to take it personally.”

“Yeah, don’t take anything personally,” Jin agrees. “Himiko bit us a lot at first. For, like, no reason.”

You try to imagine Tomura biting you for no reason, and can’t. “Remember,” Aizawa says, “Tomura wouldn’t have been capable of permanent embodiment unless it was what he truly wanted. That doesn’t mean adjusting to it will be easy.”

“Like Takami says, the physical stuff is hard to explain,” Shinsou says. He grimaces. “But even just the rules of being human are a lot for them to figure out. They’ve been watching us all follow the rules, but they’ve never had to do it themselves, and they’re still them. They still don’t get a lot of the stuff we do. He’s gonna ask a lot of questions. And he’s gonna complain.”

“Magne had this thing about crosswalks,” Spinner says. “Also about clothes. She still has a thing about clothes. She thinks she can wear whatever she wants, wherever she wants, whenever she wants, as long as the important bits are covered up. I don’t really know how to explain that you just can’t do some stuff.”

You sort of like Magne’s don’t-give-a-fuck attitude about it, but you can see how it would cause trouble. “The more power they had before they embodied themselves, the less attentive they are to social norms or boundaries,” Aizawa says. “Behavior in public is something to be watchful of. A public indecency charge is not something you want to incur.”

He’s scowling in a way that says this piece of advice is coming out of personal experience. You can’t decide if you want to hear the full story or if you never want to think about it again. “I mean, I think you’ve done sort of a good job training him on this stuff already,” Keigo says. “He’s got some social skills.”

You feel like he might be giving Tomura a little too much credit. “Like three social skills.”

“That’s three more than Dabi’s got,” Spinner points out, which shouldn’t really make you feel better but does anyway. “I hung out with him more than anybody except her, and he’s not that bad. It’ll probably get harder once you two start going out in public, but he’s not starting at zero. He’s at like – level three.”

“One level for every social skill,” Shinsou says, and snickers. “Nice.”

“I think the larger problem is overstimulation,” Jin’s mom says, and it takes all your self-control not to start in with some really inappropriate thoughts. “However they’ve been perceiving through their senses when they’re embodied, it’s much more intense when the embodiment’s permanent – at least from what we saw with Himiko.”

“In general, they struggle with one sense more than the others,” Aizawa says. “For Eri it was taste.”

“Himiko, too,” Jin’s mom confirms. “That might have been what the biting was about. She also struggled with smell, which makes sense, since taste and smell are fairly connected. What about Magne, Spinner?”

“Sight for sure,” Spinner says. “Light sensitivity, color sensitivity, everything. She sees colors the rest of us don’t even know exist. It’s cool. But it sucked at first.”

“For Hizashi it was hearing,” Aizawa adds. “Ghosts are able to hear in multiple dimensions, and his hearing was particularly sensitive as a ghost. It took him two years to be able to go without noise-canceling headphones outside.”

You have a feeling you already know what Tomura’s oversensitivity is going to be. Given the number of contact allergies he’s already displayed and what he was like as a ghost, physical touch is going to be a big problem. It’s so daunting to think of that it pushes you into asking your first real question of the day. “How did you help them cope with it?”

“Patience,” Inko says.

You thought that was a given. “Time,” Jin’s mom adds.

“Space,” Aizawa says, and everyone nods. “Now, for the first few weeks –”

You knew helping Tomura adapt to being human wasn’t going to be easy, but as the ghost friends outline all the things you hadn’t even considered, you begin to grasp just how hard it’s going to be. Every last ghost did damage to their relationship with their human, or humans, while they were trying to adjust. Every human had more than a few moments of thinking how much easier it would have been for their ghost to stay a ghost. Even Hizashi and Mr. Yagi, who were the most intentional about their embodiments, had days where they made living with them feel impossible. You’re glad everyone is being honest with you, thankful that they aren’t sugarcoating it, but your stomach is tying itself in a knot.

Tomura’s embodiment wasn’t just an adjustment, it was a last resort to avoid being sucked back into the world between. And it almost didn’t work. If even the ghosts who wanted this were nightmares to live with at first, what’s going to happen with him? Nobody can answer that for you, or tell you how to cope with however many times Tomura will probably tell you that he wishes the two of you had never met. All they can tell you is the same three things: Patience, time, and space.

To be fair to the ghost friends, they highlight the fun stuff, too. Spinner talks about taking Magne to a museum for the first time, and to a mall. Jin and his family turned themselves into foodies so they could try everything alongside Himiko. Even before Shinsou and Eri were adopted, Shinsou taught himself to make candy apples, because Eri had seen them on TV and wanted to try them. Aizawa, looking as calm and reflective as you’ve ever seen him, talks about taking Hizashi to movies, to concerts, to the opera, and watching him hear things as they were meant to be heard for the first time. Inko, smiling broadly, tells you about when she was pregnant, and Mr. Yagi’s reaction the first time he put his hand on her stomach and felt Izuku kick.

“He looked like he’d seen a ghost,” she says, laughing. “He didn’t know babies did that.”

Keigo is laughing, too. You picture Mr. Yagi’s startled expression, the one you’ve seen so many times right before he starts coughing blood, and find it in yourself to smile. “They’re still themselves underneath it all,” Inko says. “Even if it takes time to see.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Most of the plates are empty, including yours. You’ve been eating steadily just to have something to do with your hands. “There’s one more thing,” Keigo says. “Stronger ghosts keep some of their powers when they embody permanently. According to Touya, Tomura kept a lot of his. He can still read auras, like they all can, but he can project a pretty strong aura all on his own. And he can still drain stuff, even if he can’t do anything with the life-force. So far it’s looking like he needs to touch something with all five fingers for it to happen, and since it’s not anything close to a natural human ability, he has to really want to destroy it. Just keep an eye on him if he starts to get mad.”

“Okay,” you say. “What else?”

“We’re happy for you,” Shinsou says, and Inko nods, smiling still. Everybody’s smiling, now that you notice it. “It’s a big thing. And it’s a good thing. Now you’re really part of the neighborhood.”

You could be. You can be, now that you and Tomura can both leave if you want to. For a moment, hope begins to tug at you – but then you remember what Keigo said, and what everybody else said about patience, space, and time. It’ll be a long time before the two of you can be part of anything. And probably a long time before the two of you are a two of you again, too. Aizawa’s phone buzzes, and he looks at it. “They’re finishing up over there. We should head back, too.”

He heads to the cash register to pay the bill, and the rest of you work on extricating yourselves from the booth. You wince as you stand up, feeling your stitches pull. Keigo notices. “How are you holding up?”

“I’ll live.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard with this stuff,” Keigo says. He gestures awkwardly at his broken arm with the other. “It’s a lot to bounce back from. I’m here when you need to talk. Like I have been.”

“Same here,” you say, and Keigo smiles. “And, um – thanks for taking over with the kids, during the fight. I had to try.”

“It was a pretty good try,” Keigo says magnanimously. “You ran a fire poker right through that guy’s chest. Remind me not to piss you off.”

