Tomura Before & During The "war". Endeavour And The Rest Couldn't Do Shit Lmao.

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

Dont repost or use

weeb ah bed

“Inside the Open Window”

Tomura x afab Reader

word count: 2,000+

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! size difference mentioned, soft tomura, some smut, some angst, established relationship, afab reader.

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The room, for once, is filled with honeyed light. You blink open bleary eyes and stare out into the shallow pools of morning puddling in swaying shapes on the floor, vision slowly focusing until you catch the lazy swirls of dust motes dancing through the air. You keep telling Tomura to open some windows, let the fresh air in before it gets too cold and you all end up even more cooped up than you already feel you are on the daily, but he’s stubborn about it so you have to sneak his open a crack when he’s not around. So far he hasn’t noticed. Maybe you’ll risk sliding it up a little further this afternoon.

Beside you, you can hear Tomura’s slow, shallow breathing from where he lays, one of his arms slung across your middle, elbow resting in the dip of your waist as you lay on your side, your back almost touching his chest. You find his hand where it’s carefully placed up near your own chest, fingers curled tightly inward even though he wears those two-fingered gloves whenever you two sleep together. You tell him you trust him, that he’s spent a majority of his life learning to sleep through the night without decaying anything while unconscious, but he says having your trust isn’t the deciding factor.

“I don’t trust myself,” he’d snapped one evening when you were pressing him about it, trying to come from a place of reassurance but inevitably pushing him a little too far. “You don’t understand,” he’d continued, after a short huff of a sigh and a trembling hand raked back through his unruly waves. “It’s just— If that were to happen, I can’t take it back. I can’t take it back. I—”

You’d approached him, slow and cautious, like he was an injured animal that looked vulnerable right now but, once within reach, might thrash and snap, bare its teeth and bite down hard. “Tomura…” you’d murmured, reaching out a hand, testing to see if he’d let you place it on his cheek. “It’s ok…” He’d leaned into your touch, let his eyes flutter closed, his next exhale coming out as a shaking, raspy whine. You’d gently pulled him down until your foreheads were touching, hoping that simple act helped to make at least some of his fear melt away, the terror pulling back from shore for a short while even if its return was inevitable. You’d let the silence settle between you two before you’d said, your voice barely above a whisper, “I know…”

So he slipped on the gloves, you buckling them in place around his thin wrists, and from then on some of the tension he held whenever he’s around you disappears.

The first touch is always the hardest though.

It’s always the scariest.

It’s as if he worries the rules of his quirk will suddenly change, that needing all five fingers in order to decay will mutate into needing only one and he’ll be forced to helplessly watch you crumble to dust between his destructive hands, frantically trying to gather up the particles as if he could use them to reconstruct you somehow, or maybe just to keep a part of who you used to be, if worse came to worst.

But once his hand— palm, fingers, and all— was safely resting against the side of your neck, he allowed himself to feel some relief.

Because, like that, you could be his.

Like that, he could hold you.

You stiffly shimmy out from beneath his arm, making sure to carefully lift the limb and set it comfortably back down close to him. You stand, greeted by the quiet crackling pops of a few joints, and make your way over to that cracked window. You glance behind you. Tomura’s still asleep. So you catch the lip of the window with the edge of your grip and pull upward, struggling for a moment before it finally gives and slides all the way to the top, the rush of sound quick but louder than you were hoping for.

When you look over your shoulder again, you see Tomura’s eyes are open now, looking fully alert in just an instant, though his body remains still and frozen in the same position that you left it, tufts of white hair hanging at odd angles in his eyes and over his shoulder.

“Sorry…” you wince, coming back over to sit on the bed beside him. He begins to stir, turns over onto his chest to push up onto his elbows, the tousled sheets slipping and exposing more of his pale back, the scars cross-hatching across the skin shining faintly silver in the morning’s soft glow.

“You can go back to bed if you want to,” you tell him, feeling guilty for waking him so soon. You know he’s usually one to sleep into the afternoon and beyond.

He clicks on your phone, 8:15 lighting up on the screen before fading to black again. “It’s fine,” he sighs, turning over again to sit up, slouching over a bit as he rubs at the back of his neck, fingers getting caught in a loose knot in his hair as he combs it through, letting out a pronounced yawn. He looks at you as you shuffle closer and asks, “How long have you been up?”

