Flamme-shigaraki-spithoe - Just A Big Simp 🤌✨

Reblog if you talk to your fictional lover when you’re alone

some random headcanons of tomura that i thought of

just like ochaco, he sleeps either with gloves on or bandages on his pinky fingers

i’ve seen many people say tomura would listen metal or heavy metal but i really think he’d prefer game OST’s over anything>>>

blasts bury the light at 3am

he’d call kurogiri at 3am just to tell him about his plans to kill all might

apparently he’s awake all day, having anxiety attack cuz he drank monster on an empty stomach

i think he’s the type of guy to meticulously plan everything only to have it ruined by bad luck

he’d occasionally pick on his flaky skin/lips

he has a habit of collecting figures, only to leave on at the shelve without looking at it again

if you’re close to tomura, he’d invite you to eat something tasty and then tell you that he destroyed one of your items

tomura is not the type to use bar soap but rather dispenser soap…that’s if you’re lucky enough he used one

he doesn’t use his quirk much and he’s used to only using 4 fingers

very competitive and mean when he plays against you in a PvP game

too mean he’s not giving you an ounce of hope to win

you got upset and he decided to switch to simulation games instead (he doesn’t admit this but he plays animal crossing to relax)

say goodbye to your personal space, this man knows no boundaries

he’s not shy, he’s just like a cat that doesn’t know how to express its feelings to you

*gets jumpscared in a horror game* “fuck all might, fuck endeavor, fuck hawks, fuck—“

your man is the type to pick his food off the floor :(

shigaraki is the type of guy to buy you the most luxurious & beautiful black nightgown while he stays on his creeper boxers

tomura doesn’t like to shower on his own, he likes the feeling of your fingers brushing through his hair 🚿🛀

(NSFW below this point:)

expect him to talkshit about all might mid-sex

i really think his hatred for all might surpasses his sex drive

prefers receiving and will be mean about it, he just likes making a mess of you

degradation & slight breeding kink

your boobs are his favorite pillows

he likes fucking you with the skirt on—

missionary & doggy 👑

call him sweet names during sex and he’ll melt under your arms

doesn’t like shower sex but a blowjob will do

i think he would be into somnophilia, only if you’re fine with it

NFSW ALPHABET TW: OPINIONS

𝐀 ❥ 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄: It's a whole mood switch— pounding into your sweet, tight hole and then resting you against his chest as he whispers how good you felt, "Shhh, you did so good..." He'd whisper sweetly, gently rubbing your hair. Sometimes he just gets on his game, depending if it was a quickie or not, really, but he'd still toss a water for you.

𝐁 ❥ 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓: Tits. Next question? Smothering his face in them, licking them, jerking off and cumming on them, sticking them in between them, no matter the size or gender, you best believe he's gonna be doing something to them (with consent, duh).

𝐂 ❥ 𝐂𝐔𝐌: He's definitely a cum freak, if you/him don't cum, there wasn't sex? Even if someone walks in and you haven't came, he'd keep going until one of you did. If you're a vagina owner, he'd finger you until you came, soaking his fingers in your juices, he'd then lift his hand to his mouth and (there was two fingers used in this "imagine"/pov,) swirl his tongue between his fingers to capture and savor your juices.

𝐃 ❥ 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓: He steals your underwear and cums inside them, sometimes he washes them and puts them back in your drawer, sometimes he just puts them back in your drawer, and most of the time, he just keeps them and cums in the same pair over and over until he gets tired of that pair, then that's when he washes them, but usually they're unusable afterwards because of the disgusting cum stains and little crust.

𝐄 ❥ 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄: You're likely his first lover, happy with mega-virgins? Doesn't matter, he is one. Sure, he likely watches/has watched porn before but stopped when dating you because...he has you, why would he watch people fuck? Even just looking at your pictures satisfy him anyways. The first time you guys fucked, it was...kind of bad. Just because of his experience though, sloppy thrusts, and wasn't pushing it in (deep enough, anyway), and was just staying in one spot, but the second time was amazing— magical, even.

𝐅 ❥ 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Depends if he's bottoming or topping you. If he's bottoming, probably mating press, it's more intimate and less like "I own you." type of shit, when he's bottoming, we bursts out crying when he comes down from his high in any position, so it doesn't matter. If he's topping, however...face down, ass up, deep victory, missionary, doggy style, standing up, sitting, laying down, anywhere and any position.

𝐇 ❥ 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑: I'm gonna come out and say it, he's not well-shaven, some of the hair goes to his (very) low stomach, white-ish blue hair with tiny black hairs here and there.

𝐈 ❥ 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄: He is rough, bottom or not, usually spitting things out, but while cumming he will repeat "I love you!" over and over in a sorta high-pitched whimper-y voice.

𝐉 ❥ 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅𝐅: Woukd rather have your pussy lips, asshole jerking him off, he usually humps pillows, the bed or you to masturbate.

𝐊 ❥ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: Multiple, my Shigaraki headcanons post explains all of them. :)

𝐋 ❥ 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Anywhere. Bathroom, kitchen, shower, bedroom, living room, Dabi's bedroom, Kurogiri's office, his office, even in Kurogiri's warp gate, in public, private, anywhere.

𝐌 ❥ 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Just you in general. Walk in a room and he might cum in his pants. Rather that's you wearing a 'special clothing item' (ex. miniskirt), your voice, scent or touch, even your taste— he's hard and ready to go.

𝐍 ❥ 𝐍𝐎: The gloves stay on, even if you beg. Gloves or no hands, which means no spanking or groping, so that's just bad for both of you.

𝐎 ❥ 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋: He prefers receiving, but will gladly give. He likes specifically receiving oral under the desk, especially during a meeting or game, it makes him feel more loved, then making him more confident, even though he just whimpers and moans involuntarily and sounds ridiculous.

𝐏 ❥ 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄: Fast, bottoming or not. He's slamming into you if he's a top, quickly smashing into your hole and whining in pleasure.

𝐐 ❥ 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄: He's not capable of anything but quickies, the end.

𝐑 ❥ 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊: Risk as in almost getting caught? If so, hell yeah, he will risk it. Honestly, he wouldn't care either, he'd probably fuck in front of Kurogiri.

𝐒 ❥ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀: It kind of depends on his mood, ex. if he's angry, maybe 30 minutes to 2 hours, if he's sad, 30 minutes at most. He could last days if he wanted to.

𝐓 ❥ 𝐓𝐎𝐘𝐒: Probably a vibrator or two, definitely uses them in public too.

𝐔 ❥ 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑: He's too impatient, he'd lose it after a few teases, and if you're teasing him, he'd probably just cry.

𝐕 ❥ 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄: Makes the most pornographic moans and whimpers, even begs, even if he's on top. Usually he'll spit out little "Please..."'s and "More!" every now and then. Sometimes even rude things like "Dirty little whore" and "Cumslut."

𝐖 ❥ 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃: Brags about you to his online gaming friends.

𝐗 ❥ 𝐗-𝐑𝐀𝐘: Tomura is a (huge) 6.5 in/16.51 cm flaccid dick, and when erect, it can range between 7.5 in/19.05cm to 8.0 in/20.32 cm at most.

𝐘 ❥ 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: (Yearning as in sex drive.) Exclusively high sex drive, not through the roof, but definitely "up there."

𝐙 ❥ 𝐙𝐳𝐳: Doesn't sleep (often) afterwards, too energetic or it, unless it's during the day, I guess. Like, after staying up for the whole night, fucking when you wake up and then going to bed.

