Paring: Yandere!Kirishima x Fem!Reader
Rating: M
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: Obsession/Unhealthy Relationships, Stalking, Emotional Manipulation, Psychological Distress, Implied Breaking and Entering, Themes of Jealousy and Possessiveness, Potentially Unsettling Content, Please let me know if I missed anything!
Kirishima had always wanted you. From the moment he pulled you out of that collapsing building during a villain attack. There was something in your eyes, the way they stared up at him like he was your savior. And he’s not sure why that got him, because it always happened. Adoring fans or victims of a villain attack would shower him with praise. And none of those ever affected him the way you did.
He still remembers how you clung to him, gripping his biceps tightly as he pushed his way through the debris, carrying you out. And your touch lingered on his skin long after he set you down like a burn etched into his skin. If you had asked Kirishima if he believed in soulmates, he would have said no. But after meeting you and your impact on him within a minute, he knew you were his.
Every fiber of his being reached out to you, screaming for you to touch him again. And when the paramedics and police took you away for a statement, he could only stand there dumbfounded. You had come quickly into his life, and it seemed you’d disappear just as fast.
The thought made him panic. Not even knowing your name would leave him no chance to find you. No chance to be with you. However, Kirishima wasn’t foolish. He understood he couldn’t simply ask you out while a crisis was unfolding. It was painful for him to see you walk away, but he was determined to get your contact information. As the police questioned him about the incident as per their usual protocol, he couldn’t resist stealing glances in your direction.
Kirishima couldn’t bring himself to admit it, but a burning anger welled up inside him as he watched a paramedic gently wrap a blanket around you. He longed to be the one providing comfort in that moment. Who did that paramedic think they were, getting so close to you? He fought to suppress the anger simmering within, realizing that with a little effort, he could get your number from the police report.
Kirishima’s fingers twitched at his sides as he forced himself to stay composed, his sharp teeth grinding together in frustration. The paramedic’s hand briefly brushed your shoulder as they spoke, and Kirishima’s gut twisted in a way that felt foreign yet strangely intoxicating. Was it jealousy? Obsession? He wasn’t sure, but the only thing he knew was that it didn’t sit right with him. No one else had the right to be that close to you.
He stayed through the entire police debriefing, answering their questions with his usual energetic charm, though his mind was miles away. His eyes kept darting toward you as you sat on the curb, clutching the blanket tightly around your shoulders. You looked so small, so vulnerable. A fierce protective instinct surged through him, making his heart pound. He had to get to you. He had to be the one to protect you. Forever.
When the debriefing was finally over, Kirishima didn’t waste any time. He casually glanced at the clipboard an officer was holding, memorizing your name and address in a single heartbeat. It wasn’t difficult for someone like him to access public records, but seeing the information in front of him only solidified his plan. He wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers.
That night, Kirishima couldn’t sleep. He was constantly thinking about your wide, trusting eyes and the way your hands trembled against his arm. He replayed the moment over and over, the way you clung to him like he was your lifeline. He was your lifeline. That’s what fate had decided.
By the time the sun rose, he had decided. He’d do whatever it took to be by your side. The idea of just showing up at your doorstep felt too abrupt, and he didn’t want to scare you. No, he had to do this carefully, strategically. He’d start by following you, learning your routine, finding out everything he could about your life. Only then could he insert himself seamlessly into it.
The first time Kirishima saw you with someone else, his chest tightened like a vice. You were sitting at the café, a man across from you, leaning in with a calm smile. Kirishima froze mid-step, his hand still on the café door. His throat went dry as he watched the man laugh at something you said, the sound rolling over the street like a taunt.
His fingers curled against the door handle, the metal creaking under the pressure. He forced himself to release it, his knuckles aching. His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached, the muscles in his neck taut and unyielding. He turned away, retreating to the shadows of the alley across the street, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. His heart pounded as his mind raced. Who was that guy? A friend? A colleague? Or something more? The thought made his vision blur, a hot, searing anger bubbling just beneath the surface of his skin. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms until the sting brought him back to himself. He knew this was irrational. You had your own life, your own friends. But the idea of anyone else getting close to you—it was unbearable.
That night, he lay in bed, the image of you laughing with that man playing on a loop in his mind. His memory held every detail sharply: the tilt of your head, the way your lips curved into a smile, and the man’s hand resting casually on the table, so close to yours.
His hands gripped the sheets, the fabric twisting beneath his fingers. He could feel his pulse in his ears, a relentless thrum that matched the frantic rhythm of his thoughts. His body ached with the effort of staying still, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap.
“Why him?” he muttered into the darkness. The words felt foreign on his tongue, sharp. “What does he have that I don’t?”
