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.
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.
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 !!!
