The Rehabilitation Of Death

An old drawing of our king taking a bath✨😭

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 11) -- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 11

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. You’ve had various types of feelings about it since you figured out the details, but none of it quite compares to the sheer annoyance you feel when you wake up in the middle of the night to find Tomura dragging you off the couch. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up.” Tomura’s hand comes down over your mouth. “There’s a ghost out there.”

“Are you sure it’s a ghost?” you hiss around his hand. “What if it’s a conjurer.”

“Ghost.” Tomura shakes his head, then frowns. “Two ghosts. No. I don’t know.”

You try to stand up for a look and Tomura yanks you back. “Stay down. They can’t know you’re here.”

“My car is in the driveway,” you point out, exasperated. “They know someone’s here. And if they really are a ghost, why would they –”

Tomura dematerializes partially, going almost transparent. You’ve seen him do that before, when he’s trying to push his influence past the boundaries of the neighborhood or intensify its effects, and from out in the street you hear someone cough, then retch, then cough again. It sounds awful, but the sound is getting louder. Whoever it is, they’re coming closer. It has to be a conjurer. There’s no way another ghost would keep dragging themselves forward knowing Tomura’s waiting for them. If it’s a conjurer, not a ghost – Aizawa’s words flash through your head. “Stay here,” you tell Tomura. “I’ll handle this.”

“What?” Tomura lunges for you, but he can’t materialize fast enough. You get to the front of the house before he can grab you and peer out the window.

There are two people on the sidewalk. One of them is a woman, tall and dark-haired, dressed in the kind of clothes you can’t imagine wearing, let alone going outside in. She’s dragging someone with her, a man with blueish-purple hair. A man who looks sort of familiar, although you can’t place him. A man who’s definitely unconscious. The woman pushes open your front gate, steps over the threshold, and promptly dry-heaves into the dead grass. Tomura’s intensified his influence, so toxic that it’s even making you dizzy, but the woman keeps dragging herself forward, pulling the unconscious man after her.

She doubles over again, retches again, and calls out in a voice that trembles and cracks, barely loud enough to hear. “Help us,” she begs. “Help us, please –”

“Get out,” Tomura hisses, his voice reverberating through the house and into the yard, but something twinges in the back of your mind as you study the unconscious man. You open the door. “Don’t –”

Tomura grabs for you again, misses again, and you step out onto the front porch. The woman in the yard looks up at you. Her eyes are wide in the porch light and she’s blinking hard, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Her eyes are watering, or it looks like they should be. She’s blinking, but there are no tears coming down her face. The air ripples around her strangely, and suddenly you understand what she is, why she’s so affected by Tomura’s aura, why her eyes only work halfway. She’s a ghost. Not a former one. An unbound one.

The person she’s dragging is a ghost, too – or is he? The longer you look at him, the more familiar he gets, and the more obvious it becomes that something’s wrong. “I know him,” Tomura says suddenly. “He was here –”

The name clicks into place in your head. “Shirakumo,” you say, and the man stirs, groans. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” the unbound ghost says. She looks past you, focused on Tomura. “Please let us in.”

Tomura’s never let even a former ghost into the house. There’s no way he’ll let in a live one, especially not like this. But he’s not looking at her. He’s looking at Shirakumo, then at you, and then at Shirakumo again. Then back to you. “It’s our house,” he says, almost hesitantly. This is the wrong time for you to get butterflies, but it happens anyway. You’re really stupid. You nod, and Tomura faces the unbound ghost again. “If you try anything, I’ll kill you. You can drag him up here on your own.”

Tomura, in spite of everything, is still an asshole. You hurry down the steps barefoot to help the ghost carry Shirakumo, and when you touch him, you recoil in shock. Some parts of Shirakumo’s body are hot, so burning hot that you can feel them through his shirt. Other parts of him are so cold that it’s like sticking your hand in a bowl of dry ice, colder by far than what Tomura projects. Shirakumo’s not a ghost. He wasn’t a ghost when you met him. But touching him now feels like walking over your own grave.

Tomura helps to a certain extent, if only by propping the door open with his foot and holding Phantom so she won’t run away. He levels a question at the unbound ghost as the two of you carry Shirakumo up the stairs. “Why did you come here?”

“He told me about this place,” she says. She’s starting to have trouble holding her form. You can tell by the way her voice wavers, the way Shirakumo’s full weight falls on you for a split second. “It was the only place we could hide.”

“Hide from what?” you ask. The unbound ghost looks helplessly at you. “Where did you come here from?”

She says the name of a city. You see her mouth move, but the name goes in one ear and out the other without sticking in your thoughts. You have to ask her to say it again, and then the weight of what she’s saying crashes down on you. It’s a good thing you’ve finally made it to the living room and dropped Shirakumo on the couch. If you hadn’t, you’d have dropped him on the floor in horror.

You try to hide it, but Tomura notices. How long has Tomura known you this well? He issues a few threats to the other ghost about what will happen if she touches you or Phantom, then comes over to you. “What?”

“It’s –” You don’t know how to explain. You didn’t explain what you and Aizawa were looking for when you went back to the office “A ghost went missing in the city she just said. A conjurer was in that city, too. He could have had something to do with this.”

“I don’t know what this is.” Tomura makes a sharp, frustrated gesture. “He’s alive. You’re human and even you can see that. You can’t see the ghost. If you could you’d never have touched him. Fuck!”

The lights flicker. “Calm down,” you plead. You hold out your hands for Tomura’s and he gives them to you. “What do you mean? There’s another ghost?”

“It’s – attached to him. Part of him but not. It’s –” Tomura wavers for a moment, his materialization failing. His shoulders heave like he’s about to throw up. “It hurts.”

“Garaki did this.” The unbound ghost is mostly dematerialized now, down to nothing but a pair of eyes and a mouth and a voice. It’s unsettling to look at. “His conjurer. I don’t know how. We barely got away.”

On your couch, Shirakumo stirs. Shirakumo, or the ghost that’s apparently attached to him. When he speaks, you can hear two voices in one. “Kill me.”

“No,” you say reflexively. You can’t have a dead body on your couch, and you need more information. You need to know what happened. You need to know why. “I’m going to call Aizawa.”

Aizawa’s going to kick your ass for calling him this late. You pick up the phone and call him anyway, and he picks up on the fifth ring in the worst mood you’ve ever encountered him in. “This had better be important.”

“I found the ghost who went missing,” you say. Aizawa swears. “One ghost, and one person who’s – they’re alive, but there’s a ghost attached to them –”

“Where are they?” Aizawa demands, but it only takes him a second to figure out why you’re the one calling him. “They’re in your house?”

“Uh – yes.” You glance at Tomura. Tomura is scowling. “They said the person who did this – it was Garaki.”

You’re expecting some kind of response from Aizawa. Instead there’s a scuffle on his end of the line, and you hear Hizashi’s voice, faintly. “Shou, I’m not fucking around. Give me the goddamn phone.” A moment later, you hear his voice loud and clear. “Put your ghost on. Right now.”

You hand the phone off to Tomura in a hurry, desperate to get away from Hizashi’s voice. Tomura takes the phone and lifts it to his ear. “What do you want? I –”

You can’t hear Hizashi’s voice anymore, even when you come closer, and Tomura isn’t speaking out loud in response. They’re talking, though. You don’t know how, but they are. When you put your hand on Tomura’s shoulder, you feel tension that shouldn’t be there. The physical contact is a mistake. Tomura’s free hand snakes out, wraps around your waist, and pulls you tightly in against his side. A moment later he hangs up the phone.

“What happened?” you ask. Tomura’s jaw is clenched so tightly that tendons are standing out in his neck. “Tomura –”

“They’re coming here,” Tomura says through gritted teeth. “All four of them.”

“They’re all coming here?” you ask, shocked. “Why?”

“It’s their fault.” Tomura throws a venomous glance back into the living room. “That conjurer is hunting them. He’ll follow them here. He’ll pass Aizawa’s house before he gets here.”

“So? He’s not –” You remember your conversation with Aizawa earlier, the picture you found of the conjurer, the fact that Aizawa kept it. “He’s Hizashi’s conjurer, too.”

Tomura nods once. “They’re coming here to hide,” he says. The lights flicker again. “I can’t be here. My body. I have to make a shield.”

“Did Hizashi tell you to do that?” You’re going to have words for Hizashi when he gets here. “Garaki’s not even your conjurer. Why are you –”

“It’s our stupid neighborhood,” Tomura snaps. Your jaw drops. “Don’t look at me like that. I have to go.”

“Wait,” you say, struggling to speak around the shock. Tomura stops mid-dematerialization, and you step close to him, wrap your arms around a body that’s barely there enough to embrace, press a kiss to a mouth that’s less than a whisper against your own. You sound insane even to yourself when you speak. “Be careful.”

He vanishes without a word, and you kick yourself. Be careful? Garaki’s not his conjurer, and even if he was, Tomura’s still a ghost – an unbelievably powerful ghost, powerful enough to cast an aura over the entire neighborhood. There’s nothing for Tomura to be careful of. Tomura’s going to be fine. That’s more than you can say of any of the unexpected guests you’ll be hosting this evening.

Aizawa and the others will be here soon. In the meantime, you turn to the last spot you saw the unbound ghost. “What should I call you?”

“My customers call me Midnight.” That explains her outfit when she’s materialized, at least. “My friends call me Nemuri.”

“Nemuri,” you say. You nod at Shirakumo on the couch – Shirakumo, and whatever ghost he’s fused to, are unconscious again. “Which one is he?”

“A little of both.” Her eyes are bright blue. They appear briefly, aimed at Shirakumo, then vanish. “The ghost he’s bound to was the same.”

Phantom’s been sniffing Shirakumo’s hand where it dangles over the edge of the couch, but suddenly she jumps up and runs to the front door. Aizawa and the others must be here. You check out the front window to make sure and find them negotiating the path to your front steps, Aizawa dragging Hizashi and Shinsou carrying Eri. You feel the air inside the house ripple as they approach. “What happened?”

“Your ghost has intensified his aura. It’s making them ill.” Aizawa dumps Hizashi into the porch swing, then turns to lift Eri out of Shinsou’s arms. “Can’t you feel it?”

You can’t feel anything – just unease that gets worse when you see the same emotion on Aizawa’s face. Aizawa sits down on the front steps, and so does Shinsou, and something occurs to you. “Did Tomura say you couldn’t come in?”

“Hizashi gave that impression, right before he threw up.”

Tomura, as always, is an asshole. “It defeats the purpose of hiding if you’re out in plain sight on the porch,” you say. “Come in.”

Aizawa hands Eri back to Shinsou, and you help him haul Hizashi off the porch swing and into the house. “Nice place you’ve got here,” Hizashi mumbles. “Aside from the ghost. Dammit –”

He retches, but nothing comes up. Eri, meanwhile, is quiet and wide-eyed. “It’s nicer in here,” she says. “It feels safe.”

“That would be the aura,” you say awkwardly. Your house doesn’t really have a lot of entertainment value for little kids. “Um –”

“It’s not the aura. The aura’s hideous,” Hizashi mutters. “The aura’s not in here. Not many houses have a happy ghost in them.”

You’re really not sure how you’re supposed to take that. “I don’t think Tomura feels –”

Six months ago you could have ended the sentence there. I don’t think Tomura feels. He reacts to sensations. He has things he wants and things he doesn’t. He’s territorial and possessive and easily pissed off, but feelings? Tomura doesn’t have those. Not for anyone. Not for you.

An awkward silence falls. “No, he does,” Eri says blithely, oblivious to how deeply you’re cringing. “Everything is bad out there, but it’s happy in here because he is.”

You decide you’re not going to think about that right now. You look to Aizawa. “You need to take a look at this. Something’s really wrong with this person.”

Aizawa follows you to the living room, but so does Hizashi, and when they see Shirakumo, both of them curse. Hizashi hurries forward, then stops as a full-body shiver runs through him. “God, Nem – back off! I’m trying to help!”

They know each other. While Hizashi tries to untangle himself from Nemuri, Aizawa examines Shirakumo, his expression darkening by the second. “The ghost attached to him is trying to drain him of energy and escape, but because it’s attached to him, it’s experiencing the pain of the siphoning simultaneously. If it could be convinced to stop –”

“The ghost? Nem says she’s been trying.” Hizashi is still grimacing, but he’s not throwing up on your floor, so you decide to call it a win. “It won’t listen. And I wouldn’t have, if that had been me. If I’d been forced to embody myself, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Forced embodiment? Is that what this is?” You look at Shirakumo, then back at Hizashi. “Why would Garaki want that?”

“The ghost is still a ghost. It’s still got powers,” Hizashi says. “And now it’s got a guaranteed source of energy, and a semi-permanent anchor to the human world.”

So Garaki turned Shirakumo into a living battery for the ghost who went missing. “Combine that with the pain and rage this situation will inspire in the ghost, and you’ve got the recipe for a rampage,” Hizashi continues. He reaches out and puts his hand on Shirakumo’s forehead. “At least, that’s what’s supposed to happen.”

Nemuri’s voice emanates from the corner of the room. “What do you mean?”

“Our friend’s never wanted to hurt anyone in his entire existence,” Hizashi says. “I don’t know Shirakumo, but they must be similar, because they’re in agreement: They don’t want to hurt anyone. They’d rather die.”

“They want to die,” you correct. Nobody’s dying in your house. “What do we do?”

The silence that falls is panic-inducing, especially when Shirakumo stirs again, groans again. Eri comes over and takes his hand, and Hizashi’s hand remains on his forehead. They’re trying to calm the ghost, and there’s only one ghost whose moods you can alter. You back away from the couch and retreat into the kitchen. Shinsou and Aizawa follow you. Shinsou switches on the sink, followed by the garbage disposal, and turns to Aizawa. “Dad, what do we do?”

Aizawa switches off the garbage disposal and turns off the water. Then he’s quiet for a little while. “Our options are limited,” he says finally. “I doubt Nemuri made significant efforts to cover her tracks, and the ghost fused with Shirakumo was likely unable to do so at all. If we proceed under the assumption that our location’s been compromised and Garaki is on his way, the question turns to how we can defend ourselves.”

“You have that gun,” you point out. “What was it you said? It takes a lot of ghostly power to stop a bullet?”

“It takes a lot of ghostly power to fuse a ghost to a human being,” Aizawa says. “We have no idea how that process works, or how quickly Garaki can accomplish it. That means none of us are free from risk in facing him. Even Tomura –”

“If Garaki was Dad’s conjurer, Dad’s probably his upper limit as far as power goes,” Shinsou breaks in. “Tomura’s way above that. Besides, Tomura is another conjurer’s ghost. Would he really mess with somebody else’s ghost?”

“Tomura can’t influence the living world outside the property line,” you remind Shinsou. Then you look at Aizawa. “And didn’t you say that no conjurer on the planet is dumb enough to come in here? If you want Tomura to deal with the conjurer, you have to get the conjurer past the fence.”

“Maybe we lure him,” Shinsou muses. “Use Dabi as bait or something. Get him to follow Dabi down to this end of the road and then shove him into the yard.”

The mention of Dabi’s name sets off an alarm bell. “We have to warn Keigo. He should be over here, too.”

“That’s another problem. We can’t stay hidden here forever,” Aizawa says. “Tomura will lose patience, and even if he doesn’t, our absences will be noted. It’s in this conjurer’s best interest to make us wait.”

“No, it isn’t.”

The voice is Tomura’s, disembodied and raspy and rough – and tired. He sounds tired. “The longer he waits, the more time we have to plan. The more time me and that other ghost have to store up power. If he waits, he loses.” It’s quiet for a second. “He’ll be here by tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s what I’d do.” Hizashi’s voice, just as disembodied as Tomura’s, floats in from the living room. “Send the search team and Atsuhiro out, like we’ve been doing. Send the kids to school. Go to work.”

That last is to you. Hizashi addresses his husband next. “Shou, you can take the day off. Go get some invasive plants. We need batteries for Nemuri and Tomura – and Dabi.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Dabi’s remaining powers are unpredictable.”

“If we can’t predict them, neither can Garaki.” Hizashi’s quiet for a second. “He’s like any other ghost. He doesn’t like the idea of anyone taking what’s his.”

Hizashi’s words take a second to sink in. In the panic over Garaki’s impending arrival, you forgot why Garaki’s coming here in the first place. Two of his ghosts are in this neighborhood, two ghosts who shirked their duty. Garaki’s coming to punish them. And the fastest way to punish them is to take away the people they embodied themselves for. It’s not Dabi and Hizashi who are in danger. It’s Keigo and Aizawa – and because Hizashi has a family, Shinsou and Eri, too.

“Are you sure we should act like things are normal?” you ask. “We can’t protect Shinsou and Eri if they’re away from the neighborhood, and we don’t know how closely Garaki’s watching us.”

“He doesn’t know to look for them,” Aizawa says. “What Hizashi did is – unusual. Embodied ghosts don’t typically like to share their humans, even with their children. It’s not something Garaki will think to check.”

“Then you should stay home,” you say to Aizawa. His eyes flash. “You and Keigo. The rest of the team can go out and I’ll take off work to buy the batteries. My boss will understand.”

Mr. Yagi is probably going to tell you that you shouldn’t go out, either, but you’ve got the bracelets, and nobody’s looking for you. You make your way back into the living room, over to Hizashi and Eri. Shinsou and Aizawa follow you in. “It’s late,” you say. “Shinsou, Eri, you both can sleep up in my room. Aizawa, Hizashi, you can have the floor. I’ve got extra blankets and everything. I think it’s probably best if Shirakumo stays on the couch.”

“I’ll stay up with him. Someone needs to keep him calm,” Hizashi says. “I’ll try to find out what happened, too. All right?”

He’s not asking you. He’s asking Aizawa. Aizawa looks unhappy, but he nods. He brushes past you, kisses Hizashi’s forehead, and turns back for the children. He scoops Eri up and puts a hand on Shinsou’s shoulder before looking to you. “Lead the way.”

The only person who’s ever been up to the top floor since you moved in is you. You show everyone where the upstairs bathroom is, switch out the heavy blanket on the bed for one that you and Tomura weren’t hooking up on, and drag an ancient sleeping bag out of hiding for Aizawa to use. Then you stand there awkwardly, trying to think if there’s anything else you need to take care of as a host. “Um, Tomura sometimes comes in here at night, but I don’t think he will if I’m not up here. He’ll stay out of the bathroom, too. If you hear anything weird it’s probably just Phantom. She has a crate to sleep in, but she might be a little more active tonight.”