His mind spun, conjuring scenarios where he confronted the man, his voice calm but edged with a warning. She’s mine. But he stopped himself, shaking his head as if to dislodge the thought. He couldn’t act on it. Not yet. Not until he was sure of where you stood. —--- The following week, he spotted you walking home from work. It was late; the streets bathed in the soft amber glow of the streetlights. Kirishima followed at a safe distance, his heart hammering against his ribcage. His palms were slick with sweat, and he wiped them against his jeans, his fingers twitching with the urge to reach out, to touch you, to make you turn around and see him.
When you stopped at a crosswalk, he hesitated. His breath hitched as you turned slightly, your profile illuminated by the faint light. The tension in his chest tightened, a sharp ache spreading through his ribs.
Just say something, he urged himself. Call her name. She’ll smile at you. She’ll remember.
But when he opened his mouth, no words came. His hands hung uselessly at his sides, his feet rooted to the pavement. He felt like a fool, standing there as you walked away, unaware of his presence.
Kirishima followed you for weeks, careful to stay unnoticed. He learned where you worked, what routes you took home, and even the groceries you liked to buy. Every detail about you fascinated him, made him feel like he was getting closer to you, even though you still did not know he existed outside that one fleeting encounter. But it wasn’t enough. Just watching you from afar felt like torture. He wanted more. No—he needed more.
One day, when you left work late and started walking home in the dim light of dusk, he made his move. Kirishima trailed behind you, his heart pounding in anticipation. He knew this moment had to be perfect. When he finally stepped out of the shadows, calling your name, the way your eyes lit up made his chest swell with pride. You remembered him.
“Oh my gosh, you’re that hero! Red Riot, right?” you said, a smile spreading across your face. “I didn’t have time to thank you properly for saving me.”
His throat tightened. The sound of your voice saying his name was almost too much. He had to remind himself to stay calm, to not let his overwhelming emotions show. “It’s no big deal,” he said, flashing you his trademark grin. “I just did what any hero would do. But… I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that day. I was worried, y’know? You went through a lot.”
Your expression softened, and he felt a surge of triumph. This was it. The beginning of your story together. You didn’t know it yet, but Kirishima had already decided—he’d let nothing or anyone hurt you again. Even if it meant keeping you all to himself.
Your POV
You had always prided yourself on your independence. Growing up as the eldest of three siblings, you had taken on responsibilities early, learning how to juggle school, part-time jobs, and taking care of your younger siblings while your parents worked long hours. Your life had been a balancing act, but you’d always found solace in the little things—like your daily ritual of getting a cappuccino at the café near your apartment or curling up with a book on your worn-out but cozy couch. These were the quiet moments that made the chaos bearable. After the villain attack, you found yourself rattled, but determined to keep moving forward. You’d always been resilient, a trait your best friend often joked that it would get you through the apocalypse.
“You’re like a phoenix,” they’d say, “always rising from the ashes.” But lately, you weren’t so sure. The incident had left you shaken in a way you couldn’t quite articulate. The nightmares that woke you in a cold sweat each night only confirmed that you weren’t as invincible as you liked to believe.
And yet, you couldn’t stop replaying the moment he saved you. The way his arms had wrapped around you, strong and unyielding, as he shielded you from falling debris. The memory felt like a lifeline, a fragment of safety in an otherwise chaotic world. Still, you hadn’t expected to see him again—not in a city as vast and bustling as this one. Heroes were larger-than-life figures, untouchable in their grandeur, and you had resigned yourself to the idea that your savior, Red Riot, would remain a fleeting figure in your memory.
That’s why, when he appeared on the quiet street you walked home on every evening, his voice calling your name like a beacon in the dark, you froze. For a split second, you weren’t sure if you were imagining things. But there he was, as real as the pavement beneath your feet. His broad frame seemed even larger under the streetlights, his familiar grin as warm and disarming as it had been that day.
“Oh my gosh, you’re that hero! Red Riot, right?” you said, unable to hide your surprise. Your excitement at meeting your idol filled your voice, yet genuine gratitude, a feeling you seldom expressed, moderated it. “I didn’t have time to thank you properly for saving me.”
He scratched the back of his head, his grin widening in a way that made him seem almost boyish. “It’s no big deal,” he said, his tone humble yet firm. “I just did what any hero would do. But… I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that day. I was worried, y’know? You went through a lot.”
His words caught you off guard. There was something earnest about him, something that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t in a long time. People often assumed you were unshakeable, but here was this larger-than-life hero admitting he’d thought about you. It was… nice. Comforting, even.
“Well, I’m doing okay,” you replied, though your voice wavered slightly. “It was scary, but I’ve been taking it one day at a time. Thank you again. Really.”
He nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “I’m glad to hear that. But if you ever need anything, reach out. Heroes aren’t just for fighting villains—we’re here to help.”
