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“Tomura, I never told you what my Quirk was, did I?” You’re in Shigaraki’s room, washed out in the light from his monitors. He let you sit in his chair, your legs folded up on the seat, and he‘s slouched over on his bed, idly flicking through the menu of an rpg with his controller.
“No,” he says, glancing at you curiously. You’re looking at the screen, but you meet his eyes, and there’s something about the small smile on your face that captures even more of his interest. “Are you gonna tell me?”
“My foster parents called it Tether,” you say, lowering one foot to the floor and pushing the chair a little closer to the bed. “It’s not that impressive, really, but... it can be useful.”
“Tether...” Tomura turns the word over, thinks about what a Quirk with such a name could be. “Can you create ties between things?” You beam at him, clap your hands gently, and while he thinks he should feel mildly patronized, there’s a warm glow in his chest at your display of enthusiasm.
“Close! I can make ties between myself, and other people’s Quirks.” He thinks about that for a minute, carefully tapping at the controller to close the game. If your Quirk does what he thinks it does, he wants all of his attention on you.
“Does it nullify the effect of the other person’s Quirk?” You nod, toothy grin stretching wider.
“It’s kind of like... my Quirk takes a sample of theirs, and then ties the sample into itself so it becomes, kind of, part of me. I can’t use it, but it won’t affect me until I release the Tether. I can also use my Tether to track people’s locations, if I focus hard enough. I think it’s because the sample I take wants to rejoin the rest, but I’m not sure.” Shigaraki is completely focused on you now, realization dawning.
“Have you used it on the others?” You nod.
“Only on Toga and Dabi. I don’t really care if Twice or Compress use their Quirks on me.” He nods slightly, then clears his throat.
“Would... you will use it on me.” He tries to phrase it as a command, but it still comes out as a whispery soft request, almost a plea. You giggle, and his face feels hot as you smile at him, eyes soft and full of fondness.
“Of course I will, Tomura. Can I join you on the bed?” If he thought he was warm earlier, he’s definitely burning up now. You always ask for things so nicely from him, and you put up with his aggressive shyness with infinite patience.
“Uh, yes.” He moves his hands above his head as you climb up onto the mattress, sinking a little into the piled-up blankets as you shuffle over to where he sits. Your knees brush as you get comfortable, and he resists the urge to scratch at his neck. You’ve been this close to him before, but it’s different now, considering where you are, and what you’re about to do with your Quirk.
“Okay.” You clap your hands again. “This is gonna be a little scary, but you have to use your Quirk on me.”
“What ?” He leans away immediately, stomach turning at the mere thought of intentionally trying to dust you. “Absolutely not.”
“It won’t hurt me, Tomura,” you reassure him, putting one hand on his knee. “It just needs to come close enough for me to grab it with mine. I trust you!” You hold your hands out, palms facing him, and your smile is blinding.
“I don’t...” He swallows, looks between your gently-wiggling fingers, and your huge grin. “I don’t want to.” Even he can hear how plaintive and whiny that sounds, and it makes him cringe, but you only soften your smile.
“I know. Close your eyes and activate your Quirk, then, and I’ll do the rest.”
“I’m not closing my eyes,” he says immediately. If you’re going to make him do this, he’s going to be present for every horrible step, for better or for worse. The monitor winks out, leaves the two of you in the faint glow of the multicolor lights strung on the walls.
You look beautiful, even as you hum and smile, soft and kind.
“That’s okay. Just hold out your hands and use your Quirk.” Slowly, he raises his hands, idly noticing that they’re bigger than yours, and he feels the hum of his Quirk shivering through his fingers. “Okay, Tomu,” your voice is hypnotically soft, and he can’t help but look past your hands, meeting your eyes through the gaps in your fingers. He barely registers the nickname, so wrapped up in your existence. “You’re doing great. I’m gonna touch your hands. Breathe with me, it’ll just take a second. In, out. Good! Here we go.”
He breaks the stare to watch as your hands inch closer to his, and he wills his fingers to stop shaking because he desperately doesn’t want them to be anywhere near you with the destructive power they have.
“I hate this,” he whispers, and you giggle.
“You’re being very brave, Tomu.” One more impossibly long moment, and then your palms bump his, fingers lined up against his own.
You don’t scream, you don’t flinch away. No dust flakes off into the air. Your hands are warm against his, and he watches, barely able to think, as you fold your fingers down alongside his, lacing your hands together.
