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There was one thing you learned quickly after joining the League of Villains — Tomura Shigaraki loved video games.
No, loved wasn’t strong enough. He lived for them, his fingers constantly twitching at invisible controls even when he wasn’t playing. When he wasn’t busy with missions or meetings, he was usually holed up in front of a screen, eyes flickering with focus. It was one of the few things that made him seem... almost normal. Almost adorable.
And it wasn't just that.
You remembered the first time you caught him awkwardly braiding Toga’s hair — clumsy, rough hands trying to weave the strands while she kicked her legs excitedly, grinning from ear to ear. He grumbled the whole time, pretending to be annoyed, but he still kept going until the braid held.
Or the way, after a brutal day, he'd sink onto the couch with a controller in hand, escaping into another world with a furrowed brow slowly smoothing out into something softer. You'd watch from the corner of the room sometimes, pretending to clean, your heart aching a little at how peaceful he looked only when he was immersed in the glow of a screen.
You noticed other things too — small, careless acts of kindness hidden under all that anger and sharpness. Like when he thought no one was looking, and he draped a blanket over Twice’s slumped form, passed out cold after a long night. Or when he'd quietly shove a half-eaten bag of chips toward Spinner without a word, sharing without making a big deal out of it. He acted like he didn’t care. But he did.
It was all those little things — the hidden tenderness, the rare flickers of softness — that made your feelings for him grow into something fierce, something impossible to ignore.
Everyone else in the League had picked up on it by now — the way your eyes lit up when he walked into the room, the way you practically hovered around him, eager to help with anything he needed. Everyone knew about your hopeless crush...
Everyone, that is, except for Tomura himself.
"(Y/N)," a rough voice called, snapping you out of your thoughts.
You spun around, heart leaping into your throat. Tomura stood there a little awkwardly, scratching at the side of his neck with one hand. In the other, he held a simple clothing hook — a black metal one — with something bundled neatly over it.
He stepped closer and muttered, "Here."
Curious, you stepped toward him, hands trembling slightly as you accepted the offering. Draped over the hook was a soft red leather jacket, a sleek black dress, and a black choker looped carefully through the hanger. You blinked, startled.
"A gift...?" you asked breathlessly, voice smaller than you'd intended.
He gave a short, almost bashful nod, avoiding your gaze like he wasn’t sure how to handle your reaction. Your heart lit up instantly, warmth blooming in your chest. Clutching the clothes close to you, you practically skipped away toward your room, too overwhelmed to even properly thank him.
Across the room, Spinner, who had been lounging at the table, raised an eyebrow in quiet amusement.
"...Was that Maria’s outfit? From the Silent Hill remake?" he asked, glancing from the retreating figure of you back to Tomura.
Tomura dropped heavily into a chair beside him, looking oddly satisfied with himself. He gave a firm nod.
Spinner stared at him for a beat longer, tilting his head. "You do realize she likes you, right?"
Tomura shrugged carelessly, but there was a stubborn glint in his eyes. "If she likes it, she'll wear it."
Spinner blinked, caught between exasperation and disbelief. He rubbed at his forehead with a low groan. "Boss..." he said slowly, trying to get through to him, "I mean she would literally fuck you."
The room dropped into a heavy, awkward silence.
Tomura’s hand paused mid-scratch, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "...What?"
Spinner let out a long, suffering sigh, slumping back in his seat. "You're unbelievable."
Before either of them could say more, the sound of your light footsteps filled the room.
"How do I look~?" you chimed, stepping back into view with a bright twirl.
For a moment, it felt like even the air forgot how to move.
Tomura’s eyes locked onto you — wide, hungry, utterly transfixed. The jacket framed your figure perfectly, the short dress clinging in all the right ways, and the choker sat snug against your throat like a brand. You looked like a dream come alive, far better than any character from his games.
So real. So close. So...
"Perfect," he breathed, a rare, genuine smile breaking across his usually guarded face.
Your chest fluttered wildly, cheeks heating as you practically skipped over to him. He lifted a hand, letting you catch it in your own, and twirled you again with a low, pleased hum, like he was savoring the sight of you.
