Tomura Shigaraki X Y/n - Blog Posts

Shigaraki x Barista Reader

“Your Number.” (Fluff)

Danm it...

DANM IT!.

it was you again... the same woman who'd always be working in the coffee shop. your usual 9 to 4 shift,Saturdays to Wednesdays to where on Thursday, to Saturday youd do your daily chores, errands or relaxing...

There you were again... and again... every morning handing Tomura his usual Plain coffee with two sugar packets and you could never forget his stirring stick.

Once again in a repeated schedule Tomura would go every morning only during the days when you work at 10 am for his coffee, 9 was too early to see you.. he didn't seem THAT desperate for your attention but later on he had to things... 10... well.. 10 was perfect.

This had been his routine now, to get this coffee and see you behind that counter... the place was nearly always empty when Tomura was there but he didn't mind that at all...

He was here just for you after all...

He'd always have his snarky yet bold attitude towards you... yet you never minded?

He couldn't help to wonder why...did he hate it? Maybe... Maybe not?

Even when he wasn't in his best moods and was acting all cocky and harsh you'd still be nice.

It'd been pissing him off for quite awhile now... his anger with your kindness, your niceness towards his bullshit... you never called him out, never insulted him, never made any bad remarks or said anything rude. Just the same

'good morning!',

'what can I get for you?' bullshit. What did you think of him? Really... Did you even think he was attractive, or cool... or funny? Or was he just like some rude customer you put up with... what the hell were you thinking...?

It was driving him nuts, his mind racing... he just had to know what you were thinking... maybe you thought he was attractive, maybe you even found him attractive and cute, or at the least charming... it's not like he was some hideous creature or anything... his thoughts started to become more and more lewd and intrusive as his eyes slowly traced your body from behind the counter... damn it... His eyes started wandering down your body, thinking about what you looked like underneath your uniform, your skirt and your top and... dammit all-

He began to feel a slight heat rising to his face, quickly covering his reddening cheeks with his hand, scratching his cheek with his long, bitten back nails. This was a bad habit of his when he got nervous.

“Damnit... no no no...” he mumbled, rubbing his fingers over his rough neck, trying to quell the intrusive thoughts that we're growing more and more prominent in his head. He was getting all worked up over a woman just because she was nice to him, and she was attractive... he let out a low, exasperated sigh, his eyes remaining fixated on you the entire time while you prepared his coffee.

He continued to stare at you from where he stood, letting his eyes travel up and down your form, tracing every detail of your figure. He found himself becoming increasingly distracted, trying (and failing) to control his thoughts.

It's all your fault... you were too damn nice, too nice to a person like him, and that was just encouraging the thoughts he was having about you...

His scratching suddenly became more intense as he became more and more agitated... he felt trapped. Trapped in this seemingly endless cycle of infatuation and desire, unable to escape the hold you had over him. He needed to say something, anything, to break the silence between the both of you. Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly looked back up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of frustration and something else he wouldn't admit.

As he continued to stare he couldn't help but to wonder... would you be into him?

He could have sworn you Knew he was a villain. The moment where one day he had accident let down his mask in front if you as you stood in shock but quickly composed yourself to continue on and take his order.

He knew he wasn't the typical ideal type, He was too much of a dick, too standoffish with an attitude that didn't help much at all with making him approachable. He was awkward, he knew that much, his awkwardness could be endearing in some ways... but it would probably be a major turn off for most people.

His thoughts continued to race as he tried to figure you out.

'Fuck it.' Was all that rang in his mind as he subconsciously moved his body towards you.

'wait... wait..! Stop-... stop moving-!' His mind panicked as he stood infront of the counter as you looked up at him with a tilting head of confusion

"Do you need something sir?" You curiously asked

Dammit... he cursed himself, internally facepalming as he realised what he was doing, his eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment.

Why was it so damn hard to just ask... you...