“You know, I think your house is still the scariest house in the neighborhood,” Jin muses. “I figured Dabi’s house or Aizawa’s was going to take over, but nope. Tomura still has a bunch of his powers and you almost killed two guys. You’re the scariest for sure.”

The scariest house in the neighborhood, and now you’re part of the reason why it’s scary. The list of things that make you feel better these days is short and weird, and Jin’s statement gets added almost instantly. “Thanks.”

You all carpooled in the Bubaigawara van, and Jin’s mom parks it in front of her own house, allowing everybody else to spill out onto the sidewalk. You and Keigo and Aizawa are last out, and as you get your feet under you, you notice a lot of ghosts milling around in front of your house. In front of it, not inside the fence. You make your way over, stumbling a little bit. “Did he kick you out?”

“Nah, we left. Figured he needed some processing time,” Hizashi says. He’s looking past you, at Aizawa. “Hey, what are you doing walking around? You’re supposed to rest your leg.”

Himiko skips up to you, towing Eri and Izuku after her. “It’s all fine,” she tells you, smiling. “He understands everything and we gave him some of everybody’s clothes until he can buy his own.”

“He looks even more like me now!” Eri is bouncing from foot to foot. “He’s going to come over to our house.”

“Oh.” You wonder if Tomura actually meant it, or if he just said it so she’d leave him alone. “That’s – nice.”

“You’re invited, too,” Eri assures you. Then she, like Hizashi, looks over your shoulder. “Dad! Hitoshi!”

Himiko peels off to meet Jin, leaving you with Izuku, who’s watching the house. “Tomura’s still really powerful,” he says. “Even when he’s human the aura is still there. Dad says he could probably take on a strong conjurer, even like this.”

“What else did your dad say?”

“That’s for you to ask Tomura yourself,” Mr. Yagi says, drawing up alongside Izuku. He smiles at you. “I’ve cleared your schedule next week. Let me know if you need more time.”

“And call if you need anything,” Inko reiterates. She takes Mr. Yagi’s hand and wraps an arm around Izuku’s shoulders. “Come over for dinner when you’re ready.”

“Yes!” Izuku looks way too happy at the thought. “I have lots of questions for both of you!”

You decide you’ll wait a while to take them up on that invitation, but they’re not the only ones who stop to talk to you specifically. Each of the ghosts stops by briefly, all of them reassuring you that Tomura’s fine. You’re not going to believe them until you see it for yourself.

Finally, Aizawa and Hizashi are all that’s left. Aizawa hands you a book – another one of his. You read the cover out loud and snicker. “What To Expect When Your Ghost Embodies Itself? Great title.”

“It’s a little boring,” Hizashi says, and you realize he doesn’t get the joke. Aizawa is smirking slightly. “Good stuff in there, though.”

“It covers everything we discussed earlier, and a little more,” Aizawa says. “Good luck.”

“You probably won’t be up to it, but come over later if you want,” Hizashi says. “That conjurer ruined our Halloween, so we’re throwing a make-up party at our place. Costumes mandatory.”

There’s no way you’re making it to that party. You thank them for the invitation anyway, tuck the book under your arm, and step through the front gate into your yard. Up the front steps, through the unlocked door, into the front hall. Some part of you is expecting Tomura to materialize in front of you, but he can’t do that anymore. “I’m home,” you call out, and Phantom comes scrabbling across the floor towards you, wagging her tail. You greet her, then pick her up. “Tomura?”

“In here.”

He’s home. Your heart leaps so hard and fast it seems a little ridiculous, and you hurry into the living room to see him. He’s there, sitting on his usual couch cushion, wearing some bizarre mix of clothing from every guy in the neighborhood, plus a pair of socks that could only have come from Himiko. The urge to launch yourself at him, to climb all over him like he’s done to you so many times and prove to yourself that he’s alive and he’s safe, is overpowering. But you remember what the others said. Patience, time, space. You don’t want to overwhelm him. You set Phantom down on the couch next to him and take a few steps back, keeping a respectful distance.

It’s quiet for a while. You break the silence. “How do you feel?”

He has the hood of his hoodie up, throwing his face into shadow. “Like shit.”

That’s about what you were expecting. You need more detail if you’re going to help, but you don’t want to push him. “Did everything go okay at the hospital?”

His shoulders lift, then fall. You see him grimace. “It was weird. All that stuff they did. The stupid paperwork is over there if you want to look at it.”

“Okay.” Before, when he wasn’t human, you’d have helped yourself. Now – “Do you want me to look at it?”

Another shrug. If he didn’t want you to, he’d say no, right? You pick the folder up off the coffee table and open it to the discharge summary, which is a mistake. The list of injuries Tomura came in with is staggering. Seeing this, you’re amazed they only kept him in for five days. “Well?” Tomura asks.

You set the folder down. “You healed up really fast.”

“There are things wrong with me,” Tomura says. One hand rises to scratch his neck. “My skin is messed up. I’m – allergic.”

“I have allergy medicine for stuff like that. And itch cream.”

“They gave me some.” Tomura still hasn’t taken down his hood. “What did the humans want?”

“They wanted to tell me how to help you adjust,” you say, and Tomura makes a derisive sound. Phantom stirs, whines, and noses closer to him. “What did the ghosts want with you?”

“To explain.” The derision is obvious in Tomura’s voice. “Like I’m stupid or something.”

“You aren’t. They don’t think that,” you say, only to realize that Tomura still probably knows what the other ghosts are thinking better than you do. “They probably don’t want you to make the same mistakes as they did. From what the humans were saying, they all made a lot of mistakes.”

“They almost scared their humans off.” Tomura’s voice goes weirdly flat. “I already did that.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know what I look like. When I saw the picture on the ID, that was the first time.” Tomura seems to sink further into his hoodie, and suddenly you understand why he hasn’t taken down the hood. “No wonder you didn’t want me embodied. You’d have to look at me all the time.”

“Tomura –”

“I just wanted to stay. I didn’t want to go back. I thought it would be the same, but it’s not,” Tomura says. There’s a weird strain in his voice now, one you’ve never heard from him but know intimately yourself. “There are things wrong with me. I’m ugly. You wanted me when I was a ghost and I was powerful, not when I’m human and weak. You won’t even come near me.”

“No,” you say, and Tomura scoffs. “No! When I was talking to the others, they said it’s hard to get used to a human body – stuff might be harder to cope with now that it’s permanent – they said I should give you time and space –”

“I didn’t do this so I could have time and space!” Tomura’s still got enough power to rattle the walls without raising his voice. “I did it so I could – so we –”

His voice breaks. Phantom edges closer to him and he shies away, both hands coming up to cover his face at odd angles. You stand there for a moment, paralyzed by the decision between everything the other ghost friends told you and what Tomura’s saying now, what he’s doing now. But in the end it’s not a decision at all. You hurry around the coffee table, move Phantom to the cushion at the far end of the couch, and sit down right next to Tomura, getting in his space without asking the same way he always does to you. You pry his hands away from his face one at a time, and he fights you. He’s fighting you with a fraction of his strength and you both know it. “Let go. I don’t want you. I don’t want your pity –”

“It’s not pity,” you say. He lets you have one of his hands and you immediately try for the other. “I don’t know what this is like for you. I’m trying to do the right thing, but I should have just asked you what you needed. I can do better.”