A new life for Tomura part 5

Birthday Treat (Tomura Shigaraki x CamGirl!Reader)

Words: 3.6k

Minors DNI

Tw: sex work, toys/interactive machine, "senpai", one mention of Shigaraki wanting to be called niichan, anal (plug, gaping, mastrubation), belly bulge, reader has pierced nips, soft degradation, multiple orgasms (both), mastrubating, delusional, softness too, squirting

Teaser: "I want to see," he says, his heart is pounding in his chest. He does not even blink, not wanting to miss a second of you. You are a goddess to him. So nice and so pretty and he is at your feet.

Note: It's my angel's birthday! (In an hour) You can send me Shiggy thirsts and headcanons and requests for my man's day 💜

Tomura is nervous.

It is his birthday and he splurged a little. Well, Toga said birthdays are there to treat yourself to something and he did exactly that. It wasn't cheap but his birthday seems like a valid excuse after what Toga had said.

When he booked the private session with you his heart raced at you sending him a private message alone. He was sure he wouldn't survive actually talking to you. You are so damn sweet in your text, but he knew that before. He never misses your late night streams, it's the only way he falls asleep without taking meds... or drugs. You sent him a form he had to fill out before your session.

What do you want me to call you?

What outfit do you want me to wear? With options.

What toys do you want me to use?

It had a detailed instruction on how to establish the connection to your interactive toys and some general info about taking screenshots and payment. He didn't know at the time that by purchasing a private session he would get live long access to message you privately. He is still thrilled about that. Maybe he could get you to like him.

He took three hours to fill out the form (he had to make smart choices) and he jerked off right after, all the images it conjured in his brain making him rock hard.

He is half hard now already. And he is just nervous. He has written in the chat and interacted with you before but never talked to you.

The loading screen now beams with cute pink graphics. Then, you appear and Tomura holds his breath.

You are on the floor sitting criss-crossed on a fluffy blanket with cute fairy lights behind you and your stuffed animals. You are wearing the way too tight white crop top and way too skimpy pink thong he picked out. Your hard nipples and their piercings are well visible, your beautiful tits perked up in the tightness of the small fabric. Your makeup is simple but cute, your hair is held back by your kitten ear headset. The white thigh highs make Tamura's cock twitch. Your thighs. He needs to know what they feel like.

"Heyy," you say, smiling. "How are you doing, senpai?"

Tomura filled in for you to call him senpai. He knew if he made you call him niichan he would go insane. Maybe next birthday.

"Hi. I'm… okay," his voice betrays him.

"Don't be nervous. It's just me," you smile. "Let's talk a bit first to loosen you up, yeah? How was your day?"

"Uneventful. It's my birthday."

Your eyes widen for a second. "Uneventful and it's your birthday?! Tell me you at least had some cake?"

"No," he chuckles softly. "Just played some games."

"Well, I'm going to make sure that it is special then, senpai," you say sultry. "What do you want me to do first?"

"Can I see your tits, please?"

You smile. Your hands with the cute pink nail design come up the sides of your body as you move to kneel instead. You brush over your breasts, squeezing them together in the thin fabric. Tomura is nearly drooling.

You take the hem of the crop top and slowly pull it up. Your tits bounce free, jingling so beautifully. The crop top is sitting above your tits, a sense of obscenity in it that he likes. You are about to take the shirt off but he stops you.

"Leave it like this."

You nod, compliant as a puppy, and move closer to the camera. You present your beautiful tits to him, bounce on your knees so they do too.

"You're so beautiful,' Tomura breathes and his hand now finally moves to his cock. 

"Thank you, senpai," you utter softly, squeezing your tits together for him and pinching your nipples.

"Are you wearing the plug I picked out?" His voice is timid.

"Of course, senpai. Wanna see?"

"I want to see," he says, his heart is pounding in his chest. He does not even blink, not wanting to miss a second of you. You are a goddess to him. So nice and so pretty and he is at your feet.

You turn around and your ass lifts up, your knees stay together at your chest, causing your core to peak out between your plush thighs. Your ass is just so sexy too. Tomura is no ass or tits or thighs guy, he is a you guy. Just you. You take a pillow and lay your head down on it. Tomura switches to the close up shot for a second, just needing to see your face a moment longer.

You push your panties aside revealing your cute cunt and the pink glass heart sitting above your puckered hole. You clench and it moves and Tomura nearly moans.

"Senpai?" You say breathy. "I was so happy about all the stuff you picked," you say genuinely.

"Yeah?"

"Hm," you hum. "You dressed me up so cute."

His body fills with warmth. "Pull your thong down but don't take it off."

You peel the pink fabric to sit at your knees then brush over your cunt.

"Did I allow you to do that?" He says breathlessly, eyes fixed on the close up shot to see your reaction. A deep blush creeps into your cheeks.

"I am sorry, senpai. Forgive me, please."

"I do," Tomura smiles. "Pull the plug out for me, baby."

You acknowledge his request with a soft moan and push yourself up, grabbing the bottle of lube. He could choose the consistency and naturally took the extra sticky one.

You squeeze some of it onto the plug then use one finger to swirl it around your stretched asshole. 

"Your nails are so cute this time." He knows you got them done just yesterday. He never misses when you post on Instagram.

"Thank you!" You smile and your breath hitches as you pull at the pink heart. You spread your legs further, the thong stretching around your thighs as you do.

Tomura watches with hungry eyes how you move the plug in a circled motion then slowly pull at it. It looks like your little ass does not want to let the plug go and he bites his own hand to stay quiet. You moan softly and it finally pops out, strings of the stucky lube going from the pink glass to your clenching hole. You lay it down and spread your ass cheeks, presenting to him how beautiful your ass was gaping and clenching.

"S'beautiful," he hums. 

"Wanna be filled again, senpai! Will you fuck my ass now? Please?" You beg, voice so pretty and slutty.

Shit. Tomura snaps his hand away from stroking his cook but it was too late. Strings of cum splash onto his stomach. He hardly manages to stay quiet. "Yes," his voice pitched. "Show me the dildos again, sweetheart."

You sit and reach to the side getting the three he selected into view. They are about the same length but vary in thickness. One is anatomically correct, the other has ridges and bumps and the third is curved to hit your special spot.

"Hmm–"

"Senpai," you blink so sweetly and shift to kneel again with your legs spread, your exposed cunt on the blanket. "I got a delivery today. Maybe you wanna try this one out with me for the first time?" You pull a red dildo into view and sit it down between your legs. It reaches all the way to your belly button, ridiculously thick and with ridges. "But only if you want to, I'll do whatever you want."

If you could see his face… Tomura clickes the shortcut and takes a screencap. He has a size kink? He is going insane.

"Let's use that one," he heaves.

You are excited about that and he smiles.

"I need a quick moment, senpai. Tell me are you enjoying this so far?" You start to set up the fucking machine.

"I do. You are perfect," he sighs. "I enjoy this so much," he lets his head fall back against his gaming chair. 

"That makes me so happy, birthday boy."

He smiles.

"Apologies, senpai."

"Its fine." It really is. His stomach is feeling all funny and it's not because of his cock being rock hard again. "You can call me that, too."

He watches how you adjust the camera, getting in the position he will fuck you in. He chose that one too. He wants you to lay on your side with your pretty ass sticking out so he can see your thighs and your dangling feet as he controls the thrusts of the machine going into your puckered hole.

"Can you see me alright, senpai?" You check in with him.

"Yes. All perfect."

"Let's test the connection," you say and your voice has a little edge. He watches how you bend forward, opening your mouth in front of the monstrous dildo with your tongue sticking out.