"If I get another," he asked, voice softer, hopeful, "will you wear it too?"
"Of course!" you chirped without hesitation.
His smile widened — small, awkward, but devastatingly sweet — and for the first time, you saw it:
the moment Tomura Shigaraki started seeing you not as background noise, but as something precious.
Something he wanted to keep.
After that day, you wore anything Tomura brought to you.
Some outfits were daring, borderline scandalous — others more casual. But if it made Tomura happy, you wore it without complaint.
Twice and Toga were the next ones to catch on.
Twice pieced it together after you showed up dressed as Ada Wong from Resident Evil, that sleek red dress clinging to every curve. He didn’t say much at first, just let out a low whistle and muttered something about "someone having a real thing for spy girls."
Toga figured it out even faster. How she knew — no one was really sure. Maybe it was her sharp instincts, maybe it was because she cared enough to pay attention. Either way, she was the one who first suggested you dress as "a sexy bitch," like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Compress didn’t seem to catch on at all, happily oblivious.
Dabi didn’t care enough and Kurogiri stayed quiet, as always. He only ever offered you an ear when you came to him, confused about what Tomura’s actions meant.
But even Kurogiri had to admit, silently to himself, that Tomura was definitely in deep. Especially the day you pranced around in a cheerleader outfit straight out of Lollipop Chainsaw — bright smile, short skirt, and all. Something about the way Tomura watched you that day, completely entranced, left no doubt.
Still, Kurogiri said nothing.
You became something of a personal dress-up doll for Tomura.
He took real pleasure in seeing you dressed differently every day, walking around like you didn’t realize half your ass was hanging out of most of those outfits.
Honestly, it made it easier for him to track you.
Tomura noticed patterns — because of course he did.
When you wore more covering outfits, loose shirts or cozy hoodies, it usually meant you were on your period — quieter, a little restless, more inclined to hide under layers.
Most of the time, you wore the daring clothes without shame. But when you were ovulating, it became almost unbearable — skimpy shorts, tiny tops, the way you'd practically cling to his side, begging for his attention. And a deep, dark part of him lived for it.
It drove him crazy in ways he didn’t know how to handle.
XxXxX
"Tomura," Toga huffed one day, stomping in front of him with her hands on her hips.
He blinked at her, immediately more alert — she hardly ever used his first name unless she was serious.
"Why are you toying with her?" she demanded. "Why can’t you just tell her you like her already? A woman’s heart is precious! You shouldn’t mess with it, or else she might never find love again!" she chastised fiercely.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Tomura muttered, scratching at his neck.
Toga’s hair practically puffed up like an angry cat, teeth baring.
Twice, sensing a bloodbath incoming, quickly wedged himself between them.
"You do know (Nickname) likes you, right?" Twice asked, his voice unusually serious.
Tomura opened his mouth — and Twice immediately answered himself: "Well, of course he does!"
Tomura just scowled. "I don't know what you're talking about," he repeated, harsher.
Twice glanced helplessly back at Toga, clearly searching for a way to explain it without insulting their boss.
Spinner crossed his arms, sighing like a disappointed parent. "She wants to fuck you," he stated bluntly. "She likes you. Wants you to bed her. Be her boyfriend. Cuddle. Shit like that."
Dead silence fell over the group.
Even their footsteps halted, halfway through the dark alleys of the city.
Tomura stood a few paces ahead, his shoulders stiff.
A long, tired sigh escaped him — thin and worn out.
"You have to give her something, boss," Twice said carefully. "Bang that bitch like there’s no tomorrow—" he shook his head quickly, correcting himself — "No! I mean, treat her right! You can’t just keep playing with her."
"She's not your doll!" Toga added, voice sharp with genuine emotion.
Tomura finally turned around, his red eyes gleaming in the low light, heavy with something dangerous and unspoken.
"So you're all telling me I should just share her feelings," he said slowly, voice colder now, "without even thinking about my own?"
The group exchanged uncertain looks.
