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19yo 𝟷𝟷𝟷 Dark content Mdni

[rxsesss]

ABOUT THIS BLOG

This blog contains dark and nsfw content, therefore minors are NOT allowed to interact with any of my post, at least the ones containing nsfw.

Another thing I’d like to clarify. English is not my native language so I would appreciate pointing out any mistakes, I am open for feedback.

She/her.

19 year old.

Fanfiction blog (nsfw and sfw)

I mainly write yandere and dark content.

Requests are currently open.

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[rxsesss]

Clinical despair

Pairing: yandere mikan tsumuki x female reader. Warning: Mature/Explicit. This story contains Yandere Behavior, Obsession, Non-Con/Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, Psychological Manipulation, Medical play. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Synopsis: You were the only student from Hope's Peak's Class 77-B who wasn't there the day the brainwashing happened. Now you're alone, hiding from your former classmates who had become remnants of despair. But Mikan Tsumiki, who always had a thing for you, has finally found her favorite person. And she's not letting you get away again.

The world had broken into jagged, despair-soaked pieces, and you were just one more fragile thing trying not to get cut.

You had been a student of Hope’s Peak Academy, part of Class 77-B, but on the day everything went to hell, you were curled in your dorm bathroom, sick and shivering with a stomach bug. That tiny, pathetic illness saved you from the brainwashing that swallowed your classmates whole. You missed the broadcast. You missed the indoctrination. You missed becoming a Remnant of Despair.

But that luck was a cruel kind of mercy, because now you were utterly alone.

The city around you was a corpse of its former self. Skyscrapers with hollowed-out eyes, streets littered with debris and old bloodstains. Somewhere out there, your former friends were spreading misery with smiles on their faces, their minds twisted into something unrecognizable. You survived by moving constantly, scavenging for scraps and never, ever staying in one place too long.

Today, your search for food had led you to the shattered remains of a pharmacy. The windows were blown out, the sign hanging by a single rusted chain, but you’d learned that the most dangerous places often held the best untouched supplies. Your heart hammered as you crept through the dim aisles, stepping over broken glass and fallen shelves. Finally, your fingers closed around a can of beans, dented, but sealed. The small victory nearly made you weep.

That’s when you heard it.

A soft, lilting hum drifting through the dead air. A familiar nursery rhyme, but twisted, the notes sliding off-key in a way that made the fine hairs on your arms stand up. Your blood ran cold. You knew that voice. You didn’t recognize it immediately—obviously, it had been months, but eventually, you did.

Mikan Tsumiki.

You ducked behind a collapsed metal shelf, pressing your spine against the cold debris, your breath trapped in your chest. Through a narrow gap, you saw her.

She stood in the pale, dusty light filtering through the shattered ceiling and she was different. The Mikan you remembered from Hope’s Peak was a girl who seemed perpetually afraid of her own shadow, shoulders hunched, voice a trembling whisper, always apologizing for simply existing. She had been a fragile, broken thing that, despite everything, you had occasionally found yourself looking out for.

This Mikan stood straight, her posture almost regal, a serene, unhinged smile playing at the corners of her lips. Her nurse’s uniform, once pristine, was now filthy and smeared with dark, rust-colored stains that could only be dried blood. The apron was torn at the hem, revealing a flash of thigh wrapped in a bandage. In her hand, a scalpel spun lazily between her pale fingers, catching the faint light with each slow rotation.

“Oh my,” Mikan sang, her voice sweet as poisoned honey. “So many hurt people everywhere… it’s truly despairing.”

Your stomach clenched. She was one of them now. A Remnant of Despair. The girl you used to share lunch with, the girl who would blush and stammer whenever you offered her a kind word. she was gone, hollowed out and filled with something monstrous.

You held your breath, counting the seconds, praying she would just leave. But the world had never been that kind to you. Your foot, shifting minutely to relieve a cramp, nudged a shard of broken glass. The tiny chime of sound was deafening in the silence.

The humming stopped.

Mikan’s head snapped toward your hiding spot with an unnatural, bird-like jerk. That serene smile split wider, stretching into something hungry and knowing. “A-ah? Is someone there? A little patient, hiding from their nurse?”

You went absolutely still, every instinct screaming at you to run, but your body refused to obey. This was it. After all your desperate hiding, you had been found.

She moved with a speed that didn’t make sense, crossing the rubble-strewn floor in a blink. Suddenly she was looming over you, her silhouette blocking out the light, and those eyes — those wild, fever-bright eyes — locked onto your face with a recognition that sent ice through your veins.

“[Y/N]-chan?” she breathed, and for a fraction of a second, her voice cracked with something almost like the old Mikan, something vulnerable and desperate. Then the manic glee swallowed it whole. “It’s really you. I looked everywhere for you. I searched and searched, and every day I couldn’t find you, I felt such despair — such wonderful, aching despair — it was almost too much to bear.”

She giggled, a high, fractured sound that skittered down your spine like a spider. “But finding you now, in this ruined little place… this is the best despair I’ve ever felt. This is a gift.”

“M-Mikan… please,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. You tried to scramble backward, your hands scraping against the grimy floor, but there was nowhere to go. The shelf was at your back, and she was everywhere else.

“Shhh, shhh,” she cooed, dropping into a crouch in front of you. Her free hand lifted, and before you could flinch away, her cold, slightly sticky fingers pressed against your cheek. The touch was almost tender, but there was a weight to it. “Don’t be scared. I’ll protect you now. I’ll take care of everything. That’s what nurses do, isn’t it? We take care of our favorite patients.”

The stuttering, apologizing mess you remembered was gone. In its place was something confident, something terrifyingly assured. You didn’t see the syringe in her other hand until it was too late. There was a sharp, precise prick in the side of your neck, and a strange warmth began to bloom outward from the injection site, heavy and unstoppable.

“Just a little something to help you sleep,” Mikan murmured, her arm sliding around your shoulders to catch you as your vision began to swim. “I have a safe place for us. A special room, just for you. No one will ever find us there.”

Your lips tried to form a protest, a plea, but your tongue was thick and useless. The last thing you saw was her face, haloed by the dirty light, smiling down at you with all the affection of a saint and all the mercy of a scalpel. Then the world dissolved into black.

Waking up was a slow, syrupy process. your mind clawing its way out of a drugged fog one painful inch at a time.

The first thing you registered was the color white. Blinding, clinical white. The ceiling above you was smooth and unblemished. The walls were blank, devoid of windows save one, which was crisscrossed with heavy iron bars. The air smelled of antiseptic and something faintly floral, lavender, maybe, but the sweetness felt artificial, cloying.

You tried to move and discovered that your body was a distant, sluggish thing. Your limbs were heavy, wrapped in a thin patient gown that felt rough against your skin. An IV line was taped to the crook of your arm, the tube snaking up to a bag of clear fluid hanging from a metal stand. The quiet beeping of a heart monitor filled the silence, its rhythm a steady, mechanical lullaby.

This wasn’t a hospital. It was a cell dressed up as one.

Before you could fully gather your scattered thoughts, a door you hadn’t noticed swung open on silent hinges, and Mikan stepped inside. She was wearing a fresh nurse’s uniform now, crisp and white, though the dark circles under her eyes and the feverish glint in her gaze betrayed the image of professional care. She was carrying a small clipboard, and when she saw that you were awake, her whole face lit up with a joy that made your stomach clench with dread.

“You’re awake!” she exclaimed, bustling over to your bedside with quick, eager steps. “I was so worried. Your vitals were stable, but you slept for a long time, and I kept thinking-what if I gave you too much? What if you didn’t wake up? The despair would have been unbearable.”

She checked the IV drip, her fingers brushing the bag with a reverent touch. “You need your fluids. You were so dehydrated when I found you. not taking care of yourself at all. But that’s okay now. I’ll be your nurse from now on. Only me.”

You found your voice, though it came out hoarse and weak. “Mikan… where am I? What is this place?”

“Somewhere safe,” she said simply, turning to stroke your hair. Her touch made your skin crawl, every nerve screaming for you to pull away, but your body was still too heavy with residual sedatives. All you could do was endure it as her fingers combed gently through the strands. “The outside world is awful, [Y/N]-chan. It’s full of pain and suffering and despair. But in here, it’s just us. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll keep you healthy and clean and fed. I’ll love you so much that you’ll never need anything else.”

She leaned down, her face hovering inches from yours, and her breath was warm and sweet against your ear. “You’re my gift. And I’m never, ever letting you go.”

The hours passed in a blur of drugged dozing and fragile, terrified wakefulness. At some point, Mikan brought you a tray of bland, easy-to-digest food. rice porridge, a cup of water and watched you eat with a rapt, adoring expression that made every bite stick in your throat. She talked while you ate, her voice a constant, lilting stream.

“I used to dream about this, you know. Back at Hope’s Peak, when we were in class together and you were so kind to me. Do you remember? You’d smile at me in the hallway, and I’d get so flustered I’d drop my books. I thought about you every night in my dorm room. Sometimes I couldn’t sleep at all. I’d just lie there, imagining what it would be like if you were in the bed next to mine, if I could just reach out and touch your hand…”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your mind was still reeling, trying to find an exit that didn’t exist.

“You were the only one who was ever nice to me without wanting something in return,” she continued, her voice softening into something almost sad. “Everyone else-Hiyoko especially. they just bullied me. They pushed me around and laughed at me. But you… you saw me. You really saw me.” Her gaze grew intense, that fragile sadness hardening into obsession. “And now I get to keep you. Just you and me. Isn’t that beautiful?”

She reached out and caught a stray tear you hadn’t realized was slipping down your cheek. She examined it on her fingertip, then brought it to her lips, tasting it. “Don’t cry, [Y/N]-chan. I’m going to make you so happy. I promise.”

—

That night, the lights in your room dimmed to a low, amber glow, casting long shadows across the sterile walls. You were drifting in and out of an uneasy doze when the door opened again, and Mikan slipped inside like a ghost.

Instead, she was draped in a thin, white slip that clung to the curves of her body, the fabric nearly sheer in the low light. Her hair, usually tied back, fell loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and her lips were parted slightly as if she’d been breathing too fast for too long.

“[Y/N]-chan,” she breathed, and the sound of your name in her mouth was a caress and a threat all at once. “I’ve waited so long for this. So, so long.”

You tried to push yourself up, tried to move away, but your limbs were leaden again. not as paralyzed as before, but slow, uncooperative. She must have put something in the IV while you slept, some mild sedative to keep you pliant. “Mikan… don’t do this.”

“Even before everything changed,” she whispered, crawling onto the foot of the bed with slow, deliberate movements, “before the Tragedy, before the despair set me free- I thought about you constantly. During class, I’d sit behind you and just stare at the back of your neck, wondering what touching it would feel like. At night, I’d lock myself in my room and touch myself, imagining your voice, your scent, your hands on my skin. I’d come with your name on my lips and then cry because I was too much of a coward to ever tell you.”

She was kneeling over your legs now, her weight barely pressing down, but the cage of her body was absolute. Her cold fingers reached out and traced the line of your jaw, and you shuddered violently.

“I was so weak then,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt for her past self. “Always stuttering, always apologizing, always letting people hurt me. But despair changed everything. Despair made me strong. It showed me that the only thing that matters is what I want. And I want you, [Y/N]-chan. I’ve always wanted you.”

Her hand slid down to the ties at the shoulder of your patient gown. With a few deft, practiced tugs, the knots came loose. The fabric gaped open, exposing the upper curve of your chest to the cool air. You tried to push her hands away, but your arms felt like they were moving through molasses. “Please… stop.”

Mikan’s smile sharpened, a blade wrapped in velvet. “That voice,” she murmured, her thumbs brushing the newly bared skin just below your collarbones. “So full of fear, so desperate. I love it. I used to imagine the sounds you’d make. The little whimpers, the gasps. My dreams were never this good.”

She pulled the gown fully open, baring your breasts to the dim light. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, both from the cold and from the weight of her stare. Mikan’s eyes went wide, her pupils swallowing the iris, and a low, reverent sound escaped her throat.

“So pretty,” she breathed. “Even prettier than my imagination. I touched myself so many times trying to picture this, but it’s nothing compared to the real thing.”

Her hands were on you then, not with the hesitant, fumbling touch you might have expected from the old Mikan, but with a slow, methodical confidence. Her palms slid over your shoulders, down the slope of your chest, cupping your breasts with the kind of clinical ownership a collector might display toward a prized artifact. Her thumbs found your nipples, rubbing over them in slow, deliberate circles until they hardened traitorously under her touch, and a sharp, involuntary gasp escaped your lips.

“See?” Mikan cooed, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Your body knows me. Your body wants me. It doesn’t care about what your mouth says.”

The shame that flooded you was a physical thing, hot and choking. You hated the way your nerves sparked under her fingers, hated the treacherous warmth that was beginning to pool low in your belly. Your mind was screaming no, but your body was responding to the stimulation with a will of its own, and Mikan could see it. She could see everything.

She lowered her head, and her mouth closed over your left nipple.

A strangled cry tore from your throat. The sensation was overwhelming, wet, hot, wrong and her tongue was swirling and flicking while her other hand continued to knead and pinch at your right breast. She sucked with an obscene, hungry sound, her teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, the heat in your core pulsed with a life of its own. You felt sick, disgusted with yourself, but Mikan only moaned against your skin, the vibration sending another unwanted jolt of pleasure straight to your cunt.

When she pulled back, her lips were shiny with saliva, her face flushed with ecstatic arousal. “You taste so good. I could do this for hours.” Her eyes trailed down your body, over your stomach, to where the gown still partially covered your hips. “But I want more. I want all of you.”

Her hands slid down, pushing the rumpled fabric aside, over your hip bones, your thighs. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties, plain and white. Then she pulled them down with agonizing slowness, watching your face the entire time, drinking in your helpless humiliation. When the last scrap of fabric was gone, she tossed them aside and simply looked at you, her gaze raking over your bared pussy with naked, reverent hunger.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You couldn’t bear to see it, the triumph in her expression, the way she was admiring you like a meal she was about to devour.

Something cold and sharp pressed against the delicate skin of your inner thigh.

“Open your eyes, [Y/N]-chan,” Mikan said, her voice still sickly sweet, but underlined with a new, hard edge. “I want you to look at me.”

When you didn’t obey, the cold pressure increased , just a fraction, just enough to threaten. The scalpel. Your heart slammed against your ribs, and a fresh wave of terror drowned the unwanted heat in your belly. Your eyes flew open.

Mikan was holding the blade with expert precision, the flat of it resting against your skin, the point angled away for now. Her smile was beatific. “There you are. I want you to see everything I do to you. I want you to remember who makes your body feel this way. If you close your eyes again…” She let the threat hang, unfinished, more terrifying for its ambiguity.

Tears blurred your vision, but you forced yourself to keep looking at her. She nodded, pleased, and set the scalpel carefully on the bedside table, still within easy reach. “Good girl. That’s my good girl.”

Then she settled between your spread thighs, her shoulders nudging your legs further apart, and her face hovered mere inches from your exposed cunt. The heat of her breath ghosted over your sensitive flesh, and you jerked involuntarily, a whimper catching in your throat.

“Mine,” Mikan whispered. “Every part of you. Mine.”

Her fingers reached out first , light, teasing touches that traced the outer lips of your pussy with maddening gentleness. She mapped you with the focus of a scholar, learning every fold and dip, every place that made you twitch and gasp. When her fingertip brushed over your clit, your hips bucked without your permission, and she laughed, a low, delighted sound.

“Right there,” she breathed. “That’s your special spot, isn’t it? I’ve read all about this. I’ve studied so many medical texts, but nothing prepared me for how beautiful you’d look like this, all wet and trembling for me.”

She was right, and the knowledge made you want to vomit. You were wet. You could feel it, the slickness coating your folds, and Mikan’s fingers glistened when she pulled them back to show you. “Look at this,” she said, holding up her slick-coated fingers for you to see. “Your body wants this so badly. It doesn’t care that you’re scared. It’s aching for me.”

Before you could muster a denial, she lowered her head and pressed her mouth to your cunt.