"Fuck," Tomura hisses but he knows what he has to do. He presses the button on his phone that makes the machine go forward and the gigantic head of the dildo pushes into your mouth, stuffing it full. Your moan is muffled. Tomura now retrieves the machine and pushes it forward again, faster now. Your eyes cross as you gag. Tomura moans softly hearing you gasp as he pulls the dildo back.

"Works," you heave, licking up the saliva that splurged. "Senpai, will you go slow at first?" You bat your lashes at the close up shot. "It's so big and my ass is so tight."

"I can't promise you."

You bite your lip at that. "I'll be brave for you, senpai, it's your birthday."

"Good girl," he says and his stomach clenches. He wanted to say that to you for so long.

You coat the dildo and your stretched hole in the sticky lube and line it up. "Fuck me, senpai, please," you say and brace yourself.

Tomura uses his thumb to move the machines forward while his other hand mimics the speed.

You moan and close your eyes as he invades you, pushing the dildo into your ass. You hook one arm around your knees, your pretty pink nails digging into the white fabric of the thigh highs as you hold your legs away. "Senpai," you whine.

"You're doing so well, slut."

You whimper.

He pulls back then enters a little more as he pushes in again, your puckered hole stretching around the red silicone. He pushes back again and now drives the machine forward a bit quicker. You yelp and move forward.

"Don't do that!" Tomura warns.

"M'so sorry, senpai! So big!" You squeal and use the hand that is not holding your legs to squeeze more lube on yourself and then hold onto the wall so you can resist the push.

"Good slut," he says and you look at the camera, giving him a strained smile.

He starts again and this time he gets the cock halfway in. He has no idea how it fits and judging from your face neither do you.

He fucks you like this, halfway pushing the dildo into your ass, making you moan and squirm. He is not holding his moans back anymore either.

"You sound so pretty," you whimper. "Makes me so horny, senpai! Fuck me so good– So big… so big… am so full;" you babble. "More! Please, more!"

"Are you sure you can take more, baby?"

"For you! I am sure! Force it inside, senpai! Please!"

He chuckles. His head is hot, he might have a fever. And does just as you ask. You cry out, holding your hair back as your headset slips off your head. You can't hold yourself up anymore and now he only sees your face in the close up shot. Your mouth forms an O. He watches how shaking hands fix the headset on your head again.

He almost comes again but stops touching himself.

"You are taking it so well. All the way," he cooes. "You like that, huh? Being stretched so much, filled to the brim."

"I do, senpai!"

"Of course you anal whore." He now sets the machine into an automatic fast pace. You take the entire thing… god knows how. "So sexy!" It pushes into you with such a stretch to your hole that it looks airtight. 

"W-wanna--s-show you," you heave and hold the camera in your hand. You lay down on your back, making sure the dildo does not slip from your greedy hole. You hold the camera up over your lower half and Tomura holds his breath. No way. No "fucking! Hell," he curses and he cums despite not even touching his dick. He's sweaty and whiny, bucking his hips up. Tomura takes his phone again and pushes into you slowly, watching your tummy bulge with the movement. It was so visible, so deep.

"Fuck, baby!"

"You sound so pretty when you cum," you whine. "Please cum again for me, senpai. Wanna hear you again."

You press down on your stomach and it is even more predominant now. You cry out when he suddenly goes so much faster, drunk on seeing how absolutely filled you are. This is stuff he thought only happens in hentai. You make all his dreams come true.

You throw your head back and your breaths come more rigid. Is it finally time? "Senpai!" You cry. "Gonna cum! Gonna cum! Fuck! Cum with me together! Please!"

Tomura is stroking his aching cock relentlessly. Who is he to deny you? He would not dream of it. "Cum for me," Tomura orders. "Keep your eyes on the damn close up!"

You angle the camera you are holding so he can see your core and twisted your head to look at the close up. You are so happy to comply. You get louder then suddenly quiet.

"Thank you," you press over your lips and come undone, shaking and moaning, your whole body jerking. Tomura comes again at the same time and you both moan together.

He pulls the dildo out and despite you still shaking and being utterly fucked out, you make sure he sees your gaping and abused asshole. He takes another screen cap.

"Such a good anal slut," Tomura breathes. "So fucking perfect. You love getting your ass used like that, so much, don't you?"

You nod and whimper.

"Look how wet you are, shit. I'm getting hard again." It is not just the sticky lube that drops from your folds but your very essence.

You finally sit up, hair a mess and face in a deep blush. You are just the cutest when you look so fucked out.

"That was so hot," you giggle, drunk from your orgasm. He smiles. "Want me to–"

"Want to use the vibe now."

You bite your lip and nod, looking lost for a moment as you scramble for it.

"What's up?" He smiles.

"I needed that orgasm so badly, senpai," you blush. "I feel so good now because of you."

He doesn't know what to answer. The feeling in his tummy is getting worse.

You position yourself again, slipping the pink egg into your soaking cunt. You spread it so he can see your clit.

"Bet you taste so good."

"I do."

"No doubt, baby."

He starts to pleasure you, starting the vibrations low then picking up. He only has an hour with you, otherwise he would torture you for hours. Not because he is cruel but because he is selfish, needing to hear your pleasured noises and see you squirm.

Your pussy is so ridiculously wet and sticky. Your juices all flow into your gaping ass hole and it is just a sight. Another screen cap.

"Can I r-rub my clit, senpai?" You ask.

"Yes."

You do so, vigorously flicking the bundled nerves.

"Wanna see you cum again, baby." He knows you are close, he knows you so well. Your pussy is absolutely filthy.

You and him come again at the same time. Your fucked out face worth another screen cap.

"Now ride the skin-colored cock for me, yeah? But drink something real quick, pretty girl." You are sweaty and blushing hard, breathing heavily from how intense your last two orgasms were. All because of him.

You smile and sip on your drink. "Shall I face you or away?"

"Face me. Wanna see your tits bounce, slut."

You get onto your feet and squad down on the toy, meaning and hissing. You start to ride him, bounce on his cock until your tits are swinging. It looked so good.

"Pretty girl! Squeeze those tits! Yes, just like that. Show em to me. How good am I fucking you?"

"So! Good, senpai! Can't even think… all fucked dumb on your cock" you whimper, blissed out. "Gonna cum again."

"Cum again, baby. Need to see how your legs shake, do it. Just for me."

"J'us f'you," you slur and cry out, shaking again, fisting the fluffy blanket. "Thank you!"

"Fuck!" He comes again and is starting to feel light headed. "So good for me, slut! Such a good girl," his eyes are rolled back and he babbles. "So perfect."

He expects you to tell him that his time is over. His heart breaks with that thought. Tomura is covered in heaps of his own cum, his cock is aching and he doesn't want to stop being with you.

You need a moment to regain your composure and he is proud about that, smiling softly. He did that. You pull the dildo out.

"Lick it clean, will you?" He chuckles, high on endorphins.

You let out a gullible giggle and do so, flicking your tongue on the wet toy, throating it until you gag.

He can't move, head leaning back with his hair sticking to his skin, his legs spread wide and abs tensed. His own cum is everywhere.

"Good slut."

"Birthday boy?" You say. "Do you have some more time?"

"For you always." Did you really say that or was he so out of his mind?

He watches how you take the camera and move to your desk. You lay down a towel before sitting in your pink gamer chair, making sure he can see you properly again.

You are his dream girl. You just are meant for him! He is so sure. You are supposed to belong to him. He knows it deep in his bones.

Your legs spread wide over the arms of the chair, exposing your swollen cunt and you rub your clit. "This is my birthday gift to you," you coo and start to finger yourself, then use the other curved dildo he picked.

