I Don't Have Addh But That's Litteraly Me XD

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

Who want to sit on his laps ? 😩✋🥵

oh god i needed this🥺🫶

Paralyzed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The proper sight of you breaks his mechanical heart.

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

Injured. You’re injured.

In his daycare. Under his supervision.

Oh, no. No no no no no.

Not you. Not like this. Not ever.

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

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

They’ll make it better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s gonna find out now, though.

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

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

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

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

[ Protect you. ]

[ Never touch you without permission. ]

[ Protect you. ]

[ Never touch you without permission. ]

[ Protect you. ]

[ Never touch you without permission. ]

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

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

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

[ Protect you. A̵T̸ ̶A̶L̶L̶ ̵C̵O̴S̴T̷S̴.̸ ]

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

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

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

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

He breaks the silence first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a shaky sigh.

“just hold me… please.”

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

“Okay… okay. We can do that.”

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

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

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

[ LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moon doesn’t reply, so he adds on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Moon?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Are you… mad at me?”

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

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

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

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

He shifts a little, and whispers a soft question.

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

You nod against him, humming in unenthusiastic acceptance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where… where are you going?”

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

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

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

“Okay… yeah, I can wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, then. Mind your hand…”

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

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

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

“This will help you heal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this okay? Comfortable like this?”

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

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

“This should help bring the swelling down…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s get one thing straight, doll. 

You are no burden. 

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

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

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

He turns back to meet your gaze again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please pace yourself, starlight.”

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

“Open.”

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

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

“You don’t have to feed me…”

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

“But we want to.”

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

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

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

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

“What are you looking at?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you still with me, Moon?”

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

“I never left you.”

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

“I never left.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if that’s yourself.

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

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

HAHAHA, pretty much this last chapter. Pretty much.

shig keeping count how many times he can make you cum before you're shaking and sobbing from overstimulation

“It really is cute how sensitive your little body gets after your fifth orgasm, you know.” He trails his hands lightly down your stomach, your tummy muscles clenching in anticipation and agony. Your knees are trying to jerk shut to prevent him access, but the binds around your ankles keep your legs splayed. Your chest rises and falls in erratic rhythm, breath only barely returning to you after your last dive over the edge. 

“Don’t- Please don’t!” 

Some of the tears beading on your lashes slip down your cheeks as you slam your eyes shut. You can’t take anymore. Physically, you can’t. Yet, you can feel his pinkie finger tracing little figure eights up your leg and every muscle in your body clenches in protest. It doesn’t matter how much you buck and hiss against his treatment, the frame of the bed never gives way to your tantrum. 

He cocks his head with all the feigned innocence of a child who pretends they don’t know they’ve done wrong. “What’s the matter? I thought this was supposed to feel good?” The cold, sarcastic tone to his voice breaks the facade if nothing else does, but the callous way his nails dig into your thigh is a close second. 

He sees you flinch and tremble as he slowly draws closer to your apex and his lips tick in a sick sense of satisfaction. There’s a practiced sort of patience in his actions, the way he comes near enough to your overstimulated heat to make you imbed your fingernails into your palms until your knuckles turn white only for him to withdraw over and over without ever allowing you to relinquish the sense of dread it brings when he does. The second he’s seen that you’ve formed some sense of calm around his wandering fingers is when he strikes. 

“I can’t! Seriously, I can’t!”

He gives you a derisive look of sympathy and you know it means nothing. He doesn’t want to hear you beg. If he did, he would have accomplished his goal hours ago. Truth be told, you’re not entirely sure what he wants. The only thing that you know is that there’s such a thing as too much pleasure and he has perfected exactly how to weaponize that against you. You’re strapped down, at his mercy, and he looks far from bored. 

He’s gaining something from this, surely some sadistic urge is being filled, because he hasn’t even taken off his clothes. This hasn’t even begun yet and you’re sick in the knowledge. He’s molding you like a ball of play-dough, squeezing and squishing until you’re malleable enough for him to want to play with. Judging by the way he’s still skirting the edges of your thighs and showing no signs of moving from his sitting position beside you, you’re not broken enough to be any fun yet. 

You’re rubbed raw, legs chafing with a tacky trail leading from where he found his way inside you before to where his hand dances tenderly around your pebbled nipple. Every grace of his fingertips across you pimples your flesh and makes you acutely aware he’s just toying with you. He drives the point home by scratching up your hip, little red welts raising over skin as your leg jerks instinctively from the pain despite the fact that you know you can’t break free. 

“It’s actually impressive. This long and you’re still so responsive.” He muses, poking and prodding at your chest like a specimen. “I thought you would have gone numb a long time ago.” 

He punctuates his sentence with a none-to-gentle pinch on your breast. You can’t bring yourself to tell him that’s not entirely how it works, not when you can practically see the wheels turning in head turning as he contemplates how he wants to torture you next. His pupils are dilated as they run over your exposed form and you’re not entirely sure whether its with arousal or sheer curiosity. With him, it’s anyone’s guess.

“Please, I can’t take it!”

His hand finds its way between your legs again, cupping and stroking with one finger so lightly that normally you likely wouldn’t even be able to register it, but in your hypersensitivity, your thigh muscles twitch and a wail of agony bubbles in your throat. 

“Aw, baby can’t take it anymore?”

He leans in, leaving one hand to coax your already overindulged pussy, the other softly caressing your cheek. It’s a warning sign, a crocodile lazily observing its pray before snapping shut its jaws. His heavily lidded eyes scan your face, sides of his lips curling into a deceptively delicate smile. Your head lulls into his hand, and even though you know the dangers, you fall into his trap.

You regret it as quickly as you do it, and you cry out in a mixture of devastating bliss and torment as his finger plunges back up inside your sore walls, stimulating the overworked nerves with the pads of his fingertip. 

“Why don’t we find out just how much you can really take?” 

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 13) - 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 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Chapter 13

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it, and you’ve never felt the oppressiveness and terror that everyone else seems to experience when they come near it. Not until the first streetlight goes out at the top of the street, a split second too late to conceal the shadow that slinks past beneath it.

“Shit,” Spinner hisses over the comms network. Atsuhiro stole the pieces of it, enough for every adult human in the neighborhood, on the search team’s way back. “What was that?”

“Get back from the window,” Magne hisses. They’re inside their house. All according to plan. “Stay down. This isn’t about us.”

