MHA Head Cannons

omg thanks really it mean a LOT. I guess its training my first drawing of shigaraki was in 2021 and was looking like this:

0v0 i think i really improve it in two years but i still hope to get better

Tomura drawing : tongue out baby~

Love Like Ghosts - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever.

But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble.

Cross-posted to Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Chapter 1

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. Rent in the city you live in is so goddamn fucking high that it was either keep living with the worst roommates in existence or find a way out to the suburbs. But the suburbs are wall-to-wall McMansions, so far out of your price range that calling it a bad joke would be an insult to both concepts. All except this one single neighborhood. And within this one single neighborhood, this one single house.

You knew there had to be a reason it hadn’t sold. You’re not an idiot. So you did your research, like the law student you wanted to be before your loans from undergrad kicked in, and found absolutely nothing. No murders in the house’s history. No accidental deaths. No urban legends about curses and creepy children living in the walls. You even went so far as to track down a previous owner, who was perfectly nice, and perfectly willing to talk about the three weeks he spent living there before he sold it and ran for the hills.

No, he said, he didn’t hear anything. Or see anything. No strange accidents or unstable floorboards. There were no strange bumps in the night or objects left out of place. Just a constant, ever-present feeling that he was being watched.

Carbon monoxide leak, maybe. When the pre-purchase inspection happened, you made them check that twice. And for toxic mold. But there was nothing. Just an old house in a too-big lot at the end of a quiet street, hemmed in by the wetlands on three sides. A total steal. You couldn’t believe that no one had bought it.

People come close, your realtor told you on your last walk-through. One time I had a lady come all the way to the end of escrow before she backed out.

Why’d she back out? you asked idly. Your realtor made a face. She didn’t say?

Oh, she said all right. Said something was wrong. That it didn’t like her. The realtor scoffed. It doesn’t like or not like anybody. It’s a house.

He said that, but you could tell he didn’t believe it, and because of that, you asked him if you could finish the walkthrough alone. He left reluctantly, clearly concerned that you were going to back out of the sale, too. You weren’t planning on it. You just wanted to see if there was something you were missing, if everybody else who hadn’t bought this house had picked up on something you didn’t. You walked from room to room, picturing where you’d eat, where you’d sleep, where you’d set up your office when you finally went to law school and got licensed and set up your own practice. You didn’t feel anything wrong, even when you sat down in front of the fireplace and played devil’s advocate one last time, trying to talk yourself out of signing the papers. It was just a house. Your house.

When you came down the front steps, your realtor was leaning against his car, looking more than a little dejected. His face fell when he saw you coming. Change your mind?

You shook your head. Give me the papers, you said. And I’ll need a pen.

Moving in took you one weekend. Less, even. Living in tiny apartments through college and your first few years on the job didn’t give you much room to accumulate pointless stuff, as much as you might have liked gathering little trinkets as a kid. It took you one and a half trips to move all the important stuff, and then it was just you yourself. You, yourself, and your dog.

Looking back, you definitely should have brought Phantom with you to check things out before you signed the papers. In horror movies, dogs are always the first ones to figure things out. But when you hooked up Phantom’s leash and let her out of the car to sniff around, she didn’t react at all beyond how dogs usually react to arriving in a new place – sniffing everything, picking up everything in her mouth, yanking at the leash until you let her tow you around the front yard. When she clambered up the steps to flop down on the porch, you breathed a sigh of relief. Phantom liked it here. You liked it, too.

And you still like it, three and a half weeks after you moved in. In fact, you think you might like it more than you did when you moved in. That’s not a surprise, really – your main criteria in buying a house was that it was a house, and not an apartment you have to share. Sure, your commute in to work sucks now, but it’s worth it when you get to come home to somewhere quiet. No terrible music. No terrible perfume or makeup smears on the bathroom counter. No rotting food in the fridge or moldy dishes in the sink. Nobody’s having very loud, very kinky sex in the room next to yours all night, because there’s no room next to yours – and there’s nobody in your house but you. You sort of wish you’d done the home ownership thing a while ago. It would have saved you a lot of stress.

“It’s kind of perfect, actually,” you say to your friend over FaceTime. “Really perfect. I wish you could come see it.”

“Yeah, me too. But you know how it is. Loans.”

“Loans,” you agree. “The downpayment on this place basically cleaned me out. If anything goes wrong I’m going to have to start selling my organs.”

Your friend laughs. “Start with plasma. You can replace that easier.”

“Or feet pics. I don’t have to replace those at all.”

She laughs, and so do you, and the sound echoes through your house. “Listen to that,” your friend marvels. “It must be dead quiet there.”

Quiet, sure – but over the past three weeks, you’ve noticed that the house feels alive even when nobody’s making noise on purpose. You can hear Phantom’s toenails clicking on the floor in the living room and remind yourself to get a rug. And a couch. You’re doing laundry, and the sound it makes is comforting. The hum of the fridge is, too. “I don’t mind,” you say. “I like it here. The only problem is the dust.”

The house has been empty for years by now, so it makes sense that there’s a lot of dust. You knew that going in, and you’re still slightly horrified at the clouds that come up every time you touch a surface that you haven’t dusted earlier that day. “We’ll just call you Cinderella,” your friend jokes, and you scowl. “Or not. Sheesh, lighten up. And throw a housewarming party! Get some real noise in there.”

“We’ll see,” you say. The idea of letting people you work with know where you live is frankly upsetting. And so is this conversation, honestly. You don’t know where the frustration’s coming from, but you’ve got to get off the phone. “I have to go. Phantom’s eating something and I need to fish it out. Love you.”

“Love y-”

You end the call and drop your phone screen-down on the table. The frustration you felt before is ebbing already, and with it comes relief – and confusion. You know you’ve got a bit of a temper, but you never let it out on friends, and you keep it hidden at work. Even at home you’re careful. You got Phantom from a rescue, and too much banging around or sharp words stresses her out. So why did you get so close there? Is the fairytale thing really that upsetting? Were you really that pissed at the idea of letting someone else in your house? Why?

Because it’s yours. It’s your place, where you don’t have to make excuses for anything you’re doing, where you can do whatever you want. God knows you worked hard to be able to have this place. You’re going to enjoy it the way you want to enjoy it. Nobody else gets a say.

The weird mood clings to you through the afternoon and into the evening. Of course it’s a Sunday, which means you’ve burned through the last of your weekend being mad at a friend over nothing. You could keep moping, or you could try to get out of it. You pick door number two and head out to the back porch with Phantom.

You didn’t pay much attention to the yard when you bought the house. You were more interested in the bigger stuff, like making sure it wasn’t haunted or cursed. But the yard is – nice. Or it will be nice, once you get your shit together and start pulling weeds. You got rid of anything that might make Phantom sick, but you’ve let everything else run wild, and the blackberry bushes along the border to the wetlands grow so high you can’t even see the fence. You did check and make sure there was a fence, of course. Phantom is pretty docile, but it’s hard to trust the judgment of a dog who chews on her own feet and sleeps upside down.

She looks like she’s having fun, though. She’s doing that thing dogs do, where they clearly want to take off at high speed but can’t decide which direction to go. Maybe you should help her out. You pick up her ball out of her toybox and wave it to get her attention. “Come on, Phantom! Go get it! Get your ball!”

She starts running before you’ve even thrown it, and you call her back, laughing. “Come here, you. I’ve still got it. Wait –”

She prances in place, ears pricked and tail wagging. “Wait – okay, go! Go get it!”

You chuck the ball and she takes off after it at full speed, catching it on the run and depositing it back at your feet covered in grass and slime. You remind yourself that slime is part of having a dog. You pick it up and throw it again, and again. On the third throw, Phantom stops mid-chase and freezes in the middle of the yard.

You’ve never seen her do that before. “Phantom,” you say, but she doesn’t turn. “Phantom, leave it. Come here.”

She doesn’t move. She whines, cowers, wiggles a few steps backwards – and then the biggest coyote you’ve ever seen springs out of the darkness, jaws wide open and ready to close on Phantom’s throat.

Phantom turns and bolts, but she’s not fast enough. Its jaws close on her hind leg and she howls. “No,” you shout, your voice somehow strident and shrill at the same time. You pick up the nearest thing you can find – your phone, totally useless – and bounce it off the coyote’s head. It snarls and lets go of Phantom, who limps back to your side, making the worst sounds you’ve ever heard in your life. You can’t help but try to calm her, even as the coyote prowls closer, even as you watch your dog’s blood drip from its teeth. “Sweet baby. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

The coyote’s going to bite you. You’re going to live with that. But while it’s biting you, you can hurt it as much as possible. You’re bigger. You have body weight and hands and a dog you have to protect, and so what if the fucker looks absolutely rabid? There’s a shot for that. They can probably give it to you at the emergency vet when you take Phantom in. The coyote sinks into a crouch, preparing to lunge. You get your feet under you and try to calm the racing of your heart. The coyote snarls, leaps, and –

And. You don’t know how to process what you’re seeing, so you’re stuck on and. And the coyote is poised in midair, thrashing and snarling at something that’s holding it in place with all four of its paws off the ground. And it stays suspended there just long enough for you to blink a few times, for you to realize that what you’re looking at is real. And then its neck breaks with a hideous snap, so hard that its head is nearly torn off, and its body drops to the ground at your feet.

You stagger back, almost tripping on Phantom – and then you scoop her up in your arms, even though she’s not anywhere close to being carryable long-term. It’s the only way to be safe as you back up the porch stairs, as you both collapse just in front of the back door. Something just happened. Your dog’s leg is bleeding and your heart is pounding and something just happened. What was it?

Something broke the coyote’s neck. That didn’t just happen on its own. Something killed the coyote, fast and brutal but not fast enough that you didn’t see fear flash in its eyes when it realized there was no way out. It wasn’t another animal that did that, and there was nobody in your yard but you. This isn’t the kind of thing that happens when you move into a nice, normal house. This is the kind of thing that happens when your house is haunted. And whatever’s haunting your house can snap necks with its bare hands.