“Not long,” you tell him. “Only a few more minutes before you.”

Tomura opens his mouth, about to say something, but stops when you both hear one of the other members of the League creaking around from downstairs. You’re willing to bet it’s Atsuhiro. He’s the only regularly early-rising person among you.

Whatever words Tomura was going to speak are reduced to a low rumble of annoyance and the clenching of his jaw, as if he’s just been reminded of something he’d been trying to avoid.

In this small bout of contemplation, Tomura shifts from beneath the covers and swings his legs over the side of the bed, bending down to grab up the bundle of black denim on the floor which unfurl into his jeans, fishing out his phone from the back pocket and turning it on only to be greeted with an abundance of notifications. Instead of reading them, he mutters something under his breath and tosses it onto the nearby side table, leaning forward to give you a better view of his back again. Now that you’re closer, you can better see the fading red scratch tracks that travel down his shoulders, though for once the marks weren’t made by his own jagged nails.

The sight of it takes you back to last night, when the room had been doused in silver instead of gold and filled to the brim with the quiet, lilting sounds of your combined pleasure. You could still feel the ghost of him wrapped around you, encasing you in his scent, his touch, his very essence as if attempting to meld you both into one.

But, like most things, no matter how much you tried to tell him he didn’t need to be so delicate with you, doesn’t need to treat you like you’re one touch away from being broken, he doesn’t listen. He’s so gentle, even as his hips meet the inside of your thighs and he drives himself into your tight, wet heat even deeper, as if hoping to burrow a new home inside of you, to leave a piece of himself there so you’ll always carry it around.

Your moans are perhaps his favorite sound in the entire world, hearing the way they break off into a clipped whimper when he hits that soft, spongy spot deep inside of you, his own moans choked out as your silky walls squeeze around his length, wringing pleasure from him in a way that’s both relentless and heavenly.

When you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper still, he’s on the verge of losing any ounce of control he has left, tempted to take your wrists and pin them above your head so he can pound into you hard enough to well tears in your eyes and have you crying out in a way that’s helpless and hurting and all his, his, his.

But when he looks down at you, sees that telltale trust that reflects back at him in your gaze, he keeps the more carnal parts of his desires at bay. Because, while he may take pride in being a symbol of fear to the rest of the world, if there’s only one person he doesn’t want to view him like that, it’s you.

When you come undone, arching your back as your mouth hangs open with a silent scream, that’s when your nails rake across his flesh quick and hard, not quite breaking the skin but bursting the blood vessels beneath, a speckling of bright red stippling the tracks of a slightly lighter shade.

He’d let out a hiss followed mere moments later by his own body letting go, a broken whine welling in his throat, the types of sounds he only allows you to hear him make. You’d forgotten you’d scratched him so hard last night almost as soon as it had happened, your mind glazed over with a thick layer of pleasure and saccharine lust, the world around you blurring until the only thing you could seem to make out through the dim dark of the room was him and all that alabaster, scar-covered skin sheened over with sweat.

Now, Tomura beckons you back into his embrace, wanting to feel the warmth of your body seeping into his one more time before he’s forced to rise from his bed and slip back into the cold, hardened role of being the leader of the most feared group of villains in the entire country, perhaps even the entire world.

You’re wearing his t-shirt, the soft black fabric oversized on your form, nothing underneath, the rest of your clothes still left discarded and strewn across the room in a trail from the door to the foot of the bed. Like this, you’re enveloped in his scent, and it leaves you feeling calm and sated. Safe. Like nothing inside of these four walls could ever go wrong.

But you really should’ve known better.

The moment you start to get even a little too comfortable is always when something rears its head to remind you there are no happy endings here.

After a while of listening to your steady breathing and staring out the open window, Tomura works up the courage to say, “Today’s the day, y’know…” hence breaking the illusion that you’d be allowed to live in the fantasy of this haven for more than a single night’s rest.

You close your eyes, let out a long breath, trying to stay your worry. “I know,” you tell him. “I know, but, Tomura…” You turn your face up towards his, hoping to lock eyes with him, even if only for a moment, but he’s still focused on the window he rarely lets you open, furrowing his sparse, silvery brow in a look of intense concentration. Eventually, however, he does look at you, the intensity he held before melting away into something much more concerned.