“Can she sleep on the bed?” Shinsou asks.

“No,” Aizawa says before you can answer. “Your sister is allergic, and so am I. We’d prefer to sleep with the door shut.”

“No problem.” You head for the door.

“But this is your bed,” Eri says around a yawn. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“I probably won’t,” you say. “I have some things to take care of.”

You have to let the rest of the neighborhood know what’s happening, communicate the plan, and convince them to follow it, starting with Keigo. Aizawa can probably guess that. “Wake me if you need help.”

You nod and switch off the light. Then you step into the hallway and shut the door behind you.

The house always feels alive, but right now it feels chaotic. There are two live ghosts, two former ghosts, and one ghost-human abomination inside it, and the clashing energies are making your head hurt. You push through it long enough to retrieve your laptop and sit down at the kitchen table. You leave the lid of it shut. The first thing you need to do is give Keigo a wakeup call.

But as you’re unlocking your phone, you see something scribbled on the back of your hand. It takes you a second to remember what it is, but once you remember, you set your phone aside and open up your laptop to search Garaki’s forwarding address. It’s a fancy hotel in a city an hour or so north of yours. You need to confirm if he’s still there. The trick you used before should work just fine. You check the reporter’s name again, block your number, and call the hotel. When the reception desk picks up, you give them the reporter’s name and ask for Dr. Garaki.

“I’m afraid you just missed him. The doctor checked out this morning,” the receptionist says. Your heart sinks. “My apologies. What did you say your name was?”

You repeat your borrowed name – and your borrowed cover story. “Did he leave a forwarding address? There’s been an update to the story I wrote and my boss wants me to get a comment.”

“Let me see.” The receptionist’s fingernails click audibly against the keys. “Yes, he did. It’s –”

You write the entire address, but your fingers go numb after you’ve written the city name. It’s here. Garaki’s at a fancy hotel in your city, which means Tomura’s right, and Hizashi’s right, too. He knows where you are. He’ll be here soon. He’ll be here tomorrow.

You thank the receptionist for her help, hang up the phone, and lean back in your chair, feeling sick to your stomach. Garaki’s here. You have his exact location. You could call the hotel right now and get his room number, and then you could borrow Aizawa’s gun and go solve this yourself. It would be easy. You’d wear your bracelets, so he wouldn’t see you coming, and you’d blow his head off the instant he opened the door. All the ghostly power in the world won’t save him if he’s caught by surprise. You could do all that if you want to go to prison for the rest of your life.

You push the thought away. You need to strategize, and you can’t do it alone. As much as you hate to do it, you pick up your computer and your phone and make your way into the living room to join Hizashi.

He doesn’t look up. “I heard you on the phone. Did you get something?”

“I know where Garaki is.” That gets Hizashi’s attention, and you turn your laptop around to show him. “I can’t think of how we’d get him without someone going to prison.”

Nemuri’s voice emanates from the chair you were planning to sit in. “I could go.”

“His power level’s too high. In a straight fight he’d win,” Hizashi says. Nemuri emits a scathing noise. “He’s already gotten one of my friends, Nem. I don’t have a lot of friends. I don’t want to lose another one.”

“Tomura’s plan could still work,” you say. “Somebody could lure him out of there, out of sight, and we could take care of it.”

“Something’s already luring him out of there. Us. Tomorrow night.” Hizashi says. “This is our territory. He thinks he’s coming here to retrieve Shirakumo and punish me and Dabi. He’s not going to be ready for Nem, and he’s sure as hell not going to be ready for Tomura. Even if Tomura can’t leave the property, he can project his aura, and if he focuses it on one person, it’ll slow them down significantly.”

“Wouldn’t he have to decloak the whole neighborhood?”

“Only for a split second. That’s all we’ll need,” Hizashi says. He pitches his voice to carry. “You can do that, right, Crusty?”

Whatever Tomura says in response, he doesn’t say it out loud. Hizashi grimaces. “We’re all set on that front,” he announces to everybody who wasn’t in on the conversation, which is just you and Phantom. “In other news, I found out what happened with our friend and this guy. He calmed down enough to tell me, and it’s – not good.”

“Spit it out,” Nemuri says, and you nod in agreement. “Can it be fixed?”

“If it can, we’re not the ones to do it,” Hizashi says heavily. Nemuri’s despair floods the room. “It seems like Garaki’s found a way to temporarily bind ghosts – something that allows him to capture and contain them while he finds and contains a host. From there, he has to draw the host’s life-force out enough for the ghost to latch onto it. I can’t tell if it’s the fastest way or the only way, but whatever way it is, he does it through torture.”

“Until the host loses their will to live,” you realize, and Hizashi nods. “That’s when he ties the ghost to them. Like binding a ghost to a house.”

“Right. Except a ghost bound to a house can destroy it and escape,” Hizashi says. “As far as I can tell, this type of binding leads the ghost to view the human host as an extension of themselves. Killing the human is the same as killing themselves, and ghosts, uh – we don’t do that.”

“You don’t or you can’t?”

“Both,” Nemuri says. “We can’t destroy our own essences, and even if we could, what purpose would there be in it? We aren’t like humans. What makes humans kill themselves, anyway? Do you know?”

She’s asking Hizashi – Hizashi, who looks weirdly disquieted. “Don’t look at me. Ask the human.”

“Ask Google,” you say. “I’m not an expert on human stuff just because I’m human.”

Nemuri either doesn’t know what Google is or doesn’t care. “Why do humans kill themselves?’

There are two ghosts staring at you now, and distantly, you can feel Tomura’s eyes on you. “Um,” you start. “So, there are a lot of reasons why. Usually it’s multiple reasons at once, I think. Sometimes it’s after something bad has happened to us – something traumatic, or something we feel really guilty about. Or someone we love leaving us or dying. Sometimes it’s smaller stuff that builds up over time, like having depression or alcohol or things like that. Or being really lonely for a long time.”

As you’re talking it, it occurs to you that everything you’ve said has something in common. You can’t tell if it’s a brand-new realization or some long-ago memory of psych 101 crawling to the surface, but you say it anyway. “There are lots of reasons why a human might kill themselves. But people who do that – they do it because they think things are going to be like that forever, that nothing’s ever going to change. And they decide they can’t take it anymore.”

You sounded way too authoritative when you said that. You qualify it in a hurry. “I think.”

The ghosts, both present and former, sit with that for a second. “But some things can’t be changed,” Nemuri says, puzzled. “A human who dies is gone forever. Humans die every day and the rest of you don’t kill yourselves over it.”

“You’re right. We can’t change death. But how we feel about it can change,” you explain. “We can grieve. And we can move on. So thinking about the person we’ve lost will hurt less.”

“Ghosts can’t change,” Hizashi says quietly. He glances up at the ceiling, probably looking for the room where Aizawa’s sleeping. “I won’t be here long after he’s gone.”

“Don’t say that,” you say without thinking. “For all you know, you’ll go first.”

It’s dead silent for a moment. Then Hizashi bursts into quiet but somehow still raucous laughter. “Serves me right for being dramatic. Now I get how you handle him.”

You wouldn’t say Tomura was dramatic, exactly. Moody would probably be more accurate, and like you’ve summoned him on a thought, he materializes right in front of you. You’ve been sitting on the floor, laptop balanced in your lap, and he sets it aside to make room for himself. He doesn’t seem to care that you’re in full view of everybody, or that Hizashi is staring unabashedly at the two of you, his jaw practically on the floor. “What about the shield?” you ask faintly.

Tomura’s busy getting situated in your lap. He’s fully materialized, his face pressed into the curve of your neck. “I can do that and this at the same time.”

“He can,” Nemuri says after a moment. “It feels just as it did before. Most of us aren’t able to utilize our powers in the psychic plane and maintain control of our energy usage at the same time.”

“Our little misanthrope is quite impressive. We’re very proud,” Hizashi says, only partially sarcastically. He makes eye contact with you. “Have you updated the others on the plan yet? Maybe save the cuddling until after your work is done.”

You’re conscious of how tightly Tomura is holding onto you, and simultaneously, how brittle his grip feels. You reach out to close the lid of your laptop and pick up your phone instead. “I can do that and this at the same time.”

Hizashi and Nemuri have probably been hanging out among humans long enough to know that seeing a man sitting in a woman’s lap is weird, but thankfully they both keep quiet. Nemuri’s presence drifts away, heading out to the front porch, and Hizashi focuses back in on Shirakumo. You wait until they’re both occupied before you turn your attention to Tomura officially. “Are you okay?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m doing what I’d do if none of them were here.”

“If you were doing that, you’d be staring at me from the corner of the room.” Your bed, with you, at night, is a boundary Tomura’s never tried to breach while embodied. You’re not sure why. “What is it?”

Tomura shakes his head. More of his weight falls against you, and you scoot back a few inches, leaning against the wall to prop yourself up. Tomura’s hair brushes against your cheek, and you bring the hand that’s not holding your phone up and begin to work it through the tangles. It’s not something you do often. Usually when Tomura’s materialized this close to you, he’s after a hookup, and he usually dematerializes fast after the two of you are done. You can count on one hand the number of times he’s been like this, and two of them happened today.

Maybe he’s just tired. Ghosts might not be able to sleep, but you’ve never seen or heard anybody claim that they can’t get tired. “I’m going to call the others and update them,” you say to him, and he nods. “Stay here as long as you want.”

Tomura doesn’t respond this time, just settles against you, heavy and cold. You keep combing your fingers through his hair and call Keigo first. He doesn’t pick up on the first call, so you call back again, already feeling awful about the news you’re going to give him. After you call him, you’ll call Spinner next, then Jin – and then you’ll work your way through the other numbers, until everybody in the neighborhood and Mr. Yagi outside of it know what’s going to happen tomorrow. Thinking about it scares you, even if it’s not your ghost the conjurer is after. It would scare you more if Tomura wasn’t here.

Maybe that’s why this is happening. Maybe he knows you’re scared, or maybe he’s scared, too. You try to be careful about things that reveal your feelings, but you turn your head and kiss his temple, letting your mouth linger there for longer than really necessary. A lot longer. You don’t pull away until Keigo picks up your call. He sounds sleepy, and like he’s in a mood. “This had better be good.”

“Keigo. Hi.” Your stomach clenches with anxiety, and you focus as best you can on the texture of Tomura’s hair as it slides through your fingers. It grounds you, somehow, the same way as his weight in your lap does. “Sorry to wake you. It’s about Garaki.”

I have a dream

Just imagine:

Tomura is now finaly the king of his new shaped world. Don't ask me how, don't mention all for one. Lets just say he take care of them. He his now the one and only supreme commender and he have everything. Everything ? Well no actually. He doesn't have a darling. A good little pet to get his dick wet and oh god we know how desperate he is. That's when one day he found a man who have the hability to make a women from another universe come into that one and then sommon her as his pet. Tomura immediatly take his quirk. He through that at first he would have to force things a little of course who would want to fuck him and live their whole life by his side if not some afraid sucker ? Well he was very surprise when us, one of his bigest fangirl apear literaly dying of happiness at the new. He was oh so please to have such a beautiful darling as one of his fan and as his fuck toy too… If he wasn't him he would find it scary how such a cute little "innocent" things like us can have those perverted throught about him and how much we know how to please our god because hod dammit that is what he truly his isn't he ? Of course Shigaraki Tomura would be more than please to realise all of our fantises about him that we read in fanfiction and stuff, after all many of them are his too. Tomura Shigaraki would be turn on to finaly have soemone desperate for his touvh insted of being scared. The way his pet will be struggleing to breath while he choke her would almost be enought for him to come in his pants. Imagine being that guys pet and beinh blessed everyday by mimking hid cock until passing out because, we are human from our world, it take practice to accomodate yo his monsturus size. Then we would wake up, him sleeping peacefully by our side.

Heaven right ?😭✨

Narilamb part2:

Okay okay, this time its less canon but imagine the lamb opening the bar and narinder take a drink but then is posess(idk how to spell it preperly i'm french sorry). The lamb do his best to find him in dongeon and when he finaly find him punish him from drinking whitch of course frustrate Narinder but hey, he couldn't just let his favorite ex god be posses again and have to kill him !

the new postmodern age (chapter one) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Written for @threadbaresweater's follower milestone event, and the prompt 'a day at the beach'! Congratulations on the milestone, and thanks for giving me a chance to write this fic.

dividers by @enchanthings

Before the war, you were nothing but a common criminal, but in the world that's arisen from the ashes, you got a second chance. Five years after the final battle between the heroes and the League of Villains, you run a coffee shop in a quiet seaside town, and you're devoted to keeping your customers happy. Even customers like Shimura Tenko, who needs a second chance even more than you did -- and who's harboring a secret that could upend everything you've tried to build. Will you let the past drag both of you down? Or will you find a way, against all odds, to a new beginning? (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2

Chapter 1

You believe in second chances.

Before the war, you were living on the margins, just like the rest of even the pettiest criminals were. No one would hire someone with a record, even if the record was for something nonviolent, and that meant that you were always hungry, always freezing in the winter and getting heatstroke in the summer, always one step away from doing something worse and getting put away for good. You were going nowhere fast, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get back on your feet. It was a struggle to get up in the morning.

But after the war, something changed. Not a lot, but enough, because after a heartfelt public plea from the hero who saved the day, the world decided to care a little bit about people like you. The government passed new anti-discrimination laws, including one banning hiring discrimination against people with criminal records, and for nonviolent criminals like you, they opened up an extra opportunity – a choice between job training or a startup loan for a small business, so you could pay down your fines and restitution while adding something good to society. Sure, it was all in the name of preventing new villains from being created, but you’ll take it. You took it, picked up a loan, moved out of the city to a small town on the coast, and decided to open up a coffee shop.

You’re not really sure why you picked a coffee shop. Maybe because the town you moved to didn’t have one yet, or maybe because you used to hang out in them a lot when you had nowhere else to go. And the program you’re part of worked exactly like it was supposed to. You had to hire people to help you get the building you chose up to code, and that meant you met people in your new community. You showed those people that the criminals they hated were people, too. You’ve paid most of your fines and you’re able to break even anyway, and even though there’s a sign on the door telling everyone that you’re a convicted felon and you have to answer any questions you’re asked about it, you have customers.

Not just customers – regulars. People whose kids you’ve seen grow up, people who talk to you when they see you out and about. After five years of trying, you’ve finally carved out a place where you belong. So yeah, you believe in second chances. How could you not?

You stand back from your front window, admiring the latest addition. There’s the sign identifying your business as one sponsored by the Nonviolent Criminal Reintegration Act, but just above it, you’ve added a bigger sign: Free Internet Access. Osono, whose bakery makes the pastries you sell, studies it alongside you. “Free access? Shouldn’t it be access with purchase?”

“I thought about it a lot, but no.” You’re sort of lying. You thought about it for two seconds and that was it. “This is better.”

“It’ll attract riff-raff.”

That’s the kind of comment that used to really piss you off, but you know Osono. You know it’s just a blind spot, and you know how to respond. “Most things are online these days. Job applications, apartment listings, information on government assistance. When I was in trouble before, free internet access would have helped me a lot. And I usually bought something anyway, even if it was just a cup of coffee.”

“Not a pastry?” Osono nods at the trays stacked on her cart, and you remember that she’s waiting for you to open the door. Oops. You unlock it in a hurry and prop it open with a rock you pulled up from the beach. “Where were you getting food?”

“Wherever I could.” You were hungry a lot. And sick a lot, because sometimes you had to eat things that were expired. You don’t like to think about that very much. “I stole sometimes so I wouldn’t starve. I’ve paid it all back by now.”

“You know how to take responsibility,” Osono says. She slides back the door on your pastry case without asking and starts loading things in. “I wish more of them were like you.”

“Most of us are,” you say, as gently as you can manage. “We just need a fighting chance.”

Sometimes people forget that you’re a criminal, that you’ll carry your record around for the rest of your life. You can’t let them forget. Osono nods in the way that tells you she’s humoring you and lifts a tray of pastries you haven’t seen before out of the cart. “These are a new recipe I’m trying out. What do you think?”

“They’re pretty,” you say. “Is that chocolate in the filling?”

“And cinnamon. They aren’t vegan, but there aren’t any common allergens in them.” Osono passes you the recipe anyway, and you scribble down the ingredients on the back of the name card you’re making, just in case someone asks. “Tell me how they do, all right? If they sell decently I’ll add them to my rotation.”

“Will do.” You help her with the last few trays. “Thanks, Osono. Say hi to the kids and Naoki for me?”

“Will do.” Osono wheels the cart back out the door, then pauses to study the internet access sign. “Good luck with this.”

“Thanks.”

You wait until the delivery van pulls away before you start rearranging the pastries to your preferred setup. You add “new arrival” to the label for the new pastry, then touch the lettering to turn it a pleasant but eye-catching green before placing it front and center in the case. Then you set up your espresso machine, wake up the cash register, switch on the lights and take down the chairs from the tops of the tables – and only then do you switch on the other sign in your window. It’s seven am. Skyline Coffee and Tea is open for business.

It’s grey and cold, and the low tide is closer to noon today, which means you’re in for a busy morning as the people who walk the beach daily stop in for food and coffee first. Only one person orders one of the new pastries, but almost everyone comments on the free internet access. They say the same kind of thing Osono said, and you say the same thing you said to her if they hold still long enough for you to answer. You say it nicely. It’s an effort to say it nicely, sometimes, but it’s worth doing.

Past noon, things slow down a bit. You decide to speed-clean the espresso machine, and you’re so focused on your work that you don’t notice the customer. It’s possibly also the customer’s fault, since he’s peering at you from over the pickup counter instead of standing by the cash register, and when he barks the question at you, it startles you badly. “What’s the password?”

“On the WiFi?” You tuck your burned hand behind your back. “No password. Find a place to sit down and have at it.”

The customer looks disconcerted. Or at least you think he does – the lower half of his face is covered with a surgical mask, and given that he doesn’t have eyebrows, it’s hard to read his expression. “Why?”

“Why isn’t there a password?” You haven’t gotten that question yet. “I want people to be able to use it if they need it.”

