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hiramica · 24 hours ago

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i've always like your works! Since youre opening a request Can i perhaps request yandere phainon as a college friend x female reader, well he technically not that close to reader just know each other, they even attending different major, but he always kept himself close to reader which is make reader annoyed, somethings like welcoming himself to study with reader whenever reader try to study alone in library and it turns reader uncomfortable with his presence, the rest plot is up to you! ^_^

Tempest - pt. 1

College!AU, A/B/O!AU: Yandere!Dark!Alpha!Pahinon x Beta!Reader

wordcount: ~5600

tws: MNDI, College!AU, a/b/o!AU, darkfic, yandere, obsessive/possessive behaviour, heat/rut cycles, overall psychological pressure, stalking, scenting, kidnapping, Phainon is kinda ooc here, he knocks you out with a hit on your head, so violence.

(If you find some more, please let me know.)

As usual, thank you all, my dear sweethearts, for your support!

NOT SUITED FOR MINORS. Not proofread. Author does not endorse or condone any of the actions depicted in real life. Not proofread. Also, English is not the author's first language, so there might be some mistakes. Please remember that you are responsible for your own media consumption.

Ethel Cain - Tempest

The Grove of Epiphany University, nestled within the sprawling, ancient architecture of Okhema City, was a whispered promise. Here, knowledge was currency, traded in hushed murmurs between students hungry for understanding and professors who stood as unwavering beacons, ready to illuminate the winding paths to greater discoveries.

You were one of the unique students.

To be a beta in this era was to be an anomaly. In a society dominated by the primal, often volatile, dynamics of alphas and omegas, your species was a fading echo, a rarity. You were a quiet island in a tumultuous sea of overwhelming scents and unspoken urges, untouched by the searing heats that plagued omegas and the brutal ruts that consumed alphas.

This immunity was your quiet triumph, a shield against the relentless biological tides that dictated so many lives. And your scent, a faint whisper of black tea, was barely discernible to most. It was a quiet counterpoint to the vibrant, often cloying, aromas that saturated the university halls. You’ve been enjoying your quiet life, hanging out with your friends during breaks, and studying under the famous professors.

It was so peaceful.

Up until recently.

He appeared in Professor Anaxagoras’s advanced philosophy seminar, a course you’d taken out of a genuine interest in the elusive nature of truth. You chose your usual sanctuary: a seat near the back, a familiar spot that offered both a clear view of the lecture and a comfortable distance from the bustling symphony of scents that permeated the room. Your own sense of smell, while present, was mercifully weaker than that of alphas and omegas, a small blessing that allowed you to revel in the quiet calamity of your studies. You truly cherished your solace.

Then, a discordant note tore through that everlasting calm.

His scent hit you first, not as a mere intrusion but as a violent seizure of the air itself, tearing through the fragile harmony of the classroom. Bitter bergamot lashed like acid against your tongue, pepper stung sharp as ground glass in your throat, each note striking with deliberate cruelty. The undertone of something burning was a final, merciless blow to your guts. The sweetness that lingered before was obliterated, replaced by a suffocating fog that pressed down on your chest and filled every fragile breath. It clung to your skin, seeped into your clothes, buried itself in your hair, until you could no longer tell where you ended and it began. Heavy as lead, it smothered every thought, dulling your awareness even as it pried open your nerves, sharpening panic to a fever pitch.

This was Phainon. The enigmatic head of the student council, a figure of almost unnerving intelligence and composure. His reputation preceded him like a shimmering halo: brilliant, ambitious, a mind like a steel trap, capable of dissecting any argument with chilling precision. He was the university’s golden boy, practically a living legend. He was a brilliant student, all the tests marked with no less than A. He volunteered at every single event, his presence a magnet for admiration. He aced swimming, cutting through the water like a predator, and had single-handedly brought the coveted gold cup to the university, his triumphs celebrated with almost religious fervor.

So why did Phainon smell of destruction so strongly that even you, a beta, could sense it?

And this golden boy, this paragon of academic and athletic prowess, chose the seat directly beside you. The disgusting stench of his signature scent, that dry heaviness, clung to him like a second skin, a dark aura that pulsed with an unsettling energy, a subtle vibration in the air around him that made your teeth ache and your skin prickle. It was a scent that whispered of hidden depths, of something beautiful gone completely burned out.

So unfitting for someone like him.

By the end of the lecture, your head throbbed with a severe headache that felt like a dull ache behind your eyes. You could barely hold yourself from the urge to cover your nose with your hand, to somehow block out the suffocating stench that had permeated every breath you took. The air felt thick, and it was hard to breathe as if you were sitting in the very middle of a roaring fire. So as soon as Professor Anaxagoras’s voice finally echoed through the haze of your discomfort with a “Class dismissed,” you bolted out of the classroom and into the sanctuary of the nearest bathroom. The cold tiles were a permanent saviour, and you leaned against them, needing to catch your breath, to purge the cloying smoke from your lungs, to reclaim even a sliver of your own air.

But in your panicked hurry, you didn’t notice the way his nostrils flared.

Phainon inhaled you like a drowning man breaching water, chest shuddering with the force of it, his throat working in a slow, deliberate swallow. A tremor coursed down his frame, predatory and obscene, the kind of shiver a beast gives when it finally scents blood. In an instinct too raw, his pupils blew wide, then rolled back into milky whites, a grotesque flash of rapture that left him swaying with restrained hunger. His fingers clawed at the fabric of his perfectly ironed trousers, nails biting through the weave until the seams strained. The tendons in his hand stood out like cords, stark with the effort of holding himself together. His hips twitched in an involuntary motion, a rutting impulse he strangled into stillness by sheer force of will.

You smelled like home.

Throughout the rest of the semester, Phainon’s presence pressed against you like a damp weight you could never quite shake off. He did not speak to you in class, not even once, yet the scrape of his gaze found you all the same, sliding across your skin as though he meant to peel it back and see what lay underneath. In those moments, when the room grew heavy with the scent of roaring fire, you felt it – the awful certainty that you had been singled out, that you were no longer invisible, that something starving pursued.

However, the true terror lurked outside the lecture halls. What used to be yours – your quiet habits, your solitary refuges – became infested with ash scent. The library, once a sanctuary of dust and silence, soured under Phainon's intrusion. You would tuck yourself into a dim corner, paper and ink your only companions, when suddenly the faint bitterness of something aflame would bleed into your lungs. You never heard his approach, not even once. He simply appeared, folding himself into the chair beside you as if he belonged there, his books spread wide, his posture careful, his nearness deliberate. You could swear that every fiber of him strained toward you under the guise of the still water of his appearance.

What could he possibly want from a person like you?

Your stomach knotted tighter each time. You told yourself that he was studying. You told yourself that it was just a coincidence. But the air around the persistent alpha thrummed with a predator’s patience. It felt like a quiet hum that pinned you down no matter how deeply you tried to bury yourself in your pages.

You started noticing the fractures in his mask. The way his eyes, blue as a summer sky gone too wide, tracked not your face but the movements of your hand, lingering on the twitch of your wrist, on the pulsing veins under the skin. The faint flare of his nostrils whenever you shifted, however slightly, as if he could siphon the ghost of your scent from the very air. And it dawned on you, blooming like a bruise you could not press without wincing: he was smelling you.

Why me?

The question became a constant, echoing refrain in the hollow chambers of your mind, a silent plea against the rising tide of paranoia. You were truly unremarkable, content to blend into the background. You had no ambitions that shone like flares, no intoxicating pheromones that drove alphas insane, no omega softness that demanded protection or desire. Nothing that could possibly lure the attention of someone like Phainon

It wasn’t because of your beta nature, was it? Betas were rare, yes, but not that rare. You had seen them scattered through the university, at least eight of your own kind, ordinary and overlooked, blending into classrooms and lecture halls just like you.

So why?

You tried to hide. You changed your study spots daily, sought out new, obscure corners of the university’s sprawling grounds, and even resorted to studying in your cramped dorm room. But like a phantom limb, his presence would always find you. You’d step out of a lecture hall, and he’d be leaning against the wall, seemingly waiting for nobody in particular, yet his eyes, sharp and stormy, would lock onto yours, following your every movement with an unnerving precision that suggested he knew your exact schedule.

You’d grab a quick meal at the campus cafeteria, and Phainon’d materialize at the same table, apart from his usual friend group of star students, his fork scraping against ceramic with an almost rhythmic precision, his gaze fixed on you like an invisible thread that pulled at your very soul.

And then, the ultimate violation, a detail that screamed of trespass: a faint, undeniable whisper of that cloying burning scent clinging to your dorm room. A phantom presence on the wood that was your shield against the world.

You cried yourself to sleep that night. Your dorm room, your last bastion of safety, your private world, was utterly violated, its boundaries dissolved. The thought was a venomous seed, growing with every shadow cast by the moonlight, every whisper of the wind against the glass, every creak of the flooring in the hallway. Your once-comforting room had become a stage for an unseen observer, a silent witness to your most private moments. You started checking the lock on your door multiple times before bed in a desperate ritual. You jammed a chair under the handle, a futile barricade against an invisible threat. These measures brought no true comfort, only a fleeting illusion of safety before the terror crept back in. You swore you could still smell him even in your sleep. Even when he wasn't physically there, the ghost of his sickening scent clung to your door, to your clothes, to your bed sheets, to your very bones.

You scrubbed your skin until it bled. You washed your clothes almost every day. You changed sheets regularly. You opened the windows in the evening.

But nothing, nothing, could erase Phainon’s scent.

The psychological toll was immense. Sleep became a fractured landscape of shadows and cloying dreams morphing into waking nightmares where his unnerving gaze pierced through the darkness. You were constantly on edge, your senses hyper-aware, perpetually scanning for the tell-tale sign of his approach, for the first whisper of that dreadful scent, for the subtle shift in the air that announced his presence.

The world, once a place of quiet comfort, had become a hostile entity.

