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Paralyzed

As your shift in the daycare came to a close today, something triggered a terrible panicking trauma response in you. You've locked yourself in the storage closet in an attempt to get away from it all. When Sun eventually manages to get the door open, his heart breaks at the state he finds you in. Cue 4k words of ensuing caretaking and comfort.

Pairing: Sun/Reader/Moon Word Count: 6,014 Contains: [NSSI/Self-Harm] [panic] [PTSD] [crying] [emotional & physical hurt/comfort] [bandaging wounds] [undressing (not the sexy kind)] [caretaking] [cuddling] [literal sleeping together] [established relationship] [GN!Reader]

“Sunshine? I know you’re hurting right now… but you need to let me in there with you so I can help…”

A faint rattling comes from the locked doorknob, shortly followed by silence.

You barely hear it from where you’re slumped, back against the far wall of the pitch dark supply closet.

You’re far too consumed in your own suffering to even consider the impact of your actions right now. You have to make these feelings stop. You have to make it all go away. You can’t take anymore today.

Through your panicked haze and ragged breathing, your ears barely pick up on the faint sound of metallic tinkering, and Sun’s muttering on the other side of the door.

“Oh, for heavens sake… why does the supply closet even have the ability to lock from the inside in the first place?”

Your panicked breaths come faster and faster, until you begin to feel lightheaded from it all. The pain of your memories. The fear of whatever trigger had set you off this time. The shame of causing Sun such distress, having to see you like this.

You told yourself you’d never let them see you in such a state, yet here you fucking are. Trembling and soaked in sweat, tears, and snot, curled up on the cold tile of the supply closet floor.

It was bound to happen eventually, you suppose. You could lie and say you were doing better but this always comes back to drag you down again eventually.

You register the sound of a bolt shifting, before a few small screws fall down and roll across the floor in different directions. You watch the door creak open slightly, and thin, long robotic fingers snake their way around the edge and take hold of the loose doorknob before it can fall and clatter to the floor.

You feel your stomach drop at the knowledge that your time in hiding has come to an end. The door swings open slowly, the daycare’s bright lights casting into the room. The light makes a path all the way across the floor, from the open doorway across to your darkened form curled uncomfortably in the back, like a wild animal, cornered.

You lift your head enough to glance at him and you catch the sight of his silhouette, backlit in a way that has him looking more intimidating than he likely realizes. You instinctively curl back down into yourself and miss the way he subconsciously shrinks in on himself when he sees your apparent fear.

He’s the last person on earth that you should fear. He just wants to help you. He was built for this, wasn’t he? Taking care of the vulnerable?

Why’d they have to make him look so terrifying, then?

He pushes his own thoughts aside, his hand curling around the doorframe in search of the light switch. He quickly locates it, flipping it up and flooding the room with fluorescent light.

The proper sight of you breaks his mechanical heart.

Your hair is an absolute mess and your clothes are all bunched up around you as you’ve contorted yourself to take up the least amount of space possible. Like someone was trying to hurt you even though you were alone in here. He doesn’t even need to do a full body scan to tell that you have been hurt, actually. When his optics pass over your left hand, warning signs flash across his vision.

Injured. You’re injured.

In his daycare. Under his supervision.

Oh, no. No no no no no.

Not you. Not like this. Not ever.

He has to fix it. Fix you. Make it better.

Yes. Yes, he can make it better. He- he can fix this. It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. You have to be. He… needs you. They both do. You have to be okay.

They’ll make it better.

You keep your head tucked away into the pulled-up hood of your jacket, waiting. You don’t even know what you’re waiting for, exactly. Yelling? Screaming? Panic? Anger? Disappointment? Rough hands, grabbing, pulling, hurting you again?

If you were thinking straight right now you’d know this isn’t necessary. You’d remember where you are, and who you’re with, and that you are absolutely safe here. Sun and Moon wouldn’t ever lay a hand on you in anything other than love. Their touches don’t hurt. Neither do their words.

You’re not thinking straight right now, though. Your mind is somewhere else entirely. Completely caught up in the past, your mind replaying all the bad that you’ve ever encountered, like it’s trying to teach you a lesson you already know. Trying to warn you of a threat that is no longer there.

Sun slowly lowers himself to the floor and makes his way over to you on all fours in the least terrifying way he can.

His voice is about as quiet as he can get it to go but you still flinch when he breaks the silence.

“Sunshine, are you here with me right now? Can you hear me?”

You’re about halfway here and halfway gone, to be completely honest, but you manage to nod your head, the movement stiff and jerky. Your muscles are all so goddamn tense it’s a wonder you can move at all.

“Do you think you can take a deep breath for me?”

You try to, and fail miserably, the air catching in your throat and coming back out as a choked sob. Gods, you can’t even breathe right, can you? You shake your head vehemently, tangling your messy hair even further in the process as you start mindlessly muttering apologies between short, quick breaths.

“I’m-I’m sorry…  I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry…”

Sun’s hands flex open and closed, held firmly down at his sides to prevent their urges from taking over and just allowing himself to scoop you up into his arms the way he wants to.

“Hey… e-easy, love. There’s no need for apologies here, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

Your tears pick back up again at that, voice accidentally coming out in a sudden shout, only muffled by the balled-up sleeve you’ve brought up to try and hide your face.

“YES I HAVE! I-I-I don’t know what… but I must have done something… something to end up like this.”

It’s getting harder for Sun to close out of the numerous warning pop-ups that flood his vision. His voice is a bit more strained when you hear it again.

“No-no-no not at all! You haven’t done anything to make this happen. This is just… something that happens sometimes, yeah? And-and-and I’m here now to help you through it!”

He eyes your left hand again, lying lifeless on the cold tile beside you. It’s completely red and swollen, with long, angry red lines running down along your forearm and the back of your hand. He knew he’d heard the sound of repeated, dull banging when he first discovered you’d locked yourself in here, but he hadn’t wanted to think about what you might be doing to yourself.

He’s gonna find out now, though.

Losing yourself in your panic again, you shakily pick your stiff hand up off the tile, balling it into a fist as you bring it up just to slam it back down on the cold, hard floor with as much force as you can possibly muster. Sharp pain runs through your wrist as the already swollen joint is forced to take the impact of yet another hit. A hiss of pain is immediately ripped out of you, and you revel in the small relief that it brings, forcing you to take a deep breath to distract yourself. You’d been at this for a solid thirty minutes now, based on Sun’s calculations of when this whole ordeal started.

Sun’s body locks up at the sight, and he can’t even feel the black, watery fluid that begins to leak from beneath his eyes, running down along the curves of his faceplate like tears.

He’s paralyzed. Stuck in between two equally important rules.

They sound off on repeat like warning sirens in his mind.

[ Protect you. ]

[ Never touch you without permission. ]

[ Protect you. ]

[ Never touch you without permission. ]

[ Protect you. ]

[ Never touch you without permission. ]

He’s forced to sit there, glued to the ground and watch as you lift your fist and slam it back down once again, your body reeling forward in response to the pain.

He suddenly feels Moon’s presence fighting to take control in their shared headspace.

He watches on helplessly as an unauthorized edit is made to one of the rules cemented in the forefront of his mind.

[ Protect you. A̵T̸ ̶A̶L̶L̶ ̵C̵O̴S̴T̷S̴.̸ ]

He immediately breaks from his paralysis just in time to reach forward, his movements lightning fast, and wraps his massive hand around your fist as it makes its way towards the ground once again. He moves your connected hands downward together, trying to follow the motion so as to not hurt you any further by suddenly stopping you mid-swing.

Your hands both slam down onto the tile, but you hardly feel the pain this time. Sun registers that the back of his hand took the brunt of the impact, no real damage done given his sturdier components, and his body nearly collapses from the sudden relief.

His other hand quickly reaches out and loosely wraps itself around your wrist, needing to hold you still. He’s careful to not aggravate the swollen joint, nor the stinging lines of broken skin you’d torn across the back of your hand.

You stop crying in your shock, and your head jerks up to look at him, and the both of you stare at each other, unsure, for a long quiet moment.

He breaks the silence first.

“I’m sorry. I-I-I know we can’t touch you without permission but-but-but you weren’t LISTENING and I-I-I had to. You were hurting-hurting-HURTING yourself.”

His repetitions are getting noticeably worse, and so is his volume control. He’s stressed beyond his limits, clearly.

Your remaining panic evaporates at the realization and guilt suddenly takes over, washing over you in waves that threaten to drown.

Your right hand is trembling as you pull it away from your face, poking out of your sleeve and reaching out towards him, no longer caring about the absolute hell you must look like right now.

You grab onto one of his upper arms and pull yourself towards him with what little strength you have left in you. He sat up straight as a board in response to your sudden shift in position, clearly not expecting you to fall right into him. He quickly recovers though, gingerly adjusting you to be more comfortable in his hold.

Your voice is miserable and thick with tears when you speak, face making a mess of the soft, colorful ruffles around his neck. He doesn’t mind it at all, at this point. They can be washed.

“Don’t, please… don’t apologize. Just…”

You let out a shaky sigh.

“just hold me… please.”

That’s permission enough for him, and he quickly gathers you further up onto his lap, adjusting so he’s leaned back against a cabinet and you can lay against him.

“Okay… okay. We can do that.”

He slowly brings your injured hand up to inspect it better in the light, and mutters another string of quiet apologies when you whimper in pain. From a quick scan he can tell that nothing is broken- thank heavens - but it will definitely bruise something awful. He also quietly takes note of the way your sharp nails must’ve broken skin, as there’s tiny dried specks of blood along your forearm when he cautiously lifts your sleeve.

The injury warning pop-ups are still flashing in his vision, but they’re easier to see through now. You’re stable. You’re safe. There will be time to patch you up once they get you calm.

Speaking of they, Moon is now throwing an absolute fit inside their headspace, more impatient than ever to be released so he can do his job. You need to be calmed, you need to be soothed, you need to rest.

[ LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT ]

Sun shoots him a silent response as he brings a hand up to cradle the back of your head against his chest, heart breaking all over again at the way you still tremble against him.

[ You know I would if I could. We have to wait for the lights to go out. Have patience. It’s nearly your turn. ]

He outwardly flinches at the sudden sharp volume of Moon’s voice in his mind.

[ PATIENCE? I just had to sit back here and witness them actively HARMING themselves like a helpless SPECTATOR and you’re telling me to have PATIENCE, SUN? REALLY? ]

Sun settles you back down against him when you stir in response to his sudden movement, assuring you once again that you haven’t done anything wrong.

[ Moon. Please. Look at them. Now is not the time to be fighting. ]

Moon doesn’t reply, so he adds on.

[ I… sincerely thank you… for editing the rule for me, you know? ]

He hears Moon sigh in exasperation, and feels the tension in their headspace begin to slowly dissolve.

[ …yeah. You’re welcome. Don’t make me have to do it again. ]

As if on queue, the lights power down in the plex all at once, and their transition begins. They feel the way you suddenly tense at the realization, and they hush you as their voice shifts from Sun’s into Moon’s.

“Shhh, shh, shh. You’re okay. Everything’s alright, little star. No need to be scared. I’m right here. You’re still safe.”

You keep your head buried in the fabric when you speak.

“Moon?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Are you… mad at me?”

He struggles to keep it together when he hears how scared you sound.

“Not at all, doll. Never. Never mad at you.”

He brings your left hand back up a bit to get a better look at it through his own eyes, and his body releases a soft burst of warm air from his vents.

“Mad at ourselves? Mmmaybe. But that’s none of your concern. It’s over now. We’re gonna fix this. We promise.”

He shifts a little, and whispers a soft question.

“May I move you up to our room so we can clean you up?”

You nod against him, humming in unenthusiastic acceptance.

His movements are incredibly careful and fluid when he picks the two of you up off the floor. Walking out of the storage closet, he calls down his tether and adjusts his grip on you to assure that you won’t slip.

You cling tight to him with your good hand, and close your eyes to avoid the unpleasant sight of being so far up in the air. Before you know it, you’re being lowered onto their bed so carefully one would think you’re made of glass.

When you finally detach yourself from his chest so he can put you down, you finally notice the dark tear-tracks leaking from his eyes. They shimmer, reflecting the dim string-lights hung throughout the room. You reach out to him, trying to wipe them away and failing miserably, smearing the dark stains further across their faceplate.

He gently takes your hand and brings it to his smile, pressing the equivalent of a kiss against your skin before placing your hand back down in your lap.

“Don’t you worry about us right now, star. You do that enough already. It’s your turn to be taken care of now.”

He shifts from his crouched position by the bed and moves to stand, intending to go fetch the first aid kit. You stop him by clinging to his hand with a nervous whine when he pulls away. You don’t even recognize how small and vulnerable you sound when your thoughts slip out of you.

“Where… where are you going?”

He crouches back down to your level, brushing your messy hair back away from your face.

“Just need to run down and get some things to patch you up with, doll. I’ll be back within a minute. Do you think you can wait for me here while I go do that?”

He’s slipped into caregiver mode, speaking to you like he’d speak to a frightened child in the daycare, but honestly… right about now, you don’t feel much different. His kind, patient tone works wonders to quiet your lingering fears.

“Okay… yeah, I can wait.”

He moves to press another kiss to the crown of your head when he stands back up, whispering to you.

“Very good. I’ll only be a moment. Wait here for me, starlight.”

You don’t count the seconds it takes him, but from what you can tell he stayed true to his word, for it couldn’t have been more than a minute before he was swinging himself back onto the balcony, arms full of various items.

He quietly sets them down one by one on a table in the room, and turns to you, crouching down again to be on your level.

“Now, patching up injuries is usually Sun’s thing, but I’m fully capable of it as well, if you’ll let me.”

You nod in silence, looking down, letting the shame, guilt, and embarrassment wash over you again. He picks up on it, and is quick to reassure you, crouching even further down and tilting his head at an angle so as to catch your gaze again.

“Hey, hey, hey… you don’t need to be ashamed of this. We’re not angry with you, and you don’t have to explain anything tonight if you don’t feel up to it . ”

Some of the tension bleeds out of your shoulders at that, and you take a resolving breath before granting him permission to tend to you, holding your left arm out towards him.

“…Thank you.”

He takes it in his, and reaches to grab a cleansing wipe from his pile of assorted things.

“It’s our honor to care for you, love.”

He hesitates, looking you over for a moment before setting the wipe back down and turning to you.

“It’ll be easier to do this if we take your jacket off first. Would you like assistance?”

You raise your arms out away from you, nodding sheepishly.

If he could smile any bigger than he always is, he would have.

“Alright, then. Mind your hand…”

He gently removes your jacket and folds it over the back of a chair. Then, returning his attention to your arm, he tears the pouch open and pulls the cloth out.

“This will sting at first, but it’s necessary, okay?”

You nod, only wincing slightly as he cleans your scratches and then pulls out a tube of some sort, twisting the tiny cap off with nimble fingers.

“This will help you heal.”

You watch quietly as he takes the utmost care to evenly coat each red, stinging line with the ointment, and in the back of your mind you wonder if this is a bit overkill for a few scratches… but you’re hesitant to turn him down. It couldn’t hurt, and you were rather enjoying the treatment. Far, far more than you’d like to admit, honestly. The torn lines of skin run all the way down your forearm to meet your knuckles, and he doesn’t miss a single spot.

He then turns away, pulling out a thin roll of gauze, and gestures for you to hold your arm out once again. When you offer it, he begins wrapping your arm up, starting from your hand. He’s extremely careful to not put undue pressure on your swollen palm and wrist, and once it’s secured around your hand, he winds the dressing all the way up around your arm, covering every little wound.

You’re nearly in a trance by the time he fastens the bandage in place and pulls back, pilfering through the other things he brought. You snap out of it when his voice breaks the silence again.

“Would you like my assistance while changing into something more suited for sleep?”

You nod before you even really register the inquiry, still too caught up in how good it felt to be bandaged up the way he did. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you undress before, anyways, so you don’t dwell on it too much when he guides you to stand and helps you remove your wrinkled work clothes.

Digging around in their dresser, he pulls out a plush pair of your sleep pants that you leave here for unplanned nights like this, and an oversized Superstar Daycare logo t-shirt.

He squats down, letting you use his shoulders to support your unsteady frame as you step into the pants, pulling them up around your waist before guiding you to sit back down on the bed. Reaching for the shirt and motioning for you to lift your arms, he makes sure the sleeve doesn’t catch on your bandages as he drapes it down over you.

You’re tempted to collapse back into the mattress then and there, but he’s not done coddling you yet.

He begins climbing all around you and gathering up every pillow in the room, propping you up and placing them around you to form some sort of… protective nest, you suppose? Whatever he’s doing, it seems like very important work in his eyes, so you let him fuss over the arrangement ‘til his heart's content, watching him with a small smile and tired eyes.

Once he seems satisfied with his work, he gently picks your left hand up and places it on its own special elevated pillow. He takes a ridiculous amount of care to make sure all of your bruising fingers are spread out in the best possible position, and then looks to you in question.

“Is this okay? Comfortable like this?”

You nod with a bemused smile, and he tilts his head for a moment, gauging your expression. Whatever he makes of it, he seems content now, and so he returns to his duties.

