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korpuskat · 4 years

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Kinktober Day 17 - Pet play - [Tomura Shigaraki/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror] Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4,265 Summary: Your Quirk is useless, it just made you small. Too bad Tomura thinks that makes you cute. Contains: noncon, kidnapping, Yandere!Shigaraki; DFAB Reader; petplay (Master/Kitty), Praise Kink, Size Difference, Forced Orgasm, stockholm syndrome/mind break

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Your back aches, burns low in your spine. Every joint sings in the same agony, whines and pleads for you to just give in. You blink, shift in the plastic and lift your eyes onto the flashes on the screen. The avatar of his character runs through the winding halls of his castle, making his way to the NPC he’s looking for.

That’s probably how he sees you. An NPC, a side quest he’s working on. He’s meticulous about it, just like he is with his games- purposefully working towards absolute completion, metering out the pointless companion quests between the main storyline. At least it’s something to watch. Gives you any entertainment at all that isn’t…

His character has stopped moving. The NPC’s dialogue box sits long past the audio has stopped playing, the reminder of what button to press to continue the conversation flashes in the corner. You swallow, but goosebumps have already erupted over your skin. You don’t have to turn your head to know he’s no longer looking at the screen.

“I have your favorite…” He coos, the low rasp of his voice turning sickly sweet. You shrink down into the plastic, but you can’t make yourself look away from him. He turns, reaches into a little box by his bed. He returns holding the tiny tin foil wrapped candy and you can’t stop your mouth from watering. “All you have to do is sit.” He pats the floor next to him, “Will you be a good little pet?”

Sitting next to him… You can do that. You’ve managed that before, to set aside that hatred and disgust for a while… It has been some time since you’ve been allowed to just exist on your own. You bite your lips and look to the tiny piece of chocolate. It’s okay. You can do that. You nod- and Tomura’s grin spreads wide over his face.

He pulls the key to the padlock from his pants, undoing it and setting it on top of the crate. The springs in the door squeak as he pinches them, opening the grated door. He backs off then, gives you a moment. You’ll get to stretch your legs, your back- you’ll get chocolate. You just have to be a little closer to him than you were before. That’s all. Palms and knees ache as you crawl out. You try to ignore the pride on Tomura’s face.

“You’re so obedient now.” He coos again and you flush. He lifts his hand, shows off the bandage that’s still wrapped around his palm. “I nearly killed you, you were so much trouble.” He leans forward as if to touch you- and where you once would’ve bitten and screamed, you sit. Complacent, docile as he pats your head. “Kurogiri was right, you did come around… I just needed to raise your affection level.”

You cast your eyes down. A side quest.

Tomura scoots back, leaves space for you on his floor. Your muscles ache as you crawl towards him- you worry for a minute he’ll make you sit some weird way. Like a cat, loafed up for him or make you sit in his lap- but his face never changes as you sit next to him. Never falters from that giddy pleasure as you stretch your legs out. Like this you can really see the difference in your sizes-- your toes barely reach past his knees, his scarred face towering over you even as he slouches. There’s nearly a foot between you, but it seems to satisfy him. Holding it by the long paper trail with two fingers, he places the chocolate onto your lap.

You wait for the catch, but it doesn’t come. Tomura picks up his controller again- careful to keep his little fingers pressed on the side of his ring fingers. And that’s just it- he goes back to his game. You sit still for a long time, unsure of what you’re allowed to do. At least you allow yourself to shakily unwrap the chocolate and set it to your tongue. Red eyes slide over to watch you and you shudder, pretend not to notice. It doesn’t matter; Tomura returns to his game, speeding through the NPC’s dialogue.

It isn’t bad, you decide. The chocolate melts on your tongue and you are soothed by the easy music of Tomura’s game. It’s easy to forget like this- how you wound up here. To forget those first few weeks- waiting and waiting for a hero to come while Tomura’s patience with you thinned.

It had changed at some point. No longer him threatening to hurt you if you didn’t go along with his fetish. He spoke softly- not the rasping voice that commanded you to heel, but as though he were speaking to a stray cat. He moved your crate to sit near his desk so you were always with him.

