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hhawks · 5 months

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ARTILLERY.

✰ starring: ftm!shigaraki tomura x fem!reader ✰ synopsis: you and tomura have been dancing around this for far too long. ✰ content: ftm!shigaraki, himiko birthday shenanigans in a club, background togachako, tomura in a silk blouse <;3 ✰ warnings: semi-public sex, cunnilingus, light degradation, tomura calls his clit his cock ✰ word count: 3.5k

this isn’t your usual jam.

really, it’s not.

the bass floods your senses and it feels like your brain is going to melt out of your ears, but himiko has her fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist as you both slither through the throngs of sweaty arms, gyrating hips, and the stench of beer and liquor. you wouldn’t have come if himiko held a gun to your head.

but it’s her last birthday in town before she moved for college, and the first time the two of you would be apart since you had met. going from childhood neighbours to sharing an apartment together, there was nothing himiko was apart of or knew that you didn’t. so here you are, squeezed into a dress she’d flung at you, dragging you to see her friends. “they’re right around here,” she yells over the music, the loud chattering. “oh— look! look, over there!”

you’d met himiko’s friends before. you aren’t sure where she met them; a white haired boy with ink spiralling down to his fingertips, a chubby cheeked girl swaying gently to the music with another green haired boy, and a blonde talking loudly over the table to the only person whose name you knew.

“and so she said, jin, you need to see a therapist,” and his head throws back, howling with laughter. “like baby, i’ve been through more shrinks than i have— himiko!”

himiko waves enthusiastically, tugging you further into the booth. she takes one side, next to jin, and you slide in from the other, warm fabric squelching uncomfortably against the bare skin of your thighs. you have to hold in a wince as you settle into the worn leather, flashing a quick smile to tomura, who blushes a pale scarlet. “hey,” you whisper, and his lips press tights into a small smile, his skin glowing under the neon lights.

the chorus of welcomes and hellos flood your surroundings, almost cacophonous around you. you smile warmly to them, watching as every piles gifts in front of himiko with soft wishes of happy birthday! she grins madly, kissing all of them on the cheek, and then sliding into the chubby-cheeked girl’s lap and pressing a long, deep kiss on her lips.

ochako. you should have guessed, from the amount of times himiko’s rattled off about her. small girl, a little on the chubby side, with hair that bounced as she walked. she’s every bit as beautiful as himiko made her out to be. the chatter continues, submerging you but not quite reaching you, but you don’t mind it.

“hey,” you hear next to you, and you turn to face tomura. he’s two drinks in with a pretty flush on his cheeks, his white hair unruly about his face. you reach out, tuck a strand behind his ear, and he stutters. “d-didn’t think i’d see you here.”

“didn’t think i’d come, to be honest.” you smile gently, your hand settling back on your lap. “but, it is her last birthday at home.”

tomura nods slowly. it’s hard to hear each other over the thumping bass, the loud conversations over sloshed drinks on the table, but you manage. “how about you?” he asks. “are you going out of the city?”

“i haven’t decided,” you balance your elbows on the sticky tabletop, hanging your head in your hands. “there’s a lot— to consider.”

he hums, just loud enough for you to hear. you and tomura had met years ago, when he had come over to himiko’s to grab something he needed to borrow. except himiko wasn’t home, and had forgotten to let you know, which led to an hour long search through the apartment for a textbook you didn’t even know the colour of. you had ended up on the floor of your living room, mocking lines from the english language textbook that he was meant to pick up. he had always been so lovely, so shy, abashedly private. you couldn’t even more than his name out of him for months until he slid down the wall of your bedroom, half drunk after an evening of shots with himiko, and told you (speech half slurred and eyes droopy) that he thought you were the prettiest of himiko’s friends, and i would really love to kiss you one day.

of course, he didn’t remember that. but you did. always regarded tomura with a soft gaze and a gentle hand on the small of his back. he’d always look back at you with a shy smile, but think nothing more of it. tomura was always soft; soft touches, soft skin, soft smiles. tomura is a game, circling around the same bush, waiting to strike.

like a couple of weeks ago during the monthly smoke session, when you opted to stay sober because of your test the next day. tomura had his head laid on your lap, and you absentmindedly played with the white, wispy strands of his hair, listening halfheartedly to the conversation. his hand came up to cradle your cheek with a tenderness you could only ever attribute to him. crimson eyes red-rimmed and sleepy, trained only on you.

