#shimura fluff

YOU WERE STRESSED.

nothing was fitting right. this shirt’s fabric was too scratchy, that one was too slippery, that one was too warm - your mom always blasted the heat in her house - that one was too thin, and that one-

“love?” came a familiar, gravelly voice from the doorway of your shared room. you froze where you’d been tossing another shirt to the floor, as if you’d just been caught doing something you shouldn’t be. “are you.. okay?”

after a beat, you straightened, still holding the shirt you’d been about to discard as another reject for the night. “.. yeah,” you mumbled, rolling your shoulders back to loosen them. “just, uh.. trying to get dressed.”

you heard him hum in acknowledgement. you didn’t look up at him; he knew you too well. one look in your eyes and he’d have you figured out.

“i’ll be a few minutes,” you continued, all-too-aware of his footsteps in the carpet as he approached. “if you want to wait in the car, i’ll be out-”

his hand came up to trace the line of your jaw, and you - momentarily - forgot how to form words. he was gentle, so gentle, in the way his fingertips brushed over your skin, coming up to lift your chin so you’d meet his gaze.

at first, you pointedly kept your gaze on his neck. there was a dot of moisturizer he must’ve forgotten to smooth out, which you now wanted to rub into his skin. but then he brushed his thumb over your cheek, and your eyes snapped to his.

tomura shigaraki was not known to be a patient person. not by his friends, and definitely not by his estranged father. but with you? he’d wait forever.

so, he waited for you to explain. the way your gaze kept dipping from his told him you didn’t want him to know, and the mess of clothes on the floor and the bed said enough about your nerves for this dinner. one that you’d warned tomura about a good six times already.

“need help?” he murmured, a slight rasp accompanying his words. he was already dressed; dark slacks, a light blue sweater, and a black jacket he’d probably end up discarding as the night progressed.

you jerked your head to the side. “no,” you muttered. you could at least dress yourself. this wasn’t even the hardest part of the night; if you couldn’t pick out your own shirt, how would dinner go?

tomura hummed, raising his other hand to take the shirt you’d been gripping from you. “well, i think you should wear the blue sweater i got you,” he said. “so we can match.”

you huffed a short laugh. “thought i just said i didn’t need help,” you said, shutting your eyes so you wouldn’t have to meet his. “.. where’s the sweater?”

you knew he was smirking just by the sound of how his lips curved around his words. “under the tree,” he said, pulling one of your eyes open like he knew it’d piss you off. “want to open a few gifts early?”

an hour an a half later, after opening a few more presents than strictly necessary, a mug of hot chocolate, a few too many pictures taken on tomura’s cracked iphone, and a car ride of cheesy christmas carols, you were on the doorstep to your parent’s house. snow drifted down lazily, blanketing the ground and catching in yours and tomura’s hair.

he rang the doorbell, since both of your hands were occupied with the cake you’d made together. inside, you heard music and voices overlapping, which were only amplified as your cousin opened the door, offering a smile and gesturing you both inside.

general chaos ensued once you had entered. from setting the cake down, finding a spot to put both your shoes and coats, finding a spot to sit only to get up immediately to help set the table, following your grandmother’s directions for a few last-minute dishes, and to finally collapsing into your seat at the table beside tomura, who was already watching you with those worried eyes.

beneath the table, his hand found yours, interlacing your fingers. internally, you thanked every deity there was for his presence beside you; it was like his existence just fixed things for you. even the headache that had begun to build behind your eyes was starting to abate. or maybe it’s because dinner had finally begun, and you were free to eat.

which more than a few people took note of.

“my, are you really going to finish all that?” asked your aunt, sitting three seats over from tomura on your left. “leave some for us!”

you felt your cheeks heat as laughter echoed around the room. you dropped the serving spoon back into the pan, suddenly feeling your appetite vanish into the air. you knew she meant it as a “joke”, but really? she had double on her plate!

“you seem to have more than enough already,” came a cool voice to your left, making your attention snap to your boyfriend. his red eyes seemed almost on fire as he glared at your aunt, daring her to drop another comment. “i’m sure half the dish is on your plate.”

silence ensued for more than a brief moment. “tomura!” you hissed, all-too-aware of the looks your parents shared; disapproval. “i’m sorry, he didn’t-”

“i meant it,” he cut in, reaching under the table to set his hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing into the fabric of your pants. “don’t comment on their food when you’re stuffing your face.”

your aunt’s face was a beautiful shade of cherry red. her mouth opened and closed just like a fish as she tried to find a rebuttal. she was saved by her husband, who asked somebody how their college courses were going, and the spell of silence was broken.

