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My Hero Academia - The Ultra Stage | RAITA being adorable af as Tomura Shigaraki at the encore/curtain call, rehearsals and backstage (2/2)

more:

iida - 1 / 2 / 3

bakugo - 1 / 2

todoroki - 1 / 2

kirishima - 1

iidaroki/todoiida - 1 / 2

backstage - 1 / 2

shigaraki - 1

Always the writer, never the reader.

My Hero Academia - The Ultra Stage | Best of RAITA as Tomura Shigaraki (½)

bonus from the bows coz this is so fun to watch

more:

iida - 1 / 2 / 3

bakugo - 1 / 2

todoroki - 1 / 2

kirishima - 1

iidaroki/todoiida - 1 / 2

backstage - 1 / 2

Tbh i think it depend xD he can def be good but if he don't give a fuck 'bout you it's all gonna be for his pleasure xD but he can be 😔✋

Shiggy from mha

Please reblog for a larger sample size.

Shiggy from mha

Please reblog for a larger sample size.

Uninvited

Shigaraki x F!Reader smut

Warnings: +18 MINORS DNI! Dubcon(ish just to be sure), breaking in, fear, mention of blood, possessiveness, toxic relationship, manhandling, readers mouth is covered once, oral sex (m.receiving) penetration, rough sex, creampie

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi

Synopsis: Having run away from your ex over a year ago, your life is pretty tame until breaking news informs of a prison break in Tartarus. You’ll have to be careful, because your ex is one of the escaped criminals

Word count: 5.0k

After getting home from work and showering the day off, you slip on some comfy clothes and plop on the couch. Rain patters on the windows of your dark apartment. It trickles down the glass in thin rivers, creating a peaceful ambiance in the otherwise idle evening. Pulling a soft blanket over yourself, you turn on the TV and start surfing through channels. 

It’s past 21 pm, which means that the Friday night movies are on as well as history documentaries on heavier subjects. Pondering what to have for a snack, when you suddenly come across breaking news about a prison break that took place earlier the day in Tartarus.

For most people it’d just be unsettling, but your heart jumps up your throat as the mugshots of the notorious villain group, including their leader, your ex, pops on the screen. Horror spreads on your features as you correct your posture and study Tomura’s picture.

His hair, white as snow, hangs messily on his shoulders. There’s a coldness in his crimson eyes, the hue of them resembling a pool of blood. He wears a rather emotionless expression, however, determination seems to radiate from him, like he had already planned on how to break free when the picture was taken.

You quickly turn off the TV as if it’d make the disturbing news vanish from existence. Getting up in an agitated manner, you bring your hand over your mouth and pace around nervously. 

The reason behind your fears was because you basically ran away from him. Not because you didn’t love him, quite the opposite. He simply grew too ruthless, daunting and he focused on goals that drove you further away from him. Your reasonable words or bitter tears hadn’t been enough to convince him to abandon his life as a villain and eventually you had to accept that your love for him had to end. 

But Shigaraki is a man who rarely if ever takes no for an answer. He simply refused to let you go, grasping your chin on a firm hold that was either intentionally or not– more threatening rather than convincing. His eyes bored on yours, subduing you possessive words and fear that chained you to his fierce love. 

Then a few days later, the Paranormal Liberation Front was arrested. 

Using the opportunity to flee, you applied for a program that arranges new identities for those who wish to cut ties with villains. Such people are often relatives, friends or love interests. That is how you ended up in another city, far away from him. 

As you recall the past from over a year ago, you stop to stare outside into the rainy night. Wanting to believe that Shigaraki has other priorities than you, his controlling tendencies convince you otherwise. Your life is most likely in danger and the wisest move would be to take off. 

Suddenly your phone vibrates on the sofa table, causing you to cringe. Warily moving closer to it, you become more nervous when it turns out that it’s a private number. Your hand trembles as you reach for the device, deciding to answer it. 

“H-hello..?” You stutter.

“Good evening, Y/N. It’s detective Tsukauchi,” a friendly voice greets, making your shoulders slump in relief.

“Ah, good evening detective,” you reply politely. 

“So I assume that you heard the news?” He asks.

“Yeah, I did,” you respond with a troubled tone, which he hears. 

“Are you okay? Has there been anything odd happening today?”

“No, but… Truthfully I’m a little worried,” you confess while glancing outside as if looking for something– or someone.

“I understand. However, I called to let you know that we checked their visitor- and phone records from Tartarus and it seems likely that they are regrouping with Re-Destro somewhere in the north,” he explains calmly.

“Really?” You ask hopefully, since your location was in the opposite direction.

“Yes. Nothing suggests that Shigaraki is after you. Also, we have every pro-hero and the entire police force searching for them so hopefully we catch them soon. I believe you can sleep peacefully tonight,” he adds. 

“Oh. That’s a relief to hear. Thank you so much detective!”

“No problem. Just make sure to contact the police if something strange or out of the ordinary occurs.”

“I definitely will. Have a good night!” 

Hanging up the phone, you place it on the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh. Taking a seat on one of the barstools, a smile forms on your lips as it was silly to think that a danger could be behind your door at any moment. 

Then there’s a knock on the door. 

Whatever easiness you felt, fades into the air as your heart jumps, your fearful gaze immediately focusing on the door. Other than the landlord, no one else, not even your family, friends or relatives know where you live. 

Someone knocks again. Swallowing thickly, you slide off of your seat and with silent, cautious steps approach the door. Reasoning in your head, you tell yourself that if it would be your worst fear, he wouldn’t knock. He’d simply force his way in. 

With the beat of your heart in your ears, you carefully look through the peephole. To your surprise no one seems to be there so you venture to open the door and peek into the empty hall. 

A sudden bang causes you to yelp and whip your head in the direction of the sound, noting that the internal door swings. Apparently it hasn’t been closed properly so you swallow and sneak down the hall to close it. Just to be sure, you take a cautious glance outside into the outer hall, determining that no one seems to be there either. 

Closing the door, you head back into your room, pondering that perhaps your mind was just playing tricks and distorting sounds to fit the occasion. Quite inconvenient, you think and shake your head a little. As you enter your dark apartment, you don’t anticipate the hand that suddenly covers your mouth and stifles the scream that tries to come out. Someone shuts the door as a strong arm drapes over your waist.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” It’s Twice who holds you in your place. 

Suddenly you manage to discern shapes of people around you and as a blue flame ignites in the palm of the PFL’s arsonist, your resistance is immediately tamed.

“Look what we have here,” Dabi comments with a derisive tone and a lazy smirk on his stapled face. 

“Dabi you’re scaring her,” a voice that no doubt belongs to Mr. Compress.

“So? She’s cute like this, don’t you think so too, boss?”

Your whole body reacts to the title and you begin to tremble when Shigaraki emerges from the shadows. The blue light contours his features eerily and colors his red eyes in purple. Dressed in all black, his hands are stuffed in the pockets of his pants and his white hair is tied in a loose, messy bun on the nape of his neck. Stray strands frame his face and forehead and he appears almost condescending, glaring down at you for what seems like the longest seconds of your life.

“You gonna behave?“ He finally asks. Tears prickle your eyes as you nod hastily. Shigaraki glances at Twice who takes it as a cue to remove his hand. You gasp quietly for air with wide eyes, a tear rolling down your cheek as you stare up at Shigaraki who seems unaffected by your distress. 

“We’re gonna crash here for the night. I assume you don’t have any objections,” his gruff voice says. 

It’s more of a statement rather than a question, which you answer with another hasty nod. After noting your consent, Twice loosens his grip on you, “That’s great, thanks Y/N!” 

Someone switches on the under cabinet lighting in the kitchen and the threatening atmosphere changes immediately. Your eyes flutter and you venture to glance around confusedly. 

“Do you have any food cause I’m hungry!” Toga whines, opening the fridge while Twice starts to go through your cabinets, presumably in search of something to eat. 

“You guys, it’s rude to go through someone’s cabinets!” Mr. Compress reprimands, in which Dabi answers with a sneer.

“As rude as breaking into an apartment?”

“Hmm, there’s not enough food for all of us,” Toga wonders out loud.

“Ahh, I’m starving,” Spinner groans, leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter and briefly burying his face in his hands. 

Aware of the crimson eyes still staring at you, you don’t dare to comment. Instead, your gaze cautiously trails up at Shigaraki to confirm his stern look. Although it doesn’t differ much from his usual emotionless state, which makes it impossible to interpret what he plans on doing with you. 

“Toga,” he suddenly calls, not turning his eyes away from you. The blonde skips happily next to him, “What’s up, Tomura?”

“Use your quirk and go get us something to eat with Y/N. Make sure she won’t try anything funny,” he commands, voice husky and low to eerily insinuate a punishment if you defy him.

“Sounds fun! Let’s go!” She replies, grabbing your hand and already pulling you towards the door. 

“She’s gonna get us food?! Be glad you don’t have to shop for clothes because we have spare ones! Twice comments.

***

You slowly push the cart down the aisle in a troubled manner, even though Toga has taken the form of some poor girl whose blood she had spared. She’s lively, chattering away while adding random items to the cart, albeit you notice that she avoids security cameras quite skillfully. 

“...And then Tomura told us we’d come over to your place! How great is that!” 

You smile nervously, “Y-yeah. About that.. Did Tomura say anything about me..?”

She hums pensively and fiddles a carton of tomato soup, “Hmm, not really. I mean, he did tell us that every plan we have will be put on hold until he finds you,” she points out.

“R-really..?” 

She laughs shortly, “Can you imagine! He even decayed an entire cell block in Tartarus when he heard that you had disappeared– and that was when he had quirk-canceling cuffs on!” Your face turns pale and your eyes widen. 

She places the carton back on the shelf and grabs a can that you don’t– or more likely can’t pay attention to what it is. 

“He also said that he’s gonna make sure you’ll never run away from him again– or something like that,” she says and adds the can in the cart. 

“But other than that, nothing special, really!” She smiles widely and you can tell she’s being genuinely oblivious at the impact of her words. 

“..Right..”

***

Arriving back home, you open the door and come across a somewhat disorderly scene. TV is spouting loud as Dabi switches channels, his feet rudely lifted on top of the sofa table. Mr. Compress and Spinner have a rather passionate conversation about what show they should watch, but Dabi dismisses them both with casual snarky comments. Twice has found a bag of chips from your snack stash and he sits on the floor, munching them gluttonously. 

Some of your drawers and cabinets are open as they clearly have been rummaged, probably in hope to find something useful. Apparently they had also found your spare mattress from your bedroom as it’s laid out on the floor along with some pillows and blankets. They all have taken a shower as there are some clothes scattered on the floor, some placed in a careless pile near the bathroom. 

You blink and stare at them rather dumbly, whereas Toga skips to join their lively conversation. Then your eyes trail to suddenly notice Shigaraki in the middle of the room, facing the kitchen area, but looking at you from the corner of his eye. He wears a black t-shirt with black sweats and his wavy hair is a little moist after having a shower. His stern look intimidates you into realizing to close the door and hurry up inside.

Carrying the groceries to the kitchen counter, Twice suddenly notices you, “Oh Y/N, you’re back! Sorry I ate all your chips, but I was really hungry,” he shows you the now empty bag while Mr. Compress rubs the back of his neck in an embarrassed manner. 

“Yeah, sorry about the mess by the way too,” he apologizes.

“That’s.. That’s alright– I’m just gonna prepare some dinner for you now.”

“Thanks for that. None of us knows how to cook anyway,” Spinner points out.

You flash him an insecure smile before rolling up the sleeves of your thin hoodie. While starting to slice up some onions, chili and carrots, you listen to their conversation that at some point turns into bickering and back. But whatever banter they throw at each other isn’t really with ill will, more like a habit of talking that they’re accustomed to. It’s always been endearing to you, the way a random group like them have managed to form bonds that they should’ve had with their families. 

***

Soon the room fills with a delicious scent as you fry some garlic and vegetables. Adding some spices, soy sauce as well as chicken and noodles, you keep stirring until cooked perfectly. 

After notifying that the dinner is ready, it’s probably less than ten seconds when it’s being scooped on plates. You smile a little amused, but notice that Shigaraki isn’t having any of what just so happens to be one of his favorite dishes. Twitching your lips, you presume the reason as to why, but then decide to get out of the way and tidy up a bit. 

Picking up discarded clothes, you put them in a washing machine and hang their coats on a drying rack. Then taking a bucket and a mop, you wipe the floor clean from some muddy shoe prints. 

“Oh, by the way, Y/N?” Dabi suddenly calls from his spot on the couch.

“Yes?” You respond, looking at the flame villain, who dangles your phone between his slender fingers.

“Don’t bother to look for this. I’m gonna take good care of it while we’re here,” he grins.

You show him a sheepish smile, “Oh, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you say and pay attention to how Shigaraki begins to eat now when everyone else is already bringing their empty plates to the sink. Just like you thought, he lets his comrades have their fill first and he settles for what’s left. 

It makes your heart ache with yearn, remembering how thoughtful he is to those he cares about. You sigh and continue cleaning, pondering that his thoughtfulness most likely doesn’t extend to you anymore. 

After wiping the floor, you take care of the dishes and kitchen counter. Scrubbing the plates and utensils clean, you notice that the mood has become more carefree as the villain's dessert consists of alcoholic beverages. Watching some TV show, they throw amusing comments, for example about what the TV host is wearing. Relaxing a little, you believe that now when everyone has their stomachs full, they’ll soon drift into slumber.

But then your eyes meet with Shigaraki, who’s sitting on an armchair. His elbow on the armrest, he leans his cheek on his fist and appears still somewhat cold. But then he taps his thigh two times, wordlessly commanding you to come and sit on his lap. 

Not even considering disobedience, you interrupt your task and wipe your hands on a kitchen towel. Walking up to him, you carefully place yourself on his lap as he pulls your legs over his own. Bringing his hand on your thigh, he caresses softly with featherlight touch. 

He seems to be relieved to have you in his arms and you don’t wanna ruin it. Instead, you hold onto the silence as neither of you participates in the carefree blabbering that everyone else keeps up. 

Shigaraki then presses his nose on your hair, breathing in the sweet scent of your shampoo– a habit he used to do when you were together. He keeps stroking your thigh gently, but soon it turns more sensual as he adds pressure. Serenity slowly changes into what you’d describe as an impatience as he nearly palms you, and it’s barely appropriate among other people. 

“We’re going to bed now,” he says to you, but doesn’t tune down his voice. If others around hear it, they pretend they didn’t. 

Except Dabi. He observes you getting up with Shigaraki, who grabs your upper arm tightly as if you might run away if he didn’t. You walk before him towards the bedroom and the arsonist sneers while sipping his drink, knowing perfectly what’s about to happen there. 

“Shigaraki–” Spinner suddenly calls and the white-haired villain glances over his shoulder at his comrade, who advances rather seriously. 

“Her screams could attract unwanted attention,” Spinner points out quietly. A hollow feeling appears in your belly as his ominous remark doesn’t reveal what exactly will be the cause of those screams.

Shigaraki shows a cold grin, “How brutal do you think I am?” He asks and pushes you forward into the bedroom, following after and not staying to hear his comrades answer. 

The door shuts and Spinner turns away awkwardly, “I’m gonna assume very..” he mumbles to himself.

As you’re left alone with Shigaraki and he turns his gaze at you, you bring your arms over your chest in clear discomfort.

“.. W-what happens now..?“ You ask fearfully.

“We’re gonna have a little chat,” he takes a few steps closer to you, “And then I’m gonna fuck you.”

“Okay..” You agree without hesitation, but that hollow feeling in your belly grows into a bottomless pit. Your body has not forgotten how rough he likes it and considering the circumstances, you assume that he’s not gonna be mindful of your comfort. 

Your hand wraps around your forearm, nails sinking in the skin uncomfortably, “S-so.. What do you wanna talk about..?“

“Aren’t you gonna hug me first?” He asks like it should be obvious to you. You blink as he pulls his hands out of his pockets, spreading his arms just a little, “It’s been such a long time since we’ve last seen each other,” he adds nearly sarcastically.

You quickly correct your mistake and walk into his arms, wrapping yours around him. Pressing your cheek against his chest, you can hear the calm beat of his heart. Though his collected demeanor doesn’t really mean anything as he’s perfectly capable of doing horrors without even flinching. 

“You’re scared,“ he suddenly points out.

“..Mmm,” you mumble. 

“Why?”

“..I just.. I’m worried that you’ll.. hurt me..” You whisper with a barely audible voice. 

Shigaraki lowers his gaze down at you, “You think I’d be capable of something like that?“ 

You look up to meet his indifferent expression, “W-well.. I just figured you’d be angry with me for.. Running away.”