“It’s about all of us,” Shinsou argues. He’s got a headset. Hizashi lost headset privileges on the grounds that he’s a ghost, and he’s in the house anyway. “If we just – there’s another one!”

Another streetlight goes out, on the other side of the street, just a second too slow behind the shadow that passes under it. You get a look at the shadow’s face, or where it’s face should be, before the darkness cloaks it. “That’s not Garaki.”

“No,” Aizawa agrees. “He brought reinforcements.”

“What are those things?” Jin’s mother asks, just as the light in front of Atsuhiro’s house goes out. “Tomura, do you know?”

Tomura doesn’t have a headset. Tomura’s dematerialized, and keeping his head down as part of the strategy. But your house has two former ghosts in it, and since Hizashi’s getting the most malevolent silent treatment ever, Eri speaks up, and Aizawa repeats what she whispers in his ear. “They’re like Shirakumo. But they like it.”

Keigo’s voice crackles over the headsets. “What does that mean?”

“The ghosts signed up for it.” Tomura’s voice is barely a whisper in your ear. “They let a conjurer make them his puppets. They’re too weak to do what they want otherwise.”

You convey Tomura’s message to the others, then ask a question of your own. “What do they want?”

“Guys, there’s another one. We’re up to six.” Spinner says what you’re thinking a moment later. “That’s one for every house in the neighborhood.”

Mr. Yagi was right – if one former ghost in the neighborhood is discovered, you’re all compromised, and you’re all fucked. A moment later, a voice rings out down the street. It’s not a voice you recognize. “Hizashi,” it calls out, and Hizashi freezes in place. “Touya. I know you’re here. Come out, and we can avoid any – unpleasantness.”

Everyone in your house glares at Hizashi, ordering him to keep quiet, but Keigo doesn’t have anywhere near that kind of backup. “My name’s not fucking Touya,” Dabi says. “Get out of my neighborhood.”

Hizashi opens his mouth to chime in and Aizawa slaps his hand down over it. “Suit yourself,” Garaki says. “Nomu –”

There’s a sudden crash, and you hear Jin’s mom scream into the headset – the thing in front of her house just took down her fence. But it’s only a warning shot. A second later there’s another, louder crash. “They’re going after your house, Aizawa,” Atsuhiro reports. “When they find out you aren’t there –”

They’ll come here, to your house and Keigo’s. “It’s time,” Aizawa says. “Nemuri, go.”

You’ve never see an unbound ghost flex its powers in public before, and now you know why – powered up with dozens of plants’ worth of life-force, Nemuri is blindingly fast. She knocks the ghost-thing away from Aizawa’s house so hard that it dents one of the doused streetlights, then bolts towards Garaki. Garaki’s ready for her. You don’t know how you know that, but he must be, or he wouldn’t be standing still.

“Wait for it,” Hizashi hisses. “Tomura, now.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Tomura snaps, and his influence crashes back down over the neighborhood with the force of a breaking tsunami.

Garaki staggers, gasping for air, but the effect on the monsters he brought with him is even stronger. The one attacking Jin and Himiko’s house stops immediately and lunges at the one Nemuri just knocked away from Aizawa’s front steps. You hear a harsh, heavy whoosh, followed by a shriek like metal on metal. A rush of wind blasts up the street, visible even in the dark, and you can see something flickering within it, fighting to get back where it came from. “That’s essence,” Hizashi mumbles. “Nice work.”

Tomura doesn’t answer. If you had to guess, you’d say he’s focused on keeping the pressure on the street. The two monsters are tearing each other to shreds, which means that Nemuri’s less outnumbered than she was before, and you’re pretty sure that the monsters parked in front of your house and Keigo’s are there to keep you from leaving. That still leaves two loose monsters, though. Both of them turn and run towards whatever’s happening between Garaki and Nemuri. You can barely see it. There’s no light on the street, anywhere, but there’s one place where the darkness is completely opaque. You don’t know what’s happening in there. You don’t think you want to.

The first sign that something’s going wrong is the cold that begins to spread, worse than anything Tomura’s ever generated, radiating out from the opaque patch of darkness and creeping steadily up the street. Your house and Keigo’s are farthest from the trouble, but ice begins to spiral over your windows, and when Spinner speaks up over the comms, his teeth are chattering. “What’s happening? Magne won’t say –”

You’re pretty sure Magne can’t say. Jin breaks into the comms, reporting that Himiko’s down for the count, and in your own house, Aizawa’s trying with increasing desperation to rouse Eri. Hizashi’s on his feet, still. He speaks through gritted teeth. “Nem’s in trouble,” he says. “I’m going out there.”

“Dad, no!” Shinsou grabs for him, but Hizashi moves fast. “Dad –”

Aizawa’s too focused on Eri to notice before it’s too late. He reaches out futilely to Hizashi. “Zashi, don’t –”

Your front door slams shut behind him. “You’re in the way,” Hizashi says to the thing in front of your house. “Move.”

“Idiot,” Tomura snarls, from everywhere and nowhere. A moment later, Hizashi seizes the monster and drags it into your yard.

Having passed the responsibility for the situation over to Tomura, Hizashi bolts into the street, and Tomura materializes in the front yard just as the monster starts to pick itself up off the ground. Tomura knocks it down again, then straddles it, pinning it in place. “What are you?” he demands. The creature snarls. “You can still feel pain. I’ll hurt you. What are you?”

The monster snarls again. You don’t see what Tomura does, but you hear it let out an agonized howl in response. “Nomu. We are – Nomu.”

It tries to fight free of Tomura’s grip. Tomura slams it against the ground. He looks tiny compared to the monster – the Nomu? – but it’s clear that he’s got the upper hand. “Tell me. How many does he have?” You still can’t see what Tomura’s doing to the Nomu, but it lets out an earsplitting screech. “Now!”

Whatever answer the Nomu gives, it’s not what Tomura wants to hear. He blasts the Nomu apart, then dematerializes, reappearing again inside the house. He’s barley breathing hard. “He’s got too many ghosts. They can’t win.”

“Then do something,” Shinsou demands of Tomura. “My dad –”

Tomura can’t do anything more than he’s already doing, and Shinsou knows it. You hear footsteps behind you and turn to find Aizawa heading for the door. You couldn’t stop Hizashi, but you can sure as hell stop him. You block his way. “Where are you going?”

