lootan

Latest Posts by lootan

You’re not depressed. You just need $250,000 in your bank account.

OKIE when i first read mha was during a point in time of my life where i learned how to play poker and 80’s rnb blasted nightly to the then nightly summer activity, so in my head at times im like o yeah mha setting is the 80’s

When i first read my hero whaaa?¿ 201-

…….. a decade ago

When i first read my hero whaaa?¿ 201-

…….. a decade ago

Uploading some of the art from my abandoned Twitter that didn't make its way onto Tumblr. Shigaraki's suit here was burned into my retinas for months.

long time no see, shigaraki tomura

dunno if i wanna feel bad😢 or bad😈 for tomura shigaraki he's js so ughnn

haunted. - vampire!shigaraki x f!reader / part 7

cw: not beta read, descriptions of abuse/child abuse, blood, heavy sexual content, mdni ~13.3k words

one two three four five six

[Received on November 4]

5:43pm

-> toga⋆ heeyyy I miss u :( come hang out with me!!

5:57pm

-> toga⋆ pleaseeee the testosterone is suffocating

[Received on November 7]

7:21pm

-> toga⋆ jin is talking to himself again, ur the only one that can get him out of his loops, helpppp

[Received on November 12]

6:56pm

-> jinny Hey, what does ‘eccentric’ mean? Dabi just called me that. It sounds like a compliment!:)

7:01pm

-> jinny Nevermind. It wasn’t a compliment.

-> jinny He was nicer when you were around. Kind of. Come back!:)

[Received on November 15]

1:37am

-> Unknown Number Come take out whatever stick he’s got shoved up his ass before I kill him.

1:38am

-> Unknown Number Uh. Please.

[Received on November 23]

4:09pm

-> toga⋆ at least let me know ur not dead :(

I’m not dead. <-

-> toga⋆ omg u replied!! ily pls come hang out with me, I promise I’ll make sure he’s not here

[Read: 4:11pm]

The texts had stopped coming after that.

You assume they’d finally taken the hint. As much as it hurts to ignore them, lose all of them on top of… him, it hurts more to constantly be reminded. Of Tomura, the brief but admittedly enjoyable time you had with all of them, the private moments you had with him before he pulled the rug out from under you as quick as it had started, the night he reminded you that no, you’re not lovable, and yes, you were an idiot to believe that maybe you were after all.

It still doesn’t make sense no matter how many times you go over it in your mind to figure out what you’d done wrong. He’d left that day, smiling and soft and happy with promises to come back to you, and then he’d shown up two days later looking like your Tomura but somehow not at the same time. Whatever he’d gone to do that day, whoever he’d seen and whatever they’d talked about, he’d come back wrong. He was not your Tomura, not the one who you'd come to know as your fated other half. As it turns out, he was never really your Tomura at all.

***

“I’m not good for - no, you’re not good for me. You shouldn’t come back, and I won’t come here again. It’d be best for both of us.”

You step back from him, the hand you’d reached out to him falling limply to your side. You stare at him for several quiet, tense moments, waiting for him to take it back, to tell you it’s some kind of fucked up joke, but he remains silent, his blank expression giving nothing away. Surely you heard him wrong then, because how could he say that to you after everything?

“What? Where is this coming from? I thought-”

Tomura cuts you off, not even having the courtesy to let you finish your sentence. “It doesn’t matter what you thought. You can’t - I don’t want you. Don’t want any of this.” He looks away from you, his gaze casted off to the side like he can’t even stomach looking at you anymore. You suddenly feel self-conscious in a way you never have around him, your many insecurities he’d made you forget about resurfacing all at once.

“Things were easier before you showed up. There’s been nothing but problems since.” He’d sounded distressed at first, but now he sounds harsh and bitter, like he actually means what he’s saying. And why wouldn’t he? He’s right - you’ve brought nothing but complications with you since day one, ones he’s had to fix himself each time. His life likely was simpler before you came along. You’re nothing special, nothing like him. You’re just human, plain and uninteresting, a liability.

You’ve wondered a few times if he’d still want you if the bond wasn’t there, and now he doesn’t want you even with the supernatural thread tying you together. You should’ve known better, really. Your own mother couldn’t even find it in herself to love you, so why would he? Why would he be any different than anyone else? But he had been, hadn’t he? All the things he’s said, everything he’s told you, the way he looks at you and touches you. No, this isn’t right. Something is so, so wrong, something he’s not telling you.

There has to be a reason, some kind of explanation other than you’re just not good enough. Fuck, you don’t think you can handle it if it’s as simple as that. It’d be easier to stomach if he hated you instead, because at least that would make sense. He didn’t ask for you, didn’t get a real choice in any of this. It’d be easier to understand if that’s what forced him away from you.

“Tomura, what happened? Why are you doing this?” You’re painfully aware of how pitiful you sound, your voice meek and brittle. There’s a flicker of something in his expression then, something that looks a lot like the anguish you’d seen yesterday when he’d shown you the memory with his mother. When you’d woken up in his bed, in his arms, feeling safer than you think you ever have since your father passed away.

Tomura’s eyes squeeze shut, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep inhale and exhale, and when they open again, any semblance of emotion your imagination had conjured up in an attempt to cope with the situation is gone. “Stop. Don’t. Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.” He’s shoving his shoes back on, and you think you should say something else, do something to get him to stop, but nothing comes. You just watch silently, as helpless and useless as you’ve always been as all the things he’s told you play in your mind like a fucked up soundtrack to this moment.

“Saving you is the only real thing I have left to live for.”

“You’re everything.”

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you again. Ever.”

“Don’t be sorry for me. Not when I had you waiting for me at the end of it all.”

All of that, how soft he is around you, the things he’s done for you. He’s killed people for you just to keep you safe, opened up to you about himself and his life, told you his biggest secret in hopes that you’ll still want to be with him afterward. He’d told you he’s not sure he could live without you, that you’re everything, and now that means nothing?

You’re angry then, or maybe it’s just the hurt manifesting itself that way. Whatever it is, you grab onto it tightly with both hands and don’t let go. It’s the only lifeline you have left. “Fine. If that’s what you want. But if you go, if this is how you leave things, don’t ever fucking come back.” You glare daggers into his back, the blur of tears stinging your eyes not quite enough to hide the way his shoulders stiffen. He doesn’t turn around, and he doesn’t say anything else, just reaches for the doorknob in the painful silence that follows.

There’s a millisecond where his fingers hover over the metal, not quite touching it yet, and you think maybe he’s hesitating. Tomura’s head turns just enough to make out the slope of his nose and the barest hint of crimson in the corner of his eye, and it seems like he’s about to say something, but he just shakes his head, a curtain of white falling between you before he disappears out the door.

The soft click of it shutting behind him is deafening in the silence, and the only things you have left of him are the clothes you’d borrowed folded in your drawer and the drops of water where he’d just been standing.

***

It doesn’t get easier to remember that night, not the first time you’d replayed it in your mind and not now, even nearly two months later. You regret not doing more to stop him everyday. Maybe if you had, he’d still be here. Maybe you’d be like him now, or maybe you’d be his entirely, forever. You think maybe you still are, even after everything. You didn’t have a lot of time with Tomura, but the time you did have was enough to let you know that he was it. Your last chance at happiness, at finding someone who could somehow love you and want you despite everything that’s wrong with you. But now you have nothing but maybes, what-ifs, and memories that get a little more blurry the more you try not to think of them.

Needless to say, things are bad again. To be fair, you’re not sure they’d necessarily gotten good yet, but they’d been heading that direction. At least that’s what you’d thought, anyway. Stupid, stupid you.

It had been cold and rainy the last time you’d seen him, the streets dotted with fallen leaves. Now it’s frigid and icy, the concrete blanketed in a white that reminds you far too much of him, the fall having come and gone and winter in full swing. That’s the only real way you’ve kept track of the days since, the way the world changes outside your window. It’s a bizarre feeling, how the world as you know it has come to a full stop, but life still moves on around you right outside. 

It’s been around eight weeks since you last saw Tomura and the same amount of time since you’d stepped foot in the club, yet the direct deposits still hit your bank account like clockwork. The amount is suspiciously more than it had been when you’d been working for him, and you think maybe it’s his way of making up for the tips you’re missing out on now. That, or he just knows all too well how bad off you’d been prior to landing that goddamn job. Either way, you’d figure out how to wire it all back if you didn’t need the money, too busy feeling sorry for yourself and staying holed up in your apartment to look for yet another job.

Life is weird and empty and silent again in a way that it hasn’t been since you’d met him, and the only reassurance you have that any of it was real at all is through the borrowed clothes you’ve slept in nearly every night since and the briefest of glimpses in your dreams. Tomura doesn’t come to you anymore the way he used to; instead, you get a quiet black void that seems to stretch on forever no matter how far you wander through it to find him. You think maybe it’s meant to be peaceful and serene, but there’s a suffocating emptiness there each time, a bone-deep anguish that bombards you from all sides. You’d prefer the nightmares if this wasn’t the only real piece of him you have left.