Be careful, you want to tell him.

If things start to go wrong just get out. Don’t risk letting the heroes get their hands on you.

But what comes out instead is, “Nothing, nevermind…”

You figure he has enough to worry about already. You know he’s fully aware of the risks of this mission and the consequences that will follow if he fails.

So, for now, you allow yourself to sit in this false sense of security and serenity a little longer, whether for another minute, another hour, another day.

He won’t fail, you tell yourself as he places a kiss to the top of your head and smoothes down your hair, rising from the bed and gathering up more scattered articles of his clothing to slip back on before heading downstairs. He can’t.

You then regret opening the window. Perhaps, if you’d left it alone, you could’ve bought a few more hours of peace before the weight of responsibility settled in.

But, at the same time, you also knew that you were both on borrowed time.

Why not enjoy what moments of fresh air and sunlight you could get before it all was reduced to rubble and ash.

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flamme-shigaraki-spithoe

1 year ago

My my, this account is gold !😭🤌✨

Come Down to the Black Sea

Summary: The sea seems to call to you, but it’s not the tumultuous clash of the waves you should fear. Something lurks deep beneath the black waters, something sinister with a piqued interest and ill intent.

Rating: Teen, unless I chose to post the later chapters. Then things get all dirty and stuff.

Warnings: Siren!Shigaraki. So, there’s that. Foul language, as always. Slight struggle.

Hello, please take my garbage. This was originally a discord exclusive ficlet that ended up too fucking long. I meant to post it a while back but got distracted. I’ve read over it and I hate it a lot more than I did originally, more than I can really convey, but I feel bad for not posting anything story related for a while and maybe some folks will enjoy this. I promise I edited, I swear. Never thought I’d write something like this. Ever. and by ‘like this’, I mean no filth less than 500 words in. Either way, here it is.

“What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams.”

The sea is as much a constant to you as the gentle breeze that blankets your little port town. Every action you take daily in some small way reminds you that not so far away, the unforgiving tides are lapping hungrily at the shore and the restless ocean waters stir miles from the coast. Every breath you take is somewhat tinged with the briny smell of sea salt and slight sulfur. Seafood stalls and restaurants dot the coastal region, making up a large portion of the diets and employ of the folks who make their homes here.

Yet, for as big of a part of their lives as it is, there is so little known about it.

The ocean’s mysteries are as vast as her expanse and as deep as the trenches that lurk within her depths.

Children are raised on cautionary tales, made acutely aware of the ever-present dangers of life near the open water. Rip currents and drowning, sailors lost at sea and boats that never make it to harbor. Hostile creatures that make their nests within the darkened deep beyond the pale of human experience. These things are often as mysterious as they are tragic and leave behind loved ones mourning not only the loss of lives, but the answers they’ll never have.

Sometimes, you can’t help but wonder if your kind has gotten just a bit too comfortable near the seaside.

You’re not the only one that thinks so.

Afficher davantage

382 notes View Post

flamme-shigaraki-spithoe

1 year ago

For @oklolnoty

Down the Rabbit Hole - Five Chapters - 20k words - Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Rabbit Quirk Female Reader

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Whole story TW: Noncon, yandere with kidnapping, severe quirk based discrimination, binge drinking, canon typical threats of violence (reader directed), canon typical death (nonreader directed), oral (give/receive), PnV (doggie), breeding, and expensive designer clothing everywhere.

Rating: 18+ readers only - Minors DNI

Chapter 2: Nomination - 3.4k words

TW: Drinking, quirk discrimination, Incel Tomura being a massive jerk for "reasons", author makes a Javascript joke but only understands html Special thanks to @krystalwithakay for laughing at the aforementioned joke and programming the much more complicated Javascript joke yet to come.

“You have a nomination.”

Plastering the bandage to the back of your bleeding heel, you slipped your pumps back on. Your manager stared down her beak at you. You blinked at her before rising to your full height.

“A nomination? I thought Azuma-san canceled our Thursdays permanently after that fight with his wife?”

“It’s another client.” Blue plumage fluffed as she whipped her fan open. “An important client,” she stressed, narrowing her amber eyes.

