🏮𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 🏮

oh thank you ! Now it seem logical 😅 thanks

📸 Self-Ship Photo Scavenger Hunt! 🎞

The idea of this is to appreciate little details/moments of your f/o! This works best with live-action F/O’s but any visual media is ok! Askers send you an F/O and an emoji and you have to…

👁 Post a screenshot of your f/o’s eye/eyes!

🗣 Post a screenshot of your f/o in profile/side view!

👄 Post a screenshot of your f/o’s mouth!

🤚 Post a screenshot of your f/o’s hand(s)!

🥺 Post a screenshot of your f/o where they’re emotional.

🎉 Post a screenshot of your f/o where they’re smiling/laughing/having a good time.

🕴Post a screenshot of your f/o small in the distance/the background of a shot.

👞 Post a screenshot of your f/o’s shoes.

👔 Post a screenshot of your f/o in a different outfit than usual.

🤪 Post a screenshot of your f/o making a silly face.

🏃 Post a screenshot of your f/o on the move.

✏️ Post a screenshot of your f/o doing their job.

🔥 Post a screenshot of your f/o looking tough.

🌸 Post a screenshot of your f/o looking cute.

😳 Post a screenshot of your f/o that flusters you.

❓ Post a weird/funny/confusing screenshot of your f/o with no context.

As a bonus, gush about the screenshot in the caption (you know you want to) - and please practice inbox karma if you can 😌

can we stop doing this trope

Love Like Ghosts - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

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

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

Cross-posted to Ao3

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

Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love y-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watched over?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m calm,” you say.

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

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

He. “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey guuy so some people know, some doesn't but this account is the one i'm sharing with a friend of mine, we both are simp of Tomura soooo yea, she's doing the nsfw stories 'bout Tomura and i'm doing the sfw, drawing and pictures so yeaaa i was thinking of creating a second accpunt just for my drawings and the story a new life for Tomura that we wrote together for my oc and that i'm drawing 'cause idk i may use my oc for others stuff and i don't wanna people thinking this account is stealing art or whatever...i'll post the new account name by rebloging this

Hi !! Congrats on 500 followers ! For the roulette r can I request shigaraki/fem reader for the prompt numbers 1,34,55,63 ? Thank you !

Bang! … No bullet was shot—

Tomura Shigaraki

“I’ll make you fucking sorry.” || Wartime || Fresh laundry || Enemies to lovers

tw: NSFW • Coercion • Dubcon • Rough Sex • Mild Humiliation • Unprotected Sex • Fem! Reader

wc: 1009

“Tell me why…” the scratch of untrimmed nails against dry brittle skin made your gums ache.

“A hero is standing in front of me alive,” hard set garnet eyes glowering beneath the fall of soft blue bangs. His figure was hunched, bad posture obvious as he continued to pick at the skin on his neck almost to the point you wondered if it was an obsessive compulsive disorder which plagued him.

“I’m not a hero… at least not anymore. I want to join you.” The silence from the League of Villain’s head was unnerving, unable to guess his emotion due to a severed hand covering most of his face.

“Does this place look like a fucking freak convention? I should dust you and be done with this, why should I have to deal—,” you stupidly interrupted his rambling, panicking that he might reject you.

“Please, the League is the only place I can go to get revenge, I’ll do anything—,” your words seemed to echo, the emphasis you’d placed on anything stopping him. Even the hand clawing a bloody mess into his neck paused.

His eyes sliced over to you again, analyzing you in a new light that set your frayed nerves on end.

You were cute. He couldn’t deny that. Your wide desperate eyes filled with determination had blood pooling into his cock, making him turn and shift so he faced you again.

You watched as he removed the hand from his face, back straightening a bit as he looked up and revealed his face. His cracked raw lips split further as he grinned, eyes crinkling as his features twisted into a nasty gleeful image.

“Anything?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, yanking you up by your hair savagely as you choke out a warbled cry. “Did you just bite me?,” he growls out angrily as he shoves you to the floor. Your swollen lips tremble in fear and anticipation as your watery eyes look up at his imposing figure. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—,” he’s gripping your jaw tight, shutting you up and merciful enough not to place his pinky down least he kill you,

“Sorry?” He mocks, eyes wide and frightening as he looms over your sorry figure. “I’ll make you fucking sorry—,” he hissed, though he wasn’t actually too upset. It was him who had continuously gagged you with his semi-hard cock, using your warm mouth to get himself wet and hard so he could fuck your cunt next. You’d bitten him by accident, hadn’t even broken skin. A sick part of him liked it too, the sharp pain which helped get him fully erect. It just filled him with satisfaction to see your scared visage, worried and attentive to every touch he lays on you.