But not your neck, you realize. Not your neck, and not Phantom’s. Whatever’s haunting your house can kill things, but it hasn’t killed you or your dog, in spite of having all kinds of opportunities to do so. In fact, this is the first time anything haunted has happened in your house at all, and it paid off for you, big-time. Maybe whatever’s in your house is –

Friendly is not a word you’re going to use when there’s a sort of mutilated, completely dead body in your yard. But you think you can safely call whatever it is ‘not hostile’, at least not to you. And if it’s not being hostile to you, you should be friendly in response. “I don’t know who did that,” you say to your empty yard. “But whoever it was, thank you.”

You don’t wait for a response. Your dog is hurt, and you have to get her to the vet, and for the rest of the night you don’t think about what happened at all. But the next morning, when you go out to chuck the dead coyote over the fence and patch up whatever hole it got in through, the coyote is gone. The only evidence that anything happened at all are a few drops of Phantom’s blood dried on the ground, and a spot of dry, dead grass that was definitely alive last night.

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it, and when you talked to the previous owner, it’s not like he didn’t warn you. But what he warned you about isn’t quite what’s happening to you. The previous owner, a perfectly nice guy named Shirakumo, told you that he spent his entire three weeks here feeling like he was under a microscope. Like it was trying to make up its mind about me, he said. I decided I didn’t want to be here when it figured it out.

You’re pretty sure whatever’s in the house has made up its mind about you. At least enough to decide that between you and the coyote, it would rather keep you around. So unlike Shirakumo, you don’t feel like you’re being watched. You just feel like you’re not alone.

It’s a weird distinction, but it’s undeniably there. There’s something in here with you, something unseen, and if it was watching you, you’d know. It isn’t watching you. It’s doing whatever things it does, and you’re doing the kind of things you do, just coexisting side by side in your new house. It’s there when you leave and it’s there when you come home, just like Phantom is, and Phantom doesn’t seem to mind it. More than a few times, you’ve caught her play-bowing and wagging her tail at empty space. If she was nervous about it, you’d be nervous, too – but dogs always know when a house is haunted in horror movies, and Phantom’s not acting scared. But your house is still haunted. Maybe it’s just not haunted like that.

You tell yourself to just live with it, but it starts getting weird after a little while. If someone was here in person, you’d talk to them, include them in the silly questions you ask Phantom about whether the two of you should get takeout for dinner instead of cooking and whether or not she is in fact the bestest girl in the whole wide world. Maybe the thing in the house is waiting for you to talk to it, and getting upset that you’re not. This is a good time for you to remind yourself, like you do every so often, that the thing in your house isn’t friendly just because it’s not hostile to you, and it can still snap necks with its bare hands. It’s in your best interest to keep it – not hostile.

You keep telling yourself to talk to it, and you keep chickening out for a whole week and a half. Then you’re in the middle of emptying the dishwasher and hit your head on an open cabinet door hard enough that you see stars. Then you stumble backwards and land flat on your ass on the kitchen tiles. “Fuck,” you say, with feeling, and Phantom comes running. “Sorry, sweetie. I’m fine. I’m just a dumbass.”

You’re conscious of the thing in your house, of the fact that it’s here, just like always. It’s not watching you, but if it was, what would it say about this little scene? A response flies into your head, and you say it before you can think of whether or not it’s the smart thing to do. “Yeah, keep laughing. The first time this happens to you I’m going to laugh my ass off.”

There’s no response, but you weren’t expecting one. You should probably have made your opening statement to the ghost a little friendlier. But your neck hasn’t snapped yet, so you pick yourself up off the floor, close the cabinet so you won’t hit your head again and kick off round two of this embarrassment, and get back to work.

Attempt one on talking to the ghost was a failure, but you have a rule about trying things at least three times before you give up, so you try again. This time you come home from work, greet Phantom like always, and then slowly, deliberately turn to face the totally empty patch of air in the hallway. “Hi,” you say. “I’m home.”

Nothing then, either, and if you’d started the sentence with “honey” instead of “hi” you’d have sounded exactly like your dad. You’ve always thought that the way characters in movies deal with their haunted houses is cringe. Yours is a different kind of cringe. Possibly a worse kind of cringe. But when you turn away from the empty air, your neck stays unbroken, and that sense of company, of presence, doesn’t fade. If nothing else, you’re not pissing it off.

To be clear, you don’t talk to your house all the time. You don’t feel like talking all the time. But when you do, you start speaking out loud, and soon it becomes a habit. It might be an embarrassing habit, but it’s not the worst thing in the world. And talking to it instead of tiptoeing around it makes you feel a little better about the situation. Less like you’re being haunted. More like you’re at home.

Your coworkers find out that you moved after two months. You’re not sure how, because you definitely didn’t tell them, but you did have to tell HR to start sending your pay stubs to a new address. Somebody there must have spilled the beans, and as pissed as you are, there’s nothing you can do about it now. Just like there’s nothing you can do about the fact that half your coworkers have invited themselves over for an impromptu housewarming party. Tonight.

“This is stupid,” you complain as you wipe down every flat surface on the first floor, trying to get as much of the ever-present dust up as possible. “I see them enough at work. The whole point of working is so I can afford to spend time not at work.”

Phantom huffs a little bit. She’s mostly friendly, but big groups bother her, especially big groups with too many loud guys. “I would never just invite myself over to someone’s house,” you continue. Back in the day you’d have called a friend to complain. Now you just do it out loud. “How the hell am I going to get them to leave? They’re not going to want to leave. This place is perfect.”

You pause for a second, transfixed with horror at the idea of having to kick your coworkers out. “This sucks. Think it’s too l ate for me to fake my own death?” As soon as you say that, you wish you hadn’t. You don’t want the thing in your house to offer to help. “I can’t do that. If I don’t have a job, I don’t have a mortgage payment, and I need a mortgage payment so I can keep my house.”

You finish dusting, then dig out a baby gate from when Phantom was still potty-training and prop it across the stairs. You don’t want anybody thinking it’s okay to go upstairs. The doorbell rings just as you’re straightening up. Coworkers. You grit your teeth, then paste on a smile and go to open the front door. “Hi. Go ahead and invite yourselves in.”

If you’re going to be fair to your coworkers – and you feel like you have to be, because otherwise you might kill them and wind up with a whole bunch of ghosts haunting your house – not all of them are bad. They don’t have to be bad for you to not want them in your house. Most of them just have irritating habits, like clearing their throats on every other word or laughing too loudly at their own bad jokes. There’s only one or two you really don’t like – they pick on your clothes and the way you do your hair, or steal tea bags from the secret stash you keep in your filing cabinet. Both of them are here, and their presence puts you in an even worse mood than you already were.

The only person you’d actually hang out with after work is Mr. Yagi, but he’s your direct supervisor and also sort of old, which means you can’t be friends with him. He’s here, too, and he seems like he’s trying to rein everybody in. You see him stop one of your coworkers from hopping the baby gate and going upstairs and give him a grateful look. He smiles back. Then he startles, coughs into his handkerchief, and stumbles back against the wall.

You start towards him, concerned, but midway there someone slings an arm around your shoulders and stops you in your tracks. “Honey,” Nakayama slurs, flopping most of her weight onto you, “your house’s vibes are fuck awful.”

You didn’t provide alcohol, but it looks like your coworkers brought their own. You shrug her arm off. “Wow. I’m so glad I asked your opinion when I asked you to come over.”

“You didn’t ask,” Nakayama says, confused. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for the penny to drop. It doesn’t drop. Instead a full-body shiver overtakes her, and she wraps her arms around herself like she’s shielding her body from something or trying to keep warm. “Don’t you feel that? It’s – male – male-eh –”

She thinks your ghost is a man. You’re not even sure your ghost is a ghost. “Malevolent,” she says finally. Oh. “It doesn’t want me here.”

“Maybe that’s because I don’t want you here,” you say, and Nakayama laughs. She thinks you’re joking. Mr. Yagi, who’s snuck up alongside you, knows you aren’t. “If the vibes in here are so bad, go check out the back porch. I fixed the hole in the fence, so there shouldn’t be any more coyotes.”

“Coyotes?” Mr. Yagi asks worriedly as Nakayama wanders off through the house. “Is that how Phantom was hurt?”

“Yeah.” You were worried the incident would put Phantom off the backyard, but she loves it just as much as ever. You have a feeling that’s got something to do with the thing in the house. “Like I said, I fixed the hole. What do you think of the house?”

You haven’t asked that question of anybody else, but Mr. Yagi’s opinion is one you’re interested in. “It’s quite – nice,” he says. “Very – lively.”

The pauses in his speech make you wonder if he’s holding in a coughing fit. He has some kind of lung illness. You’re not sure what it is. “Are you okay?”

“Your house.” Mr. Yagi coughs. “I can see why you purchased it. I can see that you feel comfortable and at home here. And at the same time, I understand Miss Nakayama’s use of the word “malevolent”. Something does not want us here.”

“Maybe it’s just me. I didn’t exactly invite people over.”

“I’m very familiar with your demeanor when dealing with a situation you don’t like,” Mr. Yagi says, and chuckles. He sobers up a few seconds later. “This darkness is orders beyond what you could emit. I don’t know how you live with it. It could drive a person mad.”

If this was somebody else, you’d gaslight the hell out of them. But you like Mr. Yagi, and liking him makes you honest. “I talked to people who’ve owned this place before. They said they felt like you do, or like they’re being watched. But I’ve never felt like that here. Watched over, maybe.”

“Watched over?”

You can’t tell him about the coyote. You just – can’t. “Maybe I’m imagining it and I just like the quiet. I believe you about the vibes. I just don’t feel them.”

“I see,” Mr. Yagi says. He looks troubled. You don’t want him to look like that. You don’t want to be worried about this. “Perhaps it’s just an old man’s musings, my dear. You have a lovely home. You should enjoy it.”

There’s a shriek from outside, and you barely manage to mumble an apology to Mr. Yagi before running to investigate. One of your coworkers is freaking out on the back porch, and frantically stubbing out a cigarette in the bargain. You’ve been patient, but the sight of the cigarette pushes you over the edge. “I thought I told you not to smoke here!”

“There was a thing!” Todoroki gestures frantically towards the other end of the porch. “I saw it. Right there. In the smoke –”

“Use your words,” you say. Something’s uncurling in the pit of your stomach, something you’re not all that eager to put a name on. “What did you see in the smoke of the cigarette you weren’t supposed to light up on my back porch?”

