Radio Silence - A Shigaraki X Reader Oneshot

Opposites Attract - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your quirk lets you capture almost anyone with ease, and you can't believe you let Shigaraki Tomura escape. Shigaraki can't believe it, either, and according to the League, there's only one possible explanation -- you let him go because you've fallen in love with him. He decides to find out if it's true. You decide you won't fail to capture him again. You both get a lot more than you bargained for. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1

This was supposed to be your day off. It’s all you can think about, which isn’t a good thing, because you’re in the middle of a villain attack and using your quirk at all requires a significant amount of your focus – but it was supposed to be your day off, dammit. You’re supposed to be doing something fun. Going shopping. Getting a haircut, or mani-pedis, and going out for drinks with your friends at a place crawling with photographers. All the stuff young, single, female pro heroes are supposed to do. So what if you hate that stuff, and you were probably going to sleep all day, wake up at 5pm, make dinner, and marathon the Alien franchise until you fell asleep again? You could have gone out.

But instead you’re here, because Eraserhead caught himself another spinal fracture, and when the doctors threatened to tie him to the bed if he tried to leave before they were done fusing it, he called in a favor you owe him and made you supervise his first-year-class from hell on a field trip to the brand-new Kamino Memorial Park. Go to Kamino Park, they said. It’ll be safe, they said. There’s no way in hell the League of Villains will hit the place a second time.

Well, they’re hitting it, and they’re hitting it hard – and it was supposed to be your goddamn day off. You throw out your arm to stop the trio of students you’re shepherding to safety as three knives thud into the grass in front of you, and make yourself a promise: The next time Eraserhead asks you to do anything, you’re telling him to go to hell.

“Hey, um –” One of the students taps your shoulder, and you know without even asking that they’ve forgotten your name again. “We got our provisional licenses. We can fight now.”

“You can, but you won’t. Create a perimeter and protect the civilians,” you order. You’re not sure why the League of Villains is here, but there’s no way you’re feeding a bunch of kids back into the same meat grinder they escaped from a month ago. “Other pros are on their way, and so are the police. In the mean time –”

You flick your fingers, calling up a magnetic field, and the knives lift out of the grass, hovering in midair. “I’ll keep them busy.”

You consider taking the knives and sending them back the way they came, but unless you want to fatally wound Toga, you’ll just be handing her weapons back to her. You curl your hand into a fist, compacting them into useless wads of metal. You’ve already used your quirk to tear up the park, creating uneven, unsteady terrain that’s dangerous for anybody who doesn’t have a way to take the fight airborne. Now it’s time for you to do what you do best. You narrow your focus, sensing out the concentrations of suspended iron that represent the League of Villains, and once you’ve got them, you lock them down.

Most of them, anyway. One proves a little more difficult to grasp than the others, and you get moving, using one hand to pull rebar and wiring out of the ground. You need it to ensnare the three you’ve already captured while you chase the villain who slipped away from you. You secure Toga and Twice, but Dabi burns his way free, and Twice sends a clone after you. Since it’s a clone, you don’t feel bad about yanking every molecule of trace metals out of its body and turning it to sludge.

Dabi’s on his feet, but you’re a bad matchup for Dabi for a lot of reasons. He’s got a ton of extra metal in his body. He throws his hands out towards you, blue flames already flickering. You fix your quirk on the staples holding him together and start pulling them out.

“What the fuck?” Dabi snarls, recoiling. Blood is already beginning to ooze from the holes on his wrists. “If you think you can just take me apart –”

You yank out another two – one from each wrist. “Stand down. You’ll run out of those before I run out of power.”

It’s true. Your quirk is Magnetism, and using it is easy for you. Using it safely is something else, but you can yank out every staple in Dabi’s body without breaking a sweat or destroying any property. Not that you want to do that. “I don’t want to hurt you, so just –”

There’s a shift in metallic concentration just behind you, and you dive to one side, just in time to avoid Shigaraki Tomura’s hand as it tries to close over your shoulder. A Twice clone is after you, too. You take the staples you pulled out of Dabi and fire them through its eye and throat as you roll out of Shigaraki’s reach. The leader of the League of Villains laughs, low and raspy. “Killing somebody? That’s not very heroic.”

You hate it when villains banter, but you’re not letting that one stand. “That’s not the real Twice.”

You’ve got the real one, and now you’ve got Dabi, too – at least for a few seconds. Maintaining a hold on Dabi, Twice, and Toga at once is within your abilities, but doing that and trying to capture Shigaraki at the same time – and maintain the barriers you’ve set up – and stay sharp enough to bounce Shigaraki into midair if he tries to touch the ground and vaporize Kamino Memorial Park out from under your feet – all of that is testing your concentration. When you lose concentration while using your quirk, bad things happen.

Shigaraki reaches for you again. A hero like Eraserhead would retaliate physically, kick or hit back, but you don’t want to be anywhere near Shigaraki’s quirk. You draw back out of reach, taking a step back every time Shigaraki steps forward. “You’re an underground hero,” he says. “Didn’t you learn what we do to underground heroes from what happened to Eraserhead?”

“Yeah. He shook that off, and sent me to take care of his light work.” The longer you can drag this out, the better – you can hear sirens approaching, and you know that Yokohama’s other pros are on their way. “Isn’t this a little high-risk for you? Returning to the scene of the crime so you can – what?”