You don’t understand why he bothers, both with the money and the dreamscapes. He’d made it clear that this is what he wants, that he wants nothing to do with you and the problems you cause him. It’s easy enough to assume he’s only paying your way through life and fending off your bad dreams because he feels sorry for you, pity for the human girl who was stupid enough to think anyone could ever want her, let alone someone so unlike her in too many ways to count.

He’s as vigilant as always whatever the reason, never making a mistake in showing himself physically. He’s only slipped up one time, around two or three weeks ago maybe, you’re not sure. You’d been trudging through the darkness for what felt like days, wandering aimlessly when you’d seen him. Even from a distance in that suspended space, he’d looked as awful as someone that ethereal could; haggard, so worn out and exhausted for someone that can’t and doesn’t need to sleep. By the time you’d gotten close enough to try to reach for him, he’d already realized what he’d done, had already started to shove you back out.

The tormented look in his eyes as he’d disappeared from your life for the second time has haunted you ever since.

***

“That’s the last of them after Kurogiri made off with the rest. Dr. Garaki did what he could, but questions have started circulating. We can’t take anymore without it raising more flags.”

Tomura stares blankly at the six bags of O negative spread out on the bar counter, one for each of them. He’s not really absorbing what’s being said, nor does he care enough to try. He doesn’t even know who had been speaking. Maybe Shuichi. Everything’s white noise now and has been for… shit, how many days has it been? He doesn’t know. He lost count after fourteen, and they’ve all blended together into one indistinguishable blur at this point, anyway.

Absorbing Rikiya’s operation has been just as shitty as he thought it would be, and it’s been far easier to dissociate and drift through on autopilot instead of facing the reality he knows he deserves. He’s lost track of how many cryptids have passed through the doors since he’d officially taken over - maybe twenty, maybe more - each of them tortured in ways even Tomura had never thought possible, dissected and flayed and surveyed before they’re eventually taken to slaughter, their heads on the wall becoming more trophies for Master’s collection.

The long-haired freak - Tomura thinks his name is Tomoyasu - says the same thing each time. “Soon. Soon, we will have what we need to have your Master restored to health and beyond. We are just missing one thing, something we have yet to figure out.” And each time, Tomura dies a little more inside knowing that the freak is likely right. He’s seen the progress for himself, and even though most of it is a bunch of scientific bullshit he can’t understand, the excited murmurs bordering the edge of the breakthrough are enough to go by.

It wasn’t long ago at all that Tomura had thought he wanted that - Master in full health, back at the helm of everything. Now, though, he wants him to wither away to nothing, wants to watch as he takes his final breath, see the light in his eyes fade when he drives that fucking dagger of Rikiya’s through his chest. He’s not sure who he hates more, if he’s honest. Himself for being stupid enough to think that someone like Master could ever care for him beyond his use and value, or Master for being the common denominator of all his torment and suffering.

He’s had plenty of time to reflect as of late, if nothing else. The hours he’d planned to spend with you are now filled with recounting every miserable detail of both of his lives, and each monumental disaster can be traced back to Master in some way. The hatred his father had for him, that fateful day at his family home, the transformation into the monster he is now, the loss of his literal soulmate that saw past all that and still somehow wanted him anyway, the fucked up reality he’s being forced to live in now, it all leads back to Master. Tomura has never thought of himself as stupid by any means, but goddamn does he feel like a fucking fool for not piecing it all together sooner.

Maybe if his childhood hadn’t been such a fucking tragedy, maybe if he’d had the luxury of growing up normal, he wouldn’t have lept into the arms of the first stranger that showed him any modicum of sympathy. Maybe he would’ve seen through Master’s bullshit from the very beginning when he’d come up to him on the streets that day instead of devoting his life to him. Maybe he could’ve been happy, grew up a normal human boy with a normal human childhood. 

But then he would’ve never met you, would’ve never known there was someone out there so perfectly made for him. He’d meant it when he’d told you all his suffering had been worth it because you were waiting for him at the end of it all. Tomura would have never imagined there was an end waiting for the both of you too when he’d said that. Now all he has are fucking maybes and what-ifs and a constant agony that follows him wherever he goes because you’re not there to help chase his demons away anymore.

“This isn’t enough. We’ll have to go back to picking through the crowd or go outside the city in pairs.”

The conversation that’s apparently still happening around him drags him out of his inner torment long enough to remember he’s supposed to be listening. That was Jin, Tomura thinks. Or maybe it was Atushiro. It all sounds the same to him now.

“Here is too risky. The investigation into all the missing persons is still active. We’ll have to travel. It’ll be inconvenient, but we can make it work for now.”

For now.

As if the situation will ever get better than it is at present.

The discussion continues, a distant hum in his ears, but Tomura’s had enough. They didn’t have to drag him out of his room for this, and he’d be pissed about it if he had it in him. He stands abruptly from the bar stool, the conversation halting immediately. The way they all stare at him like he’s a wounded animal makes him want to crawl out of his fucking skin. “One of you can have mine.” That’s as good of a farewell as they get before he’s stalking off to the door, their gazes trailing after him. He can’t find it in himself to give a damn.

The only thing that stops him is the sound of hands slamming down on the bar, the faintest splintering of wood beneath them. “You have to drink it, you fucking idiot. How long are you planning to keep up this woe is me bullshit, anyway?” Any other time, Tomura would flip his shit if someone talked to him like that, but it seems even Dabi can’t get a rise out of him anymore. He ignores him like he’s ignored everything else as of late, too numb to entertain the attempt at goading.

He’s almost to the door, finally on the cusp of miserable solitude again when a hand clamps down on his shoulder, hard enough to bruise if it was possible. Dabi spins him around, and he lets him, too checked out to care. Tomura stares at him, but he doesn’t see him, not really. He doesn’t see much of anything anymore other than your face when he closes his eyes. “It’s been two goddamn months. We’re all fucking sick of this. You left her. You made your choice, so either learn how to live with it or fucking fix it instead of wasting away to nothing, goddamn it!” Two months? Is that all? It feels like it’s been at least two years.

Tomura’s vision focuses for the first time in what feels like forever, and despite how harsh Dabi’s words are, there’s concern in his expression, something Tomura doesn’t think he’s ever seen on his stupid fucked up face before. There’s a flicker of something in the emptiness then, an anguish he’s worked hard and ultimately failed to bury, and once it fully surfaces, he can’t shove it away. It must show on his face because Dabi’s grip on his shoulder loosens, his brows pinching together.

“You think I don’t know that?” he murmurs, his voice raspy with disuse, so quiet and pained he hardly recognizes it as his. The image of your face before he’d walked through your door seared into his memory is reminder enough of what he’d done, not to mention the constant flow of your emotions through the goddamn bond, the ever-present reminder that his other half is gone and half of him is gone with it. Dabi’s hand drops from his shoulder entirely then, and Tomura almost wishes he’d kept it there. He may collapse without it. “You think I haven’t tried?” His voice raises with each word, his tone almost hysterical by the end. “Do you think I want to feel like this all the fucking time?”

Toga appears beside him then, or maybe she’d already been there and he hadn’t noticed. “We know you have, Tomura. We know.” She wraps her arms around his middle, and if it was under any other circumstances, he would immediately recoil from the contact and push her away. Your touch is the only contact he wants, the only contact he can tolerate. Toga glares at Dabi, who has the grace to almost look apologetic as he steps back to give some space. “You can talk to us, you know. You don’t have to deal with this by yourself.” She sounds so worried for him, and for likely the first time since he’s known them, Tomura starts to realize maybe he does have people that give a shit about him other than you.

Well, likely not you anymore. That thought almost sends him to his knees, Toga’s arms around him the only thing keeping him upright.

You’re the only one he’s ever really opened up to in any meaningful capacity, and he doesn’t know if he can do that with anyone else, but fuck, if it’ll make this even the slightest bit easier to handle, maybe he could try. He nods once and forces the words out of his mouth before he has a chance to come to his senses and change his mind. “It feels like half of me has been ripped away. She was never even fully mine, and it still feels like this. And now she hates me, and I hate myself, and I don’t know how to fucking fix it.”

Toga guides him back to the line of bar stools as he speaks, her hold never faltering on him even after he sits down. It’s… comforting, something he’d often wished for from his own sister way back when but never got. Atsuhiro nods at him to continue, a sad, reassuring smile on his face, and Shuichi places a careful hand on his shoulder, squeezing once in what Tomura thinks is encouragement. Jin looks like he’s about to fucking cry or laugh or both, and Dabi keeps his distance, leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, but he stays, offering silent support in the only way he knows how.