“They’re gonna watch porn.”

“Me putting a password on the WiFi wouldn’t stop that,” you say. “And I’m not the internet police. If somebody starts acting up, I’ll deal with it. If not – just use headphones.”

The customer’s expression twists. “I didn’t mean me.”

“Sure.” You’re not a moron. “It’s not my business what you do. Unless your business starts messing with my business. Seriously. Knock yourself out.”

The customer turns away, and you spend a second being extremely grateful that you went for single-occupancy bathrooms instead of multiple-stall bathrooms before you go back to cleaning the espresso machine. Your hand hurts, but it’s nothing running it under cold water won’t fix later. When you straighten up, there’s someone at the counter.

It’s porn guy, who you really shouldn’t call porn guy. Innocent until proven guilty and all that. You dry your hands and hurry over. “What can I get for you today?”

“Black coffee.”

“Sure. Anything else?”

The customer glances at the pastry case and shakes his head. Then his stomach growls. He knows you heard it. What little of his face is visible above the mask turns red. “No.”

“Tell you what,” you say. “I’ve got these new pastries the bakery wants me to try out, but next to nobody’s tried one yet. If you agree to tell me how it was, you can have it half off.”

“I have money.” The customer shoves a credit card across the counter to you, and you see that he’s wearing fingerless gloves. Or sort of fingerless gloves. They’re missing the first three fingers on each hand. “I don’t need help.”

“No, but you’re helping me out.” You add the pastry to his order and discount it by half, then fish it out of the case with a pair of tongs. “For here or to go?”

“Here.” The customer watches as you set it on a plate. “What is that?”

“It’s babka.”

“I can read. What is it?”

“I don’t really know,” you admit. Maybe that’s why people aren’t buying them. “The filling’s chocolate and cinnamon, though. It’s hard to go wrong with that. It’ll be just a second with the coffee.”

You fill a cup, then point out the cream and sugar. Then you realize you still haven’t tapped the customer’s card. You finish ringing up the order and glance at the cardholder’s name. Shimura Tenko. He hasn’t been in before today. You’re not the best with faces, but you never forget a name.

Shimura Tenko sets up shop at the booth in the farthest corner, and although you sneak by once or twice to check on him, you’re pretty sure he’s not watching porn. People don’t usually take notes when they’re watching porn. It looks like he’s working or something. Working remote, but he doesn’t have internet access at home? Or maybe he does, and he’s just looking for a change of scenery. That’s a normal thing to do. A change of scenery is one thing Skyline Coffee and Tea is equipped to provide.

Speaking of that, it’s been a while since you changed out the mural on the café’s back wall. Your quirk, Color, lets you change the color of any object you touch, and choose how long the color sets. You’ve used it for a lot of things over the years, but now you mainly use it to create new murals every few months or so. The back wall’s been a cityscape since the fall, when you saw a picture of Tokyo’s skyline at night and got inspired. Maybe this weekend you’ll switch it out for something a little softer. If people wanted the city, they’d stay there instead of coming here.

Customers come in and out, a few lingering for conversations or to test out the free WiFi, but Shimura Tenko stays put, somehow making a single cup of black coffee last until you give the fifteen-minute warning that you’re closing up shop. Another person might be pissed about someone hanging out so long without buying anything else, but you’ve been there. You let it go, except to ask him how the babka was as he’s on his way out the door. He throws the answer back over his shoulder without looking your way. “It was fine. Nothing special.”

Fine, sure. When you go back to clear his table, you find the plate it was on wiped clean. There’s not even a smear of the filling left.

“Check this place out!” Your probation officer leans across the counter, eyes bright, out of costume and way too enthusiastic for eight in the morning. “It’s looking great in here. You changed something. New color scheme? New uniform?”

“Nope.” You don’t get nervous for your check-ins, but you don’t like the fact that they’re random. Today’s not a good day. “There’s some new stuff on the menu, and in the pastry case. Maybe that’s it.”

“No,” Present Mic says, drawing out the word. He turns in a slow circle, then whips back around with a grin. “When did you repaint that wall?”

“I didn’t paint it,” you say. It’s best to be honest. “I used my quirk. I’m not making money off of it and it’s not hurting anyone, so it falls within the terms of my probation.”

“Take it easy there, listener. I’m not trying to bust you,” Present Mic says. Heroes always say that. You know better than to buy it. “It looks good. Really brightens the place up.”

“I thought it could use it,” you say. “It’s kind of a rough time of year.”

Cold weather always brings you lots of customers, but people are sharper, unhappier, and if they’re in the mood to take it out on someone, they pick somebody who can’t make a fuss or hit back. Somebody like you. You’ve learned not to take it personally. “Not too rough financially. You’ve made all your payments on time. I checked.” Present Mic is peering into the pastry case. “How’s that free internet access thing going for you?”

“Not so bad,” you say. “The connection’s pretty fast, so I get people in here who are taking online classes, or working remote. I’ve only had to kick one person out for watching porn.”

“Yeah, he filed a complaint,” Present Mic says, and your stomach drops. “You made the right call. Don’t worry.”

You’re going to worry. It’s going to take all day for that one to wear off. “I haven’t had problems with it otherwise.”

“Why’d you do it?” Present Mic gives you a curious look. “Free stuff brings all kinds of people out of the woodwork. Why give yourself the headache?”

“I want this to be the kind of place I needed,” you say. “Somewhere safe where nobody would kick me out if I couldn’t buy more than one cup of coffee, where I could use the internet without getting in trouble for it. A headache’s worth that to me.”

It’s quiet for a second, but Present Mic being Present Mic, it doesn’t last. “You really turned a corner, huh? Hard to believe you were ever on the wrong side of the law.”

“We all could be there,” you say. “It only takes one mistake.”

Present Mic sighs. “You’re telling me. Did you catch the news last week?”

“The thing with Todoroki Touya?” The surviving members of the League of Villains all went through their own rehab, and they’re on permanent probation – and last weekend, Todoroki Touya, formerly known as Dabi, lit somebody’s motorcycle on fire after they followed him for six blocks, harassing him the whole way. “I saw. Is he getting revoked?”

“Nope. The other guy was way out of line, and the panel ruled that the majority of people – former villains or not – would have reacted similarly under that kind of pressure.” Present Mic rolls his shoulders, and his leather jacket squeaks. “All I can say is, he’s lucky we’re in the business of second chances these days. Or fifth chances.”

“Why so many?” you ask. “The rest of us are on three strikes, you’re out.”

“Yeah, but you have to mess up a lot worse for it to count as a strike,” Present Mic points out. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a guilt thing. This whole rehab thing is Deku’s idea. And Deku never got over what happened with Shigaraki.”

Members of the League of Villains died leading up to the final battle, but of the five who made it that far, only one of them was dead at the end of the war – Shigaraki Tomura, their leader. To most people, it was good riddance to the greatest evil Japan has ever seen, but Deku’s always been publicly against that viewpoint. Insistent that All For One was the true villain. Regretful that the war ended with Shigaraki’s death, too. “Since he couldn’t save him, he’s stuck on saving the other four,” Present Mic continues. “Which equals infinite chances. So far Todoroki’s the only one who’s needed them.”

You nod. Present Mic stretches. “Let’s take a walk,” he decides. “I’ll buy coffee for both of us.”

“I can’t leave,” you say. “I don’t have anybody else to watch this place. If a customer comes by –”

“Half an hour, tops. Come on.” Present Mic produces a wallet from the inside of his leather jacket. “The sooner we leave, the sooner you can come back.”

You lock up, hating every second of it, and follow Present Mic into the cold, a to-go cup of your own coffee in your hands. Present Mic runs through the usual list of questions, the ones that cover your mindset as much as they cover your progress on your program requirements. Some of them are about how you’re getting along with the civilians in town, and you know he’ll be checking in with some of your customers, seeing if their perception lines up with yours. It feels invasive. Intrusive. Some part of you always pushes back. You always quiet it down. You made this bed for yourself, coming up on a decade ago. Now you have to lie in it.

“I’ve got some news,” Present Mic says, once he’s finished with the questions. “The program’s considering early release for some of the participants.”

“Why?”

“The legislative review’s coming up, and they want success stories,” Present Mic says. “You know, people who clawed their way out of the criminal underworld to become productive members of society. I’m putting your name on the list.”

You almost drop your coffee. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Mic says. He seems taken aback by your surprise. “I mean – you’re kind of who this thing was designed for, listener. You caught your first charge when you were underage, for a nonviolent crime, and the rest of your case is a perfect example of just one of the many problems Deku won’t shush about. Now look at you. You’ve got your own business, you’re paying back your debt to society, you’re participating in civilian life. There are civilians who don’t do that much.”

Of course they don’t. Actual civilians don’t have to prove they have a right to exist. “If you’re approved for early release, the government will waive interest on your startup loan, and I heard a rumor that they’re considering wiping charges off people’s records,” Mic continues. “It’s a pretty good deal, listener. And you’re making a pretty weird face.”

“Sorry,” you say, trying to fix it. “I mean – felonies are a forever thing. They don’t get wiped.”

“It’s just a rumor,” Mic says, and pats your shoulder. “Even if that doesn’t pan out, you could use a break on the interest. Anyway, it’s not a sure thing, but I put your name up. You’ve got as good a shot as anybody.”

You think that’s probably true, which is weird to think about. You’ve been behind the eight ball since you were in high school. Present Mic throws down the rest of his coffee, then turns back the way the two of you came. “Let’s go. I saw a pastry I wanted to buy, and I bet you have a customer or two.”

You’ve heard things about other program participants’ probation officers taking things without paying, but you got lucky with Present Mic – he always pays. Sometimes he even gives you a hard time for setting your prices too low. And he’s right about the customers. When you get back, one of your regulars is sitting cross-legged, leaning back against the locked door with his hood up and his laptop open.

It’s Shimura Tenko, who you never saw before you started offering free internet, and who’s turned into a regular ever since. The two of you don’t talk the way you do with some of your other regulars – something about the mask and the hood and the gloves tells you that Shimura isn’t looking to make friends. But he shows up two or three times a week, orders black coffee, and camps out in the corner of the café until closing time. Sometimes you can talk him into a pastry, and it’s always a babka. Whether he orders one or not, he’s always hungry when he comes in.

Shimura looks up as you and Present Mic approach. His eyes narrow, then widen abruptly, almost comically shocked. Then he slams his laptop shut, rockets to his feet, and books it, vanishing down the street and around the corner. You feel a surge of frustration. “Can you not scare my customers?”

“I’m out of costume. Even when I’m in, nobody’s scared of me.” Present Mic is lying. You’d have been scared out of your mind to run into him back in the day. “Damn, that guy was skittish. What’s his deal?”

“He’s one of my regulars.” Was one of your regulars, probably. People don’t react the way Shimura just did and come back for more. You unlock the door, feeling strangely dispirited. “Which pastry were you thinking about?”

Present Mic sticks around for an hour or so, long enough to talk to a few customers who don’t run away from him. Most of your regulars have seen him before. He leaves a little bit before noon, after eating three pastries he paid for, and as usual, the café quiets down in the afternoon. You don’t mind. Today wasn’t a good day even before Mic put in a surprise appearance and scared off a customer for good. Days like today, you’d rather have the place to yourself.

Sometimes in the midst of proving you’re a model citizen to anybody who looks your way, you forget that there’s a reason you weren’t. It wasn’t a good reason. Your family wasn’t rich, but you always had what you needed and some of what you wanted. Your parents weren’t perfect, but they loved you. You weren’t the most popular kid at school, but you always had someone to talk to. And none of that mattered, because you felt hollow and miserable and lonely no matter what else was going on around you.

Nothing you did or said could make you feel better. Everything felt the same, and everything felt awful, and no matter how hard you tried to explain, to ask for help, to raise the alarm, you couldn’t get your point across. You had a good life. What did you have to complain about?

The judge who handed you your first conviction said pretty much exactly that. You’ve heard that the sentencing guidelines for minors have changed, that untreated mental health issues are considered a mitigating factor these days, but back then it didn’t matter at all. You got help at some point. You take your meds like you’re supposed to, and you did therapy until you realized the people who monitor your probation were reading your notes. And you’re older now. You know the hollow feeling goes away. But that doesn’t mean it’s any easier to tolerate when it’s here.

You’re hanging out behind the counter, staring at your most recent mural and wishing you’d chosen something less cheerful than the field of wildflowers that’s currently decorating it, when the door opens. You barely have time to get your game face on before Shimura Tenko steps up to the counter. “Um –”

“How many heroes are you friends with?” Shimura asks shortly.

“I’m not friends with Present Mic,” you say. “That was a spot check. He’s my probation officer.”

Shimura blinks. He has crimson eyes and dark lashes, matching his dark hair. “Huh?”

“My probation officer,” you repeat. “I’m a convicted felon.”

“Don’t lie. They’d never let a convicted felon run a coffee shop.”

“I got a loan,” you say. “Through the Nonviolent Criminal Rehabilitation Act. It says so on the sign.”

“Your sign says free internet access.”

“Underneath that.” You wonder if it’s really possible that Shimura didn’t see the other sign. Maybe he was just too hyped at the prospect of free internet to look any harder. “How long have you lived here?”

“Five years.” Shimura looks defensive now. “What’s it to you?”

Five years, and you never saw him before today. He must keep to himself. “Nothing. I just – I thought everybody around here knew. I’m not very quiet about it. I’m not allowed to be.”

“Why not?”

You don’t want to do this right now, but rules are rules. “Part of the Reintegration Act involves educating civilians about where criminals come from – like, how a person goes from you to me.”

Shimura snorts. It’s rude, but not anywhere close to the rudest thing someone’s done to you when you talk about this. “The government thinks the people who are best equipped to educate about this are the actual criminals, so I’m legally obligated to answer any questions people ask me – about my record, about why I did it, about the program and why I’m doing that. So they understand what’s happening and why it’s happening. For transparency.”

“And that means anybody can question you, any time,” Shimura says, eyes narrowing.

“Yep. Stop, drop, and educate.” You wait, but he’s quiet, and you’re tired enough and hollow enough that the suspense gets to you first. “You can ask what I did. I have to tell you.”

Shimura nods – but then he doesn’t ask. About that, at least. “It’s dead in here. Did Present Mic clear everybody else out?”

“No. It gets quiet on sunny days when the tide’s low.” You nod through the window, and the sliver of beach visible between the buildings across the street. “I was thinking about closing early.”

“Why?” Shimura’s voice holds the faintest shadow of a sneer. “To walk on the beach?”

To lay facedown on your bed and wait for tears that won’t come, and won’t make you feel any better if they do. “Now you’re here, so I’m open. Do you want the usual?”

Shimura hesitates. Then he shakes his head. “Go home.”

“I’m open,” you repeat. You don’t want him to complain to Present Mic like the actual porn guy did. “Do you want the usual or do you feel like something new?”

“The usual.”

“Come on,” you say. He glares at you over his mask. There’s an old scar over his right eye. “There’s nobody here. Nobody’s going to catch you drinking something that actually tastes good.”

“The usual,” Shimura Tenko says, and crosses his arms over his chest. “And –”

He glances at the pastry case, and you see his expression shift into disappointment. It makes you sadder than it should, but you can fix it easily. You slide the babka you saved on the faint hope that he’d come back out of hiding and into full view. “One of these?”

Shimura stares at it for a full fifteen seconds before he looks up at you. “You saved it for me.”

“Yeah.” You pride yourself on knowing what your regulars like. You don’t want someone you see a few times a week to leave unsatisfied. “One babka and one black coffee, coming up.”

Shimura holds out his card, then hesitates. You’ve never seen him look uncertain at all. “And whatever you think tastes better than black coffee. One of those.”

“Really?” You can’t hide your surprise, or what an unexpected lift it is for your mood. “You won’t regret it. Which flavors do you like?”

“I don’t care.” Shimura waits while you swipe his card, then tucks it away. “This was your idea. I’m going – over there.”

He gestures at the back corner. “I know where you like to sit,” you say. “I’ll bring it out.”

As soon as he leaves, you get to work. You need to nail this. He’ll laugh at you if you bring him a tea latte, so it needs to have an espresso base. What goes well with babka? You already have chocolate and cinnamon on board – what about caramel, or hazelnut? Does he even like sweet things? He must, if he keeps ordering the damn babka. Maybe hazelnut, but what if he’s allergic? You pitch your voice to carry and see him startle. “Do you have any allergies?”

“Not to food.”

You wonder what he’s actually allergic to as you start pulling espresso shots for a chocolate hazelnut mocha. You really hope Shimura likes Nutella, because that’s exactly what this is going to taste like. Using bittersweet chocolate syrup instead of milk chocolate fixes it partway, but when you pour off a tiny bit to try it, it still tastes a lot like something you’d eat out of a jar with a spoon.

Whatever. You’re committed now. You don’t have a choice. You pour it into a cup, make some vague gesture at foam art, and carry it and the black coffee through the empty café to Shimura’s table. “One black coffee and one drink that actually tastes good.”

Shimura eyes the second cup. “What’s in there?”

“You said you didn’t care.”

“Yeah, well, now that I know you’ve done time I’m not sure I can trust you,” Shimura says, and you lock your expression down. That one hurt. A lot. He drags the cup towards himself with his right hand and lifts it to his mouth as he pulls down his mask with his left, but you’ve lost interest in the outcome. You turn and head back to the counter, trying not to feel like someone’s slapped you in the face and convincing yourself at least a little that it works.

You screw around behind the counter, taking inventory and counting down the minutes until last call, but Shimura’s back at the counter with forty-five minutes to go, an empty cup in his hand. It’s not the cup you put the black coffee in. “Fine. You win. I want another one of these.”

“Yep.” You set your clipboard aside and head back to the cash register to ring him up. “For here or to go?”

“Here.”

“I’m closing soon. To-go’s probably better.”

“Are you kicking me out?” Shimura asks. You look up at him, make eye contact, and whatever he sees in your face sets him off. Not in the way you thought it would. “Before, about the doing time thing. You know I was kidding, right?”

“Sure you were. Do you want a receipt?”

“Hey,” Shimura snaps. “It was a joke.”

“Not a good one.”

“Yeah, it was. If you –” Shimura breaks off, his scowl clear even from behind the mask. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I wouldn’t have said that if I didn’t get it.”