Reaching back to the table, he pulls over an ice pack, carefully wrapping it with soft fabric before situating it over your hand and wrist. He spends a few quiet moments just holding it there, practically staring straight through the ice pack and down into your injured hand. There’s something almost… far away about his voice when he speaks this time, but it’s gone again before your tired mind can question it.

“This should help bring the swelling down…”

You give him a tired smile, and a quiet thank you in acknowledgment.

That seems to snap him out of whatever momentary daze he had slipped into.

He moves back, stopping to take stock of the things he brought with him for a moment before grabbing a wet-looking washcloth and settling himself down on the bed in front of you.

“You’ll sleep better if your face isn’t all hot and tear-stained.”

You’re not gonna decline him, but you do feel compelled to say something.

“You really don’t have to go to such lengths like this, Moon… I don’t really feel like I deserve all this pampering after the burden I’ve been here lately...”

His body language visibly falls, seeming almost hurt by your words.

“Let’s get one thing straight, doll. 

You are no burden. 

Second of all, if you think that this is pampering…”

He lets out a small, sad laugh, looking down and obviously thinking something over internally.

“…then you’ve need to raise your standards, love. This is just basic care.”

He turns back to meet your gaze again.

“Besides. We’d be some pretty awful caretakers if we couldn’t even do this, wouldn’t we?”

His faceplate spins until it’s done a 180, reversing its path and righting itself once again as he speaks. That gets a small smile out of you, and you drop the subject, closing your eyes and leaning in to let him wipe the mess of your breakdown from your flushed skin.

Once you’re cleaned, he steps away for a moment, placing the damp cloth back atop the first aid kit on the table. He’ll put everything away in the morning, but for now, he’s quite hesitant to leave your side again. The small mess of assorted items and today’s dirty clothes will have to wait until tomorrow.

Leaning down to pull their belled slippers off, he places them neatly away to the side. You eye his long fingers as he lifts the back of their neck ruffles, deftly undoing the small bow holding them on, and watch as it unravels. He tosses the fabric onto the same chair he hung your jacket from, and your eyes follow his hands as they move down to his waist, fingers working to undo the tie that holds their pants up.

You avert your gaze as the star patterned fabric drops to the floor, pooling around his ankles. It’s not like there’s anything about each other you haven’t already seen before, but it still feels a bit inappropriate to just sit here doing nothing and watching him undress.

As you lean your head back to stare up at the sea of glow-in-the-dark stars that decorate the ceiling, he steps into the longest, softest pair of black palazzo pants known to mankind, a rare find of yours from a lucky trip to a thrift store.

You hated it when you first found out that they either had to sleep in their work clothes or nothing at all, so you had begun to buy up any casual clothes you could find whenever you happened across something that might fit their unusual frame.

He wraps the ties around his thin waist twice, tying them into a neat bow in the front. He then grabs a baggy, cream colored open-front cardigan and slips one arm after the other into it. Loosely wrapping the sides across his front, he turns and makes his way back over to the bedside. He didn’t particularly care one way or the other about wearing any sort of shirt to bed, but you often fell asleep on him and weren’t a big fan of waking up with your cheek adhered to the silicone of his chest plate.

When you notice his approach in your peripheral vision, you pull your lidded gaze away from the stars above you to look at the Moon beside you.

He settles himself down right next to you, careful to not disturb the nest he’s created, and then reaches out to the bedside table one more time, returning with a bottle of water and a packet of your favorite crackers, which he presumably snatched from the daycare’s pantry.

Why on earth it is that this is the gesture that finally does you in will forever remain a mystery to you, but at the sight of him presenting you the food and water, your eyes well up again with tears you didn’t think you had left.

He visibly falters for a moment, unsure if he’s done something wrong. He drops the crackers down onto the bed, freeing a hand to reach out and cup your cheek, guiding you to look at him. His voice is heavy with a quiet concern.

“Hey, hey, no more tears… Why are you crying again, starlight? Is something still hurting you?”

You smile in spite of your shining eyes, and lean into his touch.

“They’re good tears this time, Moon. I just… Thank you. For everything, for all of this, thank you. Both of you.”

He seems to relax a bit at that, and his thumb runs over your cheek to brush away a stray tear. His eyes get that distant look in them for a moment and you realize he’s listening to Sun.

“Thanking us is not necessary, but you’re very welcome all the same.”

He opens the water bottle for you, assuring that you’ve got a good grip on it before he lets you take it. As soon as it hits your throat you realize just how thirsty you were, greedily downing about half the bottle before Moon’s hand appears in your line of sight, gently ushering it away from your pursed lips. 

“Please pace yourself, starlight.”

You swallow your current mouthful of water as you watch him open the package of crackers, expecting him to hand it to you before you remember that you’ve got a bottle in one hand and an ice pack on the other. He picks one piece out of the package and as he brings it up towards you, you connect the dots quickly enough.

“Open.”

Oh, brother, he’s really giving you the full treatment tonight.

You feel heat return to your cheeks once again, albeit for a different reason this time around. Your voice comes out in a mixture of embarrassment and want.

“You don’t have to feed me…”

His faceplate angles down to the side, cocking his head at you. If he could smirk you’re sure he would be right now.

“But we want to.”

He gently nudges the cracker at your closed lips and you side-eye him as you part them just enough to snatch the food in between your teeth. You pull away with a small smile as you chew, and for some reason you struggle to look him in the eyes.

If circumstances were brighter, he’d likely be teasing you for being so shy, but tonight… Tonight, he sets the jokes aside. He patiently feeds you one cracker after another, reminding you to take a small sip of water every few bites. At some point, when your mind slows down enough for you to notice the silence permeating the room, soft music begins to play from the speaker hidden in his chest.

It’s the tune that he reserves especially for nights like these with you, one that he never plays during nap time. In spite of how little Sun and Moon have to call their own, they still manage to find small parts of themselves to share only with you.

Once you’ve finished your snack, you let him place the remainder of your water back on the side table. When he turns back to you, ready to get you laid down to sleep, you’re fixing him with a thoughtful stare. His faceplate tilts 45 degrees, his tone curious.

“What are you looking at?”

Your tired gaze roams across his faceplate, following along the smeared oily tear tracks he seems to have forgotten about. You then look past him, over his shoulder, and your eyes land on the still-damp cloth on the table.

“Would you hand me that cloth for a second, please?”

He’s silent for a moment, processing your question, but eventually reaches behind himself to retrieve it for you. When he places it in your open right hand, you use it to gesture out in front of you.

“Can you move to sit in front of me for a minute?”

He tilts his head the opposite direction in confusion once again, but does as you requested. You motion for him to lean down a bit until his face is level with yours.

Once you can reach him, you pinch one corner of the cloth between two fingers and set to work wiping away the dark tear tracks. You follow the path they’ve made down from beneath their eyes, around the inner curve of their cheeks and down to their mouth. The trails of inky fluid had weaved their way through the crevices of their smile and eventually converged, pooling in the bottom curve of the crescent moon.

You feel his eyes, now tiny pinpricks of red in a black void, following your every movement. Not really in a dangerous sort of way… he just seems more taken aback than anything. When you’ve wiped every last trace away, you meet his gaze briefly as you give him one final look over, and you give him a small smile.

You go to hand the cloth back to him and he doesn’t move to take it, still sitting there with his hands clasped in his lap and staring straight at you. Oh god. Knowing your luck, your attempt at returning the favor has broken him. Cautiously reaching out, you take one of his hands in yours and maneuver it until it’s face-up. You ball the cloth up and place it back in his palm as your hand comes to rest over top of it, eyes darting across his frame in search of any movement, any sort of response.

“Are you still with me, Moon?”

At your words, his faceplate suddenly clicks back and forth a few times before making one full rotation, the bell on the end of his hat grazing the pillows below you along the way. Life seems to finally return to him, and his fingers close around the cloth in his hand as he leans back. Silently, he moves from his spot seated in front of you to return the cloth to the table before settling himself back down in his prior spot beside you. You turn to look at him, uncertain, and his gaze is settled on the bed sheets when he speaks.

“I never left you.”

Your tired mind struggles to understand what exactly that means, looking up at him with furrowed brows.

“Huh?”

He tilts his faceplate to look down at you, still being a head taller than you even when you’re sitting next to him.

“You asked me if I was still with you.”

His hand reaches out and he carefully laces his long fingers between yours.

“I never left.”

A warm feeling spreads through your chest at the sincerity in his voice and in that moment, you can’t do anything other than lean into him, gently resting your forehead against his shoulder. After a little while of just breathing in the moment, you speak again.

“I just… wanted to return the favor. You two take such good care of me, wiping your tears is the least I can do…”

One of his hands comes up to cradle the back of your head against him.

“It’s entirely unnecessary but we both appreciate it nonetheless. We really do. We’re just… not used to it. Being treated so gently is… unfamiliar to us.”

You pull your left hand out from beneath the ice pack in order to wrap your arms around him in a proper hug, talking into the fabric of his cardigan.

“Oh, come on, guys… you’re starting to sound like me now.”

Moon resists the urge to reprimand you for moving your hand, instead allowing their body to lean into the embrace, wrapping long arms around your soft, vulnerable body. His voice sounds far more exhausted than any animatronic's voice ought to when he speaks.

“…it’s well past your bedtime, little star.”

You put the last of your energy into squeezing him as tightly as you can before you finally let go, allowing him to re-situate you however he deems fit.

You know that there’s a heavy conversation to be had tomorrow, and you’re gonna have to find a way to hide or explain away the remnants of your obvious injury to little questioning minds on Monday. You’ll have to think of all the right things to say to anyone who may ask questions, and you’ll come up with something, you’re sure. One thing you can find comfort in though, is that you don’t have to worry about any of that with Sun and Moon.

They deserve a more detailed explanation of course and they’ll get it when you’re ready, but at least for tonight… the three of you can rest knowing that you’re safe and understood in each other's arms. None of you are strangers to this, and you both know that things will be okay again. One step back doesn’t erase any of the progress you made beforehand.

So for now, you breathe in deep and focus on the feeling of gentle, strong arms wrapped around you, keeping you safe from anything that may seek to harm you.

Even if that’s yourself.

A/Ns: Crisis Text Line provides free, 24/7 support via text message. They're there for everything: anxiety, depression, suicide, school. Text HOME to 741741. Or, you can click the link here to visit their website for more information and resources. As usual, if you want to see all of my commentary and additional context in regards to writing this fic, you can find that in the notes right here on AO3!

Image Sources: x - x - x

Cosplay tomura 2

I finaly have a real wig but she's not that great...😭

What was the best, the old cosplay or that one ?

🎃 Happy Halloween 🎃

Shigaraki Tomura x Fem! Reader

Good girls should just stay home, lest something goes bump in the night.

cw: NSFW • Implied Murder • Implied Serial Killer • Consensual Non-Consent turned Non-Consensual • Noncon • Dubcon • Abuse • Fingering (F) • Oral (M) • Deep Throating • Rough Sex • Attempted Murder • Hair Pulling • Degradation/Slight Humiliation • Dacryphilia • Yandere Themes • Kidnapping • a little OOC • This story possessed me and basically wrote itself • Barely proof read tbh

wc: 7k+

Something must be wrong with you.

Or at least, that’s what you imagine the world would think if anyone knew what you were doing.

The room was dark aside from the blue glow of your computer screen. The black web browser with red lettering almost ominous as your eyes scanned the consent form again. It was a consent form just to access the full website, on the surface serving only as a dating type of situation for the BDSM community. Beneath it though were layers deeper than what the simple description actually provided. You only found out about it through a deep dive into multiple sub-threads of Reddit. It was a basket case of crazy, the majority of information or advice, but you managed to dig up one reliable looking source.

This website you were currently on. L@ce&R0pe.com happened to provide a wide variety of goodies, from sex toys to actual published books on shibari, there wasn’t much you couldn’t find. Except like all websites not swallowed up by the deep web, there was never any section like the one you wanted so desperately.

Except this one, because your mouse didn’t hesitate to shift and hover over the drop down section for MEET, where you could link up with real people for whatever your heart desired really. You trailed down to NEW FRIEND, and clicked. A new tab opened, this one themed differently than the main website. It was light blue and pink, almost like a baby shower, except the only thing on the page was a single drop down menu, and clicking it made your head ache. There were thousands of options, but thankfully it was organized alphabetically, so you could easily scroll mindlessly until you hit the C section.

You found what you wanted, clicking it as your chosen option and hitting GO.

The screen changed, this time it looked similar to a dating profile fillable. You worked quickly, efficiently even, as you typed all your information in.

Not your name or address, nothing silly like that. Just your measurements, your favorite foods or beverages, the color of your eyes, your hair color, your height, and even the style of your nails. It asked if you liked to brush your hair everyday, how often you showered, what shampoo or body wash you like. You answered them all, as invasive as they soon became, you never wavered. What brand of deodorant do you use? How often do you clip or file your nails? To what length? Do you shave your pubic area? How often? What style? How many sexual partners have you had? Where have you had sex? Which hole do you prefer? Are you a crier or a screamer? Does blood turn you on? Do you like physical or mental pain more? Have you ever been raped before?

They got more personal and physiological as you answered. You felt hot and stuffy despite the window being open and the cool autumn air blowing in. You kept answering even as your throat got tighter and unease nestled into your clavicle.

Do you want to know who your new friend will be?

This time you do hesitate. Knowing would make it feel safer. Knowing would give you some semblance of control. Knowing would be the smart choice.

You clicked “no” and submitted the form, sealing your fate as your hands shook and adrenaline pumped through your veins.

You set the date for October 31st. Now all you had to do was wait and show up.

A notification hit his phone, lighting up the screen as cigarette smoke billowed around him in the back alley. A quick glance was all he needed to unlock and fully see the entire screen. The leather of his jacket rubbed against the brick he leaned against.

Halloween was probably the best time for such fun, crime rates skyrocketing and parties being loud and wild really left a big gaping hole for any type of heinous activity to occur. He grinned as the information poured onto his screen. His dick already becoming painfully hard as he read all your supplied information. You liked breath play, having someone spit in your mouth, even being slapped around. He was always amazed by the lack of shortage for sick freaks like you, but then again, he was one of them too. Licking his top lip, tongue piercing flicking out to rub against his cupid’s bow, he clicked “ACCEPT” on the notification. He had all your information, the when and where, and your adorable little comment of “Please don’t degrade me.” What more could he ask for? His smile is sinister in the low light off the neon sign of the bar, casting a purplish hue on his skin as he chuckles and shoves his phone away. Flicking his cigarette butt onto the dirty ground, he cracked his neck and knuckles before going back inside to finish his beer and round of pool with his friends.

He’ll see you on Halloween. He might even dress up a little for the occasion.

It’s cold.

It’s nearly November so you hadn’t expected warm weather necessarily, but it seemed chillier than usual despite your fairly insulated dress.

You dressed up as an angel, the irony not lost on you at all but it felt fitting almost for the occasion. The pristine white looked off in your surroundings. It was nearly midnight, but despite that the sidewalk of the park was filled with a fairly regular crowd of people passing through, on to the next party or home to sleep off all the alcohol. Really, you weren’t too out of place, in your white stockings and black heeled boots, the fluffy ruffled white babydoll dress that barely covered your ass or tits and the wings which were strapped around your shoulders and jutted out behind you. On your head was a slim clip which was attached to a white shiny halo that seemed to float above you, only a thin wire keeping it up. You’d at first felt a little exposed passing children going home for the night after trick or treating, eyes of judgemental families which you ignored boring into you, but now it was time for the adults to have fun. You’d already passed a plethora of college students or older dressed even more scantily than you, making you feel better, safer, out in the park you’d chosen. You’d chosen 0300 as your designated meetup time, but specified you’d be early in case they wanted to start sooner. So here you stood, under a streetlamp that illuminated you in a yellow glow, making you seem even more angelic despite the ominous darkness surrounding you. You were busy playing on your phone, scrolling mindlessly and trying not to appear too excited. Or scared. You figured it was a combination of both, the arousal and fear bleeding into one very specific but unnamed emotion. Tapping your boot to a rhythm only you could hear, the night drew on and another hour passed. The droves of people passing didn’t dwindle, but it was always a group, never a single individual which you hoped was your new friend. It was almost 0130 when you felt watched, goosebumps rising on your skin as you realized someone must be looking at you. A quick glance around showed no one though, and after ten minutes your hope dissolved into disappointment. It seemed your friend wasn’t an early bird.

“Hey,” a raspy, deep voice speaking almost directly into your ear, startling you enough to elicit a yelp. You turned, eyes landing on a dark clothed chest and trailing up to a hooded face you could barely make out through a mess of blue hair. His lips look a bit chapped, a small scar decorating a corner, but his teeth are white and straight as he smiles a grin that causes shivers to shoot down your spine.

…maybe your friend was an early bird, just not as much as you.

You take a step back, stuttering stupidly due to your overactive nerves and the earlier shock of his sudden appearance. “H-hi…um,” the stranger tilts his head, eyes still not visible, dark hoodie baggy on his frame. He looks a bit thin, like he wouldn’t have a lot of strength, his jeans having some strange splattering of fake blood or something on them. You lick your lips, heart ready to leap from your chest but not quite ready for the events to unfold.

