Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Nurse

You’d found him lying in a pool of his own blood in the alley beside your apartment complex. His breathing, heavy and slow, a product apparent of anger rather than agony. You raced to his side, trying your damnedest to compose yourself and assess the grotesque scene before you. Deep lacerations littered his body, oozing with a vile red. He growled a raspy ‘fuck off’. You shook your head in response, refusing to compromise your integrity as a health professional by leaving someone to die so indignantly. Skeletal fingers inched closer to your exposed wrist, before a wave of pain left it limp against the reddened concrete. You began pulling your phone, digits trembling as they tapped the screen.

“No!” He growled, violently jolting toward you. His nails bent against the cold floor. The snarl of his voice was quiet, but the reverberations it sent through your body was indicative of its presence. Suddenly, his eyes lost their terrifying conviction, his head collapsing to the ground.

The next hour or so was a complete blur. A frantic application of every medical precaution you knew was employed. Each cut was carefully tended with concise professionalism. You were somewhat relieved by his lanky stature as you precariously dragged him to your apartment, although you could only chalk up your newfound strength as a result of your adrenaline-induced frenzy. By the time you gently laid him against your bed, you were completely exhausted.

You finally worked up the courage to meet his glare, a decision you almost immediately regretted. His scarred face was rigid in its expression of contempt, his gaze unblinkingly accusatory. But then his face softened slightly at your pleas. He scratched at his neck, pangs of pain from his stomach sporadically eliciting flinches.

The man’s voice was gravelly, Its sudden sound almost making you jump. "Fine." The next few days were surprisingly pleasant. Sure, Tomura was a little rough around the edges, but you were certain he warmed up to you. You’d serve him soup which he never failed to completely devour.

Every day you would tend and redress his wounds, a process of which you swore made his cheeks redden as your fingers brushed against his bare abdomen. You had offered him free reign to entertain himself with your collection of video games, which somehow ended up in an in-depth conversation about the state of the contemporary industry which ran well into the night. It was charming, seeing a man so gruff and cold have such normal interests.

Tomura showed a genuine effort in getting to know about your life. Whether or not he actually cared was uncertain, his face always etched with a slight frown. He seemed less than enthusiastic to receive your reciprocated interest in him, however. He’d grunt, giving one word responses to questions that required more complex answers. Your inquiry into what he did for a living was met with an apathetic shrug of his shoulders, any questions about his family warranted a dreadful glare before he continued with whatever he was doing.

When you inevitably asked about what got him into such a dire situation in the first place, he only responded with a rumbled hiss: "Just taking care of some pests." You’d once made the mistake of complaining about how the constant villain attacks were leaving you completely overworked, wishing those heroes would help you catch a break.

The comment itself was lighthearted in intention, but garnered an evening of tense silence from Tomura. You shuffled into your apartment after a particularly exasperating day. To your surprise, the lights were off, and stillness permeated the air. Tomura was gone. All he’d left behind was a ripped piece of paper, reading ‘Thanks’, accompanied by a hastily written phone number.

You made an effort to keep in touch with Tomura. The two of you added each other on the various online games you frequented, regularly finding time to play together. You did find it odd that now and then he’d give you a different phone number to contact him with, but you were sure he had his reasons. Tomura was surprisingly more eloquent and out-spoken through messaging. You supposed that the lack of face-to-face contact really helped an introvert like him to open-up. Despite his enigmatic short-comings, it felt like you were getting to know him, the real him. He would send you cute in-game gifts or messages, and regularly shot you texts asking how you were.

Your relationship to Tomura was unfortunately sidelined, however, when you came home one day to find your door unlocked. Your belongings were haphazardly strewn about on the floor, cupboards left open with their contents thrown aside. Whoever left your home in such a state had no concern with hiding their presence. You were completely shaking, nearly on the verge of tears. The final straw, the detail that made you crawl into the fetal position and sob, was the evident absence of many of your clothes, including your more intimate garments. Whoever this person was, this sick fuck, could come back at any time. You shuddered to think what they’d do if you were here when they did. So you booked it, walking as fast as you could to the nearest police station.

The ordeal left you terrified for weeks. The few days following the incident, you stayed at a motel out of dread from the persecutor returning. Your restrictive income, however, was a factor in your inevitable return. What followed was sleepless nights filled with paranoia, anticipating an intruder at any moment. You loathed the idea that some creep was getting off to your clothes like a pervert. The cops were frustratingly useless as well, giving you no hope of ever finding the culprit.

Fear was made tangible in every facet of your life. You swore you felt a presence, a burning gaze assessing every movement, as you made your way to and from work. Things always seemed out of place around your home, but you could never quite trust your own suspicions. This suffocating fear was completely fucking with you.

The dark circles under your eyes and the tired complexion of your face didn’t go unnoticed. You were sitting alone at one of the cafeteria tables, nursing a coffee between your hands. Your appetite wasn’t what it used to be.

"You good, buddy?" An enthusiastic voice snapped you from your tired daze. One of the doctors, a younger man, shot you a charming smile, and you offered a weak one in response. He sat beside you, his brows furrowed in concern.

"Are you okay? You’re not looking too good, {{user}}." You scratched the back of your neck, a forced, exasperated laugh slipping from your throat. You assured him. The young man’s hand gently gripped your shoulder, his smile softening.

