characters; shigaraki x reader, nomu x reader, toga x reader, dabi x reader
• • •
The league loved you. You followed every little order they gave without a second thought.
Shigaraki wants you to get his gloves? Of course you would!
Dabi wants you to grab him a beer? Happily!
Toga wants to leave a couple cuts on you? Why not?
The others didn’t ask for much. They felt as if Shigaraki, Dabi, and Toga were abusing your care for them.
‘Y/n, They’re using you, you know that right?’
‘Yes!’
You didn’t mind being used in any way shape or form. It was as if they had a schedule for using you in more sexual ways.
Tuesdays were when Dabi got to keep you for himself. He always loved watching the drool seep out of your mouth and onto the floor while you struggled to breathe as he shoved his cock deeper down your throat. He also was utterly engrossed in the faces you made when he burned you. It wasn’t anything too bad that wouldn’t go away in a day or two, but it was euphoric to both you and him when he used his quirk.
Wednesdays were for Shigaraki. His favourite part of the day was usually when you began to cry. Doesn’t matter why, he was addicted to the sight. He could have his hand almost fully wrapped around your neck while he pounded into your cunt, or he could have you bent over his lap, spanking you continuously until you were a sobbing mess.
Thursdays were for Toga to play with you. She was a bit of a calm down for you before the big day. She enjoyed dressing you up like a doll and liked letting you relax why’ll she did whatever she pleased to you, whether it be dragging her favourite knife across your thighs and licking the blood up, or using her special double sided dildo that she got just for you and her.
Fridays were a special day. It was the day you went to visit the Nomu. They had you there, getting rammed into by the monster while they got off to the sight. The sight was truly a pleasurable one. Watching you become a fucked out, tired, cum filled, mindless fucktoy. Not a single person showed any sign of sympathy as you got your insides ravaged by a mindless creature made to cause havoc. No commands were ever made unless they were to make the creature go faster, harder, or switch positions to make the bulge in your stomach stand out.
It didn’t matter how much you protested, cried, or begged.
You would be stuck on that monsters cock for at least another hour or two.
warnings/tags: monsterfucking, noncon, body horror, voyeurism, brief mentions of torture. set before usj.
word count: 924
a/n: it’s fitting that my first collab would be for the sewer, and even more fitting that it’s with the usj nomu. sorry for how late it is and thank you sm to (f)lee for beta-ing and catching everything i would’ve missed<3
you’ve been with the league of villains for months, joining in the early stages when it was a coterie of people with a justifiable hatred for the hero-worshiping society. your quirk was useful at first; skin like rubber, resistant to the wear and tear of everything the world has to offer. you’ve never been cut, never bled, never had to deal with bruises or scars the way the rest of the people do. you’re indestructible.
over these months, you’ve been slowly pushed aside, removed from the mainlines and demoted into some errand girl for the new projects that shigaraki claimed as his own: the nomu. they’re supposedly indestructible, decaying corpses pumped with stolen quirks, created for the sole purpose of being powerful enough to destroy the league’s foe: all might.
but from what you’ve been able to observe, all they are is expired hulking beasts that’re too dull to think for themselves.
you’re surprised, sickeningly flattered, that you weren’t chosen to become one of these stupefied monstrosities. maybe they do see you as useful.
maybe not.
your new task has been to monitor the nomus, something you don’t understand. why can't the scientists do it themselves? your rubberized body, supported by your quirk, is perfect for recon. you’ve proved your use and loyalty ten times over by now, but still you’ve been shoved down to babysitter duty.
the creature’s chamber room smells of antiseptic, too clean and barren for any actual human to live there. forcing open heavy iron doors, you shove yourself into the steel and cement chamber designed purely to be soundproofed and virtually indestructible.
you vaguely remember who this monster used to be; soft recollections of sandy hair and dark eyes and his pained screams while chained in this same chamber. you were the one to abduct him from a shady club weeks ago.
you wonder if he remembers you at all.
he’s unrecognizable. the only thing that carries between the two forms is the height, still hulking over you. what used to be pale, calloused skin is now dark as night. bulging navy skin, leathery and dry, stretches over bulging flesh.