Tomura looks down at the floor, unable to hold eye contact with any of them. This is already uncomfortable enough. He clears his throat, searching for the words, but when none come he just spits out barely coherent sentences and hopes they make sense. “I can’t explain it, but the thing that’s tying me to her is constantly clawing and tearing at me to try to get back to her. I can’t turn it off, can’t fucking think about anything else, can’t see anything but her face. I can’t focus on anything but her. Everything is just wrong, fucked up, and I’m in fucking agony all the time, like I’m burning alive from the inside out.”

He takes a deep breath, and the silence tells him it’s okay to continue. 

“I can feel her all the time, all her emotions, everything. She’s always there, all around me. I don’t think she knows, and I could block it if I wanted to, but it’s the only thing I have left of her. The only reassurance I have that she’s still out there.” He knows it’d be best for him to shut you out, silence the constant flow of your emotions and shut off the warmth of your presence in his mind, but your scent had faded entirely from his room and his car weeks ago, and he has to have something, anything to get him through this.

If torturing himself like this is the only way he can still have a part of you, so be it, even if it’s selfish and wrong to have you without your knowledge. He thinks it’s fair, at least, that you get to torture him in some way even if you don’t know.

“I’m always so fucking exhausted from the constant effort of not letting her feel me because I don’t want her to know how fucked up I am over it. She can’t know. I need her to think that I don’t care, that I don’t want her. And it’s so fucking stupid how easily she believed me. As if everything I ever said and did for her never happened. Things I could never say to anyone else.”

Tomura’s voice breaks on the last word, and he’d throw himself out a seven story window from the embarrassment if he had it in himself to give a shit. You really had believed him almost immediately. He’s not sure if he’s more angry or hurt about that. How could you ever think that he doesn’t want you? Doesn’t need you? He’d made it obvious enough that you were his reason for breathing, hadn’t he? Sure, he’s not great with words, but fuck, he’d tried so hard to be good for you in the only ways he knew how.

It’s laughable, really, that someone as perfect as you could ever believe someone like him is anything but lucky to have you. You really must think the worst of him to have been able to think everything he’s said and done for you was an act, that it meant nothing. He wishes he could tell you that you’re the only one that will ever get to see that side of him, the side of him made just for you. Even now, he’s doing what he can in a sad attempt to atone for what he’s done, but the money and the dreams are nowhere near as much as you deserve. He’d give you the entire fucking world if he could, give you everything you want and more, give you the love everyone else in your life failed to show you.

He never thought he’d be capable of love, of feeling it or giving it, but fuck, could he love you enough to make you forget about all the useless idiots that came before him.

Tomura’s chest heaves, the rapid flow of words drying up on his tongue, nothing but the bitter taste of resentment and misery left. What else is there to say, anyway? They’d never understand, not really. Not unless they experience it for themselves, and he’s not sure he’d wish this upon anyone. Well, maybe Master.

The room is uncomfortably quiet and still in the aftermath, like they’re waiting to see if he’s finished or trying to figure out what to say to all of that. He doesn’t know; he’s still too much of a goddamn coward to look at any of them. As much as he doesn’t want to, he has to admit that getting all that off his chest helped ease the weight, even if just a little bit.

Toga’s arms tighten around him, and only then does he realize she’d kept them there the entire time. He still doesn’t push her away. Her voice is quiet when she breaks the silence, softer than he thinks he’s ever heard it. “Why do this then, Tomura? If this is so hard for you, why leave her in the first place?” He freezes, any weight that had been eased immediately crashing back down on him. He naively hadn’t expected that question, hadn’t planned on explaining that particular problem. It’s not like any of them could fix it.

Still, the words leave him without his permission. “Master. He knows about her. Knows what she is to me. I don’t know if Kurogiri told him, or if he just knew somehow.” Shuichi’s fingers flex where they still rest on Tomura’s shoulder, and Atsuhiro’s reassuring expression shudders into a scowl. It’s jarring, to see an expression like that on his face. Tomura can’t remember the last time he’d looked anything but kind and approachable.

“Okaaaay… So? He was bound to find out about her eventually, right?” Jin sounds confused enough that Tomura doesn’t immediately snarl at him out of frustration. Instead, he sighs heavily and runs a hand down his face. “He said something to me about her, said it in a way that I knew it was a threat. I’ve known him long enough to know what he meant. He views her as a liability to me, and thus to him. And you know he doesn’t tolerate liabilities.” Tomura spits the last word, venomous and acidic. 

There’s a cold, hostile shift in the room once that detail is revealed; collective glances towards the door that leads to the hallway, stiffening of spines, narrowing of eyes. Tomura watches it happen in real time, yet he still can’t quite believe the way everyone reacts. It seems he’s not the only one that had grown fond of you over the time you'd spent here. He’s not sure how to feel about that, but his ingrained possessiveness aside, he thinks he’s… grateful. Relieved, knowing that you have more than just him watching out for you, even if he’s all you’d ever need.

He’s just about to tell them so, the disgusting, sappy words about to spill out of his parted lips, but he doesn’t quite get the chance.

“You’re an even bigger dumbass than I thought.”

All heads turn to Dabi, who’s still posted up against the wall, his expression bored but his tone resolute. Tomura had forgotten he was even there. Toga looks like she’s about to yell at him, chastise him for being a dick yet again, but he continues before she gets the chance. “You have five people right in front of your fucked up face who’d lay their lives on the line for you. Who have done exactly that several times. You’re an idiot if you think that doesn’t extend to her now, too.” 

What had Tomura thought earlier? That maybe he had people other than you that give a shit about him?

Yeah, there’s no maybe about it anymore.

Everyone’s staring at Dabi like he’s grown a second head, but Tomura looks at him like he’s finally starting to understand him, like maybe they can find some kind of common ground after all. When Dabi glances his way, there’s reassurance in his eyes, hidden beneath the smug confidence he always seems to carry so effortlessly. “What? You really think we’d let that shriveled up fuck get his hands on her after you finally became something more than an edgy incel? Get real.” There’s a chorus of agreement that follows, and for the first time, someone other than you makes Tomura realize being loved wouldn’t be all that bad.

Dabi nods at him once, a half smirk on his stupid, patchy face. “Quit sitting there staring at us like the sorry asshole we all know you are and go fix your fuck up.” That’s the final push Tomura needs to go do just that, and he’s down the stairs and out the door before he has a chance to reconsider.

***

The light is off in your window and has been for the last twenty minutes he’s been standing out here in the snow like a fucking creep. Tomura’s not even sure if you’re home, and if you are, he’s sure as hell not sure of what to say to you. It’s not that late, just shy of 9pm, but maybe you’re already asleep for the night. He’s been thinking of all the possible scenarios, running through them all in excruciating detail; you slamming the door in his face or not answering it at all, you yelling obscenities at him, maybe slapping him too, or worst of all, you stumbling down the street with someone else, laughing and smiling as you huddle against their side for warmth.

That one forces a visceral reaction so strong that he has to lean against the wall and count to one hundred in his head to stop himself from nose diving off the nearest cliff. As much as he likes to think he’d murder any worthless excuse of a man brave enough to take you home, he knows deep down that he wouldn’t. Not if he knew you were happy and taken care of, no matter how much it would likely literally and figuratively kill him. That’s all he wants for you, even if he’s not the one to give that to you.

He’s just about psyched himself out enough to turn the fuck around and leave, resign himself to the miserable state of existence he’s in now, when a light flickers on. Tomura can make out the vague outline of a shadow crossing through what he remembers as your living room behind the curtain - just one, thank Christ - and then it passes through again a few moments later. So, you’re home, and hopefully alone. That’s good. Still, he can’t quite get his feet to move just yet, too overwhelmed by something as little as your shadow, too overcome with the knowledge that the only thing separating him from you is a cracked brick wall and a few flights of stairs.

He’d been in this same spot weeks ago, a couple nights after he left you. He’d told himself it was only to make sure you were safe and then he’d go, but then the sun was coming up over the horizon and he realized he’d been out there all night. It wasn’t until the early risers started to make their way out onto the street that he’d finally left and gone home. Well, maybe not home, because his home is tucked away in a little apartment on the outside of the city with all her endearingly nerdy figurines and tastes that match his perfectly.

The warmth that floods him when he thinks of you like that is enough to thaw his frozen limbs, the reassurance he needs to make his way inside and climb the stairs slowly, one at a time. It’s silent and still on the other side of your door, so quiet he almost second guesses what he’d seen through your window. It’s been more than enough days since he last fed - he thinks it’s maybe been about twenty-three now, give or take, a new record he didn’t know was possible - so it’s not exactly out of the realm of possibility that he’s hallucinating or some shit. He really should’ve had that bag of O negative before he came here so he could be stronger both mentally and physically, but that was pretty fucking low on his list of priorities.

