Work Text:
Tug.
Tug.
Tug.
Tomura grit her teeth harder, knuckles white and ragged nails cutting into her palms with how tightly her fists were clenched against the pain. She leaned heavily forward, chest on the cold back of the toilet with her wiry scarred arms crossed in front of her.
“If I may, Shigaraki Tomura, you should be more careful when meeting potential allies,” Kurogiri said, the cool mist of his hands doing nothing to distract from the harsh slide of the needle and thread in and out of Tomura’s pale flesh. “This injury was unnecessary and refusing treatment before running off to Hosu has only made it worse.”
“‘Potential ally,’ my ass,” Tomura scoffed, biting her lip as another stitch went in, “The so-called Hero Killer was an aggro dick. Don’t need someone like that in my party and if I see him again, I’ll kill him.”
“You are being childish,” Kurogiri admonished, “If we are to progress in our mission, you must gather powerful allies to our cause. I have received word that The Broker has found a couple of candidates for you to meet with this week.”
The mist man disinfected the stitches, making Tomura hiss, then covered the wound with a clean bandage.
“Whatever,” Tomura grumbled, pulling her black hoodie back on over her head, “I’m going to my room, don’t bother me.”
“Remember, nothing with pressure on your shoulders until the stab wound heals!” Kurogiri called after her as she stalked away, slamming her bedroom door shut behind her.
Great, fucking great, now she couldn’t even leave the upstairs of the hideout in case one of Sensei’s contacts or a random-ass patron decided to drop by the bar. It’s not like Tomura enjoyed walking among the hero-worshipping sheep that populated this society nor the scum that populated the underworld, but she was trapped upstairs like a rat because even a baggy hoodie couldn’t fully hide her chest without a compression sports bra underneath. And no one, absolutely no one, could find out that she wasn’t what she appeared to be.
That was one of Sensei’s big rules: for all intents and purposes, Shigaraki Tomura was a young man to other people instead of a young woman. She’d been very, very lucky that Stain, the idiot, hadn’t noticed the strap on her shoulder when he stabbed her right through it, pinning her to the floor.
Though if he had noticed, at least Tomura could be reasonably positive that Kurogiri would have warped the Hero Killer to the middle of the ocean and drowned him so he couldn’t talk. If there was one person even more dedicated to Sensei’s rules than Tomura was, it was Kurogiri. Annoying as he was about everything in general, always nagging Tomura about “being more careful” and “eating more” and “sleeping more often,” she couldn’t deny how grateful she was that Kurogiri took care of everything needed to keep her secret as she grew from a ‘boy’ to a ‘man.’ Whether it was just because of Sensei’s orders or not, at least she knew Kurogiri had her back.
She changed into more comfortable sweats and settled in front of her computer, booting up the latest Steam game she’d ordered and settling her headset over her ears. Pinkies lifted, she logged in with her light-up keyboard and settled in for another all-nighter.
Whatever, a relaxing few days of gaming, research, and demanding that Kurogiri bring her drinks and snacks from the bar might make it so she didn’t immediately want to murder the next ‘potential ally’ that crossed her door.
Maybe there was a bright side to a stab wound after all.
Welp, Dabi’s new boss was the actual fucking worst . From the moment she crossed the threshold to some shithole bar with Giran and a teenage brat, Dabi knew that scrawny, hunched-over freak was going to be a problem.
For one thing, what the fuck was the deal with the disgusting hand over his face? It was the grossest thing she had ever seen and she told him as much the minute she laid eyes on him.
And then his invasive-ass questions in that raspy voice, demanding that Dabi tell him her real name as if he had any right to it! Like hell she would do that, not with all the secrets she was keeping.
Giran suspected, maybe, that Dabi’s secrets went far beyond a fake name. After all, he’d known her the longest, since just after she ran away from the hospital and went to the streets. Even back then, she knew that things would just be easier for her if everyone thought she was a guy. Safer too, and maybe that small, damaged part of her that still gave a shit about other people wondered how Toga, the insane brat who chattered at her a mile a minute, was keeping herself safe out there. Maybe she just stabbed anyone who got too handsy, that sounded like her.
Ugh, was Shigaraki still talking? For someone who was apparently associated with the Hero Killer, it didn’t seem like Shigaraki was killing any heroes at all. In fact, it seemed like he didn’t do jack shit but sit in his bar and attack people like the rabid fucking dog he apparently was. Lucky that polite mist guy, Kuro-something, was there to intervene or it would’ve been roasted psycho on the menu and Dabi would be stuck looking for a new gig.
There was something distinctly frightening about the way Shigaraki had lunged forward, no weapons in his outstretched hand but no fear in spite of Dabi’s flames and Toga’s scalpels. Dabi wasn’t an idiot; a lifetime of her father’s rage and then years on the streets had taught her better than to take things at face value. There was something going on with him, something with those pale hands, and though he had stormed off like a child, it made Dabi uneasy that she didn’t know anything about this guy other than the fact that he was violently unfriendly.
After the freak returned much calmer after his outburst, muttering that Dabi and the little vampire were hired before shutting himself in what Dabi assumed was his bedroom, Dabi was shown to the room she’d be staying in.
“It’s yours for however long you wish to stay with us,” Kurogiri said, “you can bring your things sometime tomorrow or, if you have the coordinates, I can warp you there now.”
It was a small and functional room, just big enough for a twin bed, a lamp atop a night table, and a tiny closet. To Dabi, though, eight years on the streets made this humble room above this shitty bar feel like a five-star hotel. Throw in the fact that Kurogiri had given both Dabi and Toga free reign over the fully-stocked kitchen and pantry with a promise of at least a hot dinner (made by Kurogiri himself) every night and Dabi found herself increasingly willing to put up with whatever bizarre bullshit her new boss did as long as he left her the hell alone most of the time.
She looked down at herself, at her ragged shirt and jacket, at her borrowed slippers, imagining the shoes in the genkan that were both too big for her feet and starting to get holes on the bottom from wear.
“I, uh, I don’t, uh, have anything,” she mumbled, gesturing to herself. The mist man was silent for a moment, those unreadable golden eyespots fixed on Dabi. Without a word, he opened up one of his portals and warped away. Well fuck, that was rude.
Dabi cracked her neck and entered her new room, poking around a bit. Damn, the pillow on the bed was even soft. When was the last time she’d even slept in a bed and not some guy’s couch or a stairwell or the floor of an abandoned building? The shelter, maybe, a few years before?
She smelled something odd, like lightning, and whipped back around to see Kurogiri in the doorway, holding some clothing and a towel.
