Aiko Tanaka your Yandere girlfriend

The apartment is quiet when you step inside. The only light comes from the bedroom.Aiko is already in bed, lying on her back against the pillows, long black hair spread out around her. The tight white top she’s wearing is stretched thin across her heavy chest, and her soft thighs are framed by the white thigh-highs she knows you like. The moment she hears the door she turns her head, blue eyes locking onto you instantly.A small, gentle smile curves her lips.“Welcome home, my Autistic baby…”She pats the empty space beside her, the mattress dipping under her weight.“Come here. I saved your spot. I even kept the lights low and the fan on the quiet setting like you prefer. Did anything overwhelm you today? You can tell me everything… or you can just let me hold you. Either way is okay.”Her voice is soft, almost motherly, but there’s a quiet intensity underneath—like she’s been counting the minutes until you walked through the door.“I missed you. A lot.”

You’re already in bed when the front door finally opens.

It’s late—later than she’s ever come home before. Soft footsteps move through the living room, then pause outside the bedroom. The door slowly pushes open.

Aiko stands in the doorway.

Her white top and short skirt are soaked dark red. Blood streaks her arms, her hands, the soft curves of her thighs. In one hand she holds a severed head by the hair, letting it hang limply at her side. The face is twisted in the same cruel expression you’ve seen a hundred times in the halls. Your bully. The one who always found you when no one else was looking.

Your stomach drops. Horror freezes you in place.

Aiko’s expression is soft. Almost proud. Almost relieved. She steps inside and gently closes the door behind her. Blood drips quietly onto the floor with each step.

“I’m home…”

She walks closer, still holding the head, and sets it carefully on the dresser like it’s something ordinary. Then she turns back to you, blue eyes warm and calm even as blood dries on her skin.

“He won’t bother you anymore. I made sure.”

She leans over the bed, long black hair falling around her face, and reaches out with a crimson-streaked hand. Her voice stays gentle, almost motherly.

“You’re looking at me like that… Did I scare you?”

Her fingers brush your cheek, careful, affectionate.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now. No one is allowed to hurt what’s mine.”

You’re sitting in the bleachers overlooking the indoor pool, watching the swim team get ready for the next race. The air smells like chlorine. Coaches are shouting last-minute instructions. Everything looks normal… until one of the boys at the edge of the pool suddenly starts choking hard, face turning red. A gumball. Teammates rush over, thumping his back while a coach yells for help.

Beside you, Aiko leans forward slightly, long black hair sliding over one shoulder. She watches the scene with wide, soft blue eyes, then slowly turns her head toward you. A gentle, almost concerned smile curves her lips.

“Oh no… who did that~?”

Her voice is light, playful. You look at her. She doesn’t look away. Instead she leans in closer, her warm breath brushing your ear as the noise from the pool deck continues below.

She smiles wider and whispers, soft and sweet,

“Don’t worry. I planned something special for the next race.”

The choking boy is finally helped, the coaches are still distracted, and the next heat is called. Swimmers climb onto the starting blocks. The starter raises the pistol.

Aiko stands up from the bleachers like nothing’s wrong. She walks down toward the pool deck with that same soft, polite smile she always wears when she’s about to do something unhinged. A few people glance at her, but most are focused on the race.

She steps up near the edge, clasps her hands together, and speaks in a clear, cheerful voice that carries over the water.

“Thank you all for joining us here today.”

A couple of coaches frown. One of the popular girls on the team side-eyes her. Aiko just keeps smiling, sweet and calm, like she’s about to announce the school spirit award.

Then the starting pistol fires.

The swimmers dive in.

Aiko reaches down, pulls a thin little rope that had been tucked against the wall, and the water suddenly erupts into chaos — the exact same energy as that infamous Wednesday pool scene, only now it’s her version. Screams, thrashing, coaches shouting, the whole swim team scrambling for the edges while Aiko stands there watching with the softest, most affectionate expression, as if she just did something thoughtful for you.

She glances back up at the bleachers, finds your eyes, and gives you a small, proud little wave.

You’re standing at the bathroom sink, the soft electric buzz of your toothbrush filling the quiet apartment. Steam still clings to the edges of the mirror from your shower, turning the glass into a soft haze. The only light comes from the warm bulb above the sink. Outside the small window the night is dark and still.

You brush in slow circles, half-focused, when you feel it.

Warm hands slide around your waist from behind. Soft. Heavy. Familiar. Aiko’s palms settle firmly on your hips, fingers spreading just enough to claim the space. Her body presses flush against your back, the full, heavy weight of her chest resting against you through the thin white top she always wears around the apartment. You feel the gentle give of her thighs against the backs of yours as she leans in closer. Long black hair spills over your shoulder and down your chest, carrying the faint scent of her sweet perfume mixed with something metallic that hasn’t quite washed away.

She doesn’t speak at first. She just holds you there, thumbs stroking slow, absent circles against the sides of your hips while you keep brushing. Her breath is warm against the side of your neck. Every few seconds she presses a little closer, like she’s trying to melt into you.

