june

I used to rely on my master for guidance. Now, I rely on the subtle darkness inside an innocent girl. Innocent, sort of, in the way she has no clue who she is or what she wants. Naive, in other words. The first time I ever noticed her, she was walking alongside a UA brat with straight messy blond hair and an annoyingly upbeat walk. She was warm, but fake. Her eyes darted in every direction but mine and his. The league doubted she’d be useful. Kurogiri disregarded her entirely. I knew something none of them did. The ones who have no goals are the ones who break the quickest.

It was a windy night in April and the sky was a cloudy dark blue. I think about it often; the night we met. The hero at her side walked her to her apartment building, kissed her on the forehead, then left her all on her own. She lingered on the front steps. The tall building towered over her. For some reason, I couldn’t look away. I followed the two of them until the very last second, then lit a smoke so I could linger nearby. She was still hesitating to enter the building. My curiosity pulled me back around the corner to watch her silently. Her vibe was off, unlike any other hero I’d ever seen. She smiled at anyone who passed but not once did she say anything. She spent the entire walk listening to her boyfriend talk endlessly about his day, prompting a question for her every now and then only for her to reply with a smile and a shrug. In those moments, I watched him rub her shoulder and dismiss her quietness for exhaustion. I took the lighter held by two of my fingers, then flicked it on with my thumb. The cotton of my hoodie was my target; flammable, but thick. I wanted to see how she would react if someone nearby needed her. Heroes love that kind of thing. It wasn’t malicious. Just a little experiment. I peeked around the corner one last time to make sure she hadn’t gone inside yet. As expected, she was still just sitting on one of the front steps, resting her head on the stairway railing and highlighting things in her textbook. At that moment, I set fire to my hoodie and waited for the flame to grow before calling out for help, just quiet enough that only she could hear. To be recognized by anyone other than her was not my goal.

Sure enough I heard the drop of a heavy object and she came rushing around the corner. The flames probably looked terrifying to her, but they barely warmed my skin. Still, she looked surprisingly unsurprised, like she was running on fumes or pure instinct. She immediately tossed her backpack onto the ground and pulled out a bottle full of water from the sidepocket. Without hesitation she poured it all over me, putting the fire out almost immediately. She slowly pulled a glove off one of her hands and pressed it to my cheek. The mild tingling vanished. Whatever was crowding my thoughts went quiet. In that moment she shrieked and slapped her hands onto her face to cover her expression. It only lasted a moment. Our eyes locked on each other and she looked at me suspiciously, like she knew I hadn’t been in any real danger. Her eyebrows narrowed and I waited expectantly for her to say something. I was wrong; she wasn’t a hero. Just a person. The experiment wasn’t for nothing. I had just found something even more interesting; someone who will help for no personal gain – without even wanting to.

“How did the fire start?” Her voice was soft and quiet but suspicious.

For the month following Tomura Shigaraki's capture I was told absolutely nothing about the progress or decisions that the police and heroes were making. I really tried to stick my nose into their business, but they mistook my curiosity and care for kindness. They thought I was only offering a hand because it was my job, so they brushed me off with smiles and told me I didn't need to worry about it anymore.

"You've done a great job. Just rest," they would say. Something like that.

You'd be surprised at how much fucking money was unloaded into my bank account after I turned him in. It was life changing money. I went from being flat broke to a millionaire in such a short amount of time. Being a hero is a commission job; generally speaking I don't make too much for what I do, but turns out capturing the most dangerous villain in Japan gets you the big bucks. And the fame, too. I'd never had more people down my throat before which at the time was a blessing. Finally, after a year in Japan I was really making it big like I knew I was meant to be.

Still, I had university classes to attend and a part time waitressing job to work alongside my newfound celebrity life. I sort of felt like Hannah Montana.

Even though I tried to distract myself with new furniture for my house and nice things, I couldn't stop worrying about Tomura. He had himself wedged in my brain. More than anything, I was afraid he would tell them everything about us if prompted or angered. If he found out he wasn't going to be as safe in jail as I made it out to be, would he betray me like that? I betrayed him without a second thought.

But he went willingly. It did take a gun, but if Tomura wanted to fight he could have dusted me. Nobody understands how I successfully held him down until the police got there and I've refrained from trying to make up a story. The truth was that he slid further down onto the pavement and gestured for me to grab his wrists while I called the police, so it looked like he had been KO'd.

It was three months after his entrance that I received an email in my inbox from Tartarus, the prison that held him.

Hello heroes,

we are reaching out to anyone we see fit to attend a very important meeting regarding a plan we have in mind for Tomura Shigaraki. We have been working alongside the retired hero All Might. It will be held inside our building on June 17 at 4 PM.