A broken moan was ripped from your chest. Her tongue was hot and agile, licking a broad stripe from your entrance up to your clit, and then settling there with merciless focus. She licked and sucked, alternating between soft, fluttering movements and hard, pointed pressure that made stars burst behind your eyes. Her hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, keeping you from squirming away, and she moaned against your pussy like it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. The vibrations of her voice shuddered through your core, amplifying every sensation a hundredfold.

“M-Mikan—!” you gasped, your hands fisting in the sheets, your back beginning to arch despite your desperate attempts to stay still. She was relentless, her tongue tracing patterns that felt like they were designed specifically to tear you apart. The pressure was building, a horrible, wonderful coil tightening deep in your abdomen, and you could feel your orgasm approaching like a wave you couldn’t outrun.

“That’s it,” Mikan murmured against your wet flesh, her voice muffled but thick with triumph. “I can feel you getting close. Your little clit is throbbing against my tongue. Don’t fight it. Let go for me.”

She sealed her lips around your clit and sucked, hard, and at the same moment, two of her slender fingers pushed inside your cunt. They curled upward, finding that devastating spot on your inner wall with unerring accuracy, and the combination shattered you.

Your climax crashed over you with the force of a tidal wave, your whole body seizing, your back bowing off the mattress, a raw, sobbing cry tearing from your throat. Your pussy clenched and pulsed around her fingers, drenching her hand with your release, and Mikan kept going, her tongue still working your clit, her fingers still pumping slowly, drawing out every last shudder until you collapsed, limp and trembling, tears streaming down your face.

The pleasure had been devastating, and the shame that followed was even worse. You had come on her tongue, on her fingers, in this prison she’d built for you, and the look on her face when she finally lifted her head was one of absolute, blissful fulfillment.

She crawled up your body slowly, her own slip damp with sweat and clinging to her skin. Her face was flushed, her chin and lips still glistening with your wetness. She looked drunk, delirious, utterly consumed. Without a word, she captured your mouth in a deep, searching kiss, forcing her tongue past your lips, making you taste your own release on her tongue. The kiss was possessive, devouring, a claim staked into your very mouth.

When she pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips before breaking. She smiled.

“Now you’re truly mine,” she whispered, gathering you into her arms and pulling you against her chest. She nuzzled into the crook of your neck, her breath warm and even against your pulse. “Your body knows it. It will crave this again, and I’ll give it to you over and over, until you can’t imagine living without my touch.”

You lay there, limp and spent, your mind a white static of horror and unwanted pleasure. Her arms were wrapped around you like iron bands, soft but inescapable, and the slow, contented rise and fall of her chest was a lullaby of captivity.

She pulled back just enough to look into your tear-streaked face, and her eyes were endless, dark pools of devotion and madness. “I love you, [Y/N]-chan. I’ve always loved you. And now I have forever to prove it.”

She hugged you tighter, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your eyelids, the corner of your trembling mouth. Then she settled against you with a sigh of profound, twisted contentment, her fingers idly stroking your arm, her body a living cage around yours.

Outside, the ruined world spun on, indifferent and desolate. But in this sterile, white room, there was only Mikan’s suffocating love

Author note: there it is. My first ever work. English is not my first language so bear with me. I’ve noticed the lack of female characters content so I took it upon myself to write this. As you can tell this is a dark blog and I write for both male and female characters. I’ll make a post explaining requesting rules and all that stuff. For now you can leave requests and I’ll see if I’ll take them or not. Please leave reviews and likes, I would appreciate it !!!

[rxsesss]

Her favorite patient

Pairing: yandere Mikan tsumuki x fem reader. setting: pre despair au. warning: yandere behavior, dubious/noncon consent, psychological manipulation, medical play. Synopsis: You thought you could use the shy nurse's crush to get what you wanted. But your manipulation awakened a dark obsession. You played with fire, and you are the one getting burned.

The first time you truly noticed, it came as a private little thrill, a shiver of power you hadn’t expected to enjoy.

You were the Ultimate Figure Skater. Naturally, you were used to stares. But Mikan’s stare was different. It wasn’t admiration. It was hunger dressed up as adoration.

You’d been kind to her, and it had cost you nothing. A few soft words when she dropped her papers, a steadying hand when she tripped over her own feet in the corridor, an offer to share your lunch when she hovered at the cafeteria door too afraid to step inside. You built a fragile, lopsided friendship, and she latched onto you like a drowning thing gasping for air.

Then, during a routine check-up after a minor practice fall, her fingers wrapped around your wrist to take your pulse and didn’t let go. The silence stretched. Her thumb stroked the thin skin above your veins in slow circles. You watched the flush crawl up her throat, staining her cheeks a blotchy pink. When she leaned in to press the cold bell of her stethoscope to your chest, her gaze slipped down to your mouth and stuck there, heavy and unblinking.

It wasn’t just gratitude in her eyes. It was a desperate, consuming crush, the kind that leaves a girl weak-kneed and trembling. And you, staring down the barrel of Hope’s Peak practical exams, saw an opportunity.

A real injury and a persistent ache in your right ankle had been plaguing you for weeks. You could skate through it, but the complex jump sequences demanded much more. A single flinch could mean failure. What you needed was something strong. A painkiller. Maybe a mild stimulant to sharpen your edges. The sort of thing the head nurse wouldn’t hand over without a fortress of paperwork and questions you didn’t want to answer.

But Mikan had the keys to the infirmary. Mikan, who looked at you like you’d personally hung every star in the sky.

The plan unspooled in your mind with an unsettling ease. You’d use what you had.

It began with touches that could be dismissed as accidental. Your hand resting on her shoulder a beat too long after helping her up. Leaning in close to whisper something mundane, just to feel her whole body seize, to hear her breath catch in her throat. You played the sweet, oblivious friend, fanning the flames while keeping your own expression wide and untroubled. You saw exactly what you did to her. the way her eyes went glassy and her fingers fumbled whenever she was near you. A little pervert, falling apart just from wrapping a blood pressure cuff around your arm.

The day you decided to make your move, you ´accidentally' tripped in the hallway right in front of her.

“O-Oh my! P-Please, let me—let me help you!” Her voice cracked, skidding into a squeak. Her hands fluttered uselessly before she managed to slip an arm around your waist and guide you toward the infirmary.

You let your weight collapse into her, your head dropping onto her shoulder. She smelled of antiseptic and something faintly sweet, like vanilla shampoo trying to mask the chemical sting. Her whole frame shook against yours, fine tremors running through her like electricity.

In the quiet of the infirmary, she eased you onto the crisp white bed. You sat there biting your lip, your eyes downcast, summoning a tremor of your own into your voice. “It’s bad, Mikan. The exams are next week… I don’t know if I can do it. The pain is—”

“N-No!” Her cry was immediate, raw. “You have to! You’re… you’re the most beautiful skater I’ve ever seen! P-Please, I’ll do anything to help you!”

You lifted your chin and looked at her through your lashes. Your heart was pounding, but not from fear. It was the thrill of the game, the moment before a high-stakes jump. “…Anything?”

She nodded, frantic, her violet eyes brimming with desperate sincerity.

You drew a shaky breath and let your mask slip just enough to show the frightened, cornered girl. “I need something… stronger. For the pain. Something that’ll let me push through.”

Mikan froze. The change was instant—a stiffening in her shoulders, a flicker of awareness darkening her gaze. Her eyes darted to the locked cabinet where the controlled substances were kept. “I-I… I can’t… T-That’s…”

This was the moment. You reached out and trailed your fingers up the inside of her arm, from the delicate bones of her wrist to the soft crook of her elbow. Her skin was shockingly soft, fever-warm. She sucked in a sharp breath and went completely rigid, a rabbit caught in a snare.

“You’re the only one I trust with this,” you whispered, leaning in so close that your lips nearly grazed the shell of her ear. “The only one who understands me. No one else cares like you do.”

You saw the war in her eyes, duty clawing against a desperate, obsessive need to please you. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. You decided not to give her time to think. You closed the small distance and pressed your mouth to hers.

It was a soft, closed-mouth kiss, but for Mikan it was a miraculous event. She made a choked, broken noise against your lips, and her whole body convulsed as if you’d fired a current through her. Her hands flew up—not to push you away, but to fist desperately in the front of your uniform, knuckles white, clinging.

When you pulled back, she was panting, her face a deep, feverish red, her pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed the violet. She looked utterly, irreversibly ruined.

“Get me what I need,” you murmured, letting your voice drop to something low and suggestive, “and I’ll let you do more.”

That shattered her. The last splinters of her resistance crumbled. With trembling hands, she fumbled the keys from her pocket, unlocked the cabinet, and pressed a small bottle of pills into your palm. You didn’t even check the label. It didn’t matter. You’d won.

You thought that was the end of it. A one-time transaction. You’d take the pills, ace the exam, and then gently, carefully, let her down. You’d say you were confused, that the stress had tangled your feelings. She’d be heartbroken, but she’d get over it.

You were so, so wrong.

—

The pills worked. You performed flawlessly, landing every jump with a precision that felt almost mechanical, your body sailing through the routines without the usual sharp bite of pain. But the moment the drugs wore off, the ache in your ankle came roaring back, deeper and angrier than before. You needed more.

A week later you walked back into the infirmary, a friendly smile fixed in place. “Mikan, hi! My ankle’s acting up again. Do you think I could have a few more of those—”

The door clicked shut behind you. The sound was soft but final.

Mikan’s smile was small, shy, a perfect echo of the girl you’d first befriended. But her eyes were different. There was a new steadiness in them, a focused intensity that snagged your breath.

“O-Of course,” she stammered. “But… you have to let me examine you first. P-Properly this time.”

Your smile faltered. “Examine me?”

She stepped closer, her shoes making no sound on the polished floor. “Y-You said… you said I could do more.”

The phantom pain in your ankle throbbed in time with your heartbeat. You needed those pills. You gave a stiff, wooden nod. “O-Okay.”

What followed was the most unnerving check-up of your life. Her hands, usually so clumsy, were deliberate as she slid your skirt up your thighs, her fingers grazing the sensitive skin in a way that was anything but accidental. Her breath hitched as she “tested your flexibility,” guiding your legs apart with a gentle but unyielding pressure, her gaze fixed on the center of your panties. She took your temperature with a rectal thermometer, the cold intrusion making you flinch, and a soft, desperate moan escaped her lips while she held it in place. You squeezed your eyes shut and endured, your face burning with a shame that made the air feel thick and hot.

When it was over, she handed you the pills, her eyes gleaming with a possessive, wet light. “Y-You were s-so good for me,” she whispered, and the words settled over you like a collar.

---

The demands escalated with every visit, a ladder you hadn’t realized you were descending until the ground was already far above your head.

The next time, the “examination” involved her mouth. She eased you back onto the bed, your uniform top unbuttoned, your bra pushed up to expose your breasts to the cold infirmary air. She claimed she needed to listen to your heartbeat, and then she lowered her head and took your nipple into her mouth, her tongue swirling slow and deliberate until a gasp tore from your throat—a raw, unwilling sound that blurred the line between protest and pleasure. Her hand wandered down between your legs, rubbing you through the damp cotton of your panties with a persistent, circular pressure that built and built until your hips bucked against her fingers and you came apart with a choked cry.

“You’re so responsive,” she mumbled against your breast, her voice dripping with a perverted, reverent glee. “Your body knows it belongs to me.”

You were sinking, and you knew it. The pills were a chain, and Mikan held the other end with a grip that tightened every time you came back. She was becoming unhinged, her obsession twisting into something darker, hungrier, a monster you’d fed with your own hands.

--

The breaking point came on a gray evening after a particularly brutal practice. Your ankle screamed with every step, and you dragged yourself to the infirmary desperate for relief. But this time Mikan didn’t lead you to the bed. She stood in the center of the room holding a small, sleek vibrator, the silicone gleaming dully under the fluorescent lights.

“I… I need to assess your muscle relaxation,” she said, her voice trembling with something that wasn’t quite nerves. “Stress can cause tension that leads to injury. This is a… a medical procedure.”

You stared at her, horror pooling cold in your stomach. “Mikan, no. That’s not—”

The tears came instantly, welling up in her wide eyes and spilling down her cheeks in fat, glittering drops. “You promised!” she wailed, her voice splintering. “You said I could do more! You let me touch you before! You moaned for me! Do you… do you hate me now? Do you think I’m disgusting? I’ll have to tell the headmaster about the medication! You’ll be expelled! Your career will be over!”

The manipulation was a perfect mirror of your own, reflected back at you through a distorted, broken lens. Every word was a trap, and you’d built the cage yourself. You were trapped, and you’d come too far, sacrificed too much to fail now. A cold dread settled into your bones, heavy as lead.

You gave up. You let her guide you onto the bed. You didn’t protest when she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties and slid them down your legs. You spread your legs for her without being asked, and you turned your head to the side, staring at the blank white wall as she positioned the vibrator.

The second she switched it on, a sharp, electric jolt tore through you. The low, insistent buzz hummed against your most sensitive flesh, obscene and unrelenting. Mikan watched, mesmerized, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants as she pressed the device right where your body was most vulnerable.

“See?” she whispered, her voice gone husky and strange. “It’s working. Your muscles are… they’re twitching.”

You bit your lip hard enough to taste copper, trying to lock every sound behind your teeth. It was useless. The vibration drilled into you, expertly angled, and your body—trained to respond, conditioned to perform—began its inevitable betrayal. Heat coiled low in your belly, a tension winding tighter and tighter, slickness coating your inner thighs and making the vibrator glide with obscene ease.

“P-Please…” you whimpered, the word cracking, and you didn’t even know if you were begging her to stop or to finish.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Mikan cooed, her free hand stroking your inner thigh in small, soothing circles. “Just let it happen. Come for me. It’s part of the treatment.”

Her words shoved you over the edge. A broken cry tore from your throat as the orgasm crashed through you, your back bowing off the mattress, your vision whiting out for a long, disorienting second. It was the most intense, shameful release of your life, ripped from you by the very hands you’d once thought you controlled.

As you lay there, panting and trembling in the aftermath, Mikan withdrew the vibrator. She stared at the glistening evidence of your pleasure with a possessive, triumphant gleam that made your stomach turn. Then, holding your gaze, she brought her fingers—soaked with you—to her own mouth and licked them clean, slow and deliberate.

“Mine,” she breathed, her voice thick with an obsession that had long since passed the point of no return. “All mine.”

She finally gave you the pills. You took them with a shaking hand, the plastic bottle cold against your palm. It felt heavier than it should—not a medicine bottle, but a prison sentence.

You had gotten what you wanted. You had your performance enhancers. But as you walked out of the infirmary on unsteady legs, your body still humming with the ghost of the vibrator and the taste of your own shame thick on your tongue, you knew the truth.

In a way, you only have yourself to blame.

Author note: back with another Mikan fic. I love her sm !! If you liked this fic please leave a like and a reblog if you’d like. Request are open. Make sure to read the rules and fandom post !!

[loveobx]

The Good Girl Part 1

dark!ormund hightower x reader

summary: you have been told your service is needed to help aid young prince daeron, but there are whispers that ormund hightower has kept you in oldtown for another purpose

tw: mentions of child abuse

wc: 6.7k

********************************************

People whisper of a beast that lives in House Hightower.

A beast that bludgeons men who anger him, destroys rooms, and burns down buildings.

You hear the servants warn each other of it, their whispers reaching your ears during quiet spells in the night.

During your first months at House Hightower, you wondered if this beast actually existed, or if it was a mere horror story told between serving staff to keep them on their best behavior.

But slowly, as more time passed during your stay in Oldtown, you began to hear it.

Shouts carry through the hallways. You hear screaming from areas you did not know existed. You see servants running from something that you have not witnessed yourself.

Prince Daeron is the one to finally explain it to you.

The two of you sit together in the Hightower library reading through histories of the Gardening when you hear the sound of glass shattering on one of the floors above you. You then hear heavy footsteps, and a crash that is so loud it makes you flinch.

Two guards run past the library doorway, and you begin to fear something is wrong.

