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blind date (shigaraki x reader)

After endless failed attempts to help Tomura up his game, his friends have settled on their last resort: A blind date. Even before you show up, it's not going well. No quirks AU, 2k words.

this was originally in the x reader lovers community, but I figured I'd release it into the wild as well!

Tomura gets being a little late. “A little late” is practically his middle name. He waits until the last minute to do almost everything, and that means any complications mean he’s running behind. Hypocrisy pisses him off so much that he tries to avoid it all costs, so that means he has to put up with it without bitching when somebody else is a little late, too.

Except half an hour isn’t a just a little late for anything, let alone a blind date Tomura didn’t want to go on in the first place. He’s been waiting outside the bar you were supposed to meet at for half an hour, and he’s pissed.

“That’s it,” he says after the eighteenth time a woman his age has walked past and hasn’t been you, whatever the hell you look like. “I’m out of here.”

“Just a little longer, honey,” Magne says. She’s smiling, but she’s also got her arm around Tomura’s shoulders, and if she squeezes any harder, Tomura’s going to pop like a balloon. “She’ll be here.”

“No, she won’t.” Tomura crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his hands in so nothing will bite them. They’re on the waterfront, in the summer, and there are insects everywhere. Whose dumb idea was this? “You showed her a photo of me and she changed her mind.”

“It’s a blind date,” Magne says. Like Tomura’s supposed to know what that means. “She doesn’t know what you look like, either. That’s why you have to stay right here and keep wearing that baseball hat. Otherwise she won’t know it’s you.”

Tomura hates the hat. Right now he hates everything. “So she got here on time, saw me, and left. Can I go?”

Magne shakes her head. “You promised you’d try.”

“I showed up. I waited for fucking half an hour. I’ve tried.” Tomura finally shoves Magne’s arm off his shoulders. “I’m done.”

Tomura wishes he could say he didn’t know how he got here, except he does. One of his friends is getting married, and there’s supposed to be a wild bachelor weekend in Vegas, one last blast of stupid before settling down. Most of the groomsmen are planning to hook up with as many people as possible, and that’s where the problems start. According to his friends, Tomura has no game. Zero game. Negative one hundred game. If he was rolling for his game stat, it would be a critical failure – and none of his friends want to babysit him when they could be getting laid.

Tomura wouldn’t want to babysit when he could be getting laid, either. His solution was to skip the bachelor weekend and just show up for the wedding in his stupid rented suit. But apparently his friends really want him to come to the party, and they decided that what he needed was to get some practice in before the trip. Which means that for the last month, Tomura’s spent every Friday night and weekend getting dragged through his own personal hell.

They made him try dating apps, which were a disaster, even though Tomura let Toga set up his profile and make the first move. Then they tried traditional online dating, which also sucked, because Tomura’s too picky and other people have standards. Hanging out in bars and clubs worked exactly how it’s always worked – it doesn’t – and when Dabi pulled out the big guns and dragged Tomura to the sex club where he met his fiancé, the only people who talked to Tomura were guys. Tomura thought that was sort of a good sign, even though he’s not into men, until he remembered that guys will fuck anything with a hole in it. He’s not high on himself on his best day, but that was a really shitty night.

He thought they were going to quit after that, but his friends had one last ace up their sleeve – a blind date, Magne’s idea, which Toga enthusiastically signed off on when she saw a picture of the woman Magne wanted to set Tomura up with. Toga’s type and Tomura’s type line up, sort of, and Spinner giving the photo two thumbs way up sealed the deal.

It’s not like Tomura was hopeful or anything. He just wanted to get his friends off his back. Still, rejection sucks, and ghosting sucks worse. He’d rather have you show up and tell him to his face that you weren’t interested than stand him up.