“tomura,” you immediately whispered now that the attention was off the pair of you. “what was-”

“she was insulting you,” he said, the fire gone from his eyes, instead replaced by confusion. “you didn’t notice?”

your heart seized in your chest. he was so wonderful that it hurt. “i- i did, i just mean- we normally just let her say what she wants,” you clarified. hints of that fire began to creep back in, and you quickly turned back to your plate. “this is.. uh.. normal.”

tomura’s hand squeezed your thigh reassuringly. “doesn’t make it right,” he grumbled, lifting a spoon of mashed potatoes to his lips with his unoccupied hand. he grimaced at the taste. “what is this?”

you bit your lip to stifle a giggle. “mashed potatoes, hun,” you said, well-aware your youngest cousin had been in charge of that dish.

“this is a crime against potatoes.”

“a nine-year-old made it.”

“and you didn’t tell me?”

but, of course, your laughter wasn’t meant to last. your and tomura’s smiles caught the attention of your uncle; not your aunt’s wife, but your father’s brother, who’d had six kids from five different one-night-stands, and who all never made it to christmas dinner.

“so!” your uncle said, dropping his fork on his napkin and smiling - falsely - at you and tomura. “how did the two of you meet? i’m assuming at work, since they never go out,” he chortled. his current girlfriend (of three weeks) sat on his right and giggled along.

you would’ve mumbled a half-hearted response if you could’ve, but suddenly everyone’s attention was on you and tomura again. really? and you knew they wouldn’t approve of how you two had actually met.

(you had logged onto fortnite for the first time in years. some of your coworkers had been raving about the new update, but they were still highschoolers, so you’d dismissed it at first. but it’d begun to pique your curiosity, so here you were.

you’d never been a duos player, but you wanted to try it for once. was it easier to win this way?

you matched with some player with the tag kittenlitteryum and classified him as either a middle schooler or a highschooler. but when you joined the voice chat with him, you were pleasantly surprised to hear a much more mature voice than you were expecting.

for the next several weeks, every day after work, you logged into fortnite and played a few rounds with kittenlitteryum. the two of you got to chatting, and you realized you didn’t live all too far from each other.

so, like any self-respecting adult, you set up a day to meet your online friend.

you’d met in a coffee shop a few blocks over from your apartment, just in case he turned out to be a psycho. but, he turned out to be quite normal. and sweet. and kind.

before you knew it, you were crushing on your duos partner. who, as it turned out, was also crushing on you. however, neither of you had the balls to ask each other out, and it wasn’t until you met some of his friends that anything really happened.

“how do you know tomura?” you asked, accepting the mug of mint tea mister compress offered you. he didn’t give a hint about his first name, so you just assumed maybe the mister part was his first name.

he shared a look with a scarred man who’d introduced himself as dabi. “school,” said dabi plainly. “worked on a humanities project in sophomore year and we’ve stuck together since.”

“cool,” you murmured, severely out of practice with making new friends. you’d had your coworkers and your old friends from school for years, never bothering to inch out of your comfort zone. “.. does he only play fortnite?”

dabi laughed. “nah, man’s obsessed with gaming in general. so, are you his fortnite spouse?” he asked, shooting you a smirk. “he never shuts up about you.”

heat rushed to your cheeks. “w-what?” you asked. “that’s- he’s called me his fortnite spouse?”

tomura, who’d been about to enter the room, slammed the door open before dabi could say anything else. “out,” he grumbled to his two friends. “there’s a cat in the alley for you to feed.”

dabi, smirking all the while, sauntered out the door, followed closely by mister compress, who fanned his cheeks as if he were flustered and then pointed to tomura - who slammed the door behind them as they left.

“.. ignore them,” he said after a few beats of silence. “that’s not- i- i wanted to ask you properly, but of course dabi’s dumbass had to go and fuck it up-”

“ask me what?”)

“we met at my work,” tomura said, responding so you wouldn’t have to. “i’m a coffee shop barista. they were in my line, and i thought they were cute, so i gave them my number and we started talking.”

beneath the table, he continued rubbing small circles into the fabric of your pants, soothing your nerves without needing to be asked. you reached down to interlace your fingers with his, thankful for his presence.

“you work at a coffee shop?” asked your uncle’s girlfriend. “in this economy? don’t tell me you’re on foodstamps, too.”

anger boiled in your stomach. “shut up,” you snapped at her. “at least he doesn’t live off of daddy’s money, like someone else.”