“Angry–?“ He repeats with a husky voice. There’s an ominous tone to it and it sends shivers down your spine. He then presses his forehead against yours. 

“I’m fucking furious with you.”

You should run, but you don’t budge. Mainly, because he has already proven that running away from him is futile. So whatever he plans on doing to you, you accept it as the consequences of your actions. 

But then he unexpectedly presses you against his chest and kisses the top of your head, “But I could never hurt you,” he says. 

You inhale a shaky breath, tears threatening to form in your eyes. He isn’t dismissive of whatever it is that you fear him doing to you, instead he convinces you with another kiss on your forehead. 

“You could never do anything to make me wanna hurt you,” he slowly kisses down your nose, stopping at your lips as if waiting for your consent. 

You know you shouldn’t, but silencing the reason within your head, you lift your gaze, your noses touching briefly before he presses his chapped lips on yours. Almost like your body melts into him, your arms feel weak as you wrap them around his neck. Deepening the kiss, his tongue slips into your mouth to rub against yours. Slow and sensual, but it’s still more affectionate rather than lustful.

As you part away, your hands slide down his firm chest and you look up at him wistfully. He brings a hand on the side of your neck, brushing the skin tenderly before tucking a few strands behind your ear.

“So have you fucked someone else while I was in prison?“ He suddenly asks. Heat rises on your cheeks as well as in the tips of your ears and you realize that someone as possessive as him is bound to ask that very question. 

“..No,“ you reply sincerely, but the look in his eyes tells that he needs more than just your denial. So you swallow, moistening your throat.

“I didn’t run away cause I didn’t love you anymore. I ran away because I was scared,” you confess honestly, which makes him lift his chin up a little. 

“You’ve become so much.. The whole nation reacts to everything you do, because you can throw this world into chaos at any time,” you explain and look up at his lack of reaction.

“It was just too much,” You add quietly.

There’s a short silence between you before he replies, “I see.“ 

You avert your gaze elsewhere in shame, thinking you should’ve handled it better, “I’m sorry.. I-.. I think that perhaps we should discuss about us.. our relationship and what happens next,” you suggest. 

“It can wait,” Shigaraki states and you blink.

“It can–?”

“I heard what I wanted to know,” he rubs your cheek and looks at you intensely, “I’m done talking.”

His voice is deep, drenched in something between primal and impatience. It makes your cheeks burn as a shy smile forms on your lips.

“Oh..” 

He leans in to capture your lips in a kiss that’s much more forceful than the previous. His tongue slips into your mouth again, rubbing yours messily, dominatingly as if showing that he’s in control. You whine into his mouth as he unzips your hoodie and removes the garment off of you. 

Momentarily parting away, he hastily pulls your top over your head and starts planting open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Hand sneaking into the back of your head, he gently grips your hair. 

“You gonna let me fuck your disobedient little pussy?” he whispers harshly into your ear. 

“Y-yeah..” You whine needily, hands clutching his shirt.

“Atta girl. But first–“ He suddenly tightens his grip on your hair and yanks, making you look into his eyes that gleam with condescension, “Get on your knees.”

Your eyes are hazy, glossy lips parted as his compelling tone sends a jolt of heat down your core. Showing him an obscene smile, you keep your hooded eyes on him and slowly sink on your knees. 

Shigaraki lowers his sweats to free his hardened, aching cock. It throbs in need, making you lick your lips hungrily. Grasping the base of it, you open your mouth and close your lips around the tip.

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, sighing in both relief and pleasure, “Fuck yeah..”

You swirl your tongue around the tip, spitting on it and planting sloppy kisses. It’s messy, hot as you take him in your mouth and start bobbing your head back and forth with a teasing pace. 

His chest heaves, groans reverberating in his throat as he feels your soft tongue rubbing the underside of his cock. Your mouth emits squelching sounds, cute, arousing and your moans send pleasurable vibrations down his length. 

“Fuck.. That’s a good girl..” His praises rush straight in between your legs, making your walls burn and ache in need. You hum contentedly, saliva dripping down the side of your mouth as you greedily take him deeper. 

He moves his hands on both sides of your head, blunt nails scratching your scalp, “Nnh.. I almost forgot how good you are at sucking dick,” he groans in pleasure and you respond with another wanton moan. 

He fucks gently into your mouth, observing as his cock moves in and out. Your glossy lips wrap around his length so good, he becomes more forceful in greedy desire for more. 

“Yeah.. Fucking take it..” He grunts, thrusting deeper. Almost hitting the back of your throat, you gag and pull away for air, but Shigaraki only grants you a second before forcing you to work on his cock again. But you don’t mind and keep moving your head to meet his thrusts. 

“Fuck, baby you’re so hot like this,” he means every word as drool dribbles down your throat, on your chest and in your cleavage. Your panties are soaked, pussy dripping as you’re ready to take some cock. Squeezing your thighs together, Shigaraki notices your attempt to try and cherish that frail vibration of pleasure. 

He pulls himself out of your mouth, “Get up,” he commands, gripping your upper arm and lifting you on your feet. Your mind is cloudy as he roughly pulls down your pants and gets rid of the rest of your clothes. 

Tossing his shirt on the floor, he crashes his lips on yours, hastily backing you towards the nightstand. You barely maintain balance and almost stumble on your own feet, but his strong hands grab your waist and hoist you up on the stand. 

Spreading your legs for him, he wraps a hand around his cock, giving himself a few relieving pumps before lining it with your dripping hole. You shut your eyes as the head of his cock slowly stretches your walls and sinks inside. His intrusion makes your pussy twitch as your body tries to accommodate his size, but it takes a lot of effort.

You hold onto his scar-littered arms for comfort as agony floods you, “T-Tomura..” You whimper.

“Ssshh.. I know,” He shushes, holding you securely in his arms. He knows that it always takes a moment from you to adjust to him.

As your hands loosen their grip, he moves his hips slowly, subtly going deeper after each thrust. Your little sobs turn into moans and bliss spreads on your features as his cock hits that sweet spot inside you. 

He starts to thrust steadily, panting in pleasure while watching your inner lips wrap around him tightly. Your slick coats his cock as it moves in and out of your warm, wet pussy, rubbing him so fucking well. 

Your brows are furrowed and lips agape, moans falling down your lips. Squelching sounds echo across the walls of your bedroom as your juices leak down the curve of your ass.

Suddenly Shigaraki leans in and places his hands flat on the table, securing his posture as he starts slamming into you mercilessly. Your moans turn into choked cries as he releases a year worth of pent up frustration on your body. The nightstand rattles from the sheer force of his thrusts, your breasts bouncing as he keeps fucking you ruthlessly, hot breath fanning on your scalp as he pants in pleasure. 

It’s too much. The pleasure builds up in you like a coil that’s close to unraveling. Another tormented moan rips from your throat as he slams into you harder, abusing that sweet spot so sinfully that it has your vision blurry.

“I-’m… I’m cuming..” You whimper pitifully.

“Yeah, cum for me, baby. Cum all over my fucking cock.“

Getting closer and closer, your toes curl and you cry out, reaching the blissful high. Your walls clench around him, body shivering in pleasure as the orgasm washes over you.

“Hnngh.. Fucking cute,” Shigaraki grunts and suddenly lifts you up and places you down on the mattress. Adjusting his position in between your legs, he starts ramming his cock inside you again.

You throw your head back and poorly suppress the moan that escapes your throat. Your walls feel sensitive, still pulsing in the aftermath of your orgasm, but he keeps abusing your pussy in clear need to reach his own high. He’s relentless and rough, pounding into you faster and harder, using your little hole to get himself off. 

You keep panting, nails scratching his muscular back and leaving little trails, his pace beginning to be too much for you.

“P-please.. T-Tomura..” you whine into his ear.

“I know baby.. Nnghh.. I’m almost there,” he huffs.

As his muscles begin to tense and his thrusts turn sloppy and erratic, you know he’s close. Sinking your nails into his shoulders you cry out as he finally slams deep into your sore pussy. Teeth gritting, he releases his warm seed in steady spurts on your used, sore walls. 

Panting loudly, he shudders and holds still for a moment, taking his time to empty himself inside you. You caress his back while trying to catch your breath, eyes half-lidded for being utterly exhausted.

As he descends from his high and gently pulls out, a mixture of his sperm and your slick dribbles down your gaping hole. He lays himself down next to you and pulls you into his arms to rest and bask in the afterglow. For a moment neither of you speaks a word, but then you remember the subject about your relationship. Yawning, you glance at the alarm clock and it’s midnight. 

You shift a little in your place, “..Is it a little late for a serious conversation about us..?” You mumble, lids feeling heavy as you’re ready to fall asleep.

Shigaraki kisses the top of your head, “Yeah. Go to sleep,” he says and you smile wearily, drifting away into peaceful sleep. Unbeknownst to you though, Shigaraki has already decided that you’ll pack first thing in the morning and leave with them wherever they go.

A little horny thought I had last night.

Warning: Smut, Voyeurism, Masturbation (Tomura), Foot humping (Reader), Praise kink, Daddy kink

——————————————————————

Thinking about watching Tomura masturbate. Him, sitting in his computer chair slowly stroking his fat cock and you planted right next to him straddling his foot. His red eyes bore into you as he's watching you watch him. Every now and again he taps his foot, sending sweet vibrations to your clit. Your arms are wrapped tightly around his leg as you stare up at him with those doe eyes. Those eyes he can't ever seem to resist.

"Such a good girl, watching your daddy get off like this… You seem to be enjoying this more than me."

He darkly chuckles, his hand speeding up making his back arch and his eyes shut.

"You wanna see me cum so bad, don't you, baby?"

You quickly nod and he stares down at you once more. Precum slowly oozes from his tip as his movements become targeted, precise. He taps his foot again and you start grinding against it, peppering kisses along his knee. You worship this man, there's no part of his body you wouldn't touch, kiss, suck. You didn't care how horny it made you look or how desperate you seemed. You were desperate. Desperate for him, for his touch, his words, his gaze. It was like he was dipped in honey or made of sugar. You just had to get a taste. Even if that meant consuming him whole…

Tomura didn't stop moving his foot this time, probably in an attempt to have you cum along with him. Your grip on his leg tightened as you moaned out his name. He reached out and grabbed your chin, guiding your eyes back to his. He panted and groaned but that didn't stop the smile that spread across his lips. He was eating this up. As his climax built, his eyes struggled to stay open, them fluttering shut every now and again. He was close, too close. And yet so far. You leaned into his hand and placed a small kiss against his palm. That was enough to send Tomura over the edge, thick, white ropes of cum gushing out from his dick and onto his shirt. You both watched as it fountained out against his stomach, your orgasm following in suit. You both sat in the moment for a while before you continued to plant kisses along his palm.

"What a good girl you are. I think you deserve a reward…”

——————————————————————

This is 😔🤌

Office Life (Shigaraki x Reader)

Just Shigaraki awkwardly fantasizing about the cute receptionist who works in the same office building as him. You guys let me know if you like this quick “imagine” format for when I don’t have a full fanfic idea.

Smut. 18+. Violence/Blood (not Reader’s). Gender neutral Reader. Dubcon.

Shigaraki, who never had much interest in sex before, when he was so busy with the League and the war. Sure he jacked off to hentai every now and then, but the thought of having real life sex with a real live person didn’t really enter his brain. 

Until now. 

Shigaraki, who is fresh out of prison and working a dumb office job as part of his “rehabilitation”. Who is ignored and avoided by most of his coworkers because of his very publicized past. 

Shigaraki, who just can’t understand why you’re nice to him, why you smile at him so sweetly, like he’s an actual human being and not a monster. Why you, the cute receptionist from down the hall, keeps coming into the office he works in with five other men, desks all lined up neatly. 

Shigaraki, who likes that you look at him and acknowledge him, but sometimes has the irrational urge to show you how terrifying and monstrous he can be, to make you fear him the way everyone else does.

Shigaraki, who sometimes has violent fantasies about you that he will never act upon. Like today when you come into the room to share cookies you baked and brought in to the office. You, having such an obvious crush on him that even a socially inept weirdo like him can tell, blush and smile shyly when he takes a cookie from the box you hold out to him. 

Shigaraki, who has no idea what you could possibly like about him, but feels a little smug that the rest of the guys in the office are clearly jealous. 

And as you move toward the back of the room handing out cookies, constantly glancing back to see if he’s eating his, as if wanting his approval, Shigaraki’s dark fantasy takes over again. 

He imagines standing up from his chair and moving through the room, decaying each man in turn, most of them still holding their dumb fucking cookies, only to reach the back, where you’re cowering in a corner, trembling with fear as blood pools around your feet. 

You turn around to look at him, terror in those big wet eyes of yours, and then the pleading starts. He imagines you begging him not to kill you, babbling promises to not tell anyone, confessing your love in some desperate attempt to win his favor. You’re still clutching your frilly pink box of homemade cookies in your shaking hands. 

In his fantasy, he has perfect control over his quirk at all times, and with no effort at all he can decay the clothes right off your body, leaving you naked and vulnerable in the room full of bloody chunks. And you drop the cookies in your shock, trying to cover yourself with your hands. 

He won’t allow that. He’s wondered what you look like under your clothes for too long. And so he roughly pulls your hands away, getting an eye full, before shoving your back onto the nearest desk, spreading you open and unbuckling his pants. 

In this fantasy, you always struggle at first. But after he starts fucking you hard, you begin moaning his name, wrapping your arms around him, looking up at him with teary eyes and blushing cheeks as he rails you. 

Shigaraki, who snaps back to reality when you walk by him, the scent of your floral perfume drawing his attention. You look at the uneaten cookie in his hand and a flash of sadness crosses your face. He hurries to take a bite, and tries to give you a smile that isn’t creepy. 

You smile back, and he knows for a fact he will never, ever act on his worst impulses with you. Because far more than his desire to show you how much of a villain he can be, he wants you to keep smiling at him. 

And someday, maybe he’ll stop being a fucking coward and ask you to go to a movie with him. 

Shigaraki is a missionary man you can’t tell me otherwise.

He likes the whole power dynamic of putting you on your back and being on top, crowding into your personal space, giving you nothing else to focus on but him. Does he like the other positions? Sure. He’s not exactly going to turn down sex.

But his favourite is you pressed beneath him, panting, gasping. He loves being smug about how you ‘had so much to say before’, and watching as embarrassment forces you to hide your face in his shoulder. He likes your faces being so close, noses brushing and foreheads touching. He likes your sounds in his ear, the messy, yearning kisses that you give him. He likes being able to hide his own face in your chest when he’s about to cum, and the way your hands move over his body and your legs lock around his hips to keep him inside.

He’ll act like missionary annoys him because he has to do all the work, and like the only reason he agrees to it is because he wants to see you squirm (which is also true). But ultimately, shigaraki craves missionary - he craves the intimacy of it all.

𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

Could be seen as a continuation to All of It, but the idea came from @tenkomura, bc when am i ever not thinking about something she said

Maybe you hate your younger self for being so naive.

Perhaps its because you cling to the memories of before, when everything was so much simpler and All For One was commanding Shigaraki to act. When he messed up, or when you messed up, All For One simply caressed your heads in such a comforting way that the loss felt like nothing.

Oh, how you loved him. Everything was so much easier when it was him. Yes he was the future, yes you were the symbols of fear, but to you he was just Tomura. Its the silent understanding that you both had, that even though the entire world was against you and the cause it was okay because you were together.

He loved you, it didn't need to be said. Even when the league expanded, it was still just you and him. Not to say he doesnt care for the league, because that would be a lie. But the love he has for them pales in comparison to the love he holds for you in the crevices of his heart. Its heard in the blood pumping in his veins and its sung in the whispers of his calm breathing when he's with you.

But you're villains. Villains don't get an ounce of peace. So when the league has ended Overhaul's short lived reign, and everyone's stopped and caught their breath. You sit with him in silence on the side of a bare highway that you'd been walking.

Maybe its foolish, but you follow him like a dog. You watch as Shigaraki opens the case of quirk erasing bullets. He stares. Almost like he wants to test if it works.

You sit next to him, sat shoulder to shoulder now. He simply says "If I erased my quirk, we could be normal." And you don't need to be a genius to know what he means, he means if he didn't have decay he would have a home. If he didn't have decay he wouldn't be All for One's subject of interest, id he didn't have this damn quirk he could be normal with you.

Would there even be a you though?

"Hm, maybe." you supply "You wouldn't have met me though, and I would trade any chances of being normal if it meant i got to be with you." you say, and Shigaraki stills.

"I... I think I would too." he smiles, its a crackly smile that makes blood speck on his lips that you just want to kiss already.

"When this is all over, lets go on a date. Okay?" you ask, your eyes now gazing up at him with hope.