Or maybe you were very ready.

“You’ve been standing here for hours,” he comments nonchalantly, hands moving to shove inside the large inner pocket on his hoodie, “Aren’t ya tired of waiting for your boyfriend?” His question is a bit confusing, and when you glance around you, it dawns that there’s no one out right now. When had the crowds dwindled to nothing? “I don’t… have a boyfriend…” you had clearly stated that online too, so he already knew the answer to your relationship status. Was he just teasing? Keeping this as realistic as possible? It made you a bit pleased. You fiddled with the ends of your cute frilly dress, exposing a small portion of your skin and garter belt which kept your thigh high socks up. His eyes tracked the motion, lips pulling up even higher making his smile menacing. Dangerous. “That so?” He asks, but it doesn’t seem like he’s too interested in a reply as he steps closer, his beat up sneakers so silent on the ground it’s a little unnerving. Since he’s playing along so much, it feels wrong for you to not reciprocate.

“What do you think you’re doing, creep? Stay back,” You hope he’s not offended by the name, figuring it wasn’t too mean or odd of a thing to call him. Your firm stance and defiant gaze make him pause, head tilting again but he’s quick to recover and laugh. It’s less of a sexy and deep chuckle like you expected, and more pitched and giggly. It’s almost creepy to hear from a grown man. Like a child from a horror movie laughing. “Creep? Yeah? Guess I am, but you know what?” His head lifts, and since he’s more centered under the tall street lamp, when he looks straight at you, two red eyes flash. “I’m a lot fucking worse than your average dumbass creep,” you jolt when he lunges at you, hand outstretched to grab you. It’s instinctive how quickly you turn and run, adrenaline helping you shoot off into the park where no light but the moon shined down. This is what you wanted, you chant to yourself to stay level headed enough to not truly panic. This was staged and as safe as possible. He’s not actually going to hurt you. You’d be fine, albeit maybe a little sore tomorrow morning. You shut your mind off and focus on running, though your speed wasn’t great in such cheap and unstable boots, roots and random objects on the ground constantly tripping you up.

You looked like the dumb girl in the horror movies, tits practically out of your low cut revealing white dress, strapless white bra damn useless and more for show than any real support or push-up. You huffed, digging in your heels when you heard a few twigs snap behind you, feet carrying you faster as you realized he was gaining on you quickly. He didn’t shout and you didn’t scream. The chase was exhilarating, your mind becoming fuzzy as your lungs burned for more oxygen. You hadn’t planned a chase, really leaving it all up to fate and your new friend, but this was perfect.

Until fingers tangled tight in your hair and yanked you completely off your feet, your shoes and legs going out in front of you as you landed gracelessly on your ass. Then an intense burning in your scalp erupts, a hiss of pain and a whine escaping as you slide over cool damp foliage, senseless grumbling coming from the stranger as he drags you into a deeper more secluded section of the park, away from any and all prying eyes. Not like anyone gave a damn. “I-it hurts!” You feel childish for crying, tears pricking your eyes but the burn was worse than you imagined truly, soft hands coming up to try and pry his fingers off.

He has a grip of iron apparently, not the least bit phased as he sighs, hauling you up and tossing you in front of him. You land weirdly on your left shoulder, a shock of pain numbing your mind as you heave for air and roll over. When you open your eyes, you’re face to face with him. His hood pulled off, shoulder length blue hair now tied back and up into a little bun while some stray pieces frame his face and forehead. Your eyes adjust to the darkness as they take him in.

He’s young, maybe early twenties, with pale skin and dark bags hugging beneath his scarlet eyes. He’s got a beauty mark just below his lip on the right side, the scar you saw earlier on the other. He’s not hard on the eyes, cute even, but the strange air around him makes the close proximity fill you with anxiety. His eyebrows are thin and sparse, but he cocks one with a smirk. “Not gonna scream for help, crybaby?” The nickname makes you realize tears are streaming down your cheeks, you blink them away quickly, shaking your head and trying to find your words again. “I—uh, do you want me to?” Wouldn't screaming just make it more likely for someone to call the police? You figured a little noise was fine, but screaming seemed counter productive.

His eyes widened a bit, confusion painting his features as he crouched down more comfortably on his haunches to get a better look at you.

He’d been watching you since you got to the park. A single party in this sort of place always sticks out like a sore thumb. You looked more ready for a porno than a costume party, from behind the view of your ass indescribably arousing in your short little dress. It was both a slutty and innocent look you pulled off well, at least enough to make him riled up, cock twitching in agreement within his pants. He shamelessly rubbed it through his jeans, caressing the hardening length and letting you watch with glee. Your face made him snort, amusement evident as he chuckles and squints. “You like this, little freak?” You looked like you did, he notes. Your wide pretty eyes, still a little teary and red at the ends, showed your blown out pupils. You looked to be more star struck, not terrified like any normal girl chased through a park and dragged into a little corner between some trees to be out of sight. He watches you swallow hard, lips parting before closing as if you aren’t sure what to say to that question. “Fuck, you’re cute,” he grins, “a cute little slut who stood out at night all alone as if begging for someone to come along and do something nasty.” You release a tiny yelp as he meanly shoves you back, straddling your upper chest with his thighs as he hunches over you, looming ominously above with wild eyes screaming for chaos. “Good thing that I came along, huh? Make all your nasty little fantasies come true.” He watches you gasp as he presses his fingers against your lips, confusion evident on your face but you aren’t really putting up much of a fight as you open and let him slide two in. “Nasty fucking girl, look at you, when you don’t even fucking know me.” He chuckles, and while he’s teasing you mostly, he is amazed. You looked erotic as hell right now, little angel costume all wrinkled and a bit dirty from the earth below, pretty face a bit stained with mascara that had run a little from your earlier tears. You weren’t wearing the waterproof kind it seemed. Lips bitten and chewed on, plump and glossy from whatever glittery shit you swiped on them earlier now wrapped around his digits as he dug around in your warm wet mouth. “Suck on them, slut,” he orders, his smile dropping and face becoming more serious as you hurry to obey, a strange trepidation building in your gut. He groans as he feels your tongue wiggle and swirl, pumping his fingers a bit now and enjoying the little bleats you release when he chokes you a bit with them. “Wonder if you’re soaked down here~” he hums, leaning back a bit and yanking his fingers from your lips, wiping the excess saliva across your cheek and huffing a laugh as your features wrinkle in distaste. His hand moves behind him, easy access to your cunt due to the frilly dress hiked up almost around your waist, revealing cute soaked white cotton panties he growls at the sight of. “You really suck at putting up a fight, crybaby, but I think I heard somewhere that girls get wet when scared too…” those red eyes flick back to your own, "You scared?” He asks, almost softly. He watches you breathe, chest struggling a bit under his weight but your hands curled into the fabric of his hoodie, not pushing him away. “A little…?” Is your shaky response, and he wonders silently if you’re an idiot or just a pervert. You might be both, because when he lets his thumb dig into where your pussy lay poorly hidden, you moan for him and spread your legs wider. You make it even easier to search for his desired location, your swollen bundle of nerves. “O-oh—!” Your head falls back, little halo becoming a bit misshapen as it gets flattened to the ground, he tsks, fixing it with his free hand as he thumbs your little clit and watches you mewl and writhe beneath him, pleasure clearly visible on your face. Your hips buck and wiggle, body pinned beneath his and unable to get away or closer like you desperately want for more friction than he’s providing. “P-please,” you can’t help but beg, hoping your new friend is merciful enough to make you cum and not simply edge you all night.

It’s the pouty expression which makes him nearly feral, his grin spreading wide again as he keeps working his finger on your clit but his face closes the distance between your own. His lips just barely graze yours, and you are all too happy to part your lips and give him a sloppy kiss back, his own tongue finally slipping into your mouth where you suck. The smooth muscle in your mouth and the saliva dripping from it drive you wild, hands now dragging him closer and trying to make him do more for you. The heat spreads slowly however, his pace not changing, and despite his slim build he’s much stronger than you. You aren’t able to take any more than what is given, huffing in exasperation and groaning when he places more force before easing off. “S-stop teasing…” you whine against his lips, which were much softer than they look. He smirks, airy chuckle felt more than heard as he shakes with a silent laugh, “how can I not, you’re such a rare find, I plan to take my time with you.” He kisses you hard to silence whatever whines you planned to release to make him give you more. Instead he forces you into a slow building orgasm that leaves him having to pin your wrists above your head lest your clawing rip his skin open. He works you gently and cruelly into it, loving how you gasp and choke for him, eyes rolling back while you shake almost like you’re possessed and soak through your panties. “There you go, heh, normally I wouldn’t bother to take my time with whiny bitches, but you’re more obedient and sweet than I first assumed.” He whispers into your ear as you come down from the mind blowing high, body limp and pliant like dough now. The insult from him brings out a little whine of protest, teary eyes looking at him with almost something akin to betrayal.

“I-I don’t like being called mean names…I said so online too,” he pulls up finally, the chill of the night attacking full force on your now exposed cunt as he brings your panties up to his nose to inhale. His eyes narrow, almost into slits as he pulls them back and shoves them into his hoodie pocket. “Oh yeah? You post that shit on your social media or something? Sorry, I don’t really use those trash platforms. I have a Twitch stream though,” he acts like this is the time for a regular conversation, even as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, yanking them down his hips to pull his cock free. Your eyes go wide, mind a bit blank and missing something, in favor of looking at him pump his length lazily. A trail of blue curls like on his head travel from his navel to his groin where it spreads out a little, the color a bit darker as it goes lower. He’s not one to shave it seems, but your eyes focus on his cock, average in length but girthy with a tip that curves up almost perfectly. It looks like a cock someone would sell as a dildo at a sex store. It was pretty, admittedly, as a few pearls of pre-cum dotted the tip and spilled over as he slowly worked it above you. “Hungry?” He jokes, but when you nod he grits his teeth and bites back a moan, the night truly more unexpected than he thought. “Open up then, crybaby.” He thankfully didn’t call you a bitch again, crybaby the less of the evils and more acceptable of a petname for your preference as you open your lips and awkwardly lean your head forward. “No need to lean up,” he mumbles, shifting until his knees now rested by your shoulders, tip just in your mouth and his forearms on the earth above your head. He’s looking down at you, and you lay back down as he works his cock in your mouth. He’s going to fuck your mouth, you realize a bit late, the position so easy for him to hit balls deep in your throat and prevent you from running just from his weight alone. You’re pinned to earth, the scent of crisp autumn becoming mingled with the musky masculine odor the stranger had clinging to him. Something smelled of iron too, but it was fainter and didn’t bother you too much, not when he seemed determined to suffocate you with his cock. You jerk a little, teeth accidentally grazing his cock and his hiss of pain alerts you that you’ve hurt him. He pulls up and out of your mouth, glaring ferociously as he looks down at you with contemplation. “Sorry—! I’m not used—,” the words leaving you mouth go unfinished as you’re suddenly looking away and down, confusion wracking your mind before white hot pain erupts across your face and you cry out in agony.

He watches with a cool nonchalance as you whimper and cry, holding your inflamed cheek and looking at him with teary eyes filled with questions. The sight doesn’t help his hardness, your face swelling a bit from the force of the blow already, but it was still arousing how you cried for him so easily. “Don’t bite my fucking dick and I won’t hit you, clear?” He’s grabbing you roughly by the hair again, yanking you up and no longer in the mood for that awkward position as he stands and pulls you to your knees. This position at least gives him a good eye full of your tits, shaking from your little trembling as you’re made to look up at him. His angry reddened cock next to your injured cheek is a sight for him, his hand gripping his shaft and slapping you lightly on the cheek with it, his hand in your hair preventing you from turning away even as you whimper in pain. “Okay, we’ll try this again, crybaby. Open.” You do, even as tears run like waterfalls down your face, mascara smeared and making a pathetic sight for sore eyes of you, you let his cock enter your mouth once more.

Because you’ve never been more aroused.

Your stranger isn’t nice, pushing hard and deep into your throat immediately and gagging you. You’re careful with your teeth, jaw already burning and aching as he locks his arm and hand, strands of hair tearing out as he works his hips into your face at an uneven pace. “Stop fucking moving,” he growls, stepping even closer, blocking any and all exits and forcing you to take it. His cock didn’t seem so scary when he’d pulled it out, but in your throat it was a plug to your oxygen and felt too big for your poor mouth. It hurt, feeling him go too deep and leaving you coughing and sputtering and even still he wouldn’t pull out, groaning and pressing impossibly deep like he truly means to suffocate you. “You got a good little mouth pussy, crybaby. Fuck—take my cock, just like that.” He moans, watching as you struggle on his dick to breathe or swallow, slobber and tears coating his cock as he makes a mess of your pretty face. He doesn’t care that your eyes are starting to roll back, hands which had previously been clawing at his legs going limp at your sides. You acted more like a hole for him to fuck when you were limp like this, and it drove him wild as he grunted like an animal and rutted into your mouth like he held a grudge against you. Both hands dug into your hair, hands pulling you back onto his cock when his hips bucked you away. “Never fucked a—holy shit—ah, mouth so damn good before—, ah fuck, fuck,” he’s getting breathier as time ticks by, his own eyes rolling back as his balls draw up tight. “I’m going to cum, ready for me crybaby? Want it in your tummy or on your face?” He’s being condescending on purpose, but it’s a bit useless considering he’s rendered you nearly unconscious on his dick. He shrugs your lack of response off, pumping his cock down your throat until he sees stars and yanks himself free just before the first spurt misses and hits the grass below, he grips the base, pumping and shooting his next shot right onto your face. He yanks your head against his thigh, delirious face dazed and coughing softly as he finishes on your glitter and mascara run cheeks, using the tip to smear it well into your ruined makeup as he sneers at you from above.

“Hah…” he catches his breath, sucking in oxygen along with you as his gaze turns calculated.

“Wake up, I’m not done with you yet.” He’s more gentle now that he's cum at least once, tapping your uninjured cheek with two fingers as your eyes roll around before opening and looking at him.

He swears, your face making him hard again instantly, blood pooling to his groin at the messy sight of you in your white ruined angel costume. “You really are unlucky I was out tonight, I don’t think I’m gonna let you go.” His dead serious comment caused something cold to hit your veins, chills running through you as you gape in shock.

“W-what…?” He reaches into his hoodie pocket, pulling out what looked like a foot long serrated hunting blade. He snickers at the blank look of shock on your features.

“What’s wrong, crybaby? No tears for me right now?” You’re shaking, getting paler by the second as you realize no, it’s not a costume, and yes, there is still dried blood on the blade. There’s dried blood all over him, his spree tonight ridiculously fruitful and his body still high on the thrill. Imagine his luck finding you. “T-this wasn’t in my profile, wh-what are you doing?” Now you look alert, now you act like a regular civilian, he notes cooly. “I only con-consented to the sex and stuff, I said I didn’t like—like blades or blood play.” Your eyes are wide as saucers and you have a cold sweat now forming and dotting your skin, shaky like on too much caffeine as your body dumped chemicals to help you run.

His head tilts, a few more strands of hair coming loose from his tie as those red eyes watch you without any emotion in their depths.

“Ah~ I get it now. Are you some kind of freak who links up with people online for this kind of shit?” He laughs, eyes not matching the manic toothy grin. “Sorry to disappoint slut, I ain’t your tinder or whatever match. Did you do it anonymously?” He’s beyond amused, thrilled by the horror dawning on your face as reality sets in. “You’re a fucking idiot.” He sneers, but he’s joyful when you book it, heeled boots caked in mud as they dig into the ground and you take off for real. True intent to get away now because he’s not your new friend, he’s a real stranger and his energy is nothing but malevolent.

You’re going to die.

It’s a sick thought that twists inside you as you push the hardest you’ve ever, scream bubbling up and out as you cry for help now. “HELP! Please! Someone! Anyone!” It’s more broken and hoarse than you want, his earlier abuse to your throat having taken a number on your ability to vocalize.

It’s empty. This damn park is empty.

Not a soul around and you can’t hear him coming for you anymore, and it only makes the tears fall harder as you drive your body to a breaking point. If no one is around you can at least aim for your car, your phone will take too much time to look at and dial the police, you’d be too open and that would mean—

Something—someone—smashes into you, your body thrown sideways by the brute force and flung roughly to the ground where you roll several feet.

It hurts—!

Your body and mind scream as pain lights up your shoulder, a previously dull ache now hounding for your attention so much it left you lightheaded. You twisted your ankle too or maybe broke it, already so regretful for the evening and your life choices that your shoes hardly broke the bank. It all hurt, and yet you still tried to crawl to get away, still eager for another deep breath of air in your lungs even if it hurt to do that too.

“Hck, please, please—help—!,” you’re a sobbing pathetic mess, and he couldn’t be more turned on by the sight. He dusts himself off like he hadn’t tackled you like a linebacker for a major league football team, his lanky form sinewy with muscle and his agility nothing to scoff at. He swirls the enormous daunting blade with a whistle, smiling more genuinely as he strolls towards your shaking form crawling away.

