𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

Yandere! Hockey Captain

Word Count: 648 words

You skate for freedom, but he’s about to make you his trophy.

Yandere! Hockey Captain

Word Count: 485 words

“You should’ve stayed on the ice, little princess. That’s where you belong.” His voice is a low snarl, curling through the stale air like smoke from a fire that’s already consumed everything. His gloved hand clamps around your jaw, tilting your chin upward so you’re forced to meet those dark, piercing eyes. The shadows swallow him whole, but you’re still keenly aware of how his presence looms, heavy and inescapable.

“But it’s too late now, isn’t it?” he murmurs, voice softening to something far more dangerous. “You should’ve run faster. Maybe then I wouldn’t have caught you.”

He’s the golden boy of your school’s rival team—the captain whose name makes coaches break into cold sweats and players clutch their sticks tighter. On the ice, he’s relentless. Off the ice, he’s a predator in disguise, all sharp smiles and sharper intentions. He’s seen you skate. You, the delicate little thing gliding like art across the rink, untouched by the chaos his world thrives on.

He hated you the first time. Hated how perfect you were. How unreachable. But now? Now you’re his.

“You skate like it’s a dream,” he hisses, dragging you closer, his breath grazing your cheek. “I skate for blood. And that’s why you’ll never escape me. You’ll never win this game.”

It started with whispers of his name behind you in hallways, a shadow where no one should stand. Then your skates disappeared the night before finals. Your partner tripped during practice, a mysterious injury leaving you stranded on the ice alone. And always—always—he was there. Watching. Waiting. His eyes burned through the glass during competitions, so focused, so wrong. Like a starving wolf watching a rabbit with nowhere left to run.

“Why do you look so afraid?” he taunted one night, his skates slicing through the ice as he cornered you at practice, his silhouette blocking out the arena lights. The grin on his face held no warmth. “You should be. You know what I want.”

When he finally catches you, when he pushes you back against the cold, metal shelves of the rink’s forgotten storage room, it’s like the world narrows to him and him alone. The blade of his skate brushes your thigh—a silent, chilling threat that makes your breath hitch. His voice dips low, a whisper meant only for you.

“No one else gets to have you. Not your team. Not your fans. Not even the ice. You’re mine.”

You don’t remember much after that. Just the distant sound of fists meeting flesh, the sickening crack of bone. And him. Always him. His blood-slick knuckles reaching for you, his tone soothing even as the violence still lingers in the air.

“Don’t cry,” he hums, tilting your trembling face to his. “I’m right here. I’ll take care of you now.”

When you wake up, your wrists sting—taped together with strips of white hockey tape. You’re on a bed that smells faintly of sweat and sharp cologne, and he’s there, lounging in a chair across the room. His hockey stick rests casually against his legs, a predator at rest, watching his prey stir.

“You’re awake.” The smirk he gives you is casual, but the darkness in his gaze is anything but. “Welcome home.”

He rises slowly, crossing the room to loom over you. His hand cups your cheek, fingers possessive, unyielding. “You’ll get used to it here,” he murmurs, almost tenderly. “You don’t need the ice anymore. You don’t need anyone. I’ll give you everything you need.”

His lips brush your ear, and the words he speaks are a promise etched in steel.

“I’ll make you love me, ice princess. Even if I have to carve the words into your bones.”

And you know, deep down, you’ll never skate again.

Not unless it’s for him.