“Strip already, you’re pissing me off.” He huffs petulantly like a young lord when you hesitate and tremble. “You want to join me? You want your revenge?” He’s goading you, smiling as you swallow thickly but obey nonetheless because you did want those things, and what was your pride anyway?

He liked it, watching the pretty ex-hero strip all on her own for him like a whore. He let you know it too.

“I always wondered if hero pussy would be different,” he spits on your slit, and laughs when he realizes you’re already fairly wet. “Female heroes always flaunt around in those fucking ridiculous spandex outfits, I remember you wore one of those too?” He’s not pushing in, just holding his leaking plush tip against the opening of your pussy as you shakily nod, confusion evident on your features as he nods with a sneer.

“Next time, bring your old costume. I want to fuck you in that too.” You don’t have time to contemplate his words more, because next time should’ve been a major red flag in your mind. Instead you whine as he bullies his way into you, no prep or opening up for your poor hole as he thrusts into your welcoming heat with a loud moan.

He finds purchase on your hips, pinkies raised though he’s not entirely mindful as he feels the squish of your flesh and the tight vice of your cunt clenching around him.

“Yeah,” he almost giggles, groaning and giving an experimental thrust which causes you to jerk and grunt with the force. “Your ex-hero pussy is pretty good~” he leers, keeping one hand on your hip and pawing at your tits with the other as he begins a brutal and mean pace. His pleasure is clearly the forefront of his priorities and it embarrasses you that you also begin feeling good, his cock curved a bit and nailing a sweet spot inside of you that has your toes curling as you choke and try to hide your noises with a hand over your mouth.

He rolls his eyes as he sees it, uncaring as he uses your sweet hole to jerk his cock to completion, losing himself as he messily rolls his hips into your sloppy pussy. “Don’t think I forgot about you biting my cock,” his words register too late before he drops his hand to your cunt, pinching your clit between two fingers and twisting the little nub painfully. You squeal to his delight, high pitched and girlish in your cry that it has his balls drawing tight as he laughs. “Fuck, did you like that?” He’s giddy, the way you clenched up and spasmed from the rough treatment embarrassing but erotic.

“Screw it,” his head falls forward, both hands on your waist, eight fingers digging crescents into your soft skin as he fucks you hard and fast, nearly collapsing when you break and your own orgasm washes over you. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down, as he works his cock as deeply into you as possible before filling your womb with a spray of white hot cum.

He flattens you with his weight, sweaty skin sticky against your own as you catch your breath.

You realize this initiation might be more permanent than you’d previously considered.

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

Why do people refer to the fusion at the UA battle and war arc as Tomura?

"I can't believe Tomura killed Bakugou" but he didn't though. That was AFO. AFO possessed his body and then stabbed and killed Bakugou

Like maybe you could say it was both of them at UA, they were a mix of each other at the time, but Tomura was not the only one wrecking shit from in there

Even Izuku gets it right, telling AFO to shut up in the war arc, addressing AFO in the UA battle, yet the fandom seems to just ignore this

mentions: horror themes, some blood :)

it was supposed to be a fun game of marco polo.

your hand—clammy and stiff—was clamped solidly against your mouth as you stuttered through breathing via your nose. the space you had crammed yourself into was small—barely able to hold yourself inside of it. your back was pressed against a wall, your legs were folded so that your thighs were flush against your chest. every small shift you made sounded like a gunshot in the stagnant air.

perspiration slid down the side of your face as you closed your eyes and listened carefully over the sound of your rampant heart. th-thump th-thump th-thump. it wanted to encompass everything and leave you to rely on your other senses—senses you could not use right now. not with the darkness of your hidey hole or the numbness of your hand. pain was starting to cloud your mind. you gave your head a small shake to snap yourself out of it.

you had to focus and listen.

everything was still. everything was quiet.

and then—distantly—you heard it.

