You kneel on the concrete floor of the abandoned bar, wrists bound behind your back with rough cord that bites into your skin. Shigaraki stands over you, red eyes gleaming under the dim light, his blue hair falling in tangled strands across his face. He wears those black gloves, four fingers sheathed, the fifth bare and dangerous. The air feels thick with the threat of his quirk, decay waiting at the edge of every touch.
"Look at you," he says, voice low and raspy. "So eager to fall apart for me."
His gloved hand grips your chin, forcing your gaze up. The leather is cool, but the missing finger hovers just above your throat, a reminder that one slip could end everything.
You shiver, heat pooling low in your belly despite the danger. This is the power exchange you crave: total surrender to a man who could destroy you with a single careless brush.
He releases your chin and trails his hand down your chest, pressing the leather over your breasts. Your nipples harden instantly against the fabric of your shirt. Shigaraki smirks, that twisted, half-mad smile that promises both pleasure and pain. He pinches one nipple hard through the cloth, twisting until you gasp.
"Beg," he orders. "Tell me how much you want my hands on you."
"Please," you whisper, voice trembling. "Touch me. Use me."
Shigaraki laughs, a dry, broken sound. He pulls a knife from his coat and slices your shirt open, the blade grazing skin without cutting. Your breasts spill free, and he leans down, mouth closing over one nipple. His tongue is hot and insistent, teeth scraping just enough to make you arch. The glove on his other hand slides between your thighs, pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties.
"Already wet," he mutters against your skin. "Pathetic little hero slut."
He hooks the glove under the waistband and yanks your panties down, exposing you completely. Two gloved fingers part your folds, the leather slicking easily through your arousal. He circles your clit slowly, deliberately, never giving enough pressure to satisfy. You rock your hips, chasing friction, but he pulls back.
"Stay still," he growls. "Or I'll decay every scrap of clothing left on you."
The threat sends another rush of wetness between your legs. Shigaraki notices, eyes darkening. He stands and unbuckles his belt, freeing his cock. It's thick, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. He strokes himself once with his bare hand, careful to keep the fifth finger away.
"Open," he commands.
You part your lips, and he pushes inside your mouth. The taste of him is salt and musk, and you suck eagerly, tongue swirling around the head. Shigaraki's gloved hand fists in your hair, controlling the pace. He fucks your mouth in shallow thrusts, never deep enough to choke but close, always reminding you who holds the power.
When he pulls out, strings of saliva connect your lips to his cock. He drops to his knees in front of you and shoves you onto your back, legs spread wide. The concrete is cold against your spine. Shigaraki peels off one glove entirely, then the other, leaving only the dangerous bare fingers. He hovers his hand over your stomach, pinky lifted high.
"One wrong move and you crumble," he says. "But you like that, don't you?"
You nod, breathless. His bare fingers finally touch you, two sliding inside your cunt without warning. The stretch burns in the best way. He curls them, finding that spongy spot that makes your vision spark. His thumb presses your clit, and he fucks you with his hand in hard, relentless strokes. Every thrust brings his pinky closer to your skin, the constant threat making your pulse race.
You moan his name, "Tomura," and his eyes flash with something feral. He adds a third finger, stretching you wider, scissoring them open. Your walls clench around him, orgasm building fast and sharp.
"Not yet," he snaps. He withdraws his fingers and replaces them with his cock, thrusting in one brutal motion. The fullness knocks the air from your lungs. Shigaraki sets a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against yours, one gloved hand pinning your wrists above your head while the other hovers near your throat.
He leans down, lips brushing your ear. "Come on my cock or I stop."
The command shatters you. Pleasure crashes through your body in waves, cunt pulsing around him. Shigaraki groans, pace faltering as he chases his own release. He pulls out at the last second, stripes of hot cum painting your stomach and breasts.
For a long moment he stays above you, breathing ragged. Then he reaches for a towel, wiping you clean with surprising care. His gloved fingers trace your cheek once more.
"Good girl," he murmurs. "Same time tomorrow."
You smile up at him, sated and safe in the danger of his hands. The power he wields is absolute, but so is the trust between you. In this crumbling world, his touch is the only ruin you crave.
