vintagevendingmachine

Latest Posts by vintagevendingmachine

Ohno--

I knew she was giving me a certain vibe that I had seen before! 👀

i find it so endearing that, biologically speaking, green moray eels does not give a single DAMN about their young ones from birth until they grow up. they just lay eggs and leave them somewhere until they hatch. while this may have happened to the leech twins considering jade and floyd's implications during halloween, i loooove how involved their parents are in their lives. like sure they were probably left somewhere to hatch/birth while georgina and her husband had to do other stuff but growing up??? they love their parents so much because of how affectionate jade and floyd are to each other as brothers 🥹🥹

to think they're not ashamed of talking about their parents, to even brag about their behaviors is just peak familial bond to me because i'm fascinated by ocean life and biology JAMDJAKKDKW GEORGINAAAA YOU RAISED TWO FINE GENTLEMEN

even with the concept of fish mafia family, georgina would prioritize her kids 💯 😓😓😓😓😓😓 and the fact the twins are good with kids too please bury me alive

PROPS TO THE OTHER TWST PARENTS TOO???? (except mrs. r*s*he*rts who tf are you) THEY'RE SO INVOLVED IN THEIR KIDS LIVES (even meleanor!!!) THAT THESE BOYS WOULD GO HOME AND SPEND TIME WITH THEMW JDJWNFKWKFKWKKFKE SOSOSOSOOS SOFT FOR THIS 🥹🥹🥹 each parent is so well written that you can feel and see how it resonated to their sons hnnngh sOBBING

mama and her fuckass boys

did father leech's genes even try

League of Villains - Light color style by YTE (2025)

👀

they have their mother's glow (thank you, Queen Georgina)

🥺

"Game with a spectator"

Tomura Shigaraki, the typically cold and calculating leader of the League of Villains, sits hunched over his gaming setup, crimson eyes narrowed at the screen. His gloved fingers dance across the keyboard with ruthless precision, dominating the virtual battlefield. But tonight, there’s an unfamiliar weight on his lap—his little daughter, barely old enough to string sentences together, perched there with wide, sparkling eyes glued to the monitor.

He’s not used to this. The softness of her tiny frame against his jagged edges, the way her small hands grip his tattered hoodie like it’s a lifeline. She’s babbling nonsense, a stream of excited gibberish that spikes every time something explosive happens on-screen—a critical hit, a flashy ultimate, or a brutal combo. “Boom! Papa, boom!” she squeals, bouncing slightly, her voice piercing the grim silence of his dimly lit room.

Shigaraki’s first instinct is irritation. The distraction could cost him the match, and he’s not exactly the nurturing type. His jaw tightens, a faint hiss escaping his chapped lips. “Quiet,” he mutters, voice low and scratchy, not even glancing down at her. But she doesn’t listen—doesn’t even register his tone. She’s too caught up in the chaos of the game, clapping her hands when a particularly epic moment flashes across the screen, her laughter bright and unguarded.

Something in him shifts, though he’d never admit it. The sound of her joy, so alien in his world of decay and destruction, doesn’t grate as much as he expects. He flicks his gaze downward, just for a second, catching the way her face lights up, completely unbothered by his scars or the menace he exudes. She’s not afraid. She’s *happy*. Because of him. Because of this stupid game.

“...Tch. You like that, huh?” he mumbles, more to himself than to her, his tone less harsh now. He adjusts his posture slightly, careful not to jostle her, one gloved hand instinctively hovering near her to make sure she doesn’t tip over. He’s hyper-aware of his Quirk, the danger of his touch, but she doesn’t seem to care, snuggling closer as another explosion lights up the screen.

“Papa win!” she declares, throwing her arms up as his character lands a finishing blow, securing the victory. Shigaraki snorts, a rare, dry chuckle escaping him. “Yeah. Obviously.” His voice is gruff, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes, buried deep beneath layers of resentment and pain.

He doesn’t push her off. Doesn’t tell her to leave. Instead, he starts another match, this time tilting the screen slightly so she can see better. Her excited babbles fill the room, and for once, Shigaraki doesn’t mind the noise. It’s... fine. Just this once.

Down bad 🥵

Just because they're pretty doesn't mean their smile isn't sinister.

neopet graveyard // shigaraki tomura

when you two always end up working the night shift together.

a/n: all together now! "finaaallllyyyyy" we collectively say. i love shiggy sm this fucking loser is the loml. <3

my smau warm up for this fic here too

@bbluefllame hehe

12:37 AM the buzzing analog clock sitting on the counter glared back at you. Long and slow shifts like tonight's were agonizing to get through. You may have been getting paid to sit around and flip through dusty catalogs and sort through old video game discs, but you often wondered if you'd rather be at home broke and asleep right now.

"Hey Shigs," You call out, breaking his attention away from his phone. "Tits or ass?" You hold up the vintage Playboy magazine up to his direction from across the store.

"You have neither." He replies, leaning forward and slightly squinting in your direction. "I can't see that far. What are you showing me?"

"It's a fucking porn mag, you dick." You call out, throwing a pen in his direction, letting it bounce off the glass counter beside him and landing among the cardboard boxes behind the register.

"Freak, where the fuck did you find that?" He cocks an eyebrow at you, setting his phone down.

"In bossman's desk." You shrug. "Quite a collection he's got in there, actually. Answer the question."

Tomura stops for a moment, leaning against the glass counter behind the register as he deeply thinks about his answer. Given his stoic and apathetic personality, you were half expecting him to tell you to fuck off and eat shit.

"Personality."

"Loser-" You began, getting ready to shoot him the most annoyed eye-roll you could muster.

"-And ass." He cuts you off with a smirk before returning to his phone.

You chuckle, tossing the magazine back in the desk drawer with the others before slamming it shut.

You make your way over to the opposing side of the glass counter where he stood, peering over to see him playing clash of clans on his phone.

"I'm bored. Dying of it, actually." You exacerbated, blowing a breath of air into the pale strands of hair hanging over his forehead "Put your phone away and entertain me for the last hour that we're here."

"Piss off and perish." He mutters, eyes still glued to his screen.

You pout at his coldness. You had spent the day cleaning, reshelving, wiping down any counter you could find, and now at this ungodly hour, you've been left with nothing you could possibly do except wait for the minutes to go by until the end of the shift.

"Wanna make out in the back room?" You prop your elbow on the counter and rest your head in your palm, staring up at him with a flirty smile.

His thumbs pause on his screen, eyes snapping over to meet your own, annoyance flash across them the moment he sees your cheeky grin and fake-innocent eyes staring back at him.

"What?" A faint blush dust over his cheeks as he avert his gaze from your own.

"You heard me." You playfully lean back on your heels, swinging yourself back and forth. "All this alone time, you're not itching to take my clothes off? A little fun, Shigs? Something to help you loosen up?" You inch your face closer to his.

More often than not, you ended up on the schedule with Tomura for the most brutal hours of 6:30pm-1:30am for most nights of the week. Your boss says it's to stay available for the nightcrawlers of the city, but business is always dead by 11:00pm. For those excruciatingly slow last few hours, you cherished spending them terrorizing Tomura for his flustered reactions and the amusement of annoying him.

The pink of his cheeks bloom into a bright red, causing him to hide his face in his forearm, covering it with a cough.

"Just kidding, Shigs." You lean back and playfully shoving his shoulder from across the counter. "I'm just being silly, no need to get your panties in a twist."

"I fucking hate when you do that." He runs a hand through his hair, pushing back the strands that always end up falling back in his face.

"Do what, exactly?" You cock your head to the side.

"You know what. You're worse than Dabi." He huffs. "Start doing your closing work or something if you're bored." He turns his back to you and leans back against the counter, frantically scrolling through twitter- obviously not reading any of the words on screen, but just trying to avoid you for long enough so you lose interest in bothering him.

"I finished those an hour ago." You whine. "Crazy idea, but what if we close early? There's only less than an hour left and these cameras have been out of service for the past 2 months."

He looks back at you, and takes a scan at the state of the store- cleaned, restocked, inventory logged, everything seems to be in order. It wasn't like the store's upkeep was any hard work, anyways. In fact, the owner barely ever came in and you were half sure that he used this old comics and game store for money laundering purposes.

"That might actually be the smartest thing your dumbass has said all shift."

-

The night breeze blew right through your sweater, causing a chill to crawl up your spine.

"Alright, Shiggy, I'll see you when I see you, then?" You squeak out, rubbing your arms for the heat friction.

"Hold on." He mutters, cigarette hanging from his lips as he wiggles the door to make sure it's properly locked. "I'll walk you home."

"I do this walk multiple times a week, Shigs." You smile at the sentiment. "I'll be fine. I live close by."

"I know you'll be fine. I just don't want to go back to the apartment yet. Dabi's throwing a party and I'd rather not deal with a group of drunk idiots right now." He shrugs, taking a drag of the cig before passing it over to you in which you gladly accept from his fingers, letting the intoxicating smoke warm you from the inside.

"Oh, that's right. He invited me when I saw him during the shift change." You exhale, blowing the smoke behind you, starting to lead him towards the direction of your home.

"Shouldn't we head that way, then?" He stops in his tracks.

"Well, I'd only go if you were there to keep me company, but if you're not feeling it then probably not."

"Parties aren't really my thing, but if you're there, then it'll be fine. I can tolerate it." He mutters, kicking a pebble to the side. "I can always just lock myself in my room, I'm sure they'll be too shitfaced to notice, anyways."

"What? I'd notice." You pout.

"I'll lock you in with me, duh." He coughs, hiding a smile while sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

"Really?"

He nods his head in response.

"Sounds like you like my company a lot more than you give off, Shigs." You smile, redirecting your walk back towards his apartment now.

"Heavy on the tolerate." He meets your eye for a moment before returning them down at his feet.

It had been an especially cold winter night. Hoodies and knitted sweaters were always a staple in Tomura's wardrobe, in any weather, but tonight he sported a dingy old leather jacket over his usual hoodie for the extra warmth. The cold air nipped the apples of his cheeks and tip of his nose into a rosy pink, and if he didn't have his hood over his head, you were sure the tip of his ears would be under the same condition.

You naturally ran hot, but your favorite part of a chilly walk home from work was the blast of warm air hitting your face and defrosting your fingertips the second you walked into your apartment- which fortunately also motivated you to get quick with your pace.

"I think Twice and Toga live this way too." You mumble, starting to recognize the surrounding structures.

"They do. We walk together if we're scheduled together, which is almost never, but a couple times a month, maybe."

"Do you ever think about quitting?" You turn to him and ask.

"Only when the general population is being extra stupid. Other than that, not really. You?"

"Sometimes. I have an existential crisis about what I'm doing with my life every now and then, but I like working with everyone."

"With everyone? You mean just me?" He chuckles, earning him a scoff from you.

"I just tolerate you, actually. I live for those 5 minutes in between shifts where I say hi and bye to my people."

You catch the end of an eye-roll.

"What do you get so existential about?"

"You know, the typical stuff every twenty-something year old goes through. Progressing in life and all that bullshit?" You sigh.

"Get specific, dumbass." He takes a long drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke fog around you. "I'll grant you some of my wisdom."

"Lately, it's a lot of if my kid-self would like my adult-self, if working at the shop is just me trying to hold onto my childhood, dropping out of college, never having my first kiss, miss being taken care of, and probably a million more things." You list off, counting on your fingers.

"Damn. I'd hate to be in your brain." Tomura mutters. "Shit happens and we all die. Better to not stress about it."

"Great wisdom, dipshit." You chuckle, nudging him with your elbow.

"If it makes you feel better, I also dropped out and haven't had a first kiss."

"No education I can tell-"

He flips you off.

"-but no first kiss?" You dramatically gasps "I don't believe that. You're so cute!"

"And you're not?"

Your mouth gaped open at the subtle hit of flirtation from him. The coldness on your neck and cheeks were quickly replaced by an unfamiliar rush of heat.

"Shut up." You mutter, snapping your head forward to hide your blush. "I guess people don't like cute now-a-days."

"Guess not."

After coming up on his apartment building, you two halted to a stop. You two spent most of the walk in silent solitude, passing back and forth the same innocent subtle glances with every puff of the shared cigarette.

"You ready?" He steps out the butt of the cigarette and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Can't wait to see that crusty dusty reddit-incelified gaming set up of yours." You tease.

"Just wait 'til you see the jar." He retaliates, causing you to scowl in disgust and slapping him across the bicep.

For a second, you could almost make out the softest glimpse of a smile on his lips, but you decided to let that be something you keep to yourself, locking it away in your memories.

You follow him into the apartment complex and up the dingy and loud humming of the elevator that replaced the need for conversation. From a few steps outside of the door you could hear the trashy garage band music emitting from the inside- definitely Dabi's kind of party.

You watch Tomura fumble with his keys for a moment before swinging the door open, letting a rush of hot air mixed with the fumes of stale cigarette smoke and beer slap you in the face.

You two cram into the doorway, almost back to back as you kicked off your shoes and shed off unnecessary layers.

You take a step into the living room to see many new and familiar faces huddling in small circles around the apartment, sporting flushed cheeks and drink in hand.

"Dabi's wasted." Tomura leans down and whispers, lips lightly grazing the shell of your ear, sending a shudder up your spine. "Watch out or he might claim your first kiss. He's a stupid affectionate drunk."