Shigaraki sneers at you from behind the hand. “What do you think?”

You really couldn’t care less. Someone shouts for you, and your concentration slips for a second too long. You have to decide who to let go of, and between the three you’ve restrained, Toga’s the least dangerous. You let your control over the iron concentration in her blood relax and focus on trying to restrain Shigaraki instead. He’s hard to get ahold of. His body’s iron concentration is less than it should be. You lock him down for a second, but you can’t get a grip, and he slips free, smirking. “I know who you are,” he says. “The Capture Hero – Skynet. Not much of a capture hero, huh? You can’t even hang on to me. Are you sure the villains you’ve bagged didn’t let you get them?”

“No, they just didn’t have anemia,” you snap. Shigaraki blinks. “You don’t have enough iron in your blood for me to manipulate.”

Anemia’s not uncommon, but you’ve never come across a case this severe in someone you’re trying to capture. His iron concentration is so low that you can’t hold him for more than a split second. That level of anemia is crippling, and the words fly awkwardly out of your mouth before you can stop them. “Are you, like – okay?”

“What?”

He’s stopped trying to grab you. You should capitalize on it, pull up more rebar and wire to hold him down, but your mind’s off on its own track. “Do you get headaches?” you ask. “What about dizziness? Do you get tired a lot?”

Shigaraki looks disconcerted. He nods – then shakes his head, snarls, and sinks back into a fighting stance. “Why do you care?”

“What about a rapid heart rate even when you’re not doing anything?” When he’s doing something, like he is right now, it’s got to be even worse. You two have been trading barbs for thirty seconds at most and he’s out of breath. “You need to take care of yourself. This isn’t healthy.”

“Shut up!” Shigaraki lunges for you, and you twist aside. You get a good look at his fingernails as his hand goes by. They’re pale instead of pink. “Why do you care? So you can capture me and keep your precious reputation?”

You’re actually a little insulted. “So you don’t die!”

Shigaraki stares at you. The hand reaching out for you drops, and you close the distance between the two of you to shove him hard, knocking him backwards. Once he hits the concrete, you’ll figure something else out. You can hold him until someone else gets here.

But someone else is here, and they’re not here to help you. Shigaraki tumbles directly into a warp gate, staring at you like you’ve lost your mind the entire way.

Damn it. You can’t grasp the warp villain – wherever his real body is, it’s a long way from here, and you’re at risk of losing Dabi and Twice now, too. You tighten your grip on them, but even as you do, you see another portal opening out of the corner of your eye. This one is in midair, threatening to swallow a group of civilians who decided that hiding behind the All Might statue was a better choice than evacuating like the students ordered them to. “The civilians, or my associates,” the warp villain rumbles, from everywhere and nowhere. “Your choice.”

It's not a choice. You release your grip on Dabi and Twice, both the iron in their blood and the metal and wire holding them down, and warp gates devour them both. The warp gate above the civilians shuts, decapitating the All Might statue in the bargain, and as quickly as everything began, it grinds to a halt.

“Skynet!” someone snaps from behind you, and you freeze. “You let them go?”

Miruko is Number Six on the charts, and she outranks you by a lot, but you still bristle at her tone. “The civilians –”

“If you’re not stopping villains, you’re not doing your job.” She looks pissed. You have a feeling that she’s only holding off on kicking you because it’ll look bad in front of everybody. “If you’d held onto them a second longer, I’d have been here, and –”

“We could have helped!” That’s one of Eraserhead’s students – the one with the spiky red hair. “If you’d let us help –”

“You’re just kids. Do you have any idea what Eraser would do to me if I had –” You trail off when you realize that whatever it is, Eraser’s going to do it to you anyway for even letting the kids near the League of Villains. “I was the senior hero at the scene. It was my call. If you did what I told you – which you did – you did the right thing.”

“You did the right thing,” Miruko says to the student. The police are here. The cars skid to a stop, and you feel the iron concentration in what’s left of the park shift. There’s a helicopter in the air, too. More people, more cameras. Miruko is glaring at you. “You’re the one who screwed up.”

Yeah, you did. You stare dispiritedly at the headless statue of All Might as Eraser’s class regroups around you, as somebody starts questioning Miruko – the new senior hero at the scene – about what went wrong here. A few thoughts spin through your head, mainly of the hell you’re about to catch from the press, the heroic establishment, and the HPSC. Shigaraki Tomura’s case of life-endangering anemia makes it in there, and so does a hit of frustration at the fact that you’re in trouble for choosing to save a bunch of civilians from getting bisected by a warp gate. But the main thing that’s on your mind is the same thing that’s been there since the first spurt of blue flames erupted over the park: This was supposed to be your day off.

“Well, that blew,” Dabi says as he picks himself up off the floor of the League’s new hideout. “Whose idea was this, again?”

He’s glaring at Shigaraki. Shigaraki glares back. “I didn’t hear you say we shouldn’t do it.”

“I said we shouldn’t,” Twice pipes up. He’s still got a piece of rebar wrapped around his ankle. “No, it was a great idea!”

It seemed like a great idea when Shigaraki thought of it last night – go to Kamino Park, rattle the heroes’ cages, show everybody that the League of Villains isn’t scared of anything and isn’t even close to down for the count without Sensei to guide them. Then again, Shigaraki was three cans deep into a twelve-pack Compress had lifted last night, so his judgment might have been off. Twice is still talking. “I mean, we scared the piss out of those civilians. Those hero brats were running scared, too! And did you see what Kurogiri did to that All Might statue?”