So, in a frantic gesture, you decided to ask the principal, Director Aglaea, to transfer you, to shield you, to do something to protect you from Phainon. Her office breathed deeply with old dust and immense knowledge around you when you told her your fears. The golden light glistened beautifully on her hair, but you found no solace in this enchanting sight.

“I think you are overreacting,” was the thing Aglaea said with a breaking certainty when you stood before her, shaking, on the edge of crying.

“What?...” was the only thing that you managed to utter.

“You know, Phainon speaks highly of you,” she continued with an unwavering gaze and a subtle note of surprise in her tone, “It's quite unusual, you know, for an alpha of his caliber to show such intense interest in a beta. Not common at all.” Her words rang out like a warning, a subtle reminder of your place, a veiled command not to upset the delicate balance of power. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage, desperate to escape, desperate to scream the truth.

But the words died in your throat when she continued:

“Still, it’s quite alright to be wanted by an alpha, isn’t it? Especially by one as influential as Phainon. He's been invaluable to the student council, truly. A remarkable young man...” Her gaze drifted over your shoulder, a clear dismissal as if you were a minor distraction, a fly to be swatted.

“Moreover, the relationships between betas and alphas are not unheard of. Rare, for sure, but possible,” the director ended her speech with a nod that felt more like a guillotine fall, severing any last thread of hope.

“Director Aglaea, I-” you finally found your voice, a desperate, thin thread, “-he... he smells like something burning. It’s sickening. I-I just can't-” You blurted it out, the secret a desperate weight on your tongue, praying for a flicker of understanding, a hint of concern.

Aglaea blinked, her thin smile faltering for a fraction of a second, a ripple in her carefully constructed composure. Her brow furrowed, not with sympathy, but with mild confusion, swiftly replaced by a dismissive wave of her hand, a gesture that swept away your hopes as if they were dust motes, insignificant and easily brushed aside.

“Huh? Burning? My dear, that’s highly unlikely. Everyone, and I mean everyone, finds his aroma quite invigorating, very savoury. Bergamot and black pepper…” Her eyes, cold and assessing, swept over you.

“I think you should see Hyacine. She knows her ways around betas. Some sort of sensitivity deviation, perhaps. Something must be wrong with you.” The casual cruelty of her suggestion, the immediate invalidation of your horrifying reality, felt like a physical blow.

Is something wrong…

Tears pricked your eyes.

…with me?

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.” She finally dismissed you, her words a sterile validation of your torment, her focus entirely on Phainon’s brilliance, not your burgeoning fear. Aglaea’s indifference hurted like a fresh wound, a stark reminder of your insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe’s power dynamics, a chilling confirmation that no one would help you.

Only Anaxagoras, your professor, seemed to see the truth, the insidious cracks beneath Phainon’s gleaming facade. You caught his gaze across the quad one day, his crimson eye, usually so full of intellectual fire, now clouded with a weary sadness that bent his shoulders. He was a beta himself, and perhaps that allowed him a clearer vision of the insidious nature of Phainon’s desires.

Anaxagoras had seen the darkness blooming in Phainon.

But your professor was powerless, bound by unspoken rules, by the sheer force of alpha’s intellect and influence, by a system that protected its rising stars at any cost. Phainon, the golden boy, the intellectual prodigy, the future of the Grove of Epiphany, was untouchable. Anaxagoras merely offered a small, almost imperceptible nod after you exited Aglaea's office – a silent acknowledgment of your shared understanding, a quiet apology for his helplessness, before turning away.

You were alone in your own misery.

The library was quiet as usual, a cathedral of dust and paper, each footstep muted against the worn floors. You had claimed your usual corner, the nook between two overflowing shelves, a place where the dying evening sunlight barely reached and silence wrapped around you like a soft cloak. For once, you believed yourself unobserved.

Until the smell and liquid shattered that illusion.

You were halfway through highlighting a passage when a warm, sticky spill coated the back of your sweater. Pomegranate juice mixed with milk, a cloying pink against the pale fabric. You yelped, recoiling, and looked up only to see Phainon, hands frozen mid-motion, eyes wide in apology, looking like a soggy puppy caught in a mess he couldn’t comprehend.

“Shit! I- I’m so sorry!” His voice cracked slightly, uneven, “I didn’t mean- I tripped!” His words tumbled out, fast and clumsy, but there was something else beneath them, something you couldn’t place at first. His gaze lingered not on the sports bottle rolling on the floor, but on you who were peeling off the wet cloth from your figure.

“… It’s fine,” you muttered, voice brittle.

“I promise, that wasn’t intentional! I stumbled! I'm so sorry! I- I wash it. You shouldn’t even- here, give it to me,” he said, reaching out with hands that were too insistent, the pressure of his grip a warning wrapped in civility. You hesitated, then handed him the sweater, shivering immediately as the thin fabric of your plain white tee did nothing to shield you from the chill of the library.

“Damn, you’re shivering!” he said,immediately tugging a bomber jacket from his own form. Phainon draped it over your shoulders before you could protest. The weight of it settled like a claim, his scent seeping through the fibers, a quiet declaration you could not avoid. It was thick, warm, and carried the faintest scent of him but you had no choice.

It almost made you gag.

“Th-thank you,” you muttered, your voice trembling, partly from cold, partly from the pressure of his musk on the fabric. His lips twitched in a satisfied smile, eyes darting to your face, then back to the bomber almost as if he were savoring the sight of it on you.

“I’ll wash your sweater and give it back next week,” he said with voice unnerving in its intensity. He folded your sweater into and put it into the backpack with painstaking care. But you’ve noticed how his fingers lingered longer than necessary, curling slightly around the fabric as though memorizing it.

You watched him, trapped by the weight of the bomber, shivering, wrapped in a warmth that was too much, too close, too deliberate. The library’s silence pressed against the edges of the scene, the sound of distant voices from the outside doing nothing to break the oppressive atmosphere that wrapped around the two of you.

“So um… Wanna grab a drink? As an apology.”

Phainon leaned closer, his disgusting scent now tinged with something more sweet, something truly foul, something that you could not identify yet, brushing against your face, a breath that felt like a curse.

“Oh, um… I’m sorry, I… need to go already,” you mumbled out a desperate excuse. You clutched his bomber, your knuckles white, willing him to simply walk away, to leave you to the silence you now craved.

“Oh, I see,” His smile didn’t falter, but something in his eyes darkened, a subtle shift that sent a fresh wave of dread through you.

“Then let me escort you to your room at least!”

Phainon took a step closer, and the smokey scent intensified.

“The campus can be... unpredictable after dark. It would be irresponsible of me, as head of the student council, to allow you to walk home alone… and wet.”

His hand, warm and unsettling, briefly brushed your upper back. A fleeting touch that meant to be soothing felt like a lava on your skin.

“I'm sorry but-”

“I insist.”

Your thoughts would race against each other: what could he possibly do when you two are on the student grounds? Even if he tries something, you should be safe, there are other people around. He already knows where you live anyway, what more can he achieve? Maybe you can persuade him to stay away? Maybe he’ll lose interest in you after this small walk-and-talk? Maybe there is a chance to fix it? Maybe you can talk it out? And you can give him his awfully smelly bomber back.

…

Maybe there is something wrong with you.

And at the same very moment that thought hit, you nodded absentmindedly.

The walk to your dormitory was an agonizing descent into a deeper layer of your personal hell. Phainion walked beside you, close enough that his arm occasionally brushed yours, close enough that the cloying bitterness of something burnt out made your stomach churn.

You wanted to ask him about his antics but he just spoke…

“Phainon, I wa-“

“Right now we are planning the student clubs fair!”

...about the university…

“Please, can we-“

“Being the president is cool, but a little bit tiring!”

…about the student council…

“I wanted to a-”

“Look at this statue! Oh how lucky we are to study in such a university!”

…about the beauty of the old architecture…

“...“

“Oh, and by the way, I got a gold medal from that one swimming competition!”

Your eyes watered with every failed attempt.

As you reached the familiar facade of your dormitory, the relief was a sharp sensation. You fumbled for your keycard with the trembling hands. Phainon stopped beside you, blocking the last sliver of fading light from the street lamps.

You opened the door.

Then, a sudden, brutal shove to your back. The sheer force of it sent you stumbling forward with a yelp, your worn sneakers scrabbling uselessly on the polished linoleum before your knees slammed against the cold floor. A searing pain erupted as skin broke against the unyielding surface, a sharp sting that momentarily eclipsed the terror. Your body seized in panic, every nerve screaming, when the heavy door behind you clicked shut with an ominous finality.

“You know,” Phainon murmured in low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very bones of the building, echoing in the hollow space of your chest, “It’s taking too long.”

Your breath hitched, caught in a suffocating knot in your throat. The implication was an undeniable truth that slammed into you with the force of a physical blow, rooting you to the spot, blood roaring in your ears.

“Honestly, I tried my best,” he continued, his voice barely audible, a secret shared between predator and prey, the ultimate confession delivered with chilling calm, “but you didn’t even tried to notice.”

With those words, you managed to twist your torso and sit on your ass amidst the growing puddle of your own terror, your blood screaming in your veins upon the sight in front of you.

Phainon stood there, shielding a door with his broad shoulders, perfectly still like some menacing monolith. A sick, toothy smile stretched his lips in an unnatural way, pulling them too wide, revealing too much, like a predator displaying its fangs. Alpha’s face was flushed, forehead slick with an unholy sheen, as if he had a fever, or was consumed by some internal inferno. His gaze was fixed on you, unblinking, pupils dilated, two black pools reflecting your stunned figure. He tugged at his own choker as if it were a noose, or a leash he was about to throw away.

“And my rut is nearing.”

He stilled. The whole room seemed to breathe around you, inhaling and exhaling with the rhythm of your pounding heart, the dormitory room transforming into a claustrophobic cage.

But then you made an irreversible mistake. Your body, screaming for escape, instinctively tried to scramble backward, dragging itself against the floor.

That provoked him.