Unfortunately for you, your eyes instantly caught onto Dabi's from across the room, causing him to bum rush his way over to you guys, throwing his arms around you two into a hug, crushing your body together against Tomura's.

"I told you." Tomura mouths down to you with an annoyed expression.

"Fuckers, you're late." He slurs into your shoulder. "I shoulda burnt that fucking store down to get you here earlier."

"Aren't you scheduled for the morning?" You cock an eyebrow at his drunken state.

"That's tomorrow-me's problem, sweets." He says with a lopsided grin. He grabs Tomura's head and presses a wet kiss to his temple before slapping one on your forehead. "You kids mingle and go get something go drink."

Once Dabi returns back to the party, you turn to Tomura with a laugh. After wiping off the side of his head with his sleeve, he places a hand on the back of your head, and uses his other to swipe across your forehead, wiping off the remnants of Dabi's drunken kiss.

"Fuckin' gross." He mumbles to himself.

You two spent a little less than an hour making your rounds around the party, a shot here and there when the other coworkers demanded one from you, but with the nod of his head towards the hallway, you knew his social battery had been drained.

"Handling your alcohol?" He asked, pulling you towards his room by the sleeve of your sweater, slightly stumbling over the carpet.

"Of course." You mutter. "You?"

"Couple shots got nothing on me."

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you audibly sighed from the sweet relief of a moment of silence after a full shift of the same work playlist on repeat and the party's music following you around the apartment.

"Finally." Tomura groans, reaching up behind his neck, lightly tugging on the back of his hoodie.

You took a seat on his gaming chair, hugging a knee up to your chest as your eyes scan across the walls of his room, glancing over at his various superhero posters, and bookshelf of collectables until it locked on his pale lower torso that exposed itself from his t-shirt riding up with the hoodie as he yanked it off over his head.

"Uhh." You begin, swiveling your chair around and averting your attention towards his gaming setup. "You stream? You got a webcam."

"Do you care?" You feel a hand grip the head of the gaming chair, swiveling you back around to face him, who is now leaning over you. "Thought you didn't care about all that shit."

"It's different if it's you." You smirk up at him, letting the alcohol boost your suave facade that had originally faltered upon seeing a few inches of his naked torso.

"Relentless flirt." He brings his hand down to flick your forehead before taking a seat on his unmade bed, leaning back against the headboard with his hands behind his head.

You accidentally knock the mouse cursor with your elbow, waking the monitor. Staring back at you in a bright red blocky font was 2:39AM, suddenly sobering you up.

"Oh shit, it's getting pretty late." You check your phone to confirm. "I should get going."

"Uh, isn't your apartment in the opposite direction from work?"

He only had to look you up and down one time to know that you weren't sober enough to make the walk by yourself. He wouldn't even think about letting you leave this apartment at this hour, anyways.

"Yeah? So what?" You cock an eyebrow at him.

"I mean...you think you should stay the night?" He starts, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "If you want, I don't care."

"Do you want me to stay the night?" You shoot him a daring smirk.

"Do you want to stay the night?" He retaliates.

"Sounds like you want me to. So fine, I guess, if you're begging for it."

"Fuck off and get eaten by the coyotes." He scowls in irritation, pulling his phone out to divert his attention.

You hop onto the bed next to him, catching his panicked expression the moment he realized how close you two were now. On the same bed. Alone. Along with the new question of where you would be sleeping- something that he had not thought about until now.

"C'mon Shigs! It's no fun when I'm the one that's always doing the chasing, babe. You have to want me as much as I want you, that's what makes it fun." You jokingly sigh.

"Who says I don't?"

Your eyes go wide. You were so used to him deflecting all of your useless attempts to fluster him, so you weren't sure how to handle your short circuited brain the second he finally returns the same energy.

"Uhhh. Okay, I take it back. Don't do that again." You press your lips together in defeat.

"I say four words and you start losing it?" He chuckles. "Think I got you beat at your own game."

"I guess tonight will test that, won't it?"

-

You were slowly eating your words with every second that passed. Your alcohol induced fake confidence had slowly dwindled down to nothing and now here you are sharing a bed with Tomura with your heart beating out of your chest, when you probably should've just offered to take the floor.

You two were lying on your sides facing one another with the covers pulled up to your chin. You were desperately trying to fall asleep, but you could hear his soft inhale and exhales and feel the air brushing past your cheeks as a constant reminder that he's right next to you, sharing the same bed, sharing the same air, all under the same blanket.

You slightly opened your eyes to peer through your lashes to see him wide awake and looking right at you, the back of his hand pressed against his cheek and soft eyes scanning over your face.

You open your eyes to meet his own.

"You're awake?" He whispers, slightly taken aback.

"How can I sleep when your stare is burning into my soul?" You tease. "Go to sleep, Shigs."

You never were able to get this close to Tomura without him flinching back or turning his head away to avert your gaze, but he stayed right here, letting you fully take in his presence. You almost wanted to reach your hand out and touch him, feel the softness of his cheeks, and tuck the stray hairs behind his ears.

"You don't think I'm trying?" He huff "It's fucking freezing in here. Dabi has daddy's money to always have the AC running even in the Winter."

"You should've said something earlier. We've been lying here for the past 30 fucking minutes." You start throwing apart the pillow wall that he put up between you two to prevent any 'funny business.'

"What are you doing?" He furrows his brows.

You say nothing, but instead grabbed the fabric of the t-shirt and pulled him in to close the gap between you two. His eyes widen at the sudden closeness. Your faces were mere inches away from each other, your leg shoved its way in between his, and your arm snaked its way around his waist.

"This okay?"

"A warning would've been nice." He mutters under his breath, stiffly letting his arm hang over your body, landing his hand in the middle of your back.

"I like the essence of surprise." You chuckle, looking up at him. "Better, though?"

He sighs in confirmation. "You're like a fucking furnace." He groans into your hairline.

"And you're like a popsicle."

"This would be nicer if you didn't talk."

"And this would be nicer if you'd relax and stop being so stiff." You pat the area between his shoulder blades, motioning him to let his arms loose. "I've seen you and Spinner cuddle it out on the couch in the backroom all the time, so don't act like you don't know how to do this."

"It's different." He mumble, reluctantly letting his body relax and mold against your own. "It's you."

"You dislike me that much?" You sigh, pressing your cheek against his chest, tapping your fingers against his back in content. "Do it for the purpose of survival, then."

"The opposite."

Your breathing hitches.

"Huh?" You tilt your head up to look at his face.

"Yeah." He presses his lips together, eyes darting around the room.

"You're saying 'the opposite' as in you do like me?"

"Fuck off. Don't make me say it again." His eyes finally lowered to meet yours.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Say what again? You quite literally did not say anything."

"I think this is the worst fucking time to have this conversation. Go to sleep and talk later."

"No!" You pout. "I'm not tired anymore. Let's talk now. What did you mean by that?"

A moment of silence fell between you two. With your face against his chest, you could hear his heart pounding. You suffered from the same feeling. Your throat goes dry from the anticipation of a potential confession that you'd been silently hoping for since you first met him.

"I thi-" He begins, stopping for a moment to swallow down his nerves. "So fucking awkward." He groans. "I do like you. As if it wasn't obvious, you dumbass."

"Obvious?" You scoff. "I'm obvious. Me. You on the other hand, definitely not."

"You obvious? You flirt to fuck with me."

"I flirt with you because I like you." You bite the inside of your cheeks. "Also to fuck with you, but because I like you."

You two were rendered speechless as you're left to stare at each other with wide eyes, digesting this dual confession.

"So.." He begins, trailing off into nothing.

"So.. is this where we have our first kiss?" You awkwardly laugh, trying to cut through the tension.

"Are you joking?"

"Yes if you're not, but no if you are? I don't know? Not like either of us have done this before." You say through clenched teeth, cringing at yourself as your poor attempt to lighten the mood.

"Okay, then."

"Are you serious?" Your eyes widen at the sudden permission. "That easy? You're not going to tell me to fuck off?"

He disregards your hesitation and props himself on his elbow, looking down at you with a look in his eyes you've never seen before.

"On your back." He instructs.

Your body suddenly goes hot and numb as you slowly turn over onto your back, looking up at him looming over you sporting the same pair of flushed cheeks.

"This is unexpected." You whisper, balling fistfuls of the comforter in your hands. "What the hell is possessing you right now?"

"You, I think." He sheepishly smiles, cautiously bringing a hand down to cup your cheek, his cold hand absorbing your body heat. "It's what you wanted wasn't it? All those times when we're alone at the shop? Asking me to join you in the backroom? You did just say it wasn't just because you were fucking with me."

Just like that, the last 6 months of night shifts spent tormenting Tomura had come to bite you in the ass.

"Okay." You squeak out, reaching up to lay one hand over his, and the other on his shoulder. "I guess you're right. You're not freaking out, though? This is fine for you?"

"Definitely am freaking the fuck out. But I've been waiting for this, so I don't care." He mutters, running his thumb across your lower lip.

"This okay?" He mutters, inching closer to your face.

"Yeah." You whisper a moment before his lips grazes your own.

He finally closes the gap between you, letting the stray strands of his hair drape onto your face, tickling your forehead. For a second, the kiss was stiff with anxiety, but it wasn't even a second until your lips melted into each other's. It was almost suffocating- the sweet gentleness of it all.

Your hand traveled up his shoulder to the nape of his neck where you entangled your fingers in his hair, lightly tugging on the mass. His own hand made it down to your waist, flushing his palm against its curve.

When you broke apart, he collapsed on top of you, hiding his face in the crevice between your neck and shoulder before you two burst out in fits of childish giggles.

"Okay my turn. Get on your back, slut." You laugh, trying to shove him off of you.

"Hell fucking no. You want to kill me? We're done, go to sleep." He buries his face deeper into your neck, releasing a deep sigh of content. "Deal with everything else tomorrow."

"Talk tomorrow." You agree, turning over and entangling your body with his own.

You couldn't help but admire the look of his swollen-kissed lips and sleepy eyes staring back down at you. One last time before you two went off to sleep, you pressed a tender kiss to his lips before melting back into his body.

-

bonus scene:

your hands were lazily attached to one another's during another chilly quiet walk to your apartment the morning after your confessions and kiss.

"you didn't have to walk me home." you mutter, shyly peering over to him.

"i wanted to." he shrugs, tightening his grip on your hand. "the least i could do for keeping me company last night."

you hum in agreement. "no probs. thanks for letting me hang out. we should do it more often."

"the hanging out or..." he tugs down the collar of his knitted sweater to reveal an array of purple and red bruises on his collarbones and shoulder that conspired that early morning of more playful kisses and giggles.

"you see, i don't know how the hell that happened." you press your lips together, suppressing a smile. "must've been a ghost."

"must've been." he smirks, looking on ahead.

once you arrive at your door, he leans his shoulder against the wall as you dig through your bag for your keys.

"you're off tonight, yeah?"

"i am." you glance up at him before pulling out your bundle of keys. "you're kicking it with toga tonight?"

"mmhm. think i can come by after work? we're getting the new volume of terror tales tonight, so i can snatch one for you before it sells out?"

"already planning out the next time you can see me, shigs?" you smile, inserting the key into the door knob.

"i mean, i can let you scour ebay and pay triple for it too, see if i care." he rolls his eyes.

you grab the collar of his sweater and pull him in, connecting your lips for a brief moment.

"it better be in mint fucking condition." you mutter against his lips. "see you tonight."

I'm very upset that I didn't get his club card...

Meeting the Parents 🦐

💭 “our son’s description was accurate!”

self-indulgent little hurt/comfort oneshot. Established Tomura/Reader, no quirks AU, angst with a happy ending. CONTENT WARNING: discussion of suicide and the aftermath of a suicide attempt. This fic is recovery oriented, but please scroll past if you find the content triggering at all.

reentry

The couch in the therapist’s office isn’t very comfortable. Tomura shifts around awkwardly, trying to find a place to lean back that doesn’t make his broken ribs groan with pain, but he’s not having much luck. He thought therapist couches were supposed to be comfortable — sprawl out, kick his feet up, take a nap while some guy tries to analyze his dreams. This doesn’t feel right.

Then again, Tomura tries to kill himself two weeks ago, and he just got released from the hospital half an hour ago. Of course he doesn’t feel like he fits into the world any longer. That’s what happens to people who try to leave — try, and fail. Not that Tomura was planning to fail. His plan was pretty foolproof. Except for one thing.

“Tomura,” the therapist says, and Tomura looks up. “Let’s switch chairs.”

“No,” Tomura says. “I’m fine.”

“You have —“ the therapist consults Tomura’s discharge paperwork “— six broken ribs from CPR, and they aren’t giving you anything stronger than naproxen. And all my clients complain about my couch.”

“Get a new couch, then.”

“Sure,” the therapist says. “Between now and then, switch seats with me.”

“No,” Tomura says. He crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back, and his ribs increase their bitching from a groan to a scream. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If you’re going to be here, you might as well be comfortable,” the therapist says. “You don’t get extra XP for toughing it out. At least not in here.”

“XP?” Tomura snorts. “Did they tell you I like video games or something?”

“Maybe,” the therapist says, unruffled. “Are you switching or not?”

“Fine,” Tomura says. He gets up, grimacing, and the therapist does the same — at which point Tomura realizes that the therapist is a lot taller than he is. “Uh —“

“Thanks.” The therapist plops down on the couch, leaving Tomura to sit down in the chair, which is more comfortable than the couch by a long shot. “So. Which one sucked more — the last two weeks or the two weeks before that?”