“This is a fight between ghosts. I’ll be beneath their notice.” Aizawa puts his hand on your shoulder and shifts you firmly aside. “If they lose, we all do.”

He’s out the door before you can stop him, and across the street, you see Keigo sneaking out as well. If you had to guess, you’d say Spinner and Jin are heading out, too. Now it’s only you, Shinsou, Eri, and Tomura inside your house, and you can feel Tomura seething, the air crackling with his power. He wants to fight. You can tell he does. You just don’t understand why. He doesn’t care about the neighborhood or the people in it. Is he really that bloodthirsty? Or maybe it’s not that he’s bloodthirsty. Maybe he just cares more about this, about everything, than you’ve let yourself realize.

“You idiot,” he snaps suddenly, and you and Shinsou both jump. “Stay inside!”

He’s not talking to you. You race to the front window just in time to see Dabi emerging from the house. He’s never looked more frightening than he does right now, half-embodied, half made up of the same darkness that’s now swallowed up half the neighborhood. He strolls up to the Nomu guarding Keigo’s house like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The Nomu doesn’t move. “Are they talking?” Shinsou asks. “What are they saying?”

Before Tomura has a chance to answer, Dabi speaks out loud, his voice bright and full of fury. “You really are stupid, conjurer. Of all the ghosts you could have brought to kill me, you picked my brother.”

You didn’t realize ghosts could have brothers. Then you remember what Keigo said about his old house having multiple ghosts in it. “Nice to see you, Natsu,” Dabi says to the Nomu. “Go get my human.”

The Nomu – Natsu – turns and dives into the darkness, followed by Dabi at a more leisurely pace. You think through the battlefield as it stands now. Garaki is down to two Nomus on his side, and Nemuri’s getting a helping hand from Hizashi, Spinner, Jin, Aizawa, Dabi, Natsu, and Keigo. The fight has to be in the neighborhood’s favor now, doesn’t it? Garaki’s outnumbered, and no matter how much ghostly power he has, he’s still human. He can be killed like any human. It’s going to be –

Eri lurches upright, her red eyes wide and terrified. “Papa!” she screams. “No –”

Everything outside the windows goes completely black. If you couldn’t see into it before, you definitely can’t see out of it now. But you can see what’s inside of it, at least until the frost starts to spiral across the glass – Garaki advancing down the street, flanked by two Nomus. Nemuri’s nowhere to be found. Spinner’s injured, somehow. Jin is dragging him backwards, away from the fight. Aizawa is carrying Hizashi, who’s fully unconscious. The only people in any shape to do anything are Keigo, Dabi, and the Nomu. The fight’s narrowed down to three on three – a conjurer and two monsters versus one monster, one scar wraith, and one human. Suddenly you understand why Eri’s in tears, why Tomura’s materialized next to you with that look on his face. So much for the fight being even. It’s not anywhere close to even. They’re going to lose.

Garaki clucks his tongue, shakes his head. “Touya, you disappoint me.”

“It’s too bad. I was just living for your approval.” Dabi pushes Keigo casually behind him. “I’d highly recommend pissing off. Stick around and I might get angry. You’re not going to like it when I’m angry.”

“In your position, I’d be angry, too,” Garaki responds. “You’ve been a scar wraith for four years. Don’t you want your powers back? Isn’t this mortal form exhausting to inhabit? Wouldn’t you rather be free?”

You thought Dabi was trying to stall. Now you’re not so sure. “You could do that?” Dabi asks.

“Of course! If you doubt my abilities, just look at my Nomus.” Garaki gestures proudly. He tortured six people to create them, and he’s proud of them. “There’s no reason why the same process can’t run in reverse. I would have offered it to Hizashi, too – but it appears he’s a lost cause.”

“What did he do to him?” Shinsou asks in a cracked whisper. “He’s not dead. He can’t be dead.”

“The conjurer went after Aizawa and he took the hit instead. He’s coming around.” Tomura’s hands are clenched into fists at his sides, so hard his knuckles are white. “Idiot. They’re all idiots!”

Garaki is still talking. “I expected much better of Hizashi, truthfully. He was so eager to enter this world and play his part, and he threw it all away for a human. But you’re wiser, Touya. Step aside and I’ll help you reverse your mistake.”

He wouldn’t. There’s no way Dabi wants to be a ghost again that badly, is there? There’s no way he’d sacrifice Keigo. Is there? Dabi glances away from Garaki, over at Natsu. “What do you think, little brother? Should I take him up on it?”

The Nomu doesn’t answer. In Aizawa’s arms, you think you see Hizashi stir. “Nah,” Dabi says finally. “You can go to hell. Natsu, now!”

The Nomu moves at terrifying speed. It seizes Keigo and hurls him through the air, over the fence and into your front yard. Tomura swears under his breath and you watch as Keigo’s fall slows slightly, enough that he’s got time to turn and land heavily on his feet. But he’s not the only one in flight. Hizashi’s struggled to his feet, and he and Nemuri launch Aizawa together. Their throw isn’t as good. Aizawa crashes through the fence and sprawls out flat in the yard. Jin drags Spinner through the hole and both of them collapse.

They need help. You grab your first aid kit out of the hall closet and try to open your front door, only to find that it’s sealed shut. It doesn’t move even when you yank on it with your full weight. You turn to glare at Tomura, who glares back with his arms crossed. “It’s not safe.”

“I won’t leave the yard,” you say. “That’s your territory, isn’t it? Are you telling me I’m not safe there?”

Tomura’s expression darkens even further, but before he can respond, an ice-cold hand settles on your shoulder. “I’ll go with her,” Shirakumo says in that odd doubled voice. You forgot he was here. He hasn’t moved off the couch all day. “I can help.”

You don’t know how much help Shirakumo will be – the hand on your shoulder is shaking badly – but the front door unseals itself, and you leave without a backward glance. Once you’re in the yard, though, you’re temporarily paralyzed. Aizawa’s not moving, but Spinner’s the most visibly injured, and Keigo’s awake but stunned, like his landing might have been harder than you thought. You’d rather help Spinner or Keigo, but Aizawa’s the only one who’s unresponsive. He helped you when you first found out about Tomura. He’s done nothing to you other than be abrupt bordering on rude, and he’s like that with everyone except his children. Are you really going to let him lie there just because you and his husband despise each other?