the most jarring difference is where the skull used to be, cranial bones chipped away to reveal the bundle of muscles and nerves underneath. exposed brain matter convulses, a winding mess of pale flushed pink, pulsing to the beat of it’s slackened heart rate.
the fact that the nomu wasn’t strapped down to the worn down bench should’ve been a redflag for you. but working in this cool, underground facility for so long, as a demented version of a maid and a nanny, has fogged up your senses. you’ve become naive, thinking that the higher ups valued you, in any sort of way. you forgot the one thing you’ve been taught: you’re all expendable.
there’s a shrill, echoing siren. it only lasts a second, but by the time you turn your attention to the nomu it’s lunging at you.
the side of your face crashes into cool cement, ears ringing and your cheek blossoms into something searing hot, you taste it deep in the roots of your teeth.
the red flashing of the camera in the corner mocks you, letting you know that there are a handful of nerds watching this regenerative monster take advantage of you. the fact that no one was rushing in meant one thing; these bastards know what they’re doing.
baring your teeth, you direct a sharpened glare at the lens, hoping your scorching disdain can be felt in the monitors of the research labs. how foolish of you to think you’re menacing in any sort of way.
you look ridiculously frail, like a chihuahua attempting to attack a lion, under the nomu blundering over you, ripping away at your worn down clothes and yanking your limbs around.
over your collapsed figure, the nomu’s grotesquely prepossessing, hunched over your decrepit form. when you feel it rutting against the bare, goose pimpled skin of your ass; the chill of the room eats its way into your bones.
you know there’s no point in struggling, desperate wriggles meaning nothing when he can just crush your skull. pathetic humanness and fragile bones, even with rubberized skin and organs, means you’re no match for it.
it clumsily shoves itself into you, growling and panting, shoving your face into the wall and arching your back, aiming for your cunt that’s exposed to the chilled air.
“sympathetic nervous system functioning normally.”
there are researchers tracking his every moment. they’re watching you getting plowed, pressed into the ground by some mindless, half-corpse they see this as some sort of demented experiment, a sick way of tracking vitals of the behemoth pushing into you.
even with your quirk, the stretch burns. you can feel your cunt turning elastic, remaking you into such a gaping mess, you’re not sure if your quirk will be able to alter itself back together.
liquid flames flow through you, battling all the frigid fear suffocating you. you hate that among all this pain, all this humiliation. you’ve never had a cock in you so big, something in you that required you to utilize your quirk—it’s making you cross eyed with every cloddish crash into your cervix. you’re clawing at the hard floor to find something to stabilize yourself with, but all your fingers reach is puddles of hot spittle leaking from the nomu’s gaping snarling mouth as it slavers over you.
cold room, cold eyes, cold, harsh reality.
it looks like they’ve finally found a use for you.
warnings/tags: drugging, noncon, monster fucking, belly bulge, return of rubber yn
shigaraki wanted to see the nomu destroy you again. jacking off to the recording of nomu fucking you in the chamber could only tide him over for so long; he needed to see the hulking half-dead beast pummeling into you in real time; wanted to see how your eyes rolled back, craved to see you weak, destroyed by a glorified science project.
that's why you woke up nestled between his knees, sandwiched by a sadist and a halfwit.
everything’s dull; eyesight foggy and your plodding heartbeat echoing in your ears. you’re too drained to react to the nomu above you again.
wincing as your pounding headache syncs with everytime it bottoms out into your poor pussy, you're weighed down. your entire body flares with white hot pain and an exhilarated high; you silently relish in the way that your humanity means nothing here.
you’ve been knocked down to be their puppet.
shigaraki’s pants are pulled down to his knees, as he rutts roughly into your back, hands pulling apart your thighs to give the nomu space to jackhammer into your squelching cunt. crimson eyes are glued to how your stomach bulges, expanding with every thrust of the growling monster. it’s probably fucking all the way into your womb, stretching you out. you’d be ruined for other men, if it wasn’t for your quirks pliability.
he presses his fingers into your stomach, ignoring your weak whines of discomfort.
