Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?
CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Racism, Suicidal Ideation, Psychiatric Wards, Forcible Sedation, Depiction of a Suicide Attempt
A/N: Wowowowwowowow. Done!! ....for now. Sorry as always for the delay, especially for this chapter. But I do hope it was worth the wait. And that the sequel series will be worth the wait as well. :) More info on that coming in a separate post.
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Read Full Chapter on AO3
[excerpt]
The next time she heard from Shigaraki’s Sensei was the day of her Todai entrance ceremony. It was the day before classes started, dedicated only to the pomp and circumstances and mixers for majors and clubs. Her and her family had just gotten home from it all when a delivery man knocked on their door, presenting a boutique box that was addressed to her.
As curious as the rest of her family after she signed for it, she’d planned on opening it in the living room. Until she saw the card sticking out of the top.
Signed Z.S.
Zen Shigaraki.
Oh right. That was his fucking real name.
She brought the box to her room instead.
Inside, laid on a bed of dark grey tissue paper, was an absolutely gorgeous Tumi backpack in taupe. She actually remembered seeing this exact one while out shopping with her mom the other day.
Its sticker price was 12,000 yen.
There was a phone number written on the back of the card. She called it immediately.
She wasn’t sure if he already had her phone number, or if maybe he’d given her one that only she would call, but when All for One answered on the second ring, he seemed to already know that it was her on the line.
“Hello dear,” he greeted, his sickly sweet voice feeling even more disgusting directly in her ear, “I assume you received my gift. How did you like it?”
“What’s your game here?” She paced the room. She didn’t want any of her emotions — the anger, the anxiety — to be evident in her voice. She tried to channel them into her legs instead. “You make this big speech about how you’re going to disown Tomura if I don’t ditch him, but then once he actually stands up to you and you have the opportunity, you don’t do a thing?”
“Would you believe me if I said I had a change of heart?”
“Not for a second.”
He hummed on the other end of the line. Taking his sweet time reveling in his sick enjoyment.
“You know, dear, there’s a little secret to my success. A simple but crucial one.”
She stopped in the center of the room, stumped by this new tangent.
“When I find myself with a goal, I plan many paths toward it,” he continued, “I put equal time and energy into all of them, sometimes mapping out routes years in advance, but I don’t get attached or overly-set on any particular one. If one path fails, I simply switch to a different one. Or even a new one altogether. A perfect balance of fastidiousness and flexibility.”
“Can you stop the self-aggrandizing bullshit and get to the point? What do you want? I know you don’t make empty threats, so what’s the deal here?”
“There’s no ‘deal’ or duplicity here, really. It simply occurred to me that there is a path of much less resistance towards this goal I have with Tomura. I don’t need to separate you two by force. You’ll fall apart all on your own.”
That was not the explanation she had expected to hear. That’s what he really thought about Shigaraki and her? Had he not been in the office with them that day? Had he just been playing this game with their lives with his eyes shut?
“That… that’s ridiculous.”
“You think so? Well then, I suppose we should start planning a wedding, shouldn’t we?”
Her breath hitched; her confident optimisms stopped in their tracks. Swept away by a wave of panic that the “W” word brought her.
“What… What the hell are you talking about? Wedding? Why would we—?”
“Well, that’s where you two must be headed, right? You’ve found your happily ever after at the oh-so wise age of eighteen and twenty. So why wait? If you’re so committed to each other, I mean...”
Infuriating defeat lodged in her throat. Because, of course, she had no intention of going wedding dress shopping any time soon. But she couldn’t exactly say that. Not without proving the smug son of a bitch right.
Then again, her silence seemed to speak just as equal volumes.
“...no? No wedding bells? No little storybook ending or riding off into the sunset? Are we ready to come back to Earth now?”
Her hand clenched tight around her phone, trying to ignore the bitter taste of how well-deserved his condescension was.
“Most young romances ended,” he said. “Even ‘healthy’ ones. And you two are far from that, aren’t you?”
Very well-deserved condescension.
“Heartbreak isn’t just a potential for you. It’s an inevitability. Hurt and cruelty are baked into the very foundation of your relationship. You’ve covered it up for now, but soon enough it will rise to the surface again. I don’t need to interfere to ruin things for you two.”
She could hear that smarmy grin of his seeping through the phone, making her feel dirty just touching it.
“You’ll do that all on your own.”
She couldn’t take it anymore; the very feel of his voice and amusement coating her skin. She threw the phone across the room before she even realized it.
She gasped in realization when she heard it slam against the wall and drop limp onto the carpet. She rushed over to check it.
Okay, well she hadn’t quite given Shigaraki a run for his money — the phone hadn’t shattered at least, though the screen certainly had. The ‘call ended’ screen was completely spider-webbed over.
She sighed, dropping the phone gently to the ground.
All for One…
She hated him. She fucking hated him.
Hated his wealth, his confidence, his disgustingly resonant voice. She hated the parts of him she could see sewn so firmly into Shigaraki. Even the good qualities she wanted to develop for herself. The ego, the drive, the cunning…
But mostly, she hated how right he was.
She and Shigaraki had everything in the world — everything in themselves — working against their relationship. If she could even call it that. They weren’t even an official couple, and yet his entire freedom and happiness seemed to ride entirely on what they had. It made her feel hopeless, nauseous. It made her feel spiteful.
She packed All for One’s gift back up and slung its box under her arm, not caring how it crumpled and gave as she stormed out of her room and the house with it. She went straight to the dumpster and slammed the box down inside.
This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. All for One wanted to feign passivity? Wanted to let the chips fall where they may, confident that he had enough control of the board to win in the end? Let him believe that. She wouldn’t play his game.
The first thing Nightwing hears upon regaining consciousness is ominous chanting. A man’s voice rings out over the rest, ranting about an Eternal King, infinite power, and -- oh boy -- sacrifices. He tunes it out to assess the situation.
He’s in an old warehouse. Robin’s here too, looking even more annoyed than Nightwing feels, and both of them have their hands and ankles bound in rope. His comm is on silent, just as he left it, like an idiot. The ranting man and his followers in matching robes are gathered around a ritual circle in the middle of the floor. Yeah, that tells him all he needs to know. They need to get out, now.
Unfortunately, that’s exactly when the leader finishes his speech and turns to them.
“So,” the man asks with a cruel smile. “Which of you ‘heroes’ will have the honor of bringing our Lord to this plane?”
“I will.” Robin’s voice is sharp, unyielding.
The man is obviously surprised to receive an actual answer to his taunt, but obliges. He pulls Robin away without another word.
“What?! No! Robin, you can’t--” Nightwing’s protest is cut off with a punch to the stomach from one of the robed lackeys.
“I have my reasons, Nightwing; it must be me.” Robin’s face reveals nothing, but he gives a subtle hand signal: I have a plan.
Nightwing forces himself to calm down. They’ll get out of this. He just has to trust his Robin. While everyone’s eyes are off him, he quietly works at the amateur knots.
The leader drags Robin into the circle without a fight. He raises a jeweled dagger, intentions clear...
But Robin is faster. He bites his own wrist, hard, and spits his blood into the circle. The runes light up in terrible Lazarus green, and Robin pushes himself upright with a malicious grin.
The lead cultist scrambles back from the circle and into a deep bow. The chanting stops as his minions follow suit. Robin continues to look far too smug for his situation. Nightwing feels a headache coming on somewhere under his renewed panic.
This is his plan?!
There’s a blinding flash of light. When the spots clear from Nightwing’s vision, the Eternal King is floating in the circle, mere feet from the bound Robin.
The Eternal King isn’t quite the grotesque horror he expected. Their body is a glittering black void, a sleek humanoid shadow with misty white hair and bright, bright eyes of toxic green. A cold fog rolls off of their body in waves.
“Antares,” the shadow rumbles, and Nightwing feels static thrum in his bones with the sound. The room is painfully cold, but the King doesn’t seem aggressive yet. Maybe they really can bargain their way out of this mess.
Robin doesn’t flinch. He looks the Eternal King right in the eyes, utterly fearless, and smirks. “Hello, Beloved.”
What?
The King stares silently, floating closer. For a long moment, no one moves. No one speaks.
“My lord, does the sacrifice please you?” The ringleader cuts in, standing up with a greedy gleam in his eyes.
Something in the air changes as the King turns toward the man. Something cold, electric, heavy under the skin. Nightwing suppresses a shiver as he works through the last of the rope.
“You d̵̢̛a̵̼̽ṙ̴͎e̵͙̐.”
The leader pales and falls to his knees. “My Lord, if this offering is insufficient, we have another--”
The King s̴̱̖̺̺̓͊̕̕ć̵͇͇͔̈r̴̥͐e̸̥̬͌̂̌̊a̴̭̔̓̀̔͘m̵̯͑̋͌͠s̵̗̤̻̭̍̿, a furious howl that blurs Nightwing’s vision and claws his ears. The sound is everywhere, driving him to his knees. Growing shadows seem to absorb his little brother just as Nightwing realizes he’s blacking out.
They’re falling, they’re falling someone help they’re screaming he’s screaming make it stop dead on impact blood and bones make it stop make it STOP--
When he comes back to himself, it’s quiet. Nightwing blinks tears from his eyes, gasping for frigid air that pierces his lungs like knives. The floor outside the circle is covered in blood splatter. The cultists have all been struck down, and many aren’t moving.
But he’s not looking at them.
Because the monster is coiled around Robin like a snake, eyes burning as it surveys the room. Robin seems unharmed for now, but he has to get his baby brother away from that thing.
He steps forward, and those endless green eyes lock onto him. It snarls at his approach, revealing multiple rows of teeth. Claws subtly tighten on Robin’s shoulders. Nightwing sinks into a combat stance, and the creature braces itself to leap.
Pure, animal instinct screams that Nightwing won’t survive this fight.. It doesn’t matter. He’ll give his all like he always has, and Robin can escape. The others will find a way to take it down. He just has to buy time.
“Dove, it’s alright.”
To Nightwing’s amazement, the creature freezes. It turns to look at Robin, warbling in apparent confusion before turning back to Nightwing with a hiss.
Robin grabs its face in both hands and forces it to look at him. “No. That’s Nightwing, remember? He will not harm us. I am safe. We are safe.” His voice is steady, soothing as he gently presses their foreheads together. A spark of awareness slowly returns to ‘Dove’s’ eyes.
“Come back to me.”
The monster sags in Robin’s grip, slowly folding in on itself until a nearly-human teen with snowy white hair is left floating gently in its place.
Robin smiles, gentle and shockingly warm. “There you are.”
‘Dove’ is shaking. Their eyes are locked on Robin, as though he’s the only thing in their universe. “Antares,” they breathe, before wrapping Robin in a tight hug.