The only way he knows what he saw was real is the bizarre sensation running up and down his body, the barely there pulses of electricity flowing through his nerve endings that only show when you’re nearby. Mine, mine, mine. That animal side of his brain resurfaces then, back with a vengeance, stronger now that he’s been away from you for so long. Fuck, that’s going to be an issue. He’s transported back to that night all those weeks ago, when you’d danced on him and he’d struggled so hard to keep himself from sinking his teeth in you. That had taken all the self restraint he’d had, and he’d been fully fed and satiated then. Tomura doesn’t know how he’s going to make it through this now, starved of not just blood but you, too.

He thinks maybe he should leave, come back and do this another day when he’s more centered, but if he goes now he’s not sure he’ll come back. After another ten minutes of deliberating and a suspicious glance from a passing neighbor, he knocks before he has the chance to change his mind. It’s silent long enough that he thinks maybe you didn’t hear it, and he’s about to knock again when he makes out the distant sound of feet shuffling across carpet. 

He can feel you then, the half of him that hasn’t been shredded to pieces screaming and fighting to get to you, each footstep magnifying it the closer you get to the door. If his heart functioned, it’d be galloping, his hands shaking from the effort of remaining still and composed. There’s a moment of silence, long and drawn out, but he knows you’re there, nothing but two inches of flimsy wood keeping you from him. Tomura thinks maybe the scenario where you simply don’t answer the door is quickly becoming a devastating reality, but then it creaks open halfway, and the scent of you that he’s craved so fucking terribly ever since it faded from his bedsheets bombards him so fiercely he almost falls to his knees.

“Why are you here.” It’s not phrased as a question, just a hollow statement that cleaves his chest down the middle, but your voice is still music to his ears all the same. Somehow, he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed it until now, even with how devoid of emotion you sound. He doesn’t realize he hasn’t replied yet until you’re moving to slam the door in his face, far too enamored by the sliver of your face he can see to say anything coherent, and the toe of his boot just barely wedges in the crack on time to stop it from closing entirely.

“Fuck, wait-” You huff and make a show of trying to shut the door anyway, but his foot doesn’t budge, even when the pressure starts to toe the line of uncomfortable. “Why are you here,” you repeat, your tone a little more alive and a lot more angry. Tomura decides then that he’ll take that over the emptiness any day. He flounders, lost for words in the one moment he’s likely ever needed them the most, stammering through whatever first comes to mind. “I- Shit. Um. I wanted to see you.” He cringes at his eloquence or lackthereof, and you scoff, the half of your face that’s visible to him twisting into a sardonic smile.

Tomura hates you looking at him like that almost as much as he hates himself, but even with an expression like that, you’re still so fucking beautiful. “Well, it’s not mutual.” The coldness of your response stuns him enough that you’re able to kick his foot out of the way, the door slamming shut a second afterward. “Wait!” He’s painfully aware of how desperate and frantic he sounds, but he can be embarrassed about that later. You haven’t walked away yet; there’s no sound of retreating footsteps, and he can hear the sound of you breathing, so he knows you’re listening despite pretending otherwise.

Tomura has never begged for anything, not even his father’s attention, but he’ll get on his goddamn knees for you right now if it means you’ll hear him out. You’re the only one he’ll ever be pathetic for. He places his hand on the door and leans his forehead against it, and he swears he can almost feel you beneath his palm, his body alive and responsive even with two inches of wood between you.

“I know you’re still there,” he chances, testing the waters, and when you still don’t walk away, he continues. “I know I said some fucked up things to you, and I know you told me not to come back. You don’t owe me anything, but I just- Let me try to explain. Please.” There’s a little hitch in your breath, the only certainty he has that you are in fact listening, a stupid fucking ember of hope sparking in his chest. “Please,” he repeats, a tired, fragile plea carried on little more than a whisper.

The silence that follows is deafening, and it’s then that it really begins to dawn on him that he may have to live out however many goddamn centuries he has left with the knowledge that he’d ruined his only opportunity to have the happiness he’d spent his entire childhood dreaming about. But then you surprise him, as always, the door flying open so fast he has to catch himself on the frame to save himself from falling face first in your entryway. Maybe he’d be a little irritated by that if he wasn’t so in shock that you’re voluntarily letting him in. 

You don’t bother saying anything, or even looking at him, and he watches as you turn on your heel and stalk off deeper into your apartment. Tomura hesitates before he follows you inside, carefully shutting and locking the door behind him. He kicks his boots off, the memory of the last time he’d done exactly that sending a sharp pain lancing through his chest. His gaze finds the spot on the floor where he’d tracked rainwater in that day, and even though he knows it’s long since dried up, he swears he can still see it as clear as if it was still there.

You’re settled on the couch by the time he works up the nerve to follow after you, and you’re very pointedly looking anywhere but at him. The overwhelming scent of you clings to every surface, simultaneously calming him and sending him into a fucking spiral. You glance at him, your eyes burning with enough fire to scald him, and then your gaze flicks to the window he’d been staring up at a mere half hour ago. You’ve opened the curtain sometime between when he went inside and knocked on the door, the city lights a distant glow outside the glass.

It doesn’t feel right to sit next to you despite how badly he wants to, so he opts for the armchair in the corner instead, giving you as much space as he’s currently willing to allow. Tomura locks all his muscles to keep himself in place, the agony of denying his inhuman instincts the one thing they crave more than blood turning this into a dangerous assessment of just how good his self control really is. He takes a moment to just look at you, drink in the sight of you in hopes of calming his nerves and quieting his stupid fucking brain.

You look… tired. Exhausted. He knows you’ve been sleeping because he’s been there in your mind every night while you’re unconscious, but you still look as worn out as he feels. There are dark circles beneath your eyes, a droop in your shoulders like you’re trying to close in on yourself. A frown tugs at his lips; had he done this to you? He’d always thought things would be different for you, that the bond wouldn’t affect you anywhere near as much as it does him, but seeing you like this compared to how you were two months ago makes him think that maybe he was wrong.

Selfishly, that little ember of hope burns a little brighter. If his absence affected you like this, maybe you did miss him after all. Maybe he still means at least half as much to you as you do to him even after what he’d done. Maybe there’s still a chance that he can fix this somehow. His gaze travels over the rest of you, from the tattered Deftones shirt swallowing your body that had once been his to the long expanse of your bare legs tucked up next to you. He can hear the imperceptible sound of wood splintering, and only then does he realize he’s gripping the armrests of the chair far too hard.

He needs to speak, needs to do something to break this silence before he does something out of his control that he’ll regret more than leaving you. “Thank you.” Just two simple words, but Tomura hopes you can hear the weight in them, all the things he wants to say but can’t yet. You just nod stiffly, and then you finally look at him, the full force of your beauty disarming him entirely. Even with the exhaustion lining your features, you take his fucking breath away. Your expression is expectant, if not a little impatient, and he figures he’s on borrowed time.

So, he does what he does best these days; opens his mouth, and hopes whatever comes out makes sense.

***

“I need you to know that I didn’t mean anything I said. I had to say those things to you if I had any hope of leaving.”

Your immediate reaction is to laugh, or cry, or maybe both. Instead, you just scoff and roll your eyes before looking away from him again. It’s hard enough to have him in your apartment after you’d finally started to accept that he wasn’t coming back, that things were actually over between you two. You can’t bring yourself to look at him on top of that, not if you have any hope of getting out of this conversation without crying in front of him.

You can feel Tomura’s gaze burning into your side profile, the weight of it begging you to look at him, but you know if you do you’ll forgive him right away, and he doesn’t deserve that. You’re as weak as ever, it seems. “Whether you believe me or not, it’s the truth. I know you. I had to say what I did because if I told you the truth you would’ve stayed, would’ve tried to find a solution. I was trying to protect you.” He sounds honest, regretful, maybe a little broken. It makes it hard to stay pissed at him, but it doesn’t erase the hurt you’ve felt for months.

“Shouldn’t that have been for me to decide? If I wanted to be protected or not?” The words are barely more than a whisper, but it’s all you can manage right now, and you know he can hear you anyway with his stupid freak hearing. He shifts out of the corner of your eye, leaning closer to you like he wants nothing more than to reach out, and you’re suddenly grateful for the coffee table wedged between you two. You couldn’t handle it if he touched you, not right now.

“Yes. It should’ve. But I was just doing what I thought was best at the time.” Irritation starts to simmer inside you then; all of this hurt because he acted on his own volition without even fucking telling you what was going on. The insecurities, the second guessing, trying to cope with the fact that he didn’t want you anymore, all of it could’ve been avoided if he’d just fucking talked to you first. You turn to glare at him, choosing to ignore the way he’s already staring at you like you single-handedly put the stars in the sky.

“So, you thought it would be best to make me think you wanted nothing to do with me anymore, that I’m nothing but a problem you didn’t want, instead of fucking communicating with me?” Tomura’s lips part, like he’s somehow surprised by your acidity. He stammers for a second, and you can see the moment his demeanor shifts from vulnerable to angry in response to your tone. “I was doing it to protect you. You have no fucking idea what’s out there, who’s out there. If I have to be a little mean to you to keep you safe, then I’ll fucking do it,” he snaps, his voice raising a little more with each word until he’s nearly yelling by the end.

