ੈ✩‧˚*━━pas de deux,

◛ 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝; 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠...

༉‧₊˚✧━━𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝: um hi!!! so, as someone into ballet and classical dancing and all that, i was wondering if you could write a mini drabble thing about shigs and the reader before they go dancing. like the reader seeing him in costume for the first time. please and thanks. ━━🩰━.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; excoriation disorder, two terrible hand puns that will put you in the hospital & no actual dancing.

“You’re all dressed up,” You remark, turning to regard Shigaraki. If someone had told you that you would have Japan’s most wanted man as your partner, you would've given a good laugh; if they had told you that Japan’s most wanted man would be dressed up in coattails and dress pants you would’ve thought them crazy or an astrologist.

And yet here he was, fluffy hair pinned behind him in a ponytail, looking considerably unlike his usual self if it hadn’t been for the scowl on his chapped lips and the cute mole to its right. You smile, knowing immediately that his appearance was Toga’s doing and silently thanking her for not allowing him to show up in a moth-eaten hoodie and torn-up pants.

“Yeah, well, it’s the brat’s fault,” He mutters, his hands twitching. You know he wants nothing more than to scratch his neck raw, though you appreciate him holding back for you. “Why’d you even want to dance?”

You outstretch your hand, “It’s great for bonding.”

“You know I can’t dance,” He mutters and yet he grips your hand with his own and staggers toward you. You slide your other hand upward to rest against his shoulder and he slides his juxtaposing hand—or rather four fingers—to grip at your waist. He looks down at his hand, melancholic. “What if—? What if my hand—?” 

You smile, looking into his dark red eyes with a twinkle in your own. “I know that you won’t hurt me,“ You state, biting your lip. “Besides, you’re quite good at restraining yourself, I gotta hand it to you.”

Shigaraki twitches as if to pull away, dead-panning, "I thought we were past the hand jokes.”

“Sorry, but my puns are pretty hand-y.” You snort.

.

.

.

“I’m breaking up with you.” 

*ೃ♡━━unravel.

◛ 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝; 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠...

ੈ✩‧₊━━𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡: a symbiote!reader takes various members of the league as their host body. the result is utter hijinks.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬; shigaraki tomura, dabi, twice, toga himiko, mr. compress & spinner. 

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; pretty tame; dabi’s section has implied child abuse so be careful.

₊˚.༄━━𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄,

𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄,

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲; le casa de papel 

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; mentions of death, blood, knives, mentions of guro, one mention of abuse, a knife fight happens, toga is a yandere and a whole ass warning on her own, dabi makes like one sexual reference, language, a vague post-apocalypse with bad worldbuilding, one vague reference to the dabi is a todoroki theory.

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭; adaptation━━༉‧₊˚✧.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭*; (╭☞•́⍛•̀)╭☞ @inanabsentia​ & @maris-chan​!

*just ask if you wanna be added or removed!

You stand straight as bone as you feel the sharp tip of the blade press hard against your back. A cold, clammy tingle pricks at your fingertips as your heart swells your veins with blood and your nerves pumps adrenaline through your body. You remember back to your biology class, remember back to your school days.

Conflict is a constant when observing animals and their behaviour. Species fight over territory, food, mates and other resources necessary to sustain life. You can remember the clicking beneath your biology teacher’s feet as they paced across the classroom, how eccentric they had been. Whilst fighting and killing is a necessary evil in nature, there are a list of animals who engage in killing for pleasure without any reasonable gain. Amongst these animals are humans.

If you attacked Toga or even killed her, would it simply be adhering to your animalistic nature, or was there another way around the situation? Vaguely, in some broken recess of your mind, you remember someone telling you that diplomacy was strictly a human invention: better than the wheel, or the steam engine, or even money.

That most likely wasn’t true, of course, but it was a thought that passed your mind. Maybe if you talked your way out of this, maybe if you used reasoning and such, you wouldn’t have to fight at all. That was preferable.

“I—,” Your mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, your throat so dry it ought to light a fire. You stare ahead at the door across the hallway—white and gilded and ostentatious. If only you could reach out and push it open, escape towards the light. That was when you glimpsed it.