Robin briefly looks to Dick, gesturing toward the cultists. He then returns his attention to the distraught being, resting his chin on their head and both hands on their back. The obvious dismissal makes Nightwing uneasy, but the kid has a point. They'll just have to check him for hypnosis or mind control back at the Cave.
Now that Nightwing is actually looking at the cultists, their injuries are horrific. Deep lacerations, stab wounds, frostbite, severed limbs...none of them seem likely to die with medical treatment, but every last one is maimed.
The ringleader is worst of all. His eyes are gouged out, and his hands ripped off and cauterized by the same unearthly frost that burns scattered marks into his skin. An unfamiliar symbol has been clawed into his chest.
Nightwing looks back to the circle, where Dove is quietly sobbing. Their face is tucked securely into Robin’s neck, and Nightwing hears whispers of I was scared and can’t lose you too.
This is the same person?
By the time the cultists are all secured and the police have been called, Dove seems to have calmed down. Time to play the diplomat. Again.
Damn, maybe Steph has a point about Eldest Daughter Syndrome.
“I, uh, hate to interrupt, but we should probably get out of here, yeah? GCPD will be here in a couple minutes,” he proposes with a friendly smile.
Dove wipes their eyes. “Right.” Then they look around the room and wince. “Uhm, sorry you? Had to see that? I...panicked. You’re okay though, right? Not hurt or anything?” The question is disarmingly earnest, and there’s nothing but concern in their eyes. Hm.
“Nah, not a scratch,” Nightwing dismisses. Then he remembers he’s apparently talking to a king. “Thank you for saving Robin, Your Highness,” he adds with a bow of his head.
“Nuh-uh, no titles. Gross.” The King makes a face, then smiles with renewed cheer. “Call me Phantom. He/him, ghost, and general pain in the ass, at your service!” He floats higher and punctuates his announcement with a midair flip. “You might as well know, since we’re gonna be seeing each other a lot now.”
Crap. “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Nightwing ventures.
‘Phantom’ exchanges a meaningful look with Robin. Nightwing barely has time to register the mischief on both their faces before Robin pulls the being down into a kiss.
A deep kiss now. Really deep. Yeah, they’ve definitely forgotten he’s here.
When they finally separate, Robin looks quite satisfied. Phantom, however, sticks out a forked tongue and scrunches his face. “Blech, blood. What did you...” His eyes land on Robin’s still-bloody wrist, then the droplets still in the circle.
“You didn’t.” A grin creeps across his face. “You have me on soul speed dial and you still hijacked a whole-ass summoning!”
“Tt. I was making a point.” Robin crosses his arms.
Phantom cackles. “You are literally the most dramatic person I’ve ever met!” he crows.
Robin raises an eyebrow and gestures to the warehouse full of mangled cultists. Phantom opens his mouth to retort, but it’s at this point that Nightwing finally manages to pull his jaw off the floor and speak.
“Robin,” he says with deliberate calm. “What the fuck.”
And then they hear police sirens. Fantastic.
“Crap. Don’t worry, I got it!” Phantom declares as he rips a green hole in existence. Robin is unfazed, which is rapidly getting less and less surprising.
A woman in the corner stirs. Phantom makes a ‘one moment’ gesture before he stalks over and yanks her forward with a growl. “You’ve kept your tongue for a reason. Spread the word: Robin is mine.” (Robin stands taller, obviously pleased by that extremely concerning statement.) The woman nods frantically, and Phantom drops her to the ground.
Without further preamble, Phantom zips back over and shoves both vigilantes through the rip.
Just like that, they’re all in Damian’s bedroom. The two boys immediately sit together on the edge of the bed, while Dick remains standing. Dick doesn’t even know where to begin, so he can only give a helpless ‘why’ sort of gesture. Thankfully, Damian seems to take pity on him.
“Richard, this insufferable fool is my Beloved. His name is Danny, and he is seventeen.” Then he smirks. “You may refer to him as High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms; The Tyrant’s Bane, True Balance, Son Of Stars, Pride of Time, Death’s Chosen--”
The ghost groans dramatically, flopping across Damian’s lap like a wet noodle. “Oh my gawd, Dames, why would you tell him that?”
"It is very important that Richard recognizes your position and authority.” Damian says, not even trying to sound convincing.
Danny reaches up and pushes at Damian’s face. It brings to mind a pair of cats, especially with Damian doing his best to look annoyed instead of fond. “Betrayal! I want a divorce!”
That’s the last straw. Dick chokes on his own spit and has to thump his chest a few times to breathe right again. With monumental effort, he manages to wheeze out a strangled “Are you MaRriEd?!”
Danny tries to sputter out a reply, but Dick is distracted by Damian laughing. It’s a low, light sound, with no attempt made to disguise it.
“Of course not,” Damian says. He cards a hand through Danny’s hair, the other boy sighing contently and looking up at him with adoring neon eyes. “We've only courted for seven months now. It will be another three years before we wed.”
Dick is just. Gonna ignore that last bit. For his own sanity. “Wait, how did you keep a whole boyfriend secret for seven months? In this family?”
“Bribery.” “Threats.”
Yeah, that sounds about right. Babs and Duke probably know then.
“Cool, good to know. One more question.” Well, more like a billion, but he may as well start with an icebreaker before the inevitable interrogation. Besides, it’s a big brother's duty to embarrass his siblings. “Why Dove?”
Damian says nothing, but his deep blush is almost audible.
“Because I’m cute and fluffy!” Danny chirps.
“Hardly,” Damian scoffs. “It’s because you are raucously annoying and constantly crash into windows.”
Literally everything about this situation is baffling, but Danny looks so offended that Dick can’t help but laugh.
“You lying asshole!” Danny screeches.
Damian turns to Dick. “He attempted to use a grapple three times and broke eleven windows; four of them with his face. I have videos.” Danny gasps, the two start bickering, and Dick is left to his thoughts once more.
Even as the pair separate to point fingers and trade increasingly creative insults, their body language is completely relaxed. As much as Dick is panicking about a powerful undead monarch around their family, Damian is happy. He has been for months, now that Dick thinks about it. He’s been loosening up a little, leaving the manor more, and even mentioning a few new friends (though he refuses to use the word.)
Whoever or whatever Danny is, he’s been good for him.
“Well,” Dick cuts in, interrupting an inventive declaration about overripe cheese. “We’ll obviously need to talk about this. But for what it’s worth,” he smiles. “I’m happy for you, Baby Bat.”
With that said, Dick walks out of the bedroom. Danny gives him a grateful smile, and a quiet thank you, Richard can be heard as he closes the door behind him.
Dick walks away at a leisurely pace until he reaches the end of the hallway, where he promptly breaks into a sprint toward the Cave. Checking the Batcomputer to make sure Damian hasn’t noticed the planted bug yet, he turns on his comms. Unsurprisingly, the entire family is yelling and demanding answers.
Well, at least he won’t be the only one having a heart attack tonight.
And to your left, a shade whispers, is the pride and joy of our Psychotronics division.
Chase ducks his head, and settles onto the balls of his feet. Crouch-walking is, actually, the devil's work, but it's better than being spotted by a Phantom and being fried to kingdom come-- or worse, being found by one of the Telepaths, and having his head genuinely, honest to God, exploded.
Top of the line.
Unheard of.
Never, in a human lifespan, been attempted.
Much less succeeded.
"Success," Chase mutters under his breath, and dares to pop his head up by a line of broken observation windows, "is a wild measure of whatever this is."
He's in luck: no aliens, mercenaries, or otherwise immediate threats to his continued bodily integrity.
(Bodily integrity. Henrik would get a kick outta that one.)
(Henrik is, also, why he's in this goddamn space station in the first place, helping them research some aliens that the fucking Russians, of all people, had found, so on second thought...)
You, of course, may never see inside that glass. Don't take it personally! Very few people do. The Yu brothers are... extremely selective.
He clears the line of broken glass with a crowbar before he vaults it. Security, apparently, is a joke when your entire top-of-the-line space station has been hijacked and wiped by aliens-- those damn aliens, dude!-- which means that he's a little underwhelmed by the entire space. Bright, white sterile lights, with unidentified stains on bright, white sterile floors that he's not looking too hard at. Glass cases are shattered, chairs upturned. There's a coffee mug on the table that he gives a conspicuous berth; it'd be just his luck to get murked by a Mimic when he's finally gotten into the goddamn Psychotronics labs.
At the core of Psychotronics, our goal is to push humanity to its very limit. To redefine innovation. To redefine what it means to be human.
So far, innovation looks like a whole lotta nothing. Chase snatches up a wad of inorganic material, and shoves it into his bag. He'll look and see what he can synthesize later. More importantly, he has to figure out where all the goods of this place are.
"All of this talk about redefining ourselves," he muses aloud, and circles through the lab, slowly prowling to the back. At the end of the day, he hasn't learned his lesson about the aliens having ears, and maybe he misses talking to other people a little bit, "what would I keep as my big reward? Neuromods? A fancy upgrade for a shotgun? Or another alien?"
He hopes not another alien.
Not any alien, anyways.
Chase, unfortunately, rarely gets what he asks for. See: every single event that dropped like one shitty domino after another, landing him on a doomed science project in a doomed space station.
Ssh, hang on... someone's coming.
Chase quietly, quietly, holsters his wrench. His pistol has three shots; he only really needs one for this. One for the headshot, and then he can smack the shit out of it.
I used to wish we weren't alone in the universe.
"Me and you both, buddy," Chase murmurs, and peeks around the corner. Luck is on his side, this once: it's facing away, and it's not one of them fancy Phantoms.
Child's play to fire off a headshot, and stumble the thing, before he's on it. Their aura always feels weird, like stepping into a cloud of dry ice, and the world goes a little bit strange inside of it. Like someone's overlaid 3D glasses over each other, and then turned up the contrast to maximum. It's why he doesn't pay the grin in the corner of his vision any mind; just the sensation of organic material pulping underneath his wrench. The Phantom flings him off; he ducks under its arm, and takes another swing. Stuns it. Feels the area where its ribs should be cave in. His eye throbs, just a little bit, like the little scar where the Neuromod went in is protesting; what a shame, buddy.
It's gone in minutes. A near record, compared to the near-hour that his first encounter had taken. Doesn't drop a whole lot of goodies, but he'll take what little exotic material he can scrounge up to put towards Chase Brody's Neuromod Fund, est. March of 2032.
A slow, slow round of applause sounds behind him, and Chase pivots on a heel, holstering the wrench and drawing his pistol in one smooth motion, and being greeted with something that probably was a man, once.
It looks like a man, anyways. He's not quite sure where its hands begin and the swirling miasma of... matter ends, but he's also not sure that matters-- God, Henrik would kill him-- as much as the fact that it's fixed the two brilliant specks of light that probably pass for pupils on him.