“It is only my Uncle Ormund,” Prince Daeron tells you, noticing your expressions. “You needn’t worry, he will not come down here.”

“Lord Ormund?” Your shoulders jump as you hear another crashing of glass. “Is he okay?”

“He must have received a letter he did not like.”

“It sounds worse than an ill-received letter.”

“It is actually quite tame for him.”

You don’t understand it.

Lord Ormund Hightower appears to be the very definition of prestige and class when you are near him.

He is a man that never slouches, never curses, never complains. He is a compass of what a good man should be, and he carries himself as if he is the role model for the world.

“He hides that side of himself from you,” Daeron once confessed to you. “He is easily angered, and is quick to react with violence. He tries to pretend he is well tempered but he is not.”

“I have seen him angry,” you tried to reassure him. “You have not seen him angry. You have seen him upset. He is different when he is angry. He will break everything in his path. He will destroy an entire room. He will wound servants that are near him.”

“It is a sin to harm an innocent in anger-”

“He is different,” Daeron insisted. “That is what I am warning. He believes you to be too gentle to see such a thing, so he hides it, but he is a beast at times. You must be careful.”

A beast. His word choice set you on edge.

It was difficult to believe the almighty Ormund Hightower was the beast everyone spoke of, and not the dragon that lived in the lowest level of the tower.

Even after all the warnings, you still thought people must have been exaggerating to scare you. For months you lived in Oldtown, and you never once saw Ormund raise a hand to anyone.

Until you reached your second year with the Hightowers.

That was when you first saw him physically punish Daeron with a slap to the face. It had been a petty crime Daeron committed, being caught having a taste of his uncle’s wine when he thought he wasn’t looking. It scared you so badly you could not look the Lord in the eye for a week.

By the time your third year here came around, Ormund would frequently discipline the Prince by striking the back of his hands with a leather rod.

Seeing such things made you…wary of him. But he never placed an unkind hand on you.

Daeron says he’s soft for you.

Now, as you neared your fourth year in Oldtown, you find yourself unsure of your attitude towards Ormund. He was a Lord, so you respected him. You try to remember how you have been raised, all the politeness you must show, so you put your personal feelings aside so that you can do your duties properly.

Your duties, which involve the education and faith of Prince Daeron, are difficult at times.

Especially today.

You have sat Daeron down in the library, and you are attempting to get him used to more diligent notetaking, yet he is fighting back with everything he has.

“We spend so many hours in this library,” he complains. “Can we not go somewhere else?”

“We can visit the Sept.”

He lets out an uninterested grunt.

“We can take a break once we reach mid-hour,” you offer. “We’ll take a walk through the gardens.”

Daeron fidgets in his seat. “I wish to visit Tessarion.”

“You know that is not allowed.”

“It’s not recommended. I am the Prince, I can order you to take me anywhere if I really want to.”

“It would be much easier if you just finish your notetaking.”

He sighs as he looks down at the paper. His quill finally starts moving again.

“Perhaps we can ask your uncle at dinner if he can take you down to Tessarion.”

“He would never agree to that, he dislikes her.”

“There is no harm in asking him. The worst he can do is say ‘no’.”

You hear Daeron chuckle, like you have made a joke. “Only you would say such a thing.”

You place down your book. “And why is that?”

“Because you are the only one he does not throw a fit in front of. He’ll hold his tongue for you.” Daeron risks another smile as his quill scrolls across the paper. He uses a mocking voice. “Uncle Ormund says that you are a proper woman, and should not have to bear witness to such foul, abhorrent language.”

You straighten yourself to better posture, surprised by the comment. Lord Ormund was one of the most prestigious, well-classed men you have ever met. To hear such a compliment from him was beyond meaningful.

“Well, that is true,” you say. “Foul language should not be said around ladies.”

“And what of your foul language?”

“I do not use foul language, it is a sin.”

Daeron’s smile turns to a smirk. “You do not think of the word ‘bastard’ as foul? Or do you assume your context of calling the street merchant a ‘bastard’ acceptable?”

Your shoulders slouch, and you feel heat rush to your face. “That was a moment of wrongfulness, and you heard me pray for the Mother to forgive me for it.”

“Perhaps I should tell Uncle Ormund all the words I’ve heard you use so that he is less worried about exposing you to such language-”

“You will not.” Your words come out flustered. “I hardly ever use such language and-and if I have it was well deserved.”

Daeron is even more amused. He leans closer, and fakes a gasp. “You dare believe someone deserves such a name? And here I thought you were supposed to be aiding me in my ethics of the Seven.”

“You stop it,” you tell him. “I have prayed for my wrongdoings. But even if I didn’t...that merchant ripped my coin pouch right from my hands. Had you not retrieved it, your uncle would have never allowed us back to the market again.”

Daeron chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, I agree. The bastard was deserved. And I have to admit it was quite humorous to hear my proper teacher shouting that word across a crowd.”

“You should be finishing your notes, not trying to rile me up,” you tell me. “Let me see your paper so I can be sure you complete your studies before dinner.”

“Let me see your paper,” Daeron counters.

He reaches over, but you quickly flip the book over. “I am not the one who needs to take notes.”

“But let me see yours, so I know I am taking notes correctly.”

You pull your book away.

He smiles wider. “Unless, perhaps, my teacher has not been taking notes. Perhaps she has just been drawing.”

Your face grows hotter in embarrassment. He knew how to get under your skin so easily.

“As the teacher, I am asking to see yours-Daeron!”

He reached over and snatched your parchments from you. He laughs, flipping it back towards you to say, “It is a beautiful flower you have drawn.”

“I have learned these lessons before, I can draw if I wish.”

“Shall I tell Uncle Ormund that you are wasting time in the library with such drawings?”

“You will do no such thing.”

You would be humiliated. You could picture it now. His stern stare looking down at the stupid flower, and then back up at you, silently labeling you as incompetent for the rest of your time here.

“I will keep my mouth shut if we end lessons early today,” Daeron says. “And you allow me to visit Tessarion.”

“Lord Ormund is displeased when you visit her.”

“He would also be displeased by this,” Daeron countered, waving your drawing in front of him.

You are tired of the library anyway, so you figured there was no harm in a quick visit downstairs. You sigh. “Fine. But you must wash before dinner so that he does not smell her on you.”

Daeron smiles again, like he tricked you into giving him the upper hand. Though, in all honesty, he was the Prince. He could have left the library at any time, and you had no true power to stop him.

“May I at least see that you have taken notes?” you ask.

He flips his book around to show you his parchment.

There were no notes. There was only a drawing of you sitting in front of him, drawing a flower.

You open your mouth to lecture him, but quickly shut it. “We will be going to the Sept tonight, and we are going to pray about your lack of enthusiasm for your education.”

He paid no mind to your words. “Come on. I’m sure Tessarion had been missing me greatly.”

The days are always like this with Prince Daeron. Amusing. Frustrating. Happy. Exciting. Nerve wracking. You feel every emotion with the boy everyday.

And it brings you more joy than anything.

When you first arrived at House Hightower, nearly four years prior, Daeron hardly spoke to you.

He had recently turned the age of ten, and at the time you were barely ten and six. He was a quiet boy, and you were a quiet girl. It was extraordinary to see the difference in him now.

Originally, you had been sent to Oldtown by your father, who was a strong believer in the Faith of the Seven. He wanted you to learn how to pray from the Septas of Oldtown, the most devoted women in the realm.

It was Gwayne Hightower that offered for you to stay in House of Hightower, your mother having been a dear friend to Alicent and him in their younger days.

You were meant to be in Oldtown for one month, and then you were to be sent home.

But the gods had a different plan for you.

It was Ormund Hightower that spoke to your father about you becoming an aid for the young prince.

Lord Ormund was a man of religion. He visited the Sept every morning and every night. He was quick to notice, staring on the morning of your arrival, that you did as well.

He admitted to your father that he was impressed with your faith, and even more impressed with how often you partook in prayer.

“Daeron has become very lonesome being so isolated from his siblings,” Lord Ormund had said to you. “It would be beneficial for him to have the company of a girl as mindful as yourself. A girl proper in her ways, and a devoted servant to the Seven.”

When the offer of a more permanent stay was first given to you, you were wary of it. “This is the first time I have been away from home,” you admitted. “I do not know if I would be able to assist the Prince as well as a Septa could.”

“Septas know only scripture,” Ormund reasoned. “They are the education of the spiritual world, and you will help teach him the ways of the physical one.”

In honesty, you felt too young for such a position. Ten and six, you still felt like a child. You were frightened to be so far from your mother, and even more frightened to be in a position responsible for royalty.

And in the beginning, you were frightened of Lord Ormund as well. You had been so scared to talk to him the day he brought his proposal up to you. You had never spoken to him prior to it, and the only reputation you knew was that he was a serious man who was easily disappointed.

So you try to be honest with him, hoping he would understand your hesitancy. “I do not know if I am equipped to handle such a task, my Lord.”

He had smiled at you. A warm smile that made him appear as such a kind and considerate man.

Placing a hand upon your shoulder, he told you, “You are a good girl, (Y/N). All I need is your help in raising my nephew to be just as good.”

Now, nearly four years later, Oldtown feels more like home than your homeland ever did.

Because your brother is here.

Daeron Targaryen, Prince of the realms, will always be the brother you never had. Not a blood brother, like the ones from your homeland, who were cruel to you in your childhood and would throw things your way when you became bothersome. Daeron was a real brother, and seeing him grow up to be kind was the best gift the Mother could ever give you.

“Come,” Daeron hurried you as the two of you descended down the staircase to where Tessarion was kept. “She has been alone for so long, she must be dying for company.”

You disliked the way the Hightowers treated Daeron’s dragon. But you knew it was not your place to interfere with such a thing.

Daeron’s face lights up like the boy he is as he sees her. You stay back against the staircase as Daeron jogs down the steps and over to the creature. “Here I am, girl. I promised I would return to you.”

The sight of the large dragon always makes you wary. Even as she makes screeches of joy as she sets her eyes on her rider, you feel yourself fearing for him.

Yet, he nuzzles his head against hers, and she appears to nuzzle him back. “There you are,” Daeron whispers with a laugh. “Shh. Shh. I told you, I can come down here more often if you are quiet.”

“Be cautious of her claws,” you say as she paws near his feet.

“She knows her strength, she will not harm me,” Daeron assures you.

You rest against the wall, and listen to him whispering soft words of admiration to her.

You are patient as he takes a brush to draw over her scales, grooming her body. He glances over to you. “She is not a monster like they say,” he tells you. “I have raised her to be good.”

You give a soft nod. “She is good, I know.”

“Would you...” He hesitates. “...Would you like to pet her?”

You take a quick step back, shaking your head. “I will keep my distance.”

“She will not harm you, you have my word.”

“Lord Ormund warns they are unpredictable with those that do not have the right blood.”

“Please,” Daeron says. “She sees you so often. I want her to actually meet you.”

Your eyes take in the creature. You stiffen as she stares right at you.

Daeron holds a hand out. “I will be right beside you.”

“What if she dislikes me-?”

“She will not. I promise.” Daeron steps close to you with his hand out. “Trust me, Lady (Y/N).”

It takes a moment of contemplation before you finally decide you do trust him. And if your trust gets you burnt, so be it. You take his hand, and he leads you to the dragon.

He lifts your arm and slowly places it on Tessarion’s head. The texture catches you by surprise and you flinch back.

He chuckles. “It is an odd feeling, isn’t it?”

You choke back a scream when Tessarion moves her head against your stomach. You stumble back, but Daeron places an arm out to steady you. “Daeron-”

“It’s alright. She just wishes to feel you too.”

You force yourself still. The dragon runs her head along your abdomen. Slowly, you lower your hand back onto her. The scales are not so frightening now.

“See,” Daeron smiles. “She likes you.”

“That is very relieving,” you laugh.

“Sometimes I think she can sense how I feel about people,” he tells you. “And that’s how she judges them.”

“Does that mean if you decide you hate me, she will eat me?”

“I would never hate you,” Daeron says. His voice grows more somber. “You are the only true companion I have ever had.”

“For now,” you say. “I am sure you will gain allies over time.”

“Allies,” he repeats. “Not friends.”

“I have no other friends either,” you tell him. “It is not so bad.”

As an aid to royalty, you are secluded from the outside world. Lord Ormund has insisted on it.

‘There is no room for distractions when it comes to your care of my nephew,’ he told you when you first arrived. You were just a girl then, so it made sense to you. But now, nearing your twentieth summer, you feel the seclusion is less necessary. Yet, he still insists on it.

It does matter your opinion, however. It never does with him.

Lord Ormund is the man of the house, so you must bend your knee to his orders.

Daeron is quiet for a moment. He brushes along Tessarion’s back.

“...I wish you were my true sister,” he whispers. “So that I did not have to fear you leaving.”

He has said this before. It makes you feel sympathy that he is so far from his real family, he sometimes forgets he actually does have a true sister.

“I would not leave,” you quickly insist. “I promised I would remain at your side for the rest of your youth.”

“And after?” he asks.

You sigh. “I do not know the plans my father has for me after.” You look again at the creature that has settled comfortably with leaning against your body. “But Tessarion will be here forever, at least for that you are certain. So be good to her.”

“I am,” he swore to you. He leaned his head against the dragon’s once more. “Aren’t I good to you?” he whispers to the dragon.

He was so gentle with the creature.

Daeron was always so gentle, and so kind.

You could not be more proud of him for it.

**********************************************************

A few weeks pass, and the weather becomes warmer. It causes Daeron to lose energy in the day.

“It is shameful to sleep in the Sept, Prince Daeron,” you chide softly, “It is best you wake before someone else sees you.”

The boy barely stirred. Head resting on the pew in front of him, arms folded beneath him, he muffles, “I am not sleeping, I am praying.”

The yawn was still in his voice, and it made you chuckle. “You’ve been unmoving for fifteen minutes.”

“Deep in prayer,” he insists.

Another laugh. “It is almost time for dinner, Daeron. Come. Raise your head, and pray with me once more before we go.”

Daeron slowly lifts his head. He rises from the bench, and comes to kneel beside you in front of the candle altar. He clasps his hands together, and waits for you to begin.

You let your eyes flutter closed and pray, “Mother, please grant us peace of mind in these upcoming weeks. Give us honor in what we do.”

Daeron repeats, “Mother, please grant us peace of mind in these upcoming weeks. Give us honor in what we do.”

“Warrior, please send strength to King Viserys. Please give him health and extend his kingdom.”

Again, Daeron repeats after you. “Warrior, please send strength to my father. Please give him health and extend his kingdom.”

“Crone, please give Prince Daeron wisdom in his studies, and the foresight to see the consequences of laziness-”

“I am not lazy.”

You laugh, and continue, “Please make him into the best scholar he can be.”

Daeron eyes you, before praying, “Mother, please give (Y/N) a kinder heart that is less overbearing-”

“Shh,” you laugh, sticking out your hand to cover his mouth. “Do not say that to her.”

Daeron smiles as he continues, “Crone, give her the wisdom that reminds her I am her Prince, therefore I am in charge-”

“Daeron,” you scold with amusement, “We do not play with the gods.”

“I am not lazy. Take it back.”

“You were sleeping in the Sept.”

“Exhausted, not lazy.”

You huff, yet a smile still plays on your face. “Fine. You are not lazy. But you better be careful. What would you have done had Lord Ormund heard you snoring?”

“I do not snore.”

You shrug. “You would not know.”

You catch him rolling his eyes, to which you criticize, “Do not roll your eyes in the house of the gods.”

“Then let us leave the house of the gods. I am starving.”

“In a moment,” you tell him. “Allow me to do a prayer for our food.”

He sighs, but he stays kneeled beside you. He is patient with you in the Sept, just as you are patient with him with his dragon.

When you two are finished, the guards escort the two of you to Lord Ormund.

It became customary over the last few years for Daeron and yourself to have dinner with Lord Ormund in his private study. The Lord often complained that the Hightower dining hall was unappealing, that it was too close to the kitchens, the aromas were too strong, and he was unable to eat there. The difference in rooms mattered very little to you. You did not mind eating in his study. In fact, it felt like a compliment that you were even invited. It made you feel more valued that your company was enjoyed by both the Lord and Prince.