The faces you make are just art, just perfect. You are so perfect. Tomura's cock doesn't want to be touched again but he just has to. He is being so loud, moaning along with you as he strokes his aching and overstimmed cock.

"Call me slut again, please, senpai. It sounds so good!" 

"Does it, slut? You are such a pretty, dumb whore!" He nearly says he loves you.

"H-hap-PY birth— day," you squeal and liquid shoots from your cunt, your legs snap and shake, eyes roll back.

"Fuck!" He cums again too. It should be impossible but strings of white seeds splurge from his red, swollen tip. He might have lost consciousness for a moment. You don't squirt a lot on stream, it was hard for you to get to that build up you once said but he made you squirt.

When he opens his eyes again you are not sitting there anymore, his heart drops for a second but then you come back with a half eaten cupcake and a candle. The crop top is still rutted up on your chest, your boobs exposed and seem like you forget it.

"It's the only one left," you apologize, chuckling, and put the candle in the cake, lighting it.

You are perfect. You are damn perfect. The cutest girl on this planet.

"Make a wish in 1,2,3." You blow the candle out then clap your hands.

"Thank you," Tomura rasps, his voice so faint.

"Senpai, drink some water, okay? Take a nice shower and have a snack." You smile, utterly exhausted yourself. "It was so much fun with you. I hope I'll see you again. Text me later, okay? So I know you are okay."

"Will do. Take care of yourself, too, baby."

You nod, blow a kiss and the stream ends.

》》》》

You are on his screen again that night. You are still in the thigh highs with a big black sweater, all cozy just playing the sims on stream, talking and answering some questions.

He is staring at the private chat on his phone. What is he going to say? You asked him to text… but what should he say?

(Y/N): What did you wish for? 

The message pops up suddenly and his head snaps up seeing you are holding your phone. He is online, which you can see but not typing, for 10 minutes now. You could tell he is a little shy, just helping him out. He types now.

Decay44: Can't tell you. Won't come true if I do. How are you?

(Y/N): sleepy. And you, senpai?

He can see you are tired. So stupidly cute. He wants to wrap his arms around you.

Decay44: I can't move tbh… But I am happy. Wanna see what you did to me?

You smile.

(Y/N): I do wanna see 👀

He looks up and you do too, smirking. Some people in the chat ask what you are reading.

"Nothing," you purse your lips.

He sends you the picture he took right after, still sitting there. All the cum and how red his cock was just deserved to be preserved. He made sure to not catch his scars of course.

He can see the blush that creeps into your cheeks, how you lick your lips looking at your phone.

(Y/N): you're so hot, senpai ♡

You sigh and throw your head back, "seems like you will get a show actually. I just got incredibly horny."

You are his girl.

Ungrateful

Yandere!Tomura Shigaraki x afab!Reader CW: yandere, kidnapping, heavily implied depression, angsty, nonconsensual sex, pain

NSFW - MDI

---

Plush duvet under your back, limbs sprawled over the bed, you continue listlessly staring at the blank ceiling. Ambient music plays in the background, accompanied by Tomura's heavy breaths and barely audible clicks of his controller's buttons. Occasionally, you were graced with frustrated curses or insults. Watching him play had grown tiring long ago, not that the ceiling was any more interesting. In a previous time, you played together, but even video games required more energy and motivation than you possessed now.

A strangled, annoyed groan pulled your gaze instinctively, allowing you to see him carelessly discard his controller before standing up, bones cracking loudly, and turning to you, scowling. Dread settles itself in your stomach as he approaches you. Ironic; he used to make you so happy, but it seemed the more lethargic you grew, the more aggressive he became. He looks you over, displeased. “Move over." Gathering the little energy you had, you collect your limbs and shuffle over to make room for him. He flops down next to you, bouncing you both slightly. His gaze burns into you, unimpressed with the distant look in your tired eyes. He gunts, deciding to finally address your condition after days, if not weeks, of refusing to confront the change in your attitude and behaviour. “Why are you like this?" Not answering will only anger him, so you push yourself through your exhaustion to reply, not bothering to properly pronounce your words. “… Ev'rythin' seems poin'less… barely feel anythin' anymore." Discontent with your answer, his brows furrow before a predatory grin breaks across his face and he sits up to leer over you. “You wanna feel somethin, huh? Wanna do something with a purpose?"

His gaze is malicious as a hand touches your t-shirt, disintegrating it. Without it, his skin is clammy and rough against yours. Braless, as the only clothes he gave you were t-shirts and shorts, you are exposed to his greedy eyes. Disgusted, you look away as his hand grabs your chest. Since your imprisonment, you had suspicions he would do this, but you ignored them, wanting to hold onto the memory of him as your friend, even if he had acted questionably.

Longing for the past, you are dragged from your thoughts by a harsh squeeze to your breast as he slings a leg over your hips, looming over you. Glancing at his face, his expression is almost ecstatic, causing a chill to ripple down your spine. Dropping his head, Tomura licks a long, slimy stripe along your neck, prompting you to cringe. He shows no indication of noticing, much less caring. Instead, he roughly grabs your face with his free hand, cementing you in place as he plants his chapped lips against yours, immediately trying to force his tongue into your mouth. He succeeds when you gasp in pain due to his fingers digging mercilessly into the plush of your chest. Repulsed, desperate to remove his tongue from your throat, you wish you had the will to fight back. Not that it would help much, he would simply overpower you. Shame and regret weigh heavy on your heart.

Tomura starts grinding his hips down into you, adding to your revulsion. Pulling away, he lets go of your face, and you relish the absence of his tongue, until he shifts to kneeling over you and touches your shorts, rendering you naked. “Turn over." His voice is raspy and commanding, and despite the implications of his request, you obey, grateful you no longer have to face him. His weight leaves the bed momentarily, but returns quickly as he hastily pushes your legs far enough apart to place himself between them, then he descends upon you again; slobbering and panting against your neck as his hips shallowly hump your ass, chest laying on your back. Horrified, you realise he is bare, save for his boxers; the thin layer of fabric the only barrier between his thick cock and your vulnerable butt. Both his arms snake under you; one hand entertains itself by once more ruthlessly groping your chest while his other hand travels between your thighs, inexperienced fingers flumbling as they explore. Stomach turning, you feel nauseous. Reaching your pussy, his fingers find no evidence of arousal, causing Tomura to grunt, annoyed. “What, you don't want me? Get wet, or it's gonna hurt us both." He's frowning, and his breath irritates your ear.

Continuing to unskillfully prod and poke around, he finally grazes your clit, making you jolt and him grin, entirely too proud of himself. Harshly pressing the tough pads of his fingers against the bundle of nerves, paired with the movement caused by his depraved grinding, and pawing at your chest, forces your body to respond, involuntarily readying yourself for him. Overcome with panic, at long last, you gain the will to protest, voice shaky as tears threaten to form. “Tomura, pleas' stop, I don' wan' this…!" “Shut up, you fuckin' ingrate," he sounds offended, an edge to his words. “I'm doing this for you; make you feel something good, give you some meaning. Be more thankful." Fueled by anger, or perhaps impatience, he kneels behind you and rids himself of his boxers before grabbing your hips with both his hands, lifting you up onto your knees while your upper body remains on the bed, hiding your face as your eyes brimmed with tears.