“Get it,” you repeat. “You’ve done time?”

“Yeah.” Shimura Tenko covers the back of his neck with one hand. “No charges, but – yeah, I did time. So it’s funny.”

“It’s still not funny.” You lift the empty cup out of Shimura’s hands and turn to start making a second Nutella-esque mocha, trying to decide if you feel better or not. “It’s just not mean.”

A shadow falls across you as you work. Shimura’s following you along the edge of the counter. “So am I getting kicked out or what?”

“Yes,” you say. “In forty-five minutes, when I close.”

Shimura’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the corners. You wonder what his smile looks like under that mask, but you’ve got espresso shots to pull, and you need to focus if you don’t want to burn your hand. You look away, and when you look back again, he’s at his table, laptop open, mask on, chin propped in his gloved hand. No charges, but he’s done time. You didn’t expect that. Even though you’ve spent the last five years of your life trying to prove that you’re no different than anybody else, it still catches you by surprise to learn that one of your customers is like you.

You bring the second drink by his table, then start working through your closing checklist. He stands up with five minutes to go, just like clockwork. He leaves without another word, as usual, but when you step outside, he’s still standing there. “You didn’t ask why.”

Why he did time? “Neither did you,” you say.

“Yeah, but I won’t break probation if I don’t answer.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” you say. It’s not quite dark, but the sun’s almost down, and the shadows are growing long. Late March already, but it feels like you’ve got a long way to go before spring. “If I want people who meet me to look at the person I am now, I have to do the same thing for them.”

Shimura Tenko makes a sound, half-laughter and half-scoffing. “They sure did a number on you,” he says. You turn and walk away, and his footsteps follow yours. “Hey. Come on. There’s no way you’re that sensitive.”

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m just having a bad day.”

A bad day, and you never get a day off. Even if the café’s not open, you’re still in sunshine mode every second, making sure that the people who want to treat you like a criminal look absolutely insane for doing it. You fought hard for this life. You’re glad you fought for it. And today more than usual, you’re just really tired. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” Shimura says. You’re glad he doesn’t try to apologize again. You know it would be painfully insincere. “How did you know?”

“Hmm?”

“The pastry. How did you know I’d come back?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “I just hoped you would.”

You don’t know why you hoped. Maybe because he’d clearly been waiting a while when you and Present Mic got back. Maybe because you remember how much it mattered to have somewhere else to go, whether you had a place of your own or not. Maybe because you’ve gotten sort of a sense of him over the past few months, and you know he’s the kind of person who pretends not to want the things he wants. Wanting the coffee shop he hangs out in to be open and to have his favorite pastry available is such a reasonable thing to want. You were hoping he’d come back so you could give it to him.

Shimura doesn’t say anything. You keep walking, and he doesn’t follow you. When you glance back over your shoulder as you round the corner, you see him standing just outside of Skyline Coffee and Tea, staring intently at something. You can’t say for sure. But you’re pretty sure it’s the sign that explains about the NCRA.

A while back, you read that some countries set aside two days to commemorate a war. One day to celebrate that it ended, another to mourn that it happened at all. When it comes to the war you lived through, Japan does things differently. There’s just one day, a national holiday, where every government office closes and most businesses do, too. For most people, it’s a day to celebrate. There are carnivals, street fairs, concerts, parties. It’s been a holiday for exactly four years and a whole host of traditions have already sprung up around it.

But there’s one person who never celebrates, and it didn’t take you long to come around to his way of thinking. On April 4th, the fifth annual Day of Peace, you close the café early and make the trek to Kamino Ward.

You’re not sure how Kamino Ward became the place. Maybe because the final battlefield’s been overtaken by celebrations, and at least some people still see Kamino as hallowed ground. The place where the Symbol of Peace made his last stand. The place where the Symbol of Fear passed the torch onto his successor. You get there a little while before sunset, and you join the hundreds of people who’ve already gathered there. The crowd looks smaller than it did last year, and it hasn’t grown much by the time Midoriya Izuku, known to the world as Deku, climbs onto the steps leading up to the All Might statue’s plinth.

Someone hands him a microphone, which he takes with hands that tremble ever so slightly. He’s only twenty-one, and he looks old before his time. “I’m here,” he starts, then swallows hard. “I’m here because we didn’t win. Not really. If you’re here instead of at a party somewhere, I think it’s probably because you lost something. Something, or someone, who was important to you. Something you can’t get back.”

It’s quiet. It’s always quiet after he says something like that. “I’d like to think we did something. That we changed for the better,” Deku continues, “but I think we can only say that if we don’t forget what we had to lose for it to happen. So, um – you know the drill. If you brought a candle, great. If you didn’t, we have some. You can say the thing you lost if you want – we have a microphone – but when you’re done, light the candle and put it down somewhere that feels right to you.”

He takes a deep breath, lets it go. “And then you can go. But I’ll stay until they all burn out.”

People swarmed the first two years. This year they form a line, stepping up to light their candles one by one. You never know what to say when it’s your turn, because it’s not something specific you miss. The way things used to be was awful. You don’t miss that, and you weren’t close enough to anybody to lose someone who mattered in the war. But April 4th has never felt like a happy day. It feels wrong to you to be setting off fireworks and throwing parties in response to a war that almost destroyed the world.

A lot of people say names when it’s their turn to light a candle. Some say places. Some share an ideal they lost, a hero they venerated who fell from their pedestal, a dream they had that will never come true. Each lost thing named is met with respectful silence. But just like last year and the year before, there are three names that aren’t, no matter who says them. “Big Sis Magne. Bubaigawara Jin,” says Toga Himiko as she lights her candle. Say Todoroki Touya and Sako Atsuhiro and Iguchi Shuichi, who still answers to Spinner, as they light theirs. “Shigaraki Tomura.”

There’s always whispering after their names, especially Shigaraki’s. But Deku always goes last, and Deku always shuts them up. He lights his candle and grasps the microphone, speaking clearly, firmly. “Shigaraki Tomura.”

You remember what Present Mic said, about how Deku never got over failing to save Shigaraki. Deku was sixteen when he won the war. Still a kid. Was saving Shigaraki really his job? Maybe that’s the point of all this. It was everyone’s job to stop villains like Shigaraki from being created, and you all failed, so it fell to Deku – and he failed, too. It’s one big, sad, ugly mess. When you’re honest with yourself, you’re not surprised that most people try to cover it up with fireworks.

People begin to filter out of the memorial park, and you find a place to sit down. It’s not like you have somewhere else to go. The others who say settle in as well, in small groups amidst the rows and clusters of candles. You’re within earshot of one of the groups. Without meaning to, you find yourself listening in.

“They’d have hated this,” Todoroki Touya is saying, his voice low and bitter. “Every second of it.”

“Big Sis Magne wouldn’t have. And Twice would have liked it,” Toga Himiko says. Her voice is soft. “All the candles. He’d say it’s like his birthday.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Todoroki Touya’s voice goes even quieter. “Do any of us know when his birthday was?”

It’s quiet. “Shigaraki would hate this,” Todoroki states. “You know he would. What did he tell you to tell Spinner, Deku?”

Deku doesn’t answer. Spinner does. “Shigaraki Tomura fought to destroy until the very end.”

“Yeah,” Todoroki says. “To destroy. And Deku made him a martyr.”

“He destroyed a lot of things,” Deku says quietly. “All For One is gone. One For All, too – there’s never going to be another Symbol of Peace. He destroyed the way we saw villains. We don’t just get to look at what they’re doing right now. We have to think about how they got there. And he destroyed how we saw ourselves.”

“Yeah?” Spinner says. “How?”

“We didn’t think we were responsible for other people,” Deku says. “Now we have to be.”

It’s quiet again. This time it’s quiet for a while. “Whatever,” Todoroki says. “I’m going home. See you all at the next sobfest.”

“He always says that,” Spinner says, once his footsteps have faded. “He’s gonna get tanked at home and text us just like he did last year.”

“I miss Tomura-kun,” Toga says, her voice softer than before. “I thought we’d all be together at the end.”

“I know,” Deku says. “I’m sorry.”

“And you’re sure –” Spinner breaks off. “You’re sure you couldn’t get his ashes or something? So we could –”

“There was nothing left of Shigaraki,” Deku says. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Spinner says. Toga sniffles. “We know.”

The group splits, Toga in one direction, Spinner in the other. A moment later, Deku walks past you, and you do everything you can to fade into the background short of turning yourself camo-colored. It doesn’t work. “Did you hear all that?” Deku asks. You nod. He sighs, or sniffles, maybe. He looks younger up close. “You were here last year, right?”

“And the year before,” you say. The longer you look at him, the worse shape he’s in. “Um, are you okay?”

“It’s just –” Deku’s eyes well up, suddenly. “It’s hard. I can’t say what I want to say to them.”

“Why not?” you ask stupidly, and he shakes his head. “Um – do you want to sit down?”

You wouldn’t ask another hero that, but you feel like it’s worth the risk. Even though he’s twenty-one, you can’t look at him and see anything other than a kid, and it feels wrong to let a kid stand there and cry. Deku sits down next to you. “I know I’m not supposed to ask,” he starts, his voice watery, “but you never say anything when it’s your turn. Most people don’t come here. Even the ones who lost somebody would rather be at a party somewhere. Why do you come back?”

You have to think about it for a second. Deku cringes. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”

“I sort of do.” It might hit your probation requirements, and even if it doesn’t, you should explain anyway. “What you said earlier, in your speech – I’m one of the people the world got better for. My life would have been awful if it had stayed the same. But in order for me to have this life, we had to have the war.”

“What did you do during the war? Were you in a shelter?”

You shake your head. “The shelters banned people with criminal records,” you say. Deku’s eyes widen. “Nowhere would let me in.”

It wasn’t all that different from the way you were living before – not much food, not very safe. The only difference was a sharp increase in the number of abandoned buildings for you to crash in. But it looks like you’re making Deku feel worse, not better, and you scramble into part two of your explanation. “I’m one of the NCRA participants. That program only exists because of the war – and you, because you won’t let people forget why the war happened. So I want to remember why the war happened, too. And I want to honor it. Them.”

“Him,” Deku corrects, and your stomach clenches. “I wonder what he thinks of all of this. If it’s enough. If it’ll ever be enough. I mean, obviously it’ll never be enough for him, because he doesn’t – I mean, I can’t ask him, but I know he can see it. I don’t know where he is, but if I could just ask him –”

You didn’t realize Deku believed this strongly in the afterlife. You sit quietly, and after a few seconds, he remembers you’re there. He glances at you, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “Do you not get to talk about it very much?”

“No,” Deku admits. “People want to move on. And I don’t really blame them. But I can’t. Not until I know for sure.”

It’s quiet for a little bit. He wipes his eyes. You watch the candles flicker down a few millimeters more. “You’re in the NCRA,” Deku says finally. “For job training, or did you get a loan?”

“I got a loan,” you say. “I run a coffee shop now. With free WiFi.”

“Do people like it?”

“I think so,” you say. You think of the kids who come to study, the people who use the WiFi for remote work, the old people who walk the beach every morning and stop by for coffee and pastry afterwards. “I have regulars, anyway. And people talk to me now. They never used to.”

“People talk to me now, too,” Deku says. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “It is.”

It is, but it’s not quite what you meant, and you don’t want to interrupt when Deku starts talking about the NCRA. It’s not just that people talk to you. They talked to you before, but now they see you – not as a criminal, but as a person like them, minus the squeaky-clean record. That’s new, and that’s good. You know even less about Shigaraki Tomura than Deku does, but even if he’d hate what’s happened to the world he wanted to destroy, you’re thankful anyway. The world is better now. It’s better because of Deku, and Deku’s the way he is because of Shigaraki.

There are fireworks going off over the bay, distant enough that you can’t hear the sound. Closer than that, you hear music and laughter from a street party you passed on your way here from the train station. Deku trails off after a while, and you don’t speak up again. The two of you sit in silence until the last of the candles burns away.

You get home late, and it’s an early morning opening up the café. Luckily for you, everybody else is also running late courtesy of the holiday yesterday. Osono comes by fifteen minutes off-schedule and full of apologies, and while you’ve got your doors open by seven, it’s not until seven-fifty-eight that your first customers come through the door. It’s a double shot of espresso kind of day, and while you’re pulling them, your customers tell you about the parties they went to last night. When they ask what you did, you tell them you went into the city. It’s not a lie.

After the slow start, the shop stays quieter than usual, quiet enough that when Shimura Tenko rolls up just past noon, there’s still plenty of babka left in the pastry case. You start his order before he’s even opened the door – one black coffee, one Nutella-flavored nightmare – and he stops to drop off his stuff at his usual table before he comes up to the counter. You can tell he’s disquieted by something. “Did Present Mic come by and scare everybody off again? How are you going to keep this place open if no one’s here?”

“Mornings are a lot busier than afternoons,” you say. “And spring’s my quietest season, anyway. No tourists like there are in the summer, and it’s not very cold.”

“Yeah.” Shimura glances around, still displeased. “This place had better stay open.”

“It will,” you say. “One shot of espresso or two?”

“Three.”

“Three? It’s your funeral,” you say, but you pull the extra shot. “Late night last night?”

“I went to a party,” Shimura says. You nod. “It was my birthday.”

“Happy birthday.” You cancel half his order. You give people a free drink on their birthday, if you know it and they come in. “Your birthday is April 4th? That’s a tough draw, especially the last few years.”

“You’re telling me.” Instead of retreating to his table like usual, Shimura hovers at the bar. “What about you? Did you go to a party?”

You shake your head. “I went into the city.”

“Which city?”

“Yokohama,” you admit. Shimura’s eyes narrow. “I go to the vigil at Kamino. I have every year they’ve done it.”

“Really,” Shimura says, skeptical. “Why?”

Deku asked you the same question. You have a feeling Shimura won’t like the answer, but it’s the only one you have. “My life is better than it was before the war, because of what happened in the war. I want to be thankful for that. It doesn’t feel right to me to go to a carnival.”

Shimura doesn’t say anything, just watches you. It makes you feel weird. “If I’d known it was your birthday, though, I’d have gone to a party for that. It was your birthday way before it was the Day of Peace.” You’re babbling, and Shimura still hasn’t said a word. “Not that you’d invite me to your birthday party or anything.”

“I didn’t know you’d want to go,” Shimura says slowly. The espresso machine beeps, and you focus on it way harder than you’d do under ordinary circumstances. “Look, I – it wasn’t my party. Just a party. It’s not like I went in a fucking birthday hat.”

“That would look pretty weird with your hood still up,” you say. Shimura makes an odd sound. You look up and see the corners of his eyes crinkling again. “Still, though. I’ll remember for next year. I’ll get a cupcake or something. Even if you don’t want somebody who’s done time at your birthday party.”

Shimura laughs at that. Actually laughs. Your chest constricts, filling with warmth in a way that feels out of proportion to the situation at hand. “I only want people who’ve done time at my birthday party,” he says. “Don’t try to give me that drink for free. You letting this place go under would be a shitty birthday present.”

“Too late. It’s already free and I’m not rerunning the sale.” You pour the black coffee and set it down on the pickup counter, followed by the godawful Nutella drink. “Happy birthday plus one.”

Shimura rolls his eyes, but they’re still crinkled slightly at the corners. He doesn’t respond until he’s already halfway back to the table, and he’s so quiet that you have to strain your ears to hear. “Thanks.”

You should say something. Something like “you’re welcome”, or “any time”. Something that sounds like good customer service, instead of what you’re worried will come out of your mouth if you open it right now. The conversation is over. Nothing else needs to be said. You turn to face your small workspace, searching for a distraction. There has to be something you can clean.

It’s been so long since you had a crush that you barely remember what it’s like, but you’re pretty sure you have a crush on Shimura. As far as crushes go, he’s kind of a weird pick – because he’s a customer, because he’s not the friendliest, because he hasn’t given any indication that he likes you at all. He likes babka and free internet and the horrible off-menu mocha you make just for him. That’s it.

It feels weird to have a crush. Weird in how normal of a thing it is to do, when you’ve been so focused on looking normal and pretending to be normal that you haven’t done anything actually normal in a while. But maybe this is a good thing, and maybe it’s okay. You might get released early from your NCRA requirements, and even if you don’t, you’re doing well. You can afford to like somebody again.

The café stays quiet, and with two hours left before closing time, you’re getting bored. Bored, and you haven’t switched out the mural since before your last check-in with Present Mic. Now’s an okay time for that. You scribble a sign to prop up on the counter – I’m here, just yell – and head towards the back wall. You have to pass Shimura to get there, and as you do, he looks up. “I’m not looking,” you say. “I’ll just be over here.”

“Doing what?”

“A new mural,” you say. “Pretend I’m not here.”

Shimura decides to start right away, and you flex your fingers more out of habit than anything else. Then you set your hand on the wall and activate your quirk, changing the entire wall from the wildflower mural back to the same blank neutral as the others. That’s a good start. Now you just need to figure out what you’re going to do with it.

Actual muralists sketch and line their work. They work from references and they draft the design before they actually start painting. You know that because you used to want to be a muralist yourself. You could sketch and line things, but these days you’re more about feelings than anything else, and feelings take color. You block the wall into a few sections – you remember to do that, at least – and fill in general colors, running your fingers along the edges to blur them together. Grey base and sides. Dark-colored middle. The entire upper half of the wall is light. It’s not until you’ve added the half-circle above the horizon that you get a real understanding of what you’re making.

It's another cityscape, or the ruins of one, something you saw in photos or maybe in person. It looks a lot like the sunrise view from Kamino Ward, the sky on fire with deep purple and orange and pink and gold, the reflection of those colors splashed across the sea, the wreckage of the city bathed in morning light. You’ve done enough therapy to psychoanalyze yourself, and it’s not hard to see what you were going for with this. Things are horrible. Things were horrible for a long time before today, but the sun is still rising, and the sunrise is still beautiful. And it’s a lot easier to see now, with all the other stuff out of the way.

“That’s not paint.”

You weren’t expecting Shimura to say anything, and you weren’t expecting him to pay attention to what you’re doing. But when you look back over your shoulder, you see him staring, his phone set aside, the lid of his laptop shut. “It’s not paint,” you say. “Just my quirk.”