“Are you serious?” Tomura laughs, because it feels like the thing he’s supposed to do. “I spent the last two weeks eating hospital food and going to therapy groups and having people look in my mouth to make sure I took my pills. The last two weeks have been shit.”

“But you weren’t on an involuntary hold,” the therapist says. Tomura grimaces. “Once you were medically cleared, you could have left at any time. But you chose to stay. Which leads me to believe that the two weeks before that were worse.”

It’s quiet for a second. “What did you say your name was?” Tomura asks.

“Yamada Hizashi,” the therapist says. He sprawls out on the couch and props his feet up, house slippers and all. “Let’s talk about the other two weeks now.”

“Why?”

“Because I know what they do in inpatient. They pack your head full of distress tolerance and emotion regulation skills and make you do a safety plan, but outpatient is where we get into making sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“How do you know I don’t want it to happen again?”

“Voluntary inpatient,” Yamada says. Tomura rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying — that seems like a lot of shit to go through for no reason.”

Tomura’s tempted to report that there is a reason — so everybody will get off his back long enough for him to make a plan that will work this time. But his heart wouldn’t be in it, not the way it would need to be for him to convince anyone. He might not want to die anymore, but he still doesn’t want to keep living and feeling like this. “A month ago,” he starts. “A month ago I had to testify against the guy who adopted me.”

“How was that?”

“It blew.”

“Yeah?” Yamada sits up. “Tell me more.”

There’s not a ton to tell. Tomura’s testimony was pretty straightforward. Everything that he remembers from his childhood fit pretty neatly into the charges his fake dad was facing from the other victims. Not that Tomura’s a fucking victim or anything. Yamada’s eyebrows go up when Tomura says that, but he doesn’t interrupt, and Tomura goes awkwardly on. “Anyway. I said all the shit, and then the defense attorney got to cross-examine me. He tried pretty hard to trip me up and make me perjure myself. And —“

“And?”

“And I guess triggered me,” Tomura says, fed up. “My girlfriend was ready to chew his head off for that one, but I was fine. I told her that, but she didn’t buy it.”

Looking back, Tomura knows why you didn’t buy it. Why you were never going to buy it, and you were right not to. “Your girlfriend,” Yamada says. “She was the one who found you?”

Tomura’s stomach clenches. “I was fine when we left the courthouse, but things started getting worse. I felt like shit. About everything. Nothing felt good anymore, not even the stuff I like. It all came back up, and it felt so bad. I remembered —“

“Do you need to take a break?” Yamada asks. Tomura gives him a weird look. “You’re scratching.”

He is scratching. Tomura hasn’t done that in a while — or at least he hadn’t, a month ago. After the trial, he was scratching constantly. He pulls his hand away from his neck and forces it down onto the arm of the couch. “I don’t need a break. I need to get this out or I’ll end up right back where I started.”

“Sure, maybe. But think about how we got here. You’re telling me it started with having to vomit all this stuff back up at the trial, and now you’re about to do it again.” Yamada shakes his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against talking about this stuff and I’m not scared of it. What I am worried about is getting into it when you don’t have the tools to calm yourself back down. Do you know what diagnosis they gave you in there?”

“Unrepentant asshole disease?”

Yamada snorts. “Good one. It’s PTSD,” he says. Tomura blinks. “That’s part of why you’re here with me. One component of my practice is something called EMDR — eye movement desensitization and reprocessing — which is designed in part to take the punch out of the things that trigger you. But before we work on that, we start by building some stuff.”

“Building stuff?” Tomura glances around Yamada’s office. “I don’t see any legos.”

“Nah. We’re building stuff in your mind palace,” Yamada says, and cracks a weird grin. Tomura opens his mouth and Yamada keeps talking. “You’re about to tell me that your mind palace is a dumpster fire, and I’m going to tell you that it’s garbage can, not garbage can’t —“

Tomura snorts, then cringes. Yamada notices but doesn’t comment. “And we’re going to build another, smaller dumpster in there. A container for all the shit feelings that this kicks up for you. We’re also gonna build a safe room — somewhere you can go that feels secure and peaceful. Got any places like that?”

“No,” Tomura says. Then he second-guesses it. “Maybe —”

“We’ll get into that in more detail next time,” Yamada says. “Today I just want us to focus on what you were thinking and feeling leading up to the attempt.”

“Isn’t that gonna trigger me?”

“That’s why we’re talking about it in here,” Yamada says. “I want you to be able to notice your feelings and thoughts when they start to take a turn, because that’s the spot where you can interrupt it.”

“Interrupt it,” Tomura repeats. He feels his hand creeping back up towards his neck and yanks it down again. “How?”

“That’s a good spot for your distress tolerance skills,” Yamada says, “but I’d also recommend reaching out for help. Telling somebody you’re struggling.”

“No,” Tomura says. “They don’t need to deal with my shit. They’ve got shit of their own.”

“Yeah. And based on your discharge paperwork, all your friends and your girlfriend came to visit you in the hospital,” Yamada says. “That’s a way bigger hassle than just being there when you need someone to talk to, right?”

Tomura’s not going to get into that. “I did this stuff. On my safety plan.”

“Yeah. But if asking for help isn’t something you’re used to, it helps to plan out exactly what you’ll say,” Yamada says. “And before that, we need to work on recognizing when you need to say something. Ya dig?”

Tomura tries to imagine saying something. Turning to you and telling you he’s thinking about dying, that he loves his friends and loves you but can’t take living when he feels this sick. How would you even answer? Nothing you could say would fix it, and wouldn’t it make you feel bad? To know that Tomura wants to die and —

“You love your girlfriend. Think about which is worse for her,” Yamada says, and Tomura realizes he spoke aloud. “Hearing that you want to die, or coming back and finding you in the middle of it?”

“Don’t guilt-trip me.”

“It’s not a guilt-trip. Just a question.” Yamada shrugs. “Let’s look at it another way. If it were her and not you, which would you rather —”

“I get it, okay?” Tomura’s not going to run away from it, but that doesn’t mean he wants to harp on it. “I’ll make you a deal. We can talk about anything you want as long as it’s not that.”

“Deal,” Yamada says without blinking. “Walk me through the day of.”

They spend the rest of the session working on identifying and naming the kind of feelings that lead to Tomura wanting to off himself. It’s a harder job than Tomura thought it would be. Therapy is weirder than Tomura thought it would be. He can’t decide if it’ll be helpful yet. But it’s somewhere to go that’s not work, so it’s probably worth it for that alone.

Towards the end of the the session, after they’ve scheduled the next one, Yamada hands Tomura the reminder card and leans back against the couch. “This thing is even worse than I remember,” he remarks. “Who’s coming to pick you up?”

“My girlfriend.” Tomura still feels weirdly proud when he says that, even though you’ve been together for going on three years. “She was supposed to get me from the hospital, but her job said they’d fire her if she took any more time off work.”

“She’s been taking some time off?”

“That’s what she said,” Tomura says. “Why are you asking about her?”

“She’s clearly an important person in your life,” Yamada says. Important. That’s understating it. “She also lives with you, which means she’ll be in a position to observe how you’re doing. As she was before.”

“I think she’s okay. She’s been okay when she visited,” Tomura says. “She goes to therapy and everything. Since before I met her.”

You go every week, like clockwork. Tomura couldn’t really figure out why, since you seem normal. “She probably talked this out with her therapist already.”

“I’m sure,” Yamada says. “Still, go easy on each other. Reentry from inpatient is tough, even if you’ve got a soft landing. Go ahead and hang out in the lobby until she gets here. I’ll see you next week.”

“Next week,” Tomura agrees. He puts the reminder card in his wallet, in front of his ID, and slinks out onto the lobby. His ribs are still broken, but as long as he’s not leaning or lying on something, he’s okay.

He can see your car parked in the parking lot outside, and you’re leaning against the hood, holding something. As Tomura opens the building and steps out into the weak winter sunlight, he sees that it’s a bouquet of flowers.

You look so pretty standing there, and you smile when you see him, and as Tomura picks his way across the parking lot, your smile grows. Nothing about seeing you fixes what’s wrong with Tomura, but seeing you feels good even when nothing else does. That safe, calm place thing Yamada was talking about — Tomura’s pretty sure it’s somewhere, anywhere, with you.

You open your arms as Tomura reaches you, and he walks into your embrace without breaking stride. You’re careful when you hug him, but Tomura hangs onto you tight, letting his head fall against your shoulder and turning his face into the side of your neck. You smell really good, like always, and your body is soft against his sharp edges, and what Yamada told him to do before feels a little easier to imagine now. He’s told you a lot of things, and they haven’t scared you away just yet.

“Hi,” you say. “How was it in there?”

“It was okay,” Tomura says. “He seems like he has ideas about stuff. And I don’t hate him yet.”

“That’s a good sign.” You hug Tomura a little closer, then let go. You hold out the flowers. “Here. These are for you.”

Tomura wants to hold you, not the flowers, but he takes them anyway. “Why did you get me flowers?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. “It just felt like the right thing to do. Do you feel up for a walk?”

“Huh?”

“I thought it might be nice to get some fresh air before we go home,” you say. “What do you think?”

You’re tense. Tomura’s standing close enough to you that he can feel it. “What’s the real reason?”

“We need to talk,” you say, and Tomura’s blood turns to ice. “Not about anything bad. It’s just — everybody’s coming over to hang out, and some of them are already there, and I want to talk to you beforehand, first.”

“They’re all coming over?” Tomura asks, surprised. “Even Kurogiri?”

“Even him,” you say. You must have had to bring out the big guns to get Kurogiri to stop by. He’s really busy, and the stuff he’s working on can’t exactly be interrupted. “I’d just like to talk to you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Tomura says. Yamada’s building is across from a park. “Over there?”

“Perfect.”

The two of you walk in silence for a little while, Tomura holding the flowers, your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, just above the bandages. You were the one who said you and Tomura needed to talk, so Tomura waits for you to speak up, and you do. “Is there something I could have done that would have stopped this?”

“No.” Tomura feels your grip on his arm tighten slightly. “This was all me. Are you — okay?”

“How are your ribs doing?” you ask instead of answering. “When they brought you in they were worried about a sternal fracture, but they never told me anything more about it.”

“No, just the ribs,” Tomura says, and you nod. “Are you going to answer me?”

“No, because this isn’t about me. I’m not going to make this about me.”

“It is,” Tomura says. “We’re together. We live together. You’re the one who found me.”

“I’m the one who broke your ribs,” you interrupt, and Tomura stops walking to stare at you. “You were still alive when I got there, but you stopped breathing while I was on the phone with emergency services. I’m the one who started CPR.”

Fucking hell. “I didn’t mean —” Tomura breaks off, struggling for a nice way to put it. “It wasn’t supposed to be you. You weren’t supposed to find me.”

Tomura put a lot of thought into killing himself. He waited until a weekend you went home to visit your family, so you’d be around people who love you when you got the call. He didn’t want anyone to have to find him, but he knew someone would, so he asked one of his neighbors if they could watch Moro for a few hours, telling them he’d pick Moro up at ten-thirty. When he didn’t come to pick Moro up, the neighbor would figure out something was wrong and call the cops, and the cops would find Tomura once it was already too late. It should have worked. It would have worked, except —

Tomura thinks about what you would have seen when you got home and feels misery rush up and over his head. “It wasn’t supposed to be you,” he says. “Why did you come back?”

“I got a bad feeling.” You won’t make eye contact with Tomura. You’re staring off into space in a way that looks too familiar, a way Tomura understands deep in his bones. “I get anxious sometimes over nothing. I can cope with anxious. But this was, like — they say people get a sense of impending doom before they have a heart attack. It felt like that. And I knew I was fine. So it had to be you.”

Tomura didn’t tip you off somehow. He didn’t hint or leave something undone or do anything to make you think that when you kissed him goodbye it would be the last time you ever saw him. Tomura did everything right. And you still knew. “So you turned around.”

“I almost killed myself hanging a u-turn across four lanes of traffic,” you say. “I called emergency services before I even got out of the car. But your plan was too good. Even with all of that I was almost too late.”

The two of you are still walking, somehow. Tomura stops, and so do you. “And ever since they told me you were going to make it,” you say, your voice tight and shaky, “I’ve been wondering if you’re mad at me for coming back. If you wish I hadn’t broken your ribs. If you —”

“No.” Tomura’s still holding the flowers you gave him. He doesn’t want to put them down. “I feel like shit about what happened.”

“I don’t want to make you feel like shit —“

“I know. It’s not you. It’s me. And my therapist said I have to tell you how I feel when I feel like that.” Tomura wonders if it would be stupid to walk back to Yamada’s office and tell him he needs another hour of therapy. “Everything felt so bad. I wanted it to stop and I didn’t care how, and I didn’t see another way out. But I want to. That’s why I stayed in the hospital and I’m seeing a therapist and I’m going to keep taking the stupid antidepressants even if they make my dick stop working —“

Your mouth twitches slightly. “They make more than one kind of antidepressant. We can find one that doesn’t do that.”

“Fine.” Tomura doesn’t actually know if his antidepressants fuck with his libido. He hasn’t been on them long enough, and the PTSD is probably enough to kill any mood for a while. “I want to find another way out. And I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to if you hadn’t come back. I’m not mad. I just — I wish you hadn’t had to see that.”