“Apologies for the intrusion, I merely thought you might like some clean pajamas to wear tonight until we can get you your own clothes tomorrow,” Kurogiri said, handing over the pile in his misty hands, “Young Toga is taking a shower now, but as soon as she’s finished, the bathroom is at the end of the hall and to the right.”
Dabi took a look at the clothing: a pair of plain black sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt. She could guess who they belonged to.
“Sure the boss is gonna be cool with me wearing his stuff?” Dabi asked. The fabric in her hands was super soft, with no harsh seams or tags; it wouldn’t tug on the staples that held her burnt skin together. How long had it been since she’d worn something that didn’t hurt her?
What kind of a place was this, an allegedly villain bar with such a polite and hospitable owner? Kurogiri was strange, that’s for sure, and though everything in Dabi’s brain should’ve screamed “obvious trap, dumbass” it was hard not to relax in his establishment when he showed her such unearned kindness. Well, as long as Kurogiri and his brat of a boss didn’t kill or sic the heroes on her, she could at least enjoy the amenities while they lasted.
Kurogiri hummed in contemplation.
“Shigaraki Tomura is unlikely to leave his bedroom, save for the bathroom, until well into tomorrow afternoon,” he replied, “He will not notice the temporary loan unless you disturb him this evening.”
“What’s his deal, anyway? Should I go talk to him, clear the air or whatever the fuck?”
“Absolutely not!” Kurogiri stated flatly but firmly, his already serious deep voice now distinctly threatening instead of soothing, “There are some ground rules for you and everyone else if you are to stay here. Rule one: do not disturb Shigaraki in his bedroom and never, I mean never , enter without permission. If you do, he will kill you on the spot and I will not stop him.”
Shit, the dude liked his privacy. Okay, Dabi didn’t want to hang out with him anyway. She was joining this little group for her own personal business, nothing more and nothing less. Besides, it’s not like she had any reason to want to be in some guy’s bedroom.
“Whatever, okay. Anything else I should know about him?”
The mist man took a deep breath before replying.
“Out of the interest of your safety, I feel it is my duty to inform you about his Quirk,” he said, clearly choosing his words carefully, “His hands contain a powerful, deadly ability that decays anything he touches into either viscera or ashes, depending on his mood. Rule two: Do not touch him, particularly his arms and hands. That is a direct order from our benefactor and Shigaraki’s mentor.”
That was… weird. The fatal Quirk was one thing and as someone who had just experienced a brush with it up close, she could appreciate the head’s up about it and feel less uneasy about the unknown. Besides, it’s not like her own Quirk was any less unpleasant, turning flesh to ash and melting bone in minutes. But who was this benefactor and mentor, anyway? Why did they care about Shigaraki’s personal space so much? Why didn’t Shigaraki or Kurogiri or hell, even Giran, mention them before?
“Got it,” she replied coolly. Kurogiri bowed and warped away. Dabi looked again at the pile in her hands and sat on the bed, waiting for the shower to be free so she could get properly clean for the first time in a week.
Shigaraki was undoubtedly one of the most annoying men Dabi had ever met, but overall, the League of Villains didn’t seem like an awful place to stay for a while.
She could live with it.
Tomura hunched over beneath the awning of the abandoned building, gasping for breath as the rain became a freezing torrent around her. It was supposed to be a dry day, the weather as easy as the exchange was supposed to be, not whatever freak rainstorm this was. She scrambled at her pockets, pinkies lifted, frantically trying to find her phone to call Kurogiri for a pickup.
She was met with a pocket full of dust.
“Fuck!” she cursed under her breath, re-adjusting the now soaking wet mask on her mouth. It felt like she was being waterboarded again (previously as part of her training, of course) and she was thirty seconds from ripping the goddamn thing off and taking her chances at being recognized. It was the dead of night, anyway, and not many good citizens were out prowling the streets.
She leaned against the building and closed her eyes for a moment. Okay. Okay. Think.
2 a.m.
At least 3 hours walk across Tokyo back to the bar since the trains had stopped running.
No phone.
A hellacious storm that was growing worse and worse with every passing minute.
And, to top it all off, at least ten of that backstabbing fuck’s minions had survived and were currently looking for her.
Shit.
Her eyes snapped open as she heard thudding footsteps approach, the clip of heavy new boots adding to the noise of the storm. Oh, yeah. That annoyance that Kurogiri had insisted that Tomura bring with her for long-range backup. Dabi was out of breath too, audibly wheezing as he doubled over with his hands on his knees, his choppy black hair plastered to his head with rainwater. It disturbingly reminded Tomura of a pneumatic stray kitten, in all honesty a distinctly pathetic sight.
“I told you to wait up!” the burned man snapped through ragged gasps. Tomura rolled her eyes.
“And what, have both of us be killed? Don’t be an idiot,” Tomura replied. Dabi glared at her, collapsing against the building too, his new civilian clothes as soaked through as Tomura’s were.
“Glad you value us so highly, boss,” Dabi sneered, “Hey, do me a favor: next time you need someone to throw away like trash to save your own fucked-up skin, pick someone else. I got shit to do before I die.”
He sounded… genuinely hurt, making something in Tomura’s rotten heart, some small and barely used piece of her, feel guilty for leaving him behind. Or maybe he was just still recovering from having to run for an hour, that sounded more like it.
The Symbol of Fear and All For One’s Heir didn’t feel guilt or anything as stupid as that.
“Give me your phone, I’m gonna call Kurogiri,” Tomura demanded, her hand outstretched. Dabi scoffed.
“Don’t have one. What’s wrong with yours?”
Tomura was silent and averted her eyes, scratching at her neck as she did so.
“...dusted it on accident,” she muttered, “Now what?”
After an initial mocking laugh, Dabi exhaled heavily.
“I know a place a couple blocks from here,” he finally said, “One of Giran’s holding stops for product. It’s tiny, and it ain’t nice, but it’s a roof and 4 walls. We can crash there until the trains start running again.”
Dabi may be one of the most annoying men Tomura had ever met and she may have been dreading being stuck with him until morning, but she wasn’t prideful enough to turn down the offer if it meant that she could get out of this goddamn rain.
“Lead the way.”
The place was just as empty and run-down as Dabi remembered it from her occasional nights spent inside its walls. After breaking in through the hidden door, the two drenched villains found themselves in a room approximately the size of a studio apartment. Dabi shoved her wet hair out of her eyes and grimaced; it seemed like the rat problem had gotten worse if the coating of droppings was anything to go by. At least the roof didn’t leak and the place was ventilated.