The door was ajar, if only slightly, enough for the passing person to be able to look in with ease. You swallow deep and turn toward Toga, readying your bluff, “I was going to close the door. I—I didn’t want anyone listening to us.”

Toga grips your arm harder, twists it hard as she swerves the knife round and forward in one swift motion, until it’s inches from your throat. You can almost smell the metallic tinge of the steel. The metal glints in the harsh light emanating from the bulb above you, a white, flashing warning of danger that curls around the blade. Your heart pulses.  

“Do you think I’m stupid, ____-chan?” Toga asks. Her voice is simple, with the sing-song inflection that you’ve come to know from her. “I know you’re not totally onboard with Tomura’s plan, my Izuku wasn’t either, but you’ll come to know. You’ll learn to love him,” She leans in to press her face against the crook of your neck. Her breath pricks at your skin as she speaks. “Just you wait. Love is the best feeling there is. The thump, thump of your heart filling with sweet, sweet blood. Oh, it makes me so, so thirsty, ____-chan. Can’t you tell?”

You loathed to think of what her idea of ‘thirsty’ was and you were even more loathed to imagine confronting Shigaraki. Your instincts were begging you to look past all that, however, and look to what really mattered. And what really mattered was dealing with the blade hovering near your throat.

“Toga—” You consider for a moment, then correct yourself, “Himiko, please. Look, I—” You swallow your pride and your emotions and the sick, sinking feeling in your gut. “I’m flattered that Shigaraki, I mean, Tomura, feels like that. Maybe, if you could let me talk to him, we could come to an agreement? You know, on our own?”

Toga hums, the vibration wracking your body with another layer of warm chill. Finally, she withdraws the knife from your neck with a slash and speaks, “Maybe,” She states, sliding two fingers against your arm, “Maybe I’ll talk to him for you. Oh! I’ve always wanted to play matchmaker! In my perfect world, I get what I like, right? I really, really want you two together. You’ll let me do that for you, won’t you?” She grips your arm tighter, practically wringing it out in her ferocity. Her other hand twirls her blade around for your scrutiny. “But, I really want to cut you first, though,” She hovers her lips close to your ear. “It’s been so long since I tasted blood. Just a little prick or maybe a little more?”

Your brain helpfully flicks through a thousand ways you could die all in an instant, but the adrenaline has you feeling a bit more determined, a bit more defiant, a bit more animalistic. Diplomacy was certainly not going to work judging by Toga’s tone, but you really didn’t want to wrestle a teenager to the ground. Although, your frontal lobe reasons, she is a direct danger to you and your survival. Attacking her would be a matter of self-defence; you’d be standing your ground.

“I’ll cut you nice and deep, maybe to the bone.” Toga mutters, casting a gaze to her knife. “No, no, the knife’s not sharp enough. I guess Tomura won’t mind if I cut into your leg or maybe your arms. I’ll just get a nice, juicy vein—“ 

Without a thought, you draw your elbow back and jam it against Toga’s skull, sending her stumbling back as you hop to action and begin running. 

Before the world had ended, you had tuned into some nature documentary whilst cleaning. It was about a wolf and a hare. You remember all of the adaptations the hare had, how evolution had saved it from the claws of the wolf time and time again. 

It was funny now and you had to stifle an ill-timed chuckle. You were the hare, running along marble instead of the dewy grasses of a morning pasture and Toga was something of a wolf, with her blade as her claws and her paws twitching to be coated in blood. 

“I like it when they run,” She giggles simply as she joins you in your tango between life and death. You barely hear her past the thumping of your ears. Or was that your heart? “They always get scuffed up when they run.”

Your lungs and your nostrils burn white-hot and you count. You count the uneven footsteps of Toga’s shoes against the waxy marble; you count the pulsings of your heart against your rib-cage; you count the metres between you and safety. To fall now, even if it was a brief stumble would mean pain—grievous pain knowing Toga.

And you wouldn’t dare let your friend, Izumi, down like that. You couldn’t leave them alone surrounded by villains lead by a man who hated them. And you make a promise to Izumi as you run, a promise to yourself. There’d be no more playful banter with your villainous captors. Every step you took would be a step devoted to leading your fellow hostages out of the bank and to safety. You swear upon it.