Magne collars Tomura again, but her phone starts ringing at the same time, Toga’s contact info popping up. “Don’t go anywhere,” she warns Tomura as she raises the phone to her ear. “We’re here. She’s not here yet. Can you tell him –”

Tomura ducks out from under her arm and books it into the crowd of people on the waterfront, figuring he can make it to the metro stop before Magne figures out which way he’s going. But even that can’t go his way today, because he runs into somebody who’s moving at warp speed in the opposite direction, colliding at the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger. Tomura’s not confrontational, but it’s the wrong fucking day. “Can you watch where you’re going? It’s not like you matter to whoever you’re going to –”

“Are you Tomura?”

Tomura’s heart lurches. He stares hard at you as you right yourself, picking up the backpack you dropped in the collision. There’s no way this is happening. There’s no universe in which his blind date would be someone like you.

He can see right away why Toga and Spinner approved of you, but he thought you’d be someone in his league, not somebody who’s several kilometers above it. Maybe Tomura’s too excited that you actually showed up to evaluate what you actually look like. He looks away, then looks back. Nope – you’re still pretty, even though your face is flushed and you’re breathing hard like you’ve just been running. Did you run here to meet him? Only one way to find out. “I’m Tomura.”

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “My boss held me back at work, and I missed my train –”

You’re wearing some kind of work uniform. Scrubs, maybe. Are you a nurse? “And then I couldn’t decide whether to wait for another train or just run, so I ran – but I don’t really run, so it took even longer –”

Tomura doesn’t run, either. When he was doing the stupid online dating thing, he sorted out everybody who said more than one sentence about working out. You pause to suck down a breath, then keep talking. “I know everything I just said sounds like an excuse, and I know you’re leaving,” you say, “but I was hoping I could catch you so I could say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stand you up. I get it if you want to call it off.”

Before Tomura can answer or even think about what he’s going to say, Magne bursts out of the crowd. “I told you not to run off,” she scolds, collaring Tomura again. “If you don’t stay put, there’s no way she’s going to – oh! You’re here!”

You nod. Magne looks you up and down. “I told you to dress cute,” she scolds. “And to get here on time. I practically had to chain him to a streetlight so he wouldn’t escape.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. “My boss –”

“Of course,” Magne says, scowling. “He’s never met a good time he doesn’t want to ruin.”

Magne knows who your boss is? “How do you to know each other?”

“She’s a pharmacy tech at the place I go to pick up my E,” Magne says. “She’s the only one who works there who isn’t an asshole, and her boss is the biggest asshole of them all. I only go in there when she’s on and he’s off. But let me introduce you the right way. Shigaraki, this is – ”

Tomura misses your name the first time Magne says it, catches it the second time, but it barely registers except as something he probably shouldn’t forget. You’re pretty. You’re not an asshole, or at least you’re the same kind of asshole as Magne and everybody else Magne’s friends with, including Tomura. Your boss is the wrong kind of asshole, which means you probably didn’t blow Tomura off on purpose. And you ran here so you could meet him even when you knew you were really late. You must have really wanted to meet Tomura. What did Magne tell you about him?

Tomura can ask you about that later. “So?” Magne is saying expectantly. “Can I leave you two alone, or are you going to run away again?”

“No,” Tomura says. “You can go.”

You look surprised. “Um –”

“Now.”

Magne cackles. She snatches the hat off Tomura’s head, ruffles his hair, and slaps him on the back hard enough that he staggers. “Have fun! I want all the details later!”

“Sure,” you say, bewildered, as she kisses you on the cheek. Tomura’s going to have to talk to you about that – any details you share with Magne will be fair game for the rest of Tomura’s friends, and he’s not sure how much he wants them to know. “Um, bye.”

Magne waves and vanishes into the crowd. Now it’s just you and Tomura standing on the sidewalk. You shuffle off to one side, out of the way, and Tomura follows you. “Are you sure you still want to do this?” you ask once you’re both leaning against the railing. “I get it if you’re not in the mood. When I’ve gotten stood up, I haven’t wanted to –”

“You’ve never been stood up in your life,” Tomura says, and your expression changes from confused to offended. “Look at you.”