And then came the treats. The first few times you rejected him outright; over and over his fist closed around his gifts and they faded to dust. He’d return hours later, ready to try again. Ready to just sit beside you, play his games, speak in quiet words to soothe your worries.

And all the while he’d fawn over you, how cute you are.

Your damn Quirk. Stray heteromorph gene that dictated your every interaction- a Quirk that left you clocking in at less than four feet tall.

You hated your Quirk before being locked in a dog crate, but now you longed to be Quirkless. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything. You draw your legs back up, tuck them to your chest. You should be stretching out, enjoying your momentary freedom but now all you can think of is that disgusting face he’d made the first time you’d nodded and accepted his gift. First the awe and distrust- like you’d spit it back at him. You didn’t. You took the treat with shaking hands and cried.

He’d hushed you with a giddiness in his voice, That’s my good little girl…

Something touches your head- you jolt, spin to face him with wide eyes. He withdraws for a moment, but starts again with slow, careful motions- four fingers running through your hair, his thumb raised high and away. “No need to be nervous, pet.” You shudder, feel the cold creep down your spine as he hand continues on.

It’s not the reassuring hair-stroking of a lover, the calming head-patting of a parent- it’s something strange. Like he’s emulating something he’s only ever seen done. A halting pattern of his nail dragging over your scalp for a moment too long, starting again at the top of your head, sliding down to the base of your skull. It’s not soothing… but it is the only human contact you’ve had in… you don’t even know how long. How long since the heroes had stopped looking for you? His hand starts its stroke again and you close your eyes, rest your chin on your knees.

“You’re soft.” He states so quietly it might’ve just been for himself. Warmth graces your cheeks, the luxury of having shame one of the last bastions of your memory of the real world. He presses harder with his fingers, the nails- rough, uneven, scratch at your skin, trace down the curve of your skull- and this time he drifts further. Right on down to your neck, skimming over your heavy black leather collar, to scratch along the highest notches of your spine- you shudder.

Tomura hums, repeats the action and is rewarded with another shudder. You can’t help it- it’s sensitive there, unused to being touched. “This feel good…?”

In another world you’d gag at the thought of finding his touch agreeable. But here, his nails make your skin erupt into pleasurable goosebumps. The threat of displeasing him still looms overhead, so you tell yourself that’s why you nod. He grins wider and does it again, lets his hand drift even lower. Down and down- until four fingertips slide up under the hem of your shirt.

Your arms lock over your chest and you stare at him. He just smiles down at you. His fingertips are cold as they skirt across your skin beneath your shirt. Tomura’s never touched you like this before- always kept it relegated to his awkward head petting. You should fight. Should bite him again- and he speaks in that carefully controlled voice. “It’s alright. Good girl.”

good girl. you shiver. Close your eyes. Praise keeps punishments at bay. Means you get more time to stretch out your legs, more freedom-

So you don’t even struggle when he lifts your shirt over your head. Tomura doesn’t chide you for covering your bare chest, so you assume it’s fine. He doesn’t immediately go for it anyway: instead he keeps petting your back, drawing his nails lightly across your shoulders, the base of your neck. You give in: let your head fall forward, give him better access. It doesn’t go unnoticed. He scratches there, cards through your hair in affectionate motions until you nearly are purring.

You're nearly relaxed as his hands settle on your shoulders, urges you to lay down beside him. Fear makes your eyes go wide, but the lingering pleasantness of his touch makes you compliant, easy- your only resistance is a quiet "Tomura?"

"Shhh," His attempt at a calming voice doesn't quite soothe your nerves, but at least he's not angry. Reflexively, your arms tighten over your chest- but he doesn't even touch your arms. Instead, he eases his palms over your belly. The muscles there flinch away from him- and he pursues them, feels how they tremble with tension beneath his fingertips. Now that you can see them, the threat of that lethal touch isn't far from your mind.