“You don’t want to. You don’t want this!” He pulls his hand free of yours to gesture at himself. “I know what you wanted. You wanted –”

“You.” You don’t even have to think before you answer. “I wanted you. I want you.”

He stares at you from between his fingers. You give up on trying to free his hands and press in close against his side. He startles at your touch, but doesn’t shy away. He smells like the hospital. His voice is quiet, shaky, strained. “You liked when I was cold.”

“It was nice. But I’ve got AC. And now I can hold you for as long as I want without getting frostbite.”

“You liked that I got rid of the bugs.”

“I’m still making you get rid of the bugs,” you say, and Tomura makes a sound that’s too watery to be laughter. “But I can get rid of my own, too. I had a whole plan for that hornets’ nest.”

“Your plan sucked.” It did sort of suck, looking back. Tomura’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. “You liked when I was stronger than you.”

“You’re still stronger than me.” You can feel it when you touch him, a faint thread of power vibrating just beneath his skin. “That’s not the important stuff.”

“What is?”

“Everything else,” you say. “You’re still you, Tomura. It might feel different to be in the world like this, but you’re still who you are. That’s who I want. Who I love.”

It’s quiet for a long time. “You liked the way I looked before.”

It’s a weird enough thing to say to startle a laugh out of you. “The way you look now is how you’ve always looked, Tomura. Your hair’s a different color, that’s all.”

“I always looked like this.” Tomura sounds skeptical. “You said I was pretty.”

“You are pretty.” You reach for the edges of his hood and his hands come up, grasping your wrists, holding you still. He holds you there for a few seconds, then lets go, and lets you pull down the hood.

It’s him. Those same features you saw outlined in steam in the bathroom, on your back porch with the ashes of a hornets’ nest at his feet. The same red eyes that have watched you for almost two years, that have catalogued every inch of you, that looked up into yours after the gateway to the world between slammed shut for the last time. You’ve seen all his expressions before, except this one: The way he looks when he’s been crying. As you watch, his pupils open and shut, and more tears slip down his cheeks.

You scramble to wipe them away, cradling his face in your hands. He flinches when your palm gently meets his cheek, and you draw back, only for him to catch your wrist and press your hand hard against his skin. That feels normal enough to make you smile. Tomura’s never been shy about pulling you around. “You’re pretty,” you say again. “You’ve never looked any different than this. I like it. I don’t care if you do. I don’t care about anything except that you’re home.”

“But –”

“The next words out of your mouth had better not be ‘Dabi said’.”

An aggrieved silence falls, and you find yourself struggling not to laugh. It feels normal. It feels like any weird little argument you and Tomura have had, except that he can’t dematerialize to teach you a lesson and you can’t end the fight just by stepping outside. “You love me,” Tomura ventures after a while. “Like this?”

“Don’t be stupid,” you say. “Of course I do.”

Tomura knocks you over a second later.

Cuddling on the couch is more complicated than it used to be, mainly because Tomura’s a long way from being used to what touch feels like in a truly human form and he can’t get comfortable the way he usually would. If he can barely stand to stretch out on top of you, there’s no way he can handle kissing, and you can tell that the overload of sensation doesn’t turn him on so much as it fries his brain. Not that that stops him from trying to kiss you more. “Take it easy,” you say. “You just got home. I don’t want to take you back to the hospital because you tried to kiss me and had a heart attack.”

“That doesn’t happen,” Tomura says with confidence. Then, as you watch, you see him start to doubt himself. Some how he’s less sure about humans now that he is one. “Does it?”

“It could.” You remember something from a few days ago about how too much exertion on not enough calories could damage Tomura’s heart, and he still feels way too thin. “Can you reach your discharge papers? I want to read them.”

He reaches out to grab them from the coffee table, but it’s ever so slightly too far away. Before he’d dematerialize one hand, snatch them, and bring them back. Now he just glares at them and keeps glaring – and as you watch in some mix of surprise and horror, the folder lifts from the table and drops to the ground next to the couch.

Tomura realizes you’re staring at him and smirks. “I never said all my powers were gone.”

Now that he’s realized you still love him, he’s cocky, but you’re not annoyed about it. You’re not going to forget what it was like when you got home, what it was like to see him cry, and you’re not dumb enough to think today will be the last time it comes up. Tomura flops down again, his head against your chest, and you pick up his discharge papers and flip through them. Sure enough, there’s one specific instruction highlighted and in bold type. “No intense physical activity until you’re cleared by a doctor,” you say. Tomura scowls. You keep reading. “Your follow-up’s in two weeks. It’s not that long.”

“Maybe if we go slow –”

“No.” You set the papers down and trace over one tendon in his neck, wincing as he twitches and writhes and digs his knees and elbows into every soft body part you possess. He’s lying on top of all your stitches, and it’s starting to hurt. “You can barely handle being touched at all right now. I’m not going to send you back to the hospital and I’m not going to melt your brain.”

“It’s my brain. I get to decide –”

“You don’t get to leave me,” you say, and Tomura looks up, startled. “Two weeks.”

Tomura studies you for a moment. Then he flops down again. “Fine. Two weeks. But then I get to – what happened? Why did you make that noise?”

You tried not to. Really. But one of the too-prominent points of Tomura’s ribcage just dug directly into one of your largest wounds, and you think you might have popped a stitch. Tomura sits up, pulls you with him, starts yanking at your shirt. “I want to see. Let me see –”

Your shirt turns to dust in an instant. You didn’t realize Tomura could do that to things that weren’t alive, and you sit there, bemused. Tomura is staring at you, eyes blazing with fury. “My marks,” he says, and you nod. It occurs to you that this is the first time he’s seen the extent of your injuries. “How did he take them out?”

“One at a time. With a knife.” You try to make light of it, try to sound like it isn’t haunting you, like waking up in a hospital bed after it was all over didn’t scare you so badly that you had to be sedated. “Not my best Monday ever.”

“Don’t joke about it.” Tomura’s voice is hard. “He hurt you so much you wanted to die. I should have killed him slower. It should have taken exactly as long as this did.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to cover up the worst of the wounds. The doctors who treated you had decent poker faces, but since you’ve gotten home, you’ve gone out of your way to avoid getting a good look at what happened. Tomura’s expression as he looks at you tells you everything you need to know about how bad it is. “I haven’t even had them for a week yet,” you say. Your voice sounds thin. “They won’t look like this forever.”