“Gotcha!” Toga announces suddenly, diving toward the floor to grip at your right leg. She tugs sharply and you come tumbling to the ground with the scuff of a shoe. Reflexively, you allow your body to fall on your arms—the only thing saving you from a possible concussion, though your elbows are left aching and burning as a result.

Toga pulls you toward her once more, but you turn swiftly and jam your knee up into her face. She groans, head bobbing backward and you roll fully onto your back, using your left leg to shimmy your way across the floor. A giggle ricochets off the walls, as Toga rears her left arm up and you catch a glimpse of her knife against the ceiling light.

Shit, you think as she bears the knife down onto you. Your attempt to roll to the side is halted as Toga digs her knees into your pelvis, pinning you to the ground as the knife inches closer and closer. Your body lurches up on its own to grab at her wrist with all the might you can muster, holding it in place as she struggles against you.

“Come on, ____-chan!” She begs, pressing the knife down harder. You dig your nails into her wrist but she doesn’t budge. “I swear I won’t touch your face if you just let me—!”

Pinkies, your brain reminds you, put pressure on her pinkies. Your eyes blink with realisation as you remember the online self-defence course you took on the recommendation of your friend. If you put pressure on an opponent’s pinkies, they were more likely to drop their weapon. Something to do with nerves or reflex or something.

You curl your fist around her left pinky finger, twisting it backwards. Her face scrunches up as she screams and her knife drops onto your chest. 

Dopamine and adrenaline flood your veins as you grab her wrist and slam her down onto the floor beside you. The yellow of her eyes haze over as you grab the blade and press it flush and flat against her throat.  

For good measure and to rub your victory in, you press your knee into her gut and she coughs weakly. Your chest rises and falls as you murmur a thanks to your self-defence tutor, with techniques like that they’d do good in an apocalypse.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You ask, more out of surprise than anything. “I—.”

The creak of the hallway door surprises you and you force your eyes up. Dabi stands there in the threshold, looking quite pleased with himself as he buries his hands into his pockets. 

“What did I tell you about attacking the hostages, you crazy bitch? Especially when its Crusty’s favourite jizz material,” He meets your gaze with an electric blue, then angles his head in the direction of the main atrium. “The boss wants to talk to you, or somethin’. Probably gonna confess his dweeby love. I’ll follow you there so Crazy doesn’t attack you again.”

You nod and pocket Toga’s knife in case Shigaraki tries anything. As you rise to your feet, however, Toga grips at your leg. When you look down at her, her nose is all bloody and her lips are curled into a wide smile.

“You’re so strong,” She murmurs, coughing up a little blood and bile. “I wanna be just like you.”

You can’t help but shudder and turn away from Toga—guilt settling deep into your gut. I just beat up a seventeen-year-old whilst being held hostage by Japan’s most dangerous villains all during a post-apocalypse, you think, I need to write a memoir and get a publishing deal. 

Dabi holds his arm out for you and, when you quirk a brow, he scrunches up his nose and shakes his head.

“I was taught etiquette as a kid,” He elaborates as he guides you to the bank’s main office that Shigaraki has declared his own. “Hard-ass dad beat it into me; it’s a reflex now.”

You nod—wondering how somehow Dabi of all people could be the most sane villain out of the bunch. Then again, you haven’t exactly met the others but you didn’t have much faith in their tact.  

You walk in pleasant silence until Dabi comes to a halt in front of a grand door. He turns to you.

“Don’t tell Shigaraki that I brought you here,” Dabi instructs you with a grave look on his face. “He’ll piss his pants if he knew I touched you.” He looks down to the pocket, bulging with the imprint of Toga’s knife. “Oh and try not to pull the knife on him right off the bat too.”

You nod again and smile as he turns and walks off. Then, steeling your nerves—your bones—your heart before, finally, you turn and knock. 

ૢ✧∘*━━𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍,

a;n: ʰⁱ, ʰᵉˡˡᵒ. ᵉⁿʲᵒʸ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵖⁱᵉᶜᵉ ˡᵒᵒˢᵉˡʸ ⁱⁿˢᵖⁱʳᵉᵈ ᵇʸ 'ᴸᵃ ᶜᵃˢᵃ ᴰᵉ ᴾᵃᵖᵉˡ'. ⁿᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁱˡᵉʳˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˢʰᵒʷ ᵒʳ ᵐʸ ʰᵉʳᵒ ᵃᶜᵃᵈᵉᵐⁱᵃ ⁱⁿᶜˡᵘᵈᵉᵈ. ᵃˡˢᵒ ⁿᵉʷ ᵇᵃʳᵒqᵘᵉ ˡᵃʸᵒᵘᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵃᶜᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ'ˢ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵈᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ.

𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, 

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬; yandere! shigaraki tomura, a blabbermouth! reader, dabi, toga himiko

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲; le casa de papel ⁽ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵏᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᵐᵉ ˢᵃⁿᵉ, ˡᵐᵃᵒ⁻⁾

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; bank robbery, hostages, guns ⁽ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᶦᵐᵃᵍᶦⁿᵉ ˢʰᶦᵍᵍʸ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵃ ᵍᵘⁿˀ⁾, stockholm syndrome, post apocalypse, a brief, shitty rant on evolution and socio-economics because...? i should have made a graphic, fuck—

The first thing a person does when the world ends is adapt.

It’s an animal’s first instinct to every major event in life. How can I survive this? How can I live to preserve my future? It takes a while, sure, but you learn to find a niche in the system—something left behind by the species before you. And you take that niche and you exploit it.

When the League of Villains had raided the bank you were in, you couldn’t help but wonder why no-one had done so sooner as your skin prickled and your body trembled. Banks were amongst the first buildings ransacked when the government body collapsed and a power vacuum emerged. 

After all, society had practically hammered in the idea that money was something one should strive to obtain since one entered schooling and learnt of jobs. And, Blu-Tacked to the walls of many a primary school, was a clip-art of a bank—representing both the letter ‘B’ and the far-off concept of money.

A civilisation's head was often the person with the most influence or possessions: both of which could be bought with money which was most concentrated in a bank. That’s why you had come here, you told the head of the operation, Shigaraki Tomura as he rounded up the hostages with the nozzle of a rifle.

“Shut up,” He muttered from behind the hand clinging to his face. You stared up at it for a moment as you knelt down and pressed your hands behind your head in surrender. Your eyes traced the knuckles, the notches, the imprints surrounding the fingernails. So lifelike, you think as you watch him turn and walk away, I wonder who sculpted it. 

The other hostages whimper beside you, heads meek in their disparity, but you can only smile. 

The world had truly and honestly went to shit.

“Don’t you find it odd?” You asked the man, Shigaraki, when he came to transfer you to the western atrium of the bank. Four of his fingers curled around your arm, cold to the frigid bone and with a grip that could crush ice. Still, you did nothing to stop him as he dragged you along, even taking a few steps of your own accord. You spoke once more, “Don’t you find it odd how banks make money out of thin air? How all they do is print paper and say, ‘Hey, this is worth something,’ and we all just go along with it?”

 Silence.

“I guess that kinda constitutes cult behaviour, right? I mean, what’s stopping someone from refusing to acknowledge the value of money?” You make a ponderous ‘hmm’ with your lips as Shigaraki stops. “On that thought, why is gold so valuable? It’s just a metal; it’s not even that useful. Then again some people eat it, so—”

Shigaraki’s thumb presses down hard onto your skin, followed by the nail of his index, “You talk too much,” He mutters. You look at the hand clinging to his face, wondering what adhesive he must have on it. Do adhesives even work on clay, you wonder, or maybe it’s a clouded plastic? He reaches his other hand up to scratch at his neck, the third time today that he’s done so. “It pisses me off.”

“Where’d you get that hand from?” You ask, feeling like an idiot when his red eyes flit towards yours. A part of your mind asks if maybe you’ve poked this bear a little too much, but you shake your head, it’s just a fake hand. “Like, does it have a sculptor tag on that brass thing at the bottom?”

Your hand reaches out to grab at the golden lining at the bottom of the hand, but Shigaraki veers back suddenly and swats your hand away.

“Don’t touch Father!” His voice is almost a shriek in its highness, yet there still is a brash rasp to it that you recognise. With a brief movement, you snatch your hand back to rest it against your chest—crestfallen. Shigaraki straightens up at once, eyes narrowing to a flash of red before he turns and stomps off.

