Yandere Toons x Reader: An Anthology of Headcanons and Scenarios

John D. Rockerduck (Platonic Scenario - "Two Dimes Short")

TW: Implied Murder, Erotomania (?), Implied Past Emotional Abuse (not by John), Delusional Behaviour, Toxic Mindsets.

A.N. - A personal piece about my love for unreliable narrators.

Rays of orange and red dusted the glass panes of corner store windows and bathed Rockerduck in the colours of the sunrise. Laborious breaths flowed from his beak as he paced down the street, his yellow shoes smacking the concrete sidewalk. A black leather suitcase swung back and forth in his hand like a pendulum. The fog that slithered through the avenue with the speed of an enormous serpent had intimidated most commuters into returning to their beds, but a fresh pair of footsteps alerted the tycoon to company.

The sound hastened and swelled until Rockerduck hugged the luggage to his chest and whirled around. The lean silhouette of Jeeves emerged from the recesses of the fog, his blue suit wrinkled. "I made the call." A layer of exhaustion laced his voice, and the dog wiped a palm across a cut on his cheek.

Rockerduck tossed the suitcase to Jeeves, who caught it with a look of surprise. "Take it to the bridge, and burn it." The tycoon spoke with an agitated intensity as if the luggage were tainting his person. He turned to the grand establishment looming above him, radiant lights escaping the lines of windows and glazing the cobblestone beneath his feet with a sandy glow.

A gentle breeze lifted the tips of his charcoal gray coat and brushed the limited strands of black hair protruding from the sides of his head. Spirals of fog caressed his plumage before cloaking the desolate street in a humid cloud. Expelling a quiet sigh, he raised a hand to his bowler hat and straightened it.

The magnate ambled to the centre of the foyer, gaze darting between the variety of newspapers on end tables that matched the clippings in his house. Monochrome photographs of worksites and community events adorned the walls. Each one had a wood frame, but he envisioned the news bulletin that summoned him there. The fuzzy voices of radio broadcasts dwelled in the rear of his mind, their words alluding to the vacancy left by his business rival.

They spoke his praise even when his name never arose in the conversation. It was a silent message to triumph where his competitor had faltered, and the thought of success evoked an anxious shiver from the mogul. He turned to the nearest chair, which was a red corduroy sofa. The cushion groaned as he planted his tail on it.

"Sir?"

Rockerduck flinched and swung his head towards the front desk, facing a German Shepherd. The dog watched him with a bewildered frown, but his focus was drifting elsewhere. The array of furniture inhabiting the expansive room housed not a single soul but his own. As he kneaded the bottom of his suit, the unoccupied space seemed to stretch to such a length that weary travellers would have collapsed before reaching the end.

The tycoon looked at the secretary and proclaimed with a proud quaver, "I'm here to see the owner." The admission conjured an eager hum, and Rockerduck tapped the floor with his feet. Glancing at every seat as if expecting applause, satisfaction dominated his movements.

Knee bouncing, Rockerduck glanced at the front desk. The secretary was examining a stack of documents. The baron drew back one side of his coat and sniffed the fabric. A hint of iron punctured his nose, but it was easy to dismiss among the smell of dust and dye pervading the lobby.

Tugging a note free with slow uncertainty, the dog turned his indecisive frown at Rockerduck. "Their nine o'clock is late-"