Get A Taste // Tomura Shigaraki

get a taste // tomura shigaraki

a/n: in the gc talking abt vape and cig discourse between dabi n shigs -> fujos out a bit -> wait this is kinda hot -> sick n twisted brainrot aaaahhh

you reach over and press your index finger right in between his eyebrows.

there's nearly nothing that could melt that scowl from tomura's face- especially when everyone's behind him obnoxiously crowded around the bar with playing cards and drinks in hand, the music's a bit too loud for his liking, and he's having a hard time focusing.

"tomura, i can't take you seriously with that thing attached to your mouth like a fucking binky." you call over the music, dropping your hand back into your lap.

his eyes slowly travel up from his phone screen to meet yours. you weren't even sure if he caught anything you said over the blaring music, but you could still read the irritation in his face. his gaze flickers back and forth between the clash of clans running on his phone and you.

he blinks once. twice.

tomura drops the vape from his mouth, letting it fall into his lap, and without missing a beat, blows the intoxicatingly sweet smoke into your face, engulfing you whole with a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.

"better than whatever the fuck you're smoking over there, right?" he nods towards the half smoked cigarette in between your fingers that you stole from touya's pack.

"better?" you roll your eyes, waving away the lingering smoke. "grow up, tomu. you're smoking birthday cake flavored nicotine. you haven't even smoked a cigarette before."

"i don't need to smoke it to know it tastes like shit." he stretches his legs over your lap, leaning back against the armrest of the couch.

you turn your hand around, facing the orange filter of the cigarette towards him. with your eyebrow slightly cocked and mouth parted into a smirk, tomura knew it was less of an invitation, but rather a dare. a challenge.

"go ahead, babe. give it a try if you're not a bitch."

tomura wets his lips with his tongue. his gaze drops down to the lipstick stained orange filter hanging from between your fingers. he wonders if he could taste your chapstick residue on it, or what your skin smells like brushed against his nose.

would you put your lips on it right after his drag? willingly taste him?

he silently cursed himself.

"pass." he scoffs, turning his head to the side, unsure if the heat crawling up his neck had taken form in a flush.

he was halfway surprised that you hadn't noticed his piercing stare every time your lips wrapped around the cigarette for a drag. he swore the desperate look in his eyes was so obvious- a silent wish that it was him between your lips instead.

you press your lips together in a line as you take another glance around the room. everyone seemed occupied. drunk. sloppy. no one's paying attention.

you lean forward, catching his face in your free hand, and forcing him to look up towards you.

"the fuck-" he starts.

"don't freak out, tomu." you interrupt. "you know what to do."

you hum to yourself as you bring your fingers up to your lips, deeply inhaling the bitter tang of burnt tobacco.

your eyes remained locked onto tomura's. he's looking at you in a sickly satisfying horror with his eyes wide, cheeks flushed, and mouth slightly gaped open from your firm grasp on his jaw.

he squirms a bit under your grasp, but tomura doesn’t look away from you- he doesn't dare to. not with you over him like this and your face only inching closer to his.

you pull yourself down over him, mere millimeters away from connecting your lips.

the smoke slowly wisp out of your mouth and into his- a slow acceptance before both of your eyes flutter shut and you empty your lungs into his.

you feel his hands climb up the side of your thighs and rest on your hips, lightly squeezing you through the fabric of your pants.

"fuck." he mutters, trails of smoke escaping his mouth.

"yummy?" you chuckle, exhaling any remnants of smoke in your lungs.

it doesn't seem like you care or noticed at all, but all tomura could think about was you straddling him on the couch and your warm thighs hugging his torso.

he felt hot all over, his lungs were burning, there's a bitter taste in the back of his throat, his head feels light, and despite it all, he wanted more.

"do you, um, wanna taste mine?"

mha tag: @lotuslovers @babylambdietcoke @0skullyard0

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not a lot, just forever // oneshot part three

a/n: the last of the bday oneshots for my favorite trio <3 this one hit a little different for me and i think its because i've never written post war canon-adjacent shigs before so this was really healing <3 happy birthday tomutomu i love you foreverrr

keigo takami, touya todoroki, tomura shigaraki

it’s still so frustratingly embarrassing for tomura; the glances glazing over him by the passersby, being present, taking up space, all of it. despite all of the time that had passed and the constant work in therapy and counseling, nothing was harder than existing.

“i want to go inside,” tomura mutters, his gloved fingers tapping against his outstretched legs.

it was a bit humid, and the sun was beating down on the two of you, but you knew tomura was itching for a hoodie to hide under. he desperately wanted to be invisible.

“this is nice though, isn’t it?” you sigh in content, leaning your head back and letting the sunlight engulf your face. “i don’t remember the last time i was able to sit in a park like this.”

“it feels too open.”

“does it feel too open or are you just too used to being trapped?” you squint your eyes open, slightly peering over at him next to you on the bench.

he scoffs and kicks your foot with his. you catch the end of his eye roll and take it as an opportunity to scoot in closer, letting your thighs graze together.