“A hand,” Todoroki says. “I saw a hand reaching for me.”

“Maybe it’s your guilty conscience,” you say. Todoroki is close enough that you can smell alcohol mixed in with the smoke on his breath. “Coming after you for inviting yourself to my house and breaking my rules.”

“Your rules are a little strict.” Nakayama slings her arm around your shoulders again. “Don’t you think?”

“No,” you say, sharper than you should be. “I think you don’t know how to listen!”

“Easy there.” Mr. Yagi slides into the conversation sideways. “Todoroki, our hostess did request no smoking. Very politely. And Nakayama, I’m sure you know that hosting an event can be stressful! Let’s go inside and give our hostess a moment to herself, all right?”

Mr. Yagi is hard to say no to, and Todoroki is eager to get off the porch anyway. Nakayama follows him in, and then you’re alone, seething with an emotion you’re finally forced to name: Jealousy. “Come on,” you say out loud, once you’re sure no one else could possibly be listening. “Of all the people you could show yourself to, you picked him?”

There’s no answer, of course. There never is, and after a while, you’ve got no choice but to go back inside and deal with all your mostly-unwanted guests. The bad vibes are infecting the rest of the party, and Todoroki isn’t being shy about whatever he thinks he saw on the porch. Pretty soon everyone is ready to leave. You think Mr. Yagi will be out the door along with everybody else at high speed, but instead he gathers everybody just inside the door for a group picture. “To commemorate the evening,” he says, but you get the sense he’s not telling the truth. Not all of it, anyway. “Everyone smile!”

Everybody smiles, you included – and then everybody scatters, including a few who are probably too tipsy to be driving. You chase after them, make sure everybody who’s drunk is riding home rather than driving themselves, and slink back inside, tired and frustrated. Your house is messier than you like it, your boss thinks you’re living in some kind of hell dimension, and the thing in your house showed itself to one of your dumbass coworkers and not to you. This evening has sucked.

Your phone pings with a message from Mr. Yagi. He’s texted you the photo he took of the group without comment, and when you see it, you see instantly why he wanted a picture in the first place. There are your coworkers, smiling with varying degrees of discomfort. There’s you, smiling because you’ll have the house to yourself again soon. And there’s the shapeless shadow, defying the light beaming directly onto it, hovering just over your shoulder.

There’s something in your house. You know that now for sure. It shows up as a shadow in pictures, but Todoroki saw it as a hand. Other people feel very differently about it than you do – or it makes them feel differently about it than you do. That’s the only explanation you can think of for why every person who’s set foot in the house has had a borderline allergic reaction to it, except you. There’s nothing special about you. For whatever reason, the thing in the house hates you less than it hates everybody else. Why? And why, if it hates you less than everybody else, did it show itself to Todoroki instead of you?

You’ve been thinking about it for a week. You’re thinking about it so hard that you’ve fucked up installing your front porch swing twice, and so hard that you don’t hear a kid calling out to you from the sidewalk. “Hey! Hey, you! Are you the new neighbor?”

The question snaps you out of your fog. You look up and find a girl who looks like she’s about twelve hovering at the end of the path leading up to your door, taking tentative steps over and then pulling her foot back. She’s holding a foil-covered plate in her hands. Behind her there’s an older guy, maybe in his late teens or early twenties. You’re older than him, but not by much. “Hi,” he says awkwardly. “I told Himiko not to shout. But shouting is so fun!”

His demeanor shifted completely between the first sentence and the second. “You’re Himiko,” you say to the girl, and she grins. Even from this distance, you can see that her teeth are oddly sharp. You turn to the older guy. “And you are?”

“This is my big brother Jin!” Himiko gives him a glowing look, then turns her attention back to you. “Now you tell me your name! That’s what people do!”

“It sure is,” you say, bewildered, and you make your introduction. Then you feel weird shouting at them from the porch, so you make your way down to the edge of the yard, still holding a screwdriver. “So you all are my neighbors?”

“Yes! The pink house just that way!” Himiko points it out. “We live there with Jin’s mom and his brothers and sisters!”

“Sorry it took us so long to introduce ourselves,” Jin says. Then that demeanor switch happens again. “We didn’t want to grace you with our presence until we were sure you wouldn’t cut and run!”

“Everybody leaves,” Himiko says, swinging on your front gate. “We made you cookies to say hi!”

“They’re the best cookies in the world,” Jin says, and Himiko sneaks in past the gate. “Don’t eat them. She still doesn’t know how taste buds work.”

That might be the weirdest thing they’ve said to you so far. “Oh.”

“Himiko, come back,” Jin calls, looking past you. “They didn’t invite us in.”

“I know! But – ooh.” Himiko breaks off midsentence with a shiver. Not the same kind of shiver as you saw from Nakayama when she was here, like it’s too cold – the kind you’d do if a spider walked across the back of your neck. “I just want to meet you! Jeez, calm down!”

“I’m calm,” you say.

“She doesn’t mean you,” Jin says, and a chill runs down your spine. “Himiko, come back!”

Himiko skips down the path back to the gate and steps through. “You should come visit us at our house,” she announces. “He doesn’t want us here.”

He. “What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t like to share,” Himiko says. She laughs, high and almost shrill. “I don’t need more people. I have as many people as I want! I have Jin and Jin’s mom and Jin’s sister and Jin’s brother –”

She’s not talking to you. She’s looking back at the house. “Who’s he?” you ask, and she smiles at you. “I’m not joking. I really want to know.”

“You know,” Himiko says. “Or you will, anyway. You’re his.”

“Excuse me?” Something inside you rebels at the thought. “It’s my house.”

“Yeah,” Jin agrees. Finally – a voice of reason. Or not, because what he says next makes everything worse. “You wouldn’t have kept it if he hadn’t let you.”

Himiko nods importantly, still smiling. Then she looks at you, and – “Um, did you just –”

“Just what?” Himiko asks, but you shake your head. There’s no way you saw what you think you saw. There’s no way her pupils closed vertically, almost disappearing, and opened again – like a blink, but not a blink, because eyes aren’t supposed to do that. “Come visit us, then! Everybody in the neighborhood wants to meet you!”

She pushes the plate of cookies into your hands and goes skipping off down the sidewalk. Jin gives an apologetic shrug, followed by a hyperenthusiastic wave goodbye, and follows her, leaving you standing just inside your front gate with a plate of cookies you’re now eighty percent sure are poisoned and even less of an idea about what’s going on than you had before. You decide, with a skill at compartmentalization that you’ve been honing since you moved in, to table it until you’ve set up your porch swing.

But after the swing’s up, you’re hungry. So hungry, in fact, that you pry up the foil on the plate and take a look at the cookies Jin and Himiko brought over. They look suspect. So suspect that you wouldn’t risk eating them unless you were starving, and even then you might try chewing off your own arm first. It’s too bad. You really could have gone for a cookie right about now.

But you’re an adult, and you have your own house, and a decent amount of ingredients in your pantry. Maybe cookies aren’t as out of reach as you thought they were.

One quick shower later, you’re in the kitchen, measuring out ingredients for your favorite cookie recipe. Back in the day you’d play music, or call somebody. Now you either talk to Phantom, talk to the thing in the house, or both. But Phantom is napping on the tiles on the front hall – her favorite spot on hot days, even though you have air conditioning and you like to use it. That’s a good thing. You and the thing in your house need to have a talk.

“You’ve got an attitude problem, huh?” Your opening lines with the thing in your house are never as polite as they probably should be. “I’m fine with you scaring my coworkers. I’m pretty sure I thanked you for that one. But those were my neighbors. I have to live with them. Or near them. And they seemed – nice.”

It gets quiet after that. Sometimes you can use the silence to convince yourself that the ghost is answering, just not in a way you’re able to hear. Sometimes you even imagine what the ghost is saying. Today is one of those days. “Okay, fine. They were weird. I still have to live with them.” But you have to live with the ghost, too, and the ghost apparently has some weird ideas about what’s going on here. “And while we’re talking about it, what’s this possessive shit? You think you own me? You’ve talked more to my twelve-year-old neighbor than you have to me, so you’ve got a lot of nerve talking about me like I belong to you.”

You’ve got no idea what the ghost would say in response to that, and you have to get out your dry ingredients. You head to the pantry and dig out what’s left of your flour, noting that you’ve got a new bag waiting, and go back to the counter. Except something happens to you midway there. You step into a cold spot, colder than anything you’ve ever felt in your life, and your hands go nerveless and numb like you’ve been flash-frozen. The bag of flour drops from your hands and splits open on the floor, letting up a puff of flour that climbs high into the air like a mushroom cloud. Higher than it should. But that’s not what you’re looking at. You’re looking at the two clean spots on the flour-coated floor, directly in front of you. Two clean spots in the shape of a pair of feet.

They’re not children’s footprints. Whatever’s in your house isn’t a child like Himiko – it’s an adult, like you, and it’s standing really close to you. Your eyes are drawn almost inexorably upwards through the already-dissipating cloud of flour. You’re looking too late. You almost miss it. But before the flour falls completely back to the floor, you see the outline of a torso, the slope of a shoulder. The length of an arm. And the shape of one hand, thumb and forefinger poised to flick against your forehead.

You react before you can think about it. “What are you, twelve?” You wave your hand through the air, trying to dissipate the rest of the cloud, resolutely ignoring the way you obliterate the shoulder, the torso. “Learn some manners.”

The cloud vanishes, and the figure with it. You could almost believe it had never happened at all, except for the pair of clean footprints on your otherwise flour-covered floor.

Sanctuary of Nightmares PT2

Platonic SB x GN Child Reader

Chapter Selection

Prev Chapter / Next Chapter

Tw: Mentions Of Abuse, Slight Blood

A/n: ayo wtf I did not expect any of y'all to actually enjoy this. 300 notes on the first part? Fucking insane. Anyway, I didn't sleep last night so guess what? Part two is out today baBY. Enjoy.