Shirakumo heads for Aizawa, making the decision for you, and you hurry towards Spinner instead. Spinner’s bleeding from two stab wounds, one in his left shoulder and one in his right thigh, just above his knee. There’s a lot of blood. You pry open the first aid kit for bandages and gauze and press Jin into service bandaging Spinner’s leg, working on his shoulder yourself and doing your level best to ignore whatever’s happening outside the fence. Spinner groans in pain. “I have to get back out there,” he says. “They can’t do this.”

“We have to!” Jin agrees, determined. Then his face falls. “We can’t help. That’s why they made us leave.”

“They’re outnumbered. Nemuri burned up too much power and the cold killed a lot of the plants before she could.” Keigo waits until you’re finished bandaging Spinner’s injuries, then helps you and Jin pick him up. “Me and Aizawa were useless out there. All we did was distract them.”

He means Dabi and Hizashi, but there’s something turning over in your head. You’re not sure what it is just yet. You see Shirakumo carrying Aizawa up to the porch out of the corner of your eye. Next to you, Jin is shaking Spinner’s non-stabbed shoulder, panicked. “What about Magne and Atsuhiro? Why aren’t they out there?”

“Not their fight. I stayed in – long as possible.” Spinner’s face is beaded with sweat. “So maybe she’d come out. But –”

You don’t think the other ghosts are cowards. You know they’re tough, you know they care. But neither of them are the ones the conjurer is after, and their humans might as well be an afterthought. You don’t blame either of them for staying out of a fight they can’t win. When it comes down to it, it’s not your fight, either.

It’s not your fight. It’s also not your neighborhood, according to Hizashi – but you’re done with Hizashi’s bullshit. You’ve got your bracelets on, which means you’ll be hard to spot, and none of the ghosts still fighting in the street care enough about you to distract them from the fight. You won’t distract the neighborhood ghosts. But you can damn well distract the Nomus. Or the conjurer.

You’re alone in the yard now, except for Shirakumo. Shirakumo looks like he’s got an idea, too, and all you can do is hope that the human half of him is enough to hide his intentions from Tomura. The two of you make eye contact. Shirakumo raises one hand from his side and shows you a broken fencepost. If you bend down slowly to grab one of your own, Tomura’s going to figure it out, and he’ll stop you. You have to move fast. You crouch, seize a fencepost, and lurch across the property line.

A howl rises up from the house behind you, enough to set your teeth on edge and make every hair on your arms stand on end. Tomura’s furious, but he’s going to be even madder if you get hurt because you were standing there, doing nothing, instead of doing what you came here to do. You glance to your left and realize that Shirakumo’s already run off to help Hizashi and Nemuri deal with one of the two remaining Nomus. That leaves you and your fencepost to join the remaining fight. You’re the only help Dabi and Natsu are going to get.

Your fencepost has a broken end, jagged and dangerous, but you’ve got no faith in your ability to stab someone with it. You’ll be better off using it as a club. The question is who to hit. You creep along the sidewalk towards where Dabi and Natsu are facing Garaki and the remaining Nomu. While the fight between Natsu and the last Nomu looks pretty even, it’s clear to you that Dabi’s losing his. Tomura said Garaki has too many ghosts. Dabi’s only one, and only half a ghost in the bargain. You have the thought that his human side is protecting him from being blasted apart, but it can’t last forever. You can see the ghostly sections of his body, rippling, bulging, as Garaki pours more and more energy into him. Neither of them are paying any attention to you.

Good. You work your way behind Garaki, take a firmer grip on the fencepost, and swing.

It’s not your best swing. Some part of you is still wrestling against the thought of bashing another human being over the head with a piece of wood, and it’s really dark. But even your not-the-best swing collides with the side of Garaki’s head, producing a dull thud. He lets out a grunt of pain and turns Dabi loose, wheeling around to face you.

You swing again, but it’s even harder to hit somebody when you’re looking them in the eye. Your blow strikes his arm, and he staggers but doesn’t fall. Garaki is bald, your height or maybe shorter. He has a mustache, and his green-tinted glasses are cracked and lopsided. Blood is tricking down the side of his head from your first swing. He steps forward. You step back.

“Not so brave now, are we?” Garaki laughs, but he’s grimacing. You swing at him again, but he dodges it. His hand closes on your shoulder. “Have some of this.”

You know what’s coming, courtesy of Hizashi’s lessons this afternoon, and unlike Tomura, Garaki’s got no plans to be gentle with you. You lock your jaw against the screams that are dying to get out and squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t want to see the world between. You need to see what’s in Garaki’s head. You need to know, so you can warn –

You can’t see. Maybe you can. You can’t understand it – a void full of open, howling mouths, pain worse than anything you’ve ever experienced, hatred stronger than you can even fathom. It’s nothing like what you saw in Tomura’s mind. It’s hell. You keep your jaw locked as long as possible, but eventually you can’t hold it in a second longer. You open your mouth and scream until your throat bleeds.

Or maybe you don’t. A hand closes around your wrist and jerks you away, out of Garaki’s grip. The hand is cold and warm at the same time. When you open your eyes, you find yourself looking up at Shirakumo.

He’s not the only one who’s here. Nemuri’s here, and Hizashi, Hizashi steps into the space where you were standing and promptly decks Garaki, hitting him about twice as hard as your strongest swing of the fencepost. “That’s for making my friends cry,” he hisses, and hits Garaki again. “Hit it, Toasty!”

Every plant on the far side of the street bursts into flames at once, and Dabi plants both hands on Garaki’s back and shoves him hard. With the rest of the plants’ life-force on board, Dabi’s charged up with enough power to send Garaki flying, and there’s only one possible place he could be headed. You turn slowly, your entire body numb and frozen, just in time to see Garaki land in a heap in the middle of your front yard. Tomura’s on him a split second later.

You think it’ll be over quickly. If Tomura is as powerful as everyone says he is, it should be. But you think of how many ghosts you saw in Garaki’s head, of the fact that Tomura’s never faced a conjurer before, and fear like you’ve never felt in your entire life surges through you. You can’t help him. All you can do is watch.