“Where do you think you’re going, crybaby? I said I wasn’t done with you,” he lands a solid hit to your middle, dirty sneaker smearing mud on your cute little dress, looking less and less white as the night wears on. The blow is not hard enough to damage anything, he’s sure, but you act as if you’ve been disemboweled by how you howl and heave. He rolls his eyes at the dramatics, settling one foot between your shoulder blades and pressing down until you’re left immobilized.

Your vision is blurry, going in and out of focus as you try, and try, and try to get away, cute nail polish chipped and ruined as you claw at the dirt floor for leverage.

He admires your tenacity. “You think you can get away? That anyone is coming to save you?” He brushes a few stray hairs out of his face as he laughs, the urge to gut you strong as he savors your useless little struggle. “Crybaby, look around! No one is coming! I said look,” he grinds out, dropping to one knee while his other leg remains planted on your back, his hand gripping your hair and yanking your head up to see what he meant.

There’s a fence. A metal chain link fence, and it had a sign your vision was too blurry to read through your tears.

“You ran yourself straight into the worst possible area, this is sort of your game over,” He leans down to look at you, yanking your head back and forcing you into an uncomfortable arch. He raises up the blade, fully intending to slit your pretty throat and watch your eyes as the light fades, but you blubber out a sentence which halts him.

“Y-you didn’t finish! E-earlier, hck, earlier you didn’t finish—!” Your eyes squeeze closed in pain as he yanks your head to the side. Confusion burned in him, and curiosity kept you breathing for now.

“Didn’t finish what, crybaby? Fairly certain I finished all over your face, if I remember correctly.” He has a sharp edge in his tone, something metallic fills your mouth and you realize you’ve bitten through your tongue in your panic. A few drops spill past your lips, catching his attention.

“S-shouldn’t you also f-fuck me too? I-it’s why I came out tonight, wh-why I, ah, d-did this,” it’s a long shot by any means, and he’s no fool, but you did make a good point.

He was still hard.

“Smart little crybaby, aren’t you?” He mutters darkly, setting aside his blade in favor of smashing your face into the dirt, keeping your head down as he presses against your back and yanks your hips up. Your knees are skinned from the rough handling, socks torn open and stained with blood and dirt while his calloused hands slip beneath your dress. Your breath hitches. You needed to think of some way out of this, some kind of plan to escape or incapacitate him.

He’s busied himself with your still dripping cunt. Two fingers roughly filling your hole and uncaringly stretching your tight entrance. “You really are a freak, wet even though you’re going to die, crybaby.” He felt a bit strange as you whimper and mewl below, hand slowing as he tried to place the feeling.

He shrugs it off, instead easily yanking down his jeans which were still unbuttoned and pulling out his cock once more, stroking his shaft a few times before he lined himself up with your puffy lips. “Fuck—,” he swears, eyes seeing stars as he pushes just his tip past the tight ring of muscle at your entrance, mouth opening as licks his lips and stares down at you. “Never had pussy so good…” he giggles darkly, cracking his neck as he pushes each inch inside of you, stretching you out deliciously until you’re speared on his cock with his hips flush with your ass. “Who knew you’d be the best, crybaby.” He muses, fingers digging into the fat of your hips, your little dress flipped up and over your ass so he can watch it bounce as he leans back on his knees to fuck you deeper. You need to think straight but it’s difficult with how good your body feels, the pain from earlier seeming to go away with a numb buzz as he fills your pussy, hitting perfectly against a spot that has you arching harder for more.

You really are a freak like he says.

You can’t help relaxing further, eyes dumbly looking to the side where your head rests as he pounds into you from behind, the coil in your gut growing tighter by the minute.

The clouds blocking the moon seem to part just for you, the full moon’s light no longer blocked and illuminating the little patch of grass he’d tackled you into. Something gleams, in perfect reach too as your eyes widen.

His knife.

He’d already proven you can’t outrun him, but what if he was injured? There’s a major artery in the thigh, if you hit that, wouldn’t you be able to get away?

He yanks back roughly, moaning as he feels you squeeze even tighter around him, velvet walls massaging his dick while he tries to fuck himself as deep as possible inside of you.

It hit you despite all your intentions not to, because this wasn’t safe and he wants to end your life and everything is wrong, but your body doesn’t listen. You cum with a shaky cry, and with an awkward turn of your head you watch as his head goes back and he moans, eyes closed in bliss as you coat his cock in even more slick.

You’re louder than you intended to be, but your fingers close around the hilt nonetheless, trembling with the heavy weight in your grasp, you use every ounce of energy inside you to swing it back into his thigh.

“Cute,” you scream as he catches your wrist, hand clenching so tight you feel your bones grind together as the knife falls from your grip. He twists your arm around and pins your wrist behind your back, holding it in place while his other hand remains at your hip.

“So fucking cute, crybaby. Did you cum just to distract me or was that because you couldn’t help yourself?” He’s getting a high from this, from fucking you and turning you into nothing but a toy as he bounces you on his cock, hips still but arms pulling you back and forth with ease. Scarlet eyes drink you in with undisguised sick glee, and he’s finally able to place the feeling from earlier.

“A pretty little slut trying to get her rocks off and getting shown why she should’ve been a good girl and stayed home,” he grunts, releasing you and leaning over, pinning you with his weight and nearly knocking the air from your lungs how deeply he hits you inside from this angle. Dirt fills the underbelly of your nails, your fingers digging into the earth just for some semblance of stability.

You had none. It was a sick and horrifying realization. You have no control. You can do nothing to stop this. As deeply as it made your gut sink, another odd emotion rose to the surface.

A bubbly sensation that tore through you as your tears became less from fear and more from overstimulation.

His hips piston in and out of you, bullying your cervix in this position as he ruts into you like a hound, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he moans and grunts.

You break again, spasm and cinch down on his cock like a vice while you wail as if in mourning. Maybe you are, for yourself at least. “Oh fuck—! s’too much—, please, I can’t—, f-feels good, hah,” your nearly incoherent babbling sends him over the edge along with you, his own dull nails finally drawing blood as he holds you for dear life as he releases deep inside you, tip kissing right up against you womb as he cums. You can feel it too, his cock twitching inside as the night seems to still for a moment.

He holds you for a while. Breathing you in, nuzzling his face into your neck and licking you. He holds you until his cock fully softens and it hurt to be gripped so tightly inside your wet heat, regrettably pulling away.

He stands, putting his sticky limp cock away inside his underwear and pulling up his pants, looking down at your ruined figure that had slumped over to the side.

“Y’know, crybaby… you really resemble an angel now,” he smiles, red eyes almost glowing as the moon blankets his back and shadows his face. His hair seems almost white like this, your tired eyes note. You don’t move or even flinch as he grabs his knife and yanks your limp figure up by your hair. Even now you’re still crying, face lax despite the rivers flowing down your dirty swollen cheeks. You make no effort to stop him, having given up completely.

He crouches down again, mostly eye level now as he makes you look at him.

“You got any last words?” He’s being dead serious. He feels strange looking at the almost glazed over look in your eyes.

“W-what…” your voice is barely a whisper, but the night is so quiet he catches it, “what’s your…name?”

An unexpected question.

His eyes gleam, smile ravenous as he puts his lips against your ear and whispers it.

“Tomura, what’s your name, crybaby?” He asks, gently, almost like he’s actually interested.

You hoarsely whisper it, your last time ever saying it after tonight. He hums, like it pleases him, before he brings down the knife swiftly.

Your vision goes dark, the strike mercifully painless. Your last thoughts blur as you drift into soft nothingness.

He releases your hair, grabbing your limp figure up in his arms as he chuckles and sheaths his knife properly on his hip. “Dumb crybaby” his voice almost singing the words as he whistles and walks away, the park dead silent but even if someone had seen you in his arms, he could just play the good boyfriend taking his sweetheart home safely. It’s not entirely a lie either, his eyes glancing down at your unconscious form, pretty neck unmarred but a bruise would likely form on the back where he struck you tomorrow. Tomura had never felt compelled to allow a victim to live, but then again he’s never fucked a victim either, so you’re the first for a lot. He supposed it made you quite special, his legs carrying him in the direction of his car in the parking lot about a mile south. Obsession and possessiveness swirled in those red depths as they looked at your figure.

“Good girls should just stay home…” he continues his sardonic little tune, his smile gruesome and foreboding.

Vibrant blue orbs check his surroundings again, noting once again his friend was a no show. Rolling his eyes, he knew it was too good to be true. Your profile screamed inexperienced and cautious, despite you clicking that you’d like him to remain anonymous beforehand. It didn’t matter, he’d just go enjoy some sorority girl pussy instead, figuring at 0330 that most parties would be winding down. Drunk girls dressed like sluts were his second favorite.

Dabi clicks the notify option on his app, letting the website staff know you never showed up.

Though, he muses if something did happen, the police wouldn’t be notified until it was too late. Halloween weekend after all meant you could be missing for quite a while before anyone noticed.

Not his problem though.

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

[ Hello followers and or fans. I present to you a Tomura Shigaraki piece! This was inspired by the game Coffee Talk. I haven’t finished it, so no spoilers, please. Speaking of which, this piece may have minor manga spoilers so beware. There are also minor themes of kidnapping, a touch of blood, and unwanted affection. It’s Shigaraki, so shouldn’t really expect anything less. ]

[ Being the owner of a coffee shop wasn’t easy, but you found purpose in it. While you were used to all sorts of characters entering your shop for a late-night cup of joe, none was stranger than the hooded man who began frequenting your shop. After a small conversation with him, you’re left feeling a bit shaken. Little do you know that he’s Tomura Shigaraki and he has plans for you. ]

As Tomura sat at his table in the corner of the small coffee shop in Esuha City, his partially gloved hands tightly gripped the cup of coffee he held. It burned him up to see you converse with another man who was one of those lame so-called “heroes.”

A young and ignorant one at that, who thought boasting about being assigned to night patrol for the first time was some monumental accomplishment. Spoiler alert: It wasn’t. He didn’t bother to catch the stupid hero’s name, not that it would matter.

But he had the most irritating suit that consisted of a yellow visor, and a white skin-tight top with some obscure number written across it. He also had yellow and green shoulder pads and a long red cape with matching red gloves, blue pants, and white knee-high boots.

His hair was styled in the most idiotic way Tomura had ever seen. Seriously, who spikes up their hair like that? His eyes were also beady and blue. But what was most irritating was that smile. Damn, he’d like to take a hammer and impact those teeth.

This wasn’t what made his blood boil, however. Oh no. It was the fact that you smiled and laughed at the pathetic excuse for a hero’s lame jokes. Like super lame jokes. Yeah, maybe you were just being polite. Business was business.

This didn’t cross Tomura’s mind. He thought your actions were genuine, and damn, did that piss him off. Why the hell were you even entertaining heroes? Yeah, your coffee shop was relatively new to the area, but it had unique features that set it apart from the competition.

For starters, it opened during the evening and remained open until dawn. You were a lifesaver for those who started their work shift at night. You also helped struggling students who needed a boost of caffeine and a quiet place to work on their assignments.

Or idiot wannabe heroes who thought they were just so cool because they patrolled the streets under moonlight. He clenched his jaw. Oh, if only he knew where the egotistical idiot was patrolling, he’d easily end his damn life. Turn him into nothing but a miserable pile of dust.

It was almost laughable to think that you didn’t even know he was one of the most feared villains in Japan and the leader of The League of Villains. Then again, ignorance was bliss and even villains needed a break occasionally.

This was another reason he tolerated frequenting your shop even if he just stumbled into it one night after “taking care of business.” From what he could recall that night he found himself on the edge of collapsing from exhaustion. It had been pouring rain and he was staggering along the crowded sidewalk.

His anger grew with everyone that passed him and the urge to disintegrate them was intensifying. He was wearing his usual get-up that evening: a large, oversized hood that concealed his face, long skinny jeans that ended just above his ankles, and his usual red sneakers.

He growled in frustration and reached up to wipe his face, but it was of no use considering the rain continued to come down. However, when he lowered his hand, he saw it. The neon sign gleamed through the rain and drew him in like a beacon.

This is also when he made the, admittedly, stupid choice to seek temporary shelter in your establishment and possibly hold everyone hostage if needed. He remembered the sickening warmth that washed over him, in contrast to the cold weary weather when he stepped inside.

He also recalled how the scent of coffee filled his nostrils, along with hints of cinnamon and honey. But what was most eye-catching was you. From the moment he spotted you behind the counter crafting one of your specialty drinks that wasn’t even on the menu for some useless dirtbag present in your shop at the time, he was intrigued.

Of course, that was another unique aspect of your establishment. You were known for your experimental drinks and always wanted to see how well they did with the few customers you had. Regardless, the way you gracefully moved behind the counter made him mesmerized.

He remained frozen at the door, seemingly in a trance until you looked at him and casually welcomed him to the shop. Your equally sickening smile seemed to churn something deep inside him and instead of feeling exhausted, a new and strange emotion enveloped him.

Maybe it stemmed from the fact that even if he looked like a drenched rat who just finished fighting its way through the sewers and onto the streets of the world above, you showed him kindness. He walked to the counter, ignoring the looks of concern from people he didn’t give a damn about.

Hell, he could easily murder them if given the chance. He laid his hands on the counter, ensuring that his thumbs were tucked inward and pressed against the bottom of his palms. His hood continued to cast a shadow over his face, and despite his intense red eyes staring you down, your stupid smile remained.

“What would you like to drink?” You asked, making his lips turn upward in a snarl. “Nothing,” he barked back. He had no money, not that he would pay even if he wanted anything from the shitty excuse for a coffee shop. As if sensing his hostility, you took a step back and cocked your head, appearing more like a puppy than a barista.

But the way your eyes studied him as if looking through his soul, made him curl his hands into fists. It was clear he was getting annoyed, both because of your reaction and the few customers observing his interaction with you. Then you said something he didn’t expect, “It’s on the house.”

At first, he thought it was because, to you, he looked homeless. Maybe down on his luck, but that didn’t make sense. You could have easily told him to leave if he didn’t order anything, and what authorized you to give drinks on the house?

That’s when something clicked and after glancing around to see if there were any other baristas present, he came to the only conclusion that was possible. ‘Hm…so you’re the owner, huh?' He remained quiet and briefly glanced at the menu.

You noticed what he was doing and glanced at it too, but it was challenging to know exactly what he was looking at. So instead, you suggested, “An expresso maybe?” His eyes tore from the menu and lingered on you for a long moment.

Then he shoved his hands into his pockets, marched over to the table in the corner of your shop, and carelessly plopped down. You blinked, somewhat perplexed but grabbed a coffee cup and began making the espresso for him. He wasn’t the first hard-headed customer you had encountered.

Another wave of exhaustion enveloped him, and he closed his eyes briefly, almost ready to give in when he heard something. It sounded like two glass objects scraping against one another. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was you and that damned smile. The second was the expresso sitting on a saucer plate.

A soft growl rumbled in his throat. He wasn’t sure if he was more irritated that you had given him something he didn’t even ask for or the fact that he let you get away with it. He could easily turn everyone in the cafe into dust, including you…so why didn’t he?

“Pff,” he grumbled and slowly straightened his posture before slipping two fingers through the cup’s handle. He brought it to his lips and paused when he noticed you were still standing near him. “Go away,” he demanded, his words coming out with a snarl.

“Oh, uh, sure!” You replied, nervously scampering away like a frightened rabbit back to the safety of its burrow. Yet, it was this moment that burned into his memory and kept him returning. Over a short time, however, his slight curiosity about you turned into an obsession.

The same obsession that burned with unmistakable fury whenever someone else captured your attention, even if for a moment. “Heh, well it was super amazing talking to you but I gotta go! See ya!” When that damned blond-headed idiot of a hero finally left, Tomura sighed, and his tense muscles relaxed.

He leaned back in his chair and glanced around. There were still a few people present, one at the counter mindlessly playing on their phone. Another sitting on the far side of the said counter, reading a book and casually taking sips of their drink.

The last one sat in the opposite corner away from everyone, typing on their laptop. “Tch,” he clenched his jaw and dug his nails into the table. He wanted them to leave so he could finally be alone with you. But if that’s the game they wanted to play, he’d wait them out. Oh yes, he would win.

Slow and steady, as much as he hated it, was the right approach to this situation. Like any good villain, he wasn’t about to deviate from the plan brewing in his mind. Oh no. He’d be patient. Like an animal stalking its prey and pouncing at exactly the right moment. So, there he remained, studying every move you made.

From the way your fingers grazed along the machines, to the way you poured milk into lattes and skillfully morphed it into art. He burned every facial expression you made into his mind. He pondered how it would be to see that sweet face turn into horror when you realized who he was.

The cafe emptied shortly after two in the morning. A twisted smirk danced across his face when he pressed his foot against the floor and slid his chair back to create an eerie scraping noise that echoed through the building and caught your attention.

To his amusement, you jumped, and your pretty little eyes were filled with concern as they looked in his direction. He tried to suppress the chuckle building up in his throat and went to the counter. Your back was now turned to him, seemingly over the slight scare he had given you.

He briefly glanced at the counter, noticing an empty cup sitting on a saucer. He grinned and picked it up, hovering it just over an inch above the counter before releasing it. He took pride in watching you jump and spin on your heels. Your eyes were yet again wide, and fear sparkled in them.