Tomura’s jaw clenches. “I don’t care what they look like. I care that they hurt.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You sit there numbly and Tomura watches you, clearly thinking something over but not doing it, whatever it is. “I can’t,” he starts frustrated. “I can’t do the thing I want to do anymore. When I wasn’t materialized I could –”

He makes a gesture, and suddenly you understand what he means. You crawl forward across the couch into his arms, and he wraps himself around you. It’s not like it was before. He can’t enfold you completely like he used to, fitting like a second skin. But now you’ve got something solid to lean against, someone who’s warm like you are, someone who maybe understands how you feel about this whole thing. Tomura’s hugs were always a little awkward, even when he was fully materialized. He didn’t understand what was comfortable and what wasn’t, why you’d be at ease in one position but not in another, and he’d complain when you tried to adjust. Tomura’s not complaining now. He adjusts with you, and once you’re settled, you try not to move too much. It’s weird. But it’s the kind of weird you can get used to.

“You smell nice,” Tomura says after a little while. He unwraps one arm from around you and sniffs his own armpit. Then he makes a face. “I smell weird.”

“You smell like the hospital,” you say. “We can fix that. Want to shower?”

Tomura gives you a suspicious look. “I’m not allowed in the bathroom while you’re in there.”

“That was before.” You think over the events of the last week. He’s already seen you naked. The two of you have had sex. He’s your boyfriend, and he’s human. Whatever objections you had, they aren’t valid anymore. “The rules still apply if either of us is using the toilet, but we can shower together. If you want. Do you want to?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says, which means yes. “I thought you’d never let me.”

There are a lot of things you thought would never happen, and a lot of them happened in the last week. You pull yourself out of Tomura’s arms reluctantly and lead him up the stairs.

You check over your wound care instructions and Tomura’s as he gets undressed. Everything looks about the same for both of you. You also take the opportunity to go over the list of known allergens the doctors gave you yesterday. Almost all your soaps and shower products meet the criteria already – low to no scent, hypoallergenic, no harsh chemicals. You set out an extra towel and an extra sponge and lay down a bath mat, then turn on the water.

Since you met Tomura you��ve been taking hot showers, but they can be hard on skin, and you don’t want Tomura to faint. You opt for warm water instead, take off your own clothes, and inspect your stitches for a moment before stepping into the shower. The spot Tomura elbowed by accident looks unhappy, but the coarse black stitches haven’t come undone. Seeing them makes you feel sick. You look away and step into the shower, leaving the door cracked for Tomura to follow you in.

There’s room for both of you inside, but it’s a close fit. You have a feeling that you and Tomura will be having a discussion about the impracticality of shower sex at some point in the future, but that’s not for today. You switch positions carefully with Tomura so that he’s under the majority of the spray and watch him startle as it patters against his skin. You wonder what he’s thinking.

You’ve spent a lot of time wondering what Tomura’s thinking since you met him, but it occurs to you that you can ask. “What’s going on up there?”

“It’s – so much. Loud. But not loud. It feels like – a lot.” Tomura’s hair is plastered to his face from the water. He pushes it out of his eyes. “I’m fine. I don’t want to get out.”

“We won’t get out,” you promise. “Take the time you need.”

He twists this way and that under the spray, working on getting used to it. He’s got stitches, too, all of them taken with the same coarse thread as yours. “Now what?”

You pick up a bottle of shampoo. The mild kind. “Put this in your hair and sort of scrub it around, then rinse it out,” you explain. Tomura brushes his hair out of his eyes again, looking vaguely skeptical. “Or I can do it for you.”

“You.”

You should have known he’d answer like that. He’s got enough of a height advantage on you that you’re going to need him to sit down for this to work, and there are an awkward few minutes while the two of you get settled. You lean back against the wall, and Tomura leans back against your chest, head tipped forward. “Make sure you close your eyes,” you say. “This will sting if it gets in them.”

Tomura nods without looking up. You pour some shampoo into your hand and get to work.

His hair is tangled, like always. Worse than always, because he’s been materialized this entire time, and he hasn’t brushed it at all. You forget about washing his hair for a second in favor of detangling it, and Tomura slumps back against you. “You’re still doing that now that I’m here all the time? I thought you’d stop.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Tomura says quickly. You return your attention to the knot you’re working through. “I thought it was just because I was a ghost.”

Huh. “What other things do you think I was only doing because you were a ghost?”

The answer, it turns out, is a lot of things. If Tomura had asked any of the other ghosts about them, he wouldn’t have had to worry, but they probably would have told him not to be stupid, which is probably why he didn’t ask. No wonder he was upset when you got back, if he thought he was losing so many things – sleeping on top of you, sitting on your lap, having his hair played with, being held. He names gesture after gesture as you untangle his hair, and you reassure him about each one.

Once you’ve worked through all the knots, you move on to washing Tomura’s hair in earnest. You don’t think you’re doing a very good job, but when your fingers slow their progress, Tomura complains in a voice that sounds distinctly sleepy. “Don’t. It’s nice.”

You add conditioner, too. Tomura probably won’t bother with it in the future, but you might as well give him soft hair while you can get away with it. Then you shake him out of relaxation and help him to his feet to wash off. He’s sort of floppy when he’s tired, and although you can already tell that it’ll annoy you sometimes, right now it’s just cute. There’s no way you’re telling him he’s cute. You hand him a sponge and some soap and put him in charge of washing his front. You’ll take care of his back.

The fight left Tomura beaten up all over, but his back took a lot of damage while he was caught between the living world and the world between, and it’s where the majority of his stitches are. Even looking at them upsets you. You can’t help but think that if you’d been faster to get to him, if you’d been stronger, if you’d called the others to help you instead of waiting for them to come on their own, he wouldn’t have spent so long trapped between worlds. He wouldn’t have been hurt like this. But that’s only the last set of mistakes you made. If you’d killed his conjurer like you meant to, he’d still be a ghost, and there’d be no marks on him at all.

“Hey.” Tomura glances over his shoulder at you, and you realize that your hands have gone still. You duck closer, hiding your face, and go back to washing, but Tomura’s not fooled. You keep forgetting, somehow, that he knows you as well as you know him. “Don’t make that face. You’re just a human. What were you supposed to do?”

“Kill him.” Your voice wavers. “So you could be human because you wanted to. Not because you didn’t have a choice.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says. He turns to face you, and when you don’t look up, his hand rises to hold your jaw and tilt it upward. “If I was just doing it to avoid going back, it wouldn’t have worked. I wanted to be like this.”

You know that, but – “I wish I hadn’t let you get hurt.”

“Yeah, and I wish I hadn’t let my conjurer torture you.” Tomura gives you a few seconds of protesting that characterization of events before he springs his trap. “See how dumb it sounds when I say it? It sounds dumber from you, since you’re the human and it wasn’t even your job. You told me the stupid plan the others had. You were never supposed to do it.”

He pauses for a moment. “I guess it would have worked if I’d been materialized, though. Dabi saw you stab him. He said it was kind of hot.”

Your mind goes sort of blank at the sheer weirdness of that statement. “And he’s still alive because?”