Shigaraki's eyes widen, and looks to the quirk erasing bullets and quickly shuts them. "You promise?" he asks almost eagerly, and you hold up your pinky "pinky swear!"

Oh you fools.

Which is what's left you to stare at Shigaraki's tube. His body floating in the liquid endlessly for whats felt like years, but you know its only been a month or two. You feel so naive for ever thinking it would just be over, because of course its never over.

He would be the new holder of all for one. Because fate stops for nothing and no one, not even love. You hate yourself for being naive enough to hope that you would ever get to love him peacefully. You hate him for not realizing when you did that All for One was using you both. You hate All for One for taking your lives away from you.

This would never be over, Shigaraki will never give pinky promise kisses again, and he'll never build redstone farms for you when you get too frustrated and rage quit. He's never going to reach out for you again, and you're going to spend the rest of your life reaching for someone who's never going to reach back.

You press your head to the glass and cry. The doctor is used to your sobs though ans has grown to ignoring them, which you suppose is a win. But it still doesn't soothe the ache in your chest as you wish for everything to be different, and you pray every night that this is a bad dream. You pray that this is a nightmare and that night Shigaraki did use that quirk erasing bullet. You pray for this to be a bad dream of his and he never developed decay.

Because you would never trade your life with Shigaraki for normalcy, but you love him too much to watch him do this. You wished he would trade you for normalcy because loving him through this and always is simply too much.

Skin Hunger - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

There's no such thing as a good night at work when you work in the world's most infamous brothel for monsters, but your night takes a turn for the worse when you find yourself serving drinks to visiting half-vampire Shigaraki Tomura. You don't mean to catch his interest, and you don't mean to start a conversation. You definitely don't mean to get him drunk. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 1

The ringing of one of the dozens of bells on the wall in your boss’s office startles you out of the reverie you’ve fallen into. It isn’t much of a reverie – you were daydreaming about getting out of here, like always – but at the sound of the bell, you snap to attention. You know what a ringing bell means, even before your boss looks up at you from behind his desk and gives the order. “Suite Twelve needs a mop-up. Get to it.”

You check the floor plan out of habit, and your heart sinks. “Suite Twelve is still in use.”

“And? Clearly they aren’t ready to let the party end, and they’re paying by the hour.” Overhaul shrugs. “It’s not your concern. All you need to be concerned with is not interrupting, and we both know you’re capable of that.”

You bow your head. “Yes, sir.” The warlock looks away, back down to the grimoire he’s studying, and you risk another question. “Who was in there tonight?”

“That’s Chrono’s concern, not mine,” Overhaul says. “Why don’t you go find out?”

You know a dismissal when you hear it. “Yes, sir,” you say again, and you step out of Overhaul’s office, your glamour already settling over you.

A glamour is small magic, and as the lesser variety of half-fey, it’s all you’re capable of – but it’s enough to make your job easier, and to make you Overhaul’s go-to for dealing with disasters in progress. Other maids are obtrusive, no matter how hard they try not to be, and going into a room with a session in progress means risking their lives in addition to the worker’s. But your faint glamour allows you to slip in and out of the rooms unnoticed, clearing away the messes and the injuries. And the evidence. There’s always a lot of evidence. The patrons of the inhuman world’s most infamous brothel find themselves here for a reason, and it’s not because they’re careful.

You learned one side of the story in school in the human world, when you could pass as human, but Overhaul insisted that you learn the rest. You could recite it by heart by now. Humans have always outnumbered inhumans, but for thousands of years, the power held by inhumans – magic, physical strength, other natural gifts – was enough to allow them to act as they wished, without fear of retaliation. When human society advanced, that changed. The inhumans who could do so retreated to their own realms, but some inhumans are too intertwined with humanity to withdraw completely. Something had to be done to prevent their extinction.

The way Overhaul tells it, it was all his idea, two hundred years ago – creating a place for inhumans to satisfy their urges, contained away from humanity and outside of humanity’s control. You’re not sure if it was really his idea, but either way, it stuck. There are places like this one all across the world, in netherworlds and pocket dimensions, places where inhumans come to play or fight or fuck or feed. For some inhumans, in some cases, it’s all four.

Suite Twelve is on the fifth floor, and tonight it contains one of at least nine packs of werewolves. When you stop outside the door, you can hear them even through the soundproofing – human-sounding laughter and inhuman howls and the kind of noises that emanate from the rooms and suites every night of the year. It sounds like nothing you want anything to do with, but it’s the job. You raise your wrist, tapping your master rune against the locking rune on the door. It disables instantly, and you slip through the door without a sound.

You see instantly why one of the guests rang the bell for a clean-up. There’s a body on the floor – the body of one of the workers, a man you recognize only vaguely. He must be new. Then again, most of the workers aren’t here long enough for you to get to know them. You slip around the edges of the room, trusting your glamour, until you’re alongside the body. Legs askew, torso flayed open to the air, eyes wide and staring – sometimes the workers who die on the job have the luxury of an unexpected death, but this man saw it coming from kilometers away. Did he try to stop it? You lift one of his hands idly, checking for defensive wounds, and get one hell of a scare when his hand twitches in yours.

He’s alive. The worker is still alive, and your priorities shift in a heartbeat. This isn’t a corpse you can tip down the disposal trapdoor before you mop up the blood. Overhaul can heal any injury, even injuries as bad as this, which means you need to get the worker out of here and down to Overhaul’s study as soon as possible. But your glamour only covers you, and if the werewolves who mauled this guy half to death realize they didn’t finish the job, you’ll be in trouble, too. And there isn’t much time to solve the problem. If you wait too much longer, the worker will die right before your eyes.

If you had real magic, you’d apply your glamour to your voice and lull the werewolves into calmness, rendering them insensate to any noise the dying man might make as you drag him to the door, but you don’t have real magic. Charming seven werewolves is outside your abilities. Charming one dying man into staying still and quiet is within them. You whisper the instruction in his ear – stay quiet, stay still – and hook your hands under his armpits, dragging him across the floor and leaving a smear of blood in his wake.

There’s no way a party this large only had one worker with them. You force yourself to take a good look at the occupants of Suite Twelve, and in amongst the hulking, heavily-furred bodies of the werewolves, you spot human limbs, human skin. Strands of human hair woven through a wolf’s claws as it cups the back of the worker’s head. Human hands gripping one wolf’s shoulders, human legs hooked gingerly around its waist. At least three additional workers, and none of them are bleeding excessively. The part of you that’s human doesn’t like it, but the rest of you leaves without another look.

In the hallway, you call for help. Each floor of Asylum has a bouncer, hired specifically by Overhaul to deal with that floor’s usual patrons. “Rappa,” you call out. “Over here!”

Rappa’s footsteps are heavy as he comes down the hall towards you. “A fight?”

“Sorry,” you say. Even behind Rappa’s mask, you can tell he’s frowning. You’ve heard that when Overhaul hired him, he promised him a lot of fights to break up, but most of Asylum’s patrons are too frightened of the prospect of getting banned to fight much. “I’m supposed to mop up and the guy’s still alive. Can you take him to Overhaul?”

Rappa tilts his head, confused. “The boss can fix this?”

“If he gets to him in time.” You try to hold Rappa’s attention. It’s not easy. “I can’t get him there fast enough. You’re the only one who can save him.”

“He’s human. Why do you care?”

Your jaw clenches involuntarily, and you feel your glamour ripple. “I’m half-human,” you say. “So are you.”

Overhaul and his right-hand man are both pure human, extending their lives and augmenting their bodies with magic, but almost everyone else in Asylum’s management structure is a half-breed of some kind. Rappa is half-giant, and unlike you, he’s unambiguously proud of his inhuman heritage. Appealing to what he considers as the weak side of himself was a stupid move, but you’re getting desperate, and you try again. “If you help him, I’ll make sure you get the next fight, even if somebody else is in charge of the floor.”

You should have started with that. Rappa’s eyes light up. “Deal,” he says, and hoists the injured worker up, ignoring your requests to be careful. “Make sure it’s a good fight.”

You’ll get Rappa a fight to break up if you have to start one yourself, but you probably won’t have to. “It’s a full moon. All the fights are good.”

Rappa laughs and thunders off down the hall, leaving you to your actual job. You still have a mop-up in Suite Twelve, and possibly a worse one than you left, depending on what’s happened between your exit and right now. You call up your glamour again, confirming that it’s still intact, and tap the locking rune on the door to deactivate it once again. You might have saved somebody’s life, maybe, but that’s not your job here. Your real job is cleaning blood and bodily fluids off of every surface in Suite Twelve before they have time to set in. As the proprietor of the world’s oldest and most infamous inhuman oasis, your boss can tolerate a lot of things – but a mess isn’t one of them.

Most of the people who serve guests or work menial jobs in the oases are here as a last resort, and you’re no different. If you had somewhere else to be, you’d be there. You suppose you could have looked for work in another oasis, but when it comes down to it, you prefer the devil you know to the devil you don’t. You were born inside Asylum’s walls, the daughter of a worker and a faery guest, and although your mother scraped together the money to send you to boarding school in the human world, you’ve never had anywhere but Asylum to come back to. You coming back was a foregone conclusion. You could pass for human in childhood and adolescence, but in the last year or so, the truth’s begun to crawl its way out from beneath your skin. Asylum is your home. You can’t leave. And if you’re here, you might as well work.

No night in Asylum is easy, but full-moon nights are the worst, and the mop-up you’re called to do in Suite Twelve isn’t even close to the last task you’re called in to take care of. A patrilineal half-fey like you has next to no magical ability, but in Overhaul’s employ, you make use of all of it – glamour on your body to conceal you as you sneak in and out of the rooms and suites and hot springs, glamour on your voice to soothe tense guests until a bouncer or a member of Management can arrive to make amends more officially, spilling a drop or two of your own blood to distract an overwrought lich long enough to pry the worker it’s draining out of its grip. You get Rappa the fight he’s after – a brawl between two rival werewolf packs over a worker they both took a shine to – and as you’re helping clean up the mess, he gives you some news.

“Overhaul patched up the human you rescued,” he says, and for a brief moment, you feel better. “He’s already back to work.”

Feeling good doesn’t last. Good things don’t last in Asylum. You take a brief moment to wash your hands in the water of a hot-spring, then wander off to Room 309 on the demon floor. There’s been an orgy going on since the full moon broke the horizon in the farthest-eastern human time zone, and demon cum stains something awful.

You’ve heard from guests who’ve visited other oases that those oases have off-hours, but Asylum doesn’t. Asylum serves creatures of the night, so as long as it’s daylight somewhere on earth, Asylum will be open to receive them. When you asked Overhaul why, he pointed you towards the dictionary definition of the word ‘asylum’ – a place of refuge, a safe harbor. Then another book levitated off the shelf and dropped at your feet, shedding dust. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

You remember looking at it, confused. “Sir?”

“The other definition of the word,” Overhaul said. “They’re all mad here.”

It was a misquote, and you think the original is more accurate. We’re all mad here – Overhaul for building this place, the guests for coming to it, and you, for staying here instead of going somewhere, anywhere else.

The demon mop-up takes forever. By the time it’s done, you smell like smoke and sulfur, and there are still six hours left in the night. Chrono sends you to change into a clean uniform, then corrals you as you’re coming out of the servants’ quarters with wet hair. “Change of plans. You’re needed in the lounge.”

“What?” You know how to tend bar, sure – but not on a full moon night. “Why?”

Chrono doesn’t answer you, and you should know better than to ask questions. “Man the bar for the rest of the shift. You’ll receive instructions from Overhaul or myself if you’re needed elsewhere.”

You nod and set off, but Chrono grabs your arm again. “Change out of that uniform first. You’re front of house for now. Dress like it.”

The front of house uniform isn’t all that different than the uniform you wear on a nightly basis – just tighter and more modern, and with a mask of some kind over it. The higher-up somebody is in Overhaul’s organization, the more elaborate their mask is, but front-of-house wears simple half-masks, enough to match the aesthetic but not enough to obscure the face. You grab a simple black one on your way out of the servants’ quarters, tying it behind your head with a ribbon as you step into the lounge.

It’s empty, as usual. You’re not even sure why Overhaul keeps it open – most of Asylum’s guests don’t come here to drink, and the ones who do can order it brought to their rooms directly – but it’s been here as long as Asylum’s been standing, and just like the rest of Asylum, it’s never closed. Whoever was in charge before Chrono called you in left sort of a mess. Eight or nine dirty tankards, a sticky spill on one corner of the bar counter, and a solitary pickle balanced on top of an empty bottle of vodka. Given what you’ve been cleaning up all night, it could be a lot worse.

The cleaning goes quickly, and then you move on, filling out the restock sheet Chrono’s left for you underneath the ledger where you’d write guests’ orders, if there were any orders. An hour in, Room 512 calls for drinks – one Corpse Reviver, one Zombie, and three El Diablos – and you’re still working on them when the server arrives to bring them up. “Hey, make it snappy, huh? They’re not in a mood to wait.”

“I’m working on it.” You set down the El Diablos and start pouring shots of rum for the Zombie. “Is whoever’s in 512 actually undead, or do they just have a weird sense of humor?”

“Door number two. It’s one of those laughing demons.” Setsuno’s been working here at least as long as you have, but he looks unsettled behind his mask. “You know, the kind who want a performance.”

“I’m guessing the workers ordered the drinks, then?” You wait for Setsuno to confirm it. “Do you know which is the guest’s?”

“The Corpse Reviver,” Setsuno says. You strain the Zombie one-handed and go fishing for the components for the last drink. “Why?” “Are the workers holding up okay?” you ask. Setsuno looks blankly at you. “Did they seem scared or panicked at all?”

“Oh. Yeah. The youngest one looked pretty spooked.” Setsuno holds out his hand and the first four drinks fly from your end of the bar to settle onto his tray. “Are you going to be done with that last one any time this century?”

“Almost.” You’re trying to decide which of the components of the drink will be easiest to hide a glamour on. The gin? The Cointreau? The Lillet blanc? They’re all strong flavors, but demons aren’t easy to trick. It needs to look like a mistake, so that if you’re caught, it’ll reflect on you and not the workers. “Just a second –”

“Hey,” Setsuno protests, as you pluck a maraschino cherry out of a jar by the stem and wrap a glamour around it. “Does the boss know you’re putting spells on the guests?”

“They’re not spells.” Overhaul knows. In fact, he encourages it – your weak glamours, applied here and there, put the brakes on problems that would otherwise require management’s intervention before they can begin.  You drop the cherry in the glass and hold it out to Setsuno. “Here. Let me know if they need anything else.”

“Will do.” Setsuno glances around the lounge and sighs. “Man, I wish I had this gig. It’s a nice spot for a break.”

“You’re telling me. I used to nap here when I was little.”

Setsuno stares at you. “What?”

You shouldn’t have said that. You cringe, and Setsuno takes a step closer – but then another order unfolds itself on the bar counter, and you turn away, thankful for the distraction. When you look up again, there’s a different server waiting, and you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s not that you’re ashamed of growing up here. You just don’t want to spread it around.

Overhaul has strict rules about birth control amongst Asylum’s female workers, but with so much magic in play, things happen sometimes. Usually it results in an abortion – the workers, most of whom are human, want nothing to do with a half-human child – but every so often, a worker decides to keep the baby. The consequences of that depend on the inhuman parent. Werewolves, for instance, treat children they’ve sired with a worker the same as they’d treat children they sire with their mate, and no parent wants their child growing up in Asylum. Workers who get knocked up by werewolves usually leave, becoming part of the pack’s orbit as they raise their children. Workers who get knocked up by demons, on the other hand, typically go into hiding. Demons like their children. A little too much.

Faeries aren’t common guests at Asylum, which means your mother knew who your father was, even though she never told you. Overhaul knows, too, but you’ve never asked him. It doesn’t matter. Faeries as a rule look down on half-fey, and if you ever tried to visit a faery realm, you’d be thrown out at best and enslaved at worst. Only some inhumans are capable of siring or bearing children, and of those species, faeries are among the most disinterested. The only inhumans who take less interest in their half-human offspring are the inhumans least likely to come to Asylum.

You’ve just sent off yet another order of drinks, this time to a siren in Room 129 who really wants his worker to loosen up, and you’re in the middle of adding an instruction to the restock sheet when someone barks a question at you from the other side of the counter. “Does this place have WiFi?”

Guests have been asking you questions since you were old enough to talk, but in the twenty-three years you’ve lived in Asylum, you’ve never heard anybody ask that. You look up from the restock sheet and find the guest in question staring back at you. “What?”

“WiFi. Do you have it?” The guest brandishes a smartphone at you. A really nice smartphone, in a pale hand with dry skin and ragged nails. “Do you even know what WiFi is?”