You shoot up from your place on the couch, the anger boiling over making it too hard to sit any longer. “Then tell me, explain it to me! All you had to do was talk to me! We could’ve figured it out instead of you being a fucking prick about everything!” Tomura follows suit, rising from the chair so fast it almost topples over behind him. You track him with your eyes as he circles around the coffee table, coming to an abrupt stop in front of you. You have to tilt your head back to level him with your glare, and he mirrors your expression, his eyes narrowed to slits, the crimson of his irises burning right through you.

“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. You don’t know how to take no for a fucking answer even when it’s in your best interest. You wouldn’t have let me leave if I didn’t hurt your goddamn feelings first,” he spits, and you reel back a step, stunned. You can tell he regrets it immediately by the softening of his eyes, the way his fingers twitch to reach out to you, the half step he takes to follow you. “Don’t,” you hiss, and he listens, his fingers instead going up to claw at his neck. There’s a pang in your chest from the sight, the image of him doing that exact thing in that sad family photo you’d found in his drawer working to soften your anger.

In its absence, you feel a bone-deep exhaustion, a resigned kind of sadness that’s lingered since he walked out your door that day. You don’t want to fight with him anymore, not when none of it really matters now anyway. “It doesn’t matter. It’s for the best. You were right when you said there’s been nothing but problems since we met.” He looks panicked then, his eyes wide, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Tomura goes to step towards you again, and you step back, retreating and following until the small of your back hits the kitchen counter and you have nowhere left to go.

He doesn’t touch you, just keeps you cornered there, but you can tell how badly he wants to, how hard he’s fighting to refrain from doing so. “Don’t say that,” he breathes, and you almost laugh; he’d said the same exact thing to you, hadn’t he? A sad little smile curves up your lips, one that’s meant to be resolute but likely fails. “It’s true, Tomura. You said it yourself. You didn’t ask for any of this.” And in a way, you didn’t either. You didn’t ask to be someone’s mythical soulmate, didn’t ask to get tied up with someone so volatile, so broken. But fuck, do you love him all the same despite all that.

That’s why it’s best to just let him go, tell him to leave and not come back, for real this time.

***

“You should go, Tomura.”

No, no, no.

Mine, mine, mine.

How has he managed to fuck up again, and even worse this time? Christ, all he does is ruin things.

A tremor runs through him when you say his name, and he’ll be damned if it’s the last time he ever hears it fall from your lips. “No.” It comes out harsher than he intended, more firm than he would’ve liked, but goddamn it he’s not leaving until he fixes this like he came here to do in the first place. He’s not walking back out that door unless you’re his, unless you’re coming with him, or he’s got a key to come back whenever he damn well pleases. “No,” he repeats, less abrasive but just as firm. You stare up at him in surprise with those beautiful, mesmerizing eyes, and in that moment he’s yours, and you’re his, and none of the other bullshit fucking matters to him anymore.

All caution gets thrown out the window, and then his hands are cupping your cheeks, and yours are coming up to close around his wrists, but you don’t try to pry him off you. “I came here to fix my fuck up, and so far I’ve only made it worse, but I’m not leaving until you know everything at the very least. Then you can decide if you want me to go.” Tomura wants to add that if you still want him to leave at that point, he will, but he knows he’d be lying, and he’s already lied to you enough. Instead, he gazes down at you, hoping everything he feels for you is reflected in his eyes. He doesn’t let go of you until you nod as much as his grip on your face allows, and it takes all his strength to remove his hands from you, to step back and away to give you some space.

You look a little dazed, but at least you’re listening. He figures it’s best to just dive right in and quit beating around the fucking bush, to get past this hurdle between you as quickly as possible. “My Master- you know him as our boss, at least that’s what I think you called him. He raised me, was my father figure for most intents and purposes. He made me into what I am when I was just a child, found me wandering on the street after… When I became an orphan. He told me he could help me, that he could give me the life I didn’t get from my family, and I believed him. I didn’t question how he knew what my home life was like because he was the first person to ever show me what I believed was concern and compassion at the time.”

Tomura pauses to make sure you’re following, and when you nod for him to continue, he does. “I never knew any better, didn’t know the difference between care and exploitation. I devoted my life to him, gave him my life when the time came and traded it for what I am now. I thought it meant I was special, that he wanted me to become like him because he viewed me as his son. I realize now how wrong I was about that. It just took all of this to realize it.” He’s aware of how bitter he sounds, how his hands are trembling with barely controlled rage, but you don’t seem scared. If anything, you look concerned, something he does not and never will deserve from you.

“I remember my turning so vividly. It was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced, like the culmination of all my father’s beatings happening at once. Master thought it was as difficult as it was because I was so young, my body still small and fragile. He told me I survived the transformation because I was strong, because it was who I was meant to be, but looking back on it now, he would’ve just found a replacement if I had died in the process. Sometimes I wish I did.” Tomura feels warmth then, the ghost of it skating across the back of his hand, and he realizes your fingers are just barely brushing over his skin. He turns his palm and slides his fingers through yours, gripping your hand tightly for the reassurance he needs to get through this.

“After I stepped into my new life, things changed. He no longer tolerated any weakness from me, any mention of my family, of my mother. He would drive iron nails through my fingertips each time I was weak, and he’d leave them there until he felt I had apologized sufficiently enough. Anytime I fucked something up or didn’t carry through one of his plans exactly how he wanted, he’d lash my back with iron chains. You’ve felt the scars for yourself.” You look sick and angry, and Tomura can no longer look at you, not when he’s this vulnerable.

He looks past you instead, his gaze focused on a tiny chip in the paint on your kitchen wall. “I thought it was justified. He’d given me everything, so being perfect for him was the least I could do. Over time, I got better, and as I got better, the things he had me do got worse. I’ll spare you the details, but I meant it when I told you I’ve killed more people than I can count and wronged just as many. I’ve been alive for a long time, and when time is all you have, you don’t realize how much those things add up.” Tomura figures that will be the moment, the deciding factor that makes you leave him, but your grip on his hand only tightens.

His brave, stupid, perfect girl.

“His health began to decline over the years, a symptom of what we are. It’s a misconception in books and movies that we don’t age, but we do, degrading slowly and excruciatingly bit by bit and cell by cell. Master has been alive for centuries, and when it caught up to him, it was brutal. I remember being scared at the time, terrified for the first time in what felt like ages. Like I said, I viewed him as my father, and I was afraid of what my life would look like without him. That was around the time Kurogiri came along, there to help guide me in Master’s absence. Not long after that, operations grew, and then the others came along one by one.”

He’s skipping a lot of details, but most of them are irrelevant right now, and he doesn’t want to overwhelm you more than he likely already is. Tomura wants to get through this as quickly as possible, and if you stick around, he’ll tell you more stories later on if you decide you want to hear them. “I never really knew what exactly it was he was doing behind the scenes. I only oversaw the simpler things like that meeting you saw with Rikiya. I never knew the specifics, or just how bad things are. I knew he harvested other cryptids, but I never thought it was as depraved as it actually is.” Your grip loosens on his hand, and he chances a glance at you, immediately regretting bringing this up when he sees how ashen your face has become.

But you have to know this, have to know all the ugly truths if there’s any hope left for you two. “I officially took over Rikiya’s operation the night that I dropped you off here. That was the night everything really fell apart. I left because I had a meeting with Master, and I thought it was to discuss what we were going to do with Rikiya after that fight in the bar. I was blindsided when he told me I’d be taking over the whole thing. And… it’s awful, the things I’ve seen, even by my standards. They find cryptids from all over the world, powerful beings like werewolves and fae, and bring them here to dissect them for research, all of it focused on how to bring Master to full health and make him immortal. They harvest their blood for Master to consume, to keep him alive and stable as he is now, and they flay them to try to understand what pieces they’re missing for immortality to be possible.”

Tomura would vomit all over your floor if it was possible. Reliving everything he’s been forced to witness over the last two months, having to lay it all out for you like this, it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done aside from leaving you. “I don’t know what to do to stop it. I don’t think there’s anything I can do. As weak as he is right now, Master is likely the most powerful being to walk among us, and he has too many connections to people even worse than him to count. That’s why I felt like I had to leave you, why I hurt you to keep you from asking questions. He knows about you. He threatened me with you because he thinks you’re a liability, and the less you know, the better. I did what I thought was best at the time to keep you safe from him because protecting you is all I fucking care about.”

His voice breaks on the last word, the lump forming in his throat nearly suffocating. Christ, if only Master could see him now. “I can’t- I don’t understand why you believed me so easily. I know I’m not good with my words, my actions, any of this, but for you to believe me right away when I told you I didn’t want you… I don’t understand it. I’ve told you so many times that you’re everything, that you’re my reason for breathing. Said so many things I could never say to anyone else, and I meant all of it.” Tomura looks at you then, at your beautiful, tear-stained face, and he hopes you can find it in yourself to believe this as easily as you’d believed his lies.

