kr1nqu

Krinqu

20!!she/her

232 posts

THIS IS LIKE THE FLUFFIEST CUTEST SHIT IVE EVER READ!!

— will you be my valentine?

pairing: shigaraki x reader

genre: fluff

wc: 4,1k

warnings: neighbors to friends to lovers, cheesy, valentines day themes! <3

it was at the beginning of summer the first time shigaraki saw you in the lobby of the building. you were standing in the driveway with a cardboard box hitched to your hip while you were talking to the mailman who served the building.

it was hot.

the kind of heat that made him feel like he was drowning, like the heat was under his skin and into his bones, like it was being sucked hard and heavy into his lungs in a grip he would never let go. instinctively he rolled up the sleeves of his black sweatshirt to his elbows.

and yet none of that would compare to the way you make him feel.

he didn’t know it at the time, but everything about you would stay inside him like the hot summer sun, deep inside his bones, pressed to the inside of his skin.

you would make him feel, when he often felt nothing, running on autopilot most days.

you’d make him feel like... like the cling film of shame didn't always have to stick to him. as if the ocean of you could drown him under his skin, and he would be happy. you had reminded him of the green of blossoming trees, like spring and summer, warmth and heart.

after the first time he saw you, he started doing things he didn't do before, like; going to check the mail just to see you, if only for a few seconds. when he arrive, he gets a little frustrated for not seeing you, but soon his heart starts racing in his chest when you arrive smiling, saying ‘hold on, i think i have a bottle of water. it’s so hot out there today.’

such a small kindness, and yet it was something that stopped him; like he’s out of the world and only you are able to connect him to real life, like you made him want to fall into your orbit.

the postman wiped the sweat from his forehead, smiled, adjusted his bag on his shoulder. you handed him the bottle of water, he kindly thanked you, told you how he hated amazon, that he would take care of the letter you expected from your mother.

“i don’t know many people who write anymore. it’s all junk mail and bills and packages.” he says.

“oh, no, i love getting mail.”!you say sincerely. there’s something so pure and unique about letters handwritten by the people you love, it’s as if each letter and sentence has a little bit of their heart, which makes everything even more special.

and so, he starts checking his damn mail every day.

quickly, he discovers your schedule. when you’re more likely to be in your mailbox or talking to one of your neighbors that you happen to run into. without fail, he manages to catch you. he finds that you demand letters from friends and relatives, and he also finds that you write and send letters almost daily.

you are friendly with the postman, sometimes leaving snacks in the lobby. you give him a card with a tip every holiday. you have such a good heart, such a beautiful and pure soul. he never gets tired of admiring you a little more every time. all your little mannerisms and quirks leave him mesmerized; completely enchanted with a person he swears is an angel.

you’re the only person, the only modern person, he knows in town who checks the mail every day without fail. it’s totally and completely bizarre, but now shigaraki loves mail too; because he can see you, and maybe because he thought people didn’t do the letter thing anymore.

after a long time of trying and failing, with a lot of fear and courage in his heart, he starts talking to you for a few minutes every day with a pile of useless paper in his hands. your smile is like sunlight on a cold day. your laughter as a balm against his physical and spiritual scars. you always smell like vanilla and coffee, and he finds out that you work at a coffee shop to supplement your income with your office work.

he cherishes and sweetly memorizes all the brief conversations and encounters, and he regrets the days when he’s absent on mission and can't see you.

one day, he has the courage to invite you to a old coffee shop next to your apartment, he has watched the place for a long time and knows the peak times and the times when there is no one. he pays for everything for you and tries to feel like he’s not the luckiest man in the universe to sit across from you and listen to you complain about customers, to see you smile and laugh and have a terrible cup of coffee.

true friendship blossoms between you two that day. as if the seed of a beautiful and delightful relationship needed only the tiniest drop of water to sprout.

shigaraki starts finding letters from you after that, on paper that smells like vanilla. just silly anecdotes that made him smile, lying among the useless advertisements and magazines. he had no words or thoughts that could express his feelings; he feels so happy and lucky, so in love and confused, but the only thing he knows is that he will keep your letters for the rest of his life, as his greatest treasure.

you start organizing movie nights at your house, where you burn incense and talk to your plants as if they were beloved children. in the darkness of your little studio, crammed close to you on your beat-up, faded couch you bought at a sale; he gets even more mesmerized with you.

he tells himself he’s not falling in love with you, he definitely isn’t... right? you’re friends and nothing more, he’s just delighted with how bright and pure you are after being surrounded by dark people all his life. he needs a person like you in his life, he tells himself that sometimes, he needs a light.