“I know what it is. We don’t have it,” you say, and the guest swears. “If I were you, I wouldn’t try to use your phone in here at all. The flux field will fry your battery if you don’t turn it off.”

The guest’s eyes narrow slightly. The skin around them is dry and itchy-looking, and his irises themselves are red. He powers off his phone and glances around the lounge, eyes lingering on the light fixtures, on the faucet, on the scrying mirrors that act as a security system and the locking runes on the doors. “Nothing in here is electric,” he says. “It can’t be, if the flux field’s strong enough to fuck up my phone.”

You nod. “You should tell people that when they come in,” the guest says. He looks at his powered-off phone, grimacing. “This was new.”

“If you haven’t been in here long and you haven’t been using it, it should be fine,” you say. The guest doesn’t answer, just tucks his phone into his pocket and crosses his arms over his chest, and the silence goes from neutral to awkward in roughly seven seconds.

It’s the kind of situation you’d bail out of instantly anywhere else – you spend enough time being uncomfortable at your job that you’ve got no patience for discomfort in other situations. But you are at your job, which means you have a built-in conversation topic. “Can I get you a drink?”

“What?”

“A drink.” You gesture at the bar, and the guest’s eyes track your hand. “We have everything.”

“You don’t,” the guest says, and then orders champagne. You’re pretty sure every bar on the planet has champagne. “How do you know I can pay for it?”

“They opened up a tab on you when you came through the door.” You find a bottle of champagne and the correct glass – Chrono saw you pour it into a wine glass once and gave you hell – and pour. “And they gave you a passkey. Show it to me?”

He has it looped around his wrist. You copy the symbol into the ledger and write down the order and the price. The guest is leaning across the bar to watch you, getting much closer than you’d like, and he makes a surprised sound when the order you’ve written melts from the page. “Magic,” he says, and you nod. You’re not sure why he’s so surprised. Then: “You’re charging that much for a glass of champagne? This had better be the best champagne in the world.”

“You tell me.” You slide the glass across the bar and watch as he raises it to his lips.

He’s got to be some kind of inhuman, or part-inhuman – no human makes it through the door as a guest, unless they’re packing some heavy magic. You’d say he was a magic-user of some kind, a warlock or an occultist, except he was too surprised by the flux field and resultant lack of WiFi to be someone who works with magic regularly. Half-demon, maybe. He has blue-grey hair to go with his red eyes, worn long enough to brush his shoulders and slightly too tousled to have done it purposely. His clothes are formal – white shirt, black vest, black pants, black tie. The look should come with a suit jacket, but it doesn’t. Guests don’t exactly show up to Asylum in their pajamas, but it’s rare to see one come in dressed to the nines.

The guest finishes half the glass of champagne and sets it down on the bar. He glances at you and you raise your eyebrows. “Well?”

“Pretty good,” the guest says. “Still not worth what you’re charging.”

“It’s an import,” you say. Technically, everything’s an import when it’s coming to a pocket dimension. “And it was good enough for you to drink half of it.”

“Not much else to do.” The guest takes out his phone, scowls when he realizes it’s powered off, then sits down at a barstool. “What’s with the mask?”

“It’s part of the uniform,” you say. Your usual uniform is a hideous old-time maid outfit, but the front-of-house uniform is sleeker, and the mask is just the icing on the cake. You like how you look in this much more than you do in the other uniform, but that lasts only as long as it takes you to remember that guests like you in it, too. “Everybody has one.”

“Why? It’s not like it hides your face.”

“I don’t know. The aesthetic, maybe?” You have your own pet theory – something about Overhaul being older than you think, and picking up his germophobia during the Black Death – but you don’t know for sure. “It’s the boss’s thing.”

“Yeah, no kidding. He looks like a fucking toucan.”

You almost choke on thin air, and while you’re struggling not to laugh, the guest keeps talking. “I was supposed to stay with my master – to learn – but he kicked me out. What am I supposed to do around here?”

“Find a room and watch,” you say. It’s the guest’s turn to choke. Unfortunately for him, he just took a sip of champagne. “You can tell which ones are okay with it. Look for a green rune above the door.”

That’s all some guests come here to do – you can’t count the number of times you’ve seen a demon drop the entry fee without blinking and spend the entire time indulging their voyeuristic dreams. “I didn’t come here to watch strangers fuck,” the guest says, coughing. He picks up the champagne and downs the rest of it, then shoves the glass back towards you. “I came here to learn.”

You pour another glass one-handed and mark it in the ledger with the other. “Learn about what?”

The guest doesn’t answer, and when you slide the glass across the bar to him, he seizes your wrist. You jerk back, and his grip tightens, but he doesn’t pull you forward – just holds you in place, the fingers of his other hand pressing down over your pulse. “Not a lich,” he says. You plant your feet and yank your hand back again. This time you pull free. “Too strong to be a human. If you were a wolf you’d be howling at the moon right now. What are you?”

“What are you?” you retort. “You first.”

“Guess.”

You don’t have time to guess. Two more orders alight on the edge of the bar, and you get to work, mixing two Mai Tais for one and pouring eight blowjob shots for the other. “I’ll guess for you,” the guest says. “Half-demon.”

“Nope.” You glance at him while you shake the can of whipped cream. “Half-demon.”

“Try again,” the guest says. He takes a sip of his second champagne. “Mer?”

“Do I look like a mermaid to you?” You’re not even going to guess that for him. Half-demon was your best guess. Half-giant is out – he’s not tall enough, and no giant, half or otherwise, would ever call someone else ‘master’. You fall back on a guess you ruled out earlier. He could be a magic-user who’s just really bad at it. “Warlock?”

“Not a chance,” the guest says. “Shapeshifter?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you,” you say, and he snorts. “You’re not a shapeshifter, are you?”

“I wouldn’t tell you, either.” The guest takes another sip of his champagne and props his chin in his hand to study you as you set the blowjob shots down at the end of the bar for the server to pick up. “I’ll give you one more guess. If you don’t get it by then –”

“You’ll what?” You see a smirk cross the guest’s face, his lips pulling back from his teeth, and then you see it. The word flies from your mouth before you can stop it and turns you into one enormous, cringeworthy cliché. “Vampire.”

“Half-vampire,” the guest corrects. His smirk grows. “I can’t believe you didn’t guess. That one was easy.”

You don’t meet a lot of vampires, and there’s a good reason for that. Vampires are bad for a business like Overhaul’s. You’ve heard there are oases that cater specifically to vampires, and you’ve heard that some vampires still like to hunt in the wild, and regardless of what you’ve heard or haven’t heard, you know you’ve seen exactly two vampires in your entire life. Both came uninvited. Both left quickly. And neither of them were turned loose to wander Asylum unsupervised.

Overhaul and Chrono must know there are vampires here. If you needed to know they’d have warned you, and if it comes to a fight between you and a skinny half-vampire who’s had two glasses of champagne, they must like your chances. Still – “A half-vampire,” you repeat, loud enough that the server who’s come to retrieve the Mai Tais can’t fail to hear. “What brings you and your master here?”

“Same thing that brings everybody else who comes here.” The half-vampire finishes his champagne, and before he can ask, you fill it again. “You know. Needs.”

If this half-vampire and his master are here to get their needs met, why is he down here with you while his master talks to Overhaul? Did Overhaul know they were coming? The half-vampire is watching you over the rim of his glass. “You meet weirder needs here. Don’t make that face.”

“I’m just wondering – why here?” you ask. “I know there are vampire-specific oases –”

“Those? They’re just blood banks.” The half-vampire shakes his head. “My master has better taste than that.”

You don’t like the word ‘taste’ in the context of drinking other people’s blood, and your mask isn’t anywhere near enough to conceal your grimace. The half-vampire isn’t paying attention. He’s drinking champagne, talking between swallows. “This place isn’t our first choice,” he says. “Our old arrangement fell through last month.”

“What happened?”

“Why do you care?”

“I want to know,” you say. You do. You don’t meet many vampires, let alone half-vampires who like champagne and are in a chatty mood. “What happened to make us the better offer?”

“The guy who runs the old place grew a conscience.” The half-vampire rolls his eyes. “Apparently it’s more honorable to hunt down screaming humans in the wild than it is to buy one who signed up for it.”

You wish you could say you were horrified to hear that people sell themselves to vampires, but the workers at Asylum sell themselves to all kinds of inhumans. The only difference is that the outcome of an encounter with a vampire can only be death. “So he stopped selling to your master?”

“Yeah. Something about upsetting the natural way of things.” The half-vampire finishes his third glass. You don’t refill it until he nudges it towards you, at which point you fill it to the brim. “My master can’t hunt like he used to. Not for the kind of humans he wants, but he can pay whatever it takes to get them. How much of a conscience would you say your boss has?”

You don’t even have to think about it. “Absolutely none.”

“Then I guess we’ll be seeing each other again,” the half-vampire says. “My master has an appetite. Shigaraki Tomura.”

“What?”

“Shigaraki Tomura. That’s my name.” The half-vampire – Shigaraki Tomura – takes another sip of champagne. “What’s yours?”

“You still haven’t guessed what I am yet.”

“I gave you a big hint. You owe me a hint, too.” Shigaraki looks interested. He’s leaning forward on his elbows, studying you. You wonder if he can tell that he’s making you uncomfortable, and if he can tell, if he cares – or if it’s something he wants to do. “A hint, or your name. Your choice.”

If you were anything other than the type of half-human you are, it would be easy. For most people, inhuman or otherwise, names mean nothing, and neither do lies. The rules for half-fey are blurry. You don’t want to find out what they are while dealing with a vampire. Because of that, you fall back into proper customer service. “Our names don’t matter at Asylum, Shigaraki-san. To us, it’s all about the guest.”

“If it’s all about the guest and I’m a guest, you should answer my question,” Shigaraki says. He’s smirking again. “Since you tried to sneak out of it, I get to pick what you tell me. And I want your name.”

“Why?” You can see that the question throws him, so you let it stand, and top off his glass of champagne in the bargain. “It makes sense for me to know your name, Shigaraki-san, but you’d have no use for mine.”

“Says who? I decide what I have a use for.”

“Why?”

Shigaraki takes another sip of champagne. “Why what?”

“Why would you have a use for it?” You sound like you’re bantering, but you want to know. Need to know, more accurately. “Most guests don’t concern themselves with the existence of servants.”

“If that’s true, then you shouldn’t wear these.” Shigaraki taps his own cheek, drawing attention to a scar over his right eye. It takes you a second to realize that he’s referring to your mask. “It makes it look like you’re hiding something. Like what you are. Or your name.”

“I’ll tell you my name,” you say, and you give Shigaraki a few seconds of triumph before you add the condition, “after you tell me why you want it.”

He opens his mouth. “And don’t lie,” you add. “I’ll know if you lie.”

“Witch.”

“No,” you say. You’re surprised he didn’t guess that sooner, but he’s still wrong. “What? You don’t want to know my name anymore?”

“I want it,” Shigaraki says. He picks up his champagne and drains the glass in one swallow. You refill it partway before he stops you. “I don’t see why I should have to tell you. I’m the guest. If it’s about what I want –”

“I’m giving you what you want,” you say. “You just have to give me something in return.”

Shigaraki watches you over the rim of the glass, and you look back. You’ve heard that full vampires can exert control over others through prolonged eye contact, but the same is supposed to be true of fey, and you’re not feeling inclined to do what Shigaraki wants you to do. He glances away from you first, takes another sip of champagne. You don’t look away, and when he looks back and makes eye contact again, you see his face flush.

That’s – weird. The words leave your mouth before you can think better of it. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t look at me,” Shigaraki snaps. He stares down into his glass, and you busy yourself putting away the almost-empty bottle of champagne.

You hear the whistle of something moving at high speed through the air and barely whip your head sideways in time to avoid the wing of Overhaul’s messenger slicing into your cheek. You don’t like spilling blood on the job, especially not when there’s a vampire nearby. The messenger flies past you, then comes back around, and this time, you catch it in midair. Shigaraki’s noticed it, too. “Origami?” he repeats. “Is that part of the aesthetic?”

You shrug. Almost everything travels on paper in Asylum – orders, bills, memos, contracts, and messages. Each type of communication comes folded into a different bird, but the only person who uses paper cranes folded from purple paper with gilded edges is your boss. The crane unfolds in your hand and you read the message in Overhaul’s cramped handwriting. Find the half-vampire Shigaraki Tomura and return him to my study. His master is ready to depart.

You’re about to look like the world’s most efficient employee. You tuck the paper into your uniform and turn to Shigaraki. “Your master’s ready to leave. If you’ll follow me, I’ll escort you back to him.”

“Great.” Shigaraki drains his glass of champagne, gets to his feet, and nearly tips over. He has to grab the bar to steady himself, and even then, it barely works. “What the hell?”

You make your way around the bar, waiting to see if he’ll straighten up on his own. You wonder if he’s faking it, but given how skinny he is, how much champagne he drank, and how quickly he drank it, it’s not a stretch at all that he’s pretty drunk. It’s clear when he straightens up that he’s still dizzy, and you duck in to support him. “Here. Lean on me. If your master’s anything like my boss, he won’t like being kept waiting.”

“What did you do to me?” Shigaraki mumbles as he slings one arm over your shoulders. When you wrap your arm around his back, you can feel his ribs through two layers of clothing. “You said you weren’t a witch. You lied.”

You have to laugh at that. “This isn’t magic. You’re just drunk.”

“Vampires don’t get drunk.”

“Humans do,” you say. “One of the downsides of being half-something else.”

Shigaraki makes a noise, but you can’t tell if he’s responding to what you said or to being drunk in general. You hustle him through the hallways as quickly as you can manage. Overhaul hates having to give the same order twice, and you can feel the unfolded message fluttering in your pocket, trying to fold itself again and tattle on you that the task isn’t complete. The faster you move, however, the more it seems like Shigaraki’s trying deliberately to obstruct you. More and more of his weight falls against you with every step.

You’re strong enough to carry him, but it starts to bother you. “If that champagne made your legs stop working, I really need to know about it so I don’t poison any more guests.”

“I’m conserving energy.” Shigaraki hiccups, then groans. “My master can’t find out. He’ll be pissed.”

There’s no way Shigaraki’s master isn’t going to find out. If you let go of him he’s going to go face-first into the floorboards. “How pissed is he going to be?”

Shigaraki doesn’t answer, but the way his shoulders tense tells you everything you need to know. You’re almost to Overhaul’s study. The door’s open, and you can see the weird light leaking through, the kind that means someone’s using magic. Inspiration hits. You shift Shigaraki so he’s leaning against the wall, shove him until he stands up mostly straight, and call up every ounce of glamour you have.

It’s not much, and it won’t hold long, but as long as Shigaraki manages not to say or do anything too weird, it’ll keep his master from noticing how absolutely plastered he is. Shigaraki stares at you as the glamour settles over him, clearly confused. “What –”

“It’ll hold until you’re by yourself as long as you keep your shit together,” you say. You pull him upright again, shifting position so it seems more like you’re escorting him than like you’re dragging him along. “Come on. We’re almost there.”

“Why?”

You could ask for clarification. Instead you ignore him. So far tonight he’s asked you multiple questions you don’t want to answer, and even though this is the one that’s least likely to get you in trouble, it’s the one you’re most likely to lie about. Shigaraki’s head, which he was holding up under his own power until two seconds ago, tips sideways until his cheek is resting against the top of your head. “You don’t smell like a witch.”

“That’s because I’m not a witch. Stand up straight.” You’d also like him to quit sniffing you, but you’re not going to win that one. You reach out with one hand and knock on the open door. “Sir, I’ve brought the half-vampire, as you requested.”

“That was fast.”

The voice that responds isn’t Overhaul’s. Shigaraki jerks out of your grip and stands upright, your glamour clinging to him, while you tense every muscle in your body, trying to hide the shiver that runs through you. Most inhumans leave some sort of calling card of their presence – a scent in the air, a shift in the temperature of a room, a momentary change in the light or shadows. You’re used to that. But the aura emanating from the vampire who must be Shigaraki’s master is intense enough to crawl under your skin, and it’s ice-cold. Barring two things you don’t think about, it’s the worst feeling you’ve ever experienced in your life.

Overhaul is responding to the master vampire. “The staff at Asylum are well-trained,” he says. “Shigaraki Tomura, welcome back. I trust you enjoyed your self-guided tour of our offerings.”

You linger outside the door, unsure of what you should do, but then Chrono sticks his head out into the hallway, spots you, and gestures sharply for you to leave. You don’t need to be told twice. You hurry back down the hall, down a set of stairs, and through a staff-only shortcut until you’re back at the lounge, with five drink orders folded into the shape of swans bobbing up and down at the end of the bar for your attention. You’ve finished all five and two more besides before the chill begins to seep out of you.