“Do you wish you hadn’t done it?” you ask, then cringe. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Tomura doesn’t want to have to tell Yamada he lied to you about stuff. He has a feeling Yamada will hassle him about it next week. “At the hospital they said people regret it right after they do it. That’s why so many people call the hospital on themselves. And I —”

Tomura trails off, considering the moments before he passed out. Remembering how he thought he’d feel lighter, and how he felt so much heavier instead, a huge weight pressing down on his chest with nowhere to go. He didn’t feel peaceful. He felt wrong. “I thought it was probably too late to stop it. So I didn’t try. But I would have if I’d thought it would work.”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath, let it go, and Tomura wonders if you’ve been worried about this the whole time. If you expected him to get mad at you for saving him. “I’m sorry I put you through all of this today. I felt like I had to know.”

“My therapist said I have to get used to talking to people about this stuff,” Tomura reminds you. Your mouth turns down at one corner. “It’s fine. I probably owe you a lot of explanations anyway.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you say. You wipe under your eyes. “Let’s go home. Do you want to grab anything on the way?”

“Is there food at this party you’re throwing?” Tomura asks. You nod. “I want to go home.”

It’s quiet on the drive back to the apartment. Tomura has his hand on your leg, since you won’t hold his hand while you’re driving, and he watches you. You’re a good driver, so safe it’s almost boring. It’s hard to imagine you driving the way you must have to get home in time to stop him.

Tomura would drive like that if he thought you were in trouble. If he got stuck in traffic he’d get out of his car and run the rest of the way to you. Tomura wonders if you know that. Maybe not. If you did, you wouldn’t have thought he’d be mad at you for bringing him back.

“Hey,” he says, and because you’re at a stoplight, you look at him. “I love you. You know that, right? Even if I don’t say it a lot —”

“I know,” you say. “You don’t have to say it for me to know.”

Sure — but Tomura’s thinking about what Yamada said. Saying how he feels. Maybe that goes for feelings that aren’t bad, too. “I know you know. I’m still gonna say it. Get used to it.”

The corner of your mouth pulls up in a slight smile. You detach one hand from the steering wheel, lift Tomura’s hand off your thigh, and kiss it, only letting him go when the light turns green. “I love you, too.”

“I know.”

Tomura thinks about the flowers you got him. His friends who are waiting for him at home. His dog, who’s probably going to ignore him for a month to pay him back for leaving. His broken ribs and the fact that he definitely lost his job and the knowledge that even as he’s getting better, he has a lot of shitty days ahead. But Moro will forgive him eventually. Tomura’s friends still love him, and so do you. Even amidst everything that’s gone wrong, Tomura knows there’s plenty of things worth hanging on for.

And if he ever needs a reminder, you’re right there. Next to him as he walks back into his apartment, next to him as he hugs his friends and Kurogiri, next to him all night long and still there in the morning. There’s no way Tomura can forget. He remembers every time he looks at you.

😭

starting over ᖴOᖇ ᗪᑌᗰᗰIEᔕ

✎ᝰ a scrapbook of memories from yours and tomura’s new life, from ex-villains to totally normal citizens

“i don’t think i’ve ever had this much stuff in my life,” tomura remarks, staring at the pile of boxes sitting in the living room. a living room. the last time he had a proper living room was probably in his childhood home.

you huff, blowing a strand of hair out of your face as you drop a box onto the couch. joints pop in your back when you straighten, stretching your arms above your head with a wince.

“your gaming crap probably takes up half of it,” you reply, cracking a grin when he fixes you with a glare.

“it’s not crap.”

“whatever,” you snicker.

you think the league has stayed in hideouts nicer than this apartment. the roof leaks, the back door doesn’t lock, and your neighbors are a nightmare. the wallpaper is stained and peeling in places, you constantly have to guess whether you’ll have water or not, and when you had gone to unlock the front door, you nearly dislocated your shoulder trying to dislodge the key.

still, it’s yours. a place just for you and tomura, where you don’t have to be constantly looking over your shoulders wracked with paranoia. you were lucky to get a place at all, given your hasty departure from japan after the war. giran's american contacts had been rather useful there. it may not be a big city penthouse, but it’s yours.

and besides, just the view of the waterfront just a little ways outside makes it all seem worth it. you lean against the spindly balcony railing, pressed up against tomura in the cramped space as the two of you gaze out at the ocean. the world seems so much bigger like this, the waves stretching out endlessly into the horizon. so much room for possibility…

“say cheese!”

tomura gets no warning other than your evil giggle before he’s awoken by the bright flash of the camera you’d shoved in his face first thing in the morning.

he yells out, burying his face back in the covers to hide from the excessive light. you hear his grouchy whine, muffled beneath the fabric. “fuck was that for?”

“first morning in the house,” you reply, climbing back atop the bed to sit beside the tomura-shaped lump of blankets. you prod his shoulder, shaking out the polaroid while you hand him the camera with a smile. “now take mine.”

his face appears from the blanket, scowling in disbelief at you. he takes the camera, though, and snaps a quick picture of you before tossing it back and flopping back over to sleep some more.

those two matching polaroids are the first decorations you put up on your dingy little fridge.

“bill, mortgage, ‘nother bill…jury duty? what the fuck?”

tomura stares in bewilderment at the various papers strewn about the chipped kitchen table. “how did we get jury duty? we haven’t been here even a month!”

“are we even legal citizens…?” you wonder, taking a seat beside him. the chair creaks the second you put any weight on it. 

“i think villainy was easier than this. sure as hell was less expensive too,” he grumbles. 

“yeah,” you agree, with a nervous laugh. “uh, tomu?”

“yeah?”

“would now be a bad time to mention the puppy i brought home?”

“the WHAT?!”

“all normal people have dogs! i was trying to help our cover!!”

the puppy wanders out of you room as if on cue, trotting on chubby legs all the way up to tomura. it nudges his leg with its big head and whining. 

“i passed the shelter on my way home from work and i just wanted to see but then she was looking at me with those giant eyes and i couldn’t just leave her and the lady at the counter said she was abandoned in a park and how sad is that! so i brought her home. please please please can we keep her?”

you wait breathlessly for his answer, leg jittering, and watch the way his eyes go big and then soften when he leans down to scratch the puppy behind the ears. 

“yeah,” he whispers, more to the dog than to you. “we can keep her.”

you know something is wrong when you enter the apartment and hachi is barking. she’s normally rather quiet, aside from the goofy yips she makes when you play with her or the occasional woof during a seagull chase. 

she comes running out of the kitchen when you dislodge the key from the lock, and that’s when you see the smoke. 

“what the hell—”

you’re about to dash in when tomura comes bustling out, looking like a mess. strands of wispy white hair that managed to escape his ponytail hang in his flushed face, his hoodie is rolled up to his forearms (which are both covered in various sauce stains), and there’s a soot smudge on his cheek. 

“don’t go in there!” he instructs, breathless and blocking the doorway with his body. 

you stare at him, dumbstruck. “tomura, is something on fire?!”

“not anymore,” he replies. you both jump when a loud metal clanging echoes, what sounds like a bunch of pots and pans toppling over. 

there’s banging on the far side of the wall (probably your godawful neighbors) and you and tomura both yell “fuck off!” in unison. 

when your gazes meet again you both burst out laughing (well, you’re laughing. tomura snorts and then watches you giggle with a fond little smile). 

“i know i said i’d make dinner tonight, but i fucked up your favorite,” tomura admits, scowling at the nightmare you see peeking out of the kitchen. “sorry for the mess.”

you hum, coming forward to brush the soot smudge off his cheek. “that’s okay. i was gonna say i was craving pizza anyway.”

“god, i love you,” he whispers, trailing after you as you roll up your sleeves and head into the kitchen to face the unholy mess. 

it’s some time in the middle of the night when tomura shakes you awake. you squint into the dark, feeling around until you find his hand. 

“tomu…?”

“wake up,” he whispers softly, giving your hand a gentle tap. “c’mon, let’s go.”

your heart sinks for a brief second, memories of fleeing with the league rising to your muddled mind. “what happened? are we in trouble?”

his soft chuckle eases the fit of panic that had been rising in your chest. “no, not in trouble. just wanna get out of here for a little while. let’s go somewhere, yeah?”

you yawn, sitting up to lean against him. “mm, m’kay. where to?”

he leaves his hoodie in your lap, nudging his head against yours affectionately. “no idea. c’mon, get dressed. i’ll grab our stuff and meet you out front.”

tomura lets you sleep in the car, the hum of the engine and the quiet, staticky radio lulling you to sleep until the sun is rising in the sky. when you wake, the ocean is no longer is sight. you’re surrounded instead by miles of empty desert, the occasional cactus and — is that a tumbleweed?

“where are we?” you ask, sitting up in the passenger seat. you’ve never seen the sky in such vibrant reds and oranges, lit up by the rising sun.

“the middle of butt-fucking-nowhere,” he replies, squinting from the brightness of the sun. “we can pick up a map once we come across civilization again. figure out where we’re going before this car gives out.”

“good idea.” 

‘civilization’ ends up being a tiny gas station where you pick up snacks, breakfast burritos the size of your heads, an unholy amount of energy drinks (mostly for tomura), and of course, the map. 

you sit on the hood of the car while tomura leans against it, shading his face and grumbling about the sun. 

“you were the one who drove us all the way out here,” you tell him, snorting to yourself as you study the map. you’re somewhere near nevada, apparently. your eyes find the little star at the bottom and your grin widens. 

“oh, i know where we’re going.”

of all the things tomura thought he’d do in his life, getting married to you in vegas and having elvis officiate was not one of them. but here he is, at two in the morning in the city of lights downing a shot with you in the parking lot of a drive-thru chapel, officially a married man.

and he’s looking at you, laughing, with your hair half in your face and bright eyes and cheeks flushed just a little from the alcohol. there’s a lot tomura might have changed in his life if he had the chance. but not this. not you. and if he had the chance to do it all again? for you, he’d do anything. 

★ -> smau + bonus lore !

you and tomura send the league a postcard from vegas that says “just married!” and receive a variety of bizarre “wedding gifts” back

your puppy’s name is a NANA reference and you end up naming the cat “nana” to match

tomura works from home (bc he’s antisocial and also more recognizable than you in the event anyone were to find out your identities) so he makes you lunch frequently

^ generally househusband material

having free time is weird for you guys now so you decide to take up a bunch of new hobbies together including but not limited to:

jigsaw puzzling, birdwatching, assembling lego sets, crochet, baking, and the list goes on

your mention this to your coworkers and they call you an old married couple….

you’re not technically allowed to have pets in the apartment so you’ve had to come up with some insanely elaborate shenanigans to hide hachi and nana around your landlord

dividers by @/aquazero and @/strangergraphics — this got away from me :) i hope this isn’t like,,,, ooc but wtvvv let me liveee 🫶🫶i really like the patchwork layout of it, tho i hope its not likeee off-putting or choppy </3 i missed writing for him. anyways much love from kitty !

🧡🧡

Gamer boyfriend

Shigaraki x fem reader

Warnings: mentions of sex and swearing

Shigaraki was in a good mood today—or at least what passed for one with him. He went from his usual 80% dickhead to maybe 25%. The bar wasn’t high, but hey, I’d take it.

I found him in his room, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his TV. He had his headset on, practically glued to his head, and his attention was locked onto some violent shooter game. He was yelling—no, swearing—at whoever was on the other end of that connection. Judging by the squeaky voices I could hear leaking through his headset, it was probably a group of kids who didn’t even hit puberty yet.

“Fucking useless!” he barked, his red eyes narrowing at the screen. “Do you even know what a headshot is? Jesus Christ, this is ranked, you little shits!”

I stepped into the room quietly, half-wondering if he’d notice me, but he didn’t even glance up. There was a pile of empty candy wrappers and crushed energy drink cans surrounding him, like some kind of gremlin nest. He had his gloves on, the special ones that left his ring finger and pinky covered so he didn’t destroy everything he touched, but it didn’t seem to make him any less intense.

I sat down on his bed without saying a word, folding my legs under me and leaning back against the wall. It was... fascinating, honestly, watching him like this. His white hair stuck out in all directions, soft and messy, and his posture was slouched but tense. The way he glared at the screen, like his life depended on winning, was kind of adorable—in a chaotic, slightly terrifying way.

“Nice fucking try!” he yelled again, his voice sharp and gravelly. “Are you blind, or just stupid? God, what are you, twelve?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that they probably were twelve. Instead, I stayed quiet, watching him with a small, amused smile. He didn’t need me to jump in, and I wasn’t going to ruin his “good mood” by nagging him about the literal garbage pile he was sitting in.

He shifted forward suddenly, leaning closer to the screen as if that would help. His long fingers tightened on the controller, his knuckles almost white. “I swear to God, if one more of you little shits camps the spawn point, I’m—”

He didn’t finish the threat, but whatever he was planning, it wasn’t good.

I bit back a laugh, resting my chin on my knee. It was just... so him. Completely absorbed in his game, fully prepared to verbally eviscerate some kids for being bad at it. And the way he was sitting, cross-legged with his back hunched and his hair falling in his face, made him look like some kind of pale, pissed-off cat.

The wrappers crinkled as he shifted again, and I mentally counted the empty energy drink cans. Five. No, wait, six. His poor heart.