You are still laughing with Daeron over mundane things as you make your way through the halls.

“What brings such laughter from my nephew?” Ormund asks as the two of you arrive at his study.

You greet the Lord with a curtsy of respect. “Good evening, Lord Ormund.” You rise and smile, “Daeron speaks of plans for his fourteenth nameday.”

“Ah,” he grins. “Yes, that is arriving soon.”

As always, Lord Ormund stands as you enter, and he pulls out your chair for you. You take it with a gracious, “Thank you, my Lord.”

“What kind of celebration would you like?” Ormund asks as he takes his seat. He sits at the head of the table, as always. You take the left side of him, Daeron is sat on the right.

The prince smiles shyly. “I need nothing extravagant. I only wish to have a feast with the three of us, as always. With cake. Perhaps Uncle Gwayne can be here.”

“I can prepare you a cake,” you tell him. “It would be my honor.”

“You need not do it,” Daeron quickly says. “We will pay a baker.”

You tilt your head. “You do not trust my cooking?”

He chuckles. “No offense, my Lady, but I have yet to see you in a kitchen. It seems you do not get much practice at it.”

You let out a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Careful, Daeron,” Ormund chides. “Insulting a woman’s cooking is as if she were to insult your sword fighting.”

“She knows I jest,” Daeron says. “But either way, you should not waste time on such things, Lady (Y/N). Any day that honors me should honor you as well.”

The words warm your heart, and you wonder if this is what motherhood is meant to feel like. “You flatter me.”

“It is true. I feel I am becoming a great man due to your teachings. You as well, Uncle Ormund. I believe I am growing into my strongest self here in Oldtown.”

Ormund smiles proudly at his nephew. He reaches over and places a hand on his shoulder. “The Father smiles upon you, Daeron. You are a blessing to us all.”

“My father sends coin on my nameday,” Daeron says. “I would like to purchase gifts for the two of you. As well as Uncle Gwayne.”

“That is very thoughtful of you, Prince Daeron, but it is not a day you must buy gifts for others. Others should buy gifts for you.”

“I want to,” he says. His tone becomes shy. “I…would like to show my appreciation. With something you will be able to cherish.”

The idea warms your heart.

“Besides, I need nothing,” Daeron says. “And I want for nothing. I would donate my coin rather than hoard it.”

You smile wider, and you meet Lord Ormund’s eye. “He is a very noble boy, your nephew. You should be very proud of him.”

“I am,” Ormund smiles. “My nephew is growing to be flawless.”

“Flawless.” Daeron chuckles. “Except for the snoring, I suppose.”

You laugh. “Yes, except for the snoring.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Lord Ormund lean back against his chair.

“I am very much looking forward to hearing from my mother,” Daeron continues. “She writes to me an especially long letter on my name day each year. My father as well.”

“Perhaps you can have a portrait made to send them,” you suggest. “I’m sure your mother misses your face dearly.”

He lights up at the idea. “A portrait. Yes. I have not had one of those done in a few years.”

“Me neither,” you admit. “I fear my mother has not seen a new portrait of me since I was the age of ten and seven.”

“Then we could all have portraits done. Uncle Ormund, do you think you could call upon an artisan to-” Daeron’s smile drops and his words cease.

Your attention turns to Lord Ormund. A pit forms in your stomach.

He is not looking at either of you. He is simply staring ahead, silent.

Daeron becomes tense. “…Uncle?”

Ormund continues staring ahead, only his finger moving as he taps upon the table, quickly and precise, as if counting the seconds.

“I need no portrait,” Daeron quickly says. “It was only an idea.”

Lord Ormund is angry. You do not know why, or over what, but you know that this is his first stage of anger.

He stares.

He stares, and it gives him time to think. And the more he thinks, the angrier he gets.

Daeron becomes a shade paler at the lack of response. “I-I do not look forward to hearing from my mother as much as I look forward to seeing you, Uncle,” he spurts out, going through every last word he said to think of what could have angered him. “I do not take my place here for granted.”

Ormund’s head tilts to the side, his stare still blank and ominous.

When his eyes land on you, his gaze is so piercing that you flinch.

“My nephew snores?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question.

His hands open and close. “How would you know my nephew snores, Lady (Y/N)-?”

“I fell asleep today,” Daeron quickly cuts in. “I apologize for it. I drifted off, and she-she merely teased me for it.”

Ormund’s eyes don’t leave you.

You have been scolded by Lord Ormund before, plenty of time in fact. But there is something different in his voice now. Those scolding were small corrections, his voice never, ever rose at you. Even now, he speaks calmly. But the look in his eye makes you feel cold.

He does not speak again, simply waiting and watching for you to answer.

“It was only for a moment,” Daeron repeats with worry. “No wrong was done.”

Ormund continues to wait for your response only.

You swallow before speaking, “The Prince drifted off today, as he said. I allowed him to rest for a few minutes because he was tired. I should not tease a Prince about such things, I am sorry.”

“Where did he fall asleep?”

Daeron’s posture is rigid. You bite your lip, considering the consequences of your answer.

“Lady (Y/N).” He speaks your name softly, but there is an edge to his voice that you did not want to press.

You look again at Daeron, and feel as if it would be against your faith to tell on him. Daeron must’ve seen it in your eyes that you were unwilling.

Internally, you make the decision not to answer. You did not fear his uncle harming you for your silence.

But Daeron feared it.

Daeron quickly answered for you, “It was in the Sept.”

His uncle frowned. His head slowly turned to his nephew. “In the Sept?”

“Yes-”

“In our most sacred place of prayer?”

His voice is only a whisper. “I am sorry.”

Ormund slowly pulls his napkin off his lap, folding it and calmly placing it onto the table. He stands to his feet, his boots heavy on the floor as he walks to stand behind Daeron’s chair. He asks, “Did you pray for forgiveness before you left?”

“I...” He swallows. “I did not think to pray for that specifically-”

“Both hands flat on the table.”

Daeron’s face goes completely pale.

Ormund crosses the room to his bookshelf.

Your heart slams in your chest as you rush to your feet, hurrying over to Ormund’s side, trying to match his quick strides. “He said prayers before leaving, my Lord.”

He ignores you. He grabs the leather strapped rod he keeps on the shelf.

The sight of it surges your panic. You struggle to remain by Ormund’s side, placing a hand on his arm to slow him. “He did not mean to offend the gods. He was only tired from the heat of the day-”

“If he did not pray for forgiveness, I will administer punishment.”

“He will not commit the offense again.”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child. He will receive seven lashes. One for each god he offended.” He snaps at Daeron, “Both hands flat on the table. Now.”

Daeron shuts his eyes tightly, doing as told.

You run forward and force yourself in front of your prince. “The lashes should be mine,” you tell Ormund.

Daeron tries to push you away. “No-”

“I was in charge of him, the fault is mine. Allow me the lashes, not him.” In a surge of protectiveness, you try to hide Daeron behind your body. “I offended the gods, not him.”

Lord Ormund watches you with critical eyes.

You knelt down, and place both hands flat on the table.

Daeron’s voice is a quiet whimper as he says, “(Y/N), get up, this is not your punishment.”

You physically push his hands back to his lap, and lay yours flat on the table once more. You stare up at Lord Ormund, whose eyes are still so meticulous.

He stays staring at you a moment longer, and every second that passes, you feel your heart will give out from beating so fast.

Finally, Ormund drops the rod onto the table. Slowly, he kneels beside you and rests his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together. “Lady (Y/N), lead us in a prayer of forgiveness for Daeron’s offense.”

A shaky breath of relief escapes your lips. “Y-Yes, my Lord.”

Daeron quickly kneels beside you as well.

“Mother, please forgive the transgressions of Daeron. He has committed an offensive act that he shall not commit again. Please, allow him grace and hospitality.”

Daeron quickly repeats, “Mother, please forgive my transgressions. I have committed an offensive act that I shall commit again. Please, allow me grace and hospitality.”

Ormund speaks next. “Mother, please forgive the transgressions of Daeron. He has committed an offensive act that he shall not commit again. Please, allow him grace and hospitality.”

Another nervous breath. “Mother, please-please put mercy in the heart of Lord Ormund. Please allow him to grant us the patience and grace that you would.”

Daeron hesitates, his eyes shooting to his uncle, as if terrified of the consequences of this prayer.

“Daeron,” his uncle urges.

Daeron follows, “Mother, please put mercy in the heart of Lord Ormund. Please allow him to grant us the patience and grace that you would.”

Ormund finishes, “Mother, please put mercy in my heart. Please allow me to grant them the patience and grace that you would.”

“And so it is.”

“And so it is.”

“And so it is.” Ormund rises to his feet. “Let us finish dinner.” He pulls out his chair for you to sit.

The rest of the dinner is silent. You have lost your appetite, but try to finish the plate anyway. Lord Ormund is strict with your diet, and if you do not eat now, you will not be allowed food again until morning.

The time ticks by slowly. Daeron fidgets more and more as each minute passes.

“Daeron, you are excused,” Ormund speaks after he is finished with his own meal.

You see in the prince’s eyes that he does not want to leave you.

“Go on,” you tell him. “I will see you in the morning at the library.”

He hesitates only a moment longer. Ormund clears his throat, and he finally goes.

You are left alone with Lord Ormund.

“It is not your place to stand between that boy and his punishments,” he tells you.

You stare down at your hands. “I apologize, Lord Ormund.”

“You apologize, yet if it came down to it, you would do so again.”

You do not lie. “I would.”

Ormund sighs. He rises to his feet. He walks to you, and leans upon the table beside you. His fingers ghost your chin, and he tilts your head up to face him. “I hope you are not allowing your loyalty towards him to cloud your judgement.”

“I am not.”

His fingers graze the side of your face, pushing your hair behind your ears. “I do not only feel responsible for Daeron, (Y/N), I also feel responsible for you. I want what is best for you, I hope you know that.”

“I do, my Lord.”

His hand brushes down the back of your hair. “You have always been such a good girl for me.” His hand stops on the back of your head, and you flinch as his hand suddenly grips your hair. “But I need you to remember that your obedience is to me before my nephew.”

His grip does not hurt, but it frightens you.

You force your hands to remain in your lap. “Y-Yes, my Lord. I remember.”

“The next interference, I will not spare the rod on you.”

You swallow. “I understand.”

Ormund smiles at your agreement. His hand loosens on your hair, and he cups your cheek instead. “I have been told I have a weakness for you, Lady (Y/N). That I am too lenient when you are around, that I lack appropriate sternness.”

You have been told the same thing about him. That he is fond of you, that he treats you kinder than others, that your faith in the Seven makes him more gentle.

Ormund’s hand lingers on your cheek a moment, before he turns your head to the side, and reaches out to wipe away a bead of sweat that began to form on your temple.

“You would not dare use that against me, would you?”

“Never, my Lord.” You realize your hands are forming sweat as well. You open and close them to try to release the nerves. “I-I appreciate your mercy, but it is never expected.”

“Good.” He turns your jaw to face him head on. “Because my patience is not limitless.”

You do not know what he wants you to say. You wonder if he even wants you to say anything at all, or if he just wants to frighten you so you do not interfere again. You simply repeat, “I understand, my Lord.”

You think he will let go of you, but he does not.

Instead, he leans closer, and you hear his long inhale. It is what he does whenever the serving boys bring him new scented powders.

“You smell of candle smoke,” he tells you.

“From my prayer in the Sept, my Lord.”

Your answer satisfies him.

Another moment passes of uncertainty for you. You have never been alone with Ormund for this long before. Your mind goes back to Daeron, and where he might be.

“I think it is time we find a perfume for you.”

The comment catches you by surprise. “A perfume, my Lord?”

“Noble women choose perfumes for themselves. Ones they reorder time and time again. They spray it upon letters when they send it away, and sometimes gift small portions of it to women in their service. It will help mask the scent of the other tasks you attend to during the day. You are old enough now to go and choose your own.”

The idea uplifted you. “I will be able to choose?”

“You will be taken to the market tomorrow. You will pick three scents you like, and I will make the final decision on which one will be yours.”

“Any perfume?”

“Any you desire. There is no budget when it comes to a woman’s cleanliness.”

You feel yourself getting excited over the prospect of shopping. Lord Ormund usually hand picks everything for you, without your opinion on things.

Your excitement makes you bold. “May I choose a new dress for myself as well? It has been a long time since I have had myself fitted.”

His eyes flicker over your face. “You push your luck.”

Your heart drops, and you think you have angered him.

But he merely asks, “What would it be for?”

“For my visits to the Sept,” you quickly tell him, because you know he will not refuse this. “A dress with a thicker skirt so that my knees do not ache at the end of the day.”

Ormund leans back and contemplates. “You recall the rules of modesty for clothing?”

“Of course, my Lord. Neckline higher than the collarbone. Skirts passed the ankles. Arms to the wrist.”

He reaches down and drags his hand up the side of your arm, feeling the material. It was as if he was imagining something new. “Very well then. You may pick up a new dress.”

Your smile grows. You lean up, and you place a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Lord Ormund.”

His smile warms, and his expression turns kind. He is happy with you, and you hear it in his voice as he relents, “I will allow two dresses, if it pleases you.”

“Yes.” Your spirits raise even higher. “Yes, it pleases me greatly, thank you.”

Ormund chuckles at how elated you have become. He leans down and places a kiss onto the top of your head.

He lingers for a moment. You hear his gentle inhale, his quiet judgement of what he smells.

“What oils are used for your hair?”

“Roses, my Lord.”

“Do not choose roses tomorrow. This scent is tied to your girlhood with Daeron. You must find a new scent for womanhood.”

You find the comment odd, so you risk a laugh. “I am already a woman, Lord Ormund.”

His response is just a repeated, “No roses.”

Your laugh goes away. You shake your head. “No roses.”

“You are excused, Lady (Y/N). The guards will escort you to your chambers.”

[rxsesss]

Her favorite patient

Pairing: yandere Mikan tsumuki x fem reader. setting: pre despair au. warning: yandere behavior, dubious/noncon consent, psychological manipulation, medical play. Synopsis: You thought you could use the shy nurse's crush to get what you wanted. But your manipulation awakened a dark obsession. You played with fire, and you are the one getting burned.

The first time you truly noticed, it came as a private little thrill, a shiver of power you hadn’t expected to enjoy.

You were the Ultimate Figure Skater. Naturally, you were used to stares. But Mikan’s stare was different. It wasn’t admiration. It was hunger dressed up as adoration.

You’d been kind to her, and it had cost you nothing. A few soft words when she dropped her papers, a steadying hand when she tripped over her own feet in the corridor, an offer to share your lunch when she hovered at the cafeteria door too afraid to step inside. You built a fragile, lopsided friendship, and she latched onto you like a drowning thing gasping for air.

Then, during a routine check-up after a minor practice fall, her fingers wrapped around your wrist to take your pulse and didn’t let go. The silence stretched. Her thumb stroked the thin skin above your veins in slow circles. You watched the flush crawl up her throat, staining her cheeks a blotchy pink. When she leaned in to press the cold bell of her stethoscope to your chest, her gaze slipped down to your mouth and stuck there, heavy and unblinking.

It wasn’t just gratitude in her eyes. It was a desperate, consuming crush, the kind that leaves a girl weak-kneed and trembling. And you, staring down the barrel of Hope’s Peak practical exams, saw an opportunity.

A real injury and a persistent ache in your right ankle had been plaguing you for weeks. You could skate through it, but the complex jump sequences demanded much more. A single flinch could mean failure. What you needed was something strong. A painkiller. Maybe a mild stimulant to sharpen your edges. The sort of thing the head nurse wouldn’t hand over without a fortress of paperwork and questions you didn’t want to answer.

But Mikan had the keys to the infirmary. Mikan, who looked at you like you’d personally hung every star in the sky.

The plan unspooled in your mind with an unsettling ease. You’d use what you had.