“Wh-what d-d-do we d-do n-now?” Shigaraki asked, his teeth chattering, arms wrapped tightly around his skinny frame. Dabi couldn’t feel the cold, but she could still get sick from it if she wasn’t careful. Plus, she was wet and miserable too, the friction from the wet clothes pulling at her staples.
She glanced around the room and her eyes landed on the prize she was looking for: a stack of wooden pallets that Giran was too lazy to clean up.
“I’m going to make us a fire,” Dabi announced, “Help me break up some wood, then grab some of those other pallets for us to lay on so the rat shit doesn’t give us a disease.”
Shigaraki pulled his balled-up fists out of his armpits and did as Dabi said, using his Quirk to make little weak spots of decay that they could easily break through. While he did that, Dabi strode over to the walls, checking the vents to make sure they were working. They seemed like they were in good enough condition, so at least she and Shigaraki wouldn’t asphyxiate from the smoke. Soon, they had a decent pile of short boards with enough extra that they could keep feeding the flames as the night dragged on. It’s not like Dabi herself was short on flames, but why exhaust herself keeping it up when a fire was possible? She sparked her pinkie and lit one of the larger splinters, waiting until it was burning steadily before putting it on the fire pile.
Before long, the stable fire was crackling blue, filling the little room with heat. Shigaraki dragged four of the extra pallets over and arranged them so they’d each have two to lay on as they got warm, on opposite sides of the fire.
Dabi’s waterlogged clothes were still so heavy and uncomfortable, and if she was alone like normal she’d take ‘em off and let the fuckers dry… as it was though, she had a problem.
There was a man in the room with her, one that she didn’t even know all that well. She wasn’t- she wasn’t scared of Shigaraki, okay? She was just… street smart and wished it was Toga with her instead. Toga would undoubtedly be annoying but Dabi would feel less uneasy at the prospect.
As it was, she guessed she was stuck in the clothes until she had rested enough to flare her body heat and dry them instantly, or until the fire evaporated the water.
Shigaraki did not have that luxury.
“Grab an extra pallet, you can put your clothes on it to dry there,” Dabi mumbled, looking away.
“I’m good!” Shigaraki… squeaked? Dabi raised a brow.
“You’re gonna freeze to death, boss,” she sighed. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh yeah? You first!” Shigaraki shot back.
Dabi gulped, a lump in her throat. “Don’t feel like it.”
They stood silently, the fire crackling away as they stared each other down, each refusing to be the first to break. Dabi watched as Shigaraki wrapped his arms around his body again, trying and failing not to shiver, the tips of his deadly fingers taking on a troubling shade of blue. Her own clothes were starting to chafe uncomfortably against her seams and that little voice in the back of her head whispered, terrified, that she was going to get sick again if she stayed in them for much longer.
Fuck it. If he tried any shit, she could always just incinerate him.
“I’m going to turn around and take mine off,” she finally said, eying Shigaraki warily, “Stay on your side of the fire and don’t make this weird.”
“O-okay,” Shigaraki stuttered, teeth chattering again.
“I’m serious boss, you’re gonna get hypothermia and die like that. Just stop being so fucking stubborn and let yours dry too.”
With that, Dabi turned around, and walked a few paces away from the fire, enough to cast her body in shadow. First, she toed off the boots, peeled off her wet socks, and carefully slid the heavy, soaked jacket from her stapled shoulders. Behind her, she could hear Shigaraki walking away, then the heavy rustling sound of him kicking off his red sneakers and sliding off his jeans, the zipper loud in the tiny room. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and stripped off her grey t-shirt next, fighting the urge to cross her arms to cover herself as her single, small breast and huge torso and chest scars became exposed to the cool air of the room. She could hear Shigaraki removing his thick black hoodie and, presumably, his own shirt as she, with shaking fingers, unbuckled her belt and dropped her pants and boxer briefs in one go.
And that was that. Heart thudding, she picked up the wet clothing and tucked it under one arm.
“I’m gonna turn around now,” she said, “Again, don’t make this weird.”
Dabi closed her eyes and took another deep breath.
She turned, eyes opening as she did, and-
“Touch me and die,” she and Shigaraki said at the exact same time as they turned to face each other, exposed.
Dabi felt her eyes grow wide, an expression mirrored on Shigaraki’s shockingly pretty face as the other’s mouth fell open, crimson eyes scanning Dabi’s lanky frame.
It was like Dabi’s world had ground to a halt as she took in what Shigaraki actually looked like under the dark baggy clothes and creepy hands and bad attitude. Dabi had never seen Shigaraki’s face before and it definitely wasn’t one that should be hidden under a face mask or that disgusting, rotting hand. Shigaraki was about as skinny as Dabi had thought, but had some solid muscle on her biceps and shoulders. Her marble skin was covered in more scars than Dabi could’ve imagined, bullet holes and slashes and healed burns, yet this did nothing to detract from the… softness of her shape, the gentle slope of her thin waist, the slight curve of her hips, the fullness of her breasts. It was a crime, Dabi thought, that someone this gorgeous had clearly been so neglected, never cared for, sliced and shot and burned and bruised and starved until she was as marked up and harsh as Dabi’s own ugly skin.
It didn’t matter. It didn’t fucking matter. Art left in ruin or not, it did nothing to change the fact that she may have been the first woman in a long time, maybe ever, that Dabi was absolutely captivated by. No one else could compare.
Dabi’s long-assumed dead heart skipped a beat in her chest as she locked gazes with Shigaraki’s enchanting eyes, one of them run through with a thick old scar that matched the one on her full, chapped lips.
Like magic, they spoke at the same time again in utter disbelief.
“You’re a girl too?!”
After the initial series of mumbled half-explanations mixed with threats, it had been a half hour of dead silence. Tomura sat on her pallet, thankful at least that it had been sanded so there were no splinters, knobby knees pulled to her chest and feet placed carefully to cover herself as her clothes dried. She crossed her arms on top of her knees and rested her cheek on them, eyelids growing heavy from the late hour, having been out in the storm for so long, the exhaustion of the surprise fight, and the warmth of the fire.
She yawned.
“Getting tired over there, boss?” Dabi’s rough voice drifted over, bringing Tomura back to earth.
She looked up on instinct, then quickly looked away, cheeks burning as she returned them to her knees.
“I’m fine,” Tomura muttered, “It’s just fucking cold still. On my back.”
“Not that I give a shit, but you could move over here if you wanted,” Dabi continued, “I radiate heat, like, the same as my fire.”