I thought about saying something—maybe a casual, “Hey, Tomura, ever heard of water?”—but honestly, I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

Instead, I just sat there and watched him, letting him do his thing. It was... kind of nice, actually, seeing him so into something that wasn’t murder or destruction. He looked weirdly peaceful, in a chaotic way.

And maybe, just maybe, a part of me found it a little cute. But I wasn’t about to say that out loud.

I couldn’t help it—I let out a giggle. It just slipped out, quiet and soft, but enough to catch his attention. To my surprise, he actually turned around to look at me.

There was something... different about the way he looked at me, though. He still had that irritated edge, but beneath it was something weirdly lighter, softer. Happier. Well, as happy as Tomura Shigaraki could look without spontaneously combusting from emotional vulnerability.

His red eyes flicked between me and the screen, like he was weighing his options. Meanwhile, he still had his mic on, so the obscenities didn’t stop. “Spawn camping again? Are you brain-dead, or just naturally this fucking useless?” he growled at some poor kid. But then, whenever his eyes landed on me, his expression shifted. His usual scowl melted into something disturbingly... friendly. For him, anyway.

I blinked at him, unsure what to make of it, until he shifted slightly. He uncrossed his legs, creating just enough space on his lap, and then mouthed silently, “Come sit on my lap.”

I froze, staring at him like he’d just asked me to slap him across the face. What?

He didn’t repeat himself out loud, but his expression sharpened. He gave me that look—the one that said, Don’t make me fucking ask again.

Still confused, I tilted my head at him. Normally, he wasn’t... this affectionate. At least not so randomly. He’d cling, sure, but this? This was a whole new level.

His red eyes narrowed, and his gloved hand tapped the floor impatiently. Hurry up, his gaze practically screamed.

I hesitated for another second, torn between laughing at how bizarre this was and actually doing what he wanted. Eventually, curiosity won out, and I slid off the bed to make my way toward him.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder: What the hell has gotten into him?

I got up, and Tomura shifted his controller to one hand, making just enough room for me. Without hesitation, I slid onto his lap, wrapping myself around him koala bear style. My legs draped slightly over his waist, and I buried my face into his neck, inhaling the faint mix of cologne (a poor substitute for a shower, as usual) and candy.

He barely reacted to my presence, other than to adjust slightly, resting his chin on top of my head. The side of my face pressed against his throat, and I could feel the vibrations of his voice as he continued his tirade.

“Fuck this—fucking campers again? Are you idiots physically incapable of playing fair?” His voice was a growl, sharp and cutting, laced with venom. “Go crawl back into your mother’s basement, you loser. Fucking embarrassing. How old are you, twelve?”

I cozied up closer to him, nuzzling my head against his neck, letting my hair brush against his skin. My arms tightened around his waist, squeezing him just below his ribs. He shifted slightly, his free arm now lightly draped over my back as if to keep me there, all while he kept the profanity flowing.

“Of course you’re hiding behind a wall. That’s all you fucking know how to do, huh? Pathetic. No wonder your mom doesn’t fucking love you.”

His voice was a mix of irritation and amusement, and I couldn’t help but smile against his neck. He was so ridiculously into it, as if demolishing kids online was his personal mission.

“Nice fucking try, dumbass. Did you think that’d work? God, you’re stupid. I bet your dad left just so he wouldn’t have to deal with you anymore.”

Despite the relentless swearing, his grip on me softened, as if my presence grounded him, even in his little digital war. I rubbed my cheek against his neck again, feeling the warmth of his rough skin.

He was so absurd, so unapologetically himself, that I couldn’t help but find it... endearing. In the strangest way possible.

Tomura reached for one of the six energy drink cans scattered around him, picking the one that was still half-full with one hand while the other continued navigating the game with almost surgical precision. He tilted the can back, taking a long sip, completely unfazed that his mic was still on and broadcasting the sound of his gulps to the kids on the other side.

Then, without skipping a beat, he tapped the side of my head with the cold can. I looked up at him, shaking my head with a small smile, silently saying, No, thank you.

His red eyes narrowed slightly, and he huffed. “Come on, babe, drink some. It’s yummy,” he said out loud, voice dripping with mock encouragement. I shot him a look, and he scowled right back at me. “It’s good for you.”

“Good for you?” I scoffed. “That stuff’s gonna make your heart explode.”

He rolled his eyes, groaning. “Whatever. Someone’s gotta drink it.” He then shifted slightly, still somehow playing the game, his focus unwavering as he tried a different approach. “Come on, open up,” he said, leaning the can closer to my mouth and making an exaggerated “Aaaaahhh!” noise, like he was feeding a toddler.

I hesitated, narrowing my eyes at him. “Fine, but just a sip,” I muttered. He tipped the can toward me, and the instant the liquid hit my tongue, I winced. It was like drinking carbonated battery acid.

“Ugh! Yuck!” I grimaced, pulling back quickly.

“Yeah yeah,” he said with a shrug, taking another swig. “Your loss.”

That’s when one of the kids on the other side of the mic piped up, voice cracking with curiosity. “Who the fuck are you talking to?”

Tomura didn't even bat an eye at the gasps from the kids on the other end of the mic. "Oh, my girlfriend," he replied coolly, his voice dripping with disdain. "Not that any of you celibate incel losers would know what that’s like."

I couldn't help but giggle at his bluntness. "Tomura, be nice to the children," I teased, though I knew it wouldn't change anything.

He smirked, his eyes still glued to the screen as he blasted through his game. "No, babe. They're fucking losers who camp. No matter how many times I've told them not to. I mean, come on, babe, these kids are probably all failed abortions."

I could hear the shocked gasps on the other side of the mic, and I quickly put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. "Be nice, baby," I said, my voice light and teasing.

Tomura barely acknowledged it, just rolling his eyes. "No, I don't think I will. Someone’s gotta teach these losers that their generation is all a bunch of iPad, Cheeto-fingered fuckers who probably want their mom."

The sheer absurdity of his words made me burst into laughter. I couldn't hold it in anymore, my sides shaking with how funny it was.

I leaned in to kiss the side of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my lips. He turned his head slightly, planting a quick, almost absent-minded kiss on my cheek.

“Stop laughing,” he muttered, though his lips were curled into a smile—something he’d never admit.

I felt a little bolder, the playful urge rising in me. I couldn't resist the temptation to tease him a bit. Slowly, I slipped my hands under his hoodie and pressed them against his side, just lightly at first, before digging in with a quick tickle.

"HEY! Wait—HEY! HEY!" Tomura jolted, the game momentarily forgotten. I could feel him squirming under my touch, his voice going high-pitched for a second in surprise.

I smirked but pulled my hands back slightly, stopping when I saw the glint in his eyes. He wasn’t really angry... maybe just a little annoyed.

"I’ll stop," I said, keeping my hands underneath his shirt now, my fingertips gently tracing up and down his back, the hard lines of his muscles shifting under my touch.

His jaw clenched briefly, and I could feel him getting tense again, but then, to my surprise, he leaned into me, his face pressing gently against the side of my head.

"Just so you guys know," he said loud enough for the mic to catch it, his voice dripping with that smug confidence. "My girlfriend’s feeling up on me right now—something none of you lame bitch-ass losers will ever experience."

There was an uncomfortable silence from the kids on the other end of the mic, probably processing his words. Meanwhile, Tomura’s hands paused on his controller for a split second, like he was savoring the moment.

He nuzzled into me again, a quiet sound escaping his throat that was so rare from him—something close to affection but hidden under that usual mask of indifference. "Yeah, none of you punks are gonna get to to get touched like this. fucking losers.," he added more softly, his voice slightly more tender than before, though still carrying that mocking tone.

I couldn’t help but smile, rubbing my thumb lightly across his back, letting him know without words that I wasn’t bothered by his cocky attitude—if anything, I liked how he acted like a prick, but I knew better than anyone there was more under the surface.

As if to emphasize his point, he turned his head just slightly, pressing his lips to my temple before pulling back just enough to give me that familiar smirk. "You know I don’t need any of you assholes to back me up. You bitches are all dead wait."

And as much as he tried to act unaffected by the gesture, I knew, deep down, that he appreciated the closeness—more than he'd ever admit.

Not my fan art!

Tag list (let me know if you wanna go on it)

@itsafairytalekay @starlightanyaaa @sillysushi @haruhatake @canigotosleep--plz @mistymuii @moonchhu @dekusdante @eis1kitsune @yumii-34 @anemo-fandango @tibibibi123 @hargun-s

I’d like to know what everyone thinks 🥹🫶🏻

Clingy Tomura, who’d been waiting for you to finish chatting with Himiko for what felt like hours. He was tired, but didn’t want to sleep alone, so he just resorted to playing his games till you came to bed.

Clingy Tomura, who as soon as you walked in, asked you to come over to his desk in the middle of his game. You walked over, a bit confused, only for him to delicately pull you into his lap. You were facing the screen, and he wrapped his arms around your waist to hold his controller, his chin resting on your shoulder.

Clingy Tomura, who said nothing about what he’d done- how could he when he was already blushing about it? He wasn’t sure why he’d done it in the first place, he just knew he wanted you close and was too nervous to ask.

Clingy Tomura, who finished his game and practically carried you to bed, wrapping you in the blankets before following suit. And when you’d asked why he was being so…needy? “…’m sleepy” he’d mumble against your hair, his eyes already shut.

Clingy Tomura, who fell asleep rather quickly, not making a single sound other than his breath against your ear. He stayed like that even late into the morning, his arms firmly around you not letting you move till he finally woke up, and even then convincing him to let you go for five minutes was difficult

virgins can have kinks too!

