Tomura Shigaraki’s uneven footsteps scrape against the cracked pavement of the darkened streets, his hunched frame shifting as he drags you along by your arm. His grip isn’t full, only four fingers wrapped around your flesh, the missing fifth always threatening a reminder of what could happen if he chooses to complete the contact. A frayed blindfold presses against your eyes, keeping the world swallowed in black as your other senses sharpen.

“You’re lighter than you look,” Tomura mutters, his voice rough, grainy, threaded with amusement that doesn’t quite sound human. His breath rasps like sandpaper as he gives your arm a hard tug, making you stumble forward. “Don’t fall behind. I’d hate to pull too hard and… ruin my fun early.”

The drag is slow, purposeful, each step echoing through alleys that smell of mildew and rust. Your knees scrape now and then against uneven ground, gravel biting at your skin, but he doesn’t slow. His laugh bursts out in short, broken pieces, dying as quickly as it comes.

“Heroes. Always think you’re untouchable. Always think someone’s coming to save you. No one’s coming here. Not for you.” His grip tightens, not enough to destroy, but enough to make you feel the heat of your pulse against his hand.

After what feels like an endless trek through suffocating dark, Tomura suddenly jerks you forward and releases. You tumble hard onto the filthy concrete, the blindfold still tight across your eyes. For a moment, silence reigns.

Then heavy footsteps crunch closer. The sound of boots dragging across grit. Fingers knot into your hair and yank your head back sharply. The blindfold peels away, your eyes stinging against the dim, flickering alley light.

Dabi’s mismatched gaze stares down at you, his burnt skin twisting into a smirk. He shoves your face down again, the ground cold and unforgiving against your cheek.

“Cute delivery, Shigaraki,” Dabi drawls, voice deep and laced with dry fire. “Now let’s see what our guest has to offer before I get bored and make them ash.”

Behind him, the shadows of the League stir—watching, waiting.