“No,” Shigaraki says. He looks at Kurogiri. “What did you do?”

“Over there.” Kurogiri points, and Shigaraki looks. The head of the All Might statue is sitting on the warehouse floor. “It would have been a shame to leave without a trophy of some kind.”

“It’s on the news,” Magne sings out. She opted out of mission, and now she’s watching it on the League’s TV, lifted last week by Compress, which is hooked up to their generator, which was also lifted by Compress. “And it’s not looking too good for the heroes. That little one’s in big trouble.”

“Good. She’s a bitch,” Dabi mutters. His hands are bleeding. “What was that quirk, anyway?”

“Magnetism,” Shigaraki says. He feels weird. Maybe it’s the quirk. “She can manipulate magnetic fields. Any metal, on any of us –”

“I didn’t have any!” Twice protests.

“Then she used the iron content in your blood,” Shigaraki says. You told him how you were restraining the others. Amateur mistake. Or it would be, if there was any way to not have iron in his blood – but that’s a problem, too. “She couldn’t grab me. She said I didn’t have enough.”

“Is that so?” Kurogiri studies Shigaraki. “Did she say anything else?”

“Anemic.” It’s a weird word. Shigaraki scratches his neck. “She was weird about it. She wanted to know if I get headaches, or dizzy – or tired –”

The answer’s yes, which is why it was weird. It was weird that you knew. But the weirdest thing is what you said at the end. “She asked me if I was okay, and when I asked her why she gave a shit –”

“She answered you?” Magne mutes the TV, looking surprised. “What did she say?”

“What did I miss?” Toga skids into the warehouse before Shigaraki can answer. “I got away, but none of you came with me, so I went to the meeting spot alone. What happened?”

“The hero let us go,” Dabi grunts. “Shigaraki was just telling us about a little chat they had.”

“Ooh, you talked to her?” Toga sits down next to Twice on the ground, peering at Shigaraki. “What did she say?”

“She doesn’t want me to die.” Shigaraki feels his face contort behind Father’s hand as he says it. “Weird.”

“Weird,” Twice agrees. “Since when do heroes play mind games like that?”

It’s quiet for a second. “So she asked if you were okay and she doesn’t want you to die,” Dabi says slowly. “I don’t know, Shigaraki. It sounds kind of like she likes you.”

Shigaraki’s mind goes totally blank. “What?”

“You must have won her over,” Magne chimes in. “All that charisma you’ve got – how was a poor underground hero supposed to resist the leader of the League of Villains?”

You seemed like you were resisting just fine, until you couldn’t grab him. But it’s weird that you weren’t angry. You actually sounded like you were worried. Like you really cared whether Shigaraki has anemia, or whatever the fuck. Like you care if he’s okay. “Don’t be stupid. That’s not –”

“Come on, boss, don’t sell yourself short,” Twice says. “If you can seduce any hero you want, how come you didn’t seduce Miruko?”

“Ooh, Miruko’s so pretty!” Toga grins. “The other one’s okay, too. What was her name again?”

Shigaraki coughs, trying to make his throat feel less weird, but it’s not just his throat. It’s his face, too. “Skynet.”

“You said she was getting in trouble. I bet that’s why,” Dabi says to Magne. “They must have all figured out that she’s in love.”

“Shut up,” Shigaraki says. Nobody listens. He raises his voice. “Shut up! The mission was a success. Why aren’t we talking about that?”

“We are,” Toga says. Her grin’s devolved into a goofy, dazed smile. “You have to teach me how, Tomura-kun. If we make the heroes fall in love with us, it’ll be even easier to win! I want Ochako. No, Tsu. No, Izuku –”

Shigaraki stops listening. He picks himself up off the floor, hating the way his head spins, and makes his way over to Kurogiri. Kurogiri studies him. “Anemic,” he repeats. “The hero listed the symptoms of iron-deficiency anemia. Do you experience any of them?”

Shigaraki doesn’t answer. Kurogiri waits, just like he always waits, and Shigaraki figured out a while ago that the fastest way to make the itching stop is to answer the question. “Some of them,” he says. Kurogiri’s eyes tilt in the way that means he thinks Shigaraki’s full of shit. “Fine. All of them. So what?”

“Did she say anything else?”

Are you okay? “No,” Shigaraki says, pushing away the memory of how fast your expression shifted, how you went from focused on keeping Shigaraki’s comrades trapped and trapping him the exact same way to looking – worried. “That was it. Kurogiri, do you –”

“Yes, Shigaraki Tomura?”

“I mean, they’re just – they’re joking, right?” Shigaraki keeps his voice quiet. If any of the others hear this, he’s going to have to kill them. And maybe also himself, so he won’t have to remember that he thought about this at all. “There’s no way anybody – I mean, a hero – would like me. They’re kidding. Aren’t they?”

He wants Kurogiri to say yes. He wants him to say yes fast, and then to not pick on him for even considering it, and then to forget this ever happened. Instead Kurogiri thinks about it. “It is not impossible that they are correct,” he says. “Her behavior was unusual for a hero in her position. And it is likely that she knows more about you than you do about her. Perhaps she does have a certain – perception of you.”

“Great.”