4.1 k words / summary - multi-chap posts of me experimenting with smut writing

warnings - piv, unprotected sex + creampies, virgin shiggy, college au, porn with minimal plot, partially clothed sex, BRIEF suicide joke, fem reader, 18+ mndi

~~~

If Tomura could go back and change any one thing in his life, it'd probably be how you two met.

Touya is messy enough to live with, now Tomura was forced to account for all the dirt-clodded shoes and unwashed hands of strangers coming into contact with his possessions. Those first hinting throbs of a headache were beginning to tease at Tomura’s pterion, and unfortunately his only access to water was blocked off by a thick weld of moist, musty athletes. Not that they intimidated Tomura, of course, they were just… an optional pain that he’d rather avoid. All their clunky terminology went over his head, and in his experience the people that Touya invites to his parties are not the inclusive type. What Tomura did understand was that they were perfectly posted up against their kitchen sink so as to be as inconvenient as possible; intending to verbally batter whatever unfortunate girl tried snagging from the fridge.

To be fair to them, though, tap water was Tomura’s backup plan. His initial objective was to sneakily steal a plastic bottle before returning to his room. All those were gone, which is sooo funny to Tomura because he’s certain that he just bought a forty pack yesterday.

Yet if Tomura were to point that out, Touya would just shift blame back onto his recluse roommate for knowingly leaving out water when he was inviting people over. So he doesn’t bother finding the stupid punk.

Similarly, he doesn’t so much as attempt either bathroom sink for water. One being annoyingly split off between the kitchen and Tomura’s room, and the other in Touya’s room. Touya’s room was a self imposed no-no for Tomura during their day-to-day, so he can’t fathom a reason to enter during the degenerate’s party. Judging by occasional thumps and ever shifting shadows beneath the gap, Tomura assumes the shared bath is in no better shape.

Right as he sets to retreat, his eyes zoom across their open floor plan -- all the way into the living room, honing in on two girls. One familiar from their shared mythology class, and the other entirely foreign. Himiko Toga is curled around the shoulders of the second girl, twirling strands of mystery girl’s hair with her long fingers.

Himiko greedily consumes all things cute, she chews them up and keeps them between her teeth to amalgamate with the next adorable target her sights set on. By the end of her life, she’ll probably puke up a cat-eared ball of pink glitter tied up with bows and proudly proclaim it to be her life’s work.

Currently, he’s watching Himiko chow down on someone that he, surprisingly, also finds cute. It's distracting.

Himiko lowers her hands until both arms are wrapped around your waist, nails burrowing into the material of your shirt. Her cheek presses against your shoulder, loose strands of blonde hair tickling up your neck.

Your neck strangely captured Tomura, then. Thick with your pulse and tissue, he wants to feel it pillow under his teeth. His lips are rough and chapped and suddenly all he can think about is how they’d feel scarring up the soft flesh of your jugular.

Himiko must be thinking that too because he watches as she turns cheek and digs her nose into the juncture of your neck.

Oh.

Tomura blinks himself free of the stupor and shakes out his hands, then wiping them dry against his pants. He didn’t think Himiko could actually hold down a relationship.

“Whatcha starin’ at, boss?”

Voice so raggedy and low, almost a staticky purr at Tomura’s back, he can instantaneously pick out who it is.

“Did you know Himiko had a girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Touya steps forward, eyes narrowed out into the crowd, “Where? I can’t see shit.”

“I told you to just get contacts, moron,” Tomura grumbles, then pointing as inconspicuous as he can (not very at all) towards their mutual friend still slithered around the unknown girl.

“Kid, that’s not her girlfriend.”

Tomura looks up at Touya, glaring through tangled, powder blue bangs, “You’re joking, right? I’m not stupid.”

“Seriously, it’s not,” Touya snickers, “Why? You interested?” when Tomura can only silently seethe up at the man, Touya grins: a sight more disturbing than reassuring, his teeth are too big and prominent, the bags under his eyes crinkle up weirdly, and it reeks of selfish glee. Touya jams out his index and middle fingers, waggling the index first, “Which one? Blondie?” then his middle, “Or new girl?”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” Tomura knocks down the man’s hand with a disgruntled scoff, “You’re mental.”

“We’ve been friends awhile now, no?” Touya stubbornly returns to pointing, “I’ve never seen you get worked up over a girl, it’s funny. So, which one?”

“It’s funny?”

“I’ll set you up.”

Admitting to the fact he’s got a beating heart and libido is so embarrassing, which leads to Tomura halfheartedly muttering, “If I had a thing for Himiko, I wouldn’t have told you first.”

“You’re cute,” Touya quips, reaching up to pinch Tomura’s cheek between black-painted nails -- pointedly ignoring the annoyed huff and swat resulting. He steps around Tomura to venture through the jungle of his guests, “I’m on it.”

Touya is one of the best, and worst, people that Tomura has ever met. Touya is bothersome and rude and sometimes downright narcissistic, but also headstrong. Touya decided the day his dad bought him this house that he wanted to room with the dork from his freshman year geography lecture. Touya decided that Tomura and him were best friends when Tomura helped him pass their aforementioned geography class. Touya decided last year that the pair should bleach their hair together for a laugh. Touya decided just now to be Tomura’s wingman.

His singlemindedness pairs almost lethally well with his sense of loyalty. It almost made Touya seem… admirable.

Tomura internally gags over the thought, quickly refocusing on real life where Touya is leading Himiko (who is leading her mystery friend via deathgrip on your hand) back towards the kitchen.

Himiko giggles upon seeing Tomura, “You thought we were dating?”

Nevermind. Touya is just as insufferable as he was three years ago badgering Tomura for his lecture notes.

“Be nice. You’re so touchy, I’m sure everyone thought we’re together,” mystery girl squeezes Himiko’s hand, then smiling over at Tomura, “But I’m totally single.”

Oh.

Touya’s the most direct, masterminded person Tomura’s ever met.

All that masterminding goes to utter waste if Tomura can’t wake up and relearn social cues, though. Touya jabs an elbow into Tomura’s gaunt side, ribs aching from the blow.

“Okay,” Tomura nods dumbly, swallowing the unease trapped in his throat and once again drying his hands against his sweatpants.

“If you couldn’t tell,” Touya yanks Himiko into his side and out of your hold, “So is he.”

Himiko whines and reaches out as Touya drags her off, the pair slinking somewhere deep into the crowd of thrashing, bumbling bodies.

“You don’t look much like the party type,” you hum, maybe a little unhelpfully. Tried and true method of flirting, however, is being just a tad mean. A less fluffy version of the tragic come here often? line is sure to crack this man’s icy exterior.

“My roommate,” Tomura flings a thumb over in the direction Himiko was hauled off, “He’s the delinquent, I just share the space,” suddenly the insides of his sweatpants are too hot, and so is the flimsy white shirt on his chest, “I just wanted water.”

Sweltering air beats from the center of his chest down to his ankles, even tickling up his neck. The longer you stare at him, the hotter his body feels. Scorching up his face too, burning away layers of dried, ungroomed skin to reveal every muscle twinge. Tomura wants to both comb his hair back and hide behind the strands (most of all, though, he wishes he’d bothered brushing it whatsoever before making his venture). Being so trapped between either option makes his brain short circuit until he’s, rather bashfully, tucking hair behind his ear like some blushing ingenue.

Thankfully you don’t appear troubled by the sight, instead grinning wider and even laughing at his admission (Tomura likes your smile: lips giving prominence to flattering teeth, balls of your cheeks plumping, and lashes fluttering. Definitely more lovely than Touya’s). You fold your arms, “Poor thing. You probably don’t wanna be stuck out here, huh?”

Insecurity visibly crawls along the downward twitch of your lips, your brows furrowing. Tomura stares at you, committing each divot and angle of your body to memory. By the time he’s finished, he realizes you’re waiting for him to respond.

“Yeah…” he mutters lamely, scratching at the crackled film of skin over his chelidon, then smoothing a thumb into the depression as his heart hammers up his throat -- pressing a disarray of words against his palate. They linger by his uvula, gagging him into stunned silence, until he can finally choke out an uneven, “Do you wanna go back to my room?”

As soon as the question was in the air, buzzing unattended between your faces, Tomura wanted to claw out his eyeballs. Maybe rip out his tongue, too. Such gore would surely erase any memories of his implying he thought he had a chance with you. That was far preferable to the disgust about to cross your face.

Except, that disgust never comes.

Alternatively, you nod, “Sounds fun!”

Tomura kept his area tidy enough. A stack of bowls, two cups, three empty Dr. Pepper cans, and a single Maruchan ramen cup on his desk. A lump of clothes he’s procrastinated washing carefully lines the edge of his bed. But that was all, really.

He wanted his room to be livable, and if he felt so childish as to be proud of it then he liked the sight of his uncluttered carpet. How easily he could make the trek from bed to computer to door (and, of course, the desultory detours to his bookcase or closet) without tripping on trash or abundantly strewn clothes. If he felt further inclined to childishness, Tomura even congratulated himself on maintaining a room cleaner than Touya’s.

Even despite the stacked bowls and cups on his desk and emptied soda bottles cluttering his desk legs.

None of that is sufficient anymore. He’s inspecting your face like it’ll burst open with an alien race for any sign of judgment. Cautiously, Tomura kicks a tangle of loose shirts under his bed while you’re distracted ogling his decorated shelves.

“You like Omori?” your question startles him from kicking a pair of boxers under his bed.

“Huh?”

You’re pointing at a lineup of four acrylic stands -- not the complete set, Tomura only burdened his wallet with purchasing the main party over including Basil and Mari -- on the top shelf of his bookcase, “Omori, right? I didn’t think you’d like that type of game.”

“Do I not look like I would?” he doesn’t know why that inference hurts his feelings. Shamefully, he cards his fingers through his knotted hair, slotting more locks behind his ear, “I played it a long time ago. Now I’m too busy for anything else story-driven, so I’m mostly on League. Or Overwatch if I feel like killing myself.”

“You don’t look like you like suffering, I guess is what I meant,” you draw your bottom lip up between your teeth (he hopes it doesn’t sting, he wants to kiss it better if it does), “But knowing you play Overwatch…”

“I try to avoid it,” Tomura prays his self-grooming is subtle, or at least lowkey enough for you to not notice as you continue browsing his various knick knacks and figures, “You game?”

“Eh, RPGs usually. I don’t like working with others when I play, it makes me nervous to screw up.”

“That’s cute,” he doesn’t mean to say it aloud, honestly. Two measly words small enough to slip through his pursed lips. Two words big enough to ruin his night.

“Think so?” but you’re… smiling again.

“I guess,” Tomura’s eyes shift quickly over to his pillows. Are they soft enough? Should he flip them over? What the hell is fluffing, and does it actually do anything?

“Are you usually this shy? Or am I special?”

Not often does Tomura feel truly helpless, but your incessant teasing pairs lethally with your fluttering lashes and painted lips. He wishes he were more accustomed to conversing with strangers, especially pretty strangers that were interested in him. Part of him wants to believe that if you’re attracted to him now, you’ll be stubborn enough to stick out whatever cluelessness he bumbles out -- but he doesn’t. He simply cannot bring himself to buy that.

“You’re making me nervous, like I’m about to puke.”

“Flattering,” you join Tomura on his bed, soft knee nudging his, “I hope you don’t. It’d kinda ruin the mood.”

He’s terribly unable to keep the casanova impersonation up, though, “What mood?”

You throw your head back and laugh. Hearty and full and so mortifying for him, worse are your next words, “You know why people go into private rooms at parties, right?”

“Uhh…”

“You do. I do, too. That’s why I came back here, you know? If you only wanna talk, that’s fine -- you’re fun to just talk to! But I came back here ‘cuz I want to have sex with you, if you want to, too.”

Tomura can feel that dreaded heartbeat climbing up his chest and into his gullet again.

“You’re forward…”

You shrug, “I know what I want.”

Tomura claws at his sweatpants, chest aching and fingers numb from how your eyes are zeroed on him. He nods slowly, racketing another giggle from your chest -- you lean closer, your hand brushes his.

“Yeah?” you coax a hand around Tomura’s far shoulder, swiveling him to face you.

A rattle and hum from his ceiling fan gurgles the sound of his reply, you hate it.

From the shape of his lips, you can make out his agreement. With no specific intent and only a general sense of lust to guide him, Tomura leans into your touch. Snatching his hands, you shuffle his palms under your shirt, sifting the flesh up your warm belly until they’re cupping your tits. He squeezes blindly, teetering closer along his mattress. Finally, you strip off your top -- then greedily going for Tomura’s as well. He contently allows it, even lifting his arms to grant the removal.

“You’re so pretty,” Tomura noses at your neck, hot puffs of air warming your skin, “Can’t believe you’re actually here.”

His hands are soft from a lax life, if slightly clammy with nerves, and they feel nice squeezing around your hips. Tomura dips his pelvis downward, keeping your thighs scooped snug around him -- bonus for the momentary relief of pressure against his aching groin. His fingers bow beneath the waistband of your skirt until your own are tethering his in place.

“Can I leave the skirt on?” your thighs tighten around Tomura’s slim waist, you tilt your head so your soft lips press against his cheek, “Its kinda hot. To me.”

Tomura rolls his shoulders, whole body shuddering at the request. He nods with clenched eyes, digging his nails into your skin -- he likes your idea more than he can put into words (granted, his tongue may as well be superglued to his teeth right now).

“I can do that,” he manages to scrape out, drawing his fingers down the bunched material of your skirt and up your thighs, “Can I take these off?”

“Please,” you cant your hips up for Tomura to yank off your panties, he bundles them in one hand and stows the other where the material once laid. You swear you hear him whimper at the contact.

His fingers dance up your slit, gentle massaging that intensifies upon introduction of his thumb on your clit. Tomura drops your underwear off the side of his bed and uses the freed palm to work off his sweatpants, but just before he can snap the drawstring -- he stops completely.

“Wait,” he pants, “Hang on. Don’t move.”

Tomura runs out like he’s caught fire, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him and leaving you splayed on his mattress.

He returns with a fist curled around something, and determination written in the lines of his face. Replacing himself between your thighs, Tomura hides the contents in his hand under the pillow beneath you. Before you can shoot any questions, he’s lifting your skirt and lowering his chest to the bed.

As if he can sense the curiosity burning away your mood, Tomura hurriedly buries his face in your cunt.

One gasp is stuttered short by another, Tomura flicks his tongue inside you with a groan. Pulling back only to spit on your clit, the liquid bubbling down your slit until it catches on his prodding fingertips -- your thighs jolt around his shoulders at the act. Middle finger worming into you with ease, Tomura’s burdened by the vestige of Touya’s hand on his shoulder and husks into his ear.

Yeah, condoms are in the top drawer. You need advice?

He’d been uneasy initially, nodding uncertainly, but Tomura’s grateful now.