You look down at yourself, then back up at him. “What does that mean?”

“I didn’t know anything about you and I got here on time. If I knew what you looked like beforehand I’d have been two hours early.” It sounded like a compliment in Tomura’s head, but he can’t tell if you’re taking it that way. “People like you don’t get stood up for dates.”

“I wish that were true,” you say. You look away. “I know how it feels. I get it if you don’t want to go out anymore.”

Tomura pretends he’s thinking about it. “How far did you run to get here?”

“Sixteen blocks.”

“You ran sixteen blocks to meet me. That cancels out being late,” Tomura says. You look up, surprised for a second or two before the relief kicks in. “I still want to go out.”

“Me, too,” you say. You smile at him. Women don’t usually smile at Tomura. People don’t usually smile at Tomura. He doesn’t know what to do with it. “Thanks, Tomura. For giving me a chance.”

“Yeah,” Tomura says. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t really know,” you admit. “It’s been a while since I went on a date.”

“Same,” Tomura says. ‘Never’ counts as a while in his book. “I don’t know – grab drinks or something?”

You nod. “Can we find somewhere to sit down for a second first? I don’t usually run that much, and I don’t want to pass out on you.”

“You can pass out on me if you want,” Tomura says. You blink. Tomura facepalms even though you’re looking right at him. “There are benches back there.”

The crowd on the sidewalk is only getting denser. Tomura doesn’t want to get separated from you, so he tells you to hold onto the back of his shirt. You grab his hand instead, and you’re still holding it when the two of you find a place to sit down. Still holding it once you’re both settled, searching for something to talk about. Tomura’s not optimistic about this. You’re too good to be true – the kind of woman who’d run sixteen blocks to meet him and hold his hand is a kind of woman who doesn’t exist. Even so, it’s – nice. Tomura laces his fingers with yours and decides to enjoy it while it lasts.

characters cleaning blood off their partner's face is just PEAK romance actually. bonus points if it's someone else's blood

King. King. King. 🌹

Don't repost

Expiation - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is a birthday gift for @sophsiaaa based on a suggestion of a fantasy AU Shigaraki x reader. Happy birthday (although it's definitely a bit late)!

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Chapter 1

You hear the rumors long before you see him, but the story of his arrival is told to you so many times that it’s etched into your head. It was a beautiful spring day, the fields surrounding the castle bright with wildflowers, the air humming with butterflies and bees – the kind of day on which nothing bad is allowed to happen. And then the world went still. The sun seemed to dim. The air fell silent, empty of insects and birds, and even the flowers cringed away as he led his horse past, walking so slowly that it seemed he knew his presence poisoned the world, and reveled in it. The dark knight, the one they call the White Death. Shigaraki Tomura.

The rumors are terrible, and most of them are true, but no one finds the High Kingdom unless they were meant to be here. You remember the day you stumbled out of the Forest Perilous, last of a party of dozens who had all set out together, the only one to reach the castle. The castle chose you, the same as it chose everyone born outside the walls who now resides within. The same is true of Shigaraki Tomura – Sir Tomura, or Lord Tomura, anything but the dread title he’s earned on the battlefield. There is some purpose to his presence here, although neither you nor anyone else can imagine what it is.

Most knights come to the High Kingdom with squires and servants, hauling supplies and gifts and finery to please the king. The White Death comes alone, and bears no gift – no gift other than the one he’s rumored to have tossed at King Izuku’s feet. That rumor is terrible, too. But it it’s true, it means that Shigaraki Tomura crossed a line no one else had dared to touch – in taking on the King’s fated enemy, the man prophesied to destroy the High Kingdom, and slaying him himself. Tearing down his armies himself. Singlehandedly wrecking a prophecy that has hung over the Kingdom’s head since it was first spoken, a prophecy of death and destruction that would bring a mighty kingdom to its knees.

And you suppose it did. After all, the prophecy, never said it would be your kingdom that fell.