“I can kill him whenever I want to,” Tomura says. He turns away again, and you go back to washing off the unstitched parts of his skin, shaking your head in bemusement. “I bet it was really hot.”

Tomura thinks the fact that you ran his conjurer through with a fire poker is hot. That’s probably a good thing, because you’re not sorry you did it. You rest your forehead against the back of his neck for a second, resisting the urge to kiss him, and note that his pale skin is turning pink and flushed from the water. The water’s not that warm. You should probably get him out of here sooner rather than later. Inko warned you that newly embodied ghosts aren’t aware of the physical sensations that proceed things like throwing up or passing out, and you’d really prefer for Tomura not to faint in here.

Tomura complains about having to get out, but you remind him that showering is something humans have to do regularly and shoo him out anyway. You stay in a little longer to wash up, then step out into a mildly steamy bathroom. For a moment you’re cast back into the memory of the first time you saw Tomura face to face – in this bathroom, outlined by the steam, looking you up and down with a smile you couldn’t identify as creepy or not. Thinking about it now, you know it wasn’t creepy. He was proud of himself for figuring out how to make himself visible, proud that you could see him at last. Standing here more than a year later, it’s hard to believe how much has changed.

There are puddles of water down the hall on the way to the bedroom, evidence that while Tomura’s figured out showering, he hasn’t figured out drying off. When you step into your room, you find more evidence in the form of a pile of wet clothes discarded on the ground. Jin’s mom said that the ghosts have to learn by experience sometimes. You glance towards the bed and find Tomura sitting on it, dressed in a pair of pink sweatpants of unknown provenance and – “Um, is that my shirt?”

“Yeah.” Tomura gives you that dumbest-person-ever look. You’re not thrilled to see that it’s survived his embodiment. “It was right there. It fits.”

You buy your pajama shirts almost comically oversized, and Tomura’s not all that much taller than you. Something that’s huge on you is still pretty big on him. It fits, but it’s the principle of the thing. “Didn’t the others give you clothes?”

“Yeah. They didn’t smell right.” Tomura pulls the collar of the shirt up over his nose and mouth and breathes in. “This one smells like you.”

You were never into stealing your boyfriend’s hoodies, back when you had human boyfriends. You don’t love wearing other people’s clothes. But apparently there has to be at least one clothing thief in every relationship, and Tomura’s taken over the role. Tomura yawns so widely that his jaw pops, then recoils. “What was that? Why did I do that?”

“That’s a yawn. You’re tired.” You were thinking about street clothes, but just like you did the last time you and Tomura were in this room together, you opt for pajamas instead. “I could go for a nap, too.”

You climb into bed on your usual side, leaving the door cracked open for Phantom in case she comes up, and Tomura gets awkwardly into bed on the other side. “How do I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Sleep.”

Right – he’s spent the last week either in an induced coma or heavily sedated. He hasn’t had the chance yet to fall asleep naturally. “Get comfortable,” you say, and Tomura, semi-predictably, abandons his side of the bed in favor of getting in your personal space. “Now close your eyes. You’re tired, so I bet your eyelids feel kind of heavy, right? Let them close. Think about stuff if you want to think about it, or don’t think about anything. It’ll happen on its own.”

“That sounds too easy,” Tomura mumbles, half-asleep already. “Sometimes it takes you forever.”

“Sometimes it’s harder than others,” you admit. “It’s pretty easy right now. Just relax.”

Tomura mumbles something else, but you can feel the tension leaving his body, until he’s relaxed save for the icy thread of ghostly power running through him. It’s faint, but you have the sense that that’s illusory, at least a little bit. Tomura might be permanently embodied now, but he’s the most powerful of the embodied ghosts, and probably still the least human. He can’t dematerialize anymore and he needs to eat and sleep, but it feels likely that the effect of his powers on your daily life won’t change too much.

But you can figure that out later. Right now he’s asleep next to you, his red eyes closed, his lips parted slightly, warm and breathing and undeniably alive. The same kind of alive as you are, finally. For good.

You shift a little closer to him, and his arm wraps around you tightly. That’s fine with you. You close your eyes and fall asleep almost as fast as he did.

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of your phone buzzing, startling you out of a nightmare. You have all kinds of material for nightmares now, and your subconscious has been mixing and matching it in increasingly horrible combinations for the last few nights – or afternoons, since you can tell by the light coming through the window that sunset is a ways off. You reach for your phone, desperate for a distraction, and Tomura’s arms tighten around you. He sounds like he’s mostly asleep when he speaks. “No.”

“I’m not leaving,” you say. You get ahold of your phone and flip it to silent before reading the texts. They’re from Shinsou.

Shinsou: are u guys coming or not

Shinsou: everybody else is

Shinsou: Eri says you have to or she’ll cry

Shinsou: she says Tomura promised

She mentioned something about that earlier. You shake Tomura’s shoulder. “Did you promise Eri you’d come to the party?”

“No.” There’s a pause. “She wouldn’t leave until I said yes.”

Great. “How much do you care about making her cry?”

“I don’t care,” Tomura mumbles. You wait. “She backed me up in the fight. I owe her.”

“So we have to go,” you realize. The idea is less upsetting to you now than it was when you first heard about it, namely because you just had a nightmare and you don’t want to go back to bed. You text Shinsou back. Your dad said it’s a costume party. Do we have to have costumes?

Yeah. Shinsou sends a shrugging emoji. Not serious ones. One of my dads is going all out and the other one just has cat ears on.

Aizawa can get away with just cat ears – he’s the one hosting the party. You and Tomura are going to have to come up with something a little better. Shinsou texts again. It starts in an hour. Be there. You really don’t want Eri to cry.

You’d feel really bad making Eri cry, especially now that you remember her helping Tomura during the fight – and saving your life just beforehand. You start to sit up, and Tomura drags you back down. “No. I like sleeping. I want to sleep.”

“Humans sleep every night,” you remind him. “You can go back to sleep later. Right now we have to go to a party.”

It takes a while to drag Tomura out of bed – twenty minutes at least, leaving you with forty minutes to come up with some kind of costume. You get in your own way a little bit when you realize how cute Tomura looks with bedhead, then order yourself to pull it together. Tomura can’t shadow you as closely as he did when he could dematerialize, but he still gives it his best shot, and you two end up colliding and tripping on each other – and on Phantom – way more than is actually necessary. After ransacking your house for costume ideas and coming up with nothing, you finally turn to Google for help.

Tomura reads over your shoulder. “These are dumb. I thought Halloween was supposed to be scary.”

“It is,” you say. You decide to get into the part of Halloween that’s supposed to be sexy later – later, as in next year. Or never. “This is the wrong neighborhood for scary, though. No matter what I dress up as, I won’t be scarier than everybody else who lives here.”

And that’s when it clicks for you, oddly enough – it clicks, and you can’t help but laugh. The perfect low-effort Halloween costume. How did you not think of it before? Tomura eyes you suspiciously. “Why are you laughing?”