“So this is the ‘best bunny behavior’ speech?” Tossing a floppy ear back behind your neck, you pitched your voice an octave higher. “Okay! I’m super duper excited to meet him, Mama-san.”

The fan snapped shut. She cocked her head and beckoned you towards the front desk. You tailed her, watching embroidered folds of black taffeta sway back and forth with every calculated swing of her Coke bottle hips. With all the grace of a prima ballerina, she dipped below the countertop and headed for the towel warmer. “You’ve met him before. Briefly. Last Friday.”

Your eyes rolled to the creamy plaster ceiling as you wracked your brain. “But Usagi is back, right? Wouldn’t Tano-san rather have her?”

“It’s not Tano-san.”

A cold sweat broke on your neck as memories of a tooth-and-nail conversation slammed into you like a loose brick. You staggered under the weighty realization. “Wait… you don’t mean—”

Long tongs placed cozy terry cloth on a small silver platter. Leaning over the counter, she snatched your wrist and foisted the tray into your grip. “I don’t know what you did, but you’re the first hostess he’s asked for by name.” Her glare could cut iron. “His sponsor is very well connected and I’m running out of staff. Do not fail me.”

“Yes, Mama-san,” you agreed, shrinking under her heavy expectations.

Just past the ratty leaves of the money tree, slouched in the center of the entryway, the slender-man of Nyanko’s nightmares looked just as bored as you remembered. Poor posture ruined the flawless lines of his expensive wool suit. Dull eyes and a flat expression looked better suited to a mummy than a man of twenty something. His dry, shrunken lips only enhanced the impression. However, the moment you slid into view, he lifted his chin.

It was hard to contain a confident smirk as red eyes rolled over your outfit from top to bottom. The sight of a real, live bunny girl in a halter neck, sleeveless tuxedo shirt and black leather miniskirt slaughtered most men on sight. Though conservative compared to usual club attire (read: T&A: on display), delicate ruffles drew the eye to pearl buttons trailing between sculpted cleavage. Chunky Mary Jane platforms elongated your legs until they could stop traffic. Add in a flash of thin garter belts holding old-school silk stockings at mid thigh and the entire collection could be classified as a weapon of mass erection.

“Welcome back, Shigaraki-san! ♡” Voice stuffed into a falsetto, you dipped into a bow while holding out the hot towel. “I’m soooooo excited that you requested me!”

Hair bristling silence was your only reply. He lifted the wipe up using only two fingers. With all the enthusiasm of a robot, he washed his hands one digit at a time before replacing the cloth on the tray.

Ouch. Like smacking your forehead against an iceberg.

"Please step this way." You gestured to one of the open booths like a variety show host.

He shuffled past, paying less attention to you than one would pay to a stray soda can laying on the pavement.

You hoisted the brown, leather bound menu. "Would you like me to recommend something? There’s a super taste cham—"

He rested his head on his palm, long fingers denting his cheek. "Cassis Orange."

An error has occurred. See error log for details. Java.lang.NullPointerException Error Log: Shigaraki.drinkorder cannot be defined 0: He is joking 1: He cares ≤ 0

…

1= True

“Oh, yummy!” you cooed, flagging the bartender for one of the sweet cocktails. “Most guys won’t order that drink because of some weird macho complex.” You leaned into your palm, mimicking his stance. “It’s nice to drink with a man who is confident in himself.”

Unblinking eyes stared you down. “What do you want to drink?”

Sake bomb.

You tapped your chin. “Um… I think my favorite is a mimosa with Dom Pérignon.” The tinkling laugh you faked grated on your own nerves. You glanced away, curling inwards to fake lady-like shyness. “Champagne goes straight to my head though…”

Liar. In this profession, drinking skills made bank. Champagne was pricey. Pricey drinks lead to better bonuses. A little white lie here, a coy seduction there and while he was chasing bubbles for a chance to paw you up, you could rake in the cash.

“—so I should probably stick with something like a—”

Sake bomb.

No. Stick to the brand. Frufru girly-girls drink frufru girly drinks. No man picks the adorable bunny to have her drink him under the table. Way too emasculating.

“—lemon sour.”

SAKE BOMB.

Shigaraki rolled his eyes. “That’s lame.”

Says the guy drinking the cocktail equivalent of a pink polka dot ribbon?!

