Just thinking about drunk shig, specifically sleepy snuggly drunk shig. Too inebriated to give a fuck about appearances and draping himself over you at the bar, nuzzling into you and grumbling when you get embarrassed and try to sit him upright.
God, the idea of this man being sloppy just does things to me. I couldn’t not do a lil’ drabble.
contains: gn!reader, drunk!Shig, dubcon cuddles.
“Fuck, you’re warm. Know that?” Shigaraki’s breath is hot in your ear as he nuzzles his face against your hair, a breach of your personal space that’s been brewing for several long minutes but that still feels all too sudden. It was easy to pretend there was nothing odd about the situation when he’d stumbled over to the booth where you were seated, but you weren’t prepared for this, don’t know what to do about the fact that your leader is practically draping himself across you, one arm slung over the back of your shoulders, the other curling around your torso as he shifts closer to you. “Real warm.”
Your eyes dart from the pale tufts of hair brushing your cheek to the other side of the bar, where Dabi is smirking and Toga is tittering behind her hand. You can only imagine what this looks like from any other vantage point, can feel your face heating up as you make a feeble attempt to shrug him off.
“Tomura, you’re drunk,” you mutter. “You should go to bed.”
He only shakes his head and doubles down on the way he’s clinging to you. One long leg flops over your thighs, his weight shifting as though he’s about to climb in your lap, but it’s an awkward movement that gets abandoned halfway through, his forehead falling to rest against your shoulder instead as he effectively pins you against the back of the booth.
“Tomura, please.” One of your hands works to press against his chest, trying to push him away. It’s a tentative movement, rendered wholly ineffective by your ambivalence about having him in this position, about having him so close to you. All that happens is that Tomura’s head lolls back, giving you a clear view of his flushed cheeks and the red blush rising from beneath the tattered edges of his collar and creeping up his pale throat. The sight has you growing slightly warmer, not solely from embarrassment this time, and you try a little harder to shove him off you.
“‘M not stupid you know,” Shigaraki rasps, bleary eyes narrowing accusingly as his lips curl into a faint sneer. A second later that scowling expression is fading, cracked curling in amusement. He leans in, the tip of his nose brushing your own, and you can practically taste the booze on his breath when he chuckles, “You don’t mind it. You like me.”
You squirm in mortification, at the scene he’s making and at the truth in that statement, and that feeling only worsens when you hear Toga’s telltale giggle from across the bar, more than enough evidence to know that the others are still watching this spectacle unfold.
“Hold still,” Shigaraki grumbles, limbs tangling tighter around you at that faint resistance, and reluctantly you do. He lets out a contented hum, shifting just enough to bury his face in the crook of your neck, and then one of his hands is grabbing your own, lifting it to cup his head. His crown nudges against your palm until you hesitantly start to comb your fingers through those soft locks, and then he’s letting out a pleased grunt, his form going slack under that gentle touch, his next words a barely audible mumble. “See? ‘S nice.”