"I didn't know grunts were capable of art," it says, and tilts its head. His head? He looks enraptured, but Chase is mindful of the fact that it would be very, very easy to snap his very human bones right here. "You look lost, little rabbit."
So: about the Psychotronic's pride and joy. There are three very important things to know about the Talos I.
One: the Yu brothers, with every fiber of their being, meant to expand the bounds of the human race, up to and including sacrificing themselves for it.
Two: the Yu brothers, with every fiber of their being, believed that it was acceptable to sacrifice others with them, so long as the end goal was met.
And three: not everybody agreed with it. Least of all, the very people sacrificed.
Chase knows a thing or two about it. And he also knows a thing or two about negotiations. Negotiations, for example, for freedom, in exchange for revenge.
"Well, I was," he says. "They don't exactly give you a blueprint of the place that they leave you to die on."
A spark of interest flashes through the oily tendons that flex along his new companion's arms. Chase tries very hard not to get distracted by the literal expression of-- what did Henrik call them? Impulses? Nerve impulses?-- and tries to focus more on the fact that the hook's out.
"And you came here," his companion says, amusement warbling the edges of his syllables. He prowls closer; Chase runs some quick calculations, decides he's not good enough at math for it, and holds still, because the last thing he needs is to trigger some latent fucking predator instinct. Not latent, maybe. Very, very present. "To die quicker?"
"Well," Chase says, again, and thumbs the grip on his pistol. "You could try that. But then you'd also die a quick fucking death in the middle of nowhere, the Milky Way, because if you think that they're not preparing to blow this station-- and all of their work-- to smithereens, you're wrong."
"So you're negotiating," he muses, and halts, a bare breath away from Chase. Chase's teeth hum with the sheer energy that shivers through this thing, and he has to look up. Just a little bit. "As if you have something to give."
"A way off," Chase says. "Sure, you can try to brute-force your way off of this thing, but how much did it take out of you to get this far?"
"You assume a lot," he murmurs, and tilts his head. The hairs on the back of Chase's neck rise. "For someone who knew so little."
"And yet, at the end of the day, there's probably a reason you haven't blown your way out, to kingdom come," Chase points out. "So you're looking for something. They kept you here, like the world's shittiest Rapunzel. Two and two, mi amigo."
Chase has the distinct pleasure of watching an actual alien's eyebrows rise up the more he talks. It fades, of course, back to that smirk, that I know more than you, I have more than you, but if there's one thing that Chase knows about this station, it's that it was built by liars.
He wonders what that says about the Talos I's last creation before him.
"Fine," the Talos I's last creation says, Anti says, and leans a little bit back, out of his space. The oppressive presence of his being fades, and Chase plants his feet against the sudden shift in weight. "You want to talk, Chase? Let's talk. Quickly."
Hoo boy, this one is almost proper fic length! Sugar and I collabed on this one, so it’s going in both our tags! We have a somewhat difficult time writing for Mammon due to lack of experience (even if I love him), but here you go!
[TW: Bullying, mild description of wounds]
“If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy,” you said, puffing up your chest as Mammon looked you over, first aid kit in hand.
You had a few scrapes and scratches along with the multiple violet bruises that mottled your skin, and since the band-aids had already been used, he had to swipe some of Levi’s limited edition TSL bandages.
He’d be mad later, but Mammon would pay him back... maybe.
“Still! What were ya thinkin’, getting into a fight with a demon?! If I hadn’t gotten there, he could’ve killed you, or eaten you, or--”
“Well, he didn’t!” you huffed, crossing your arms and then wincing as you accidentally pressed a nasty bruise, “So there!”
Mammon sighed, stooping to your level as you sat on your bed, nursing your bruised legs.
“Lemme see what I can do.”
You blushed as he inched closer to you, but you turned your face away, trying to hide your burning cheeks from his view. He was too tied up in treating his human’s wounds to notice, but it still made you shy.
The truth was, you were just as crazy for Mammon as he was for you. You’d had a crush on him ever since Lucifer introduced you to him, and fell harder for him after seeing him stumble to show his affection for those he cared about... you could tell he cared a lot. And you remember how you felt, your boiling blood pulsing through your clenched veins when you heard the lesser demons gossipping about him behind his back.
“Yeah, I can’t come over, I got roped into playing poker with Mammon tonight... Can you believe my rotten luck?”
“Ugh, I have no idea how you can stand that guy! He’s just such a lazy scumbag and a troublemaker.”
“I know, right? He’s going nowhere fast, a real good-for-nothing. But I can’t say I hate being with him, it’s always hilarious when he screws something up!”
“Hahaha! Yeah, ain’t that the truth!”
“The funniest bit is... I think he’s actually trying. It’s sad.”
You couldn’t remember the exact moment when you launched yourself at the lesser demon, but you remembered his surprised gasp the moment he hit the floor with a raging, wildly-swinging human on top of him.
“TAKE IT BACK!” you roared, “TAKE IT BACK NOW!”
You remembered the face of this particular demon-- Mammon talked to him sometimes, introduced him to you as a friend of his, and earnestly thought of him as such. But the fact that he was standing there, laughing and insulting someone who was never anything but kind to him, even if Mammon could be rough and difficult sometimes...
It really pissed you off.
One of the other demons pried you away from him after you had gotten some good hits in, and pain shot through you as his foot collided with your unprotected stomach. Fury searing your nerves, you wrenched yourself from the offending grip and rushed toward the demon, clawing and punching and even biting with no real strategy. You were made of pure, enraged feral energy.
In the end, Mammon had to separate the both of you two. You and the demon barked insults at each other before you were carted away.
And here you were, sitting on your bed and staring into Mammon’s concerned face.
The alcohol stung against your scratches as he cleaned each one clumsily with a swab, and you shivered from the cold ice packs against your bruises and your wounded stomach.
“Jeeze,” Mammon scoffed, leaning back. “What’s got ya so riled anyway? Did he insult your outfit? I’ll have a talk with him...” He swiped his hand through his hair, still clutching the tweezers that held the bloodied cotton ball. “I can’t have my human gettin’ eaten before the Solstice. You haven’t seen everythin’ yet, so just don’t get into anymore fights and let the Great Mammon take care of it from now on, okay?”
You can’t help but tilt your chin, squeezing your teeth together.
“He deserved it!”
You could barely stomach the insults the brothers tossed at Mammon, and how he would grumble, and hiss, but ultimately shake it off. Even when he couldn’t, in those rare moments his lips would fall and his eyes would water behind his glasses, he kept going-- he kept trying to be himself.
You loved him for that, and under it all, so did his brothers... so you could let it go...
But not from some... stupid, inconsiderate little...
“C’mon,” Mammon sighed softly, dropping his tool to rest his hand on top of your head. “I know this li’l guy and he probably didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
Your eyes stung now and you ground your teeth.
You’d be damned if you’d cry but your throat was closing, flames licking at the side of it from the fury simmering in your ribcage.
“MC?”
You sniffed, trying to fight back the sob clawing its way through your chest.
“Y...You don’t get it...”
“What? Are ya sayin’ I’m stupid?” Mammon chuckled dryly.
With his insult toward himself, you finally bawled, cheeks darkening with the force, as you flung yourself onto his shoulder.
“I don’t think you’re stupid!” you sobbed, “Y-You’re protective, and good with numbers, and honest, a-and.. and...”
...and so, so kind, you want to add.
Kind enough to take you under his wing, kind enough to protect a sick little girl from the human world at the cost of being bullied by those witches, kind enough to put up with the constant slew of insults from his brothers...
Kind enough to offer his friendship to some lesser demon who doesn’t even appreciate it.
“And I won’t let some dumbass little punk talk about the demon I love like that!”
Oh.
If Mammon wasn’t already flustered when you threw yourself against him, he definitely was now.
Yes, he’d just learned that his ‘friend’ was talking about him behind his back, apparently... Though that wasn’t anything new to him. He was fairly used to being disrespected, even if he was an esteemed member of RAD’s student council. He wouldn’t lie (not to himself, anyway) and say it didn’t hurt, but...
You just said you loved him, and he’d be damned if he let his anger at his former friend overshadow that.
“Hey... can you say that again?”
“He’s... a-a dumbass punk...?” You hiccuped, swallowing down some of the snot clogging your nose.
Mammon couldn’t help but laugh, pressing you tighter against him.
Maybe... Maybe he could live with just one person respecting him.
“Not that,” He shook his head, resting his head against yours. “The other part..”
“The... other...?” You blinked before feeling more heat flood your cheeks. “Oh, shit.”
“C’mon... Just one more time?”
His voice softened, dropping to a low rumble, and you could hear the quiet desperation there. The longing, the desire, and... The hesitation, uncertainty.
You wanted to wipe it away.
“I love you, Mammon.” You spoke honestly, clearing your throat so the words would be clear. “I love you, I love you, I love you... and I won’t stand for anyone talking about you like that. Ever. Not when you are so wonderful.”
He only held you tighter, somehow wishing he could get closer, closer, closer. You were so warm, and even though your cheeks were blotchy and there were tears and snot staining your skin, you were so... beautiful.
“I love ya too... I’m so lucky to have such an amazing, fiery, cute little human by my side,” he paused, pressing his forehead to yours, “But don’t get in any more fights, okay? I don’t wanna lose you because of somethin’ some little pipsqueak said. You’re my human, all mine, and maybe that’s selfish, but... I wanna keep ya around as long as possible.”
You laugh through the tears, nuzzling him and pressing a kiss to his temple.
Serial Killer!Dabi x Reader x Serial Killer!Shigaraki
Summary: In which Dabi and Tomura Shigaraki are women-targeting serial killers and do what serial killers do. That’s it. That’s the fic.
CW: Quirkless!AU, Serial Killers/Slashers!AU, Explicit Smut, Non-Con/Rape, Kidnapping, Physical Abuse, Rough Sex, Asphyxiation, Mysoginy, Dead Dove: Do Not FUCKING Eat
A/N: Hey,, remember when I was gonna do a Halloween AU series? Neither do I!! Anyway, here's my first entry in my own event - out of order!! Enjoyyyy. (or not, this one's pretty gnarly ngl lol)
Cross-Posted on AO3
“P-Please… Stop, please…”
A smack. A loud one. Sounded like it was right across the face, and Dabi wouldn’t doubt if it was. Shigaraki really liked to mess up the face.
“Oh come on, you can beg better than that.”
“N-No, I— I…”
“No no — I know you can. You just were begging— begging fucking amazing too. Come on. Do it, you worthless slut.”
Dabi rolled his eyes, taking a drag from his cigarette as he stood watch outside the reconstructed Toyota Hiace they made their base of operations. One they’d gutted the seats out of to make room for a full-size mattress and some metal grating dividing the front seats from the back.
A killing machine.
They parked it outside the city, in an endless valley of nature only ever occupied by a few off the grid campers. Ones that wouldn’t be suspicious of a lone van and two men in the middle of nowhere. They were also ones who typically had very few connections back home.
