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

𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 . 𝟐𝟏

-
╰┈➤ ❝ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : ❞
None
❀° ┄──────╮

It felt as if acid had stained his tounge, ridding the muscle in a tainted dew so unbearable, he found himself unable to object, to exclaim, to speak.

For the first (1st) time in over a decade, Tomura was uncertain, hesitant to follow either his guttural intuition or demands of his Sensei.

His intelligence was farther than any other, leaving Tomura to understand what 'Rectify this.' meant.

Kurogiri was more somber this particular night, coddling the prodigy in what felt as if guilt or sympathy. Why, neither were sure. He'd had assured Tomura they had purchased the last model of cellular data. Kurogiri had mentioned later on, in hopes of straying Tomura's conflicted mind, that in Musutafu, Japan's largest heroism academy "U.A", a leak of what could possible be the system's newest teacher, All Might.

Yet, it hadn't effected nor improved Tomura's blank expression and hindering negativity. It startled Kurogiri, observing how the young man hadn't immediately begun to conspire, much like in the past.

The mist-like villian had even attempted to conjure a plateful of ohagi, in hopes of cheering his foster son up.

In actuality, Kurogiri had been left with a burning inferno of guilt & self-loath. He had informed Sensei, yes, although the situation at hand was far moreso difficult.

He was required to, an unrealistic sensation of nagging in his fog-obscured skull. It grew painful, the longer Kurogiri knew of Tomura's outings. In short, he'd been aware for a long while, having requested Sensei speak to Tomura of the matter at first, hopeful it was a phase they'd never speak of.

If Kurogiri had sent Tomura off on his own record, with All for One present, instinctively, he'd spill his metaphorical guts in lack of self control. It was unexplainable, how Kurogiri felt as if the longer he kept his silence for Tomura's sake, the tighter this unseen leash clutched his hidden neck, as if Kurogiri himself were physically uncapable of a white lie.

Even so, as Tomura bite into a balled-rice ohagi mindlessly, it still hadn't amounted to the treat he'd had been gifted earlier by his soon-to-be late companion. It was then Tomura had expressed gratitude in a monotone, uninterested tone had Kurogiri paused, uprooted to his once fleeting departure.

Tomura had never, not once in over a decade, had he thanked anyone besides his Sensei, for anything.

Kurogiri hadn't slept that night, or the following evening after. He'd had attempt all of within his power to brighten the cumbersome mood of the bar, as of recently. Even so, Tomura had remained locked within the confinements of his dull bedroom, requests unheard of as he persist in his distance.

At times, late at night and in deathly silence, when Kurogiri passed the closed obstacle, he'd faintly hear that of consistent pacing & murming. He hadn't dared to knock, frightful he'd startle the bluenette into submitting to silence of yet in his own bedroom.

Tomura rarely left, either to indulge in the occasional meal or necessities his enclosed bedroom couldn't provide. A purple, heavy hue of bags were prominent beneath his bloodshot eyes, evidence sleep hadn't welcomed him.

Conversation was limited, often cut short as Tomura sought refuge in his room for intensive planning. Small, unnoticeable glances were sent from Kurogiri, often peering into the dimly-lit room. At first, he'd had assumed this faint mumbling was that of planning of you. Instead, he found much more.