“See? We’re tied, now, and I’m okay, Tomu.” He squeezes your hands, still unsure, and when nothing happens other than you squeezing back, he lets out the breath that got stuck in his throat.
“Oh,” he mumbles, and you laugh again, eyes scrunching in the way he noticed they always do. It’s something he likes; a clear indicator of your happiness.
“Weird, huh? But now you don’t have to worry about touching me! And I can find you, no matter where you go.”
“Useful.” He’s paying attention to your words, but his focus is still on his hands, resting harmlessly in yours. You haven’t pulled away yet, seeming content to sit with your hands clasped in his. He likes it.
He likes you. That’s what the weird, fluttery sensation in his stomach is. They’re the butterflies he hears so much about, in romance stories. He likes you, and he desperately hopes that you like him, too.
“I want to touch you.”
“Huh?” You blink at him, eyebrows scrunching. “What do you mean?”
“More of you.” His face flushes again as he realizes what he’s asking. “If that’s... okay.” You mull it over, then shrug your shoulders.
“Sure. I trust you, Tomu, but you better behave.” Your playful scolding eases the tension, and you gently pull your hands out of his. He misses the feeling of your skin already, but as you sit back, reach for the bottom hem of your hoodie, he pushes aside the discontent.
You peel your shirt off alongside your sweater, and your skin glows blue, pink, red, green, purple. You’re lit up like a kaleidoscope as you set the bundle of fabric off to the side, shaking out your hair and smiling at him as his eyes wander.
“So! Ground rules, I guess. Don’t go near my chest, or my armpits, cause I’m ticklish. Everything else is fair game.”
“What about your legs?” You glance down at the pajama shorts you wear, and offer another shrug.
“Stay out of my underwear or I’ll slug you in the face, Tomu.” The image is clear in his head, and while he’s still briefly tempted, he also desperately doesn’t want to ruin the gift you’re offering him.
“That’s fair. I’m-“ he clears his throat, glances back down at the smooth curves and soft planes of your body. “I’m gonna touch you now.”
“I trust you.” You keep saying that, and he swears if he hears it one more time, he might just start to believe it.
He takes your hands again first, turns them over to study the lines on your palm.
“Have you heard that some people can read your fortune through these?” You scrunch your palm, and he glances up at your face.
“That sounds dumb.”
“Look.” You take his hand, tracing the line cutting through the center of his palm. “Your head line, this one here, is short. You don’t take long to make decisions, and you’re a little impulsive.”
“Maybe,” he grumbles, but you only snicker, looking up at him before you trace the line above it.
“This is your heart line. It’s close to your fingers, and kind of short, so you don’t like to show emotions, but you’re obsessive when you find someone you want.” He stares at you, and when you look up, there must be something in his eyes, because your face flushes, and you clear your throat as you hunch over his hand again. “Um. This— this is your life line. It’s not that short, but it is deep, meaning you’ll have plenty of strong experiences, but you aren’t easily influenced by others.”
“Makes sense,” he says softly. “Thank you, but we got off track.”
“Right.” You shake out your shoulders, clear your throat, and grin at him. “Touch away. Remember the ground rules.” He hums, fingers trailing up your arms, pausing as they drag against your shoulders. He touches your collarbones carefully, nudges at the flesh above them and watches the shadows fall into the crease of skin.
You don’t react when his hands come up to your neck, long fingers carefully wrapping around the warm column, inching upwards to feel the steady chugging of your heartbeat under your skin.
“You really do trust me,” he mumbles, amazed at the steady, unconcerned pace he feels, warm and alive, just under his touch.
“I do.” You smile at him when he looks at you, and when he moves up, cups your face in his hands, you wiggle your arms around, reach up to offer him the same contact.
It makes his chest ache, just existing in this moment, feeling you in his hands, on his skin. He wonders, just for a second, if he’s the only one that’s had this with you, and then he thinks how silly an assumption that is. You’re beautiful, and surely, surely there have been others to feel your skin, to sense your beating heart and be comforted by the knowledge that you trust them. That you care enough for them to sit in the dark without clothes, just so they can lay their hands on your skin without fearing that they’ll hurt you.
“Is this what it’s like?” Tomura’s voice is scratchy and hoarse, soft with bewildered longing. “Being close with someone?”
“Almost,” you breathe back. “Sometimes there’s kissing.”
The mere concept of kissing you melts him down to his bones, leaves him helpless, like a heathen on his knees before an ancient, living altar. Tomura Shigaraki is not one for religion, but if it’s you, he’s willing to worship.
“Do you want to kiss me, Tomu?”