After lining himself up, he pushes into your cunt, his cock hot and far too big for how little prepared you are. In response to the splitting pain, you cry out; it almost feels like he's tearing you apart. Seemingly, your whines only serve to excite him, as his pants deepen and he thrusts harder into you, desperate to bottom out. When he does, his dick poking painfully at your cervix, you're sobbing, and grabbing at the sheets in agony. You're almost definitely bleeding. “Fuck, you're so tight…!" His voice is strained, and as he finishes speaking, a cool liquid lands on your back. Nausea flares up as you realise he's drooling on you. Allowing you only a moment to adjust, he begins moving too soon, evoking more cries and muffled screams. Mercifully, one of his hands relocates your clit, rubbing it in tight circles. Pleasure helps distract you from the horrible ache, and slowly causes your pussy to get wetter, until eventually you're slick enough that Tomura's thrusts speed up, and your sobs gradually morph into small, shameful moans.

Without looking, you know he's smirking, even through his groans and curses. Every time he opens his mouth, more drool falls onto you, but you're too clouded by forced pleasure to pay much attention anymore. Unprompted, Tomura leans down, pressing against your back, returning his mouth to your neck, heavy pants loud in your ear, and the hand that had been keeping your hips in place slid under you, once again desperately squeezing your chest. From the new angle, he managed to hit somewhere that showed you stars, causing you to clench around him, in turn making him grunt, drool over your neck, and start to jackrabbit into you. Repeatedly pounding your sweet spot while continuously circling your clit, the white-hot coil that had built up inside you snaps, making your cunt tighten around his cock, involuntarily moaning loudly as you come. Fucking you through your orgasm, Tomura follows you soon after, mumbling nonsense in your ear while saliva floods from his mouth. Horror fills you as he does, disgusted, ashamed, and regretful. He stays inside you, regaining his breath. “Don't you feel so much better now?" He brushes his wet lips against your cheek, nearly lovingly, before he pushes you down from your knees, lying on top of you until he rolls the both of you onto your sides, holding you from behind. He still doesn't pull out.

Cruelly, feelings are abundant now.

SWEET

This is my copium. Bite me.

Its just ice cream.

Shigaraki looks at you like a wet kitten. He isn't sure why he's acting like this is the strangest thing to ever happen to him. You offered him a bite of your ice cream that you happily scarfed down laying in his lap while he idly farmed away in Breath of the Wild.

He looks at the spoon, then at you. When you offer him a puzzled expression and ask if he doesnt like the flavor he doesn't exactly know what to say. Does he like the flavor? Is he expecting you to share spoons? Why do you eat ice cream with a big spoon? The small spoon is superior...

"I've never had ice cream before." he realizes he's speaking now. He wasn't supposed to say that out loud, it was supposed to be a quiet realization to himself that he had never had something like that before.

You make a face at that, and he knows its not a good face. You're upset with him? He's still not good at understanding your feelings and all of the faces you make, but he's trying. Even so, he can't understand what he's done to make you upset with him. But as if reading his mind, you simply say "thats so sad... I hate your sensei."

Oh. You aren't upset with him. You're upset because master never let him indulge in sweet treats. He wants to argue that he's never deserved them before, but recently you've been making him feel like he's worth it, and like he's not a dangerous return investment. You make him feel wanted, and as if hes the only one in the world worthy of your gaze, and you make him question everything he's ever known.

So cautiously, he opens his mouth and takes a small bite from your spoon. It tastes like... orange and vanilla... Its so cold. But the smile you give him when you see him eat it makes him feel so warm he doesn't even realize hes opening his mouth for you to give him another spoonful, and another after that.

Shigaraki gets his first brainfreeze after trying to eat the whole pint in one go. Your laugh makes it all worth it though, and he realizes he loves orange and vanilla. He realizes he loves this moment with you, its soft and quiet. The only sounds being satisfied hums and background music from Breath of the Wild. Its a domesticity he hasn't ever had in his life and he never wants to let it go, he wants to feel this peace with you again and again. He wants to taste all the ice cream and all the sweet treats he was never able to indulge in before.

But for now, he simply kisses your cold, soft lips. Because you're still sweeter than anything Sensei could've possibly tried to keep from him.

The Potential of You and Me [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Title: The Potential of You and Me [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Synopsis: You have a stalker. And he's tired of waiting for you.  Commissioned piece.

Word Count: 5100ish

notes: yandere, stalking, threats, noncon oral sex, humiliation and degradation

Every box packed is sealed with a mixture of bitterness and relief, all stacked high in increasingly precarious towers; filling the dark corners of your longstanding home with cardboard and hastily made tape labels that you hope won’t peel off in the moving truck. 

It makes you sick to see them. It makes you scared. It makes you sad. 

It might be different, if you were leaving under different circumstances. If you’d gotten a job in a new city and you were starting over with a fresh coat of paint, or something like that. Something you could spin into sweetness and adventure. 

If only.

If only you weren’t moving because you had a stalker and this was the only palatable option left. The police couldn’t do anything--there was no tangible evidence, no matter how many times you insisted things were missing. 

It turns out that “I can feel someone’s eyes on me” and a letter detailing how much they loved you and how good you were going to feel on the inside was not, in the eyes of the authorities, enough to really do anything. Change your locks, they said. You did. Switch up your routine, they said.  You did.

It didn’t matter. Things kept going missing. You kept feeling watched. You came home and found your bedroom window open and another letter on your pillow that you tossed out without reading. 

It wasn’t going to stop, with or without the advice of the police. And you couldn’t do anything to protect yourself, not on your own. You didn’t even have a damn quirk. 

So what can you do? You can pack up your life and find a cheap apartment in another city, where you don’t know anyone, where you don’t have a job, where you’ll be in a place half this size and nowhere near as nice.

You can throw away everything you’ve ever known and pretend that things are going to be fine. 

This is what you’ve been reduced to--but it’s this or your life, isn’t it? Your sanity? You don’t know how much more you can take or how long it will be before your stalker takes a step beyond stealing your underwear or sending you notes. 

What if your stalker decides to go further than leaving letters and taking panties? What if he decides to hurt you--or kill you? You were no stranger to the nightly news, to stories of women found killed and dismembered by men found to be stalking them. 

You had a life to live. Even if you have to live it somewhere else, if you want to be safe. 

You slap another label on a box filled with books (and God, you had too many books, didn’t you? But you couldn’t bear to part with them, stalker be damned) and wiped a trickle of sweat beading on the back of your neck. This would have to do for tonight. The moving truck was coming in 2 days, and you’d been living on little sleep, tons of coffee, and far too much takeout.

You needed a break. Just a little one. Just some sleep, to feel refreshed, before you spend another whole day packing and shoveling food someone else made into your mouth as quickly as you could before you went back to it.

You’re in the bathroom--still not packed, but you’d been putting it off for the end--when you hear the noise.

Something small. A creak. A noise that you would have brushed off a few months ago as nothing. 

But now it sends a twist straight into your gut. You freeze, turn off the sink, and spit foamy toothpaste carelessly into the basin. Your fingers shake and your toothbrush clatters into the sink, too loud, too overt. Fuck.

Your hands clench the end of the counter and you strain sideways, forcing yourself to listen.

Nothing… nothing. Maybe you are being paranoid. Maybe it’s best that you’re moving away, if even the slightest noise had you on edge--

But, oh. 

Oh.

You hear it again.

A creak--but it’s not just a creak, is it? 

It’s a step.

Down the hall. Something is in the hallway. No, not something, because something wouldn’t be wearing shoes that make an unmistakable sound when connecting with the floorboards.

Someone is in the hall. 

Someone is coming for you.

Your body seems to move on autopilot, quick, numb. 

One step, two step. 

You hear the hallway closet door opening. Nothing inside but boxes. 

Another step, and another. 

The guest room door opens. More boxes, and piles of stuff you planned to take to the donation center tomorrow. 

Step, step. Step. 

The hallway isn’t long enough, oh God, how you wish it was longer.