like right now, with your fingers on his knee and his shoulder pressed up against yours. there isn’t any need for that, you know; there’s plenty of space between him and the tattooed guy, but you don’t mind it. don’t mind the soft heat that emanates from him like a flickering ember, just small enough that you’d have to cover it with your hands to protect it. protect him.

tomura’s a… fragile person. you’re convinced you’ve never seen him speak up more than four times in a conversation, and when you’d prompt him to, he’d shake his head and lean against you. sometimes you wonder if it would be better off if the two of you stayed back, went to a quieter, more peaceful place. your hands splay out along his thigh, your thumb caressing his jean clad skin. “everything okay?”

“yeah. all good.” he sighs.

you smile, picking up the beer that’s set in front of you, and try your hardest not to wince as you sip at it. tomura shifts, a shaky breath exhaled from his lips as you drum your fingers against his thigh. conversations shift to the two of you, ochako making a comment that tomura’s much closer to you than he is to touya. and you just laugh, and tell them, “whatever makes the princess comfortable, i’m fine with.”

and that gets a small rise out of the table. tomura blushes, pink creeping up his cheeks, and he lets out a small squeak in protest. “d-don’t call me that.”

“what? princess?” your hand tightens around the small of his thigh, and something in you clicks. no one is watching anymore, the conversation swerving to something about deku’s work week, or some shit like that. “what else should i call you then?”

and he just glares at you, and you begin to think maybe he really is a princess. your fingers start to drift further and further up his thigh, a small smile playing on your lips. you lean into his ear, and whisper, “tell me when to stop, princess.”

he burns. tomura burns and he melts, a small sigh dripping from his parted lips. “s—” he starts, but can’t finish. vermillion flashes at you, and suddenly he’s up, your hand carelessly thrown from its position right up close to his crotch. “bathroom,” he mumbles, and you’re not sure if he’s excusing himself from the group, or if he’s commanding you to follow.

the table conversation tapers off as they watch tomura stomp away, in the direction of the bathroom, his silky translucent shirt glowing as he walks under the strobe lights. you hide your smile, touya leaning into your side. “is he okay?”

and you think of the perfect excuse to leave.

“i’m not sure,” you feign the worry on your face, creasing your brow. “i should go check on him, shouldn’t i?”

touya nods, a slight stitch of genuine concern on his face. you get up, sliding out of the booth with a barely coherent, i’m gonna check on tomu. before walking in the direction of the washrooms.

the dance floor is a completely different environment; stuffy, humid, up to your ears in moving bodies and pop music. it’s sweaty, damp, and the arms that touch you make you recoil, but you push through them to get to the bathrooms. you can barely make out tomura’s hair as he pushes the door open to the unisex bathroom, a callous glance thrown over his shoulder.

his gaze meets yours, and you know you read it right.

your mind’s blank, all but empty save for the thickening haze of curiosity, of desire. you weave yourself through the throngs of people who separate you from serenity, and finally make it out on the other side.

knock, knock. “tomura.”

the door opens swiftly, and slender fingers grab you and pull you inside. you chuckle, the front of your dress threatening to let your skin spill out, tomura’s fingers still twisted in the shimmery fabric.

“what’s gotten into— mmph!”

tomura’s lips are swollen, bitten red no doubt by his nervous habit. they’re a little chapped, but still soft against your own, trading sweet spit as he rucks a hand in the fabric of your dress. your eyes flutter shut, and you lick into his mouth. there’s a fire that burns in his throat, one that licks at you every time you get near. he’s melting into you, pushing you so harshly against the door it thumps closed behind you, and in your closed-eye blunder, you reach for the lock and twist it shut.

“you fucking— tease,” he spits at you, and you thank god for the heels himiko shoved you in, because the view of tomura looking up at you, vermillion alight with thundering need, it makes you throb. he looks so small, so fragile, you just want to pick him up, press him against the wall, but you settle for snaking your hand around his side, planting your open palm against the small of his back. “that was humiliating.”