“It could be,” Kurogiri muses. “She drew your attention to an issue that impacts your health, and therefore your effectiveness as All For One’s successor. And she chose to let you go. If the hero known as Skynet does have a soft spot for you, it has worked undeniably in your favor. It might behoove you to allow her to continue to nurse it.”

“Yeah, no.” Shigaraki shoots that idea down immediately. Any idea that makes him feel that weird is obviously a bad one. “I’m not going to track her down and say I’m not interested, but the next time I run into her, I’m saying it and you can’t stop me. None of you can stop me.”

He raises his voice, making sure everyone hears, and everyone looks up from whatever they’re doing. “Of course we can’t,” Magne says. “But you’re naïve if you think you can stop her. Nothing can stop a hero on a mission.”

“And nothing can stop true love!” Toga smiles at Shigaraki. “I believe in us, Tomura-kun! We can win their hearts together!”

The weird feeling multiplies. Shigaraki scratches hopelessly at the side of his neck and thinks about the remains of last night’s twelve-pack. Getting drunk again isn’t going to help, but it’s hard to imagine it making things worse.

Skin Hunger - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

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

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s human. Why do you care?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Setsuno stares at you. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?”

“Why do you care?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Witch.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vampires don’t get drunk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

“That was fast.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you keep him there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shigaraki gas STANIMA loads of it. Man can go at it all night. All those years of never having physical contact have built up and nows here's this pretty thing beneath him, wanting him, completely bare with legs spread. Oh and those sexy sounds he makes, animalistic grunts to needy whines. This though makes me weak

trigger warnings: explicit content

other: female reader

Tomura will never tell you this, but the main reason he has such abnormal amount of stamina is because he used to watch a lot of porn growing up. never getting a proper sex talk or something of the sort from AFO (why would he? AFO wants his apprentice be as sexuality frustrated as possible so he's more aggressive and underdeveloped) when he discovers internet and explicit content he is watching it every day when he has the time. and when you masturbate multiple times a day your sensitivity starts to decrease, making it more difficult to cum with every late night jack off session.

so imagine when he has his absolutely beautiful and sexy girlfriend lying under him completely naked, looking all erotic and ready to please him. for Tomura the sight of someone who loves him spreading her pretty legs so he can fully see what's there... it is better than any porn he watched so far. when he first sinks his leaking cock inside of you he'll cum moderately fast just from how warm and wet and tight you are inside (so much tighter than his fist could ever be), but when he recovers... you better get ready for long and exhausting fucking hours.

you just came with a scream of pleasure and a gush of your own juices leaking down your legs, ass shaking up in the air and face red, pushed in the pillows that are now wet with your tears because that dick was so good it made you cry? he's already on his knees, licking and sucking on your used pussy, slurping your and his cum from it to get you going again while jerking his cock vigorously to get it hard. you come again, go drink some water, pee, cuddle for twenty minutes or so and it's time to get pounded again. by the time you're finished your cunt is sore, your clit hurts from all the over stimulation, but it's so worth it. he will want to fuck you in the morning too.

Hear me out. Shiggys captive gf tries to escape so he punishes her by ruining her poor lil butthole

Oh my GOD I love this. I don't know what my fucking deal is today but I am seriously SERIOUSLY just loving the degradation and dominance of him fuckin' you square in the ass when you’re all squeamish and meek about it. I had a few other ones I was gunna try to do first but I am feeling it today.

tw for the standard stuff: Noncon, Dubcon, assplay, bondage, kidnapping, abuse mention, manipulation, general rudeness, etc.

You yank and pull at the bonds that keep you tethered to the headboard, but the rope finds no mercy for you, offering no slack as you desperately attempt to thrash your arms free. Stomach pressed against the filthy mattress, you writhe and kick. It digs into your hands, tearing sores into the delicate skin that covers the bones in your wrist. You can scream and shout and throw your little tantrum, but the binds don’t have the capacity to show leniency, much like the sentient things that dwell in this building where he holds you captive. 

None of them investigate your cries for help. Those that did never lasted long. 

Tears of frustration bead in the corner of your eyes, breathless and aching in your useless act of defiance. It was your last little display of rebellion that landed you here in the first place. 

He’d grown complacent around you, or at least you’d thought he had. Kissed you all too tenderly on the temple before leaving you alone in your cell, hands left free for the first time in months. You’d pondered briefly if he believed you tame now, wondered if he thought he had managed to subdue your rage as you slipped the confines of your prison. 

It was a simple task. Far too simple. Had you been more observant, perhaps you might’ve noticed the mischievous glint to his eyes as he had locked the door, the slight grin that tugged at his lips. 

But you were feral in your hope, so terribly reckless in your pursuit of freedom. A smarter girl would have waited. A more clever one have wondered why his demeanor had changed so suddenly. 

But months of his forced affections had left you starved and broken, so eager to feel the sun on your face and the precious autonomy of moving about the world without the leash he kept for you pulled so taut you would could suffocate. You’d acted far too rashly, and he would punish you for it. That’s all you were certain of. 

Your heart drops as the door to your cell swings open, hinges creaking so slowly it makes you want to scream. He’s a theatric at heart, loves to leave a lasting impact. Each footstep carefully timed, precise movements calculated to ensure lasting terror. As he comes to stand so closely you can only hear his breathing, the silence fills you with dread. A shiver wracks your spine as you hear him sigh, breaking the quiet and as he tuts you dramatically. 