Oh no, that would be bad . Now, Tomura couldn’t coherently articulate why that would be so bad or what she expected to happen if she went over there, she just knew that even across the fire, it was hard to keep her eyes off of Dabi, so sitting closer would be dangerous. She forced herself to stare at the ground, her own knees, or the fire. Anything to resist the urge to look because looking was… wrong. It was wrong.
This was stupid. Women were naked around each other all the time, in saunas and onsen and locker rooms; Tomura knew that , at least on an intellectual level. This shouldn’t be weird. Why was it weird? Why did she feel so weird and awkward?
“I’m fine over here,” Tomura finally responded, playing with one of her drying curls as she watched the blue flames flicker, casting shadows all over the room. She traced the shadows with her eyes, watching them dance on the walls of the tiny room, carefully avoiding where she knew Dabi was sprawled out on her own set of pallets.
“Suit yourself,” Dabi said sharply, “You could at least fucking look at me when you talk to me though. I mean, I know I’m fucking deformed and hideous, but that’s just bad manners, boss. What would your misty babysitter say?”
That startled Tomura into looking up at the other woman. Dabi had her skinny legs stretched out in front of her to warm her toes, leaning back on her heavily burned arms as her black hair dried back to its choppy spikes. In the firelight, Dabi’s entire body sparkled like a diamond, the light gleaming off the staples that held her together, her intense azure eyes, the piercings in her ears and nose. Tomura swallowed heavily, her eyes flicking all over Dabi’s rawboned form, catching on the seam at her thighs where those rough scars met pale, soft-looking skin before snapping back up to Dabi’s face. Dabi had her head tilted to the side, a thoughtful expression on her face as she stared back at Tomura.
“Believe me, that is not the problem here,” Tomura finally said, her voice barely above a whisper as she dropped her head back on her crossed arms and stared at the floor. It was silent again after Tomura’s admission, until a soft chuckle and a ‘ huh ’ came from the other side of the fire. Ashamed and unwilling to listen to the teasing that she knew was coming, Tomura decided to change the subject and say something that had been bothering her for the past hour or so.
“I wouldn’t have really left you behind, you know that, right?” Tomura said quietly, resting her chin on her arms. She could just look at Dabi’s face right? That might be okay. Dabi raised her black eyebrows and lightly scoffed.
“Sure didn’t seem like it.”
“I’m serious. I was gonna call Kurogiri as soon as there was enough shelter to use my phone and have him warp us both over to where you were if you didn’t get away. I could only take off my mask if I was out of sight of those guys— and you, I guess.”
Dabi hummed, then flashed Tomura a wolfish grin that made her insides turn to jelly.
“Glad to have the honor of seeing you without it then,” she said, a teasing lilt creeping into her voice, “Why do you hide your pretty face, anyway?”
“Don’t be a dick,” Tomura replied, scratching at her neck and dipping her head down so her hair covered her flushed cheeks. She was painfully aware of the wrinkled, scarred skin around her eyes and the cracks on her lips; she didn’t need Dabi making fun of her for it. It’s not like her face or body mattered as more than a tool for her plans, anyway.
The Symbol of Fear had more important things to think about than being attractive.
“Hey, hey, none of that,” Dabi said softly, almost soothingly despite the hoarseness, “I’m not being a dick, I’m being honest. If I had a face like yours, I’d never hide it.”
Tomura didn't know what to say to that. She worried her flaky lower lip between her teeth and drummed her long fingers on her forearms. Like a moth to a flame, she couldn't resist the urge to look up again, letting the other woman see her as Tomura's own curious eyes flickered from her face to her bare skin, glowing in the firelight.
Dabi stretched (Tomura tried not to notice the way her chest moved as she took a deep breath) and shifted so she was laying on her side, propped up by an arm.
"Hey, boss, can I ask you a personal question?"
"When has that ever stopped you before?" Tomura replied, a tiny smirk on her face in spite of herself. Dabi mock-clutched her heart and heaved a dramatic sigh.
"You wound me," she said, unable to keep a straight face, "But anyway, I don't get it."
"Get what?" Tomura asked, her brow furrowed. Her knees were starting to hurt from the curled-up position and her naked belly was cold, so she laid down on her pallets, mirroring Dabi and flipping on her side. She still felt exposed, like she was going to be found out , whatever that meant, but it wasn't as bad as before. Dabi had that thoughtful expression on her face again as Tomura's ruby met that bottomless sapphire.
"Everything," Dabi finally said, "I don't know shit about you and I figure if you've seen me naked, I can ask." Tomura flushed at this, but waved Dabi on. "First of all, I've gotta know: what's the deal with the hands? I get hiding your face if you're out with people like today, but you wear them around the bar too. What the fuck?"
Tomura thought for a minute, mulling over the question. It wasn't something she had an exact answer to, the gap in her childhood memories too wide for her to understand. All she knew was that she needed them to feel normal, no matter how sick the smell, or maybe the missing memory, made her.
"Sensei gave them to me when I was a kid and told me to always wear them," she answered, "I don't know where they came from, and I don't know why, but they just make things feel right. I guess they help with the disguise too if no one can see my face."
Dabi gave a short hum and shrugged her bony shoulders.
"Alright, I still don't get it but whatever,” Dabi said, then paused before continuing, “So why are you pretending to be a guy anyway? Speaking of disguises.”
“It sends a better message for Sensei to have a male heir, or that’s what he told me,” Tomura exhaled heavily, “I should kill you, you know. That’s what he told me to do if anyone found out.”
“So are you?” Dabi asked.
“Am I what?”
“Going to kill me?”
Tomura thought for a long minute about it, staring into the dancing flames. It was a direct order from Sensei: no one could know about her and if she needed to kill to keep her secret, she should. She had never betrayed a direct order before.
But the trouble was, she didn’t want to kill Dabi just then. She was odd, interesting, enthralling . She was someone who Tomura wanted to get to know better. Killing her would be a waste.
Tomura shook her head.
“No, no I’m not,” she finally responded, “Sensei doesn't need to know that you know, but keep your mouth shut about it anywhere in the base and don’t tell anyone.”
“I’m not gonna say shit about it, as long as you don’t talk about me either, not even to Kurogiri,” Dabi said, “I assume he knows about you, though, since he’s your butler or whatever. Who else does?”
“Yeah, Kurogiri raised me, he knows everything about it,” Tomura said, waving her hand dismissively, “Sensei and Sensei’s doctor know too, of course. No one else does. Your turn.”
