Hi Grace, thanks for asking for these! Sorry this took a while to write, I started it assuming it would be a few hundred words and now at 3.4k a few weeks later, I think it may have gotten away from me. Anyways, I hope you enjoy my take on: massively traumatized reader x massively traumatized vampire!Shigaraki.
3: blood swirling down a shower drain
13: no caller id
from dark/moody prompts
Hitlist
Tomura Shigaraki x Reader
horror fluff with a twist of crack
tws: blood, violence, vomiting, light stalking
Make it home, you repeat to yourself like a mantra, you just have to make it home. Then you’ll be safe.
People pass, none say anything. They should offer you help. You are covered head to toe in blood, afterall. None reach out though, simply averting their eyes when you notice them staring for too long. In need of help or not, you make them uncomfortable. At some point, you consider telling them you were attacked or hit by a car when their eyes linger for too long. It wouldn’t go well though because then they’d have to help you. If they haven’t offered at first glance, you’re not about to make that any more comfortable by guilting them. Besides, their help is the last thing you need right now. It's best if they look away.
Tonight was a close call, the type of close call that should never have happened. If only you hadn’t slipped. If only you were faster.
If only.
If only.
If only.
That’s all it ever is, right?
One foot in front of the other, you drag your worn out body across the city until you’re standing in front of your building. You can’t wait to get out of these clothes and crawl into bed for the night.
You’re lucky you made it back to your apartment at all. At least, that’s what you tell yourself in moments like this.
By some miracle you’re able to make it up the stairs; you’re just so exhausted. You want to lay flat out on the floor and fall asleep, but this isn’t over yet.
The hot water stings as you step into the shower. It’s fine though, you’ve felt worse. Layer by layer, you peel off your clothes, leaving them in a wet heap under your feet. You can deal with them later.
Blood swirls down the drain. No matter how hard you scrub, you can’t wash away the night.
When the water runs clear, you shut off the shower head and slump down onto the tiled floor. A few tears prickle your eyes. More follow and before you know it, the floodgates have opened and you can’t stop. With blurry vision, you reach for your towel, pulling it down to you.
Why is this so hard?
Eventually, you make it to bed. It’s all you’ve wanted all night. A soft pillow and warm blanket. Now that you’re actually here though, your mind won’t shut off and let you sleep. It keeps replaying the same scene from tonight, the one that will be forever burned into your memory.
This isn't the life you wanted, but it's certainly the one you got.
Just as you start to drift off, a buzz rings out from your nightstand. “Unknown Caller” flashes across the screen. You hit ignore and roll over, annoyed with the interruption.
It rings again.
You consider blocking the number but whoever it is wants very urgently to get ahold of you. Plus, most spam calls are during the daytime, not 3am.
“H-hello,” you mumble in more of a question than a greeting.
“I’ve been watching you,” a voice rasps from the other end of the line. Your stomach jumps into your throat. Any thoughts of sleeping tonight are officially off the table.
The caller continues, “I know what you’ve been doing and I know where you go.”
“What do you want?” you ask, unable to mask the shaking panic in your voice.
“I’m not here to track you down,” he grates, “I just want to make a deal.”
“Oh yeah,” you muse, hoping he doesn't know how little room you have to negotiate. “Name it.”
A dry laugh cracks through the other end of the line.
The man from the phone arrives exactly when he said he would in the secluded area deep in the warehouse district. Nothing about him is what you expected. He's only slightly taller than you and rail thin. Under the hood he has pulled over his face, you can barely make out blood red eyes. They glow faintly in a way that's not quite human. Something about them makes you want to look away, but you can't. For whatever reason, you're inexplicably drawn to him.
“Ready to go?” he asks immediately, clearly not one for excess conversation.
You nod, turning from one dimly lit road to another.
“Why did you want to help anyways?” you ask as the two of you make your way further into the city.
“Waste not,” his smile sends a chill down your spine.
“I see,” you reply quietly. You’ve heard of people – creatures like him. Looming around at night, sucking the blood of humans in exchange for immortality. It explains why his skin looks like it hasn't seen the light of day in years.