“And here I thought we’d moved past this.” 

His hands graze your calf, slowly moving up to your thigh before stopping just short of the curve of your ass. He studies you, paralyzed in fear and pulled apart to his liking, and you swear you can hear him shudder in some twisted form of anticipation. An ill omen of things to come. 

“I guess you just aren’t ready yet.” His cold, lithe fingers toy with the seams of your threadbare panties, pulling them down just enough that you wiggle in defiance. “I don’t enjoy punishing you like this, you know.”

‘Yes you do!’ The accusation seethes behind your tongue but you’ve learned better of it. He’s quick to strike you down in your fits, any semblance of disrespect swiftly culled. Last time you spoke out of turn, it landed you with a fat lip and a swollen cheek, his tongue licking the blood from the open wound on your mouth. it’s best to save your energy for whatever is to come. 

Your panties find their way to your knees courtesy of him, the harsh yanking motion enough to jerk the mattress. Despite how many times he’s seen the intimate parts of you, you still clench your eyes in embarrassment when he reveals you. He palms the fat of your ass, kneading his fingernails into the plump skin hard enough it hurts. He’s breathing too hard despite having barely touched you, pulling your cheeks apart despite how you wiggle to lurch yourself free.

“I guess I just have to put you in your place again.” 

One of his hands keeps you pried open, the other lifting to his mouth. He wets two of his digits between his tongue, letting his saliva gather thick on his skin before sliding them down your crack, positioning them just short of the puckered hole above your pussy. 

“Wait, no- Tomura, please, don’t! I’m sorry!” 

He laughs, sinister and cruel, tapping the pads of his fingers down as you clench. “You’re going to want to relax. It hurts less that way.”

A thin finger slides in, wiggling past the first ring of tight muscle and slowly works itself deeper inside your cavity before pulling out and repeating the action. It’s uncomfortable bordering on painful, but no matter how much you worm in his grasp, he doesn’t relent. Before long, he slithers his other finger in alongside the first, scissoring ever so slightly. 

“You should be grateful I’m trying to loosen you up after how you behaved. I could fuck you dry, you know.” 

You only whimper in response, teeth digging into your bottom lip in an effort to ease the tension, trying to focus on anything but the sensation of him prodding all too deeply inside of you. 

“I was going to use toys to make this nice and easy at first, but those are for girls who obey me.” He pushes in as far as he can before turning his hand and pumping in and out once again. 

It hurts, and you’re far too aware that if his fingers cause this level of discomfort, things will only get worse when he decides he’s done trying to prepare you to take him inside.

“Please! Don’t! I’ll be good! I promise!” 

Your begging falls on deaf ears. Somewhere deep down, you know he’s lying. He’s been waiting for this for a long time, almost shoved his cock there many times before but hesitated and decided better of it. He orchestrated the perfect scenario, one you couldn’t resist. He’d set you up to fail, and like a rat in a cage, you’d fallen for it so easily. He enjoys his little games, loves giving you hope only to yank it away and punishing you for even considering it.

“That’s what you said last time.” He tries to add a third finger, chuckling at your low whimper. “I don’t like lying little whores.” 

Your nails dig into the soft of your palms, embedding so deeply that you’re surprised the flesh hasn’t ripped. Anything to keep your mind off of what’s to come. Your mind rapidly files through things you can say or do to appease him, things he seems to enjoy. He likes when you humiliate yourself for him, when you throw yourself into pretending that you love him as much as he is obsessed with you. 

“T-Tomura, my love-” You swallow back the stem of tears, quickly wiping the few escapees on the dirty mattress beneath you. “I’m sorry. I won’t try to escape again, I promise. I get confused sometimes, but I know you love me. I love you too, you don’t have to punish me.” 

He pauses, slowing the movements of his fingers before withdrawing them from you completely and pulling away.

You almost heave an audible sigh of relief, but it’s short lived. He swings one leg over you, straddling your backside on his knees before leaning forward to whisper in your ear. 

“I told you to relax. Don’t make this harder on yourself than it needs to be.” He hisses, hand brushing the cleft of your bottom as he undoes his zipper. Your crying begins anew, thrashing in an attempt to buck him off of the back of your thighs. 

He’s accustomed to your outbursts, easily able to stabilize himself as he frees his cock from the confines of his pants. He doesn’t bother pulling them down all the way. reaching instead into his pocket to pull out a small packet. He rips it with his teeth, using one hand to massage the liquid onto his rapidly hardening prick, the other smearing the excess around your opening and prodding you again with his thumb this time. 

“Shh-” He hushes you, stroking your hair as he brings his cock to sit right at your backdoor entrance. His gentle gesture is contrasted directly by the malevolence in his voice, blatantly mocking you. “You might even like it, huh? Might even beg me to fuck you here again.” 

He doesn’t give you time to respond, pushing his hips forward and beginning to press his dick against the resistant cavity. Your sniffles and cries garner you no sympathy, he only hold himself steady as the tip slips past the first ring and slowly pulses his hips to break down the resistance of the ultra-tight walls. You can’t help but wail every time he inches further inside of you, each centimeter of his length burrowing deeper and deeper into your ass with every teasing little maneuver. 

“Shit- So fucking tight here too! I knew you would be.” He laughs, almost gasping. “Is it your first time being fucked here?”

You don’t answer, don’t give him the satisfaction of either response. 