His hands slide over your skin, rub in circles around your navel, up until his rough-bitten nails nudge at your forearms, always so careful to keep two fingers arched away. But he doesn't push more than that. Just strokes, slow, heavy passes of his hands, moving in wider circles out towards your ribs, down to the top of the curve of your hips. Any lower than that and he’d brush the threadbare pants he’d let you keep.

But there's a hunger in his eyes and you know it's coming. The inevitable pushing of your sanity- and those deadly, nimble fingertips brush across your wrists. You whimper, press your hands harder to your chest. He doesn't pull, doesn't try to force it- just works his fingers around your wrists and waits for your weak attempt to skirt his anger.

"I'm not..."

"Shh, kitties don't talk." He shushes you again, strokes his thumbs over the thin skin of your wrist. Any pressure there at all would have you wilting, capitulating to the pain- but he's had weeks to perfect his technique, too many long nights of discussing his goals with Kurogiri. A patience cultivated by sheer necessity and tempered by your slow acquiescence to his will. "You've been so good for me today. Don't you want your reward?"

A reward? Your eyes flit over to the little bag of chocolates, think of the still-easing ache in your legs. With hesitation, you nod. It can't be that bad.

When he tugs at your wrists this time you pinch your eyes closed, set your jaw, and let him. His breath shudders; a vein of barely bridled giddiness weaved into his voice as he tries to praise you again, "That's it, you're being so sweet." With his guidance, you rest your hands on the cool floor, curl your fingers into fists. Even with your eyes closed, you turn your face away from him, seek any reprieve from the shame of having Tomura stare down at you. His hands leave your wrists, walk spider-like across your waist, twitching with excitement. "Stay."

He leans back- and from the crumpling of plastic you know he's retrieving your reward. He sets the tiny swirl of tin foil next to you and you wrap your hand around it like a lifeline. Your stomach flexes as his fingertips ghost over your belly again- resume those large, heavy strokes of your skin. They tickle over your ribs- and the enthusiasm makes him rush upwards and stop. With your eyes closed your senses narrow down to his touch- and the ever increasing volume of his breathing.

He catches the curve of your breast in the crook of his thumb- and a single whimper involuntarily rises high in your throat. Tomura doesn't even hush you, too entranced by what he's doing that his hands are shaking. Even so, he's always aware of the placement of his fingers. He's spent too much time working on you, investing time in your side quests for you to disappear because of a quirk mishap. With a turn of his wrists, the weight of your breasts rest in his palms, index fingers pointed high and away from your skin. He experiments, plays with them- squeezes into the soft flesh there until it dimples around his fingertips-

You peek an eye open- and Tomura is staring, red eyes twinkling with the lights of his game, utterly bewitched by how your breasts roll and lift and fall and move with each motion of his palms. Like this, laid out on your back and him half curled over you, he looks even bigger. A glance down- and his hands nearly consume your chest, his long, thin fingers cover completely from one side of your ribs to the other. And past them- where his legs have come to straddle your own- a bulge sits prominently in his pants.

Sickly realization sets in- and you don't even have a moment to contemplate what's going to happen as his grip shifts, adjusts so only his thumb and index touch your skin- and pinch down on your nipples. You jolt- arms wrap around your belly just below his, gaze landing back on his face- and you want so badly for him to just this once be human.

"Please," breaks free from your lips. It won't help. "Stop, please."

The grin you’re met with is cruel, monstrous. "Just a little more, kitty..." Tomura licks his lips, draws the bottom on in between his teeth as he keeps on toying with your chest. A tweak of his fingers and you're jolting- he tugs on them and you're arching into his hands just to relieve the pressure. You bite your tongue to keep making any noise- but that seems to be the entire point for Tomura. He experiments, tries different angles, pressures, twists- and when the edge of his thumbnail catches on the tip of your nipple and your vow of silence is shattered by a single broken wail.