“How does it work?” Shimura asks. You turn back to your mural, and you hear him get to his feet. A moment later he’s standing beside you, answering his own question. “You can change the color of things you touch. And decide how long it stays that way.”

“Yeah.” After using it your whole life, you’re pretty good at it. You can fine-tune stuff, enough to add shading to the buildings and the rubble at the sides and bottom of the mural without compromising the light from the sunrise. “Not a very powerful quirk.”

“You could still cause trouble,” Shimura says. You could. And you did. “This is how you got your charges, isn’t it? Stuff like this.”

“Graffiti? Yeah,” you say. You remember the rush you got the first time you tagged something, the first time you spilled your thoughts and feelings in a way no one could ignore. “Except when you do that, you get charged with trespassing and vandalism, and when they figure out they can’t remove it, you get charged with destruction of property. Throw in malicious unlicensed quirk usage and – boom. Felonies.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Me or them?”

“Giving somebody a felony for painting stuff on walls.” Shimura studies what you’ve done so far. “All of these have been yours, right? Is this the same stuff you were painting before?”

“Not always,” you say. This conversation falls under your NCRA obligations, but it doesn’t feel like it’s the reason Shimura’s asking – and it’s not the reason you’re telling him. “When I first got into it, it was just words or sentences. Stuff I couldn’t figure out how to say out loud. The first time I really got busted, it was for tagging the side of my parents’ house.”

“Your parents called the cops on you?”

“And pressed charges,” you say. He’s staring at you again. You pretend you don’t notice and fuss over the shoreline in the mural. “I got better at it when I was older. The art got better, anyway. But I got in more trouble because of where I put it. And I guess what was in it.”

“Anything I’d have seen?”

“I don’t know. Where did you hang around?” you ask. You got booked in most of the big cities in Japan during your criminal career. “Uh, I did the UA barrier. The one with the – you know.”

“The human shields?” Shimura bursts out laughing. “Did you have a sibling in Eraserhead’s class or something?”

“No, I just thought it was stupid to do the Sports Festival a week after what happened,” you say. Shimura snickers. “It felt like they were using the kids as props to distract from how much of a mistake they’d made, and I was mad about a lot of other stuff, too, and – yeah. I kind of went off.”

You really went off. There’s no other way to describe triggering the UA barrier on purpose at two am so you could make a crude mural of All Might, Endeavor, Hawks, and Best Jeanist hiding behind a bunch of kids in school uniforms. Shimura is still snickering. “Damn. I’m surprised they call you nonviolent with how bad you hurt their feelings.”

“They had to replace the whole barrier,” you say, and Shimura wheezes. “I’m not trying to be funny.”

“No, but it is funny.” Shimura glances at you over the edge of his mask. “And now you run a coffee shop and make things like this.”

He looks away from you, back to the mural. “Is this something real? It looks familiar,” he says. Before you can answer, his eyes widen, and he says it himself. “Kamino Ward. Why would you paint it like that?”

“It’s how I see it in my head. Or how I feel it. I don’t really know.” You reach out and use the tip of your index finger to highlight one of the buildings that’s still standing in sunrise gold. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Shimura reaches out and touches it with one gloved hand. “People are going to be pissed at you.”

“If they recognize it.” You’re not too worried. “Most people just look at the colors.”

“I recognized it.”

“You’re not most people.”

You instantly wish you hadn’t said a word. Shimura Tenko glances at you quickly, then looks back to the mural. “Yeah,” he says. “I was there.”

Your stomach drops. “You were?” you repeat hopelessly, and he nods without looking your way. “I’m sorry. It’s – insensitive. I’ll take it down –”

“No.” Shimura catches your wrist before you can make contact with the mural. “Leave it. I was gone for this part. It’s a nice view. The horizon, I mean.”

That’s your favorite part, and you’re not even done with it yet. “I still have some stuff to add,” you say. Shimura nods but doesn’t let go of your wrist. You pull at it slightly. “I need this back.”

“Fuck. Sorry.” Shimura recoils like you’ve burned him, then backs away. Way too far away. You’d say he was making fun of you, except you can see his eyes over the mask, and they’re expressive in spite of his complete lack of eyebrows. “Sorry. I don’t usually – touch people.”

“It’s okay.” Your wrist feels tingly where his hand made contact, and there are butterflies in your stomach. He doesn’t usually touch people, but he touched you. “Thanks for stopping me.”

Shimura turns away completely. “I have to work.”

“Yeah. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“I know.” Shimura slides back into his booth. You turn back to put the finishing touches on your mural.

He’s right about it. In the hour left before you close, at least one customer who trickles in gives you a hard time for putting up something so upsetting. You listen to his concerns, but you stick to your guns, and when he sits down to wait for his order, you see him watching it. Just like Shimura is, the screen of his laptop long since gone dark.

SHIGARAKI >:D!!!! Red tinted :D!!

If you can show your appreciation somehow, please do!!! (if you use)

Red (Tomura Shigaraki x F!Reader) [Soulmate AU]

Words: 12k // mdni

Tw: reader is Aizawa's daughter, soulmate au (you get the same mark when you touch your soulmate, plus other things), angst, depression due to separation, hero/villain conflict, trapped together in flashbacks, miscommunication, abuse/grooming (afo duh), Shiggy being disguised as Tenko and attending a day at UA with you, hell lot of complicated feelings, very Canon divergent: timeline wise, league doesn't exist yet but they are in their 3rd year, let me say it again... angst, bit skippy and I am so bad with tenses so I hope this is sound, reader's quirk is some telepathy stuff mixed with her dad's quirk erasure

Teaser: Tomura agreed because when you would see how he massacred his family then you won't be nice to him anymore and he won't feel so conflicted because of it. When you see how happy he was… you will be a hero again and hate him. Just like the rest.

Note pls read: this has been in the drafts since June last year. I don't intend on making a part 2. It is up to you how the story ends ♡

"You're okay! Thank god."

You don't think you have ever seen your father this relieved your entire life. He pulls you into his body, wrapping you protectively in his embrace and you start crying almost instantly. You break… finally, inevitably.

You have been locked in that room with Tomura Shigaraki 3 days ago and now you don't think you can ever be yourself again. 3 days that transformed your very core forever. It is too much to comprehend. You can never go back and it is so very apparent.

You felt for the body next to you in the pitch black darkness. You checked for a pulse and let out a relieved sigh feeling the strong thumps on the person's neck. "Hey, wake up!" You shook the person while simultaneously looking for the flashlight you carried in your belt. You thought it was a civilian or a pro you didn't see.

“What happened?" A breathy voice rang your way. You froze immediately. It was a dooming suspicion that manifested in your bones, that you did not want to entertain in such a dire situation. You found the flashlight and turned it on, seeing the red coat. Your suspicions turned to truths in a matter of seconds, leaving you terrified and vulnerable just like that.

A sharp inhale rippled through you as you jumped back and immediately activated your quirk. Shigaraki. Of all people. He reached for you and grabbed your wrist but you could fight him off, running to the other side of the room.

"I don't need my quirk to kill you!" He yelled.

"We are trapped! Be reasonable for a moment!" You yelled right back. He still charged for you and you used your scarf to trip him, then tied his hands behind his back.

"Bitch!" He hissed. “Fucking– bitch!’

"Freak! We are in serious danger. Calm down. You can try and kill me when we make it out of here."

"I will!" He rolled over and brought his legs up to slip his tied hands to the front. "I promise you that, hero scum!"

"Did any of your people see us? Because I think none of mine did," you asked him and untied him again, staying on guard but he just walked to the door.

"No. But just give me my quirk back, little Eraserhead, and we are out of here," he groaned with annoyance like you should have figured that out yourself already.

You did give him his quirk back but stayed alert. You couldn't trust he wouldn't just turn around and kill you. He reached for the door but then exclaimed in pain and was hurled through the air, hitting another wall where he was electrocuted again. He dropped to the floor in the middle of the room, breathing heavily and twitching.

You knelt beside him. "You good?"

"Peachy!" His voice had a shrill to it as he hissed. "What now?"

"I… I don't know."

You really were trapped.

"Guess we will have to make due until someone finds us," he shrugged and reached for your utility belt. "What do you have in there?"

"Hey!" You grabbed his wrist. "Personal space? Ever heard of it?"

"Tch."

"I have protein bars and liquid packs," you got them out and gave one to him. "We should ration."

"Yeah, shit," he rolled his eyes. "I've played survival games before. This thing is like Batman's utility belt, or what?” He pulled a little first aid kid out.

You frowned. He didn't seem all that hostile anymore. “Yeah… that was the inspiration,” you admitted to him.

There was a long moment of silence between you before you spoke again. "We thought you were working with the lab guys, but that's out of the picture now. What were you doing here?"

"Is this an interrogation? I'm not dumb!"

"I'm just trying to talk," you whispered and hugged your legs. "If I think about the fact we are trapped in here with nobody knowing where we are–"

"Your father is Eraserhead. Shut up. He will find you."

You looked at him. Was that his way of comforting you? It felt like it.

"You like my dad, right? I can get you an autograph," you smiled at him.

Tomura didn't understand. Why would you smile at him? He is horrible and you know that. "Shut up!" He felt warmth creep into his cheeks. "I just think he's cool… for a hero. He's still ass and has to die."

"Shigaraki escaped," Endeavor grunts with frustration. "He always finds a way."

You hold your fathers jacket tighter.

You hate yourself.

You feel relief Tenko got away.

》》》》

"Hey," Aizawa knocks on your door and walks into your room. "Can we talk?"

It's been a week since you returned home safe and sound. He can't imagine how you must have felt these 3 days. A part of him does not want to know… the other makes up the worst scenarios.

You have been quiet and distant ever since and it doesn't help with the fear and rage that your father holds. Of course, it was to be expected. He will give you as much time as you need, but you need to talk to him to get better.

You are just sitting on the bed. Your phone is on your desk and the TV is off too. Your face is pale and apathetic but you nod.

Aizawa sits on the floor in front of you, trying to not let his worry show too much. "Do you want to talk, kiddo?"

"Talk about what?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

"About what happened? About Tomura Shigaraki," there is no easier way to approach this. Sadly. If Shota could, he would take all of this hardship from you. You are just a kid, you are his kid. You should not have to go through this. He never wanted you to be a hero.

He sees how you grip the pillow on your lap tighter at the mention of that name. Your eyes blink rapidly and you breathe heavier.

"There's nothing to talk about," you say and turn your back to him, curling up. You feel like your bed swallows you, like it opens up and eats you whole. How could you ever go back to your life? How could you tell your father? It is so hopeless.

Tomura Shigaraki. That's not even his name. And no one but you knows. They don't care. Tenko is right about that. They just don't.

You thought about his question. "Well, I guess, my biggest secret is that in Hosu… we fought Stain and we didn't have our licence yet so the police lied about it."

Tomura's lip turned into a snarl and his eyes narrowed. "Really that's it? Lame. And I watched the whole thing… You got beat up.”

You looked at him, a small smile tugging on your lips. "Then do better, cmon."

Tomura thought. "I killed m–"

"I know you kill. That isn't a secret."

"Tch," he rolled his eyes and crammed through his mind. "Tomura Shigaraki is not my name. Sensei gave it to me. I only recently remembered that." He looked at his hands and swallowed. “I think I have a fucked up brain or something.”

He could see that this piqued your interest. He won this game. This stupid game. Your big eyes darted at him. "Will you tell me what your actual name is?" You asked.

“No.”

“Pretty please,” you turned your body fully toward his. “I am nosy! You can't just say that and now back out!”

“No chance.”

“Pretty please, Tomura-kun.”

“Pff.”

“I can guess. Satoru– that's too basic–”

"Tenko Shimura." He had to tell you. He knew it wasn't smart but you looked too cute not to. Your little pout and sparkling eyes.

"It fits better than Tomura Shigaraki," you uttered, looking at him with so much attention that he started to become nervous. "Did your friends call you Ten?"

"I told you I have no friends."

"But did Tenko have friends?"

He had to think, like he needed to put effort into remembering. Maybe his brain really was damaged. "They did call me–," he said with a chilling realization. "I had friends."

You frowned, head tilting to one side. "Well, this means, you turned into Tomura Shigaraki? You weren't always like this–"

"Like what? Disgusting? Gross? Evil? Like what?!" He got irritated so quickly.

You took a deep breath and it reminded him to do the same. "You haven't always been a villain. You haven't always been lonely."

"Pff. You haven't always been–"

"I have," you said proudly, crossing your arms. "I have always looked out for my friends and the weaker kids and protected them from bullies."

"Well," he shot back like you are two kids having an argument in the sandbox. "I did that too! Mikkun und Tomo always said 'you're really nice, Ten.' And when we played heroes they said I should be All Might because I protected everyone–"

You looked at him with that softness again that made his skin crawl in a whole different way. "But you are wrong. I was born to destroy. And at home… I was always lonely. As Tenko and as Tomura. When I killed my family… I was happy," he laughed.

You looked at him with a black face. He wished you would have looked horrified, would have scolded him or something but there was no judgment in your gaze at all. Heroes always looked at him with hatred… it was strange. "Can I see?" You asked blankly, raising your hand.

"Okay," your father sighs. "Talk to me when you are ready. Okay?"

"Okay," you whisper and tears shoot into your eyes. You feel so guilty and ashamed. How could you tell him? How could you tell anyone that you feel so sorry for the villain they all want to take down? They all think he deserves no mercy? They hate him. But Tenko doesn't even deserve it. He needs help. He needs to be saved.

Your father is a hero. You are a hero.

But you cannot forget what you saw. A little boy crying for help in his abusive home, a boy who was not at fault for his quirk awakening when he was in a fragile emotional state, a boy who killed his family by accident but then was groomed into believing it was what he wanted to do.

Tomura agreed because when you would see how he massacred his family then you won't be nice to him anymore and he won't feel so conflicted because of it. When you see how happy he was… you will be a hero again and hate him. Just like the rest.

You used your quirk on him in a different way, digging in his mind until you saw what happened that day. He could watch how your face twisted with horror, your eyes glossing over, how sick you felt because of what he had done. Now you will stop–

But that never happened.

Tomura stopped breathing when your arms closed around him. It happened so fast. You crouched closer and embraced him, holding him so tightly. The only one who had hugged him was sensei and it was a different kind of hug than this. You squeezed even tighter and Tomura felt something inside of him break, something that was under lock and key but now fell apart thanks to your hug.

"What are you doing?"

"I am sorry," you whispered against his shoulder. "I am so sorry, Tomura. I am so sorry all of that happened to you. I am so sorry, Tenko."

"I am sorry," you whisper and Shota stops at the door. He should have never allowed you to become a hero. He should have protected you better. His heart breaks.

"There is nothing you need to be sorry for," he says. "Shigaraki will be the one who's sorry." Whatever happened, whatever he has done, he will pay the price for hurting you.

》》》》

You are sitting in class, but your mind is somewhere far away. What is Tenko doing right now? Is he okay? Did he get hurt? You hate not knowing. You hate that you care so much it makes you feel sick. You rub at your wrist. It shouldn't. He is a villain. And you're a hero.

"What are you doing?" Shigaraki asked when you wrapped your cloth around your arms.

"I am cold," you sighed, sitting back down. It's been about 6 hours of silence by now.

"Tch," he rolled his eyes.

"Don't be a gentleman and offer me your coat. It looks way too good on you."

Shigaraki looked up again, "w-what?"

"Red really suits you," you said, smiling softer. "I like it on you."

"You like it on me?" He pondered on that for a moment. "Just shut up. Don't make fun of me."

"Someone can't take compliments."

It was the first compliment he has ever gotten. So that was a lie. He never had to take a compliment so he can't be bad at it… right? He didn't get what you were saying is all.

"I bet your boyfriend wouldn't appreciate–"

"My boyfriend?" You laughed.

"I thought– Deku."

"No… we are just friends. Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend?"

You could see how that question offended him. His lips turned into a tight line and his breath came in more ragged.

"Are you making fun of me again?!"

"N-no? It was genuine?" You stammered.

He calmed down immediately, "oh. Well, no. I'm… alone all the time… I never meet people."

You thought for a while, "doesn't that get lonely?"

"Tch," he rolled his eyes. "Villain's don't care if they are lonely!"

“But humans do?” Your eyebrows pinched. “Right?”

How would Tomura know? “Just shut up already….”

"(Y/N)?" Izuku stands before your desk, smiling. You look around realizing only then that class has ended.

"Y-yes?" You start to pack your things.

"Are we still on for tonight?"

You freeze. Izuku and you meet up every Wednesday to study and just hang out. It's been like this ever since you started school.

"Can I rain check you?" You just can't see yourself pretending like you want to hang out. You don't. You want to crawl into your bed and rot.

Izuku's face says it all. But you don't care.

"See you tomorrow," you say and walk past him out of the classroom.

"You have no friends at all?" You asked. It was hard to fathom. There had to be someone.

"There is sensei and Kurogiri," Shigaraki shrugged. "But… that's it."

"We can be friends–"

"I will kill you!" He snapped.

"We can be friends until someone comes to rescue us," you finished your sentence. "Just for now? I'd feel better if I'd be stuck here with a friend, you know."

"That's so dumb."

"Maybe that's why you don't have friends."

Shigaraki looked up with darting eyes, he looked like a lost puppy and you felt bad for your comment.

"No, you are right," you backtracked. "How can we be friends when we don't know anything about each other."

Silence. The silence lasted but you couldn't tell for how long. It may have been minutes or hours or days.

"Well, what's your favorite color?" he eventually asked.

You smiled to yourself, "it's red. Are we playing 20 questions?”

》》》》

Shota is desperate. It's been months. He hasn't heard you laugh, only seen you smile when you absolutely have to. You don't hang out with your friends anymore, you don't care about anything. You are a shell. Therapy is not leading anywhere, your grades are dropping, you dropped your hero internship too. During hero training you do the bare minimum. You are just so hopeless.

"I can cancel the mission–"

"You don't have to," you say. "I'll pick Eri up, make dinner and put her to bed. It's no big deal."

Shota nods. "Okay." He hesitates for a moment but then decides to ask. "Hey, I have noticed you are still wearing your winter uniform and tracksuit. Is anything wrong with your summer clothes?"

You tense instantly, playing with the hem of your sleeves. "N-no. It's nothing. I think I just prefer long sleeve shirts."