“It doesn’t matter now.” He reaches one of his hands down, pulling you apart further as he shimmies his hips in an effort to stuff you fully. “My cock is the only one you’ll ever have again.” 

You can’t help the strangled sob that breaks from your throat, as desperate as you were to not give him the pleasure. “Tomura please! Please, it hurts!” 

“I know it does.” He coos at you a baby voice.

All you can do is grit your teeth and do your best to shoulder the pain as he paps his lower body against you, eventually fully enveloped inside. You feel too full, his intrusion inside of you almost too much to bear. He presses his hips against you, rolling them a few times for good measure as you cry into your bound arms. 

“Fuck- that’s so good! That’s one tight little hole you’ve got back here. I’ve only barely gotten inside and I could probably blow my load right now.” He cackles, smacking the side of your hip and causing you almost jolt against him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Make it nice and fast?” 

You nod, sniveling pathetically and knowing that your answer ultimately doesn’t matter. 

“Don’t get excited. You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” 

He lets his chest rest fully against your back, one hand holding your hip steady to keep him inside despite your wriggling while the other comes to tip your chin up, forcing you to look at him. He studies your watery eyes, your trembling lips, the hastily mumbled pleas that beg him to stop. He only smiles softly, placing another all too gentle kiss on your forehead. 

That’s the finality of his tenderness, raising his legs up slightly and sliding out of you by several inches before immediately pushing back in. Another choked cry escapes your lips, petering out into a whiny blubber as his hips meet the back of your thighs once more. He repeats the motion again and again, each time with a little more force. 

“I told you to relax, baby.” He arches himself over you, moving his hands to hold himself up with a firm grip on your arms. “Or don’t. It’s like you’re sucking me in. Damn, I really can’t get enough of this!”

You do your best to relax your protesting muscles, focusing on anything but the sensation of his large cock invading your asshole. With every thrust, it’s like he forces himself deeper and deeper, small groans escalating into grunts and growls as he works himself up. Every subsequent stroke, he plunges harder, skin smacking against skin as his breath grows heavy. You can feel as he begins to sweat beneath his shirt, or at least could until he pulls away suddenly, leaving you connected as he situates himself upright. 

He pulls up on both sides of your hips, forcing your lower half up into the air to meet him, bottoming out inside you again shortly after. He rams himself into you, barely keeping you stabilized as his nails dig into the soft fat of your waist, pinky wavering as he tries to keep himself in control. The rhythm he sets is intense, only finding the confidence to weave one hand through your hair after several minutes of practice. 

He forces your head down even further into the mattress at first, shuddering at the intensity the new angle offers him. You think, if only for a moment, that he might be close, but your hope is quickly dashed when he yanks you up by the roots and arching your back to a painful degree. 

“You like this, don’t you? You like my cock buried in your ass, like it when I use your slutty little body however I want to. Tell me you want more, tell me you want me to ream your ass and use you as a cumdump!” 

You refuse to respond, trying in vain to keep the tears from falling as he uses you mercilessly. Unfortunately, Shigaraki is nothing if not accomplished at getting exactly what he wants. 

The hand steadying your waist slithers down between your legs, teasing the little bud there with his still-lubed fingers. He doesn’t miss your quiet gasp, the way your thighs clench if only for a moment. It’s all that it takes to know that he’s got you. His touches are feather light in the beginning. Gentle grazes and light strokes to get you worked up. He even relaxes his brutal thrusts inside of you, dulling it down to a languid roll. 

“Please-” You stutter, trying to block out the pleasure blooming between your thighs even as he abuses your ass. 

“Please what?” He feigns innocence, middle finger working small patterns around your swelling clit. 

“Stop!” You beg, struggling against his poisonous lavish of affection. 

“Aw, is that really what you want?” He giggles, now using two of his fingers to work tight knit circles, coordinating his movements to match that of his cock. Your breath grows heavy from his expert movements, unable to deny the tightness winding as he plays with you. 

“My pretty, stupid little slut. You really think you can resist me, don’t you? I can drag this out all night if I want. I can find something else to stick in that tight little pussy of yours too, show you what it’s really like to be stuffed so full you can’t move. You can beg me to cum in your ass, or I can find another use for that mouth while I do it over and over again.”

Even despite his harsh words, your eyes are glazing. You can feel your apex throb as his fingers expertly stroke across your cunt, the forced intrusion in your hole starting to feel something other than painful. As much as you wish he didn’t, you know he’s aware of this, breathing heavy in your ear as he adds more weight to both his hips and his hands. 

“What do you want? Say it!” He seethes, punctuating his sentence with a particularly rough slam. 

“I want you to cum in my ass! Please!” 

Your acquiescence seems to please him, rewarding you with his fingers. “Do you like it when I fuck you here? Tell me.” 

“Y-Yes, I love it when you fuck me in my ass! Please use me however you want, I’m yours!” 

You don’t have to see him to know the terrible grin that slices across his face. He speeds his motions once again, coaxing a loud moan from you. The bedframe squeaks with every punch of his cock inside you, but the pain has subsided to a dull roar. Raw pleasure takes its place, flooding out from your thighs and spiraling through your limbs. Your nipples pebble in response, tingling from every brush against the mattress. 