"maaaarco."

a voice, disembodied and devastatingly low, rasped through the air.

you swallowed heavily, but did not respond. you didn't know what had triggered them this time. you just knew that you could not be caught. time was what you needed and even that you were not certain you had much of.

there was more silence. then, footsteps. clank clank... clank. careful and deliberate. your lips tensed together and you tried your utmost hardest to make yourself as small as possible. you made the mistake of moving your free hand—the one not clamped over your mouth. it burned something fierce up your elbow. you bit at the inside of your cheek and hoped it wasn't as bad as it felt.

clank clank clank. the footsteps grew louder. each one made you tense even further until you felt like a rubber band about to snap. "marco?!" the voice called again—this time in a higher pitched, frantic manner. "friend! marco??!!" it paused for the shortest of moments. then it took on a dangerous tone, poison lancing each and every word. "you do not seem to be f-following the rules of this game, friend."

the voice lowered. "and you know what we do to rulebreakers."

you wanted, more than anything, to be anywhere other than here at this very moment. you were starting to get woozy, and you weren't sure if it was from the lack of air in such a confined space, or the dark liquid that stained your shirt and pants. you could feel something warm trace its way down the curve of your arm—all the way to your wrist, where it dropped off with a small plip.

the footsteps—that'd been steadily getting louder—halted.

you dared not breathe.

it was a moment that felt like a century—too quiet and too nerve wracking. it put you on edge, made you dart your eyes around as though it would let you somehow pierce through the emptiness to see what was going on around you. a cold, cold feeling had long started to spread throughout your limbs, originating from the pit that'd formed in your stomach.

you waited.

and when they spoke once more, it sounded like it was coming from directly above you.

"marco," they whispered with all the danger of a lion stalking its prey. it made all the hairs on your body stand erect and a foreboding feeling to slide its way down your spine.

it was supposed to be, you thought to yourself devastatingly with a wetness lining your lashes, a fun game of marco polo.

you weren't given any time to react.

hands—as cold and unforgiving as death itself—wrapped around your arms and tugged. you were yanked out of your hiding spot with a yelp, eyes widening as mismatched lights flooded your vision abruptly and without mercy. it hurt, it hurt. and you could do nothing but hang there—withdrawing into yourself—as they crowded over your small body with a grin stretched uncomfortably wide and unnervingly thin.

"found you! we found you!" they beamed. something manic lined the edges of their smile. "f-found you, you little rulebreaker. time for—"

their voice cut off suddenly. you opened your eyes—you had not realized when you'd shut them—and stared up in surprise at their face. but they were not looking at you. they were looking at one of their hands—that'd been wrapped around your injured arm and had gotten coated with something that appeared black in the limited lighting.

you swallowed thickly. something indecipherable that'd been discoloring their optics seemed to vanish. their face seemed to slacken from its strained expression and took on something akin to... fright. and you dared to speak in a small, hesitant voice. "...guys?"

they went limp at the sound—slumping forwards onto you like a puppet cut from its strings.

"i— we're sorry," they whispered in a pained voice. clutching tightly onto you like you were the only thing keeping them rooted to the earth. "we're sorry. we're sorry. we're sorry." it was chanted with their head bowed to rest against your abdomen. as though in remorseful prayer.

you closed your eyes and clenched your jaw.

and you— well... you didn't say a thing.

you didn't say... a thing.

Hello narilamb nation *explode*

Close up:

Here's one without the lighting:

Sanctuary of Nightmares PT6

Platonic SB x Child Reader

Chapter Selection

Previous / Next

You were about to attempt to run away when you felt the grip of his hands encase you, causing an immideate struggle. You squirmed, kicked, punched, anything you could do to remove yourself from the sudden grip of the iron giant. You were far too blinded by your fear to even listen to him as he swiftly began walking, the clicks of not only his feet but other animatronics filling the air. There were faint words that made it to you. Such as 'calm down' and 'I'm not going to hurt you'. You didn't believe that of course. Especially as his hands pressed into the bruises on the side of your body creating a spike of pain as you moved. It was a while after this struggle when he finally set you down, your body leaving him as soon as he let you go. You attempted to run only to find that you were in some sort of small enclosed space you could faintly tell was an elevator. Absolute terror ran through your system as you turmed to stare up at the huge bear.

You had never expected these things to be so enormous.

You quickly pushed yourself into a corner, trying to keep your distance from him. He attempted to take a step closer but seemed to stop when that action earned a terrified squeak along with you crumbling to the ground in an attempt to get smaller, your head tucked in your knees as if what you couldn't see wouldn't hurt you.