The sphere of darkness Garaki summoned before starts to descend, only for Tomura to blast it apart seconds later. Garaki reaches out for Tomura’s shoulder, but Tomura dematerializes just enough that Garaki’s hand sinks straight through him. He raises one hand, reaching for Garaki, and Garaki’s hand rises to block him. There’s a clear six inches of space between their palms, but it’s clear that they’re both pushing as hard as they can.

Cold wind whips out from the space where the two of them stand, rattling your windows loudly enough that you can hear it from the street. Your teeth are chattering almost as loudly. Garaki’s face shows intense concentration, and so does Tomura’s. His free hand is scratching frantically at his neck, and he’s bitten into his lip so hard it’s bleeding. There’s a sudden lurch, and Tomura takes a step back. Then another step back. “Fuck,” Dabi mumbles, then calls out: “Hey, asshole! Get your shit together!”

Tomura plants his feet, stopping Garaki’s advance, but you’re not stupid enough to think he’s got the upper hand. In fact, he’s got the opposite. His right hand, the one pressing back against Garaki’s, is beginning to bend backwards, past the point where a living hand would break, where living fingers would snap like twigs. His physical form, still mostly embodied, is beginning to bulge and waver, just like Dabi’s did. If Garaki’s able to do this, his power level and Tomura’s must be nearly equal. Aizawa’s words flash through your head again: Conjurers are human. Humans don’t want to die.

You want to call out to Tomura, beg him to fight harder, but your teeth are chattering too hard to speak. Someone else does it for you. Hizashi grabs your arm, pulls you away from Shirakumo, and drags you towards the fence. “Hey, guess what?” he shouts at Tomura, his voice loud enough to be heard above the wind. “I lied about what ghostly power does to humans. It does hurt them. It hurts them a lot.”

Tomura’s eyes dart sideways towards you. Then he turns his head to stare, and takes another step back, giving up ground to Garaki. “Yeah, you heard me,” Hizashi continues, even though he’s breaking Tomura’s concentration. “You hurt your human, and she let you do it. But guess what? The guy who’s beating you hurt her a whole lot worse.”

Tomura snarls. “Oh, you want to kill me over that? I’ll believe that when I see it,” Hizashi spits, and suddenly you understand what he’s trying to do. “How are you supposed to kill me when you can’t even kill him?”

Tomura looks away from Hizashi, away from you. Back to Garaki, who was just starting to look confident. “You won’t win. I have the power of a thousand ghosts behind me! There’s nothing you can do that will – what are you doing? Don’t –”

Tomura’s free hand materializes and clamps down over Garaki’s face. The hand pushing  back against Garaki’s breaks through the space between them and seizes it in a crushing grip. Garaki howls, but not so loudly that you can’t hear Tomura’s voice. “A thousand ghosts?” he says, gleeful and savage. “There’s one less now.”

The wind roars up from behind you this time, still ice-cold, as Tomura draws his power inwards, forcing more and more of it into Garaki. He bends Garaki’s hand backwards until the conjurer’s wrist breaks, keeps pushing until his forearm snaps in two. “Where are your ghosts now?” he taunts. The smile on his face is terrifying to look at, but you can’t look away. “Without them, you’re just a human.”

“Wait,” Garaki chokes out. “Don’t –”

“You’re just a human,” Tomura repeats. “Humans die.”

You’ve watched Tomura turn things to dust before, but never a person. Garaki crumbles, the same as the wasps and the other insects and the plants. You hear a last gasp of air leave his lungs, choked with dust towards the end, and see his eyes go blank a second before they turn dull and dusty and pop from his skull. It’s over in less than two seconds. Garaki’s clothes crumple to the ground, empty. And after that it’s quiet.

Next to you, Hizashi breathes a sigh of relief. “That was close.”

“That wasn’t close at all,” Nemuri corrects. She’s only partially materialized. “It was over the instant he stopped messing around. What were you doing, anyway? You – watch it, Zashi –”

Hizashi leaps away from the fence with a yelp. Tomura’s right there, struggling to reach past the property line, his eyes fixed on you. “Give me my human.”

“You sure about that?” Hizashi asks. He gives you a little shake and keeps talking to Tomura. “You’re looking a little rough, my friend. Why not dematerialize and get some of that blood off your –”

“Now!”

Tomura’s voice isn’t particularly loud, but it still shakes the ground, and you feel Hizashi’s grip on your shoulder tighten with shock. He laughs it off, but you aren’t fooled. “One human, coming right up!” he announces. He picks you up and tosses you over the wreckage of the fence.

You’re not in any way prepared to catch yourself, but Tomura doesn’t let you hit the ground. Wouldn’t let you hit the ground. Maybe. He’s mad at you the instant he gets ahold of you, snapping at you even as his arms lock tightly around your waist. “You idiot! You’re just a human. That guy could have killed you! There are bugs under the house that are smarter than you are! Why would you even – what? What are you doing?”

You’re twisting in his grip, trying to get your arms free, and when you manage it, you wrap them around him, holding on as tightly as you can even though being this close to him isn’t helping your rapidly advancing case of hypothermia. “Are you okay?” you ask senselessly. “Your hand – your neck – are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Don’t be stupid.” Tomura shakes your shoulder with the hand you were asking about, the one Garaki bent completely back at the wrist. “My neck is fine. The scratches will go away once I dematerialize. Why are you acting so weird?”

You pull your hand away from his neck with an effort. It comes back smeared with blood, and you curl it into a shaky fist. “I was worried.”

“I said not to be stupid,” Tomura says. He shakes your shoulder again. “I had it right from the beginning.”

He didn’t. You know what you saw, and he didn’t. “You had it once you flexed,” Dabi says from just outside the fence. “You dumbass. Why did you think the guy who summoned me and the megaphone with legs would be weak? Give me back my human.”

You have a rule about not laughing at Dabi’s jokes, but ‘megaphone with legs’ as a description for Hizashi is too funny to ignore. You’re giggling weakly to yourself as Keigo emerges from your house, stepping through the wreckage of your fence to join Dabi on the street. He’s got one arm in a sling and a few scratches on his face, but otherwise he looks okay. “Was it just me, or was that way too close?” he asks the ghosts and the Nomu and Shirakumo still hanging out in the street. “If we do anything like that again, we need to fix – hey, watch the arm!”