First, you saw Phainon move, his swift form bolting towards you in sudden shift too fast to follow in the dark of your room. Then, sharp pain of something hitting the side of your head. Then, a suffocating abyss that swallowed you whole, accompanied by the last agonizing whisper of something being burnt alive filled your lungs, your mouth, your very being.

There was nothing wrong with you.

Your weight was barely there in his arms, cuddled up to him like a precious gift. Your scent, that delicate whisper of black tea, was an intoxicating current, pulling him under every time. Phainon buried his face in your bloodied hair first, inhaling deeply, letting the calming aroma fill his lungs, settle in his bones. It was a stark contrast to the cloying smell that clung to his own skin, a scent only you seemed to truly register, a shared secret that thrilled him to the core.

Truth be told, Phainon was almost pathologically self-conscious of his own scent, as though every breath he exhaled condemned him. It clung to him like guilt, like memory, like past that never dispersed no matter how many windows he threw open.

Where other alphas carried the steady pulse of cedar, earth, or leather – anchors that drew others near – his was a suffocating noose of burnt charcoal and bitter ash. It was not an aura but a pyre, a funeral that refused to end. By the age of 16, he had learned to hide it with scent blockers, to disguise it in layers of bergamot and pepper. A masquerade of normalcy, though every drop only reminded him that he was unclean with tragedy.

Phainon remembered the first time they named him Alpha.

It happened after the flames, after the sky lit crimson over Aedes Elysia, after his home became nothing but a charred wound on the earth. His glands had bloomed open in that very fire, thick smoke in his throat, skin sticky with ash and soot, the stench of lives ending etched into him forever. His nature declared itself at the precise moment his world was annihilated.

A cruel joke of biology – what use is dominance, when everything you might have protected lies in ashes?

Phainon lived like a pretender, masking his own scent, clawing at the smelly spots on his body like it was possible to tear them out along with the bitter past that tortured him countless nights. They pulsed and ached under all the scent-blocking balm that he applied every day, always painfully swollen, but never used properly. His rut became a shallow memory from when he just presented. It never happened again, not with the amount of hormonal pills that he was taking. Not with all the masking that he did.

Not until you happened.

The first time Phainon caught your scent in the hallway, his knees nearly buckled. It was not even strong – no commanding alpha flare, no omega sweetness.

Just… you?

This fragile, ordinary miracle – a simple exhale of black tea, soft herbs, wool warmed by skin. Familiar, ordinary, unbearably tender. It smelled like the sweaters you wore, like mornings unbroken by tragedy, like a kitchen light left on for someone expected home. It smelled like the future, his future, that had been denied him once, and perhaps would be again, if he did not cling fast enough.

His chest tightened, his eyes watered before he even understood why. His lungs burned with the need to drag you deeper inside, to memorize that fragile note that cut through the smoke choking him.

For the first time since the fire claimed everything, Phainon felt something stir beneath the wreckage.

You were a beta, he understood later. A rare kin, but utterly unremarkable in the brutal taxonomy of scent and dominance. And yet you smelled like salvation. Like the promise of a life that could have been. And he hated the way his heart leapt, the way it broke inside his ribcage with every inhale he managed to take near you. Because it wasn’t fair. Because you did not know what you carried. Because the more he breathed you in, the more the ruined parts of him stitched themselves to you, thread by trembling thread.

You were not just someone. You were a reprieve, a reprieve he could not, would not, let slip away.

In his desperation he began to dream that if he could only press you close enough, inject himself deep enough, perhaps your calamity might overwrite his ruin. Phainon craved to let his body be consumed by you, to be buried deep among the dark, curled tea leaves at the very bottom of the cup, gently dissolving into the soothing liquid, becoming irrevocably one with your essence.

“Ack-!”

He shivered as the flames licked his loins, a faintly familiar tremor intensified like a visceral hum beneath his skin. His rut was nearing and your scent, so close now, so accessible, was a potent accelerant, fanning the fire of his escalating desire. It provoked him, pushing him closer to the edge, to the glorious precipice of instinct. His canines ached with a phantom bite, an unfamiliar urge to share the future with someone.

Phainon needed to move, or else he would claim you right here, in your unprepared dorm room.

He shifted your weight slightly in his arms, securing his grip. His flat was close, a safe haven near the university, meticulously prepared for you to become one. Every soft blanket, every muted light, every food you enjoyed, curated not for himself, but for this very moment.

Your door clicked shut behind him.

The transition from the sterile lobby to the dim twilight was seamless. His senses, already heightened by the approaching rut, flared. A solitary student, an omega who was heading to a late study session, glanced up, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of Phainon. But then, the boy’s gaze flicked to your form in alpha’s arms, quickly dismissing the unusual scene after a faint smile and a curt nod.

He was Phainon, after all.

He lulled you in his arms during the walk towards his flat, shushing your unconscious form like a great partner, frowning at the sight of blood in your hair. He knew that his method of collecting you was a little bit harsh. A touch unrefined. But how else was he to proceed? He simply didn’t know how to court you properly.

He’d tried to educate himself. He’d spent hours, days even, burrowing into the internet’s obscure corners, collecting dusty, forgotten books on the anatomy and social behaviors of betas. Phainon dissected scientific papers, searching for a tangible manual, a definitive guide to acquiring a beta. But none of it described anything he needed.

Like, seriously, was he supposed to just talk with you? Exchange pleasantries over lukewarm coffee? To just be around you? What about scenting, marking, claiming, utterly possessing?

He’d doubted that those advises would work, but he tried nevertheless. The book had been very clear: betas valued consistency, cherished shared time. Not flashy gestures, not the overwhelming dominance alphas were taught to flaunt, but presence.

So he gave you presence.

Phainon'd lingered nearby in the lecture hall, angled his body so you would catch him in your periphery, brushed past you in the corridors as if by accident. He sat across from you in the cafeteria, quiet and careful, certain you would recognize his patience as a gift.

But you didn’t. You ate faster, shoulders tight, head ducked as if retreat could save you. The sight made his chest ache with something between confusion and desperation. Perhaps, he thought, it was not you but him. Perhaps you simply weren’t accustomed to the strength of alpha pheromones. That would explain the tremors, the watery eyes, the way your breath caught as if the air itself betrayed you.

Another book insisted that familiarity softened resistance. Phainon decided you needed to become accustomed to his scent. He pressed his hands against the glands at his neck after long runs, when his pulse was strong and the musk heavy, then smeared it discreetly along the frame of your front door. It was meant to calm you, to prepare you. You were a beta, and betas were not as sensitive as others, so he reasoned you would need more. He thought you would sleep more peacefully surrounded by his protective musk, even if it smelled of ash.

But instead, Phainon heard you cry.

That first night he lay beneath your bed with his heart in his throat as the sound of your sobs pounded through him harder than any rut. You curled on top of the sheets in your street clothes, trembling like a small kitten in the rain. Every gasp, every hitch of your breath tore him apart, and yet he bit down on his lip until the iron taste of blood filled his mouth. He wanted to purr, to soothe, to let you know that your alpha was there, guarding you against everything else. But he stayed frozen in the shadows under your bed, hand clutching at his trousers as if that could hold him together, chest convulsing with the effort not to crawl out and wrap you in his arms.

What had gone wrong?

Phainon did not understand.

But it didn't matter anymore.

You were here. In his flat. In his nest.

The sight of you there broke him open, left his chest hollowed and trembling with something rawer than hunger. He had arranged the pile with the clumsy desperation of a starving man trying to cook for a banquet, typing “how to make a nest for your omega” into search bar with shaking hands. It had felt strange for an alpha, humiliating even, but betas weren’t supposed to know. Betas weren’t supposed to feel this need clawing through their marrow, this ache to soften space, to prepare, to build warmth until it was enough for two. So, in a desperate attempt to be a good mate, Phainon had done it himself. He had torn through stores, rejected cushion after cushion that didn’t hold his scent correctly, layered his own shirts, his blankets, everything until the air was thick with him. He hoped it was to your liking.

And there you were, unconscious and folded against the worn fabric of his t-shirt, already sinking into him, already marked by proximity.

Phainon’s breath fractured.

For the first time after the destruction of his home, he felt truly complete. His rut was beginning to truly bloom at the feeling, a roaring fire, consuming him slowly. Your black tea scent was a delicious provocation, igniting the final spark.

Soon, you would understand. Soon, you would belong. Soon, your futures would intervene, creating a new, promising destiny.

His hands reached for your clothes.

To mate... (WIP)

Warning: the second part will be much darker.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Taglist is closed for this one. (sorry~)

So… a little heads-up, my darlings! Things are about to get a lot darker in the second part. I'm using these requests as a chance to practice for my other fic, Gebo, so be prepared. Still, I'm writing it so you can skip ahead to the ending. To make sure everyone stays safe, I'm thinking of posting just the epilogue here on Tumblr and putting the more intense parts on my AO3. That way, everyone will have a safer option.

P.S. Second part of kiss Headcanons coming soon!

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hiramica · 1 day ago

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˗ˏˋ ★ Welcome to the VERY official "Who's-Your-HSR-Yandere" test!

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Hello, hello~

Just as the title says, I bring you a 45-question test to find out which of the HSR guys would be the perfect match for you as a yandere!

✩ A quick forewarning! Although this is a very tongue-in-cheek kind of a post (as is the test, this was very close to getting the shitpost tag), be mindful of its contents! As do nearly all other works, there might be some upsetting themes in the test, so I'll list them here!

Content warnings include: GN!Reader (BUT there are a few gender-leaning descriptions like "queen" and "bihh", and the guys will be called woman respecters, but nothing beyond that!), the general atmosphere that comes with yandere content (possessiveness, obsessiveness, imprisonment...), suggestive content (but nothing explicit), very vague implications of violence, and soul-crushingly bad humour.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

˗ˏˋ ★ The PASSWORD to the test is "GiveMeMyYan" without the quotation marks (remember capitalization)! You can find the link to it riiiight about...