“i think you quite liked it,” you murmur against his neck, tucking the strands of his hair away. “didn’t you, baby?”

the way he reacts makes your heart gleeful. the small hitch in his strong chest, his lips parting, tongue forming words but no sound leaving them. he just whimpers, and you tilt his chin up to put him out of his misery. you kiss him slowly this time, savouring the squeak of surprise that rips through his throat. “tell me you like it.”

tomura looks at you, pupils blown, tip of his nose flushed pink. not even a stitch of hesitance on his tongue before he licks his lips. “i like it.”

that’s all the assurance you need. your lips are on his again, pushing him this time further into the washroom stall. you’re thankful that there’s enough space for you to push him up against the sink, your hands shielding his bony hips from bumping against the worn ceramic edges. the curves, dips and juts of his body fit under the heavy, firm grip of your palms, and you wonder why you’ve never had the opportunity to hold him like this.

he whines when his back hits the sink, and you pull away for just a second. “gonna be good for me now?” you whisper against the shell of his ear, licking the warm, flushed skin. you can feel his stuttered breath on your shoulder, a small whimper dripping from his lips. that makes you stop for a second, looking at him quizzically. “what was that, baby? make that sound again.”

“shut u— uhh,” he swats at your chest, but his protests die in his throat, faltering when you nudge his chin upwards to bare his neck to you, your lips wrapping and sucking the pale skin of his throat. tomura whimpers as you leave mark after mark down the hollow of his throat, trailing from his bobbing adam’s apple to the open of his billowy shirt. you fist the translucent chiffon in your hands, the urge to rip and to devour a growing pain in your chest.

your breath is warm against his skin. “so pretty,” you murmur. “fuck, you’re really so pretty, tomu.” the floor is grimy and you don’t want to know who’s been here, in this exact position as you right now, but you send all thoughts out of your head as you drop to your knees, fingers fumbling with the button of his trousers. he helps you, nimble fingers joining yours in the crusade to shuck these emerald silk trousers down his legs.

the button finally pops off, and you hurry to unzip his pants, pulling them down his legs. “holy— fuck, tomura,” you almost whimper, faced with the pretty image of a pair of white panties on his delicate hip bones, the cutest little pink bow sitting atop the elastic band. you can’t help yourself; you press a kiss to his navel, right above the band, nibbling at his skin softly. pink and purple and blue bloom under your touch, and tomura’s hands find solace in your hair.

“don’t tease,” he spits at you, and when you look up, you smile. a little brat, he’s always been. has such a hard time submitting, but something in you makes you want to break him, take him apart, piece by piece and put him back together again.. “you wanna suck my cock, right? go ahead.”

your fingers dig into his hips, hooking the elastic band of his panties, slowly tugging the fabric down. he’s watching you intently, like he’s waiting for something. he shifts his hips to ease you pulling his panties over the swell of his ass, and finally, finally.

“fuck,” you murmur, looking at the pretty mess of white hair, and tomura’s sweet, wet pussy. he smells of sweat, perfume, and tomura, and you press you nose against the juncture where his thigh meets his hip. “fuck, yes.” your lips suck a spit right there and he moans, his hand in your hair tightening just a little, just to the point where it makes you wince. but he guides your mouth to his mons, a withered look on his face, and you think maybe, maybe it’ll be okay to give in.

“tomura,” you begin, your fingers splayed out on his thighs. you hum, a thought busy in your head, and stand up. your hands move to shift him onto the washroom counter, his ass sitting pretty on the cold linoleum. you can hear the songs, the chattering people, the angry mutters of those who have been waiting in line, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. not with the prettiest boy in front of you, his cunt glossy and begging for you. “is that better, princess?”

“fucking eat me out already,” his words spell out a curse, grating and abrasive, but his pitch inflects up into a whine. a real princess. “suck my cock.” two fingers frame his swollen, needy clit, parting his messy, wet labia for you to look. he’s dripping, slick pooling at his hole, and you feel kind enough to let your fingers reach out, scoop a little onto the pads of your fingers, and rub it slowly onto his cock.

tomura writhes, head knocking back against the dirty mirror. “you’re so fucking needy,” you spit, rubbing a little faster, tight little circles into his engorged clit. “‘s so wet.” he’s breaking, you know he is, with the way moans are escaping out his mouth. “fuck, shut up. you want everyone to hear you, is that it?”

“please,” he whimpers, thighs quivering, trying to knock together. your free hand shoves his legs apart, with a low, keep them there for me. “please, more.”