"Is she the boss?" Tomura asked.
"...No," they mumbled collectively.
"Then let me do as I want," he said flatly, voice dropping into a warning growl.
The weight of his authority snapped back into place.
Whatever uneasy hopes they'd had — of pushing him, of helping you — crumbled under it.
He was the boss.
Not a roommate.
Not family.
The reminder was sharp, brutal, and final.
They fell back into line behind him without another word.
Tomura exhaled through his teeth and stalked forward into the night — but even as he went, a bitter taste clung to his mouth.
Because no matter how fiercely he clung to control...
Your smile still pulled at something inside him he couldn’t ignore forever.
When they finally returned to base, Tomura was exhausted.
He was ready to crash into bed, sleep for god knows how long, and then spend the next several hours rotting in front of his games. He’d done enough today. He deserved a break.
Pushing open the door to the bar, he let out a soft sigh.
“We’re back,” he muttered, lifting his crimson gaze.
He expected to see Kurogiri behind the bar.
Instead, he found you standing there with Compress.
You were dressed as Tifa Lockhart today — short skirt, tight white tank top — looking as casual and gorgeous as ever, like it was just another normal day for you.
But Tomura’s tiredness evaporated instantly when he noticed how close you were leaning into Compress — how the older man’s gloved hands rested casually on your shoulders.
A sudden, ugly pulse thudded in Tomura's chest.
"Boss!" Compress nearly choked out, quickly stepping back.
Behind Tomura, Spinner, Toga, and Twice peeked in, eyebrows raised, sensing the change in atmosphere immediately.
"Welcome back, everyone~" you beamed, completely oblivious.
You opened your mouth to say more — but never got the chance.
Tomura moved first, grabbing your wrist in one swift motion and yanking you toward him.
You gasped, stumbling into his chest before he pinned you against the wall, one hand trapping your wrist high above your head, the other braced against the wall near your face.
The air between you crackled, heavy and suffocating.
"What are you doing?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.
You stared up at him, wide-eyed, the dim lighting of the bar making your pupils shine like glass.
Your cheeks flushed a soft, confused red — but the longer he stared, the more your expression twisted with fear.
"Boss?" Compress called, cautious.
"I was... I was trying to take off his mask," you stammered, barely able to breathe under the weight of Tomura's gaze.
"To see his face?" he pressed, tone sharper than a knife.
"Y-Yeah... I just..." You swallowed hard. "I wanted to see..."
Tomura’s jaw tightened, fingers twitching dangerously, his pinky instinctively curling up away from your skin.
His red eyes burned into yours — a predator’s gaze — and for the first time in a long while, your heart hammered in your chest not from excitement... but fear.
Tears welled in the corners of your eyes.
You didn’t know what you had done wrong.
You didn’t know how to fix it.
"Shigaraki?" Toga called from behind him, voice high and worried.
Tomura blinked, the sound cutting through the red haze clouding his brain.
He looked down at you — at the tear slipping down your cheek — and reality crashed back down on him.
He dropped your wrist like it burned him and stumbled back a step.
You clutched your arm to your chest, hiccupping softly before spinning on your heel and running.
"(N/n)!" Toga cried, immediately darting after you.
"You didn’t need to get so angry..." Twice muttered as he hurried after both of you.
Tomura stood there frozen, his breathing uneven.
He flexed his fingers absently, staring at them like they weren’t even attached to his body.
Spinner lingered behind, watching him warily.
"...Tomura?" he ventured. "What the hell happened?"
"I..." Tomura’s voice cracked, low and lost.
"I don’t know," he muttered, clutching at the front of his hoodie like he could stop the heavy, sinking feeling in his chest.
It didn’t feel right.
None of it felt right.
And for the first time in a long time, Tomura wasn’t sure if he could fix it.
The day passed in a heavy blur.
Your bright smile — the one that always lit up the base like a spark in the dark — was nowhere to be seen. The halls felt colder without it.