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠛⣷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠃ ⠀⣠⣶⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⠀ ⢸⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿��⠀⠀ ⢸⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⠀𝓗𝓮𝓻𝓮 *ੈ✩‧₊˚⠀⠘⣷⡀⠀ ⠀⠙⠿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣤⡿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠛⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣄⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

✩ (It's supposed to be a star, but the font fucks it up on mobile. Phone users, please visualize like a really big star with the link in the middle.)

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

☆ Hey-hey-hey, deal offer: You do the test, and then you go check out my work for who you got, mm-mh? There's at least one (1) piece of writing for each result, pinky-promise!!!

☆ The test will ask you to put your name in; literally keyboard-smash it if you'd like, BUT if you're my regular reader (or a new one, I don't discriminate!), my moot or anyone really, I'm lowkey dying to know who you got, so if you're an emoji anon, for example, put your emoji in for lil' old me, pretty please ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)

I got an ask a good while ago, quote "Hi hi hi! I saw that you were considering doing headcanon-like posts in between your profiles, so I was wondering if one of your headcanon posts could be about what kind of darling the HSR yans would go for? Like what kind of personality would attract them? Do they prefer someone feisty and strong willed or maybe someone quieter and compliant?"⠀⠀ Thank you for the ask, Anon! I had already started cooking something up for this ask, but then I thought like, what if instead of a text post, I did a whole-ass Quotev-core test about what kind of a darling the yans would each go for. Like what if. This idea was phenomenal and I do not take criticism on it. Please have at least as fun of a time with this thing as I had making it, and do not take any bit of this seriously.

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hiramica · 3 days ago

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Prompt 1 + Osamu Dazai

– For @yandere-romanticaa –

I didn’t mean for this to get so lengthy, but I got carried away. Dazai is too lovable for his own good.

Trigger warnings: gaslighting, forced drugging | Word count: 1.3k+

Keep reading

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hiramica · 3 days ago

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Atropine (Whenever I look at you)

Yan! Dazai x Gn! Reader

Reader wears a skirt but has no set gender

Warnings: obsessive behavior and thoughts: bordering on worship, stalking, abusive relationships, kidnapping

Beast! AU implied, from Dazai’s POV so I tried to incorporate the writing style of No Longer Human at some points, also… Happy Valentines!!

Well, it was fine, after all he had a lifetime of chasing you in his arsenal and he felt it was only fair that he had a lifetime of keeping you to match. (Of course, it really wasn’t fair, but since when did the rotten care for fair? That was only for the viritous and right… like you.) Yes, he had all of this lifetime to keep you, and he’d be damned if he let anyone else feel you in any sense including sight, as undeserving as he was.

It all starts in the middle of October, with the biting wind brushing past him and the aroma of cinnamon hovering in the air.

It’s October when he sees you again, although, technically speaking, it was actually the first time he’d set his eyes on you.

Your hair is longer than it usually is—

(“Really, I don’t understand why you don’t get rid of those bangs, isn’t it hard to fight with all that hair in your face?”)

—and you’ve allowed yourself a more stylish outfit than the ones you usually wear—

(“…yeah but skirts are impractical, I’ll flash someone.

…W—what do you mean “good”?! Your such a—!”)

—and you seem more relaxed than you usually are (were, he corrects, were), probably attributed to the fact that you’re not an agency member anymore.

It really shouldn’t surprise him, when he sees you, because of course he would eventually.

But it’s enough to make his heart stop.

Because despite the fact that so much had changed, your same shining smile remained, a testament to your nature, comparative to that of the natural wonders.

You were like the river, rapids would falter and the very ground before you would ebb and weave throughout, but you were a constant.

The universe was a funny thing like that.

As if it were taunting him for his past decisions, for his mistakes, mocking him for his very existence with each step you took away from him, brushing past him like he was nothing.

And he was, wasn’t he?

Both in the literal sense to you and metaphorical sense to himself.

What a wretched joke.

Even he couldn’t bring himself to play the part of the clown and laugh.

Instead, he just stared at you, longingly, in the way that a lovesick school boy would stare at his first love, at your fluttering skirt as you brush by his table without a second thought.

But that wasn’t quite the right way to describe it either, as his eyes held a certain darkness to them, one that was inconsistent with the innocence of a first love.

Because it was him and he was tainted and rotten and the dregs of society and nothing he did was without ulterior motives. That deep carnal desire, the feeling of want, it burned him, it made him feel alive, he wanted you, he wanted you so badly.

In any way possible, in every sense.

And it was almost sickening, the ease at which he was able to conjure up all those images in his mind, like flickering through memories of moments that hadn’t yet occurred, and hopefully would not (but who was he kidding, it’s not like he could resist you).

A cozy domestic scene, the way you would smile that heart achingly nostalgic flustered smile as he pulled you in for another lingering kiss, despite half hearted protests about being late for your work, and then pulling you in for one more just for good measure.

The way you’d laugh at his clowning, the way that he effortlessly made himself into a fool with that contagious laugh of yours, that he would forget that he was anything else in that moment but a jester for your amusement.

Comforting him on the days he couldn’t keep up his act anymore, when he left his stage to show you the pitiful actor he really was, with the tired eyes and the dead expression that he couldn’t bring himself to change.

“I’m sorry.” He’d say, and he’d say it with whatever was left of what honesty remained within his garbage infested soul.

But he wouldn’t need to, because of course you’d pull him in closer to you, both in your arms and to your heart, because that was the type of person you were, the kind sort of naive person he’d dream about ruining, only to find that you were the one to stain him in the end.

At least, in that dream you were.

For the most part, you weren’t so lucky, and maybe that’s why even despite his own knowledge of his debauchery he tried to hide those thoughts deeper inside himself.

But in the end you were still such a precious little thing, weren’t you?

Another scene, a club you exit from in the middle of the night, the smell of cigarette smoke and sweat heavy in the air as he gazes at your slightly stumbling form.

(You’re not drunk, you’ve never really been a drinker after all, but you never could walk in heels very well either.)

And he’s trouble, as he always was (and forever will be), so when he sees you, a pretty young thing with a bit too much innocence in your eyes, he closes in like a shark would on a drop of blood.

He’d greet you with a slight grin on his face, and laugh to himself as you startle at his voice, before greeting him in return with an uncomfortable smile.

You’d say something about wanting fresh air, and he’d be able to tell from just one look at you that you were lying, that the club was never your scene and you were just searching for a way to distract yourself, or perhaps you were just putting up with something you detested for a friend, you were always too sweet like that.

Whatever it was, he could tell that you were right out of your element, and he wasn’t one to miss out on an opportunity presented to him.

“Need some company?” He’d ask, the smirk on his face a little too wolfish, but it was far too dark for you to see anyways, so you’d agree.

And you’d talk and talk and talk, talk into the hours of the night, until you forgot the reason for your nerves to begin with. Until you found a friend within the jester persona that he portrayed, laughing at the antics he put up solely for the purpose of entrapping you.

He’d leave with your number of course, and he’d keep up this charade with you for months, years even depending on how cruel he felt.

One way or another you’d end up letting him come home with you, after all he knew you too well (and he always would, in any form you came to him), and he’d savor every second of the moment.

Perhaps it would be your first time.

(It was, more often than not in all of his indulgent little fantasies, it was something about taking something from you that he could keep forever that did something for his perverted self.)

But perhaps not.

Either way he would be satisfied with having the chance to indulge in your sweetness just once, your taste, your scent, simply just your feel as he made you come undone for him for as many times as he fell for you (which was simply impossible to count).

And then… he would leave you.

He’d leave just as quickly as he came, a ghost in the night, finding a largely perverse delight in the way that you’d falter so suddenly after his absence, the anguish you feel coursing through you.

Because as disgusting as it was, he loved every corner and crevice of you, he loved you when you were at your highest of highs or your lowest of lows, and he loved you as you were smiling as much as he loved when you were sobbing.

And he’d come back of course, because he could never really bear to leave you, but he’d never stay for you, he’d always leave you on the precipice, wondering whether you ever really had him to begin with.

(And of course you really did, but how could he resist you when he knew you were staring at your wall at midnight, eyes bloodshot from crying, wondering if you were ever going to see him again.)

Because he loved when you were a mess, didn’t he?

He loved when you were begging on your knees for a pathetic thing like him, not because he liked feeling greater than you, but because he loved seeing that beautiful bittersweet expression on your face.

But that wasn’t all of it, that wasn’t the true depths of his depravity.

The final act remained after all, and this one was the most vile and disturbing of all.

It starts off the way he sees you presently, a civilian with far too much beauty catches the eye of a sleazy mafioso in a cafe that paid tribute to the local chapter.

You don’t know of course, most people don’t, but those who do watch with baited breath as he gets up from his stool in the back to saunter over to you with a deceptively disarming grin.

He’d excuse himself and ask if he could have a moment of your time, and you, the angel you were, would let him with a confused smile on your pretty little lips.

He’d flirt with you for a bit, make you grow flustered with that sweet little embarrassed smile that you’d hide your face in your hands to hide.

But this time he wouldn’t need your number to see you again.

After all, with so much power in his hands, why would he need anything as impermanent as that?

It wouldn’t be so hard to find out where you lived, where you worked, where you liked to frequent your weekends at, where you liked to spend time with your friends, who you were friends with, who you detested, (and god forbid) who you loved.

Nevermind the little details about your favorite color and what your favorite book was, after all he already knew those things by heart.

It wouldn’t be hard to schedule an “accidental” encounter with you, brushing by you as you peruse the shelves of your favorite bookstore (its funny how some things would never change), and you would look at him with your pretty lips parted in surprise before you’d smile at him, not so much charmed at his persistence than the causality of a second chance.

It was funny how that worked, how a moment seen as a romantic twist of fate could quickly turn into a chilling horror if only the light was shown on the truth of the matter.

But he would have no reason to reveal that bitter truth to you yet, so he would keep quiet and simply smile at you in turn.

Chances and chances and chances would pile up on top of eachother as he would seek out any sort of way to endear himself to you… and then, when you found yourself finding the slightest bit of trust in him, he’d pull away that final layer and reveal himself wholly to you when he would finally take you for himself.