A lopsided grin carves its way across Tomura's face, reveals the teeth sunk into his cracked lips. "You're so cute." He croons, repeats the motion- flicks his thumb against the underside of the darker, sensitive skin until they raise up into stiff peaks. Tomura shifts his weight, lowers himself to rut softly against your thighs. The first iota of friction and he's groaning, eyes falling half-lidded- and the shaking fear resumes. You expect him to lose all control, so close to the prize he's been seeking for so long and from the way his hands tremble and squeeze at your chest you think he nearly does. But his thrusts remain slow, heavy on the downstroke as he forces his shaking voice from his chest, "Come on kitty, make your Master happy."

Your lower lip wobbles and does nothing to deter his hands from traveling again. Down, past the swell of your breasts, over your hands still clinging to yourself. His fingertips have warmed from your skin, but his touch is so light and delicate over your stomach it tickles- and his touch skates on downward, stopping at the last soft pouch of your belly. His breath shudders, wide fingers grabbing at your sides, at the curve of your hips while his thumbs squish the soft flesh below your navel.

He stops there, as though waiting for permission- glances excitedly between the apex of your tightly pressed thighs and your face. Your consent won't come- he knows that, you're not ready for that yet. One day he'll have you begging for him, but for now he's waited long enough to get a taste of his long awaited prize, just a taste of the achievement he's been grinding for. Tomura knows he should be slow, not scare you anymore- but the prospect of having to untangle fabric from your legs makes the itch flare- and his fingers close around the waist of your pants.

He coos to you, attempts to soothe the anxiety he's wrought, "It's okay, shh, shh,"

You squeeze your eyes closed. With his absence from your chest, you cover your chest and let one hand rest over the bottom of your face, to hide the worst of your quaking grimace. His hands stroke long paths across your now bare skin. Your body so small in his grasp he reaches from the underside of your breasts to the tops of your thighs without effort. It's meant to pacify your nerves, you think, these slow, heavy strokes- but the raw, innate knowledge that he's not anywhere near done with you keeps you on edge.

As soon as he realizes the trembling of your body isn't going to stop, Tomura moves on. He shifts, moves awkwardly until he draws your legs out from under him. You keep your thighs pressed together- and that's fine by him, your legs stretching up against his shoulder, sitting just under his chin. It's fine because he lifts you with one hand under your butt so he can rub the firm bulge of his clothed cock against your pussy. A sigh rips itself from Tomura's lips and you're digging your fingers into your own hair for any other sensation to focus on.

"Lemme see," and there's a mania in his eyes. Your nails bite into your skin- and your legs offer little resistance as he spreads them, forces them apart, draped across his thin thighs. One of his thumbs- so massive compared to yours, pulls your small, plump labia apart, stares down at your little pussy. Tomura moans. Shame burns your cheeks- and the overwhelming truth that there's no point fighting, no use in any of it.

He doesn't even touch you directly, too overwhelmed and already focused back on himself. His pants fare better than yours, end up shoved down around his thighs. The heat of his body burns into yours and he draws out his cock, already hard, standing proudly between his legs. You peek between your fingers, stare at him with wide, fearful eyes, unable to focus on either his thick, uncut cock or his gruesome, wide-stretched lips.

"Look, I'm so big." He says, his voice nearly cracking, betraying how wound-up he is. He holds it down on you- it's as wide as your wrist, dripping precum messily across your skin where the tip throbs against you. And as small as you are with your damn useless quirk, the thick head comes up to the bottom of your rib cage. It makes your stomach churn, fear taking root deep inside you- and in the same moment a heat settles inside you, a useless, unhelpful primal reaction to it all.

"I could break you." Eight fingertips bite into your thighs- and his hips stutter forward. The underside of his cock slides between your legs- and the meager slickness there eases his way. "You're so wet." You aren't sure if Tomura doesn't understand your body or if he's playing into his own fantasy- but it doesn't stop him from closing your thighs around him and rutting down again. "I won't, I won't- I promise. Don't want to hurt my little kitty, my- ah- my sweet little pet..."