“I have an idea. It might get us kicked out.”

“If we get kicked out, we can come back and go to sleep again,” Tomura says. Introducing Tomura to the concept of naptime may have been a mistake. “What is it?”

You head for the stairs, and the linen closet. “You’ll see.”

It takes you approximately two seconds to assemble the first costume, and once you do, you show Tomura. It occurs to you way too late that he might think it’s offensive. But once he realizes what you are, he cracks up laughing – then wincing, as the laughter strains the stitches on his back. “They’re going to hate it,” he says. “I bet they won’t even let us in.”

“If they don’t let us in, then we get to go home right away.” You gesture at the linen closet. “Pick your poison.”

It takes you a few more minutes to leave, mostly because Tomura insists on bringing Phantom, and Phantom needs a costume, too. She’s a lot less into her costume than you and Tomura are. She keeps wiggling out of it, and while Tomura tries to lure her back under the sheet, you peer out the front window. The street still looks like hell. Everybody’s houses are still at least partially wrecked. If you drove past this neighborhood, not knowing anything about who lives here and why this happened, you’d avoid it like the plague.

You watch as Keigo and Dabi and Natsu leave their house. Natsu looks like he’s wearing normal clothes, but Keigo has a fake halo and Dabi has a pair of devil horns on. It occurs to you that Dabi might be the only other person in the neighborhood who thinks your costume is funny.

“I got her to wear it,” Tomura says, and you turn to look. There’s Phantom, wearing a flower-patterned pillowcase with holes cut out for her ears, eyes, and nose – and there’s Tomura, wearing a grey sheet over her head with holes cut out so he can see. “I think she’s mad at me.”

“She’s not mad,” you say. You’re pretty sure she’ll forgive you both when she realizes you’re headed over to Aizawa’s house. Shinsou is probably her favorite person other than Tomura. “You look pretty.”

Tomura gives you a once-over. Your sheet is lavender, and you accessorized with a pair of reading glasses you accidentally stole from Mr. Yagi’s office and never gave back. “Cute,” he decides. “The sooner they kick us out, the sooner we can come back.”

He heads for the door, opens it, and steps outside. You gather up Phantom’s leash and follow him onto the porch. When you turn to lock the door, Tomura stops you. His eyes crinkle at the corners, the way they do when he’s smiling creepily on purpose. “Don’t bother,” he says. “This neighborhood is still mine.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” You tuck your keys back into your pocket and make your way down the front steps, to the front gate, and out onto the sidewalk. It’s not until you hear the gate’s hinges creak open again that you realize Tomura hasn’t followed you. You turn back. “Tomura?”

Tomura’s hesitating on the far side of the property line. You can’t figure out why. He’s left before. He was away from the house for five days – but not by choice. The ambulance took him away and the other ghosts brought him back, but in all the time since he was summoned, Tomura’s never left the property of his own free will. You hold out the hand that isn’t grasping Phantom’s leash, and he comes closer to take it. His hand is warm.

Warm, and a little sweaty. He’s nervous. “We don’t have to go to this thing,” you tell him. “You just got home today. It’s a lot. If you’d rather stay home, we can.”

“You want to go.”

“I think it might be fun.” Mostly you want to see what Hizashi does when you roll up to his party dressed like the world’s most stereotypical, low-budget ghost. “But I still like it’s best when it’s just us. If you don’t want to go, we won’t. I’m not leaving you.”

“Because you love me,” Tomura says, almost hesitantly. You nod. “I love you, too.”

It’s a good thing you’ve got the sheet on. You’re not sure you want Tomura to see the goofy smile you’re wearing. Tomura raises his free hand and touches your mouth through the sheet, feeling along the curve of it until you dare to kiss the tips of his fingers. He startles, and you remember the touch sensitivity. It’s fine when he’s the one initiating contact, since he’s the one who decides what he can handle, but you need to be careful. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says. He kisses you.

It’s not a great kiss, given that there are two layers of cotton between your mouth and his, but you’ll take it. You’ve always been willing to take what you can get from Tomura, and you’ve gotten more than you ever expected. It came at a price, sure. You’ll be paying that price in one way and another for the rest of your life, but it’s worth it. It would be worth it if Tomura never crossed the property line again.

But Tomura draws away from you without letting go of your hand and steps forward. You step back to give him space, and watch as he sets one foot over the line and onto the sidewalk, and then the other. And all at once, for the first time in a hundred and ten years, there’s nothing wrong with your house at all.

The End

#lovhalloweenhorror #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #shigaraki tomura #ghost story #loser nerd ghost boyfriend

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irisintheafterglow · 7 months

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One-Shots (1k+ words)

Bakugo Katsuki

I Know Places - escaping the cameras with your pro hero boyfriend

Rock and Roll, Buckaroo! - ghost hunting with the bakusquad

willow - revenge date against your ex goes awry, so guess who shows up instead

blood moonlit, must be counterfeit - a guy at a party has a really good dynamight costume, and you two get to talking about your favorite heroes.

...but I don't like a gold rush - you're dynamight's publicist and, by some joke by fate, you fell in love with him. you're pissed about it.

don't even know, i'm talkin' nonsense - on his way back from a patrol shift, your boss gets hit with a mystery quirk that affects his speech. you're the only one in the office who can help him.

can I say that? - you tell katsuki he's pretty. he doesn't know how to respond.

Takami Keigo

**I Can See You - meet cute? more like meet SEXY

Jump Then Fall - what happens when you try to outrun your boyfriend and the fastest hero in history?

**Maroon - he leaves a real fuckin' legacy over you

Aizawa Shota

Safe & Sound - healing him during the fight with shigaraki

Kirishima Eijiro

I Think He Knows - 7 minutes in heaven meets mutual pining

Blurbs/Drabbles

Bakugo Katsuki

Call It What You Want - wearing his initial on a chain around your neck

Lavender Haze - all they keep asking me is if I'm gonna be your bride

Karma - karma is my boyfriend, karma is a god

Any Man of Mine - katsuki is confused by 90s american country

Timeless - in those photos, i saw us instead

gym crush!bakugo

Todoroki Shoto

You're an Idiot - he keeps falling through your window with concerning amounts of blood

Takami Keigo

good chemistry - hawks with a chemist!reader

Imagines/HCs

Electric Touch - first date with pro hero chargebolt

The Very First Night - blind dating with katsuki, shoto, and izuku

Polish Up Real Nice! - selfcare with the boys

crown prince!touya todoroki

racer!bakugo showing off his favorites

bakugo takes you to prom

Series Masterlists

More Than It Seams - you're a hero costume tech working for one of the biggest fashion companies in quirk society, and the days until the most important fashion event of the year are dwindling fast. if you weren't stressed enough, a certain half-and-half hero keeps appearing with rips in his suit. (pro!shoto x reader, completed!)

The Joker and the Queen - in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas.