He could imagine it very well, your betrayal, your anger… all of it when you’d find yourself in a room unfamiliar, bound and gagged as he would monologue joyfully about every little thing he had planned out from the beginning.

And better yet, the sense of horror you would feel as he would continue rambling about all the things that he was going to do now that he had you.

Finally, he’d pull off your gag and watch as you would stutter out your words rightfully calling him out for what he truly was all this time.

He’d look at you as you tear up, a grin on his face, although if you really looked at him, you’d see it was really just empty, simply a mockery of emotion.

“That’s right, I am a monster. The very worst one.” He’d say softly before he would make his advance on you and then…

And then indeed. Because he already had several ideas on what to do, depraved things that he would subject you to, but the only question was which ones…

Well, it was fine, after all he had a lifetime of chasing you in his arsenal and he felt it was only fair that he had a lifetime of keeping you to match.

(Of course, it really wasn’t fair, but since when did the rotten care for fair? That was only for the viritous and right… like you.)

Yes, he had all of this lifetime to keep you, and he’d be damned if he let anyone else feel you in any sense including sight, as undeserving as he was.

Those tormented emotions that only he could bring to light didn’t really belong to him, but he would savor them more than any other could possibly imagine. And he was sure to believe in that if nothing else.

So, with that he pulls himself from his most rousing daydream and sets his sights on you sitting at your little table, a coffee at your lips and your legs crossed showing the slightest hint of skin as your skirt subtly rises, and pulls himself up from where he sits to make his way over to you.

“Excuse me, may I have a moment of your time?” He asks as he finally crosses that short yet impossible distance to meet you.

And you.

You blink up at him with those breathtaking eyes and those lashes that catch the evening sun, and you say.

“Um… well, sure. What is it?”

Despite the shame he should feel, his lips hook up into that same mischievous smile, because of course you would.

“...I just wanted to say that you’re the most breathtaking person I’ve seen in my life.”

And when you smile that sweet little embarrassed smile, he feels a perverse thrill running through him.

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hiramica · 3 days ago

Note

Yan!dazai mindbreaking angel!reader ooo

ⵌ WATCH HER BREAK JUST LIKE A DOLL

SENDER Angel!Reader (Fem) RECIPITENT Yandere!Dazai (BSD) CONTENTS NSFW DARK CONTENT 16+ , obsession/possession, drugging, mind-breaking, reader is a hostage?, unhealthy relationship, dubcon/nc??, abuse (physical implied + mental), slight somnophilia, lowkey angsty, dazai is an asshole!, smut part isn't really detailed (WARNING; This relationship is unhealthy and should not be used as an example. Reader here does not hold Dazai accountable. If you are in an abusive relationship, please seek help from someone you trust or a professional! This fanfic does not idolise nor condone abuse within relationships) NOTE All these years of feeling inadequate and dumb. You were proud to have grown accustomed to Dazai's routine, even if he had promised you months ago he had changed. COMPANY Dolly

A/N combined 2 asks I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ASK BUT IT WAS A YANDERE DAZAI NSFW IDEA im so sorryy ... also any other yan dazai req ! !! srry for the long wait ;; !! reader is an angel !! she was kind of created ,,? kinda like sigma !! the og req had an idea abt aphrodisiacs but ... not sure if i want to write about them just yet :( so sorry!!

Dutiful and pristine, you were a model wife.

Delicate and gorgeous. Just how he liked you to be.

You were brought her to serve as his prize. His reward for years of watching you from afar, stalking you like a lions meal. And you, pure and kind-hearted, not once ever suspected a thing.

Dazai was your co-worker after all. A smart, handsome man with a positive future.

Back before this all, you were nothing but a mere fascination to not only him, but your peers as well. You were never offended or hesitant to answer questions others would have about you. How you came to be, whether you remember anything, and if those feathers of yours regrow.

You coped with everything by dissociating as much as possible. If you could believe hard enough - Dazai was still the Dazai you knew before. The man next to you who'd pout when ordered to finish his report, the one who would turn to you and try to flirt or make you giggle, knowing Kunikida would never dare give out to you.

How could anyone, after all? You only manifested a few years ago. What was it, eleven, or twelve. You can't remember. There was little you remember anyway.

The first few months with Dazai were a blur. You'd have blacked out for the majority of the day until he'd wake you up and force you to eat. If you'd refuse, he'd starve you until you'd beg.

You had tried to protest by going days without food or water but he always got his way in the end. You had to give in at some point.

The biggest obstacle was finding the guts to hate Dazai.

You were afraid to hate him. You were afraid to hate.

He'd treat you so gently and with love. Funnily enough, you blamed yourself for it all. You didn't know why or how, but you felt like if you had done things different, none of this would have happened.

Osamu was sweet. He always did what was right. You respected Kunikida and Fukuzawa immensely. If they trust Dazai, then so did you.

If you knew that you were a lamb handed to a wolf, maybe you would have ran much earlier.

Dazai did not show himself upfront. No. First, it was the mind games. The ghastly figures that would appear outside of your window in the form of blackened shadows, doors you remember closing being wide open when you return home, bangs and creaks around your home when you lived alone, your items disappearing from their usual spot, laundry vanishing completely, and countless mysterious messages from anonymous.

Second, it was you asking for help. You turned to who you admired best. The Armed Detective Agency. Ranpo scanned your phone. He read each message out loud before looking at you, then back down at your screen. He slid it back towards you. " There's nothing suspicious. It's just a prank. "

You felt relief. Ranpo had his ability, after all. The ability to figure out any mystery. He could not be wrong.

How dumb of you to think Ranpo would not be the first person Dazai would go to for his sick joke.

Third was the fever. It hit you like a brick. It was the first time you had been infected with a human illness. Dazai kindly offered to tend to you in his free-time, as everyone else was too busy. You were grateful that Dazai, an important member of the ADA, was sacrificing his time in helping you. He'd stop by almost every day and night to feed you and make sure you're alright. The more you drank that chalky water he'd give you daily before bed, the more you lost your ability to walk.

Fourth, was the inevitable. You waking up in a bed that was harder than yours. Upon observing around you, you realised you weren't in your house. And you don't recall ever sleeping next to Dazai. Naturally, you were afraid. You were in hysterics while he tried to calm you down, telling you stories on how it's safer for you to be here, and that you were an ungrateful bitch for not being grateful enough to him.

You didn't want to hear any of it. So? You were kept in his lovely basement.

There, you were badly treated. Sleeping on cold concrete and eating what scraps he'd leave on the floor for you like some animal - any form of resistance was met with harsh punishment.

You lacked survival instincts. You not once ever felt the need to. Working in the ADA, you were nothing but an accountant. You'd hear about the missions they'd go on, but to you it all seemed like the things you'd see in action films.

But this was real. The way your heart pounded in your ears every time you'd hear steps coming down and the way he'd tug your hair 'till your scalp would burn is something that the actors would never be able to portray properly.

It took you a while to realise you weren't going to make any progress by doing the opposite of what he wanted.

Though, you were admittedly conflicted.

You provided Dazai something interesting. If you let him use you, to spare yourself of his harsh punishments, would he get bored of you? Would he rid of you completely? Would he treat you more terribly to purposely make you act out just so he'd have a reason to strike you?

These were questions that would keep you up.

You couldn't be strong-willed for long. Hope that Kunikida or anyone else would come looking for you dwindled as the days went by and none would come but Dazai.

At some point, you had lost your voice for a while. In that period, Dazai took complete advantage of the fact. When you could do nothing but thrash and cry until you submit underneath him.

He'd pull out, collapse next to you and hold you close to his bandaged chest and apologise until he fell asleep with your hot breath against his skin.

Dazai had been your first time. He took an angel's virginity. You were frozen for the rest of the night. You were almost neutral to what had happened. You even wiped his tears away with your thumb. He apologised. He must surely be remorseful. He promised he wouldn't do it again.

You lost your halo that day.

'' Fetch me some water, I'm thirsty. "

His hand came off your head where it had been caressing.

You looked up at him through long lashes, slowly nodding your head and raising to unstable feet.

Ever since you were allowed to stay out of the basement, he's been helping you regain your ability to walk after the drugs had left your knees shaky.

Your movement was slow but gradual, at least.

If you wished to remain with Dazai, you'd have to obey him. And obey you did.

You fetched him his requested glass of water albeit spilling a tad bit on your way back, you presented him with it.

He peered in, then slouched back into the couch, gaze returning to the television screen. " I said orange juice. "

You were sure he said water.

" But you said water. " Your voice was meek compared to his.

" Are you saying I am lying? "

That shut you up.

You apologised, and travelled back to the kitchen to throw away the water and replace it with orange juice.

You'd bring it back, and he'd look at you with disappointment. " Why are you bringing me orange juice when I asked for apple juice? "

He sounded so convincing that you thought maybe you were mishearing. You held the orange juice in your hand tightly, apologised, and left to get the apple juice.

By the time you returned, you were shaking. The apple juice was dripping from the overfilled glass and onto the floor. You were trembling. " It's- It's apple juice. Because y-ou said.. "

Your gaze was so distant. You were so far away. You were no longer on this Earth. Dazai had to keep you grounded.

" You must be taking me for a fucking idiot. "

He slapped the glass right from your hand, your whole body jolted in shock when the glass shattered against the floor.

You two had just been cuddling on the couch, watching a noir movie like a happy couple would.

Dazai had to keep you grounded. He had to keep you on a leash lest you wander.

" Get over here. " He sighed out after a long pause. Instinctively, you answered, " No. "

It's been so long since you were punished. You didn't want to go back to them.

" I didn't do anything wrong ", your voice croaked out to reason. You should have figured at some point Dazai would get bored of a normal life style.

" I said get over here, Y/N, my patience is already running low. I'm not going to hit you. "

And no matter what you've been through, you'd wake up praying Dazai was kinder. He had overheard your nightly prayers one day and in an act of irony or sympathy - hung a cross over your bed.