Because all too soon, the steps stop at your bedroom door and there’s an awful scratching sound, like someone is dragging fingernails down the wood. 

The terrible reality of that sound makes your body jolt back to life. You’re just standing there! You stupid, stupid moron. You have to do something. 

Your buzzing mind races, what are you supposed to do? Call the police! But your phone is on your bed, sitting idly on top of the bare mattress where you left it earlier. There’s not enough time. It’s too far away. You’ll get caught, mid-lunge, and your trembling fingers will probably drop the phone anyway.

So you, legs tingling with fear that seems to both paralyze and push you, rush into your doorless closet and stand inside next to the open doorway. 

You’ve already packed your closet up, so there’s nothing to hide behind, no layers of clothing to shield you. Only the darkness of the bedroom that you hope is enough to hide you. 

The door opens with a foreboding creaking that makes your chest hurt. Slow and methodical, like whoever it is is fucking with you on purpose.

You cover your mouth and nose and will yourself not to breathe. 

Someone steps into the room and you curse yourself for not turning off the bathroom light. But the closet should still be dark enough, right? You pray for that, mindlessly.

Whoever it is--it’s a man, you realize, with lanky silver hair, but you can’t see his face--glances toward the bathroom. 

He takes a step, then pauses.

Don’t come to the closet. Don’t come to the closet. Don’t come to the closet. It’s a mantra, a prayer, rushing through your brain as you will him to inspect the bathroom. 

Maybe someone up there likes you, because he does take slow steps toward the bathroom and you wait until he’s in the threshold (where he’ll no doubt see the room is empty) before you bolt from the closet, arm slapping carelessly against the door frame (it hurts) before you rush through the doorway of your room and into the hallway.

Everything is dark and dim. You were going to bed, now you’re running for your life. 

You register only sounds and vague physical feelings that puncture through the veil of your terror. The slap of your bare feet against the floor. The sound of the clock in the kitchen. The scratch against your elbow from one of the cardboard boxes as you run towards the front door, a sharp corner digging into your skin. 

And then you hear the slow, calm steps that come from behind you, almost matching the ticking of the kitchen clock in their lack of urgency.

Your fingers pull on the doorknob and nothing happens. Your palm grips it, twisting this way and that, turning the lock open and shut and open and shut. But it doesn’t open, no matter what you do, what you turn. A soft, helpless sound pushes its way out of your throat.

And then you look up and see something jammed into the top of the doorway, like it’s been stuck on there. A barrier? A lock? You have to get it off, and you go to stand on your tiptoes when a voice behind you sends every nerve in your skin tingling.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?”

Your bowels clench and your hands shake as they slap against the door and you turn your body around to face the man who broke into your home.

The light is dim, lit only by some streetlights streaming through the window and the tiny light above your stove in the kitchen. His hair is the easiest thing to see about him, light colored. His clothing is dark. His face is hidden in shadows.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whisper, keeping your back pressed against the door. If only you had a quirk that would let you melt through walls or blast open locks or do something, anything, to help yourself.

The man tilts his head, and there’s a dim recollection in your mind at the gesture. It’s like something out of a movie. Or a video game. Is this a game to him? Some twisted entertainment? 

“No?” His voice has something of a gravel to it, like he needs to clear his throat. But there’s a smoothness underneath it all, too--a teasing lilt that worries you to the core. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“I--” You lick your lips, and your shoulders shake like you’ve been left in the cold for too long. “I don’t want to die.”

“Oh,” he says, and there’s a snicker at the edge of his voice that promises to cross over should you amuse him too much. “Of course you don’t.”

Your hand stupidly reaches behind you and pulls at the door again. All it does is make a shifting sound as it slips uselessly through your fingers. You aren’t going anywhere. At least not through the front door. But the windows… 

You stand up straighter, trying to center yourself, trying to calm down.

“What… what do you want? I-I have some money, but not much. I’m moving, so--”

He scoffs. You can’t see his expression, exactly, but you get the impression that he’s narrowed his eyes. That he’s annoyed with your suggestion for some reason  you can’t fathom. 

“I don’t want your money.”

It’s a stupid question to ask, but you ask it anyway.

“Then…what do you want?”

He sighs, and that snicker is there, all dark and teasing. It makes your chest hurt more. And then you watch, entranced, as he reaches into his pocket and pulls something out.  A handkerchief? Or a piece of lace? It’s light blue and colorful and--

Fucking hell. 

It’s a pair of your underwear. A cute pair you’d picked out on a whim last year. And… he’s holding it in his hands, fingers drumming in the air, almost toying with the fabric as you stare. This pair went missing, didn’t it? Then how--

“I came to give this back. Aren’t I generous?”

“Give it… back?” The words come out in quiet disbelief and everything clicks in your head, like a lock snapping shut on something you should have realized long ago.

He’s holding a pair of your underwear.

He’s broken into your home. 

He’s your stalker.

“You’re--my…” You can’t bring yourself to bring the word into reality. “And you’ve been…” Your back presses harder against the door, as if you might just conjure up that wall-busting quirk through sheer will alone. 

“Please leave!” You’re almost shocked at how high and loud your voice is, despite the way your body trembles. You lick your dry lips again, and words come tumbling out. Something, anything, to make him go away. “I’ve already called the police. So-so they’re on their way and if you don’t leave, they’ll--”

“Don’t lie.” 

Your mouth stops mid-ramble. 

“I’m… I’m not lying. I really did, I--”

His hand dips into his other pocket and he pulls out your phone, shaking it slightly at you, like presenting evidence of misbehavior to a wayward child. One of his fingers is sticking out to the side. It’s strange, but--

“Unlock it,” he says, holding the screen out flat and there’s no room for argument in his voice. Nor are you stupid enough to try to grab the phone from him. You place a shaking finger on top, and the screen lights up, revealing your latest background--some silly photo your friend sent you a few months ago. 

He begins to run his thumb down your screen, until you see that he’s bringing up your recent calls. 

“Moving company… takeout…” He smiles, but in the darkness, it looks more like a sneer. “No police.” 

You swallow, throat dry. He splays his fingers out suddenly, keeping his thumb wrapped around the screen. He places one finger down. Two fingers. Three, four, five.

And your phone crumbles to dust.

Your bowels clench hard, and you push back against the door.

“Please,” you whisper, throat dry, mouth trembling.

He takes a step closer. You can look at nothing but his fingers. Even in the dimness, you can see a fine layer of dust on them.  Your phone. Your phone, there and gone, nothing but ashes. And now he’s taking a step closer to you, reaching out with his hand. 

You make a sound, something soft and primal in what you believe are your last moments, but instead of agonizing pain and nothingness, you feel only a single finger on  your cheek. You blink, and the tears held back by your imminent death fall easily. His finger makes a lazy swipe up your cheek, catching the tear.

“I like that. Keep saying that, okay?”

“Please?” There’s disbelief in your voice, yes, but hope, too. Hope that you can get out of this alive.

He makes a low sound, like a hum. 

“Please… don’t hurt me.” 

He pulls his finger away and looks at you. Now that he’s closer, you can see a bit more of his features. Or at least, you can make out the smile he gives you. It’s not a comforting smile.

“I won’t hurt you, if you’re good. Now…” He takes a step backward. “Turn around for me. Face the door.”

You don’t want to. More than anything, you don’t want to listen to him. But you have to, at least for right now, if you want to live. So you force your stiff, leaden muscles to work and face the traitorous door that won’t open for you anymore.

“Good,” he says, with a note of something like pleasantness. “Now stay nice and still while I tie your wrists.” 