Tomura had retreated to his room not long after the incident, sulking in the way only he could: back hunched, jaw tight, mind storming behind narrowed eyes. The atmosphere in the base shifted like fog settling after a wildfire. Toga and Twice slipped out for a while, maybe needing air — or space. Dabi was nowhere to be seen. Compress lingered at the bar, talking quietly with Kurogiri, both of them clearly trying to avoid the thick silence inside.
You, meanwhile, stayed in your room until the pounding in your chest had dulled to a manageable throb.
Later, after some time had passed and your breathing felt less like a chore, you finally padded out barefoot toward the kitchen. You needed something to cool your raw throat — your voice still hoarse from crying. You opened the fridge, grabbed a cold soda, and cracked it open with a hiss. The first gulp burned going down, sharp bubbles cutting into your raw throat, but it grounded you. Anchored you.
You exhaled shakily, set the can down on the counter, and lightly slapped your cheeks — once, twice — trying to reset your face into something normal.
Grabbing the can, you turned — and froze.
Tomura was standing in the doorway.
For once, you didn’t greet him with a smile. You didn’t bounce over or chirp his name. You just… stood there. Your shoulders were stiff, eyes downcast, drink in hand like a shield.
For a long beat, the silence stretched between you.
“…Sorry,” he muttered.
You didn’t look up.
“I let my anger get the better of me.”
You kept your eyes on the floor. “You scared me.”
Your voice was quiet — not accusing, but honest. Vulnerable. Raw.
Finally, you raised your head, meeting his eyes.
“I didn’t do anything wrong…”
“I know.” His voice cracked just slightly. “I… I saw you touching him and I just— I got mad.”
“Mad?” you echoed, not quite sure what you were hearing. There was a flicker in your gaze. Something hopeful.
Tomura looked away, lips twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to sneer or sulk.
“I didn’t like it. Him touching you. You being that close.” He swallowed hard. “It pissed me off.”
You slowly lifted your hands to your mouth, covering the soft gasp that escaped. Your eyes widened slightly, that familiar shimmer returning to your gaze.
Tomura shifted uncomfortably, glancing at you, then away again.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he mumbled. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”
“A simple ‘don’t touch him’ would’ve been appropriate,” you said, your hands dropping to your hips.
Tomura’s crimson eyes snapped to yours, locking on as he watched that fire spark back to life behind them.
“You could’ve said I’d be punished for touching him,” you added, your voice dipping, uncertain — not flirty, not teasing, but genuinely unsure if that kind of reaction was what he expected from you.
He shifted where he stood, visibly uncomfortable. His hands twitched uselessly at his sides, like he didn’t know whether to reach for something or shove them deep in his pockets. He looked like a kicked dog — tense, embarrassed, cornered by emotions he couldn’t name.
“I just…” he scowled, hesitating as if the words physically hurt to say. “You’re mine.”
It came out in a breath. Sharp. Possessive. Honest.
Your eyes widened, heartbeat thundering in your chest. Your fingers curled tight around the hem of your hoodie, as if holding yourself back from hoping too hard.
“Yours?” you echoed, breath catching. That hopeful sparkle returned to your eyes, delicate and blinding — and damn, how he’d missed that look.
He faltered.
“I mean — you’re ours! I guess.” His voice lifted in pitch as he backpedaled, cheeks tinged pink, the tips of his ears betraying a deeper flush. “The League’s. You’re part of our group.”
Your smile faltered. Just a little at first, but it spread like a crack in glass. With every word he fumbled through, your heart dipped lower, and your shoulders slowly sank with it.
He watched it happen — the way your light dimmed right in front of him — and something inside him twisted painfully.
He swallowed hard.
“But…” his voice softened, barely more than a whisper, “I didn’t like seeing you with someone else. I didn’t like how it made me feel. And then… you looked so scared of me. I—”
He stopped himself, jaw clenching, fists balling at his sides.
“I don’t want you to be scared of me,” he said, voice cracking at the edges.
You stared at him. Your expression was unreadable for a moment, then softened — gentle, but firm.
“You don’t get to scare me just because you feel something you don’t understand,” you said softly, but with steel beneath it.