You fiddled with the hem of your skirt before waddling to between his spread thighs. Hand reaching for your hip and guiding you down to sit on his lap, you avoided eye contact.

You were clearly afraid of being punished for something that was not your fault. You couldn't tell Dazai it wasn't your fault. That would be calling Dazai a liar. And that would get you hit. Good wives don't get hit.

True to his word, he did not raise his hand to you at all.

Once he opened his mouth to speak, you attentively turned to him. His training worked wonders on you. He made himself your God in a matter of months. You no longer worried your pretty little head on whether Kunikida would save you. All you had to do was clean around the house and prepare Dazai's meal - living to serve your husband.

" You've been such a good girl, don't ruin it with this, 'kay? " He didn't sound mad anymore, but you could still pick up on the fact he was not exactly happy with you either.

" Yes, 'samu. " You nod, toying with your fingers nervously.

" You're such a sweet wife. So dumb. So cute. Love seeing you panic. "

You bit your bottom lip at that, chewing on skin.

'' D'ya think It's about time we started our own family? "

You thought at first you didn't hear him properly. You knew you were trying to convince yourself so.

" Ahah.. " You were hesitant. He picked up on it. His dark brown eyes felt like lasers. " I don't think I can. I'd love to, 'samu, but I can't. "

He let go of his soft grasp on your hip to allow you to stand up.

It was 9pm. You should head to bed.

His silence and poker face felt foreboding.

" Goodnight, love. " You tried to remain cheerful.

You went to bed earlier than Dazai. You climbed into your shared bed after having taken your nightly medication.

You fluffed out your wings - once white, now grey - then tossed and turned until you slept.

" Hah.. hah.. "

The burning heat is what hit you first.

Confusion was second.

" Wakin' up, pretty baby? "

Your mouth opened by itself before your eyes did, and when you tried to speak, to ask what is going on, you let out a soft moan.

You feel something sink in deeper in your pussy, the wooden bed frame hitting against a wall. Oh.

" 'Samu! " Your eyes shot open upon realising what was happening. Dazai had not done this for a while. The room was dark. Judging by how dry your mouth was, you had been fast asleep for a while.

Dazai was propped on his knees between your thighs, naked from what you could make out.

You looked further down to realise that he had shoved his dick in you while you were asleep. Your nightgown was pulled up over your stomach and his hands were holding on loosely to your hips.

Your hand reached out to grip onto his wrist, your legs unable to close. " No, you said you were gonna be better, you said no more of this. " Oh, you sweet poor child.

" It's alright. " He responded casually, pulling out just to slam back in. Although your vision was limited, you could feel his piercing stare studying your contorting features. " Just this once, yeah? "

You remembered your conversation with Dazai earlier. The sudden question about having a child.

When you tightened around the base of his shaft, he knew what you were thinking.

" Don't get all scared, baby. You'd make an amazing mom. " He would bend down, his mouth next to your ear as he'd begin thrusting.

You lay unresponsive and silent, staring at the ceiling - your only solace.

His huffs, groans and sighs muffle themselves on your pillow, your body would temporarily jolt in spasms with each orgasm.

Dazai continued for hours.

At some point, your hands were tangled in messy brown hair, your mouth hung and your voice would plead for 'more', 'there', 'deeper'.

Your sweet husband never pulled you back when you drifted off to space with your longing gaze.

He barely even met you in the eye.

Dazai finished his rounds before you noticed. It was a period of him not touching you that made you turn your head sideways to meet him laying next to you, his chest still raising and falling as he'd regain his breath.

You hadn't moved your body.

Adjusted to the dark, you couldn't help but stare at the pitiful man who spoke nothing to you.

An emptiness weighed your heart down and the liquid love he had planted in you seeped - unwelcomed.

You still felt bad for him. Surely, definitely, this was not his fault.

" I'd like a girl. "

Your lips trembled, you smiled to hide it.

" Two.. daughters. "

The corners of your lips quivered with your fake expression. He could see your eyes gloss and your shivering body, blinking rapidly until your tears slid down.

You never did want children. Not with Dazai, at least. Not for another few years. Not here, not now, not with him. Not this Dazai.

He left you waiting for a while, until he rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling that enamoured you with amazement when he had made love to you.

" Yeah. "

He sounded uncertain, before continuing his response. You had expected it. All these years of feeling inadequate and dumb. You were proud to have grown accustomed to Dazai's routine, even if he had promised you months ago he had changed.

" 'm sorry. "

" I know. "

©yawarakaizai 2023 ﹒﹒ reblogs appreciated! requests open :3

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hiramica · 3 days ago

Text

yandere ex pm dazai x reader

im imagining a scenario where it turns out that pm dazai doesnt really love you and that you were just a toy for him to play around with..

you're angry and rightfully upset and you're in tears and sobbing. you thought dazai loved you and it turns out that he didnt? what a sick joke.

buuuut then dazai sort of realizes that he's alone without you. there's a sick feeling of regret crawling up his spine.

and once he starts to regret, it hits him hard. he went from not caring and then did a whole 180 and started to miss you a lot.

once hes in the phase where regret eats up at him, he's quite literally scary as fuck. all of a sudden he becomes more agitated, more selfish, and has less patience.

all of his subordinates and people working under him can tell that dazai is a time ticking bomb about to explode. when he regrets, dazai becomes more aggressive and downright scary. if his men fail a mission they are all getting severely punished. dazai just doesn't have the patience anymore.

it doesn't get any better when he becomes the port mafia's boss. if anything, he becomes even worse. if you thought mafia executive 'Demon Prodigy' dazai was scary, you haven't seen anything.

as the boss of the port mafia, dazai is naturally in charge of everything that happens as he quite literally is the highest ranking member of the mafia because he's the leader. during the time period he takes over as the boss, nobody even wants to mess with him.dazai has much more influence over everything during this time and you can bet that he has been watching over you for quite some time.

it doesn't take long for dazai to snatch you back up. he quite literally was 'suffering' and in so much 'pain' without you even when it was clearly his fault. you cant blame yourself for leaving him. who wants to be with someone who doesnt love you? nobody right?

during this time, he tries to run into you by coincidence. at this point he sometimes runs into you if you worked at a restaurant or something. he tries to play it cool but you both know what his true intentions are and it doesn't need to be said out loud.

you however, are downright terrified. this is literally the same guy who committed 625 counts of fraud. 625. not to mention he is the literal boss of the port mafia. the boss. the frickin boss.

you're scared because you dont believe he will show any mercy towards you. this is because the two of you arent 'lovers' (you don't know if the both of you ever were because dazai didnt hold any feelings for you) and he probably sees you as nothing more than a stupid idiot. this is not the same dazai you loved. this is the dazai that doesnt love you meaning that he doesnt care about you which in turn means that if something happened to you, he just straight up doesnt care.

he starts calling you 'belladonna' and 'darling' again which feels awkward and disgusting. whenever he calls you that you straight up wince and cringe and you don't even try to hide it. there's a whole wave of awkwardness that lingers in the air when you just reply back with a "..hi?.." dazai senses that the tension in the air is so thick that you could slice through it but him being him he just straight up dgaf.

you're not thrilled to see him whatsoever. when he comes here he doesn't even order any food and just tries to talk to you. he always leaves you a huge tip when he does leave though. you never take it though. you dont want his money. the next time he does come you give the money back to him and but he refuses to take it back saying "you've been working so hard belladonna, you deserve to treat yourself." again with the belladonna thing. it doesnt feel right for him to call you that at all.

dazai knows that youre refusing his advances but it doesnt stop him from trying. afterall you loved him once. thats all that matters. its only the results that matter in the end right?

right?

...

maybe.

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hiramica · 3 days ago

Text

Red Man In The Shadows

Yandere Dazai X Reader

"Did you really think you would get away that easily, Belladonna?"

==================

Tags: Yandere Dazai, failed escape attempt, hinted kidnapping, Atsushi gets hurt in the crossfire, Manipulation, reader does subconsciously love Dazai, blood, stabbing, reader gets stabbed, use of "Y/N"

==================

[Atsushi: pls meet me at the warehouse tonight.]

The text was simple and direct. Two things Atsushi never was.

It came out of nowhere. You two weren't the type to text, other than the occasional "I'm here" and "be there in 5."

Ever since he had found you at Dazai's apartment, cold, fatigued and starving, he had preferred to stay close to you, thus, no need to text.

You had just started working at the agency a year ago. It had been over 13 months since then, and 5 months since you had mysteriously disappeared without a trace. And now, just 3 weeks since your rescue, you had started getting used to the feeling of being guarded. Being safe.

Dazai had left you in that apartment a couple months after taking you there. Had it been a punishment for misbehaving, or a way to evade blame and the law, or just one of his old mind games he loved to play on you, you had no idea. You had gone days, maybe more than a week without food, water, or electricity before Atsushi found you. Starving, cold, and confused, the agency took you back in like a helpless little dog who'd lost its owner. As for Dazai, they'll burn that bridge when they come to it. They know by now that that man was like a cockroach, sometimes he's here, sometimes he's not, but you'll never truly get rid of him.

The warehouse was cold and smelled like the nearby river. No lights, no people, just the moon and the sounds of water pushing against the structures above it. All this felt a little too familiar, and you were just about to leave, until you heard a voice.

"Leaving so soon?" It said. It was a voice you knew all too well, and hoped you would never hear again.

You didn't even need to look behind you to feel the dread of knowing who it was.

The sound of slow footsteps made its way to you like a snake following its prey. The man walked to your side, slender hand on your shoulder, before he finally decided to make his presence known. To make you look at him.

He played with your hair as you stared down at your feet. No, you thought. Not again.

"Hmm? What's wrong, dear? You look like you've seen a ghost!" His voice was still as cheery as it always was, but there was something else there. A hint of anger.

"I don't know why you're acting like this, I'm the one who should be upset. After all, you did betray me, didn't you?"