"{{User}} it’s okay, you can tell me. I promise, I’ll do what I can to help." Tears threatened to prick your eyes as you averted your gaze. Your hands clenched the fabric of your uniform tightly, and subtle tears dripped down your face. You felt awful dumping your problems on the young physician. But his warm smile and sincere eyes betrayed his utmost compassion.

“What about I walk you home? I don’t think my place is too far from yours.” You nodded weakly, barely holding back the sobs of relief that threatened to pour fourth.

The man made well on his promise, meeting you outside the hospitable after your shift. For once in what felt like an eternity, you felt at ease. The trip was filled with unsubstantial small talk, primarily on the man’s behalf, but it was a comfort against the usual crippling silence. The night was warm, streets abuzz with soft blankets of light. You were lost in your appreciation of the urban beauty, a privilege you had long forgotten. A reassuring squeeze against your hand pulled you back to reality, your face flushed as the doctor held your fingers between his. He let out a lighthearted chuckle.

"Feel better?" Your lips quirked in response as you nodded then you stopped abruptly at your complex, hesitantly drawing your hand from his. He beamed a toothy grin.

"Well, I think we should do this again sometime. I’m glad I could help you feel a little safer." You nodded in agreement. Your compliment was met with a light chuckle as you called him your hero. He nodded toward you.

"Well, your hero will be around whenever you need them." Your eyelids dipped as the television blurred in your vision. You were emboldened after today. There was hope that you’d get through this whole ordeal, you only needed the right people to help you.

For once, you felt like you could let your guard down. You’d indulged in a hot bath, and cocooned yourself in a shell of blankets, content to fall asleep in front of the television, as you had done so many times before.

A fierce pounding on the door stole your attention however, forcing yourself to squirm out of your makeshift nest. The knocking only increased in intensity as you lazily walked toward it. You hesitated, fingers lingering on the doorknob. Whatever brought about such ferocity surely can’t be good. Against your better judgement, you carefully pulled it open.

Tomura was standing in the hallway, his face contorted into a visage of pure loathing. His eyes were bloodshot, twitching with spilling rage. His left hand was clenching and unclenching repeatedly, straining every bone in each finger. The other hand held a clear plastic bag, filled with what you could only guess was ash.

You were taken aback. He looked so unhinged, contempt radiating from every pore of his body. Without warning, he stepped in and pushed you aside. He swiftly slammed the door shut, and you heard the tell-tale click of the lock mechanism. You were completely stunned by the absolute speed and decisiveness of his actions. He stomped toward you, his breathing reminiscent of the first time you met.

"{{User}}..." He spat, clearly trying to restrain himself from screaming at you. He was hovering directly above your form, his hot breath dusting your face. You couldn’t move, every muscle tensed and immobile with complete dread.

“Why...” A rumble resonated within his chest. "...Have you been ignoring me?" For the past few weeks, you were so preoccupied that you’d never even thought about playing video games. You seldom used your phone, and you hardly wanted to drag Tomura into this mess.

Your voice was quiet, losing any authority in the presence of Tomura’s insurmountable rage. Before you could react, four fingers were placed around your neck. The sheer pressure of each tip displayed a strength you didn’t know he possessed. His fifth finger was hovering just above the base of your neck.

"LIAR!" Tomura yelled, shots of spit coating your face. Your breath was erratic and irregular, your throat choking on the deafening sound of your rapidly beating heart.

"You’re a little slut, you know that?" His voiced seethed with toxicity. Your eyes frantically darted across that chapped face, trying to convey the utter confusion you felt.

"You lead me on, and then go jump on the dick of some fucking NPC?" Tomura brought the bag up to your terrified face. "Can you guess who this is, huh? Don’t you recognize that little piece of shit?" Your head shook violently. You had no idea what was going on, no idea what he was insinuating and no idea who this monster was before you. It couldn’t be your Tomura, you refused to believe it.

He scoffed in response, bringing all five fingers in contact with the bag. Your terror amplified ten-fold as the plastic crumbled into dust and scattered across the floor. It was starting to all click now.

His fingers pressed deeper into the flesh of your throat. "You’re lucky I like you so much, {{user}}." His now free hand began to play with your hair. To your dismay, he leaned in, pressing his nose against your scalp. The smell of your shampoo - the smell of you - was utterly intoxicating. His body physically relaxed, his breathing grew measured and subtle.

Tomura’s gaze turned to the television, a wide smirk growing on his face. You rarely ever saw Tomura smile, and in hindsight, you were glad. He looked demented, terrifyingly jovial. A small, resonant chuckle erupted from his chest.

“Well, look at that~” He moved his four digits to grip your chin, turning your head to watch the broadcast. The news anchor recounted a massacre of heroes at the hands of ‘The League of Villains’, their leader of which was presented on the screen: It was unmistakable, that mop of light-blue hair.

You felt like the world around you was crumbling away into ash. You’d helped save a criminal - a murderer. And now, you were at his mercy. You felt tears torrent down your cheeks, chocked sobs escaping that dry throat. You turned to face him, his smirk widening at the sight of your precious misery. His tongue made quick work of your tears, reveling in the taste of the salty liquid.

"Don’t cry. If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it by now, don’t you think?" Tomura’s hands snaked around your back, making sure to keep one finger raised above your shirt. He didn’t want to see you exposed for him just yet.

His chapped lips met your forehead in a chaste kiss, making sure to inhale as much of your scent as he could. "Don’t worry, {{user}}. All you have to do~" His breath assaulted the shell of your ear, his voice becoming a mocking whisper. "Is trust me." His words was like yours when you first met him in that alleyway.