passionate poison | tomura shigaraki x fem!reader ;; ❞

𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 . 1

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╰┈➤ ❝ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : ❞
Mentions of drug substances & usage.
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The soles of cherry red sneakers lurched forward, a portal of murk disbanding behind their owner.

Rain softly pelted against the pavement below, Tomura's worn hoodie already beginning to stick uncomfortably to his skin.

In spite of his surroundings, the sound of civilization seemed far from the alley he found himself in. It's neglected walls blocking his view of a possible better tomorrow, of hope. He's found himself here many times, unsurprisingly. Hastily scurrying from beneath the chilling weather, Tomura did what every street rat was currently in the midst of doing. He sought refuge.

He'd pass a suspicious bystander here and there, less frequently than usual. His gaurd up as well as his hoodie, eyeing the onlooker with disdain regardless of their circumstances.

A rare pang twisted uncomfortable in the young boy's abdomen, no longer mistaking it as guilt. Hunger, he thought. It was all too familiar to Tomura.

𓈀⋅ 🍵𓄹𓂃

Your tired hues stung, brimming with unwarranted tears as the harsh lighting continued it's abuse.

Not as ideal as it may, but it paid the bills.

Your matted hair clung uncomfortably to it's scalp from the even harsher rain, a cold apron that once sat nicely on your figure, now drenched in coffee brew and ketchup stains. - Tips weren't even that good today either, dammit!

Then again, what could you really expect?

A rundown diner that laid dormat to it's resentful world. Tucked away from the visible eye, it's warmth only provided for sketchy civilians passing through.

The only place that would hire without much question..

Upon hearing the diner's doorbell rung, you leapt into action. Clammy palms wiped against your worn apron, reaching for the establishments trademark menus.

"And how many today?" You asked, smile evident despite patience running thin.

The patron glared at your unbothered posture, almost offended you had asked.

"Does it look like I came with anyone." They deadpanned, voice hoarse with hostility.

With a raise brow, you eyed their meek stature, quizzically in your assessment. "You look like you slithered off a 'before and after' magazine."

Unsurprisingly, the individual had leant over the hostesses' podium, a snarl uptaking their cracked lips as vermillion, narrowed hues offered little mirth. Christ on a stick, if looks could kill.

"Is that supposed to be funny." He, you noted, spat.

Instinctively, you recoiled in disgust. "Did you come here to gawk or to eat."

With the reminder of a warm meal in an air-conditioned establishment, mostly vacant, the strange man refrained from further harassment. Thank god.

"..party of one." Muttered the stranger, pure, unfiltered disdain writhing in his 'request' as he emphasized his party.

Reluctance be damned, you scurried to retrieve a now singular menu as you led him farther into the restaurant.

Regardless of the diner's particular slow day, it was evident this man was what you called a 'don't see anything, don't say anything' type of policy. These types of patrons weren't uncommon, in fact, it was safe to assume the man behind you had concerning 'tendencies'.

Better safe than sorry, you presumed.

A vacant table, tidy and resided beneath a dim, yellowish hue was were you assigned him to seat. The man made no attempts to sit within the booth, not until you respectfully took your leave.

Only, you didn't. This, again, was a rundown diner in the midst of a desolate neighborhood.

In actuality, you would've left for him to collect his barings. Circle back later to sketch down his request than entertain your other chores.

But, "So, you sound like you'd like some water." You'd like to watch him sweat under pressure, even just a little.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean." Scoffed the patron, eyeing your upright posture with a singular, scarlet iris. It hid behind a curtain of pale, tangled hair, a shame too. You clicked your tounge, unamused. He's got some pretty eyes.

"Means you thirsty or not, kid?" You promptly retorted, not longer entertained as the man didn't sweat, but rather disregarded the power play.

"...you got coke?" He inquired.

Perturbed, you raised your pen, gesturing to the diner's front doors. "Think you can only find that out there, man."

It stunned you, in all honesty. Observing how this rigid, tense individual shook with rasped giggle, amused by the insinuation. You found it odd as it was intriguing, why not just..check the menu?

"The soda..." narrowing his dilated hues, he inspected your torso.

Instinctively, you had gawked his eye's obvious placement, astonished by his audacity. It hadn't been till he slowly pronounced the syllables that lay dormat on your clip-on nametag, did you mentally recover.

With haste, you took little effort to scribble the request onto the pad & paper, soon after, gesturing for him to seat himself within the booth. Luckily, he could follow some kind of direction and did so.

"Humor me," He abruptly spoke, having intently observed your sudden movement. It was humorous, in a way. How skeptical he was of you partaking in your job, setting utensils atop the table's surface. "You're doing all of this for a tip or somethin?"

"Call it what you want." Replied the waitress, maintaining a comfortable distance between the table and yourself.

You still didn't trust this guy, no matter the banter. "You'd assume I was, giving the circumstances."

"Which are?" Retorted the male, a frown tugging at his pale lips.

As if uninterested, shoulders shrugged with lazy motion, unamused. "If you can't tell by now," you settled the small, dingy notepad in your apron. "Then I'd rather you not make an ass out of both you and I."

With that, you calmly took your leave, vanishing behind the establishments' trademark counter.

It wasn't abnormal, bantering with the patrons. In fact, it was a practical highlight of your evening. The only difference between then and now?

This singular intervention irritated you, having taken notice to the man's evident innermost distaste in..just about everything. It didn't take a rocket scientist to read between the lines.

Unfortunately, it seemed he had a similar speculation of the waitress, having witnessed her poor attitude and motive.

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