Dabi’s grabbed him, not dissimilarly to the way Tomura grabbed you, and he plants an incredibly weird-looking kiss on him. You’ve never tried making out with Tomura while he’s half-materialized, and there’s a good reason. There’s – tongues. You can see them. Keigo puts his hand against Dabi’s face and pushes him partly back, but that doesn’t dissuade Dabi at all. He picks Keigo up and marches right back across the street, up their front steps, and into the house.

“Uh, goodnight,” you say faintly. The door slams shut.

“Is there a human saying for post-victory sex?” That’s Magne’s voice. She and Atsuhiro are making their way up the street. “Humans have the silliest names for the most disgusting things they do.”

“I think post-victory sex is about as descriptive as it gets,” Shirakumo says in that strange doubled voice. The other Nomu is still standing there, hands down at its sides, and Shirakumo turns to it. “Hey. Natsu, right? I think we probably need to talk.”

“He’s doing better,” Nemuri remarks to Hizashi as the two Nomus cross the street. “Did something happen?”

“They merged. Him and the ghost,” Tomura says. He’s still holding you, and you’re starting to get really cold. “They wanted to help more than they wanted to die.”

“Good,” Hizashi says after a moment. He looks relieved. “Can I have my humans back now?”

“I don’t want your humans.” Tomura doesn’t look up, but when you peer over his shoulder, you see Shinsou carrying Eri and helping Aizawa navigate the stairs at the same time. “If you even think about setting foot in my yard again, I’ll kill you and I’ll make it hurt.”

“Deal,” Hizashi says. He glances at you, still relieved even though Tomura’s just threatened to kill him. “I misjudged your human, anyway. She’s not so bad after all.”

You didn’t trust Hizashi very much before today, and now you don’t trust him at all – but you think you’ve got a handle on what he’s like, which means his comment makes absolutely no sense. He doesn’t like you. He sees you as a threat to his family’s safety because he thinks you could compromise Tomura. Why would he say that he misjudged you in front of another ghost, knowing that Tomura can probably tell if he’s lying? If he wasn’t lying, but if he wasn’t lying, why did he change his tune about you?

The question’s a little too much for you to answer right now. Your brain is still scrambled and you’re freezing cold. Tomura refuses to put you down until Jin’s mom, who’s coming over to retrieve Jin, realizes your lips are blue and makes him do it. You stagger into the house under your own power, peel off your shoes, and head straight upstairs to your room. You get under the blankets fully clothed and curl up into a ball, trying to stay warm. There’s no way you’ll be able to sleep until the shivers die down.

You hear the front door close and lock like it’s coming from a long way away, then footsteps up the stairs. Tomura drops Phantom on the bed and she snuggles against you over the covers. It helps, sort of. You sneak one icy hand out to pet her ears, only to bump against Tomura’s hand doing the same thing. “You feel cold like me,” he says. You make some kind of awful, teeth-chattery noise of agreement. It’s quiet for a second. “I hurt you. You let me. Why?”

“You had to learn.” You don’t want to talk about this. “I was fine afterward. What the conjurer did was way worse.”

“I hurt you. Are you scared of me again?” Tomura sounds miserable. “You’re scared again. You’ll leave.”

“Not scared,” you mumble. “Not leaving. I just wanted to help. I wanted to make sure you won, and I wasn’t sure you could.”

You’re hoping that doubting his strength will set him off on bragging about how tough he is, so he’ll forget all about this. But you’re not so lucky. You spent all of tonight’s luck somewhere else. “I don’t understand,” Tomura says. “You let me hurt you for the neighborhood?”

“Don’t be stupid,” you say, just in time for it to occur to you that you’ve never really let on that you’re concerned with anything but the neighborhood as a whole. “I let you to make sure you won. I didn’t want something bad to happen to you.”

“So I could keep protecting the neighborhood.”

“No,” you say, too fast and too sure. “So I could keep hanging out with you.”

There’s probably a better way to say it. A more honest way to say it. If you were a ghost you’d be one hundred percent busted, because you’re lowballing this to a ridiculous degree. You want more stupid movie nights where he spends the entire movie asking questions and you have to rewind it and watch it again. You want more moments where you spy on him playing with Phantom, more moments where you watch him try to understand humans and succeed a little more each time. You want to teach him how to cook more things, not so he’ll cook for you but because he likes to know how things work and how to do them right. You want more makeouts and hookups and moments where he stays close to you without either of you understanding why.

You want to keep hanging out with Tomura, sure. You want that because you love him.

“That’s what I want,” Tomura says, surprised. “Wait, do you –”

“We agree. We don’t need to talk about it anymore.” You curl up into a tighter ball around Phantom and look up at Tomura. “Are you staying or what?”

Tomura looks even more surprised than before. “You said I don’t get to stay on your bed at night.”

“And you don’t listen. I know where you are even when you’re dematerialized,” you say. “You might as well do it embodied. And outside the sheets, so I don’t freeze.”

You can tell Tomura’s confused, but he hops onto the bed anyway, sprawling out on the other side. “It wasn’t hard to kill that conjurer,” he says. “I could do it again.”

For some reason, that’s when it clicks for you – the reason Hizashi doesn’t hate you anymore, the reason he was relieved. His problem with you is that you’re a reason for Tomura to give up being a ghost. The only way to give up being a ghost is to completely drain a human being and take their place, and it only happens if the ghost wants to be human more than they’ve ever wanted anything else in the whole world, in all of time. Tomura completely drained a human being tonight. If he was going to embody himself permanently, this was his chance. And he didn’t.

You knew he wouldn’t. You’ve always known that. You’ve known forever that loving Tomura would mean loving him as a ghost and nothing else. It’s best this way. The neighborhood stays protected. Hizashi stops hating you. This is how it’s supposed to be.

“Hey.” Tomura shakes your shoulder, then touches your cheek. “What are these? Are you crying?”

“Humans do that sometimes to relieve stress,” you say. You’re amazed with the steadiness in your voice. “It’s fine.”

“Mm.” Tomura sounds skeptical, but he doesn’t argue with you. He edges closer to you, drapes one arm around your waist and presses against your back. All you can feel through the blankets is the faintest chill. “You can be the spoon this time.”

“The little spoon,” you correct. “You’re the big spoon.”

“What if I don’t want to be a spoon?”

“Then find a different way to snuggle.” You don’t want him to do that. You want him to hold you like this until you fall asleep, and when a vaguely aggrieved silence falls, you know you’ll get your wish. “It’s not so bad.”

