Various BNHA X Fem Reader.
Sorta ocish character.
White hair and blue eyes.
Where an inauspicious girl meets her doom and ultimately gets transported into the chaos of My Hero Academia.
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SHIGARAKI TOMURA'S LOYALTY belonged to one person and one person only: his master, All For One.
When his world crumbled during those chaotic days when he killed his own family, All For One had been the one standing behind him, a shadowy figure offering a twisted hand of salvation. He had shaped Shigaraki into the person he had become, molding him into a weapon.
As Shigaraki gazed at the remnants of his family—those ghostly, decaying hands—he felt a twisted sense of satisfaction. They deserved it, especially his father. All his life, he had been shamed, ridiculed for even dreaming of becoming a hero. His father's cruelty had left deep scars, and Shigaraki felt no remorse when he finally ended his life.
Yet, even in his twisted mind, flashes of his sister and mother lingered, softer and more haunting. They had been the ones who cared for him, who showed him love when he was young.
But in his rage, he had been too blind to realize that he was destroying the only warmth he'd ever known. That's why he had kept their hands, preserved in front of him as a constant, macabre reminder.
Time had worn him down—his teeth yellowed, his once dark hair now a lifeless shade of blue. Despite all that, his master had never turned away. All For One had cared for him, taken him in as if he were his own child, and taught him the secrets of his quirk.
And for that, Shigaraki made a vow—to protect his master with every fiber of his being, no matter what it took, until the very end.
Among his few belongings was a stray polaroid picture, an image that stood out among the chaos of his mind. It captured a young, innocent girl with a bright smile on her face—you.
Shigaraki couldn't quite place why you had left such an imprint on him, why this single snapshot lingered in his thoughts when he was usually so focused on his master's plans. But he knew one thing: you knew something about him.
The way you looked at him, those wide, fearful eyes, even though he had never done anything to warrant it—not yet, anyway. It was almost as if you could see right through him, past the decay and hatred, to the darkness he kept hidden. As if you knew he had killed his family.