That made his lips curl into a wicked smirk. He couldn’t help but think about how he’d love to see that look in your eyes every day. Oh yes, what a good little addition you’d make to The League. Then again, he didn’t want to share you per se, so maybe he’d just keep you to himself.

Kurogiri would have some questions, he knew. It was almost pathetic that he needed a caregiver, but Kurogiri was trained to obey his every order. However, as of late, Tomura noticed a concerned and suspicious leer in those yellow eyes. Of course, that was something only an idiot would miss.

For now, he was focused on you and the way your hand was still pressed against your chest as you looked at him, still as a statue. “Uh heh…” you chuckled, sensing the awkward tension in the air. Then a thought dawned on you that this man had wandered into your cafe when it was raining particularly hard one night a few months back.

In addition to providing a welcoming environment, you connected with your customers and assisted them in any way you could. This usually involved letting them talk through their problems and sharing advice. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case with this mysterious man.

He didn’t budge no matter how hard you tried to crack his shell and rarely spoke more than three words to you. If you were being honest, after that night, you thought you’d never see him again. Yet, to your surprise, he continued to return.

Another thought dawned on you as he continued to stare at you from across the counter. This was that you didn’t even know his name. Even if you did, it wouldn’t change that there was something about him you couldn’t place.

Ultimately, however, you knew it was wrong to judge a book by its cover. Even though that was quite hard not to do considering he never showed his face, some kind of hood was always hiding it. “Uh, hello,” you said, shifting your feet.

Your greeting was met with silence and the tension seeping through the air grew thicker with each second that passed, slowly suffocating you. For a moment, you thought it was because of the lack of customers and tried to convince yourself that if your cafe wasn’t empty, this would feel less…strange.

But another part of you couldn’t help but, again, feel there was something sinister about him. Although he had done nothing wrong…yet. “Uh,” you cautiously approached him, “is there something you need?” That same wicked smirk decorated his lips, and he took a seat at the counter, resting his arms against it.

His gaze was intense, and the longer he stared at you, the more your heart raced. His smirk then softened, and he leaned his elbow on the counter, cradling his cheek in his hand. “So,” the raspy sound of his voice shattered the silence that permeated the air, “what do you think of All Might?”

You knit your eyebrows, shocked that he spoke more than three words, and asked you a question on top of it. You had a front-row seat for most of the conversations at your cafe, conversations that sometimes, discussed heroes, and on occasion, the number one hero, All Might.

“Um…” you glanced away, uncertain how to answer. You had never been asked exactly what you thought of him! You knew many people admired and adored All Might and for obvious reasons. It surely wasn’t an easy feat becoming the number one hero, let alone retaining the spot for as long as he did.

But were you obsessed with him like others? Did you rush to get his autograph whenever you saw him? Not really. Maybe that was because you were busy trying to maintain your own life. In addition, keeping up with the fabulous daytime life when you were a night owl was hard.

Not to say crime stopped at any point of the day or night, but things seemed calmer when the moon and the stars decorated the sky. You awkwardly rubbed the side of your arm, your stomach twisting and causing a small wave of nausea to consume you.

“Well, he, uh, I mean I think…” you tried taking a deep breath to calm yourself. ‘Come on! You’ve dealt with worse customers,’ you thought before your eyes shifted back to him, and his shadowed face. Yet you could still see that smirk and it drew you in, as much as you hated to admit that.

“I guess I don’t have an opinion on him,” you replied, shrugging. “Kind of hard to keep up with uh, the heroes when you’re busy with your own life,” you motioned to your surroundings with an awkward chuckle. Tomura narrowed his eyes. That wasn’t necessarily the response he was looking for.

It didn’t take an idiot to realize you didn’t put much thought into it like you only said it to please him. While he didn’t mind that, he also appreciated the truth. “And what makes him so damn great?” His voice somewhat fluctuated as he spoke, and you sensed a happy tone dancing within it.

You shrugged, “I guess what makes anyone great?” Your answer stumped him. His posture stiffened, and he lowered his hand from his cheek. “Hm,” that smirk faded. “Is that right?” He asked before leaning over the counter.

“And what’ll happen when he falls?” His question made you jolt and look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Heh, a-are you a villain or something?” You joked, and to your surprise, he laughed, and the sound of it caused a violent shiver down your spine.

Another smirk painted his face and he slowly got up from his seat. He didn’t say anything, but the way he stared left you shivering again. Then he turned and walked to the door. The familiar sound of a bell signified his departure, and you leaned against one of the coffee machines behind you, feeling the heat against your back.

Your heart remained fluttering in your chest like a hummingbird and a wave of fear washed over you. The suspicions you had about him were now confirmed. There was something sinister about him. It didn’t sit right with you that your joke remained unanswered either.

In the back of your mind, however, there was a small voice, maybe your conscience, that told you it was still wrong to judge him. But after that interaction, how could you not? You took a deep breath, trying to regain your previous composure, and looked around the empty room.

The sounds of the night city continued to gently hum as you finally found the courage to close your shop. However, you were unwilling to open tomorrow for fear of seeing him again. Your customers, the very few you had anyway, would understand if you needed a break.

The sound of crunching leaves and twigs underneath his feet, and the melody of bugs chirping and owls singing in the night fell deaf to his ears. His hood, unlike in your cafe, was down, allowing his silver-white hair to shimmer against the moonlight as he walked down the dirt path that led to The League of Villains hideaway.

He scanned his surroundings again. Unlike the usual formal attire he wore, he sported a white sleeping cap with a pom pom at the end of it. His normal metal brace encircled his neck. A cotton button-up pajama top with purple polka dots and matching bottoms covered his body.

While he tried to sleep, it proved impossible as his thoughts remained on Tomura. It was his purpose to always serve and protect him. Yet, as of late, the young boy favored departing for an unknown location and was absent for hours at a time.

While he did not doubt Tomura’s abilities, that didn’t make his purpose less important. If something happened to him, he needed to be there to ensure he did not receive harm. As such, this was not the first night he had stayed up into the early morning hours waiting for the boy to return.

The sky was still dark, but he knew the sun would rise soon. His purple and black mist swirled around as he anxiously awaited Tomura’s arrival. When he heard footsteps approaching, he remained still and focused his attention forward. Relief washed over him when he saw exactly who he was looking for.

“Tomura Shigaraki,” he said, his voice deep and stern. His eyes narrowed the closer the boy came. As usual, no words were spoken between them but rather a silent acknowledgment as Tomura passed him and opened the door.

Kurogiri followed him inside and ensured the door was locked. Tomura grumbled as he walked up to the bar and took his seat. He stared mindlessly at the counter that reminded him of your cafe and the terrified look on your face replayed in his mind, making him smile.

This immediately caught Kurogiri’s attention as he walked behind the counter and to the small bar. Tomura rarely smiled unless someone else was hurt or he felt victory within his grasp. He narrowed his eyes but remained quiet as he grabbed a clean glass.

He added a few ice cubes to it, ignoring the clinking sound they created when they hit the bottom. He then grabbed the whiskey that Tomura was prone to drinking and filled the glass halfway before presenting it to him.

However, he noticed Tomura grabbed the glass and merely stared at the ice cubes floating in it. While he had no idea what was brewing in the boy’s mind, he would be shocked to know that as soon as Tomura looked at the glass, his mind envisioned a coffee cup.

It frustrated him to know you were on his mind again. Yet, the idea that you could be of use to him clouded his judgment. Surely there had to be a reason why he felt drawn to you. While he despised the feeling that stirred inside him whenever he was near or thought about you, he knew he would put it to rest.

Yes…soon he wouldn’t have to worry about this feeling bothering him constantly. Silence filled the space between them as Tomura finally sipped his whiskey. Kurogiri watched him intensively as if studying his every move. Perhaps if he had done that before, he would know the answer to the question he was about to ask.

“Where have you been lately, Tomura Shigaraki?” Without the hand obscuring his face, he could see how Tomura’s facial features contorted with annoyance and anger at his question. However, he continued to push, having become too used to the boy’s immature and sometimes childish attitude.

“You have been acting strangely lately, Tomura Shigaraki. I cannot help but assume there is something you have your sights set on,” he stated. “If that is true, then I must insist that I aid you in any way possible.” He would not accept any other alternative.

A growl rumbled in his throat, but he should have known this would happen. It seemed that he couldn’t go too far without Kurogiri trailing behind him. Hell, even when he tried to keep something secret, he was always found out.

It was pretty damn annoying, but in any case, Kurogiri was a Nomu and as such, he was created to obey his every command. Although at times, it seemed like he had free will. He lowered the glass with a thud and glared at Kurogiri.

However, he didn’t falter under the boy's intense gaze. Rather, he returned it with a blank stare. Tomura sighed and tightened his grip around the glass. The temptation to shatter it in his hand was strong as the image of you popped into his head again.

“Y/n,” the hatred in his eyes grew dark and obsessive as he growled your name and noted that it weighed heavily on his tongue. Kurogiri remained silent, processing what he had just been told. “I see,” he said, stepping closer although the counter separated them.

“Is this person of interest to you, Tomura Shigaraki?” He assumed that you were another villain or perhaps a hero student and that Tomura wished to recruit you as a member of The League of Villains. The burning in his throat was intense when he swallowed the rest of his whiskey.

Silence filled the air before he answered, “Yeah.” Kurogiri nodded but also noted that Tomura’s stare was now directed at the ice cubes that littered the bottom of his glass. This was, again, a strange reaction that contrasted with the boy’s usual personality.

After another minute of silence, an angry expression enveloped Tomura’s features. “They are,” he hissed, and like before, his grip tightened around the glass. His knuckles turned white, and several sharp cracks echoed as it shattered, showering his hand in shards.

Although many would react with concern when something like this happened, Kurogiri grabbed a rag and disposed of the shards that now decorated the counter. “Tomura,” he said. His tone was like that of a father, and he ignored the growl he received in response.

Instead, once the shards were dealt with, he grabbed Tomura’s hand and brushed away any remaining bits of glass. He noticed the few small cuts now etched into the boy’s skin, but it was unlikely he’d want them properly taken care of.

“What do you intend to do regarding Y/n?” He asked once he put the rag away. At the question, Tomura smiled wickedly and leaned his elbow on the counter. “I have a few ideas…” he responded. “I see,” Kurogiri leaned closer to him, “and what do you need me to do, Tomura Shigaraki?”

The sun had gone down by the time you arrived at your shop. Although you chose not to open, you figured you’d take this opportunity to catch up on work you had been falling behind on. This included inventory stock and maintenance.

Additionally, you had ideas for new cafe drinks you wanted to experiment with. Since the curtains were drawn and the establishment was closed, you could do so in peace. ‘Katz Caffeine Coffee Cafe’ His eyes narrowed when he read the sign. Not exactly a catchy name for an establishment.

He could hardly believe that Tomura stated you owned this cafe. While Esuha City was known for its nightlife, he still thought it strange that you chose to open a coffee shop that stayed open late into the morning hours when there were already so many others that did so.

‘Perhaps they think they are…capable of conquering the competition,’ he thought, turning to Tomura who was wearing all-black clothing, including another hood that concealed his face. Of course, that meant very little considering the course of events to come.

“Are you ready, Tomura Shigaraki?” He asked, ignoring the passersby on the sidewalk. They needed to accomplish this quickly and ensure that any heroes present in the area could not interfere before Tomura got what he wanted.

He chuckled in response to Kurogiri’s question and lifted his head, his red eyes beaming from underneath the shadow cast over his face. “Yes,” he said, before pointing at Dabi who was currently nestled in the alleyway between your coffee shop and the next useless building.

His arms were crossed, and his leg was bent, allowing him to press his foot against the opposite building wall. He was wearing his usual attire, a large overcoat with multiple coattails. His shirt was crisp white and wrinkled, hanging loosely from his chest.

His pants were dark in color and had multiple stitch marks across them and as usual, he was wearing combat boots. “Pff,” he sighed. In the back of his mind, he wondered how he could agree to this. However, he had always been good at killing people and causing chaos.

The thought of that alone brought a wicked smirk to his face. He stepped out of the alleyway, shoving his hands into his pockets. He glanced up, noting the moon and stars in the sky before looking at Tomura. “What do you want me to do again?” He asked, his voice carrying a certain annoyed tone to it.

“Why don’t you just shut up and put those damn flames to use?” Tomura hissed in response. “Make sure these stupid people stay away from this place until I’m done getting what I want,” he said, narrowing his eyes on Dabi who, from the start, had always been a thorn in his side.

But at least he knew who was in charge and had enough sense to follow the orders he was given. Dabi rolled his eyes. What the hell was so damn special about you he didn’t know. But regardless, he continued to watch as people walked up and down the sidewalk.

“Whatever,” he replied before curling his hands into fists, his knuckles cracking softly as he did so. A blue flame ignited, engulfing his hands and wrists. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled and walked out into the middle of the street.

Car tires screeched, and horns sounded through the air. Some foolish individuals even cursed him out and asked what he was doing. They quickly received an answer when his flames consumed their cars and panic erupted. All of which made him smile.

“Heh,” his grin widened as he watched some people push others to the ground and trample them. Tomura watched the spectacle with amusement before walking to the front door of your establishment, Kurogiri trailing behind him.

“Open your warp gate,” he demanded. Without hesitation, the dark fog that surrounded Kurogiri’s body extended and formed what appeared to be a dark portal in front of Tomura. He stared at it a moment before stepping through, disappearing into the void.

Panic struck you when screams sounded from outside causing you to drop the mug you were holding. It shattered instantly when it hit the floor. Instead of cleaning it up, you jumped over the counter and rushed to the large display window to the left side of your shop.

You reached a shaky hand out for the curtain, your heart pounding erratically in your chest making you feel short of breath. Your throat tightened, forcing you to swallow hard as you finally pulled it back and peeked outside. The only thing you saw was a blinding flame, blue in color, blazing in the street in front of your shop.

The building across the way crumbled under the flames that consumed it. However, you also noticed an individual dressed in black standing in the street, among the flames that didn’t appear to be harming him. It was like he admired the destruction around him including the panicked individuals who continued to run away.

You knit your eyebrows and screamed when he suddenly turned his head. His eyes, almost as blue as the fire that danced around him, seemed to peer right into your soul. You released the curtain immediately before pressing your back against the wall.

Your heart was pounding, and you suspected that at any moment it would leap out of your chest entirely. Your legs trembled threatening to give out from underneath you. The fear that consumed you at the moment was unlike anything you had experienced before. Yes, villains have attacked Esuha City countless times but rarely at night.

You grasped your chest, allowing your nails to dig into the front of your shirt before something else caught your eye. Your head snapped sideways, and you watched in horror as some type of dark portal appeared. In a panic, you ran back to the counter and jumped over it to hide.

You crouched down, pressing your hands against the top of your head and forcing yourself to hold your breath when you heard footsteps. Tomura grinned as he stepped out of Kurogiri’s warp gate and glanced around. It almost brought him delight seeing your shop empty.

Of course, he knew better than to be fooled into thinking it was actually empty. Having overheard one of your many conversations with one of the many idiots that took your attention away, he knew you took priority over certain duties regarding your business when it was closed.

He knew you were here. Even if you were hiding, he’d find you. He continued forward, stopping at the counter, unaware that you lingered on the other side. He allowed his partially gloved fingers to skim across its slick surface.

“Tomura Shigaraki,” Kurogiri said, walking behind him. Your eyes widened when you heard his name, and that fear intensified, making you freeze completely. Tomura Shigaraki. He was a ruthless villain and leader of The League of Villains.

You couldn’t bear to think about the thousands of people he’s harmed, much less killed without feeling nauseous. However, this didn’t stop questions from racing through your mind. What was he doing? What did he want from you? Were you going to die tonight? Why did he bring someone else with him?

You swallowed hard, letting out a quiet breath, and slowly positioned yourself on your hands and knees. Maybe if you crawled around to the storage area located at the back of your shop you could escape or so you hoped. Tomura faced Kurogiri with a glare.

“Are you most certain Y/n is present?” He asked, aware that his question may sound silly, perhaps even stupid. “Of course, they’re here!” He growled in response, slamming his hand on the counter making the sound echo eerily through the shop.

A tremble coursed through your body when you heard your name, and you continued to crawl as quickly and as quietly as you could across the floor. However, you only made it halfway before something pierced your hand. You forgot about the mug you had shattered earlier.

It was one of those shattered pieces that cut your hand easily, making you hiss out involuntarily. Once you registered your actions, you clamped your non-bloody hand over your mouth, silently cursing yourself for giving away your location.

Panic coursed through your body again, and you decided it was better to run and die than to be a sitting duck. However, by the time you got up, Kurogiri had already moved. “You will not escape!” he bellowed. The mist around him spread like a blanket of darkness and his eyes blazed with fury.

Your shoes squeaked against the floor as you stumbled to a stop, and you grasped onto the counter to prevent yourself from falling. The dull ache from the cut on your palm was nothing compared to the dread you felt when you locked eyes with those yellow orbs that were filled with nothing less than hatred.