There’s nothing about what happened tonight that you’re comfortable with. Wire to wire, it’s been one of the worst full moons you can remember, and it doesn’t improve when Overhaul and Chrono step into the lounge at the end of your shift. Overhaul sits; Chrono stands. “Explain yourself.”

You could ask for clarification. You could do that if you wanted to spend the next decade paying for it. “The half-vampire came to the lounge. I thought it would be best to keep him there instead of letting him wander around.”

“How did you keep him there?”

You hesitate, and Overhaul steps in. “He was covered in your glamour when he came in. I want to know if we undercharged his master.”

Your face goes up in flames. “I didn’t – no,” you say. “I got him drunk.”

Overhaul coughs. Chrono’s shoulders shake briefly, the way they do when he’s trying not to laugh. You reach behind the bar and produce the mostly-empty bottle of champagne, followed by the ledger. Overhaul peruses the ledger while Chrono continues the interrogation. “If all you did was pour champagne, why was he wearing your glamour?”

You could get away with not answering Shigaraki’s question. Not answering your bosses isn’t an option. “He said he was going to get in trouble. I didn’t mean to get him in trouble, so I thought –” You can’t see Chrono’s eyes, but you can see Overhaul’s, and Overhaul’s looking at you like you’re out of your mind. “I thought if I put a glamour over him, his master might not notice.”

Overhaul doesn’t say anything. Neither does Chrono. An echo of the shiver from the master vampire’s aura runs through you. “Did his master notice?”

“His senses are too dull to hunt for himself. They’re certainly too dull to capture a glamour as weak as yours,” Chrono says. “Shigaraki Tomura escaped detection, at least while on the premises. And it seems he now owes you a favor.”

“No,” you say without thinking. “It was my fault.”

Chrono scoffs, then returns his attention to the bottle. Overhaul focuses on you. “Does he know what you are?”

You shake your head. “Good,” Overhaul says. “Next time, save your glamour for yourself. He and his master will return at the next full moon.”

Your stomach lurches. “They’ll be back?”

“The offer the master vampire made was quite lucrative. It would have been unwise to refuse,” Chrono says. “Serving vampires en masse is bad business, but on a limited basis – very profitable.”

You don’t even want to know – but you’ll find out. You’re dead certain of it. You grew up here, and you know where to listen to hear every secret told within Asylum’s walls. And even if you didn’t, even if you put your hands up over your ears and walked away from anyone who spoke of it, you know exactly who you’ll hear it from – the half-vampire Shigaraki Tomura, the next time he steps into the lounge with a bad attitude, a useless smartphone, and a list of questions you’re already dreading being asked.

Skin Hunger (Chapter 2) -- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

There's no such thing as a good night at work when you work in the world's most infamous brothel for monsters, but your night takes a turn for the worse when you find yourself serving drinks to visiting half-vampire Shigaraki Tomura. You don't mean to catch his interest, and you don't mean to start a conversation. You definitely don't mean to get him drunk. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Life in Asylum continues, and in the endless scroll of days and nights, cleanups in empty rooms and mop-ups in private parties, it’s almost possible to forget about the half-vampire who will be back at the next full moon. Almost, but not quite. Vampires are a rare enough occurrence in Asylum that everyone’s talking about Shigaraki Tomura and his master, and since they’re going to be regulars, Overhaul provides more than a little education for the staff about the one type of inhuman next to no one has experience with.

Most of the workers don’t care, but you pay close attention. Your knowledge of vampires contains next to nothing concrete. You need to learn, if you want to hold your own during your next conversation with Shigaraki Tomura.

Vampirism is spread through a bite – true. Everyone who’s bitten becomes a vampire – false. Apparently, creating a new vampire requires intention on the part of the vampiric sire, which probably helps to keep the population down. The mechanism that causes half-vampirism is unclear, but what’s perfectly clear is that half-vampires are something unusual. They need to consume blood, just like vampires do, but unlike vampires, they also need to eat. They still have heartbeats, still need to breathe, still need to see the sun every so often. Beyond that, though, no one’s able to describe what powers a half-vampire has, or the degree of strength advantage they have over an ordinary human, or whether they can turn into a true vampire – or how they do it. The question of what Shigaraki’s capable of is one you’re not able to answer, and it bothers you. Then again, if Shigaraki had correctly guessed what you are, he’d be equally in the dark as to what you’re able to do.

Most inhuman species have some sort of biological limitations, just like humans do. Werewolves still need to eat and sleep, and while bullets will damage them, silver bullets are the true threat. Liches and demons can’t set foot on holy ground, no matter which faith has consecrated a given spot, and shapeshifters lose their forms if they get too tired. Everybody knows all about vampires and sunlight. Faeries don’t have limitations. Faeries have rules.

Faeries can’t lie. Lying has physical consequences. Faeries have given names and true names, and while the true names are the most dangerous, even knowledge of a title or nickname can grant some degree of power over them. Faeries are vulnerable to iron, but not in the same way werewolves are vulnerable to silver. A gift offered by a faery is never just a gift; either it comes in repayment for an earlier favor, or it comes with strings attached. Nothing your father’s people give is ever given freely.

And that’s where you got yourself in trouble. You did Shigaraki a favor by using your glamour on him. If that particular rule applies to you as a half-fey, you’ve bound Shigaraki to you until he can repay the debt.

All of that would be enough to deal with heading into the next full moon, and you feel like it’s possible to handle. But three nights before the vampires are set to arrive, the itching starts, and things go from manageable to impossible in the space of an hour.

The last time this happened, you took a few days off of work until it was over, but it’s occurring over a much larger area on your body – your entire left arm, shoulder to wrist, and it’s not going to peel away until it’s ready. If you try, you’ll open yourself up to infection, and if that doesn’t kill you, the way it’ll look once it’s healed will probably make you wish you were dead. You can manage not to scratch while you’re on shift, but when you’re off, you’re scratching constantly, and every last one of your coworkers has something to say about it.

“Better not do that where the boss will see,” Nemoto remarks as you’re all eating in the cramped servants’ mess. “He finds fleas disgusting.”

Nemoto knows damn well you don’t have fleas; he just doesn’t like you, because his demonic ability to force confessions doesn’t work on faeries, and that includes you. The maid you’re sitting next to recoils away from you, and across the table, Tengai rolls his eyes. “It’s not fleas,” he says. “Haven’t any of you seen a half-fey molt before?”

“It’s not molting,” you say uselessly. It would only be molting if you did it regularly.

“Of course none of you have seen it,” Chrono says. Usually he eats with Overhaul, but sometimes Overhaul can’t stand being around even his right-hand man. “Half-fey in general are rare, and her variety of half-fey is rarer still.”

Everyone looks at you. You can’t tell if they’re waiting for you to explain or thinking that they’ll figure it out if they just stare hard enough. Either way, your face turns red, and Chrono heaves a dramatic sigh. “For most of you half-breeds, it doesn’t matter which of your parents was the inhuman. It matters for faeries.”

Tabe burps. “Why?”

Why questions are usually safe to ask Chrono – asking Overhaul a why question results in either a flat, irritated look or a two-hour lecture about the minutiae of the topic. “It’s unclear,” Chrono says. “What is clear, however, is that half-fey children take after their fathers in appearance and lifespan, and their mothers in magical ability.”

“Huh?”

Chrono doesn’t have his mask on. This time you can see him roll his eyes. “Children of human fathers and faery mothers resemble humans, and have human lifespans. Despite that, they have significant magical abilities.”

“How strong are they?” Rappa asks through a full mouth. “Stronger than regular human magicians?”

Chrono shrugs. You, meanwhile, think about a conspiracy theory you read in one of Overhaul’s books – that all human magic-users are secretly matrilineal half-fey, whose mothers either abandoned them to their fathers or swapped out the child of an unknowing human couple for one of their own. If that was the case, nobody would ever know. Other than the magic, matrilineal half-fey are indistinguishable from ordinary humans. “Hang on,” Setsuno says. “If half-fey take after their fey parent in how they look, how come she looks so human?”

“She doesn’t,” Chrono says. He looks to you, and you lower your hand from your shoulder. You’ve been using the cover of the conversation to scratch to your heart’s content. “Show them.”

You give him a pleading look, which he ignores, and finally you rise from the table and back away. You’re still wearing your uniform, so you pull up the skirt on your right side, revealing your leg. The table recoils as a group, and you’re pretty sure everybody’s thinking exactly what comes out of Rappa’s mouth. “What the fuck?”

“Patrilineal half-fey inherit their father’s lifespan,” Chrono says, “and their appearance – or some of it. They appear to be completely human until they reach physical maturity, at which point they begin a partial transformation. You can see the patches where fey skin has grown in to replace human skin, creating a patchwork which renders the half-fey unable to conceal their true nature.”

It’s not just your skin. Your ears have begun to change shape, growing pointed at the tips, and the natural color of your eyes has taken on a strange iridescent overlay. You need to blink less than you used to, sometimes – other times, it’s a struggle to keep your eyes open in the light without sticky, pearlescent tears oozing from them. If your father had been one of any of half a dozen varieties of fey, you’d have seen changes with your mouth, with your hands, even with the way you breathe. But while your mother never told you anything concrete about your father, she was at least able to confirm that he didn’t have gills.

Your transformation is mainly cosmetic. That doesn’t make it any less terrible, and cosmetic is a relative term. “Due to their appearances and lack of other gifts, half-fey used to make frequent appearances in human freak shows,” Chrono continues. “Some also theorize that the reason they’re unwelcome in faery society is due to their ugliness.”

“Oh.” Your coworkers are nodding at this, like it makes sense to them. Nemoto’s looking right at you when he responds. “I get it.”

You know you’re not pretty, but that doesn’t mean you like having it hammered home. You drop the right side of your skirt back down and sit again, and spend the rest of the meal picking at your food. Your appetite’s gone, and your shoulder is still itching. Even though you’re exhausted from your shift, you’re going to have a hard time falling asleep.

You’re making a beeline back to your quarters, with the intention of trying to shower off the itch and falling asleep immediately afterwards, when Chrono catches up to you. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Thank you?” Backtalking to your boss is a terrible idea, but you can’t hold onto your skepticism. “For what?”

“I explained your situation, so you wouldn’t have to.” Chrono looks pleased with himself. “I did you a favor.”

“You could have done that without calling me ugly.”

“Should I have lied? It’s not as if you’re unaware,” Chrono says. He reaches out, hooks the neckline of your uniform with one finger, and pulls it aside. “How much skin are you going to lose this time?”

“Everything on my arm,” you say. Chrono looks surprised, and you seize the opportunity to shy away from his hand. “Goodnight, boss.”

“Your arm,” Chrono muses. “That’ll be a sight to see.”

Yes, it will. The juxtaposition of smooth, perfect, oil-slick shimmering faery skin with plain human skin on the same body is enough to make anyone’s skin crawl, yours included. You turn away from Chrono, and you’re almost out of earshot, almost to safety, when you hear him speak again. “You’ll have to show me when it’s done.”

That’s not the first comment like that you’ve heard from Chrono in the past year or two. They’re becoming increasingly frequent, and you know what they mean, just like you know you don’t want anything to do with them. You mumble another goodnight and duck into the female servants’ quarters, shedding your clothes and slipping a faint glamour over yourself as you step into the shower. You’re pretty sure there aren’t scrying mirrors in here, but at the same time, you’re pretty sure that if any guests wanted to pay to watch the maids shower, Overhaul would find a way to make it happen.

The hot water helps dull the itch, for now. You dry off and change into your sleeping clothes, noting every spot on your body where your heritage has surfaced. Your right leg is covered, thigh to calf, wide sashes and ribbons of fey skin interrupting your skin, jagged and gaudy. Your torso is covered, too, but you were smarter with that – when it was time, you peeled your dying skin away in a single piece rather than clawing it to ribbons. There’s some on your lower back that you never tried to peel away at all, and as a result, the fey skin is pitted and scarred. It looks hideous. You look hideous.

You know it’s true, but at the same time, you know you’re lucky. You’ve seen photos of half-fey whose fey skin broke through on their faces, unmistakable and impossible to hide. At least you’ve got a prayer of hiding this. Or you will, once you’ve peeled this next sheet of skin away to reveal what’s beneath. You crawl into bed and close your eyes, hoping that the itching will wake you in the middle of the night, so severe that you’ll have no choice but to peel the skin off right then and there. The waiting is the worst part. You just want it to be over before the full moon.

But it isn’t over before the full moon. It’s the biggest piece of skin you’ve lost – the last big piece you’ll lose, if only half your skin changes – and it’s clinging on for dear life. You beg Overhaul to help you, to employ the magic he uses to reshape the workers’ bodies when they’re injured, but he refuses. “The reaction between your meager magic and mine is too unpredictable,” he says. “I can’t help you.”

“Then let me have the night off,” you plead. He shakes his head. “Please. I won’t be any use if the skin breaks through.”

“You have my full permission to take your break to remove it,” Overhaul says, and you bite back tears. You were barely functional after you excised the skin on your torso. There’s no way you’ll be able to work with your left arm freshly peeled. “Not only is it a full moon, it’s also the autumnal equinox. We’ll need your glamours if any of the half-dozen rituals scheduled to take place here get out of hand.”

The equinoxes are the only nights where ordinary humans are allowed into Asylum, and they’re barely ordinary – they’re cultists, devoted to the worship of specific demons, conducting rituals that would get them thrown in prison in the human world. “And even if that were not the case,” Overhaul says, “there is a certain half-vampire scheduled to arrive with his master, and I doubt anyone else will be able to get him drunk.”

You were already stressed about running into Shigaraki Tomura again, but the idea of seeing him tonight sends you into a near-panic. “Sir –”

“That’s enough,” Overhaul says, and you fall silent in a hurry. “The moon is about to rise in Kiribati, and you aren’t in uniform. Get changed.”

You won’t win this. You know you won’t. You leave Overhaul’s study, hoping that the skin on your arm will hold out for another twenty-four hours – and hoping that Shigaraki Tomura’s master decided to leave him at home.

The autumnal equinox is fairly quiet as far as equinoxes go, but it’s not often that it occurs on a full moon, and from the moment the moon comes up over an even slightly populated area, Asylum devolves into barely-controlled chaos. The casualty count for workers exceeds an average full moon within the first three hours, and for the first time in a while, Overhaul comes out of his study to help repair the bodies rather than expecting them to be brought to him. Chrono equips the workers with alarm sigils, which will trigger a warning if their heart rates drop below a certain threshold. It’s an unusual precaution, but you know better than to think it’s out of any concern for the workers’ health – more that if too many of them die, Asylum won’t be able to serve all the guests who are flooding through the door.

You’re doing some of everything – a little cleaning, a little mopping up, a little belting a demon in the face with a mop when they won’t let go of the badly injured worker you’re trying to take back to Overhaul. You’re busy enough that you can almost forget about the itching, about the faery skin that’s trying to erupt through your skin on your left arm. For the first seven hours of the night, you run yourself ragged, doing whatever Overhaul’s ordered you to do, racing from floor to floor and trying to spot trouble before it begins. You’ve lived in Asylum your entire life. There’s nobody who knows their way around better than you do.

At hour eight, Overhaul summons you to the makeshift infirmary. When you get there, you spot a pile of discarded gloves on his right, a bubbling cauldron on his left, and a newly healed worker sprawled out in front of him. “Get out,” Overhaul orders the worker, and she scrambles upright, falls, and crawls unsteadily towards the exit. The instant she’s gone, Overhaul plunges his hands into whatever’s boiling inside the cauldron.

You don’t want to know what’s in there, and based on the grimace on Overhaul’s face, you don’t even want to go near him. But he summoned you. You step forward. “Sir?”

“The first ritual is about to begin. You’ll be supervising it.”

Your stomach drops. “I can’t,” you say. Overhaul mutters a curse under his breath. “I can’t! I don’t have magic –”

“You think throwing more magic at an out-of-control ritual will solve the problem? Playing stupid won’t get you out of it.” Overhaul lifts his hands from the cauldron and you startle at the sight of them. His fingers have been eaten down nearly to the bone, and in spite of the fact that he’s repairing them before your eyes, you can’t help but feel nauseous. “There are supply kits in my study, with the measures necessary to contain a ritual. All that’s required of you is to deploy them. Go.”

“Sir –”

“I don’t have time for this,” Overhaul snaps at you, and you flinch. You’ve never seen him this stressed before. “Chrono is needed elsewhere. None of the others but you possess a sensitivity to magic, and no one other than me is able to perform the repairs. Succeed at this and you’ll be rewarded appropriately. I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you fail.”