You're starting to wonder if making a deal with him was the best idea, but what other option did you have? From what you've gathered, it's bring him along until he decides he's done with you and you're next or be killed immediately.
You'll take the former, you were never meant to make it out of this anyways. And you could use the help.
“Should we exchange names?” you ask, unsure if that's typical of a situation like this.
“Tomura,” he replies.
“y/n.”
The rest of the walk is quiet.
In better lighting, you can see that while he’s immortal, he’s certainly not made it through the years without a few scars. Or maybe his previous life was as kind to him as yours has been to you. You're not sure if vampires can scar. Maybe you'll ask him sometime if you're feeling bold.
As you enter the busier part of the city, people flock carelessly through the streets. The birds know to steer clear of him, parting en masse as he walks down the block. You wonder why the humans don't do the same. They're in even more danger, yet they carry on like he's anyone else. You estimate he could take out at least ten to fifteen of them before anyone arrived to stop him.
It gives you the chills, but that's perfect for your purposes.
You continue walking towards a seedy hotel. It's the type that rents by the hour, if you pay extra they never saw you. The old neon light flickers under years of grime.
As the two of you slip in through the front doors, you're aware of what this looks like. You're counting on it.
The woman behind the counter looks like she's lived three more lives than she should have at her age. She smiles at you, knowingly, but continues the interaction as if you've never met.
“What can I do for you today,” she lays it on thick, looking over Tomura. She's sizing him up like prey, which is reasonable considering the typical situations.
“We need a room for the next two hours,” you slide the cash across the counter. It's five times the nightly fee. “And for the extra cleaning.”
Tomura smiles, flashing a few sharp teeth. Her gaze drops. She busies herself with the keys.
“Room four,” she hands you a diamond shaped keychain with a rusted old key. “Straight down the hall and to your left, enjoy your stay.”
“Come on,” you wave him down the corridor. You're not the first customers to arrive tonight, you can certainly hear that. The carpeted floor is worn down to the boards underneath. A few spots creak as you make your way back.
You slide the key into the doorknob, jiggling it to turn. The musty air hits you as soon as you enter, you won't be here for too long though.
“So, I guess I'll see you in a bit?” he asks, voice more tentative than you expected.
“Yeah,” you reply, “I'll see you soon.”
On the way out, you wonder what the proper etiquette is in bidding a brief farewell to a vampire you've just met. That's certainly not in any books you've read. Maybe you can be less formal with him. He did show up in a hoodie and skinny jeans.
The woman behind the front desk watches as you leave. Her smile never falters, but you know she's nervous.
“Cleanup already?” she asks.
“Not yet,” you say as you push through the doors and join the crowd. “Soon.”
Tomura isn't the only one you're meeting up with tonight.
Sorahiko Torino, age: mid sixties. Never married. No pets. To the best of your knowledge, no real personal connections outside of work.
That's probably why he jumped at the opportunity to meet with you.
You pass through the street again, pulling your jacket around you for warmth.
A newsstand on the edge of the sidewalk is plastered with papers spotlighting a serial killer on the loose.
If only they knew. They should be paying you for the sensationalism they’re able to peddle in your wake.
A few blocks down, you walk into an equally seedy bar and skim the room. Sorahiko Torino, age: mid sixties. You know vaguely what he looks like from an old photo.
An older man, much smaller than you expected, sits alone at the bar. The facial features are similar and he's the only one here. This might be an easier night than expected, especially now that you have Tomura’s help.
He looks you up and down, scrutinizingly. You're fully clothed, but never have you felt so exposed.
“You'll do,” he grunts before throwing his drink back and jumping off the bar stool. That’s the reaction? Sure, you’re here for a reason, but it’s not like you didn’t put effort into your appearance. Choking back your emotions, you remind yourself that his opinion doesn't matter.
“Where to?” he asks, shoving his way out the door.
“I have a room,” you reply as tantalizingly as you can manage to a man who makes you want to throw up everything you've ever eaten.