It was like it was a question. Like when your mother asks you if you did something wrong, even though she knows you did. She didn't need to ask, she just needed you to know she knew what you did.

"Please," you said softly, your voice almost breaking, tearing at the seams. "Leave me alone."

"Huh?" He said. "That's not very nice. I'm just happy to see you is all!"

"No you're not." You spat back, still with a hint of fear and dread in your voice. "You're angry. I know when you're angry. You can't trick me anymore, I know all your moves."

Dazai looked at you with a curious expression, or at least that's how it felt. You were still looking down at your shoes, wondering if they would weigh you down if you ran for it right now. The cold air of the warehouse spit on your skin like little needles. It hurt, but you had other priorities right now.

Dazai stood upright. "Well, guess there's no point in the theatrics now." He said with a sigh. He grabbed onto your arm and dragged you in the other direction. At this point you knew better than to try to fight. Letting him guide you, you kept your eyes to the ground before you finally got a whiff of it. The smell of blood.

Finally you looked up. The scent was strong and came from right behind you. Dazai stopped walking suddenly, and your nose became familiar with the scent. The scent of Atsushi.

You turned around to find your friend soaked in red, tears in his shirt and pants, and blood staining his hair and the ground below him. The blood was dry, meaning he had been there for a while.

"I-I don't understand." You stammered softly. "His ability...he should have regenerated by now..." it took you less than 5 seconds to find the culprit, although it should have already been obvious. You finally looked up at Dazai, at the psychotic man who hurt your friend.

"You canceled out his ability..." your eyes were as big as saucers, and your teeth began to chatter.

"You thought you could run away from me." He said, voice low and deep. His cheerful expression was gone, he wasn't even looking at you. His whole front side was covered in a shadow, as he was facing away from the only source of light you had at that moment: the moon. "But you can't. And because of you, a good man may die tonight."

"No..." you whispered, looking back at the bloody, battered man laying in front of you. "I didn't do this, it wasn't my fault, you were the one who-!"

"Had you just stayed put and waited for me," Dazai's voice was laced with venom as he took a step towards you. "Had you just rejected his outstretched hand this wouldn't have happened. Now you must take responsibility for his death. This is all on you, Y/N-chan. You did this."

You couldn't even look the man in his dreadful, venomous eyes anymore. His gaze hurt more than it should have.

"But you can fix it." He said. You looked back up at him with hope in your eyes and he handed you a knife. "End his misery, Y/N-chan. Finish what you started."

You took the knife in your hands and walked slowly towards the body. His chest rose and fell slightly, he was still breathing, but surely he was in pain. He was at death's door, all you had to do was ring the bell. Then this will all be over.

"I-I can't!" You said, turning to face the man behind you. "I can't do it, Dazai-san! He was good to me! He was my frie-"

"If he was your friend, you would want his pain to be over." Dazai took a big step before you and spoke with a voice as sharp as a blade.

"You have to pay the price for your actions, Y/N-chan." He said.

You looked down at the knife in your hands, and slowly pointed it at Dazai. A small sense of power crept into your soul. All he did was scoff.

"Someone's feeling brave," He said as he stepped closer and closer, until the knife poked at his chest.

"If you want to, you can do it." He whispered, a sense of seduction in his tone.

"After all, I did so many things to you back at that apartment. Your anger may be justified. But it doesn't erase everything you did to that poor boy."

"I didn't do anything." You said. "I was kind to him. He helped me. I didn't have anything to do with what happened to him."

"Play the blame game all you want," He said, "but there's still a body on the floor."

"There's about to be one more," you said. The blade poked deeper into his chest until a trickle of blood seeped out, but all Dazai did was smile.

"Go on, Belladonna." He said with a chuckle. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, "kill me."

One breath. And then another. And then before you knew it the knife in your hands slowly disappeared from view.

You couldn't do it. You couldn't kill Dazai. You didn't know why, after everything he did, he definitely deserved it, but a part of you held the knife back. A part of you wanted to stay with him.

"Good girl," he whispered, taking the knife from your hands as you let go of it without a fight. Suddenly, a cold, sharp pain entered your abdomen and blood spilled from your own lips. Despite that, he held your chin and kissed you, tasting the liquid pain inside.

Once he let go, his lips were tinted red.

"Let's go, Belladonna." He said, as he slowly pulled the knife from your stomach. Your knees buckled, and now you were leaning on him completely. The man took you in his arms and carried you, walking out of the warehouse with you bleeding onto his vest and leaning on his chest.

"Rest, darling." He said as you slowly fell into a deep slumber. He was saying something else, but you couldn't hear.

Meanwhile, Atsushi watched you go, barely even alive.

END

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hiramica · 3 days ago

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So... you accept dark content? Perfect. Not a confession but.. I just need your thoughts on a dark poly skk

My personal thoughts is that, I could see it working out, there would obviously be arguments and shit but entertaining none the less. You said dark, so I'm giving dark hc thoughts 😘 TW- Noncon implied, kidnapping, abuse, dehumanization

-Dazai doesn't have the space or money to keep you captive, so that's on Chuuya to do. You most likely have your own room at first just to settle in and learn to behave before they unchained you.

-Dazai is definitely the most affectionate, he doesn't know the meaning of boundaries. He'll touch you and kiss you, groping at your chest and ass. Pushing him away won't deter him, he's an asshole, he's gonna instigate shit.

-Chuuya would definitely be more open to treating you like a human and not just a pet or smth to stick his dick in (*cough* Dazai *cough*) he's more gentle and respectful of your boundaries and limits. Although... if he wants a kiss before he leaves for work.. then he's not taking "no" for an answer, love.

-Punishments... depends on who and why you're getting one. Dazai tends to let loose and be more sadistic with his punishments. Chuuya, depending on what you did, can either just spank you or edge you for hours. There ABSOLUTELY WILL be noncon involved at some point, sometimes Chuuya just doesn't have the patience to sweetly talk you into sucking him off... and Dazai? Dazai doesn't care all that much, especially if we're talking PM Dazai.. that fucker gives 0 shits about what you want.

-I do wanna say that if the punishment involves BOTH of them... just one question, WHAT DID YOU DO??? Dazai most likely will lead with most punishments because Chuuya is a pretty empathetic person so he'll go easy sometimes. You will definitely be chained up and spread open, they might drug you if you're fighting a little to much. You will ABSOLUTELY be fucked within an inch of your life, you won't know left from right anymore.

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hiramica · 3 days ago

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Can I request ADA Yandere Dazai with a ADA fem reader?

imagine Yandere!Dazai kidnaps fem!reader cause he had enough of stalking. Acting all friendly in the ADA with her, only for reader to act oblivious to his advanced to court her. Fem!reader waking up after being drug by the Dazai, laying on an unfamiliar bed, being chain. Dazai walks in explaining all his love for her. Suprise suprise, fem reader explain he doesn't have to kidnap her and she was willing on staying for Dazai and proving her love for him

you basically just wrote the whole thing for me LMAO

But heres your summery but ✨longer✨ (Just like my di-)

Warnings: stalking, kidnapping, Yandere themes, a littllllee NSFW mentions and I think that's it

Disclaimer: this is not romanticizing Yandere stuff, this is fanfiction and is never ok in real life

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn't enough anymore. No, he needed more. Sure, he loved stalking you, watching you eat, sleep, game, whatever. He needed you to notice him, his affections, his love. Every day he watches you smiling and laughing with Kyouka, playing with Nanami, and having fun with people who aren't him. Every day he desperately tries to impress you, to make a move, but you always squirm around, looking away and leaving. He wish he knew why. He couldn't take it anymore, so he did what he had to do... He had to make sure he was the center of your attention.

Your eyes slowly flutter open, glancing around the monotonous room. Sun beams pour through the window, reflecting off the plain, white walls aswell as the hardwood floor. The flickering ceiling light and the soft, blue bed you lay on seem to be the only decor in the room. You try to sit up only to realize your wrists and ankles are restrained by chains. You try to stay silent as you attempt removing the chains from your limbs, hoping to not alert any unwanted attention to whoever brought you to this place. You find your efforts to be in vain, both removing the chains and being quiet, because you here footsteps approach the room.

"Hey Belladonna~" You watch as a hooded man enters the room. You can't hold your tears in as you violently thrust against the chains, attempting to break free.

"What the hell do you want?!" You scream, your eyebrows furrowing as big, salty tears stream down your face. The panic and fear overwhelm you as the anonymous man chuckles. He removes his black hoodie, revealing his true face.

"Dazai...?" Your eyes widden. Your emotions were all over the place now, anger, betrayal, confusion, anxiety, fear, panic... Too many emotions at once... He smirks at your squirming, "Why the long face dear?" You flinch as he approaches you, kissing your tears away, "I'm not gonna hurt you!"

"Get away from me-" he quickly covers your mouth with his palm.

"Shhhh, I'll explain everything." He smirks, but his face is tinted pink. "you see, I've liked you for quite some time. Everytime I went to flirt or make a move, you would avoid eye contact and leave. I've been stalking you, so I know you haven't noticed me... It's so cute when you touch yourself, or read smutty fanfiction at 3 AM, or laugh at a cat video. I can't get enough of you, so I had to take matters into my own hands... So I drugged you and kidnapped you, it was the only logical thing to do!" You think his actions were the opposite of logical.

"Dazai... do you know why I avoid eye contact and squirm?" He raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. You sigh, "It's because I love you idiot!" Dazai's whole face turns red, "Y-you what?"

"I love you!" And like that, your both blushing messes. Dazai would've never suspected that the reason for your avoidance of him was because you liked him! He looks overjoyed as he pecks your lips.

"So if I untie you, you won't try to run?" You shake your head, "You didn't have to kidnap me or tie me up! All you had to do was confess!" Dazai eagerly unties you, pulling you to his chest.

"I love you..." he whispers.

"I love you too..." You smash your lips against his, excited to live your new life with him.