He reaches up to swipe his thumbs under your eyes, but it does little to stop the tears still falling from them. “Please don’t cry for me. I don’t deserve it. Don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, and it only seems to make you cry harder. “I ruin everything I touch, and I don’t want to ruin you, too. But I- Fuck. I can’t be without you. The bond plays a part, sure, but even without it, I… I know I would come to love you regardless eventually. Would still end up needing you as much as I do now.” There. He’d finally said it, without necessarily saying it, but that’s as close as he can get to telling you he loves you right now. He just hopes it’s enough for now.

You don’t say anything for the longest time, just stare up at him with wide, wet eyes. Tomura is starting to think you won’t say anything at all, that he’s sent you into shock or disgusted you too much to come back from all this, but then you speak, so soft and quiet he’d miss it if not for his hearing.

***

“Then ruin me.”

He stares down at you like you’ve stunned him, his hands falling away from where they’d been uselessly brushing away your tears. “What?” He sounds as winded as he looks, as winded as you feel after all of that. You don’t know what you’d been expecting when he showed up here tonight, but it sure as hell wasn’t that. It’s a lot of information for you to work through, but you’re too mentally exhausted to process it all right now, and what matters to you the most is he’s trying. Tomura dumped the TLDR version of his life story in the middle of your kitchen, and somehow in your fucked up brain, that makes it easy to forgive him for everything else.

You can figure out the rest later.

“If you ruin everything you touch, then ruin me. I don’t care.” He blinks slowly, once, twice, three times, like he’s trying to determine if he’s imagining this or not. When you don’t falter or look away from him, he inhales a shaky breath, his entire body relaxing like he’s been holding the weight of the world since he’s been gone. “I won’t ruin you. I can’t. But if you mean that, if you don’t want me to leave after everything I just told you, you’ll be stuck with me forever. I will not let you go ever again. It won’t be possible for me, and I can’t guarantee I could change that if you ever changed your mind.”

Maybe you should think about it harder, and maybe you shouldn’t make this heavy of a decision while emotions are running as high as they are, but you’ve gone through enough of your life without happiness. If this is the form that it’s finally chosen to come to you, if dealing with Tomura’s bad times means you get to have his good times, too, well, it’s the easiest fucking decision you’ve ever made. You two can deal with the rest as it comes.

“Then don’t let me go. I’m yours, Tomura. Have been since the night we met. All that’s left now is for you to finalize that the way only you can.” He inhales sharply, and there’s a split second of hesitation on his end, for your sake and not his. But then his pupils dilate, and he’s on you so fast you’re forced back against the kitchen counter. Maybe it’d hurt a little if it didn’t feel so good. His hands are everywhere, running all along your body like he can’t figure out where to start, and his mouth is moving against yours so fervently it’s hard to keep up.

When your tongue finds his, he groans into your mouth, and when your fingers knot into his hair, his hands find the backs of your thighs to lift you onto the kitchen counter. The hem of your - his - shirt rides up your hips, and Tomura forces his way between your legs, his right hand digging into the bare skin of your thigh while his left tangles into the hair at the nape of your neck. He keeps your head tilted back for him far enough that it toes the line of uncomfortable, but when his mouth leaves yours and he starts biting and sucking along your throat, it’s hard to care.

He’s careful to not break skin, not yet, and you tremble in anticipation for that moment to come. You want to ask him what it’ll feel like, if it’ll hurt, but your brain is devoid of any coherent thoughts, anything that’s not him and the feeling of him against you. The skin of your neck stings, but he laves over each bruise and mark with his tongue to soothe the ache. “Tomura, please,” you gasp out, and you can feel the growl vibrating in his chest more than you hear it. When he pulls back to look down at you, you don’t think he’s fully present anymore.

You’ve only seen the inhuman part of him a couple of times, but never directed at you. Right now, though, the black of his pupils nearly eclipses the crimson of his irises. His eyes are glazed over like he’s in a trance, not fully coherent, and the raw hunger burning in his eyes should scare you, but it only makes you want him more. “Please,” you repeat, fully aware of how needy you sound but not caring in the slightest. His hands are back on your thighs in a millisecond, and he’s hoisting you up and carrying you through your apartment to your bedroom faster than your brain can keep up.

You’re thrown on your bed carelessly, the little ‘oof’ that leaves you immediately silenced by his lips and tongue. Tomura’s teeth catch your bottom lip, maybe by accident, you aren’t sure, but this time it draws blood. He freezes, and for the first time, you feel a tremor of fear run through you. You’ve never seen how he reacts to blood, and for all you know he’s about to devour you whole, unable to help himself. When he leans away, the look he gives you tells you he’s about to do just that, just not in the way you’d been afraid of.

He catches the pinprick of blood on his thumb, holds your eyes as he brings it to his lips, keeps you pinned there with his gaze alone as he slowly licks it off. Tomura’s eyes slip closed, and he moans, a shiver running through his entire body. When they open again, they’re blazing, and the razor sharp smile he gives you is enough to know he’s likely going to ruin you after all. “Take that off.” His voice is dark, dangerous, unlike you’ve ever heard it before. It’s not a suggestion or a request, it’s a demand, one you’re quick to obey.

He hardly allows you enough room to sit up and slip the shirt over your head, and once it’s gone, you’re left bare before him aside from the drenched panties clinging to your core. He sits back on his heels, simply stares at you for what feels like hours, his fingertips trailing featherlight down your sternum, back and forth between your hip bones, back up to circle each of your nipples in turn. You’re writhing beneath him already and he’s barely even fucking touched you yet.

“Tomura,” you whine, breathy and desperate. He hushes you by tapping his thumb against your lips, and you don’t realize what he wants until he narrows his eyes at you in warning. His thumb slides in after your lips part for him, and you suck on impulse, a wicked smile stretching across his face. “Good girl. So fucking perfect, so obedient. My beautiful, perfect girl.” You can’t speak around his thumb caressing your tongue, so you nod frantically, hoping to please and appease him. He takes mercy on you, removes his thumb with a gentle tap on your cheek, and trails his fingers all the way down between your legs.

He gives you no warning before he’s circling your clit over the wet fabric of your panties, and your back arches off the bed, your hips jerking from the unexpected contact. “So wet already. So good for me.” His voice is at once mean and fond, both sides of him warring with each other for the lead, and the praise coupled with his steady fingers on your clit tears a moan from your throat. “You can cum for me like this, can’t you? I know you can.” And he’s right; you’re already teetering on the edge, the thread already drawn tight, and it only takes a few more circles of his fingers to send you free falling.

You moan his name, and he groans, his fingers not stopping until your legs are trembling with the aftershocks. “See? I knew you could do it,” he coos, a cruel mockery of affection, and the underlying current in his tone lets you know he’s far from done with you. Tomura bites and licks his way down your stomach until he’s kneeling at the end of the bed, the dull sound of his knees hitting the floor hardly registering in your clouded brain. You don’t realize where he’s at until his fingers grip your thighs to tug you downward, a choked gasp leaving your lips from the sudden movement.

He laughs, husky and raspy, and then he’s snapping the fragile elastic waistband of your panties to toss them carelessly into the corner. “I hope you weren’t fond of those,” he sighs in mock concern, the only reprieve you get before his mouth is on you. A strangled moan rips from your throat, and he gives you no time to acclimate to his tongue on your swollen clit before he’s sinking two fingers into you, the overwhelming stimulation enough to make your hips buck away from him on impulse. Tomura holds you in place with an arm across your stomach, pinning you down so easily, the only option left to take everything he gives you.

“So fucking sweet,” he groans against your clit, his fingers moving in tandem with his tongue. “Missed this so much, missed you, missed this perfect fucking pussy.” He rambles barely coherent words against you between each pass of his tongue, and he may have only done this once before, but fuck, he remembered every little detail. His fingers curl just right, hitting that spot inside you each time so easily, his tongue abusing your overstimulated clit in a way that borders on painful. “My good fucking girl. You gonna cum again for me? Yeah, I know you will. Always so good for me.” 

You don’t want to, don’t think you can handle another one, but he’s not giving you a fucking choice. Your fingers tangle in his hair, either to pull him away or keep him held to you, you’re not sure. You lean up to look down at him, and the sight of him between your legs, his eyes burning with sin as he watches you, it’s enough to send you spiraling again. This orgasm slams into you harder than the first, bursts of color appearing behind your closed eyelids, and you think maybe this is it, this is how you die, because it’s too fucking much and somehow not enough at the same time.