He follows, talking the whole time. You're not sure what he's saying, it doesn't matter much. The babbling continues even through the door of the hotel.
Only now do you realize that you and Tomura never came up with a plan. The thought makes your throat tighten as you step closer and closer to your destination, target in tow. Fortunately, even without any set strategy, Tomura has the good sense to move out of sight at the sound of the key.
It's eerily quiet in the room. The man in front of you takes off his jacket, laying it over the back of a suspicious chair. You do the same, slipping a knife out of the front pocket.
Tomura still hasn't appeared. You wonder if vampires can make themselves invisible.
“I'm going to freshen up,” you say, excusing yourself to the restroom. Your heart is hammering out of your chest, you need to pull yourself together.
“Don't be too long,” he yells from the other side of the room, making you jump slightly.
Quickly shutting the door behind you, you set the knife on the small vanity.
Breathe in, breathe out, slash. You've done this before, you can do it again. Just breathe.
“Why is this hard?” Tomura mouths at you, voice barely a breath. “I thought you wanted this.”
“I do,” you whisper back, “I just hate doing it, that's all.”
“Just get him close, you don't have to kill him. I'll take care of the rest.” He leans back into the wall. In the mirror ahead of you, you’re alone.
You nod.
Staying in the bathroom won't make it any easier. You grab the handle of the knife with the blade pointed down and away from you. At this angle, you can hide it behind your wrist as you walk in.
“Now where were we,” your voice comes out more ragged than you hoped.
The man has already taken off most of his clothes and is lying on the bed. You climb up, straddling him.
Sorahiko Torino, age: mid sixties. One of the many board members directly responsible for the death of your family and friends.
You swing your arm around to stab him, but he swerves out of the way. He's fast, much more so than you would expect from someone of his age.
“What the–” your next attempt lands, slightly, grazing his arm. He shoves you off of him and rushes to the door.
Not fast enough.
In the commotion, Tomura made his way back to the main room and is now standing in front of the door.
“Who are you?” yells the man, making you glad to have paid extra for discretion.
You take your chance, bringing the blade to his shoulder. It's not easy work, stabbing someone, the body fights you the whole way in. And out. Blood trickles down his back as you pull the knife away.
“Do you remember the explosion? The unanimous vote to keep the factory running, knowing people could die? Or were you too concerned with your bottom line to care?”
The man turns, still putting up a fight.
“It wasn’t just me, there were others.” You know, you’ve been picking them off one by one. “And there was a settlement, you’ve already been paid,” he scoffs.
“Unlike you, I don’t care about the money.”
You swing again, but he redirects your arm at an angle back at your side. There's a sharp sting along your ribs where the knife hits.
Without time to dwell on it, you try once more, this time plunging the knife into his throat. As you step away, he stumbles back, falling onto the bed with a thud. His eyes widen as the blood spills down his chest.
“Your turn,” you say to Tomura, feeling like you're about to collapse.
You've read that serial killers get a rush out of their kills. You, however, just feel exhausted.
And sick.
You rush to the bathroom, promptly emptying your stomach into the sink. It takes a moment to steady yourself, but somehow you manage. After splashing cold water on your face, you assess the damage. Blood has soaked through your clothes in the area he pushed the knife back on you. When you try to peel back your shirt, it stings and bleeds more. You press the fabric back down, cinching your shirt as tight around you as possible to slow the bleeding. When you feel like you have it somewhat under control, you head back into the room to help Tomura dispose of the body.
However, the body is still breathing. Tomura hovers over him, hesitating with a pained look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
“I–” he composes himself, “I don't. Uh, this is a lot."
You notice the way he scrunches his face staring down at the man, how he carefully avoids touching anywhere red. It’s almost as if he’s avoiding –
“Wait, you’re a vampire who doesn’t like blood?”
“I like it. It tastes good and I crave it, it’s just…this is…” he tenses as soon as he looks down.
“Have you ever done this before?” maybe your assumptions of how old he is were incorrect, what if he’s new at this?
“Of course I’ve done this before,” he snaps.