You know exactly what will happen if you fail. You nod mutely. “The supply kits can be found in the furthest cupboard. Hold out your hand,” Overhaul says. When you do, he traces a rune into your right palm. “Use this to unlock them. Go.”

You have more questions – like how to figure out which countermeasure to use first, or how to tell when they’re needed in the first place – but Rappa’s coming through the door carrying another worker, and Overhaul’s attention shifts from you. He’s not going to change his mind, and there’s no one else who can do the job. There’s nothing for you to do but head for Overhaul’s study. Being expected to supervise a ritual is bad enough. Being late to it is probably worse.

The cultists are making final preparations for their ritual in the smallest of Asylum’s three gardens. You’re not sure which cult this is, but they brought their own sacrifice, bound hand and foot in spite of the fact that they’re unconscious. You try not to look too hard at them. You don’t look too hard at the cultists, either. You pry open the supply kit and study the items within. Now that you’re looking at it, they seem pretty straightforward. Salt and consecrated chalk, for sealing the paths leading to the garden off from the rest of Asylum. A set of wardstones to keep anyone from entering once the ritual begins. A sheet of runes to trace in midair, as an extra precaution. None of it requires more than the tiniest amount of magic. Maybe this is doable.

You confirm that all the cultists are in the garden, then get to work, starting with the salt and chalk across each path leading into the garden. Next it’s the wardstones. The cultists are using a pentagram in their rituals, which means you need a hexagram to contain them properly. Wardstones are simple enough to set. You set them spinning with a twist of your fingers and leave them to hover. A few more of these, then a few sigils, and then you’re all set. You can do this.

A single footfall and a shadow falling across yours are the only warnings you get before a familiar voice rings out from behind you. “If you don’t want people to think you’re a witch, you shouldn’t spend so much time casting spells,” Shigaraki Tomura says, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “Did you miss me?”

It takes an effort not to throw the wardstone at him. “I’m not a witch. And this isn’t a spell.”

“It looks like a spell,” Shigaraki says. He looks way too pleased with himself for reasons beyond your understanding. “That’s two spells I’ve seen you do. Your boss is a warlock, so I don’t get why you’d lie about being a witch.”

You were dreading meeting Shigaraki again, in part because you were sure he’d guessed that you were half-fey. Apparently not. “That wasn’t a spell, and neither is this,” you say. “I’ll show you.”

“Huh?”

You motion for him to come forward, and he does, looking way too suspicious. What does he think you’re going to do? You’re not the one who drinks blood. “Hold this,” you say, and push the wardstone into his hand. “Now, do this –”

You show him the proper gesture to activate it, and he tries it – and drops it, just like you did the first time you tried it. Before you can tell him to try again, he picks it up and looks at you. “Show me again.”

You show him the gesture, and this time he copies it much more closely. The wardstone spins out of his hand and hovers in midair, the last piece of the hexagram you’ve been constructing falling into place. Shigaraki looks surprised, then pleased with himself again. You’re less annoyed with it this time, mostly because it’s given you a chance to prove your point. “You can do it, and you have even less magic than I do. It’s not a spell.”

“This one isn’t a spell,” Shigaraki agrees. He’s mimicking the gesture again, even better on the third try. “The other one was.”

A glamour’s not a spell. If it was a spell, it could be replicated by anyone else, but your glamour is an extension of your nature as a half-fey. You won’t be able to convince Shigaraki otherwise without outing yourself, so you keep quiet, and you set back off around the garden, headed for where you left the supply kit. Shigaraki follows you. “I went to the bar. You weren’t there,” he says. “Are you avoiding me or something?”

“I don’t work in the lounge most of the time. That night I was just filling in.” You’re conscious, suddenly, of the fact that you’re in the maid uniform – and that the maid uniform doesn’t come with even the most useless of masks. “To be honest, I didn’t know you were here.”

Shigaraki makes an affronted sound, but you’ve reached the supply kit, and you have runesigns to trace. In the garden, the cultists are moving into position to begin their ritual. You hold the sheet in one hand and begin to trace the sigils in midair. “What do you do most of the time, then?” Shigaraki asks. “If you’re not down there.”

“I clean.” You make the mistake of gesturing at your uniform, and Shigaraki takes the invitation to look you up and down. “And whatever else Overhaul needs me to do.”

“Like this. What is this?”

“There are cult rituals happening tonight. Overhaul and Chrono are both busy, so they asked me to keep an eye on this one.”

“Huh.” Shigaraki looks away from you, into the garden. “My master had a cult for a while.”

You really don’t know what to think of that, except that if it had been relevant, it would have been the first thing Overhaul and Chrono told the staff about. “How old is your master?”

“Old,” Shigaraki says, which tells you absolutely nothing. “What about your boss?”

“Also old.”

Shigaraki snorts. “What about you?” You clam up instantly, and he rolls his eyes. “Come on. Either your name, what you are, or how old you are. Give me at least one.”

Out of those three pieces of information, your age is the one that won’t get you in trouble. That doesn’t mean you won’t make him work for it. “You first.”

“Come on,” Shigaraki complains. You wait, watching as the cultists pick up their unconscious sacrifice and lay him out on the altar they built out of bones they brought from home. “Not that it matters or anything, but I’m twenty-three. Your turn.”

“Twenty-three,” you repeat. You can’t tell if you’re surprised by his age or not, but the fact that he’s still counting it means he’s still mortal. Your age stopped mattering two years ago, but you’ve kept count anyway. “Me, too.”

“Was that so hard?” Shigaraki grins, just a little too widely. The only thing that keeps you from calling it a leer is an instinct that it’s not born out of triumph at getting one over on you. A moment later, you’re proven right. “I knew it.”

Why does it matter to him that you’re the same age? A low hum begins to vibrate through the air, and the sigil hovering just in front of you wavers. The ritual’s beginning, and you need to focus. Unfortunately for you, Shigaraki’s still here. You need to shake him off. “I’m surprised you’re not with your master. Aren’t you here to feed?”

“He’s here to feed. I’m here to learn,” Shigaraki says. Learn what? “This looks more interesting than whatever else is going on around here.”

The hum in the air intensifies. Beneath the sleeve of your uniform, you feel your skin beginning to crawl. “If you’re going to stay, keep quiet. I need to concentrate.”

“Right. Witches need to concentrate when they’re doing magic.”

You’ve decided not to respond to any more witch jokes. The cultists are chanting in one of the demonic languages, drawing in close to surround the altar and obscure the sacrifice. Now that you think about it, you’re not sure what kind of sacrifice this is, and regardless of whether it’s symbolic or literal, you don’t want to watch it. You especially don’t want to watch it with Shigaraki – Shigaraki, who’s standing next to you, head tilted to one side, scratching idly at his neck. Seeing him scratch makes you want to scratch. You peer down into the supply kit instead, wondering which of the objects inside you’re supposed to use first if things get out of hand.

“Is there food here?”

Out of all the things Shigaraki might have said, you weren’t expecting that. “Huh?”

“Food,” Shigaraki says again. “Is there food here?”

It feels like round two of the WiFi conversation, except this time, you’re able to give him the answer he’s hoping for. “Yes. Why?”

“After this. We should get some.”

“Um –”

“You get breaks, right? Even witches have to eat.” Shigaraki’s scratching harder than before, and he’s not looking at you. “I’m hungry.”

He is really skinny, but he’s also a half-vampire. You know half-vampires still need blood, and you focus on that question instead of the other, worse one. “Not thirsty?”

“I have money. I can pay for it,” Shigaraki says, ignoring you. “And you helped me out the last time I was here.”

“I’m the one who got you drunk.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t owe –”

“Stop talking.” You’ve interrupted him, but it’s not enough – he’s already opening his mouth again, and you slap your hand down over it before he can get another word out. “I mean it.”

Shigaraki’s red eyes are wide. You can’t tell if it’s with affront or with shock. His lips move against the palm of your hand, dry and rough, and a weird jolt travels through you, raising the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck. It’s drowned out a second later by a vibration through the air that makes you stagger. The sigil in front of you dissolves, unable to stand in the face of another wave emanating from the site of the ritual.

The wave abates, for a moment, and you think you’re safe – but the next thing you know, you and Shigaraki are both staggering as the vibration travels through the ground in addition to the air. You don’t need anybody to tell you that the ritual’s gotten out of hand, and you dive into the supply kit, searching desperately for something that can counteract a demonic curse. Something whips past you from the opposite direction, slicing your cheek. You don’t look up. You’re busy.

Shigaraki catches Overhaul’s message and pries it open, reads it aloud. “Your boss wants you to play a song. How are you supposed to play a song when phones don’t work in here?”

“Tell me you don’t really think that music only comes out of phones.” You pull a music box out of the bottom of the supply kit, dust it off, and open it. No music comes out – you must have to turn the handle. “Be quiet.”

Music begins to emanate from the box after two turns of the handle – a thin, quiet voice, singing what sounds like a lullaby in a language you don’t speak. You doubt the cultists speak it, either. But it doesn’t matter what the words are, or even that the singer is at least a little tone-deaf. All that matters is the glamour that drips from every note, stronger and heavier than anything you’ve ever called up. It’s a faery’s voice, and it’s already affecting Shigaraki. He sways sideways, falls hard against a column, the curse he mumbles more slurred than his voice was when he was drunk. The glamour is almost overpowering. If you weren’t half-fey, you’d fall prey to it yourself.

It’s strong enough to stagger Shigaraki and disorient you, but it’s not having much of an effect on the ritual itself. The vibrations are still traveling through the air, and worse, you can feel them in the ground beneath your feet. You keep turning the handle of the music box with no change in the strength of the demonic curse emanating from the center of the garden. Why isn’t it working?

The answer occurs to you just as Shigaraki speaks up. “It’s too quiet,” he mumbles. “Witch. Make it louder.”

You can’t. The despair barely has time to settle in before the answer occurs to you. You can’t make the voice from the music box louder, but you can make sure it’s not the only fey voice in the garden. You clear your throat, coat your voice in your glamour, and begin to sing.

It’s nothing – some song you liked when you could walk freely in the human world, the first thing that comes to mind. You make an effort to match the key the music box is singing in, and you project both your voice and your glamour, doing your best to build on what the faint fey voice is already providing. You think it might be working. You’re not sure.

What you do know is that Shigaraki’s figured you out. You can see him out of the corner of your eye, still slumped against the column, staring unabashedly at you as you turn the handle of the music box and sing. You’re able to console yourself with the thought that your uniform hides your patchwork fey skin before you realize what a stupid thing that is to think about – right now, or ever. Your throat is starting to hurt, your vocal cords straining under the weight of the glamour. You aren’t sure how much longer you can keep this up.

The vibrations from the ritual begin to fade just as your voice begins to crack, and it gives you the willpower to hold on a little longer, the notes you sing growing increasingly fractured and hoarse. By the time your voice gives out completely, the demonic energy’s faded to the point where the music box is enough to counter it. Your ears are ringing, so much that you almost miss Chrono’s footsteps as he approaches. He notes Shigaraki, then looks to you. “You should have called for help.”

“From who?” Your voice sounds awful. You cough. “I took care of it.”

“If that demonic energy had gotten into the flux field, it could have destabilized the entire dimension,” Chrono snaps. “Someone as weak as you has no business trying to contain –”

“If she can’t contain it, you shouldn’t have sent her to watch it.” Shigaraki levers himself upright. “Something was off about that ritual. Isn’t it your job to catch things like that? Or are you really okay with a bunch of human cultists sacrificing half-demons in your pocket dimension?”

“Half-demon?” Chrono swears. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“I can smell its blood.” Shigaraki shrugs. “She saved your ass. Give her a bonus or something.”

Chrono handles being told what to do by people other than Overhaul about as well as Rappa handles being told what to do by anybody. His shoulders stiffen, and his hand closes around your upper arm, venting a sharp jolt of magic into you rather than loosing it at Shigaraki. At least, that’s what you think he’s doing. Then the skin on your right arm, itchy and crawling since three days ago, erupts with an itch so sharp and acidic that it almost feels like a burn.

Your arm is on fire. You’ve felt this before, and you know instantly that you can’t leave it a second longer. “I need my break,” you say to Chrono, your voice strained.

He lets you go with a sharp nod. You turn and all but run from the garden, already clawing off your apron.

No time to get back to the servants’ quarters, but Asylum is full of places to hide if you know where to look. And you know where to look. With a master rune like the one you carry, you can open up passageways and closets that even the savviest of guests don’t know exist, and you’ve used them more times than you’d like to admit. You reach the nearest of the passageways and raise the rune to tap against the wall, only for the agonizing itch in your left arm to flare to new heights. Your body contorts in discomfort, and your right hand falls back to your side – and then, so fast that you barely register it, someone slips the rune from around your wrist.

It's Shigaraki, and he’s got enough of a height advantage over you that he can hold the rune out of reach just by extending his arm. You don’t have time for this. You really don’t have time for this. You can feel the fey skin beginning to eat through yours from below. “Give it back!”

“So that was why you wouldn’t let me say I owed you. You’re a faery, not a witch.” Shigaraki’s grinning like he’s figured something out, even though the clue you gave him was a thousand times more obvious than the clue you got a month ago. “Why didn’t you want me to owe you one? My master is powerful. You could have asked me for anything.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Except this.” Shigaraki studies the rune. You reach for it again and he holds out his other hand to forestall you. “You want this, and I want a straight answer. The ritual’s done. Do you want to go get food with me or not?”

The small part of you that’s not panicking, caught in the desperate need to get the rune back, to get away, notices how he’s phrased the question. He knows that faeries can’t lie, and for some bizarre reason, he’s decided to corner you on a question so mundane that you wonder if you’re hallucinating it. Why would he waste a question he thinks you’ll have to answer on something this stupid?

It doesn’t matter, because half-fey can lie as much as they want, and because you’re done playing around. You glamour your left arm, faking a clumsy feint, and when Shigaraki shifts away from it, you snatch the rune from his hand with your right. He’s between you and the wall, so you turn away, pressing the rune against the opposite wall and opening up the passageway there. You dive through it, the relief at being out of the hallway marred only by the fact that Shigaraki followed you in.

The passageway you were aiming for originally had space. This one is a close fit for one person, tight for two, but you’re out of time to be picky. You can’t get your arm out of your dress without unbuttoning it partway. “What are you doing?” Shigaraki asks, clearly startled, as you undo the buttons one-handed and draw your arm from your sleeve. “Are you transforming?”

Even the slightest motion of your arm sets off a wave of pins and needles, and you grit your teeth as you work it free. Bared from wrist to shoulder, your arm looks awful, mottled, bulging in odd places, almost writhing in others – like the fey skin really is trying to claw its way to freedom from the inside out. Seeing what it looks like only hardens your resolve. You dig your fingers into your shoulder, trying to pry up a piece of skin. If you get a good enough grip on the first one, you can peel off the rest in one sheet.

But you can’t get a grip. Your hand is shaking too much, or your nails are too short, or something. You remember too late that the only other time you peeled the skin back, you made the first incision with a pocketknife. Overhaul doesn’t let the staff carry weapons. You don’t have anything on you that’s sharp enough to cut through your skin, and if you can’t – there’s no way you’ll be able to scratch all your skin away before the fey skin eats through. It’ll be agonizing. It’ll take forever. And Shigaraki will be watching you the entire time.

Shigaraki. You turn to him, desperate and hating yourself for it. You know that guests are searched for weapons when they arrive, but maybe – “Do you have anything sharp?”

“Like a knife?” Shigaraki shakes his head. Then his expression shifts, and he raises one hand to his mouth, pressing the pad of his thumb against one of his incisors. You see blood well up where the tooth breaks his skin. “My teeth aren’t as sharp as my master’s –”

If they can draw blood, they’re sharp enough. You beckon him forward. “Please.”

Part of you is expecting him to bargain. Any inhuman would, if they had one of the Fair Folk at their mercy – they’d never get better terms for any deal they wished to make. But Shigaraki steps forward, closing the slight distance between you without asking what you’ll give him in exchange. His hands are dry, his palms rough like before, as they close around your wrist and raise your hand towards his mouth. “Here?”

His breath is hot against your wrist. You shake your head. “My shoulder.”

Some part of you is terrified at the thought of letting a vampire this close to your throat, screaming in terror at the thought of those teeth meeting your skin. Shigaraki edges even closer to you, as close together as you were when you were dragging him drunk down the hall. His mouth brushes against your shoulder, and you freeze in place. What is he waiting for? You don’t need him to peel the skin off for you. You just need him to –

At least one of Shigaraki’s incisors punctures your skin, and you flinch, hiss – less at the pain, and more at the fact that he’s touching you, one hand on your waist and the other around your wrist, keeping your left arm extended and keeping the rest of you close. But you’ve got what you needed from him. You dig your fingers into the breach, get a good grip, and pull.