It began with touches that could be dismissed as accidental. Your hand resting on her shoulder a beat too long after helping her up. Leaning in close to whisper something mundane, just to feel her whole body seize, to hear her breath catch in her throat. You played the sweet, oblivious friend, fanning the flames while keeping your own expression wide and untroubled. You saw exactly what you did to her. the way her eyes went glassy and her fingers fumbled whenever she was near you. A little pervert, falling apart just from wrapping a blood pressure cuff around your arm.

The day you decided to make your move, you ´accidentally' tripped in the hallway right in front of her.

“O-Oh my! P-Please, let me—let me help you!” Her voice cracked, skidding into a squeak. Her hands fluttered uselessly before she managed to slip an arm around your waist and guide you toward the infirmary.

You let your weight collapse into her, your head dropping onto her shoulder. She smelled of antiseptic and something faintly sweet, like vanilla shampoo trying to mask the chemical sting. Her whole frame shook against yours, fine tremors running through her like electricity.

In the quiet of the infirmary, she eased you onto the crisp white bed. You sat there biting your lip, your eyes downcast, summoning a tremor of your own into your voice. “It’s bad, Mikan. The exams are next week… I don’t know if I can do it. The pain is—”

“N-No!” Her cry was immediate, raw. “You have to! You’re… you’re the most beautiful skater I’ve ever seen! P-Please, I’ll do anything to help you!”

You lifted your chin and looked at her through your lashes. Your heart was pounding, but not from fear. It was the thrill of the game, the moment before a high-stakes jump. “…Anything?”

She nodded, frantic, her violet eyes brimming with desperate sincerity.

You drew a shaky breath and let your mask slip just enough to show the frightened, cornered girl. “I need something… stronger. For the pain. Something that’ll let me push through.”

Mikan froze. The change was instant—a stiffening in her shoulders, a flicker of awareness darkening her gaze. Her eyes darted to the locked cabinet where the controlled substances were kept. “I-I… I can’t… T-That’s…”

This was the moment. You reached out and trailed your fingers up the inside of her arm, from the delicate bones of her wrist to the soft crook of her elbow. Her skin was shockingly soft, fever-warm. She sucked in a sharp breath and went completely rigid, a rabbit caught in a snare.

“You’re the only one I trust with this,” you whispered, leaning in so close that your lips nearly grazed the shell of her ear. “The only one who understands me. No one else cares like you do.”

You saw the war in her eyes, duty clawing against a desperate, obsessive need to please you. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. You decided not to give her time to think. You closed the small distance and pressed your mouth to hers.

It was a soft, closed-mouth kiss, but for Mikan it was a miraculous event. She made a choked, broken noise against your lips, and her whole body convulsed as if you’d fired a current through her. Her hands flew up—not to push you away, but to fist desperately in the front of your uniform, knuckles white, clinging.

When you pulled back, she was panting, her face a deep, feverish red, her pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed the violet. She looked utterly, irreversibly ruined.

“Get me what I need,” you murmured, letting your voice drop to something low and suggestive, “and I’ll let you do more.”

That shattered her. The last splinters of her resistance crumbled. With trembling hands, she fumbled the keys from her pocket, unlocked the cabinet, and pressed a small bottle of pills into your palm. You didn’t even check the label. It didn’t matter. You’d won.

You thought that was the end of it. A one-time transaction. You’d take the pills, ace the exam, and then gently, carefully, let her down. You’d say you were confused, that the stress had tangled your feelings. She’d be heartbroken, but she’d get over it.

You were so, so wrong.

—

The pills worked. You performed flawlessly, landing every jump with a precision that felt almost mechanical, your body sailing through the routines without the usual sharp bite of pain. But the moment the drugs wore off, the ache in your ankle came roaring back, deeper and angrier than before. You needed more.

A week later you walked back into the infirmary, a friendly smile fixed in place. “Mikan, hi! My ankle’s acting up again. Do you think I could have a few more of those—”

The door clicked shut behind you. The sound was soft but final.

Mikan’s smile was small, shy, a perfect echo of the girl you’d first befriended. But her eyes were different. There was a new steadiness in them, a focused intensity that snagged your breath.

“O-Of course,” she stammered. “But… you have to let me examine you first. P-Properly this time.”

Your smile faltered. “Examine me?”

She stepped closer, her shoes making no sound on the polished floor. “Y-You said… you said I could do more.”

The phantom pain in your ankle throbbed in time with your heartbeat. You needed those pills. You gave a stiff, wooden nod. “O-Okay.”

What followed was the most unnerving check-up of your life. Her hands, usually so clumsy, were deliberate as she slid your skirt up your thighs, her fingers grazing the sensitive skin in a way that was anything but accidental. Her breath hitched as she “tested your flexibility,” guiding your legs apart with a gentle but unyielding pressure, her gaze fixed on the center of your panties. She took your temperature with a rectal thermometer, the cold intrusion making you flinch, and a soft, desperate moan escaped her lips while she held it in place. You squeezed your eyes shut and endured, your face burning with a shame that made the air feel thick and hot.

When it was over, she handed you the pills, her eyes gleaming with a possessive, wet light. “Y-You were s-so good for me,” she whispered, and the words settled over you like a collar.

---

The demands escalated with every visit, a ladder you hadn’t realized you were descending until the ground was already far above your head.

The next time, the “examination” involved her mouth. She eased you back onto the bed, your uniform top unbuttoned, your bra pushed up to expose your breasts to the cold infirmary air. She claimed she needed to listen to your heartbeat, and then she lowered her head and took your nipple into her mouth, her tongue swirling slow and deliberate until a gasp tore from your throat—a raw, unwilling sound that blurred the line between protest and pleasure. Her hand wandered down between your legs, rubbing you through the damp cotton of your panties with a persistent, circular pressure that built and built until your hips bucked against her fingers and you came apart with a choked cry.

“You’re so responsive,” she mumbled against your breast, her voice dripping with a perverted, reverent glee. “Your body knows it belongs to me.”

You were sinking, and you knew it. The pills were a chain, and Mikan held the other end with a grip that tightened every time you came back. She was becoming unhinged, her obsession twisting into something darker, hungrier, a monster you’d fed with your own hands.

--

The breaking point came on a gray evening after a particularly brutal practice. Your ankle screamed with every step, and you dragged yourself to the infirmary desperate for relief. But this time Mikan didn’t lead you to the bed. She stood in the center of the room holding a small, sleek vibrator, the silicone gleaming dully under the fluorescent lights.

“I… I need to assess your muscle relaxation,” she said, her voice trembling with something that wasn’t quite nerves. “Stress can cause tension that leads to injury. This is a… a medical procedure.”

You stared at her, horror pooling cold in your stomach. “Mikan, no. That’s not—”

The tears came instantly, welling up in her wide eyes and spilling down her cheeks in fat, glittering drops. “You promised!” she wailed, her voice splintering. “You said I could do more! You let me touch you before! You moaned for me! Do you… do you hate me now? Do you think I’m disgusting? I’ll have to tell the headmaster about the medication! You’ll be expelled! Your career will be over!”

The manipulation was a perfect mirror of your own, reflected back at you through a distorted, broken lens. Every word was a trap, and you’d built the cage yourself. You were trapped, and you’d come too far, sacrificed too much to fail now. A cold dread settled into your bones, heavy as lead.

You gave up. You let her guide you onto the bed. You didn’t protest when she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties and slid them down your legs. You spread your legs for her without being asked, and you turned your head to the side, staring at the blank white wall as she positioned the vibrator.

The second she switched it on, a sharp, electric jolt tore through you. The low, insistent buzz hummed against your most sensitive flesh, obscene and unrelenting. Mikan watched, mesmerized, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants as she pressed the device right where your body was most vulnerable.

“See?” she whispered, her voice gone husky and strange. “It’s working. Your muscles are… they’re twitching.”

You bit your lip hard enough to taste copper, trying to lock every sound behind your teeth. It was useless. The vibration drilled into you, expertly angled, and your body—trained to respond, conditioned to perform—began its inevitable betrayal. Heat coiled low in your belly, a tension winding tighter and tighter, slickness coating your inner thighs and making the vibrator glide with obscene ease.

“P-Please…” you whimpered, the word cracking, and you didn’t even know if you were begging her to stop or to finish.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Mikan cooed, her free hand stroking your inner thigh in small, soothing circles. “Just let it happen. Come for me. It’s part of the treatment.”

Her words shoved you over the edge. A broken cry tore from your throat as the orgasm crashed through you, your back bowing off the mattress, your vision whiting out for a long, disorienting second. It was the most intense, shameful release of your life, ripped from you by the very hands you’d once thought you controlled.

As you lay there, panting and trembling in the aftermath, Mikan withdrew the vibrator. She stared at the glistening evidence of your pleasure with a possessive, triumphant gleam that made your stomach turn. Then, holding your gaze, she brought her fingers—soaked with you—to her own mouth and licked them clean, slow and deliberate.

“Mine,” she breathed, her voice thick with an obsession that had long since passed the point of no return. “All mine.”

She finally gave you the pills. You took them with a shaking hand, the plastic bottle cold against your palm. It felt heavier than it should—not a medicine bottle, but a prison sentence.

You had gotten what you wanted. You had your performance enhancers. But as you walked out of the infirmary on unsteady legs, your body still humming with the ghost of the vibrator and the taste of your own shame thick on your tongue, you knew the truth.

In a way, you only have yourself to blame.

Author note: back with another Mikan fic. I love her sm !! If you liked this fic please leave a like and a reblog if you’d like. Request are open. Make sure to read the rules and fandom post !!

[rxsesss]

MASTERLIST

Danganronpa:

Clinical despair: yandere Mikan Tsumuki x fem reader.

Her favorite patient: yandere Mikan Tsumuki x reader.

[rxsesss]

RULES AND FANDOMS

Hey everyone! Before you dive in, please take a sec to read these rules. It’ll keep this place fun and safe for everyone.

THE RULES:

1. No Hate Allowed. I have a zero-tolerance policy for hate or discrimination against any minority group. If that's you, you are not welcome here. Don't interact with me or my posts.

2. Minors DNI (Do Not Interact). This is an 18+ blog. My content is for adults only. If you are a minor, do not request or interact. I will check your bio for your age. If you're a minor, your request will be ignored and you will be blocked.

3. Content Warning. My blog contains dark and mature themes. This includes, but isn't limited to: incest, noncon, dubcon, yandere themes, and abusive relationships. Please proceed with caution.

4. All Characters are Adults. I only write for adult characters. If a character is not canonically an adult, I will age them up for my stories.

5. What I Won't Write. I refrain from writing about the following topics:

· Eating Disorders.

· Piss Kinks.

· Vomit.

· Gore.

· Yandere Reader.

· OC-Centric Stories.

· Suicide & Self-Harm.

· Reader's Death.

6. Be Cool & Patient. Please be respectful when sending requests. Don't rush or spam me—I'll get to your request when I can. I really appreciate your patience!

Fandoms:

Here's a list of the main fandoms I'm familiar with:

· Attack on Titan

· My Hero Academia

· Demon Slayer

· Chainsaw Man

· the disastrous life of Saiki K

· Danganronpa

· Bleach

· yandere simulator

· doki doki literature club

· Naruto

· Black Clover

· Tokyo Ghoul

· haikyuu

· blue lock

· koruno no basket

· seraph of the end

· Tokyo Revengers

· Persona

· Fire Force

· kakegurui

· Bungou Stray Dogs

The only two non-anime shows I write for are:

· Yellowjackets

· Arcane

· & more….

A COUPLE EXTRA NOTES:

· Don't See Your Fandom? No worries! If you don't see the anime/game your character is from on my list, feel free to ask anyway! I might know it and just forgot to add it, or I can do some research and still write your request.

· Prioritizing Female Characters & Specific Ideas! I made this blog mostly to write for female characters because there's a huge lack of content for them. So, requests with female characters will be prioritized! Also, the more specific your request is (with a scenario or idea), the easier it is for me to write, so those will be prioritized, too.

That’s all! Thanks for reading! 🩷🩷

[rxsesss]

Hi! I just want to say that I adore your Mikan fanfic. Someone left a comment asking me to write something similar with Fuyuhiko, and I want to second that. Thank you in advance if you agree!

Heyyy. Thank you so much for your feedback and yes of course you can use the idea. I would appreciate it if you’d tag me. 🥰💕

[rxsesss]

Clinical despair

Pairing: yandere mikan tsumuki x female reader. Warning: Mature/Explicit. This story contains Yandere Behavior, Obsession, Non-Con/Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, Psychological Manipulation, Medical play. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Synopsis: You were the only student from Hope's Peak's Class 77-B who wasn't there the day the brainwashing happened. Now you're alone, hiding from your former classmates who had become remnants of despair. But Mikan Tsumiki, who always had a thing for you, has finally found her favorite person. And she's not letting you get away again.

The world had broken into jagged, despair-soaked pieces, and you were just one more fragile thing trying not to get cut.

You had been a student of Hope’s Peak Academy, part of Class 77-B, but on the day everything went to hell, you were curled in your dorm bathroom, sick and shivering with a stomach bug. That tiny, pathetic illness saved you from the brainwashing that swallowed your classmates whole. You missed the broadcast. You missed the indoctrination. You missed becoming a Remnant of Despair.

But that luck was a cruel kind of mercy, because now you were utterly alone.

The city around you was a corpse of its former self. Skyscrapers with hollowed-out eyes, streets littered with debris and old bloodstains. Somewhere out there, your former friends were spreading misery with smiles on their faces, their minds twisted into something unrecognizable. You survived by moving constantly, scavenging for scraps and never, ever staying in one place too long.

Today, your search for food had led you to the shattered remains of a pharmacy. The windows were blown out, the sign hanging by a single rusted chain, but you’d learned that the most dangerous places often held the best untouched supplies. Your heart hammered as you crept through the dim aisles, stepping over broken glass and fallen shelves. Finally, your fingers closed around a can of beans, dented, but sealed. The small victory nearly made you weep.

That’s when you heard it.

A soft, lilting hum drifting through the dead air. A familiar nursery rhyme, but twisted, the notes sliding off-key in a way that made the fine hairs on your arms stand up. Your blood ran cold. You knew that voice. You didn’t recognize it immediately—obviously, it had been months, but eventually, you did.

Mikan Tsumiki.

You ducked behind a collapsed metal shelf, pressing your spine against the cold debris, your breath trapped in your chest. Through a narrow gap, you saw her.

She stood in the pale, dusty light filtering through the shattered ceiling and she was different. The Mikan you remembered from Hope’s Peak was a girl who seemed perpetually afraid of her own shadow, shoulders hunched, voice a trembling whisper, always apologizing for simply existing. She had been a fragile, broken thing that, despite everything, you had occasionally found yourself looking out for.

This Mikan stood straight, her posture almost regal, a serene, unhinged smile playing at the corners of her lips. Her nurse’s uniform, once pristine, was now filthy and smeared with dark, rust-colored stains that could only be dried blood. The apron was torn at the hem, revealing a flash of thigh wrapped in a bandage. In her hand, a scalpel spun lazily between her pale fingers, catching the faint light with each slow rotation.

“Oh my,” Mikan sang, her voice sweet as poisoned honey. “So many hurt people everywhere… it’s truly despairing.”

Your stomach clenched. She was one of them now. A Remnant of Despair. The girl you used to share lunch with, the girl who would blush and stammer whenever you offered her a kind word. she was gone, hollowed out and filled with something monstrous.

You held your breath, counting the seconds, praying she would just leave. But the world had never been that kind to you. Your foot, shifting minutely to relieve a cramp, nudged a shard of broken glass. The tiny chime of sound was deafening in the silence.

The humming stopped.

Mikan’s head snapped toward your hiding spot with an unnatural, bird-like jerk. That serene smile split wider, stretching into something hungry and knowing. “A-ah? Is someone there? A little patient, hiding from their nurse?”

You went absolutely still, every instinct screaming at you to run, but your body refused to obey. This was it. After all your desperate hiding, you had been found.

She moved with a speed that didn’t make sense, crossing the rubble-strewn floor in a blink. Suddenly she was looming over you, her silhouette blocking out the light, and those eyes — those wild, fever-bright eyes — locked onto your face with a recognition that sent ice through your veins.