You scratched your cheek to cover the wince. “Well, it’s what I can manage. After all, it wouldn't be much fun for you if I got all silly and clingy, right?”

Perfect delivery. If that didn’t make him order you a champagne, the man was a eunuch.

He huffed, scratching his neck. “That does sound gross,” he agreed.

Excuse you?! What kind of man comes to a HOSTESS CLUB and says “ew… I hope hot women DON’T cling to me.” What was he?! Afraid of catching cooties?

You flinched into a fake grin. “I-I know, right? I try very hard to manage myself so I’m fun to be around.”

Ugh. You needed a sake bomb.

Shigaraki’s bored stare cut through you like a knife. You whipped your head around, flashing the waiter the sign for a lemon sour. With a deep breath to soothe your ruffled fur, you turned back to your new arch nemesis.

Game on, crusty boy. Let’s show you what max level charm can do!

Sliding smoothly beside him, you dragged one calf up your thigh until your tight little skirt nearly broke public decency laws. His eyes flicked to your legs. You schooled your expression into a peaceful smile more relaxing than a shiatsu massage.

“So Shigaraki-san, Mama-san mentioned you have a mentor. What is that like?”

“Pretty much the same as anyone with a mentor I guess.”

“What type of things does he teach you?”

“This and that.”

“It sounds like a well rounded education then.”

“I guess.”

Give a girl something to work with, you tight lipped little snot!

“What’s the favorite thing you learned so far?”

He leaned back in his seat, eyes rolling to the ceiling. The edge of his lip twitched upwards for one heartbeat. “Not to judge people at face value. To always assume they’re hiding something.”

You giggled. “Well, that’s good advice. He sounds very wise.”

“He’s done a lot of different things over the years.”

“How eclectic.”

“Eclectic?”

Crap! You let your bimbo face slip. Dial it back. Dial it back.

“Just something I heard Mama-san say once. She says people who have many interests are eclectic.” You raised one finger and put a bubble-gum pop into your words. “I guess that means they have a lot of energy or something since it sounds like electric!”

Perfect. Now he can “well, actually…” you and feel superior. Men love that. Nice save.

“You’re lying.”

You cocked your head and stared at him with the bald-faced bemusement of a proper airhead.

He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table. Red eyes bored into yours. “You used the word correctly. You knew what it meant.”

When the waiter set the drinks by your elbow, you could have hugged him. You broke off eye contact with Shigaraki, clasped your hands together, and let out an excited squeal. “Oh my gosh this looks so cool! They cut the orange in the shape of a star. How fancy is that?!”

The deadpan stare continued.

You inhaled to puff your chest before carefully placing the drink before him. Steady hands kept the sunset colored gradient exactly as the bartender had prepared it. Then, you gripped your glass, being sure to twist your wrist and show off baby pink nails with tiny glitter bows.

See crusty boy? Nothing here but an empty headed bunny doll made of rack and back.

“Toasties?” you asked, holding your cup up for the clink.

Never breaking his gaze, your client lifted his drink with his pinky out and tapped your glass as if the sound repulsed him. He stirred the gradient away before sipping his fruity cocktail.

With a long suck, you drained half the lemon-sweet mixer in one go. “Yummy!” you cooed, licking your lips. “How does yours taste, Shigaraki-san?”

“Apparently, not as good as yours.”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Ah! How embarrassing. It’s been a long time since I met a guy like you. When I get nervous I drink more.”

Peeling lips cracked into an amused sneer. “Oh really?”

“Being with someone like you is so exciting.” You took another sip, glancing at him from under mascara coated lashes. “It makes it hard to hold back.”

He laughed. “...and therefore you’ll be blowing through your drinks pretty quick, wracking up a big tab at my expense, right?”

“Maybe…” you teased coyly, tracing the rim of your glass with one finger. “I mean, it’s your fault for looking so good.”

He snorted. “How do you say that stuff with a straight face?”

“Huh?” You cocked your head the other way and pointed at your underbust. “Straight lace? No, my corset is a criss cross.” You leaned forward, angling your torso for maximum ‘round mound’ effect. “See? It’s all back and forth.”

Shigaraki looked you up and down, the smile dipping back to a frown. “That’s pretty boring though.”

Boring? Oh screw off. You try holding up a one sided conversation, douchebag!