“that was rude,” interjected your aunt, who then turned to your parents. “where did we go wrong? i swear they weren’t like this before they moved out.”

“not a clue,” said your father, who was glaring at you. your stomach turned. “they used to be such a good kid.”

before anybody else could add or take from the - incredibly pointless - argument, tomura’s warmth vanished from your thigh as he shot up and slammed his hands down on the table, rattling the dishes.

nobody said anything. his shoulders raised and lowered as he fought to calm his breath, gripping the wood of the table like he’d snap it in two again.

“say another word about my partner again,” he began, his voice low but the threat obvious, “i’ll do a lot more than ruin your precious christmas dinner.”

he shoved his chair out and offered his hand to you. “come on, time to go.”

you hesitated. as much as you loved him, as much as you hated your family, you still felt.. tied here. they were your blood.

“love,” tomura insisted quietly, and you had all the convincing you needed. you hurried to your feet and accepted his hand, and he tugged you closer to him.

“merry christmas,” tomura grunted to your family, leading you out of the dining room by your hand.

the next thing you knew, he was buckling you into the passenger seat of your car. you had no recollection of putting your boots back on, or your jacket, or bringing your cake back, which you saw in the backseat.

“tomura, i can drive,” you protested, knowing he hated driving. especially in the snow.

“shush,” he said, kissing your cheek and shutting the passenger-side door. you watched him as he walked around the front of the car to the driver-side door and climbed inside, adjusting the seat before he started the car.

the christmas carols you’d been playing on the drive over started as the car turned on. they felt unbearably cheerful in comparison to your tumultuous feelings after that dinner party. thankfully, tomura took notice, and he turned the radio off.

“.. thank you,” you murmured. he hadn’t pulled away from the curb yet; his eyes were on you. the fire from earlier had dimmed, and worry was all that you saw. “we can, uh, start heading home now.”

“are you sure?” he asked, reaching across the console to take one of your hands in his. “do you want to talk about it?”

you pursed your lips. “not, uh.. not really,” you mumbled.

tomura squeezed your hand, dropped it to shift the car into drive, and then reclaimed it just as quick.

after you’d gotten home and put the - untouched - cake away, tomura busied himself with cozying up the living room. the unopened presents were set on the coffee table for ease of access, a few candles were lit and filling the room with the smell of cinnamon and peppermint, some cheesy feel-good christmas movies had been queued on the tv, and the blanket collection had been broken out, covering the couch.

he sat you down on your preferred side and wrapped you in two blankets before he left your side, only to return a few minutes later carrying a tray he set on the table; two mugs of something steaming, two plates of leftovers from your christmas eve dinner the night before, and two slices of the cake you’d made together.

“eat,” he said simply, handing you your plate and a fork. his eyes stayed on you as you pushed your food around. “babe.”

“i’m not hungry.”

“your aunt’s a piece of shit. eat,” he insisted. when you still didn’t, he took your fork from you and scooped some (edible) mashed potatoes off your plate. “open.”

you frowned at him. “i’m not a toddler,” you said, jerking your chin away as he tried to force the fork into your mouth.

“you can feed yourself,” he grunted as he caught your face, prying your lips apart with his thumb and forefinger as he tried to force the potatoes into your mouth, “or you can let me feed you.”

you grunted as he pried your mouth open, the pair of you stubborn as a pair of rocks, but he ultimately won.

once tomura had satisfied himself with feeding you, he pulled you into his lap and played the first movie in the queue.

thirty minutes in, tomura finally said something.

“no offense,” he began, which meant he was about to say something offensive, “your family sucks ass. i dunno how you put up with them so long.”

you snorted. “that’s supposed to be not offensive?”

he hummed. “not to you. your uncle’s girlfriend’s a dick. and your aunt. and the rest of your family.”

another laugh squeezed its way out of your throat. “you’re ridiculous,” you muttered shaking your head and cosying into tomura. “.. thanks. for getting me outta there.”

you felt your boyfriend stiffen beneath you. his hand came up to cradle your head, rubbing the pads of his fingers into your scalp.

“never thank me for that,” he whispered into your temple. “also, we’re not doing that again. i’ll change your number if you need me to. you don’t deserve that bullshit.”

your heart squeezed. you had no idea what you’d done to deserve this blessing of a boyfriend, but you were glad you did it.

“okay,” you whispered, hiding your smile in his sweater. “.. merry christmas, tomura.”

a soft kiss was pressed to your temple. “merry christmas, my love.”