“Not yet,” he asks, almost begs. If you give him that luxury, let him know what it is to kiss you, he may never get around to exploring the rest of you he’s been granted permission to touch, and he’d rather die fully knowing the softness of your body in his hands than having the most base impression of your vessel, and full knowledge of your mouth.
You giggle at his whining, and settle in as his hands shuffle downwards, respectfully lifting away as he passes your chest per your rules to resettle on your stomach.
“I hear you complain about this,” he says as his thumbs brush gently over your skin. “Toga thinks it’s funny, but I don’t. It’s cute. You’re cute.” You smile faintly, but he can see a tinge of bitterness underneath.
“Toga’s built like those weirdly sexy body wash containers,” you say back, and Tomura snorts. “She’s only like, sixteen, but I know people who would commit more than one murder for those proportions.”
“I don’t care. This is yours, and I like it.” Your sides twitch when he reaches them next, curious touch pressing in, feeling the bulk of your ribcage. “You’re so pretty.”
“It’s just me,” you say, as if that isn’t a declaration of your beauty. He’s offended on your behalf, but you don’t seem to recognize the inconsistency between his view and your own.
No matter. You have time, and he’s a persuasive teacher.
Your hips, thighs, and calves are met with the same deliberate attention Tomura’s shown to the rest of you, and by the time he gently sets your left foot back down, throughly satisfied with what he was allowed to explore, your face is several interesting shades of red and pink.
“I want to kiss you now,” he says, and the words rumble like a purr from his chest. He’s as content as a house cat basking in sunlight, and this will merely be the cream in the dish on top of what you’ve given him today.
“Okay.” You blink away the stars you’re sure are glowing in your eyes, and you shuffle your legs to sit closer to him, unsure of what to expect.
Tomura, for his part, is glad he’s not a total newbie in this arena, and as he settles his hands on your waist and cheek, leans into your space and feels your muscles bunch and pull as you lean right back towards him, he feels a rush of giddiness.
He really does like you, and if he hasn’t convinced you of it by the time you leave his room, he’ll just have you bring you right back in and try again.
It’s a chaste first kiss, not much more than a gentle, deliberate pressing together of lips, but it’s enough to make Tomura feel like he could fly, like he’s already up in the sunset-golden clouds, with their pink blushes and blue heads.
“Wow,” you whisper the moment you’re parted, eyes wide and wondering. “Wow, Tomu.”
“Again.” The next kiss is just a little hungrier, and he gets the barest taste of lip balm; something sweet and fruity that is so perfectly you that he laughs in his mind, aware that every second spent with you in his arms is another mile long drop down the long, awful pit they call love.
Even he is smart enough to know what to name it. It’s beyond affection, beyond a mere wanting of you. He would choose you, no matter what he was offered. There is no question, no hesitation, no price too steep if it means you will be safe, and you will be happy with him.
You fit perfectly in his lap when he pulls you into it, and while you startle, try to shift your weight, he only grumbles and gently smacks your back, just above your shorts.
“It’s fine. Stop moving.” You look at him with something between awe and worry, but it melts down into syrupy affection before long, and your arms come up to hang around his neck, nose brushing against his own.
“You’re so sweet, Tomu. I’m glad you like me too.” He hums, eyelids fluttering as your lips ghost along his. “It’s late, though. We need to sleep.”
“Hm.” He acknowledges your words, but makes no move to do anything, still chasing after you to press simple little kisses to your mouth.
“Tomu,” you laugh, reach up to put a hand over his mouth. “Come on, it’s bedtime. Go to sleep.” He rolls his eyes at you, but his arms wrap around your shoulders, and in a simple, strange twisting movement, he’s flopping onto his back, with you resting on his chest.
“Sleep, then.”
“Will you?” You peek up at him as he carefully drags a blanket over the both of you.
“Sure.” At your unimpressed look, he rolls his eyes again, dragging a finger over his chest to form a cross. “Yes, baby, I’ll sleep.” The pet name is weird on his tongue, but the way your eyes crinkle, shining like stars in the dim light of his room, makes it feel good.
“Goodnight, Tomu,” you whisper, shuffling up a little to press a final kiss to the scarred flesh of his neck. He shivers, but that felt good too, and he grins at the ceiling as he runs a hand along your head, brushes over your hair, and pets down to your neck, where he runs his thumb in tiny, gentle circles.
“Goodnight, baby.” You smile again, and close your eyes, lulled to sleep by his touch at your throat, and the rise and fall of his breathing.