THEYLL FIND YOU
"The bands back together in place"
Yandere PLATONIC Katz + female child reader
The dim lights of the Katz Motel lounge flickered like dying embers, casting long, sinister shadows across the faded red carpet. The place was quiet tonight—too quiet, save for the distant creak of settling wood and the soft, rhythmic ticking of an antique clock on the wall. Katz lounged in his high-backed velvet chair behind the reception desk, one long leg crossed over the other, his violet-streaked tail flicking lazily. His crimson fur gleamed under the lamplight, and his golden eyes held that perpetual glint of amusement laced with something far darker.
You, his precious little human charge—a small girl no older than seven or eight—sat cross-legged on the threadbare rug in front of the desk, clutching the bright blue racquetball in both hands. It was the same shade as the one he'd once used to toy with that infernal pink dog years ago, back when the motel had been a place of... *entertainment*. But things were different now. You were different.
Katz had found you abandoned on the roadside one stormy night, much like how Muriel and Eustace had once stumbled into his domain. Only this time, instead of seeing another meal for his spiders or another victim for his games, something had... shifted. Perhaps it was the way your wide eyes had looked up at him without immediate terror, or the tiny hand that reached out not in fear but in innocent curiosity. Whatever the reason, he'd taken you in. Claimed you. And in his twisted, possessive way, decided you were *his*. No one else's. Not the world outside, not some fleeting family, certainly not that wretched mutt Courage if he ever dared show his snout here again.
You were his little one. His kitten in human skin. And Katz protected what was his—with teeth and claws if necessary.
Tonight, though, the mood was lighter. Or as light as it ever got with him.
"Ready for our little game, my dear?" Katz purred, his British-accented voice smooth as silk and just as dangerous. He rose gracefully from the chair, stretching his lanky frame until his claws clicked against the wooden floor. In his paw, he held an identical blue ball—his own. "The rules are simple, as always. We bounce it off the wall. First to miss loses. But remember..." He leaned down, tilting his head so his face was level with yours, fangs glinting in a slow, predatory smile. "I *always* win."
You giggled, the sound bright and fearless in a way that made something warm and possessive coil tighter in his chest. Most children would have sensed the menace beneath his charm. Most would have run. But not you. You'd grown used to his games, his dramatics, his "sad, isn't it?" sighs when you beat him at checkers or drew on his motel ledgers with crayons.
You nodded eagerly, bouncing the ball once in your small hands. "I wanna go first!"
Katz straightened, tail swishing. "Very well. Ladies first." He gestured grandly toward the long, narrow hallway that stretched behind the lobby—the perfect impromptu court, just as it had been all those years ago.
You scrambled to your feet and dashed to the end of the hall, sneakers squeaking on the floorboards. The walls here were paneled in dark wood, scarred from past "matches," but you'd never noticed the deeper gouges that might have come from claws or worse. To you, it was just the fun hallway.
You tossed the ball lightly against the wall. It arced back toward Katz with a soft *thump-thump*. He caught it effortlessly in one paw, eyes never leaving you, then returned it with a gentle flick of his wrist—so gentle the ball barely spun, floating back to you like a feather on the wind.
You swung your arm in an enthusiastic arc (no racket needed for this version; hands only, as per the "house rules" he'd invented just for you), smacking it back. It bounced higher this time, ricocheting off the wall at an angle.
Katz sidestepped lazily, letting it sail past him by a hair's breadth before tapping it back with the tip of his tail. The motion was theatrical, almost bored. "Oh dear. You'll have to do better than that, little one."
You laughed again, cheeks flushed with excitement. Back and forth it went—slow, deliberate on his end, energetic and wild on yours. He never once hit it hard enough to sting your palms, never aimed it anywhere you couldn't reach. When you dove dramatically to save a low bounce, scraping your knee just a little, he froze mid-motion.
In an instant, he was kneeling beside you, claws retracted, paw hovering over the scrape. "Now, now," he murmured, voice dropping to that low, velvety register he reserved only for you. "We can't have that. Does it hurt, my precious?"
You shook your head, grinning. "Nope! Keep playing!"
His eyes narrowed, but the smile returned—sharper, yet softer around the edges. "As you wish."
The game continued. He let you score point after point. When the ball rolled too far, he'd "accidentally" miss the return, sighing dramatically. "Sad, isn't it? Outmaneuvered by a child. How utterly humiliating."
You cheered each time, jumping up and down, arms raised in victory. Katz watched with half-lidded eyes, tail curling in quiet satisfaction. This was no contest of skill; it was performance art. He was letting you win because seeing your face light up—seeing you *happy* and *safe* and *his*—was far more satisfying than any domination could be.
After what felt like an eternity of gentle volleys, you finally "won" the match with a triumphant bounce that Katz deliberately let slip past his paw. The blue ball rolled to a stop at his feet.
You ran over, breathless and beaming, throwing your arms around his waist in a hug. Katz stiffened for half a second—old instincts, old walls—then slowly, carefully, wrapped his long arms around you. One paw rested on your back, claws tucked away, the other gently patting your head.
"Well done," he purred, voice a low rumble against your ear. "My clever little champion. I suppose I must concede defeat... this time."
You pulled back just enough to look up at him. "Again tomorrow?"
Katz chuckled, the sound dark and fond all at once. "Tomorrow. And the day after. And every day you wish it." His golden eyes gleamed. "No one takes my games from me... except perhaps you."
He lifted you effortlessly onto his hip—despite his lanky build, he was deceptively strong—and carried you toward the stairs leading to the private quarters upstairs. The motel might still be a place of shadows and secrets, spiders in the basement, "no dogs allowed" signs on every door. But for you, it was home. Warm meals, bedtime stories read in his silky voice, games where the stakes were nothing more than giggles and pretend crowns made of motel stationery.
As he ascended the stairs, he glanced back at the empty hallway, the blue ball still lying innocently on the floor.
"I wish you hadn't done that," he murmured to no one in particular—perhaps to the ghost of old rivalries, perhaps to the world that might one day try to take you away.
But no one would. Not while Katz drew breath.
Because you were his. And in his world of calculated cruelty, that one soft spot was guarded more fiercely than any trap he'd ever set.