Your lips part, but the wheeze that escapes it betrays your total bewilderment at the situation. You stand there, watching as his gaunt form disappears through the door at the end of the hallway, eyes wide and fingers twitching as the last of your adrenaline dissipates.

“Another tantrum?” A voice says behind you, you jump. “I’m not surprised anymore. Never thought he’d snap after you, though.”

You twist around, eyes remarking the tall, willowy figure behind you. Dabi, his name is, the one who’s been half-assedly threatening the hostages since the heist started. 

“What are you talking about?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

Dabi chuckles and pushes past you, then turns so you can see one frighteningly blue eye beneath the expanse of black hair. “You’ll see, doll.”

“You shouldn’t be talking to them so much,” Izumi murmurs to you when all of the hostages are rounded up in the morning. Your poor ‘hostage-buddy’ had gone pale ever since the League had crashed through the door, their eyes glassy and red. “They’re—” They pause, looks around for a second. “They’re villains.”

You nod along to them, though your eyes are trained to Shigaraki who’s going about overseeing the sorting of hostages. Your belly still simmered with uneasy guilt when you thought back to the incident three days ago. He was obviously attached to the hand—you knew that—and yet you had reached out to touch it without permission like an—

“Idiot,” You murmured, kicking the marble flooring with the tip of your shoe. 

“What?” Izumi whispered, although they stiffened as Himiko Toga came skipping along.

“Noth—,” You yourself stiffened when Toga came at a standstill before you, slitted eyes peering into your soul. 

She smiled a wicked smile, then spoke, “I need to have a talk with you!”

You gulped. Beside you, Izumi shivered and stepped forward, about to speak but upon glancing the blade settled at Toga’s hip, fell stiff and silent. You couldn’t blame them, though, you would’ve done the same thing.

“Sure,” You stated, attempting to put a smile on your face, if only to settle Izumi’s nerves. 

Oddly, Toga reached out to grab your hand, tugging you along to the eastern corridor. You passed Shigaraki on your way, who turned his head to regard you and Toga. Was that anger you caught in his eyes as he looked over at Toga? You thought nothing of it. 

Toga hummed a hymn as she lead you further and further into the bank until you were just in front of the printing room. This is where money is made, you thought, staring dumbly at the steel, vault door. This is the heart of the world.

Toga giggled at the look you gave the door, “Tomura had the same face when he saw it. He was less happy when he found out that he couldn’t get it open.” Toga pressed a palm flat against the door. “It has a Quirk-cancelling force field around it, so we’re stuck here until we can get the door off.”

“That’s why you’re still keeping hostages,” The remark is a rouge thought vocalised.

Toga nods, “Yeah, there were some pesky heroes outside looking for you guys, but Spinner’s got rid of them.” She makes a gun motion with her hands, you gulp. “Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I came here to talk about boys!”

“Boys?” You ask, a little confused and a little indignant. “We’re in a hostage situation!”

“Yeah, I know, but I noticed that Tomura’s taken a liking to you.” She boops you on the nose. “Well, he’s liked you for a long, long time, but he’s finally got to be close to you. I wish it was like that with my Izuku.”

The identity of Izuku is the least puzzling thing about that sentence.

“For a long time, what?” You blurt out. 

“He was in love with you before the End happened,” Toga smiled, stepping closer to you. “He was so sad because he thought you died, imagine how happy he was to find you here!” Toga babbled on, “He’s not too happy about that Izumi guy that’s always following you around, though. If I were him I would’ve have gotten rid of them, but—”

Your mind leapt. Izumi, you’d left them alone with a bunch of villains. You turn your gaze toward Toga, who seems lost in her own conversation before looking behind you. The door leading out of the hallways seemed so far, although if you were fast enough, it would be easy to just run there. 

With a final glance to Toga, you turn and get ready to start running. A hand against your arm and a blade against your back stops you, however.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

·˙‧̍̊⸙͎━━sloth,

shigaraki tomura is a busy man now. he’s stepping up on the world’s ladder, starting to be realised as more by authorities and his own league. he has a lot of responsibilities now, but he’s still who he was when he first began and he still appreciates down-time. especially down-time with you. part of my seven deadly sins anthology.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; nothing that i can think of, excessive fluff, a massage & implied smut at the end?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬; my tags are gone again and i’m two steps away from throwing my laptop into a wall (for the second time in two months) give me tags back or i’ll steal y’alls man, tumblr staff.