Just as he’d been instructed, Tomura curls his middle finger and screws the pad up until- your knee knocks into his skull and he keens at the rough treatment.

“S-sorry,” you stammer out, chest arching up.

Bypassing your apology, Tomura flattens his tongue on your clit and slithers a second finger inside you. Surely by tomorrow, his arm will be sore with the work he’s pushing through, but he’s equally sure it’s worth it as you clamp around him and seize.

Strumming your gspot in time with your clit, Tomura loses himself in the thought of how your snatch would feel around his cock -- grinding against the marshmallow mattress below to relieve the pressure. Your only relief is how he greedily sucks your clit; he lets you grab his hair with both hands and roughly tug him to and fro. He lets you fuck his face, eats it up in earnest.

Prying your thighs back from his ears, Tomura shoves his sweatpants down and reaches under your head. Pulling back a foil square that crinkles with each nervous shake of his hand. Tomura’s plain black boxers soon crash to the floor as well.

“Hey,” your voice pipes up meekly, a little slurred after your orgasm. Drowsy eyes half-lidded and even sweeter on him, “Can you, uh…”

Tomura’s burning hot, flushed and vaguely sticky; bangs slickened against his face with sweat and cum. His breathlessness axiomatic of how little composure he could maintain, “What?”

“Don’t…” a shyness that now seems bizarre overtakes you, your fingers curl into his palm and unfurl the condom from his grasp, “You shouldn’t… I wanna feel you.”

He blinks down at you vapidly. So stupidly blank he's immediately ashamed of himself for blanching at your plea.

“You want it too, right?” you reach up and paw at Tomura's shoulders, “You wanna fuck me raw?”

“Uh-huh,” again dumb.

Tomura spares that response no reconsideration, instead preoccupied by holding your thighs open to nudge his cock into you. His tip bobs at your clit in the first few jerks, but his thinly construed patience is rewarded on the third attempt. You tug on his hair as Tomura humps into your sex.

He whines upon feeling that first squeeze and suck of entering your cunt, his pelvis itching up against your clit with every thrust. Blunt nails carve into the fat of your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer -- Tomura’s cock carves deep into your gut, hot and heavy. Chapped lips sear up the length of your neck, his chest squashing against yours, he teeths at the lump of your pulse and lathes the thumping point with his tongue. Budding his knees right beneath your ass, Tomura burdens the tops of his thighs against yours. Then wrapping your waist with both arms, continuing to suck your soft skin between his teeth.

Tomura gasps as the warmth of your hands finds his back, rolling lower and lower until you’re actively pushing him closer. He likes this -- loves it, even. He’s horrified to know he could’ve been having sex his entire college career and simply didn’t.

He’s further horrified that perhaps he’ll never have sex again when you leave (but mostly, he’s finding that he just doesn’t want you to leave).

“Be my girlfriend,” delirious, he’s babbling into your ear, whining and shuttering and smothering your body with his, “Be my girlfriend…! Wanna fuck you every day-- need you every day. So fucking warm and soft, all perfect for my cock,” Tomura pulls up from your neck to kiss the thin stretch of skin over your collarbones and treading to your breasts, “Like you’re made for taking it.”

What you want is to have the mental cognition to respond to him kindly, but what you have is a mushy brain and a flourishing climax scorching through your body. Grey matter melting into the bowl of your skull as Tomura kisses and pants into your tits.

“Tomu’-!” is all you can manage to squeal, nails digging jagged red lines down the man’s back.

“You cumming?” he reaches between your bodies to incise the pads of his fingers across your sodden clit.

A final push into your sensitive body, the attention spiking your head back into his pillow. Faintly, through the rush of dopamine pumping through your extremities to where your hanging mouth is expelling wanton wails of Tomu’! and yes, God! and cumming!, you can hear Tomura. You can hear him chuckling low and deep with ecstasy, “So pretty when you cum. Squeezing me so tight, too. You like me that much?”

He whines unexpectedly, wrenching both hands to your hips and branding the imprint of his calloused palms there.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he grits his teeth, scratchy throat puking up pulpy, disjointed moans of your name and fuck, fuck fucks, “I’m gonna cum,” he latches onto your tit, muffling his pathetic mewls as your legs lock him in your cunt (trembly and weak as they may be), “Cumming, cumming- ! Fuck!”

Stilling above you, Tomura chokes out soft breaths and murmurs of appreciation as he cums. Sincerely thanking you as his spend paints your insides. Collapsing on you once his balls are empty. Tomura barely has the wherewithal to roll onto his side in order to avoid overheating you under him.

A rattle and hum from his ceiling fan regains your attention, but this time it doesn’t seem too bad. You can’t find yourself to be very annoyed, even when the music pumping from outside vibrates Tomura’s bedroom door. Above those sounds, the one you appreciate most is the soft pelting of Tomura’s breath against your neck; damp with a mixture of sweat and his saliva, and sore from his incessant teething.

“Did you mean it?” you’re probably being mean, asking such a layered question so immediately after his release.

“About?” his voice is raggedy, sharp to a bladepoint -- if you couldn’t see the dazed, awestruck film over his lidded eyes, you’d mistake him as trying to be rude.

“Me being your girlfriend. Did you actually mean that? Or did your dick have the braincell?”

“Oh,” Tomura pushes onto his elbows, arms shaking, his hair drops over his face and this time you’re the one to brush it behind his ear. Despite cumming in you minutes ago, he blushes at the gesture and looks at your bruising neck rather than your eyes, “I guess. I don’t have a car, so I can’t drive you around for dates.”

“I can take the bus, you know,” you laugh at how Tomura’s face suddenly sours at your words.

“As if I’d let my girlfriend take the bus by herself. Do you know how many freaks go on that thing?”

“‘Cuz you’d know.”

“Yeah, I’m one of them,” the giddiness rising in his chest over your giggling at his jab quickly overtakes his face, cheeks burning with a proud smile. Tomura hides his face in your neck, “I guess it’s up to you.”

“It's up to me if you were serious or not?”

Quietly, he hums, then rasps out something you could construe as a joke if you didn’t care so much about how he felt, “I only open to begging in the sheets. Being desperate to date the first girl I fuck is so pathetic.”

Which is so insane to you because you met this man only a few hours ago.

A broiling affection that builds between the slats of your ribs, bricking off your lungs and heart just to cook them up hot and gooey and primed for the man on your chest. At least Tomura’s burgeoning crush could be reasoned away with the fact he’s a recent ex-virgin (not like you, with visitors running rarer than Tanzanite).

Still fluttery and alight with the wash of your orgasm, you give your heart the braincell and nod sluggishly, “Yeah. I want you to be serious.”

Decidedly, you spare no mind how you two barely know each other.

Reminds me of idia from twist a bit

Best part they share the same jp va 😊

"I won this round. Gg easy. This bitch has no idea what hit her."

Shigaraki thinks after he managed to rizz you up. It was a part of the plan, after all. You were his biggest rival. There was no way that it was real. It's just a game of dominance!

"Gg again. All according to the plan."

Shigaraki thinks after he finally managed to lose his v card to you. Oh, sorry. He didn't lose anything because he is not a loser. It's YOU who's losing. At least according to him.

"Ha! I won again. This game is too easy..."

Shigaraki thinks after you told him that you love him for the first time. He said it back, of course. He couldn't let this opportunity slide.

"Pff stupid idiot has no idea that she has lost this game to me already."

Shigaraki thinks after he proposed to you. You said yes, of course. You were so happy, with tears in your eyes as you hugged him. He was so smug as he held you in his arms.

"Ez."

Shigaraki murmurs to your newborn baby. It's your second one. He still thinks this is a game.

you are awful at video games.

you know this. tomura knows this. the entire internet probably knows this by now, considering you’ve spent countless nights on his stream getting absolutely obliterated in every match, no matter how much he tries to coach you. and he does try, though half the time it’s through gritted teeth and muttered insults, hands twitching as if resisting the urge to just snatch the controller away from you and do it himself.

but you’re having fun, and that’s all that matters, right?

wrong.

tonight, you're sitting cross-legged on his gaming chair, wearing one of his oversized hoodies (because he said it was cold and refused to turn the heater on). tomura is beside you, sprawled on his bed, hoodie pulled up over his head as he watches you struggle through a level you should've cleared twenty minutes ago.

his stream chat is ruthless.

how is she this bad

pls put her out of her misery

tomura blink twice if you're in pain

he sighs loudly, letting his head fall back against the mattress. "you're killing me, princess. literally dying over here."

"i'm trying!" you whine, gripping the controller tighter. "the combos are confusing!"

he peeks at the screen just as your character plummets off the edge for the hundredth time. "jesus. do you want me to suffer? is that your plan?"

"shut up," you mumble, brows furrowed in concentration. "i'm focusing."

he scoffs, rolling onto his side to face you. "you’re embarrassing me in front of everyone."

"oh no! what a tragedy." you stick your tongue out at him before turning back to the game, missing the way his eyes flicker down to your lips for just a second too long.

he clicks his tongue, tapping away on his phone as his chat continues roasting you. he’s about to make some smart ass comment when he notices something that makes his fingers tighten around his phone.

someone in chat just said you were cute.

he stares at the message, then at the dozens of others popping up after it.

she’s actually so adorable

lowkey wanna wife her

im down bad for ur noob bestie tomura

a slow, simmering irritation builds in his chest.

he’s used to his chat being unhinged. they say dumb shit all the time. but for some reason, the idea of random faceless losers thirsting over you is making his jaw clench.

you're his best friend. his pain in the ass. his.

not theirs.

he doesn’t say anything at first, just subtly adjusts the camera angle so you’re barely visible in frame anymore. but his chat immediately notices.

tomura MOVE

why u blocking the view bro

he’s gatekeeping her lmao

his eye twitches. "shut up."

"who are you talking to?" you ask, not looking away from the screen.

"no one," he mutters, fingers tapping aggressively against his phone screen as he bans a few particularly annoying users from chat.

but it doesn’t stop. they keep talking about you, and the more they do, the worse his mood gets. he watches, silently seething, as you laugh at something, completely unaware of the way his grip tightens around his phone. you’re just so oblivious, so utterly clueless to the fact that he’s sitting right there, trying not to be a jealous, possessive freak over something as dumb as this.

it’s fine. it’s whatever. he doesn’t care.

except he does.

and when you finally beat the level, turning to him with a beaming smile and expecting praise, all you get is a grumpy huff as he yanks the controller from your hands.

"my turn. you suck."

"hey! i just finished that level!"

"yeah, after thirty minutes."

he ignores your protests, shoving his headset fully on and gripping the controller like he's about to unleash hell. his fingers move expertly over the buttons, and within seconds, he’s speeding through levels like they’re nothing. his chat is going insane, but he barely pays attention, too focused on demolishing every enemy in sight.

meanwhile, you slump against his shoulder, pouting. "you’re so mean."

he stiffens for half a second before relaxing, pretending not to care about the way your warmth seeps into his side.

"and you're awful at games," he grumbles, but his voice is softer now, barely audible over the sounds of combat filling the screen.

he doesn’t push you away.

and when you stay pressed against him, he doesn’t complain.

© 2025 shinig6mis | do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work.

🧡🧡🎉

tomura tries to sneak out of your apartment one morning before you wake up, because he has to get all the way back to his apartment before his dad shows up to take him to a 9AM yoga class.

god forbid he be forced to explain:

a) why he slept over at an apartment that was not his own to his father (toshinori would be calling wedding venues and asking his assistant to look into your ring size before they'd even made it to the yoga studio)

nor b) the fact that he was going to a fucking yoga class at 9 o'clock in god damn the morning with his dad, to you.

he slips out of your bed soundlessly, moving as carefully as possible not to wake you. it pains him to do it. really, it does. your sheets are warm, and soft, and smell like you. and you're still there resting so peacefully, tucked under them, breathing soundly with your face burrowed into the collar of his hoodie that you'd worn to bed the night before. you look so pretty like this, tomura had spent at least half an hour just staring at you while he was laying next to you in your treacherously comfortable bed, and would have happily spent another hour more doing it.

there are very few forces on earth that could tear tomura out of bed like this, but the mortifying prospect of having to explain to his over-enthusiastic father that he has a girlfriend is certainly one of them.

he creeps out of your room and into the bathroom, splashing some cool water on his face and using the lotion that you keep next to the sink that makes his skin feel so nice. you started buying a bigger bottle lately, now that the two of you are both using it, and you never mentioned it but tomura still noticed when the little tube was replaced by a larger version of the same product. next he reaches for the toothbrush that he's started keeping next to yours, double checking the hour on his phone to make sure he wasn't running out of time.

he contemplates stealing one last peek at you in bed before he leaves, but he knows that if he doesn't leave now he won't have time to change his clothes before his dad shows up outside his place, so he heads straight to your front door once he's done in the washroom.

you're standing in his path before he can get to it.

you've got a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, but he can still see the soft skin of your thighs where the hem of his hoodie hangs peeking out from underneath the edges of it. there's a little frown tugging the corners of your mouth down.

tomura freezes in his tracks.

"going somewhere?" you ask him, your voice quiet and a little bit hoarse from sleep.

oh, fuck.

"morning," he mumbles, a bit nervously, as you pin him in your stare.

"it is," you reply, as though agreeing with him. "early, even. so why are you sneaking out of my apartment like a burglar?"

tomura rakes a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "i, uh, gotta be somewhere."

"you have to be somewhere?" you repeat, a bit incredulously—like the words don't quite compute. you don't seem mad at all, just thoroughly bewildered by the whole strange situation. "tomu, we went three rounds last night and you're awake before two PM on a weekend. are you okay?"

"'course i'm okay," he rushes to get out, tripping over his words.

"did I like... do something? or is there someone el—"

"are you kidding?" tomura's voice cracks and he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. he reaches out and grabs the edge of the blanket you have wrapped around you, his fingers twisting into it desperately. he knows you can't possibly—can't reasonably—think that he's seeing anybody else when the fact that he even landed someone like you is an honest to god miracle. the kind of underdog success story they make multi-part docuseries on.

tomura groans, shuffling forward and resting his forehead against your shoulder as he snakes his arms underneath the blanket around your frame to hold you close.

"you're being weird, tomu," you say quietly, brushing your fingers through his hair and letting your nails drag lightly against his scalp in that way that makes him want to shiver.

