canis4christ

[canis4christ]

i have 2 christen dis blawg with plf shigaraki but i forgot how 2 put thoughts into txt after tumblr sabbatical buhhh give me a minute -_-;

yes, ok—

Shigaraki and his harem of beautiful little lambs who worship the ground he walks on because their grand commander is so brave, so smart; so handsome, so kind.

Following him around the mountain villa, hands intertwined, nervously mouthing locks of their hair and shushing each other’s giggle fits and excited whispers just to scamper off like skittish foals when he turns to see them all watching him from behind fluted columns and newly-erected statues that have been chiseled in his likeness.

Sitting together at assemblies (that feel to them closer to sermons), writing his name in their journals and sealing it with penciled hearts, doodling his noble features and tired eyes while they eagerly await what scant wisdom he’ll provide that day.

Embroidered emblems and flowers from the garden. Trinkets and cards that wish for him to ‘Get Well Soon’ and letters of reverence and gratitude that read more like billets-doux all neatly arranged in a small shrine outside his bedroom door.

'You’ve touched our hearts, and soon, very soon, we all hope to be wholly liberated, just as you are and always will be.'

Sometimes—not often, but certainly sometimes—one of them will muster up enough courage to approach him, trembling and stumbling over her words, offering clumsy praise or a hesitant question while the others look on nervously, jealously, from across the dining hall.

What remains of the now-defunct League of Villains finds their fixation on him amusing, if not entirely bewildering. Some find it so, though not all. Others find it uncomfortable, and when discussed at length and in confidence, they might even find it worrisome.

It’s a strangely warm welcome to give to a new age conqueror—an overnight man who doubles as the murderer of their foolhardy friends and family who tried to put an end to him and his. The blood on his hands hasn't even dried, and yet, he's revered as their champion, their savior. It's all grossly unnecessary, he thinks, but…

“—the girls have taken a shine to you especially.”

“Yeah, well… whatever. As long as they stay out of my way.”

not unappreciated.

He tried to brush it off at first, dismissing their devotion as naive. Pathetic, even.

What do they take me for? he wonders. Their savior? Some kind of second-rate messiah?

But the word he's looking for, the word he knows very well, is far less righteous, though it seems to stir something far greater in him than any spiritual designation ever could. That word is hero. And to him, to his soul—if such a thing exists—that word has always felt right.

Fear is something he understands, something he’s comfortable with. But being feared is a fleeting kind of control. With enough time and exposure, anyone, yes, even the weak, can rise above their paranoias and phobias, shake it off like stressed dogs after a tangle, and go about their miserable little lives in a kind of pseudo-peace—a kind of willful ignorance.

And that's what he wants is it not? To feel in control? Is that not what it means to be wholly liberated?

The word for what he wants doesn't come as easily as the word for what he is. Can't. Because what he wants is to be loved for reasons other than personal gain and psychological warfare, and you just don't know what you don't know. Can't.

He takes to the girls like a shepherd to his flock.

And they swarm him like flies.

Because it isn’t enough to just have his attention, not when any girl with lashes long enough to bat can get that much from him. And his hesitant smiles and awkward thank-yous feel closer to bread crumbs when you're starving for his touch and his grace.

There has to be more. You have to be more.

Special. Singular.

A sort of... cold war begins. The girls, still unified by their devotion to him, grow to resent one another. After all, does anybody really want to share? If it upsets your tummy to picture another girl holding his hand, and it breaks your heart to watch another lean too close and press her soft, pliant body against his firm one, can that be considered fair? Or is it just another line drawn in the sand? Separating the enslaved from the liberated.

How quickly chaste pecks on the cheek become desperate tongue kisses when emboldened by jealousy and competition.

Why present him with gifts when you yourself can be presented—expose your body to him, sell your soul, proffer your maidenhood to be claimed and conquered.

His inexperience with attention of this nature is evident in his hesitancy. The behavior isn't reciprocated, but… it isn't discouraged, not anymore, anyway. If anything, he's noticeably more submissive, paralyzed by what’s familiar—phantom touches, wanted-unwanted advances—succumbing to the whims of his nymphettes as they suckle his tongue and pet the tension from his muscles—neck to groin, chest and back, groin again. And again. And again.

Petting, rubbing, squeezing. Greedy for approval and exception. Greedy for him, for the pulse of his cock in hand, on tongue, down a painfully small throat that feels as good as it does wrong. Lusting for a glimpse of his sharp, princely face squished between plush thighs, his tongue and lips, without practice, dog-bowling whatever makes you squeal the loudest and suffocate him silent.

Brutish in approach. Fucking too quick and too hard. Sweating and humping, awkward and insistent. Groaning with every “I love you!” and tug at his powder-white roots, climaxing with promises of total destruction and salvation from false idols and hollowness.

