Poacher's Pride
I shot an angel, dragged it to my basement, starved it 'til it died and I did not cry. Sickness of poacher’s pride.
My best friend said there wasn't enough yandere!Kunikida content, and I said aight bet. A quick drabble of yandere!Kunikida x fem!Reader
609 words
Content warning for obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, stalking, and kidnapping
Aaaand the AO3 link for those who prefer it!
She was the most beautiful thing to ever grace this earth.
A creature of rarity, the first and last of its kind. Her body was spun from the dust that fell from an angel’s wings, her eyes were shards of sea glass fished from the fountain of youth. Her lips were the color of strawberries, dewy as morning flowers and plump as cherries. She fulfilled fifty-seven of fifty-eight requirements. All that was left was to become his.
Kunikida was nothing if not methodical, for him it was a laughable simple task to track her movements. It took exactly seventy-one hours, sixteen minutes, and twenty-nine seconds to learn her daily routine, and an additional forty-three hours to learn any variances from such.
After such a time, he sought out the assistance for what he alone could not do. Katai was such an understanding friend, graciously providing him with a tracking chip small enough to be lost if you so much as blinked. Kunikida knew she got her morning coffee- sixteen ounces, light roast, two shots of vanilla flavoring, and a little too much sugar and cream to be considered coffee anymore- from a cold, corporate cafe on the way to her workplace. How simple it was to bump shoulders, an action that made his face flush and his heart tremble, apologizing profusely as the bug was dropped into the pocket of her fleece-lined jacket. Just this was euphoric, the pleasure nearly sexual. He was so close to finally ending his hopeless search for the ideal mate.
He could not pry his eyes from his phone. His breath hitched each time he watched the little blip on the map that represented his ideal moved even slightly. His hands clenched, clammy and cold with excited sweat. The end of the work day crawled forth with a broken wing, inching too slowly for his liking.
"Mr. Kunikida seems less… Kunakida-ish, today." Atsushi leaned in close to Kyōka, muttering his concerns into her ear. The young girl seemed flippant at best, far more concerned in tucking into her late day snack of tempura shrimp and rice. Dazai leaned over the back of his chair, eyes glittering with mischief and lips pulled into a cruel grin.
"Maybe our little sir Kunikida has finally found himself a gi~irlfrie-" Dazai's chair tipped backwards, throwing him head-over-heels into the wall behind him. Atsushi's mottled eyes widened in concern as he rushed over to help him back to his feet.
With an exasperated sigh, Kunikida slammed his binder shut. He slung his bag over his shoulder, turning heel as he stood up, "Don't be ridiculous, Dazai." "Are you really Kunikida, then? There's still a pile of papers you haven't-" Dazai looked, for once, startled and horrified by his co-worker. He was cut off by the sound of the office door slamming shut, a silence overcoming the trio in the absence.
Each step was filled with a fire, the desire to break into a dead sprint back to his apartment was overwhelming. His heart raced in his chest, nausea of excitement pressing at the space behind his nose. He ascended the stairs to his flat with haste, not a moment wasted on fumbling with house keys. His door flung open.
She was gorgeous.
Chained to his bed, arms pulled out like the spread wings of a dove. But she was no bird, she was his treasure. She was his prey. "Hello, my angel." Kunikida's voice was soft, his rough fingers tender as he slid them across her jaw. Her sea glass eyes burned with an icy hatred.
She was a creature, rare and endangered. And he was the poacher.