These characters had been your sanctuary, your safe haven. They were the thoughts your mind wandered to when hoping for better things.

You could not have imagined them being this terrifing.

Each metallic and robotic sound only further increased your fear, the source of the noise unseen by you. Eventually you heard no sound at all, your body waiting for an attack.

"Please, please calm down. I swear I will not harm you I-"

"Let me handle this Freddy. I think I can help" a boy's voice suddenly cut off the animatronic, the sound too human to belong to any bot. Yet in your panic, you couldn't have known the difference. All you knew was that you wanted to leave, to get out of here! You wanted home, you wanted normal. None of this can be real, it can't be real it can't-

"Hey...can you hear me?" The voice spoke again, this time closer to you. It was cautious with a clear child-like quality held in it.

It was then that you listened, your racing mind slamming to a halt at the strangeness of hearing anything human. Your quiet sobbing slowed, your head slowly rising only to come face to face with a boy, one similar to who you'd seen earlier.

The emotional whiplash that came from your mind slowly registering that the boy was real was enough to allow your body to subconsciously catch its breath as your mind focused on him.

Once you were looking at him, your rivers of tears slowly stopping, he managed to give a faint smile. It wasn't a very convincing one, in fact he had absolutely no idea what he was doing or how he had stopped your panic. He had only volunteered to try because he was less threatening than the seemingly ten-foot bear.

"I-I'm...Gregory...this is Freddy. He's safe. He's one of the good guys!" The brown-haired boy who you now knew as Gregory explained, his voice switching between nervous and confident faster than you could think to react to it. Freddy gave a small wave when mentioned, though he kept his movement to a minimum as to not further scare you.

Despite his animatronic body not allowing for much expression, he stood almost anxiously, his eyes not diverting from you. His drooped ears helped to further show his own distress, though it was clear that he didn't entirely know how to help a child who was scared of him.

You looked between the two, debating your situation for a moment.

The last animatronic you thought was safe had terrified the living daylights out of you, not to mention attacked this kid. So you were a bit skeptical about the boy's words along with the bot behind him. But, dispite your continued apprehension, you felt a little inclined to believe the boy. He seemed to know a little more than you with his abilities to outmaneuver Moon and having been able to get close to the huge bear, not to mention that he was older than you. If there was anyone who you'd hope to help you in your current situation it would be an older human.

Before you could continue to process your current situation a loud sound startled you back into a defensive postion, your arms wrapped around your legs as they were pulled against your chest. Freddy, not wanting you to regress after Gregory had managed to calm you a little, was quick to address the noise.

"Do not worry! That was just the doors opening! It is nothing to be afraid of! Look" he spoke up before moving to touch the open doors as if to further show their safety.

"See! No danger! You are safe!" Freddy almost enthusiastically replied, his face holding what you assumed was a smile as if he was genuinely proud of partaking in the conversation.

You weren't sure what it was about his over-the-top display, but you found it rather funny to watch the massive bear that had seemed so terrifying only seconds before, move to show you just how safe a door was. The genuine way in which he did so also helped with the comedy of it. So, in spite of yourself, a small laugh escaped your lips, heavily contrasting with your tear-stained face. You quickly tried to muffle it though, afraid you might upset the bear.

The small laugh allowed Freddy to somewhat relax, his stiff posture loosening now that you were calming down a little bit.

Feeling the tense air alleviate slightly Gregory decided to but in again. After all, he wanted to get out of here and he wasn't going to do that of you all were just standing aroun.

"Uh look uh I know we just kinda met but we've gotta get out of here. The robots in this place have gone crazy and the security guard isn't gonna help us. Freddy says there are two ways we can go so I was gonna go to the fire escape. There probably aren't as many security doors there." Gregory explained before outstretching a hand towards you, offering to help you up.

"It's probably safer if you stick with us"

You stared at his hand for a moment, unsure if you should accept the gesture. It didn't take long for you to realize you didn't want to be alone in this place and take his hand. He pulled you up but didn't let go of your hand once you stood and neither did you with his. It seemed that you both were gaining some comfort in each other.

"I will guide you in the direction of the exit, though I will not be able to help you most of the way. It is probably best if you get a map" Freddy explained as he took a few steps out of the elevator. The two of you followed suit, though Gregory held a bit more conviction in his step than you.

"Well, then where do we-" his sentence was cut short by a blaring sound, one that greatly startled both you and him. You pulled him a little closer, afraid that if he went too far you'd lose him.