“How was your day?” You murmur, thumbs mashing against the joystick’s pad. Behind you, Shigaraki Tomura trudged laboriously into the room, shrugging off his dark cloak and shutting the door to his room with a hydraulic, pneumatic ‘hiss’.

You hear the crack of his bones as he wrenches his shoulders back and then the rasp of his voice as he speaks, “A little less annoying than yesterday.”

You chuckle as your indexes clamp down hard on triggers of the controller, riddling your opponent with tessellated bullets, “Not much of an accomplishment though,” You remark as the match ends with your avatar standing victorious, gun hoisted. You hoped you and Shigaraki would end up, hand in hand (or, finger in hand) as hero society crumbled. You could only hope. 

Shigaraki shifts around the room, most likely searching for a snack packet scattered somewhere across the room. You turn and hold out the controller to him.

“Wanna play co-op?” You suggest with a smile. 

Shigaraki sighs. His body’s tense, stiff as board and the lean muscle starting to develop from his training are contracted and bulging. You drop the controller beside you, dragging yourself to your feet.

“Tomu—,” You drawl, coming up behind him to wrap your arm about his skinny body. “Ignoring your emotions isn’t good for you. You know, I read up on a study that said that, the longer you suppress your emotions, the louder your brain shouts to make them heard.”

Shigaraki, no, Tomura places four fingers against your arm. He’s quite cold, though the warmth of whiskey is undeniably warming his veins. 

“What are you, an armchair psychologist now?” He mutters and you giggle at the light barb. Nevertheless, you tug at the hem of his dark sweater—he acquiesces, lifting his arms up and you pull his sweater up and over his head to drop it on the floor.

“I prefer emotional aide, thank you,” You jest, drawing yourself closer to him. “Perhaps, I might draw up a degree.”

“I’d love to see that,” He murmurs as his shoulders relax slightly. You reach your arms up to caress his clavicles and scapula, thumbs massaging the tight muscles, smiling as you feel him come undone. “Hah—. What are you doing now?”

“I think I may forgo psychology,” You state then rub your hands down the swathe of his back, knuckles pressed against his ribs. “I think I may become a masseuse.” You run an index down the curve of his spine. He shivers, back arching away from you as his lips part so a breathy moan can escape. You smile, “It’s nice to see you come apart.”

“I’ll make you come apart,” He mutters. 

It’s not a statement, however, it’s a promise. 

Now it’s your turn to shiver.

“Oh?” You ask, quickly recovering in order to press your carpal bones against his lower back, your thumb wandering up to smooth the notches in his spine. You kiss his bare back, lips pressed flush against the relaxing muscles. “When will you?”

Tomura hums, “Later.”

“Fine by me,” You mutter with a smirk. You let a puff of breath out and, with one, swift movement, brush your hands across the swathe of Tomura’s back to curl around his waist. You hesitate for a second before your fingers dig into his sides, sending his body into a violet shudder as you mercilessly tickle him.

“S—Stop!” He screams, voice shrill and breathy as he winces away from your touch.

“There’s no escaping me!” 

“Fuck you!” Tomura glares, struggling forward until he flops onto the bed. He looks so beautiful, splayed out on the bed—hair framing his angular face like a silvery nimbus; gaunt, barely-there muscles twitching still with the aftermath of your tickling rampage. You’ll have so much fun with him.

You take a step forward, lean over the bed and smile, “I think it’s time you make me come apart, lover.”

*✧･ﾟ━━envy,

shigaraki tomura has always been left in the shadows. he accepted early, that life was an ever-flowing stream: people moved forward and he was just a rock, a hitch in the waters. he was always content to stay that way, until you came into his life and brought with you the devil in his eyes. now, he won’t be so mellow. part of my ‘seven deadly sins’ anthology.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; yandere & unhealthy relationships & death & knives & manipulation & torture & shigaraki has big bad thoughts (involving murder) & jealousy & my gross overuse of ampersands and hyphen-minuses.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬; tumblr’s turning me into an html coder i swear. gonna be hacking databases soon, everyone watch out- 👀