His head jerked up. His gaze snapped to yours — intense, burning — and for the first time, it wasn’t anger or irritation behind those crimson eyes. It was something… desperate. Raw. Pleading.
“Then help me understand,” he rasped. “Because I’m trying. I am. I just… I don’t know how.”
Your heart skipped a beat. Breath caught painfully in your chest.
You looked at him — really looked — past the hunched posture and chapped lips, past the ever-present scowl. And you saw him for what he truly was: someone who had never known love in a way that made sense. Someone who didn’t know how to be held without hurting. Someone who, for the first time, was asking for help.
And that was enough.
You stepped closer, slow and careful, until you could reach out. Your hand found the sleeve of his hoodie, fingers curling gently into the fabric.
“You don’t have to figure it all out at once,” you said, your voice warm, breathy, trembling just a bit. “But I’ll try my best to help you understand.”
He stared down at you, lips parted slightly, stunned into silence. Then, slowly — almost imperceptibly — he gave a single nod.
“…Okay,” he muttered.
That was all it took.
Your arms wrapped around him, face buried in his chest. You smiled against the fabric of his hoodie, bright and full of affection.
His arms stayed at his sides — stiff, unsure — but he didn’t pull away. Not yet.
After all, he still didn’t quite know why it had gotten under his skin — seeing you touch Compress. Why the sight of someone else’s hands on you had made his throat tighten and his hands twitch.
But he was starting to understand what it meant.
Thankfully, the tension in the air had eased. Toga and Twice were all smiles, especially pleased with Tomura — or as pleased as they could be with someone who'd huffed an apology and locked himself in his room. Still, it was progress. Compress finally relaxed, no longer feeling like his life was hanging by a thread, and even Dabi had made an appearance.
“Damn,” the scorched man muttered, his eyes trailing after you as you passed by. Today’s outfit left little to the imagination — Lucy from Fairy Tail, Aquarius form. Bikini top, short skirt. It bounced with every step you took, and Dabi didn’t bother hiding the way his eyes lingered.
“I’m asking Tomura for something,” you said sweetly. “He’s much easier to deal with when I look like this~”
Dabi gave a low whistle and delivered a sharp smack to your ass as you passed. You yelped, snapping your head back with a hiss.
“Hey!”
“It’s a compliment~” he sing-songed, watching how the hem of your skirt barely held on to modesty. “You even wearing panties under that?”
In response, you shot him the bird over your shoulder and made a beeline to Tomura’s door, opening it without so much as a knock.
“Tomu~” you chimed, shutting it behind you with a click. He sat where he always did — hunched over his desk, eyes fixed on the glowing monitor, one hand dancing over the keyboard, the other scratching at his neck.
You frowned at the sight of his gloves, knowing that meant he’d been gaming for a while now — probably one of his “calm-down” sessions after something stressful. Without waiting for an invitation, you approached, reached out, and gently took the hand scratching at his skin. He spared you a single glance, then went back to his game.
“What?” he muttered.
You didn’t answer — just smiled and nestled yourself between his legs, leaning back so your spine pressed flush to his chest. You reached for his free hand and lifted it, guiding it over your chest with a playful tilt of your head.
“I came to spend time with you,” you whispered.
He didn’t pull away.
Instead, his hand curled instinctively, palm cupping the warmth through the thin bikini fabric. His fingers gave an experimental twitch — and you gasped, your breath catching as your thighs pressed together instinctively.
“What kind of stress ball did you even buy?” he mumbled, chin now resting on your shoulder, voice distracted.
Then he looked.
His eyes flicked down, catching the angle of his own hand, the thin string of your top straining against the soft weight of your chest… and the tight, obvious pebble of your nipple pressing into his palm.
His entire body froze.
Your breath shuddered.
Then he gave the tiniest squeeze.
A soft moan spilled from your lips, unbidden, helpless. You gripped his other arm, your cheeks burning as your chest heaved.
The room went still. His game flashed a red game over screen, but neither of you looked at it.