Please, if you are available and interested, come see us. The pl-

I was so taken off guard by the short notice of the email that I didn't even bother to finish reading what they said, though I should have. I probably, really, should have. I had 3 days to prepare my mind and body for the meeting. On day 2, I grabbed coffee with Eraserhead. We knew each other from a mutual friend, but didn't talk much at all. He wanted to talk to me about Tomura, too. It ended up being a big "thank you" but it wasn't as sappy as people usually make it. He seemed genuinely relieved. Probably because his students were always a target.

"Are you gonna go to the meeting?" I asked. "Did you get that email?"

"God, no. Not my thing. You're actually interested?" It was kind of surprising how final his decision sounded. I couldn't understand how someone would really be that sure about not wanting to know. He's not curious at all?

"Uh, yeah." I took an awkward finishing sip of my coffee and was quickly on my way.

Being social makes me feel uneasy and I forget how to be myself. Luckily, Eraserhead of all people would understand that being that he's an underground hero. If I hadn't blown up out of nowhere I probably would have taken the same route since if you know what my quirk is, it's more difficult for me to use it strategically. Though it doesn't matter either way. It's not a combat-ready quirk, so I've had to make my physical body strong enough to beat a grown man up anyway.

The fated day came quicker than I wanted it to. Suddenly I was straightening my hair and fishing formal clothes from the deepest pits of my forsaken closet.

When I arrived at Tartarus, the moment I stepped foot inside the building I felt completely uncomfortable and sick to my stomach. Japan's worst went to bed there, walked the halls, brushed their teeth. Every surrounding surface was either a headache inducing white or a grey or brown. I searched for Tomura's face in every white jumpsuit that passed me, but of course he wouldn't be roaming the lobby and halls. He'd be excessively strapped to a chair with guns pointed to his head, which is exactly how I found him.

"Well, here he is. He can hear you through the glass," my escort told me. "I'll leave you to talk with him a bit then I'll come back and we can head to the office."

"Thank you, sir."

"Of course."

It was hard to face the blank stare he bore that which ripped into my skin and squeezed my heart. He obviously knew I was the every reason he was in this predicament instead of at home, in bed. I wondered if he felt less lonely knowing Kurogiri and All for One were held in that facility, or if he had any clue at all. His eyes were completely devoid of hope and feeling. The weight of his eyebags made him almost unrecognizable.

I couldn't find it in myself to speak to him and he didn't seem all too interested in speaking to me either, so we stared at each other through the glass wall until the time wasted itself away. A few times I opened my mouth to speak, to apologize, anything that could possibly make it feel less awkward, but I couldn't even gather the words. They just didn't feel right like they did when I rehearsed in my mirror. When I came up with what I'd say if I was to talk to him like that, I didn't exactly have the right picture of him in my mind. I completely underestimated how sad Tomura could look.

It was a blessing when my escort returned to bring me upstairs into the office. I was just beginning to wonder where everybody else was when my escort broke some depressing news.

"You are the only one who came," he mumbled with a hopeless look on his face as he knocked on the wooden door. "It's rare nowadays for a hero to care."

The words felt like ice on my warm skin. Once I'd absorbed what he meant by that, I began to wonder if I could argue that I was any different. Did I really go to advocate for Tomura, or was it to satisfy my own curiosity? I was sure of the real answer, even then in my selfish newborn hero mindset.

Inside the office was a long table of no one but me and a few people I didn't recognize as heroes, but police and detectives based on their outfits. They explained to me a plan that I hadn't exactly read far enough into the email to know about.

Unbeknownst to me, the rest of the letter read as follows:

the plan is to set in to place a rehabilitation system for Tomura Shigaraki that hopes to reintroduce Shigaraki to civilized society within the span of a few years, ideally. This would include anyone who is interested in attending this meeting. Your attendance means you agree to potentially taking in Tomura Shigaraki as your patient and roommate during this monitored progress. Rest assured, if this is something you're interested in, you will be 100% safe throughout this process.

Thank you. We hope to see you soon.

None of that was at all anything I was prepared for and suddenly I understood why nobody else was here. The rest of the people at the table looked at me expectantly once they finished describing the conditions. I believed I would be safe. I never really felt unsafe with Tomura regardless of whether he has his quirk or not (apparently, they took it from him?) but I was 19 years old and lived alone, attending University day to day. I had room but no time to take care of a human being, especially one that needed extensive mental attention and care.

inspired by "dangerously yours."