Noted. You want to be understanding, but you don’t have all night in this room. The two of you need to clear the body and get out as quickly as possible. Sure, you paid extra, but you’d need a lot more to smooth it over with the management if you actually left a corpse in the room. Or worse, a witness. “Maybe if you close your eyes, it’ll be easier?”
He takes a few deep breaths, you wonder if he needs to breathe or if it’s just a habit.
“Okay,” he says, sounding more like he’s reassuring himself than responding to you. “I can do this.”
You turn away, but the wet sound of teeth piercing skin still catches you off guard. Even after bringing a man to the brink of death, watching a vampire feed feels like too much for you to bear tonight. While Tomura finishes the job, you busy yourself with collecting stray items of clothing to bag up and throw into the trash. This room is perfect for your purposes – there’s a window you can easily climb out of into a blocked off alleyway. You toss the bag into a dumpster then go back in, hoping he’s done.
Tomura is in the bathroom, you hear the water running and a few splashes as he cleans up.
“We don’t have too much time left,” you relay through the door, “can you help me?”
He hums and emerges shortly after. “Where do we put…this?” he asks.
“There’s a dumpster in the alleyway, we’ll carry him through the window. No one cares what happens in this neighborhood so we won’t have to worry too much about it.”
He nods, grabbing the man’s feet while you get the shoulders. Awkwardly, the two of you make your way across the room. You assumed a body without blood would weigh less, but it’s still just as taxing. As you approach the windowsill, you nearly fall trying to step through while carrying the weight.
“How did you do this alone?” his eyes briefly flick down at the body before his body lurches slightly and he quickly looks away.
“Not easily,” you answer, pulling as Tomura shoves him the rest of the way through and onto the ground. He slips through, more lithe than you expected, and the two of you resume carrying the evidence to the dumpster before heaving to throw him in.
Sorahiko Torino, there’s another name off the list. You get the feeling not many will miss him.
With the remaining few minutes, you wash your hands and try to clean the room up as best as you can. The two of you leave quietly, clicking the door closed behind you.
Maybe it's the adrenaline, or the blood loss, probably both that makes your head swim. Without better judgement, you stumble into Tomura. Much to your surprise, he catches your fall.
“You’re too fragile for this,” he mumbles while picking you up and carrying you down the hall.
“Thanks,” he says, with a smile to the woman at the front desk as he takes the key from your hand to set in front of her. It could be in your head, but she almost looks surprised to see both of you leaving like this.
He leans his shoulder into the door, pressing it open and exiting to the busy street. No one bats an eye. To any passersby, you look like you got a little too drunk to get home on your own feet.
While you are completely drained of energy, this experience seemed to have the reverse effect on him. He carries you easily in the direction you know is home.
You tuck your head against his chest, feeling more comfortable than you should with the situation. While you’d never given much thought to what a vampire would smell like, you’re surprised to find yourself even more drawn to him. Tomura smells like nostalgia in a way that you’d never connect to a person. Like fallen leaves and rainy days.
As the crowd thins, he speaks up again.
“How have you killed all those other people?” he asks quietly.
“Willpower?” you half laugh.
“No,” he says, “I think you got lucky.”
“How have you survived this long,” you ask, knowing that question is pushing it.
“Willpower,” he replies with a smile of his own.
A while later, you’re outside of your building.
“I need the key,” he says, approaching the front door. You hand him your keys, pointing out which goes to which door. “And I need to know which apartment it is, I know the building but I never watch you after you’re through the door.”
That’s reassuring, you think. You point the way up the stairs and through the hall until you’re outside of your studio. Instead of dropping you here, he unlocks the door and lays you on your futon.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, don’t die before then.” He smiles, as if amused by his own joke. With his sharp teeth and that dangerous glint in his eyes, you remind yourself of the situation. He walked you home this time, but that doesn't mean anything.
grian does! it was kind of an accident though, he thought scar was asleep. he said he likes him out loud in hopes that maybe having said it would make the feelings go away, since he's scared of losing his best friend. except then scar responds immediately bc whoops he's awake! and then they get together <3