“[Y/N]-chan?” she breathed, and for a fraction of a second, her voice cracked with something almost like the old Mikan, something vulnerable and desperate. Then the manic glee swallowed it whole. “It’s really you. I looked everywhere for you. I searched and searched, and every day I couldn’t find you, I felt such despair — such wonderful, aching despair — it was almost too much to bear.”

She giggled, a high, fractured sound that skittered down your spine like a spider. “But finding you now, in this ruined little place… this is the best despair I’ve ever felt. This is a gift.”

“M-Mikan… please,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. You tried to scramble backward, your hands scraping against the grimy floor, but there was nowhere to go. The shelf was at your back, and she was everywhere else.

“Shhh, shhh,” she cooed, dropping into a crouch in front of you. Her free hand lifted, and before you could flinch away, her cold, slightly sticky fingers pressed against your cheek. The touch was almost tender, but there was a weight to it. “Don’t be scared. I’ll protect you now. I’ll take care of everything. That’s what nurses do, isn’t it? We take care of our favorite patients.”

The stuttering, apologizing mess you remembered was gone. In its place was something confident, something terrifyingly assured. You didn’t see the syringe in her other hand until it was too late. There was a sharp, precise prick in the side of your neck, and a strange warmth began to bloom outward from the injection site, heavy and unstoppable.

“Just a little something to help you sleep,” Mikan murmured, her arm sliding around your shoulders to catch you as your vision began to swim. “I have a safe place for us. A special room, just for you. No one will ever find us there.”

Your lips tried to form a protest, a plea, but your tongue was thick and useless. The last thing you saw was her face, haloed by the dirty light, smiling down at you with all the affection of a saint and all the mercy of a scalpel. Then the world dissolved into black.

Waking up was a slow, syrupy process. your mind clawing its way out of a drugged fog one painful inch at a time.

The first thing you registered was the color white. Blinding, clinical white. The ceiling above you was smooth and unblemished. The walls were blank, devoid of windows save one, which was crisscrossed with heavy iron bars. The air smelled of antiseptic and something faintly floral, lavender, maybe, but the sweetness felt artificial, cloying.

You tried to move and discovered that your body was a distant, sluggish thing. Your limbs were heavy, wrapped in a thin patient gown that felt rough against your skin. An IV line was taped to the crook of your arm, the tube snaking up to a bag of clear fluid hanging from a metal stand. The quiet beeping of a heart monitor filled the silence, its rhythm a steady, mechanical lullaby.

This wasn’t a hospital. It was a cell dressed up as one.

Before you could fully gather your scattered thoughts, a door you hadn’t noticed swung open on silent hinges, and Mikan stepped inside. She was wearing a fresh nurse’s uniform now, crisp and white, though the dark circles under her eyes and the feverish glint in her gaze betrayed the image of professional care. She was carrying a small clipboard, and when she saw that you were awake, her whole face lit up with a joy that made your stomach clench with dread.

“You’re awake!” she exclaimed, bustling over to your bedside with quick, eager steps. “I was so worried. Your vitals were stable, but you slept for a long time, and I kept thinking-what if I gave you too much? What if you didn’t wake up? The despair would have been unbearable.”

She checked the IV drip, her fingers brushing the bag with a reverent touch. “You need your fluids. You were so dehydrated when I found you. not taking care of yourself at all. But that’s okay now. I’ll be your nurse from now on. Only me.”

You found your voice, though it came out hoarse and weak. “Mikan… where am I? What is this place?”

“Somewhere safe,” she said simply, turning to stroke your hair. Her touch made your skin crawl, every nerve screaming for you to pull away, but your body was still too heavy with residual sedatives. All you could do was endure it as her fingers combed gently through the strands. “The outside world is awful, [Y/N]-chan. It’s full of pain and suffering and despair. But in here, it’s just us. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll keep you healthy and clean and fed. I’ll love you so much that you’ll never need anything else.”

She leaned down, her face hovering inches from yours, and her breath was warm and sweet against your ear. “You’re my gift. And I’m never, ever letting you go.”

The hours passed in a blur of drugged dozing and fragile, terrified wakefulness. At some point, Mikan brought you a tray of bland, easy-to-digest food. rice porridge, a cup of water and watched you eat with a rapt, adoring expression that made every bite stick in your throat. She talked while you ate, her voice a constant, lilting stream.

“I used to dream about this, you know. Back at Hope’s Peak, when we were in class together and you were so kind to me. Do you remember? You’d smile at me in the hallway, and I’d get so flustered I’d drop my books. I thought about you every night in my dorm room. Sometimes I couldn’t sleep at all. I’d just lie there, imagining what it would be like if you were in the bed next to mine, if I could just reach out and touch your hand…”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your mind was still reeling, trying to find an exit that didn’t exist.

“You were the only one who was ever nice to me without wanting something in return,” she continued, her voice softening into something almost sad. “Everyone else-Hiyoko especially. they just bullied me. They pushed me around and laughed at me. But you… you saw me. You really saw me.” Her gaze grew intense, that fragile sadness hardening into obsession. “And now I get to keep you. Just you and me. Isn’t that beautiful?”

She reached out and caught a stray tear you hadn’t realized was slipping down your cheek. She examined it on her fingertip, then brought it to her lips, tasting it. “Don’t cry, [Y/N]-chan. I’m going to make you so happy. I promise.”

—

That night, the lights in your room dimmed to a low, amber glow, casting long shadows across the sterile walls. You were drifting in and out of an uneasy doze when the door opened again, and Mikan slipped inside like a ghost.

Instead, she was draped in a thin, white slip that clung to the curves of her body, the fabric nearly sheer in the low light. Her hair, usually tied back, fell loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and her lips were parted slightly as if she’d been breathing too fast for too long.

“[Y/N]-chan,” she breathed, and the sound of your name in her mouth was a caress and a threat all at once. “I’ve waited so long for this. So, so long.”

You tried to push yourself up, tried to move away, but your limbs were leaden again. not as paralyzed as before, but slow, uncooperative. She must have put something in the IV while you slept, some mild sedative to keep you pliant. “Mikan… don’t do this.”

“Even before everything changed,” she whispered, crawling onto the foot of the bed with slow, deliberate movements, “before the Tragedy, before the despair set me free- I thought about you constantly. During class, I’d sit behind you and just stare at the back of your neck, wondering what touching it would feel like. At night, I’d lock myself in my room and touch myself, imagining your voice, your scent, your hands on my skin. I’d come with your name on my lips and then cry because I was too much of a coward to ever tell you.”

She was kneeling over your legs now, her weight barely pressing down, but the cage of her body was absolute. Her cold fingers reached out and traced the line of your jaw, and you shuddered violently.

“I was so weak then,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt for her past self. “Always stuttering, always apologizing, always letting people hurt me. But despair changed everything. Despair made me strong. It showed me that the only thing that matters is what I want. And I want you, [Y/N]-chan. I’ve always wanted you.”

Her hand slid down to the ties at the shoulder of your patient gown. With a few deft, practiced tugs, the knots came loose. The fabric gaped open, exposing the upper curve of your chest to the cool air. You tried to push her hands away, but your arms felt like they were moving through molasses. “Please… stop.”

Mikan’s smile sharpened, a blade wrapped in velvet. “That voice,” she murmured, her thumbs brushing the newly bared skin just below your collarbones. “So full of fear, so desperate. I love it. I used to imagine the sounds you’d make. The little whimpers, the gasps. My dreams were never this good.”

She pulled the gown fully open, baring your breasts to the dim light. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, both from the cold and from the weight of her stare. Mikan’s eyes went wide, her pupils swallowing the iris, and a low, reverent sound escaped her throat.

“So pretty,” she breathed. “Even prettier than my imagination. I touched myself so many times trying to picture this, but it’s nothing compared to the real thing.”

Her hands were on you then, not with the hesitant, fumbling touch you might have expected from the old Mikan, but with a slow, methodical confidence. Her palms slid over your shoulders, down the slope of your chest, cupping your breasts with the kind of clinical ownership a collector might display toward a prized artifact. Her thumbs found your nipples, rubbing over them in slow, deliberate circles until they hardened traitorously under her touch, and a sharp, involuntary gasp escaped your lips.

“See?” Mikan cooed, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Your body knows me. Your body wants me. It doesn’t care about what your mouth says.”

The shame that flooded you was a physical thing, hot and choking. You hated the way your nerves sparked under her fingers, hated the treacherous warmth that was beginning to pool low in your belly. Your mind was screaming no, but your body was responding to the stimulation with a will of its own, and Mikan could see it. She could see everything.

She lowered her head, and her mouth closed over your left nipple.

A strangled cry tore from your throat. The sensation was overwhelming, wet, hot, wrong and her tongue was swirling and flicking while her other hand continued to knead and pinch at your right breast. She sucked with an obscene, hungry sound, her teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, the heat in your core pulsed with a life of its own. You felt sick, disgusted with yourself, but Mikan only moaned against your skin, the vibration sending another unwanted jolt of pleasure straight to your cunt.

When she pulled back, her lips were shiny with saliva, her face flushed with ecstatic arousal. “You taste so good. I could do this for hours.” Her eyes trailed down your body, over your stomach, to where the gown still partially covered your hips. “But I want more. I want all of you.”

Her hands slid down, pushing the rumpled fabric aside, over your hip bones, your thighs. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties, plain and white. Then she pulled them down with agonizing slowness, watching your face the entire time, drinking in your helpless humiliation. When the last scrap of fabric was gone, she tossed them aside and simply looked at you, her gaze raking over your bared pussy with naked, reverent hunger.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You couldn’t bear to see it, the triumph in her expression, the way she was admiring you like a meal she was about to devour.

Something cold and sharp pressed against the delicate skin of your inner thigh.

“Open your eyes, [Y/N]-chan,” Mikan said, her voice still sickly sweet, but underlined with a new, hard edge. “I want you to look at me.”

When you didn’t obey, the cold pressure increased , just a fraction, just enough to threaten. The scalpel. Your heart slammed against your ribs, and a fresh wave of terror drowned the unwanted heat in your belly. Your eyes flew open.

Mikan was holding the blade with expert precision, the flat of it resting against your skin, the point angled away for now. Her smile was beatific. “There you are. I want you to see everything I do to you. I want you to remember who makes your body feel this way. If you close your eyes again…” She let the threat hang, unfinished, more terrifying for its ambiguity.

Tears blurred your vision, but you forced yourself to keep looking at her. She nodded, pleased, and set the scalpel carefully on the bedside table, still within easy reach. “Good girl. That’s my good girl.”

Then she settled between your spread thighs, her shoulders nudging your legs further apart, and her face hovered mere inches from your exposed cunt. The heat of her breath ghosted over your sensitive flesh, and you jerked involuntarily, a whimper catching in your throat.

“Mine,” Mikan whispered. “Every part of you. Mine.”

Her fingers reached out first , light, teasing touches that traced the outer lips of your pussy with maddening gentleness. She mapped you with the focus of a scholar, learning every fold and dip, every place that made you twitch and gasp. When her fingertip brushed over your clit, your hips bucked without your permission, and she laughed, a low, delighted sound.

“Right there,” she breathed. “That’s your special spot, isn’t it? I’ve read all about this. I’ve studied so many medical texts, but nothing prepared me for how beautiful you’d look like this, all wet and trembling for me.”

She was right, and the knowledge made you want to vomit. You were wet. You could feel it, the slickness coating your folds, and Mikan’s fingers glistened when she pulled them back to show you. “Look at this,” she said, holding up her slick-coated fingers for you to see. “Your body wants this so badly. It doesn’t care that you’re scared. It’s aching for me.”

Before you could muster a denial, she lowered her head and pressed her mouth to your cunt.

A broken moan was ripped from your chest. Her tongue was hot and agile, licking a broad stripe from your entrance up to your clit, and then settling there with merciless focus. She licked and sucked, alternating between soft, fluttering movements and hard, pointed pressure that made stars burst behind your eyes. Her hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, keeping you from squirming away, and she moaned against your pussy like it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. The vibrations of her voice shuddered through your core, amplifying every sensation a hundredfold.

“M-Mikan—!” you gasped, your hands fisting in the sheets, your back beginning to arch despite your desperate attempts to stay still. She was relentless, her tongue tracing patterns that felt like they were designed specifically to tear you apart. The pressure was building, a horrible, wonderful coil tightening deep in your abdomen, and you could feel your orgasm approaching like a wave you couldn’t outrun.

“That’s it,” Mikan murmured against your wet flesh, her voice muffled but thick with triumph. “I can feel you getting close. Your little clit is throbbing against my tongue. Don’t fight it. Let go for me.”

She sealed her lips around your clit and sucked, hard, and at the same moment, two of her slender fingers pushed inside your cunt. They curled upward, finding that devastating spot on your inner wall with unerring accuracy, and the combination shattered you.

Your climax crashed over you with the force of a tidal wave, your whole body seizing, your back bowing off the mattress, a raw, sobbing cry tearing from your throat. Your pussy clenched and pulsed around her fingers, drenching her hand with your release, and Mikan kept going, her tongue still working your clit, her fingers still pumping slowly, drawing out every last shudder until you collapsed, limp and trembling, tears streaming down your face.

The pleasure had been devastating, and the shame that followed was even worse. You had come on her tongue, on her fingers, in this prison she’d built for you, and the look on her face when she finally lifted her head was one of absolute, blissful fulfillment.

She crawled up your body slowly, her own slip damp with sweat and clinging to her skin. Her face was flushed, her chin and lips still glistening with your wetness. She looked drunk, delirious, utterly consumed. Without a word, she captured your mouth in a deep, searching kiss, forcing her tongue past your lips, making you taste your own release on her tongue. The kiss was possessive, devouring, a claim staked into your very mouth.

When she pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips before breaking. She smiled.

“Now you’re truly mine,” she whispered, gathering you into her arms and pulling you against her chest. She nuzzled into the crook of your neck, her breath warm and even against your pulse. “Your body knows it. It will crave this again, and I’ll give it to you over and over, until you can’t imagine living without my touch.”

You lay there, limp and spent, your mind a white static of horror and unwanted pleasure. Her arms were wrapped around you like iron bands, soft but inescapable, and the slow, contented rise and fall of her chest was a lullaby of captivity.

She pulled back just enough to look into your tear-streaked face, and her eyes were endless, dark pools of devotion and madness. “I love you, [Y/N]-chan. I’ve always loved you. And now I have forever to prove it.”

She hugged you tighter, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your eyelids, the corner of your trembling mouth. Then she settled against you with a sigh of profound, twisted contentment, her fingers idly stroking your arm, her body a living cage around yours.

Outside, the ruined world spun on, indifferent and desolate. But in this sterile, white room, there was only Mikan’s suffocating love

Author note: there it is. My first ever work. English is not my first language so bear with me. I’ve noticed the lack of female characters content so I took it upon myself to write this. As you can tell this is a dark blog and I write for both male and female characters. I’ll make a post explaining requesting rules and all that stuff. For now you can leave requests and I’ll see if I’ll take them or not. Please leave reviews and likes, I would appreciate it !!!

[hrrtshape-deactivated20250705]

what is awareness. oh my god what is awareness. (can i put glitter on it, and most importantly, how do i tune it??)

awareness ≠ your thoughts. awareness ≠ your memories. awareness is not your identity. awareness is location. like literally.... where are you. where is your attention seated. if you're reading this post and thinking about how you looked weird in that group photo from 2019, then congrats. you're not here. your awareness is in a jpeg. you change your body? awareness stays. you forget your name? awareness stays. you close your eyes and imagine a different life so vividly you cry? awareness watched you do it.

when people say "i am awareness" they're not being poetic. they're being literal. you aren't your body. you aren't your thoughts. you aren't your opinions or memories or delusions or trauma-borne personality glitches. you are the thing aware of them. and if that's true, if awareness is what you are, then it also means awareness is portable.

you are not locked in here with yourself. you're holding the keys and pacing in a circle. you could walk out of the room. you just keep saying "but this room is familiar." you think you're being loyal, you're being stubborn.

to change your reality, you don't drag this awareness into another version of life. you relocate it. you frequent a new one. stop asking how. stop trying to turn this into a 12-step plan. you're not downloading the shift update off the app store. you don't do anything. you identify.

 　　　  you say:

this is where i live now. i'm aware from that life. that reality is the one i perceive from, not toward. i am no longer visiting. i am from there.

you hold that. you frequent it. you go back to it. you rinse yourself in it. you don't wait to believe it, you practice it. not to convince yourself, and not to manifest something, but because it's already true.

awareness doesn't have to be proven. it just is. you can't fake being. you can't audition for it. you don't have to scream "i'm shifting!!" you just remember:

i am the awareness behind every life i've ever touched. and i pick this one now.

frequent that. until it's muscle memory. until it's not a shift. it's just.....… where you look from.