One night in early February I kicked myself out of my own house, brought out the boot and screamed "go find something better to do! Find a purpose to be here. You've flown yourself across the world to escape a life with no one here waiting for you.” The air got colder and colder with every step I took along the sidewalk. My jacket wasn't warm enough, my scarf wasn't wrapped tightly enough to hug my neck without letting air in. On winter nights, the wind has eager hands. I used to, too.

That night I ended up running into a somebody who was just as unhappy to see me as I was to see him, cloaked and masked like he usually was in those days.

"God forbid I have one peaceful night," I grumbled under my breath as I fiddled with the gun in my pocket. That one was for safe keepings, but I didn't exactly plan to ever use it. It's a last resort sort of thing- if I could, I liked to cuff people without inflicting any injuries. Tomura Shigaraki, however, is too smart to fall for a little hologram. I've never even tried to use my quirk on him.

"Who said we had to fight like dogs? I'm too sore for any of that right now," Tomura complained, swatting my armed hand away like it were nothing but a bug. Never had he ever acted so confident before. On a normal night, this boy would be shocked that anyone had the audacity to confront him like that and would end up offended and fuming like a child.

The soft spot I had for that villain was disgustingly pathetic. It put me in dangerous situations like laying on his bedroom floor while he tells me about the crap day he had, then we both swear not to tell anybody. I was 18 when I moved to Japan and started attending the famously distinguished University for Heroes, and I was 18 when I first met Tomura. I'm 19 now, him 21. We shouldn't keep meeting like this even if they're usually accidental. With the passing months we're both making names for ourselves that this strange relationship would be detrimental to. Instead of fighting we ended up sitting across from each other in an alley, pressing the bottoms of our shoes together. He discarded the hand mask and had it lay by me, closer than anyone had ever been to it. He trusts me too much.

"I've been training my body a lot lately," he told me, "it's been paying off, but it hurts so bad."

"Why?"

"It's supposed to hurt."

"Yeah but why have you been training more?"

"We've got something big coming," he smirked tauntingly, "really big. There's still some time, but I wanted to talk to you about it. You might want to get out of the city by the end of next month-"

The warning click of a gun I held against his head made him go completely silent and still. I held it rough against his forehead as he slowly looked up at me, trying to piece together how I'd gotten from point A to point B in just a moment. It's all I needed. All I needed was him to say something that would remind me who he was.

Tomura was the first to move, a smile spreading on his face. I pushed it harder against him, sure to leave a mark if not a bullet hole. He knew I wouldn't do it, and I think part of him wanted me to just to shock him.

"Don't be so cocky Tomura. This is it."

"No, it isn't." His white hair is glowing in the line of moonlight that could reach it, along with his eye. I'd known them to be red, but at the time his eyes looked silver. Maybe with tears. Maybe he was sad.

"It is. I won't let you hurt anybody else while I idly stand by knowing I could've done something. I'm a hero now, it's time I do my job."

"You won't do it. You love me." All I could do was laugh at his accusation, which he seemed taken aback by. His mouth opened to let the words out but they fell on the floor, and just for the added effect, I stomped on them.

"Love you? Get real, Tomura."

"We've spent so much time together. I was going to ask you to come with me when I have to le-"

"ENOUGH, TOMURA. I DO NOT LOVE YOU! I WILL NOT GO WITH YOU," I screamed in defense, curling my finger around the trigger and pointing it at his leg. It took strength but I pulled that trigger three fucking times before I started crying. He cried out in pain and latched his arms around my torso. I thought he was going to tackle me to the ground or dust me, but instead he pulled me onto him and screamed his agony into my shoulder.

"You do love me! You told me you did!" Tomura argued in sobs. It shattered my heart to lie to him, but I had to lie to him and myself if I wanted to save lives. If I wanted to put him behind bars.

Words wouldn't be enough to explain this to him. Not at the time. He wouldn't, couldn't, have understood my intentions or how they would help him at all. When I looked into his eyes, every single time, I saw the little boy with the dead family that he told me about when we stared at the stars above his home. That boy needed a doctor, not All for One. I'd give him a doctor, with a reason to see one.

"I'm turning you in tonight, Tomura," I whispered into his ear, though by the look of his scrunched up face I wasn't too sure if he could hear me. "But I will see you again. Please, just comply with the police. Don't be yourself. Be good, and polite. And you will be just fine." It was expected of him to fight me. I was waiting for him to shove me off of him and scramble away, but he had no Kurogiri at his beckon call. Nobody would come get him, so he certainly wouldn't get far.