You continued to feel suffocated in this environment as you followed the bot through the crowds. You hadn't ever been anywhere this loud before, let alone with so many people in it. You felt wildly out of place, that at any moment someone would point you out as a stranger, that they'd notice that you didn't belong and they'd kick you out.

But no one did.

All seemed too worried about their own lives to notice you, even as you followed the bot with a flashing yellow light still on its head.

It led you through what you believed was a theater, though not one currently in use, before you found yourself right next to a huge play area. One absolutely crawling with toddlers and younger kids alike. The security bot continued to move towards a person who, without question, opened the door to the play area. You looked up to the person a moment, unsure of making any type of movement. It was after they gestured forward that you decided it best to enter. With apprehensive movements you made your way in, the door quickly shutting behind you. You turned back to see both the bot and human walk off, leaving you to your own devices.

You didn't move for a while, instead taking in what was happening around you. Kids crawled all over the jungle gym, their screams of joy ringing loudly in your ears. Across the room you saw running children and little play areas with plenty of toys. There was an art station, a ball pit, practically any fun activity a little kid could dream of was here. Yet you didn't feel like it was a good idea to step into the madness. No, you didn't belong there. Not among the laughing faces or the happy smiles. You didn't belong here- you shouldn't be here! No no, this was all wrong-

Your thoughts were interrupted by a terrifying surprise as, out of what you belived was literally nowhere, a certain jester dropped down in front of you.

"Hel-LO little friend! What are you doing over here?! I didn't see you come in!" He excitedly spoke, his face mere inches from yours. You jumped away from him, though your eyes never turned away. You stared in absolute silence with a look of clear terror on your face after having been spooked so badly.

"Friend? Can you hear me? Can ya?" He repeatedly asked as he continued to come closer. You leaned further away while keeping your feet planted in case your moving would upset the bot. You took a second to let your brain catch up before you slowly nodded.

"Well that's great news! I don't know how I missed y- Oh! I know, I know! One of the staff must have let you in! You didn't go down the slide! Of course, of course!" He nearly bounced with energy, full of joy after having solved his little puzzle. You continued to stay put as you watched the jester celebrate his little achievement.

"There's so much to do! So much to catch up on! You're late but that's okay! That just means you have to do everything faster-!..." He suddenly stopped his excited rantings, his body falling still as he stared at you. You felt your heart drop when he did so as a spike of fear overtook you.

Did you break it-?

"YOU'RE HURT!" He suddenly screamed and in reaction you quickly covered your face, the roaring sound shocking every sense you had. Suddenly you became light, your body pulled from the ground. You let out a whimper, terror rushing through your veins as your hands remained covering your face.

"WEEWOO WEEWOO! AMBULANCE COMING THROUGH!" The animatronic screamed as he quickly moved. His agility was a feat to behold as he effortlessly navigated around screaming children that all wanted his attention. He held you high above his head and quickly managed to make his way across the play area. It was a few seconds into this walk that you slowly uncovered your eyes, the sudden shock of fear only continuing to rise as you realized how high off the ground you were. You then clung to the animatronic for dear life, afraid that you might drop at any second. He carried you to a small corner of the playroom across the ball pit where a make-shift doctor office was made, though it seemed more like a pretend one than a real one. It had little chairs, a table, and plenty of typical medical supplies that were all brightly colored with childish designs covering them. There was also a lady fully dressed as a doctor sitting in the only big chair. She didn't look over to the noise Sundrop was making, then again she must have been accustomed to it by now. 

"Ms. Doctor! I have a patient! They require immediate help!" The excitable bot quickly explained as he placed you on the table next to her.

"Thank you Sunny, I'll be with them in a moment. Why don't you go hang out in the art corner? I heard a few kids needed more glitter glue" she suggested as she typed the last few sentences into a computer.

"A glitter glue shortage!?!" He shouted in a shocked tone before bounding off, likely to do what was asked of him. 

You sat with tense posture, the adrenaline spiking through your veins after that terrifying experience having been enough to skyrocket your anxiety. You were only allowed a few secodns to calm before the woman you knew only as Ms. Doctor finally turned away from her computer to look at you, a soft expression found on her face.

"Well sweetheart, where's it hurt?" She asked as she scooted her wheeled chair closer to you. Feeling a severe case of emotional whiplash from the bouncey yelling of the sun animatronic to the calm care of the doctor caused you to blink a few times as you adjusted to the difference. Even so your body once again leaned away as you were entirely distrusting of this stranger. Noticing this she grew a concerned look.

"Do you want me to call Sun back over?" She asked to which you very quickly shook your head. With that answer she let out a soft sigh. Not out of annoyance or anger but instead with a tired expression.

"Okay...will a sundrop candy help?" She asked as she reached into one of her many pockets before pulling out a small sphere-shaped candy wrapped in clear and golden plastic. You stared at the sweet treat for a moment, your body slowly calming as you looked between her and the candy. 

You very rarely ever had candy so any chance you could you had always taken some. This time though you remained still as you debated whether or not to take it. You didn't know the full intentions of the doctor nor why she was so calm after Sundrops excited yelling. It didn't take long before you lost your resolve, the sweet treat too much of a temptation to your sugar deprived life. With a nod from you she handed the candy over, your eyes following it the whole way. You almost didn't believe it was real when it landed in your hands, let alone when you unwrapped it. It smelled of lemon, a flavor you don't think you've ever had before. It was a hard candy too, a type of candy you've had very few of in your life. So you happily ate the candy, your comfort levels clearly rising as it began to melt on your tongue. The doctor gave you a small smile, seemingly happy to have calmed you.

"Now can you tell me where your boo-boos are?" She asked again, her voice momentarily pulling you from your bliss which raised your guard once again, though not as much as before since she didn't seem as dangerous now.

You pointed to your legs, her eyes finally trailing down and noticing the slightly torn fabric of your pants along with the bit of crimson that had clung to them. Her face twisted into concerned confusion, the jaggedness of the cuts something she wasn't expecting. The whole place was padded to hell, how had you managed to hurt yourself that badly?

Then again kids your age always amazed her with the myriad of ways they somehow always managed to hurt themselves.

"Alright, let's get you fixed up"

-

It was a few minutes into the bandaging and she had already given you three sundrops since you were a particularly skittish kid. She had managed to get wrapping around one leg, though not without some struggle as you pulled away at any sudden spike of pain. It was only after covering your first leg that she even realized your hands were cut up too, a fact that only made this slow process all the more agonizing. It was just after the second bandage though that a sudden call came to her phone. She sat up, quickly finishing the last part of the wrapping before handing you yet another Sundrop.

"I'll just be a minute" she quickly spoke before sliding away to her desk to answer the phone.

"Daycare, Ms. Zell speaking" she answered into the phone, the buzzing of a voice on the other side not heard by you over the sounds of joyful children.

"Again? Alright, I'll be there as fast as I can...yes I know I-...fine, but I'm going to need more people...alright, alright I'm coming" she then hung up the phone, a deep sigh leaving her before she turned back to you. She stared at you a moment, a look of contemplation on her face as she did so. It was after this moment that she slightly turned back to her desk before hitting a small button. It was barely a few seconds later when a certain sun turned up.

"You called!" He yelled, his voice startling you as it came from above your head. You turned to look only to see the jester hanging upside down from the netting of the daycare. The doctor looked up, her face more serious than it was before as she stood from her chair, grabbing a few tools along the way.

"There was an accident at Roxy Raceway again, they need me down there. Can you finish patching them up? They just need some bandages on their hands and they should be fine"

"Of course Ms. Doctor!" Sundrop spoke before jumping from his spot on the netting. Surprisingly there was no loud thunk as the metal animatronic hit the ground, as if he almost didn't weigh anything at all.

You did not like this arrangement. You liked the doctor, she was calm and it was easy to predict her movements. But this neurotic child's toy? It was impossible to tell what he'd do next.

Even in your discomfort you said nothing. You didn't believe you had any power to change this decision.

"Thanks, I should be back soon- oh! And uh, one last thing" she stopped herself from leaving for a final moment and pulled out a few extra pieces of candy before handing them to the robot.

"These should help while you're patching them up" and with that she walked off in a hurry, though not as fast as she would have liked as she didn't have the same ability as Sundrop when it came to swerving around running children. You kept your eyes on her as she left, almost hoping she'd turn around. That she would regret leaving you here, that she'd think twice about it, that she'd just turn the wheel back around and-...

She wasn't going to come back was she

"Alright! It's doctor time!" The bot happily announced as he grabbed a nearby doctor coat. It was mostly similar to the one the doctor wore except for the sun logo sloppily drawn in marker on all of the pockets.

"I am doctor Sundrop and I'm here to assist! Now, can I see your boo-boos?" He spoke in a highly overdramatic voice, his posture rigid and his hands behind his back. Though even in his attempt to seem serious he were very easily seen through, especially as small cracks in this serious facade broke through with short snickers.

Now, while he was still rather too over the place for your liking you did have to admit, his get-up was a little silly and now that he wasn't so incredibly in your face his child-like behavior was almost comforting. You hadn't ever met someone so boisterous and over the top before and while it was still incredibly anxiety-inducing, it also pulled on the reason that you daydreamed about the PizzaPlex in the first place.

To be a kid, to play, to sing, to mess around until playtime was over. You wanted nothing more than that. To be allowed to be a kid.

Yet faced with the possibility of it you hesitated...

Once again receiving no answer from you as you kept you hands close to your chest, Sundrop lost a little bit of his bubbliness. His posture fell and his hands along with it. Even though he didn't really have an expression you gathered that he was either confused or saddened. That was until he suddenly sprung back to life. 

If he was any more cartoonish you wouldn't have been surprised if a light bulb had appeared on his head.

"Oh! Right!" He spoke with a raised finger to further insinuate that an idea had formed before he then turned back to the desk and grabbed one of the left behind candies. He then quickly turned back to you with three candies outstretched.

"You like these right? Here! Just for you! I can even get more if you want!" He happily exclaimed, his face spinning with excitement. You stared wide-eyed as he handed you the treats, the sweets almost irresistible now that you knew what they tasted like. You looked between Sundrop and the candies before slowly taking one. You remained cautious though, just in case this was a trick. Once you did so his already excited mood skyrocketed. He believed he had made progress with you.

