Yandere Toons x Reader: An Anthology of Headcanons and Scenarios

Mark Beaks (Romantic Scenario - "Headliner 2.0")

TW: Implied Divorce, Past Kidnapping, Implied Past Child Abuse (not by Mark), Dysfunctional Relationships, Toxic Mindsets.

A.N. - A lot of personal interpretations in this one. It may be hard to read at times if you have experience with poor family relationships.

Muffled yells ascended the staircase, lingering on every third or fourth step for a brief moment before continuing. As the noise drew closer to the bedroom, its indistinct nature cleared into a bitter argument.

"Your parade is costing my fortune," snapped a feminine voice. It was brittle from age and years of learned poise, but the indignant accent demanded that it be heard.

"This 'parade' is the greatest event you will ever witness, and it's my zeroes on the bill." The airy voice of Mark Beaks was laced with a defensive impatience, his footsteps reaching the top of the stairs and idling outside the door.

"Please!" barked the woman. "You don't own a dime." Tone wilting to a grumble, her voice wafted further down the corridor.

The entrance to the bedroom was flung open. Mark rushed inside and slammed the door shut behind him, pressing his back against it as if fearing someone would attempt to enter. After a second of unfulfilled anticipation, he slid to the floor and expelled a sigh so deep that he seemed to deflate.

"Man, Mom's a total buzzkill these days." The parrot bumped his head on the door and looked at the ceiling. Fatigue of too many wrong words lingered in his sluggish movements, but the sight of you freed him from the emotional nail pinning his mind to unwanted depths.

When one regarded another with such unrestrained affection, you expected a prior attachment. Months or even years of intimacy could only try to match the fondness he expressed, yet, despite its potential for greatness, the feeling was at once mystifying and disquieting. To consider someone who was little more than a stranger as the antidote for all the complaints he had with his life was a delusional level of faith.

It humbled the grandest achievements and placed an unfathomable degree of importance on the most trivial of interactions. It repelled you like a butcher who had examined the latest shipment and smelt rot, but the exit was locked behind a test of perseverance.

Mark jumped up and balled his fists at his side, dropping a hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone. "Let's crash her photoshoot."

* * *

The sun beat down upon your form like an invisible tide, its sweltering aroma dragging your head closer to the ground. Each step forward was a tired and forced endeavour, and collapsing in capitulation to the heat was a threat that wormed further into reality with every breath. As your lungs struggled to retain oxygen, seemingly forgetting how to behave under duress, a collection of spasms twisted the inside of your chest.

Flares of pain jabbed the corners of your skull, receding like ocean waves lapping the coast before assaulting again with greater strength. If your sanity had not been protected by your determination to endure, you would have thought your brain was attempting to explode out the back of your head. With your fists clenched at your side, you managed a cloudy look at the broad-shouldered silhouette sparing you from the direct reach of the sun.

"Did it have to be today?" It was a simple question, not requiring much effort to conceive but costing the health of your mouth. The dry air latched onto your tongue, which shrivelled like a spoiled grape, and crawled down your throat as if it were a wave of fire.