"fuck, I know, I know,"—he buries his face further into the crook of your neck, breathing in shakily—"'m not being sketchy or anything."

"you are," you remark lightly. "it's not that I don't trust you, I'm just confused."

tomura mumbles something, but the words are lost to the skin of your throat.

"what was that?" you ask.

tomura steels his nerve and takes one last long breath buried against your warmth. he pulls away and faces you.

"I have to go to a yoga class with my dad."

he loses his nerve about halfway through his admission, his eyes flickering away from yours to a point on the wall just above your front door, as a violent heat surges through his cheeks.

"a yoga class?"

he knows it sounds ridiculous. it is ridiculous. it may have been more believable to tell you he was going to hook up with someone el—

"why didn't you just say that?" your laughter cuts through his spiralling thoughts like a morning alarm.

his gaze snaps back to you, only to find you smiling softly.

"you... you're not...?" tomura isn't even sure what he's going to say. mad? surprised? convinced he's lying?

"i mean, i've noticed you've been looking kind of toned lately, but honestly i thought it's because we've been fucking so much," you scrunch your nose up a little. "yoga makes sense on both counts, though."

you turn and look across your apartment to the clock hanging on the wall.

"what time's your class?" you ask him, suddenly worried that this impromptu interrogation may have made him late. "i didn't mean to—"

tomura grabs either side of the blanket wrapped around your shoulders and tugs you forward, pressing his mouth to yours while your lips are still parted in speech.

(he doesn't make it to class that morning after all.)

🥲

SWEET

This is my copium. Bite me.

Its just ice cream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

lost in translation // tomura shigaraki

when your desk-buddy is more useful than you thought

a/n: my shhaaayyyllaaaaaaa !!! been thinking about him lately <3 dorky dork hacker boy

-

mha tag: @lotuslovers @babylambdietcoke @0skullyard0 @kaldurahms-lover @commonmisery @moonstonejpg @twoplayergaymers @simp-plague @xvilluis

U3U

You and the League of Villains meet someone with a quirk that can show people alternate life paths if things had turned out differently.

Everyone’s a little “ehhh idk” about trying it, so Shigaraki, being the leader, is willing to go first.

He sees himself growing up, getting away from his abusive household, and leading a normal life.

Shigaraki is like, this is pretty mundane.

Until he starts seeing images of himself with someone else— you. He sees you kiss him and he’s in complete disbelief.

The images fade away and he’s already demanding another go, “Show me another path.”

In the next one he has the decay quirk, but he’s a rescue hero. He works alongside another hero— you, again. He sees you holding his hand and he’s still in disbelief.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Afterwards, Shigaraki knows that everything he saw is unattainable—

His eyes drift over to you and he keeps replaying the intimate moments in his head.

Except you.

🙃

Tomura was probably never taught how to talk to people he finds attractive.

So, if he ever heard you say something negative about your appearance, he’d try to comfort you like—

Tomura: “What? Don’t say that. You’re hot.”

You: “You think I’m hot?”

Tomura: “Yeah, you’re in like 99% of my fantasies.”

You: “Oh.”

Baby boy, baby <3

@/Mhuyo

I want this--

Happy Easter

And 420

based off of this post from @holyhaeresis !

drake?

up & down

🥲

Oh my goshhhhhh I LOVED the Randomly Kissing the Dorm Leaders prompt you just did!! Their reactions were so cute and it was just the right amount of suggestive hehe!! Is there any chance you would consider doing the vice housewardens too?

Kiss And Make-Out

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - no prns mentioned .

- [𝐜𝐡.] vice dormleaders

- [𝐩:𝐬] suggestive themes . mentions of making out . romantic tension

Note: I sure can! Here you go anon! <3

Trey Clover

It was supposed to be a normal afternoon. Trey had just finished up club activities and was making his way back to Heartslabyul’s dorm, a bit dusty from helping Riddle with some garden chores. He was in the middle of rolling up his sleeves when he heard footsteps running up behind him — and before he could turn around fully, you had grabbed his hand and yanked him into an empty storage room near the greenhouse.

“Whoa—! [Name]?” he blinked, only slightly surprised as the door shut behind you. “What’s going on? Did something happen—”

Your hands came up, cupping his face, and then? Kiss.

One, two, three — they came like sugar-sweet raindrops: on his cheeks, his lips, his nose, his forehead. A barrage of affection. Trey just stood there in stunned silence, warm hands lightly hovering at your waist as you showered him with love. He blinked behind his glasses, heart thudding a bit harder with each peck.

“Missed you,” you whispered between kisses. “And I just couldn’t wait anymore.”

That’s when he finally exhaled a soft laugh. “You’re unbelievable,” he murmured, cheeks flushed just enough to pinken under his freckles. He pulled you in by the waist, leaning his forehead against yours. “Dragging me into a room like this… You trying to give me a heart attack, sweetheart?”

You grinned up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Guilty.”

He chuckled, brushing your hair back gently. “You could’ve at least let me clean up first… I’m all sweaty from gardening,” he teased — but even as he said it, his thumb was brushing softly along your cheek, eyes drinking you in like you were the sweetest confection he’d ever laid eyes on.

Then, in a rare moment of selfishness, Trey kissed you back — not just once, but again and again, slow and thorough like he was trying to memorize the shape of your love. The kind of kisses that felt like coming home after a long day.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” he said against your lips. “But next time… at least give a guy a warning before ambushing him, alright?”

Yeah. Right. Like you wouldn’t do it again tomorrow.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie had been running errands all over campus — Leona had sent him out again (as usual), this time to fetch some imported tea, organize his notes, and somehow restock an entire cabinet full of snacks that the Savannaclaw students had obliterated.

He was already planning a nap in the shade when you caught him walking through the hallway.

“Oh hey, babe—whoa!!” he yelped as you grabbed his wrist and practically dragged him into an old classroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

He blinked, confused and very much on alert. “H-Hey now, what’s the deal?! We gettin’ chased or somethin’? If this is about those donuts from Sam’s shop, I swear I only took—”

Then? Smooch.

You surged up on your toes and planted a kiss right on his lips, catching him mid-ramble. And then another. And another.

His back hit the wall, and you kept going — kisses on his face, his jaw, even his temple when he tilted his head in disbelief. The poor boy froze like a raccoon caught in headlights.

“Shishishi—W-Wait, hold up! You’re—You’re attackin’ me with love outta nowhere!” he laughed breathlessly, heart pounding fast under his hoodie. “Geez, I didn’t even get time to fix my hair—!”

But his words melted into mush as your lips brushed his again, and all that sass slowly melted into the softest sigh.

Ruggie’s hands eventually found your waist, gripping lightly like he wasn’t sure this was real. “Man… you really like catchin’ me off guard, huh?” he muttered with a grin, ears pink and twitching.

“You’ve been working hard,” you whispered. “You deserve a break. And kisses.”

Ruggie let out a crooked little chuckle, his smile lazy and warm. “Y’know… if this is what I get for runnin’ errands, I might start askin’ Leona for more chores.”

He leaned down, brushing his nose against yours playfully. “But hey… next time, at least lemme grab a snack first. You’re wearin’ me out, and I haven’t even had lunch.”

Still, when you reached up for one more kiss, he was already meeting you halfway — because honestly? This was the best kind of exhaustion he’d ever felt.

Jade Leech

Jade was never one to be caught off guard. He prided himself on reading people like books — knowing what they wanted, how they moved, what they might do next. He enjoyed the thrill of control, of having the upper hand in every conversation, every moment.

Which is why he found it exceptionally entertaining when you managed to surprise him.

You spotted him near the Lounge after a long, tiring day, a sly glint in your eyes. He looked elegant as ever, uniform crisp, a tray in hand, about to disappear into the staff hallway—

And then?

You grabbed him by the sleeve and yanked him into an unused supply closet.

“My, my,” Jade chuckled, amused. “How assertive. Dare I ask what your intentions are, dear—”

Kiss.

Right on the lips.

And another. And another. And then down to his neck, his jawline, the corner of his smirking mouth. You didn’t give him time to speak again. You were on a mission, and that mission was: love attack.

For a moment, Jade just blinked, caught between laughter and stunned silence.

“…Oh?” he finally hummed. “Is this an ambush, or am I merely dreaming?”

You grinned against his cheek. “Just wanted to smother you in affection. No plotting, no schemes. Just kisses.”

He tilted his head, his long fingers ghosting along your waist as if to steady himself. His mismatched eyes sparkled in the low light.

“How very... reckless of you,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a silken purr. “You’re lucky I’m quite fond of recklessness—especially when it comes from you.”

Then, with a grin sharp enough to cut through the quiet, he kissed you back — slow and deliberate, making you feel every second of it.

He pulled back only slightly to whisper, “Next time, let’s make it a proper ambush. Candles, a romantic setting… maybe even a little danger.”

And yet, even as he teased you, Jade was smiling. A genuine, rare smile that reached his eyes.

“You always manage to catch me off guard, darling,” he whispered. “And I must admit… I love that about you.”

Jamil Viper

He was walking down the hallway of Scarabia dorm, finally — finally — done with a mountain of tasks that had kept him running around all day. Between Kalim’s social plans, paperwork, magic practice, and student council duties, Jamil hadn’t had more than ten minutes to himself.

So when he saw you turn the corner up ahead, your eyes lighting up the moment they met his, he felt a brief but blissful relief wash over him.

“Hey, I was just about to—”

You grabbed his wrist. And pulled him straight into the nearest empty room.

“What the—?! [Name]?” he said with alarm, barely managing to close the door before your hands tangled in his scarf and you kissed him. Not once. Not gently. But in a fast, frantic flurry of affection that sent his mind into a complete stall.

“W-Wait, wait, what’s going on?” Jamil gasped between kisses, back hitting the wall. “You—I—why now?!”

But you didn’t answer — only looked up at him with that dazzling smile, the one that always cracked through his carefully built defenses. You were peppering kisses across his cheeks, his lips, even the line of his jaw, and Jamil’s brain? Short-circuited.

He tensed up at first, a natural instinct — he was used to being on edge, always cautious, always guarded.

But with every press of your lips, something in him loosened.

He let out a low breath. His eyes fluttered shut. His arms slid around your waist as if they had a mind of their own. “…You’re so unfair,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and soft against your ear. “How am I supposed to stay composed when you do things like this?”

You giggled and kissed his nose. “You don’t have to. I just wanted to remind you that I love you. Like… a lot.”

A laugh — an actual laugh — escaped him, warm and full of something he rarely allowed anyone else to see. “You’re a menace,” he muttered. “But you’re my menace.”

He cupped your cheek gently, pressing a final kiss to your forehead with a smirk. “Fine. But next time you kidnap me, warn me first. So I can at least prepare my heart.”

(He was already planning to steal you away later that night to return the favor — with interest.)

Rook Hunt

The day had been insufferably long. Between classes, track practice, and a surprise club meeting that ran two hours over, you hadn’t had a single moment alone with Rook. And the thing about dating the ever-dramatic hunter of beauty was—when you missed him, you missed him.

So when you finally caught sight of him sauntering down a hallway, humming a tune to himself, golden hair catching the sunlight through the windows, you acted.

You grabbed his wrist without a word and pulled him down a side corridor.

“Chéri?” he blinked, a surprised smile curling at his lips. “What is this sudden mystery—oh!”

You shoved open a storage room door, pulled him inside, and slammed it shut behind you.

“Mon dieu,” he laughed breathlessly as you pressed him against the wall, your hands sliding up his chest. “Such fire, such passion—!”

Kiss.

You didn’t even give him a second to finish his sentence. Your lips crashed into his like you’d been starved of him for days. And maybe you had. You kissed him over and over, hands weaving into his hair, your body pressed flush against his as if trying to make up for all the stolen moments you didn’t get today.

He gasped softly under your touch, eyes fluttering half-shut as his arms wound around your waist.

“Ah, mon ange,” he sighed between kisses. “You must know this is quite the divine surprise…”

But he made no move to stop you.

If anything, he encouraged you—letting you trail kisses down his jaw, nuzzle into his neck. His fingers splayed across your lower back as he tilted his head, allowing you all the access in the world.

“You ravish me like the fiercest of hunters,” he whispered, lips brushing against your temple. “And I am but your prey, helpless to resist.”

You giggled breathlessly. “Maybe I just missed you.”

“Oh, but that makes it all the more romantic, ma chérie,” he purred, nuzzling your cheek. “To be missed so deeply… what a privilege. What a delicious ache.”

He kissed you this time—slower, deeper, full of longing.

When you finally pulled away, dazed and flushed, Rook looked at you with such open affection it nearly stole your breath all over again.

“You always catch me so beautifully off guard,” he murmured. “Next time, let me steal you away… and I’ll make sure we don’t leave that room for hours.”

Lilia Vanrouge

You didn’t plan it.

But there was just something about Lilia that made self-control impossible. Maybe it was the sly smirk he always wore, or the way he teased you just enough to stir your heart but never enough to satisfy it. Maybe it was the fact that he could vanish in the blink of an eye, leaving you aching with the need to grab him and never let go.

So when you spotted him walking through the dorm halls, humming some old war song and sipping from his spiky black tea thermos, you pounced.

“Eh? What’s this, darling—?”

You tugged him by the arm, swung open the nearest empty music room door, and dragged him inside.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you launched.

“Whoa-ho-ho~!” Lilia laughed, clearly amused as your hands clutched his shirt and your lips met his in a storm of kisses. “Oh my~ aren’t we enthusiastic today?”

You didn’t even respond. You just smothered him—kisses on his lips, his cheeks, his neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you kissed him again and again, like you’d been holding it in all week. Because you had.

At first, Lilia let you do as you pleased, laughing into your kisses, his hands gently guiding you closer. “My, my. Did you miss me that much?” he teased, his voice low and fond.

You kissed him harder.

“…I see,” he said, amused and delighted. “So you needed your fill of me. How bold, my love. I’m flattered.”

But then, he flipped the dynamic in an instant.

He spun you around and gently pressed you to the piano behind you, lips brushing your ear. “Now that you’ve had your turn…” he whispered, voice rich and playful, “I believe it’s my turn to smother you~”

Before you could even gasp, his kisses came fast—fluttering, playful, then deep. One moment he was peppering your face with quick kisses, and the next, he was cupping your jaw and kissing you like he wanted to melt you.

When he pulled back, both of you breathless, Lilia grinned wickedly. “Stealing me away in the middle of the day? How very romantic. I should reward you for that sort of boldness more often.”

Then he winked.

“But next time you pull me into a room, dearest, make sure it locks properly. I’d hate to be interrupted while being so thoroughly loved.”

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