[hrrtshape-deactivated20250705]

i got asked for affirmations that guarantee results in your manifestations after posting this in-depth post on why sometimes your persistence seems faulty or glitchy. low&behold :

it's already done.

this is already mine.

this is my baseline.

this is my normal.

i don't need to make it happen. it's already happening.

i'm not waiting for this. i'm in it.

i don't have to convince myself. this is already true.

nothing needs to change. i already have it.

this is already locked in.

it's not arriving. it's here.

i don't need proof. i am the proof.

i don't need to do more. it's already done.

this is where i live now.

this is my current state.

i already shifted.

i have everything i desire.

nothing to chase. nothing to fix.

this is my reality now.

this is what i experience.

it's not coming to me. it's reflecting me.

i don't have to perform belief. i am belief.

i've already crossed the line.

this isn't a goal. it's a given.

it doesn't need to feel dramatic. it's just true.

this is just how it works for me.

i've already adjusted. now reality catches up.

[carouselise]

yandere alphabet — shauna shipman, the butcher.

I don't even know where you end and I begin .

──────────────────────────

-> pairing/s - yandere ! con-wilderness ! shauna shipman x reader

-> warnings ! - canon-typical violence, mentions of cannibalism, starving, manipulation tactics, mentions of bl00d, infidelity, actually Shauna herself is a warning , violence inflicted on r!, yandere-typical antics (she's just a girl chat), spoilers for yj S3 up to ep 6!!

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

shauna is discreet about her love in the wilderness . or at least, she's deluding herself into thinking she's disguising the crazy . (spoiler alert: she's not .) still, her love language is more acts of service . giving you extra meat in your food . making sure you always have warm clothes . popping into your hut at least eight times a day (much to mari's annoyance— boohoo . she shouldn't have roomed with you then .) to make sure you're hydrated . I don't believe her affection would go as far as serving you a literal head on a silver platter (moreso due to the lack of silver platters in the middle of buttfuck nowhere than anything else) but she's not against the sentiment .

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

v. veeery messy . she's the girl who accidentally became important at work and she hates it— but that doesn't necessarily mean she sucks at the work itself . it's a lot more grisly to gut humans than it is to gut bears and deers but for you, she pushes through . she doesn't immediately resort to murder— not under nat's watchful eye, to her credit . there's strength in numbers, after all . still, she has no problem serving up soccer-player-soup as the main course the day after she catches one of the more unimportant, npc survivors shooting their shot with you .

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

well there's not much abduction happening, truth be told . you're trapped in the middle of nowhere with not a fast food restaurant in sight and a need for a piss bucket with the knowledge that attempting to leave means either getting hunted down for your meat or dying to 'natural causes' (falling off a steep cliff) . but if she moves you into her hut, expect some daily taunting .

"do you think you'll survive out here without me ?"

"you know that if you run away, I'll hunt you down, right ?"

just general stuff like that . enough to make sure you're not considering moving back in with mari anytime soon .

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

oh hell yes . shauna has no concept of 'drawing a line', because that's just what her relationship with jackie was like . the lines between her becoming jackie and wanting to be with jackie were lines that were virtually non-existent . you're the shauna to her jackie . she does love you . she does . but she thinks more of you like a pet, even though she's in love with you . and well, pet owners don't generally ask their pets what their boundaries are, right ?

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

depends on how far your relationship gets . before you lose your sanity and give in anyway . shauna was always a closed off person . even with jackie, little miss communication issues could never confide what she felt to her . since you're the shauna in this relationship, she's a bit more loose, mostly because she's the one in control . shauna is most comfortable when she has full control over something . she'll only truly start to express herself around you when she sees that you're starting to crack .

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

no . just no . fighting back is not something shauna allows . the very first time you act out, she starves you, refusing to serve you anything other than plain water . not even nat could cooerce her into feeding you . she sits near to the door of the hut, sharpening her knife and glaring at anyone who looks like they might be plotting to, y'know, keep you alive . you only get your eating privileges back when you apologise to her, and then she'll feed you herself, placing gentle kisses to your forehead . and you will apologise to her . don't fuck with the girl who makes your food, after all .

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

yes, this is a game to her . you're the lamb very wittingly stuck in the slaughterhouse but unable to do anything about it . she wasn't the best at maths, but she knows how to calculate simple equations . there's nowhere to run . no one among the girls is willing to help you and coach scott has long since fucked off . no one wants to piss off the person butchering their meat so everyone keeps their trap shut, treating you like a normal person and occasionally offering a sympathetic look . watching you plot your escape is something she likes to do to pass time in the evening because she knows you're not going anywhere . it's like listening to a child describe their plans to fly to the moon . you literally can't .

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

her to-do list currently goes something like:

1. dethrone nat and become antler queen

2. kill benjamin scott

3. break you in and make you love her so that you're by her side as her consort when number 1 is fulfilled

(van once found this messily scrawled list in a loose page of shauna's journal and immediately dnf'ed.)

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

guys . this is shauna shipman . if she gets even slightly jealous— just over simple things like lottie letting you rest your head on her lap, or nat taking you out to teach you out to hunt, she goes nuclear . stakes out mel and sleeps with her very loudly, just to fuck with your head . if you don't give a shit, her next resort is violence . she has a knife and she's not afraid to use it to see if your blood is red like hers too .

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

she's big on physical touch but she won't be soft about it . she likes to trace your face with her calloused hands, hold onto your waist from behind and tuck her head into your neck but she'll be harsh about it . more dog trying to protect her favourite toy than anything . she holds onto you like a wolf is gonna emerge from nowhere and try to drag you away (a lot more likely than it would be in a usual setting). she likes kissing you more than anything else . expect her to descend on you atleast thrice a day to taste your lips and make sure it's only her that she can taste on them .

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

she's upfront about it . if she likes you, after the whole jackie situation, she just tells you immediately . again, in terms of courting, she just gives you a lot more portions of food and resources than the others get and shuts down nat's protests by just dropping her knife and refusing to carve up the meat— which is a problem since no one else learned how to do it . so everyone sucks it up and ignores the blatant favouritism . once again, do not fuck with the one making your food . or you might find a kneecap floating in your venison stew .

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

nope . as afore mentioned, shauna does literally nothing to hide the crazy— in the teen timeline anyway . we are not gonna get into the level of self-gaslighting she does as an adult . she's just as crazy on the outside as she is on the inside . she's the girl nobody wanted to sit next to in class because there was a chance she'd bite your ear off if you tried copying her answers .

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

she cheats on you, simply put . if she thinks you haven't reached the point of toxic codependency to where you'd be upset by her cheating, she just pulls out her knife and starts cutting till you apologise . once more, starving is also a common punishment .

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

basically all and any . it's not like you have many rights in this justice system you and the other girls with incomplete high school education have set up, since there's virtually nothing to worry about save for the possibility of wild predators but shauna controls all of the rights you do have— the clothes you wear, what you eat, who you talk to— she even convinces nat to put you on butchering duty with her where she just sits you down on a cut log and keeps an eye on you as she prepares the meat . since she doesn't think of you as her personal Jax doll like show-canon shauna thinks of mel, she absolutely refuses to let you wear jackie's clothes . she will lose her mind if you do and the first time you accidentally pulled on one of jackie's shirts, you ended up with so many cuts on your body that you just let shauna pick out your clothes now . spoiler alert: she makes you wear hers most of the time .

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

little to no patience . if you don't accept her love immediately, she resorts to the only other thing she knows how to do— violence, non-compliance and just generally making everyone else's humdrum, culty life hell . oh and yours, of course .

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

you're the only person she ever 'loved' after jackie died . if you died or somehow escaped into the wilderness, shauna would just spiral into depression and completely give up on everything . she doesn't eat, she doesn't sleep— she only butchers the meat she has to and slowly dies from exhaustion and just a general lack of a will to live .

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

there might be a few times that she softens up— when she sees you crying silently at night, or when she sees you flinch when she reaches out to stroke your face— and then she feels a little guilty for hurting you . she doesn't want to be a monster...but then she remembers that if she doesn't keep you safe, no one will, so she shoves her guilt aside and continues with her toxicity . she's fickle like that .

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

the whole i-got-stranded-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-with-the-soccer-team-i'm-on-and-had-to-eat-my-dead-bestfriend-slash-situationship-who's-death-was-kinda-my-fault-to-survive-and-then-lost-her-boyfriend's-baby-that-i-was-pregnant-with-thing didn't exactly do wonders for her sanity much to everyone's surprise— for some reason .

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

she hates it because it reminds her that she's not a good person . she doesn't like having her shit reflected back on her though she doesn't try to hide it . she definitely stops mid-punishment to tell you to quit the crying— when you start sobbing she just completely stops and leaves the hut till she's sure you're done . she usually tells misty or gen to go check up on you and treat your wounds and gets updates on your health (along with nasty glares on mari's side) so she knows when to go back and awkwardly cuddle you in silence till you go to sleep .

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

when I said she likes to spill blood, I mean that she makes you do it . she forces you to do it while she holds a knife to your throat, telling you that if you don't kill whoever got on the wrong side of her knife, she'll just kill you both— or kill them and keep you alive to torture you. she's malicious enough to you that you do it in fear of your life but kind enough that she'll give you a blindfold and mushroom ear plugs so you don't have to look at them or hear their dying screams . she knows what it's like to carve up a human after all— it's not pretty .

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

she has two:

1. telling her you love her (bonus if you're crying and/or bleeding while doing so) .

2. anything to do with jackie . she turns into a complete basket case when she sees you in jackie's clothes or wearing her necklace, god forbid . don't even try to taunt her about jackie's death— you won't survive . after she inflicts your punishment on you, she goes off to have a good long cry and shit-talk to that weathered journal of hers .

if you can still move your body after what she does to you, there's a high chance she won't notice you sneaking away from the village . but then again, you will also have highly trained soccer team members hunting you down— whether for your meat or to rescue you you're unsure— and to reiterate, the canadian wilderness isn't an ideal place to be when trying to escape the only 'civilization' (if you can call the village consisting of girls who are cannibals and definitely cult members as much as they try to deny it 'civil') and your crazy ex .

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

yes . next question .

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

when shauna loves, she loves deep . for heaven's sake, she still wasn't over the death of her best friend/situationship like— 25 years after she died . if she loves you to the extent of killing for you (read: making you kill for you— and occasionally her when she's feeling vicious), she worships you like a god . and yes, she hurts you though she reveres you . her god bleeds and she loves to be reminded of your mortality because it reminds her that even death can't take you from her .

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

she's had enough pining for a lifetime, thank you very much . the second she realises she's in love with you, it's over for you . your life is over because she immediately unloads it on you— she's not making the same mistake twice .

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

yes . that is one of her life goals, as previously stated, to the point where she wrote it in her journal that she leaves out in the open with the confidence that no one will want to touch it . she wants to break you in so you love her as deeply as she loves you . you're not as fucked up as she is so you can't love as strongly as she does— and she can't have that . this unrequited love bullshit is just not doing it for her .

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a/n: mm save me evil shauna, save me . I'm obsessed with whatever is wrong with this absolute nutcase of a girl . inbox reqs for yellowjackets girls (both dead and alive) are open ! be sure to check my rules before requesting anything and note that I'm open to just talk if you're into that !

[pfpanimes]

⌕ tokyo ghoul • suzuya juuzou.

like or reblog if you save use.

[arcanao]

Can I please request yandere jotaro and how did he meet the reader and how he forces her to marry him ??! Also ut could contain smut

hi ty for the request (and for reminding me I had jjba listed in my fandom list lol) ! since you didn't specify I wen with part 6 jotaro (we love DILFs), wanted to throw some daddy kink in here but didn't find the place for it (for another ask maybe..?)

MINORS DNI

tw: yandere, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, best friend's dad trope, light nsfw, rough sex, size difference (kinda), oral (f and m receiving), implied attempt at baby trapping, forced marriage, blackmail, confinement, isolation, threats of torture (kinda), manipulative behavior word count: 997

✤your friend from university jolyne always described her father as an absent man whom she despised, even more when he divorced her mom. which is why you were pretty surprised when she invited you to stay over at his place for the summer.

✤however you understood fairly quickly why she did, she was just taking advantage of the fact that he wasn't home. jotaro's place was a nice villa in california with a pool and several bathrooms and bedrooms. you would have enjoyed your stay very much if it wasn't for the fact that jolyne was never here, always hanging out with her boyfriend Romeo.

✤well for a while, a nice book next to the pool did the trick for keeping you occupied. until your friend's father came back unannounced. it was pretty embarrassing to explain to him why and how you ended up here but contrary to what you thought would happen, he let you stay over even if jolyne wasn't here.

✤just as she mentioned, her father was quite the cold person, answering you with very few words. what she definitely forgot to mention was how attractive her father was. a nice voice. a nice face. and a very muscular body.

✤jotaro wasn't oblivious at all to your stares but he choose to ignore it at first. he was used to it. but progressively it wasn't only your eyes that wandered across his figure. he noticed you too. he liked how tight your bikini was hugging your curves when you were sunbathing or going to the pool. how cute those fluffy shorts of yours looked on your waist. and how juicy your glossy lips looked each time you talked to him.

✤to you it was only a little crush, something that would never be reciprocated. hence why you would never be able to tell how you ended up on his bed, his torso pressing your thighs against your chest as he gave you the roughest fuck of your life.

✤you didn't complain however, not when you felt his pelvis rubbing so deliciously against your clit with each thrust. neither with how good his tongue rubbing against yours felt, nor with how right having your arms pinned above your head by one of his hands was.

✤when the morning came and that you awoke in his arms, you swore to yourself that this would be the last time it happened. you couldn't do that to jolyne, this wasn't right. this is also what you told yourself when you found yourself, a few hours later, legs spread on the counter, jotaro lapping at your folds so skillfully that you came like you never did in your life. or when you found yourself crushed between his thighs as his dick sat deep inside your throat.

✤you didn't mean to but jotaro was so attractive and he took such good care of you in bed and even after sex. jotaro even got gradually sweeter, always finding excuses to keep you by his side, trying to keep you from leaving the house. it was cute really, but you should have seen the signs.

✤jotaro was growing more and more attached to you. at first, it was only a way to blow some long packed steam but he ended up wanting more of you. not only your body but also the little smiles you had when talking about your closest ones, the hard work you put into graduating from university, how you would get protective of everyone even when some didn’t deserve it. little by little, it became clear to him that he needed you.

✤you should have felt wary when he started to buy you things you needed himself to keep you in the house. how he brought her clothes back to jolyne and never let her inside of the house again. nor when he got suspiciously forgetful of the condoms. it was only when your vacation came to an end that you realized what kind of man jotaro was.

✤as you were packing up jotaro came to see you.

"what are you doing ?"

"packing up, i'm going back home."

✤you smiled at him but he didn't answer anything. instead he just let out a low and dry chuckle. you had never heard him laugh but you weren't so dense to think that this was a happy laugh. it gave you chills. however he didn't add anything, only leaving you in your room alone, completely terrified. something wasn’t right

✤you finished packing as soon as you could and you rushed up to the door, trying to press on the handle but it was no use, it was locked. before you could find another exit, jotaro blocked your way, a marriage certificate in hand.

"w-what-..."

"i’ll let you go back to school if you sign this."

"i... i don't understand sir, you..."

"you don't need to understand, only to sign if you want to keep going to university. whether you sign or not is of no consequence to me."