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hiramica · 3 days ago

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brain fuzzy i try to make words

beastzai keeps u locked in a cage most days. sure, he makes sure you already have a chasity belt. and sure, whenever he's not there to consistently monitor you your hands are cuffed behind your back. but he likes to take the extra precaution to make sure nobody else can get to you.

he takes the belt off whenever you come to work with him, strapping a vibrator to your clit and letting you cockwarm him while he writes out his boring reports. whenever he gets frustrated, whenever he needs a break he just nuzzles his face into your neck and ruts into you. keeping u nice and stuffed full how he likes it

ZAIIII YOU MAKE ME INSANEEEEEEE

Ough he just wants to keep you safe!! He decorates your cage all pretty with cushions and a blanket he can drape over it when it's time for bed, and of course plenty of plushies for you to cuddle and hump when you get needy! Not that you'll get any relief because Beastzai keeps you always locked up, so the only way for you to get relief is through him. And you have to ask extra nicely, getting on all fours still inside your cage and pressing your ass against the bars, whining and hoping he'll take pity on you and bring you into his lap. He keeps you naked most of the time, except for a sleek metal collar that's screwed shut around your neck and maybe some cuffs or mitts because good doggies don't know how to use their paws!

Beastzai loves how needy you are all the time, always spacey and hazy, always subconsciously grinding against things and trying to rub yourself on every surface in the house like you're in heat. It's so cute how you're so needy and it makes him so happy to see you barking and whining, dropping willingly to your knees to wordlessly mouth at his bulge in hopes that he'll unlock you. The spark of hope and relief in your eyes when he pats his lap is so adorable, he especially loves snuffing it out by using your ass instead of unlocking you or just grinding you on his clothed bulge before whistling you back into your cage. Sometimes he jerks off over your face or just out of reach of your cage because your desperate face turns him on soooo much.

And on the rare occasion that he does unlock you he makes you really earn it. Beastzai probably hurts or humiliates you in some way, pushing your limits to cement in your mind that you're desperate enough to do anything for him. You're not allowed to move when he has you in his lap, you're meant to sit pretty and let him feel you up whenever he likes. Sometimes he rubs your tummy and inner thighs without actually touching where you want him, sometimes he idly flicks through every setting on a vibrator that's taped securely to your clit, sometimes he's happy to pinch your nipples and slap you if you squirm. And you're so far gone that you'll thank him for it.

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hiramica · 3 days ago

Text

❛ DOLL ❜

Yandere!PM! Osamu Dazai X Fem!Reader

| YANDERE CONTENT | DARK CONTENT |

WC; 1.5k+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW :: yandere! x fem!reader, implied noncon into dubcon, stalking, kidnapping, discrete kidnapping, bruising, abuse, cuts, blood? manipulation, nsfw, smut, piv, cervix kissing, hickies, creampie?, no protection, mention of kids, mention of pregnancy, breeding, nickname: Bella, Belladonna + more

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ::dazai kidnap's you and he makes you into his perfect little doll. he does horrible things to you, marking you up as his whether is hickies, cuts or bruises, during sex or not. maybe he even nulifies your ability away and renders you useless, manipulating you

m.list | bsd m.list

You weren't strong, you wouldn't say that you were strong but your sweet words and gentle personality were enough to catch the eyes of Dazai.

Your room has been meticulously crafted for you, you always sat in the centre of your, your and Dazai's shared bed, knees pulled to your chest as your entire body was littered with bruises.

Your life was once colorful, filled with joy; it became a memory you would never be able to catch up with again. Now, the silence that is only broken by the floorboards is replaced by Dazai's sweet or condescending whispers into your ear.

"You're too weak to be outside, Belladonna"

"That pretty face should be for my eyes only."

You clung to a plush pink teddy Dazai had won for you the one time he ever took you out to a traveling fair. You were useless, your body rendered into nothing but a shell of a human being haphazardly constructed by the orders of Dazai.

He'd never hit you physically, though there were more than enough times he would grip a section of your body too tight that it would leave a purple bruise behind. He held onto arms, wrists, shoulders, and legs and hips with a waist, every single part of your body.

Then he'd appease you that same evening, singing to you just how sorry he'd be even if you knew he wasn't. He would be amused by your state, although he wouldn't show it—you could just tell the way that he looked at you.

It is so loving to see the welling-up of those tears within your lash line and how your bottom lip would tremble, smirking at the sight of you pushing down the want to let out your hot tears. Still, the only reason Dazai loves seeing you cry is because he can soothe you.

He'd want to pull you into his arms and have you sob into his chest, your fingers and hands clenching at his suit. He would be so gentle with you, holding you tight to his chest, where an arm would wrap around your waist and another would go around your upper back so his hand could rub the back of your head.

He would smother your face with kisses then, reminding you that you couldn't leave, that you were weak and didn't belong anywhere else but with him, because the outside world had too many dangers for your weak body.

He nullifies your ability; now you truly had no chance to escape because he even watched your diet. So that even if you had been able to use your ability once more, your body would collapse under its overwhelming force.

"You're looking rather fragile today," he says, his voice playful as he stoops down to your level. His fingers delicately outline the bruise on your arm, one he formed when you begged to take a walk. "It's almost as if you need me to protect you from the outside world. You're so easy to hurt."

You flinch out of instinct from his touch, the fingers a stinging rose on your purpling skin. For a brief moment, Dazai's eyes soften, but the smile is cold and rational. "You know, if you were outside, unprotected and vulnerable, you would not live out a day. Just not cut out for what the world throws at you."

His words are twisted to be of a reassuring nature, meant to keep you dependent on him. The freedom you once held so dear is now a memory, torn from you deliberately bit by bit. Dazai has made sure that you can neither fight back nor flee.

"You should be grateful," he continues, his voice a soft, sinister murmur. "I'm the only one who can keep you safe from the dangers outside these walls. Without me, you're nothing. Fragile, delicate, Belladonna."

He rises from his seat, his eyes running over you thinly. Bruises and cuts map your body, evidence of how tight, how unyielding his hold on you really is, even though he would never outright hurt you.

"Stay with me," Dazai murmurs in a low, pleading tone. "You do not need anyone else. You are just prey out there. Here, with me, you are safe. You are treasured."

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, his lips brushed against your skin—that was possessive. "Say it with me, no one else will be able to protect you like I can. No one else ever will care about you the way I do."

He straightened up then stepped back, but his eyes didn't leave yours.

Dazai said he never hurts you, but that's all he does, and yet you're starting to lose your correct thoughts. Starting to think maybe what Dazai does is normal. "Oh, darling," he coos as tears are falling down your face, you hadn't even noticed that the tears begin to fall.

"Let me take care of you, make you feel better," he continues, and your body falls flat against the mattress, your hands now falling by your head as he holds them down and your eyes widen.

"W-What?" you manage to barely speak out, your bottom lip trembling. You knew what was coming but you didn't want to acknowledge it.

"Hush, Bella," he sings, spreading layers of hot and heavy kisses across your bare neck and shoulder, dipping back and repeating, "I know you're scared, but I'm here."

You're scared of him, not the outside world.

But your mind and soul are forgetting what it feels like to be true.

"You're mine," he whispered, the breath scorching your skin as his lips made good, solid bites and hickeys down your body, ignoring the yelps and pained mewls that left your plump lips. "Only mine."

A chill ran down your spine as his words emerged, yet a twisted thrill surged through you. His obsession over you was so palpable, almost suffocating, yet it drew you to him like a moth to flame.

And as he came, his lips inches from yours, you knew your resolve was utterly useless. No other vacancy can there be inside the realm of Dazai except for his lusts, and you were utterly ensnared helpless allowed into his kingdom of dark and lust.

Dazai catches your hand right before you make contact with his chest and brings it up to his neck. He closes the remaining space between us, chest to chest, and kisses you, making you forget.

You forget everything he's done to you because he makes love to you so sweetly.

You forget how he gives you bruises.

The cuts.

Forgetting how he marks you all over your body so everyone knows that you're his.

He lifts you, and you wrap your legs around his waist. The new position has his cock nearly lined up perfectly where your spongey, gummy spot was, but he moves before you can lose your mind enough to take advantage. We fell down to the bed, inciting an out-of-breath huff from your throats.

"See, you love this," Dazai hums, his cock resting snugly in your walls and you mewl in response. "You're so pretty like this, Bella."

"S-Stop," you moan out, your words contradicting your body.

"Belladonna," he hums, cupping your face with one hand. "It's alright, you can have anything you want and I'm here for you."

But this isn't what you wanted, right?

He cups your breasts, but he doesn’t linger long before he slides down your body and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot just below your belly button. Content sighs left your mouth as your hands entangled in his hair.

You come so hard, it feels like every system is shutting down. It’s as if that orgasm took his edge off because he takes his time now, dragging his mouth over your stomach, kissing the curves of your breasts. It wasn't too long before his own cum spills inside your pussy, a white ring forming around the base of his cock, his and your own cum mixed in.

He loves how you clench around his length, you say you don't want him, but the way you milk him dry would say otherwise. You cum just from having his length snug inside your cunt and the feeling of his dangerous kisses covering your body.

"You did so well, love," he praises, cupping my face once more, kissing away more tears. "So good for me."

Pulling out slowly, Dazai spreads your legs, admiring the cum that slips from your cute pussy and he momentarily frowns. "No, this isn't going to do," he hums to himself and your eyes widen in worry of what was going to happen.

You were so unsure of what Dazai was thinking, but your thoughts were answered when he entered his length back snug into your cunt and you let a whimper leave your throat in overstimulation.

"It's okay," he reassures, putting his weight on you before readjusting your position, now you were spooning each other, your frame in front of his while he kept his cock all nice and warm in you.

An occasional shiver radiated from your body and Dazai's grip would tighten on you, more bruises forming on your body. His aim was to have you pregnant, to fill you with his seed and breed your cunt, wanting to see your belly swell with his child and watch you struggle even more when you're with a child.

He knows you'd have to be even more careful

and therefore

more obedient.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | bsd m.list

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