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veraberaxx · 2 months ago

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AHH so good and interesting, what did he doooo?? Whose hairpin? Why is reader so distraught I neeeeeed to know

the fruits - pilot chapter

Pairing: Shigaraki x fem!Reader Word count: 1.8k Words Setting: High school AU - No quirks Tags: Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation , Angst, Resentment, No Smut CW for this chapter: None

The atmosphere in your classroom is grim.

What was usually a place filled with chatter, now became a grieving space. Nobody gossips, nobody laughs, nobody is paying attention to what the teacher says. And why should they?

On the desk in front of yours sits a cheap vase the school bought however many years ago, filled with three-day-old water, where the stem of a lone white lily almost floats. The flower is wilting, as if it too feels like the world has lost all meaning.

It’s religion class that you’re sitting in right now, as ironic as that is. The teacher thought it would be a good idea to bring it up, to hold a moment of silence, but it only made everyone quieter. And you…

You’re angry. So angry. You stand up very suddenly, your chair screeching as you do, and you leave in the middle of class, tight fists at your sides. Nobody stops you. Nobody cares. The teacher yells something at you, but, just like them, you don’t care.

So you walk and walk, passing by the infirmary, by the stairwell, by the cursed freaking student counseling office, one foot in front of the other.

There’s stairs, then your P.E teacher who tries to stop you, but you start running until you lose him. Until you’re outside and reach the back of the school, between the buildings, where all the delinquents and future-to-be criminals skip school and hang out to do drugs, or whatever those stupid rumors you heard say about them.

It’s dark in there, the narrow space mostly shielded from the sun, and unlike your classroom, you can hear the laughter, the chatter. Your fingernails dig into the palm of your hands, your knuckles turn white and you walk forward, swallowing your pride, swallowing your fear, and swallowing whatever was left of your former self.

A pair of yellow eyes spot you closing in first, the blonde girl with tied buns that you’ve seen harassing multiple students, having stopped applying nail-polish and now giving you her attention fully. You go on and are about to look away, but then she smiles, wide and toothy, and her canines are so sharp, you’d mistake her for a modern-day vampire.

“Are you lost?” she says, tone light, euphoric and creepy, getting the attention of ten other pairs of eyes, but not the ones you’re headed towards. Not the ones of your nightmares.

You don’t pay them any mind and you side-step her, but a strong arm stops you in your tracks.

“Hey, she asked you a question.”

His piercings glitter from the little light that’s coming from behind you. You yank your arm away from him, ignore the foul smell of cigarettes, and continue walking.

“Oooh, she’s feisty!” you hear some other asshole say, but you can’t be bothered to figure out who. “I think she’s here for the boss.”

And there he is, too, sitting on top of a stolen classroom desk. His back is against the wall, both of his legs bent at the knees, while his elbows are resting on top, and said legs are spread apart nonchalantly. He seems completely immersed in whatever switch game he has the audacity to play right now, and the clothes you’ve always seen him wearing are black. Black, black, black. As if he too, is in mourning. As if he’d ever have the right to.

But he’s not. And that’s why you’re here.

The mop of white hair doesn’t pay you any mind, even as you’re standing in front of him. You extend a shaky arm over his switch, and that’s when his vermillion eyes snap at you.

“Give it back,” you say, balancing your weight on your feet, ignoring the pit in your stomach.

He doesn’t say anything, opting to look back down at his game, fully focused, as if you weren’t there to begin with.

Unprocessed fury courses through every cell of your being, and you yank the console from his hands, smashing it against the wall next to his head, marking it the first time you’ve ever lashed out at anybody. Ever.

He didn’t even flinch.

“Are you deaf?” you seethe, and he tilts his head downwards, lazy like a cat, as one of his hands goes up to his neck and starts scratching it.

“That’s gonna cost you.”

“I don’t give a damn!” you yell in his face, and he rolls his eyes, before suddenly sliding one foot in your direction, almost hitting you in the stomach if you hadn't stepped back.

Panic takes over the adrenaline, goosebumps forming on every surface of your skin, as his menacing eyes stare at you and he rolls his shoulders. You don’t run like others would, however, fully ready to take him on.

He places five fingers against the desk, and your lungs lose the ability to fill with air. Instinct has you taking another step back, and you watch as he effortlessly shoves himself off of the damaged piece of furniture and onto the ground, feet landing with equal ease before he recalibrates his posture, his lanky figure now facing you fully. Towering over your form, like an unforgiving god would.