"you... you can't do this to me."

"but i can, therefore i will. I have a lot of patience usually but when it comes to you... so i advise that you sign now to avoid any difficulties okay y/n ? i'll take care of you. did I ever disappoint you in any way?"

“what if i don’t sign ?”

✤there was a dark glint in his eyes.

“i can be very persuasive, i’m pretty sure a few months in the basement will convince you.”

✤you froze, completely paralyzed, this man was saying all of this without any emotions. he was… he was insane.

"it's too… i can't, it's too much."

✤you started sobbing as he pulled you into a tight hug, a very possessive one that showed he would never let you go.

"just sign baby... you know i know what's best."

✤your hand shivered as you reached for the pen, encouraged by jotaro's hand on you shoulders. nothing would ever be the same now.

[yandere-musings]

Omg I loved your previous apathetic fem s/o imagines!! If your requests are still open, would you mind continuing Tomura’s? 👀👀

Yandere Shigaraki Pt.2

Wow I got a lot of requests and input in for the first part! Might make a mini series if I get enough requests. Decided to leave the end with a bit of a cliffhanger. Next chapter might be nsfw hehe ♡ (link to first part)

****

WARNING: The following contains dark and triggering themes of emotional abuse, violence, stalking and noncon. Read at your own risk!

Yandere type: posessive, controlling, delusional

The next few weeks that passed were absolute bliss to Tomura. Despite the anger of failed missions, the frustration of his bickering underlings and the painful bruises from his encounters with heros, he was still on cloud nine. All because he knew that waiting back at home was his beloved y/n . No matter the struggles he faced, Tomura had peace of mind knowing that the second he saw you, all his worries would melt away.

It was heavenly finally having you at his side where you belonged. Now he was able to love and cherish you like he had fantasized about for months. And although you promised that you wouldn’t try to escape, Tomura still kept you locked inside his room while he was away. He wasn’t ready to give you unsupervised reign of the house just yet. There wasn’t much you could do, given that you were quirkless, but it was just to be safe. Maybe someday he would allow you to walk around the house freely. At least he didn’t have to feel guilty about keeping you in the cage anymore.

Ever since he brought you home, you had been so well behaved. Not once had you tried to reject his love, never cringing away from his touch or kisses. You deserved a reward for being so good. What started as a simple grocery run ended with a spree of him buying gifts and clothing for his precious sweetheart. But he didn’t regret it. Why would he feel guilty about his spending when he’s only commemorating his darling’s behaviour? Although… It did mean he had to go out in public without his father to shield his face. Despite the anxiety being exposed like that caused him, the thought of seeing your smile made it easy to endure. Tomura pulled out the keys to his room with bags in hand and unlocked the door to his bedroom, your prison.

He set down the grocery bags before gently removing father from his sweater pocket and placed him on the dresser. He wandered back to his bed where you were curled up fast asleep. He stood over your sleeping form, just watching. Such a precious sight. He simply had to take a moment to soak in how perfect you looked being surrounded by his posessions.

“Y/n… I’m home,” he cooed quietly, reveling in how natural it felt to have those words leave his lips. He gently pushed the hair from your face for a better view. Your eyes fluttered open and you began to stirr. The sight of your adorable body, wearing his t shirt and shorts as pajamas, so exposed and vulnerable… How tantalizing. Tomura pressed a kiss to the side of your head before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I brought you some presents. Some snacks I watched you eat before. You must really like them, you used to but them a lot. Oh and-… and some cute new clothes. As much as I love seeing you wearing mine, it’ll be nice to have something…. just for you. Be sure to try them on later so I know they fit, okay?”

A lie. Tomura knew you would fit everything perfectly. He had your measurements memorized by heart. You sat up and yawn, nodding your head at his request. Without even being asked, you crawl into his lap. This was the routine now. He would come home and you would cuddle. Sometimes even make-out. It started as him commanding it but now, having you do it of your own accord. It felt natural. Like you truly wanted to do it of your own volition. Your legs straddled his sides and his hands moved to loosely hold your waist.

“Tell me you love me,” he commanded, relaxing as he leaned forward to rest his face in the crook of your neck

“I love you Tomura,” you replied robotically.

“Mmm good girl,” he praised, “Now hold me… And tell me how much you love staying by my side,” he continued, whispering against your skin. Your arms snake around his shoulders automatically, cradling his head.

“Thank you for taking care of me. I never want to leave,” you responded on queue. There was a clear emptiness in your voice. A blatant disconnection from the words to the feelings you spoke of. That coupled with that blank look you gave him made it obvious. Though those eyes held no fear… they held no love either. But it was alright. One day you would adjust to living this way. You’d learn to love him as passionately as he loved you. Tomura’s hand reached up to trail his knuckles over your cheek. For now you were just going with the flow of things. That face of yours that was always smiling before was now bare of emotion. Nonchalant and blank. He wanted to change that. See a new kind of expression. A sly smirk began to spread across his face as an idea sparked into his mind.

“Hey… what would you consider our relationship to be?”

Kidnapper and Hostage? Psychopath and civilian? Murderer and their next victim? Take your pick, you thought.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you want me to say,” you admitted.

Tomura’s lips curled sinisterly, making you feel you more uncomfortable to being this close to him. He had moments where his delusions were stronger than others. You prayed this wasn’t one of them. Despite how sane he acted sometimes, you knew Shigaraki Tomura was anything but. A chill ran down your back as one of his hands now began to slide up underneath your shirt, slowly trailing up and down your spine.

“Would you say that we’re growing close y/n? Like friends?” he asked sweetly.

“I suppose,” you forced yourself to say.

Tomura’s grin grew wider.

“Would you say that we’re more than friends? Lovers even?” he continued, emphasizing the word lovers painfully so.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat that was beginning to form but no words were coming out. The way his ruby eyes were transfixed up at you with such laser focus. It was the look of a predator eyeing up its prey. You always did as he asked for survival but the way he was looking at you now. You really didn’t like it. A finger tapped your back, drawing your attention back.

“Weeeell?” He asked, waiting for your response.

“I-… I guess so?”

He giggled.

“Heheh… I’m glad you think so too, Y/n! Tell me… what do lovers do that friends don’t? What makes a lover so special?” He quizzled, his opposite hand slinking lower to caress your backside. You stiffen up against him. Oh god please no.

“T-they kiss?” you stammered out.

“Aaaaand?” he drawled, nuzzling his face against your neck.

“Th-they get married?” you squeak nervously, lightly leaning away from him slightly. Tomura sits back and looks up at you, his smile turning sickeningly sweet.

“Oh y/n .. is that your way of telling me that you want us to get married?”

“Uh.. I’m not-” you begin, starting to panic. Tomura’s arms quickly snaked around youe waist and pulled you flush against his chest. He pressed his head against your breasts and let out a maniacal giggle.

“Ah, don’t worry my love! I know you’re too embarrassed to talk about that stuff yet! Why… I can hear your heart just pounding,” he wheezed dreamily, pressing his ear to your skin. Slowly, he tilted his head up, eyes locking onto yours through the strands of hair. His sickening grin resurfaced, spreading wide across his features and making him look all the more disturbed.

“What else do lovers do Y/n?”

You began to tremble, for the first time you were becoming genuinely scared of him. And he was loving it.

“Th-they… Have k-ki-kids?”

He inhaled sharply and let joyful screech before quickly grabbing you from around your midsection and flipping you backwards onto the bed. You plopped down and before you could even try to struggle, Tomura quickly got on top, pinning you down by sitting on your hips. His hands pushed your wrists back and held them above your head but you didn’t dare move them. Not when you knew the terrifying power those very hands possessed.

“That’s right y/n! They have kids. Such a beautiful thing, to start a family of your own! I’ve dreamed of having one for years and years. You see, I never really had a family. I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance. Never imagined that I’d meet a girl who could see past my flaws and fall in love with me. But you… You’re perfect y/n. Perfect for me! We’re meant to be together! You’re the only one who could love me. You were the only one to show me such selfless kindness. Like an angel, sent to atone for all the cruelty I’ve had to endure! Since we met, I can’t stop think about you and the life we could have together. We could get married and have a family of our own! Wouldn’t that be magical? And you know what lovers do in order to have children right?! YOU KNOW RIGHT?!” he heaved above you, eyes straining down so intensely it was impossible to look away.

Aside from the involuntary trembling, you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You wanted to scream and push him off. To run and hide from those terrifying eyes that were filled to the brim with his delusional sense of love. You had been complacent and done everything he told you to do. Was he gonna rape you? Was he finally going to kill you despite his vows to never to harm you? Suddenly, his heavy breathing stopped. As if a switch had been flicked off. Tomura’s expression relaxed, returning to normal. But the glint in his eyes still didn’t lessen your fear.

“You know… they say that when you make love to the person you hold most precious, it feels like you’re becoming one with them. Doesn’t that sound wonderful y/n? Being so intimately close with the one you love most? I’ve never experienced such a connection. I’ve always wanted to of course. But I didn’t want to bother unless it was with my one true love…”

Tomura leaned down, tongue flickering out to lap up the tears you didn’t know you had been shedding. His tongue licked your lips before he sat back up. He ground his hips down, making you feel the buldge starting to grow.

“Hey y/n… Let’s make love.”

[octania]

Running away from yandere Beni, he catches you and grabs your hair, slams your head to ground, pulls down his pants, rips off your skirt, and fucks you relentlessly you keep begging/screaming for him to stop but he doesn’t. Tbh I want him to carve his name on my body somewhere noticeable so everybody knows that I am his. (I know this is probably something he wouldn’t do seems pretty unrealistic but this is a fantasy) I hope you have a good day btw!

I am no stranger to yandere and I have a taste for the dark, so I have no problem with imagining Beni doing this. I will put warnings here since this will go a bit darker.

P.S.- I wonder if you will like it you yandere anon 🤭 so please do give me a feedback 😃

Warnings: dubcon, yandere, aggressive sex.

Benimaru seizes your hands behind your back with only one hand and secures you rigidly in place while still pulling on your hair. He hammered you to the floor, pushing your back down with his knee to prevent you from getting up. Like there is a way you could escape him anyways..he always catches up to you...you are his property, he said so, many times...and when you try to get away, this is what awaits you...

You cried and tried to fight your way back up no matter that subconsciously knew there is no point, but when you heard a sound of his belt unbuckle, your tears almost squirted from your eyes, as you shook violently, pulling your hands away from his cuffing embrace.

“No Beni!Not here! Please I will be good!”- you pleaded, trying to turn, but you voicing your objection only results in your head being violently pinned down on the ground. His wide palm falls down to your jaw, gripping it tightly.

“Shut the fuck up (Y/N).” his stony gaze crashes on your skirt. He grabs a handful of the material, pulling like an animal, making it break like a twig, exposing your bare ass.

“Beni please no!”- you scram, trying to crawl forward my pushing your chest on the floor. You are in the middle of the hallway of the company,someone might come, someone might see.

“I will be good I promise!”- you cry out once more, but only get an cold, spear like answer that pierces through your chest.

“Yes you will, you will be a good fuck, that is what you will be.”- he grabs your panties, pulling them up. The burning feeling of the material scraping on your skin makes you scream, but he does not stop. He pushes your legs open with his knees, pulling the panties up to sink into your pussy, rasping your clit painfully. This was not the first time he did this...you have marks to prove it. And every time you tried to explain yourself to him to avoid this he would not listen, when he gets  jealous he becomes deaf on your words, and you made a mistake and ran. Now, you got caught like an animal, ready to be devoured by the predator.

A sharp ache strikes between your tights,when he slams his hard cock in your pussy, without even a merciful spit to ease the friction. Your still dry-ish walls burn when he moves, leaning on you with his full weight, making you sink down to the floor.

“Fucking stay still. Like you did when that idiot watched you. You like to get attention, huh? Well you will than love this.”- he grabs your neck, squeezing it so roughly you could barely breathe, wheezing and sobbing as he grips your ass cheek to spread them, making his groin smash on your core, fucking you with such force you though your pelvis will break in half.

“P-please, I am begging you Beni..stop.”- you gag on your own words when his grip only became stronger, and a hard, violent slap on your ass made you bend forward.

“You are mine (Y/N), only fucking mine and I can do with you as I wish, do you get that, huh?”- you bites your jaw, sticking two of his thick fingers in your mouth, opening them. You try to answer him, obey him and give him the words he craved,but his grip prevented you, muffling the sound and making it look like you disobeyed. Which only resulted into his burning anger to spread more.

He pushed his hand along your hips and between your legs, finding your irritated clit, placing it between his knuckles and pinched it hard, so hard that the electric feeling combined with sharp pain made you almost lose consciousness.

“You fucking will remember who owns you, (Y/N).”- he speeds up, crashing on top of you, starting to fuck you to the floor while still abusing your clit. You feel his heavy body rocking on yours as you barely keep your eyes open, seeing black spots from barely staying awake. You can hear his growls and roars, you know what is coming. He is close, and he will not make this easy.

Benimaru pulls out just before he cums, pulling your hair to make you kneel, your scalp hurts from the barbaric pull.

“You want to stay quiet huh? Well let me than shut you up good. “- he rocks his hips, pushing his throbbing heat in your small salivary mouth. His size stuffs you up the the point where you almost  suffocate, feeling his sperm squirting down your throat. You try to pull away, trying to get just a bit of air, but he holds you in place, pushing you on his cock almost to his base.

“You better get it all down.”- he orders, giving a few slams in your throat to be sure it is all in before he releases you. You fall to the floor, coughing, gasping for air while your shaking body tries to recover. He watches you in silence for a moment, zipping his jeans.

“Wash yourself and wait in my room. And if you try to run again, be sure you will not go so easy next time.”- he steps over you, not even looking back, leaving you to collect your trashed self on your own.

Never run again.

[korounee-deactivated20230616]

Can I request yandere gojo x reader who's head over heels for geto

hi bby sorry for late ans hope u enjoy this <3

tw: yandere?? srry i tried to make him more yandere-ish , swearing, idk thats it (this is bad byw im so sorry)

it's obvious that suguru is an apple in your eyes. always fumbling over your words when speaking to him, giggling like a child as soon as he left you alone, kicking your leg with your flushed cheek and your big smile — probably screaming deep on your pillow.

satoru — as the strongest sorcerer, of course he noticed it, and he wished he hadn't.

he hates how you sing his friend's praise, wishing it was him instead — and gosh, how annoying it was when suguru talked to you, probably noticed how red your face were while taking to him with heart eyes.

he hates it.

"what does she even see in him?" satoru muttered to himself, watching you smile with both of your hands under your chin — practically listening what he's saying. he can see the way you were swaying your legs under the table. tch, love struck.

it's fucking disgusting, he thought, glaring at suguru. he's probably using his charm just to use her and leave her, satoru thinks. his hands gripped into a tight ball on the edge of the desk before ieri approach him with a blank face.

"you good? you almost broke break my desk." he looked over to his hand that was gripping hard, seeing a little crack at the edge. "oh, sorry — was just testing my strength, y'know?" she looked at him, unfazed by his lies — but she could only shrugged and sat down on her chair.

but satoru still can't stop thinking about suguru his "charm" on you, what if he actually uses you for fun? the white haired make thinks he can do better than his friend.

though, suguru never really knew about you having a little crush on him, but sometimes he catch himself feeling satoru's stare behind his eyes. he couldn't help but wonder, what did he do wrong?

"gosh suguru really pissed me off." satoru said out loud without realizing. ieri stared at him with almost shocked face. "dude, are you sure you're okay?" she looked back at suguru, seeing you laughing and smiling almost at his word. "ah, i got it."

the young female now had a smug look on her face. "you're jealous 'cause you like her, righttttt? that's actually normal, you'll get used to it." satoru huff. "i just don't get it, why him out of all people?"

ieri shrugged. "that's just her reference, satoru. you can't change it, either you like it or nor." satoru looked at her with narrowed eyes, smirking before tilting his sunglass. "i can, and i will."

gojo satoru is the man who gets what he wants once he see it. he will make sure that you love him no matter what.

pt 2 ?