It's was as if something was holding him back, like something inside him was keeping him from spitting it out. He felt pathetic, standing in front of you like a shy teenager with a crush.

As he heard you speak, he suddenly became acutely aware of the way you addressed him.

Sir? Why was it 'sir...' he was only twenty for Christ sake...

He scratched his neck again, trying to hide his reddened cheeks.

"I'd... like your number..." he mumbled, trying to sound as disinterested as possible as he forced himself to look up into your face, his eyes avoiding direct eye contact, instead focusing on the counter.

He knew it was a direct request and maybe a little bit sudden... but it had been gnawing at him for months now and he just... he just couldn't keep it in anymore.

"I'm sorry?" You furrowed your brows in confusion you didn’t hear him through his mumbles, you leaned over the counter to hear him better. He leaned forwards, his hands gripping the edge of the counter as he repeated himself a bit more clearly.

"I asked for your number..."

He was so close, the only thing separating them was the counter top itself. He could smell the faint scent of pertume on you, as well as faint traces of coffee that clung to your clothing and skin.

Number? Like your employee number?….

"Is there a complaint you'd like to do?" You looked up at him with worry. Did your services not satisfy him? Was it a complain?

He let out an annoyed grunt, rolling his eyes at your confusion.

"No, no... there's no complaint... I just..." he paused, his mind running in circles trying to find the words to say.

"I just, I-" he was getting flustered again, his heart racing in his chest as he looked at you. He had come all this way, he was so close to asking... so why did he feel so damn nervous?

Your eyes furrowed deeply as you tried to understand his stuttered words.

He cursed internally, frustrated by his inability to express himself properly. He knew he probably looked like a complete idiot right now, standing there and stammering like an imbecile, but he just couldn't push the words out.

This was so damn frustrating...

He knew what he wanted, he knew what to ask for but his damn mind and mouth just weren't cooperating.

He took a deep breath and tried again.

"just-" he started, still refusing to make eye contact with you. His fingers dug into the edge of the counter as he tried to calm his racing heartbeat.

"Just... give me your number... please..." Please? he thought in disbelief. He rarely used please... hell, he hardly ever said please. But somehow it just slipped out without him realising.

His heart beat faster as he waited for your response, mentally preparing himself for the possibility of rejection...

"M-m-my number?" You stuttered out as your cheeks rose red, as you began to realize he wanted your number. sure you'd get asked for your number not often but time to time by a couple of different men. But during work? With a customer you Knew was a villain? You wanted to decline but danm it you've been crushing on him for what? The longest he's ever came to the shop?

He couldn't help but notice the way your cheeks became flushed, a slight blush spreading across your face. For some reason that made his gut twist in a way he wasn't quite used to...

He leaned a bit further forwards, his eyes darting from the counter, to your face and back again, hoping that his intense look wasn't too off putting.

"Yes... your number..." he repeated, the words leaving his mouth a bit more firmly this time. He was nervous, anxious even, but he was determined to get what he came for.

"O-oh...o-okay um.." you nervously shuffled through the counter to find a pen and paper

He couldn't believe it. You were actually... agreeing? That was unexpected.

He'd thought you'd turn him down, maybe say your weren't interested, or that it was against policy for employees to give out their personal information to customers...

He watched you intently as you searched through the storage underneath the counter, his heart thumping in his chest.

He couldn't stop himself from scratching at his neck again...

"Hurry up..." he mumbled, his impatience growing with every second that passed.

He wanted your number, he needed your number as soon as possible.

He glanced around, noticing how some of the other customers were shooting him weird looks from their seats, probably wondering why he was leaned over the counter so much.

He grumbled under his breath, wishing they would mind there own damn business...

You finally found a pen and ripped an empty recipe paper nervously writing down your number as you bit the inside your your cheek.

He watched as you hastily scribbled your number down, his eyes eagerly following the movement of your hand.

His heart rate was increasing by the second, the anxiousness and anticipation was almost too much for him to handle.