"More! You can have more! Do you want a fizzy faz too?! You like treats! I. Can get you more!" He swayed and slightly jumped as he talked. He seemed unable to stay in one place for too long when he was excited. Your eyes widened in surprise as he continued to outstretch the candies towards you. You hadn't expected to be allowed to have that many. You took the other two gratefully and with a look of astonishment that only furthered Sundrop's joyful state.

"Great! I'm glad you like them! Can I fix your boo-boo now? Can I? Can I!?" His hype level didn't seem to have a limit, though his excitability was growing on you. So, placing the candies next to you, you nodded, slowly outstretching your scratched-up hands to the animatronic. 

"Oh no! You had a big bad fall didn't you? Don't worry! Doctor Sundrop will make it all better!" He joyfully spoke before practically throwing himself into the wheeled chair of the doctor before him. Granted he didn't entirely fit as his legs bent and his head was way taller than the chair, but he did anyway.

Even though it looked incredibly funny

-

Due to the nature of hands you couldn't just put a bandaid on your scratches, so he had to use wrap-around bandages to help cover the cuts. Luckily he seemed at least a little experienced with fixing injuries as he knew where everything was and how to do it. He kept you distracted the entire time with little jokes, even more of the Sundrop candies, and, when you would get especially anxious, funny gestures. It didn't take long at all before you were fixed up. In fact, he was just about to finish the second hand when you let out a sharp wince. Something that most definitely shouldn't have happened considering he was no longer near your cut up hands, the end of the wrapping stopping at your wrists just to keep them more secure. He suspected there were more injuries so he went to pull up your sleeve. He didn't get that far though as you quickly snatched your hand away, an almost panicked look taking over your face. Something that was quickly mirrored in Sun's posture and he assumed he must have really hurt you.

"Sorry! I-I didn't- uh- candy! You want more candy?! I can do more tricks! Sorry sorry I didn't mean to hurt you!" He bumbled over sounds like a panicked child, his words genuine as he quickly attempted to find anything to make you feel better. Once you saw your panic in his gestures you immediately calmed, realizing that your panic only induced his own. You felt guilty in a way, as if you had caused him stress. That being said, you still didn't give your hands back to him. You didn't want him to see, you didn't want anyone to see. 

It only ever made things worse when someone else knew...

Seeing your calmed posture he calmed as well, though that only left confusion in his body language.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked, now unsure of his assumptions. When you slowly shook your head it only served to confuse him more. He tried to figure it out, to understand why you had pulled away, but he was truly at a loss.

"Can I see your hands again?" He asked with the utmost curiosity, only to receive another slow shake of the head.

"I-I promise I'll be gentle! I won't hurt you! I'll even pinkie swear on it!" He quickly spoke before outstretching his pinky to you. He was attempting to get answers to solve the sudden mystery before him, his hightened sense of curiousity not something easily dissuaded. Not to mention that if it was another injury he wanted to help make it better.

You thought on it a moment, his attempts to gain your trust having wilted down your initial apprehension towards him. Dispite his first impression he had a way of calming you down, of knowing exactly what you needed when you needed it. He had been gental with your cuts and had tried to keep your mind off them throught his time fixing them. Maybe...

Maybe it wouldn't be bad to let them see.

Maybe he really did want to help...

Slowly, and fighting your paranoid thoughts the entire way, you pinky promised with him, an action that once again caused bounciness in him. He did try to keep it contained as to not further harm your hand but it was still very visable. After you pulled away from the pinkie promise you kept your hand out so he could continue. Carefully and as gently as he's ever done anything he pulled up the sleeve you had attempted to hide behind.

He noticed a few bruises at first, a lot of them actually. He began to wonder what type of fall you must have had to gain this many. What he found most unfortunate though was the fact that he couldn't help with bruises. There were no amount of bandaids he could cover you with that would help with those. He was already saddened by this so by the time he realized what you had actually been trying to hide he practically froze.

Bruised onto your tiny body was a handprint. One too big to be a child's, one too small to be an animatronic. It was clear by the deep color that harm had been intended in whatever grip had caused it and the thought alone brought a horrible feeling throught Sundrops system. It was after noticing it that he looked back over the other brusis, now noticing fingerprints in a few of them.

The thought of what those meant brought a sickening, dreadful feeling through his wiring and it came with his own horrible memeories. Of losing control, of being forced into his moon state when he wasn't ready and not being able to keep the kids around him safe. Of failing to protect, failing to care for...

It was then that he looked back up at you, his permanent smile not allowing him to show the devastation that ran through him, a shock of pain that began to mess with his coding.

He would protect you, he would keep you away from the harmful humans that had done this to you.

No matter the cost

okay so Sun Help Wanted 2 rambles below, so BEWARE SPOLERS!!!

WOAAAAAAAAAWOOOAAAAAWOOOOOOOOOO

okay now that i have that out of my system, let's start with the rambling!!!

obviously we all now know (and love) how sassy and petty Sun actually is around adults. but i've seen sooo many people portraying Sun as just An Asshole and just A Bully and so few have pointed out that actually no!!!! he's a DIVA!!! he's a DRAMA queen!!!! my dudes, he is a former THEATER ACTOR!!!!!! and so so many things, like his mannersim, the way he speaks ("Finally, art that makes you THINK!" , "The Daycare is no place for AMATEURS" , "Be creative on YOUR OWN TIME, WE ARE MAKING ART"), even his entrance (he literally CARTWHEELS into the scene, what a show-off) point to his theatrical origins and how much of a perfectionist he is. He's obviously frustrated whenever you're doing something wrong, throwing offhanded, petty comments at you because he is used to perfection!! for i don't know how long during his theater days he was playing the main character in every play, day after day after day, he's used to things going EXACTLY to plan, and obviously he has expectations from you since you are an adult. (and besides, you gotta give it to him: it must be frustrating and stressful going from working as an actor and being in the spotlight all the time and everything going according to plan to working as a daycare attendant with crying kids who always do mistakes and make a mess and don't draw inside the lines)

and i'm pretty sure that anyone who's more intensly part of any art field (doesn't matter if it's drawing, theater, sculpture, architecture, whatever) has met a few people and crits who behaved and had the same attitude (however less unhinged, ofc) like Sun: not downright bullying you, but being just overall petty and perfectionists.

i just feel that some people downplay Sun's personality by portraying him as just a simple Asshole, when actually the Help Wanted 2 minigame does an EXCELLENT job hinting to his theatrical origins and his really art-passionate, perfectionist, sassy personality

"but he's shredding the player's work!! he IS just a bully!!" my dude, you are playing as an adult who's doing a tutorial/maintenace test and is listed with some tasks. he's obviously not going to keep the "paint-by-numbers" drawing a staff member did for a maintenance test. and he even states that all the artworks done in the Pizzaplex are property of Fazbear Entertainment; so who knows, maybe there is a rule that everything done during maintenance test should be immediately destroyed. (and still, he can also just downright be petty and sassy and snappy towards adults) still a funny gig, lol

anyways i fucking love how much character Sun displays and i fucking love how much of a drama queen and diva he is, can't wait to see the rest of the game!!!

This poor man 🥺

oh but can you do good things shigaraki addition??? plez

pairing: yandere!Shigaraki Tomura x darling!reader goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, angst

tip-jar: Kofi

He fears hurting you.

Not in the pretty love bites and itty bitty bruise or two or ten he gives you, but really hurting you.

He might end up giving you some more proper damage every now and again when you fight back or make him hunt you down after escaping, but he doesn’t really enjoy inflicting that sort of pain on you at all.

The thought of actually hurting you haunts him.

He’ll dream about it. Wake up shaking and in tears, wide-eyed and hyperventilating, unable to speak, and itchy like never before. And he’ll be afraid to look, the chills strangling him as he slowly turns to his head to where you ought to be lying. Dreading, with every knot in his gut tightening, the bed is full of dust.

But there you are. Pretty face still pretty on the pillow, adorable soft snores escaping you with a little spill of drool running down the corner of your mouth. And he breaks out into a cold sweat of relief, finally allowed to breathe again. 

Though guilt still haunts him where he lies awake thinking about maybe, just maybe… letting you go.

tip-jar: Kofi

virgins can have kinks too!