He pauses. "Alright." He would know if you would hurt yourself. He would know. It still fills him with unease. "I am back as soon as possible. We could go to the aquarium this weekend? We haven't been in quite some time. Yamada suggested it."

"Yeah," you nod. "Eri would love that."

Shota looks at you with softness. That is not the point. You are supposed to enjoy yourself again. "You can ask Midoriya to come if you want. You haven't been hanging out?"

"Well, we're not really close anymore. So, no. You will be late, dad. You should go." You don't want to talk about Izuku… you know you have made it hard but you never thought he would just abandon you altogether. He never even tried helping.

Not close anymore? You were inseparable.

He leans down and kisses the top of your head. "I love you, kiddo."

"Hm. Love you, too."

You can function when you need to. So you do all the chores then pick Eri up from uncle Yamada enduring his upbeat mood for a moment.

It is hard.

Your soul has no purpose like this. It's all so heavy.

"(Y/N)?" Eri says as you are sitting on the bus. You keep rubbing your wrist. "Do you have a soulmate mark?"

"No!" You shoot. "I don't. It's a mosquito bite."

"Oh, okay. Wouldn't it be cool? Finding your person? Maybe you'd be happy again," she babbles innocently and you want to burst into tears.

You will never be happy again… you will never be happy again as long as he is–

You take a deep breath and take Eri's hand. "Yeah maybe. Who do you think it may be?"

"Deku-kun or Miro-kun!"

"You just say that because you like them so much," you force a smile.

"I hope it's not Neito!" She crosses her arms.

You play with her for a bit then make dinner and put her to bed. You don't close the door fully so it stays open just a gap and then you stand in the dark hallway, feeling the weight of the world crash down on you. Your face grimaces as you try to not cry too loud, holding onto your wrist.

You don't want to go to the aquarium.

His head was resting in your lap and you just stroked through his hair. "Hold on a little longer. Please, Ten," you whispered. You leaned down and gingerly kissed his forehead. "Someone will save us…. Jus hold on."

You could feel his face twist into a soft smile and he reached out, touching your hair. "Y-you are… so… gentle."

You felt tears slip from your eyes. You were so scared to lose him then. Oxygen running out with every breath you took.

You were so scared to be separated, by death no less.

But with how hard life is now, you cannot help but wonder if that would have been mercy.

》》》》

Shota doesn't know what to do. He is at his wits end. You are a completely different person. He misses your smile, he misses your jokes and determination, he misses your optimism and positive attitude, that you don't take things so serious and always find the joke.

And now… now he is looking at the college application you put in and feels like it all comes crashing down finally, eventually. You didn't apply for a single hero branch.

You walk into the kitchen and open the fridge, looking inside then closing it again.

"(Y/N), sit," your father says with that tone; the sensei tone.

You look at the sheet in his hand and sigh to yourself then plop down on the chair next to Eri. "What? Anything wrong?"

"What is this?" He puts the list down. "Psychology? Human resources? Medical welfare? Criminology? Quirk research? And soul science?! Soul science?!!"

You shrug, "what?"

"You want to be a hero! You have always wanted to be a hero," Shota says.

You and Shigaraki were nearing the 24 hour mark. "Why do you want to be a hero so bad? Because of your dad?" It was his turn to ask a question.

"No. Not because of him. I just believe that some people need saving and others can save. And I can save," you said.

Shigaraki was quiet for a long moment again. "And do people always know they need saving?" He mumbled.

"No… some times they don't."

"But then why does no hero try to save villains? What if villains don't know they need saving?"

You kept quiet, thinking about it. Your heart sank and your stomach twisted. He was right. Have you ever been told to save the villain? Despite all they might have done, they are still human. "I-I don't know."

"I guess that's why we're heroes and villains," he chuckled. "Your turn," he looked at you.

"(Y/N)--"

"Dad," you meet his worried eyes for the first time in so long. "I don't think I can be a good hero anymore. That is all."

"But that is not true."

"You saved me," Eri smiles. "I think you're a great hero."

"Deku and Miro saved you," you say sharply.

Eri frowns. You were there too. You helped a lot. Eri remembers.

"(Y/N), that is not the problem. You are running away from something and it can't go on like this!"

You are. You are trying to run from the inevitable. It terrifies you to the bone. You look at the table and clench your jaw. You don't want to cry.

It must have been about 40 hours and you realized that you were running out of oxygen. It was after the hug, after finding out Tomura Shigaraki's origin.

Who Tenko Shimura was.

You were running out of things to ask each other too.

You have discovered that you like a lot of similar things. He is a gamer, he denies it but he likes shoujo animes just like yourself, he is a picky eater and you are both really fascinated by sharks.

"What's your type?" You asked in a whisper, laying on the floor beside him.

He didn't answer right away. "Well," he cleared his throat, embarrassed or shy. "Kinda you. Just not a hero."

You turned your head to look at him. Your flashlight was about to die and only gave off the slither of a glow at this point. It is so dim but you can still see his blush. "It's the lack of oxygen, isn't it?" You chuckled.

"No. You are cool… for a hero."

"Like you think my dad is cool?" You raised an eyebrow.

"No! That's weird! It's my turn to ask now!"

You giggled. His mouth dropped open as he feels your giggle crawl inside his chest and nest there.

"Do you believe in soulmates?" He whispers, like asking this was scary.

"How couldn't I? I mean, they are real," you said. "My parents were soulmates… my dads mark is almost gone now… it keeps fading since she died."

"Oh."

"Yeah," you sighed softly. "Do you believe in soulmates?"

He thought for a moment. "No."

"Why?"

"Do you have a crush on Deku?" Tenko asked instead as it was his turn.

"Why are you so caught up on Deku and me?"

"So you do?" It was ridiculous how it made him feel. Like he lost something.

"I don't know. Sometimes I look at him and I feel a tug in my chest. But… only sometimes."

"Hm."

"So, why don't you believe in soulmates? There is proof."

He stayed quiet.

"Imagine we'd be soulmates. How funny would that be," you grinned. "Then us getting locked in here together is just our conjunction event."

"Shut up," he hugged his legs, laying his head down on his knees.

You sat up and he startled alert, watching with a frown tugged on his face how you scooted closer. You knelt before him, a softness on your face that made his blood boil and then the flashlight gave up. The room fell into pitch black darkness. He couldn't even see you anymore despite you being so close.

"(Y/N)?" He whispered, knowing you are there but needing confirmation.

He felt how you got even closer and then pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Tomura held his breath, feeling all these things he has never felt before. It was a tsunami crashing down on him.

You sit back but then Tomura reaches out and touches your hand, a soft brush of his fingers against your knuckles. Nothing more. He could hear you gasp.

And then, it suddenly was as bright as daylight in the small room. You both felt the rush, the tingle in your veins as the red string manifested between you, becoming something tangible in the form of your soulmate marks manifesting on your wrists. Your skin was glowing in beautiful glittering golds and iridescents. Your eyes fracturing the sparks to a million specs. Magic. Love.

Tomura moved back and you did too, eyes daring at the mark on your skin that slowly started to settle.

You stayed silent in the cold darkness that followed.

You rub the mark under your sweater. "Can I go?"

"No. Not until you tell me what is going on. You said that Shigaraki didn't touch–"

"Dad– nothing happened. It's not about that!"

"No excuses anymore. You have to get out of this depression you are in."

"Leave me alone!" You yell and get up so quickly the chair falls over. "I can't tell you!"

"Why?" Shota blinks. He has never seen you like this. You have a great relationship. You used to talk about everything.

"Because you're a hero!" Your voice breaks and tears spill from your eyes. You wipe your face and go to your room, ignoring him.

But he doesn’t drop it. He follows you upstairs. "What does me being a hero have anyone to do with this? I am your father. That's what I am at my core. What I am first and foremost, always!"

You shake your head, "if I'd tell you, you would treat it as a hero and villain thing!"

"How can you know if you don't tell me? Kiddo, please. You are suffering… let me help!" He takes your hand and gives it a squeeze. "You will always be my baby. Nothing can change that. Nothing."

You look at him, eyes filled with hot tears. "I… I…–" you are about to show him the mark when his phone rings. It's an emergency. He can't… he has to…

He looks at you, then the phone. Being a hero or being a father. Is this what you mean?

"Go. They need you," you tell him soberly. "I'll tell you later."

He sighs. "I love you," he kisses your head again like he always does, pulling you into his chest. "We will talk later. Promise?

"Love you, too," you squeeze. "Promise."

He leaves and you and Eri decide to watch a movie then it is time for bed. You tug her in then walk to your room, rubbing your eyes. You reach for the doorknob and stop.

It is like a charge, like a current. Like something is waiting behind the door, someone. You slowly open it, on guard, but you still freeze seeing the figure standing in your room.

Tomura stands there, slouching, looking at you with wide eyes. He doesn't know what he is doing. He shouldn't be here. But it got unbearable. It got worse than any itch. These past months were absolute hell.

"Tenko?" You whisper, turning on the lights. You gasp seeing him, hands flying to your mouth in utter shock. He is covered in wounds, blood even seeping from the corner of his mouth.

"Don't call me that," he hisses. He shouldn't be here. Sensei will kill you. Sensei said he will kill you, that soulmates are just a burden, but Tomura is aching in ways only you can sooth.

"Erase my qu-irk," he chokes out and takes a tumble forward, hands reaching toward you. "Please!" He needs to touch you.

You move so quickly, eyes glowing for a moment as you prope inside of his mind to cut his brain from using his quirk, catching him before he falls and then he just holds you, cups your face first and then hugs you so tightly you mold together.

Silent tears roll down your cheeks, dampening his coat. The void in your chest fills up slowly, you can breathe again. He is crying too, he can't do it silently, and the smallest sobs get caught in your hair.

"How badly are you hurt?" You want to pull away but he won't let you.

"Ten, please. Let me help you."

"Needed to see you," he sobs. "Couldn't stay away… couldn't stay away… I couldn't forget… you."

You pull away by force now, cupping his face and brushing away his sticky hair. "I'm so happy you are here," you tell him, smiling and crying all that once.

He is mesmerized. You are everything. You are the blood in his veins and the air in his lungs and he has been dead this entire time. He doesn't want that you pull away from him, but you pry his hands off and run out of the room coming back with a first aid kit and damp towels.

"Do I want to know what happened?" You ask, pulling off his coat. You clean him up, not able to help the smile. You are so happy, every missing piece just clicks into place. So easily. It is just him.

"N-no. Y-you wouldn't smile at me anymore," he husks. You would hate him. He knows you would. He regrets it so much. "How can you smile at me at all?"

Your soulmate marks burned but you kept quiet for a long while in the utter darkness of your prison.

"So why don't you believe in soulmates?" You asked again, your voice is faint. "I kinda deserve to know now."

"Who would want to be my soulmate," he heaves.

You take his hand, rubbing over his knuckles with the cloth. You stop and look at him, your eyes glow again which means you pulled your quirk away. Tomura tenses and wants to pull his hand away. What if he kills you too?

But you don't allow it and bring his hand to your face, kissing his knuckles softly. You turn his hand around so his palm is facing the ceiling and kiss the mark at his wrist next.

Tomura starts to sob, body falling limp. How can you do that? You are a hero and he is a villain. He just cries ugly tears until they run dry. Your gentle, warm affection incapacitating him entirely.

You stitch him up, give him painkillers and something warm to eat. And now you are just sitting in front of your bed on the floor, leaning against it. It is quiet, has been for a moment and he finally looks up at you.

"Hi," he says, smiling with exhaustion.

You let out a laugh. "Hi."

"I can't believe you have an All Might poster up on your wall," he rasps. "You're a degenerate."

You laugh again. "What's on your walls? Posters of my dad?"

"Nothing. I don't even have a window;" he chuckles.

"No wonder you're so pale," you grin.

He chuckles again. Your eyes are glued to each other. You couldn't look away even if you wanted to. It would be impossible.

Shota sighs and puts his goggles down on the kitchen table. Nothing of what just happened made sense. But that Shigaraki got away again makes Shota angry. Angry in a way that concerns him. Heroes don't want revenge. But when he thinks about you… He feels like he needs to avenge you.

Why would he break into a soul science facility? What did he steal? For what reason? Shota sighs deeply and washes his hands. That doesn't matter now. That's work. He has to take care of his girls now.

He checks on Eri first, she's soundly asleep, then walks to your room. He stops dead when he hears you laugh. The sound is so foreign these days that it stings for a second before utter relief floods through his chest. The laugh turns into a giggle. Shota could cry. But then he realizes that you aren't alone. That a second voice comes from your room.

He would be mad under any other circumstances but you are laughing, genuinely laughing. He listening more closely, trying to figure out if it is someone he knows but you keep your voices hushed.

"You can stay… please stay," you tell Tenko, drawing patterns on his soulmate mark.

"Y-your father– I can't–"

The floorboards creak outside of your room and Tomura jumps up in panic. You grab his hand, squeezing tightly. "Trust me."

And he wants to. He wants to lay his life in your hands if he had a choice but he prepares to attack, prepares for the worst. Because what are you thinking? And because that's what he knows. Eraserhead hates him. Eraser and him were aiming to kill each other just a few hours ago.

Your father knocks then walks in. He looks at you then the boy beside you.

Tomura's face twists in confusion at the reaction or the lack thereof.

"It's pretty late to have someone over I don't know, don't you think?" He says but you know your dad and his tone is not angry at all.

"Dad," you take a deep breath, calming your own nerves. "This is Tenko Shimura. We met at group therapy."

Tomura looks at you. Are you changing the way Eraserhead perceives him? With your quirk that is a possibility. It must be. It's the only explanation for this. He needs to play along.

"H-hello, sir," Tomura steps forward and bows. "I am sorry we meet like this."

Shota scans the boy. Deep black hair, scars, his appearance is unkempt, baggy clothes, skinny and pale. Poor kid, he thinks.

"Ten… uhm, got into a fight," you mention to the first aid kit. "He knew we learn how to patch up wounds at U.A. so he came to me."

You look at your dad, praying that he believes you.

"How bad is it?" He asks. "Recovery Girl is still up."

"Not that bad," Tomura heaves. He is focusing so much energy on standing.

"Don't lie," you snap at him and he looks at you like a guilty puppy. A friend? No. This familiarity is different. "We should go to her. It's just a kiss."

"A kiss?" Tomura shrieks. He did not even have his first kiss and now some lady will kiss him to heal him. "I don't– I don't know."

"On the cheek," Shota chuckles.

"Oh."

You giggle and wrap your arm around Tenko's waist, supporting him. He can hardly walk. Your dad makes two observations. That he is a friend is bullshit. And the fight wasn't just some rumble between kids. That boy is hurt

"What fight did you get into, Shimura?"

"Uhm," he looks at you with question.

"Dad," you shake your head and blink in a way you haven't for months. It was the 'dad, I tell you later. Just play along' face. A face you used to give him way too much.

"Understood."

"What do we have here?" Recovery Girl coaxes you all inside as you arrive. "Or who do we have here? Are you Miss (Y/N) boyfriend?"

"I– uh–" Tomura looks at you. "N-no?"

Shota has to hold back the laugh. "Is that a question or an answer, son?" He says.

"Really funny, dad," you rolled your eyes.

He smiles.

"Well, then, (Y/N)'s maybe boyfriend, come here and sit," Recovery Girl pats the hospital bed. "Let me check you out first, ah, but I see you have already been cared for. Oh, what is this?"

"What?" Your face falls flat in worry and you move to Tenko's side immediately. "Did I miss something?"

"N-no. That is old," Tomura says under a breath.

You now see the huge bruise on his chest and you meet his eyes, worry and question in your gaze.

"I see," Recovery Girl says, glancing over at Shota for a second then going right back to caring for Tenko.

You watch with a smile how awkward he is, not knowing how to react to Recovery Girls witty care. It is adorable.

When it is all done he can stand and walk on his own again. "T-thank you, Miss Recovery Girl," Tomura bows.

She chuckles. "I don't ever want to see you beat up like that again, boy! Understood?"

"Understood?" He forces a smile on his lips.

You walk out of the office.

"How about you stay the night?" Shota says. "It is very late. I will call your parents."

Tenko looks at you then back to Shota. "I… I don't want to–"

"Ten, it's okay," you smile. "Stay?"

He takes a deep breath. "Okay. You don't have to call my parents, sir."

Shota looks at you and you give him that look again.

"You get the couch ready. I still need to shower," Shota says and leaves into the bathroom.

You and Tenko look at each other and wait until the shower is running to talk.

"What is going on?" He says calmly.

You plop down on the couch and rub your temples. "I am changing the way people perceive you."

So he got it right. That must be extremely tiring.

"I need to go."

"Do you want to go?" You look at him.

Of course not. He wants to be with you. All the time. He enjoys every second of this… of you. But sensei will be so mad. And… he knows this is so risky.

You reach out and stroke through his pale hair.

He just gives up, laying on the couch, head in your lap. Of course he doesn't want to go. He does not ever want to leave you. You are everything to him. The sun and the moon and the entire sky. He has no resolve.

You play with his hair, softly scratching at his scalp and he sighs. "This won't end well." He is not talking about this persona you are making up. He is talking about All For One punishing him. But he takes all the punishment for some more time with you.

You lean down and kiss his nose. His crimson eyes are huge blood moons, staring at you.

"Let's make your bed," you say and get him to get up, pulling the sofa out so it becomes a bed. You find the spare pillows and blanket and make it as comfortable for him as possible.

"Here, that should fit," Shota gives Tenko some pants and an old shirt. "Goodnight, then." Shota waits for you.

"Goodnight, Ten," you smile softly.

"G-Goodnight."

Your dad follows you into your room where you quickly hide Tomura's coat under your bed. Your heart pounds.

"So?" You two sit down on your bed.

"Well, his dad… he's not treating him well," you say. It's not even a lie, not entirely.

"He gets abused in his home?"

You shrug. "He won't say… but I am sure."

"Does the police know?"

"I don't think so. It is complicated, dad. His experiences with the authorities and heroes haven't been the best." You explain, not lying at all. "He only knows to get into fights and be reckless… but… he's really okay, dad. If you give him a chance to be…. He is like the stray cats you feed… he wants to be good but he doesn't know how."

Shota sighs. You really like that boy… that is undeniable. “Were you afraid I wouldn't accept him?”