Who nobody would miss if they saw too much.
“Oi— I’m talking to you, slut! Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Jesus, this must’ve been the thirtieth time that Shigaraki called her a slut this session. How uncreative could one demented incel be? He’d kind of expected more from the bastard…
Truth be told, he didn’t particularly like his partner in crime. They weren’t friends, they were barely even acquaintances. But they were kindred spirits. Two particularly violent young men who’d met on a particularly violent darknet forum about women.
And the inhumane positions they’d love to put them in.
Of course, just because they both lived for the end result, didn’t mean that they agreed on the journey there.
Shigaraki was a raging misogynist and by-the-book incel. He despised women, wanted to take revenge on them for everything he felt they did wrong to him. He wanted to make them bleed because he wanted to make them hurt. Because he was full of anger and disgust and hate.
Dabi was the opposite. He loved women. The unique beauty of every single one, the range of emotions they showed in their darkest, most desperate moments. Emotions he himself was never allowed to show. Ugh, the euphoria of it all. He loved women so much he wanted to see every part of them.
Including their insides.
“Come on you ugly fuck!” Shigaraki snapped from inside the van, “Scream! It’s all you’re fucking good for!”
…Truth be told, Dabi wasn’t sure why exactly he’d partnered up with Shigaraki of all people. He’d been looking for a co-pilot for this sick and twisted little endeavor of his for a while, and there had been many others in the forums who probably would’ve been better fits personality-wise, who seemed more agreeable. Guys who weren’t so picky about the girls they picked, who didn’t grumble and gripe when it came time to finally cleaning up their mess, who didn’t use the “standing watch” excuse when it came to carrying the bodies to the disposal spots.
Who didn’t put their disgusting fucking feet on his dashboard…
That being said, while they both lived almost exclusively on the other’s last nerve, they also had a strange, almost psychic symbiosis. They balanced each other out. Dabi was emotional and passionate, often getting over-excited by the next prospective victim, moved so intensely by his passion upon seeing a new girl walking down the street or sitting at the bar that he wanted to grab them right there and then. Shigaraki on the other hand was meticulous and paranoid, holding him back until he was absolutely sure that they wouldn’t get caught.
He kept them careful at the beginning of the kill.
Whereas Dabi, who truly believed that he held a lot of deep respect for the women they abducted, wanted to be careful with their bodies after the fact. Shigaraki grew bored easily and completely. He often wanted to just dump the bodies down a valley or in a back alley and move onto the next one. A broken toy wasn’t worth another second in his mind. But Dabi wanted better for the girls. He wanted them to have a proper burial. Deep, deep in the ground where nobody else could ever find them.
He kept them careful at the end of the kill.
Dabi exhaled a long stream of smoke as he considered where their latest little sylph would be buried. They had passed a grove of what looked like magnificent spider lilies on the way out of town.
Maybe he was thinking too much into all this, he kind of had to whenever it was Shigaraki’s turn. The brutish way in which he handled and defiled these girls, it always made Dabi contemplate just what redeeming factor he had ever seen in the guy.
And then he’d hear them, the screams Shigaraki managed to rip out of their victims. Screams that only came from a level of brutality Dabi would never be able to inflict himself. They were so unique, so beautiful, so perfect . And they were sounds that he’d never be able to hear if it weren’t for Shigaraki.
Truthfully, that alone was worth the endless collection of crushed Monster cans that littered the floor of his van.
It had gotten pretty quiet in there now. The screams, the pleading, even the choked little sobs of self-pity, all muted to nothing. There was only the creaking of tired mattress springs, Shigaraki’s heavy breathing and grunting, and the occasional sound of a slap followed by irritated mumbling. Yeah, she was losing all will to fight. Which meant it was just about time for—
“Oi,” Shigaraki snapped as if on cue, throwing the van door open, “She’s no fun anymore. You take her.”
Dabi took a long last drag of his cigarette, watching as Shigaraki climbed out and readjusted himself in his pants. His partner-in-crime gave him a weirded, disgusted look at the way he took his time.
“What’re you fucking staring at me for? You want me to off her or something?”
Dabi waved him off, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stepping it out, “Nah, nah. I’m on it.”
“Hop to it then,” Shigaraki barked, crossing his arms and leaning against the passenger door of the van, “We’ve been here long enough already.”
“And who’s fault is that?” Dabi retorted as he stepped into the van.
Shigaraki whipped around, “Get bent!”
“I’m trying to,” Dabi threw right back, slamming the van door closed behind him.
He quickly pulled back his cool once he was inside. It really was amazing how quickly and effectively Shigaraki pissed him off. But he knew he needed to simmer it. He didn’t want to let his own anger and hate slip out too much in front of his newest precious angel. He’d hate to scare her off.
Dabi turned back to her with a small, but reassuring smile, “Hello.”
Of course, she didn’t respond, didn’t even bother to look at him.
She laid in more or less the same position he’d left her to Shigaraki in. Arms and legs pulled wide, cuffed to the rods mounted on each side of the van. Her once smooth and spotless skin was now swollen and purple, black and yellow in some places even, where Shigaraki had managed to break a rib and an ankle. Dry blood caked her nose and the corner of her mouth while fresh blood seeped onto the mattress out of recent scratches and cuts Shigaraki had inflicted in a last ditch effort to make her wail again.
None of that bothered him though, quite the opposite actually. He loved a roughed up woman, one at her most natural and vulnerable. It was the beauty that got him into this in the first place. No, what Dabi turned his nose up at was Shigaraki’s loads spilling out of her abused pussy, all onto her raw, reddened thighs and the crumpled tear-stained sheets.
Ugh, see this is why he’d said no when Shigaraki asked if they should get an apartment together. The motherfucker never cleaned up after himself.
“P-Please…”
Dabi turned his attention back to her face, to her eyes, dull and lifeless, staring right through the back wall of the van.
“Just kill me already…”
Oh, this sweet thing, he thought, tilting his head at her sympathetically.
He climbed onto the mattress next to her then, resting a hand gently on her hip, careful not to put any pressure on the bruises littered there. She didn’t even flinch when he did it. She was that far gone.
“Kill you?” he asked, curiosity far from feigned.
“Aren’t you those serial killers that have been on the news lately? The ones that—” she couldn’t even finish. The fate that she knew of being too much to leave her throat.
“Huh. Are we now?” he said, mostly to himself as he had a real epiphany from those words. So they were serial killers, were they?
Yeah, he could work with that…
She buried her head into the mattress, trying to muffle the dry sobs from ducts that had long gone barren.
“Please, if you’re gonna do it then just do it already! I can’t go on anymore! I can’t take it…”
He ran the back of his hand slowly, whisperingly down her cheek, “Talk to me beautiful. Tell me how I can make this better.”
This finally got something out of her. A snort of sick, stupid amusement, weak and wheezy.
“God, what fucking game are you two playing? Some sick good killer, bad killer shtick?”
Dabi smiled. She sure was spunky. Even now. What a lovely quality.
“No,” he breathed, dusting feather light kisses down her neck, her chest, that sweet, soft tummy… “No games.”
He buried his nose into the crux her thigh, reveling in the heat and tremble of her raw, abused thighs.
“W-What are you doing?!” she gasped, a whole new flavor of fear coating her voice.
“Just relax,” he purred, kissing a path all the way to her center, “I’m not gonna hurt you…”
She cried out as he licked up the length of her cunt, flicking the stud in his tongue against her clit playfully when he got there. She tried to move her hips away from him, still completely baffled and terrified by not knowing what he was going to do to her, but thanks to her restraints, the struggle only ended up pushing her hips closer to Dabi’s lips in a grind motion. A wanting motion.
It spurred him on to pleasure her further as the delusion of her reciprocation had him falling utterly in love.
Shigarai’s spunk was still slipping out of her, heavy and salty on his tongue as he buried it deeper inside her, but that didn’t matter. Her own sweetness overpowered it, those resistant sobs overpowering all of his senses, sending him into a delirium of pleasure.
Fuck, how much he wanted to throw her legs up over his shoulders, coil his arms tight around her and devour her, but he resisted. He knew how raw and wounded she was, and all he wanted from her now was a fraction of the bliss that she was giving him.
“P-Please! I don’t— nngh! ”
Her sounds were brand new now — constant choked sobs of despair and self-hatred over the way her body reacted against her will. She was so raw and oversensitive from Shigaraki’s brutal treatment, Dabi’s own gentle, devoted ministrations had her ankles straining up painfully against her restraints as she came in mere minutes.
Dabi pulled away, a crooked, love-drunk smile on his face as he watched her trembling chest rise and fall, listened to the sweet serenade of her wheezing breaths.
He hummed happily as he pulled himself back up to her level. He cupped his hand gently along her cheek.
“You have a beautiful voice.”
She snapped back to him, anger tearing violently through her “afterglow”.
“ Fuck you .” she quite literally spat, a newfound fire within her that set his own body ablaze.
Dabi brought a thumb to his cheek, stroking the spit she’d hurled at him to the corner of his own mouth. His tongue reached to meet it, and he shuddered as both of her tastes mingled on his palate.
Fuck, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He quickly back onto his haunches, trying to not let his desperation to be inside her rush or roughen his movements. He still wanted her to enjoy this, but it was taking every bit of self-control he could muster not to blow his load over the sound of her voice alone.
“W-Wait!” she yelped out, as she felt him line himself up at her entrance, “You said you wouldn’t hurt me!”
“I won’t sweetheart,” he breathed, easing his cockhead in slowly, “I promise this won’t hurt.”
“But it does! You doing this now— you’re hurting me!”
He groaned as her heat completely engulfed him. Between the mix of her own arousal and Shigaraki’s, and the desperate pulsing of her insides, post-orgasm, he barely even had to push his hips.
“There’s no need to lie now, your body’s completely giving you away,” he grinned, dropping his forehead to rest against hers, “Your pussy is sucking me right in.”
She choked out a sob as he rocked out of her just barely, then buried himself again, somehow deeper than before.
“ Fuck —” he groaned, “I couldn’t pull out if I tried. Your body just wants me that bad. Doesn’t it baby?”
She tried to stifle a moan as his soft yet sturdy thrusts hit that perfect angle inside of her. She managed to keep the pleasure of the sound locked in the base of her throat, allowing out only a stilted and very unladylike grunt in its place.
The horrid little sound didn’t put Dabi off in the slightest though. If anything, it endeared him. He smiled, almost giddily, as he watched that strain and struggle coarse through her. She really was perfect no matter what she did, wasn’t she?
They all were, after all.
“How does it feel, sweetheart?” he urged her again between thrusts, “Do you like it like this? Does it feel good?”