#irisintheafterglow masterlist #mha x you #mha x reader

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ermnmika · 1 year

Text

Dating Dabi headcanons

Because I have a Dabi brainrot and you should too. Enjoy. dabi x villain!gn!reader.

warnings: mentions of smoking, wounds, scars and blood. mentions of dabi's true identity (no details, no spoilers).

a mix of fluff and angst. no NSFW. i tried to make him as canon as possible, but feel free to correct me. also this is fucking huge.

inspired by @chainelunaire's headcanons of dabi, especially the sewing and dealing with the smell parts.

• this man is very unapproachable. he pushes people away, doesn't let anyone near him, doesn't even speak to people unless it's necessary. he has this cold and smug demeanor that pisses a lot of people off, but he doesn't really give a shit. all he has in his heart and head at this moment is revenge.

• let's be honest, when you join the league and you two meet, he doesn't think of it much. in his eyes you're just an ordinary bystander that may help him as an asset to achieve his goals. there's nothing of that love from the first sight shit, not from him, not from you.

• the thing that starts attracting you to him the most is curiosity. after getting acquainted with all the other members of the league, you notice something - dabi is different. he feels different. he’s so closed off that no one really knows much about him, and you never once believed that dabi even is his real name. he discusses the plans, does the job, and then he's gone. even if he is in the room with everyone, he doesn't participate in things, standing in the shadows. he's more like a ghost than a real person.

• it takes some time to notice the subtle signs of communication with other members not regarding villain work. when toga tries to have some fun with him, he only rolls his eyes, telling her to shut up and leave him alone. but, there was this one time that you remember to this day: when you entered the room you were met with toga, sitting on the couch and looking at her reflection from a piece of broken mirror in her hands, while dabi is standing behind her and doing her hair. she somehow managed to get him to give her a new hairstyle and not refuse. you guessed it was because she was a comfort kid in the league, the weak point of all the members, even the most distant ones. you observe him when he's listening to twice rant about something patiently, or him discussing what new design compress could use for his next mask. he’s mostly tense, sometimes smug and easily irritated, but you see the quick glances at members when something snaps and they start arguing, or the way his brows furrow when some of them come back injured from a mission. you know nothing about this man. his likes, dislikes, dreams and aspirations, not even his real name or age. but something about him makes you think there's something more inside his heart than just hate and resentment.

• so you decide to stick by his side. find something about him, anything. and you do. you find out that this man is a walking talking contradiction. his small smug smile, but his empty lifeless eyes - a contradiction. his careless attitude, but his desperate attempts to get rid of the smell of burnt flesh - another contradiction. him keeping his distance, telling everyone to fuck off and leave him alone, but not flinching a bit when the members touch him. another one. you can't keep your smile when you think about it. he isn't the type of person he tries to have the impression of.

• he notices it too - he's very observant since he doesn't talk a lot. notices you. notices your worried glances, your thoughtful gaze, your… staring. since you became a new member he didn't trust you much, because he obviously doesn't trust people that easily. you had to work to get his trust… and you did, not even trying to. you did your work efficiently, you treated other members well, hell, you even played those stupid videogames with shigaraki that he couldn't stand. and you looked at him, not averting your eyes. he had a feeling that sometimes you looked inside him, so deep inside, that it was hard to imagine.

• it slipped past him - the time when he begins to seek your eyes whenever you are together at the bar. when he begins to feel relieved when you come back uninjured, when he doesn't want to leave and keep his distance when you stand close to him. his head, once full of pure and aching rage, his only goal in life, starts to get filled with thoughts of you… and he's terrified. it fucks with his brain and he's so confused.

• he’s fucking dense when it comes to human relationships, but the signs are very clear. he knows that you care, he just doesn't understand why. why would you? he did everything to push people away, and, well… he's hideous. on the outside and on the inside. he’s a terrible human being who got wronged by life, and he didn't want to make yours even worse than it was. the confusion is too constant and irritating. he doesn't understand his own feelings, and he doesn't understand why you would want to be with someone like… him. so he decided to not do anything, not make any difference, and let you realize that he's not the type of person you want to get together with. and when you leave him alone, the feelings will disappear, too.

• but of course, life wronged him once again by not agreeing with his plans. every day it became more suffocating for him to exist in the same space as you. of course, you weren't a pure angel, you had your own cut of crimes, but you were too nice to him. he couldn't stand it. side note: you were actually nice to everyone, it's just that his heart dropped every time you did it to him. he felt stupid, so stupid, he wanted to bang his body against the wall to get rid of this… sappy shit.

• you saw it. you saw the difference, because you kept observing carefully. is this how he reacts when he realizes people can care about him? it was ridiculous, a tiny bit fun, but for the most part very upsetting. at some point you found yourself wanting to get closer, to understand him more, to be… near him. to not leave his side. to protect him. at that moment you realized you fell. you fell pretty hard for this dumb little arsonist.

• months pass, and he makes a stupid mistake of letting you get dangerously close to him and his life. it became a routine - smoking and talking with you on the balcony, even though you don't smoke, taking strolls with you around the bar at night, stealing shit and leaving it “accidentally” for you to take, letting only you treat his wounds after operations (and secretly holding his breath while watching you treat him), subconsciously protecting you on missions, and most of all, feeling almost completely safe in your presence. he hadn't felt safe with someone his whole life, he could confidently say it was the first time. months passed, but it was still terrifying.

• the league members knew too, of course. your mutual attraction was so obvious that no one even questioned it anymore. suddenly dabi starts coming to movie nights which he used to skip, just to sit next to you on the couch and shit on the movie afterwards. he doesn’t even pay attention to it. just thinks about you falling asleep on his shoulder. but it doesn’t happen because you’re worried you’d scare him off with sudden physical contact. since when did his comfort become your priority?

“So,” Mr. Compress calls him, while cleaning an empty glass after one of those nights. “When are you planning to confess?”

“What?” Thought Dabi out loud, dumbfounded. “The fuck do you mean, Compress?”

“I guess it’s still not the right time…”

• the right time arrived when you were almost fatally wounded in a battle against multiple pro-heroes. death was undoubtedly scary, but what was more terrifying was the absolute shock and panic written all over dabi’s face. you had never seen him like this before, and neither had anyone else, because he had forgotten what it feels like to care so much about another human being that he felt like dying inside. he pressed your weak and injured form to himself, not caring about the blood, and covered you with his whole body, carrying you in his arms. he was scared shitless, and you gave all your effort to not lose the grasp on life and survive. you didn't really have anything worth to live for, and after all th things you've done you probably deserved to die, but you loved the league, and you loved him. so you were not to give up.

• there were too many colors and sounds surrounding you, but you had no idea what was going on. you felt so, so exhausted. the world before you started to lose its brightness, and you just wanted to close your eyes for a moment…

He looked at you and his breath hitched. He had to get you to a safe place, now. “Hey, hey, fuck…” He pleaded as he touched your face, trying to wake you back up, voice filled with horror and immense worry. “No… Don’t you dare fucking die on me. You hear me?! If you die I’ll fucking kill you myself.”