“gotta tell me what you want, baby.” these pet names are slipping off your tongue without care or concern. it feels so natural, like he was meant to be called your baby. “can’t give it to you tell i know what you want.”

tomura lets out a small squeak when you press his clit a little harder, a noise that gurgles at the back of his throat. his hands tighten on your shoulders, hips gyrating to meet your fingers. “suck it,” he begs. “p-please, fuck, wanna feel your mouth.”

“where?” you inch closer to his pussy. the smell of it, the way it glistens under the dim fluorescent lights, it makes you crazy. insane for him. you lick a stripe up from his hole to his cock, keeping your eyes on him the whole time. “here?”

your hands grip his thighs, fingertips digging into his soft flesh as you circle his cock with your tongue, a trembling sigh leaving your lips as your eyes flutter close. of course he tastes fucking perfect. of course his whimpers and his whines sound like heaven. you decide you want him in your bed tonight, every night, making these sounds under you.

“right there,” he shakes, breathy moans reaching your ears. you’re blocking out everything else; in this moment it’s just you and tomura in a dirty club bathroom, his cock in your mouth and his hands in your hair. “right— fuck! there!”

you hum, and allow your lips to wrap completely around his cock, sucking on it, flicking your tongue along the swollen nub. your hands on his thighs are the only thing keep you grounded right now, mind hazy and stupid with pleasure. you can feel yourself getting wet in your own panties, but your priority now is him. only him, forever him.

fingers trace along his thighs, aiding you in your need to make him cum. “i’m gonna put my fingers in, okay?” you murmur loud enough for him to hear you, and he pants, nodding vigorously. you smile. “such a simple slut. only good for cumming.”

“shut up,” he forces your head back between his thighs, teeth gnashing and tongue curling against his folds. “and make me cum.”

you scoff, but comply. your fingers find his hole, dripping in slick and begging to be fucked, and slip easily into his tight heat. he stutters out a gasp, moaning wantonly and you’re sure the poor patrons outside can hear everything going on in this ridiculously thin-walled bathroom.

curling up against his gspot, you watch for signs of pleasure on his face, taking note when his brows lace together in a desperate exclamation, his lips parting with surrender on his tongue. he’s begging endlessly, little, please please please’s and ‘m gonna, gonna cum! slurrying with his spit. you could kiss him right now, you want to kiss him right now, and lick up the drool that’s pooling in the corner of his mouth.

but first, you need him to cum. you need to see tomura fall apart, chest heaving with soft sobs, wrecked and blushing. you pump your fingers faster, your tongue on his cock. cum, baby. cum.

and it’s almost like he can hear you, almost like you willed it into reality. tomura’s hands scramble for your hand on his thigh, a plea for mercy in the form of intimacy. you hum against his cock, lacing your fingers with him, and blink up at him as if to say,

let go for me, baby.

when tomura cums, he cums hard. he cums with the pulsing clench of his cunt on your fingers, a gush in your mouth, and a breathless moan you swear you’re gonna spend all night pushing out of him again. you fuck him through his orgasm and decide he’s the most beautiful person you’d ever seen in your life.

your fingers smooth over his knuckles mercifully, murmuring praise as he cums down. “you did so good, princess,” you kiss his thighs, pepper his bruises with affection. “did so well for me. you there? you here with me?”

his head thumps against the hollow mirror, and his eyes flutter closed. “c-can you,” he starts. “kiss me?”

you stand, wobbly in your knees but you lean over him. you’re so hyper aware of how drenched you are in his cum, his slick, painting your mouth, chin, nose, neck— but you can’t find it in yourself to care. his lips meet yours in the middle, so desperate to taste himself on your lips that you giggle against him. tomura moans at the taste, licking into your mouth, pushing further into you. it’s like he’s melting, melding all at once; like he wants to be a part of you.

there’s the sound of angry muttering getting louder outside the door, the telltale sign that you’ve overstayed your welcome. “we have to go,” you whisper against his lips, helping him off the counter and pulling his panties and trousers back up. there’s a silence as both your fingers work to make him presentable again. “come home with me.”

tomura’s eyes shimmer, and you can’t tell if it’s tears or the fluorescents. either way, the vermillion bores into your chest and makes a home for itself in the crevices of your heart, and you find yourself wanting to touch him, kiss him, love him for the rest of eternity.

“okay.”

you almost forget about himiko’s birthday on your way out.

#icymi

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