“N-No, it doesn’t…” she whimpered out hoarsely, that momentary fire from before quickly extinguishing as she felt her dignity once again slipping away “Just stop…”
Dabi’s brows pinched disappointedly, hips slowing to a near-stop.
“You don’t like it like this? Soft and sweet?”
She looked back up at him, confusion creasing her own cute little face.
His hand on her hip started to tighten, nails digging deliberately into the meat of her hip, “Maybe then you liked Shigaraki’s way better…”
Her eyes widened.
“Well I can certainly do that too,” he breathed, hip suddenly snapping painfully into her.
“N-No!” she yelped, “No, please I—!” she squeezed her eyes closed tight, trying to hold back her tears, as a particularly rough thrust jostled her broken rib painfully, “I want it soft! It felt so good what you were doing before! Please! ”
“Are you sure?” Dabi tilted his head, pounding hips having yet to slow, “Don’t just say that because you think it’s what I want. This is supposed to be good for the both of us.”
“I-I’m not! Really, I mean it! I want it soft, please!” she cried out, “Please! Fuck me soft, g-gentle! Just—!”
His hips finally eased to a soft roll.
“...yeah?”
She opened her eyes then, and instantly her blood ran cold. His voice was soft and romantic, he’d gotten that part of his act down to a science, but clearly he hadn’t quite figured out how to keep that sadistic fervor from his face.
His eyes were wide, pupils blown. He was clearly trying to keep his smile even and comforting, but he couldn’t fight the way those corners twitched higher and higher, teeth grinding and showing through harder and clearer.
Just a horrible face.
This man was clearly no more a voice of reason than his more blatantly violent partner outside. He too was clearly deranged, a powder keg. Completely unpredictable.
And that made him a thousand times scarier.
Dabi leaned in closer to her, fighting to keep the manic tremble from his voice, “You want me to make love to you?”
She gulped hard, desperate to keep the absolute terror from her voice, “Y-Yes. Please… M-Make love to me…”
He stared down at her for a long moment, utterly reveling in those words long enough for her to start panicking that maybe she’d said the wrong thing.
But thankfully — god, she couldn’t believe she was thinking that — they were exactly the words he wanted to hear. He dropped his head down into her chest, groaning unabashedly as he began to hump into her again, slower for sure, but also deeper. With his entire body and being.
“Fuck, yeah… Yeah baby. Anything you want. I’ll do anything you fucking want…”
She choked out a joyless laugh at that. Anything she wanted, huh? What a fucking joke.
“You’re so good, fuck— perfect . And you too— it’s good for you? Come on tell me baby. I wanna hear how good I make you feel—”
“Uh-huh, it’s good…” she said flatly as she slipped into dissociation.
She stared up at the same tear in the headliner she’d tried to focus on by the end of Shigaraki’s torture, thinking about how oddly shaped it was. Those kinds of tears were usually outright holes, maybe with a flap of fabric hanging off of it. Or maybe it’d be just a little tear, a small line practically unnoticeable in the dim light of this van. But this one was different. Long and unnatural, it almost looked like a big Frankenstein surgical stitch. Or like the dermal piercings running up her captor’s cheeks—
Fuck. Her eyes fell back on her captors flushed, blissed out face. The electric blue of his eyes, the babbling growls spilling from his lips. She was having a much harder time tuning the pleasure out with this man than she’d had tuning out the pain with the previous one, and she didn’t know why.
Maybe it was because he was kind of her type. That’s exactly what she’d thought when he leaned out of the car window to ask her for directions after all. Watching him move over her like this, leaning down to catch her lips passionately with his own more frequently as time went on she couldn’t help but picture an alternate universe.
One where he really had been asking for directions to the beach. Where he’d been alone in his car rather than having a freak friend in the back, lying in wait. And where she’d been standing on the well-trafficked main street just a couple blocks down instead of in front of the empty alleyway she’d been smoking a blunt in when he’d stopped.
A universe where they’d flirted and hit it off and exchanged phone numbers and eventually he’d taken her on a date rather than just taken her. Where these sweet nothings and pleasurable rolls of his hips were accompanied with champagne and room service rather than rope and broken bones.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pictured it all, what a wonderful life this could’ve been.
“Shhh, shh, shhh,” he cooed, “It’s okay. You’re so perfect, it’s okay…”
But that only caused her to sob harder, face reddening voice straining as she wailed uncontrollably. She didn’t even notice Dabi’s hand slipping up along her body and up to the base of her neck.
His thumb settled snug into that soft, sensitive dip of her throat.
God, she was crying so hard now, she couldn’t breathe.
And then he started to squeeze.
Wait, no, really. She couldn’t fucking breathe —!
She gasped out suddenly, arms instinctually shooting forward to try and force his hand off, but she was once again denied by her restraints. She quickly shifted gears, thrashing her body up and down wildly. And for a moment, she did loosen his grip.
But then he brought his second hand to her throat, pushing her deeper into the mattress.
“Perfect,” he growled through the steady snapping of his hips, “So fucking perfect…”
Her throat bobbed and begged as he constricted his hands tighter, getting lost in the song of her voice getting steadily higher, weaker, until she couldn’t form a word at all, could only gurgle and croak desperately.
“Oh yeah, just like that. Be good for me baby,” he groaned, “Be good…”
He couldn’t say that this was the best part of these excursions, he savored every moment of it after all.
…But there was something particularly special about these last few moments.
It was so rare that anybody actually got to witness them, let alone experience them with their own hands — this perfect feeling of her body both tightening and going pliant around him, stiff and spasming, not to mention the view of it all that sent him barrelling frantically towards his release.
Fuck, she was so pretty! The way her drool spilled out her mouth, all gurgled and frothy. That lovely shade of blue she was starting to turn. The rabid fear that filled those eyes before they started to roll back — fuck even the pink undersides of her eyes were cute. He wondered what the backs of them, the optic nerves, looked like. He was sure they’d be adorable.
Time to strike the iron while the hyperfixation is HOT!
(I mean come ON . Look at this fucking evil dork. I love him).
SFW
It goes without saying that Vox is HUGE on appearances. He does not make his relationships public lightly. His brand as one of the V’s after all is perfection, and he’s not going to go out arm and arm with a person unless they know that.
That being said, especially given his on again off again relationship with Valentino, I could absolutely see him as being the type to fall for a hot mess.
A very different person with his partner in front of and behind the scenes. When the cameras are off, he’s warm, affectionate, and vulnerable. He’ll share his every insecurity with you, strip himself bare to the bone for you to love and comfort truly and honestly. And he’s an excellent listener too, always available to hold and talk through any problem you have. Your problems are his problems — you’ll work through them together.
When in the public eye however, he can be a downright prick — putting everything, and I do mean everything between you two on the backburner to keep up appearances. He will not hesitate to make jokes at your expense if it means his ratings will go up.
Fights with him are explosive. No, he’s not the type to lay a hand on you, but we’d be lying if we didn’t admit that he can scream at you within an inch of your life.
Words of Affirmation and Gift Giving are his primary love languages. Specifically, he needs words of affirmation and he loves to give gifts. And holy shit does he give the most uncomfortably lavish gifts. Diamonds, rolexes, new cars — no price is too high for his darling.
Surprisingly, he prefers home dates. Watching a movie on the couch or having a little game night with a bottle of wine. He does genuinely enjoy the authentic time you spend together and he wishes he could have more of it, so the more he can get of that private, intimate time together, the better.
And while he is a man of the future, so theoretically should like video games, I do think he has a certain soft spot for a good old-fashioned board game.
When it comes to video games though, he does tend to gravitate to phone games.
Vox is from the 1950’s so I do think he prefers a more nuclear family and relationship dynamic. He wants to bring home the bacon and have his partner ready to fry it up in a pan with a dirty martini ready and waiting for him. That being said, he is a man that always looks to the future as well, so he’s by no means above doing chores of his own. At the end of the day, this desire for more traditional relationship roles really comes from a place of needing to be doted on rather than any views he actually has about gender.
The man’s a sucker for a good massage from his partner. This wired up workaholic has knots that you can’t even imagine, so please, offer him a nice backrub at the end of the day. He’ll be sure to return the favor tenfold.
A very lovey-dovey drunk. Oh my GOD, he’s so touchy-feely and weepy and just all the y’s. You want a guaranteed cuddle-wuddle session? Load him up with a couple glasses of scotch — you’ll have those chords coiling around you.
And yes, his alcohol of choice is scotch. Scotch, dirty martinis, or a nice oaky chardonnay.
This man wants to get married. Yes, even if he is in hell, the idea of not having to worry about who his next lay or source of connection will come from, having someone that will stand by his side through thick and thin, a partner? Now that’d be the (after)life.
NSFW
BIG fucking praise kink. This man NEEDS you to stroke more than just his bod and his cock, he needs you to stroke his ego too.
“God you’re so good”, “FUCK, you’re so big”, “Nobody can make me feel this way but you, Vox”.
Don’t worry, it’s not just for his own ego. He loves to give praise as much as he receives it. This man is a TALKER in the sack.
“Fuck, fuck yeah. Just like that, baby. You’re so fucking good, just like thaaaaat.”
He’s also got a little bit of a degradation kink — but in general, it still feeds into stroking his own ego. Loves to tease and taunt his partner once in a while about what a horny little slut they are, how he loves to see them so desperate and pathetic. Asking his partner, “you’d have anyone right now, wouldn’t you?” just for them to assure him that no, nobody but him will do.
On that note, the man can dish out degrading dirty talk, but he can NOT fucking take it.
Very much a switch. Sure, he loves to fuck, but he’ll just as happily let his partner bend him over his own desk and fuck the shit out of him. A good orgasm is a good orgasm, his ego may be big, but not big enough to get in the way of that.
Big fan of bondage, both on his partner and himself. There are few sights better to him than seeing his partner bound and shibari’d in his own cord and wires, holy shit. But he’ll also never say no when his partner breaks out their own pair of fuzzy handcuffs for him.
He absolutely short-circuits when he cums, so watch out. Sometimes, if he cums hard enough, he may just zap you a bit so watch out.
Favorite position is seated cowgirl. He loves the way he can hold his partner close while ramming as deep into them as possible. Not to mention the fact that either one of them can take over control at any moment. He can thrust up, they can grind down — it’s just the best of all worlds. Not to mention you can do it from his desk chair.
On that note, he’s a big BIG fan of cockwarming.
LOTS of precum. This HD motherfucker is just a weepy mess.
I can’t explain why, but Vox just seems like an ass man to me.
He’s not necessarily a cuddler after, but he is something of a “savor the moment” kind of guy. He likes to lay in bed (or chair lol) with his partner for a good while afterwards, smoking a cigarette, reveling in some post-nut clarity conversation, just really taking in the moment. His life is so busy at all other times honestly, always looing and speeding to the future. Sex and post-sex are the times where he really does just like to stop and live in the moment.
Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?
CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Racism, Suicidal Ideation, Psychiatric Wards, Forcible Sedation, Depiction of a Suicide Attempt
Like my work? Please consider commissioning me or contributing to my Ko-Fi!
Read Full Chapter on AO3
[excerpt]
A few days later, she found herself in another familiar place — the elevator of Shigaraki’s building. She ran a hand through her hair as she watched the floor numbers change one by one, her fingers dancing with the ends far sooner than she was used to.
She and Nejire had gotten… daring at their post-graduation sleepover. Full of liquid courage and giddiness about their future college debuts, they cut Nejire’s hair to just below her ears. And as for her own hair…
Well, it was substantially shorter than she'd ever had it in her life.
She hadn't told Shigaraki about it yet, thinking it'd be fun to see his surprised reaction live. But she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little nervous about it.
It’s not like she thought he was going to be mad or that they’d get into a fight over it or something. Not anymore, at least. In the old days, she wouldn’t have been so sure. But even then, she still wanted him to like it. There weren't a lot of mundane mental blows more fatal than when the man you loved hated your new haircut.
The elevator finally opened, and she powered through the doors. A little haircut wouldn’t change a damn thing between them. Not with how far they’d come. They’d been through so much worse together, she knew that any changes for them from now on would only be for the best.
“I’m coming in!”
Her own echo was all that responded from within the apartment.
Huh. That was odd.
It’s not like it was weird for Shigaraki to be holed up in his room rather than hanging out downstairs or anything, but where was Kurogiri? He usually did some kind of food prep around this time of day.
Plus, they’d both been expecting her. She and Shigaraki had made specific plans to go out and celebrate together today. So, that nobody had come to greet her was…
“Well now, look who we have here.”
She felt a chill shoot through her.
So, someone was here.
The absolute last person she wanted to see.
Shigaraki’s Sensei. The man she’d oh so jovially nicknamed All for One in her head. But standing in front of her now, she regretted ever making jokes about him. Because, as opposed to what that wide, leering smile may have portrayed, there were no fun and games to be had with this man. None.
“It’s good to see you, my dear. It’s been far too long.”
She didn't understand why she was so scared. It's not like he was going to hurt her or anything. At least she didn’t think he would — that creepy-ass doctor friend of his seemed to imply differently. No, in all the times she'd interacted with him, the only pain he'd ever inflicted was the strike of his cutting over-politeness and the singe of condescension.
But there was just something about being in the same room as him that made her feel like a deer in a clearing. Frozen under the watchful eyes of a predator.
"H-hello, President." She cursed herself for how shakily the words came out.
He looked her up and down.
“You cut your hair.”
“I did.”
He hummed. "Pity. You had such lovely hair."
…Asshole.
"Is Tomura here,” she huffed, “I'm supposed to be meeting him."
His smile tightened a little at the way she called him Tomura so casually.
"Yes, I believe he had a last-minute errand to run with Kurogiri. I imagine they'll be back soon though."
So she was completely alone with him. Great. That was just great.
"Ah, okay, well I'll just go wait for him in his room then—”
"I'm glad I ran into you, actually. I've been wanting to have a little one-on-one with you for a while now."
“I, uh—”
He didn’t let her argue. "It won't take long. Indulge me?"
She couldn’t think of a reason she couldn’t. Not a polite one, at least. (I’d rather take a bath in boiling acid didn’t count.) And not a fast enough one for things not to get awkward.
"O-okay... Sure. Let’s talk.”
"Wonderful.” He gestured down the hall. "Let's step into my office then."
Taking Care, Taking What's Mine - A "Play Nice" Commission
Summary: A Play Nice AU Chapter, in which, rather than taking the high road and trying to build a real relationship with the girl he's been sextorting for weeks, Tomura Shigaraki baby-traps her instead.
CW: Quirkless!AU, Dub-Con, Smut, Extortion, Baby-Trapping, Forced Pregnancy, Love-Bombing, Manipulation, Power Play, Possessive Shigaraki, Yandere Shigaraki, Morning Sickness, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
AO3 Link
A/N: Happy fucking Father's Day readers!! Lmao! I got this AMAZING commission a while ago to write an AU of my AU (a fanfic writer's dream come true honestly), of Shigaraki baby-trapping MC and well, while it took longer then I meant it to to come out, I'm so glad that I could post it on Father' Day of all days lmao.
Anyway though, this was so much fun to write. Shigaraki has been on the journey of bettering himself for so long in Play Nice now, it was a total blast returning to form and writing him nice and scummy again.
I'd love to do more of these honestly, so as a reminder: I give discounts on Commissions that take place in my AU's.
Play Nice, Burnt Bridges, Step by Step -- all of them. They're super fun for me to write and most of the heavy-lifting of ideating and plotting has already been done for them, so I'm happy to write fics like this for cheaper. :)
Anyway, enjoy some forced parentification on this day of dads. xD
“Hey, hey— are you alright?”
She lifted her head from where she’d been resting it against her gym locker, the coolness of the metal being the first thing to even remotely ease the headache she’d been fighting for the last three days.
“Yeah, of course,” she tried to force a weak smile as Nejire approached her, clearly concerned, “Why do you ask?
The captain was dressed in her practice suit. And she quickly realized that so were all the other girls, most of them already making their way out the doors to the pool deck. She was the lone straggler who hadn’t even managed to undo her uniform tie yet. Nejire looked over at these girls, and then back to her, wordlessly demonstrating why that should be obvious.
She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head, “Okay, I guess I’m feeling a bit under the weather today…”
And that was the understatement of the century. She felt like absolute shit . Piling on top of that stubborn pounding in her head were a pair of really sore tits, a lethargy that stuck with her no matter how much vending machine coffee she chugged, and cramps that had shot straight out of hell and directly into her uterus.
But to be honest, she couldn’t complain too much about these ailments. In fact, she was pretty damn relieved. These were all her tell-tale signs of PMS. They were a little worse than usual this time around sure, but if that was the tradeoff for the relief of not being pregnant, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Her period was only one day late at this point and it had all but paralyzed her with fear.
Of course in retrospect, the fear did seem a bit silly. After all, Shigaraki’s creepy family doctor had warned her there might be some changes.
“I never start patients new to birth control immediately on a Long Acting Reversible Contraception,” he explained, “Especially not teenagers.”
“Why not?” she demanded, “It’s reversible, right? It’s not like you’re tying my tubes or anything.”
“No, but you never know how your body is going to react to the hormonal shift. You could develop acne, weight gain, hair growth—”
“I don’t care about that superficial stuff.”
“... Migraines, blood clots, depression,” he continued, looking at her pointedly.
She looked away, feeling a bit stupid for interrupting him now that he’d listed the more serious side-effects.
“I’m not saying you have to stay on the pill forever. But give it a few months, see how you feel on it. It can help us better determine which long-term birth control is best for your body without any unnecessarily invasive procedures.”
She shuddered at the very thought of being stuck in this set-up with Shigaraki for months. She hoped he’d get bored of her sooner rather than later.
Well, on the brightside, at least this sketchy-ass doctor seemed to be as interested in looking under her skirt as she was having him down there. However, this still left the ever so pertinent issue of:
“Okay, but there’s still the issue of getting the pills. No pharmacy is going to give me these without signed parental consent.” She had the always convenient Japanese purity culture to thank for that.
Ujiko simply smiled and pulled out a wheel of birth control pills from his medical bag right then and there.
“Consider these the same as this appointment,” he said, cupping his hands over hers and placing the wheel firmly into her palm, “ Off the record. ”
And then the rest of the “appointment” had descended into one of extremely thinly-veiled intimidation that bizarrely enough, she’d relied on Shigaraki of all people to save her from. By that point, she’d been scared so shitless she had very little argument left in her to try and reason him into just giving her the damn IUD.
The regret of not standing her ground on the issue did hit her later that night on the train home. Particularly when she thought over the fact that the way they were keeping these pills off the record was by having her pick up her refills through Shigaraki. The idea of giving him even more power over her like that made her feel sick to her stomach. And yes, while logically she knew that he had just as much motivation to keep her from getting pregnant as she did (she had a feeling All for One would not take too kindly to his star successor knocking up a lowly commoner such as herself), she still just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.
So she’d resolved herself on her first refill day to completely lay into Shigaraki for any level of tomfoolery he may get up to in this situation. There would be no forgetting, no being too busy to pick up the pills for her, absolutely nothing. She was ready to rain full fire and brimstone on him if there was even a hint of bullshit.
But to her surprise (and relief), she hadn’t even crossed the threshold of his bedroom before he was tossing a new pack to replace her wheel with. Simple and nonchalant, and then he was just as quick as always to badger her about getting her clothes off already, get on the bed already, break up with your boyfriend already.
It was the same old, same old — for better or for worse. Even if she couldn’t trust Tomura Shigaraki himself, that action had at least ensured that she could trust his own desire for self-preservation.
And that was better than nothing she supposed.
Back in the locker room, Nejire asked her, “Do you think you’re coming down with something?”
She smiled at her friend, joking, “Nothing I don’t come down with every month.”
Nejire tilted her head in confusion for a moment before the lightbulb visibly lit up in her head.
“Ohhhhh,” Nejire nodded sympathetically, “Yeah, Aunt Flow can be a real meanie sometimes, huh?”
She laughed, then winced as the action worsened the throbbing in her head, “Damn it— you can say that again.”
Nejire’s brows furrowed and she brought a hand to the small of her friend’s back, “Hey, why don’t you take this afternoon off?”
She looked back to her, surprised, “Oh no, I couldn’t…”
“Sure you could!” Nejire chirped, “And honestly, you probably should. We’re working on our weakest strokes today. I had you down to work on your fly.”
Visible dread filled her as she thought about doing that much undulation in her current state.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Nejire laughed, “Seriously, go home. We’ll miss you, but we love you too. So we want you to take care of yourself.”
She debated a little more internally, one other loose thread dropping into her mind’s eye.
“If I do… Do you mind—”
“I’ll let Mirio know,” she shot her a wink as she clarified, “ After practice. I’ll let him know you just need the peace and quiet.”
She smiled at Nejire, genuinely grateful. This. This right here was what made all of the bending over backwards she did to fit in and please others worth it. To be cared about by such a good person.
The warmth of that care stayed with her all the way out to the school gates, where she was then immediately filled with dread upon realizing that she’d need to go in one of two directions depending on where she was going after school: the train station home, or the walk to Shigaraki’s.
And just which direction she was scheduled to go today.
She let out a long groan, anguished and loud enough to startle a couple members of the going home club that passed her. For once though, she didn’t care about her reputation, she was too focussed on what a goddamn nightmare she was falling into.
She pulled out her cellphone with a sigh. Yes she knew the effort was probably futile, but damn her if she didn’t at least try.