Your eyes shoot up, caught red handed right there. “I… I have made you worry so much… I did not know if you would blame Ten for how I am. His circumstances are complicated and when you don't know him you could think he's… A bad guy.”

He has just heard you talk more than these past months. "Where does he go to school?"

Your face grimaces. "He doesn't."

"What do you mean? He has to go to school?"

"Well, I said it's complicated. I really mean it. He… he doesn't have a lot of choices. He doesn't have a family…no one to help him… and he can hardly accept help from me due to his bad experiences. I am glad he chose to come here tonight…. I'm so glad–” your voice hiccups.

Shota swallows. He reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. "Okay, let's, together… see what we can do… but he can only be helped if he trusts proper authorities."

"And what if those authorities have let him down and allowed this to happen?" You ask.

Shota looks at you with a frown.

You close the distance between your dad and yourself and hug him before he can think too much about it. He is so taken by surprise that his eyes tingle with tears.

"Thank you, dad," you whisper. "For letting him stay tonight."

"Of course."

》》》》

Tomura has been awake for a while. He knows he should leave. He knows that sensei will punish him for staying away for so long already. But… he just wants to see you one more time. One more time before cutting the connection with you once and for all.

Like you hear his silent call you appear at the stairs. You jump the last one and he frowns.

"It creaks," you whisper and he nods.

You look different. Hair messy and eyes sleepy. You are beautiful. Soft and looking like home. He hates these thoughts. It is stupid to want this. He could never have it.

"I was scared you'd already be gone," you tell him, sitting down on the pulled out couch before him. "How did you sleep?"

"Good," he whispers. He is so confused. Why does he feel okay? He shouldn't. He should use this and kill as many heroes and students who are around… he should.

Tomura wants to destroy all of this, every last bit. It is the only way, the only thing that will bring him peace.

You scoot closer and lay down. There's distance between you and him and he wishes it wouldn't be there. You look at each other, seeing right into each other's souls. There is no filter. Maybe it's just one soul?

You reach out and cup his face, your thumb traces softly on his cheek. His eyes flutter. "Do you have to go back?"

"I want to go back," he whispers.

"Do you?"

"Tch. I… I will destroy everything."

"Everything? Do you even know what that is?"

Tomura's words get stuck in his throat. He turns and his back is now facing you. What do you even mean? He will destroy everything because it is the only way to build a world where people like him can live an easier life. Everything means… just everything stemming from that house. You have seen it.

He feels how your arms slip around his waist, pulling him close. Your face nuzzles into his back.

"Tch." He melts into you, though. He hates it. He hates how he can't stop it, how he doesn't want to stop it. He wants you. He wants peace.

"Hmm?"

"You are annoying."

You are about to doze off. It feels so right to lay beside him. All the missing bits suddenly available. But you hear the little footsteps and pull away, sitting up.

Tomura is sad about that but he sits up too, looking at you then at the little girl that appears. She has hair the same shade as he does, red eyes too and a horn.

"(Y/N)?" She whispers and runs over into your arms. "Who is that?"

"My friend, don't you want to introduce yourself?"

She takes a moment to build the courage but then straightens up. "I am Eri, nice to meet you."

Tomura recognizes the name. It's the girl from Chisaki. The permanent quirk erasure. What is she doing in your house?

"I am To– Tenko," he nods.

"To-Tenko?"

You giggle and Eri looks at you with sparkling eyes.

"Just Tenko," he says.

"Go pick out an outfit for the day then you can start your video game."

Eri doesn't hesitate and runs up the stairs.

"She is in her playing video games before school era. I know you know who she is."

Tomura stays quiet.

"You and her aren't all that different… she was just lucky and got saved," you say. "You just need to be saved too."

"Shut up," he says sharply and itches at his neck.

You look over your shoulder at him and lean closer, kissing his cheek. His eyes widen and he pushes you away, cheeks visibly flushing a bright pink.

"You're like a stray cat for real," you smile. "Accept the affection."

"Shut up!" He hides his face. He is just not used to it. He never has anyone close and suddenly it is you… you of all people… who is close… you.

You dress Eri then she runs and grabs the switch. "Maybe today I can finally figure it out!"

"Tenko can help you," you say. "He's a gamer." He looks at you with puppy eyes. "Right?"

"Y-yeah? What game is it?" He whispers.

"Spyro!"

"Spyro's cool. Where are you stuck?" His whole mood suddenly changes and he listens to Eri explain her dilemma. They settle on the couch and Tomura assists her with tips. She wants to do it herself and he can respect that.

You listen to them from the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

Your father never sleeps in but who knows how the emergency mission– you look at Tenko. They ran into each other last night, didn't they? It was him, your father responded too. Your father beat him up like that alongside the other heroes? Your stomach clenches

"Hhhhhiiii!" Eri exclaims. "I've done it!"

"Good job," Tenko smiles.

Eri raises her hand to give him a high five but Tenko turns his hand to a fist for a fist bump instead. Your heart sinks. He doesn't have to be a villain. Just seeing him like this proves it, does it not?

You clean up the living room and you talk Tomura into taking a shower. The three of you then brush your teeth together. You sit him down on the tub edge and stand between his legs. Tenko looks up at you with warm cheeks and big eyes. You start to blow dry his hair, smoothing it out with a brush.

No one has ever taken care of him like that. He can't even look at you.

"Do you want to drink something special?" You ask as you sit down for breakfast. "Any tea? Matcha? Hot chocolate?"

Tomura bites his tongue and looks at you. He can't possibly say it.

"Making you a hot chocolate," you chuckle and turn away.

"Thank you."

Eri chooses to sit down next to Tenko. She keeps staring at him until he feels uneasy. Can she see through your illusion? Eri stands on the chair and leans closer.

"Who are you?" She whispers.

"Tenko… (Y/N)'s friend," he gulps.

"Yes… but you have to have magic or a quirk or something because (Y/N) has been so sad and now you show up and now she isn't sad!"

Tomura looks at you. Have you suffered just as much? He hates that thought so much. Everything just hurts all the time. Tomura is used to it but you… you are not like him.

"Eri! Get–" Shota runs down the stairs, finally awake and thinking there is no way he would be on time, having to get Eri and himself and you ready. He stops dead, looking at the scene. Eri is already dressed and eating breakfast, you are making lunch boxes. He barely got you out of bed for months.

"Morning, dad," you smile.

"You could have woken me up."

Tomura watches how Eraserhead walks over, kissing Eri on the head and then you. Is that what a real dad does? Something inside Tomura hurts– no… inside Tenko.

"Good morning, Shimura. You slept okay?"

Tomura stares at Shota. "Y-Yes. Th– thank you for letting me stay."

"Hm."

You put breakfast on the table and everyone sits down and starts eating. Tomura is hesitant. He is lucky if he gets one meal a day and that is definitely not smelling as nice as what you cooked. He is a picky eater which might just be because he hardly ever gets variety in his food.

You watch from the corner of your eyes how Tomura starts to dig in. He is timid at first but after two bites he shovels the food in. You smile softly.

"Are you prepared for the test today?" Shota asks.

"Not really," you answer honestly.

He sighs.

"Can we go to the aquarium today? Can Tenko come?" You ask.

"Yes!!" Eri shouts.

"I… I really have to… get back, (Y/N)?" Tenko stammers.

Get back to what? Shota looks at the boy sitting at his table. He is eating like he hasn't had a home cooked meal in years and after what you told him… that probably is the case.

"Schools out at 1 today and then we go immediately… just for a little bit?"

Tenko sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. He can't say no to you. He has no resolve. That is a huge problem. It's such a big problem. He doesn't want to murder you, he can't say no, he doesn't want that you suffer…

"Okay… then let's go," Shota says. "Shimura, how about you go to school with us today?"

"W-what?"

"Yes!" You smile. He frowns at you. Do you not doubt him at all? What if he kills everyone? Why do you trust him like that?! "I can–"

"No. He will attend my class," your father shuts you down before you get your hopes up.

"Really?" You scoff.

"So… what do you say?"

Shota watches how Tenko looks at you, hoping for guidance. He nervously starts to itch at his neck.

"You might like it… going to school," you say with softness. "But if it's too much–"

"No! I… I guess I'll go?"

"Good," Aizawa nods.

You and Tomura go to your room to pick him a backpack and some supplies. He is so awkward but you are thankful he is willing to play along.

"Aren't you scared I'll kill someone?"

"Deku?" You grin.

Tomura scoffs.

"No… I am not," you smile and take his hand. "You wanna know what it's like."

"What is what like?" He looks at you wide eyed.

"Living?"

He scoffs again. No. No that isn't it. He sees this as a goodbye. He wants to spend as much time with you until… well.

"I know exactly what backpack you can have, Ten," you tell him and rummage through your closet. You throw the backpack over to him and he grimaces before looking at you again.

"Really?" It's a bag in the form of cartoon All Might. "Give me my quirk for a second."

"You had your quirk this entire time."

"What?!" He drops the bag. That's a lie. It has to be a lie!

You want to reach for his hand but he pulls it away. You look at him sympathetically, accepting it. "You keep your pinky off things subconsciously–"

"But I caught the bag!" Tomura nearly yells. This is wrong. You are lying. Why are you lying to him?!

"Maybe subconsciously you know you're not in any danger right now?" You think. "Sometimes quirks activate when we are in survival mode… maybe it feels like a break to your soul?"

He reaches for the tissue box and it decays. He looks at you with narrowed eyes. But… he is upset right now. There could be truth to your claim… he feels so entirely different right now than what his usual normal is.

"I am sorry. You want me to–"

"No," he takes a deep breath. "No… it's fine." If something goes wrong he will at least be able to fight.

You open your school backpack and sit down on the bed. He does too.

"Pencil or pen?"

"I don't fucking care," he scoffs.

You pout and put a variety of pens into a second case and throw it into a bag along with some other things.

"I am really happy I get to spend a day with you," you say with a smile but melancholy still lingers in your tone.

Tomura's chest feels tighter. This is such a dumb idea. He knows it is. He moves forward until his head touches your shoulder. You stroke through his hair that now smells like your conditioner. He can't say it but he is happy too.

You are on your way then. You drop Eri off at the daycare and then walk to the main building. There are so many people. Tomura walks closer and closer to you. Your shoulders are touching. Can no one see him for who he is? What if there is another quirk that makes yours useless?

"See you then, dad. Lets–"

"Oh no. Shimura is coming to my class. I told you," Shota says with a stone cold face.

You chew your tongue and look at Tenko. He sees your distaste about that but you flash him a smile instead of protesting. "Have fun, Ten," you hug him then walk to your classroom.

Tomura takes a deep breath. You did not even tell him to be good or something… no word of distrust… it feels strange. You should be worried. Right?

"Shimura, are you and my daughter dating?" Shota bluntly asks and Tomura's eyes widen.

"What?! No! No, Mr. Eraserhead." Tomura follows the hero, staring at the floor. You are not… well, he wants to. But he knows–

"Well, then, do you have any intentions to do so?"

Tomura doesn't know what Aizawa's tone of voice means. Tomura starts to itch at his neck. "I… don't."

"Why? You seem very familiar," Shota thinks back at all the little things. How you look at each other… how you talk to each other. How easy it all comes to you. You are so comfortable with each other that one may mistake you for soulmates.

"I wouldn't be good for her," Tomura says honestly and Shota finally looks at the boy. He sees so much sadness and hurt but smouldering rage too. Perhaps he is right even if right now you seem so happy. Tenko knows it isn't sustainable… that is mature.

They walk into the class and Tomura looks at Deku. He could just kill him right now. He could just do it. Some of the brats start to talk amongst themselves. What does he even look like? He has no idea. What if you make him look ridiculous? You wouldn't. It is actually so impressive how you can manipulate everyone in the building.

"Class, this is Shimura Tenko. He is a guest at my house and will be attending this class today. Don't scare him. Sit down."

Tenko walks to the free spot and gets the stuff out you have packed for him. He opens the notepad, seeing a scribble from you.

"Just treat this as some school simulator game ♡" you doodled yourself and him next to it with little hearts. He smiles. How can you be so nice to him?

"Try to fill in as much as you can," Aizawa says as he puts the test sheet down on Tomura's desk.

He finds it actually very interesting and his pen flies over the page, answering the questions. Tamura is not dumb and sensei taught him but never like this.

It is kind of fun. Well, it's all hero trash of course but… he can enjoy it for the day.

Three periods pass. The test, math and English. Then there is a break. Eraserhead leaves and Tomura holds his breath as half the class, his very enemies start to gather around his table. He is staring blankly ahead, not knowing what to do.

"Ten!"

Hearing your voice is like salvation.

"Does he speak our language?"

"I am from here," Tomura mumbles.

"He's a bit shy," you say and put your hand on his shoulder, standing behind him. "Hi, guys."

"Shy!" Mina coos.

"Let us not overwhelm him," Tenya orders.

"How did you meet?" Izuku asks, looking at you.

"Uh… therapy," you say to keep the lie up. You meet Tomura's eyes and he frowns, brows pinching together tightly. He gets up quickly and cups your face. Your eyes widen.

"Your nose is bleeding," he says and wipes the blood away with his thumb, cradling your face.

"Oh," your cheeks heat up and your heart thumps and you know he can feel it. "I should go to the bathroom."

"I'll walk you."

You and Tomura walk down the hallways but you pull him into one of the janitor closets instead. He tumbles and traps you against the wall, face inches away from yours.

"I just need a break," you smile softly. "From using my quirk. I'm starting to get a headache."

"Ah." Tomura uses his sleeve to wipe your blood and soon the nosebleed stops. He watches how your hands disappear into the front pocket of his hoodie, pulling him a bit closer as you close your eyes. His heart aches. "Do you like me better the way you project me now?" He asks.

"What do you mean?" You open one eye again.

"I mean… when I look… normal?"

Your hands leave his pocket again and instead cup his face, softly going through his hair. He stares at you with suspicious eyes. "You look normal?" He tries to avoid your eyes now but you don't let him.

"Tch. You know what I mean."

"You look handsome too… and cute."

"Cute?" He grimaces.

"And hot."

"Pff."

"This is just a disguise, Ten. Nothing more. I like you the way you are. I only change your hair color to black, make you look a bit more alive and hide your scars.”

"But you call me Ten."

"Because your friends call you Ten?"

"You're so annoying–"

He didn't see it coming. And nothing could have prepared him. God, it is the best feeling in the whole world. His body goes limp in the wake of your lips against his.

"Sorry," you whisper only to do it again. This time your hands drop to his neck and you pull him closer. He kisses back, tries to – he is so overwhelmed. He takes a shaking breath against your lips before pressing his mouth harder into yours, leaving no room to breathe at all.

Your eyes meet when he pulls away again. "But don't you want me to change at all?" He whispers.

You hug him close. He wants to hear it? He wants you to say it? But it's not your place. "I want to save you."

"Save me?" He scoffs.

"Yes."

You kiss him again, hands digging into his hair to pull him closer.

He has never been saved. He holds onto you for dear life, the kiss like air to him.

“Shouldn't we go back?” Tomura whispers.

“Probably.”

You think the best way to step out of the closet again is to just do it quickly– All Might stands right there in the hallway, blinking at you and Tenko.

“Uncle Toshi!” You never Uncle-Toshi him at school, but it seems like the right thing to do now. “This is my friend Tenko Shimura. We were just going back to class.”

All Might's face twists and turns. “Shimura? What a coincidence. I once knew someone with that name… where are you from, kid?” He asks. Tomura is really trying his best to stay calm. What would stop him from killing All Might right now?

“Here,” he says. “I'm from around here.”

“Ah. Well, you'll be late if you don't go now.”

“Right!” You bow and Tomura does too once he notices you are, then you hurry down the hallway, your fingers tangled up.

“I've never known anyone named Shimura… That's kinda strange, right?” You frown.

“Maybe,” Tomura shrugs. “I was sure he'd notice.”

“Notice what?” Neito says, suddenly appearing behind you. “You are Tenko then? Hm?” He raises an eyebrow.

Tomura looks at you, eyes wide and irritated. What the hell? Suddenly a purple haired guy walks by and tugs Neito away. “Don't mind him.”

“Didn't know you were into emo guys!” Neito calls. “Could've just dated–”

“Don't even say it,” the purple haired guy says.

You sigh and walk Tomura back to 3-A. “That were my classmates.”

“I see… Class A are the main characters for a reason.”

You laugh, “you and Bakugou would get along so well.” You bump your shoulder into his, your pinky softly reaching for his again. “And? How was English class?”

“Fine… the teacher is just so annoying…I liked math a lot.”

“You weirdo,” you smile.

You drop him off in class and turn back to walk to yours, touching your lips.

Tomura watches you walk away and is about to get back into the class when Deku suddenly appears.

“Can we talk for a second?”

Tomura's heart starts beating like crazy. “Yes… sure.”

Tomura and Deku move to the windows and Deku looks out into the court while Tomura tries to keep his hand steady. Does he know?

“Thank you,” Deku says.

Tomura's face slips into utter confusion. “What?”

“Thank you for being there for her. She's been so down for months… I didn't know what to do so I did nothing– I hate myself for it. But today, just because of you, she seemed so much like herself again.”

“Doing nothing is the worst thing you can do.”

“I know.”

“I don't know what you want to hear, Deku,” Tomura says. “You want me to say that it was okay you abandoned her in her worst time, that it was not your responsibility… When she needed you most? You were closest to her, you were her best friend, right? I thought you were dating to be honest. Oh and, you are a fucking hero. You needed to save her! But because her problems did not fit in any box you chose to ignore it and sweep it under the rug. I won't say it. You messed up. Big time. And I hope she realizes it and never forgives you.”

Izuku blinks. “Thank you for being honest.”

“Tch.”

“I'll do better!” Izuku nearly shouts.

Tomura rolls his eyes. Stupid heroes. “Whatever.”

》》》》

“You know… they have sharks.”

Tomura looks at you. “I really have to go.”

“To do what… villainy?”

He blanks and looks at you. His brows furrow, “no… I mean–”

“I was joking,” you say and take his hand. Your fingers tap together… Then you pull him in for a loose hug. “Please…” your soft touch moves higher to his soulmate mark. A current running across his body when you touch it. “Just a little more?”

He sighs deeply, arms wrapping around you. “All right.” How could he say no? He couldn't possibly… he wants you to be happy one last time.