And so, the former leader—now exalted as Grand Commander, as God—spends what little time he has left on this earth, indulging in what he's never had. Allowing himself to be swept up in affection and praise, believing it to be an exercise in control, when all he's done is all he's ever done—

given himself up.

[canis4christ]

Love his bigass hair

[canis4christ]

hm, yes, shigaraki rape *swirls this fic like a glass of wine* this pleases me greatly.

Alley Cat

TW: dark content!!, shigaraki tomura x female reader, noncon, non penetrative smut, humiliation, cum in panties, misogyny, masturbation, snarky tomura, dead dove: do not eat, mdni. wc: 1.8k | cross posted to ao3 Synopsis: You should have known better than to take your usual shortcut home in the dead of night. a/n: To my beloved kaz o'lee :) now get on minecraft w me

You really should have gone home in time. 

You could have, you should have but you didn’t. And now you’re stuck in some dirty back alley at the mercy of some sick psychopath.

“C’mon, don’t look so scared.” His raspy voice cooed, drawing you from your stupor and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “‘S your fault for coming back here.”

His red eyes almost glow in the midnight moonlight as his body cages yours against the brick wall of the building behind you. 

It’s cold, but his fingers are colder as they trail along your sides, moving beneath the warmth of your shirt and chilling you to the bone. 

“What did you expect?” He continues, frost from the air making his breath visible, “dressed like that in the dead of night. You must want some attention.” 

You’ve fought the tears for as long as you could, but they win the battle, cascading down your face, the trail they leave instantly cooling in the cold night air. 

“P-please,” you try, lip wobbling pathetically as you try to plead, “just let me go..”

The man chuckles, his smile as wide as it is cruel. “And why would I do that?”

You have a million reasons why he should let you go, but the only words that leave your lips are whispered and small, “I don’t want this.”

“Dressed like this?” He pulls away, taking the unwanted warmth with him. “Could’ve fooled me.”

His fingers dance to the hem of your skirt, moving to lift it and you’re quick to counter, pushing the fabric back down as you shake your head.

“No!” You try to be loud, shout and maybe someone would hear you, but this only seemed to piss him off. 

His form towers over yours as he crowds your space even more, large hand covering your mouth before you could be any louder. 

“Hey, shut the fuck up” he hisses, scarred lips curled in a scowl. You’re shaking like a leaf and it’s not due to the windchill. 

This man… you know him. 

This is Tomura Shigaraki. An infamous man who could kill you and no one would find him. He wouldn’t even leave a trace. 

So, you close your eyes as the warm tears continue to fall and you sob into his hand, any ounce of humiliation gone to the wind. 

“Aww, c’mon..” he coos and you think he actually believes this is soothing, “it won’t be so bad, promise.”

But you can’t hear him, can’t hear the faux sweet talk as his cold fingers move under your skirt, ghosting against your sheer tights and up to the hem, just near the edge of them. 

You gasp as he releases your mouth. Too terrified to make another noise, you remain frozen, like a deer in headlights as he rips the fabric down, exposing your thighs to the cool chill of the air. 

His gaze raises from your thighs to your frightened eyes as he lifts your skirt once more, this time directing you to hold the thin cotton fabric. 

“And don’t fucking drop it.” He spits as he moves to unzip his pants. 

The sound rings in your ears as you will yourself to stay quiet.

You try to calm your breathing and fail when you feel those same cold fingers pull at the sides of your panties, only pulling them down to your mid thigh but taking the remainder of your dignity down with them. 

“Heh.. why’re you wet?” He muses, noting the way your panties clung to your core like the last threads of your composure. Shigaraki leans forward even more, lips ghosting your ear as he pulls his cock from the confines of his pants. “Knew you wanted it.”

He kicks your legs further apart, making you open them further for better access and getting a tiny whine from your lips.

You can’t bring yourself to look down. You don’t want to see what’s going to violate you, so you close your eyes again, wishing this would all be over before it even began. 

But Shigaraki surprises you. 

Two fingers ghost between your folds, the cold chill of them making you jolt in surprise and let out a small yelp. They were big and thick as they glided back and forth, stroking your cunt as he absently searched for your clit. 

You let out a tiny moan against your will at the way he finds what hes looking for, the bundle of nerves pressed with a touch so soft it surprises you. 

Shigaraki gives a low chuckle, pulling his fingers back and holding them in front of you to show off the way your body betrays your mind. “What a little liar you are.”

“‘M not a liar..” you whisper through budding tears and pray this man finds you pathetic enough to leave alone. 

You are not so lucky and your mind races as he brings those same fingers to his lips to lick away your slick. 

“Whatever you say.” he murmurs, trailing his digits back down and continuing his actions, this time knowing exactly where to press. The feeling makes your knees wobble as the smooth glide of them sends pleasure racing up your spine.