so what if he dreams about you almost every night? so what if he values the scent you leave on his clothes after you suddenly hug him as he’s leaving your apartment after a movie night? so what if sitting next to you on that old-fashioned couch, his thigh pressed to yours, shoulder to shoulder, is one of the greatest joys of his life? so what if his heart almost popped out of his chest the day you laid your head on his arm while watching your favorite movie?

so what the fuck?

he is happy to have you. like a friend.

does he sometimes sleep with the shirt he wore at your house over his pillow? yes. maybe... but that’s only because the lingering scent of your lavender incense helps him to sleep.

it has nothing to do with your scent. like vanilla and coffee, lavender and bergamot.

it has absolutely nothing to do with being around you.

it has nothing to do with waiting for him to wake up smelling like you just a little, just to keep you close.

he convinces himself that it’s normal to perfectly time your trip to the mailbox every day, just to talk to you, just to make sure you’re okay. until, a few weeks before valentine’s day, in the deep chill of an icy blast that descended on the city in late january, you told him about one of your co-workers who wants to hook you up with a friend of hers.

“she keeps trying to set me up with one of our other coworkers,” you wrinkled your nose. “i’m not really interested, but i’m thinking maybe i’m just going to shut her up about it."

what if you went on that date and felt something? what if he loses you?

but what is there to lose, really?

you were not his.

you do not belong to him, although he feels that he are entirely yours.

pressed close to you in the darkness of your apartment, the tv screen flashing brightly across your features, he wondered why he thought you would want him this way, see him this way.

you lit the lavender incense again, which he was starting to think might be for his benefit; you know he has trouble sleeping.

“maybe i can get a valentine out of this,” you said sleepily. “i’ve never had one before.”

and that convinced him to try. he can be your valentine.

you made him believe that he could be, that maybe he was worthy of it.

you’re standing in front of your open mailbox, wearing a red knitted scarf, when shigaraki ducks in from the winter storm swirling outside. the winter has been particularly brutal, one snowstorm after another making his anxiety flare like an emergency signal.

his heart almost stutters to a stop as he pauses in the entryway, glued to the spot. he hadn’t expected you to still be in the foyer, and immediately he recalculates his carefully thought through plan.

while he hadn’t expected you to be in the lobby, shigaraki certainly hadn’t expected to find you wearing the scarf he had left anonymously in front of your door two days ago.

he’s glad you like it enough to wear it.

just like he was glad that you liked the flowers he left a few days before that enough to post them on instagram, enough to talk to them like the rest of your plants, thanking them for their contribution to the little garden of your window before they wilted and withered away.

it does make him worry just a tad that you’ve so easily accepted gifts from a stranger, anonymously dropped in front of your door or through your mail slot..

now, you slowly shuffle through the letters in your hands, frowning gently at the junk mail. he swallows, watching you flick past a bill, smile at a letter from your grandmother, before you get to the last envelope in the pile. you frown and flip it over when someone ducks past him into the building, reminding him that he’s standing in the open doorway like an idiot, the bag of pastries from your favorite bakery in his hand probably freezing.

shigaraki tries not to think about the way the corner of your mouth ticks up into a smile, your eyes widening just a bit, when you see the script on the back of the baby pink envelope. he curses under his breath and heads in your direction. you look up at his approach, stuffing the pink letter between two pieces of junk mail. “oh, hey, tomura,” you say, smiling so big it looks like it hurts. “happy valentine’s day!”

shigaraki’s heart jumps into his throat and he almost chokes on it. “happy valentine’s day, doll”

you try and can't suppress another smile, “staying in this valentines day?” you nod to the bag in his hand.

“i think you could say that.”

the building door opens again and you wince as a gust of wind snakes through the lobby. “nothing on your super villain schedule then?”

“well, the night is young,” he says dryly. “the world is kind of... less shit lately” at least to him.

you laugh and his heart flutters a little. he feels like a child around you, as if the world is light and beautiful, as if everything is right.

“what are you doing tonight?” he asks as you close your mailbox.

you lift your pile of mail and shake it at him, “getting my mail.” the corner of your mouth twitches and shigaraki tries not to let his eyes linger on your lips, or, more dangerously, on the pink letter peeking out of the stack.

the letter he had slipped into your mail slot yesterday.

“other than getting your mail,” he says as you start towards the stairs and begin to climb. he lags, deliberately walking slowly to prolong your time together, trying to work up the nerve to ask you over to his place. “no valentine’s date for you either? manage to avoid the date with that coworker?”