It hurts when you peel your human skin away from the faery skin that’s grown beneath, but the human skin is already dead. As it breaks contact with your body, it goes ashen, then transparent. There’s next to no blood. The faery skin glistens, slick with serous fluid, as it’s bared to the air for the first time. You mess up a little bit at the end, peeling away a piece of healthy human skin on the back of your hand by accident. It feels like a hangnail, and your entire arm stings. The pain would be worth complaining about if you didn’t know exactly how bad it was before.

Shigaraki’s still way too close to you. You try to sidle away, and he lets go of your waist, but not your arm. He’s peering intently at it, almost fixated. You brace yourself for the kind of comments you’ve heard every time someone’s seen what you really look like. “Wow,” Shigaraki says. “It looks even cooler than I thought.”

You’re not sure you heard him right. “Cool?”

“Don’t fish for compliments. I’m getting to it,” Shigaraki says. He hasn’t looked up from your arm yet. “I thought it would look cool, and I was right. Do you have more of it?”

You’re feeling weirdly lightheaded. You nod, and you can tell Shigaraki’s grinning just by the sound of his voice. “How much more?” he asks. “Can I see?”

That question snaps you out of whatever fog you’ve been floating in. “No,” you say, and pull away from him completely. “You weren’t even supposed to see this.”

“But you’d have been in trouble if I wasn’t here.” Shigaraki’s eyes follow you closely, not just focused on your arm this time. You can feel his gaze roving over you. If you had to guess, you’d say he’s trying to figure out where else you’re hiding fey skin. “I helped.”

He helped you, after you helped him. “We’re even, then,” you say. “Is that why you did it?”

Shigaraki’s not even subtle in how he ducks the question, and before you can press him for an answer, you hear someone or something knocking against the wall outside – a sharp, uneven rattle that startles you both. You start wrestling your arm back into your sleeve. The serous fluid will glue the fabric to the fey skin and removing it will be painful later, but you don’t have a choice. You need to get out there, and you need to beg whoever’s knocking not to tell Overhaul that they found you in the world’s smallest secret passageway with Shigaraki Tomura and your dress unbuttoned.

The knocking intensifies. You miss a button at the collar of your dress and Shigaraki’s hands knock yours aside, undoing it and buttoning it properly again. Is he trying to get you in his debt officially? You decide that’s a problem for later and open the wall again. There’s no one there but one of Overhaul’s paper cranes, battering itself to death against the wall. You grab it clumsily out of the air. Overhaul’s message is blunt and to-the-point – he wants you to assist Chrono in containing the next ritual, which starts in half an hour. Shigaraki is peering over your shoulder. “I can’t read it.”

“That’s because it’s not for you. They can only be read by the person they’re intended for,” you say. Half an hour. That’s not much time. “Look, I have to –”

Another paper crane zips past you, headed for Shigaraki. He whips his head to one side to avoid it, but he read the trajectory wrong. The wing slices into the dry skin on the side of his neck and he swears, clapping his hand over the now-bleeding paper cut. You capture the crane instead and hand it to him. His expression, already annoyed, deepens into frustration and discomfort as he reads. “What does it say?” you ask.

“What does yours say?”

“Mine says I have half an hour before I’m supposed to help with the next ritual,” you say. “What about yours?”

“My master wants me to feed while I’m here.” Shigaraki scowls. “I don’t want to feed. I’m hungry.”

He’s hungry, and he helped you, and he’s a guest – but it’s not any of those things that decides your course of action. It’s something else, something you’d go mute rather than admit to out loud. “I’ve got half an hour,” you say. There’s almost certainly something else you’re supposed to be doing with that half an hour. Overhaul can be angry with you later. “We can go get something to eat.”

Shigaraki looks surprised. “Really?”

“Sure.” You can’t figure out where that surprise is coming from. He’s been bothering you about it since before the ritual went sideways. Was he not expecting you to say yes? “And we should cover that cut on your neck.”

Shigaraki pulls his hand away from it, grimacing. “It’s not that bad. I get worse all the time.”

From scratching? “It’s still not a good idea to walk around bleeding in here. Let’s go.”

You steer clear of the infirmary and make your way instead to one of the supply caches, using your master rune to open it, and then to open an alcove where you can patch up Shigaraki’s injury in peace. Shigaraki complains as you try to clean the wound. “Why does he fold those things so sharp, anyway?”

“So people will snap to it faster,” you explain. “Most of us would rather drop what we’re doing and do what he wants than risk getting a papercut like that.”

“Your boss is an asshole.” Shigaraki tilts his head to the side at your request, then freezes. “What are you doing?”

“I just moved your hair. It was in the way.” You don’t care that he’s uncomfortable. After what happened tonight, after how much of you he saw, you feel like he deserves it. You get a fingertip full of some salve from the supply caches and start daubing it onto the cut, to the tune of a sharp hiss. “Sorry. I’m trying to be gentle.”

Shigaraki doesn’t respond to that. It’s quiet as you fish through the supply kit for a bandage, a quiet that feels awkward but not necessarily tense. Shigaraki doesn’t speak again until after you’ve placed the bandage. “Can you use one of your spells on it? Whatever you did last time,” he says. “If my master finds out –”

“It’s a glamour, not a spell,” you say. “No problem.”

A phantom itch travels along your left arm as you set the glamour, fading before you can scratch it in earnest. You store the supply kit, open another passageway that will lead directly to the kitchens, and start off, counting on Shigaraki to follow you. The awkwardness follows, too, and just like before, Shigaraki speaks first. “I get it now. Why you wouldn’t tell me what you were.”

You find yourself tucking your left arm close to your body, shielding it. Shigaraki keeps talking. “You helped me just now. I owe you a favor again. Ask.”

Earlier tonight, you’d have asked him to leave you alone. Now – “We’re even. Don’t worry about it.”

“You can’t do that,” Shigaraki says. “I know how this works. You can’t just cancel a debt because you don’t want anything from the person who owes it.”

“I’m only half-fey. I don’t know which of the rules applies to me,” you say. “You’re off the hook.”

“What if I don’t want to be off the hook?”

You can’t imagine why he’d want to be on the hook. The Fair Folk are notorious for driving cruel and twisted bargains. Whether it’s due to their morality, which doesn’t map onto human morals particularly well, or due to a desire to hurt others, everyone who’s ever found themselves in debt to a faery has been keen to get out of it as quickly as possible. Why on earth would Shigaraki want to carry around a possible debt to you?

You don’t want to ask that question. You stay quiet. “I guess I’ll have to stick around, then,” Shigaraki muses. “See about paying you back.”

You glance at him and find him smirking, or grinning. You can’t tell which. Your glamour is shimmering at the side of his neck, obvious to you but subtle enough to escape his master’s notice, and his lips, which would have cracked at a smile this wide even an hour ago, look smoother than before. You have a bad feeling about why that is – and at the same time, you aren’t as worried about it as you were before. Now that he knows what you are, interacting with him is significantly less stressful than before. It’s not something you’ll look forward to. But it’s not something you’ll dread.

“I guess you have to,” you say, and his smile brightens. Even that’s not enough to dredge up the ambivalence you felt before. “Let’s get some food.”

i need help finding a smut where Tomura is a tatoo artist ane where we are twice cousin or something like that 😭😔✋please soemone help me

Masterlist for Kinktober

Day 1: Lingerie ( Tomura Shigaraki )

Day 2: Ritual ( Himiko Toga )

Day 3: Bathtime ( Dabi )

Day 4: Toys ( Tomura Shigaraki )

Day 5: Mirror ( jin babiwagia / Twice )

Day 6: Fem! Domination ( Dabi )

Day 7: Fingering/Handjobs ( Tomura )

Day 8: Threesome ( Keigo and Dabi )

Day 9: Piercings/Tattoes ( Hitoshi Shinsou )

Day 10: Knife Play ( Himiko toga )

Day 11: Oral ( Kirishima Eijiro )

Day 12: Against a wall ( Sero Hanta )

Day 13: Public ( Todoroki Shōto )

Day 14: 69 (Tamaki Amajiki )

Day 15: overstimulation (shoji Mezo )

Day 16: Roleplay ( Tomura Shigaraki )

Day 17: Choking ( Shihai Kurorio )

Day 18: Hate sex ( Tomura Shigaraki )

Day 19: teasing ( Keigo Takami )

Day 20: Aftercare ( Izuku Midoriya )

Day 21: Heat ( Tenya Iida )

Day 22: Electrostimulation ( Denki Kaminari )

Day 23: Impact play ( Villian! Todoroki Shoto )

Day 24: Humiliation ( Villian! Izuku Midoryia )

Day 25: High heels ( Todoroki Shoto )

Day 26: Anonymous ( Camie Utsushimi )

Day 27: Surprise! ( ??? )

Day 28: Rest ( The Entire League )

Day 29: Mastrabation ( Tokoyami Fumikage )

Day 30: Cam couple ( Mirio Togata )

Day 31: Spooky Sex ( Tomura Shigaraki )

can we stop doing this trope

Saw this and immediately thought of shigaraki and mc in play nice

HAHAHA, pretty much this last chapter. Pretty much.

Guys i'm in France i don't know xhat happend WTF HAPPEND 😭✋

The absolute audacity for Horikoshi to do this on Tomura's birthday.

Shigaraki NSFW Headcanons

Cause he makes me so insatiabley horny

Warning: nsfw obviously

This is the horniest fucker to ever exist, but he is a virgin until you

like it's bad, he's watched so much porn , he genuinely had an addiction

so when you two start getting sexual, expect a couple things

1. he doesn't last very long. however, he does regain his stamina pretty quickly so you can get back at it pretty soon.

2. he has no experience, so he's gonna try and use the weird porn he's watched as a basis - which he realizes very soon does not work

so after a few times of him kinda embarrassing himself, he goes full 180 and becomes a nervous mess

so for a while, you'll have to be in control. maybe not physically unless you want to be, but you'll have to guide him and very much show him exactly what he's supposed to do

consider: he loves you. yes he's a horny fuck, but he's also scared of people coming close to him, he's scared of vulnerability, and this feels very vulnerable. so he trusts you, and he cares about you more than anything. he really wouldn't have sex with someone unless he genuinely cared about them

meaning: he wants to make you happy. he wants you to think he's doing a good job and for you to feel fucking amazing

so he takes everything you say very seriously, and once he gets more comfortable your sex life gets amazingly better

because beyond what youve told him you like, he pays attention to all the little noises and faces and body reactions so he knows what you like exactly and he takes advantage of that in every way

he slowly becomes more and more dominant, if you're dominant you'll probably fight for it often, but if you're submissive he happily takes control

he doesn't like not being in control, but he allowed it because he knew that it'd benefit the both of you, so now he wants to be completely in control to make up for it

his favorite position is probably doggy, but in front of a mirror. Tomura loves ass, he loves seeing your ass and being able to grab at it and spank it (and maybe play with the hole if he's not already in that one) but he also loves to see your face, to see you fall apart as he fucks you, so he'll grab your hair and force you to watch yourself in the mirror

he spends most of his time around the league, which means you do too. you're basically attached to his hip at all times, and tomura likes to show you off. which also means he loves making you scream his name all night so everyone knows what's going on

he'd also be very tempted to fuck you in front of everyone - it probably stems from being told he's ugly and scary looking his whole life but he's fucking someone as hot as you so he has to rub it in everyone's faces

during a meeting, where you know he has a little makeshift throne, he's definitely had his cock buried in you while you sit on his lap, squirming around trying to get any stimulation you can, him lazily thrusting into you every now and then

his ability to regain stamina quick only gets worse once he goes through his whole buff transformation, you're getting railed for literal hours

he loves overstimulating you, he wants you to beg to cum and tell him it's too much and that you're gonna die if he doesnt stop, but keep letting him fuck you

at first, the thought of toys made him kinda insecure, but after impulsively buying you a dildo he loves it. whether it's shoving it in both of your holes, or him fucking your mouth while you fuck yourself with it, he thinks it's so hot

his wallpaper is definitely a nude

he likes superiority kinks, probably not daddy, but being called Master, or Sir, he gets so hard

his dick is long too, like 8 inches, but it's a little thin. he has scrawny man dick syndrome. it does get a little thicker when he gets buffer though

hes a sadist, so he'll put you through as much pain and humiliation as you can handle. he'll spank your ass red, yank your hair so hard you think he'll rip it out, bite you till you bleed, hell he'll even pull your panties over your head while he fucks you just to humiliate you (side note- he definitely has a wedgie kink)

if you're more vanilla (no shame), then he'll respect that. again, he loves you and it's more so about you, so he'd keep his fantasies to himself.

My heart is breaking in a million pieces because Tomura thinks he can destroy the world and go back to the League, but he doesn't know that most of them are either dead or terribly hurt.

He doesn't know Twice died because he refused to betray them. Tomura doesn't know that Mr. Compress sacrificed himself to save him, doesn't know about the way that Compress screamed he loved the League as he went down. He has no clue about what AFO did to Spinner in Tomura's name, the way Dabi explained so perfectly to Shouto the LOV and their philosophies because he always paid attention even if he said he didn't, Tomura wasn't there to witness Toga's breakdown over not being able to use the Dabi's flames or his decay even if she loved them so much.

At his absolute worst, even once the worst of his own past is over, the thought of them keeping him going.

He wants to destroy the world for them.

His League of Villains.

They love him so much. He loves them so much.

They can only imagine it, but they. don't. know.

Yoo..

I love Shigaraki Tomura. Ever since S1, he's been an amazing villain. Very complex, sexy, hot, cute, handsome, beautiful, chill man, that's hella misunderstood. He's not a manchild, nor is he immature if his character is truly payed attention to- His development was tremendous. And damn, he's gorgeous af. His face and voice enough to make me fainttt. Hhjjjkjaaja-- I love the rivalry between him and Deku.

I draw, I'll post my draws of him, all I ask is dont repost or use my works-

Pathethic edit by me

You know what? Fuck it.

This:

I made this out of clips from My Hero Ultra Impact. Sorry if it's cringe.

Tomura before & during the "war". Endeavour and the rest couldn't do shit lmao.

Dont repost or use

Anxious

(Back again with the soft Tomura, been anxious and overthinking a lot lately so this is a bit of a comfort fic for me! Hope it can comfort you too!~)

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Platonic

Summary: You’re new to the League of Villains. You have already proven yourself in combat, showing off your skills with flying colors. Yet it’s easy to see how anxious you are around people when your mind isn’t focused on fighting.