“Shit—sorry!” Tomura yanked his hands back like he’d been burned, his face scarlet. “I didn’t mean—!”
You tried to gather yourself, tried to breathe evenly, but your whole body felt hot, tense, hypersensitive. You hadn’t even realized how badly you needed touch until that one moment cracked you wide open.
“Tomu…” you breathed, leaning into him again, trembling with the effort not to melt on the spot. The thin fabric of your skirt clung to your thighs, useless against the heat rising from between them.
He stared — wide-eyed, frozen. Your flushed face, the breathy way you said his name, the glint of something both needy and innocent in your eyes — it all short-circuited his brain.
And then he realized another problem, one growing fast and pressing against your lower back through his sweatpants.
His breath hitched.
“…Shit.”
Carefully, oh so carefully, he slid his hand between your legs, the warmth of his touch sending shivers up your spine. He slowly pushed up the skirt you wore, the soft fabric whispering against your skin. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he found you bare, just as he had expected. He pressed two fingers against your clit, circling it with deliberate slowness, his touch sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your veins.
You grasped his thigh, your nails digging into the muscle as you pressed back against him. A moan escaped your lips, raw and unbridled, echoing in the room. His breath hot against your ear, he murmured, "Look at you, not even wearing underwear. You were expecting this, weren't you?"
Your head lolled back against his shoulder, thighs trembling with anticipation. Your breath came in hot pants, your eyes fluttering closed as you surrendered to the sensation. He moved his free hand to your breast, squeezing gently, his fingers teasing your nipple. You could feel the heat building within you, his slow circles drawing you closer to the edge.
"Just for you," you whimpered, your voice soft and needy. The sound of your desire seemed to spur him on, his fingers moving with more purpose. Your nails dug into his thighs, your ass pressing back against his hard member, seeking more friction. The moan that fell from his lips was your undoing, pushing you over the edge. "Tomura~" you cried out, bucking your hips against his fingers, your body convulsing with your release.
He slowed his movements, allowing you to ride out your high, your grip finally loosening on his thighs. He lifted his fingers, coated in your slickness, and moved them towards your lips. You opened without a word, your tongue darting out to clean them, your eyes locked onto his. "Good girl," he rasped, pulling his fingers away, a smirk playing on his lips. "But we're not done yet."
Before he could react, you turned and straddled his lap, your hands pulling at his sweatpants. "Let me help you," you purred, your voice laced with lust. You took him out, your gentle, soft hands stroking him, marveling at the heat and hardness of him. He leaned back in his chair, a groan rumbling in his chest as you pleasured him.
His fingers dug into the arms of the chair, his body tensing as a bead of cum formed at the tip. You shifted slowly, quietly, until you were poised above him. He only looked up when you released him, your hand coming to rest on his shoulders as you sank down, taking him into your soaked heat. The growl that escaped him was primal, possessive, and it sent a thrill down your spine.
He didn't last long, his hips bucking as he came, his body tensing as he held you close. "Guess you were pent up," you murmured, nuzzling his shoulder like a cat in heat. He groaned softly, but you didn't give him much time to recover. You began to bounce on his lap, his cum and yours serving as the best lube, his hands finding your hips to guide your movements.
The pressure started to build, your walls tightening around him as he thrust up to meet you. The room filled with the sound of your moans, your body writhing as you chased your release. He hit a spot that made you see stars, your body arching backwards as an erotic moan tore from your throat.
"Tomu~" you whined, picking up speed, slamming down against him. He moaned as you tightened around him, your body convulsing as you came, your cry bouncing off the walls. He followed soon after, his hips bucking as he filled you, his body trembling with the force of his release.
Exhausted, you melted against him, your body spent. He held you close, his sharp breaths right next to your ear. For the first time in days, you felt at peace, safe in his arms. He nuzzled your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he left a dark mark. "Mine," he growled, licking the mark, sending a fresh wave of desire through you.
"All yours," you muttered, too tired to move. The soft click of his keyboard filled the room as he played his game, one hand wrapped around your waist, holding you close.
You could get used to this, to him.