You do wait. You wait until you hear him unzipping the bag slung around his shoulders, and then you bolt on tingling muscles, pounding down the hallway and whipping back into your bedroom. You can’t call the police, but you sure as shit can jump from your bedroom window.

Your thighs are up against the bottom of your bed--you just have to climb on and get over your headboard to the window behind it, so close, so close--when you feel hands on your back, pressure, and all of the air goes out of your lungs as something big and heavy tackles you and pins you to the bed.

Your mouth opens, and you’ve finally gotten the idea to scream--only for four fingers to slap over your mouth in an instant. There’s dust on them. Like bitter salt. 

“Quiet.” The word is practically hissed into your ear, and all thoughts of making a sound cease. But you don’t give in, not yet, because you’ve read your true crime books and watched your horror movies, and you know what happens to people who get pinned to beds by stalkers who break into their homes. It can’t happen to you. It can’t. 

He grips your shoulders with one hand and flips you onto your back. He slowly releases the hand over your mouth, because you’re smart enough to stay quiet, aren’t you? Especially when those fingers could come down (one, two, three, four, five) and kill you in an instant.

You’re quiet. But you won’t give in without some fight. You move to sit up, free hands pushing against his check--do you really think you’re stronger?--and his breath hitches above you as he grips your wrists and pushes forward, pinning you to the bed.

Your teeth clack together when your head hits the mattress, and against your better judgment, you continue to buck and squirm, pulling at the wrists keeping you on the bed. He’s too strong. You don’t even make it an inch. And the sheer helplessness of it all turns to worms in your stomach, cold and slithering. 

But you don’t stop trying, and your breath comes in heaves as soft, timid sounds of daydreamed escape push past your lips. If you could just get a wrist free. If you could just get a leg free. If you could just get him off you.

Thoughts come and go without staying concrete. Maybe a hero was walking by your bedroom window just now and he heard the tousling and he’s going to break the window and save you. Maybe the police decided to do something and send a patrol car to your home. Like gray daydreams, these fuzzy hopes of rescue.

Instead, there is a man above you, pinning you down with nothing but his strength and if he wanted to, he could turn you to dust for being too difficult. 

But you don’t turn to dust. Instead he’s looking down at you, leaning forward so his hair tickles your face. You can make out his features now, tired, lined, crazed. He scares you in a way you can’t articulate. There’s something deeply, terribly sad and--wrong--about him.

“I should punish you a little.” His words feel sour, breathed onto your face. “But… I can’t stay mad at you…” He leans forward until his nose is absurdly pressed against your cheek, nuzzling your skin, even as you turn your head in an attempt to lessen the contact. “Not when I’m finally ready to take you home.”

The word is a vice, and it’s like all the strength gets sapped out of you at once. 

“Home?” 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he tugs at your wrists until they’re resting on top of your stomach, and he takes one hand and holds both of your wrists firm. 

“Don’t be stupid.”

You aren’t. Your skin feels numb from fear, but you keep your wrists still as he leans backward and opens the bag hanging from his shoulders. He pulls out some restraints made from some type of cloth, and wraps them around your wrists one after the other. There’s a center strap in the middle of them, which he yanks high, pulling at your arms, until they’re above your head. The headboard--he’s tied the strap to the headboard.

"There. Nice and snug." He seems pleased, and that scares you more than any of his threats or the dust still clinging to his fingertips. You don’t want him to sound so pleased, not when you’re here, in the dark, tied to your bed.

Your words taste bitter as you force them out of your drying mouth. 

“What are you going to do?” You want to know. You don’t want to know. You want it over with--you don't want him to start. You flex your fingers, but your bound wrists aren’t going anywhere. 

He leans forward, and there’s something sickly sweet on his face. A grin--a grin that is not very nice at all. 

“What am I going to do?” he says, voice higher, frightened. Mimicking your fear. His hand reaches for your face and you flinch, but all he does is trail two fingers on your cheek, winding down until they rest on your lips.

“Open up.”

You do, because what other choice do you have? In an instant he shoves the fingers inside, and you gag on dust and salty skin. He pushes them too forward and you retch.

“Oops.” He giggles. It’s a breathy sound, not at all sweet. “Lick them, okay?” 

Your eyes widen. You want to ask him why, but the thought of making any muffled sound around his fingers makes you sicker than the grittiness currently in your mouth.

“It’s for your own good,” he says, with an almost teasing lilt to his voice. “I promise.”

You don’t trust any of his promises. But you do trust the taste of the dust in your mouth, a forewarning of what might happen to you if you don’t listen.

Slowly, you force the muscle of your tongue to start licking his fingers. It’s a short motion--you want as little contact with his fingers as possible. You have to fight back that way, at least, don’t you? Even if it makes him mad.

But it doesn’t make him mad. He coos, if anything. “Oh, you’re like a kitten.” The words are gross and stick inside your chest, and you can’t ignore the tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks. But you keep licking.

Done, or maybe just bored, he pulls them out and wipes an excess line of connecting drool onto your cheek. “Good enough.”

For what?

Without warning, he reaches lower and yanks down your pajama bottoms. You can hear the elastic rip from the force, and the soft fabric bunches up around your knees. 

Whatever part of you that had resolved to be good and quiet dissolves in primal fear, and you shriek--perhaps there’s words in there (Don’t, please, oh--)--but they die the instant he holds up his hands, and is there where you die, too? 

But he doesn’t bring his hand down. 

Instead, he digs down into his pockets and you only have the briefest moment to register that he’s holding the panties from earlier, the ones he stole from this very bedroom, before they’re shoved into your mouth. The fabric tastes stale and there’s brief pulses of horror (what was he doing with them all this time?) before you try to push at all the bunched up fabric with your tongue, desperate to get it out. 

He regards you with a smile, and there’s something so low in it, degrading and dark. 

“Keep them in there. Unless you want the neighbors to hear?” Then he pats your cheek with a few fingers. “If you spit them out, I’ll just gag you with something bigger.”

You don’t want to know what that would be. What remains of your whimpers are muffled around your underwear as he scoots backward and grips your thighs. He pulls them apart without a word and your legs tremble. You could kick, couldn’t you? You could fight and kick and even if your hands are tied, you could.

But you don’t want him to hurt you. You don’t want to die. You want this to be over with. You want him to do what he’s going to do and leave and you’ll call the moving company in the morning and ask if they can pick up your things today. Or you’ll run out the door with only your essentials, and a favorite book or two, a memento--your mom’s necklace, a trinket or two--and… and things will turn out all right.

They have to.

So all you do is keep up your pitiful little whimpers as he rips your underwear off and tosses the destroyed garment on the floor. The coolness from the exposure makes you tremble. Or maybe that’s the fear, and the realization that he’s going to touch you.

He hooks one arm under your thigh and keeps it pulled to the side, giving him easier access to the .

You feel them, then. His fingers. Warm and a bit gritty. Touching you, stroking you, playing with you carelessly like someone who is happy to explore something for the first time. There’s no real consistency to the way he touches you. He pulls apart your pussy lips and prods inside. You jump. He runs his fingers up and down the middle of your slit. 

It doesn’t feel good. But it doesn’t hurt (that’s something) and maybe he won’t hurt you, after all? Not that you want it, not that you would rather be anywhere else right now (I won’t complain about my new city, you think, not the rent or the public transportation or the new neighbors. I’ll be so good and so grateful if this is over with quickly and he leaves.)

And then his finger is touching gently at your clit. It’s too sudden. Your hips jerk and a sound is stifled by your gag. He watches you and pulls his finger back a bit, instead touching around your clit, ghosting it, a much more tolerable (and sickening) feeling. He’s gentle, almost, and it hurts to contrast it with everything else. 