His arms move and you cower, but the pain doesn’t come.

Instead, you hear the grit on the concrete being stepped on as he’s walking by you, both hands inside the pockets of his hoodie.

“Expect a bill,” he says so simply, as if it isn’t him you’d rather be lying, all six feet under.

Then he walks off, leaving you in the dust, and the group that’s been watching your stage play looks at you with amusement. With pity.

Because you’re not even worth his time. Not his time, not his efforts.

They all get out of his way, and he’s about to step into the light, before you slide your foot backwards, lean in, put your arm in front of you and…

“Uh-oh!” someone shouts, but the world is too much of a flurry of movement to be able to tell who it was. “Shigs, watch out!”

Shigaraki doesn’t get to turn fully, before you tackle him down with all your might, the both of you hitting the concrete hard.

He groans, eyes scrunched closed, but you’re in his face, fists full of the material of his hoodie and you yell your heart out to him as you’re stretching out the fabric.

“It’s your fault! All o-of it!” you scream at him, and the rubies finally focus on the ugly of your crying face. “Why—Why did you do it? Why won’t you give it back! Just give it back!”

Droplets of your spit land on his cheek, and your head drops abruptly, as you sob into his chest. He’s lying under you unmoving, frozen, and you can’t tell what kind of expression he’s making. The sounds don’t make sense to you, the world doesn’t make sense to you, the pain in your chest is overwhelming, until it’s not. And you sit yourself up just barely, face full of tears, full of your snot, your grip feeling too weak to keep holding onto him.

He’s not paying attention to you still, and you feel something against one of your exposed knees, thighs covered by the skirt of your uniform, pressed against each side of his hips as you’re sitting on top of his stomach. It’s his finger you feel and he’s thumbing at the dripping blood of your scraped skin, when suddenly the stinging pain feels too real, making you jerk backwards.

“Get a room!” you hear the raven-haired guy say, and every other asshole starts laughing at that.

Shigaraki’s eyes widen, before his face scrunches up in utter revulsion and he violently shoves you off of him. Through the blur of the liquid helplessness in your eyes, you see him get up, before standing and looking down at you. Looking down on you. Then he’s spinning on his heel and turns to leave. Like you’re nothing.

His friends start snickering, and in the corner of your eyes, you see an offered hand from the girl with blonde space buns. You immediately smack it away and glare at her coldly, feeling the debris and other little pebbles digging into your wound, as you get up and leave as well.

“She's so mean! I really like her!” the girl says behind you, but you’re tired, limping out of the narrow hideout for hooligans and in the direction of your home.

“Give it back.”

It’s the next day, and you’re standing in front of a desk. Just not your desk.

You’re standing in front of a desk that looks so beat-up, the school probably couldn’t even reuse it, if these assholes even thought to bring it back. And on top of countless scribbles, scratches made with knives and various styles of graffiti, are the legs of two red converse shoes, stretched out and laying on top of each other.

“Tch.”

His fingers tap at the buttons of a brand-new console, and his brow is now furrowed, because once again, you’re here to disturb his peace.

“Touch it and you’re dead,” he grumbles when you step forward. “What do you want?”

He finally puts his console down and folds his hands on top of his slightly raised knee, fingers overlapping each other like he’s some well-established villain.

“It’s not yours. Give it back to me.”

“Give what back?” he asks, tilting his head, and you catch the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“The hairpin.”

He looks down, towards the still-scraped knees that you didn’t bother to bandage, and then back at you.

“No,” he says, decisively.

You grit your teeth. “Why?”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to…” you repeat, trying to contain the pure hatred and resentment that’s festered inside of you for over a year now. “Okay.”

“Uh-huh. Will you fuck off now?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself,” he says dismissively, grabbing his handheld again and resuming the game.

“Oh my god, can we keep her?” Space buns pops in and you step away from them both with a disgusted grimace.

“No,” he replies.

“I’ll do it.”

The girl tilts her head in sweet confusion, and Shigaraki lifts his half-lidded gaze to look at you again.

“Do what?” he asks.

“Anything. Everything. I’ll do it.” You swallow thickly. “For the hairpin.”

And for the first time since you’d enrolled in this hellhole, Shigaraki looks genuinely taken aback. The girl seems to pick up on some situational cue, and leaves you both be, with an unsettling giggle.

“Anything?”

“Anything,” you repeat.

For if I’m going down,

I guess I’ll take you with me.

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