“What are you? Tell everyone just what you are.” He pulls you up higher by your hair, unnatural arch of your back only adding to the cacophony of sensation bombarding your nerves. He licks your cheek leaving a thick stripe of saliva across your face, waiting for your answer. Picking up the pace, both of his movements and the manipulation of your quim, he revels in the unraveling of your will power under his hands and the lust-drunk emptiness in your expression. 

“I’m your stupid little whore and I want you to cum in my ass! Please Shigaraki, please fuck me!” 

His eyes narrow, satisfied in your broken pleading.

“Good bitch. Now let me take care of you the way you deserve.” 

He slicks his fingers in your juices, kissing your neck when you whine at his absence before expertly beginning to rub you again, groaning as your clench and squeeze around him. His animalistic grunts echo off the cement walls alongside your needy, licentious moans, mumbling half coherent sentences in the shell of your ear as he nibbles and bites at you. He ramps up his treatment, his cock throbbing in your ass cluing you in to the fact that he’s close. 

The coil winds tighter and tighter and you find yourself bucking your hips against him to meet his thrusts, inebriated on the ecstasy of his nimble fingers. If he wasn’t holding you up, you’re fully certain you would have keeled over by now, unable to keep yourself upright between the quaking and the overwhelming waves of pleasure that threaten to drown you. You’re so close now, drool slipping from the side of your mouth, eyes hazy and fluttering. 

“Perfect little slut! You’ll cum around my cock no matter what hole I stick it in, won’t you?” His words are bold, but like you, it’s painfully apparent that he’s on the brink of orgasm. “Beautiful- fucking-” He heaves, shoving you back down on the mattress, arching over you again but keeping his palm centered on your sloppy cunt, incessantly grinding the pads of his fingers on your pulsing pearl. “Whore! My whore! Fuck, I love you, I love you-” 

Blinding white encompasses your vision, searing pleasure erupting from your abdomen. You throw your head back onto against shoulder, practically screaming as your thighs quake and you lose any ability to keep yourself steady. In the outskirts of your consciousness, you can feel him as he’s thrown over the edge as well, cussing and spitting as he forces his cock as deep as it will go, cumming deeply with a breathy groan against your ear. He rolls his hips against you, muttering about how tightly your ass milks him, but at the present moment, you can’t quite process it. Not when you’re breathless and seizing in bliss of your own. 

Your hands shake and your eyes roll backward, cunt clenching around nothing as your hands flex uselessly against the air. You can hear his name spill from your lips alongside vile sentiments you would never say otherwise, but in the moment, it feels so right. You can feel him rest against your sweaty back, stroking you tenderly through your orgasm until the sea of pink starts to subside and his motions begin to border on painful. 

“T-Tomura-” You sigh, finally fully waded through your shameful undoing. His heart pounds against you, so hard you can barely feel your own beat out of control in your chest. He decides upon kindness and you’re grateful for it, removing his fingers gracefully from beneath you before falling to your side and wrapping his arms around you. The uncomfortable wetness between your cheeks and dripping from your hole becomes uncomfortably apparent, alongside the now throbbing pain of your abused ass. Disgust washes over you, swallowing down a sob as he tenderly rubs your ribs. 

“I’ll get you cleaned up in a few minutes, but I want to lie like this for now. Don’t try and run from me again, okay? I don’t like hurting you but you know sometimes I have to.” He kisses your temple again, sickly sweet and gentle. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad, was it? I promise you’ll get used to it.” 

some random headcanons of tomura that i thought of

just like ochaco, he sleeps either with gloves on or bandages on his pinky fingers

i’ve seen many people say tomura would listen metal or heavy metal but i really think he’d prefer game OST’s over anything>>>

blasts bury the light at 3am

he’d call kurogiri at 3am just to tell him about his plans to kill all might

apparently he’s awake all day, having anxiety attack cuz he drank monster on an empty stomach

i think he’s the type of guy to meticulously plan everything only to have it ruined by bad luck

he’d occasionally pick on his flaky skin/lips

he has a habit of collecting figures, only to leave on at the shelve without looking at it again

if you’re close to tomura, he’d invite you to eat something tasty and then tell you that he destroyed one of your items

tomura is not the type to use bar soap but rather dispenser soap…that’s if you’re lucky enough he used one

he doesn’t use his quirk much and he’s used to only using 4 fingers

very competitive and mean when he plays against you in a PvP game

too mean he’s not giving you an ounce of hope to win

you got upset and he decided to switch to simulation games instead (he doesn’t admit this but he plays animal crossing to relax)

say goodbye to your personal space, this man knows no boundaries

he’s not shy, he’s just like a cat that doesn’t know how to express its feelings to you

*gets jumpscared in a horror game* “fuck all might, fuck endeavor, fuck hawks, fuck—“

your man is the type to pick his food off the floor :(

shigaraki is the type of guy to buy you the most luxurious & beautiful black nightgown while he stays on his creeper boxers

tomura doesn’t like to shower on his own, he likes the feeling of your fingers brushing through his hair 🚿🛀

(NSFW below this point:)

expect him to talkshit about all might mid-sex

i really think his hatred for all might surpasses his sex drive

prefers receiving and will be mean about it, he just likes making a mess of you

degradation & slight breeding kink

your boobs are his favorite pillows

he likes fucking you with the skirt on—

missionary & doggy 👑

call him sweet names during sex and he’ll melt under your arms

doesn’t like shower sex but a blowjob will do

i think he would be into somnophilia, only if you’re fine with it

Tattoo artist! Toumura Shigaraki! At 11:33pm

Afab!Reader x Tomura Shigaraki

Smut! Read at your own risk <3

I'm sorry but this man gives me🦋🦋🦋🦋

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

Okay so, small detail. I feel like instead of wearing those full-cover gloves, he'd wear gloves that were fingerless (if they are allowed).