Dabi was confused.
“You’re telling me you’ve had a doctor around for your entire life and you’re still sewing up stab wounds in your bathroom, starving, and clawing the shit out of your neck? What kind of fucked-up doctor did your sensei hire?”
“Sensei’s health is the priority, I can handle my own shit,” Shigaraki protested, “And you’re avoiding the question.”
Adding another few pieces of wood to the crackling fire, Dabi didn’t deny it. She chewed on her bottom lip and laid on her stomach, resting her stapled chin on her crossed arms as she looked at a much more open and relaxed Shigaraki.
God, she never wanted to stop looking at her. And more, so much more than just looking. What was wrong with her? Dabi never got like this, but something about her new boss was so hypnotizing that it sent a wholly unfamiliar fire rushing through Dabi’s blood.
“It’s safer, I guess, if people think I’m a guy,” Dabi finally said, “Thought you’d get that.”
Shigaraki tilted her head and raised her hairless brow.
“Yeah, I get it; it’s kind of the same for me too. The brat seems to do pretty well for herself on the streets, though. Anyone fucks with you, light ‘em up.”
Dabi shook her head.
“My Quirk gets noticed, especially if people knew the truth about me; I never used it ‘till I joined up with you even as a guy. And I can’t fight someone off without it,” Dabi said, turning her face away from Shigaraki to stare at the ground in shame, “On the way to meet you, I saw Toga take down a guy three times her size with one of her little knives like it was nothing. I can’t do that, I’m… sick, you know, basically fucking useless in a close fight. Sorry for disappointing you.”
She chuckled bitterly. Now that Shigaraki knew she was worthless, Dabi just waited for the final blow where the other woman would kick her out of the League. She deserved to be thrown out, of course, but the hot food and bed were nice while they lasted.
“I don’t think you’re useless and I’m not disappointed,” Shigaraki said quietly, “You’re kind of an asshole, but you’re not useless.” She paused and ran a hand down her face. “Fuck it, I was gonna tell you when we got back but I might as well tell you now: I’m putting you in charge of this summer’s big mission.”
Dabi’s head snapped back towards Shigaraki.
“ Huh? ” was all she, very intelligently, managed to get out. Shigaraki laughed, a low, rough sound that didn’t seem frequently used.
Dabi liked it.
“You heard me. I need to stay behind and I need whoever’s in charge on the ground to stay the hell out of the main fight and do perimeter. You’re perfect for it and, as a bonus, you’re not fucking nuts like the rest of them. Congrats on the promotion or whatever, you’re my right hand man. Second in command and all that.”
Second in command.
Second in command.
Second in command.
Nobody had ever offered Dabi that type of responsibility before, not even when she was Touya. The closest she ever got from the old bastard was an order to stop training ‘like a boy’ and help take care of the other kids instead, even though Touya had sucked at it, no instinct at all for what to do when Natsuo crawled into her futon looking for motherly comfort or the masterpiece cried. Too useless to even soothe a baby no matter how many little guide books the housekeeper had brought for her, Touya’s last unwanted duty went up in smoke when she snapped one day and half-heartedly tried to burn Shouto in their fragile mother’s arms.
It wasn't serious, but Touya had just been so angry that with each new baby and each passing year since Father decided she could never make him happy, she was forgotten a little more. Fuyumi, the perfect replacement for their increasingly insane mother, took over the domestic shit instead and Father's constant disappointment and disgust at his eldest child crushed Touya's chest until she could barely breathe. So she trained. Touya trained harder, trained longer, trained in secret, trained and trained and trained until her skin burned away and she woke up 3 years later in that creepy hospital, horrifically disfigured and almost a woman instead of the girl she had been when she went up Sekoto Peak for the last time.
Dabi had failed so many times. She'd failed at being the perfect son by being a girl, failed at being a girl by being terrible at it, failed at being a hero by being born weak with a fucked-up Quirk, failed her father, failed her mother, failed her siblings, failed herself. Failed and failed and failed until she was burned half to death, a shambling horror movie, with nothing to show for it but resentment, revenge, and hatred inside what was left of her hardened heart.
But Shigaraki didn't see her as a useless failure, no, she was Shigaraki's right hand man now, trusted to competently lead a team despite the weakness she had admitted to, despite her still-concealed identity. Apparently, Dabi was someone worth Shigaraki's time and confidence.
The iron shell around her heart cracked, letting something soft and warm seep through like the blood that often dripped from Dabi's scars.
“Oh, uh, thanks, I guess,” Dabi responded, stunned, “But wait, why aren’t you going then?”
Shigaraki shrugged, the light from the fire painting her pale and marred skin in vivid shades of blue, the winding shadows wrapping around her gentle curves like gauzy black fabric. Dabi looked back at the ground, the healthy skin of her cheeks flushed as she tried to fight off some very incriminating thoughts of what it might feel like to have those soft breasts pressed against her own warm skin or in her mismatched mouth.
"Sensei said I should stay behind and coordinate. We've got 2 facilities to prep, comms for all of you to run, Sensei's doctor to keep in contact with, primary and backup Noumu to set up, and someone needs to watch for the idiot heroes and cops. Gotta be in god mode to run all that shit and I can't do it if I'm fighting."
Dabi desperately wanted to know what the fuck was up with this 'sensei' that Shigaraki kept referring to. Like, he was obviously funding the League and Shigaraki seemed to worship him, yet he didn't seem to care that much about his protégé if Shigaraki's injuries (some that looked disturbingly old) and general lack of self-care and social skills were anything to go by. And what about Kurogiri, a bizarrely kind man in this fucking weird villain organization who acted like a cross between Shigaraki's butler and her warden?
The questions swirled through Dabi's slightly hysterical mind, building up faster and faster the more she thought about how nothing made any goddamn sense. Why did this sensei make Shigaraki wear dead hands, apparently from childhood on? Why were the only people Shigaraki mentioned as being in her life her butler, a shady-ass underworld doctor, and this mysterious mentor? Did Shigaraki have a family, somewhere? Was she kidnapped ? Speaking of the shady-ass underworld doctor who possibly kidnapped kids with scary Quirks, had Shigaraki ever met a man with a flower for a head— or was it a strange coincidence? If this sensei had wanted a male heir, why not take a boy instead of forcing a girl into the role? Where did Shigaraki come from ? Was that even her real name?
Who was Shigaraki Tomura?