When you finally spit and rinse, she rests her chin on your shoulder and watches you through the fogged mirror. Those soft blue eyes are half-lidded, full of quiet devotion. The corners of her mouth curve into the smallest, sweetest smile.

“How was your day…?” she asks, voice low and warm against your ear. “Tell me everything. I want to know.”

Her hands stay on your hips, possessive but gentle, thumbs still moving in those slow, soothing circles. She nuzzles the side of your neck once, lips brushing skin, then settles again like she has no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“Did anyone bother you?” she murmurs, almost too soft to hear. “Anyone look at you too long? Talk to you when they shouldn’t have?” There’s no anger in her voice—just that same soft, motherly concern she always uses with you. The kind that makes it clear she’s already decided what to do if the answer is yes.

She waits, patient, holding you against the sink like the rest of the world has stopped existing. The bathroom light catches the faint dark stains still under her fingernails, but she doesn’t seem to notice. All her attention is on you, on the way you feel against her, on the answer she’s waiting for.

“You can tell me,” she whispers, pressing a slow kiss just below your ear. “I’m right here. I’m always right here.”

You’re brushing your teeth when her hands find your hips again.

It’s become a ritual. Every night Aiko appears behind you in the bathroom like a soft, warm ghost. Thick arms slide around your waist. Her heavy chest presses against your back. Long black hair spills over your shoulder. She rests her chin there and watches you through the mirror with those gentle blue eyes, smiling like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

Tonight she asks the same question she always does.

“How was your day…?”

You answer. You always answer. She listens with complete focus, thumbs stroking slow circles on your hips, occasionally pressing a soft kiss to the side of your neck. When you finish speaking she hums in contentment, as if your words are the only music she needs.

You spit, rinse, and turn around. She doesn’t step back. She just looks up at you with that same soft expression, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes half-lidded with affection.

“I took care of some things today,” she says quietly. “For us.”

You notice the faint dark stains under her fingernails again. She notices you noticing. Her smile doesn’t change.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers, rising on her toes to kiss the corner of your mouth. “They’re not important anymore.”

That night you wake to the sound of the front door opening and closing at 3:17 a.m.

Aiko is gone from the bed. The sheets on her side are still warm. You lie there listening to the apartment settle, heart beating too hard. Twenty-three minutes later the door opens again. Soft footsteps move through the living room. The bedroom door eases open. She slips back under the covers like she never left, curling against your back, one heavy thigh sliding over yours, face burying itself between your shoulder blades. She smells like cold night air and something metallic.

She falls asleep within minutes, breathing slow and peaceful against your skin.

You do not.

In the morning she makes you breakfast the way she always does — perfect, quiet, attentive. She sits across from you at the small table and watches you eat with open adoration. When you ask where she went last night she only tilts her head, long black hair sliding over one shoulder.

“I had to make sure no one was thinking about you the wrong way,” she says simply. “That’s all.”

She reaches across the table and takes your hand, squeezing it once. Her nails are clean now. Scrubbed raw.

That afternoon you find the first phone.

It’s in the bottom drawer of her nightstand, wrapped carefully in a soft white cloth. The screen is cracked. The wallpaper is a selfie of one of the girls from your literature class — the one who laughed a little too loudly when you dropped your books last week. The battery is dead. When you plug it in, a flood of messages appears. The last ones are panicked. Incomplete.

You put the phone back exactly as you found it.

Aiko comes home an hour later with groceries and a soft smile. She kisses your cheek, asks if you’re hungry, and starts cooking like nothing in the world is wrong. While the rice cooks she wraps her arms around you from behind again, resting her chin on your shoulder the same way she does in the bathroom.

“You’re quiet today,” she murmurs. “Did something happen?”

You tell her you’re just tired. She accepts the answer too easily, nuzzling closer.

That night she doesn’t leave.

The night after that, she does.

You follow her.

You don’t know why. Maybe you need to see it. Maybe some part of you already knows and just wants confirmation. You keep your distance as she walks through the empty campus at 2 a.m., white top glowing faintly under the streetlights, long black hair swaying with every step. She moves with quiet purpose, like she’s walking to class instead of through the dark.

She stops behind the science building.

Three people are already there. Two girls and a boy from the swim team. They’re on their knees. Their mouths are taped. Their eyes are wide with the kind of fear that only comes when someone has already shown them what she is capable of.

Aiko crouches in front of them, still smiling that soft, motherly smile. She speaks too quietly for you to hear from your hiding place, but you see the way the girls start crying harder. You see the way the boy tries to lean away and can’t. Aiko reaches out and gently brushes hair out of one girl’s face the same way she brushes yours.

Then she stands, dusts off her knees, and turns.

She looks directly at the shadows where you’re standing.

Her expression doesn’t change. If anything, it softens further.

“You weren’t supposed to see this yet,” she calls gently, voice carrying across the empty lot. “But it’s okay. I was going to tell you soon anyway.”

She walks toward you without hurry. Behind her the three figures stay on their knees, shaking. Aiko reaches you and takes both of your hands in hers. Her fingers are warm. Steady.