4.1 k words / summary - multi-chap posts of me experimenting with smut writing

warnings - piv, unprotected sex + creampies, virgin shiggy, college au, porn with minimal plot, partially clothed sex, BRIEF suicide joke, fem reader, 18+ mndi

~~~

If Tomura could go back and change any one thing in his life, it'd probably be how you two met.

Touya is messy enough to live with, now Tomura was forced to account for all the dirt-clodded shoes and unwashed hands of strangers coming into contact with his possessions. Those first hinting throbs of a headache were beginning to tease at Tomura’s pterion, and unfortunately his only access to water was blocked off by a thick weld of moist, musty athletes. Not that they intimidated Tomura, of course, they were just… an optional pain that he’d rather avoid. All their clunky terminology went over his head, and in his experience the people that Touya invites to his parties are not the inclusive type. What Tomura did understand was that they were perfectly posted up against their kitchen sink so as to be as inconvenient as possible; intending to verbally batter whatever unfortunate girl tried snagging from the fridge.

To be fair to them, though, tap water was Tomura’s backup plan. His initial objective was to sneakily steal a plastic bottle before returning to his room. All those were gone, which is sooo funny to Tomura because he’s certain that he just bought a forty pack yesterday.

Yet if Tomura were to point that out, Touya would just shift blame back onto his recluse roommate for knowingly leaving out water when he was inviting people over. So he doesn’t bother finding the stupid punk.

Similarly, he doesn’t so much as attempt either bathroom sink for water. One being annoyingly split off between the kitchen and Tomura’s room, and the other in Touya’s room. Touya’s room was a self imposed no-no for Tomura during their day-to-day, so he can’t fathom a reason to enter during the degenerate’s party. Judging by occasional thumps and ever shifting shadows beneath the gap, Tomura assumes the shared bath is in no better shape.

Right as he sets to retreat, his eyes zoom across their open floor plan -- all the way into the living room, honing in on two girls. One familiar from their shared mythology class, and the other entirely foreign. Himiko Toga is curled around the shoulders of the second girl, twirling strands of mystery girl’s hair with her long fingers.

Himiko greedily consumes all things cute, she chews them up and keeps them between her teeth to amalgamate with the next adorable target her sights set on. By the end of her life, she’ll probably puke up a cat-eared ball of pink glitter tied up with bows and proudly proclaim it to be her life’s work.

Currently, he’s watching Himiko chow down on someone that he, surprisingly, also finds cute. It's distracting.

Himiko lowers her hands until both arms are wrapped around your waist, nails burrowing into the material of your shirt. Her cheek presses against your shoulder, loose strands of blonde hair tickling up your neck.

Your neck strangely captured Tomura, then. Thick with your pulse and tissue, he wants to feel it pillow under his teeth. His lips are rough and chapped and suddenly all he can think about is how they’d feel scarring up the soft flesh of your jugular.

Himiko must be thinking that too because he watches as she turns cheek and digs her nose into the juncture of your neck.

Oh.

Tomura blinks himself free of the stupor and shakes out his hands, then wiping them dry against his pants. He didn’t think Himiko could actually hold down a relationship.

“Whatcha starin’ at, boss?”

Voice so raggedy and low, almost a staticky purr at Tomura’s back, he can instantaneously pick out who it is.

“Did you know Himiko had a girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Touya steps forward, eyes narrowed out into the crowd, “Where? I can’t see shit.”

“I told you to just get contacts, moron,” Tomura grumbles, then pointing as inconspicuous as he can (not very at all) towards their mutual friend still slithered around the unknown girl.

“Kid, that’s not her girlfriend.”

Tomura looks up at Touya, glaring through tangled, powder blue bangs, “You’re joking, right? I’m not stupid.”

“Seriously, it’s not,” Touya snickers, “Why? You interested?” when Tomura can only silently seethe up at the man, Touya grins: a sight more disturbing than reassuring, his teeth are too big and prominent, the bags under his eyes crinkle up weirdly, and it reeks of selfish glee. Touya jams out his index and middle fingers, waggling the index first, “Which one? Blondie?” then his middle, “Or new girl?”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” Tomura knocks down the man’s hand with a disgruntled scoff, “You’re mental.”

“We’ve been friends awhile now, no?” Touya stubbornly returns to pointing, “I’ve never seen you get worked up over a girl, it’s funny. So, which one?”

“It’s funny?”

“I’ll set you up.”

Admitting to the fact he’s got a beating heart and libido is so embarrassing, which leads to Tomura halfheartedly muttering, “If I had a thing for Himiko, I wouldn’t have told you first.”

“You’re cute,” Touya quips, reaching up to pinch Tomura’s cheek between black-painted nails -- pointedly ignoring the annoyed huff and swat resulting. He steps around Tomura to venture through the jungle of his guests, “I’m on it.”

Touya is one of the best, and worst, people that Tomura has ever met. Touya is bothersome and rude and sometimes downright narcissistic, but also headstrong. Touya decided the day his dad bought him this house that he wanted to room with the dork from his freshman year geography lecture. Touya decided that Tomura and him were best friends when Tomura helped him pass their aforementioned geography class. Touya decided last year that the pair should bleach their hair together for a laugh. Touya decided just now to be Tomura’s wingman.

His singlemindedness pairs almost lethally well with his sense of loyalty. It almost made Touya seem… admirable.

Tomura internally gags over the thought, quickly refocusing on real life where Touya is leading Himiko (who is leading her mystery friend via deathgrip on your hand) back towards the kitchen.

Himiko giggles upon seeing Tomura, “You thought we were dating?”

Nevermind. Touya is just as insufferable as he was three years ago badgering Tomura for his lecture notes.

“Be nice. You’re so touchy, I’m sure everyone thought we’re together,” mystery girl squeezes Himiko’s hand, then smiling over at Tomura, “But I’m totally single.”

Oh.

Touya’s the most direct, masterminded person Tomura’s ever met.

All that masterminding goes to utter waste if Tomura can’t wake up and relearn social cues, though. Touya jabs an elbow into Tomura’s gaunt side, ribs aching from the blow.

“Okay,” Tomura nods dumbly, swallowing the unease trapped in his throat and once again drying his hands against his sweatpants.

“If you couldn’t tell,” Touya yanks Himiko into his side and out of your hold, “So is he.”

Himiko whines and reaches out as Touya drags her off, the pair slinking somewhere deep into the crowd of thrashing, bumbling bodies.

“You don’t look much like the party type,” you hum, maybe a little unhelpfully. Tried and true method of flirting, however, is being just a tad mean. A less fluffy version of the tragic come here often? line is sure to crack this man’s icy exterior.

“My roommate,” Tomura flings a thumb over in the direction Himiko was hauled off, “He’s the delinquent, I just share the space,” suddenly the insides of his sweatpants are too hot, and so is the flimsy white shirt on his chest, “I just wanted water.”

Sweltering air beats from the center of his chest down to his ankles, even tickling up his neck. The longer you stare at him, the hotter his body feels. Scorching up his face too, burning away layers of dried, ungroomed skin to reveal every muscle twinge. Tomura wants to both comb his hair back and hide behind the strands (most of all, though, he wishes he’d bothered brushing it whatsoever before making his venture). Being so trapped between either option makes his brain short circuit until he’s, rather bashfully, tucking hair behind his ear like some blushing ingenue.

Thankfully you don’t appear troubled by the sight, instead grinning wider and even laughing at his admission (Tomura likes your smile: lips giving prominence to flattering teeth, balls of your cheeks plumping, and lashes fluttering. Definitely more lovely than Touya’s). You fold your arms, “Poor thing. You probably don’t wanna be stuck out here, huh?”

Insecurity visibly crawls along the downward twitch of your lips, your brows furrowing. Tomura stares at you, committing each divot and angle of your body to memory. By the time he’s finished, he realizes you’re waiting for him to respond.

“Yeah…” he mutters lamely, scratching at the crackled film of skin over his chelidon, then smoothing a thumb into the depression as his heart hammers up his throat -- pressing a disarray of words against his palate. They linger by his uvula, gagging him into stunned silence, until he can finally choke out an uneven, “Do you wanna go back to my room?”

As soon as the question was in the air, buzzing unattended between your faces, Tomura wanted to claw out his eyeballs. Maybe rip out his tongue, too. Such gore would surely erase any memories of his implying he thought he had a chance with you. That was far preferable to the disgust about to cross your face.

Except, that disgust never comes.

Alternatively, you nod, “Sounds fun!”

Tomura kept his area tidy enough. A stack of bowls, two cups, three empty Dr. Pepper cans, and a single Maruchan ramen cup on his desk. A lump of clothes he’s procrastinated washing carefully lines the edge of his bed. But that was all, really.

He wanted his room to be livable, and if he felt so childish as to be proud of it then he liked the sight of his uncluttered carpet. How easily he could make the trek from bed to computer to door (and, of course, the desultory detours to his bookcase or closet) without tripping on trash or abundantly strewn clothes. If he felt further inclined to childishness, Tomura even congratulated himself on maintaining a room cleaner than Touya’s.

Even despite the stacked bowls and cups on his desk and emptied soda bottles cluttering his desk legs.

None of that is sufficient anymore. He’s inspecting your face like it’ll burst open with an alien race for any sign of judgment. Cautiously, Tomura kicks a tangle of loose shirts under his bed while you’re distracted ogling his decorated shelves.

“You like Omori?” your question startles him from kicking a pair of boxers under his bed.

“Huh?”

You’re pointing at a lineup of four acrylic stands -- not the complete set, Tomura only burdened his wallet with purchasing the main party over including Basil and Mari -- on the top shelf of his bookcase, “Omori, right? I didn’t think you’d like that type of game.”

“Do I not look like I would?” he doesn’t know why that inference hurts his feelings. Shamefully, he cards his fingers through his knotted hair, slotting more locks behind his ear, “I played it a long time ago. Now I’m too busy for anything else story-driven, so I’m mostly on League. Or Overwatch if I feel like killing myself.”

“You don’t look like you like suffering, I guess is what I meant,” you draw your bottom lip up between your teeth (he hopes it doesn’t sting, he wants to kiss it better if it does), “But knowing you play Overwatch…”

“I try to avoid it,” Tomura prays his self-grooming is subtle, or at least lowkey enough for you to not notice as you continue browsing his various knick knacks and figures, “You game?”

“Eh, RPGs usually. I don’t like working with others when I play, it makes me nervous to screw up.”

“That’s cute,” he doesn’t mean to say it aloud, honestly. Two measly words small enough to slip through his pursed lips. Two words big enough to ruin his night.

“Think so?” but you’re… smiling again.

“I guess,” Tomura’s eyes shift quickly over to his pillows. Are they soft enough? Should he flip them over? What the hell is fluffing, and does it actually do anything?

“Are you usually this shy? Or am I special?”