“Idiot,” Tomura mumbles. “Go to sleep.”

You close your eyes, sandwiched between your ghost and your dog, not quite cold and not quite warm. It’s almost comfortable. Maybe you should fall asleep like this every night.

If you ever sleep again. When you wake up in the middle of the night, frozen with incomprehensible terror from a dream of the world between, you’re not sure you’ll even dare to close your eyes.

A new life for Tomura part4

Summary: You talk shit to the wrong person on a discussion forum. Idly, you troll one user who’s really into the Paranormal Liberation Front’s new leader, Tomura Shigaraki. You’ve heard he’s being heralded as the Villain of Villains, though you’re not sure that’s a valid title. You decide it’s time to make your opinion known. “Idk if I’d give him that title… lol he’s giving insecure incel.”

Mean!Yandere!Shigaraki x Bimbo!Reader

⚠️ mdni. degradation. incel. misogyny. noncon. oral. panic attacks. shigaraki is a mean dom. slut-shaming. yandere.

Next l

You snicker as you press enter. Admittedly, you don’t know enough about the white-haired criminal to make that judgement call. You’re basing your statement solely on appearance. What can you say? Making ignorant comments is the essence of shitposting. You get to act a fool online because no one will ever discover who you are.

Until the user you mouthed off to replies.

Crumbleking: the fuck do you know?

Crumbleking: and you think a guy like him wouldn’t get women? he has a fucking army you stupid bitch he can have anyone he wants. that’s not insecure.

You roll your eyes, noticing he didn’t address the incel comment.

(Your username): I literally do not give a fuck lol do you want him @ crumbleking? Seeing as you know so much about his personal life and all

Crumbleking: you should be thankful he hasn’t killed you yet

(Your username): I’m not hearing a no

Crumbleking: get fucked

(Your username): Apparently shig is doing enough of that for both of us lmao

Crumbleking: you’re asking for it

You block the user. How many times has some moron threatened you online? Too many. But you take solace in the fact that, just like you, everyone’s simply a keyboard warrior. At the end of the day, it’s not like any of this shit is serious.

Right? :)

Well, a few days after this incident, you login to your social media account and notice a message in your mailbox. You lift a brow. It’s probably a meme from your best friend. You’re surprised to find a notification next to Requests. Someone you aren’t friends with has messaged you.

Hastily, you tap the Requests tab. You don’t know why your heart is pounding, or why you have a horrid feeling about this. Perhaps you’re under too much stress lately, or perhaps your intuition is trying to tell you something — that you’re in danger.

The request is from someone named Shigaraki. You know it can’t be the real villain. You clue in that it’s likely that freak who was defending him on the forum. He must have determined who you are somehow and resorted to messaging you on your private social.

Shigaraki: hello you dumb slut

Shigaraki: remember me?

Yeah, it’s definitely him. You wonder what his goal is, what he wants from you; normal behaviour doesn’t include stalking. You debate on whether or not to reply. You could play dumb or own up to your role. Of course, it’s far easier to do the former.

You: no?

It’s simple and to-the-point. You see him typing back right away. You hold your breath when he stops. Then, the screenshots from the forum come, reminding you of the conversation.

Shigaraki: i know you’re (username).

You resort to the IP tracker on your laptop, figuring you’ll spook him and he’ll leave you alone. You power it up and click eagerly. When you’re halfway through locating him, it’s as though he’s read your mind.

Shigaraki: if you think I’m not using a vpn then you’re stupider than I thought

The panic really sets in now. You’re hyperventilating. The message shoots you into a panic attack — the kind when your throat constricts and your lungs heave stale air. You scratch at your chest and gasp. You feel like you’re dying. You can’t breathe. With quivering fingers, you type a nasty message to him.

You: what the fuck is wrong with you. why the hell do you care what i think this much???? please leave me alone. blocking you.

That’ll end this terror once and for all. Or will it?

Shigaraki: Don’t you fucking dare you whore

His response is nearly instantaneous.

Shigaraki: if you block me I’ll find you irl

Shigaraki: i just showed you how easy it was to find your social media profile

Shigaraki: i’ll fucking find you

Shigaraki: and we’ll see if you feel the same about me when we’re face to face

You can’t stand it. You press the block button and exit the app. You turn off your phone — as if that’ll help — and throw it onto your bed. You shut down your laptop place it gently atop your desk. That’s enough for tonight. You have to remind yourself that the person threatening you is just a persistent troll, that the Tomura Shigaraki would never waste his precious time bantering with a random person on the Internet. You get to bed using that precise logic.

Except you’re wrong.

A few weeks pass, and you make the foolish mistake of thinking you’re safe. You start to throw caution into the wind, glancing over your shoulder less and walking home from work at night. You don’t notice the pale man trailing you. He watches you at work, as you hustle under pressure, and at home, before you close the curtains. He’s seen you naked twice. He assumes you meant to show off your body to an audience, that you like a bit of exhibitionism. Well, he’ll keep that in mind when he extensively plots out your payback.

Finally, one evening, he strikes. You come home from work and close the door. Securing the locks, you don’t see him until it’s too late.

He wraps a hand around your neck, keeping his pinky lifted to prove a point. He could kill you if he wanted. He could turn you to dust and be done with this stupid shit. In truth, he doesn’t know why he let his anger overtake him to the point where he had to find you. The problem is, he can’t stop his pursuit. If you escaped him right now, he would find you again.

And again.

And again, until he’s able to teach you a fucking lesson.

“Thought you could get away from me, huh?” He rasps next to your ear. “I found your social media account. Didn’t think I’d find your address?” He cackles venomously. “Stupid whore.”

You know immediately who you’re being held captive by. It’s the guy you were talking shit to online. It also happens to be Tomura Shigaraki, in the flesh. You realize, at once, that your luck is positively atrocious. Like, honestly, how the fuck did this happen to you? You can’t make sense if the madness.

He drags his knuckles along your cheek, stroking it. You feel his index finger trace the outline of your lips. Instantly, your heart sinks. On cue, he hums.

“I bet these can suck dick better than they talk shit,” he remarks darkly. “Wanna find out?”

You don’t, but he does.

“Take off your jacket, or I’ll crumble it off with the first two layers of your pretty skin.”