“ugh. yes. but now i’m totally avoiding this horrible speed dating thing my friend wants me to go to. she’s convinced it’ll be fun. it’s themed for valentine’s day.” you wrinkle your nose at him. “i think it sounds like the ninth circle of hell. so, i’m staying in with my book. i mean, i deserve it right? i’ve already put in so much effort into avoiding that date with my coworker.”

oh lord, he is grateful that you think the speed dating thing is hell.

his crush on you has rapidly turned into an obsession. and he knows himself well enough to know that he would absolutely sabotage that speed dating thing. shigaraki isn’t about to let anything ruin his plan; he hasn’t spent the last two weeks meticulously planning a perfect plan for something like speed dating to ruin it.

besides the flowers and the scarf, he sent you a reservation for your favorite restaurant, your favorite brand of chocolate, a box of little candy hearts that he was present when you found them in your mailbox and laughed deliciously, delighted. he gave you a sweater and a new perfume, a book, incense. he’s given you everything he can think of at the moment and he’s kind of proud of it.

maybe he’s not good with words, but he knows you well enough to know what m you’re going to love, even if it’s not him.

nerves are scratching the inside of his skin by the time you pull up outside his door, he’s trying his best not to scratch his neck - after you asked so gently because you didn’t want to see him get hurt - as he tries to work up the courage to ask you to come.

conveniently, he stopped at your favorite bakery. conveniently, he ordered all your favorite treats.

“-so glad someone sent me this scarf,i mean, the radiator has been broken for a week and its fucking cold. landlord keeps promising to send someone but-,”

“i’ll take a look at it for you, honey.”

you look at him, a strange emotion swimming in your eyes before you walk away, and you smile. “what would i do without you? thank you, tomu.” you say, as if it means nothing. like the nerve inside him doesn’t light up at the thought that you need him for something as mundane as maintenance.

you pause and continue, uneasily a little, “i would love to know who keeps sending me stuff.” your tone is carefully light, but a little sadness is hiding in the back of your throat. “i would like to thank them personally.” you don’t meet his eyes when you say that.

he hums, watching you fumble with your key, “what if you have a stalker or something, y/n? wish you’d be a little more careful.”

“worried about me, tomura?” you tease. he just stares at you. of course he is. he’s always worried about you. you roll your eyes, “i get good vibes and intentions from these gifts. i think i would know if they carried bad energy.”

“you’re kidding right? this is how you end up on dateline-,”

“oh hush, let me enjoy my silly little gifts. i’ve never had a secret admirer. or even a valentine. and besides, you’re in the building. i’m sure you’d know if i were in any danger. you probably already investigated and know who they are.” you send him a smile that makes his heart feel like cracked eggshell “the worst thing about this apartment is that it’s three floors up with no elevator,” you huff, finally jamming your key into the lock. “i guess i’ll-,”

panic surges up his throat. it’s now or never.

“you’ve never had a valentine?” he asks, stalling for time, though you had told him the night he decided to be your valentine this year.

“some of us can’t pull ladies like you, tomura,” you tease, bumping your shoulder against his. “i mean, i’ve had partners on valentine’s day in the past just not, like, a valentine, you know? like someone who sends you sappy little notes and just loves love.”

god, you were about to be disappointed when you found out it was him.

he’s your fucking valentine. your secret admirer.

while he’d planned to ask you over to dinner, shigaraki would also like to delay you looking at that fucking envelope he stuffed in your mailbox like it was nothing.

it’s not time for you to read it yet.

the letter is a security blanket for when everything inevitably goes to hell.

it’s such a good thing he’d caught you in the foyer. if you’d already gotten your mail, likely you would have ripped open the letter and read it right away.

“you could come over,” he says. “i got enough here to feed an army,” he lifts the bag. “we can watch that new show you were telling me about yesterday.”

he doesn’t expect you to hesitate. normally, you readily agree to spend a night together. but you finally open the door.

you look at the pile of mail in your hands. “uhm,” you change from foot to foot. “you know, i-,”

you stop, seeming to think about how to continue, fiddling with the pink paper.

and strangely, shigaraki is jealous.

of a letter.

that he sent.

he is jealous of himself.

you want to read your valentine’s anonymous letter instead of spending time with him.

maybe his heart sinks into his belly, maybe his soul turns to ashes inbuis mouth. and maybe is better give up now.

“oh, right,” he says, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice but failing.

you notice the look on his face and drop the mail on the counter by the door. “uhm.. i mean.. yes of course, i would love.” from the door, he can see your whole apartment. the pink and white bedspread, your plants, the pictures of family and friends on the wall - and even a polaroid photo of the two of you that you’ve strangely convinced him to take - the fairy lights and that little sofa in front of the tv that has come to feel at home, like love.

“you don’t need to-,” he begins.

you close the door and lock it again, smiling at him.

you sit on the floor in front of his coffee table, legs crossed, fingers sticky with powdered sugar and frosting that you wipe gently on a napkin. you’ve been talking to him for the last few minutes, something he thinks is about a mess at work, but he can’t focus on it right now.

he didn’t touch any treats or drinks, and you definitely noticed that.

the room is filled with a tension that is entirely his fault. he can see you trying to analyze why things seem so strange and tense. you reach out and touch the back of his hand. “are you alright?”

