Yandere Toons x Reader: An Anthology of Headcanons and Scenarios

Gregory (Platonic Scenario - "Hotel Gregory") (GHS)

TW: Food Horror (?), Domestic Violence (not by Gregory), Implied Death, Mentions of Blood, Implied Stalking, Emotional Manipulation, Toxic Mindsets.

The reader is mute and uses American Sign Language (ASL).

A.N. - It is ridiculously difficult to find clean images of this series; please send art.

The sign language component was an experiment, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. If you want the reader to be mute/deaf/etc. or use a different variant of sign language, I am open to learning new languages.

Gregory entered your room with an uneven step, a metallic tray glinting beneath the soft glow of the candle. The door swung back to clip his shoulder, and the mouse lurched forward to clutch a loose piece of silverware dangling from the rim of the metal. "I'm glad I caught you, my friend." He spoke with relieved haste as if failure at that moment was an irrevocable mistake.

A bowl of purple sludge groaned from the centre of the tray, bubbles swelling with grotesque pressure to pop in an explosion of soggy chunks. Every flavour that shrivelled a person's stomach infested the viscous liquid like a swarm of flies. Fish guts swallowed rotten eggs baked in the sun, and putrid meat swam in a pool of spoiled milk. The stench ballooned with such rancid power that a starved animal would have chosen death over one bite.

"It's a house special, courtesy of our very own five-star chef." Whether the comment was a dry attempt at humour or an admission of his blind nose, he dropped an enigmatic chuckle at the end.

Gregory extended the soup to you, arms quivering with eager uncertainty. "He would be quite pleased to hear you enjoyed it." The caretaker managed an encouraging smile, but the frantic sweeps of his crisscrossed eyes from the door to yourself added an ominous quality to his plea. With his mind tormented by vigilance, he failed to notice the bowl dipping towards the carpet below.

A considerate instinct seized your body, and you flung a pair of fingers onto the ceramic edge. Sparse droplets jabbed the tray with heavy thuds, sliding to the front and trickling to the back as the bowl was stabilized. The nerves of your stomach flipped like a trapeze artist on opening night. Swallowing a ball of disgust, you opened and closed your hand twice before pressing your fingers to your palm and extending your thumb.

The mouse reared his head back and observed the motion like a killer watching their victim run at them with glee. "What?! You want to know if we're still having cocoa tomorrow?" He paused, gawking at the soup for a long second. "Why-" his voice returned softer and slower than before "-Why, of course, my friend." Gregory fought the onslaught of surprise and regained his inviting manner, but the corners of his mouth twitched in discomfort.

Expression illuminated by joy and head nodding in confirmation, you thrust a hand towards the spoon.

At the moment between your finger grazing the handle and the sharp breath that clutched the caretaker's throat, Gregory succumbed to his cowardice. He pulled away and looked at the dish, an unfamiliar tension building in his stomach. "Why don't we save our appetite for later? After all, I've heard big meals before bed can give you bad dreams," pondered the caretaker. He placed the tray on the dresser and added in a thoughtful tone, "We wouldn't want that."

* * *

The cook examined his cuisine with peeved devotion, gaze darting between each bubble for the slightest anomaly. Hell's Chef lifted his red eyes to Gregory. "Why have they not eaten?" A growl rattled his deep voice, and the kitchen knife squeezed against his palm began to quiver.