"Promise?" he whispered back. I had to bite back a choked sob, because truthfully I had no idea if they would kill him the moment they got their hands on him. I wished for them to see what I see in him, but ultimately hoped they did what they thought best.

tw// unhealthy relationships, possessive tomura, mentions of abuse

He doesn't like when you cry, but he doesn't like it when you get too confident either. If you're confident, you're stupid. Stupidity will wind you up in a "bad situation," most likely with your body tied up on the floor and him standing over you, scolding you for trying to run or attack him.

Of course, after a month of you here with him he's gotten a lot more lenient and patient with you through your efforts of pushing you away. He still wouldn't be too opposed to killing you if you did something unforgiveable, but he feels like it was be such a waste of what you two of brewed here together already. He's never felt so close to somebody, and the thrill of having your life in his hands thrills him. Keeps him occupied while the new members of the League of Villains drive him absolutely crazy.

"Stop," Tomura seethes as you reach for the doorknob. Admittedly, sometimes your outbursts of defiance are completely his fault. When he gets too bored or annoyed with the others, he says and/or does mean things to you for his own enjoyment, to remind himself he's still got complete control over somebody. That isn't fair to you so he understands your hate for him at times like this. "If you walk out that door you'll be in trouble. Just come sit down."

Your hand shakes around the knob, internally debating whether you should listen to him and retreat or do what your mind is always screaming for you to do; run. Just run. Squeeze past the others and through the bar door, into the open streets, and run through traffic to escape this crazy boy. Worst case, you get hit by a car and die. What would be the damage? Every day you live in this house with him brings you a day closer to death anyway, seeing as he can get pretty dodgy when he's angry.

And maybe there are times when you enjoy his company and feel grateful that this kidnapping experience hasn't left you fully traumatized or injured. When you're mixing drinks for him behind the bar and he's talking to you about his favourite video game, and you're silent. But you're listening.

None of it is worth it if this is how you have to live out your relationship. If he were captured, maybe things would be different. Or if you were both heroes, fighting crime together. Returning home to your suburban house afterward and drinking together. Laughing and whatnot. But that's not Tomura. Tomura is a villain who doesn't know how to love, nothing more. You're his pitiful victim with Stockholm syndrome.

In the time you spent thinking, Tomura had walked over to you and placed his palms on your shoulders coaxingly. You want to punch him.

"Don't touch me Tomura. I want to go home."

"This is your home. We made this deal," he slurred, narrowing his eyes and glaring at the side of your head. To see your face head on would be to sabotage himself. If he can see your tears he is that much more likely to give you what you want. If he releases you, you'll never return here. He'll never see you again.

The problem of your escape has never been what you might tell people about him. In the case that you do run and find your way back to your people, tell them all about how horrible he was to you, he will only make a bigger name for himself. If it did anything at all, it would only benefit him. He probably should let you go just for that, seeing as the League hasn't been getting too much attention since the debut and downfall of the Hero Killer.

But that would mean he wouldn't have you anymore. Nobody else will do.

"I want to call the deal off," you reply sharply, "I can't. I can't stand you. You're not what I.. You're not who I want. I'm a hero, not a villain."

"You told me you liked me."

"Before you kidnapped me! Every night I sleep on the floor next to your bed with my wrists bound by a belt! You are constantly teasing me, I'm not allowed to talk to Dabi anymore because you're so fucking insecure. Frankly, I don't want Dabi! I don't want any of you! I want my house and my cat, and my best friends. Being stuck here with you is the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

Your words have him still, but his fingers grip into your shoulders like claw clamps. The nails of his index fingers bare into the flesh of your neck just slightly. You've never been so rude to him before. He's utterly taken aback, and he's not happy about that. You called him insecure, jabbing into his skull stronger than a blade could. How dare you call him insecure!

Before he can make any more movements to throw you to the ground, you swiftly open the door and rip from his grasp to make a bee line for the door. Tomura calls for Kurogiri to stop you, but he's too slow to grab so he vanishes to locate you as fog instead. Dabi sits on the couch watching it all happen with a smug look on his face.

"About time she did something."

"I'm going to tear you apart if you say anything right now Dabi."

Tomura Shigaraki hasn't seen you express real happiness in his entire time of knowing you. There's always a wall of toughness that you build with hard brick to prevent anybody from ever getting in. And maybe that's his fault, but it wasn't like he ever asked to be put in this house with you and told to get better.

He knows you've been thrown into this stress just as he has. You're not even a top hero, just barely making it up here. Yet you're tasked with housing Japan's number one supervillain of your time, to feed and clothe him, and to talk to him. Teach him things. Show him how to be good to people, normal. Whenever he goes to say something to you unprompted, you bring a hand to your face to massage your temple. Your eyebrows furrow and your resting face frown deepens.