Yup. She could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. She sighed as she shoved her phone back into her bag and started the very slow trek over to Shigaraki’s.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Shigaraki said as he looked her over his doorway, “You look like shit.”
She shot him a wholly unimpressed look as she shoved past him into his bedroom.
“Yeah, I fucking told you.”
Shigaraki, surprisingly, didn't have anything to say about her tone, even with her brusqueness towards him being more than usual. He just watched her drop down face first onto his bed and curl her legs up into her chest.
She sighed at the slight relief the position gave her. While dealing with Shigaraki’s antics was about the last thing she wanted right now, she supposed that at least she could be grateful for how much closer his apartment was to her school then her own home was. It saved her a good fifty-minutes of white-knuckling a train stanchion to keep down her groans of pain. Now at least she could get the relief of laying down much sooner.
If only for a little bit.
“What’s going on?”
She bristled at Shigaraki’s voice, the unwelcome reminder that she wasn’t going to be able to truly relax right now. And while there didn’t seem to be any entendre or even impatience in his question, the fact that his voice was getting closer to her was enough to make her suspicious.
“My head aches, my back aches, my boobs ache — everything aches,” she grumbled down into his sheets, “And I feel like I’ve been donkey-kicked straight in the uterus.”
“You start your period or something?”
He didn’t sound sarcastic when he asked it, not that typical boy way of asking any time a girl did something they considered “moody”. It was a genuine question. But it irritated her all the same.
Everything seemed to be irritating her these days.
“About to,” she answered, “It’s like a day late, but it’s definitely coming.”
She felt the bed shift a bit as he sat next to her.
“Are you nauseous at all?”
Her brows furrowed, a bit confused by the interest.
“I guess a little,” she answered, because even though it was mild, there was a certain turn in her stomach that wasn’t unlike motion sickness, “But honestly, I think it’s just from the pain. This has been going on for like three days.”
“Have you taken anything for it?”
She could’ve laughed if she wasn’t so annoyed by the reminder of all her futile attempts to alleviate this. Because of course he was looking for a quick fix so they could fuck already.
“I’ve taken everything for it,” she groaned, “Nothing’s working.”
He just hummed in response, and then she could feel the sheets behind her dip a bit as he repositioned himself. Into what orientation, she wasn’t sure. She was about to turn her head back and ask him what he was doing when she felt his hand featherlight across her hip.
And between her legs.
“No, Shigaraki please,” she whined, pulling he knees closer into her chest, “I’m not kidding, I’m seriously in a lot of pain—”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Tell that to your hand then,” she snapped as his fingers tried to wiggle their way between her clenched thighs.
“I mean I’m not doing anything for me. This is for you.”
“Oh is it now,” she deadpanned.
“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he insisted, more irritably this time, “Orgasms help with cramps, right?”
She stilled, sufficiently stumped by that particular statement. Because yes, she could say from experience that they absolutely did. She’d spent many a nasty period with her fingers latched to clit to chase that particular path of relief.
…but why the hell did Shigaraki know that?
She gasped as she suddenly felt the gentle roll of her clit under three fingers. Apparently, in her moments of distracted deliberation, Shigaraki managed to push his hand past the plush lock of her thighs and under the hem of her panties.
“Sh-Shigaraki…” she whined, pushing her elbow blindly and weakly back towards him.
He caught it gently in his free palm and, rather than trying to pin or strain it in whatever which way he desired, like usual, he just held it there. Didn’t even hold it in place really, just shielded himself against its determined path towards his ribs.
“I’m serious,” he said, uncharacteristically soft, “I’m trying to help you.”
She finally mustered up the strength to — despite how much her aching abdomen hated her for it — turn and glower at Shigaraki.
“No funny business?” she pressed.
He settled his own flat expression on her, “When have I ever been funny?”
More times than she’d like to admit honestly, but she got what he was saying here. He was a pretty serious, straightforward person on principle. He didn’t bullshit, he didn’t pull cheap tricks, and, shockingly enough, he didn’t typically lie. Frustrating as it was, Tomura Shigaraki was pretty much always unapologetically himself and he always did what he wanted.
So if he said that he was doing this to help her, then she supposed that she didn't actually have a lot of reason to distrust him.
Plus, his fingers hadn’t stopped their soft, but affective ministrations between her legs, and the pleasant sparks of heated relief they were sending through her were undeniable.
She turned back onto her side with a sigh that was half-exasperation, half pleasure.
“Fine,” she said, throwing back quickly before he got too victorious, “But fuck around and I’ll kick you.”
Shigaraki just chuckled, a soft throaty sound that shouldn’t have sent the chills up her spine that it did, “Yeah, yeah…”
In one motion, careful not to jostle her too much, Shigaraki both pulled her back and scooched himself closer, until her back was nestled snug against his surprisingly firm chest and her head laid in the crux of his bicep.
With this new closeness he was able to be a bit more deliberate with the angle and pressure he used to rub at her swollen sex. And, while she hated to admit it, the increased blood flow between her legs was causing the pressure within her to build quite a bit faster than usual. Enough so that it had her letting go of the tension in her neck and joints — the automatic stress reaction she had to any of Shigaraki’s displays of intimacy — and letting the weight of her head drop fully into his embrace.
A shuddering sigh left Shigaraki at that clear relinquishing of control, of the way she truly let herself lay back and relax into him. It gave him the encouragement he needed to enjoy her to the fullest extent that he wanted her as well, burying his nose deep into her hair.
He started to stroke wider circles around her, the flats of his fingers never leaving her clit, but now allowing the tips to dip softly into her entrance. He didn’t push them in at all past his first knuckles, just enough to catch some of that growing wetness and spread it all across her fluttering lips.
“A-Ah—” she gasped out, “Sh-shit…”
“Like that?” he rasped, hot against her ear.
She bit her lip, nodding needily, “Mm— Mm-hmm…”
He groaned at the response, doubling down on that motion as he started to stud long, hot kisses down the back of her jaw and neck. The feeling, so gentle and intimate and good in combination to the way he worked her sex, had her unconsciously rocking her hips into his touch, and back into his own.
Vaguely through the haze, she could feel the familiar outline of his stiff cock against the cleft of her ass, but shockingly he didn’t try to grind it against her for relief. If anything actually, when her own hips moved unconsciously back against it, he actually shifted his own hips away, anglind them down so his erection pushed into the bed instead. As if he didn’t want her to feel it, that he was concerned about her feeling pressured by its presence.
She didn’t have the chance to think too much into that though, not when his fingers were coaxing her closer to the edge by the second. The mess between her legs was obscene at this point, through teary eyes she could see the overflow of it spreading wide across her thighs and pooling down in the sheets.
“God look at you, so fucking wet,” he groaned, lips having made it down to her shoulder and staying there so that he could have a better view of her writhing under his touch, “You needed this, huh? Fucking needed me…”
She buried her face into his arm to muffle her moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but also not wanting him to stop.
By some act of God, Shigaraki didn’t push for that answer either. She wasn’t sure why he’d abandoned his typical demands and taunts, didn’t threaten to stop until she gave him the verbal submission and begrudging praise he always wanted. Nor did she stop to think about why, she just let the gratitude course through her, spurred further and wider by the waves of heat rushing through her body, threatening — promising — to overflow.
Shigaraki could feel that axiomatic tension in her body, the boiling point it promised, and sped up his hand to stoke the flames.
“You’re close aren’t you? Oh yeah, you’re close…” his kisses turned to nips at her neck between progressively more demanding growls, “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”
Fuck, hearing those last words spill from his mouth should not have done what it was doing to her. But it was speeding up her peak, and it was speeding it up audibly.
“Yeah, yeah that’s good, really good. Let it go. Go ahead, be a good girl and let it go.”
She cried out, her arching back forcing her face forward and mouth unmuffled as finally, finally her body went blissfully loose, the pain of the past few days overtaken by waves of heat and pleasure. One after the other, her hormone-driven sensitivity wrung out multiple orgasms, and his frantic fingers were happy to work her through each one until she was begging him to stop.
“Good girl, yeah, yeah, just like that. That’s a good girl,” he continued to praise, returning time and again to that phrase he could feel her getting unconsciously excited over, “That’s my good girl…”
It was just a few blurry moments of consciousness after that. She was pretty sure she whined something like “too much” to him at some point, and he whispered back something that she was sure was just utterly debauched right back. Or maybe it was sweet nothings, he had really favored those by the end of this escapade after all.
Whatever it all was, she supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered in those seconds of labored breaths and fluttering lashes was the beautiful bliss and relief that finally overtook her body. That allowed her to immediately fall asleep in his arms.
Shigaraki held her there for a long time after. He raked his eyes greedily across her body, letting himself carve every detail deep into his memory. He knew he didn’t need to, not anymore. Her boyfriend, her parents, hell, whether or not she got into Todai with him, it was all a non-issue now. There was no reason for him to lose this anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere in life without him. He was going to be able to revel in this sight for the rest of his life now. And he just couldn’t believe how lucky he was for that.
He chuckled a bit at that. Well, maybe lucky wasn’t the right word. This was all by design after all, weeks of very deliberate planning and deception. It was just like he’d always been taught. It didn’t matter what hand you’ve been dealt — and Tomura Shigaraki had certainly been dealt a shit hand in a lot of ways — a real winner made his own luck.
Sensei would be mad, Shigaraki knew that much. Everyone would be mad in fact, but he didn’t care. He was just following the fundamental lesson Sensei himself had instilled in him the day they met.
Take whatever you want, and fuck all the rest.
Several minutes into hearing those sweet deep breaths of unconsciousness from the beautiful girl in his arms, Shigaraki finally peeled his fingers away from her cunt.
And slid a wide hand up to cradle her tummy.
It was dark when she woke up, not a single one of Shigaraki’s many monitors or television lit the windowless room. That was odd for a couple of reasons, the first of which being that the overhead lighting had definitely been on when she’d dozed off. The second of which was that any time Shigaraki wasn’t preoccupied with helping her study or studying her, he was chronically attached to at least one screen, if not multiple, so it was more than a bit odd for him to have zero on. The reason for the lack of blue light however became quickly apparent as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.
Shigaraki wasn’t here.
She was totally alone in his room, alone and tucked into his bed. Had he gone to the bathroom or something? But then why would all the lights be off? It seemed like he’d probably been gone for a while. Weird…
She threw off the covers and flipped her legs around with much more ease than she’d done anything over the last three days, much to her relief. However long she’d been out, the sleep had clearly done her some good. The pounding in her head and pelvis had finally ceased, perhaps just in time for her to actually start her period. She did feel some dampness between her legs after all. Although…
Her face heated up as she remembered the much more likely cause of that.
Damn it, she thought with a groan, dropping her head into her hands. She couldn’t believe that she actually let him do that to her, for her. He was going to get entirely the wrong idea from it. The idea that she might actually like him and want to spend time with him, that there was some kind of connection between them that extended past the time she was required to spend with him to keep him satisfied. And she absolutely could not deal with that.
