unknowningMei

20 Ageless and minors DNI 🇵🇸from the river to the sea🍉 I just kinda write shit 🤷‍♀️

[unknowingentity]

Does anyone one else remember the time when other people that ship themselves with the character was excited to find other people that like that character as well?

When “Yume” shipping was just a selfship with an oc and you could geek out with other randoms without the risk of getting a death threats bc you said “omg! I like x characters too!”

[unknowingentity]

I’m writing a hurt/comfort for Tomura rn, but decided to go at from a different angle. HOWEVER I loved this draft far to much, and this is my blog so, 🤷‍♀️

Tags- hurt/comfort, lazy writing (this was a draft), if you squint its a slow burn, nerd Tomura



The companionship that grew between you and Shigaraki was a quiet, fragile thing, born from the damp concrete of an alleyway he found you in that night, backed into a dead end, bleeding out, and staring down the end of your rope. Something in his warped internal wiring had short-circuited. A rare, unbidden impulse had stayed his hand. Instead of letting you decay, he had reached down and dragged you back to the League’s hideout, driven by the phantom echo of the day All For One had pulled him from the dirt.

He gave you the room right next to his, a cramped space thick with dust and the smell of stale beer from the bar below. Then came the gaming rig. It was an expensive, top-tier setup that felt entirely out of place among the peeling wallpaper and broken floorboards, but it became the anchor of your days. Before long, the quiet hum of cooling fans and the rhythmic, aggressive clicking of mechanical keyboards filled the hallway as the two of you fell into step, clearing digital dungeons and trading quiet callouts over headsets deep into the night.

In those hours under the artificial glow of the monitors, Shigaraki began to map you out. He memorized your rhythm- the reckless way you lunged into danger first and asked questions later, and the fierce, unyielding passion that took over whenever you found something worth fighting for. But it was the micro-details that began to swirl around his mind, creeping into his daily thoughts when the screens were dark. He noticed how your nose crinkled, small and sharp, whenever a laugh caught you completely off guard. He watched the sudden, erratic light that sparked in your eyes whenever you grew genuinely excited, a brilliant contrast to the gray, suffocating world he usually inhabited.

The shift happened on a night when the alcohol ran a little too freely and the easy, unscripted laughter stretched long past midnight. Driven by a mutual, restless energy, the two of you climbed out onto the rusted fire escape and retreated to the roof of the bar, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder under a heavy, smog-choked sky.

Maybe it was the liquor, or maybe it was the suffocating weight of the silence between you, but the dam finally broke. For the first time in his life, the words didn't crawl out- they spilled, raw, jagged, and dripping with old blood. Scratching at his neck until the skin wept, until your hand closed around his wrists, pulled them from his neck.

He told you about the quiet house, the suffocating itch of his skin, the weight of the severed hands he wore like a shroud, and the horrific, irreversible tragedy that had left him standing alone in the wreckage of his family.

As the last word left his cracked lips, he tensed. He braced his shoulders, waiting for the inevitable flinch, the widening of your eyes, the instinctive movement of your body pulling away from a monster.

Instead, the air left you in a broken sob.

You didn't shrink back. You lunged forward, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him against you with a fierce, desperate strength. He froze, arms hovering in the air, terrified to touch you, terrified to let go. You wept heavy, genuine tears into the crook of his shoulder, your voice trembling as you whispered frantic, angry apologies for the agonizing weight the world had forced him to carry.

When you finally pulled back, your fingers remained anchored to his clothes, anchoring him to the earth. Your eyes were bright with tears, but your gaze was entirely steady as you looked through the villain, through the decay, and straight into whatever was left of his soul.

“That’s not fair to you,” you breathed, your voice a ragged fracture in the night. “I know there is good in you, Tenko.”

The name struck him like a physical blow. Not Shigaraki. Not Tomura. Tenko. It was a dead boy’s name, buried deep beneath layers of ash and hatred, and hearing it roll off your tongue felt entirely terrifying. But it was the final word that broke his programming completely. You had looked at the ruin of him, and you had called it good.

[no-fucks-left-in-inventory]

Tomura is such a gentle kisser.

At first.

The moment he realizes just what's happening and that you aren't pulling away he gets insanely greedy. Shoving his tongue down your throat, all clashing teeth and messy drool, hands grabbing at the edge of the bar you're sitting at and digging his fingertips into the wood. He's so hard that it's painful, straining against his sweats, as you let him explore your mouth. It's so hot and passionate with the way your saliva mixes and leaks down your chins and onto your throat. He won't let you breathe and when you try he chases after you. When your hands thread in his hair and tug gently, feeling your own arousal twisting up in your stomach, he cums in his pants.

[sillymore414]

Sammy doodles

[unknowingentity]

Everyone always headcannons Tomura as this mean kind of aggressive dominate partner.

But to that I raise you a Tomura that is so obsessed with you that he’s in genuine awe the first time he gets to fuck you.

This mans breath caught in his throat as he watched his cock disappear into you the first time. He was slow, not because he was gentle, no because he was *watching* you. Watching your face twitch and toes curl as he pressed deeper and deeper into you.

His brain nearly blue screens when he first bottoms out. Then he almost cums on the spot when he noticed the bulge in your stomach. Pulling before pushing back in again just so he could watch it appear and then disappear.

The sight of himself inside you, visible through the taut skin of yout stomach, was primal, possessive, utterly consuming to him. His eyes fixed on the way your body yielded to accommodate him.

On the way your toes curled the dreamy drunken giggle escaped your lips, followed by a moan that vibrated through your chest. He watched her head lazily fall against the pillows, drooling slightly as the mix of pleasure and pain painted your features in a way that was devastatingly beautiful.

"Fuck, MC," he rasped, his voice wrecked, his rhythm faltering as he watched your face contort with bliss. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was all hunger and desperation, his tongue sliding against yours as he continued his slow, deliberate pace. Each thrust was measured, deep, designed to make you feel every inch of him, to imprint himself into your walls.

When he broke the kiss, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged, he whispered, "Look at me. I want to see your eyes when you fall apart."