King Izuku offers Shigaraki Tomura a seat on his council, over the objections of the rest of the council. Shigaraki Tomura accepts. And then the question turns to where he should be house, and what level of opulence is appropriate for his room, and because the gods hate you or because you’re just unlucky, you’re assigned from all the servants to help him decorate it. To create a dwelling space fit for a hero, meant to house someone who cannot be called anything but a villain.

You knock hesitantly at the door, struggling to balance the heavy wooden chest you’re carrying at the same time. When that fails to produce a response, you call out, your voice thin as it echoes through the deserted wing of the palace. “Lord Tomura?”

The door unlocks with a sharp click, then swings open, and you suck in a breath. You heard he had magic – most in the High Kingdom do, you included – but it’s considered crass to flaunt it for things that could otherwise be done by hand. You step through the door into a large, empty room. The only features in it are a window without a single pane of glass, an armoire with doors gaping open, and a canopy bed bare of both canopy and sheets. The infamous white armor is piled in the corner of the room, along with the white sword his enemies call Decay. The White Death himself sits on the edge of the bed.

He doesn’t look away from the spot on the wall where he’s fixed his eyes. “What do you want?”

“My Lord.” You bow, or curtsy, or do some awkward mix of both at once. It doesn’t matter. He’s not looking at you. “I was sent to help you put your room in order.”

“This is fine.” Shigaraki Tomura’s voice is flat and icy, devoid of anything but apathy. “The window is a nice touch.”

You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. You would be, if you were a knight and not a maid. “The window will be fixed, my Lord. In the meantime, I was sent to arrange the rest of your room. I’ve brought many things for you to choose from.”

“Many things.” He looks up at last, and you catch your breath at the sight of his crimson eyes. It’s all too easy to imagine his enemies freezing in terror, those eyes the last thing they saw before the darkness closed in. “That chest is too small for many things.”

“It’s larger on the inside,” you say. He raises an eyebrow – or he would, if he had them. “Do I have your leave to show you?”

“If it’s the case that you won’t leave me be until you do.” The White Death looks away, and you come a few steps closer. A few steps, and then a few more, until you can set the chest down within his eyeline and kneel down to open it. “What is that?”

“No one could tell me what you preferred, so I brought some of everything.” You were hoping to avoid being berated. You’re starting to think that’s unlikely. “There are sheets for the bed – and choices for the canopy, also. These are for the walls – most knights have tapestries made of your great deeds, but you’ve only just arrived. They won’t be ready for a little while.”

“Great deeds,” Shigaraki – Sir Tomura – sneers. Your ears burn. “Yes, I’m sure the weavers are lining up to chronicle mine.”

“If you say so, my Lord.” You lift out a set of curtains – curtains, for a broken window. Whoever left this for you to deal with, you hope they catch the plague. “Er, the window –”

“I didn’t say so,” Sir Tomura interrupts. You look up at him. “I have done no great deeds. It is no honor to be on your knees at my feet.”

“Pardon me, my Lord. I never said it was.”

You shouldn’t have spoken. You bow your head hastily, but not before you see a flash of interest in the White Death’s eyes. “A punishment, then. Tell me, who did you displease?”

“Nor did I say it was a punishment.” You’ve already gotten yourself in trouble. You may as well explain. “It is my duty to serve the nobles of the High Kingdom. You are one of them. And you’ve done the kingdom a great service.”

“I didn’t do it for you. Or for your wretched kingdom.” Sir Tomura is looking at you, still. You can feel the heat of his gaze on your shoulders, the exposed curve of your neck. “I might have destroyed your kingdom just as easily.”

You know that. It’s why everyone fears him, why a man with a lean, slender build casts such a long shadow. “Then why did you choose his?”

“You both wronged me. He wronged me worse.” Sir Tomura goes silent for a moment, and you dare a glance up at him. His face is still, the sneer long-gone. “And because you wronged me, too, you must suffer my presence. In honor of the great deed I have done.”