“sorry,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder. “i know it’s hard.”

hard wasn’t the word tomura would use to describe his recovery process. he felt lost- as if he had been dumped in the middle of the desert with no sense of direction, and the worst of it all was that it was lonely.

spinner had written his book. dabi was in his family’s care. toga was off in quirk counseling. you were rapidly progressing. he was nothing.

“what do i do now?” he whispers back to you- something that you two often did for a private moment when you caught each other in the hallways of the rehabilitation center.

“we,” you emphasize, looping your arm in tomura’s, “are free to do whatever we want.”

“we…” he slowly repeats, “you know, you don’t have to stick with me anymore,” he half heartedly chuckles, “you can do whatever you want now that we’ve graduated from this bullshit.”

you think back on those late nights at the hideout when you two would be the only ones up. you'd be sitting at the bar, knees to knees, closely leaning into one another, talking in hushed tones, and exchanging light touches as you pass an energy drink back and forth.

you remember those times fondly where you could pretend to be anyone else, but there was always that looming dread in the back of your head during those days.

this won’t last forever.

i can’t get too attached.

i’ll love you for as long as i can.

here you were now, side by side as things turned out wildly different from what you expected- that the next time you’d see tomura would be in the afterlife.

you’ve spent too long shutting down any thought of the future that envisioning it now leads to a scribbled mass of grey in your mind. you couldn’t visualize it. no plan. no expectancies. nothing. you had nothing to be sure of except for the fact that you and tomura were here and alive.

where else would you want to be?

you don’t say anything except for a hm that you breathed out.

tomura’s deep exhale almost nudges you off of his shoulder. you’re half tempted to peer up at his face to gauge his expression, but the fidgety hands in his lap already gives away his feelings as the beat of silence passes.

“you remember what we talked about? all those years ago when we were hiding out at that shitty bar?”

“we talked a lot, babe,” you lightly chuckle, “you’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that.”

“about what we’d do if things were different.”

“rob a bank and leave japan with new identities?” you joke.

tomura deadpans, “dumbass, i’m talking about the last night that… you know.”

the last night you were you?

“oh that conversation,” you mutter, uncomfortably shifting in your seat, "remind me what we talked about?”

“you don’t remember?”

truthfully, it would be impossible for you to forget when that conversation was the only thing that got you through the agonizing nights in the hospital room when you thought you had been the only survivor.

“i do, but i like hearing you talk so remind me anyway.”

tomura responds with an annoyed huff, “well if you remember, then i’m not going to repeat it. i just mentioned it because clearly neither of us know what the fuck we’re going to do with our lives after this.”

you unloop your arm from his and sit up, making him snap his attention towards you. it was the first time today that he looked you in the eyes. his cheeks were flushed from the sun- the first sign of life in his face in a long time after the limited outside time allotted from the rehab facility.

“we talked about wanting a quiet life,” you quietly say, reaching your hand up to tuck a tuft of his shaggy hair behind his ear. “not in the country though. you wanted to stay in the city for the convenience, so maybe a nice little apartment. you still want that?”

he slowly nods his head. “think so.”

from his ear, your hand trails down to his jaw and neck, running across old scars from deep scratches.

“and i specifically remember you being so mad at me when i laughed at you when you said you didn’t give a fuck about anything else as long as you could have a dog.”

“still want one,” he mutters.

“and then…” you continue slowly, resting your hand on the rough skin of his neck, “i told you that i was a cat person, but i didn’t care as long as we…”

you couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. it had always been an unwritten rule to never talk about the “what ifs” and “what could’ve beens” in the hideout, but you always loved breaking the rules, and tomura loved entertaining your thoughts.

the tips of his ears began to match the blush on his cheeks.

“keep going,” he barely whispers, keeping his eyes locked on yours- one of the small meaningful things that he had grown to do over the last few years in therapy.

“as long as we could be together. i just wanted to be with you.” you quietly say. “i still do. if that's okay."

a beat of silence passes. a life with you. a dog and maybe a cat. nothing else. no expectations. just you and whatever "normal" life you two could live.

“we should…” he trails off for a moment, thinking of the right words to say, “get married?”

you blink one. twice.

“hah?” you exclaim, recoiling back.

your hand slaps onto the back of the bench to leverage yourself through the motion.

“what?” his face deepens in color “what else are we supposed to fucking do?"

“how did we go from yeah i want to move into an apartment and raise a dog with you to marriage?” you laugh, almost unbelieving.

“i don’t know? just shut up,” he grumbles, “forget i said anything.”

tomura turns his head away from you, looking off in the other direction as he curses at himself. he doesn’t know how to tell you that yes, that’s exactly what he wants too- that existing may be hard, but he wants nothing more than to do it with you.

his face is burning from the embarrassment, but you’re still giggling to yourself and he can’t resist himself from turning back to watch.

you two have never dared to utter “i love you” to one another before, but in that moment , he felt it on the tip of his tongue and for once, he’s not afraid to let it out.

“i love you, okay?” he says confidently, but his eyes are unable to meet yours until you force them to.

you reach up and hold his face in your hands, bringing him in closely. “i love you,” you lightly run your thumbs across the apples of his cheeks as his eyes dart back and forth between yours, “and we should get married."

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