So, he finds himself in the backseat of Eraserhead's minivan. He really shouldn't be seeing the pro hero so casually. Him of all people.

“Tenko?” Eri asks. “What's your favorite animal?”

“It's sharks.”

She gasps. “Just like nee-san! And what's your favorite color?”

Tenko thinks, “red.”

“Oh!! Just like nee-san! Maybe you're soulmates?!”

“Eri,” Shota says sternly. “We talked about this. You cannot say two people are soulmates who have some things in common. It makes people uncomfortable.”

“I apologize,” she pouts. “I forgot.”

“It's alright, Eri,” you say.

Shota catches a glimpse of you and Tenko too. Neither of you even is embarrassed… that's odd. You used to go ballistic when Eri did that to you and Midoriya.

You arrive at the aquarium and you and Tenko always stay 5 steps behind. After a while of trying to stay as a group, Shota just accepts that you'd rather stay with him alone and makes sure Eri doesn't bother the two of you too much. It is enough that he can hear you laugh and giggle right now after such a long time of missing it completely.

“Spider crabs are so creepy,” you say looking at them.

“Heh… maybe because they have spider in the name. Spiders are creepy,” Tomura says.

You giggle, “you wanna tell me right now you're scared of spiders? They are definitely more scared of evil old you.”

Tomura knows you're teasing. “Look at that thing.” He points at an odd fish.

“Ah, yes. That's a sunfish. They are funky.”

“Ugly.”

“I think they are cute,” you smile. “Cmon!” You grab his hand and lead him through the people to the huge whale shark tank. “This is what we wanna see. Look!”

You watch how his eyes light up, the blue light mixing with the deep red. It creates the most beautiful sparkle. “Holy shit, I didn't realize they are this huge! And manta rays too???”

“There's a black tip.”

“Crazy! Another one! And what kind is that?”

You breathe out, contently, following the whale shark's movements as if you search his guidance.

Tomura looks at you in the soft blue hues the tank gives off. You are smiling, so beautiful and warm. His heart is beating so strong, he feels it everywhere. Sometimes he wondered if he even had a human heart but now it is so apparent.

He wants this. He wants you. He really does. You make him feel so… alive. You make him feel included and seen and heard and… Like a human and as much as he tries to deny it– he wants to be human. Maybe… maybe somehow you can make it work? Maybe you are right. Maybe there is more to everything and maybe life can be good.

You are soulmates. That has to mean something. If Tomura was meant to destroy then he wouldn't have a soulmate, right?

Tomura reaches out and wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on the top of your head. Your hands interlace almost instantly. Your hearts are beating out of order in sync. Together like this; it's what you're meant to be.

You don't say anything. You lean into him and it all just is right. All the pain you have felt is gone now that you are together. You are meant to be together…. No matter what.

“There are still other sharks–”

“Let's stay a moment more,” Tenko whispers. “It's… beautiful.”

“It is,” you smile, holding his hand tighter.

Shota watches from a safe distance. He knew the day would come and that you genuinely are happy since Tenko showed up makes it easier to accept. Tenko may not be the guy Shota imagined for you… and the kid told him he doesn't think he should date you himself but… well… if he makes you forget all the trauma you endured being locked up with Shigaraki then Shota is thankful.

"Are they really not soulmates?" Eri asks, tugging on Shota's sleeve.

Soulmates?

"Being soulmates is super rare, Eri," Shota says. "And their marks would have appeared by now."

Shigaraki… he broke into a soul science facility last night.

Shota gets his phone out to google what that lab is researching but he never clicks on the google icon. 14 missed calls from All Might. He looks up again. A sinking feeling spreads in his chest. No. No, that is impossible. It can't be.

He gets up and walks over like he is in trance. Eri is confused. The pieces click together. It is all obscure shapes. No it just can't be. Shigaraki is the source of all your sorrow.

You turn around and frown at him. "Dad?"

He grabs Tenko's wrist, then yours. There is nothing. Shota looks at you and the panic in your eyes gives you away. He knows when his little girl is lying to him. His eyes glow and his hair swirls as he erases your quirk. He looks again and now clearly, so evidently, sees the soulmate marks. They match up perfectly, branded into both of your skins. But Shota is too scared to look at Shimura again. Why would you not tell him? This whole talk about you not being able to tell him because he is a hero… was that it? It can't. This is insane.

It cannot be Shigaraki. That would be– it just can't be.

"Dad… let me explain!"

Shota looks up with the conviction of a hero, meeting Shigaraki's bloody red eyes. He shivers all over.

Tomura panics and his free hand stirs but you put your arm in front of his chest to protect him but also to stop him. "Please… stay calm."

"Stay calm?!" Shota narrows his eyes at you. He grabs you and pulls you away from Tenko. Then using his quirk on Shigaraki. "How could I stay calm?!"

"Dad… please… there is so much you don't know. I could not tell you– I… I was scared but Tomura isn't–"

Shota looks at the monster he allowed into his house, who seems even paler now, shocked and wide eyed, unable to break from Shota's gaze as he doesn't dare to move a muscle.

"You're under arrest–"

You use your own scarf to tangle with your dad's so he can not reach Tomura. "Run!" You tell him and he does, bolting for the staff only door. He knew this would go south. He knew it would only crash and burn and decay before his eyes. Why did he think it could be different?! Why did he think he could have this– you! He is so stupid. So utterly stupid!

After running up stairs and through doors upon doors he pushes the next door open and finds himself on the roof, running until he reaches the edge. Tomura reaches into the pocket of his pants and takes out the little veil he has been keeping safe there ever since last night.

He has to do it… for your sake too. All of today was just a goodbye… yes… just a goodbye. That was the reason.

"Tomura!" You stand a few paces away from him, eyes wide and concerned. You hold your hand out. "We can– what is that?" You frown.

"I am sorry–" his voice breaks. "We can't… it will never happen– it will just keep hurting you."

"W-wait!" Your eyes widen and your hands wave in panic. Your heart beats so loudly. You have heard of the drug when you applied for soul science, it is new and only in testing. It is supposed to sether the red thread between soulmates to make life easier. "Tomura… no… wait… please."

Your father comes up beside you, but you hardly realize.

"I have to!" Tomura's eyes squint. He might be crying. He doesn't know… doesn't care. "You will only keep hurting because we can never be–"

"I rather hurt then!" You yell and take a step. "I don't– I can't… lose you for good."

Tomura shakes his head. Why are you making it so hard? Why is his heart tearing apart in his chest? He doesn't have a heart– he can't have one having done all that he has. He does not care. He never has. Like he never cared for his family and killed them. He can't care– he can't be with you. He is disgusting and evil, Tomura knows it. And you are a hero. And you are gentle and loving. And he can't be any of that! That is why he never got saved. You are not compatible even if fate linked you together by a red string. He should hate you. He ought to. For your own good. "Sensei… said…. He said he will kill you if I…. If I don't." Tomura raises the veil to his lips. He doesn't want to do it either… his body is fighting him like some survival instinct kicks in but he knows it is the right thing to do! For your sake too. He does this for you… He is not being selfish… right?

"Then we'll kill him?!" You shake your head and step forward, fanatic eyes searching for his."I'll become a villain! If I become a villain— then we can— right? We can be together! Please!" You are desperate and stumbling over words faster than you can think. You are scared. What would it mean to cut the thread? You have suffered for months… if he cuts your bond… does it mean– "I can't live missing a fragment of my soul, Tomura– missing you forever. I can't do it. I'd rather die," you sob, sinking to your knees.

"(Y/N)?" Shota whispers.

"You don't mean that," Tomura knows. You are a hero and you have a wonderful life… he saw that today. He sighs shakily. "(Y/N)... I am sorry."

"Please," you sob. "Don't… please just please!"

"I have to," Tomura whispers and raises the veil for his lips. His hand is trembling.

You suddenly charge at him and your cloth wraps around his wrist trying to stop him.

"Even if you cut our thread… I won't ever stop fighting for you. Let me save you, Tomura." You yell. "Let me… just–" You are getting angry, but it comes from a place of love. You just want to love him, all of him. You don't care. "Stop!"

He decays the cloth and bites the top of the veil off. The liquid burns like toxins. It travels down Tomura's throat, making him choke.

“No!” You cry out and collapse as a piercing pain travels through your body.

All Might then appears, pinning Tomura to the ground with his hands behind his back. You feel so dizzy, so awful. You crawl on the ground trying to reach him. Your eyes are locked together.

“I love you,” you heave, hand reaching out for him, so desperate. “I love you…”

The red thread snaps. It is abruptly. Vile and against nature. It is sacrilege. It hurts… it hurts so much. It is the worst pain you have ever felt. You wither and scream until it becomes so unbearable you just pass out.

.

.

.

.

.

.

You know you are not awake. This cannot be the waking world. Whale sharks are swirling around you, manta rays too. But you are not under water.

You turn around and hold your breath.

“What is this dumb scene?” Tomura mumbles. “What are you doing here?”

He looks so different. His hair is longer and so devoid of color that they nearly beam in white. But not just that… his whole aura has changed.

“Why do you talk to me like that?” You whisper. “How dare you!” You yell. “That is the first thing you say to me after–”

“That was such a long time ago, (Y/N). Get over it. I did.” He turns away. “I am destroying the world right now,” he chuckles like a madman. “I feel nothing anymore! Don't show up and think I'd care– ha! I left you in the past.”

No. No. This cannot be real. You know it isn't. “TOMURA!” You yell, hoping to wake him up from this fever dream he is stuck in apparently saying things like that but instead you open your eyes, staring at the ceiling of some hospital.

You feel– alone.

Hey guuy so some people know, some doesn't but this account is the one i'm sharing with a friend of mine, we both are simp of Tomura soooo yea, she's doing the nsfw stories 'bout Tomura and i'm doing the sfw, drawing and pictures so yeaaa i was thinking of creating a second accpunt just for my drawings and the story a new life for Tomura that we wrote together for my oc and that i'm drawing 'cause idk i may use my oc for others stuff and i don't wanna people thinking this account is stealing art or whatever...i'll post the new account name by rebloging this

Spin the bottle

College au Tenko x reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tenkos stomach twisted in anticipation, and he discreetly checked his breath for the umpteenth time before quietly taking his place amongst the drunken bimbos and himbos, all clumsily seated in a circle.

He couldn’t stop himself from scratching at his neck raw nervously, skin flakes and little flecks of blood fluttering down and landing on people who were stupid enough to sit too close.

He didn’t care that everyone was pressed shoulder to shoulder into each other as to give him enough space so that they don’t accidentally make contact with him. He didn’t care people were looking at him judgmentally before turning to one another and whispering something into their ear. No, he only cared about one thing, and one thing only.

Tonight, this blessed night, he’s gonna kiss someone.

Yes, the good old fashioned spin the bottle. The judgement free game that grants any player to brush off any mistakes or embarrassment as a joke. A game that, while he knew he was invited to as a joke, resulted in him losing all his clean pairs of socks before the party, leaving him with no choice but to show up in sandals.

Like he said, he knew he was invited as a joke. It was painfully obvious since, while he was being invited, a girl was play-slapping the inviter on the shoulder and begging them not to do it infront of him. But, they did anyways, laughing their ass off as they walked away, and now he’s here, squirming a little in excitement at the idea of kissing someone.

He really doesn’t care who, he swings both ways and even if he didn’t, he’s pretty damn desperate. But if he had to choose it would most definitely be you.

He’s had his eyes on you for a while now, literally, and couldn’t help but fantasize about you specifically when watching some cheap pornos. God, you were just great. He wondered what your lips would taste like. Hmmmmm…

“Alright y’all~” some blonde bimbo slurred. “We ready to start…?” She could barely keep her balance making her way to the center of the circle and carefully plopping the empty bottle down on the carpet. How it didn’t shatter, he does not know.

Excited murmurs and variations of “yes” erupted from them, and with that, the game began.

His heart leapt when the first spin was made. He was smiling in excitement, the same wide, creepy smile his countless foster parents would urge him not to make or try to control. But he couldn’t help it, he was so excited! And he didn’t care how scared that made the other players when they saw how he looked at them. Finally, finally he’s gonna taste some spit that wasn’t his own….

That didn’t come out right. But he meant it all the same.

The bottle came to a stop quite quickly due to the friction of the rug, landing almost perfectly opposite of him. That’s fine, he’s patient. He can wait.

He’ll wait for as long as it takes.

Round and round the bottle went, lips touching lips, none of them his as he waited in agony for his turn. It was torture, watching other people enjoy themselves while he had to just sit there and wait.

He had gotten excited when the bottle looked like it had landed on him, but was shocked when the bottle moved on its own, angling to his right where a hot blonde bimbo squealed in delight, puckering her lips. He knew the spinner had a wind quirk, and he could feel the cool breeze the guy has used to discreetly turn the bottles hull. But he said nothing, his face straight as he masked the hurt he felt from being cheated the kiss he so desperately wanted.

Finally, the time had arrived. He squirmed a little anxiously as he watched the same blonde bimbo depart from her own chosen kiss, lips puckered as she giggled innocently.

Then, as soon as he had reached for the middle, his fingers bracing for the touch of the cool glass, the guy next to him intercepted him, taking the bottle himself and spinning it without a care.

“H-hey! It’s my turn!” He stated, trying not to lose his temper else he makes a scene and gets kicked out.

The guy hesitated, stopping the bottle before looking around the circle, eyeing people’s reactions as if to gain feedback for what to do.

“O-oh, sorry…” he mumbled, backing off and taking his place. Tenko huffed, before taking a deep breath and reminding himself what was important.

He made contact with the bottle, feeling lightheaded and not being sure if it was due to the blood loss from his new neck injuries or from the excitement of this new opportunity, but either way it almost made him feel like he could pass out.

One look around the room would tell you everyone else felt the same; They all had pale faces and crossed fingers as if they were playing Russian roulette. But once again, he didn’t care.

Round and round it spun, the glass clunking around carelessly before settling down into a smooth spin. The tip flew by many faces, until eventually, it landed on you.

You didn’t have a chance to react as he sped across the floor on all fours, only stopping until he was mere inches from you.

You pursed your lips, ready to get this over with and just give him a small, quick peck. But unfortunately, he took initiative, grabbing you by the back of your head and, before you could react, pulling you in for a surprise make out session.

Tenko figured, to hell with it, if this is gonna be his only time kissing someone he’s gonna make the most of it.

He didn’t wait for entry, his tongue badgered against your lips until they gave way and infiltrated your mouth. Girls squealed and guys guffawed, but he didn’t care. All he cared about right now was how good your spit tasted. How warm and soft your mouth was, how his tongue glided over yours with ease.

You were shocked at the feeling, not at all expecting him to be such a good kisser. You even found yourself moaning along with him occasionally as his tongue danced with yours.

Momentarily forgetting who you were with, you slowly reached over, cautiously resting your hand against the back of his head as well. He jerked at the contact, almost choking on your tongue, before somehow further intensifying the kiss, smooshing your faces together more until it almost hurt and crawling into your lap.

You both were so enthralled by the shockingly euphoric sensation that was the kiss that you hadn’t noticed when you fell over, now having Tenkos body fully on top of you. But you didn’t care, you just grabbed the hem of his hoodie and pulled him closer as he worked his magic in your mouth.

Distantly, you heard people murmur as the shock faded. “Oh my god they’re still going.” One said. “Jesus Christ what the fuck he’s really going at it.” Said another. But you didn’t care, neither of you did. You both just kept going, rubbing your hands along each others backs and softly moaning. You hadn’t even realized when you began to grind a little on him.

Eventually, people had had enough. Assuming you were being forced against your will (because why else would you be doing this), one particularly bold (and drunk) male grabbed Tenko by his hair and pulled him off of you, a small trail of spit still connecting you two for just a moment.

Tenko had no time to think, only guided by the feeling of being forced away from his dreams, his fight-or-flight reflexes, and the sensation of his scalp burning, which resulted in him clenching his fingers into a fist and punching said guy in the jaw before anyone else could blink.

Unfortunately, the guy still had Tenkos hair in his grip, causing a wad of hair to be ripped out of his head as he stumbled backwards and making Tenko cry out in pain along with him. He rubbed his head, and the guy his jaw, before the screams of nearby girls had helped reality strike Tenko and he realized what he had done. Immediately his face went red with embarrassment, and he swiftly left after mumbling a quick apology but not before taking a bottle of Tequila for later.

You were still panting, rubbing your thighs together as you whined in disappointment as he left. People gathered around to see if you were ok but you shrugged them off, racing after him. You knew this was a bad idea, it obviously was, chasing after the well known (but not proven) serial killer. However maybe it was the booze in your system, but no one had ever made you feel like that. You never knew he could be so… passionate.

And if that’s just a taste of what he can give you, then damn what the others will say, you want to chase that high even for just one night.

Just before he climbed into his car you shut the door infront of him. He avoided making eye contact with you for multiple reasons, expecting violence both physical and verbal, and didn’t notice your matching red flush.

“D…d-do you” you stuttered out, not being able to force the words out.

“No, it’s ok, I’m sorry, please just… it won’t happen again. All of it, all of it won’t happen again.”

“N-no! I-“ you shouted, before returning to your shy mumbling.

“D-do you maybe wanna come back to my place for some ‘seven minutes in heaven’?” You rushed out, avoiding eye contact.

He just blinked at you, his mind literally unable to process what you just asked. He looked behind him, confused before pointing to himself to which you nodded.

His back hit his car, leaning on it as he tried to process what you were proposing. You were joking right? With him? What are you, masochistic?

That, and the fact that he’d been popping a boner over just getting kissed. You can’t tell him now he’s gonna lose his virginity! But you weren’t just telling him. You were pushing him against his car, opening the door to the backseat and pushing him in as this time, you were the one who invaded his mouth.

You both didn’t even wait until you were back in your place, and let me tell ya, you thought his kissing was good, you were in for a treat when you saw what he was sporting downstairs.

What would’ve happened if Theon (YellowCat)met/married(somehow) Leshy while he was still a bishop?

Theon as the disciple of Chaos.

Instead of being sacrificed from the begining he gets to join Leshy's faith first as a guardian and later becoming a disciple. He'd still be sacrificed in Leshy's name, but after many years of serving him and with the proper devotion.

Anon you gave me so many brainworms w that ask thank u