Now he sounds bitter, mocking – but not of you. He’s looking at you again. “And what terrible deed have you done, that you do not fear to raise your eyes to me?”

“Is that a requirement for meeting your eyes, my Lord?” It strikes you as an odd thing to say, when any other knight would remark on your temerity at gazing upon any noble’s face. “I did not come here to pass judgment on your deeds. I came to make your room a fitting place for a person to live.”

“Indeed,” Sir Tomura says. “But unlike the five maids who preceded you, you have not fled from the sight of me. Why?”

You would answer him if you knew, but you don’t. The rumors of him terrified you, the same as everyone else. You were frightened as you knocked at the door, frightened when you stepped into the room, and even though he’s weaponless, you have no doubt that he knows dozens of spells that will kill you where you stand. There is no doubt that the man in front of you is the White Death, the terror of battlefields across the known world, the ruination of a kingdom most thought would stand forever and the slayer of a king most thought could not be killed and the destruction of a prophecy that went unchallenged for a hundred years. You should be terrified, just as you were before, and you’re certainly wary. But you aren’t frightened any longer.

The White Death is waiting for an answer. “If I had an answer, I would give it, my Lord,” you say. You look away and begin to unpack from the chest. “Does my Lord have a preference as to colors?”

“No.” Sir Tomura’s voice carries an odd rasp, whether he’s scornful or not. “Do what you want.”

So he’ll allow you to complete your task. You wonder if the five maids who apparently preceded you tried to hold a conversation, or if they simply ran away the instant he opened the door. Some part of you wants to decorate his room in bright colors, something cheerful, but you don’t have the sense that he’ll appreciate it. You’d be better off giving him something to look at, since he spends so long staring off into space. You choose fabrics in muted colors, woven with small illusions here and there, patterns that move and change in response to the human eye. It’s likely that Sir Tomura will spend a lot of time here. He doesn’t seem to like people very much. His room should at least be a pleasant place to be.

When you’ve covered key portions of the walls, leaving space for the inevitable tapestries, you move on to laying out rugs. The stone floors in the castle are cool in the summer, cold in the winter, and Sir Tomura’s feet are bare, his boots kicked into the same pile as his sword and armor. You don’t have as many choices with the rugs. They are nothing but bright colors, woven together from scraps of fabric, and you lay them out hastily, hoping he continues to prefer staring at walls to staring at floors. Then you turn your attention to the armor. It needs to be stored properly, and there isn’t a stand in the room.

You turn to face Sir Tomura and find that he’s already watching you. “If you give me leave, my Lord, I’ll retrieve a stand for your armor.”

“It can stay where it is.”

Most knights pride themselves on their armor. Most pride themselves too much. “Won’t it rust?”

“Until it crumbles away. I don’t care.”

You don’t understand. “Sir –”

“It’s no use to me any longer.” Sir Tomura rises from the bed for the first time and crosses the room, moving with catlike grace. He lifts the breastplate from the pile one-handed and holds it out for you to inspect. You can’t miss the problem – it’s been cleaved almost in two by a single strike, torn apart as only cursed steel can do. “It can’t be fixed.”

“The best smiths in the world work here,” you venture. Sir Tomura scoffs. “They reforged One For All, and that sword was broken into nine pieces.”

“Yes, we’ve all heard the story. Good King Izuku gathered the nine pieces of One For All and proved he was the rightful king.” The disdain in the White Death’s voice is withering. “The rightful king, but not a good one. The king before him was worthless, and the queen before him, too – they let their greatest enemy grow and prosper, throughout their entire reigns.”

“They fought back,” you protest. “Queen Nana was killed fighting him – King Toshinori was badly wounded –”

“And King Izuku never tried,” Sir Tomura sneers. “In spite of their goodness, they turned away. They were too good to do what had to be done, so it fell to me to slay the monster and tear down his throne.”