Not often does Tomura feel truly helpless, but your incessant teasing pairs lethally with your fluttering lashes and painted lips. He wishes he were more accustomed to conversing with strangers, especially pretty strangers that were interested in him. Part of him wants to believe that if you’re attracted to him now, you’ll be stubborn enough to stick out whatever cluelessness he bumbles out -- but he doesn’t. He simply cannot bring himself to buy that.

“You’re making me nervous, like I’m about to puke.”

“Flattering,” you join Tomura on his bed, soft knee nudging his, “I hope you don’t. It’d kinda ruin the mood.”

He’s terribly unable to keep the casanova impersonation up, though, “What mood?”

You throw your head back and laugh. Hearty and full and so mortifying for him, worse are your next words, “You know why people go into private rooms at parties, right?”

“Uhh…”

“You do. I do, too. That’s why I came back here, you know? If you only wanna talk, that’s fine -- you’re fun to just talk to! But I came back here ‘cuz I want to have sex with you, if you want to, too.”

Tomura can feel that dreaded heartbeat climbing up his chest and into his gullet again.

“You’re forward…”

You shrug, “I know what I want.”

Tomura claws at his sweatpants, chest aching and fingers numb from how your eyes are zeroed on him. He nods slowly, racketing another giggle from your chest -- you lean closer, your hand brushes his.

“Yeah?” you coax a hand around Tomura’s far shoulder, swiveling him to face you.

A rattle and hum from his ceiling fan gurgles the sound of his reply, you hate it.

From the shape of his lips, you can make out his agreement. With no specific intent and only a general sense of lust to guide him, Tomura leans into your touch. Snatching his hands, you shuffle his palms under your shirt, sifting the flesh up your warm belly until they’re cupping your tits. He squeezes blindly, teetering closer along his mattress. Finally, you strip off your top -- then greedily going for Tomura’s as well. He contently allows it, even lifting his arms to grant the removal.

“You’re so pretty,” Tomura noses at your neck, hot puffs of air warming your skin, “Can’t believe you’re actually here.”

His hands are soft from a lax life, if slightly clammy with nerves, and they feel nice squeezing around your hips. Tomura dips his pelvis downward, keeping your thighs scooped snug around him -- bonus for the momentary relief of pressure against his aching groin. His fingers bow beneath the waistband of your skirt until your own are tethering his in place.

“Can I leave the skirt on?” your thighs tighten around Tomura’s slim waist, you tilt your head so your soft lips press against his cheek, “Its kinda hot. To me.”

Tomura rolls his shoulders, whole body shuddering at the request. He nods with clenched eyes, digging his nails into your skin -- he likes your idea more than he can put into words (granted, his tongue may as well be superglued to his teeth right now).

“I can do that,” he manages to scrape out, drawing his fingers down the bunched material of your skirt and up your thighs, “Can I take these off?”

“Please,” you cant your hips up for Tomura to yank off your panties, he bundles them in one hand and stows the other where the material once laid. You swear you hear him whimper at the contact.

His fingers dance up your slit, gentle massaging that intensifies upon introduction of his thumb on your clit. Tomura drops your underwear off the side of his bed and uses the freed palm to work off his sweatpants, but just before he can snap the drawstring -- he stops completely.

“Wait,” he pants, “Hang on. Don’t move.”

Tomura runs out like he’s caught fire, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him and leaving you splayed on his mattress.

He returns with a fist curled around something, and determination written in the lines of his face. Replacing himself between your thighs, Tomura hides the contents in his hand under the pillow beneath you. Before you can shoot any questions, he’s lifting your skirt and lowering his chest to the bed.

As if he can sense the curiosity burning away your mood, Tomura hurriedly buries his face in your cunt.

One gasp is stuttered short by another, Tomura flicks his tongue inside you with a groan. Pulling back only to spit on your clit, the liquid bubbling down your slit until it catches on his prodding fingertips -- your thighs jolt around his shoulders at the act. Middle finger worming into you with ease, Tomura’s burdened by the vestige of Touya’s hand on his shoulder and husks into his ear.

Yeah, condoms are in the top drawer. You need advice?

He’d been uneasy initially, nodding uncertainly, but Tomura’s grateful now.

Just as he’d been instructed, Tomura curls his middle finger and screws the pad up until- your knee knocks into his skull and he keens at the rough treatment.

“S-sorry,” you stammer out, chest arching up.

Bypassing your apology, Tomura flattens his tongue on your clit and slithers a second finger inside you. Surely by tomorrow, his arm will be sore with the work he’s pushing through, but he’s equally sure it’s worth it as you clamp around him and seize.

Strumming your gspot in time with your clit, Tomura loses himself in the thought of how your snatch would feel around his cock -- grinding against the marshmallow mattress below to relieve the pressure. Your only relief is how he greedily sucks your clit; he lets you grab his hair with both hands and roughly tug him to and fro. He lets you fuck his face, eats it up in earnest.

Prying your thighs back from his ears, Tomura shoves his sweatpants down and reaches under your head. Pulling back a foil square that crinkles with each nervous shake of his hand. Tomura’s plain black boxers soon crash to the floor as well.

“Hey,” your voice pipes up meekly, a little slurred after your orgasm. Drowsy eyes half-lidded and even sweeter on him, “Can you, uh…”

Tomura’s burning hot, flushed and vaguely sticky; bangs slickened against his face with sweat and cum. His breathlessness axiomatic of how little composure he could maintain, “What?”

“Don’t…” a shyness that now seems bizarre overtakes you, your fingers curl into his palm and unfurl the condom from his grasp, “You shouldn’t… I wanna feel you.”

He blinks down at you vapidly. So stupidly blank he's immediately ashamed of himself for blanching at your plea.

“You want it too, right?” you reach up and paw at Tomura's shoulders, “You wanna fuck me raw?”

“Uh-huh,” again dumb.

Tomura spares that response no reconsideration, instead preoccupied by holding your thighs open to nudge his cock into you. His tip bobs at your clit in the first few jerks, but his thinly construed patience is rewarded on the third attempt. You tug on his hair as Tomura humps into your sex.

He whines upon feeling that first squeeze and suck of entering your cunt, his pelvis itching up against your clit with every thrust. Blunt nails carve into the fat of your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer -- Tomura’s cock carves deep into your gut, hot and heavy. Chapped lips sear up the length of your neck, his chest squashing against yours, he teeths at the lump of your pulse and lathes the thumping point with his tongue. Budding his knees right beneath your ass, Tomura burdens the tops of his thighs against yours. Then wrapping your waist with both arms, continuing to suck your soft skin between his teeth.

Tomura gasps as the warmth of your hands finds his back, rolling lower and lower until you’re actively pushing him closer. He likes this -- loves it, even. He’s horrified to know he could’ve been having sex his entire college career and simply didn’t.

He’s further horrified that perhaps he’ll never have sex again when you leave (but mostly, he’s finding that he just doesn’t want you to leave).

“Be my girlfriend,” delirious, he’s babbling into your ear, whining and shuttering and smothering your body with his, “Be my girlfriend…! Wanna fuck you every day-- need you every day. So fucking warm and soft, all perfect for my cock,” Tomura pulls up from your neck to kiss the thin stretch of skin over your collarbones and treading to your breasts, “Like you’re made for taking it.”

What you want is to have the mental cognition to respond to him kindly, but what you have is a mushy brain and a flourishing climax scorching through your body. Grey matter melting into the bowl of your skull as Tomura kisses and pants into your tits.

“Tomu’-!” is all you can manage to squeal, nails digging jagged red lines down the man’s back.

“You cumming?” he reaches between your bodies to incise the pads of his fingers across your sodden clit.

A final push into your sensitive body, the attention spiking your head back into his pillow. Faintly, through the rush of dopamine pumping through your extremities to where your hanging mouth is expelling wanton wails of Tomu’! and yes, God! and cumming!, you can hear Tomura. You can hear him chuckling low and deep with ecstasy, “So pretty when you cum. Squeezing me so tight, too. You like me that much?”

He whines unexpectedly, wrenching both hands to your hips and branding the imprint of his calloused palms there.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he grits his teeth, scratchy throat puking up pulpy, disjointed moans of your name and fuck, fuck fucks, “I’m gonna cum,” he latches onto your tit, muffling his pathetic mewls as your legs lock him in your cunt (trembly and weak as they may be), “Cumming, cumming- ! Fuck!”

Stilling above you, Tomura chokes out soft breaths and murmurs of appreciation as he cums. Sincerely thanking you as his spend paints your insides. Collapsing on you once his balls are empty. Tomura barely has the wherewithal to roll onto his side in order to avoid overheating you under him.

A rattle and hum from his ceiling fan regains your attention, but this time it doesn’t seem too bad. You can’t find yourself to be very annoyed, even when the music pumping from outside vibrates Tomura’s bedroom door. Above those sounds, the one you appreciate most is the soft pelting of Tomura’s breath against your neck; damp with a mixture of sweat and his saliva, and sore from his incessant teething.

“Did you mean it?” you’re probably being mean, asking such a layered question so immediately after his release.

“About?” his voice is raggedy, sharp to a bladepoint -- if you couldn’t see the dazed, awestruck film over his lidded eyes, you’d mistake him as trying to be rude.

“Me being your girlfriend. Did you actually mean that? Or did your dick have the braincell?”

“Oh,” Tomura pushes onto his elbows, arms shaking, his hair drops over his face and this time you’re the one to brush it behind his ear. Despite cumming in you minutes ago, he blushes at the gesture and looks at your bruising neck rather than your eyes, “I guess. I don’t have a car, so I can’t drive you around for dates.”

“I can take the bus, you know,” you laugh at how Tomura’s face suddenly sours at your words.

“As if I’d let my girlfriend take the bus by herself. Do you know how many freaks go on that thing?”

“‘Cuz you’d know.”

“Yeah, I’m one of them,” the giddiness rising in his chest over your giggling at his jab quickly overtakes his face, cheeks burning with a proud smile. Tomura hides his face in your neck, “I guess it’s up to you.”

“It's up to me if you were serious or not?”

Quietly, he hums, then rasps out something you could construe as a joke if you didn’t care so much about how he felt, “I only open to begging in the sheets. Being desperate to date the first girl I fuck is so pathetic.”

Which is so insane to you because you met this man only a few hours ago.

A broiling affection that builds between the slats of your ribs, bricking off your lungs and heart just to cook them up hot and gooey and primed for the man on your chest. At least Tomura’s burgeoning crush could be reasoned away with the fact he’s a recent ex-virgin (not like you, with visitors running rarer than Tanzanite).

Still fluttery and alight with the wash of your orgasm, you give your heart the braincell and nod sluggishly, “Yeah. I want you to be serious.”

Decidedly, you spare no mind how you two barely know each other.