“You don’t like fashion? But you’re dressed so nice!”

“No, what I don’t like is—” he gestured to all of you. “—this. Whatever this is.”

Hair bristling, you sat back in your seat. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“The lines are pretty good lies but that—” he waved at the whole of you again “—is messing it up.”

Your throat tensed, leaving a touch of gravel in your voice. “I’m sorry, but you’re talking too complicated for a stupid bunny girl like me. Can you dumb it down so I can understand?”

Now the grin was back but it was… pointy? Yes. That was the best way to describe it. All sharp lines and shadows like some creepy monster hiding in the closet.

“I want that.”

You blinked at him. “Come again?”

He leaned forward. “That. You. The real you. Not the act.”

“Act? I don’t understand—”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t play stupid. I want the girl from the alley.”

BANG

In an instant you were on your feet, shaking hands flat against the glossy table top. Manicured nails raked the surface until the glass shrieked under your sweaty palms. The room went silent. Dark shadows obscured your face. With a crack, your head snapped up to reveal a mechanical smile.

“Shigaraki-san, I am having difficulty hearing you over all the noise in this room.” You jabbed a thumb over your shoulder towards the back corner. “If we’re going to continue our little chat I think we should move to a private suite. The champagne room is lovely for cozy conversation. There is a 200,000 yen cover charge and the first bottle of Dom Pérignon is included.”

Curious eyes from all corners of the room stared at the show. Good. Now that he was on blast, he’d have to put up to save face or shut up and clamp down on his prying. Your chest burned with bated breath as you awaited his response.

Shigaraki groped into his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, a black, leather wallet arced through the air. Wide eyed, you caught it with both hands. He slid out of his seat and onto his feet.

“Sure. I’m game for a bonus stage.”

You glanced down at the thick billfold only to see a hefty clump of 10,000 yen banknotes sticking out the top. Your mouth ran dry. Shoving the wallet back into his hands, you gestured to the bouncer. He bustled over, tapping his key card to the electronic lock. As Shigaraki strolled past you into the private room, you glanced back at Mama-san. Her inscrutable expression disappeared behind the fluttering fan with a sharp snap.

Welp, hopefully that meant she wouldn’t fire you for what you were about to do.

Beyond the tufted leather door, the two of you entered a shrine to leisure and pleasure. Mirrored walls reflected soft, glittering light from the teardrop chandelier above. Upon plush, red carpet, overstuffed sofas crafted from butter soft, ivory leather begged for only the most pampered backsides. On the far wall, a massive television complete with jumbo speakers and a full karaoke set waited patiently for any party sized two to twenty. Glowing copper trim on the seating matched the metal frame of the oversized coffee table. Shigaraki flopped down on the low-backed loveseat. The waiter carried your chilled champagne in on a silver platter before quickly bowing out of the room.

As the door clicked shut, Shigaraki draped his arms across the back of the sofa and flashed you a sneer. "Got something to say?"

Sashaying across the floor, you smoothed the sofa and took your place next to your guest. Graceful as a swan, you lifted the bottle and sliced the foil with your thumbnail. A few quick twists freed the cork from its wire prison. With a roll of your wrist, his flute dangled between your digits.

POP

The speeding cork grazed his ear.

Golden bubbles arced from the bottle. When his glass was nearly full, you twisted the flow to a stop. Leaning forward flashed him a glance at your cleavage. A naughty smile hovered just above it. You set the bottle by his elbow and stroked the stem of your glass like a porn actress.

"Fill me up, Shigaraki-san?" you teased.

He flushed.

So crusty boy liked it a little dirty, huh? File that away for future reference.

Your guest sloshed the expensive liquid into your flute. The bottle clanked onto the table. He stared at you with a raised brow.

With a sweet smile, you hoisted your drink. The delicate tinkle of crystal on crystal accompanied a syrupy salute. "Toasties~!"

You shot the champagne like a middle aged manager whining about his alimony payment. The glass hit the table with a hard CLANK.

"All right, listen up," you growled. “First, I’ve spent a long time pretending 'Miss Sugar-Tits' is my personality and outing me in front of the clients is a dick move. If my regulars see me act like this—” you whipped your hand across your face “—my happy tail doesn’t get paid and you better believe I am all kinds of nasty when I can’t afford to eat.”