You’re vaguely aware of his mouth leaving you, his fingers sliding out with an embarrassingly wet sound, and the faint sound of rustling fabric. You don’t open your eyes until you feel his weight on top of you, your mouth dropping open from the sight that greets you. His shirt is gone, nothing but a smooth expanse of pale skin in its place. You knew he was strong, lean, but Christ, he’s toned. Scars are scattered along his skin, some longer than others, some so small they’re hardly visible, but each one only makes you love him more.

He’s watching you carefully, gauging your reaction through whatever frenzy he’s been in this entire time, and when you meet his eyes, you hope he can see just how much you admire him. Your fingers trail along his skin, tracing over each scar, your lips caressing the ones your mouth can reach. “You’re perfect, Tomura. Everything I’ll ever want.” He shudders against you, and when he kisses you this time, it’s a lot less savage but just as heated. Your hands make quick work of the button of his jeans, the zipper following, and you’re doing the best you can to shove them down his hips in the position you’re in when he stops you. “Are you sure? Because if we do this, if it goes this far, I won’t be able to stop myself. I won’t be able to keep myself from solidifying the bond, not when I’m that… distracted. I might hurt you.” You think maybe this is the most lucid he’s been this entire time, a last ditch effort to pull himself out of the spiral before it completely drags him under.

The trembling in his hands and the muscle ticking in his locked jaw tells you it’s taking all the restraint he has, and that’s all you need to know this is the right decision. “I’m sure. Do it, Tomura. Put us both out of our misery.” And then he’s gone, the inhuman side of him completely taking over.

***

Tomura can’t remember taking off the rest of his clothes, or when he’d pinned your thighs up as far as they could go, or when he’d lined himself up with your entrance. His lucidity is coming and going, mostly going, and he’s so fucking scared that he’s going to hurt you, but you’ve given him the greenlight, the consent to do the one thing that’s been tormenting him since he fucking met you, and any control he had left evaporated the moment you’d said yes. Your scent is clouded all around him, your sweet taste lingering on his tongue, your body pliant and ready for him; how the fuck is he supposed to resist now?

He taps his cock against your puffy, swollen clit, admires the way your hole is glistening so prettily for him. He vaguely makes out the sound of you whining, and when his gaze travels to your face, any doubts he had left are gone. You’re staring at him with love in your eyes, devotion, admirance, all the things he’ll never deserve but will take gladly like the selfish creature he is. He leans down, presses one last lingering kiss to your lips, and then brings his mouth to your ear.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it feel so good, so good for my perfect girl.” His lips trail from your ear to your throat, all the way to your pulse point, the erratic thrumming that greets him enough to make his mouth water. He should’ve fed before he came here, should’ve prepared for this outcome, but it’s too fucking late now and he’ll just have to find it in himself to stop before he kills you. He presses a kiss there, and then he pushes in, and in, and in. You’re so fucking soaked for him that there’s hardly any resistance, and if you feel any discomfort, he can’t tell around the long, drawn out moan spilling beautifully from your lips.

And then the thread on his sanity snaps, and he can’t fucking take it anymore. His teeth sink home in your neck at the same time his cock sinks home inside you, and then everything is crystal clear in a way that it never has been before. The taste of your blood blooms on his tongue, sweeter than anything he’s ever experienced, and he knows this is the closest to Eden he’ll ever get. Everything aligns perfectly in that moment, all the pieces finally falling together. The bond that had been there this entire time snaps fully into place, the strength of it enough to disarm him. He thought he’d been able to feel you before, but Christ, he feels everything, every flicker of emotion, every thought, every hope and desire you’ve ever had, all the love you somehow feel for him.

Tomura sends everything he has back and then some, lets you feel it all, lets you see just how much he needs you, how lost he’s been the last two months without you. The taste of saline mixes in with the fragrant taste of your blood, and it’s then he realizes that you’re crying, hopes it’s because you’re as overwhelmed by this as he is and not because he’s hurting you. He draws out of you slowly, slides his cock back in just as carefully, relishes how your walls cling to him, how perfectly he fits inside you. Your blood trickles down his throat, and he takes in greedy mouthfuls of you as he finds a rhythm, his pace picking up the more his strength blooms with the essence of you.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs to keep you pinned beneath him, the animal part of his brain telling him to claim, claim, claim, and he knows he’s being rough with you but he can’t find it in himself to fucking stop. He doesn’t tear his mouth from your throat until he registers your hand weakly tapping against the side of his face, and even then, it takes all the self restraint he has to stop drinking, to stop consuming. Tomura pulls his face from your neck to look down at you, and even though he was far too close to killing you just now, you’re still staring up at him with watery eyes full of nothing but affection.

“I love you.”

He still doesn’t say it out loud, but he sends the thought to you down the bond, and he knows you hear it when you give him one of those beautiful smiles that he’d burn the entire world down for.

“I know. And I love you.”

His eyes burn, and his throat constricts, and he kisses you with everything he has to hide the emotion he knows is displayed on his face. His pace picks up, his hips slamming against yours with each thrust, and Tomura knows that this is it. This is home, everything he’s subconsciously been searching the entirety of both his lives for. His gravity shifts, his entire world narrowing down to the ethereal, angelic woman splayed out before him, and he knows he’d do anything, kill anyone, be anything to keep you safe, keep you his.

You spasm around him, and then you’re cumming for him for the third time tonight, a choked groan ripping from his throat when you squeeze around him. His forehead settles against yours, his hips stuttering as he meets you in the middle. His cock twitches when he cums, spilling inside you the same moment his words spill out of his mouth unbidden.

“I love you,” he whispers, so quiet he wonders if you heard him.

He gets his answer when he hears you whisper it back, the words breathed across his skin travelling straight to his dead heart.

note: can't tell you all enough how sorry I am that this took so long to post. I've been in college, and transitioning into a new job, as well as a few other things that were happening all at once. I'm happy to say that life will be mellowing out significantly from here onward, and I anticipate having a lot more free time after this upcoming week. I don't think I can convey in words how much I appreciate all the kind comments and asks, all the patience and love you've given me while I slowly chipped away on this chapter, and all the support you guys show me. couldn't do it without you, ily ❤︎ I hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you a lot sooner this time :)

i like vampire tomura bc that means he gets to live forever and never die and ill be his human mate who will keep him warm for eternity and be nice to him and brush his hair and save him from the horrors

tooooooommmmuuuuuuuurrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaa

taking a breather from studying and browsing tumblr for a treat only to be met with the sour reality of tomura’s scapegoat/sacrificial lamb fuckass FATE 💥

Prohero Tenko pulling a howl with you but instead he’s skipping through the sky with his air circle quirk as he holds you close

Prohero Tenko pulling a howl with you but instead he’s skipping through the sky with his air circle quirk as he holds you close

back at it again, viewing late nite tomura tellings ~ however lulled to ease, content, and a dash of happiness :}

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

the illusion of free will

people say shigaraki is responsible for the deaths he caused, and while i don’t completely deny that, it’s way more complicated than just “free will.” what people miss is that he was groomed from the age of five, when he was at his most vulnerable until he finally broke free from afo’s grasp. afo deliberately took him in at a point where he was completely dependent on others for guidance, then shaped him into the perfect successor.

to shigaraki, his master wasn’t just a villain, he was his savior, the only one who “understood” him, the only one who gave him a sense of purpose after the world abandoned him. and that’s exactly how manipulation works. afo didn’t just take him in, he rewired his entire mind, fed him lies, reinforced his hatred, and conditioned him to believe that destruction was his only salvation. shigaraki never had a chance to form his own worldview because afo made sure to mold it for him.

look at shigaraki’s reaction when he was separated from afo, it wasn’t just anger, it was pure desperation. that’s the reaction of someone who has been so deeply conditioned that he doesn’t know how to function outside of his abuser’s influence. shigaraki was entirely dependent on afo, and when you’re raised under constant manipulation, you don’t suddenly “wake up” and realize you’ve been controlled your whole life.

it doesn’t work that way. when he saw all might trying to save bakugo while attacking the league, he felt betrayed by the world all over again. to him, it was proof that heroes will never save people like him. but that idea wasn’t his, it was something afo planted in his mind for years, reinforcing it over and over until shigaraki believed it as an absolute truth. so when afo was no longer there, what was left? nothing but the doctrine his master forced onto him. if he wasn’t groomed, if he wasn’t brainwashed into thinking destruction was his only option, then he would have taken another path. but that was never an option for him because he never had the freedom to choose in the first place. as afo himself admitted, shigaraki never had free will. none of his choices were ever his own.

compare this to dabi and toga. they were abused, but they never had an outside force controlling them like afo did with shigaraki. they became villains on their own terms, dabi out of revenge, toga out of rejection from society. but shigaraki? his entire ideology was forced onto him. if afo had gotten to shoto instead, then shoto would have ended up just like shigaraki.

and here’s the worst part; nobody in the story even questions it. if horikoshi wanted us to humanize the villains, then he should have given them a humanizing death, something that forced people to acknowledge what they went through and how they ended up like this. but instead, nobody even stops to ask why afo had to groom a child into being his successor. nobody wonders why japan’s greatest villain was so reliant on manipulating a mentally ill, traumatized young man into doing his bidding. they just see shigaraki as a monster.

shigaraki never had a choice, but the world acts like he did.