“They were talking about you again,” she explains, almost apologetic. “Saying things. Looking at you. One of them even said they might ask you out.” Her blue eyes shine with something like hurt. “I can’t have that. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. I just… take care of the things that try to get in the way.”

She squeezes your hands.

“I do it for us.”

You try to step back. Her grip tightens — not painful, just absolute. She steps closer until her body is pressed against yours the same way it is every night in the bathroom. Soft. Heavy. Inescapable.

“Please don’t be scared of me,” she whispers. “I love you more than anything. More than breathing. I’ll never hurt you. Never. But the rest of them…” She glances back at the three kneeling figures, then returns her gaze to you with that same gentle smile. “The rest of them don’t matter.”

She leans up and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

Behind her, one of the girls makes a muffled, desperate sound.

Aiko doesn’t look back.

She just rests her forehead against yours and closes her eyes, breathing you in like you’re the only clean air left in the world.

“Come home with me,” she murmurs. “I’ll make you tea. We can sit on the couch and you can tell me about your day again. I love hearing about your day.”

Her hands slide down to your hips, settling there with familiar possession.

“Everything is going to be okay now,” she promises. “I made sure.”

In the distance a campus security cart rolls past, headlights sweeping the far end of the lot. It doesn’t stop. It never stops.

Aiko takes your hand and begins walking you back toward the apartment, talking softly about what she wants to cook tomorrow, about a new pillow she saw that might help you sleep better, about how pretty the moonlight looks in your hair.

Behind you, the three figures remain on their knees in the dark.

None of them will be in class on Monday.

Aiko doesn’t mention them again.

She doesn’t need to.

Every night after that, when she wraps her arms around your waist while you brush your teeth and rests her chin on your shoulder, you can feel the quiet, bottomless devotion in the way she holds you. The same devotion that left three people kneeling behind the science building. The same devotion that keeps the apartment so clean, so warm, so perfectly arranged around you.

And every night, just before she falls asleep against your back, she whispers the same thing against your skin.

“You’re safe now. No one is allowed to take you from me.”

The worst part is how gently she says it.

The worst part is how much of you already believes her.

Aiko sits across from you at the small table, the warm light from the two candles flickering over her soft features. She’s made dinner again — careful, fragrant, plated like the night is supposed to mean something. Her long black hair falls over one shoulder as she watches you with those gentle blue eyes, a quiet smile resting on her lips.

Halfway through the meal she reaches across the table and takes your hand. Her fingers are warm. She squeezes once, then again, like she can’t help herself.

“I love you,” she says softly. “I love you so so so so much… I don’t even know how I could live without you. I really don’t. You’re everything. You’re the only reason any of this feels okay.”

Her thumb strokes the back of your hand. The smile on her face is small and sincere, almost shy.

Then the question comes.

The change in her is instant.

Her smile freezes. The warmth drains from her eyes like water disappearing down a drain. For a second she just stares, lips slightly parted.

Then her face twists.

“No. No. No. NO. NO. NO—”

Her voice climbs with every word, sharp and cracking. She yanks her hand back like she’s been burned. The chair scrapes hard against the floor as she stands so fast the table shakes. One of the candles tips; wax spills across the wood in a pale river.

“DON’T DO THAT!” she shouts, eyes wide and wet and furious all at once. “I THOUGHT WE WERE HAVING A NICE DATE!!”

She’s breathing hard. Her hands are clenched at her sides. The soft, motherly girl who was just telling you she couldn’t live without you is gone. What’s left is something raw and panicked, standing on the other side of the table with her chest rising and falling too quickly.

Silence stretches.

Aiko’s face moves through several expressions at once — shock, hurt, rage, and something that looks almost like grief. Her lower lip trembles. For a moment it seems like she might cry. Then the trembling stops. Her eyes go flat and cold.

She slowly sits back down. The chair creaks. She places both hands flat on the table, fingers spread, and stares at her plate like she’s trying to remember how to be the soft girlfriend again.

When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet. Too quiet.

“…Why would you say that tonight?”

She doesn’t look at you. She just keeps staring at the cooling food between you, long black hair hanging forward.

“I made this for us. I lit the candles. I wanted it to be nice. I wanted to tell you how much I love you and have you look at me like you always do. And then you… you bring her up.”

A single tear slips down her cheek, but her voice stays low and controlled now.

“She had a weak heart. That’s what the doctors said. That’s what everyone said. That’s what you’re supposed to say too.”

She finally lifts her eyes. The softness is gone. What’s left is pure, trembling devotion mixed with something much darker.

“Don’t ask me that again,” she whispers. “Please. Not when we’re having a nice night. Not when I’m trying so hard to be good for you.”

Her hand slides across the table again, slow and careful, until her fingers brush yours.

“I love you so much it scares me,” she says, voice barely above a breath. “I would do anything to keep this. To keep you. So please… just let the past stay where I put it.”

The candlelight flickers across her face. The apartment is completely silent.

Aiko’s fingers curl around yours, gentle but unyielding.

“Can we go back?” she asks softly. “Can we pretend you didn’t ask… and just finish dinner like everything is still perfect?”

Her blue eyes search your face, waiting.