He leaned himself forwards even further, his arms pressing against the counter as he craned his neck to get a better view of the number you were putting down.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, you stopped writing, ripping the piece of paper from the recipe book and holding it out to him.

He stared at it for a moment, his eyes fixed on the numbers you had written on it.

This was it. Your number... he could finally have a direct way of communicating with you...

He quickly snatched the piece of paper out of your hand, holding it between his fingers as if it was the most precious thing in the world.

He could feel the excitement building inside of him, his pulse racing as he folded the piece of paper and stuffed it into his pocket.

He looked back up at you, and for a split second, he almost felt like he was on cloud nine. But just as quickly as the feeling came, the reality of what he had just done hit him like a truck.

He'd just gotten the number of a woman he had zero chances of actually getting, and he didn't even know how to talk to women. He was in way over his head already.

He quickly attempted to school his expression, trying to maintain his usual bored and nonchalant expression, not wanting to let on how much this interaction had affected him.

But as he stared at your nervous expression and flushed cheeks, he realised he was failing miserably. He could feel his own face heating up, the tips of his ears feeling warm as the realisation hit him. He cleared his throat, attempting to compose himself before speaking.

"Thanks..." he mumbled, his voice coming out more gruffly than he had intended.

He knew he should probably say something else, anything else, but he was tongue tied.

His mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to think of something to say to make this situation less awkward. He fidgeted with the paper in his pocket, his fingers tracing over the numbers written on it.

"U-um-…T-thank you..." you softly spoke as you looked at his hidden features. Your ears were dusted with a hue of red as you looked up at him with the most loving eyes. He couldn't help but notice the way your eyes softened as you spoke, the look of admiration and affection in your gaze making his heart skip a beat.

He felt a sudden rush of heat to his cheeks, his body reacting involuntarily to your look.

He quickly looked away, desperately trying to hide the effect you were having on him.

"Whatever..." he mumbled, attempting to sound disinterested and unbothered but failing miserably.

He dug his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, his fingers gripping the piece of paper that held your number. He knew he should probably leave now, he had gotten what he came for, after all... but something was stopping him from walking out the door.

He glanced back at you, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment too long before he spoke up again. "I..uh, I should get going..."

"Y-yeah um-" you cleared your throat before continuing

"yea... thank you for...coming,"

He nodded in response, his heart beating a little faster as he realised that this was it, he was actually leaving.

"Yeah, no problem...thanks..for your number ..again." he mumbled, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.

He started to slowly back away from the counter, his eyes still fixed on you. He didn't want to leave, he wanted to stay here and talk to you, but he knew he couldn't.

"I'll..see you around..." he finally managed to say, giving you one last glance before turning and making his way towards the door.

“Y-yeah..”

As you watched him leave you felt your heart flutter with nervousness... excitement...happiness..., you held on to your chest with quivered lips as you watched him leave.

He pushed the doors open, stepping out into the bustling mall. He could feel his heart beating faster than usual, his mind racing with thoughts of you. He put his hands in his pockets again, his fingers automatically tracing over the piece of paper that had your number.

He could still smell the faint scent of perfume and coffee lingering in his nostrils, a constant reminder of just how close he had been to you.

As he walked through the mall, he couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief.

He, a villain, had just gotten the number of a cute, innocent worker. He smirked, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he thought about the whole interaction. It was so cliché, so movie-like, he felt like a damn fool. He had acted like a bumbling idiot almost the whole time, stuttering and blushing like a preteen boy with a crush.

He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of his thoughts. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't forget the way you looked at him.

It replayed over and over in his mind, a never ending loop of your soft eyes and flushed cheeks.

As he continued to walk, he suddenly realised something.He had no idea what to do with your number.Sure, he had it now, but what was he supposed to do with it? Text you? Call you? He wasn't even sure if you'd actually respond.

He cursed under his breath, shoving his hands further into his pockets as he tried to figure out his next move. He considered just throwing the piece of paper away, it would probably save him a lot of trouble in the long run...