Once he was certain you were not escaping, the mist that had expanded from his body shrank. That’s when you noticed the oddly formal outfit he was wearing. The crisp long-sleeved button-up shirt caught your attention first, followed by the black tie that adorned its collar and was tucked behind the gray vest that hugged his figure.

He also wore a black belt and dark dress pants with polished Oxford shoes. His eyes narrowed and he looked at you with such intensity and sternness that you almost felt like a child. A frightened child trying to keep the monsters under their bed at bay.

Without thinking, you turned and ran in the opposite direction. What exactly you were planning to do was up for debate. Reaching the front door would be ideal for escape, but then you’d have to deal with the villain outside who was currently turning everything into ash.

Well, either way, it was better than dealing with two villains in a small space. Unfortunately, like Kurogiri, Tomura cut you off quickly. You stumbled to a stop again, but unlike before, you lost your footing and fell onto the floor. You frantically crawled back, despite realizing you were trapped.

“P-please I…” you could still feel those yellow eyes burning a hole in your back. Swallowing heavily, you thought it best to focus on the man in front of you. However, an odd feeling of déjà vu washed over you when you noticed the outfit he was wearing.

“W-wait a minute, y-you’re-” That odd customer, the one that had visited your shop countless times before and the one whose conversation left you trembling. “Heh, oh good, you recognize me,” he replied and lowered his hood. The sight of his appearance sent another shiver down your spine.

He was a slender man, with skin as pale as the moonlight. In addition to the wrinkles around his eyes, his right eye had visible scars across it. His lips were severely chapped and the right side, too, had scarring and a small mole. His hair was silver-white, and half of it was tied behind his head.

The front of his bangs hung in his face in uneven waves and the bottom portion of his hair brushed against his shoulders. His menacing smirk coupled with his bright red irises sent another shiver down your spine. The answer to your previous question was revealed.

He was a villain and he had pretended to be your customer. What could he possibly gain from doing that?! It didn’t make sense, and you still didn’t know why he was here or what he wanted from you. Of course, you failed to realize that he continued to return because he was fascinated by you rather than your coffee shop.

He chuckled, and the disgruntled sound made you spring to your feet. The urge to run was overwhelming, but when you glanced over your shoulder, you saw his accomplice was still present. Additionally, you knew he’d stop you if you made such a foolish attempt. Clenching your jaw, your hands balled into shaky fists.

‘Damn it!’ you cursed inside your head, feeling your eyes burn as they watered over like a dam ready to burst. Kurogiri noticed this, but it only added to his confusion about why Tomura was after you. Someone so delicate and fragile.

It was clear you had nothing to offer The League, yet he refused to believe it had to do with feelings. Tomura was emotional, yes but his emotions were usually negative. Kurogiri was certain that, if by chance, the young boy fell in love, he would take after All For One.

He would not see his token of affection as someone to take care of and tend to. Rather he would see them as his possession. Something that belonged to him and him alone, and whoever dared to do something foolish like take his possession away would suffer a most gruesome death.

Perhaps that was the recent change in Tomura. He had found a new possession to claim as his. Your chest felt heavy, and yet tight as if you were crushed by an enormous weight. Your whole body trembled, and your eyes were wide and looked irritated.

You swallowed and pressed yourself against one of the expresso machines that littered the counter. It was nestled between the coffee grinder and the iced coffee dispenser. Both threatened to tip over as you desperately grasped onto them like they were the only lifeline you had.

Once again you felt the dull ache of your injured palm and it reminded you that this was not a dream. Tomura continued to step toward you, further emphasizing that you were trapped like an injured animal in the corner of an alley.

The echo of your heart pounded in your ears and like you were deprived of oxygen, there was a suffocating tension in the air. His eyes gleamed like a powerful demon as he growled, “Don’t look so damn scared!” and slammed his hands against the machines that were currently digging into your back.

He grinned at the sound of your scream and pride filled him as he observed the devastated state you were in. Then he leaned back to remove his gloves. Kurogiri watched him drop them to the floor and made a mental note to pick them up before they left.

Although Tomura had plenty of specially made gloves, he preferred to keep as many as possible. “Now, heh, I’ll make this simple for you,” he said slamming his hands against the machines behind you again. The only difference this time was several loud cracks sounded, and in a matter of seconds they began to decay.

Their once shiny and solid surfaces turned gray and crumbled like sand. You felt the weight of them disappear, forcing you to steady yourself as they turned to dust. Your eyes never left his, however. As terrified as you were, you refused to look away.

“Come with me, or I’ll fucking kill you,” he growled, and his words shook you. There was no way you wanted to die, but you couldn’t go with him! That was a fate worse than death. In addition, you couldn’t abandon what you created. This shop, this business was your life.

Even though you only had a handful of customers, they needed this shop to act as a safe zone. A place where they could talk about their worries and problems without judgment. The very idea of taking that away finally broke you, and a soft sob passed your lips before hot tears rolled down your cheeks.

Tomura paused, and his eyes traced the tears that slid down your face and slowly dripped from your chin. Then his eyebrows knitted as if he was confused about why you were crying. But it didn’t matter. Even if you foolishly refused to go with him, he’d take you by force. As the seconds ticked by, Kurogiri narrowed his eyes.

“Tomura Shigaraki,” he said, watching the boy pause and look at him with a snarl. He knew he needed to be careful with his next words. While there was the possibility that you meant something to Tomura, even if the boy himself hadn’t fully realized that yet, it was clear this was going nowhere.

Despite knowing he did not take failure well, Kurogiri needed to ensure Tomura returned to The League safely with or without you. However, his focus turned to the front door of your establishment which not only ignited into flames but was ripped off its hinges when Dabi forcibly used his fire to barge his way in.

Tomura, surprisingly, seemed unphased by this sudden intrusion despite your accompanying scream. He leaned back, looking at Dabi blankly. “Just what the hell is taking so damn long?” He questioned, and your throat tightened as you tried to suppress another sob.

With Tomura in front of you, it was impossible to see the man who forced his way into your shop. Not that it would matter considering your vision was blurry due to tears. You could, however, see the blue flames that were beginning to consume your cafe, and the heat made you sweat.

The only salus you had, as much as you hated to admit it, was Tomura shielding you from who you could only assume was the same man you had seen in the street earlier. You then assumed that he was also part of The League of Villains.

“The heroes have been alerted, let’s go already,” he hissed, gesturing behind him and toward the now broken entranceway. Pain danced in your eyes as you watched his flames consume the building inch by inch. Tomura growled. “Shut up!” He snapped before looking at Kurogiri.

“Well?” He said, snatching his gloves off the floor and making you flinch. Sweat dripped down your forehead, and your tears had evaporated. You felt faint among the other overwhelming emotions that caused your knees to buckle and you to fall back onto the floor in front of Tomura.

He paused and glanced at you before his eyes fell back on Kurogiri. He looked at him blankly, awaiting his orders. “Use your warp gate already!” Tomura screamed like a spoiled child and placed his hands on his hips before glaring at Kurogiri.

He placed his hand on his chest and bowed. “As you wish, Tomura Shigaraki,” he replied, and your heart jumped in your chest. ‘Warp gate?’ Suddenly that image of the dark portal from earlier popped into your head. That was his quirk! Your eyes widened when you watched more dark portals appear, seemingly out of thin air.

You gasped. “Wait!” You cried out, but it was too late. The ground dissolved beneath you. A rush of wind enveloped you, and the sensation of weightlessness before gravity kicked in and you fell flat onto solid ground. You groaned, noting the floor was cold and rough.

You recovered after a moment and slowly opened your eyes. Despite your vision spinning you could make out various glass bottles lining two wooden shelves, and the bright yellow light behind them only irritated your vision further.

“H-huh?” You pushed yourself onto your knees, slowly taking in your new surroundings. The dizziness caused a wave of nausea to flow over you, but you refused to give in to the feeling. Instead, you took a deep breath and continued looking around.

You noticed there was a doorway covered with a purple curtain next to the shelves. A wooden counter surrounded the area, and a small television rested at the end of the counter. If this was a bar, a wide-screen television was usually present.

‘Weird…’ you thought, before noticing the walls were made from brick and a coffee machine was sitting on a small table next to the television. Your heart sank in your chest as you were reminded of your cafe which was likely nothing but a pile of smelted wood and ash now.

Your head immediately snapped toward the purple curtain as another dark portal appeared. You watched in horror as Tomura stepped out and frantically crawled back, only to hit something. You trembled, feeling your throat tighten as you tilted your head to see that strange mist man. His eyes stared into your soul again.

“Ah!” You frantically twist your body, wanting to get away from him. However, you hit one of the shelves and the sound of the bottles clinking together echoed eerily through the room. “W-Where am I!?” You frantically asked, your voice dripping with fear. Tomura sighed when he walked up to you.

Knowing you were trapped again. You could only shake uncontrollably as he crouched down and forcibly grabbed your chin. You could feel his nails dig into your flesh through the glove he was wearing and when you looked into his eyes, they had an inhuman glint.

“Don’t ask such a stupid question,” he growled, baring his teeth, and tightening his grip making you wince. “Kurogiri,” he said when he released your chin and threw you back against the shelf, yet again making the bottles rattle.

Your heart pounded, and you fisted your hands into your hair. Ignoring the dried blood on your injured palm and the accompanying sting that came with it. “Yes, Tomura Shigaraki?” He replied, shifting his attention from you to him.

“Make sure their stupid hand is cleaned,” he said, referring to your injured palm. Yes, he wasn’t so ignorant as to not notice it. He took pride in being observant. Noticing every little detail always gives you an advantage over others.

Kurogiri found the request rather…strange and shifted his gaze to you. Despite the distressed state you were in, he wondered what it was about you that made Tomura act like he cared. ‘Yes...what does he see in this one?’ It was surely a mystery, but perhaps you’d prove to be useful.

“Yes, Tomura Shigaraki,” he repeated before walking closer to you. A gasp passed your lips and you snapped back to reality when you looked at him. Your eyes were wide, and your face was colorless. “After that,” Tomura said, grabbing your chin and making you hiss out.

His eyebrows slanted, his eyes beaming as he stared at you. His lips twisted into a smirk and when he leaned forward, you squeezed your eyes shut. You expected more pain, perhaps even his opposite hand on your throat or tangled in your hair.

Instead, you felt the roughness of his lips against yours making your eyes snap open and your breath hitch. Kurogiri’s eyes widened as he watched Tomura initiate this act of affection and his body stiffened. Perhaps it was his instinct to protect Tomura, but this was the first time he had seen the boy act this way.

His eyes then narrowed, and his body relaxed. ‘Perhaps they have some value to him,’ and if that were true, then Kurogiri would too, see value in you. Dabi grumbled as he pulled back the curtain, opening his mouth to speak. However, he stopped short when he saw the scene before him.

He narrowed his eyes and placed his hand on his hip. “Just what the hell is going on?” He demanded and Kurogiri looked at him, unable to explain. When he realized this, he shrugged. He didn’t really give a shit about what Tomura was doing or who he was going to fuck or do who knows what with.

“Whatever,” he replied before walking around the counter and toward the door, muttering about burning something else. He growled against your lips, making your eyes widen. However, it wasn’t that difficult to figure out it had something to do with his accomplice entering the room and leaving.

Tomura hated interruptions as much as failure. When silence fell over the room again, he noticed that your lips felt plump, smooth, and perfectly shaped. It made his blood boil, like an angry firestorm that destroyed everything in its wake. Yet, there was a trace of undeniable greed.

That possessive nature reminded him you were his to take and do with what he wanted. Yes, you were his possession, and you would never leave him. However, his lips tasted bitter to you and left your skin crawling. What should have been a warm or passionate action was an unwanted advancement.

Yet, you were too afraid to move away. To push him, do anything to stop or break the kiss. How could you live with yourself having kissed a villain? Did he want you because he had feelings for you? Was everything he and his accomplices did because he wanted you for himself?

The realization made you gag. Although it was silenced between your mouths, it didn’t make Tomura any less aware you were gagging, and he pulled away with another growl. However, instead of hurling you against the shelf again, he stood up and walked around the counter to take a seat.

Even when he was a short distance away from you, your body continued to tremble. Kurogiri, meanwhile, grabbed the first aid kit. While All For One provided Tomura with medical attention when needed, courtesy of Dr. Kyudai Garaki.

Kurogiri kept a first aid kit on hand because Tomura had some self-destructive habits, such as scratching his skin open, primarily around his neck area. As such, he attended to these minor injuries and ensured they were properly cleaned and bandaged when needed.

Although he hated the idea of using precious resources on anyone except Tomura, he could not resist an order given to him. So, he crouched down beside you and grabbed your hand, making you gasp again. He paused, only to look at you. It was clear you were scared, and your trembling didn’t help.

But you weren’t resisting and so he gently took your hand in his, examining the cut. The skin around it was red and inflamed, and dried blood was smeared across your palm and fingers. However, that was nothing minor disinfectant couldn’t take care of.

Compared to Tomura, Kurogiri had a strange gentleness about him. At least that’s what you could gather from the delicate way he cleaned your wound and wiped the dried blood away before wrapping it up. When he released your hand, you pressed it against your chest, feeling the now steady pace of your heart.

You watched as he gathered the bloody rag and threw it away. After that, he returned the first aid kit to its proper place and looked at Tomura. “I am finished,” he stated. “Heh, great,” Tomura replied and leaned over the counter, looking at you.

“Why don’t you be useful and make me a damn cup of coffee?” He replied, but his smile faded when his order was greeted with silence. “Now!” he snapped, slamming his hands against the counter, and making you stagger to your feet.

Your legs remained shaking and felt like they would give out from underneath you at any moment. Regardless, you stumbled to the coffee machine you spotted earlier and cried out when your knees bent, making you desperately clench onto the small table.

You sharply inhaled, not having realized you were holding your breath. You could feel the weight of Tomura and Kurogiri’s stares and your hands trembled as you tried to open the coffee machine to see if there were coffee grounds in it. As you did this, another dark realization came. You captured a villain’s heart.

But not just any villain’s heart, Tomura Shigaraki’s. The one who could turn you into dust at any moment. Instead of having the happy life you envisioned, one where you served customers, lent them your ear, gave advice, and shared happy memories with one another. You were now and forever Tomura’s object of affection.

going home

CHAPTER 1

bnha masterlist

pairing: tomura shigaraki x fem reader

summary: Stranded in another world that eerily follows the plot of your favourite manga, you find yourself sucked into the story, trapped on the side of the villains. You're just a girl who knows too much and wants to go home, but with Tomura Shigaraki watching you, escape won't be easy.

notes: I know this is a kinda cringey premise but I've had this idea trapped in my head for months and I love shigaraki so here.

chapter contains: attempted sexual assault (not shigaraki), canon typical violence

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Shigaraki

Tomura was in a bad mood. 

This whole business with the Hero Killer had really pissed him off. Made worse by the fact that the media was still looping his arrest footage, his oh so tragic backstory. Every convenience store and outlet on the way back from the mall was running it.  

But what about his Nomu? They’d terrorized Hosu. They should be on the front page. He’d attacked the USJ. His master had promised that the world would learn to fear him. This was bullshit. Fucking Stain .  

Tomura ducked his head low beneath the dark shadow of his hood, keeping to the alleys and deserted side streets on his way back to the bar. The sun was dipping below the horizon, night rising, but it was still best to be careful. After all, he’d just held that Midoriya kid hostage at the mall and there were bound to be heroes looking for him by now. They could look all they liked, with Father in his pocket instead of on his face, he’d be unrecognizable. Unlike Stain, his face wasn’t being blasted on TVs across Japan.  

At least that little mall trip had helped. Tomura was still pissed, but now he had some clarity, something to work for. Killing All Might and forcing this rotten society to question just how secure its sense of peace and justice was. Yeah , he liked the sound of that.  

He grinned and kicked a can down the street. It clanked against the pavement in a hollow roll, but its tin-rattle was quickly drowned out by the voices Tomura heard in the next lane over.  

He slipped around the corner and raised a brow at the scene before him.  

There was a woman on the ground in a pile of rubbish and a blanket, looking wide-eyed up at two guys standing above her. She looked like shit, but that didn’t seem to phase the men. They were practically licking their lips as they leered down at her ragged figure. Gross .  

Tomura thought he might have seen them around before, they were pretty generic looking; just two NPCs playing at being villains. Clearly low level. The taller one had no obvious quirk, and his hair stuck up in pineapple spikes, sleeve tattoos plastered to his skin. The shorter one, who was now grabbing the woman roughly by her shirt and yanking her up, had massive radio-dish ears – a hearing quirk of some sort. Potentially useful.  

“Pretty stupid of you to be sleeping out here where anyone could grab ya!” said Radio-Head.  

The woman leaned as far back as she could. “Let me go!” she said, in English.  

Tomura raised his other brow. He could understand English well enough, though he was better at reading than speaking. His master had wanted him prepared to make allies with whomever it took, Japanese or foreigner. Still, it was jarring to hear her English against the familiar Japanese of the two men who had her.  

“Foreigner?” said Pineapple-Head. “No way. This is great!” 