“yes,” he says, rubbing the other hand over his face as if he were tired. shigaraki doesn’t want to scare you, he knows how he looks, empty and distant, when he’s too deep inside himself.

it’s now or never, something screams at him.

“actually, i have something for you.”

“oh”, you smile. “as a gift?”

“yeah.. something like this”, he stands up, and your hand drops from his. he moves to the kitchen where he stashed his last present.

if things go wrong in the next few minutes, i hope you’ll read the card he left in the mailbox that’s waiting for you at the kitchen counter, he thinks to himself as he looks at you again. your eyes are fixed on him, moving quickly to the pink box wrapped in his hands.

he sits across from you on the floor and presses the box in his hands onto the coffee table. you look at him for a long moment, the look on your face unreadable for him.

“tomura,” you say gently, decidedly not unwrapping. “i don’t want to sound... i don’t want to make things strange between us, but –,”

oh. shit..

“but like, we’ve been friends for a while and i... i dunno, i was just telling myself i should tell you.,”

... probably that you had a partner. that he got too comfortable with you and needed to back off.

“well, that i’ve kind of fallen in love with you in the last couple of months and...”

wait-

“and i don’t want to sound, like, smug, but… are you the one leaving all the presents?”

his brain goes static, white with emptiness. how the hell could you know?

“i-,”

“because i think maybe you would have- i mean is it really you..? i really hope it was you.”

when he doesn’t say anything, you start fidgeting, crinkling the edge of the pink paper in your hands, the tip of your thumb running nervously under the tape.

“it’s not, is it? shit i made everything really weird between us.. i thought it was you because you kind of look like you would have hunted someone down by randomly sending me stuff.” you don’t look at him while saying that. “oh god does that mean i have a stalker?”

he swallows and finds his voice, lodged firmly in the back of his throat. “you thought i would-,”

“yes, i mean,” you tear the ribbon a little and carefully set the gift aside. “it’s just that you’re kind of protective. you seem to care a lot about me and i found it strange that this random stranger would give me things and that didn’t bother you, but...”

“honey, it’s me,” he says softly. “it’s me. i’ve done all this.”

you don’t seem to hear him, your eyes still fixed on the pies and pastries in front of you. “..because you know how much i love getting letters and you know all my favorite things.” you shrug your shoulders. “sorry, i shouldn’t—”

shigaraki says your name, with enough force for your head to rise and look at him “it is me”

“what?” your eyebrows furrow.

“i –fuck it, i fucking like you. very much. and i didn’t want you to go on that fucking date with your coworker and you’ve never had a valentine’s day and.. i don’t know.. i really like you. i thought maybe—”

“did i say, didn’t i? i fell in love with you. do you think i let other people into my apartment so much? wait in my fucking mailbox waiting for you to show up?”

a chuckle comes out of him, “i thought i was really good at timing.”

you roll your eyes and get up. he follows your movement; you crouch beside him, and he holds his breath for a few seconds, intoxicated by your presence. he gently pulls you onto his lap, he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and gently strokes your cheek with his thumb. he bows a few times but the last of the courage he had was gone when he confessed to you. so you had to take the first step. the kiss was a little awkward, but the two of you melted into each other as you delved deeper into the love you both hid.

you tasted so, so good. like valentines day chocolate and something so purely yours. he already knew he would be addicted to it. your fingers curl in his hair; curl behind his ears as you hold his face between your palms. tomura anchors his hands on your hips, afraid to do anything but kiss you. just in case it’s a dream, just in case you change your mind.

he dreamed of kissing you before, he dreamed of holding you, touching the curve of your lovely and dreamily body, but none of his sleepless nights as he pictured himself with you compares to having you in his lap, your soft lips against his, a new feeling you made him feel when you first kissed him.

you pull back and press your forehead to his, “thank you for all my gifts, tomura.”

he smiles, “don’t read that pink letter, love.”

“why?”

“it’s…honestly i thought… doesn’t matter. just don’t read it. i’ll write you a thousand more letters.”

“promise they’ll all be really sappy.”

he chuckles and hooks an arm around your waist, tugging you close before twisting to press you back into the rug. tomura hovers over you “i promise,” he murmurs, kissing your temple, the curve of your cheek, your top lip.

“and that you’ll hand deliver them to my mailbox.”

“promise,” he kisses your lips.

you arch up, kissing him back hard, digging your foot into the back of his knee so he collapses against you fully.

“will you be my valentine?” it’s a breathless question.

“thought i already was.”