Shigaraki sipped his drink with a vulgar grin.

You crossed your arms and scowled. “Second, what is your deal?! You’re bored with the girls, you barely drink the booze, and you don’t want to talk. Why drag yourself out here night after night just to be a massive jerk to a bunch of women who you are paying to suck up to you?!” You huffed and turned your cheek. “Heck of a fetish if it is one.”

“I need to level up my coercion.”

You blinked. “Excuse me, what?”

Cracked nails scraped his neck “Sensei told me I needed practice handling people I don’t like. Hostesses are top tier at that skill. It was useful to learn but pretty boring until I saw you whaling on that dumpster. Not something I expected from the fluff-for-brains bunny girl you pretend to be.” He folded his hands in front of his face, resting his pointed chin on top. With a smirk he added: “The part about tearing down society was pretty interesting. Do you call that ‘hare razing’?”

You grabbed a floppy ear and shook it at him. “I’m a rabbit, not a hare, douchebag.”

He leaned back into the chair, arms open wide. “Whatever. The point is that I like that version of you much better than the act.”

You snorted. “Well literally everyone else disagrees with you on that one. Trust me.”

“That’s because society values sappy platitudes over the straight truth.”

“And what truth is that?”

He reached for his glass, knocking back the drink like you had only moments ago. Though he wasn’t a particularly tall man, when rose to his feet and leered down at you, you felt oddly small by comparison. Something about the glowing gaze left you rigid in your seat. Your breath hitched. Scarlet eyes burned as they rolled over your face.

“That the game is buggy and needs a hard reset.”

You shifted in your seat, looking away from his searing stare. Shaking hands balled in your lap. Ringing filled your ears. Voices from the past cried out from painful memories.

“No need to push yourself sweetie. We’re just happy to have you be our team mascot.”

“Aw… look at you trying so hard. How cute.”

“Don’t act like such a prude. We all know how you got this internship.”

Bile bubbled up your throat. You choked it down. A weary scoff puffed from quivering lips. “Not wrong there,” you muttered.

He blew out a long breath, as if he’d been holding it. “I knew you understood.”

Shaking off a prickling at the back of your neck, you forced a laugh. “But I’m just a bunny girl. I can’t do something as grand as change the world.”

Your guest narrowed his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Chcc. Boring.” He groped into his pocket, pulling out his phone. One glance at the screen and he shoved it into hiding again. “I have to leave anyway.”

Liquid rage poured through your body. “Excuse you!? What did you just call me ‘Mr. couldn’t-carry-a-conversation-if-it-had-a-handle?!’”

He raised his chin and sneered at you. “You’re boring when you’re like that. I’m just calling it like I see it.”

Sharp nails pricked your palms. “Oh!? Is that so?! Then, pray tell, when am I not boring?”

Shigaraki scoffed. “When you’re the real you.”

Bristling with fury, you stomped your heel. “Fine! You want the real me?! Screw it.” You jabbed a finger at his face. “You. Me. Paid date. Wednesday at 2 PM. 25,000 yen per hour.”

“Two? Isn’t that early?”

“What’s the matter?” A cruel smirk twisted on your lips. “Ain’t got the stamina?”

He scratched his neck. Red heat crawled across his skin.

You reached towards him, palm out. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

You rolled your eyes. “So I can put my number in it?”

He dragged out the device and tapped in the unlock code. “This better be worth it,” he declared, dropping it in your palm.

“I’m always worth it.” You zeroed in on his texts, stabbing in your number to the recipient line. There were only two words in the message: “crusty boy”. Pressing “send” so hard it nearly cracked the screen, you shoved the phone back in his chest. “What’s your first name?”

He squinted at you suspiciously. “Why?”

You put your hand on one hip. “You want me to spend the entire date calling you ‘Shigaraki-san’?”

After a long pause he muttered, “Tomura.”

You tapped the name into your contacts. “Got it. “I’ll drop you the details later—” Fluttering lashes accompanied a smile more sadistic than seductive. “—Tomura.”

His breath hitched as the warm flush tipped his ears.

You hummed, craning your neck.

His lips curled in a feral snarl. Snatching up the door handle, he nodded to the bottle. “It won’t keep. Finish it yourself.”

“How generous—” you licked your lips “—Tomura.”

