#THE FACEFUCKING SCENE THE PINCHING THE NOSE THE GOING RED AND AND AND ITS SO HOT ITS TOO HOT I NEED TO TAKE A COLD SHOWER

[bakatenshii]

I have never ascended more in my entire life, in all aspects including physical, I am no longer here. Angel is no more. Angel is in ruins, shattered into a million pieces and floating away with the wind. I’m— I— I juST—

I-I’m

♡︎ HBD SHIGSTER ♡︎

dedicated to my sweet lil @bakatenshii bc shiggy isn’t real, and therefore doesn’t really need or deserve a present ♡︎

warnings: 18+! spit, asphyxiation, dacryphillia, dubcon, slapping, shiggy being an ass

Tomura could kill you.

All he’s gotta do is wrap his long, spindly fingers around your neck one by one and squeeze. It wouldn’t even need to be a hard squeeze, just all of his digits resting on your skin. There’d be no evidence you’d even been there, just a bit of dust floating in the air, and the handy Dyson in his hallway closet can fix that.

But he won’t will he? Because despite the complete and utter humiliation he’s feeling right now, despite the fact that your bratty ass is looking down your nose at him, gum gnashing behind closed pouty lips: he couldn’t do it.

“What. Are. You. Doing?” His jaw couldn’t possibly clench any tighter.

You spin in his computer chair, chew, blow, and pop the gum in your mouth. “Master, why do all these girls look like me?” You ask, batting your lashes.

It’s true, he’s scoured the web searching for girls that look like you since you joined the League, saved pictures and videos in a nifty green USB he’s kept locked in his desk drawer. Which is open.

“Awfully full of yourself for a dirty fucking thief, huh?” He skirts the question, practically stomping over to where you’re sitting, tearing the USB from its slot in the computer and slamming it in his drawer.

“But Master, that’s the only reason you keep me around: I’m a thief.” Not the only reason. You bat your lashes and he huffs through his nose.

“Get out,” he snaps, glaring at you.

“But,” you slide to the floor, sit on your knees, stare up at him with wide eyes, “it’s your birthday,”

The connotations are clear, but he’s not entirely sure he should take your bait. Yes, if all you’re planning to do is humiliate him, he can dust you, but it’d be annoying to try and find another you. And sometimes those files just don’t cut it; he needs to see you, to know you’re around somewhere, waiting to fictionally fulfil his every desire.

“Birthdays are meaningless; get. Out.” He points at the door now, but you’re crawling towards him, hips swaying, that oversized sweater bunched up at your waist, white cotton panties dotted with a pattern— are those tiny foxes?— in full view of anyone in the room.

Not that there’s anyone else in here.

“Wh-what are you doing?” He curses himself for the stutter, takes a step back as you approach.

“Dabi told me where to look, told me you’re obsessed with me,” you purr, cornering him, dainty fingers reaching for the leg of his baggy jeans. “Don’t you think it’ll be fun to play around a little? You know, as a treat?”

He’s entirely hard now, and it makes him furious. But your voice is so sweet, and you’re looking up at him through your lashes, slowly pawing your way up his legs, still chewing that fucking gum.

Two fingers and a thumb wrap around your ponytail, reef you up hard, then his tongue is in your mouth. He’s finally tasting you, groaning as the artificial grape flavour fills his senses, cock throbbing as you melt like putty against him.

When he’s got your gum in his mouth, Tomura pushes you back down, “don’t want that shit getting stuck in my pubes,”

Despite his heated tone, you just laugh, toy with his jeans until they fall into a pool at his feet. Boxers are next, and if Tomura were a nicer person, he might offer to wash his cock— it’s been a couple days since his last shower— but he isn’t, and he’s using your ponytail to yank you closer, watching as you nuzzle and keen at it.

But as nice as the view is, he’s growing impatient, “hurry up, stupid,” he orders, chewing slowly on your gum, sucking at the residue of your saliva and savouring it.

You oblige immediately, taking his cock like some kind of expert, and yeah, it feels incredible, but he always pictured you a precious little angel, sweet and innocent and perfect, and it makes him kinda furious.

So he takes control, yanks you back by your hair, “open,” gathers his saliva— careful to keep the gum— and spits it into your waiting mouth. “Don’t swallow it,” he mutters, committing the scene to memory, before pulling you closer and thrusting deep into your throat.

“Eyes open,” Tomura breathes, holding you in place and fucking your skull, watching as your watery orbs roll and twitch, as your nostrils flare as they try and take in oxygen.

Can’t have that, though; precious little angel needs to learn a lesson: you’re his and no one else’s.

The thumb and forefinger of his free hand seal splendidly over your nostrils, pinching them closed with little effort, your eyes bulging, those dainty hands wrapping around his wrist, your whole body tensing.

Then tears are running freely down your face, moans and whimpers vibrating against his cock, your gag reflex squeezing him, mouth flooding with saliva with every thrust that hits a little too deep, and fuck, Tomura’s close. Too close.

Your fingernails dig into the dry skin of his wrist before they falter, and your whole body starts to weaken, eyes rolling back, face glowing with lack of oxygen. And although it’s hot to watch your soul leave your body, to be in control of that, he likes you lucid.

He lets go of your nose to slap your face, and you take a breath as your whole body spasms; then he’s cumming. Thick, sticky, smelly ropes of cum shoot to the back of your throat, and he’s grunting, a primal sound as he holds you in place, your nose flush against his itchy, bristly pubes.

You’re dropped in a heap on the floor when he’s done with you, heaving ragged breaths and choking on cum you weren’t prepared to swallow; but your master isn’t done.

“Underwear off, back on the chair,” he orders breathily, tucking himself back into his pants and nodding at his computer chair. He takes a moment to survey you, delighting in all the drool and tears and cum dripping down your face, how completely fucked-out your mouth is. Tomura crouches at your side and blows a bubble with your gum, let’s it pop in your face, “you’re gonna sing me happy birthday... while I devour that dirty little cunt.”