Being his little sex toy was one thing. A demoralizing thing, yes, but a manageable one. She’d seen the way Shigaraki treated things he objectified — games and magazines and the like. He got bored of them quickly. And if she was one of those things in his eyes, then eventually he’d get bored with her too and she’d be free.
If he was attached to her though? Had found connection in her and a desire to keep her in his life? She didn’t even want to consider that nightmare scenario.
She made her way out into the hallway, looking up and down from the empty bathroom on one end of the hall to the top of the staircase on the other. She didn’t have to contemplate the lack of presence on this floor for long though, when she heard Shigaraki’s voice echoing up from downstairs, talking emphatically to Kurogiri, she assumed.
She couldn’t hear exactly what he was talking about, but whatever it was, he was being particular about it. “Don’t overcook” and “perfect” were a few of the words she managed to catch, so it was about food, maybe? The accompanying sounds of sizzling pans and clanking cookware would certainly support that. As would the smell that suddenly hit her.
It wasn’t an unpleasant smell by any means. In fact, it was salmon, one of her favorites. But for some reason at that moment, the smell hit her with a particular intensity that made her feel overwhelmed.
And really fucking nauseous.
She just barely made it to the toilet at the end of the hall, not even fully down to her knees by the time she was emptying her stomach into the bowl. It wasn’t just a brief moment of sickness either. The bouts were loud and long, she was sure that it echoed throughout the entire apartment. It left her red-faced, skin covered and hair clumped with sweat, not to mention still gagging long after she had nothing left to gag on.
A hand she barely even noticed came to rest on the small of her back in the midst of it all. It was only in the aftermath, spent and dry-heaving that she could process the fact that it was Shigaraki, kneeling at her side, patiently stroking small circles into her clammy skin and encouraging her softly.
“Let it out. Just let it all out.”
She groaned once she finally seemed to have a solid thirty seconds of dry, steady breath. And Shigaraki used that respite to nudge a glass of water into her hands.
“Here.”
She didn’t argue or agree, just took it from him with shaky hands, tossing half of it just into her mouth to swish around and spit the remaining bitterness from her tongue.
“Drink some of it too.”
She nodded shakily, still too drained and disoriented to be irritated with his telling her what to do, or suspicious of the fact that he was being so nice.
And still, as she took entirely too long to finish the rest of her water with timid little sips, he just knelt on the ground with her, moving the hand on her back to rest on her knee, thumb rubbing circles into the spot where a bruise would undoubtedly form.
Finally, after a long, silent stretch, she managed to croak out, “W-What time is it?”
“Only seven,” he answered, “Kurogiri’s got dinner almost ready downstairs. Seared salmon, brown rice, avocado salad—”
She whined, shaking her head roughly at the very implication of food.
“Don’t like salmon?”
“I-I do… It’s just—” she gagged a little as she remembered that smell that had set this all off in the first place, “Th-The smell right now. It’s too much…”
“Oh yeah…” he nodded understandingly, muttering something to himself that she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded kind of like, “Heightened” and “Read about that…”
Her brows furrowed a bit, frustrated and confused. She was getting the feeling that he was really not telling her something.
“W-What?”
Shigaraki just waved her off, “No, that’s fine, that’s fine. Salmon’s not the only thing he made. There’s sauteed spinach, wakame tofu soup, toasted—”
Jesus Christ, was Kurogiri cooking for an army down there or something?
Well, whoever it was all for, and as delicious as it all sounded in theory, imagining those foods in practice right now was making her feel sick all over again.
“Mm-mm, Mm-mm!” she whined, shaking her head again.
She didn’t want to risk opening her mouth right now, lest she blow chunks all over the front of Shigaraki’s shirt. Although wouldn’t that be a nice little serving of karma for him…
“You need to eat something,” he insisted, more lecturey than she’d ever heard him, but with a strange gentleness to his voice as well, “And you need to drink some more too. You’re totally dehydrated.”
She shook her head more emphatically at that, which only resulted in her falling forward into his chest.
He caught her before she could fall any further, scolding her not too harshly, in fact, a bit whimsically, “Is this how you’re gonna be the whole time?”
She pulled her head back to look at him, a confused furrow in her brows that brought the corners of his lips up.
“It’s not a bad look on you to be honest. All weak and petulant,” he brought a hand to pinch lightly at her cheek, “It’s kinda cute actually.”
Her eyes narrowed, finally feeling her stomach steady enough in her to be annoyed. He chuckled, just as amused and endeared by this look as the last.
“Well how about okayu?” he offered with a patronizing little lilt, “And maybe some ginger tea?”
He clearly wasn’t going to let this go. And infuriatingly, he was right not to. She definitely was in no shape to go home on this empty stomach.
She sighed.
“Yeah… Yeah okay.”
Going at her own shaking, snailish pace, Shigaraki helped her up onto her legs, pulling her immediately into his side as he led her back towards his bedroom. Normally she’d protest, stick an elbow right into his ribs and storm on ahead of him, but honestly she needed the help right now. So she sucked it up and let him lead her back into his bed.
But that didn’t stop her from eying him suspiciously as he propped his pillows up behind her and tucked her back in under his comforter, the overall way he doted and fretted over her, even stopping to look back at her one more time from the doorway before he returned downstairs to give Kurogiri the new marching orders.
She dropped her head back against the pillows when finally alone, a bad feeling settling heavier and heavier in her stomach. This was beyond weird, the way he was acting. Sure, the guy was overbearing and constantly demanding of her attention, stupidly needy even. But doting? Not only willing but eager to put her needs ahead of his own? Caring deeply about her actual well-being and not just what he wanted to be her well-being? This was all way too out of character for him.
“…You can tell me. If he bothered you, I mean. N-Not just the Doctor either… If um… If anything’s bothering you.”
She sighed at the memory. Alright, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit. He’d shown at least some capability and even interest in her wants and well-being, he wasn’t a complete monster.
But still, all of this? The cooing and the caring and the, erm, servicing even that he’d done? It felt like too much. Like she was missing something really key about it all.
Like something was wrong .
Whether she ended up getting lost in that train of thought for long, or Kurogiri had already had some okayu whipped up downstairs, she wasn’t sure, but she was startled by how quickly it seemed that Shigaraki returned with a breakfast tray in hand. She cocked her head as he set it up over her lap, this was a lot more robust than she was expecting, and, she realized as she examined everything on the tray, a lot more stocked as well.
There was okayu, front and center for her, yes. But also on the tray was another small bowl of soup (looked like the wakame that Shigaraki had mentioned, a thing of plain yogurt (the really fancy kind that came in the glass jars), a glass of orange juice…
And a little dish of four pills.
Painkillers or antiemetics maybe? They looked more like vitamins…
“Go ahead and start with the okayu if you want,” Shigaraki explained as he climbed up into the bed next to her, “But I want you to try and get some of the wakame and yogurt down too…”
As he settled down, his legs flush with her own, he continued to rattle off instructions and explanations for the rest of her tray, sending her mind completely spinning, faster and faster, like a goddamn Gravitron.
And she was ready to get the fuck off.
“...if nothing else though, take the vitamins. You need the folate, calcium, iron, and the omega-3 especially, since you don’t want the salmon—”
“Okay, stop, stop, stop !”
Shigaraki paused, having the audacity to look at her like she was crazy for snapping.
“Jesus—what the hell are you even talking about Shigaraki?!” she demanded, “What’d you say, folate? What? What is all this?”
He cocked his head, clearly playing innocent. Whatever this was, he was clearly enjoying the slow unraveling of it all.
“What’re you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about!” she snapped, “All this attention and doting and food stuff! What the hell is this all about?!”
He just smiled back at her, taking in how pretty she looked, even when mad (especially when mad sometimes), God, to think that this really was his forever now. He wondered if they had a girl, how much she’d look like her. He hoped a lot…
“I just want to make sure you’re getting all the vitamins and nutrients you need…”
He reached over then, spreading his hand flat against her stomach.
“ Both of you .”
She froze.
No.
No, he couldn’t mean—
She tried to speak, tried to ask what the ever-loving- fuck he was talking about, but her mouth had seemed to go dry. She tried several times to open and wet it a bit, but every time she did, it felt like her throat was closing too. It took at least four desperate attempts for her to finally force out one rasped:
“... what? ”
Shigaraki’s grin widened, and he started to rub circles gently across her belly.
“You’re gonna look so cute, all big and round with my kid,” he giggled suddenly as he remembered something, “Oh, and your tits too. I wonder how big they’re gonna get…”
She stared at him, unblinking, unbreathing. Everything but un-fucking-existing.
He couldn’t be serious. He was fucking with her. He had to be fucking with her!
“Th-That’s not funny.”
His grin evened a little, not disappearing outright, but settling away some of its blissful excitement into something more coyly victorious.
“I said it already,” he reminded, “When have I ever been funny?”
She shook her head in disbelief.
“N-No. No, no, no this isn’t— there’s no way—”
“I’ve got the tests ready when you need to pee, but I think it’s pretty clear. These are all the symptoms I read about.”
“No!” she insisted, “N-No, no— this is, it’s my period! It’s just a day late, it’s not—!”
He chuckled, “I know the symptoms can be similar, but come on. When’s the last time you’ve hurled like that thanks to your period? And the sensitivity to smell? You know this is different.”
Crumbling, every argument she could possibly think of was crumbling to dust before she could even get the thought fully formed. And cruel, vicious reality was more than happy to take its place.
“B-But my birth control pills…”
“Fertility pills,” he explained, his splitting-grin returning in full, “I would’ve preferred to get Clomid from the doctor, but it looks like the over the counter stuff and tracking your cycle worked just fine.”
Her stomach dropped. Pieces of memories, peculiar behaviors and nagging thoughts she’d had over the last two months falling into place. How there were stretches of times where he’d cancel their sessions, only to insist they make them up a few specific days in a row. How he wanted to go multiple rounds a lot those days. How he’d stopped wanting blowjobs from her entirely. How he seemed to only want to fuck her from behind or with her knees pressed hard into her chest, positions he could fuck her the deepest in.
And how he’d have her stay still with his cock buried in her after he came.
Back then, she just thought he was being weird and pervy. And in a way she was right.
Horribly fucking right.
Shigaraki shifted his legs away from her so that he could bring his head down to her lap, laying his cheek blissfully against her belly.
“Was so easy,” he hummed against her skin, “Like your body was just waiting for me to knock you up. Waiting for me to make you mine…”
His hands moved across her body, one coiling behind her back so that he could pull her tighter into him, the other lacing his fingers through her own. The fingers on her trembling left hand.
“Both of you, forever,” he growled happily, a predator who had finally and definitively sunk his teeth into his prey, “All mine.”