"Free map"

An automated sound spoke as it outstretched a map to the two of you. You both stood in shock for a moment, the sudden dip in precived danger greatly confusing the both of you. Slowly the shock left and Gregory grabbed the two maps. It was only after doing so that the bot turned away and an annoyed look grew on Gregory's face. With a grip still tightly held onto your hand, he turned away from the bot and handed you the extra map. You took it with a slightly shaking hand, a fact that you tried to hide He seemed more easily able to get over his shock than you so you were trying to stay calm, not wanting to upset him with feeings of fear that he wasn't experiencing.

He stared at you for an extra moment, his annoyed look softening as you took the paper. He took a deep breath, loosening his grip on your hand a little before he turned back to Freddy.

"Do you have another Fazwatch?" He asked the metal bear only for Freddy to shake his head.

"They are not meant to be given out often. You have my last one" Freddy explained, his own disappointment shown once again in his lowered ears. Gregory gave a simple nod in response before turning back to you.

"Then you just have to stay close okay? We're gonna get out of here together" Gregory spoke with confidence and a warning which you took very seriously. You gave a nod, showing that you understood.

"Okay, let's get moving"

The three of you started off on your escape. You picked up rather quickly on what to do as the two avoided the moving security bots, remaining as quiet as they could. Remembering to earlier when you had run into one of these bots you soon understood their purpose and the great necessity to keep away.

They were alarms. And with alarms came people, or more terrifyingly robots, looking to catch whatever had set them off.

However, there was no sign of whoever was supposed to be listening for that alarm nearby, so there was a bit of leeway on the volume level the three of you could produce

"What is your name?" Freddy asked as he tilted his head down ever so slightly to look at you. You stared for a moment, his giant size still ringing a few alarm bells. You tried to gauge the intention behind the question through Gregory, though he seemed mostly focused on walking rather than talking. So, not sure of what to do, you kept silent, your apprehension clear but your fear not as prevalent. Freddy's ears fell again, his eyes showing his sadness in how you didn't answer.

After a bout of silence, Gregory turned to you, slight confusion written on his face.

"Aren't you gonna tell him?" He asked, unable to see why you wouldn't. You quickly averted your eyes from Gregory, feeling the burn of words in your chest.

You never really spoke much. You'd been a quiet kid even before the world had beaten silence into you, so speaking didn't come very well to you. Most times you find it better to just keep your mouth shut.

However, in the presence of two sets of searing curious eyes, you felt entirely uncomfortable and a little cautious. You didn't want to upset them. After all, you didn't really know these two or their tempers. All you knew was that they were helping you, but that could always change.

So, even if you would have preferred not to say anything, you spoke.

"Y/n" you finally answered. Your voice was a soft sound, reminiscent of a whisper in the wind as it somehow reached their ears despite its incredibly low volume.

"What a great name. It is nice to meet you Y/n" Freddy spoke, his voice lowered into just above an actual whisper almost as if he was trying to match your voice but was unable to go lower than a certain point. You kept your eyes averted, hoping he'd just let everything fall back into silence. Luckily it did.

It wasn't very long until the three of you stopped in front of a place Freddy mentioned to be El Chip's. It was only once you and Gregory stood close enough for the door to slightly open that Freddy finally turned to get a better look at you, his eyes scanning, hoping for some type of profile.

He didn't get one, but what he did notice were your injuries. They were wrapped, likely because of his good friend Sun, but they wouldn't stay that way for very long, especially with you moving around so much.

"Gregory, I would like to raise a concern. I can not guarantee that this exit will be open and, while you may be equipped to deal with the consequences if that is so, I'm worried the Y/n may not be able to. Perhaps it's better if they stay with me until you are sure there is an exit" Freddy's voice stayed at the low volume it had been at earlier though it was now twisted in concern. Gregory turned between Freddy and you with a perplexed look, seemingly not understanding Freddy's words.

"What do you mean? They look fine to me!" Gregory responded, his tone almost sharp as he spoke. You felt his hand grip tighter onto yours only for you to wince and pull away from his grip, a shock of pain burning through you. He turned back to you with confusion that quickly turned to realization.

"Oh..." Was all he could say as he seemed to finally notice your bandages. His shock only held for a moment before you saw his face twist in slight anger, his mind spinning with possibilities.

