ストックホルム (Yandere Shigaraki x Reader)

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Ahh you bitches thought it was over

As you surveyed the barren room, boredom seemed like a distant concern compared to the stark reality of your surroundings. The emptiness pressed in on you, suffocating any hope of distraction. Your eyes lingered on the few colored pencils and the worm coloring book, their presence mocking your predicament. How utterly delightful it was to be confined to such a desolate space.

The stench of the piss-filled bucket in the corner assaulted your senses, its foul odor permeating every inch of the room. The air hung heavy with the unmistakable scent of neglect and decay, a constant reminder of your grim circumstances. And then there was the undeniable "musk" that clung to you, a testament to the days that had passed since you last felt the cleansing touch of water

As you settled onto the worn, creaky bed, the weight of the past week bore down on you like an oppressive shadow. It had been seven long days since Shigaraki departed for his assault on UA, leaving you behind in this decrepit hideaway. With each passing moment, the gnawing uncertainty of his fate gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, leaving you to ponder the grim possibilities that lay ahead.

The absence of Shigaraki cast a pall over the room, his presence a constant reminder of the fragile balance upon which your existence teetered. Was he still out there, fighting against the heroes with every fiber of his being? Or had he fallen, a casualty in the never-ending struggle between good and evil? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, the fear of abandonment clawing at the edges of your mind.

And what of you, trapped in this dismal chamber with no means of escape? The prospect of being forgotten, left to wither away in obscurity, loomed large in your thoughts. Would anyone even remember your name, or would you simply fade into the annals of history, a footnote in the grand tapestry of villainy?

The dwindling supply of water served as a stark reminder of your tenuous grasp on survival. With only a gallon left to sustain you, the specter of dehydration loomed ever closer, threatening to extinguish the fragile flame of hope that flickered within your heart. What would become of you when the last drop had been drained from the bottle, when thirst tightened its grip around your throat and refused to let go?

These questions, these fears, swirled around you in a maelstrom of doubt and despair, each one a dagger aimed at the core of your being. And yet, amidst the darkness, there remained a glimmer of defiance, a stubborn refusal to surrender to the cruel whims of fate. For as long as breath remained in your body, you would cling to hope, no matter how slender the thread...

The momentary calm that enveloped the room shattered like fragile glass as the door creaked open, heralding the arrival of Shigaraki. His presence loomed large, casting a pall over the already somber atmosphere. As your eyes locked onto him, the weight of his disappointment was palpable, etched into the furrow of his brow and the tense set of his jaw.

In his hands, he carried two nondescript bags of Chinese food, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within him. His movements were sluggish, devoid of the usual confidence that defined his demeanor. It didn't take long for you to discern that something was amiss, that the contents of those bags held more than just sustenance.

With a sense of anticipation tinged with trepidation, you reached out towards the bags, eager to quell the gnawing hunger that gnawed at your insides. But before your fingers could make contact, Shigaraki's voice cut through the air like a whip, halting your motion in its tracks.

"Not yet..."

His words were sharp, laced with an undercurrent of frustration that sent a chill down your spine. Instinctively, you recoiled, pulling your hand back as if scalded by his unexpected rebuke. The anger radiating from him was palpable, a storm brewing beneath the surface of his facade.

"You know that plan should have gone perfectly," he spat, his voice dripping with venomous ire. "I had everything planned out, hundreds of villains at my side, and I still lost to the final boss!"

The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable, a testament to the crushing weight of failure that bore down upon him. In that moment, you could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as the reality of defeat settled over the room like a suffocating blanket. And yet, amidst the chaos, there remained a flicker of determination in Shigaraki's eyes, a resolve to rise from the ashes of defeat and reclaim what was rightfully his.

As Shigaraki's footsteps echoed through the room, each one seemed to reverberate with an ominous warning, signaling his approach like the steady beat of a funeral drum. You instinctively recoiled, a futile attempt to distance yourself from the impending confrontation, but the confines of the room offered no solace, no refuge from the looming specter of his wrath.

With deliberate slowness, he closed the distance between you, his movements deliberate and calculated, like a predator closing in on its prey. Panic surged within you, a primal instinct urging you to flee, to escape the clutches of the danger that loomed ever closer. But it was futile, a feeble attempt to defy the inevitable.

Before you could react, Shigaraki's hand shot out like a viper, seizing a fistful of your hair and yanking you towards him with a brutal force. Pain flared at the roots of your scalp, a sharp reminder of your powerlessness in the face of his overwhelming strength. Your protests died on your lips, swallowed by the suffocating grip of fear that clenched at your throat.

"You smell weird... Can I touch your breasts?"

The words hung in the air like a toxic cloud, thick with implications that sent a chill coursing down your spine. Shock reverberated through every fiber of your being, disbelief warring with revulsion as you struggled to comprehend the audacity of his request. Why would he ask such a thing? What twisted logic lurked behind those cold, calculating eyes?

A vehement shake of your head was all you could manage in response, a desperate attempt to ward off the encroaching violation that threatened to engulf you. But Shigaraki's annoyance was palpable, his patience wearing thin like the frayed edges of a threadbare garment. With a swift and merciless motion, he seized hold of one of your soft breasts, his grip like a vice as he claimed what he desired with a callous disregard for your autonomy.

The sensation was jarring, a sickening reminder of your vulnerability in the face of his unchecked power. Anguish and indignation burned within you, a searing fire that threatened to consume you whole as you struggled against the inescapable reality of your captivity. And yet, amidst the turmoil, a spark of defiance flickered to life, a silent vow to reclaim control over your own destiny, no matter the cost...

It's almost instinct to hit him yet you consider your options.. What would you do?