As the door slammed shut, you giggled and picked up the champagne.

Maybe you could trade it in for a sake bomb.

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Next Chapter Expected: July 15th, 2023

Expected Completion Date: Mid-Aug 2023

Taglist: @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love @shig-a-shig-ah @castershellwrites @smilinghowever @krystalwithakay @iris-goddess @ss-syche @mortallysparklyfun @meameows @magnificentclodpiezonk @betterfettered @utena-akashiya @ventdavi154 @st4rrust @imaginedheroine @the-lady-writes-what @shiggysimp69 @toughbook @naughteehee @tampon-earrings @alotofpussy @derobsawiempleh @jadke-bean @saintvinny @cookiecrumblemoonster @curlyangelsblog @hurthermore @prehistoricfreak @insomniamoth22 @celesterdzc18 @sasuqahs @gloomysel @ohnoitsthatonekid @tracksuit-goth @cinnatwisted @anteabelle @unlikelytrio @meru-the-succubus @diawh0re @linastired @mikeyrights @headmastermephistopheles @omisdolly @nochedeodio @starstruckvega @laurelyna @shiggysimp69 @certainlygay @rxyno @ventdavi154 @patch-workk @paranormal-dude @grenosethino @fancylardbucket @utena-akashiya @toughbook @oklolnoty @zombiegr1 @shyyykat @ushi-uri @flamme-meuf2-shiggy @vampirec0w @perpetual-fangirl900 @nekolover93 @saskenma @betterfettered @thread-knight @st4rrust @sparrowwritesforop @aphorditeslust @pindelighted @tadokorochann @usaggii

@beeandtrees @justineangelrococo @aaangeliii

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flamme-shigaraki-spithoe

1 year ago

Come Down to the Black Sea IV

Rating: Explicit

No real warnings in this chapter, surprisingly. A little bit of blood and mentions of depression, but nothing overtly terrible. If you’re new, please check out the previous parts for applicable warnings.

PART I, PART II, PART III, AO3 MIRROR

TAGLIST: @lemonzoey, @babayaga67, @badtimechara, @prospekt-42 @krystalwithakay, @lunera-san, @jenorca (If you wish to be added or removed, please let me know, it’s very difficult to find everyone who wanted to be added on the older posts so I might have missed some and I apologize.)

It seems so lonely sometimes, the ocean.

The gentle push and shove of the waves, pulling at the sand as if to yank land into a reluctant embrace. The sea swallows anything you give to it, finding a home in her waters for whatever you might offer. She preserves our devastation and tragedy, collections of scattered bones and memories buried deep in a sepulchral graveyard of algae. Once picturesque ships now rusted and rotten along her depths that humanity once revered and has now left to rot. She leaves them relatively undisturbed, finding a home for her creatures instead, repurposing our disasters and death to bring new life inside of her.

You wonder, sometimes, if she gets lonely too. If perhaps that’s why she clings to the surface’s lost trinkets and breeds new growth in its stead. We offer only destruction, and she benevolently gives back life. Ying and yang. Water and land. Life and death. A forlorn balance.

She’s calm tonight. Tame waves tenderly caressing the side of the rock you’ve dubbed your new cathedra. It’s a mild night; soft winds and balmy. It’s mournful in a way you can’t describe, almost sad in nature despite the general pleasantness of the atmosphere. Like there’s something missing, something taken. Something it searches for but can’t find or replace. Something important replaced by dust and emptiness. An entire piece taken out of being.

Or perhaps you’re projecting your own emotions onto an inanimate entity.

It’s been building for some time- ashes still simmering beneath an extinguished fire. A dull ache in your chest that hollows in your throat during your weaker moments. A part of you that longs to reach out and grasp something that cannot be felt.

Humans aren’t islands. They weren’t meant to exist alone. Yet, for years, you’ve felt nothing but.

You can cry your sorrows to the water and dip your toes in the tides but even if she wanted to, the ocean cannot respond to your pleas. She can only listen, returning your confidence with small sea creatures that cross your path as if to soothe you. Occasionally a small school of fish you can barely see beneath the navy waves. Sometimes a small crab.

You’re left wondering why she saw fit to send Shigaraki. Perhaps her way of telling you to quit trauma-dumping.

Afficher davantage

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