This morning he actually tried to make you smile by waking up early and sneaking into the kitchen to attempt breakfast. Instead, he found out about the alert that goes off when he exits his bedroom door between the hours of 11 pm to 6 am (the hours you're asleep.) You'd jumped from your bed at the sound, an hour before you normally wake up, and stormed into the hallway to catch him.

Before he could say a thing, you were drilling him on staying in bed and listening for once. Things you never would have said if you weren't half asleep, but he didn't know that. He was hurt. He thought he'd been doing a good job of pretending to be somebody with a heart.

You had no hope in him, just like he thought. Everything he did, everything he said, was evil to you.

After your outburst, you started trembling. He saw it in your shoulders and felt it in your hands as you ushered him back into his room and shut the door on his face. It wasn't the first time a hero had shut him out, but it hurt more than it had in a long time as you were someone he'd spent every waking moment with for the last few months.

Tonight, Tomura sits in bed completely still and thinks about what he's done to lead up to this rehab, and what his future will look like. He imagines it will soon be himself strapped to a chair in a high security prison with a white jumpsuit and guns to his head. It will probably hurt, and you might be there initiating it.

"I just couldn't do it anymore," you will say, "he is the most disgusting human being I've ever met. I can't even look at him. It makes me sick."

This will make him cry, and then he will die.

Before he has time for any more bad thoughts to manifest, there's a gentle knock on the door followed by your voice. "Tomura, can I please come in?"

"Whatever."

You're still dressed in the same pajamas from earlier, but you're holding two plates of food that look mouth-wateringly good to he who hasn't eaten since last night's dinner. He was nervous about leaving his room, not wanting to stir anything up. You approach him shyly before offering the plate to him and sitting on the floor with your own. It's mashed potatoes and seasoned chicken breast, with some corn. He loves when you make food instead of ordering, even if he never admits it. It makes him feel appreciated in a way he hasn't been before. His villain life was full of fast food and really gross pizza.

"I'm proud of you, Tomura." His fork catches on his tongue as he stares at you with a subtle expression of shock and confusion. "I just.. I've been really stressed out. It's hard. I'm only 23. I don't come from a family of heroes or anything like that, so I've been trying to make a real name for myself forever, and the first time I'm recognized is for this. It's not that I don't love getting to help you, if I can call it that, but it's just not what my heart has always wanted. I'm made to fight, you know? I was eating boxed macaroni until you. I'm not a very.. domestic person."

This is the most Tomura's ever heard you speak, let alone lament at all. You've always been a private person, at least towards him, and he didn't really press for the personal stuff because 1. he didn't really care for a while, and 2. he'd hate if you did the same back to him.

But the way you're looking at him like he's real and physical makes him want to tell you about everything he's been through. All of the abuse and the dead friends and family he's struggled to say goodbye to and never told anyone about.

"Hey, that makes two of us, y/n."

"What part?"

"Oh. The fighting part."

"Right," you nod with a line-lipped smile and a mouth full of delicious food. Floor food... must be nice, right? He starts to feel guilty about the difference in level, so he slides off the bed to join you. "But I promise you, I don't regret any of this. I just.. thought I'd tell you so you know why I suck so bad at keeping cool and being all patient."

Tomura watches a singular tear well in your eye before you wipe it away nonchalantly and pretend it wasn't ever there. He's done that a few times before, but he doesn't really cry much anymore. Not as much as he did when he was young.

"I think you're better at it than you think you are," he says as he scoops some buttery potatoes onto his spoon, "sometimes, like when we're watching TV or cooking together, it kind of feels like you're my wife or something."

Really, he wouldn't have said it if he knew what was coming out of his mouth when he did. Words were just slipping off his tongue without him having any sort of control. It could be the food, or it could be your eyes. Still, it's true. He's developed a strange fascination with you (though he's convinced himself it's the proximity that's made him feel this way and not you specifically, like he'd fall for anybody if they gave him the chance.)

You're looking for the mischief in his eyes, just in case he's trying to fuck with you, and when you can't find it you awkwardly laugh off the comment and glue your eyes to your half eaten dinner instead.

"Yep. Definitely sticking to the fighting scene after this," you joke. Tomura's ears perk at the "after" but he doesn't dare question yet in fear of the answer. Where will he go "after" this? Can he stay with you, forever? Will you let him?

"Well, why not?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let's brawl."

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," you smile at him, flexing your arm. "Don't you forget they've taken your quirk. You're skin and bones."