But as much as he tried to convince himself, he couldn't bring himself to do it. The thought of letting go of your number, of losing the only direct way he had of communicating with you, was too much for him to bear.

He needed that number, he had to have it. It was like some kind of sick obsession, the need to have this small piece of paper was driving him insane.

He grumbled to himself, frustrated by the conflicting emotions coursing through him. He didn't understand it, he didn't understand why he felt so drawn to you, why he felt this intense desire to have your attention. He had never felt like this before, not for anyone. It was like you had a hold on him, a power over him that he couldn't break free from.

He wasn't even sure if he wanted to break free, that's what worried him. He was becoming too attached to you, too obsessed...

As he continued walking, he suddenly caught sight of his reflection in a store window.

He looked a mess, his hair was sticking up at odd angles, his eyes were wide and dilated, and his cheeks were flushed red.

He quickly looked away, cursing under his breath again. Why did he look so damn flushed? Why was he acting like some love sick fool?

He gritted his teeth, feeling a wave of self loathing wash over him. It was pathetic, it was... embarrassing. He couldn't let anyone know how he was acting, they'd think he was weak, soft. It was bad enough that you had probably noticed his odd behaviour, if anyone else found out he'd never hear the end of it.

He had been walking for what felt like forever, his mind a tangled mess of thoughts and feelings. He was becoming frustrated, irritated at himself for being such a coward.

He had you number, he could text you right now if he wanted to... but he didn't know what to say.

He didn't want to come across as too forceful or inappropriate...

He let out an annoyed sigh, pulling the piece of paper out of his pocket again and staring down at the numbers scrawled on it.

He could feel the paper crumpling under his grip, his fist clenching subconsciously as he looked at it. as he stared down at the paper, reading the numbers over and over again, he knew it was pointless to try and deny it.

He was obsessed with you, completely and utterly obsessed. He couldn't go an hour without thinking about you, wondering what you were doing, if you were thinking about him...

He was a goner, and he knew it.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, quickly unlocking it placing in your number, opening up the messaging app.

He stared at the screen, watching the cursor blink silently as he tried to gather his thoughts.

What did he say? Should he be direct and straight to the point? Should he try to be casual and charismatic? Should he text you right away or wait until later?

He groaned in frustration, his fingers hovering over the keyboard but unable to type anything.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He had to do this, he had to send you a message. It didn't matter what it said, as long as he got the chance to talk to you.

He started a new message, staring at the blinking cursor again.

"Hey" he typed, then immediately deleting it. No, that was too casual. Too generic. He needed something more unique, something that would grab your attention.

He tried again, his fingers moving furiously over the keys.

"Sup?" No, that was too casual. Too dismissive. He didn't want to sound disinterested.

He backspaced again, trying a different approach.

"Hello." No, that was too formal. Too abrupt. It would make him sound like a creep.

He cursed under his breath, struggling to find the right words to say.

He didn't want to come across as too desperate or too casual. He had to find the sweet spot, the perfect message that would get your attention without sounding clingy or creepy.

He tried again, his fingers trembling as he typed.

"Hey, it's me..." he typed, then quickly deleted it. No, that was too vague. That would make you question who he was.

He grumbled to himself, getting more and more frustrated by the second.

He knew he was overthinking this, making a mountain out of a molehill...

But something about you just made his brain turn to mush.

He took another deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.

He had to just bite the bullet and type something, anything. It didn't matter what, as long as it got the conversation started.

He typed quickly, before he had a chance to second guess himself.

‘It's Tomura.’ he wrote, then quickly typed another message.

‘The guy who came into the coffee store earlier.’

'Black hoodie and blueish hair?’ You replied in a instant.

He chuckled at your description, his heart fluttering a bit at the fact that you remembered what he was wearing.

'Yeah, that's me.' he typed, a small, barely noticeable smile gracing his lips.