Of course, Dabi said none of that, despite her burning curiosity. If she started poking into it too much, asking personal questions like that, Shigaraki might feel entitled to ask questions of her own about Dabi's past and identity. And they couldn't have that , not yet, so Dabi asked something else instead after a few long minutes of slightly awkward silence.
"Right. I got a question about this 'sensei,' though, if I'm gonna be working for him."
"You don't work for him, you work for me , but whatever, hit me."
"It's something Kurogiri told me my first night at the bar," Dabi began, rubbing the back of her neck, "He said no one's allowed to touch you and that it was a direct order from your sensei. Why?"
Shigaraki laughed, but not like before. It was hollow and horrible, bitter and joyless. It sounded oddly familiar.
"You've seen my Quirk, you know I'm fucking poison. I destroy everything and everyone that gets close to me and that's how it's meant to be," Shigaraki replied, almost like a mantra, "Doesn't matter, anyway. Sensei doesn't want me to have distractions like that."
Ah right, Dabi had recognized it like a reflection in a mirror. It was the laugh of someone whose deep self-loathing rivaled and possibly surpassed Dabi's own.
For the first time in years, possibly ever , Dabi saw someone hurting besides herself and wanted to do something, anything to make it better.
"Do you miss it?" Dabi asked quietly. Shigaraki's angry crimson eyes just turned softer and sadder at that, hairless brow furrowed almost in confusion.
"Can't miss something you never had, right?" she replied, voice as empty as her face.
The iron shell cracked a little more and Dabi hit the 'fuck it' button before it could shatter completely.
She hummed and sat up, leaving enough space for another person to sit next to her on the pallets she occupied.
"Wanna try?" she asked, watching Shigaraki patiently as the other woman's head jerked over to her in shock, her now-dry curls falling softly in a silvery-blue mess around her pretty face. Dabi wanted to bury her stapled hands in it.
" What?! "
"You heard me," Dabi said, shamelessly patting the spot next to her, "You wanna try human contact, let's do it where your sensei can't see. Simple."
"I just-I don't- why? " Tomura spluttered, scrambling defensively to her feet with her fingers curled into fists.
Dabi gave her a lazy smile, one that had Tomura's pulse pounding, pounding, pounding. This was dangerous, this was bad, Tomura was going to be found out .
"Sitting around's boring and I've got warm hands. C'mon, I'll give you a shoulder massage or something, make you less uptight. What are you scared of?"
Tomura was too bewildered to be embarrassed, staring openly at Dabi as the arsonist met her gaze, those bright eyes glinting with a challenge.
And if there was one thing Shigaraki Tomura never did, it was back down from a challenge. She wasn't secretly the #1 Earth of Enmity player in Japan for nothing.
“I’m not scared of shit,” she declared, striding to the other side of the fire with her head held high to disguise how nervous she was. Her gaze flicked down to Dabi, gangly limbs akimbo as she sprawled out on the pallet.
Dabi was very beautiful from this angle.
Dabi was staring up at Tomura too, blue eyes wide and bouncing all over her body, then away to the fire that matched them perfectly, a pinkish tint on the unscarred parts of her face.
Tomura’s throat was so dry.
She sat down quickly on the empty pallet, her naked back to the arsonist. She clasped her hands on top of her thighs to hide how badly they were shaking and stared at the shadows on the wall, goosebumps breaking out on her skin as her front side was turned away from the flame. Slowly, a wave of heat washed over her and she knew that Dabi had gotten closer, so close that Tomura could feel her warm breath on her exposed shoulder as she spoke.
“I’m gonna put my hands on you now, tell me to stop if you start freakin’ out, ” Dabi whispered. Something like electricity shot through Tomura’s body at the two points of contact on her outer biceps, making her gasp into the wholly unfamiliar touch. Dabi’s hands were callused, so warm, slightly smaller than Tomura’s own with a line of surgical staples on the palms. Tomura distantly noted that there was a quiver in the fingers, as if Dabi wasn’t used to touching other people either, but that and all other coherent thoughts got knocked clean out of Tomura’s head when those hands pressed a little more firmly and began to rub upward.
Dabi moved slowly, up her arms and to her broad shoulders, massaging warmth and life into Tomura’s body that had only known icy death in a caress. For as long as she could remember, the dead hands that embraced her were the only human touch she’d known. Now, though, the cadaverous blanket that usually surrounded her was replaced by a set of heated palms, notably cupped so the staples wouldn’t scratch.
She found herself leaning back into Dabi’s mind-melting body heat, enjoying the bizarre sensations running through her own body as the arsonist’s careful hands pressed harder, rubbing the always-strained muscles between her neck and shoulders. Tomura was floating, her plans, her destiny, Sensei, everything gone out of her head except the feeling of Dabi’s touch and the sound of the other woman’s breathing, so close to her, so close.
“Your neck hurt to be touched?” Dabi asked, and it took until she removed her hands entirely from Tomura’s body that Tomura even registered that she’d been asked a question.
“No, it’s okay, you can keep going,” Tomura responded, probably too quickly. Dabi laughed, which did nothing to stop the rock tempo of Tomura’s heartbeat or the heat, different from the heat being massaged into her body, that began to travel down, down, down.
“I take it you’re enjoying this?”
Tomura didn’t even need to see her; the smirk was perfectly clear in her voice.
“Shut the hell— up! ” Tomura retorted, gasping involuntarily on the last word as those magical hands softly petted her abused neck. The gentle treatment was so unlike the way that she usually ripped up the flesh there with her nails, rubbing soothing circles with clever fingertips, rubbing away the pain of the scratches and the constant itch and all of Tomura’s tension. She wanted to melt into a puddle and never get up again, continuing to shift closer to Dabi, despite her earlier anxieties. Why had she been so panicked, again?
Her lower back hit a pair of scarred, knobby knees, two scalding points that hit right where she was aching from her usual bad posture. Tomura desperately choked down a groan because it, all of it, felt so good . Was it like this for everyone? Shit, she had been missing out.
Suddenly, the legs were on either side of her, tented up, and there was no barrier between them as Tomura felt a hot chest against her back, Dabi’s surprisingly soft breast pressed right up against Tomura’s sharp shoulder blade. The hands against her body were trembling more noticeably as they explored, barely firmer than a caress, tracing patterns over Tomura’s hips, her stomach, the curve of her sides. They froze at the bottom of her ribcage, never travelling further up and definitely not down to where something in the back of Tomura’s mind screamed that she wanted them. Instead, they lifted away to massage her forearms, harder this time as if Dabi was reminding them both that this was just a massage, just a little human contact, nothing more.
Frankly, that was some bullshit.