“Yeah, means she won’t go to the heroes. They’d never believe her!” Radio-Head yanked her close and she yelped, kicking out at his knees only to be pressed against the rough brick of the alley wall. “Isn’t that right lovely?”  

“Fuck off! Let me go!” she said, again in English. She bit Radio-Head's fingers when he tried to press a palm over her mouth.  

He jumped back and Pineapple-Head pinned her arms instead. “You good?” he asked.  

“Fucking bitch bit me!”  

Tomura had had enough of watching this cutscene like some creepy vouyer. He shoved his hands in his pockets, pinkies tucked into his palms, and slipped out of the shadows, heading down the alley toward the bar. The two men startled, caught like misbehaving kids. Pineapple-Head almost jumped out of his tattoos. Radio-Head pulled out a knife and stood in the way. He hid his throbbing fingers. Tomura smirked. Heh . The woman was clearly pretty stupid if she let herself be caught sleeping out here, but at least she wasn’t just rolling over for these losers. Even now, she was trying to wriggle free as the men glared Tomura down like he was a threat, a bigger dog who might wrench away their bone. 

“Fuck are you doing here?” Radio-Head said. “Can’t you see this alley’s taken? 

“Yeah, piss off man!” said Pineapple-Head in the lamest gangster voice ever. 

Tomura scowled. Who the hell were these bastards to tell him to leave? Did they have any idea who they were dealing with?  

The woman called out this time. “Help!” she said and strained towards him.  

Tomura’s scowl only deepened. What, did she think he was her hero or something? This was her own mess. He needed to get back to the bar before Kurogiri bugged him. Plus, he had those new recruits to deal with – the crazy girl and the ugly guy with patchwork scars.  

“Get going before I make you!” said Radio-Head, brandishing his knife. It gleamed white in the rising moonlight. The bastard was all confidence as he barrelled closer.  

Tomura didn’t like that. Didn’t appreciate being threatened .  

He huffed. “You really think you could make me leave?” And he took a step forward, fingers itching in his hoodie, the weight of Father suddenly heavier. He was just going to leave; this woman wasn’t his problem. But these cocky assholes were just begging to be destroyed.  

And besides, he was still in a bad mood .  

Pineapple-Head was starting to move his palms toward the woman’s chest when Radio-Head lurched forward. The knife swiped in an ungraceful arch, missing Tomura almost comically. Off balance, Radio-Head fell forward, caught only by four fingers.  

“You know, you really should be more careful with that thing.” The knife clattered against the ground as Tomura pressed a fifth finger down. “Somebody might get hurt .” 

Radio-Head couldn’t even scream as his body turned to ash.  

“What the fuck?!” Pineapple-Head, finally catching on, forgot the woman and dashed for Tomura. He had no weapons, but he extended a palm and blinding light spewed out in an arrow. An emitter quirk, then.  

Tomura ducked it but had to squint as he reached out and held Pineapple-Head's face in his palm. The creep struggled and gasped, a fish on the chopping block, as veins of decay spread over his skin. He didn’t turn straight to dust, but rather, fell to the floor in chunks. His blood ran in lines through the grooves of the pavement.  

Tomura grinned. The thrill of destruction coursed through him, had his heart pounding. He’d killed them. The incessant itch that had bothered him since the Stain incident dissipated just a bit and he breathed deeply. Damn that felt good.  

“You killed them.”  

Oh, right. He forgot about her. 

The woman had cowered back in her nest of squalor, palms pressed flat to the ground, back against the wall, eyes rimmed with the glass of coming tears. She cast her gaze between her villainous saviour and the two dead piles of men.  

“Yeah, I did,” Tomura said in English. He grinned wider and stepped toward her. One more kill couldn’t hurt. Besides, this woman had seen his face. Seen him kill. It’s not like he could let her live.  

But as he approached, fingers poised to kill, she suddenly stood up. “Thank you!” she said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She whispered it to herself, over and over, lowering her head in relief.  

Tomura hesitated. His movements stuttered. Was she seriously thanking him right now?  

She looked up at him, and there was something sickly about her that made Tomura almost feel sorry for her. A pallidness, a darkness. An otherness. She looked like she'd been sleeping in this alley for a while. She looked pathetic.  

Tomura pursed his lips and shook his hood back on. “Whatever,” he said in Japanese. He walked away, reaching for Father, for the sick comfort of the hand over his face. He really should kill her. He headed back toward the bar. 

“Wait!” Footsteps.  

Tomura ignored her, feeling an itch creep up his neck. The woman jogged up beside him, following.  

“Hey, please!”  

He could feel her looking at him as she struggled to keep pace. Would she just piss off already before he changed his mind? He didn’t have time for this side quest. “Go away.”  

“I need help.” 

The itch grew worse. “Do I look like a hero to you?” Tomura hissed.  

She stepped in front of him. "Please. Can you-" she paused, looked up at the hand on his face. Recognition lighted her eyes. She backed away. "Oh, you're..."

Her back was against the alley wall in a second, Tomura’s four fingered grip around her throat. He squeezed hard. He itched harder. This was more like it, the fear in her eyes, not that sappy gratefulness. Finally, someone who knew who he was.

He bared his teeth, scarred skin pulling tight. "Oh, you recognise me? That's nice."

The woman couldn't even speak.

“I did tell you to piss off,” he mumbled in Japanese, a little lightness entering his voice, a little laughter. He reached up and scratched, nails dragging coarse red lines over his neck. So itchy. “I'm glad to be noticed," he switched back to English, "but can't have you running to tell the heroes where I am, so...”

He pressed his fifth finger down.  

And nothing happened.  

No relief, no thrill, no death. The woman stared down at him, her pulse rapid in her throat. She didn’t decay. Tomura pressed in harder, as though he could tear into her flesh and turn her to dust. But she just wheezed. His quirk had no effect on her.  

His bloodshot eyes went wide. Why the hell wasn’t she dying ?  

“ Please ,” she said. "Don't."

Tomura sucked in a harsh breath; his eyes slitted into vicious papercuts. It must be her quirk. Some sort of immunity, like Eraserhead. He was touching her, skin to skin, hand on neck, and she wasn’t dead.

“What’s your quirk?” he demanded.  

The woman grimaced, tugging at his hand. “Quirk?”  

“Yeah. Tell me.” Tomura leaned closer, breath on her face. He needed to know. He needed...

But no amount of closeness could have prepared him for her response.  

She took a weak breath and shook her head. “I don't have a quirk...”  

Before Tomura could even understand what she meant, her eyes slipped closed and her head lulled into strangled unconsciousness.  

thanks man

“And then no one ever fucking listens to me.”

You sat on Tomura’s unmade bed as he paced back and forth in his room, ranting about this and that. You weren’t exactly sure how you two started dating. He couldn’t stand you when you first joined the league, finding you to be rather annoying. Yet now, it’s like he has separation anxiety if he’s away from you for too long. You brought peace to him, he needs you more than you’ll ever know.

“Sometimes I just wanna dust them all just so I don’t have to see those dumb fucks again.” He huffed, running a frustrated hand through his light blue locks.

You chuckled softly at his words, opening your arms invitingly. “Well let’s maybe not do that.”

Without much hesitation, he’s crawling onto the bed with you and into your open arms, resting his head on your chest. He began to slowly relax as he felt your arms around him, but then let out a slightly irritated huff, reaching to take one of your hands with his pinky raised and placing it on his head. You smiled at this, obeying his silent demand as you started to play with his hair.

It was one of his favorite things to have you do in private. You’ve been trying to work with him on dealing with his anger in ways that weren’t decaying everything within a ten foot radius. Once Tomura realized how much he likes when you play with his hair, the rest was history. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, if he wants you to do it, you better do it or else you’re not going to hear the end of it for the rest of the day.

“Well it’s not like they don’t deserve it.”

“Someone annoying you isn’t a good reason to kill them, Tomu.” He rolled his eyes with a scoff. “Well I think it is… especially Dabi.”

You almost didn’t catch his little mumble as you glance at his face that’s currently hidden in your chest. “What did Dabi do?”

“What doesn’t Dabi do? Yeah his quirk is powerful, but he’s so annoying, and rude, and the way he looks at you pisses me off.” His voice was low, his insecurities starting to show. “Tomu, are you jealous?”

He fell silent. Everyone knew that he wasn’t someone who was good at talking about his feelings. Honestly, it wasn’t just Dabi that upsets him, it was anyone. He secretly hates anyone who gets close with you, because he’s terrified that you’ll like them more than him and leave him. He knew he wasn't the best boyfriend ever, but he was trying, he really really was. He might not say it very often, but he loves you more than anything, and the thought of losing you hurts him more than most of the things he’s been through in his life.

He doesn’t want his one form of happiness to be ripped away from him.

“Well there’s nothing to be jealous of, Dabi’s cool and all I guess, but I’m not into him like that at all.” You spoke up when he didn’t say anything. “I love you, and only you.”

He continued to stay silent for a few moments. “Tell me that again.” He demanded quietly.

Smiling, you cup his face in your hands, lifting it so you can meet his gaze. You begin peppering his face with kisses, saying quick “I love you's” in between each kiss.

“Ugh! Okay! That's enough!” Tomura frowns, pushing you away from him. He might be acting like he hates your affection on the outside, but on the inside his heart is beating so fast he thinks he might have a heart attack. “Now come on, I wanna play minecraft.”

Giggling a bit as he attempts to hide the deep blush on his face, you nod. “Anything for you, Tomu.”

✩ CHASE ✩

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 - yandere!𝘚𝘏𝘐𝘎𝘈𝘙𝘈𝘒𝘐 𝘛𝘖𝘔𝘜𝘙𝘈 𝘟 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

𝘲𝘶𝘰𝘵𝘦 : his words were sharp, jagged, barbed, piercing into your misshapenly taped together soul, something you’d worked so hard to mend and heal during your time alone, yet it shattered all too easily once more, it’s dust slipping through your fingers.

“i’m the only one you’ve got left,” he prodded, “and you need me.”

warnings and notes!

stalker tomura . literal chasing lol . toxic relationship . quirkless au . usage of pet names (“kid) . reader has relationship trauma . isolated reader . tomura being really mean . dacryphilia is you squint REALLY hard, lol . naïve (kinda) reader . short argument . gender neutral reader . readers pronouns/sex/gender aren’t mentioned . proofread but there still may be some spelling mistakes, enjoy <33

authors note:

is this mayhaps also inspired by “chxse - whatsaheart” … yes, also by “if it ain’t me - whatsaheart” but only slightly, i wanna make a dedicated fic for that song, lol. sorry, his music has got a chokehold on me rn and it inspires so many tomura fics…i have so many concepts in my drafts right now, you have nooo idea, lol. anyway, this is kinda a similar tomura to my “kryptonite” fic, except he’s quirkless here, that’s all, lol. there may be an influx of tomura fics because i am in love with that man beyond belief so ummm…yeah, hope you enjoy the fic though, thanks for reading, and happy prideeeee!!! mwuah <33

a heavy layer of mist hung in place of the clouds, the moonlight failing to pierce through it, wind unwelcoming and cold against your warm skin.

yet a light golden glow of comfort nestled in your chest as the night replayed in your fuzzy mind.

the soft laughter that flowed through the bar you’d spent countless hours at, time gliding by as you met up with some new friends, sharing stories and jokes over drinks. the relentless need to glance over your shoulder dissipating throughout the night, finally allowing yourself to unwind, relax and have fun.

the melody flowing through your headphones kept you in high spirits, a gentle, tired smile stretching across your lips as you walked home.

though, as you continued on, despite your mind pleading for you to stop overthinking, your gut told you otherwise, that strong urge to have a peek behind you as unease settled in, took over, and you did.

neck snapping sharply in the direction, you came to a halt, fingers lowering the volume of your music with a click click click, taking a headphone out just to be sure.

the street was docile, deserted, filled with nothing but the quiet whirring of the tall street lamps lazily illuminating the parked cars and cracked pavement.

a shaky breath slipped past your lips as your eyes finished scanning your surroundings at a rapid pace, lingering just beyond the horizon before finally turning to continue on.

nothing was there, yet the suspicion remained, regardless of how silly your mind made you feel for it.

hands clenched into tight fists, balled at your sides, your heartbeat rose and you couldn’t shake the feeling of a pair of eyes…a sharp, venomous gaze searing through you.

a feeling you knew all too well, you were sure of it.

hot, acidic bile threatened to climb up, core burning as you could almost…hear them.

the footsteps trailing behind you, and your confirmation was in them growing heavier and heavier as they neared.

willing yourself to gain speed, your adrenaline filled body was forced into motion, gazing back for just a moment to reveal a shadowy figure that was hot on your hills, your body moving into a sprint as a result.

the wind almost cut your skin as you ran against it, the sudden gasp you let in setting a fire in your lungs, mind frantically searching for the best solution on how to lose them, going home now out of the question.

your legs gained a mind of their own as they pulled you forward with each lunge they took, earning you enough distance from the person to evade them with your next turn.

it was a tight space, an alleyway sandwiched between two tall buildings,

running down it slightly, soon coming to a stop, wind being knocked out of you at the sight before you, your heart sank to the depths of your stomach as the tall, looming wall came into view.

a deadend.

body tense as the haunting presence made itself known, the harsh footsteps that trailed behind you coming to a stop, boots scraping against the asphalt.

quieting your shaky exhale as much as you could, “what do you want, tomura ?” your voice was as stern as you could currently manage with the raging anxiety that currently encompassed your being, slight trembles pushing through the crevices.

tomura noticed, though he paid it no mind, hands placed lazily in his pockets, demeanour relaxed as he replied, “ahh, and here i thought you’d forgotten about me,” your stomach churned at the sound of his voice, having not heard it in so long, a flurry of horrible memories saturated your mind as he continued, sarcasm laced thickly in the words he spoke, “ignoring my calls and texts like im just some random guy,” scoffing, “im wounded, truly.”

the intense fear you’d been engulfed by began to slowly be poisoned by sheer annoyance at the man’s audacious attitude, shifting on your feet to finally meet his searing crimson gaze.

breath hitching, heart clenching, stomach dropping, that sense of fear threatened to consume you once more, yet you pushed on as best as you could, “we broke up, tomura.”

the statement was bland, harsh, tainted with frustration and it was met with a soft laugh, barely audible, a gentle exhale through his nose.

“you broke up with me,” a slight shake of his head, “i never agreed to it, nor did i accept it,” he corrected taking a few steps closer, you retreated in turn, back soon meeting the wall, him, catching up to you as he continued.

“i gave you time, didn’t i ?” his fluffy white hair had grown much longer since the last time you’d seen him, falling to the side as he tilted his head in question, slight mockery tainting his words, “gave you enough space to figure out your thoughts ?” his hand moved to cup your wine flushed cheek, thumbing gently against it, eyes softening as they stared down into the pretty ones he missed so much, “so let’s go home, yeah ?”

your gaze remained harsh, defensive, “i’m not going anywhere with you, tomura.”

the bite in your words earned the quirk in tomura’s brow, hand dropping down to his side in disgust at your refusal, the warmth the alcohol brought you long gone by now, the unforgiving air nipping at your cheeks.

“yeah ?” he questioned, tone growing slightly hostile, “and what’s here for you, hm ?”

brows furrowing at the question, irritation seeped through your tone as you vented, “i’m building a life h—“

yet his voice cut yours short, “your friends ? your family ? they’re all gone, no ?” rhetorical questions soaked in venom as he spoke, “left you all alone for me to pick up the pieces that is you, to take care of you when you couldn’t do so yourself, right ?” he continued on, warning, “it’ll happen again,_____, you know that. when you’re the problem, they’ll all leave in the end.”

his words were sharp, jagged, barbed, piercing into your misshapenly taped together soul, something you’d worked so hard to mend and heal during your time alone, yet it shattered all too easily once more, it’s dust slipping through your fingers.

“i’m the only one you’ve got left,” he prodded, “and you need me.”

taking in a sharp intake of breath, your heart clenched, eyes stinging, “you’re the problem, tomura…” sighing, “you m-manipulated me, gaslighted me…for years…it’s all on you.” volume growing weaker as you strung the words together, slight cracks slipping through as your eyes welled.

“i see your new friends have taught you some big words, kid, but those are some bold accusations to throw at the person who saved you from yourself,” face scrunched at the comment, octave dropping “you owe me.”

shaking your head at the words, tomura watched as your tense muscles relaxed slightly, the threatening tears in your eyes spilling over with loss, body slumping in defeat and he moved to swipe them away.

“apologise.” he whispered, voice gentle enough to break your will completely, and your body rocked in his grip as you sobbed into his chest, feeling your strength draining, physically and emotionally upon contact, his hand raking through your hair in comfort as the words spilled out.

“i-im sorry,” you stuttered through choked whimpers, it was automatic, a trained part of you jumping out suddenly to satisfy the command.

tomura hummed in response and you continued, “f-for leaving you…for c-calling you such things…” soft pleads slipped past your lips, the part you’d buried so deep within yourself rearing its head again, “p-please, i just…” the fear of angering tomura had you trailing off, but you pushed to continue, “…i don’t want it to be like before,” you spoke in one breath and your heartbeat quickened as tomura pulled away, lifting your chin to meet his gaze.