You don't want to like it.

You don’t want him to make you cum.

But, god, he’s going to get you close if he keeps going that way. 

The moans you try so foolishly to hide have an easier time escaping your lips. You fight to keep your eyes closed and avoid facing the object of your humiliation. 

“There we go,” he mumbles as he pulls his fingers away again, unintentionally denying your orgasm that you were growing alarmingly desperate for. 

Shigaraki moves to stroke his nearly forgotten cock, the juices from your arousal helping coat him and he adjusts himself against you. Pin needle pricks of panic race up your spine as you feel the warm thickness of its head between your folds. 

“N-no!” your voice startles yourself as well as the villain against you, making him pause to glare at you, those red eyes shimmering in annoyance, “don’t! I-I don’t want—”

And you’re unable to finish your plea, voice caught as he sticks two of those dangerous fingers into your mouth, the taste of your own arousal on your tongue making you dizzy. 

“What happened to shutting the fuck up, hm?” he hissed, patience wearing thin as you tried not to choke on his thick fingers. “don’t be so dramatic, you’ll feel good, too..”

You can’t stop to decipher his words, the way the warmth of his cock presses presses between your folds silences your mind and you no longer bother hiding your pathetic whimpers, muffled by his fingers. 

It’s slick — slick enough for Shigaraki to glide between your folds and brush past your sensitive clit in the process. 

A low groan leaves his lips as he begins to rock his hips back and forth, enjoying the warmth of your smooth [area], his cockhead teasing but never going further than rutting against you.  

The tears staining your cheeks are endless as his actions begin to warm you from within. 

Shigaraki rocks his hand in tandem with his strokes, getting himself off as he deliberately brushes the head of his cock against your clit. 

You feel empty as he leans forward, forehead against yours and panting as he rolls his hips. It makes you feel as though you’re a mannequin — destined to stand there as this man gets off on your body. 

The unwanted pleasure that sparks up your spine makes you feel sicker than the fingers invading your mouth, your drool dripping down your chin in an indecent manner. 

You’re so close. 

You didn’t think you would be this close by the repetitive motion of his actions alone. 

It’s disgusting how much you like the feeling. 

Even more so by how you’ve shallowly begun to rock your own hips forward, body craving release more than your mind can allow you to believe. 

“Fuck…” you hear Shigaraki’s raspy murmur, it brings you back to the present. It brings you back to your current situation. 

And you finally realize as his hand moves faster and his hips press harder—

He’s about to cum. 

Tomura Shigaraki is about to cum and you pray this will all be over soon. 

Your eyes finally crack open, willing enough to take a peek at your daunting captor. 

He’s watching you. 

He’s watching your every move as he pushes himself closer and closer to the edge. 

It’s too intense, you force yourself to look away, but Shigaraki grabs your chin and meets your eyes again. 

“Look at me,” he breathes, “look at me when I make you cum.” 

This breaks you. Your face contorts in anguish as your body shakes from the pleasure. You can’t deny it now. 

No, you have to face the truth as the blissful euphoria of an orgasm rips through you, tears spilling harder as your cries rise higher than you’d ever want them to.

And this cruel man only smiles. His scarred lips spread wide as he takes in your pain and misery as you gasp for air and clarity. 

Everything feels overwhelming as he sweeps you into a kiss, his rough lips pressed hard against yours as he finally meets his own end. Your heart sinks as you feel the warm spurts of his release against your cunt. 

You groan into his avid kiss, the head of his cock is just shy of your cunt, spilling his cum against you and you jolt in surprise as a rope brushes your clit. He’s ruined your panties, soaked in your own essence and now his. 

Shigaraki pulls back from you enough to sigh against your lips. Watching him come down from his own high leaves you feeling a bitterness as cold as the winter weather. 

The serene expression on his face only brings about more tears from your eyes. Hopelessness evident in each drop as they slowly cascade down your warm cheeks.

Shigaraki observes your distressed form, please smile on his face as he leans forward again, and this time you don't try to pull away as he kisses you — too defeated by him to even fight. 

It’s a distraction, you’ll come to realize as he pulls your ruined panties back up to cover your stained cunt. 

The discomfort is immediate, his cooling seed against your warm folds give a contrast you’ve never wanted to feel and you finally find your strength to push at his shoulders. 

You wanted as much space from him as you could get.

Shigaraki merely laughs, knowing he’s gotten everything he wanted and knowing you would be dumb to strip yourself of your tights and underwear in this dingy alleyway. 

He goes to turn, to leave you alone and let you marinate in the events that just transpired, but not before offering you curt words — words that echo against the walls and ring in your ears. 

“You should be careful getting home, you know. I heard there are villains lurking around here.”

[canis4christ]

read @ ur own discretion