The friction on your clit only increases with your legs holding him in place. He thrusts against you- and though on all sides except against your slit your skin drags, warms as it chafes, Tomura doesn't seem to mind. If anything, the roughness is only making it better for him as he rambles on, "I'd take such good care of you! I'd love you if you'd let me- you just have to be good." Through your fingers you meet his gaze; his eyes are glazed over in lust, the red obscured with his thin eyelashes. He pants through open lips, nearly drooling as he thrusts against you. "You want to be good for me don't you? For your Master?"

His angle changes, slots in closer to you- and oh. He hadn't been quite up on you before, the drag of his cock more along the full length of your pussy than the single point of your clit, but now--

The gasp is quiet, barely there. Between the slap of skin and slick noises between your legs, the gentle music of his game's pause screen, and his own ragged breathing you want to believe so badly he hadn't heard it. But his reaction is immediate: where his gaze had been half-lidded, lost in his own ecstasy, it is now wide, his pupils shrinking down in shock, leaving the crimson ring of his iris to glow in the low light.

"Here?" He says- and rubs the firm head of his dick against you again. You're too sensitive now to pretend it doesn't feel good, as much as you don't want it to. No matter how hard you squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head, the helpless little rises of your hips are all he needs to encourage him. As meticulous as he is, he keeps the pressure on your clit and doesn't let up for anything- returns to his long, swift strokes, the wetness of your pussy letting him glide through your folds and over your clit without resistance. Between your legs, his cock fucks your thighs, the head smearing your mixed arousal over your skin, leaking milky precum across your belly-

"See, see- I could make you feel so good, I'd take care of you, I could make you cum." He rasps, leans over you and lifts your hips with him, pulls your lower back clean off the floor so he can keep that sinful angle. He moves down as though to kiss you and you're so glad for once that you're too short- or perhaps he's too tall- for him to reach your lips. No, instead his chest comes in close to your face, the warmth radiating off him and you splay your hands across his pale skin just to weakly try to push him back. He doesn't even notice.

"I want to- the only one- only ever me-" He grunts, huffs, drops one arm down to hold himself up. He's close, the pleasured trembling of your legs only making it more enjoyable for him. "You're gonna cum." It's a demand, a promise- "Gonna be my good little kitty who cums on my cock."

There's no point fighting- and still your nail dig into his chest, scratch red welts into his skin as you turn your face away from him. Tomura hisses- and tears your hands off him, pins your wrists down to the floor with his wide palms. Though his face twists into a scowl, he never stops his rough humping of your thighs. And now, now there's no barrier between his skin and yours other than your own legs, your body nearly bent double with his need for closeness.

He groans- and you're restless under him, consider kicking him, biting him, anything, anything- and the fear of punishment keeps you still. He wants you to- to-

"Be good, come on- be good for your Mah-ster. It'll feel so good, kitty, just cum, just let go-" and you sob, close your eyes and lean into him. Every stroke has your clit tingling, aching-

"That's it, that's it!" He breathes, "Give in, let me take care of you."

You're crying, cumming, your legs squeezing tight around his cock and thrusting back against him, riding out your high as he praises you, curses. His hands pinching your wrists as he shakes, arches, drives down over and over- and hot cum splatters against your belly, up to your chest. He's gasping, shaking- and all at once he drops down over you, bends your legs back, pins them between your stomach and his. You grunt, squirm under him- and he's kind enough to lift his hips, dislodge his body from yours, and lowers himself again.

He's so big, he covers every inch of you- and he's just conscientious enough to leave you room to breathe. tocry. Because you haven't stopped, chest shuddering with each inhale- and with his orgasm leaving him boneless, pliant, you wiggle your hands out from under his. He stirs, shifts just enough to look down at you with suspicion, with that familiar disappointment that you'll try to scratch him again and-

and you wrap your arms around his torso. Broken by your own sobs, you can only force one word out between wails, "Tomura- Tomura-"

He sucks in air through his teeth. His arms shake as he pushes himself up to sit and drags you along with him. So small, you don't even reach the underside of his chin while in his lap, he holds you close, whispers sweet words in your ear, sweet kitten, good girl, i love you, shhh, it's alright, i'll take care of you.

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