How had this happened? No no, he knew why. Those horrifying bots! They hurt you! And it seemed pretty badly too, especially as he began to notice the other wrapped injuries. God how he hated these things! You were younger than he was! How could they do that to a little kid!? It's one thing to go after him. He's been on the street since he was six, but someone so sensitive? So small? At this point he wouldn't be surprised if they killed babies!

And it was that hatred, that growing seething hatred he had for those bots and what he'd perceived they'd done to you that caused his stubborn mind to begin to build with spite.

"That's even more reason they should stay with me! The faster we both get out the better" Gregory countered, his voice rising in intensity as he turned back to Freddy. Freddy was about to protest Gregory's decision but, upon seeing the seriousness in his eyes, decided better of it. He simply sighed, kneeling down as his eyes flickered between the both of you, apprehension found in the few features that could express emotion.

"I must warn the both of you: when you enter an area where you do not have a locator map signal, I will be unable to reach you. You can update your map at the security office. It is also best to locate any good hiding spots. The daycare attendant should have been released a few minutes ago and it is not safe to be roaming when he is around. Be safe..." Freddy cautioned, his voice anxiety latent. Gregory gave a firm nod, gently grasping your hand again before crouching under the door and into what was hopefully your path out of this place.

And to think just earlier today you had wanted nothing more than to be here...

- x -

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The First Taste

Tomura has his first sexual encounter. Poor touch starved baby doesn’t last long, at all. Will reader be forgiving and encouraging and let him try again, is he to embarressed, will he end up lasting or does he release to early again.

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WARNING SMUT 18+ ONLY THERE IS SEX HERE

FLUFF ANGST SOFT SHIGGY

SHIGARAKI X FEMALE READER

WORDS–4615 (This came out twice as long as it was suppose to be😥😳 sorry)

Shigaraki was not good with feelings or how to express them. He also was not good with people and regular everyday  interactions. His emotions, which were mainly anger and annoyance, just kinda exploded out of him. He hated pretty much everything and everyone, he just wanted to destroy the society that failed him. 

Then you came along. With your beautiful eyes, bright smile and that body of yours. These feelings were new to him. His heart beat faster, his face would heat up, pulse quickened. 

Obviously he knew he was attracted to you, well that was an understatement, he had become obsessed. You were always on his mind, your image permanently imprinted in his brain. He found himself constantly thinking about what your lips tasted like. What it would be like to have his arms around your waist, to snuggle his face into the crook of your neck. To have you underneath him as he had his way with you. 

Contrary to population belief he knew what sex was, he wasn’t stupid. 

He was indeed a regular guy, a very horny one at that. He masturbated on the regular, well more than regular, his mind was on sex a lot. He watched porn daily, this is the only sex education he had, but he had resigned himself to being alone. 

The need for physical contact was getting to him a lot lately. He craved it. Wanted it. The thought of your hands on him, around him. He couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be touched. 

He longed to caress your soft flawless skin. To feel your fingertips travel across his chest, your arms encircling his waist as you rest your head against him. To lay down next to you and feel your warmth. He would get lost in his fantasies of you. Imagining you cuddling up to him, calling him babe or some other cute nickname as he trailed kisses across your neck. Whispering dirty words in your ear, a promise of all the naughty things to come. 

The problem was he didn’t know how to go about it. 

Walking back to the hideout Tomura’s mind wandered,picturing what life with you would be like. To come home and have you waiting for him, greeting him with a hug and kiss. He was tired of being lonely, he longed for companionship and love. Each passing day the desire for you grew. His craving for you was consuming him.

Occasionally he would try to start a conversation, but he just was not good at it, and sadly you really didn’t seem interested in him. He was so very awkward, and since you appeared in his life he had become very self conscious about it, hell about everything. Thinking about you stirred up so many emotions, he was not used to caring about someone, little lone wanting them. 

As he walked into the hideout he noticed it was empty except for you, sitting alone on the couch, reading some book. His heart beating in his chest like a drum. He was alone with you. Should he try, what if you rejected him, told him to fuck off, called him a creep.

He really didn’t even know how to begin to flirt, but he had to give it a try, he had to know if he had a chance in hell with you. So he decided this was it, this was his chance, so he took a spot next to you, right next to you actually, even though there were plenty of places to sit. Hell he didn’t even sit at the other end of the couch. He literally sat right next to you, his leg rubbing against yours as he nervously bounced it up and down. 

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