“it won’t be,” he promised, eyes as gentle as his voice, and though you knew it was a lie, a flowery bouquet of bait that would die out soon, never to be replaced, you accepted them wholeheartedly. your current crave for his touch propelled your ignorance to the lie, your desire for tomura’s approval, for tomura’s praise, for tomura’s satisfaction at the hands of you.

“you’ll be fine, kid.” he continued, eyes shifting to your lips as he neared you, meeting in a harsh kiss full of emotion, muscles relaxing at the contact. his hands found your waist, pulling you in, your own lacing in his lengthy hair as your lips moved, both wishing you could get even closer, give each other more of yourselves.

parting, you remained close as you let out a melody of pants together before he spoke up, “show me to your new place, then, yeah ? we’ll have you moved out by morning.”

Homie I don't know if you've considered writing a part 2 for the incel Gyutaro modern! Au scenario cause it legit rewired something in my brain ajskaj 🤒💕- he's like a weird bug that's fun to poke and watch em S Q U I R M ah, I love it.

Like I can see later on y/n has an indirect impact on him even though it's a casual thing- like, telling him his cum taste bitter af and it convinces him to eat better if it means he'll keep getting head (toss in more regular showers in there now that I think about it) . Would also wonder how his sis would react to them hanging out-? 🤔

If it's not in your plans that's alright- either way, it gave me the strength to write for him and I am thankful for the food 🛐

Guess what this post is!!!! I was saving this ask so I could post part 2 with it or whateverrrr. I'm so giggle that so many people are interacting with that post, I didn't expect it to get such good reception!!

Also also, I do plan to write about how this Gyutaro definitely still raised his sister and is a bang up brother in spite of these mentalities he has! I have another ask that wants me to elaborate, and I'm planning on just making a big headcanon thing for him!!

PART ONE <-

CW// FEM READER// AFAB// BREASTED / Dub-con/Non-con (Gyutaro does something sexual under the guise he'll get laid, undiscussed BDSM dynamic)/ Panic Attack/ Vomit (not in a sex way) / Piss (kinda in a sex way)/ Sexism/ Incel mentalities/ Toxic Masculinity / Forced Bisexuality / BDSM dynamics / I say 'skullfuck' at one point / Gyutaro is reffered to as a toilet.

-Incel!Gyutaro's eyes had never even grazed a real dance floor, but there he was, at the big name club you'd dropped the location of 30 minutes ago. He'd hopped on his bike and sped there in what could only be called desperation.

-There wasn't a wait like in the movies. Not a big long line, and they let him in in his baggy jeans and stupid fucking Nietzsche shirt. He hadn't even realized he'd brought his bike helmet in until he was tossing it between his shaking, filthy hands.

-There were so many people. All of them taking their sweet time to gawk at his height and face. This was why he didn't leave the dorm. That and the abhorrent, terminally 2011 music.

-The photo had pissed him off. Bad. He'd come with the intention of a rematch (in your honor or whatever, he's not cringe enough to say that, though) and he planned to leave with you clinging to him like you were supposed to be.

-and obviously you were because there you were, hanging off Tengen Uzui's naturally bulging muscles with those 3 other mindless sluts. Not giving a fuck in the world about him or that skanky photo you sent.

-You were hard to spot in your slut disguise.

-You looked like every other girl there, and that pissed him off even worse, in a way. He had deluded himself into thinking you were good. Into thinking you were different from other females because you knew the bands and the movies, and you agreed when he implied that genetically you were just dumber-

-'Gyutaro!' You'd screech out as you locked eyes with the man. In the dark of the club, with the neon purple strobing over him, he looked almost daunting. With his helmet on one hip, and phone dangling from his other hand, Gyutaro had something similar to a western charm.

-You'd pop off of Tengen, who would only lift his head up to register the man, and then turn back to his girlfriends.

-The whole reason for their fight had been rather trivial, Gyutaro assumed, but, despite his lax appearance, Tengen did everything in his power not to smash the man's own helmet back over his head.

-He feared, along with Makio, Suma, and Hinatsuru, for your safety as you barreled into the man.

-You'd run into them with a new found confidence that night. After leaving Gyutaro in his sorry state, bounding up to the three women was far less intimidating. Almost like you shared a comraderie with them-

-and you had! The three were incredibly nice and immediately ushered you to Tengen where you all began to get a long in a picturesque fashion.

-You looked good. Hanging onto his arm with the other women felt good- You just had to take a photo.

-Gyutaro was going to panic. Tengen Uzui didn't scare him anymore, but that immediate jump from Tengen's arms to his, he didn't know how to satisfy that expectation.

-Of course he was better than Tengen- but on a "purely physical" level, he knew he would never have the stamina or prowess to conquer the bodies of three women at once.

-Especially not when he couldn't even fathom conquering you.

-'Ah, is this who you were talking about?' Tengen asked. You laughed in response, nodding with verve. Your body was beginning to shift against him- fuck-

-'Mhm, Gyutaro's my best friend.' You slurred, and it occurred to Gyutaro then, that you might be slighty inebriated. God, Tengen had an awful effect on you.

-His heart thudded at the words 'best friend' Despite your light and teasing cadence, were you friendzoning him? Would you just fuck any friend you had? Not that you fucked him- but you totally fucked him-

-'Oh?' Tengen sang in that stupid fucking tone that made Gyutaro want to rip off that girly fucking headband he wore. 'Have you slept with him?'

-Makio slapped Tengen's shoulder.

-'No, no- Not yet.' Gyutaro was panicking, now. Yet? Yet? You were planning to fuck hi-

-'Be careful.' Tengen sang. And that should've been the end of his thought, but maybe the drink he had was doing more than he expected, because Tengen couldn't fight the grin nor the words that spilled from his mouth after-

-'Tell him to try and last longer this time.'

-Gyutaro saw red, and blue, and maybe it was because of the weed air or the sex musk permeating past the bar- Maybe it was the anger he had at you for sharing such a thing about him- maybe it was because He'd been holding his breathe and plotting Tengen's downfall, and now he was-

-Who was he kidding, Gyutaro was going to fucking barf. The stress was too much, and his stomach rolled in response. He'd never been exposed to such an environment, or such an embarassment, and all he knew to do was turn away and try to keep it down until he got to the bathroom.

-'That was so mean!' Suma cried out as Gyutaro trudged away, attempt at disguising his mood futile. 'You made him cry!'

-'He literally called you a slut to your face at the start of the semester. What the fuck do you mean, mean?' Makio barked.

-You were in one of the gross stalls, pulling his scraggly black hair away from the rancid bowl. You weren't sure how he ate so much and still stayed so twig thin. He'd been puking for at least ten minutes.

-'I didn't expect you to come here.' You lied, having very much intended for that outcome. 'You think Tengen Uzui remembers every drunken, horny story he gets from a woman?'

-He was mortified. The idea that Tengen specifically knew something so intimate about him made him hear colors. Red colors. He was hearing the club lighting and seething at the red blur of the motion sensor on the toilet-

-The tile felt like splinters.

-'W-Why did you tell him that?' Gyutaro gasped out between spills. The question lacked his usual grit. It sounded genuine and hurt.

-He nodded lamely and went to drop his face onto the porcelain, but your hand swooped down.

-Your palm against his marred face was soothing. Lifting his head up from the toilet bowl, you wiped his mouth off with toilet paper.

-His heart fluttered. What a girlish emotion he was feeling.

-'I'm sorry.' You whispered and only semi meant it. Some of the things he said about women in the past months could've definitely validated such treatment. Some of the comments were bordering on illegal, others on beyond morally questionable.

-'It's okay.' He slurred, moving away from your hand to try and stop that flutter. You were quick to find his scar again, and, with hesitance losing to need, he rubbed against your palm.

-Cat. The word shot through your head and then retreated. No, no. A mangy cat. A cat with mange. Rabies, maybe even.

-'I wasn't crying or any-' as he began to speak, you pulled a small bottle of mouth wash out from your bag.

-'Tip your head back.' Gyutaro cut off his sentence and did as you said. The burn of the wash was painful. As he went to spit it out, you pressed a finger to his lips.

-'You get a gift if you can keep it in for the full minute.'

-It hurt. Gyutaro can't remember the last time he brushed his teeth, but the burn in his gums said he should do it more. He managed, though, and you followed through by pulling a tooth brush from your bag.

-Gyutaro had seen this plot before, in a hentai, probably, but he'd always imagined himself probing some innocent sweet trad girl's mouth with a tooth brush. Not being probed.

-You scrubbed plague off his teeth with precise intensity. His gums bled, and he whined. His jaw would occasionally stutter, and he'd bite down with enough force that you feared for your toothbrush.

-Another pass at the mouth wash and Gyutaro stared up at you, puffy lipped and teary eyed. You hadn't necessarily been gentle, nor had you avoided his gag reflex, but you leaned down to Gyutaro.

-His natural huffiness now had a pleasant bubblegum scent.

-When you pulled the vibrator from your pussy, Gyutaro nearly puked again. He hadn't noticed it in your sneaky photo, so seeing you hike your leg up on the toilet seat and pluck it from your insides made him see stars.

-Had you had that in the entire time? Had you told the other girls? Had you told Tengen?

-You dropped the vibrator into his lap. Not in his pants, not intentionally near his dick- on his lap. Gyutaro had taken on an all too natural kneeling position, and you dropped the vibe between the small gap of his thighs.

-Dull buzzing bounced up his thighs, vibratons too far to feel- And then you were pressing your cunt against his face, and he was taking in the scent of your pubes-

-He had been told that eating a woman out was a sign of submission. Got told it'd be gross, and to only do it when the situation was dire. And a situation with a female should never become dire- Having someone's genitals forced in his face like this-

-Gyutaro loved the smell of your pussy. The taste. His hands took to your thighs immediately, one slipping back to find the meat of your ass and bury his fingers in it.

-It would surprise you, how right he looked snug between your thighs. How his eyes fluttered back when he forgot he wasn't really supposed to be into this kind of thing.

-You could remember all of the things he said about vaginas. It often left you contemplating whether or not he found women attractive to begin with, but with his tongue rolling so naturally against your clit, you couldn't question it.

-He was made for this, both of you figured. Your warmth against his palate was ball tightening. He immediately took to it. You'd never seen such enthusiasm and love shown to your cunt.

-'Fuckkkkkk-' He'd moan, but with his tongue flat against you it came out in drool. His spit spilled onto his jean clad thighs, uncaring about anything other than eating you out.

-With his back against the toilet, and your hands gripping his hair, if you saw it from the back, it'd look like you were skullfucking the man. The thought made Gyutaro's already raging hard on twitch-

-And that's exactly how Tengen saw it when he opened the stall.

-'Oh?' He said, and you felt Gyutaro's grip tighten around your thighs. Today was just humiliation after humiliation, wasn't it? He knew by the stupid sing-song tone of the voice exactly who'd invaded his time with you.

-Black pulsed the corners of his vision.

-'Ah, Tengen-' You tried to keep your voice steady- not willing to let yourself be intimidated by a man his size in such a situation. Not infront of Gyutaro. He didn't need real life experience to back up forum rumors.

-'Can I use this toilet?' He nodded down to Gyutaro, and you looked down to the man between your thighs, a bit shocked by the ask.

- Gyutaro would pull off your cunt fast, wide eyed and all teeth.

-'What the fuck did you just s-' You lodged your fingers down his throat, Gyutaro gagging hurtfully against them. His eyes rolled back. He didn't know why having his mouth fucked with felt so good. It'd never felt this good when he was alone-

-'When I cum, yeah.' And Gyutaro was back on your pussy, a sudden fear lighting his movements. You wouldn't really let Tengen do that to him, right?

-Why was he depending on you, a woman, to prevent that? He should just get up and kick his ass- Tengen would have an advan...advantage.... an-

-Fuck your pussy was mind numbing. Fuck whatever Tengen wanted to do to him. He needed that juice.

-Gyutaro chased your orgasm. You were only slightly dissapointed he didn't cum with you- didn't show Tengen how good he could be. A part of you wanted to impress Tengen- to show off a little bit. Show what you tamed. Even if that taming was still very early in the works-

-When you came, Gyutaro smiled wide against your pussy. You pulled back with shaking legs and his head in your hands and he looked at you like Tengen wasn't pulling his cock from his boxers just centimeters away.

-'Just want your pussy, I need your pussy-' He slurred while you starred down at him.

-'If you drink it, I'll let you fuck me-' His ears would begin ringing. Shocked by his own actions, Gyutaro found his jaw unhinged, taking Tengen's flaccid cock down his throat.

-Maybe it was easier for him to accept because Gyutaro never dealt with penis envy. The two men were surprisingly matched. How unfortunate. You really wanted to see how Gyutaro would react to a cock that much bigger-

-Tengen took advantage of the willing hole, rocking his hips a bit much to Gyutaro's anger.

-'If you bite me, I'll drown you. Don't want to die with your head in a toilet, eh, Shabana?' Tengen taunted, sensing the upset from his thighs.

-You watched as Gyutaro's adam apple surged, and Tengen's head dropped back in relief. It was more than Gyutaro could take, obviously, because it began spilling from the corners of his mouth and onto his Neitzsche shirt.

-Gyutaro's face burnt red, and he reeked like piss. Tengen gave the other man's face a light, almost appreciative slap.

-As Tengen pulled out, a rush of piss came spilling onto the floor. He wasn't done though, a guiding hand locking around Gyutaro's jaw to tip his head up. The trickle was backed by the music blurring outside.

-His flow came to a stop, and he carefully shut Gyutaro's mouth. Gyutaro looked over at you with tired eyes.

-You nodded, and he swallowed.

-'Atta boy.'

-With Tengen's exit, you looked down at Gyutaro, dripping and still woefully hard. You pulled his messy hair back into a ponytail once more.

-'oh honey... when did I say you'd be fucking me tonight?'

-'Do I- Do I get to fuck you now?' He'd croak, trying to ignore the completely beer ridden piss on his lips. You looked at him so pathetically. It made his cock ache even worse than it already did.

-He could tell he wasn't going to get what he wanted before you even opened your mouth.

Your Touch

Your fingers brushed ever so softly against his own, careful not to touch all five. His rough, dry, and calloused hands felt so different compared to your own. But you loved them. You loved him. You smile as your thumb softly presses slightly into his wrist. Yes, even his wrists were pretty to you. So thin, so delicate. People would normally not spare a passing glance at him, if they had not already known who he was. He was so, unlike someone to be feared. A frail, skinny twenty something year old man. A shut in. A "freak". 

But no, he was so much more than that. If to no one else, than to you. He was to be respected, never underestimated, to be feared. And yet, from the very first day you met him, you never did fear him. If anything, you did feel that respect, you never underestimated him in anyway, you admired him. Soon that admiration would grow into something stronger. And before you knew it, here you were. In his dark room, in his bed. Playing with those dangerous hands of his. 

"You're fucking crazy. You know that?" 

Oh how you loved the sound of his voice. Some would be turned away from the rasp, the roughness of his voice. But not you. You look up from his hand. "Am I?" You grin. "How so?" He looked at you, the light from his tv screen reflecting off of his ruby eyes. He gave you a look, the kind of look that said, you should already know. "Just look at what you're doing right now." 

"What? I'm just doing what I always do." You say before turning your attention back to his hands. His flat rough palms brushed against yours, intertwining your fingers with his longer ones. He was always careful not to use his fifth one on you. 

"I could kill you. Dust you within seconds." 

"Mhm. I know." 

"Then stop." 

"Why should I?" 

You could hear his annoyed huff from above you. You giggled and moved your hand away from his. "If you really want me to stop, I will. Do you want me to stop?" He said nothing. You put your hand on top of his. "That's what I thought." 

"You're crazy." 

"So I've heard." You chuckle. "I know very well what you are capable of Shiggy." That nickname, coming from anyone else would have been an insult. "I just, want to do this." 

"Why?" 

You look up at him with a grin, bringing his hand up to your cheek. "I like your hands." You could have sworn you saw a bit of pink dusting his cheeks, but his blue locks were in the way. "But, they're not the only things I like about you." 

"I like, your hair." You lean in closer to him. "Your eyes." You brush some of his hair out of his face. "Your scars." You gently swipe your thumb against his scar on his lip. "Everything about you, is so perfect Shiggy." 

He couldn't take much more of this. He hid his face in your neck, making you laugh lightly. "It's true." You assure him. 

And it was. Never once have you lied about his beauty. And that's exactly what it is, beauty. You felt him wrap his arms around you tight, you move your arms around him as well. Petting his tangled blue hair. 

"I love every part of you. But your hands, are my favorite." 

"That's a crazy thing to say." 

"Well, I am crazy, according to you." You joke. "Yeah, still true." He tells you before pulling back from you. You take his hands again. "So pretty." You murmur. 

You loved his hands. You loved him. Every inch of him. 

And he felt the same about you. Your touch was so...soothing. Your touch made him feel alive. Your touch made him feel something again. He was addicted. He never wanted to let you go. He wanted this all the time. He wanted your touch all the time. 

He needed, your touch. 

(Sorry, this one is short. I might get into making more Shiggy stories, idk yet. Hope you enjoy anyway~)