Blurred lines
summary: Emotionally unavailable Fwb!Shigaraki often bends the rules
Friends with benefits with Tomura starts out simple with clear cut rules. No feelings, no questions, no staying over. And it works—at first.
Until one night, you fall asleep. You’re out cold, breathing slow, completely unaware. For a second, he considers waking you because that was the deal. No lingering and no crossing lines. But you look so cute; your bottom lip puffed out, curled up in a ball.
…So he doesn’t.
Instead, he lets you stay. He places the blanket over you, and slides into the bed next to you.
He doesn’t cuddle—nothing like that. Just close enough to feel your warmth, one hand resting an inch away like it doesn’t count if he doesn’t think about it too hard.
It’s nothing, he tells himself.
And when he wakes up, he pretends he doesn’t like the way you’re tangled in the sheets together.
———-
After that, the lines don’t break; but they blur.
“You can stay the night,” he mutters one time, already turning away from you. “I’m not making breakfast or anything.”
Like that keeps it casual.
———-
Then a few nights turn into a habit.
One morning, you wake up to coffee and pastries sitting on the counter.
“It’s chill,” he shrugs, not looking at you. “Bakery’s next door anyway.”
The next time, your drink is exactly how you like it; on the sugary side. So he was listening to your rants…
“…they probably messed up the order,” he says flatly; “convenient though.”
———
One morning he wakes up before you, your phone lights up on the night table. He can see it’s a Tinder notification.
He stares at it longer than necessary, as if it’s going to the change. Something sharp twists in his chest; sudden, ugly, and unfamiliar.
By the time you wake up, he’s already angry and cold toward you.
“I’ve got plans,” he says. “Time for you to go.”
You blink at him. “Damn, good morning to you too—”
“Didn’t say you could stay all damn day.”
You squint. “Who pissed in your cereal?”
“…you have other people to see anyways. So go.” he spits.
There’s a beat of silence. He looks annoyed that he even brought it up.
You raise a brow. “We said casual, remember? I can see whoever I want,” you said while gathering your clothes that were scattered on the floor.
That only makes it worse.
“Yeah,” he mutters, jaw tight. “Exactly.”
After that, something shifts.
He starts getting irritated when you’re on your phone too long. He doesn’t ask; just watches while the tension builds.
When you tease him about it, he scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just hate distractions.”
Is this what jealousy feels like ?
———-
If you mention someone else; even as a joke, he goes quiet.
Later, his hands linger more. Grip tighter. Mouth harsher.
“Marking me up now?” you laugh, glancing at the hickey forming on your neck. “I don’t think this counts as casual Toma.”
He doesn’t answer, but it gets him thinking.
———-
One night, after trying to get your attention for a while, he just takes your phone out of your hand.
“Hey—what the hell?”
“If you’re in my house,” he says, voice low, “in my bed—this is my time.”
This leads to a long night of possessive sex. He doesn’t shy away from marking you up again, whispering “you’re mine” in your ear.
And for the first time there’s a hint of aftercare. “Let’s shower,” he suggests. He was nervous to even bring it up.
“I’m too tired, you were too rough with me,” you pout.
I’ll run us a bath then.”
———
The lingering touches start happening without thinking.
A hand at your waist. Fingers brushing your hair out of your face. Small, quiet things that last just a second too long.
And the moment you notice— he retracts quickly.
It becomes more complicated, more painful for the both of you. It’s always push and pull.
He hates when you act attached.
But he hates it more when you don’t.
———-
One day, you tell him you’re not sleeping over, you have plans with a friend in the morning. You expect a shrug. Maybe a sarcastic comment.
Instead, he goes still. “If you’re gonna act like that,” he says, voice edged, “then stop coming here.”
It sounds like a threat. It sounds like he means it.
But there’s something else underneath it—
Something a lot closer to don’t leave than he’d ever admit.
Dividers by: @uzmacchiato