He takes away his hand to allow you space. The way you understand it, if five of his fingers make contact with your body, you’ll begin to fall apart. You’ve seen footage of what he’s done to heroes who have defied him. It causes you to wonder why he’s chosen to torture you, of all people.

The answer lies in his discovery of your social media account. Before he saw what you look like, he was content to merely leave you a little scare. Then, he started diving into your life, going through each and every one of your photos. It turns out you’re quite the socialite. You with your friends. You with your family members. You with animals. Food. Music. Video games. With all these posts, he was granted a perfect snapshot of what it is you do. And now, he wants to watch everything you ever loved decay.

“Why the hell are you doing this?” You hiss, daring to make eye contact tact with your stalker. “Don’t you have better things to do, you fucking freak?”

You spit the last two words with as much vitriol as you can muster. He doesn’t miss the effort you pour into your distaste. He rewards you with a callous cackle.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” He cooes, scarred lips contorting into a smile. “We’re on a first name basis, aren’t we?”

You lick your lips. You can’t recollect if you referred to him by name. Everything is a rapid blur.

“Shig.” He prompts you. “You’re the first and only person that’ll call me that.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. You didn’t consider it overstepping at the time because you didn’t think you were interacting with Shigaraki. You can see how it might have been construed as intimate in his eyes, given your casual use of the pseudonym. The least you can do is apologize. It won't save your ass, but perhaps it will urge him to go lighter on you.

"I-I'm sorry," you squeak. "T-to be fair, I—“

“To be fair, I should wrap my hand around your throat and watch you beg me for air as your whole body turns to dust.” He interrupts you venomously. “Take off your fucking jacket.”

You unzip the garment and throw it onto your sofa. Next comes your hat and scarf. You finish his request when you’re in only your sweater, pants, socks, and undergarments. He smirks at the result of your swift labour, drinking in your silhouette. He’s seen enough photos of you outdoors to know what lies beneath the rest. Thirst traps, you’d probably call them. Little did you know they’d be used against you one day.

He removes his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. With a languid thumb, he swipes it to life. He logs into his fake social media account and finds yours. It’s bookmarked as a favourite tab, of course, especially considering how many times he’s used your pics to jerk off. If you only knew how many nights his cock twitched, begging to be sheathed in your soft pussy, you’d probably be petrified.

He grins.

“What were you thinking, posting shit like this?”

He twists the screen around for you to see. It’s a photo of you and your bestie in bikinis. Your hair is wet from spending time in the ocean. You and your friend were vacationing at a beach, and you wanted to look your best. Beside her, your lips are coiled around a lollipop, cheeks hollowed out from sucking on it. A thirst trap? Absolutely. But not for him.

He stares at the image one more time before putting the phone away. His crimson orbs lock with yours. A smirk settles across his lips.

“Get on your knees.”

Your eyelids clamp shut. Wordlessly, you lower yourself to the ground. It feels utterly humiliating. You have no choice but to let him use you. There has to be a way out of this situation, but how? If you’re serious about surviving, you have to cook up an escape route.

Shigaraki nears your submissive form. He wishes he brought something to tie you up. You’d look gorgeous bound for him. Helpless and barely willing is how he likes his lovers.

He wasn’t lying when he told you he gets women. Since establishing the Paranormal Liberation Front, people have been throwing themselves at him. They’re attracted to his power. He doesn’t have an interest in any of them, though; there are better things to do, and more enticing partners to find. You fit the bill quite nicely.

He hovers over you, leering at you with his crotch mere centimetres from your face. His jeans smell like laundry detergent — you didn’t expect that. You guess he’s not as crusty as he seems, with his scraggly hair and raspy voice.

Suddenly, he grasps the back of your head with four fingers and pushes your face against his clothed erection. He grinds it along your cheek, twitching in his underwear, yearning to feel the warmth of your slutty mouth. Soon you’ll serve him, but not yet.

“Look what you do to me,” he groans, lulling his head back. “I’ve been waiting for you to fix this problem. Won’t kill you until I’ve had my fill.”

You shiver. You’ve got to get to fuck out of here. If you can distract him, you can jump out of the window and get help. It’s risky, but you don’t have much of a choice.

He releases you and moves to unzip his pants. Your breath hitches. You don’t want this to extend any longer than it has to — not if you can help it. Who knows when he’ll get bored and murder you? He’s unhinged. The time to act is now.

“Wait,” you mumble. “Sh-shirt.”

Shockingly, he lets up for a moment. You take the opportunity to gesture to the garment you’re wearing. It’s your work uniform. Nothing special. He doesn’t have to know that, though.

“Lemme take this off,” you insist. “P-please. I-I don’t wanna ruin in.”

If you remove your shirt, that’ll leave you in merely a bra and pants. Fortunately for you, Shigaraki isn’t a stupid man when it comes to his own satisfaction. He decides to offer you reprieve. Robotically, he steps back to give you space. He’s seen them from afar; he knows they’ll be impressive up close.

“Hurry up.”

He doesn’t anticipate you being a skillful little idiot.

You roll backwards and stumble to your feet. Bolting towards the window, you’re grateful that he didn’t make you strip completely. The hesitation of humiliation and shame might have prevented you from leaping out from the second floor. It’s with luck that you don’t break anything upon hitting the ground.

Shigaraki lunges for your hair a millisecond too late. He catches himself on the window frame. At the same time, you get to your feet and sprint. By the time he reaches the street, panting and growling with fury, you’ve disappeared; there’s not a trace of you left behind.

He suspects you’re off to alert a local hero or police officer. That’s fine. He doesn’t expect them to believe you, and even if they do, how will they protect you? He can feel his power accumulating; moreover, after the impending procedure that’s set to occur in the coming months, he’ll be unstoppable. He doesn’t mind killing those who get in his way.

Thus, with a heavy huff, he lets you go. You obviously want to play, and he’s a master gamer. He knows you want this just as much as he does. After all, didn’t you grasp that he was serious about finding you as many times as you manage to flee from him — that he’ll keep his pursuit steady until you no longer have the strength to run? You must want to be hunted, like pretty prey reserved only for the best.

You have no idea who you’re fucking with.

I have to confess

I have another comfort character...yes Tomura isn't the only one even if he's my fav 😂✋

I also have sundrop✨ from fnaf i can't i...such a sunshine 🥺