Tomura frowned and gently pulled her arm away from Dabi’s grip. She twisted around at the waist to look at her lieutenant, who moved her own hands off of Tomura. Dabi’s head was hung down, her spiky black hair covering her face as she breathed deep and slow, in and out, in and out. With one pinkie lifted and her heart racing from the anticipation, Tomura carefully reached back and cupped Dabi’s face, tilting it up to get a better look at the arsonist, maybe tell what she was thinking.
At Tomura’s touch, Dabi’s head jerked up and she was met with a face that was so unexpectedly open, mismatched lips slightly parted as Dabi stared back at Tomura with dilated pupils, a stressed little furrow in her brow until Tomura smoothed it away with her thumb.
Dabi shouldn’t be stressed. Tomura could fix that.
Tomura’s hands that did nothing but destroy stroked softly over Dabi’s cheekbone, some of the stiffness leaving the other woman’s shoulders as a thumb traced the bottom edge of an eye scar. Blue eyes fluttered closed and Tomura could feel the shaky breath that the arsonist took from the chest against her back.
As Tomura leaned in slowly and kissed her, hand sliding from Dabi’s face to the nape of her neck, she could feel Dabi’s pulse beating as wildly as her own.
It took Dabi half a second to register that she was being kissed and another half second to eagerly respond. Apparently, she had confused Shigaraki’s “I want you” shy stare from the other side of the fire as a more general “look at the deformed freak” stare. Fuck, she had never been so happy to be wrong.
When Dabi didn’t immediately respond, Shigaraki began to pull back, a situation that Dabi quickly solved by wrapping her arms around that soft waist and holding the boss’ body against her own. And that was all it took to reassure the other woman that Dabi was into it too; Shigaraki melted further into Dabi’s embrace, the kiss moving from soft and experimental to something fiercer, hungrier.
For someone that Dabi assumed had never done it before, Shigaraki wasn’t half-bad at kissing, almost a natural with how quickly she shifted the majority of her attention to Dabi’s top lip, the one without dulled sensitivity. As long, dextrous fingers tangled in her short dark hair, Dabi had the brief thought that she should probably be more afraid of the hands on her body than she actually was. It had only been about a week or so of knowing Shigaraki, but Dabi already knew how complete her muscle control was, how Shigaraki hadn’t made a single mistake in that time save for fumbling for her phone earlier that day and dusting it. If she was being honest, the incredible power and Shigaraki’s perfect control over it was kinda hot.
Dabi traced a full, chapped bottom lip with her tongue and Shigaraki’s mouth fell open in a slight moan, a sound which travelled into Dabi’s ears and went directly south. To Dabi’s surprise and delight, Shigaraki never fell pliant into the kiss, slipping her tongue into Dabi’s mouth and mapping it out like Dabi was a puzzle she was trying to solve in one of her games. It was all Dabi could do to keep up with her, breaking for breath in harsh pants, then diving back in for more kisses that made her lightheaded and giddy.
Everything was moving fast, so fast, and how did their first kiss only start a little while before?
Shigaraki had twisted around fully, their angle nearly pulling Dabi onto her lap with how intensely she was being kissed by the leader.
Dabi’s hands roamed the soft expanse of the woman in front of her, greedily squeezing her hips before tangling in her messy curls, happy to follow along and docile as Shigaraki’s eager, deep kisses made her breathless, her heart about to beat out of her chest.
It was probably three or four in the morning.
The rain continued to pour outside, the sound audible even over their gasps and groans and the sound of their lips meeting over and over and over again.
And Shigaraki was still kissing like she had endless energy, like it was her last day on earth and the solution to all of her problems was in her lieutenant’s mouth.
Dabi was gonna fucking die .
A hand ran down Dabi’s body, stopping to caress the seam of her upper thigh, then slowly drifting to the middle; it stroked so deliberately over that soft, sensitive place on the inner side that the touch forced a deep moan out of Dabi’s scarred throat.
It all felt so good and she didn’t want it to end but Dabi was starting to shake from exhaustion, having been awake for almost 24 hours by this point, and she knew that if they didn’t stop now that she would not have the self-control to do so if this went on. And Shigaraki definitely wouldn’t, as Dabi suspected she mostly ran on pure adrenaline and never thought much about what her body actually needed . Reluctantly, she gently removed Shigaraki’s hand from her thigh and pulled back, amused that Shigaraki instinctively tried to follow her lips.
Those sparkling crimson eyes cracked open and Dabi could see the exact moment they lost their pleasant, hazy look and became instantly filled with self-doubt and shuttered in insecurity and shame.
“Sorry, fuck, I shouldn’t have-” Shigaraki started, curling her fists tight and pulling them to her ample chest. Dabi patiently took them again, uncurling her fingers and rubbing away the dents left on Shigaraki’s palms.
“Hey, boss, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Dabi murmured, “I want to, okay, like, I really want to, god, you’re so fucking hot. But not here and not now. Listen, it’s been a long and shitty day and I’m just too damn tired. So are you, don’t even try to argue.”
“Hmm,” Shigaraki hummed, not sounding convinced. Dabi resisted the urge to roll her eyes; if she didn’t know better, she’d say Shigaraki was pouting.
“We’re gonna pass the fuck out for a few hours, take the train back to the base, eat and shower, then you can do whatever you wanna do to me in my room. Promise.”
“Whatever I want, huh?” Shigaraki asked, oddly playfully, her eyes gleaming madly with possibility. Dabi nodded and swallowed heavily, the loaded gaze making her want to immediately abandon what she just said and let Shigaraki play with her in any way that the other woman clearly wanted to.
“Lie down, facing the fire,” Dabi said, untangling her body from her boss’ and shifting so she was lying behind Shigaraki on the pallets. She didn’t really feel the cool air of the room anyway and she knew that her natural body heat would help keep Shigaraki warm as they slept. The last thing she wanted after being kissed stupid by Shigaraki was for the other woman to freeze to death inside Giran’s hell-hole of a product stop before Dabi could even get her head between those pale thighs.
She wrapped an arm around Shigaraki’s waist to keep her close, her hand resting comfortably on one of those pretty tits. She gave it a gentle squeeze for good measure and Shigaraki growled, pushing her full body more securely against Dabi’s.
“Keep doing that and I won’t let you sleep,” Shigaraki threatened in a mumble.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” Dabi mock-surrendered, “Any more orders, your majesty?”
There was no response as the other woman had seemingly passed out the second she got cozy like a damn stray cat. Dabi rolled her eyes and pulled Shigaraki impossibly closer, a comforting weight against her torso as Dabi’s own exhaustion took her.
