Yandere Toons x Reader: An Anthology of Headcanons and Scenarios

Yakko Warner (Romantic Scenario - "Just Desserts")

TW: Implied Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Emotional Manipulation, Slight Dissociation, Implied PTSD, Food Poisoning, Toxic Mindsets.

A.N. - I bounced around a variety of moods while writing this, so enjoy the ride.

Screams pounded against the confines of your mind. Even as a sweltering heat bulged in your throat, the shrill cries conjured nothing but irritation. The noise seemed to belong to a separate person, for the discomfort permeating your thoughts opposed the terror embedded in your expression. The twitches rattling your limbs like the tolling of church bells refused to cease as bright lights plagued your vision.

A feminine voice descended from above, penetrating the barrage of shrieks. "Are they okay?" It was muffled as if you had two pillows pressed to your ears.

"Nothing to worry about, baby sis. They just need a little time to adjust," assured a confident voice, this one much louder and clearer.

A third pondered aloud, "Should I bring them a piece of the turkey?"

The white glow consuming your eyes plummeted to darkness as the unseen bystanders began to converse with one another, a series of chuckles maturing into boisterous cackling. Their words rose to such a flamboyant volume that each syllable leaked into the next, but not a single phrase reached your ears as anything more than nonsensical ramblings. The sensation of spinning was joined by a nauseating flip of your stomach. Just before your last meal could greet the floor, a force seized your arm and yanked you into the air.

The first sight to confront you was the underside of Dot's bed. Mind fighting to dispel the blur infesting your vision, you shook your head and focused on the teal wood of the frame. Droplets of cold sweat populated your forehead, but the tension that had overtaken your system a moment prior flowed away in a single exhale. Sharp hues bordered your vision, the clattering of plastic balls signifying your unconventional resting place. You lifted yourself from the ball pit like a mud monster bursting from the depths of a swamp and rested a hand on the bedstead.

A twinge of pain in your back prompted you to wince. The resilience of Yakko's bones was an enigma, but the lack of his morning chitchat was a greater anomaly.

It failed to elicit the same fear that had seized your being for weeks after the event. Recalling his zealous speech about strengthening the relationship now channelled complacency, a bizarre feeling reminiscent of a survivor noting the environmental benefits of a storm that had levelled their home. The isolation of the water tower combined with the lofty capacity for violence inherent in Toons provided no shortage of opportunities, but Yakko had yet to harm you in any tangible way.

There was the periodic bout of unwanted affection but nothing that fostered scars. Where you spilled cereal and anticipated insults, he would joke about the fast-food restaurants growing rich off him as he left to procure your new meal. When you first saw him raise a fist, you shut your eyes, only to feel him pat your shoulder and draw you into a hug. If he had indulged in aggression, you would have a plethora of reasons to be scrambling over the guardrail every day. His behaviour was free of malice, and this apparent benevolence made your insistence on rejecting him seem flimsy.

An unnatural stillness lingered in the water tower, the quiet voices of the television serving as the only reminder that Yakko's propensity for conversation had not degraded your sense of hearing. The meagre grunts enveloping the sofa drew your gaze to the peculiar sight of Wakko rolling across the cushions as if he were flattening pizza dough. A groan slipped past his lips as he flopped onto the arm of the chair, ears drooping and tongue protruding from his mouth.