You just wanted a cute tattoo, you didn't think you'd get... a sneaky link as well.

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

You walked in the renovated-bar, where the tattoo store was located and BOY. You did not expect your artist to be this hot, his voice was so intoxicating and his hair... god his hair looked so gorgeous. And with your incredible luck, the receptionist gave HIM to you for your appointment!

Apparently his name was Shigaraki, he was explaining the procedures of getting a tattoo, but you just focused on his hands. He had fingerless gloves, some fingers were still covered but still, they were long and...

"Alright, where do you want your tattoo?"

"Oh! Uhm, on (prefered location) please."

"Since you asked nicely, sure."

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

My goodness, if you could die right there, you would. His hands held onto your skin as he used the tool to press the ink into your skin. You chose a (insert design), and according to his words 'be sure to not regret it.' Oh you would never, heck you might just get more tattoos' just to see him again.

His shoulders, his neck, you found the perfect piece of eye candy for you. When the ink stopped, you snapped back into reality to see him talk (more like shout) with the receptionist saying that they'll be awhile. But didn't he say it would only take only 2 hours? Sure the awhile could mean that but-

"I know your checking me out."

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

You always took notice of his slender, long fingers. But feeling them INSIDE YOU? You were gone, all you could think about was the hot tattoo artist fingering you on the seat.

"Shh... be quiet. Not unless you want them to hear?"

"ugh... please~"

"Shut it slut. Be quiet and I'll give you something more than my fingers."

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

You ended up getting his number, he didn't give you the 'more' but he said after his shift. So you left with a tattoo, and a new found lover? It took him about 3 more hours until his shift ended, and he was now heading towards your home.

You thought about preparing a meal, but when you went to answer the door whilst cooking, he just pounced onto you and started kissing your neck and nipping at your delectable skin. Small moans slipped as you both made your way to the kitchen... the meal, forgotten.

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

After that night, he became not only your sneaky link but also a close friend. He'd come running if you asked him to rail, fuck, finger, and etc.

When he's eating you out, his focus was solely focused on your taste and where he sucked. (his focus is strong since he has to avoid mistakes on a client's skin)

When he's fucking you? Oh he'd degrade you, hard. He'd have one hand on your throat and the other holding one of your legs up, as he spits insults and small praises from time to time.

Your ability to walk? HA, you lost that the day he fingered you. You were practically wobbling out of the tattoo store, no weird looks, but yeah.

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

Hope you enjoyed! Have a good day/afternoon/night. &lt;3

A new life for Tomura part9

any chance of me being okay with Shigaraki taking up the name 'Shimura Tenko' again has withered, meta-wise. I hate seeing that name in Deku's dialogue bubbles. I hate that he feels he can call Shigaraki that. All he ever cared about was The Crying Child - Tenko. Then he failed to save Tenko. THEN Deku had the gall to expressed disappointment that Tenko - the very source of the kindness and friendship that readers all kept saying is why Shigaraki is still Tenko, why he should be saved, how the League is proof of 'Tenko' still existing! - would stay being leader of the League of Villains. And Deku saying 'Tenko' is supposed to be some sort of win???? Supposed to be touching?????

And I hate that this is probably how All Might and Gran Torino finds out the name of Nana's grandson, because they never bothered to check on the family and never tried to save Shigaraki and All Might tries to comfort Deku by saying 'well how did he look at the moment of his death?' as if that fixes anything, and now they're going to use that name. Never tried to save the boy when he was Shigaraki Tomura. But now they can mourn Shimura Tenko. because that's who deserved to be cared about. The melancholic reminder of a 5-year-old ghost, connected to someone they actually cared about. Not a villain they might have no connection to, god forbid. Why would they ever save an evil rando like that?

I think none of them should ever be allowed to say that name. They don't deserve knowing it.

Heyy just wondering if any one would like to help me about something...i wanted to write somes smut about shigaraki but i..i don't really trust my capacity to write in the language (im french by the way)

More Shigaraki headcanons and thoughts because I'm obsessed with him<3

Shigaraki is horny. very horny I would say but he doesn't have a high sex drive. the reason he is horny is because he has never fucked. He had never seen a living breathing fully real pussy in person till he met you sure he 100% would watch porn jacking off to the lewd images or fucking into a very used Fleshlight. his cum oozing out at how fast he was going pathetic whimpers leaving his lips.

he would not know how to be dominant at first. The first time he saw your pussy he felt like he would cum in his boxers. his dick twitched harshly as his tip rubbed against the sticky fabric. He knew it would be nice to see but he didn't know it would leave him so needing of an overwhelming urge to fuck into you.

when you guys first had sex poor boy wouldn't know what to do. He would be so awkward not knowing where to put his hands. you would have to guide his hands where you want them. as he fucked into your tight pussy ruthlessly. couldnt control himself you just feel so good. his dick rubbing againt your gummy walls longer then it was thick as it stretched you out with a hinge of pain from the lack of preperation.

btw guys this is not proofread! All I use is Grammarly really so if you have any constrictive complaints or critiques let me know!