The first thing that registered in Tomura’s mind when she blinked her eyes open was how warm and secure she felt, as if she was covered in an electric weighted blanket. Idly, she wondered when Kurogiri had bought it for her and if she should thank him before her brain blinked back online and she realized what, or rather who, was lying on top of her, naked skin to naked skin.
She had kissed Dabi last night!
She had kissed Dabi last night.
She had kissed Dabi last night.
And Dabi had kissed her back, just as enthusiastic, her exploratory hands spreading a new heat like a wildfire through Tomura’s body.
Rather than panic and try to wiggle free, which was her first instinct, Tomura chose instead to quietly lie there and observe an unguarded Dabi. Dabi’s face was totally relaxed, all the tension gone from her, which let Tomura just silently appreciate the delicacy and balance of her facial features, even with the thick scarring.
Her head was pillowed comfortably on Tomura’s chest, a sight that made Tomura blush as she remembered how Dabi’s hand had teasingly squeezed her there when they were going to sleep. She wanted Dabi to do it again, and the other woman had promised she would when they got home.
“Can feel you watchin’ me, fuck,” Dabi mumbled, still mostly asleep, her touseled head stirring little before flopping back down on Tomura’s chest. “And stop laughin’, ‘m comfy.”
Tomura stifled her giggles. Dabi was so cute when she first woke up, Tomura could probably say anything right now and Dabi would be too dazed to be purposefully difficult. As endearing as the sight was, though, Tomura knew that if they didn’t get back to base soon or figure out a way to send a message, Kurogiri would worry and probably get Sensei involved. And that was the last thing Tomura wanted: another fuck-up on her long recent list and a closer eye on her every move from All For One.
She could do without the added scrutiny, especially with the exciting promise Dabi had made the night before.
“You gotta get up, we should go,” Tomura said, idly rubbing Dabi’s patchwork back to pull her from sleep. The other woman unconsciously leaned into the touch and muttered something unintelligible, her body tensing briefly as her brain finally started to come online.
“Mm, what time is it?” Dabi asked, her voice even rougher than normal from sleep. She slid off of her claimed bed and sat on the edge of the pallet, rubbing her eyes. Tomura instantly missed her warmth and weight. She sat up too, stretching her back until she heard a satisfying pop and sighed.
“No idea. The fire’s out, though.”
Dabi stood and walked over to the pallet that held their now-dry clothes, only stumbling a little as she shook off the last dregs of sleep.
“Our stuff’s still warm so it must’ve only been out for an hour or so,” she said, pulling on her underwear and thick boot socks, “If I had to guess based on when I lit it, I’d say it’s probably 9 or 10 a.m. right now.”
“Woah, you can tell time with your fire?” Tomura asked, following suit. She frowned when Dabi lost her shit, her stapled belly shaking with laughter as she yanked her t-shirt over her head.
“I forgot you’ve apparently never been outside in your life, boss,” Dabi said, “Everything has a limit to how long it can burn, including wood. My fire isn’t magic, you know.”
“It looks like magic,” Tomura defended, “It’s blue, so fucking excuse me if I assumed there was something up with it that wasn’t natural.”
She turned away from a still laughing Dabi in a huff to finish getting dressed, first her pants, then the compression sports bra that hid her identity. Before she could put on her long-sleeved black shirt and heavy hoodie, a pair of lips caressed the side of her bare, sensitive neck, one soft as a feather, the other rougher with a split in the middle. Hands slipped around her waist from the back and Tomura tilted her head for better access, enjoying the way the typically reserved Dabi clung to her like this, the heat of the other woman’s body radiating even through Dabi’s clothes.
She let it go on for a minute or two, then pulled away from Dabi’s embrace before she got completely distracted and let 9 a.m. turn into 1 p.m. real fucking fast.
“I’m serious, we’ve gotta head back or Kurogiri’s gonna flip his shit.”
Dabi heaved a deep sigh and went back to her own clothes, slipping on her boots and heavy black jacket.
“Fine, fine, let’s go,” she replied, “He ain’t a bad dude, don’t want him to freak because you’re missing.”
Tomura kissed Dabi on the line that bisected her cheek before pulling her black dust mask over her lower face and leaning down to tug on her blessedly dry red sneakers.
“You know, you can tell Kurogiri about… you and he won’t say anything about it unless directly ordered to by Sensei or myself. He’d get you whatever you needed, no questions asked.”
Dabi hummed in consideration of that and faced Tomura, waiting until she stood up to tug her closer by her hips and curve her arms around Tomura’s lower back. She tilted her head to the side, reached up, and pulled down Tomura’s mask again before capturing her lips in another slow, sweet kiss. They had to go, they really had to go, but Tomura didn’t want this moment to end, didn’t want to go back to their normal lives and how they normally behaved. She kissed Dabi back, hard, not wanting to let go of this transient time and place where someone actually saw and acknowledged her, not the prince that Sensei built as his heir. But they had to go, they had responsibilities to carry out and enemies to defeat.
“It’s probably a good thing you cover your face, boss,” Dabi murmured, slightly breathless when Tomura broke the kiss and pulled her mask back on, “Or else I’d kiss you all over the base and what would your sensei say then, huh?”
“Shut up,” Tomura grumbled, turning away and thankful the mask hid the way her cheeks tinted pink. At least the healthy parts of Dabi’s face didn’t hide how she was similarly affected by this new thing building between them.
Their public faces firmly in place, the two disguised women left the shabby product stop, headed in the direction of the nearest train station. The storm had stopped in the night, giving way to a cool, clear late morning, the sunlight reflecting off of the puddles on the ground. The villains walked in companionable silence, untouching to keep up appearances but closer than they had walked when they left the hideout the evening before, when they were steeped in mutual distrust and resentment as they headed toward the deal that went south and the gathering dark storm clouds on the horizon. Occasionally, Dabi would make some comment, point out places where she used to sleep sometimes, alleys where she’d get swarmed by a herd of feral cats chasing her body heat (Tomura hotly protested when Dabi made a snide remark about the leader doing the same thing), some of Giran’s other hidden product stops, and other things that revealed little glimpses of Dabi’s old life before she was brought to the League and to Tomura.
It was overall a pleasant day, the air clean and crisp like the rain had washed away something of the old world and made room for something new and exciting and bright.
As for Shigaraki Tomura, walking side-by-side with her intriguing lieutenant as the other woman navigated their way to the station, she felt like she could finally breathe.