You think about how many of your personal things have gone missing. The letters he’s left you flash in your mind. He can’t stop thinking about you. He wants to know you. He-needs-you-he-wants-you-he-will-have-you. And then… then you think about your phone crumbling to dust and what would it look like, if he did that to your skin?

You don’t want this. This can’t be happening. But it is, and there’s no way to escape the reality of the situation with his body so close to yours--with your hands tied firmly to the headboard. 

You feel the trail of slick on his fingers before you see it, just as he pulls his fingers away. It’s a bodily reaction, nothing more than that. But it doesn’t lessen the humiliation and the terror, and the panty gag in your mouth is soaked with drool and salty tears that have dripped in from between your lips.

“I was going to wait until we got back,” he murmurs. “But…” He almost looks wistful, and there’s a small, childish smile on his face. “You feel so much better in person than I imagined. You know that?” You see him working his bottom lip under his teeth--is that where his scabs are from? “Fuck it.”

All you register is him swooping down and the quick bob of his head before you feel it--his tongue between your pussy lips. It’s startling, and you gasp around your stolen underwear as the warm muscle goes from awkward prods to gently lapping around your clit, just touching the edges of it with enough firmness to send your nerves singing. 

You mewl. You can’t help it. It’s a sinful feeling, delicious and abhorrent. It’s a wet warmth that keeps going, lapping and lapping, making all of your nerves go haywire. Your legs kick on their own, and the thigh kept in his grip trembles.

He pulls back just enough to talk, and you wish he wouldn’t.

“Are you close already? You’re going to be so much fun…” 

He’s back between your legs then, and you feel one finger carelessly toying with your entrance. You clench, but he doesn’t go inside. Instead he presses his mouth back against you, and there’s warmth both from his mouth and your own body, flushing as he forces pleasure to start shooting down your stomach straight to those blissful nerves between your legs.

You moan into your gag, and he moans back. Everything feels sloppy and wet as his tongue begins to lap back and forth, harder, pressing firmer against your clit until you feel it coming--electric and tingling and unwanted, all the same. Your orgasm hits as you shake your head--no no no no--and your legs twitch until the orgasm fades.

All you’re left with is aftershocks and shame.

He maneuvers himself until he’s almost chest to chest with you. His pants press against your exposed lower half, and you can feel your dampness mingling with the fabric of his trousers. And there’s… something else you feel, too.

He’s hard.

You choke back a sob into your gag. You imagine what he’ll do now. He’ll pull down his own pants and he’ll spread your legs again, and you’ll feel him and it will be even more invasive and--

Your breath comes faster now, and you almost wish you were still gagged, so that the sound of  your frightened heaves weren’t so open and ragged. 

It seems like he understands what you’re thinking. 

“You can pay me back some other time, okay?” A finger traces up your neck to your mouth, and he sticks his fingers between your lips and pulls out the now damp panties without a word. “You’re probably tired, huh? I’ll take you back, then.” He says this all so casually and it makes it harder for the words to soak in at first. 

And when they do it, it stings just as badly. 

The sounds that were muffled by your gag now seem to echo around the mostly-empty, packed room. Sniffling. Little choked sobs that shake your chest. Because if he wants you to pay him back, is he going to let you go? If he’s planning on taking you somewhere, will he ever bring you back home? 

How could you call that moving truck anyway, if your phone is dust? 

Where can you run to, if your stalker can kill people with a touch? 

What can you do, except beg for something you know won’t be happening? 

“Please,” you whisper. Quick. Erratic.  “I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go, and I won’t tell.” 

His smile twists into something that’s almost like pity. But there’s something deeper in it. Sharp and bitter. “Hush, hush.” His knuckles reach up and wipe at your tears. “You’ll get used to it. I know you will.” He pats your cheek twice. “I’m…” He seems to consider something. “Call me Tomura. Only that.”

You don’t respond. You don’t want to call him anything. 

Without fanfare, he sits back up on the bed and reaches into his pocket to pull out a phone. His phone, you assume. There’s only a few swipes before he’s putting it up to his ear and talking to some unknown recipient. 

“Hey.” He looks at you and pets your hair. Is it meant to be soothing? Patronizing? Both? “Yeah, we’re ready.”

Without warning, there’s a heavy feeling before blackness fills the room. Your eyes widen like saucers but he doesn’t explain--he doesn’t need to, you know this is not going to be good. 

You could beg. You could spend the next few seconds promising that you’ll do anything if he just leaves you alone. But whatever words might force themselves out of your trembling lips are stuck inside your chest, like so many other things. Thoughts of the apartment waiting for you in a new city. The movers that will call and call and never get an answer from you. Friends and family who are waiting to go out for one-last-big-lunch to send you off.

He unhooks your wrists from the headboard and hoists you over his shoulder, giving you a perfect view of your bedroom as he takes steps into the heavy black swirl that appeared out of nowhere.

Behind you, the doorway of the unpacked bathroom is still open, lit up, showing the contents of your life in full display.

My "realistic" (totally not biased) Shigaraki HC's

has extreme touch aversion, but craves it at the same time. it's a never ending cycle of wanting to fuck someone's brains out, but then getting disgusted at someone brushing up against him.

decent hygiene... most of the time. if he's really busy, chances are he probably won't even change his clothes. good luck with handling the dick cheese.

his voice breaks during sex, quite a lot. it makes dirty talk sound silly at first, but he gets the hang of it. if he's receiving head, he won't stop blabbering. he'd say the most vile shit, while his voice would be switching from raspy to comically high-pitched.

pre-experimentation Tomura doesn't have an impressive cock. it's probably average by all means, maybe even thinner than the norm. but post-experimentation though... all of that shit Dr. Garaki did definitely had an effect on his entire body, dick included.

high sex drive, but lazy. he probably wants you to do the work most of the time, unless he has some pent up emotions to release. get ready for the entire LoV to hear your screams by the time Tomura is done with you. he wouldn't even bother undressing you fully, as long as he has a hole to fuck, he doesn't care.

disgustingly perverted without realizing it. if you leave dirty clothes on the bed, he'll sniff them until his dick gets painfully hard. if you're not there to help him out, he'll grab a pair of your used panties to jack off with. never question him about the cum stains, it makes him annoyed.

never. submissive. i can't imagine a single scenario where Tomura would willing give up control and let another person hold all the power over him.

not that kinky. The dom-sub dynamics would always be at play, but bondage and anything else that takes more time and effort, would rarely happen.

hates you touching him randomly, but always has his hands on you in some way. whether it be an innocent pat on the shoulder, or full on groping you when he feels like it, he has to do something with his hands. you're like his fidget toy.

but you cannot do the same. maybe he'll let you get away with it once in a while, but Tomura will shamelessly move your head away if you try to rest it on his shoulder. god forbid that you try to do it while someone else is around.

extremely possessive. he doesn't get jealous, because he believes that everyone is beneath him. you're more like a possession that only belongs to him. and no one is stupid enough to try anything with you. most of the time. if someone gathers the courage to try and flirt with you, Tomura would kill the person on the spot, regardless of their importance. what's his shall never be taken away, and he makes it very clear.

Tomura is one of those guys who kisses you with his mouth fully open. like he doesn't even try to match the movement or the form of your lips with his and just slobbers all over your face, covering it with spit. your whole chin and upper lip are always wet and sticky with his saliva. you think it's the lack of experience, but no. apparently, he just likes making out with you so much that he can't contain himself from vacuuming your whole mouth into his while salivating and panting heavily. get used to having drool on your face.