CW/TW: people being judging assholes, degrading comments towards reader (none by the league, just some strangers)

(Y’all are beautiful and sweet, try not to listen to the haters! <3)

~~~~~~

You hadn’t been in the League long, just barely over two weeks and it taken longer than you’d like to admit to get used to everyone’s names. Oftentimes you hung out with Toga or Twice, seeing as they accepted you and made you feel more at ease. Mr. Compress was nice too, one of the firsts to notice your anxiety and help you with it.

You didn’t see much of Spinner, but from what interactions you did have, he was respectful of your anxiety too.

Dabi and especially Tomura, however, scared you to hell and back. Not only did they look like they’d kill you with just one glance, (and honestly they very well could), but they had an air about them. They seemed so high up in the League’s rankings that you were too nervous to even try to talk to them outside missions or training.

It was a Friday night, no big plans were coming up so the league was out and about doing their own things. You were in the training room at base, doing small things with your quirk to test your capabilities.

The sound of the door opening tore your attention away, your head turning to see Tomura in the open doorway.

“Need me for something?” You asked as politely as you could in his presence, the deadpan stare alone made you want to shiver. Tomura was hard to read.

“Come with me. We’re getting snacks.”

You blinked, not expecting the words but nodded nonetheless. You straightened up your clothes as you walked over, taking the jacket he held out to you.

“Wear that. It’ll hide your face.” He spoke, and as he turned, you though you almost imagined him muttering “Plus it’s cold out.”

Either way, you put on the jacket and flipped the hood over your head, following Tomura out of base and onto the yellow-lit streets of the city.

A small part of you found it fun, walking around in the city at night. You never did it often before you found yourself in the League. Plus it was much quieter at night, something you enjoyed. Your gaze drifted to the road, your mind picking out the colors of cars that passed by. Your ears picked up on passing conversations of cars and apartments above, no words to be heard, but the sound of voices was unmistakable.

Your gaze drifted to your feet, Tomura’s moving next to and slightly in front of yours, watching as your shoes made minuscule splashes in the puddles from yesterdays rain shower. An alley cat caught your attention next, head turning to watch the dark-furred feline jump up after a moth fluttering by a door light.

More alleyways passed by, some holding overturned, half full trashcans, others holding trashcans so full the owners had to place the trash bags on the ground next to them. Occasionally, you’d spot movement further in the alleyways, most likely a drunkard or a thug trying to hide away from the road’s street lights.

If Tomura was talking to you, you did not pay him any notice, your mind far too immersed in the city’s ambience to pay attention to much else.

At one point, you thought you saw a flicker of Dabi’s blue flames, way back in a darker alley, to which you pointedly turned your head the other direction. You’d only heard of what Dabi does to people, you didn’t wish to see it in action just yet.

“We’re here.”

You jumped out of your musings at Tomura’s voice, which in the moment sounded almost too loud, your head turning to see a run down general store. Either your wandering mind had kept a listening ear out for Tomura’s voice, or he had purposely raised his voice to pull you from such thoughts.

Following him inside, you glanced around the building. The floors definitely needed cleaned, the shelves were mostly stocked (aside from one entirely empty shelf). The only cashier there looked like he’d rather be anywhere else as he stared up at the TV playing some random late night cop show, his expression making him seem either half dead or half high, you couldn’t quite place it.

But damn, what a mood.

“Get whatever snack you want, I’ll pay.”

A part of you wanted to protest, you never liked having others pay for you, but you didn’t bring any money, and you figured it was best to take Tomura’s generosity when he gave it.

So you nodded and wandered off from his side, perusing the shelves. As you were moving from the sour candies, which you noticed were out of date, and onto the sweeter ones, you glanced up at the sound of the door opening, two teens wandering in.

Paying them no more attention, you reached down for a bag of your favorite chocolates, turning the bag over to check the expiration date.

“Are they really considering chocolate with that figure?” A hushed voice sounded at the end of the aisle.

You tensed, pretending to look busy with reading the other candy labels. The teens thought they were being subtle with their whispers, but in a rundown store like this late at night, their voices were more than quiet.

“Dunno, doubt they care if they’re in a place like this at night though.”

You shook as their quiet laughs reached your ears. God why? Your figure always upset you, some days you looked too big, others you looked too thin.

However, just before your thoughts could spiral more, you noticed their laughter abruptly stop. You lifted your head, just a slight glance up, and immediately dropped your gaze again.

Tomura was standing at the opposite end of your aisle from them, giving them the nastiest glare you’d ever seen on a person’s face. And without the hand on Tomura’s face? Not a look you’d want directed at you.

“Find what you want, (Y/n)?” He spoke up, making sure the two teens heard him as he stepped up to your side, giving you a gentle look that oddly enough, put you at ease.

“Y-Yeah.” You piped up quietly, earning a nod from Tomura.

“Alright, let’s go.” He replied, the toe of his shoe tapping against your ankle to get you moving towards the cash register.

Thankfully, he’d placed himself between you and the two teens, and you wondered if they’d pissed themselves in addition to how pale they’d gone.

You fiddled with a small phone charm up by the register as Tomura paid the cashier, but set it down as he handed the bag to you.

This time, he had you lead your duo out of the store, following close behind you but not without another glare thrown over his shoulder.

A part of you wondered why he hadn’t just gone ahead and used his quirk on them. You’d seen him do so with people that annoyed him, but as he brushed the back of his hand against your still quivering arm, you guessed it was to not upset your anxiety any further.

“You alright?” He asked after a stretch of time, walking beside you, you noticed, as opposed to slightly in front of you like earlier.

“Yeah.” You breathed, “Still a bit shaken, but I’m alright.”

He nodded, one eye glancing your way. “Don’t give those insignificant rats any satisfaction, alright? You’re fine just the way you are.”

You smiled up at him, finding yourself finally calm for once by his side. “Thank you, Tomura.”

“Don’t mention it.” He spoke, looking back in front of him as one hand lifted from his pocket. Clasped in fingers, ring and pinkie fingers extended, was the phone charm you were looking at, and you know he definitely didn’t pay for it.

You let out a small giggle as you took it from him, too caught up in the fact he stole the charm for you to see the way he smiled at your giddy expression.

(So right around where you start walking with Tomura is where I had some damn good city detailing, and then my phone decided to fucking close Tumblr on me making me lose my progress and I had gotten far enough into the fic that I couldn’t remember what exactly was written so I couldn’t rewrite it word for word and I’m so mad about it. Why can’t Tumblr do an autosave thing every minute or so??? Eh, it is what it is I guess, at least this time around I added a bit more details)

I've been doing so many shitposts and doodle comics, I don't remember the last time I painted something for real lmao

anyway Leshy be upon you

Omg yes same ! 😭😂

my favorites can easily be put into a pattern

Silly Time

SO UH i finished it (: teehee

be kind as always as i was just having fun with it!! thank you for the love on the snippet of this... i hope you guys enjoy this silly thing!! Happy new year from me!!

[1,178 words]

---------------------------------------------

It was another sunny day in the Daycare. Kids were playing and screaming in delight as they ran around.

Sun was sitting with some quieter kids at the small table, where they all drew on some colored paper with crayons. He, too, was drawing along with them. It looked rather comical as he sat there, his legs bent like a frog would sit, and in his hand a tiny crayon as he doodled on the blue piece of paper he had gotten. Sun was enjoying his day until a tiny voice spoke up at the table.

"Uhm... Mister Sun?"

Sun looked up from his drawing, his faceplate doing a silly little spin and his grin soft. 

"Yes, little star Kris?" 

The little girl looked down at the crayon in her tiny hand before speaking again. "I was... Wondering if you knew why Mister Moon calls the nice security guard, who comes here sometimes, for Love."

Sun trained his barely moving expression to remain still, though inside, he was shocked by this new knowledge. "Oh? Moon calls them for Love?" He tried to poke Moon's AI in his headspace, but the other remained quiet. Sun and Moon were able to communicate through their shared headspace, but the other AI moved away from Sun's poking, making him scoff internally.

"Yeah... I was just wondering because my mom and dad call each other that." Little Kris continued before going back to doodling as little kids do when they lose interest in getting an answer.

Which fit Sun fine as his inner workings were reeling, his fans kicking in. Moon had never mentioned that he was hanging out with a night guard, and especially not this one.

Sun could usually peek through Moon's eyes and be present when Moon was in control, but lately, the other AI had closed the connection, and at first, Sun thought maybe Moon just needed alone time, which was, of course, fine! But it seems there were other things at play. 

But Sun couldn't ask Moon about this right now. He was working and busy as he was an excellent daycare attendant. He thought so himself, at least.

--

Luckily for Sun, the kids got picked up earlier today, and he decided that as soon as he had cleaned, he would poke his other half until he responded. 

As Sun swept the floors and cleaned the surfaces, he heard the doors open, and the Security guard came in. The animatronic scattered to the playground to hide as he often did when this guard came around. It was not that he hated this security guard or anything. He and Moon didn't trust any of the adults. But for Moon, that might have changed.

"Hello? Moon?"

Sun was in one of the play castles, quiet as he hid in the small tower, checking his internal clock. It was indeed time for Moon to come out, and Sun could feel the other stir.

The sunny animatronic kept his white eyes on the security guard, hiding behind the castle doorway as he spoke internally. 

"Oh! So now you respond to me." Sun grumbled.

"... I just woke up," Moon mumbled back in reply.

"And?! Moonie, what is this about you calling THIS security guard for 'Love'??!" 

Moon groaned in the headspace. "You said you didn't like them, and I wanted to see them for myself and quickly found out you're being a dumbass."

Sun squawked in their shared space. "ME?? A DUMBASS? Moonie! The adults are not nice to us ever. I mean, you even told me you hate all the night guards and the security guards!"

Sun could feel Moon rolling his eyes. "This one's different. Let me out. They're calling for me still."

"Nuh-uh."

"... What the hell do you mean 'Nuh-uh'??" Moon growled.

"Moon? It's time to do the rounds!" The short guard called out into the empty Daycare, then removed their hat to scratch their head. "Moon? It's okay if you don't want to! Uh..."

Sun kept his eyes trained on the guard from his hiding spot. 

Moon continued. "Sun! Let me out!"

"I can't believe you trust them to do those security rounds with you! They're small! weak!"

Moon scoffed. "They're nice! Now let me out!"

Sun hummed and then replied, "No."

"NO?! SUN!"

The Sunny animatronic then shut the other AI out, dooming Moon to sit back and watch as he moved down from the play castle and over to the security guard. 

"Hi, Friend!" Sun said with a bright smile.

The security guard jumped in surprise and dropped their hat. "oh! Hi Sun!" they stuttered and bent down to pick the hat up. "I was wondering why the lights were still on..." They mumbled to themself.

Sun frowned, and Moon broke through. "You have never been kind to them, you wannabe jester." Sun gaped internally. Oh, how he wished he could punch his other half.

"Well! Sunshine. I got the task of cleaning the Daycare, and it took a bit longer than I thought," Sun said with a smile, but it faltered when he heard Moon's deep chuckle in the back of their shared headspace.

The guard looked at Sun with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. 

Sun then realized he had given the security guard, he had avoided at all costs, a nickname, an endearing one as well. "Oh."

"Uhm... Well, if Moon isn't active, can you tell him to come find me once you're done?" The guard- ["-Sunshine." Moon supplied with a smirk in this tone.] 

Sun groaned lightly, running a hand down his faceplate before smiling at the guard. "Or we could go together?" 

Moon growled in the back of his head. "You cannot take my time! Sun! Go turn off the lights. Now."

Sunshine, the guard, looked shocked; it looked like this was so out of pocket for Sun to suggest. "Oh!... Are you able to leave the Daycare?" They curiously asked.

Sun hummed. "Yes, of course! If Moon can leave, why shouldn't I also be able?" he asked with a spin of his faceplate, causing Sunshine to let out a flustered giggle.

"True... Well, alright, if Moon doesn't mind," They said with a smile. Sun smiled sweetly as he heard Moon complain angrily, wandering around in their headspace. "He doesn't mind at all, Sunshine! It will be good for us to get to know each other!" He held his hand out to them, which they grabbed with a shy smile. 

"Ooooo, when I get you, Sun." Moon hissed quietly in their shared head, to which the sunny side of the animatronic let out a quiet chuckle before looking down at Sunshine and guiding them to the massive doors at the entrance to the Daycare.

The two left the Daycare hand in hand to do security rounds. Maybe Moon was right about this one, Sun thought as he glanced down at the guard as they walked together. 

This time it was different.

Not that Sun ever wanted to give Moon right, but perhaps he could let this guard close to them.

Just this one time.

star stickers and best efforts.

「 tws + notes: no tws, unedited, hurt/comfort but 100% not at all, reader is mildly mean when nervous LIKE A BAD DOG /ref and most definitely written self-indulgently by accident, sun is mildly condescending, they r each others best supporters, mentions of a customer being rude but rly nothing crazy, sun uh... he's an interesting fella, BIGGG dialogue chunks im sorry im sorry 」

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic <3 」

↳ ft. the daycare attendant/sun/sundrop

author's note: my wip title was literally just "the one where you're yelled at" :p but... hiiii!!! obligatory return to fnaf real quick becuz,,, no, i still havent gotten into the ruin dlc but YES i do love sun's personality in help wanted 2..... if this is ooc u can erm. shove me into wet concrete. (。﹏。) aaannywayz!! missed this!!! missed this so much!!!! ( ╯□╰ ) sorry for not valentine's day posting,,, scandalous ik since im lit rally Called Valentine. but oh well. enjoy! or dont. if you dont im sorry please request fnaf stuff so i can Fix That /srs

if you weren't relying on this job to put food on your table and a roof on your head, you’d burn the freddy fazbear’s mega pizzaplex to the ground for a piece of pocket lint and a pat on the head.

maybe it’s a bit dramatic to say that— you're paid well, you like your mostly robot coworkers, and most of the time (emphasis on most and not always) the work is manageable enough.

the customers are another story.

sun notices the minute you walk in the daycare. you look like you're a minor inconvenience away from murder— which naturally, makes him feel inclined to prod a little.

“well, someone’s awfully sulky today!”

while you’d typically crack a smile at the upbeat jester animatronic, his enthusiasm in the face of your misery is grating. there’s no energy left in your body to banter with him— you were using most of it to drag your feet over to the shoe caddy, toolbox in hand to fix up its shelf, now hanging askew due to a busted bracket.

“can it, sunny, i don't wanna hear it.” you mutter, more venomous than you intend it to be. he doesn’t even blink at your grumpiness. instead, he happily holds up the shelf while you inspect it and grab a new bracket to secure it.

at least he’s trying to make himself useful. you think to yourself.

his faceplate tilts slightly, staring at you with that ever present grin. his staring isn’t really helping, but you don’t fault him for it. you’ve gotten used to his antics by now. “woke up on the wrong side of the bed?” sun questions.

you shake your head.

“got yelled at by a customer— now, if you could please just drop the topic—” you sigh exasperatedly, not even bothering to finish the sentence as you sit down cross legged in front of the shoe caddy, slumping slightly in defeat.

much too persistent for his own good, sun decides that inquiring even further about the incident that seems to have you beat down is a good idea. “what’d you do?”

you consider feigning offense as he insinuates it’s somehow your fault. but you don’t. you just shrug it off.

“my job.” 

“ah, they do hate it when you do that.” he tuts.

“it wasn’t even that big of a deal,” you mutter, getting the bracket in place and marking it, “this one kid just so happened to walk up to the arcade machine i was putting an out of order sign on. i felt bad, so like, obviously, i hand the kid a few tokens, apologize politely, explain— and you’d think it’s all good right?”

you pause mid-ramble as you fix up the shelf. in all your misery, you forgot that you don’t even know exactly what caused the shelf to collapse like this. you consider asking.

sun leans in just a bit too close, interrupting your train of thought as you stare at the shelf. when you glance at him, he gives you a little nod.

go on, he seems to say wordlessly. he’s waiting silently for you to continue your story. it’s never not unnerving when he’s quiet.

“...anyways, uh... the kid’s dad came by and got mad or something. didn’t understand why i couldn’t just let him play one game since it looked perfectly functional— keep in mind, this is the arcade machine that literally kept eating up tokens only to not function, and shocked kids when it did— so i kept trying to explain why i couldn’t exactly do that. but for some reason, it was such a big fucking deal—”

“language.” he chides.

“...fricking deal. of course, i had to be berated for it. i offered to grab them more faz-tokens as compensation and i thought the problem was solved... and then i checked and saw he still left a bad review. definitely gonna hear about that from management.” sun hands you a tool as you continue to speak.

“but now i’m upset, i’m definitely in trouble, and my face hurts from the whole customer service smile i was holding that entire conversation. like seriously, i don’t know how i’m expected to do that 24/7.” you stop at your last remark and stare at sun and his unchanging expression. “...my bad.”

the awkward silence only lasts for a moment, thankfully. you’ve spoken your piece— sun decides to speak his.

“you did your best.” he says simply, as you finally fix the shelf into place. he pats you on the head and doesn't even hide his amusement when you sulk.

“i know that tone, sunny, you're making fun of me—”

“poor thing.” he continues, grinning brightly as he makes a show of patronizing you. sun’s hand continues to pat the top of your head gently, like he would when consoling a child. or when greeting a dog. has he,,, ever seen a dog before? probably not.

you groan and manage to shove his arm away.

“i do mean it though,” he continues, his tone still lighthearted— but notably more earnest as he notes your expression. sun helps you put your tools away neatly back into the toolbox, even though it really is just a one-man job.

“you tried your best,” sun closes the toolbox with a flourish and a click, “...and for that—!”

with a dramatic flick of his wrist, bells jingling as he does, sun produces a gold star sticker from… somewhere. he holds it up for you to see.

and then gently presses it onto the tip of your nose.

“to my favoritest human employee here! and my bestest of friends!” it’s hard to bite back a smile at those words. even if his little show of empathy and affection is much too theatrical for your current mood.

“whatever.” you shrug a little, unable to stop the corners of your mouth from twitching into a little grin. standing up and grabbing the toolbox, you give him an awkward thumbs up.

“thanks. and uh… sorry. for being mean. i guess.”

sun shakes his head dismissively, bouncy and bright as ever. “oh, don't mention it!”

something about his seeming lack of offense towards your prickliness makes you feel even more guilty. still, he gives you a wave as you head out, “bye-bye”-ing happily as you walk away, sticker stuck to your nose and smile on your face like an idiot.

you decide you’ll find a way to make it up to him later. you figure he deserves that much for putting up with everything.

meanwhile, sun is taking mental notes on more stuff to break of whenever you’ve been away for too long. just in case, of course. maybe you’d have more interesting customer encounters to rant about. and hey, you could use the company, couldn’t you?

— reblogs always appreciated!