• you woke up the next day, all patched up in your apartment and with Dabi by your side. he never left, you thought. you found out he can't cry. he found out he's in love.

“I never asked to be here at all,” he whispered, holding you close, having you in his grip like you're the last drag of air he had left. You buried your head in his neck, his heartbeat almost like a loud drum in your ears. You were so cold, and he was so warm. “So why do I have to face the fear of losing you?”*

• after that it just kind of happened on itself. his fear of losing you overcame his fear of being vulnerable. everyone knew you were together, and they were all glad that you came back to them alive. it felt very… different. things changed. you tried to be as open to him as you could, though it was difficult even for you. you only saw him being vulnerable once, on that day. after that, he still kept his distance, because he needed time to adjust to everything. it was new for you too, so you understood and waited patiently.

• he became very self-conscious since you two got in a relationship. before that he didn't really care what people thought of him, but now he had a person he somehow had to not lose. and he couldn't help not feeling hideous. you were looking, and you saw the scars, and you felt the smell, and you looked inside his burnt heart.

• he couldn't help feeling nervous when he met your curious and… loving gaze. he closed his eyes when you brought his hands to your face and placed gentle kisses every morning you were together because he couldn't handle it. he wasn't used to getting affection, at all. he felt like ripping his body apart, but it also somehow felt good, almost addicting. why couldn't he just crawl into your head to understand your thoughts?

• once he gets used to all the physical affection, it's over for you. he’s not letting you go. once he realizes you actually like feeling him on your skin too, you're stuck with him. this man is a touchstarved lonely loser that hasn't even realized it till now, so he's glued to your body and there's no way out. he basically lives in your apartment now because you didn't want him to stay on the streets, and that means constant hugs, cuddles, kisses and more. you want some time to relax on the couch and read, or watch something on your phone? his head is on your lap, nose sticking into your tummy. if it takes more time than he anticipated, his patience runs out and he falls onto you with his whole body, knocking whatever you held out, and caging you in his grip. if you're making something in the kitchen, he wraps his hands around your waist and kisses the nape of your neck. he also loves having you on his lap, tucked in under a blanket, and he kisses your forehead. makeout sessions on the floor, holding your hand when you're on a rooftop, looking at the stars, groaning and not letting you go in the mornings. you both feel heat rising to your faces in moments like this, because sure, you touched other people, but it was never this… open, vulnerable, genuine and gentle.

• every day he surprises you with how sincere he actually is. dabi the first time you met and dabi in your arms now are like two different people. you find his playful and childlike personality rise up to the surface, replacing the cold and smug one. the moments like these are rare, but very… memorable. you hear him banging on your bathroom door when you're taking a shit because he misses you, and when you yell back, he responds with “y’know babe, i don't mind the smell. you put up with mine, so i can do the same”. or when he keeps losing in a videogame and throws the phone at the corner of the room, and punches a pillow a hundred times. “i can't! how do you fucking do these things? is there a cheat or something?” and you laugh. you laugh, and you laugh, and he thinks it's the warmest feeling he ever felt. so he keeps making you laugh. you feel so loved, because it's only you who sees him like this. it's only you who he trusts this much.

• he tells you he likes sewing. no one really did it for him obviously, and he liked holding onto his clothes, so he had to do it himself, and he actually found it soothing. so whenever you needed something patched up, he picks it up immediately. if you get a hole in your sock, he's on his knees and doing the job. he also loves dancing. he was secretly doing it his whole life, it felt freeing, in a way. and he's become good at it. on some nights he grabs your hand and pulls you into a slow dance, in a dark kitchen with the only lighting source being a lightbulb in the fridge. he doesn't think of this as romance, he never knows what romance actually is, he just does what he thinks you might like. and you like it a lot.

• there are tough times in many relationships, and yours wasn't an exception. we all know dabi isn't the most mentally healthy and stable one. there were times when he regressed back to distancing himself, when the guilt and doubts would eat him alive, and he was gone for days, if not weeks, only coming to your apartment at night through your window, and lying beside you on the bed, bringing you close. you asked him what's wrong, you tried to be there for him, but sometimes it was just unbearable. he can't. he can't tell you. he trusts you, he truly does, but not fully. he doesn't trust anyone fully. so you argue. again, and again, and again. he comes home with bruises and injuries, that you have to tend to, and you find out that his “metabolism issues” that he mentioned in the league was a lie to cover his overheating. you ask him to be careful over and over, but he can't. he has to prepare and achieve his goals. and it's dangerous. he doesn't want to involve you in that shit.

• give him time. it's all that he needs. it hurts both of you, and he hates to see you upset. he thinks that you would leave him because of it, and it scares him to his core. for the first time in his life he allowed himself to let someone get so close, and if you left, he couldn't even imagine what kind of person he would become. if you left, you’d rip out a part of him and leave him completely empty. but he always expected it. always expected you to leave him. because who would want to stay with someone like him? someone so stubborn and selfish, secretive, irritable, cold and… disgusting. so he would understand if you left, but it would hurt worse than the depths of hell he resided in.

• but you don't. you stay. it keeps hurting you, but you still stay. it irritates him, he's confused again, but he holds you close at night, he kisses your fingers, and you stroke his hair, while he's listening to your heartbeat. and then it all spills like blood from his burnt skin. he tells you everything, slowly and carefully, and you feel like you passed some kind of test. it’s ironic for some reason. he tells you about who he actually is, his childhood, everything that got up to this point, his crimes and his plans and goals. you listen attentively, and he looks so… small. open. weak and vulnerable. he looks up at you and waits for a strike. he expects you to get disgusted, to curse him and regret ever falling in love with him, to blame him for all his sins, and finally leave. it's like he went back to being a child that is about to get irreparably broken. but you only sigh, kiss the crown of his head and tell him he should’ve told you earlier. you say that you will go through all of this together, that you won't leave him, not now, not ever.

• he can't believe this. what is wrong with you? it wasn't supposed to be like this. after everything he did you still chose to stay with him. it was ridiculous. you ruined his whole perception of people. that night he kissed you until you were both suffocating. it hurt like a bitch, it ripped your insides. but you decided not to cry. you decided to learn.*

• and so, you kept smoking on the balcony together. you kept taking strolls around the bar at night. you kept coming to movie nights with the league and snuggle under the shared blanket. you kept protecting each other, treating each other's wounds, healing together. you trusted him with your life. he trusted you with his soul and beyond. you were now the most precious thing in this world for him. he even decided to try and not die for your sake. did he forget his initial goals? obviously not. has he obtained a new dream? yes. will he burn this world to ashes for you? yes. will he do anything for you? probably. if you ask well enough.

* a lyric from "the fear of losing this" by florist

* a lyric from "devour" by mr. kitty

in conclusion: he's a touch starved little babygirl that needs attention. not proofread, so i apologize for any mistakes in advance. also, eng is not my first language, so there's that.

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