Sippin on a smoothiezzzzzzzztomura would def like a sip

TOMURA SHIGARAKI in PARANORMAL LIBERATION WAR ARC

whenever I hear “pretty boy” the first person I think about is Shigaraki Tomura

they’re synonyms

Ahiahi

my magnum opus I think :)

It’s honestly so upsetting to see that the majority of people just don’t understand that Tomura doesn’t actually get enjoyment from killing people.

Tomura has literally felt so sick to his stomach that he has thrown up when he has killed people before.

The difference between all of the times Tomura has felt physically ill from killing people and all of the times that Tomura has gotten “enjoyment” from it (Tomura doesn’t feel enjoyment, he feels relief.) is that each time the person he killed had hurt him first.

Killing the people that hurt him is just genuinely the only thing that Tomura can think of to get them to finally stop so that they won’t hurt him anymore.

Tenko had originally reached out to his father for help, only for him to be struck by him with a gardening tool… and only then Tenko killed (with purpose) his father to stop him from hurting him again:

Tomura only wanted to kill the two drunk men after they had hurt him for literally just walking down the street:

Tomura wanting to kill the heroes that had hurt him (with the intention of killing him):

Tomura still doesn’t get enjoyment from killing people who hurt him, but he does experience relief from it…

((Edit: I would just like to clarify that the relief that Tomura feels from killing people that hurt him comes from knowing that they can’t hurt him anymore (relief that he is safe, even if temporarily) It does not come from him getting rid of the “itch” that he experiences (it always comes back, even after killing), like AFO groomed him into believing. I saw someone add that in the tags, and I realized that I never fully explained my thoughts on it. LOL.))

Not to mention, Tomura was literally GROOMED by All For One (which is something that people just like to ignore for some reason…) to even have this desire to kill people in the first place.

And even then Tomura doesn’t have the desire to kill people in the way that AFO wants!

His want for destruction stems from his inherent empathy for others, and his inability to understand how people are able to ignore the suffering of others. Not what All For One has groomed him into believing. (That Tomura’s want for destruction is an impulse that’s something inherent to him.)

Tomura has continued to have empathy for others despite AFO’s grooming, and has showed genuine kindness to the league on many occasions…

All of this is such an important aspect of Tomura’s character and being able to actually understand him, and it’s so disheartening constantly seeing people completely overlook this part of him.

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

Bubble by Dirk Tuell of Living Graphics

i would have given anything to see you smile so peacefully under better circumstances.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

bnha hyperfix is literally humiliating. i thought i was over this shit for years and then shigaraki jumped me

𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑

𖤐 synopsis: it’s tomura’s birthday! so what better way than to celebrate it with him?

𖤐 trigger warnings: fluff!

𖤐 pairing: shigaraki tomura x gender neutral! reader

The soft glow of your phone illuminated your face as you checked the time once more: 11:47 PM, April 3rd. In just thirteen minutes, it would officially be Shigaraki Tomura's birthday. You smiled to yourself, knowing he probably didn't expect anyone to remember—least of all you, considering how your relationship had begun.

Your mind drifted back to your first encounter with the League of Villains' leader. It wasn't exactly a meet-cute; more like a collision of worlds that neither of you had anticipated. Yet somehow, against all odds, a connection had formed between you—tentative at first, then undeniable as time went on.

Shigaraki was asleep in the next room. You had convinced him to let you stay over tonight with some flimsy excuse about apartment renovations, hiding your true intentions. The cake was hidden in the back of his refrigerator, a small vanilla affair with minimal decoration—anything too elaborate would have aroused his suspicion. The gift, wrapped in simple black paper, was tucked away in your overnight bag.

The minutes ticked by. 11:55 PM.

You slipped out of the guest room and padded quietly to the kitchen. The hideout was silent except for the occasional creak of the old building settling. You removed the cake from its hiding spot and placed a single candle in the center. No need for twenty-something candles; Shigaraki wouldn't appreciate the fire hazard anyway.

11:59 PM.

Heart pounding, you lit the candle and carefully made your way to his bedroom door. You balanced the cake in one hand and knocked softly with the other.

"What?" His voice came through the door, alert despite the hour. Of course he wasn't asleep. When did Shigaraki ever sleep properly?

"Can I come in?" you called softly.

A pause, then: "Fine."

You pushed open the door with your foot to find him sitting up in bed, the harsh light of a gaming console illuminating his face. His pale blue hair was messier than usual, falling haphazardly around his face. His red eyes widened slightly at the sight of you holding the cake.

"Happy birthday," you said, smiling as the digital clock on his nightstand clicked over to 12:00 AM.

He stared at you, then at the cake, his expression unreadable. "How did you know?"

You entered the room fully, setting the cake down on his desk. "I have my sources," you replied with a mysterious smile. In truth, you had overheard Kurogiri mentioning it to Dabi weeks ago and had been planning this moment ever since.

"You didn't have to do this," he muttered, but you noticed he didn't take his eyes off the cake.

"I wanted to." You sat on the edge of his bed. "Make a wish?"

Shigaraki scoffed, but he set aside his console and moved to the desk. "Wishes are for children."

"Humor me?"

He gave you a look that might have been intimidating to anyone else, but you'd grown accustomed to his attempts to appear disinterested. With an exaggerated sigh, he leaned forward and blew out the candle in one quick breath.

"What did you wish for?" you asked.

"If I tell you, it won't come true," he replied sarcastically, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. "Isn't that how the superstition goes?"

You laughed and retrieved your gift from your bag. "Here. It's not much, but..."

Shigaraki took the package with surprising gentleness. His fingers worked carefully at the wrapping paper, methodically removing it without tearing it—so different from his usual destructive tendencies. Inside was a custom controller for his favorite gaming system, matte black with hand-painted details that matched his aesthetic.

"I noticed your current one was getting worn out," you explained when he didn't immediately respond. "And I added some modifications that should improve the response time for those games you like."

He turned the controller over in his hands, examining it from every angle. "You made this?"

You nodded, suddenly feeling nervous. "Do you like it?"

Instead of answering, he set the controller down carefully and looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Why do you do this?"

"Do what?"

"Care." The word seemed to cost him something to say. "About me. About my birthday. About any of this."

You moved closer to him, brave in the quiet darkness of the early morning. "Because you matter to me, Tomura. Because everyone deserves to be remembered on their birthday."

"Even villains?" There was a challenge in his voice, but also vulnerability that he rarely allowed anyone to hear.

"Especially you." You reached for his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. "The world might see Shigaraki Tomura, leader of the League of Villains. But I see you."

Something shifted in his expression then, the hardness momentarily giving way to something softer, more human. He squeezed your hand gently.

"Thank you," he said, the words coming out slightly stiff, as if he wasn't used to saying them—which he probably wasn't.

You smiled and reached for the cake. "Now, do you want to eat this, or should I have gone with the ice cream option instead?"

He gave you one of his rare, genuine half-smiles. "Cake is fine. But only because you went to the trouble."

As you cut slices for both of you, you caught him looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher—something between wonder and confusion, as if he couldn't quite believe you were really there, celebrating his birthday with him at midnight.

"What?" you asked, handing him a slice.

"Nothing," he said, taking the cake. Then, more quietly: "Just... no one's done this for me in a long time."

Your heart ached at the implication. How many birthdays had he spent alone? How many years had passed without anyone marking the occasion?

"Well," you said, keeping your tone light despite the emotion welling in your chest, "get used to it. I plan on celebrating many more birthdays with you."

His eyes met yours, searching for any sign of insincerity. Finding none, he nodded once, a barely perceptible movement.

"I might not hate that," he admitted, which from Shigaraki was practically a declaration of affection.

You ate cake together in comfortable silence, the soft glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. Outside, the world continued to turn, heroes and villains alike sleeping through the first hours of April 4th, unaware of this quiet moment between you and the man society had deemed irredeemable.

But you knew better. Here, in this space you'd created together, he wasn't the villain from the news reports. He was just Tomura, eating birthday cake at midnight, occasionally glancing at you as if to reassure himself you were still there.

Later, as dawn approached and you both grew tired, you found yourself curled against his side, his arm tentatively around your shoulders as you watched him play with his new controller.

"Best birthday?" you asked sleepily.

He was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer. Then, so softly you almost missed it:

"Yes."

And as you drifted off to sleep beside him, you knew that whatever tomorrow held—whatever plans the League had, whatever conflicts awaited—you had given Shigaraki Tomura this one perfect moment. A birthday to remember.

mutuals: @haikyuubby @https-bakugo @va-3 @kitkat13001 @lotusstarr @shigarakislaughter

© 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 —

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