You smiled, a flicker of warmth breaking through the lingering tension in your chest. “That’s kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to bother you. I’m sure you have enough on your plate.” He shook his head, his expression serious. “You wouldn’t be bothering me. In fact, I’d like to get to know you better. You’ve been through a lot, and I think you deserve to have someone in your corner.”
The sincerity in his voice was almost overwhelming. You hesitated, torn between the instinct to maintain your independence and the unexpected comfort of his presence. “That’s… really sweet of you. I appreciate it.”
As the two of you continued talking, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his words than met the eye. His intensity was both flattering and a little disconcerting, a mix of admiration and something deeper that you couldn’t quite place. But you reminded yourself that he was a hero—a good man who had risked his life to save yours. There was no reason to doubt his intentions. Right?
At first, your encounters with Kirishima were a bright spot in your life. He began showing up at the café you frequented, always with a casual wave and that signature grin. It was comforting to see a familiar face, especially someone who’d saved you in such a vulnerable moment. He’d sit across from you, nursing a cup of black coffee, and the two of you would talk about anything and everything. He was charming and warm, and his earnestness made you feel safe. But as the weeks went on, something shifted.
You noticed him more frequently—at the grocery store, outside your workplace, even at the park where you liked to read on weekends. At first, you chalked it up to coincidence. He was a hero, after all, and heroes were always on patrol. But it wasn’t long before the coincidences felt deliberate. Every time you looked over your shoulder, he was there. Watching. Smiling.
The realization hit you one evening as you stood in your kitchen unpacking your groceries. You pulled out a loaf of your favorite bread and froze. You hadn’t picked this up. It wasn’t on your receipt. A chill ran down your spine as you stared at the familiar brand, one you always bought but hadn’t this time. It was subtle, almost innocuous, but it felt like a message. Someone had been in your space, touching your things. And you had a sinking feeling you knew who.
When you confronted him the next day, Kirishima didn’t deny it. His face was a mixture of guilt and determination, like he was bracing himself for a fight he didn’t intend to lose.
He said, in a low steady voice, “I didn’t intend to frighten you.” “I just… I worry about you. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“By breaking into my apartment?” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger and disbelief. “That’s not okay, Kirishima. That’s—crossing a line. A big one.”
He stepped closer, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Hurting you was never my intention. All I wanted to know was if you were safe. I care about you, more than I can explain, and I—” He broke off, his jaw tightening. “I can’t lose you.”
The raw emotion in his voice made your heart ache, but it wasn’t enough to smother the fear bubbling up inside you. You had seen obsession before, in toxic relationships your friends had endured, in the stories you read about unrequited love gone wrong. And now, staring into Kirishima’s pleading eyes, you realized you were living one of those stories.
From that point on, your life became a delicate dance of avoidance and confrontation. Kirishima didn’t stop trying to insert himself into your life, but you grew more resolute in your boundaries. You stopped visiting your favorite café, changed your routines, even started staying with friends when the unease became too much to bear. Yet, no matter how hard you tried to distance yourself, he always showed up.
One night, as you sat in your friend’s apartment, your phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number. Your heart sank as you read the text:
“I know you’re scared, but I’ll never hurt you. I just want to protect you. Please, let me.”
Your hands trembled as you stared at the screen. Blocking the number felt futile; you knew he’d find another way to contact you. He always did. Your friend, sensing your distress, urged you to go to the police, but you hesitated. How could you explain this to them? He was a hero, beloved by the public. Would they even believe you?
Meanwhile, Kirishima’s obsession continued to consume him. The more you pulled away, the more desperate he became. He couldn’t understand why you didn’t see things his way—why you couldn’t feel the connection he felt so deeply. In his mind, every move he made was out of love. Every boundary he crossed was justified by his need to protect you.
But love and obsession are two sides of the same coin, and Kirishima was teetering on the edge.
When you finally filed a restraining order, it was a blow he hadn’t expected. That you would see him as a threat instead of a savior shattered something inside him. But instead of deterring him, it only deepened his resolve. He convinced himself that you were being manipulated—by fear, by the system, by people who didn’t understand how much he cared.
The line between protector and predator blurred until it no longer existed.
The consequences of his actions rippled outward, affecting both of your lives. You became hyper-vigilant, constantly looking over your shoulder, unable to trust anyone. Your once-cozy apartment felt like a prison, its walls closing in as you barricaded yourself against an unseen threat.
Kirishima isolated himself from his friends and colleagues. His relentless focus on you consumed him, leaving little room for anything else. His reputation as a hero suffered, his once-vibrant spirit dimmed by an obsession he couldn’t control. In the end, the story didn’t have a clean resolution. Two lives unraveled in the aftermath of irrevocable choices—the story presented no heroes or villains. And as you lay awake at night, the memory of his arms around you a distant echo, you couldn’t help but wonder: when does love stop being loved? And when does it become something darker?