Sir Tomura wasn’t mentioned in the prophecy. Why would it fall to him? “And look what I’ve done,” he continues. A harsh laugh tears free from his throat. “Spared a kingdom of cowards and fools from destruction they deserve only slightly less.”

The questions bursts out of you. “If you despise us so much, why did you come here?”

“This kingdom owes me a debt,” Sir Tomura says. “I have nowhere else to go.”

You have nothing to say in response to that. You expect Sir Tomura to look pleased at silencing you, but he doesn’t. “Receive a stand for my armor if you wish it,” he says, and you depart, feeling sick to your stomach.

The White Death’s words cling to you as you search for a spare armor stand. What had to be done. What could he mean by that? What would the White Death do that the good kings and queens of your kingdom wouldn’t try? The answer occurs to you at once. Dark magic. Magic that corrupts the mind and soul, magic that leaves cursed wounds and blighted lands in its wake. Of course the kings and queens of the High Kingdom would never do such a thing. But if that was what it would take to end the Enemy’s reign of terror, then maybe –

It’s not your place to decide such things. You find a spare stand in the armory and cart it back to the deserted wing of the palace, only to be accosted on the way by the tailor Hakamada. “You’re attending him? Good. These are for the feast tonight.”

He thrusts a package into your arms, even though your hands are already full. “Ensure he wears them. His presence is an affront, but he’ll be properly dressed if it’s the last thing I do.”

Given that Hakamada isn’t the one forcing the new clothes on Sir Tomura, it’s more likely to be the last thing you do. You set off again, struggling under the weight of both the package and the stand at once.

Sir Tomura seems surprised that you’ve returned, but he doesn’t mock you over it – yet. He allows you to set up the stand, and to begin to store his armor properly, although he refuses to allow you anywhere near the sword. “It’s cursed,” he says, even though you didn’t ask. “Once it tastes a victim’s blood, that person is doomed to wither and rot. Did you know that?”

“I heard rumors,” you say carefully. “There are many rumors about you.”

“They aren’t rumors if they’re true,” Sir Tomura says. “Almost all of them are.”

It doesn’t surprise you that the White Death knows his own legends. “Which ones aren’t?”

Sir Tomura doesn’t answer. He’s investigating the package from Hakamada, which you set down on the end of the still-unmade bed. You, meanwhile, find yourself transfixed by the tear in the breastplate of his armor. It’s been split nearly in half. You lean closer, paper and fabric rustling behind you, in order to peer at the edges of the breastplate, the padding inside, and a needle of shock and fear drives itself through you. All of it is stained with blood. “My Lord –”

You turn to find yourself facing Sir Tomura half-dressed, in clean breeches and bare feet, having just removed his shirt. His bare skin is laced with scars, some old and some newer, but none so terrible as the enormous wound in his chest, so fresh it can barely be called healed. It matches the tear in the breastplate exactly. Sir Tomura glances at the breastplate, then at you. Then he turns away.

“My Lord,” you start, “if you need a healer –”

“It’s a cursed wound,” Sir Tomura says. “It will never heal.”

That was in the prophecy, too – something about a blow from which the victor will never recover. You know it’s half the reason King Izuku held off. He has no heir, nor an obvious successor among his advisors, and everyone assumed the blow described in the prophecy would be fatal. You mind feels frozen, caught between horror and sadness and trapped in confusion. If what everyone says is true, and it is, Shigaraki Tomura is a monster. If what everyone says is true, and it is, King Izuku is a good king. If both of those things are true, then why did the monster fulfill the prophecy? Why has the good king offered him so meager a welcome? You don’t know what to do with the White Death, who saved your kingdom, whose infamous fury has yet to make an appearance since he arrived at the castle.  Neither does anyone else.

Sir Tomura is fumbling with his new shirt, cursing. You abandon the armor and come forward. “May I help, my Lord?”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t refuse, and you take the risk of helping anyway, straightening the useless ruffles, doing up the pearl buttons, staying well clear of the terrible wound. “It takes a monster to slay a monster,” the White Death says, as you smooth out the lines of his shirt. “And now you all must live with the monster that survived.”