TOMURA SHIGARAKI MADE THE TOP 3 IN THE FINAL COMMUNITY BNHA POPULARITY POLL!!!!!!!

Followed by Dabi in 4th, and Toga in 6th ✌️🖤

Give Your Heart a Break - Chapter 2 Tomura Shigaraki x reader series

You can find chapter one here

Notes: So I want to clarify that in this fic, a major theme about Tomura's story is that he suffers from a lot of untreated mental illness. I'm representing him as someone who's undiagnosed Bipolar, but also experiences symptoms that boarder schizophrenia, such as the voices he hears and he'll eventually have a psychotic episode at some point in this story. I know this feeds the "Bipolar and psychotic people are evil" stereotype, but I have these mental illnesses and see Shigaraki as someone who could very much have untreated Bipolar disorder (type 1 specifically), regardless. Most anime characters aren't written to be bipolar lol but I have a list of reasons why I think he has the potential to be. Maybe I'll make a post about it someday.

Summary: Tomura is so goshdarn determined to find his lil gamestop crush and thanks to him conveniently seeing her debit card he casually stalks her on the internet

Warnings: 18+ minors don't interact, cliffhanger, mildly dark content, internet stalking, creepy Tomura, Tomura and y/n only talk over the internet in this chapter, i wrote Tomura's thoughts but it's not from his direct POV. They are highlighted in blue, like chapter 1 Tomura hears voices and sometimes they can be nasty - they are highlighted in red, Shigaraki is kind of soft in this fic, very scott pilgrim kind of humor, edgy and derogatory humor but it's satirical, Tomura has his English Dub's voice (pre Paranormal Liberation Front), not proofread yet

Notes About Reader:

everything from chapter 1 applies

she/her pronouns

relatively active on social media but makes content private

reader is a WEIRDO

I made the reader's username mine lol

As said, she's very based off of me

reader experiences unspecified mental illness and has been to a psych ward in her past

she laughs very easily

"*your full legal name*"

Tomura considered the possibility that you may be using someone else's card or that you didn't go by your legal name but he was sure it was a decent place to start. His heart was racing so hard to find out who you are. He wasn't sure what struck a chord in him when he saw you. He supposed it was cuz you're pretty, but he really didn't know anything about you other than you're spooky, like anime, and like his hair.

He immediately started searching for your name on his phone. It wasn't hard to find your Facebook, though your privacy settings didn't let him see much other than profile pictures. You seemed somewhat outgoing from what he could tell.

There was a directory about you online, and he guessed it was you based on your age and location (he saw your location on FB lol). Now he knew your address..

the internet is so nice to him sometimes :)

It took him a little bit of digging but he found your other socials outside of Facebook. All private, though. Fuuuck.

Fuck it, follow.

Tomura never showed his face on his socials and never ever ever put his name. She wouldn't know it was him.

"But now she has to approve it :("

*bugsinmybrain accepted your follow request*

:)))))

Tomura swore that he felt as if he had unlocked a fucking treasure chest. You were so very flashy, that's for sure. A lot of pictures of you, decorated with some cute stickers that were edited in, or surrounded by anime dudes.

"Tenko"

"Fuck off."

From what he could tell, you were a geek. Very nerdy and interested in things, though that wasn't a bother to Tomura. He was a fan of a lot of shit. You were also very pretty. He then stumbled on some posts you'd made about heroes. How you thought their system was corrupted and that they'd neglect people and dismiss those who they thought were worth sacrificing. Mmm, you're speaking his language.

You didn't appear to be any kind of villain, you couldn't be so outgoing on the internet if you were, but you were certainly feisty.

He wanted to message you. He knew it would be weird and he didn't want to creep you out, but god he wanted to talk to you. He wanted to know more about you. To be honest, he really wanted you to give him your undivided feminine attention. When you spoke with him at GameStop he felt warm. Love at first sight? Possibly. Is he that much of a fool?

His social anxiety made him almost want to watch you outside your window before messaging you online anonymously. rrr.

"whatever."

him: hey, do you remember the blue haired guy from GameStop?

you didn't answer for two hours.

Tomura tried to not care if you responded or not but he was boiling hot and itching anxiously, wondering if you had actively ignored him. But you didn't unfollow or block him, he checked many times.

her: omg yea

!!!

him: is your name (y/n)? that's what your card said. sorry thats creepy af but i kinda wanted to talk to you so I looked you up.

He wasn't even attempting to not be a stalker at this point. What else was he supposed to say? There's no way to cover the fact that he has a crush on you or something.

her: yea that's me. i noticed you peaked at my name so it's ok lol. what's your name?

"fuck"

he wasn't supposed to say anything like that online. He's a piece of shit, yea, but a part of Tomura didn't want to lie.

"Tenko"

That's a name he heard often. For the last couple of years he began experiencing frequent auditory hallucinations. Hearing "Tenko" was one of them. Sometimes they'd tell him to stop or scream at him or strangely enough, they'd be calm and nurturing to him. It drove him crazy sometimes.

Whatever.

him: Tenko

her: why did you want to talk to me?

him: that's an awkward question

her: why?

him: i guess it's not. you look cool and said shit about hating heroes. is that a good enough reason?

her: LMAO

i suppose

him: do you play any video games? I saw you go to the anime section...

"She'll know that I was creeping on her"

*deletes that last sentence*

him: do you play video games? you came into gamestop after all lol

her: i play but i'm not very good at any of them

"of course she isn't"

him: what games do you play?

her: league of legends

him: omg are you kidding me?

her: no

him: do you wanna play with me? like. right now?

her: sure??

score.

You were trash at league. But somehow it was charming seeing you try your best, though your efforts were very frugal. Normally seeing someone so bad in his game would make Tomura pissed but he gave you a pass. At the moment, he was more worried about getting to know you than the game itself. So he tried all he could to get you to talk, he loved your voice.

"I'm going to assume you're very new to this?"

"Yea."

"How new?"

"I've been playing for maybe 3 months."

"That long and you're still shit?"

"I know I suck," you say defensively. As if you could hear the things in his head.

"You kind of do, not going to lie."

It wasn't long after that you got essentially gangbanged by three enemy players with no hits back.

"FUCK"

The loud cussing in his headphones made Tomura jump, but he couldn't help but start to chuckle violently.

"Feisty bitch ain't she?"

"She wants to suck your cock."

"Shut up..." Tomura growled under his breath.

"Did you just tell me to shut up??" You ask, though chuckling while you did.

"What? No, no. Sometimes I just have really bad thoughts that come out of nowhere. I have to like.."

"Tell them to be quiet?"

"yup."

"I've done that. Like actually, though. I'll just start thinking of the most wacked out thing, and it comes out of no where. Sometimes I knock on my head to get rid of them, hah."

I guess a spooky looking gal like you being mentally ill isn't a surprise to him. Your ability to relate to his situation was still comforting, though. Especially because he almost expected you to get uncomfortable when he told you about having "bad thoughts." Some girls may think a freaky looking dude like him having "bad thoughts" meant that he was some homicidal villain.

oh wait

"Really? I've had it happen to me all my life, but for the last two years I've like...heard voices, I guess? Sometimes the thoughts aren't even thoughts, they just happen. And I'll hear them, in voices that aren't mine. Also forget all of that, I'm normal and you're very bad at league."

The giggle that erupted from you shot an infestation of butterflies inside his chest. You seemed to think he was very funny, which is something that frankly turned him on. Throughout your call he was able to make you snicker from saying the dumbest shit. He prayed you weren't just faking it.

"It's ok. You'd be surprised how common that is. Doesn't make it any easier though, I'll say that," you reply, hoping to ease his nerves. You could tell even over voice call that while he spoke very easily about his hallucinations, he had a level of shame for them.

"No. It doesn't. Who made you a psychiatrist, anyways?"

"My six stays at the psych ward maybe," you retort.

"sexy."

"Excuse me, Tenko?"

Oh right. That's his name right now. Fuck, he wanted to see you in person. He felt like he'd be able to be more of an open book that way. He'd still need a story though, fake name or not. You probably thought you were just talking to some geeky gamer boy with blue hair and possible schizophrenia, but little did you know, you were talking to a facilitator of multiple acts of mid-level terrorism. Hey, but if it was all in the name of "Fuck Heroes" maybe you'd still laugh at his jokes.

"Sorry that wasn't very feminism of me was it?"

"No, it wasn't" you said as you wheezed in laughter.

"You like my edgelord jokes, don't you?"

You kept laughing, now somehow he had pulled a couple of snorts out of you too.

"fat pig."

"Want to take a trip to 2016? I bet Leafy would love to make fun of autistic 12 year old's with you."

He swore that you were probably crying from how hard you were laughing. He wished he could see you on camera right now, but hearing you blow out his ear drums with your annoying yet adorable little laugh was good enough for now.

"Am I going to have to come resuscitate you?" Tomura cackles, now feeling himself starting to laugh.

"Your voice is cute."

"Liar."

"I'm not!"

"Someone once told me I sound like I'm a prison bitch cuz of how hoarse my throat is."

"wow."

"Done with the jokes, got it."

"I know, right?"

"I just think it's cute, you're very expressive."

*this is Tomura right, now by the way*

"Does that mean that uh..you think I'm cute?" he pesters with the widest smile on his face, though you couldn't see.

*que jeopardy music*

Goodness, you certainly had a girlish charm with the way your mellow voice would start chirping with laughter. He didn't think flirting should've been this easy, but you were very impressionable.

"It it ok to say yes?" you asked sheepishly over call.

"Ehehehe~!!!" Tomura squealed, mocking your giggles.

"Shut up!"

"Am I going to have to come and rescue you? You sound like you're running out of air," he asked almost genuinely, as he held back a cough.

"Do it, pussy, you won't."

"Oh really?"

"Uh-huh."

"Would you be mad at me if I told you I know where you live?"

"Excuse me?"

"Not my fault. Blame yourself for being an on-the-grid person. The internet is dangerous, didn't you know?"

"Are we officially stalker-stalkee now?" you joked.

"Yea but my hair is blue and my voice is cute so it's ok if I stalk you, right?"

"Oh my fucking god."

"So, can I come see you?"

"Huh?"

"In person. I could be there in like half an hour. You live near me."

"Tenko, it's 10pm."

"Would you get in trouble? Do you live with parents or something?"

"Yea."

"I could pick you up and we could walk back to my place."

Now, dear readers, would you accept such an offer from a complete stranger at almost midnight, absolutely alone with him? After he has admitted to lowkey stalking you? You shouldn't!

However, we, the reader, are ignorant to common sense when we receive the slightest crumb of positive (?) male attention.

"Sure."

"teeheehee!!" Tomura teases. "Keep your eyes pealed, then. Thirty minutes, okay?"

"omg i guess."

"omg ok, what flavor of Monster do you drink?"

We got new babes to the crew ! ✨✨✨✨

Nsfw drawing

Just a naked shiggy 👌