He looks down at you, the ghost of the sneer from before distorting his features. “Is that pity I see on your face? Save your pity. It’s useless to me.”

“I don’t pity you,” you say. You can’t – not when he’s done such terrible things, not when you can’t begin to calculate whether what he did in fulfilling the prophecy cancels any of them out. But you do feel something. You can be honest about that. “I was thinking that it was a brave thing to do, my Lord. To face the Enemy when you weren’t the chosen one, and knowing that the consequences were severe even if you should win. That is all.”

A hint of surprise crosses Shigaraki Tomura’s face. “Do the words monster and villain mean nothing to you?”

“They do,” you say. “But I have never seen it written that a monster cannot be brave. Or that a villain must always be a villain.”

The White Death scoffs. “Are you waiting for me to become a true knight?”

“Only as long as you would wait for me to become a fair lady,” you say. “That is to say, a very long time.”

“A long time to become a lady, perhaps.” Sir Tomura extends one hand towards you, slowly, as though he’s expecting you to flinch or bolt. “You were fair before you knelt at my feet.”

You’re not sure what he means to do with his hand, but you reach out and capture it anyway. There’s only one thing you can think of to do, and you do it – bow low over it to kiss his knuckles, just as you’ve seen lords do for their ladies a thousand times. And you speak, words you’re certain no one has uttered since he arrived. “Thank you for what you did. Even if it was not done for us,” you say. “And thank you, too, for saying I was fair. You did not need to say that.”

“I didn’t lie.” Sir Tomura has yet to take his hand back. You don’t know what to do but keep holding it. “It seems that you are in my debt now.”

Just like that, you’re nervous again. You know what knights often ask, or demand, from the women who cross their paths. “How shall I repay it?”

“This feast,” the White Death says. You look up, startled. “You will accompany me.”

“My Lord –”

“Since I have arrived here, no one has met my eyes, nor spoken to me as you have.” He’s averting his eyes from yours now. “I would like to spend one evening in the company of someone who does not find my company torturous.”

“I would, my Lord, but it is simply not done.” You’re surprised at how upsetting it is to be unable to grant such a simple wish. You let go of his hand and drop into a curtsy, replacing the distance that should exist between you, rather than the odd intimacy of the last few moments. “No true knight would bring a servant as his companion to a royal feast.”

“I see,” Sir Tomura says. His hand slips beneath your chin, tilting your face upwards, and you see that same flash of interest in his red eyes. This time it has staying power, as his callused hand molds to the shape of your jaw and his lips curve into the first smile you’ve seen from him. “It’s fortunate, then, that I am no true knight.”

"Neko Tie"

Deku, Bakugou, and Shoto all try their hand at dressing Tenko up for his upcoming hero review, but in the end, Endeavor has the perfect solution to his problem!

[Shiggy-Endeavor Agency AU]

this was their most serious discussion

Idk about y'all but my man shigaraki? He got some mean ass cock I'm talkin bout he got shotgun sized dick, bruise your cervix type of dick- y'all don't wanna hear me you just wanna dance. SHIGARAKI LAYS MEAN ASS PIPE AND Y'ALL JUST DON'T GET IT. LOOK AT HIM- I bet you won't tell him to get off his game and come put his COCK in your stomach. Y'all just wanna fuckin dance bruh, This man dick so fuckin heavy he has a hard time carrying it- he literally throws it onto your face so you can feel just how heavy it really is, but y'all not hearing me at all. Shigaraki's dick is so meaty, heavy, thick, and girthy that only half of it can fit inside you- bitch he gotta hold the rest of his cock to keep it from bending too much when he fucks you. 😭y'all aren't hearing me!!! Shigaraki will literally break your fuckin pussy and guess what? I'll still sit there and take it break it daddy

Remember when the anime blessed us with a POV shot from between Tomura's legs?

Because I will never fucking forget. 🥵